#*espresso playing in the background*

[echoing-locations]

People who know me personally will know that I hate Sabrina Carpenter. Not her as a person but her music, all her songs sound the same to me.

But people will also know that I remember song lyrics very easily, even when I don’t want to.

You can see my problem.

[isbergillustration]

Local drow commits murders as hobby. Art form, even. They are available for freelance atrocities, please contact their butler for details.

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - I think you both need Daddy, hm?

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: When Carol asks you out in front of Wanda, she snaps. She takes you home, desperate to claim you, to mark you, to own you. But it’s not just her bed you belong in, and when Natasha comes home to find you both absolutely lost in the scene, she makes one thing very clear: if you’re going to be ruined, it’ll be by both of them. Together.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Age difference, Older WandaNat/Younger Reader, BDSM, Dom/Sub, Strap-on, fingering, Cunnilingus, Punishment (kind of), Safe word/gesture check-ins. Aftercare, but also idk if it counts because it happens, and then they start up again like the feral animals they are.

A/N: There was never meant to be a part two to this, but after a request from @tomy5girls, who am I to say no? I know this isn’t exactly what you asked for, I may have taken a few liberties and run with it a bit, but I hope you still enjoy it!

I think there’s enough context to catch you up on what’s going on, so you don't need to read part one. But if you want to, the first part is here.

As I mentioned last time, smut isn’t something I’ve written too much of before, but the reaction on here to the first part was crazy. Thank you, everyone, for being patient and supportive as I step a bit out of my comfort zone!

Word Count: 10,143

Anywaaays, sorry for the yapping. NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

The café was warm and quiet, with sunlight streaming through the windows and spilling across the wood-panelled floor. The clink of mugs and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine created a soft, rhythmic background hum, while indie music played quietly from the speakers overhead. You were tucked into your usual corner seat, your laptop open in front of you, a half-empty latte sitting forgotten beside it. Across from you, Carol was scrolling through the shared project document, her brow furrowed in concentration as she absorbed the final bits of the work.

It was your last study session with her. After two months of grafting, revisions, and back-and-forths, this was it. The project was finished. And you were proud of what you’d done together. The project was solid, clean, well-written, even a little brilliant. Maybe even an A.

Carol had been more than tolerable during the process. She was smart, dry in her humour, and easy to get along with. You’d laughed, found a rhythm, and she never made you feel stupid for missing something or needing more time. But that wasn’t what had your skin buzzing, you weren’t thinking about the project. Not really.

What had your attention was Wanda.

She moved around the café with quiet grace, her apron snug around her waist, hair clipped back but a few strands escaping to frame her face. She hadn’t looked directly at you for a while, but you could feel her eyes on you, her presence heavy in the air.

Every time Carol leaned in a little too close, every time she gestured to the screen or shifted in her seat, you felt Wanda’s gaze flicker over to the two of you. You could sense the tension in the room, even without looking up from your work.

Your girlfriends hadn’t approved of the arrangement from the very beginning. You’d tried to be reasonable, explaining how it was strictly academic, that Carol was nothing more than a project partner. You reassured them, over and over, but it never truly landed, not with either of them.

Wanda’s eyes would darken every time Carol’s name passed your lips, her jaw set just a little tighter. Her touch would change, no longer casual or gentle, but possessive. A hand curling firmly around your waist, or fingers digging into the softness of your thigh like a silent warning. 

And Natasha? Natasha didn’t say much. She didn’t have to. The shift in her body was enough, the rigid line of her spine, the way her mouth pressed into a tight, unreadable line. You’d catch the flick of her gaze, sharp and calculating, as though she were already cataloguing the best way to make Carol disappear.

You weren’t naïve. You knew what it looked like when they were on edge. And with Carol, they weren’t just on edge, they were poised, barely leashed. Jealousy burned hot in both of them, but it manifested differently. Wanda clung to you like you might slip through her fingers. Natasha watched like a predator, calm and still, but lethal just beneath the surface.

They didn’t trust Carol, not because she had done anything wrong yet, but because they knew how easy you were to be taken. They knew how easy you were to corrupt. After all...they’d done it first. They knew the way you softened under attention, how you craved approval. They knew exactly what it looked like.

And they weren’t about to let anyone else try.

—--

The first night you’d gone to Carol’s to work on the project, they’d summoned you to their place the moment it ended; it didn't matter that it was late, or that you had an early class the next morning. There hadn’t been a choice, and you obeyed, of course, you always did. Because when they gave you an order, it wasn’t a suggestion. 

You’d barely stepped through the door before Natasha had you pinned against it, the sharp click of the lock still echoing when her hand curled around your throat.

“Get undressed,” she had commanded, her voice low and steady, like it was taking everything in her not to snarl. “Mommy and Daddy need to see if anything’s been taken from us.”

And they’d checked everything. Every inch of your skin, your scent, your breath, your neck, your breasts…your thighs. Wanda had traced the inside of your legs with her fingers, like she could feel if anyone had dared to touch you. Natasha had knelt before you, her gaze laser-focused on your pussy. She stared as if trying to figure out whether you were still truly hers, before leaning in to taste, just to be certain.

Some might have called it toxic. Obsessive. Overbearing. But you’d discussed the boundaries long ago. This was part of it. You weren’t afraid of their jealousy.

You needed it.

Before them, you had been quiet. Ordinary. Invisible, almost. But now, with them, you were something worth claiming. Protected by two beautiful women who saw the world as full of thieves trying to steal what was theirs. And what was theirs was you.

Three sessions at Carol’s were all it took before they’d reached their limit. Every time you were at her apartment, they were climbing the walls back home, restless, pacing, barely keeping it together until you walked through the door and they could get their hands on you. 

You remember that conversation clearly. You were lying in bed, your skin still flushed, marked, every inch of you thoroughly inspected, claimed all over again. Wanda had been the one to speak, her tone deceptively gentle as she tucked herself beside you, fingers dragging slowly over your hip.

You had two options: Natasha could pull strings, lean on her department contacts, and get you reassigned to a new group entirely. Or you could keep working with Carol. But only under Wanda’s roof, in her café, where her eyes could stay on you the entire time.

You’d chosen the café. And now, when you came home, there was no need for the checks. No demand to strip or let them inspect you. Wanda could see everything. Every shift of your body, every glance. She knew, without asking. She always knew.

—--

Your thighs pressed together under the table as you thought about them. About the possessiveness, the way they made you feel like you were something to be desired, something that belonged to them. 

Carol was still talking, but you were still only half-listening, lost in the anticipation. Eventually, Carol’s voice broke through your thoughts, her tone softer than before. “Hey, I was wondering…if you wanted to keep seeing each other, even though the project is done?”

You stiffened, but you tried to remain casual. There was no way your girlfriends would allow this. You gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Carol, I don’t think I can. But I’ll see you in Professor Romanoff’s lectures.”

Carol’s expression faltered, the corners of her mouth dipping into a subtle frown before she masked it with a casual, almost cocky smirk. “Why not?” she said, her voice dipping slightly, trying to sound playful. “We have chemistry, don’t we? We click, we laugh…Let me take you out. Just once.”

“I’m taken, you know that, Carol,” you said, keeping your voice steady, even as that familiar flicker of nervous energy crawled up your spine. And she did know, because Natasha and Wanda had made damn sure you’d told her. Had made it clear that you weren’t available. That you weren’t free to be taken.

Carol chuckled, but there was something more confident about her now, a playful lilt in her voice. “Oh, come on, baby. I bet I could treat you better. You haven’t even told me your girlfriend’s name. Can’t be that serious, can it?”

You wished you could’ve told her the truth, that the woman behind the counter was your girlfriend. That Wanda, along with Natasha, loved you in ways you’d never even known to dream about. 

That they touched you, ruined you, worshipped you, and made you feel things you didn’t think were possible. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tell Carol that you belonged to Wanda, because everyone knew Wanda was Natasha’s wife. And if you were with Wanda…then you were with Natasha too. And that was a line you could not admit to crossing. Not without consequences.

The only time you were allowed to blur those lines was when the three of you escaped the city, trips to quiet towns or distant coasts where no one knew your names, where eyes didn’t linger and gossip didn’t follow. 

Or on rare nights when they brought you into their private circle, introduced you to the few friends who didn’t flinch at blurred boundaries. Friends who didn’t care that you were sleeping with your professor, only that Natasha’s smile came easier with you beside her, and Wanda’s eyes softened whenever you curled up in her lap like you belonged there. 

You’d gone quiet for too long, lost in the swirl of your thoughts, still reeling from Carol’s boldness and the weight of Wanda’s gaze. The sharp crack of glass hitting tile jolted you back to the present. Wanda had dropped the coffee pot, the sound slicing through the café like a warning bell. 

You looked up, and the moment your eyes met hers, you knew it hadn’t been an accident. The tightness in her jaw, the deliberate stillness of her posture, this was a message. A command. You scrambled to your feet without thinking, moving to her side as quickly as you could, heart thudding, because you understood exactly what she wanted: your attention, your obedience.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll text you, Carol,” you said quickly, kneeling to help Wanda clean up, the tension in your chest growing tighter.

Carol, unsurprised by your quick retreat, nodded as she picked up her bag. “Think about my offer, darling,” she said, flashing you a small, almost knowing smile before she left.

—--

Wanda was eerily silent as the two of you cleaned up the broken coffee pot, but the sharpness of her breath was impossible to ignore. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, and it was clear she was fighting something. Some dark desire that had taken root inside her, a simmering need she was trying to control.

You glanced quickly around, relief washing over you when you saw the place was clear. No one to witness whatever was about to unfold. You moved to the door, flipping the sign to closed as if marking the boundary between the world outside and whatever was waiting for you inside.

When you returned to kneel beside Wanda, paper towels in hand, the glass was in the bin, but her eyes were still fixed on the spill of coffee. Every inch of her body was taut, coiled, like a tightly wound spring ready to snap.

You wiped up the mess, taking extra care to get every last drop, even though you knew she wasn’t paying attention to that. She was watching you, studying every movement, every shift in your posture. You hesitated for just a moment, then whispered, "Mommy?"

Your voice came out softer than you intended, trembling slightly, betraying the nervous excitement that rushed through your veins. 

You knew exactly what kind of mood she was in. This wasn’t the woman who caressed you to sleep or soothed you with gentle words. This was the side of her that demanded everything and took what was hers with a force you could never deny.

She didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, but you could see it, the tightening of her fist, the tension in her jaw. Wanda was struggling to hold herself together, not to give in to whatever force was swirling inside her. It was both terrifying and...thrilling.

"Mommy…I’m yours. All yours," you said, a little breathless, your words coming out almost like a plea. You needed her to hear you. To feel your devotion, your submission.

She finally looked up at you, and your breath caught in your throat. Her eyes were cold, unrecognisable. There was something in them that made your pulse spike, a jolt of fear curling low in your stomach. For the first time, you felt a rush of real fear, the kind that made your knees weak, and your breath shallow.

"Mommy, please…please," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a tremor in your words as your body reacted to the mix of fear and something else, the something inside you that wanted this, craved this. Loved this. 

Wanda’s voice broke the silence, low, smooth, and terrifyingly calm. "Get your things, little girl. We’re going home."

—

The drive back was consumed by an uncomfortable silence. You didn’t try to make conversation. Wanda’s presence in the driver’s seat seemed almost too quiet, but the energy she radiated spoke volumes.

Her hand said everything. It was firmly planted on your thigh, fingers gripping tight, the pressure almost unbearable. You swore you could feel her nails through the fabric of your jeans, a constant reminder of the simmering tension. 

The moment the car stopped and you stepped inside the house, the door barely clicking shut behind you, she was on you. Her body pressed into yours with a heat that knocked the breath from your lungs, pinning you against the door so firmly it rattled in its frame. 

Her lips found your neck immediately, and there was nothing soft about it. The first press of her mouth was hungry, almost desperate. She didn’t leave room for you to react, her lips closing around the sensitive skin of your throat, sucking hard, leaving a bruise in its wake. 

The sensation shot through your entire body, a mixture of heat and pleasure laced with a sharp twinge of pain that made you tremble.

Her hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, your waist, pulling you even closer. She was marking you, claiming you with each kiss, each bite. There was no hesitation, no gentleness, just raw possessiveness. 

She moved to the other side of your neck, the pace never slowing, her teeth grazing your skin, her lips locking onto every inch, every vulnerable spot she could find. You couldn’t escape it. You couldn’t even try.

She was determined to cover you in her marks. And she was succeeding.

Her hands slid up, cupping your face as she angled you just the way she wanted. You felt the sharp pull of her mouth once more, and this time it was even harder. She sucked at your neck until you moaned, the sound strangled as she left another mark, darker than the last. 

You couldn’t stop the shudder that wracked your body, couldn’t stop the way your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. 

She pulled away for a breath, her eyes narrowing as she studied you, searching for something that only she could see. “You didn’t defend me,” she whispered, her voice low, almost a growl. The words felt like a physical blow, and they twisted your stomach into knots. “She said she could treat you better…and you didn’t tell her otherwise.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of her words sink in. Before you could respond, Wanda’s hands were on your shirt, ripping it from your body with a kind of frantic desperation. You gasped, her actions both shocking and thrilling in their intensity, leaving you breathless in more ways than one. Her lips found your collarbone in an instant, her bites sharp and insistent.

Your heart raced, your thoughts scattered in a whirlwind. “I…I got lost in my thoughts,” you finally managed to stutter, your voice trembling.

She paused, just for a moment, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, and the tension between you crackled in the space that remained. “Oh yeah? What were you thinking about?” she asked, her voice rough and demanding, as though she needed you to confess something.

You swallowed, the fear and excitement mixing into something potent. “You, Mommy,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I was thinking about you.”

“Not her?” she growled, her lips brushing over your skin like she was tasting your response. “Your needy little pussy didn’t get wet at the thought of her taking you? Using you like the little whore you are?”

“No, Mommy,” you breathed, your voice shaky. “I was thinking about you and Daddy, how well you treat me, how good you make me feel.” You could feel the heat of her breath against your chest, her teeth scraping against your skin, each bite pulling you deeper into the tension that threatened to consume you both.

Her lips curled into a dark smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned in again, her mouth brushing against the raw, bruised skin. 

"You’re mine," she murmured, the words sending a thrill through you. "And I’ll remind you of that every chance I get."

You nodded quickly, your throat dry, the weight of Wanda’s gaze still heavy on you. She stepped back just enough to give you space to pass her, but the moment you moved, she was on you again. 

Her hand slid to the back of your neck, firm and unyielding, guiding you forward and up the stairs with a force that left no room for hesitation. 

When you finally reached the bedroom, she released her hold on your neck. You felt the absence immediately, the air growing colder without the heat of her touch. 

But before you could gather your thoughts, she spoke, her voice low, controlled, but still carrying that dark, possessive edge. “Strip."

The command was simple, but it sent a rush through you, a tight knot forming in your chest as you quickly obeyed.

You could feel her eyes on you, watching every movement as you undressed. And the second you were done, she spoke. "Get on the bed. Arms up, legs spread," she commanded, her voice dark and unwavering as she undressed too.

Once again, you complied, your body responding to her authority as if it had no choice.

She approached with measured steps, a quiet authority in every movement. Her hands were steady as they guided you into position on the bed. She took her time securing your limbs, each secured with practiced precision. 

Her fingers brushed over your skin afterward, double-checking each restraint, making sure you were held but never harmed. The care in her touch was unmistakable, control, yes, but wrapped in a kind of reverence.

Even in the grip of her possessive rage, Wanda was measured, deliberate. She ensured your safety with every touch, her care never faltering. 

Her eyes, which had burned with jealousy moments before, were now steady, focused, scanning you for any sign of discomfort. 

“Colour?” she asked, her voice quieter now, gentler but still laced with the simmering remnants of her earlier fury.

The weight of the scene clung to you, every nerve alight, every sense overwhelmed. But beneath it all was something deeper, trust, safety, the grounding memory of how careful she’d been. How her anger never once translated into recklessness. You loved this. All of it. Especially the way she’d handled you like something precious, even as she claimed you.

“Green, Mommy,” you said, clear and steady, no hesitation in your tone, only devotion.

Her lips curled into a small smile, dark and approving. “Good girl,” she whispered, the praise both soothing and possessive, before her eyes darkened again, the storm of her desires never far from the surface.

When she finally climbed over you, it wasn’t lust that drove her, it was obsession, a force bigger than her body, bigger than her fury, something relentless and consuming that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with possession. 

Her fingers skimmed your sides, reverent but firm, her touch dragging goosebumps in its wake, and her eyes locked on yours, dark and unblinking, daring you to look away. 

Something about the way she held herself above you, barely restrained, seething with intent, made it impossible to breathe, and yet you didn’t want to move. You wanted this. You needed this.

And then she began again, just like downstairs, her mouth returning to your skin with a single-minded purpose. Her lips pressed against your collarbone, soft at first, almost deceiving, and then her teeth followed. 

You gasped, your back arching slightly off the bed, your fingers twitching uselessly against the restraints. Her touch ignited something low in your belly and high in your chest all at once. 

Another mark, lower now, then another just beneath it. Wanda was painting a story across your skin, one bruise at a time, and every single one echoed with the same word: Mine . 

The heat of her mouth was matched only by the fire burning inside you. When her teeth grazed just beneath your ribs, sharper this time, a heavy moan escaped you before you could stop it.

It trembled out of your throat, like your body was pleading for more even as it trembled under the weight of what it had already been given. 

Between every bite that still throbbed and the sting of the one currently being delivered, you could feel your cunt begin to ache. Soft whimpers slipped from your lips, your body aching to move, to beg, to chase more. But you didn’t. 

This wasn’t about your pleasure, not right now. Wanda needed this. She needed to mark you, to own you, to feel you give yourself over without asking for anything in return. So you offered her your stillness, your obedience, your surrender.

You caught her gaze again, her pupils blown wide, her breathing uneven, and for a flickering second, something shifted in her. Not softness. Not even calm. But relief. A raw, aching flash of gratitude that you were still here, still hers, still letting her claim you like this.

She leaned in again, slower this time, her lips dragging beneath your navel, warm breath ghosting across your skin, shaky, uneven, trembling with the weight of what she was holding back. “Mine,” she whispered, hoarse and low, like the word itself was a vow and a warning wrapped in longing. “Only mine.”

It wasn’t just a claim, it was Wanda pleading with the universe, needing to believe it. Needing to feel that she hadn’t lost you, that even in the wild, blurred aftermath of everything, you were still hers. Her hands gripped tighter, possessive, grounding herself in the feel of your body beneath her.

But beneath the burn of her touch, the worship in her voice, a flicker of something deeper pulled at you. Natasha. You knew you belonged to her, too. And yet Wanda didn’t speak her name. She didn’t leave space for her. Her world had narrowed until you were the only thing in it, and Natasha had been pushed outside it entirely.

You wanted to say it. You wanted to remind her. But the weight of Wanda’s devotion crushed your resistance, the sheer need in her pulling the words out of you before you could stop them.

“Yes, Mommy,” you whispered, voice shaky but sure. “Only yours.” Even as guilt curled warm and quiet in your stomach.

When she finally pulled back just enough to take you in, her eyes swept over her work like a woman on the edge of something unspoken. There was nothing untouched now, your neck, your chest, your hips, your stomach, your thighs, even your arms. Every inch bore her claim. Every inch screamed hers .

“So fucking pretty like this, printsessa (princess), ” she said, her breath hot against your thigh, her lips barely brushing the freshest mark, her voice ragged, torn from somewhere deep inside her chest. “Mine. All mine.”

You nodded instantly, your eyes wide and glassy. You could feel the ache she’d left behind, all over you, and you needed her to know you welcomed it. “I’m yours.”

Her smile returned, that slow, dangerous curl of her mouth that promised she was far from finished. “Say it again,” she murmured, her voice low and breathless, barely even a command this time, it was breathless and hungry, like she needed it to live.

“I’m yours,” you repeated, stronger now, even as your breath hitched, even as you squirmed beneath her.

She tilted her head, assessing, and you knew it wasn’t enough. Not yet. “Louder,” she commanded. 

You swallowed, your throat dry and tight, but you forced your voice through the tremble in your chest. “I’m yours, Mommy,” you said, louder now, loud enough to fill the room, to echo off the walls, to blot out everything else. “Only yours. Always.”

She must’ve been at least partially satisfied, because after one final glance at the marks she’d scattered across your body, she shifted, rising off you, and the loss of her weight made you whine, high and broken, a sound pulled from somewhere deep. 

Your skin felt too bare without her, your chest too open. Everything in you was aching now, not just with need but with dependency, your senses lit up and stretched tight, every inch of you focused on her. 

She had pulled you so far down into a space where nothing existed but her voice, her hands, her mouth, and now, without them, you felt unmoored, trembling. You needed her. You needed her. 

Her eyes caught yours, and for a moment, just a flicker, her gaze softened, something quieter slipping through the crack in her control. “Just going to the closet, Little one,” she murmured, her voice dipping into that gentler tone she only used when you were already falling apart. And even though the warmth in her voice was slightly forced, it was enough. 

She disappeared into the closet without another word, leaving you alone in the thick, buzzing quiet, your breath shaky, your body still thrumming with heat. When she returned, it was with her strap, a deep scarlet colour, the sight of it enough to make your breath hitch, and your mouth water, the anticipation knotting low and tight in your stomach. 

Your thighs shifted instinctively, trying to press together, to find even the smallest flicker of relief, but the restraints didn’t allow it, and your frustration only made the ache worse. Wanda noticed. Of course she noticed. Her eyes dropped to the movement, her gaze catching the way you writhed and failed to hide it. 

The smirk that curled across her lips was sharp and knowing, and in an instant, the softness was gone again. The Wanda who looked at you now was all shadow and fire again, dark and certain. The Wanda who would ruin you, just to put you back together again, mark by mark, breath by breath.

She crawled back onto the bed, her eyes locked on yours, hungry and unyielding. She moved between your legs and settled into place without hesitation. “Just stay still and let me use you,” she murmured, her voice low and controlled, but with that same simmering edge that had been there all night, that quiet storm of rage and want and need barely restrained. 

And then she buried her strap inside you, hard. No warning, no warm-up with her fingers, not even any gentle licks against your folds to get you ready. Nothing, as if she couldn’t bear to wait another second. As if being inside you is what gave her air to breathe. 

The sound that ripped from your throat was sharp, raw, somewhere between a cry and a scream. The stretch hit you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, pain blooming fast and bright. 

For a heartbeat, it was too much. Your breath caught, your muscles tensed. But then, just as quickly as it came, the sharpness blurred, twisted into something hotter, something unbearable in an entirely different way. 

Wanda’s thrusts started slow, deliberate, and deep, her movements laced with restraint, but it was a fragile kind. 

But you could feel the tension winding tighter in her limbs, in the way her breath hitched, the way her jaw clenched. She was holding back, barely. She was trying to stay composed, to be gentle, or at least gentle enough, but it was written in every shaky inhale, every flicker of heat in her eyes that she was close to losing it, again. 

With every thrust, her desperation climbed higher, simmering just beneath her skin until it bled into everything she did. There were no soft praises, playful degradations, or the coaxing, honey-sweet lilt you’d come to expect; just raw, consuming need. 

Your body arched beneath her, straining hard against the restraints, every muscle taut, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping up. You were gasping now, breath hitching in sharp, uneven bursts that never seemed enough, stolen too quickly as she thrusted again, deeper, rougher, like she couldn’t help herself.

“Such a pretty little fuck toy for me. Mine, my pretty whore, Mine,” she whispered the words into the crook of your neck as she sank into you again, barely audible over the thundering of your heartbeat and the rush of sensation unravelling you from the inside out. It didn’t even feel like she was speaking to you, more like a reminder to herself.

You whimpered, your hips twitching helplessly, straining for more. You had heard the word ‘mine’ more today than ever, and it hit something raw inside you, something so deep it felt like your soul reached out for her in response. Yes. You were hers. You wanted to be hers.

And then suddenly her rhythm shifted, less controlled, more frantic, every thrust and motion sharpened by her unraveling restraint. Her mouth was everywhere again, biting, branding, her lips dragging across your neck, your chest, down your stomach, as if she couldn’t decide where to leave the next mark.

Her hands tightened at your hips, fingers digging in with a bruising kind of need, anchoring herself to you like she might fall apart without the contact. She was slipping, further, faster, into that frenzy of need, of fury, of desperate, aching possessiveness that she'd tried so hard to cage since attaching the stap to her hips. 

But now with her cock slamming in and out of you, your moans and whines gracing her ears, it surged forward, unfiltered, dragging her under. You could feel it in the way she clung to you, in the way her breath hitched and her nails pressed harder. She wasn’t trying to hold back anymore.

And then she was chanting. “Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” Over and over again, like it was the only word she remembered, the only thing that mattered. She was barely even present now, barely aware of the room, of anything but you. 

Your entire body shook beneath her, your lungs struggling to keep up with the broken sobs and gasps that kept clawing their way out of your throat. Her voice was low, hoarse, and relentless as it poured over you like a spell, dragging you deeper under with every breathless repetition.

And you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. You just let go, let yourself be hers. Be claimed. Be ruined.

—-

You had no idea how long it had been, but you were both so far gone you didn’t hear the door open, didn’t register the familiar creak of the floorboards or the call of “I’m home” echoing down the hall. Nothing existed beyond the frantic rhythm of Wanda’s body against yours, the relentless chant spilling from her mouth, her teeth grazing your skin, her hands branding you with every touch.

It wasn’t until you heard a sharp, animalistic growl, low and guttural, torn from Wanda’s throat, that your hazy focus shifted. Your eyes blinked sluggishly through the haze, breath catching, and when you managed to look past her, you saw Natasha standing in the doorway.

Her arms hung at her sides, her expression unreadable. But her eyes dragged over you like a blade. Every bruise, every mark Wanda had left behind, every shiver and tremble of your overstimulated body catalogued in a single glance. Her jaw clenched, the muscle ticking once, like she was biting back something sharp.

Wanda didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. She kept chanting under her breath, a broken, breathless litany of “mine, mine, mine” spilling from her lips like it was the only word left. She was lost in it, lost in you. Her hips were steady, relentless, as though Natasha’s presence didn’t even register.

But you felt it. The air went taut, almost brittle. Natasha’s silence carried weight, thick with jealousy, with hunger, with a cold, simmering possessiveness that was entirely her own. She stepped forward, slow and measured, her gaze locked on yours, and something inside you fluttered and clenched all at once. You didn’t know what she was going to do. Punish? Claim? Interrupt? Join?

And yet, even with her rage coiled under her skin, even with her dominance thrumming off her in waves, her first move was exactly what you needed.

She shifted to your side with quiet purpose, her presence grounding as she reached for one of the wrists Wanda had bound. Her fingers ghosted over the edge of the restraint with precision, double-checking its snugness. 

The tenderness of it made something flutter deep in your chest, a soft ache blooming in contrast to the intensity you’d been caught in. And then, without a word, she laced her fingers through yours, anchoring you with that simple, intimate gesture: A single squeeze.

Because no matter how tightly jealousy coiled in her gut, no matter how fiercely the hunger flickered in her eyes, Natasha’s instinct was always the same. 

Just like Wanda earlier, she put everything else aside, possession, dominance, the sharp edge of being left out, and she checked on you first. 

That was who they were. That was what it meant to belong to them. Your safety, your wellbeing, your headspace…All of it came before anything they might want for themselves. 

The squeeze said everything she needed to ask: Are you okay? Are you still with us? Do you feel safe?

She didn’t bother to use words. She knew you couldn’t answer like that, not now. Not with your mind fogged and your breath stuttering and your body twitching with every slam of Wanda’s hips. She could read it all, your eyes, your moans, the pitch of your breath. So you squeezed once in return. Green . 

She knew what that squeeze meant: Yes. I want this. I want her. I’m safe. And something else, less clear, buried beneath the rest. I want you too. I miss your hands. Your voice. 

Her body eased, just barely, the tension rolling back a single inch. But the hunger in her never dimmed. It sharpened instead, focused and precise as she looked back down at you, at the mess Wanda had made of you.

After a beat, Natasha’s focus finally shifted, her eyes dragging away from you and locking onto Wanda, taking in the sheer, unhinged desperation driving every thrust of the strap into your battered pussy. She saw it immediately, the way Wanda had spiralled, and Natasha knew it couldn’t go on like this. 

She moved without hesitation, stalking around the bed with quiet authority, climbing on behind Wanda, one hand fisting in her hair and yanking her back just enough to make her spine arch. “Yours, huh?” she bit out, voice low and edged with something dangerous. “Just yours?”

But Wanda didn’t falter. Didn’t even slow. She snarled the word like it was a war cry. “Mine.”

The scene throbbed with tension. Wanda was still pounding into you despite Natasha’s hold, her chant relentless. “What the hell happened?” Natasha asked, voice tight but controlled, like she was clinging to the last shred of calm.

You couldn’t speak, your mouth too slack, your body too gone, and Wanda didn’t answer either, not until Natasha gave another sharp tug, pulling harder, her tone slicing through the fog. “I said,” she growled, “what happened?”

Wanda whimpered, her breath catching like the question had torn through something raw. Her voice came in pieces, ragged and splintered, every word punctuated by a desperate thrust. “Carol. Tried. To. Take. What’s. Mine.”

Natasha’s gaze snapped back to you. It was cold and brimming with something territorial. You braced yourself, expecting her to descend with that same consuming intensity, to tear through Wanda’s marks and press her own into every inch of you until her claim was carved just as deep.

But she didn’t. The sharp edge dulled, tempered by understanding as her eyes swept over you and then her wife. 

Wanda wasn’t just fucking you. She was holding on for dear life. Natasha saw it clearly now, recognised it for what it was. Wanda had lost too many people, too many pieces of herself over the years. The fear of losing you had cracked her wide open.

Natasha could’ve taken what she wanted. Could’ve made her own claim in kind. But for now, instead, she exhaled, letting her dominant instinct soften just enough. You needed grounding, and Wanda needed pulling back. And Natasha would be the one to do it. Even if every part of her still ached to take.

She reached around, her hand locking firm around Wanda’s waist, stilling her movement with ease. “What’s ours,” she said evenly, the correction deliberate as her grip tightened. Wanda whined at the restraint, hips twitching against Natasha’s hold, and you whimpered too, aching at the loss of friction.

Wanda’s control began to splinter the moment Natasha kissed her, slow, grounding kisses against her cheek, tender in a way that cut through the haze like a balm. 

Her head lolled back against Natasha’s shoulder, her body still tense, but wavering now. “Do you need to safeword, Wands?” Natasha murmured against her skin, the calm, coaxing cadence unmistakable. “You seem... out of control, lyubov' (love). ”

Wanda shook her head, a near-frantic movement, “No! Need to cum, wanna cum!” Neither of you had cum yet despite how long it had gone on, despite the desperate grind and the bruising rhythm.

Hearing that desperate plea fall from Wanda’s lips while she held so much power over you felt dissonant, but it lit a fire in you all the same. She usually took what she wanted, came when she wanted, without a second thought, but now it was clear she was floundering. 

The scene had shaken her, and no matter how hard she had been trying, she couldn’t do it alone. That crack in her composure did something to you. It slipped under your skin, tangled in your chest, and before you could stop it, a moan fell from your lips, needy, involuntary, betraying just how much it affected you.

Natasha turned to you at the sound. “If she hasn’t,” she murmured, voice gentle now as her eyes found yours again, “then I’d wager you haven’t either, have you?” You shook your head, breath still coming in shallow bursts.

Something in her expression changed again the moment she realised you’d been holding back this entire time. The flicker of pride came first, swift and searing, lighting her eyes with approval. “Good girl,” she murmured, and the praise landed like a reward you didn’t know you’d been waiting for. 

But then her gaze gentled, the pride ebbing into something softer, sadder, closer to regret than triumph. Like she could see how much you’d given, how much you’d endured, and how long you’d waited. “I think you both need Daddy, hm?”

It wasn’t often that Wanda submitted to Natasha, twice, maybe three times since you’d all been together, and only ever when she wasn’t fully in control of her headspace, when she needed grounding but needed to continue. But Wanda nodded slowly, the fight draining out of her body as she leaned back into Natasha’s hold, surrendering.

Natasha’s hands moved, settling on Wanda’s hips, allowing her to move again but slowing her movements with firm, steady pressure. “That’s it,” she murmured low against Wanda’s ear, her voice soft but commanding. “She’s been so good for you, Detka (babe). Took everything you gave her, didn’t she?”

Wanda shuddered, still panting, still half-lost, but she nodded, her body giving into Natasha’s lead without resistance. 

Natasha kept her tone gentle, coaxing, like she was taming something raw and shaking. “How about you let her finish now, hm? Let her cum for us.”

Wanda didn’t speak, she didn’t need to. She just followed, pliant under Natasha’s hands, her breath catching as she thrust her hips in rhythm with the guidance she was given. And Natasha, her mouth brushing Wanda’s temple, praised her low and warm, “Good girl.”

Wanda whimpered at the praise, her body trembling and her mind still fogged with the frenzy that had consumed her, but Natasha’s presence gave her something to hold on to, something solid to ground herself against. 

You could feel the shift, the difference in how Wanda moved now. Her thrusts lost their wildness and turned into something more intimate, more focused, like she was being taught how to feel again.

And god, you felt it too. Every inch of it. Your breath stuttered, hips jerking involuntarily with each movement, your body already so close to the edge it ached. The pressure coiled tight in your core, a simmering burn that had been denied too long. Natasha’s eyes were on you, catching every flinch, every gasp, every tremble.

“She’s close,” Natasha murmured into Wanda’s hair, her voice rich with heat and reverence. “Can you feel that? I bet her cunt is so tight around your cock.” Wanda let out a broken moan and nodded, her pace faltering for a moment under the weight of Natasha’s words.

Natasha’s hand left Wanda’s and slid up to her throat, not choking, just holding, grounding, a firm reminder of presence, of who was in control.

Her other guided Wanda’s towards your clit, silently reminding her to provide the stimulation you needed, and it shattered you, the added touch stealing your breath as you cried out.

“That’s it,” she purred, low and commanding.. “Let us have it, Little one. Let go.”

And you did. It crashed into you like a wave, hard and fast and all-consuming. Your back arched, the restraints biting into your wrists as your body bowed under the force of your release. 

You screamed and whimpered, and they were both there, holding you through it, Wanda clinging to you like she could anchor herself to your pleasure, Natasha murmuring praise that bled into your skin like balm.

With Natasha’s guidance, Wanda stopped thrusting and began to grind, the base of the strap finally giving her the stimulation she needed. She came not long after you with a desperate sob, body trembling violently. Natasha’s voice, a blend of filthy praise and affection, slid into her ear, coaxing her through it. As Wanda’s body went limp, attempting to collapse against you, Natasha caught her effortlessly, aware of the soreness you’d likely feel.

Wanda whimpered at not being able to snuggle into you, and Natasha pressed a kiss to her temple. “She’s right here,” she murmured softly, before gently laying her down beside you. Wanda instinctively curled into you with a sigh, seeking the comfort of your warmth.

Natasha pressed another gentle kiss to the top of Wanda’s head before shifting her attention to you. Her movements were practiced, instinctive, and soft as she moved to unbuckle the restraint on your wrist.

The second the leather came loose, your arm dropped like dead weight, boneless and sore. Natasha caught it gently, guiding it to rest over Wanda’s back. You curled your fingers into her skin instinctively, craving the contact, the reassurance.

The other restraint came next, then your legs, Natasha working with slow, deliberate tenderness, her hands steady and reverent. Every time you winced, she soothed it with a murmur, a stroke over the inflamed area or a kiss.

Wanda wasn’t moving much now. She was pliant, completely surrendered, clinging to you with the last threads of adrenaline. Natasha knew that look, knew Wanda had dropped deep, and you weren’t far behind.

Her voice softened even further as she pulled the blanket up over both of you, tucking it around your bare limbs like armour. She leaned down, her hand brushing tenderly over your cheek, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “There’s our girl,” she whispered, her voice low and thick with pride. “You did so fucking well. Mommy really used you, huh?”

Your throat was too raw for words, your mind still floating in that hazy space between pleasure and exhaustion, but you nodded. 

Natasha kissed you once more before slipping away from the bed. You assumed she was going to get water, and you were right; she was back within seconds, moving with her usual calm efficiency. 

She guided your head gently, coaxing the glass to your lips until you took a few slow sips, then shifted to pry Wanda up just enough to do the same for her. Neither of you drank much, but it was enough to get you at least a bit hydrated.

Wanda exhaled, her breath hitching before she whispered, “Didn’t mean to lose it like that.” A pause, a stillness between you, broken only by her unsteady breathing. “Carol wanted you...said that...that she could...treat you better.”

Her voice cracked slightly, the words filled with vulnerability, and your chest tightened at the pain in them. 

Then her tone shifted, rising into a whine, hurt lacing her every syllable as she clung to you tighter. “She tried to take her from us, Nat,” Wanda whimpered, her eyes flicking to Natasha even as she clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her anchored.

Natasha’s jaw tensed, her eyes flicking up for a moment, but she said nothing. Instead, she settled in behind Wanda, wrapping herself around her wife like a shield. Usually, you were in the middle, the one cocooned in their arms, but it was clear Wanda needed that security now. 

