#author: Blue Stiletto

[ssa-dado]

I could totally see Aaron being jealous. Maybe a oneshot of her meeting Sean Hotchner for the first time.

Covering Up - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff Summary: You’re late, and while Gideon’s passive-aggressive remarks are expected, it’s Hotch who really has you on edge. But it’s not just his authority; it’s the way you inadvertently caught the attention of Hotch’s brother, Sean. Warnings: None, just wanted to clarify the story is set around late 1998 or early 1999, before Hotch became Unit Chief (Gideon was in charge instead). Word Count: 3k Dado's Corner: You didn't see this coming, did you? Something cute to celebrate the end of the year. Sorry it took so much to respond, I totally forgot about this ask... hope you like itttttt. Again, HOTCH IN LOOOOOOOVE but doesn't want to admit hahaha what a fool.

masterlist

You were late today. Remarkably late.

For the first time ever in your life.

And while the idea of Gideon giving you one of his passive-aggressive “I’m not mad, just disappointed” speeches wasn’t exactly fun, there was one person who truly terrified you in this situation.

Hotch.

How ironic: it wasn’t your boss you were afraid of - it was your fussy coworker. The same coworker whose desk, unfortunately, happened to sit right in front of yours.

Perfect.

You were still trying to salvage your dignity in the elevator, jabbing at the elevator button, fumbling with your hair as the doors closed. Maybe an updo would make you look less… late. But by the time you reached your floor, the mess you’d made felt more “distressed damsel” than “competent federal agent.”

So, naturally, you made the split-second decision to undo the whole thing, pulling your hair loose halfway to your desk.

You winced.

Not because anyone was watching - everyone seemed too absorbed in their own work - but because if someone had been looking, you’d have perfectly executed that clichéd, overly dramatic hair flip straight out of a low-budget action movie.

The kind made by men, for men.

The ones where the femme fatale struts into the room, stiletto heels clicking, hair whipping in slow motion, cleavage doing all the talking, her entire existence engineered for the male gaze.

And here you were. No stilettos. No slow motion. Just… the hair flip.

Fantastic.

You shook it off, hoping to slink to your desk unnoticed, now more focused to brace yourself for the silent judgement of-

A man.

Not the man you expected - Hotch.

An actual man, a somehow handsome man.

Oh God. He’d definitely seen you do the dramatic hair flip.

His smirk confirmed it - no need for a profiler to figure that one out.

A man, sitting comfortably in Hotch’s chair. And, notably, no Hotch in sight.

“Are you here for a consultation with Agent Hotchner?” you asked, doing your best to sound at least professional as you set your bag down.

He chuckled – like you were the punchline of some inside joke you weren’t in on. “Actually, yes.”

Though you couldn’t help but study him... it was in your nature afterall.

He was about Hotch’s height, blond, blue-eyed, and generically good-looking in a way that probably gave him the nerve to sit at an agent’s desk without any kind of second thought.

But what really stood out? He looked about your age.

Very early twenties - which, mathematically speaking, made him way too young to be here asking for a consultation.

Not that you were one to talk. You were constantly reminded you were “too young” to be working for the FBI. So, at least you had that in common.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he read from your badge, dragging out the syllables for some of his twisted reasons you chose to ignore. Then he smirked. “You’re young.”

“She is.” Hotch’s voice cut through the air before you could form a response, making you startle slightly. He was suddenly there, right behind you, like he’d materialized out of thin air.

“Sean,” he said, his tone clipped in that uniquely Hotch way that made you feel guilty even if you’d done nothing wrong, “I told you to wait for me outside.”

“And why are you so late?” Hotch added, his focus snapping to you with laser precision, his brows drawing together in that way that made your stomach twist in both irritation and… something else.

Classic Aaron Hotchner.

Two seconds on the scene, already cataloging what annoyed him. Efficiency at its finest.

“Damn, Aaron, relax. It’s barely been a minute,” Sean said, standing up finally, though not without flinching slightly under the weight of Hotch’s glare.

He stepped closer to you, extending a hand like he wasn’t about to be vaporized by the man’s disapproval. “I’m Sean, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

Before you could decide whether to shake his hand or politely tell him to run for cover, Hotch’s voice sliced through the air, as sharp and unyielding as ever. “No, you haven’t. Y/N, this is Sean, my brother. Sean, this is Agent Y/L/N, my partner.”

It took approximately two seconds after those words left his mouth for Hotch to realize he’d made not one but two rookie mistakes.

The first? The fact that, for some reason, you got to be “Y/N” while Sean - his brother - was firmly stuck with Agent Y/L/N.

A seemingly innocuous choice, but an interesting one.

Almost as if Hotch didn’t want Sean to forget who you were. Or worse, as if he wanted to keep that small, intimate privilege - using your first name - exclusively for himself.

And why?

Perhaps because, whether he admitted it or not, you’d managed to take up residence in his overworked brain. You weren’t just his colleague - you were his very own walking, talking paradox.

Equal parts intellect and quick wit, you could quote anything from your beloved dead philosophers as easily as you could dismantle someone’s argument with a single sarcastic comment.

You lingered, persistently, in his thoughts - too vividly, too often - so much so that you’d even started showing up in his dreams.

That might explain why his tongue betrayed him now - a slip you would undoubtedly label as ‘textbook Freudian.’

Somehow, through the cracks in the armor of the man who prided himself on control and precision, a truth he had no business acknowledging had leaked out.

Because, inexplicably and irreversibly, he’d just let his younger brother - of all people - catch the faintest glimpse of something he refused to admit even to himself: that he wasn’t entirely indifferent to you.

Not that Sean picked up on it - yet.

No, Sean’s focus was already drifting toward his second mistake, the one Hotch really hoped would keep Sean too distracted to notice the first. And, to Hotch’s silent horror, it worked like a charm.

“Partner?” Sean repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Are the two of you…?” He let the insinuation hang, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

Because here’s the thing - thanks to the way Hotch had worded it, Sean wasn’t just thinking that his big brother was casually sleeping with you. Oh no, this was way bigger.

This was Sean, standing here wide-eyed and completely convinced that his older, emotionally constipated, miserably single brother - who’d spent years brooding after his breakup Haley - had somehow not only managed to get a girlfriend but had kept it a secret.

And worse? That this whole scenario meant Hotch was maybe, just maybe, a little happy these days.

That alone was enough to blow Sean’s mind.

But before his imagination could run too far, you stepped in, your voice sharp and immediate. “God, no,” you blurted, practically recoiling from the suggestion.

“No,” Hotch said at the same time, though in stark contrast to your reaction, his was flat and unbothered.

Sean chuckled at your synchronized denial, which only prompted Hotch to fix you with one of his looks - the kind that felt like it could peel layers off your soul. Judgy, silent, but impossibly loud at the same time.

The kind of look that made you curious.

“Was he like this as a kid,” you asked Sean, “or was he ever actually a normal person?”

Sean’s smirk widened. “The only difference between then and now is that now they pay him to act like this.”

You laughed, loud and genuine, and Sean joined in - a perfect snapshot of solidarity between two survivors of Hotch’s relentless Hotch-ness. “Though I have to wonder… maybe he misunderstood the government’s contributions as a green light to act this way. It’s kind of like when you teach a dog to stand on two legs for a treat, and then he just keeps doing it.” You commented.

You and Sean burst into laughter, your voices echoing through the bullpen, while Hotch just stood there.

Watching. Seething.

But not entirely for the reasons he’d expect.

Sure, he was irritated that you had the audacity to make fun of him within perfect earshot - a clear, deliberate payback for all the grief and micromanagement he’d put you through.

But there was something deeper beneath his discomfort, something far more unsettling.

It wasn’t just that you were laughing at him - it was that you were laughing with Sean.

That easy, effortless kind of laughter, the kind he so rarely managed to coax out of you. Sean, his little brother, was already pulling it out of you like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like he’d cracked some code Hotch didn’t even know existed.

And that stung. More than it should’ve.

Because as much as he told himself it was ridiculous - childish, even - he couldn’t shake the flicker of jealousy curling in his chest.

A low, unwelcome burn.

It wasn’t just about the laughter. It was the way you looked at Sean. The way you seemed curious, intrigued by him in a way that made Hotch feel like an outsider in his own space. Like he was standing just outside the circle, close enough to see but not close enough to touch.

And he hated that.

He hated how much it bothered him.

Hated that he cared at all.

Hated the fact that, for all his discipline and carefully crafted walls, you always managed to slip through the cracks.

Unnoticed until it was too late.

Though you weren’t quite as unnoticed by everyone else.

Standing on the mezzanine, there was Gideon, watching you with that unshakeable calm of his. His eyes locked onto yours, and before you could even catch your breath, he called you over to his office.

It was probably for showing up two full hours late, but who could say?

Panic was all over you, though you were certain you kept it well-hidden - at least, you hoped so.

But before you could second-guess yourself, Hotch, who had been silently observing everything, grabbed a file from his desk and walked toward you at a precise angle that turned his back to Gideon.

Then, in a blur of words, he started speaking faster than you thought possible.

“I covered for you,” he said, voice low and hurried. “Tell him you went to see your mom yesterday. You took the 5:07 a.m. train. It broke down in Baltimore - stuck for an hour and forty-two minutes. That’s why you’re late. It’s all fact checked. If he asks - and he probably won’t - you don’t have the ticket because after a 90-minute delay, the company offers a full reimbursement if you send in the original.”

Before you could process what he was saying, he thrust the file into your hands.

“I filled out all the interrogatory statements for the Arlington case. If he asks why I had them, say I’m an idiot and that you cracked the unsub before I did, so the paperwork fell to me.” His dark eyes bore into yours, and for the first time since you’d met him, he sounded almost…desperate. “Don’t panic.”

Your brain short-circuited. The only thing you managed was a breathless, “Thanks.”

He watched you go, tracking every step you took until you disappeared into Gideon’s office. His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his side like he was bracing himself to pull you out of trouble if it came to that.

Though Sean, ever the opportunist, broke the silence. “Since when do you cover for people?” he asked.

Hotch didn’t bother looking at him, his focus firmly fixed on the files in his hands, though his grip had tightened ever so slightly. “Since her boss called her in for something unfair. She’s the first - well, second - person to arrive every day and the last to leave. She works harder than anyone here, including me, and she never complains about it. It’s not fair to punish her for being late once when she’s the one who picks up everyone else’s slack. This is a one-time thing, and frankly, it’s probably for the best - at least she got some sleep for once.”

Was that an over-articulated answer to what was likely more of an exclamation than an actual question? Yes. But better to be thorough than shallow - or at least, that’s what Hotch told himself.

Sean, on the other hand, had no qualms about being a bit shallow.

“You’re sure that’s the reason she was late?” Sean asked, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “Not because she, you know…” He trailed off, tilting his head, the mischievous grin practically begging Hotch to take the bait.

No. Of course not.

Not that there would’ve been anything wrong with it. Not because he wanted to come off as paternalistic or prudish about it.

Hell, if you really did, he hoped it was… fine.

Great, even.

But then, there was that annoying, traitorous part of him whispering - shouting, really - that he hoped it wasn’t too good.

Or serious.

Or anything worth bringing up more than once.

Damn it, Hotchner, could he not just be a normal, well-adjusted adult and be happy for someone else’s happiness without making it weird? Apparently not.

Still, he needed to give an actual response. Out of the 600,000 words available in the English language, what did he choose? The most original, expressive, and earth-shattering one of all: “No.”

Of course, it probably came out sounding way too sharp, betraying every tightly-coiled emotion he was trying to keep hidden.

Luckily - or unluckily - Sean was too busy zeroing in on something else to even notice.

“So,” Sean began, dragging out the word, “she’s single.”

…it wasn’t even a question.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, his patience already wearing thin. “Yes.” He admitted. “But don’t think about it.” He stopped him, already knowing where this conversation would eventually go.

“Why not?” Sean asked, his smirk practically carved into his face now. “You like her?” The teasing lilt in his voice was impossible to miss, but beneath it, there was a flicker of genuine curiosity.

Yes. Absolutely.

More than liked.

Liked in a way that he thought about you far too often, in places he shouldn’t, and at times he didn’t have the luxury of indulging.

Liked in a way that made him occasionally catch himself smiling in the middle of a meeting because some stray thought of you had slipped past his defenses.

Liked in a way that he imagined you during his early-morning runs, wondering if you’d find the sunrise as breathtaking as he did - or if you’d roll your eyes at his choice of music.

You probably would, because it was either the original cast recording of whatever Broadway musical he’d recently become obsessed with, or something from The Beatles.

Not just their classics, but the deeper cuts - the kind his mom had played on repeat during her own Beatlemania phase back in the ’60s, which was, admittedly, a phenomenon he’d inherited in his own way.

He liked you in a way that felt ridiculous, really.

Like the time he caught himself wondering if you’d like the tie he was wearing, not that he’d ever admit he chose it with you in mind.

Or when he stayed up too late re-reading one of your old case reports, pretending it was for work when it was really just to admire how sharp and thoughtful your insights were.

But admitting that? Out loud?

To Sean, of all people?

He’d rather reorganize the mountain of case files sitting on your desk alphabetically and chronologically - twice.

“No,” Hotch said instead, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact. “I work with her, Sean.”

Sean wasn’t one to let things go easily - especially when he sensed he was onto something. “Okay, so you work with her,” he said, dragging out the words like they were some kind of weak excuse. “But that doesn’t explain why I can’t take a shot. What’s stopping me?”

Hotch’s jaw clenched as he shifted his attention back to the windows of Gideon’s office. He didn’t want to say it, but he also didn’t trust his brother to let the subject drop without some kind of deflection. “You’re not her type,” he said flatly.

Sean blinked, caught off guard for a moment before recovering with an incredulous laugh. “Not her type? How do you know what her type is?”

Hotch didn’t respond right away.

He didn’t need to.

The deadpan look he shot Sean over his shoulder was enough to say ‘I know her type because I know her’.

Sean, however, wasn’t deterred. “Okay, genius, enlighten me. What exactly is her type, then? Because I’m charming, good-looking, and - let’s not forget - single.” He motioned to himself like he was presenting the world’s greatest catch.

Hotch sighed. “Her type,” he began almost whispering, now suddenly afraid that someone would hear him, “is someone more serious. Someone who knows how to respect her work ethic, her intelligence, and the fact that she’s earned her place here. Someone who doesn’t think he can waltz in and-” He cut himself off, realizing he was veering dangerously close to sounding personal.

Too personal.

Too bad he stopped talking before he could drop the one crucial piece of information Sean probably needed to know: as far as Hotch knew, you only dated older... much older.

And him being the same age as you? Yeah, that definitely didn’t work in his favor.

Sean tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So… basically, someone who isn’t me. But someone who is… maybe a little more like you?” He watched the way Hotch’s shoulders stiffened at the suggestion.

Hotch turned fully to face his brother, his expression dark. “Sean,” he warned, his voice a low rumble.

But Sean wasn’t fazed. “I’m just saying, Aaron. You’re standing here, going on about how she deserves someone serious and respectful and all that, but you’re practically describing yourself. So maybe the reason you don’t want me going after her is because-”

“That’s enough,” Hotch interrupted, his tone sharp enough to cut through any further teasing. “It’s not appropriate, and it’s not happening. End of discussion.”

Sean held up his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk stayed firmly in place. “Alright, alright. But for the record, you didn’t deny it.”

Hotch didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Instead, he turned back toward the windows of Gideon’s office, his gaze locking on your profile once more.

Sean followed his brother’s line of sight, leaning closer “She really does have you all twisted up, doesn’t she?”

Hotch ignored him.

But as much as he wanted to pretend Sean was wrong, the burn in his chest told him otherwise.

Because 'twisted up' was probably an understatement for what you were doing to him.

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[nottslove]

LA MIA PRINCIPESSA

Pairing: theo nott x reader 4.5k words

Warnings: 18+, smut under the cut, mdni, porn without plot, established relationship, google translated italian, mirror play, unprotected sex, piv, size kink, praising, degrading, dirty talk, creampie, vaginal sex, hair pulling dry humping, cursing, swearing, mentions of breeding kink, mentions of drug use (theo smoking), lowercase intended.

Summary: modern au. it's your birthday and theo decides to give you a diamond tiara as a birthday present, so you thank him later that night.

Author's note: had this idea in my mind, so i decided to write it.. please, please comment!! and please do send in requests if you have any! i write for all the slytherin boys, not just theo!!

YOU were always thankful your birthday fell in the summer. It always meant that you didn't have to spend your special day in school, listening to teachers droll on and on whilst you sat in class or get to bed early because of the curfew.

