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cloudyluun · 4 months ago

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Easy Money | sugar daddy!harry

Summary: What started as a simple transaction—a way to make some quick cash—turns into something far more complicated when Harry refuses to keep things strictly business. He spoils you, adores you, falls for you. But when he finally confesses his feelings, you remind him this was never supposed to be real. The only problem? Somewhere along the way, it became exactly that.

Wordt Count: 8k

A/N: This was a very special request from one of my absolute favourite readers (you know who you are 😉). I had way too much fun writing this, so if you find yourself blushing, looking away from your screen, or needing a cold shower—just know, that was entirely the goal. Enjoy, you little troublemakers.

Warnings:

Smut (and a lot of it)

Sugar daddy arrangement turning very real

Power struggles in bed (both of them want control and it gets heated)

Dom!Harry / Bratty!Reader dynamics

Lots of teasing, dirty talk, and tension so thick you could choke on it

Angst & emotional turmoil (Harry catches feelings first and it hurts)

Over-the-top romance (he spoils her, worships her, and claims her)

Explicit language

Mentions of financial struggles

Soft, clingy aftercare that will make you feel things

Read responsibly. Or don’t. Just don’t blame me when Harry Styles takes over your brain.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Your phone buzzes with another notification from your bank. You already know what it says before you even look, but the sinking feeling in your stomach urges you to check anyway.

LOW BALANCE ALERT

You sigh, thumb hovering over the notification before swiping it away. As if ignoring it will make the problem disappear.

It doesn’t.

Bills are due. Rent is due. Your student loans are a monster looming over your shoulder, their presence suffocating no matter how much you try to ignore them. Every paycheck disappears the second it hits your account, and no matter how many shifts you pick up or how much you cut back, it’s never enough. The math simply doesn’t math.

You’ve tried everything.

Taking extra hours at work? Done. You’re already stretched thin, running on caffeine and sheer willpower.

Side hustles? Tried. You’ve scoured every "easy ways to make money" list on the internet. You’ve filled out mind-numbing surveys for pennies, signed up for focus groups that never picked you, even considered selling pictures of your feet, only to chicken out the second you realized you had no idea where to even start.

Asking your parents for help? Not an option. The thought alone makes your stomach twist with shame. You’re an adult. You should be able to handle this.

But you’re drowning.

And tonight, after another long shift, after tipping your last few dollars to the bartender in a desperate attempt to pretend you have your life together, you lie in bed, scrolling through your phone, searching for something. A solution. A miracle. A quick fix that doesn’t exist.

Your searches grow more desperate. How to make money fast. How to pay rent when you’re broke. How to get a sugar daddy—

You pause.

The words stare back at you from the search bar, your heart skipping a beat as you realize you actually typed it. You weren’t even thinking. Just letting your thoughts spill out onto the screen, every insane idea passing through your exhausted brain.

But now the idea is there.

And worse—it isn’t immediately repulsive.

It’s not like you don’t know what a sugar baby is. You’ve heard the stories, seen the jokes. Older, rich men paying younger women just to be in their presence. Some arrangements are physical, sure, but plenty aren’t.

And it’s not like you’d actually do it.

…Right?

Your finger hovers over the search results, heartbeat picking up. You tell yourself you’re just curious. Just looking.

Twenty minutes later, you’re staring at the App Store. A bright pink logo sits on your screen, the words SUGAR DADDY APP – FIND YOUR ARRANGEMENT TODAY! flashing below it.

You chew on your lip, pulse thrumming in your ears.

This is insane.

This is absolutely insane.

But what if—

What if it’s just casual meetups? Just talking. Just dinner. Some of these girls are getting their rent paid just for going on dates. What if that could be you? What if this is the answer?

What’s the harm in looking?

Before you can second-guess yourself, your thumb presses download.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. The app opens, welcoming you with a sleek, luxurious design; gold accents, elegant fonts, a promise of “mutually beneficial arrangements.” The signup process is shockingly easy. You pick a username, upload a picture (nothing scandalous, just a cute selfie), and fill out your bio.

“Young, fun, and a great conversationalist. Looking for someone who appreciates good company. Nothing serious.”

That should do.

Messages start coming in immediately.

And it’s exactly what you expected.

Older men with awkward, borderline sleazy messages. Some are direct, offering money in exchange for explicit favors. Others try to be charming but still give off a transactional vibe. None of them make you feel… good.

You sigh, already regretting this. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe you should just—

MATCH!

A notification pops up at the top of your screen. You glance at it, ready to roll your eyes, until you see the name.

Harry.

You blink. That’s… different.

You click on his profile, expecting the same thing you’ve seen all night. But your breath catches.

He’s young. Well—not young, but younger than the rest. Late thirties, maybe early fourties. Sharp jawline, green eyes, a dimple that softens his otherwise serious expression. Dressed in a crisp, expensive-looking suit, but his tattoos peek out from beneath the sleeves, a contradiction that instantly intrigues you.

He doesn’t look like he belongs here.

But then again… neither do you.

Your pulse quickens as you stare at his profile, your fingers hesitating over the keyboard.

What do you even say to someone like him?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitation creeping in. A simple hi feels too basic. A joke might come off as trying too hard. But before you can overthink yourself into oblivion, a new notification pops up.

Harry sent you a message.

Your stomach flips. You exhale, steadying yourself before clicking to open it.

"Didn’t expect to find someone like you on here."

You blink. That’s… not what you expected. There’s no awkward proposition, no sleazy opener, no immediate offer of money in exchange for something degrading. It’s casual, almost intrigued. He follows up before you can reply.

"Not complaining, though. You look like you have good taste in wine."

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It’s charming. Simple. Not overdone. And weirdly enough it works.

Your eyes flicker back to his profile. It really is almost too good to be true. His pictures look professional, but not in the this was stolen from someone else’s Instagram way. They’re polished but natural. He’s sitting in a sleek black car in one, leaning against a marble bar in another. His bio is short, to the point.

“Successful entrepreneur. Generous. Looking for good company, good conversation, and good wine.”

There’s no cringey flexing. No desperate attempt to lure someone in. Just confidence. And it makes you nervous.

Still, you answer.

"I do. But I don’t let just anyone buy me a glass."

A beat. Then:

"Let me take you to dinner and prove I’m worth it."

Your stomach knots. You tell yourself you should be skeptical, that this is exactly how people end up in shady situations, but… there’s something different about him. He doesn’t reek of desperation. He’s not trying to corner you into anything. If anything, he almost seems amused.

Still, you’re cautious.

"That depends on the restaurant."

His response is instant.

"Le Jardin."

Your breath catches. That’s not just a restaurant. That’s the restaurant. The kind of place that has a six-month waitlist and a menu with no prices because if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

Before you can even process it, another message pops up.

"I’ll pay you $3,000 just to show up."

You sit up so fast your vision tilts.

Three. Thousand. Dollars.

For dinner? For a couple of hours of your time?

Your heart pounds. Your rent is barely half of that. That kind of money would give you breathing room, let you live for a moment instead of just surviving.

Your fingers tighten around your phone. Your brain is screaming at you to say yes. But a small part of you hesitates.

You’re not stupid. You know nothing comes for free.

"And what do you expect in return?" you finally ask.

His reply is simple.

"Dinner. Conversation. That’s all."

You swallow. You want to believe him. And against your better judgment… you do.

Your fingers shake slightly as you type out your answer.

"Alright. I’m in."

You set the phone down, staring at the screen as the reality of what you just agreed to sinks in.

You tell yourself it’s just transactional.

No expectations.

No strings attached.

So why does it already feel like something else?

You shove that thought aside as you get ready.

You’ve never been to a place like Le Jardin, never even been within walking distance of it, but you know what kind of people dine there. The rich, the powerful, the ones who don’t check price tags or worry about overdraft fees. You’re not one of them, and it makes your stomach twist as you stand in front of your closet, trying to figure out what to wear.

You settle on a sleek black dress—nothing too extravagant, but elegant enough to blend in. You keep your makeup simple, your jewelry minimal, but when you step in front of the mirror, something about your reflection feels different. Almost like you belong in this world. Like you could make someone believe it, even if only for one night.

The car Harry sends for you pulls up right on time. The driver is professional, dressed in a crisp suit, and doesn’t say much beyond a polite, “Miss?” as he opens the door. The ride is smooth, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows, and the entire time, your fingers twitch in your lap.

You tell yourself this is just a dinner. Just a business transaction. Just easy money.

But then you step into the restaurant, and your breath catches.

Le Jardin is breathtaking. Soft golden lighting, high ceilings, waiters gliding between tables like they’re floating. Everything about it screams exclusivity, like you’ve just stepped into a world not meant for people like you.

And then you see him.

Harry.

He stands as soon as he spots you, and for a second, the air shifts.

You were prepared for him to be attractive—you’ve seen his pictures, you knew what to expect—but this? This is something else entirely.

He’s tall, broad, the tailored lines of his suit clinging to him in a way that makes your mouth dry. Dark curls, sharp jaw, green eyes that flicker with something unreadable as he watches you cross the room.

And then he smiles.

Not a smirk, not a cocky I-have-you-right-where-I-want-you grin, but something softer. Something that makes his dimple crease and his eyes warm.

It’s almost disarming.

He pulls out your chair before you can even reach for it. “You look stunning,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum that slides down your spine.

You blink at him, thrown off. You expected arrogance, maybe a smooth line or two, but instead, he sounds almost… genuine.

You let him push in your chair, smoothing your hands over your dress as you settle in. “I try.”

He chuckles, a quiet thing, and as he takes his seat across from you, you realize he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

Not in the way the other men on the app did, like they were already calculating what they’d get out of you. No, this is different. It’s like he’s trying to figure you out, like he’s curious.

The waiter appears, offering an expensive bottle of wine without asking if you’d like to see the menu first. You don’t even know how to pronounce the name, but Harry just nods, thanking the server before turning back to you.

“So,” he says, resting his elbows on the table, fingers laced together. “Tell me something about you.”

You tilt your head. “Like what?”

“Anything.” He shrugs. “Something that’s not in your profile.”

You hesitate. You could give him something basic, something easy. But for some reason, you don’t want to.

“I hate tomatoes,” you say, watching for his reaction.

He blinks. Then laughs. A real, full laugh, his head tipping back slightly.

“Alright,” he says, still smiling. “Not what I expected, but I respect it.”

The conversation flows effortlessly after that. He asks questions—genuine ones—not just about you, but your thoughts, your opinions, things that have nothing to do with the arrangement. And he listens. Really listens. Holding eye contact like he’s hanging onto every word.

The food arrives—meals you can’t even begin to describe, flavors so rich you feel out of place eating them. But Harry makes it easy, never letting the moment feel intimidating.

At one point, he cuts a bite of his dish and lifts it toward you.

“Try this.”

You don’t even think twice. You just let him. Let him feed you, his fingers brushing the corner of your lips as you take the bite.

It doesn’t faze you.

But him?

He’s gone.

It’s subtle—the way his jaw tightens slightly, the way his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second longer than necessary—but you catch it. And for some reason, it makes you smile.

Dessert comes, and he reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, absentminded motion, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Can I see you again?” he asks.

The look in his eyes is something you can’t quite place.

You don’t hesitate.

You nod, lips curling slightly.

You’re getting paid, after all.

That’s what you tell yourself when the gifts start rolling in.

At first, they’re subtle. A bottle of perfume left on your doorstep, the kind you’d never splurge on for yourself. The packaging alone screams luxury, sleek and weighty in your hands. You hesitate before opening the attached note, curiosity bubbling in your chest.

“Reminded me of you. - H”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. You spritz a little onto your wrist, inhaling. It’s warm, sensual—notes of vanilla and something darker, richer. Expensive.

And then it doesn’t stop.

A few days later, a box arrives. Big this time. Too big for just perfume. You tear through the pristine wrapping to find a designer handbag nestled inside, the leather buttery soft beneath your fingertips.

Your first thought is: What the fuck?

Your second thought is: How much did this cost?

You barely have time to process before your phone buzzes.

Harry: Saw this and thought of you. Hope you like it.

You blink down at the message, at the bag, then back again.

Is this normal? you wonder. Is this what this arrangement is supposed to look like?

You send back a single text.

You: You’re insane.

His response is immediate.

Harry: I like spoiling you.

You don’t know what to do with that, so you just… let it happen.

At first, it’s funny. It feels like playing a role, stepping into a world you don’t belong in. You make jokes to yourself every time another absurdly expensive thing lands in your lap.

Then come the texts.

They start out simple, routine check-ins that could easily be brushed off.

“Morning, love. Hope today isn’t too stressful.”

“Made it home safe?”

“Sleep well?”

But then they start happening like clockwork.

Every morning, without fail—

“Good morning, darling.”

Every night—

“Sleep tight. Dream of me.”

You laugh when you read that one, shaking your head. It’s charming. Ridiculous.

And then there are the touches.

He kisses your forehead when he greets you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he hands you a drink, his fingers brush yours, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. When you walk into a room together, his hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady, like he’s guiding you, claiming you.

The thing is… you don’t encourage it.

But you also don’t stop it.

Because—if you’re being honest?—it’s kind of cute.

And, really, what’s the harm?

You meet up with him again. And again. It becomes a pattern, slipping into your life with alarming ease. Lavish dinners, expensive outings, stolen moments where he looks at you like you’re something rare, something fragile.

Then, one night, it happens.

You’re seated across from him at a dimly lit restaurant, the hum of soft jazz filling the air. Your wine glass is half-full, your plate mostly cleared, and he’s been watching you all night—watching in that way he does, like he’s memorizing you.

And then, almost absentmindedly, he stirs his drink and murmurs, “Didn’t like being away from you today.”

You barely register his words at first, too focused on the way he swirls the amber liquid in his glass.

But then he looks up.

And there’s something there.

Something warm, something vulnerable.

“Missed you,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You snort, reaching out without thinking, patting his cheek lightly. “That’s adorable.”

He huffs out a laugh, but he leans into your touch like a man starved, like it means something to him.

And that’s when it hits you.

Like a freight train, like a sucker punch to the ribs.

You’re in it for the money.

He’s in it for love.

You know it now. You’ve known it for a while, haven’t you? If you really take a second to think about it, you’d realize that every expensive gift, every lingering touch, every look of pure, devoted affection was leading up to this.

You should’ve seen it coming.

Maybe you did, but you ignored it. You chose to believe that this was just fun for him the same way it was fun for you. That he was playing along with the fantasy, indulging in the illusion of something deeper—just because he could.

Because it was easy. Because it was nice.

Because it meant neither of you had to be alone.

But Harry?

Harry was never playing.

And tonight proves it.

The restaurant is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. You knew it would be.

With Harry, everything is excessive. He likes to spoil you, to spend absurd amounts of money just to watch your reaction. It’s fun for him, you think.

But this is different.

This isn’t just extravagant. This is romantic.

The entire penthouse-level dining room is bathed in golden candlelight, the glow flickering off the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the entire city. The table is set for two, an elaborate spread of silverware and delicate wine glasses that you already know you’ll be too nervous to touch. The scent of fresh roses lingers in the air, overwhelming but intentional.

It’s the kind of setup someone arranges when they’re about to propose.

The thought makes something uneasy curl in your stomach.

Harry has been off all evening. Not in an obvious way—no, he’s still charming, still soft-spoken, still perfectly polite.

But he’s quiet.

More than usual.

His touches have been different tonight, too. Deliberate. Lingering. When he pulled out your chair for you, his hands skimmed over your shoulders, his fingers trailing against your skin like he was memorizing the feeling. When he handed you your wine glass, he let his fingertips brush over yours, his touch slow, like he needed it. When you made a joke about the ridiculous amount of forks in front of you, he didn’t just laugh—he looked at you like you’d just hung the moon.

And the way he’s looking at you now?

Like he’s about to say something you won’t be able to take back.

You should stop this.

You should.

But you don’t.

Because you’ve spent so long pretending that this—whatever this is—can exist in some untouchable space. That as long as you don’t acknowledge the shift, as long as you don’t name it, it will stay the same.

But you were wrong.

And Harry?

Harry is about to prove it.

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of music in the background, the flicker of candlelight making shadows dance across his face.

And then—

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your entire body locks up.

The words don’t register at first, like your brain is physically rejecting them.

Because, no.

No, that’s not what this is.

That’s not what this was ever supposed to be.

You feel your heart hammering against your ribs, something hot crawling up your spine, your throat suddenly too tight, your hands suddenly too still.

You blink.

He’s still looking at you.

Still waiting.

Like this is the moment everything changes. Like this is the moment he’s been waiting for.

Like this is the moment he gets you.

But he doesn’t.

He won’t.

You inhale sharply, your pulse roaring in your ears, the weight of his confession settling onto your chest like a ton of bricks.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you, holding you there like an anchor. Like he can sense that you’re about to run.

You swallow hard.

“Harry…”

The smile on his lips falters. Barely.

But you notice it.

You notice everything.

The way his fingers twitch. The way his eyes search yours, desperate. The way his jaw clenches, like he already knows.

You have to do this.

You have to say it.

Even if it feels like you’re about to carve him open.

Even if it feels like you’re about to carve yourself open.

You take a breath.

“This isn’t real.”

It’s quiet. A whisper. A tiny, fragile thing.

But it shatters him all the same.

You see it.

The way his entire body stills. The way the warmth drains from his face, his hands slipping away from yours so slowly, so painfully, like he’s forcing himself to let go.

Like he doesn’t want to.

But he has to.

His throat bobs.

His eyes flicker, something shifting in them—something soft breaking, something hopeful dying.

“Not real?” His voice is quiet, hoarse, like it physically hurts him to ask.

You open your mouth.

But nothing comes out.

Because what do you even say?

What could you possibly say to fix this?

To fix him?

To fix the way he’s looking at you like you just ripped the ground out from beneath him?

You weren’t supposed to mean this much to him.

But you do.

And that’s the problem.

The problem isn’t that he loves you.

The problem isn’t that he confessed.

The problem isn’t even that you saw it coming and did nothing to stop it.

The problem is that when he looks at you like this—like this—you don’t want to stop it.

His hands are still cradling your face, his thumbs ghosting over your cheekbones like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. Like if he just holds you tightly enough, he can will you into feeling the same way he does.

And maybe he can.

Because something about the way he’s looking at you now makes something deep in your chest ache. Makes something warm coil low in your stomach, makes your fingers tremble against the tablecloth.

You shouldn’t be here.

You shouldn’t still be sitting in this candlelit penthouse with him.

