#and they know they’re a cliché | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reilemon · 7 months ago

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𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Possession 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

♡︎ synopsis: You move into an abandoned mansion looking for a fresh start. Little did you know you're not the only one living there.

♡︎ pairing: demon!Sylus x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: restraints, corruption (if you squint), breathplay

♡︎ word count: 10k

♡︎ a/n: the fourth story for kinktober 2024.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

The night wraps around you like a vice, pressing down on your skin. Every breath feels heavier than the last as the low, eerie hum seeps into your bones. The melody is fractured, broken, sung by something that doesn’t understand human warmth. It’s wrong, so wrong, and the more you hear it, the harder it is to pretend that everything is normal.

You sit up in bed, the silk of your nightgown sticking to your skin, cold sweat beading along your neck and back. You strain your ears to listen, catching every sound the house makes—the creak of floorboards, the low groan of the wind clawing at the windows. But beneath it, that humming persists, growing clearer.

A footstep.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Something is walking—no, pacing—just beyond your bedroom door, almost as though it knows you're listening.

You tell yourself, ‘this is ridiculous’. You’ve lived here almost two weeks, nothing dangerous has happened.

Two weeks living in this forgotten, decaying mansion. At first, the isolation felt like a cure, a place where you could finally breathe after years of soul-sucking work. The realtor had been so eager to sell it. You remember that first visit—dust motes swirling in the dim afternoon light, the scent of mildew hanging in the air. The long-abandoned estate was priced absurdly low for such a massive property. You had asked about its history, about the family that owned it. “Old money,” the realtor said dismissively. “They never even lived here, not really. They’re eager to get rid of it.”

You pressed her—why would they abandon a mansion like this? She’d shrugged, evasive. “Just one of those things, you know? Big house, lots of upkeep. Not practical anymore.” She'd forced a smile, deflecting. “People want something more modern these days.”

At the time, you didn’t care. You wanted solitude, escape, a place to start over after the chaos of your previous life.

In the first week, you brushed off the oddities. The strange cold spots in the halls, the faint scent of smoke that seemed to come from nowhere, the occasional flickering of the old lights. You reasoned ‘the house is just old, settling’. Maybe it was the stress from the move, or just the overwhelming quiet after years of city life.

But then, things became harder to dismiss.

You remember waking up one night to the sound of soft whispers, like voices just beyond your door. You convinced yourself it was a dream, that you were still half-asleep, that your mind was playing tricks on you. But when you opened the door, the hall was filled with an icy draft, despite every window being locked tight. Your skin prickled with the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

With every night, your paranoia has grown. You’ve stopped sleeping through the night. Every creak, every gust of wind outside feels like a threat. The humming has become a nightly occurrence —soft at first, almost melodic, but it twists, becomes distorted. And tonight, the footsteps. They’re louder. Closer.

You sit there for too long, your mind racing. Each beat of your heart pounds in your throat as you try to summon some logic to ground you. ‘There has to be an explanation’. You’re not some helpless woman in a cliché horror movie. You won’t let fear consume you.

But the footsteps stop, right outside the door. And in that moment, the air feels too thick to breathe.

Fuck.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor shocking against your bare feet, dragging you out of paralysis. The silk robe slides over your shoulders, its fabric a poor defense against the dread crawling up your spine. You move slowly, the wooden floor beneath you creaking with each step toward the door. Your fingers hover over the handle for a moment, hesitation making your hand shake.

‘It’s just a draft’, you tell yourself, though the words feel hollow. ‘Just the old house’.

You open the door. You swallow, flipping the light switch with a trembling hand, lighting the empty hallway. The old bulbs buzz and flicker before casting their weak glow, but the light feels sickly. You take a deep breath, forcing your legs to move, fingers brushing along the wall as though the contact will somehow steady you. With every step, the hum grows fainter, retreating deeper into the house, drawing you further from the safety of your room.

The sitting room’s light flickers as you pass, casting distorted shapes along the walls. The silence between the hums stretches, amplifying the creaks and groans of the house around you.

The dining room is next. You hesitate at the threshold, your breath hitching as the light stutters overhead, threatening to plunge you into darkness again. But it holds, if only just. The hum is still distant, still teasing, but now there's something else—something heavier beneath it. A low, barely audible rasping breath, like the sound of something alive, breathing with you.

Your hand grazes the light switch to the kitchen, fingers trembling. The moment the light flares to life, it dies.

The room plunges into complete darkness. A thick, suffocating blackness that feels like it’s crawling over your skin. Your pulse spikes, cold panic flooding your veins. The hum is gone now—replaced by the unmistakable feeling that something is in there, waiting, watching.

A faint whisper—right next to your ear, soft and malicious—sends a scream clawing up your throat, but you bite it back, too terrified to make a sound.

‘Move. Move, now.’

You stumble backward. The floor seems to shift beneath you as you flee towards the stairs. You crash into the bedroom, your breath ragged, chest heaving. You slam the door shut with a resounding thud, and the thin wood feels too fragile, too weak to keep anything out. You press your back against it, gripping the doorknob with trembling fingers, your raging heartbeat thrumming in your ears. You stand there, frozen, waiting for something else to happen. But nothing does. No footsteps, no whispers, no movement beyond the door. Just stillness.

You exhale, forcing yourself to unclench your hands from the doorknob, willing your body to stop shaking. ‘Get a grip’, you tell yourself, trying to suppress the waves of panic that threaten to consume you. You're not going to lose your mind over this. ‘It's just the stress. That’s all.’ The isolation, the strangeness of living alone in such a vast, decrepit place—it’s been messing with your head. You force your breathing to slow, sucking in deep, calming gulps of air.

Pushing away from the door, you cross the room and sit on the bed, retreating back into the sheets. It’s late—too late to do anything about it now—but in the morning, you’ll change every lock in this mansion. No more creaky doors, no more unlocked windows. You’ll seal every inch of this place if you have to. And you’ll call Tara. She’d laugh at you at first, no doubt. She teased you for choosing to live in such a remote, old house. "You’re gonna end up starring in one of those haunted house stories," she'd said, half-joking. You smile weakly, despite the dread gnawing at your gut. It’s time to take her up on her offer to visit. Tomorrow, you’ll call her.

Lying back on the bed, you try to focus on the plan—changing locks, calling Tara. You’ll handle this like you handle everything. The house creaks softly, as if responding to your newfound resolve. You ignore it, pulling the sheets up over your face, the fabric cool against your skin. ‘Sleep’, you tell yourself. ‘You need sleep’.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The next day arrives sluggishly. You barely slept through the night, but daylight always brings a faint sense of hope. You push yourself out of bed, running through the motions, pretending for a moment that everything is normal.

Tara arrives just after lunch. You open the front door for her, her playful smile greeting you. But it quickly fades when her eyes catch the tension in your shoulders, the dullness of your skin. "You look like hell." You want to make a joke or a clever comeback in return, but the weight of the last two weeks presses too heavily on you. So you just let her in. You’ve told her over the phone this morning already, but now you tell her everything in more detail. You tell her about the footsteps, the humming, the cold spots. How the house doesn’t feel right.

"Okay," Tara says after a moment, her brows furrowing. "I’m not saying I believe in all that, but I’ve read enough ghost stories to know we don’t mess around with this kind of thing. I brought something." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bundle of sage. "We’ll burn this. Clears out bad energy, or at least it’s supposed to. Couldn’t hurt, right?"

You stare at the bundle for a moment, feeling both ridiculous and relieved. Maybe it’s silly, but she is right, it can’t hurt to try. "Thanks," you mutter, trying to smile.

"And I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows a good priest," Tara adds, her tone light again, though you can hear the genuine concern beneath it. "Someone could come over and bless the place, right? If nothing else, it’ll give you peace of mind."

You nod, though part of you still feels absurd for even considering it. Together, you and Tara walk through the house, lighting the sage. The oppressive weight that has been weighting you down lifts, just slightly. The creaking stops, the cold spots seem to fade, and for the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe.

"See? Not so bad," Tara says, giving you a reassuring smile. "It already feels better in here. Maybe that’s all it needed—some good ol’ sage and positive vibes."

You nod, grateful, feeling a spark of hope. Maybe this is all it took. Maybe that’s the end of it.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

That night, you follow your routine, trying to remain calm. You lock every door, check every window, twice, and make sure nothing is out of place. By the time you slip into bed, you’re exhausted. You lie there in the dark, the cool sheets against your skin, your eyes slowly fluttering closed.

But in the depths of the mansion, something stirs. The energy has changed, shifted. The air hums with a barely-contained agitation, a dark presence swirling in the corners, crawling through the walls. It had been watching you, waiting. And now, with the sage burned and the mention of a priest, it’s no longer content to simply watch.

A sound pulls you back from the edge of sleep. You freeze, straining to listen. At first, it’s faint, like distant laughter. It’s low, dark, amused, seeping through the room as though it’s mocking your very presence here. You sit up abruptly, your pulse spiking. The laugh is gone, but the air feels colder now. The wind outside picks up, slapping against the windows, and then—you hear it. A loud, sharp caw. A crow’s cry, shrill and eerie, slicing through the still night air. You turn your head toward the window, expecting to see its shape perched on the sill, but there’s nothing there, just the empty darkness beyond the glass.

‘It’s just a bird’, you tell yourself. ‘Just a bird’.

But then the footsteps start again.

They’re louder this time. Not like before when you could pretend it was just the old floorboards shifting. No, these are deliberate. Heavy. The distinct sound of boots on wood, moving slowly down the hallway outside your bedroom. Each step echoes through the house, growing louder, closer, until they stop right outside your door. You can feel your pulse in your throat, every instinct screaming at you to stay in bed, to not make a sound. But the silence is oppressive. You can’t just lie here anymore. You push yourself up on shaky legs, feet hitting the cold floor as you move toward the door, your hand hovering over the knob like before. But this time, you don’t need to open it.

The door swings open on its own.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, everything is still. The dark hallway stretches before you, stretching into nothingness. But then, at the far end, you see it—a faint, flickering glow. A dim, blood-red light. It pulses, stronger with each passing second, growing brighter, sharper. Your chest tightens as the glow intensifies. You swallow hard, a cold sweat forming on the back of your neck as the realization hits you that this—whatever it is—isn’t something you can ignore.

“Who… who are you?” you stammer, your voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

The red glow flickers, focusing on you. You feel it in the air around you. The presence you’ve been denying, the thing that’s been watching, waiting. Now you’ve acknowledged it. It begins to solidify, drawing closer. The figure takes form—broad shoulders, a tall, towering frame. And then, his face. Sharp, defined features, red eyes, and silver hair. His gaze locks onto you, and it feels like he’s peering into the deepest, darkest parts of your soul.

You stumble back, heart racing, unable to comprehend what you’re seeing. This can’t be real. This has to be some nightmare. But he’s there, standing before you, fully formed—real.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, his voice deep.

You stand frozen, every inch of you trembling. This isn’t some ghost story, some figment of your imagination. You take a step back, your legs weak, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. “W-waiting for what?” you manage to choke out, though your voice barely rises above a whisper.

His smirk widens. “For you to understand,” he says softly, his tone almost condescending. He takes a step closer and the floor creaks under the weight of his boots, the sound amplified in the eerie silence of the mansion. “This place… it’s mine. Always has been.”

You stumble backward again, your mind racing, desperate for some way to rationalize this. But you can’t. The thing standing in front of you isn’t human. “I don’t understand,” you whisper, shaking your head. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

He laughs softly at that, a low, dark chuckle. “I am not the intruder here,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement. “You are.” His eyes narrow, the humor fading, replaced with a cold, hard edge. “This house, this mansion, has been mine for centuries. I’ve seen generations come and go, trying to claim it as their own.”

You’re barely holding on, fear coursing through you. “Who… who are you?” you ask again, though now your voice is almost a plea.

He leans in, his face close enough now that you can smell the faint scent of something burning, something ancient. “I am Sylus. This house… my house… it’s been mine longer than you can imagine. And you—" His gaze sharpens. "You’ve been tampering with things you shouldn’t."

He steps back. "I’ll give you a chance. Pack your things. Leave." His words are like a command, absolute, and it makes your chest tighten.

Something in you snaps.

The fear, the dread that’s been building for days—it all crashes into something else, something raw and angry. You clench your fists. Leave? After everything? You’ve fought too hard to be told to just give up.

"No," you say, your voice trembling, though whether it’s from fear or anger, you’re not sure. His smirk widens, a dark chuckle escaping his lips as if amused by your defiance. "No?" he repeats, the word dripping with condescension, as though your resistance is nothing more than a child’s tantrum to him.

But you’re not done. "It’s not fair," you continue, and you can feel the flood of emotions you’ve been holding back surging forward. "I worked for this. You don’t get to tell me to leave!" Your voice rises, trembling with frustration. You can feel your eyes burning with unshed tears. "I can’t just… pack up and go?! This place was supposed to be my fresh start!"

Sylus’ amusement falters. He was expecting fear. Submission. Not this. Not the raw emotion pouring out of you.

You take a shaky breath, your words tumbling out now unfiltered. "I’ve given up everything! My life was a wreck before I came here. I had no friends, no purpose, nothing.” Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t stop, the anger blending with exhaustion. "This place was supposed to be my dream," you whisper, your voice cracking. "And now you’re telling me to leave? After everything I’ve been through?”

Sylus says nothing for a long moment. He stands there, watching you with an intensity that feels almost suffocating, the mocking air that surrounded him fading as something shifts in his expression. His tail, once flicking in amusement, goes still. He opens his mouth, perhaps to laugh, to mock you again, but no sound comes out. Something about your defiance, your honesty, seems to catch him off guard. He had expected you to cower, to run, to tremble at his mere presence. Instead, you’re standing here, pouring your soul out in front of him.

The room is silent.

Sylus’ gaze doesn’t leave yours. "You think your struggles give you claim to this place?" His voice is softer now, almost contemplative. "You’re not the first to come here, seeking something better. But none of them stayed for long."

You don’t back down. "I’m not them," You say quietly. "I’m not running."

Sylus watches you for a long moment, his sharp features unreadable. Finally, he speaks, his tone more subdued, more thoughtful. "You have spirit, I’ll give you that." You stand there, still trembling, but something in the air feels different now. Sylus, for all his power, doesn’t seem as dismissive as he did before. He turns around, giving you one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows. "Don’t bring a priest. Don’t burn any more sage. Consider this a warning.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the nights are quiet.

After the tense confrontation with Sylus, after his warning and your emotional outburst, something shifted. You still feel him—his presence lingers in the mansion like a shadow that never quite leaves—but it's no longer oppressive.For several nights now, you’ve slept soundly, undisturbed by the creaks of the floorboards or the strange hum echoing through the halls. And though you sometimes catch a glimpse of movement in the shadows, Sylus doesn’t show himself. It’s as if he’s made a quiet, unspoken truce with you, staying out of your way—for now.

A week passes, and the mansion almost feels… peaceful. Maybe it’s the quiet, maybe it’s the way you’ve started to make the space your own despite his warnings. You’ve begun to settle in, unpacking more boxes, putting things in order, reclaiming the mansion in small ways.

One evening, you decide to tackle the attic. You pull the creaky ladder down and climb, your flashlight casting light across the wooden beams and piles of forgotten items. The air is thick with dust, and the faint smell of mildew hangs in the air. Boxes are piled high, old trunks and forgotten furniture clutter the space, draped in old sheets. You take a deep breath, brushing away cobwebs as you start sorting through the old belongings. It’s mostly junk—old letters, tarnished trinkets, broken ceramic figurines. But then you open a wooden music box and your eyes immediately land on something shiny.

A brooch.

It’s in the shape of a raven, carved from some kind of dark metal, accompanied by a large red gemstone. The moment your fingers brush against it, the air in the attic grows thick. You can feel a chill crawl up your spine as you lift the brooch, turning it over in your hand, examining the beautiful craftsmanship.

That’s when you hear him.

"Put it back."

You whirl around, and there he is—Sylus. His red eye glows brighter than usual, flickering with barely contained agitation. His tall frame looms over you, his tail flicks behind him, tense, snapping in the air like a whip.

You freeze, the brooch still in your hand. "Why?" you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

"That doesn’t belong to you," Sylus growls. He takes a step closer. "Put it back in the box. Now."

Slowly, carefully, you place the brooch back into the wooden music box. The moment you do, you can feel the tension in the room ease. Sylus watches, his eyes never leaving the brooch until it's safely out of sight. His broad shoulders relax, his tail flicking behind him in a slower, more measured rhythm.

"Why does it matter so much?" you ask, genuinely curious.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze lingering on the closed music box. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more guarded, as though he’s choosing his words carefully. "It was made for someone. No one should be touching it."

There’s a story there, buried deep beneath his cold exterior, but he’s not offering it to you.

You swallow, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. Your mind spins with possibilities, but you keep your thoughts to yourself, not wanting to pry further into something clearly painful. Instead, you glance at the music box, not daring to touch it again. Its melody feels strangely familiar. You pause, recognizing the tune—the same haunting melody you’ve heard in the dark, late at night.

"Is this… the song you’ve been humming?" you ask carefully, lifting your gaze to meet his.

His eyes narrow, but there’s no anger there. He doesn’t answer immediately, but after a long silence, he gives a short nod. "It is."

A soft breath escapes you, and you can’t help the small smile. "Well," you say, your tone a little lighter "you’re always off-key." The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a moment, you freeze, wondering if you’ve crossed a line—if teasing a demon was, perhaps, not your smartest move.

Sylus blinks, his expression unreadable at first, but then—he chuckles. The sound is rough, almost rusty, as though it’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to find humor in anything. "I didn’t know I had a critic," he mutters with a trace of amusement.

You let out a shaky breath, relieved, but still stunned by the sound of his laughter. You find yourself staring at Sylus, watching the way his red eyes soften, the way the usual predatory edge to him seems to dull, just for a moment. You don’t know what to say, but you don’t need to. Finally, Sylus breaks the silence, his voice quieter, less guarded than before. "Be careful with what you touch in this house," he says, though there’s no threat behind his words, only a quiet warning. "Not everything here belongs to you."

You nod, understanding more than he’s willing to say. "I didn’t mean to…" you trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, the faintest smile on his lips. "I know." And with that, he turns, his figure dissolving into the shadows of the attic, leaving you alone once more.

But this time, the air doesn’t feel so heavy. The mansion doesn’t feel so hostile.

And Sylus doesn’t feel like a demon lurking in the dark anymore.

For the first time, he feels like someone who’s been through more than you could possibly imagine. Someone who’s carrying the weight of loss and pain for centuries. And somehow, despite everything, you’ve seen a glimpse of something human in him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The days that followed felt different. The mansion, though still steeped in its eerie silence, seemed to breathe a little easier. Sylus, who had always been a constant, brooding presence in the shadows, began to make himself known in new ways. You would be working around the house—organizing a room, fixing up old furniture, unpacking boxes—and you’d feel him. A brush of air, the faintest warmth at your back.

He never fully revealed himself during the day, not at first. But there were brief moments, when you’d catch a glimpse of him—standing in the doorway, his red eye glowing faintly before he slipped away, or a flash of silver hair in the corner of your vision. And slowly, he started to help.

At first, it was subtle. You’d be struggling to move a piece of furniture, and when you turned around to grab something for leverage, it had already shifted into place, as if someone had pushed it for you. Tools you needed would be mysteriously laid out before you reached for them. And sometimes, when you lost track of time working on a project, you’d find a fire already lit in the fireplace before the chill of the evening would creep in.

One afternoon, you were standing on a chair in the kitchen, trying to reach a high cabinet when you suddenly lost your balance. Before you could even cry out, you felt strong hands on your waist, steadying you, with a firm grip. You turned to find Sylus standing there, his lips curled into that familiar smirk.

"Careful, kitten," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Kitten. The word caught you off guard, and you blinked at him. Something about the way he said it—so casually, yet with a hint of affection—left you speechless. He had called you ‘kitten’ like it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t mind the new nickname. Not at all.

The touches became more frequent, intentional. When you passed each other in narrow hallways, his hand would brush against your arm, or his fingers would trail along your back. Every touch would make your heart flutter, your cheeks heat up.

One evening, your muscles ached after hours of working tirelessly around the mansion. You sat by the fire, sipping tea in an attempt to relax. The room was quiet, except for the crackling of the fire, but then you felt it—his presence. Sylus was watching you from the doorway.

“You’ve been pushing yourself,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet. His eyes focused on your hand as it pressed against your shoulder, kneading the sore muscle.

“Maybe a little,” you replied, leaning back into the chair, letting your eyes close for just a second. “But I can handle it.”

Sylus chuckled softly. “You don’t always have to be so stubborn.” He leaned in closer, standing next to you. “Let me help.” His hand rested lightly on your shoulder, his touch warm.

For a moment, you hesitated, but the ache in your muscles urged you to accept. You gave a small nod and turned your back to him. He moved closer, his hands resting fully on your shoulders now. You could feel the strength in them through the thin fabric of your shirt. His fingers dug in gently, working into the tight muscles with a careful yet firm pressure. You let out a small sigh of relief, the tension starting to ease under his touch.

But then his hands moved more slowly, the pads of his fingers tracing over your skin in a way that felt… intimate. The soft kneading of your muscles became something more, his thumbs pressing into the knots in your back with expert precision. You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips, your body instinctively leaning into his touch, craving the release from the pain.

“You like that?” Sylus murmured, his voice low, teasing as his hands moved lower. Your breath hitched as his fingers worked their magic, easing the soreness out of your muscles. It was impossible to ignore the way his hands felt against your body, the way each touch made your skin tingle.

“You’re so tense,” he muttered, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in.

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. His hands on your body, the heat of his breath against your neck—it all felt overwhelming. Every touch sent a spark of electricity through you, and though the massage had started innocently enough, there was no mistaking the shift in energy between you. As his hands moved lower, brushing dangerously close to your hips, you could feel the warmth pooling in your lower belly.

Flustered, you quickly pulled away, standing up from the chair before things could escalate any further. “Th-thank you for the massage,” you stammered. You could feel your face flushing and you didn’t dare look him in the eye.

Sylus leaned back slightly, his lips pulling into that knowing smirk. “Of course,”

You took a small step back. “I think I’ll just… take a hot bath before bed,” Without waiting for his response, you turned and made your way toward the bedroom. The heat in your cheeks only grew worse as you walked away, your legs feeling like they might give out from the mixture of embarrassment and the lingering effects of his touch. You felt his eyes on you, taking in every movement, the subtle sway of your hips as you retreated to the safety of your room.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The phone call left you feeling strange—half-flattered, half-disconnected. A friend of a friend, someone from your old life, asked you out on a date. You politely declined, giving some excuse about being too busy, about focusing on your new home. But that’s not entirely true. The call was a reminder of the life you left behind, and the strange new one you found here.

You sigh, setting the phone down and reaching for the bottle of wine you opened earlier. Pouring yourself a glass, you settle into the sofa and pick up a book. You sip the wine, letting the tension of the day slip away as you open the book. But it’s not quiet for long.

The air shifts, and before you even look up, you feel that familiar presence. Sylus arrives without a sound, as he always does.

With a smile, you lookup from your book. "Care to join me for a drink?" you ask as you raise your glass to him. Although you aren’t sure if demons even can drink.

He chuckles softly, his boots making the faintest sound as he crosses the room to stand beside you. "I haven’t tasted wine in centuries," he admits.

You tilt your head. "So you don’t eat? Or drink?"

Sylus shrugs, "I haven’t needed to," he says simply, but there is something in his tone—an almost wistful note. "I suppose I could try."

You laugh softly, offering him your glass. "Here, then. Let’s see if you still can."

Sylus hesitates for a moment, but then, with a slight shake of his head, he accepts your offer. He takes a small sip, tasting the wine before swallowing.

"Well?" you ask with a smile. "Can you taste it?"

Sylus’s lips curve into an amused smirk. "I can taste it," he says and takes another sip. He makes a face, mockingly disappointed, and returns the glass to you. "I think you should buy yourself something nicer," he teases. "This is a bit cheap."

You snort, playfully rolling your eyes. "Of course you have an expensive taste."

Sylus chuckles. But then, the relaxed expression changes to a serious one. "Who was on the phone earlier?"

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers tightening around your wineglass. "Just someone from my old life." Sylus raises an eyebrow, and you feel compelled to continue. “Asked me out on a date, but I declined.”

You avoid his gaze, but you can feel Sylus watching you. "Why did you decline?" he asks, his voice low. "You’ve been here for months. You don’t get out much. Why not say yes?"

You swallow, trying to gather your thoughts. The truth is too heavy, too tangled, and you aren’t ready to admit it, not even to yourself.

"You’re one to talk," you say raising an eyebrow and mustering a playful tone. "If anyone’s used to solitude, it’s you. You’ve been alone for centuries—I think I can manage a little bit of solitude for a few months."

“Touché.” he chuckles. His gaze turns towards the flickering flames of the fireplace, “But solitude… it wears on you. You might think it’s peace, but after a while, it starts to feel more like a cage.”

The words sink into you, unsettling. But, before you can respond, a question begins to form at the back of your mind, heavy and uncomfortable. Was he truly alone all this time? Were there others before you, drawn into the same dark intensity of his presence? What if this isn’t new for him—this attraction, this electricity between you? What if you’re just another fleeting distraction in the long centuries of his existence?

You can’t stand that thought. You want to believe that you’re different, that something about you has made him change, drawn him out of the shadows in ways no one else ever has. But the growing feeling of jealousy won’t let go. Because if he’s been like this before—if there had been others—then what does that make you?

You take a deep breath, shoving these feelings aside. You feel foolish for letting your mind even go there. The two of you are just co-existing, just roommates in a weird way.

You glance at the clock on the mantel. “Oh,” you say, your voice a little too bright, “look at the time. The movie I wanted to watch is about to start.” You grab the TV remote, as if turning on the television can stop the thoughts from spiraling out of control.

Sylus doesn’t miss your deflection. He never does. “Another distraction?” he asks. He could sense your agitation, your mind wandering somewhere.

You shoot him a look, but the teasing edge in his voice makes your heart flutter. “Do you want to watch it with me?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “It’s about to start. I know how much you love TV,” you add with a playful glance his way. You know how fascinated he is with television, even though he’ll never admit it.

Sylus arches an eyebrow, and for a moment, you think he might decline. But then he stands and settles beside you on the sofa. He’s close—too close.

“I suppose I can indulge you,” he says. “Though, if this movie’s as boring as the last one you picked, I can’t promise I’ll stay.” His arm rests casually along the back of the sofa, and you can feel the heat radiating from him, even though he’s not touching you.

You smirk, rolling your eyes as you flip through the channels until you find the movie. “I’m sure it’ll hold your attention, Sylus,” you shoot back, though your mind is still racing, the earlier doubts lingering in your mind.

The movie begins, and for the first few moments, everything seems normal. It’s a late-night thriller, with captivating plot and ominous music. You let yourself sink into the sofa, grateful for the distraction, but the comfort doesn’t last long. About halfway through, the movie takes an unexpected turn. The tension between the characters on screen snaps, and suddenly, they’re in a dimly lit bedroom, their bodies pressed together. The soft, breathy moans fill the room, while the scene of naked bodies rolls on the screen.

Your breath hitches, and you fumble for the remote, your fingers shaking slightly as you try to find the button to change the channel. “I didn’t know it would… turn into this,” you mutter, clearly flustered.

Sylus snatches the remote from your hands. “Don’t change the channel.” His eyes are on the screen, amusement plastered over his face. Heat floods your cheeks, your heart racing as the sounds from the screen grow more intimate. You can feel Sylus shifting beside you, his arm still resting along the back of the sofa, his fingers just inches from your shoulder.

You try to focus, try to steer your mind away from the images on the screen. And then the uncomfortable question shows its ugly head again.

Had there been someone else?

You’re not sure what you are to him. You’re not sure if you’re just another passing moment in his long, endless existence.

You can’t think about that. You need to clear your head.

Sylus laughs as a relieved sigh leaves your lips when the steamy scene ends, and you can’t help but laugh a little with him.

You make a mental note to call the man from earlier. You’ll call him in the morning, when Sylus is resting, and try to schedule the date after all. Maybe it’ll help clear your head, help you sort through the tangled mess of emotions that has built up since you moved into this mansion, since Sylus slithered his way into your life.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The next day, you had avoided Sylus all morning, deliberately keeping yourself busy with small tasks that didn’t require much thought—dusting the bookshelves, scrubbing the kitchen counters, tending to the plants. But no matter what you did, you still felt him. Normally, you’d catch a glimpse of him here or there, a shadow slipping through the hallway or leaning against the doorway, finding any chance to tease you. But today, you avoided those moments, slipping out of rooms just before he appeared.

You tried to escape the gnawing feeling of guilt as well.

The call you’d made earlier in the morning had gone smoothly. The man had been more than happy to hear from her again. You agreed on the time and even though he was willing to pick you up, you insisted to meet at the restaurant. The conversation was light and sweet. But as soon as you hung up, a part of you regretted it. Even though you shouldn’t have.

After lunch, you retreated into the safety of your bedroom. You took your time getting ready —something you hadn’t done in a long time.The hours dragged on, and you continued to stay in your room, pacing, glancing at your reflection in the mirror - the tight dress is flattering, accentuating your curves. You set aside high heels that made your legs long and irresistible. You still had time to kill, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the room. You didn’t want to face Sylus. Not yet. The thoughts of last night still weighed heavily on you—the tension during the movie, the heat of his body next to yours, how you craved his touch.

Then, a knock at the door.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Sylus never knocks. He never enters your bedroom, to give you some semblance of privacy.

"Are you alright?" You can hear genuine concern in his voice from the other side of the door. "You've been in there for a while."

You hesitate, heart racing. Part of you wants to tell him to go away, to keep the distance you’d been trying so hard to create today. But the sound of his voice makes your chest tighten. You swallow, steeling yourself before you answer.

"Come in." Why did you tell him to come in?

The door creaks open slowly, and as Sylus steps into the room, you can see the brief flash of surprise on his face—the way his red eyes widen as he takes you in. For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on the curve of your hips, the way fabric of the dress clings to your body.

"Well," he finally says, his voice low. "I thought something was wrong… that you weren’t feeling well. Or that you were avoiding me."

There’s something about the way he says it, the flicker of concern behind his usual teasing, that touches you. You force a smile. "I wasn’t avoiding you," you lie. "I just… took my time to getting ready."

Sylus steps closer, his eyes over you again, savoring every detail. Then, his expression softens. "You look beautiful," he says, the words slipping from his lips with surprising tenderness.

The compliment stuns you. Of all the things you expected from him—teasing, possessiveness, maybe even anger—this was the last. You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you stare back at him, unsure how to react.

He doesn’t let you recover, though. He steps even closer, his gaze holding yours, and he adds, "You always do."

His words are so sincere. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to find your voice, "Thank you," the words are barely audible, your heart still racing from the weight of his gaze.

Then his lips pull into that teasing smirk. "So, you are going on that date after all?"

You feel your stomach twist at his words. “Yes, I’m going on a date.”

Sylus steps closer, his towering form closing in on you with that familiar, quiet intensity. Your heart races as he moves forward, and instinctively, you step back. But he doesn’t stop. With each step he takes, you find yourself moving backward, the space shrinking, guiding you slowly toward the edge of your bed.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” he asks, his voice low and laced with that dangerous amusement.

You swallow, trying to stay composed. “You’re the one who suggested it,” you say, hoping that your words don’t betray the storm of emotions inside.

He smirks, clearly not fooled by your attempt to steer the conversation away. His gaze never leaves yours as he steps even closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, sending a shiver across your skin. “Is that so?” his tone is almost taunting, “If that’s what you want - to go out… to have fun with someone else… then you should.”

His words hang in the air, but the way he says it—the challenge, the possessiveness barely veiled—makes it feel like anything but permission. His fingers trace down from your cheek, slowly grazing your jawline before trailing to your throat, where they rest lightly, just enough to make your pulse race under his touch. But it’s the way his tail moves—sliding up the back of your leg, curling around your thigh—that sends a wave of heat flooding through you. It lingers there, teasing, the smooth, firm pressure making your legs tremble.

“You can say the word,” he whispers, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes your lips, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. “If you want me to stop, to keep my distance… just say it.”

His tail continues its slow, deliberate trail over your skin. The air feels thick, suffocating, as you stand there, torn between your desire for something normal, and the undeniable pull of the dark, dangerous connection between you and him.

The silence stretches, thick with tension as Sylus waits, his lips so close to yours. His gaze locks onto yours, waiting, daring you to speak. But your throat is dry, your breath caught somewhere between fear and desire, and no words come. You can’t say it. You don’t want him to stop. And Sylus knows it.

"You’re not stopping me," he murmurs. His tail tightens its grip on your thigh, its smooth length curling higher, the teasing pressure sending a wave of arousal through your body.

Your knees buckle, your body trembling under the weight of his presence. You stumble, falling back onto the bed, but before you can even react, Sylus’ hands are there—gripping your waist, guiding you down gently so the landing is soft. The bed creaks as he follows, his hands and knees resting on either side of you, caging you in.

His eyes are dark and hungry as they roam over your body, taking in the way your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, the way your lips part in anticipation. His hand slides up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip, teasing, making you crave more.

"You belong to me," Sylus whispers. With that, he finally closes the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a slow kiss. In that moment, everything else falls away—the date, the outside world, the fear of what’s happening between you. All that matters is Sylus.

