#Custom flight cases | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jupiterpilgrim · 7 days ago

Text

Funny Games

Kim Chaewon x male reader

word count: 18K

commissioned fic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right. Airport. Focus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waiting.

Testing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, her body.

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

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

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

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

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

"Gladly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, yes.

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

Control snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

She loves this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

But you know her.

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

She’s bored.

And when Chaewon gets bored, she gets mischievous.

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

And Chaewon?

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

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

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

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

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

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

That does it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you think?"

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

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

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

And yeah, she loves it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ahh! Fuck… yes, there…"

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

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

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

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

Oh, you'll make her pay, alright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, she feels incredible.

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

"Yes! Fuck… like that…" she pants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This view alone is almost reward enough. Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Progress.

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

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

Fine. You lift your hand again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Acceptance.

Desire overriding discomfort.

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

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

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

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

Time to push her a little further.

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

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

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

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

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

Alright then. If she’s begging for it…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There it is. The admission.

The confusion melting into need.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She needs to cum first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A final, degrading mark of ownership.

Your reward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s that look.

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

You know this look.

You know what it means.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Standard pre-show pandemonium.

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

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

"Busy?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck professionalism.

Fuck the schedule.

You need this too.

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

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

As if that’s possible with her.

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

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

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

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

She fucking loves this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn't have a clue.

Almost no one ever really did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#kim chaewon smut #kpop m!reader #kpop male reader #m!reader #chaewon x reader #kim minji x reader #kim chaewon x reader #le sserafim chaewon #le sserafim smut #kpop smut #kpop gg smut #chaewon x male reader #male reader #m! reader #le sserafim #gg smut

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dcxdpdabbles · 4 months ago

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DCXDP fanfic idea: Cold Case

Bruce Wayne has worked on many cold cases over the years of being Batman. The ones shelved away after all efforts to find justice have run out. He's seen many of them be challenging to solve for the detectives assigned to them years ago. Others were obviously not investigated as thoroughly as they should have.

A rare few were purposely ignored for one reason or another. Bruce tried his best to stop current crimes, but as someone whose own parents' murder was not solved until he brought the man to justice, he knows how much closure could mean.

He worked on them whenever possible, trying to find the missing pieces to explain what happened. Usually, his kids also picked a few up here and there, but no one put in as many hours to solve closed cases as Bruce. (Tim came a close second)

That's why he clicked through an old file with his morning coffee one Saturday instead of enjoying a sleep-in. His eyes rapidly fall over the words of the police report, then the following investigation reports, witness statements and a few pictures. This file is surprisingly thick, but having no valid leads made Bruce suspicious that foul play was a t work/

It's about a young teenage boy who vanished from a small town in Illinois before his body was discovered stuffed into a rotted locker in Gotham three years later.

Daniel Fenton was last seen dining with his friends at the local burger restaurant, Nasty Burger, after school. He was seen parting with his friends two hours later. Samantha Manson's parents arrived to pick up Samantha and Tucker Foley for an art show.

Daniel had not gotten permission to go; he had been grounded due to his grades, but although Mr. Manson offered to drive him home, and the man even called the boy's sister to pick him up, Daniel insisted on walking.

The town had been relatively safe enough that most teens walked around, so the four had driven off to beat the traffic. Daniel had turned towards his house, vanishing from the restaurant's CCTV camera's sight soon after.

The walk should have taken him no more than thirty minutes, but he was an hour late. Daniel's mother frantically called all his friends after failing to contact her son within those thirty minutes. The boy's friends send messages and calls, but the boy does not respond.

Another hour later, Mr. and Mrs Fenton phoned in a missing person report. They drove around looking for Daniel as the police slowly walked through the town, and word spread quickly that the youngest Fenotn had gone missing. By the seven-hour mark, a search party of Daniel's schoolmates and a few neighbors had been formed.

Police and one hundred and three civilians were on the hunt for Daniel.

Neither Samatha's nor Tucker's messages were marked as read, although a chilling fact was that Mrs. Fenton, Mr.Fenton, and Jasmine Fenton's text messages were opened. That pinged within a block of the Fenton's residence.

Two witnesses claimed to have seen Daniel at the corner shop one block from his house, where he stopped to buy a drink. A man in a trench coat approached the boy to ask for his opinion on the chip flavors.

Daniel could be seen chatting with him for a few minutes while standing in line to pay for their purchases, as the witnesses were the cashier and one other customer. After being rung up, Daniel left the man at the counter. The police could track this man down after the boy had gone missing for twelve hours.

However, it was concluded that he had nothing to do with the disappearance, seeing as the man had ordered a cab straight to the airport and gotten on a flight right. He had even waited inside the small corner shop, sitting idly at a table until his cab arrived.

The cab camera, airport security, and plane ticket confirmed his alibi. By the seventy-two-hour mark, a new clue appeared. Daniel's backpack was half dug in a hole five miles outside the city limits when a hiker spotted the slight gleam of the strap's decorative pin.

This was seven miles from where he had disappeared. Inside his backpack were his broken phone, school supplies, the clothes he was last seen in, and a framed photo of Daniel sleeping in his room.

Sadly, the investigators could not find any clues from the sight due to the heavy rain the previous two days. Even the items within the bag were half destroyed from the rain and mud ( Bruce thought that was a ridiculous claim. He would need to break into the evidence archives, steal the backpack, and run some tests. He would ask Barry for help if he had to.)

Two towns over, another witness claimed to have seen Daniel walking by the side of road, being led by a woman in a grey dress. His picture had been shared by frantic schoolmates at a football game where the new witness recognized him.

This was one week after Daniel's disappearance. The witness had claimed to have captured the pair on her dash cam after she had saved the clip because the two had appeared from the shadows "like ghosts," and she had screamed when her headlights shone on them.

The witness was driving through the back roads to her aunt's house, and the lack of street lights, alongside the dense trees lining the roads, made it hard for anyone to see at night. The clip was no more than seven seconds.

It is just as the car turns onto the dirt road that Daniel can be seen turning towards the car, his right wrist trapped in a woman's hold. He stares into the camera while it passes by, not showing any signs of distress.

The woman is turned away from the vehicle, seemingly peering into the trees as if she thought something had caught her attention. The pair's outfits are peculiar- they seem to be dressed from the early eighteen hundreds, which was why the witness had gotten such a fright.

After searching the area where this sighting was held, the police could not find any evidence that Daniel had passed through there. The case went cold for six months before a concerned man called his local authorities about a young boy standing on the edge of a bridge. He had accidentally spotted the boy while filming a wide landscape video of his hotel room.

By the time the man had raced down to the lobby and gotten to the bridge, the emergency operator in his ear, Daniel, had vanished. When the police collected the video, they could identify the same woman wearing the same dress standing by a white van in the background. Thankfully, its license plates were in full view.

The van was later found to have been reported stolen two years before Daniel's disappearance. However, a common link existed between five other missing people investigations that spanned those two years. Sadly, the van was never seen again, and police assumed it was scrapped.

Daniel's case went cold for three years until his body was discovered during a renovation effort funded by Bruce himself. All work on the old buildings was halted as Daniel's death was confirmed, the investigation was underway, and Wayne Enterprise working entirely with the police to find out what happened to the young boy. His body was sent back to his family after the autopsy had been completed.

Daniel Fenton's cause of death was ruled to be suffocation. Physical indications on his body indicated he had attempted to fight off whoever had left those marks around his neck, but in the end, Daniel had not won. Despite the many tests they conducted on the locker and the area, no other clues could be found of how, when, and by whom Daniel had wound up there.

Bruce didn't appreciate the entire lack of clues. He had searched and done his own testing as Batman the same night Daniel's body had been found. Nothing had appeared on his tests until he had attempted to use one of Constantine's runes.

This one had flared up for a mighty ghost. Bruce had gotten the idea to check for the paranormal after rumors spread of a ghost fitting Daniel's description through the nearby neighborhood children. Constantine claimed that it was not the murder victim, Daniel Fenton, but rather something far older and far more dangerous.

Something prone to luring humans away. Bruce believes the woman seen near Daniel in the last few years of his life was not a human.

Bruce sighs, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. He's gone over the file five times, yet nothing seems to jump out at him. His coffee had gone from pipping hot to lukewarm, and his children were slowly tickling into the room.

He raises his mug at them in greeting, hiding a smile behind his cup as Cass leans over to side hug him. His daughter is always more physical in her greetings, which makes him so happy that he ignores how her eyes have launched onto his screen with intense concentration.

"A cold case?" Tim asks from around a yawn. Bruce's head barely finishes the nodding motion before the boy leans closer to the table, eyes sharp. "What's it about?"

"The body was found in the restoration affordable housing project that was canceled," Bruce replies. He begins summarizing the case to his children as the rest finally settle around the table, looking at the usual amount of exhaustion Bruce has long ago been able to push through.

He can spot the moment they all start theorizing or analyzing the presented information while he scrolls up to see Daniel's smiling face. Bruce is just about to flip the tablet around so the rest of the children can see when his daughter leans closer to the tablet.

Cass's hand spams as she hisses. "Not Dead."

It takes a moment for Bruce to process her sharp words, blinking up at her. "What was that sweetheart?"

"Not. Dead," She repeats, pointing an accusing finger at Daniel's photo. "Not Human. Lures victims to death. Almost got me."

Well, that complicates this already confusing case a bit.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Cold Case #TW: Missing person #TW: Main charater death #TW: True crime kidnapping #I try to make this spooky?#What happened to Daniel Fenton?#Bruce and the Waynes intent to find out #Cass doesn't trust him #Suspsious lack of clues and invistegations

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puckinghischier · 5 months ago

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Hiiii happy new year! I absolutely adore your quinnxreader fics! I loved the one about his brothers asking her questions and calling her all the time because they love her so much! Would you consider writing more about that?

Maybe about their dynamic in person, meeting over Christmas or summer or something!??

Have a great day!

oh listen when the four of you are together for long periods of time? you’re convinced you and quinn will never have to have kids, because you’re gonna be parenting jack and luke for the rest of your lives.

like meeting at the lake house over the summer. even if ellen and jim are there with everyone, luke and jack still bug you with any and every question they have.

“y/n! what should i eat for lunch?”

“y/n! where’s the remote?”

“y/n! have you seen my swimming trunks?”

every time you take a breath, one of them is yelling for you for help, or advice, or nothing at all. jack is a regular at shouting your name from wherever he is in the house just to show you some video on his phone, or ask you how to spell a word for a text he’s sending.

quinn and ellen have both scolded them numerous times to leave you alone and quit treating you like a maid, but you don’t tell them you secretly love it. you hate that they’re acting like toddlers that can’t fend for themselves, but you love the comfort level they have with you to do it all.

and it’s not like they don’t return the favor.

you always manage to get a summer cold when you come to the lake house. you don’t know if it’s the water mixed with the chilly nights or the fact you’re always on the go and never resting, but you somehow always get a case of the sniffles for a few days each summer.

whenever it happens, jack and luke dote on you like you’re bedridden. constantly bringing you snacks and meds and juice. asking if you need anything, watching movies with you and quinn while all four of you cuddle on the couch.

ellen never fails to snap a picture of the occasion, all of her kids (you included) safe and sound under one roof, a rare occurrence in her world.

now, you have your own moments visiting the two youngest brothers, missing them just as badly as they miss you sometimes. when quinn is away on a particularly long road trip and jack and luke have a few home games, you’re booking a flight and off to see them.

you can always see how excited they are to have you at their games, making sure you have the best seats and even buying you a custom split hughes sweater, so you never have to choose one over the other.

they tell all of their teammates you’re coming and gesture to you throughout the whole game, making sure you saw that save, or watched them score a goal.

you go out with them after games and send quinn lots of pictures of his drunk, idiot brothers singing karaoke and displaying terrible dance moves.

quinn loves seeing you have the friendship with his brothers that you do, but he always reminds them to keep you safe, his protective side coming out, even though he knows they would never let anything happen.

still, it doesn’t keep them from finding sunglasses from god knows where, drunkenly waltzing you out of bar on either side of you, gesturing for people to move out of the way like they’re your bodyguards. every move you make, they’re sending (blurry) pictures of you safely outside the bar, getting into the uber, getting out of the uber, walking into their apartment building, in the elevator, unlocking their door, walking through their door, walking to the guest room, and one final shot of you in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin, to the groupchat you’re in with them and your boyfriend.

and once the apartment is quiet and their voices are reduced to light snores, you sneak into their rooms and take pictures of them, too, feeling just as much of a responsibility to keep them safe and cared for.

christmases? now those are an event, truly.

luke and jack are on you for months to help them pick out the perfect gift for quinn and ellen, claiming you know gifts way better than they do. you even fly out to jersey for a couple days in the middle of december, finding a stretch where they have a couple home games.

you take them out shopping, coaching and making sure they don’t pick out some random scarf for their mom or striped tie for quinn and jim. they take you to do all the touristy christmas things around the city (even if you’ve done it a million times before) and make fun of how you still can’t skate, even after all the years of being with quinn.

when you all finally make it back to michigan for the big family christmas, quinn steals you away for some one on one time, of course, but it’s never long lived. one of the two man-children, as quinn so affectionately calls them, comes barging in your room eventually, flopping down onto the bed right in-between you and quinn. and once one is in there, the other gets jealous and fights his way into the dog pile happening.

“can you two go annoy mom and dad or something? you just had her for four days, it’s my turn,” quinn huffs, your quiet bubble now burst.

