#Change Color of Content Control

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

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summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

[bi-writes]

anatomy of us (1) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

we cannot change who we are at our core.

type: limited series, part 1 (6.4k), AO3 in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

Whenever she woke up marked the last day of the rest of your life. One moment, the world inside of your head was unnervingly quiet. The next, someone else was there, whispering in the dark, taking over.

You aren't proud of her. No, you hate her. There is no one you hate more, you don't think, because she lets the direction of the fucking wind distract her from what really matters. She paints her environment in a soft, glazed picture, and she tries to hold up her canvas and convince you that her reality is real. But then you blink, and you get flashes of how dull the sky really is and the dirt that stains your shoes, and you know that she's just a liar.

A controlling, desperate thief.

When you heard her voice for the first time, you begged your reflection in the mirror to just kill you already.

If you were an alpha, maybe you could've just drawn away into yourself and lived a quiet life in the middle of nowhere. If you were a beta, perhaps the weight of nothing would've given you a little more freedom to do the things you wanted to do.

But no. You're an omega. Nature's servant. A natural follower. Destined for nothing except to open your legs and say, "yes, alpha, all for you," because if you are anything but complacent, you're unwanted and a waste of your very being.

Your eyes stung when you took your first little pill. They rattled in different colors in a little orange bottle, and it felt like sand as it dissolved under your tongue. Even though it makes you sick, you take them anyways. Even though the pills change colors and shape and efficacy because you buy them from someone different every time, you take them because it makes your omega shut the fuck up finally.

You bury her. And you won't let her out.

The truth of it is that you're only fighting yourself. Your omega, she is you, isn't she? She's a part of you, she makes up your very genetic makeup, and to hate her is to hate yourself. But nature is cruel–it gave you years of freedom. Years to know what life was like without her, when she was dormant, asleep, just waiting for you to finally wake up.

Then your very self locked the cage. Your fingers claw at the bars, but it's no use. It's your very own punishment. So in turn, you bury her, too, silencing her cries, quieting what she wants most in the world, because it isn't fair, fuck you, you whiny bitch.

She's a pathetic puppy; and you are more than happy to step on her fucking neck.

Your aim is off today. The sound is muffled through the earphones you wear, but they've never thrown off your balance before. When you lean over the railing and squint at the target papers towards the back, you can see the bullet holes just a few inches off center.

You're never off-center.

"Getting rusty on me, Kit?"

You turn around, setting the gun down, and you smile wide when you see a familiar face. You pull the headphones off, putting them aside before making your way towards her.

Kate Laswell is surprised when you throw your arms around her and hug her tight. She smells good; she smells like chocolate, dark chocolate, something bittersweet. She's got that edge to it that they all do, something a little heady and all-encompassing, but she's the only alpha that you've ever found comfort being near. You see her nose scrunch a little when she embraces you back.

You must stink like synthetics. You care, only because you hate to make her nose sting this way. It's never been meant for her. At times, you thought maybe you could do a little convincing; maybe if you batted your lashes enough, she’d take pity on you, hide you away in some CIA shack with her deep on a Montana farm and play house. You’d cook, and she’d protect, and you’d be perfect little alpha and omega until the end of your days.

But Kate doesn’t like baggage. Not even the sweet kind, and especially not the kind that makes it even more difficult to make the hard decisions.

Kate isn’t a soldier. She makes choices based on the greater good, the lesser evil. She doesn’t get to be selfish. She doesn’t have that luxury.

When you pull away, she looks down at you strangely. She looks tired. Her dark hair is in a mess of a braid tucked under a cap, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Her attempt of a smile emphasizes the lines around her eyes. You open your mouth to tell her something, but she shakes her head.

"I'm not here as a friend," she says softly, and you frown a little.

"Aren't...haven't we always been friends?" You ask, and Kate lets out a shaky sigh, nodding her head behind her.

"We need to talk. C'mon."

You retrieve the gun and holster it, fastening it into your thigh holster before you follow her. She has a car waiting outside, a big, black SUV with the door already open for her. When you get inside, she knocks on the divider, and the car immediately starts moving. You brace yourself against the side of the car as it speeds off, reaching for a seatbelt.

"Jesus, Kate, what's going on? I-I have training later, I can't–"

"You're not...going back to base," she says evenly. You frown a little, leaning back in your seat, and you put your hands in your lap as you try and get a read on her. Even exhausted, Kate is hard to decipher. She has a stone-cold expression, calm and unbothered, and you curse her CIA training for making her impossible to understand, to even get a glimpse of what she might say next. Her face makes you anxious, and the scent in the car that changes puts you on edge.

"Okay," you scoff a little. "Then where am I going?"

Kate sniffs a little, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't break eye contact with you when she says, "Wheels up in 30. I have an assignment for you." She reaches under the seat, pulling out a manila folder, setting it down beside you. When you pick it up and flip it open, you narrow your eyes.

"I'm..." You shrug your shoulders, "I'm not really CIA. You don't give me orders."

"As of one hour ago, you're mine. And this...this is your duty."

Your eyes blur as you skim the text on the pages. You flip through the papers flimsily, getting more and more irritated until you throw it at her, your chest rising and falling fast as you pant, barely able to see her through your tears.

Program. UK. Field assignment. Mate. All the keywords to make your stomach curl and your autonomy shrink in front of your very eyes.

"Kate, don't do this," you beg her softly. You soften your voice, and you let your omega drip syrup into it. You want to see her eyes dilate–you want to make her protectiveness kick in just enough that she might just appease you. It’s desperate, and you know it’s wrong, but you do it anyways, you have to. "Please don't do this. Please. You fucking promised me, you promised–"

"You need to understand that I don't have a lot of fucking choices," she says sharply. She pities you, that much you can tell. She looks pained, but it doesn’t matter how pained she might feel because it isn’t happening to her. It’s happening to you, and she put you on that base so that it wouldn’t happen to you, and she tricked you into getting into this car, and now it’s her–

"Kate, I'll do anything, please," you gasp. You reach over and grab her hands, tugging her towards you. "You know. You know what...w-what I've been through, what this all is, you know...please. Please..."

You promised me. You gave me your word.

"I can't–"

But the CIA can’t be trusted for shit.

"I'll be yours," you try, squeezing her palms. Appease. Beg. Bare your neck. Give her what she really craves. "Just claim me yourself, a-and...and we don't have to do this, w-we can...I-I can go back to–"

Her face contorts, offended, disgusted. You try and swallow down the sting of her rejection, but you cannot help yourself. You would do anything to not be subjected to this fate, to the fate she promised she'd save you from. The only alpha you have ever trusted, and she's pulling away from you, bit by bit.

"I could never do that to you," she interrupts, shaking her head. "I couldn't."

"But you'll do this instead?"

"It's the lesser evil," she says finally, pushing your hands back. It aches. Despite you never leaning towards her, it is still an alpha turning their nose up at you, and the thing inside of you cries at the feeling; she begs you to do more, but you swallow her down, fingers itching for another pill just so you can really squash her singing. "And in my world, that is the best I can hope for."

"It's punishment!" You cry, and she reaches over, cupping your cheeks, pulling you close. You scrunch your face at her touch. Her hands are cold, and they do not welcome you. "A-And for what? For being something that I can't change?!"

"It's mercy," she whispers. Her thumbs stroke your cheeks in soft circles. "I can't protect you anymore, do you understand? They don't want you there, and I can’t take you with me. Even taking meds, even spraying yourself to shit, they don't want you, and I can't protect you if they send you away, do you understand me?" You start to cry, closing your eyes, and you hear the familiar voice in your head preening. She's desperate, slipping through the cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try and force her backwards. You’re panicking, and maybe she’s trying to help, but you hate her. "I have to get you out of there, and this is the only way."

"Please..."

"I can't protect you," she says gently. "But he can. And he'll be good to you. I promise, this...this I can promise."

You rip yourself away from her, curling into yourself as you scoot away from her as far as possible. You press yourself against the door, tucking your knees into your chest. Whatever passes by outside is a blur, and your brain doesn’t register any of it. The only thing in your head is betrayal, traitor, those sick, stupid bastard alphas, all of them–

"Fuck your promises," you whimper, and when she reaches out for you again, you flinch, burying your face into your hands.

Kate is a liar. She never keeps her promises; that’s her job, it is what she does. The CIA is nothing if they aren’t incredible liars–it’s what they’re known for, and Kate takes to it like a fish to water. As far as you are concerned, she lured you in with bait, and now she's shut the door on a trap. It is lined with padding, soft, delicate, but it still holds you back, it still keeps you still and stagnant and forever chained to an existence that you detest more than anything. She used you; it was in her best interest to keep an omega under her thumb, to do with you as she pleased when she needed one, and you suppose once you are taken, she will find another to do the same with. She will give another desperate one like you false hope, and when she needs another omega to keep someone else complacent and willing, she will offer them up with her signature on paper–just like that.

She tries to touch your hand before you board the plane. She tries to meet your eyes, get your attention, anything. You cower when she reaches out, and when she steps backwards, you walk on.

You never look behind yourself. Not even when you sit, and not even as the ramp closes shut.

Fighting is futile when you are who you are. It's unexpected. It's frowned upon. You are made up of something that is intended to be docile, to be big-eyed and soft. If you were a dog, they would want you to roll over and bare your belly and forget how to do anything but obey, but that is not the kind of thing that you ever wanted to be, even when you were small, even before you knew what you really were.

You hate what you are. You medicate yourself to the point of being incoherent, you bare your teeth and aggravate the submissive nature you inherit to deter any kind of match. You make yourself undesirable, not just in your physical nature but in the very essence of yourself.

You want to start over, as something else, or you want to never have been at all. You hate this place, you want them to cast you out, you want to be left to your own devices because dying alone and unwanted is better than submission; it;s better than the imprisonment that your kind subjects themselves to, willing or not.

It sickens you. You watch your own kind fall to their knees, close their mouths, and allow their very being to disappear just to make another satiated. Happy. Their entire lives, reduced to being someone else's waiting hand, someone else's property. It's sad, it's pathetic, it rocks you to the very center of yourself, and you demand more of it, you reject this life and the voice in your head that fights with you every single day of it.

She hates you, too, your omega. She claws at your insides and begs for something to drink, but you dry her out. You don't allow her to even breach the surface of the wasteland you've suffocated her with. She is naïve; she doesn't know what is good for her, she doesn't know that you are saving her from a life of constant torture. She screams for you to let her out, but you take another pill and force her back into the dark.

Or at least you did. You haven't taken a pill in days. They won't let you, even when you asked, even when you began to beg. You promised to be good if they just appeased you. You promised to be quiet if they just slipped it under your tongue, even if they injected it into your very veins, anything, just please, please, I don't want to–

Everything is surreal. You feel like you're seeing everything in color. What used to be dull and uninteresting now sparkles in your very eyes, it glows under the sun. Everything is sharper and less blurry. Sounds are clearer. You can hear the wind more loudly in your ears and feel it under the soles of your shoes. But what dizzies you the most is your sense of smell.

Everything before had been so bland. You have been under the effects of suppressors for so long that you don't think food has ever smelled so bad and so good (eggs make you gag now, and the crisps they give you make your mouth water).

They keep you confined in a small room. You are not allowed in the presence of any alphas; you can smell them passing by the door, but whenever the stink of one of them lingers, there's loud voices, lots of heavy boots. A beta comes to collect you to do a daily workout and to shower, and then you are back in your room, your meals delivered on a tight schedule (and the food, after a few days of your tray being barely picked at, gets so much better–it's better quality than you've seen on any military base, and when you asked, all they said was "lieutenant's orders").

Today is different. Today, along with your breakfast, a large black hoodie is folded underneath the tray that they leave on the end of your bed. You set the food aside, picking up the hoodie, and when you unravel it, you spread it out, gawking at the size of it. Whoever this hoodie belongs to is more bear, more beast, than human. An enormous thing, but when you pick it up, you immediately pick up on its strong scent.

You press the front of it to your nose. Your eyes flutter shut, and you sink into the bed a little as you take a deep breath of it. Warm, but gritty, like charcoal. Cigarettes. Military-issue soap. Clean. Eucalyptus. Fire. Something with depth, something with teeth. You don't realize what's happening to you until it's too late.

Alpha. It smells undoubtedly like alpha, and you're certain by the size of it that it belongs to one. You nuzzle your face into it a little, instinctively, and you don't even register your omega knocking, peering through the door that's been cracked open for her.

She squeals with delight. She's getting dizzy, drunk, and you feel a soft noise in your chest bubble as she pets the back of your mind, keening at the introduction of it. She’s giggling. You can feel her tugging at your insides, whispering in your ear–See? I told you. I told you that you’d like it.

They smell strong. They smell capable. They smell pure.

When you put the hoodie down, your legs are pressed together, shaking from how hard your thighs are squeezed. When you relax, you refrain from the need to touch yourself, but you failed before you even started. You can feel how wet you are; your panties must be soaked, and you feel yourself pulsing with some sort of distinct urge to give in, give in, give in.

It's unnerving, the lack of control you have. Your omega has always been a few feet underwater, but she's breaching the surface now, her lips gasping for air.

You try to push her back.

Stay down.

When the clock strikes for dinner, you aren't surprised by the knock. But you are surprised that when the door opens, there isn't a beta in uniform holding your tray. Instead, you cover your nose a little, blinking harshly as a large man comes into the room. He's got a strange beard and a floppy hat, and when he smiles, he reminds you of a teddy bear. You can tell just by his physique what he is, but his eyes are kinder than you're used to.

You will yourself not to trust them. You trusted kind eyes before, and now you’re locked in a prison of your own making.

"'ello," he introduces himself, holding out his hand. "'m Captain John Price. 's nice to meet you."

You glare at him, not saying a word. When he figures you won't shake his hand, he just nods. He lets his hand drop, hooking his thumbs into his tact vest, and he rests at ease.

"I've come to collect you," he says lowly. "It's time."

You pick up your tray of food from behind you and hurl it towards him. He ducks just in time, moving one shoulder backwards as the metal hits the wall behind him and clatters to the floor in a splattered mess. John shakes his head a little, scratching the back of his neck, and he clicks his tongue. You’re unnerved and a little pissed off when a hint of a grin flickers over his face.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes. "Yeah...you'll do."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Let's go," John snaps. "Won't ask again."

When he reaches for you, you swipe the fork from the bed, stepping close and sticking the little prongs up against his chin. You aren’t satisfied until you can feel his scratchy beard against it, piercing the skin just enough.

"If you touch me, I'll shove this right up your chin through your goddamn nose," you threaten, and John’s nostrils flare, his hands going up flat beside his head.

"Easy," he murmurs, and you feel like he’s talking to a skittish mare. "Just need to guide you, that's all."

"Well, I don't want to go anywhere."

"If you don't do this, I have to send you back," John explains. "And Kate made it very clear that is supposed to be my last resort. And you don't want to go back."

"Anything is better than this," you hiss, and he narrows his eyes.

"Not this. What they do to unruly omegas..." He leans forward, snarling a little. "Ones like you. Ones that bite. And scratch. They don't deal with them. They'll sedate you and use you as training practice. And while Kate might have a heart big enough to keep you outta that place, I don't have it. So get your arse moving. Now."

You put your hand down, dropping the fork, letting it clatter to the floor. He grips you by the collar of your shirt, urging you forward, and all the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as he gets dangerously close to scruffing you. It's enough of a threat that you immediately relax, your own body betraying your emotions as it tries to make itself smaller. To appease. To submit.

"This can't wait any longer," John mutters. "Has to happen today."

Your lip trembles.

"What has to happen today?" You ask.

"You're meeting your mate," he says. You know that was the answer, but you had to ask it anyways. You think of the hoodie you received all those hours ago. The smell of him, complete intoxication. "Simon."

Simon.

"Sounds like an asshole," you snap, irritated, and John chuckles a little.

"Mmm. He is. You'll adore 'im."

You flinch at the flickering fluorescent lights as he leads you down a narrow hallway. When you pass other soldiers, John puts you in front of him, glaring and baring his teeth a little. You're confused by this sudden display of aggression on your behalf, but when you spot the looks in others’ eyes, you're grateful for it nonetheless.

You know your scent is strong; piercing the walls around you, displaying your displeasure, discomfort, fear so plainly. It's an awful thing to not be able to hide how you feel, to not feel like you have any control over how you present to others, but you have no practice masking any of it. You have been drowning your omega for so long that you didn't realize the strength of her building up behind the synthetic walls you had built. She's livid, angry, permeating the spaces in your mind that you thought were solid and now are broken and hollow inside.

You stop in front of an unmarked door. John looks over you, eyeing the jacket you wear.

"Take tha' off," he says lowly. You frown, stepping back, but he nods again. "Take it off. You'll get it back, just give it to me."

You shrug your jacket off gently, handing it to him. John holds out his hand for yours, and when you cautiously give it to him, he rubs the fabric against your wrists to soak it in your scent before disappearing behind the door. You wait outside, pressing your ear to the metal, but you hear nothing but low mumbles. You do hear a heavy gait, big feet moving around that don't belong to Captain Price, and you close your eyes as you try and see if you can hear his voice.

You don't.

The door is opened just slightly, John cocking his head to the side.

"He wants to see you."

You raise a brow.

"Your mutt?" You ask smartly, and John scoffs a little, kicking the door open wide finally. Behind it, you can see a small little office situated. Dozens of file cabinets, a stained wooden desk, a peeling leather chair. There are papers everywhere, a disorganized mess and walls filled with medals, plaques, letters, pictures of faceless men. And standing beside the desk, towering over it with his head nearly hitting the ceiling is a bear.

A fucking bear.

He's so tall. Over six feet of hulking man, big shoulders taking up too much space. You can tell just by looking at him that he has to duck his head and move his body sideways to get through the doorway you're standing in. He has big hands and thick thighs, and your lips part when you realize his thigh holster has been released as much as possible just to still fit snugly around him. He's wearing dark jeans and a thick black hoodie, and he looks even bigger with a strapped tact vest that holds numerous little gadgets, weapons (fuck, he looks like he can kill you with the pencil laying haphazard beside him).

You can't see his face. He covers it with a mask, a snug covering tucked under his hoodie with the plastic front plate of a skull sewn to its front. He's holding your jacket in one hand, the other clenched in a tight fist as you step through the door.

"Is this your dog, Captain?" You ask finally. Simon doesn't speak. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you, taking in the way you look from the tips of your combat boots all the way up over your head. His gaze lingers on your middle, the wideness of your hips and the curve of your body.

John crosses his arms over his chest.

"Suppose so," John shrugs, rolling his eyes a little. You blink, finally making eye contact with Simon. His eyes are dark and beady. He's intense, just as his scent had been. Your omega warms your throat and screams in your ear.

Grab him. Latch onto him. Don’t let him go. Do you see him? Look at him–

"Does it bark?" You wonder, glaring. Simon unclenches his fist, rolling his fingers out a little. They twitch beside his leg. His face twitches a little, too, you can see the mask move just slightly.

"When he wants to."

"Does it bite?"

John snorts. "Mmm. Afraid so." He opens the door behind him. "Don't kill each other. If I don't see her for supper, Simon, I'll hold you to it."

When you are alone, Simon still remains silent. He hasn't moved from his spot by the desk, still in a strange staring contest with you as you stand there trying to read him. Like Kate, he's impossible; this time, you don't even have the luxury of looking over his face, although you suspect even without the mask, he must have mastered some kind of expression of nothingness. He seems like the kind of brute to give nothing away. Not even his displeasure.

"Hope you're good on a leash," you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest. "I like to go on walks."

His face moves under the mask again. Finally, he moves. He unravels your jacket in his hand, holding it open for you to put on again. You eye him strangely before coming closer to fit your arms into it.

When you turn your back to him, you realize how much of his shadow you're tucked under. When he drops the fabric back on your shoulders, you still as he leans over one side of you, bending. Without thinking, your head tilts to the side, giving him more space into the side of your neck. You do it without even thinking. Your omega bleeds through you, and you feel her warmth everywhere now, making you move, but you let her this time.

Your scent gland pulses there under your ear. He can see it, hear it practically, rushing like the blood in his ears. You close your eyes when you feel him come closer, the cotton of his mask just barely grazing your neck as he takes a deep breath.

The growl he lets out shakes you to your core. Your pupils get blown wide at the sound, and your head flops back slow, exposing more of your neck. He uses the opportunity to bend just that much more, until the front of his mask is pressed against the gland, and he can breathe you in, right at the source.

He's snarling under the mask. You can hear his teeth knock together, his tongue wetting his lips. You shiver, leaning into him, your hand raising up to caress the back of his neck as he nuzzles his nose there, taking another deep breath. You step back enough that he presses up against you from behind. You can feel his pelvis right against your ass, and you arch your back just enough to fit him right where he belongs. A gloved hand catches you at your waist, and you put your free hand on the desk in front of you until his cock is right there between your ass.

Your omega is panting. She's clawing, right there at the edge, fighting against quicksand as she's desperate to meet him. The feeling of him, the scent of him so close, it's an aphrodisiac, potent, suffocating. Something warm is wrapping around you, sliding along your skin, tickling your toes. It's between your thighs, in your mouth, wetting your tongue. You're not sure what this feeling is, but it's thrilling.

He's purring. Big, rumbling sounds coming from deep in his chest. More animal than man as his tongue comes out under the mask, and you can feel him lick a nice stripe over the raised, warm skin under your ear. Your omega is being pulled to the forefront. She’s like a magnet to him. The closer he gets, the stronger she bites into you. Your mouth drops open when his hand falls between your thighs, gripping onto you and pulling you up against him in one, slow grind. You can feel the length of him, fucking enormous, and you’re leaking into your cargos as his fingers squeeze the fat of your thigh.

"Fuck–okay!" You pull away abruptly, turning to face him. You put your hands on his chest and push him back a little. He doesn’t move at your touch, but your voice startles him enough that he moves his hands up and away from you. He straightens up, blinking away the haze in his eyes, and you swallow hard. "T-Too much..."

He huffs, moving forward to bury his face into your neck again, but you step back, putting a hand on his chest firmer this time. You have stepped out of the cloud that surrounds him, but you can still taste it, and it’s pulling you back, and you’re losing control.

"Simon," you say his name gently, and he stops, his face scrunching a little under the mask before he stands back up again. "If I have to be your mate...we need to set some boundaries." He blinks, saying nothing. "Like...a-asking for permission."

You can tell by the way his mask twitches that he doesn't usually ask for permission. He wants, and he receives.

Typical.

“What?” You ask, scoffing. “You don’t talk?”

He doesn’t move. You crane your neck to look up at him a little better, and you smooth your hands lower on his chest. You can’t help but appreciate what you feel. He’s wearing a tactical vest, but you can still feel the deep breaths he’s taking, the strong, fatty muscle under your palms. He is the epitome of sheer strength and undeniable ability. Your omega draws your hands back up his chest, over his pecs that pull taut, and they wind up around his neck as you stand up on your toes and lean into the curve of his jaw. You put your nose to it, barely. Simon moves his hands down, cupping you under your ass and picking up your weight with not even a grunt until you can press your face deep into him.

Fuck, it’s like a drug. It’s addictive. His scent impales you. He smells like war. Like chaos and smoke, and your mouth starts to water as you keep breathing him in. You pull back just enough, blinking up at him. You look a little dizzy and intoxicated, and he squeezes your ass to hold you steady as he puts you back onto your feet.

“Uhm…” You sniffle a little, holding onto him. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you keep yourself upright like this. “I didn’t wanna be here. I don’t…I don’t want this. I never did.” You blink away tears, but he sees them when you draw your eyes back up to his. “T-They made me. It hurts.”

“Wot hurts?”

His voice scares you when you finally hear it. Your lip shakes, and when you blink again, your tears fall down your face. Simon snarls when he sees them, reaching up with hands too rough and wiping them off your face, but they keep coming.

“I’ve never been o-off my meds–” You gasp, and your breaths start to come in panicked and too fast. “Everything hurts. T-The lights are too bright, everything hurts my nose, the sheets are too itchy, and I-I can’t breathe–”

Simon moves away from you immediately. He closes a fist and pounds the lightswitch, and only the yellow glow of the lamp on his desk illuminates the room. You curl into yourself, hugging your own arms, and Simon comes back to stand in front of you, narrowing his eyes.

“I did not want you either.”

“That’s just grand, this is perfect,” you hiccup, and Simon grunts.

“But I have orders.”

“You act like your Captain is just debriefing you for a fucking mission,” You snap, glaring at him. “I’m a fucking person. I know your kind may not see us that way, but I am. I’m not a mission. I’m not something for you to win or to conquer, you fucking asshole!”

When you raise a hand to hit him, he catches your wrist before it lands. He squeezes just enough to hold you at arm’s length, and you lean forward and spit on him instead. It wets the mouth of his mask, and he nearly loses himself as his eyes flash with something dark. He looks away from you for a moment to collect himself. When he turns back, he uses his other hand to cup the back of your head, silencing you.

“You listen ‘ere, omega–” The way he says your title makes the fight in you shrink. Your omega squeaks, ducking her head, that bubble of submission pilling in your throat as he holds you so close to your naked scent gland. “Dunno wot anyone told you, but I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” He ducks his head, pulling you closer, and you freeze when he presses his masked mouth at the base of your pulsing scent gland. It wafts into his nose, dilating his pupils, and he snarls. “And when you inevitably lose control of yourself–you already fuckin’ are, you reek of it–I’m goin’ to sink my teeth right ‘ere, and then it won’t fuckin’ matter ‘ow you feel.”

Your eyes blur with angry tears. You gasp, your breaths hitching, and Simon seems to feed off of your fear, your misery. If he wasn’t wearing a mask, you imagine he’d be licking your tears for a chance to taste your sadness. The worst part of it all is that your omega adores it. She’s been aching for so long for this kind of authority. For that edge to tickle her right under her chin where she likes it. The whiff of alpha that she’s getting is driving her out of control, and you don’t know how make her quiet down. She’s so loud in your head, banging against the walls–give it to him, give it to him, give it to him.

“You’re a fucking monster,” you whisper, glaring up at him. It’s no use–you will never scare him. Simon is what scares other alphas into submission. In one paw, he could crush your windpipe if he wanted to, with just a squeeze. Simon hums, and you imagine him smiling under that mask, some kind of vicious grin that you would love to smack off of him.

“Tha’s right, swee’eart,” Simon mutters. “I am. ‘n now you belong t’me. Everything that you are–” He smooths his hand down your neck. You seize when his hand slides over the curve of your waist until it cups under your ass and forces you up against him. “‘s mine. Your omega–’s mine. Your mouth–mine. Your arse–mine. That cunt that’s going to take my knot like a good little omega should–mine. So y’r gonna get y’r things, and y’r gonna move them into my quarters, and then we’re gonna go get supper, and y’r gonna shut y’r fuckin’ mouth.”

“I hate you. You’re the biggest son of a bitch I have ever met in my entire life, you are exactly the kind of asshole I knew you would be, you are no different than I thought. You’re a terrible, awful, horrible–”

“I can smell you,” Simon snaps. “Don’t try to be fuckin’ smart with me, I can smell how wet your cunt is, so why don’t you just be a good girl and do as I say?”

You bare your teeth a little, and Simon sticks a gloved thumb into your mouth. Without thinking, you relax. You suck it into your mouth and sigh, and Simon rubs his thumb against your tongue, shutting you up nice and well. He traces your teeth with it, and you start to cry. You cry because you don’t know why you can’t fight. Your grip his forearm, but your nails won’t dig. Your feet are planted to the ground, and you can’t move. Your mouth sucks, and he pushes, and you’re frozen here.

He knows what to do. Doesn’t he taste so good?

He seems to like your teary eyes. The big, fat tears. His eyes crinkle, and you know he’s smiling, and you wish you could rip that expression off his face, but all that stares back at you is death. Simon growls, and every bit of resistance in you fails. Slow, like molasses, your knees buckle, and he catches you. He pets your mouth, and when he leans in and presses his mouth to your ear, all you can do is cry.

“That’s it. Good kitty.”

NEXT

[pennjammin]

run, rabbit, run

JJK HALLOWEEN! nanamixreader

summary ❥ you babysit for the wealthy single dad who lives across the street. it’s the end of october and his halloween party is the talk of the neighborhood. you’re not invited because the kids are out of town, but you decide to pop up on him anyway, and he shows you just how badly he’s been dying to get you alone without the children.

CONTENT: age gap, 86’d sorcery, dilf!nanami, toys, smut, alcohol, dom!nanami, cunnilingus, afab!reader, fluff, friends to lovers kinda, bossxworker, aftercare, slowwwww burn, reader wears animal ears during sex, breeding kink, spit kink, masochism.

word count. 10k

soundtrack 💿: eating - madeintyo

p.s. there’s a joke in here involving the color of 🐱; i know everyone’s is not the same color so , fill in the blank for the color that fits yours if u have one LOL

✩

You give your ass a good shake.

You’re making sure the long, fluffy tail poking out of your blue shorts isn’t going to fall out. It doesn’t.

You’re dressed as a fox, but not just any fox. A fox cop. You have on a short blue collared top, matching shorts, and of course you’d be no real cop without your utility belt housing fake handcuffs and a plastic baton. To top it all off, you’re wearing fuzzy fox ears on your head, and sheer tights to cover your legs.

You nod in the mirror, satisfied. But the real test, to you, is if Mr. Nanami will like it just as much.

Mr. Nanami is your employer, but more importantly, your neighbor. You watch his two young children five days a week; sometimes even overnight when he has a particularly busy work day. You consider yourself close with them, but your feelings about Nanami are a little deeper than that.

You’d seen him the first time a little under a year ago, when he’d been out on an early morning jog. From then, on you’d become disgustingly obsessed ever since.

Your schoolgirl pining only gets worse every time you see him, and recently you've even gone as far as trying to shamelessly flirt - but he seems to have absolutely no idea. That is the less painful explanation, the other being that he’s just not interested.

But you’re planning to see if you can get that to change tonight. You always dress sensible in front of his children; this will be the first time he's seeing so much skin. It has to work, right?

Tonight, Nanami is throwing the party of the century. He has house workers of all kinds who serve towers of food and delicious mixed drinks. The cherry is that his entire gated lawn has been decorated to the perimeter of fun inflatables and spooky decorations. You know it's mostly for his kids, whom he goes nothing short of above and beyond for.

However, he had informed you days ago that they would be out of town this weekend - and, even if they were not, he's off work, so he doesn’t need you. This means he also had not invited you to his party.

You clearly still intend to show up unannounced, a bold move on your part.

You lock up your house - a small, co-owned property that truly looks out of place across from Nanami's home - which he technically pays the rent for. You carefully make your away across the overcrowded street full of cars, decorations, and humans who are already half past drunk.

As you walk up the stone steps that lead to his front door, your stomach is keyed up. You shouldn't feel any different than you normally do when coming over for work, but you’ve really let this highly unprofessional crush of yours get out of control.

You make it to the porch. You're unsure if he will even hear the doorbell, but you press it anyway. The door slides open after about ten seconds, as if he has been standing there watching it. You feel your body freeze immediately upon seeing him.

Nanami is towering over you in the threshold. His face lights up almost instantly, but that's not all that has your heart threatening to crack open your rib cage; it's also his delicious white button down, popped open by a few to reveal tiny bits of blond chest hair, and then of course there are the long, white ears on top of his head.

“Why hello, officer, did we get a noise complaint?” He chuckles at his own dad joke before bowing his head in greeting. “Sorry, I’m just surprised to see you. I figured you would be thrilled to not have to look at these four walls for a few days while my children are with... their mother.”

You watch his face drop in disgust at the mention of his ex-wife, but he’s never said anything bad about her. Whenever you’d asked why things hadn’t worked out, he’d said "they just didn't." And that was that, but part of you aches to know what had happened.

It shouldn’t matter. He is not interested in you. He gives you a paycheck, and that is all.

"Well," you begin carefully, "Who would want to miss out on the most exclusive Halloween party of the year?"

This coerces a deep laugh out of Nanami, then he steps aside and allows you to walk in. He is holding a short rocks glass of unidentified brown liquor, and you can smell whatever it is in a cloud around him.

Once inside, Nanami’s voice is quite muffled from the clank of dishes and bustle of workers. The two of you stop to stand in the foyer, a grand crystal chandelier winking at you from above.

"Exclusive isn't the word I'd use," he says, following your eyes as he takes a sip. "Everyone and their mother is here. Literally." He tilts his glass towards an elderly woman who stands next to a redhead about Nanami's age.

You should be laughing at his joke but instead, your stomach knots grow tighter at the reminder of how many people his age are here preying on him, the neighborhood catch, with careers and homes of their own.

Nanami is seven years your senior, you think. No wonder he wants nothing to do with a young, non career-oriented thing like you when he has all of these sophisticated people crawling at his feet.

You can't think about that now, or the courage you’ve spent a week building will cease to exist.

"Heh - well, either way," you continue, "it's a big party. I know the kids aren't here, but-"

"But I'm glad you are," Nanami smiles, his eyelids hanging a little low from the liquor in his system. "You look very nice, darling. I like your ears."

He grins and points to his own headband. A grown and very, very large man dressed as something as vulnerable as a little rabbit has your nerves aflame.

"Hmm, I bet you do," you tease. “Like it so much you had to copy me?”

Nanami makes a disapproving sound with his tongue, leaning forward a bit to be eye level with you. "Copy you? I was unaware that rabbits and foxes were the same animal. In fact," he adds, "if I'm not mistaken, foxes are a rabbit's natural predator."

You had been trying to look away from him now that he has moved so close, but as the last sentence rolls out of his mouth, you make the mistake of looking directly into his eyes - and what you see makes your limbs jelly. Maybe it's your delusions, but he seems to be drinking you up equally as much as he is his liquor.

You laugh to pop the bubble of tension, but Nanami's face remains as still as ice.

"Well, I certainly don't think I pose a threat to you, sir," you say, voice unnervingly dry. "You are twice my size."

At this, his intense stare transitions into a soft smile. "You just have to get my guard down. Then, I'm sure a little thing like yourself would be able to have your way with me."

You blink quickly, assuming you've misheard him. Then again, though, he tends to say things that could be flirty - but he is just a naturally charismatic man. Means nothing.

"Ah," you mumble out, shifting your weight from side to side. You have to find a way to change the subject, but most importantly, you need get his attention off of you. You’d wanted it so bad, now you don’t know how to handle it. As you scheme, he sips his drink again, eyes still watching you over the rim of the glass.

"So... the kids always go with their mom on Halloween?" you ask abruptly.

Nanami quickly swallows his sip before shaking his head. "Well I had them for the Fourth of July, you recall."

You do recall. A little too well. Nanami in nothing but tight, black swim shorts and his signature sunglasses as he flipped meat over the grill - and you playing in his pool with the kids. He’d invited you to celebrate the holiday with him after his kids had begged, but your mind was definitely elsewhere. The memory popping into your head almost makes you not hear what he says next.

"We alternate holidays. So I will have them for Thanksgiving, she for Christmas," he shrugs a shoulder. "I would have traded Thanksgiving for Christmas, but alas. Christmas is always the busiest day of the year for me, so they would just miss out on time with their father anyway. I couldn't ask you to ditch your holiday plans for us, again, either."

He sighs. You feel your heart ache; he cares deeply about his kids, but he is definitely a workaholic. That is why you spend every chance you get at his house… well, that’s mostly why. But even then, you sometimes wish you stayed more to help, because Nanami works tireless double shifts, then spends his off days trying to make up for lost time with the kids.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," you say, attempting to comfort him. "You're an amazing father who is doing all he can. They love you so much."

He smiles and bows his head politely, so as to say thank you. "They love you as well. Sometimes, I think more than they do their mother."

You swallow a choke, before rutting out, “Surely not."

Before Nanami has the chance to reply, an older woman who you’d come to known as Agnes walks by with a large tray arraignment of bright green cocktails.

“Nanamin!” she shrieks out. “Where would you like me to put these? Very afraid of them falling. There’s drunkards crawling up the walls! I’ve already swept up sixteen broken glasses! Sixteen!”

You and Nanami turn to look at her with an equally astonished expression.

Nanami leans forward a bit to whisper in your ear, “My apologies in advance for her erratic behavior.”

Agnes is still staring wildly between the two of you as you giggle, awaiting further instructions from Nanami.

“Sit them wherever you think is safest,” he says calmly.

She huffs but ultimately takes his word, speeding off with her kitten heels clacking against the marble floor.

Nanami turns back to you and opens his mouth, but another voice cuts him off.

“Nanami, sir!”

You feel a twinge of irritation in your chest, but you really shouldn’t. He is the host and people need his attention. You should have seen this coming.

“Is everything okay?” he questions politely, turning to face the short brunette in front of him, who bats her eyelashes.

“I… I think that someone is fighting outside,” she says quickly, unable to keep eye contact.

Nanami is a smart man, though. “Oh? Well, what shall we do about that?”

“I thought you could run and stop them,” she says, twisting a piece of her hair around her finger, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m in no mood to be in the middle of a brawl,” he says sternly. “Have the butlers stop it, and remove them. You try not to get involved either.”

She huffs and spins on her heel, walking back through the living room with an angry stomp in her step.

Nanami clicks his tongue, “I really need to have her counseled in compulsive lying. She cries wolf so many times a day.”

You’ve never seen her before, she must be new. This makes you jealous all over again. She’s not quite as old as the rest of the workers, but still older than you. The issue is you see yourself in her, the uncontrollable pining over your shared boss. She just makes hers much more obvious.

Nanami clears his throat, and you notice too late how his hand has slithered to the small of your back.

“Perhaps we should escape somewhere more secluded, hm?” he says. “I really am enjoying our conversation. A shame we keep getting interrupted.”

You swallow thickly. The hair on your spine has raised at his sudden contact, making you shiver.