You should say something sharp and final, put an end to whatever this is before it gets worse. Before he gets hurt. Before you get hurt.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Because his eyes are flickering over your face like he’s memorizing you. Because his lips are parted, his breath shallow, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

Because when he speaks, his voice is hoarse, wrecked.

“It is for me.”

It knocks the air right out of you.

It’s not pleading. It’s not even a question.

It’s just fact.

And you feel it—God, you feel it.

He has never been playing.

Not once.

Not for a second.

This was always real for him.

And now?

Now, it’s real for you, too.

You should pull away.

You should.

You should tell him you’re sorry, that you never meant to let it get this far, that you never meant to make him fall for you.

But instead—

You tilt your chin up, let your gaze lock with his, let the tension between you thicken and twist until there’s only one way this ends.

“Then make me believe it.”

It’s barely a whisper. But he hears it.

You know he hears it.

Because his entire body reacts—his grip on your face tightening, his lips parting, his chest rising with a sharp inhale.

And then, before you can think, before you can breathe, before you can stop yourself—

His mouth crashes onto yours.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful.

It’s desperate.

It’s months of lingering touches, of stolen glances, of suppressed feelings exploding all at once.

His hands slide from your face to your jaw, tilting your head up, angling you the way he wants, the way he needs. His lips move against yours with a hunger you’ve never felt from him before, all-consuming, his body leaning forward until you have no choice but to grab onto his shirt, fisting the fabric in your hands to keep yourself steady.

You gasp against his mouth, and he groans, deep and guttural, swallowing the sound like it belongs to him. Like you belong to him.

And maybe you do.

His hands are everywhere now—sliding down your neck, tracing your collarbone, curling around your waist as he yanks you toward him. The chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, pulling you up with him, pressing your body flush against his.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging, and he growls, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

You don’t care.

You don’t care about any of it anymore.

Not the arrangement.

Not the money.

Not the way you told yourself this wasn’t real.

Because right now, with his lips hot and insistent against yours, his body pressed against you like he needs you to breathe—

It is.

It is real.

And you want more.

“Harry,” you murmur against his mouth, your fingers tugging at his shirt, nails scraping down his back.

He groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. “Say it again.”

You shiver.

His voice is different now. Lower. Rougher.

More possessive.

You lick your lips, tilting your head, letting your nose brush against his. “Harry.”

It’s all he needs.

He moves fast. One second, you’re standing by the table, and the next, he’s walking you backward, his grip firm but gentle, like he’s guiding you, like he’s making sure you want this.

And you do.

God, you do.

The backs of your legs hit something soft—one of the long velvet couches lining the floor-to-ceiling windows—and then he’s pushing you down, following you without hesitation, his hands bracketing your hips, his body pressing you into the cushions.

His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, kissing, nipping, claiming.

“You have no fucking idea,” he rasps against your skin, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You arch beneath him, your breath stuttering.

“How long I’ve waited for you,” he murmurs, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your dress, fingers dragging over bare skin.

Your nails dig into his back.

This is different.

This isn’t just sex.

This isn’t just fulfilling an arrangement.

This is him showing you what he means.

This is you finally admitting what you want.

“Then show me,” you breathe.

He does.

Harry doesn’t hesitate.

He surges forward, claiming your lips again, this time slower, deeper—like he’s savoring you, like he’s tasting something he knows he’ll never get enough of. His hands tighten on your body, strong fingers splaying against your ribs, dragging up, up, up, until his thumbs are teasing along the sides of your breasts, just enough to make you arch into him.

A low groan rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your skin as he kisses you harder, as his tongue sweeps against yours in a kiss so deep it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

And then he’s moving, lifting you effortlessly from the couch like you weigh nothing, like you belong in his arms. His grip is strong—possessive—one hand on your thigh, the other curled around your back as he carries you across the room.

His lips never leave yours.

His kisses are slow now, teasing, dragging, pulling soft whimpers from your throat that he swallows like they belong to him.

He walks you straight to the bed, laying you down like you’re something precious, something breakable.

But you’re not breakable.

And when he starts to pull away, you don’t let him.

You grip his shirt, fisting the fabric, yanking him back down until he’s hovering over you, his body caging yours in. His breath is heavy, uneven, his eyes blown wide and desperate.

“You want to take your time?” you murmur, fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt, sliding them through the fabric one by one, teasing.

His jaw clenches.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, voice low, rough. “For months.”

Your lips curl.

“So why are you still dressed?”

Something snaps.

Harry growls, yanking his shirt off in one swift motion before his hands are back on you, slipping under your dress, pushing the fabric up, exposing skin he’s been dying to touch.

“You think you’re in charge?” he mutters, mouth against your throat, kissing, nipping, dragging his tongue over the spot that makes you shiver.

A smirk plays at your lips.

“I know I am.”

His fingers tighten on your hips. “Not tonight.”

You don’t get the chance to respond before he’s got you flat on your back, hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head as he stares down at you, chest heaving.

And fuck, he’s beautiful like this.

Eyes dark, lips swollen, hair falling into his face, body hard and tense against yours.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he murmurs, voice thick with need, his fingers tracing over the pulse point in your wrist.

“Good,” you whisper back.

His lips crash against yours again, hungrier this time, rougher.

He’s not just kissing you—he’s devouring you.

And you let him.

You moan into his mouth, rolling your hips up, grinding against the hardness pressing between your legs, and he hisses, his grip tightening.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” he groans, dropping his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged. “D’you have any idea what you do to me?”

You smile, slow and teasing, tilting your head, lips brushing against his jaw.

“Show me.”

He does.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, caressing, exploring.

He strips you slow, torturous, dragging the straps of your dress down your shoulders, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, his lips brushing over your collarbone, his hands palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, making you gasp.

“Harry,” you whimper, arching into his touch, nails dragging down his back.

He groans, sucking a mark onto your skin, his tongue flicking over it, soothing, before he starts moving lower.

His mouth trails over your ribs, your stomach, his fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slow, too slow.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the inside of your thigh.

You squirm beneath him, breath hitching. “You.”

His teeth graze your skin. “Be specific.”

You bite your lip, staring down at him, the way he’s kneeling between your legs, eyes dark and hungry, waiting.

You reach down, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly. “I want your mouth.”

A smirk tugs at his lips.

“Good girl.”

And then his mouth is on you.

You gasp, head falling back against the pillows, fingers tightening in his hair as he licks, sucks, devours you like he’s starved.

It’s overwhelming.

It’s too much and not enough all at once.

His tongue moves slow, deliberate, teasing, and when you let out a breathy moan, he groans against you, gripping your thighs, holding you in place as he eats you like he’s trying to ruin you.

Like he’s claiming you.

Your thighs tremble around his head, pleasure building too fast, too strong, and he knows, because he presses his tongue against your clit, flicking, sucking, driving you insane.

“Harry—fuck—”

“Come for me,” he rasps against your skin, voice rough and commanding, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

And you do.

You unravel beneath him, your body arching, pleasure washing over you in waves as you cry out his name, your fingers tight in his hair.

He works you through it, his mouth never leaving you, softening the strokes of his tongue until you’re panting, trembling beneath him.

Then he’s moving, crawling back up your body, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pushes his hips against yours.

He’s hard, straining against his pants, and you reach down, palming him through the fabric, making him groan.

“Your turn,” you murmur, eyes dark, wicked.

His breath hitches.

You flip him over, straddling his hips, pinning his wrists to the bed, watching as his pupils dilate, his breath stuttering.

“You like that?” you tease, rolling your hips against him.

His jaw clenches. “You have no idea.”

You smirk. “Then let me show you.”

And you do.

You roll your hips against him, slow and deliberate, feeling the thick press of him still trapped beneath layers of fabric. His breath shudders, his fingers twitch where you’ve got them pinned, but you don’t let up. You grind down again, watching his jaw clench, the way his body tenses beneath you, all muscle and restraint.

“You like being underneath me?” you tease, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle, feeling the way his abs tense at your touch.

His eyes darken. “Don’t push me, love.”

You lean down, just enough for your lips to ghost over his, barely brushing, teasing, taunting. “Or what?”

His breath hitches. Then he growls.

A low, dangerous sound that sends heat pooling between your thighs.

He bucks his hips, trying to shift the power, but you press down harder, hands splaying over his chest, keeping him pinned.

“Fucking hell,” he grits out, head tipping back against the pillows. “You’re a tease.”

You smirk, rolling your hips again, slower this time. “And you love it.”

His hands flex against the sheets, his muscles straining beneath you like he’s dying to grab you, flip you, take back control. But he doesn’t. He lets you have it—for now.

“That’s it,” you murmur, leaning down, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses over his throat, nipping lightly at his pulse point. “Be good for me.”

He groans, his fingers twitching, desperate to touch.

But you don’t let him.

You grab his wrists again, pressing them firmly into the mattress, locking him in place as you start moving properly, rocking against him, dragging the thick outline of his cock right against your soaked panties.

His breath shudders.

“Jesus fuck,” he rasps, eyes fluttering shut for a second, chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

You roll your hips harder, the friction sending pleasure shooting through you, and when he lets out a strangled moan, you smile.

“Poor baby,” you coo, running your tongue along the shell of his ear. “Does it feel good?”

His jaw clenches so hard you think it might break.

“Y’think you’re in charge, hmm?” His voice is thick, rough, dangerous.

Your lips curl as you grind down again, harder this time. “I know I am.”

Something snaps.

In a blink, Harry moves.

One second, you’re in control—the next, you’re not.

With a low, feral growl, he rips his wrists free, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back so fast your breath catches. Before you can even react, he’s on you, pressing you into the mattress, his body heavy, his hands rough.

“You think you can tease me like that?” he murmurs, eyes dark and dangerous as he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head.

You inhale sharply, shivering at the sudden shift, at the way he’s towering over you, at the raw hunger in his eyes.

“Maybe I wanted you to break,” you whisper, testing, teasing, pushing.

His grip tightens.

“Fucking hell, you’re a brat.”

You smirk. “And you love it.”

His lips crash against yours.

It’s rough, desperate, all tongue and teeth, like he’s punishing you, like he’s claiming you. You moan into his mouth, arching up, pressing your body to his, feeling the hard lines of him against your softness.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding down to your thighs, spreading you open beneath him as he grinds against you, letting you feel how much he wants this.

“Fuck,” he groans against your lips, rolling his hips harder, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. “You feel that, baby? Feel what you do to me?”

You whimper, nodding, your head spinning, body thrumming with heat.

“Use your words,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, sucking hard at your pulse point, leaving marks. Claiming you.

“Yes,” you breathe, hands clutching at his back, nails digging in. “I feel it.”

“Yeah?” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, dangerous. “You ready to stop playing, then?”

Your breath hitches.

You smirk. “Make me.”

His eyes flash.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, threatening. “You’re gonna regret that.”

His hand suddenly fists in your hair, tilting your head up just enough for his lips to hover over yours, breaths mingling, tension thick and electric.

“As much as I love watching you think you’re in charge,” he murmurs, his voice thick, deep, commanding, “I need to fuck you. Now.”

A shiver racks through you, but before you can respond, he moves.

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your stomach, pressing you down into the mattress, his hands everywhere—gripping your hips, running up your sides, ghosting over your ribs like he’s savoring every inch of you.

“My turn,” he breathes, dragging your wrists above your head, holding you still as his mouth finds your shoulder, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your heated skin.

You try to shift beneath him, to gain some control back, but his grip tightens, fingers wrapping around your wrists, pinning you down completely.

“Be good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, lips trailing down your back, teeth grazing over already-sensitive spots.

You whimper, squirming, desperate for more, but he takes his time, teasing, torturing, his touch featherlight as he drags his fingers down the curve of your spine, over the swell of your ass.

“You’re too fucking pretty like this,” he mutters, mostly to himself, squeezing your hips, dragging you back against him so you can feel exactly how hard he is. “Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this.”

Your breath stutters, body burning, every nerve alight with anticipation.

“Harry,” you whimper, rolling your hips back, silently begging. “Please.”

He groans, low and dark, his restraint snapping.

“Yeah?” he taunts, lips ghosting over your ear as he presses his chest to your back. “You ready for me, baby?”

You nod frantically, arching against him, needing, aching—

But he still makes you wait.

Dragging his hand between your thighs, he strokes you with maddening slowness, gathering your wetness on his fingers, groaning at how ready you are.

“Fuck,” he grits out. “Dripping for me already?”

You whimper, nodding. “Harry, please—”

Finally, finally, he aligns himself with you, pressing the thick head of his cock against your entrance, teasing, waiting—

“Look at me.”

His voice is commanding, leaving no room for argument.

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, your breath catching at the intensity in his eyes—dark, hungry, wild.

He watches you, waiting, holding you there in the moment, making sure you feel it before he gives you what you want.

And then—

He thrusts in.

A strangled moan rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you open, deep and overwhelming.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he buries himself inside you, his grip bruising on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he grits out, his voice rough, ragged, vibrating against your skin. His head falls forward, his forehead resting against the nape of your neck, breath hot and uneven. “You’re so—shit, you’re so tight.”

You arch beneath him, back bowing, body tightening around him in response, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness of him inside you. It’s almost too much, the way he splits you apart, the way he holds you still, like he’s savoring the feeling, savoring you.

Your hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white as you try to ground yourself, try to keep from losing yourself completely.

He must sense it, the way your body trembles, because his grip softens, fingers splaying over your stomach as he kisses your shoulder, slow and tender.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, voice strained but gentle. He noses along your skin, pressing his lips to the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

His free hand finds yours, threading his fingers through yours against the mattress, grounding you, anchoring you to him.

He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him before he moves.

And then—

Then he ruins you.

The first thrust is slow, deliberate, pushing deep, making your breath hitch, making your fingers tighten around his.

Then another. And another. Each movement calculated, precise, dragging against every nerve ending inside you, pulling you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips.

His rhythm starts slow, deep—like he’s savoring the feeling of being buried inside you. Like he wants to take his time, to make you feel him, make you remember this.

But it doesn’t last.

The control snaps, his patience evaporating like steam off your overheated skin.

He growls, the sound primal, desperate, as his hands shift—one gripping your hip, the other pressing against the small of your back, keeping you in place as he pounds into you.

The bed shakes beneath you, every thrust sending ripples through your body, pleasure licking up your spine like fire.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours, lips brushing but never quite kissing, too lost in the moment, too consumed by the way your body wraps around him.

You can barely breathe, barely think, all logic drowned out by the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, wrecking you.

You meet every thrust, grinding back against him, chasing your high, needing, aching—

He notices, because of course he does.

“Yeah?” he pants, voice rough, strained. “You want it, baby? Want me to fuck you like this?”

You nod frantically, gasping, moaning his name, nails digging into his forearm, marking him, branding him.

He growls at the sting, his hand tightening on your hip, holding you still as he drives into you, faster, harder, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the dimly lit room.

And then—

Then he shifts, pulling out just enough before slamming back in at a new angle, hitting deeper, stroking against that one spot that makes you see stars.

You cry out, arching, body tightening around him, pleasure slamming into you like a tidal wave.

His hand moves from your hip to your thigh, gripping, hitching it up, opening you wider, letting him sink in even deeper, making you feel every inch of him.

“That’s it,” he pants, lips brushing against your temple, damp with sweat. “That’s it, baby. Let go for me.”

His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles.

It’s too much. The pressure, the stretch, the overwhelming intensity of it all.

Your body locks up, toes curling, back arching as your orgasm hits, crashing over you in violent, shattering waves.

You tremble beneath him, gasping his name, clenching around him so tight that he lets out a broken moan, his movements stuttering, losing rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck—”

And then he’s gone, head tilting back, mouth falling open as he lets go, spilling into you with a guttural groan, his entire body tensing before he collapses on top of you.

The only sound in the room is your combined panting, heavy and uneven, the sheets tangled beneath you, bodies still pressed together, skin damp with sweat.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, pressing one last, lingering kiss there before he whispers, voice hoarse and spent—

“Mine.”

The word settles between you like a slow-burning flame, flickering, catching, spreading.

His breath is still uneven, chest rising and falling against yours, his weight a comforting anchor rather than something pressing you down. His arms stay locked around you, like he doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t plan to.

And for the first time, you don’t want him to.

You don’t move. You can’t move.

His fingers start tracing slow, lazy patterns along your spine, light and absentminded, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

His touch isn’t just post-bliss reflex. It’s deliberate.

It’s different.

And you feel it.

You feel it in the way his body stays molded against yours, in the way his lips linger at your temple instead of pulling away, in the way he wants to stay close—like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

This was supposed to be an arrangement. A job. A transaction.

But the way he’s looking at you now?

It’s anything but.

You shift slightly beneath him, just enough to see his face, to meet those green eyes that are softer than they should be, searching yours, waiting.

And he knows.

Of course, he knows.

Harry’s always been able to read you better than you’d like.

His fingers drift up to your cheek, thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw, his touch gentle—so unfairly gentle for someone who just ruined you minutes ago.

You should get up.

You should remind him of the rules, of the terms, of the fact that this was never supposed to mean anything.

But the words won’t come.

Because the truth is—

You don’t want to leave.

You don’t want to pull away.

And that realization knocks the breath out of you faster than anything else ever could.

Harry’s eyes flicker down to your lips, back up to your eyes, something vulnerable creeping into his expression before he speaks.

"Tell me you feel it too."

His voice is low, careful, but there’s an edge of uncertainty underneath. Like he’s terrified of your answer.

Like he needs it.

You open your mouth, hesitate—because this is the moment. The moment where everything changes. The moment where you either run, or you jump.

And you jump.

You don’t answer him with words. You don’t have to.

Instead, you reach up, threading your fingers into his hair, pulling him down.

And you kiss him.

Not because you’re supposed to. Not because it’s part of the act.

But because you want to.

Because you don’t want this to be about the money anymore.

Because it isn’t.