“well, mom and dad told us to come annoy you guys, they have to wrap presents,” luke pouts to quinn, causing him to roll his eyes and accept his fate.

christmas morning with them is always your favorite, though.

jack and luke are always so high energy, wanting everyone to open their presents from them first so they can see the reactions.

they’re just like little kids, almost blurting out what it is as the person is opening it. they always tell ellen and quinn and jim you helped them, not wanting to take all the credit for themselves. but when it comes to their gifts to you? you start to think their claims that they’re terrible at gift giving is just a rouse to get you to visit them each year, because they never fail to give you the most heartfelt gifts.

like this christmas, they had gone in together on paying an artist to paint a collage of your favorite pictures of you and quinn together, the canvasses each in the shape of yours and quinn’s initials. you had noticed the canvas shaped like a plus sign in-between the two letters is blank, not knowing why they would leave such a large section bare.

when you look up to ask them, you notice they’re standing on either side of you, gesturing you to stand up. quinn is nowhere to be found, looking around for him as you stand and follow their lead to the back door of the large house.

when they open the door you’re met with the michigan snow, falling perfectly onto a beautifully decorated archway that you hadn’t noticed the night before. you noticed the poinsettias forming a walkway to the arch, finding quinn standing there under the perfectly hung mistletoe, waiting for you.

jack and luke walk push you on, staying behind in the warmth of the house.

you walk down the snow covered path, focusing on not falling the whole way.

once you reach the end of the path, quinn grabs your hand and plants you right in front of him.

he launches into a speech about how much he loves you, and how much he loves watching you with his family, how easily you’ve become a part of it, intertwined so deeply into his soul he couldn’t let you go, even if he wanted to, before dropping down on one knee, asking you to spend the rest of your life trusting him and loving him.

you immediately tell him yes, launching your body to his once he stands, tears streaming down your frozen face. right as you go to share a kiss to seal the intimate moment, you’re broken apart by the woops and hollers of none other than jack and luke, turning your head to see them barreling down the walkway towards you two.

“oh my god! we’re getting a sister! she’s actually gonna be ours now!” jack screams, crushing you two in a bear hug that would give quinn a run for his money.

“now quinn can’t use the excuse she’s his anymore, because now she’s ours. she’s gonna be a hughes! no more stingy quinn!” luke follows up, another weight added onto the already crushing hug.

“oh god, i didn’t think this through,” quinn groans, not enjoying his brothers’ newfound claim on you.

you giggle, encased in all the hughes love.

“also, we helped plan this, don’t let him hog all the credit, here. we planned our gift so it’d be the perfect segway into the proposal!” luke rushes out, too excited to keep it in any longer.

“the blank canvas is for engagement pictures!” jack confirms, beaming from ear to ear.

they finally release you and quinn from their clutches.

“okay, you guys have had your moment, now go back inside. she might getting ready to be your sister-in-law,” quinn emphasizes the last two words, “but she’s my fiancé, so we’ve earned some alone time.”

the two brothers huff and pout as they walk off, grumbling about how they can’t wait until you’re a hughes so he can’t claim you’re just his.

before you allow yourself the time with quinn, you run after your two best friends, tackling them in their own bear hug, despite how much larger they are than you.

“thank you guys. for this, for accepting me into your family, for sharing quinn with me,” you giggle at their scoff and luke’s mumble of ‘more like we share you with him’ before continuing. “i love you two. i’ll always be your big sister, yeah? as long as you’re always my two obnoxious little brothers.”

they squeeze you back so tightly you can’t breathe, telling you again how much they can’t wait for you to officially be part of their family.

quinn watches you with them, his own heart warmed despite the snow falling, wondering how in the world he got so lucky with such an amazing family, and now an even more amazing woman to bring into it.

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theonion · 2 months ago

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In an effort to help customers living in areas with little or no access to abortion care, Clearblue announced Monday that its pregnancy tests sold in the U.S. market would now come with a flight voucher in case the result was positive. “Starting today, our home diagnostic products will include a generous $100 credit that can be used for air travel across state lines,” said company spokeswoman Felicity Roberts, adding that all Clearblue digital pregnancy tests, Flip and Click tests, and rapid-detection tests would come with a code that could be used to purchase a domestic round-trip ticket to a blue state of the customer’s choice.

Full Story

#the onion #news #politics

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 5 months ago

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Long distance girlfriend surprising Rafe

Request: Reader going to college on the east coast and being stuck there because of snow + Rafe being sad

—

‘’Thank you for choosing Cameron Development for your project, Mr. Phillips. Our secretary will email the documents shortly,’’ Rafe said in his polished, customer-service tone. ‘’Happy holidays.’’

The second the call ended, his forced smile vanished, leaving his face set in a grim scowl. He’s never been a fan of Christmas, but for the first time, he had been looking forward to it — his first Christmas with you. But that changed when a snowstorm hit the East Coast, forcing all flights in New York to get cancelled.

Rafe leaned back in his leather office chair, running a hand through his buzzed hair in frustration. It was only 3pm, but he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was you, alone in your apartment in New York, and most importantly, miles away from him. He thought of driving to you, but Topper resonated with him. If flights were cancelled, some roads would be closed too.

Why must you go to college so far away? With a sigh, Rafe picked up his personal phone for the tenth time today, and re-reading your last message. He was hurting himself by doing this, but reading your message also brought him some comfort.

I’m so sorry I can’t make it to you, baby 😢💔 I’ve been keeping track of the flights, but everything is still cancelled… This snow really wants to sabotage our first Christmas! 😠 In case nothing changes, I’m gonna video-call you on Christmas morning…in my sexy lingerie set I got just for you. Wish you were there to unwrap me 🎁🤭

Before he could finish reading, Wheezie’s face filled his screen with an incoming call.

‘’Wheezie? Why are you calling me?’’ Rafe frowned, leaning back in his chair. She never called him at work unless it was important.

‘’Rafe! Thank god you picked up! I tried calling Sarah, but she didn’t answer.’’ Wheezie's voice was high-pitched and panicked, words spilling out in a rush.

‘’Wheezie, what is it?’’ he asked.

‘’I tried making gingerbread cookies, but I guess I left them in for too long...’’

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache coming on. ‘’Just throw them out if they’re burned. It’s not worth breaking a tooth over.’’

‘’No, you don’t understand,’’ she cried, her voice breaking slightly. ‘’There’s smoke all over the kitchen!’’ A coughing fit punctuated her sentence, and Rafe’s heart dropped.

‘’What? Wheeze, are you okay?’’

He was already standing, grabbing his keys. Fuck work.

‘’Can you come home? Please, Rafe. Dad is gonna be so mad if I burn the house down—’’

He didn’t even wait to hang up properly before he was out the door. ‘’I’m coming, Wheeze. Just, stay away from the oven, okay? And get outside if it gets worse. Do you hear me?’’ Rafe’s tone sharpened, his protective instincts kicking in.

Rafe pulled into the driveway of Tannyhill, tires screeching as he parked quickly. His jaw was tight, still on edge from Wheezie’s frantic call. The house seemed calm from the outside, which was strange because she said there was smoke all over the kitchen.

He opened the front door. “Wheezie?” he called out, stepping into the house, his eyes scanning for signs of smoke. ‘’Wheezie, I’m here. Where’s the damn smoke you talked about?’’

The kitchen light was on, and as he stepped closer, his stomach dropped. Instead of finding his little sister panicking, he found you standing in the middle of the kitchen, grinning at him.

‘’Hi.’’

For a split second, neither of you moved. Then, you ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing yourself against him. Rafe’s brain scrambled to catch up. Then it clicked. The familiar scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your arms — it was really you. His arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you might disappear, and you buried your face in his chest, clutching him like you’d never let go.

‘’What the—’’ He pulled back just enough to grab your face, his blue eyes searching yours, wide with disbelief. ‘’You’re here? Really here?’’

‘’Surprise, baby,’’ you murmured before pressing your lips to his, cutting off whatever string of disbelief he was about to voice again.

The kiss was soft at first, but as the realization sank in, Rafe pulled you closer, deepening it, one hand sliding to your back while the other tangled in your hair. It was desperate and relieved, like he couldn’t believe you were actually there, standing in his kitchen, and not miles away in New York.

He hadn’t seen you since his weekend visit for Thanksgiving, he couldn’t settle with a peck.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, faces inches apart.

Rafe’s forehead pressed against yours. ‘’But you were in New York. The flights—’’ He blinked, still trying to process, his grip on your waist tightening. ‘’How are you here? I mean…what—? Wheezie called me about some fire in the kitchen.’’ He glanced around, half-expecting his sister to pop out from somewhere.

You laughed, guilt flickering across your face. ‘’Yeah, that was her idea. There’s no fire. I told her to find something to make you come home. It worked, didn’t it?’’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘’She knew about you coming here and didn’t tell me?!’’

You nodded. Flights being cancelled was not a lie, but you were able to take a train to another state — where the snow was not as bad —, and take a flight there. You texted Wheezie during your flight, asking for help to surprise Rafe. Why would she not help the girl who brought smiles on her brother’s moody face?

‘’Sorry, baby.’’ You looked up and rubbed your hands over his work button up, feeling the planes of his muscled chest and the warmth of his skin underneath. ‘’I just… I couldn’t stand hearing how sad you sounded yesterday. I had to get here, I tried everything in my power to get to you. Don’t be mad at her, okay? She just wanted to help me.’’

Rafe shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you close as he tilted his head. ‘’You’re lucky I love you,’’ he murmured, his voice absentmindedly falling into your relationship bubble where it was just you and him.

You stayed like that for a moment, bathing in each other’s embrace, until a thought crossed your mind. ‘’Rafe? There’s one other thing I need to tell you: I left your Christmas present in New York…’’ You pulled back, guilt filling you again as you continued and explained yourself. ‘’It was on the table so I wouldn’t forget it, but—’’

But Rafe couldn't care less.

‘’That’s okay. There’s only you on my wishlist anyway.’’

—

OBX taglist: @moralina@eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx@sweeterheartxamerica @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc @pedrosprincess @mikaelsonsstuff @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @madelynie @loverofdrewstarkey @radiant-whore @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696 @under-seasoned-pasta @hoeforsirius @buckyswhxre @emerald-09 @simonessolarsystem @rehead1180 @stvrkey @ynmunson @riddle18 @love4ldr @withfireandbl00d @wonderland2425 @blublock404 @eddieslut69

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe fanfiction

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niyasruledbyvenus · 6 months ago

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Astro Observations

(and maybe even controversial opinions)

Where 4h/cancer is placed can tell you about your home’s size/condition, especially childhood home.

Saturn= small/may feel constricting, Jupiter= large

poorly aspected/malefics/debilitated= ran down home/broken things.

Prey yonis (deer, rat, goat) feel safer in a group & in familiar places. Being by themselves or new places alone can cause anxiety. When out sometimes they feel that they are always in fight or flight or something’s around the corner.

Predator yonis (lion, tiger, snake) may not feel the same way. They may feel sure in themselves and how they can protect themselves. Tiger & snake yonis in particular might feel better off alone. Since both are solitary animals.

Debilitated planets aren’t bad, it just makes the person work a little harder to reap the benefits in that area. Whereas, exaltation comes easy. Which can sometimes make one lazier in that particular area, because there’s no drive. (the same with easy aspects & hard aspects)

For example,

Exalted Pisces Venus (naturally effortless beautiful, “woke up like this” minimal makeup)

Debilitated Venus in Virgo (Cosmetic procedures, tailors, professional makeup, gym trainers, spa, personal stylist/hair stylist)

Venus in Virgo/Scorpio usually tend to be even more beautiful because they actively work to put effort & keep up maintenance.

Mars in Capricorn (wake up early no alarm, straight to the gym, knows exactly their task and when to do it, doesn’t have much trouble with procrastination).

Mars in Cancer/Taurus (might need schedules, alarms, set tasks, mentor/motivator).

Saturn in Libra (gets benefits from hard work right away, not much struggle young, no problem with discipline)

Saturn in Aries/Leo/cancer (rough start in life/a lot of set backs, takes longer to see benefits or gets it after Saturn return/30s, has to actively work on their discipline).

Debilitated Saturn after hard work in younger years, later in life, they usually achieve gains & become a household name.

People tend to say Jupiter is luck. But to me it’s excess. In this world we associate excess=luck. (ie you have a lot of cars, money, children, etc) When it’s not always the case.

For example,

Jupiter in the 7h (Being in a lot of relationships or marriages. But the downside is it doesn’t last because Saturn represents commitment.

Marilyn Monroe multiple divorces

Drake dated a lot of women but no serious relationship.

Jupiter creates a surplus in whatever it touches. But it is not longevity, unless Saturn aspects Jupiter.

A planet that is a benefic can act as a malefic if debilitated & poorly aspected.

If Jupiter is debilitated & poorly aspected it can turn into a giant malefic. Because Jupiter expands what it touches. Rather it’s negativity or positivity.

Some say Mars is where your drive and aggression is. But I see it more so where you get injuries, accidents, or aggression towards yourself or others.

For example,

I’m Aries Ascendant; My Mars/lagnesh is in Virgo/6h. My most serious injuries came from doing mundane tasks around the house. I faced workplace aggression from coworkers & sometimes customers too. Also, I tend to face health issues that affect my daily life. 6h/virgo rules daily activities, physical health, workplace, coworkers.

Mars just went retrograde December 6. I can already see it’s affect on my daily routines/6h. Nonstop nausea, bloating, stomach issues, & headaches everyday. Virgo rules stomach/nervous system. Aries my 1h/Asc rules the head

My whole schedule is out of wack. Today, I dropped my breakfast on the floor and burnt my lunch lol.

Mars, Mercury, Uranus, & Jupiter are all retrograde right now. If you are taking the necessary precautions and your planets are in good dignity, you should be fine. Though it’s still going to be quite frustrating for most people.

Transits mainly do the most damage if you have debilitated or poorly aspected planet that is going retrograde.

Malefics going retrograde to some degree affect almost everyone negatively, but not in the same way. What area varies from chart to chart; the sign/houses it sits in.

Outer planets affect us as a collective. Inner planets affect us personally.

Even though in traditional Vedic/jyotish Uranus, Neptune, Pluto isn’t considered. I still see the planet’s nakshatras/signs/houses in a chart influence a person’s life. Especially, if they aspect personal planets like Sun, Moon, Ascendant.