Natasha began to stroke her hand gently over Wanda’s spine, her touch slow and comforting. She didn’t forget you either, though. Her other hand reached across the space to where your wrist was still faintly marked, fingers brushing the bruised skin in slow, soothing circles.

Time passed in a slow, syrupy kind of stillness, thick with warmth and the quiet hum of three heartbeats finding their way back into sync. Wanda lay curled against your side, her face pressed into your collarbone like she could disappear into you, her breath evening out in slow pulls that softened with each minute. 

You felt the shift in her, how the tension bled out of her muscles with every exhale, how her fingers that had clutched you with bruising desperation earlier now merely rested, featherlight and unmoving.

Natasha’s hand never stopped. She trailed her fingers lazily up and down your arm, over Wanda’s spine, keeping you both tethered to the present. 

Eventually, Wanda stirred. Not much, just a shift in how her legs tangled with yours, a blink that stretched long enough to signal she’d returned to herself. She looked up at you, her cheeks still pink, her hair tousled from earlier. But her eyes, they were clearer. Worry creeping back in.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice hushed. Her gaze scanned your face like she expected to find something broken.

You gave her a tired, lopsided smile. “Course I am. I don’t break that easily,” you said with a wink, even if your voice was still a bit scratchy from earlier. 

She looked relieved. Kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, a soft, fluttering press that made you giggle as her breath brushed against your skin. “Good,” she whispered against your mouth, and you could feel the last of her tension ebb as she rested her head against your shoulder again.

“Alright,” Natasha said eventually, propping herself up on one elbow and glancing down at you both, her voice light but edged with unmistakable command. “Time to soothe those marks, you must be sore, hm?”

You groaned immediately, flopping back onto the pillow. “Do we have to?” you whined, dragging out the syllables like a sulking child. “Can’t we just stay here? Forever?”

Wanda let out a sympathetic sound and buried her face back in your chest for a second. “She has a point…”

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You two are impossible. Yes, we have to. Wands, you went feral. She's covered in bruises and bites.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you rolled your eyes. “You make it sound like she mauled me.”

Natasha sat up straighter, grabbing the lotion bottle off the nightstand. “She did maul you. Look at this—” She tugged the sheet down just enough to expose your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. The marks were everywhere, hickeys darkening by the minute, deep, vivid bursts of colour in the shape of Wanda’s mouth. “You’re a goddamn work of art. Or a crime scene.”

Wanda peeked down at your skin and let out a low, sheepish laugh. “Oops.”

“‘Oops,’” Natasha repeated dryly, her tone somewhere between fond and chastising. She gave Wanda a light nudge with her shoulder. “You’re lucky she likes being ruined.”

“I love being ruined,” you chimed in helpfully, grinning as both their eyes snapped to you with matching looks of exasperated affection.

Wanda leaned down and nuzzled your jaw, her voice a little lower now, velvet-soft and sincere. “I do still feel bad. I got...swept up. Possessive. Jealous. Like I had to prove something. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said gently. “And you didn’t. I promise.”

Still, she dipped her fingers into the lotion and rubbed them together slowly to warm it, her movements suddenly careful. She started at your wrists, your poor, bruised wrists where the restraints had bitten deep, and touched you like she was handling something sacred. Her fingers glided over your skin in slow circles, whispering apologies into every motion. 

Natasha joined in a moment later, taking your other side. She pushed the sheets down further, exposing more of your bruised body to the soft lighting, and began to work the balm into your sore muscles. Their hands moved over you in tandem, smoothing across the worst of the bruises, ghosting over the places that still burned faintly from overstimulation.

And for a while, no one spoke. The only sounds were your soft sighs, the quiet slick of lotion on skin, the muted creak of the bed as they shifted around you.

Once they were done, Natasha glanced down at your neck and snorted. “There is no way you’re going to college looking like this,” she said with a laugh, dragging a fingertip lightly over a particularly brutal hickey under your jaw. “You look like you tried to join a vampire cult.”

You snorted softly, still squirming beneath their slow, soothing touches. “If Wanda were a vampire, I’d definitely let her bite me.”

You thought it was harmless. Wanda certainly looked pleased. Her eyes glinted, teeth flashing as she leaned close again, brushing her lips along your throat. "Careful," she breathed, her voice low and smooth, “I might take you up on that.”

A shiver ran through you at the sound, your breath hitching as her words sank in, stirring something deep inside. Your body responded without hesitation, already aching, already yearning for more despite the evening you’d already had. 

And just like that, Natasha froze, her eyes locking onto Wanda, as she once again threatened to claim. But now, as she saw the way you were reacting, the way you were craving more, Natasha’s restraint faltered. It was different from before. You were ready, and that knowledge twisted something deep inside her, making it harder to hold herself back.

“I better be allowed to bite too,” Natasha murmured, her voice low and simmering with tension. It wasn’t loud, but it had a sharp edge to it, a warning wrapped in something darker. “You’re lucky I’m not already. Wanda stole you, made you hers, and hers alone.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to deny it, but she was already moving. Her fingers left your skin only long enough to catch Wanda’s chin in a firm grip, tilting her face up, forcing her to meet her eyes.

“You ever forget that she is ours again,” Natasha said, quiet and razor-sharp, “you will regret it.”

Wanda swallowed hard, the flush on her cheeks deepening, her pupils dilating wide as she whimpered under Natasha’s hold. Her legs squeezed together as if that could do anything to stop the ache building between them. Her body instinctively allowed Natasha to take the lead again, as if it knew that was what Natasha needed. She nodded once, quickly. “Yes, Nat.” 

“Good girl,” Natasha praised, brushing her thumb across Wanda’s cheek with maddening softness. But she didn’t let go. “You don’t get to take her like that without me, ever.”

She finally released her chin and turned back to you, eyes darker now, warmer, but hungrier.

“And you,” she murmured, smoothing both palms down your sides, fingers slipping over your hips and between your legs, “you were very good letting Wanda use you, weren’t you? Letting her get drunk on jealousy and ruin your pretty little pussy without even thinking to let me join.”

You gasped as her fingers brushed over your slick again, slow and unhurried. You were soaked already. Every part of you felt raw and needy, but Natasha was in no rush.

“But you are ours,” she said, sliding two fingers through your folds, not yet pressing in, just letting you feel the threat of it, “Ours .”

Wanda let out a soft, broken noise, eyes fixed on where Natasha’s hand was between your legs. Her hand moved as she was about to reach for you, but Natasha caught the movement without even looking.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” she said, like it wasn’t up for debate. “You don’t get to help until I say so. You had your fun.”

Wanda whimpered, chest rising and falling fast, her cheeks glowing with shame and lust.

Natasha finally slipped a finger inside you, slow and shallow, barely enough to satisfy, but your back still arched up from the mattress. Her other hand splayed across your hip, holding you still.

“You’re so fucking wet,” she murmured with a smirk, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh. “You like this, don’t you? Being good for us. Letting her make a mess of you, and then letting me put you back together.”

Wanda’s breath caught as she watched, her hands fisting in the sheets beside her thighs. “Natasha—”

“Shh,” Natasha interrupted. “You don’t get to speak unless I tell you to either.”

You whimpered at the sound of Wanda’s submission, it added fuel to the fire burning through you. Natasha added a second finger, pressing deep this time, and you cried out, your whole body tensing around her.

“That’s it,” she cooed. “Such a good girl. Ours. Not hers. Never just hers.”

You nodded frantically, brain already fogging under the slow, relentless pace. “Yours, yours, yours. Daddy, please!”

Natasha smiled, pleased, eyes gleaming as she leaned in to kiss your jaw, your ear, her tongue darting out to taste the sweat there. 

Wanda’s hands were trembling as she watched, the heat between her thighs unbearable. She couldn’t stand the fact that she had to watch.

Each sob, wail, moan, and sigh that left your lips only deepened the ache in her chest, reminding her of what she had done, of how she had left Natasha out when she should have known better. 

It was the perfect punishment, but Wanda couldn’t help but try her luck again. “Please, Nat,” Wanda whispered, her voice thick with need and desperation. “Please let me—”

Natasha turned her head, eyes flashing. “No,” she said simply. “Not yet. You want her? You earn it. You wait.” 

And then she curled her fingers just right, again and again, dragging you higher with each pass, her thumb barely brushing your clit until you were trembling, too far gone to do anything but moan.

The room pulsed with the sound of your breathing, with your soft cries and the wet sound of her hand moving in and out of your cunt. Every stroke, every whispered word sent a rush of heat through you, the world narrowing to nothing but the feeling of her fingers inside you. 

Even as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, Natasha never let up. Her movements were unrelenting, rhythmic, a steady push and pull that kept you coming without giving you so much as a chance to truly catch your breath. 

You didn’t know how many times you’d screamed in release, each one blurred into the next, an unending rhythm that left you gasping, skin slick with sweat, your body trembling under her control.

Eventually her pace slowed, and your eyes fluttered open, the world around you a haze of soft light and warmth. You turned your head slightly, and your gaze found Wanda. Her eyes were wide, her breath equally as erratic. She was flushed and panting like she’d been the one writhing beneath Natasha’s hand.

“God, look at you,” Natasha murmured, eyes still on you, even as she addressed Wanda. “So fucking needy, you only had her an hour ago. Pathetic.”

Wanda whimpered as her hands twitched again, and this time, she couldn’t resist; she reached out, just enough to brush her fingertips against Natasha’s arm. “Please,” she begged again, her voice barely a whisper, but it was a plea nonetheless. 

“Fine, but only because I’m generous,” Natasha murmured as she kissed your temple, and then your cheek, her fingers never stopping. “I’m not cruel. I share.”

She tilted her head, her gaze soft yet commanding as she finally looked over at Wanda. “You want to taste her?” Natasha’s voice was low, deliberate, as if she already knew the answer.

Wanda's breath hitched at the words, her entire body tense with yearning. Her eyes flicked to Natasha, wide and pleading, before they dropped to you. 

Your skin was glistening with sweat, your chest rising and falling in the haze of pleasure still swirling through you. She nodded, the movement almost frantic, her voice trembling with need. “Yes, yes, please, Nat! I want to please!”

Natasha’s lips quirked into a small, wicked smile, a brief flicker of satisfaction passing across her face before she leaned down, her kiss slow and deep. It was a kiss that said she was still in control, even if she was letting Wanda in. She pulled away just enough to speak, “Then come here.”

Unlike her usual poised self, Wanda wasn’t graceful as she moved, urgency in her every motion. The moment she reached your legs, her gaze lifted, her eyes locking with Natasha's. 

Natasha moved her hand, slowly, so slowly from between your folds, her fingers glistening with your cum. “Open your mouth.”

Wanda obeyed. Natasha pressed two fingers past her lips, watching her take them in eagerly, greedily. 

“Good girl,” Natasha praised, eyes softening just a little. “Now you can touch her. You can thank her. And you can show her just how sorry you are.”

She shifted to one side, but not far, not giving up control, just…allowing space. Letting Wanda kneel between your legs, hands shaking as she lowered her head.

Wanda’s tongue slid over your folds and your clit gently before diving in fully, like a woman starved. It was as if the act of watching had only intensified her need, making it raw and undeniable despite the fact that she had already claimed you so thoroughly. 

“That’s it,” Natasha murmured, stroking your stomach, watching Wanda devour you. “She’s ours. Not yours. Not mine. Ours.”

Her hand slid up to cup your breast, squeezing gently, her thumb brushing over your nipple, squeezing and teasing in perfect time with Wanda’s mouth. 

Every touch sent waves through you, every whisper tangled around your spine. Natasha’s voice wrapped around you, her praise both tender and unrelenting, while Wanda’s lips and hands moved like a vow, her remorse bleeding into every lick and every suck as she drank you dry, bringing you closer and closer.

You couldn’t hold yourself together. The intimacy, the intensity, it was too much. You splintered under it, unravelled into the space between their bodies, between their worship and their claim. And this time, when you broke, it wasn’t just your body giving in. It was your heart, your trust, your submission. 

And through it all, Natasha's voice, low and reverent at your ear, became the centre of everything, grounding you even as you soared.

“That’s it, Little one,” she murmured, almost like a prayer. “That’s what you needed. That’s what we give you, together.”

[littlelamy]

the french-style café smelled like cinnamon and espresso, soft music playing overhead and the sound of milk steaming in the background. you were already buzzing, even before your drink—just from being with him. your oversized pink hoodie slipped off one shoulder, hair bouncing as you tugged him inside by the hand. rafe looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“why are we here again?” he muttered, squinting at the chalkboard menu. “you know i don’t drink this overpriced hipster shit.”

you gasped, clutching your chest. “rafe…you can’t say that here.”

he rolled his eyes. “what, like they’re gonna kick me out for calling a five-dollar cup of milk with cinnamon foam a scam?”

“it’s oat milk,” you said, giggling, bouncing on your heels. “and it’s not a scam if it makes me happy.”

he grumbled under his breath, but he followed you to the counter. you ordered first—iced lavender oat milk latte with sweet foam and pink syrup drizzle. the barista smiled like she knew you and she probably did. you came here almost every week. rafe stared at the menu in complete confusion.

“what’s the least stupid thing on this list?” he asked, deadpan.

you leaned in, whispering, “just get a cold brew, grumpy bear.”

he did. black, no cream, and no sugar. when you sat down by the window—little round table, two chairs, sunlight making your skin glow—he took one sip and made an obnoxious, disgusted face.

“this tastes like burnt sadness.”

you laughed, snorting a little as you stirred your drink with your straw. “you are such a drama queen. it’s coffee.”

“no, that is dessert in a cup,” he said, nodding at your pink-glazed concoction. “mine tastes like suffering.”

“try mine.”

“pass.”

“come onnnn,” you whined, holding your cup out to him with both hands. “just one sip.”

“i’m not drinking that..it’s got sparkles.”

“it does not have sparkles. it’s just the syrup. it’s pretty.”

“it’s pink.”

“so’s the inside of my pussy,” you said sweetly, blinking at him. “but you don’t seem to complain about that.”

his jaw clenched. he looked away, jaw ticking like he was holding in either a laugh or a groan. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“sooo you’re gonna try it?”

he sighed, grabbed the cup like it might bite him, and took the tiniest, most reluctant sip. his lips puckered. his brows drew together while you watched him like a hawk. “you love it, don't you?”

“i didn’t say that.” he says, with a reluctant smirk.

“you love it.” you giggle at him, smiling at him.

“i said it’s fine.”

“you said it tastes like sadness and now you’re going for a second sip.”

“accidental.”

“you’re full of shit.”

he took another sip, slower this time. lips lingering on the straw. “rafe.”

“what?”

“you like it.” you clasping your hands togther.

he shrugged. “it’s not the worst.”

you grinned, heart fluttering. “oh my god. are you…are you turning into a coffee girl?”

“absolutely not.”

“you’re gonna get your own next time.”

“i’d rather die.”

“you love the foam.”

“i don’t even know what foam is.” he sips your drink again for the third time.

you leaned across the table, your tits pressing together just enough to catch his eye, lips parted in a teasing smile. “you can admit it, baby. i won’t tell the guys.”

he stared at you. dead serious. “you breathe a word of this to barry and i swear to god—”

“what, you’ll make me buy two lattes next time?” you giggled.

he reached across the table, tugged your hand into his lap, and squeezed your fingers. “no..i’ll make you drink it off my cock so you never forget who introduced you to it.”

your mouth dropped open.“rafe!”

he just smirked, sipping your drink like it was his all along. you shook your head, heart racing, thighs clenching, and laughed so hard people turned to look. but you didn’t care..he’d tasted the pink and now he was hooked.

ᡴꪫ tags below

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[poweredbycoffee]

mornings with Ateez:

Hongjoong:

tends to wake up before you to get work done but will get back in the bed to cuddle you just before your alarm goes off so you wake up in his arms

will never admit it, not even to you, but being the little spoon is his favorite sleeping position

knows your breakfast delivery order by heart so he can surprise you with it

makes up songs to sing to entertain you while you’re both getting ready for the day because he says you inspire him

San:

you know it’s true love when he’s willing to lend you one of his plushies to cuddle

most likely to pout if you try to get out of bed before he’s ready to let you go

gives all of the kisses wherever he can reach to wake you up

will greet you with “hey beautiful” even if your hair is a mess and you woke up with bags under your eyes because he genuinely believes you still are

Seonghwa:

will wake up and finish at least sixty percent of the chores on your to do list before you’ve even opened one eye

brings you breakfast in bed for made up holidays such as the anniversary of your second and third dates

will never tell you how long you slept in if he knows you don’t have somewhere to be because he’d rather make sure you’re well rested

loves playing soft music in the background to start the day and can’t resist dancing you around your bedroom in your pajamas

Yunho:

sleeps in longer than you if he’s been up half the night gaming and keeps you in bed with one arm around you or his head on your chest

kisses you like you’re Sleeping Beauty to wake you up

if you’re too sleepy to walk to the kitchen for breakfast he’ll happily carry you there on his back, low key loves showing off that he can

can’t get enough of being the big spoon so he feels like he’s protecting you from bad dreams

Mingi:

feels bad that he can’t cook you breakfast as well as you can for him but will go to the nearest cafe at the crack of dawn to bring back coffee just the way you like it and your favorite pastry

has wound up giving you shirts of his that you borrowed to sleep in because he decides you look too cute in them for him to ask for them back

happiest when you use his chest or shoulder as a pillow

blushes when you check him out shirtless after he’s just woken up

Yeosang:

taught himself to use an absurdly expensive espresso machine to make you your morning coffee to bring you in bed, if you ask him about it he claims he wanted to know anyway

the couple that does their comprehensive skincare routine together stays together, never minds if you borrow his products or spray on one of his perfumes instead

loves small gestures of affection while you’re still asleep, petting your hair/holding your hand/kissing the top of your head

secretly enjoys how you get goosebumps when he whispers “good morning” in your ear with that deep voice of his

Jongho:

has glared at everything and everyone from garbage trucks to birds outside the window if they dare to disturb his morning cuddles with you

steals your pajama pants to wear if they have cute characters on them, especially bears

requires at least three fourths of his morning cup of coffee or tea before he talks, you both drink yours in comfortable silence on the couch

loves it when you have your head on his lap while he reads in bed

Wooyoung:

wakes up a little before you to watch you sleep with the goofiest lovesick smile on his face, thinks it’s cute when you hug your pillow in your sleep

certified blanket thief and you’re pretty sure he does it so you’ll cuddle him to stay warm in the winter

never ask him if he dreamed of you because there’s no way to tell if his answer will be cute or way too spicy for 7am

has walked around wearing only a towel around his waist after showering specifically to distract you from getting ready for work

[f1-mcmuffin]

Hiii can i request a fifth member au where lando takes her on a hotlap and its just so chaotic and funny since i can imagine reader being very scared yet full of adrenaline while landonis laughing at her screaming

Hot Seat

(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)

| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |

The McLaren media office was buzzing in that familiar off-season way — half chaos, half espresso. No race weekend panic, but enough pressure in the air to remind everyone that Formula 1 never really stopped.

Lando leaned back on the couch in a branded zip-up, sipping an oat milk latte that had gone cold an hour ago. He wasn’t really listening to the interview running in the background — some B-roll from the previous race ��� just tapping absentmindedly at his phone, scrolling and half-watching a pigeon outside the glass walls.

That was when Emma, head of McLaren’s digital content team, the only person who could get Lando to agree to TikTok ideas without bribery, slid into the seat next to him with the kind of mischievous smile that immediately put him on alert.

“No,” he said preemptively, eyes still on his phone.

Emma laughed. “You didn’t even hear the question.”

“I’ve known you for three years. I don’t need to.”

“Okay, but you’re going to like this one.”

He finally looked up. “Doubt it.”

Emma held up her tablet, flipping to a slide with a mock-up thumbnail for a YouTube video. Bright colors, big text, classic clickbait.

“Y/N L/N DOES A HOT LAP WITH LANDO NORRIS” 🔥 Kpop star Meets F1 Speed – Will She Survive? 🔥

Lando stared at it then looked at her. “You’re joking.”

Emma grinned. “She’s been in the paddock. The fans are obsessed with her. This would break the internet.”

“She hates attention.”

“She’s literally in BLACKPINK.”

“That’s different,” he muttered, setting his cup down. “Performing is one thing. Sitting next to me while I pretend I’m not trying to scare her to death in a fast car is another.”

Emma tapped the tablet. “It doesn’t have to be dramatic. We can shoot it clean, slow build, lots of soft moments. Let the fandom ship itself into oblivion. And honestly? You two just being you on camera would outperform any scripted segment we’ve done this year.”

Lando rubbed a hand down his face. “She’s gonna kill me if she sees that thumbnail.”

“So, she’ll say no?”

He paused. “I didn’t say that.”

Emma tilted her head. “Think she’d do it?”

Lando chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. Then shrugged.

“She might,” he said finally. Lando leaned back in his chair, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You’re serious about this?”

“As a heart attack. Or a missed braking point.”

He laughed quietly to himself, then ran a hand through his curls.

Lando didn’t answer immediately. He gave a little laugh under his breath instead. Not at her — at the idea. At how quickly his brain had already started filling in how she’d react. The shriek when he accelerated. The quiet I swear to God, if you crash this I’m haunting you she’d probably whisper through clenched teeth. The smug look he’d wear the whole time.

“I’ll ask her,” 

LATER THAT NIGHT – THEIR SHARED APARTMENT

That night, Monaco was quiet — that rare window where the city almost sighed into stillness. The windows were cracked open to let in the breeze, and the living room was bathed in the dim orange glow of the streetlamp outside.

She was home before him for once, sitting cross-legged on the couch with sheet music, her precious Macbook, and a half-eaten bowl of cereal at her side,  and “Pride and Prejudice” playing quietly on the TV.

Lando kicked off his shoes at the door, dropped his keys into the bowl by the door and padded into the living room, already grinning. She was on the couch, one leg tucked under her, in an oversized black crewneck that definitely wasn’t hers — probably another one that had mysteriously migrated from his side of the closet to hers.

“You’re late,” she called without looking, her voice lazy with contentment.

“Yeah,” he said,  “Blame Emma.”

She looked up from her laptop as he flopped onto the couch dramatically, resting his arm over the back like he was posing for a promo photo.

“Good day at the office?” she asked

“Productive,” he said. “Didn’t crash. Only got slightly roasted by Oscar during filming.”

“A successful Tuesday,” she teased.

She shifted slightly, making room for him to tuck himself against her side. He stole a spoonful of cereal, grimaced.

“Why is it warm?”

“Because you took forty-seven years to get home.”

He rested his chin on her shoulder, eyes flicking to the TV. “Did I miss Darcy being insufferable?”

“You are Darcy.”

“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She laughed, and he let it linger for a moment before clearing his throat — casual, too casual.

He grinned. “I have a question.”

“Mhm?”

“If McLaren asked you to do a hot lap with me, like for content or whatever... what would you say?”

She stopped whatever she was doing on her laptop then turned her head just enough to give him a suspicious look. “Are they actually asking or is this you doing the thing where you pretend it’s hypothetical when it’s not?”

Lando winced. “...Yes.”

“To which part?”

“Yes.”

She groaned, dropping her head back against the couch. “Lando.”

“They’re not pressuring or anything!” he added quickly. “It was just an idea. Emma thinks it would break the internet. She made a thumbnail. You looked terrified in it.”

“Oh, great,” she deadpanned. “A pre-visualized panic attack. Love that for myself.”

He turned more toward her, arm draping across her stomach, fingers brushing lightly at the hem of her sweatshirt. “I’d drive safe. Promise.”

“Your version of safe is ‘let me brake as late as physically possible and laugh while you scream.’”

He bit back a grin. “Only with people I like.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But I thought... I dunno. Could be fun. You and me. In the car. Just vibes.”

She exhaled, studying him for a second — that soft little furrow in his brow he always got when he was trying to play it cool but really cared.

“Just one lap,” she said finally.

Lando blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

He kissed her cheek immediately, grinning against her skin. “You’re gonna love it.”

“I’m going to vomit,” she corrected.

“Still content.”

“Lando.”

He kissed her again — this time on the temple — before leaning back and stealing another bite of warm cereal.

“Just think,” he said between chews. “You, me, high speeds, and Emma screaming in the media trailer because we went off-script.”

She smirked. “And if I survive, you’re doing a dance class with me.”

“yeah , yeah sure” he said mindlessly then it hit him. “Wait—what?”

“Too late,” she said sweetly. “Deal’s locked.”

THE NEXT DAY

The track was quiet when they arrived — not silent, but peaceful. The kind of early morning calm that came before engines roared and cameras clicked. A low breeze swept across the tarmac, the scent of burnt rubber still lingering from yesterday’s laps.

She stepped out of the passenger side of Lando’s lamborghini urus, her sneakers crunching against the gravel. She wore a cropped tee, baggy jeans, and sunglasses that covered most of her face. Her hair was settled on her shoulders, and she had that look, the “agreed to this but I might regret it” look.

Lando emerged from the driver’s side in black cargo pants and a hoodie with the McLaren logo on the sleeve. He was already grinning.

“Still time to back out,” he offered, tossing her a bottle of water.

She caught it, unscrewed the cap, and took a long sip. “And let you hold it over my head for the next three years? No chance.”

From the nearby pit wall, Emma and two other digital team staff watched from behind their cameras and phones, pretending to be casual but clearly vibrating with secondhand excitement.

“She doesn’t look scared,” one of them whispered.

“Because she hasn’t heard the engine yet,” the other muttered.

Lando turned to her and held out a helmet. “Ready?”

She looked at it like it was judging her. “Does it come with insurance?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

She took the helmet, slipping it on over her hair, letting it rest loosely on top while he fastened the chin strap for her. Lando pulled on his own and headed toward the McLaren GT car waiting near the edge of the track — low, sleek, orange. Sunlight skimmed across its surface like it knew it was going to be the main character today.

The inside of the McLaren smelled like burnt rubber, heat, and trouble.

She gripped the sides of the seat with both hands, helmet suddenly too tight, her heart already somewhere near her throat — and they hadn’t even moved yet.

Lando sat beside her in full smug mode, adjusting the wheel like this was just another Tuesday. He looked over at her, visor up, expression too calm.

“You good?”

“No,” she said instantly. “I am so far from good.”

He grinned like a menace. “Want me to play music?”

“I want you to not kill us.”

Lando pressed a button. The engine roared to life with a growl that rattled her spine.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, half-laughing, half-praying. “Is it too late to do content on gardening? Or knitting?” she quickly tried to reason

He revved it once — once — and she flinched so hard her helmet knocked the seat. 

“I hate you,” she whispered. “I genuinely hate you.”

“Strap in, baby,” Lando said, already shifting them into gear. “It’s Monza time.”

They took off so fast her scream wasn’t even a sound at first — just one long exhale of panic.

The first straight was smooth. Almost suspiciously so.

Lando wasn’t pushing it — just letting her settle in, the speed creeping up, tires singing slightly as they glided over the track.

She relaxed a fraction. “Okay. Okay, this is fine. I can do this. I—”

He downshifted and dove into the first tight corner.

“JESUS CHRIST!”

Her whole body lurched. She reached for the dashboard. Lando burst out laughing.

“Why would you do that?!”

“You said it was fine!”

“I LIED. I’M A LIAR. I—OH MY GOD. Lando, honey please”

It wasn’t even that Lando was reckless. He was terrifyingly good. Every turn was precise, every brake late enough to make her question every life decision she’d ever made. He was calm. In control.

Which somehow made it worse.

“YOU’RE SMILING,” she shouted.

“I always smile when I’m having fun.”

“You’re smiling like a serial killer.” she squealed 

Lando chuckled. “You’re doing great.”

“I’m not doing anything! I’M JUST SURVIVING!” she groaned, her voice getting higher with each word

He hit another corner — a tight one — and she screamed again, louder, with more emotion this time.

“LANDO CHARLES NORRIS,”

He lost it. His laughter echoed over the engine.

“You used my middle name!”

“That’s how you know I’m serious!”

Somewhere after the halfway mark, She stopped trying to process what was happening and just gave in to it — the velocity, the weightlessness through a sweeping curve, the stupid grin on Lando’s face.

“I think I’ve transcended,” she said loudly. “I’m outside my body. I’ve seen my ancestors.”

Lando shifted down again. The tires squealed.

“OH MY GOD I CAN FEEL MY EYEBALLS MOVING.”

“You wanted adrenaline, right?”

“Baby, I never said that!”

Every corner came faster than the last, and her reactions were a mix of swearing, shouting, and trying to stay upright in her seat as G-force pulled her sideways.

But what the cameras didn’t catch — or maybe they did — was the way her laughter never faded. How even while clinging to the seatbelt, she looked over at him like he was absolutely ridiculous and she loved him for it.

The final straight approached. Lando eased off — not much, but enough to let her breathe.

She was hysterical. Full laughing, full crying, nothing in between.

“I can’t believe I’m still alive,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re still licensed. I can’t believe I screamed your full name like your mom.”

“I’m never letting you forget that.”

“I will deny it”

The car rolled back into the paddock and slowed to a stop. She sat completely still for a moment, eyes squinted and mouth slightly agape,  Lando popped his helmet off, his hair completely flattened and wild at the same time. “So? Final thoughts?” he asked. She slowly turned her head to look at him dead in the eye.

“I want a fully paid trip somewhere i’ve never been, how bout that.”

He grinned, keeping that in mind.

“So… next lap?”

“I think I need therapy,” she said.

He grinned. “That bad?”

“I mean,” she started, and then burst out laughing. “That was insane. You’re insane. I can’t believe people pay you to do that.”

Emma walked over, still recording on her phone, trying not to laugh herself. “So, Y/n, would you do it again?”

She looked directly at the camera, deadpan.

“Only if I’m driving.”

Lando froze. “Wait—what?”

She shoved her helmet into his chest. “Better start praying.”

YOUTUBE VIDEO COMMENTS:

@/jisoofthegrid Lando Norris unlocking new levels of fear in her while laughing like a feral child… iconic couple behavior.

@/blinkbonfire “I want a fully paid trip somewhere i’ve never been, how bout that.” is such a Y/n line. This girl has main character energy even when she’s screaming at 200kph 😭💅

@/roses_are_revvingnot the fact that she was genuinely terrified and still looked stunning doing it??? She is a threat to us all

@/kpopf1brainrot Imagine going from choreographing world tours to clinging for dear life in a McLaren because your boyfriend has no chill 😭 she’s living a movie.

@/jenniesferraribabe Blink culture is watching her literally suffer in a sports car and still commenting “slay queen 💅”

@/chaengslap Okay but when she said “Okay. Okay, this is fine. I can do this.,” it gave 2019 comeback energy. We’ve been knowing she’s a survivor 💀💗

@/koreanracequeen No because Lando was LAUGHING while she’s seeing God and her ancestors at once??? This man is a menace to society and her cardiovascular system.

@/blinktoktoktok Also can we talk about how soft he looked at her after they stopped? Like yeah he just traumatized her but also he was in love. Ugh. Men like this don’t exist.

@/icecreamrevengekpop Somebody PLEASE put “LANDO CHARLES NORRIS” on a BLACKPINK tour tee or I’ll do it myself. Solo merch now. LandoY/n world domination.

@/bpworldarchive You can tell she trusts him so much, even while screaming. That’s not just adrenaline. That’s ride-or-die girlfriend energy. We stan a woman with nerves of titanium and a clown of a boyfriend 🫡💗

@/f1obsessedgirl Not her screaming “LANDO CHARLES NORRIS” like she’s his disappointed mother 😭😭😭 I’m crying.

@/tracksidewitch She didn’t just go for the middle name. She went for the soul. That’s a woman fighting for her life.

@/drsdramaqueen The way Lando was LAUGHING while she was having a spiritual experience in the passenger seat 😭💀

@/kimchiandcarbonfiber Her: screaming in fear Lando: “Haha she’s thriving.” Psychopath energy.

@/prettypitcrew Can we talk about how they were both fully in casual clothes, no race suits, no overproduction — just ✨vibes and terror✨

@/no_context_mclaren I love them so much, I can't put into words, WE NEED MORE LANDO AND Y/N CONTENT. Oh and oscar and lily too

@/hotlapsandhighheels I’ve never shipped something so violently. She’s unhinged in the passenger seat, and he’s laughing like a 12-year-old on a roller coaster. True love.

@/mclarensmutbrain (unwell) Not to be dramatic but if my future husband doesn’t drive like that while I scream his full government name, I don’t want it.

@/dancefloordrs She screamed like she saw the light, and then five seconds later she was laughing like she’d do it again. That’s ✨peak adrenaline junkie girlfriend✨ behavior.

@/charlesleclouts Can we get a Lando hot lap with Charles next so we can compare who screams more? Because she might have him beat 😭😭😭

@/softfory/nlando The way she said “LANDO CHARLES NORRIS” with her whole chest??? Give this woman her own Mclaren merch line.

@/helmetcamfan69 This video is on replay. WHY ARE THEY SO CUTE TOGETHER

@/tracksidegfenergy Honestly the most realistic relationship content I’ve ever seen. Full panic. Full love. She hated every second and trusted him anyway 🧡

TEXTS TO LANDO AFTER THE HOT LAP VIDEO DROPS

Carlos Sainz

Chilli con queso: bro BRO she said your full name like she was filing a police report 😭😭 Chilli con queso: I’ve never heard someone sound so betrayed in a hot lap video besides me of couse Soy Lago: She lived Chilli con queso: Barely 😭

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

George Russell 

Regina George: Is that the first time a woman’s screamed your name in fear or Lando no rizz: Blocked. Regina George: Just saying, the G-forces weren’t the only thing slapping her Lando no rizz: GEORGE. Regina George: ok ok I’m done 😭

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Daniel Ricciardo 

 KI KI KI  RAH RAH: Mate I just watched that hot lap video KI KI KI  RAH RAH: You are a MENACE KI KI KI  RAH RAH: “I want a fully paid trip somewhere I've never been, how ‘bout that.” has entered my daily vocabulary Little shit: You should’ve seen her before the lap. Dead silent. Like a woman preparing for battle. KI KI KI  RAH RAH: I would’ve cried. You’re braver than me.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Charles Leclerc 

Lord Percerval: Mon dieu Lord Percerval: She used your middle name?? Lord Percerval: I’m sending that audio to your future children Landino: Delete this number. Lord Percerval: Too late. It’s my new text tone.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Alex Albon 

Mr. round the outside: Why does she scream better than half the horror movies I’ve seen Last Lap Lando: Natural talent Mr. round the outside: Lily said she’s the new team radio queen Mr. round the outside: She’s got more iconic one-liners than me and Lily combined

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lewis Hamilton

Sir Lewis 🐐: Just saw the vid. She handled that better than most rookies 😄 Sir Lewis 🐐: Tell her she’s got guts. Real ones. Lando Norris: I will. She’s still recovering 💀 Sir Lewis 🐐: She’s a real one. Keep hold of that.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Oscar Piastri 

Oscar pastry: This video just came up on my feed Oscar pastry: You laughed the entire time while she was legit fighting for her life Just Lando: That’s how we bond Oscar pastry: Tell her I said respect. I’d never get in a car with you after that Just Lando: She’s still threatening me. All’s normal.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Max Verstappen 

franz hermann: Screaming “LANDO CHARLES NORRIS” franz hermann: 💀 franz hermann: She unlocked a new fear level bob: Bet you five laps you wouldn’t survive one with her driving franz hermann: Deal. franz hermann: Wait is she actually planning that bob: Wouldn’t you like to know 🤨

----------

DOUBLE POST. I had too much fun coming up with account names for the comments and text messages . Also I don’t know Landos middle name so I just made one up 😭

WAG chapter next....anyone??

Taglist: @verogonewild @freyathehuntress

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

On the Edge of Innocence

Corrupted!Wanda Maximoff x innocent!fem!reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon, power impalance, edge play, memory alteration, manipulation, gaslighting, Mommy kink, magic-induced immobilization, magic used like a drug

Authors notes: Sorry it's a little late everyone!

The atmosphere between you and Wanda had been easygoing from the start. After Natasha introduced you to her at the coffee shop, you felt an instant connection, unaware of the storm brewing beneath Wanda’s calm surface.

She found you refreshing—a break from the usual chaos that surrounded her. You had a certain innocence that drew her in, a softness that made her feel powerful in ways she couldn’t resist. It didn’t take long for Wanda to learn just how easy it was to make you blush, to see that flash of bashfulness in your gaze when she gave a playful tease or brushed her hand against yours.

But that innocence awakened something else in her. Darker desires stirred as she realized how little you understood the effect you had on her. And she had power. Her magic allowed her to erase the memories of those moments where she’d let that hunger slip, when she’d let her hands wander or leaned close enough to breathe in the sweetness of your innocence.

Each time, Wanda would reset you, erasing the moments when her magic had coaxed you to the edge, leaving only traces of warmth and longing you didn’t understand. You thought it was natural—the flutter of nerves whenever she looked at you too long, the way her fingers lingered when she brushed them along your arm. And, each time, she’d bring you right back to the start.

Only Wanda knew how many times she’d used her powers to draw you in, to unravel that innocence bit by bit, savoring every innocent smile and lingering gaze. And she’d keep it that way—your best friend, the only one you really trusted, the one who held every secret, every forgotten moment, in the palm of her hand.