Not anymore.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry

@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

@cinemharry

@drwho06

@donutsandpalmtrees

@panini

@mads3502

@imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

@one-sweet-gubler

@rizosrizos26

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@jennovaaa

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@run-for-the-hills

@maudie-duan

@dipmeinhoneyh

#harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut

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weepynymph · 1 year ago

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are people seriously not understanding that the whole point of colin's arc this season is him trying to be something he's not??

like sure the brothel scenes are a little weird and jarring but like they're meant to be??? because he's not actually that into it, he's just trying to do what all the other men his age are doing so he can fit in??

the writers aren't trying to 'turn him into anthony or simon' or make him a rake because that's what we're used to - HE'S trying to turn HIMSELF into anthony or simon or basically any of the other guys who this comes naturally to; who enjoy sleeping with lots of different people somewhat emotionlessly and don't get lonely because of it (and no judgement to that it's just not him)

he literally kisses Pen ONCE and absolutely loses his mind over it because its obviously never felt like that for him before. that moment is his 'oh so that's what that's supposed to feel like' moment and that's how he knows he's in love with her its literally so good???

i understand people feel like its rushed but honestly to me it feels perfectly in character for him to discover the solution to his loneliness he's been searching for all this time and immediately dive into it headfirst. that moment right at the end of ep4 where he asks her to marry him is the most authentic colin i think we've seen all season. he's sweet and funny and playful and passionate and impulsive - he's finally stopped trying to be someone he's not and now that he knows who he is and what he wants he's all in.

#colin the demisexual that you are #literally this season is so good what are people talking about #anyway had to get this off my chest lol i love his arc this season and its only half done #yes i wish we'd gotten more of them but hopefully the second half will have more screentime for them now that that plot is the main focus #colin bridgerton #polin #colin x penelope #penelope featherington #bridgerton #bridgerton spoilers

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goomyloid · 7 months ago

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got uty au pilled again, sorry... more info under the cut

an AU where ceroba, in the end, refuses to inject kanako with the serum. even after all her research, she just can't trust that it's totally safe. while kanako accepts this, she still wishes she could eventually be of use somehow, and indirectly blames herself for her father's death.

despite all this, with kanako alive, ceroba is able to grieve chujin in a far less desperate way, still having her daughter by her side. as the years go by, ceroba devotes more and more of her time to finishing chujin's research in hopes of finally making a serum that can save the underground. kanako is determined to help, too -- together, they clean up chujin's lab and make it a far nicer place to work, because they're in this together now. well, in theory.

ceroba still certainly takes care of kanako and does her best to be a good mother, but as time passes, ceroba spends more and more time in the lab trying to find an answer. kanako, being the social butterfly that she is, can't bring herself to always stay shut inside like her mother; she travels daily to Oasis Valley, making friends and becoming the town darling. as ceroba spends more time working, kanako spends more and more time taking care of the estate, trying to spend time outside whenever possible.

but it gets kind of lonely. the ketsukane estate is off outside of Oasis Valley, and not many people come by. she's worried about her mother, who's been shutting her out as she becomes more desperate to find a solution. there's only so much to do at the house.

then, clover falls into the underground and explores the dunes. there are barely any other kids at this spot in the underground -- finally, someone around her age! she's immediately entranced by them and determined to become their friend, even after finding out they're a human -- that just makes them cooler...!

but there's a problem; kanako has seen her father's tapes, she knows that a human soul would be extremely valuable to producing the serum. of course, she wants to help save the underground, and she wants her mother to finally be rid of stress and be able to spend time with her again... but after spending time with clover, kanako knows there's no way she can let clover die. they're like the sibling she never had...

and kanako can't even let her mother know that clover exists, either; she knows exactly what will happen if ceroba finds out there's a human here. and yet, a secret part of her wishes and hopes that maybe, just maybe, ceroba could find value in clover as a person and then they could all live in the ketsukane estate together. it would be a dream come true! maybe there's even some way clover can help ceroba without having to give up their soul...?

but things aren't destined to work out that way. any number of things could happen.

clover could peacefully move on in their quest through the underground, leaving a sad and lonely kanako behind.

or, ceroba finds out about clover in one way or another, and things are not looking good. but would she choose to take clover's life at the cost of her daughter's one and only friend?

what if clover didn't come in peace, but in vengeance?

or maybe ceroba somehow accepts clover, growing to respect them after all is said and done, and she tries to experiment on a living human soul?

or maybe, wracked with grief and loneliness, kanako discards her mother's warnings and takes the new, updated serum herself, determined to become the hero for her family like she always wanted...?

or, something else could happen.

what if, after an unhappy ending, kanako wakes up on that same day again, waiting for clover to come by the ketsukane estate for the first time? she doesn't even know how it's possible, reliving the same few weeks over and over. she just wants to find her happy ending, and she'll search and search for as long as she needs to.

how long can she watch the same endings play out over and over?

#undertale yellow #uty #kanako ketsukane #uty au #clover uty #timeloops #you may be asking Goomy do the timeloops have anything to do with determination. how did kako get determination #my answer: Idk.#i just knew i wanted to put her in a timeloop for funsies ok #Lets all pretend she somehow SOMEHOW has more determination than flowey for WHATEVER reason. If you want.#OR this can be entierly unrelated to determination. i like this excuse better #there's no telling if anyone outside of flowey Actively Remembers saves/reloads #even the person supposedly doing the reloading like clover or frisk #IDK MAN. A LOT OF STUFF IS UP IN THE AIR I JUST WANTED TO PUT KANAKO IN HIGURASHI OK #TIMELOOPS HOORAAAAAY #goomyart #doodles #edit: ORRRR flowey helps kanako save instead of clover for some reason #why he would do this idk. maybe he wants a better ending too #and kanako is a faster way to access that rather than clover. Idk

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velvetvisionsaurora · 29 days ago

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Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

Author’s Note: okay so this fic has received so much love! I’m opening the Taglist back up!! Let me know if you want added! 💜

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 7: Ripple Effect

The day had passed in a blur of activity, each hour packed with tasks from your meticulously reworked schedule. The morning vocal recording had stretched into early afternoon, followed immediately by dance practice where you'd watched from the corner, tablet in hand, coordinating with the production team via text while the members perfected their formations. The concept meeting had run later than planned, necessitating quick rearrangements for tomorrow's photoshoot.

By the time you all returned to the house, exhaustion hung heavy in the air. Dinner had been a quiet affair—takeout ordered on the way home, everyone too tired for much conversation. Even Wooyoung's usual animated energy had been subdued, his head occasionally nodding as he fought to stay awake at the table.

"Early night for everyone," Hongjoong had announced, his leader voice brooking no argument. "We need to be fresh for tomorrow."

You'd retreated to the guesthouse after helping clear away the takeout containers, intending to review the next day's schedule before sleep. But after thirty minutes of staring at your tablet, the words blurring together as fatigue weighed on your eyelids, you'd made a decision.

What you needed wasn't more work. What you needed was to clear your head.

The pool that connected the main house to your guesthouse had been tempting you for weeks now. You'd admired it daily but never found the time to actually use it, despite San's occasional reminders that it was there for everyone, including you. Tonight, with your muscles aching from tension and your mind still racing despite your exhaustion, a swim seemed like the perfect solution.

You put on the waterproof tape over your blocker an changed into the black bikini you'd brought from your old apartment but hadn't yet had occasion to wear. The simple two-piece was modest by most standards but still revealed more skin than any of the members had seen from you before. For a brief moment, you hesitated, wondering if you should opt for more coverage given the complex dynamics that had emerged recently.

"Don't be ridiculous," you muttered to yourself, dismissing the thought. "It's just swimming. They're professionals."

Besides, the house lights had been dimmed when you'd left, most of the members presumably already retreating to their rooms for the night. Chances were good you'd have the pool to yourself.

With a towel draped over your arm, you stepped out of the guesthouse into the warm evening air. The pool area was illuminated by soft underwater lights that cast rippling blue patterns across the stone deck. The sight of the still water, glowing invitingly in the darkness, confirmed you'd made the right decision.

You dropped your towel onto one of the loungers and approached the pool's edge, unaware that your solitary moment was about to be interrupted.

---

Wooyoung had been rummaging through the refrigerator, searching for the last yogurt drink he was certain he'd hidden behind Seonghwa's vegetable containers. His quest had brought him to the kitchen at precisely the moment you stepped out of the guesthouse and into the pool area visible through the large glass doors.

He froze, yogurt drink forgotten, as he caught sight of you walking toward the pool.

Seonghwa, who had been wiping down the kitchen counters before bed (a nightly ritual that the others teased him about but secretly appreciated), noticed Wooyoung's sudden stillness.

"What's wrong?" he asked, following Wooyoung's gaze toward the glass doors.

Wooyoung's voice came out strangled, barely above a whisper. "Hyung, I'm trying to be respectful, I promise, but Y/n is walking to the pool... in a bikini and—oh my stars, she has a spine tattoo. I think I'm going to pass out!"

The soft landscape lighting illuminated your figure, revealing the black bikini and, more startlingly, a delicate tulip tattoo that ran down your spine, its stem following the gentle curve of your back.

Seonghwa's immediate frown of disapproval quickly dissolved as his own eyes moved to the pool area. He had opened his mouth, presumably to chastise Wooyoung, but whatever reprimand he'd planned died on his lips as he caught sight of you by the poolside. A flush crept up his neck despite his best efforts to maintain his composed facade.

"We shouldn't be watching," he managed after a moment, though he made no immediate move to look away. The elegant line of the tattoo trailing down your spine had caught him by surprise—somehow both delicate and striking against your skin.

"Guys, have you seen my phone charger?" Yunho's voice preceded him into the kitchen, followed closely by San and Mingi. "I thought I left it—" He broke off as he registered Wooyoung and Seonghwa's frozen poses by the window. "What are you looking at?"

Before either could respond, Wooyoung gestured silently toward the pool, his expression a mixture of awe and something more intense. The three newcomers moved to the window as if drawn by magnetic force.

"Oh," Yunho said softly, his tall frame going perfectly still as he caught sight of you.

San let out a low whistle that earned him a sharp look from Seonghwa, though the eldest's reprimand lacked its usual conviction given the flush still evident on his own face.

Mingi said nothing at all, but his sharp intake of breath was audible in the suddenly quiet kitchen. His eyes followed your movements with an almost predatory focus as you tested the water with your toe.

"What is everyone looking at?" Jongho's curious voice joined the group, the youngest appearing in the doorway with Yeosang close behind. Neither waited for an answer before following their gazes outside.

Yeosang's usually impassive face registered genuine surprise, his eyes widening slightly before his natural reserve reasserted itself. Beside him, Jongho's reaction was less guarded—a visible gulp before he quickly averted his eyes, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks.

"This is inappropriate," Seonghwa finally said, though his voice lacked its usual authority. He looked to Hongjoong for support as the leader entered the kitchen, drawn by the unusual gathering. "We shouldn't be—Hongjoong!"

The sharp call of his name was necessary because even their leader, typically the most disciplined among them, had become momentarily transfixed by the sight of you slowly descending the pool steps, water rising around your waist as the blue lights illuminated your skin.

Hongjoong snapped back to attention at Seonghwa's call, his eyes clearing as if emerging from a trance. "Everyone back to what you were doing," he ordered, his voice low but commanding. "Now."

The alpha authority in his tone was enough to break the spell, sending most of the members reluctantly dispersing—though not without backward glances toward the pool.

"But hyung," Wooyoung protested, "I was just thinking I could use a swim too..."

He took a step toward the door, still fully clothed in his loungewear, but was immediately intercepted by Seonghwa, who grabbed his arm firmly.

"Absolutely not," Seonghwa hissed, pulling him back from the door. "She deserves privacy."

"I wasn't going to—" Wooyoung began indignantly.

"You were," San countered with a knowing smirk. "We all know you were."

Wooyoung deflated slightly, his mischievous grin acknowledging he'd been caught. "Fine. But can you blame me? Did you see that tattoo? A tulip! Right down her—"

"We all saw," Hongjoong interrupted, his voice carrying a warning edge that silenced Wooyoung immediately. "And now we're all going to respect her privacy and go back to our rooms."

"Some of us need to go take very cold showers," Mingi muttered under his breath, earning a sharp elbow from Yunho and a suppressed snort of laughter from San.

Seonghwa, having successfully prevented Wooyoung's pool expedition, turned to herd the remaining members out of the kitchen. "Go on, all of you. Early morning tomorrow, remember?"

As the others reluctantly filed out, Hongjoong remained by the window for a moment longer, his expression unreadable as he watched you swim a smooth lap across the pool. There was something almost pained in his gaze—a conflict between desire and restraint that echoed the complexity of the situation they all found themselves in.

"You too, Hongjoong-ah," Seonghwa said quietly, returning to find the leader still watching. "Whatever this is between all of us... we need to be careful."

Hongjoong nodded, finally turning away from the window. "I know. It's just—" He paused, struggling to articulate the feeling. "It's getting harder to remember why we're being so careful."

Seonghwa understood the sentiment all too well. What had begun as an inexplicable connection with their new assistant had evolved into something far more profound over these past weeks—a pull that defied professional boundaries and conventional explanation.

"Because she works for us," Seonghwa reminded him gently. "Because we don't fully understand what's happening. Because eight alphas and one beta is a complicated dynamic no matter how you look at it."

Hongjoong gave him a strange look at the word "beta," as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he simply sighed and moved away from the window. "You're right. Goodnight, Seonghwa."

As the kitchen emptied, silence settled over the main house, though the ripples from your simple decision to go for a swim continued to spread through the minds and hearts of eight alpha idols, each trying to process their reactions in the privacy of their own rooms.

---

The water felt heavenly against your skin, cool enough to be refreshing but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. You swam lazy laps, feeling the day's tension gradually melt away with each stroke. The silence of the night, broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the pool's edge, was exactly the reset your overstimulated mind had needed.

After fifteen minutes of swimming, you floated on your back, gazing up at the stars visible through the Seoul light pollution. The peaceful moment was interrupted by the distinct sensation of being watched. You tilted your head toward the main house, but the kitchen windows showed only darkness, the lights having been turned off at some point during your swim.

Shaking off the feeling, you decided you'd spent enough time in the pool. Tomorrow would be another full day of comeback preparations, and despite the rejuvenating effects of the swim, you still needed proper rest. You climbed out of the pool, water streaming from your skin as you reached for your towel.

As you dried off, you couldn't shake the lingering sensation that had prickled at the back of your neck—that brief, certain feeling of multiple eyes on you. Had the members seen you in the pool? The thought sent a flush of heat through you that had nothing to do with exertion or temperature.

You wrapped the towel around your waist and gathered your hair over one shoulder, wringing out the excess water. The night air felt cooler now against your damp skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. You hurried back to the guesthouse, suddenly self-conscious in a way you hadn't been before entering the pool.

Inside, you showered quickly to rinse off the chlorine, your mind still caught on the possibility that some—or all—of the members might have seen you swimming. What would they have thought of the tattoo? Most people were surprised to discover you had one, given your typically professional appearance. The delicate tulip that trailed down your spine was a reminder of your mother, whose favorite flower it had been. You'd gotten it on your twentieth birthday, a private symbol of connection to her that was rarely visible to others.

As you changed into your pajamas, your phone chimed with a message. You picked it up, expecting perhaps a schedule update from Minwoo, but instead found a text from.

Hongjoong: Everyone's meeting at 7:30 tomorrow instead of 7:00. Extra half hour of rest before the photoshoot. Make sure you take advantage of it too.

The thoughtfulness of the message warmed you, but you couldn't help wondering about the timing. Had he seen you at the pool and decided everyone needed more rest? Or was it simply his leader instincts kicking in after a long day?

You typed back a quick response:

I'll let everyone know. Thank you for the consideration.

After a moment's hesitation, you added:

The pool was perfect tonight. I should have been using it all along.

You hit send before you could overthink the addition, then immediately wondered if it was too obvious—if it somehow acknowledged the sensation of being watched that you couldn't quite dismiss.

Hongjoong's reply came faster than you expected:

Glad you enjoyed it. It's there for everyone to use. Sleep well, Y/n.

The neutrality of his response gave nothing away, but something about it still felt charged with unspoken meaning. You set your phone aside, trying to dismiss the overthinking that threatened to undo the relaxation your swim had provided.

As you settled into bed, you couldn't help but imagine how the members might have reacted if they had seen you—Wooyoung's dramatic commentary, Seonghwa's attempt at propriety, Mingi's intense gaze. The thoughts should have embarrassed you, but instead, they sent a flutter of something else entirely through your stomach—something dangerously close to anticipation.

Your hand drifted to the scent blocker behind your ear, the habitual gesture grounding you back in reality. Whatever was developing between you and the eight alphas under your care, it existed within boundaries—professional, practical, and self-protective. The blocker was a physical reminder of those boundaries, of the essential truth you kept hidden from them.

Yet as sleep began to claim you, your last conscious thought was to wonder how much longer those boundaries could hold against the tide of connection that grew stronger with each passing day.

---

The next morning

"Did anyone ever get me a coffee? I feel like I asked for coffee hours ago. Or was that in my dream?" Wooyoung's dramatic complaints filled the kitchen as you entered the main house at precisely 7:30, tablet in hand and ready for the day's packed schedule.

"If you want coffee, the machine is right there," Yeosang replied dryly, not looking up from his own mug.

"But it tastes better when someone else makes it," Wooyoung whined, before his eyes landed on you in the doorway. For a split second, something flashed across his expression—a reminder of whatever he might have seen last night—before his usual playful demeanor reasserted itself. "Y/n! Good morning! Have I mentioned lately that you're my favorite person in this household?"

"Not in the last twelve hours," you replied with a smile, setting your tablet down and moving toward the coffee machine. "Let me guess. One sugar, extra milk?"

"See?" Wooyoung exclaimed to no one in particular. "She remembers! This is why she's the best!"

You felt other eyes on you as you prepared Wooyoung's coffee—subtle glances from the members scattered around the kitchen and dining area. There was a different quality to their attention this morning, a heightened awareness that hadn't been there before. You mentally replayed your swim from the night before, wondering if the pool area was more visible from the house than you'd realized.

"Sleep well?" Hongjoong asked casually as you handed Wooyoung his coffee. The leader was reviewing something on his phone, his posture relaxed, but there was a careful neutrality in his tone that piqued your suspicion.

"Very well, thank you," you replied, equally casual. "The extra half hour was appreciated."

Seonghwa entered from the pantry with an armful of breakfast ingredients, his eyes meeting yours briefly before sliding away, a faint color rising to his cheeks. "Good morning, Y/n. Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes."

"Can I help?" you offered, moving toward him.

"No need," he replied quickly—perhaps too quickly. "I've got it under control. You should sit and review the day's schedule with Hongjoong."

You nodded, returning to where you'd left your tablet, but not before catching the subtle glance Seonghwa exchanged with the leader—a look laden with meaning you couldn't quite decipher.