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hotchnersangel · 1 month ago

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FAMILY

Aaron Hotchner.

cw; bau dynamic, holiday setting, relaxed hotch, touchy hotch, mention of nudity, teasing from the team, established relationship

It was an accident. It was an accident when the team finished a rough case earlier than they should have. It was an accident when you made a passing comment about wanting to stay in Hawaii for a few more days. It was an accident when Aaron Hotchner arranged for three days off for the team and scheduled a flight back home in said three days.

So, you were in a lavish five star hotel being treated with the utmost royalty and respect for saving their customers, their business, their reputation from the dumps.

You and Aaron had been sharing a room, being in a relationship and all. The team were yet to see you touchy- feely with one another, naturally as you only see them usually in a work setting so it would be inappropriate to participate in PDA at the hands of trauma.

But, as you sat on the edge of the pool kicking your feet in the water, you watch Morgan, Aaron, Emily and Spencer in the pool. Aaron was just sort of doing his thing as you watch from a distance. You were sat closely by JJ and Rossi who were on the sun loungers as they sunbathed.

“I like seeing the team like this.” You say with a relaxed smile and sunglasses perched on your forehead.

“What, half naked?” JJ jokes with a teasing smile on her face.

“my-my mi amore, Aaron come get your girl.” He teases and waves him over to which Aaron obliges happily. He looks up at you as he swims over and sort of lols around, relaxed.

“What is going on over here then?” He smiles and inquires to us all, his hands gripping the side, caging your legs between his arms. He then rests his hands over your thighs, propping his chin up on top of them, staring into your eyes softly.

You grin down at him and rest your hand on his cheek, seeing him squinting from the sun blazing behind you.

“I believe your girlfriend has just tried to hit on us, Hotch.” JJ jokes and smirks, pulling her sunnies off to look over at him and you.

Hotch sighs playfully and shakes his head, looking back up to you as his hands continue to rest over your thighs.

“Hey, it was not like that!” You defend yourself with a smile, running a hand through your hair and pulling your sunnies off of your face and onto Aaron’s. You then run a hand through his hair.

“You don’t love me, I get it.” He teases you, grinning up to you, through the tinted spectacle.

“You know that is far from the truth.” You giggle as you look down at him.

He sighs relaxed, hearing the distant chatter from the team and members of the public. His head resting over your thighs fully now like they were his personal mobile pillows, his hands moving to grab the backs of your calves and squeeze them to reassure you of his presence- or reassure himself of yours.

You are leant forwards, resting one hand on Aaron’s back and the other on his head, you sit and both simply watch the others.

“Hey mom, dad can we get an ice pop?” Morgan shouts jokingly at us and you laugh, shaking your head.

“No honey, you’ve already had one today.” You play along with the joke echoing a chorus of chuckles.

“I’ve never known boss-man to be so… soft.” Emily teases and you roll your eyes in good nature.

“Hey, he isn’t so tough all the time.” You shrug and rub his hair.

“It’s good to see you both open up- usually couples who share employment find it difficult to open up to their coworkers because they fear judgement or their reputations being faltered because they show affection to someone similar to them- though it fascinates me that people in separate relationships can do so freely with little judgement-“ Spencer rambles from his position, him mirroring your position, with his feet in the water now.

“I agree, it’s good to see my man getting his girl.” Morgan smirks and hollers at the couple.

“You all have five more files in your pile when we get back.” Hotch smirks and you giggle, feeling his smirk against your thighs as a yawn erupts from your throat. You rub your hand over Aaron’s arm and shuffle slightly. You smile gently, taking in how perfect this very moment feels and how at peace you feel sharing it with your family.

#aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #agent hotchner #hotch #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #holiday #bau!reader #bau team

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idea-explorer · 6 months ago

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When it comes to transporting valuable equipment, whether it’s musical instruments, camera gear, or high-tech equipment, the right flight case is crucial for ensuring its safety. A flight case, or road case, is designed to protect fragile equipment during travel with reinforced materials and cushioning. However, many individuals and businesses are tempted to opt for cheaper flight cases, drawn by the lower price tags. While this may seem like an affordable option, is it truly worth it? Let’s examine the risks and advantages of choosing a cheap flight case compared to a high-quality, reliable one.

What is a Flight Case?

A flight case is a protective case used to transport delicate and expensive equipment. It’s typically constructed from strong materials such as plywood, aluminum, or plastic, with foam padding inside to cushion and secure the contents. These cases are commonly used by musicians, photographers, technicians, and anyone who frequently travels with valuable equipment that needs protection from bumps, drops, and other hazards during transit.

The Allure of Cheap Flight Cases

The attraction of cheap flight cases is clear. They are marketed as affordable solutions for protecting your equipment while offering basic features like padded interiors and secure closures. In India, for instance, a high-quality flight case can range from ₹7,000 to ₹30,000, depending on the size and level of protection required. On the other hand, budget-friendly flight cases can cost anywhere from ₹2,500 to ₹7,000, making them an appealing option for those on a tight budget.

For someone who is just starting out with gear transport or needs a case for occasional use, the idea of a cheaper option might seem like a no-brainer. After all, why spend more when a less expensive case promises similar protection at a fraction of the cost?

Click the link to read more about the Flight Case article.

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celebrationhours · 4 months ago

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Best Foam Inserts In the UAE | East Night Cases

East Night Cases specializes in custom foam inserts designed for optimal protection and organization. Our foam inserts are made to perfectly fit your flight cases, crates, or toolboxes, providing the best cushioning and security for your equipment. Whether you're shipping electronics or organizing your tools, our foam inserts ensure your items stay safe. Order your custom foam inserts from East Night Cases in the UAE today.

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 11 months ago

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Trying**

Based off of the following request where Y/N is desperate for Harry to breed her already!

Warnings: breeding kink, objectification (female to male), sex (p in v), oral sex (fem receiving), cum play, breast play, dirty talk, cnc kink, free use kink, daddy kink

WC: 6.8K

When you met Harry it was the summer of the start of your masters program. You were brand new to town and had taken the recommendation of a few of the students from the previous cohort about some good, local spots you needed to visit. One of these places happened to be a brewery in the heart of the Arts District in Downtown LA, Styles’ Brewing Co.. You’d moved down to LA one month before the semester at USC started and you hadn’t really made friends yet so you decided to just go and check the place out. Worse case scenario you didn’t meet anyone cool and just enjoy the pleasure of your own company. It was a Tuesday evening when you’d strolled in. The sun was setting soon and despite the slight breeze, it was still quite hot so you were glad you’d decided on wearing a dress. And when you got up to the business, you smiled at the funky, little bar. The decor inside was like 70’s post modern theme, it instantly put a smile on your face. It was nice and cool inside and Al Green was playing over the speakers. There were a handful of people in there already, so you glanced around as you walked up to the register and looked up to the menu.

“Welcome in! If you have any questions about our selection, let me know.” The smooth British voice offered and your eyes glanced down and met the prettiest set of green eyes you’d ever seen.

“Ummm, actually s’my first time here.” You explained and his smile widened, revealing his teeth, the way his two front teeth extended a bit lower than their neighbors gave him a boyish charm though he was clearly older than you. He looked really good though, he had to be like five or six years older.

“Well that’s great! I’m Harry.” He greeted you cheerfully.

“Hello, I’m Y/N.” You said with a friendly smile.

“Well Y/N, are you a beer drinker?”

“Kinda…not really. Sorry.” You confessed a bit bashfully.

“That’s alright.” He chuckled, “Just seeing where you’re at with beer.” He assured you, “I know we have quite a large selection up there. So if you’re not sure where to start or what you might like, we can talk little bit more about your taste and I can give you a little flight of samples so that you can narrow down your options.” He offered and you were pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you!” You smiled, “That’d be great because I am a little out of my depth here. And honestly, I can pay.” You assured him. Just then someone else walked up behind you in the line and he looked past you.

“Hey, H!” One of the person’s behind you greeted him cheerfully and he smiled.

“Hey, guys.”

“Ummm, you can help them first since I’m still figuring it out.”

“That’s kind of you.” He smiled, “Have a seat at the bar and I’ll be with you in just a minute.” He instructed and you nodded and did just that.

After a couple of minutes he was chatting with you again, asking about what you liked and disliked about beer. What kinds of flavor profiles you gravitated towards, and things of that nature before he pulled the samples for you. He talked you through each one, he even swapped two of them out upon receiving your feedback on the previous ones until finally you found the one. It was the “Sippin’ Pretty”, a guava and elderberry sour. It smelled amazing and tasted even better. When he realized that you were there alone he spent most of his time hanging around, checking in on you. It got a little busier around 8 o’clock, but you were on your second beer by then and just people watching as Harry and another person tended to the customers. Before you knew it you were having your third beer and feeling pretty tipsy. You were giggling at a story Harry was telling you about his friend’s two year old son and nearly knocked over your glass.

“Okay, I’m pretty fucked up.” You giggled again.

“Did you drive?” He asked.

“Yeah…I didn’t plan on being here for more than two hours.” You said and he smiled.

“Let’s get some food in you then. How do sweet potato fries sound?”

“Like the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You said and he chuckled.

“Alright, I’m gonna put an order in.” He said before hurrying over to the POS system.

You did sober up quite a bit after eating and having a glass of water and you needed to go, you’d been taking a lot of time away from Harry. You flagged him down and he came over to you quickly.

“Thank you for the VIP treatment tonight, Harry. I didn’t know I needed that.” You smiled and he smiled back.

“I’m glad you had a nice visit. Hopefully one of many more?” He inquired.

“Definitely.” You assured with a blissful grin, “I should get out of your hair though, so can I get the bill?” You asked.

“You’re good, love.” He smiled and you pouted.

“Don’t do that. You’ve done so much already, the least I could do is pay.” You insisted, “Besides, wouldn’t want you to get in trouble by comping that much.” You added and he smiled.

“Well, I’m actually the owner so…” He responded smugly and you tutted.

“Well, I believe you’ve just lost your case.” You grinned.

“How’s that?” He asked, perplexed.

“You’re a small business owner, the backbone of the local economy! If the roles were reversed I know there is no way you wouldn’t insist on paying.” You said and he smiled. “Please, Harry.” You insisted.

“Fine. But I’m applying the 15% employee discount.” He said and you grinned as he headed off to the register without allowing you another word in edgewise. You hopped off your seat and went over to the register and paid, giving the 15% back in tip which made him tut as you giggled.

“Thank you, again!” You called as you walked to the door and he smiled and waved as you headed out.

********************

By the end of your first semester, you’d become a regular at the brewery. You had become pretty good friends with Harry. You’d learned that he was 34, so 12 years older than you were. You learned that he’d been engaged but that it ended nearly five years ago. He’d earned a degree in computer science and he’d made a pretty penny when he helped develop some AI program and had sold it and had made a large sum of money from that. So he moved down from the Silicone valley fours years ago to open up this place and it was almost an instant success. He was fucking cool. You had a huge crush on him. Not only was he handsome but he was sweet as can be.

When he learned that you couldn’t afford to fly home for the holidays, he invited you to his and his friends’ holiday party. And well, on Christmas everything between the two of you changed. Thanks to a very eye-opening kiss under the mistletoe, if you could believe it. He dropped you off at home after the little get-together and as you were saying goodbye you kissed him again and that led to you two making out for half an hour before you finally pulled apart.

“Let me take you out.” He panted before kissing your cheek and you smiled and nodded.

“Yeah.” You agreed with excitement lighting up your eyes. You really liked him, you sincerely thought he didn’t think of you in that way. Particularly because of his age, because in terms of interests and tastes, you had plenty of things in common. Regardless, you were so relieved that he was also into you.

And after that first date, things quickly heated up between the two of you. Despite how great of a catch Harry was, he hadn’t really had tons of dating experience, he’d only had two long-term partners. One during his entire time in high school and the other after he moved to the U.S., the one who he had been engaged with. And they ended things when he resigned from the job in the Silicone Valley. You on the other hand had lots of flings and little things here and there. You were a little reckless with your heart, probably the hedonist in you. But when you and Harry started talking more in depth about where your relationship would go, you learned that he only dated someone when he felt that he could develop big feelings for the person. He was cautious about who he gave his time, affection, and heart to. The fact that he was the way he was - attentive, caring, mature, stable, and wise - well, you started to fall in love with him quickly.

Your relationship with Harry became serious quite fast, but he insisted that you two wait until you graduated to make moves towards merging your lives even more. He proposed to you over dinner the night before your graduation with your parents and siblings there for it. A few weeks after graduation you moved into his house. The time you didn’t spend together or working, was spent planning the wedding. A year later, you two were married and just relishing in your new life together.

….THREE YEARS LATER….

You and Harry had now been married for three extraordinary years. It wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, but most of the time it was. By now, most of your friends were married too but the biggest difference was that they were already on the baby train. One of your good friends got married because she’d gotten pregnant and the other two had their first kids just a year apart from each other. At first, Harry had baby fever far more than you did but lately there was just something in the air that had you feeling absolutely feral for him. To put it more poetically, you had a need to breed. You were feeling horny every time you were around him.

Maybe it was the weather that was finally heating up? Or the fact that along with that, Harry would wear more t-shirts at the brewery. You’d get to see him lugging big, heavy boxes of produce or crates of glassware to and from the kitchen and bar, meaning he was constantly showing off his strength. He was so smart and strong and capable, and he was the best husband and partner to you. He gave you everything you wanted and more! So you knew that he could give you the most beautiful babies in the world. And lately, the thought was just ever present. Everything about him had you swooning.

Even now, just the way he would try to reach his big hands into the glasses to dry them properly made your pussy flutter and swell with need. Why were his arms so fucking big? And why did the masskrug look so tiny in his hands? You swear you would soon start to drool if you had to watch him any longer.

“What?” He chuckled as you just watched him from the other side of the bar top.

“N-nothing. Just…watching you. And your…big hands. And big arms.” You smiled and his eyes flickered up to yours and he smirked as he recognized the lustful look in them.

“What about ‘em?”

“Nothing really…just, I don’t know, I’m suddenly very aware of how…strong you are. S’a little distracting.” You shrugged and he hummed.

“Distracting enough that you shouldn’t be the one doing the payroll?” He asked and you giggled.