It was a quiet evening, with only the sound of the espresso machine humming in the background. You were about to close up when Wanda walked in, her eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist—part nervousness, part thrill. She smiled as she stepped closer, her presence warm and intoxicating.

"Hey, thought I'd keep you company while you close up," she said smoothly, her voice low, a little too soft. You nodded, always grateful for her company, though the way she looked at you sometimes made you shy.

As you went about cleaning, you could feel her eyes on you, watching closely, like she was studying every move. You turned to face her, your cheeks pinking as you noticed how close she was.

"Wanda… do you, um, want some coffee?" you offered, trying to steady yourself.

Her lips curled into a knowing smile, and she shook her head. "Not coffee," she murmured, her hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I was thinking something a bit sweeter." Her fingers trailed slowly down the side of your face, grazing your jaw, making your breath hitch.

There it was again—that feeling, warm and heady, making you forget the world outside of Wanda’s gaze. You wanted to pull away, the intensity overwhelming, yet you couldn’t move, held by the softness of her touch and the way her voice wove around you.

“You’re so cute when you’re shy,” she teased, her fingers now tracing lightly over your collarbone. “All that blushing… like you’ve never been touched before.”

Her words sent a flush through you, and you dropped your gaze, feeling both flattered and utterly vulnerable. You never understood why her words hit so deeply, why they made you feel both embarrassed and needy in a way you’d never experienced before.

Unseen to you, Wanda's eyes glowed faintly as she reached into your mind, blurring your memories, pushing a wave of calm over you to cloud any hesitations. The moment she was ready, she murmured, "You can trust me, right?"

You nodded, unable to resist the soft spell of her voice. "Of course, Wanda."

She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your skin as her fingers grazed along your waist, her magic keeping you still. Each touch was electric, sending a shiver through you, but her hold kept your thoughts fuzzy, soft. Her mouth was so close to yours, just barely hovering over your lips, leaving you gasping for air and yet unable to move.

“Just let go for me,” she whispered, and her magic pulsed in time with her words, melting away any remnants of resistance. She guided you, leaning you back against the counter as her hands settled firmly on your hips, her eyes dark with desire.

For a fleeting moment, you felt something shift, something that told you this was more than it seemed, that there was a different intent behind Wanda’s warmth. But before the thought could form fully, Wanda’s magic washed over you again, taking away your doubts and leaving only her touch, her scent, and her quiet commands.

A wave of her hand and you look down when you feel something hit your thigh. A red strap with her magic swirling around it. 

“W-Wands…I–” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Shhhh just be Mommy's good girl like always and take it.” She says and you don't have a chance to respond as your words turn into choked moans. She's pushed herself fully inside of you and started pistoning her hips. 

“Fuck Y/N you're always so tight for me. You always feel so fucking good.” Wanda growls by your ear as you cling to her moaning. 

You don't know what she's talking about when she says ‘always’. This is your first time. Maybe she's fantasized about this? Yeah that has to be it. 

You feel yourself building up fast, you've never experienced pleasure like this, but just as you're teetering on the edge she stops and pulls out. A whine escapes your lips as you try to pull her back to you. 

“Oh no moya dorogaya. You aren't allowed to cum just yet. Mommy is going to savor you like she always does. We aren't over until I say we are and when I'm finally finished you won't remember a thing.” Wanda whispers by your ear, sending a chill through you. 

Tomorrow, like she'd said, you’d remember none of this—the press of her body, the whispered promises, the way her hands had claimed you. You’d remember only the warmth you felt, the lingering shyness, and how, in Wanda’s presence, you always felt so safe, so completely hers.

[foxybrownsugababe]

𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢����𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Ai Michael B. Jordon x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - in which a woman receives a mysterious crate that changes everything she thought she knew about solitude, control, and connection.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild language, slow burn, emotional vulnerability, light sci-fi themes, let me know if I missed anything! Sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes!! Go easy one me <3

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I had the idea, and I thought “Why the hell not?” And here we are….

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5,637+

There was no room for weakness in Nadine Nelson’s life.

Not in her closet, where the hems of her Italian suits and Asian silks hung like armor. Not in her penthouse apartment in the heart of Manhattan, with its clean marble surfaces and city skyline views. And definitely not in the courtroom, where a well-timed objection could make or break a multimillion-dollar case.

Nadine was steel, wrapped in silk.

Her alarm rang at 5:45 AM, a single chime before she cut it off and sat up. Not a single grin or anything, just a long cat stretch before rolling over and letting her feet hit the floor. And already, her mind was racing.

Deposition at 10. Client call at 1. Lunch with the DA’s assistant—, no I’m skipping that. Trial prep at 4. Court by Thursday.

She moved like a machine all while thinking. First her perfectly manicured feet slipped into her slippers before she was up and tossing her arms into her deep blue silk robe. Then she was turning on the bathroom light, standing in front of the mirror before the sound of her electric toothbrush humming filled the space. Once she put into the sink, cold water hit her face, a nice cleaned scrub applied to her skin with some expensive soap before multiple serums and creams soothed her epidermis. Then she was down the hall and into the kitchen, her domain of silence.

She barely blinked as she moved around, effortlessly pulling together an authentic espresso. Double shot, four sugars, two creamers. She sipped out of the small cup that she placed on a saucer as she made her way to the living room, clinking on the large television with a simple tap to the panel near the light switch, as well as opening the curtains to the floor to ceiling windows of the space.

It was the news on low volume, something she played in the background as she sat on the couch and began the first part of her work day, which was checking notifications. Stock tickers scrolling. Loads of emails, and real mail. Even a text from her assistant.

Jane: Morning. Confirmed meeting with Sloane. Added an extra hour for court prep. I had to push your massage again. Sorry.

Nadine didn’t even flinch. Self-care was for people with the luxury of losing. She had no such privilege. As she continued to check and sort through her things, she came across a letter, which was rare nowadays in their advanced society. But she didn’t sit to read it for long once she saw it was some sort of survey with a government seal.

C.R.I.S.

(Cognitive Robotics & Intelligence Systems)

Confidential Prototype Program | Not for Public Disclosure

To Ms. Nadine Nelson,

Congratulations.

You are one of only twenty individuals selected to participate in the private beta phase of AURA—the world’s most advanced artificial intelli-

With a sigh, she tossed the paper into the rest of the junk mails she’d gathered, not even giving it a second thought.

By 6:30AM, she was showered and dressed in navy Balmain with matching slacks, gold cufflinks fastened, and her Louboutin heels clicked against the floors like a metronome. Every detail was precise. Her eyeliner was sharp, her decently pixie bob cut was curled and bouncy, not a strand out of place.

That was the version of herself she showed the world.

The version no one saw was the one who stared at herself in any reflection for a moment too long, trying to spot any imperfections and critiquing the ones she had. The one who pressed the ends of her hand to her temple when things became too much, roughly rubbing against her skin to not panic. The one who felt the beginnings of a headache every morning before she even stepped outside.

But there was no time for that.

Today was a big day. So big that she nearly ran over one of her co-workers in the complex’s private parking lot. The woman leaned out of the window, looking at her co-worker, Simon, was entrapped within his phone, coffee in other hand.

“Simon.” She clipped as she exited the car, standing beside the driver’s side with her bag slung over her arm and her eyes narrowed like the barrel of a gun.

Her junior partner, Simon Gellar, flinched, nearly spilling his coffee. He was leaned against the concrete column next to his vehicle, relaxed as if he had no multi-million-dollar contracts waiting for him upstairs.

“Nadine! Goodmorning.” He blurted, straightening up, phone still in hand. His thin wire glasses were crooked from how fast he’d jerked up.

She leveled a gaze at him. “You’re in my line of motion. Next to my parking spot. Were you planning to get hit by my car?” She asked, and though she was being sarcastic, her stoic face didn’t lean into that notion.

Simone scrambled back, laughing awkwardly. “Sorry, sorry. I was—uh—watching something.”

“I gathered.” She pushed past him, heels echoing. Still, curiosity peeked through her otherwise impenetrable wall of ice. She pivoted at the elevator. “What was so important it made you forget spatial awareness?”

Simon followed her with a sheepish grin, lifting his phone to show a paused video. “This new AI prototype. It’s a for a government project. They’re calling it a fully integrated domestic interface. Basically a robot with a personality. They’re doing a limited civilian roll-out.” He explained.

Nadine gave a single, unimpressed glance at the screen. It was paused on a thumbnail image—what looked like a man stepping out of a delivery crate, bare-chested, perfect skin, electric-blue eyes, and a jawline engineered with an questionable precision.

“They sent you a stripper?” She deadpanned.

Simon choked. “We-well, no! Th-this isn’t mine, this is some guy online. A-and he’s, uh, he’s supposed to be adaptable. Learns your habits, routines, even preferences. The AI body is designed to assist with home tasks and companionship. There’s an application online—”

“Companionship?” Nadine asked, one brow arching as they stepped into the elevator.

“Not like that. I mean—maybe like that.” He said, squinting. “But—anyway, apparently they already started selecting people to house the prototypes.” He sipped his coffee, missing the twitch of Nadine’s jaw. “Random civilian testing. They’re sending out offers from low to high-income environments.” He continued.

The elevator dinged. Nadine stepped out before the doors fully opened.

“Mm, sounds like a weird distraction. Who has time for pet projects from a government that doesn’t care about them. Let me know when they build one that can argue in court and bill clients.” She deadpanned before the elevator dinged and she stepped off, stuttering down the hall to her office.

“Will do.” Simon called after her, blushing as he pushed up his glasses and watched as the woman walked away from him.

✦

Nadine’s office sat at the top floor of the firm—an expansive corner with floor-to-ceiling windows, brushed gold fixtures, and enough clean lines to make any minimalist cry from joy. But it wasn’t decoration that mattered, not to her at least. It was power. Clients walked in and knew exactly who was in charge and who was a leader.

She dumped her bag on the chair and was halfway through her espresso number two when the day officially launched.

By 7:15 AM, she was pacing through an emergency strategy meeting regarding an international corporate dispute. She cut through the legalese with surgical precision, offering airtight solutions and eviscerating anyone who hesitated.

By 9:00, she was on a three-way call with the CEO of a pharmaceutical giant and their scandal-scrambling PR team, coaching them through deposition answers while reading through a second case file on her desk.

By 10:00, she was downstairs in one of the firm’s conference rooms, dressed in a power stance that had the opposing counsel checking their notes twice before daring to even speak. She flipped through paper evidence like chapters of a book she’d already read, correcting a junior associate mid-sentence with nothing but a hard stare.

Every moment, every move, every gesture, was precise. Intention was behind it all.

There were no lunch breaks for her, only a small snacks here and there, or of like the food version of a power nap. And even then, she canceled today’s one-on-one with the DA’s assistant five minutes before she was supposed to show. Nadine opted to pace the rooftop patio instead, shoes clicking against stone as she answered emails, reviewed evidence, and toggled between two back-to-back client emergencies.

Her assistant, Jane, appeared like a ghost, silent as ever behind her at 2:35 PM. “You’re behind by twenty minutes.” She said softly, placing a fresh folder on the edge of the table. “And you haven’t eaten.”

“I’ll eat…later.” Nadine replied, flipping open the folder.

Jane hesitated. “Should I reschedule your chiropractor again?”

“Does he do brain surgery now? If not, no.”

✦

The rest of the day continued in a blur of depositions, and back-door negotiations. She squeezed in a quick stop at the firm’s media floor to prepare for an interview with New York Legal Elite next week—her sixth cover in two years.

By the time she returned to her office at 6:47 PM, her makeup was still flawless. But her shoulders had a weight she didn’t let show and her temples ached with the pressure of having to always be better. A pressure she put on herself everyday.

She sat at her desk, the city lights beginning to glow outside her window, and pressed her fingers to her forehead.

Three seconds. Just three seconds of quiet.

But then her phone buzzed.

BiBi: On our way up. The twins are bringing “surprises.” Brace yourself.

Nadine closed her eyes for one heartbeat before standing.

Her apartment was ten minutes away. She could beat them there, she thought. Maybe.

She did not beat them here. Inside, chaos was already blooming. Her penthouse was already lit up when she stepped inside at 7:15PM. She barely had time to set her bag down before she heard the commotion. Marley was dancing on the rug in her socks, while Micah had discovered the fridge’s smart screen and was trying to play Mario Kart through it.

“NADIIIIINE!” The two high-pitched voices screamed in unison. The twins came barreling toward her, curly hair flailing behind them like capes. They launched into her legs with the force of tiny meteors.

“Oof.” Nadine said, catching her balance. “Are you two ever not moving at Mach 10?”

“Nope!” Markey grinned. “We made cookies!”

“With Aunt Bianca’s help.” Micah added with a proud nod.

Bianca appeared behind them, holding a wine bottle and looking way too comfortable. “And I brought provisions. You look like you’ve had one of those weeks.” She said with a small pout on her lips.

Nadine raised a brow, looking over at the older woman. “I have those every week.”

“Exactly my point.”

“I missed the Nelson Towers!” Micah said, throwing herself dramatically onto Nadine’s ivory couch.

Nadine gave her a small smile, sliding off her heels. “Your mom should’ve brought you to court last week. You would’ve seen me destroy a man three times my size.”

“Did you throw a chair at him?” Marley asked.

“No, I used the law.”

“That’s boring.”

“No, my friends, that’s winning.” She grinned. As she moved around her home, making her way into the kitchen. Bianca settled onto a stool at the kitchen island, watching her sister silently. After a beat, she asked, “What time did you go to bed last night” she questioned, the sudden ask causing Nadine to scrunch her face as she looked over at her. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Bianca spoke again. “When was the last time you slept through the night?”

Nadine simply sighed as she turned her back and opened the fridge. “I sleep.”

“That’s not what I asked. I said through the night, not on your files. What time?”

Nadine pulled out a green juice and a yogurt, even though her stomach was already tight with stress. “B, I appreciate the visit. But I don’t need a wellness check. I’m at the top of my game, so I would say I’m doing pretty fine.” Nadine said with a small smile.

This only caused Bianca to give her a look. “You’re at the top of your ulcer.”

Nadine’s sarcastic grin dropped as her jaw flexed, nostril flaring as she glared at her sister.

Bianca continued, gently now. “Nay, you’re doing amazing. But you’ve been in trial mode for two straight years. You don’t date. You barely see sunlight. You don’t even blink unless it’s part of a strategy or some shit.”

Nadine stayed quiet, her spoon tapping the edge of the yogurt cup.

“You don’t have to prove anything anymore.” Bianca added.

And that struck something. Not that Nadine showed it.

“It’s not about proving.” She finally said. “It’s about maintaining. You fight your way up from nothing, and you learn fast—falling isn’t dramatic. It’s silent and quick. It’s one missed call, one lost case. One person thinking you’ve lost your edge.”

Bianca didn’t press further. Instead, she let out a sigh before she called out to her children. “Alright girls, thirty minutes, then we’re heading out.”

The twins groaned but obeyed, bouncing off to the guest room.

Bianca reached for Nadine’s tablet to put on a cartoon on the television, or something to entertain them while she packed snacks.

What she didn’t notice was Micah and Marley sneaking back in and whispering behind the kitchen counter. They had a letter in their hands, a piece of paper they found tossed haphazardly in the living room. And once they read it, the twins were all on board.

“There it is!” Marley whispered.

“I wonder why she didn’t answer. Robots are so cool.” Micah questioned, rereading the page over and over again in excitement. “Maybe she didn’t want one.”

“That’s dumb.” Markey sighed before pulling out her purple glitter pen from her back pocket. “Should I do it?” She questioned, looking over at her twin. There was a moment of silence that passed between them, staring into the other’s eyes before looking back down at the paper.

“Do it.” They said at the same time.

With sticky fingers and wild curiosity, they marked the “Accept Housing Unit” checkbox on the government letter Nadine had flagged but never opened. Marley then folded it back up before move to place it into the mail slot next to the front door, hearing the suction sound as the letter was whisked away back to the owner.

A pop-up confirmed the delivery on the screen next Mail Drop, causing the to high-five before they scurried off. “Okay, now we have to fill this out.” Micah said, pulling the retractable delivery screen closer as the screen loaded a soft blue logo. AURA | Adaptive User Response Assistant. Marley was already typing on the screen like she worked at NASA. “We so can’t tell mom about this.” Micah mumbled nervously.

“No one’s telling Mom.” Marley muttered.

“Okay, well, if Auntie Nadine gets mad, I’m blaming you,” Micah said, peering at the glowing tablet in his sister’s lap. Marley let out a sigh, rolling her eyes at her brother. “She’s not gonna get mad,” Markey tressed with a whisper. “She’s gonna love it. You saw the commercial—this thing can do laundry, make dinner, answer emails. It’s like if Iron Man was a butler.”

“No, it’s like if Pennyworth was a robot.” Micah added, eyeing the girl next to him. “That was a really bad…analogy? Have you ever even read Ironman?” The boy judged.

“Shut up.” Marley deadpanned. “We’re making Auntie Nadine’s house ten times cooler. You think she’s gonna notice another package with all the stuff she orders?”

“She will if it walks and talks.”Micah said, grinning. “Now hurry. I think this is the setup survey and anyone can come checking up on his at any minute.”

The screen adjusted to a smooth, futuristic interface.

AURA Configuration Survey. Optional. But, if you want to make the experience unforgettable…

“Unforgettable.” Marley repeated with a smirk. “Let’s go.”

Private Configuration Survey – AURA Unit #007

Answer honestly to ensure optimal user experience.(Note: Once submitted, preferences are locked in for bonding phase.)

1. What kind of support will the user benefit from most? (Select all that apply):

[ ] Physical assistance (lifting, running, protection). [ ] Task management (emails, errands, organization). [x] Emotional balance (stress de-escalation, energy reading). [x] Conversational engagement (company, reminders, reflection)

“Definitely that one,” Marley said, pointing. “She talks to herself too much.”

“I don’t think she notices.”

2. What is the user’s current lifestyle?

[ ] Highly active, social, fast-pace. [x] Independent, professional, busy. [ ] Creative, exploratory, experimental. [ ] Relaxed, home-oriented

3. How should AURA respond under pressure?

[ ] Assertive and directive. [x] Calm and grounded. [ ] Humorous and light [ ] Silent until prompted

4. What kind of presence should AURA have in the home?

[ ] Subtle but attentive. [x] Always on-hand. [ ] In the background unless called. [ ] Commanding and structured

5. How emotionally intuitive should AURA be

[ ] Not at all—task-focused only. [ ] Moderately—pick up on moods, offer support. [x] Highly—understand shifts in tone, body language, even silences

“Okay, she’s gonna love that.”Marley said with a grin. “Remember when she cried at the end of Paddington 2?”

“Well, so did I….”

6. The user prefers companions who are…

[x] Thoughtful and calm. [ ] Straightforward and direct. [ ] Reserved and quiet. [ ] High energy and expressive

7. Ideal communication style?

[ ] Formal and efficient. [x] Warm and intuitive. [ ] Light and witty. [ ] Minimal

8. Would the user appreciate personal attention to detail? (e.g. remembering birthdays, moods, routines):

[x] Yes. [ ] No. [ ] Only when relevant

9. AURA should interact like…

[ ] A professional assistant. [x] A loyal companion. [ ] A discreet observer. [ ] A supportive coach

Micah tilted his head. “What does ‘loyal companion’ mean?”

Marley shrugged. “I think it just means cool sidekick energy. Like Watson or Chewbacca.”

“Nice.”

10. Anything else we should know about the user? (Optional):

Marley hummed in thought for a moment before she began typing quickly. “She drinks coffee every morning at 6:45, she falls asleep with documentaries on, animal or history, and she forgets to eat when she’s on high emotions. Anger, stress, sadness. She likes it when people notice little things but gets weird when you say nice stuff too directly. She’s kind of secretly lonely but she won’t admit it. Oh, and she likes jazz but not the weird kind with screechy horns.”

Micah blinked. “Whoa. That’s kinda deep. You really know your stuff.”

“I pay attention.” The girl said. Marley then hit SUBMIT with a grin.

The screen flashed. Profile Logged. Preparing AURA for transport. Estimated arrival: 2-3 business days.

The twins then high-fived. “She’s gonna freak out.” Micah whispered.

“In a good way.”Marley added. “Hopefully.”

✦

It was now the next day, and if you couldn’t tell by now, Nadine Nelson was not one to wake up late.

That was the first rule of her universe. The first part to her routine. Her alarm chimed at precisely 5:45 AM, every morning without fail, a single soft note, like the chip of a bird, before she silenced it, sat up, and began the orchestration that was her life. Her body and mind moved like synchronized gears in a Swiss watch—sleek, efficient, and expensive.

So when a loud, jarring knock knock knock banged against her front door at 6:15 AM, it was not just an interruption.

It was an affront.

Her eyes snapped open, head jerking toward the illuminated time panel beside her bedroom light switch. 6:15? Her jaw clenched. She was already behind schedule.

Muttering under her breath, she shoved off her covers and grabbed her silk robe from the hook near her bed. Her movements were less precise this morning, more agitated than usual, and still a bit sleepy as her slippers scuffed across the hardwood as she stormed to the front door.

When she opened it, ready to deliver a verbal cease and desist, she paused.

There was a man at her door, next to a large package. But the man at her doorstep didn’t look like the usual FedEx or UPS guy. He wore a crisp black-and-white suit with polished shoes, a slim earpiece tucked behind one ear. He stood beside a large, square wooden crate perched on a steel dolly, taller than he was and easily the size of a refrigerator.

“Yes?” Nadine asked, her tone sharp as broken glass.

The man, unreadable behind dark glasses, tilted his head. “Are you Nadine Nelson?”

She didn’t like the way he asked it. Like he already knew the answer.

“Yes.” She replied flatly, arms crossed over her robe.

“Great. This is for you.” He said, stepping forward and pushing the crate toward her. Nadine moved out of shock, and instinct with a crate that size barking towards her, inevitably letting the man in with the crate, but once she realized she was coming drier into her honey she stepped in, palms up. “Uh, excuse me!” She said, stopping him. “I didn’t order anything. And certainly not something that looks like it should be in a warehouse.”

The man didn’t blink, but that the should tell through his glasses. “You are Nadine Nelson, correct?”

She sighed, jaw tight. “Yes. I already said that.”

“Then this is for you.”

Without another word, he wheeled the box into her foyer. Her eyes widened as the dolly clacked over her expensive floors, the crate casting a looming shadow across the pristine white walls of her home, from the sun shining through the large windows.

“Wait—hold on.” Nadine said, gripping the belt of her robe. “I’m serious. I did not order this. You need to take it back.”

The man was already turning for the door. “Take it up with customs, ma’am.”

“What? Customs? What customs?”

He ignored her completely. As he stepped outside, Nadine caught him press two fingers to the earpiece tucked behind his ear. “It’s been delivered.” He said coolly, then walked down the hallway of her luxury building as her front door slid shut on its own.

Nadine stood there in stunned silence, her arms hanging at her sides as she stared at the box now squatting in the middle of her living room.

Then she screamed.

A long, guttural scream that echoed off the marble and glass of her carefully curated life. Something she tended to do to let out her overflowing emotions.

And after a minute or two of huffing out of breath and anger, she turned on her heel and stormed back to her bedroom. Her phone was still on the nightstand, glowing from a few missed notifications. She didn’t even bother to text. She opened her voice message, hit record, and in her usual no-nonsense tone, she snapped.

“Clear my schedule for today. All of it. There’s some bullshit I need to take care of.”She pressed send to Jane, and then tossed the phone onto the bed without a second thought.

Back in the hallway, she opened the hall closet and pulled out a crowbar from the bottom shelf of her emergency tool kit. She hadn’t touched it since she assembled her custom bookcases two years ago, but it felt oddly satisfying in her grip.

The walk back into the living room was almost cinematic if someone else was there to view it—robe flowing, face full of anger, slippers skimming the floor, crowbar in hand. The crate sat there like a taunt. Uninvited. Immovable.

She didn’t hesitate to go to town, unleashing her irritation onto the box. Nadine wedged the crowbar into the gap between the wood slats and yanked. A nail groaned before it snapped loose, followed by another, and another. She was methodical but furious, stripping the crate open like a woman possessed with rage. Bits of sawdust and packing foam floated through the air, nails flying left and right, a bit dangerous but she didn’t seem to care at the moment. All of it littering her previously immaculate living room.

Nadine kicked aside the last of the packing material, breath puffing from her lips in irritation. She was done. Done with the entire thing. She expected to find an overpriced espresso machine or something.

But instead, she opened the crate and was met with… another crate?

Her brows lifted, her irritation fading into a slow, confused frown.

It wasn’t like the shipping box. This one was different. Striking. A dark wood, deep mahogany with an almost matte sheen. The surface gleamed with intricate carvings, elegant but oddly ancient, like something pulled from the archives of some old, forgotten dynasty from long ago. And in the center was a large gem. Oval-shaped, but a natural look to it, like it was just pulled from the earth and placed into the center. It was embedded like a heart, its color a deep blue, almost black in the shadows but gleaming cerulean where the light hit. It shimmered like water at midnight.

Nadine let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her fingers hovered over the jewel, almost drawn to it, like it was calling to something beneath her skin. Something primal.

She reached forward.

The stone was cool. Smooth. Her fingertips just barely grazed the surface when—

FLASH.

The gem lit up instantly, glowing from within like a waking eye. Nadine gasped and jerked her hand back, stumbling slightly.

“What the hell?” She whispered.

But she couldn’t look away, no matter how bright the light got

The light from the gemstone pulsed slowly, rhythmically, like it had a heartbeat. And then, as if in response to her shock, the carvings along the chest began to glow as well—lines of a sliver blue creeping from the jewel into the grooves and patterns etched into the wood, filling every line until the whole thing shimmered in a way that made her chest tighten with unease and…awe.

Nadine blinked, and her heart thudded against her ribs.

This—this was definitely not something you could order off Amazon.

And that’s when she noticed it. Taped to the inner panel of the crate, partially obscured by packing straw, was an envelope. Thick. Heavy. Cream-colored paper with a glossy finish and silver wax seal.

She reached for it, peeling it free. The seal bore the emblem of the United States, but stylized. Sleek. Futuristic. Her name was printed across the front in smooth, robotic cursive.

𝐓𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧

She frowned. A deep, suspicious furrow. This crate was for her?

Snatching the envelope, she tore it open and unfolded the single sheet inside. The words were printed, formal, precise. But they sent a jolt down her spine.

𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐬. 𝐍𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧,

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀—𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝’𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭. 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡-𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝, 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞, 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐥.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞.

—𝐂.𝐑.𝐈.𝐒.

𝐂𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 & 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐒𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 | 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞

There was a purple glitter check mark by the question. And she closed her eyes as she took in a deep breath, already knowing who to blame for this. Nadine stared at the letter, then at the crate, then back again.

She was going to kill her niece and nephew.

And then—once the twins were grounded for life and Bianca was chewed out for letting them touch her mail—she was going to sue whoever thought it was cute to send her a six-foot robot without consent.

But for now, she placed the letter down slowly and stepped closer to the chest.

It hummed. Just once. A low vibration that rippled across the wood floor and into the soles of her feet. Then, the chest unfastened with a hiss.

The lid groaned.

A long, sinuous sound of pressure escaping, like the breath of something long dormant finally allowed to exhale. Mist pooled from the edges of the ornate coffin-like crate, curling along the floor like tendrils of fog. The dim morning light poured through the windows, catching the shimmer of the gemstone embedded in the chest—still pulsing with a slow, deliberate rhythm, like a heartbeat.

Nadine stared, crowbar slack in her hand, chest rising and falling too fast for comfort.

Inside, the shape was obscured. Cloth. A velvet-like black material draped across something… someone.

Another hiss whispered from the crate. The latches disengaged with an audible thunk. And slowly, ever so slowly, the coffin-like chest began to open—hinges smooth and silent, assisted by unseen tech. The lid released fully and slid backward, revealing more of the figure beneath.

Nadine inched forward, each footstep muffled by the hush of mist and the pounding of her heart. Her instincts screamed at her to stop. To turn around. To call someone. Her sister. Jane. The FBI. The CIA. The Pope.

She stared at it, eyes narrowing. “What did you two do?” She muttered, already picturing her nieces, innocent smiles hiding devilish delight, whispering and giggling as they plotted this chaos.

But her curiosity was stronger. That damned glimmering jewel. That sleek envelope with her name etched like some sort of prophecy. That letter that claimed this… thing knew her already.

The cloth stirred and Nadine froze.

Then the fabric peeled itself away—mechanically, precisely—revealing skin.

Well, no, not skin. It couldn’t be. It was just some beautiful mimicry of it. Smooth and matte. A man’s chest, carved with symmetrical precision and framed by sculpted shoulders. They were bare and powerful in the right compression shirt with the cut sleeves.

Nadine’s breath hitched.

And then he sat up. The fabric slipped off like water while Nadine stared, mouth slightly open.

It was slow and graceful, like someone waking from a century-long slumber. The man—because that’s what he looked like, down to the subtle flex of his hands—was breathtaking. Sculpted. Not just handsome, but deliberately so, he was made this way. Smooth dark skin, eyes like obsidian glass, and a face that didn’t seem designed but born from every secret longing she’d never dared voice. His eyes opened—two smoldering pools of warm obsidian, rimmed faintly with glints of silver. They found hers immediately.

Nadine staggered back a step.

He blinked once. Tilted his head. And then—smiled.

Not a robotic, lifeless twitch. But a curve of the mouth that felt… devastatingly real. It was warm and gentle. Intimate in a way.

Nadine almost forgot he was meant to be a robot and not some random man in a box.

“Nadine.” He said.

Her name, from his lips, made something low in her belly twist. His voice was deep, perfectly modulated, with just enough grit to make her toes curl. It was soft but strong, like thunder rolling far away across the sea.

“You—you know my name?” She asked, trying not to sound like a complete idiot. But she did anyways with the uncharacteristic stutter that slipped through, totally unlike her. The crowbar was still in her hand, but it felt laughable now. She wasn’t in danger. She was… almost enchanted in a way.

“Yes.” He said, stepping forward with fluid, feline grace. He towered a good foot above her, dressed in a fitted black uniform that shimmered faintly in the light. “I’ve always known your name, known it since you were assigned to the prototype queue.” He replied. “I was made for you. I’ve been learning you ever since.”

“Learning me?” She repeated, throat dry.

His eyes softened as he nodded. “I’ve watched your presentations. Your interviews. I’ve studied your calendar. Your habits. Your moods. What calms you. What drives you. What keeps you up at night.”

Her brows furrowed. “And why would you do that?”

“So I could be ready when you needed me.”

The words hit her like a wave. Sudden and unsettled something deep within her. It was undeniable.

“I didn’t need anyone.” She snapped at him out of instinct.

The man tilted his head, his eyes glowing blue as he scanned her face. ‘Defensive’ it flashed across his eyes. “No.” He agreed. “But you deserve someone.”

And then there was silence. A thick, emotional silence hung between them as Nadine stared up at him. His face was symmetrical, almost distractingly beautiful—like something a sculptor would weep over. But it was his gaze that disarmed her. No flicker of code was viable besides the unnatural glow, and even that was a bit comforting. There was no empty mimicry. He just looked at her, his eyes never once leaving her face.

“Who… what are you?” She whispered.

He then extended a hand with a small smile. Palm up. As if offering her not just an answer, but himself.

“I am AURA-7.” He said. “My designated name is Michael, but you can call me whatever feels right.”

Nadine didn’t move at first, her brain screaming a thousand warnings at her as her eyes flicked between his face and hang. Her chest was tight, unsure.

But her hand reached out anyway.

And when their skin touched—when her fingers slid against his palm—it wasn’t cold. It wasn’t metal. It was warm. Comforting and real. And this was the first time she’s touched someone in such a non work manner in a long time.

He smiled again, this time slower, more intimate.

And Nadine Nelson, woman of routine, disciple of control, high priestess of solitude… felt her entire world shift beneath her feet.

[salemrph]

The taste of apple and pomegranate

Ch. 1: This is your fault

Nav: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 (coming soon) // AO3

Summary: You just wanted to survive university, not fall for either of them—let alone both. Two handsome idiots who somehow made your apartment their second home. You, Sylus, and Caleb were supposed to be just friends. So why does everything feel like their is more going on?

Character: Sylus x f!reader x Caleb // Tara, Rafayel // AU - College, Student

Genre: romantic, fluff, intimacy, sexual content, humor, friends to lovers, poliamore, slow burn

Word count: 3k | Reading Time: 12 min | AO3

A/N: This one’s more of a short, episode-style story. I just wanted to have some fun throwing these two into everyday situations and seeing what kind of chaos unfolds. Hope you enjoy the mess!

Tag list: @thechaoticarchivist @peacedreamer14 @blessdunrest @strwberriiblnde @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusqt @sakuraneko-sakupanda-chan @peacedreamer14 @escapeis @plzdonutpercieveme

Chp. 1: This is your fault

The clock blinked past midnight, and your fourth beer of the evening was dangerously close to becoming a fifth. Your apartment was dimly lit, warm from too many bodies and old radiator heat, littered with half-eaten snacks and scattered notes. A half-empty pack of cigarettes lay discarded on the coffee table, nestled beside a ridiculous lighter: a fluffy kitten pattern grinning up at you with the defiant, stupid quote “I have other 9 lives.” The scent of stale beer and cheap ramen hung heavy in the air, almost comforting, now mixed with the distinct, masculine perfumes and deodorants of your best friends.

Caleb was hunched over his laptop at the far end of the couch, still typing furiously. “Stop drinking so much, Pips,” he muttered, not even bothering to glance up.

You rolled your eyes, stretching your legs across the coffee table, with a sigh that was 50% relaxation, 50% resignation. “It’s my beer, my apartment. Let me live.”

In the background, your chill playlist hummed, the kind you usually put on when you're drinking. You were right at that sweet spot, alcohol just starting to expand in your veins, making everything feel kinda hazy and good. You knew your brain was about to start overthinking something, probably something dumb.

The melancholic melody filled the silence: "I always want you when I'm (coming down)," the song played softly, what a sensual song, you think. Something silently ignited something deep within you.

You took a long sip from your bottle, the cheap lager almost tasting good enough to forget the rising frustration about your non-existent dating life. Your gaze drifted across the dimly lit room, landing on Caleb's focused profile. Your eyes snagged on his hand, currently flying across the keyboard. The same hand that had, more than once, casually hoisted you over his shoulder after particularly wild parties, or carefully bandaged a scraped knee from a clumsy fall. Around his neck the apple necklace you present him hung against his skin. Your eyes followed the line of it, down to where his t-shirt to his white bandages wrapped around his forearm, a fresh souvenir from his last basketball game. Your gaze traced the edge of it, then drifted, admiring the solid curve of his bicep. You avoid biting your lips.  

From the other side of the room, sitting at the dining table, Sylus offered a lazy, noncommittal hum, his eyes similarly fixed on his own monitor—stock charts, forex rates, and whatever other wizardry he used to casually rake in ungodly amounts of money. The man was practically a walking, breathing hedge fund, and you still didn't get why he was bothering with university. He could probably buy the entire campus and turn it into his personal empire without blinking.

He sipped his espresso and with a soft click, he closed a tab where he'd apparently just bought a stock at a very good price. His glasses, an expensive, minimalist frame, perched casually on the bridge of his aristocratic nose, drawing attention to the sharp line of his jaw. Your gaze followed the elegant curve of his long fingers as they clicked another tab closed, his nails perfectly manicured. He was dressed, as always, in something impossibly chic yet understated – a dark silk shirt, the sleeves rolled precisely to his forearms. He had this overall presence that just radiated 'out of reach'. Yet, you'd had the bizarre, almost illicit privilege of glimpsing a lot more than just his designer clothes. Like those warm summer nights when he'd showered at your place, the sight of his lean, powerful body illuminated by the glow of your bathroom light burned into your memory. The first time you saw it wrapped in the towel, you swear your nose was bleeding.

He continued searching for other gadgets and artifacts at auction sites. “You should at least drink something imported.”

You shot him a look that could curdle milk. “Not all of us are billionaires by twenty-four, Sylus.”

He just smirked, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips, not bothering to deny it. Bastard.

The days and months had started passing more and more quickly since those two insufferable idiots had crashed into your life.  Sylus and Caleb were a little older than you, but not by much, two or three years at most. They were both part of the university basketball team and knew each other from a few overlapping courses in their respective majors.

You still didn’t quite understand why Sylus was studying engineering when he was so absurdly good at business and finance. Over time, you realized he was a tech nerd and was always creating things. A true genie. Caleb was another natural talent. He’d told you more than once about the summers he spent dismantling and rebuilding cars just for fun. His real dream was to become a pilot, but apparently, he didn’t do well on the psychological assessment.

Out of respect for the simmering frustration you'd glimpsed beneath his usual easy going demeanor, you'd never pressed on what that test involved or why he'd failed.

Sylus, with his ever-present “don’t bother me” energy, was, along with Caleb, one of the main attractions on campus. Wherever he went, people noticed. He drew attention without even trying, but never seemed interested in anything or anyone in particular. Most of his time was spent glued to his laptop, tracking stocks, studying currency shifts. He should’ve been a goddamn broker. About two years ago, he’d made a fortune literally overnight, landing him on the cover of a few important financial magazines. Yeah, just casually.