The kiss deepens, your body melting into the bed as Sylus’ lips press harder against yours, his tongue slipping past your parted lips, swirling with yours leaving you breathless. His teeth graze your bottom lip, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. Your hands are buried in his silver locks, trembling as his kiss grows hungrier, more urgent. But before you can pull him closer, Sylus breaks the kiss. Slowly, he reaches down, his fingers grazing the straps of your dress and bra before tugging them down your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He slides one hand up, gripping both of your wrists in a firm, yet careful hold. He lifts your hands, pinning them above your head against the soft sheets.

"Do you trust me?" he asks with softness in his voice.

The question catches you off guard. You swallow hard, your throat tight as you whisper, "Yes."

Sylus’ eyes flicker with a flash of satisfaction, and before you can process what’s happening, the space around your wrists tightens. You glance up and see the dark tendrils of magic winding around your wrists, binding them together. The energy pulses softly, not painful, but firm—like his touch. Your pulse quickens as you realize just how vulnerable you are beneath him, your body completely at his mercy. Sylus takes in the sight beneath him, and you can feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

Without another word, he leans down, his lips capturing one of your nipples, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak. His mouth is hot, teasing, as he licks and sucks at your breast, his hand squeezing the other, rolling the hardened nipple between his fingers with just enough pressure to make you whimper.

As his mouth works your breast, his tail slides up beneath your dress, the smooth length teasing the inside of your thighs. You shudder at the sensation, your body twitching in anticipation as the tip of his tail finally finds its way to your panties, grazing over the damp fabric.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction as he watches you squirm beneath him. "Look at you," he murmurs, his tail pressing just a little harder against your panties, making you gasp. "So wet already…" The smirk on his lips widens as his tail continues to tease you, the sensation maddening as he presses against your swollen clit through the fabric. Without warning, he pulls the bottom of your dress up over your hips, exposing your lace panties to his hungry gaze. His eyes flicker with a brief flash of jealousy at the sight of the lacy fabric, but then a different look takes over—pride. He is the one who gets to take them off, the one who has you like this.

"Pretty," he says with a teasing edge as his fingers brush over the fabric before gripping the waistband. "But I think I prefer you without these." His tail slides aside, giving way to his hands as he hooks his fingers under the lace and slowly peels your panties down, leaving you bare and exposed to his gaze.

The moment Sylus’ fingers slide between your folds and feel how wet you are, his breath hitches. He can feel the throbbing need building inside him, but he keeps himself steady. He will not lose control. Not yet. A wicked smirk plays on his lips as he teases you, his fingers gliding lightly over your entrance, brushing against your clit just enough to send shocks of pleasure through you. You whine, your hips bucking instinctively against his touch.

"Please," you whisper, your voice breaking with desperation, your wrists still bound above your head as you tug uselessly against the restraints. The heat between your legs is unbearable, and every teasing stroke of his fingers makes it worse.

Sylus leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he coos softly. "Tell me what you need," His fingers continuing their torturous, feather-light touches. "I want to hear you say it."

Your body trembles beneath him, and for a moment, you hesitate, the embarrassment battling with the overwhelming need. But the feel of his fingers stroking you, teasing you, is too much, and your voice wavers as you whisper, "I… I need you inside me. Please."

The smirk on his lips widens. "Good girl." He leans back, straightening up, and in one fluid motion, he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. His body is incredible—broad, muscular shoulders leading down to a strong, toned chest and perfectly defined abs. You can’t tear your eyes away as Sylus’ hands moved to the waistband of his pants, the motion enhancing the muscles and veins of his arms. His gaze never leaves yours as he slowly pulls down his pants and underwear, just enough to free his cock. Your eyes widen at the sight of it—thick, long, and already leaking with precum. The sheer size of him makes your heart race with a mix of excitement and nervousness, and for a moment, doubt creeps in. ‘How am I going to take that?’ you swallow hard as you look up at him.

Sylus notices the flicker of worry in your eyes, and a smug grin tugs at the corners of his lips. "Don’t worry," his voice is laced with amusement as he wraps his hand around his length, stroking himself slowly. His eyes lock onto yours as he kneels between your legs, his fingers sliding back down between your thighs, teasing your dripping pussy again. "I know you can take it"

Sylus positions himself between your legs, his eyes fixed on you as he lines himself up with your entrance. His cock presses against your slick folds, the thick head nudging inside, eliciting a whimper from your lips. You’re trembling, but the weight of his body and the heat radiating off him keep you anchored.

“Relax, darling,” his voice is soothing as he strokes your thigh. His gaze is soft as he watches your reactions.

Slowly, carefully, he pushes forward, easing himself inside. The stretch makes you gasp. It stings, just a little, but there’s a dizzying pleasure that follows it, a heat that courses through you as he fills you inch by inch. Your breath is shallow, and you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by how full you feel, how intense it is.

“Angel,” Sylus growls softly, his voice thick with desire as he pauses, halfway in, letting your body adjust to the stretch. “Look at me.”

You bite your lip, too lost in the sensation to bring yourself to open your eyes. That’s when you feel his hand slide up to your neck with a firm grip, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Eyes on me,” he orders, his voice soft but commanding, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. “I want to watch your face as I slide inside you. I want to see how beautiful you look.”

Your eyes flutter open, and the intensity of his gaze nearly steals your breath. His red eyes burn with a mixture of lust and something deeper, something more tender. His fingers tighten slightly around your neck, just enough to keep you grounded, to keep you focused on him. He’s watching you closely as he pushes in deeper, sinking further inside you.

You’re a whimpering mess by the time Sylus finally bottoms out. The stretch makes your head spin, tears prick at the corners of your eyes, spilling over as you gasp beneath him. Sylus notices the tears almost immediately. His gaze softens and his thumb moves from your neck to gently wipe them away, the pads of his fingers tender against your flushed cheeks.

“Shh, darling,” His thumb swipes over your skin, catching a tear before it falls. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good, taking me so perfectly.”

His words send a shiver through you, and despite the ache and the fullness, there’s something comforting about his touch, the way he speaks to you. His thumb lingers on your cheek for just a second longer, before he shifts his grip to your waist, pulling you tighter against him. His hips draw back slightly, the head of his cock dragging against your inner walls, sending a shock of pleasure through you.

Sylus groans softly, his voice catching as he feels your slick walls gripping him. He holds himself still for a moment, trying to stay in control, but the truth is, he’s so close to losing it. This is the first time he’s done this since becoming a demon—since being cursed with his immortal body—and the sensation of being inside you, of your tight, wet heat surrounding him, is almost too much. He can’t tell you that, can’t admit that you are the one in control.

He starts to move, his thrusts slow at first, almost careful, but the way your pussy clenches around him makes it impossible for him to hold back. His breath comes in ragged gasps as he thrusts into you, each motion sending ripples of pleasure through your body. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice strained as his hips snap forward again, harder this time. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. “You feel so good, so fucking good…”

He’s too close, and before he can stop himself, the pleasure overtakes him. After only a few more short, sharp thrusts, he pulls out suddenly, his cock throbbing as hot spurts of cum splash across the skin of your belly.

You’re stunned for a moment. You did not expect him to finish so quickly.

Sylus’ chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes glinting with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. He glances down, where his release glistens on your skin, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something like embarrassment in his eyes. He should’ve expected for you to have such an effect on him.

But even as he catches his breath, his cock is still hard. Without a word, he reaches down, his fingers gripping his length, and he guides himself back to your entrance. Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s doing, the lingering warmth of his release still fresh on your skin as he presses the head of his cock against you again. He watches your reaction closely as he slowly pushes back inside you, the wetness of his release mixing with your own arousal as he fills you once more. “I’m not done with you.”

The stretch feels even more intense the second time, your body still sensitive from his earlier thrusts, and a gasp escapes your lips as he slides inside, burying himself deep again. His hips snap against yours, his cock sliding in and out of you with a rhythm that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you closer, deeper with every thrust.

Sylus’ tail snakes around your waist, the smooth, firm length of it tightening as it pulls you flush against him, keeping you pinned beneath his body. His hand moves to your throat again, fingers pressing just enough to make you aware of his control. The pressure sends a thrill through you, intensifying every sensation as he picks up the pace. Each thrust drives him deeper, the head of his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over, making your body tremble with pleasure.

You try to turn your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, but Sylus doesn’t let you hide. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to command your attention, as he growls softly, "Look at me, darling."

His fingers slide between your thighs, finding your swollen clit with a precision that sends a jolt of electricity through your body. You’re overwhelmed by the sensation of his thick cock filling you completely, the wet heat of your bodies moving together in sync, and the relentless pressure on your clit. It’s too much, all of it—too intense, too good, too consuming. You try to close your eyes, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze, but Sylus isn’t having it.

“I said, look at me,” His tail winds tighter around your waist, anchoring you in place. His hips snap against yours, faster, harder, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside you, forcing broken moans from your lips. The fingers move faster, rougher on your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Your eyes flutter open, locking onto his. You’re teetering on the brink, every nerve in your body on fire. His thick cock slams into you harder, deeper, his fingers relentless on your clit, and your body surrenders completely.

Sylus watches you—his breath ragged, muscles taut, holding back just enough, waiting for you. His hand stays firm on your throat, keeping you grounded, his fingers pushing you towards your peak. He can feel it in the way your walls flutter around his cock, squeezing tighter, and it drives him wild.

"Come for me," he growls, his voice thick with command.

His words are all it takes. Pleasure slams into you, stealing your breath as your body tightens around him. Every pulse, every clench makes the orgasm crash through you in waves so intense that all you can do is cry out, your legs shaking uncontrollably. Your back arches off the bed, but Sylus is there, his hands and tail keeping you pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy. You're helpless, lost in the dizzying sensation, and he holds you tight, letting you ride out every wave.

“That’s it,” he groans, his restraint slipping as he feels you clench around him, your body milking him with every pulse. His voice is rough, almost desperate now. “Just like that, angel. Just like that.”

As you come down from your high, your breath still shaky, you feel the tension of Sylus’ magic keeping your wrists bound above your head. You tug weakly against the restraints, wanting to touch him, to feel his skin beneath your hands, your body aching for the closeness.

“Sylus,” you whisper, your voice soft and hoarse from the intensity of it all, “please… I want to touch you.”

Without hesitation, the dark tendrils of magic around your wrists fade, releasing you. Your arms fall limply to your sides, trembling with exhaustion. But it only takes a moment before you reach up, wrapping your arms around Sylus’ neck, pulling him down into a tight, desperate embrace. The second your hands grip him, your lips find his in a messy, breathless kiss. The taste of him is intoxicating, the heat of his body pressing down on yours offering you comfort.

Sylus groans against your mouth, his hips moving in slow, languid motions, drawing out every ounce of pleasure. His cock fills you completely, each gentle thrust making your body shudder beneath him. His grasp on your hip is almost bruising, his fingers digging into your skin as though holding on to you is the only thing keeping him grounded. But his other hand is soft, cradling the back of your neck with tender care, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

His lips barely pull away from yours between frantic kisses. "Where... where can I finish?" His voice is strained, and his hips falter for a moment. You can feel the way his body trembles with the effort of holding back. His thrusts begin to quicken, each thrust hitting deeper, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room.

"Inside," you whisper breathlessly, your voice trembling as your hands tug him closer. "Do whatever you want... I'm yours."

Something in Sylus snaps at your words. His thrusts grow erratic, his body trembling as he reaches his peak, and with one final, deep thrust, he lets go. His release hits him hard, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills, groaning into your neck as the pleasure crashes over him. His grip on you tightens for a moment before his movements slow, his breath heavy and uneven.

As he rides out his high, his lips find yours again, kissing you softly. His hips slow to a gentle, rolling motion, drawing out the last waves of pleasure, but never pulling away. His hand cradles the back of your neck, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, while his other hand loosens its hold on your hip, stroking your skin as if to apologize for the bruises he left behind.

"Mine," he whispers against your lips. His forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel his breath mingling with yours in the stillness that follows. You realize there’s no need for words. Wrapped in his arms, with his silent affection surrounding you, you know this is where you belong.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus x you #sylus l&ds #lads smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace fanfic #sylus fanfic #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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luna-azzurra · 8 days ago

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Character Careers That Aren't Clichés

(because fictional economies deserve better too)

Look. I get it. I do. A hot CEO. A dreamy small-town baker. A moody artist who somehow lives in a massive Brooklyn loft despite only selling two paintings a year. Those characters have their place.

But if you want your story to feel fresh, real, alive — sometimes you’ve gotta ditch the Insta-ready jobs and actually think: What does this person do at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday? What would they complain about after a garbage day at work?

Here’s how to get careers that feel like they belong to an actual human, not a catalog model...

❥ The "Unexpected But Perfect" Career Pick something that makes your reader go, wait, what? and then oh my god, that's so them. Like:

A chaotic, disaster character who’s actually a surprisingly competent funeral director. (Yes, it’s messy. Yes, it’s weirdly perfect.)

The quiet, overlooked character who’s a locksmith. Always helping people get inside things. Always a little lonely themselves.

The job should reflect the character’s secret self.

❥ The “Soul-Crushing Job They’re Too Good For” Reality Check Not everybody is their Dream Job Self yet. Some characters are stuck. Flipping burgers, filing invoices, answering phones for screaming Karens named Marge. And you know what? There’s story gold there. Give me the character who’s quietly making art out of coffee foam because it’s the only creative outlet they’ve got. Give me the character who’s wasting in a job they hate, but who hums with what could be underneath.

Failure and frustration? Delicious character fuel.

❥ The "Job That Messes With Their Brain" Career Certain jobs change you. Make you hard in weird places and soft in weirder ones. Lean into that.

A paramedic who's numb to blood but cries at dog food commercials.

A social worker who can’t listen to their friends' minor drama without tuning out completely.

A vet tech who talks to animals better than people.

The job should bruise them in little invisible ways.

❥ The “Work Family or Work Frenemies” Setup Office dynamics are like nuclear reactors: volatile, ridiculous, and perfect for drama.

Give them the boss who’s a passive-aggressive nightmare in group emails but buys everyone surprise cupcakes on Fridays.

Give them the coworker they want to strangle and defend to death when someone outside the office talks crap.

Make their work life messy. (Because it IS messy.)

❥ Actual Career Ideas You Can Steal Because I Love You (yes, you have my blessing, take 'em, twist 'em, make them yours)

Travel nurse who secretly dreams of putting down roots

Archivist in a creepy, half-forgotten library wing

Theme park mascot who has existential crises inside the costume

Home inspector who lowkey loves snooping through strangers' houses

Court stenographer who writes fanfiction on the side during boring trials

Aquarium maintenance tech (yes, it’s a thing, yes, it’s hilarious and tragic)

Disaster clean-up specialist (like post-floods, fires, crime scenes , very spicy potential)

Final Truth Bomb: Your character’s job doesn't have to be their whole identity. (Shocking, I know, Hollywood.)

But it should still touch them somehow. It should rub off on the way they move through the world, the way they talk, the way they size up a stranger in five seconds flat. Because we are all shaped by how we spend our hours, whether we mean to be or not.

#writing #writerscommunity #writer on tumblr #writing tips #writing advice #character development #writer tumblr #writblr #writing help #i am a writer #aspiring writer #writers on tumblr #indie writer #writer #writer community #writer problems #writer stuff

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p0orbaby · 1 month ago

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Guy Fawkes Tesco Dissociation

summary: leah flirts with you, your sister isn’t too please by it

warnings: none

a/n: thank you to the anon who so kindly came up with this idea!

word count: 1.7k

You’re standing in the post-match hospitality suite trying to decide if the grey thing in the buffet tray is mushroom risotto or porridge that’s lost the will to live. The consistency is tragic. Congealed at the edges like it’s nursing trauma. Some rogue sprig of parsley sits on top, wilting like a garnish trying to convince you this sludge had aspirations once. You haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t either beige or pre-wrapped since you got here, and now you’re just holding a tiny wooden fork as if it’s a weapon. It’s one of those eco-friendly ones that splinters if you so much as look at it sideways—useless for food, perfect for passive aggression.

The whole lounge smells like disinfectant and faint victory—sweat, floor cleaner, and that metallic hum of a commercial fridge you’re pretty sure is struggling for life. Poor thing. It’s making that low groaning sound, like it wants to die but knows it can’t until the Lionesses are done selfie-ing with extended family.

There’s too much fluorescent lighting. That kind of overhead buzz that makes everyone look vaguely jaundiced. Too many footballers, too many PR girls in patent heels, too many conversations happening in that specific register where everyone’s pretending they’re chill but secretly vibrating with caffeine, adrenaline, and the knowledge that they’re about to be Instagram-tagged into oblivion. Everyone’s leaning too hard into the whole ‘just happy to be here’ thing. Even the champagne flutes look nervous.

You’re mostly here for moral support. And maybe a selfie. You’ve mentally drafted the caption twice—some tasteful mix of “so proud” and “she smashed it” with just enough cleavage in the frame to remind people that yes, you’re here supporting family, but no, you haven’t lost your edge. But also, selfishly, because the England women are hot. Like, disproportionately so. It’s suspicious. Someone should investigate.

“Let me guess,” a voice says behind you, low and amused. “You’re not here for the mini sausage rolls.”

You turn slowly, like a woman who’s watched enough true crime to clock tone, timbre, intent. You assess voices like others assess threats: slowly, carefully, always with an exit strategy. It’s Leah Williamson, living, breathing, taller than expected. That particular kind of tall that still manages to make you feel like you’d look better if you stood up straighter. Skin clear like she exfoliates with diamonds and filtered air. She’s wearing her England tracksuit half-zipped, no lanyard, like she doesn’t need it, like access is implicit. Hair up in a way that suggests zero effort and maximum effect. Like she got ready in two minutes and still managed to look like a Vogue cover. The kind that goes viral.

You blink. “What gave it away?”

She grins, eyes flicking down, then up. A practiced sweep. Not sleazy. Just clinical. “Your face is saying ‘get me out of here,’ but your outfit says you knew you’d be looked at.”

She’s not wrong. You’re wearing the blouse that gaps slightly when you breathe too deeply. The kind of outfit you wear when you want to seem chill but also low-key devastating. Your trousers are high-waisted and aggressive. Your earrings dangle like punctuation. Everything was intentional, even if you’ve lied to yourself about that three times already.

You sip the cava that’s slowly going flat in its flute. It tastes faintly of metal and regret. Like someone once promised it’d be champagne and then quietly backed out. “I like being looked at.”

She steps forward, just enough that you clock her scent—Le Labo Santal 33. Predictable. But still effective. Like rich girl pheromones. Every lesbian in a Soho House bathroom has worn it at least once. She wears it like it’s never been cliché. Like it was made for her skin.

“I like looking.”

You tilt your head. “Do you flirt with everyone who loiters by the catering?”

“No,” she says, completely serious. Not playing it for laughs. Just laying it out. “Only the ones who look like they’d let me.”

You laugh. You weren’t planning to. You’re not easy. You’re just—bored. Entertaining this. She’s entertaining. Her confidence is that particular brand of athlete-casual, like she knows she could outpace any awkward silence if it dared to challenge her.

She watches you, eyes flicking again to your mouth. Slow, deliberate. “You’ve got lipstick on your glass.”

“I always do. Bad habit.”

“I could help you fix it.”

Your eyebrow lifts, automatic. “Are you offering to drink from the other side or lick it clean?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

You hum. “Bit forward.”

She shrugs. One shoulder, casual. “Bit honest.”

“I’m older than you, you know.”

She grins. Not fazed. Not even slightly. “You say that like it’s not hot.”

You turn slightly, lean against the wall, tilt your head like you’re studying her for a project you don’t intend to finish. You’re playing now. Not because you want to win—just because you like the shape of the game.

“What’s your type?”

She takes a second. Bites her lip. Not nervous. Just drawing it out. Like she knows timing is half the seduction.

“Right now?” Her eyes scan, slow and obvious. “Blouse open one more button than is strictly necessary. Earrings from Mejuri. The kind of face that’s used to getting what it wants and the attitude to match.”

You glance at your reflection in the door of the fridge. She’s not wrong. You adjusted that button in the lift. Told yourself it was because it was warm. Not because you wanted attention. From someone. Anyone. Apparently, this is who you got.

She steps in closer. Not touching. Just close enough that you can feel her attention like a spotlight. “Name?”

You sip again. Don’t answer.

She tilts her head. “You’re mysterious. That’s sexy.”

“Don’t push it.”

She leans in, voice dropping just slightly. Low enough to feel like a secret. “If I pushed it, you’d know.”

You almost choke on your cava. This girl. This baby-faced, cocky, post-match swaggering captain is throwing out one-liners like she’s seducing her way through a Netflix original. You don’t even know if you’re annoyed or impressed. Possibly both. Probably both.

“Do you work in media?” she asks, suddenly, sharp as a cuticle knife.

You shake your head. “No.”

“PR? Events?”

“Closer.”

“So not here for work.”

“No.”

“Just for fun?”

You give her a slow, unreadable smile. The kind that’s been mistaken for consent, for challenge, for foreplay. “I was invited.”

There’s a flicker behind her eyes—barely anything, but you catch it. A recalibration. You’ve nudged her off script.

“Ah,” she says, tone smoothing out like a hand over a silk dress. “Important, then.”

You nod. Ambiguous. Let her fill in the blanks. You haven’t said who. You’re not planning to. Yet.

She nods towards the glass doors, out to the lower tier where discarded pints sweat on plastic ledges and the pitch glows radioactive green. “Came for the game, stayed for the overpriced alcohol and emotional turbulence?”

“I stayed for the company.”

“Oh yeah?”

You glance at her, deliberate. “Wasn’t expecting this, though.”

She smirks, something feline curling at the edge of her mouth. “Happy surprise?”

“TBD.”

She pauses. Thinking. You watch her do it. It’s almost charming—like catching a model doing Sudoku. She’s calculating the angle. How much charm. How much cheek. Whether to go full throttle or ease off the accelerator.

She chooses both.

“I could give you a better tour,” she says. “Not the literal kind. More… you and me. Somewhere less fluorescent. Less beige carpet. Better soundtrack.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you do this a lot?”

She shrugs, effortless. “Only when it’s worth it.”

“And I’m worth it?”

“Oh,” she says, stepping into your space with the grace of someone used to getting the last word, “I think you might be a little dangerous.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“It’s a great thing. For a night. Maybe two.”

You’re just about to deliver a line—something glib, maybe filthy—when a voice cuts the air like a dentist’s drill against enamel.

“Leah?”

Both your heads turn. And there she is: Grace Clinton, blinking at the scene like she’s just stumbled into a deleted scene from Sex/Life.

Her face spasms into an expression somewhere between disbelief and acute spiritual distress. “What the hell is this?”

You smile. Angelic. Like you’ve been caught volunteering at an animal rescue. “Hi, Gracie.”

Leah does a visible double take. “Wait—Gracie?”

Grace’s stare ricochets between you like a hostage negotiator. “That’s my sister.”

Leah looks at you.

Then at her.

Then laughs.

Then freezes.

“Wait, what?”

Grace throws her hands up, righteous as a preacher mid-sermon. “You were hitting on her!”

Leah’s eyes widen like she’s been offered ketamine at brunch. “You didn’t say your sister was hot.”

Grace looks like she’s about to throw up. “Why would I say that? That’s revolting. Are you okay? Do you have a head injury?”

You lift your cava flute like a toast. “To be fair, she was extremely flattering.”

Leah’s still short-circuiting. “This is… not what i was expecting.”

Grace stabs a finger in her direction like she’s summoning a demon. “Stop trying to seduce my family!”

“She flirted back!”

“She flirts with everyone! She flirts with lollipop men and the guy from DPD. It’s chronic. It means nothing.”

You shrug. “Not nothing.”

Grace groans like her soul’s leaving her body. “I need to be exorcised. Or euthanised.”

Leah rubs a hand over her face, suddenly aware of the PR disaster unfolding in real time. “This is going to be so awkward at camp.”

“You think it’s going to be awkward?” Grace gestures wildly, borderline unhinged. “Imagine me, stuck in midfield, watching you eye-fuck my sister from the touchline.”

“Language, Grace,” you say gently, like you’ve said it a hundred times before. A calm, familiar reprimand. Not scolding—just reminding. A soft nudge from someone who changed her nappies and taught her to spell ‘definitely.’

Leah turns back to you, a grin twitching at her mouth like it’s trying to behave. “So… about that better tour…”

“Jesus Christ!” Grace howls.

You grin, all cheekbone and implication. “She’s very protective.”

Leah grins back. “You’re very tempting.”

Grace’s voice goes up an octave, full banshee. “I hate both of you!”

Leah doesn’t flinch. “You gonna tell your mum?”

“Oh, I’m telling everyone.” She’s already got her phone out like she’s reporting a crime. “Group chat’s open. You’re getting dragged.”

Leah leans in, low voice, warm breath. “Still time to sneak out the fire exit.”

You drain the last of your cava and smirk. “I’ll drive.”

And somewhere behind you, Grace wails.

Perfect.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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cheapshrimpysheep · 1 month ago

Text

Dating in a Dream - Epel Felmier

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Epel Felmier x Reader 🍎🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda)

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Epel’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 1.530 words

COMMENTS: As English is not my first language I asked Gemini for help with Epel's dialect/accent. This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I hope you enjoy 🍎

Dating in a Dream: Idia / (Epel) / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho says when you land in the new dream, along with Grim, Silver and Sebek. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

You're on Main Street, looking around and trying to figure out whose dream it is. That's when you hear abnormally heavy footsteps running and getting closer. You look and see an Epel's head in a body that looks more like Jack's, which made it all the more strange, uncanny, and almost hilarious.

You hear him saying something about being late and that's why he doesn't see your group. Grim was the one who had to shout to get Epel's attention.

“Ah, Grim! (Y/N)! Good morning! And behind you, Ah see... Ortho and some Diasomnia fellas Ah don't hardly know. Ah don't get why y'all're glowerin'.”

“Cease your incessant mumbling!” Sebek says.

“Huh? Ah was just... Ain't you Sebek from Class D? What's yer problem? Y'wanna start somethin' with me, huh?”

Epel approaches Sebek as if he were ready to start a fight, that's when you put yourself between the two of them to ask Epel to wait and say that there's no need for that.

“Oh, they’re yer friends? Sorry babe.”

“W-what did he call (Y/N)?” Grim asked with wide eyes, the same expression as everyone else.

“Hey, since you're here... Ah was goin’ to ma Spelldrive practice. Don't you have cheerleadin' practice too? You always practice with us.”

“C-cheerleading?” You ask.

“Yeah. You probly forgot ‘cause you're always so busy. If you're free, come with me. Ah always play better with you cheerin’ me on.” He smirks at you. “And Ah know how you love seein’ yer boyfriend win another game.”

“BOYFRIEND?!” Everyone said in unison.

“Oh boy.” Idia's voice says through the tablet. “Dude is dreaming that he's some sports team captain who's dating the head cheerleader. So cliché. What did I tell you about his imagination being weak?”

“Epel Felmier. May I make you a few questions?” Ortho asks and Epel agrees. “From what I understand, you and (Y/N) are dating, correct?”

“Ya bet we are!” Epel confirms with a huge smile. “Ain't they just as kind as can be, and as pretty as a picture?” He grabs you by the waist to pull you against him. “Shoot, Ah must be the luckiest guy aroun’!”

“Aww, so sweet.” Idia says. “If I get diabetes after this I'll be sending this guy the bill for my medication.”

“You two really make a very cute couple.” Ortho says to Epel. You didn't know if he was being sincere or sarcastic just to keep the conversation going. “When did you two start dating?”

“Lesse... When was it again? It was after I gained muscle and get this tall. And that was... Uhh... When WAS it? ... Hrk! Mah head... It hurts!”

The dream begins to distort, but when you think Epel is about to wake up, Vil and Rook appear, darkness versions of them.

“I believe it was near the end of winter break when your height surpassed mine, Eple.” Darkness Vil says.

“Oui. And you two started your love affair in the spring.” Darkness Rook complements. “Tellement romantique!”

“Really?” Idia complained again. “You start dating in the spring? How predictable. Were the birds also singing their hearts out when (Y/N) said 'Of course I want to date you, silly' ?”

“Epel.” Darkness Vil speaks again. “You left the dorm rather early today, so why are you standing around shooting the breeze?”

“Ah was on mah way to mornin’ practice when Ah ran into (Y/N) and these other folks...”

“Conversing with friends is indeed a valuable thing, but are you not the Spelldrive club most promising rookie?” Darkness Rook says. “I hear as much all the time from Leona.”

The two darkness figures with the appearance of Vil and Rook continue talking about how Eple is strong and such a talented player that the students of Savanaclaw would like him to ask to transfer to their dorm, but Vil would never allow it because he doesn't want to lose a student like Epel.

“That’s enough idle chitchat.” Darkness Vil says. “Off with you, now, get to your club.”

“Yessir. You coming with me (Y/N)?”

“NO!” You say. “This is not you Epel! You're not this tall, muscular guy. You are a boy with a cute and delicate appearance but a will of steel. We may have never started dating, but the truth is... I like you too Epel. I really do. But not this you, the real you. The Epel who said in SDC that he was going to maximize his weapon and beat Neige with his charm! Did you forget?”

“Epel. Cease listening to those spudlings.” Darkness Vil warns him.

“Yes, indeed. You will never go wrong by heeding Vil, Epel!” Darkness Rook encourages.

“You were finally accepting yourself.” You continue “Finally seeing yourself the way I see you. You were so cool! I was so proud of you!”

The dream world distorts again until Epel breaks and awakens. His body returned to normal, and he was wearing his dorm uniform.

“How could I have forgotten?” Epel says with tears in the corners of his eyes. “I was going to accept the strength only I had, a strength like that poison apple... I swore it that day!”

You feel so happy to see him return to the Epel you know that you can't contain the urge to hug him. He stays still for a second because of the surprise, but right after you feel him returning the hug with affection.

“Oh dear, Epel...” Darkness Vil says horrified. “You look so frail now.”

“Misérables! Your physique towered as high as the Seven jeweled Hills themselves. Where has it gone?”

“You poor thing. That dirty spud have cursed you with a pitiful form. You certainly deserve someone better than them. Come to me instead. I'll restore your brawny beauty.”

“Yes, Vil, that's a marvelous idea! Come, Epel. Join us.”

Epel is silent for a moment. To then tell them that the Rook and Vil he knows would never say those things. And that he would be lying if he said that he didn't wish he could be big and brawny.

“But the strength I want... The brawn I want... The beauty I want... The love I want... That's for ME to decide, and for ME to claim myself! And one more thing... You insult (Y/N) again, and me punchin' yer fake face'll be the least of yer worries, I guarantee it!”

Darkness Vil and Rook tried to convince Epel to choose the dream over reality, but this only angered him even more and made him and the others attack the darkness figures. Epel finishes the fight by using his signature spell on the fake Vil and Rook.

“Hey, Epel! You finally awake?” Grim asks.

“Yeah, my head's clear now. I must've looked like a real doof to you guys, huh?”

They chit chat a little about Epel showing how strong he is for being able to overcome the darkness. Until Grim speaks again to caught Epel's attention with a serious expression and crossed paws.

“Enough chit chat. Epel, I need to sort somethin’ out with you.” Epel looks at Grim puzzledly and Grim points at him with a cute, threatening finger. “What are your intentions with my hench-human?”

Epel practically jumps in place with a panicked expression and flushed cheeks. He opens his mouth to say something, or at least try, but he can barely say a word without stuttering.

“If you need, I can play the audios of what you said so you remember what you could explain first.” Ortho suggests with a look of someone who smiles mischievously.

“NO! REALLY DON’T DO IT!” Epel begs. “Can we just forget about that for now and focus on the real issue here? I don’t even know what's going on. What was up with the fake Vil and Rook? What’s happening?!”

They show the explanatory video to Epel, explain the plan and that he should go with them to the next dream as they would go to another Pomefiore student's dream. He agrees and Ortho creates a dummy version of tall and brawny Epel to stay in that dream so as not to alert Malleus.

“Eugh! Now that I'm looking at it again... How in tarnation did Ah ever think Ah looked cool?!”

“Indeed.” You say. “The real you is so much better.”

He looks at you surprised and flattered.

“R-really?... Huh... hey... sorry about... huh...”

“I like you too, Epel.” You admit.

“You... WHAT?!”

You tell him that the feeling is mutual and everything you like about him. You also talk about how you prefer the real him, rather than that... weird version of him.

“You know, I could cheer for you in a game or two if you want.” You tease him.

“I’m... not gonna lie, I would love that.” He smiles, cutely and excited. He then gains the courage to hug you and kiss you on the cheek.

“PDA Alert!” Idia's voice is heard through the table.

Epel immediately moves away from you, embarrassed for having done it in front of the others.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Epel Felmier #Epel Felmier x Reader #Dating in a Dream #epel x reader

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wandasgirl69 · 1 month ago

Text

A simple request—

Paring(s): Wanda Maximoff X female!reader

Summary: After a long, exhausting day, all you want is to unwind in your girlfriend's arms.

word count: 1.9K

tags l content: established relationship, smut, breeding kink, mommy kink, cockwarming, breastfeeding, induced lactation, sub reader, Wanda has a cock, abandoned movie lol.