“Babe, I was an art major…I never should’ve been doing your payroll to begin with.” You joked and he chuckled.

“That’s probably true.” He joked back with a playful little grin as he glanced back down at the glass he was drying.

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” You asked.

“What, my love?” He asked without pulling his eyes from his task.

“I think I’m ready to start trying for a baby.” You said far too nonchalantly. So much so that in response all you heard was the shattering of glass as the masskrug fell to the ground. “Oh shit!” You gasped, “Are you alright?” You asked him and he glanced up at you with a smile and nodded.

“Yeah, love. M’fine. Just…surprised me with that one.” He confessed and you bit your lip to suppress your smile as his eyes bore into yours.

“I’ll get the broom.” You said softly as you prepared to hop off of the stool.

“Hey! No, no, no…don’t scamper off just yet.” He called out, “You can’t just drop a bomb on me like that.” He said with a smirk. You felt your cheeks heating up as the blood rushed up to your face.

“I was going to come back…”

“You want to have a baby?” He asked, bringing the topic back to that.

“I mean…yeah. Of course!” You shrugged.

“What brought this on?” He asked.

“Well…lately I’ve just been really…horny. But it’s more than that… it’s like…I can’t get enough of you. I just want more of you. More of us.” You said and he smiled, “I think that you’d be an amazing father and the idea of you, all handsome and rugged like you are, just caring after such a perfect and tiny little thing…I don’t know, it’s just been doing things to me lately.” You explained and he was smirking smugly at you. “Don’t make fun.” You mumbled and he shook his head.

“Of course not, my love.” He assured you, “I’m just glad you’ve finally come around.” He said and you rolled your eyes. Considering you were the young one here, you wanted to wait so that you could enjoy your marriage for a bit and have time to get your lives together before starting on a family. “But how do I know you’re not gonna change your mind? I know that you wanted to enjoy us for a while before we considered starting a family.”

“Well, it’s been three years…we’ve traveled, your business has grown, I’ve had my own exhibit like I wanted to…” you pointed out, “I mean, trying means just that, trying. It could take a few attempts and I’m ready to start if you’re…you know, also ready for that.” You said with a placid smile.

“Yeah, okay.” He said with a boyish grin adorning his face. “Should we make an appointment with your doctor?”

“Mmm…I say we do it the old fashioned way.” You said with a suggestive tone and he chuckled, “Just…go at it every chance we get until we get lucky.” You shrugged and he chuckled.

“Baby, as lovely and tempting as that sounds, I have work.” He reminded you and you grinned.

“Well based on the numbers I’m seeing here, you can afford to hire someone else.” You added and he chuckled.

“That’s how bad you want it?”

“Yes.” You responded quickly and he smiled.

“Alright, my love. Your wish is my command.” He assured and you smirked, “Damn it…” he mumbled.

“What?” You asked with a small frown.

“Now I’m hard.” He admitted and you grinned. “Though…the thought of getting you pregnant always makes me hard so…” he chuckled.

“Then do something about it.” You taunted and he chuckled. “I’m serious.”

“Right now?” He asked and you shrugged.

“Seize the moment.” You smiled.

“Baby…” he said, looking quite tortured and you just smiled at him.

“Come here.” You said and he came around the bar. You twirled around in the stool when he was before you, “I stopped taking my birth control two weeks ago…” you informed enticingly.

“You did?” he asked as he leaned down and you grabbed his face and pulled him in for a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Mmhm.” You confirmed. “Please, fuck me.” You requested.

“Here?!” He chuckled nervously and you nodded.

“I’m your wife, yeah?” You asked and he nodded before pecking your lips again, “You vowed to have me for all the days of our life, did you not?” You asked with a soft and seductive tone.

“That not how it goes… but I did…” he hummed in amusement.

“Then have me. Anytime you want. Whenever, wherever we are until you do what we set out to do. I don’t even need to come. Just need you to come. Need you to come a lot inside of me.” You said in a low and sultry voice. He was nearly panting, his fingers digging into your thighs through the light fabric of your dress. “I love you. I need you. I need you so fucking bad.” You pleaded and next thing you knew your lips were meeting in a desperate and heated kiss as your hands shakily worked at the button and fly of his jeans. When you had them and his briefs low enough to let his erection spring free, he pushed your dress up and tore your underwear off before stuffing them into his pocket. “Get inside of me. Please!” You begged hungrily and he pulled you closer until his cock was sliding through your already hot and slippery folds.

“So fucking wet. Ready to get knocked up, aren’t you?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yes.” You whispered and he kissed you again. “Do it, baby. Fuck me.” You panted.

Without another warning he pushed against your entrance until your little hole stretched around his veiny, girthy cock. You gasped as he plunged deep inside of you on the first thrust, but you needed that. You needed him like this. Over and over, his cock rammed inside of you until you’d wince with how deep he was getting inside. It felt delicious. Your nails were digging into his big, bulging biceps as you moaned aloud without any care in the word. His deep, consistent grunts were perfectly timed with his thrusts, they made your head and tummy flutter with how deep they were. You were completely blissed out. Your skin was covered in goosebumps and your walls were fluttering and squeezing his cock deliciously. He was fighting to hold his need to come back, but then again, that’s what you wanted from him; his cum flooding your insides. Painting your insides with everything he had to give until he gave you a baby. Not just a baby, his baby. A product of all of the love you shared for each other.

Everything about him was everything you’d ever wanted. He was everything to you and having more of him in this way was something that you couldn’t even comprehend, you just needed it. It was instinctual to have more with someone who was so embedded into your mind, heart, and soul. What more was there to this often sad and destructive life than to make love and create more beauty to add to it?

“Fuck…I’m gonna come.” He groaned as he started to rub his thumb over your clit in swift little circles. Maybe you didn’t need to come, but he wanted you to. He needed to feel you spasming around his cock as he filled you up. When he heard your breath catch he smiled, “Come for me, baby. Come on my cock and I’ll give you what you want.” He panted and seconds later your legs were shaking around his hips as you thrust up to meet his deep and unforgiving plunges as you whimpered and whined as you came undone. Your sounds turned into weak little grunts that escaped your throat in perfect time with his thrusts until he was stopping deep inside of you. You could feel his cock twitching as he shot spurt after spurt of his sperm deep into you until he had nothing left to give. After he finished he kissed you deeply. “Did you mean that? Whenever I want?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, free use. I always want you, H.” You smiled, “Always need you.” You assured him as you caressed his face with the back of your hand.

“Okay, baby. But if you ever want me to stop or aren’t in the mood just say…hmmm…”

“Sour.” You suggested with a dopey smile, “After the first beer you served me.” You said and he chuckled. You weren’t always all sentimental like that, but he loved when you were.

“Alright, my love. Sours is our safe word.” He agreed before kissing your lips quickly. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up before Jeremy gets in. S’almost his shift.” He reminded and you giggled and pulled him down down for another kiss.

“Maybe delete the footage from this time frame.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course, but only after I save it…for memories, you know?” He said mischievously and you giggled.

“I love you so much.” You hummed happily.

“I love you more, my love.” He whispered.

****************

After that first time at his brewery, there was hardly any stopping Harry. Like you’d asked before, he’d have you whenever he well pleased. It was far easier for him to picture you growing with his baby now. It didn’t matter to him that you were occupied, he’d just get your pants off or dress out of the way and plunge in and you were more than fine with that. It even happened a few times while you slept, you’d wake up with him hovering over you, sliding his cock between your spread legs. Much to his surprise, you were soaking wet about 80% of the time and when you weren’t it didn’t take much to have you dripping and begging for him to put it in. He hadn’t given much thought to the baby’s sex or even names, he just wanted a baby with you and he’d be more than pleased regardless. Like now...

You were being stirred awake by Harry turning you on your back and gently prodding into your entrance. You groaned a bit as he tried to push in a bit but you weren't wet enough for his sizable cock yet.

"Just give me minute." you mumbled.

"I want you now." he said and then you felt a warm wad of spit land over your pussy before he smeared his erection all over it and then sunk in with more ease, "There we are..." he hummed in approval as he got about halfway. He sighed in relief as your warm and tight walls started to slick up around him quickly. "Had a very pleasant dream of you showing me a positive test. Woke up so fucking hard." he panted through his thrusts and then smirked when you got even more wet for him.

"Fuck, it feels so good inside you, baby." he sighed and you moaned when he ground into you.

"A little harder, daddy." you whispered, voice still rough from sleep. He hummed and gave it to you a bit harder, the soft smacks of your bodies meeting grew a little louder. And he gradually started increasing his force until your headboard was thumping against the wall and you whined out, "T-too hard!" you whimpered and he brought a thumb to your clit.

"You know what to do if it's too much, baby." he said comfortingly. He knew you liked to get whiny every now and again. "You say "sour", right?" he asked and you nodded. "Use your words, my love." he encoruaged.

"I know." you added, "Just...a little slower, please?" you requested and those puppy-dog eyes absolutely melted him to the core. His stern demeanor softened and a little smile appeared on his mouth as he stopped and then leaned down to kiss your lips quickly.

"Okay, baby. Sorry, got a little excited over that dream." He hummed against your lips. He then started thrusting again, undulating his hips in a way that got him right up against your g-spot. "Like that?" he asked and you whimpered as he started to grind a bit harder.

"Yes, daddy! Like that..." you keened and he groaned lowly as your walls started to flutter around him seconds later. He started to rub on your clit again until you started to tremble. You choked on a moan as your orgasm started to build far too much for you to keep inside. "Oh baby, I'm...I'm gonna come!" you gasped.

"Go on, baby. Let me feel your drenching my cock. Get you ready for my cum." he panted, "Ready for me to put a baby in that pretty body of yours." your eyes rolled back and your back arched until your body just froze and your walls started to spasm as your orgasm washed over you. The gorgeous flutters of pleasure bloomed from your tummy and rippled through your body, making your legs twitch and for your finger nails to dig into Harry's thick, muscular thighs.

"Yes, baby. Yes!" he groaned as his own pleasure built up to a point of no return. His steady rhythm faltered as he grunted through three deep thrust until he was holding your hips tightly as he started to shoot his sperm deep in you. You loved how he praised you for taking it all.

And when the height of it passed he only pulled out to turn you onto your side and then spooned you only to thrust back in. He lightly shivered from the sensitivity, but he wanted all of his cum to stay inside. You pulled one of his hands up to your mouth and kissed the back of it before sighing happily.

"I'll always take care of you. You know that, right?" he asked and you nodded as you hummed, "You're everything to me." he said softly, "I already love you with everything in my being. Can't possibly imagine how much more it can grow for you once we have our baby." he said softly and you smiled.

"I think you'll love the baby the most." you whispered.

"I don't know...you're the one giving me the baby." he reasoned and you smiled. "But what I do know is that you're my whole life. I'm so fucking fortunate to have you to share this with. Love you." he hummed.

"Love you, H." you smiled.

"Want you to do something for me, baby." he added, "Gonna send you some stuff I was looking up earlier. Stuff to like prepare your body and increase your chances, you know? Give it a try?"

"Of course, baby." you agreed easily.

***************

On top of the things Harry had suggested to you, you had also been implementing your own measures to optimize your health enough to successfully conceive. You had made significant improvements to your diet and even started taking prenatal vitamins and teas that you hoped would help. And since Harry owned and worked at the brewery you asked him to please stop serving you alcohol, no matter how much you asked for it, so your taste-testing badge had been revoked. You were also getting more rest and even started exercising more with him. Incidentally, this was something that just made you more horny for him. Considering that exercise helped you produce endorphins you were in a far better mood and up for sex more than before.

Maybe it was a little indecorous of you, but you honestly enjoyed the dull ache that seemed to permanently reside between your legs as of late. You actually craved more of it, especially at times like these, when you watched him working out from across the gym while you just kept a moderate pace on the elliptical. He was making eye contact with you from the mirror with a subtle smile ignoring the other people who were very clearly ogling him as he did his deadlifts. You couldn’t blame them, Harry was a masterpiece of a human. He was tall, handsome, attractive, and good natured. The way his muscles tightened up as he worked through his routine made you hungry for him in sinful ways. So much so that you needed to go and fuck. Now.

You got off of the machine and went to grab a wipe to clean off the handles and buttons you’d touched before asking him to leave. He wouldn’t mind cutting his workout short, that’s what you’d be doing more of anyway if you really thought about it. You decided to gather your things from the locker in the bathroom and then head over to grab him. When you headed over to the free weights area you saw a girl trying to chat him up, he seemed a bit annoyed but was too polite to tell her to go away. It may have seemed he was fair game because he wasn’t wearing his wedding band right now (you always reminded him to take his ring off when he was lifting heavy because your wedding bands were made of gold, a soft metal, so it could easily get warped with the amount of weight he lifted), but he was all yours and you needed him now. His evident display of strength had you completely drenched in your underwear. You could feel the steady throb of your walls even as you walked over. You could see him glancing over to the cardio section through the mirror, probably searching for you to help but you were just about to reach him.

“Baby!” You called out to him from a few feet away and he whipped around and his smile of relief made you smirk. He could see the hunger in your gaze from where he was. The girl that walked up to him looked mortified as she connected the dots before scurrying off. Harry quickly re-racked the weights he’d been using before setting the bar back in place and hurrying over to you. “I need you to get me home. Stat.” You said lowly as you walked through the gym and he chuckled.

“Alright, my love. Not a problem.” He hummed with a big, warm hand on your lower back.

In nearly twenty minutes you were carefully getting into the shower together, the foreplay was in how he talked to you and touched you as you got cleaned up. Everything was building up as he smoothed over your breasts with his soapy hands and talked about how big they’d get when he finally got you pregnant. Things like this that you never thought could rile you up were doing the job. You loved to see his big veiny hands playfully tugging and rolling your nipples between his fingers while you ground back into his erection.

“God, you’re so fucking big.” You mumbled as he rutted his erect cock again your plump backside.

“I know. Almost too big for your pretty little cunt.” He responded and you nodded in agreement. “But you like that, don’t you?” You asked and you nodded.

