#group messaging for iphone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kkochigomi · 1 month ago

Text

the ultimate guide to f***ing nomin

part one | part two

PAIRING: reader x jeno + jaemin

GENRE: smut, angst

SERIES WC: 35k

PART ONE WC: 21.9k

SYNOPSIS: DJ Juliette is over just being a DJ. She misses being a producer and working with artists but no one is biting anymore. She's living from paycheck to paycheck, so when MC receives a pink business card from that company, she should take it. But her fellow SHAWOLs are screaming at her and she knows better. So they send in the heavy arsenal wrapped in head-to-toe Chanel. This woman, named Lindsay Liu, knows she can talk her into it.

WARNINGS: dom!Jeno, switch!Jaemin & mc, PIV, DVP, cunnilingus, thigh humping, spit play, pussyjob, lots of sloppy kissing, deepthroating, rough sex, large... sizes, bisex, very strong language, threesomes, one reference to slight racism/xenophobia (very small inclusion, that character sucks, doesn't go into detail), CONVOLUTED AND CONFUSING AS SHIT, slight language barriers, hella campy/maybe even bad, mc is described as American and having a midsized body, explicit language and descriptions of sex, working at SM Entertainment, mc has a "stage name", Juliette isn't her actual name, let me know what I missed! (had to split this into two parts or Tumblr wouldn't let me post it)

+ dialogue and text messages italicized in their entirety means MC is translating them from Korean!

PROLOGUEˋ°•*⁀➷

Since you discovered your first iPhone had garageband on it, you’ve been drawn to production. Combining your passion with your– at the time– niche interest of k-pop, you garnered a little following on Tumblr making demos for your favorite groups. But as you got older and grew out of k-pop, you associated producing with that childlike naivety. So you switched to what your parents wanted.

Thankfully, you decided to ditch computer science in 2019 and do what you truly wanted, sending you deep into the underground. You weren’t the best or the most well known producer, but you could produce and you weren’t super expensive. As you worked your way through your bachelor’s degree, you got better and better. You became a little more sought after. Unfortunately, the underground was highly competitive. And you were sick of feeling like you slapped someone’s mother for asking artists to sign a contract. But luckily for you, you were being classically trained unlike most of the other producers you’ve met who are self taught. Some of them play instruments and know a bit of music theory, but your degree gives you a slight leg up outside of the underground music industry.

So you ditched the underground in 2022. With your knowledge, jumping into the overside of the music industry wasn’t impossible. But it wasn’t easy. At all. You barely got any bites. Unfortunately, in this day and age people have stopped chasing after being pop stars and realized how lucrative the production scene was. Most labels weren’t desperate for producers. In the states, that is.

DJing is fun. It’s cool… but you’ve always thought of it as a side gig. Good to break up any sameness. But lately it’s been your only source of income. And there’s nothing fun about living paycheck to paycheck. Or admitting your parents were right.

You default to an easy crowd pleaser as your mind drifts. A rapper you used to work with often hits you up every once and a while. His latest text being:

if you’re worried about Drex threatening to slash your tires, don’t even sweat it! you’re always welcome back

You couldn’t afford slashed tires then and you definitely can’t now. Plus, you’re hungry enough without competition. You just want to make art.

“Excuse me, Juliette?”

Right as you step off stage, someone calls out your alias. You’re thinking it’s management, so you turn around excitedly and await payment. Before you is a middle aged Asian man with thick-rimmed glasses. You don’t recognize him, but the smirk on his face reeks of upper management. A smile that can only come from someone about to pitch you something they’re confident you won’t refuse. More like cocky.

“...Yes?”

The man immediately launches into his spiel.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you worked with Flowra for a song on his new album, right? I’m Lee Sung-Soo, by the way. You can call me Chris.” He presents his hand to you. You did work with them, but they scrapped the songs you did together. Oh god, is this guy here on behalf of someone else?

“I’m not underground anymore.” You explain curtly, walking away. Chris awkwardly retracts his hand before jogging after you.

“Good! I’m actually an A&R director for a music label in South Korea.”

You freeze involuntarily. You hate to admit your younger self is squealing deep inside you. The you at the forefront, however, knows better.

“Which company?” You pose with severity. There is a wrong answer.

He does that annoying smirk again, feeling like he struck something. He speaks in Korean, but it’s simple enough for you to understand. When you started college, you were still heavy into K-pop and thought learning Korean would make engaging in Korean media much easier. So you took Korean 101, 102, and 103 before you realized how useless these skills were and slowly faded from the fandom. You still kick yourself for not studying Spanish instead.

“Are you familiar with Korean music?” He says, his eyes brightening upon noticing your lack of confusion. However, you note how he doesn’t say the company name.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Take this!” He presents you with a card that he must’ve had ready since he approached you. You notice the card is pink. You look up, plastering a big smile on your face as rage boils in your gut.

“Absolutely not.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

The week following your meeting with Chris, SM is all you could think about. You were having a battle with your inner naive fangirl and your reasonability.

Think about how many times they’ve been sued for mistreatment! I mean come on! This is SM we’re talking about!

You could meet Key.

You slam your pillow over your face and scream. It is simply preposterous how much weight that one possibility has. It’s not even certain! You turn to what you always do when you need to shut your brain off and let it rot, social media. You opt for Instagram. Though you rarely post, you need to keep track of your DMs in case artists reach out. It’s also your favorite place to keep up with celebrities. You opt to check your DMs first. Immediately you’re stumped by a name. Not because you don’t recognize it, but because it sounds so damn familiar.

Lindsey Liu.

Your knee-jerk reaction is to assume you’re thinking of Lucy Liu, but when you look at her profile picture, she even looks familiar.

lindsayliu Hey doll~ I’m looking for someone to produce a project I’m working on. I have my own professional studio, so you can just come to my place to work on it. I know it’s sudden, but how does tomorrow sound?

‘Hey doll?’ you think, scam detectors blaring. You click on her account, her number of followers dumbfounding you. Twenty-one MILLION? You don’t personally know of bot accounts that are that ballsy with their follower counts but you know exactly what to do to fact check. You scroll throughout her posts, checking all of them for their engagement. By the looks of it, her followers aren’t fake. You even spot celebrities like Jackson Wang and Bae Suzy in her comments. On that same train of thought you check which celebrities you follow are following her. You’re shocked to see you have to click on them to see them all. You check each of their accounts, too. Just in case. And also because you’re in disbelief. You realize then where you recognized her from. Pictures with East Asian celebrities you follow.

You don’t even want to get excited and share the news to your friends and family because they’ll just ask you who Jackson Wang is. You haven’t been in touch with a real life k-media fan since high school. No one in your contacts understands how cool this is.

You clasp your hand over your mouth, unsure what to do with this information. From your research, she’s the only daughter of a Chinese billionaire. As for what she does? You’re not entirely sure. Just a vague rich influencer. Half of her pictures are her dressed to the nines in some sort of low lit venue. She’s either accompanied by her girlfriends or a drink or both. This backs up what you googled about her being a party girl. A controversial aspect as it seems. As if most of the people criticizing her wouldn’t do the same with that amount of money. Scrolling through her pictures, you could tell you would be susceptible to a parasocial relationship. You find yourself trusting her, but you know better than to be a victim to another Anna Delvey.

Hey! I don’t mean any disrespect when I say this, but I want to be upfront about a few safety measures. A friend of mine will know my location at all times and who I’m meeting with. I also have a producer’s agreement for you to sign to protect both of us. If you need to arrange for a lawyer to look over the contract, we can push the session back. Or you can have the contract signing and studio session on different days.

As you typed out the message, your excitement dwindled. The possibility of this being a scam and her being scared away now seems more plausible after letting everything simmer. Of course you’re happy you’re not going to get scammed, but you’re also pondering the possibility she’s legit and is offended by the message. Still, you don’t leave the message thread.

She doesn’t respond for several minutes and you need to relieve a little of your stress. You turn the tv on and put on anything. You throw on a show people have been begging for you to watch but you’re positive won’t be your style. Twenty-three minutes pass, no response. You’re not exactly sure what you’re expecting, her being legit means she’s definitely not glued to her phone all day. She has the money to actually experience things you only view through social media.

Three episodes pass and you’re apologetic to everyone online and in your life you ignored about watching this show. You’re completely, utterly engrossed. So engrossed that you forget the name Lindsay Liu.

An entire season later, you sniffle and set your box of tissues back on the nightstand beside you. You’ve ignored your growling stomach in favor of being glued to the tv for long enough. You reach for your phone to order what you’ve been craving this entire time when you see the message thread. Lindsey had sent a message three hours ago.

“Holy shit,” You laugh, nose still clogged with snot.

lindseyliu Sounds good! I have a few more ideas to make you feel safer. We can do a video call beforehand and I can even show you my surroundings in case you think this is some weird new version of pig butchering lol. I’m sure you’ve already looked me up, but I can show you my ID to confirm my identity. I think signing the contract beforehand is great! In fact, you can pick a cafe or something where we can meet up. I usually arrange for my driver to pick up the people I’m meeting with, but I understand the implications of someone from my camp transporting you. Instead, I can send you some money and you can order your own uber.

lindseyliu Pleeease let me know if there’s anything else I can do~

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Lindsey is quite the character. When you’re texting her and in real life.

“I knew a lawyer wasn’t necessary, this is a standard producer’s agreement.” Lindsay lowers the packet from in front of her face and smooths it onto the table. She glances up with a small smile as she slips a rectangular clamshell case from her purse. She cracks it open to retrieve what you assume is an exorbitantly expensive pen. She taps it to the first dotted line, freezing with her brows knit together. She takes a quick inhale before asking a question.

“How much do you make?” She twirls her pen as her posture shifts completely into focusing on you. Your mouth snaps shut, puzzled as to what she could be asking. You look around as if the bustling cafe will serve you any clues.

“Are you asking what my rates are?” You slowly move your finger to one of the many paragraphs on the contract. “$100 for every six hours. It’s outlined in the agreement.” You laugh nervously. She did read it, didn’t she? She laughs as well, but hers is incredulous.

“And that is criminally low, but that’s not what I’m asking. Is there a reason you charge that low? Do you get so many clients that how low this rate is doesn’t matter?” She’s starting to look worried… or maybe that’s judgement. You shift in your seat, hand rubbing your upper arm.

“N-no… it’s actually the opposite. I can’t afford to charge any higher. Then I wouldn’t get any bites.” You sink a little, unable to look at her after admitting something so pitiful. Lindsay looks to be fighting a fierce inner battle. She looks over the mezzanine the two of you are sitting atop of, stroking her chin. Why your nervousness manifests into a dry laugh, you’ll never know. One slips before you can get the words out.

“Is there something wrong? I mean, you can pay more if you’d like.” You offer half-jokingly. Lindsey’s eyes return to you after that, looking austere. You clench your mouth shut.

“You know, Juliette, I didn’t reach out to you because I heard you were cheap. I reached out to you because I heard you were good– no, great. After hearing it for myself, I was flabbergasted that I didn’t recognize your name. Forget about money, talent like this deserves fame!” She gathers both your hands with pure elation in her eyes. You’ll admit, it’s rubbing off on you. For a split second, the most vivid image of you with a Grammy in your hands flashes in your mind. But then you came to your senses. You carefully ease your hands away and she looks at you curiously.

“I um… I’m sorry again if I sound rude but, I’m not entirely sure why you care so much?”

Her face softens in understanding.

“Right, and I’ll be totally honest with you. I’m very familiar with the music industry, but not exactly the western side.” She peeks to see if you’re following and you nod. She was born and raised in China, so it makes sense.

“I’m a little close with some of the music executives in the East and I often pick up on tidbits of information. I’m sure you’re familiar with Chris Lee?”

Your expression hardens.

Oh.

You push yourself up from the table and take a deep breath. Of course. It’s so obvious now. You don’t know how you ever thought SM would take no for an answer.

“What’s the matter–”

“I am not working for SM. D– Are you a k-pop fan? Hell, you have to be aware of how bad SM’s relationship is with China, for good reason.” The anger squeezes the words out of you until there’s barely air left to supply them. You were worried about getting Anna Delvey’d and got Lee Sooman’d instead.

“Hey listen, I don’t work for SM. Like I said, I only heard about this through the grapevine.” Lindsay is cool as a cucumber as she attempts to talk you down. She gives you a look as if to say ‘I know you know you’re being unreasonable’. It only angers you further, but when she gestures for you to sit back down, you do so. Not only because you were causing a bit of a scene, but because you do have some things to say.

“So, what, I was never getting paid? Was there no song?” You grill her but she stays calm, relaxing back into her chair even.

“I never said that. I heard them lamenting over losing you and I had to check you out. I’m sure you know that I’m a no good party girl if you did your research. I’ve been dabbling in music. You wanna hear it?”

“No thanks. I believe you.” You reply sarcastically and roll your eyes. You’re more angry at yourself. How many times are you going to be almost coerced into literally selling your soul to satan. She starts speaking again but you don't even look at her in favor of mourning.

“You asked why I care so much?”

That catches your attention and you side eye her.

“You’re absolutely right about SM. I hate them too. It’s the talent I’m focused on. You deserve to be paid better and the idols deserve better in general. Are you familiar with dearALICE?*” She takes a sip from her latte as she waits for your answer.

“... No?”

“Exactly. One of the members is a friend of mine. K-pop audiences don’t know they have a pre-release single out. People who don’t listen to K-pop don’t care. Focus groups are reacting negatively to every song DJ Rouge produces. They ended up rejecting Rouge altogether. James is worried sick about how the higher ups are talking about them. If they don’t find a producer who can give them a fresh sound that impresses the focus groups… James and his members might be put in the dungeon. They’re too talented for that.”

With that, Lindsay finishes her latte and stands from the table. You find yourself looking down at the lower floor now, immersed in thought. Lindsay tells you to think about it and message her before she leaves the cafe. SM putting an artist in the dungeon? Now that’s opening up old wounds.

You felt so helpless when it happened back then.

( *Nothing stated about dearALICE or any real life artist or company reflects my opinions of them or what state they're in in real life. It is just made up for the narrative. )

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

“I dunno… she seems strange. You can be an heiress and be sketchy.” Bloops and beeps sound as your best friend plays on her switch, laying like a corpse on your bed. What she says just blends in with her gaming commentary for you. You’re just thinking out loud.

“The song is bad though*…” You mumble through nibbling your thumb nail. It commits the grave sin of having an instrumental be the chorus and a bad instrumental at that. You’ve never heard of a DJ Rouge, but he oughta be ashamed of himself. The poor souls are even drowned out by the backtrack and compressed all to hell.

“I can do better…” You say a little quieter, unsure of where it came from or if it made you sound arrogant. You really, really could though. You got a feel for them as much as you could. Listening to any snippet you could find of them singing or performing. Getting a feel for their natural aura and the vibe SM had in mind. You were waist deep into research when the question hit you.

Why you?

Why is Chris Lee in your DMs, checking if you changed your mind? Furthermore, are you the only producer they approached? That’s impossible. A company of their size probably has so many producers at their disposal. This feeling reminds you of being in the underground again. You hate this feeling, but you glance over at your document, feeling pricks of excitement.

( *Nothing stated about any real life artist or entity reflects my actual opinions, and is done solely for narrative purposes. )

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

You blindly reach for your drink and brush against something. Multiple of something. Cans of soda and energy drinks topple off your desk. You look guiltily at your ipad propped up next to your monitor. The 3D man staring back at you smiles, oblivious to your chaos.

“Caleb, what am I doing?”

Just then, your ‘quality time’ session expires, the app prompting you to add more time or quit. There’s no need for more time. You glance at your finished project hesitantly.

Lindsay messaged you five days ago and you told her you were still considering it. Truthfully your inner fangirl broke free from her chains and took the reins. Any breaks you had from producing the demo you spent rewatching your favorite SHINee moments from when you were younger. It was like the emotions never left. Taemin, the love of your life after Caleb, isn’t under SM anymore unfortunately (more like fortunately). But your bias and favorite person in the world still is. There’s a chance you’ll never meet him, but the odds are increased compared to before.

You close ProTools and Love and Deepspace before rolling away from your desk, thinking about how to celebrate finally completing this project. Your heart thumps against your ribcage at the thought of busting open tumblr and reading some Caleb smut. It takes you a moment, but you soon realize how sad that sounds. Your reward is imagining yourself having sex. You sigh, planning to text Lindsay after you commiserate with your bestie.

I NEED to get laid

like… yesterday

You laugh to yourself, thinking of how she’ll respond. Either by agreeing or getting angry at you for reminding her of little play she gets.

Hey, sorry for the delay, how does Tuesday sound?

Lindsay’s phone buzzes and her acrylics clack against the screen as she opens the notification. She gasps lightly before the corner of her mouth curls into a smirk. She snorts, shoulder bouncing as they are kneaded into by her masseuse. Lindsay relaxes, sweeping her legs onto the living chair. If you’re having trouble with that, Lindsay has an offer that’s going to be hard to refuse.

She dials Chris’ number and he answers quickly.

“They’re busting my balls over here.” He rushes out, already prepared to scold her.

“Relax! I told you I would handle it.” She laughs softly into the receiver.

“You better, because if you screw this up for us, Mr. Jang won’t want to see your face anywhere near here. Your gambling? It’s a bad look.”

She tongues her cheek as she thinks about your message again.

“Hmmm, I’m feeling like raising my bet for dearALICE to 300k.” His silence on the other end makes her cover her mouth and laugh harder. “Oh, and tell James we’re best friends now, I’ll explain when I get there.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

TUESDAY

“It’s fine. I already told you! A girl’s gotta get laid.” Lindsay shrugs, struggling to suppress her smile.

This only makes you crumble further with a wail of despair.

“No, no, no!” It’s not being slutshamed that you’re worried about. It’s the soul crushing, utterly debilitating cringe. Your brain is distorting the message to be way more aggressive and debauched than it was and you wish you could turn it off. The moment your friend asked what you both had planned for Tuesday, your stomach dropped. You were hoping– praying to anyone that the message didn’t send. You weren’t so lucky.

“But girl! You live in Los Angeles! You can’t find a man?” Lindsay throws her leg over the other from the other side of her dining table.

“I don’t want a boyfriend, I just– NOPE!” This is the opposite of turning your brain off. This was the satisfying conversation you were supposed to be having with your friend when you sent that text. Not this embarrassing, confusing mess. You haven’t even told her about your demo yet.

“Look, do you want ice cream?” You don’t get to answer before Lindsay smiles at the woman… accompanying (?) you both by the table. She comes back with two tubs of ice cream with labels that can only be described as a graphic designer’s wet dream. You don’t even try to pronounce the name of the brand. You hesitantly grab the spoon like a child parsing if they’re doing something naughty. You glance at Lindsay who is already bringing a spoonful to her mouth. She rolls her eyes back with a moan of pure ecstacy. She points at the ice cream approvingly, nodding at you.

Well, if the ice cream is poisoned, at least you won’t have to feel the cringe any more. You peel the lid away and dip your spoon. Plain vanilla can only be so good. At least, that’s what you thought before the succulent ice cream smoothed over your tongue. In seconds you become an ice cream snob, because the cheap ice “cream” you bought at the store isn’t cream at all. This is what cream is truly like. You suddenly feel like falling to your knees and apologizing for the ice cream you made in middle school from shaking a bag.

After giving you some time to mingle with euphoria, Lindsay speaks again.

“I get you, though, about not wanting a man. I hate men.” She digs up a heaping spoonful as she speaks and you forgive her for lingering on this topic. It’s the least you could do.

“Love dick, though.” She says casually before popping the spoonful into her mouth. You blame the loud laugh that bursts through your lips on how loose and joyous the ice cream was making you.

“Huh?”

“Dick?” Lindsay cocks her head to the side, a much too innocent gesture for the body part she just repeated. “Love it! Can’t live without it. I just wish it wasn’t attached to a man. Or if it was, it was attached to Qi Yu and he became real for some reason.”

Lindsay looks like a goddess even now while pigging out on ice cream, so it stuns you that she has fictional crushes too. With how she looks, she could easily bag a guy that looks like the fictional characters you fawn over.

“Is that an anime character or…” Your curiosity takes over. You’ll eventually get to the demo.

“Oh! I mean… Rafayel. If it was attached to Rafayel.” She corrects before licking the back of her spoon. Your ears perk up but you don’t accept it at first. You jokingly say hot girls play Love and Deepspace, but is this hot girl actually playing Love and Deepspace?

“Rafayel?? Like, fishy?!”

Lindsay just grins at you, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh my– what level are you?” You don’t usually ask your fellow Love and Deepspace girlies this, but you need to parse how deep she is into the game before you get delusional.

“I’ve been playing since the game was released, so I’m at level 80. I’ve nearly gotten all the boys to level 100. I need to work on the two newbies, I’m a little behind.” She laughs and you almost bow to her when you remember she’s filthy rich. Of course her affinity is that high. Still, you can’t slow the fondness growing in your heart. This has to be a ruse, right?

“It’s so unfortunate most men pale in comparison. Everyone talks about k-pop idols who look like them but it’s usually not even close.” She sets down her spoon and covers her mouth with her hand, looking at you like she’s deliberating whether she should say something.

“K-pop guys aren’t really my type, but I met these two? I kid you not. It’s like being with real life Rafayel and Caleb. My two favs!” She squeals giddily and you involuntarily squeal with her. The thought of you with Rafayel and Caleb flanked by your side? Rafayel isn’t even your second favorite but you have a soft spot for him. The thought is enough to melt you into a puddle on her white, porcelain marble floors. You don’t know how she brought the whore out of you so easily.