A/N: I'm excited and nervous to post this lol, it's just a short drabble. I hope you guys enjoy! (and yes, it's about me and my girl— again.)

The day had drained you completely. Endless lectures, overwhelming assignments—your mind felt like it was on the verge of shutting down. As you stepped into your apartment, the familiar scent of home instantly soothed you—a mix of fresh linen, vanilla, and something distinctly Wanda. With a deep sigh, you dropped your backpack by the door, kicking off your shoes without caring where they landed.

All you wanted—no, all you needed—was to unwind. Just you, Wanda, and a movie. That was your simple request.

As you made your way into the bedroom, Wanda lay sprawled on the bed, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands, her crimson-painted nails tapping idly against the ceramic. A book rested open in her lap, though she seemed more focused on the warmth seeping through her fingers than on the words before her. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed her in warm light, making her look almost ethereal.

"Hi, my love," she murmured, her voice like a gentle caress.

Just hearing those words made something in your chest loosen. The tension that had gripped you all day dissipated, if only for a moment. You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding and walked over to the bed, practically collapsing onto it.

Wanda shut her book, setting it aside as she turned toward you, concern flickering in her eyes.

"Long day?"

You groaned, pressing your face into the pillows. "The longest. I don’t want to think, don’t want to talk about assignments, and definitely don’t want to see another professor’s face for at least a week." You rolled onto your side, gazing up at her.

"I just need to watch a movie. I need to turn my brain off, cuddle under the blankets, and just exist for a while. That’s all I want."

Understanding flashed across her face, and without hesitation, she nodded. "Okay, baby. That sounds perfect."

She reached for the remote, shifting closer to you. "What do you want to watch?"

Your lips curved into a small smile as you answered without hesitation. "Rom-com."

Wanda chuckled, shaking her head fondly. "I should've guessed."

"You should've," you teased, nudging her arm. "They're the best. They’re funny, they’re sweet, and they make everything feel a little bit lighter."

With an amused sigh, Wanda scrolled through Netflix, already knowing you wouldn’t settle for anything else. "Alright, one predictable, overly romantic, cliché-filled movie coming right up."

"Masterpiece," you corrected, grinning as you reached for her.

Before you could say anything else, Wanda set the remote down and gently pulled you into her arms, shifting you so you rested against her front, nestled between her legs. The warmth of her body instantly soothed you as she wrapped her arms around your waist, holding you close.

"Are you comfortable?" she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. You hummed in response, melting further into her embrace. The movie played on and she continued to caress you, her hands slowly making their way under your shirt.

"Wanda" you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, baby?" she asked, before nipping at your neck, her teeth grazing your skin.

“We’re supposed to be relaxing,” you mumbled. She chuckled softly, her breath warm against your ear.

“This is relaxing, no?” You let out a shaky breath, nodding as you surrendered to her touch, letting the movie fade into the background. She continued to explore your body, her fingers trailing along your stomach and then up your ribs, teasing the underside of your breasts. You let out a quiet whimper, arching into her touch.

"So responsive for me," Wanda whispered, her voice low and husky. her slender fingers eventually made their way into your shorts, slowly dipping into your folds. She let out a groan at the wetness she found there, her fingers parting your folds and sliding into your entrance.

"Fuck, baby," she breathed, her voice thick with arousal. "You’re so wet."

She began pumping her fingers slowly, eliciting a moan from you. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction. But then suddenly, it stopped, and a whimper escaped your lips. You opened your eyes to see her smirking at you, a playful glint in her eyes.

"What happened to relaxing?" she teased as she removed her hand from your shorts and brought her fingers up to her mouth, sucking them clean. The sight made you shudder, and you could feel the heat building between your legs.

"I- I am relaxed," you managed to stutter out.

"Mmhmm," Wanda hummed, her lips curving into a smirk. "Let's see if we can help you relax a little more, shall we?" her cock pressed against your back and she ground herself into you, making sure that you could feel how hard she was.

"Yes please," you breathed, squirming slightly as she continued to tease you.

"but we need to focus on the movie" she reminded you as she trailed her hands up and down your body.

"It's hard to focus on the movie when you're touching me like that," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda's chuckle was playful, "Maybe we can multitask," she suggested, her breath hot against your ear. "We can watch the movie, and I can... help you relax at the same time."

"I think that can be arranged," you breathed

"Shhh” she murmured as she pulled your shorts down as well as her own.

"warm up my cock, hm?" A groan escaped your lips as she guided her tip to your cunt, your wet folds allowing her to push right in. The feeling of her stretching you open was almost too much, and you felt yourself trembling against her. She wrapped her arms around you and pulled you flush against her chest as the movie continued to play in the background.

Wanda made sure to keep a steady pace of small, shallow thrusts, just enough to tease you without being too distracting. Every so often, she would buck her hips, eliciting a soft moan from you as her cock hit that perfect spot inside you.

"You're doing such a good job, keeping mommy's cock nice and warm." Your response was immediate, a whimper escaping your lips as your hips rocked back into hers, driven by a primal need to be closer, to be filled completely.

"Please, Mommy," you whispered, your voice a faint, desperate plea that lingered in the air as you rested your head back against her shoulder.

"I want you to breed me." As soon as the words left your lips, Wanda's entire demeanor changed. Her eyes, which had been gleaming with a mixture of desire and playfulness, suddenly burned with an intense urgency. She pulled you closer, her arms wrapping tightly around you as she deepened her thrusts.

Her movements became more frantic, more desperate, as if she was driven by a singular focus to give you what you wanted. The air was filled with the sound of her ragged breathing, her gasps and moans mingling with the creaks and groans of the bed as she pushed up against you with increasing intensity.

The movie, which had been playing in the background, was forgotten, the sounds and images on the screen fading into insignificance as Wanda's actions became the sole focus of your attention. You felt yourself getting lost in the sensation of her body moving against yours, the friction and heat building as she drove herself deeper and deeper into you.

Wanda's hands were everywhere, grasping and clutching at your skin as if she was trying to pull you closer, to merge your bodies into one. Her lips were on your neck, your shoulder, your ear, her breath hot and urgent.

As her movements continued, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps.

"That's it, baby," she whispered. "Take mommy's cock. Take it all." Her hands reached up and cupped your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples. Her fingers lightly pinched, sending a spark of pleasure through your body. You moaned, a soft, breathy sound, as your hips instinctively bucked back into hers.

You were on the verge of losing control, and you knew it.

"I'm going to—" you whispered, your voice barely audible as the sensations overwhelmed you. The words trailed off, lost in the tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you.

"Cum, baby," Wanda grunted. "Cum all over my cock. I'm going to fill you up." As she spoke, her body tensed, and you felt her release inside you, a warm, gentle flood that seemed to never end. She didn’t stop her movements, instead increasing them to ensure you took every drop of her seed.

You cried out, your body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Wanda held you close, her thrusts slowing as you came down from your high and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the two of you panting, struggling to catch your breath.

"Ohh, my love, you were perfect," she whispered, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as she pressed soft, gentle kisses. With a gentle movement, she shifted your body, turning you around to face her, her cock still nestled deep within you— exactly where you both loved it to be. As she held you, you whimpered a little, your body squirming subtly to press against hers more intimately.

Wanda's arms tightened around you, holding you close, the steady rise and fall of her breath soothed you. Your body felt heavy with exhaustion, a weariness settling in as you melted against her.

“Sleepy, baby?” Wanda murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead.

A small hum left your lips as you shifted slightly, seeking more of her comfort.

“Mama…” you breathed, half-asleep but still aware enough to know what you wanted.

“I’m here, my love,” she reassured you, tucking you even closer. “What do you need?”

Your fingers curled against her skin as you whispered,

“Milky.”

Wanda’s chest rose with a quiet chuckle, her amusement laced with tenderness.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she murmured, adjusting her position so she could take off her shirt. She bared the soft curves of her breasts to you, her warmth and scent enveloping you in familiar safety. Her hands guided your head back to her chest, where the sweet aroma of her milk mingled with the lingering notes of vanilla that were uniquely hers.

As you latched on, the steady, pulsing rhythm of her heartbeat filled your ears, lulling you further into the depths of relaxation. Wanda’s fingers twisted through your hair, scratching your head absentmindedly.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Just relax, I’ve got you.”

The gentle pull of warmth, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath, the way her arms held you so securely—it was all you needed.

The weight of the day faded, the last remnants of tension melting away as your body sank fully into her embrace. She shifted slightly, her fingers gently brushing against the corner of your mouth to wipe away a stray drop of milk that had lingered there. And with a gentle motion, she wrapped the blankets more securely around you both. Even as she started to drift off, she was aware of your tight walls still wrapped around her cock.

"Sweet dreams, my love," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, as the warmth of her heartbeat pressed against your cheek. You felt her hold you just a little tighter.

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eclipixels · 2 months ago

Text

Clichés

Sae Itoshi x Reader

Content: You and Sae are watching one of those cliché romance TV shows, and he can’t help but cringe.

[1,600 words]

You should’ve known better than to let Sae sit through one of your guilty pleasure romance dramas.

It started with him lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone while you curled up beside him, eyes glued to the TV. He never really cared about these shows; he’d always brush them off as overly dramatic and predictable. But tonight, for some reason, he hadn’t moved. His fingers had stopped their lazy scrolling, his sharp gaze fixated on the screen, eyebrows furrowed.

You tried to ignore it, but every once in a while, you’d hear him scoff or mutter something under his breath.

“Why is she running away from him? Just talk like a normal person.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s called tension, Sae.”

“It’s called unnecessary drama,” he shot back, his voice laced with disbelief.

The episode played on, and his reactions only grew more dramatic than the show itself. You were deep into Love Island, the latest reality drama unfolding as the new couple tried to navigate their sizzling chemistry while another islander plotted to steal one of them away. When the male islander grabbed the female islander’s wrist, spinning her around for a forced confession, Sae let out a noise of pure disdain.

“Ugh.” He ran a hand down his face, looking absolutely exhausted. “If I ever did that to you, you’d probably kill me.”

“You’re right,” you deadpanned.

He gave you a knowing look, clearly proud of himself for being so observant. But his horror didn’t end there. When the dramatic love triangle reached its peak, and the female islander started crying over her two potential lovers, Sae turned to you with a serious expression, clearly trying to make sense of the mess unfolding on the screen.

“Are we supposed to feel bad for her?” he asked, like he was solving a complex puzzle.

“Yes, Sae,” you groaned, nudging him with your elbow. “She’s torn between them.”

“She’s also an idiot,” he said flatly. “Imagine having the perfect guy and still being confused.”

You snorted, trying to suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “It’s not that simple. People have feelings, you know.”

“I don’t know,” Sae muttered, eyes narrowed as he watched the drama unfold. “Seems like they’re just making bad decisions for the sake of ratings.”

You rolled your eyes again, leaning back on the couch and crossing your arms. “You’re such a cynic.”

He shot you a look that said, this is a disaster, but continued watching. As another islander tried to make a dramatic declaration of love while standing on a balcony, Sae groaned loudly, rubbing his temples.

“Honestly, these people need to get a grip. Who says things like that?”

“You sound kinda invested,” you teased, grinning up at him.

His brows twitched, and he looked away, clearly caught off guard. “I’m not,” he muttered, his voice low as he attempted to hide his growing interest.

You hummed in amusement, the playful glint in your eyes betraying your knowledge of the truth. You didn’t press the point further, though, knowing full well that Sae had gotten pulled into the drama. Instead, you turned your attention back to the screen, where the mess of emotions unfolding on Love Island continued to escalate.

"That's just no way to treat a lady," Sae sighed, clearly fed up with the nonsense coming from the guys on the island.

"Oh, really? What's your idea of proper?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Well, for one, I believe the guy should pay for the first date if they decide to eat out. None of this fifty-fifty crap. Don't bring that European nonsense into this ethnic household. Guys today don't put in the effort anymore. They think they can stop doing all that once they've got the girl. And what's with these 'situationships'? They make no sense."

"Sae, we were in a situationship," you said.

"What? No, we weren't."

"We had a talking stage for like four months and then you just started telling people I was your girlfriend."

Sae’s face turned pink, matching his hair.

"What?"

"I thought we were together from the first date," he muttered, his voice almost a whisper.

"Really?"

"Yes!" Sae nearly shouted, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment.

"That's adorable," you teased.

"No, that's embarrassing."

"We're together now," you reassured him, trying to ease his discomfort, but he stayed silent. After a long pause, he peeked up at the TV screen again, still red-faced.

he male islander drenched in rain dramatically kissing the female islander as the storm raged around them, Sae looked like he had physically aged from the stress of witnessing it. His fingers tightened slightly around the armrest of the couch, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disdain.

“Who actually does that?” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. “That’s how you get sick.”

You grinned, a spark of amusement lighting up your face. “It’s romantic.”

“Romantic?” Sae echoed, his voice rising slightly as if the very idea offended him. “It’s stupid. Who’s actually gonna kiss someone in the middle of a torrential downpour like that? What happened to common sense?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re just mad because you’ve never done it.”

Sae scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not mad, I’m just realistic. You don’t kiss someone in the rain, you take them inside and offer them a towel, then maybe a hot drink after they’re done drying off.” He gave you a pointed look. “And if it was you, I’d have you wrapped in blankets, not standing out there in the freezing cold.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re no fun.”

Sae’s frown deepened as he continued to watch the rain-soaked drama play out. He shifted on the couch, visibly uncomfortable with the way the scene unfolded. The intense music swelled in the background, making the kiss seem even more important than it probably was. You couldn’t help but enjoy the way Sae’s discomfort was so obvious, especially since he’d spent the last few weeks teasing you for watching these shows.

"Are you sure this is supposed to be a romance?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because to me, it feels more like a horror show."

You snickered at his reaction, but couldn't deny the accuracy of his point. The male islander’s actions were intense, almost suffocating at times, and his possessiveness was borderline unsettling. But to you, it was all part of the fun. The over-the-top emotions, the drama-filled relationships—it was an escape from the mundane.

His face twisted some more as the plot thickened and the your favorite female character behaved in even stranger, more obsessive ways. Sae shifted again, running a hand through his hair in frustration, clearly disturbed by what he was witnessing. The tension between the two islanders, paired with the high-stakes drama, was something he clearly didn’t understand, and you could tell that he was struggling to make sense of it all.

"Hey, it's scripted for a reason," you countered, a small laugh escaping you. You tried to brush off his concern, knowing full well that he’d never fully appreciate the kind of drama you enjoyed.

Sae narrowed his eyes at the screen, then glanced back at you with a half-smile, clearly unconvinced. “You say that, but I swear, I actually know a guy like this in real life on Re Al.”

You tilted your head in curiosity. “Really?”

Sae nodded, leaning back into the couch, a slight shudder running through him as if just mentioning this person triggered a deep sense of discomfort. “Yeah. You should see him whenever our team goes out for drinks—he is beyond weird. No sense of boundaries, no idea how to read a room.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, your eyes widening as you pictured the awkwardness. "What did he do?"

“The most bizarre things,” Sae continued, a bitter edge creeping into his voice as the memory clearly rattled him. “Like, one time, he tried to ‘confess his feelings’ in the middle of a bar with all of us watching. Didn’t even try to make it subtle, just straight-up told this girl he loved her after talking to her for, like, five minutes. I swear, he’d be perfect for one of these shows.”

You stared at him in disbelief, equal parts horrified and intrigued by the story.

"Thank god our relationship isn’t anything like that." He gestured towards the screen. “This whole thing is just… so far off from anything real. I can’t imagine this show yielding a happy relationship."

You leaned back into the couch, propping your feet up next to him as the characters on-screen faced yet another heart-wrenching dilemma. The drama was escalating by the minute—misunderstandings, love triangles, betrayals. It was the perfect storm of emotions, and for once, Sae seemed to be paying attention.

A beat passed, and you could feel his tension ease, though his frustration hadn’t completely faded. He let out a long sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions. His fingers, warm and absentminded, found the hem of your sleeve and began to idly toy with it, a quiet gesture of comfort in the middle of the chaotic drama.

“I don’t think I could handle the constant stress these people go through,” You admitted softly, almost to yourself.

“It’s exhausting watching them make such stupid decisions all the time.”

“Yeah, I agree. I like our relationship better.” You smiled softly, poking his face with your index finger before leaning in for a proper kiss.

Sae met your eyes, and his expression was calm. "Yeah," he said softly, with a small but genuine smile, returning your kiss.

#sae x you #sae itoshi #sae x reader #bllk sae #itoshi sae #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x y/n #sae x y/n #sae itoshi imagines #blue lock #bllk #blue lock sae #sae blue lock #sae bllk

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shy-writer-999 · 7 months ago

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Summary: Sickeningly sweet, Sanji can’t do anything but make love to you. A short and very lovey-dovey 900 words.

CW: Afab reader, G/N language, basically pure smut but its very fluffy and sweet, P in V.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Sanji loves to moan your name into your mouth. As he rocks his hips up into you, one hand braces your waist. You’re in one of his favorite positions, sitting on his cock, legs wrapped around him, with your chests pressed tightly together. Your arms are thrown around his neck. Sanji’s free hand cups your cheek, and he’s almost smothering you with kisses so adoring that you can taste the love they’re made of.

He can never get enough of you.

“Fuck, my love,” he murmurs between and during his kisses, with no regard for where his lips are or how understandable he is. “You’re being so sweet for me.”

When you hum into his mouth in response, his hips move back and forth, keeping his cock inside of you. His shaft and tip grind on deep parts of you, rubbing and twitching with pleasure as you throb around him.

Sanji’s hair shifts and tickles your face as he rolls his hips. He’s got a heart-melting smile plastered onto his lips when they’re not locked on yours. Clean-smelling cologne is dusted in faint traces on his skin. He wears this fragrance specifically, not too much and not too little, because he knows it’s your favorite.

“You feel amazing, sweetheart.” Sanji purrs in your ear. It sounds like honey and desire, bouquets of flowers, hundreds of hugs, hand holding and sneaky kisses. At the same time, his tone is saturated with need and distorted by ragged breaths.

While his cock is inside of you and that gorgeous smile plays on his lips, Sanji is the epitome of a doting lover-boy. But while Sanji may seem like just a lover-boy, he’s far more complicated than that. His love is not a monolith, and you know that.

He’s a man with scars of trauma that he works to unpack each day. Sanji recognizes how these experiences have impacted the way that he loves, and he berates himself for sometimes not believing that the love you give him is genuine or that he deserves it.

He will never forget the day that he decided to give you all of him, unabashedly and uninhibited. You had been waiting for that day ever since you met him.

Now, any time that Sanji looks into a mirror, he hopes that you’re staring back at him—he hopes that he sees in his reflection the man that you so ardently cherish and support. And the more time he spends with you, the more he sees in himself someone worthy of being precious.

“You don’t understand how much I love you.” His thumb rubs soft circles on your cheek and his arm pulls your waist tighter. He wants to be as close to you as possible, to feel your heart beat at the same time as his, to match your breaths and memorize your every curve.

Each blissful and loving buck of his cock into your sensitive spot feels euphoric. Heat rages between your legs—in an attempt to take him, you squeeze him with your legs. You want as much of him as he will give you. Like always.

“I need you, angel.” Sanji’s voice is desperate and his hips move faster.

“You have me, Sanji.” It’s a cliché response, maybe. But it still rings true. No matter how many times you say it, he’ll never get tired of hearing it.

You are all that he could ever ask for. When he hears your words, an affirmation of your love, his breath quickens. You get him off in every sense. It’s the closeness of your body and the feeling of your core pulsing around him, but it’s also your affection. Something about feeling loved and loving you in return sets him off—especially when you’re on his cock.

Sanji’s brows are pinched at the middle, his mouth is open, and those pretty eyes of his are on fire. He’s almost at his limit. He’d like to see you cum before he fully lets go. It’s a sight that he savors, the last course, the dessert he never stops craving. Seeing you orgasm is sweeter than anything he’s ever made or tasted.

“Cum for me, gorgeous. Please.”

It takes no effort to do as he says. That familiar, white-hot, and eye-rolling wave of pleasure comes crashing down within seconds. It’s easy to cum when his voice gets like that—husky, low, and politely demanding. You’re floating in and drowned by pure ecstasy and true love. It washes over you for many moments.

Seeing you orgasm on his cock, satisfied and almost drooling, is what pushes Sanji into that wave. As he cums, his hips spasm upwards. You can feel that familiar tingling sensation, Sanji filling you up with his hot cum, and you relish it. His last haphazard thrusts are punctuated by groans and words that make your heart twist. “I—love you—so—fucking—much.”

You know that he’s telling the truth, but no matter how many times he says it you’ll never get tired of hearing it.

that's all for this one :D (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ i hope u liked it, i feel eh about it 🥴 but he is such a sweetie >///<

here's my masterlist and my posting schedule for october.

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

#one piece smut #z's kinktober #op smut #one piece x reader #sanji smut #sanji op #sanji fluff #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji fluff #vinsmoke sanji x reader #op sanji smut #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #sanji fanfic #one piece sanji #sanji #black leg sanji

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limerlove · 5 months ago

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tattoo artist!vi who takes notice of just how beautiful you are the moment you step foot in her shop. it’d be the most difficult task in the world to not notice just how insanely breathtaking you are. it’s clear by the smirk on your glossy lips. you know just how good you look. caitlyn, being the woman she is, tries to jump in first. you’re just her type. violet would know, cait’s dated the anti-thesis of her since the moment you broke up. caitlyn kiramman loves pretty girls. anything she can do to be underneath them, she’ll find a way. you fit her bill. violet tried not to take offense of the ways your eyes light up taking to her ex-girlfriend. maybe you’re just nice. that’s it, right? two minutes, someone who is almost as gorgeous as you walks in and then violet forgets about you as her next client walks in. she tries to at least.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t stop thinking about you. it’s new york. there’s plenty of pretty girls she can drown herself in. well, if she could figure out how to ask someone out without her crippling anxiety suffocating her. she knows she’s somewhat attractive but her lack of knowing how to efficiently communicate it without sound like the weirdest fuck who has ever lived gets lost in translation. she doesn’t like how sure cait is of herself when she talks about you though. violet doesn’t even know you but seeing the glint in those aquatic-blue eyes make her want to punch something. it’s hard to even tell if it due to her budding crush or that it’s her ex. probably both but she ignores it.

tattoo artist!vi who likes to frequent bars on her days off. it’s when she doesn’t feel alone. it’s fun to bug her sister, powder. she’s always been more of a free spirit out of the two of them. an artist, a wanderer, someone who choses to bartend a couple nights out of the week just because she liked meeting new people, learning their story, what makes them tick. are they a mean drunk, happy, or will they burst into tears when you ask them how they’re doing? vi isn’t either really. she’s quiet, calm even, but tonight part of her wants to cry. she feels lonely, lost, and even a little bit upset caitlyn is your first choice. she only knows your name because of the clientele list and that just feels pathetic. violet’s never been the smoothest of talkers, she knows that more than she feels the blood coursing through her veins. she isn’t the girl and she’s perfectly fine with it. perfectly. fine.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t even enjoy work anymore. three months in and you’ve been cait’s girlfriend and the feeling only gets worse. it’s cliché. a little fucked, but being in love with her ex’s girlfriend? it doesn’t get any lower than this. she let it slip days ago, only to powder, thank fucking god. if violet knew one thing, she didn’t wanna deal with caitlyn’s wrath. according to maddie, she’d been a dog with a bone when it came to you. so protective it nearly turned into possession. she wanted everyone to know that you were hers and not anyone else’s. it wasn’t new to violet, cait didn’t like being runner up to anyone. it’s why their relationship ended in the first place, especially when the girlfriend feels inferior to the sister. when powder comes around to the shop, cait can’t help but wear her disgust all over her face like a poorly concealed mask. vi thinks it’s silly. the both of them are nearly the same it’s almost sickening. if only the other took the time to know the object of their disdain, they would see two peas sitting in a pod.

tattoo artist!vi who hates a messy shop. when personal items are left behind or someone’s station isn’t properly sanitized and clean. it’s why she’s here, alone on the sunday, the only day the shop is closed. it’s been too long since she did a deep clean, just a week or too, but that’s long enough for her. she’s always been proud of what she’s been able to accomplish her. even if she didn’t have much, a girlfriend to love on, or if her father was on the other side of the country, she had this. violet ink. it was her name out on the sign over seeing the street, the luminous violet led lights kissing the downtown street. she made it this far and she couldn’t let anyone run her off from something she fought so hard to build from the ground up. it’s why she was surprised when she saw you. your face free of makeup, your hair in it’s natural state, and you appeared more laid back than you ever were — in her shop. it feels like a fever dream she never wishes to wake up from. cait must have given you a spare key to the shop which she would have a discussion with her about that later because what the fuck? but it’s hard for her to stay mad when you’re standing there looking like a million bucks in the most casual pair of sweats she’s ever seen. it feels different to who you usually are. shredded of the image you maintain, stripped back, there’s just a softer version of yourself and vi can’t help but contemplate if this is the side you’re so reluctant to show.

tattoo artist!vi who stutter how some stupid joke, trying to break the ice and it should have made things more awkward than they already were but your laugh full of symphonies just makes violet smile. in her best efforts, she craves to conceal it from you but it’s impossible when you’re looking at her. she can’t help but smile — so she does. desperately, violet tries not to act nervous when you’re looking at her designs on the wall, not saying a word, just inspecting. there’s a chill in her bones she feels, a need for her work to be loved because if it isn’t? it eats her up from the inside out. maybe it’s embarrassing but she needs her work to be loved. what’s the point if it isn’t? it’s always been an extension of her soul, her life, and if someone doesn’t like it? all they say is they don’t like her. it may be the silliest thing in the world, but she needs to be adored. from a complete stranger, from the people who she’s permanently tattooing, and especially from the beautiful women violet can’t stop daydreaming about.

tattoo artist!vi who blushes when you tell her how much you love her designs. there’s a soft touch to her shoulder, your thumb lightly tracing circles in her sturdy bicep. it feel innocent enough but vi doesn’t give herself much time to think about it. painfully, she takes note in how your eyes soar when they make contact with her designs. even if it makes her cocky, violet knows she’s good at her job. clients flying in from all over the country, just to get tattooed by her. with your undeniable charm, you’ve convinced her to do a custom design for you but you wanna discuss it on sunday’s, alone. if anything, she should know this isn’t a good idea. you’re charming, gorgeous and the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. she should be afraid of caitlyn’s wrath, of what would happen if she found out, but it’s innocent…right? she’s a professional. no matter how much she’s attracted to a client, it’s never been an issues and she certainly won’t make it one now. vi nods and the second she does, you’re leaping in her arms, into her space. you smell of lavender and lilies, like spring in the beginning of march. a sun-kissed marvel aching for the shine of summer, for one breath of fresh air. it’s really all she wants, a moment to be in the sunshine with you, if only for a moment at least she could tell the moon about it. her best kept secret and she would cherish every bit of it.

tattoo artist!vi who tries to keep her head down low as the weeks carry on. even when you try to make more of an effort to speak with her, the last thing she needs is caitlyn to take one final look at her and realize just how much she likes the attention. maddie already made one comment, even if it was light-hearted — it’s enough to keep her on edge. with the design being complete, all she needs is to tattoo but violet’s been avoiding you and what’s worse? you knew it too. in her true avoidant style, violet failed to go to the shop the last two weeks on sunday. the tidiness and damn right organization of her shop was suffering but she still had plans of avoiding it. rather avoiding you, but in her forest fire of a mind, it comes all the same. all of this is so trivial, so stupid, so tragic. it’s kiramman’s day off and violet and sevika are the only artists on hand today which means she’s overworked. the both of them are tired and violet just completed her last session of the day. she sneaks to the back enjoying the cigarette she’d been itching to have. violet’s on her second one when you corner her into the brick wall she’s leaning on. you’re too close. dangerously close, almost as if the fire you’ve created in violet’s lungs might cause her to burn from the inside out. it’s chilling how silent you are until you aren’t. you’re loud about the way you caress her exposed biceps, tracing the lines of her intricate tattoo as it crawls up shoulders and so do your hands. with a sharp graze, you scrap your nails across her skin as if you want to leave a reminder that she was in fact here. should she even even be here? letting you touch her in the way you are? but it’s not like vi has much of a choice when you push the hem of her tank top up to her ribcage, showcasing the flexing abs on her abdomen. it may be faint but there’s a happy trail, one violet wants to see your lips on but she’s scared to say anything, to move, to breathe. “caitlyn said you were ripped underneath. i wanted to see for myself.” then your touch is gone and you are with it.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t show up on sunday…for the first couple of hours. violet thinks of that night, the way you touched her, like you knew exactly what to do before she even could think of what she wanted next. how on earth did you manage to paralyze her with a mere flick of your wrist? when your nails clawed at her toned abdomen, violet felt the stickiness in her boxers and you’d done all of nothing. she had to put an end to things, the private session, violet couldn’t do it. she didn’t want to be caught in some weird and perversed love triangle with her ex. in the back of her throat, violet feels the lump she constantly has to swallow. the only reasonable explanation is that this, you, is all some weird fantasy of caitlyn to get the last laugh. to fully degrade her in a way she couldn’t, not when you’re the person who gets broken up with. it’s not a secret caitlyn’s ego had taken a hit. to anyone, not being the first choice stings but to cait? it might as well be a death sentence and certainly it wouldn’t stand.

tattoo artist!vi who isn’t one for confrontation but in the need to savor some of her salvation in her dignity, she walks in the shop. you’re still waiting for her. two hours later, you’d hoped she’d show. ”violet, you came.” it’s endearing but violet also sees herself the night before tangled in her black sheets, vibrator on its highest setting as she applies pressure to her clit, fingers nestled so deep inside her cunt as she hears your voice, thinks about your irresistible lips. violet wonders what you sound like when you come and suddenly the thought sends her hurling towards the edge. the smile you offer is almost like you can see right through her, like you know vi came to the idea of you just the night before.

with a slender smile, you make your way over to her and suddenly the internal dialogue she created to put an end to this arrangement died on your tongue when she shrugs vi’s leather jacket off. she’s only wearing her wrap to cover her chest, not intending on staying for a long time. definitely not enough to finish the beautiful design she created for you. she’d get cait to do it. their styles were similar to it. your girlfriend has to do this. but you’re touching her bare skin. vi is losing focus as she feels the control slip into your greedy fingers.

“i know what you’re gonna say.”

“and what’s that?”

“you wanna stop this, meeting me here, you feel like you’re betraying someone you love and you have too much integrity to keep seeing someone you so obviously want to fuck.”

“i can’t—” but the words die on violet’s tongue.

“sense won’t get to you, that’s something caitlyn didn’t understand. you think with your heart of gold. when it drips for someone, you’d let it bleed out if it meant you were saving someone.” you take a pause, slipping off your shirt as your pierced nipples are exposed. violet nearly begins to drool, her eyes unable to look away from your perfect nipples, the swell of your breast how perfectly they fall on your chest, she’s nearly salivating to be offered a taste. “my girlfriend doesn’t understand you’ve found someone else to be loyal to.”

“this is not, um, i didn’t—”

sweetly, you kiss her cheek. “it’s such a bitch isn’t it? your heart wants whatever the fuck it yearns for, no damn mercy on who it hurts.”

violet can only think of how much she wants to be suffocated by your tits, forever trapped in this venus fly trap you’ve caused her to succumb to. with her best foot forward, she wants to tell you to go to hell, that you’re wrong about her — she would never do something like this — until she does. it’s all tongue and teeth, vitriol and lust spills into her mouth as violet pushes you on the bench, ripping your skirt to shreds with her bare hands. only to find nothing underneath.

bent over the table, ass up in the air, violet wastes not a single moment and stuffs her face in your fat ass. with a gratifying need, she splits your folds on her tongue as she slaps your ass making you whimper and cry out for her name. it’s beautiful, violet thinks. someone needing her to bring them to the edge, and god, you aren’t shy about it either. never has she heard anyone be so loud and proud about sex. so goddamn confident in each moan you let fall from pornogrpahic lips, it’s damn invigorating. the first one comes easily, you spill over vi’s tongue as she moans back into your weeping pussy, liquid gushing over her face violet never wants it to end. the second time violet fucks you with her fingers, stuffing and fucking until there isn’t any part of you that isn’t undeniably shaking. the third time, you’re on top of her, the two of you finding comfortablity on the cot in the break room as violet lets you fuck her.

exactly what she expects it to be; hot, rough, fast. slippery pussy rubbing against hers until you collapse on top of her, breast pressed against her binded ones. you have a feeling they are there for a reason and you don’t push, for once in your life, you let yourself succumb to sleep as you fall asleep in her arms.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t see you for three months after she had the best sex of her life. even if it does sting, vi knows it’s for the best. six months in and you’re still with caitlyn despite your best efforts. surprising everyone, but violet for different reasons, you admit your slip up to cait but she forgives you. maddie and sevika make a game of it, trying to guess who make you cheat and when violet’s name comes up jokingly, caitlyn’s words leave an unsettling pit in her stomach.

c’mon, what is violet going to do? look at her. she’s as loyal as a trained dog and i have you trained. don’t i, cupcake?

tattoo artist!vi who focuses on her work, like a trained dog, she falls back into her routine. sunday’s aren’t as pleasurable as they were with you, or one sunday she should say, but she dismisses the thought altogether. pushing it to the deepest parts of her mind becomes the only viable option. she uses other forms of entertainment to get her mind off of you. powder thinks it’s a good idea to be here but she refuses to step foot in here with her. this is where my path ends, sis. i’ll be just up the hill when you’re ready. a not so subtle wink has her cringing and flipping her off blue-haired braided sister off in the process. this is such a good stupid idea but violet doesn’t manage to convince herself out of this situation she’s conducted for herself. anyways, it’s one night? no one ever has to know. from the moment she steps into the strip club, she knows she never should have been here. she keeps to the bar as she changes songs from the jukebox a few times. this has never been her scene nor will it ever. as she finishes off her class of neat whiskey, the familiar voice whispers into her ear, never thought you’d be here but i guess we’re both full of surprises.