“Yes, that’s a good idea, sir,” you say, trying to hide how dry your voice has gotten.

Not another word is uttered before Nanami is swiftly whisking you off to another room; his hands now free of his drink and instead gently guiding you by his hand placement.

His gaze is not as focused on you as it is leading you both through the overwhelming crowd of people, and to the hall under the stairs that you know for a fact leads to his workspace. He moves his hands into yours as he gently pushes you ahead of him.

You take the lead and find yourself pushing open the big door to his study. Inside is a complete reflection of Nanami, his wealth and his cleanliness. Even his desk is free of papers, or any indication at all that he works in here.

You recall the days he works from home, in this very study, and he'd still be in his work suit, just minus the blazer. You'd let the kids sneak in on him, only once or twice thoughout the day, just to see his smile; and while you’re already there, you'd drop off a cup of hot coffee to help him plow through the rest of his shift.

He shuts the doors behind you both as you run to make yourself comfortable in his desk chair, spinning around like a child.

As you do so, you fail to see or hear his fingers slyly clicking the lock on the door.

“Much better,” Nanami breathes, moving to flick on a floor lamp in the corner, giving the study a soft, warm glow accompanied by the full Halloween moon. “Now, what were we discussing?”

“You, uh,” you clear your throat as you stop spinning in the chair to face him. “You really didn’t have to come in here just to talk to me. You are the man of the evening, you know.”

Nanami rolls his eyes, an out-of-character action you never thought you'd see, but one that looked so tasty, so sultry. God, you’re a pervert in heat - and your sweet, sweet boss is completely oblivious to the kind of horrible thoughts you have daily about him.

Nanami's now staring at you. His mouth is moving, but you have no idea what he had been saying.

"… to spend time with all of those shallow, insolent creatures,” you register, “when I have someone like you here?" He walks over to the desk and leans against it, right next to you now, as he crosses his arms over his massive chest. "We have never just sat down and talked. We always have little people depending on us or wanting our attention. Tonight, I’d like that to change.”

You let his words simmer for a moment. “What is it you’d like to talk about, Mr. Nanami?” you then question.

“What did I tell you about that ‘Mr.’ nonsense?” He frowns. “That makes me feel so old.”

"Sorry, sir," you gulp, not intending to upset him. You just can't help the way 'Mr.' and 'Sir' roll off your tongue, or how bad you enjoy seeing him shift uncomfortably at the use of the names.

"Meanie," he tuts, knocking you playfully with his leg. Another uncharacteristic action.

"What'd I do?" you blink, tilting your head as you look up at him.

"You mean besides drive me insane with your teasing?" he questions, before his eyes widen and he looks as though he's just spilled a secret. "I- wow, I am sorry. That is not what I meant to say."

"I drive you insane?" you echo. "I didn't even think you noticed my… teasing.”

Nanami's face is neutral, but his jaw is working under his skin. "I’m not naive, little fox." He lets out a breath. “This was truly an excellent costume choice.”

He leans forward and flicks the furry ear on your head.

“Thank you,” you smile. “I can’t say the same for yours. You hardly scream innocent bunny.”

“What about me isn’t innocent?” he raises a brow, standing off of the desk.

“I…” you blink as he walks around to the back of the desk chair. “You’re just, um…”

“Fox got your tongue?” he coos, spinning the chair so that you’re forced to face him.

You inhale a deep breath and hold it as heat travels through your stomach and right to the center of your thighs.

“You’re a man who is about his business,” you say. “I imagine you’ve… had a lot of life experiences,” you pause to remind yourself to breathe, but it’s hard because of how ferociously Nanami is staring into your eyes. “So you c-can’t be all that innocent…”

“You seem nervous,” he coos. “Here. Let’s stand up, I’ll sit down. Maybe that will help you to not be so tense, hm?”

Your body obeys before your mind catches on. You’re standing in a beat, and Nanami has replaced you on the chair. Your bottom hits the crease of his large desk, and you slam your hands down on the surface to balance yourself.

“Sorry,” you say, putting a hand up to cover your face. “I don’t mean to imply that you make me uncomfortable, sir.”

Nanami's pupils flash white, but it's gone so quickly, you might have imagined it. "If I do, please let me know immediately.”

“No,” you say, dropping your hand, “I just think we need to get to know each other better, right? Our entire relationship is through the kids. I know that your son’s favorite shade of green is kiwi, but I don’t even know your first name.”

Nanami chuckles at this. “You know, I was thinking exactly the same thing.” He taps your knee. “Kento, silly girl. My first name is Kento.”

"A-And your favorite color?” you continue, trying to ignore how close he’s moved the chair towards you, now that you have fully planted your bottom on his desk.

“Pink,” he says, serious as death.

You giggle. “Why pink?”

“It’s the color of my favorite thing to eat,” he says, slowly placing his arms on either side of your thick thighs, hands planted flat on the surface of the desk.

You think for a moment. “Strawberry ice cream?”

“No,” he cocks his blond head to the side and his eyes fall on your tights. “Try again.”

You pretend to think, though you fear you may be catching on now. “Hmm, dragonfruit?”

“Nah,” Nanami says, looking up at you through his eyelashes. His pupils have been dilated from the alcohol, but there is an unrelated darkness in his eye now. “Something I don’t even have to swallow.”

You gulp. “Oh,” your suspicions have been confirmed.

“Get it now, little fox?” he coos.

“Mhmm,” you taunt back. “Well, I suppose I came prepared with your favorite dish, then.”

“Did you?” His hands boldly make their way to the top of your thighs, barely hovering over the skin but enough to make the flesh there light on fire. “Prepared it all nice and pretty for me?”

“Yes sir,” you nod eagerly, feeling your own boldness appear as your knees slide further away from one another. “How do you like it?”

“Extra moist,” he grits hungrily, fingernails curving into your tights and shredding a thick rip! through the material.

You gasp, entire torso lurching forward as he drags the hole bigger and bigger.

“Sorry, little fox. They were in the way,” he shrugs an innocent shoulder. “And what should we do about these shorts? They’re in the way, too.”

“Then let’s get them off,” you whisper, hardly registering that such filth had been uttered.

This truly can’t be happening. Is Nanami… Kento Nanami actually going to eat you out? Are his hands really slithering up your waist and fumbling with the button on your shorts, or are you in some kind of sick daydream?

"Mr. Nanami-"

"Please," he holds up a hand, one still remaining on the button of your shorts. "Kento. Call me Kento."

"Kento," you echo softly, and his eyelashes flutter. “You really want to do this?”

Nanami sucks in a breath. Several moments of silence pass, then his fingers are gently pressing against your chin, and he has risen to tower above you. "Maybe it's the liquid courage in me that's pushing me," he says, "but I’m okay with that. I dream about you on my tongue, night after night. I need you, Y/N.”

Instead of allowing you to reply, Nanami's lips are assaulting yours in a flash. A harsh, irrational kiss from a man who's lost his battle of self control.

Your hands fly up to his face to balance yourself at the sheer force the shock of the kiss has on you. He groans softly into you as your lips mold together, getting used to the shapes of each other’s mouths.

You want to begin deepening the kiss, but Nanami is suddenly pulling away.

"I'm sorry," he says quickly. You look at his face; for a man who is always so calm and composed, he is flushed and even shaking a little. “I should have asked if that was okay.”

"Did you hear me complaining?" you ask sternly.

“No-”

“Then shut up and kiss me, Kento.”

He wastes no time obeying your command; this time as he kisses you, his hands find the soft skin where your hips crease into your thighs. You’re aware of your thighs rubbing against his stomach as he crawls further on top of you.

You slide your arms up around the back of his neck to hold onto him as his lips work pure ecstasy into your mouth.

You sigh against him and he digs his fingers into your sides to get you to do it again. Now his tongue is in your mouth, softly swirling your own, smacking fiercely on your lips as he does so.

You're panting now, but Nanami is swallowing your breath with every second. He's leaning his weight on his palm, so his body isn't quite attached to yours, but you want to make him lose his balance so he can crash down on top of you. Every moment that you stay like this, your cunt drips wetter and wetter, seeping through your shorts onto his desk.

"So perfect," Nanami utters into your mouth, "s'much sweeter than I deserve."

You frown at his self deprecation but don't comment, instead your hands start sliding down his chiseled back, exploring the deep ridges and shapes of pure, hard muscle.

Then, plop! You blink in shock as his bunny ears have fallen plum onto your face, nearly gauging out your eye.

"Oh," he gasps, breaking away from you. "Forgot about these."

He pulls away from you, standing upright but staying between your legs. You swallow a needy whine at his absence, before sitting up with him, staring expectantly.

"Think they'll look better on you though, huh, darling?" he coos, reaching over your head and plucking your fuzzy ears off. Then, he’s replacing them with his bunny ears. "There, that's more fitting. I feel much more like the hunter than the hunted.”

You tilt your chin defiantly. "Mm, so I'm just an innocent rabbit in the sights of a dangerous hunter?"

“Clever bunny,” Nanami murmurs, leaning forward and catching you by surprise with a wet kiss at the nape of your neck. You shudder. “Time for me to eat my latest catch, hm?”

“I-I guess so-”

“Oh, don't get shy now, bunny,” he mewls against your ear. “Do you want to do this?”

You pretend to consider it, but your dripping hole has already answered for you. "Yes, sir."

Nanami purrs in response and taps your earlobe with his perfect teeth - before you're being shoved back on the flat surface. Three quick beats occur. Beat, shorts off. Beat, tights off. Beat, panties sliding slowly down your legs.

"God," he says, hooking his fingers over the trim of the panties, which are light blue in color, accented by an adorable pink bow in the front. "All this time, I could've had you like this, if only-” he cuts himself off to lean down and place a kiss to your inner knee.

Your nerves send repeated quivers over you. You dig your nails into the desk, but your palms are so sweaty that your hand slips. Nanami catches you, a heavy hand on your lower back, the other hand entangling in your panties and proceeding to rip them all the way off. Your clothes are now in a discarded pile to the right of you, fuzzy tail and ears a reminder of what got you into this position in the first place.

“Well we can make up for lost time now,” you whisper, sliding your feet farther apart until your knees are angled into the air - gaping pussy winking up at Nanami.

His eyes nearly jump from his body as he watches you open up for him, glistening cunt all in his face. He's sinking back down into the chair before either of you really processes it, and his heavy palms fall flat on your inner thighs.

"She's s'pretty, sweetheart," he coos, the breath from his words tickling your clit and making you writhe pathetically. "Haven't even touched you yet. Why are you shaking?”

You whine out in embarrassment. Something about your most perverted fantasies coming alive before you, Nanami talking to you like this, and him staring directly at the forbidden parts you'd never thought he'd see, is depleting your confidence.

"What's wrong, bunny?" he asks, reading your expression. "You look like you are second guessing this."

"N-No!" you cry out, making him jump, before you sigh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell. No, I want to. I'm just embarrassed."

"Why?" he perks a brow, astonished.

"Because you're so..." you huff uncomfortably, "fine, and here I am, of course anyone would be embarrassed of their own genitals, y'know I just kind of never expected this and-”

"Y/N," Nanami interrupts. "I've seen plenty of these before; all different types, sizes and colors. I am going to devour you regardless of what you think.”

You swallow thickly. Your head nods like a puppet, though you're unsure if that's you saying you understand, or telling him to go ahead.

While you're deciding, Nanami plants a kiss to your bikini line, then slides his hands to wrap his arms around your thighs so that it's now impossible for you to close them. Your stomach is on fire, and you're on the verge of gyrating your pelvis right into his stupidly perfect face.

"Tell me you want this, bunny," Nanami rasps, placing another loud kiss to your inner thigh.

"I want this," you confirm again, "want you."

You don't have to say anything else because his mouth has already found your clit. Warm breath travels between your folds as he keeps his tongue narrowed out to swirl agonizingly slow circles over the bulb.

Your hips convulse against his strength. It does nothing except prompt Nanami to flatten his whole mouth over your heat and pick up speed with his tongue.

"Oh, ohh," you drawl, your hands leaving the desk surface and going right through his fine hair. His hold on you ensures you can’t fall backwards, but you’re gripping his roots for dear life.

He grumbles against your cunt and you feel it all the way up to your ovulating uterus. The desire to have your womb house more of his children starts to enter your brain and you have to remind yourself that this is just sex.

Oh, but it's so much more than that. Nanami's taking his time to work your body, to know exactly which pace makes you cry out like a pathetic fucktoy, noting when you wriggle under his grip, as he pushes his fingertips into the flesh on your legs.

His warm tongue keeps your puffy lips parted effortlessly; lathering you up with his saliva, drinking in the fluid your body creates more of each second.

You sit up farther to look down at him; his eyebrows are furrowed and focused, his cheeks hollowed as he treats your twitching clit like his tongue’s dance partner.

He swirls, flicks, slurps - each variation unlocking a new noise from you as you fight back your orgasm.

As you watch him, your fucked-out, needy brain begins to tell you would give him whatever he wanted in this moment; six children and a house from scratch if that's what he requested. Because he deserves it; the way his tongue’s now dipping slightly into your desperate hole, making your hips jerk from the desk until he counter-forces them with his hands.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snaps, grazing his teeth over your clit.

You can’t even speak; he’s eaten your voice right out of you. His head shakes side to side as he plants his mouth back on you and peers up through his blond lashes, daring you to pull that stunt a second time.

Your hands are still deeply entangled in his roots, but at this point you can't keep your eyes in the front of your head. Your head lolls back on your neck as your hips twitch with an unholy amount of momentum. Your moans are growing dangerously loud; knowing full well there's an entire party nearby, as well as the possibility of nosy maids. Not that either of you care.

"Kento, s-so good," you lament, bucking your hips into his chin as if you could chase more pleasure than he's already giving you. The heat in your stomach is the first indication that your pleasure is morphing into an orgasm, but you don’t want to cum yet.

You want to try and run again, just to give yourself a little time to catch up…

The minute Nanami feels your hip bones sliding away from him, he pulls his mouth off of you; your orgasm slipping away. You take a deep breath in regret.

“Someone must not want to cum,” he taunts, keeping his mouth close to your trickling cunt. “Need you to stay still.”

“I can’t,” you breathe, trembling.

“Try for me?” Nanami requests softly, lifting your thighs into the air before plopping your feet flat on his shoulders.

He plants a heavy kiss to your clit after the adjustment in your position and you dig your toes into his back.

“F-For you,” you repeat mindlessly, brain officially scrambled like a breakfast platter.

“Mmh-” Nanami grunts, planting his fat tongue back between your slick folds, working his jaw intensely to finish pulling the orgasm out of you. He sticks the narrow tip back at your hole, flicking the rim of the inside as if it’s his purpose for living.

Your toes lift into the air as Nanami tests your flexibility, pushing your knees next to your ears. With the pressure built up in your stomach, you barely have time to mutter out the announcement of your orgasm before you're cumming all over his tongue and clenching your walls around the wet muscle.

"Give it to me, bunny," he moans, words muffled because of the way you're gripping his tongue with your pussy.

You keep shaking for a solid thirty seconds, because he is refusing to take his tongue out of you. When finally you’ve calmed to a slight twitch, he removes his face from between your thighs and the entire lower half of his face glistens in the light.

"That's one," he murmurs to himself, crawling back over you to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips. "You did so well. You taste so sweet, bun.”

"Can I return the favor?" you ask needily, dragging your palm down his chest.

He grinds his pelvis across your lower half, so that you can feel the sheer length of his bulge beneath his pants. "What for?"

Your eyes widen at just how large it feels; surely it's smaller than it appears.

"Wanna please you, sir," you babble out, watching his eyebrows furrow at the self-proclaimed pet name.

"Hm, think that ship sailed long ago,” he chuckles, rubbing his clothed dick against your inner thigh this time, and now, you take notice of the warm trail of precum that’s leaked through his pants onto your skin.

You dig your nails into his chest instead of replying. He bites back a groan and kisses your neck.

“I’m going to have to restrain you if you want’a keep being so touchy," he whispers sternly.

"I do have handcuffs," you say, following it with a giggle. Though you’re only half joking.

"That's cute," he mewls. "You think I need handcuffs to restrain you?" He pauses. "What's that you said? That I'm twice your size?"

You swallow thickly, remembering that you had, in fact, said that.

"So I can, and will easily pin you down, bun," he continues. "Don't act up, and I won't have to, yeah?"

You wish you can say you won’t, but if he thinks you dislike the idea of being pinned down, he must not be faking his innocence, like you’d thought.

A moment later, he's standing away from you, and his hands expertly unbutton his shirt. You watch him with desire, and he smiles a little shyly at you as he shrugs off the garment and tosses it to the floor.

“Funny, you’ve seen me shirtless before,” he says suddenly. “Why do I feel a bit nervous about it this time?”

You giggle and cock your head to the side, legs still spread wide. “Should’ve always felt nervous. I’m a huge pervert, y’know.”

Nanami dips his head before coming back to be close to your body again, his fingers mindlessly tugging on the hem of your shirt now.

“I know,” he whispers. “A little minx, you are.”

“Took you long enough to realize it, hm?” you tease as you lift your arms to assist him in removing the shirt. But you are caught off guard when he doesn’t continue.

"You're still sure you want to do this?" he questions, changing the subject. “I'm sorry. I'm going to ask a hundred times, it’s just a habit.”

"Yes, Kento," you rasp frustratingly. "Do I have to get on my knees and beg to be fucked for you to get it?"

He blinks, stunned, as if that is not something he ever considered; but does sound appealing to him.

"No," he says quickly, slowly lifting your shirt further over your body. "How did we end up here, hm? Was this your plan from the moment you crashed my Halloween party?"

"Uh-uh," you say innocently, as he pulls the shirt over your head. Now you sit completely naked in front of him - save for the bunny ears on your head.

"I get the feeling you're a big, fat liar," he teases, leaning back over you, now your stomachs are touching and everywhere your skin meets is tingling. "Didn't I tell you to be a good girl? Good girls don't lie."

“‘M not lying," you argue. "Admit you were over here waiting for me to show up all night."

"Maybe I was," he murmurs, dragging his top teeth over the connection between your neck and your shoulder before planting a wet kiss on your collar bone. "And you came for me, like always."

A gasp erupts from your throat and Nanami cuts it off by sliding his hand there. He uses his fingers to apply the gentlest amount of pressure to the sides of your neck and your body arches against him.

"Tell me if anything I do is too much for you, little fox," he coos in your ear before dropping his hand from your neck and standing back straight to quickly unbuckle his belt.

He slides the garment out of his belt loops, and discards it to the side, on top of your clothes. So in other words: close by.

"Kento," you pant, "please."

"Please what?" he questions, raising a brow innocently as he pops open the button to his tight pants - visibly taking a deep breath as his bulge pokes free.

"You're dragging this out," you whine. "I've needed you for so long. This is torture."

"So what?" he shrugs, allowing his pants to fall to the floor, where he steps out of them.

"I..." you cut yourself off with a frustrated grunt.

"You said please, but you aren't using your words, little fox.” He slides his body back over yours - his boxers now being the only barrier between you. "What do you want?"

"You, your cock, your mouth," you pant all of it out in one quick sentence. "I... I just need you inside of me, Mr. Nanami."

Your breasts rub against his hard chest, teasing your achingly hard nipples. Just so pathetic. Can’t control yourself. Your brain's swirling with desire and ecstasy for him. If he can't read your mind, you're sure he can see it in your face.

"Okay, sweetheart," he says, voice returning to its usual softness, "you got me. All yours."

He tugs his boxers down quickly, desperately. Now your hips are aligned to each other's. He's still hovering, his cock not even touching you yet. He slides a hand between your legs as his other keeps you steady, gripping harshly on your hip which is sure to leave a delicious bruise.

Your arms wrap around his neck and he drags his mouth across your jaw before attaching his lips to your neck. His fingers gather the drip from your hole, and then he slides them up through your folds and to your clit. He swirls the fingers softly, keeping his ear right next to your mouth so that he can hear exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your legs shake against his ribs while you moan for him, and he grunts as he takes in all of your body's reactions to his touch.

He goes to try and put a finger in your cunt but you grab his wrist. He does not argue with you, which should be a red flag, but you think you’ve won until he takes the hand he had been using to play with you and grips your wrist, yanking it back, and your entire body goes falling against the desk.

Somehow, both of your wrists are being pinned to the wood in one large hand now. You whine and squirm under him, but he doesn't care. His free hand grabs his cock.

He takes the heavy tip and taps it against your clit several times, each time causing you to gasp and arch against him.

"That's right," he whispers above you. "No escaping now, bun."

You blink up at him, lifting your hips to grind your pussy on him, which causes his lips to part and his eyebrows to furrow.

You open your mouth, tongue flying out, wanting to appeal to another twisted fantasy. “Need your spit,” you mumble shyly.

He seems to ponder for a moment before he realizes what exactly it is you are asking, and a moment later he is leaning forward, dripping a warm glop of saliva from his mouth down your throat.

“Mmh-” you moan as you swallow happily, before looking down between your legs where he is finally done lubricating himself on your juice. He's staring at you hopelessly, as if he’s thinking that putting his cock in you isn't going to be enough.

“So nasty,” he coos, “ready for me, sweetheart?”

"Hngh- please," you beg.

Not a second later, hot pressure is at your hole. Nanami slides his hips upward to push himself deeper, deeper, deeper - the girth feeling like it's going to simply rip you in half.

You shriek and shut your eyes tightly, waiting for the pain to pass. It doesn't.

You feel so embarrassed as he takes his free hand to lift up your left thigh, because pain shoots up through your stomach - and not the good kind.

"Ah- wait," you cry out, eyes falling open.

Nanami stops immediately. "What's the matter?"

"It... it hurts," you admit shyly, biting your lip. "Wh-Why d'you have to be so big?"

"Why d'you have to be so tight?" he chuckles back, but carefully slides out of you. "Hang on. I know what will help, little fox."

He pulls away from you, letting go of your wrists to lean over and dig into a random drawer in his desk. You have no idea what he could possibly be doing until he stands back straight, a hand still holding up your leg, while the other holds a small, light pink, bullet-shaped rubber object.

"Brand new," he says, eyeing it as he rotates it between his fingers. "Just put batteries in it."

You swallow as you realize what this implies. He knew he was going to fuck you - or at least, that he was going to use this toy on you at some point. Or, a third worse thing: it hadn't been for you at all.

You don’t want to think about that possibility, though.

He hands the little toy to you, a small buzz coming from it already.

"Hold it for me," he instructs. "I need my hands to keep my prey from running."

You gulp and do as he says, and again he is taking his cock head and pushing it against you, before it slides through the gummy entrance and you cry out again.

You hold the toy to your clit and the feeling travels straight through your veins. You focus on the vibrations and before you can even inhale again, your insides are completely full.

"Deep breaths, bun," he grunts, "feel her o-opening up… now.”

Did he just stutter? Kento Nanami, who's always so composed. You'd made him lose his wording. You.

Nanami takes his hands and pulls your knees up, holding them to his sides, while you keep your hand occupied on the little bullet between your legs.

The combination of the toy plus his cock filling you up and molding your walls against it has you aching to spill over, already.

Now that the searing has begun to dissolve, his cock is gliding effortlessly inside of you - feeling as though the organ was crafted to fit you perfectly. Your juices cover every inch of him, delicious squelches creating a symphony with your moans as Nanami's pace quickens.

He has his hands still pressed on your thighs but he leans forward and gently pulls a nipple into his warm mouth. You don't know what to do with your free hand, so it ends up on his back, nails mercilessly breaking open his skin. He hisses and nips your nipple between his teeth.

"Fuck. Me," he groans, pulling away from your chest to look down at you. You want to make a comment about how you already are, but he just looks so fucked out - so vulnerable. Lips puffy and wet, eyes shut tight, hair dangling over his forehead.

He’s ruined.

He claws his fingers into your outer thighs. His fingers dig so hopelessly into you as his cock swirls your insides, his hips now moving in a rhythmic wave motion.

Your hand falls away from your clit with the toy and you hardly notice that it's gone because now, his pelvis is brushing over it, sweat practically gluing the two of you together.

"Aw," he purrs, and you look up to see that his eyes are staring directly between your legs. "You’re creaming all over me. Shit - your cunt looks so good, swallowing me up.”

Your face heats and you take your hands to grip his arms, as he's now drilling into you so torturously that you're gliding up the desk - the sweat on your back making your skin slick. He notices you're moving away and shifts his hands to grab your hips, holding you down onto him, and now his fat tip is violating your cervix.

"H-Hah Kento, ngh - God," is all you can manage to say, but there’s nothing holy about what his cock is doing to you, as he angles himself upward, attacking your uterus from a new direction.

You shriek, so horribly loud. It sounds like a horror movie - which is fitting. You’ve nearly forgotten that it’s Halloween night; the moon full, your passions like the tides, being pulled to their peak.

You desperately feel a needy confession on your lips but you know that now isn't the time. You can't love a man you don't date... right? But you definitely love the way he's tearing up your insides, sure to leave you swollen and limping.

"I don't remember telling you that you could remove your hand," he snaps, realizing you’ve removed the bullet, "put it back. Now."

You shake your head, begging for mercy. "Was too much, c-can't take it."

"Yes you can," he whispers, leaning forward and hovering his mouth over yours, cognac-scented breath teasing your parted lips. "Put it back, or I stop."

You whine and obey, the vibration revisiting your clit making your body convulse against him.

"Mhmm, like that sweetheart," Nanami coos, staring at you as your face twists every couple of seconds from the introduction of new kinds of pleasure. "Stick that tongue back out for me."

Your mouth is open, drool practically spilling out of the sides in a millisecond. He's spitting another alcoholic saliva drop into your mouth the next.

His breath is ragged as he drags out, "Thought I knew everything. But y’teaching - hah - me new things. Like how I can never live without your pretty pussy, ever again."

You quiver your lip and dig your nails into his back again, ready to cum on his cock.

"S-Stop talking like that," you grit out. "G-Gonna cum if you don't stop."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" he questions harshly. "You can cum over and over. I’m not finished with you."

You shake your head, but before you can fire back, Nanami is suddenly sliding himself out of you. You panic and sit up, staring at him with wide eyes as he drops to sit on the chair.

His hands come up to grab your hips roughly, and he's effortlessly pulling you down off of the desk. Your stomach makes contact with his thighs as he lays you over his lap like a disobedient child.

"Nanami?" you breathe, but he doesn't seem to hear you at all.

"We just needed to pause for a second," he says softly, running a hand down your spine and over the hill of your ass. His voice is very misleading, as are his gentle gestures; you have no idea what's coming.

"N-No," you whine, "I was so close."

"But, naughty bunny, didn’t you tell me to stop?" he questions, distracting you from the fact that his fingers are sliding between your asscheeks and down to your swollen hole.

You jerk in his lap as two of his fingers glide down your slick, parting your thick lips, repeating the process several times just to watch you squirm.

“Y-Yes, but-”

“What’d I tell you about lying?” he grits, and a blink later his fingers have parted from your skin.

You turn to scold him and his hand cracks down on the back of your thighs.

You yelp, but the action exhilarates you in some kind of disgusting way.

“Oh, and here’s another for calling me Nanami,” he spits, another crack landing on your backside but this time - higher, and harder.

“K-Kento, I’m sorry,” you whine, but you truly don’t want it to stop. Your fingers dig into his leg and he hisses, his cock jerking against your stomach as his body responds.

“How sorry, bun?” he coos, voice faking softness before another pop! of his palm stings your skin.

“I’ll be good, promise,” you whisper, arching your hips up to encourage another smack.

“You like this, don’t you, naughty bunny?” he realizes suddenly, and you try to shake your head in denial - but he’s caught on. “Hm. I’ll only accept your apology if you give me two more orgasms. Deal?”

“Two?” you cry. “I-I’ve already had one!”

“Good things always cum in threes, baby,” he murmurs, running his hand over the pretty hand-shaped welps he’s left on your skin. “You can give it to me. You want to be good, don’t you?”

You don’t know when the shift happened, but you loved it. You loved how he was letting his soft facade crumble to the ground so that he could truly slap you around like you were just a hole. Truthfully, that’s all you wanted to be. Wanted to let him take out the stress of being a single father on your guts, fill you up with more babies to care for, and then kiss you on the forehead when it was all done.

Pathetic. This is still your employer, your boss. And not to mention how much older he is. You don’t care, but you’re unsure if he does.

“I wanna cum again, please,” you beg, wriggling your ass up to show him you still needed punishment.

He groans before his two thick fingers are pressing between your lips and then, shoving through the soft ring at your center.

Your body shamelessly arches, but he allows your arms to stay free, clawing into his skin wherever you can get a grip.

Nanami is making his own noises above you but you’re on the verge of tears, wailing and carrying on as he fucks you with his fingers, curling the tips into your squishy ridges to try and drive the cum out of you faster.

“Maybe we should get one of those tails with a plug,” he comments, tone implying he’s thinking out loud. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to see you in your cute little tail while I fuck you.”

“Hngh - no, mmh…” you don’t even know what noises to make anymore. Words escape your brain.

Nothing but mush and the burning of your approaching orgasm are on your mind.

“Hold it in for me,” Nanami requests suddenly, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready for it, sweetheart.”

“God,” you shake your head and clench your thighs, but Nanami’s strong hand forces them back apart.

Your toes curl on the other side of the chair, your head falling forward. The pulse in Nanami’s cock is still drumming against your abdomen, as if knocking on your tummy to threaten you to hold your orgasm.

“I-I can’t,” you say, “Please, can I-”

“Cum.”

Nasty, wet squelches don’t stop as your body sends you over the edge. Your vision blacks and you shake so hard that you nearly roll right to the floor.

He hums approvingly, slowing his fingers down as you clench around them. “Good job, bun. Only one more to go.”

“I can’t take another,” you shake your head, as he gently guides you up into a sitting position on his lap.

“You’re so strong,” he says, “the perfect person for me. The way you always take care of me and the kids, how you fit so effortlessly into our little family. I know you can do this for me, sweetheart. Let me repay you for all that you do for us. Make you feel good.”

You hadn’t expected this little speech. It almost brings you to tears as Nanami gently rubs your back, sliding his free arm underneath your legs to lift you princess-style back onto the desk.

“Say something,” he begs, his voice hoarse.

“I wanted to be good for you,” you grin softly, and he smiles back as he runs his hands gently over the top of your legs. “But you want to be good for me. Which is it?”

“Both,” Nanami whispers. “I told you that you already do everything that keeps me content. Now, I want to please you.”

You realize that he is passing his power off to you. Letting his dominance slip through his fingers and right into the palm of your hand. You think you can handle being in control for your final orgasm, so you grip him harshly by his cock and scoot your ass to the edge of the desk.

He moans so softly that it could have been a whimper. You take his curvy length and drag it up to be aligned with your hole.

“Is your cock alone gonna please me, hm?” you purr, swirling your hips to tease his cock head, salty precum spreading across your hole.

“Y-yes ma’am,” he mutters, body lurching forward as if he’s the overstimulated one.

“Prove it,” you quip, shoving him back inside of you before pushing your hips down onto him.

You furrow your eyebrows to try and pretend the pain of him entering isn’t still intense. You lift yourself off of your palms and feet, using them to fuck down onto his twitching cock.

“Hah - Y/N,” he speaks your name in two sultry syllables, putting his hands on the desk to fully release his control as you use him.

“Baby, I need to fill you up,” he continues, “b-but if you don’t want me to…”

“Yes,” you say, “want me to have your babies, Mr. Nanami?”

“Oh,” he whimpers, “shit. Shit, don’t say stuff like that.”

You whirl your hips on him in the shape of an ‘O.’

“Want to breed me?” you continue. “Make me all big and pregnant?”

“That’s enough,” he snaps suddenly, hand clamoring down on the belt that is to your side, before he grips the garment in his hand. He sits up from where he’d been leaning on you, before taking the leather and slithering it around your neck, pulling it through the buckle, and yanking it towards him like you’re just a pathetic bitch on a leash.

“You had your fun,” he grits, “now you need to remember your place, bunny. I’m going to fill you to the brim until your cunt can’t take anymore and it drips back out of you, got it?”

“Mmh,” you pull against his belt as your hips are no longer the once controlling the pace. “Nanami, n-nooo…”

Your voice tapers off as he fucks you, fucks you so good and hard and mean until you’re drooling and crying and shaking and hissing and-

“Cumming!” you scream, but Nanami shows no signs of slowing down.

“That’s it,” he says. “Number three. What about four?”

“Y-You said…”

“Oh, you’re the only one who gets to lie around here?” he chuckles, a deep hypnotic sound that vibrates against your chest. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m gonna - ngh” and one viscid moment later, Nanami begins to shudder, and it is the beginning of the end.

You cannot tell if you are mourning or rejoicing the conclusion of this insane chain of events, but you forget all about it when Nanami is spurting hot semen all over your taut, spongey walls - that are now sore and quivering from the excessive abuse.

Your name leaves his lips in between the sultry noises he makes, and his body jerks on top of you until he’s finished spewing his load. Now, he stands in front of you with his head dipped down as he pants for several seconds.

“Do you understand how addicting you are?” are the first words that leave his lips after he is able to drag his head up to look at you.

You’re focused on your own huffing as you try to come up with a witty response, but with your brain so fucked out, the only thing you can mutter is “Oh, Kento.”

He nestles his sweaty face into your neck and plants a feathery kiss there, reminding you that he is still the same gentle Nanami that tucks his children in bed at night and drinks green tea in the garden.

He is everything you have dreamed of, but the sex had truly sealed it. Now, as he slips out of you and his cum follows soon after, you feel your post-high clarity morphing into embarrassment at the fact that all you’d been feeling is lust; Nanami deserves so much more than that, including his recognition as a father.

“Why are you staring at me? Have I still got your nectar on my face?” he jokes, and you admire his ability to loosen the tension.

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly, “I just think you are amazing. I don’t want you to think I really did just come for some cock.”

At this, he laughs so hard that his torso shakes. You smile, as it is rare to hear, and you are the cause of it.

He grabs his shirt and begins to use it to wipe himself off, then does the same for you, his movements intentional and gentle as he cleans you up, rubbing all of the puffy, red reminders on your body softly.

“I don’t think that,” he says with a crooked smile. “But whatever the case, I do hope that things have… changed between us.”

You scoff. “I should hope so,” you tease, tilting your head as he stops his hands on your body. “I hope you’re not going around making every person who comes near you cum three times in one sitting and expect to just be friends.”

He grins. “Nah, that treatment is reserved for you, bun.” His hands slide up your hair and pat the fuzzy ears on your head. “We should keep these around, though. But I’d like to take you out before we use them again.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring his face to yours, planting a gentle kiss on his nose. “Of course. You did say good things come in threes,” you grin. “The sex was one. The date will be two. What’s three?”

And your question gets answered nine months later, when Nanami proposes to you on a white beach in another country.

…Right before you go into labor.

But of course, once the baby is out, it’s time to start on number 4 the following Halloween.

A/N 2.0

ty all sm for the love on this series so far i’m rlly havin the time of my life writing all these twisted monster-fucker stories ^.^

~ pennjammin

[pearlessance]

Our Little Secret

Summary - Joel Miller deals with disgusting, intrusive thoughts about the girl next door who smells like vanilla and uses cherry chapstick.

Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, kinda perv!Joel, age gap, no cordyceps outbreak AU, reader's in high school but is eighteen, dom/sub undertones, seduction, underage drinking, body worship, unprotected sex, reader is called 'jailbait’ by Tommy, oral sex, breeding kink if you squint, praise & degradation

WC: 11k

[crossposted to AO3]

Joel Miller told himself he wasn’t a pervert. He just wasn’t. Double glancing at a pretty, young girl didn’t make him one of those guys — it just made him a man, right?

Never mind the fact that your father was one of his closest friends or the fact that you lived just next door, embodying half of the very typical scandalous, small-town affair. Never mind your eighteen year age difference. Never mind those obscene images that sometimes invaded his brain. Joel had heard the term once. He thinks Sarah might have told him about it from that science documentary she watched—those sordid images were called intrusive thoughts, right? Involuntary, unavoidable, unwanted.

It wasn’t only him who stared in your direction a little longer than necessary, anyway. The very first time he’d seen you, Joel and Tommy had been in the driveway doing an oil change on the truck. You and your dad had just moved in, Joel had introduced himself the day prior and helped haul a bed frame through the front room. Your dad had mentioned he had a daughter, but Joel had expected to see a girl closer to Sarah’s age. 

He hadn’t expected to see you, wearing those tight blue jeans and that tiny tank top that left very little to the imagination. The straps were thin and the fabric billowy, and when you shifted the box beneath your arm from one hand to the other, the pretty pink fabric of your bra was out in the open for all eyes to see. Your hair had been pulled into a ponytail at the crown of your head, swishing back and forth with each step. It made Joel wonder about how soft the long strands were, how they would feel between his fingers, how they would look splayed out atop a pillowcase — intrusive thoughts.

Tommy was quick to abandon his tools and cross the front yard to greet your father, offering you what seemed like an innocent helping hand. Joel thinks his younger brother has no self control, but he leaves the truck too. Only to introduce himself, though. Definitely not to get a closer look. 

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. It slides through him like a hot knife through butter. And when you laugh at Tommy’s awkward attempt at conversation, that sound stabs him in the chest because it’s so girlish. So young and youthful and airy. That pink lace is still poking out of the side of your shirt, even though Tommy now carries the box, and Joel strains himself trying to keep his eyes above your chin. 

“And you must be Mr. Miller,” you say, sticking your tiny hand out to him.

He knows it’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he takes your hand in his and shakes it gently. Your skin is soft, nails painted red and manicured and he wonders what other parts of you are this soft, wonders if red has always been his favorite color, wonders what it would look like wrapped around — “Just Joel,” he tells you, clearing those damn intrusive thoughts as quickly as they appear. 