No, you got to do whatever you wanted during your birthday, spending it however you wanted without limit. You didn't have to spend it in the classroom like a regular day, you didn't have to worry about waking up early the next day, you didn't have to worry about dealing with a hangover the next morning after getting shitfaced...you were free to do anything you wanted.

You got to host the best parties in the summer, with an unlimited budget, inviting all your friends and having your own private bar set up, your birthday perhaps being the most anticipated event of the summer.

Your eighteenth birthday was perhaps your most expensive one yet. You had spent millions of galleons, hiring the best party planners, arranging for your favorite singer and transforming the ball room into your dream party setting, the way you had always envisioned.

Your invitations on their own were a sight to behold. Made of a deep blue, firm glittery card, the words were hand-written in gleaming ink made of real gold, by professional Japanese calligraphers.

Your dress was a vision itself. Made of the softest material, it was short, perfectly tailored to your size, hugging every curve and fitting you perfectly.

It was made of a sheer, black material, almost transparent, with a low cut neck, the thin fabric slightly see-through. The upper part was stitched the way a corset was, cinching your waist and pushing your breasts together where they nearly spilled over the top.

Your thong was slightly visible through the sheer fabric, as was your belly piercing, the shimmer of the diamond slightly dulled due to the layer of fabric that blocked out the light.

You paired it with your six-inch, black stilettos, which elevated your height by a considerable amount, and wore your birthday gift from your parents, a diamond choker worth millions.

You felt like a Goddess.

Right before the party, your boyfriend knocked on your room door, asking if you were ready.

Theo had been staying at your place for a week— he had come from Italy just for your birthday, and your parents had agreed to you accompanying him back home for the rest of the summer.

"Come in," you told Theo, applying the last of your make-up, a final layer of mascara and lip gloss. You were leaning closer to the mirror, front pressed against the vanity, without even realizing that being in that position was fueling Theo's thoughts about bending you over the dresser and making the mascara you had just applied stream down your cheeks.

"Dio," he breathed, his blue eyes darkening as they raked your figure, mentally undressing you for the few, long seconds that he spent staring at you. He couldn't look away, every movement you made giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the skin underneath. He felt his blood rushing down to his crotch, his pants tightening as they struggled to accommodate his growing erection.

A low groan slipped past his lips and he slowly moved to stand behind you, large hand slowly sliding to your front as he pressed himself behind you, nestling his bulge to fit between your asscheeks.

"You see how hard I am for you?" he muttered lowly, slowly grinding his hips against your asscheeks, pressing a slow, sensual kiss to the side of your neck as he moved your hair to the side. "That dress is driving me fucking insane..."

He made you feel how hard he was, what you fucking did to him. His lips grazed your ear, warm breath caressing the delicate skin on your neck, beneath your ear.

"Non hai idea di quanto vorrei piegarti su questo comò e scoparti…" he murmured, his voice low and strained, his throat dry.

You suppressed a gasp, and you involuntarily pressed your ass further into his crotch, slowly grinding against him as he let out yet another groan and your movements.

Italian was a language you could never manage to master, even though you had been trying to learn it on Duolingo. Theo knew the effect it had on you, whenever he spoke Italian, even though you could never understand, you were always turned on just by hearing the sexy way the words rolled off his tongue.

You could already feel the goosebumps erupt on your skin from where he whispered into your ear, and the coil tighten in your lower abdomen, the gentle press of your nipples hardening underneath your dress and grazing against the floaty, fine material.

Each cold, metal ring seared into the delicate skin on your lower abdomen, through the thin cloth, awakening your every nerve, shivers traveling down your spine.

"Fuck, Theo," you whispered, closing your eyes for a brief moment before reopening them, teeth sinking into your lower lip briefly.

His eyes glittered with lust as they met yours in the looking glass, and he had a perfect view of your breasts with the way you were leaning forward, his eyes glued to your reflection in the mirror.

His hand suddenly drifted into your hair, grabbing your curls in his hand into a makeshift ponytail, as he pulled you harshly backwards against him, snapping his hips forward, an action which caused you to gasp slightly as your hipbones hit the marble vanity, slightly painfully, effectively stopping your movements.

"Don't fucking move," he growled lowly, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. "Unless you want me to take you right here, right now, and you'll be late for your party..."

A soft gasp tumbled forth from your lips and you nodded, your hands coming to rest on either side of you, on the edges of the vanity, letting out a shaky exhale.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, and you allowed yourself to take in the view. He wore a silky, black dress shirt, and he'd left the top three buttons open, allowing part of his muscular chest to peek through and give you a delicious view.

A sleek, black belt held up his black slacks, and you could feel the cool press of his belt buckle against your back, and heightening your desire for him.

"I take it you like my dress?" you murmured, the words catching in your throat.

He exhaled tersely, cock still nestled between your asscheeks, painfully straining against his zipper. He could feel his balls grow heavier with cum that he ached to fill you with.

One of his veiny hands was still firm against your lower abdomen, grounding you, holding you into place, whilst his other finally let go of your hair when he took a step back.

"You look like my whore," he commented with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with lust, grabbing your hand and twirling you around so he could get an all-round view of you. "So damn gorgeous..." he added, with a harsh, yet playful smack to your ass.

"Theo!" You squealed, a small giggle following right after your gasp at his actions. You looked into the mirror again, adjusting your hair and make-up, fixing your appearance until you were satisfied with it.

He grinned devilishly, the light shining on his face at such an angle that it cast a shadow on the left side of his jaw, making him look even more dangerous that before. A cigarette dangling from his lips, he leant against the wall with his hands in his pockets as he took you in, between clouds of smoke, making no move to hide his boner.

"Are you going to take care of that?" you asked Theo, referring to the bulge straining against his slacks. He couldn't show up to the party like... that.

"No," your boyfriend replied curtly, wrapping his arm around your waist and letting his hand drift down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "It doesn't bother me. If you want it gone, you're gonna have to take care of it for me.."

That shut you up.

A blush residing on your cheeks, you took the arm Theo had offered you, leading you downstairs and into the main ball room of the manor, where your party was fully set up.

The guests had already begun to arrive, and whilst you were so busy greeting your friends and chatting, and drinking, Theo found his friends too, and before you knew it, the party was in full swing.

You danced, you drank, enough to get intoxicated, but not enough to lose sobriety. You'd run into Theo once or twice, and steal a quick kiss or two before parting ways and going back to your friends, playing cheesy games with them and taking selfies that would forever remind you of this glorious night.

Everything was perfect. You cut the cake, your friends sang for you, you blew out the candles, made a wish... The party lasted until long past midnight, and as soon as it was over, you went up to your room, where your butler had brought all your presents.

This was your favorite part of the party— the opening of the presents.

You had asked Theo if he wanted to open the presents with you, but he excused himself to his room, claiming he was tired and he wanted to freshen up.

Slightly bummed, you decided to proceed on your own.

Your friends had given you the best gifts— dresses you'd had your eye on, shoes, jewelry...

But none could compare to your boyfriend's present.

The moment you undid the wrapping, and opened the heavy case, your breath caught in your throat and you gasped.

He had overdone himself.

There, perched on a velvet cushion was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you had ever seen in your life, a heavy tiara encrusted with real, large diamonds that caught the light and shimmered with every movement.

It was made of white-gold, each diamond cut to perfection. It probably cost him a fortune— this was far too much to spend on a gift...

Spending a good few minutes staring at the diamonds, you gulped, your fingers shaking as you picked up the note that came with it.

For my Princess, I hope you like it. Love, Theo.

"It's gorgeous," you murmured, slowly slipping it over your head, admiring yourself in the mirror.

It looked absolutely stunning, each diamond glowing iridescently when you moved the slightest bit, and you couldn't help but feel like a real princess whilst wearing this.

A sudden urge overtook you, one that signified the urgency to go thank Theo for this— the best present you had ever received by far. It even beat the pink Ferrari your parents had given you.

Without second thought, you left your room, and the rest of the presents unopened, making your way down the corridors to his room.

You didn't even bother knocking, your hand just twisted the knob and you barged in, full of desperation to show him how much the gift meant to you— how much he meant to you.

"Theo—" your voice cracked slightly as you entered his room, breaking off when you saw him on his bed, shirtless, watching Fast and Furious, leaning against the headboard as he smoked a cigarette.

Seeing you in that tantalizing dress, wearing the tiara he had gifted you awoke something primal in Theo, something intangible, something that couldn't be explained with just words.

The tiara on your head symbolized something greater than love. It symbolized possession.

His. Theo's.

You were all his, and he didn't have to fucking share. No one would ever have you.

Were you trying to kill him, walking in like that, looking so fucking gorgeous with your long waves tumbling down your back and shoulders, held together by nothing but the tiara?

You hadn't even changed yet, wearing that fucking piece of cloth that had driven him insane the entire night.

Still, he hadn't said a word. This was your night, and he wanted all the spotlight to be on you, he did not want to steal any part of it.

That was why he had maintained his distance all night, and he had jerked off multiple times until he could control himself not to bend you over on the nearest surface and fuck you at any given moment.

But having you standing in front of him in that fucking dress that he wanted to rip off the moment he saw you in it, and the tiara did things to him. It was a tangible reminder of how breathtaking you had looked all night, of how much he had wanted you, but had to stay away.

"Sarai la mia morte," he breathed, trying to ignore the rushing blood to his dick, which had already begun to harden underneath his boxers.

He closed his eyes, pulling the sheets over his lap as he did so before reopening them, turning off the television and giving you his full attention.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you—" you gush, launching yourself all over him, kissing all over his face, your eyes watering because of the amount of emotion you felt for him— you felt like you would explode from joy at any moment. "Your gift, it's perfect..."

All the air leaves his lungs as he suddenly finds you jumping on him, knocking the wind out of him, and he groaned slightly, taken off guard. "I'm glad you liked it," he murmured softly, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the blissful feeling of having your weight press down on him.

"It's my favorite gift of all," you murmur, biting your lip as an idea suddenly crossed your mind, one that would most definitely be the perfect way to thank Theo for his gift.

He leant his head further back on the headboard, exhaling as he clenched his fists underneath the covers.

"Is that so?" he murmured, eyes still closed.

"Mhm," you murmured, adjusting your position until you had slid the sheets down, straddling Theo. Your bare thighs hugged him, and you could feel his growing erection pressing into your clothed cunt, separated by just a few layers of thin clothing that could easily be taken off.

"I came here to thank you for it," you continued, slowly gyrating your hips over his, acting oblivious to the way he shifted uncomfortably underneath you.

"You already did," he grunted, opening his eyes and suppressing a low groan, blood pounding into his ears. His dick was painfully hard underneath his boxers, pressing against your folds, as if sensing it were there.

"Did I?" you feigned innocence, quickening your movements, as you grew wetter between your legs, biting your lip to help you control your mouth better.

Theo couldn't handle it any longer. Electricity crackled in his eyes as they met yours, and his hands snapped up from his sides to grip your hips, pressing you down harshly on his cock, stopping your movements completely.

"Stop fucking moving," he growled. "You're driving me insane," he groaned, shutting his eyes tightly and taking a deep breath. "Acting like such a slut..."

You gasped softly, a tiny whimper leaving you. You could feel the warmth of his hands on your sides through the sheer material of your dress, each cold metal ring pressing into your skin hard enough to leave bruises.

"Jus' wanted to thank you," you replied innocently, bowing your head low, blinking shyly and looking up at him through your lashes as you pouted. You were manipulative like that, knowing Theo could never risk doing anything to upset you.

Another groan slipped past his lips and his grip loosened slightly. He leant his head back on the headboard, hard enough for the thud to be heard.

"You're gonna kill me amore," he whispered hoarsely.

You giggled softly, and brushed your fingers over his eyelids, making sure he closed his eyes. Then, you placed your hands on his shoulders, before they drifted to gently hold his face in your palms.

You leaned in, your mouth diving in towards his as you kissed him softly, your breath mingling with his.

Already beginning to move your hips against his, the kiss quickly turned to a sexual one as you harshly nibbled his lower lip, sliding your tongue into his mouth.

Your lips muffled his moans, and you took that as a response to slide your hands down his chest, fingertips feeling the hard muscle underneath.

He began kissing you back, unable to resist. Who could say no to a goddess?? His hips involuntarily lifted slightly, seeking friction, his cock sensing your cunt above, wanting nothing more than to tear every barrier away and sink into your tight, little hole.

Giving you that tiara was a mistake, you looked too irresistible. Too good to be true, too pretty to exist.

"Bein' driving me fucking crazy all night," he muttered. "Watching you dance around in that tiny fuckin' dress... And now, the tiara..." He exhaled sharply, a shudder traveling down his spine.

Slowly, you pulled away from the heated kiss, your lip gloss smudged, your lips covered with a mix of his and your saliva instead.

"Let me take care of you tonight," you whispered softly, you beautiful, wide eyes looking up into his pleadingly. "Let me make you feel good..."

Theo moaned. He moaned, and by God, it was the sexiest thing you had ever heard.

His dark eyes looked into yours and he kissed you hard again, lips trailing down your neck as if he could no longer resist, moving down to your dress as he bit on a nipple over the fabric, tugging upward harshly to elicit a whine from you. "Gonna ride me, Princess?"

You were soaking wet for him, your arousal having soaked your panties completely, making them uncomfortably sticky as they clung to your core.

Still, you wanted to pleasure him, so you continued to gyrate your hips over he erection, eliciting low moans from his lips.

You nodded, another whine spilling forth from your lips as he pinched a nipple over the thin fabric of your dress, twisting it harshly. "Y-yes.."

He had finally had enough. Unable to resist any longer, his hands left your hips and came to the front of your dress, rending it into two, a loud ripping sound filling the air.

You couldn't hide the very audible gasp that left your lips. Eyes widening in shock, you could only stare at him, utterly speechless. It had cost a lot, having it tailored just for you, but Theo had ripped it without second thought.

"Theo!" you gasped in surprise.

"Looks better off," was his excuse. "Gonna buy you more.." His eyes were fixated on you, on how gorgeous you looked, pink nipples hardening as they kissed the air, dressed in nothing but a tiny thong and a tiara he had bought you for your birthday.

"God, you look so, so fuckin' pretty," he groaned, hand reaching up to grab one of your tits, which fit perfectly in his large palm. He squeezed and groped your breast, as if that was all he needed to survive— your tits. "Could stare at those pretty tits for hours..."

You were still grinding your panty-clad hole against Theo's erection, your breasts heaving slightly with every movement you made. "Gonna fuck me while I'm wearing your tiara?" you whispered, biting your lip and looking at him through your eyelashes.

You slowly slid lower, placing your hands on the waistband of his boxers as you slid them down, exposing his hardened cock to the air, a hiss leaving his lips.

Your words ignited a fierce desire in him; to mark, to ruin, to impregnate... You were his property, his witch, his bitch, and his fucking slut.

His Princess outside, in front of everyone, and his whore in private, in his room, behind closed doors.

Tonight, you were both.

His balls felt heavy and full, ready to fill you with his cum, ready to make you his.

His dick slapped against his stomach, hard and erect with the veins popping out, precum leaking from the tip that had previously stained his boxers. The head of his cock was pink and swollen, aching to enter your sweet, little pussy.

You eased him into a position where he was lying down, before you clambered over him, bending down with your knees pressed into the mattress as you gripped the base of his cock with your smaller hands.

Your tongue hung low past your lips as you curled the muscle, swiping the beads of precum and pressing your lips against the tip of his cock, giving him a kiss in his most sensitive area.

He groaned, bucking his hips into your mouth, seeking friction. "Don't tease," he ordered, and you complied, knowing he had been teased enough all day, watching you prance around in that tiny dress of yours.

Before you knew it, Theo had already ripped your panties and flung them somewhere across his room, exposing your wet and glistening folds to his gaze.

He spent a few seconds trailing his gaze appreciatively over you, admiring how your pink folds puckered up for him, clenching and unclenching around nothing as they ached to feel his cock shove past your tight barrier and fill you up.

A dark chuckle left his lips. "Tsk, tsk, you want to feel me in that tight hole of yours, hmm?"

"Mhm," you whined, the sight of him enough to increase your need for him tenfold. You bit your lip, your hand spreading the precum that bubbled out from his tip across the length of his cock, using it as makeshift lube.

Your hand guided his length to your entrance, before you impaled yourself on his cock, taking all of him inside you at once.

A loud gasp left your lips, followed by a moan. You waited a few seconds to adjust to his girth before you began to move, starting out with slow movements, his dick so large that you could feel the tip grazing your insides, rearranging your internal organs.