You want to ask who so very bad, but she’s back to eating her ice cream. Dancing to indicate she’s just as blissed out as you are.

As the meeting progresses, you’re less eager to reveal your hand. Lindsay suggests you at least try it out, a trial period. You want to at least show dearALICE the demo and a vacation to Korea doesn’t sound horrible. But you know better, and she already lied and blindsided you once. What, one tub of ice cream and conversation about your favorite game and you’re just going to bend over and take it? They call it selling your soul for a reason. You didn’t ditch the underground to become chained to a soulless company.

One you know the troubled history of.

“I would miss my bestie too much. I’m sorry…”

“I’m not fluent in Korean.”

“I don’t have the money to uproot my life right now!”

These are the excuses you offer up in favor of cursing SM’s name for however long she’ll allow it. For some reason, you’re getting the vibe that she sees right through your excuses. She crosses her arms and sighs. The two of you had moved to her chic office, and you think that’s partially responsible for why this all feels so real now.

“I don’t believe those are why you don't want to move.” Her stare is intense, like she’s waiting to see you cave. You were right, she did see right through you. “Do you want to know why they’re so enthusiastic about you?”

Not exactly what you were hiding, but now that she mentions it…

“Yeah. It’s a little confusing.”

“They’ve been following you for longer than you think. I have, too. It was only after I heard SM wanted to hire you that I knew you were kibumberry.”

You recoil at the mention of your old Tumblr blog. She saw those horrible demos? Her and… people at SM?

“Yeah, I was a huge fan. Now that I look back on it, a lot of those demos weren’t great, but there was one from 2018. Your most popular one before you disappeared. Key saw this one and loved it.” Your vision of Lindsay smiling before you gets a little hazy. You don’t know if you’re getting light-headed or what, but that information just refuses to settle in your brain. Key? Kim Kibum?

“No…” You try to stay calm, stay reasonable, but your heart is beating a mile a minute.

“The fact that you were only eighteen when you made it threw everyone for a loop. Unfortunately, and you know how execs are, they thought you were too inexperienced and it was too risky. But it’s been seven years. I think it’s time you realize that potential.”

You look up at Lindsay with a twinkle in your eyes. Just then you see something in her’s, something that constricts your heart with fear. She smirks, a knowing look on her face. She sighs peacefully before driving the nail in further.

“Well, when I spoke to Kibum about this recently, he was a little worried about SHINee’s next comeback. Don’t get me wrong, he’s excited to finally work with you and maybe even release that song. He just doesn’t want to get your hopes up about anything soon.”

“Are you sure you have that right? He heard my work? From back then? And liked it? I-I don’t know, this is all too much!” You look to the ground, trying to make sense of any of this. Lindsay smirks again, obscuring her face with her hand as she lets out a small laugh.

“Oh, doll. You haven’t even asked about the pay yet.”

CHAPTER ONEˋ°•*⁀➷

“I never thought I’d have a salary, but it’s just too much money to pass up on, mom.” You have your phone pinched between your shoulder and ear as you fold clothes and set them into your suitcase.

“Oh I’m not worried about you having a salary. In fact, that’s ideal. I’m worried about you going to a different country. I told you this when you were younger. Baby, those men don’t care about you. All that fake shit they do to the camera is to get money out of you–”

“Mom, do you really think I’m uprooting my life to date boys?” She didn’t need to know that in that moment, you thought back to the two idols Lindsay was talking about. But who cares? You can’t even explain to her that the one plastered all over your walls? The one you stole her lipstick to litter kiss marks all over his posters? He’s not even where you’re going. “I’m going to fulfill my dreams. Focus on the money and salary part if you have to.”

“Oh I am! I just hope you’re not living in a fantasy, babe. Why did I hear from one of my colleagues that you named yourself after one of Shine’s songs?”

“Okay, bye mom!” You hang up, throwing your phone on the bed as embarrassment and anger fight for dominance in your chest.

It didn’t matter that everyone in your life was telling you not to do this. The tickets were already paid for by SM and you already have your apartment set up for you. It would be disrespectful. But also… and this is the part you left out when sharing the news… violating the contract you signed without a lawyer present.

You hurriedly defend your actions as dread starts to set in. Yes, as outlined in your contract, you’re officially starting a 9-5. And you’ll probably have no free time. And all of this is going to be hard to adjust to, but Lindsay is going to be in Korea a week after you get there. She’ll have your back.

Lindsay, who is on a private jet as you speak, is popping a bottle of champagne as everyone around her cheers. They're celebrating finally meeting the quota.

You’re flying economy eight days later, stuck in between a bickering couple who insisted you were okay sitting between them. You don’t know what you expected. You’re not Marshmallow, they’re not forking up anything higher than maybe premium economy for the likes of you. You’re not proud to admit that you’re already slightly regretting at least some of this. You pinch your nose bridge, cursing yourself for not having a lawyer look over that contract.

Your apartment is smaller than the one from home, and you barely take your shoes off before your phone buzzes. It’s your work schedule. You start in two days.

What have you done?

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

A week in, you’re sending a hysterical, long message to Lindsay. They have you waking up at five a.m. almost every day. Even on days where you just have to sit in a meeting that is only translated by one of the execs when he feels like it. You’re not allowed to be seen on your phone if you’re not on break. Not even to check your email or a text. If they catch you, they scold you like a child.

And worst of all? Your creative freedom is a forgotten dream. Your moodboards are laughed out of the room. Your bulleted lists are shot down. No, they have their own bulleted lists. You garnered the courage from your pure annoyance with all this crap to suggest that hey, maybe we shouldn’t drown out dearALICE’s vocals. You know, the core part of the song? What happened? You guessed it.

You were fucking scolded.

The money isn’t worth this. This is something you knew already. You told yourself this as soon as you decided to pursue your dreams. No price is worth forfeiting your vision.

You listen to your dearALICE demo again and again, mourning the loss of all your hard work. Your mind wanders to your last saving grace in all this turmoil. You switch to your seven-year-old SHINee demo. Would Key fight for your creative freedom? Or is that wishful thinking too.

Lindsey and who the hell are you?

You gawk at the message before groaning and throwing your phone away. She needs to figure out she texted the wrong number quickly so you can talk about this with someone who won’t say ‘I told you so’. Your phone buzzes again and you forlornly retrieve it.

Lindsey oooh em geee girl. lol i totally sent this to the wrong person. noooo don’t be discouraged.

I’m sorry, I’m genuinely wondering if I should cut my losses and just lawyer up to break my contract early.

Lindsey texts back at the speed of light this time.

Lindsey What?? OMG! If you need anything, let me know and I’ll help you out. Because you know how little of the lawsuits against SM were won! It’s scary…

I know…

This is just everything I stand against and I let my excitement cloud my better judgement.

Lindsey Yeah :((( you do what’s best for you!

Lindsey I almost forgot, I was just talking with Yizhuo (she’s a member of a newer SM girl group) and she’s a Love and Deepspace girlie just like us! I’ll send you her number

Ah, Love and Deepspace. You lost your streak for the first time since you downloaded. Every time you’ve opened it, you get scolded by Caleb for being gone for multiple days so you dread visiting him. Maybe playing it for a little will fix you.

Lindsay sends you her number, but you’re hesitant. You hate meeting new people. It would be nice to have someone to talk about the game with since your friend doesn’t play it, but it’s going to be so awkward.

You’re immediately sucked into the game as soon as you open it. Lucky for you, Sylus’ birthday event just started. You have a lot of grinding to do. You have to find the willpower to open the app when you get home and not just rot in your bed watching tv. Your dinky Korean phone sends a notification and you check it quickly, traumatized from the last time you missed a text from Chris.

+010 XXXX XXXX Heeeey! PLEASE tell me your favorite LaDS guy, I need to know.

This must be Yizhuo. Did Lindsay give her your number as well?

Hey, this must be Yizhuo? And my favorite is Caleb… haha

Maybe: Yizhuo AAAAAH WHAT?! Girl he’s mine! Lol, just kidding. But I think I can’t live without him :*) We even have similar names lololol

LMAO really? Me too tbh… can’t get through paperwork without him

Yizhuo Yes!! I prop him up when I’m practicing so we can exercise together

Halfway through the conversation, you call each other so you can talk while playing the game. You suppose it is easy to get along when there’s a strong common interest. You’ll admit she was a welcome distraction. You even successfully started playing the game regularly again. She says you helped her with her streak as well.

It’s not long before you guys start saying what’s really on your mind.

“If Yizhou would give me a chance I would wear him out good.” NingNing (as she told you to call her) hums like she just ate something delicious. You sigh loudly. Your vagina agrees. You’re a little scared to have a one night stand after the talk your boss gave at a meeting one day. He warned against inappropriate behavior and making SM look bad. It felt a little pointed at you, as you were one of two Americans, and the other one had been living in Korea since they were ten. You’ll admit you let an innuendo slip in the break room. Never had you experienced embarrassment than when the two other people there looked at you like you had two heads.

What if the person you sleep with finds out you work at SM? You have pictures from work on your Instagram, and you were told to follow the official SM accounts on all socials. If it got back to your boss, he would probably slut shame you. Or worse, you’d get fired and your mom would rip you a new one.

“Do you know where a girl can get a good dildo?” You grunt, selecting the ‘palm’ interaction with Caleb for the eightieth time today.

“The SM halloween party.” NingNing practically honks at her own joke before snorting into oblivion. You just sit there with your mouth agape. You never really pry into her idol life or what other idols are like. After producing for not only dearALICE but RIIZE and Mytro too, you get the sense their day to day is just as mundane as yours. They’re just as terrified of the higher ups as you are. Every time one of you gets scolded, you all just look at each other. You’re not going to lie to yourself and say you’re not intrigued about other things. Especially since you can’t get what Lindsay said out of your mind.

“I’m just kidding… or am I? Sungchan, where you at?”

You and NingNing immediately start screaming and laughing like you’re both up later than you should be at a sleepover.

“NingNing!”

“I’m just kidding! I’m just kidding…”

You anticipate what she’s going to say and say it at the same time.

“Or am I.”

You’re sent back into hysterics like school girls.

“You should come this year! The staff aren’t not allowed to do much, but it’s still fun!”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her since she seems so excited to have someone to talk about LaDS with, but you probably won’t be here that long. The longer you stay, the more your only passion becomes a chore. You didn’t used to hate the mundane parts of production, but they’re like a slog now.

I looked it up, and maybe I can get a settlement with them and maybe have my contract altered?

You’ve been working with Lindsay on what to do. You feel like she’s the only person you can be truly honest with. However, you notice her texts are getting shorter.

Lindsay hmm yeah that sounds rght

Sorry if I’m asking for too much, but could you ask your lawyer if that’s even possible? I’m grasping at straws here haha.

Lindsay yeah my lawyer is here with me, we happened to be meeting each other when you txtd. he says he’s surprised you’re trying to leave. he said so many people would kill to have this job, and that you should consider yourself lucky to have an easy job.

Lindsay i persnkly dont agree, but he’s saying waking up at 5am isn’t tht ba,d

You can’t help how your chest gets hot at that insinuation. Did he seriously think that’s all you were complaining about? It was a large factor, but that’s minimizing your complaints. You don’t even know what to say. You’re not going to argue with him through Lindsay.

His words linger long after you read them. Every time a group’s manager makes a rude remark or scolds you, you wonder if your frustration is unwarranted. If you should just be taking it because the pay is good.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t stomach it. So when the overpaid babysitter tries to tell you how to do your job, you snap a little bit.

He shouted at you for over ten minutes while the group watched in horror. You balled your fists and avoided his eyes at all costs, lest he see the fury in your eyes. You get home and slam your door shut, chucking your phone at the wall with a frustrated grunt. Are you a child? And what does he know about production? If it were up to him, the finished product would be filled with dispassionate performances. And you’re sick of the little jabs at your instrumentals.

You furiously type up a text to Lindsay.

Lindsay, I’m sorry. I want to help James and everyone else, and I’d hate to let Key down—

You stop as you type that. Would future you hate you or love you for this decision? Probably both. The unknown is scary, but what you might do to one of these group’s managers scares you even more. You don’t need to be in jail and all over the news.

— but I can’t do this anymore. I’m going through with terminating my contract early

It was only there for a split second, but you swore you saw a message from Lindsay only for it to disappear.

Lindsay Come see me on your next off day.

The true power of a billionaire’s daughter is having mansions in multiple countries. This one is nicer than the one in America, though. It’s clear she stays in Korea a lot more.

“Please, sit. I’ll have Misook bring in some tea.” Lindsay gestures at the woman standing by the wall patiently as you sit opposite her on the other couch.

“Misook, can you please bring some chamomile tea for me and my friend? Add a teaspoon of honey and ensure it isn’t too hot when you bring it over.”

Misook agrees with a warm smile and bows before doing just that. Then Lindsay turns to you and you get this feeling in your gut. A similar feeling to how you felt on the plane ride here. Something about her patient smile unsettles you.

“SM sucks, huh?” She squints and wrinkles her nose at you. You clench your teeth and smile, hesitantly agreeing.

“It’s just not for me.”

“Every time I get home from a meeting I feel like a ball of stress. Work stress is worse than regular stress, it’s harder to get rid of.” She lets out a lighthearted chuckle and you’re starting to understand your unsettled feeling. This casual air to the way she speaks to you doesn’t feel natural. And you hate that the thought comes to mind, but what does she know about work?

“Yeah, the tea is very thoughtful actually.” You both laugh insincerely. The laughter prolongs awkwardly, like one person is waiting for the other to stop.

“Tea won’t do it, girl! I'm telling you, I’ve tried so many things. The only thing that truly gets rid of the stiffness is good dick.”

Misook is back and you’re glad you’re both speaking English. She sets the delicate china in front of each of you.

“How have the men here been treating you? Same shit, huh?” She lifts the small saucer and teacup, nodding at you before taking a sip. You follow suit, delaying your response. You actually don’t like tea, but you’re hoping the calming effect everyone talks about is real.

“Actually, I haven’t had sex since I got here. Well, longer than that but you know what I mean.”

Lindsay slams her saucer to the table and gawks at you. “You what?!”

Before you could deescalate her energy, she is standing up and making her way to you. She sits next to you and gathers your hands in her lap. With a passionate look, she says,

“No wonder you’re so stressed out! Doll, you have to let it out! You literally work around hot men all the time!” She shakes your hands for emphasis and you slowly slip them away to lessen the sudden overstimulation.

“Ahem, no. None of them are my type, and—”

“And nothing! If you’re about to tell me you’re too scared to have sex with an idol because you could get in trouble, then you’re crazy! If anyone knows how to not get caught doing something they aren’t supposed to, it’s k-pop idols.” She stands in front of you like a hero who just rescued a civilian.

“And not only that, they are itching for it. When you have to sneaky link for sex every time, you start to have less of it. It’s exhausting! But it only makes you crave it more. Who is your type.”

“Well Taemin is my ultimate—”

“No. Someone still in the company.”

“Um… I don’t know. I—”

“Someone like Caleb? Strong, nice smile, dog-like energy? Unfortunately who I'm thinking of is a bit of a… package deal.” The look in Lindsay’s eyes when she glances up at you makes you wonder if she knows exactly what you’re thinking. Your mind goes straight to what’s been plaguing your mind since you got here.

‘... but I met these two? I kid you not. It’s like being with real life Rafayel and Caleb. My two favs!’

“Those two you said remind you of Raf and Caleb…” You start and she perks up. “They’re under SM?”

They very well could be. Before you slipped out of the fandom, so many groups had debuted. You just weren’t interested in anyone other than the groups who got you into k-pop in the first place. Still… wouldn’t you have at least heard it from the LaDS fandom? You hear about that one twenty-year old from that survival show group who looks like a baby Sylus, never a duo that resembles Caleb and Rafayel.

“Yeah. D’you want their numbers?” Lindsay’s phone seems to teleport into her hand as she points it to you.

“N-no! Do you know how weird that is?”

How weird this all is. Is she telling you to use the musicians you work with? If someone did this to you, you’d slap them across the face.

“Weird? They’re practically begging for it. I bet you’ve noticed how feral Yizhuo is.”

“No, Lindsay. That’s not why I’m here. I don’t use my access to celebrities to sleep with them, it sounds predatory.”

Lindsay's face pinches then, plainly expressing her disfavor. She straightens it out shortly after, tapping on her phone. You have no clue what she’s up to until your phone buzzes. You slip it out to see a link to download an app. SCR is the name of it, and it looks sketchy as all get out. You look at her questioningly.

“Don’t believe me,” she gestures at your phone, encouraging you to download it, “see for yourself.”

CHAPTER TWOˋ°•*⁀➷

To be clear, any group of people when using an app where evidence of what they say can’t be traced would say pretty racy things. Regardless of fame level or profession. These idols just have more resources with more restrictions to boot. Still, you’re not going to pretend these messages didn’t catch you off guard. Once you finally downloaded it, you were faced with UI that can only hint to some sort of malware on your phone. You couldn’t look at the app for long at first because it gave you a headache. The first message to you was from Lindsay. You couldn’t help but notice you never signed up, yet your full name is your display name. Lindsay’s being the same makes you feel at least a little more at ease.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Once you see this message, lmk.

You text her back, awaiting this evidence she seemed so confident about. Instead you get… instructions?

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Welcome to SCR! Wondering what that stands for? It’s pretty cut and dry! It stands for Secret Chat Room! It was created by someone just like you who was constantly surveilled and needed an escape. We apologize in advance for what the background of the app might do to your eyes, but you have to understand it’s needed! You see, this specific pattern causes a glitch in most phone cameras that warps any pictures taken of it. As for screenshots, if you have ever used snapchat you know you get notified if anyone takes a screenshot. The same goes for SCR. They are also strictly prohibited. Any screenshots taken will notify not only the users in that chat, but me, Kim Heechul, as well. We will work together to ensure the photos no longer exist. That will be a hassle for both of us, so let’s not take it there ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). Anyway, enjoy your time with SCR!

You drop your phone onto your bed and rub away your chill bumps. Why is this message so… threatening? He’ll ensure the photo no longer exists? You shudder as you lift your phone again. This is the closest you’ve ever felt to the deep or dark web or whatever it’s called. This feeling only intensifies when you see one of the groups Lindsay invites you to.

Cheesily named “Gossip Girls”, this is the only chat you’re in with zero idols in it. It’s full of all of the non-idols that managed to get an invite. This is a very deliberate decision, because all they do is gossip about idols. This is how you find out Yuri is currently… We'll say deciding between a few men. None of them have any clue according to this stylist. You learned about an orgy, some 4th gen idol getting herpes and then taking a sick leave, fights that broke out, and groups/members that have beef. Your heart races as you look over these career ruining pictures sent to the group chat. Drugs, sex, and just all around delinquent behavior. In just thirty minutes of being glued to your phone, you had so many public images ruined for you.

What they say is true, these idols are not who you think they are. You knew this, but seeing so much being confirmed in such a short amount of time winded you. You had to take a break. How do these girls do this all day? Then you felt it… that hint of exhilaration. You are (slightly) ashamed of yourself for opening that group chat back up to feel that rush of utter shock. It was then that you saw a picture of a once princely L from Infinite being very unprincely that you decided it was enough for the day. Your bingo card for the next one million years would have never included L snorting crack from someone’s asshole and you seeing it with your own two eyes.

“Wow…” You exhale shakily. Just like post-nut clarity, you feel extremely disgusted the longer you sit on what you saw. Not in them, in yourself and everyone spreading these photos and rumors. Isn’t the whole point of the app to escape prying eyes? That gossip girl group chat feels like reading gross tabloids or rubbing elbows with sasaengs.

You let days pass by without opening that god forsaken app. Thankfully there are no notifications for the app, so it was a peaceful separation.

This weekend is the first in a while where you and NingNing are both free. You flip a coin and decide the two of you are playing Animal Crossing today. You go from having a cute date to being stuck in a loop of whacking each other on the head with your nets.

“Ooooh if there was a fart option so help me!” NingNing growls. You cease your whacking as the most visceral image is triggered into your mind of L snorting that crack from a crack and since NingNing unfortunately mention farting–

You shout loudly in an attempt to force the image from your brain, tossing your switch like a frisbee to the other side of your bed. “Oh my GOD!” You screech like you just witnessed an unimaginable eldritch horror.

“What?! What?!” She sounds worried, but you can still hear the cartoonish swish and womp of her net upside your poor villager’s head.

“Why L??! Why?!” You wail in agony before falling forward onto the bed.

“Oh, right. Lindsay told me she invited you to SCR. I feel like it’s a… what’s it called… canon event for everyone to fall out of love with their favorite idol after downloading it.” She laughs crassly before stuffing her mouth with chips. She knows? She knows about this and she’s this casual? Your mind is permanently altered!

“You–! Did you see the picture too? Doing crack is one thing. Snorting it out of someone else’s ass is–”

“He did what?!” Only then does the whacking finally cease. You sit there, feeling like the physical manifestation of a question mark.

“You didn’t know?”

“How did you know that?”

Upon learning about gossip girls, NingNing demanded to be added. There was no way in hell you were making that decision so you redirected her to Lindsay. She immediately hangs up on you, only to call you back about five minutes later.

“So?”

“Check the group chat! Everyone is freaking out!” She laughs mischievously. You take a deep breath as you eye the group chat moving quickly. You shut your eyes as you press the group. When you crack your eye open, you see all hell breaking loose. The group chat is not happy about an idol being there, panicking about the messages they sent and the lack of an option to delete them.