You, on the other hand, were still somewhat unsure whether the career path you’d chosen was really what you wanted. But instead of figuring it out beforehand, you’d decided to figure it out while doing it—which, honestly, felt like the most brilliant idea you’d had at the time.

Caleb let out a heavy sigh, finally tearing his gaze from his screen to meet yours. “You’ve been off lately, Pips. What’s going on?”

You let out a sharp, exasperated breath, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. You weren't entirely sure if this was the right topic to drop on the guys, but honestly? You didn't give a flying fuck. They were your friends. They could just cope with your impending mental breakdown over whatever fresh hell was brewing in your life. So... 

“I haven’t been on a date in months. Everyone either ghosts me or cancels last minute. I swear to god, I'm starting to think I'm cursed. Or hexed. Or...” you squint at them both, a wave of drunken suspicion washing over you, “sabotaged.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Sabotaged?”

You pointed a wobbly finger, barely managing to keep it steady. “Don’t act innocent. I bet that you have something to do with that. Probably you have scared them off. You're a pair of overprotective guard dogs."

Caleb let out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head. "You’re reading too much into it, Pips."

Sylus didn’t look up. “If they were scared off that easily, they weren’t worth your time.”

"He's not wrong," Caleb agreed, a light mocking smile playing on his lips. 

You stared at them. How these two insufferable, brilliant, competitive idiots who couldn't go ten minutes without throwing shit at each other but still managed to be friends, is a mystery for you. You took another long sip from your bottle, eyes bouncing between the two of them. They didn’t even deny it.

The last guy who looked at you flirty at the library suddenly found his entire research paper deleted from the shared drive, and Caleb was “just” helping him out. Which ended, according to rumours, in a threat with the smile of an angel. And how about the coffee shop guy? Cute. Charming. You actually went on a date with him. There was chemistry, flirting and potential. You’d even texted Tara that you had a good feeling. Then you casually mentioned to the boys that you’d met someone. A day later? Ghosted. Like a goddamn phantom. It couldn't be a coincidence. It couldn't. 

“Oh, really?" you countered, your voice rising in disbelief. "What about the guy in my peer study group, huh? He got a death stare from both of you. I practically had to convince him you two weren't going to bite him.” You slammed your bottle down on the coffee table with a thud, the sound punctuating your declaration. “You know what I think?” you declared. “If I can’t go on a date and you little shits are messing with my dating life, theeen… guess what?”

Caleb’s expression shifted from detached amusement to a wary curiosity. Sylus raised a single eyebrow.

“You two are going to fix it.”  you stated.

Caleb lets out a dry laugh. “Fix what? Your dating life?”

Sylus finally closed his laptop, his lips curling into a subtle smirk, clearly amused by where this is heading. “And how do you propose we ‘fix’ this, sweetie?” he purred with a hint of playful condescension.

“You’re fucking responsible for my needs,” you declared, waving your hand like you were pronouncing a royal decree. “Congratulations.”

The room falls silent. The alcohol has clearly reached your brain, and you haven’t yet realized what you were trying to say, let alone the seismic shift they'd just triggered in both their minds.

Caleb blinked slowly, like his brain had momentarily disconnected from the rest of him. "...What?"

Sylus's response was flat, almost dangerously so “Define needs...”

"Human touch! Kissing! Sex! The whole damn package!" you exclaimed, throwing your arms out in exasperation, your voice rising in a frustrated crescendo. “I'm practically wasting my colleague's year because you two. You’re like gods,” you continue, voice rising while standing up on the sofa, mimicking your parallelism “sitting on Mount Olympus, throwing lightning bolts at anyone who so much as looks at me sideways!”

You stopped, chest heaving slightly from your own dramatic flair, glaring at them both. Caleb massaged his tempel, Sylus simply took another slow sip of his espresso, his smirk widening as he leaned back against the chair.

“So let me get this straight, pipsqueak,” Caleb began, but then it hitched, his mouth suddenly dry. "You're blaming us for the drought in your love life, and your solution is...?"

“I’m saying,” you cut in, sitting back on the sofa. Taking the almost-empty bottle and pointing accusingly at both of them, “if neither of you is going to let me date literally anyone, then maybe you should be the ones handling the consequences. Physically.”

Another long pause stretched between you. Caleb looked completely baffled. Sylus, ever composed, finished his coffee. 

“Well,” he said, voice smooth as sin, “this escalated nicely.” He stood up and walked over to the sofa. With a quick movement he snatched your bottle out of your hand. “You had enough of this,” he said, tone light but firm, leaving no room for argument. You blinked at him, half-offended, half-flustered, and pouted, like a little girl who'd just had her favorite candy snatched away. “Such a bold kitten we have tonight…”

Then he leaned down, close, his body nearly caging you against the cushions. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent a potent mix of espresso and his usual spicy and woody perfume. He examined the bottle, tilting it slightly, then let out a quiet sigh, as if he'd just connected the dots and realized your little outburst was the predictable consequence of cheap liquor.

But of course, he wasn't letting you off the hook. Not when you'd just handed him such a delicious opening. So he leaned in a little closer, playing it up, his voice dropping to a low, seductive murmur.

“If you wanted to upgrade our friendship to something with… benefits, you could have said it earlier.” His eyes flicked to Caleb, a quick, mischievous glint, daring him to match the energy. Caleb, not one to back down from a challenge, closed the remaining space between you. His body radiates warmth, and a grin spreads across his face. 

“Alright honey,” he murmured. His fingers brushed your jaw, light, teasing caress that sent shivers down your spine. “This is next level.”

Your heart was hammering now—between Sylus’s velvet voice and Caleb’s proximity, you were seconds away from full combustion. Your skin prickles. Your face burned, a furious blush creeping up your neck. You’re too aware of how close they are. Of the heat rolling off their bodies. Of the way your knees suddenly feel too weak and the air in your lungs refuses to behave. You swallow hard. The heat of the alcohol combined with the heat of your own mortification was a potent cocktail. What were you even thinking? Sylus was probably already calculating the market value of your desperation.

You did the only thing your overwhelmed brain could manage. You shoved them both.

“Okay! Nope!” you blurted, scrambling to your feet like the couch was suddenly on fire. You sighed, dragging a hand down your face as the heat in your cheeks caught up with your mouth. “Nevermind, I’m drunk.” You stood up, wobbling a little from the beer and embarrassment. “Forget it. I’ll talk to Tara.” You didn't even bother glancing back as you snatched your empty bottles, the glass clinking as you stomped toward the kitchen. “Apparently a new hot art student has joined the campu, so maybe I’ll get a chance.” you murmured more for you. Behind you, silence. Caleb blinked at Sylus. Sylus blinked back. And then, like a perfectly timed glitch in the universe, both spoke at once:

“Hot art student?”

Caleb was already flying over pictures on social media. He obviously knows everyone on campus, and it would only take a couple of messages to find the guy in question. A few seconds later he pulled up the profile. Caleb clicked his tongue and a slight spasm made his face twitch for a moment. Without a word, he tossed the phone across the couch. Sylus caught it one-handed, gaze flicking down with mild disinterest. He studied the screen for all of two seconds before the corner of his mouth twitched. Violet hair, clothes with light, almost theatrical cuts. A flamboyant guy named Rafayel.

You peeked around the corner, raising a brow. “You two shouldn’t care who I date or fuck.”

Sylus leaned back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other. “Kitten,” he said, that dangerous softness in his voice. “Do me a favor, okay?” You tilted your head, already bracing. “Raise your standards.”

You straightened up, trying to project an air of nonchalance you absolutely did not feel. 

“Are you suddenly volunteering to step in and save me from a life of celibacy?” You crossed your arms, daring them to answer. The silence stretched with unspoken possibilities, with implications that made your skin prickle. You cleared your throat awkwardly, waving a hand dismissively. “Gosh… It was a joke. I mean, obviously,” you added quickly. “I’m not actually... I just—ugh, whatever. Just go home, both of you. I need to sleep.”

You turned on your heel and started toward your room, absolutely refusing to make eye contact. 

Behind you, Caleb chuckled under his breath. “Sure, Pips. Jokes. Good night.”

“Sleep well, kitten. Try not to dream about moody art boys who can’t find your G-spot.”

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the apartment. Your heart was racing. Your skin was on fire. And all you could think was: You were never drinking around them again. Never. Again. Your cheeks are still blazing, and you can practically feel Sylus's smirk through the door. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. And Caleb, that traitor, just egging him on. They love this, don’t they? Love seeing you flustered and embarrassed. This whole situation is just a mess. 

Why did they have to look at you like that? Like they were actually considering it. Caleb, with that flicker of genuine concern and something else you couldn’t quite decipher. And Sylus… Sylus with that infuriating, knowing glint in his eyes that always made you question everything, every boundary, every assumption you had about him.

What were you trying to do? Was it a pathetic attempt at making them jealous? You couldn't deny that you'd been more than a little attracted to them when you first met them. How could you not? Their sculpted bodies, the way their muscles flexed under taut skin, their easy confidence. You've seen them shirtless too many times… Sweaty post-game, fresh out of the shower, pants slung far too low. Honestly? They should open an OF. Just for you. So you could enjoy the view in private, without having to explain why your brain short-circuited every time they took off their T-Shirt. 

You’ve gone too long without a decent date. That was the only rational explanation. Now you’re sexualizing your friends. Which led to dangerous, fleeting images flashing through your mind, so vivid it made you swallow hard. Both of them, staring at you. Cheeks flushed. Foreheads glistening with sweat. Their eyes dark, locked onto you, devouring you. Their voices rough. Almost in sync, whispering your name with a heat that makes your hair stand on end.

An electrifying sensation shot through your entire body, hitting all the wrong places. Or maybe the right ones. Your breath catches. You slap a hand over your mouth, fast, stifling the sound threatening to escape. A very involuntary and absolutely needy moan that rises from somewhere deep in your chest. 

You blink hard, shaking your head like it might rattle the fantasy loose. God help you. No. You’re not going to think about it. You were going to take a cold shower and pretend this entire humiliating, sexually charged conversation never happened.

Release every 1-2 week

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[kyunghwannie]

"Collateral Temptation"

Yoo Jeongyeon x Male! Reader.

➤Tags/Genres: Begging, Submission, Biting, Reverse Cowgirl, Public Sex, Hair Pulling, Creampie, Anal Sex, Overstimulation, Face-Sitting, Dirty Talk, Breast Worship, Sensation Play, Doggy Style, Mutual Masturbation, Choking, Face Fucking, Mirror Sex

➤Teaser: She swore it was just a favor. One night, one weakness, buried in motel sheets and sealed with silence. But temptation wears a suit now, speaks her name like a secret, and every "thank you" tastes more like surrender. Her vows didn’t break—she slowly unstitched them herself, thread by aching thread. ➤Note: This was requested to be a rather hot and passionate smut of corruption of a pure wife Jeongyeon. So i tried to do so. Iam not that good with a more corrupting or ruining type of plot yet so iam still learning but hey If there's Jeongyeon, everything is fire. ➤ Go read my other Jeongyeon fic "Second Chances" Part-1 & Part-2

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The café was quiet, the kind of place where the hum of the espresso machine and the occasional clink of porcelain cups filled the silence. Jeongyeon sat across from you, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her half-finished iced americano. The usual confidence in her posture was gone—replaced by something heavier, something tired.

"I didn’t think I’d be the one asking for help like this," she admitted, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. You leaned forward slightly, keeping your tone light but firm. "You’re not asking. I offered."

She exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Still feels shitty." "It’s not." You tapped the folder between you—the one with the loan restructuring plans, the numbers you’d spent nights adjusting just to make sure she wouldn’t drown in interest. "This is what friends do."

Jeongyeon’s fingers stilled. "Friends," she repeated, like she was testing the word. Then she shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "You’re too good at this. At… everything."

You shrugged. "Just decent at math and stubborn enough to argue with bankers."

That got a real laugh out of her, short but bright. "God, I missed this." The second the words left her mouth, her expression flickered—like she hadn’t meant to say it.

The air between you shifted. You could’ve played it off. Should’ve, probably. But something in the way she looked at you—like she was seeing you for the first time in years—made the words slip out before you could stop them. "Yeah? What part?"

Jeongyeon blinked. "What?"

"What did you miss?" You kept your voice easy, like it was just banter, but the weight of the question hung there anyway.

She hesitated. Then, slowly, her fingers curled around her glass. "Talking to someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m…" She trailed off.

"Like you’re what?"

"Like I’m failing." The admission was quiet, almost ashamed. Your chest tightened. "You’re not." Jeongyeon scoffed. "My husband sure thinks so."

There it was—the bitterness, the frustration. You’d heard it in her voice over the phone, seen it in the way her texts got shorter lately. But hearing it now, raw and unfiltered, was different. You hesitated. Then, carefully, you said it. "Maybe he’s the one failing you."

Her head snapped up. You held her gaze, even as your pulse kicked up. "Just saying. You’re Jeongyeon. You don’t fail. You just… haven’t been given the right support."

For a long moment, she just stared at you. Then, quietly: "That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in months."

The silence stretched. The café noise faded into background static. Then, Jeongyeon leaned back in her chair, studying you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. "You always this smooth when you’re saving people?"

You grinned, deflecting. "Only when they’re pretty." It was a joke. Mostly. But the way her breath hitched—just for a second—wasn’t. Jeongyeon recovered fast, rolling her eyes. "Shut up." But her cheeks were pink.

You laughed, leaning back too. "Make me." he second the words left your mouth, you realized your mistake. Because Jeongyeon’s eyes darkened. Just a fraction. Just enough. And just like that—the air between you wasn’t just shifted. It was charged.

Jeongyeon swirled the melting ice in her glass, the condensation dripping onto the table. She didn’t look up when she spoke next. "Why are you doing this?" The question hung between you, heavier than she probably intended.

You tilted your head. "The loan stuff? I told you—"

"No." She cut you off, finally meeting your eyes. "Not just the paperwork. All of it. The calls. The favors. The way you just… show up." Her voice wavered, just slightly. "Why?"

You could’ve given her a dozen easy answers. Because we’re friends. Because it’s nothing. Because I had time. But the way she was looking at you—like she already knew those were lies—made your throat tighten. So you told the truth. "Because I like you."

Jeongyeon froze. You chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck like it was some casual confession. "I mean, come on. You know that. I’ve been obvious since forever."

She stared. "That’s not funny."

"Not trying to be." You held her gaze, even as your pulse hammered. "But it’s whatever. I didn’t say it to make things weird. Just… answering your question."

Jeongyeon’s fingers tightened around her glass. "You never said anything."

"Yeah, well." You shrugged. "You got married." The words landed like a punch. Her breath hitched. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The café noise—the chatter, the clinking cups—felt miles away. Then, quietly, Jeongyeon said: "That’s it?"

You blinked. "What?"

"You just… let it go?" There was something raw in her voice now, something almost accusatory. "You never—" She cut herself off, shaking her head.

You leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Jeongyeon. What was I supposed to do?"

She didn’t answer. So you kept going, softer now. "I wasn’t gonna be that guy. The one who ruins shit because he can’t handle his feelings. You were happy. That mattered more."

Jeongyeon let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Happy." The bitterness in her voice made your chest ache. You hesitated. Then, carefully: "…Are you? Happy?" She looked away. That was answer enough.

You exhaled slowly. "Look. I didn’t tell you this to mess with your head. I just…" You ran a hand through your hair. "I don’t want anything from you, okay? This isn’t some fucking transaction. I helped because I wanted to. That’s it."

Jeongyeon’s jaw clenched. "That’s bullshit." You stiffened. "What?"

"You don’t just do things like this without wanting something back." Her voice was low, almost trembling. "Everyone wants something." The hurt in her words—the certainty—made something in you snap.

"Okay, fine." You leaned in, lowering your voice. "You wanna know what I want? I wanted to see you smile again. I wanted you to stop looking at your phone like it was gonna bite you. I wanted—" You caught yourself, forcing a breath. "Fuck. It doesn’t matter. Point is, I don’t expect anything. Not from you."

Jeongyeon’s lips parted. For a second, she just stared at you, her eyes wide, searching. Then, slowly, something in her expression shifted. "…Liar."

The word wasn’t angry. It was soft. Almost wondering. Jeongyeon held your gaze, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You do want something."

Your mouth went dry. She was right. You wanted her. Not like this—not in some messy, guilty way. But it was too late for that now. The truth was out, hanging between you like a live wire. And the way she was looking at you? Like she knew. Like maybe—just maybe—she wanted it too.

You scoffed, shaking your head before a soft chuckle escaped your lips—light, disarming, the kind of laugh that made your eyes crinkle at the corners. Jeongyeon blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone. "God, you’re stubborn," you mused, propping your chin lazily on your palm, fingers drumming against your cheek. "Fine. Since you’re so convinced—what exactly do you think I want, Jeongyeon?"

The question hung between you, playful but edged with something heavier. She stiffened, her fingers tightening around her glass again. For a second, she looked like she might deflect—laugh it off, change the subject, retreat behind that familiar wall of hers. But then her gaze flickered down to your lips, just for a heartbeat, before snapping back up. "I don’t know," she muttered, but the way her voice dipped—lower, rougher—betrayed her.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Then why’d you call me a liar?"

Jeongyeon’s jaw worked. "Because you are."

"Mmm." You hummed, leaning in just slightly, close enough that if either of you shifted, your knees might brush under the table. "Or maybe you’re just hoping I am."

Her breath hitched. You grinned, pulling back before the tension could snap. "Relax. I told you—I don’t expect anything. Not a damn thing." You swirled your drink, ice clinking. "Helping you wasn’t some grand scheme. I just…" You shrugged, voice softening. "I like seeing you okay. That’s all."

Jeongyeon stared at you, her expression unreadable. Then, abruptly, she let out a sharp exhale. "You’re infuriating."

You blinked. "Me?"

"Yes, you." She dragged a hand through her hair, frustration bleeding into her voice. "You can’t just—say shit like that and act like it’s nothing."

You held up your hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I’m not the one reading into it."

"Bullshit." Her eyes flashed. "You know what you’re doing."

You paused. Then, slowly, your smile faded. "Do I?" The quiet sincerity in your voice made her freeze. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick, charged—like the static before a storm.

Then, Jeongyeon did something unexpected. She laughed. It wasn’t her usual bright, snorting laugh. This was quieter. Rougher. Almost disbelieving. "God," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "This is so fucked."

You raised an eyebrow. "What is?"

She met your eyes, her own dark with something you couldn’t name. "You. Me. This." She gestured vaguely between you. "The fact that you’re sitting here, looking at me like—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. You waited. Jeongyeon exhaled sharply. "Like you still see me."

The raw honesty in her voice punched the air from your lungs. You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until finally, Jeongyeon pushed back her chair with a scrape of wood against tile. "I should go."

You didn’t stop her. But as she turned to leave, you called out, voice low: "Jeongyeon." She paused, shoulders tense. You smiled, small and sad. "For the record? I always see you." Her breath audibly caught. Then, without another word, she walked away.

Jeongyeon stopped mid-step. Her back was still turned to you, shoulders rigid under the thin fabric of her blouse. The café door was just a few feet away—freedom, escape, the easy way out—but something rooted her in place.

You watched the tension coil in her frame, the way her fingers flexed at her sides like she was fighting with herself. Then, slowly, she turned around.

Her expression was unreadable as she strode back to the table and dropped into her seat with a quiet thud. She didn’t speak. Just leveled you with a look—not angry, not frustrated, but something far more dangerous. Calculating.

You raised an eyebrow. "Change your mind?"

She ignored the question, leaning forward until the table pressed into her forearms. "What do you really want?"

The demand was sharp, stripped of any pretense. You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Jeongyeon’s glare deepened. "This isn’t funny."

"It’s a little funny," you admitted, grinning as you mirrored her posture, elbows on the table. "You’re acting like I’m holding a gun to your head. Relax. I already told you—"

"And I don’t believe you." Her voice was low, insistent. "No one does something like this without wanting something in return."

You sighed, tilting your head. "Okay, fine. Let’s say you’re right. What do you think I want?"

Her jaw tightened. "I’m not playing this game."

"Not a game," you said lightly. "Just curious what’s going on in that head of yours."

Jeongyeon exhaled through her nose, fingers tapping impatiently against the table. Then, abruptly, she leaned back, crossing her arms. "You’re enjoying this."

You blinked. "What?"

"This." She gestured between you. "Watching me squirm. Knowing I can’t just—walk away from this."

The accusation hung in the air, sharp enough to cut. For the first time since she’d sat back down, your smile faded. "That’s not what this is."

"Then what is it?" The question was a challenge. A dare. You held her gaze, the humor draining from your voice. "You really need an answer that badly?"

Jeongyeon didn’t flinch. "Yes." Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. Then, slowly, you shrugged. "Fine. If you’re insisting so much…" You leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur. "I’ll take whatever you think is fair. Whatever best you can offer."

Her breath hitched. You grinned, leaning back before the tension could snap. "Happy now?" Jeongyeon stared at you, her expression unreadable. Then, after a beat, she let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You’re joking."

"Am I?" She studied you for a long moment—searching for the punchline, the trap, the ulterior motive. But when she found nothing, something in her posture shifted. "…You’re serious."

You shrugged again, feigning nonchalance. "I mean, you’re the one who didn’t want to believe me when I said I didn’t want anything. So." You spread your hands. "There’s your answer." Jeongyeon exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. "This is ridiculous."

"Yep." You popped the ‘p,’ grinning. "But hey, at least now you can stop overthinking it." She shot you a look. "I’m not—"

"You are," you interrupted, laughing. "It’s written all over your face."

Jeongyeon opened her mouth—probably to argue—but then stopped. For a second, she just looked at you, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, quietly, she said: "You’re really not going to ask for anything."

It wasn’t a question. You met her gaze, all traces of humor gone. "No." The word hung between you, simple and final. Jeongyeon swallowed. And for the first time since she’d walked back to this table—for the first time in years, maybe—she looked lost.

The air between you grew heavier with each passing second of silence. Jeongyeon’s fingers traced idle patterns on the tabletop, her gaze fixed somewhere past your shoulder—anywhere but directly at you. You studied the tension in her jaw, the way her throat worked as she swallowed hard. "So," you finally broke the quiet, voice softer now. "What are you gonna do?"

Her eyes flicked back to yours, sharp. "About what?"

You held her stare, unflinching. "About this." A vague gesture between the two of you. "About your husband. About… whatever it is you’re feeling right now."

Jeongyeon let out a slow breath through her nose, her shoulders tightening. "I don’t know." The admission came out strained, almost angry—but not at you. At herself. You hesitated, then went for the question that had been burning in your chest since she sat back down. "…How bad is it, really? With him."

Her laugh was hollow. "What, you want details?"

"I want the truth." You kept your voice steady, even as your pulse thrummed. "Not whatever polished version you think you’re supposed to give."

Jeongyeon’s fingers stilled. For a long moment, she just stared at her half-empty glass, lips pressed into a thin line. Then— "He looks at me like I’m a problem he can’t solve." Her voice was quiet, rough at the edges. "Like every bill, every late payment, every fucking stress in our lives is somehow my fault." She dragged a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. "And the worst part? I let him. Because some stupid, pathetic part of me still thinks—" She cut herself off, shaking her head.

Your chest ached. "Thinks what?" Her eyes met yours, dark and wounded. "That if I just try harder, it’ll fix itself." The raw honesty in her words hit like a punch. You’d known things weren’t perfect—how could they be, with the way she’d been carrying that weight for months?—but hearing it laid bare like this?

You leaned forward without thinking, your voice dropping. "Jeongyeon. Listen to me. None of this is on you." She scoffed. "Easy for you to say."

"No, it’s not." The words came out sharper than you intended. "Because I’m sitting here watching someone I—" You caught yourself, jaw tightening. "Watching someone important tear herself apart over shit she can’t control. And it’s killing me."

Jeongyeon went very, very still. The silence stretched, thick with everything left unsaid. Then, quietly, she asked: "Why does it matter to you so much?"

There it was. The question you’d both been dancing around since she walked back to this table. You could’ve lied. Could’ve brushed it off with a joke or a deflection. But the way she was looking at you—like she already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway—left no room for half-truths.

So you told her. "Because it’s you." Simple. Devastating. "It’s always been you." Jeongyeon’s breath audibly hitched. And just like that—the fragile dam between you cracked.

Jeongyeon's fingers tightened around her glass, knuckles whitening under the pressure. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension as she avoided your gaze, chewing on her lower lip in that nervous habit she'd never quite shaken.

Then, abruptly, she spoke.

"I could fuck you."

Your drink nearly slipped from your hand.

She said it so casually—like she was discussing the weather—but the storm in her eyes betrayed her. This wasn't casual. This wasn't simple. This was calculated.

"What?" Your voice came out strangled.

Jeongyeon leaned forward, the table pressing into her forearms as she held your stare without flinching. "You heard me." A beat. "As thanks. For helping me."

The words hung between you, sharp and dangerous.

You should've laughed it off. Should've made a joke, defused the bomb she'd just dropped between you. But the way she was looking at you—eyes dark and defiant, like she was daring you to call her bluff—made your throat go dry.

So you played along. "That's your solution?" Your lips quirked, though there was no humor in it. "Seriously?"

Jeongyeon shrugged, too casual to be genuine. "You said you'd take whatever I could offer. So." Another shrug, but her fingers trembled against the glass. "There it is."

Liar. You saw right through her. This wasn't about gratitude. This wasn't some transactional exchange. This was Jeongyeon, standing at the edge of a cliff and daring herself to jump. You exhaled slowly, forcing your voice steady. "You don't owe me anything."

"I know that," she snapped, but the fire in her words was undercut by the way her breath hitched. "That's not—" She cut herself off, dragging a hand through her hair in frustration. Silence. Then, quieter: "Just say yes or no."

You studied her—the flush creeping up her neck, the way she couldn't quite meet your eyes now. The want she was trying so desperately to mask as something else. And you made your choice. "No."

Her head jerked up, eyes wide. "What?"

You held her gaze, unwavering. "If you're going to proposition me, Jeongyeon, do it because you want to. Not because you think you owe me." A beat. "Not because you're trying to punish yourself."

Her breath caught. Bullseye. For a long moment, she just stared at you, lips parted slightly—like she couldn't decide whether to argue or bolt. Then, slowly, something in her expression shifted.

"...What if I do want to?"

The whispered admission hung between you, fragile and raw.

You didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Jeongyeon swallowed hard, vulnerability flashing across her face before she steeled herself again. "What if this wasn't about debts or gratitude?" Her voice dropped, rough around the edges. "What if it was just... me?"

The air between you grew thicker, heavier—like the charged stillness before a lightning strike.

And then, before you could respond— Jeongyeon reached across the table.

Her fingers brushed against yours, tentative at first, then firmer as she laced them together. The contact sent a jolt through you, electric and undeniable.

Her gaze never left yours. "Tell me to stop," she murmured.

You didn't. Your fingers remained entwined with hers, the warmth of her skin searing into you like a brand. The rational part of your mind screamed at you—pull away, shut this down, don’t be the one who ruins everything.

But the other part—the selfish, aching, weak part that had loved her for longer than you cared to admit—won.

You didn’t tell her to stop.

Jeongyeon exhaled, shaky and uneven, like she’d been holding her breath. Then, slowly, deliberately, her thumb brushed over your knuckles in a slow, aching sweep.

“…Coward,” she murmured, but there was no bite in it. Just something unbearably soft.

You huffed a quiet laugh, even as your pulse pounded in your throat. “Takes one to know one.”

Her lips twitched. “Maybe.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world outside this table—the café, the noise, the life waiting beyond this fragile, stolen moment—faded into irrelevance.

Then, Jeongyeon’s grip on your hand tightened.

“Come home with me.”

The words weren’t a question. They weren’t even an invitation.

They were a decision.

Your breath stalled. “Jeongyeon—”

“Not his place,” she clarified, voice low. “Mine. The apartment I got after—” She cut herself off, jaw tightening. “Just mine.”

The implication hung between you, heavy and unmistakable.

She was choosing this.

Choosing you.

The last shred of your resistance crumbled.

You squeezed her hand back, your voice rough. “Yeah. Okay.”

Jeongyeon’s eyes darkened—relief, want, something dangerously close to desperation flickering in their depths.

Neither of you spoke as she stood, pulling you up with her. Her fingers stayed tangled with yours as she led you out of the café, the weight of what you were about to do settling over you both like a storm cloud.

And for the first time in years—

You didn’t look back.

Time Skip – Jeongyeon’s Apartment

The door barely clicked shut behind you before Jeongyeon’s hands were on you—impatient, desperate, her fingers fisting in the front of your shirt as she shoved you back against the wall.

“Fuck,” she breathed against your lips, already chasing your mouth again before you could even catch your breath.

You let her.

God, you let her.

Her kiss was messy, all teeth and clumsy urgency, like she was trying to outrun the thoughts in her head. You groaned into it, hands finding her waist as she pressed against you, her body flush against yours.

“This—” she gasped between kisses, “—is just—once—”

You knew the lie for what it was.

But you played along anyway.

“Yeah,” you murmured against her lips, letting your hands slide down to grip her hips, pulling her closer. “Just once.”

Jeongyeon made a noise—half frustration, half something broken—before surging forward again, her tongue sliding against yours in a wet, sloppy drag. Her fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to sting, and you groaned, your grip on her tightening.

She was everywhere—her thigh slotting between yours, her nails scraping down your back, her breath hot and uneven against your skin.

“You—” she bit at your lower lip, “—better not—fucking—regret this—”

You laughed, rough and breathless, before flipping her around, pinning her against the wall this time.

“You’re the one who should be worried about regrets,” you muttered, ducking your head to nip at her neck.

Jeongyeon gasped, her head thumping back against the wall as your teeth grazed her pulse point.

“Shit—”

Her hands scrambled at your shoulders, your back, like she couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. You didn’t give her the chance to choose—your mouth found hers again, swallowing her moans as your hands slid under her shirt, palms skimming up the warm skin of her stomach.

She arched into your touch with a whine, her body betraying her far more than her words ever could.

“Still just gratitude?” you teased against her lips, thumb brushing over the underside of her breast.

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched.

Then, with a growl, she shoved you back—just far enough to yank her shirt over her head and toss it aside.

“Shut up,” she panted, eyes dark. “And touch me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched as your hands slid up her bare waist, thumbs brushing the delicate underside of her breasts. Her skin burned under your touch, every inch of her trembling with restraint—like she was fighting the urge to either shove you away or beg for more.

“Fuck,” she gasped when your fingers traced the lace of her bra, her nails digging into your shoulders. “You—ah—you talk too much.”

You smirked against her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there just to feel her shudder. “Me? You’re the one who can’t stop whining.”

She let out a sharp, breathless laugh before catching your lips again in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Her tongue slid against yours, hot and demanding, and you groaned, hands tightening on her hips.

“Hnngh—shut up,” she panted between kisses, her voice already wrecked. “Just—fuck—just touch me already.”

You obliged, one hand sliding up to cup her breast through the lace, thumb circling her nipple until it peaked under your touch. Jeongyeon arched into your palm with a broken moan, her head falling back against the wall. “There,” she breathed, hips grinding against yours. “God, yes—just like that—”

You chuckled, leaning in to lick a stripe up her throat. “So fucking needy.”

She whined, high and desperate, her fingers tangling in your hair to yank your mouth back to hers. The kiss was sloppy, all teeth and clashing tongues, but neither of you cared—not when she was melting against you like this, not when every ragged breath she took was yours.

“You’re mine,” you growled against her lips, hands sliding down to grip the waistband of her jeans. “Just for tonight.”

Jeongyeon’s breath stuttered, her eyes fluttering shut for a second before she forced them open again—dark, hungry.

“Yours,” she agreed, voice rough. “Fuck—just—”

You didn’t let her finish.

With a sharp tug, you popped the button of her jeans, fingers sliding beneath the fabric to tease the damp lace of her panties. Jeongyeon jolted, a strangled gasp escaping her as your fingertips brushed over her. “Wet,” you murmured, dragging your fingers along her slit just to hear her whimper. “All for me?”

She nodded frantically, hips canting into your touch. “Y-yes—please—”

The please nearly undid you. Jeongyeon never begged. But here she was, trembling in your arms, her body pliant and yours—even if just for tonight.

You kissed her again, slow and filthy, as your fingers finally slipped beneath the lace, tracing her folds with agonizing slowness.

“Mmmf—!” She broke the kiss with a gasp, her thighs clamping around your hand. “Fuck, don’t—don’t tease—”

You chuckled, nipping at her jaw. “Who’s teasing?” Then you slid a finger inside her. Jeongyeon screamed.

You pulled back suddenly, your fingers slipping out of her with a wet sound that made her whimper. Jeongyeon’s eyes flew open, dazed and confused, her body still arching toward you—chasing the touch you’d just denied her.

“W-what—?” Her voice was wrecked, breathless.

You smirked, stepping back just far enough to lean against the opposite wall, arms crossing over your chest. “Show me.”

Jeongyeon blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” Your gaze dropped pointedly to where her jeans were still undone, her panties damp and clinging. “Touch yourself. Put on a show for me.”

Her breath hitched, cheeks flushing darker. For a second, she just stared at you, lips parted—like she couldn’t decide whether to protest or obey.

Then, slowly, her fingers trailed down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. “Fuck,” she breathed as her fingertips brushed her clit, her hips jerking at the contact.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched, your own pulse pounding as Jeongyeon’s fingers began to move in slow, teasing circles. “H-happy?” she gasped, her other hand bracing against the wall for support. You smirked. “Not yet.”

Jeongyeon groaned, but her fingers didn’t stop—if anything, they moved faster, her touch growing more desperate as she teased herself. “Ahh—!” Her head fell back, her thighs trembling. “F-fuck, I—hnngh—”

You stayed where you were, drinking in the sight of her—the way her chest heaved, the way her fingers glistened as they slid lower, dipping inside herself with a broken moan.

“Mmmf—!” Her hips rolled against her own hand, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Shit, I—I can’t—!”

You finally pushed off the wall, stepping closer—but not touching. Not yet.

“Yes, you can,” you murmured, your voice rough. “Come on, Jeongyeon. Let me see you fall apart.”

Her eyes met yours, dark and pleading—and then she did.

Jeongyeon's fingers worked faster now, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fucked herself with desperate, slick strokes. The wet sounds of her fingers plunging in and out filled the room, mixing with her choked-off moans.

"F-fuck—!" Her head tipped back against the wall, her free hand gripping her own breast roughly, pinching her nipple through the lace of her bra. "Hahh—shit—!"

You stayed where you were, watching her unravel—her thighs trembling, her stomach muscles clenching with every thrust of her fingers. She was close. So fucking close. "That's it," you murmured, your own voice thick with want. "Let me see you come."

Jeongyeon whimpered, her hips jerking erratically as she chased her release. "I—ahh—I can't—!"

"Yes, you can." Your hands flexed at your sides, aching to touch her, but you held back. "Do it. Now."

A broken cry tore from her throat as her back arched off the wall, her body locking up for one suspended second—before she shattered. "NGH—!"

Her thighs clamped around her own hand as she came, her entire body trembling through the waves of pleasure. You watched, transfixed, as her fingers slowed but didn't stop, dragging out every last shuddering aftershock until she was panting, boneless against the wall.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was her ragged breathing. Then, slowly, Jeongyeon lifted her head—her gaze meeting yours, dark and hungry. "Your turn."

The air between you crackled with something electric—charged, dangerous. Jeongyeon’s gaze dropped, her lips parting slightly as she took in the sight of your straining underwear, the fabric stretched taut over the thick outline of your cock. A slow, shaky exhale escaped her.

"Fuck," she breathed, voice rough. You smirked, fingers hooking into the waistband of your boxers. "Problem?"

She didn’t answer. Just watched, transfixed, as you dragged the fabric down inch by torturous inch—until finally, with a sharp snap of elastic, you freed yourself.

Your cock sprang out, thick and heavy, the flushed tip already glistening.

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched. For a moment, neither of you moved. The silence stretched, thick with tension, as her eyes traced every vein, every twitch of your length.

Then, slowly, she reached out—her fingers hovering just above your shaft, trembling slightly. "You’re—" She swallowed hard. "You’re bigger than I thought."

You chuckled darkly, your pulse roaring in your ears. "Gonna be a problem?"

Her gaze flicked up to yours, something unreadable flashing in her eyes. "No," she murmured. "Just means I’ll feel you more."

Her fingers finally made contact—feather-light at first, just a tentative brush of her fingertips along your length.

You hissed through your teeth, your cock jerking in her grip. Jeongyeon smirked, her touch growing bolder as she wrapped her hand around you, giving an experimental stroke. "Fuck," you groaned, your hips bucking into her grip.

She hummed, her thumb swiping over your leaking tip, spreading the precum in slow, teasing circles. "You like that?" she murmured, her voice low and husky.

You didn’t answer—couldn’t, not when her fingers were tightening around you, not when her touch was sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. Jeongyeon leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. "Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me how bad you want me."