“Joel,” you repeat, tasting his name on your pink tongue and giving him a sweet smile. “There's two more boxes. Wanna help me grab them?”

He’s careful not to answer too fast, afraid of sounding too eager. But he agrees, and you lead him to the open truck bed, and as you bend over to grab the smaller box his hands flex at his sides. He thinks you must be doing this on purpose. Right? Torturing him, sticking your ass out, silently begging him to look. But he doesn't. Instead, Joel picks up the larger box and notices the scent of vanilla radiating off your skin. This is almost worse because his mouth begins to water. 

“My dad said you have a daughter,” you say. 

“Yeah. Sarah. She’s younger than you, though.”

“That’s okay. Does she like cake? I have to bake one for my home ec final and could use a taste tester if she’s not busy.”

It really puts things into perspective, and he’s glad for it. Finals. School. High school. “I’ll ask her,” Joel says. 

You lead everyone inside and direct all three men to take the boxes to the living room where you begin unpacking. You sit on the floor as you sift through the boxes, legs tucked underneath you, and Joel has to force a smile when you look up at him through your lashes. You say thank you, Joel from your knees and he feels something very, very wrong stir inside him. 

Tommy follows him back outside, and on the way back to their truck his voice is high pitched in mockery as he says, “Thank you, Joel! You’re so handsome , Joel! Let me repay you with my body, Joel!”

He just laughs it off, but as he continues with the oil change beneath the hood an uncomfortable silence settles between him. 

Eventually, Tommy shakes his head and snorts. “That girl is nothing but fucking jailbait, man.”

He sees you quite a few times after that, because your dad works in construction, too. Joel drinks the same kind of beer, and your dad has a pool table in your garage…so, naturally, they become the best of friends and very quickly at that. Tommy joins the party too, and within months they become an inseparable trio.

It’s during one of these nights when the three of them were standing in the garage with the door wide open, music playing from the speakers in your dad’s truck when those intrusive thoughts plague him again. Tommy’s losing at pool, drunk before the sun’s fully set, and your dad is laughing at something he’s saying.

You’re walking home from practice and stop suddenly at the end of the driveway. Joel can see you, but he doesn’t think Tommy or your dad can. The truck is in the way, but he’s in the perfect position. He stares a little too long, but he can’t help it. You’re wearing your cheer uniform, and your midriff is exposed, and your long legs are so fucking appetizing that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Your skirt is rolled up at the waist, making the fabric shorter than it’s supposed to be, making it sluttier than it’s supposed to be.

When you notice him staring, you shoot him a sinful little smile and raise your finger to your lips. A secret, Joel realizes. You want him to keep something a secret, and somehow it feels intimate, having something between the two of you. He watches you unroll the hem of your skirt and pull at the ends so it covers more of your legs. You turn in a semicircle, and he licks his lips, and when you look at him again you raise your hands in question. 

He gives you a discreet thumbs up, and when you make your way up the driveway you give him the prettiest smile and say, “Hey, Joel! Nice to see you!”

Tommy gives him shit for it later, but he’s too distracted at the sight of you in that uniform to even remember Joel exists. 

“You’re late,” your dad chastises. “Practice was over at five today. It’s almost six.”

“Took the scenic route,” you reply easily, and Joel can hear the playful tone in your voice that lets everyone in the room know of your insincerity. 

You walk past them, backpack slung over one arm, but before you disappear inside you wink at him over your shoulder. 

“Get ready, Joel,” your dad tells him with an exasperated sigh. “Teenage girls are hell.”

And Joel is inclined to agree. Even more so when he’s laying in bed that night, wondering about all the things you could’ve been getting up to in that hour it took you to get home. The school was a short, ten minute walk from your house. And even if you truly did take the scenic route home, it wouldn’t have taken you an entire hour to arrive. 

So, what were you getting up to? Joel didn’t think you had a boyfriend. At least, not one you ever brought home. But not having a boyfriend didn’t mean anything. Not in this day and age. And Joel knew the mind of a teenage boy. He had been one, once upon a time, and knew without a doubt the lengths a boy your age would go to spend an hour alone with you. He thought about all of the things he was doing at eighteen, and his brain ran wild with those ideas.

After hours of laying there, unable to find sleep, Joel Miller took out his phone and opened a private search tab. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and he’d tried not to — truly, he had spent every minute since he’d closed his bedroom door trying to get the images out of his head. But it was like an itch he needed to scratch, becoming more and more irritating the longer he put it off. So, he typed cheerleader into the black and orange search bar and promised himself it was the one and only time he’d ever do this. 

He just needed to get it out of his system. That was all.

(If he was honest, Joel knew as soon as the thought crossed his mind that it wasn’t true. Even when he scrolled through the videos to find a girl who looked strikingly similar to you. Even when he turned his volume all the way down, and reached into his sweatpants with his free hand. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of that rolled up skirt and that pretty pink lace, pornographic images long forgotten in favor of the ones you’d supplied. Even when a few quick tugs was all it took to shoot thick ropes of cum across his belly. Even when he cleared his search history, cleaned himself up, and rolled over to sleep…even then, he knew it would not be enough to get you out of his head.)

The next day, Joel saw you leaving for school and couldn’t bear to look in your eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done and feeling shameful, feeling like the very sordid man he knew himself not to be. He wasn’t a pervert, but he’d certainly felt like one that day.

You waved your hand and beamed like you did every morning. But Joel didn’t wave back. Oblivious to his atrocities, you played your hand at concern. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t… seem fine. Is there anything I can do to help?”

God—your voice, full of kindness and sweet summery grace, was better than the audio in any porno he’d ever seen. “I said I’m fine.”

Thankfully, you took the hint and scurried off, not dissimilar to a wounded animal. Guilt immediately choked him. But, pushing you away is what he’s supposed to do. So he doesn’t change his mind. 

At least, not at first.

He spends the entire summer going out of his way to avoid you. He offered to host guys nights at his house on the weekends instead of your dad's garage. He left for work five minutes earlier than normal to avoid having to hear you say good morning, Joel! and wave at him with those pretty red nails and smile at him with your pretty white teeth.

But once summer starts, you and Sarah begin spending way too much time together. And at first, it makes him nervous. You make him nervous. He doesn’t want to make small talk. He doesn't want to see you in your uniform. He doesn’t want to look at you at all, actually.

It works out in his favor though, Joel thinks, because you and Sarah have the same taste in movies, and she thinks you're the coolest thing that’s ever existed, and so whenever Joel and Tommy are in your garage, you’re at Joel’s house with Sarah. So he doesn’t have to be on edge, wondering if he’d turn the corner and you’d be standing there smelling like vanilla and wearing pink lace. 

But then you’re hosting a high school graduation party a few short months after you move in. And your dad invites Joel and Tommy to the party in your backyard. In fact, he practically begs them to come and keep him company. And Joel can’t say no, because what excuse would he have? Sarah would never let him skip it, anyway. And so his avoidance comes to an end, and he finds himself standing in your backyard with a glass bottle in his hands, watching people congratulate you and your accomplishments all day long. Straight A’s in all those AP classes you took, your dad tells him proudly, clicking his tongs together over the grill. Joel knows you’re a smart girl, he doesn’t need to know your grades to see that you have your head on straight, but he also knows you’re a far cry from the timid little girl your father believes you to be. Joel can see it in you. 

Still, you’re far smarter than he is, because while Tommy drones on and on about a project he’s got going on at home, all Joel can notice is the pretty sundress you’re wearing. It’s pink, like the lace that sometimes still haunts him. It clings to you at the top, molding sinfully against your chest, and flows out at the bottom, cutting off at your midthigh.

It’s too short, Joel thinks. Way too short to be wearing around so many male classmates. Around your dad’s friends. Tommy likes younger girls, you know. And Joel…Joel’s turning away from you and swallowing what’s left of his beer. He clinks the empty glass against Tommy’s and asks, “You need another?”

Your dad is the one who answers. “How about a shot of whiskey? The cabinet above the sink.”

Joel thinks it's a fantastic idea. He gets stopped by Mr. Adler on the way inside, who asks what the celebration is. He talks for far longer than he’d like, and by the time he gets to the kitchen, Joel really needs something stronger than beer. 

Except, when he steps into the room, he freezes the moment he sees you standing there. Your head whips in his direction, eyes wide as if you’ve been caught. It’s only as he tears his attention away from you and notices the two red solo cups on the counter and the bottle of tequila in your hands, perched over them, that he realizes what he’d just walked in on. 

Your cheeks are pink, the same hue as your dress, and you quickly try to explain it away. “Joel! Hey! This isn’t…I’m not like—you know, it’s just a celebration and…I’ll be nineteen soon and—I mean, it’s just a little .”

He raises his eyebrows, unsure of how to navigate this terrain. On the one hand, he feels the need to discipline you somehow. To turn this into a lesson of sorts, to let you know how the age of legal alcohol consumption is twenty one for a reason, that being drunk in a social setting like this is dangerous, especially for a girl like you.

But on the other hand, Joel knows he’s not responsible for you. He’s not your father, and he’s not going to be the one to give you the speech about underage drinking. He’d been far younger than eighteen-almost-nineteen the first time he’d gotten drunk. And you were right…this was a celebration. 

The war in his brain seemed to dim what little common sense he had because Joel found himself standing behind you with almost no room to spare. The sweet scent of vanilla filled the space. You’d curled your hair, and the ends tickled the inside of his arm. Soft. So, so soft he could die. He puts his big hand on your bare shoulder, and reaches above you into the cabinet, finding the half empty bottle of whiskey. His fingers twitch with the urge to squeeze your supple flesh. Christ. It’s just a fucking shoulder, Joel, he tells himself. “It’s your party,” he says. “I won’t tell.”

It feels wrong just to say it to you. I won’t tell. Perverted thing to say, Joel thinks. You spin around to face him, and suddenly your breasts are brushing his chest, and Joel can’t breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and sending him into his fucking grave. 

It’s then, as he stares down at you and you stare up at him all sweet and innocent-like, that Joel finally admits to himself that avoidance has done absolutely fucking nothing to put out the fire you started. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah—it’s, uhm…it’s no problem. Have fun.”

He turns to leave, but then your arms are around his neck and he can’t smell anything but vanilla and he can feel your tits pressing into him, can feel you everywhere. But Joel isn’t a mean man, so what can he do but hug you back? If someone walked in, they’d think it was a fatherly embrace. Proud. Protective, even. 

But they wouldn’t know that all Joel could think about is the way your skin felt under his calloused hands. Or the way your soft hair tickled his cheek as he laid it against the top of your head. Or the way your hips were nestled right between his thighs—and you were so warm and—

Intrusive thoughts.

“You’re the best, Joel,” you say, eyes bright and cheery. He’s relieved when you pull away, but also a little bit empty. He watches you pour a shot into each red solo cup. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey. It seems so, like… manly .” You giggle, and it’s music to his ears but Joel begins to wonder if maybe this isn’t your first time stealing from the tequila bottle tonight. 

“It’s definitely not the best tasting thing in the world,” he says. “Gets the job done, though.”

To put the tequila away, you have to stand on the tips of your toes. It elongates your entire body as you stretch upwards, and he can’t bring himself to stop staring at the curve of your hips. “You have to be drunk to hang out with me or something?”

The question surprises him. Yes, he thinks. Yes, he does need to be inebriated to hang out with you because otherwise his sober mind never lets him forget the way you look all dolled up. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, Joel laughs quietly and says, “I’m here for your old man. You think he wants to be the lone adult in this sea of kids?”

He says it as a joke and is thankful you find humor in it. “I’m not a kid, Joel,” you remind him. “I’m a woman now. Is my company really so bad?” You tilt your head, pushing your bottom lip into the tiniest little pout. 

Joel needs to stop staring at your mouth. He knows it, because the urge rises in him to bite that lip, to surge forward and taste your tongue for remnants of tequila. The idea alone sends a bolt of white-hot desire straight to his dick. “No, no…s’not like that,” he says. He’s too focused on your face and the gleam in your pretty eyes to notice you’ve unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle. 

You pour a shot into an empty solo cup and hold it up between the two of you. “I’m scared,” you admit sheepishly. “Is it gross?”

The wrinkle in your nose is the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and the sight forces his lips into a small smile. “I don’t think so,” he says. “But you might.”

“Because I’m a kid ?” You scoff, but shake your head and smile at him all the same. “Women mature faster than men, you know. Which means when I make my decisions, I know what I’m signing myself up for.” 

“Oh, is that so?” He remembers being this cocky as a teenager. He thinks maybe you’ve been spending too much time around Tommy and his defiant attitude is rubbing off on you. Joel offers a challenge—if you’re just so mature. “Drink up, then.”

He watches every microscopic movement as you lick your lips and lift the cup to your mouth. It’s a beautiful sight, watching you tilt your head back and swallow the tiniest bit. And when you pass the remaining liquid to him, your expression is fashioned from steel. Nonchalant, blank. 

But he sees it, sees the way your hands twitch at your sides, sees the way your jaw feathers as you clench your teeth. He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Joel turns the cup in his hands and puts his mouth right where you did. 

It’s almost like kissing, he thinks. Having his mouth where yours was seconds ago feels good. Better than he thought it would. And he can taste cherry-flavored chapstick before he can taste the whiskey, and he wonders when the last time was when he’d had a shot because it goes straight to his head and makes him feel drunk. Or maybe it’s just the wide smile that stretches across your face. 

“That’s awful,” you confess. “I’ll stick to tequila, I think.”

“Tequila’s worse,” he says with a shake of his head. Tequila makes Joel feel your age, makes him forget the word consequences, makes him buzz with energy. 

“No way,” you say. “The taste isn’t nearly as strong.”

While that may be true, it wasn’t about the taste at all and he doesn’t really know how to explain it. “Tequila encourages people to make bad decisions.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Bad decisions,” you echo contemplatively. “Sounds like a great time.” You take both of your tequila filled cups in hand and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for always keeping my secrets,” you whisper. 

Joel has to stand in the kitchen an extra few minutes after you leave because he still feels the ghost of your lips on his skin and doesn’t know how to act. Eventually, though, he finds the courage to face his brother and your father. He stays for the remainder of the party and helps your dad clean up the yard after everyone filters out. 

It’s a relief when he’s finally in his own bed that night. He tries to resist thinking of you. Truly, he does — but it’s no use, and he’s alone in his bed, and this time he doesn’t even reach for his phone when he touches himself. 

And it’s good. So good that he tries to draw it out. He tries his damndest to make it last. But his efforts become futile in just minutes, because he can feel your soft lips, can taste cherry chapstick, and he’s right there—right fucking there—when his bedroom door creaks open. 

“Joel?”

For a second, he’s convinced himself he’s gone crazy. He’s well and truly lost it now, and his fantasies have grown into hallucinations at this point. You’ve driven him batshit insane. But his eyes focus in the dark, and he realizes his mind isn’t playing tricks on him at all. “What are you doing here?”

You take it as an invitation, and he desperately wishes you wouldn’t. He can still feel the buzz from the beer and whiskey, and his cock is hard beneath the sheets, and his brain is filled with images of you, and you’re in nothing but spandex shorts and a loose tank top, and when you sit on the side of his bed you lay your hand on his knee for balance and Joel’s hands shake. 

“How did you even get in?”

“I used the key under the mat,” you confess. “I need your help.” Your voice is so mousy and soft, and it pulls him back to his senses. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You were right,” you tell him. “I made a bad tequila decision and now I’m sad.” 

Joel doesn’t know what to say. You couldn’t possibly still be tipsy, he thinks. It’s been hours since he saw you in the kitchen, but he supposes you very well could’ve gone back after everyone left. Either way, you’d come to him to fix it, and even knowing the right thing would be to call your dad, he was still high on the second secret you two shared. So, Joel sighs and puts his hand on yours. “What did you do?”

“I snuck a boy into my room,” you say.

Joel’s jaw clenches. Anger rises in his chest, crawls up his throat, and chokes him. A million things cross his mind—first, what the hell did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Joel would find the boy and break his fucking jaw. Did he touch you? Maybe he’d break the boy's hands instead. Or, worse, did he touch you when you didn’t want him to? The thought alone has his heart beating so fast he thinks he might die. Slowly, quietly, he asks, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you sigh. And it isn’t one of those teenage girl nothings, it’s sincere. You climb over him to the other side of the mattress, and Joel thinks he should stop you but the sight of you in his bed is so fucking pretty that he can’t bring himself to. “That’s the problem. I wanted him to fuck me.”

The words give him pause. Everything freezes. 

“But he didn’t want to,” you say. “Even though we were flirting all day.” You turn on your side, hands beneath your head. “I don’t get it. Is it because I’m not pretty?”

He can’t stop the snort that leaves him at that. Joel can’t believe you’d wonder about it for even a second.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”

If there’s anything in the world he hates, it’s this. He wonders a little if maybe you’re antagonizing him. It’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? So why does saying yes feel so… heavy? Weighted? He decides it best to keep the conversation directed away from his personal opinion on the matter. “Of course you’re pretty, baby.”

Baby? God. Maybe he has lost his fucking mind.

But it seems to bring you so much joy he doesn’t have it in him to regret it. You wrap your small hands around his bicep, and he can feel the heat in your touch, and it’s like he’s burning from the inside out. And when you turn a little more and bring your leg across his hips, Joel can’t breathe. 

He wonders if you can tell how hard he is, wonders how he’s supposed to push you away when you just keep withering away his resolve. If he hasn’t lost his mind yet, he’s about to. “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

The words hit him like a freight train. But after a second, he realizes that you actually mean sleep —and he knows it’s a bad idea still because he’s having those intrusive thoughts once more. But he can’t say no. So instead he says, “I don’t think your dad would be comfortable with that.”

“I’ll tell him I had a sleepover with Sarah,” you quickly supplied. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He doesn’t either. But Joel knows he should be. And if not alone, certainly not with you. And yet, he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I think about you all the time,” you say. “I thought you were mad at me for a while. That made me sad, too.”

It made his chest ache to think he had caused you any harm. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? You probably just saw him as someone to seek comfort in, and he saw you as something entirely different. He was no good. Definitely not for you. 

A few minutes pass, and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you kiss his cheek again in the same spot as this afternoon and say, “Thank you, Joel.” And he feels so wrong. He feels awful, and selfish, and greedy, and desperate, and perverted.

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then you kiss his jaw, and this time it’s an open mouthed kiss that leaves wetness on his skin. Joel shivers. 

You kiss his neck, and his cock throbs inches from your thigh. He should stop this. He knows that. Joel isn’t a stupid man—he’s just a bad man. He doesn’t stop you when you climb into his lap. He doesn’t stop you when your tongue darts out between your lips as you kiss his collarbone. He doesn’t stop you when your kisses grow heated and heavy.

And when you kiss his lips, he doesn’t stop himself from kissing you back. He doesn’t stop himself from threading his fingers through your silky hair to pull you in deeper. He doesn’t stop himself from biting that bottom lip and sucking off the cherry flavor. He doesn’t stop himself from slipping his tongue into your mouth, or from lifting his hips just a little bit, pushing himself against you. The friction pulls a low groan from somewhere in the back of his throat, and Joel knows he won't be able to ever stop himself now. 

You take the small movement as your cue to unleash yourself and roll your hips against his even harder. He can feel the wet heat radiating from you even through the spandex shorts, can feel his benevolence fading into the ether. You let out a breathless moan when you roll your hips again, and again, and again. And he curses, muscles tight, and feels a confession on the tip of his tongue. Joel wants you to say it, just once — wants to hear his name in your mouth shrouded in lust. He’s imagined it so many times, but he wants to hear it. 

But then you pull away abruptly. “Joel?”

You sound mousy again, and he feels suddenly ice cold. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He holds your hair away from your face for the remainder of the night as you vomit up the rest of the tequila in your stomach. You apologize over and over again and greedily drink up the water he brings you. 

Normally, Joel would hate this. But it’s you, and something feels good about taking care of you. About making sure you’re safe, making sure you feel pretty even with sweat coating your pallid skin.

You fall asleep sometime in the middle of the night, and Joel carries you to his bed. He doesn’t climb in next to you. He can’t because he already feels bad enough for allowing a drunk eighteen year old girl into his bed. It’s his turn to feel nauseous. Shame smothers him, and guilt, and mortification…Joel knows he should feel regret, too. But he doesn’t. 

Sometime before sunrise, he nods off with his head resting against the bedside table. He doesn’t hear you leave, but when he wakes an hour later you’ve vacated the room. 

He wonders if you remember how you ended up in his bed, if you remember how eager he was to taste your mouth, if you remember anything at all. He hopes not, because that would mean a conversation he was not equipped to handle. 

When he trudges down to the kitchen, Joel stops upon the sight before him. Sarah sits at the kitchen table beside Tommy, who’s sitting across from your dad. And then there’s you—standing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand and two still-wet braids in your hair.

It isn’t the fact that you’re in his kitchen, making pancakes for everyone, padding barefoot on the tile that makes him anxious. No one in the room can read his thoughts. They wouldn’t know how much it pleases him to see it. They wouldn’t know how he thinks he could get used to this, but knows he can’t.

No…no, it’s the fact that you’re wearing his flannel that makes him anxious. Your father wears flannels on occasion…but this one is so plainly Joel’s that he wonders why your dad is sitting there laughing at something Sarah said instead of killing Joel with his bare hands. He swallows thickly and pours himself a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” you say cheerily, as if last night hadn’t happened. He thinks you’ve forgotten, or maybe just decided not to ever mention it again.

It was only a lapse in judgment, after all, wasn’t it? Just a split second where you and Joel both lost all sense. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. “Morning,” he responds. 

You ask him to help carry one of the heaping plates of fluffy pancakes to the table. When he reaches for the taller one, your hand brushes against his and Joel nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. But then you’re holding your pinky out to him expectantly, and whisper, “Our little secret.” 

The vanilla scent is gone, Joel notices. You smell like irish spring instead. Realization dawns on him that you must have showered while he was asleep— and used his body wash. There’s something about that little tidbit of information that sits with him. He likes it, he thinks. He likes smelling himself all over you, likes that something possessed you to use his things without asking. Something inside of him shifts, something… intense. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but Joel winds his pinky finger around yours anyway. It feels so good to have yet another thing between the two of you. Something of yours that belongs only to him. It makes him feel giddy as if he wasn’t running on a single sip of coffee and an hour of sleep.

The remainder of the summer goes on without incident. You don’t end up in Joel’s bed again, though you never once leave his intrusive thoughts. He sees you sometimes, tanning in the backyard. He has a perfect view from his bedroom window, and he wonders if maybe you wear those tiny bikini tops for his benefit. But he never asks, even during the few moments you have alone, and is content to pine after you but not touch for the rest of his painfully sorry life. 

He works. You taunt him. He plays pool in your garage. You come home late in too little clothes and smelling of vanilla scented tequila. Joel says nothing, though. He listens and agrees with your dad that since graduating you’ve become a little wild . A little… defiant. They dance around the word bad, but Joel knows the truth. Knows that more than anything, you need a little bit of discipline. 

You’re not his to correct, though. So he doesn’t. He certainly enjoys watching you, however. He watches you sneak out through your window one night when he’s sitting on the porch. You press your finger to your lips, creating another secret between the two of you. He walks into the kitchen one night to find you filling a vodka bottle with water. Joel says nothing—but after grabbing another beer he’s got a smile on his lips he can’t seem to shake. 

He’s mowing the grass in the backyard one sunny afternoon, and he catches a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. Joel holds a lot of your secrets close these days, but this one is…different. 

Through your bedroom window, he can see you changing. The curtain is wide open, and you’re wearing nothing but that same pink bra he first saw you in, matching panties, and those knee high socks you used to wear with your cheer uniform. He’s not sure if you’re getting out of your clothes or into ones more comfortable, but he knows he can’t look away. His mouth is dry, and all the blood in his head rushes south. He thinks you’re beautiful. He wants to touch you so badly it’s overwhelming. The supple curves of your hips, the soft tendrils of your hair down your back, the swell of your breasts— God, you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

And then you pick something up from the floor, and Joel realizes a second later that you’re putting on his flannel. The one you stole at the beginning of the summer. Do you wear it often? Do you always wear it alone, half naked in your bedroom? His lips part and his breath catches in his throat. He’s not there. He’s just standing in his backyard, ruining this patch of grass…but a part of him is. Something of his is there, with you, touching you, and somehow it sets him on fire. 

Especially when he watches you climb into bed. He won’t watch you sleep, he decides. He might have intrusive thoughts and secrets and uncontrollable fantasies, but he’s not a creep. 

Except you don’t go to sleep, so Joel continues to watch. He watches you run red painted fingers over your bare skin, between your breasts, over your belly, and back up. You do it again, slower this time, and Joel’s cock strains in his jeans. He watches you slip your hand beneath the band of your panties. He can’t see any details from this far away, but his breathing synchronizes with the speed of your fingers.

Suddenly, he remembers you’re still in his flannel. Realizes that you put it on to touch yourself. Pressure builds in his cock, and he finally admits that yeah— maybe he’s a little bit of a perv. But only for you—there’s something about you that drives him fucking insane. 

He stands there and watches you touch yourself until you finish. He revels in the small arch of your back, in the tremble of your legs, in the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath on the come down. He wants to clean you up with his fucking tongue. 

Joel doesn’t finish mowing the lawn that night.

When you go off to college, he can’t deny what a massive relief it is. You move across Texas to some campus far away, and the distance makes him feel like he can breathe easily again. He stops having so many disgusting, intrusive thoughts. He stops feeling guilty every time he plays pool with your dad because those secrets he kept for you were ones that don’t truly matter. Not when you’re nowhere to be found, anyway. 

As the year stretches on, Joel realizes that he’d been wrong all along. He wasn’t a pervert. You are a seductress. Even Tommy jokes about the obvious schoolgirl crush you had and admits one night when it’s just the two brothers that if you had thrown yourself at him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist you so easily as Joel had.

It’s not him that’s in the wrong. It’s you. You and your soft hair. You and your pretty smile. You and your red nails. You and your pink lace. You and your soft voice. You, you, you. 

For several years, those intrusive thoughts haven't plagued him. Not until your junior year of college, when some problem with campus housing surfaces and you’re forced to stay at home for a few days. Your dad is excited about it and forces the four of you to go out to dinner together to catch up. 

He sees you for the first time in so long, and you look so different but somehow even prettier. You’re wearing a short white dress, and Sarah tells you you look like an angel, and Joel silently agrees. You have a tattoo on the inside of your wrist. It’s the tiniest little image of two hands with their pinkies wrapped around one another, and he thinks it’s so fitting for a girl with so many secrets. 

Every time you look at him during dinner, Joel shifts in his seat. He isn’t very hungry. Not for food, anyway. He’s a little floored when you proudly present your shiny, brand new ID to the waitress and order a fruity pink drink called a Paloma. You explain that it has tequila in it, and share a subtle glance across the table, and Joel feels his insides warm as if he was the one drinking a cocktail instead. 

He drowns himself in work the entire week. He cannot— cannot afford to find himself back in his old ways. You’re a woman now. A fully grown woman, who no longer needs validation from older men. He knows you're not interested. He knows this time, this time, it really is Joel who’s the problem. Avoidance, surprisingly, works. 

Until you knock on the door one night with a DVD in your hand. “Is Sarah home? I found my old copy of Evil Dead. She said she missed having movie nights.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, uhm—she spent the night with a friend. Sorry.”

“Oh,” you deflate. “That’s okay, I get it. She’s older now. It’s…”

“Weird,” he finishes. 

You laugh softly, and the sound brings a smile to his face. “Yeah, really weird,” you agree. “I just hope she’s nothing like me.”

“Why’s that?” Your eyes darken, and Joel asks himself why he’s attempting to make conversation at all. It’s dangerous. He knows this. 

“You know,” you say purposefully. “All those secrets? There were definitely more.”

For a reason he can’t pinpoint, it makes him a little annoyed. He knew it the whole time—of course,  he knew there were more secrets than just the ones he was privy to. But a part of him wanted to know you better than anyone else. And maybe he did, for a second, but that second was long gone now. It was probably over moments after it began. “Yeah, well…that’s different.”

“How so? She’s only a little younger than I was when I met you.”

It’s an accusation. Joel can feel it. He can feel the anger seeping through your fake sweetness, too. But he doesn’t understand it. He didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not my daughter. That’s what’s different.”

You roll your eyes, and his hands twitch with the urge to grab you by the jaw. “God, Joel—you’re such a pussy. Do you know that?”

Your words startle him. A crease forms between his brows, and he takes another step out of the doorway. “ Excuse me ?”

“Just say it! Say what you so desperately want to say. I can take it. Say it.”

The words come out slow and deadly, sounding far meaner than intended. “Say what?” 

“Tell me it’s different because I’m a slut. It’s okay, Joel. It’s just the two of us now. Go ahead. Admit it.”

His jaw ticks. 

“What, you think I’m dumb? You think I don’t hear you laugh at Tommy’s jokes when I walk out of a room? You think I didn’t know you guys called me jailbait for years?” You laugh cynically, arms crossed over your chest, and Joel thinks he’s never seen you so angry. So heated. 

So hot.

He grabs your elbow and yanks you close. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Your face is inches from his, and he can smell vanilla and cherry and something happens. Something familiar and unique to you. Something disgusting. “And you know what the worst part of it all is?”

The worst part is that he’s twice your age. The worst part is that he’s known you since you were in high school. The worst part is that he’s friends with your father. The worst part is that you’re friends with his daughter. The worst part is that those perverted thoughts were never involuntary. They were never unavoidable. They were never unwanted. They were never intrusive. 

“You like it,” you say with a smirk. “You like that I dress up in short skirts for you, and you like it when I climb in your bed when someone else leaves me unsatisfied. I almost finished that day, did you know?”

“ Jesus—fuck —don’t—”

“You barely touched me but I was so close just sitting in your lap. You like that I put on your clothes and touch myself in front of my window, hoping you’ll see. You like that I’m a slut for you, Joel Miller. Admit it. It’s okay. It’ll be our little secret .”

He pulls you into the house and slams the front door closed. His blood boils beneath his skin. He should have slammed it in your face, he thinks. But you’re here now—trapped inside with him. Or maybe he’s trapped inside with you. 

The pleased smile on your face is his undoing. His breath comes fast, and he knows if he moves an inch there will never be any going back from this. So he doesn’t move. His limbs are frozen and his eyes are fixed on yours.

After a couple of tense filled seconds, your smile falters. Joel sees it. He hears the slight change in your voice too, as you confess, “I want you to touch me so badly.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck —Joel holds your face in his hands and slams his mouth to yours. You taste just the same; cherry sweet and delicious. It’s his favorite flavor, he thinks. Better than any forbidden fruit. Your tongue is so soft against his and impossibly more greedy. You invade his mouth, his soul, his heart. 

It happens so fast, and so easily. Your arms loop around his neck and Joel pulls you flush against him and grips the back of your thighs. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, hips already rolling against him like some feral thing inside of you is desperately clawing to get out. His cock has never been this hard, Joel knows. And he knows—he knows that he could cum just like this. Touching you, tasting you, feeling your softness. It’s enough. 

Still, he wants more. He wants to see you fall apart. He wants to reach inside your chest and make you feel what he feels, make you feel tortured the way he’s been for years. 

Joel walks to the sofa and sits with his legs spread wide. You’re still kissing him with everything you have, and it’s a clash of tongues and lips and teeth that he loves so much it’s an effort to thread his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and pull you away, but he does it. You’re both panting, and you let out a whimper at the loss of contact. His cock is throbbing, straining behind his jeans. “Put your money where your mouth is, baby,” he says breathlessly. “You wanna act like a slut for me, be a slut for me.”

He fists your dress in his hands and pulls it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. And then it’s just you, sitting in Joel’s lap, wearing nothing but pink, lace panties and a pair of strappy white heels. You’re so pretty, and he’s always known it—but seeing you up close has him weak. He can’t keep himself from touching you, from running his hands over your hips and living the fantasy he’s existed in for what feels like forever. 

Once he starts, Joel can’t stop. He runs his calloused palms over your belly, your ribs, allowing his thumbs to ghost across the underside of your breasts. He moves slowly, meticulously, enjoying every moment. And when you hook your thumbs in the band of your panties with the intention to remove them, he places his hands over yours. “Hell no,” he says. “You think you can tell me you almost finished in my lap that night and get away with it?” 

“But, I—”

“Nuh-uh. Prove it.”

Hesitantly, you tilt your hips against his. He wishes he was in only sweatpants the way he was that night because his jeans are keeping the feeling of your wetness away from him this time. But he can see it—the baby pink fabric is darker at the apex, and as you grind your hips against his Joel realizes you’re creating a mess on his clothes, too. 

He understands. He really, really does. He feels it, too. Joel understands how desperate and needy you are. And because he’s just so understanding, he grants you a little reprieve. He leans forward and takes your nipple into his mouth. He’s real sweet about it too, giving you the same tender treatment your mouth gave him that night in his room. He licks the hardened peak softly, swirling his tongue, and you let out the prettiest moan he’s ever heard. The pace of your hips picks up, rolling against the bulge in his jeans faster. 

“Oh, god,” you whimper. Your breath catches, and he can hear your heart beating rapidly behind your ribcage. He peppers kisses across your sternum and inhales deeply, sucking in a breath that’s nothing but you and holding it in his lungs. He kisses your other nipple and pinches the one wet with his spit between his thumb and forefinger. 

He sucks your nipple into his mouth and groans when you fist your hands in his hair. You sound so pretty, he thinks—and he leans back on the couch to admire just how pretty you look. He can’t catch his breath, but he doesn’t mind.

Your pace falters the slightest bit, and your chest is heaving a little slower now. He sinks lower into the couch and thrusts his hips up into you—once, twice, and your legs are shaking. “Aww,” he coos. “You’re so sensitive, baby. Look at you.”

Too lost in your own bliss, Joel decides to help you, to teach you. He grabs your chin and forces it down, forces your attention to where your bodies are joined.

“I told you to look,” he repeats. Joel turns his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them taught, creating even more pressure against your clit. The pink fabric immediately becomes darker, sopping up some of the mess you’ve created on top of him, and Joel intends to make good on his wish to clean you up with his tongue. But not yet—not when you still have something to prove. “You gonna cum just like that? Hm?”

You nod frantically, your attention flickering between his dark eyes and your panties clutched between his thick fingers. “ Yes,” you tell him, legs trembling. Your pace is quick, and each roll of your hips becomes shorter and shorter. And with Joel moving underneath you it only takes seconds more before you combust. “Oh, fuck—fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming—!”

“That’s it,” he says, and you feel the deep timbre of his voice skitter across your skin like embers. “There you go. You’re being such a good slut for me, hm?”

When your orgasm finally fizzles out, you fall limply forward and Joel is there to catch you, like he always has been, like he silently vows he always will be. He rubs soothing circles against your spine and presses sweet kisses into your hair, waiting patiently as you try and regain what little composure you have left. 

You lift your head from the crook of his neck, and your eyes are glossy and your bottom lip is swollen and your cheeks are flushed with a rosy hue, and Joel thinks you’ve never been more beautiful. But then you slide from his lap to the floor in one fluid movement, and he realizes that this is the prettiest you’ve ever been; on your knees before him, eyes bright with anticipation and excitement. You place your hands on top of his strong thighs, look up at him through your lashes and ask softly, “Can I suck your dick, Joel?”

He has to squeeze his eyes shut. He has to because his cock is so fucking hard and your voice is so sweet and filthy he can’t handle it. He breathes in slowly through his nose and says, “Of course you can, baby.”

Without a moment's hesitation, you unbuckle his belt. The metal clinks in your fingers, and Joel’s heart is racing when you unbutton his jeans and hook your thumbs through the loops to tug them down. His cock snaps against his belly, and you lick your pink lips.

You take it in your hands, and Joel aches when you swipe your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty sweetness of his precum. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re really here, running your sweet, sweet tongue over every inch of his cock. You’re tasting him, savoring him, and Joel wonders if it pleases you to see him all bent out of shape like this. 

He prides himself on his masculinity. He’s always been a strong man, one who handles his shit on his own. Maybe it’s the Texas in him, but Joel’s always had traditional values. He’s always been the provider, the protector—he’s always been the one in charge. But when you wrap your lips around him and ease his cock into your hot, wet mouth, he’s at your complete mercy. 

“ Fuck,” he hisses, hands going to your hair. He tangles the silky strands between his fingers, and you hollow out our cheeks, creating a suction that has him groaning. He feels each pass of your lips down his spine, pressure forming low in his belly. “Just like that, pretty girl.”

You wrap your hand around the base and stroke the length you can’t fit into your mouth, and his grip in your hair tightens. Your nails are painted red—and the look of them wrapped around his cock is far better than he’d ever been able to imagine in his head. It’s so good that he doesn’t want to stop, he wants to cum just like this. He wants to expend himself at the back of your throat and watch his cum leak out of your mouth.

But Joel doesn’t get too far ahead of himself. There are other things, filthier things he wants to do to you than fill your mouth up. You let out a whiny groan as if sucking him off is somehow more pleasurable for you than it is for him. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and the vibrations nearly send him over the edge, but Joel rips your head back to prolong this precious time with you. 

Your eyes are glassy, makeup smeared, lips swollen. You give him a beaming smile and Joel huffs a breath. “Did I do a good job?”

“ Yes, baby,” he says. “You did so well. C’mere, stand up.” You do as told, even though your legs are wobbly, and Joel lifts your foot into his lap. He unbuckles the straps of your heel, takes it off and sets it aside. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and repeats the action with the other one, and then proceeds to pull your panties down your legs. He helps you out of the pink lace, and he knows he shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself and shoves them between the couch cushions, where he hopes you’ll forget about them.

He presses his mouth to your hip bone, an open mouthed kiss that leaves goosebumps in its wake as he does the same to your other side. “That feels so good,” you tell him.