"Fuck, fuck—" Theo gasped, as your walls gripped him like a vice, every sensation heightened with the way your walls squeezed his cock, nearly making him cum right there and then.

He was losing every bit of his remaining control as your weight on him drove him wild, the sensation overwhelming. His breaths were coming in short, ragged gasps when you led him to her entrance, the moment his tip pushed past her tight, inviting folds, he felt an exquisite constriction. Your walls were stretching to accommodate him like a perfectly fitted glove, the visible veins along his cock throbbing against the velvety warmth of her inner embrace.

"God, such a perfect little cocksleeve for me, gonna fill you up with my cum—" he rambled, hands gripping your hips harshly, his rings pressing into your delicate skin harshly enough to leave bruises. "It's gonna drip out of you for days..."

"Theo," you whined, your breathing turning erratic. Once your walls had adjusted, you began to move, setting a slow, steady rhythm, grinding your hips in circular motions. You could feel him push past your barriers, you could feel every vein drag sensually against your tight walls, and it was driving you absolutely crazy.

He sent you into a complete frenzy, physical and emotional, with the way his cock practically split you open, hitting all the right spots.

Your hands were flat against his chest, your perfectly manicured nails scratching his skin, leaving angry red welts across his toned muscles.

On feeling the angry red burn of your fingers scratching him, Theo cursed, his hips ramming upwards into yours as he began to match your slow rhythm.

But it wasn't enough, he wanted more. He needed more.

The sight of you falling apart on his cock, wearing his tiara with your pretty tits dancing in rhythm to your thrusts was enough to send him into overdrive, and his hand grabbed one of your boobs harshly, squeezing it hard enough to make you swallow your moan and let out an almost-scream, nails digging much harsher into his chest, the pleasurable pain driving him insane. "Cazzo— Cazzo Principessa, mi farai venire— Such a pretty sight..." he groaned.

You quickened your movements, as you began moving up and down his shaft, using your palms on his chest to help you bounce as you lost the pattern to your thrusts, which had now turned desperate and sporadic.

"Mhm, cum inside me," you gasped, bouncing on his cock with your head arched back, squelching sounds of skin on skin echoing throughout the room, punctuated with a symphony of moans and erotic groans.

Your tits jiggled in his face, and he caught them with his hands, squeezing and slapping them as you felt something wet slide down your cheeks as another high-pitched moan left you.

A sheen of perspiration coated both your bodies, and you could feel your mascara smudge and stream down your cheeks as you felt something wet spill out from your eyes. "Fuck, Theo, gonna cum..." you gasped.

As both of you grew closer and closer to release, your movements turned irregular, along with your breathing. A ring of cum formed at the base of Theo's cock, coating your thighs in your mixed essences.

"Vieni per me, vieni sul mio cazzo, la mia Principessa—" he rasped, your walls clenching and unclenching around him as you grew closer to release.

He was so close, chasing his high with every passing second. And then, you bounced on his cock particularly harshly, and you saw stars as your orgasm flooded you, like a sudden wave.

A scream left your lips, as you reached your high, wetness splashing out of you in endless spurts, chanting Theo's name like a mantra as he let out a guttural groan and spilled himself inside you.

You felt so full as he painted your insides white, having no intention to pull out as his hands gripped your waist harshly, keeping you right there as another wave of cum spilled into your cunt and begun to leak out.

Drained out, you fell forward, your hair splaying all over his chest as the tiara toppled down Theo's chest to the mattress.

His hands automatically drifted up to hold your back and move your hair away, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Thank you," you whimpered, fingers holding the tiara weakly.

"You're welcome, Princess," Theo crooned, a wicked smirk plastered across on his face, already thinking of what to give you for Christmas.

A sudden thought crossed his mind, a vision of him on his knees under the mistletoe, followed by another of his mother's ring kept safely in his vault.

He grinned to himself, allowing him to close his eyes and imagine your reaction.

He looked down tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he could see your face, wondering why you were so quiet all of a sudden.

But when your face came into view, he chuckled softly.

Of course.

You were already asleep.

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©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[v6quewrlds]

❝ borderline, j. burrow & t. higgins. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: working in and around the nfl for years, there aren't many people in the league who can knock you off your game. by some twist of fate, two of them show up together, hoping to lure you into their orbit.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: as requested by an anon <3 pls don't read if you're uncomfortable with this concept. didn't really know how to end this one so it's ambiguous lmao did this lowkey give me an idea for a pt 2? maybe. joe calls reader "sweetheart", tee calls reader "baby".

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, friends to lovers (?) the plural is intentional, threesome, fingering, eiffel tower but not really, blowjob, face fucking, cum eating, facial, somewhat dom!joe, switch!tee, pre-meditated threesome if you squint, praise kink.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x reader x tee higgins.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 6.8k.

You walked through the grand hotel lobby, your stilettos clicking against the marble floor. Your emerald green dress clung to your body like a glove, drawing the occasional admiring glance. You had looked forward to this wedding the entire season, eager to see your favorite players and closest friends all congregated in one place. As a sports journalist, you had become accustomed to the glitz and glamour of high-profile events, but this one felt different. It was personal.

The reception area was a flurry of activity as guests mingled and waitstaff glided around with trays of hors d'oeuvres and sparkling drinks. The scent of expensive perfumes and cologne hung in the air, mixed with the faint aroma of roasting meat from the nearby dining hall.

You spotted your close friend Bree chatting with a few other guests, her eyes lighting up when she caught sight of you. Bree waved you over, gesturing to the table you had been assigned. To your surprise, Joe Burrow and Tee Higgins, two of the Cincinnati Bengals' star players, were already seated at the table, sipping on their drinks and looking dapper in their tuxedos.

"Hey, y'all," you greeted them with a bright smile, placing your clutch on the table. "I didn't know you two were close to Amber and Dan."

Joe's smile was warm, but his sarcasm was as sharp as ever, his eyes crinkling as he took a sip of his whiskey. "To be honest, I'm not sure why I was invited. Maybe they felt sorry for me because I don't get out much." The admission drew chuckles from the rest of the table, but you knew him well enough to detect the hint of self-deprecating playfulness in his voice.

Tee spoke up next, his signature soft-spoken confidence unwavering even amidst the buzz of the crowded room. "I've known Amber since college, actually. Her sister dated my roommate." He leaned back in his seat, a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes lingering on your face as he took a sip. "You close with Daniel?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of pride as you thought of your career achievements. "Yeah, I've had some pretty memorable interviews with him. The sit-down I did with him after his knee injury helped me land my gig on First Take." You took a sip of your own drink, the cool liquid doing little to quell the heat rising in your cheeks as you weathered the intense gazes of the two athletes.

"How sweet," Joe said with a smirk, raising his glass of whiskey in a mock toast. "Is that why you swore he was league MVP last season?"

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. "Okay, okay, I might have been a bit biased. But I owed him for that interview," you took a sip of your drink, the cool liquid sliding down your throat, your eyes dancing with mischief. "Were you jealous?"

Joe's smirk grew wider, his blue eyes flickered over to Tee's brown ones before moving back to find yours. "Maybe a little," he admitted, his hand landing casually on your thigh, sending a jolt of excitement through your body. You felt the heat rising from his palm through the thin fabric of your dress, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch.

As if sensing it was his turn to flirt with you, Tee leaned closer, his hand ghosting against your shoulder as it fell over the back of your chair. "How's First Take going for you? Still holding your own against Stephen A?" His voice was a smooth rumble, and you couldn't help but smile, the tension easing a bit.

"I defended you guys last week, you know," you said with a smirk, swirling the ice in your drink. "Told him you're both underappreciated."

Joe's eyes lit up. "You did?" His hand fell heavier around your thigh as Tee's fingers traced lazy circles into your exposed skin, the warmth of their body heat seeping into your very soul. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

The words left his mouth casually, but you felt a flutter in your stomach. Tee's accompanying laugh did little to ease the tension that had suddenly thickened the air around the three of you.

The conversation grew more intimate, their touches lingering longer, the air around you crackling with unspoken desires. You felt the weight of their gazes on you, the way they studied your every move, every breath. It was like being the star of their own private show, and you found yourself playing up to their attention, your laughs a little louder, your movements a little more exaggerated.

Bree had long disappeared into the crowded dance floor, leaving you alone with Joe and Tee. Your conversation grew quieter, and more intimate, as you shared stories of your lives outside of football. You felt a strange connection with the two men, a bond that extended beyond the superficial. You tried your best to ignore the heat building between your legs as Joe's fingers traced patterns into your bare skin. Tee's thumb pressing into the pressure point at the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine.

The music grew louder, the rhythm pulsing through the floor and into your bodies. The lights grew dimmer, casting a seductive glow over the three of you. You found yourself leaning into Tee's touch, your eyes locked onto Joe's as he spoke about his most recent charity event for his foundation. His words cast a sharp contrast with the deep, soothing, seduction of his voice.

The conversation grew more flirty, Joe's hand sliding further up your thigh under the cover of the tablecloth. You gasped, trying to keep your cool, but the heat of his touch was like a brand on your skin. Tee noticed your reaction and leaned in, whispering something to Joe that made his eyes darken with desire.

"You good?" Tee asked, his voice a soft rumble against your ear. You nodded, your voice a little shaky. "Yeah, I'm okay." But you weren't okay; your nerves were on fire, the anticipation building like a storm in your chest.

The tension at the table grew so thick it was almost tangible, your eyes speaking volumes in the dimly lit room. When Joe leaned in closer, his breath a warm caress against your neck, you couldn't resist anymore. You turned to him, your eyes asking him a silent question, unwilling to potentially tip off a noisy guest to your newfound chemistry. Tee watched, his own desire evident in the way he licked his lips, his hand moving from your neck to squeeze your other thigh.

Recognizing the confirmation in Joe's eyes, your head turned to look at Tee, the same question in your eyes. He answered it with a smoldering gaze that left no room for doubt. "Come with us," he murmured, his voice a seductive invitation that sent a thrill through your body.

The three of you stood as one, the two men flanking your sides like bodyguards, guiding you through the sea of wedding guests. The music grew louder, the rhythm beckoning you to the dance floor, but you had other plans. Your heart raced as Joe's hand slid down your back, his fingers tracing the curve of your ass, while the back of Tee's hand brushed against yours. The electricity between you was undeniable, a current that could light up the entire hotel.

The three of you moved through the crowd, the warmth of your bodies pressing together, the heat of your desire almost too much to handle. When you reached the elevator, the tension was unbearable. Joe's hands pulled your back flush against his chest, making you gasp as his strong hands wandered across the material of your dress. Tee stood in front of you, his hand tipping your head back as he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was anything but casual. The doors closed, and the world outside was forgotten.

The elevator ride was a blur of hands and lips, the three of you exploring each other's bodies like you had been waiting for this moment your entire lives. Your dress was hiked up, Joe's hand slipping under your panties to feel the wetness that had pooled there. Tee's hand found your breasts, kneading them gently as Joe whispered sweet nothings into your ear. The ding of the elevator arriving at Tee's floor brought you back to reality with a jolt. You stumbled out into the hallway, breathless and desperate.

Tee fumbled with the keycard, the anticipation almost too much to bear. You giggled as Joe muttered low and bitter under his breath, "Take your time, buddy."

The door finally clicked open, and the three of you tumbled into the room, a whirlwind of lust and passion. The lights were dimmed, casting a seductive glow across the plush king-sized bed. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched the two men, both so powerful on the field, look at you with a hunger you hadn't seen before.

Joe took the lead, his eyes dark with desire as he approached you, his hand sliding around your waist and pulling you against his firm chest. His kiss was demanding, his tongue delving into your mouth as if he could taste your thoughts, your fears, your desires. Tee's hands were on your shoulders, pushing the dress down your arms, exposing your bare breasts to the cool air. You gasped as Joe's mouth moved to your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin as his hands found your nipples, ghosting his fingertips over the peaks.

"Hold on," you said, placing a hand on Joe's wrist to still his movements. You took a deep breath, your eyes searching theirs for any sign of doubt. "Are you two sure that if I do this, there won't be some blonde chick harassing me on Instagram afterward?"

"You know we don't do drama. That's the last thing we need before the season," Joe assured you, his hands sliding up your arms to cup your shoulders. "We're just here to have a good time." His voice was a low purr, his gaze intense.

Tee stepped closer to you, a tattooed hand reaching up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "We promise, baby," he whispered, his eyes dark with lust. "This is just about us, right here, right now."

You searched their eyes, the room spinning with a mix of excitement and trepidation. You nodded slowly before speaking up again, "Okay, no pics, no videos, and this stays between the three of us. Agreed?"

"Scout's honor," Joe murmured, his hand sliding around your waist and pulling you closer.

Tee leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, almost chaste kiss. The room felt electrified as your body responded instinctively, your hands moving to rest on his broad chest. You could feel Joe's erection pressing against your back, his breath hot against your neck as he watched the exchange. The heat of their bodies, the scent of your desire, and the promise of what was to come washed over you like a wave.

"You guys are playing with fire," you murmured against Tee's mouth, but the smirk that played on his lips told you he knew exactly what he was doing. He broke the kiss, a knowing look passing between the two men. You gasped, pushing back against Joe as his hands found your tits, his palms squeezing them roughly, thumbs brushing against your nipples through the fabric of your dress.

"We know," Joe whispered in your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "But sometimes, you've gotta risk getting burned." His hand slipped down to the zipper of your dress, pulling it down slowly, inch by torturous inch. The cool air of the room hit your bare back, making your skin pebble with goosebumps.

Tee stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to unbutton his shirt, his muscles rippling with every movement. You felt a rush of arousal as he revealed his sculpted chest, the ink on his skin telling a story of strength and resilience. He slid the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and you couldn't help but bite your lips in anticipation.

"You're so fuckin' sexy," Joe murmured, his hand slipping into your hair as he pulled you in for another kiss. You moaned into his mouth, feeling Tee's hands on your hips as he turned you to face him. The two men moved around you like a perfectly choreographed dance, each touch setting your skin on fire.

The two men took turns kissing you, each one's touch different yet equally electrifying. Joe's kisses were demanding, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that made your legs tremble. Tee's were soft and gentle, his lips brushing yours in a way that made you feel cherished. Your hands roamed over their broad chests, feeling the firmness of their muscles beneath the warm skin.

Tee stepped away, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of you. "Damn, baby," he breathed, reaching out to trace the curves of your breasts. His thumbs brushed against your nipples, making them peak. Joe's hands slid down your back, unclipping your bra and letting it fall away. The cool air made you gasp, your breasts bouncing slightly as you were exposed to them in nothing but the flimsy excuse for panties you had chosen for the night.

The tension in the room was thick, the anticipation almost a tangible force. You felt their eyes on you, the weight of their desire a heavy presence that made your knees weak. You stepped out of your heels, the impact of your bare feet on the carpeted floor leaving the football players towering over you.

"Get on the bed," Tee murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You obeyed, your legs feeling like jelly as you crawled onto the plush mattress. As you sat, perched and pretty, on the comforter, Joe began to undress, allowing Tee to make the first move.

Tee's eyes never left yours as he approached, his tuxedo jacket tossed aside and his bow tie undone. His large, strong hands reached for you, gripping your ankles and yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You felt the heat from his body as he leaned in, his warm breath fanning your face as he whispered, "You're so fucking beautiful."

His words sent a shiver through you as he pushed your thighs apart, revealing your damp panties. Joe stepped closer, his own pants undone, his erection straining against his boxer briefs. He reached out, sliding one finger along the lacy fabric before hooking his thumbs into the waistband and pulling them to the side, exposing you to their hungry gazes.

"Goddamn," Tee whispered, his eyes locked on your nakedness. Joe's dick grew harder in his briefs as he watched his friend's reaction, his own desire mirrored in the tightness of Tee's jaw. Your heart was racing, your chest rising and falling with anticipation. You felt a thrill run through you as you watched their reactions, your own anticipation reaching a fever pitch.

"Prettiest pussy you've ever seen, huh?" Joe said with a smirk, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of your bare skin. Tee nodded, unable to form coherent words as he stared.

You felt a warmth creep up your neck as you both took a moment to appreciate your body. You had always felt confident in your own skin, but the raw, carnivorous hunger in their expressions was something you had never experienced before. It was like they were really seeing you for the first time, and the thought of being desired by two such powerful, successful men was a heady aphrodisiac.

The room grew quiet, and the only sound was the rustle of clothes being removed. Your breathing grew shallow as Joe knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly peeled off your panties. Tee sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes raking over your exposed flesh with a look that made you quiver with anticipation. You could see his cock, thick and hard, straining against his boxers.