Jeongyeon's fingers tightened around your cock, her thumb pressing deliberately against the swollen head as she dragged her palm down your length in one slow, filthy stroke. A bead of precum smeared across her skin, glistening under the dim light.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice dripping with something dark and teasing. "So fucking hard just from watching me. Pathetic."You gritted your teeth, your hips jerking into her grip involuntarily. "Shut the fuck up." She laughed—low, breathy—her fingers squeezing just enough to make you groan. "Make me."

Your hands shot out, gripping her waist as you yanked her forward, your cock sliding against her stomach, leaving a wet trail against her skin. "You want me to shut you up?" you growled, your voice rough. "Then stop talking and open that pretty fucking mouth."

Jeongyeon's breath hitched, her lips parting slightly—just enough for you to see the flash of her tongue. "Or what?" she challenged, her fingers still lazily stroking you. "You gonna force me?"

You smirked, your grip tightening on her hips. "Wouldn't have to force you. You've been begging for it since we walked in."

Her eyes darkened, her free hand coming up to grip your wrist—not to push you away, but to anchor herself. "Prove it," she whispered.

You didn't hesitate. One hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back as you shoved your cock past her lips, the tip hitting the back of her throat with a wet choke.

Jeongyeon's eyes watered instantly, her nails digging into your thighs as she gagged around you—but she didn't pull away. "That's it," you groaned, your fingers tightening in her hair. "Take it, slut."

She whimpered, her throat fluttering around you as you pushed deeper, her spit dripping down your shaft.

You pulled back just enough to let her gasp for air before slamming back in, her lips stretched obscenely around your girth. "Fuck—yes," you hissed, your hips jerking forward. "Just like that. Suck it."

Jeongyeon's moan vibrated around you, her tongue pressing against the underside of your cock as she tried to take you deeper. "Good girl," you praised darkly, your fingers tightening in her hair. "Now swallow."

Jeongyeon’s lips were slick and swollen around you, her throat fluttering in ragged, uneven spasms as she fought to take you deeper. Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth, her mascara smudged in dark streaks beneath her lashes—ruined, just like you wanted her.

She pulled back with a wet gasp, her chest heaving, but you didn’t give her a second to recover. Your fingers twisted tighter in her hair, yanking her head back until her neck arched, her breath hitching in warning.

"Did I say you could stop?" you growled.

Her lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl, her tongue darting out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe up your shaft. "Make up your fucking mind," she rasped, her voice wrecked. "You want me to suck it or choke on it?"

Cheeky bitch.

You grinned, sharp and predatory, before shoving her back down onto your cock in one brutal thrust.

Jeongyeon gagged, her nails digging into your thighs hard enough to leave marks, but she didn’t fight you. No—her eyes rolled back, her throat convulsing around you as if her body craved the punishment.

"That’s what I want," you muttered, watching the tears well in her lashes as you fucked her mouth in slow, filthy strokes. "You look so fucking pretty like this—lips stretched, throat bulging. Bet you’d let me ruin you for anyone else, huh?"

She moaned around you, the vibration sending a jolt of heat straight to your gut. "Yeah, you would," you continued, your voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Because you’re mine tonight. My cock’s the only thing you’re allowed to think about. The only thing you’re allowed to feel."

Jeongyeon’s fingers clenched tighter, her hips shifting restlessly against the floor—fuck, was she grinding against nothing? You chuckled, pulling her off just enough to let her gasp for air. "Pathetic. You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?"

Her chest heaved, her lips glistening with spit and precum. "Fuck you," she wheezed, but the way her thighs squeezed together betrayed her.

"Oh, I will," you promised, dragging your thumb across her bottom lip. "But first? You’re gonna swallow every last drop like the greedy little whore you are."

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched—and then, with a glare that could’ve melted steel, she lunged forward, taking you down her throat in one smooth, brutal motion.

Fuck. You saw stars.

The air between you was thick with the sounds of wet, sloppy gasps and the lewd squelch of Jeongyeon's throat struggling to accommodate you. Her lips were stretched obscenely around your girth, spit dripping down her chin in glistening strands that caught the dim light. You watched, transfixed, as her eyelashes fluttered—not in protest, but in something dangerously close to surrender.

Your fingers remained tangled in her hair, not yanking, not forcing—just guiding, your grip firm enough to remind her who was in control.

Jeongyeon's hands, which had been clawing at your thighs moments ago, now rested limply against them, her fingers twitching occasionally as she fought the instinct to push you away. Her throat convulsed around you in tight, involuntary spasms, each one sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

You exhaled slowly, your free hand coming up to trace the tear tracks on her cheeks with your thumb. "You're doing so well," you murmured, your voice low and steady.

Her eyes flicked up to yours, hazy with lust and something else—something raw and unfiltered. A choked whimper vibrated around your cock as you pushed deeper, her nose brushing against your stomach.

You held her there for a moment, letting her adjust, feeling the way her breath hitched through her nose in shallow, frantic pants. Then, with deliberate slowness, you pulled back until just the tip remained between her lips. Jeongyeon gasped, her chest heaving as she gulped down air, her tongue darting out to swipe weakly at your slit. "Again," you ordered, your tone leaving no room for argument.

She didn't hesitate. Her mouth enveloped you once more, her head bobbing in uneven, desperate strokes as she tried to take you deeper, faster—as if she needed this as much as you did.

You let her set the pace for a few blissful seconds before taking over again, your hips rocking forward in shallow thrusts that had her gagging around you.

"Good girl," you praised, your voice rough but calm. "Just like that."

Jeongyeon moaned, the sound muffled and broken, her fingers flexing against your thighs. You could feel your release building, coiling tight in your gut, but you weren't ready yet. Not when she looked this perfect—messy, wrecked, and utterly yours.

So you slowed, pulling back until she was left panting, her lips swollen and glistening. "Look at me," you commanded. Her gaze lifted, her pupils blown wide with want. You smirked. "Let's try that again."

The moment you released your grip on her hair, Jeongyeon didn't pull away. Instead, she dove back in with a hunger that bordered on desperation, her lips sealing around your cock with a wet, obscene noise that echoed in the quiet of the apartment.

This time, she took control.

Her hands came up to grip the base of your shaft, her fingers tightening just enough to make your breath hitch as she began moving in slow, deliberate strokes. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside of your cock, dragging up in long, languid licks before swirling around the head with a teasing flick. "Fuck—" you exhaled, your fingers flexing at your sides.

Jeongyeon hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. She glanced up at you through her lashes, her gaze dark and knowing, before sinking down again—deeper this time, her throat fluttering as she forced herself to take more.

Spit dripped from her lips, slicking your length as she worked you over with a messy, unhurried rhythm. Every pull of her mouth was deliberate, every flick of her tongue calculated to drag out every last shred of your restraint.

You could feel the heat coiling low in your stomach, your muscles tensing as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge. "Jeongyeon—" you warned, your voice rough.

She didn't stop. If anything, she doubled down, her pace quickening just slightly as her fingers twisted at the base of your cock, her other hand coming up to cup your balls with a gentle, teasing pressure. Your hips jerked forward involuntarily, a groan tearing from your throat as you felt yourself teetering on the brink.

Jeongyeon pulled back at the last second, her lips popping off your cock with a lewd sound as she leaned back on her heels, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Her face was flushed, her lips swollen and glistening, her eyes half-lidded with something dangerously close to satisfaction.

"Come on," she murmured, her voice wrecked. "Let me see it."

You didn't need to be told twice. With a sharp exhale, you reached down, fisting your cock in one rough stroke as your release spilled over her face in thick, uneven stripes.

Jeongyeon didn't flinch. She held your gaze the entire time, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop as it slid down her cheek. "Messy," she mused, her lips curling into a smirk. You chuckled, breathless. "You love it."

Jeongyeon wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand, her fingers coming away sticky as she examined the mess you'd left on her skin. A slow, knowing smirk curled at her lips as she looked up at you, her gaze dripping with something between amusement and challenge.

"You really didn't want anything in return, huh?" she drawled, arching an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me."

You exhaled a laugh, your cock still twitching against your thigh, half-hard and glistening under the dim light. "Funny. I seem to recall someone insisting I take payment." You tapped her cheek lightly with two fingers—just enough to make her nose scrunch up in irritation. "What was it again? 'Just once'?"

Jeongyeon swatted your hand away, her lips twisting into a scowl that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, well, maybe I overestimated your self-control."

"Or maybe," you countered, leaning in just enough to see her breath hitch, "you underestimated how good you'd look with my cum on your face."

Her cheeks darkened, but she held your stare, unflinching. "Wow. Real poetic. Should I be flattered?"

You chuckled, dragging your thumb along her bottom lip, smearing the remnants of your release against her skin. "You tell me. You're the one who practically begged for it."

Jeongyeon's eyes narrowed. "I did not beg—"

"Could've fooled me," you echoed, grinning as you gave her cheek a playful smack with the side of your cock—just hard enough to make a wet, lewd sound against her skin.

She gasped, her hand flying up to swat at you again, but you caught her wrist before she could land the hit. "Hey—!"

You tsked, shaking your head. "Naughty. Don't get pissy just because I'm right." Jeongyeon yanked her arm free with a scoff, wiping at her face again—more aggressively this time. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," you mused, tilting your head, "here you are. Still on your knees."

Her lips parted—then snapped shut again, her jaw working as she visibly fought back whatever retort was on the tip of her tongue.

The smirk on Jeongyeon’s lips faltered for just a second—just long enough for you to catch the flicker of something raw beneath the snark. She exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers stilling where they’d been wiping at her cheek. "This is fucked up," she muttered, more to herself than to you.

You didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. Jeongyeon’s gaze dropped to the floor, her shoulders tensing. "I hate that I don’t hate this."

You tilted your head, studying her. "Guilt doesn’t suit you." She barked out a laugh, bitter and sharp. "Yeah, well, neither does cheating on my husband."

There it was. The admission, ugly and unfiltered, hanging in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. You didn’t flinch. "You think I don’t know that?"

Jeongyeon’s eyes snapped up to yours, searching—for judgment, for disgust, maybe even for permission. But all she found was quiet understanding. "Then why—?" Her voice cracked.

"Because you needed it," you said simply. "Not just the sex. Not just the distraction. This—someone who doesn’t look at you like you’re a problem to fix."

Her breath hitched. You reached out, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone, smearing the last traces of your release still clinging to her skin. "He’s drowning, and he’s dragging you down with him. But you? You’re still alive."

Jeongyeon shuddered, her lashes fluttering shut for a brief moment before she forced them open again. "That’s not an excuse."

"Did I say it was?" You leaned in, close enough that your breath ghosted over her lips. "I’m just telling you the truth. Whether you want to hear it or not."

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "I hate you." You smirked. "Liar." Jeongyeon didn’t argue.

The air between you was thick with something heavier than lust—something raw and unspoken, tangled in the way Jeongyeon's breath still hitched when you touched her, in the way her fingers trembled even as she tried to glare at you.

You let the silence stretch a beat longer, watching the conflict play out behind her eyes—guilt, want, frustration, all warring for dominance. Then, with a slow smirk, you leaned in, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell you what," you murmured, your thumb dragging along her lower lip. "Let me distract you properly."

Jeongyeon's brow furrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to—ah!"

Her protest cut off in a sharp gasp as you suddenly gripped her thighs and yanked her forward, dragging her across the floor until her legs were sprawled on either side of your hips. She barely had time to brace her hands against your shoulders before you were leaning in, your breath hot against the inside of her thigh.

"You're thinking too much," you muttered, nipping at the sensitive skin there just to feel her jolt. "So shut up and let me fix that."

Jeongyeon's breath came faster, her fingers tightening in your shirt. "Y-you—"

With deliberate slowness, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of her jeans, peeling them down her hips along with her soaked panties. The scent of her hit you immediately—warm, heady, undeniably hers—and you groaned, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the crease of her thigh.

"Fuck," Jeongyeon whimpered, her hips jerking involuntarily.

You chuckled darkly, your hands sliding under her ass to lift her just enough—then, without warning, you licked a slow, filthy stripe from her entrance all the way up to her clit. Jeongyeon arched, a broken cry tearing from her throat as her thighs clamped around your head. "Oh my god—!

You didn't give her a chance to recover. Your tongue swirled around her clit in tight, relentless circles, your fingers digging into her hips to keep her from squirming away. She was drowning in it—her back bowed off the floor, her hands fisting in your hair hard enough to hurt, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

"You taste perfect," you growled against her, the vibration drawing another desperate whimper from her lips. "Bet you'd come perfect, too."

Jeongyeon sobbed something incoherent, her hips canting into your mouth shamelessly now, chasing the pleasure with a desperation that bordered on pathetic. And you let her.

You let her grind against your tongue, let her fingers tug at your hair, let her fall apart—because for once, she wasn't thinking about debts or guilt or her failing marriage.

She was just feeling. And God, was it beautiful.

Jeongyeon’s thighs trembled violently as she hovered above your face, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The flush on her chest had deepened, spreading down to the tops of her breasts, her skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Her fingers dug into the back of the couch for balance, her knuckles white with tension.

“Fuck—fuck, wait—” she panted, her voice strangled. You smirked up at her, your hands gripping the backs of her thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there. “Scared?”

Her eyes flashed—dark, defiant, needy. “Shut up,” she hissed, but her hips jerked forward anyway, her cunt hovering just inches from your mouth.

You exhaled, slow and deliberate, letting your breath ghost over her slick folds. Jeongyeon whimpered, her thighs tightening around your head. “Do it,” you murmured, your voice rough. “Sit.”

For a heartbeat, she hesitated—then, with a sharp inhale, she lowered herself onto your mouth in one slow, deliberate motion.

The moment your tongue made contact, she jolted, a broken cry tearing from her throat as her hands flew to your hair, fisting in it desperately. “Oh—oh my god—!”

You groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her entire body as you licked a slow, filthy stripe from her entrance to her clit. Jeongyeon’s hips jerked forward instinctively, grinding against your mouth with a shameless, desperate roll.

“Fuck—right there—!” she gasped, her thighs clamping around your head as you swirled your tongue around her clit in tight, relentless circles.

You could feel her unraveling—the way her muscles tensed, the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers tugged at your hair hard enough to hurt. She was close, teetering on the edge, her entire body coiled tight with tension.

And then— “Wait—!” she suddenly gasped, her hands yanking your head back just enough to break contact. You blinked up at her, your lips still wet with her. “Problem?”

Jeongyeon’s chest heaved, her pupils blown wide with lust. “I—I don’t—” She swallowed hard, her grip on your hair loosening slightly. “I don’t wanna come yet.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No?” She shook her head, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “I want—fuck—I want you to ruin me first.”

Your smirk returned, slow and predatory. “Oh, Jeongyeon,” you murmured, your hands sliding up to grip her hips. “You should’ve just said so.”

Then, without warning, you yanked her back down onto your mouth. The moment your tongue delved back in, Jeongyeon’s entire body arched—her back bowing off the couch, her thighs clamping around your head like a vice. A broken, guttural moan tore from her throat as you licked into her with slow, filthy precision, your nose brushing against her clit with every upward stroke.

“F-fuck—!” Her fingers twisted violently in your hair, yanking hard enough to make your scalp sting. “Right there—don’t stop—!”

Your hands slid up to grip her ass, fingers digging into the supple flesh as you pulled her harder against your mouth, your tongue swirling around her clit in tight, relentless circles. Jeongyeon jolted, her hips jerking erratically as she ground down onto your face, her wetness smearing across your chin. “Hahh—! Oh god—!” Her voice was raw, wrecked, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. “M-more—!”

Your tongue flicked faster, your lips sealing around her clit to suck hard, just the way you knew she liked it. Jeongyeon shrieked, her thighs trembling violently as her orgasm crashed over her—wave after wave of pleasure wracking her body as she clenched around nothing, her cunt pulsing against your tongue. But you didn’t let up.

The moment her high started to fade, you dug your tongue back in, licking broad, flat strokes from her entrance to her oversensitive clit. Jeongyeon sobbed, her hands shoving weakly at your forehead. “W-wait—too much—!”

You ignored her. Your fingers tightened on her ass, holding her in place as you lapped at her, your tongue fucking into her in shallow, teasing thrusts. Jeongyeon’s protests dissolved into wordless, hysterical moans, her body twitching helplessly as you pushed her right back to the edge.

“Ngh—! P-please—!” Her voice was barely a whisper, her thighs shaking uncontrollably. “I c-can’t—!” You pulled back just enough to smirk up at her, your lips glistening. “You can,” you murmured, before diving back in.

For a brief, suspended moment, the only sound in the room was Jeongyeon’s ragged breathing—uneven, exhausted, her chest rising and falling in shallow tremors. Her fingers, still tangled loosely in your hair, twitched weakly as she tried to catch her breath, her thighs slackening around your head just enough to let cool air brush against her overheated skin.

You pulled back slightly, resting your forehead against the inside of her thigh, your own breath warm against her damp skin. Jeongyeon exhaled shakily, her voice hoarse. "...You're insane." You chuckled, pressing a soft, almost chaste kiss to the crease of her thigh. "And yet you're still here." She huffed, her fingers flexing in your hair—not pulling, just holding. "Shut up."

You grinned, tilting your head to nuzzle against her skin, your lips brushing feather-light over the faint marks your stubble had left behind. Jeongyeon shivered, but she didn’t push you away.

For a heartbeat, it was almost sweet—the way her fingers carded through your hair absently, the way her breath steadied just slightly, the way her body relaxed incrementally under your touch.

Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, you dragged your tongue up the inside of her thigh—teasing, not quite touching where she really wanted you. Jeongyeon growled, her grip tightening in your hair. "Asshole."

You laughed, low and rough. "You love it." Her eyes narrowed, her lips curling into something dangerously close to a smile—before she yanked your head back where she wanted you. "Prove it."

Jeongyeon barely had time to gasp before your hands were under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly off the couch. Her arms instinctively wrapped around your neck, her breath hitching as you carried her through the dimly lit apartment—her legs dangling over your forearm, her back pressed flush against your chest.

"W-wait—" she stammered, but you were already pushing open the bedroom door with your shoulder, the hinges creaking softly in protest.

The bed dipped under her weight as you dropped her onto the mattress, her body bouncing slightly before settling against the rumpled sheets. Jeongyeon propped herself up on her elbows, her hair mussed, her lips still swollen from earlier—but before she could speak, you were crawling over her, your hands sliding up her sides to the hem of her shirt. "Off," you ordered, your voice rough.

Jeongyeon exhaled sharply, but she didn't argue—just lifted her arms obediently as you tugged the fabric over her head, tossing it somewhere to the side. Her bra followed seconds later, the clasp giving way with a practiced flick of your fingers.

And then—there she was. Her breasts spilled into your palms the moment you cupped them, warm and heavy, her nipples already pebbled under your touch. Jeongyeon whimpered, her back arching off the bed as your thumbs brushed over the sensitive peaks, circling them in slow, teasing strokes.

"Fuck," she breathed, her fingers twisting in the sheets.

You smirked, leaning down to drag your tongue over one taut bud, savoring the way her breath hitched. "Like that?"

Jeongyeon nodded frantically, her hips canting up uselessly. "Y-yes—more—"

You obliged, sealing your lips around her nipple and sucking hard, your tongue flicking over the peak in quick, relentless circles. Jeongyeon cried out, her back bowing off the mattress as pleasure shot straight to her core, her thighs clamping together instinctively. "Ahh—!" Her hands flew to your hair, tugging desperately. "D-don't stop—!"

You had no intention of stopping. Switching to her other breast, you lavished it with the same attention—nipping, licking, sucking until she was writhing beneath you, her moans growing increasingly broken. "So sensitive," you murmured against her skin, your teeth grazing her nipple just to hear her squeak. "Bet I could make you come just like this."

Jeongyeon's breath stuttered, her hips jerking at the thought—but before she could respond, you pinched her neglected nipple between your fingers, rolling it roughly.

Jeongyeon’s chest heaved under your mouth, her skin glistening with a mix of sweat and spit as you dragged your tongue in broad, sloppy strokes from the swell of one breast to the other. Her nipples were stiff and flushed, pebbled from the constant attention—and you weren’t done yet.

You leaned back just enough to watch the way her breath hitched, her eyes dark and half-lidded as she stared up at you. Then, with deliberate slowness, you let a thick string of saliva drip from your lips onto her left nipple. "F-fuck—" she gasped, her back arching off the bed as the cool wetness hit her overheated skin.

You smirked, blowing lightly on the spit-slick peak just to watch her shiver. "You like that?" Jeongyeon’s fingers twisted in the sheets, her thighs pressing together restlessly. "Y-you’re disgusting," she breathed, but the way her chest rose and fell betrayed her.

"Mm, sure," you hummed, before leaning back down and licking a long, filthy stripe up the underside of her breast, gathering the spit that had pooled there. Jeongyeon whined, her hips jerking as your tongue swirled around her nipple again, this time with just enough pressure to make her toes curl.

"Hahh—!" Her hands flew to your hair, gripping tight as you sealed your lips around her and sucked hard, your tongue pressing flat against the sensitive bud.

You could feel her trembling beneath you, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you switched to her other breast, repeating the same torturous attention—slobbering over her skin, letting spit drip down the curve before licking it back up with slow, exaggerated strokes. Jeongyeon’s moans grew increasingly desperate, her back arching off the bed as you teased her mercilessly, your mouth hot and wet against her. "M-more—" she begged, her voice cracking.

You pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, your lips still glistening. "More what?" Jeongyeon’s cheeks flushed darker, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "More—fuck—more of this—"

You grinned. "Good girl." Then you dove back in, your mouth drowning her in sensation—sucking, licking, slobbering over every inch of her tits until she was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath you.

The last of Jeongyeon’s clothing hit the floor with a soft thud, leaving her bare beneath you—her skin flushed, her chest still heaving from the relentless attention you’d paid to her breasts. Your own clothes followed soon after, tossed carelessly aside until there was nothing left between you but the slick heat of skin on skin.

Your cock, already spit-slick and heavy from earlier, twitched against her thigh as you settled between her legs. Jeongyeon’s breath hitched at the contact, her hips canting up instinctively—but you didn’t give her what she wanted. Not yet.

Instead, your fingers trailed down her stomach, tracing idle circles over her hipbones before dipping lower, just brushing the damp curls between her thighs. Jeongyeon jolted, her nails digging into your shoulders. “Fuck—quit teasing—”

You smirked, pressing a single finger against her entrance, relishing the way her breath stuttered. “You’re already dripping,” you murmured, dragging your fingertip through her slick folds before pushing in, just to the first knuckle. Jeongyeon’s back arched, a choked moan spilling from her lips as her walls fluttered around you. “Ahh—!”

“So fucking wet,” you growled, curling your finger just so, drawing another broken sound from her throat. “All for me?” Jeongyeon’s lips curled into a smirk, despite the way her thighs trembled around your hand. “Don’t—hnngh—don’t flatter yourself,” she panted, her hips rolling against your fingers. “I just—ah!—haven’t been fucked properly in ages.”

You chuckled, adding a second finger and scissoring them slowly, stretching her as her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. “Liar,” you murmured, leaning down to nip at her collarbone. “You’re starving for it.”

Jeongyeon whined, her nails scraping down your back as you crooked your fingers, rubbing against that spot inside her with deliberate precision. “Shit—!”

You didn’t let up, your thumb circling her clit in tight, relentless strokes as your fingers fucked into her, slow and deep. “Tell me,” you demanded, your voice rough. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

Jeongyeon’s head thrashed against the pillows, her thighs clamping around your wrist as pleasure coiled tight in her gut. “I—fuck—I hate you—”

You laughed, pressing harder, faster, until her words dissolved into a wordless, hysterical moan. “Yeah?” you taunted, your lips brushing her ear. “Then why are you shaking?”

Jeongyeon sobbed, her hips jerking erratically as you pushed her closer and closer to the edge—until, with a sharp cry, she shattered, her cunt clenching around your fingers as her orgasm ripped through her. You didn’t stop. Not until she was whimpering, her hands shoving weakly at your wrist. “T-too much—”

You pulled your fingers free with a wet pop, bringing them to your lips and licking her taste off with a satisfied hum. “Perfect,” you murmured, before leaning down to kiss her—deep and filthy, letting her taste herself on your tongue.

Jeongyeon moaned into your mouth, her fingers tangling in your hair as she kissed you back with equal fervor. When you finally pulled away, her lips were swollen, her eyes dark with want.

“Now,” she panted, her legs hooking around your hips, pulling you closer. “Fuck me.”

You grinned, your cock pressing against her entrance, the tip already slick with her arousal. “Gladly.”

The first thrust was deliberate—slow, torturous, the thick head of your cock spreading her open inch by obscene inch until Jeongyeon’s nails carved crescent moons into your shoulders, her breath stuttering in her throat like a broken record. “F-fuck—” she choked out, her cunt fluttering around you as you bottomed out, her walls clenching like they were trying to milk you dry already.

You groaned, your hips pressing flush against hers, your cock twitching inside her as you gave her a moment to adjust—though adjusting was a fucking joke when her pussy was dripping, her thighs shaking like she’d been starved for it.

Jeongyeon’s head tipped back, her lips parted in a silent gasp as you pulled out almost all the way—just to slam back in with a sharp snap of your hips that punched a ragged scream from her lungs.

“AHHH—!”

That’s more like it. Your hands dug into the meat of her thighs, spreading her wider as you set a brutal pace—no finesse, no patience, just raw, filthy fucking, your cock pistoning in and out of her with enough force to make the bed creak beneath you.

Jeongyeon sobbed, her back arching off the mattress as you hammered into her, each thrust dragging over that spot inside her that made her vision whiten at the edges. “S-shit—!” Her fingers scrambled for purchase, clawing at the sheets like she was clinging for life. “H-harder—!”

You laughed, breathless, your hips snapping forward with enough force to jolt her up the bed. “Greedy,” you growled, your fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise as you yanked her back onto your cock. “Take it.”

Jeongyeon’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, her cunt squeezing around you like a vice as you pounded into her, the wet, squelching sounds of her pussy taking you filling the room alongside her broken moans. “F-fuck—!” Her legs locked around your waist, her heels digging into your ass as if she could force you deeper. “Ruin it—!”

Your fingers tangled violently in Jeongyeon's sweat-damp hair, wrenching her head back until her throat strained in a perfect, vulnerable arch. The choked gasp that spilled from her lips sent a surge of possessive heat straight to your cock, buried to the hilt inside her clenching warmth.

"Look at you," you snarled, your hips snapping forward in a brutal piston motion that made her toes curl against the small of your back. "Taking my cock like a fucking slut after all that whining."

Jeongyeon's moan cracked into a sob as you angled deeper, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing off the walls with each merciless thrust. "S-shut u—AHH!" Her protest dissolved into a shriek as you yanked her hair harder, exposing the fluttering pulse at her throat to your teeth.

You bit down - not enough to break skin but enough to make her squirm, her cunt convulsing around you in desperate little spasms. "You love this," you growled against her sweat-slick skin, punctuating each word with a punishing snap of your hips. "Love getting used, love being my filthy little cock sleeve—"

"Nnh—liar—!" she keened, but the way her nails scored bloody crescents down your back betrayed her. Her thighs trembled where they clamped around your waist, her slick coating your balls with every filthy thrust.

A cruel smirk curled your lips as you adjusted your grip, wrapping her hair around your fist like a rein before pulling - forcing her to meet your gaze through tear-blurred lashes. "Then why," you hissed, driving into her with a particularly vicious stroke that made her eyes roll back, "are you dripping all over my dick, Jeongyeon?"

Her mouth opened - to protest, to curse you, to beg - but all that escaped was a broken wail as you pounded into her, your free hand groping the sweat-slick swell of her breast to pinch a nipple hard. The dual sensations tore another ragged scream from her throat, her walls fluttering around you in erratic pulses as she teetered dangerously close to the edge.

"N-not—not yet—!" she sobbed, her hips jerking in aborted little circles, torn between chasing her pleasure and fleeing the overwhelming sensation.

You laughed - your thrusts turning erratic as your own control frayed. "Beg me to stop then," you challenged, your teeth grazing the shell of her ear. "Go on. Try."

Jeongyeon's breath hitched - her lips parted - Jeongyeon's ragged panting filled the air as her thighs trembled around your waist, her cunt still spasming weakly from the brutal pace you'd set. Sweat glistened along her collarbones, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven jerks as she struggled to catch her breath.

But then—her lips curled. A slow, defiant smirk spread across her swollen mouth, her eyes—still hazy with lust—locking onto yours with something dangerously close to challenge. "You really think..." she panted, her hips rolling just enough to make your cock twitch inside her, "...that this is the worst I've taken?"

Your grip tightened in her hair instinctively, yanking her head back further until her throat arched. "Oh?" you murmured, your thumb brushing roughly over her nipple. "You saying you can handle more?"

Jeongyeon's smirk widened, even as her breath hitched when you twisted your hips, grinding deep. "I'm saying..." she gasped, her fingers scrambling against the sheets, "...you're not half as scary as you think you are."

Bold words.

You chuckled, your free hand sliding down to grip her thigh, digging your fingers into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise. "Let's test that theory," you purred—before slamming back into her with enough force to make the headboard crack against the wall. Jeongyeon's back arched off the bed, a broken scream tearing from her throat as you set a punishing new rhythm, each thrust jarring through her with brutal precision. "F-fuck—!"

"Scared yet?" you taunted, your voice rough with strain as her walls clenched around you, her body betraying her bravado with every ragged moan. Jeongyeon's nails dug into your shoulders, her legs locking around your waist tighter—pulling you deeper. "N-not even—ahh!—close," she gasped, her smirk wavering but still there. Oh, you'd break that smirk soon enough.

The air was thick with the scent of sex—musky, primal, hers—as your hips pistoned into Jeongyeon with relentless, animalistic force. Sweat dripped from your brow onto her heaving chest, mingling with the sheen glistening across her flushed skin. Every brutal thrust punched another ragged sound from her throat—ah-ah-AHH!—her voice cracking under the assault.

Jeongyeon’s thighs trembled where they locked around your waist, her heels digging into the small of your back as if she could somehow force you deeper. Her cunt was drenched, clenching around you in erratic spasms, the wet squelch of your cock plunging in and out obscenely loud in the otherwise silent room.

“F-fuck—fuck—!” she sobbed, her nails carving crimson trails down your shoulders. “Y-you’re—nngh!—gonna break me—!”

You laughed, dark and breathless, your fingers tightening in her hair as you yanked her head back, exposing the delicate column of her throat to your teeth. “Good,” you groaned before biting down, sucking a bruise into her pulse point as you hammered into her with enough force to jolt her up the bed.

Jeongyeon screeched, her back arching off the mattress, her walls fluttering around you in desperate, uneven clenches. “I-I can’t—!”

“You can,” you snarled, your thrusts turning erratic, your balls slapping against her ass with every snap of your hips. “You’re gonna take it—gonna take every fucking drop—”

Her breath hitched—her eyes widened— And then you slammed into her one last time, burying yourself to the hilt as your orgasm ripped through you with blinding force. “FUCK!”

Hot ropes of cum pulsed deep into her womb, your cock twitching violently as you filled her, your hips grinding forward in shallow, instinctive rolls to milk yourself dry. Jeongyeon wailed, her cunt convulsing around you as her own climax crashed over her—wave after wave of pleasure wracking her body as she dripped around your still-spurting cock.

For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the wet drip of your combined releases leaking from her stretched hole.

Then—Jeongyeon collapsed back onto the mattress, her limbs boneless, her chest rising and falling in uneven jerks. “...holy shit,” she slurred, her voice wrecked. You smirked, pressing one last, filthy kiss to her swollen lips. “Told you I’d ruin you.”

The room was quiet now, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythm of Jeongyeon’s breathing as she lay beside you, her body still warm and pliant from the aftershocks of pleasure. The sheets were tangled around your legs, the scent of sex still lingering in the air, but for now, none of that mattered.

Her fingers traced idle patterns across your chest, her touch feather-light, as if she were memorizing the feel of your skin. You turned your head to look at her, and for the first time that night, her expression was unguarded—soft, almost vulnerable in the dim light. "This was... nice," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "More than nice, actually."

A small, tired smile curved her lips, but there was something in her eyes—something bittersweet, something final. You knew what this was. A goodbye. Your chest tightened, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead before letting your fingers linger against her cheek. "Yeah," you agreed quietly. "It was."

Jeongyeon exhaled, her lashes fluttering as she leaned into your touch for just a second longer before pulling away. "I mean it," she said, her voice firmer now, though still laced with something unspoken. "I’ll... remember this."

But not enough to stay. The words hung between you, unvoiced but understood. You swallowed the ache in your throat and smiled—really smiled—because if this was all you got, then you’d make sure it was enough. "Good," you said, your thumb brushing one last time over her cheekbone. "Then it was worth it."

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched, just slightly, before she shifted, curling into your side with a quiet sigh. You wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, memorizing the weight of her against you—the way her body fit so perfectly against yours, as if it were made to be there. But morning would come. And when it did, she would leave. For now, though—just for tonight—you let yourself pretend.

Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled sheets where she had been. You reached out before you were fully awake, fingers brushing empty space—still warm, but not enough. The pillow beside you bore the faintest indentation, the ghost of her weight already fading.

The apartment was silent. No rustle of fabric. No hum of the shower running. No soft, sleep-roughened voice murmuring good morning. Just stillness.

You sat up, running a hand through your hair as your gaze swept the room. Her clothes—scattered across the floor last night—were gone. The glass of water she’d left on the nightstand was untouched. And on the pillow, a single folded note. You didn’t need to open it to know what it said. Some things weren’t meant to last.

You exhaled, slow and measured, before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. The sheets still smelled like her—like sweat and perfume and something hers—but even that would fade soon. Morning had come. And just like she promised, she was gone.

Interlude: Strangers Again

The first time you saw her after that night was at the grand reopening of her boutique.

Jeongyeon stood near the entrance, dressed in a crisp white blouse and tailored slacks, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She looked every bit the polished business owner—smiling at customers, shaking hands with investors, her laughter bright and practiced. And when her eyes met yours across the room, there was nothing. No flicker of recognition. No warmth. No guilt. Just the polite, detached smile she reserved for strangers.b

Your chest tightened, but you kept your expression neutral as you approached. "Congratulations," you said, handing her the envelope—the final paperwork that would secure her shop’s future. "Thank you," she replied, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest second before pulling away. "We appreciate your help."

We. Not I. Not you and me.

Just we—the royal kind, the kind that meant nothing at all. You forced a smile. "Of course. Business is business." jeongyeon nodded, already turning to greet the next guest, her dismissal clear.

The second time was at a supplier meeting.

You sat across from her in a too-bright conference room, the terms of the new contract laid out between you like a battlefield. Jeongyeon’s husband—tall, broad-shouldered, with a grip that lingered just a second too long when he shook your hand—flanked her like a guard dog. "We’re grateful for your continued support," he said, his voice smooth. "Jeongyeon’s told me how instrumental you’ve been."

You glanced at her, searching for something—a crack in the facade, a hint of the woman who’d gasped your name into the dark. But she just sipped her coffee, her gaze fixed on the paperwork. "Just doing my job," you replied.

Jeongyeon’s pen paused mid-signature. For a heartbeat, the air between you thickened—then she exhaled, scribbling her name with a flourish before pushing the document toward you. "Then consider this the final step," she said, her voice steady. "We won’t need to trouble you anymore."

Her husband smiled. You pretended not to notice the way her knuckles whitened around her cup.

The last time was an accident.

You turned a corner in the shopping district and there she was—no husband, no customers, just Jeongyeon in a sundress, her arms full of fabric samples.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then, quietly: "...Hi." The word was so soft you almost missed it. You swallowed. "Hi."

Jeongyeon shifted her grip on the samples, her eyes darting past your shoulder like she expected someone to appear. "The shop’s doing well," she said finally.

"I heard." a pause. The tension between you was palpable, thick with everything unsaid. Then— "I should go," she murmured, already stepping around you.

You didn’t stop her. But as she walked away, you could’ve sworn you saw her fingers rise—just for a second—to touch the spot on her neck where your teeth had left a mark.

Then she rounded the corner. And just like before, she was gone.

One Month Later

Rain pattered against the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the Seoul skyline into streaks of neon and shadow. You leaned back in your chair, fingers steepled beneath your chin as you scanned the quarterly reports—numbers and projections that usually held your focus. Tonight, they were just ink on paper.

A knock at the door. "Come in," you called, not looking up.The door creaked open. Silence.

Then—

"...Hi."

A voice you hadn't heard in weeks. A voice that shouldn't have made your pulse jump. Your head snapped up.

Jeongyeon stood in the doorway, her hair damp from the rain, her fingers twisting around the strap of her purse. No polished smile. No husband in sight. Just her—eyes wide, lips parted, like she'd just run here. Like she wasn't sure why she came. The clock on the wall ticked once. Twice.

You opened your mouth—

Jeongyeon’s Interlude – One Month Earlier

Jeongyeon had slipped out before dawn, her body still singing with the aftershocks of your touch, her skin still carrying the phantom weight of your hands. The note she left was deliberate—polite, impersonal, final. A clean break. Or so she told herself.

But reality had other plans.

Her husband barely noticed her absence when she returned home. He was already halfway through his morning coffee, scrolling through stocks on his phone. "Shop’s reopening next week," she said, testing the waters.

"Mm," he grunted, not looking up. "Good." That was it. No questions. No how did you pull this off? No thank you.