As you took a seat at the island, San sauntered in, his hair still damp from a shower. His eyes lit up when he saw you, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. "Good morning! Did you have a nice swim last night?"

The direct question confirmed your suspicions, heat immediately rising to your cheeks. So they had seen you. The question now was: how many of them, and how much had they observed?

"I did, actually," you replied, aiming for nonchalance despite your flushed face. "The pool was perfect after such a long day."

"I bet," San said, his smile widening as he caught Mingi's warning glare from across the room. "Water looked... inviting."

"It was," you confirmed, now certain that at least some of them had definitely watched you swimming. The realization should have mortified you, but instead, you felt a strange thrill at their collective attention—at the knowledge that they had seen a different side of you than the professional assistant they were accustomed to.

Jongho and Yunho entered the kitchen together, both pausing almost imperceptibly when they saw you before continuing to their usual seats. Jongho couldn't quite meet your eyes, a tell-tale blush coloring his cheeks despite his attempt at composure.

"The car for the photoshoot will be here at 8:45," you announced, deliberately changing the subject to safer, professional territory. "The concept team sent over the final wardrobe selections this morning, and they're excited about the underwater theme for the second set of photos."

"Underwater theme?" Wooyoung repeated, his eyes sparkling with barely contained mischief. "How appropriate, considering—"

"Considering the comeback concept focuses on transformation," Hongjoong smoothly interrupted, shooting Wooyoung a pointed look. "Water being a symbol of rebirth and change."

"Right, right," Wooyoung agreed, not looking remotely chastised. "Transformation. That's exactly what I was going to say."

You bit back a smile, focusing intently on your tablet screen. The dynamic in the room was charged with a new energy—playful but intense, like a shared secret hovering just below the surface of normal conversation.

"Before I forget," you said, remembering a detail from your morning emails, "the stylist wanted to know if anyone has a problem with using temporary tattoos? They’ll be featured in the concept photos. Apparently, they've adjusted some of the styling to include more revealed skin than originally planned."

The question landed in the room like a stone dropped in still water, ripples of reaction spreading visibly across eight alpha faces. San choked slightly on his orange juice. Mingi suddenly became intensely interested in the ceiling. Wooyoung's mouth opened and closed without producing sound.

"I don’t believe so," Hongjoong replied after a beat too long, his voice carefully controlled. "I think we’ve all suddenly become a fan of tattoos."

Yunho let out a frustrated groan and sat on the couch, earning a glare from Seonghwa.

"Interesting choice of question," Yeosang observed quietly, his perceptive eyes studying your face. "Any particular reason you're asking about tattoos this morning?"

The deliberate prod confirmed what you'd already suspected—they had all seen you last night, including the tulip tattoo trailing down your spine that was normally hidden beneath your professional attire.

Two could play at this game.

"Just being thorough," you replied with an innocent smile. "After all, sometimes what a person shows to others might be different than what they truly feel. Best to be prepared."

The double meaning hung in the air, acknowledged in the slight widening of Yeosang's eyes and the muffled laugh Yunho tried to disguise as a cough.

Seonghwa, ever the peacekeeper, cleared his throat loudly. "Breakfast is ready. Everyone should eat quickly since we have a tight schedule today."

As the conversation shifted to more mundane topics, you caught Mingi watching you, his dark eyes intense in a way that sent a shiver down your spine—right along the path where your tattoo bloomed against your skin. When your eyes met his, he didn't look away. Instead, he held your gaze with deliberate focus, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

They had seen you. All of you—not just the professional assistant who managed their schedules, but the woman beneath the polished exterior. The woman with a tattoo trailing down her spine and enough confidence to swim alone under the stars.

And judging by the charged atmosphere in the kitchen this morning, none of them would be forgetting the sight anytime soon.

As the meal progressed, Wooyoung cleared his throat dramatically, drawing everyone's attention. "I've been thinking," he announced, as if sharing profound wisdom.

"Dangerous," Yeosang muttered, earning a glare from Wooyoung.

"As I was saying," Wooyoung continued pointedly, "I think our Y/n needs a nickname."

Your eyebrows rose, immediately suspicious of where this might be heading. "A nickname? I think my name works just fine."

"No, no," Wooyoung insisted, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "We all have nicknames for each other. It's part of being in the group."

"I wasn't aware I was 'in the group,'" you countered, though the idea sent a pleasant warmth through your chest despite your wariness.

"Of course you are," San chimed in, clearly catching on to whatever Wooyoung was planning. "You've been with us for weeks now. You're practically family."

Wooyoung nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! And I've thought of the perfect nickname for you." He paused dramatically, his eyes locked with yours. "Tulip."

The simple word hung in the air, its implications immediately clear to everyone at the table. Heat rushed to your cheeks as several members suddenly became very interested in their breakfast. Hongjoong shot Wooyoung a warning look that went completely ignored.

"Tulip?" you repeated, your voice impressively steady despite the flush spreading across your face. "Any particular reason for that choice?"

Wooyoung's smile widened, the picture of false innocence. "They're elegant flowers. Delicate but strong. They have... interesting stems." His gaze flicked momentarily to your back, making his meaning unmistakable. "It suits you."

You could see his satisfaction at having flustered you—at the blush you couldn't control and the awkward silence that had fallen over the table. He thought he'd won this little game, pushing the boundaries of your professional relationship with his playful teasing.

But two could play at this game.

Something shifted in your demeanor as you made a split-second decision. Leaning forward slightly, you rested your chin on your hand and fixed Wooyoung with a gaze you knew was far from your usual professional look.

"Tulip," you repeated softly, letting the word roll off your tongue in a way that was almost a purr. "I like it. Especially coming from your lips, oppa."

The deliberate honorific coupled with your sudden shift in tone had exactly the effect you'd hoped for. Wooyoung's triumphant smile froze, his eyes widening as the tables turned. Around the table, you heard a few sharp intakes of breath.

Not stopping while you had the advantage, you continued, your voice dropping to a tone that walked the line between playful and seductive. "Are you saying you liked what you saw last night? My... interesting stem?"

Wooyoung's mouth opened but no sound emerged. The flush you'd been sporting moments ago was now mirrored on his face, spreading rapidly down his neck. From the corner of your eye, you could see Mingi gripping his chopsticks so tightly his knuckles had whitened, while Jongho seemed to have forgotten how to breathe entirely.

With a soft laugh, you broke the spell, rising gracefully from your seat and gathering your tablet. "Tulip it is, then. I think it has a nice ring to it." You glanced around the table, enjoying the collection of stunned expressions. "We should leave in twenty minutes if we want to arrive on time for the photoshoot. Don't be late."

As you walked out of the kitchen, you couldn't resist glancing back over your shoulder. Wooyoung remained frozen in place, his breakfast forgotten as he stared after you, looking like he'd been struck by lightning. San was doubled over in silent laughter beside him, while Seonghwa appeared torn between disapproval and reluctant amusement.

Hongjoong's eyes met yours across the room, something dark and appreciative in his gaze that sent a shiver down your spine—right along the path of the tattoo that had started this whole episode.

You left the kitchen with a smile playing on your lips, oddly invigorated by the exchange. Every time they thought they had you figured out, you found a way to surprise them. Professional assistant? Yes. But perhaps a bit more complex than they'd initially assumed.

Behind you, you heard Yunho's voice break the silence: "I think Wooyoung just short-circuited."

"Worth it," came San's delighted reply. "Totally worth it to see his face."

"Tulip is officially the most dangerous person in this house," Mingi added, his deep voice carrying an unmistakable note of admiration.

The new nickname—and what it represented—marked another shift in your evolving relationship with the eight alphas. Whatever game you were all playing, the rules were changing by the day, boundaries blurring even as the connection between you deepened.

Today's schedule would be demanding, the comeback preparations intensifying as the deadline approached. But beneath the professional responsibilities and practical tasks lay something deeper—a current of connection that continued to pull you all toward some unknown destination, one revealed truth at a time.

Next>>

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ready-to-read7 · 5 months ago

Text

The Ice Prince

(I am not the best writer But I’m doing my best)

the nuke that the GIW had created, was devastating and catastrophic, destroying Danny’s entire home universe with only a few survivors and unfortunately none of them were human only the halfas had survived.

And the blast had even reached the infinite realm, but the ghost King Phantom/Danny had used his own power to stop it from causing any devastation to the realms but in return he was weaken and badly injured, every ghost was terrified of what would happen to the king but clockwork had a solution, he used his powers to de-age Danny down to maybe a month old so that his body would have enough power to keep him alive in a smaller form. Every ghost was terrified for the safety and well-being of their king especially considering he was not fully ghost so they knew he couldn’t stay in the ghost zone for long especially now, so while clockwork and the yetis was looking for a dimension for Danny to stay in Vlad, Dan and Dani as his only remaining family were making preparations for his new living circumstances, preparing caretakers creating a layout for his new home and even picking out and having toys and clothing created.

Clockwork in the end with the help of the yetis end up successfully finding a dimension that will both meet Danny’s ghost needs and human needs perfectly and with the designs provided by Danny’s family, they started creating a beautiful ice castle for him, and once it was finished it was transported to the dimension in the Arctic.

_________________________________________________

Meanwhile at the watchtower the alarm started going off alerting the justice league on a unknown entity/entities in the Arctic near the fortress of solitude, alarmed supermen wants to immediately go to the Arctic but Batman refuses him to go alone offering to go with him.

Once they reached the fortress of solitude, they do not notice anything out of the ordinary, but as they search, they find a small Castle not too far away in the crevice of a cave, Superman at first tried to use his x-ray vision to see you what or who was inside but something was preventing him from doing that so both determined to figure out if the beings inside are a threat they enter the castle.

As they explore Batman and Superman come across many different rooms, first they find a kitchen, then they find the storage room, a living room, and a few more before they hear footsteps, they decided to hide in the closet nearby and what they see is a bunch of living ice statues walking past them with trays blankets and many other things, they decide to go in the direction opposite to that of the living ice statues.

They eventually come across a large room with two green-skinned humanoid creatures with dragon-like features inside, the two creatures were looking down at something that neither Superman and Batman could see what it was, after a few minutes, one of the Dragon like creatures turned off the lights and unfolded there large wings, gave a few flaps and flew out alongside their companion out of a large window.

Once Batman and Superman were sure the Dragon like creatures were gone, they entered the room, and, Batman would be looking around while Superman would look for the light switch, and once he did what they found was confusing, the largest room in this building was a nursery with a crib in the middle with a space theme mobile above it, and they both would be confused why the largest room in this building was a nursery, they would then approached the crib to find a baby more shockingly a human baby by its appearance, Black hair with the faintest of freckles across his face accompanied by his light skin that could mistake him as dead, wrapped in the finest silk blanket they have ever seen while wearing some sort of Greek clothing.

Batman terrified that the child might be dead turns to Superman to silently ask whether the child has a heartbeat or not. Superman would take a moment to listen and would then inform Batman that the child does have a heartbeat and unnaturally slow one but a heartbeat, nonetheless.

While Batman’s trying to figure out what the situation is, Superman is fearing that the child was kidnapped, he would pick up the baby wanting to take him back to the watchtower to have a proper checkup done on the child, when Superman told Batman that he wants to take the baby back to the watchtower for a proper checkup Batman would counter saying that the Dragon like creatures are probably his parents, before Superman can protest they hear the Dragon like creatures returning, and in panic they both flee and Superman not realizing that he still has the baby in his arms carries the baby away from the castle.

Somehow neither Batman or Superman realized that Superman had the baby until they reached the JL base, and once they do realize Batman start scolding Superman for stealing a child especially from a species that they aren’t fully aware of or know anything about. Superman counters that the child had no features from either of the possible parents and could be an infant that the two Dragon-like people stole from Earth so that they could playhouse.

While the entire Justice league is split on siding with either Superman or Batman who are both giving valid reasons for why their point of view is correct, the Green Lanterns are trying to find the origin of the Dragon-like people or more specifically where they are from.

As they argued the volume continued to increase eventually resulting in the child waking up still cradled in Superman’s arms. The most beautiful pair of blue eyes like ice shards reflecting the beauty of the sky looked up at them and as the infant yawned it gave a cute grumpy little face indicating that he was upset that they interrupted his nap time.

Once everyone noticed the baby was awake, they started cooing and absolutely adoring the baby and the flash that was literally vibrating from excitement would run up to the baby so he can hold the infant, but the moment Danny spotted the slightest amount of electricity coming from the flash he immediately started crying and wailing.

The cry was loud, not loud enough to destroy the JL base but loud enough that anyone with enhance hearing had to cover their ears to try and avoid going def, Batman then immediately grabs the child from Superman and thanks to his years of experience with helping calm down small children and infants he calms the baby down, which is a relief to everyone.

After Batman managed to calm down the baby until he was only slightly whimpering, a very pale and panic Constantine,Dr. fate and zattana burst into the room, as they entered they started searching and scouring each nook and cranny of the room until their eyes landed on the whimpering child still in batman’s arms, Constantine immediately goes even paler something no one knew could happen and in his frazzled state he would scream demanding to know why there was a child of the infinite realms in batman’s arms. but nobody knows what the infinite realms are so while Constantine was drowning in his own panic, Dr. fate and zattana would explain to everyone what the infinite realms are, and Batman would explain the situation back telling them how Superman had taken the baby from an ice castle near the fortress of solitude.

Superman realizing his mistake offers to take the child back immediately but before he could the alarms at the base started to go off again, cyborg who was the closest immediately started typing across the computer in order to see if there was any world ending threat but what they see made all the magic users take a double take on what they were seeing.

A man with a blue skin tone whose hair is unbound by gravity and behaves like fire and blood red eyes alongside two more people, one of them who looks like a vampire who also has a bluish skin tone and the other one looks like a female version of the first one but younger and also with green eyes and a more humanoid skin tone.

Zattana would then stutter out loud and ask herself why on earth King Phantom is destroying government facilities alongside the Count Masters as well as Princess Spector, of the Infinite Realms. she would also ask herself why they were specifically targeting government facilities.

But then a giggle along with some clapping of tiny hands would catch their attention as they turn around to see the baby still in Batman’s hands happily giggling and clapping their hands as they started grabbing out towards the screen specifically towards the three people on the screen.

Constantine would look at the screen and then at the child and he would see similarities between King Phantom and the child, the dots will then connect in his head and he would start having a strata panic attack and before anyone could realize what was going on Constantine would scream at Superman telling him that he just kidnapped the son of the king of the infinite realms.

________________________________________________

Dan, Vlad and Dani were all frantically searching for Danny since he randomly disappeared from the ice castle and due to past experiences, all three of them thought it was some form of government who took him so they immediately start destroying every government facility they could find so that they could find Danny.

They had gotten through 15 government facilities with no luck of finding Danny, until they were approached by three weirdly dressed individuals who addressed dan as King Phantom Dan was obviously confused at first and so was Vlad and Dani but Dan eventually realize that they probably think that he is Danny because of their similarities and the fact that no one knows that Danny is now in infant, Dan thinking that it would be funny decided to play along and he used his core to communicate with Vlad and Dani.

Funny, play along, funny, help find Danny,

Dan would then float over to the three weirdly dressed individuals and ask them what they want because he’s kind of busy,

The very strong looking woman would bow down to him and ask him if he is looking for his child.

Dan then applies himself properly telling them that he is indeed looking for his child and if they try and stop him, he won’t hold back.

The strong looking woman then introduces herself as Diana/wonder woman and reassures Dan that they are not here to stand in his way, she instead tells him that she actually knows where his child is.

Dan raises an eyebrow, and addresses wonder woman telling her to describe the child, so he makes sure that they are talking about the right kid.

Wonder woman would then talk describing Danny, black hair, blue eyes, pale skin with freckles and she would even mention the unbelievable loud cry that left many members of the JL disorientated.

Dan realizing that they actually have Danny and would ask her who they are and why they have Danny, wonder woman seeing the rage billed in his eyes would invite him back to the watchtower so he could retrieve his child and that they can explain the situation to him, dan agrees.

As they were going up to the watchtower dan, Vlad and Dani would speak in ghost dialect to each other.

Dan: so, these people think I am phantom, and I think we should keep up the act because it’s safer for Danny if they believe I am him and that he is my son.

Dani: that makes sense but what am I then?

Dan: while we don’t have to change the fact that you are his sister so just continue just pretend to be his older sister.

Dani: ok :D

Vlad: what about me?

Dan: I don’t know old man pretend to be his grandfather.

Vlad: ok :/

once they reached the main room of the watchtower, Dani immediately zooms into the room right in front of batman politely asking him if she can have her little brother, batman who had gotten Danny to fall asleep again would then give the baby to her.

She would then float over to Dan and gives Danny to him, Dan and Vlad then look over Danny to make sure he has no injuries and then Dan would address the group asking them what happened and why his son was here, Batman would then explained that they got an alert about something near the fortress of solitude and that alert would be the castle where they found the baby and Superman thought it was a human child that was stolen so he ended up accidentally kidnapping the baby.

Dan would have given Danny to Vlad as he uses his fingers to rub his nose in annoyance before giving a sigh of relief thanking the ancients that it wasn’t some government facility that kidnapped him wanting to experiment on him, the justice league especially the magic users would get very concerned by the comment and dani realizing that they might be confused, would explain that in another world a government facility had labelled all beings from the infinite realms as not sentient and started kidnapping and experimenting on them, but that universe no longer existed mainly due to the idiotic actions of the government facility blowing up their own universe.

Dan would then turn to Vlad and tell him that they’re going to need to move the castle and maybe add a bit more security, Superman would then speak up saying that they could keep the castle where it is and they will make sure no one will go near it without authorization.

Dan would look at Superman and nod his head, but would still remarking to Vlad that they still need to increase the security since no one should be able to get near his little sunshine (he holds back the need to throw up after saying that), batman would look at Dan wanting to ask questions but even he knew now was not the best time also he could feel someone staring daggers into the back of his neck something that didn’t bother him nor cared about but he didn’t want to give Constantine a heart attack not yet at least.

Dan would then open a portal directly to the ice castle and would give his farewells to the Justice league as he went through Vlad with Danny in his arms following close behind and dani just after them and once the portal closed all the magic users in the room gave a sigh of relief along with a few of the other heroes who based on Constantine’s reaction understood the severity of the situation

And in the meantime, Dan, Vlad and Dani would be settling Danny back in his room and would be arranging more security and more caretakers since they do not want another situation like this.