“Is this what they’re saying about me?” NingNing laughs, presumably doing the same thing that you and everyone else is doing and searching her name to see how heinous the rumors about her are.

Ning Yizhuo`⎚⩊⎚´ -✧ oh… is that all you guys said about me? I’ll have you know, Sungchan and I did not date. We did fuck though ;))

The group chat explodes again, seemingly accepting another degenerate into their little club. Speaking of degeneracy…

You hadn’t checked the other group chats you were invited to. The first one you check is named “Scheduling”. A little vague and scary, but it turned out to be one of the guesses you had. An idol sends a message of when they’re free and, well, looking to score. They ask anyone interested and that meets the criteria they outline to message them privately, so the chat is full of requests and no responses. You see requests from lots of idols, but what you’re starting to gather from this and the next group chat is that some idols aren’t on this app, for obvious reasons. More importantly, SHINee is nowhere to be found. You can’t believe the disappointment that nips at you.

The next one seems like a general group chat with what must be everyone on the app in it. It’s pretty similar to gossip girls, with the exception that you see the degeneracy of the idols from the source. You catch yourself laughing at some of the messages.

“Oh! I almost forgot. If you’re on the app, you should join this one.” Says NingNing with her mouth full as another group chat pops up on your screen. “00-04z”.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Lindsey Liu꒰੭ believe me yet?

You suppose you don’t have a frame of reference, but this is a bit what you expected all celebrities to be like. But you haven’t seen, say, Emma Watson taking a selfie mid-coitus. But if you said you didn’t feel like you were introduced to an entirely new world, you would be lying. You’d also be lying if you said you didn’t look up interviews with every idol you find something out about to compare. That kept you up far past your bedtime.

It was 3am when you decided to open the chat NingNing invited you to. You felt like you were stranded in unfamiliar territory. It was filled with idols you didn’t recognize. You’re positioned back to when you were first added. The conversation continues without anyone mentioning you. Only for a bit.

Han Jisung⓪⓪ hey

Baek Jiheon⓪③ rock paper scissors?

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ are you in preschool? lol no.

Han Jisung⓪⓪ kids.

Baek Jiheon⓪③ come ooonnnn!!! T__T

Kim Chaehyun⓪② There’s only one spot left. We have to decide.

Han Jisung⓪⓪ fresh meat

Yoon Keeho⓪① ?

Park Sohyun⓪② huh?

Zhong Chenle⓪① where?

Yang Jungwon⓪④ Why would you say it like that…

Kim Suyeon⓪③ new member? Where?

Han Jisung⓪⓪ … the only member with their name in english

Your head is already spinning from the amount of unfamiliar names, reading these messages about you only makes things worse. You find yourself holding your breath despite knowing this conversation happened hours ago.

Choi Jongho⓪⓪ Can they even understand us? haha

Yoon Keeho⓪① AYE. You there?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Guys omg lol. That’s my girl friend. She’s ‘00.

Park Sohyun⓪② A girl????

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ yessss. another point for zero-zeros.

Jang Eunseong⓪⓪ Another point for GIRL zero-zeros. We were drowning :*)

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ maybe she could come lolololololol

Baek Jiheon⓪③ WHAT?!

Yu Jimin⓪⓪ She hasn’t even spoken yet lol. NingNing?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② She’ll come eventually. She’s a little shy.

Zhou Xinyu⓪② awwwwww

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Shy? ;3

Oh god, what was NingNing doing? She could have lied and said you were asleep. She’s not lying, but there’s something about being introduced as shy. Some people see it as a challenge. Those are the vibes you’re getting from this Jaemin character. Just from one text.

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Someone spell out the pronunciation of her name in Hangul

That ‘Keeho’ person does it, and you watch in horror as they speculate about your attributes. If you’re tall or short, what your ethnicity is, and as Jaemin put it,

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Is she as cute as you’re making her seem, NingNing?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Ha Ha. Yeaaahh, stay away from her you junkie.

As you scroll down, you notice that he seems to be very curious about you. Everyone is, as you’re the first non-idol to be added to the chat. You can’t help feeling like a carcass with several vultures circling overhead.

Your blinks get heavier and heavier until you drift into a different room. You’re tangled in red, satin sheets like the last tv show you watched. It feels nice, far nicer and more vivid than it should. You want to sink deeper when you feel a pair of hands on you. The hands sizzle against your cool skin, wasting no time getting under your flimsy slip and fondling you. You would be shocked if it didn’t feel so good. With two hands on your breasts, you feel another cup your heat. A strangled moan breaks free from your lips as you close your thighs around the hand. The first pair pries them back open. The omniscient sense that only exists in your dreams tells you that you know these two men. You can hear a dog tag jingling as the second one slips your panties to the side. If that’s Caleb, and this is your dream, the second has to be Sylus. But no, there is purple hair in your peripheral. Rafayel and Caleb… you feel lust skitter up your legs to your lower stomach. You bite your lip as a finger slips into your heat. You peer over at Rafayel as his finger slips into your mouth.

“Is she as cute as you’re making her seem, NingNing?” He turns to someone in the doorway. As soon as you follow his eyeline, Lindsay slams the door shut. You jolt from the noise back into consciousness. You peer at your front door as if Lindsay would be there, your skin still feeling seared where those hands were.

Your lustful bliss wasn’t able to ease you through your work day unfortunately. As your bosses and the group’s managers pried any tranquility from you, you focus more on the strange part of the dream. Lindsay’s eyes become more haunting. Your last visit to her house is all you can think about. Then you start to pick apart all the other times you spoke with her–

“Are you listening? Hey! This is fucking garbage. What the hell were you thinking?!” One of the A&R managers, Mr. Myeong snaps in front of your face before banging his fist into the keyboard. You can’t stop your hands before they lurch toward the keyboard to stop him. He screws something up with your project, so you just apologize, dodge his eyes, and reach for your mouse. He smacks it away, cursing at you. You grasp your hand, looking up at him in disbelief. Bad idea. He chuts and almost shoves you straight out of the chair. You stumble away, barely catching yourself.

He mutters under his breath, clacking at the keyboard and clicking the mouse like it personally affronted him.

“How many times do we have to correct you before you get it right?”

You hazard a glance toward the monitor. You gasp, covering your mouth as you watch him delete the entire project. He moves to your other pro tools files, highlighting all of them. You lunge toward him, grabbing his hand on the mouse before shouting for him to stop.

He rips his hand away, standing from the chair and giving you the most disgusted look you’ve ever been given. He swiftly raises his hand and you flinch, guarding yourself.

“Piece of trash…” He says under his breath before storming out of the room. Your heart thunders against your chest with each of his footsteps away from the media room. You don’t realize that you’re still guarding your face and lower your arms. You stand there, staring at your feet but really at nothing at all. You raise your shaky hands before balling them into fists.

The next two weeks feel like torture. You don’t dread work like normal people do. You prepare yourself for the emptying of your will and passion every time you clock in. Your bosses keep criticizing your messily tucked in shirt or mismatched socks but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore.

You can feel yourself starting to hate producing.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’re going to quit.

Lindsay keeps texting you, but even deciding whether or not to answer is another layer of stress you can’t afford. You catch a glimpse of her celebrating her card pulls and you feel guilt tug at you. It’s just too much. Admitting your mom was right isn’t half as bad as suffering through this job.

I’m going to miss you, NingNing :((((

NingNing Ughhhh, I guess we can still talk about LaDS but that’s already what I was doing before! I want to talk about LaDS with someone I already know IN REAL LIFE!!

You pout for her, sitting on the edge of your bed with the horrendous posture you’ve adopted. As you type your response, something hits you and you backspace it all.

Why don’t you talk about it with Lindsay?

NingNing Oh PLEASE. She would just tell me to shut up.

Why would she do that, you think. But you suppose those two do have a sibling-esque dynamic. You exhale deeply before lying back on your bed. Your legs draw together like they do every time you get home nowadays. Especially after that dream, you can’t help touching yourself as soon as you get home. You bite your lip as you slip your work pants off and your underwear. Lately everything has been arousing you. You can’t watch any movie or show with a sex scene or else you’ll end up rewinding over and over until you get off and feel disgusted with yourself. Men at work with tight pants, women at work with tight blouses. Everything sets you off. It’s excruciating since masturbating or humping your bed like you’re doing now isn’t cutting it.

Forget someone finding out you work at SM, you don’t even have time for sex. That, and there was something so sweet about rotting your mind to porn. Love and Deepspace smut was great, but you had to use too much brain power. With porn, you could just turn it off.

By month four of working at SM, you were a husk. The only thing that made something break through were the worried looks on the idol’s faces when they worked with you and the hurt texts from Lindsay.

“I appreciate that you’re finally listening to instruction, but can you please speak louder?” dearALICE’s manager pats you on the back before humming encouragingly. He was less upfront about his disrespect, and you can’t decide if that was better or worse. He didn’t understand personal space and his only mode of speaking was sarcasm and backhanded compliments.

Despite feeling like the puppet they always wanted you to be, you still received “notes” at the next meeting. The next A&R staff assembly included a portion about enthusiasm and the cons of having a resting bitch face. Basically they want you to be a puppet and be happy about it. That’s a step too far for you. They’re getting what they want anyway. They keep bringing it up until you’re being pulled to the side by Chris himself about your strange behavior. It’s not that you’re being a smartass, you just don’t have it in you to emote while speaking to him.

“Can you at least try to smile? D’you know how disrespectful it is to reply like an annoyed teen to your higher ups? Cut it out!” He shouts, through with trying to hide the fact that he’s scolding you on the side of the hall. Your coworkers walk past, looking confused and scared by the outburst.

You can’t catch a break from your coworkers either. To them, you’re an unenthusiastic trouble maker. Pretty much everyone in the building hates you. It doesn’t matter, you won’t be bothering them for much longer.

Lindsay seems more erratic this particular day, blowing up your phone to the point you have to put it on do not disturb.

You get home and the cycle repeats. You strip down, hump your hand until you cum, turn on porn to do it again, turn on one of the more salacious sex scenes you can’t stop thinking about to do it again. And right as sleep is cradling you, the dream is vivid in your mind. You think of the soft satin against your legs, the fingers in your mouth and in your cunt and you jut into your hand one last time. Then you drift to sleep, the exhaustion at its peak.

CHAPTER THREEˋ°•*⁀➷

No matter how many times your alarm goes off at five a.m., you always find yourself in a battle with your nineteen year old self. Because it still doesn’t seem real that you have a real job. With a schedule. And a fucking evaluation each quarter.

NingNing are you not seeing the gc? Lindsay just sent something CRAZY

You choose to ignore her text for one simple reason. It’s much too early to translate. You’re already grouchy from the impending evaluation, you’d rather just hurry and get ready for your first scheduled session.

And throughout all three hours of said session, your phone is buzzing into oblivion. You have to wonder if a cartoonish vein is popping out of your forehead when one of the members stops singing in the booth. You look up to see not only him, but everyone else in the studio staring at you.

“Juliette, if you need to excuse yourself for a moment to answer your phone, please do so.” Says the boys’ manager, looking unimpressed with your attitude. Embarrassed, you immediately stand up, bowing at everyone in the room and softly apologizing in Korean.

You rush out in the hall, half of you just excited to be relieved of the tension you caused and the other half is eager to mute NingNing and Lindsay. Both of them are urging you to check the gossip girls group chat. You search for the app, forgetting what it’s called since you rarely use it. The less familiar logo is grouped with the other messaging apps. SCR… right, you think, and what does that mean again?

You’re tempted to delete it since it’s collecting dust, but deep down you know exactly why you won’t. You pretty much pass out as soon as you get home, so you haven’t checked it. But you haven’t forgotten the new world that has opened up to you.

The group chat has over 999+ unread messages. You’re not sure just how much that plus is hinting at since you rarely open it, but you remember there being significantly less the last time you glanced at the home page. And that wasn’t that long ago. That’s when you see the previews of the messages flying by.

their shoulders are so broad, it gets me… this is so strange Lindsay, do you know their type? I wa… kinda horny now lololol I bet they only like really skinny girls… So what’s their size? Don’t leave us… i’d pay just to see it lol god they would KILL on onlyfans

… What in the world is going on? You tap the group chat at the speed of light. Frustratingly you’re positioned where you left off two months ago. When you finally get to what you assume NingNing is freaking out about, you see that it’s already translated for you.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Hello dolls, As some of you may know, I am moving back to Shanghai for the time being :*(. I know, I’m so sad! I’ll miss seeing your gorgeous, gorgeous faces in real life. Anyway, I’ve decided to leave you guys with a parting gift. Me being the only person to experience this feels like a waste. One of you has got to have sex with Nomin.

You gasp, hugging your phone against your chest. Your thighs clench on their own, feeling that lust creep through your bloodstream. God, not right now. The door creaks open and you feel your soul threatening to leave your body.

“Are you okay?” The manager peeks his head out, looking just as annoyed as he always is.

“I-I’m sorry, there’s an emergency!” Your face is sizzling hot as you lock your phone. His face gradually softens.

“You don’t look too good, you can take a short break–”

“Okay, thanks!” You rush toward a bathroom, any bathroom. Only when you’re locked in a stall do you feel yourself calm down. Your face is still hot to the touch as you unlock your phone. You have to admit, Lindsay really caught you off guard. God… if someone had glanced over your shoulder, you would’ve had your ass handed to you. Despite what their artists sing about and how they dance, SM is a very sexless place. Any innuendos or allusions to sex are strictly prohibited. A part of you felt like that was only targeted at you because you were American (not that you would blame them). But after being here for four months, you’ve gotten very used to the sterile environment.

You’re already so sensitive to anything suggestive. Is she joking? If she is, it is a little funny. You think to message her that before you continue.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Don’t worry, I won’t be jealous or anything. If you know me, then you know I refuse to be attached to any man lol. But you should know that they don’t just fuck anybody. From what they’ve told me, they don’t look at most girls. They’re very particular about the girls they seek out. If you ask me, that’s exactly why they barely have threesomes lol.

The first of many thoughts to surface is that Lindsay is clearly not joking. The next is a glaring question.

Who is Nomin?

You know better than to assume the k-pop industry debuted a nonbinary idol, so you’re not surprised when your google search returns two men. You’re also not surprised that you don’t recognize them since they debuted around the time you stopped caring about new groups. You recognize one of the names, you figure it must be from one of the group chats. They’re handsome, though. Very much so. They’re both charming in their own way, and you can see why they’re paired up. The vibes are reminiscent of the classic cat/dog dynamic you’ve seen. You tap your index finger against your lips as you sift through the images. They have nice physiques. They’re okay, I’ll always be a Taemin girl, though. You spin your ring mindlessly, unable to tear your eyes away from Jeno’s bare torso.

Right, the message.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Here, I’ve compiled for you the steps to attempt to get Nomin’s attention. Just to get it out of the way because it's obvious, you have to be up for a threesome. Even I couldn’t get one of them alone. Also, no idols. Upsetting one fandom is already horrifying, upsetting two is just reckless. Anyway, Tip One: - Don’t try so hard. If you look as good as they do, you get suitors constantly. And having to constantly deal with loud and unsubtle people is annoying. Besides, no one likes desperation. Tip Two: - If you’re going to change up your style and approach, don’t lay it on thick in either direction. Don’t become a BDSM dungeon master with your breasts practically falling out of your shirt. I bet you would look great, but you’d be ignoring tip one. But don’t put on that weird demure act either. If you’re covered head to toe and pretend to be sex averse, how are they supposed to know you want to fuck them? - (extra hint: dress casually, but give them something to… you know. A shirt just tight enough or a skirt just short enough they think their dirty thoughts were their own fault. Just off the top of my head, something like a graphic tee that’s slightly cropped with high waisted jeans that cover your midriff. Make sure the shirt hugs you just right 😉)

You laugh to yourself. Graphic tee she says. She could’ve just said t-shirt, but she’s making it very obvious. Perhaps on purpose. You pinch your jacket closed as if someone can see you right now. You’re wearing the same shirt you had on when you met her, now that you think about it.

Tip Three: - A quick Do & Don’t for you: DON’T pretend to be their biggest fan. Name a single idol who has dated a fan. Exactly. DO become the best fan fiction character you can be. And I mean best. Don’t go to their concert and read a book, that’s ignoring tip one again. Don’t say you hate their music or hate boy groups. Subtler. Say you love boy groups. Hell, say you love SM groups… but you’re not very familiar with new ones. Throw an older group out there like I don’t know… SHINee. I think that’s why they reached out to me, being a 2PM fan and all. I wouldn’t have even looked their way on my own and I think that excited them.

That tip is the final straw for you. That one message was correct, this is strange. If she wanted to recommend you… have sex with those two, why wouldn’t she just message you? And are they even aware of all this? It all rubs you the wrong way and you start to text her exactly that. Lindsay beats you to it, though.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Have you read the group chat at all?

Yes, what the hell.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ What did you think of the tips ;)

Lindsay. Don’t you think this is a little inappropriate?

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Hey, I said they don’t like the innocent act.

I’m not participating in this! It feels icky. Am I crazy?

You exit out of her chat to message NingNing the same thing. You can’t be going crazy. This is weird. You fan yourself and exhale.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ A little!! :D

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ They’re already texting me that they’re going to be so lonely and horny when I leave… they may even have to play with each other to cope…

My GOD Lindsay.

You swipe the messenger away entirely, only noticing then how hard your heart is beating. You close your eyes and your mind immediately betrays you and paints the images you saw of Jeno and Jaemin together vividly. You ease onto the toilet, hands pressing against the stall on either side of you. The images refuse to cease and you let your thighs squeeze just a little.

Your phone buzzes and you send a ball of saliva back to roll down your parched throat before opening the app again.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Last time I checked on you, you told me you haven’t been getting any play recently. They’re going to be in the same boat soon.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Remember what I told you? Idols have to be picky about who they sleep with and how often they do it. I know you’re thinking about quitting because this job isn’t what you saw yourself doing, but you aren’t utilizing the perks, doll </3 !

The perks? Your perks are a discount at the SM cafe, 15 days of paid time off per year, a free bus pass, and making your passion your job. Getting closer to celebrities so you can fuck them sounds like something scumbag villains in Kdramas do.

No, this is wrong. There’s something about Lindsay that just feels off. You think back to that picture she sent you. You scroll through all her unanswered texts to you until you see it. She sent two pics, one of the five star card she pulled and the other of all ten cards. Why does NingNing feel she has no one to talk about Love and Deepspace with?

You reverse image search her pictures and it pulls up a reddit post. It’s the exact same freeze frame from the video that plays when you pull that card. And the ten pulls are identical.

NingNing Oh it’s absoLUTELY weird. But I wouldn’t put it past those two to be that freaked out.

NingNing Whatever you do, don’t tell 00-04z about this. It’ll be our little secret.

NingNing It’s going to be funny to see everyone try and fail to seduce them lol

Each of NingNing’s messages slide down at the top of your screen, replacing the previous. You completely forgot about that group chat. Jaemin…

Is she as cute as you’re making her seem, NingNing?

You hurry back to the recording room, apologizing and bowing 90 degrees to everyone in the room.

“Get over there already. How long are you going to make everyone wait?”

“I’m so sorry.” You say as you skitter over to the mixing desk. As soon as your thighs press against the seat and push against your vulva, you clench your thigh tighter, unable to stop yourself.

The minute you get home, you fumble with your keys trying to get in as fast as you can. You burst through the door and throw your purse off before practically ripping your clothes off. You don’t have to wait until you’re close to sleeping for that dream to appear behind your eyelids today. It’s all you could think about once you put a face to those words you’ve been replaying in your brain. You have another face now, too. You whimper as you stroke your aching clit. You replace Rafayel and Caleb with these new faces. It’s so wrong, but you can’t help yourself. It feels like the dream finally progressed. You have something to put in you other than fingers. Two things you want to shove anywhere they’ll fit.

You shove your face into the covers as a despaired moan is pulled from your body. Cum oozes over your fingers as you continue to hammer them into your throbbing hole. You cum five times until you have nothing else left and your poor nub starts to hurt. Only then does the guilt truly set in. Are these two meant to be the Caleb and Rafayel duo? They look nothing like them. And which is which? You laugh to yourself, mental and physical exhaustion dragging you to hysterics.

She got you.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Every time NingNing tries to talk to you, you get distracted by the people with huge, hulking cameras following you.

“The guys are– ignore them. They follow me everywhere.” NingNing seems completely unbothered when she mentions that, but it sure bothers you. Even with her bodyguard following close behind. It takes her a few more tries to get your attention.

“Hey!! Everyone in the 00-04 group chat is confused. I invited someone and they don’t even speak in the group chat. You’re making both of us look weird!” She nudges you, her Americano jostling in her hand. You don’t know how to tell her that you’re terrified to open it after you came to the thought of Jaemin and Jeno on three separate occasions now. You don’t even know them from a can of paint but you’ve imagined them in every possible position.

“I dunno, it feels awkward.” You speak low and lean a little closer, unnerved by the amount of people looking at the two of you.

“They’ll love you! They’re already excited to meet you! Especially Jaemin, idiot won’t stop bringing you up.” She mutters the last part, clearly not the biggest fan. You hurriedly sip your latte to hide any suspicious facial expressions.

“J-Jaemin?” You sputter after swallowing your drink haphazardly. Great going, genius.

“Yeah, ugh. Anyway, if you were in the group chat, you’d know we were planning to go to Switzerland in December. We have a huge chalet booked because we intended for twenty people to come, and we even got twenty multi-day passes for skiing. Long story short, too many people dropped out for comfort so we’re kinda scrambling. Are you interested?” NingNing looks over just in time to catch the twinkle in your eyes. She laughs mischievously as you try to fix your face. You’re not the biggest fan of going somewhere colder for vacation, but any vacation sounds good right now.