#need to make a vi masterlist atp #the brainrot has severly taken over #oops?#yeah i'm posting this raw can't be bothered to reread it hehe #vi arcane #vi #violet x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi smut #vi x reader #vi x you #vi x y/n #league of legends #(ᝰ.ᐟ) arcane works.

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neocitylights · 1 month ago

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SUMMARY: As an agent, secrecy is your second nature. After all, it binds your entire life together—going as far as your marriage with Jaemin. It shouldn’t be so hard to improvise, right? With your double life on the line, Foxglove just needs to keep her secrets… a secret. Even if it means pulling off the biggest lie of your life—except this time, without double-sized mercenaries, ticking bombs and high-security buildings to break into. GENRE: Romance, fluff, action, comedy, secret agent au, doctor!Jaemin WORD COUNT: 10k WARNINGS: Cursing, suggestive themes, depictions of violence NOTES: The second installment of my NCU series is finally here! My first Jaemin fic, inspired by Charlie’s Angels and Alex & Jason’s relationship. Please let me know what you think!! It’s gonna make my day!!

Agent Foxglove had spent the last two months tracking the key code’s location.

It’s the reason why you’re currently avoiding the spotlight at this pompous, extravagant fundraising gala at the most luxurious hotel of the city, where its elite is sipping champagne while idly promising million-dollar pledges to charity as if they’re not at fault for half of the country’s problems.

Barbara Lim is your focus tonight.

More specifically, the high-security key code in Barbara Lim’s possession.

As the head of a major hospital chain, she’s one of the very few women in the city with a firm grip on her business operations. Barbara is a powerhouse in a world full of men, leading the field with a long list of accolades to back her up. Still, beneath her polished, well-crafted exterior, lies something far more interesting—a direct connection to government-funded projects involving bioweapons and illegal medical experiments.

The mission is as cliché as it comes.

Since Barbara has full clearance to one of the most secure storage vaults in the city, all you have to do is to extract the right information out of her, then let the agency take over her unofficial operation before someone else beats to it.

At first, it seems easy enough.

It’s not the hardest mission you’ve had, and even if you’ve had to grit your teeth and fake-smile at a few filthy pick-up lines from men old enough to be your grandfather, at least you’re enjoying the expensive free booze and the silky, designer dress the agency had sorted just for the gala.

You spend the night watching from a distance, blending in effortlessly by mingling in between the socialites, making small talk as if you’d ever need plastic surgeries and high-society club invitations. Having scoped the security rotations, camera locations and possible exit points, all you need to do is wait.

As you sigh for the nth time of the night, Renjun mimics the action in your ear, sounding exasperated enough to tug an amused smile at your lips.

“If you’re that bored at a high-end party, imagine how I feel being locked up in here having to babysit you.”

The words make you laugh, your brain painting a perfect picture of your ever grumpy handler—part reluctant co-worker, part begrudging friend—hunched over the multiple monitors at the operations center.

“You’d get bored without me,” you tease quietly, still smiling as your eyes follow Barbara across the venue. “Remember when the agency switched seats and paired you with Donghyuck?”

“Please, don’t remind me,” Renjun groans, his dramatic eye-roll almost audible through the comms in your ears. “That was the worst experience of my life. I don’t know how Mark does it.”

Reaching for a flute of champagne from a tray nearby, you take a few steps to follow Barbara as a snort escapes from your mouth. “He doesn’t,” you deadpan, tone somehow still humorous. “Mark just panics while Haechan wings everything and somehow gets away with it.”

Ignoring Renjun’s sassy remarks about your peculiar co-worker, your attention is suddenly captured by Barbara and the young man she’s currently chatting with, a wide smile on her face as he acknowledges a pair of businessmen accompanying her.

Unaware of your sudden interest, Renjun continues his rant about Donghyuck in your ear. “Have I told you that he keeps asking why I pretend to not like him? As if I have to actually pretend—”

“Junnie,” you cut in, frowning at the scene of Barbara beaming at the guy, her laugh ringing loud enough it reaches over the music. “Can you identify the guy that’s talking to the target right now? The cute one in glasses?”

The handler scoffs at your unnecessary quip, the sound of his keyboard soon replacing his Haechan hate discourse.

A sound of surprise escapes from Renjun’s mouth, slowly skimming through the guy’s file. “Jaemin Na, head doctor at New Frontier Hospital,” he reads, a hint of surprise in his voice. “He’s the youngest surgeon in the Neurology Department. Apparently Barbara scouted him herself.”

You hum, eyes subconsciously narrowing at the doctor, still making small talk to his crowd. “What do you think?”

“Well… there’s nothing out of ordinary in his file,” Renjun starts, his initial skepticism fading while scrolling down the doctor’s medical and university records. “He’s got a pretty solid career, actually. Maybe that explains Lim scouting him?”

“Maybe she likes pretty boys,” you say, taking a sip of your champagne to mask a grin over the handler’s half-hearted annoyed grumble. “Keep digging for me, will you?”

As pretty as he looks, Jaemin Na definitely stands out in the crowd—but not in a way that you’d expect for a good-looking guy like him.

In a room full of people wearing fabricated masks for a show, the doctor seems to be the only one who looks discreetly, almost politely unimpressed by it all, even as the Barbara Lim bats her eyelashes at him.

Along with his boss, since Jaemin’s a good few decades younger than most attendees, it doesn’t take too long for you to notice other several lingering, enamoured eyes over him. The crisp, all-black tuxedo paired with the squared glasses does look heavenly good on him after all, an ironic contrast for a doctor.

Renjun is still listing the information on Jaemin’s file when you see it.

A faint, almost imperceptible glint of metal against the massive glass windows of the venue, just barely there before it vanishes into the dark again.

“Renjun,” you interrupt again, urgency now slipping through your voice despite the discreet whispering. “I don’t think we’re alone tonight.”

It takes a second before the handler’s voice finally comes through your earpiece, clearly confused. “What?”

“I think I saw something outside the venue,” you continue, casually walking closer towards your target, a chill creeping up your spine with each step. “Check the perimeter’s CCTV, please.”

You already know what you saw, but you need a confirmation in order to act upon it.

As your pulse quickens in anticipation, you instinctively follow the angle, calculating the possible shot with ease. In your ear, Renjun just confirms your suspicions—a sniper is set up just across the street from the venue, at a high vantage point, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The problem isn’t just that Barbara is the target, but also that Jaemin is standing directly in the line of fire too, unknowingly shielding the woman.

If there’s one thing you know about snipers, it’s that collateral damage means nothing as long as the job gets done.

The champagne flute is long forgotten as you weave through the crowd with smooth, practiced steps. Attentively watching the pair, your initial plan is discreet, carefully thought as to not raise any unnecessary eyebrows. Given you’re not the only one on the clock tonight, sending the gala into disarray is probably the least productive scenario for both of you.

The sniper doesn’t seem to share the same thought.

As soon as you spot the red dot flicker on Jaemin’s back for a millisecond, you can’t help breaking into a run, heart thumping against your throat.

Then—the shot’s fired.

Renjun is frantically calling your name through the comms, but the noise barely registers as you slam into Jaemin’s back, taking Barbara down with you. The three of you crash onto the polished floors just as the bullet cuts the air above. The venue immediately erupts into screams, the orchestra screeching to a halt as the guests fearfully surge towards the main entrance.

Barbara’s security guards are quick to act, spotting her fast enough to scout the woman away by disappearing into the swarm of panicked bodies.

Turning your focus back to Jaemin as you move over, you keep his body pinned to the floor as a second shot rings out, the marble column right behind you taking the hit.

“Stay the fuck down!”

The order sounds more like a hiss, Jaemin’s body tensing beside you, breath sharp as a deep frown settles between his eyebrows.

The mission’s already ruined.

Though Barbara is still very much alive, your chances of extracting any intel about the damn key codes out of the woman are clearly blown. After tonight, you know that her security detail will probably be tighter than ever—there’s no way you’ll get close to her again soon, as far as the agency’s influence can go.

“Foxglove,” Renjun calls loudly, the codename sounding foreign in his voice, yet laced with an unusual hint of worry. “You need to leave. Right now.”

“I know,” you mutter, eyes scanning the chaos for a quick second, gaze lingering over the building outside the cracked windows. “Do you have a location for the sniper?”

“That’s a problem for another time,” he snaps, his characteristic impatience slipping through a loud scoff. “The cops are coming, just fucking leave.”

Despite the chaos, your mind’s already running through contingency plans, not expecting an easy escape under both the police and Barbara’s security. Turning back to Jaemin one last time, his brown eyes are attentively observing you.

There’s something in the doctor’s gaze that surprises you—a hint of amazement? Confusion? Maybe annoyance, if the furrowed eyebrows are anything to go by?

Before pushing yourself off the floor, you shoot him a wink, biting back smile at the look on his face. “You should stay put, alright?”

Through the comms, Renjun exhales loudly, again leaving you to picture the handler rolling his eyes at your antics. “Are you seriously flirting with him? Are you purposefully trying to get caught or something?”

Taking advantage of the now empty back-of-house, you follow Renjun’s instructions through the quietest exit route. Given it’s an employee-only, no businessman or socialite would ever dare to set foot in that area, making it the perfect escape for you.

The clicking of your heels echo over the corridor, almost giving the moment an eerie vibe.

You don’t listen to his steps, nor feel his presence behind you before a hand suddenly reaches for your wrist.

“Hey—wait—”

Acting purely on instincts, you’re quick to whip around, effortlessly swinging your leg with a forceful kick against the attacker. It takes a second for Jaemin’s legs to be swept out from under him, the doctor crashing to the floor for a second time that night, except this time you realize your mistake a second too late.

A gasp immediately escapes from your lips as you meet the attacker’s eyes, only to find a certain doctor groaning on the floor. “Oh my God, Jaemin! I’m so sorry!”

Renjun groans in your ear, very much exasperated by another interruption. “What the—why are you talking to that guy again?”

Jaemin pushes himself up on his elbows, blinking at you with a hint of both disbelief and amazement. “You know my name,” he says, pausing for a second before huffing an incredulous laugh. “What the hell was that? You just… tackled me out of nowhere.”

Moving closer, you crouch down beside him with raised eyebrows, reaching out to fix the crooked glasses on his face. “Would you rather have been shot?”

A grin curls the doctor’s lips, his expression suddenly doing a complete 180 as he chuckles. “Wow, you’re really pretty.”

Ignoring the choking sound of your handler in the comms, you can’t help grinning at the guy, doing your best to mask your surprise. “Am I?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin hums, regarding you with attentive eyes as the grin on his face widens. “Also a little terrifying, but mostly pretty.”

Amused by his unexpected reaction, a laugh escapes before you can stop yourself. “You’re really funny, Jaemin,” you mutter, offering an apologetic wince as Renjun calls out again. “I have somewhere to be, though. Unless you want to end up in an interrogation, you should also—”

“No can do,” Jaemin counters, shaking his head with an easy, almost brattish chuckle. “You don’t get to save my life and then just disappear like that.”

You smirk, intrigued by his teasing despite the urgency of the moment. “Are you challenging me?”

The doctor only tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at you with a teasing glint to his eyes. “Am I?”

Before you can fire back, your handler’s voice cuts in again, his tone sharper than usual. “The police are outside!” Renjun snaps, frantically clicking away at his keyboard on the other side. “Just fucking leave, Foxglove! That’s an order!”

It’s rare for Renjun to outright bark orders at you, even as your handler. If he’s taken the exception of doing so tonight, then you know that he absolutely means it and you’re probably pushing your luck by staying a second longer. Still, despite every warning blaring inside your head, you just can’t bring yourself to leave Dr. Jaemin Na behind.

“I’m taking Jaemin with me!”

As you blurt the words, a second of silence lingers between the three of you for a moment before both Jaemin and Renjun break it in unison.

“What?”

“Oh, you want me to come with you?”

Their voices overlap in a comic contrast, one laced with a flicker of annoyance, the other with pure amusement. While Renjun sounds half-confused, half-aggravated, as if he can’t decide whether to yell at you, work with Donghyuck instead or start drafting a resignation letter, Jaemin just looks and sounds oddly entertained by your entire ordeal.

Taking the doctor with you is a reckless, dangerous decision—and if you’re completely honest with yourself, there’s really no need for Jaemin to actually run from the authorities or Barbara’s security guards.

Yet, something tells you that he has to.

So as you rise to your feet again, offering a hand to pull him up, a knowing smile takes over your face.

“Come on, pretty boy.”

As an agent of a private intelligence agency, being in high-risk situations is almost second nature to you by now.

A regular day on the job for you usually means slipping into new identities for undercover operations where Renjun is your only company, extraction missions that always seem ready to go sideways no matter how careful you are, and intel gathering in places where a wrong move can easily put a target on your back.

Yet, sitting across from Jaemin in his apartment, trying to skirt around a conversation about… whatever the both of you are, this particular situation somehow feels like one of the riskiest, most nerve-wrecking things you’ve ever done.

The thing is, while you’re exceptionally skilled at deception, survival and strategy, talking about your feelings unsurprisingly isn’t your forte—an absolute contrast to the doctor who’s always been ridiculously open about his feelings and emotions about you, more often than not wearing his heart on his sleeve.

You don’t even realize the turn that the conversation’s taking until it’s too late.

One moment, you’re having dinner together. Taking advantage of a rare break in between your missions, you’d caved to Jaemin’s incredibly persuasive requests to spend the night at his place, watching him cook as he narrated every step of his five-star meal as if a host of a cooking show. Now, you’re sitting on his couch. Holding a glass of your favorite wine between your fingers, the air feels heavier than it was five minutes ago.

That is, before Jaemin asks the question that’s been lingering over you for months.

“So, are we doing this or not?”

As you take another sip of wine, only half-pretending not to understand the question, your silence stretches for a beat longer. “Are we doing… what?”

Jaemin instantly gives you a look, somehow caught between impatience and amusement. “You know exactly what,” he starts, eyes squinting in your direction. “You, me, and the very obvious relationship that you’ve been trying to skirt around like I’m one of your targets.”

A soft, almost too heart-felt scoff escapes from your mouth as you frown at his words. “I don’t treat you as one of my targets.”

“It’s not the end of the world, you know,” Jaemin continues, ignoring your little deflective quip with a knowing grin. “We’ve been fine so far and I’m serious about this. I’m really serious about us, Bunny, you know that.”

The nickname—a silly callback to the time the doctor had shown up at your place unannounced, only to find you fresh off a mission and still wearing a Playboy bunny costume—draws warmth to your cheeks, a reaction far too uncharacteristic for a seasoned agent like yourself.

Despite his sweet words, you can’t help the heavy sigh, setting the wine glass away before moving closer to Jaemin’s side. The doctor immediately makes room for you, humming in delight as you cup his face, seemingly ignoring the more serious touch that the conversation’s heading.

“My life is anything but normal,” you argue, tone as careful as the way your fingers brush against his cheeks, holding him gently. “Nothing about me is normal, Jaemin.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he answers, pressing a kiss to your palm as his grin widens, eyebrows playfully wiggling at you. “My girlfriend is a badass secret agent.”

“Nana, please.” You sigh, rolling your eyes before purposefully squeezing his face for a second. “Are you listening to what I’m saying?”

Instead, Jaemin just chuckles, pulling away from your hold to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Have I told you that I talk about you to my patients sometimes? They think I’m making you up.”

Caught off-guard by his sudden confession, your mouth parts in disbelief. “First of all, I am not your girlfriend,” you chide, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. “Second, you should not be talking about me to your patients. Are you crazy?”

“About you,” he corrects smoothly, clearly enjoying himself despite your half-hearted outburst. “Don’t worry, I just tell them that I know someone who can take down five men in under a minute and still look good doing it.”

You sigh, struggling to hold back a smile.

“Jaemin—”

“What? They love it.”

“This is serious.”

Jaemin nods, the teasing edge of his voice suddenly softening for a bit.

“I know, Bunny.”

In the short time you’ve grown closer to each other, the doctor has grown awfully aware of the way you work. As someone who’s used to secrecy and half-truths in order to survive, vulnerability doesn’t come easily to you—it takes time, caution and safety. As annoying as it can be, this is Jaemin’s roundabout way of coaxing you into opening up.

“I don’t think you understand what being with me actually means, Jaem,” you say, your fingers now unconsciously tightening around the fabric of his shirt. “This isn’t some spy fantasy movie, it’s really dangerous for you. I know people who would really use you against me if they found out how much I—”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow at the sudden pause, immediately reaching for your face so his eyes meet yours. “How much you what?”

You look away, rolling your eyes. “It’s not relevant.”

With a teasing hum, he brushes a thumb against your cheek. “Hm, I think it is.”

A sigh escapes from your lips, a hint of mock annoyance flickering on your face. “Nana.”

Amused by your little act, Jaemin chuckles, leaning in just a bit closer with a smile. “I get it, baby. I know,” he answers, his voice carrying a touch of finality as if he’s made up his mind long ago. “I know it’s dangerous. I knew that when you saved me from getting shot by a sniper months ago.”

As you frown, your eyes immediately snap back to his again, though with a hint of uncertainty. “That’s not—”

“I didn’t finish,” he cuts in, furrowing his eyebrows despite the softness in his gaze. “You’ve trusted me with your life. Why wouldn’t I trust you with mine?”

At his words, your mind immediately flickers back to the particular night—one with a mission gone wrong and a knife slicing too close for comfort. Though you’d managed to escape mostly unscathed, the deep gash on your side not stopping you from finishing the job, somehow you’d still found yourself at Jaemin’s doorstep, bleeding through the layers of tactical gear and avoiding the agency’s questions and reports.

The doctor hadn’t asked for an explanation, not hesitating even for a second before ushering you into his apartment in apprehension and half-hearted frustration.

Jaemin had patched you up with the utmost care, cracking flirty lines here and there as a distraction to the pain despite his gentleness. As the rest of the night followed in a similar fashion, he’d simply waited until you were ready to talk. It was the first time you realized that maybe—just maybe—Jaemin was someone you could trust.

“I just… worry about you,” you admit, rolling your eyes at the tenderness in your voice, as if trying to downplay the weight of your words. “I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships, either.”

“Well, they weren’t me,” Jaemin counters, a smile on his face that looks both confident and reassuring. “Remember what I said? You don’t get to run away after saving my life.”

As your resistance falters, shifting into something fiery, a second realization strikes you.

Jaemin isn’t backing down.

It’s the first time in your chaotic, unruly life, that someone’s standing their ground—not just against you, but for you. The doctor’s stubbornness can rival your own sometimes, so it really shouldn’t surprise you that he isn’t one bit fazed by the danger of the complications of your relationship.

Maybe that’s why, despite every logical argument screaming at you to keep him at arm’s length, you still find yourself giving in.

A sigh escapes from your lips as you frown at him, his unwavering gaze growing triumphant. “If we’re really doing this, then you have to know that I won’t be your regular girlfriend. I lie to people for a living and I disappear for missions and—”

“That’s hot,” Jaemin cuts in, completely unfazed by your half-hearted exasperation with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What?”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, shaking your head at the doctor before cradling his face in your hands again, a little more forcefully now. “Do you really want this? Are you sure?”

His grin stretches wider, eyes twinkling with mischief as he leans in just a little, as if sharing a secret. “You think I’d turn down the chance to date a literal action movie lead?”

You roll your eyes, but the faintest hint of amusement curls your lips. “You cannot tell your patients anything about dating a spy, Jaemin.”

Jaemin hums, pretending to be in deep thought for a second before shaking his head. “Now, that’s just boring.”

Before you can reprimand him, the doctor closes the small distance by pressing a firm, lingering kiss against your lips. Jaemin’s hands settle on your waist, tugging you closer until you’re smoothly swinging a leg over him, sitting on his lap as your arms close around his neck. As if sealing an unspoken agreement between you, he deepens the kiss, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against your hips.

Pulling away despite his resistance, you rest your forehead against Jaemin’s, smirking against his lips. “Okay, Na Jaemin,” you exhale, a teasing touch to your voice. “You’ve got yourself a girlfriend, then.”

With a flicker of his fingers against your chin, the doctor just chuckles, ultimately shaking his head.

“You’ve always been mine, Bunny.”

Foxglove has faced armed, double-sized mercenaries, defused bombs under pressure, retrieved classified, critical intel, and more than once broke into high-security government agencies and buildings.

Yet, none of those… activities prepare you for the moment your father’s name suddenly flashes the phone’s screen on a random Thursday morning.

As the only daughter of two very devoted men, you’d most definitely grown up in a home built on love and unwavering support. Alan and Andrew truly raised you as their own—the first, as a professor that filled your young, but scarred world with knowledge and imagination, and the second, as a military lieutenant that built the strength and confidence you’d eventually channel to become an agent.

Though you’d never once questioned how deeply they cared for you, there’s still a few traces of your past that keep you from sharing everything with them—maybe exactly because of their love and support, you can’t help hesitating sometimes, trying your best to keep them from worries and disappointment.

You love both of your parents fiercely, and they sure love you just the same.

That’s exactly why you’re nothing but an ordinary civilian, just an accountant graduated with honors with a nine-to-five job, living in the city as a young, single woman.

To them, that is.

As the phone rings for the nth time, leaving you to stare at it like it’s counting to an explosion, your husband steps into the kitchen with a frown on his face, though it quickly shifts to a delighted one as soon as he reads Andrew’s name on the screen.

“Good morning, Bunny!” Jaemin greets, pressing a kiss to your cheek before walking past you, headed to the coffee machine with a knowing grin. “If you don’t pick up, he’ll keep calling.”

You sigh, picking up the phone from the counter and staring at it for a moment. “I know.”

The doctor gives you a pointed look and you finally swipe the screen to answer, subconsciously schooling both your expression and your voice as if your father would actually see you.

“Princess! We have great news!”

Andrew’s booming voice echoes through the kitchen of your apartment, warm and familiar despite your apprehension. Even through your stress, it still feels good to hear your father’s voice, the nickname—result of one of your childhood obsessions—tugging a smile at your lips.

“Hey, Dad,” you start, raising an eyebrow as you try to keep up with his cheerful tone, Jaemin watching you thoroughly entertained. “Oh, really? What kind of news?”

The line hustles for a moment until Alan suddenly chimes in with a curse, his usual dry amusement laced to a quick greeting before continuing. “The kind you’ll have to pretend to be excited about, darling.”

You can’t help frowning at his words, your unease growing tenfold over the ominous tone of his voice. “What do you mean I’ll have to pretend?”

With an excited laugh, Andrew seemingly beams through the line. “We’re visiting you next week!”

Jaemin immediately chokes with a sip of his decaf.

An internal nuclear meltdown explodes in your head.

“You’re… visiting?” you croak, clearing your throat in a poor attempt to mask your surprise, heart hammering against your chest. “Why?”

“Why are we visiting? Alan, did you hear that?” Andrew chides, sounding nothing but disgruntled at your lacking reaction. “Do I need a reason to visit my daughter? A daughter that I haven’t seen in way too long because her job keeps her hopping from city to city?”

It feels like you’ve forgotten how to function for a moment, staring at Jaemin with alarms blaring in your head post the meltdown.

Andrew and Alan are visiting their daughter, one that they haven’t seen in way too long because of her very high-demand, all-over-the-place job—visiting their daughter who they think works as an accountant, living a very normal, stable life, having absolutely no idea that she’s married to a whole beefy, health freak husband while occasionally beating people up at night for her actual job.

As you swallow, scrambling for a response, the doctor just grins at your predicament. “No, you don’t need a reason, Dad,” you answer, wincing at how artificial the words sound. “It’s just really short notice, I thought you guys were coming in the summer.”

“That was the original plan, princess,” Alan explains, sighing apologetically on the other side. “I was asked to take over a summer course at the university, though. We’re really sorry about springing this on you.”

“We’re just a couple of dads checking in on your favorite daughter!” Andrew beams, the smile on his face almost visible through his voice. “We’ll be there for a week, so clear your schedule for us, alright? I can’t wait to see what your life is like!”

Yeah, the life you’ve been lying about for years.

A highly classified, off-the-books life that involves facing armed, double-sized mercenaries, defusing bombs under pressure, retrieving classified, critical intel, and breaking into high-security government agencies and buildings.

Also, the life that got you a man you’ve been married to for nearly three years now.

As you force something vaguely human-sounding as a reaction, Alan confirms their travel details with tidbits of small talk before excusing himself in a sudden rush, seemingly having lost the track of time to leave for work.

About to end the call, Andrew calls out your name for the first time in the entire conversation. “I’m really excited to see you, princess.”

Though it’s a little choked from both distress and fondness, you can’t help smiling at his words. “Me too, Dad.”

The moment you put the phone down, slumping against the kitchen’s counter, Jaemin’s grin grows wider. If the doctor didn’t look like he was having the time of his life listening to the call, maybe you’d actually worry about his feelings over being a well-kept secret.

Approaching you, Jaemin steps closer and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you up. “This is fun,” he starts, pursing his lips to muffle a short laugh at your expression. “It’s not the end of the world, Bunny.”

The familiar words make you groan, forehead falling against his shoulder dramatically. “No, it’s worse than that.”

Jaemin rubs a slow, soothing hand up and down your back, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “You could just tell them the truth, princess.”

“Yeah, only if you want me to give both of them a heart attack,” you retort, a scoff following as you look up to shoot him a sharp, pointed glance. “Also, I am not a princess. Erase that from your memory right now.”

As he chuckles at the cute, sour frown on your face, Jaemin teases you by pinching your nose. “Don’t be like that, baby.”

You swat his hand away with a huff, crossing your arms as you lean back slightly. “This is really bad, Jaemin.”

“I mean, it’s not that bad,” he muses, brushing his fingers against your cheek with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s just your parents.”

“It is that bad,” you snap, an incredulous laugh escaping from your lips. “My parents don’t even know I’m married. Is that not bad enough for you?”

The doctor pauses for a moment, a glimmer of mischief still lingering in his eyes as he hums thoughtfully, hands now resting on your waist with his fingers tracing lazy patterns against the bare skin peeking through your sleepwear.

“Alright, let’s assess your situation,” he says, seemingly deep in thought despite the playful touch in his voice. “You told your parents you’re an accountant. They think you have a normal life. They’re coming to visit for a week, and in that time, you have to pretend to be a very boring office worker and somehow explain why your very sexy husband exists.”

“Don’t summarize it like that,” you groan, closing your eyes with a deep sigh. “It makes me feel worse about lying.”

He chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you. “What’s the worst thing they could ask for?”

You shrug, frowning at the unexpected question. “I don’t know, seeing where I work, maybe?”

As his lips twitch for a second before curling into a grin, Jaemin shoots you a pointed look. “So, you’ll need a fake office.”

A sound that resembles a snarl escapes from your lips, gaze hardening at the amusement on the doctor’s face. “Jaemin.”

“Bunny,” he mimics, eyes narrowing at you with a pout playing on his lips. “Think about it. If you’re an accountant, you need a boring office. We’ll throw some fake papers around, make a business card with your name on it—”

You scoff, begrudgingly amused by his proposal. “I think being in a relationship with a secret agent is getting to your head, baby.”

Jaemin just continues his spiel, shaking his head at your words. “—and Renjun can be your secretary—”

“Now that’s the craziest thing you’ve said so far,” you joke, chuckling at the thought of your fiery handler as a regular, ordinary office worker. “Renjun would rather babysit Haechan for a month than do anything clerical. Why do you think I’m always the one filling the reports?”

As if he’s trying to jolt you into agreement, the doctor playfully tickles your sides, snickering as you push him away with a punch to his chest. “Well, I think it’s a brilliant plan.”

Honestly, if you really think about it—it’s not that much of a bad idea.

Out of all the things you’ve done in your life, building a fake office to fool your parents definitely wouldn’t be the craziest point on the list.

All it would take is a call to the agency, cashing in a few favors here and there from Haechan and maybe Jeno. The agency’s got so many front businesses across the city, at least one of them ought to have an office to be borrowed for a day. Though Renjun would definitely laugh at your face for even considering dragging him into… whatever this should be, Mark is gullible enough to possibly play a fake co-worker, if needed.

It’s not exactly a brilliant plan, but… it’s a possible one.

Something must shift on your face as your brain plays out the situation, mostly out of habit than actual intent. Jaemin immediately clocks the change, unbothered and completely entertained by your reaction.

He watches you with a flash of amusement in his eyes. “You’re actually gonna do it, aren’t you?”

“No, I just… considered it for a second,” you retort, rolling your eyes before pulling away from him with a step back. “This is your fault!”

As Jaemin feigns a frown, his bottom lip jutting out in a dramatic pout, his voice drops to a grouchy tone. “What? How is it my fault?”

“You put the idea in my head,” you accuse, poking his chest with a glare that lacks any real bite, especially as your hand traces over the fabric of his tank-top right after. “You know that I’m crazy enough to agree with whatever you say.”

The doctor grins at the admission, pulling you into his arms again with a hum of delight. “Is that so?” Jaemin teases, dipping his head to press a featherlight kiss to your neck. “Isn’t that your own fault, Bunny?”

You scoff, fingers instinctively tangling in his hair, giving it a light tug. “Sometimes I really want to punch your pretty face, Jaemin.”

“Hm, that’s not what you said last night,” he mumbles against your skin, his smile evident in the lazy kiss to your collarbone. “Plotting a fake office visit and a background story for your husband. Iconic behavior from my Bunny, honestly.”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth twitches upward. “It would be fun, actually.”

Jaemin lifts his head, eyes sparkling with a familiar mix of mischief and pure affection. “Say the word and I’m in,” he says, knowingly winking at you. “We can make a whole operation out of it. Operation Accountant Bunny. Renjun can supervise.”

You laugh despite yourself, offering him a half-hearted warning glance. “Nana.”

His grin widens. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You raise a teasing eyebrow in his direction. “I thought that was me.”

Without missing a beat, Jaemin playfully amends himself. “The second best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

As you roll your eyes at his little quip, the faint smile tugging at your lips betrays you. With a quiet sigh, you just let yourself lean further into him, the weight of the situation momentarily forgotten as his embrace tightens around your frame.

Your eyes are closed in both dread and confort as the question slips.

“Ready to meet my parents?”

Jaemin is more than ready to meet your parents.

As you sit stiffly in the passenger seat of his car, watching him sing along to whatever song currently playing on the radio, there’s no doubt in your head that your husband is thoroughly ready to meet your parents, even if you’re discreetly, controllably panicking inside.

While Jaemin effortlessly looks like the perfect picture of a trophy-husband—the simple glasses and white button-up combo working wonders for him—you’re looking the part of your fake life. In your best accountant professional outfit, the black dress is passable enough as long as no one notices the few faint bloodstains the washing machine couldn’t get rid of.

It doesn’t take long until he’s parking outside the restaurant, though you make no move to unbuckle your seatbelt just yet. Instead, you stare out the window for a moment, trying to catch any glimpse of either your parents inside the posh restaurant.

Beside you, Jaemin watches your obvious stalling with an amused smirk, his laid-back demeanor ridiculously contrasting against your own.

Turning to him, you offer the doctor an eye-roll. “You’re enjoying this.”

Jaemin frowns, feigning innocence with a half-hearted pout. “Enjoying what?”

As you narrow your eyes, the smile on his face quickly returns. “The impending disaster that’s about to happen.”

“You’re so dramatic, Bunny,” he coos, a hand reaching over to pinch your cheek with infuriating fondness. “A week ago I was patching you up from a street fight. Having dinner with your parents isn’t that big of a deal, is it?”

You glare at him, resisting to melt against his touch by pulling away slightly. “I hate you.”

Jaemin clicks his tongue, tilting his head at you with an arched eyebrow. “When did you get so mouthy?”

With a scoff, you flash him an unbothered smile, way too sweet for the bite of your tone. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

The corner of his lips betrays a smirk before he leans closer, voice immediately dropping to something softer, a touch taunting. “If anyone can handle chaos, it’s you,” Jaemin starts, shooting you a playful wink. “We’ve got this. I’m a great husband and your parents adore you, it’s going to be fine.”

Taking another look outside, you exhale an exasperated sigh. The place looks nothing but extravagant with its polished floors and dim lighting, leaving you to silently pray that the news of your two-year marriage won’t send your parents into a meltdown—especially not in front of the high-end crowd.

Inside, your parents are already seated, their contrasting personalities on full display.

Andrew practically leaps from his seat the moment he spots you, his grin stretching from ear to ear. Meanwhile, Alan just looks as if he’s about to judge one of his student’s presentations, barely acknowledging your entrance with his sharp gaze locked onto Jaemin instead.

The lieutenant is the one to reach out first, pulling you into a tight hug that lifts you slightly off your feet. “There’s my princess!” Andrew beams, giving you a firm squeeze before setting you back down. “I was starting to think you bailed on us!”