Joel keeps peppering wet kisses across your belly, below your navel, over your pubic bone. Your thighs are pressed together, and you’re shifting on your feet in anticipation, and Joel can see the shiny wetness coating your pussy. He reaches between your legs and so gently slides his middle finger teasingly over your slit. It comes away sticky and wet, and he can’t resist the urge to lick the digit clean. It’s heady and sweet, and he feels drunker than whiskey or tequila has ever made him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, forehead falling against your abdomen. “What are you doing to me?”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “I want you so bad, Joel. Please touch me.” Your hands are in his hair, stroking the unruly curls and lightly pulling.

The word please in your mouth sounds so fucking cute, so needy and desperate. What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to be a good man when you exist? He can’t, Joel knows. So long as you’re near—he’ll never be a good man. Only a bad one. Only a perverse one. He hooks his arm around your leg and lifts it over his shoulder, keeping his other hand wrapped around your waist for balance, and lets himself taste you fully, to drink from the source. 

And Jesus Christ, Joel loses it. He laps at your pussy, swallowing you up. He cleans up the mess you made in his lap, relishing in the decadence. He could do this for hours, he thinks. Could swirl his tongue around your swollen clit, could suck it between his lips, and kiss it softly for the rest of his life. He breathes in slowly, taking your scent deep into his lungs, and wonders why he’d ever want to come up for air. Your moans are music to his ears.

He dares a glance up at you to watch your expression when he reaches beneath you and slips a finger easily into your dripping pussy. 

Your head falls back, your mouth falls open, and Joel falls in love. 

The noises you make are obscene as you grind against his face, but not nearly as much as the sounds he’s making from between your legs. He’s groaning with your clit in his mouth and you’re creating a puddle in his palm, and it’s so sloppy and disgusting and he fucking loves it. 

Joel silently admits that you were right; that he loves your obscenities. He loves your secrets. He loves your defiance. He loves your depravity. 

He loves that you’re such a fucking slut. 

“Oh, god— Joel—!”

He pulls away because if you’re going to moan out his name again it’s going to be because of his cock. He stands abruptly, keeping one hand at the small of your back, and holds your jaw. With your face tilted up towards him, he smirks as he watches tears form in your eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Why did you stop?” Your voice is so whiny, so hopeless and frantic that it makes his cock twitch. “You were about to make me cum,” you say.

He kisses you hard, and you moan into his mouth, and Joel runs out of patience. He lifts you up and lays your back flat against the couch. He’s hovering over you, and his cock is just inches from the place it’s wept to be inside for so many years. Joel rolls it against you, gasping at the feel of your pussy on the underside of his cock. You’re so wet, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to last long enough for this to be good for you. 

But he’s determined. “ Joel,” you beg breathlessly, bucking your hips to try and find just the right angle where he slips inside.

“Yeah, baby?” He tilts his head slightly, watching as your eyes flicker back and forth between his hips and his predatory grin. 

“You’re being mean,” you say. “Stop teasing me. Just put it in, Joel, I need it so bad.”

He kisses your forehead. “S’that right?”

“Yes!”

It’s impossible, he thinks, to hold back his laugh. “You’re so fucking cute, baby,” he says. “Say please.”

“ Please! Please, please ple—!”

Joel lets out a ragged breath as he pushes into you. Finally, he thinks. Finally, finally, finally. “Fuck.”

It’s so much better than he ever imagined. He sinks in deep until your hips are flush, and even then he pushes your knee back to open you up and get impossibly deeper. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, and Joel kisses you to swallow up the beautiful sound. 

You take him like you were made for his cock. And maybe you were, because Joel had never known it could be this fucking good. He knows it’ll never be this good again. “You’re taking it like such a good slut, baby,” he whispers into your ear, tongue sliding up your neck. He pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, the sudden change in force ripping a cry from your throat. “Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.”

With your arms and legs wrapped around him, Joel fucks you slow. Real slow, real deep—he’s touching parts of you you didn’t even know existed. You feel so full and pressure coils around your spine. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes yes— mmm—!”

He sets a steady pace, hitting that soft spot inside of you every time. He reaches between your bodies and swipes this thumb over your clit. “Say thank you, baby.”

You look right into his eyes, warm and dark and full of devotion. You say, “ Thank you, Joel,” and you suddenly remember the same memory he does of that first day. 

He remembers how pretty you looked on your knees, and you remember how you spent that whole night in your bed touching yourself to him. 

And now it’s happened, it’s finally happened, and his cock is buried deep inside of you and his thumb is pressing hard against your clit and before he realizes it, your pussy is squeezing him as you cum. 

Tremors rock through your body, legs shaking and red painted fingernails clawing at his back. He keeps his same steady pace and says, “Give it to me, baby. Good fucking girl, being such a good little slut for me. That’s it. Give it to me. There you go.”

Even when your muscles loosen, you keep your limbs wound around him tight. Like even though you’ve finished and he’s seconds away from following you there, you still want him as close as possible. It makes him feel tender. “I want you to cum inside me,” you say, and Joel’s cock spasms in your tight pussy. “Cum in me, Joel, please —fill me up.”

He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t, but he already is, and stars blur his vision. Joel fights through the blindness though, and squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Look at me,” he orders, and looking at your face makes him cum even harder. You take his thumb into your mouth, soft tongue circling it. And Joel bottoms out inside of you, has the best orgasm of his entire fucking life inside of a girl half his age, but cannot bring himself to regret a single second.

The weight of him over you is heavy but comforting. It’s perfect, and helps you catch your breath. Joel is panting, and you smell like vanilla and irish spring and cherry chapstick and when his eyes close, he wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Your fingers are stroking his spine lazily when the fear creeps in. Do you regret it? Now that it’s out of your system, do you wish you’d never have done it? Never have taunted him, never had let him keep all those secrets, never have come over tonight? The Evil Dead DVD sits on the floor by the front door, abandoned. 

There couldn’t have been much tequila in your mixed drink. You didn’t taste like alcohol at all. But still, you’d had some—do you feel like maybe he took advantage of you? 

Joel is afraid to look at you. He’s afraid to open his mouth, to ask if you’re alright, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness. 

But then you ask him softly, “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

He hears the echo of those words, and wonders if you do, too. You wince as he finally sits up and pulls himself out of you. He knows he should say no, but he can’t. Instead, he asks, “Will you make pancakes in the morning?”

The sound of your girlish laughter greets him and calms his fears for now. “Anything you want.”

Joel stops at the bathroom on the way to his bed and cleans the sticky mess from between your legs. It’s then as he realizes how many unhinged decisions he’d made tonight. He doesn’t know if you’ve slept with other people without protection, doesn’t know if you’re on birth control, doesn’t know if you’d be willing to take a contraceptive pill in the morning if you’re not, doesn’t know anything. The distance, while easier, has taken so much of you from him. And the realization leaves Joel cold. 

You’re so young, and he’s so much older than you…if the worst happened, would it even be the worst? Do you even want kids? 

A new fantasy emerges in his brain. The first one since admitting to himself that it’s a little more than just an intrusive thought. You’re standing on the back porch with a beaming smile, hand over your eyes to block out the bright summer sun while he mows the lawn. You’re in a pretty pink sundress, and your belly is swollen with Joel’s baby, and his knees buckle as he leads you to his bedroom. 

You climb in beside him, and he holds you under the blankets a little tighter than you hold him. Emotion chokes him. Joel swallows it down. But then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I want to keep you,” he confesses. “I want to keep you forever.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. He wonders if maybe you think he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t have anything else to say. 

“So do it,” you whisper. 

“But I can’t.”

“You can,” you tell him with a sigh. “You can, Joel. That’s the real secret.”

The words reverberate through him. They clang around in his brain and leave him with something akin to elation. You kiss his jaw, and Joel thinks maybe you might be right. Maybe he will keep you. 

But for tonight, having you here pressed against him with the promise of pancakes in the morning is enough.

[PART TWO]

[masterlist]

divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

[trashytracktales]

GIRL DONT HOLD BACK

WRITE THE LANDO NORRIS HELMET SMUT

Finders keepers | LN⁴

🟢 summary ──── A moment of boredom turns into a game of control and restraint, with Lando pushing boundaries neither he nor his girlfriend expected on such a busy day.

🟢 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🟢 rating ──── explicit

🟢 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, semi-public setting, soft!dom Lando, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, overstimulation, messy finish, Lando low-key losing it.

🟢 word count ──── 3.3k

🟢 date ──── Mar. 4, 2025

🟢 a/n ──── This one has been HIGHLY requested after one of you guys sent in this ask, so I shall deliver. I hope you enjoy it as much as you imagined & can’t wait to hear your thoughts 🤍

Also, yes. This is the second one-shot of the day, because I ACCIDENTALLY posted this Charles Leclerc piece earlier. It’s very short and I was supposed to post it after this one OOPSIES get greedy & go check it out. Thank you, love you all 💋

THERE IS HARDLY enough room for more than two people in the driver’s room. A physio table is pushed against the wall, a couple of chairs sit tucked under a desk covered in notes, post-its and water bottles, and a row of plastic shelves is holding some race suits, a change of clothes and toiletries, and a spare helmet. There is a faint scent of fresh rubber and overall newness of the place in the air that blends with the smell of rain, and something so distinctly Lando, a mix of his cologne and fabric softener.

She has been waiting for hours now. Day two of testing in Bahrain is dragging, and even though she loves watching her boyfriend hit the track, the long hours spent doing nothing are starting to wear on her. She finished reading three books in two days, rewatched her favorite TV show, and scrolled through her feed until the app informed her that there were no new posts.

She sighs, running a hand over the edge of the desk before deciding to tidy up a little. Not that there’s much to clean, since McLaren keeps these rooms nearly spotless, but at least it gives her something to do. A few minutes later, the post-its are arranged on the wall by color, the documents are organized in chronological order, and the water bottles have found a new home, crammed under the table.

Out of curiosity, her fingers brush over one of Lando’s new helmets, freshly designed for the pre-season testing. It’s sleek, predominantly black with neon streaks and intricate models running along the sides. On impulse, she lifts it, feeling its surprising weight before slipping it over her head. The padding presses snugly against her ears, muffling the distant sounds of mechanics still at work in the garage.

She can’t help but feel a vague claustrophobia surrounding her, but the feeling isn’t necessarily bad. On the contrary, it gives her the impression of safety, even if it inhibits her other senses.

Grinning to herself, she pulls out her phone and angles the camera for a selfie. The reflection in the visor catches the glow of the overhead lights, giving her an futuristic look. She continues to snap a few more photos, adjusting the tilt of her head, until a blurred figure appears in the background of her screen.

“Having fun all by yourself?” Lando’s voice is amused yet he sounds tired, and before she can turn around, she feels his arms wrap around her waist from behind. He leans in, lips ghosting over her shoulder in a lazy kiss.

She huffs out a laugh, nudging at his arms, “I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that. You scared me.”

Lando chuckles, hands splaying over her stomach, thumbs brushing absentminded circles through the fabric of her shirt. “Sorry. Didn’t expect to catch you playing dress-up with my stuff.”

“Finders keepers,” she says in a singing voice, making Lando chuckle again.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“It looks cool,” she admits, “Therefore, it makes you look cool.”

Lando squeezes her a little tighter, “That mouth on you,” he teases.

The girl giggles, “Am I wrong? Also, you should’ve knocked, by the way,” she continues, reaching up to pull at the visor so she can actually see him.

“I should knock on a door that has my name on it?”

“Yeah, you do!” she sounds revolted, “Especially when you know there’s a lady waiting for you inside.”

Lando’s gaze darkens ever so slightly as he takes her in. She looks like a mirage under the dim light of the small room, her curls coming untamed from under his helmet and her eyes so bright and filled with love, looking back at him.

He nods with a boyish smile, “I’ll try to remember that next time.”

Maybe it’s just exhaustion making his eyes so heavy-lidded, the lingering adrenaline from a long day fading into something softer. But when she catches him staring, Lando has the same soft gaze he does whenever they sit on the couch and he’s about to doze off; he looks unintentionally hot like this, worn out but content.

“Alright, racer boy. Can we go now?” she asks, pressing back against him slightly.

Lando sighs, reluctant. “Not yet. I still have a couple of hours to go. Gotta go over the data with the engineers,” his fingers tighten briefly on her hips before he steps back. “You can head back to the hotel if you’re bored. I’ll get you a car.”

She pouts, “It’s not as fun without you.”

That wins her another chuckle, but this time, there’s something else in Lando’s expression. His gaze is shamelessly dragging over her with an intensity that makes her pulse stutter. It’s only now that he really registers that she’s wearing his helmet, his name and number stamped all over.

She’s worn his clothes before — his hoodies, his merch, his team’s attire — but this feels completely different. It makes his mouth dry and head spin, and he might be exhausted, but suddenly, swallowing the lump in his throat, Lando realizes he’s so turned on.

“Then stay,” he encourages her, “I have half an hour to decompress before going to debriefing. I’m sure we can find something fun to do.”

His suit suddenly feels tighter, heat creeping up the back of his neck. He swallows again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he exhales slowly.

“Is that so?” she challanges him. “Something in mind already?”

He runs a hand through his curls before reaching for her again, “Maybe,” his voice is low, amused but laced with something indulgent. His fingers skim her waist, tracing the hem of her shirt as he tugs her closer. “You’re pretty inspiring.”

She tilts her head slightly, the visor still lifted so he can see the teasing glint in her eyes. “Well, that’s new,” she laughs. “But I was just messing around.”

Lando hums, unconvinced. “Sure you were.”

She moves to take the helmet off, but his hand catches hers mid-motion.

“No, leave it,” says Lando, thumb grazing over her knuckles. His breath is warm when he leans in, his next words spoken directly against its glossy material. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.”

A shiver rolls down her spine, and it quickly goes south, right between her legs. It makes Lando grin subtly, then he reaches for the visor, pulling it down with a definitive, loud click. At that, her world narrows in an instant, and the limited view somehow makes every touch and every breath between them more intense.

Lando walks her back until she’s perched on the edge of the physio table, her pulse hammering as she watches him, excited, but mostly curious about his plans. They have thirty minutes, so his movements aren’t rushed in any way. Quite the opposite. They’re almost lazy, but there’s something precise about the way he reaches for the zipper of his race suit.

He rolls his shoulders, loosening up, then adjusts the height of the table so that when he sinks to his knees in front of her, she’s exactly where he wants her to be. Patiently, his fingers trail up her legs, making slow work of the button on her jeans. There’s no hurry in the way he peels them down, taking her underwear with them in one go, but the moment he gets rid of them, there’s a shift in his demeanor.

Lando exhales sharply, his large hands splaying over her thighs as he looks at her, half-lust and half-serious. “You gotta keep quiet, baby,” he says, a hint of mischief curling around his words. “These walls aren’t real, and anyone passing by the door can hear us blink.”

There was a little giggle stuck in her throat, but now she barely has time to react before his fingers part her, his touch light at first, just exploring while he preps her with the dexterity of a man who did it countless of times before.

Her breath catches at the first slow stroke, her thighs tensing as he traces circles where she’s most sensitive. The first sound she makes is barely a whisper of a whimper, that Lando trained his ears to hear, since is muffled inside the helmet.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, “Is that my cue?”

Before she can answer, Lando leans in.

Initially, his mouth is warm and merciful. He licks into her with a sort of tamed hunger that’s out of his character, savoring every little shift of her hips, every shudder she tries to suppress. Even so, it sends her a clear message: even though his energy is low from the long day, his need to taste her is anything but.

The world outside their room hums with noise — faint conversations, the occasional shuffle of footsteps, the distant whir of power tools in the garage. But all she can focus on is the way he’s lapping at her clit, the slick sound of it embarrassingly loud in the small space, her own whimpers barely contained behind the visor.

Lando chuckles against her, the vibration making her head tilt back slightly; the weight of the helmet forces her to let her head fall against the wall, which positions her even better in front of him.

“Gonna have to be quieter than that,” he teases, slipping his fingers between her folds, pressing just enough to make her squirm.

She barely manages to shake her head, her breath ragged. The visor fogs up as a result, which forces her to close her eyes, since her sense of sight is officially useless.

Lando looks up proudly, fingers pushing deeper as he settles in, more than happy to test her limits. He knows how to curl them just right, the wet sounds obscene in the stillness of the room.

His free hand grips her thigh like he’s starved, holding her open for him, his name echoing softly inside the helmet — muted yet desperate. He feels the way she gets even more aroused with each passing second, coating his fingers with every slick stroke, her body responding to him exactly as it does every single time he takes over.

Startled with new sensations experienced in the dark, she brings a shaky hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the moans threatening to spill out, only to realize, all over again, that she can’t. A frustrated whimper escapes instead, the same hand scrambling for something to support herself. Finally, her fingers clutch at the edge of the table, but it’s useless; her hips are already rolling against Lando, chasing more.

“Mhm,” he hums, his voice shallow. “Getting so wet for me, should’ve done this ages ago. Why didn’t we?”

She gasps, trembling on the edge and so ready to agree with him, but then Lando stops, and the loss of his fingers is almost unbearable. Before she can think, a loud, frustrated moan slips past her lips, making him laugh at her impatience.

She’s too gone now, drunk on the feeling, and the weight of the helmet is definitely not helping. Not when she’s melting under his touch, making it hard to move, and pretty much do anything but stay there, waiting. Aching for more.

Lando watches her for a moment, dark-eyed and smirking, already hard just from seeing her like this, her body so pliant and responsive under his hands. He pulls himself out with one hand, stroking lightly, and with the other, he grips the edge of the helmet, forcing her to look at him.

“Alright, baby, I’m serious. No more of that, okay?” asks Lando. “If someone hears us, it’s gonna be bad. And we don’t want that, do we?” he continues, watching her gathering all her strength only to nod slightly. “That’s right. The second I hear you moan, I’ll have to stop.”

Even Lando knows it’s a lie, but he had to say it, just in case.

She swallows, nodding again as best as she can, her pulse a frantic rhythm against his fingers when he drags his hands down her sides, holding her still. Then, with a precise snap of his hips, he buries himself inside her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

The force of it sends a shudder through the physio table, the legs creaking against the floor. She barely has time to adjust before he thrusts again, deeper this time, pressing her body into the table like he’s trying to mold her into it. Her thighs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, desperate to keep him there, to keep him buried inside her where she needs him most, the weight of him, the pressure and the friction maddening.

Lando swallows a moan, but some of it manages to slip past gritted teeth, “Fuck, you look—” he cuts himself off, sucking in a sharp breath. He doesn’t even have words for it. The way she feels around him and the heat of her pulling him back in every time he dares to pull away, it’s enough to make his mind go blank.

The table shifts again, inching against the floor with every thrust. She grips at the suit still clinging to his shoulders, trying to hold onto something, but there’s no escape from the way he’s driving into her, every drag of his cock making her shake beneath him.

“Lando…”

He knows. He feels it too. The way they’re teetering on the edge of something dangerously intoxicating, and the way they’re doing that together.

His hands tighten on her, his next thrust shoving the table another inch to the side. “Shit,” he breathes, voice husky with restraint. “Hold on, love. A little more, yeah?” He grips the edges of the table and snaps his hips forward again, watching the way her body reacts to him. “Fucking hell,” he spits, eyes dark as he watches her fall apart under him, little by little. “Keep me in, baby. Like that.”

She clings to him without hesitation, like she was made for this, for him. He’s marking her and he knows it, his fingers moving back to her waist, digging into her soft flesh. Lando’s name is all over her, in ways that only he can see, in places only he gets to touch. And the way she lets him, makes his head spin.

In the haze of it all, a sudden, foreign thought crashes into him like a gut-punch: her name next to his. It’s ridiculous, completely out of place in a moment like this, but it paralyzes him for a second. Until his body reacts on its own, fire spreading through his veins. He leans forward, caging her in, his thrusts becoming sharper, more desperate. His forehead presses against the cool surface of the helmet for just a moment, grounding himself, before he pulls back and looks at her.

He can barely see her eyes, wide and glazed over, but it’s enough. His fingers tighten on her hips as he slams back into her, dragging her flush against him, letting her feel every inch of his length. The sharp noise that the table makes underneath them is lost in the delicious sounds of their bodies moving together, of their heavy breathing, of the desperate way she silently whimpers his name like she wants to keep it on her tongue forever.

He’s spiraling, drowning in the heat of her, in the thought that she lets him take her like this, lets him ruin her for anyone else.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough.

Her hands fly up instinctively, grasping at the helmet, knuckles turning white as she tries to steady herself against the overwhelming feeling of him.

Outside the room, voices pass by again, too close, and Lando clenches his jaw, fighting his own demons as he’s forcing himself to stay quiet.

Luckily, she’s close. He can feel it in the way she tightens around him, the way her body shakes as she tries her hardest to stay silent. Inside the helmet though, her breathing is shallow, small cries coming out of her parted lips.

“Come on, pretty girl,” says Lando in a demanding yet soft tone. One of his hands clamps around her neck, guiding her into each thrust. “Give it to me. Let me feel you.”

Lando doesn’t slow down one bit, rolling his hips in a way that he knows it drives her wild. As a result, her body tenses, trembling as pleasure overtakes her. A choked gasp echoes inside the helmet, and Lando smirks, watching her unravel. He’s so utterly captivated by the way her walls tighten around him and the way her thighs quiver in his hands, as if she can crumble if he’s won’t be careful. It’s almost too much for him, but Lando manages to pull out just in time, watching as her release coats his throbbing length, as she shudders through the aftershocks.

“Yeah,” he breaths, running a hand up and down her thigh. “Such a good girl, baby. Let it all out.”

She slumps back against the table, panting inside the helmet, her body overly sensitive. Keeping his eyes on her, Lando gives himself a few slow strokes, exhaling hard through his nose; he’s so close it’s painful.

“You okay?” he asks her, his voice as hoarse as if he screamed for hours at a concert.

Slowly coming back to her senses, she exhales sharply, “I’m good,” she manages and, before she gets the chance to ask him the same question, Lando slaps her thigh in order to catch her attention.

“Down on your knees, then. Come on,” he rasps, guiding the girl to her knees, his patience wearing out quickly, as he tilts her chin up with two fingers.

The glow of the light catches on the sleek surface of the helmet, and something about it — about her like this, still catching her breath, still his — makes his stomach flip.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the edge of the visor as he grips the helmet gently. “Obedient little thing.”

She doesn’t speak — can’t, really — just watches him through the darkened shield, completely at his mercy.

Lando’s breathing stutters as he pumps himself faster, the tension coiling tight in his core. “Gonna make a mess of you, yeah?” he asks, mostly rhetorically. “Right there on my—”

He barely manages a breath before the orgasm crashes into him, blinding and all-consuming. His grip tightens, a sharp groan breaking free as heat pulses through him, spilling in thick streaks across the dark visor. Each of his breath is shaky, his mind fogged with pleasure and a sudden possessiveness.

She stays still, letting him ruin the helmet just like he ruined her, and the sight leaves him dizzy.

His fingers twitch as he pushes sweat-damp curls from his forehead, exhaling a laugh, wrecked and breathless. The sound of it fills the space, mixing with the muffled hum of voices just beyond the walls. But all Lando can hear is the quiet, pleased sigh that leaves her lips, her fingers scratching against her thighs, as if she wants to touch him, as if she wants to taste him.

His stomach clenches at the thought, the aftershocks leaving him lightheaded, wrecked in a way he’s never felt before. He exhales sharply, looking down at her, at his helmet, at what he’s done.

Then, Lando’s fingers are flexing against her head before he finally loosens his grip, running a slow thumb over the mess he’s made.

“Hell,” he pants, still catching his breath. Then, softer, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “Might have to fuck you like this more often.”

She exhales a quiet, amused breath, tilting her head slightly. “Guess that means I’m actually keeping it.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[melminli]

I LOVEDDDDDDD your Thanos “bang bang bang” post and it made me very curious abt how they know eo and stuff and like I’d love to read more about it in general if you don’t mind. It’s so great and I love your writing <333 have a fun day / night 🫶🏻

BANG BANG BANG ll

summary - thanos was always just such an easy person to argue with. you really hated the guy and that was something that was never going to change, even if your life was on the line and it fucking was.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.8k

contains: violence, angst, death, drug use and addiction, dark content - just usual squid game stuff really

a/n: ty so much! this turned out kinda freaky but that is because thanos is a freak so, i didn't really have a choice.

prev. | next. | masterlist

There was an eerie silence among all the participants for the first few seconds after the first death happened. The realization of what this meant for everyone present slowly sank in, and you thought that maybe the crazy man with all his screaming, wasn't quite as crazy as you originally thought. The real madman was probably the person somewhere upstairs or - you didn't know exactly where, but you knew that they were watching you.

“Don't move!” His voice shouted again, but this time with a completely different force. It may be that this was the most logical conclusion one could draw from what had just happened, but some seemed to throw all logic out of the window as soon as the fear of death hit. It only took one person to panic to set off a domino effect and from one second to the next loud gunshots could be heard, following the fearful screams of one person after another. The participants were being slaughtered like frightened animals in a cage, what kind of sick game was really going on here?

You too began to tremble as you looked down at the floor, dissociating and trying to ignore your surroundings as best you could. You had to stop yourself from flinching when the person right next to you was killed, even as you felt his still warm blood covering your cheek, even as a small river of it started pooling around your foot. You were most likely going to leave a trace of him all over the ground as soon as you started walking again - whoever he was. It didn't take very long for everyone who had moved to be shot, maybe half a minute - and yet it must have been the worst half minute of your life so far.

“Don't you dare move,” Thanos said in a voice you weren't used to hearing from him. “I'm serious, don't make me mad.”

You just looked at his back from behind, with a tense posture while you tried to regain control of your breathing again. Finally, there was complete silence on the pitch again. Even if it wasn't an entirely welcome silence.

The voice from the loudspeakers began to speak again and you already knew that this would be a voice that would haunt you in your nightmares. “Let me repeat: You can move forward while the tagger shouts, Green light, red light. If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.”

Ah, so that's what you meant with eliminated. A bit literal but no biggie! The game continued, but no one really dared to move a muscle even when the puppet looked away. You then saw Thanos shift slightly out of the corner of your eye and noticed that he was pulling his cross necklace out of his t-shirt. Safe to say, that you could barely believe what you were seeing right before your very eyes. You've got to be kidding me, they took everything we had from us, but he was allowed to keep that old thing? “Are you seriously going to take that stuff now?” you whispered in disbelief but didn't really judge him for it. You were this close to just laughing out loud at the absurdity of the scene, but you didn't.

“You don't have to be jealous, sweetheart,” he replied with slightly shaky hands as he stopped his movement abruptly when the doll finished talking. He just stared longingly at the colorful pills in front of him. “I don't mind sharing with you, you know that.”

You sighed inwardly at the thing you were about to do. You had been clean for maybe about three years by now and quitting drugs of any kind overnight was fucking hard - definitely one of the hardest things you had to do in your life. On the other hand, your life was still as shitty as before, the only difference being that you were now consciously depressed and unhappy, so who cares? You could die every second anyway. “Thanks.” you just said after taking the pill out of his hand and threw the thing as quickly as possible in your mouth as soon as the doll looked away. Yeah, you were the biggest hypocrite on earth, old news.

It only took maybe a few seconds after that for you to feel the effects of the pill and then finally, all the stress started to dissipate. Your muscles relaxed, all the shouting about whatever felt like a soft pillow hugging you and the weird laying positions of the dead around you suddenly seemed incredibly funny. These were really strong pills, you could practically feel your whole body tingling. “Why are they all suddenly forming a line?” you asked with a grin and Thanos just hummed, not knowing the answer himself. “No idea, but watch this,” he said and waited until the puppet had turned towards you to push the person next to him, causing everyone in front of them to fall over too. “Ding! You lost,” he told them while wiggling his eyebrows and smirking after he watched them get shot.

You didn't even try to stifle your laughter at the scene. “You really are such an asshole.” you replied, shoving him aside this time after the doll averted its gaze. You then ran away as fast and as far away as you could so that he couldn't take revenge on you for what you had just done. However, you quickly stopped moving with both hands in the air as soon as the girlish voice emitted red light as if you were surrendering to her. You stifled your grin and pretty much failed when you noticed a slightly older woman standing relatively close to you. “Hey, are you trying to hide behind me to use me as a shield?” you spoke out without moving your mouth much and watched as she began to sweat more after you realized what she was doing. Still, she didn't pay you any further attention. “And now you're ignoring me too?” you spat out annoyed and grabbed her by the arm when you were free to move and pulled her in front of you against her will.

She tried to fight you off but you forced her further forward while she tried to defend herself. “You're older than me, aren't you ashamed of yourself?” You asked her and stopped walking before the robot's face turned towards you.

Number 57, who was still resisting your grip, stumbled a little to the side when you suddenly let go of her. She was about to howl in delight when she noticed how everyone else stood still. “No…” she mumbled out fearfully. “It's because of that bitch! I didn't -” she tried to defend herself to someone as she looked around the room, but her head caught the bullet before she could even finish her sentence.

“I may be a bitch, but at least I'm still alive.” you sang to her dead body on the floor before running past her. You didn't know how much time was left, but you had almost made it to the finish line anyway. You stopped with your back to the robot girl this time and it didn't take you long to spot the purple hair in the crowd. “Su-bong!” you shouted his name, since you had somehow gotten separated while running. You waited until he yelled back with a what?! “Last one there, gets fucked in the ass!” you yelled out without any shame or filter and saw his facial expression turn serious at the challenge. “Let's Go!”

The whole game went by relatively quickly once you took the pill from Thanos. It was actually quite fun, you thought to yourself as you both jumped around like two crazy people with grinning faces, waving your arms around wildly. I know it's not socially acceptable to say this, but I fucking love doing drugs! It was like everything around you was happening in slow motion and all the decisions you made felt foggy, like you didn't even realize what you were doing.

You loved being this person, it felt great to forget everything and just - not think. “I have won! No, really! You crossed the line two steps after me, I saw it!” you exclaimed before Thanos could object to a single thing. “Didn't anyone else see that?” you exclaimed in disbelief as if the others weren't busy staying alive while watching several others die right before their faces. You didn't care about the looks they gave you as you waved your hand. “No, they definitely saw it. I won.”

Thanos just gave in with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I'm getting fucked in the ass which is gay, very funny.” he just mumbled to himself annoyed, and continued to avoid your gaze, but couldn't help grin again when you slapped him on the shoulder laughing. “Hey, why did we stop doing all this again?” he asked you when he couldn't remember the reason. All he knew was that he hadn't had this much fun in a long time, even though he knew that he always had a great time with you - no matter what.

You laughed. “Oh, that's because you promised me that we'd both get clean together, and then you spent the money I gave you for rehab on more drugs behind my back.“ you laughed along with him, even if Thanos frowned a little at the memory and you started to smile forcedly after remembering again how he had betrayed you. “Or what was it again? Was it something about that Youtuber you told me about…” you mumbled to yourself obliviously, feeling any sense of happiness begin to fade. You finally gave up, the details weren't that important anyway. “It doesn't really matter though, right? In any case, you used the money for something else, whatever it was. Even though you knew how hard I worked for it - hell, I didn't even eat most days to scrape it together, man.” you stated while you looked him in the face, even though he averted his gaze from you. “That's just fucked up dude.”

Exactly. You actually hated being this person. You might not remember it right now, but you would as soon as the effects of the pill wore off, which hopefully wasn't soon. You really hoped it wasn't soon, because you didn't want to be aware of anything that had happened today.

next.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader SMUT • headcanons, how Art fucks, what he gets off to, etc

big content warning! contains some stuff that may gross you out; read at your own risk: menstruation kink, piss kink, oral sex, anal sex, object insertion, blood kink, various weapons mentioned, bondage, human hair and bones, butts and what comes out of butts, public sex, cockwarming, mostly dom!Art and sub!reader

🔪 Remember the work desk with all of Art’s weapons and tools on it? He knows you want him to fuck you, but he’s got shit to do (meaning weapons to build) so he lets you sit under the desk, cockwarming him while he works. You’re on the ground between his knees, patiently holding him in your mouth. When he finishes constructing his latest instrument of torture/slaughter, Art pats his palm against his thigh, wordlessly telling you to climb up into his lap and ride him.🩸

🔪 Art enjoys blood and guts, so it goes without saying that during your period, he’s particularly eager to fuck you. He can detect the slight change in your scent, usually aware you’ve begun to bleed even before you know. He plays with your pussy like it’s a new, special toy when you’re bleeding, spreading your lips and tracing his name on your inner thighs in red. Seeing/touching/tasting blood that comes from you is special to Art. It’s the only time he gets to play in blood without it being the result of him hurting someone, so that makes the experience unique for him. He saves your used pads for ‘alone time,’ using them later as a ‘sleeve,’ to masturbate with.🩸

🔪 Art sometimes fucks you with unconventional objects, like the handle of one of his weapons (knife, axe) or the neck of a bottle. If you’ve displeased him but he still wants to fuck you, he might deny you his cock and instead use something else, like the handle of one of his knives or the barrel of an (empty!) gun, to make you come instead of his cock, as a degrading ‘punishment.’🩸

🔪 Art loves bondage. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to tying knots, as evidenced by the multiple victims you’ve watched him restrain. He enjoys the power dynamic of being in absolute control of another person. When that crosses over into sex, you both get off on him tying you up and doing whatever the fuck he wants with your body.🩸

🔪 Art’s methods can border on sadistic at times (I mean how could they not??) but because he wants to keep you around to play with for the long haul, he never pushes you beyond the limits of safety, no matter how many new ways he comes up with to plug every hole in your body. If we know anything about Art, it’s that he’s perceptive. He studies the way your body responds to different forms of stimulation and mentally catalogs the information for later. All of his skill in crafting tools of torture means he’s able to create customized ‘toys,’ to fuck you with. But the thing is, they’re never normal, or sweet; they always contain something fucked-up and sick. Art once surprised you with a whip he’d put together for you. Its strands were soft and felt so good gliding over your clit. You came so hard when Art whipped your pussy till it was puffy and leaking. It would have been a wonderful gift, if you hadn’t realized later, upon closer inspection, that the strands now wet with your cum were in fact strands of human hair. And the custom dildo Art made for you, the one that was so smooth and colored beige/white? You later found out Art had chiseled and smoothed down a human bone to make it for you. The information almost made you sick on the spot. Art found your horrified reaction hilarious, of course, and it didn’t stop him from laying you down and fucking you with it all the same…🩸

🔪 ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL …

He loves to fuck you in the ass. Art’s a nasty little motherfucker when it comes to the stuff that comes out of butts, and I’m not gonna elaborate here, but you can use your imagination to follow where I’m going with this…🩸

🔪 Art has zero inhibitions: he kills anyone, anywhere. Imagine that relating to sex; of course he’s going to fuck you wherever he wants, including places where you might get caught. Sex in public/risky spaces feels natural to Art, because he literally does not give a single fuck. Remember the first time you ever saw him? When you stumbled out the back door of that sleazy little bar in your home town, so drunk off your ass you thought you were leaving through the front? Art was in the alleyway behind the bar, black garbage bag hoisted over his shoulder, not even looking for anyone to fuck up but when he saw you, he knew he’d found a victim for the night. He’d planned to stalk you home and do unspeakable things to you-but as you took the lead and approached him, there in the alleyway, he was caught off guard, his whole plan upended the moment you slid your arms around his waist, stood up on your tiptoes, and placed a soft, sloppy kiss on his cheek. He was awestruck, and even if he could speak, Art would still have been at a loss for words. You walked him backward a few steps, lining him up against a dumpster in the alleyway. You began fondling him through his costume, grinning when you realized his body had already begun to respond. One thing led to another, and within minutes, Art had you bent over that dumpster, with a fresh hole torn in the front of his costume where your bodies were joined…🩸

🔪 No one would associate The Miles County Clown with tenderness, but if they knew Art, they would see a softer side of him only you do. He’s still fucking deranged, don’t get me wrong. But Art also has moments of vulnerability, when there’s nothing he wants more than to hold you. Sitting in Art’s lap, he wraps his arms around you and stays still, so still, just enjoying the soft thump of your heartbeat against his, and the low hum of your breath on his chest. Your nearness calms the monster inside Art so well that sometimes, he forgets he is the monster itself…🩸

🔪 Another benefit of having you in his lap? Art realized he could use his strength to make you stay in his lap no matter how badly you had to get up and take a piss, forcing you to wet yourself all over him. You felt him gradually getting hard under you as you began to wriggle on his lap. Art could see your discomfort, and when you told him you needed to get up and take a piss, he refused to release you. You’d expect him to be smiling at you at a time like this, silently mocking you; but the look in his eyes was deathly serious, pitch black and full of a demented lust that would have had you locked you in place even if his arms hadn’t. Blushing into his shoulder, you accepted the fact that Art wasn’t letting go of you any time soon, and that he really was into this. He wanted this to happen. You allowed your bladder to empty, a soft trickle saturating your panties, followed by a steady stream of hot piss that spread over Art’s lap. His clothes were soaked through below the waist, your piss running down between his thighs and dampening the couch cushion beneath you. Art was rock hard by this point, his wet cock throbbing against your pussy. He lifted you off his lap just enough to reach between your bodies and position his tip against your entrance, then used your piss as a lube to slide inside you…🩸

[yzzart]

Hii, I just watched the anime and I was obsessed with Dante's demonic form 👀 could you write something that has him in this transformation? I trust your creativity!

⋆˚࿔ ARM ON FIRE, VEINS BURNING RED..! ── HEADCANONS

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: references to anime, mention of Devil Trigger and Enzo, reader making puns, light content.

⭑.ᐟ Okay, you should start getting used to, it seemed, your boyfriend's new appearance; — or rather, transformation — it was merely a matter of keeping calm. — Acting like the most normal thing that could happen; and you really took your little “goal” seriously.