“How long are we gonna be there? Did you already buy plane tickets? What day in December should we–”

“My GOD girl! I’m guessing that’s a yes. Since we’re leaving the country we’re thinking two weeks. Is that good?”

You peer over at NingNing, a smile slowly fading in for both of you.

“Tell me more.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Michelle link

Michelle Happy to see you’re doing well. Would’ve loved to hear this directly from you but you barely speak to me anymore.

Of all the consequences of you going all in on work, losing your best friend was the hardest one. You didn’t realize you favored texting or calling NingNing about one of your many shared interests over reaching out to your friend until she sent you that. You cautiously click on the chat, knowing that your read receipts are on and you’ll have to answer as a consequence of wanting to know what that link is.

Underground Producer Juliette spotted with aespa’s NingNing Coming From a Coffee Shop. Fans Speculate Over a Possible Solo Project For The Idol

Will that always be your title? How long has it been since you left the underground?

Those were your initial thoughts until this article kept coming back to haunt you. It was shared in three out of four of the group chats you were in. You’re getting more DMs from artists than you ever have (long after you needed them). You, of course, were scolded at work. And you have your first direct message on SCR that isn’t from NingNing or Lindsay.

Na Jaemin Is that you with NingNing in that picture 👀

You immediately ignore the message. Your excitement is simply too great to handle right now. You can’t have him sensing your sins.

Instead, you finally hazard a glance of the 00-04z group chat.

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Ooouuuu she’s cute :3

Jung Sungchan⓪① how do we even know that’s her

Jung Sungchan⓪① the article says juliette

Choi Beomgyu⓪① tha’ts her stge name dumbass

Huh Yunjin⓪① Learn how to spell b4 calling someone else a dumbass lmaooo

Bae Jinsol⓪④ idk if this is inappropriate to say, y’all will let me know anyway lol but her clothes fit her just right

Park Sohyun⓪② JUST right

Park Sunghoon⓪② oh here cum the lesbians

Park Sohyun⓪② Sunghoon’s just mad Xinyu rejected him for me lolololol

Yoon Sangah⓪② lolololol

Oh Haewon⓪③ lolololol

Shen Quanrui⓪④ lolololol

Kim Sunoo⓪③ lolololol

Park Sunghoon⓪② Sunoo whose side are you on??

Kim Sunoo⓪③ … the gays? tf

Jake Sim⓪② Just saw the pic y’all are talking about… that’s my type haha

Baek Jiheon⓪③ And what is that (,,◕.◕,,)

Jake Sim⓪② Not stick thin😏 I like some meat on the bone

Baek Jiheon⓪③ (ಠ⌣ಠ)

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Now y’all are speaking my language lol who are we talking about

Zhong Chenle⓪① you never come in here and when you do you refuse to scroll up smh

Everyone reacts in shock to his message, including you. This is your first time seeing his name outside of a search bar. Every time you tell yourself to stop picturing these poor men in indecent situations you feel it more vividly. Jeno’s sweaty chest as he ruts into from behind and Jaemin’s sweaty shoulders under your palms while you take it. I mean… both of them seem somewhat interested… so you can't be that bad, right.

Kim Dayeon⓪③ talking about how you like girls with meat on their bones as if it’s OUR FAULT WE’RE SKINNY. JELLYFISH STRIPPED ME OF MY MEAT.

Jake Sim⓪② Calm down pls T__T I promise I wasn’t dissing skinny girls, I love all women. You’re all beautiful

Jay Park⓪② Damn straight

Kim Dayeon⓪③ Alright then >:(

Baek Jiheon⓪③ I forgive you (♡°▽°♡)

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Wait, so who’s Juliette

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Is she here?

Lee Donghyuck⓪⓪ scroll up farther for god sake

He could scroll up… or you could just…

Hello. Um, you guys are right, my name isn’t Juliette.

… get things started. You properly introduce yourself for the first time in this group chat. Everyone properly introduces themselves, and you find Sohyun, Xinyu, Jinsol, and Jake in your DMs. It’s far too much attention to handle. You feel a little dizzy from all the emotions demanding your attention.

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Look at my messages;3

“Oh right.” You panic and switch to his DMs, not expecting new messages.

Na Jaemin So you are as cute

You chew on your lip, feeling as though releasing it would release a whine as well. The heat brewing in your core is intense. You can feel the base of your thighs dampening. It’s like he knows just what to say to drive you crazy.

Na Jaemin I wanna see you

Your breath catches, rereading the word as if it would help you decode it. He couldn’t be asking to meet up so he must mean– Oh…

He’s asking for it.

Na Jaemin Nonononoo lololol I’m sorry, I’m just used to being forward on this app. That was disrespectful. Idk why this app brings it out of me.

No, you’re okay.

If I’m honest… It does that to me too.

Right about now you would be throwing your phone away, too scared to see his response, but you’re glued to the screen. The typing indicator appears before disappearing. It never comes back. You decide to check the group chat while you wait when you see it.

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Ah…

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ I know that name. Are you friends with Lindsay?

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Whatever weird shit she said to you, don't spread it here

Shit. Shit. You were right. God, you should have immediately warned them about the messages she sent to gossip girls. Instead you’re sitting here drooling and implicating yourself. The chat goes from fawning over you to wondering what you and Lindsay did to piss Jeno off.

You knew it. You knew this was weird and you knew you shouldn’t have gone into that stupid group chat. You already took off those two weeks in December, and you were really looking forward to a getaway where you didn’t have to pay for plane tickets or a place to stay. Did you just blow it?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Noooo she’s not close to Lindsay, Lindsay just helped her get this job and helps her out from time to time.

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Oh yeah, I forgot you were friends with Lindsay too. Keep your mouth shut, too.

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Why are you acting like you don’t know how Lindsay is? She’s eccentric and out of touch. What else do you expect from a billionaire’s daughter?

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Can she be eccentric to herself?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② You KNOW she can’t do that.

Han Chowon⓪② This is the most I’ve ever seen Jeno active in this gc lol

You want to say something or apologize, but truthfully you don’t know what he’s actually referring to. What if you just implicate yourself further.

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Ugh fuck off Jeno you scared the new girl off

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ And Lindsay scares ME.

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Not enough to stay out of her pants lololol

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Hey

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ How did you know that?

Nakamura Kazuha⓪③ Omg? So it’s true?

Kim Jiwon⓪④ Oh my god…

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ You see what I mean? Lindsay can’t keep her mouth shut, and neither can her little friends

Oh Haewon⓪③ can you chill tf out

Watanabe Haruto⓪④ …

Watanabe Haruto⓪④ so was she good

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ I was wondering the same lolol she’s so hot

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Tooootally dude

You think to yourself if the threesome stuff was actually real but you catch yourself and toss that idea. You think of a way to clear your name without hinting at anything more.

She does say a lot of weird things but I usually tune her out lol

Or just tell her she’s being weird.

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Yeah Lindsay said something totally weird recently and she messaged me privately to see if I thought it was weird too lol

And we’re not really cool like that, promise

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Oh don’t worry about Jeno, he’s just being a diva

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Am I though, because they both just said she says weird things too

Oh Haewon⓪③ SHE’S AN ECCENTRIC BILLLIONAIRE!!!

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Eccentric 👏🏻 Billionaire 👏🏻

Yeah, but still. She does give weird vibes, ngl.

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ And she’s a fucking pathological liar

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Maybe I should start spilling secrets about her, see how she likes it

Huh Yunjin⓪① YES PLEASE GAWD SOME DRAMA

Yoon Keeho⓪① LMAOOOO

Ning Yizhuo⓪② jiFWLBFIEB

You thought maybe Lindsay was just a nuisance to him in a similar way she is to you. But this hints at something maybe a little deeper.

Maybe for you as well.

The group chat goes dormant after realizing Jeno was bluffing. He tells everyone in the chat they have a gossip problem and disappears. You refresh the homepage mindlessly, frustration prodding at you. You switch over to your DMs. You notice Jaemin finally texted back.

Na Jaemin Wait so you know Lindsay?

Na Jaemin Oh you guys aren’t close. Well let me know when she’s coming back if she told you. Or if she’s ever coming back.

Na Jaemin Idk.

Nothing about his texts indicate that he harbors the same feelings for Lindsay. Maybe he and Jeno aren’t as much of a unit as Lindsay made you believe. You stay with these messages, rereading them and feeling a tinge of pity.

Well, I definitely know she’s coming back because she has a mansion here.

Na Jaemin What?!

Na Jaemin Well I guess she is rich, but I didn’t know that.

Na Jaemin Are you sure you guys aren’t friends?

One thing you know for absolute certain in these trying times is that you don’t want to be confused to be on Lindsay’s side.

Absolutely not, I haven’t spoken to her in around two months or something lol.

Na Jaemin I seeeee

Na Jaemin Anyway, make sure to text me again sooner than that ;3

The only way you can quell the fluttering in your chest is through a girlish squeal paired with you kicking your feet. Should you be guilty about all this if they reached out to you first?

CHAPTER FOURˋ°•*⁀➷

You cross your foot in front of the other to see the outfit in a different pose. You are unfortunately not allowed to wear a costume to SM’s Halloween party, but you can come. And you can dress up a little bit. Not too flashy, they said. You opted for a blouse with a high neckline with short butterfly sleeves that just cut it off from being a tank top. You thought that was too much already, so you paired it with black slacks. A high bun with two pieces to frame your face shouldn’t be flashy.

Whatever, if you get scolded, you’ll drink. If you get scolded for getting drunk, hopefully they’ll fire you. You smooth your hands over the pants slowly, letting that thought simmer.

Yeah, you haven’t considered that. If they fire you, there won’t need to be a lawsuit. You definitely wouldn’t fight it. But is it too soon to go home? You think about your mother and how she’ll nag you. You think about how you have no friends at home anymore. How NingNing would miss you.

Are you seriously considering this? You can’t. Not after they killed your passion.

No, you need to go forward with this plan. You made a new friend here, you can do it again back home. And your mom will be alright.

Your uber notifies you that it’s outside and you snatch your purse with renewed vigor.

You’re going to get fired from SM Entertainment.

The dimly lit venue is enough to get you in the partying spirit. Luckily there are enough people here that you shouldn’t be scolded the entire night. You want to be seen on your worst behavior but you don’t want your buzz killed.

You find NingNing who is dressed as Jobu Tupaki. Specifically her goth outfit. You compliment her and give her a hug. You greet Winter who is dressed in Barbie’s cowgirl outfit, Giselle who is Lola Bunny from Space Jam, and lastly Karina who is Disgust.

“Did you guys do a movie theme?” You ask, a little sad looking at their costumes. The FOMO just set in.

“Nah, we’re just that in sync.” Giselle says with a smirk, wrapping her arms around Winter and Karina. Karina brushes her arms away.

“Yes. We did a movie theme.” Karina explains, shaking her head at Giselle and making an expression that fits her character.

There wasn’t much to do but walk around, talk, eat, and drink alcohol. You made sure to get your grief’s worth in alcohol. You drank for all your forgotten projects, for your crushed dreams, and as a fuck you to your manager who threatened to hit you. That memory had the jello shots flying. NingNing found it amusing but her members were a bit worried. Especially after NingNing starts joining “for the bit”.

‘Can you guys stop’ turns into ‘are you guys gonna stop’ before the other three decide to leave before it gets embarrassing. Thankfully you and NingNing were both giggly drunks so you mostly stood by the wall and laughed at everything and nothing.

“Look. Omg, look, LOOK!” NingNing shouts as she points across the room very overtly. Thankfully who she’s pointing at doesn’t see her do it. There are two men in similar military-esque costumes. Who they’re specifically dressed as, you can’t tell from this distance, but there’s a girl with her back arched and her ass poked out speaking to them. You would say she looks hot but she’s in a slutty schoolgirl outfit.

“That outfit?” You nudge NingNing before pointing at your mouth and pretending to gag.

“Yeah, and that violates rule number one AND two.”

In your defense, you were drunk, so your brain was a bit laggy. “Rules? Rules to what?” You slur out, slightly stumbling and bumping into her.

“My bad. Tips, I mean tips. Tip number one and two. Don’t try too hard and don’t dress extra slutty to get their attention.”

Then it clicks. You didn’t even realize who the two men were. Jaemin takes off his sunglasses, revealing the annoyance in his eyes as he folds them into the collar of his jumpsuit. Jeno has his mask pushed up so his bangs are peeking out, looking everywhere but at the nuisance.

Whoever they're supposed to be, they look damn good. Jeno has a vest on and a black shirt rolled up to his elbows. You can see his forearms flex every time he clenches his fist. Jaemin has his jumpsuit rolled up, too. All you can think about is them putting you in a headlock. You roll your eyes back as you giggle blissfully to yourself.

“Ooh? Was that reaction for them? Are you gonna throw your hat in the ring?” NingNing gets far too excited, leaning forward to get a better glimpse of your face. You push her back against the wall by her head, shaking yours.

“I’m not playing Lindsay’s little game.” The smile slowly fades from your lips, a bitter taste left in its wake. Suddenly, the girl in the schoolgirl costume is getting escorted out of the building. She doesn’t go out without a fight, shouting back at Jeno and Jaemin for ‘a little help’ just to add more embarrassment.

Just as the situation escalates and she starts screaming like a banshee, something red obscures your vision. You try to maneuver around it but it keeps moving into your vision. You look up in annoyance to see Mr. Myeong. You feel the warmth drain from your body as your annoyance turns to fear.

“Who said you can look in my eyes, hm?” He says and you immediately look downward. He cuts his eyes at NingNing and tells her to beat it. She does, but not before looking at you like a sad puppy. He starts to scold you about how much you’ve drank and how you’re two seconds from getting kicked out but you can’t focus on that. The rule was a lie, he’s a staff member and he’s wearing a costume. And not just any costume. In perfect comedic fashion, he’s wearing a devil costume.

Maybe it’s because you really wanted to wear a costume and now you’re re-pissed, but you laugh openly at the situation. You sold your soul to the devil, this evil manager is like the devil, and now he’s standing here scolding you in a devil costume. You laugh even harder.

“Are you– Are you laughing? Have you lost your mind?” He snaps at you before prodding at your forehead with his finger. You immediately stop laughing. He does it a few more times, asking who you think you are and where you learned your manner from. He asks why Americans are so incompetent and why they even hire ‘the likes of you’.

At that, you grab his finger before he could make a permanent mark on your forehead.

“You crazy bitch! Let go of me.” He tries to rip it free but you tighten your grip. By now, a few people are watching. This is it. Your chance. You chuckle a little before leaning closer.

“Forgive me for laughing, it’s just…” You lean next to his ear, digging your fingernails into his finger. “How the fuck am I supposed to take you seriously with that ridiculous costume on?”

He finally breaks free, immediately cocking his hand back. That same hand. But this time you just smile and close your eyes. Everyone is looking now. You’ll be free after this. You take the moment to consider your next move. Maybe you’ll stay here and produce freelance. Whatever you do, you’ll surely be kicked out of SM because the minute he slaps you? He’s getting all the pent up frustration from these four months.

“Hey, hey!” You expected someone to notice, but this unfamiliar voice sounded light, conversational. Like he just found his buddy after looking for him at a party. You snap your eyes open after noticing you haven’t been hit.

Jeno is smiling at the manager, his wrist firmly in Jeno’s grip.

“Let me go– What is wrong with you?!”

“Oh my!” Jeno lets go of the man’s hand to cover his mouth and the manager loses his balance. He falls flat on his ass. “I saw the red and thought you were Xiaojun. I’m so sorry, sir!”

“I– You–! Help me up this instant!” His voice booms, but only you flinch. You look up at Jeno who is approaching you. Realize now that he’s Ghost from Call of Duty. And that this is your first time seeing him up close in real life. His friendly smile flickers away to reveal a grimace. For a second you think it’s aimed at you until he speaks. He leans in to speak next to your ear.

“Are you okay, that asshole didn’t hit you, did he?” His breath hits your ear and gives you goosebumps. All you can do is shake your head. He doesn’t get to lean back before he’s ripped away from you.

“Hey! You piece of shit! Mind your own business.”

Jeno doesn’t hide his glare this time, and Jaemin steps in between.

“I’ll apologize for him, sir.” Jaemin bows ninety degrees, apologizing heartily to the shorter male. As his torso lowers, you catch a glimpse of Jeno grasping his hand tightly. Mr. Myeong bristles at all three of you now.

“You sons of bitches! I’ll ruin you all!” He turns to you, wagging his finger. The parts of his skin that aren’t covered by the splotchy red paint are rivaling makeup in color. “I’ll ruin you!”

His words curdle the minute they’re introduced to your system. Ruin?

Will you have a choice in working in Korea?

“Mr. Myeong, that is unnecessary. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.” Jaemin outstretches his arms in an attempt to placate but it’s no use. Mr. Myeong just keeps feverishly pointing at you and screaming.

“You don’t know what she said to me! You weren’t raised to value respect,” Mr. Myeong rolls up his sleeves and a few onlookers gasp, “but I’ll teach you.” He charges forward and swings his hand with more force than last time, closing his fists. You snarl, ready to end all of this. If getting punched by a middle aged man is what it takes to continue producing in Korea, it’s not worth it. You see red, readying your foot and eyeing his crotch.

Unfortunately for him, Jaemin is more focused on blocking the path toward you than stopping Jeno. Jeno presses his two hands to Mr. Myeong’s chest before using all the force his muscular frame can muster to shove the small man to the ground. His body bounces, head knocking against the floor as he slides back far. He's momentarily stunned. Only then does Jaemin switch to stopping Jeno before he pummels Mr. Myeong. His shaking fists are clenched tightly as he tries to shake Jaemin off of him. Jaemin keeps firm on his shoulders and tries to get Jeno to focus on him. It isn’t working.

“Are you going to keep doing this shit? Huh? How long are you gonna keep this shit up?!” Jeno lunges especially hard and nearly slips from Jaemin’s grasp. His words strike you, but you cut your introspection short. This is a mistake you’re only willing to let yourself make. Then suddenly you’re walking over to help Jaemin restrain him.

The security finally intervenes when Mr. Myeong tries to stand back up and stupidly confront Jeno once more. The two of you are having a hard time restraining him right now, if Mr. Myeong had run up? You probably would’ve relented just to get out of the way in time.

Jeno finally calms as a roaring Mr. Myeong is escorted off the premises, and you finally breathe. You step back from the two men only to be ambushed by four women.

NingNing stays flanked to your side as everyone recovers from the debacle. Her and her members continually ask if you’re okay, but all you can notice is everyone staring at you. You’re not certain, but you swear you overhear someone’s whisper.

“He said she said something to set him off. I wouldn’t put it past her. She keeps causing trouble.”

There’s a chance you misheard or mistranslated, but your mind already convinced you it made too much sense.

Soon NingNing and her members are carted off by their manager. You watch them make their way to the exit, NingNing saying something to Jeno and pointing at you before Karina urges her to hurry up. You haven’t moved from the wall. Your eyes sink to your legs, knowing whatever is paralyzing you is all in your head.

“Someone made a call or something because there are cameras everywhere out front.”

You hear a male voice closing in followed by another one.

“That’s okay, we can go out through the back.”

“Do you really think they haven’t thought of that?”

“No one should be leaving through there, they cut it off as a security measure. They might be waiting there now but if we give it a little bit…”

The second voice trailing off made you realize how close they were. You look up to see Jaemin and Jeno for the first time since that mishap. This is when you finally recognize Jaemin’s costume. It’s some bootleg version of a Top Gun jumpsuit. However… you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how he resembles Caleb if you squint. Was this what Lindsey was seeing when decided on that ploy? Was he even meant to be Caleb? You breathe a quick laugh, unable to help yourself.

They’re giving each other a look before Jaemin peers over at you. He gives you a wolfish smile.

“There’s the smile I remember from the photo.” Jaemin steps to the side, shifting his attention to you. “You had me worried.” He steps forward and leans in and for a second you expect him to ruffle your hair like they do in Love and Deepspace. Man, you’re drunk. You shrug, pursing your lips as you peek over at Jeno. His face is a little more somber, eyeing you intensely like he’s trying to read you. Your smile drops when you meet eyes.

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ And she’s a fucking pathological liar

Just what else has Lindsay lied about?

“We’re going to head out in maybe,” Jaemin draws out the word as he checks his watch, “thirty minutes? You shouldn’t ride the bus while you’re drunk. We have room since we’re driving ourselves.” Jaemin tilts his head at you.

“Call?” He asks.

You nod sheepishly, knowing this must have been what NingNing had requested before she left. Jaemin smiles before dropping his head and exhaling through his nose. As he picks his head up you hear him whisper something.

“Cute.”

You take a quick breath, unable to stop your thighs from clenching together. You widen your eyes as you stiffen up, checking to see if he noticed. You peer over at Jeno as well, your face feeling like it was lit on fire when you catch him staring at your legs.

“I need water.” You say, maneuvering around Jaemin and rushing past Jeno. You walk around looking for something that will stop your head from spinning every time you make a turn. There are no water bottles at the refreshment table and no water fountains in sight. As you go to turn down a dark, empty hallway, something firm and cool taps your shoulder.

You turn to see Jeno holding out a water bottle to you.

“Where are you going?” He asks you in that same annoyed tone idol managers do. You would get upset if your vision wasn't spinning at the moment. You miss the bottle the first time but manage to grab it the second. All of your brain power goes into getting as much water in your system as possible. The giggly drunkenness is gone. The alcohol is just amplifying what you drank to forget.