@unadulteratedsoulsweets

(If there are any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes or anything like that just ignore them I'm not going back to fix them)

Original prompt here

#dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt

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i2rizz · 3 months ago

Text

Off The Menu

Synopsis-Sae was ready to reject another blind date—until he saw you. In a split second, he grabbed your hand and called you his girlfriend… now what?

|masterlist

Sae Itoshi sighed, staring blankly at his reflection in the restaurant’s polished window. Another week, another ridiculous matchmaking attempt set up by his parents. He had long since lost count of how many girls he had been forced to meet—polite, well-mannered, and eager to please, yet none of them stirred anything in him except mild irritation. This was no different.

He adjusted his cuffs, already dreading the upcoming interaction. As if on cue, the woman his parents had picked for him arrived, all soft smiles and delicate features. Sae barely glanced at her before standing up out of courtesy.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Itoshi-san," she said, bowing slightly. Her voice was smooth, practiced.

Sae nodded, wordlessly sitting back down, already thinking about how to make his exit. He’d usually wait a while, indulge in small talk, then let them down gently. He didn’t owe these girls anything, but he wasn’t unnecessarily cruel either.

This time, though, he wasn’t in the mood to play along. His patience was running thin.

His sharp eyes roamed the restaurant, searching for something—anything—that would help him out of this predicament.

And then he saw you.

You were moving between tables with a tray in hand, dressed in the restaurant’s uniform, oblivious to his stare. The name tag pinned to your shirt gleamed under the warm lighting, the letters forming your name. A name he had never said aloud before but now seemed like the perfect solution to his problem.

Before he could second-guess himself, he stood up.

"(Y/N)."

You froze mid-step, your eyes snapping toward him. A flicker of confusion passed over your face as you tried to place him, only for your expression to morph into full-blown bewilderment when he strode towards you with purpose.

"S-Sae?" you repeated, hesitant. You knew who he was, of course. Everyone did. It wasn’t every day Japan’s soccer prodigy called you by name as if you were close.

He ignored your confusion. His hand found yours before you could protest, his fingers curling around your wrist with a firm yet oddly gentle grip.

"There you are. I’ve been waiting for you," he said smoothly, his usual indifferent tone replaced with something warmer, something convincing.

You blinked at him, stunned, and then at the woman he had left at the table. She was staring at the scene with wide eyes, her perfectly painted lips parted in shock.

"Excuse me?" she said, standing up hastily.

Sae turned to her, his expression unreadable. "I appreciate you coming today, but I don’t think we need to continue this any further. I already have a girlfriend."

The air around the three of you shifted immediately.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull. "I—WHAT?!"

The woman’s expression twisted. "You have a girlfriend?" She turned to you, eyes scanning your uniform. "Then why were you on a date with me?!"

Sae didn’t even blink. "My parents set it up. I never agreed to it."

The woman sputtered in disbelief. "And you’re telling me you’re dating…" She gestured to you, looking almost offended.

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to throw the tray at Sae’s head.

"Sae, you absolute—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he did the unthinkable.

With one smooth motion, he pulled you against him and kissed you.

Your mind blanked.

The tray in your hands nearly slipped as warmth engulfed your lips, his scent—clean, expensive cologne mixed with something distinctly Sae—flooding your senses. His touch was firm yet surprisingly gentle, his lips molding against yours in a way that felt practiced yet not forceful.

You had kissed before—of course you had. But this? This was different.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a declaration, a performance, a statement that you belonged to him in this very moment, in front of a woman he was supposed to be wooing.

The woman gasped audibly, and that was what snapped you back to reality.

You shoved Sae away with enough force to make him stumble a step back. Your face burned, whether from anger or embarrassment, you weren’t sure.

"What the hell was that?!" you hissed, gripping your tray like a lifeline.

Sae, completely unfazed, simply wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb before glancing at the other woman. "See? I’m taken."

The woman looked between the two of you, absolutely livid. "You’re an asshole, Itoshi."

Sae only shrugged, as if he had heard the insult a thousand times before and had long since stopped caring. "Maybe. But at least I’m honest."

With that, she grabbed her purse and stormed out of the restaurant, her heels clicking against the marble floor with each furious step. The moment she was out of sight, you turned back to Sae with fire in your eyes.

"I’m going to kill you."

He tilted his head, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. "If you do, who’s going to pay for your silence?"

"Silence?!" you seethed. "You just used me as your fake girlfriend, kissed me without my permission, and embarrassed me in front of my coworkers!"

Sae looked completely unbothered. "Worked, didn’t it?"

You were this close to launching a plate at his head.

Instead, you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down. You couldn’t afford to get fired.

"You owe me. Big time."

His gaze flickered with something unreadable. "Fine. What do you want?"

You opened your mouth to retort, but then, a thought occurred to you.

A wicked idea.

Your lips curled into a slow smirk. "Oh, you’ll find out soon enough."

For the first time, Sae looked mildly concerned.

You took your tray and walked away, leaving him standing there, watching you, an amused yet cautious glint in his usually cold eyes.

Game on, Itoshi Sae.

378 notes · View notes

yoongihan · 4 months ago

Text

Services Rendered - BC - 1/3

pairing: escort chan x femreader

genre: smut, with little plot, a lot of talking, fluffy,

word count: ~ 10k

warnings: sex work, smut: pentrative safe sex, fingering (fem rec); a lot of kissing, older reader, chan goes by chris, use of 'baby' and 'yeonin' (don't ask, just writing him required all the endearments), the most ethical escort service ever; a little alcohol imbibed, but no one's drunk., some discussion of insecurities on both chris's and reader's parts. if i've missed something, let me know.

rating: 18+/M

summary: seeking a solution to your lack of experience, you assume the process will be business-like. you're entirely wrong.

a/n: vaguely based on the film Good Luck to You, Leo Grande. decided this couldn't be a one-shot they way it was going. so since the time frame is a weekend, they'll be another part for the second day, then perhaps an epilogue. thank you for the interest on the teaser. this is probably the softest sex worker au known to man.

Part One

The knock on the door startles you. It shouldn’t. You’ve known that he’ll be showing up at seven pm since you received the confirmation email; after the survey, the video interview, and the background check.

You look down at yourself at the knock, an immediate and instinctual check. There isn’t anything you can do in two seconds to change how you look, who you are; but the quick look is years and years of the world reminding you that you are not what the world wants. Which sometimes you can pride yourself on. But today, you can’t muster up that bravado.

But it’s been seconds since the first knock, so you hurry as the second rap sounds against the wood. You don’t look through the peephole because you’ll lose your nerve, and unless there are serious red flags with the person on the other side of the door, you are doing this.

It’s past time after all.

You open the door, smile on your face even if it’s the fakest you’ve ever pasted on.

The answering smile is far more sincere and confident than yours. And includes dimples.

Oh god, they’d taken you seriously about often liking younger men.

“Hi?” He starts when you don’t utter a word, shell-shocked. He says your name with a similar question mark at the end.

“You have a beautiful smile.” You’re frozen, eyes sweeping up and down, taking in his casual air, amplified by the soft cardigan, shirt, and nice jeans. Then you actually hear what you’ve just said. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Um, please come in…Christopher?”

The confirmation email hadn’t given you a lot of details, but it did have his name.

“Thank you and Chris is fine.” He’s still smiling as he walks in and you close the door behind. You watch him scan the room, taking in the couch, the view of the city beyond it. It’s the nicest hotel you’ve ever stayed in, but neutral territory had been recommended. “This is stunning.”

Your brain kicks back in, your eyes admiring the picture he made against the city lights. “You’re…your accent…Australian.”

He turns from taking in that spectacular view, his grin wider. “Good ear.” He sets his two bags, one messenger and one overnight (the implications of that second one sends another wave of anxiety through you) on the couch before seeing the two wine glasses on the coffee table. “Will you think less of me if I don’t drink?”

“Oh. No, not at all.” Your hands are clasped in front of you, like a caricature of an anxious woman. “There’s sodas in the minibar. Would you prefer me not to drink as well?”

He stands between the sofa and the window, eyes on you. “Will it help you relax?” He’s in profile, and you gaze at him, the strong nose, chin, and as you let your eyes travel down, the absolutely gorgeous ass.

You didn’t even know you had opinions about mens’ asses until this very moment.

You cough a laugh, focusing back on his question. “Obvious huh?”

“It’s pointless of me to say not to be nervous, but I hope you know that you’re safe.”

You take a deep breath, walking over to the minibar and searching for two bottles of water. You force yourself to walk over to him, offering him one.

“I know your company is reputable.”

He takes the water bottle from you, letting his fingers lightly touch yours. It’s nothing more than that, but you suspect it’s intentional.

“It is. You did your research.” He tilts his head to the side, endearingly like he’s going to see you differently by just that change of angle. “Four months, wasn’t it?”

“You watched the interview?”

“Of course I did.”

If one of your hands wasn’t still holding a now sweating bottle of water, you would cover your face in embarrassment. You resist the impulse, just barely.

“Do you think I’d come here without doing my own research?” He’s amused, voice still warm with his accent and what you would normally categorize as fondness, but that’s impossible just meeting him seconds ago.

“But I know nothing about you, just the company. They were very cryptic.”

“Well….isn’t that the fun of a date? The getting to know someone?” He gestures for you to sit on the couch before he untwists the cap and takes a swallow of water. He sits down once you do, leaving several feet between you.

“Is that a better choice of word than assignation?”

He chuckles, pointing at me. “Smart. That was apparent pretty early on.” He seems completely at home even though you’ve been in the room since early afternoon, and are sitting with your back ramrod straight. “Didn’t even have to mention your job situation to know you’re smart.”

There is no natural segue into this, but you have to know. Even if he lies to you, you have to know. “Do you have a choice? I mean, do they assign you clients who fall under certain types, or do you have a quota?”

“You want to talk about my work?”

You take a breath, setting down the bottle on the table. “I guess not. I hope this isn’t horribly unwanted. I know it’s work for you, but I hope you–”

He shakes his head, immediately straightening up from his relaxed position, hand falling to your knee, not bare because you couldn’t see meeting him in a dress, even if that was encouraged for ‘heightened romance’ and ‘efficient disrobing’. Despite that you’re wearing a blue jumpsuit, his hand is so warm through the fabric.

“This okay?” He nods to his hand placement.

“You have carte blanche to touch me, Chris. I’ll tell you if I’m not okay with it.” That’s something you feel sure about at least.

His eyes widen and his smile grows. “Okay then. Same, by the way.”

There goes your confidence running out the door; that you can touch him in any way you want.

“Back to your question. I chose you.”

“Excuse me?”

He laughs and gently squeezes your knee before drawing back. You’re somewhat befuddled by the simple touch and you remind yourself that you’re in for a lot more than that and to stop being so sensitive.

“I watched your video, read your survey answers…and said yes.” He puts down the water bottle and leans forward a bit. “If no one had said yes, you wouldn’t have gotten that confirmation email.”

“You can choose?”

He nods.

“And you were okay with me?”

“Wow.”

You recognize it, the immediate words of chastisement that come when you say things like that, so you continue quickly.

“I know, I know. I should be confident, right? Love myself, blah blah blah. I don’t hate myself. I just also know that I’ve never had someone interested in me enough to make me think that anyone would choose me.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. And you realize you’ve just made this all the more awkward and put words into his mouth, which is highly presumptuous of you.

“I’m sorry.” It’s easier to stare at the city lights than at him, no matter how beautiful he is.

“Why?”

You look at him. “I…I was rude.”

“You were honest.”

You scoff. “That’s not usually a problem for me.”

“Good.”

You tuck your feet under you, leaning one elbow on the back of the sofa, eyeing him like he isn’t real.

He’s not. You’ve paid a lot of money for an illusion.

“Really?”

“I like honesty.”

“Even if you’re playing a part for me?”

“You did not mention roleplay on that survey.” His smirk is delighted when you drop your gaze. “I’m not playing. Yes, I do what I do, but I’m going to be myself.”

“Even if all I want is so vanilla it barely qualifies for your line of work?”

He shakes his head. “Even if that’s all. But I don’t think that’s entirely true.” He reaches out, hand hovering over yours. “Okay?”

“Carte blanche.” You nod. You’re pretty sure you mentioned that you were touch-starved in the application process.

He slots his fingers with yours, his focus on the meeting of your hands. “Do you want to talk about why I’m here?”

You wish you could say no, but that’s cowardly. And you do want to be brave.

“That I’m a virgin and have so little understanding of sexual pleasure so I hired an expert to do what I can’t even do for myself?” your voice breaks and you hate yourself for it.

“Why are you a virgin?” he asks. “Sex is not difficult to find if you really want to.”

“I said all this in my–”

“I’d like you to tell me anyway.” He doesn’t do more than hold your hand and his warmth, the lyrical quality of his voice seems to calm you just a touch. “Please?”

He has beautiful eyes. He probably knows that, and knows how to use them. But you can’t help but get lost in them when he says ‘please’ just like that.

“I’m…I think or I thought that it should be something special, you know? I get that maybe I idealized it a bit much, growing up, eyes all starry with thoughts of romance and being intimate. But even recognizing that, I didn’t want to just…say yes to the drunken proposition at a bar. And…well, I’ve never been in a relationship, so being with someone I trusted wasn’t on the table either.”

“And why haven’t you been in a relationship?”

“It’s not just on me…the other person has to want to as well.” You’re beginning to sound like a petulant child and that’s not ideal.

“You’re telling me no one wanted to?”

You stare at your combined hands. “If someone wanted to, I didn’t. If I wanted more than just a moment, he wasn’t interested.”

He says your name and you look up. You aren’t sure what he’s thinking, but it’s not pity in his eyes. That’s nice at least.

“Why now? Why the company?”

“I’m…” You let out a heavy breath. “You saw my information. You know how old I am.”

“I do.”

“I’d like to know what an orgasm feels like before I get any older, because time seems to be running so fast and I’m frustrated that this part of life, of the human experience, is blocked from me.”

“It’s not.” He loosens his grip, turning your hand so it’s open, face-up, on your knee. He starts to trace along the lines there. “You can have an orgasm any time you want.”

“You think I haven’t tried?”

“What’s the problem?” There is no judgment in his tone, nothing but consideration. When you don’t immediately answer, he continues. “This wasn’t in your application or interview.”

“I get scared.”

To his credit, he doesn’t stop the light touching of your hand, even if admitting this feels like the quintessential ‘walking into your classroom naked’ nightmare.

“Do you know why?”

You shrug, completely focused on the chaste and sweet brushes of skin on skin. “I haven’t been to therapy in a couple years, but I can speculate.”

He waits, a quirk of a smile when you don’t say anything.

“I’ve probably built it up, in my head. Made it such a big deal that the anticipation is insurmountable. Or…I hate that it’ll just be me. That my first one will be on my own. I don’t know.”

“Or societally-taught shame.”

You laugh. “Or that.”

He finally draws away after your hand feels thoroughly seduced. He leans back, waits before speaking. He doesn’t seem to rush anything, which is both nice and absolutely maddening.

“Will it still be special if you’ve paid for it?”

That is the question, isn’t it?

“Maybe not. But at least, you’re contractually obligated to make sure I enjoy it, right? That seems pretty special after hearing everything from women I know about the men they sleep with.” The stories you’ve heard. It’s enough to question whether sex is even what you hope it might be.

“And that’ll be enough?”

You want to reach out and touch him. Trace the lines of his face; the strong nose, the dimples, the curves of his eyebrows and lips. Touch the dark hair, wavy and messy that contrasts with the striking facial features.

You could, you suppose. You paid for such access, right?

As beautiful as he is, as lovely as his voice is, and perhaps it’s because of those very things that you cannot be bold physically. Even if all you want is to be held.

“I guess it has to be.”

He nods and opens his mouth to speak, but your stomach decides right then to make the most egregious sound. He laughs, a full session of giggling as you heat in mortification. He stands and offers his hand.

“Let’s have dinner then?”

“Oh but.” How do you word this? “Is that good to do before–?” You’re an adult but you can’t for the life of you say ‘making love’ which isn’t even accurate. But ‘fucking’ feels incredibly crass.

He rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “You’ll need your energy, right?”

He’d know of course.

Some of the tension, the awkwardness, dissipates when you both look at the room service menu and order. Chris admits that spicy food is not his thing and you think it funny that this is the first thing you both have in common.

“Do you…do you abstain from alcohol because of struggling with it?”

He has poured you a glass of the sparkling sweet stuff you’d picked up for yourself. You were pretty sure he wouldn’t like it, most men don’t or don’t admit that they do. The wine, like this entire experience, is for you.

Your mind likes to tell you that you’re being selfish, but you’re choosing not to listen closely.

He sets down the bottle before gesturing that you should sit again on the sofa while waiting for dinner. He waits until you sit before doing the same. You note mentally, in all capital letters, that he sits closer to you.

“I generally don’t like it. Nor is it something I ever want to rely on…” He watches you take a sip and you find that a skill you tend to do well (drink something) is hindered by such an attentive gaze. You wipe your mouth quickly and set the glass down, looking away. “It’s my job. And I don’t want to do it with an inhibited mind.”

“Oh.”

“Can you do something for me?” he asks softly, reaching out once again to take your hand. You let him, hoping he will as successfully seduce this as he’d done with the other.

“What?”

“When you have a thought, like you just did? Just tell me.”

“Without a filter?”

He grins, wide. “Absolutely without a filter.”

“Why?”

He chuckles and starts tracing the lines of your palm and fingers. “How am I going to get you to let go if I don’t know what is going on inside that head of yours?”

“I was hoping you’d just shut it down for me instead.”

It’s a glint. A quick, but potent change in his eyes. “Gotta know how it works before I render you senseless.”

His voice has changed too. No longer warm, but hot. No longer lyrical, but sharp.

“It’s noisy,” you say slowly. “My brain rarely slows down or gets quiet. I went to a concert once, one I was super super excited about, and I kept telling myself to enjoy the moment, being present right then. But just telling myself that…”

“Means you weren’t. Present.”

You shake your head. “I’m going to overthink this.”

He nods. “Understood.” He lets his touch carry up the inside of your forearm and elbow. You shiver. He meets your eyes with a smirk.

“How long have you been doing this? With the company?”

“A few years,” he says, fingers still lightly brushing your skin. “It’s not my only job. It’s just the better paying one.”

“What else do you do?”

“Act. Or try to. I go to quite a few auditions, but the results aren’t great.” His lips twist as he thinks. “But I like it. I like the process of character work.”

“Do you do community theatre?”

“Some.” He grins. “You a theatre kid?”