Behind you, Jaemin chuckles.

Just like that, you’re not the focus anymore.

Andrew’s eyes are quick to shift towards the doctor, his grin faltering for a second before he sizes Jaemin up with an exaggerated squint. Alan leans back in his chair, adjusting his glasses with a frown—not exactly hostile, but definitely the kind that can probably make his students second-guess themselves.

“Princess,” the lieutenant starts, offering you a side-eye as a sly smile grows on his face. “Who’s this?”

Flashing an award-winning worthy smile, your husband holds out a hand, smoothly stepping into the sudden tension. “Na Jaemin,” he introduces himself, taking your father’s hand with a gentle hold. “It’s nice to finally meet Bunny’s parents.”

Alan, still frowning, narrows his eyes at the nickname. “Bunny?”

“Are you a co-worker?” Andrew asks, his curious gaze flickering from Jaemin to you in visible excitement. “Are we finally meeting your friends?”

As Jaemin places a hand on your lower back, just slightly pulling you closer against his side, the words slip as casually as the grin that grows on his face. “Oh no, I’m her husband.”

Silence.

You watch as your parents’ brain short-circuits, nothing but shock on their faces.

Alan recovers first, clearing his throat as he moves forward on his seat. “I’m sorry—your what?”

“Husband,” the doctor repeats cheerfully, still grinning as he politely holds his hand out again, your father promptly taking it despite the sudden blow. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Andrew blinks at you slowly, seemingly still processing the information. “You’re married.”

You wince. “Yeah.”

The lieutenant’s face crumbles into something melodramatic. “Since when?!”

You glance at Jaemin, then back at them. “Two years?”

Andrew makes a choking noise. “How long have you known each other?”

Offering a guilty smile, you shrug. “Two years and a half?”

As he clutches his chest like you’ve wounded him, Andrew slumps dramatically into his chair. “I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting,” Alan points out dryly, watching his husband in a mix of exasperation and amusement before waving a hand at you, offering a wary glance to Jaemin. “Both of you. Sit. Explain yourselves.”

A single peek at the doctor’s face tells you everything—as Jaemin moves to pull out your chair like the perfect gentleman he is, you can practically see the amusement dancing in his eyes, thoroughly enjoying your parents’ dramatic reaction. Under their watchful scrutiny, he’s quick to take a seat beside you, a hand resting lightly on your knee under the table as a quiet, secret reassurance.

“So,” Alan starts, adjusting his glasses as if about to start teaching one of his classes. “Let’s start with the basics. How did you two meet?”

Jaemin leans back, draping an arm over the back of your chair like he’s settling in for a fun story, a grin stretching on his face again. “Oh, it’s a great one—”

You shoot him a warning look. “Nana—”

“You see, it all started with a little breaking and entering—”

Your eyes widen in horror as you whip your head toward him. “Jaemin!”

Andrew immediately chokes on his water, coughing violently as he pats his chest. Alan just stares unimpressed like he’s trying to decide whether he’s hearing things or if his daughter has truly lost her mind.

“I’m kidding, by the way,” Jaemin says easily, chuckling as his voice drops a tone. “Mostly.”

You groan, shooting him a sharp look before turning back to your parents again. “It was not breaking and entering,” you intervene, exasperation lacing your tone. “We met at a work gala. The company I work for manages the hospital’s finances.”

Andrew narrows his eyes, still looking very much suspicious. “Hospital?”

“I’m a doctor,” your husband explains, the revelation immediately softening the hard edges of your parents’ expressions. “I work at New Frontier’s Neurology Department as a surgeon.”

Alan raises an eyebrow, visibly impressed. “That’s… nice.”

“How about the fact that you’ve been married for two years and we’re just finding out?” Andrew asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “What happened to letting your parents know what’s going on in your life, princess?”

“It just kind of happened,” you counter, digging at the corners of your brain for any passable excuses. “We weren’t really planning, but Jaemin asked and so I just…”

“That was my fault,” Jaemin continues, raising a hand to his chest with a half-hearted guilty chuckle. “I admit that I dropped it on her out of nowhere. I was lucky she said yes, actually.”

A beat of silence takes over the table for a second, only for Alan to chime in with a deep, resigned sigh, drawing all eyes to him. “Honestly, we should’ve known this was a possibility when you said you’d rather become a witch than having a wedding party at ten years-old.”

Momentarily stunned, you blink at your father before a laugh of disbelief escapes from your lips. “Dad!”

Andrew immediately lights up in sudden realization. “At Minsu and Anne’s wedding! You threw a whole tantrum over the flower girl dress!” He laughs, shaking his head at you. “For a little girl that loved princesses, you sure knew how to compartmentalize those stories.”

Well, turns out that’s a skill you can still master even as an adult.

Judging by the amused look Jaemin throws your way, he’s probably thinking the exact same thing.

“So, do we have any pictures of… whatever you guys did?”

Alan’s question snaps both of you out of your reverie, Jaemin’s face immediately lighting up as he fishes for his phone, soon scrolling through his gallery for the few pictures of your whirlwind elopement, witnessed by a grumpy but touched Renjun, a confused and slightly shocked Mark and Haechan, who mostly only attended for the free dinner you’d promised to the very short-list of guests.

As the night carries on, a strangely comfortable rhythm settles over the table during dinner, the initial shock of your revelation replaced by childhood stories and laughter with Jaemin unsurprisingly winning both of your parents over his charm and witty answers.

While the lieutenant repeatedly remarks how well-matched you two are, noting every little thing Jaemin does for you, the professor stays on a quieter note, though just as taken by your husband’s knowledge—even if offering a little sarcastic quip every now and then, Jaemin taking in stride despite your protests.

Whenever you catch his eyes, a mix of pride and mischief flashes across Jaemin’s face, as though he knows exactly what’s going on in your mind.

A few hours later, as you step into the cool night air to bid your parents goodbye with warm hugs and promises of an upcoming brunch, you feel like you can breathe properly, the weight of one of your secrets finally off your shoulders.

At home, you’re quick to toe off your heels with a relieved sigh, rolling your shoulders to shake off the tension as Jaemin locks the door behind you, tossing his jacket onto the couch.

“I told you, Bunny,” he starts, flopping down to the cushions with his arms stretched over the backrest waiting for you to join. “Told you it’d be fine. They loved me.”

A huff escapes from your lips as you settle beside him, head falling against his shoulder. “Sure, keep telling yourself that,” you mumble, closing your eyes for a moment as exhaustion settles. “We’re never doing this again, by the way.”

“What do you mean?” Jaemin scoffs, mocking a frown despite the playful glint in his eyes. “It was fun, I had a great time.”

“You were interrogated, Jaemin,” you deadpan, lifting your head just enough to shoot him a half-hearted glare. “Is being married to a spy seriously affecting you this much?”

“They were lovely,” he counters, a grin soon growing on his face. “I completely charmed them.”

“You shocked them,” you correct, sighing quietly. “I still can’t believe how well this entire thing went.”

Jaemin hums, his gaze flickering through your face for a second, eyes sharp despite his easygoing tone. “What’s that look on your face, hm?” he asks, nudging you lightly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how quiet you were on the ride back.”

You exhale, fingers playing idly with the buttons of his shirt. “Have you ever felt bad?”

Jaemin tilts his head, confusion flickering across his features. “About what?”

“I keep you separate from a lot of my life,” you admit, voice dropping to a quieter note. “I don’t really talk about you to people. My own parents didn’t know about us for almost three years.”

He blinks at you, a chuckle escaping from his lips with a touch of obviousness. “You keep me safe.”

“I know!” you sigh, nodding as one of your hands reaches to cup his cheek. “I know, but… it’s not fair to you, I guess.”

The doctor leans into your touch, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “I don’t need people to know about us, Bunny,” he says, shaking his head softly. “I just need you. Do you need me?”

You nod again, heart clenching at his words as your lips threaten a smile. “Yeah.”

“Then you have me,” Jaemin answers, a mischievous grin suddenly taking over his face before pulling you closer, pressing an exaggerated kiss to your cheek. “I’m not letting you back out of this, remember?”

As you roll your eyes, you surrender to his antics with a groan. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You know, if you really feel bad about keeping me a secret, you could always start posting me on your social media,” he jokes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe an appreciation post? I have a lot of husband pictures, if you want.”

“I don’t have social media,” you note, your blank expression soon shifting to a teasing one as you raise an eyebrow at him. “Besides, I wouldn’t want people actually knowing how sexy my husband is.”

“Right,” he says, playfully nodding in agreement. “Let’s keep my insane levels of attractiveness classified.”

You scoff.

“You’re insufferable.”

Jaemin grins.

“You married me.”

Right.

So you can’t resist pulling him closer, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt as your lips finally meet his for the first time that night. The kiss slowly grows deeper as his arms wrap around your waist, though you’re quick to pull back before Jaemin tugs you to his lap, a peeved frown settling on his face at the sudden interruption.

“Why’d we stop?”

The look on your face only adds to the answer.

“You deserve more than our couch tonight.”

The first thing you notice once stepping out of the elevator is your apartment’s door slightly ajar.

To anybody else, it would probably look like a slip of your mind when leaving, but Foxglove knows better. You’d only been gone for an hour—just a quick trip to the market to pick up fresh fruits upon Jaemin’s insistence of eating healthy and giving your parents a deserved in-law hospitality experience.

Thoroughly used to your modus operandi, especially being the main focus of your safety measures himself, Jaemin also knows better than overlooking such a small detail.

The hallway is too quiet.

Inside, you can barely hear low voices.

Moving without hesitation, you drop the grocery bags at the doorstep, quietly pushing it open just enough to slip inside with featherlike steps.

It takes a second for you to take in the scene of your living room. Jaemin’s sitting on the couch, wrists bound by a pair of handcuffs on his lap. Looking entirely too relaxed for someone in a hostage situation, there’s a subtle shadow of arrogance on his features as he glares at the intruders. Across from him, your parents sit in a similar fashion, except their wide-eyes are barely concealing their panic over the three black-suited men watching them.

As one of the men steps forward, carelessly tossing a folder at Jaemin’s face, you can’t help the quiet, dangerous anger from simmering in your chest. The man takes a seat on the table across from your husband, exuding a kind of arrogance that makes your blood boil as he glares at Jaemin.

“We have reason to believe you’re operating under a false identity, Dr. Na.”

Jaemin just laughs.

Sounding nothing but amused, his lips curl into something dangerously close to mockery, sharp eyes meeting the man’s gaze in nothing but unbothered defiance.

“You’re even dumber than I thought,” he starts, a scoff escaping from his lips. “Not only did you break into an agent’s home, but you also think I’m the spy?”

It takes a second for you to move into the living room, stepping behind the men and hooking an arm around the shortest’s neck, yanking him backward in a chokehold. He doesn’t even get a chance to react before you’re slamming him into the shelves, Jaemin’s books falling to the floor with the impact.

The second man reaches for his gun, not fast enough as you reach for his arm with a twist, disarming him in a quick move. The gun clatters against the hardwood, a kick from you sending it underneath the couch.

The last man—the one who had been questioning Jaemin—freezes as you turn to him.

Alan and Andrew are gaping.

Jaemin, on the other hand, looks nothing but delighted.

The man suddenly lifts his hands, unmoving as you step beside him. “Wait—”

A single punch sends him to the floor with a thud.

You wince, shaking your hand as the impact spreads through the fingers. “Ouch.”

Jaemin lets out a low whistle, grinning at the scene as if you just didn’t destroy half of your home. “Yeah, remind me to never piss you off.”

As his wide eyes flicker back and forth between you and the half-awake man by your feet, Alan snaps out of his daze first. “What the hell just happened?”

Andrew just blinks at your husband, still lounging comfortably on the couch as if this is a regular week day for him. “Did I just watch my daughter just throw a man against her bookshelf?!”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaemin answers, nodding enthusiastically with a chuckle. “Wasn’t it amazing? I do think she went easy on them, though.”

“I’ll explain everything in a bit,” you say, throwing a quick, apologetic glance at your bewildered parents. “I just need to finish this before calling Renjun.”

Alan raises an eyebrow at the new name. “Renjun?”

As he hums casually, Jaemin nods as if they’re having an ordinary brunch conversation. “That’s her handler.”

Ignoring them, you step over the man still groaning on the floor, grabbing the front of his shirt before yanking him up to eye-level to meet your gaze. Tilting your head as you study the man in front of you for a second, your voice drops to an alarmingly calm, too relaxed tone.

“Talk.”

The man’s jaw tightens, his silence stretching.

You lean closer, the words shifting into something razor-sharp now. “Are we doing this the hard way?”

His defiance cracks a little, a flash of doubt crossing his face.

Behind you, an amused snort escapes from Jaemin’s mouth. “I’d answer if I were you. My Bunny’s not exactly known for her patience.”

The man swallows nervously. “We thought he was the agent.”

“Are you telling me that you broke into my home and threatened my husband because you thought he was the agent?” you ask slowly, unimpressed. “My husband, who just happens to be one of the top surgeons in the city, an agent?”

The doctor lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn, Bunny,” he starts, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re the one with a double life, and I’m the one accused of being a secret agent first? That’s crazy.”

“You’re a government operative, aren’t you?” you press further, not resisting an eye-roll upon the man’s stiff, short nod. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The second punch sends the man into dreamland.

In no time, your practiced efficiency kicks in and Foxglove’s quick on securing the intruders—zip ties, a few well-placed kicks to keep them in line, clean and controlled. As you finish binding the last one, Renjun’s already on speed dial.

“Junnie!” you greet, keeping it as light-hearted as you can so it doesn’t piss him off. “What if I tell you that three idiots just broke into my apartment thinking Jaemin was an agent?”

The line stays silent for a second before Renjun sighs exasperatedly. “Are you for real?”

“Unfortunately,” you reply, glancing at the men scattered over the floor of your living room. “Can you send a team, please?”

“ETA’s around ten minutes,” he announces, his tone then shifting into something more focused, a touch softer. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you reassure, sparing a glance at Jaemin, who gives you an easy grin and a nod from the couch. “We handled it.”

Renjun exhales sharply, almost relieved if you trick yourself into it. “Call me as soon as they’re done with the clean-up.”

As the call disconnects, you finally turn to your husband, relief settling deep in your bones. You sit beside him on the couch, working the handcuffs off his wrists with one of your tricks. The moment it clicks open, Jaemin rolls his shoulders, twisting his wrists with a small wince.

Before he can say anything, you take his face into your hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“Hi.”

Jaemin grins, his voice sounding nothing but warm. “Hey.”

You sigh, hands sliding from his shoulders down to his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m peachy,” he assures, lips curling into a grin before taking one of your hands into his own, pressing a kiss to its back. “You look the prettiest beating people up. Also, your chapstick tastes like bubblegum.”

Though the tension in your chest is still to ease up, you can’t resist a chuckle at his unwavering behavior. “You really scared me, Jaemin.”

The doctor shakes his head, leaning forward to brush a kiss to your cheek. “You got here before they could do anything. I knew you would.”

The adrenaline’s still running through your body as you take a deep breath, moving on to help your parents. Before you untie them, you meet Jaemin’s eyes for a second, a quiet reassurance passing between you before you muster the courage to address the shocked silence in the room.

“I don’t work in accounting.”

“My God,” Alan starts, blinking at his husband in disbelief. “We raised a secret agent, Andrew.”

Andrew frowns, visibly trying to process everything. “A secret agent?” he asks, giving a short pause before a surprised sound escapes from his mouth, eyes wide towards you. “Holy shit, princess, do you kill people?”

Jaemin perks up, raising an eyebrow at your father. “Oh, that’s a good question.”

Andrew turns to him, eyes wide as he pieces the details together. “Jaemin! Did you know?”

Your husband shrugs, nonchalant as always despite the grin on his face. “The breaking and entering thing wasn’t entirely a lie,” he admits, sounding remarkably relaxed. “Bunny actually saved me from getting shot by a sniper.”

You turn to him, ready to scold him for the unnecessary details of your unusual first meeting. “Nana.”

As he winces, Jaemin offers a half-hearted guilty smile. “Sorry.”

While your parents process the second shock of their week, you move closer to finally untie them. “I need to get you two somewhere safe, okay?” you explain, making quick work of the zip-ties around their wrists with an apologetic glance. “There’s no time to explain all the details now, but I promise to tell you guys everything soon.”

Something in your expression gives you away—whether it’s the lingering tension in your shoulders or the tip of apprehension in your eyes—because the moment they’re free, both Andrew and Alan lean forward without hesitation, wrapping you in a firm, reassuring embrace.

For a second, you freeze.

Caught off guard by their warmth, you hadn’t quite realized how much you were bracing for their disappointment, or anything other than the soft, quiet understanding that settles over you now.

“We’ll talk later, princess,” the professor starts, squeezing your shoulders encouragingly with a nod. “Don’t worry, alright? You’re still our daughter, no matter what.”

“A secret agent,” Andrew mutters, shaking his head between pride and exasperation, an amused sigh leaving his mouth. “Jesus, you could’ve warned us before dropping that bomb.”

You exhale a laugh, a relieved breath escaping from your lips as you hug them back. “I know.”

Jaemin sighs fondly, watching the scene with soft eyes. “Man, I should’ve recorded this.”

Taking in the chaos as you step back—the bound intruders, the wrecked bookshelf, the lingering stress in your veins—you know that the day’s far from over. There’s a mess to clean up, questions to be answered and reports to be written, a lifetime of explaining to do.

Still, if there’s one thing you know for certain is that everything’s going to be fine now.

The smile on your husband’s face is enough proof of that.

The new apartment still smells faintly of fresh paint and cardboard, the last few moving boxes scattered across the hardwood floor.

It had taken you longer than expected to make the move—between your missions, Jaemin’s shifts at the hospital and the aftermath of your parents’ visit, life flew by a whirlwind in the following months.

Now, being in a new place means a fresh start with a lot of more space, brand new safety measures at every corner and plenty of room for Luna, Lucy and Luke, the latest additions to yours and Jaemin’s chaotic daily routine.

As you stack the last box of Jaemin’s books into the shelves, the sound of his voice easily echoes through the half-empty living room.

“Bunny?”

Turning around, out of all things you’d expect your husband to be currently doing, finding him kneeling on the floor with a small, pink velvet box in hands would definitely be the last on your list.

“What the f—”

“Wow, Bunny!” he cuts in, grinning as he shoots you a look. “Language!”

Noticing the ring sitting inside the little box, your breath immediately hitches. “Jaemin, what on Earth are you doing?”

“Well,” Jaemin starts, huffing a small laugh that almost sounds uncharacteristically nervous. “I just figured it’s time for us to do this properly.”

You blink, still caught between shock and disbelief despite your amusement. “Do what properly?”

“I know we’re already married but with everything that’s happened, I thought we could do this one more time,” he says, looking up at you with playful sincerity, a touch teasing. “You still wanna stay married to me?”

A laugh escapes from your lips, a mix of exasperation and affection as you take a step closer, taking his face in your hands with a fond smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

The doctor grins. “You love me.”

The words are barely a whisper against his mouth as you nod, chuckling at the way his grin widens. “Yes, Nana,” you murmur, fisting his jacket before hastily pulling him up. “I still want to stay married to you.”

As he stands up, slipping the second ring on your finger, Jaemin’s quick to press an eager kiss to your lips, expertly hoisting you up in his arms despite your protests.

“Are you sure you’re not backing out of this?”

The answer is easy.

“Never.”

#na jaemin #jaemin #na jaemin x reader #jaemin x reader #nct fic #nct dream fic #na jaemin fic #jaemin fic #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #neocitylights

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deliciousangelfestival · 6 months ago

Text

You're the One - 1

Summary: A daughter uncovers the wild, untold story of how her parents’ marriage began—and it’s way better than any romance movie she’s ever watched.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Genre: Romance, Comedy

Words Count : 2,100

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Having a cool dad like Bucky is a blessing. For Jade, it definitely is. Her friends, after meeting him, always say things like: “He’s so cool!” “He’s so funny!” or even, “Can we trade dads?”

Jade could only roll her eyes. Sure, Bucky’s pretty chill and easygoing about most things, but there’s one thing that drives her crazy.

It’s not a big deal for her, but for Bucky, it’s a huge one.

Romantic movies, especially where the bride runs away from the wedding.

That’s why their house only has action and mystery movies.

But tonight, Jade wants to watch one of her favorite genres at home. Why? Because their home theater is amazing, a special project Bucky built for his wife and daughter.

Unfortunately, her dad’s silly rules mean she can’t enjoy it.

But tonight is different. He’s heading out to pick up her mom from the airport.

Jade is sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for her dad to leave.

In the hallway, Bucky stands in front of the mirror, fixing his hair and shirt while whistling a tune. Through the mirror, he notices Jade watching him.

“Don’t have a house party,” he says, pointing at her with mock sternness.

“Yes, yes,” Jade replies, hopping off the counter. She walks over, pushes him toward the garage, and tosses him the car keys. “Go pick up Mom.”

Bucky chuckles as he stumbles slightly. “Alright, alright. You’re awfully eager to get rid of me tonight.”

She smirks. “I just know how much you missed her. You two will probably go straight to dinner or something. Now, go!”

Bucky shakes his head, amused, and heads to the car. But as he opens the door, he suddenly stops.

“Wait… my wallet.”

He heads back inside.

“Jade?” he calls out. No response.

On the counter, his wallet sits neatly next to the fruit bowl. Grabbing it, he pauses. The house feels… too quiet.

“Jade!” he calls again, louder this time.

Still no answer. Frowning, he checks the living room and kitchen before heading upstairs. Knocking on her bedroom door, he’s met with silence.

“Did she sneak out?” he mutters. That didn’t seem like her.

Then it hits him. The home theater.

As he walks back downstairs, the faint smell of buttered popcorn wafts through the air. His suspicions confirmed, he pushes open the theater door.

“Jade!”

Startled, Jade nearly drops her popcorn but manages to save most of it. “Dad!”

She fumbles for the remote, pausing the movie and quickly turning off the screen. Her heart races—the scene on display had been the bride in a wedding dress.

Bucky strides forward, picks up the DVD case, and reads the summary. With a single glance, he knows exactly what it is.

“Jade, how many times have I told you? No romantic movies like this in my house.”

“But why?” she groans, flopping dramatically into her seat. “We have the best home theater! I just want to use it!”

Bucky crosses his arms, his expression stern. “Because they’re predictable. It’s always the same: someone’s crying, someone’s chasing, someone’s kissing. And the bride always runs away for some cliché reason.”

Jade huffs. “Why do you hate them so much? It’s not like Mom ever ran away from a wedding or something.”

The moment she says it, Bucky freezes.

Jade stares at him, her eyes widening. “Oh my God. Wait—she did, didn’t she?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He turns and heads toward the door, but Jade jumps up, running after him.

She wraps her arms around his waist, trying to hold him back. “Dad! Is it true? Did Mom run away? How did you chase her? Why am I just finding out now?”

“I’m going to be late picking her up,” Bucky mutters, dragging himself forward with his daughter clinging to him like a koala.

Then, a notification chimes.

Both father and daughter glance at the phone on the counter.

The family group chat reads: “The flight’s delayed three hours. 😔”

Jade grabs the phone and shows him. “Look, Dad! Mom won’t be here for another five hours.”

Bucky sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Please tell me!” Jade begs. “I promise I won’t watch the movie. This is way more interesting. Why did Mom run?”

Bucky turns to her with a serious expression. “She didn’t run away.”

“Huh?” Jade tilts her head, confused.

“She didn’t run away,” Bucky repeats. “I kidnapped her on her wedding day.”

The room goes silent.

Jade’s jaw drops as she points an accusing finger at him. “You… you stole Mom from someone else?! You're the bad guy!"

Bucky rolls his eyes and pushes her hand down. “If I hadn’t, she wouldn’t have had a happy life.”

He heads to the kitchen, grabs a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and takes a long drink.

Jade, now buzzing with excitement, follows him like a shadow. “Tell me! Tell me everything! How did that happen?”

Seeing her curiosity, Bucky sighs and gestures to the couch. “Fine. Sit down. I’m only telling this story once.”

Jade darts to the couch, grabs her popcorn, and settles in, eyes wide with anticipation.

Bucky clears his throat and leans back against the counter. “Alright. It was 15 years ago…”

💍🔔💍🔔

15 Years Ago

The changing room in the chapel buzzes with excitement. Your bridesmaids gather near the mirrors, giggling and chatting as they adjust their dresses and share jokes.

“Oh, did you see the flower arrangements?” one of them exclaims. “The Jordans really went all out!”

“They’re stunning. Just like this wedding,” another adds with a dreamy sigh.

Their energy fills the room, but you sit quietly in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. The white wedding dress you’re wearing is nothing short of a masterpiece. Designed by a world-renowned fashion house, it fits you perfectly, every intricate detail exuding elegance. The lace, the pearls, the veil—it’s flawless.

But it doesn’t feel like yours.

“You’re so lucky,” one of the bridesmaids says, leaning toward you with a knowing smile. “Everything about this wedding is perfect. And Clark? He’s an absolute catch. You’re living a dream!”

You force a smile, your lips twitching just enough to look convincing. “Yeah… lucky,” you reply softly, though your voice lacks conviction.

In truth, you don’t feel lucky. You feel trapped. This wedding isn’t about love; it’s about business. The Jordans—one of the wealthiest families in the country—are securing an alliance with your family. It’s an arrangement, a deal sealed with vows.

It’s not that you dislike Clark. He’s kind, patient, and honest—a good man by anyone’s standards. The wedding is happening with your consent, after all.

Still, your heart feels heavy, uneasy. Marriage is forever. And with Clark? The problem is, you don’t love him. Not yet.

You hope, maybe after the wedding, the love will grow. Maybe with time, you’ll learn to love each other deeply. But right now, your heart is stuck in the past.

It doesn’t belong to Clark—it belongs to someone else.

Bucky.

The thought of his name makes your breath hitch. That wild man who once turned your world upside down. He was nothing like the calm, dependable Clark. Your parents couldn’t stand him, but you didn’t care. You chose him. For a while, you and Bucky were unshakable, inseparable—until life threw challenges your way, and the weight of it all broke you apart. He was the one who ended it, leaving you shattered.

Your gaze drifts to the window. You wonder where he is now. Is he happy? Did he achieve his dreams? Has he found someone else?

You shake your head and whisper to yourself, “Why am I even thinking about him?”

Pressing your palms to your cheeks, you try to push the thoughts away. It’s your wedding day. You should be focused on Clark, not your ex. You give yourself a light tap on the forehead. “Stop it,” you mutter.

But just as you’re about to take a deep breath, the door to the changing room bursts open with a loud bang.

Startled, you whip your head around, your eyes widening.

“Bucky?!”

There he is, standing in the doorway like he’s just stepped out of a different world. His leather jacket looks completely out of place among the pristine suits and elegant dresses. His dark jeans and worn boots carry the same rugged confidence you remember.

“What are you doing here?” you stammer, rising to your feet, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might leap out of your chest.

He steps closer, a familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Isn’t it obvious?” he says, his voice low and teasing. “I’m here to steal the bride.”

Your breath catches, and your mind races. “Huh?” is all you manage to get out.

Before you can process what’s happening, he closes the distance between you. In one swift motion, he grabs you and hoists you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Bucky!” you shriek, pounding your fists against his back. “Put me down! Are you insane?!”

He chuckles, his grip firm as he carries you toward the door. “A little, yeah. But you’re not staying here.”

Your bridesmaids are frozen in shock, their mouths agape. One finally breaks the silence with a panicked, “Somebody stop him!”

But no one moves. Maybe it’s the sheer audacity of the moment, or maybe it’s the dangerous confidence in Bucky’s eyes. Either way, you find yourself being carried out of the room, your heart racing in a way that feels strangely familiar.

“Bucky!” you shout again, your voice laced with equal parts anger and panic. “You can’t do this!”

“Oh, I can,” he replies smoothly, “and I am.”

As he strides down the hallway, you struggle to free yourself, but his grip doesn’t falter. Despite the chaos, there’s a part of you—a small, buried part—that feels alive in a way it hasn’t in years.

And that terrifies you.

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mister0ctopus · 5 months ago

Text

Server Room (3)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary: Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Office au, Mini Series, Smut, Romance

Word Count: 3.7K

🐙 a/n: contains a flashback to jungkook's first day/week

🐙 Masterlist / AskMeeeee!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Whoever invented a five-day workweek deserves severe punishment.

You mean it.

Even though you did absolutely nothing over the weekend—just slept, rewatched Love, Death & Robots, and rotted in bed—it was perfect.

How on earth that yesterday you were just eating ice cream straight from the tub, slouching on the couch, and now you're analyzing graphs?

You shake your head, letting out a sigh as you resign yourself to the fate of selling your soul to the corporation.

You’ve been typing and clicking away all morning, your laser focus burning holes in your screen. A new project for a VIP client needs to be completed by the end of the week, and if you win them over, it could open doors to even bigger opportunities.

You pinch your temples, feeling the pressure. This is huge. This week is going to be hectic.

Hours of drafting a detailed report have left a strain in your shoulders, a reminder that you're due for a quick stretch. You straighten your back and, out of the corner of your eye, catch a familiar figure strolling past your desk at an unhurried pace, colorful tattoos standing out like quiet acts of defiance against the pristine, orderly office walls.

The faint scent of clean laundry and vanilla lingers in the air, and you close your eyes momentarily, trying to savor whatever trace of it remains.

Jungkook likes vanilla. Noted.

Your heart starts cartwheels at the sudden realization of your thoughts. As memories of last Friday flood your mind—thoughts you had tried to drown over the weekend—it hits you.

Are you... crushing on Jungkook?

You groan at the thought distracting you, though you're not complaining—you need a distraction. This project is already draining you. There's still so much to do, and you feel like you're on borrowed time. Your eyes start to water, and you seriously need a break.

Deciding to take a quick coffee break, you head to the pantry. As you wait for your coffee to brew, you notice that all the mugs are stored neatly on the top shelf of the cabinet.

Perfect. Of course, they’re all the way up there.

You try tiptoeing to reach it, but it's too far back, and your right arm starts to strain. Wouldn't it be funny if Jungkook walked in right now to help? It would perfectly complete your cliché K-drama fantasies.

You waver, giggling softly to yourself, when suddenly, you feel a warm, firm presence behind you. An inked arm reaches past yours for the same cup you've been struggling to grab.

A familiar scent envelops you, and your body jerks slightly when the back of your head brushes against his chest.

And just like that, with such ease, he offered you the mug. But neither of you moved, both still rooted in place.

You stayed like that for a good four seconds, though it felt like forever.

You glance to both sides, hesitantly searching for an exit as your heart does a herkie. Before you know it, he steps aside, allowing a large space for you to turn around and face him.

"Uh… thanks!” you say quickly, hiding your nerves behind a smile, but your ears betray you. You feel them warm up as Jungkook tucks both hands into his pockets. But before he does, you catch a glimpse of the growing bulge in his gray slacks.

Lord, grant this child of yours with mercy, strength, and grace, for the journey they face is no small feat.

Thankfully, you hear the coffee machine finish brewing, and you quickly turn to pour your coffee. Jungkook heads to the water dispenser, and the two of you move in silence.

Except it’s not quiet. It is loud.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, after a while, his voice low, but soft as he waited for the water to fill.

You turned your head toward him, stirring your coffee. “I’m good! Thank you.”

“Hmmm." He nodded. “How was your weekend?”

“It was good! Just rested and stuff. You?” You smiled, while your heart was doing somersaults.

He smiled back—that smile, the one that made his tiny dimples pop. “Yeah, good. Nothing too crazy, just… chores, stuff.” He said, his gaze shifting back and forth between you and the floor.

Cute.

As if on cue, you both started walking back to your desks. The walk was quiet, but you could feel his shoulders brush against yours every now and then. Before you could even form a whole cheerleading routine inside your heart, you reached your desk and gave him a polite nod before sitting down.

You typed bdhjhfjjketwrjnkngkngn on your computer all the while watching his back in your peripherals.

You see you phone lights up. You swipe to open your group chat.

Jimin: break? Tae: let me circle back to you Jimin: stfu Allie: lets goooo! I need to pee! You: cant! i have a deadline! 😩 Jimin: ☹️ Tae: u suck Tae: we'll get u snacks You: yaaayyyy Yoongi: Seen

Tae was true to his word. They really did bring you snacks. It made you feel better, fueling you with the energy you needed to type away like a maniac until 6 pm. It’s a little later than usual, but you hadn’t even noticed the time.

Spent and drained, you closed your laptop and gathered your things. There’s still a lot to do, but at least you managed to finish 20% of it today. That’s a good start, right?

The floor is quiet. Most people, except for a few chasing deadlines, have already gone home. You can’t wait to join them.

You make your way to the elevator, your brain starting to shut down, with your one last remaining brain cell holding it together, doing its hardest to get you home safely.

You don’t normally bring your car to work unless you’re in the mood to walk. The parking lot assigned to you is too far from the building—very inconvenient, but the spots are randomly assigned. So, you usually take a cab to be dropped off right at the entrance.

You press your manicured nails to your temples, trying to massage away the stress of the day.

When you see an empty elevator, you quickly hop in. But as the doors begin to close, a hand slips between them, halting their motion. You widen your eyes, not expecting to see Jungkook here this late.