When you finish, Jeno reveals the second water bottle, asking wordlessly. You accept it.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Your sobriety is creeping on too fast to justify the question plaguing your mind. Jeno is driving while Jaemin is in the passenger seat reading Jeno’s texts for him.

“It’s from Dugwan hyung. He wants to see you,” Jaemin looks over, fretful, “like, now.”

Jeno tightens his jaw.

“‘m not goin’.”

Jaemin sighs. “If you aren’t going, I’m not either.”

Silence drapes uncomfortably over the car and Jaemin throws some music on. Unlike where you work, this venue is pretty far from your home. Thankfully, the car ride carefully takes the knotted thoughts in your head and unweaves them. You stare serenely out the window as soothing R&B plays through the speakers.

“Is this it?” Jeno’s voice jolts you from the edge of sleep. You hum before squinting at the building you’re parked outside of.

“Mm, yeah.” You say, unbuckling your seatbelt. You take a moment to rub your face before thanking the two of them.

“I’ll walk you up.” Jaemin says, already halfway out the door when Jeno protests. “Stay here then!” Jaemin clicks his tongue before looking Jeno up and down with faux incredulity. He slams the door then, leaving Jeno to groan and glare at you through the rearview mirror. You slowly slip out of your seat, carefully eyeing the annoyed Jeno.

“Which floor?” Jaemin asks after you join him in your building’s elevator. You’re not sure which 'three' applies to this scenario so you guess. Judging by Jaemin’s snort as he presses the button, it was wrong. Today marks the first day anyone has outright laughed at your Korean. You scoff, trying sino this time. He nods approvingly, giving you a thumbs up.

Before the doors can close, a hand slams against one of them and they ease back open. Jeno’s heaving frame is slowly revealed.

He steps on, showing Jaemin his phone. They exchange panicked looks.

“We’re passed that. They told us in 2021–” Jaemin halts when Jeno flicks his hand against his chest and looks toward you. You panic and look away, realizing you’d been staring this whole time.

That suffocating silence is back as the elevator takes three centuries to get to floor three. The walk to your unit is when they can’t seem to hold it in anymore and start whispering to each other. They’re close enough behind that you happen to hear.

“Are they really bringing curfew back?” Jaemin asks.

“No, this is clearly a warning, not a reminder.”

“And you’re still not going?”

Jeno doesn’t answer. The tone of the unanswered question takes the tension to new heights.

“Then where are we gonna go? Most hotels will either report us to SM or Dispatch.” Despite the frantic nature of Jaemin’s voice, Jeno doesn’t answer yet again. You get to your door and thank the both of them.

“I’ll text you later.” Jaemin tries to channel his wolfish smile again, but it’s strained. It sounds like they can’t even escape being scolded by their boss at their own home.

That’s no home.

“Wait.” The word feels like it’s pulled from you. This is a bad idea. When they turn around, you know it’s too late. At the cost of revealing you were eavesdropping, you give them the option.

“If you guys have nowhere to go, I have a futon. That is, if you guys are willing to squeeze together.”

Jaemin looks touched but ready to decline, while Jeno just outright says it.

“No thanks.” His verbiage is polite, but his tone is derisive. It sounds like they don’t have many options and it’s pretty late. You would kick yourself if you saw something in the tabloids tomorrow.

“If you’re worried I have ulterior motives, I do.” You breathe a sardonic laugh at your own expense. The state of your future at SM is shaky at the moment, so your chances of being uprooted yet again are large. Especially if Mr. Myeong has anything to do with it. You need so many things from so many people, but there’s only one thing you can get from these two.

“Let’s make an exchange. I give you a less stressful place to sleep… and you tell me what Lindsay wants from me.”

Their energies switch at that moment. Jeno’s face softens and though he looks at the floor to hide it, Jaemin’s hardens.

CHAPTER FIVEˋ°•*⁀➷

You sigh wistfully as you retrieve the last two butter waffles from the box. Opening your lunchbox to one of these is the only thing you look forward to at work, but you just had to ask if they wanted a snack.

You don’t invite NingNing to yours for a reason. Your studio is a feng shui nightmare. Now you have your first guests ever sleeping parallel to you because it’s the only way the futon would fit. You’re conflicted as you deliver the snacks, it seemed like a good idea when the futon was folded up. Seeing it now, you know not to ever call yourself an interior designer.

You squeeze between the futon and the wall to sit them on your Pororo side table you got on sale.

“It's not you.” Jeno says, sipping the water you also asked if they wanted. You initially think he’s telling you not to blame yourself. Jaemin pats the space next to him with a small smile. You sigh as you sit down, preemptively taking Jeno’s advice.

“It’s not any of us. I don’t think there’s a single person on the face of the planet Lindsay cares about other than herself.” He reaches over Jaemin and sets his glass on the table. “Every little thing she does serves a bigger goal that serves an ever bigger goal.”

“What the hell is it, then? What does me working with SM have to do with her goals?” You ask incredulously.

“The question you should be asking is why they were so adamant to hire you.”

Yeah, you know that. That’s one of the questions you want answered but know they can’t—

Or can they?

“They were adamant to hire me?”

“… I’m not sure why you’re asking me like you don’t know.” Jeno creates friction again when you're simply trying to get answers. Jaemin gently takes over.

“We all know, if that’s what you’re wondering. All the idols under SM, I mean.” Jaemin laughs after explaining this, but you know that it’s at this insane situation. “I don’t know when they made the decision, but I know Lindsay and her gambling had something to do with it. You guys are one of us now.”

Jeno chuts at the situation. “How is that slave contract treating you?”

“D-did Rouge… Was he the problem? Lindsay said he couldn’t get dearALICE a song that audiences liked.”

“DJ Rouge…?” Jeno asks in disbelief. “DJ Rouge is one of the best producers in the country.”

The corner of Jaemin’s mouth twitches, his look of concern growing stronger.

“He composed and produced Juliette.” Jeno continues.

The silence overtaking the room strengthens the fuzziness in your brain. You jump to rationalize something, anything.

“Then why was he kicked off dearALICE’s mini album? They scrapped everything he worked on.”

“I don’t know anything about dearALICE, but SM would never kick Rouge out. Not in a million years.”

You grit your teeth, failing to find any other conclusions than the one so painfully obvious.

“He left on his own…” You whisper pitifully.

“I overheard that he wanted more money and demanded they respect his worth. SM denied and now we’re here.” Jeno explains.

“Okay, so I took his place? I don’t understand why they didn’t say that. Is it because they were embarrassed?”

“You have to understand. You didn’t replace Rouge because no one could replace Rouge. You guys have schedules and salaries and staff meetings. Rouge showed up when he wanted and got a percentage of the song’s royalties on top of the up front payment.” Jeno just keeps showering you in painful discoveries with little to no sugarcoating. Jaemin steps in again.

“Don't take this the wrong way but… I was honestly surprised you didn’t live in a dorm. Well, at least starting out like we did.”

You exhale deeply and place your face into your hands.

“I get paid pretty well. It’s not like I’m getting shafted. And yeah, I don’t live in a dorm. So, what? Why are we talking about this when I asked about Lindsay.”

The somber looks on their faces tell you you're about to get exactly what you're asking for.

“When we first met Lindsay, she was super curious about idol life. It wasn’t weird because everyone was. But then she started asking questions like if we were penalized less and had more freedom, would we work as hard. I was honest because I was still in denial. I said no.” Jeno adds, sounding careful for the first time that evening.

Your mouth moves as soon as the information shocks your system.

“Okay? So they lit a fire under our asses—”

“Lindsay doesn’t really see people as people.” Jeno explains slowly as his mouth contorts into a forced smile. “You’re either a tool or a plaything.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

The glasses of water wobble dangerously as you and Jaemin jostle around on the bed. Your laughing crescendos until the sound runs out and you’re both curling over with your jaws dropped open. Jaemin’s laugh taps back in as he rockets backwards, his beer sloshing and spilling a little on Jeno.

“Hey!” Jeno shouts, not as aggressively drunk, but turning pinkish on his cheeks and the tips of his ears anyway. Inebriation tugs at your eyelids as fatigue rolls through you. You whine in protest, but your blood alcohol content persists.

“How can she–” You curl your chin in as you hiccup before continuing. “She knew you guys since you were all teens and she still did that shit?” You present the beer to them in a vain quest to make sense of all this.

“You weren’t listening.” The slurring of Jeno’s words is strengthening as he pushes against the bed to sit up straight. He just ends up curving back over, stretching his spine like his head is too heavy. The two men speak at the same time, probably expecting they were thinking the same thing.

“She doesn’t view us as human.”

“She has a gambling addiction.”

They both look at each other in betrayal. Jaemin upset at Jeno’s perceived lack of context and Jeno at Jaemin’s leniency with Lindsay. Jeno musters up all the coherence he can to drive home this point.

“Lindsay didn’t care about us long before the gambling.”

“Yeah, but before the gambling we had fun with each other.”

“She spread rumors about you before she even met you.”

“Yeah, exactly. She didn’t know me, so she had the wrong idea.”

“Did she have the wrong idea about Seulgi, too? The first person to introduce her to all the idols she used?”

Jaemin lets out a loud, fake laugh, avoiding Jeno’s questions.

“O-or what about Victoria? Sejeong? And what’s your excuse for her posting–”

“Okay! I get it!” Jaemin’s voice booms louder than it seems he intended. He giggles to himself as you and Jeno both gawk at him, drunkenness outshined by confusion. Jaemin shakes his head before waving his free hand.

“Put something on the TV.”

You scramble to do exactly that, eager to escape this tension. You throw on a random movie you had in your watch list. You turn off the light, full of remorse as you watch them strain their necks to the left to watch it. Jeno peers at you and you smile lazily. Your current state disables the humiliation that should come after Jeno’s confused look.

“You forgot the subtitles.”

You gasp quietly, a drawn out ‘oh’ seeping from your lips as you hurriedly grab the remote and put on the Korean subtitles. Jaemin pats the bed again, but this time he’s patting the space that suddenly appeared between him and Jeno. That’s when you notice Jaemin is pressed firmly against the arm rest, distancing himself as much as he can.

You shake your head, ceasing the expecting looks from the both of them. Jaemin puts on exaggerated puppy eyes instead, poking out his lip as he pats the space.

“I don’t want to make you guys uncomfortable.” You peer at Jeno, the only one you actually presume will be uncomfortable. “We’re still strangers, after all.” You say as your eyes return to Jaemin. Under the minimal shifting light of the TV, Jaemin’s impish smile has a stronger effect. You hurry to your previous position, sitting at the edge of the bed closest to the wall. You make a mental note to somehow turn the futon toward the TV after they leave in the morning.

You feel someone on the bed shifting until Jaemin’s knees swing off the bed so he’s seated right next to you. You initially think this is his compromise until he hooks one arm under your knees and the other around your waist. You ground yourself, half expecting him to carry you bridal style. Instead, he pulls your legs up onto the bed. His hand sears against your leg just like in your dream. You look up at him, your drunken stupor convincing you that he can read your mind. He stares back intensely, making heat bubble behind your cheeks and in your crotch. Your eyes drop down to his costume, the collar dipping just low enough that it turns your mouth dry. His teeth nip at his bottom lip as he hoists you against the back of the futon. His eyes linger on you, expression solemn besides the intensity in his eyes. As he slips his hands from under and behind you, he takes his time, grazing your skin. His middle digit slips under your t-shirt, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Once he is fully retracted from you, his face softens, that recognizable smile warming his features.

“See? Totally comfortable.” And just like that, Jaemin eases the (admittedly delicious) tension with random English. Your attempt to hide your laugh fails as it bursts through your tightly closed lips. Jaemin laughs as well, shoulder bumping against yours as you both keel over. You slip your legs under the blanket and that’s when reality hits you again. You’re unsure why you flinch, but in doing so, you brush against Jeno’s leg under the blanket. Your head whips to look at him, a little fear in your soul when you see he’s looking back.

Your heart is distracting, thumping against your ribcage with reckless abandon. With sudden ruckus from the TV, you’re momentarily spared. Everything is still and quiet, Jeno and Jaemin stiff on either side of you. It would almost be peaceful if it weren’t for the loud moans and bed squeaking coming from the TV.

A few weeks ago with one hand in your pants, you looked up movies on Netflix with good sex scenes. You flooded your already bloated watch list with them and well? One of them was playing on your TV while you’re sandwiched in between two men. Two men who you habitually fantasize about. And that listicle was right. This is a damn good sex scene.

Your problem is still a problem. Nothing’s changed and you still haven’t been laid. You swallow the saliva building in your mouth as pleasure churns prominently in your abdomen. It churns and churns until it spills into your core. You bite your lip, trying to discreetly lessen the ache. As your thighs push together, you feel eyes burning into the back of your head. Your stomach drops.

You slowly peek at Jeno who is looking straight at your crotch, just like earlier this evening. He looks at you through his lashes with something akin to disappointment in his eyes. You swear you see him slightly shake his head, but you chalk it up to the bad lighting.

“Did you see that?” Jaemin’s hand landing on your thigh nearly sends you to the moon. He forces your eyes away from Jeno to stare at him like you were caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. But when you look at him, he’s watching the TV as he rewinds the movie, extending this torture. He presses play and keeps his hand pointed to it as he waits for the portion in question. You’re watching now as the actors simulate the increase in pace, the man gaining a steady rhythm. That’s when he reaches back, gliding his hand up her thigh to her knee before licking his tongue into her open mouth. You gasp in tandem with the actress, feeling like you can feel it all. You fist the blanket over your thighs.

“I saw an interview with the actress and she said that wasn’t what they practiced. Her reaction was authentic.” Jaemin sets the remote down on the table before looking at you. “They’re dating now.”

“No way.” You reply breathlessly. You were partially shocked by the information, but you’re still distracted by the seemingly never ending sex scene. “B-because of that? He just grabbed her leg.”

“You don’t think that could do it?”

“I mean, it worked for the scene, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’s good–”

Jaemin tosses the blanket aside to straddle you. You try to squeeze your legs together to keep them from touching his, but it’s an impossible task. You hear Jeno groan dramatically beside you. Jaemin leans forward and rests his hands on each side of your head. In doing so, a dog tag swings out from under his jumpsuit and sways over your face. Your eyes cross as they follow it like you’re about to get hypnotized.

“Wanna see?”

You uncross your eyes and look up at him, mouth hung open dumbly. Your hips answer for you, buck up against his. He hums approvingly before lifting one knee to nudge your leg over before doing the same on the other side. His hand is already as your hip, gripping roughly before moving it up your leg. His hand snags on your pajama shorts before they snap away and his hand burns into your skin. Your mouth parts open with a silent inhale and he takes the opportunity.

“He didn’t just grab her leg.” He whispers as he dips his head until your noses are touching. His hand completes its journey, cupping your knee.

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” Jeno grits to your right. You’re too entranced to react, but Jaemin peers over at him. He looks back at you before licking into your mouth. Your hips lurch forward as you taste him. Beer with a hint of mint. You want so desperately to get drunk off it. You shove forward, messily closing the distance to initiate what can barely be called a kiss. Your tongues wrestle and swirl around each other only to result in a lip-smacking smooch sometimes that makes you buck every time. He starts bucking back, too. His bulge becoming more prominent. He whimpers into your mouth, lips parting with only a thick string of saliva connecting you two. He hand moves back down to cup your ass before squeezing it like he never plans to let go. He peers over at Jeno whose jaw is clenched.

You moan pitifully, only barely getting your request in between sloppy kisses.

“F-fuck me!” You beg emphatically, your body igniting at the possibility. He squeezes your ass again, pulling away to bite his lip and look down at you.

“Fuck yeah.” He grinds his hips down into you, his bulge pressing deliciously against your mound. Your loud moan is shameful but you are completely shameless. This is it. It’s finally happening, in the most dangerous way possible. Now this is a scandal that would turn the company upside down. It’s exciting.

“You two are fucking embarrassing.” Jeno grunts as pushes up and off the bed, climbing over the two of you to do it. He stomps into the bathroom before slamming the door. Jaemin’s attention is ripped from you as he stares toward the bathroom door. You bite his bottom lip, drawing it back in a vain attempt to get him to continue. The second you let go, he’s also pushing off the bed and going into the bathroom.

There is muffled arguing behind the door, but all you can think about is the uncomfortable puddle in your underwear. You collapse back onto the bed, giving up on waiting for Jaemin to come back and continue. Lindsay lied about a lot, but you’re ashamed of the observation you’re making that proves her right.

Jeno and Jaemin might just be a package deal.

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! `⎚⩊⎚´ -✧

◉ proofread cycle 1 ⃝ proofread cycle 2

taglist: @nanajaemsblog @taestrwbrry @oonyourmmark @jaehyunsmilitarywivesclub @neogotmysam @bluedbliss @cutiepatootiejungwon @emalvar1404 @fancypeacepersona

191 notes · View notes

honeydippedfiction · 14 days ago

Text

Pretty When You Scream {LSU!Joe x Angel}

Navigation

Synopsis: At LSU, Halloween isn’t just a holiday—it’s a full-on lifestyle, and no one embraces it harder than Angel. Between slutty group costumes, haunted house décor, and fog machines galore, she’s got big spooky season plans—and she’s dragging her long-suffering boyfriend Joe along for the ride. But when a certain slasher mask enters the mix, their playful banter turns into something a lot darker… and a whole lot hotter.

Warnings: Suggestive/Spicy Scenes, Explicit Sexual Content (18+), Roleplay and Consensual Power Dynamics, Includes sexually charged horror-themed roleplay (e.g., “Ghostface” stalking), Objectification and Sexualization of Characters, Mild Violence (Fictional/Thematic), Alcohol References. MDNI🔞

WC: 13.2k

A/N: Someone take the movies away from me

Join my Taglists here or message me

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

It was finally October at LSU—Angel’s favorite time of year, hands down. The brutal Louisiana heat had finally backed off just enough to invite oversized flannels, ankle boots, and the occasional cozy beanie. The sidewalks were littered with crunchy leaves, the smell of pumpkin spice danced from every coffee shop within walking distance, and the entire campus buzzed with the electric promise of game days, tailgates, horror movie marathons, and—most importantly—Halloween.

Spooky season wasn’t just a vibe for Angel, it was a lifestyle.

She thrived in October, the way some people thrived in summer or spring. Her dorm was already decked out with twinkle lights shaped like bats, mini pumpkins lined her windowsill, and her iPhone wallpaper was a rotating slideshow of her favorite horror movie villains. She’d had her Pinterest board of costume ideas locked and loaded since mid-June, and it was bursting with slutty group theme concepts, pose references, and potential couple’s looks that she’d half-jokingly, half-seriously hoped to rope Joe into.

So when she and her best girls, Monica, Kelsey, and Rae, decided to go full-throttle this year with multiple group costumes (all of them sexy and slutty, because duh), there was only one place worthy of their chaos: Spirit Halloween.

And Angel, naturally, dragged Joe along for the ride.

“Just one couple’s costume,” she’d bargained that morning, wrapping her arms around his waist while he brushed his teeth, her cheek pressed to the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “One. You can even pick it if you want.”

Joe had grunted through a mouthful of toothpaste foam, not committing to anything, but Angel had taken that non-answer as a yes. She always did.

Now they were knee-deep in seasonal madness, wandering through the cavernous warehouse-sized pop-up store that smelled like fresh plastic, rubber, synthetic wigs, and a faint hint of fog machine oil. Chaotic Top 40 remixes pulsed through crackling speakers overhead. Kids darted past in pirate hats and witch capes. Animatronic clowns screeched in corners every time someone walked by.

Angel was in her element.

She wove expertly through the glittering aisles of devil horns, rhinestone fishnets, and scandalously short hemlines, her wire shopping basket already half full. Joe followed behind her, hands stuffed in the front pocket of his hoodie, wearing the unmistakable expression of a man who had lost all control of his afternoon.

“You look like a lost dad at Disney,” Angel teased, glancing over her shoulder with a grin.

Joe raised a brow. “You dragged me into a war zone.”

She blew him a kiss and kept walking. “For a noble cause.”

They passed a rack of latex catsuits and cleavage-baring angel dresses, then a display of extra-short nun outfits that had made Monica snort so hard she’d nearly dropped her purse earlier. Somewhere between the pleather and the fishnets, the group had split up—Kelsey and Rae off in search of fairy wings and whip props, Monica debating whether to go full commitment with gold body glitter for their Teen Titans night.

Angel had her sights on something else entirely.

She tugged Joe’s hand and led him to the darker, quieter corner of the store—the horror section. The shelves dimmed, the pop music faded into a spooky ambient loop, and the merch shifted from sparkle and scandal to gore and grit. Rows of classic slasher masks, fake blood kits, animatronic ghouls, severed limbs in bins, and creepy dolls with cracked porcelain faces filled the space.

Angel’s eyes sparkled as she made a beeline for a particular display.

“There it is,” she murmured like it was a sacred relic.

Leatherface. Freddy. Jason. Michael.

And Ghostface.

She stopped in front of the wall, reaching up to pluck the iconic Scream mask from the hook with careful fingers. She turned it over in her hands, brushing a thumb along the edge. The white face leered back at her, vacant and eerie.

Then she looked at Joe, and a mischievous smirk curved her lips.

“You’d make a hot Ghostface, Joey.”

Joe gave her a skeptical look, then glanced at the mask. “That’s... not a sentence I expected to hear today.”

Angel laughed. “I’m serious! Tall, broody, and lethal with a sexy voice? You’d kill it. Literally.”