"You're so beautiful," Joe murmured, his breath hot against your thigh. He placed a soft kiss to your inner thigh, sending a shiver up your spine. Tee leaned in, his warm breath caressing your skin as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, his hand moving to cup your breast. You felt like you were in a dream, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in as Joe's tongue found your clit.

Their touches grew more urgent, more demanding, as they worked in tandem to bring you to the edge. Your hips began to rock, your body responding instinctively to the sensations they were creating. You felt Joe's hand slip between your legs, his fingers teasing your folds before sliding inside you, the feel of his thick digits stretching you and setting your body alight. Tee's mouth found yours, a heavy hand reaching to squeeze at the sides of your neck, your moans muffled by his kisses.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as Joe's thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive nub with the expertise of a maestro conducting an orchestra of pleasure. Tee's tongue danced with yours, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. You felt yourself spiraling closer to the precipice, your body tightening around Joe's hand.

The room was a whirlwind of sensations: the scent of their cologne, the sound of fabric shifting, the feel of Joe's calloused hands on your skin. It was almost too much, and you were lost in a haze of pleasure when Tee broke away, leaving you gasping for air.

"Gonna come, baby?" Tee's question was a breathy murmur in your ear, his hand moving from your neck to cup your cheek as he watched your face contort with pleasure. You could only nod, unable to form words as Joe's fingers worked their magic.

Your eyes locked onto Tee's above you as you felt Joe's thumb press down hard on your clit, your body arching off the bed as your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you in an explosion of color and sensation. You moaned weakly, your pussy clenching around Joe's hand as you rode the peak, your nails digging into the mattress.

When you finally came down, Joe withdrew his hand, a smug smile on his face. As if sharing a sense of telepathy, the two men stood up simultaneously to remove their boxers, revealing their generous lengths. You couldn't help but whimper at the sight, your heart racing with excitement and nerves.

"Make some room for me," Tee said with a mischievous smile, sliding onto the bed behind you as you sat up. His hand traveled down your body, his thumb brushing the swollen bud of your clit before sliding two fingers inside you. You gasped as he began to pump them in and out, his touch gentle yet firm.

Joe, who had stepped up to the edge of the bed, watched with darkened eyes as Tee worked his magic. He nodded towards Tee's lap as your eyes fluttered open. "You gonna get on top, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice thick with lust. You licked your lips, nodding eagerly.

With a smile, you shuffled over to Tee, your eyes meeting his hooded browns. You straddled Tee's thighs, feeling his hardness beneath you. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you, his breathing heavy, before he leaned up and kissed you again, his tongue dancing with yours. You could feel Joe's eyes on the two of you, his gaze burning into your skin as you reached down to stroke Tee's dick before sinking down on it with a moan.

The feel of him filling you sent you both spiraling and you had to bite back a scream as you adjusted to his size. Tee's hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you began to ride him. The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room, mingling with your moans and gasps for air. You leaned back into Joe as he slotted behind you, his hands pressing blistering heat into your skin as he kissed your neck and whispered encouragement into your ear.

Tee pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, his eyes hooded with desire as he watched you take him in. He reached up, his hands finding your tits, and began to tease your nipples as you rode him. The sight of you bouncing on his dick, your pussy squeezing him with every move, had him on the edge of his seat, quite literally. You threw your head back, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you moaned out Tee's name, feeling the heat of Joe's chest against your back.

Joe's hands began to wander, caressing your body as you moved in rhythm with Tee. His fingers found your clit, rubbing it in slow circles that had your pussy spasming around Tee's cock. Your moans grew louder, your body moving faster as Joe's touch grew more insistent. You felt Tee's cock thicken inside you, and you knew he was close.

"Fuck, Joe, you seein' this shit?" Tee's voice was strained, his eyes glazed with pleasure as he watched your body take his length. Joe's only response was a low, feral growl as he continued to tease your clit.

"Perfect fuckin' fit," Joe murmured, his own arousal clear as he lazily stroked himself in time with your rhythm.

Your breathing grew shallow, your eyes locked onto Tee's. You felt Joe's breath against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his fingers worked their magic. "I'm gonna cum," you gasped, your voice a desperate plea.

"Again?" Tee teased, brown eyes glittering with excitement as he watched your body tense with the approaching wave of pleasure. "I ain't complaining, but you're gonna wear me out." Your face grew hot as you felt the dual pressure of Tee inside you and Joe's thumb on your clit, pushing you to the edge.

"I can't help it," you panted, "you two are just too much."

Joe's chuckle was a dark promise against your ear. "We're just getting to the good part," he half promised, half teased, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

The room was a whirlwind of sensation: the slick slide of skin, the scent of arousal, the heat of two men surrounding you. Finally, you threw your head back again, your dark hair fanning out against Joe's pale shoulder as you came, your pussy clamping down on Tee's cock.

Your eyebrows furrowed as the orgasm ripped through you, drawn out by the feel of both Joe and Tee's hands on you. You barely registered Tee's cock slipping away from your heat, chuckling darkly as Joe watched your body spasm with pleasure. The quarterback muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Fuck me," and you felt a shyness creep over your cheeks, even in the throes of passion.

"Stand up for me, sweetheart," Joe finally murmured, his voice thick with desire. You complied, your legs shaky as Joe helped you to your feet. Tee leaned back on his elbows, his cock still throbbing against his stomach, glistening with your combined arousal.

Joe's hands slid around your waist, positioning you to face Tee. He whispered in her ear, "Suck his cock, baby. Make him feel good."

Your eyes widened, but the desire in Joe's voice and the way Tee's eyes lit up at the suggestion made your body respond immediately. You leaned over the edge of the bed as Tee scooted backward to allow room for your chest to rest on the sheets between his spread legs. Carefully, Tee swept your hair up into a crude ponytail, giving him an unobstructed view of your beautiful brown skin and the way your back arched with anticipation.

Your mouth hovered over Tee's cock, your breath warm against the sensitive flesh. His hands tangled in your hair, guiding you down as you took him in. Your cheeks hollowed out as you sucked him in deep, your eyes closing delicately as you moaned around the taste of your arousal coating his length.

Joe's hand trailed over your skin to squeeze at your ass, sliding his cock to nestle in your warm pearl. "Fuck, you feel amazing," he murmured, his voice a gruff rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You moaned around Tee's cock, the vibrations making him twitch with pleasure. Tee's grip tightened in your hair, guiding your movements as he guided your head up and down his length, his eyes tracing over your blissed-out expression.

Your bodies moved in harmony, a symphony of passion and desire that had been building since you first set eyes on each other that evening. The room was a whirlwind of sensations - Joe's calloused fingers digging into your skin, Tee's cock sliding in and out of your mouth, and the smell of your combined arousal. You felt like you were floating, weightless and free, as you gave in to the moment.

With a surge of energy, you lifted from Tee's dick, swirling your tongue around his mushroom tip with a self-indulgent smile. Joe's eyes lit up as he watched you, his own arousal evident as he continued thrusting into you. Tee's chest heaved as he took in the sight of you, his abs clenching with the effort to hold back.

"What the fuck?" Tee's eyes went wide with shock and arousal as he watched your teeth graze lightly over the most sensitive part of him, your eyes all innocent and pure as you gazed up at him. He didn't know what was happening, but his body was definitely on board. Your tongue flicked out, licking up the precum that beaded at the tip of his cock, making him grit his teeth in an attempt to keep from coming too soon.

Joe's breath was hot against your neck as he whispered, "Take him all the way in, baby," his hands on your hips pushing you down slightly. You obeyed, taking Tee deep into your mouth, the sound of your wetness as Joe fucked you from behind echoing through the room.

The sensation was overwhelming, the taste of Tee combined with the feeling of Joe's cock deep inside you making you moan around the head of Tee's dick. The vibrations sent his bottom lip between his teeth, his head dipping back with a strangled groan, nostrils flaring with concentration. You felt Joe's grip tighten, his thrusts growing more erratic as he approached his own climax. Tee's eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making your pussy clench around Joe's cock.

"Fuck," Tee hissed as your head bobbed up and down, your cheeks hollowing with each suck. The sight of your full lips stretched around his length and Joe's hand guiding you was more than he could handle. His own hand tightened in your hair, his hips jerking involuntarily.

"So good," you moaned around Tee's cock, your body trembling with the force of Joe's thrusts. Your third orgasm was building, a storm gathering on the horizon, ready to unleash its fury at any moment. Tee's hand stroked your cheek, the sweetness of his touch a stark contrast to the raw, animalistic need driving Joe.

"Good girl," Joe groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he watched you take Tee's cock deeper into your mouth. He could feel you tightening around him, your body begging for release. "Prettiest girl I've ever seen," the quarterback whispered, his voice thick with lust.

Tee's eyes rolled back, lost in the pleasure of your mouth. His hand on the back of your head grew more insistent, his hips bucking slightly as he approached climax. Your eyes watered, but you didn't pull away, your own pleasure building with every gag and moan you muffled around Tee's dick.

"Oh, shit," he moaned, his voice a deep, guttural sound that sent another shiver down your spine. You felt Joe's cock thicken even more inside you, his hips stuttering as he fought to hold back.

"Bet she dreamed about this, Tee," Joe murmured, his breath hot against your neck. You felt Tee's cock twitch in your mouth at the words, his eyes dark with desire.

"I know she did. Drooling all over my dick like this. Lookin' all pretty," Tee chuckled, his voice strained with arousal.

With that, Joe took over once again. He pulled you off Tee's cock, laughing out loud as his wide receiver shot him a sour look. "Joe," he groaned holding his hands up in protest, but Joe was having none of it.

You felt the warmth of Joe's breath on your neck as he leaned in to whisper, "Gonna look so much prettier with his cum all over your pretty face, gorgeous."

The thought sent a jolt of excitement through you, and you moaned out loud, closing your eyes as you tried to will yourself to hold off on your burgeoning orgasm. Tee's eyes widened as he caught onto Joe's words, a devious smirk playing on his lips.

The tension in the room grew palpable as Tee's hand on the back of your head grew firmer, guiding your movements. You felt his cock swell, the veins pulsing against your tongue. Your eyes watered as you took him deeper, your throat tightening around his shaft. The feeling of being used so thoroughly, by two men who had you pinned and writhing with pleasure, was intoxicating.

"Open that pretty mouth for me, baby," Tee urged softly, his voice thick with lust. You complied, presenting your tongue as Tee's cock slid out of your mouth, leaving a trail of precum. You watched as he stroked himself, his hand moving fast and sure.

"God, you're so fucking sexy," Joe murmured, his eyes locked onto the scene before him. You could feel his breath on your neck, his own arousal leaking into you. The anticipation was unbearable, the room seemingly closing in on you as Tee's strokes grew faster. You felt Joe's hand come down to rest on your lower back, hips stilling as Tee approached his climax.

"Gonna paint that pretty face, baby," Tee warned you, his voice tight with restraint. You nodded eagerly, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt the first warm spurt of cum hit your cheek, sliding down to your chin. Tee groaned, his hand moving in fast jerks as he coated you in his release. When he was done, you opened your eyes to find Joe watching you, his own desire clear.

Joe's hand moved from your back to your face, his thumb brushing over your cum-covered cheek. "Taste it," he instructed, his voice a seductive growl. You obeyed, your kiss-swollen lips wrapping around the pad of his thumb, a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth, feeling the stickiness of Tee's release on your skin.

"You fuckin' liked that, didn't you?" Tee's voice was filled with a mix of pride and satisfaction as he watched you lick his cum off Joe's thumb. Your eyes sparkled with amusement as you nodded, a giggle bubbling out of you. The room was thick with the scent of your combined arousal, your hearts pounding in sync with the pulsing beat of the bass from the party below.

Joe's smile grew wicked. His grip on your hips tightened, his dick still buried deep inside you as he began to move again, slowly at first. You fully moaned out, any shyness completely forgotten as you felt Joe twitch inside you. The power play between them had you more turned on than you'd ever been.

Tee laughed as he finally began to recover from his orgasm. "Go 'head, baby, make Joey cum. I think he worked hard for it." He winked at you, who rolled your eyes playfully. The room was thick with lust, your heavy breathing echoing off the walls.

Joe leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Think he's right, sweetheart?" he questioned, his voice low and rough. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt him begin to move again, his strokes deep and deliberate. You moaned around the taste of Tee's cum, the sound muffled by your head falling into the sheets.

"Fuck, yes," you managed to murmur, your hips rocking back to meet him. Joe's chuckle was deep and dark as he picked up his pace, his hands moving to squeeze your sides as he drove into you. Your eyes rolled back in your head, the feeling of being filled with Joe's cock and watching Tee's exhausted, satisfied face was overwhelming.

"Look at me, sweetheart," Joe demanded, his voice strained as he pulled you up against him. Your back arched as you opened your eyes to find his piercing blues staring down at you. "I wanna see your face when I come inside you."

Your eyes locked onto his, the intensity of his gaze setting your body ablaze. You could feel the muscles in your core tightening, your orgasm building with every stroke. Joe's grip on your hips grew fiercer, his movements punctuated by the slap of your bodies meeting. The head of his cock nudged your g-spot with precision, sending sparks through your body.

"Look at me," Joe repeated, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. You did as you were told, your eyes connecting in a silent agreement that this was more than just a casual fling. There was something deeper, something raw and primal that bound you two together in this moment.

The room seemed to spin around you as Joe's thrusts grew more erratic. You could feel his cock swelling inside you, the promise of his climax imminent. You leaned back, your breasts bouncing with each thrust as you threw your head back, your mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure.

"Fuck, yes," you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut. "I'm gonna cum again." The words were barely out of your mouth before you felt the warmth of Joe's release fill you up. He groaned, his hips bucking against you, his orgasm intense and powerful. Tee watched, his hand still around his cock, stroking slowly as he took in the sight of two of his close friends, lost in their shared passion.

Your body shuddered as the waves of pleasure washed over you, your hands slotting over Joe's as he trailed a hand up to squeeze at the sides of your neck, constricting your airways deliciously. Joe's cock continued to pulse inside you, painting your insides with his seed as your walls fluttered around him. The heady scent of sex filled the air, intoxicating and overwhelming. You felt Joe's grip on your hips ease, his breathing slowing as he pulled out.

Tee's eyes never left yours, his hand still moving languidly on his shaft. He looked up at Joe, a silent question in his gaze. Joe nodded, a smirk playing on his lips, and Tee moved in closer, his hand reaching for your chin. He turned your face to him, and you felt his kiss, soft and gentle, almost tender in contrast to the fiery passion you had just shared with Joe. It sent a refreshing wave of serenity over you, and you melted into it, your body still quivering from the aftershocks of your climax.

"You good?" Tee asked softly, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. You nodded, your eyes flicking from Tee to Joe and back again, the gravity of what you had just done settling in. The room was quiet except for your synchronized breathing, and you could feel their eyes on you, watching your every move, every reaction, every twitch of your relaxing muscles.

You felt Joe's weight shift away from you, retreating to the bathroom to grab some washcloths. When he returned, he tossed one to Tee and used the other one to wipe you down gently, his touch surprisingly tender. You looked down at the mess you'd made off the bed, a mix of cum and sweat, and felt a strange sense of pride. These were two of the most eligible bachelors in the NFL, and here they were, sharing you like a treasure.

Your trio lay in a tangled heap of limbs, your breaths syncing as you all came down from the high of your shared experience. The tension of earlier was gone, replaced by a warm, contented silence. You felt a sense of belonging you hadn't known in a long time as Joe's hand trailed lazily across your back and Tee's arm draped over your waist. You were a unit now, bound by a secret that only the three of you knew.

As the reality of what had just transpired began to sink in, you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement and a hint of nervousness. You looked between them, two men you had known for years, two men you had never thought of in this way until tonight.

"What the hell just happened?" you murmured, a giggle bubbling up from your chest.

Joe leaned in, his expression a mix of satisfaction and amusement. "I think we just had the best sex of our lives," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. Tee's eyes twinkled with playfulness as he nodded in agreement. "All because of you, baby," he added, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You couldn't help the scoff that escaped your lips as the teammates reached over your body to dap each other up in shared accomplishment. A "My man," slipped through the quiet from Tee's lips, his voice still hoarse from his orgasm. The sight of the two men celebrating their supposed victory, their friendship so clear even in the most intimate of moments, filled you with a strange sense of comfort.

"So, you two wanna explain why you're so good at this?" you teased, poking Joe in the ribs, the blonde squirming at your touch. "It's like you've practiced."