“Once upon a time.”

He opens his mouth to say more, but there’s a knock at the door. “I’ll get it.”

“Oh but–”

He stands, hand out to keep you where you’re at. “It’s your weekend, right? Let me serve you.” The emphasis on ‘serve’ is left hanging as he goes to the door to retrieve dinner. You take a big gulp of your drink, unbidden images in your mind. You have no practical experience, but your imagination is as active as the rest of your brain.

He returns with a large tray, setting down the dishes with ease.

“Worked in food service?”

“Who hasn’t?” He returns to the spot next to you and rests his hands on his knees. “You?”

“Food service? Yes. I was terrible at it.”

He laughs before removing the lids of each plate. He offers you one, silverware in his other hand.

“Here you are, madam,” his grin is unburdened, very playful and bright. You could stare at it for hours. “Why were you terrible at it?”

You set your plate down, waiting for him to get his own food before you start. “Too many things to remember. And trying to interact with people like that? It was just…awkward. I'm decent with people, but for whatever reason, having to take their orders, bring them food and drink, figure out when is the appropriate time to bring them their check, just makes me awkward.” I shrug. “Also, murder on the feet.” You take a bite and chew, enjoying the flavors.

“It really is. Which is why I prefer to do my work lying down.”

You can feel the immediate heat in your face at his words and he laughs so hard, he falls back on the couch.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry. It’s such a bad joke, but your face.” He squeezes your knee again, before taking a bite of his own meal. When you don’t say anything, he swallows and looks back at you. “What? Cheesy jokes aren’t your thing?”

It’s the smile. The crinkling of his eyes and scrunch of his nose.

You lean close to kiss his cheek. “I just wanted to do that,” you say softly before pulling back and trying to focus on your food. You can feel his gaze as you take a few more bites. You know your embarrassment is more than obvious if he’s looking at you.

Finally after several seconds of silence, you make eye contact.

He smiles once you do, not saying anything, but returning to his meal. You both concentrate on that, the conversation mostly paused for sustenance. He refills your glass, but you’re careful not to drink too much, recognizing that you are a lightweight and you want to remember whatever happens.

“We can order dessert?” he prompts when each of your plates are more empty than full.

You lift your glass. “Plenty of sweet right here.”

“Can I try?” He doesn’t go for the extra wine glass still on the low table. He reaches for yours. It’s familiar, the drinking after someone else. You know it’s dumb to focus on it as you hired him for sex, but as you watch him sip it and stare into nothing as he ponders if he likes it or not, you feel the intimacy.

“Well?”

“I like it.” He hands the glass back. “Doesn’t taste like alcohol.”

“Which makes it dangerous and this should be the last for me.” You look back to your plate, not completely done, but you’re thinking too much again and you can’t stomach any more.

He stands and starts to clean up, shaking his head the moment you move to join.

“I’m not good with just…not doing anything.”

“I can see that.” He doesn’t have to seem so amused. “Makes it fun.”

Mock-annoyed, you take your glass and walk to the windows so you can take in the view. The sun has been set for at least an hour now, and the lights from the city buildings are plentiful. You take a few deep breaths, realizing that now dinner is done, there is nothing hindering the ‘just do it’ portion of the night.

You hope he’s okay with a lot of foreplay because you, in the little you know about your body, need a lot of build up.

The door opens and shuts with him setting out the dishes for hotel staff to retrieve and soon you hear him rustling through his bag. You turn to see him pull out a zipped pouch. He winks at you.

“Gonna brush my teeth?”

“Oh. Oh sure.”

He chuckles at your response, and you force yourself to look back out over the city. Then in an almost panic, you finish the last of your wine, set down the glass and hurry to your overnight bag by the king-sized bed. You dig through to find your own toiletry bag, and tug it out. He comes out of the bathroom, glances over to see you’re no longer by the window.

“I thought…” You feel so stupid. “I’d do the same.”

He smiles and gestures toward the bathroom. You hurry past him and shut the door behind you. You regret looking in the mirror as your face is decidedly not a poker face. Your nerves show in your eyes, the swollenness of chewing on your lips, the sheen of perspiration on your skin.

You wipe under your eyes as your makeup is smeary before quickly brushing your teeth. You soak one of the pristine white washcloths and twist it so it’s damp and not dripping. You press it lightly to your face, hoping the cool will calm you down. You fiddle with your necklace, pulling the clasp to the back of your neck as though that will make any difference in how you appear to him.

When you open the door, he’s standing by the end of the bed, hands in his pockets, looking at the two books you have on the nightstand. He points to them before speaking.

“Planning on doing a lot of reading?” He’s teasing, and that helps you calm down a little bit.

“I can’t go anywhere without at least one book. Even if the chances of getting to read are slim to none.” You mirror his posture, sliding your hands into the pockets of your jumpsuit.

“You okay?” he asks, voice gentle.

“Theoretically? Absolutely.” Your tone does nothing to confirm your words.

“Wanna sit with me?” He sits at the end of the bed and pats the space next to him. You hesitate. “Or we can sit on the couch?”

Dumb, you are dumb. The bed is the obvious final destination, but for whatever reason, the couch feels safer right now.

“Please. The couch.”

He gets up and walks over to where you are still standing. He slips his hand in yours.

“Come on, yeonin,” he says as he leads you back to the couch. He tugs you down next to him and you sit stiffly, hand still in his, other hand on the edge of the cushion like you’re about to escape. You force yourself to take a deep breath. “That’s better.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

You look at your hands entwined. His are, like the rest of him, really attractive; bigger than yours, veins prominent in the way that epitomizes sexy.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight. We don’t have to do anything the entire time,” he reassures you, making you look up to his face. “This is for you. It can be on your timeline.”

“But…but if I don’t do it now…I don’t think I ever will.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, presses a kiss to your knuckles, causing you to stare at him. “I think you’re psyching yourself out.”

“Oh, I am absolutely doing that,” you agree. “I can’t seem to stop it.”

He purses his lips in thought, then draws your hand against them again. He has to hear the catch in your breathing because he smiles.

“Let’s start with what you are comfortable with. What you’ve done previously. What you want to do. With me.” His voice drops at the end, and you feel it pulsate through your body.

“Okay.”

He waits, patiently. You pull your hand out of his and turn toward him, trying to relax yourself enough that you don’t look primed to run away. You tuck one leg under you before taking his hand again. He smiles as you do, slotting his fingers with yours, watching you as you watch how your hand looks in his.

“I like your hands,” you say softly.

“Yeah? Why?”

You like how his voice doesn’t betray any judgement at your words, or offense. Just curiosity. When you meet his gaze, you can see the top of his cheeks are a little pink.

Is he blushing?

“Well, one, they’re very warm.” You laugh. “I like the way they’re shaped.” You trace his index finger as you continue. “I know masculinity and femininity are products of our society, but they’re very masculine.” You shrug before shivering.

“You cold?” he asks quickly, letting go of your hand to tug off his cardigan. He has it on your shoulders, pulling it closed, before you can even protest. His white t-shirt underneath stretches taut across his chest and shoulders, catching your attention for a good few seconds.

“I…thank you,” you reply, burying yourself more in the soft fuzzy material. “I like this cardigan.”

“I thought you might.” He’s gone back to holding your hand, other arm propped against the back of the sofa.

His words spark something. “Wait…do you pick your clothes based on your clients?”

He grins, leaning his head on his hand, eyes sparkling. “You really want me to talk about work?”

“Okay, I shouldn’t, but I’m really fascinated.”

“Well…yes. It’s a costume. Some clients want a type of escort who’s very put together, like in a suit.”

The image of him in a well-tailored suit pops into your head immediately. “I imagine you look stunning.”

The pink spreads in his cheeks and you are beyond amused that this man, with the job he has, could at all be embarrassed by something as simple as a compliment.

“I…I have a few nice suits.” He clears his throat. “But dependent on what a client is looking for in an…encounter, dictates outfit as much as persona.”

“I wouldn’t have minded seeing you in a suit.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand before letting it go and tapping a random rhythm on your leg. “I speculated, from your interview, the way you looked at the camera, that you probably prefer authenticity over any sort of glamour. Someone a bit more real.”

“And that’s a cardigan?”

“For me it is. I was grateful I didn’t have to use anything in my hair.” He laughs now and you reach to touch his hair instinctively, caught up in the coziness and comfort of him and the simple conversation. His hair is soft, without any hair product. You can feel his eyes on you as you let your fingers brush through the strands.

“So…you’re telling me,” you ask, drawing back after another minute. “You are being yourself, right now?”

“As much as a person can be with someone they’ve just met. And hope to–” He looks up, searching for the word.

“To fuck?”

His eyes dart back to you. “Simply put. But I would like to imagine it’d be a bit nicer than that.” Neither of you say anything and you’re back to second-guessing yourself. “Hey,” he begins. “Come here.”

He takes both of your hands, pulling you so you are almost in his lap. He lets your hands fall to his shoulders, his own holding about the waist. The position means he’s looking up at you.

His thighs are warm between your legs, his eyes accented by dark lashes. You draw one finger down the length of his nose. He scrunches it at your touch.

“It’s big.”

You laugh at his self-deprecation and the underlying innuendo that was probably unmeant but who cares?

“It’s a very nice nose,” you reply, cheeky grin. He responds with his own smile. “It fits your face, so it works, right?”

“We all have our insecurities, right?”

You brush back his hair, thinking. “Some of us have so many it’s hard to see what’s not tainted in dislike.”

His hands tighten at your waist. “Tell me something you like about yourself.”

“Oh my god, you sound like my college counselor, who had me write five good things for every bad thing I said about myself.”

His smile is softer and one hand slides up your back, under the cardigan. “I’m asking for just one.”

“As much as it gets me into trouble,” you state slowly, your own hands mapping the journey of his shoulders to his neck and back again. “I like that I’m honest. That’s my default.”

“Another.”

“You said just one.”

“I did, but I’m greedy. Another and it has to be shallow.”

“Shallow?”

“Your looks.”

You frown at him, but he’s so pretty like this, looking up at you like he has all the time in the world, that he’s not on the clock. That this entire experience isn’t funded by your savings account and a plan months in the making.

“I…”

“You can do it.”

You slap his shoulder and he laughs. “Do not patronize me.”

“I’m not. I’m encouraging.”

“Please.”

“Another good thing, about you.” His hand that had slid up your back has now drifted down, resting right at the curve of your ass.

“My eyes?”

“What about them?”

“God, you are my college counselor.”

His smile is unrepentant.

“They’re nice.”

His expression morphs into mild annoyance. “They’re beautiful. I like the color. And how much they show. You’d be shit at poker.”

“I’ll have you know that I mask my feelings decently well in everyday life. I’m just tired.”

He nods.

“You’re not going to ask me to say another nice thing, are you?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

You lean down slightly, lessening the distance between your faces. His eyes don’t flicker away.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Maybe?”

“I like when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“Confident. It’s sexy.” His voice drops lower with these words and you belatedly realize that in your effort to evade having to say another nice thing about yourself, you’ve invaded his personal space (not that he looks like he’s bothered by it) and if this was a movie or any type of story, your next move would be to kiss him.

Which means now you’re looking at his lips. They, like everything you’ve seen of him so far (oh my god, you are going to see all of him at some point if this experience is at all successful) are beautiful, perfectly-shaped, enticing.

He says your name in the same low voice, a promised whisper. “Kiss me.”

You swallow nervously. “It’s been a minute.”

“All the reason to practice on me.”

He’s good at this. Softening a moment that feels like too much for you. Making you smile when you feel overwhelmed and doubtful.

“Use you?”

“Please.” His hand slips farther down and there’s no denying that he has moved to less than appropriate places.

You let your eyes close as you cover the last bit of space between you and him, your lips touching his so lightly it feels like a wisp of a daydream. He doesn’t let you get away with it though. Hand cupping the back of your neck, he keeps you there, the kiss lengthening and lingering in a way that brings back the shivers you thought the cardigan had dispelled.

When he draws back, your breathing is a bit labored. He caresses where his hands sit, neck and ass, watching you carefully. You expect him to say something, maybe about you needing some practice for sure, but he doesn’t. He just watches before moving back in.

“Open up, yeonin,” he whispers, and your lips part instinctively at his words. Eyes close and you feel his tongue trace the inside of your lips before sliding in to stroke yours.

You whimper and his hand tightens its grip on your ass. You run your fingers through his hair before moving closer. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s good at kissing…it’s probably a requirement of his job. But where so many can use their tongue to excess, he’s found the perfect balance of tongue, lips, and teeth.

When you decide to be a bit bold and nibble on his lower lip, his hand tightens, a sharp exhale.

“Confident,” he murmurs against your mouth before leaving it to press kisses to your jaw line, down to your neck. There’s a light nip and you gasp, your own fingers digging into his shoulders. He squeezes the back of your neck gently.

“Chris,” you breathe, and he draws back, looking up at you. His lips are swollen, pink and plump. The color high on his cheeks, his hair even more tousled.

“What is it, baby,” he asks softly, the quiet of the hotel room overwhelming. Should you have put on music? Isn’t that often the precursor to a night like this? His kiss on your lips is quick and almost careless. “Stay with me. I can see you thinking too hard.”

You half-laugh, embarrassed, loosening your hands and starting to sit back on your heels practically. He holds you firm so you can’t put any distance.

“Don’t. Don’t move away.” He rubs your back, soothing. “What is it?”

“I just…you’re right. I’m thinking again.”

He smiles, leaning in so your noses touch. “Kiss me again. You’re good at it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His smile widens when you swoop back in. He lets you lead, eager to taste him, eager to enjoy this moment without thinking it’ll end in minutes. You play with his hair, while he kisses you back, tongue curling with yours. It takes you a moment or three, realizing that his hold on your ass, tightens ever so much, ever so slowly closer until when you break from his lips to suck a mark on his neck, his hips buck right up against you.

And you freeze.

“Hey, hey,” he says, still in that soft soft voice.

“Sorry, sorry,” you breathe.

“Scared?” You’ve tucked your face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, trying to relax.

“It’s dumb. It…you feel good. It’s just…surprising. I’m sorry.”

He kisses the side of your head, the hand again rubbing circles on your back. “Don’t apologize.” He waits. “Look at me.”

You lift your head, your face burning with humiliation. He cups your face in his hand.

“Your pace, okay? If you’ve never been with someone, it would be a little scary.” He holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger. “But if it worried you at all, I do want you.”

You take a deep breath, watching his face as though there might be something to tell you he isn’t being truthful.

“You’re way too nice.”

He chuckles, kissing you softly. “I like being nice. I like being nice to you. I like listening to the sounds you make when you’re excited, how you move closer when turned on.” He stares at you with no shame. “I like that it’s me making you do those things.”

Your cheeks burn.

“Come on,” he says, and without any sort of visual effort, he lifts you. You squeak, legs wrapping around his waist. He’s laughing at your shock, carrying you toward the bed. You can feel your breathing shorten as he lays you down with ease. He regards you, rubbing one hand on your thigh that starts to relax, his other against the mattress, so his entire weight isn’t on you.

You stare up at him.

“What are you thinking now?”

“That I’m warm.”

His grin is infectious. “Probably ought to get rid of that cardigan.” He rolls to his side, gently tugging the garment off your shoulders, down your arms. You push yourself up so he can pull it from under you. You fall back, the bed bouncing. He waits for a second.

“Still warm?” he asks, fingers tracing the buttons in front of your jumpsuit. His eyes flick to yours. “We still good?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not entirely convinced by that,” he teases, leaning to kiss you just as he undoes the top button. You focus on the feel of his mouth, the wet heat, even as it leaves your lips, trailing down to your neck and then the middle of your chest as he undoes the rest of the buttons. “Pretty,” he comments when your bra is revealed by the unbuttoning. He looks up at you through his lashes.

“Pretty,” you repeat, tugging on the shoulder of his t-shirt. He laughs as he sits up and does the very attractive guy thing, of pulling it off from behind his neck. “Oh.”

He raises his eyebrows, looking down at his half-naked state. “I mean, I did have dinner, so…” There’s humor, but you hear the self-deprecation.

It’s instinct, you sitting up and reaching out to touch him. “The ‘oh’ was pure admiration, Chris. Like, you are stunning.” Your hands trace down his arms. “I…it’s a little intimidating, honestly. I know that for your job…both jobs probably…you need to look perfect…but perfection is daunting.” You don’t think that your hands are boldly caressing his bare skin, until you feel the top of his jeans at your fingers. Your eyes widen and you pull away as though burnt.

He’s giggling, grabbing your hands and placing them back on his shoulders. “Carte blanche, remember. God, you’re cute.” He keeps his smile even when the giggles subside, carefully nudging your clothing off your shoulders. He draws one finger up the valley between your breasts.

“I am not perfect-looking.”

He doesn’t look away from you, eyes heating at your bare skin, his hand resting on your arm. You start to pull away, fidget at the quiet and his lengthy perusal. His hand tightens, keeping you still.

“Chris.”

His eyes move up to yours. “Stunning.”

You don’t believe him, why would you when he looks like he does? But there’s something in his gaze that makes you think he believes it, and in matters of whether or not someone is beautiful, it really is in the eye of the beholder, right?

And he is beholding, currently.

It’s too much for you at this point, his acute focus on you, so you move in to kiss him again, more than happy to get back to the familiar. He returns kiss for kiss, and you fall backward into the mattress and pillows, his body on yours, a pleasant weight. When he leaves your lips this time, you think you’ll feel him against your neck, leaving marks; but the wet heat of his mouth encases your covered breast. The gasp you let out is barely audible, the sharp inhale of air. It sends a frisson through you, as his hand slips under the still open fabric covering your hips. The combinations of heat from his mouth and his hand overwhelms, and you can’t stop shuddering. You make some nonsensical sound when he proceeds to lavish the same attention on your other breast. The wet lace and satin scratches in the most indulgent way.

“Do something for me?” he whispers, his breath chilling your damp skin.

“What?”

“Since it’s new, use the stoplight system? Red means full stop. Yellow means a pause, perhaps take a break, and green means you’re good, not scared, not hurting.” His eyes zero into yours without flickering away.

You nod, breathless. “Okay. I…I can do that.”

“Cause I’m gonna touch you now, and you gotta tell me what works and what doesn’t.” He kisses your nose. His fingers sneak under your underwear, slowly like he believes you’re still skittish (you are, but you also want something down there). He’s so gentle, kissing you as he drags the pad of his finger along your entrance. “Color?” he says against your mouth.