He blinked. “Did you just flirt with me and threaten me in the same sentence?”

“Maybe.” She grinned and tossed the mask into the basket. “We’re buying it.”

“Are we?” he asked, watching her like he already knew there was no point in resisting.

“We are,” she said simply. “I have plans. You’ll see.”

Joe sighed but didn’t argue. He didn't reach to take the mask out either, which to Angel meant she’d already won.

They walked again, fingers laced. Angel leaned her head against his shoulder, still giddy as she scanned the shelves with a strategist’s eye. “Now I just need some spiderwebs, a fog machine, maybe a skeleton or two for your couch…”

Joe glanced down at her. “You’re not turning my apartment into a haunted house.”

Angel looked up at him with a sweet, wicked smile. “Oh, baby. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

He groaned again, but this time there was a faint trace of laughter under it. “Should’ve known better than to bring you.”

“You love it,” she sing-songed, standing on her tiptoes to snag a pack of battery-powered candles.

“I love you,” Joe corrected, “even when you’re out here plotting my decorative downfall.”

Angel kissed his arm. “That’s the spirit.”

Just then, Monica’s voice echoed from across the store. “Y’all better hurry up—Kels is trying to convince Rae to be a slutty frog!”

Angel cackled, already pulling Joe toward the group’s laughter. “Okay, we gotta go save her. Then you’re helping me hang skeleton lights over your TV.”

“I regret everything,” Joe muttered—but followed without complaint, the Ghostface mask bouncing in the basket between them.

They kept moving through the store, Angel practically vibrating with excitement as she tugged Joe deeper into the chaos. He trailed behind her, his long, slow strides a contrast to her quick, purposeful ones, but he didn’t resist. His fingers stayed loosely tangled with hers, and the basket in his free hand was noticeably heavier now—weighted down with plastic pumpkins, string lights shaped like tiny bats, a roll of caution tape, fake cobwebs, and the fog machine Angel had insisted was absolutely essential for “ambience.”

“Trust me,” she’d said, dropping it into the cart with a dramatic flourish. “A little dry ice magic never hurt anybody.”

Joe had grunted, unbothered but skeptical. “I’m starting to think you’re turning my apartment into a haunted brothel.”

“Exactly the vibe,” Angel replied, chipper.

Now, they were slowing in front of one of the more ridiculous aisles—an entire section of couples’ costumes, with rows and rows of clear plastic bags holding outfits that ranged from absurdly wholesome to downright unhinged. Oversized cartoon props, food pairings, matching superheroes, punny visual gags.

Angel turned, planting herself in front of the wall like a game show host.

“Okay, okay,” she said, gesturing grandly with one arm. “This is the moment, Burrow. Pick your poison.”

Joe stared at the selection, unimpressed. His mouth opened, then closed again in disbelief as he slowly took it all in. “You’re joking.”

Angel didn’t even try to hide her grin. “Come on. Some of these are fun.”

He stepped closer to inspect the wall, muttering under his breath. “Fun for who? The people judging us on Instagram?”

Angel swatted his arm lightly. “You promised one couple’s costume. A man of your word, remember?”

Joe gave her a long, withering look, then began reading the labels aloud in deadpan disbelief. “‘Plug and Socket’? ‘Milk and Cookies’? ‘Avocado and Toast’?” He turned toward her with raised brows. “Who actually buys this crap?”

“Drunk girls,” Angel replied sweetly, “and their patient, wonderful boyfriends who love them.”

Joe made a show of sighing deeply. “Please tell me we’re not seriously considering ‘Peanut Butter and Jelly.’”

Angel snorted. “Only if you want me to dump you in front of everyone at the Halloween party.”

“Tempting,” he said under his breath, still scanning.

They continued down the aisle, past pirate duos, matching astronauts, vampires with plastic capes, a cowboy and saloon girl combo, even a baffling ‘sexy beekeeper and honey pot’ pairing that made Joe physically recoil.

He paused, lifting the honey pot costume with two fingers like it might sting. “There are children in this store.”

Angel giggled, dragging him farther until something caught her eye. Her hand shot out toward a black-and-red pair of costumes displayed on a higher hook—something with more edge, more drama. She tugged it down and held it in front of them with excitement gleaming in her eyes.

It was a Vampire Queen and her Gothic Consort—hers a corseted, high-slit dress with sheer black sleeves and blood-red velvet; his a long black velvet coat with silver trim, paired with leather-look pants and a high-collared shirt underneath.

“Ooh. This is hot,” she said, holding the packaging up for him to see. “It’s sexy without being corny. And you’d look good in this coat. Like, suspiciously good.”

Joe studied the image, nodding slowly. “It’s not terrible.”

“Not terrible? That’s basically a rave review coming from you,” she teased.

He leaned down, close enough that his breath tickled the shell of her ear. “I’d rather be Ghostface,” he murmured, voice low and wicked. “No talking. Just watching you scream.”

Angel froze for a second, breath catching hard in her chest. Her spine straightened. Her fingers gripped the costume tighter.

“Okay, damn,” she whispered, shooting him a wide-eyed look. “You can’t just say stuff like that to me in public, I'll jump your bones.”

Joe smirked, unbothered.

She blinked, recovering. “We’re buying both. That’s non-negotiable now.”

Without waiting for a reply, she dropped the Vampire Queen costume into the basket next to the Scream mask.

Joe chuckled, the sound warm and a little dangerous. “You’re gonna make me wear eyeliner, aren’t you?”

“Oh absolutely,” Angel said brightly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Smudged and smoky. I’ll do it myself. Maybe throw in a little fake blood on your collarbone for effect.”

He gave her a sideways glance, somewhere between amused and aroused. “Why do I feel like this is less about a costume and more about a kink reveal?”

Angel just shrugged, totally unbothered. “You say that like those things are mutually exclusive.”

Joe only laughed, shaking his head and following as she tugged him farther down the aisle, a proud smirk curving her lips.

“C’mon, baby. I still need to find glitter for our rave night,” she said over her shoulder. “And—oh my God—is that a fog bubble machine?”

He didn’t even ask.

They were leaving with it.

Before Joe could get a word in, a familiar voice rang out from two aisles over.

“Bitch, we found the costumes!”

Angel’s head snapped up like a bloodhound catching a scent. “Come on.”

Still gripping Joe’s hand, she tugged him toward the source of the chaos. They rounded a corner into what could only be described as a fluorescent-lit war zone of tiny skirts, lace-up bodysuits, and glittery accessories. Monica, Kelsey, and Rae stood in the middle of it all like witches around a cauldron, holding up outfit pieces with the seriousness of curators designing a museum exhibit—if that museum only displayed “slutty but iconic” looks.

“We’re doing slutty Scooby-Doo,” Kelsey announced, lifting a purple crop top and matching mini skirt triumphantly above her head like Simba on Pride Rock.

Monica was already halfway into character, slipping a lilac headband over her curls and adjusting an imaginary camera-ready smirk. “I’m Daphne, obviously.”

“Rae’s Velma,” Kelsey continued, jerking her thumb toward Rae, who held up a red-orange pleated micro skirt and a cropped turtleneck that would’ve made the cartoon version combust.

“And I’m Fred—slutty Fred, don’t ask,” Kelsey added with a dramatic hair flip.

Angel blinked. “Wait. Then who the hell am I?”

All three turned toward her in synchronized delight.

“You’re Scooby,” Monica said, smug.

Angel’s jaw dropped. “You made me the dog?”

Monica nodded proudly. “The hot dog. It’s a serve, I promise. Ears. Tail. Booty for days.”

Joe let out a choked laugh behind her that he barely managed to muffle with the back of his hand. His shoulders shook with the effort.

Angel slowly turned, eyes narrowing. “Not. A. Word.”

Joe held both hands up in surrender, lips twitching. “Didn’t say a thing.”

Kelsey, unfazed, handed Angel a brown velvet two-piece trimmed in teal-blue, complete with a pair of scooped dog ears and a tiny fuzzy tail. “It’s cute. Trust. And your ass’ll look phenomenal in it.”

Angel held it up, inspecting the pieces like a fashion judge. The cheeky cut. The soft texture. The way the top was clearly engineered for cleavage.

“…Okay. Yeah,” she finally said, lips curling. “Yeah, I’ll eat this up.”

The girls erupted into cheers like they’d won a playoff game.

“And we’re doing sexy firefighters for the frat crawl,” Rae announced, fishing a red suspender set out of their cart. It came with fishnet tights, a cropped patent jacket, and what looked like a plastic toy axe. “Matching accessories and all.”

Angel cackled. “That’s so trashy. I love it.”

“Oh, we’re not done,” Monica chimed in, holding up a hot pink velvet mini coat trimmed in white faux fur. “For my birthday pregame? We’re going full pimp mode. Heels, gold chains, go-go boots. No bras. Just chaos.”

Joe arched a brow. “So… a ‘Pimps and Hoes’ party where y’all are just the pimps?”

“Exactly,” Kelsey said, adjusting her invisible crown. “Equality, bitch.”

Joe ran a hand down his face. “You’re all menaces.”

“And for the Halloween rave,” Angel said with a dramatic flair, “we’re doing Twisted Fairytales. I’m gonna be undead Red Riding Hood.”

She held up the costume, spinning it slightly to show off the tattered mesh, black and blood-splattered hood, corset lacing across the front, and a dagger-shaped thigh strap.

Joe stared at it like it had personally offended him. “Jesus.”

“And then,” Monica added, eyes gleaming, “Teen Titans for the Instagram drop. Group photo. Full beat. Filters ready.”

“I’m Raven,” Rae said, clearly thrilled. She held up a tight black bodysuit and a purple cloak with a high collar.

“Beast Boy, baby,” Monica said, grinning like the devil herself. “Green body glitter everywhere.”

“Slutty Robin,” Kelsey said, holding up a red-and-yellow corset and black micro skirt with fishnet sleeves. “No explanation needed.”

Angel tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “Wait. Who am I?”

Without missing a beat, Monica tossed a bundle toward her—a flaming orange and violet two-piece with matching glittery arm cuffs and thigh-high boots. Angel caught it midair and held it up.

“Starfire, duh,” Monica said. “You’ve got the tits for it.”

Joe took one glance at the outfit and blinked like he’d just been hit in the chest. “That’s not a costume. That’s lingerie with space boots.”

Angel snatched it back and winked. “And I’m gonna look amazing.”

Joe muttered something under his breath—probably a prayer or worse.

“And last but not least…” Kelsey dug through the growing pile of chaos and pulled out a fan-adorned blue mask. “Mortal Kombat night. Sexy ninja edition. I’m Jade. Rae’s Mileena. Monica’s obviously Scorpion because she wants to breathe fire on men.”

Angel’s mouth dropped when Rae handed her the matching costume—deep blue, barely-there, with silver accents and detachable fans.

“Wait—am I Kitana?”

“Absolutely,” Rae said. “You with those fans? It’s over.”

Joe crossed his arms, brow raised. “So y’all are dressing like deadly lingerie models and going to war.”

Kelsey winked. “Exactly.”

He squinted at the costume. “Do any of these come with pants?”

All four girls turned in perfect sync. “No.”

Angel’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been waiting to be her. Say less.”

Joe looked like he was already preparing himself for battle. “Y’all are gonna get kicked out of every party.”

“Or win best group costume and score free drinks,” Angel said, striking a pose and snapping her fan open with a dramatic flick. “And if I end up on LSU Barstool, so be it.”

Joe groaned like he was in pain, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “You’re gonna turn my apartment into a glittery war zone.”

Angel leaned up and kissed his cheek sweetly, patting his chest. “Your sacrifice is appreciated.”

They spent another twenty minutes diving deeper into what could only be described as Halloween mayhem. Wigs were tried on and tossed aside like fast fashion, tiaras were compared with the intensity of Olympic judging, and a heated debate broke out over glitter spray versus body shimmer.

Angel held up two different chokers—one with a tiny red vial of “blood” and the other decked out in rhinestones shaped like bats. “Which says sexy but might kill you more?”

Joe, trailing behind them like a battle-worn bodyguard on his last nerve, gave a quick glance before muttering, “The vial. More murder-y.”

“Perfect,” Angel said, tossing it into the cart.

Joe texted Ja’Marr under the table of costume wigs.

'deep in the trenches. send help. they just debated glitter particle sizes. Send the military.'

Monica popped around the corner holding up a rainbow afro wig. “Be honest. Would this ruin the slutty firefighter vibe?”

“Yes,” Joe deadpanned. “Immediately.”

Angel doubled over laughing, then tugged him toward the next aisle. “Come on, we still haven’t picked devil horns!”

He groaned softly but followed anyway, only to find himself being used as a mannequin two minutes later.

“Hold these,” she said, passing him a pair of red glitter devil horns and a matching pitchfork. Then a feather boa. Then a corset.

Joe looked down at himself—half-dressed in accessories he didn’t ask for—and blinked. “How did I become the group’s overworked stylist?”

“You’re tall and handsome with great shoulders,” Angel replied, digging through a bin of mesh gloves. “You're made for this.”

Occasionally, he offered input—grudging but useful.

“Yes, the boots match. No, you don’t need glow-in-the-dark nipple pasties.”

“I could need them,” Angel said defensively, folding her arms.

Joe gave her a look over the rim of his sunglasses.

Angel smirked. “Don’t stifle my sparkle, Burrow.”

The chaos only escalated. Rae had opinions about fake blood textures (“If it looks like ketchup, I swear I’m walking”), Monica nearly started a turf war over the last bag of webbed stockings, and Kelsey insisted on testing different body shimmers on everyone’s forearms like she was prepping for a runway show.

They argued over wigs in the mirror. Rae looked surprisingly good as a platinum blonde. Monica discovered her inner redhead. Kelsey nearly bought a mullet “just for vibes.”

Joe stood silently behind them, now holding six costumes, two wigs, a glittery sword that doubled as a broomstick, and a fake butcher knife Rae had used to poke him in the back for fun. Angel made him wear a witch hat for no reason. He didn’t take it off.

“This,” Angel said proudly, patting his chest as she tossed a bag of glow-in-the-dark body glitter into their basket, “is what love looks like.”

Joe didn’t respond. He was too busy readjusting the stack of plastic tiaras digging into his arm.

By the time they finally made it to the checkout counter, their cart looked like a Halloween tornado had spun through the store, picked up everything sparkly and vaguely demonic, and dumped it all in one spot. The cashier blinked twice, clearly overwhelmed.

Inside the avalanche: Costumes for every event. Masks. Fishnets in every imaginable color. Fake fangs. Glow-in-the-dark chokers. Black lipstick. Two candle holders shaped like skeleton hands. A mini cauldron Rae swore she needed for shots. A “Sexy Pumpkin Spice” costume that Monica promised she’d wear ironically (but everyone knew she meant it). And nestled at the very bottom—almost reverently placed—was the Ghostface mask Angel had been grinning about for an hour straight.

Joe eyed the mask, then Angel. “You’re gonna make me regret that one.”

Angel leaned in, whispering low against his ear, “No, I’m gonna make you suffer in the best way.”

He swallowed hard and paid for everything without a single further complaint.

The sun had started to dip when they pushed their overstuffed cart across the cracked parking lot, their shadows stretching behind them as dusk crept in. Angel looped her arm through Joe’s, practically glowing.

“This is going to be the best spooky season ever,” she declared, sighing in satisfaction as the breeze fluttered her hoodie.

Joe glanced down at the overflowing bags in their hands—costumes spilling from tissue paper, glitter dusting the edges, something suspiciously sticky oozing from a plastic fangs package. “It better be. I think we just personally funded the entire Spirit Halloween corporation.”

Angel smirked. “Spooky season is my Super Bowl, Joey. You knew what this was.”

“I thought I knew,” Joe said, bumping his shoulder lightly against hers. “I didn’t know y’all had military-level strategy.”

Angel winked and lifted a bag like a trophy. “Consider it my love language.”

He groaned but didn’t argue.

Because despite the glitter. Despite the plastic weaponry. Despite the fake blood and devil horns and body shimmer smeared across his hand—

She was right.

He did know what this was.

And secretly?

He wouldn’t change a damn thing.

After they checked out, the girls spilled into the parking lot like glitter-dusted chaos, arms full of bags and already halfway into planning round two.

“I’m calling first dibs on the living room mirror for selfies,” Rae said, adjusting her ponytail as she balanced a giant Party City bag on one hip. “That lighting is elite.”

“You mean my mirror,” Kelsey corrected, unlocking her car. “And Rae, don’t forget to clean your lash glue off it this time.”

“I’m not making promises I can’t keep,” Rae shot back, smirking.

Monica huffed, tossing a plastic pumpkin bucket into Kelsey’s trunk. “You better not ditch me halfway through Target, Kel. I still need black-out curtains, makeup drawers, and—oh yeah—a lamp.”

“Why didn’t you get a lamp weeks ago?” Angel asked.

“I don’t know, bitch, I’ve been prioritizing things like fishnets and glitter body oil!”

Angel cracked up, stepping in for a round of goodbye hugs that turned into a tangled, giggly mess of “Text me later,” “Send pics when you try it on,” and “If you lose your fishnet gloves again, I’m not lending you mine.”

By the time Rae peeled off to go crash at her boyfriend’s, and Monica and Kelsey headed out bickering toward Target, Angel turned back to the only person still standing beside her.

Joe.

He was leaning against the side of his car, arms crossed, one brow raised like he’d just survived a war zone. Angel popped the trunk with a smug smile and started loading in their shared haul.

“Alright, Joey,” she said brightly, tossing in a bag labeled Aesthetic Shit Only. “You’re coming with me.”

Joe slid her a look that said he wasn’t even pretending to be surprised anymore. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not even a little,” she replied sweetly, slamming the trunk shut like a period at the end of a sentence.

He just grunted in mock defeat and climbed into the driver’s seat. She followed a second later, sinking into the passenger side with a satisfied sigh as her phone buzzed—another group chat lighting up over what Monica was calling “Pimp Coat Rehearsals.” Joe didn’t even flinch. His hand found her thigh without thought, resting there like it belonged, fingers brushing absent circles over her skin.

And like always, Angel leaned into the contact, settling in as she launched into a rambling, excited monologue about playlist ideas, party themes, potential backup costume choices, and whether Rae’s cousin Jaylen was actually a decent DJ or just hot with an aux cord.

Joe listened quietly, offering the occasional grunt or snort, letting her fill the space with her voice. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested—he just liked watching her in her element, bubbling with chaotic joy over something as simple as Halloween decorations. She was the storm. He was the anchor.

By the time they pulled into his apartment complex, the sun had begun to dip below the skyline, casting everything in a dusky violet haze that felt more October than the calendar ever could.

Angel was already out of the car before he cut the engine. “Okay, bring in the bags marked vibes and aesthetic,” she called over her shoulder, struggling to unlock the front door with her elbow while balancing a cauldron under one arm. “Not the costume ones—we’re saving those for later.”

Joe popped the trunk and grabbed a bag stuffed with a plush ghost pillow, fake cobwebs, and what appeared to be a glittery tombstone. “You labeled the bags?”

“I’m organized,” she shot back.

“You’re a menace,” he muttered, following her inside.

“Same thing,” she tossed over her shoulder with a wink.

Inside, Joe’s apartment was still very much a blank slate. Warm neutrals, clean corners, barely a whisper of Halloween spirit. Angel stopped in the entryway and clicked her tongue in disapproval like a disappointed interior designer.

“This is unacceptable,” she said, dropping her load on the couch with dramatic flair. “It looks like October skipped your entire floor.”

Joe shrugged as he toed off his sneakers. “It’s a football apartment, not a haunted mansion.”

“Not for long.”

She turned to face him, hands planted firmly on her hips, dark eyes glittering with mischief. “I’ll make you a deal.”

Joe narrowed his gaze immediately. “I don’t like your deals.”

“You’ll like this one,” she purred, stepping forward until they were nearly chest to chest.

He instinctively slipped his hands to her hips, pulling her a little closer. “Convince me.”

“If you let me decorate this place”—she raised a single finger—“and help me without complaining, you get a private preview of all my costumes. Every single one. Before anyone else sees them. Before the girls even try them on. Before Rae takes her dramatic-ass mirror selfies.”

Joe’s jaw twitched. “All of them?”

Angel nodded, slow and deliberate. “Every. Single. One.”

There was a long pause. The kind where you could practically hear the mental math happening behind his eyes.

Then, without a word, Joe dropped the bag he was holding, turned on his heel, and walked to the closet to grab the step stool.

Angel grinned, victorious. “Knew you were smart.”

What followed could only be described as organized chaos. For two hours, they transformed his pristine apartment into a haunted hideaway. Angel directed with the precision of a general, flitting from room to room with string lights draped over one shoulder and plastic spiders clutched in one fist.

Joe followed orders like a good soldier, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment.

“Why are we putting a skeleton in the pantry?”

“So it can greet you every time you get your protein powder.”

“Fantastic. Can’t wait to scream for no reason before a 6 a.m. workout.”

She hung cobwebs across the upper cabinets, placed tiny skulls between his sports trophies, and perched a black cat statue on the toilet tank like a watchful Halloween sentinel.

They argued over which shade of purple string lights looked less “tacky rave” and more “haunted chic,” and Angel made him take down and rehang the paper bats three times until they looked “properly menacing.”

Joe’s favorite part was the ten-foot inflatable pumpkin Angel made him set up just outside the balcony.

“For the vibes,” she explained, fluffing its hat.

“For the HOA violations,” he countered.

But he didn’t stop her. Not even when she added a fog machine next to it and squealed in delight as it puffed out its first cloud.