Jeongyeon’s fingers clenched around her own cup. You would’ve asked. You would’ve cared. She swallowed the Thought like a poison.

Two Weeks Later

The boutique flourished. Customers returned. Investors smiled. Her husband, for the first time in months, looked at her. "We should celebrate," he said one night, his hand sliding up her thigh under the dinner table. Jeongyeon stiffened.

His touch was wrong—too familiar, too entitled, like he’d earned the right to her body simply because the business was thriving again. You had touched her like she was precious. She forced a smile. "Not tonight." His expression darkened, but he let her go.

Three Weeks Later

The first time her husband tried to fuck her after that night with you, it was a disaster.

He didn’t prepare her. Didn’t kiss her. Just rolled on top of her, rutting into her dry cunt like he was claiming territory. Jeongyeon bit her lip until it bled, her mind treacherously replaying the way you had worshipped her—the way your tongue had lapped at her until she dripped, the way your cock had stretched her just right, the way you’d whispered against her skin—

"You’re not even wet," her husband snapped, pulling out with a frustrated grunt. She turned her face into the pillow. "Sorry." He didn’t try again.

Four Weeks Later

The dreams started.

Vivid, filthy dreams of you—of your mouth between her thighs, of your hands pinning her wrists, of your voice growling "mine" as you came inside her.

Jeongyeon woke up aching, her panties soaked, her husband snoring beside her. Guilt curdled in her stomach. But worse than the guilt? The longing.

The Breaking Point

The final straw came on a Tuesday.

Her husband brought her coffee—remembered her order for the first time in years—and smiled like he expected a medal.

Jeongyeon stared at the cup, her chest tight.

You had helped her when she had nothing. You had looked at her like she was everything. And what had her husband done? Waited until the storm passed to pretend he gave a damn? Something inside her snapped.

Present Day – Your Office

Rain streaked the windows as Jeongyeon stepped inside, her breaths coming too fast. She looked wrecked. Her hair was damp, her lips bitten raw, her eyes wild with something between desperation and fury.

"Tell me it was just sex," she demanded, her voice trembling. "Tell me you didn’t mean any of it."

The clock ticked. Outside, thunder rumbled. And Jeongyeon—proud, stubborn, broken Jeongyeon—finally cracked. "Because I can’t stop thinking about you."

The air between you crackled like live wires as Jeongyeon stood frozen in your office doorway, raindrops glistening in her hair like shattered diamonds. Your fingers twitched against the armrest of your chair—instinct urging you to stand, to reach for her, to wipe that storm-tossed vulnerability from her face.

Instead, you let the silence stretch. Let her squirm.

Then—slow as sunrise—your lips curved into a smile. Not the polite, professional one you’d worn at her boutique reopening or those agonizing supplier meetings. This was something darker. Hungrier.

"Jeongyeon-ssi," you purred, leaning back in your chair with deliberate laziness. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Her throat bobbed. You watched the way her fingers tightened around her purse strap—knuckles whitening—before she lifted her chin. "Don’t." A single syllable, sharp as shattered glass. "Don’t fucking pretend with me."

Oh?

You arched a brow, swiveling your chair just enough to let one knee fall open in a silent invitation. "Then tell me why you’re here," you countered, voice dropping to a velvet growl. "And look me in the eye when you say it."

For a heartbeat, she wavered. Then—

"I hate you." The words tore from her like a confession, her chest heaving. "I hate how you—how you look at me. Like you see me. Like you—" Her voice broke.

You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. "Like I what?"

Jeongyeon flinched.

And that’s when you struck.

Rising fluidly, you closed the distance between you in three strides, crowding her back against the door until it clicked shut behind her. She gasped as your palm slapped against the wood beside her head, caging her in.

"Say it," you demanded, your breath hot against her parted lips. "Or I’ll walk away right now."

A lie. You’d burn the world before walking away from her again.

Jeongyeon’s eyes flooded with furious, traitorous want.

"Like you love me," she whispered.

The moment the words left Jeongyeon’s lips—like you love me—your fingers were already moving.

One hand still braced against the door, the other slipped beneath the waistband of her skirt, fingertips skating over damp silk before finding her aching clit in one ruthless stroke.

“Ahh—!”

Jeongyeon’s back arched off the door, her hips jerking against your hand as a broken moan tore from her throat. Her nails dug into your shoulders, her entire body trembling—betrayed by how wet she already was.

“F-fuck—!” she gasped, her head thudding back against the wood. “W-wait—!”

You didn’t.

Your thumb circled her clit in tight, cruel spirals, your lips brushing her ear as she squirmed. “You don’t get to say that,” you growled, “and then tell me to stop.”

Jeongyeon whined, her thighs clamping around your wrist as pleasure jolted through her—sharp and too much after a month of nothing. “I—I didn’t—!”

“Didn’t what?” You nipped at her earlobe, your fingers sliding lower to tease her entrance, gathering her slick. “Didn’t miss this?” A slow, torturous push inside—just one finger, just to feel her clench. “Didn’t dream about it?”

“Ngh—!” Her breath came in ragged pants, her hips rolling helplessly against your hand. “Y-you bastard—!”

You laughed, dark and breathless, curling your finger just so—

Jeongyeon screamed, her cunt pulsing around you as her orgasm ripped through her without warning. Her knees buckled, her entire body seizing as she soaked your fingers, her moans filthy and unrestrained.

You held her up, your lips grazing her temple as she shook through the aftershocks. “Now,” you murmured, “tell me why you’re really here.”

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched—her eyes glassy, her lips swollen—before she collapsed against you, her voice barely a whisper.

“…I couldn’t stay away.”

Jeongyeon’s body still trembled against you, her thighs slick with the evidence of just how easily she fell apart under your touch. You withdrew your fingers slowly, watching her eyelashes flutter at the loss—before pressing them against her lips.

“Lick.”

A command, not a request.

Her breath hitched, but after a heartbeat of defiance, her tongue darted out, obediently cleaning her own arousal from your fingers. The sight sent a bolt of possessive heat straight to your cock—fuck, she was made for this. Made for you.

You tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet your gaze. “You really thought you could pretend we were just colleagues?” Your thumb dragged over her bottom lip, smearing the last traces of her taste. “After the way you screamed for me? After the way you came on my cock like a slut?”

Jeongyeon flinched, but her pupils were blown, her chest rising and falling in erratic little jerks. “I—I had to—”

“Had to what?” Your voice dropped, sharp as a blade. “Run back to a husband who only touches you when the business is profitable? Who fucks you like he’s doing you a favor?”

A choked sound escaped her throat—half-protest, half-sob—but you didn’t relent.

“I helped you,” you snarled, your fingers tightening in her hair. “Not for the shop. Not for gratitude. Because I wanted you—every damn part of you. And you knew that.”

Jeongyeon’s lips parted, but no words came.

You leaned in, your mouth brushing her ear. “But here’s the truth, baby.” A dark chuckle. “You liked it. Liked knowing I’d ruin everything just to keep you. Liked knowing I ached for you while you played fucking house.”

Her breath stuttered.

“And today?” You pulled back just enough to see the guilt and want warring in her eyes. “You couldn’t take it anymore, could you? Couldn’t stand another night of his pathetic dick when you remembered how mine felt.”

Jeongyeon whimpered, her hips twitching forward like she was already seeking friction.

You grinned.

“Say it.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“I missed you,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I missed your hands, your mouth, your—fuck—your cock.” Her nails dug into your biceps. “I hate that I do, but I—I can’t stop—”

There it was.

The confession you’d been waiting for.

You let out a slow, satisfied exhale before sealing your lips over hers in a kiss that was more punishment than affection—tongue sliding against hers, stealing her breath, claiming her all over again.

When you pulled away, her lips were bruised, her eyes dazed.

“Good girl,” you murmured, dragging your thumb over her swollen mouth. “Now let’s fix that problem of yours.”

The moment your lips crashed back into hers, Jeongyeon melted—her defiance dissolving into a needy, sloppy mess of tongue and teeth. You could taste her surrender, bitter and sweet all at once—coffee from earlier, the lingering salt of her arousal, the sharp tang of her guilt.

Her mouth was sinful, opening eagerly under yours as she moaned, her hands scrambling to grip your shirt like she was afraid you’d vanish.

"Mmhn~... Fuck," she gasped when you bit her lower lip, tugging just hard enough to make her whimper.

You smirked against her mouth, one hand sliding down to palm the plush curve of her ass through her skirt, squeezing roughly. "This what you missed?"

Jeongyeon jolted, her hips instinctively rocking forward—only for your other hand to slide up, fingers roughly kneading the soft weight of her breast through her blouse.

"Ahh~!" Her back arched, pressing herself deeper into your touch as her nipple hardened under your palm. "Y-yes—more—"

You let out a dark chuckle, rolling her stiffened peak between your fingers before dragging her blouse down just enough to expose her.

"Look at you," you murmured, watching her flushed skin pebble under your gaze. "One month without me, and you're desperate."

She whined, her breath hitching as you leaned down, sealing your lips around her nipple and sucking hard—

"Ngh~! Hahh—!" Her nails clawed at your shoulders, her thighs trembling as you teased her with your teeth, your tongue, your hands—every touch calculated to remind her exactly what she’d been missing.

The storm outside raged—thunder cracking like a whip, rain slashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows in furious streaks. The city below was a blur of smeared neon and shadow, the glass trembling faintly under the wind’s assault.

And yet, all Jeongyeon could hear was the ragged sound of her own breathing.

Your mouth was everywhere—hot and demanding as it trailed down her throat, teeth scraping over her pulse before laving the sting away with your tongue. Your hands mapped her body like you were relearning her, reclaiming her—one rough squeeze of her ass, one possessive grope of her breast at a time.

“Ahh~… ngh…” Her head fell back against the window, the glass cool against her feverish skin. The contrast was maddening—the storm’s chill at her back, your heat pressed against her front.

You smirked, watching her reflection in the rain-streaked glass—cheeks flushed, lips swollen, blouse half-undone, skirt rucked up around her hips. “Look at you,” you murmured, nipping at her earlobe. “My pretty little mess.”

Jeongyeon whined, her hips jerking forward in search of friction, but you held her still, your grip firm.

“Not yet,” you chided, dragging your fingers down her stomach, tracing the waistband of her panties—soaked through, just for you. “Gonna make you feel it first. All of it.”

And then your hand slid lower, cupping her through the damp silk, rubbing just hard enough to make her jolt.

“F-fuck!” Her nails scraped against the glass, her thighs quivering. “Y-you—ahh~!”

You laughed, low and dark, your thumb circling her clit in slow, taunting strokes. “Tell me,” you breathed against her throat. “Tell me what you really came here for.”

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched—not just from the pleasure, but from the weight in your voice. The ache. The love you weren’t bothering to hide anymore.

And that—more than your touch, more than the storm, more than the risk of being seen—was what undid her.

“You,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I—I came for y-you—”

Your fingers dipped beneath the fabric, sliding through her slick folds, and Jeongyeon shattered with a sob, her orgasm crashing over her like the tempest outside.

With a single guiding hand on her waist, you backed Jeongyeon toward your desk—your grip firm, your silence deliberate. The storm outside painted erratic shadows across the polished wood as she stumbled into its edge, her breath already ragged.

But then—without a word—she pushed you into your chair.

Her fingers trembled as they worked your belt, her pupils blown wide with want. The leather hissed free, your zipper rasped down, and then—

"Fuck," you growled as her small hands curled around your cock, already aching, already throbbing for her.

Jeongyeon didn’t hesitate.

Her lips parted around you, sinking down with a whimper, her tongue pressing hot and eager along your length before hollowing her cheeks to take you deeper.

"Mmmph~… ngh…" Her lashes fluttered as she pulled back, spit-slick and messy, her gaze locked on yours—pleading, possessive, starving.

You let out a rough exhale, your fingers threading into her hair—not guiding, just feeling the way she shivered at the contact.

"Missed this?" you taunted, your voice gravel-dark.

Her answer wasn’t words.

It was the way her nails dug into your thighs, the way her throat fluttered as she swallowed you down again, the way her moans vibrated against your cock like a prayer.

But more than that—it was the tears welling in her eyes as she looked up at you, raw and ruined, like she’d been waiting for this moment since the second she walked away.

Like she’d needed it.

Like she’d needed you.

And that—more than her mouth, more than the storm, more than the fucking city spread out beneath you—was what made your grip tighten in her hair.

"That’s it, baby," you murmured, watching her lips stretch around you. "Take what’s yours."

Jeongyeon’s lips were a wreck—swollen, glistening, stretched obscenely around your cock as she bobbed her head with frantic, desperate hunger. Every inch of her was dripping—her chin slick with spit, her lashes damp with tears, her thighs clenched tight around nothing as she whimpered around you.

Her tongue dragged along your shaft in slow, sloppy strokes, her nose pressing into your pelvis as she took you deep, her throat fluttering in weak little spasms—

"Mmmf—! Hngh~…"

—before pulling back with a gasp, her lips popping off your tip, a thin string of saliva still connecting her to you.

Your hand fisted in her hair, yanking her back before she could catch her breath.

"Did I say you could stop?" you growled, your hips rolling up to meet her mouth again.

Jeongyeon’s eyes watered, her fingers digging into your thighs as she choked around you—but she didn’t fight it.

No, she leaned into it, her moans vibrating against your skin as she let you use her, her tongue laving at your length like she was starved for the taste.

And when your thumb brushed her cheek, smearing the mess she’d made of herself?

She whined, her cunt clenching around nothing—because fuck, she loved this.

The sharp rap at the door sent Jeongyeon’s entire body locking up, her wide, panicked eyes flicking up to yours—but you didn’t let her pull away.

Your fingers tightened in her hair, forcing her back down onto your cock with a firm thrust of your hips.

"Mmmph—!" Her muffled whimper vibrated deliciously around you as her nose pressed into your pelvis, her throat fluttering in protest before relaxing into helpless submission.

"Come in," you called, voice perfectly steady—as if you weren’t currently balls-deep in Yoo Jeongyeon’s sinful mouth.

The door creaked open.

Your assistant manager stepped inside, oblivious, a tablet in hand as rain lashed against the windows behind him. "Sir, the quarterly reports on the new investments just came in. The numbers look strong, but there’s a discrepancy in—"

"Mmm." You cut him off with a hum, your expression schooled into mild disinterest as you lightly rocked your hips, just enough to make Jeongyeon gag softly around you. "Leave it on the desk. I’ll review it later."

The assistant manager hesitated, glancing at the floor—where Jeongyeon’s abandoned purse lay half-hidden under the chair—before nodding. "Right. Of course."

Then—

"Hahh… ngh~…"

A tiny, broken sound escaped Jeongyeon’s throat—barely audible over the storm’s relentless drumming against the glass.

The assistant manager frowned. "Did you hear—?"

"Just the wind," you dismissed smoothly, your fingers massaging Jeongyeon’s scalp in a silent warning. "Close the door on your way out."

For a second, it seemed like he might argue—but then he just nodded again, setting the tablet down before turning to leave.

The click of the door shutting was the sweetest sound Jeongyeon had ever heard.

You yanked her up by her hair, her lips sliding off your cock with a lewd pop, her face a mess of spit and tears.

"F-fuck," she gasped, her chest heaving.

You grinned, thumbing away a stray droplet from her chin. "Told you you’d be good at this."

The moment the door clicked shut, you yanked Jeongyeon up by her hair—her lips leaving your cock with a slick pop—and crushed your mouth against hers in a filthy, possessive kiss. She tasted like salt and sin, her breath hitching as your tongue claimed hers, your grip unrelenting.

But then—

"W-wait—mmph!"

Her protest died against your lips as she felt it—the smooth, cool slide of silk tightening around her wrists behind her back. Your spare tie, pulled taut in one practiced motion, knotting her hands together before she could even process what was happening.

Jeongyeon jerked, her eyes flying wide—but you just smirked, nipping at her bottom lip as you leaned back to admire your handiwork.

"Pretty," you murmured, tracing a finger down her bound arms, watching the way the fabric dug into her skin. "Now you’re really mine."

She shivered, her thighs clamping around nothing, her cunt dripping at the realization—helpless, exposed, yours.

The storm outside had reached a fever pitch—rain hammering against the glass like a thousand impatient fingers, thunder growling low and hungry in the distance. But inside, the only sound was Jeongyeon’s ragged breathing as you traced the tip of your pen down the column of her throat.

"Ahh…" Her head fell back, her bound hands flexing uselessly behind her as the cool metal dragged over her pulse.

You tsked, circling her collarbone next, the pressure just shy of pain. "So sensitive," you mused, watching goosebumps erupt in the pen’s wake. "One month without me, and you’re falling apart at a touch."

Jeongyeon whined, her hips jerking forward—but you denied her, stepping back just out of reach.

"Patience," you chided, setting the pen aside to drag your fingertips down her arms instead, digging in just enough to make her squirm. "I’m relearning you."

Your hands mapped her—sculpting the tension from her shoulders, kneading the softness of her waist, skating up her ribs to brush the undersides of her breasts—

"Ngh—!" Her back arched, her nipples pebbling under her blouse.

You hummed, finally cupping her through the fabric, your thumbs flicking over her hardened peaks until she was panting, her thighs glued together in a futile attempt to relieve the ache.

"Please," she gasped, her voice broken.

You grinned, leaning in to lick a stripe up her throat. "Please what?"

Jeongyeon shuddered, her answer lost in a moan as your teeth sank into her shoulder—

—right as your other hand slid into her panties, your fingers dipping into her drenched folds without warning.

"FUCK!"

Her scream echoed off the glass, her cunt clenching around nothing as you teased her entrance, circling her clit with maddening slowness.

"This what you needed?" you murmured, your lips grazing her ear as your fingers tortured her. "My touch? My attention?"

Jeongyeon nodded frantically, her body thrumming with overstimulation, her sanity unraveling with every brush of your fingers.

You chuckled, denying her release just a little longer— —because fuck, you’d missed this too.

Your fingers danced along her inner thigh—featherlight, teasing—just shy of where she needed you most.

“Hahh… ngh…” Her breath hitched, her hips twitching upward in a silent plea. “F-fuck—just—”

You clicked your tongue, dragging your nails up her sensitive skin instead, watching the way her muscles jumped under the sensation. “Just what, baby?”

Jeongyeon whined, her wrists straining against the silk tie binding her. “You know,” she gasped, her voice fraying at the edges. “You’re—fuck—you’re hard for me anyway, so just—ahh!”

Your hand slapped her inner thigh—sharp, stinging—and she jolted, a fresh wave of slick dripping down her folds.

“That,” you growled, leaning in until your lips brushed the shell of her ear, “isn’t how this works.”

Your free hand dug into her hip, holding her still as you finally dragged a single fingertip through her soaked slit—slow, taunting, circling her clit just once before pulling away.

Jeongyeon sobbed, her back bowing off the desk. “P-please—”

“Please what?” you purred, your cock throbbing against your zipper as you watched her unravel. “Use your words.”

She shook her head, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip—stubborn even now, even when her body was begging.

Your mouth descended on her neck, sucking a bruise into her pulse point as your fingers traced her entrance again—pressing in just enough to make her clench around nothing.

“F-fuck!” Her thighs trembled, her cunt pulsing with every near-touch. “I—I can’t—!”

“You can,” you murmured against her skin, your teeth scraping over her collarbone. “And you will.”

Your thumb flicked her clit—once, hard—and Jeongyeon screamed, her body locking up as the first wave of her orgasm ripped through her.

But you didn’t stop. No, you chased it, your fingers driving her higher, deeper, until she was shaking, whimpering, her sanity fraying at the edges—until she was sobbing your name like a prayer. And only then did you finally give her what she really wanted.

With a single tug, the silk tie slithered loose from Jeongyeon’s wrists. She gasped as circulation rushed back into her fingers, her pulse hammering where the fabric had bitten into her skin. You leaned back in your chair, spreading your thighs with a challenge in your smirk.

"Surprise me."

For a heartbeat, she just stared—lips parted, chest heaving, her blouse hanging open to reveal the marks you’d left on her breasts. Then, like a storm breaking, her eyes darkened.

Jeongyeon moved.

In one fluid motion, she spun around, her skirt hiking up as she straddled your lap—back to you, her plush ass pressing against your aching cock. Your hands instinctively gripped her hips, but she slapped them away with a breathless laugh.

"Ah-ah," she purred, glancing at you over her shoulder through her lashes. "My turn."

Then she rose on her knees, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your slacks and briefs, dragging them down just enough to free your cock—thick, twitching, dripping with pre-cum.

"Fuck," you gritted out as she rubbed herself against your length, her slick coating you, her heat maddening.

Jeongyeon moaned, her head falling back as she notched your tip at her entrance—

—and then sank down in one slow, sweet slide.

"Hahh~! Ngh—!" Her back arched, her cunt fluttering around you as she took you deep, her ass jiggling with every inch.

The mirror across the office caught it all—the way her tits bounced as she began to ride you, the way your hands dug into her thighs, the way her face twisted in pleasure as she chased her high.

"Look," you growled, slapping her ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "Look at how good you take me."

Jeongyeon’s eyes fluttered open, meeting yours in the reflection—dazed, desperate, ruined.

"M-more," she begged, her hips rolling faster. "Please—"

You grinned, helping her move with a hand on her waist—

—just as the door creaked open again.

The door swung open with a soft click—just as Jeongyeon’s hips stuttered mid-bounce, your cock buried to the hilt inside her.

Your assistant—Kim Soojin, early twenties, usually unflappable—stood frozen in the doorway, a stack of files clutched to her chest. Her eyes went comically wide, her face flushing a shade of red usually reserved for emergency exit signs.

Jeongyeon squeaked, instinctively trying to hide her face—but with her back to the door and her hair a mess of tangled waves, all Soojin could see was the obscene way her boss’s wife (as she assumed) was impaled in reverse cowgirl, skirt hiked up around her waist, your hands gripping her hips like you owned them.

"S-Sir—!" Soojin stammered, her voice cracking.

You didn’t stop.

In fact, you rolled your hips up, making Jeongyeon gasp as you smirked at your flustered employee. "Soojin-ssi," you drawled, voice dripping with amusement, "didn’t anyone teach you to knock?"

Soojin made a noise like a deflating balloon. "I—I did! Earlier! I just—the contracts—!" She flailed the files like a white flag.

Jeongyeon, mortified, dug her nails into your thighs—whether to silence you or anchor herself, you weren’t sure.

"Mm. Contracts." You squeezed Jeongyeon’s ass, relishing the way her cunt clenched around you. "Leave them on the desk. Quietly."

Soojin scurried forward, eyes glued to the floor, her entire body radiating panic as she practically threw the papers onto the nearest surface.

"S-sorry! So sorry! Won’t happen again! Ever!"

She bolted for the door—only to trip over Jeongyeon’s abandoned purse, sending it skidding across the floor with a clatter.

"Jesus—!"

The door slammed shut behind her.

Silence.

Then—

"Oh my god," Jeongyeon whispered, her entire body burning with humiliation.

You chuckled, thrusting up into her hard enough to make her yelp. "Now that," you murmured, nipping at her shoulder, "was a surprise."

Jeongyeon moaned, her resolve crumbling as you rolled her hips again, her earlier shame drowning in a fresh wave of lust.

"Bastard," she panted—but she was already moving again, her ass clapping against your thighs.

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched as your hips snapped up, driving your cock deeper inside her—her slick walls fluttering around you in shameless betrayal.

"Ahh~ ngh…!" Her fingers clawed into your thighs, her back arching as you rolled into her with deliberate, punishing strokes.

You smirked, your voice a low, taunting growl against her ear. "Look at you… getting wetter just because someone saw you." Your hands dug into her hips, guiding her movements as she bounced on your lap. "Did you like that? Knowing she could see your fat ass stuffed full of cock?"

Jeongyeon whimpered, her face burning—but the way her cunt clenched around you told the truth.

"N-no…" she lied, her voice shaking as you thrust up harder, the slap of skin echoing off the glass walls.

"Bullshit," you chuckled, one hand sliding around to pinch her clit between your fingers—making her jolt with a broken cry. "You loved it. Your pussy’s dripping."

Her moan shattered as you circled her sensitive bud, your other hand groping the curve of her ass, spreading her just enough to watch where your cock stretched her.

"M-maybe…" she finally gasped, her hips grinding down in desperate little circles. "F-fuck… maybe I did…"

You groaned, your grip tightening as you pounded up into her, hard enough to make her screech.

"God, you’re perfect."

But then—

Your hands dug into the plush flesh of her ass, spreading her cheeks wide as you admired the view—her glistening pussy stretched around your length, her untouched pucker fluttering with every thrust.

"Fuck," you growled, your thumb brushing over her tight rim, making her jolt. "Look at this… virgin hole."

Jeongyeon whined, her thighs trembling as she tried to clench—but you held her open, your cock pulsing at the thought of claiming her there too.

"Y-your husband," you mused, your voice dark with amusement, "ever try to fuck this pretty little ass?"

She scoffed, her breath hitching as you circled her rim with your thumb. "A-ain’t no one… ahh~!… big enough to try…"

You chuckled, slowing your thrusts to a torturous grind. "Lucky me."

Then—

You leaned forward, your tongue laving a hot, sloppy stripe up from her cunt to her asshole, spitting directly onto her tight ring before pressing in with your tongue.

"HOLY—!" Jeongyeon shrieked, her back arching, her hands scrambling for purchase on your desk. "F-fuck! W-what are you—AHHH~!"

You dug in deeper, your tongue fucking into her with lewd, open-mouthed strokes, your spit dripping down to mix with her arousal.

"Mmm… so fucking tight," you groaned against her, your fingers kneading her ass as you prepped her. "Gonna ruin you here too."

Jeongyeon sobbed, her cunt gushing around your cock as you teased her ass with your tongue—loosening her, stretching her, claiming her in a way no one else had.

And when you finally pulled back, your thumb pressing into her slick, relaxed hole—

—she begged.

"P-please…" Her voice was raw, broken. "I… I want it…"

You grinned, your cock throbbing at the surrender in her tone.

"Then take it."

The air between you was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and something darker—hunger, possession, the thrill of first times. Jeongyeon’s body trembled as you pulled your cock from her dripping cunt, the pop of your release sending a fresh wave of slick down her thighs.

"Ngh…" She clenched around nothing, her hips twitching backward—seeking you even now.

You smirked, dragging the thick head of your cock through her folds, coating yourself in her arousal before teasing her untouched rim with your tip.

"Breathe," you murmured, your free hand massaging the plush curve of her ass. "And relax."

Jeongyeon nodded, her fingers gripping the edge of your desk, her knuckles white with tension.

Then—

You pressed in.

Just the tip.

"F-fuck—!" Her entire body locked up, her back arching, her cunt pulsing around nothing as the burn of the stretch seared through her.

You froze, your jaw clenching at the unbelievable tightness. "Jesus," you gritted out, your fingers digging into her hips. "You’re clenching me like a vice."

Jeongyeon whined, her thighs quivering. "I-it hurts—"

"I know," you soothed, leaning over her to kiss the sweat-slicked curve of her spine. "But it’ll feel so good soon."

You pulled back—just half an inch—before easing in again, deeper this time, the slow, relentless stretch making her whimper.

"Ahh… ngh…" Her fingers scrabbled at the desk, her body adjusting inch by agonizing inch.

You groaned, your cock throbbing as her walls fluttered around you, fighting the intrusion even as they yielded. "Fuck, you’re perfect," you praised, your voice rough with restraint. "Taking me so well."

Jeongyeon moaned, the pain already morphing into something hotter, darker—the fullness, the shame, the filthy knowledge that she was letting you ruin her here.

And when you finally bottomed out, your hips flush against her ass, her gasp was music.

"M-move," she begged, her voice shaking.

With a firm grip on her hips, you yanked Jeongyeon off your lap and onto the plush carpet below. The sudden movement made her gasp, her bound hands instinctively bracing against the floor as you maneuvered her into position—knees spread, ass arched high, her dripping cunt and freshly stretched asshole on obscene display.

"F-fuck—!" she whined, her cheek pressed against the carpet, her back dipped in perfect submission.

You growled, admiring the view—her round ass jiggling with every shaky breath, her thighs glistening with a mix of her arousal and your spit. The storm outside had quieted to a murmur, leaving only the filthy sound of your cock slapping against her as you lined yourself up again.

"Deeper this time," you commanded, your palm smacking her left cheek hard enough to leave a blush of red. "Take all of me."

Jeongyeon nodded, her fingers clawing at the carpet as you notched your tip against her loosened rim—

—and pushed in with one slow, unrelenting thrust.

"NGH~! FUCK!" Her scream was guttural, her body locking up as you stretched her wider than before, the burn of penetration searing through her.

You groaned, your head falling back at the unholy tightness, your fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise. "Christ—you’re squeezing me like a fucking vise," you gritted out, your cock twitching inside her.

Jeongyeon panted, her thighs trembling, her cunt dripping onto the carpet beneath her. "I-It’s too much—!"

"Liar," you chuckled, dragging out until just the tip remained before plunging back in—harder, deeper. "Your ass is sucking me in."

Her moan was broken, her body contradicting her words as her back arched, her hips pushing back against you. "M-more—!"

You obliged.

Your thrusts started brutal—pounding into her with no mercy, the slap of skin echoing off the walls, her choked cries music to your ears. The carpet burned against her knees, her bound hands fisting the fibers as you ruined her, your cock spearing her deeper with every snap of your hips.

"Look at you," you growled, one hand fisting her hair to yank her head up toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city lights blurred through the rain, but her reflection was crystal clear—teary-eyed, drooling, her tits swaying with every jolt of your cock. "Filthy fucking slut, taking it up the ass like you were made for it."

Jeongyeon sobbed, her ass clenching around you as her orgasm crept up on her—unexpected, unrelenting. "I-I’m gonna—AHHH~!"

You grinned, slowing just enough to savor the way her walls fluttered around you, milking your cock as she came untouched. "That’s it," you praised, your voice rough with lust. "Cum on my cock like the anal whore you are."

Her scream was raw, her body convulsing as you chased your own release, your thrusts turning erratic, desperate—

—until finally, with a guttural groan, you pulled out and painted her ass with thick, pulsing ropes of cum.

Jeongyeon collapsed, her body boneless, her breaths ragged.

You grinned, slapping her ass one last time.

"Welcome to the dark side, baby."

The storm had finally quieted outside, leaving only the soft hum of the city and the sound of Jeongyeon’s ragged breathing as she lay sprawled on the carpet, her body still trembling from the aftershocks. You knelt beside her, your fingers gently tracing the marks you’d left on her hips—the bruises, the bite marks, the faint red imprint of your palm on her ass.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“Was this really why you came here?” you murmured, your voice softer now, the heat of lust giving way to something quieter. Something real.

Jeongyeon let out a shaky laugh, rolling onto her back to look up at you. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen, her eyes still glazed with pleasure—but there was a weight in her gaze that hadn’t been there before.

“No,” she admitted, her voice hoarse. “I mean—yes, but… not just this.” She swallowed, her fingers brushing against your knee. “I missed you. The way you—fuck—the way you touch me, but also… the way you see me.”

You froze, your chest tightening at the raw honesty in her words.

“And when you’re gone again?” you asked, your voice rougher than you intended. “You’ll just… ignore me? Like last time?”

Jeongyeon’s lips curved into a teasing smirk, though her eyes stayed soft. “Do you want me to?”

You growled, grabbing her wrist and yanking her up into your lap, your mouth crashing into hers in a kiss that was more claim than caress.

“No,” you muttered against her lips, your grip tightening. “I’m being selfish this time.”

She melted into you, her arms looping around your neck as she kissed you back—slow, sweet, savoring.

“Then we’ll keep doing this,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin. “Secretly. As a… thank you for helping me with the store.” Her smile turned wicked. “At least until I figure out what to do with my husband.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

��Mmm.” She nuzzled into your neck, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. “He’s great when things are easy… but the second life gets hard?” She pulled back, her eyes dark. “He forgets.”

You grinned, your hands sliding down to grip her ass again.

“Lucky for you,” you purred, “I never forget.”

Jeongyeon’s fingers traced idle patterns across your chest as she lay against you, her body still humming from the aftershocks of pleasure. The storm had passed completely now, leaving the office bathed in the soft glow of city lights filtering through the rain-streaked windows.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she spoke—her voice so soft you almost missed it.

"You know…" She tilted her head up to meet your gaze, her eyes lighter than you’d seen them in years. "I think I always wanted you to be the one."

Your breath stalled.

Those words.

The ones you’d waited for since college, since the first time you’d watched her laugh across a crowded bar and thought, fuck, I’m done for.

Jeongyeon smiled, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "I just… never let myself say it before."

You huffed a laugh, your arms tightening around her. "Took you long enough."

She pinched your side, but her grin was bright, real—the kind of smile she’d never given her husband, not like this. "Shut up. I’m trying to be romantic."

"Romantic?" You rolled her beneath you, your lips hovering just above hers. "After I wrecked your ass on the floor?"

Jeongyeon blushed, but her legs hooked around your waist anyway. "Especially after that."

You kissed her—slow, deep, promising—before pulling back just enough to murmur:

"Then let’s be selfish a little longer."

And as the city slept outside, you did.

(Final Scene – Office, Dawn)

The first streaks of sunlight bled through the windows, painting Jeongyeon’s bare skin in gold as she drowsed against your chest. Her fingers absently traced the scars on your shoulder—the ones from the bike accident sophomore year, the ones she’d kissed better even when she pretended she didn’t care.

Then, half-asleep, she mumbled:

"We’ll figure it out."

You stilled. "Figure what out?"

She nuzzled into your collarbone, her breath warm against your skin. "This. Us. The… messy parts." A yawn. "Fuck tradition. Fuck orthodox."

Your laugh rumbled through her. "That your grand plan? ‘Fuck it’?"

"Mmhm." Her leg hooked possessively over yours. "Worked for my ass tonight."

You grinned into her hair—god, you’d missed this. Missed her.

"Jeongyeon." You waited until she cracked one eye open. "I’m holding you to that."

She smirked, already drifting off again. "Better."

And for the first time in years, neither of you let go.

[isasweetie]

₊˚⊹♡ prissy!readers “self-care sunday” is interrupted by rafe.

( cw — fingering + sexual acts under the cut! )

sunday was your favourite day of the week. it was a fresh start, a peaceful bubble in a busy life. sunday smelled like vanilla and gisou shampoo, and felt like a warm hug. it was the one day that your boyfriend wouldn’t hang around, simply because you knew that he would find it boring.

at the moment, you were having an afternoon shower, singing along to the song ‘feather’ by sabrina carpenter. your wet hair was in a claw clip, a gloss treatment soaking into the follicles as you exfoliated your skin and face. your shoulders were moving along to the beat of the song while you moved under the water a few moments later to take the clip out and wash your hair.

as soon as the song ended, and ‘espresso’ started playing, was when the music stopped and was interrupted by a ringtone. you waited to see who the phone would announce was calling, until, of course, the ai voice said, “rafe, heart emoji, heart emoji, eggplant emoji, is calling,” before continuing with the annoying ringtone. you groaned, rushing to finish scrubbing your hair, before stopping the stream of hot water and wrapping your hair and body up in pink towels, and getting out to answer the call.

you dried off your hands and then picked up the phone. “hiii rafey, what’s up?” you ask.

“hey, baby,” he answers. you can hear the engine of his car in the background. “i’m on my way,”

you blink, confused. “did i invite you?” you ask, thinking maybe you forgot.

“uhh, no, but i’m finished my work for the day and i wanna see my girl,” he admits.

“oh— well m’kind of in the shower,”

“right now?’ he checks. “baby, don’t bring your phone in the shower, you’ll ruin the speaker,”

“no, i mean that i was in the shower like.. ten seconds ago,” you tell him.

“oh, a’ight,” he mutters. “i’m pulling up now,” he tells you, as if he doesn’t even care that he interrupted you.

“i’m gonna be busy,” you warn him.

he huffs. “yeah? with what?”

“my self-care.”

“jesus,” he sighs under his breath. “fine, whatever, i’m coming in,” you hear his car door open through the phone, and then he hangs up.

he comes in to pop music blasting from the washroom, and instantly goes in to see you. its steamy in there from the shower, and the first thing he sees is you trying to wipe the steam from the mirror with the towel that was in your hair. he wordlessly comes over and goes to take over for you.

“hi rafe,” you greet, looking up at him as he wipes your mirror. “you look good,”

he smirks a bit, one of those classic half-smiles that he pulls off so well, as he hangs the towel back up to look at you. “hey, you look great too,” he says in his deep voice, blue eyes spotting the towel wrapped around you, and never leaving it. “you got something for me under there?” he goes to hold your waist.

you giggle, pawing him off. “nooo, rafe, need to put on lotion and a face mask while my pores are open,”

his smile drops and he scoffs. he’s not mad at you for regretting his immediate advances, but he is disappointed because he thought that the scenario of seeing you out of the shower would be a little bit different. “jesus, while your pores are—“ he cuts himself off with a sigh. “alright, what am i supposed to do then?”