"Sorry. Thanks!" he says, catching his breath. He obviously ran to catch this elevator—but why would he, when there are six in the building?

"Hey. It’s late,” you say, stating the obvious, trying to fill the silence in the small space. “Overtime?” After all, 45 floors could take a little while.

“You could say that,” he replies, a small smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes meet yours. You feel your skin warm up. “You? Overtime?” he asks back, turning his gaze back to the elevator buttons.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You smile as you lean against the elevator rail.

He chuckles—a low, amused sound—while absentmindedly playing with his lip ring.

You focus your gaze on the numbers ahead as they light up with each floor you pass.

On the 20th floor, a usually busy one since it’s an event space, the elevator opens to the sound of commotion. You see uniformed kitchen staff and waiters scrambling about. The elevator quickly fills with them, and others try to squeeze in, stepping out only when the elevator beeps with the overload warning.

You begin to panic.

You attempt to move to the corner, but bump into someone. Trying to adjust, you move to the other side—only to bump into Jungkook. You glance at each other, his face is unreadable, but his brows are slightly furrowed. The chatter grows louder, and you can feel the frantic energy in the air.

Your heartbeat quickens, and the voices around you fill your ears like a huge swell of waves.

No please, not here. Not now.

You close your eyes, attempting to minimize your overwhelming senses. Then, as if the universe heard your silent plea, you feel a warm, gentle hand on your back, softly patting you. You sigh in relief, as the space around you slowly seems to expand, your focus shifting entirely to the touch.

Jungkook seems to take your response as permission, his hand resting more securely now as he moves it in a steady, soothing rhythm. You focus on the gentle motion, counting down from 10 to 1, drawing in slow breaths through your nose and releasing them softly through your mouth.

When you hear the ding, you feel the nerves finally release as people begin spilling out of the enclosed space.

Jungkook’s hand lingers on your back, it stops moving, but it remains firm and comforting.

With a wave of relief and gratitude, you tug on his shirt and lean into his chest. There is a slight space between you, but your forehead rests against him, seeking refuge.

And slowly, his arms wrap around your shaky frame, and you breathe in his warmth. Then, you let out a deep sigh, releasing the tension that could’ve spiraled into something worse.

You stay like that for what feels like four seconds, but it seems to stretch into forever, before stepping off the lift.

"Are you driving?" he asked as you both walked towards the exit of the huge building.

You shake your head. "I usually take a cab instead."

“Let me drive you home," he offered softly, but his voice is firm.

You take a small step back and lift your head to him, though your hand still clings to the hem of his shirt. "No, you’ve already done so much. I don’t even know how you always manage to find me in these… situations. I’m sorry. And thank you,” you say as you pull away.

"It’s okay. I want to,” he speaks gently, his gaze shifting to your hand still holding onto his shirt.

You realize what you're doing and quickly drop your hand, letting go of his shirt, feeling embarrassed. "Sorry," is all you can whisper.

You hate feeling like a burden. You take pride in having your shit together, and the thought of others feeling sorry for you only makes it worse. Right now, you feel small and helpless. The attacks have been happening more frequently, and you can’t help but connect them to the mounting stress at work.

Jungkook sighs, looking at you while nibbling the bottom of his lip, as if he's trying to hold back the words he wants to say, but doesn't.

"YN, I don't want to overstep, and I have a feeling that you might feel like you're burdening me, but you're not. I want to help you, right now, by driving you home. Please, just… let me. It’s just driving you home. It's no big deal."

You blink.

Wow, that was the longest sentence you’ve ever heard from Jungkook. You looked at him, and you couldn’t help it. A burst of laughter escaped from you.

He looked at you with amusement, cocking his head, eyebrows furrowed. "You laughing?"

“No,” you tried to say, choking on another laugh. “It’s just… that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you say to me.”

His smile turns into a grin, and you catch him biting his bottom lip, like he’s trying to suppress a bigger smile. "You’re enjoying this, huh?"

"So much," you say between bursts of laughter, your stomach starting to ache. "You should talk to me more. This is gold.”

He raises an eyebrow, a lopsided grin at his lips. “So you could laugh?”

"Well, yeah." you reply, catching your breathe.

"You can’t handle me chatty." He shakes his head, not leaving his gaze on you

"Are you kidding? You'd be cute!” you say while wiping your teary eyes.

“Cute, huh” he said, his eyes still locked on yours, nibbling the silver ring on his lip.

You tilt your head, trying to read his face. There is mischief in his eyes, yet his lips remain pressed, guarding whatever thoughts lie behind them... What is he thinking right now?

"Let's drive you home. I know you’ve been tired," he interrupts your thoughts, sensing your visible curiosity. His voice is soft, but why does it feels like there’s no room for you to argue?

You followed him to his car, parked conveniently close to the building.

It feels oddly familiar now, as if you’ve been doing this for a long time. As if you’ve sat in this car together before, and he knows the way to your house like the back of his hand. As if each turn as natural to him as breathing. The car ride is calm—the hum of the engine, the distant noise of the world outside, the soft song on the radio…

“Take my heaven 'Cause you ain't inside it If that's your delight Come ruin my vibe…”

“Here’s your desk,” Yoongi said, motioning toward the chaotic workstation. “The guy you’re replacing was a huge Marvel fan—thus, the Wanda and Black Widow posters. You can take it down unless, of course, you fuck with it.”

Jungkook leaned in, tilting his head like he was analyzing priceless art. “I mean… Black Widow does have a chokehold on me.”

Yoongi snorted. “Of course. I already toured you around, pointed out the important stuff—and oh, you still need your logins. I’ll handle that,” Yoongi said, talking more to himself, like he was ticking boxes off a mental checklist.

It was Jungkook’s first day, and the only reason he even applied was because Yoongi casually dangled the words "better pay" and "more vacation days" in front of him, making him hand in his two-week notice without a second thought. Yoongi and Jin had been friends with Jungkook’s older brother since college, so as the youngest, he’d been dragged into their chaos since he was a kid. Fishing trips, sleepovers, summer vacations...

“Oh yeah,” Yoongi added. “I also need to give you the passcode to the server room. Can’t have you locked out.”

Jungkook nodded solemnly. “Got it. Server room. Sacred ground. No funny business. Unless…” He leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s snacks in there?”

Yoongi blinked. “Did you lie on your resume? Those are racks, not vending machines. So no, no snacks in the server room.”

“Missed opportunity,” Jungkook said, sighing. “But hey, so far, I like it here. Cool place, cool people, chill boss—wait. Do I call you boss now?”

“Try daddy and buy me lunch every day,” Yoongi replied, his signature lopsided grin making an appearance.

Jungkook dramatically furrowed his brows. “You have a daddy kink?!”

“Depends on the lunch,” Yoongi deadpanned, not even glancing up.

“Creep. I’m telling Joon.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Yoongi shrugged, picking up a ringing phone. “Your brother has a daddy kink too.”

Jungkook choked on air. “What the fuck, hyung?! I’m traumatized!”

Yoongi ignored him, calmly taking the call and nodding a few times before hanging up. He turned back to Jungkook, completely unfazed. “Now, for your first ticket— a jammed printer.”

“A printer? A jammed printer?” Jungkook groaned, swirling on the chair. “Wow. I’m really living the IT dream here.”

Yoongi stared at him for a long moment. “Was that your big ‘I can’t wait to be an asset to the company’ speech from the interview?”

Jungkook snickered, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Relax, hyung. I’m here to work hard and make you proud.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Hard? You’ve been here twenty minutes, and your biggest accomplishment is discovering the chair spins.”

“It spins really well, though,” Jungkook said, giving it another whirl.

"Printer. Fix. Now..." Yoongi muttered, still unfazed, typing away on his computer.

“Okay, time to turn it off and on,” Jungkook said, standing up with a mock sigh. “I swear, you just hired me to boss around.”

Yoongi smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned back. “Welcome to the team, kid.”

Black stiletto heels and stockings—that was the first thing Jungkook noticed when he saw you while fixing that damn printer.

The way they clung to your legs… Jesus. His thoughts immediately derailed.

You were wearing a blue-striped collared shirt, a couple of buttons undone, paired with a high-waisted black mini skirt that seemed to look better on his bed.

He just stood there, staring like an idiot, mouth agape, helpless.

You were lost in your own world, typing away on your laptop, and it was strange how captivating it was—the way your brow furrowed in concentration, how you nibbled on your lips like your thoughts were more important than anything else.

Every now and then, he caught a faint hum escaping your lips, like a quiet melody only you knew, a way to soothe yourself while the world spun around you.

The world could be burning around you—people spilling coffee, slamming their desks in frustration—but you were completely untouched, locked in your own zone. Your eyes were fixed on your laptop, brows furrowed in concentration, as if the entire universe revolved around whatever you were typing.

You looked so beautiful.

And the men? Yeah, he saw them too.

The glances they exchanged when you passed. Jungkook could spot them—those quiet, knowing looks shared between them. Their gazes lingering a little too long when you passed, the subtle shifts in their posture. Jungkook knew exactly what those looks meant.

But you were oblivious. You walked like you owned the place. Or like you had somewhere important to be.

Or maybe you knew. You just didn’t care to entertain any of them.

You carried yourself with calm confidence. The space around you was always yours, and everyone knew it. It made people hesitate to cross, like they knew better than to fuck around, because they’d already found out.

Then, in one of those hectic days, a few minutes after work, he saw you through the glass door, standing in front of the elevator. Every time it opened, you'd check inside, but never step in. Instead, you lingered there, taking your time, waiting…

But for what? Or who?

Jungkook couldn’t help but watch, curious. What was it?

Did you not want to be around anyone? Are you avoiding people?

Either way, he watched you for a solid 20 minutes, trying to figure you out.

The next day, he found himself next to you again while fixing some cables.

And there you were—black turtleneck, gray A-line skirt…black stockings and stilettos—of course.

And dark red lipstick—fuck.

God, those fingers. Those delicate, red nails gliding over the keys…

Shut up, Jungkook. You should focus on…you should focus on...

But he couldn’t focus, could he? How could he, when you were right beside him, completely lost in your own world, while he was fighting for his dear life?

Lord... just lead me to temptation, I’m halfway there anyway.

For more than a week now, you’ve been doing this to him.

Every time he closes his eyes, you’re there—on your knees, your delicate hands wrapped firmly around his cock, your lips smudged and slick as they stretch around him.

Your mascara runs in streaks down your cheeks, your eyes watering but still locked on his with that same sharp focus that drives him insane.

Or it’s his face between your legs, your wet folds clenching around his tongue, clawing for him, writhing helplessly, utterly drunk on lust. He’d give you the world and more.

Every time, the same thought crosses his mind: How do you sound when you moan?

Are you loud and unabashed, or do you bite back your cries, leaving him desperate to drag them out of you? The thought alone makes him groan like a tortured man.

Because torture—that’s it. That’s the word. That’s exactly what the past week has felt like.

Torture to contain the thirst, the hunger, the need. And every night, he finds himself completely at your mercy—with his eyes closed and fist around his cock.

That’s been his hell for over a week now.

Then, without warning, you—the object of his desire and the reason for his torment—appear right in front of him, asking for his help with those piercing eyes. He doesn’t know what to do. His brain short-circuits.

As he takes your laptop from you, his gaze briefly flickers to the poster of Black Widow on his wall, his silent, nonjudgmental protector.

Black Widow, patroness of the weak and frail, deliver me from this powerful force—for the adversary is beyond my strength to overcome.

He’s already figured out what’s wrong with your laptop, but your presence fills his senses, muddling his thoughts.

He can’t stand you watching him, observing his every move. It’s unbearable, as if you’re silently chastising him.

“I’ll try my best. You can come back later before you head home,” he tried to sound calm, keeping his back turned to you.

For the next few hours, he drowns himself in distractions—in prayers and IT tickets.

But it seems he cannot escape hell unless he seeks absolution.

Yet, there is no absolution without confession. So, he searches for a place of penance but finds only the cold, dark depths of the server room.

Amid the hum of machines and the sterile air, he calls out in a silent, desperate plea:

“Please, please, please…”

His heart slams against his chest, each beat resounding louder as your name falls from his lips, over and over. Each syllable becomes a tremor, each word a prayer offered from a soul teetering on the edge of redemption.

Sweat rolls down his forehead, falling like droplets of guilt onto his sinful fist and punishing hand.

Just as he’s on the verge of liberation, his eyes catch the sight of your black stockings clinging to your legs, stiletto heels gleaming like unholy beacons in the dim light. It’s as though you’re waiting for him to hear his confession only so he can sin again.

Like a demon lurking in the shadows, waiting to feast upon him again.

With a shaking breath and furrowed brows, he finally breaks, spilling out every ounce of the sin within him.

Yet he remains in hell.

🐙 a/n: sooo...how are we? 🫠 thank you so much for being here, i appreciate all of you 😘 please let me know whatchuthink of the story so far. i love each and every interactions with you 🥹 thanks again for reading and i love you aaaaaalllll ❤️

🐙 if you have questions or asks, let me know in the comments or send me an ask!

Taglist: @taekritimin123, @vantelover1306, @random-musingsss @likewtaf @jeonmaleficent @almatiarau, @kxthx-b, @lively-potter, @jk-190811, @ilovejungkook9999, @goldietigers294, @dreamyluna18, @va1-erie, @snow-strawberry, @lovieku, @daskewl @jksusawife @daskewl @pp0810

🐙 Let me know in the comments if you want to be added! 😘

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luviestarz · 5 months ago

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choi yeonjun fic recs!

🍮 stay alive // c.yj - @fairybinie - (yeonjun and gn!reader are targets for their powers and they’re running out of solutions. all yeonjun wants is for y/n to stay alive, yet everything always comes with a price and secrets always come out. )

🍮 BUSTED! - @pr0dbeomgyu (bumping into her shitty ex out of nowhere while hanging out with her friends, y/n was determined to show that she was way better off without him. desperate enough, she paid choi yeonjun, a cheapskate stranger she met 5 seconds ago, to act as her rich, classy boyfriend. y/n thought it was fine to change some things about her life to yeonjun (read: everything), cause heck, they don’t even know each other! but why is it that after the incident, yeonjun kept on appearing in her life, finding out the truth about her one by one, in the worst possible way?)

🍮 [ ᴄ.ʏᴊ ] | 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗰𝘂𝗼𝘂𝘀 - @gyuslvrr (yeonjun wants you, but all you can see is how tired he is)

🍮 [12:17AM] - @iknowyuu (drunk!reader tries to chase away the man following them, not realizing it’s their boyfriend.)

🍮 ❝ JACK FROST NIPPING AT YOUR NOSE ❞ boyfriend!choi yeonjun. - @theynchapter

🍮 cliché - @heart2beom (after yeonjun hears you referring to him as someone who's like a brother ...he tries his hardest to make you see him as a potential boyfriend.)

🍮 — GOODBYE KISSES - @wooyukh

🍮 — dinner plans 𖤐 choi yeonjun - @dearlyjun (you and yeonjun’s dinner plans quickly change into something else.)

🍮 storage room smooch - @soobszzn (you want to show your super sporty and athletic boyfriend yeonjun just how supportive you can be.)

🍮 a bouquet of flower - choi yeonjun - @p0ckykiss (yeonjun always keeps one flower to himself from your bouquet and you can't figure out why.)

🍮 — my girl (c.yj) ♡ - @taegimood

🍮 TAKE ME ON A DATE — CHOI YEONJUN - @yuoniz (you realise your best friend's feelings for you when you try to play matchmaker)

🍮 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ♡ choi yeonjun. - @yeonboy (If you had known that a fun night out eating junk food with your best friend that you have always harbored a crush on would turn this sour because he misunderstood your words, you would have kept your mouth shut. Now Yeonjun has gone radio silent on you and if you want to salvage your friendship, you will have to get over your feelings first because he will never forgive you if he finds out. Right?)

🍮 just the tip - @seoulzie (yeonjun cant hold himself back & begs reader for "just the tip")

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jupiterpilgrim · 7 months ago

Text

SEX CAGE - A Certain Kind of Freedom

Kwon Eunbi x male reader

word count: 14K

part 1

Eunbi and Somi are lounging on the couch, comfortably wrapped in the delicious art of gossip — the kind of conversation that could fuel hours of free entertainment, without the need for Netflix or Wi-Fi. Eunbi grabs another cookie, chewing slowly as Somi talks with the passion of someone who just watched the latest episode of a dramatic reality show.

"You heard the latest about Mina, right?" Somi starts, her voice full of that conspiratorial tone only someone who truly revels in other people's misfortunes can master.

Eunbi raises an eyebrow, with the moderate interest of someone who knows this is going to be good. "Oh, Mina, the embodiment of perfection... at least according to herself."

Somi nearly chokes with laughter. "Yes! And can you believe her boyfriend dumped her to date her younger sister?!" She drops the news as if she’s revealing the biggest scandal of the week, which, for their circle, might just be.

Eunbi stifles a laugh, which turns into a rather sadistic smile. "Of course, because obviously the only way to escape that arrogance was... to dive headfirst into an even bigger mess. Congrats to him for making the dumbest choice available."

Somi slaps Eunbi’s arm, laughing. "The worst part is, apparently the sister thought it was cute that he tattooed her name on his arm. Cheap tattoo, mind you. And, of course, she fell for him right then and there. Because nothing says 'I love you' like a bad tattoo."

Eunbi grimaces, shaking her head. "A name tattoo is like signing a contract with disaster. But hey, everyone does what they can with the little brain they have, right?"

They burst into laughter again, the kind of shared humor only longtime friends can appreciate — especially when they’re mocking someone they never really liked. The sound echoes through the apartment, and for a moment, it’s almost like they’re back in the days when their biggest worry was deciding which nail polish to wear that week.

Somi finally catches her breath and looks at Eunbi with a softer expression. “But seriously... you’re glowing, you know? You’ve got such amazing energy! Way different from the last time we talked, when you were, like, at rock bottom with the whole unemployment thing.”

Eunbi feels her stomach churn slightly. Ah, rock bottom. What dark times those were (three months ago). Until she turned things around, of course, but by means Somi can’t — and shouldn’t — know about. Eunbi plays with her hair, as if she can brush away the discomfort with the gesture. “Ah, you know... things have gotten better. Lucky for me, my roommate is super smart.”

Somi narrows her eyes, curious. “Smart how? Did he help you get a new job or something?”

Eunbi tries not to sweat. She can’t exactly admit that her current 'job' involves cameras, masks, and an eager audience hungry for more content. So, the lie flows, smooth as oil. “Oh, you know, he’s into all that nerdy stuff. Investments, bitcoins, NFTs... those complicated things only weirdos understand. He’s been covering the bills for now.”

Somi looks at Eunbi, genuinely impressed. “Wow, you really lucked out! A rich nerdy roommate. Sounds like one of those cliché romances.”

Eunbi lets out a nervous smile. “Yeah, it was a good roll of the dice.” Before Somi can start connecting dots or asking more complicated questions, Eunbi quickly decides to steer the conversation in a different direction. “But enough about that. Now that I have more time, I’m thinking of going back to the gym. What do you think about us going together? Like, a triumphant return to the fitness life.”

Somi almost spills her tea in excitement. “You? The gym? I’m shocked!! But seriously, that’s awesome! What gave you the sudden motivation?”

Eunbi smiles, satisfied to have shifted the topic to safer ground. “Oh, you know... health, staying in shape, that kind of thing. And now that I’ve got more free time, I’ve got no excuses, right?”

Of course, the real reason for the new gym routine was less noble and more... vain. Keeping that ‘porn goddess body’ requires work, after all. The cameras don’t lie, but they definitely have their preferences. And Eunbi was determined to live up to those expectations — hers, the fans’, and anyone else willing to pay to watch.

Somi gets excited about the idea, clapping her hands animatedly. “I LOVE this! Finally, a gym buddy! We can even take those post-workout selfies, you know? Like, ‘no pain, no gain.’ It’s going to be great!”

Eunbi laughs, already picturing herself doing squats while Somi films her for Instagram. “It’ll be fun. My goal will be to get abs like yours.”

The conversation flows smoothly, with occasional laughs and sharp gossip, until the apartment door opens and you walk in, as usual, a bit clumsy, unaware that you’re interrupting the gathering. Somi turns her head to look at you, surprised but with her usual friendly, easy smile.

“Hey! Long time no see!” She gets up to greet you while you try to force a tired smile and give her a quick hug. Not that you don’t like Somi; she’s great, really, but she always brings this certain energy that leaves you feeling slightly... drained. The kind of person who could empty the battery of an entire room just by showing up.

“How’s it going?” you ask, trying to be polite as you prepare to escape to your room.

Somi responds with the same enthusiasm as always. “Everything’s great! And you? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Ah, I’m good too. Make yourselves at home, don’t mind me, I’m just heading to my cave,” you say, and with that, you finally make your way to your room.

Barely closing the door, Somi, who never misses an opportunity, turns to Eunbi with a curious gleam in her eye.

“So, has he been bringing a lot of girls around here?”

Eunbi lets out a theatrical sigh, as if the question were more ridiculous than it actually was. “Thank God, no. He’s always been pretty chill, actually. More of a stay-at-home, play-video-games type than the ‘hook up with everyone’ kind.”

Somi crosses her arms, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Really? That’s funny. He’s cute. And I always thought cute guys were taken. What a waste.”

Eunbi tries to keep her composure, but something about Somi finding you cute bothers her. Not that she’s jealous. Obviously not! But hearing Somi compliment you... well, let’s just say it’s irritating. “Yeah, he’s cute. But anyway, back to the topic... the gym, right? I think I’ll start tomorrow.”

“Great! The gym I go to is amazing, you’ll love it.”

Eunbi smiles, satisfied with the sudden shift in conversation, and decides to change the course even further.

"By the way, I’ve always wanted to ask you something, Somi... have you ever been with a girl?"

Somi almost breaks the cookie she was about to eat. She blinks, processing the question. “Uh... like, kissed?”

Eunbi shrugs. “Kissed, hooked up, anything. Has it ever happened?”

Somi, still a bit taken aback, furrows her brow. “Ah, kissing, sure. Everyone’s kissed a friend after a few drinks, right? It’s like a friendship ritual.”

Eunbi lets out a little laugh. “So, just a kiss then? Nothing more?”

Now, Somi’s completely intrigued. She places her teacup carefully on the coffee table, as if she’s about to disarm a bomb. “Well... I’ve never slept with a girl, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Eunbi continues to probe. “And... would you try it?”

She pauses, looking at Eunbi more intently now, as if trying to catch the hidden subtext in the question. Then, connecting some dots, maybe a bit hastily, she smiles slightly. “Wait... are you suggesting that—”

But before Somi can finish her sentence, Eunbi waves her hand, as if shooing away a bunch of unwanted thoughts. “No, no! Nothing like that. I’m not suggesting anything. I was just curious.”

Somi laughs, but there’s a faint thread of tension in the air now, something light, something that wasn’t there before. “Oh, okay. Because, you know, I wouldn’t judge if you were thinking about it. I mean, you’re gorgeous, I’m gorgeous... It wouldn’t exactly be a tragedy.”

Eunbi gives a short, controlled laugh, like someone who needs to keep the train on the tracks. “I know, but that’s not it. I was just asking.”

Somi relaxes, but the mischievous look doesn’t fade. “Ah, got it. Just checking if the hot friend’s into girl-on-girl stuff. Sure, makes sense. Now tell me, what about you? Ever been with a girl?”

“Well... like you, I’ve kissed some friends a few times, you know, those party moments when everyone’s drunk and hyped. But I never... went beyond that, you know?”

Somi puts on a fake dramatic act, clutching her chest like she's deeply offended. "What? You've kissed other friends but never me? And here I thought our friendship was special!"

Eunbi, with the calm of someone who always has an answer ready, shrugs. "Well, we could change that right now, if you want."

Somi raises an eyebrow, surprised, but a smile begins to form on her lips. "Are you serious?"

Eunbi simply nods. "Why not? Friends do these things, right?"

If this were a book, this would be the moment when the reader holds their breath, eagerly anticipating what's next.

Then, without much fuss, Somi gives a mischievous smile, and they both lean forward until their lips touch in a quick, simple kiss. No drama, no complications. Just a brief moment, but with an underlying tension neither of them will admit to.

When they pull away, Eunbi smiles like she just checked off something from her to-do list.

"There. Now you're part of the exclusive group of friends I've kissed."

Somi laughs, raising her cup of tea. "Wow, what an honor. Let's toast to that."

Eunbi raises hers too, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "To open friendships."

They clink their cups, the sound echoing through the room, and the atmosphere relaxes again, as if nothing unusual just happened.

—

[12:03 AM]

Yujin: Heyyyy Rubydden! 🖤✨ Saw your sextape, girl, you SLAYED! Congrats!

[12:07 AM]

Rubydden: Omg, thanksss! I was so nervous, you have no idea 😳

[12:08 AM]

Yujin: Nervous? Pff, no way. You looked super natural. You’ve got that je ne sais quoi. Like... I dunno, a mix of dominatrix and Instagram fairy, you know?

[12:09 AM]

Rubydden: 😂😂 What a description! Now I gotta add that to my bio. But seriously, I loved what you do too. I watched some of your vids and I was like... wow ❤️🔥

[12:11 AM]

Yujin: Some? Haha, liar, bet you binged them all 😏

[12:15 AM]

Rubydden: Well... maybe five or six 😅

---

[10:35 AM]

Yujin: Look, I'm gonna be blunt... I got off to your titjob. That was AVN Awards level 🥵💦

[10:36 AM]

Rubydden: 😳 Omg! Wasn’t expecting that. Now I’m blushing

[10:37 AM]

Yujin: You're a goddess, Rubydden. That close-up on your boobs... girl, perfection!!

[10:38 AM]

Rubydden: Haha, I thought the same about you when I saw that video of you making yourself squirt... hard to forget

[10:39 AM]

Yujin: Haha perfect! But seriously, that titjob you did... I had to grab a vibrator because it was sooo hot 🔥

[10:40 AM]

Rubydden: OMG, really?! I'm feeling flattered now 🙈

[10:41 AM]

Yujin: Of course!! I’m not gonna lie, you and your guy have crazy chemistry. Ever tried a threesome?

[10:42 AM]

Rubydden: Never tried, actually. But I've always been curious... 🤔 Why, got something in mind?

[10:44 AM]

Yujin: Girl, if you haven't tried it, you're missing out, seriously. I've done it a few times and, for real, it’s amazing. Now, imagine this: me, you, and your guy in a video. It'd break the internet!!

[10:46 AM]

Rubydden: Wow... That definitely sounds like something to think about. I guess I'd have to talk to him first, right?

[10:47 AM]

Yujin: For sure, for sure! But think about it seriously, okay? We could make something super sensual, something that would drive the audience wild. Plus, it’d be a lot of fun 😉

[10:49 AM]

Rubydden: Haha, gosh, I'm nervous just thinking about it. But I won’t lie... the idea is tempting

[10:50 AM]

Yujin: Trust me, girl. It’s gonna be an experience you won’t forget. And, obviously, who could forget you after that?

—

You’re sitting in Eunbi’s room, her laptop open on the desk in front of you, your eyes skimming over the messages again and again. That dialogue on the screen doesn’t just surprise you, it throws you into a world you didn’t even know existed a few months ago.

Yujin?

Collab?

A threesome?

Eunbi, standing beside you, looks at you like she’s already made up her mind. To her, this is just another chance to go viral again. "So?" she says, tapping your shoulder lightly, a carefree smile on her face. "What do you think?"

You swallow hard, the words getting stuck in your throat. "I... I don’t know what to say."

She frowns a little, but still in a playful way, like she’s hearing someone complain about being hot in the summer. "Oh, you never know what to say. Relax. It’s not that complicated." And then, with a twinkle in her eye: "Yujin's hot, right? And she's got millions of followers. If we do this, it’s gonna be huge. Like, huge."

"It’s not that," you mumble, trying to form something coherent, but all logic seems to slip away from you like sand through your fingers. "I mean, it’s just... all of this... it’s so new."

She lets out a soft laugh, like she was expecting exactly that. "Of course it’s new. I still remember us sitting on the couch freaking out, thinking we’d get evicted from our apartment. Everything’s happening so fast, but look where we are now!" She picks up her phone, scrolling through Yujin’s photo gallery, clearly much more comfortable with the idea than you are.

"But I don’t even... know if I want to do this," you admit, trying to understand why your voice sounds so small in this conversation when you should be shouting HEY, I LOVE YOU, CAN WE TALK ABOUT US?!

"It’s okay to not want to... right now," she replies, still half-distracted as she shows you another picture of Yujin, this one even more provocative. "But seriously, look at this. Us and her? It’s gonna break the internet. And you’d be the luckiest guy in the world." She says it like she’s pitching the latest smartphone, full of perks and no downsides.

"I’m not sure ‘lucky’ is the word I’d use," you laugh awkwardly. How do you explain that, in your head, luck would be getting to take her out to dinner, with no cameras or masks in the way?

She frowns, clearly not understanding why you’re not jumping at the idea. "Okay, then what’s the problem?"

Inside, the knot of emotions keeps growing. You’re still trying to process the fact that you’re falling for your best friend. The girl you’ve always shared everything with, who stood by your side through the tough early days of adulthood. You two share something special... but she doesn’t seem to see it the same way. She’s caught up in the work, the followers, the rising fame.

And you?

You’re caught up in the feeling of falling in love with someone who might only see you as a tool for her career.

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, and all you can manage is a frustrated sigh.

"I’ll... think about it, okay?"

She gives you a quick hug, like you’ve just agreed to go to her Barbie-themed party. "Relax, it’s gonna be amazing, you’ll see. We’re doing so well! Maybe, when things calm down, we can even take a trip, just the two of us. What do you think?"

You allow yourself a small smile.

A trip, just the two of you?

That sounds almost... romantic.

"Yeah... that sounds nice."

"Yes! I was thinking maybe the Swiss Alps, how about that? Us in a cozy little cabin, snow falling outside, a fireplace burning... perfect, right?" She looks at you, her eyes shining with the idea. For a brief moment, you imagine the two of you together, far away from everything, just enjoying each other’s company. Damn, that would be perfect.

But, of course, Eunbi continues: "And we could shoot a video there! Imagine, us having sex in front of the fireplace, with the snow falling outside... it’d go viral."

You roll your eyes and take a deep breath. Of course.

Because in the end, that’s what it all boils down to. The romance fades faster than your desire to keep this conversation going.

—

You're lying on the couch, engrossed in your book, when you hear the apartment door open. Eunbi had gone out to pick up a package, and you were already used to her dramatic entrances. But the excitement with which she bursts through the door this time makes you suspicious of what on earth is in that box. It could contain anything from a toaster to a new vibrator powerful enough to emit sound waves detectable by a hydrophone at the bottom of the ocean.

“So, what’d you get this time?” you ask without looking up from your book.

“Oh, you'll find out soon enough,” she replies in a voice full of secrets.

You raise an eyebrow but go back to your book. “Right. Whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t explode.”

She disappears into the bedroom, and for a second, everything returns to normal. You almost convince yourself it’s nothing to worry about… until hours later, when another door opens again, this time with the subtlety of a hurricane. And who enters the room is… well, Eunbi, but a version of her that looks like she just walked out of a weird fanfic written by someone with way too much time on their hands.

She’s wearing a schoolgirl skirt that honestly makes you question the sanity of fashion designers and a baby tee she probably last wore many years ago.

You look at her, half incredulous, half amused, and can’t help but laugh. “Okay, what the hell is that?”

Eunbi spins around like a runway model, making the skirt dangerously twirl. “My new costume! For the next video, obviously.”

You tilt your head, a bit cynical. “What video?”

“I mean, our video,” she corrects. “We’re gonna do a roleplay. I’m the younger sister, and you’re the older brother.”

What?

You frown.

“Wait, what?”

But she moves closer, sitting beside you, her hand strategically landing on your thigh. And it’s that kind of hand slide that makes your neurons scream to ignore it, but of course, your body had already betrayed you the second she walked into the room in that… outfit. Now you start to understand that the mysterious box might have had something to do with this transformation.

“I’m going to be your stepsister,” she begins, while her fingers trace slow circles on your leg, “and our parents aren’t home... and I want to show you something. Something I just discovered, you know, like… sex.”

“Oh, sure. Sex,” you say, as if it’s the most revolutionary concept you’ve ever heard. “Because that’s what every little sister does, right?”

She either ignores the sarcasm or just doesn’t care. “Exactly! Oh, and of course, it won't be anything too scripted, we'll just feel the vibe and improvise. It’s going to be our best video yet. It’ll have that… forbidden touch, you know?”

You lean back on the bed, trying to figure out a way out of this. “So… like… can I finish my book first?”

Her eyes gleam with pure determination as she leans in closer, her hand now dangerously high on your thigh. “You can finish later. This will be quick.”

You had spent the last few days deciding that, no, this was too much, that you weren’t going to have sex with Eunbi just to create content anymore. Boundaries, you told yourself. Self-respect. You were more than that, right? You were going to set limits, be firm...

But now, with her hand so close to something that does not respect any rational decision, those words start to feel distant.

Then she delivers the final blow, the argument that should be illegal in any discussion. “And, look, it’ll be my first anal. You’ll get to fuck my ass. And, to make it better, I’ll let you come inside.”