⤷ Of course, your boyfriend, now nearly 3 meters tall, besides the huge red wings and horns, was still the same; nothing had changed. — Well, just his temper, but sometimes. — He continued with his terrible jokes, that was the focus.

⭑.ᐟ It was all kind of new to him; Dante didn't know how to properly control or learn to resist his transformation; however, it wouldn't be that complicated, it could take time, obviously, but he wouldn't stop delving deeper. — you, too, would join in during his “learning” — And, honestly, that damn hunter was enjoying it.

⤷ He didn't mind you comparing him to that red bird from “Angry Birds,” because of his reddish and black coloring; and, to make matters worse, Enzo laughed with tears in his eyes, repeating your words. — Oh, he was dating a comedian and didn't know it.

⭑.ᐟ Whenever there was a chance, Dante would poke you, caress you, with his big wings; after gaining your attention, he would welcome her, embrace your body, keeping you as close to him as possible. — He liked doing this, more than he should, actually. — You had never felt so much safety, care, security in your life; never at all.

⤷ Dante had no idea — it was on purpose, and you knew it — of the size he had become during his transformation; he acted as if nothing had changed, not his weight, his height, nothing. — So, it was normal that, while his devil trigger was activated, your boyfriend covered your body with his long, strong arms, squeezing your skin with his claws, accompanied by his wings; by the gods, you had disappeared among that demon. — It was as if you were a simple and mere plush toy.

⭑.ᐟ Dante felt a little strange, perhaps, desolate; although he enjoyed the new adrenaline, learning to have fun with his skills, he couldn't help but feel that unusual, unusual feeling in his chest. — In few situations, he could be honest, sincere with his own feelings; something he also learned to deal with. — He didn't want to show it to anyone, he hated feeling so vulnerable.

⤷ However, that half-demon could not, nor would he dare, lie to you; nor let things pass under your nose. — His eyes, now that had obtained a yellowish coloration, together with an orange one, reflecting lava, conveyed his true thoughts.

⭑.ᐟ Oh, if Dante thinks he's earned the title of greatest amateur comedian or best punner — a title he invented — he's finally gained a competitor; you've elevated your creativity since his first devil trigger.

⤷ Come on, he was losing his biggest role and profession of his life; it sounded so ridiculous, but Dante took it seriously. — Even Enzo started to cheer, laughing at your puns.

“Did you know that demons love's first class? They say it’s devilish luxurious!” — Dante wondered how he hadn’t thought of this before.

“Why don’t demons need jet fuel?” — You questioned, trying to contain your laughter, biting your lips, like a child planning a prank; Dante, tilting his horns towards you, knew what was coming.

“Why, cutie?” — ​​His tone of voice, a little altered, more hoarse and serious, exclaimed in your ears.

“Cause’ they run on pure evil energy..!”

“Please, stop trying to steal my work.”

[svt-luna]

𝜗℘ DRIVE YOU INSANE

❛ 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺. 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺. 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪'𝘮 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦— 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶— 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰. ❜

timeline: 2025

synopsis: After weeks of mutual teasing and denial, Jeonghan and Luna’s secret plan to surprise each other with bold hairstyle changes ignites a night of explosive passion, proving they know exactly how to drive each other insane.

wc: 17.7k

warnings: 18+ mdni, mature content, sexual content, smut, cursing, sexual tension, flirting, pet names, some domestic moment before the craziness, piv sex, unprotected sex (girly pop is on birth control), teasing, dirty talk, degradation, bratty!Luna, soft dom!Jeonghan, Jeonghan is mean af, implications of a threesome, edging, oral sex, cunnilingus, fingering, blowjob, hair pulling, dry humping, riding, choking, spit play, they are both freaky af, pure filth!

i know it’s been awhile since i wrote smut so please excuse me. i also apologize for taking so long to write another smut 😩 this was requested by majority of you guys when i opened these polls (poll 1) & (poll 2). i also want to remind everyone to please read the warnings and the disclaimers— i don’t need anyone commenting or messaging me acting like saints as if they were blind to the handful of disclaimers and warnings i have before explicit contents. other than that, enjoy!

Disclaimer: The following chapter contains explicit sexual content and mature themes. It is intended for adult readers only. If you are under the legal age or find these subjects uncomfortable, it is advised for you to refrain from reading further. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

Luna started it.

Well… technically, Jeonghan started it.

But if anyone were to ask how this entire thing spiraled, she’d probably say, “He started it,” only to follow it up with an eye roll and a mumbled, “Okay, fine. I started it.”

She never meant to provoke Jeonghan… but she did.

Oh, she absolutely did.

She knew she did.

She knew it the second the thought crossed her mind— knew it from the very moment she said the words out loud— and yet, she still did it.

She wasn’t slick. Not even a little. She wanted a reaction from her fiancé.

And that’s exactly what she got.

It all started with a normal schedule.

A typical day in the life of Luna.

She had been offered a new photoshoot, one of many in the past few months— but this time, it was for Cosmopolitan magazine. She accepted the offer like she always did, gracefully, with gratitude, thanking the magazine’s editorial team and promptly sitting down with her own styling and management teams to discuss the shoot.

They bounced around concepts, discussed moods and color palettes, and swapped reference photos for poses and lighting.

Nothing was out of the ordinary. It was just a shoot. Another one she’d file into her endless archive.

But then… the creative team dropped the concept: sexy and couture. High fashion, daring, sultry. They wanted something new. Something bold. Something from her they hadn’t seen before.

That’s when her hairstylist lit up, practically jumping with excitement.

“Let’s do a hair color change!” her head stylist said immediately, clapping her hands together like she’d been waiting for this very moment. “Something fiery… something fierce… What do you think, Jiyeon-ah?”

Luna hesitated.

Unlike most idols— or even her own members— Luna rarely bleached or dyed her hair.

Since debut, she had only gone for bold colors a handful of times. While the others jumped from platinum blond to pastel pink, from icy blue to silvery grey, Luna remained grounded in her earthy tones: dark brown, jet black, soft chocolate— sometimes she’d go blonde. Occasionally she would play with wigs— high-quality ones custom-made for her head size— but that was usually the extent of her transformation.

Wigs were easier. Faster. Less painful.

Her natural hair? That was sacred ground. Which was one of the main reasons why her hair wasn’t dead yet— it was healthy as ever and she’d like to keep it that way.

Because of this, Luna dyeing her hair had become a phenomenon.

An inside joke, even.

Colored Hair Luna was like a rare Pokémon— rarely seen, deeply desired.

Fans had begged and pleaded for her to go pink, white, blue, anything for years. Every time a comeback would drop, hashtags like #LunaHairChange trended in multiple countries, only for her to appear on screen with the same silky black strands.

It was hilarious, really.

So when her stylist began talking about colors and looked ready to pull out the wig catalog, Luna simply leaned back in her seat, lips curled in an unreadable smirk.

“I want to go red,” she blurted, calm and decisive.

Everyone paused.

Her stylist blinked. “You mean… like a wig? Yeah! You haven’t d–”

“No,” Luna said smoothly, voice confident and clear. “I want to dye my hair this time.”

Her team collectively straightened in their seats.

“I want it to be dark red— wine red,” Luna continued, eyes glittering with a plan. “Just like my hair during ‘Rock With You’. Exactly like that.”

Her head stylist looked stunned for a second before she nodded, already thinking logistics. “We can prep the swatches and check the damage level of your strands. If it gets too intense, we’ll stick with the wig route—”

“No need,” Luna interrupted, shaking her head firmly. “I want to dye it. Properly. No wig.”

Her stylist sat back, brows raising, and Luna just smirked to herself as her manager scribbled things into the schedule.

And that’s when it started.

Because Luna knew exactly what she was doing.

The red hair wasn’t for the concept.

The red hair wasn’t for Cosmopolitan.

It was for Jeonghan.

Because her fiancé had been testing her patience for weeks.

Ever since his enlistment began and he was assigned to social work duties, Jeonghan had fallen into a strict 9 to 5 schedule. By the time he got home, he was drained— physically and mentally— and Luna understood that.

Of course she did.

She never blamed him for being tired. She let him sleep in, made his meals on the weekdays when her schedule allows her and on weekends, didn’t pressure him when his body craved rest instead of affection.

But.

She was a woman. A woman in love. A woman with needs.

And lately, Jeonghan had been ignoring those needs.

With a damn smile, no less.

Whenever she tried to initiate anything even remotely steamy, he’d gently push her away, kiss her on the forehead, and whisper that stupid line—

“I’m tired, my moon.”

And then, always, always, the smirk.

He thought she didn’t notice it.

That tiny quirk of his mouth. That mischievous gleam in his eyes. The way he’d saunter off as if he didn’t just leave her hot and bothered and burning.

The worst part? He enjoyed it.

He was testing her. Teasing her. Playing his long, slow, evil game.

One time, she had leaned against him, fingers slipping under his shirt, nails brushing against his abdomen— and just when his breath hitched, he caught her hands, shook his head like a teacher scolding a child, and said, “Nope. Not tonight, baby.” Before smirking.

Another time, she kissed down his jawline, whispered all sorts of filthy little promises in his ear, and just when she thought she got to him, he cupped her cheeks gently between his palms, kissed the tip of her nose, and said, “Tired, Nana-ya.”

Smirking.

Every single time.

Well.

That was about to change.

Because if Jeonghan wanted to play with fire, Luna was going to set the whole house ablaze.

And finally after days of waiting— it was officially shoot day.

The first light of Saturday morning filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room where Jeonghan and Luna lay entwined in slumber.

Their bodies were a tangle of limbs beneath the cozy duvet. Jeonghan’s head rested in the crook of Luna’s neck, his warm breath fanning over her skin with each rhythmic exhale. His arm draped possessively over her waist, anchoring her to him even in sleep.

Since Jeonghan’s enlistment, a subtle shift had occurred in their daily routine. Luna had taken it upon herself to rise earlier than him, ensuring he had a hearty breakfast before his demanding days. Even on weekends, when his schedule was mercifully clear, she found solace in maintaining this ritual— a small act that tethered her to a sense of normalcy amidst the changes.

As the morning light grew brighter, Luna’s eyes fluttered open. She remained still for a moment, savoring the warmth of Jeonghan’s body pressed against hers, the steady cadence of his heartbeat a comforting melody against her back. A soft smile graced her lips as she gently traced her fingers over the arm encircling her waist, committing the sensation to memory.

Carefully, she began to disentangle herself from his embrace. The movement was slow, deliberate, each shift calculated to avoid disturbing his slumber.

Yet, Jeonghan was a notoriously light sleeper. As soon as she attempted to slip away, his hold tightened instinctively, a low, groggy murmur escaping his lips.

“Baby…” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, the sound vibrating softly against her skin.

Turning to face him, Luna cupped his face tenderly, her thumbs brushing over his jawline. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“Shh,” she whispered soothingly. “Go back to sleep, Han. You need the rest.”

Jeonghan’s eyes remained closed, but a contented sigh escaped him as he nuzzled deeper into her touch.

Luna continued to stroke his hair, her fingers threading through the silky strands, occasionally pressing feather-light kisses to his forehead and cheeks.

Gradually, his breathing evened out, signaling his descent back into restful sleep.

Satisfied, Luna carefully extricated herself from his embrace, ensuring the duvet remained snug around him. She stood, pausing for a moment to watch the serene expression on his face before tiptoeing out of the bedroom.

In the bathroom, she went through her morning routine with practiced efficiency— washing her face, brushing her teeth, and tying her hair up into a loose bun. The cool water invigorated her senses, preparing her for the day ahead.

With one last glance at her reflection, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

The house was enveloped in a tranquil silence, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards beneath her feet.

Luna moved with quiet purpose, gathering ingredients to prepare a traditional Korean breakfast. She decided on miyeok guk— seaweed soup.

She soaked the dried seaweed in water, watching as it expanded and softened. In a pot, she sautéed thin slices of beef with minced garlic until the meat browned and released its savory aroma. Adding the rehydrated seaweed, she poured in water, allowing the mixture to simmer and meld into a flavorful broth. A dash of soy sauce and a pinch of salt completed the seasoning.

As the soup simmered, Luna prepared a pot of steamed rice, the grains cooking to fluffy perfection. She arranged an assortment of side dishes— including kimchi, seasoned spinach, and pickled radish, adding color and variety to the meal.

The kitchen filled with the comforting scents of home-cooked food, wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

About thirty minutes later, as she ladled the soup into bowls, Luna’s keen ears picked up the almost imperceptible sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Jeonghan was attempting to be stealthy, but she knew his movements all too well.

The faint padding of his feet ceased just as she felt his presence lingering near the doorway.

Without turning around, a playful smirk tugged at her lips. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me?” she inquired, her tone light and teasing.

A soft chuckle resonated from the doorway. “With hearing like yours, it’s no wonder I can’t surprise you,” Jeonghan quipped, his voice a melodic blend of amusement and affection.

Finally turning to face him, Luna found him leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants. His hair was tousled from sleep, and a lazy smile played on his lips.

“Dolphin,” he teased, referencing her acute hearing— a nickname he’d bestowed upon her, much to her chagrin.

Rolling her eyes with a chuckle, Luna shook her head. “You were just loud,” she retorted, returning her attention to the meal.

Jeonghan pushed off the doorframe, his bare feet making no sound as he crossed the kitchen to stand behind her. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her gently against his chest. The warmth of his body seeped through the thin fabric of her shirt, eliciting a contented sigh from her.

“You always take such good care of me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Jeonghan’s hands were warm against the curve of her waist, fingers splayed over the thin cotton of her sleep shirt as he lazily traced idle patterns with his thumbs.

Luna continued to stir the soup, refusing to let his presence distract her too easily— even if the feel of him behind her, loose and clingy, already made her heart flutter.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmured again, this time lower, closer to her ear. “It’s almost unfair how well you know me.”

“You say that like I don’t have more than ten years of experience,” she mused, trying to keep her voice light, though his lips grazing her ear sent a shiver right down her spine.

“Mmm… more than ten years and counting.” He dipped his head lower, his nose brushing the side of her neck. “Still doesn’t explain how you can hear my footsteps from the hallway like some kind of sonar assassin.”

“Maybe I’m just that good,” she replied casually, using a ladle to stir the soup once more. “You forget I actually have superpowers while you… a failed ninja.”

Jeonghan chuckled, his breath teasing the fine hairs on her neck. “You mean a sexy ninja.”

Luna huffed out a laugh, shaking her head with a smile as she replied, “A clumsy one, at best.”

His arms tightened around her waist in mock offense, but his teasing never ceased. “You wound me,” he muttered dramatically before placing a slow, deliberate kiss just beneath her jawline.

She hummed under her breath, a warning and a dare in one. “Hannie…”

But Jeonghan pretended not to hear it— or, more accurately, he chose not to care.

His lips trailed along her skin with unhurried affection, brushing over her neck, down the slope of her shoulder. He eased her shirt collar aside just slightly with the tip of his nose, exposing more skin to his wandering mouth.

Soft, innocent kisses turned into gentle nips. A tender bite at the edge of her collarbone made her flinch slightly. His tongue followed, smoothing over the sting, and she exhaled slowly through her nose, gripping the wooden spoon in her hand a little tighter.

“Yoon Jeonghan…” she warned again, this time quieter, shakier, a low breath caught between amusement and restraint.

He just hummed in acknowledgment, still not listening. His mouth continued its lazy exploration, alternating between lips, teeth, and tongue. His movements were slow, teasing, nonchalant— like he had all the time in the world to taste her skin and none of the intention to stop.

“You’re distracting me,” Luna said, her voice a little strained now as she tried to focus on the soup and not the warm mouth driving her mad.

“That’s the point,” Jeonghan murmured against her clavicle. “You’re too good at multitasking anyway. I’m just evening the playing field.”

She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see it, biting down a smirk as she said, “You’re such a menace.”

“I try.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know,” he said smugly, nipping once more at the sensitive skin just above the curve of her shoulder, eliciting a soft gasp from her.

Luna doesn’t know if Jeonghan was just testing her patience once more so that he can pull away and piss her off or he finally gave up the chase… nonetheless… she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

She pressed her lips together, determined not to let him get to her, not yet— not when her plan was already in motion.

Jeonghan didn’t know it, but today, he wouldn’t get to win the game he started.

Not until she came back home. Not until tonight. Not until after the shoot, when she’d walk through the front door with a brand new hair color that she knew would absolutely wreck him.

Not until she was the one to leave him speechless.

So she bit back her laugh, steadied her breath, and finally turned off the heat, the soup now perfectly done.

Without warning, she stepped out of his arms, smoothly gliding out of his grip and walking over to the table with quiet purpose.

She didn’t look back, but she knew he was watching her. Could feel the weight of his gaze crawling down her back.

“You gonna keep staring or are you going to help me set the table?” she asked casually, placing the dishes down, a hidden smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Jeonghan blinked, once, twice, his mouth slightly ajar as he processed the sudden shift. “…Right. Breakfast,” he muttered, finally moving, still watching her like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

She didn’t rush him. Just hummed to herself, soft and nonchalant as she arranged everything with practiced ease.

Jeonghan returned a few seconds later with the chopsticks and spoons, setting them down in neat pairs. He slid into the chair across from her, still eyeing her with mild suspicion as she poured them both a cup of water.

“Something’s different about you today,” he said finally, narrowing his eyes at her.

Luna shrugged, picking up her spoon. “It’s the photoshoot. I’m excited.”

“You’ve had shoots before.”

“Not a Cosmopolitan cover shoot.”

“Fair,” he conceded, picking up his spoon. “So, what’s the schedule like?”

She smiled and stirred her soup gently. “Pretty straightforward. I have to be there by 10. Makeup, hair, wardrobe— the whole prep process will probably take two hours. The actual shoot is set for the afternoon, maybe three to four hours depending on how quickly we get the shots. I should be back by early evening if everything goes smoothly.”

Jeonghan chewed slowly, nodding thoughtfully. “So dinner time?”

“Maybe a little before,” she said, sipping on her soup. “But yeah, dinner’s safe.”

“Good. I’ll wait.”

She arched a brow at him. “You make it sound like I’m going off to war.”

“You kind of are,” he said, lips quirking. “Fashion war. Lights, cameras, fake smiles and all.”

“Oh, I’ll be smiling alright,” she said, voice breezy as she dipped her spoon again. “Just not fake.”

He gave her a suspicious look. “You’re hiding something.”

“Me?” she blinked innocently. “Never.”

“Jiyeon-ah…”

She giggled into her spoon. “What about you? What are your grand plans today?”

Jeonghan shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he picked at his rice. “Nothing crazy. I’m yours for the day. No schedules, no plans. Just gonna chill. Might read, nap, annoy you with texts until you come home.”

“You sound like a golden retriever.”

“Better than a dolphin,” he shot back with a wink.

She snorted. “Okay, that one’s fair.”

There was a lull in the conversation as they both ate for a moment, the quiet comfortable. But Jeonghan’s eyes kept drifting back to her, narrowing slightly, like he was trying to read between the lines of her calm exterior.

Like he could sense something was coming— but not quite place it.

And Luna? She just kept eating her soup, smiling to herself with every spoonful.

Because tonight, she knew exactly what she was coming home with.

And Jeonghan?

He had no idea.

The clinking of silverware and quiet chatter faded into the background as breakfast came to a close. Jeonghan had washed the dishes without being asked— though with dramatic flair and playful complaints— while Luna disappeared into the bedroom to get ready.

The minutes ticked on, and Jeonghan stayed nearby, pacing around the living room with his phone in hand, every few seconds glancing toward the hallway where she was.

When Luna finally stepped out, dressed comfortably in wide-leg jeans and a white button-down tucked at the waist, her hair pulled into a low bun for the salon prep, Jeonghan immediately zeroed in on her. His lips formed an exaggerated pout as he crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps.

“Do you really have to go?” he drawled, wrapping both arms around her the second she was within reach.

“Yes,” Luna said with a sigh, draping her arms around his shoulders. “You’ve asked me that three times already.”

“I thought maybe the answer would change,” he murmured, burying his face in the side of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. “Just stay. Call in sick. We’ll lie in bed all day and watch bad dramas.”

“You hate bad dramas.”

“I’d suffer through them for you.”

She chuckled softly, trying not to melt into him. “It’s Cosmopolitan, Jeonghan. I’m not missing this shoot.”

He groaned dramatically and pulled her even closer, his hands splayed across her lower back. “You’re so cruel to me. Leaving me all alone in this cold, heartless house.”

“It’s literally twenty-two degrees inside.”

“My heart’s colder without you, Nana-ya,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” she said with a firm laugh, “if I don’t leave in the next five minutes, I will be late, and I’ll blame it entirely on you.”

He leaned back just enough to look at her, brows drawn like a child being scolded. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.” Her voice softened, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. “You can wait a few hours, right?”

Jeonghan tilted his head into her touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”

“I know,” she whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

He kissed her back slowly, savoring it, like it might need to last him all day. His hands refused to let her go, tightening around her waist until she gently tapped his shoulder in warning.

“Han…” she muttered against his lips, a mix of amused and stern. “I’m serious.”

“Just one more,” he murmured, stealing another kiss, then another— until she laughed into it and pushed at his chest.

“Okay, okay, I’m going!”

“Cruel woman,” he muttered again with a reluctant sigh, finally letting her go as she backed away toward the door.

Luna paused at the entrance, slipping on her shoes and turning to blow him a quick kiss. “Text you when I get there!”

“You better,” he called after her. “And don’t forget— I want updates! Pictures! Selfies! Live commentary!”

“I love you!” she replied with a laugh, ignoring the last part completely.

“I love you too… but– Jiyeonie!”

But she was already out the door.

Thankfully Luna arrived on set right on time, just as the stylists were setting up and the production crew began final lighting checks. The studio smelled like hot lights and hairspray— familiar, sterile, and oddly comforting. Stylists welcomed her with warm greetings and she was ushered to the styling station in the back corner where the magic would begin.

But today wasn’t like other shoots. Today, she wasn’t just getting her makeup done or hair curled.

Today, she was changing everything.

“Ready?” the hairstylist asked as Luna sat down in the black leather chair.

She caught her own reflection in the mirror— bare-faced, calm, but undeniably excited. “Let’s do it.”

The stylist pulled on gloves and began mixing the bleach, the sharp chemical scent hitting Luna’s nose almost instantly. She blinked, the smell both foreign and achingly nostalgic.

It had been years since she’d bleached her hair. Back then, it was just business. This time, it was personal.

As the bleach was applied, it burned. Not unbearably— but enough to make her scalp tingle and her eyes water just slightly.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t complain.

Luna’s pettiness was stronger than the sting.

Jeonghan deserved this surprise.

She imagined his face when he saw her later. How his breath would hitch. How he’d probably go quiet. Or maybe say something infuriatingly flirty just to hide how hard he was staring.

That image alone kept her rooted in the chair, even as the bleach sat and processed, lightening her strands to a pale gold.

After rinsing and drying, the red dye was mixed— rich, deep, and dark like a full glass of wine under candlelight.

As they applied the color, she couldn’t stop the giddy flutter in her chest. This wasn’t just for the shoot. This was her own kind of rebellion. Her statement. Her secret gift to the man waiting at home.

By the time it was rinsed and styled, she was a completely different Luna in the mirror.

Blood-red hair tumbled past her shoulders in soft, styled waves, the color catching the studio lights like fire in motion.

She grinned. Perfect.

She was moved to makeup next, where the team worked quickly to match her new hair with bold choices— warm-toned eyeshadow, thick lashes, and a glossy red-brown lip.

Every minute brought her closer to showtime, but as she sat idle in the chair, she took out her phone and messaged the one person who mattered most.

luna: Almost done with hair and makeup.

Jeonghan’s reply was immediate.

angel boy: Show me.

She grinned.

luna: It’s a surprise, my love

angel boy: Just one photo. Please?

luna: Nope. You’ll see tonight.

angel boy: You’re killing me, Jiyeonie

luna: You’ll live.

angel boy: I’m literally dying. My soul is leaving my body.

Luna giggled, biting her lip as the stylist applied highlighter to her cheekbones.

luna: Be patient, pretty boy.

angel boy: You’re evil. Gorgeous and evil.

luna: You love me.

angel boy: …

angel boy: Damn right I do.

She locked her phone with a smug little smile just as the stylist finished her last touch-up.

Then, it was time.

The set was vast and dynamic, decked out in sleek props and dramatic lighting. There were racks of designer clothes on one side— Miu Miu, Saint Laurent, and Valentino— all selected specifically for this cover shoot.

Luna slipped into each look one by one, letting the stylists fasten, zip, and adjust every detail.

A black silk gown with a low neckline. A red structured suit with exaggerated shoulders. A white dress draped in crystals.

Her new hair framed her face like art, cascading down her back or thrown over one shoulder with every outfit change. The photographer guided her into poses, but Luna didn’t need much instruction— her body moved on instinct, like she’d been born for this. Every turn of her head, every glance over her shoulder, every soft parting of her lips was deliberate.

The camera loved her.

And she knew her fiancé would too.

As the flashbulbs burst and the stylists cooed in approval, Luna only thought of one thing— Wait till he sees this.

By the time the final photo was taken and the camera shutter gave its last snap, Luna was buzzing.

The Cosmopolitan team applauded her with genuine admiration, and more than one stylist gushed about how the red hair had transformed the shoot.

“You really brought it to life,” the photographer had said, shaking her hand with a wide grin. “This is going to be one hell of a cover.”

To top it all off, the fashion director— impressed by her professionalism and poise— offered her a surprise token of appreciation: “You get to pick one look from today’s shoot to keep. Anything you want.”

Without a second thought, she chose the little black dress. Elegant yet minimalistic, with a backless curve that dipped just low enough to tease without screaming for attention.

Luna thought of Jeonghan immediately when she saw herself in it.

Everything was going her way.

Her hair still curled in soft waves down her back, makeup perfectly intact even after hours under the lights. With her little black dress on, her heels clicking on the studio floor, Luna exited the building with the kind of satisfaction that came from knowing the day was hers.

The drive home was quiet— just her and the soft hum of the car, fingers occasionally brushing through the blood-red strands that now framed her face. Her lips curled every time she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror.

She imagined Jeonghan’s face the second he laid eyes on her.

God, he’s going to lose it.

When she finally pulled up to their house, the sun had dipped low behind the horizon. The sky was painted in strokes of lavender and dusk-blue, casting the house in a golden glow. She eased the car into the garage, careful with the dress bag slung over the passenger seat, and shut the engine off.

Her heels clicked against the garage floor, muffled when she stepped into the house. The front door closed behind her with a soft thud, and immediately, she noticed how still everything was. No sound of the TV, no clattering in the kitchen.

“Hannie?” she called out. “I’m home!”

Silence for a beat.

Then—

“In here!” his voice called out faintly, muffled by distance. “Bedroom!”

Luna giggled to herself, already picturing him sprawled out like a cat, refusing to move even though he’d probably been waiting all day for her. She dropped her handbag on the couch and kicked off her heels near the entryway with a sigh of relief. Fingers ruffling through her curls to fluff them up, she dashed up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time like a schoolgirl with a secret.

At the top, she slowed her pace, heart beating faster— not from the stairs, but anticipation. She reached their bedroom and leaned against the doorway, one shoulder pressed into the frame.

There he was.

Jeonghan was sprawled out on their bed in a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, ankles crossed and phone held lazily in both hands above his chest. His head rested on a pillow, his hair slightly tousled as if he’d just woken up from a nap.

“Seriously,” he was saying mid-sentence, without looking up. “I’m hurt you didn’t send me pictures, Nana-ya. You’ve been suspiciously secretive all day, and I’m starting to think—”

He stopped.

His eyes flicked toward the movement in his peripheral.

And when he saw the color red.

Jeonghan’s head snapped to the side so fast, Luna swore it nearly detached from his neck.

Their eyes met.

Luna smirked. One eyebrow raised, lips curled into a smile far too smug to be innocent.

Jeonghan sat up instantly, phone dropping to the mattress as his eyes trailed over her slowly, deliberately, from head to toe.

He blinked once.

Twice.

Then—

“Holy fucking shit, Bae Jiyeon.”

Luna giggled.

“What the— fuck, Jiyeon-ah— holy mother of fuck,” Jeonghan whispered like he was talking to himself, his mouth hanging open as he took her in. “You— what— fuck, you’re gonna kill me. What is wrong with you?”

She stood there wearing the little black dress. It hugged her like it was sewn onto her body, dipping low in the back and hugging the curves of her hips like second skin. Her red hair spilled over her shoulders like wine, glowing under the bedroom light. She had one hand resting on her hip, the other pushing her hair off to one side with a soft flip that made his jaw clench.

“Is this why you wouldn’t send me a photo?” he said, still stunned, running a hand down his face. “God, you’re unreal.”

“Mm,” she hummed, pushing off the doorframe and stepping further into the room with slow, deliberate steps. “You were being impatient.”

“You teased me all day, and then you show up looking like that?” Jeonghan pointed at her like she’d personally offended him. “That’s illegal. That should be illegal… God– you should be illegal.”

Luna laughed, moving closer to the edge of the bed. “You like it?”

“Like it?” he scoffed. “You look like a Bond girl who just killed the villain, stole the diamonds, and is walking out of the fire without a scratch.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Damn.” He sat up straighter, elbows resting on his knees now as he leaned forward to get a better look. “I mean— I can’t even look at you directly right now. That shade of red? That dress? That smug little look on your face? I’m actually losing my mind.”

She swayed her hips a little, standing just out of reach. “Good.”

Jeonghan groaned like he was in pain. “You’re actually evil.”

Luna tilted her head. “And yet you love me.”

“Painfully.”

They locked eyes for a long moment.

Then—

“That better not be a wig, baby,” Jeonghan said suddenly, voice low and serious. “I swear, if you ripped that off your head right now, I’d actually cry.”

Luna burst out laughing, one hand on her stomach. “It’s not a wig!”

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

“Let me pull on it.”

Yoon Jeonghan was dead serious.

“You can, if you want,” she said, inching even closer until she stood right between his knees. “Go ahead. Confirm it yourself.”

He looked up at her, still in disbelief. “You did this for me?”

“I did this for me,” she said, voice softening. “But also… yeah. I knew you’d lose it— that was the plan.”

“Oh, I’ve lost it,” Jeonghan muttered, reaching up to toy with the ends of her hair, eyes never leaving hers. “I’m never going to be normal again.”

Their chemistry sparked like a lit fuse, electric and heavy in the air. She stood there with a proud little smirk while he looked up at her like she’d personally rewritten his definition of beauty.

“You look insane, Nana-ya.”

She raised a brow, smug. “Drive-you-insane insane?”

“Drive-me-to-church-and-pray-for-forgiveness insane.”

She laughed, leaning down a little, their faces inches apart. “You sure you can handle this?”

Jeonghan grinned slowly, hands slipping up the sides of her thighs. “I’m the only one that can handle you, angel face.”

Their breaths mingled in the space between them, the tension simmering, unspoken, but felt in the air— thick and magnetic.

Neither moved. Neither needed to. Not yet.

Because this wasn’t just a reveal.

It was the beginning of something far more dangerous.

The kind of danger that made your heart race and your breath hitch.

The kind that made you feel alive.

Jeonghan's hands slid up her thighs, fingers tracing the edge of her dress, inching closer to the apex. Luna felt her body respond, a shiver running down her spine as her nipples hardened under the thin fabric. She knew he could see the effect he had on her, the way her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered shut.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "You're so goddamn beautiful."

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze.

"You're not going to touch me?" she teased, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan's eyes darkened, a wicked glint in them. "Oh, I'm going to touch you, my love. I'm just enjoying the view first."

His hands moved higher, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She gasped, her body arching slightly as a wave of pleasure washed over her. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down her spine.

Jeonghan’s fingers glided up the sleek curve of Luna’s spine with maddening slowness, like he had all the time in the world to savor this— because he did.

Luna was finally home, finally in front of him, in that dress with that hair, and Jeonghan didn’t care if the world outside came to a halt; he wasn’t letting this moment rush past him.

The pads of his fingers ghosted over the nape of her neck before slipping into her freshly dyed, wine-red hair— so rich, so vibrant it glinted like blood in the low bedroom light.

His touch was reverent at first, delicate even, but then his fingers tightened into a gentle fist, gripping the strands and tugging with just enough force to test it.

Her scalp tingled, and a teasing smirk painted her lips when her hair held firm.

“Told you,” she murmured smugly, eyes glinting with mischief.

Jeonghan groaned, deep from his throat, and his head fell back dramatically. “Fuck,” he cursed like he was being punished, like her existence in that moment was a sin he gladly wanted to be ruined by.

And before Luna could shoot back a reply, Jeonghan’s hand slid to her jaw, guiding her face to his with a kind of desperation that stole the breath from her lungs.

Their mouths crashed together, lips molding perfectly like two puzzle pieces that had always belonged. It wasn’t a soft kiss. It was urgent, consuming, a week’s worth of tension and teasing combusting all at once.

Luna’s hands flew up to clutch his shoulders, nails digging lightly into the muscle there as he pulled her with him, sliding her up the bed without ever breaking the kiss. She gasped into his mouth when her knees straddled his lap, and Jeonghan took full advantage, slipping his tongue between her lips to taste the lingering sweetness of her lip gloss and something distinctly her— a flavor he was sure he’d never get tired of.

“Fuck—” he whispered against her mouth, one hand gripping her waist tightly while the other remained tangled in her hair. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

Luna let out a shaky breath, her forehead pressed against his as she smiled through half-lidded eyes. “Pretty sure I do,” she whispered, nipping at his bottom lip playfully.

He growled at that, deep and low, his hips shifting beneath her slightly. “This what you wanted, huh?” he muttered, lips brushing the corner of her mouth. “Dye your hair red, put on that dress, come home smelling like a damn fantasy—”

“All for you,” she murmured, trailing her fingers up the nape of his neck, curling them into his hair. “Only for you, Jeongie.”

Jeonghan kissed her again— hotter, deeper, like he was trying to memorize every angle of her mouth.

Their lips moved in perfect rhythm, soft gasps and slick sounds echoing off the walls of their shared bedroom. His teeth grazed her lip, his tongue swept against hers, and she moaned softly into his mouth, gripping his shoulders tighter.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered in between kisses, letting his lips fall to her jaw, then to the column of her throat where he left open-mouthed kisses, each one trailing hotter than the last.

“And you’re still overdressed,” Luna teased breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slid along the curve of her hips.

Jeonghan chuckled darkly, teeth grazing her skin. “Don’t tempt me,” he warned, voice rough, gravelly, intoxicating. “You already came home looking like a dream and now you’re sitting on my lap talking like that—”

“Talking like what?” she said innocently, tilting his face back up to hers with a finger under his chin.

“Like you don’t know I’ve been going crazy waiting for you all damn day,” he whispered against her lips. “Like you don’t know I’ve been thinking about this since the second you left.”

Luna smiled softly, her expression warming with affection even as her tone stayed playful. “Then I guess you better make up for lost time.”

Jeonghan stared at her for a beat— completely, utterly in awe.

And then he kissed her again.

The kind of kiss that promised trouble. The kind that tasted like devotion, mischief, lust, and love wrapped in one.

Their laughter and whispers tangled in the air as their kiss deepened, as hands explored familiar territory with the kind of reverence that only came from years of knowing each other inside out.

Luna wanted this.

No— she planned for this.

Every second of it, every angle, every strand of her newly dyed hair, every carefully calculated move that led up to her straddling her fiancé in the dim lighting of their shared bedroom— it was deliberate.

She knew exactly what she was doing the second she texted him teasingly from the makeup chair, dodging every single one of his pouty pleas for a photo. She knew it when she slid into that sleek little black dress before leaving the shoot, already hearing his reaction in her head.

And she definitely knew what she was doing the moment she pulled her hair tie off in the garage, letting her freshly curled red hair tumble dramatically over her shoulders like she was the star of her own movie.

This wasn’t just a surprise.

It was payback.

Because Jeonghan had been teasing her mercilessly for weeks.

Touching, flirting, trailing his fingers along her waist when she walked past, whispering filth into her ear at the most inappropriate times, leaning close during dinner just to watch her blush— and yet never letting anything happen.

He’d deny her every time with a smirk and a kiss on the cheek like he wasn’t the one pressing her buttons until she was one second away from combusting.

Yoon Jeonghan knew exactly how to work her up and just as easily how to pull away, like it was all some kind of game.

So she pulled out the big guns.

The last time she dyed her hair wine red, nearly three years ago, it had been for a comeback.

The internet lost its mind— headlines raved about the transformation, fans made edits by the millions, and stylists praised her for the boldness.

But none of them lost their mind the way Jeonghan did.

She remembered it vividly. He saw her walk into the rehearsal room with that freshly dyed hair and went absolutely feral.

He couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop touching. He’d corner her backstage, trail his fingers through her waves, bury his nose in the scent of her shampoo, press lingering kisses to her neck that made it nearly impossible to focus on choreography.

And when they were alone?

Jeonghan was insatiable.

He loved the way her red hair looked wrapped around his fist, the way her moans echoed in the room, and the way her body responded to his every touch. He was insatiable, driven by a primal need to claim her, to mark her, to make her his. He wanted everyone to know that she was his, that she belonged to him.

That hair didn’t even last three weeks.

Luna had to dye it back to black because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He was like a man possessed, and she’d decided, at the time, that her sanity— and their schedules— couldn’t survive that level of chaos again.

But now?

She wanted that chaos.

She wanted him drunk on her.

Desperate.

She wanted him ruined.

So as their mouths tangled again and she shifted in his lap, slowly rolling her hips just enough to feel the sharp inhale he took, Luna smirked against his lips. He groaned into her mouth, and she kissed him harder— deeper, wetter— her fingers curling tighter around the back of his neck.