By the time they were finished, the apartment looked like a Spirit Halloween exploded inside a Pinterest board.

Joe stood in the middle of it all, hands on his hips, surveying the glittering chaos. He should’ve been annoyed by the sheer amount of fake blood, sparkly pumpkins, and unnecessary skull candles…

But then Angel turned to him, cheeks flushed, curls tied back with a black satin bow, and a tiny smear of glitter clinging to her collarbone.

And he smiled.

Because damn it—she was right.

This was what love looked like.

And he’d let her turn his apartment into a haunted house a hundred times over just to see her this happy.

The lights were dimmed, casting an eerie glow over the purple string lights framing the TV. The fog machine let out a satisfied hiss, releasing a puff that curled like ghostly fingers into the living room.

The candy bowl on the coffee table—currently empty except for a single, sad roll of Smarties—was surrounded by a circle of tea light candles and mini plastic rats. Angel swore it was “for ambiance.” The couch was now home to three plush skeletons she’d insisted on adopting from the store and naming on the spot.

“Bones, Bonita, and Larry,” she said proudly as she arranged them in various lounging positions. “Larry’s the quiet one.”

Joe dropped onto the couch beside them with a long, exaggerated sigh, stretching out his legs and letting his head fall back against the cushion. “Is this everything? Or is there like, a Phase Three I don’t know about?”

Angel didn’t answer. She simply turned, straddled his lap without warning, and looped her arms lazily around his neck.

“Almost,” she said, voice all honey and heat.

Joe raised an eyebrow, not trusting that glint in her eye one bit. “Almost?”

Her lips hovered just above his, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. “You still haven’t gotten your reward.”

That got his attention.

His hands slid to her thighs automatically, fingers pressing into the soft skin beneath her shorts. “Yeah?”

Angel gave him a wicked smirk, her voice lowering to a sultry whisper. “I’ll let you pick which one you want to see first…”

Before he could respond, she was up again, grabbing his hand and tugging him off the couch. “Come on,” she said, already halfway to his bedroom. “Sit your ass down.”

Joe let out a breath that was half a groan, half a laugh, and let himself be dragged, his legs suddenly a little wobbly. “Yes, ma’am.”

He sank onto the edge of the bed like a man preparing for battle, eyes locked on her every move.

Angel dropped the bags at the bedroom door and turned back, shooting him a dangerous smile. “Ready for your private fashion show?”

Joe leaned back on his palms, trying to look cool, even though his pulse was definitely speeding up. “Hit me.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, door clicking shut behind her.

Ten minutes passed. He could hear the shuffle of hangers, the rustle of plastic bags, the soft thud of makeup bags and costume boxes being opened and rearranged. His leg bounced restlessly. He didn’t know if it was nerves or anticipation—or both.

The door creaked open.

Angel stepped out slowly, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other resting on her hip, smirk already in place.

Joe’s brain short-circuited.

Blue. Leather. Cutouts. High slits. God help him.

The Kitana costume clung to her like sin—sleek, form-fitting halter crop top with sharp black piping that drew his eyes to her waist and shoulders. The matching high-cut bottoms left most of her thighs exposed, black leg straps hugging her curves like weapons in disguise. Her long curls had been pulled up into a slick half-ponytail, and in one hand, she casually spun a plastic fan that looked like it could decapitate a man on sight.

“Finish him,” Joe whispered under his breath.

Angel twirled slowly, giving him a 360-degree view of every lethal curve, then stalked toward him with deliberate grace, like she was hunting something. “So?” she asked, stopping right between his knees. “Think I’ll win the Mortal Kombat group contest?”

Joe blinked, completely gone. “I think I just lost my will to live unless you sit on my face immediately.”

Angel laughed, straddling his lap just long enough to kiss his cheek before hopping off again. “You can’t touch. That was the deal.”

He groaned, like her words physically hurt. “Why do I agree to anything you say?”

“Because I’m cute and manipulative,” she called over her shoulder, already vanishing back into the bathroom.

Joe let his head fall back with a soft thud against the wall. “Angel,” he called after her, voice strained. “You are actually trying to kill me.”

“Good!” she yelled. “Means I’m doing it right!”

Minutes passed.

Joe rubbed his hands over his face, breathing through the chaos in his chest. The anticipation was killing him. He’d never wanted to break a no-touching rule so badly in his life. He heard the door open again—and this time?

He genuinely almost choked.

Angel strutted out in a cropped firefighter jacket, unzipped and hanging off her shoulders like it had no business covering anything. Her matching red mini skirt was more suggestive than functional, showing off miles of leg wrapped in black fishnets that crisscrossed up into glossy, thigh-high boots. A plastic firefighter hat sat tilted on her head like a dare.

Emblazoned across her cleavage in bold white letters were the words: EMERGENCY SERVICE.

Joe blinked slowly. “Someone call 911,” he muttered, eyes trailing every inch of her. “There’s a fire in my pants.”

Angel gave a playful spin, striking a pose as she adjusted the hat. “I could’ve brought the hose,” she said, tossing him a wink, “but I thought that might be overkill.”

Joe’s fists clenched on his thighs. “I know a hose you can play with. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Angel leaned down, kissed his forehead like he was a sick child, and whispered, “You’ll survive. Maybe.”

And then she vanished again.

Joe sat in stunned silence, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth dry. He wasn’t sure if this was heaven or hell. All he knew was that he was sweating and there was no AC malfunction to blame.

The bathroom door opened a third time, and this?

This was criminal.

Angel stepped out in a velvet bodysuit patterned with $100 bills—tight, high-cut, and deeply disrespectful. White faux fur trimmed the deep V neckline and cuffs, matching the oversized pimp coat draped dramatically over her shoulders. Her legs sparkled with white fishnets dotted in rhinestones, and the shiny white go-go boots on her feet clicked against the hardwood as she sauntered forward like she owned the whole apartment.

Joe’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t even speak—he just grabbed a pillow and flung it at the floor with a frustrated yell, like that could express the internal scream in his soul.

“Nope. I’m done. I can’t. You win. Take my money. Take my soul. Take everything.”

Angel planted her hands on her hips, one brow arched high. “You like this one, baby?”

Joe looked at her like she was made of gold, like God had carved her out of his fantasies and added a white fur collar for drama. “I am this close to breaking our no-touching rule and risking death by horny.”

Angel stepped between his knees, leaned down until their noses nearly brushed, and whispered, “Then I guess you better behave… if you want to see Starfire next.”

Joe groaned—loud, desperate, and honest. “I hate you.”

She kissed him once, soft and fleeting, just enough to ruin his composure. “No, you don’t.”

And before he could respond, she was gone again, hips swaying like a slow curse as the door clicked shut behind her.

Joe let out a strangled noise, buried his face in his hands, and dragged his palms down his cheeks like he could physically cool himself off.

October was going to kill him.

And he was ready to die.

Joe was still mentally recovering from the pimp outfit—heart rate beginning to stabilize, breath no longer caught in his throat, thoughts just starting to find their way back through the fog of lust—when he heard the soft, mechanical click of the bathroom lock turning again.

He froze.

His hands curled into the comforter beneath him, every nerve in his body snapping back to attention like a soldier hearing a war drum. He looked up, already bracing himself for impact. Angel had been steadily escalating all night, and by now he knew better than to underestimate her. But nothing—not the Kitana slits, not the firefighter cleavage, not the velvet pimp coat—could have prepared him for what stepped through that door next.

Angel emerged slowly, like a vision carved out of light and fantasy.

The costume shimmered—metallic purple that glinted under the warm glow of the bedroom lamp. A two-piece so tight it looked airbrushed onto her skin, as if she’d been dipped in molten chrome and pulled out just in time to destroy him. The top was a halter cut that bared her shoulders completely, the collar hugging her throat and lifting her breasts into view with unapologetic power. The bottoms rode dangerously low on her hips, cut high at the thigh and somehow connected to lavender thigh-high boots that turned her into something not entirely human. Something celestial. Something lethal.

Her hair had been brushed out into long, glossy curls, tumbling over her shoulders like cascading fire. Her lips shimmered with glossy pink, and her eyes—Jesus. She’d put in green contacts. Bright, alien, glowing green.

Starfire.

Sexy, dangerous, invincible Starfire.

Joe's jaw dropped. It wasn’t even dramatic. His body simply stopped functioning. Mouth open. Lungs paused. Brain completely unplugged.

“You’re not real,” he said, the words escaping in a reverent breath, like a prayer he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

Angel cocked her hip and raised her arms in a theatrical ta-da gesture, her smile radiating wicked glee. “Surprise. I’m your intergalactic baddie.”

Joe whimpered. Actually whimpered.

That sound shocked even him, but there was no taking it back now. He was on the ropes, and she was loving every second.

Angel started toward him slowly, her boots clicking against the hardwood with deliberate seduction, each step a countdown to destruction. The sway of her hips was hypnotic. Her smirk? Criminal.

Joe’s eyes never left her. He tracked every movement like she was some kind of rare cosmic event—one he wasn’t meant to survive.

“You okay, baby?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head as she approached, the green of her eyes glowing beneath thick lashes.

“No,” Joe said immediately. No hesitation. No façade. Just raw, desperate truth. “No, I’m not.”

Angel bit her lip like she was trying not to laugh, her expression full of faux concern. “No?”

“I’m not okay,” he repeated, voice fraying at the edges. “I am not mentally, emotionally, or physically okay.”

She was standing between his knees now, tall and powerful in her boots and glowing eyes, all confidence and control. She bent slightly, hands sliding up his chest as she climbed into his lap like a queen taking her throne, straddling him with slow, deliberate weight.

“So…” she purred, trailing her fingers up his neck, “is this your favorite?”

Joe couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look anywhere else. The shimmering purple clung to every curve, her thighs bracketing his like temptation incarnate. His hands gripped the edge of the bed so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

“I swear to God,” he whispered hoarsely, throat thick with restraint, “if you don’t get off me right now, I’m going to ruin this costume.”

Angel leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, “That’s kind of the goal, Joey.”

He let out a strangled groan, his head falling back, neck tense with effort. “Angel, please,” he muttered, like he wasn’t even sure what he was begging for—mercy, relief, permission, salvation.

She giggled, feather-light and unbothered, and slowly peeled herself off his lap with a sensual roll of her hips. The shimmering fabric glinted under the bedroom light as she turned, giving him one last look over her shoulder.

“I told you,” she said, sashaying back toward the bathroom. “If you helped me decorate, you got a private show.”

“That wasn’t a show,” Joe called after her, still breathless. “That was psychological warfare.”

Angel turned at the doorway, one hand on her hip. “You say that like you didn’t love every second of it.”

“I did,” he admitted, dragging a hand down his face. “And I think I have a boner-induced concussion.”

Angel cackled, her laughter echoing through the room like a taunt. “Good. That means I’m just getting started.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

Joe sat in stunned silence for a few moments, then slowly collapsed backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like he’d just lived through a natural disaster. His chest rose and fell in deep, heavy breaths. He was sweating again. His heart wouldn’t slow down. His pants were criminally tight.

He groaned into the nearest pillow.

It was officially spooky season.

And Angel? Angel was the scariest, hottest thing he’d ever survived.

And she wasn’t done yet.

Angel emerged from the bathroom one final time—no costume this time, no exaggerated theatrics or flashing lights of glamour, but somehow this version of her hit Joe even harder. She was dressed in the aftermath of all that teasing, and the impact was nuclear.

Black fishnets clung to her legs like a second skin, the soft diamond weave disappearing into a pair of tiny, worn cotton shorts that rode up the curve of her thighs indecently. Her plain black bra—the same one she’d had on earlier when the try-on marathon began—had transformed. Maybe it was the context, maybe it was the confidence she wore like perfume, but it now looked like the most sinful thing Joe had ever seen. Her skin held the faint shimmer of exertion, a post-costume-glow that made her look kissed by starlight. Her curls were tousled, framing her face with just the right amount of chaos, and her smile—lazy, lethal—spoke volumes. Mischief danced in her eyes like a dare.

Joe was still perched on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, breathing like he’d just survived a ten-round fight. Emotionally, he was wrecked. Physically? Wrecked again. Spiritually? Teetering somewhere between heaven and hell, barely tethered to Earth. His gaze locked on Angel as she sauntered over, her hips moving with slow, devastating intent.

He looked up at her like she was salvation wrapped in temptation. Like she was the only thing still holding his fragile self together.

Angel stopped just in front of him, her hands on her hips, a devilish glint in her eye. “Your turn, Burrow.”

Joe blinked, still trying to reboot. “I didn’t get anything?”

His voice came out rough, husky, like desire had permanently scarred his vocal cords. He raised a tired eyebrow, suspicious but curious, too far gone to be anything but utterly hers.

Angel’s grin stretched wider, and before he could process what was coming, she climbed into his lap with practiced ease, her thighs hugging his hips like she belonged there. His hands flew to her waist automatically—muscle memory, instinct, obsession. He didn’t even think. His body knew hers like it knew gravity.

“You didn’t,” she murmured, voice like warm honey and sin, “but I did.”

From behind her back, she pulled out a black-and-white plastic mask.

Ghostface.

Joe’s eyebrows lifted as his lips parted, recognition flashing across his face. His amusement sparked like a fuse, but right behind it came something darker—something interested.

“Guess you’re about to get your costume after all,” Angel whispered, inching closer, pressing her body flush against his. Her fingers curled around the mask as she guided it into his lap, right between them, right over where he was already hard and aching for her.

Joe inhaled sharply, and his grip on her hips tightened. That was all it took for the air to change—again. One moment, playful. The next? Thick. Tense. Charged with electric anticipation. Her hips rolled slowly in his lap, teasing him through the layers, and he felt it down to his bones.

“I did say I had plans for you, didn’t I?” she asked, voice a silk ribbon winding around his spine, her curls brushing his jaw as she tilted her head with dangerous sweetness. Her eyes sparkled with too much heat for something innocent.

Joe looked down at the mask now resting between them, turning it over slowly in his hands. He ran his thumb along the edge like he was committing it to memory, as if it were a weapon he was about to wield.

“And what plans are those, exactly?” he asked, his voice lower now. Darker. Intrigued. Wanting.

Angel leaned in until her lips hovered at the shell of his ear, her breath warm and tantalizing.

“Well, Mr. Ghostface…” she whispered, her fingers dancing down his chest like a countdown, slow and deliberate, “…why don’t you catch your willing victim—and find out?”

Before he could even blink, she placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth—a featherlight promise—and slipped off his lap, giggling as she bolted toward the bedroom door.

Joe stared after her, still holding the mask in both hands like she’d just handed him the keys to the kingdom and told him to come take it.

For a beat, he didn’t move. Just processed. Let it sink in.

And then he stood.

The transformation was instant. A grin curled at his lips—hungry, unhinged, unholy. He was smiling like a man who had just been dared to sin and couldn’t wait to get started.

He dragged the mask up to eye level, considering it for a second longer. Then, slowly—purposefully—he slid it down over his face.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered behind the plastic, already heading toward the door with a predator’s gait, dark laughter bubbling in his throat.

Angel wanted to play?

She had no idea what she just started.

And Joe? He wasn’t just going to play Ghostface.

He was going to make her scream.

“Angel,” Joe called out, his voice low, gravelly, and dangerous as he stepped into the hallway, the black-and-white mask dangling from one hand. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t run, baby.”

Her laughter answered him from somewhere near the kitchen—bright, breathless, and wicked. Taunting. Daring. Inviting.

Joe’s lips curled beneath the mask as he slid it over his face and adjusted it into place. His entire body shifted with it. Gone was the tired, overwhelmed boyfriend recovering from a costume-induced fever dream. In his place now stood something far more dangerous.

Ghostface.

And Ghostface was coming for her.

The hunt had begun.

Angel tore through the apartment, feet slipping slightly in her socks as she rounded the corner into the kitchen. Her chest heaved with laughter and adrenaline, not fear. Not even close. It was the thrill of the chase—the electric, full-body high of knowing he wanted her, was hunting her, and was close.

She ducked behind the island, heart racing, crouching low to the cool tile as she tried to stifle her giggles. She peeked around the edge cautiously, her breathing shallow and quick. The bedroom door creaked shut somewhere behind her.

Then… silence.

It stretched. Too long. A beat. Then two.

Her smile faltered.

“Joe?” she whispered into the quiet, her voice barely audible. Her eyes darted down the dim hallway.

No response.

Her skin prickled.

Then—

BANG!

A loud, jarring thud hit the wall, and Angel yelped, her whole body jerking as her hands flew to her chest. She slapped a palm over her mouth, trying not to laugh—or scream. Her giggles trembled with anticipation.

Heavy footsteps followed. Slow. Deliberate. Unhurried. Each one echoed through the apartment like a countdown.

And then… he appeared.

Joe stepped into the kitchen shadows, cloaked in dim light, tall and broad and fucking terrifying in that mask. The blank expression, stretched wide in its frozen scream, made her skin prickle. But what really sent a shiver down her spine was the way he moved—smooth, slow, loose. Predatory. His head tilted slightly to one side, like he was studying her. Or deciding what to do with her once he caught her.

“Shit,” Angel whispered with a giddy grin, ducking lower behind the counter, trying to catch her breath.

She could hear the swish of his sweatpants, the faint creak of the floor beneath his weight. Every move calculated. Intentional.

And silent.

Until he spoke.

“Come out, come out…” Joe sing-songed softly, his voice muffled and distorted behind the plastic, making it all the more haunting. He dragged his fingers slowly across the kitchen island’s edge as he moved, the tips tapping gently in rhythm. “You really thought I wasn’t gonna chase you?”

Angel bit her knuckle, eyes wide and glittering. She had to bite down hard to keep from moaning. Her body pulsed with the tension, the fearlessness of his confidence making her blood pump faster.

She stayed quiet. Didn’t give herself away.

Then—creak. A floorboard betrayed her.

Joe paused. Tilted his head again, listening.

He moved toward the pantry, creeping forward with theatrical menace. Her giggles froze in her throat as he reached for the handle and—

Pulled it open.

Empty.

He smirked beneath the mask. Smart girl. Playing with him now. Making him search. Making him want.

Then he heard it. The faintest shift of movement behind him. Too late.

She darted past him like a shadow, brushing against his chest as she laughed and sprinted back down the hallway. Her shorts rode high, her laugh turned feral, and her hair bounced behind her in a blur of motion.

Joe whipped around with a growl. “You are so dead.”

“JOSEPH!” she squealed through a cascade of laughter.

She turned into the living room, trying to leap over the back of the couch for cover, but Joe was faster now—driven by something deeper than the game. He caught her mid-jump, arms wrapping around her waist and yanking her clean off the floor like she weighed nothing.

“AHH!” she shrieked, legs kicking, giggling uncontrollably as he spun her around.

Then he dropped with her onto the couch cushions, his weight pressing her down, his body caging her in as she writhed beneath him.

“Gotcha,” he breathed, voice low, calm, and dangerous. A predator satisfied.

Angel tried to wiggle free, still giggling. “Oh my god—Joe!”

He didn’t answer. Just lifted her like a prize, throwing her over his shoulder as she yelped, laughing and pounding playfully at his back.

“You’re really committing to this bit, huh?” she teased, her voice breathless, muffled by his shoulder.

Again, he didn’t answer.

Instead, he kicked open the bedroom door and marched them inside.

The door slammed shut behind him with a final, decisive thud.

He tossed her onto the mattress like a wolf tossing its prey, then climbed over her slowly, deliberately, the Ghostface mask still covering his face. He crawled up her body, planting a knee on either side of her thighs. His chest rose and fell with shallow, heated breaths. The way he loomed over her, silent and imposing, made her heartbeat thrum in her throat.

Angel looked up at the mask, her legs spread beneath him, arms falling over her head. Her lips curved. “I thought Ghostface only used knives.”

He tilted his head again, just like in the movies, and even with the mask on, she could feel him smirking beneath it.

“That’s not my weapon of choice.”

Her breath hitched. Her thighs clenched.

“Joe…”

He leaned down, slow and heavy, the cool rubber of the mask brushing the curve of her ear.

“Scream for me anyway,” he whispered, voice barely audible but dripping with hunger.

Angel gasped—sharp and soft—and that was it.

She was done.

And Joe? Joe hadn’t even started.

Angel’s breath caught in her throat.

The room felt hotter now, though a chill swept down her spine. Joe’s voice was low—teasing, dark with promise, and distorted just enough behind the mask to send goosebumps racing across her skin. The air between them pulsed with anticipation, thick enough to taste. Her fingers curled into the sheets beneath her, anchoring herself against the pull of everything he was doing to her without even truly touching her yet.

His body hovered above hers, a solid wall of heat. She could feel it rolling off him, even through the soft fabric of his t-shirt. The Ghostface mask hung inches from her face, its smooth, emotionless surface both unsettling and thrilling. The hollow, black eye sockets stared her down, and still—still—she found herself unable to look away.

She swallowed hard. “You’re really doing this, huh?”

The question was barely a whisper, a breath between them, but the way her voice trembled betrayed her arousal.

Joe didn’t answer at first. Instead, he let the silence hang between them, heavy with tension. Then, wordlessly, he trailed one hand up the outside of her bare thigh. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, dragging over the textured pattern of her black fishnets until she shivered beneath his touch. Every nerve ending came alive beneath his palm. His thumb brushed just beneath the hem of her shorts, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

“You said I’d make a hot Ghostface,” he murmured, his voice muffled behind the mask but still dark and velvety. “Thought I should give you the full fantasy.”

Angel let out a breathless laugh, trying—failing—to keep the upper hand. “You’re lucky I like scary movies.”