“Huh?”

He lifts his head a bit more, smiling down at you. “What color?”

“Oh. Oh! Green.”

He chuckles, murmuring, “Cute,” before going back to kissing you. His thumb presses on your clit and your hips buck. “Easy,” he says, his other hand on your hip to hold you down.

“Chris…that…that feels good.”

He does the same movement again, your hips try, but his hand is heavy to keep you steady. “That?”

You narrow your gaze, even though you’re quivering with his touch. “You’re making fun of me.”

He leans in, smile as wide as can be, dimples deep. His nose brushes yours.

“Absolutely.”

You raise up to meet his lips, fingers seeking his hair. He hums, his fingers playing with you, as though seeking the destination immediately isn’t the point. You trace down his neck to his shoulders and arms.

“You know,” you begin, gasping when he slides one finger into you. His smile is so arrogant.

“You were saying?”

“I…”

He circles your clit with the barest of touches, his other finger curling up inside. Your breath hitches.

“Breathe, baby. Yeonin, you’re okay, just breathe.” His gaze is soft on you as you can’t help but close your eyes tight as the liquid pull of pleasure grows. You feel like a band drawn tight, seconds away from breaking. You feel his lips on yours, careful before speaking. “Don’t be scared, just let go.”

It ramps up, the tension building and building, and you are gasping, opening your eyes to see that his gaze is resolute on you.

When his second finger slips in, curling with the other, you shatter.

He licks into your mouth, as you have no voice to make a sound. You’re only aware of the sensations; his tongue on yours, your fingers biting into the skin of his arms, how your legs tremble.

How the quiet and ease flickers back into your brain after the quivers lessen, and the muscles ease.

His fingers are still in you, still touching you and you shake your head.

“Too much?”

“Yellow.”

He pulls his hand away, quietly adjusting your underwear. The hand that held your hip slides up to your stomach, warm and comforting.

You take a deep breath, finding his eyes. “Wow.”

He laughs, falling down next to you, no longer propping himself up. If your face was hot with exertion and arousal earlier, it’s now hot with embarrassment.

“That’s the best feedback I’ve gotten,” he says, his hand cupping your waist, so he can roll you toward him.

“I doubt that.”

He leans in to kiss you quick. “How do you feel?”

“Both exhausted and energized. I think.”

“Sounds about right.” He rolls to his back, looking up at the ceiling. You push yourself to your elbows, unable to look away from him. He eventually glances over. “Yes?”

“That’s not it, is it?”

He snorts, trying not to laugh too loudly. “Not at all. But I thought you might want a break.”

Your gaze moves from his beautiful face to his arms. “I remember what I was going to say before you…”

“Before I…?”

“Shut up.”

He’s snickering.

“I was going to say how it’s wrong that they only talk about curves in regards to women. Men have curves too.” You smooth your fingers along his arm, wrist to shoulder. “Just as beautiful.”

His snickering fades. “Really?”

“Arms…jaw line.” You trace each as you speak. “Lips.” Which part when your finger makes contact. You meet his eyes for a second before hoping it’s an invitation, slip your finger in. His lips wrap around it, his teeth dragging against the pad of your finger. “Oh god.”

He smiles before sucking then releasing. He sits up, finger under your chin so you’re facing him. He kisses you lightly, before toying with the last button on your jumpsuit. “I think we should remove this.”

As much as you’d like to see more of him, completely baring yourself is something you haven’t done outside of your own bedroom, and in a doctor’s office. But you can do this. “Okay..if…” You gesture to his jeans. “Equality and all that.”

“For equality,” he teases, moving to stand at the end of the bed. You follow, reaching for the button on his jeans. “You want to?”

“Yes.” You focus on your fingers working properly, though you’re still a bit shaky from your…orgasm. At some point, you are going to have to process through that. His hands cover yours. “I can do it, I’m just a bit jumpy.”

You feel his lips on your forehead. “You know, we don’t have to do this tonight. I could just eat you out.”

Your head shoots up in surprise. He seems unbothered by how casually he talks about oral sex.

“But you’re…” With your hands near and your attention at the fastening of his pants, his arousal is more than obvious.

“Yes, I am.” He doesn’t let go of your hands, even as you undo the button and pull down the zipper. There’s a strain to his voice when your fingers unthinkingly brush him. There’s a twitch and you find yourself fascinated by it. “But this is easily dealt with if you want. You’re still a virgin, but you know what an orgasm feels like. So, we could just stop–”

“No,” you interrupt, looking up at him, letting your hand stroke him through his underwear. There’s another twitch, and his face tenses slightly. After being so completely undone by his touch, you want to ‘return the favor.’ See him undone. “Please?”

Your hands are bolder, tugging down his jeans so you can cup him easier. He breathes sharply through his nose, head dropping slightly.

“You do not have to say please, I’m more than willing.”

You peer up at him. His eyes are half-mast, another edged inhale. You push down his jeans completely, letting him step out of them, kicking them away. He wears black boxer-briefs that are straining currently. You reach for them, but he wraps his hands around your wrists, halting you.

“No?”

“Equality,” he says, the amusement back in his voice.

Right, you still have your jumpsuit on, well, half on.

He lets go, moving a step closer so you can feel his body heat, smell whatever fresh cologne he wears, heightening his natural scent. He slides his hands between your skin and the jumpsuit, hands so warm you shiver despite not being chilly. Your clothing falls, following the journey of his hands, hips to thighs to ankles. He’s at your feet, looking up at you; those eyes so dark, you can’t see the warm mahogany.

You step out of the pile of fabric and he tosses it over the back of the chair several feet away.

You are essentially without clothing, your underwear (hand-picked for this weekend as you figured you might as well try something pretty) covering enough, but not enough. If he senses this, he doesn’t indicate, walking back to you and cupping your face in his big hands, tipping your head up for a kiss. You welcome this, the heat of his mouth. It’s been only minutes since he’s kissed you, but you crave like an addict who’s going through withdrawal.

Stroking his bare back has you humming against his lips (how could a back feel so good? But here you are). You can feel his smile, his tremble and goosebumps as the room isn’t exactly at temperature for as little as you two are wearing.

“Cold?” you ask softly. He pecks your lips before drawing back to make eye contact. His hands stay on your face, and you feel cherished, which a voice in your brain tells you is stupid as you’re paying this man and his company to make you feel like that.

He’s a really good actor.

“A bit,” he replies to your question. He brushes his nose with yours. “I’ll grab a condom.”

Your eyes widen, but you nod, immediately colder when he lets go. He sits at the end of the bed, rummaging in his bag. You grab something out of yours, your face hot with embarrassment. He looks over at what you offer.

“I…uh…did research and a friend recommended this.”

“Lube?” he asks, taking it and glancing at the label. “Okay.” He’s smiling at you, like you’re funny, which might be true even if you aren’t trying to be.

You sit on the bed, in the middle, a bit at a loss now that you have nothing in your hands. “I would have bought condoms, but there’s so many kinds and sizes and I was worried I might offend you with getting the wrong size. I wouldn’t even know.”

He looks over his shoulder, still smiling. “Tends to be a required thing I bring.”

“Of course.”

He, having retrieved said prophylactic, crawls to where you’re sat (the bed is king-sized and it feels monstrously large). He sits next to you, cross-legged like you are.

“Again, we don’t have to. I can get you off as much as you want without–”

“It’s weird,” you say, glancing at him. “Just talking about this. I’ve talked in theoreticals about sex my whole life and now, it’s just…it’s such a normal thing, right? Just this thing a lot of people do but I haven’t.”

He bumps shoulders with you.

“I’m sorry. I’m going off on a tangent again. I’m sure it’s annoying.”

He links his hand with yours, resting them on his knee. “I’m not annoyed. I like talking to you. And I want you to be comfortable and have a good time, not feel pressured or coerced in any way. We can talk all night.”

“No. I mean, that actually sounds like fun with you.”

His answering smile is brilliant.

“But…I want to. I’m just nervous.” You lift his hand, still wrapped around yours, to your lips. You meet his gaze. “I’m so glad you chose me.”

The fondness melts into something hotter in his eyes, pupils dilating. He eases you onto your back, kissing you softly, mouth at your mouth, then your neck and collarbone. You squirm, as he hovers over you, raising up to check on you. It’s criminal how good he looks, hair messy (from your hands), lips swollen (from your lips). He toys with the clasp of your bra, his fingers brushing the edges of your curves.

“Can I?”

You nod, your breathing hindered by how easily he’s wound you up again, with only kisses. He undoes the clasp without difficulty, gently peeling off the lace from your breast, exposing them to his regard.

With a glance at your face, another check in, he lowers to suck on one nipple, the feeling entirely different without fabric hindering. You hiss out his name, hands scrambling to grab his arms, something to ground you. His chuckles vibrate against your skin and you moan more wantonly than you believed you were capable of. He moves to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. Your fingers dig into his arms; you’ll leave marks.

You hope you leave some sort of impression on this man.

Once he’s done twisting you up, he removes your bra, tossing it aside before snapping the band of your underwear, causing you to jolt.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Please. Yours too?” Your words aren’t more than whispers. He smirks, before shedding his and tugging down yours. You stare, openly and blatantly at his nudity.

“I’m debating on telling you whether I’m average or not,” he teases, making you look away from his cock to his face.

“Does it matter? Really?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” you say, prompted by the visual you have.

His cheeks, already pink from arousal, deepen all the more and you laugh. He makes a face at you before moving back to kissing you.

“Aren’t you just trouble,” he murmurs, slipping the foil packet into your hand. “Put it on?”

You push yourself back up to rip open the packet, and roll it on him. You don’t draw back, fascinated by the immense heat he radiates, how delicate the skin is, even under the latex. He twitches at your exploration.

“It feels okay?”

“Feels great,” the words on a heavy exhale. He does, however, take your hand away, assisting you back onto the bed. “So…there’s a lot of ways to do this, and I would like to try them all with you, but this is probably the easiest for your first time.”

“Missionary?”

“A classic,” he jokes before his expression smoothes into something more serious. “You can tell me to stop at any time.”

“Green, yellow, red.”

“Exactly.” Moving himself, so he’s kneeling between your legs, he squeezes out the lube into his hands, warming it before sliding it onto his cock, and then to your cunt. You jump at the feel of it, but his hands haven’t forgotten how to play you and that build that you felt not that long ago, starts its climb yet again.

“Chris,” you reach out for him, shuddering as he toys with your clit. He leans down so you can grab him, feel that smooth back. His mouth attaches to yours, as his fingers circle, press and increase the anticipation. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his dick, intent because even with no experience, you clench; your body instinctively craving something to fill you. He curses at your touch. “No?”

“You’re good, baby. Hand feels good,” he reassures, lips and teeth sloppily moving against yours. “Still green?” You tense when you feel him at your entrance.

“Yes. Green, please.” You want so desperately.

He pushes in, incrementally. “Breathe through it. You have to relax.” He’s watching you so carefully as he continues. You stare back, he seems blurry right now. The stretch is borderline painful, but you still want it. Your hand slides to his hip and then his ass, where you grip hard.

“Color?” He seems so calm, but his voice is labored, tension coloring it.

“Green.” Can he even hear you? You don’t know if you’ve even given voice or just mouthed it. “Fuck. I’m so full of you.”

He curses again. “You can’t say shit like that.”

You blink away some of the haze, to focus on him. Veins bulging in his neck, and arms. “I can’t?”

“I mean…” He takes a deep breath, expression softening slightly. “You feel so good, but I need to be careful with you.”

“I do?”

He laughs brokenly at how pleased you sound. “So fucking cute,” he mutters. “I’m gonna move, okay?”

“Okay.”

He pulls back, not as slowly, but still with patience you can’t fathom. The stroke, how he slides against your core is delicious and strange and wonderful. He pushes back in.

“Feels good,” you sigh.

He hums in response, repeating the motion before chuckling. Your eyes shoot open as he looks down at you.

“What?”

“Helps if you move too.”

You’re already very hot from everything, but you can feel the blood rush to your face. He’s still giggling and moves to kiss you.

“You’re okay, I’m just giving you a few pointers. You can absolutely just lay there if you want. It’ll probably feel better though if you move.”

“I guess I’m a bit rubbish at this.”

“Nah, just learning.” He brushes his nose against yours. “No one is an expert their first time.”

As you clench and try to find a rhythm with your hips that matches his, “I bet you were.”

He laughs, strained but joyous. “I definitely wasn’t.” He keeps himself propped up with one hand on the bed, but his other returns to your clit, the mere touch pushing that climb again. There’s a moment when your hips align and you just know you did it right, but it’s half a second and you find you’re off again, especially with his attention on your clit.

“Chris,” you whine.

“You can let go, yeonin. It’s fine.”

When you break, it’s different than the first time, not as intense, but lovely and shattering. The rolls through you, tremors and muscles relaxing.

No wonder everyone does this.

“Stay with me,” you hear him. You open your eyes to see that he’s still moving, his thrusts more erratic. You squeeze him, out of some instinct you didn’t know you had. He groans. “Yeah, that’s good.” You don’t feel like you have much strength after a second orgasm, but you roll your hips and clench as best you can as he speeds up.

It’s fascinating to watch him climax, the tension in the neck veins, the jaw muscles tight, the furrow in his forehead. It’s a different kind of beauty, heightened by the knowledge that you, or your body at least, did that. He falls on top of you, his hands trying to keep his weight off, but you wrap yourself around him as he shudders from release.

After several minutes, when it seems like his trembling has ceased, you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. “Color?”

He chuckles. “Fucking green.” He kisses the top of your chest before lifting up to see you. “You?”

“That was really…yeah.”

He grins, boyish charm. “Good.” He stares at you for a few seconds. “You look a little sleepy.”

“Yeeeeah. Maybe.”

He laughs before rolling off and out of you. You wince at the loss. He disposes of the condom before tugging you off the bed.

“Did we ruin the comforter?” you ask, standing but a bit wobbly.

“Probably not,” he says, pulling the comforter off and onto the floor. He wraps an arm around you, at ease in his nakedness (your brain is foggy still and you just now are realizing how naked you are too). “Pajamas?”

“Yes…” you slur a little, exhaustion from all your nerves today, anticipation and worry catching up. He sits you down on the sheets before going into the bathroom. He returns with a wet washcloth. “Oh, I can…”

“Hush,” he admonishes, cleaning you up reverently. He tosses the washcloth on top of the discarded comforter and then goes to your bag and pulls out your faded t-shirt and soft flannel pants.

“I…I have a…lingerie nightgown in there.”

He shakes his head, coming to kneel in front of you. He slides on the pants, then the t-shirt over your head.

“Something comfortable. You can show me the nightgown tomorrow night.” He pulls back the sheets and gets you settled in. You curl to your side, eyes closed against the pillow. You hear him move around the room, the few lamps that were on turn off. It feels like seconds or days until he slides in next to you. He touches your side lightly, saying your name.

“Hmm?” you reply, before reaching to grab his hand and wrap it around your middle. There’s a half-laugh.

“Guess you like cuddling, too?”

You make an affirmative sound as he curves around you, his lips touching the back of your neck. You shiver and lace your fingers with his.

“Chris?” you say a few minutes later, the threat of sleep looming.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Thank you. I want to make sure I say it.”

He doesn’t say anything, but kisses your shoulder. “You’re welcome, yeonin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You can’t wait.

---

part two

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© yoongihan 2025. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

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nina-ya · 4 months ago

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Synopsis: Stuck in a snowstorm, you and Law have to resort to sharing body heat to stay warm. Who knew an act of survival could turn so sexual? Pairing: Law x AFAB reader CW: NSFW MINORS DNI, Hand job, cunnilingus, law is a piece of shit and ruins your clothes • ficmas masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

The snowstorm raged outside, the howling winds battering against the walls of the abandoned cabin as though the elements themselves sought to break through and terrorize you. Through the warped slats of the wooden walls, the cold spilled in. Snow piled against the single-paned windows, rendering any view into the outside world useless.

Inside the cabin wasn't much better– empty and run down, save for a broken chair, an upturned table, and a rotting woodpile too damp to be of any use. You and Law were in what seemed to be the common area, breaths fogging the air, and the absence of any heat source made every second a test of endurance. Law sat cross-legged on the rough wooden floor, leaning back against the warped planks of the wall, and you were across from him, crouched with an air of grim determination as you furiously rubbed two sticks together in a vain attempt to coax a spark into existence.

“You know,” Law drawled, his voice tinged with amusement despite his ever-growing coldness, “if sheer stubbornness could start a fire, you’d have the place burning down by now.”

You shot him a glare, blowing a strand of hair from your face as you worked the sticks together with renewed vigor. “Well, unless you have a better idea, Mr. Genius, let me work my magic.”

Law didn’t respond immediately, his gaze darting around the cabin as though searching for a solution to their predicament in the shadows of the corners. Then, without a word, he gestured for you to sit beside him with a tap to the space on the ground next to him.

You hesitated, glancing back at the desolate room once more, but the persistent chill and his expression boring into you left you with no other choice. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself and shuffled over, lowering yourself beside him and pressing your side against him. The warmth from him was a near-instant relief, though far from enough to chase away the cold.

“It’s freezing,” you murmured, tucking your hands under your arms for extra warmth.

Law shrugged off his coat and draped it over both of your shoulders as he stated as practically as ever, “Body heat. It’s the most efficient way to conserve warmth.”

With that, he shifted closer, his side pressing right up against yours, his heat steadily seeping into your frozen skin. You couldn't stop the shivers that racked your body, the icy tendrils of winter coiling tighter around you.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt and pressing against the warm skin of his abdomen. He jumped under your touch, immediately jerking away from your touch.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed, his voice more a growl than a question.

Your lips curled into a playful grin, the chill momentarily forgotten in the face of his reaction. “I already told you, it's freezing,” you started with a mock serious tone, fingers pressing against his warm skin again. “And you’re so warm.”

Each time he tried to evade you, you followed, your hands persistent as you darted around his attempts to push you back. He was rapidly shifting backward from you when something caught on an uneven floorboard, sending his feet flying in the air and his back hitting the ground with a thud. Before he could recover, you were on him, straddling his hips with a triumphant laugh.

With a soft, playful laugh you leaned down, lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Got you.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond, one of your hands snaked lower, sliding beneath the waistband of his pants, feeling the warmth of his pulse beneath your fingers. Law’s body tensed, his breath a sharp hiss as you closed your fingers around him slowly as if savoring the moment. His cock was already stiff and oh so impossibly warm against the cold air of the cabin.