“Yes, daddy.” You hummed, already feeling a little loopy.

“Turn around.” He said and you twirled around and looked up at him, “How do want it, my love?” He asked and you bit your lip as your mind started to wander and imagine all of the options you had. Then, you glanced over to the bench you used for shaving, “Wanna ride me?” He asked upon noticing where it was you had looked.

“Yeah, can I?”

“Of course.” He smirked.

And before you knew it you were sinking down onto his cock impatiently. You slightly hissed at the sting of the initial stretch but kept going, pushing through the slight discomfort. You loved the pain of the stretch as he tried to fit inside of you. You sometimes grew sad over the fact that it’d never feel like the first time you had sex again, you’d only been able to take half of him that first time and you’d been so tight around him that he came twice all over your pussy and tummy. Riding him was as close as you got to recreating that. You loved how full you felt when you rode him, how it felt like he was so big that he was penetrating up into your stomach, literally rearranging your guts. It made you breathless and cock drunk so quickly. He was holding you up a good amount because the bench wasn’t as big as it looked, so you were struggling and your knees were starting to hurt and you couldn’t touch his big, taut muscles like you hoped you could.

“Fuck this, lets get out.” You panted impatiently and he lifted you up like you were nothing, holding you to his body as he quickly shut the water off, shampoo and all still in your hair. You stumbled into the bedroom and barely made it to the bed. He just sat and you started grinding away at him. You pushed his chest back and he got the hint and laid back as you started to ride him a bit harder.

“Put your arms behind your head for support.” You said and he did so.

“Like this?” He asked and you nodded quickly. His glorious arm muscles were on full display and you could see how even his lats were nice and toned.

“Flex for me.” You requested and he did and you groaned loudly. You just wanted to bite into his biceps.

“You’re so fucking hot, daddy. So big and strong, always take such good care of me.” You panted as you rode him. Your hands roamed his chest and abs, feeling the firmness of his muscles, tracing the dip between his pecs with your index fingers and then going between his abs like you were tracing through a little maze. You started grinding in a way that he could plunge against your g-spot and he moaned over you as he felt his tip up against your spot and his eyes squeezed shut for a second.

“Fuck, right there…I’m…I’m gonna come soon.” He warned and you smirked.

“So fast?” You teased and he chuckled before wrapping his arms around you and squeezing your body tight.

“You want my cum don’t you? So what does it matter?” He asked and you melted at his question. Normally you wouldn’t mind if he came soon, you didn’t necessarily need orgasms for sex to be worth it for you. What got you off was the vibe. His energy, being present and in tune with him, making each other feel good, relishing in the intimacy of the moment. But right now, you did want to come around him.

“I want to come.” You whined softly and he suddenly flipped you back to missionary and thrust deeper into you until you gasped and pinched your eyes closed for a second.

Harry knelt up to have a better range of motion and he started going deep and slow. You could feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you, it was absolute bliss. Over and over his tip was colliding with that spot inside of you that ached and felt like ecstasy at the same time. He then slid one of his hands up your tummy until he was reaching for your breast. He groped and squeezed and felt at it in his hand. You reached for his arms and just caressed his arm. You traced up his fingers and then felt over his forearm, you were obsessed with how solid it was. Then, you worked your way up his bicep, squeezing his muscles, feeling his strength. Then, you lightly raked your nails from the butterfly inked above his abs all the way down to where your bodies were connected. His skin was littered in goosebumps and his movements stuttered.

“Fuck…” he groaned lowly and you glanced up at him, “It’s too much, baby. I’m so close!” He warned again and you smirked. Just getting to be close and feel him like this was working you up to his level. Watching him be so affected by your feather light touches was doing you in. You tickled up his other arm and he shuddered as he squeezed over your breast harder than before and you intentionally squeezed your walls around his cock. You took the time to feel it all; how he felt inside of you, how his damp skin was getting warmer and warmer the closer he got to coming. How every time you bucked up with him, your clit would bump against his pelvis, that’s how close you were. It was pushing you to the edge, you were teetering on it!

“Me too! I’m so close, daddy!” You moaned and he started going a bit faster and you moaned breathily, “Fuck, right there! Just like that, don’t stop!” You pleaded. He was locked in on this place until he felt your thighs starting to tremble around his hips. He lowered himself and kissed you deeply.

“You’ve been so good, haven’t you, my love? Taking such good care of yourself so that you can have my baby?” He asked.

“Yeah, daddy!” You whined out.

“Fuck, I hope this is the one…” he groaned and you moaned again. “You’re squeezing so tight…shit, come for me. Come on my cock, baby.” He grunted through his hard thrusts and the tight coil of pleasure finally gave way and that tight feeling in your body started to come undone. Your hips thrusted against his without any concern for the pace he’d set as the pleasure just racked through you and wiped you out like a tidal wave. You could feeling it consuming ever nerve ending from the top of your head and down to your toes. You hugged him close to your body, letting your hands roam down his back and squeeze his ass, pushing him even deeper until he couldn’t go any further inside of you.

“Please, put your baby in me! Come inside me, baby. Come inside me, breed me!” You whimpered and he groaned as he started to deliver hard, unforgiving thrusts as his sperm shot deep into you. The sounds coming from where your bodies were joined were absolutely filthy but you loved them. You loved that there was so much of his sperm that it made a squelchy mess for you that could be heard. You were twitchy and trembly as he filled you to the brim but that didn’t stop him from slipping out and getting on the ground to lick up your cunt. His tongue flicked at your clit until you were crying out in over stimulation as you came again.

Your abdominal muscles were putting in work as your orgasm rippled through you, your spasming walls started to push out some of his sperm but he was not about to let any of it go to waste.

“Nuh-uh, this cum is for you.” He mumbled lowly as his fingers slid down to about your perineum before he smeared them over your entrance carefully to get it back in you. Just knowing that the slight gape of your tight little hole was caused by his big cock made him want to fuck you all over again. He stretched you open a bit more and was able to see his cum stuffed inside of you, right to the brim. “Fuck, there’s so much of it.” He chuckled lowly as you twitched beneath him. He then laid back down and had you drape your legs over his just to keep you at an incline.

“Think we did it this time?” You asked and he smiled before kissing the back of your hand.

“Think so… but as much as I want to have a baby with you, I wouldn’t mind if it takes a little while longer. I love fucking you like this.” He chuckled his confession and you did as well.

“This is not the position you want me in if you want this to take longer to accomplish.” You pointed out and he laughed a bit and then got up and leaned over you to kiss you slowly. You hugged him close and rubbed over his back soothingly. You wrapped your legs around him and trapped him against your body, koala style. He laughed at your silliness as he tried to pull back. “Not yet.” You pouted.

“Baby, we need to finish our shower.” He reminded. “Come on…I’ll fuck you again after. Really make it stick.” He said with a suggestive tone and you loosened your grip around him enough for him to pull back.

“I am obsessed with you.” You said and he smiled, “I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. I wouldn’t want to.” You added softly and tenderly before arching up to kiss him deeply.

“As am I, my love. And I promise, we’re gonna keep trying as long as it takes.” He assured you. “And all through it I’m going to take such good care of you. I’ll keep you safe. S’my job, as your husband to do that. My favorite job in the world.” He smiled as he looked at you lovingly.

“I love you so much.” You hummed.

“Love you.” He whispered.

>> Next Part>>

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formula-ghost · 6 months ago

Text

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 1: Honey, Are U Coming?

SERIES SUMMARY: You’re Franco Colapinto’s best friend in the entire world, and you’ve agreed to accompany him along for the ride in his races with Williams. He finds it endearing how, per your therapist’s recommendation, you’ve started always bringing your diary everywhere you go, even the paddock. But when he crosses the line and turns the page, he never expected what’s inside… (Based on the song Read Your Diary by Måneskin).

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

WARNINGS: therapy heavily mentioned, reader is emotionally constipated, use of YN, reader is a lil FREAK in later chapters (affectionate because we don’t kink shame here), eventual angst and smut

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Meet me there where it never closes

Meet me there where it’s never hopeless

All is fair in love, oh

Honey, are you coming?

If you had to blame anyone for this whole ordeal, it would be your therapist. After all, she was the one who had given you the idea to start journaling in the first place.

The session had, frustratingly, gone like all of the others; you’d tell her about something you thought was innocuous and she’d ask you how that made you feel, and you wouldn’t be able to answer. You could feel your feelings all day long, but when asked to explain them, the words never came out.

Maybe it was a fear of being misunderstood or judged for your feelings. Maybe it was the fact that no one had ever taught you what to do with that bundle of emotions that rested in your stomach like a ball of yarn to be unraveled, except to avoid it altogether and stuff it down. Or maybe you just know how you actually felt, deep down, and this was your mind’s way of making it known.

Whatever the case was, your therapist suggested, in addition to your usual sessions, of course, that you start a journal. “It’ll be for your eyes only,” she assured, “you don’t have to tell me a single word of what’s in it. Just write whatever comes to mind, no matter what that is, as long as you get it out.”

So you took her advice. Worst case scenario, you thought, you’d just stop after a week or two if it didn’t make it better. But you couldn’t help feeling a little immature, like a little girl hiding a diary, when you went to the airport shop and bought a small, unassuming leather journal at a heavily marked up price and stuffed it into the bottom of your carry on.

Your therapist had suggested customizing the journal as you write your way through it—making it a safe place for your feelings and words. But for now, this would have to do. Traveling this much recently had been difficult, and you didn’t want to add the journal into the mix of your already chaotic life for the past few weeks.

Of course, you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The recent chaos and jet setting around the world was all due to the hard work and incredible luck of your best friend, Franco. He had finally made it to Formula 1, even if just for the remainder of the season, and when he had excitedly run over to your apartment to tell you the news, you had practically crushed him to death with the enormous hug you gave him. Despite his rookie status, he had somehow managed to get you paddock passes, flights, and accommodations all arranged for each of the races so you could spend your next few months flying around the world and waltzing around the Williams paddock with your best friend in the entire world.

You and Franco had met when you were younger and he had just moved to Italy to pursue his racing career. He had moved in right next to your family, and it felt like you were instantly connected. You introduced him to the country and he introduced you to the world of racing, and your friendship was a match made in Heaven. When he went to Spain, you followed, and now with his entry into Formula 1, you were still tagging along for the ride.

Of course, Franco wanted you there just as much as you wanted to be there. At first you had been hesitant to do it. You didn’t want to impose, and to this day Franco refused to tell you what strings he had to pull to get you access to the paddock, let alone flights and accommodations. “Cmon, come with me,” he had pleaded. “Think of the stories we’ll be able to tell one day! Besides, I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else by my side.”

“Franco, you sound like the protagonist of a cheesy rom com,” you laughed. “Don’t you think this is all… too much?”

“The tickets or my audition for the next Hallmark movie?” he teased, eliciting a small laugh from you. “No, I’m serious, YN. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I want you there with me, for every part of it.” He paused and looked down at his shoes, as if choosing his next words carefully. It was unusual of him, to be so worried about saying the right thing instead of just saying something. The grid had caught on soon that Franco was a talker. He continued, “I understand if you can’t come to all of them. But at least come to a few. It won’t be the same without you.”

There was a heaviness to his words that made you the slightest bit uncomfortable. Like his request was something deeper than just wanting the support of a friend. “Since when have you gotten so sentimental?” you teased, cracking a smile to lighting the tension.

He smiled back, “Since I achieved my dreams.”

Your slight smile stretched ear to ear at the reminder of how monumental a moment this was for him, and you enveloped him in another hug. “Oh Franco, I’m so happy for you!” you exclaimed.

“Happy enough to come with me?” He asked as you all broke the hug.

You lightheartedly exhaled at his instance. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The smile on his face was electric. You just couldn’t say no to him, so that’s how you ended up here, unable to say no to the steep markup on your airport shop journal, waiting for your unfortunately delayed flight from Azerbaijan to Singapore.

Even at only 4 races in, you had gotten used to doing your remote work in airports, but trying to open this journal and pour your heart out onto the pages right next to traveling strangers was… difficult, to say the least. It couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes that you stared at the blank page, but it felt like an eternity. You didn’t know what to write.

So you just began by writing how you felt physically. Tired. Nervous. Excited for Franco. Very excited for Franco.

This was supposed to be your journal, but as you got into the rhythm of filling page after page, the words were all about your best friend, the newest Formula 1 driver. You used to think that words couldn’t even describe how proud you were of him. You’d seen his hard work pay off with just a little bit of luck, and your heart seemed to swell into your chest when you thought of him in his Williams race suit ready to show the world what he could do. He’d gotten points in Baku, and you remembered your frantic heartbeat as you watched from the Williams garage and cheered in excitement at his performance. After the race he ran to you and you all practically crashed into each other going for a bear hug.

You had squeezed him with all your strength. “Franco, I’m so proud of you!”

He released you and smiled. It was a rare moment, seeing you this vulnerable. You were so happy that tears had formed at the edges of your eyes, and for a split second he looked at you and knew the true depth of those words. “So proud that you’re crying tears of joy?” he joked.

He had ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your raw emotion that you didn’t even notice the tears until he pointed them out, and your defenses kicked it as you replied, “I wasn’t crying.” Franco saw your walls go up again and cursed himself internally for talking without thinking, as he almost always did.

As you penned this memory, you felt all the emotions rushing back to you. That feeling of pride in your chest, the chaos of the garage, and Franco’s hands wrapped around you in a celebratory embrace—no, that made it sound weird. You looked down at the page. Why did that sound so… weird?

Once again, the moment had been ruined. Your flight was about to board anyway, so you exhaled and put the journal back in your bag, telling yourself you’d deal with that later. For now, you had a race to get to.

Singapore was humid and buzzing with life. Practices had gone well. On Saturday, you hoped that the usual chaos of the paddock would distract you from your thoughts, but it was the opposite. The drone of noise—reporters talking, mechanics laughing, the purr of the car—all faded away, just background noise to your painful confusion.