Joe's smirk grew wider. "I think this is pretty close to what we do on the field, you know? That QB-WR connection? We've got it down." His eyes twinkled as he leaned in closer to you. "We just knew what we wanted." His hand traveled down your side, sending a fresh wave of tingles across your skin.

"Once we figured out we both had feelings for you, we figured we could share," Tee whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "You're too much for just one of us to handle anyway." He chuckled, his hand sliding down your thigh. "It doesn't hurt that we make a pretty good team."

"And what would you two have done if I said no?" you asked, your voice revealing a hint of a challenge. You couldn't help the smirk that tugged at your lips as you watched the two men exchange glances, the unspoken communication between them almost comical in its synchronicity.

"I'd fuckin' kill him, he talked me into it," Tee said with a chuckle, reaching over you playfully jostle Joe. "But for real, we knew you'd be down."

Joe's expression grew serious. "We respect you too much to push you into anything." He brushed a lock of hair from your face. "We just wanted to be honest. Let you know how we feel."

You searched their faces, the gravity of their words sinking in. "I appreciate that," you said softly. "But what now? This isn't exactly something you tell people at work when they ask about your weekend."

Joe nodded. "We know. That's why it's just between us. What happens in this room, stays in this room." His thumb traced circles on your lower back, sending shivers up your spine. "But if you're into it, we could keep this going."

Tee leaned in, his voice a gentle rumble against your skin. "Just something casual. No strings, no drama. Just something between us three. We got each other's backs, always."

Your heart raced at the thought. It was risky, especially with your career in and around the league. But the connection you felt with Joe and Tee was undeniable, a potent cocktail of attraction and friendship that you hadn't experienced before. The thrill of secrecy only added to the allure.

"Okay," you said, your voice a hesitant whisper. "But only if we're all clear on the rules. No one outside this room can ever know. Ever."

Joe and Tee nodded solemnly, their eyes locked on yours. "You got it," Joe said, his thumb brushing over your plump lower lip. "Our lips are sealed."

This was fucking insane.

[prettyfilmz]

SWEET LIKE CANDY 2 • JEY USO

author's note: happy valentines' day my beautiful angels💌 I hope you are having an amazing day, whether you have a special someone or not, I love each and every single one of you🥰 part two of SLC is hot and fresh for y'all, just like part one it'll be short n' sweet but with a little bit of heat this time as promised😌 I hope you enjoy and happy reading💗!

synopsis: in which a celebration at the strip club leads to the beginning of a love affair between a wrestler and a dancer.

pairing: jey uso x black fem!oc (cherise aka candy)

tags: 18+ (MDNI), time-lapse, slow burn, lap dances, flirty banter, teasing, kissing, touches, dirty talk, pussy eating, fingering, jey is a certified munch™, daddy kink, pet names (pretty girl, mama, baby, babygirl), these mfs don't even know they're in love already (well jey does but cherise? poor baby needs a little help).

word count: 2.6k words

read part one here!

soundtrack playlist

3 months later…

Nursing school wasn’t a walk in the park.

Cherise sat at a cramped desk in the back corner of the library, eyes flickering between the highlighted notes in her textbook, a whiteboard full of her scribbled thoughts, and the lukewarm iced caramel latte beside her. Her braids were up in a bun, her glasses perched low on her nose, her purple scrubs wrinkled against her frame.

Nothing about her in this moment screamed Candy.

No stilettos. No glittering lingerie. No sultry confidence.

Just Cherise.

Quiet, focused, tired as hell.

Balancing school and dancing wasn’t easy, but it paid the bills. The club gave her freedom—let her work when she wanted, let her make rent in a single night sometimes and maybe give her a boost a confidence. It wasn’t forever, but for now? It worked like a charm.

Still, sometimes she wondered what it would be like to only be Cherise.

No stage names. No personas. No men sexualizing her with grabby hands and ravenous looks in their eyes.

No thoughts about a certain wrestler who disappeared on her for months. She hated that she even thought about him. It wasn’t like she expected him to chase her, but still…That night had lingered.

The way he touched her. The way he talked to her, teased her, made her feel like he actually saw her as a human. He was smooth, but it never felt like a pick-up line with him.

And then…nothing.

Not a single glimpse of him at the club since.

She wasn’t pressed, though. She had other things to worry about. Like passing her damn pharmacology exam. Cherise sighed, rubbing her temple. She needed a break.

And a drink.

Which meant…

Back to the club.

♡

Cherise had been backstage, touching up her lip gloss, her hair, and fixing her outfit, when Trinity had strutted up to her with a knowing smirk.

"You got a visitor, sweets.”

"Huh?" Cherise barely glanced up, adjusting the strap of her tiny lace bra. "Who?"

"That fine-ass Samoan you was tryna act like you ain’t been thinkin’ about."

Cherise froze.

Her stomach flipped. Her heart kicked up a notch.

"Shut up."

"I ain’t lyin’." Trinity leaned in, whispering.  "Jey is in VIP right now, waitin’ on you girl. Cherise felt heat creep up her neck. She cleared her throat, straightened her posture, forced her face into Candy’s confident smirk.  "That man ain’t nothin’ special."

Trinity laughed.  "Girl, if you don’t take yo’ ass out there so I can get Jim all to myself…”

So she did.

♡

And when she pushed open that VIP door? He was right there, sitting back on the couch like he owned the place.

Clad in a blue Nike fleece tracksuit. Thick thighs spread wide.  He had a gold grill peeking out when he grinned, one hand resting lazily on his knee, the other draped over the couch.

Looking good as hell.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

"Damn, ma… took you long enough." His voice was slow, teasing.

"Didn’t know you still remembered me." She smirked, sauntering closer, deliberately dragging her nails down his chest as she straddled him. "Been a minute, Joshua."

Jey exhaled a quiet laugh, hands settling right on her hips.  “You miss me, baby?"

"Mmm." She rolled her hips just enough to make him suck in a breath.  "I shouldn’t… but maybe a little."

"That’s cute." His hands slid lower, squeezing the curve of her ass.  "Been busy, mama. Mania comin’ up. You know how it is."

"Do I?" She arched a brow. "I wouldn’t know, since somebody ain’t keep in touch."

"Damn…" Jey chuckled, gripping her tighter. "That what we doin’?  You tryna guilt trip me ‘cause I got a job?"

"I’m just sayin’." She traced the chain around his neck, lips barely brushing his jaw. "I give a man my name and he vanish on me.  Kinda rude, don’t you think?"

"Nah, see it ain’t even like that…” His grip flexed on her hips, voice dipping lower.  "I was tryna be respectful, baby girl."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He smirked, leaning in.  "’Cause the way I wanted you last time? I’d have fucked you silly if we weren’t on a time limit." Cherise shivered, heat flooding her stomach.

Jey felt it too, the way her thighs twitched in his lap.

"Mmm…" He licked his lips, voice thick with heat.  "See that, baby?  You tryna act all tough, but you feel me talkin’ to you, huh?"

"Shut up." She should have more control over this, more restraint, but Jey was dangerous. He could see through her entire ‘Candy’ act like cellophane. He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Why? ‘Cause you know I’m right?" Her breath hitched. Jey groaned, voice gravelly. "I’on like unfinished business, baby girl. You left me high and dry last time."

"Maybe I like making you work for it."

"Yeah?" His fingers trailed between her thighs, barely grazing the heat of her pussy.  "Then lemme clock in, mama." Cherise gasped, hips jerking. "Jey-”

"Shhh." He kissed her, slow and deep, groaning into her mouth as he slid his hand into her panties. "Mmm, baby…" His fingers brushed against her slick folds, teasing, just barely pressing inside. "You feel so good, damn."

She whimpered, biting her lip.  "Jey-”

"Nah, I got you, mama."* He sucked at her throat, voice husky.  “I’m gon’ take real good care of you."

Something about the way he said that sentence made her almost want to melt away all of her resolve and let him take complete control over her.

Almost.

A shudder rolled through her. Jey noticed.

“Aww.” His grin was wicked.  “Is that what you need baby?”

Cherise’s breath hitched.  “Just…shut up and do something..”

"Oh, I’ma do more than that."

His fingers found her clit, swollen and throbbing, rubbing the nub in slow circles. Cherise gasped, hips jerking into his touch, her body betraying her even though she wanted to play this game a little longer.

"Shit…" He licked his lips, his free hand gripping her thigh, spreading her wider over his lap.  "You been sittin’ here actin’ like I ain't been on your mind, but this lil’ pussy tellin’ me somethin’ different, mama."

Cherise bit back a whimper, glaring down at him.  "You talk too much."

"And you still soakin’ my hand.” His fingers slid through her slick folds, slow, teasing, barely applying any pressure where she needed it.  "Mmm, damn, baby… I missed this."

"You ain’t even had it yet, Jey."

"Not yet." His grin was pure sin, eyes locked on her face as he dipped one thick finger inside her, slowly.  "But I’ma take my time wit’ you.”

Cherise’s head tipped back, a quiet moan slipping past her lips. Jey felt the way she clenched around him, her hips subtly rolling to meet the slow pump of his hand. "That’s it, baby girl…" His voice was dark, husky, dragging his finger out almost all the way before pressing another one inside.  "Let Daddy feel you."

A full-body shudder rolled through her.

Jey smirked. "Oh, you like that, huh?" Cherise bit her lip, cheeks heating, but she wasn’t about to admit anything.

"Mmm." Jey kissed her throat, tongue flicking out to taste her skin as his fingers curled, pressing just right against her g-spot. "Don’t gotta say it, pretty girl.  Your body already tellin’ me everything I need to know."

"Fuck…" Cherise whimpered, fingers curling into his hoodie as pleasure spiked through her. "Mmm, that’s what I like to hear, mama." Jey’s pace picked up, his fingers thrusting deeper, rougher, messier. "You hear that?" He groaned, grinding his palm against her clit. "Listen to this lil’ pussy, drippin’ all over my hand, damn…"

Cherise could hear it—lewd, sticky, wet sounds echoing in the dimly lit room.

Her breath hitched, hips bucking against his touch. "Jey-“

"Nah, baby, we ain’t done yet." His hand suddenly disappeared from her panties, making her whine at the loss.

Jey grabbed her by the waist and flipped her, laying her back on the couch, his body looming over her, heat radiating from him like a furnace. "Been waitin’ too long for this, mama…" He licked his lips, gaze locked right between her thighs as he spread them apart. "Lemme taste you, baby."

Before she could protest—not that she even wanted to—Jey lowered himself, dragging her panties down to her ankles with his fingers. "Ohhh, fuck…" His voice dropped an octave, eyes dark with pure hunger.  "Goddamn, baby… look at you."

Cherise squirmed under his stare, trying not to let it affect her. "You gon’ eat or just sit there and admire?" Jey chuckled, but his grip on her thighs tightened.  "Nah, I gotta take a second, baby… You just got a pretty fuckin’ pussy baby… shit, I knew you would." She whimpered, clenching at his words.

Jey could sense it.

"Awww, baby…" He grinned, pressing his lips against her inner thigh.  "She likes when I talk to her, huh?” Cherise’s face burned, but before she could throw out a smart remark, Jey’s tongue pressed against her clit.

"Ohhh fuck!” Her hips jerked, but Jey held her down, hands locked around her thighs as he devoured her. "Mmm, there we go…" he moaned into her, lips wrapping around her swollen clit, sucking slow, deep, dirty.  "Taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby… goddamn…"

Cherise’s fingers flew to his short curls, gripping tight as he worked her with his tongue.  "Jey… oh my God-“

"Mmm-hmm…" Jey hummed against her, sending vibrations straight to her core. "You like that, baby? Feel good?"

"Y-yeah—fuck—" She gasped, thighs trembling.

Jey smirked against her, dipping lower, tongue dragging through her folds, fucking her with slow, teasing licks. "Mmm, yeah… gon' fuck around and give me a sweet tooth, mama."

Cherise let out a shaky moan, back arching as he flattened his tongue against her again, again, sucking, licking, tasting like he was starving.

"You close, baby girl?" Jey murmured, voice dripping with sin as he slid two fingers back inside her, curling them just right.  "C’mon, mama… make a mess on my tongue."

"Jey—fuck, I’m cumming—ohhhh!" Her body snapped, pleasure ripping through her as her orgasm rushed over her like a tidal wave. Jey groaned, keeping his tongue and fingers right where she needed them, working her through every aftershock, swallowing every drop of her arousal.

"Mmm, good girl…" His voice was pure gravel, lips shiny with her slick as he finally pulled back, dragging his tongue over his lips like he wanted to savor the taste.  "Damn, I love this lil’ pussy, baby… look at her, still twitchin’ for me…"

Cherise could barely move.

Her legs shook, body weak, head spinning.

Jey grinned, leaning down, kissing her slow, deep, letting her taste herself on his tongue. "See what you been missin’, mama?" She hummed against his lips, still floating. "Mmm… maybe you should remind me again…"

Jey chuckled, nipping at her bottom lip.  "You bad, girl…"

A sudden knock on the door made them both freeze.

"Time’s up, Candy!”

Jey let out a frustrated groan, resting his forehead against hers.  "Man… fuck."

Cherise giggled breathlessly, brushing her fingers down his jaw.  "Guess that’s my cue.”

The knock on the door lingered in the room like an unwelcome intruder. Cherise sighed, pushing her trembling thighs together, body still buzzing from the way Jey had just worked her like he owned her.

This man is dangerous.

Jey sat back on the couch, one arm slung across the top, legs still spread like he had all the time in the world.  His smirk was lazy, smug, and damn near irresistible.

"Time’s up, huh?" He licked his lips, his hand sliding down his face as he looked her over. "They ain’t even let me finish makin’ you mine, mama."

"Please." Cherise rolled her eyes, smoothing her hands over her thighs before standing on slightly shaky legs. "I think you finished plenty, Joshua."

The way she said his name had him sitting up straighter, that cocky grin softening into something warmer.  "Damn, you really like callin’ me that huh?”

"What else would I call you?" she teased, bending slightly to grab her panties and pull them back up to her hips.

His gaze didn’t miss a thing, the soft, teasing shift of her voice, the way her hands moved over her body.

"I could think of a few things." His tone was low, playful, with just enough edge to let her know he wasn’t entirely joking.  "Daddy would sound real good comin’ from your mouth."

Cherise’s lips parted, blood rushing to her ears, but she only shook her head and smirked as she reached for his hand.  "You gon’ keep playin’, or you gon’ let me write this number down before I change my mind?"

"Go on, then." He handed her a pen, his gaze steady as she took his hand, her nails lightly grazing his palm as she began writing. "I don’t usually do this," she murmured, her voice quieter now, softer than her Candy facade. "You better not make me regret it."

Jey tilted his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  "Mama, you really think I’d fumble somethin’ like this?"

"Mmm, I guess we’ll see." She capped the pen, slipping it back to him, but didn’t pull her hand away just yet.  Her fingers lingered against his for a moment longer, and when she looked up, Jey was staring at her like she was his whole world.

"Get home safe," she said softly, her voice more Cherise than Candy now.

"You too, pretty girl."* He gave her a smile, the kind that wasn’t cocky but genuine, the kind that made her stomach flip.  "Don’t be actin’ shy when I hit your line, though."

She laughed quietly, adjusting her skimpy outfit.  "I’ll think about it."

And with that, she slipped out the door, leaving him alone in the quiet heat of the VIP room.

♡

The apartment was quiet, the faint hum of the city drifting in through the cracked window.  Cherise lays in bed, tangled in her cozy blankets, her body still sore, her mind still replaying the night in vivid detail.

She didn’t even know why she’d given him her number. It completely out of character for her. She didn’t do things like this—getting caught up with clients, letting them get under her skin.

But Jey…

Joshua.

Something about him felt different.

Her phone vibrated on the pillow beside her, the soft glow of the screen illuminating the darkness.

Her heart skipped.

She reached for it, thumb swiping over the screen, and there it was.

Unknown number: You still up, baby girl?

She smiled, biting her lip as she stared at the text for a moment.  Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard before she typed back.

Cherise: Maybe. Why? 👀

The three little dots appeared immediately.

Jey: ’Cause I’m thinkin’ bout you. 😘

Her stomach flipped.

Cherise: Oh really?

Jey: Hell yeah. Shit, I can still taste you on my lips, baby girl. 👅

Her cheeks burned, her thighs pressing together at the memory.

Cherise: You’re ridiculous🙄

Jey: Nah, I’m serious. Been waitin’ three months to see you again, and now all I can think about is how bad I wanna see you outta that club.

Cherise blinked, rereading the text twice, her breath catching in her throat.

He wanted to see her again?  Outside the club?

Cherise: I don’t know if that’s a good idea…

The reply came almost instantly.