Your synapses short-circuit. All those mature reflections about feelings and dignity… vanish. The decision you had sworn to keep firm just... dies. Just like that.

Her hand is already on your cock, and of course, it’s already rock-hard. Not that you have much of a choice at this point. Your body had already made the decision for you.

“It’ll be fun,” she says with a slight tease, her fingers now playing with your erection. “And I promise I’ll make you feel... very good.”

You try, by some miracle, to keep your composure. “Okay, but... shouldn’t we have, like, talked about this first?”

She looks at you with an expression that clearly says: Are we really having this conversation right now? “The only thing we need to talk about is how much you want to fuck my ass.”

You let out a sigh—whether of surrender, desire, or just because you’re an idiot, you’re not sure.

But deep down, you knew you were defeated the moment she walked into the room wearing that damned skirt.

Of all the absurd decisions you’ve made, this is probably the most obvious one. With your mind utterly overwhelmed by a mix of desire and confusion, you heard yourself saying yes before you had time to process anything more rational—like, for instance, no.

Eunbi smiles as if she's about to invite you to play house, but a version that would never be allowed on any playground. She bounces off the mattress, as if the thrill of seeing you sink into this pit of poor decisions is a small personal victory, and rushes to the bedroom. You hear the sound of boxes being rummaged through. She comes back with a mask and the camera. Your camera, which, let’s be honest, she practically stole from you a long time ago.

"Here," she says, handing you the equipment with a sparkle in her eyes. "Now I’m going to redo the entrance," she continues, already in full actress mode, putting the mask on, "but this time, you’re going to be my older brother, and I’ll be your... well, you already know."

You sigh, half-amused, half-resigned, but lie down on the bed as instructed, slightly frustrated to give up something important to do... this—and yes, you did consider finishing that book important—but, if we're being honest, resisting Eunbi was like trying to hold water in your hands.

You turn on the TV, something generic is on, maybe a show about giant cakes, which, of course, doesn’t match what’s about to happen. You press the record button on the camera.

And this is how it begins:

The bedroom door opens, and there she is, the personification of every possible cliché of fantasies that shouldn’t exist. A schoolgirl skirt that’s way too short, a baby tee that only someone with questionable taste would consider appropriate for anyone past puberty, and a walk that was almost a caricature. But the strangest thing was how much she had changed. It wasn’t just the outfit. It was everything: the posture, the gestures, even the expression on her face. When she approaches and says, “Hey, big brother,” the voice is so sweet it’s almost sickening.

Pure poisoned sugar.

You glance at her as she sits at the edge of the bed, the camera strategically positioned to film from the neck down, focusing on that damned tight baby tee that accentuates her breasts. “Hey,” you reply, casually.

“Parents are gone,” she announces, sitting beside you on the bed. You mutter something vague in response, more focused on surviving the scene than keeping up the act.

“Remember what dad said before he left?” she asks, with that voice that sounds like it’s meant to sell children’s toys or, in this case, sell the idea of something entirely different.

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure, take care of the house. And you.”

She smiles. But it’s not an innocent smile.

No, definitely not.

"Exactly. And I was thinking… shouldn’t you, like, take care of me now?"

“Hmm, take care of you... how?”

She smiles again, and the insinuation in her voice is so heavy it could sink a ship. "I discovered something. Something people do to feel good. And I think we should try it."

You try to fake indifference, which, of course, doesn’t help at all. "Oh yeah? What’s that?"

She leans in a little more, almost whispering. "The man puts the, um, what’s it called? Penis! That’s it! The man puts the penis into... the vagina... I think that’s it. He puts the penis in the woman’s vagina. That makes them feel good." She pauses, watching your reaction. “I want to try that with you.”

You almost choke on your own saliva.

"What? Who told you that?"

She shrugs, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. "Saw it on the internet."

Ah, of course. The internet. The vast well of wisdom and depravity.

Before you could come up with a reasonable excuse to cut this strange performance—something like ‘I can’t do this, sorry’ or ‘please, I just want to finish my book’—her hand was already on your cock. And, to be fair, that’s exactly what your brain didn’t need at that moment.

“Hey, what are you doing now?” you ask, more because you felt you should say something than because you really wanted an answer.

“Let me see your dick, brother,” she said, as if asking to see the TV remote. “Please, please, please!”

"I can't show you that," you retorted, in vain.

She frowned, but in a mischievous way. “I’ll show you what’s under my panties if you show me your dick.”

And, of course, her next move was to part her leg and lift her skirt, revealing the most enticing panties anyone could imagine—pink, with little animal prints, the full provocation package.

Your self-control—or what was left of it—flew out the window. She kept pressing on your dick over your pants, and finally, you gave in. "Alright, alright."

“Yaaay!!”

Eunbi took on the role with an almost disturbing enthusiasm. When you finally gave in and let her pull down your pants, her eyes lit up with exaggerated curiosity, as if she was dealing with something mysterious, incomprehensible, and worthy of scientific study. She looked at your cock like it was a particularly intriguing puzzle—one to be solved not with logic, but with her hands.

"Wow..." she murmured, her words filled with rehearsed admiration. Her fingertips brushed against the warm skin, exploring as if it was the first time she had ever touched a cock. She giggled and, with a touch that was almost innocent (if it weren’t so provocative), started handling it like she was investigating the workings of a new toy.

“It’s... so big!” The words came out with an overly exaggerated tone of surprise.

You tried to maintain some semblance of indifference, but it was like trying to keep a dam intact in the middle of a hurricane. "Careful there," you said, your voice already tense, feeling every light touch as if your cock was now in the hands of an inexperienced mechanic unsure of how to proceed.

She used both hands, holding it with a curiosity that seemed clumsy but intentionally sensual. “Why is it like this? Like, hard... but the skin’s soft at the same time?” The question was so simple, almost comical in its innocence, that you couldn’t hold back a nervous laugh.

“That’s how it works,” you muttered, the effort to keep your head in the game becoming harder as her hands slid more confidently. She squeezed a little more, testing different ways to hold it, as if searching for the perfect grip, her short nails brushing the sensitive skin in a way that made you squirm.

“And these balls down here?” She looked at them with genuine curiosity, playing with your balls, her gaze still so inquisitive that it almost made you laugh again. “What are they for? Do they get hard too?”

“No...” you took a deep breath, trying to explain without completely losing your composure. “I mean, they can get a little hard when they’re full... They’re… sensitive , just... don’t mess with them too much.”

She laughed, clearly amused by the reaction she was provoking. Her touch grew bolder as she became more familiar with what she was doing, running her hands along the entire length, holding your balls with a mix of care and silly curiosity, like she was weighing something valuable. “Oh, so the balls are sensitive...” she teased, laughing mischievously. "I’ll be careful."

She wasn’t, of course. Her touch, though clumsy for the character, was becoming more precise, more intentional. She knew exactly what she was doing, even if the role demanded a forced innocence.

"Can I... try something?" she asked, lying under your legs, her face so close to your dick that you could feel her warm breath on the tip.

"Try what?"

It was an unnecessary question because the answer was already written between the two of you in bold letters. She knew. You knew. Everyone—including the audience watching this later—knew.

“Can I... lick it?” she asked with the same sweetness as someone asking to taste a piece of candy. She tilted her head, her eyes big and bright behind the mask, and without waiting for an answer, lowered her head and gave a timid lick, almost as if she was testing the taste.

You took a deep breath, your muscles tensing involuntarily. "Go ahead..."

She started licking with small, experimental touches, giggling with each new move as if she was genuinely enjoying herself. "It tastes kind of... salty," she commented, like she was talking about a new gourmet ice cream. She laughed again, licking once more, this time with more intention, running her tongue from the base to the tip with an almost disturbing concentration. "Is that good for you?"

"Fuck yes," you responded, trying to control the moan already escaping your throat.

“Then I’ll keep going...” she murmured, smiling satisfied with herself, like a good sister just wanting to make her older brother feel good.

Her movements were a strange, seductive mix of rehearsed hesitation and almost genuine curiosity. The tip of her tongue traced small lines along your skin, up and down, almost like she was discovering a new flavor. She giggled between licks, which for some reason only made the situation hotter. With each touch, the heat in your body intensified.

“You really like this, huh?” she asked with a feigned innocence that you knew was part of the act, but it didn’t make the situation any less provocative. The way she spoke, as if asking an everyday question, contrasted deliciously with the explicit nature of what she was doing.

You let out a low moan, struggling to maintain some control over the situation. “It’s... incredible,” you replied, your voice already shaky.

She paused for a moment, her eyes shining with interest, as if analyzing the situation from a new angle. “So... if this makes you feel so good, what’s the best part?” The question came with that unsettling curiosity of wanting to learn more, wanting to be better at making her brother happy.

You try to stay focused, fighting the urge to just drop the camera and use both hands to make her gag on your dick. But no, she wanted it to be a game, she wanted it slow—you both had roles to play. "The tip," you said, vaguely pointing to the most sensitive part of your dick. “The tip is... where you should focus more.”

Eunbi raised an eyebrow, amusement clear on her face. "The tip?" She looked at your dick with the same exaggerated fascination, her lips moving slowly as she considered the new challenge. "Okay, big brother... If that’s what will make you feel better."

She leaned her head closer, her gaze fixed on the tip of your dick, like she was about to solve a Rubik’s cube. And then, with calculated slowness, she wrapped her lips around the head, giving a light suck, as if tasting something for the first time.

You couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped your lips. The touch of her soft lips, combined with the light pressure of the suction, was simply electrifying. And she seemed to love the reaction she provoked, laughing softly as she continued, her movements increasing in intensity.

“Like this, is it good?” she asked, her voice slightly muffled, as she kept the tip of your dick in her mouth. With each word, the vibration made you lose more and more control.

"Keep going... just like that... it's really good," you managed to say, the words escaping with difficulty. She gave a low, satisfied laugh before going back to what she was doing, now using her tongue to explore the tip with even more curiosity. She swirls her tongue in slow, teasing circles, gently increasing the pressure before relaxing, repeating the motion as if she's experiencing something new each time.

"It's kind of weird," she says suddenly, pulling her mouth away for a second to catch her breath but keeping her hand firmly around your cock, playing with the base like it's something she just learned to use. "But in a good way, you know? Like... kind of funny."

"There's nothing funny about this," you say, almost laughing but trying to keep your composure. "Just... keep doing what you were doing."

She smiles, that mischievous smile that shows she knows exactly what she's doing. "Okay, okay... I'll be a good sister, I promise." And with that, she puts the tip of your cock back in her mouth, now with more determination, sucking with a steady rhythm that makes your whole body react.

You and the camera watch everything, your mind torn between the rising lust and the surrealness of the situation. The way she slips into the role, playing with the idea of being a little sister "discovering" something so dangerous and exciting, only heightens the effect. She sucks the tip with absurd concentration, as if each movement were a new step in a forbidden game.

She pulls the cock out of her mouth again, her hands still busy, and looks at you, eyes gleaming with excitement that comes more from the game than the act itself. "Do you want me to keep going like this? Or should I do something else? I... I can learn quickly, you know."

"So, remember the balls? You can suck them too. I’ll like that a lot."

"You said they’re sensitive, right?" Her voice has that exaggerated tone of curiosity, like she's playing a little sister who wants to learn everything, absolutely everything. "What do I do with these... little balls?"

You, already sunk into the role she’s forcing on you, struggle to keep your voice steady. "Yeah... yes. They’re... sensitive. You can... suck them too. But, carefully."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Suck? Like I did with your cock?"

You nod, the words almost slipping. "Yes. But... slower, okay?"

"Mmm, got it!" she murmurs in a devilishly sweet voice. "I'll take care of you, just like you take care of me."

She lowers her head further, moving slowly down to your balls, as if she’s deliberating her next move. She gives them another lick, experimental and almost casual, like she’s licking a popsicle in front of the TV on a Saturday afternoon, and not your body.

"Like this?" Her voice is loaded with fake innocence, but the mischievous smile on her lips leaves no doubt that Eunbi knows exactly what she’s doing. "Or should I be a bit... more careful?"

You swallow hard. "That’s it, just… a little slower..."

She giggles again, that light laugh that makes it seem like you’re really playing make-believe. But, obviously, what she’s doing is far from that. She tilts her head more and begins licking your balls slowly, this time without hesitation, but still with that touch of exaggerated curiosity.

"It's funny," she comments between licks. "I didn’t know they could get harder." With each word, she lets her tongue glide smoothly over the sensitive skin, teasing in a way that makes everything feel like one big game.

You can barely think of a coherent response. "Yeah... the more you play with the balls, the 'harder' they get," is all you can say, trying to maintain some control while her head moves between the base of your cock and your balls, like she’s deciding which part she likes best.

Then she looks up again, as if a brilliant idea just struck her. "What if I suck it all at once? Do you think I can fit it all in my mouth?"

"Yes... go ahead, try..."

And she does, enveloping your balls with her mouth slowly and carefully, almost with that rehearsed sweetness, like an obedient little sister.

"Am I doing well?" she asks in that sweet little voice, her words muffled as she continues playing with your balls, moving her head side to side, as if she’s, once again, testing the limits of what she can do.

You almost laugh, but it’s a forced laugh, the kind you make when you’ve been taken to a place where reason was lost long ago. "You’re such a good girl!"

She smiles, satisfied. "I want to be the best little sister in the world!"

"Okay, if you really want to be the best little sister in the world, then do as you promised and show me what’s under your panties, alright?" you ask, knowing it’s best to stop for now, or the video will end in just a blowjob.

She obediently stands up, unbuttoning her skirt with deliberate slowness, almost ceremoniously. You get rid of your pants and boxers for good and sit on the edge of the bed. She lets the fabric slide down her thighs to the floor, revealing pink panties. It doesn’t help that she seems genuinely excited about it, like she’s playing with something her parents didn’t allow.

"Do you like it?" she asks, turning slightly to show off the pink panties decorated with little animals and bows on the sides.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your composure, which is a colossal challenge considering the scene. "It’s... yeah, it’s nice."

"Nice?" She pretends to be offended, crossing her arms over her chest. "These panties are cute. I chose them especially for my brother." She emphasizes the ‘brother’ with a tone that should be sweet but only manages to sound dangerously suggestive.

"Sure, sure," you reply, looking away for a second, as if that would help you escape the trap. "Cute."

With an even wider smile, she slowly lowers her panties, revealing her already wet pussy. The ‘little stepsister’ looks at you with a rehearsed expression of pure innocence. "Huh? Why... is it so wet?"

You take a deep breath, knowing that any answer to that question will only dig you deeper. But like any protagonist in a story who’s clearly made the worst decision, you answer: "It’s because... you like me. Your body reacts like that when you... really like someone."

She ponders for a second, as if she’s considering this revelation for the first time. "Ah... that makes sense. I do really like you, you know?"

"Yeah... I like you a lot too," you murmur, as if that would help keep things within some kind of boundary.

"So," she continues, her eyes fixed on yours, "what do we do now, brother? How are you going to take care of me?"

You try to keep your voice calm, even though you know it’s quickly becoming impossible. "Why don’t you start... touching your pussy? Slowly. Just to see how it feels."

She seems surprised, but excited by the suggestion. Slowly, her fingers begin to descend, gliding over her soft skin until they reach her wet pussy. And the moans start, first light, then becoming continuous, accompanied by a smile that drives you crazy.

"Like this?" she asks, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

"Yes, exactly like that," you reply, your voice a little rougher than you’d like, slowly stroking your cock while you film and watch the scene.

She continues, her fingers still timid, almost hesitant, like she’s discovering a new toy and doesn’t know exactly how to use it. She bites her lower lip, clearly enjoying her own curiosity, but you notice that something... is missing.

"No, no... this way it won’t be as good," you say, trying to sound instructional, which is a colossal challenge given the situation. "Let me show you a better way."

She stops, her eyes blinking at you with a mix of surprise and excitement. "Show me? Like... you’re going to teach me, big brother?" She smiles like she’s learning to do homework, except the ‘lesson’ at hand is far from academic.

"Yes... that’s it, I’ll show you. Trust me. Lie down on my bed and open your legs."

You stand up as she does what you asked, her legs slowly spreading to give you full access. With a sigh, you slide your hand between her thighs, your fingers lightly brushing her warm, damp pussy.

She trembles slightly at the touch, letting out a soft moan. "What are you going to do...?"

"Just relax, okay? You'll feel much more pleasure that way," you respond, still in 'older brother instructing' mode, because somehow that twisted logic makes sense right now.

Your fingers find her clit, and you start making slow circles, pressing just the right way—the way you know will make her writhe with pleasure. And, as expected, her moans intensify, her hips moving involuntarily against your hand.

"Ah... this is... so much better," she whispers, her eyes half-closed, her voice now more drawn out, almost surprised at the intensity of what she's feeling. "This feels so good, you're making me feel so good!" She arches her back, getting more lost in the touch, her hands squeezing her breasts, still covered by the baby tee, her moans echoing through the room. "This... this is incredible," she breathes between sighs. "Do it again, brother. Do it like that."

You comply, your fingers now firmer, exploring the small spasms of her body, each touch precise to make her feel more, to make her moan louder. Her breathing becomes ragged, her hands gripping the sheets tightly, and for a moment, the absurd theatrics of the situation disappear, replaced by a raw, physical connection.

"You like that, don’t you?" you ask, knowing the answer is obvious.

"I love it... Mmm, I didn't know I could feel this way." she replies, her voice broken. "You're... you're the best brother I could ever have."

Your fingers move faster now, firm and precise, playing her body like an instrument, each stroke making her tremble. She's gasping, eyes closed, writhing beneath you, her hips rising and falling against your hand. It's a hypnotic sight—almost like watching a chaotic dance, where her body is the instrument, and you, the conductor.

"Ah... brother, I... I’m feeling something strange..." she murmurs, her voice hoarse, almost trembling.

You smile, keeping your tone calm, as if you've been through this before. "It's normal... just relax and let it happen. It'll feel good, trust me."

She lets out a long, nearly broken moan as her body begins to lose control, her muscles contracting involuntarily around your hand. The camera is focused on her movements, capturing every contortion, every muffled moan, as if it were the final piece of a banned masterpiece in several countries.

"Ah, ah... I can't... Oooh..." She begins to beg, her words dissolving into pure sound, as your fingers continue, relentless, pressing and circling, giving no reprieve.

"That's it, let it out... it'll feel good, just let it all out." You encourage her, your voice soft, almost paternal, a sharp irony considering the context.

And then, it happens. She arches sharply, her body trembling violently, and you feel her wet heat spill over your hand. She comes with a scream that echoes through the room, her moans transforming into a primal sound, pure instinct and release. You keep playing her, extending the moment until the last spasm fades.

The camera captures everything—the unbridled pleasure, the ecstasy etched into every curve of her body. Every tremor and sigh are recorded.

When she finally collapses on the bed, exhausted, her breathing uneven, you gently pull your fingers away, bringing your soaked hand up to the camera lens for a close-up.

"Good job, little sister," you say, a hint of teasing in your voice. She just giggles, exhausted but satisfied, her body still trembling with the last traces of pleasure.

"I knew I could trust you," she murmurs, eyes closed, a satisfied smile on her lips.

"But we're not done yet," you say. "I want you to get on all fours for me, I'll show you something.”

Eunbi eagerly complies, lying face down with that almost naive obedience, arching her back with the precision of someone who's done this before. And you, in the role of the responsible older brother, observe and film.

"Now open that ass," you say, giving her a light slap that makes her skin ripple, and without question, she pulls her small hands to spread her cheeks, revealing her tight little asshole and wet pussy, everything perfectly exposed.

You run your fingers over her pussy, wetting them carefully, like you're preparing for a sacred ritual. Then you slide the wet finger down to her tight little asshole. She shifts a bit but stays in position, letting out a low moan as you finally push the finger inside.

"This little ass is precious, you know?" you say, almost in a teacherly tone as your finger slowly explores. "No one else can play with it but me. Just me."

She moans again, a sound mixed with pleasure and a promise about to be made. "I know, brother. It’s yours... only yours."

Her voice sounds sweet, almost begging for more, and you increase the pressure with your finger, pushing a little deeper, testing how far you can go. She arches her back even more, as if trying to make your job easier, offering her body.

"Good to know you understand," you tease, and she murmurs something in agreement. "Because if anyone else tries, there’s going to be a problem, understood?"

She bites her lip, her fingers still holding her cheeks apart. "I promise, brother... it’s only yours."

You smile, satisfied with her promise. "That’s how I like it."

Eunbi remains there, face down, obedient, her hands gripping her cheeks firmly, opening herself to you as if this were the natural purpose of her existence. Her breathing is heavy but eager as your fingers explore, playing with the tight little asshole still learning what it means to belong to someone. You feel the heat of her skin, and the way she trembles with each of your movements makes it clear that despite everything, she's enjoying it.

"Good girl," you say in a tone of approval that sounds almost paternal, moving your finger with more determination now, circling slowly before pressing in again. She lets out a shaky sigh, biting her lip and closing her eyes as if trying to focus on anything other than the pleasurable discomfort you're causing.

"It... it hurts," she admits in a trembling voice, as if revealing a secret, but then immediately moans again, that strange mix of pain and desire. "But it feels good..." She arches her back a little more, as if to encourage you, even as her body struggles to adjust to the new sensation.

You chuckle, pleased with her progress. Then you wet your fingers more in her pussy.

"It’s going to hurt a bit at first," you admit, moving the wet finger more slowly now, just to test her limits. "But don’t worry. Soon enough your little ass will get used to it." The promise is made in a reassuring tone.

Eunbi lets out a louder moan as you penetrate a little deeper, her fingers gripping her cheeks tighter as if trying to steady herself. She moves, arching her back into an even more inviting angle, legs slightly apart. "You... you think?" Her voice is a mix of insecurity and excitement, almost as if she's asking for more.

"I know," you respond, soaking in the confidence of the role, moving your finger with more rhythm, teasing her. "You're a good girl, and good girls always learn fast."

She moans again, her face buried in the mattress, but her arched back continues offering everything you've asked for and more. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna be a good girl for you, brother. I promise..."

You pause for a moment, your fingers still wet from the recent exploration. Eunbi—or, for the purposes of this performance, your ‘stepsister’—breathes deeply, still arched, her body tense with anticipation. The atmosphere is thick, and for a brief second, you just stand there, silently absorbing every almost imperceptible tremor running down her spine. The camera, your silent partner, focuses on every nuance of her expression, every shiver.

“It’s time for you to find out what you’ve been wanting, princess,” you say.

“Please… put your cock in me.”

"Say please," you respond, your voice low, so heavy with desire you barely recognize it. "Be a good girl and ask politely."

Eunbi, ever the meticulous actress, turns her face toward you, her wide eyes behind the mask with an innocence that only exists in fiction—those big eyes, the kind that say ‘I’m pure, I swear,’ even when nothing happening in the room suggests anything remotely innocent. Her breathing is fast, like a theater student at the peak of their dramatic performance.

"Please..." Her voice is a fragile whisper, but sweet, carefully rehearsed to sound vulnerable. "Please, brother... I want you to put your thick cock inside my tight little pussy."

Ah, there it is. The final barrier collapsed with the weight of a house of cards pushed by a breeze. You can’t help but smile—not that the camera can catch it—as you adjust your position with the precision of a watchmaker fine-tuning a delicate gear. The heat emanating from her body is magical, and when you finally penetrate her, slowly, each inch is consumed by her pussy, which wraps around you with a softness that defies reality.

She lets out a moan—the kind of sound that floats between pleasure and surprise, as if she’s being taken into unknown territory while, at the same time, exactly where she wanted to be. "Like that... like that... please," she moans, her voice strained, fingers gripping the sheets as if she’s on the brink of an existential revelation and only the sheets can keep her from being pulled into the abyss.

You start to move, oscillating between slow and deliberate, savoring the moment like you’re tasting the finest wine in the world, while she whispers sweet words between moans.

“Yeah, good girl!” you say softly.

The pace increases, the sound of bodies colliding echoes through the room, and as Eunbi arches her back, moaning for more with an almost religious fervor, you feel like you’re in control of not just her, but the entire scene.

You begin to pick up the pace, your movements gaining a life of their own. Beneath you, Eunbi is moaning non-stop, each sound a bit louder, a bit more desperate. Then, with the precision of a medieval archer hitting the bullseye, your hand comes down fast and firm on her ass.

The slap echoes through the room like an unexpected sound. The impact is immediate: her skin turns a reddish hue, the contrast clear and satisfying against her pale skin. Eunbi lets out a moan that’s half pain, half pleasure—the kind of sound that makes you want to repeat the action just to hear it again.

"More," she moans, her eyes half-closed, her voice muffled by the sheets, as if talking to herself but at the same time asking directly for you. "Please, spank me more, brother!!”

Ah, how could you resist such a polite request? Your hand comes down again, harder this time, leaving another red mark, and her body writhes in pleasure. You begin to alternate between thrusts and slaps, creating a symphony of pleasure and impact that seems to defy the basic rules of decency.

"You like that, don't you?" you say, your voice thick with provocation, as your hand meets her ass again and again, each slap resonating like a gong in a distant temple—or, in this case, the perfect sound of approval for what you two are doing.

"Yes!" she moans, the words coming out in broken breaths, "please... don’t stop!" She raises her hips higher, almost begging for more, and you, always generous, don’t disappoint.

Another slap. Harder. Her body reacts instantly, and the moans turn into something almost primal, as if she’s surrendering completely to the sensation.

"You’re a good girl, baby," you say. "But good girls need to be reminded who’s in control."

She only moans in response, her breathing ragged, her body completely given over to the moment. And, of course, you're more than willing to keep claiming territory, with each slap and thrust taking both of you closer to an inevitable climax.

You stop for a moment, feeling the sweat drip down your forehead, looking at Eunbi and the red marks you left on her buttocks.

“Now, be a good girl and ride me,” you say. “You’re going to like this position, I promise.”

You pause the recording.

Eunbi, obedient and eager as always, pulls away from you, giving you room to lie down on the bed. And then, with a grace that would make any mythological goddess jealous, she positions herself over you. For a brief second, your eyes meet hers, and there’s that exchange of complicity. That look that says: ‘Yes, we know exactly what we’re doing.’

You resume recording.

She lowers herself onto your cock, with a slowness that’s almost torturous, but at the same time, delicious. With every inch she takes in, you feel her warmth enveloping you, the tightness that almost defies logic. She moans softly, adjusting her body, and starts to move. Slow at first, learning the right rhythm.

But, of course, that doesn’t last long.

Soon, she’s riding with more intensity, picking up the pace. Her breasts bounce under the tight baby tee, and then, with a swift movement, she pulls the fabric up, revealing her large breasts that now move freely to the rhythm of her ride.

You can’t resist – who could? – and zoom in on her breasts. Her moans, the bouncing breasts, the hips moving up and down with precision. The camera can barely keep up, but you’re not exactly thinking about perfect angles right now.

This is living art, and you’re documenting every second as best you can.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you say, half to her, half to the video. “Keep going, my good girl.”

Eunbi bites her lip, increasing the pace even more, and the room is filled with sounds – the bed creaking, her moans getting louder, the slap of bodies meeting. Your fingers grip her waist, helping to guide her, but the truth is, she’s in control for now.

And honestly, you’re not complaining.

She tilts her head back, eyes closed, her whole body focused on the frenzied movement. “Do you like watching me like this?” she asks between moans, with that completely calculated innocence, knowing exactly the effect her words have.

“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice hoarse, as you keep filming, knowing this recording will be something people will want to watch – many times.

The way she moves, even as her body consumes you inch by inch, is a balance between the innocent and the forbidden, as if she’s trying to convince you that she really is a good girl, only with a very, very fertile imagination.

“Please, brother...” she murmurs, almost in a whisper, leaning forward. The words come out in a sweet tone, with a hint of hesitation, as if testing the limits of roleplay with each syllable. “Do you think I’m being a good girl... for you?”

You smile, unable to hold back the sadistic pleasure that surfaces with the question. Your hand moves up her thigh, squeezing firmly. “You’re doing very well, little sister,” you reply. “But good girls can do better. Come on, show me how much you want to be the best.”

She bites her lip, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and nervousness – part of the act, of course, but brilliantly performed. “I... I can do better,” she says, trying her best to sound shy, as if begging for your approval. “I promise I can be the best little sister for you. Just... let me show you.”

And then, she lifts herself again and starts moving with more intensity, speeding up as her hands rest on your abs for balance. Her moans grow louder, almost stuttered, but she keeps the sweetness in her voice. “This feels so good... do you like seeing me like this, brother?” She asks, as if genuinely concerned about your verdict.

You don’t answer immediately, just watching her with that calculated expression. “You haven’t convinced me yet,” you finally say, your words sharp. “Good girls need to try harder. If you want to be my favorite, you’re going to have to work for it.”

Her eyes widen in mock concern, her breathing coming in heavier pants as her effort increases. She leans forward, her hair falling around her face as she continues to ride you, her movements becoming more intense, and the steady pace she maintains pushes you over the edge. “Brother... I’m trying,” she says between moans, her voice tinged with a mixture of effort and supposed innocence, as if the simple act of continuing is proof of her dedication. “Are you... are you enjoying it? Am I being a good girl right now?”

Your smile widens, seeing how far she’s willing to go to keep the fantasy alive. “You’re almost there, baby,” you reply with a superior tone, enjoying the power of the moment. “But good girls don’t just try. They give it their all. Show me how much you want this.”

She lets out a small moan, her eyes filled with an intensity that seemed to be growing with each movement. “I… I can do more,” she murmurs, picking up speed, her thighs now pressed against your body, rising and falling at an almost frantic pace. Her breasts bounce with the force of her ride, and her lips tremble with the effort, but she keeps going, determined.

“That’s it,” you murmur, your eyes locked on hers as you watch the hypnotic sway of her exposed breasts. “Good girl. Keep it up. Do it right!"

She bites her lip hard, clearly struggling to please you, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly as she picks up the pace even more. “I… I’m doing this for you, brother,” she moans, her voice sweet and broken, feigning complete devotion. “I want you to love me. I want to be your favorite girl. Please… love me…”

You grip her waist, helping to guide her movements. Her body moves down harder, with more determination. “If you keep it up, I might just love you,” you tease, tightening your grip. “But only if you really try. Go on, faster. Show me how much you want to be my good girl.”

She obeys, her moans louder now, mixed with panting breaths. “I’ll be… I promise,” she barely manages to say between her rapid movements. “I’ll be your good girl. The best one ever. I swear!”

“Then make me cum,” you say, your voice low and controlled, but full of expectation. “Only good girls know how to do this. Will you make it, little sister? Will you show me that you deserve it?”

She responds with only a strangled moan: “I- I w-will!”

“Then turn over,” you demand, your voice low but full of command. She stops riding you slowly, a smile on her lips, as if she’s been waiting for this order all along. She carefully turns her body, now facing away from you, her ass sticking up in a way that leaves her completely exposed. “Now you’re going to let me play with your asshole.”

"Brother... you're going to take care of me, right? Mommy and daddy said you needed to take care of me."

"Of course I'll take care of you. But now you're going to let me play with your asshole." You take your cock in one hand, holding it tight like a guide. "Come on."

She hesitates for a second, biting her lip with a hint of insecurity—not of the Eunbi you know, but of the character she's playing. "B-But... what are you going to do there, brother? You shouldn't..."

"Trust me," you murmur, almost out of patience now. "You're going to like it, it's going to make you feel really, really good."

She lets out a small moan, leaning forward, and you start to press in slowly. Entry is difficult—the pink ring of muscle resists at first, tight and almost impenetrable, as if her body is trying to say no while her mind and desire say otherwise.

"It's too tight..." she murmurs, her voice full of feigned nervousness, part of the act. But at the same time, there's something real in that sound, the little tremor in her voice as she tries to adjust herself... It's Eunbi's first anal too, not just the character's. "Do you think it'll really fit, brother?"

"It will fit," you say, your voice low, controlled, with a promise of pleasure behind it. "Just relax. You trust your brother, don't you?"

She nods, inch by inch, you feel her body giving in. The initial resistance gives way to a delicious pressure when it finally goes in. She lets out a loud moan, surprised.

“Mmm, brother… this… this is so different.” Her voice sounds vulnerable, almost shy, as she begins to move slightly, trying to get used to the intrusion.

“You’re being a good girl,” you reply, controlling the pace, thrusting in and out slowly. “You’ll like it more as you keep going.” And with each movement, each slow thrust, she begins to loosen up, her moans getting louder, her body adjusting to the pleasure.

“Come on, brother… take care of me,” she whispers.

“You’re making me so proud, baby. Your ass is perfect.”

“Ooohh, brother…” She lets out a long sigh, trying to adjust, moving her hips slightly, exploring the new sensation. “Why does this… feel so wrong, yet so good?” Her voice is of calculated innocence that drives you wilder with each passing moment.

“It’s because… sometimes, the best things are the ones we shouldn’t do,” you reply, controlling your tone to keep your character, even though the pleasure is almost knocking you over. You push deeper, feeling her insane grip. “And you’ve always been a curious girl, right? Wanting to try everything…”

She lets out a little laugh, although the tension is still there, hidden beneath the surface. “I am curious, yes, brother… I want to learn everything from you.” Then, she starts moving again, slowly at first, moving up and down hesitantly. “Do you think… I’m a good girl for wanting this?”