Something was just…off. Before your flight you had written about your best friend and his first few races in F1. That was it. Then why did you feel like your skin was crawling every time you glanced at him on the other side of the garage? He had his headset on, talking to some race engineer about something you couldn’t even begin to understand. His gaze was so focused, his attention fully captured by the screen in front of him. He raised his hand to his mouth, thinking, before turning to the engineer and saying something.

You were enraptured by him. His passion was infectious, his determination admirable. Clad in his white race suit, he looked like he belonged here, like he had always belonged here. His hair gently curled over the top bar of his headset. His race engineer said something and Franco laughed, and again you noticed those little details that had become so usual to you; the way his eyes crinkled when he truly smiled, the scrunch of his nose, the blush that danced across his cheeks—whether from the warmth of the garage or the words of his engineer, you couldn’t tell.

Your observation (or, rather, staring) was interrupted by Franco’s gaze shifting from his engineer to you. He sent you a soft smile, and you gave him a weak one in return. You felt sick to your stomach as he politely excused himself from the conversation and made his way over to you.

“Hey YN, you good? You’ve been staring off into space for, like, five whole minutes.”

You brought your hands to rub your face, trying to bring some life into you. “Have I?”

“Yeah, thought you were checking me out or something.”

“Huh?” You felt a pang of anxiety at his insinuation.

“Well, I can’t help it that I’m so irresistible,” he replied with a smirk.

“Oh, Lord,” you laughed, exhaling in relief at his usual banter. “I just feel weird, but I’ll be okay.” You weren’t exactly lying.

The brow furrowed with concern. “You’re not feeling well? You want to go lay down for a bit?”

As much as you wanted to protest that you really were fine, the opportunity to get away for a few minutes felt like a godsend. You answered, “That’s sounds nice, actually.”

“Here, come with me,” he said as he gestured for you to follow him through the back of the garage and into the Williams motorhome.

You ended up in his driver’s room, a quiet haven away from the overwhelming chaos of the paddock. As you stepped inside it hit you just how awful you truly felt: your head was pounding, your stomach turning in flips, and your heart beating outside your chest. You practically slumped down onto the small couch, hunched over, covering your eyes with your arm to shield away the harsh fluorescent light.

You felt Franco settle beside you, breaking the silence with a soft, “You alright?” You just hummed in response, until you felt his hand meet your upper back, gently rubbing your shoulder blades as if his touch could smooth away your discomfort. But all it did was make it worse; you didn’t think your heart could beat any faster, and the turning of your stomach threatened to bring up your breakfast.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. “Franco, need you at the media tent in five!”

Franco grumbled a reply that he’d be right there. Then he turned back to you, “You want to go back to the hotel? I can have someone take you.”

“No, I’ll be okay. I don’t want to miss qualifying.”

“YN, you look horrible.”

You laughed. “Thanks for the confidence boost.”

“No, I just… you don’t have to be there if you’re not feeling well, it’s okay.” Franco knew how stubborn you were. Never the type to admit any weakness, you could be on your death bed and still make it to the paddock to watch him race.

“No, really, I’m fine. Just give me a few minutes…”

He huffed, knowing it was no use arguing with you. He kneeled down to where you head was laid against the small table next to the couch, looking in your eyes. “Shit, YN, you’re

shivering—I’ve got a hoodie around here somewhere…” he began rummaging through his locker when another knock came at the door.

“Franco, media tent, NOW,” said the clearly agitated voice behind the door.

“Yeah, coming!” he replied.

He looked back nervous scratched the back of his neck, unsure of how far to push.

“I’ve got to go. Grab a hoodie and warm up, and if you feel any worse you come straight back here or I’ll end you,” he said, in an attempt to lighten the concern he felt for his best friend who sat before him, looking like a zombie.

“Understood,” you said, giving him a weak thumbs up.

He left the room and you sat there alone, taking deep breaths in an attempt to bring yourself back down to earth. You had truly believed it when you told Franco that you thought a few minutes in the quiet would fix you up, but your thoughts just kept racing, and your body reacted with it. The gentle comforting touch of his hand on your back left you spinning. It didn’t make sense—you two had been friends so long, the touch was nothing unusual. Just a friendly gesture. Then why did it feel like your skin was on fire?

Franco had been right, you were shivering, and to distract yourself from your thoughts you heeded his advice to find a hoodie to wear. You stepped over to the locker and found the one he brought—one purchased for him by one of his ex girlfriends, some blonde model who was nice enough but clearly wanted nothing to do with you. You didn’t blame her; you were nothing special, and your company paled in comparison to the excitements of dating a race car driver. Or at least, you assumed. It’s not like you’d ever date Franco.

Wait, what were you thinking? Dating Franco. The thought should bring disgust to your mouth. It did. Sort of. You weren’t shivering any more.

You put the hoodie back in the closet and took a deep breath. You decided to take the time between now and qualifying to see if writing in the journal could make you feel a little better. But when you opened the pages again, you just found what you had written last time and your feelings stuck.

You remembered a tactic your therapist taught you: sometimes your feelings can manifest physically. To calm down, ground yourself in your surroundings. Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, one thing you can taste. You brought your pen to paper.

I can see: The hoodie that Franco’s ex gave him. It’s crumpled in the corner of his locker. He wears it a lot, and it makes me wonder if he misses her. I don’t ask him stuff like that. That would be weird.

I can touch: The smooth plastic of the VIP pass around my neck. Franco refuses to tell me how he got it. I can’t believe he’d go through all this for me.

I can hear: The quiet silence of the room. Feet shuffling outside the door. Does anyone know I’m in here, hidden away like a secret? Did Franco tell anyone about me—about us? What even is us—why would he tell the paddock about a friend?

I can smell: Franco’s cologne, everywhere. It smells familiar, like home and a warm hug.

I can taste: the bitter taste of the maté I had this morning. Franco put me on to it when we were younger.

You went back and read through everything you’d written, seeing how many times his name came up—Franco, Franco, Franco.

And so you wrote it again. Franco, Franco, Franco. God, I feel like a little girl having a crush on the boy who sits next to her in class.

Wait. A crush? No, you were too old for that. That’s ridiculous. But reading the words you had written over and over and over again—what else could it be?

Of course I love Franco. He’s my best friend.

Reading and writing seemed to blur. Yes, you loved Franco. So you wrote it again.

I love Franco Colapinto.

Finally, you stopped. Your headache, stomach pain, and that stubborn heartbeat had all faded to calmness. You read it, no, wrote it, no—did it even matter anymore?

I love Franco Colapinto.

No. You scribbled it out and closed the diary. No, no, no no no no no.

You checked your phone. It was almost time for quali. You threw the journal to the bottom of your bag, took a deep breath, and made your way back out to the Williams garage.

On the way there you ran into a familiar face—Franco’s mother. You had heard she would be here for the weekend, but you hadn’t run into her yet, with everything going on. Upon seeing you her face lit up in a smile. “YN! Franquito just sent me to check on you, said you were feeling well?”

You cringed a bit internally at her knowing your situation, but smiled anyway. “Oh, I was, but I’m doing okay now. Ready for quali.”

So the two of you made your way back to the garage, making idle chat about your lives back at your respective homes outside of Franco. The more you all talked, though, the more it became apparent that both of your lives seemed to revolve around him; but it made sense for his mother, of course, even if he didn’t live in Argentina anymore. But you? You couldn’t shake the feeling that your connection to Franco was deeper and more problematic than ever now. His mother’s voice faded into the background sounds of the garage as your mind returned again to again to the words you had written: I love Franco Colapinto. It felt so childish, like it belonged in a pink diary, written in a glittering gel pen, surrounded by little hearts. It made you sick to your stomach.

“You know, YN,” his mother said, breaking you from your spiraling thoughts, “I’m so glad he has you. I was so worried when he left home, but when you all met it helped me sleep better at night knowing someone was looking out for him. And look where we are now! Oh, I’m so proud of him.”

“I am too,” you smiled, somewhat pained but still genuine.

She laughed, “Now I just keep telling him he needs to find a girl like you! Stay away from all those actresses and models, they’re always trouble.”

You laughed in response, though your heart skipped a beat. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll find a good one. But I think he’s more focused on the racing.”

“Well, I hope so,” she replied, a hint of lighthearted criticism in her voice.

The conversation came to a natural end with qualifying about to start any second. Franco, suited up and putting on his helmet, glanced to you and his mother behind the barriers, throwing you a wink before stepping in the car. You rolled your eyes. Everyone who had ever met Franco knew how much of a flirt he was, it was just part of his personality. It had never bothered you before. But to be the girl he was flirting with? To have it mean something? That was something else entirely, something you’d stuffed deep down. You told yourself it meant nothing, because it didn’t. Franco was just…like that. He was just your friend. Nothing more.

Franco had a respectable qualifying—P12—and the rest of the day went by as usual before your dinner plans with him, his mother, and the rest of the Williams team. It was awkward at first. You were sat by Franco and his mother on one side, who were talking to each other in Spanish, far away mentally from the dinner; and on the other was Alex Albon's girlfriend, Lily. Thankfully, Lily seemed very kind and made conversation.

“Oh hi, YN isn’t it? I’ve been meaning to say hello! I’m Lily, it’s nice to meet you, welcome to the wag club,” she joked.

“The wag club?” You were confused, was this some motorsports term you’d never heard of?

“Oh, you know, wives and girlfriends. The fans just call us wags,” she smiled. You were grateful that at least one person's girlfriend was kind to you. But her assumption brought a blush to your cheeks.

“Oh, I’m not—“

Lily wasn’t quite paying attention, or maybe you were too quiet compared to the busy atmosphere of the restaurant. “You know, it’s really great to have you here, you and Franco are so cute! It’s a shame what happened with Logan, but on the bright side so get to make new friends. I can introduce you to the rest of the girls too, it’s hard being in a garage full of guys so we have to stick together, you know.”

You cut her off, unable to handle her mistake any longer. “Oh, uh, I’m not… Franco’s girlfriend. We’re just friends.”

Lily paused for a moment. “Oh! Um… sorry about that.” She nervously laughed. “I just thought, you know, since you’ve been at all his races so far…”

“Oh yeah, I’m not sure how, but he got me paddock passes for the rest of the season. I mean, once in a lifetime opportunity, right?”

“Yeah, that’s… I mean, wow. Alex can’t even get me that many passes.” Lily left the implication of her comment unsaid. Franco had gone above and beyond—he wanted you here more than anything. “Well, anyway, I’m sure the girls would still love to meet you!” she smiled.

It was nice to have a friend other than Franco in the paddock. You passed the dinner telling funny stories back and forth about Franco and Alex’s embarrassing karting moments. The Williams team was beginning to feel like family.

Back in your hotel room, the chaos of the day faded away into a calm silence. You opened your journal and wrote about everything that had happened since you had left his drivers room. Again and again you returned to that sentence, now scratched out, but finally, you had to accept what you had so long avoided, what everyone around you could see plainly.

So you took your pen and wrote one last sentence of the night:

I am in love with my best friend, Franco Colapinto.

523 notes · View notes

harmonyrae · 18 days ago

Text

Vow - Part 4

Synopsis: Your blossoming relationship with Sylus is starting to attract the attention of those closest to you. Life had been so bland, so ordinary before Sylus. He’s offering you another first and it’s rather… interesting. Good thing you’re just as eager to please as he is.

AN: I do not claim to be knowledgeable about everything in BDSM culture. I am very interested in it and am still learning, so keep that in mind. Cover image from Pinterest, all credit to original artist!

Content Warnings: Explicit language & sexual themes, blood, medical terms, somewhat detailed surgical procedure described, guns/self-defense fighting, BDSM culture & toys/tools, Genital Piercings, Improper use of evol - do not try at home, Deepthroating, Sensory Deprivation, Intimacy Struggle & Implied Grief, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 6.6k

New Years was exactly as chaotic as you expected. From alcohol poisoning to a slew of vehicle accidents, when you finally clocked out you immediately called Sylus. There was no way you’d be able to drive home with how tired you were. Sylus surprised you and drove you straight to the airport. After boarding the mystery flight you passed out, when you woke up you were somewhere warm, where the air smelled like citrus and spice.

Seven days in an overwater bungalow with private beach access, custom catered meals, massages, boat tours…and, of course, mind-blowing sex. It was the honeymoon you never had and honestly never expected. When you returned to the N109 Zone you were a new woman, taking the “New Year, New Me” thing seriously. Sunkissed skin, a closet full of new tropical dresses, skirts, bikinis, a shell bracelet you made yourself after a long walk along the beach. Convincing Sylus to wear the matching bracelet was easy when you were on the island, but you were sure it’d be impossible once you returned. However, you caught a glimpse of it under the sleeve of his suit when he kissed you goodbye before your shift. You couldn’t hide your smile while changing into your scrubs in the locker room.

“So he just surprised you with a vacation to the Maldives?” Yvonne leans against the locker beside you, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Yeah, I had no idea. Took me right to the airport from the hospital.”

“Okay, it’s official, I’m jealous of your whole life.”

You shake your head while you laugh, if she knew the dark side she might change her tune. Her phone chimes and she gives you a quick hug before racing out of the locker room. You check your phone to see who you’re working with today and nearly drop it. Zayne? Really?

Since the board critiqued him for working with you while he should be “offering equal attention to all residents” he basically stopped adding you to cardio cases. The board literally pressured him about non-existent special treatment and it bit them in the ass. You’d been the most promising cardio hopeful when you first arrived, everyone thought you and Zayne would be running the department like a well-oiled machine in a few years. But thanks to the board’s meddling you changed your specialty to neuro. It’d been at least a year since your last cardio case, why is Zayne requesting you now?

Beep Beep

Your phone buzzes and it’s a page from Zayne requesting your presence in pre-op. Not wanting to irritate your brother, and for today your boss, you hurry to the elevator and descend to the surgical ward.

“Good morning. I take it you haven’t had a chance to read the case notes yet?

Formal as ever…

“Not yet, I can read them now.”

You open your tablet and open the newest document he shared with you. The notes were simple, written in Zayne’s unique short-hand. 65 year old male, moderately healthy, born with a heart defect, signs of heart failure began 6 years ago, has been on the transplant list for 4. You nearly walk into a wall as you read the pre-op notes for a full heart transplant.