He was already slipping.

Already losing composure. Good.

That was exactly the point.

She pressed closer, her body melting against his like it was molded for him alone, and when he gasped— his fingers tightening possessively around her hips— Luna let out a breathless little laugh that sent a shiver down his spine.

Her plan was working.

And from the way Jeonghan’s breathing hitched, from the way his fingers twitched like he didn’t know whether to worship her or wreck her, from the way his mouth chased hers like he was starved— she knew he was about to break.

Just like last time.

Just like she wanted.

However, the moment Luna had expected— hoped for, planned for— was completely unraveling, just not in the way she imagined.

Just as she was grinding herself against his lap, feeling the desperate twitch of his muscles beneath her touch, thinking she had the upper hand— Jeonghan chuckled against her lips.

At first it was soft. A breathless chuckle.

Then it grew.

Deep, smooth laughter spilled from his throat like honey, and he threw his head back, eyes crinkled, chest shaking beneath her palms as he laughed in genuine amusement.

Luna blinked. Confused. Still straddling him, lips swollen and breaths fast, she tilted her head. “Why are you laughing, Hannie?” she asked, chuckling, suspicion growing as she furrowing her brows.

“Oh, Nana-ya,” Jeonghan cooed between residual chuckles, voice dipping into that slow, sultry tone that never failed to send heat crawling up her spine. “You’re so desperate for me, my baby. It’s cute.”

Her eyes narrowed instantly. “Excuse me?”

Jeonghan’s smirk turned sinful.

He reached up, brushing his fingers across her cheek, tucking a strand of her crimson hair behind her ear. “I know you more than anyone, Jiyeonie. I know you from the inside out.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow, lips brushing hers in a teasing peck before pulling back just enough to say, “Have you forgotten who taught you all those sneaky tricks, my moon?”

She stared at him, genuinely baffled now. “What sneaky tricks?”

Jeonghan grinned like he had just won a game he’d never agreed to play. He slid his hands behind his head and leaned back against the headboard, letting her sit speechless on his lap like she hadn’t just tried to seduce the soul out of him.

“I knew what you were doing the second you started being all suspicious this morning,” he said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance but very much enjoying himself. “The little smirks. The syrupy voice. Your lingering gaze on me. The sneaky little looks you were giving your phone. You being so excited for your shoot today. Baby, you despise leaving for work early, especially on weekends.”

Luna’s jaw dropped slightly, but Jeonghan wasn’t done.

“And when you refused to send me pictures on set?” He scoffed lightly. “Dead giveaway. You practically flood me pictures of you when you’re out— even without me asking. I could practically hear your thoughts. ‘Let’s drive him crazy today.’ And it almost worked— almost.”

He tilted his head, eyes dancing with wicked delight. “I could tell you were getting desperate. Frustrated. You were practically vibrating with need, pretty girl.”

Still unable to speak, Luna could only gape as Jeonghan leaned back fully, relaxing like he was at a spa instead of holding a flushed, bristling woman on his lap.

Then he smirked. “But…” He dragged out the word slowly, lips curling with pure mischief. “I’m tired, baby.”

That damn line.

Luna’s jaw clenched.

She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or strangle her bitchass fiancé.

Her cheeks turned the same shade as her newly dyed wine-red hair, and she stared at him with such a murderous expression that Jeonghan knew he’d be sleeping with one eye open tonight.

She didn’t even respond. She just scoffed and shoved at his chest hard enough to make him fall back on the bed with a laugh.

She climbed off of him with an angry huff, adjusting the hem of her dress as she stomped toward the door.

“Where you going?” Jeonghan asked through another lazy chuckle.

“I don’t know— maybe go to one of the guys. Maybe one of them can help me,” she snapped.

She was bluffing.

Jeonghan’s grin widened.

“Mingyu, maybe. Or Cheollie. You seem to forget those two liked me at one point.” Luna said angrily.

“Oh, I suggest Cheol, I know we both won’t mind, pretty girl.” Jeonghan drawled, folding his arms behind his head as he watched her storm toward the doorway. “Not Mingyu. He is lowkey in love with you still.”

Luna froze and turned slowly, glare sharp enough to kill.

Jeonghan laughed harder.

She pointed at him like a death sentence. “Don’t regret it when you wake up and my hair is back to black.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, baby,” Jeonghan teased, tilting his head playfully.

Luna exhaled sharply and closed her eyes, steadying her breath before hissing, “Earlier you were hot as fuck… now I just want to punch you square in the face.”

He beamed at her. “You know, if I had a won for every time you said that, we could afford our wedding ten times over.”

“If headache was a person—” she muttered, storming toward the bathroom. “—it would be you.”

She was halfway in when his voice rang out from behind.

“Do you want me to order chicken for dinner, baby? I’ve been debating before you got here.”

“Fuck off!” Luna yelled back.

“Chicken it is!” Jeonghan called cheerfully, and she swore she heard him clap once.

The bathroom door slammed behind her.

And Jeonghan, grinning ear to ear, leaned back against the headboard and whispered to himself, “Can’t outplay a player.”

Jeonghan had a reason for all of this.

Every smirk he bit back when Luna got handsy, every time he pulled away just as things got heated, every teasing kiss he denied her— there was intention in every move.

It wasn’t because he didn’t want her.

God, no.

That would’ve been a laughable lie.

If anything, the want burned under his skin like a fever he refused to treat.

But Jeonghan’s mind worked in mysterious, meticulous ways, and once the thought took root, he couldn’t shake it: what if he pushed it? What if he held back just long enough to make her unravel? What if he let tension build like a string pulled taut, until it snapped?

He had imagined it— what it would feel like when they finally let go.

Hot. Breathless. Carnal.

With weeks of frustration and teasing exploding all at once. The sound of her voice cracking from too many denied moans. Her nails sinking into his skin. That dazed look in her eyes when he finally gave in.

It was an experiment, sure.

But mostly, it was strategy.

Because Jeonghan knew her. Knew her inside and out. Knew how she ticked and how she cracked. He knew she’d react. He wanted her to. And sure enough, she bit the bait— hard.

But what made it all the more delicious was that Luna had the exact same idea.

Their brains truly shared a wavelength only they could decode, because while she plotted to dye her hair back to that sinful wine red to make him lose his damn mind, Jeonghan was thinking of doing something just as reckless.

He was going to change his hair.

It wasn’t a thought that came lightly, especially considering the timing. But Jeonghan knew what he was doing.

He knew Luna had a type— and he just so happened to be the blueprint.

Long black hair.

Not just on anyone.

On him.

It wasn’t even about vanity. It was about effect.

The way her eyes would roam when he walked into a room with his hair brushing the nape of his neck. How she would casually run her fingers through it mid-conversation, as if she didn’t even realize she was doing it. The way she braided it while he lay with his head on her lap, eyes closed, letting her hum and weave, threading tenderness into each loop. How she tugged it when they kissed, gently first, then rougher, until his breath hitched and his knees buckled.

Luna loved Jeonghan’s hair.

She loved the way it felt in her hands, the way it slid through her fingers like silk. She loved the way it looked when it was messy, when it was tied back, when it was loose and falling over his shoulders. She loved the way it looked when she pulled it, when she tugged it, when she used it to guide him, to pull him closer, to keep him where she wanted him.

She loved the way it felt against her skin when he kissed her, when he ate her out, when he fucked her.

She would run her fingers through it, pulling gently at first, then harder, guiding him, urging him on. She loved the way it felt when it was soft and smooth against her fingers, when it was rough and coarse against her palm. She loved the way it looked when it was wet, when it was dry, when it was shiny, when it was dull. She loved the way it looked when it was in her hands, when it was stuck on his skin. She loved the way it felt when it was hot and heavy against her neck, when it was cool and light against her back.

There was something about it.

Something primal.

It made her weak, and he knew it.

To Luna, long black-haired Jeonghan was her favorite contradiction.

A prince and a villain wrapped into one.

He looked ethereal, like he belonged in an oil painting hanging in a museum— but he could ruin her with a look. He was beautiful, soft even, but dangerous. Seductive. Like touching him came with a warning label.

Luna never said those things out loud, but Jeonghan wasn’t stupid. He saw it in her eyes. And even if he hadn’t, she was once tipsy enough to mutter it to him as she ran her fingers through his hair, her voice low and reverent like a prayer: “God, Han, you look like a villain when it’s long like this… but like, a really, really hot one that I would totally let ruin my life. It’s unfair.”

But right now, his hair was short— military short. And it is physically imposing for him to grow his hair long in a few days, not that he’s allowed to.

And still, Jeonghan smiled to himself, because she once told him something else. Something she probably didn’t even remember.

It had been a quiet evening almost a year ago.

Luna had been scrolling through a feed of male idols sporting shorter cuts for their roles or service, and he caught her staring. She didn’t realize he was watching until she turned her phone to him and mused aloud, “You know… you’d actually look really hot with short hair. Like— not a buzzcut buzzcut, but shorter. You’ve done short hair before… but never extremely short. Messy, a little bad boy, a little clean-cut. No curtain bangs or mullets… just short.”

Jeonghan had raised a brow then, leaned back with a lazy smile. “You into that?”

“I’m into you, my love,” Luna had shrugged, casually. “I’m just saying. You’d pull it off.”

He never forgot.

So now, with her wine red hair and devilish smirk, thinking she had outplayed him— Jeonghan was simply biding his time.

Because he was going to flip the game on her.

He was going to change up his look.

He was going to go shorter. Sharper. Edgier.

And just like she planned to break him, he was going to do the same.

Except he wasn’t going to break.

He was going to win.

Because while Luna was the fire— Jeonghan was already fireproof.

Finally it had been a week.

It had been exactly a week since Jeonghan first planted the seed of this plan in his mind.

He didn’t mean for it to take this long— God, he wanted to act on it sooner— but duty called, literally and figuratively.

His alternative military service wasn’t exactly known for granting spontaneous leave, and between weekday duties, and etcetera, weekends were the only time Jeonghan had to breathe.

And strategize.

So here he was.

Another Saturday, deceptively ordinary on the surface, unfolding with the same cozy, domestic rhythm that he and Luna had naturally fallen into.

They spent the morning lazily cocooned in their shared bed, limbs tangled, the soft lull of a show playing in the background while neither of them paid attention.

Jeonghan had pressed a kiss into Luna’s bare shoulder as she dozed, mumbled nonsense against her skin that made her smile in her sleep. Later, they shared a late brunch in their pajamas, half-laughing, half-squabbling over the last hashbrown.

It was just like every other weekend they treasured— quiet, domestic, theirs.

But by late afternoon, they’d parted ways for their separate plans.

Luna had dinner with her parents, something she’d been looking forward to all week, and Jeonghan… well, Jeonghan had a “date,” as Luna teasingly put it, with Seungcheol.

A much less romantic outing (Luna begs to differ), consisting of them visiting Hoshi and Woozi’s pre-recording for their unit comeback and grabbing dinner after.

At least, that’s what she thought.

In truth, this was it. The day. The day he’d been holding out for.

Jeonghan had waited patiently— painfully so— while Luna simmered in her own frustration over his two-week-long denial game. She had no idea she wasn’t the only one playing. Jeonghan had been meticulously planning his counterattack, and today was his move.

So once they left the house, Jeonghan dragged Seungcheol into the salon with him. Seungcheol had only needed five seconds after hearing Jeonghan’s scheme to break into unfiltered laughter.

“You two are literally insane,” he wheezed, following Jeonghan into the waiting room, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, still shaking his head. “This isn’t even flirting anymore. It’s psychological warfare.”

Jeonghan just grinned. “You say that like I didn’t invent the art of war.”

And war it was.

After an hour under the clippers and the steady hands of his trusted stylist, Jeonghan emerged with a fresh cut— short, neat, and shockingly hot. He inspected himself in the mirror, tugging slightly at his hairline, twisting his lips.

Yeah, he thought smugly. She’s gonna combust.

They didn’t linger long at the music show. They watched Hoshi and Woozi’s performance from the sidelines, cheered obnoxiously, and exchanged daps and hugs backstage, all while Jeonghan’s hood stayed firmly up.

But even with the hood, the universe clearly wanted to mess with his plan.

Because as he waved goodbye to fans through the half-open car window, someone caught a glimpse. A tiny angle of his now very exposed forehead, the faint silhouette of short hair under the hoodie.

Not even two hours passed before Jeonghan was trending.

The tags were everywhere.

#JeonghanBald

#JeonghanHaircut

#HE’SBALD

His phone buzzed nonstop in his pocket as Seungcheol read tweets out loud in a fit of laughter.

Jeonghan groaned. “Shut up, Coups. She’s gonna see it.”

“Should’ve worn a damn beanie,” Seungcheol teased, barely holding it together. “You’re the one who stuck your head out like Simba being presented to the kingdom.”

And now Jeonghan was racing home, speeding through traffic, heart thumping not because of fear— but because God, he needed this to work.

This wasn’t just some playful gotcha— this was weeks of pent-up tension and strategy culminating in one perfect moment. If Luna saw the tweets, if she opened Instagram or checked X, his surprise would be blown. Her reaction, the look on her face when she saw him— it would all be ruined.

Jeonghan burst through the front door like a man on a mission, immediately toeing off his shoes and checking the living room.

No Luna. No movement.

Where is she?

He tiptoed deeper into the house, poking his head past the hallway and listening.

Then he heard it.

The sound of water running.

The shower.

Jeonghan exhaled a breath of gratitude so deep it shook his lungs.

The gods were merciful. Either that, or Luna’s inability to take short showers was finally working in his favor.

He pressed a hand to his chest and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Luna hadn’t seen a thing.

Not the tweets. Not the glimpses. Not the tags or theories or trends.

She was still blissfully unaware, humming under the stream of hot water like it was any other Saturday.

She was going to step out of that bathroom, still smelling like her favorite citrus body wash, her skin warm and dewy, completely unsuspecting. And then— he was going to knock the air out of her lungs.

Jeonghan smirked to himself as he padded to the bedroom to set the stage.

Let the real game begin.

Soon— the sound of water finally ceased, the faint hiss of the showerhead coming to a stop behind the bathroom door as steam gently curled from beneath the frame.

A few beats passed before the door creaked open with a soft click, and Luna stepped out barefoot onto the hardwood, still damp and warm from her shower.

A small gasp left her lips at the contrast between the cool air and her flushed skin. Her body was wrapped in nothing but a plush white towel that hugged her curves securely from just above her chest, her hand tightly gripping the top fold to keep it in place. Stray droplets trickled down her legs while her dark, blood-red hair clung to her damp shoulders and back in thick, wet tendrils, cascading like crimson ink against her pale skin.

But what startled her wasn’t the cold.

It was him.

“Fuck, Han!” Luna shrieked, practically leaping backward when she caught sight of him.

Her fiancé— hood up, oversized black hoodie hanging off his frame, long legs stretched out in front of him, and glasses perched lazily on his nose— was seated comfortably at the edge of their bed. He was facing her directly, chin rested on his palm, the other hand playing with a loose thread on the bedspread, a knowing smirk curling on his lips like he’d been waiting hours for that exact moment.

“You asshole!” she huffed, marching over to smack his arm. “You scared the ever-loving shit out of me!”

Jeonghan only chuckled, the sound low and smug, his smirk deepening at her flustered reaction. “Hello to you too, my love.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at him, breathing still erratic from the shock. “Why are you just… sitting there like that? Looking like— like a mob boss in a drama or something. All in black. Waiting to collect a debt or murder someone’s dad.”

He raised a brow, thoroughly entertained. “Mob boss, huh? I was going for mysterious, dangerous fiancé. But I’ll take it.”

“More like creepy fiancé,” she muttered under her breath as she rolled her eyes and turned to walk into her dressing room. She sat down in front of the vanity and grabbed her detangling brush, gently running it through the damp strands of her hair.

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear me come in,” Jeonghan called out from the bed, voice laced with amusement. “Where’s that super sonic hearing of yours?”

Luna scoffed, eyes meeting his reflection in the mirror as she brushed through a particularly stubborn knot. “I heard the garage door open, actually. I just didn’t expect you to be sitting in here… staring at me like a creep instead of, I don’t know, walking around like a normal person.”

He let out another laugh, shrugging innocently. “Sorry, Nana-ya, couldn’t resist. You’re kind of adorable when you’re startled. Like a kitten that saw its reflection for the first time.”

“I’ll show you a kitten,” she grumbled, brushing faster.

He didn’t respond immediately.

She continued with her after-shower routine, standing up and reaching for the bottle of lotion beside her. As she began to apply it across her shoulders and arms, Jeonghan fell silent.

Too silent.

Her gaze slowly shifted toward him in the mirror again, and she noticed it instantly— the way his smirk had mellowed into a thoughtful expression, one too soft, too quiet. He was watching her again, but this time with less mischief and more meaning.

“What did you do?” Luna asked flatly, turning toward him, hand still gliding lotion over her thigh.

Jeonghan blinked, lips twitching. “What makes you say I did anything?”

She didn’t even pause. “It’s because you have that look on your face— so you either did something stupid or you want something stupid.” She eyed him warily. “So? Which one is it?”

Jeonghan smiled slowly, almost proud of her deduction. He shifted on the bed, sitting up a little straighter. “Well, I’ve been thinking lately…”

“Oh, no,” she muttered.

“…and I figured today would be a perfect opportunity,” he continued, ignoring her.

“Opportunity for what?” Luna asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she capped the lotion bottle and wiped her hands on a towel.

“To… change things up a little,” he said cryptically, adjusting his hood a bit as he spoke. “You know how I get. Needed a little excitement.”

She stared at him, unblinking.

“And Cheol came with me, actually,” he added casually. “Accompanied me to the salon.”

Luna’s hands froze mid-motion.

Her head tilted just slightly.

“Salon?” she repeated slowly.

Jeonghan froze, realizing a second too late how much weight that one word carried.

Luna’s eyes weren’t on his face anymore— they were darting from his lips, up to the hood covering his hair.

And that’s when it hit her.

“You son of a—” she started before cutting herself off, her hand flying to her hip as she leaned against the dresser.

“Yoon Jeonghan, I just about have had it with your bullshit these past few weeks.”

He tilted his head, lips pressed into an innocent line, eyebrows arching just the tiniest bit. “What are you trying to say, baby?”

“What I’m trying to say is—” she pointed her chin toward his hood, her eyes sharp, “you better not be bald under there.”

His smirk returned full force, devilish and delighted. “What are you going to do if I am?”

“I’m going to murder Cheol. Then you,” she replied with full confidence.

“But baby,” Jeonghan pouted dramatically, bottom lip sticking out as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, “you don’t think I’d look good with a shaved head? You won’t love me anymore?”

Luna groaned, her shoulders sagging as she looked away. “That’s not what I meant,” she muttered. “I know you’d still look good as hell and I’d still love you no matter what but…”

Her voice trailed off into a small pout, her brows pinching together as she looked down at her hands.

Jeonghan’s teasing expression softened instantly.

“What, baby?” he asked gently, his tone warm and coaxing.

“You know how much I love your hair, Jeongie…” she said softly, barely louder than a whisper.

A smile broke across his face, real and tender.

“Come here,” he said, extending his hand out toward her.

Without hesitation, Luna walked over and placed her hand in his, letting him tug her gently between his legs where he still sat on the edge of the bed. Her towel remained wrapped snugly around her, but the heat of her skin was unmistakable as she now stood above him, flushed from her shower and from his teasing. His hands cradled hers delicately as he looked up at her, and she looked down, eyes curious and waiting.

He rubbed slow circles against her knuckles with his thumb.

“Why do you like my hair so much, hm?” he cooed softly, his tone dipping into that low, fond register he reserved only for her. “Even though I already know the answer.”

Luna blinked at him, cheeks warming. “Because…” she murmured, “it’s so pretty and soft— like silk. And I love the way it falls in your eyes. I love running my hands through it. I love braiding it when it’s longer. I love tugging on it when we kiss. It just… it makes you look like you could ruin my whole life, and I’d still thank you after.”

Jeonghan laughed softly under his breath, his fingers tightening around hers as he bit his lip. “God, you’re something else,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

Luna smiled shyly.

And still— he hadn’t taken off the hood.

Jeonghan smiled up at her in that maddening, beautiful way of his— his eyes soft but gleaming with mischief, the corners of his lips curled with the quiet satisfaction of a man who’d just laid the perfect trap and was watching his prey fall into it willingly.

He said nothing at first, just cradled her hands between his own, thumbs brushing over her knuckles with slow, delicate reverence like she was made of something sacred. His touch was warm, grounding, but his eyes held a silent storm— anticipation, amusement, a hint of cocky affection simmering just beneath the surface.

And then, wordlessly, he raised her hands.

He brought them gently to the sides of his head, letting her fingertips graze the fabric of his hood, letting her feel the slope of his head beneath it— the shift in texture that gave away what was coming before she even knew it consciously. He held her gaze all the while, eyes locked on hers like a spell.

“Open your present, my pretty moon,” he murmured, voice velvet soft— low, intimate, filled with both promise and provocation.

Luna stared at him, blinking, unmoving.

His voice echoed in her skull like a ripple in still water, and for a second, all she could do was look— really look— at the man sitting in front of her. That playful glint in his eyes, that almost angelic calm on his face, the smugness he was trying to mask with affection. Her fingers twitched faintly where they rested on his hood, her breath shallow as she studied him.

She squinted, eyes narrowing like she was trying to solve a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.

And then, finally, slowly, she moved. Her fingers hooked into the hem of his hood— soft cotton under her palms— and with an almost reverent slowness, she pulled it back.

The hood slid off his head with a gentle whisper of fabric.

And time stilled.

Her breath hitched.

She hadn’t been prepared.

Her hands froze in mid-air, still hovering just inches above his now bare head. Her fingers trembled slightly, suspended like she was afraid to touch him now that the illusion had been lifted.

Jeonghan’s hair— his infamous, beloved, short, bad-boy hair— was gone.

Well, not gone, not entirely, but it was short.

The shortest he had ever gone.

Cropped neatly, the kind of cut that bared the sharp lines of his jaw, that made his cheekbones even more dangerous, that exposed the delicate curve of his forehead and left her staring at a man who looked older, sharper, sexier than any human being had the right to look.

Her fiancé was still smirking.

Of course he was.

Jeonghan was watching her like a cat watches a mouse— eyes dancing, lips quirked, basking in the glorious silence of her short-circuiting brain.

Luna opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Nothing came out.

No sound. No words. Not even a breath.

She looked like someone had just pulled the fire alarm in her brain and left her scrambling for the exits. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her pulse so loud in her ears she was certain he could hear it. Her throat went dry. Her hands were still frozen mid-air, like her body hadn’t received the command to move.

Her mind was not doing better.

She could barely think straight. Thoughts were colliding, overlapping, spiraling out of order. He looked so… so good. So lethal. So unfairly hot. How dare he look like that? With that smirk and that jawline and that goddamn twinkle in his eye that said he knew exactly what kind of chaos he had just unleashed in her body.

She was going to die. Right here. Right now.

“Say something,” Jeonghan finally chuckled, tilting his head a little. “You look like you’re buffering.”

She could only shake her head slowly, blinking in disbelief.

He bit back a grin. “Do you like it?” he asked, voice low and teasing. “Hm? Do I look good, pretty girl?”

All she could do was nod— once, then twice. Mechanical. Slow.

“You sure?” he purred, his smirk widening just a fraction. “You’re awfully quiet. That’s not like you, Jiyeonie.”

Another nod.

Another breath she forgot to take.

Jeonghan laughed again, soft and pleased, before his hands found hers once more. He took them gently, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before pulling them toward his head again— this time, guiding her fingers directly into his hair.

It was short, yes, but it was still Jeonghan— still soft, still thick, still so very him.

“You said you loved running your hands through it,” he murmured, voice going softer, more intimate as he coaxed her fingers to rake gently through the strands. “You said you loved tugging on it when we kissed…”

His tone dropped, dangerously close to a whisper. “Said you loved the way it fell in my eyes. Loved how soft it was. How pretty it made me look.”

Luna’s breathing faltered again.

He leaned in closer, brushing his nose against her stomach through the towel.

“Well,” he said, smiling against her skin, “you can still do all those things, baby. Nothing’s changed.”

She swallowed hard, her hands finally moving on their own, fingers threading through the cropped strands. She ran them through slowly— feeling the weight of the change, feeling the warmth of his scalp, the texture, the newness of it all. She could already picture it under her palms when they kissed, when he bent over her, when he—

He slid his hands up the back of her thighs, warm and teasing, thumbs brushing the crease where the towel barely covered her.

“And you can still pull on it…” Jeonghan whispered, lips ghosting over her stomach.

And then, without warning, he reached up, removed his glasses with one hand and set them carefully on the bedside table with a soft clink.

His eyes, now unobstructed, met hers— dark, gleaming, wicked.

“It’s my turn to open my present,” he said softly.

And before she could even gasp, his hands gripped her waist, and in one smooth, fluid movement, he tugged the towel off her body and flipped them both onto the bed.

Luna landed with a breathless sound, sprawled bare beneath him on the cool sheets as Jeonghan hovered above her, knees bracketing her thighs, eyes devouring every inch of her like a man starved.

Her skin was flushed, trembling, her lips parted as she stared up at him in a stunned, heated daze.

And Jeonghan, ever the provocateur, only smiled.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, tilting his head, lashes low and heavy. “That for me, pretty moon?”

Luna glared, breathless. “You think you’re so—”

He kissed the inside of her thigh, slow, firm, and maddeningly soft. Her sentence disintegrated into a sharp inhale. Her legs tried to close instinctively, but his arms looped around them, holding her open, possessive and deliberate.

“Shh,” he murmured against her skin, lips brushing closer, and closer, “I haven’t had dessert yet.”

Luna gripped the sheets beside her, heart pounding like it wanted to claw its way out of her chest. “Han—”

“Yes, baby?” he cooed sweetly, lips ghosting over her, not yet giving in. “You’ve been begging for weeks… but tonight, you get it how I want to give it. Slow. Desperate. I made you wait, remember?”

“Please,” she whispered, voice cracking with want, her fingers reaching for his hair, desperate to anchor herself to something real.

He chuckled darkly and nuzzled lower. “There she is.”

His hands slid down to her bare thighs, warm and teasing, as he slowly moved down between her legs. Luna watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, her fingers tightening in his hair as he leaned in, his breath hot against her skin. She moaned, her hips arching up to meet him as he brushed his lips over her inner thigh, his breath tickling her sensitive skin.

"Han," she gasped, her voice trembling with need. She wanted him— needed him— to touch her, to taste her. And from the way his eyes darkened, she knew he wanted the same thing.

With a low growl, he leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste her wet folds. Luna moaned, her fingers tightening in his hair as he teased her, licking and sucking, before moving up to her clit.

He sucked it hard, his mouth closing over it as he flicked his tongue against it. She moaned louder, her hips arching up into his mouth as he continued to suck, his fingers moving to her pussy, sliding inside her.

She was so fucking wet— she could feel it coating his fingers as they slid in and out of her, her juices dripping down her thighs. She writhed beneath him, her breathing coming in soft, panting gasps.

“Fuck– baby,” she moaned, her hands gripping the sheets as she rode his fingers, his mouth, losing herself in the pleasure that he was giving her.

He bit her inner thigh, the sharp pain a stark contrast to the pleasure that was coursing through her body. She gasped, her hips jerking as he sucked the tender flesh into his mouth, his teeth grazing her skin.

"Hannie, please," she begged, her fingers tugging at his hair, her body writhing beneath him.

He chuckled against her clit, the vibration sending shockwaves through her. he asked, his voice low and teasing. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He gave her clit one last suck before moving lower, his tongue darting out to tease her entrance.

Luna cried out, her hips bucking as he played with her, his tongue dipping in and out of her. "Baby," she begged, her body aching with need. "I want you. Right now, Han," she pleaded, her voice ragged with desire.

Jeonghan looked up at her, a wicked grin playing on his lips. He could see the desperation in her eyes, the way her body was writhing beneath him, and he loved it. He loved seeing her like this— vulnerable, needy, completely at his mercy.

“Baby,” she whimpered, already close to falling apart from the excruciating build-up, her fingers lacing into his now-short hair. “Fuck, please— don’t stop—”

But of course he did. He pulled back, just enough to drive her insane.

“Hmm?” he hummed with a smug smirk against her skin, the vibration making her buck. “Didn’t catch that, baby. You’re gonna have to say it properly.”

Luna could barely form words. Her thighs trembled, breaths ragged, as he drew a single finger up her center with maddening precision before sliding it in. Her mouth opened on a gasp, her body arching up to meet his touch.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxed, slow and low. “Use your words.”

“I want you,” she managed, voice broken and high. “I want your mouth— please— stop teasing, Hannie, I swear to god—”

“Oh?” he replied, amused, as if she hadn’t just begged him like her life depended on it. He added a second finger, curling just right. “But I haven’t even gotten started.”

Her back arched violently, hands gripping his hair, grounding herself.

“God— Jeongie— if you stop now—!”

He pulled back again.

And she screamed.

“Yoon Jeonghan!”

“What?” he grinned like the devil. “You’re not gonna kill me before I give you what you want, right?”

She glared at him, flushed and furious and on the verge of tears. “You’re evil. You’re genuinely evil. You know that?!”

“Maybe.” He tilted his head, giving her a full, innocent smile that only made her want to slap and kiss him all at once. “But I’m your evil.”

Before she could retort, he dove back in— this time, without mercy. His mouth closed over her, tongue relentless, fingers working in tandem, drawing out moans she didn’t know she could make. Her hands tightened in his hair, tugging hard, making him groan against her— primal, low, hungry.

The sounds she made— desperate, breathless, unfiltered— only spurred him on. His fingers curled, his tongue flicked, and her whole body started to shake. She was close— so close—

And he stopped again.

Luna let out a broken sob, writhing under him. “Jeongie, baby, please, please— don’t do this— baby, I’m begging. Hurts, please—”

That made Jeonghan pause.

His eyes flicked up to her face, seeing her flushed, panting, eyes glassy with tears. And it broke him. His expression melted from cocky to reverent in a single heartbeat.

“Fuck, look at you,” he whispered, voice hoarse, almost in awe. “So beautiful when you’re like this for me.”

He kissed her thigh, then the crease of her hip, then lower.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his breath warm and shivery. “Let go for me, okay, pretty girl?”

And this time— he didn’t stop.

Those full lips, still slick from her juices, curved into a grin as he darted his head back down between her thighs, not giving her any time to process what was happening. His tongue was a hot, wet trail as it lapped at her sensitive clit, teasing her, taunting her.

She squirmed beneath him, her hands fisting the sheets, but he was relentless. He pinned her down with his hands on her hips, holding her in place as he feasted on her, his hair scraping against her inner thighs in the most erotic way.

He was just as merciless as he'd promised. With each flick of his tongue, each suck of his mouth, she was pushed closer and closer to the edge.

“Feels so g-good,” her body trembled, her breasts heaved, and her nails dug into the sheets beneath her.

She was so close, so damn close, and she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Jeongie,” she gasped out, her voice hoarse with need. “Please, I can’t—”

And then she was lost. Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, ripping through her body, leaving her breathless and shaking. She cried out, her back arching, her hips bucking against his mouth. “Jeonghan! Oh God, baby!” She moaned his name like a prayer, like a plea, like a promise. She rode his mouth, her fingers in his hair, guiding him, urging him to take her higher, to take her further.

“Yes, baby,” he growled against her, his mouth still working her clit, his fingers still moving inside her.

“That’s it, come for me. Give me everything, pretty girl.”

He chuckled, the vibration sending more shockwaves through her. “Fuck, you taste so good, Jiyeon. So fucking sweet. I could eat you all day.” He cooed, his voice low and soothing as he continued to lick and suck, drawing out her pleasure.

Luna panted, her body shaking as the aftershocks of her orgasm coursed through her. She could barely breathe, barely think. All she could do was feel— feel his mouth on her, his fingers inside her, his voice, his words.

“Hannie,” she gasped, her fingers still tangled in his hair.

He smirked against her, his tongue teasing her clit one last time before he finally pulled back.

His eyes, dark and satisfied, met hers as he chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Fuck, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with lust and praise. "You taste so damn good. So sweet. So fucking perfect." He cooed, his fingers slowly withdrawing from her, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

Luna panted, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. She watched him, her eyes heavy-lidded, her heart still racing. He leaned back, his hands on her thighs, his gaze raking over her body like he couldn't get enough. She felt a blush creep up her cheeks at the heat in his eyes, at the sheer appreciation in his smile.

Her body was still humming with pleasure, her limbs heavy and languid from the aftermath of her release. Jeonghan's hands slid slowly up her thighs, his touch gentle yet possessive, as if he was staking his claim on her body.

He began to move up, crawling slowly over her, his eyes never leaving hers. She could feel every inch of him— the beat of his heart in his chest, the heat of his body as he covered hers. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath catching in her throat as he hovered over her, his face mere inches from hers.

Their lips met in a slow, passionate kiss, a kiss that was all-consuming and desperate.

Jeonghan's hands cupped her face, his fingers tangled in her long, wine-red hair as he claimed her mouth, his tongue slipping inside, exploring, tasting. Luna moaned, her body arching into his, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. She could taste herself on him, and it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through her.

He deepened the kiss, his teeth nipping at her lower lip before his tongue swept in to soothe the sting. Luna gasped, her hips bucking against him, her body aching for more. She could feel his hardness pressed against her, and she rocked against it, seeking friction, seeking another release.

Jeonghan growled, a low, primal sound that vibrated through her, sending shivers down her spine.

His hands tangled in her hair, with a firm grip, he pulled her head back, exposing her neck, and leaned down to nip at the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing gently before he soothed the sting with his tongue.

Luna gasped, her body arching into his, her hands grasping at his arms, her nails digging into his skin. She could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his muscles, and she wanted more.

So much more.

But Jeonghan had other plans. He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and hungry as they met hers. He pushed her gently, a slight nudge with his body, and Luna understood. She slowly pushed him back, her hands on his chest, her eyes locked with his.

"Your turn, Hannie," she whispered, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

He laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Is that so, pretty girl?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Well, then, come on down here and show me what you've got."

Luna didn't need to be told twice. She slid down his body, her hands trailing over his body, before tugging on his hoodie and pulling it up with the help of her fiancé who understood her hat she wanted. Her lips leaving a path of kisses down his abdomen. But she didn't linger. She had a mission, and she was determined to see it through.

Luna looked up at him as she reached the waistband of his pants, her eyes filled with mischief as she caught sight of his cock.

She bit her lower lip, her tongue darting out to lick it softly, giving him a doe-eyed look that made him grin down at her. "I'm going to make you feel good, Jeongie," she whispered, her voice sultry and full of promise.

Jeonghan chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. "I have no doubt, pretty girl," he murmured, his eyes darkening with anticipation.

Luna slowly began to suck, her lips wrapping around the head of his cock. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent as she sucked him deeper into her mouth.

Jeonghan groaned, his fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her head as she sucked him. "Fuck, Jiyeon-ah," he hissed, his hips bucking slightly as she took him deeper. "You look so fucking hot like this. So eager, so desperate." Jeonghan groaned, his hips jerking slightly as Luna swirled her tongue around his tip, teasing him.

He could feel her breath on him, hot and wet, her lips tight around him as she suckled him gently. "Fuck, pretty girl, that feels so good." He groaned, his hands tightening their grip in her hair, guiding her head as she sucked him deeper.

Luna hummed softly against him, the vibration sending shivers down his spine. She knew he loved it when she did that, and she loved the reaction she got from him. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him from under her lashes, her eyes filled with mischief. She knew she had him right where she wanted him, and she was going to take her time to drive him crazy.

She began to suck him hard, her mouth moving up and down his length, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock. She could taste him, salty and musky, and she loved it. She loved the way he groaned above her, the way his hips bucked, the way his fingers tightened in her hair. She wanted more. She wanted all of him.

Luna took a deep breath, her eyes watering as she swallowed him down. She pushed past the initial gag reflex, her throat relaxing as she took him deeper, inch by inch.

“Right there,” Jeonghan let out a long, low moan, his hips jerking slightly as she took him all the way to the base. Luna looked up at him from where she was buried, her eyes watering, her nose pressing against his skin.

Jeonghan's fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her head with firm, steady motions. "That's right, baby," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Take my cock deep. Show me how good you are for me."

Luna moaned around him, the vibration sending shockwaves through his entire body. He could feel her throat working, her tongue swirling around his length as she took him deeper. He watched her, his eyes dark with lust, his jaw clenched as he fought to maintain control.

"Fuck, bunny," he hissed, his hips beginning to move in time with her mouth. "You're so damn good at this. So fucking eager."

Luna hummed in response, her body trembling as she sucked him harder, faster. She could feel the tension in his body, could sense the control he was exerting.

She wanted to break that control, wanted to push him over the edge. She took him deeper, her nose pressing against his skin, her gag reflex kicking in slightly. But she didn't stop. She pushed past it, her throat relaxing as she took him deeper still.

Jeonghan let out a low, guttural moan, his fingers tightening in her hair, his hips jerking involuntarily. "Fuck, Luna," he gasped, his voice hoarse with desire. "You're killing me here, pretty girl. You're fucking killing me," Jeonghan groaned, his fingers tightening in Luna's hair, guiding her head in a steady rhythm as she bobbed up and down on his cock. He could feel her throat working, her tongue swirling around his length, her lips tight and wet around him. He wanted to last, wanted to savor this, but Luna was relentless, her mouth hot and eager, her moans vibrating through him, driving him insane.

Jeonghan glanced down, watching as she took him deeper, her nose pressing against his skin, her eyes watering slightly. He could see the strings of saliva dripping from her lips, marking her determination, her desperation to please him. "Fuck, feels so good," he hissed, his hips beginning to move in time with her mouth, his body tensing as he fought to maintain control.