Jey: Why not? You scared I’ma make you fall in love wit’ me?😏

She rolled her eyes at the screen, but her heart was beating a little too fast.

Cherise: Boy, goodnight. 

Jey: Goodnight, pretty girl.  Sweet dreams. ♥️

She set the phone down beside her, staring at the ceiling with a quiet smile on her lips.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

But damn, it felt good.

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[yourbasicqueerie]

The Audition (Lydia Lebasi x reader)

۶ৎ Summary:

Everyone in the industry whispered about Lydia Lebasi. The woman who could make a name sing or disappear with a single phone call. She'd managed Oscar winners, ruined A-listers, turned ingénues into icons — and then discarded them just as easily. They called her "The Architect" behind closed doors. The Devil in designer heels.

OR

You're an aspiring actress looking for a manager, what happens when that person is Lydia?

۶ৎ Author’s Notes:

So.....guess who wrote Lydia smut y'all???? Anywho, this took literally forever to write, so i hope it's good enough! I made this for the lovely @jubshead who was also my beta for this! Thank you for all that read through this and urged me to keep going! Also I'm thinking about maybe making this a multi-chapter, so give me ur thoughts regarding that! If you want to listen to music during this I made a Lydia playlist u can find here!!!

۶ৎ Warnings: Manipulative relashionship, Dubious Consent, Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Porn With Plot, overall just a loooot of sex and dubious relashionships, reader recieving.

⪼┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ➢

The office was colder than it had any right to be.

Long shadows stretched from bronze light fixtures, their antique glow barely enough to illuminate the slick marble floor beneath your heels. The walls were an austere gray-blue, hung with black-and-white photographs of faces — some famous, some forgotten. All haunting. All beautiful. Everything felt curated. From the art deco chairs that were too uncomfortable to sit in for long, to the scent in the air: citrus, with a chemical undercurrent. Expensive. Clinical. Predatory. It’s like the waiting room was designed to intimidate. 

And it worked.

You sat alone in the waiting area, spine rigid, hands pressed together in your lap. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was surgical. 

Everyone in the industry whispered about Lydia Lebasi. The woman who could make a name sing or disappear with a single phone call. She’d managed Oscar winners, ruined A-listers, turned ingénues into icons — and then discarded them just as easily. They called her “The Architect” behind closed doors. The Devil in designer heels.

The door opened.

Lydia Lebasi stepped into view like a blade sliding over silk.

She was tall, taller than you'd expected, with an elegance that bordered on cruelty. Her black tailored suit jacket hugged her waist like a whisper, the satin lapels gleaming under the soft light. A sheer midnight blouse peeked through the jacket, the top button carelessly undone. Her black slacks flowed like a countdown into razor-sharp lines over the stilettos that clicked softly as she moved.

Her skin was porcelain-smooth, her cheekbones sharp as truths. Lips: full, berry-red, and unsmiling. Her hair, a dark brown sleek bob, was tucked neatly behind one ear. And her eyes raked over your nervous figure, cold, deliberate, hungry.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t need to.

“You,” she said, voice smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous. “Come.”

Her feet moved before your brain caught up.

The office was darker than you anticipated. The blinds were drawn, the walls a deep emerald green. One massive, black mahogany desk sat centered before a velvet chaise. The desk looked unused, more ornament than functional. Lydia belonged behind it, in control of it.

She didn’t offer a handshake. Just moved to lean against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

“You’ve been trying to meet with me for… what, six months?”

“Yes,” you mumbled quickly, intimidated by the manager’s presence.

“You’re persistent.” Lydia tilted her head, studying you like how a collector studied a rare, possibly damaged artifact. “Pretty. Young. Nervous.” she enunciated each syllable slowly, tasting the words in her mouth.

“I- ” your voice caught. “I’m serious, I’ve worked hard, I have range and I’m not afraid to- “

“Stop,” Lydia said, and you did.

She stepped closer in one long stride. The scent of her perfume filled the air between you and her — expensive, smoky, and strange, like vanilla scorched on coals. Her gaze dropped, slowly sweeping over your uncomfortable yet professional shoes up to your gulping throat and lingering at your mouth.

A breath too long.

A beat too deliberate.

Lydia smirked.

“I can see the eagerness in you,” she said softly. “But there’s something else.” Her finger lifted — featherlight, tracing just beneath your jawline. “Fear.”

“I’m not afraid,” you lied.

“Oh, darling.” Lydia’s voice dropped. “You are. And it’s exquisite.”

She stepped behind you — a slow circle — her voice near your ear now. 

“You’re wondering if I’ll sign you. If you’re good enough. But what you should be wondering is… why I haven’t already said yes.”

She turned to face you, stopping only inches away.

“You think it’s about talent?” Lydia asked, amused. “No. It’s about devotion. Sacrifice. Chemistry.” She glanced down at your figure again, this time openly. “It’s about whether you’re interesting enough to keep me entertained.”

You swallowed hard. Your whole body felt like glass just about to shatter.

Lydia’s eyes narrowed, then darkened.

“Take off your coat.”

You hesitated.

“I said,” Lydia demanded, “take it off.”

You did as she said, awkwardly, hands trembling.

Lydia’s gaze swept you once more. Slower. More deliberate. She stepped closer, the air electric between you both.

Then, without warning, Lydia separated herself from you and sat down on the velvet chaise — legs crossed, gaze unapologetically possessive.

The silence stretched like a trap being set.

“I’ll do anything to make it in this industry,” you said suddenly, voice barely louder than a breath. “Anything.”

Lydia’s head tilted. Slowly. Eyes gleaming.

“Anything?” she echoed, her voice laced with interest.

You nodded, but it wasn’t confident — it was desperate.

Lydia’s hand extended. A beckoning gesture.

“Come here.”

 You froze.

Lydia turned to you. “Do you want this or not?”

“I- I do,” you said quickly, but your feet didn’t move.

A soft smile tugged at Lydia’s lips. “Then come. Don’t waste my time.”

Slowly, you took a shaky step forward. Then another. Then another one.

 The moment you were close enough Lydia’s hand reached out — not rough, but firm — and took you by the wrist.

“Sit,” she said, patting her thigh. “Right here.”

Your mouth went dry.

“I don’t— I don’t do this,” you stammered, panic threading through your voice. “I came to act, not—”

Lydia’s hand tightened slightly on your wrist. “You came to belong,” she whispered, voice like smoke curling into your ears. “And that’s exactly what I’m offering.”

“I— please, no—” You begged, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“You're trembling,” Lydia cooed, her hand now ghosting the curve of your back. “How precious. Don’t worry, I like it when they tremble the first time.”

You hesitated, then, as if in a trance, slowly sank onto Lydia’s lap.

The air seemed too thin. Your whole body was tense, not leaning forward, barely letting your weight rest on the woman beneath you.

Lydia chuckled. “You’re so stiff.”

Then — her fingers slid up your scarred arms, slowly, stopping just below your shoulders. Lydia’s breath brushed your ear.

“But you smell like hunger,” she whispered.

READ MORE ON AO3

[spicyschemmenti]

NEEDING A BREAK ➫ alex cabot

pairing: alex cabot x sassy bimbo!fem!reader

synopsis: a high-profile case has alex more stressed than usual and you take it upon yourself to do what you do best: drive her insane until she finally admits she needs a break

warnings: unprofessional behaviour/banter, heavy flirting, teasing, suggestive comments, and physical closeness, reader is alex’s assistant, creating a dynamic where professional boundaries are blurred

word count: 2.7k

author's note: lmk if you wanna be added to future posts of this pairing!

The click of your six-inch Louboutin heels against the cold tile floors of Alex’s office is a sharp contrast to the scratch of her pen against paper, the only other sound filling the otherwise silent room. You don’t even need to announce your presence as she always knows when you’re there, but she keeps her head down anyway, pretending to be engrossed in whatever ridiculously complicated legal document is spread across her desk.

From what you can see over her shoulder, it’s a deposition transcript, something dense and wordy, full of legal jargon that would bore most people to tears. But not you. You understand every word. Not that Alex ever gives you credit for it.

Her glasses have slid down the bridge of her nose, blonde hair slightly mussed from the countless times she’s raked her fingers through it in frustration. The lines of exhaustion are starting to set in around her eyes, and if you had to guess, she’s been sitting at that desk for at least six hours straight without so much as a sip of water or a single second to breathe.

You prop yourself against the doorway, tilting your head as you take in the sight of Manhattan’s most intimidating ADA looking way too overworked for her own good. With a dramatic sigh, you push off the frame and strut forward, the pink latex mini-dress hugging your curves in all the right places.

The color practically screams Barbie, especially with the way it glistens under the office lights, paired with your glossy nude lips and the French tips that have just the right amount of sparkle. It’s not exactly office attire, but when have you ever cared about that?

You plant a manicured hand on your hip, tapping one perfectly filed nail against your thigh. “Alright, boss. Enough.”

Alex, still pretending she hasn’t noticed you, merely hums, flipping another page of the deposition. “Not now.”

Oh, she’s adorable. Like that’s ever stopped you.

You roll your eyes, stepping closer until you’re practically looming over her desk, catching a proper glimpse of the papers in front of her. Oh, it’s that case, the one with the Wall Street CEO who thinks his money can buy his way out of a human trafficking charge.

The guy’s lawyer, some smug Columbia-educated asshole with a penchant for twisting witness testimonies, had just filed a motion to suppress key evidence, and judging by the way Alex is ruthlessly highlighting passages in the affidavit, she’s gearing up for a legal battle of epic proportions.

Still, she’s exhausted. And you? Well, you’re annoying when you want to be.

Alex finally sighs, removing her glasses with that exasperated little motion you love so much, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s already regretting entertaining you. “I have deadlines, and unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of ignoring them.”

You gasp, offended. Hand to your chest, lips parted dramatically. “Are you implying that I don’t work hard?”

Alex doesn’t answer, which is probably for the best because you’re not about to let her win this one.

Without hesitation, you snatch the file right out of her hands, watching in delight as her mouth parts in pure disbelief.

“Excuse me?” Her voice is low, controlled, and just a little dangerous.

You flash her a smug smile. “Boss, you need a break.”

Alex reaches for the papers, but you hold them above your head, your six-inch stilettos giving you just enough height to keep them out of her reach. Her jaw clenches, that sharp blue gaze narrowing like she’s considering whether or not she could legally kill you right now and get away with it.

“Give. Those. Back.”

You shake your head, blonde curls bouncing slightly. “Mmm… no, I don’t think I will.”

And because you never know when to quit, you take it one step further. With all the grace and confidence in the world, you drop down into her lap, swinging your legs over the arm of her chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Alex freezes.

Like, fully stops breathing for a solid five seconds. You feel it—feel the sharp inhale, the tension that coils in her muscles, the way her hands tighten into fists against the arms of the chair because she refuses to put them anywhere near you. Which is a shame, really.

Her voice, when she finally finds it, is strained. “You have five seconds to move.”

You hum, tapping your nails against her silk blouse, letting them trace lazy circles just over the first button. “Or what? You’ll arrest me?”

Alex swallows hard, her tongue darting out to wet her lips just for a second, but you notice.

You always notice.

She exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose for the second time in the last five minutes. “I hate you.”

You grin, leaning in until your lips are just inches from her ear. “No, you don’t.”

There’s a long pause, filled only by the distant hum of the city outside. For a moment, you swear she might actually snap, might finally give in to whatever tension has been simmering between the two of you for the past several months, might grab your waist and yank you closer like she wants to. But instead, she sighs, leaning back just slightly, eyes flicking to yours with something unreadable — something that makes your stomach flip.

“Fine.” Her voice is quieter now. “Ten minutes.”

You beam, victorious.

Still, you don’t move.

And neither does she.

After a long moment, she raises a brow, her hands still firmly gripping the arms of her chair. “Are you going to get off of me now?”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. I dunno. I think I’m quite comfy.”

Alex exhales slowly, like she’s actively resisting the urge to throttle you. But beneath the frustration, there’s something else—something dangerous and slow-burning that makes your grin widen.

She tilts her head slightly, her voice dropping just a fraction. “You’re playing a very risky game.”

And oh, do you love it when she talks like that.

So you just smirk, settling in just a little closer, letting your fingers trail up the lapel of her blazer with an infuriating slowness.

“Oh, boss,” you murmur, voice saccharine sweet. “I always win.”

Alex’s jaw is tight, her perfectly-manicured nails digging into the armrests of her chair like she’s trying to physically restrain herself from reacting. You can see the conflict in her eyes, the push and pull of annoyance, attraction, and exasperation swirling together in a way that has her this close to snapping. But because she’s Alex Cabot, because she’s made of pure ice and self-control, she doesn’t do anything.

She just stares at you.

You stare right back, lips curled into a smirk as you lean in just a little more, fingers still tracing along the edge of her blazer, pink acrylics standing out against the dark fabric. She could push you off. She could order you to move, threaten you with termination, or even physically remove you herself. But she doesn’t.

Because she likes this.

Because she likes you.

But Alex isn’t going to admit that. Not now. Not ever.

So, after a long pause, she simply exhales sharply, her head tilting slightly as she studies you with that sharp, assessing gaze that makes defense attorneys crumble in the courtroom.

"If you're going to waste my time, at least be useful."

You gasp, hand flying to your chest in mock offense. "Boss, I am always useful."

Alex doesn’t dignify that with a response, but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth betrays her amusement.

Still perched in her lap like you own the place, you lazily reach over and grab the file you’d stolen from her earlier, flipping through the deposition notes as if they were a tabloid magazine. “Ugh. Men are so predictable.” You scan the text with ease, your painted nails skimming over key sections, cherry-picking the ones that actually matter.

Alex arches a brow, arms folding across her chest. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

You flick your eyes up to hers, a cocky grin playing at your lips. “First of all, Mr. Rich-As-Fuck-And-Twice-As-Stupid over here is lying his ass off. He contradicts himself three times between page two and page six. The defense is hoping you won’t catch it.” You flash Alex a knowing look. “Spoiler alert: you already have. But they don’t know that yet.”

Alex’s lips press together, but you see the satisfaction in her expression.

You continue, kicking one leg playfully in the air, your heels catching the light. “Second, they’re trying to suppress the security footage because the CEO’s mistress is in the background. They’re gonna argue it’s ‘prejudicial’ to show the jury because it could make him look immoral.” You roll your eyes. “As if being a cheating, greasy old man is somehow worse than human trafficking.”

Alex lets out a quiet scoff, but she still doesn’t interrupt you.

You smirk, tapping the page. “But here’s where they fucked up. They claim their client wasn’t even at the hotel that night, right?”

Alex nods slowly, eyes narrowing. “Yes…”

You beam. “Then why did his lawyers just submit a motion to suppress footage of him being there?”

Silence.

Alex’s gaze snaps down to the document in your hands, then back to you.

Then, she smiles.

Not her usual, tight-lipped, polite courtroom smile. No, this is something different. This is something genuine, something fond.

And fuck, if that doesn’t do something to your heart.

She exhales, shaking her head slightly. “You are… infuriating.”

You grin, flipping your hair dramatically over one shoulder. “And yet, you love me.”

Alex doesn’t answer. She just watches you for a moment, studying you like you’re some kind of enigma she hasn’t quite figured out yet.

And then—very slowly, very deliberately—she rests a hand on your thigh.

Not in a sexual way, not in a way that immediately suggests anything inappropriate, but in a way that tells you she’s not pushing you away.

She’s letting you stay.

Her fingers are warm against the sleek material of your dress, and for the first time all night, you’re the one who freezes.

Alex tilts her head slightly, voice lower now. “You done yet?”

You swallow, blinking once before regaining your composure. “I mean, I could keep going, but I don’t wanna show off too much. You might start feeling insecure.”

Alex lets out a soft, amused scoff, shaking her head.

She still doesn’t move her hand.

And neither do you.

Instead, you just smirk, flipping the file closed with one hand while the other casually traces up Alex’s arm, your nails lightly skimming against her skin.

“Admit it, boss,” you murmur, tilting your head. “You’d be lost without me.”

Alex’s fingers are warm against your thigh, resting there like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like she didn’t just spend the last five minutes pretending she wasn’t one wrong move away from snapping.

And the worst part? She knows what she’s doing. She knows exactly how much space is between the two of you (barely any), she knows exactly how her palm feels against the sleek, latex material of your dress (smooth and dangerous), and she knows exactly what kind of effect she has on you.

But two can play this game.

Your smirk doesn’t waver, but it does shift—just slightly, turning into something more smug, more challenging, more I dare you to keep this up, boss.