You can’t keep calm any longer. Her words, that sweet tone mixed with boldness, are destroying you inside. “You’re the best girl, the hottest, the most obedient,” you reply, your voice husky with desire as you hold her hips tightly to help her keep the rhythm.

“So, I’m going to make my big brother happy,” she murmurs, and with that, she starts riding you harder, her movements more confident now, her hesitation disappearing with each passing second. Each time she goes down, you feel the crushing pressure and heat, a tightness that makes you see stars. Eunbi’s moans are getting louder and louder, and beyond the character, you know how much she’s enjoying this.

“That’s it, like that,” you encourage, your hands now squeezing her ass. “Keep going, baby… show your brother how much you want to make him happy.”

Eunbi arches her back, throwing her hips back with more desire, the sound of their skin slapping against each other echoing through the room. “I’m going to… I’m going to take care of you,” she moans, between giggles, clearly enjoying the role. “But you have to take care of me too, okay? Because I’m just your little stepsister… I can’t do everything on my own…”

Her answer is almost fatal to your sanity. You pull her hips harder, helping her to go all the way down, feeling the overwhelming pleasure consume you. “I’ll take care of you,” you promise, without even thinking about the words. “I’ll teach you everything.”

She speeds up her movements, and now the room is filled with the sounds of her body against yours, her moans getting louder, more desperate. “Brother…” she begins, her voice filled with a mix of pleasure and excitement, “I think... I think I’m really enjoying this. You like being in my tight ass, don’t you?”

You almost laugh at her brazenness, but the pleasure is too much. “I love it,” you reply, feeling the urgency take over. “You’re being so good to me. Now, let me fill you with pleasure... until you can’t take it anymore.”

Eunbi continues riding, her movements now more desperate, her face clearly torn between keeping character and giving herself completely to the pleasure. “Aaaah, brother… You'll fill my ass with your cum, right? Because... you promised to take care of me.”

Her head tilts back a little, a mischievous smile lighting up her face, but her moans cut off any possible response. You’re close, so close that words no longer make sense, but the roleplay is still in the air, and you know Eunbi is going to push all the way in.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna make you cum so much, big brother. Because you’re the best brother in the world,” she moans, grinding harder, and you feel like you won’t last much longer.

“You’re going to make your brother so happy… now, get on all fours because your brother is close… I’m gonna fuck your ass until I cum.”

Eunbi lets out a short laugh, her breathing still ragged from the effort and pleasure. She slides out of you slowly, almost provocatively, and you can see how much her asshole has already opened up with your cock. When she finally stands up, she throws that playful look over her shoulder, biting her lip as if she knows exactly what she's doing.

“On all fours?” She asks, with false innocence, as she positions herself on the bed. “Do you want your sister to be like this, brother? Do you want to fill my tight asshole with your milk?”

The answer doesn't need to be verbalized — your body already speaks for you. She leans on the bed, sticking her ass up, her back arched perfectly, offering everything provocatively. The ridiculously short baby tee remains raised, her heavy breasts hanging from her body.

“You know how to obey, don't you? Good girl…”

Without further hesitation, you stand behind her, your hand running down her body, exploring the perfect curve of her hips and the pulsing heat of her skin. The camera is well positioned, capturing every angle of the final moment. Her pussy is wet, swollen with excitement, but it’s her asshole that you want now, and she knows it. Your firm hand positions itself on her ass cheeks, slowly spreading her, revealing the tight little hole that barely hides how much she enjoyed every second of it.

“Are you ready, little sister? Because now I’m going to put everything in you… and I won’t stop until I cum deep inside your ass.”

She looks back, smiling. “I trust you, brother. Do whatever you want with me.”

With that, you line up your hard cock against her narrow entrance and begin to thrust. It’s still tight, incredibly tight, and the initial resistance only makes the pleasure more intense. Eunbi lets out a muffled moan as the head of your cock finally enters, her body adjusting to the size with a mix of discomfort and pleasure.

“Ah... like that,” she moans. “My asshole is burning so much... but it’s so good.”

You push deeper, inch by inch, until you’re completely inside. The pressure is unbearable, the heat and firmness of Eunbi’s asshole squeezing you in an overwhelming way. With your hand firmly placed on her hip, you begin to push slowly, feeling her tight asshole slowly give way.

The camera focuses on this movement, of course, because, after all, the show is for the audience.

Eunbi lets out a moan, something between surprise and pleasure. “Mmm, you are so big, brother,” she murmurs, her voice cracking with the effort of keeping the role.

You go deeper, the camera recording every movement, every inch. “It's because good girls deserve big cocks,” you tease, thrusting harder now, each thrust eliciting a louder moan from her.

“I am,” she replies between gasps. “A good girl... just for you.”

The moans grow louder as you pick up the pace, fucking her ass with increasing force. The camera shakes a little in your hand, but it’s capturing everything, every detail of Eunbi’s masked expression as she grips the sheets, her fingers digging into the fabric.

As the pace intensifies, the tension in the room builds to a breaking point, and you feel the inevitable wave of pleasure about to spill over. Eunbi is panting, her moans turning into excited whispers. Your free hand grips her ass cheek tightly, keeping her open, and her tight asshole wraps around your cock like a hot trap. You know you’re close to the end, and the thought of it only increases the urgency.

"You... are going to take it all, aren't you?" The question comes out almost like a command, her voice hoarse with pleasure. The camera, forgotten for a second, shakes slightly in her hand, but it's still capturing everything.

"Yes, yes!!" she gasps, her eyes rolling back in their sockets, something the camera unfortunately doesn't capture. "I'm going to take it all! I want... I want you to fill my ass, please! ‘Cause I'm your good girl... your favorite stepsister."

Every word, spoken in that sweet, lustful voice, only makes you harder, closer to climax. You grip her hips and thrust hard, each thrust sinking deeper, every inch of your cock being devoured by that unbearable tightness.

"You like your brother's cock, don't you?" Her voice is deep now, full of the energy of someone who knows she's in control. "Tell me. Tell me what you want!"

“I... I love it!!,” she moans, her voice cracking with pleasure, as if she were about to come undone right there. “I want you to cum inside... please, make me yours, for real... Cum inside your sister!”

And that’s what pushes you over the edge.

With one last thrust, you sink your cock all the way in, feeling her body tremble with the impact. The heat begins to spread inside her, the cum spurting with an almost unbearable intensity, filling the tight little asshole of the “little stepsister” who is moaning in pleasure beneath you.

“Mmm... Fuck! Do you feel it, baby?” you tease, thrusting hard as the last hot spurt of cum floods her. “This is what you wanted, right? To be a good girl for your brother.”

She lets out a long moan, her shoulders shaking, her legs weak with pleasure. “Yes, baby… Mmm, I'm feeling all your cum deep inside me!”

You stay inside her for a few more seconds, feeling the heat of her body and the involuntary squeeze of her ass around your cock. Eunbi takes a deep breath, her moans now fading, but the satisfied smile still on her face.

"You made me feel so special," she murmurs, still in the role. "Now I'm your favorite little girl, right? Because I'm the only one who gets your cum."

You pant, lost in pleasure, your eyes closed as you answer: "It's always been you, baby... always you."

You're still breathing heavily, like you just ran a marathon, but your mind has already switched into content production mode — the ship had already sunk, so might as well make this worth something.

With the camera still in hand, you lean in for a better shot.

“Alright, show me the result,” you say bluntly, pointing the camera at the target.

Eunbi moves slowly, resting her elbows on the mattress, her legs still trembling a bit, and with a satisfied smile on her face, she spreads her cheeks with her hands, fully opening the angle for the lens.

“Is this good?” she asks with that fake sweetness you now recognize as part of the performance, but it still works anyway.

“Perfect,” you reply, adjusting the focus, the lens capturing every detail. She spreads her ass slightly, and the cum inside slowly drips out, a bright white line lazily descending, as if it knows it's the star of the show.

“Now look at the camera, baby,” you ask, while she turns her head back, her masked eyes meeting the lens with that look of pure satisfaction. “Tell them what just happened.”

Eunbi, without hesitation, slips into the sweet and innocent tone of her role, “Look what he did to me... filled my little ass with cum.” She giggles, and it's genuine, mixed with that post-climax thrill. “I guess you really like me, huh, bro?”

“Of course I do,” you say, more as part of the act than anything else.

But deep down, there’s something there that isn’t just performance.

“Now rub it a little,” you ask. Eunbi giggles, and you help her, pulling one of her cheeks while she starts rubbing a finger around the entrance, mixing your semen with her juice.

“See that, bro?” she asks with an adorable giggle, “Now I’m all dirty because of you!”

The camera focuses on the scene as you let out a tired but satisfied moan. “I can see that, princess. You got really messy.”

She keeps playing with her fingers, spreading the remnants of your load provocatively, knowing exactly how to play to the lens. “And now, what are you gonna do to me? You left my little ass all wrecked, it’s burning a lot…”

You pretend to think, but the answer is obvious. “Well, I guess now I need to take care of you, don’t I?”

“With love?” she asks, voice full of tenderness.

“With a lot of love,” you reply.

The camera finally shuts off with that classic final beep, like it’s exhausted too. You let out a sigh, while Eunbi, still catching her breath, stands up and removes the mask.

"Yeah, game over," you say, placing the camera on the desk. The vibe shifts instantly. The heavy air from the scene disappears, and the apartment feels normal again, like it had been put in studio mode for a brief moment.

Eunbi stretches her arms like she’s just woken up from a nap, then extends a hand toward you. You high-five, like two classmates finishing a school project instead of… well, what you just did.

“We did good,” she says with a tired but satisfied smile. “Teamwork was solid.”

“Yeah, it was,” you respond, still trying to process it all. “You okay? I mean... because of, you know...”

She laughs, shaking her head. “The anal? Oh, I should have used the fucking lube. But I’m fine. It stings a little, but it'll pass," she explains, as if she’s talking about a mild sunburn.

You’re not sure if you should feel relieved or admire how casually she handles it. Before you can overthink it, Eunbi suddenly turns and hugs you. The warmth of her body against yours is almost comforting, even with sweat still drying on your skin. “Seriously, thanks for doing this with me,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost vulnerable.

You stand there, a bit awkward, but aware that this moment matters. “It was kinda… weird, right?”

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, chuckling lightly. “Weird? Of course it was weird. But, like, in a funny way. It was a little bizarre at first, but then it was just… getting into character. In the end, we just… made it work.” She shrugs, and the gesture is so typical of her—practical, lighthearted, never taking things too seriously.

“Next time,” she says, pulling off her tight baby tee, “I’ll pick something less... out of the comfort zone.”

She laughs and casually grabs her panties and skirt from the floor.

You watch as she straightens up and walks toward the bedroom door, already slipping back into her natural self, as if the scene had just been a quick detour from routine.

“Wanna shower with me?” she asks, with no malice, just a simple invitation after a particularly exhausting marathon.

You hesitate, a second that feels like forever. The temptation to give in once more is strong. It’d be so easy to say 'yes,' to go with the flow. But you shake your head, declining. "I'll go later... I need to make the bed."

She raises an eyebrow, surprised by the refusal, but doesn’t push. “Alright,” she says with an easy smile, already heading for the shower. But before she crosses the door, she turns, like she’s about to say something important. You even brace yourself, expecting some post-scene revelation, some deep reflection.

“Feel like pizza tonight?” she asks, with not a trace of tension or seriousness.

“Yeah… I guess,” you reply vaguely, still trying to keep up with how quickly she shifts gears.

And then it’s just you and the messy bed. The camera’s still there, the sheets that need fixing, but what really needs fixing is your head. You wish you hadn’t agreed to film. Hadn’t let her hands on your skin convince you again. But how do you resist Eunbi when, with that smile and a promise, she makes everything seem like one big fun game, a fantasy that’s too easy to fall into?

Except while she can turn off the character with a snap and get back to her practical life, you’re stuck. Because it’s not the role that’s messing with your head, it’s what’s behind it. It’s what you feel for her, something you know shouldn’t exist and that Eunbi clearly doesn’t share. To her, it’s work, pleasure, about views and clicks. And sure, who would turn down being the lucky partner in a porn video with Eunbi?

But at the end of the day, is that all you are? You sigh, trying to focus on fixing the bed, while inside, the knot tightens.

—

It’s a cloudy morning, with that fine misty rain that barely gets you wet but can soak you through if you stand still for two minutes. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, tying the laces on your running shoes. Running is something you used to do every day, a habit you let go of for some reason that now escapes you. But today is different. You’ve decided to start running again because, as always, it helps organize the mental chaos that has become your life lately.

As you pass through the hallway, Eunbi’s bedroom door is half-open. You think about closing it to keep the warmth in, but a glow from inside stops you. It’s the light from her laptop. You hesitate, but of course, your curiosity wins. You peek in as casually as possible, and there she is: Eunbi, sleeping in a way that’s both adorable and awkward, with the laptop still on beside her, like it fell asleep with her, exhausted from hours of work. Or from whatever she spent the night editing.

You can’t help it. In fact, it’s impossible to resist. Seeing her sleep so peacefully stirs something in you, only making the mess in your head worse. Why does she have to be so… Eunbi? You walk over, switch off the laptop that’s still open on the OnlyFans homepage, with the notification icon showing +99 interactions. You close the lid carefully and place it on the desk. Then, you adjust the blankets that are haphazardly draped over her.

She stirs a bit but doesn’t wake up.

—

You start running in the park, with that light rain and cold wind cutting across your face—the kind of weather the meteorologists would call 'uncomfortable,' but you would call 'perfect for clearing your head.' Each step on the wet pavement echoes in your ears. With every breath, your chest tightens, not just from the cold, but because the only thing more intense than the physical effort is the whirlwind of thoughts now screaming in your mind.

Eunbi. Always her. Like a beautiful shadow you can’t shake. The images from last night, the mask, the dirty talk, the way she always seems to know exactly how to melt any resistance you try to build up. You almost laugh, bitterly, realizing just how pathetic it is to be stuck in this cycle.

Fuck, the truth is you’ve been hopelessly in love with her for a while now. Of course, you have, but the problem isn’t knowing it—it’s figuring out what to do about it. You’re running, trying to escape the reality that no matter how much you love Eunbi, she seems to be in a completely different universe. A universe where she can suggest absurd things, like some ridiculous roleplay or a threesome, while you, the idiot, are more worried about the color of the blanket you adjusted for her earlier.

Sweat drips down your forehead, mixing with the rain. You pick up the pace, trying to turn this confusion into clarity. You can’t keep living on this emotional rollercoaster. Every time she involves you, you convince yourself it’s just your body being used as a tool, just another role to play to help her grow in this obscure niche.

But with every touch, every smile, your mind whispers: What if it’s not?

What if, somehow, she’s just as lost in this as you are?

Maybe if you finally tell her how you feel, the pieces will fall into place. She could leave this life of videos, masks, and scripts behind. It would be a release for both of you. And then, you could have something normal. A real relationship. One that doesn’t involve cameras and personas. The idea starts to take shape, becoming clearer with every mile you run. You love Eunbi. Simple. And you need to tell her. Simple as that.

Well, in theory.

The park is empty, except for a few brave souls who also thought running in the cold was a fantastic idea. You run one more lap, your body asking for rest, but your mind now buzzing with purpose. When you get back to the apartment, you’ll tell her. Direct and honest.

Then your phone vibrates. You slow down, your shoes hitting the wet ground more softly as you pull out your phone. A message. It’s from your friend. I think it worked, he writes. Your heart races in a different way this time. HR liked her profile. I think they’re gonna make an offer, man. Stay tuned. You almost slip on the path, coming to a sudden stop.

What worked? Oh, right. The plan.

The plan you secretly put together.

The job opening at the company where your friend works, in the marketing department.

The one where you secretly submitted Eunbi’s LinkedIn profile, trying to give her a chance to get out of this crazy content creator life.

Looks like the damn universe is finally working in your favor.

You find yourself smiling like an idiot.

‘It worked.’

She could have a normal life, away from the cameras, and you could start fresh together.

You barely even feel the fatigue anymore.

Now there’s only one thing left: the conversation with Eunbi.

Because, of course, confessing your feelings to a woman you see every day, who sleeps in the room next to yours, with whom you’ve been through situations that would challenge any definition of ‘strange,’ should be easy, right?

You take a deep breath.

No, it won’t be easy.

But it’ll be worth it.

—

Eunbi is in the kitchen, still looking half-asleep as she holds a cup of coffee. The dim light from the cloudy morning mixes with the cold glow of her phone screen, which she scrolls through lazily with her thumb. The coffee—a blend of ‘I need to wake up’ and’ 'I’m not sure this will help’—warms her hands, but her mind is far from awake. Her reflection on social media, though, is wide awake.

With an automatic gesture, she opens the comment tab on the latest video. It’s the new roleplay video you and she recorded the day before. The video had already racked up an impressive number of views. She sighs, taking a sip as she reads through the comments. It’s the usual mix of praise, teasing, and, of course, the kind of absurdity only the internet can provide.

"Little sis, you drove me crazy today!"

Eunbi lets out a muffled laugh. "Little sis" was probably the mildest term she came across in that sea of comments.

She quickly types a reply:

"Careful, or 'big brother' will get you too! 😘"

"I wish I were your blood brother, damn, just to make it all wrong!! I'd sneak into your room every night after our parents were asleep so we could 'play' together 😈"

Who knew people could take a weird fantasy and make it even more bizarre and unsettling?

"You need therapy, darling, but thanks for the love 🙂"

"The way you bit your lip... it made me... lose my mind."

Ah yes, the detail-oriented observers. They're always around.

"Glad I could help!!"

And then comes the classic:

"Step on me more, mommy!!!"

This time, she laughed out loud. What kind of twisted logic was this?

'Mommy' in a little sister video?

"Sweetie, pick a fantasy. I can't be your little sis AND your mommy at the same time 😅"

"Just show your face already, everyone knows you're hot"

She paused for a second. That comment felt like a jab somewhere inside her. Her face was the last piece she kept hidden, the final wall of protection between Eunbi and the world she had chosen to explore.

She took another sip of coffee as the comments kept popping up on the screen. The amount of absurdity was always a surprise, even for her. But the show had to go on, and responding was an important part of ‘engagement’.

Ah, the wonderful engagement.

"You’re my muse. One day, I’ll marry you!"

She rolled her eyes but kept a polite tone in her reply:

"Glad to inspire... but let’s start with something simpler, like not marrying strangers from the internet.

Kisses 😘"

Next comment.

"I'd give anything to be that tight top on your massive tits 😊"

Eunbi nearly dropped her phone from laughing so hard. What kind of fetish was this now? She took a deep breath before typing:

"Well, it’s actually a baby tee, but I guess clothes live too dull a life for anyone to want to be one. But who am I to judge your dreams?"

Another one popped up right after.

"Hey sis, how about teaching me in person? I’ve got so much to learn... 😏"

Ah, the ever-eager students. She rolled her eyes again, smiling slightly.

"You can learn a lot on your own with a good imagination!"

"You should make a video stepping on Legos barefoot. I bet that would be amazing!!!"

What? Where did these people come from? She bit her lip, trying to hold back laughter as she typed her reply:

"I try to keep my videos at an entertainment level, not torture 🥰 But I appreciate the creativity!"

"It’s obvious you only do this because you love being a slut, I can see it in your expression, even with the mask 🔥 I’m already your number one fan."

Her smile faltered a little. A mix of praise and silent invasion that left her with a mild discomfort.

"Glad you enjoyed the content! Loving what I do is essential. But don’t get too carried away, alright?"

She gave one last glance at the rising view and like counts, but the comments started to lose their charm.

And that’s when the ping of a LinkedIn notification appeared at the top of the screen. An app she had basically forgotten she had installed since the last time she used it was to block an annoying old guy who was pestering her.

She reads the message:

Subject: Job Opportunity - Marketing Department.

Dear Kwon Eunbi,

We are pleased to inform you that your profile has caught the attention of our Marketing Department. After a brief review, we would like to invite you to participate in the selection process for the position of Marketing Analyst.

Responsibilities:

- Development of communication and digital marketing strategies;

- Analysis of KPIs and market trends;

- Collaboration with creative teams and planning advertising campaigns;

Requirements:

- Bachelor’s degree in Marketing or related fields;

- Previous experience managing digital campaigns;

Benefits:

- Competitive salary;

- Health and dental plan;

- Flexibility for hybrid work (remote);

We look forward to your response to schedule an interview.

She almost spits out her coffee.

What the hell is this?!

For a second, everything seemed to make sense, as if the universe was aligning the stars to give her a 'respectable' way out.

But only for a second.

In truth, it felt like the damn universe was conspiring against her.

The thought of waking up early every day, dressing like an executive, sitting in a cubicle, and smiling at people she probably couldn’t stand while doing mechanical tasks...

“No, no, no. No way,” she says aloud in the empty apartment as anxiety starts to tighten around her. And the strangest part is that she feels... bad. Bad for not wanting it. Bad for thinking she should want it.

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her mind. Maybe she should, right? Maybe being ‘normal’ would be easier. Maybe this whole video thing is just a phase. She looks at her coffee, as if it held the answers, but it only reflected her face back at her. She gulps the rest down, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

On the one hand, the college-era Eunbi would’ve jumped for joy at this message. A great job in her field, something ‘respectable’ career-wise; it doesn’t get much better than that.

Well, to be fair, it wasn’t exactly her big dream, but who, after all, dreams of spreadsheets and endless emails? But now, the idea of a normal life, with bosses, deadlines, and white collars, suffocates her more than any corset in a photoshoot. She’s thinking about how good it felt to leave all that behind, how much she loved the freedom she had now.

Sure, she graduated, but that’s not what she wants.

Not anymore.

But

On the other hand, something inside her hesitated to accept that she didn’t want this opportunity. It was like there was a younger version of her somewhere, screaming in panic: "You can’t be serious, right? Turning down a job like that to... keep being a virtual slut? You’re definitely not me..." And that little voice it's annoying because it hit on an uncomfortable truth. She had, at some point, carved out a different path. A temporary one. And now, this path it's leading her into the unknown, and this offer it's like a way back to her old life.

Monotonous, but dignified.

Difficult, but without exposure.

The safe choice or the leap into the abyss.

College-era Eunbi would say being stuck in an absurd dilemma like this was insane. But the Eunbi of today knows that 'conventional' career isn’t for her.

"This is my life now," she murmurs to herself. Creating adult content wasn’t just a choice; it was her choice. And not only is she going to keep doing it — she’s going all in!

Showing her face.

Now that would be a bold move.

No more masks.

The real Eunbi for the world.

She only has one small obstacle ahead: you. She needs to tell you. Explain how things were about to change. Show you that, even though she once said this was temporary, she’s rediscovered herself and finally found something she’s good at and willing to put her effort into.

She sighs and thinks about the conversation she’ll have. Knowing you, it’s going to be a tough one. You’ll definitely want to argue, try to convince her to take the more traditional route, thinking you’re protecting her. But it’s her life, her body, her decisions.

And if she’s going all in, she has to start by being honest.

When you get back, she’ll lay it all out. In the meantime, she stretches, still feeling the weight of the job offer, and tries to imagine the look on your face when she explains her plans.

—

You come back from the run looking like a drowned rat, which, considering the weather outside, is a reasonably accurate description. Your shoes make that annoying sponge sound as you walk across the room, and Eunbi is there, sitting on the couch, sipping coffee like she’s contemplating the meaning of life—or more realistically, deciding what her next big revelation of the morning is going to be.

“Good morning,” you mutter, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Good morning...” she replies. You look away as if you have something really important to do—like grab a towel.

The bathroom is a good place to rehearse difficult conversations, so you do that while you dry off, but the words still sound wrong in your head. It’s not like there’s a manual on how to confess to your best friend that you’re in love with her after you’ve filmed sex videos together.

It would be helpful if there was.

After grabbing a coffee and taking a sip, bracing yourself for the bomb you’re about to drop, you walk back to the living room. Eunbi is still there, but now you’re looking at each other like two actors who know the big scene is coming, but neither wants to be the first to step on stage.

“We need to talk,” you both say at the same time, which would be funny if it weren’t an absolutely terrible moment for comedy.

“You first,” you say, trying to sound generous.

“No… you, please,” she insists.

“Okay,” you sigh, sitting down on the couch, already feeling the weight of what’s about to happen. The words gather in your throat, like a rescue team about to jump out of a helicopter. “Look, what I’m about to say isn’t easy. In fact, it’s pretty hard. And it could... well, it could change our friendship. Maybe forever.”

Eunbi nods, encouraging you, though her expression clearly says, ‘I know this is big, but I’m going to pretend I’m calm.’

“I love you,” you finally say, the words coming out stronger than you expected. “And no, it’s not just a friend thing. I’m in love with you, and I’ve been feeling this for a while. Since... since we started filming together, actually. Every time we did a scene, something inside me got more confused, like the fake sex was revealing real feelings.”

Eunbi looks at you, surprised, but she doesn’t interrupt, so you keep going. “I thought it was temporary, something that would go away over time, but it only got stronger. And honestly, I can’t keep going like this, pretending nothing’s changed, because it has. I’m in love with you, for real. I want to be with you. Not just filming together, but... living with you, as a couple. I want us to be real.”

You take a deep breath, feeling some of the tension release from your chest, but vulnerability quickly takes its place. Eunbi looks at you, her eyes slightly teary, and then, before anything else, she says, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” you repeat, confused.

“For making you film all of this with me. I didn’t know what you were going through. I had no idea it was hurting you inside. If I’d known...” She pauses, trying to find the right words, but they seem as hard for her as they were for you. “I would’ve stopped.”

You shake your head, almost laughing, but not in a happy way. “No, you don’t have to apologize. What matters is now, and now is that... I’m being honest. I love you.”

She smiles, that smile you know so well, but now it seems different, softer, more... meaningful. “I like you too. A lot. And I’m not just saying that because you confessed. It’s weird, you know? I’ve been in relationships before, but it was never like this. We have this... bond, this connection I’ve never had with anyone. And I think, actually, I’ve always felt something for you, I just didn’t know exactly what it was. Now I do.”

She pauses, wiping away a solitary tear that escaped despite her efforts. “I want this too. I want to be with you. For real. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. We’ve spent so much time together, it... feels right. It feels like it’s how it’s supposed to be.”

You feel your heart leap in your chest. It’s surreal, all of this.

“So...?”

“So... I guess we’re together,” she says, still smiling, and this time you feel like the smile is for you, and only you.

“Finally,” you say, half-joking, but it’s an undeniable truth.

Still in the high of the magical moment, your heart beating faster than usual for all the right reasons, you decide now is the perfect moment to drop your second bomb.

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” you say, smiling like someone who just found a lost bill in their coat pocket. “Great news, actually. My friend messaged me. The company where he works loved your profile!! You might be getting a job offer soon!”

You wait for a scream of happiness, a tight hug, or even an improvised celebratory dance, but none of that happens. Eunbi doesn’t react the way you imagined. In fact, she seems to have frozen in place, as if someone hit the pause button on real life.

“So it was you?” she asks, her voice suddenly cold.

“Me?” you repeat, having no idea where this is coming from. “Me what?”

She sighs, like someone on the verge of losing their patience. “I got a job offer on LinkedIn.”

You blink, absorbing the information, and then smile widely. “Oh, so it worked! That’s great! I mean, now you have a chance to get out of this life... right?” But Eunbi’s expression, far from joyful, is one of... anger? Something between irritation and deep disappointment starts to form in her eyes.

“Why the hell did you do that?” she asks, her tone more like a police interrogation than a simple question.

You’re stunned, you feel like you’ve just been slapped in the face. “What? I was trying to help. I just wanted what’s best for you!”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she fires back, her tone growing harsher, like someone who’s been holding something in for a long time and finally let it out.

The ground starts to shift beneath your feet, the romantic and peaceful moment now turning into an unexpected storm. “Drop the pride, Eunbi,” you say, trying to maintain control of the situation. “This is your chance to get out of this life. You don’t have to keep doing... you know, what you’re doing now. And now that we’re on the same page, that you feel something for me too, we can be a real couple. Isn’t that what you want?”

She looks at you for a long, silent moment, as if she’s trying to decide if you’re really as clueless as you seem or if you’re just pretending not to understand what’s happening.

“This has nothing to do with pride,” she says, finally, with a calm that’s more frightening than any scream. “That job offer... it made me feel like crap! It made me rethink everything. Who I am, what I want... And you just... don’t get it.”

You really don’t get it.

Of all the scenarios that ran through your head, this one didn’t even come close to showing up. “I don’t understand. You wanted a stable job in your field, didn’t you?”

She shakes her head, exasperated. “I thought I did. I mean, that was the initial plan when I got fired from my last job. But... I can’t. I don’t want to... What I’m trying to tell you is that I’m not going to take that job.”

The silence that follows is so heavy you can almost hear the sound of raindrops hitting the window.

“So, what are you going to do?” you ask, your voice quieter than you expected.

Eunbi looks you in the eye, and suddenly, the full weight of what she’s about to say appears in her expression. “I’m going to keep doing what I do. I’m going to be an adult content creator, but this time, I’m going all in. No more anonymity. I’m going to show my face. That’s what I’ve decided. This is going to be my life now.”

It’s at that moment that your brain, which had been busy processing the joy of the love confession, just stops working.

This wasn’t in the script.

She was supposed to be happy about the job, you were supposed to be celebrating and planning a future as a normal couple.

Not this...

“You... you want to keep doing this?” you ask, incredulity leaking into every word.

She looks at you with a mix of sadness and determination. “Yes. I want to keep doing it. I want people to see me. I want to keep doing what I do. I love it. And if you’re going to be with me, you’re going to have to accept all of that too.”

The words echo in the room. You stand there, looking at her, trying to fit the pieces of this emotional puzzle that, until seconds ago, was a beautiful, simple picture of a future together. Now, it feels more like one of those abstract paintings people pretend to understand.

She takes a deep breath, and you can tell that the emotion is about to overflow. "Look... I really love you. Truly. And if you want, I'll be the happiest woman in the world by your side. But—" she pauses, the word hanging in the air like a sword about to fall, "if you want to be with me, you’re going to have to accept this Eunbi. The Eunbi you see now, who does what she does. And the weight that comes with it."

Silence. You hear your heart pounding in your chest, so loud it's a wonder Eunbi can't hear it too. The world feels like it’s moving in slow motion, the time between blinks stretching out as if the master of time himself is waiting to see what you’ll say. But what can you say? You’re still processing everything. The confession, the proposal, the fact that she wants to continue in this career—and wants you to be a part of it.

"You... you want to... keep going?" The question comes out hesitantly. You can hardly believe you're asking it. The shock is a physical thing, sitting between you like a third person in the room.

Eunbi, her eyes already shining with tears she’s trying so hard to hold back, nods. "Yes. I want to keep going. I want people to see me. I want to keep doing what I do. I love it. And if you’re going to be with me, you’ll have to accept all of that too."

The tears finally fall, one after the other, as if gravity had won the battle she was trying to fight. You watch, unsure if what you’re feeling is fear, sadness, or some strange sense of relief.

Maybe all of it at once.

She continues, her voice now shaky but still steady. “You can think it over, if you want. This is serious. Our parents are going to find out sooner or later. You know the kind of exposure we’ll face... that I’ll face. And if you’re with me, we’ll be facing that together.”

Eunbi looks directly at you, the intensity in her eyes almost painful. “You warned me about this before. You’ve always worried about me. But if you stay with me now, there’s no going back. People we know might find out, they might see. Are you really willing to risk everything because of me?”

Another pause. This time, it’s not dramatic. It’s just a simple pause, where your mind, suddenly overwhelmed by all these emotions, finds a small space of clarity.

And in that space, the decision that seemed so complicated just moments ago suddenly makes sense.

“Yes,” you say, the word leaving your mouth with a calmness that surprises even you. Eunbi’s eyes widen, as if she isn’t sure she heard you right.

“I accept,” you continue, firmly. "I accept you as you are. If this is what you want to do with your life, then that’s fine by me. I’ll be by your side, no matter what."

She stands there, looking at you like you're some kind of alien that just landed on Earth. And then the tears she was holding back finally fall. But this time, they aren’t tears of sadness or anger. They’re something completely different. Relief, maybe. Or raw happiness, the kind you rarely see.

“Are you sure?” she asks, between sobs. "I... I mean, this won’t be easy! You can think about it more. You can really consider what you’re accepting, what it’s going to mean for you, for us."

You give her that half-smile, the one you know always made her feel safe. "Eunbi," you say, calmly, "I’ve already thought about it. I accept the risk, the exposure. I accept you... As long as I’m with you, it’s all okay."

And with that, she falls apart. Not in a sad or uncontrolled way, but in a beautiful, genuine way. She starts crying, but they’re tears of gratitude, of love, of everything she’s held inside for so long.

You step closer and wrap your arms around her, as if trying to protect her from the whole world. She cries into your chest, her words lost between sobs. You kiss the top of her head, taking in the familiar scent of the shampoo she always uses.

"I love you so much," she says through her tears, her voice muffled against you.

"I love you too," you reply, with a sincerity that fills her up from the inside. “We’re in this together.”

And then, there, in the midst of tears, hugs, and confessions, the world seems to align again. The mess it was before starts to make sense.

Okay, maybe it’s not a fairy tale, but who needs a fairy tale ending when you can have something this real, this alive, this raw, this imperfect and yet, somehow, so absolutely perfect?

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

With her.

—

[Rubydden] Three minutes ago

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