He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to be inside her. He needed to feel her hot, wet pussy surrounding his cock. He pulled her up abruptly, his hands gripping her shoulders, his eyes dark and desperate. "I can't take this anymore, pretty girl," he growled, his voice rough with need. "I need to be inside you. Ride me, Jiyeonie. Now."

Luna looked up at him, her eyes hazy with lust and surprise. But she didn't hesitate. She knew Jeonghan was close to the edge, could feel his body trembling with the effort to hold back. She wanted this as much as he did. She scrambled onto his lap, her hands bracing on his shoulders as she straddled him, her eyes locked with his as she positioned the head of his cock at her entrance.

Jeonghan's grip tightened on her hips, his eyes dark and intense, his body trembling with anticipation as he watched her lower herself onto him.

“Shit– Han—” Luna moaned softly, her body shivering as she took him in, inch by inch, her eyes never leaving his. She could feel every ridge, every vein, as he filled her completely.

Jeonghan let out a low, guttural groan, his fingers digging into her flesh as she began to move, her hips riding him hard and fast.

She leaned back slightly, her hands braced on his knees, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she took him deeper, harder. Jeonghan watched her, his body tensing as she moved, his eyes never leaving hers. "Fuck, that’s it," he growled, his voice low and hoarse. "You feel so good, baby. So fucking tight," Jeonghan groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as she rode him, her body bouncing up and down on his cock.

Luna moaned, her head thrown back, her eyes closed as she lost herself in the sensation of him filling her completely. She could feel every inch of him, could feel the way he stretched her, the way he hit that spot deep inside her that made her see stars.

She moved faster, her hips bouncing harder, her breasts bouncing with each movement. She reached up, her hands cupping her own breasts, her fingers pinching her nipples as she rode him. "Hannie," she moaned, her voice ragged with need. “Feels so good, baby— you make me feel so g-good.”

“Yeah?” Jeonghan's hands moved from her hips to her breasts, his fingers wrapping around her soft flesh as he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Fuck, yes!” Luna moaned, leaning her hands back on his knees, her body arching into his touch. The wet sounds of their lovemaking filled the room, the slapping of skin against skin, the squelching of her pussy as she rode him hard and fast.

Jeonghan lifted his head, his eyes darkening as he watched Luna's body move above him. He reached up, his hand wrapping around her throat, pulling her down to him as he kissed her.

Their lips met in a messy, wet tangle, their tongues darting out to taste each other, their saliva mixing as they devoured each other. Luna moaned into his mouth, her body trembling as she felt his fingers at her mouth, gently opening her lips before he spit into her mouth.

They pulled away, staring at each other, their breaths ragged, their bodies slick with sweat. Jeonghan's fingers, still wet from her mouth, trailed down her body, finding her clit and rubbing it in slow, steady circles. Luna gasped, her hips jerking as he touched her, her body already so sensitive from her earlier orgasm.

She rode him harder, her body slamming down onto his, her breasts bouncing with each movement. Jeonghan's fingers tightened on her hips, his grip bruising as he held her in place, his hips bucking up to meet her thrusts. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained. "You feel so good. So tight. I should edge you more often.”

“Harder– w-want it harder, Jeongie,” Luna moaned, her head thrown back, her eyes closed as she rode him, her body on fire. She could feel every inch of him, could feel the way he filled her completely, the way he hit that spot deep inside her that made her see stars. She moved faster, her hips bouncing harder, her body desperate for release.

Jeonghan, sensing her urgency, gripped her hips tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Yeah? Fuck—," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "You want it harder, bunny? Is that what my bunny needs?" Jeonghan growled, his voice low and commanding.

Luna, her eyes wild with desire, mewled her reply, a sound that was half-moan, half-whimper. "Yes, Jeongie, baby. Please, fuck me harder." She begged, her voice ragged with need.

With a wicked grin, Jeonghan gripped her hips tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh as he began to pound into her, his hips slamming up to meet hers with each thrust.

“Fuck!” Luna cried out, her body jolting with each impact, her breasts bouncing wildly. She could feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein, as he filled her completely, stretching her to her limit.

It was exactly what she needed, what she craved.

Jeonghan's dirty words, his filthy whispers, sent shivers down her spine, igniting a fire within her that threatened to consume her. "Like this? You want it like this, don’t you?" he groaned, his voice thick with lust, his eyes locked onto hers. "You're so fucking tight, my baby. Your pussy is so fucking wet and hot. I can feel you clenching around me, milking my cock." He growled, his hips slamming up into her with a force that made her gasp.

"You want to come, don't you? You want to feel my cock pulsing inside you as you come all over it?" His fingers tightened on her hips, holding her in place as he continued to pound into her, his body glistening with sweat.

Luna couldn't respond, couldn't form a coherent thought.

All she could do was moan and babble nonsense. All she could do was feel, feel the way he filled her, the way he moved inside her, the way he made her feel alive. She was lost in the sensation, her body on fire, her mind blank. She could only moan, her voice a low, guttural sound that seemed to come from deep within her.

Jeonghan chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're like this, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "So desperate, so needy. It's fucking hot." He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "Come for me, bunny. Come all over my cock." His fingers tightened on her hips, his grip bruising as he held her in place, his hips slamming up to meet hers with each thrust.

"I want to feel you come, Luna. Let go, baby," Jeonghan growled, his fingers digging into her hips as he thrust into her, his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside her.

Luna's moans filled the room, her body tensing as she felt the familiar build-up of pleasure. "Han, I'm... I'm so close," she panted, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Come on, Jiyeonie. Give it to me," he urged, his voice thick with desire. "Let me feel you come all over my cock." His words sent her over the edge.

Luna threw her head back, a loud cry escaping her lips as her orgasm crashed through her. "Hannie!" she screamed, her body convulsing as she came, her pussy clenching around him.

Jeonghan groaned, his body tensing as he felt her come apart around him. "Fuck, Jiyeonie. That's it, baby. Come for me," Jeonghan groaned, his voice thick with lust. “You’ve been waiting for so long. Let go, pretty girl," he urged, his voice thick with desire.

“Ah! Han– Hannie!” Luna cried as she fell down on top of Jeonghan’s chest, her hips sloppily grinding on his lap as her fiancé helped her.

“That’s it– fuck—” Jeonghan growled, his voice thick with desire as he felt her pussy clench around him, her body convulsing as her orgasm ripped through her. He groaned, his own release following close behind, his body tensing as he spilled into her, his cock pulsing with each thrust.

They both cried out, their bodies shuddering as they rode out their orgasms together.

As the last waves of pleasure subsided, they collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Jeonghan pulled Luna into his arms, his fingers tangling in her now messy, red hair as he held her close, his heart still pounding in his chest. "Fuck, baby," he murmured, his voice soft and content. "That was... that was incredible."

Luna lay sprawled across Jeonghan’s bare chest, her eyes still closed, her body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Their skin still warm from everything they had given and taken from each other. Her cheek was pressed just beneath his collarbone, his heartbeat still loud and steady under her ear.

Jeonghan arm wrapped around her back lazily, fingertips tracing soft, featherlight patterns along the curve of her spine, as if sketching invisible love letters on her skin. Her leg tangled between his, her red hair a vivid splash of color against his flushed chest.

The room was dim, quiet except for the soft hum of the AC and the subtle rise and fall of their breathing.

Then came his voice— low, husky, and smugly satisfied, like velvet laced with mischief.

“I should tease you more often,” Jeonghan said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk as he tilted his chin to kiss the top of her head.

Luna let out a breathless laugh against his skin. “Says the man who’s already been torturing me for two weeks.”

Jeonghan hummed, his fingers slipping into her hair to gently cradle the back of her head. “Yeah, but seeing you fall apart like that… baby, that was next-level. I think I found a new hobby.”

Her nails grazed along the lines of his ribs, lazy and playful. “If your new hobby involves denying me my sanity and orgasms, I will riot.”

He chuckled. “You begged so sweetly though.”

“Hannie,” she whined, lifting her head to glare at him—though her swollen lips and hazy eyes softened the threat.

“What?” he laughed, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “It’s true, Nana-ya. You were clinging to me like I was oxygen. Sounded like a prayer.”

“That was your fault.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“I didn’t have the breath to complain,” she fired back, flicking his forehead gently before resting her chin on his chest again.

He smiled lazily. “That’s not an insult, you know. It’s a compliment. You looked like a goddess unraveling.”

“And you looked like a smug bastard who knew exactly what he was doing.”

“I did,” Jeonghan agreed without shame, brushing his knuckles along her jaw. “And you looked like someone who’s never going to dye her hair red again unless she wants to start a war.”

Luna smirked against his chest, biting her lip. “Oh, but wasn’t it worth it?”

His hand slipped lower, brushing down her bare back. “Undeniably. You looked so hot I almost cancelled my entire plan the moment I saw you a week ago.”

“Almost?”

“I had to make it more dramatic, didn’t I?” he grinned. “Build the tension.”

“You built something alright,” she muttered, which earned a low laugh from him.

“You love it.”

“I do,” she sighed, tracing shapes on his chest now. “God, I really do. I don’t know how you do it— how you always know exactly how to break me apart without actually… breaking me.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, his voice turning softer. “That’s ‘cause I know what pieces to hold onto.”

She looked up at him, blinking slowly. “That was unfairly poetic for a post-sex cuddle.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he said, tapping her nose. “Including mind-reading. Admit it— you were thinking the exact same thing.”

Her lips twitched. “That we’re both chaos in human form?”

He grinned. “That too. But mostly… that we’re both completely insane for each other. You dyed your hair wine red thinking I’d lose my mind. And I chopped mine off knowing you’d melt.”

“And we both did,” she murmured, eyes flickering to his slightly damp forehead and newly exposed nape. “God, we’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously perfect.”

“Ugh, shut up,” she groaned playfully, hiding her face in his chest again.

But she couldn’t stop smiling.

They were right.

They were the same person.

The same brand of mischief and obsession, operating on shared brain cells and inside jokes. Both thinking of the same plan, both holding out on each other for weeks, both hit in the gut by the exact reactions they knew would come.

They had driven each other insane on purpose— and loved every second of it.

Luna loved how Jeonghan touched her like a secret he never planned to share— slow, reverent, all-knowing. How his voice alone could unravel her spine and make her knees forget their purpose. He never raised his voice, never forced his power— but somehow, she always found herself breathless, pliant, and begging, like he’d unlocked some ancient code only he knew. He was the only one who could make her fall to her knees without asking, the only one who made surrender feel like worship.

And Jeonghan?

Jeonghan loved how Luna held the leash thinking it made her the master, not realizing he handed it to her just to watch how pretty she looks pretending she’s in control. He loved how she played the part of the temptress so well, she forgot he wrote the script— and every line she moaned was part of his plan.

He loved how, deep down, Luna knew all of it.

Knew exactly what he was doing. Knew he was orchestrating her unraveling with every glance, every pause, every carefully timed breath— and let him do it anyway. Jeonghan loved how she surrendered not out of weakness, but because she trusted that in his hands, surrender became power. Loved how she’d look up at him, glassy-eyed and flushed, daring him to take more even when she was already undone. He loved how she let him ruin her— again and again— and never once begged for mercy, only more.

Because she knew he would worship every inch he broke.

They loved driving each other insane.

And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

mdni banner: @cafekitsune

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[riboism]

she's my collar

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

》 wc: 5.3k

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

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

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

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

Subject: Employment Termination

Dear Mr. Kang,

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

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

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

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

Regards, HR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Performance concerns. He knew exactly what that meant.

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

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

That’s when he saw it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To please me, that is.”

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

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

⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Anything you want."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Kang.

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

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

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

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

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

“Take off your shirt.” 

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

“Take that off too.” 

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

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

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

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

“Kiss it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Put it in your mouth.” 

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

“Now suck it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To serve someone else for once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[icanseethefuture333]

How to gain followers as an influencer according to your Midheaven

Aries MC:

These influencers are blunt and say whatever that comes to mind. They have a confident aura to themselves and a lot of people gravitate towards them because of how infectious their personality is. Aries MC as influencers are competitive, bold, and outgoing. They also can have a cute and bubbly nature due to Aries being the youngest of the zodiac signs. In order to gain followers or success an influencer - speak your mind. Post pictures of yourself in the gym, dancing, or playing sports, Aries are known for their athleticism and people admire the amount of energy they possess. Aries MC do best in their career as an influencer when they are energetic and thriving in life. Their following might go down if they talk about losing or show a significant change of attitude in their content such as accepting defeat. Fans can emphasize with them if they open up about trauma and abuse.

Loren Gray’s most viral video is when she transitioned from blonde to brown hair. Making bold choices such as a change in hair color, makeup, or fashion style will attract more attention.

(Ex: Tana Mongeau, Loren Gray, Lisa)

Taurus MC:

The misconception of Taurus MCs is that they are always perceived as classy or being “refined” in their aesthetic. When the most famous Taurus MCs influencers are the exact opposite. They have this “untouchable” essence to them (“Yo voy voy voy”). Like those cool girls you pass by in the mall and never see again. They live a life of fun and luxury, their stories you always want to tune in because they’re always doing something interesting. Taurus MCs need to give little by little, share your interests while also keep an air of mystery to yourself. They are the life of the party and you can often see them enjoying good food, alcohol, and/or on vacation. Taurus MCs can pull off slick buns, gold hoops, glossy lips, and tight clothing like no other as well. Unless they are showing off their riches and bragging, people will get bored of them. They don’t want someone they can relate to, so these people often get put on a pedestal or people look up to them for motivation. Most likely to be the ones on somebody's vision board. People are turned off when they display arrogance and envy out of insecurity.

Alex Consani’s most viral video of her is at a fancy restaurant singing “Lifestyle” by Young Thug.

(Ex: Alex Consani, Alexa Demie, Selena Gomez)

Gemini MC:

These girlies are some chatterboxes. They are similar to Aries MCs in a way when it comes to saying whatever they want but what they say often… doesn’t make sense but also totally makes sense, yk? The girls that get it, get it, and the girls that don’t, don’t! Queens/kings of musically fr. Gemini MCs are good at being animated and cunning when creating content. They act really ditsy and lost but they are secretly very intelligent. To gain followers, just be WEIRD, but not weird as in it being forced to be unique and different. I mean weird as just being yourself - unfiltered. Imagine yourself at 10 years old and how annoying but funny they were then letting it out as an adult now that you have control of your life. Give your inner child that space to be creative and humorous without overthinking.

Trisha Paytas being a Gemini MC in her most viral videos. That is all.

(Ex: Trisha Paytas, Liza Koshy, Bella Hadid)

Cancer MC:

Ahh Cancer MCs, they just give mother, ykwim? Something about them is just so feminine and nurturing. If they are young in age, people are drawn to their girl/boy next door vibes. They often fit the beauty standard and are praised for their youthful features. They are way over romanticized sometimes and people have an unhealthy obsession with them. People often see Cancer MCs as overrated but honestly who cares? You are capable of gaining followers by making content with family members, at home, or honestly doing the bare minimum (this placement doesn’t require much effort).

Ari Fletcher is famous for being the girlfriend of rapper G Herbo and mother of their son, Yosohn, she often posts videos of her and their son together.

(Ex: Charli D’amelio, Ari Fletcher, Zoë Kravitz)

Leo MC:

Divaaaas. Leo MCs just give celebrity through and through. They are probably some of the youngest influencers out there. These are the people who were in their bathroom making YouTube videos at 11 and getting over millions of views just for talking about their day at school. They could talk a lot of shit and people would just tune in for the gossip. They are hilarious and entertaining to watch. Always hated but could never be imitated. They are just that it girl/boy. Leo MCs gain attention for their voluminous hair, balanced features, and radiant style. The more they shine, the better. These people gain followers when they look the most glamorous and behave unapologetically themselves. Fun to hear them talk while drunk too. Might have to make a few apologies throughout their career but their fans are loyal and would never turn their back on them lol. “They could never make me hate you ahhh😝”. Leo MCs live by the saying “only god could cancel me”, the feline that got 9 lives. Haters would even miss them if they died.

Bretman Rock’s viral contour video that’s … dare I say chaotic.

(Ex: Justine Skye, Bretman Rock, Doja Cat)

Virgo MC:

True natural beauty. These people probably started the “clean girl” trend, they are so effortlessly perfect at everything they do. Top student of their class, successful in their career, etc. You name it. Virgo MCs are admired for their good reputation and clean image (or in another case, when their reputation goes to shit, they can salvage it by being clever and profiting it off themselves. Kim Kardashian became famous for being in a sex tape and ever since then she’s been one of the biggest influencers in the entertainment industry). They gain followers for posting content of their everyday routine, cleaning habits, and comfortable but stylish wardrobe. These people lose attention when they are looking messy and dirty. Sometimes engaging in reckless behavior and not always being the “perfect” girl people perceive them as can gain attention - good or bad. These people may have a harder time keeping up with the standards people enforce onto them and often face criticism more than others which could impact their mental as well as physical health.

(Ex: Yara Shahidi, Hailey Baldwin Bieber, Maya Jama)

Libra MC:

The ultimate beauty gurus omg! These are the best people to receive beauty tips from. Unfortunately, people could never look as pretty as them but they could at least learn tips that would help them enhance their appearance with makeup, skincare, etc. Libra MCs are the embodiment of beauty and style, they make the perfect influencers and a lot of them are very popular on social media. They know how to balance humor while being serious when giving advice, giving off big sister/brother vibes. The beauty standards they present could be unattainable, so they could receive both love and hate from others because they are not able to replicate them. These influencers are the type to set trends such as “#wonyoungism” and what not. Wearing pink, using your artistic skills, and being an advocate for a cause you care about could attract more followers.

Jenna Marbles most famous video is ironically about “how to trick people into thinking you’re good looking”.

(Ex: Jenna Marbles, Kylie Jenner, Michelle Phan)

Scorpio MC:

Sexy spooky gals. Scorpio MCs possess a beauty that is haunting to the mind, they are the bad girls/boys. They are daring by nature and their quirky personalities contrast with their sensual appearance. These placements could be former porn stars or be very popular on onlyfans (*cough cough* Mia Khalifa). They are often involved in scandals, dating rumors, and people view them as dramatic. Indulge in people’s fantasies and feed into others illusions. Emphasize your eyes by doing a smoker eyeliner look, contour your cheeks, and wearing a nude lip is a signature look for the Scorpio MCs. Wearing leather, revealing, or stripper type clothing and having tattoos is part of their grand appeal as well. Entertain your fans by engaging in harmless flirting and venting about your emotions.

Quenlin has been gaining popularity recently for being involved in a dating rumor that her, Billie Ellish, and Odessa are in a throuple after making a video together.

(Ex: Emma Chamberlain, Quenlin Blackwell, India Love)

Sagittarius MC:

The one everyone wishes to find. These people become the most searched in a matter of seconds. Everyone wants to know who they are, what’s their name, and where are they from. Sagittarius MCs could be praised for their “exotic” look or extravagant style. Wear clothing and jewelry from foreign countries, these people have to give off the vibe they just came back from vacation. They are often seen sporting tans and look good in “airport fashion". To gain followers, post content of videos of yourself talking in the car, traveling, going to the airport, being on vacation, driving to your favorite places, and/or speaking in foreign languages. Sagittarius MCs become famous “unintentionally” and they experience a lot of luck and success within their career. Being too stagnant could harm their success.

Cindy Kimberly went viral after Justin Bieber posted her on his instagram asking people who she was.

(Ex: Cindy Kimberly, Khloe Kardashian, Jenna Ortega)

Capricorn MC:

These mfers are always mewing. Patrick Bateman core. These are the business moguls, supermodels, and professional gamers. They are competitive and efficient when it comes to their work. They look great in black and have noticeable tattoos. Similar to Scorpio MCs with having a baddie image but instead of being just “bad”, they give off mafia vibes. The sexy super villain that’s hard to resist and secretly rooting for. People want to know how much money they make and what they did to achieve being rich (“sprinkle sprinkle”). Capricorn MCs are appreciated for their dedication and hard work. People admire them most when they talk about their struggles and how they overcame obstacles to become successful. Although, if they are someone who benefits from nepotism, people could really despise them. Be the unbothered queen/king you’re meant to be and invest in yourself, remember your time and energy is valuable.

Rihanna’s most viral video is of her saying “she could beat me but she could not beat my outfit” during a speech.

(Ex: Vinnie Hacker, Rihanna, Kendall Jenner)

Aquarius MC:

The definition of social media stars. These are the innovators and trend starters. They are the reason influencers are so big now on the internet. Aquarius MCs gain popularity for their unique perspective and usage of technology (cameras, editing content, etc). They could post about tech, talking about interests from their fandom, doing Q&As, and having a close relationship with their fans. People admire how friendly and down to earth they are. Aquarius MCs lose followers when they are cold and distant. These people could wear just about anything but look best in a hoodie, sunglasses, and jeans. They are oh so casual chic.

Madison Beer went viral in her cover of Etta James when she was only 13, she showed gratitude to her fans in the comment section and was praised by Justin Bieber as well.

(Ex: Madison Beer, Jackie Aina, Dixie D’amelio)

Pisces MC:

These people just spawned into existence. They are otherworldly in terms of appearance. Pisces MCs are quite strange when it comes to how they express themselves and people who are often misunderstood find comfort in these public figures. As influencers, their style has spiritual or mystical elements. They look like a fantasy character come to life and their makeup style can be quite bizarre. These people lose followers when they try to fit in and dim their light. They make a positive impact on others when they talk about acceptance and self love. Pisces MCs’ sexuality could be a hot topic as well and they might be very progressive with their views. These people could be psychic and are very intuitive in terms of the future.

Julia Fox’s most popular video is about how her son was born the same day her best friend who died (she also talked about how she came to her in a dream to tell her she was having a boy!)

(Ex: Julia Fox, Addison Rae, James Charles)

[misserabella]

jealousy, jealousy

spencer reid x fem! reader

summary;; you’ve had a crush on spencer reid for a long time. it’s time to take matters into your own hands. flirting with another agent in front of him might just do the trick.

cw; +18 content! minors dni!!, jealousy, possessiveness, mean harsh spencer, spanking, hair pulling, cursing, degradation and praise, use of good girl, dirty talking, oral sex (r receiving), orgasm control and denial, multiple orgasms, teasing, edging, begging, hickeys, choking, spencer being a little bit of a pervert, panty stealing, piv sex, unprotected sex (guys don’t do this), breeding kink, creampie…

spencer reid. doctor spencer reid. the sweet amazing genius of your team seemed to be going crazy. he was always collected. always right. always holding on by the right string. but that string had snapped when you had came into the bau with a skin-tight skirt and a lavender button up shirt that made his cheeks flush —as its first buttons were undone to show your cleavage—. and he had fallen into complete madness when agent waters —one of the philadelphia agents that had come to quantico to ask for your help in a new case— had put his eyes on you. and his hands.

your smile was professional, yet sweet as he made small talk with you, and spencer tried his best to not show the rage in his face when his palm fell to your shoulder, rubbing circles with a smirk.

when you first arrived to the bau, spencer was freshly out of college and entering the team as well. he was closed off. shy. the years had changed him. cases had made him harder. but he was still as soft with you. it was as if you were his soft spot, anything he did he’d try and make it greater for you. he had memorized how you took your coffee, your favorite restaurants and orders, how many shots it took for you to fall into a fit of giggles with jj and emily, the exactly amount of time it took for you to get into the bull pen from your home, how many minutes it took for you to reapply your lipgloss. if he closed his eyes he could count the perfect amount of eyelashes in your eyes, could remember the perfect shade of pantone color of your irises, how many lines your smile made appear in your perfect soft features, he could make out the beauty marks on your skin, could name exactly what your perfume was made of, could remember the first words you said to him, the first smile you gave him, the first time you touched him…

it didn’t take him long to fall for you. it was easy. so easy it scared him. you were like the sun after years of cloudy skies, like a fresh of breath air after having been under water for an eternity… he was completely head over heels for you. but he wasn’t able to tell you. so he just stood beside you, did everything he could for you, protected you in the field, he had even stood in front of a loaded gun for you for gods sake…

so seeing that man, that agent, get to touch you that easily, in ways that he had dreamed about, in ways that he had thought about while late at night with his hand fisting his cock in between moans and groans, had his mind reeling, his jaw tight and his fists clenching.

you weren’t even interested on the agent. sure, he was easy on the eyes, but you had set your own on someone already, and that someone was fuming just meters away from you, trying to hold himself together. you knew about spencer’s little crush on you. who didn’t? even through he tried, he couldn’t help but blush at your attention, to shiver at your touch, to get worked up at the sight of you. and you loved it. you loved the power you had over him. but you had waited long enough. and you wanted him to finally snap. so you played along in this little flirting to get out of him a reaction, his true feelings.

by the way his eyes were boring into the back of your head you were sure it was working.

it was by the time one of your hands made its way to the agent’s chest and he pulled you closer by your hips that he had had enough of it.

he was quick to leave the files he pretended to be reading and make its way to the two of you to interrupt your conversation with a clearing of throat that caught your attention.

“excuse me. y/n, could i talk with you for a minute?” you nodded and waited, and his eyebrows arched. “in private.”

“oh. yeah. sorry.” you apologized to agent waters and followed the doctor through the hallways of the bau into a separated and vacant office.

his shoulders stood tense as you stepped inside and closed the door, his demeanor strange.

“what are you fucking doing?” he spat. and your whole body shivered at the coldness of his voice. at the look he gave you when he turned around to face you. hazel eyes leaving you feeling stone cold. he has never looked at you this way, never spoken at you this way. spencer never swore. hearing it come out of his mouth… fuck. it went straight down to your core.

“what-what do you mean?” you stuttered, hands shaking, your heart being bruised by its constant crashing against your ribs. he scoffed, stepping closer to you.

he had never looked this tall, this intimidating. what made you take a step back, making you bump against the recently closed door.

“now you want to act dumb? cute.” he smirked, and stepped even closer, your breath got stuck in your throat when he clicked closed the lock of the door. “flirting with that detective in front of me? seriously? come on… you know better than that.” your cheeks heated up.

caught. he had totally caught you. and he chuckles.

“you think i wouldn’t notice? this little game of yours?” you shiver.

“spencer…”

“what is it, baby? you wanted my attention that badly?” your mouth dried up. “so needy for it that you teased me with another man? what a brat.” you gasped as his hands pinned your wrists up in the wall, your back arching and chest rising to press against his own. “i’ll give it to you.” he muttered against your ear, and you almost moaned, his mouth latching onto that sweet spot below your ear, kissing down your neck, what made you gasp. “i’ll give you every last bit of it.” he bit down on the soft skin, and you moan. “what it is? haven’t i had make myself clear enough? can’t you see how much i want you? how much i need to bury my cock right up your pretty little pussy and fuck you stupid?” your cheeks heat up and your thighs press against the other. “so needy for it… acting like a fucking whore for another man so i’d need to show you?” one of his hand grips both your wrists, freeing his other to grasp it around your neck. “i am the only one that gets to touch you, kiss you, taste you, fuck you… do you understand? you’re fucking mine.” he tightens his hold when you don’t answer and you whimper. “do you understand?”

“yes…” you nodded and he smirked.

“atta girl.” he praised, but his actions spoke louder. “but i think i still need to show you who you belong to, hm?” he was quick to pull you towards the desk in the room, bending you over with your wrists still tightly clasped behind your back.

you gasped when his free hand harshly pulled up from your skirt, shoving it up your hips to expose the black lingerie that cladded your ass and dripping cunt. he groaned at the sight, his palm soothingly caressing the curve of your ass. “so pretty… look at you.” he grasped at your skin, making you moan, your chest tightly pressing against the wood. “you wore this for him, hm? were gonna let him fuck you with it on?” you shook your head and a shriek left your lips when his hand came down harshly against your skin. “were gonna let him see you like this?” another spank. “fuck you?” and another one. you were shivering in delirious pain, your legs wobbly, your pussy completely soaked at this point.

“no! i wore it for you. only you, spencer. i promise…” he hummed, caressing the reddening skin.

“i don’t know if i should believe you…” he whispered, and your ass pushed against his touch.

“touch me…” you begged. “touch me and you’ll see it’s only for you. it’s only for you, spencer…” you cried out, and he dampened his lips with his tongue, the hand that had just inflicted you pain coming down in between your thighs, slowly trailing up your inner thigh to tease you, what had you trembling and whining, a gasp leaving your lips along with a moan when his fingertips finally found their way to the lace, completely soaked through.

“fuck.” he groaned and you whimpered as he pressed against your clit, your hips moving backwards and against his touch. “you’re so wet, baby… and it is all for me, huh?” he smirked as he started rolling the sensitive nerve, and you nodded.

“yes, yes, only for you, please…” you moaned under his touch, shivering slightly when he pushed the material to the side to take a glimpse of your sopping cunt, groaning as he took his place between your legs, down onto his knees. “fuck!” you cried out when you felt it, the teasingly slow drag of his tongue in between your leaking folds, humming at the taste of your essence. he held your thighs open to keep you exposed as he lapped at you, your hips moving back against his face as he ate you out like a man starved. and he was, having spent years waiting for this moment, dreaming and fucking his fist to the thought of your heady taste. “spencer…” you whimpered as he latched onto your clit, one of your now free hands coming down to his head to grasp at his hair, making him groan at the tugging.

“you taste so good… fuck. i can’t get enough.” he cursed, pushing two of his fingers inside, finding no resistance and easily finding your g spot in your gummy walls, making you scream. “that’s it. good girl. scream for me. let them hear who you belong to.”

“spencer, i’m going to… i’m gonna…” but before you could reach your high, he was pulling away, leaving you empty and in edge. you whined. “what…? why did you…?”

“you think you deserve to cum after what you just pulled?” he inquired, coming back up on his feet and pushing your head onto the desk, your cheek pressing against the wood as he undid his belt. your body shivered as he pushed down his pants and underwear low enough for his throbbing dick to spring out, taking it in his free hand and gliding the leaking reddish tip along your folds, your entrance gaping in need to be filled by him, your thighs shaking and moans leaving your lips. “look at you. so desperate for it. you need it that badly, angel?” you nodded.

“yes, please, spencer, please… need you.” he hummed, and chuckled.

“what is it? is my little fuck toy needy? do you need my cock filling you up, baby? filling you up with my cum?” he inquired, grabbing harshly at your ass, ripping the lace parties to leave your dripping center completely exposed to his hungry eyes. he pushed them inside his pocket for later.

you whined, nodding against the wood, muttering ‘yes’s and ‘please’s in need of his mercy, of his dick finally splitting you in half.

“it’s okay. i’ll give it to you, angel. take my cock.”you gasped at the sudden thrust he made, filling you up and stretching you so easily it felt as if your body was meant for him, as if you’d only been made for taking him.

“so tight…” he grunted, relishing on the feeling of your warm slick walls around him as he started to thrust into you. you moaned out his name as he filled you up over and over again, nails scratching the desk as your body moved with his deep thrusts. “you’re gonna take this cock baby, you’re gonna take this cock and be good for me, hm?” you nodded, your mind buzzing at the feeling of him fucking you so deep…

“i wanna cum…” you whimpered, still on edge for him having left you at the nearing of your orgasm.

“hold it.” he ordered in a harsh smack to your ass, making you moan. “i’m not done yet.”

your eyes rolled back as he increased his pace, fucking you so fast and needy that it made the room fill with your moans and his groans. the hand that held your head down against the desk sneaked around your neck, pulling you up in a tight hold against his chest as his hips snapped into you, his breath hot against your neck as his lips latched onto the sensitive skin, branding you.

“please…” you whimpered at the new angle, which made his tip hit your g spot with every new thrust.

“no.” he groaned, his other hand coming down to your clit to tease you, push you to the edge just to get you desperate.

tears were spilling from your eyes at this point, begging him to let you find your release.

“you need it that badly, huh? fucking desperate for it. wanna cum around my cock so bad you’re crying for it.” he mocked you, his hold around your neck tightening.

“yes. yes, please. i need it spencer, please…” you cried out, and he grunted, the tightening and pulsing of your cunt as you tried to hold it in driving him closer to his own orgasm.

“fuuuuck.” he grunted, his balls tightening, the feeling of you and your sounds driving him crazy. “go ahead baby. come for me. make a mess of my dick.” he didn’t have to tell you twice, the permission in his voice making your orgasm drown you in waves as you clenched around him, soaking him and screaming in ecstasy. “good girl. good fucking fucking girl. coming so prettily around my cock. no one else gets to have you like this. only me. you’re mine.” you nodded, moaning his name. “i’m gonna cum, fuck.” he moaned, and you whimpered.

“inside. please cum inside.” you begged and he almost whined at the need in your voice.

“yeah? you want me to cum inside, baby? want me to feel you up? breed this pretty pussy?” you nodded.

“yes please, please spencer, please…” you cried out, his fingers still drawing circles on your clit and making your second orgasm approach at high speed. “cum in me. please baby, please… i want your cum in my pussy.”

your crude words were what made him finally snap, his cock twitching and throbbing in between your walls as his pace faltered in between moans and grunts, finally giving you what you wanted. the feeling of his cum coating your walls and stuffing you full making your second orgasm wash over you. the two of you rode your highs in between his thrusts and the rock of your hips against him, his lips kissing your neck and his hands on your chest, fumbling your chest softly and making you sigh.

once over, he slowly and carefully pulled out of you, still making you whimper at the loss of him.

“i know…” he muttered, cooing, and making you moan as his fingers pushed into you.

“spencer…” you sighed as his thumb came down to your sensitive clit.

“just one more. give me one more as i fuck my cum deeper into you, hm?”

and how could you say no?

-

back with my shenanigans 🤩😼

[yungistiny]

camgirl ═ chapter one

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter one: a bit of a mess

╚═════════

summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 3.9k

chapter two

masterlist

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Mingi knew he was getting too deep into this shit, getting too attached. Too emotionally involved. His jaw clenched, there was no livestream now. No viewers. No one watching.

It was just them, alone in his room. His bedroom door actually shut for a change as he trailed a hand up y/n back, tangling his fingers into her hair.

She moaned, gasping as he pulled her up, back flushed against his chest, a hand snaking around her and wrapping around her throat, gently squeezing. Mingi growled, his grip on her tilting her head back so he could kiss her, his other hand gripping her waist tightly as he continued to thrust into her aching, soaked cunt.

Her walls clenching him, her arousal creaming him and Mingi couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him because fuck if she wasn’t the best thing he’d ever had.

“Look at me.” The words left him with no control, making y/n open her eyes, pupils blown as they began to water from his deep and quick pace thrusts, dick finding that spongey little spot that sent her shaking in his hold.

Mingi held her gaze, his own eyes much like hers, darkened and pupils blown from desire. “You’re mine.” A loud, crying moan left y/n as her orgasm tore through her like a storm. “I’m yours!” She repeated the words like a broken record left on a loop.

“I’m yours…”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Mingi stared at the small piece of paper in his hand, his banking account balance practically mocking him. Just a little over 10, 000 won left in his account. That was barely enough for a bowl of ramen and a drink.

He was starting to slightly regret spending his savings on that Bring Me The Horizon concert. But the chances of them coming to South Korea was low so of course he had to jump at the opportunity to see one of his favorite bands.

The slight chill in the September air caused Mingi to shiver, balling the atm receipt up and shoving it into the pocket of his ripped baggy jeans. His roommate and about the closest thing he had to a best friend, Choi San, was gonna scold him. Remind him how he had distinctly told Mingi not to waste his money on a concert.

Mingi never listened to San.

He ran a hand through his short fading pink hair, the color now a light pastel compared to the hot pink it had been when he first dyed it, his dark roots bleeding through. Mingi knew if he really needed money all he had to do was call his mom, his dad would certainly not be too giving or lenient after he had to pay a good whopping 2.8 million won to pay for damages caused by him at a hotel in Busan.

The Busan incident was now something his dad always brought up when Mingi needed to borrow some money.

“You know son, I would have the money but instead, I had to pay for a brand new window that you and your idiotic friends broke by tossing a mattress out of it.”

It’s not Mingi’s fault that Lee Seokmin and Hoshi Kwan were fucking absolutely crazy when high. He doesn’t even recall what exactly led up to Hoshi pulling the giant king sized mattress, pushing it full speed towards Seokmin who screamed and jumped out of the way.

Mingi promised his dad he’d pay him back, the hotel room had been in his name so of course Mingi was left with the bill. And he really did mean to pay his dad back but then he splurged his savings on dying his hair, he also got a new phone and the rest was spent on that concert.

It wouldn’t be so bad but Mingi’s boss fired him today after he was late, the third job he’d been fired from in the last two months. He just couldn’t keep a job to save his own life and was sure at this point he was going to be stuck going back home and working under his dad at the family restaurant.

Warmth enveloped him as he walked inside the convenience store just a block away from his apartment building. The heat was like a warming blanket against the chill outside.

Mingi grabbed a cup of ice from the small freezer in the front, hand crunching the ice up as he searched for a drink, grabbing a packet of green apple flavored juice. One finger pointed, the black nail polish chipping, searching for a bowl of ramen and snatching a spicy buldak.

He also grabbed a couple of cheese sticks before making his way up to the register where one of his old college friends Jung Wooyoung waited, eyes on his phone before glancing at Mingi when he dropped his stuff on the counter.

“You look all broody today.” Wooyoung teased him as he scanned his items. “I got fired again.” Mingi bit at his bottom lip, pushing his black rimmed glasses up his nose, poking the inside of his cheek, his tongue piercing rubbing against it. “Dude,” Wooyoung laughed. “you’re like job repellent.”

“Fuck you.” Mingi grumbled, unlocking his phone and going into his wallet to display his debit card. “Time and place.” Wooyoung smirked at him as Mingi tapped to pay, just enough in his account for the junk food.