“You requested me for a transplant? I’m not even specializing in cardio! What about Olivia? Or Maxwell? Wouldn’t they be better choices for such a major surgery?”

Zayne stops. His posture stiffens and you immediately regret speaking so casually. He turns and tucks his tablet under his arm, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Doctor Green is on vacation and Doctor Reeves is on sick leave.”

You can think of at least 5 other cardio residents who would kill for a chance to work with him on a transplant. He shakes his head and turns to continue down the hall. You jog to catch up, glancing down at your tablet off and on to finish reading.

“I’m sorry, I am grateful to be working with you. I was just surprised.”

“I can tell.”

You try not to take it personally, he’s like this with every resident. But you can’t help but wonder if he’s angry with you for… well, you’re not sure what…

“I simply needed a resident I trust. I’ve worked with this patient for several years and know his family. However, if you’d prefer I select another resident, I can remove you from my service.”

“No! I’ll do it! When is the procedure?”

“20 minutes.”

You freeze in the middle of the hallway. Zayne senses your hesitation, he turns and stares at you. He waits for you to return to reality.

“I’ll speak with the patient, you finish reading the case notes and meet me in the OR.”

He veers off and enters the prep area while you continue to the scrub-up room to finish reading. When Zayne joins you, he immediately shrugs off his coat and hangs it up. He turns to the sink and steps on the bar to turn on the water. He looks over his shoulder as he grabs the soap.

“Any questions?”

You follow his lead and hang up your own coat to begin to scrub up.

“Nope, I’m ready.”

He nods and you finish scrubbing up in silence. The surgery is straightforward and you witnessed a few transplants in your time at Akso. While it was never a heart, you knew the basics and knew your primary task was assisting Zayne and following orders.

Mr Dylan is prepped and under anesthesia by the time you and Zayne enter the operating room. Zayne always operates with a small nursing staff and one resident, which today is you. He nods to a nurse and she holds up a remote. The lights dim and focus in on the patient and soft classical music begins playing over the speakers. The steady beeps of the machines sound off in time with the music. You sigh, you’ve missed operating with Zayne. He always creates a peaceful atmosphere, which makes the surgery less intimidating. It’s no wonder why residents basically fight over him as their teacher.

The nurse administers blood thinners per Zayne’s instruction and you prepare the bypass machine. It’s more advanced than bypass machines of the past, but it still shocks you that Zayne prefers to use them. With newer techniques and procedures available, you expected him to be at the forefront of testing their efficiency. As you watch him carefully make the incision and expose the patient’s heart, you realize he’s sticking to tried and true methods for the sake of the patient. He mentioned Mr Dylan has been his patient for a long time, he won’t risk a newer method failing a patient he cares deeply for. “What?”

You look up to see Zayne staring at you.

“Huh?”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m wearing a mask, how can you tell?”

He gives you a pointed look over the rim of his glasses and you chuckle. He extends his hand and you pass the cannulas to him. His steady hands attach them to the patient’s superior and inferior vena cava’s.

“Your eyes. They get all… squinty and your blink rate increases.”

He motions for you to attach the next tube to the patient’s aorta and you shake your head to focus. Once all the tubes are attached and the medication to stop the heart is given, the bypass machine whirs to life. Zayne is quick to clear the field and clamp and sever the vessels, you let the comment about your “squinty eyes” slide and watch in awe of his handiwork. He operates like he's conducting an orchestra, bold but flowing effortlessly.

“How was your vacation?”

He’s elbow deep in a chest cavity and he’s starting this conversation now?

“It was… relaxing. Haven’t gotten that much sun in years.”

As he removes the heart you hold the basin to retrieve it. You hold your breath as you carry it to the nearby table and cover it with a surgical cloth. The nurse retrieves the new heart and you both carefully bring it to Zayne. He inspects the organ and gently lifts it from its container, placing it into Mr Dylan’s chest.

“Good. You were looking a little worse for wear.”

You scoff and pass him the forceps with the prepared sutures. You hold the graft material in place and provide suction while he slowly reconnects the vessels. Each suture placed with such precision you’re completely mesmerized. Not so far gone to let his cheeky comment slide.

“Rather bold of you, Dr Zayne, to judge me for how I appear. When was your last haircut?”

He huffs and pauses his movements to glare at you. You flash a smile and he rolls his eyes. He returns to his previous state of godlike stillness and you try not to breathe too loudly.

The rest of the surgery goes by rather quickly, no complications, no need to use electro stimulation for the new heart. Mr Dylan was wheeled to recovery in record time and you were scrubbing out with Zayne before noon.

“Would you like me to write up the surgical report?”

“No, we can work on it together. I’m going to get a coffee and I will meet you in my office.”

“Get me one?” You call out to him as he turns to leave.

“I should tell you to get your own, but you impressed me today.”

“I impressed you! Wait! How–”

“My office, 10 minutes.”

He leaves without another word and you shake the water from your hands excitedly, droplets pelt your face, but you’re too delighted to care. You dry your hands and rush to grab a hoodie from your locker before settling into Zayne’s office for a lengthy report writing session.

Zayne arrives with two cups of coffee and you eagerly take what’s offered to you. The warmth from the first sip spreads through you, seeping into your very soul. Notes of chocolate and hazelnut cut through the bitterness, you want to down the whole cup in one go. Forcing yourself to slow down and set it aside, you look up at Zayne, who settled at his desk instead of sitting next to you on the couch. Reluctantly, you trudge over to his desk and sit in the chair across from him, opening your tablet.

“I can cover opening if you’d like to cover closing?” He asks and you nod.

The soft taps of your fingers on your screen and his fingers on his keyboard fill the room. You glance over at him occasionally, waiting for him to ask you a question or make another comment. When he doesn’t, you take advantage of this alone time to ask the question you’ve held onto for months.

“Zayne, are you ever going to tell me how you know Sylus? Like how you met?”

He stops typing and closes his eyes. Uh oh.

“This is hardly the time or place to discuss that.”

You place the tablet on his desk and lean back, holding your coffee with both hands in your lap.

“There’s never going to be an opportune time to discuss this. And this is the first time in weeks we’ve been alone. I’m not asking for the dramatized version, I just… want to understand why you, you know, volunteer…”

You may be alone, but blurting out “perform unauthorized medical treatments in an illegal medical facility with equipment of unknown origin” in a hospital is just… awkward.

“He helped me. It’s as simple as that.”

“No. Nope. Calling bullshit.”

He turns his chair away from his desk and reclines. He watches you out of the corner of his eye.

“Zayne…”

He sighs, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes roughly.

“A few years ago, some information about the hospital was uncovered and it put me in a bad spot. Without Sylus getting involved myself and a… colleague may have been killed.”

You don’t miss the way he struggled to say “colleague” - his eyes glazing over, his hands turning restless, his expression grave. There’s more to the story and he’s being evasive on purpose.

“What happened to your colleague?”

He shifts in his seat and stares at the computer screen. A chill runs up your spine as you notice the drop in temperature. You’re used to the cold, with your evol you usually prefer it, but this… There’s a difference between using your evol to cool off and freezing because you lost control. Zayne taught you how to control your evol when you were young, but as you got older you realized he never could quite control it himself. He never explained why. Thankfully you’re one of the few people who can calm him down before it turns dangerous.

“Zayne! Hey! Look at me.”

He blinks slowly, crystals begin forming and inch up the side of his neck. You stand and circle around his desk quickly to grab his face. You turn him to look at you, focusing your evol to absorb some of the frigid energy. His eyes clear just enough to reflect your panicked expression. Once the crystals recede, you sit on the edge of his desk and hand him his coffee to warm up.

“Why didn’t you tell me? How long have you been dealing with this?”

He finishes his coffee and tosses his glasses on his desk.

“Because I didn’t want you to be in danger. And… I was ashamed.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t earn this position based on my skills alone. I am confident in my abilities, but I know it was a political move.”

You rub your temples as you try to read between the lines.

“Wait, so you’re saying the board promoted you to chief of cardio to what? Keep you quiet?”

“That is what I believe, yes.”

“Zayne, what the fuck is the board hiding?”

He stands abruptly and places his hands on your shoulders. You can feel how cold his skin is through your hoodie.

“This is why I kept it from you. Do not ask questions like that. Not even to Sylus. Do not go looking. Promise me. Please.”

There’s an urgency in his voice that frightens you. His hands tremble as he holds you tightly.

“I won’t, I promise. Just tell me you’re safe?”

He releases you, straightens his jacket and retrieves his tablet and glasses from his desk.

“I am.”

You nod, nowhere near satisfied, but you won’t push. At least not now. He steps past you towards the door.

“I’ll finish the surgical report if you can write up the post-op review and recovery guidelines.”

“Yeah, I will.”

You phone chimes and you gasp, you’d forgotten Sylus changed his own alert to Careless Whisper… Zayne looks over his shoulder with a brow raised.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, when did you and Sylus start sleeping together?”

You almost drop your phone and scream bloody murder. Your BROTHER did not just ask that question. He chuckles and looks at you over the rim of his glasses.

“You know you look like dad when you do that.”

You try to deflect… unsuccessfully. His smile grows wider and he leans against the door, effectively blocking your way out.

“You do realize how weird it is to ask me that right? Like, I don’t ask you about your sex life!”

He remains silent, which only irritates you further. Your phone chimes again, another message from Sylus and another sexy saxophone solo. You cover your face with your hands. You’re not embarrassed, just… you wanted to keep it private for a while longer.

“Fine! Before New Years…”

He nods, his smile remains.

“I don’t love the idea, but he is a good man. You know, if you overlook the fact he’s the leader of the largest criminal organization in the N109 Zone. And all of Linkon, if we’re being honest. But, he’s… he’s a good man. Just, promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Two promises in one day? Zayne, you’re asking a lot of me.” You smirk, making sure he detects your sarcasm.

“It’s one thing to be in a fake marriage to protect yourself from a psychotic gangster, but trying to have a real relationship with someone like Sylus…”

You stand to gather your things before standing beside him.

“I’m happy, Zayne.”

He surprises you with a hug. Usually, you’re the one to initiate something like this, but you’re not complaining. Look at your big brother becoming more sentimental. You’re so proud. He lets you go and opens the door, looking back for another moment.

“We’ll review the reports tomorrow.”

He leaves you in the doorway to his office. You watch him walk down the hall and disappear into an elevator. Digging your phone out of your pocket you see Sylus’s messages. He brought you lunch and is waiting at the entrance. You bite your lip and skip down the hall to the stairwell, if you’re lucky he’ll provide dessert first. If an on-call room is available that is…

“Is that really the best you can do angel?”

Oh you just want to slap that smug grin off his dumb sexy face. You wiggle to try and free your limbs, but with how Sylus has you pinned to the mat you’re not going anywhere. Sweat coats your back, making the mat beneath you slick. You try to use that to your advantage and slide away, but he brings his knee down on your hip and stops you.

“Sylus!”

“Say the magic word sweetie.”

You try to thrust your head forward, as if knocking him in the head wouldn’t leave a massive bruise on your forehead and have your colleagues asking many awkward questions… He doesn’t even need to pull back, with your wrists pinned to the mat your range of motion is too limited.

“Fine! Kitten. Kitten!”

He smiles and releases your wrists, sitting back on his heels to stand up. You stay where you are, utterly defeated and embarrassed you have yet to make any progress in overpowering him. He crouches down next to you and pokes your cheek. Ignoring your glare, he offers his hand and helps you stand before turning to grab his water bottle.

“You’re doing well, all things considered.”

You dry your forehead with a towel and toss it over your shoulder. As you turn around you tense, he’s tugging his shirt off over his head… His body glistens with sweat, his shorts tight enough to show the curve of his ass. He probably wore them to distract you. How dare he.

Two can play that game.

You pretend to dry your face some more, dipping the towel into the front of your tank top. He sips his water, keeping his eyes trained on you. Lifting your tank top over your head, you drop it to the floor next to your towel and approach him, bringing your hands up into the sparing position he showed you. As if you didn’t just perform a cute little strip tease a moment before.

He stands opposite you, hands by his side. In one swift motion, he conjures a gun as his arm swings wide, black and red smoke vanishing as quickly as it came. You follow the steps he taught you. Once the gun is pointed, you reach out and grab the barrel with your left hand and slam your right hand down on the inside of his wrist, turning the gun away from you and around towards him. He takes hold of your wrist and yanks it away, bringing the gun back to its original position. Diving under the line of fire, you kick his leg hard, making him stumble.

“Impressive, you’re improving.”

Without missing a beat, he lunges forward and knocks you back. Your back hits the mat once again and you gasp when you feel the tip of the barrel under your chin. You open your hands and drop them beside your head in surrender.

“Kitten…” You whisper.

He chuckles under his breath and stands up, tucking the gun in the back of his shorts. Again, you don’t move, you’re not sure how long you’ve been trying to disarm Sylus, but it’s starting to feel pointless.

“Come on, we try again.”

You sit up and pull your knees to your chest, resting your chin on your knee.

“No. I’m done…”

Sylus crosses his arms and stands in front of you. His sneaker taps the mat like an impatient coach waiting for his moody trainee to stop being a big baby.

“You’re quitting on me? I thought you said you wanted to learn to shoot?”

“I do!”

“And before I teach you how to shoot you have to…”

“Disarm you. I know. But clearly I can’t and I feel worse about my chances of survival than when I walked in here.”

Sylus sits in front of you, but you avoid meeting his gaze.

“Tell me what you would do. If this was real. Someone pointed a gun at you and your life was on the line. What would you do?”

“I’d turn them into a popsicle.”

“Perfect, your chances of survival are better than most.”

You huff and tuck your chin to your chest, lowering your forehead to your knee.

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked you why you started racing?”

“Yeah…” You mumble from your fetal position.

“We’re training your brain. If you can disarm me without your evol, you’ll feel more confident and less fearful. And I meant it, you’re improving.”