You lean in, slow and deliberate, just enough to close that tiny bit of distance between you, your lips hovering close to her ear, close enough that if she just turned her head half an inch, you could...

But she doesn’t.

Of course she doesn’t.

Because Alex Cabot is nothing if not disciplined, and she would rather die than let you see her crack first.

So instead, she does what she always does. She exhales through her nose, slow and controlled, like she’s beyond exhausted by you, like she can’t believe she lets you do this to her every single damn day.

Her fingers twitch against your thigh for half a second before she finally moves her hand, dragging it away from you like she hadn’t just been resting it there like she belonged.

You watch as she leans back in her chair, rolling her shoulders before running a hand through her perfectly styled blonde hair, messing it up just enough that it makes her look a little less put together, a little more like someone who’s been dealing with your bullshit for way too long.

"You finished?" she asks, tilting her head slightly, voice dry as ever.

You let out a little hum, tilting your own head right back. "Depends. You admitting that I just did your job better than you, or are we still pretending like you didn't just get your ass saved by your favorite assistant?"

Alex scoffs. Full on, outright scoffs, like she cannot believe the words that just left your mouth, like she's so done with you, but she’s not, not really. Because if she was? She wouldn’t let you get away with it. She wouldn't let you stay like this, sprawled across her lap, your hands casually playing with the lapel of her blazer like you own her, like you can do whatever you want and she’ll just sit there and take it.

And the thing is? She does.

She always does.

"You are a menace," she mutters, shaking her head as she reaches for the file you so rudely snatched from her earlier, flipping through the pages like she’s actually going to go over the notes, like she’s not just double-checking them because she doesn’t want to admit that you were right.

You flash her a sickeningly sweet smile, one that’s all lip gloss and trouble, and tap your nails against her desk. "And yet, you haven't fired me. Wonder why that is."

Alex doesn’t look at you, doesn’t react, but you see the way her lips press together, the way her jaw tightens just a little, the way she turns one page too fast like she’s trying so hard to ignore you.

And god, it’s so cute.

"If you were any other employee," she finally says, tone calm, measured, the way it always is when she's trying not to let you get under her skin, "you would’ve been escorted out of this office a long time ago."

You just smile, propping your chin on your hand. "But I'm not any other employee, am I?"

Alex pauses.

It's only for half a second, barely long enough to register, but you notice it.

Because you always notice.

She lets out a slow, quiet breath, then finally glances at you. And there’s something in her expression, something heavy, something unspoken, something that makes your stomach flip way too fast for your own good.

But then, just as quickly as it came, it’s gone.

And she’s back to rolling her eyes, shaking her head like you’re nothing but a headache in six-inch heels.

"Go file those case notes," she says, waving a dismissive hand toward the stack of paperwork sitting at the corner of her desk. "And for god’s sake, get off of me before someone walks in."

You pout, dragging your nails lightly against her blazer as you finally—reluctantly—move off of her lap, making a show of stretching like you were so comfortable there, like it was so inconvenient for you to leave.

Alex doesn’t react.

Not really.

But you see the way she exhales, the way she rolls her shoulders again, the way she doesn’t immediately meet your gaze when you stand up.

Interesting.

You make your way over to the desk, your hips swaying just a little more than usual as you pick up the stack of case files, flipping through them lazily.

"You know," you say, tapping a manicured nail against one of the pages, "if you'd just let me handle these from the start, you wouldn't be so stressed all the time. Maybe then you wouldn't have to pretend you don't enjoy me sitting in your lap."

Alex doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance up from her work, but you see the way she stiffens, the way her hand briefly tightens around her pen.

And god, if that isn’t the best part of your day.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Hey baes! Can you do the outsiders (separate) with a reader who always gets their nails done? Thank you!!

Summary: The Outsiders x Reader who gets her nails done Warnings: none Author's Note: none

PONYBOY thinks your nails are so pretty. He loves how they elongate your fingers and make you look more classy and elegant. He'll always prefer the small almond shapes over long and square, only because it's easier to give him head massages and he doesn't want your nails to get in the way of anything you do. Don't get me wrong though, he loves gyaru nails and will always ALWAYS help you design them. JOHNNY thinks your nails are beautiful. He thinks it ties together your whole look and he loves it. He's always asking you to do his favorite color (red) because he thinks it looks the best on you. Johnny was always interested on how they put the nails together so sometimes he'll sit in on your nail sessions and watch you get them done. If you get his initials he'll be over the moon excited! SODAPOP sometimes says that he only loves you because of your nails. THIS IS BECAUSE, he loves it when you draw little patterns on his skin and give him head massages because it gives him tingles, so he'll joke about it often. Has once asked you to get the DX logo on your nails and has not regretted it when he saw it. He loves when you get funny nail art, especially for Christmas. He finds the little santa and reindeer nail art so cute that he'll always beg you to get it. STEVE loves when you get your nails done. His favorite set was probably the red, blue and white ones. Not because it was an American flag but because those are his favorite colors. He thinks the long sharp stiletto nails are top tier and he jokes that it's good for self defense. He always tries to pay for your nails when he can scrape together enough, too! TWO BIT loves your nails, and so does his sister! If you ever get thermal color changing nails, they'll spend an hour staring at it change in awe. Has let you paint his nails before but only a clear top coat! You and his sister play 'nail salon' when she wants and he's always the customer and has to deal with marker scribbles on his hand. He always asks you to get funny images on your nails but you always turn him down, EXCEPT ON HIS BIRTHDAY! and he was sooo happy and full of laughs because of it. DARRY likes your nails. He thinks they're pretty without nails, he thinks their pretty with nails. He loves you for you, not your nails! He does really like when you get colored french tips though, they're his personal favorites! Especially the gradient two toned ones! He tries to always pay for your nails, but sometimes forgets you have appointments and you have to pay for it yourself. DALLAS really likes your nails. He loves when you get black and a dark red stiletto because he thinks they make you look tuff as hell. He wont spend hours admiring them like Two but if he notices your new set, he'll grab your hand, look at it nonchalantly and say, "Was it worth 60$?" Because he's SO sore that he had to pay 60 for nails! But as long as your happy that's all he'll say.

[marysdigdiaries101]

NEW INTERESTS

summary: as business woman barbie, you had to be quite serious and uptight about your field of work. so when you couldn't make it sleepover night, which wasn't unexpected of course ꒰but nevertheless꒱ , stereotypical barbie comes to check up on you.

warning/s: top! barbie, bottom! reader, no smut, but it's implied, fluff/comfort, tired reader, talk of depression, swearing, not proofread, pretend they have genitals btw.

word count: forgot to check lmao

authors note: hi hi hii ! first post omg? i just watched the new barbie movie and..im fucking obsessed, i swear i missed half the movies dialogue tho cause i was admiring margot's gorgeous face. anyway i thought what if we had a super stressed, borderline depressed barbie who just needed a break from her thoughts ? enjoy pookies ! ୨♡୧

+ btw men dni.

navigation ! | ୨♡୧

the wheels of your pastel pink car came to a stop in your driveway as you sluggishly dragged yourself out of the drivers seat. another long day, another girls night you couldn't deal with. bright lights illuminated the moving bodies on the vast dance floor, pointed stilettos tapping and turning swiftly as stiff hands clapped and clicked to the music.

clutching your purse, you moved across the dance floor, avoiding flapping arms and desperate kens in need of a dance partner. as you got to the last section of your mission, you felt a pair of eyes on you, a pair of eyes that were too familiar for you to shake off. looking over to your far left you found a set ocean blue eyes staring right back at you. the one and only stereotypical barbie. the perfect one, the main bitch of barbieland acknowledging your presence.

conversations between the two of you were very scarce. with you having a very busy work life and her having none at all, you never crossed paths that much. but living right across from her was a given, so conversations at times were necessary.

brushing off the nervous feeling that had crept up on you, you silently scolded yourself for the rosy blush that had quickly painted your cheeks. once again, clutching your purse tighter, you resumed your journey to your apartment in the lively dreamhouse.

the scratched door creaked open as you released your grip on the plastic doorknob. in any other room you can pretty much expect bright pinks and yellows and lovely colors..but not yours. in fact it wasn't the case at all.

black scribble lines all over formerly hot pink walls, torn up grey bed sheets, deflated pillows, a bedside rug that was once a lovely shade of baby blue now a murky lake green, and scratches, whoever was messing with this room had a no sense for care, as this room, this room was desecrated with scratches and marks.

sighing, you flopped unto the creaky mattress, the back of your knees hitting the plastic bed structure. reaching over to your achy feet, you pulled off the black heels that had been causing you anguish the whole day.

dropping your heels, you unzipped your pale pink silk dress, one of the very rare bright pieces of clothing you had left. flinging it over to the other side of the room, you tapped over to your closet, the once shiny, luxurious white structure, scribbled on and vandalised; stripped of its pride. you looked through the distressed drawer that had been left open from the mornings' rush. music flooded into the silence of your room as picked out navy blue pyjama bottoms and a tight fitted white tank top.

as if by magic (no pun intended) , your desired clothing adorned your slim body as you strolled over to your bed, plopping yourself on it and sinking into the mattress.

thoughts clouded your mind like a raging storm, keeping you a prisoner of your own mind. weird barbie said this would happen a lot more so it shouldn't have been unexpected. but it still hit you like a brick every time the thought of stereotypical barbie flooded your head. her plump lips, the crystal blue eyes that locked you in a trance at the slightest glance and her hair, oh god her hair. you just wanted to run your fingers through the golden curls. you wanted to tangle your fingers in it, you wanted to ruin it, you hated how perfect it was.

you hated her. you hated how ken adored her, how everyone was so goddamn drawn to her, it was like the town revolved around her jobless ass. you wanted her. you needed her. you needed her to need you. but you had your ken and she had hers, and that was that.

the last person who uttered a word about a barbie and a barbie or a ken and a ken was weird barbie and look how she turned out. it's not like you weren't weird yourself, with your heels dropping, thoughts about death, uncanny interests in barbie , your burnt waffles and messed up room and messed up clothes, you were borderline line outcast. you just hadn't been sent to the weird house yet.

'it's only a matter of time though'. you thought shutting your eyes. the late nights and early mornings catching up to you.

it only seemed like a few minutes before you felt the opposite side of your bed sink and a warm hand on your icy shoulder. shrieking, you leaped into an upright position, very nearly hitting your head on your heart shaped headboard.

"jesus! what the hell.." you came to an abrupt stop as you looked over to your side meeting a very dear set of eyes. "look, i'm sorry for barging in so randomly, i know you were sleeping and you're a very busy woman and-" the words mushed together in your head as you focused on her pouty lips. you would let her talk for hours on end if it meant seeing those lips move.

"it's okay." you stated, the corners of your lips turning up. "really? i mean i could leave honestly! it's no biggie..i mean if you want me stay i could?" the icy blonde rambled meeting your gaze softly. "i promise your fine." you assured her shuffling a bit, suddenly feeling very naked.

"so why are you here?" you questioned, sinking back into the comfort of your duvet. dropping your gaze, she fiddled with her velvet night gown, undoing the strings and redoing them. "..well i don't know, you looked more down than usual and you at least make it to the nail painting sessions in my room, but today you missed the whole night altogether." barbie confessed, searching your y/e/c eyes for reasons.

"i know, but-" "you promised." she stated, cutting your flimsy excuse short. "i'm sorry. i've just- i've had some things on my mind as of recent." you explained, your eyes looking at barbies' room across from yours.

“ what type of thoughts?” you raised your eyebrow at her answering her question silently. “right. too far… sorry.” she blushed, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. an uncomfortable silence filled the room as barbie crossed her legs, moving dangerously close to you.

clearing your throat, you glanced at her figure, letting the image cloud your senses. the curve of her hips to the sharp cut of her jawline, she really was the perfect barbie.

“i have thoughts about death too.” barbie whispered. you didn’t reply so she continued “all the time actually. they’re more frequent than they used to be. i thought maybe someone felt the same way as me so i shared it during the dance party downstairs, but, they just looked at me like i was.. weird.”

your heart rate tripled as you gazed up at her. she looked so.. vulnerable. all this time you had thought you were alone in this paradise. you thought of yourself as the elephant in the room. but there was a chance that the one person you thought was perfect, was just as fucked up as you.

“i’m so sorry, i’m gonna leave now-” “stay.” you muttered connecting your eyes with hers. “what?” the blonde asked, a bewildered look on her face. “i think about death too. maybe we have more in common than we thought.” you explained, running your fingers through your y/h/c haphazardly layered hair.

grinning immediately barbie sat back down, babbling instantly. and you did what anyone would do if they were in that same situation, you stared at her with hearts in your eyes, smiling broadly.

only mattel knew how you ended up sprawled across your bed with barbie straddling your lap, braiding chunks of your hair. who knew depressive thoughts could bond two dolls like this?

“your eyes are so pretty.” you murmured gazing up into her ocean blues. blushing she retorted : “oh shut up.” , but you could tell from her scarlet cheeks and darting eyes that she appreciated the compliment.

“can i kiss you?” you blurted, not being able to hold yourself back. barbie stared at you, her eyes glistening. preparing yourself for rejection you opened your mouth only to have it shut by pillowy lips.

stars behind your eyelids, in fact a whole constellation. gliding your fingers up the small of her back, you reciprocated the kiss as she cupped your face softly. biting your bottom lip, she explored your mouth slowly. sucking on your tongue, she extracted a well deserved moan out of you.

“fuck y/n” she groaned, grinding on you. moaning desperately, you fervently moved your hands around her body as she pulled away. breathing heavily you both stared at each other lovingly. “the others will hear..” she commented, returning to fiddling with your hair. agreeing, you smirked as she looked at your lips.

“i better go then. i don’t want you tired tomorrow, busy work life and all.” the blonde remarked as she slowly stood up. “mhm” you retorted, as you let your eyes wander all over her body.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, sleep well okay?” she stated, looking over at you as she got to the door. “i will.” you grinned, snuggling into your comforter. and at that she giggled as she closed your door, the echo of her voice promising you of better days. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🩰 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

[cursingtoji]

ᥫ᭡ — EXECUTIVE AFFAIRS: In a cutthroat world of boardroom battles and power struggles, you must navigate ambition , corporate intrigue, and unexpected love affairs.

✧ PRELUDE

— contents: CEO!reader, construction worker!Toji, lawyer!Nanami, therapist!Geto, ex-husband!Gojo; power imbalance, sexual frustration, manipulation, use of 'darling', 'baby', 'dear' & 'boss', 4k words, on-going series

— note: osha is the occupational safety and health administration agency in the USA, even tho i'm not american seems easier to just say osha (also a fun word to pronunce)

A young man opens the rear door of the Jaguar as soon as your driver stops by the construction site, “This way ma’am” you accept his hand, touching the cement with your stiletto first before getting out of the vehicle.

As scheduled you are heading to a meeting with the architect responsible for this particular project, a big one. Normally the CEO wouldn’t be involved in such routine visits like this, but you definitely don’t want to be like the previous CEO, who barely stepped out of his office for anything.

Besides, you have to make a good impression with the other directors that would be there today as well, and what better way to do that if not going to the construction site yourself, even though you clearly do not belong there given the way your heel wobbled as soon as it touched the uneven ground.

“Excuse me, miss” you’re stopped by a man twice your size — horizontally and almost vertically — extending a white helmet in your direction, “I’m sure that hair costed a lot and you don’t wanna cover it, but every person on site, even the ladies, ‘gotta wear it.”

You stand a bit shocked at the man addressing you like it’s not your last name on his uniform.

“Mr. Fushiguro, I should inform you that it’s your CEO you’re talking to” the boy beside you speaks up, he’s wearing a white helmet and the unknown man a yellow one.

“Great, so you are able to afford the OSHA fine if they decide today is a good day for inspection, but I’d rather not have another pointless safety training just ‘cause no one had the balls to tell you to protect your pretty ‘lil head” his expression doesn’t change a bit with the new information. You find that respectable, especially having so many people stuttering when talking to you.

If you were to say that you don’t get even a little bit amused by people being nervous in your presence Nanami would have to warn you about perjury. 

It’s quite a change to have a blue collar employee sticking to the rules and not batting an eye when the highest possible authority of the company is standing right in front of him, especially when that someone looks like he just got out of a sexy construction men calendar… not that you have ever seen one of those. That’s just what you think they might look like, plus that scar only adds up to fantasy.

You clean your throat, “I appreciate your work ethic, Mr. Fushiguro” you repeat the name so you won’t forget, “I wasn’t aware of the rules” you side-look the young man beside you who’s now staring at his own feet embarrassed since it was his duty to inform you.