“See?” you said, voice low and teasing as you squeezed lightly. “So warn…”

Law’s breath hitched, his head tipping back against the wooden floorboards with a dull thud. He muttered a curse under his breath, his hands reflexively gripping your thighs in a futile attempt to ground himself. His body arched subtly into your touch, his jaw clenching as a soft groan spilled past his lips.

“Fuck… So cold…” he muttered, voice strained. Your icy touch sent sharp, electric jolts through his nerves, intensifying the feelings your hand around his cock brung out. You stroked him slowly, drinking in the way his hips jerked involuntarily as you teased him.

“I can find a way to keep you warm,” you murmured, your voice teasing and soft. You shifted, leaning down so your lips hovered over his, your breath ghosting against him. “Do you like it?” you whispered, your tone dripping with playful intent as you gave him another slow, deliberate squeeze.

His response was immediate, his hands tightened on your thighs, nails digging lightly into your fleece-lined leggings. “You’re a menace,” he rasped, but the words lacked bite, his gaze locked onto yours with a mix of frustration and undeniable need. He couldn’t help but roll his hips into your hand to chase the friction, his inhale sharp and shaky. “You’re torturing me,” he breathes out, his tone less accusatory and more pleading, a desperate edge woven into each syllable. One of his hands left your thighs, opting to grab your wrist and guide you. “Don't stop…”

And you didn’t. Your strokes quickened, the slick guide of your hand drawing him closer to the edge with every movement. His body tensed beneath you, his muscles taut and trembling, as his breathing slipped into broken moans. The hand on your wrist tightened, guiding your movements more frantically as his need overtook him.

“I’m–” the words barely left his lips before his release hit, a shuddering cry breaking free as his body arched into you. His cock pulsed in your grasp as ropes of cum spilled over your hand and up, some splattering against your cheek, sticky and warm. You froze for a moment before laughing softly as you looked down at him.

“Messy,” you murmured, your tone dripping with amusement as you brought your hand to your mouth. Your tongue flicked out to clean your fingers, your eyes never leaving his. The sight of your tongue wrapping around each of your digits sucking and savoring his essence drew a groan from Law as the hand on your thigh flexed against you.

His hands planted firmly on your hips, sliding you up across his abdomen with ease. You yelped at the sudden motion, and before you knew it, he was guiding you until you hovered right over his face.

“Law--” your thoughts were cut off as he hooked his fingers into the crotch of your leggings, gripping until–rrrrrip. You gasped at both the cold air kissing your slick cunt and the sheer audacity of him to rip your clothes without an ounce of remorse or hesitation.

You opened your mouth to yell at him, but your words dissolved into a whimper as his cold nose brushed against your slick core, turning you to jelly. “Relax,” he huffed out. His icy lips ghosted over your folds and your hips attempted to jerk away from his touch, but his hands kept you firmly in place.

His tongue suddenly darted out, a hot, deft stroke that had you wailing out. His hands tightened on your hips, keeping you anchored to his face as he devoured you like a man starved. You squirmed against him as he drove you to the brink of madness with every stroke of his tongue. He groaned into you, the vibration sending your mind into a tizzy.

“L-Law,” you stuttered, your voice shaky as you reached for something to ground yourself, fingers lacing through his dark hair. He only responded with a growl, his tongue flicking over your clit before sucking it. You cried out, your hips bucking into his face.

He teased and tormented, alternating between soft, teasing flicks, and firm, deliberate strokes that sent bolts of electricity slamming right into your core. The wet sounds of his mouth working against you filled the space, each sound a sinful melody.

Your thighs trembled, and you began to rock against his face, your juices smearing across his lips and chin. He hummed in approval, the vibrations pulling a shuddering moan from your chest. His hands guided your movements, helping you chase your pleasure with a feral sort of need as if he couldn’t bear for you to pull away for even a second.

The pleasure was consuming you, your mind hazy and unfocused as you chased that blinding peak. But then, through that haze, a faint sound reached your ears. Schlick. Schlick. Schlick.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to look over your shoulder. Your eyes were met with one of Law’s hands wrapped tight around his leaking cock, stroking himself with a brutal intensity. His slicked hand moved in time with his eager might, the sight devastatingly obscene.

A breathless laugh escaped you, though it was half swallowed by a moan. “You’re so–” you began, voice trembling, “needy.”

Before you could say more, his tongue dragged a precise stroke over your clit, the pressure timed with a slow stroke of his hand. Your words dissolved into a broken cry as your body arched sharply, the tension inside you coiling impossibly tight.

He didn’t let up for even a moment, his mouth relentless as he alternated between consuming you whole with broad strokes and zeroing in on that sweet, sensitive spot that left you gasping for air.

Your body shuddered violently as the black snake of pleasure coiled around you, threatening to end you with its venomous bite. Your hips rocked with desperation, grinding against his mouth, every motion perfectly in sync with the steady pull of his hand on his cock. “Oh, fuck. I’m gonna--”

And then the snake finally sunk its teeth into you, its venom shooting right through your veins as an overwhelming pleasure ripped right through you. Your back arched as the waves of bliss crested and crashed through you, your vision blurring as you clung to the world around you, your body trembling and shaking uncontrollably.

At that exact moment, Law grunted, his release hitting with equal force, the pulse of his cock in his hand matching the spasms of your cunt. His honey spilled over his fingers and dripped onto his stomach as he groaned deeply into your sensitive folds.

And as you both trembled from the aftermath, Law licked you clean, savoring every drop of your essence, tasting you and making you jerk and whine out from the sensitivity of your recent orgasm.

When you finally managed to slide off him, the motion was slow, your body fatigued. And as you pulled away, a thin string of your shared fluids stretched between your bodies, fragile but stubborn, until it snapped with a soft pop.

You collapsed beside him, breathless, your body flushed and spent. It was only until now that you were able to take a good look at him, the way his lips and chin glistened with your juices, the way his chest heaved with each breath, the way his hand was still resting on his softening cock, coated in the remnants of his own pleasure.

Neither of you could speak, and neither of you wanted to. There was no need for words when the atmosphere around you was still sizzling with the raw intimacy of the moment. However, that bliss ended quickly as you remembered his earlier stunt of ripping your leggings. And as you perched yourself up on your elbows, face snapping to his with an expression that radiated irritation, he just sighed, knowing what was to come. Instead of thinking of excuses or remedies, he spent those few seconds of tensioned silence thinking of the quickest route to your thighs in order to keep your mind once again occupied with the thoughts of his mouth and fingers instead.

#nina writes~✦#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader #one piece x reader #x reader

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plutosunshine · 7 months ago

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Roasting your Moon sign

Emotional vulnerabilities of each sign

The Moon represents our emotional world, where all our inner needs, feelings, and weaknesses thrive. The Moon, especially the sign and house it is in, can reveal much about your inner world and what you subconsciously feel but cannot bring to the surface. Let’s explore together the emotional vulnerabilities hidden behind your Moon sign.

Moon in Aries

The Moon in Aries often doesn’t allow much time to process feelings deeply. A person with this placement may be inclined to react impulsively, even aggressively, to stressful situations or conflicts. This can lead to hasty actions and words they may later regret.

They want quick solutions and immediate results. Emotional processes that require time — like experiencing grief or considering forgiveness — can be particularly challenging for the Moon in Aries.

The Moon in Aries takes pride in its independence and often conceals vulnerabilities, not showing a need for support or understanding. This can lead to emotional isolation or a feeling that “I have to handle everything on my own.”

The Moon in Aries craves constant movement and novelty; monotony can quickly lead to boredom and irritation. This may manifest as dissatisfaction or a search for new emotional experiences in relationships.

People with the Moon in Aries can quickly feel “trapped” or restricted if someone tries to control them or influence their behavior. They may react strongly to any attempts to interfere with their personal space.

Moon in Taurus

The Moon in Taurus fears change and instability. This position endows a person with a strong attachment to a familiar environment, and any change can cause stress and a sense of losing ground. Such a Moon sometimes avoids the new, even if it would bring growth and development. Stepping out of the comfort zone can be one of the most challenging tasks.

Taurus is one of the most stubborn signs, and the Moon here can be very persistent in its emotions and attachments. Sometimes, this is expressed as an inability to let go of relationships, situations, or beliefs, even if they no longer serve or hinder progress.

The emotions of the Moon in Taurus are closely tied to material comfort, so dissatisfaction may arise when there is a lack of financial stability or material resources. This Moon placement can sometimes attach too strongly to the material world, causing fears and worries about finances and comfort.

The Moon in Taurus is often not inclined toward emotional outbursts, preferring calmness and balance. However, this can create problems, as you may suppress your true feelings until tension builds up. The Moon in Taurus often avoids deep emotional experiences, fearing they might disturb its sense of tranquility.

The Moon in Taurus may seek emotional comfort through material pleasures—good food, comfort, shopping. Sometimes, this can lead to excessive dependence on physical pleasures to cope with inner tension.

Moon in Gemini

People with the Moon in Gemini often prefer to discuss their feelings rather than experience them deeply. In challenging situations, this can manifest as a tendency to “talk through” or analyze emotions instead of sincerely feeling them.

The emotions of the Moon in Gemini are changeable, sometimes giving an impression of inconsistency. Such people can quickly switch from one state to another, which can occasionally lead to inner anxiety and instability.

The Moon in Gemini values intellectual communication more than emotional closeness, so expressions of warm feelings may come across as somewhat superficial. Communication and exchanging ideas are important, but reaching a deeper level can be difficult. Often, they rationalize their emotions, which doesn’t always facilitate emotional closeness.

Since the Moon in Gemini constantly processes and analyzes information, this can lead to mental and emotional overload. The tendency to worry and overthink can cause fatigue and tension.

To cope with complex emotions, the Moon in Gemini sometimes chooses detachment or humor, hiding their true feelings beneath it. This may create a sense of coldness or emotional unavailability.

Moon in Cancer

The Moon in Cancer often values memories, family, and roots. This attachment can become problematic if a person fixates on negative moments from the past, reliving them constantly and struggling to move forward.

Those with the Moon in Cancer are often highly sensitive to everything around them, including the words and actions of others. They can be easily hurt or take things personally, which may lead to painful emotional experiences.

When such individuals face difficult emotions or vulnerability, they naturally retreat and hide in their “shells.” This can lead to relationship challenges, as partners or friends may feel distance and lack understanding.

The Moon in Cancer is strongly drawn to people who provide a sense of security. Because of this, they may develop dependencies in relationships, becoming overly attached to a partner and fearing loss, even if the relationship is not particularly healthy.

The Moon in Cancer is inclined to care for others, sometimes at their own expense. This can lead to exhaustion, emotional burnout, and feeling undervalued if they feel their efforts are unnoticed or unappreciated.

Moon in Leo

The Moon in Leo feels calm and confident when others accept and appreciate its emotions. This can lead to a dependency on praise and approval, making the person sensitive to criticism or lack of attention. They may feel deprived or insignificant if they don’t receive the expected attention.

People with the Moon in Leo often tend to dramatize their emotions. They may exaggerate their experiences to attract more attention from those around them. This can create emotional outbursts and even conflicts, especially if others are unprepared to respond to such intensity of emotions.

The Moon in Leo typically prefers to appear strong and unwavering, even if they are internally feeling uncertain or hurt. This can make it difficult to acknowledge their own vulnerabilities and seek help in challenging times. The desire to appear independent and “regal” sometimes hinders them from sharing their feelings with others.

The emotions of the Moon in Leo are often centered on their own needs and desires, which can sometimes make it hard for them to understand or empathize with others’ feelings. This can be perceived as emotional self-centeredness and may create difficulties in relationships when understanding and support from loved ones are needed.

Behind the visible confidence, there is often a fear of rejection. The Moon in Leo is sensitive to recognizing its significance, and if it feels “invisible,” this can lead to intense emotions and a drop in self-esteem.

Moon in Virgo

People with the Moon in Virgo often seek order and control, which extends to their feelings. They may find it challenging to express emotions openly as they strive to avoid “mess” and chaos in their experiences. This can lead to emotional suppression, which may later manifest as inner tension or stress. Such individuals tend to be anxious and need control.

The Moon in Virgo often makes a person prone to self-criticism, especially if they feel their emotional responses are “imperfect.” This may express itself as a constant drive to analyze and correct themselves, which can be emotionally draining and lead to feelings of dissatisfaction.

Since the Moon in Virgo is dedicated to routine and order, it’s difficult for them to spontaneously respond to unexpected emotional situations. In times of emotional upheaval, such people may feel lost or confused as they are accustomed to stability.

The Moon in Virgo tends to rely on itself and often struggles to fully open up and trust others. They may fear appearing vulnerable and don’t count on support from others, which can ultimately lead to feelings of loneliness.

Internally, such individuals may fear depending on others or relying too heavily on external support, preferring to be the ones who take care of others. This makes them prone to taking on more than they can emotionally handle.

Moon in Libra

The Moon in Libra often fears being left alone with its emotions. Because of this, people with this Moon placement may rely too heavily on a partner or surroundings for emotional stability, leading to codependency in relationships.

The inner comfort and confidence of people with the Moon in Libra often depend on the opinions of others, making them vulnerable to criticism or disapproval, as their self-esteem is frequently based on external validation.

The Moon in Libra seeks diplomacy and avoids conflicts, sometimes hindering honest and direct expression of feelings. Instead, a person may hide their emotions to avoid arguments or tension, ultimately leading to internal stress.

As a sign, Libra tends toward long deliberations and weighing all pros and cons, often resulting in emotional uncertainty. Consequently, people with the Moon in Libra may hesitate on important matters, which generates inner instability and doubts.

The Moon in Libra values peace and harmony so much that it may avoid any form of conflict, even if it’s necessary for emotional growth or resolving issues. This can lead to superficial relationships or unresolved matters that gradually undermine their inner resilience.

Moon in Scorpio

People with the Moon in Scorpio often have difficulty with trust. They can be suspicious and find it hard to open up, especially if they've experienced betrayal before. This can lead them to keep their true feelings to themselves.

Such individuals' emotions are often extremely intense and sometimes overwhelming, making them prone to jealousy, resentment, and even inner aggression. Their emotions can overflow, leading them to introspection and self-examination.

Under tense aspects or other challenges in the chart, the Moon in Scorpio may manifest self-destructive thoughts or behaviors. These individuals can "get stuck" in their experiences, tending towards drama and intense feelings, especially when facing pain or loss.

People with the Moon in Scorpio often find it difficult to share their true feelings with others. They may choose to close themselves off, preferring to resolve internal issues alone.

Scorpio is a sign of transformation, and the Moon in Scorpio requires constant renewal and reevaluation of their emotions. Suppressed unpleasant emotions can lead to emotional crises if there is no way to seek self-awareness and spiritual growth. This Moon placement can lead to anxiety and a tendency toward depression if people with this Moon placement suppress all their emotional impulses.

Moon in Sagittarius

The Moon in Sagittarius tends to avoid deep emotional work. People with this placement may ignore their inner experiences, preferring to distract themselves with external events or activities that seem more engaging.

Instead of addressing emotional difficulties, the Moon in Sagittarius seeks to “escape” through travel, physical activity, or philosophical reflections. This can lead to a sense of unresolved feelings within. For the Moon in Sagittarius, it is mentally easier to distract oneself than to delve into and process deep emotional experiences.

Sometimes, such individuals are so confident that “everything will work out on its own” that they miss the opportunity to address challenging situations in time, which only intensifies emotional chaos.

The Moon in Sagittarius struggles with restrictions in relationships or life circumstances. Emotional instability may arise when they feel their freedom is being limited. At times, this can reach absurd levels, where the Moon in Sagittarius perceives restrictions even when the situation is greatly exaggerated.

A lack of novelty and variety can make them restless, dissatisfied, and irritable. They may avoid stability, viewing it as boring, which complicates their ability to maintain inner balance.

Moon in Capricorn

People with the Moon in Capricorn often feel that emotions must be controlled and kept under strict supervision. This can lead them to suppress their feelings, fearing they might appear vulnerable or dependent. Over time, such emotional suppression can result in anxiety and other challenges.

The Moon in Capricorn tends to incline individuals toward caution, especially in relationships. There is a subconscious belief that the world is a place where only the strong survive, making it difficult for them to open up and trust others.

The Moon in Capricorn fosters a strong desire to always “be on top.” Vulnerability is perceived as weakness, hindering them from expressing their true feelings freely.

People with the Moon in Capricorn often feel emotionally isolated despite their ability to appear independent. They may experience loneliness even when surrounded by loved ones as they struggle to reveal their true needs.

They can be very hard on themselves. The Moon in Capricorn strives for success and stability, so failures or deviations from their plans cause deep internal turmoil.

Moon in Aquarius

The Moon in Aquarius inclines a person towards emotional detachment. They often try to rationalize their feelings instead of experiencing them fully. This can create challenges in forming deep emotional bonds and hinder complete openness in relationships.

The desire for freedom and independence sometimes drives individuals with the Moon in Aquarius to avoid strong attachments. They may fear that emotional closeness could limit their freedom or force them to sacrifice their individuality.

The Moon in Aquarius is associated with intellect and abstract thinking, which can make it difficult for these individuals to understand or express their emotions. At times, emotions may be suppressed, leading to internal tension.

Aquarian energy strives for objectivity and fairness, sometimes making people with this Moon placement less sensitive to others’ emotional experiences. They may appear cold or indifferent, especially in situations that require emotional support.

The Moon in Aquarius craves recognition for its uniqueness but may simultaneously fear emotional vulnerability. This creates an internal conflict: the desire to be authentic while also fearing rejection for their unconventional nature.

Moon in Pisces

People with the Moon in Pisces often strive to see only the best in others, ignoring reality. This can lead to disappointment when their expectations are not met.

They easily “absorb” the emotions of others, which can sometimes drain them. This may result in emotional exhaustion or even depression if they do not know how to shield themselves from others’ pain.

Pisces are known for their tendency to escape difficulties. The Moon in this sign can amplify the inclination to avoid problems through daydreaming, fantasies, or even addictions.

People with the Moon in Pisces often feel that their emotions are “blurred.” They struggle to distinguish their own feelings from those of others, making them vulnerable to manipulation.

Due to their inner sensitivity, such individuals often seek validation of their worth from external sources. They are highly dependent on the approval and warmth of those around them.

Pisces have a natural desire for unity with others, and the Moon in this sign can evoke a deep fear of being abandoned or isolated.