Throwing your head back to cast a pitiful glare.

“When we started, you’d flinch when the gun appeared. Now, you act, you don’t hesitate.”

He pulls the gun from his waistband and holds it out.

“I know you want to learn to shoot, but if I know you like I think I know you… non-lethal methods might be best.”

He’s not wrong. Once the anger clears, you’d regret shooting someone. But you still want to know how, in case it ever comes to that point. You know if a life is on the line, yours or someone you care about, you’d pull the trigger.

“Baby, I will teach you, but I want to make sure you know your options and feel free to choose on your own.”

You cross your legs and settle your hands on your knees. The gun disintegrates into swirling mist and Sylus shifts closer to you and takes your hands in his.

“Might be a good idea to stop for the night.”

He brings your hands to his mouth and kisses your swollen knuckles. You nod and giggle as he drags you over onto his lap, he kisses your neck as his hands travel up your back to toy with the clasp of your bra. You press on his chest and struggle against his grasp.

“Sylus, we’re all sweaty…”

“We’d end up like this anyways, wouldn’t we?”

You groan as his mouth moves over your collarbone, sucking on your skin, The sounds he’s making are lewd, shameless.

“How about we continue to train in a different way?”

Looking down at him, unsure what he’s implying. He lifts you and guides your legs to straddle his lap. His hands massage your ass, pressing your core closer to his hardening cock. You whimper as he continues to kiss your neck, pausing to whisper his filthy plans in your ear.

“We can train your adrenaline and satisfy our… more carnal needs.”

“What are you suggesting, Sy?”

“Would you like a few more firsts?”

With how he’s staring at you, whatever he has planned is bound to be… intense.

“Yes…”

He helps you stand and instructs you to take off your shoes and socks, leaving you in just your bra and shorts. He takes your hand and leads you out of the gym. You follow him through the house, passing his bedroom, your bedroom, the kitchen, the living room… When he stops in front of the door to his armory you freeze. He places his thumb on the scanner and the door clicks open. When he feels you hesitate, he squeezes your hand and nods reassuringly. You step closer and he swings the door open, ushering you inside the one room you’ve never seen.

The sheer amount of weapons - of all types from guns and katanas to crossbows and ancient battle axes - you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. You’re a doctor, an upstanding citizen - besides the illegal racing - and you live in a house with a fucking arsenal. Some of the guns look advanced, their hazy glow hinting at their protocore capabilities. A long sofa, a shelving unit with cleaning supplies, a bar cart with wine and whiskey.

“So this is your man cave, huh?”

He lets go of your hand to hook his arm around your waist instead.

“I take pride in my collection, no shame in that is there?”

You shake your head and lean closer to him as he continues through the room. It’s much larger than you anticipated. Showcases, wall mounts, shelving units - it’s like a vault or a treasure room. When you spot the pair of doors in the corner you just laugh, how on earth is there more?

“Door on the left is a bathroom, the storage is exclusively for my cologne collection. But it does have a nice skylight over the tub.”

“You collect cologne too?” He nods. “So I’m guessing the other room is for another collection?”

“You could say that.”

His vague answer leaves you more curious than ever. He approaches the door and pauses, his hand on the knob. He holds you close and you instinctively loop your arms around his waist.

“Do you remember the magic word?”

“Kitten? Why?”

His tender smile morphs into a wicked grin. Your heartbeat quickens as you watch him open the door, letting it swing open to reveal his other collection.

“Holy shit…” You whisper before letting him go and stepping inside.

You’re not sure what kind of kinky dream you’ve entered, but you’re too engrossed in examining every detail to even think about leaving. At the center of the room sits a round bed with silky red sheets and plush pillows enclosed in a huge cage. There’s a padded wall with rings fixed above. A display case filled with… tools? Toys? You recognize some of them, a dildo is a dildo but some of the other “items” are a mystery to you. A rack on the wall holds various handcuffs, blindfolds, harnesses, paddles, gags, collars… Your heart races as you continue to scan the room, you’d expect harsh neon lighting in a room like this, but the red and blue accent lights cast a soft glow on the black marble floors.

Sylus rests his hands on your hips as he stands behind you. His chin on the top of your head. You melt into the warmth of his chest against your back.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I’m showing you this in case you ever want to… indulge your curiosity.”

You take hold of his hands and bring them around your waist. He holds you, swaying side to side, letting you decide the next move. You realize your life has been so… boring. Sheltered. Careful. You didn’t even think about the consequences of racing until after your first race. The rush was addicting and you knew the moment the countdown began you’d be hooked. Being with Sylus these past few months has made your inexperience extremely obvious. You’re not embarrassed, you have goals and dreams to achieve, but god do you want to live a little.

You can’t ignore how seeing a room like this makes you feel. Your heart pounding against your ribcage, palms sweaty, nipples pebbled, pussy throbbing. The room itself, while enticing, is not what sets your skin on fire and your nerves into a frenzy. Who you’re with and what they want to do to you… You want this. So much…

Leaning back, you rest your head on Sylus’s chest. You rub the backs of his hands before lifting one of them and placing his palm over your breast. His breath catches and he squeezes, making you moan. He lowers his head to whisper in your ear, his hand dipping under the fabric of your bra to continue working your breast.

“I need to hear you say it angel.”

Turning your head towards him, he brushes his lips over the shell of your ear.

“I don’t have to call you any weird names, right?”

He chuckles, his breath warm tickling your ear.

“I prefer it when you call me by my name actually.”

“The bed does look comfy…”

“I wouldn’t know.”

You lean further to the side so you can fully see his face above you. He’s dead serious.

“You’ve never…”

“I’ve never brought anyone here, no.”

You turn and set your hands on his hips while his fingertips dance along your arms.

“So… It’s a first for both of us…” You purr.

Without wasting another second, he picks you up, tossing you over his shoulder. You squeal and slap his back, which only makes him laugh louder as he kicks the door closed. He stalks over to the caged bed and opens the hinged door. He ducks to step through and up onto the bed where he drops you amongst the dozen or so throw pillows. He drops to his knees, straddling you, his hands gliding over your stomach and over your ribcage. You close your eyes and arch your back, eager to please.

“Remember the magic word. If you want me to stop, I will.”

You open your eyes and nod, your mouth falling open as he tugs the cups of your bra down exposing your breasts. He pitches forward to take one of your nipples in his mouth. The pace of his tongue flicking and swirling around the sensitive flesh drives you mad. You fist his hair and grind his face against your chest, which prompts him to bite down. You jolt and then your hands are yanked upwards and slammed down on the bed above you. The fabric of your bra that was bunched under your exposed tits vanishes and your eyes fly open.

“Sy… what…?”

Sylus doesn’t stop his relentless attack, your back arches to the point of pain as he switches between your heaving breasts. What his mouth can’t touch, his hands take care of. Pinching, tugging, rolling, flicking. You scream, the mixture of pain and pleasure completely unravels you. When he finally leans back, his cheeks are flushed and he’s gasping for breath.

“I’ve wanted to show you the extent of my evol… tonight, I’ll give you a preview.”

You look down at him as he slips your shorts and panties over your hips and down your legs. Your brain reels as you realize both of his hands are visible to you, but whatever is holding your wrists doesn’t feel metallic or plastic, it feels… You struggle against whatever is holding you and hear Sylus snicker. Suddenly you’re lifted off the bed by your wrists, your arms brought down and around Sylus’s shoulders. As he dives into the crook of your neck you see the red and black smoke wrapped around your wrists like rope.

“Is there anything your evol can’t do?”

He lifts your hips and lays you back on the bed, pressing you down into the mattress under him.

“I don’t know, I guess I’ll have to put it to the test.”

“My bra! Did you–?” His breathy laugh becomes a sigh as he kisses you.

“I’ll buy you as many pretty bras as you like, if you let me destroy them to get to these perfect tits. Deal?”

You whimper as he seals his mouth over yours again.

“Take that as a yes…” He breaths.

When he turns his attention back to your neck, you look around the room once more. Wondering what each tool does and what it would feel like. As Sylus grinds his hips down you gasp. Your brows knit together as you try to work up the courage to –

“What are you thinking about, angel?”

Sylus hovers over you, his nose tracing your jaw to get you to turn your attention back to him.

“I want to do something.”

He tilts his head, a brow raised, amused yet curious.

“But… I’ve tried before and you stopped me.”

You tried many times before actually. During your vacation you’d tried almost every night, almost begging at one point, but he always diverted your attention. You want nothing more than to make him happy, to make him feel good, to please him like he pleases you.

“Is there a reason you don’t want me to go down on you?”

His brows shoot up and he stutters. He’s the one who wanted you to be more direct and now he’s the one who is speechless. If you weren’t so desperate to understand you’d find it funny.

“My intimate life has been… more about giving, not receiving.”

“Do you not like it or…” Puzzle pieces start to slide into place. “Do you not allow yourself…”

His head falls forward to rest against your shoulder. The energy around your wrists dissipates and you thread your fingers through his hair.

“I want to make you feel good. You deserve to feel good, Sy.”

He groans softly, lifting his head to stare down at you.

“It’s been a long time since… I haven't felt like I could…”

“I want you, in every way. I crave you. When you’re ready, I want to take you… all of you.”

His body trembles, his cock straining against his shorts. He sits back on his heels, lifting your effortlessly onto his lap. He stands and grabs hold of a bar running along the top of the cage. You squeal as you begin to float, his evol wrapping around your body like a cool breeze on a hot day. You hold onto his shoulders and giggle as the feeling of weightlessness becomes less foreign. He smirks and he doesn’t have to say a word, you know whatever comes next will be unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

Sure enough, you gasp as he flips you upside down. Sylus holds onto your waist and guides your legs to bend at the knee. Once you’re steady, he backs up and you watch him drop his shorts, kicking them out of the cage. His cock bobs, heavy and flushed, leaking already. He steps forward, you can sense his hesitation. Your hands rest on his thighs.

“Are you sure?”

“Only if you are.” He whispers.

You smile up at him, even though it probably looked like some demonic frown from this angle. Taking a page out of his book, you don’t waste any time, stretching your neck to close your mouth around his tip. His thighs twitch and he groans, his hands finding your hips. You wrap your hands around the backs of his thighs and pull yourself closer, his evol carries you where you want to go. His cock is long and you’re somewhat inexperienced with this, but you’re also insanely stubborn. And a quick learner. You want all of him. Now.

“Squeeze your thighs if it’s too much, angel.”

Your hands are torn away from his legs and secured behind your back. He parts your knees and rests your thighs on his shoulders. His fingers immediately stroke through your weeping cunt and you whimper. It’s exactly like you thought it’d be. His cock in your mouth, his fingers in you pussy… being upside down was not part of your little imaginary scenario, but fuck is it hot.

Trying your best to relax your throat, you focus on rolling your tongue over each of his piercings. You hollow your cheeks and suck hard, making Sylus hiss and thrust involuntarily. His tip hits the back of your throat and you gag. Sylus swears loudly and his hand on your hip spasms, his nails digging into your skin. Oh he likes that. You bob your head, breathing deeply through your nose so you can keep him as deep as possible. Every gag becomes less scary and more arousing.

As soon as you hear a strangled whimper break free from him your entire body breaks out in chills. Sylus can’t even pleasure you anymore, his hands hold onto your thighs and he growls, trying his best not to thrust. As his grip tightens you feel his resolve slipping away, his hips twitching, the veins in his cock pulse. You close your eyes as you summon your strength to stretch your neck forward one last time, his tip sliding down your throat as you tip your head back and swallow around him. He’s cumming before he can give you any warning. Your mouth forms a smile as you take what he gives you, swallowing every last drop. A guttural groan rips free from deep in his chest. He moans your name over and over, his voice raw and broken. His cum leaks out the sides of your mouth and you close your eyes as it drips up your cheeks. He pulls you away, his cock slipping from your mouth. He lowers you to the bed and as his evol fizzles out you drop onto the mattress.

Sylus nearly collapses onto the bed beside you, still unable to catch his breath. You roll onto your side and caress his cheek, moving your body closer until he grabs you and your bodies collide. He frantically kisses your face, your hands, your neck, any skin he has access to while holding you close. He licks his release off of your face between kisses and you can’t stop yourself from giggling as his tongue tickles your cheek.

“Baby… breath.” You manage to whisper.

He grunts as you cover his mouth to stop him. You kiss his forehead and his breathing slowly steadies. He reaches up to remove your hand from over his mouth.

“I was supposed to give you a first.”

“You did. Deepthroating while upside down is definitely a first for me.”

He glares at you and cradles your head in his hand.

“So, what would you like to try next?”

Your eyes widen, you swallow a few times in an attempt to soothe your sore throat. Looking over his shoulder you spot a set of clamps that look exactly like office supplies. Oh god, what if some CEO somewhere has them on their desk… There’s too many things to choose from…

“Angel, use your words.”

“I don’t know… You choose.”

His smile should make you worry. You have work tomorrow and you need to be able to walk… He uses his evol once again to bring a blindfold, thick headphones and a pair of handcuffs over to the bed.

“You might regret that decision, angel.”

“God I hope so…”

You slot your mouth over his and let your body go limp. Handcuffs are placed around your wrists, a blindfold covers your eyes and the world goes silent as the headphones settle over your ears. Every touch feels brand new. He takes his time ruining you and you’re fairly certain you blacked out for a minute or two.

When you wake up in Sylus’s bed the next morning, you watch him sleep. His arm draped over your waist, his eyes shifting as he dreams, his lashes fluttering, his hair stuck to his forehead from last night’s… activities… You don’t know why he denied himself for so long, your best guess involves whoever he lost. Whoever he thinks about whenever he plays that song. You’re thankful he let his wall down, let you in, let you pleasure him and make him feel half as good as he makes you feel.

This man, who’s feared by so many, has opened his heart to you and shown you his vulnerability. You’ve come a long way from the girl who only cared about her career. And you’re thankful. Now, you only want to bring him happiness.

🏍️۶ৎ🩺

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Upside Down Deepthroat Scene inspired by THIS fanart!

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