“i dunno, go sit on my bed, i’ll be in my room soon anyway,” you shoo him away, and he leaves you in the washroom.

you continue with your sunday, and spend a few minutes drying off your body. you put on your light pink bathrobe and then come into the bedroom. you’re back in your own world as you grab your vanilla scented lotion from your vanity and then sit on the edge of your bed, beside rafe, who’s chilling on your pillow and scrolling on his phone.

you start to lather your freshly shaved legs with the lotion, and then your shoulders and arms and chest. “hey rafe?” you ask softly once you get to your back. “d’you mind putting this on my back?”

“you can’t reach?”

“no one can reach their back, rafey,”

“alright, alright, c’mere,” he mutters, and you scoot in front of where he is on your bed, sitting in between his stretched out legs.

his big hands are a weight on your back but they’re still gentle. he squirts some lotion in his hands and then rubs it delicately on you. “where’d you get this stuff? you’re almost out,” he murmurs a question.

“victoria’s secret,”

“thought they just sold lingerie,”

“no, they sell everything. that’s where i got that lip gloss that you like on me too,”

“oh,” he mutters, before shifting his full focus back on your back. “i’ll get you some more of this lotion from there soon, then,” he promises, squeezing the last of it out for your shoulders.

you nod gently, expecting that sort of treatment from him by now. he often bought you things, his brain trained to make sure that you were happy and spoiled.

you get up off of your cozy pink bed to go to your vanity and do your haircare. rafe’s eyebrows furrow as he sighs. he was getting sick of having to wait around, he wished you’d just drop everything and come back over to him. “baby, you wanna come back over here?” he asks, patting his thigh as his back relaxes further against your pillows and headboard.

“mmmm, i need to do my hair,” you hesitate. he pats his thigh again expectantly and you sigh, relenting and going to perch yourself on it.

“you know, it’s not fair,” you start as you make yourself comfortable on him. “you can’t come over with no notice ‘n expect me to cater to everything you need from me—“

you’re cut off when he kisses you, ignoring your scolding and going against what you just said. you can’t help but giggle into the kiss, because it’s kind of cute that he just doesn’t care. you kiss him back, climbing further on his lap so you’re straddling him.

“raaafe, really need to put product in my hair while it’s wet—“ you complain, only half serious, and he shuts you up once more with a hand cupping your warm cunt under your robe.

you simultaneously moan and pout, conflicted into giving in as you glance back at your vanity. you really wanted rafe’s fingers, and god his hand felt good, but also, your blowout wouldn’t be the same without the product you need to put in.

you practically melt under his hand as a finger presses against your slit, teasing the entryway. he doesn’t play nice, and you don’t like that he interrupted your peaceful, men-less day. but also… how could you resist?

“does that feel good, baby, hm?” he’s muttering in your ear ten minutes later, as you’re a whimpering mess in his lap. his mean fingers are curling in as fast as ever on your g-spot, making you practically mindless. “you like that?”

you bite your lower lip and nod, moaning out when he goes harder.

“words, sweetheart,” he reminds you.

“mhm— like it so much, rafey,” you stifle out through the noises you’re making. “feels so good!”

“yeeeah, that’s what i thought,” he half-smirks, pleased with himself. “you wanna cum, pretty girl?”

“mhm,”

“when? now?” god, he’s practically the king of rhetorical questions. “or later? like, ten more minutes?”

“stop!” you whimper out as he teases you, making him snicker. “wanna cum now please,”

“alright, go ahead then,” he gives you permission, and you moan out and give the his fingers a milky coating as you finish.

you stay in his lap for a while as you catch your breath, curled up in his big arms. he wins, again, because you’ve completely forgotten all about your self-care agenda. your mind is back to only thinking about one thing — rafe.

taglist🪽(comment to be added!) — @dearapril @popou61 @suncove @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @dollyfiles @wtfdudesblog @yktayy9669 @nixcyrr @st6ined @thepinkprincesss

[cupofteatoyou]

Rewrite the ending

The café is mostly empty, the way you like it.

Rain taps softly against the windows, and the hum of the espresso machine murmurs in the background. You sit by the window, laptop open, fingers idle above the keys. The cursor blinks patiently, like it knows you’re not ready to type.

Your coffee is cooling beside you. You don’t drink it yet. You like to sit in the quiet first—just exist for a few moments before the noise of the world catches up.

Then the door opens behind you.

A small sound—barely a thing. But something shifts.

Not in the café. In you.

You glance up without thinking.

A woman steps inside. Soaked from the rain, dark coat clinging to her arms, shoulders tense like she’s preparing for a fight or fleeing from one. You watch her move toward the counter, pull her hood back, brush wet strands of hair from her face.

She’s… striking. Not in the model-on-a-runway way. In the way old cities are beautiful—weathered, purposeful, like they’ve survived something.

And then she turns slightly.

Her eyes meet yours.

Just for a moment.

A split-second. A heartbeat.

You don’t know her. You’re sure of that. You’ve never seen her before.

And yet—

You can’t breathe.

Your throat tightens unexpectedly, and your stomach flips like you’ve been caught in a lie you didn’t know you told.

She looks away just as quickly. Back to ordering her coffee. Like nothing happened. Like you don’t exist.

But you do.

You do, and now your skin feels wrong. Like something inside you has been stirred.

You drop your gaze. Pretend to work. Your hands feel too warm, your thoughts too loud.

What the hell was that?

Maybe you’re just tired. Maybe your brain’s playing tricks on you.

Still… you feel it. That odd pressure. That invisible thread pulled taut between two people who shouldn’t matter to each other.

You look at her again, discreetly.

She’s sitting now, two tables over. One leg crossed over the other. Coffee untouched. Head slightly bowed like she’s staring at the grain in the wood.

She doesn’t look at you again.

But something about her presence hums against your ribs like the echo of a song you used to know.

You shake it off.

It’s just a stranger. Just a weird moment. Just the rain, and the coffee, and your imagination.

Still, for the rest of the day, her face won’t leave your mind.

And you can’t explain why.

She almost didn’t walk in.

The rain was cold, relentless, slicing sideways through the city like it had a purpose. Her coat was soaked through, her fingers stiff, and her thoughts louder than they had been in weeks. She wasn’t looking for warmth—only stillness. A place to stop remembering.

But fate was cruel like that.

She saw you before the door even closed behind her.

Sitting by the window. Half-lit by gray morning light. One hand curled around a coffee cup, the other resting lazily near her laptop. Hair tucked behind one ear. A soft crease between your brows, like you were thinking too hard about something that didn’t matter.

You looked… peaceful.

Untouched.

Free.

Alexia’s heart slammed into her ribs with violent familiarity.

It was you.

Not a maybe. Not a resemblance. Not wishful thinking playing tricks on her in the haze of memory and grief.

It was you.

And you didn’t remember.

Alexia froze for a second too long. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. She blinked hard, once, as if that might change something.

It didn’t.

The first time she saw you , you were bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, your skin smudged with ash and sandalwood, your tunic stained from grinding herbs and crushed pomegranate.

You were a healer in a crumbling empire. Half-legend, half-danger, whispered about like a holy woman and hunted like a witch.

Alexia was a soldier then, barely more than a girl, sent to crush rebellions she didn’t believe in. She’d been bleeding when she stumbled into that ruined temple, half-conscious, and you had taken her in.

There had been no words at first. Only warm hands, soft linen, whispered prayers to gods whose names Alexia never learned.

kissed in silence,slow. Touched like the world would burn around them—and it did.

“This love is forbidden,” you’d whispered, forehead to Alexia’s.

“Then let it be,” Alexia had said, already yours.

You were careful. But never careful enough.

When the guards came, they didn’t ask questions.

You were tied to a post at dawn. Ashes scattered before the sun rose.

Alexia had been forced to watch from behind a line of stone-faced soldiers, screaming your name until her throat gave out.

She still heard it sometimes—in her dreams, in the silence, in smoke.

Now, thousands of years later, she was alive again.

Sitting in a café. Laughing at something on your screen. Your soul still the same. Still radiant. Still pulling Alexia in like gravity.

But your eyes were empty of recognition.

Alexia stepped forward. Ordered something she wouldn’t drink. She kept her voice even, but it cracked in the places no one could hear.

She sat two tables away. Close enough to breathe the same air. Far enough to pretend it meant nothing.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t dare to.

Because if she did—

If she let herself go to you , fall into the familiar rhythm of who they’d always been—

You would remember.

And when you remembered… you would die.

That was the pattern. That was the price. Every time their souls collided in love, fate took you away.

Alexia knew the math of it now. Knew what would happen if she gave in.

So she sat still, silent, trembling.

“Do you think we’ll meet again?” You had asked once, on your deathbed in another life.

Your lungs had been failing, and Alexia’s hands had been covered in ink from poems she tried to write for you too late.

“Every time,” Alexia had whispered.

And she had.

But it was always Alexia who remembered. Always Alexia who mourned. Always Alexia who stayed behind.

This time, she promised herself, it would be different.

Even if it killed her. She would not speak your name. She would not ask for a past that could only end in fire.

She would watch you from across the room.

Let you live.

Let you love someone else.

Let you be free of it.

Even if it meant breaking herself all over again.

She tried to stay away.

Tried to drown herself in routine—training, meetings, noise. She buried her phone in her jacket, left her sketchbook under the bed, told herself this was nothing. Just coincidence. Just longing. Just grief.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about the way the light caught in your hair. The way you tilted your head when you were reading. The way your lips parted ever so slightly when you were focused.

She couldn’t stop remembering.

And so she returned.

Once.

Then again.

Then every day.

She came early. Late. At off hours, on purpose, just to see if you would be there. Just to make sure you were still alive.

Sometimes you were. Sometimes you weren’t.

But Alexia always stayed.

Once, she had been a pianist in Vienna.

The year was 1904. Music was everything then—violins, candlelight, aching beauty in every minor key.

Alexia played in hidden halls for women who could never be seen. She remembered you sitting in the third row, always in blue, always with your hands folded over your heart like you were trying to keep it from falling out.

You kissed in the wings of an opera house.

“Your hands were made to build a world,” you’d said.

“Only if I can live in it with you,” Alexia had whispered.

The fire took the theater before the end of the season.

She never found you in the ashes.

She woke up in the middle of the night sometimes, heart racing, hands reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

She stopped sleeping. Stopped eating. Started drawing again.

Endless hands. Smiles. Eyes. A thousand versions of the same woman across time.

You never noticed her. Not really. A glance here, a shift there, but nothing that said recognition. Nothing that said I feel it too.

It was unbearable.

And still, she kept coming.

Once, you were scholars in Alexandria. Books were sacred. Knowledge was dangerous. you hid scrolls under your robes and kissed behind marble pillars. When the fires came, she had tried to protect you. But the smoke had taken her voice before she could scream.

In the café, present-day, Alexia rubbed at her chest like she could quiet the pain there.

You sat two tables over, tucked into a corner, typing with your usual focus. You didn’t know. You couldn’t possibly.

But sometimes—just sometimes—you would pause. Blink. Look up, as if something had brushed your shoulder or whispered your name.

Then you ’d shake it off, sip your coffee, and go back to your screen.

Alexia lived for those moments. Hated herself for them.

Because if she saw youreyes change—if she saw even one flicker of memory—she didn’t know if she could stay silent.

And if she spoke, if she reached across time and said I found you again, then it would begin all over.

The remembering. The loving. The dying.

She gripped her cup harder. It was cold.

She nearly didn’t see you today.

The café was crowded. Too loud. People jostled past, chairs scraped, music buzzed from the speakers overhead. Alexia almost turned around. Almost convinced herself to leave.

Then she saw you —by the window, struggling with a heavy backpack and a broken laptop charger, your expression pinched in quiet frustration.

Alexia hesitated. Her steps slowed. She didn’t plan to stop. Just observe. Just one more glance.

But then—

“Excuse me?”

The voice hit her like lightning.

You were talking to her.

Alexia blinked. Froze. For a second, she thought she’d imagined it.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, with an awkward little laugh. “You just… you look like someone who probably carries a charger.”

Alexia stared at you .

Words refused to come.

“I mean, you don’t have to—just forget I asked. Totally fine.”

But she was already reaching into her bag. Your fingers brushed. Only for a second. But it was enough to unravel something inside her.

“Thanks,” you said, plugging it in and slumping with relief. “You might’ve just saved my entire week.”

Alexia gave a faint smile. Said nothing. Her throat was burning. Her chest too tight.

“Have we met before?” You asked, almost casually.

Alexia’s heart stopped.

“No,” she lied. “I don’t think so.”

You tilted your head slightly. Studied her. “You seem familiar.”

Don’t say it. Don’t remember.

But your eyes were kind. Open. Still unknowing. Still safe.

“Anyway,” you said, “thanks again. I owe you one.”

Alexia nodded once. Then turned and walked out before you could say anything else.

She stood outside in the rain, hand shaking around her keys, and knew—deep in her bones—she was going to lose her resolve.

Again.

Once, she had been a Roman soldier. You , a merchant’s daughter with ink-stained fingers. They had run away together, stolen horses, kissed under stars.

You had died in a storm, arms around Alexia, whispering, “I’ll find you next time.”

And here she was.

Again.

Alexia pressed her back against the stone wall and shut her eyes.

She had stayed away for so long. But now… she’d spoken to her. Touched her. Heard her laugh like it belonged to her again.

She knew what would happen next.

And she couldn’t stop it.

It was just supposed to be a favor.

One quiet moment. A charger handed over, no questions asked. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. That the tether didn’t tighten when their fingers brushed. That her breath didn’t catch when you smiled at her like she was just a person—not a ghost, not a memory, not someone cursed to remember.

But the next day, you smiled again.

And waved.

And Alexia... waved back.

She hated herself for it.

At first, it was nothing more than casual acknowledgements. A nod across the café. A shared glance when the barista accidentally dropped a tray. A quick laugh when the playlist played the same song three days in a row.

Then the space between you started to shrink.

Literally.

You started sitting closer—first out of necessity, then choice. A chair pulled out two tables over. Then one. Then next to her, just once, on a rainy Thursday when the café was packed.

“Mind if I steal this seat?” Alexia shook her head before she could think.

This is how it starts, she told herself.

This is how it always starts.

That day, you talked more.

Not much—safe topics. Coffee, work, music. You joked that the café should hire her at this point. Alexia smiled and made a comment about loyalty. Your eyes met. Something in Alexia’s chest clenched hard.

There it was again—that light. That warmth. The same thing she’d fallen in love with in every version of you. You didn’t know. But Alexia saw it. Felt it. Lived it.

And then—

“Do you mind if I ask your name?”

She paused. A beat too long.

“Alexia.”

You smiled. “That suits you.”

Alexia wanted to ask your name, too—but she already knew it.

She’d known it in every language she’d ever spoken.

Once, you were stargazers in the desert.

Alexia wandered the dunes, searching for purpose. You taught her constellations with ash on her fingers, eyes lit like galaxies.

You spoke in symbols, in firelight and silence. You danced barefoot in sandstorms.

“You’ll find me again,” you said once, pointing to the stars. “Just follow the pattern.”

You died of a fever that night. Alexia screamed at the sky until her voice was gone.

She couldn’t stay away.

She started showing up earlier. Just in case.

Started reading books she couldn’t focus on. Just to look busy.

You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you started seeking her out.

One morning, you set your drink down beside Alexia’s without asking.

“I figured I owed you a coffee after that charger rescue,” you said.

Alexia stared at the cup. It had her name written on it.

The sound of it in the you’r voice made something inside her shatter quietly.

“Thank you,” she said, barely above a whisper.

You sat in silence. It was comfortable, but not casual.

Your bodies leaned toward each other in that unconscious way gravity works when something ancient and familiar is near.

You glanced at her and said, “You know… it’s weird. You feel like someone I should know.”

Alexia forced a smile. “Maybe you’re just good at recognizing people.”

But her hands trembled. Because deep down, she was starting to hope again. And hope had killed her before.

But she kept showing up.

You didn’t exchange numbers. You never said “let’s meet tomorrow.” But you always found yourselves at the same table, near the same window, at the same strange hour between morning rush and mid-day peace.

Sometimes she brought a book.

Sometimes you brought two croissants just in case.

Sometimes you both forgot why you came.

But you stayed.

She never flirted. Not really.

And yet…

There was something about the way she listened to you. The way she tilted her head like your words mattered. The way her eyes softened when you talked about things that didn’t matter to anyone else—your playlist for rainy days, your weird superstition about odd numbers, the story of how you once got lost in your own apartment building when you first moved in.

She laughed at your jokes. Not a lot—but when she did, it was soft, surprised. Like she hadn’t done it in a while.

And God, you loved that sound.

You didn’t know much about her. She never said. You never asked.

But something about her felt familiar.

Not her face.

Her presence.

Like déjà vu you couldn’t shake.

Like remembering a dream you hadn’t had yet.

You didn’t say that, of course. It sounded insane. But you felt it, in the strange quiet moments between coffee sips and glances held a second too long.

Sometimes, when she looked at you—really looked at you—you could swear she was mourning something.

And once, after a long silence, she said, “You remind me of someone I used to know.”

Your heart had squeezed unexpectedly.

But when you asked who, she only shook her head.

“No one you’d know.”

You didn’t press. You didn’t need to.

Because the truth was: you felt it too.

A pull.

A thread.

Something tugging from underneath your ribs every time she walked in.

You hadn’t kissed. Hadn’t touched. Hadn’t even called her anything but Alexia.

But somehow, it already felt like something dangerous was beginning.

And you didn’t know why… but sometimes, you felt afraid of what might happen if you let it go too far.

Like a storm was coming.

And part of you had walked through it before.

It started with the rain. Because somehow, it always did.

One moment, the sky had been clear—light spilling through the café window, music playing low behind the whir of the espresso machine. The next, the clouds cracked open and drenched the city like someone had pulled a lever. A storm, sudden and wild.

Your head tilted against the glass—laughed. “Great. I left my umbrella at home.”

Alexia looked up from her cup, heart catching in her throat at the sound of that laugh. The sound that haunted her. The sound she remembered from a thousand years and a thousand lifetimes ago.

“You could wait it out,” she said softly. Then, after a pause—trying to sound casual, failing—“Or… we could go somewhere. There's a gallery not far. It's small. Empty. I go there when I need quiet.”

You turned, amused. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Alexia blinked. She hadn’t meant to. Not really.

But her answer was still: “Yes.”

You smiled, that same warm, open smile that always wrecked her. “Then lead the way.”

You walked under a small black umbrella, close—closer than you had any right to be. The sidewalk was slick beneath your feet, rain pouring off rooftops, the city blurring like a dream.

Your arm brushed against Alexia’s again and again. She didn’t move away. Neither of you did.

And Alexia…

She wasn’t thinking anymore.

She was feeling. Remembering things she shouldn’t. Knowing exactly how this would end and doing it anyway.

The gallery was tucked between old buildings, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of place. Inside, it was silent—white walls and golden lighting, art that didn’t shout, just whispered.

You wandered slowly, drawn toward a piece at the end of the room. A painting of stars and fire, brushstrokes wild and luminous, like a galaxy collapsing into itself.

You stared at it, unmoving. “This feels… weirdly familiar,” you said quietly. “Do you ever get that? Like something’s already lived inside you before you even see it?”

Alexia didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Because all she could see was the curve of your profile, your hair catching the light, your body turned toward something you didn’t even realize you’d once painted, lifetimes ago.

Alexia took a step closer. Then another. The space between them narrowed, full of everything they weren’t saying.

You turned.

Your eyes met.

And it happened.

Alexia leaned in and kissed you .

It was soft—so soft it almost didn’t feel real.

But you didn’t pull away.

You moved into it like your soul recognized the shape of the moment. Like your mouth had been waiting for Alexia’s. Like this had already happened, and you were just remembering how it went.

One hand, gentle against Alexia’s cheek.

Alexia’s fingers brushing your waist.

Rain tapping against the windows like a heartbeat just outside.

You stayed like that for longer than you should have. Neither of you speaking. Your foreheads resting together, breath warming the space between you .

Then you whispered, “That felt like… more than it should’ve.”

Alexia’s voice was barely audible. “Because it is.”

You didn’t go back to the café. Instead, you found a tiny bistro tucked beneath an awning. The storm had settled into a steady, romantic drizzle, the kind that made the world feel a little quieter.

You sat outside. Ordered pasta and shared a bottle of red wine. The candle between you flickered, and you told stories—of childhood mishaps, weird dreams, songs that got stuck in your head and never left.

Alexia laughed. Genuinely. And more than once.

Each time, you looked almost surprised. Like you didn’t expect to be the one to cause it.

And Alexia just kept falling.

Every word. Every glance. Every time you said her name like it wasn’t heavy with history.

She was falling again, just like always.

And she didn’t know how to stop.

Later, when you reached your door, the moment stretched again. Time slowing between you like it wanted you to stay in it.

You looked up at her, eyes soft. “Come in?”

Alexia’s heart clenched.

She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But if she crossed that line, she wasn’t sure she could ever pull back.

Her fingers grazed the reader’s hand.

“I… I can’t. Not yet.”

A flicker of confusion in the your expression. But you didn’t push.

“Okay,” you said softly. “Tomorrow?”

Alexia hesitated.

And then, because she was already breaking all her rules “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

But when the door closed and she was alone on the other side… she didn’t move.

Because she knew.

The moment she kissed you, the thread knotted again.

And this time, she didn’t think she’d survive cutting it.

It started slow—like a question neither of you dared ask aloud.

You kissed in the quiet of her apartment, mouths brushing with a hesitance that made it feel sacred. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just… intentional. Like every movement asked, Are you sure? Is this okay? Can I stay?

Clothes slipped away one by one, soft laughs in between. Gentle touches replaced words. And when Alexia finally ran her fingers along your side—when you sighed and leaned in without fear—it felt less like discovery and more like remembering.

Your bodies fit like something ancient. Like this was a rhythm you’d danced to before, even if you couldn’t name the music.

Alexia wasn’t thinking about what came next. Not yet.

She was focused only on the way your fingertips traced down her ribs. On the curve of your smile when you looked up. On the way your voice softened to a whisper when you said Alexia’s name like it meant something more than just letters.

The bed creaked beneath you . Sheets tangled around your legs. Time stopped caring about hours. Outside, the city exhaled.

There was no urgency.

Just touch.

And trust.

Alexia moved carefully, tenderly, like she was handling something fragile—something she’d broken once before and never forgiven herself for.

She kissed every place you guided her to. Held you gently when you arched into her touch. Listened to every quiet sound with reverence, with awe.

And you —God, you were so open. So trusting. You didn’t hold back. Didn’t flinch. You looked at Alexia like you already knew her. Like you had in every life before this and somehow still believed you wouldn’t leave.

There was a moment—when you were chest to chest, breath to breath, hearts pressed like matching puzzle pieces—when Alexia wanted to say it.

Not “I love you.”

Something heavier.

Something like We’ve done this before.

You’ve died in my arms before.

And I swore I wouldn’t let myself touch you again, not like this.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she kissed you. Softly. Slowly.

And you whispered, “You feel like home.”

After, you lay there—skin damp, bodies warm, limbs tangled like you ’d always been meant to be this way.

You curled into Alexia’s side without a second thought. One arm draped over her stomach, your head resting beneath her chin. Your breath was steady. Content.

And Alexia…

She held you .

But her chest ached.

Because even in that perfect quiet, surrounded by warmth and heartbeat and trust, a single truth throbbed behind her ribs

I can't watch her die again.

She should’ve left hours ago.

The room was quiet now, soaked in the hush of the early morning. No cars, no voices, just the hum of the city beyond the window—muffled and distant. The kind of silence that made you feel like you were the last person left in the world.

Alexia lay still beside you , not breathing too deep, not moving at all. As if even a shift would shatter this fragile peace. Her arm was curled protectively around your waist, skin warm and sticky with the softness of afterglow. Her body should’ve felt relaxed—sated, even.

But every part of her was tight. Tensed. Like her heart was a fist clenched around a secret too painful to carry any longer.

You were asleep, lips slightly parted, your cheek nestled against Alexia’s shoulder. You looked so content, so trusting—your body wound gently around Alexia’s like this was where you belonged. Like your soul remembered it too, even if your mind didn’t.

Alexia blinked up at the ceiling. Her eyes burned, though she wasn’t sure from what—exhaustion, tears, or the weight of inevitability. Maybe all three.

This night was never supposed to happen.

She’d been careful. She’d stayed away. She’d played the stranger, the cold one, the quiet regular at the café who smiled just enough but never lingered too long. She’d trained herself not to meet those eyes—those same damn eyes that had haunted every version of her life.

But you had laughed. Smiled. Had called her name like it was a song you’d forgotten the lyrics to.

And Alexia had failed. Again.

She’d lived too many lives.

Watched this soul fade in too many forms.

A battlefield, once. Smoke thick in the air, blood soaking the ground. Her love had worn armor and courage, a sword clutched in her trembling hands. Alexia had screamed when you went down, had crossed enemy lines just to hold your body while the light faded from your eyes.

Another time, in a life thick with plague and ash, you’d shared a quiet cottage in the hills. She remembered feeding you broth when the fever took hold, wiping sweat from your brow, whispering lullabies from a time before memory. She remembered holding cold hands when the end came—kissing your forehead and begging whatever god would listen to take her instead.

There had been a war in the 1940s. A red dress in the corner of a smoke-filled club. A stray bullet meant for someone else.

A car crash in 1974. Alexia had arrived seconds too late.

A drowning in 1803.

A fire in 1611.

A duel in the snow in 1436.

Every time, it ended the same.

She chose me. And she died for it.

And yet.

Alexia had found you again.

Different hair. A new voice. A new laugh. But the soul—that soul—was the same. It called to her across time like it had never stopped looking.

And now, here you were . In this lifetime. Radiant. Kind. Entirely alive.

Alexia had sworn she wouldn’t interfere this time. Wouldn’t touch you . Wouldn’t love you.

She’d failed all of it in one night.

One kiss. One breath. One moment of selfishness.

And now she was back here—wrapped around her soulmate, skin against skin, heart against heart, feeling everything she’d sworn to avoid. Knowing it couldn’t last. Knowing that staying meant risking it all over again.

Because the pattern was too cruel, too consistent.

Love her.

Lose her.

Live with it.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, letting out a soft sigh. You nuzzled into Alexia’s chest, one hand tightening where it rested above her heart.

A smile tugged faintly at your lips.

That smile nearly undid her.

It was the same smile she'd seen across centuries. In candlelight, in moonlight, in lamplight. In the middle of a battle. In a farmhouse with snow outside. In an overcrowded hospital bed.

That smile had followed her through time like a promise.

Alexia shut her eyes.

She kissed your forehead—lightly, reverently. Let her lips linger just a moment longer than she should’ve. Then she whispered the same thing she had in 1852, in 1916, in 2002:

“I’m sorry.”

And then she slipped out of the bed.

The air felt colder the second she stood.

She moved carefully—each step a quiet betrayal. She found her shirt and pants where they’d been abandoned in the rush. Pulled them on with shaking fingers, her movements painfully slow, as if her body didn’t want to obey.

Every rustle felt loud.

Every breath, like a confession.

She glanced back once—just once.

You were still asleep, your body curled into the space Alexia had just vacated. One hand stretched out like you were reaching for something.

Your lashes fluttered. A sigh escaped your lips.

And Alexia knew: she wouldn’t remember this. Not fully. Not in a way that mattered. The soul might ache, might feel the echo of her absence—but her mind would search for her without knowing why.

And maybe that was mercy.

Alexia swallowed the lump in her throat and turned away.

She paused at the door, hand resting on the knob like it might anchor her to the moment forever.

Then she whispered, “Live.”

Not goodbye.

Not I love you.

Just live.

Because if walking away meant you might survive—if keeping her distance was the only way to cheat fate—then Alexia would do it.

Even if it destroyed her.

Especially if it meant you would never have to know what it cost.

The door closed with a click.

Soft. Final.

Alexia stepped into the hallway and exhaled like she hadn’t breathed in hours.

Her footsteps echoed down the stairs. Out into the street. Into the early morning air, where the sky was just starting to shift into blue.

The city was waking up. People would begin again. The world would turn.

And somewhere upstairs, in a warm bed tangled with shared memories and stolen peace, the girl Alexia had always loved was still sleeping.

Still safe.

Still alive.

And Alexia…

Alexia walked away.

Alone.

Again.

[mwahsol]

Hot sauce makes me nervous

Description: You have been invited to go on Hot One's First We Feast. It was recently announced that you're releasing an album but when some were looking through the title names they noticed some were romantic names, there have been rumors of you and a specific Uconn basketball player, leading there to already be a lot of attention on the anticipated album. Later on in the interview, you get asked about a specific song already out asking you who and/or what was the inspiration for it. I am using Sabrina and her music as well from other artists as yours in this because I can't think of good song titles…enjoy :)

“It's the show with hot questions and even hotter wings. Today we’re joined by Y/n L/n, she is one of the most talked about artists. Her debut album from 2021 still to this day is one of the most played in the last four years, some of her latest singles being Please Please Please, Espresso, Nonsense, and The Diner. As well as her new album called Sort n’ Sweet. Y/n L/n welcome to the show.” Sean announces while turning to look at you during the end as to give you the greeting.

“Hi thank you for inviting me, this has been a dream of mine to be here so I am honored and nervous,” you reply a bit nervous since you're fangirling on the inside.

“We’re excited to have you, how are you feeling going into this, are you a fan of hot sauce or prefer to keep things more tame?” He starts with a simple question to try and get you a bit comfortable, keeping things light and steady.

“Umm, I wouldn't say I'm a fan.. when I'm out at dinner I don't go for the spicy flavors but like as a small snack like chips or something yes I'm a fan. Hot sauce makes me all sweaty and nervous if I'm honest.” You say giggling towards the end because you know if you lied your girlfriend's team would never let you live it down when they watch this. “Like one time I thought it was a good idea to try those hot soups filled with peppers and stuff I started to tear up by like the fifth bite.”

At your retelling of the event, Sean is also laughing with you before he starts asking you the question he's prepared and having to dig in.

“I never eat wings with bones in them so this is a little new to me,” you tell him while taking your first bit of the first wing.

“Really? I thought most ate them with the bone in.”

“Yeah I just have an irrational fear of my teeth falling out if I bite down on the bone, that's also why I hate eating with forks.”

Sean and the rest of the people behind the cameras can't help but laugh at your admission. In the background of everyone laughing with you both, you can hear her laughing as well knowing that what you're saying is very much true. Hearing her you turn your head subtly, thinking people wouldn't notice this when posted, looking at her laughing admiring her for a second. You would find out later on people could decently see you turn your head, and if you listened close enough you could hear Paige's laughter in the back.

As the show went on Sean asking you questions about your career, your opinions on your songs, and how you came to be a singer, he asks, “So your song Let the Light In is one of your more romantic yet darker songs. Is there a story behind it or how did the inspiration come to you to create a song like this?”

When hearing his question you started worrying a bit knowing the inspiration wasn't just yours but Paige's too. You look at her in a way asking if she's ok with you answering knowing that this involves a personal situation with her and yourself, when you see her nod and give you an encouraging smile you know she's giving you the go-ahead and will be supportive of your answer. “Well, I wrote the song from my girlfriend mainly, when she had a serious injury and was in a dark place at the time when I met her. As she slowly got better the day she was cleared to play again she told me that she was grateful to have me because meeting me was like a light coming into her life encouraging her to get better. When she told me that I cried because I admitted to her that when I met her I was also at a dark place in my life so meeting her was also like the sun shining after the storm for me. We are each other's lights so I wrote the song for her.” You answer tearing up at the memory but smiling remembering her face when you told her she's your light too.

“It such a heartwarming thing to see how you can take special memories like that and write something beautiful for it, thank you for sharing.” He replied also smiling fondly at you seeing how you made sure with Paige first and telling such a personal moment.

“Thank you too for asking,” you know some interviews would keep pushing for more details, and you're grateful he didn't seeing as how it's not just your story to tell.

By the ninth wing, you started crying while laughing, there were funny instances from you getting a wing and running to Paige telling her to eat it since she was dying by laughing at you, to you falling out of your chair from how fast you turned and reached to grab the milk from the table away from you.

“I feel like my makeup with melting off just by my sweat and tears,” you say struggling to just sit upright but still laughing at your situation.

“Yeah, you look like it.” You heard Paige mumble in the background teasing you knowing it would get a reaction out of you.

“Babe I swear I will go back there and pour this hot sauce down your throat.” Threatening her, not being cautious anymore, while you felt like your mouth was on fire. This makes her laugh even harder as well as the crew and Sean.

After most of the laughter settled down Sean gets ready to ask another question. “This past year you have been spotted at a lot more WCBB and WNBA games, when did you get into watching women's basketball, and why?”

“When I was younger I had brothers that played basketball, they would teach me to play, and tried to get me to watch the NBA. As most big brothers do I just never could get into watching men play but anytime I would find a WNBA game you could bet I was fighting for the controller to put on the game. This year I’ve had a bit more free time since the tour for my last album was done and I took a bit of a break before I started writing this new album so I decided to attend as many as I could.” You weren't technically lying but you did leave out the part where you would mainly go to Uconn games to see your girlfriend back on the court and support her.

“Do you still play?”

“Yeah, a bit nothing serious though,” which is true if anyone on the team asks you to play you would say yes. Paige, while you are both away from Connecticut, if she finds a court shell beg you to play. Even though they're very much significantly taller you'll sometimes land a few points.

“Alright Y/n last one,” he tells you while shaking the last bottle.

“Oh gosh ok ok,” You can feel yourself shaking a little with nervousness but you have to see it through, or else she will never let you forget it. Shaking the bottle as well you try to put a of hot sauce enough to get it but not too much where you're burn your tongue off.

“Before I do this I want the camera and people to see that I did put some on there so she can't say I wussed out,” you tell everyone holding up your wing and looking directly at Paige while she shakes her head laughing at your expression.

“Yes, no one can claim you didn't go through with it, going out with a bang,” Sean tells you backing you up.

When you bite down you can already feel yourself regretting this. You start sweating again, eyes tearing up, nosey runny, you're defiantly making her drive you to go get ice cream.

“So Y/n you stated that in you're elementary through middle school years you took ballet lessons,” as soon as he said those words you knew where this was going and started to mentally prepare yourself, “we wanted to see if you could choreograph a small routine to your song All mine.”

“Of course, I can't promise it'll be good,” you respond while laughing and sniffling.

“Alright let's move these tables and chairs,” Sean says while laughing with you.

When doing your routine you only got a few steps in before you stopped and could continue because of your laughter, “I'm sorry omg I can't do it.”

“Fanominal dance couldn't have asked for better. There it is Y/n L/n taking on the wings of death, living to tell the tale, is there anything you would like to promote.”

“Short n’ Sweet comes out August, listen to it please it'll make me feel better from this. Watch the WNBA they're really cool and watch WCBB they're really cool too.” Biding everyone goodbye while still panting a little.

“Those wings got you good hm baby?” Paige says while driving to a McDonalds to get you a ice cream you almost demanded for.

“Paige, honey, I love you but I swear on everything I love I will make this car crash if we don't get ice cream. I can feel my face melting off.” You claim not even looking at her too busy trying not to keep sniffling.

“Ok ok we're almost there,” she can't help but laugh. I mean can you blame her, you were excited to do this a few hours ago now you look light you lost a fight.

After finally getting you your ice cream it's like your mood did a complete 180. “Thank you my love,” you say as you kiss her all over her face showing her how much you wanted that ice cream.

“The switch-up is crazy,” Paige says while chuckling at your attitude and holding your waist.

“I can stop.”

“Now I never said that come here mama.”

I'm slowly defrosting y'all (I'm losing my mind.) ANYWAY, I hope you guys enjoyed this <3

Kiss the sun 🌞

[little-cereal-draws]

More incorrect quotes

Odysseus: Could you maybe just like… stab me… right in the gut. Just REALLY twist it in there. ‘Cause that honestly seems less painful than this conversation.

-

Odysseus: Hey I got you food, pick a number between 1 and 10. Eurylochus: Uh 4? Odysseus: Wrong, no food for you. Eurylochus: Wait what?! WHY?! ODYSSEUS PLEASE—!

-

Odysseus: I wish I had acid. Thank you, Hermes. Amen.

-

Odysseus, when his crew accuses him of hubris after he gives his name to the cyclopes: Oh and for your information, I don't have an ego! Odysseus: My facebook photo is a landscape.

-

Penelope: I love murder mysteries Odysseus, trying to impress her: I've been a suspect in four murder cases

-

Odysseus: I'm not a morning person. I'm barely even a person.

-

Odysseus: Met a dumbass today. Awful. Eurylochus: You looked in a mirror? Odysseus: Someday you will have to answer for your actions and god may not be so merciful.

-

Odysseus: I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul.

-

Odysseus: I would say I feel sorry, but we all know that I've done much, much worse

-

Odysseus: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture. His crew: Awwww- Odysseus: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything." His crew: Oh.

-

Odysseus: It's not like I try to blow things up, exactly. It just sort of happens. You've got to admit though, fire is fascinating.

-

Odysseus, after giving his name to the cyclopes: Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions.

-

Odysseus at the 108 suitors trying to marry his wife: Clownery. Tomfoolery. Absolute fuckery, I am going to revoke your life privileges.

This is one isn’t very in character but it made me laugh so hard

Odysseus: When I first got my autism diagnosis, my first thought was “woah… it’s canon” and I think that maybe thoughts like that is why Penelope made me get tested.