“You’re lucky I don’t make you sit through one first,” he replied smoothly, his fingers drawing small, slow circles just above her knee. “Tie you up. Make you wait through all ninety minutes. Touching you just enough to drive you fucking insane.”

Her thighs parted on instinct, a desperate little whimper caught at the back of her throat. His words—his tone—his control… it all clawed at something primal inside her.

“Joe—”

“Not Joe tonight.” He adjusted the mask with one hand, tilting it downward so it sat perfectly over his face, like it was never meant to come off. “Ghostface, remember?”

Angel bit her lip, her smile crooked and full of heat. “Alright, Ghostface,” she whispered, reaching up to trace a fingertip along the edge of the mask. “What happens next?”

He didn’t answer.

He acted.

With slow, deliberate precision, he reached down and hooked two fingers into the waistband of her shorts. His eyes never left hers, not that she could see them—but she could feel them, heavy and focused beneath the mask. In one long, maddening motion, he tugged her shorts down her hips, dragging them past the swell of her ass and down her thighs.

Her breath caught when the cool air kissed her heated skin. She was soaked already—shamelessly so—and from the way his masked head tilted, she knew he saw it. Knew he felt it in the air between them.

A low sound escaped him. Pleasure. Possession.

“Now I hunt,” Ghostface said, voice rough and sure.

Angel barely had time to react before he slid down her body. His hands gripped her thighs firmly as he kissed along the inside of one, then the other—small, teasing presses of his lips through the fishnets. Every pass of his mouth was fire and friction. He didn’t lift the mask higher than the bridge of his nose, and somehow that made it worse. The anonymity of it. The performance. The way it twisted something sweet into something dark and filthy.

“Tell me, baby,” he murmured against her skin, “you gonna be a good girl for me?”

His voice was lower now, gravel and sin. The kind of sound that slithered straight to the base of her spine.

Angel gasped, her back arching off the mattress. “God—Joe—”

“I said that’s not my name.”

Her eyes flew open. She looked down at the mask looming between her thighs, the blank mouth hovering above her skin.

She swallowed. “Ghostface.”

He hummed in approval. “Mm. That’s better.”

With that, he slid his fingers beneath the edge of her fishnets and tugged them aside with one practiced motion. His gaze dropped. He paused, just for a second, like he was admiring the view. Then his fingers found her—slipping between her folds, slow and easy, like he already knew how badly she needed him. The pad of his thumb brushed her clit, and her entire body jolted beneath him.

The other hand pressed firmly on her hip, holding her down. Claiming her.

Controlling her.

He knew exactly what he was doing. The same control he’d shown earlier was back now, only this time it was his fingers, his heat, his hands making her fall apart.

Angel tried—desperately—to hold herself together. But the rhythm of his touch, the way he filled every space between them with the threat of more, the promise of worse… it was too much. Every time his fingers curled inside her, her vision blurred. Every teasing graze of his tongue through the torn edge of her fishnets made her thighs quake.

She was unraveling. Fast.

And he was loving it.

“You feel that?” he rasped. “How fucking wet you are for me?”

Her lips parted in a breathless moan, her chest rising and falling with ragged urgency.

“You like being hunted?” he taunted. “Tied down? Stretched out?”

“Fuck,” she gasped. “Yes—yes, I—God, please—”

“Please what?”

She whined, twisting beneath his grip, toes curling in the sheets. “Please, Ghostface—don’t stop—”

His fingers moved faster, tighter. His mouth replaced them suddenly, tongue flicking expertly across her clit while two fingers curled deep inside her, coaxing, demanding, destroying. The mask framed his movements like something out of a fever dream—her worst nightmare and her hottest fantasy all in one.

Angel cried out, the sound raw and high and broken. She wasn’t pretending anymore. She wasn’t playing.

She was gone.

And Ghostface?

Ghostface hadn’t even shown mercy yet.

His fingers didn’t slow.

In fact, they drove deeper, stronger—two thick digits stretching her in a rhythm that had her thighs shaking and her hands fisting the sheets like they were the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.

Joe—Ghostface—hovered above her, the mask making every movement feel more intense, more surreal. That smooth, expressionless face was all she could see when she opened her eyes, all sharp angles and black holes for eyes. It should’ve been terrifying.

It was terrifying.

And she loved every fucking second of it.

He leaned in close, breath hot behind the plastic. She could feel it fan across her cheek even through the shallow mouth opening of the mask. Her own breath came fast, her chest rising and falling beneath her black bra, the cups slightly askew from how much she’d writhed beneath him.

Then, in that low, gravel-slick voice that made her toes curl and her stomach flip, he asked:

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

The question rolled from his tongue like a threat, raspy and deliberate.

And then his fingers plunged deeper—curling, thrusting, pressing in just the right spot that made her cry out, the sound strangled and unfiltered.

“Fuck,” Angel gasped, heels digging into the bed. “Oh my God—”

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t falter.

If anything, the growl that vibrated in his throat told her he was just getting started.

Before she could catch her breath—before she could process the way her body was beginning to fray at the edges—he ducked his head low between her thighs. Still wearing the mask. Still deep in character.

And when his mouth found her again—tongue flicking mercilessly against her clit, hot and wet and focused—she didn’t stand a chance.

Angel screamed.

A real one. Sharp, high-pitched, echoing off the walls of the bedroom. Her back bowed off the mattress, her hips fighting the pressure of his hold on her waist, but he kept her pinned with one arm and never let up.

His tongue was unrelenting. Flicking. Circling. Flattening and dragging in maddening strokes. The plastic mask shifted slightly against her inner thigh as he moved, the sensation a strange mix of smooth and jarring. He moaned low into her, the sound vibrating straight through her core like a shockwave.

Every flick of his tongue felt like punishment and reward all at once.

“Jesus Christ—Joe—Ghostface—I—” She couldn't even finish the thought. Her mind scattered like dry leaves in the wind.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled back just enough to rasp, “One scream down, baby. Let’s see how many more I can get.”

Angel whimpered, her head thrashing against the pillow, curls spilling wildly across the mattress. “You’re insane.”

“No,” he murmured darkly. “I’m obsessed.”

And he dove back in.

This time, he sucked her clit between his lips, tongue working in tandem with his still-thrusting fingers, the pressure sending her careening toward the edge again. Her hands flew down, grabbing at his hair, at the mask, at anything, but he was locked in—focused, precise, relentless.

The orgasm built in slow, relentless waves. Pressure coiling low and tight in her belly, heat radiating out to every trembling limb. Her body bowed again, legs closing in around his shoulders as she chased the edge.

Then he crooked his fingers just right—and she shattered.

Angel’s second scream was louder than the first. Rawer. A sound born from deep in her chest, pulled from a place only he could reach. Her thighs shook around him as her climax ripped through her in wave after wave, drowning her in heat and static and sensation.

And still—he didn’t stop.

He licked her through it, gentle now but still thorough, easing her down only after every tremor had wracked her body, after every breath was spent and every thought wiped clean.

Finally, finally, he lifted his head.

The mask stared up at her, gleaming in the low light. And behind it—Joe’s eyes burned. Even if she couldn’t see them, she could feel them.

Predatory.

Proud.

Possessive.

Angel lay there, panting, utterly wrecked. Her chest heaved, the black bra a twisted mess, her skin damp with sweat, thighs still twitching from aftershocks.

She blinked up at him with a dazed smile.

“Well…” she breathed, voice hoarse and trembling. “That’s definitely top five.”

He chuckled—low, dark, and satisfied. The sound made her core clench all over again.

“Good,” he said, sliding the mask off slowly, revealing his flushed face and swollen lips slick with her. His eyes locked onto hers, hungry and electric. “Because we’re not done.”

Angel’s lips parted on instinct, her body already rising to meet him as he leaned over her again.

The hunt?

Far from over.

Joe’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile as he hovered over her, the Ghostface mask still clinging to his face like a second skin. His eyes, dark and sharp behind the hollow black sockets, bore into hers, demanding submission and promising pleasure wrapped in delicious danger.

He didn’t give her a moment to catch her breath before his hands were firm on her hips, gripping tightly as if reminding her who was in control tonight.

“Did you think this was just a game?” His voice dropped to a low growl, the rasp behind the mask sending a thrill straight to her core. “Ghostface doesn’t play nice.”

Angel’s breath hitched, a mixture of excitement and challenge flashing in her eyes. “I’m your willing victim,” she whispered, voice trembling with anticipation. “Try me.”

Joe’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, his grip possessive, not cruel but commanding. He pressed down harder, pinning her to the bed as he shifted his weight over her, muscles taut beneath his shirt.

“Good girl,” he murmured, teeth grazing the shell of her ear, his breath ragged and hot. “But don’t think you get to decide everything.”

Joe didn’t hesitate. His hands traveled over her body with purpose—rough, demanding—skimming the curves, tracing the outline of her ribs, cupping her breasts firmly through the fabric of her bra.

He yanked the straps down in one practiced motion, baring her to him completely.

Angel gasped at the sudden chill, the feel of his warm hands on her skin igniting sparks that roared through her veins.

“I always get what I want,” he whispered darkly, trailing kisses along her collarbone, biting lightly as he made his way down the expanse of her neck.

His hands roamed lower, fingers trailing teasing patterns down her stomach, before hooking into the band of her bra and pulling it free.

Joe’s mouth descended onto one breast, tongue flicking over the hardened nipple while his other hand tightened on the other, pinching and rolling the sensitive skin between his fingers.

Angel’s head fell back against the pillow, a moan slipping from her lips, raw and unguarded.

“Say my name,” he demanded, voice thick with authority and desire.

Angel swallowed hard, eyes fluttering open to meet his masked gaze. “Ghostface.”

“Good.” His grip on her tightened just enough to make her gasp again. “Because tonight, you belong to me. Every scream, every shiver—it’s mine.”

The mask made every touch feel electric, every sound a whisper of danger. It freed Joe to be bolder, rougher—the perfect predator to her willing prey.

And Angel? She was lost in it—wild and free under his control, craving the delicious torment only Ghostface could deliver.

His voice was a growl as he pulled back just enough to speak, breath ragged and heavy.

“Ready for the finale, baby?”

She nodded breathlessly, voice barely a whisper: “Always.”

He paused for a heartbeat, eyes dark and focused, before reaching up and tugging at the hem of his shirt. The fabric slipped over his head in one smooth motion, revealing the taut planes of his chest and the defined ridges of his abs. The soft overhead light caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting every muscle as it shifted beneath her touch. Then he pulled the mask back to cover the lower part of his face.

Angel’s nails traced a slow, deliberate path down his torso, dragging lightly but leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He shuddered under her fingers, a low growl vibrating in his throat as the delicate scratch of her nails ignited sparks along his skin. The tension in his body thickened, every breath growing heavier, more deliberate.

His cock sprang free of his sweats as he pushed them down, the head red and slick, dripping with pre-cum. He fisted it tight and rubbed it through her folds, the friction and heat making her hips buck up off the bed, seeking that final connection.

“Scream for me, baby,” he growled before pushing into her—slow at first, then in one hard, deep thrust.

The force of it knocked the breath out of her lungs, her walls tightening around him, adjusting to his size. She was already sensitive, still pulsing from her first orgasm, and the feeling of him filling her, stretching her, was almost too much to bear.

Her back arched, nails digging into his shoulders as he set a punishing pace. Each thrust hard, deep—hitting that spot inside her that made her vision blur at the edges.

“Please—” she gasped, her voice breaking on a ragged cry as he angled his hips differently, grinding against her clit with each drive.

“Please what?” he taunted, slowing his pace just enough to make her whine, hips chasing the release that was so close, so close.

Her hands scrambled down his back, nails leaving red welts along his skin, gripping his ass and trying to pull him deeper—harder—faster.

“Say it,” he hissed, his control clearly slipping, sweat slicking his back as he fought to hold back, to make this last. To give her everything she needed.

“I need—”

“More?” he offered, hips snapping faster, cock throbbing as he felt her pulse around him. “You want more?”

“Yes!” she cried, her head thrashing against the pillows, hair wild around her flushed face. “God, yes, please—”

He didn’t make her ask again. He drove into her with a ferocity that bordered on animalistic, teeth bared, the mask still hiding his face as he pounded into her, chasing his own release while driving her higher and higher.

He reaches up and wraps a hand around her throat, watching as her eyes roll. "Feel good? Yeah you love being taken like this don't you Angel? Say it." he demanded and squeezed feeling her pulse thrum beneath his touch. "Yes--fuck--yes I love it Mr. Ghostface." she cried out and he smirked, his pace slowing once more.

He could see the frustration in her eyes as he slowed, that edge just out of reach. She squirmed beneath him, trying to find that friction, that release. But he held her firm, hips grinding against her slowly, torturously.

“Look at me,” he growled, his voice thick with lust, his own control barely hanging on. “Fucking look at me when I take you.”

Angel’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze through the holes of the mask. The intensity there was electric, consuming, and she felt herself falling into it, drowning in the dark promise of release.

He released her throat and leaned forward, his hands pinning hers beside her head as he drove into her with deep, powerful strokes.. “Mine,” he snarled against her lips, his thrusts growing erratic, harder, as he felt himself barreling towards the edge. “You’re fucking mine.”

Angel nodded frantically, her own climax coiling tight and hot in her core. “Yours,” she gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “Always yours.”

That was all it took.

His control snapped.

Joe’s hips snapped forward once, a sharp, powerful motion that sent a surge of heat coursing through them both. Then again, twice—each thrust driving him deeper, closer to the edge he’d been holding back for too long. His body tensed, muscles coiling like springs ready to snap. With a final, shuddering pulse, he buried himself deep inside her, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself, spilling into her with a raw, primal force.

The suddenness of his release sent a jolt through Angel, igniting a fire she couldn’t hold back. Her body clenched around him instinctively, squeezing tight, the rhythm of her own climax crashing over her in waves. She gasped, nails digging fiercely into the flesh of his back—hard enough to draw faint, sharp lines of pain that mingled perfectly with the pleasure. The sensation sent him even further over the edge, a low groan escaping past the mask he still held loosely in one hand.

Then, without hesitation, Joe dropped the mask, pressing his lips to hers in a deep, searing kiss. Their mouths moved together—hungry, searching, desperate. The world shrank down to just the two of them, breath mingling, hearts pounding in sync beneath sweat-slicked skin.

For a long moment, they stayed locked like that, tangled in the aftermath of their storm, neither willing to break the connection. The room was silent except for the soft sounds of their ragged breathing and the occasional creak of the bed beneath them.

Slowly, carefully, Joe lowered his weight onto her, mindful of her smaller frame beneath him. His chest pressed against hers, still warm and rising with heavy breaths. His lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, nuzzling and kissing lightly, as if afraid to let go.

“Fuck, Angel,” he murmured, voice rough and hoarse, fingers tracing lazy circles along her spine. “Every time with you is…” He faltered, searching her eyes for the right words that always seemed to escape him.

Angel smiled softly, curling a hand in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, feeling the tremors still rippling through his body. “Life-changing?” she offered gently, her voice husky and full of affection.

Joe chuckled, a deep, vibrating sound that settled warmly in her chest. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice low and sure. “Something like that.” He lifted his head just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze steady and fierce. “I love you, you know that?”

Angel smiled softly, curling a hand in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, feeling the tremors still rippling through his body. “I know,” she said gently, her voice husky and full of affection. “And I love you too.” She smirked playfully, brushing a finger teasingly against his jaw. “I can tell you don’t regret buying that mask.”

Joe’s lips curved into a slow, mischievous grin before he bit her playfully on the finger, a low chuckle rumbling from deep in his chest. “Not even a little,” he teased, voice rough but tender.

Angel laughed softly, eyes sparkling with warmth and amusement. “Good,” she whispered, drawing him closer.

Angel barely had time to catch her breath before she felt him move again—Joe’s hands dragging slowly up her thighs, rough palms gliding over sweat-damp skin and grazing the curve of her ass like he was rediscovering her all over again. The heat of him radiated down her back, seeping into her bones. She shivered, a tremor passing through her limbs despite the sweltering aftermath of what they’d just done. Her body was still trembling from the aftershocks, thighs sticky, muscles twitching, breath coming in shallow pulls.

“You good?” Joe’s voice was low, gravel rough from exertion and desire, but laced with something gentler underneath. Something tender. Protective.

Angel turned her head on the cushion, her cheek pressed against the cool fabric, curls sticking to her temple. She smiled, hazy and breathless, but her eyes were sharp with mischief. “Better than good,” she said, dragging her fingers down his arm. Then she cocked a brow and added, “But I think you forgot something.”

Joe blinked down at her, confused for half a beat—until she reached out lazily, fingers fumbling over the side of the bed until they closed around something plastic. She pulled it up between them with a dramatic flourish.

The Ghostface mask.

She dangled it from one finger, the black hood swaying beneath it, and bit her lip through a grin. “No, please don’t kill me, Mr. Ghostface,” she said in a mock-panic voice, eyes glinting. “I wanna be in the sequel.”

Joe huffed a short laugh, one side of his mouth lifting into a wicked smirk. “Oh no,” he said darkly, taking it from her hand. “You’ll wish you hadn’t.”

He sat back on his knees, still straddling her thighs, and raised the mask with deliberate slowness. The second he slipped it over his head, the energy between them shifted like a dropped match in a gas leak—igniting something dangerous and electric in the air. The white, grinning leer of the mask turned him from her sweet, playful boyfriend into something else. Something rougher. Wilder. More dangerous.

Angel’s breath caught hard in her chest. Fuck.

Joe leaned over her slowly, the black hood of the costume hanging like a veil over his broad shoulders, his bare chest framed by shadows. When he spoke, his voice was distorted, hollow and low behind the plastic. “What’s your favorite position, baby?”

Angel’s pulse fluttered. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, but it was too late—he already knew. Her body betrayed her every time. “Surprise me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and thick with anticipation.

He didn’t waste time. His hands gripped her hips roughly, possessively, flipping her and pulling her up onto her knees. Her elbows gave a shaky bend as he pushed her upper body forward until her cheek was flush against the pillow, back arched perfectly for him. He swept her curls out of the way in a single, fluid motion, exposing the elegant slope of her neck. She gasped as his fingers slid between her thighs again—still soaked, still throbbing—and a low, filthy groan rumbled from behind the mask.

“You really are a dirty little victim,” he rasped, fingers dragging slowly through her folds. “Still this wet? You like getting hunted, Angel?”

“And you’re a sick bastard,” she breathed, flashing a grin even as her legs trembled. “Why is that turning you on?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

He gripped her thighs tighter, held her steady, and pushed into her in one slow, deliberate thrust. She cried out, her mouth falling open as he filled her again, every inch sliding in like he was carving his name inside her. Her body clenched around him, still hypersensitive, but still so fucking ready.

This time wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t fast or chaotic.

It was worse.

Joe stayed deep, hips rolling in slow, devastating waves that had her gasping, moaning, clawing at the cushions. Each grind of his hips pressed right against her sweet spot, and the weight of his body behind her made it impossible to escape. She didn’t want to. She wanted to drown in it. In him.

One of his hands slipped beneath her, fingers finding her clit and circling it with maddening precision. The other slid up the back of her neck, fingers wrapping around her throat—not enough to choke, just enough to hold her still, to remind her who was in control.

Behind the mask, his breathing was ragged. “You love this, don’t you?” he growled. “Knowing I’m behind you, hard as fuck, mask on… knife in hand.”

“Fuck,” she whimpered, body buckling beneath him. “Yes. Yes, Joe—”

He squeezed just enough to make her gasp. “That’s not my name.”

She choked out a laugh, breathless and ruined. “Ghostface. Fuck, Ghostface…”

“Mm.” His thrusts picked up just slightly, harder now, deeper. “You’re my favorite victim, Angel.”

That broke her.

She moaned so loud it echoed off the walls, her knees slipping against the sheets as her body struggled to keep up with the brutal pleasure building again. Joe didn’t let her fall—he held her firm, relentless in his rhythm, burying himself deeper, his control slipping at the edges.

And when he leaned down, chest slick against her back, lips brushing her ear beneath the mask, his voice turned velvet and venom.

“You gonna scream for me, pretty girl?”

Angel shattered.

Her orgasm hit like a freight train—violent, all-consuming, ripping through her body like fire. Her muscles locked, her cry sharp and broken as her whole world splintered into heat and light. Her hands scrambled for something to hold onto, nails dragging down the couch as she shook around him, spasming in wave after wave of release.

Joe groaned low and dark, stuttering inside her as he came too, spilling into her with a final, savage thrust that had both of them gasping. He stayed buried deep, his body slumping over hers as the tension bled out of him all at once.

They lay there for a moment—silent, trembling, breath catching like hiccups in the thick air.

Joe’s hand splayed across her stomach, anchoring her to him, unwilling to let go.

Then, slowly, he reached up and peeled the mask off, dropping it onto the floor with a dull thud. His forehead pressed to her shoulder as he let out a breathless, shaky laugh.

“You’re insane,” he muttered.

Angel grinned, turning her head just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. “And you love it.”

He kissed her back—slow, deep, and tender in a way that made her heart ache. “That was fucking wild.”

She smirked. “You still have all of October to survive, baby.”

Joe groaned, collapsing onto the cushions beside her. His cock twitched where it rested between them, already showing signs of life again. “Angel…” he warned, but his voice cracked with exhaustion and want. “I’m gonna die tonight.”

She giggled, licking the edge of his jaw with mock sweetness. “Then scream for me, Mr. Ghostface.”

And from the way his hand slid down her thigh again, the hunt wasn’t over yet.

70 notes · View notes