“You know,” Wooyoung watched him walk over to the little snack station, filling his bowl of ramen up with water and putting it into the microwave. “I think I know the perfect job for you.”

“Oh really?” Mingi scoffed as he pulled the seal off of his cup of ice, tearing open the drink pouch with his teeth. “Last time you said that i was left stranded in Busan with your two crazy ass friends and now I’m in debt with my dad.”

“That was like three months ago.” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “This, this you’re perfect for.”

“What is it?” Mingi grabbed his cooked bowl of ramen out of the microwave, snatching a pair of wooden chopsticks from the container beside it, mixing the red sauce into the noodles and pulling his chopsticks apart with his teeth to help stir.

“My friend,” Wooyoung leaned atop the counter, to see Mingi where he sat at the small little dining area in front of the window. “she needs help, someone to be behind the camera for this streaming thing she does.”

“What? Like twitch?” Mingi peeled the sealing off of his cheese stick, pulling them apart and mixing them into his bowl of noodles. “Something like that.” Smirked Wooyoung.

“So… what,” Mingi took a sip of his drink, arching a brow at Wooyoung as another customer walked in, disappearing into the store to shop for their own needs and cravings. “I just hold the camera for her? I thought streamers had stands for that?”

“Well… what she streams she needs some….” Wooyoung giggled. “close ups, different angles.”

Mingi waited, taking a bite of his noodles as Wooyoung checked out the customer, waiting until after they left to ask the most important question. “What’s she pay?”

“Well, when I helped her a few times…” Wooyoung thought for a moment, calculating in his head. “For about one session… 700,000 won.”

Mingi choked on the cheese stick he started to chew on, gasping and quickly removing the lid on his drink and chugging to help wash the food down. 700,000 won? That was like $500 usd! “All that? Just to hold a fucking camera?”

“Well, there’s a bit more to it then just that, but yeah, that’s about the gist of it.” Wooyoung nodded, looking back down at his phone. “I’ll text her, let her know I found her someone.”

“I haven’t even agreed yet…” Mingi took another drink of his juice, a cough escaping him after almost choking on his food. “Yes you are.” Wooyoung grinned at him. “I’ll text you her address when she lets me know when she needs you.”

“And she’s just gonna let a stranger into her home to film her?” Mingi asked, not denying the fact that Wooyoung was right. There’s no way in hell he was passing this opportunity up.

“She trusts me and I trust you.” Wooyoung shrugged, sitting his phone back down. “It’s not like I’m sending her some random creepy dude or anything.”

“Have I met her before?” Mingi was curious now, he was sure him and Wooyoung hung around the same friend group. “No. I met her that summer after freshman year when I went to New York. Her grandparents are from here and she came back a couple years ago to take care of her grandma before she passed.”

A ping from Wooyoung’s phone alerted them that he had a new message. Mingi watched him typing a reply, a devious smirk on Wooyoung’s face. “You can go by her place tomorrow night, she said around 6:00. I’m texting you the address now.”

Mingi unlocked his phone, checking his messages, eyes widening in shock at the address location. “She lives in the Gangnam district?”

“Her grandma left her this nice ass duplex.” Wooyoung giggled at Mingi’s reaction. “So she’s like…. rich?” Mingi looked back down at the address on his phone. “What’s her name?”

Wooyoung had to hold in the snicker that wanted to leave him, the smirk on his face growing because Mingi had no idea what he was getting himself into but Wooyoung knew his friend was perfect for the job.

“Y/N.”

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San wasn’t home when Mingi walked into their shared apartment, quickly feeding San’s pet cat, Byeol, before grabbing his stash from under his bed in his room and flopping himself on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table as he rolled himself a blunt.

The tv played a playlist of 2000s rock music videos, a Linkin Park one coming on as he brought the blunt to his lips, inhaling and closing his eyes as the smoke exhaled through his nose.

Byeol curled into Mingi’s lap, the cat purring and snuggling up to sleep. The weed was slowly loosening his mind, relaxing him at the moment as a Three Days Grace music video started to play, he had no care in the world.

Mingi used one hand to thread through the fur and pet Byeol, his chunky steel rings scratching at the cats back making her purr more. The blunt in his other hand burned for a second as he got distracted by the music video on the tv before taking another hit.

Mingi had no idea how long he sat there, too high to care, when the apartment door opened, San finally home after work, a long day spent with kindergartners but San loved kids.

“You’re home early.” San arched a brow at Mingi, he usually didn’t get home after work until after 8:00 and it was only a little after 5:00.

Mingi stared at him for a long moment, eyes red and half lidded letting San know he was high. “I got fired.”

The heaviest sigh left San as he sat down next to Mingi on the couch, shoving his feet off the coffee table. Byeol perked up at her owner, stretching in Mingi’s lap and meowing at San, switching seats and making herself comfortable in his lap instead. “Again?”

“It’s fine,” Mingi waved a hand dismissively. “I already got another job.”

“That was fast.” San scratched Byeol behind her ear. “What is it this time?”

“One of Wooyoung’s friends.” Mingi answered, rolling another blunt. At this rate he was gonna smoke all his weed up before he had more cash.

“You know what happened last time you worked with Wooyoung’s friends.” San reminded, Mingi was never living the Busan incident down. “This is different.” He argued as San turned the tv down.

“Which friend is it this time?” San was curious, he knew all of Wooyoung’s friends just like Mingi did. “I haven’t met her yet.” Mingi shrugged, licking the wrap of the blunt to seal it.

“Her?” San picked Byeol up, holding her closely. He was tired and needed a hot shower. “Just don’t sleep with her.” It’s why Mingi had been fired from his last job, sleeping with the boss’s daughter, while on the clock mind you.

San loved his best friend, practically his brother, but Mingi had become a little bit of a mess and irresponsible after they graduated from college three years ago.

Mingi smirked as he brought the blunt to his lips. “Of course not.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

It was well past noon when Mingi woke up the next day. His eyes blinked slowly, Byeol staring at him where she had made herself home on his bed once San had left for work that morning. Mingi always left his bedroom door open for the needy cat.

A deep groan left him as he turned over onto his back, stretching his arms and legs. His phone lay on his bedside table, the screen lighting up as he unlocked it. Mingi was going to have to do something he was dreading. Ask his mom for money. Sure he started his new job today but he literally had no money to his name at the moment.

The call rang twice before his mother answered. “Mingi, honey, make it quick because the restaurant is starting to get busy.” She sounded in a hurry and he could hear the clutter of dishes and his older brother’s voice in the background.

He hesitated before asking. “Omma,” Mingi put on his best pouty voice, knowing his mom couldn’t say no to him. “I’m starting a new job today but I’m all out of cash until I get paid.”

“If your father finds out I sent you more money he just might cut you off this time.” She warned him, not saying no though. “He won’t find out and give me a week or so and he’ll have every bit of his money back.” Mingi promised. First thing he was going to do was get his dad off his back.

His mother gave in, telling him she’ll transfer him some money on her break. Mingi still had almost five hours before he had to meet y/n. He found himself the night before on twitch searching for any streamers named y/n but found hundreds of results and instantly gave up.

The next five hours started with a hot shower and then dressing in his favorite dark washed ripped baggy jeans and a black long sleeved Jesus Piece shirt. His hair air dryed, slightly spiked from where it was growing out.

Mingi even repainted his chipping polished nails back black. He smoked about three blunts, he kind of lost count, and headed out to check his bank account balance once his mom texted him that she transferred the money.

Just a little over 300,000 won. Mingi looked at his phone seeing the time and cursed to himself. He needed to be over to y/n in Gangnam in twenty minutes.

He quickly flagged down a taxi. The ride to Gangnam took longer then Mingi hoped it would, quickly paying the driver and hopping out right outside of the duplex y/n lived at. It was pretty, colored a light eggshell, flowers grew in the yard already wilting from the September weather.

Mingi rang the doorbell, waiting with his hands in his pockets. He could hear shuffling inside then the unlocking of a lock before the mahogany door opened.

Fuck.

Wooyoung didn’t think to mention just how hot his friend was. Y/N was shorter then him like most were, knee high white socks on that were fully visible due to the pink Calvin Klein boyshorts she had on paired with a cropped pink Mean Girls tshirt that gave Mingi the perfect view of her stomach and legs. Did he catch her at a bad time? But she said be here at 6:00…

“You must be Mingi.” She smiled at him, her gaze taking him in, lingering from his face taking in the entire length of him. Mingi smirked at her wondering eyes as he was doing the exact same thing to her. He placed each of his hands on the entrance of the door, leaning in slightly, looking down at her. “And you’re y/n.”

Fuck his voice was deep. Y/N clenched her thighs, his entire appearance and demeanor was attractive. And he was tall, really fucking tall. Wooyoung didn’t think to mention to her how hot his friend was?

“Come in!” She shook her head, returning her gaze back to his smirking face, stepping out of the way to allow Mingi room to walk in. Fuck! He smelled really good too. Like faint notes of amber, a smooth sweetness she couldn’t exactly decipher and y/n could tell he must of gotten high before coming over from the undertone scent of weed mixed in.

She shut the front door back closed and locked it behind him. Mingi allowed his gaze to roam around the living room as he kicked off his combat boots, the white painted walls lit by fairy lights that decorated the top of them, wrapping around the entire room. A three seated white couch with a fluffy pink throw blanket draped over it was placed against the wall where a big black cat, with probably the biggest mane Mingi had ever seen, sat licking and cleaning itself.

Mingi looked back at y/n not realizing she was right beside him. Her scent invaded his own senses. A mixture of strawberry, vanilla and sugar. He had the urge to drop to his knees and beg her to let him have a taste. He didn’t of course. He couldn’t. This was business, he was just there to work for her. But damn if he weren’t gonna be tempted.

“That’s Gladiolus,” y/n walked over, picking up the giant cat. She held him in her arms like a small toddler. “he’s not really a people person kitty though….”

Y/N trailed off, shocked when her otherwise antisocial cat started to purr as Mingi scratched under his chin. “I guess he likes you though, magic touch.” She teased him.

Mingi smirked, noticing the way her gaze lingered on his hands. “Oh, yeah. Pussys love me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, face flushed. She was going to kill Wooyoung for sending her someone he knew she’d be attracted to. Wooyoung was the closest she had to a best friend and he knew exactly her type. He’s a menace.

Gladiolus stretched when y/n placed him back on the couch. “Come on, everything is upstairs.” She led Mingi up the small staircase upstairs to her bedroom.

Mingi took in the white painted walls, the queen sized bed centered by the headboard against the wall in the middle of the room, a mirror on the wall it sat against, another mirror, a floor length one against the wall to the right, a large computer and streaming set up on the opposite end of the bed against the other wall.

White fairy lights wrapped around the entire room much like the living room, fake green leaves and pastel pink roses adorned the decor with them. She likes pink. Mingi bit his lip, humored at the coincidence of the color of his hair that was practically the same color as the rug at the foot of the bed he was standing on.

Y/N watched him, gaze following his hands, loving the way his nails were painted black. Loved the rings on his fingers as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the bracelets on his wrists. The beaded ones matched the beaded choker necklace he had on with the silver chain dangling with a small cross pendant.

She watched the way he darted his tongue out, wetting his lips and giving her the perfect glance at his tongue piercing. Y/N avoided her gaze from him before he noticed her staring, unbeknownst to her, he already had. “Did Wooyoung explain anything to you?” Her best friend loved to mess with people, she knew that, it’s why Boo Seungkwan didn’t last one stream with her. The poor guy had been flustered and a mumbling mess the entire time.

“You’re a streamer.” Mingi shrugged, pushing his glasss back up the bridge of his nose. “Did he tell you what kind of streamer?” Y/N was trying not to laugh now at the confused expression on Mingi’s face.

She noticed then the little lightning bolt like design shaved into the end of his right eyebrow as he arched it. He watched as she smirked at him, her glossy lips very tempting. “I’m guessing it’s not twitch?”

The laugh that left her caught Mingi off guard. “Is that what Wooyoung told you?” Of course he would. He once told her he likes to watch the stream whenever she gets a new cameraman, all ended up nervous, shy or just got too horny to finish.

Mingi looked around her room, eyes searching for anything that would give him a clue as to what it was she streamed but nothing seemed out of the ordinary or stood out too much.

“Let me give you a hint…” y/n walked over to a pink painted two door wall cabinet, opening the door and gesturing for Mingi to come and look at what was inside.

Mingi walked over, towering behind y/n as he studied what was there. It took him a minute to register it all but when he did, Mingi wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill Wooyoung or thank him for getting him this job.

Definitely the latter.

“And…. you’re just gonna let me film you, live, while you get yourself off?” Mingi’s voice was deeper now, he couldn’t control it with the images flashing in his head, his imagination suddenly getting the best of him.

“Wooyoung trust you…” y/n didn’t look behind her, she didn’t move as he brushed up against her briefly, his height making her feel small. “and I trust Wooyoung.”

Mingi backed up, biting his bottom lip and letting out a quiet disbelieving chuckle. “So, I just…. hold the camera?” He was curious now what exactly all it was he was gonna be required to do.

“Basically.” Y/N turned to him, walking over to her camera that sat on her desk beside the computer. “But… I need you to move with me…” she grabbed the camera, handing it to Mingi, looking up and meeting his heated gaze behind his glasses.

Mingi was glad he was high as hell right now, his senses calm, his emotions centered otherwise he’d probably kiss her, tangle his ringed fingers into her hair and pin her against the wall.

This job might end up being a tad difficult.

“How many cameramen have you had?” Mingi was curious, obviously the last one didn’t make it and he knew Wooyoung had helped her out a few times.

“Just a handful, all sent by Woo but…” she pouted at him, looking up through her lashes, voice teasing. “none of them ever last.”

Mingi took the camera into his hand, gripping it and smirking down at y/n. “If there’s one thing I’m great at…”

His voice was so much deeper now, practically rumbling as he stepped back, gesturing towards the pink wall cabinet she had showed him before, letting her know he was ready to get started when she was.

“is letting a woman come first.”

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permanent tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411

[xinganhao]

📺 now watching: "our beloved summer" (wonwoo x reader)

part of my svtflix milestone event. warnings: f!reader, angst. more content under the cut. enjoy watching!

jeon wonwoo's latest exhibit, ‘our beloved summer’.

ARTIST'S INTRODUCTION. They say, "The more you try to ignore the past, the more you become trapped in it." Inasmuch as I want to believe that might be untrue, there are days where I still feel like the boy from Changwon. This exhibit is my attempt to reckon with that. While the past can be good, can be bad, sometimes all we need is one beloved summer— and, if you're lucky, the residual joy of that time will last you a lifetime. This is that year from me. | © Jeon Wonwoo (2024)

WHERE DO WE GO WHEN WE YEARN? (2016) Changwon, Gyeongsangnam-do

ARTIST'S NOTE. Yearning— especially that of the high school puppy love variation— can be such a liberating feeling. It exists in the shadows, just enough to sustain you through the tedious days, the long hours. But to bring it to light, to see what that yearning looks like in the morning? How do we survive it? How do we see beyond it?

HERE, YOU MIGHT STILL LOVE ME (2023) Changwon, Gyeongsangnam-do

ARTIST'S NOTE. You never really know when the last time is going to be the last time. This is the bus stop where the world closed in on me. I can still tell you the plate number of the bus that eventually took you away. 21 경남 1713. I revisited this bus stop and felt like something had been frozen in time. Here, you once loved me. Here, you might still.

HATE TO SEE YOU GO/LOVE TO WATCH YOU LEAVE (2015) Changwon, Gyeongsangnam-do

ARTIST'S NOTE. You always were several steps ahead of me. You leave me with my hand outstretched, my fingers reaching,— never quite holding. Never keeping. It was that way when we first met. It's that way, even now.

HOMEBOUND (2020) Changwon, Gyeongsangnam-do

ARTIST'S NOTE. There are no colors in this picture, but I'm sure you can imagine it. The brick red walls. The grey asphalt. The sky— an endless blue, cut with strips of white. When I pass this neighborhood, I think of afternoons; the sun beginning to sink, the scratch of school shoes on the street. We survived another day. We can only hope to walk into the next one.

THE LAST GOOD THING (2022) Seoul, Gyeonggi-do

ARTIST'S NOTE. A memento. The only thing I could bear to keep. It's been around enough that I sometimes forget it's even there, and maybe that's why it survived my 'purge'. Something so inherently human about us holding on to sweet nothings, even if the only purpose they have left to serve is to remind.

GOING IN CIRCLES (BACK IN OUR PLACES) (2024) Seoul, Gyeonggi-do

ARTIST'S NOTE. Often, we like to play around with the thought "What would you do if you could turn back time?" If you asked me that some years ago, I might have given a lot of answers about being better, 'changing' things. Now, though, there's only one thing I can think of doing if I were in control of the hands of the clock. I think I would just want to spend one more day, one more minute, with you.

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ABOUT THE PHOTOGRAPHER. Born and raised in Changwon, South Gyeongsang, Jeon Wonwoo (전원우) draws inspiration from the rich art heritage of his hometown. He experiments with different mediums but is best known for his work with film and landscape photography. Wonwoo currently resides in Seoul. You can reach him at jeonwwoosnaps@gmail.com.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao | all photos courtesy of wonwoo (film_jww). :)

[redcherrykook]

────𐙚 inevitable transition (a)

────୨ৎ────

content: cheater!jungkook

note from cherry: i've spent the past days horribly anxious and with all this nervous energy, i channeled this angsty fic. I hope it hurts in the rightest ways.

────୨ৎ────

Waking up to a silent phone.

Ordinary buzzing of your alarm and sheer nothingness after. The other side of the bed was left empty, touseld, not unusual. He does wake up earlier than you do, does have a tight schedule.

Your phone remained empty.

A routine you had gotten familair with recently.

Your "thinking about you baby" and "I love you my angel" texts have disappeared into thin air. Merged with the chirping of birds that are only audible for the ones who wake up early enough to witness them.

In actuality, they have been transfered to the screen of another.

Her arguably beautiful face lights up in the morning, greeted by his profile picture. Him, him and his doberman. For her, it did not matter when she woke, he'd been there. Left his traces, given security.

You knew this, yet he still kissed you with the same lingering smile, spit the same "love you" when met with your presence.

It had become routine after all, to behave like lovers.

Which explains why, when Jungkook changed his profile photo from him and you sharing a kiss, you did not question it. Brushed over it, like he did every time he came home late.

Until the lights started to give out as well, the apartment he came back to had turned dim. A house, simply that.

Jungkook no longer felt home.

His arms had not lost their strength and yet, an embrace had never felt weaker. A kiss never duller.

It seemed almost too perfect, how he'd put on a show- pretend as though all these miniscule things didn't turn into a portrait of his betrayal, did not hold any weight to them. An accumilation of odd details. If you didn't know better, he seemed close to oblivious.

"You're overthinking it" his voice ringed, filling your ears with a sentence that should have been reassuring, should have put your racing heart at ease, lowered your cortisol.

In contrast, that is far from what it had done to you. It should have been obvious why he started referring to you with your full name, should have been evident why it took him longer to respond, longer to like your posts and even longer to message first.

Well aware of who he was talking to when it showed he is online but your text still read delivered.

It was right before your teary eyes.

The livingroom clock ticks, time will pass recklessly, without control. The minutes will go by anyways.

You grew into the habit of reminiscing times of a near past- you had been his only once. When there had not been another number to dial, a selfie to open, a giggle to share.

Bittnernes from your morning coffee mingled with the question, if that reality ever existed in the first place or if- maybe, he has been awaiting a chance to escape, replace, all along.

'I'm so attached to you'- a simple string of a unkept words that have forgotten their true integrity somewhere along allure and temptation of another. He hadn't meant it, nor could he bare the slight drop in the corner of your diluded smile- one which used to possess the property of igniting a spark inside his chest.

Jungkook's attachment is mirroring a sticker stuck to the back of ones phone, peeling away from continued usage, drained of its color, barely grasping the surface. Simultaneously, it was however, no more than the remainders of its glue that you will never be able to rid yourself of- it would always be part of you.

You have been forgotten before- have blended into the anonymity of a growing circle when on your part, it has only been you two. an us. it would stay that way for you, for as long as your lungs work, as long as your heart pumps.

[straw-berrysoju]

The Tease (18+)

Pairing: Soobin x female reader (smut)

Synopsis: YN is failing English, and her quiet, soft-spoken tutor Soobin is her last shot at passing. But she’s more focused on tempting him than studying—flirty remarks, suggestive touches, revealing outfits. She wants him to lose control. And maybe teach her how to behave.

Setting: College AU | Age gap: 2 years | Private tutoring sessions | Senior -junior dynamic

Genre: slow-burn, smutty build-up, needy fl

Warnings: suggestive content, sexual tension, teasing, oblivious (or very self-controlled) Soobin, needy and bratty fl, unprotected sex(pls be safe y'all never skip protection), oral sex, anal sex

Word Count: 3.1k

Minors dni!

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You didn’t expect your literature professor to assign him as your tutor.

Choi Soobin.

Tall, broad-shouldered, annoyingly soft-spoken Soobin. The kind of senior who showed up to class fifteen minutes early just to get the best seat and probably highlighted his notes in pastel color-coded perfection.

And worse? He was gorgeous in a way that felt unfair. Sharp jaw, full lips, thick lashes, and a voice deep enough to curl your toes when he said things like “Turn to page twenty-seven.”*

You were doomed from the first session.

Because Soobin, for all his charm and bedroom eyes, was utterly, painfully innocent. Or at least, he acted like he didn’t notice the way your skirts kept getting shorter. Or how you started showing up in clingy little tops, gloss on your lips, your perfume just a little sweeter than usual.

If he noticed, he never said a thing.

Which only made you want him more.

---

Session Two: The Beginning of the Game

You trade your hoodie and leggings for a soft, slinky V-neck tee and shorts so short you have to pull them down every time you sit. When he opens the door, you smile like nothing’s changed.

He does a double-take. Barely. His eyes flicker down, but they don’t linger.

“You look… ready to work,” he says with a nod.

You hum, dropping onto the edge of his bed—the only surface you two can sit on since his room doesn’t have a proper desk. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you say, crossing your legs slowly.

He sits beside you, opens your notebook, and starts circling mistakes in red ink like the outline of your thighs isn’t right there in his peripheral vision.

You shift. He doesn’t look. You lean in. He scoots a little away.

It’s frustrating but it only makes you crave him more.

---

Session Three: You Up the Stakes

You pick your outfit carefully—white tank top, no bra. Just soft fabric clinging to your skin. You tilt your neck as you sit beside him on the bed again, fingers trailing lightly over your collarbone.

“It’s really hot in here,” you murmur, fanning yourself.

“I can turn the fan on,” he says immediately, rising like a soldier responding to a command.

You pout, but he doesn’t see it. He’s already across the room.

When he comes back, you lean back on your arms, arching your back just a little. His eyes flicker to your chest—but only for a second.

You catch it.

Still, he sits back down like nothing happened and starts explaining compound sentences again.

You blink slowly, letting your eyes trace the curve of his lips, the way his fingers grip the pen tightly.

You want them on your skin.

But Soobin just keeps talking.

---

Session Four: The Drop

You “accidentally” drop your pen in his lap mid-sentence. It lands on his thigh, dangerously close to the center.

“Oops,” you murmur, leaning in to grab it before he can react.

Your fingers brush something firm. Warm.

His breath catches, just slightly.

You pause. Meet his eyes.

He looks startled—like he’s holding his breath.

“Sorry,” you whisper, your hand still there for a second longer than necessary. “Didn’t mean to.”

He clears his throat and slides your pen back into your hand, avoiding your eyes.

“Uh… so, anyway—” He flips to the next page, visibly tense.

You bite your lip.

He’s definitely noticed now.

---

Session Five: Hands-On Learning

You rest your hand on his thigh this time.

Just gently. Just casual. Just to see.

He stiffens beneath your palm.

You start reading your worksheet aloud, pretending not to notice. You trail your thumb in slow, lazy circles as you speak. His breathing slows. His pen stills.

“You’re… uh,” he says, not looking at you. “You’re missing a modifier in that sentence.”

You glance over at him. “Maybe I just need some… hands-on correction.”

He finally looks at your hand.

Then back at the paper.

And you swear he’s using every ounce of willpower in his body when he doesn’t move it away.

---

Session Six: Dangerous Territory

You’ve stopped pretending this is about tutoring.

Your skirt today is indecent. Your tank top is cropped to the edge of decency, and when you stretch, a sliver of skin shows just under your chest.

You lean over him, breasts brushing his arm as you reach for your phone.

“Sorry,” you whisper, not sorry at all.

His arm tenses. His eyes flick to your chest. You see him swallow.

Then he sits up straighter, shifting away.

“Let’s stay focused,” he says, voice slightly strained.

You blink at him, all fake innocence. “Am I distracting you?”

He meets your gaze. His eyes are darker than usual.

“No,” he lies.

---

Session Seven: On the Edge

You moan.

Softly.

Not on purpose—not really. You just stretch, tired from trying to care about grammar, and a little sound slips out. Frustrated. Drawn out.

His head snaps up.

“You okay?”

You nod, lips parted. “Just… tired. This stuff is hard.”

Soobin’s jaw tightens.

“I can slow down.”

“I like it when you go fast,” you say without thinking.

Silence.

His eyes flick to your lips.

You shift closer. “Soobin,” you say softly, “why do you always sit so far away?”

“I don’t,” he says. But he does.

You’re barely breathing now. You’re close enough to smell his cologne, the clean warmth of it making you dizzy.

He looks at you like he wants to say something.

And then he stands up.

“I think we’re done for today,” he says, not looking at you.

You want to scream.

---

You know he’s close to breaking.

You see it in the twitch of his fingers when you reach for his pen instead of yours. In the way his knee bounces when your thighs brush under the table. In how he never sits back once during a session anymore—just leans forward, elbows on his knees, like he's trying to put as much space between your body and his as possible.

So of course, you push more.

And God, you hope he breaks.

You want to see the exact moment he snaps.

---

Session Eight: New Tactics

You're late on purpose. Not by much—just seven minutes. Just enough to have him open the door with furrowed brows and a furiously working jaw.

You pout up at him. “Sorry, Soobinnie.”

The nickname makes his ears go pink.

You step inside, brushing past him on purpose, your arm grazing his chest.

It’s warm. So firm. And for a moment, you wonder what he’d do if you just turned around and pressed your body against it.

But not yet.

You sit cross-legged on the bed, skirt barely covering you. You wore a lacy bralette under your loose cardigan and a skirt you’d be terrified to wear outside.

He notices. You know he does.

His eyes lower—just for a second—before he opens your textbook like it offended him.

“I marked your assignment,” he says, like he’s not obviously distracted.

You hum, stretching back on your palms. “Am I improving?” you ask, letting your chest lift slightly with the motion.

He doesn’t look. His neck goes stiff.

“I think you’re… testing me.”

Oh?

“Testing your patience?” you tease, eyes glinting.

He turns a page too hard, the paper nearly tearing. “Let’s start with sentence corrections.”

You grin.

---

Session Nine: Body Heat

Soobin is already seated on the bed when you arrive this time. Legs apart. Slouched like he forgot to be tense.

You take it as an invitation and plop down next to him—closer than usual. Your bare thigh touches his denim-clad one.

He tenses immediately.

You pretend not to notice.

You lean over the textbook between you, making sure your side is practically glued to his.

“This part confuses me,” you say, pointing vaguely.

He leans in too. And you tilt your head until your cheek almost brushes his shoulder.

He smells like citrus and cedar. Clean, masculine, unfair.

His fingers start explaining something, but you’re not listening. Not really.

You shift your weight and accidentally press your chest against his arm.

You stay there.

He clears his throat, voice tighter. “You’re… really close.”

You smile, eyes wide. “We’re sharing a book.”

“Right.”

He doesn’t move.

---

Session Ten: The “Accidental” Fall

It’s late. You’re both tired. The room’s dimly lit, the lamp on his desk throwing warm shadows against the walls. Your cardigan is slipping off one shoulder, and you make no effort to fix it.

Soobin is explaining something. You’re half-listening, half-admiring the veins on his forearms as he gestures.

You shift positions, stretch lazily—and then fake a little wobble.

“Shit—”

You catch yourself—sort of—your hand landing right on his thigh as you tip forward onto him.

You gasp. Your chest lands against his stomach. Your hand is just inches from his crotch.

He freezes. So do you.

Only, you’re pretending.

“Sorry,” you whisper, staying there just a second too long. You’re almost in his lap.

He inhales sharply.

“You okay?” he asks. Voice like gravel.

You nod. “Just clumsy.”

You slide back into place, fingers trailing down his thigh as you pull away.

He swears under his breath.

You smile into your hand.

---

Session Eleven: Legs

You sit sideways today, knees up, leaning against the wall while he sits on the bed beside you. Your skirt slips higher with the position. You don’t adjust it.

You stretch your legs across his lap.

“Hope you don’t mind,” you say sweetly. “My back hurts.”

He looks down at your thighs—bare, smooth, warm against him.

“I—uh—no. It’s fine,” he mumbles.

He doesn’t touch you.

But you can feel the way his muscles tense under you.

Every time you shift, his jaw tightens.

At one point, your foot brushes against something solid.

You freeze. So does he.

You raise an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t answer.

Just flips the page harder than necessary.

---

Session Twelve: The Whisper

You’re behind him.

It wasn’t planned, but he’s standing now, scanning your paper at his desk while you linger behind him on the bed. His shirt has ridden up a little. You see a sliver of skin.

You rise slowly. Walk over.

He doesn’t notice you until you’re right behind him.

You lean in, your breath brushing his neck.

“I think I’m failing,” you whisper.

He jolts, turning slightly.

You don’t back up. Just tilt your head, close, lips nearly brushing his jaw.

“You’ve been helping me so much,” you say softly, voice dipped in honey, “but I feel like I’m just… not focusing.”

He swallows.

“Maybe you should punish me.”

He turns to face you fully now, eyes locked with yours.

And fuck, there’s something in them.

Something dangerous.

Then he steps back.

“Break time,” he says tightly. “Five minutes.”

He practically flees the room.

You flop back on the bed, laughing into the pillow.

He’s so close.

---

You decide you’re done playing fair.

You’ve been soft, suggestive, patient.

And he’s still trying to pretend you’re just clumsy. That you just don’t know what your body’s doing when you’re crawling into his space with skirts that barely cover your ass and sweaters that hang open to show just enough lace.

Tonight? You're not leaving any room for confusion.

Tonight, you're making it filthy.

---

Session Thirteen: Endgame

You show up wearing his weakness: a tank top so tight it clings to your tits like second skin, no bra. And the shortest shorts you own—barely more than underwear. One wrong move and you’d be flashing him everything.

Good.

He opens the door and doesn’t even blink at first.

Just stares.

Then swallows hard. “You, uh… going somewhere after?”

“Just here,” you say innocently, breezing past him.

He follows, a little stiff. (Everywhere but his cock.)

---

You don’t sit on the bed this time. You crawl.

Slowly. Deliberately. Letting the hem of your shorts ride up.

Soobin’s behind you, silent.

You sit on your knees and look over your shoulder. “Coming?”

You swear his eye twitches.

He sits beside you, at the very edge of the bed.

You don’t open the textbook. You don’t even pretend to care.

Instead, you drag your fingers over your own thigh slowly, tracing a lazy path toward the hem of your shorts.

He notices.

Of course he does.

“You okay?” he croaks.

“Mmhm. Just hot.”

And with that, you reach back and lift your hair, exposing the sheen of sweat on your neck.

He watches you like he’s in pain.

You lower your voice. “Can I sit in your lap?”

He chokes. “What?”

You pout. “My legs hurt. It’s just for a sec, Soobin.”

He stares. Doesn’t answer.

So you do it anyway.

You straddle him.

Carefully, deliberately, sliding onto his lap with a weightless innocence that’s anything but.

You feel him the second you settle—his thighs tense, cock already thick and pressed between you, trapped under his sweats.

He still doesn’t move.

Doesn’t touch you.

Just freezes like if he blinks you’ll disappear.

But you’re not going anywhere.

You shift slightly, grinding just a little.

Not enough to be obvious.

But enough to feel him twitch beneath you.

He inhales so sharply it’s almost a gasp.

You lean forward, your lips brushing his ear.

“Am I making it hard for you to focus?” you whisper, your breath hot against his skin.

He finally reacts.

His hands grip your waist—tight, tight—but he still doesn’t pull you closer.

“Y/N…” he warns, voice shaking.

You roll your hips again.

His jaw clenches.

“I just want your attention, Soobin,” you murmur, lips brushing his jaw now. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t want me.”

“You’re my tutee,” he grits out, “I’m trying to be good.”

You smile wickedly. “I don’t want you to be good. I want you to make me feel good.”

And then you do it.

You grind hard—slow, filthy, full pressure.

Right against his cock.

He groans. Deep and choked and utterly ruined.

Still, he doesn’t move.

So you tip your head back and moan.

Loud.

“Fuck, Soobin…”

His hands tremble on your waist.

You do it again.

And again.

His cock is so hard it’s pressing against you, leaking through the thin fabric, and you’re soaked now—completely shameless.

“I’ve been thinking about this every night,” you whisper, breath hitching, “about how it would feel to ride your cock right here… right on your stupid study sheets…”

“Stop,” he rasps.

But he’s grinding back now.

Breathing hard.

Losing it.

“I touch myself thinking about you, Soobin,” you murmur, lips at his neck now. “About how you’d sound when you finally fuck me. If you'd make me beg first. If you’d make me cry for it…”

He groans. His hips buck up once—completely involuntary.

You whimper at the contact.

And that does it.

That breaks him.

His grip slams tight around your hips and suddenly you’re dragged down onto him, hard, his cock pressed directly against your soaked core through layers of clothes he’s about two seconds from tearing off.

His forehead drops to your shoulder.

“You’ve been driving me fucking insane,” Soobin growls, your body pinned to his lap, soaked through and trembling.

“Then ruin me,” you whisper, voice wrecked with lust. “Please, Soobin. I need it.”

“Fuck me like I belong to you”

Something snaps in him.

His mouth crashes into yours.

No hesitation. No gentleness.

Just teeth and tongue and all the desperation he’s held back for weeks.

You gasp into him and he swallows it, hands already yanking your tank top up over your tits.

“No bra?” he mutters darkly, palms closing around your breasts. “You planned this.”

You moan as he thumbs over your nipples, rough and fast. “I wanted you to look.”

“I did. Every fucking day.”

His mouth drops down, lips wrapping around one nipple, tongue lashing it hard as his other hand slides down—under your shorts, under your panties—and slams two fingers into you.

You scream.

“So wet,” he groans, thrusting them deep. “You’re soaked through everything. Fuck, baby, were you this needy all semester?”

“Yes,” you cry, hips bucking against his hand. “All for you, Soobin.

He chuckles against your breast, lips curling cruelly.

“Oh, I know.”

He pulls back and flips you onto your back like you weigh nothing. Your shorts and panties are ripped down your legs in seconds. He drops to his knees between them, eyes locked on your soaked pussy.

“God,” he breathes, voice shaking. “Look at you. You’re a fucking mess.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Tongue everywhere—sliding through your folds, flicking your clit, sucking it hard as he finger-fucks you like he’s mad at you.

You can’t even moan—you scream.

Your back arches, hips lifting, and he slaps your thigh down.

“Stay fucking still.”

You whimper, twitching under his mouth. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Cum,” he orders. “Now.”

You shatter.

Soobin doesn’t stop.

Even as you squirm and sob, overstimulated, his tongue keeps working your pussy like he’s starving.

You’re begging, babbling nonsense, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

And when he finally pulls away, face glistening, lips slick with your cum—

You’ve never seen anything so hot in your life.

“You thought you could tease me,” he mutters, climbing back up your body. “Thought you could grind on my cock and walk away?”

You nod, dazed.

He smirks and grabs your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes flutter. “Wrong.”

He frees himself from his sweats—thick, veiny, hard as sin—and you whine the second the tip rubs against your dripping entrance.

“Beg for it.”

“Soobin—”

“Beg.”

You sob. “Please, fuck me. I need it. I need your cock so bad—please ruin me, please—”

He slams into you in one brutal thrust. Your pussy clenches around him as you scream his name.

“Ah Soob—FUCK. Yes”

Soobin groans deep in your ear, his cock buried to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight. Jesus—made for me.”

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in.

You cry out.

He sets a pace that’s vicious—deep, punishing, your body jolting with every thrust.

Your nails rake down his back. Your moans turn into sobs.

“Yeah,” he pants, fucking you harder. “Take it. This is what you wanted, right?”

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Yes—yes, please—harder—”

He grabs your hips and slams into you, over and over, cock pounding your g-spot until you can’t think.

“Gonna cum again,” you choke out.

“You better,” he growls. “You don’t stop cumming until I say so.”

You cum again—harder than before.

And he fucks you through it.

Every twitch, every scream, only fuels him.

He doesn’t stop.

He flips you onto your stomach, pulls your ass up, and fucks you from behind—his hand in your hair, dragging your head back.

“You like being used?” he snarls.

“Yes—fuck—use me, please—”

He spanks your ass, hard. “Louder.”

“Use me, Soobin—fuck me until I can’t walk!”

And he does.

He slams into you until your body collapses.

Until you’re a sobbing, ruined mess under him.

Until he finally groans, “Fuck—I’m cumming—where?”

“Inside,” you beg. “Please. Fill me—”

Soobin growls your name and pours into you, hips jerking as he empties himself deep.

You collapse together, sweaty and panting.

Silence, save for your wrecked breathing.

And then—

“You still failed that assignment,” he mutters against your neck.

You laugh, breathless. “Then maybe you should punish me again.”

He grins.

“Oh, I plan to.”

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