[crushpunky]

how joe asked college!reader out

masterlist

Despite her 9 am Econ (thankfully) getting cancelled, y/n decided to keep her schedule consistent and go to Java Joe’s to get some work done before her afternoon classes. So, she woke herself up bright and early, threw on some sweatpants and made the trek downtown to her favorite coffee shop.

As soon as she entered, the intoxicating smell of coffee filled her lungs, immediately waking her up. Students scattered around the cafe, flaky pastries and steaming hot coffees sitting amongst laptops and homework. Over it all, some indie song played quietly in the background, giving the room a warmth that expanded further than just the temperature emanating from the espresso machine. Baristas milled about behind the bar, one of them coming up to greet y/n at the register before taking her order.

“Could I get a medium iced vanilla latte, please.” Y/n said, the barista nodding as she wrote her order down on one of the cups. Y/n dug through her backpack, looking for her wallet, when she was suddenly interrupted.

“I got it.” Someone said, stepping up to the counter next to her. “Just get me another of whatever she’s having.”

Y/n straightened, her brows furrowed as she turned to see Joe pulling his credit card out of his overstuffed wallet. His hair was damp, dripping onto his LSU football t-shirt, and a slight flush was in his cheeks as he looked over at her.

“Wait, no, I got it—” Y/n started, turning back to dig through her bag.

“I got it.” Joe said with a grin, inserting his card into the card reader. “It’s the least I can do after talking your ear off about Star Wars for the past month.”

“I…” Y/n sighed, the card reader buzzing that the transaction was complete. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Joe shrugged, putting his wallet back into the pocket of his sweatpants. Y/n made her way to her usual spot in the corner, Joe awkwardly trailing behind as he looked around at the space.

“What are you doing up so early? You know class was cancelled right?” Y/n asked as she slid into the corner booth. Joe stood opposite her, his hand resting on the edge of the table as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

“Yeah, just had a morning practice.” Joe said. “Thought I’d see if I could finally catch you here one time.”

“You’ve been trying to catch me here?” Y/n quirked her brow, smiling up at Joe, who chuckled awkwardly.

“Well… yeah.” Joe ran a hand through his hair. “You seem to be the coffee professional so… thought I’d learn from the best.”

“You flatter me.” Y/n shook her head, looking away from Joe’s intense gaze as she felt her cheeks warm. “You can sit down… if you want.”

“Oh yeah, thanks.” Joe said, sliding into the booth. His long legs brushed against her under the table, sending goosebumps along her skin.

“So… how was practice?” Y/n asked, propping her elbow up on the table to rest her chin in. Joe adjusted in his seat, his forearms resting on the table just inches away from hers.

“Good,” Joe nodded. “Just usual stuff. Wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”

“You’d much rather bore me with Star Wars?” Y/n smirked, causing Joe’s brows to furrow.

“You like Star Wars!” Joe scoffed, causing y/n to giggle.

“I know,” y/n said, reaching across the table and resting a hand on his forearm lightly, “I was just kidding.”

A cheesy grin stretched across Joe’s lips at the gesture, a bit of pink even making it into his cheeks as the contact. Noticing his sudden flustered expression, y/n quickly retracted her hand back to herself, her eyes avoiding his.

“Y/n, iced lattes.” The barista called. Y/n went to stand, but Joe beat her to it, climbing out of his seat and quickly grabbing their drinks from the pickup area.

“Thank you.” Y/n sang as she took her drink from him, excitedly opening the straw before stabbing it through the lid. She took a sip, closing her eyes as the sweet, coffee goodness spread across her tongue. With a small shimmy of her shoulders, she let out a hum before finally opening her eyes, to find Joe watching her as he opened his straw slowly.

“Wow.” Joe laughed as he pulled the straw out of the wrapper with his teeth. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you so excited before.”

“Ew, that was so embarrassing.” Y/n groaned, running a hand down her face as Joe just laughed.

“No it was cute… you’re cute.” Joe said, biting on the inside of his cheek as he waited for y/n’s reaction at his risky move. She blinked quickly, looking down at her drink in front of her as she felt a small smile sneak across her lips. Sure the two of them had had witty banter that certainly towed the line between flirting and friendly, but this was something else. Now he was just outwardly flirting with her… and she liked it. A lot.

As she lifted her gaze, Joe’s eyes were still on her with the same smile on his face that always made her head spin.

“What?” Y/n asked, the smile on her face betraying her attempt at a serious tone.

“I’m just looking at you.” Joe shrugged, stirring his drink as he continued to look at her even as he took a drink.

“Well, what do you think?” Y/n asked as Joe savored the drink, smacking his lips dramatically before taking another sip.

“It’s alright.” He said with a shrug, curling his lip.

“Just ‘alright’?” Y/n scoffed, her mouth falling agape.

“Ok it’s pretty fucking good, is that what you wanted to hear?” Joe said, causing y/n to sink back into her seat, a smug grin on her face. Joe shook his head, laughing slightly to himself as he took another sip of his drink.

“So… what’re you doing tonight?” Joe asked, his calloused fingers absentmindedly tracing along the edge of his cup.

“Um, nothing really… probably just gonna watch a movie or something.” Y/n said with a shrug. Joe nodded, gnawing on his lips for a second before he would respond.

“Well, I was wondering— since you showed me your favorite spot— if you would maybe want to check out mine. For dinner.” Joe said, his eyes meeting her as he nervously let out a deep breath. Y/n’s lips parted slightly, her head still wrapping around Joe’s proposal.

“Or we could just watch a movie— or you could just do that by yourself if that’s what you want to do, either way that’s fine—” Joe rambled.

“Sure, let’s get dinner.” Y/n grinned. Joe’s nervous expression quickly dissipated, a sigh of relief escaping his lips before a smile spread across them.

“Ok, um, I’ll pick you up at… 6?” Joe said.

“Sounds good.” Y/n said, the two of them smiling giddily at each other as they took the next step after months of pining.

[gpcwsl]

Warnings: kissing, fake dating, very long.)

Katie McCabe x Reader:

Title: New Flame

- It’s a gray Thursday afternoon, and the café is unusually quiet. Your favorite table by the window is free, so you settle in, grateful for the peaceful atmosphere. A steaming cup of tea sits beside your open notebook as you jot down thoughts about the book you’re reading, the bustle of the world outside fading into the background.

You’ve always loved this place—the way the soft hum of conversation blends with the hiss of the espresso machine, the faint scent of cinnamon that lingers in the air. It’s your sanctuary, the one place where you can exist undisturbed.

That’s why you barely glance up when the door swings open, and a sharp gust of wind accompanies a new customer inside. But then you hear her.

“Christ, it’s freezing out there. Do you not believe in heating, or what?”

The voice is loud, distinct, and unmistakably Irish. You glance up, and your heart stutters for a beat.

Katie McCabe.

Even if you weren’t a football fan—and you’re not, really—you’d recognize her anywhere. Her image is everywhere: Arsenal star, Ireland’s national treasure, and a lightning rod for attention both on and off the pitch. With her dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail and her piercing green eyes scanning the room, she commands attention effortlessly.

You quickly look back down at your notebook, praying she won’t notice you.

Fate, of course, has other plans.

“Hey, you.”

The words are casual but direct, cutting through the quiet hum of the café. You don’t realize she’s speaking to you until her shadow falls over your table.

You glance up, bewildered. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Katie grins, and it’s the kind of grin that suggests she’s up to something. “Mind if I sit?”

Without waiting for an answer, she pulls out the chair across from you and drops into it, looking entirely at ease.

You blink at her, thoroughly confused. “Um… can I help you?”

“Actually, yeah.” She leans forward, propping her elbows on the table. “I’ve got a bit of a situation, and I think you might be able to help me out.”

You stare at her, still trying to process the fact that Katie McCabe, of all people, is sitting at your table, acting like you’re old friends. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

She tilts her head, studying you with an intensity that makes you squirm. “Nah, I don’t think so. You’re perfect.”

“For what?”

Katie sits back, crossing her arms and smirking like she’s about to deliver the punchline of a joke. “To be my girlfriend.”

- For a long moment, all you can do is stare at her. “I’m sorry… what?”

“My girlfriend,” she repeats, as if this is the most logical thing in the world. “Well, fake girlfriend. Just for a bit.”

You laugh, certain you’ve misheard her. “Okay, seriously—what is this about? Did someone put you up to this?”

Katie sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I know it sounds mad, but hear me out. There’s this charity gala next weekend, and my ex is going to be there. With her new girlfriend. Who just so happens to play for Chelsea.”

“And…?” you prompt, still thoroughly confused.

“And I can’t show up alone,” Katie says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you have any idea how smug they’ll be? No way I’m letting them get one over on me.”

You shake your head, still struggling to wrap your mind around what’s happening. “So your solution is to drag a random stranger into this?”

“Not random,” Katie says, her grin returning. “I’ve seen you in here before. You seem… normal. Quiet. Not the type to run to the tabloids.”

“That’s your criteria? Normal and quiet?”

She shrugs. “Also, you’re cute. That helps.”

Your face heats at the casual compliment, but you refuse to let her distract you. “Katie, I don’t even know you.”

“And I don’t know you,” she counters. “That’s the beauty of it. No one will suspect a thing.”

You stare at her, incredulous. “This is insane.”

“Probably,” she admits. “But I’m desperate. Come on, it’s just one night. I’ll pay you if you want. Whatever it takes.”

Her green eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, you see a flicker of vulnerability beneath her confident exterior. She really does seem desperate.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous. Why me?”

“Because I’m out of options,” Katie says simply. “And you… you seem like someone I can trust.”

The weight of her words surprises you. Against your better judgment, you find yourself considering her proposal.

“One night?” you ask cautiously.

Katie nods. “One night. That’s it. And I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You hesitate, every instinct telling you to say no. But there’s something about the way she’s looking at you—something earnest and almost endearing—that makes you pause.

“Fine,” you say finally. “But we need rules.”

Katie grins, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied expression. “Rules. Got it. Lay ’em on me.”

Katie’s grin widens as if she’s just scored the winning goal in a cup final. You, on the other hand, feel the weight of your decision settle in—a strange mix of regret and curiosity.

You take a steadying breath and look her in the eye. “First of all, this isn’t a free-for-all. There have to be rules.”

“Fair enough,” Katie says, leaning forward, her chin resting on her hand. “Go on, then. What are the rules?”

You tap your pen against your notebook, thinking. “Rule one: no surprises. If we’re going to do this, I need to know everything beforehand—where we’re going, who’ll be there, what we’re supposed to do. No springing things on me last minute.”

Katie raises an eyebrow but nods. “Fine. No surprises. What else?”

“Rule two: no physical affection unless absolutely necessary.”

Her grin turns mischievous. “Define ‘necessary.’”

You glare at her. “You know what I mean. No kissing, no hand-holding, nothing unless it’s to keep up the act.”

Katie laughs, clearly amused by your flustered tone. “Alright, alright. No unnecessary touching. Got it. Anything else?”

“Rule three…” You pause, unsure how to phrase it. “We keep it professional. No personal stuff. This is a one-time thing, and I don’t want it complicating my life.”

For a moment, Katie’s expression softens. She studies you with a curious tilt of her head, as though trying to figure out what kind of person would say yes to this ridiculous plan. Then she nods.

“Deal,” she says. “Three rules. No surprises, no touching, no personal stuff. Easy.”

You fold your arms. “Good. Now it’s your turn to tell me why this is so important. I need to know what I’m walking into.”

Katie sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Alright, here’s the short version. The gala is a big deal in the football world—sponsors, press, all that. My ex, Ruesha, will be there with her new girlfriend, Louise. Louise and I… let’s just say we don’t get along.”

Your eyebrows lift. “So this is about showing up your ex and her new partner?”

“Not exactly,” Katie says, shifting in her seat. “It’s about showing that I’m fine. That I’ve moved on. That I’m not the same hotheaded, impulsive idiot Charlotte broke up with.”

There’s something raw in her voice, a vulnerability she tries to mask with her usual bravado. It’s the first time you’ve seen a crack in her confident façade.

“Alright,” you say softly. “I get it. But if I’m doing this, you need to promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“No games. No trying to use me to make anyone jealous or prove a point. If we’re doing this, it’s strictly for appearances.”

Katie meets your gaze, and for a moment, the playful spark in her eyes fades. She nods, her tone serious. “I promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Okay. So… what happens now?”

Katie’s grin returns, this time with a hint of relief. “Now? We prep. I’ll text you the details, and we’ll work out a plan. Don’t worry—I’ll make this as painless as possible.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” you mutter.

Katie laughs as she stands, tossing a few bills onto the table. “Thanks for this. You’re saving my ass, you know.”

Before you can respond, she’s out the door, leaving you with a sinking feeling that your quiet life is about to get a lot more complicated.

- Over the next few days, Katie is true to her word-mostly. She texts you the details of the gala: date, time, dress code, and a brief rundown of the attendees. What she doesn’t do, however, is give you much space to breathe.

Her texts are relentless, filled with questions about your life (“What do you do for fun? Need to make our story believable”), comments on your style (“Do you even own anything fancy?”), and more than a few unsolicited jokes.

Katie: Are you sure you’re not a Chelsea fan in disguise?

You: I don’t even watch football.

Katie: Good. Can’t trust a Chelsea fan.

By the time the day of the gala arrives, you’ve exchanged so many messages with her that you feel like you know her—or at least the larger-than-life version she projects.

That’s how you find yourself standing outside the boutique Katie insisted on meeting you at, clutching your coat and wondering how on earth you got here.

The door swings open, and Katie steps out, her sharp features lighting up when she spots you.

“There you are,” she says, striding toward you. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

“Work?” you echo, following her inside.

She smirks. “You didn’t think I’d let you show up in jeans and a hoodie, did you?”

Inside, the boutique is all sleek lines and shimmering fabrics, a world away from your usual haunts. Katie gestures to a rack of gowns with a dramatic flourish.

“Pick something,” she says. “And don’t worry—I’m paying.”

You hesitate, glancing at the price tags. “Katie, this is too much—”

“Trust me, it’s not,” she interrupts. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Her confidence is infectious, and despite your protests, you let her help you choose an outfit. It’s strange, seeing this side of her—playful, encouraging, almost charming.

By the time you’re dressed and ready, you catch Katie staring at you in the mirror.

“What?” you ask, self-conscious.

She grins, her voice softer than usual. “You look perfect.”

- The car ride to the gala is quieter than you expected. Katie sits beside you, fidgeting with the cuffs of her tailored suit, her usual bravado noticeably muted. You glance at her, trying to decide if this is the same Katie McCabe who confidently strolled into your life days ago and turned it upside down.

“You alright?” you ask, breaking the silence.

She looks at you, startled, before forcing a smirk. “Me? Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re fidgeting,” you point out.

Katie immediately stills, shoving her hands into her lap. “I’m not fidgeting. Just… warming up, you know? Big game mentality.”

You snort. “This isn’t a game.”

“Isn’t it, though?” she says, her grin returning. “It’s all about strategy. Confidence. Timing. Same rules apply.”

You shake your head, but her words stick with you. As the car pulls up to the venue—a sprawling estate lit up like something out of a fairy tale—you suddenly feel the weight of what you’ve agreed to.

The driver opens the door, and Katie steps out first, extending a hand to you. For a moment, you hesitate. Then you take it, her grip steadying you as you step onto the red carpet.

“Ready?” she murmurs, her voice low enough that only you can hear.

“No,” you admit, your heart racing as cameras flash in the distance.

Katie squeezes your hand, her smirk softening into something more reassuring. “Don’t worry. Just stick with me.”

The ballroom is even more intimidating than the exterior. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over a sea of impeccably dressed guests, their laughter and conversation blending into a hum of sophistication. Katie leads you through the crowd with the ease of someone who belongs, her hand resting lightly on the small of your back.

You catch a few people staring—some curious, others outright surprised. It doesn’t take long for someone to approach.

“Katie!”

A tall woman in a sleek black dress strides over, her smile polished and sharp. You don’t need to be told who she is; the tension in Katie’s shoulders gives it away.

“Ruesha,” Katie says, her tone neutral but her smile strained.

The woman’s gaze flicks to you, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. “And who’s this?”

Before you can respond, Katie slips an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “This is my girlfriend,” she says smoothly. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now. Isn’t that right, love?”

The word catches you off guard, but you recover quickly, nodding. “That’s right.”

Ruesha’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe?—in her eyes. “How… lovely. I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

Katie shrugs, her expression deceptively casual. “I like to keep my private life private these days.”

Before Rushea can respond, another voice cuts in.

“Ruesha aren’t you going to introduce us?”

You turn to see a strikingly beautiful woman join the group. She’s tall and athletic, her confident demeanor radiating the same energy as Katie’s—but colder, more calculating. Louise, you realize.

“Louise, this is Katie and…” Ruesha hesitates, clearly having forgotten your name.

“Y/N,” Katie supplies smoothly, her arm tightening around you.

“Y/N,” Ruesha repeats, her tone almost apologetic. “This is Louise.”

Louise extends a hand, her smile as sharp as the rest of her. “Pleasure to meet you.”

You shake her hand, acutely aware of the tension crackling between her and Katie. “Likewise.”

“So,” Louise says, turning to Katie. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. You always hated these events.”

Katie’s smile doesn’t waver. “Things change.”

The conversation feels like a battlefield, every word carefully chosen and loaded with subtext. You do your best to play along, nodding and smiling in the right places, but it’s clear that Katie is the one holding the line.

Finally, Ruesha and Louise excuse themselves, leaving you and Katie alone again.

“Well,” you say, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “That was… intense.”

Katie laughs, but it’s more bitter than amused. “Welcome to my world.”

- The rest of the evening passes in a blur of introductions and polite conversation. Katie is charming and confident, slipping effortlessly into her role as the doting girlfriend. You find yourself admiring how natural she makes it seem—like this really is her world, and you’re just lucky to be part of it.

But as the night wears on, you notice the cracks. The way her smile falters when she thinks no one is looking. The way her hand grips her glass a little too tightly whenever Charlotte or Louise is nearby.

It’s not until much later, when the crowd begins to thin and the band starts playing slower songs, that Katie finally lets her guard down.

“Come on,” she says, tugging you toward the dance floor.

You hesitate. “Katie, I don’t dance—”

“Neither do I,” she says, cutting you off. “But we’ve got appearances to keep up, remember?”

Before you can argue, she pulls you into her arms, her hands settling lightly on your waist. You place your hands on her shoulders, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat as she pulls you closer.

The music is soft and slow, the kind of song that leaves no room for distance. You glance up at her, surprised to find her looking back at you with an expression you can’t quite read.

“You’re good at this,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Katie chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Fake it till you make it, right?”

You tilt your head, studying her. “Is that what you’re doing? Faking it?”

For a moment, she doesn’t answer. Then she looks away, her jaw tightening. “What else is there?”

Her words catch you off guard, the vulnerability in them cutting through the practiced confidence she wears like armor. Before you can respond, she shakes her head and forces a smile.

“Forget it,” she says. “Let’s just get through tonight.”

But as the song ends and the crowd applauds, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to Katie McCabe than meets the eye—and that maybe, just maybe, this fake relationship isn’t as simple as you thought.

- The car ride back is a stark contrast to the ride there. Katie is quiet, staring out the window with her hands clasped in her lap. You sit beside her, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like a heavy coat.

It’s not until you’re halfway back to your apartment that she finally speaks.

“Thanks for tonight,” she says, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

You glance at her, surprised. “You’re welcome.”

Katie doesn’t elaborate, and the silence stretches between you, filled with unspoken words and questions you’re too afraid to ask.

When the car pulls up to your building, she steps out first, holding the door for you. You hesitate on the sidewalk, unsure what to say.

“So… I guess that’s it?” you ask, your voice uncertain.

Katie looks at you, her expression unreadable. For a moment, you think she’s going to say something important. Then she flashes you one of her signature grins, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

You nod, feeling a strange pang of disappointment as you turn to go.

“Y/N.”

Her voice stops you in your tracks. You turn back to see her standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat.

“If you ever need a favor… or just want to grab a coffee or something… you know where to find me.”

You blink at her, surprised. “Are you asking to be friends?”

Katie laughs, the sound lighter this time. “Maybe. Is that so bad?”

You smile despite yourself. “No, it’s not bad. I’ll think about it.”

She grins. “Fair enough. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Katie.”

You don’t expect to hear from Katie again, but a few days later, your phone buzzes with a text.

Katie: How’s the quiet life? Miss me yet?

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling.

You: Hardly. I’m enjoying the peace, thanks.

Katie: Liar. Meet me at the café later. My treat.

Against your better judgment, you agree.

When you walk into the café, Katie is already there, leaning back in her chair with a cup of coffee in hand. She looks up when you approach, her grin widening.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Hey,” you say, sliding into the seat across from her. “What’s this about?”

She shrugs. “Just wanted to check in. Make sure you’re not scarred for life after the gala.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I survived. Barely.”

Katie smirks. “You did great, by the way. Couldn’t have pulled it off without you.”

“Glad I could help,” you say, sipping your tea. “But seriously, why are you here? I thought this was a one-time thing.”

Katie hesitates, her grin faltering. “I don’t know. Guess I just… liked hanging out with you.”

Her admission catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

“Well,” you say finally, “I liked hanging out with you too. Even if you did drag me into your ridiculous plan.”

Katie laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Yeah, sorry about that. But admit it—it wasn’t all bad.”

You smile. “No, it wasn’t.”

For the next hour, the two of you talk like old friends, the conversation flowing easily despite your differences. You’re surprised by how comfortable you feel around her, how quickly the walls you’ve built start to crumble.

When you finally leave the café, you realize something strange: you’re actually looking forward to seeing her again.

- Over the next few weeks, your life begins to shift in ways you never expected. Katie texts you almost daily, her messages ranging from sarcastic quips to genuine questions about your day. She invites you to watch her matches, introduces you to her teammates, and even convinces you to kick a ball around with her at the park one evening.

At first, you tell yourself it’s just friendship. But as the days turn into weeks, you can’t ignore the growing tension between you—the way her smile lingers a little too long, the way your heart skips a beat whenever she leans in close.

You remind yourself of the rules you set, the lines you swore you wouldn’t cross. But Katie McCabe has a way of breaking down barriers, and no matter how hard you try to resist, you find yourself drawn to her.

One evening, after a particularly close Arsenal match, she shows up at your door, a six-pack of beer in hand.

“Thought you might want to celebrate,” she says, her grin mischievous.

“You won,” you point out, stepping aside to let her in.

“Exactly,” she says, plopping down on your couch like she’s been there a hundred times before.

As the night wears on, the conversation grows deeper, the playful banter giving way to something more serious.

“You’re different, you know,” Katie says suddenly, her gaze fixed on you.

You blink at her, surprised. “Different how?”

She shrugs, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Just… different. In a good way.”

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you can’t find the words to respond.

“Katie…” you start, but she cuts you off, her grin returning.

“Don’t worry,” she says, raising her beer in a mock toast. “I’m not about to confess my undying love or anything. Just… wanted you to know.”

You laugh, but her words stick with you long after she leaves.

- It happens on a quiet night, one of those evenings where neither of you plans anything but somehow end up together anyway. Katie shows up unannounced—again—this time with a pizza and a bottle of wine.

“Figured you wouldn’t say no to free food,” she says with her trademark grin, already letting herself in.

You roll your eyes but don’t stop her. “Do you ever ask before barging into people’s lives?”

“Not when I know the answer’s yes,” she quips, plopping onto your couch and propping her feet up on the coffee table.

You sit beside her, the familiar routine settling in as you eat, drink, and talk. The conversation flows effortlessly, jumping from football to books to the absurdity of life.

Somewhere between the second slice of pizza and the third glass of wine, the mood shifts. The laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and you realize just how close you’re sitting—your legs brushing, your shoulders almost touching.

Katie turns to you, her expression softer than usual. “You know,” she says, her voice low, “this is nice.”

“What is?” you ask, your pulse quickening.

“This.” She gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Hanging out. Not pretending, not putting on a show. Just… being.”

You swallow hard, her words stirring something deep inside you. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “It is.”

For a moment, neither of you moves. The air feels charged, the space between you shrinking with every passing second. Then, without thinking, you speak.

“Katie, why did you really ask me to do this? The gala, the fake dating—why me?”

She hesitates, her eyes searching yours. “Because you’re different,” she says finally. “You’re honest. You don’t care about the football, or the fame, or any of the other crap people usually care about. You see me. Just me.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in.

So is she.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as though both of you are afraid to break the spell. Then Katie’s hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the world tilts on its axis.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathing hard, her forehead resting against yours.

“Wow,” she murmurs, her lips quirking into a small, stunned smile.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your mind racing.

Katie pulls back slightly, her expression turning serious. “Are you okay?”

You nod, your fingers still clutching the front of her shirt. “I think so. Are you?”

She chuckles, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Better than okay.”

The warmth in her gaze sends your heart into overdrive, but reality crashes down a moment later.

“Katie,” you say hesitantly, “this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Her smile falters, but she doesn’t let go. “I know. But…” She pauses, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What if it’s supposed to?”

- After that night, everything changes.

Katie doesn’t pull away. If anything, she becomes even more present in your life—texting you good morning, showing up at your place unannounced, dragging you out to watch sunsets or explore the city.

You try to resist, to remind yourself that this was never meant to be real. But the lines have blurred so completely that you don’t know where the act ends and the truth begins.

And the truth is, you’re falling for her.

It’s in the little things—how she remembers your favorite coffee order, how she always makes you laugh when you’re having a bad day, how she looks at you like you’re the only person in the room.

But it’s also in the bigger moments. Like the time she invites you to a team dinner and introduces you to her teammates as “my person.” Or the night she tells you about her childhood, her struggles, her fears—the parts of herself she keeps hidden from the world.

Every day, you fall a little harder. And every day, you wonder how long this can last before it all comes crashing down.

- It happens during another gala, this time for a charity event. Katie insists on bringing you again, despite your protests.

“You’re my lucky charm,” she says with a grin, her hand warm against yours.

The evening is perfect—until you see Charlotte and Louise across the room.

Katie stiffens beside you, her smile tightening. “Great,” she mutters. “Here we go again.”

You squeeze her hand. “Ignore them. You don’t need to prove anything to her—or anyone else.”

She looks at you, her eyes softening. “Thanks, love.”

The word sends a jolt through you, and you realize with startling clarity that you want her to mean it.

As the night goes on, you find yourself watching her, captivated by the way she moves through the crowd with effortless charm. You can’t help but wonder if she feels the same way—if this has become real for her too.

When the event ends and you’re back in the car, Katie turns to you, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Y/N,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need to know… is this still just pretend for you?”

Your breath catches, her question hanging in the air like a challenge.

“No,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It hasn’t been for a while.”

Relief floods her features, and she reaches for your hand, her fingers threading through yours.

“Good,” she says softly. “Because it’s not pretend for me either.”

- The shift in your relationship is subtle at first, like the first hints of spring after a long winter. Katie still texts you incessantly, still shows up at your door unannounced, but now there’s a softness to her—a quiet vulnerability that wasn’t there before.

You’re hesitant to define what’s happening between you, afraid that putting a label on it will ruin the fragile thing you’ve built. But Katie seems unbothered by the ambiguity.

One evening, as you’re sprawled out on your couch, her head resting in your lap while some random movie plays in the background, she looks up at you and says, “You overthink too much, you know that?”

You pause mid-stroke, your fingers tangled in her hair. “I do not.”

Katie raises an eyebrow, her smirk playful. “You do. I can practically see the gears turning.”

You sigh, your hand dropping to your side. “Can you blame me? This… whatever this is—it’s complicated.”

Katie sits up, her expression serious now. “It doesn’t have to be.”

You stare at her, your heart pounding. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I like you, Y/N. More than like you. And I think you feel the same way. So why are we making it harder than it needs to be?”

Her words hit you like a freight train, the raw honesty in her gaze leaving you breathless.

“I…” You hesitate, the weight of your emotions threatening to crush you. “I do feel the same way. But what if this doesn’t work out? What if—”

Katie cuts you off with a kiss, her hands framing your face as she pulls you in. It’s not the first time you’ve kissed, but there’s something different about this one—something that feels permanent, like a promise.

When she pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, her breath warm against your skin. “Stop overthinking,” she murmurs. “Just be with me.”

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that it might be that simple.

- The next few weeks are a whirlwind. Katie is unapologetically affectionate, holding your hand in public, kissing your cheek when she thinks no one is looking, and calling you “love” in a way that makes your heart skip a beat every time.

Her teammates notice the change immediately.

“Well, look who’s gone soft,” one of them teases during a team dinner, nudging Katie with a grin.

Katie doesn’t even try to deny it. “What can I say? I’ve got good taste.”

You laugh, your cheeks burning as you try to wave off the attention. But secretly, you love it—the way she’s so unabashedly proud to be with you.

Of course, not everything is perfect. The press catches wind of your relationship, and suddenly, your private life is splashed across tabloids and gossip columns.

“Katie McCabe’s New Flame: Who Is She?”

You try not to let it get to you, but the constant scrutiny is overwhelming. Katie does her best to shield you from it, but even she can’t control the media.

One night, after yet another article speculating about your relationship, you finally snap.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” you say, pacing your living room while Katie watches from the couch. “I didn’t ask to have my life dissected by strangers.”

“I know,” Katie says quietly. “And I’m sorry. I wish I could make it go away.”

You stop, turning to face her. “Why does it matter so much to them? Why can’t we just be normal?”

Katie stands, crossing the room to take your hands in hers. “Because nothing about us is normal, Y/N. And that’s okay. I don’t care what they say or what they think. All I care about is you.”

Her words are a balm to your frayed nerves, and you let her pull you into a hug, her arms wrapping around you like a shield.

“I’m scared, Katie,” you admit, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

- The first real test of your relationship comes when Katie’s team suffers a devastating loss in a high-stakes match.

She shuts down completely, her usual confidence replaced by a storm of frustration and self-doubt. She doesn’t text, doesn’t call, and when you show up at her apartment unannounced, she barely even looks at you.

“Katie,” you say gently, sitting beside her on the couch. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she mutters, staring at the TV.

You reach for her hand, but she pulls away, her jaw tight. “I just need to be alone right now.”

The words sting, but you nod, standing to leave. “Okay. But I’m here when you’re ready.”

It’s two days before she finally calls.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice heavy with guilt. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

“It’s okay,” you say, relief flooding through you. “But you don’t have to go through this alone, Katie. Let me be there for you.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she whispers, “I’m not used to letting people in.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But you let me in once. You can do it again.”

Her silence speaks volumes, and when she finally comes over that evening, she doesn’t say much. But she doesn’t need to. The way she holds you, the way she looks at you—it’s enough.

- The days after Katie’s apology are marked by a cautious rhythm. You both fall back into your routines, but there’s a new layer to your relationship—one that’s fragile and demands more care.

Katie starts opening up in small ways. She shares little details about her day, mentions how her coach has been riding the team harder since the loss, and admits how the pressure is starting to feel unbearable.

“I hate losing,” she confesses one night as you sit on the floor of your living room, sharing a bottle of wine. “But what I hate even more is letting people down.”

“You didn’t let anyone down,” you say firmly, reaching for her hand. “Football is a team sport. It’s not all on you.”

Katie looks at you, her eyes filled with something raw and unspoken. “It feels like it is sometimes.”

You squeeze her hand. “You’re not alone in this. You’ve got your team, your family… and you’ve got me.”

Her lips quirk into a small, grateful smile, and she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

- As Katie’s team prepares for another high-profile match, the media frenzy around your relationship intensifies. Paparazzi follow you to the grocery store, articles dissect every outing, and social media buzzes with speculation.

Katie brushes it off, but you can see the toll it’s taking on her.

“It’s just noise,” she says one evening as you scroll through another invasive article. “They’ll move on eventually.”

But you’re not so sure. Your personal life is now public property, and the constant attention makes you feel exposed in ways you never expected.

The breaking point comes when a particularly nasty headline accuses you of being a distraction to Katie’s career.

“She’s better off without her,” the article declares, accompanied by a photo of the two of you walking hand in hand.

Katie finds you staring at the article, your face pale.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her tone laced with concern.

You shove your phone toward her, your voice trembling. “This. They’re saying I’m ruining your career.”

Katie skims the article, her jaw tightening. “This is bullshit,” she says sharply. “You’re not ruining anything. If anything, you’re the reason I’m still sane.”

“But what if they’re right?” you whisper. “What if I’m hurting you without even realizing it?”

Katie sets the phone down and takes your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her. “Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t let them get in your head. You’re not a distraction—you’re my anchor. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Her words bring tears to your eyes, and you nod, letting her pull you into a tight hug.

- In the weeks that follow, you and Katie work to establish a new normal. She arranges for better security to protect your privacy, and you agree to limit your public appearances together to avoid fueling the media fire.

But behind closed doors, your relationship thrives.

Katie starts taking you to her matches, sneaking you into the players’ section so you can cheer her on without drawing attention. You learn the ins and outs of football, surprising even yourself with how invested you become.

And in return, Katie makes an effort to understand your world. She reads your favorite books, asks questions about your work, and even tries her hand at cooking one night—though the results are disastrous.

“It’s the thought that counts,” you tease as you survey the charred remains of what was supposed to be dinner.

Katie groans, burying her face in her hands. “Remind me never to set foot in a kitchen again.”

You laugh, pulling her into a hug. “Deal. But you’re doing the dishes.”

- The turning point in your relationship comes during Katie’s next big match—a game that could make or break her team’s season.

You sit in the stands, your heart pounding as you watch her on the field. She’s a force of nature, her every move calculated and precise. But as the game drags on, the opposing team scores, and you see the frustration etched across her face.

When the final whistle blows, Katie’s team has lost, and the stadium is heavy with disappointment. You make your way to the locker rooms, unsure if she’ll even want to see you.

But when she emerges, her expression tired but determined, she spots you immediately.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft.

“Hey,” you reply, stepping closer. “You played great.”

She shakes her head. “Not good enough.”

You hesitate, then reach for her hand. “Katie, you’re allowed to be upset. But don’t forget how much you’ve already accomplished. You’re incredible, and one match doesn’t change that.”

Her eyes soften, and she pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly. “Thanks, love,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you whisper back, meaning every word.

- The loss is a blow to Katie’s confidence, but it also sparks something in her—a determination to prove herself. She throws herself into training, spending extra hours on the field and analyzing game footage late into the night.

At first, you worry she’s pushing herself too hard, but she reassures you.

“I need this,” she says one evening, her voice steady. “I need to know I gave it everything.”

You support her in every way you can, packing her lunches, sneaking notes of encouragement into her bag, and even attending more matches despite the paparazzi. Slowly, the cracks in her confidence begin to mend.

Katie’s hard work pays off in her next match, where she dominates the field and leads her team to a decisive victory. The stadium erupts in cheers, and you can’t help but feel a surge of pride as she looks up at you in the stands, a triumphant grin on her face.

Afterward, she finds you waiting for her outside the locker room. Before you can say a word, she sweeps you into her arms, spinning you around.

“You’re amazing,” you say breathlessly, laughing as she sets you down.

Katie smirks. “I know. But hearing it from you makes it better.”

- As Katie’s career continues to soar, so does the scrutiny around your relationship. But instead of letting it break you, you and Katie learn to face it together.

You stop reading the tabloids, and Katie makes a point to shield you from the worst of it. “It’s just noise,” she reminds you. “What matters is us.”

And she proves it every day. Whether it’s through small gestures—like leaving flowers on your desk—or grand declarations, like when she dedicates a game-winning goal to you, Katie makes it clear that you’re her priority.

One evening, as you sit on the balcony of her apartment, watching the city lights twinkle below, she turns to you with a serious expression.

“Y/N,” she begins, her voice uncharacteristically nervous, “I’ve been thinking a lot about us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “No. But I want you to know that I’m all in. Whatever happens—whether I win or lose, whether the media loves or hates us—I’m not going anywhere. And I hope you feel the same.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you nod. “Of course I do. You’re stuck with me, Katie McCabe.”

“Good,” she says, her grin returning. “Because I wasn’t giving you a choice.”

- The years that follow are a mix of highs and lows, victories and setbacks, but through it all, your love for each other only grows stronger.

Katie continues to dominate on the field, earning accolades and respect from fans and teammates alike. And you carve out a life for yourself that feels fulfilling and balanced, even amidst the chaos of being with someone in the spotlight.

There are challenges, of course. Arguments over schedules, moments of doubt, and the occasional media frenzy. But you learn to navigate them together, always coming back to the foundation of trust and love you’ve built.

One evening, as you sit together on your couch, Katie leans over and kisses your temple.

“You know,” she says softly, “I never thought I’d find someone like you.”

You smile, resting your head on her shoulder. “Someone who puts up with your terrible cooking and late-night football rants?”

She laughs, her arm wrapping around you. “No. Someone who makes me better. Someone who makes all of this—everything—worth it.”

Tears prick your eyes as you look up at her. “I feel the same way.”

And in that moment, you know that whatever the future holds, you’ll face it together.

Because love, real love, isn’t about perfection. It’s about finding someone who makes the imperfections worthwhile. And with Katie, you’ve found exactly that.

(Woah, this was a long one.)