“Call me Toji” you take the helmet and put it on, “By the way, you’re supposed to wear trousers too and… literally anything but that” he points with his chin to your high heels thinking how that alone was a safety hazard not just on a construction site. Toji leans closer “but I’ll let it slide, ‘cause you have quite beautiful legs.”

You are left mouth agape, internally appreciating that he didn’t say that out loud — after all being sexualized when you are trying to impose respect would require you to put a show and fire the man — but also makes you question if he was straight forward with you because of his work ethics or because he does not respect you as his superior. 

Not that you wouldn’t let him do disrespectful things to you, but still!

You’re taken to where the rest of the directors are, they’re easy to spot — a bunch of men in suits that clearly don’t belong to the place — surrounding a table with the blue prints. They greet you and you realize this is the first time you see all of them around a table and not sitting, poor guys must be dying for a room with AC right now.

It’s not like you belonged there either, with your tailor made beige suit that had a pencil skirt instead of the newly-discovered-necessary trousers and how-the-fuck-you-thought-that-was-a-good-idea high heels. But in your own defense you did visit a lot of construction sites when you first started at the company all those years ago and that’s much more than the white collar men in front of you can say.

The main architect starts to give you all an status of the project being interrupted by the senior engineer every few minutes, the last one clearly thinking he’s better than the first even though neither of them lifts a finger in this ground.

Your sight is drawn to the man that scolded you before, while the architect is pointing to something on top of the construction and everyone else is shielding their eyes from the sun to find it, you’re looking straight ahead to Toji who’s currently lifting an apparently very heavy sack of cement on his shoulder and taking it all across the site. God, he’s strong.

His handsome face shines with sweat, you’re sure the wife beater he has on also violates some OSHA code, but who would be crazy enough to report that? Not you for sure, the view is worth the OSHA fine.

Especially when he drops the sack with a grunt and uses the shirt to wipe his face, revealing a torso you’re sure Michelangelo would die to use as inspiration to sculpt into marble then having people saying ‘whoa that’s real art’. 

You wonder if someone would scream at you for touching that piece of art.

Unfortunately you don’t expect to get caught ogling by the subject himself. So the best thing you can do is find whatever the architect is pointing to and pretend to pay attention like you should have from the beginning instead of eye fucking one of your employees.

“Hey, boss” you hear on your way out of the site and back to your cozy office where you wouldn’t get your ankle broken that easily. You turn around and see Toji catwalking his way to you.

“Technically I'm out of the hazard zone, mr. Fushiguro” you justify your lack of a helmet which you ditched a few seconds ago.

“Toji” he corrects you, taking his own helmet off “and I’m not this uptight, unlike some people here today” he mutters the last part looking behind him to some of the directors that seemed to be looking for tiny errors on the project so they could fix it and justify being there.

“Well, what can I do for you?”

“I’m pretty sure you're being robbed.” 

“What?” you look around, “What do you mean?”

“You’re paying for double the stuff that’s actually being delivered” he took a sheet of folded paper out of his pants, you reach for it but he pulls it back, “I have proof and I can say names.”

“Did you say that to your field supervisor?”

“Please, who do ya think it’s signin’ under this?” he rolls his eyes.

“So you came to the CEO instead? You’re going behind some big backs here, sir.”

“Look, miss, I want a promotion, I know a lot of big shots will go down for this and I’m the only one capable of handling the people here. Besides I stand by what I said before, no one has the guts to do this so I’m taking a big risk and I deserve compensation” he hands back the paper and this time he let you take it. You stare into his deep green eyes suspiciously, the man has the looks of a fantasy villain with his sharp features and dark eyelashes, you're not entirely sure if you should believe him.

“Give your number to my assistant, we’ll schedule a meeting in the office, you tell me everything you know and I see what I can do about it.”

“In the office? Didn’t know you allowed commonores in your castle” he smirks.

“Only the pretty ones” you wink and his smile grows wider. 

“How long have you known about this?” Nanami questions.

“Not even 24 hours” you sit on your white couch signing for him to take the seat in front of you.

Your lawyer does that thing you find really hot where he unbuttons the coat of his five digit worth suit before sitting down. You admire Nanami’s elegance while he roams his eyes through the paper, he has a vest between the coat and the dress shirt. Navy blue suits him so well, matches his eyes. He makes you think every man should wear vests, but of course not every man can pull it off. Honestly, you find it hard to believe there's anything Nanami can’t pull off, but you haven't seen your lawyer without a suit… ever. 

Maybe he looks bad with a plain T-shirt? 

No way. 

Perhaps with an overall and cowboy hat? 

Mmm the image makes you wanna ride something. 

What about emo hair, eyeliner and a band tee? 

No, you can’t imagine Kento with emo hair, no chance he had a rebellious phase except if his parents wanted him to be a surgeon and he became the best lawyer in the city just to piss them off. 

“I’m glad you came to me first, but we’ll need to involve auditing and probably internal affairs. That’ll probably put the project on hold for some weeks, also I’ll need more evidence than this” he shook the one paper sheet that was merely a quotation of supplies even you could understand is way too much for a single building.

“I got the guy for that, say the word and Yuuta will arrange a meeting” you pointed to your assistant sitting outside.

“Tell me, dear” he put the sheet aside, taking that posture that intimidated you a bit, “A blue collar worker just saw your pretty self on the site and handed criminal evidence? Just like that?”

You open your mouth, thinking what to say that won’t sound like you are being taken advantage of, and failing.

“Oh darling” he says a bit too condescendingly for someone that technically works for you, “Thought I told you about being too naive” he leans on the couch, making himself comfortable like you’re about to have The Talk.

“Kento, is not like that” you cross your arms defensively, “He said he wants a promotion, how risky that would be?”

“Thought you would say that” he takes his phone and hands it to you, “So I did my own little research.”

“What’s this?” you find yourself looking at a picture of the man you met yesterday. 

Only now you could see tiny numbers behind him indicating his height and he held a plaque with his name. He looks way younger, still very handsome, you wonder how popular he used to be in his youth, with a face like that and the implication he was arrested was enough to make every girl’s bad-boy-dream come true.

“What was he accused of?” you ask out of curiosity.

“Not relevant, also sealed records” he breaks eye contact and that’s enough for you to understand he actually knows it and he did not get this information by any legal means.

“So what? The man got a bit of trouble with the law when he was young” you shrug, remembering even your ex husband had a little rich boy “criminal” file, if you can even call the dumb shit he did outta spite for his parents an actual crime.

“HR will find out about this, then you’re going to have to justify why you’re recommending a filled man for a managing position.”

“And I’ll tell them he actually found out about a theft scheme and whatever public-pissing crime he did will surely be overlooked.”

“Darling, you have to start thinking about your image, we’ve been through that before” he tilts his head.

“You don’t like my image?” you question playfully twirling your hair, Nanami smiles for a brief second.

“You know what I mean: your image towards the board, you barely made the votes necessary to be where you are today.”

Indeed, you owned the company and no one could take that away, but the CEO position needed to be voted and you only got the necessary votes because your ex-husband had the strongest voting rights and part of the divorce agreement was that he voted for you, so his, plus a few more other members of the board's votes and you made chief executive officer.

“Fine, then write a contract, he tells everything including testify if he has to in exchange of the supervisor position and I’ll pitch it to the board before any decisions are made” you uncross your arms raising from your seat.

Bringing the board into the conversation made you nervous, most of them don't like you and you’ve been trying to prove yourself for months. Even though you worked your ass off way before marrying the owner all they saw was a hurt ex-wife making pretend.

“Atta girl” Nanami raises too, buttoning his coat back and placing his hands on your tense shoulders. Nanami smells like what you think it should be every handsome lawyer's trademark scent, cause damn that smell would make you sign anything he gives you.

“Don’t worry much, you’re doing great” he presses a bit and you melt.

“Take me out to lunch?” you pout.

“I would love to” he lets go of your shoulder, “Unfortunately I have a hearing, but I'll be back for that meeting soon, okay?”

You sigh in defeat, getting even a few minutes of Nanami’s time for yourself is as hard as it can get, only a corruption scheme to get him to come to your office in such short notice.

“Ma’am” Yuuta says from the speakerphone, “Your ex-husband is calling” you groan, throwing your head back.

Of course he would want to interrupt your moment with Nanami.

“I can get you a restriction order” your lawyer offers jokily (or not).

Aside from being the company's lawyer, Nanami Kento was also your divorce attorney, which you managed to get only after agreeing to give him your company's account if he managed to land you the CEO position. Like everything in this merciless corporate world, it was give and take, you got what you wanted – not surprisingly so, afterall Nanami, even though is not a divorce specialist, is the best. Still, you like to think of him being more than another contractor of yours.

“I appreciate the offering” you smile tiredly, Nanami kisses your hand like the gentleman he is before leaving your office, “Yuuta, I’ll take him– it. I’ll take the call” you sit back behind your desk massaging your temple “Put him through.”

“Hello, beautiful” he greets over the speakerphone in that always so cheerful tone.

“Satoru, what do you want?”

“No chit-chat? It’s the least you could do for me after I gave you the company” entitled as always…

“You didn’t give it to me, you gave it up for the rest of your assets” you remind, already sick of this same discussion over and over.

When the divorce was officially on the table you told Kento exactly what you wanted: the company. The one thing you knew your ex husband would hate to lose, but also didn’t love as much as his lifestyle – which would be brutally affected if you decided to go for the 50% you were entitled to.

So through a carefully written agreement you accepted way less than you were owed in the form of full ownership of the respected construction company and title of chief executive officer.

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other. How have you been?”

“Fine. Just tell me what you want, I actually take this job seriously and have important things to do.”

Oh god, he would tease you so bad if he knew about the corruption scheme, and the worst part is that, eventually, he will know. Gojo has ears everywhere around here.

“Nanami” he says simply. You start to look around your office, wondering if he has cameras there.

“You… want… Nanami?”

“Yes, beautiful” he confirms slowly like he's talking to a kid that has just learned the alphabet.

“Why? You know what? Nevermind, I don't want to know. No, you can’t have him” you lean on your chair, denying Gojo gives you great satisfaction.

“It’s not for any bullshit reason, alright?”

“I don’t care, Satoru. Besides, I don’t own Kento, you can approach him anytime” you smile knowing he would never be able to do that without you.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” condescension drips from your phone and onto your desk, “He won’t represent me even if I run for president.”

“So you need legal representation? You’re not calling me from jail, are you Satoru?” you mirror his condescending tone, surely he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Thought you didn't care, or would you bail me out? Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t have the money for that” he laughs, arguing was never a thing with him, he would mock you and find a way to make you doubt your accusations. Gaslighting is it? “I’ll give it a shot, just so you know, but this is a great opportunity for you to ask something in return.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Think about it, baby, I’m sure there's plenty of things I can do for you” his tone is lower, more seductive.

“Doubt it” you roll your eyes hearing his chuckle.

“Yeah? When was the last time you had–” 

You hang up.

Then sigh loudly and press the button to talk to Yuuta.

“Yes, ma’am?” you scrunch your nose, still not used to being called that, Nanami said you should let your sweet assistant call you ma'am or madam at least in front of others since you could use the recognition of your authority.

“Please put Geto on the line.”

“Certainly” you wait, stepping out of your heels and digging your toes on the fluff carpet under the table.

“Hi, doc” you salute your psychologist.

“Sugar, I told you there’s no need to address me like that, hurts my feelings” his honeyed voice is everything you need to hear in such stressful times.

“It does? Maybe you should see a therapist to talk about that, I have a great recommendation” you can’t help but smile like a little girl when talking to him, being playful is a way to cope with your harmless crush.

“Just great?”

“He’s the best, I can assure you” he laughs, “Do you have a few minutes?”

“For you, absolutely” your face warms up then you remember the subject of the call and cools down again.

“It’s Satoru.”

‘It’s always Satoru’ Geto thinks.

“He just called wanting something, I told him no and he made that same old joke about me not having money” you huffed.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Helpless? I don't know, he must think I’m poor now or something” which is ridiculous, you’re not nearly close to his patrimony as you used to when you were married but what you have is still fuckload more than what it takes to be considered poor.

“He’s trying to remind you of what you lost when you left him, this is just another manipulation technique, my love. Don’t let him get in your head” you need this as a mantra to hear every time your ex-husband calls, “Did he bring up sex this time?”

“No, but he was about to.”

“And what did you say?”

“Hanged up” you hear him snorting.

“Well, that can work on the phone, but what if you were talking face to face? What would you have done?”

Geto knows a lot about you. Obviously since you pay him to listen while you ramble and complain. Still, feels overwhelming having someone recalling your previous actions, especially the ones you're not exactly proud of.

“Tell him to shut up, throw a stapler on him, call security, threaten him with a restriction order.”

“Would you really?” Geto likes to take a joke you make and dig on that.

“Well, probably not the last two…” 

“Have you been looking up restriction orders?”

“No, that was a joke my lawyer made early. A restriction order would be too… bureaucratic? Also unnecessary, afterall Satoru he never physically hurt me or threatened to.”

“That would be a good way of making him leave you alone for a while since you're not able to fully detach from him” you sat up.

“That's not true! I’ve been doing everything by myself lately, don't even have time to think about him! I’m detached, doc.”

“Wanna know what I think you would have done if he made that sexual comment face to face with you?” you gulp and Geto takes your silence as consent to continue, “I think you would let him go forward with it.”

You make an offended sound but don't fight his statement, “And what would happen next?” he tones the question like a professor trying to make the class complete a sentence, you keep your head down and mouth shut, “You would’ve let him sweet talk you into sleeping with him again.”

“You don't know that” you murmur.

“It’s a pattern, love. This is how abusive husbands keep their wives from leaving them or even telling anyone about the abuse. They use sex to make them think how good it is to be with them despite everything else.”

“Satoru was not abusive.” you defend your ex-husband firmly, “And I already left him!” you defend yourself less firmly.

“And he still thinks he can have you back! You know why?”

“Because I’m a catch that he shouldn’t have cheated?” Geto stays quiet for a few seconds and you feel a lump in your throat forming. The comment was supposed to sound more like a joke but you're still too hurt for that , clearly.

“That as well, but you really think he regrets it?”

“He seemed pretty sorry in the divorce mediation” you murmur recalling his lost-puppy expression.

“The meeting where he signed a paper that would make him lose his company and his wife? Gee I wonder why” the little sarcastic remark made you smile and shake your head, your psychologist using sarcasm against you is quite funny, “My point is, if you really want to be independent from him you ‘gotta stop letting yourself be attracted back like a magnet” you let his words sink in hearing some papers being ruffled on his side.

“I’m giving you homework.”

“Oh no…”

“Find your sexuality by yourself, you can watch porn, masturbate or even better: have sex with someone. Anyone but Satoru, because right now that’s what he’s using to control you.”

“Geto, I don’t know about this. Porn is too gross, masturbation is too ineffective and sex is too…” you trail off.

“Vulnerable?” he completes.

“I guess…”

“It’s been a few months since you last slept with Satoru, right? What’re you feeling?”

“What do you mean?” you rub your face.

“You know what I mean” he's strict and you let out a long sigh.

“I feel frustrated, sometimes stressed and distracted” all caused by the men you have to deal with including the handsome psychologist putting some sense in you. Not exactly what you wanted him to put in, but oh well…

“Exactly, in your current state it’s only a matter of time until you end up on his bed. You gotta decide if you are willing to: find porn that is not gross, masturbate more effectively or let yourself relax and be vulnerable.”

Is easy to like Geto Suguru, he’s handsome, has a sweet voice, he listens without interrupting (manterrupting is a big no-no for this job thankfully). Though sometimes it’s easy to hate him too, you have to remember he's saying what you need to hear not what you want to, even if your ears could use some tickling from time to time.

“Still with me?” he asks after you remain quiet.

“Yes, doc” he says your name in a warning tone, “Sorry, Suguru.”

“All good for our appointment next week?”

“Hm” your thoughts go to the newly found out corruption scheme that will need your attention the following days, “I’ll ask Yuuta to confirm with your secretary alright?”

“Whatever works best for you, love.”

“Bye, Suguru.”

“Don’t forget your homework.”

🏷️ @rinntvrou @sakurasimppp @sad-darksoul — to be tagged in future works of this series please comment “@ me” in this post.

note: i’m not sure if tickle the ears is a known term worldwide but means “saying or suggesting things to please even if untrue”. also i have some big plans for kinktober so next chapter might take a little while to be posted, let me know your thoughts <3

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[sc0tters]

Tied Up | Sidney Crosby

summary: when it’s the team end of season gala and you begin to run your mouth, Sidney is there to put you in your place.

request: yes/no

warnings: mature themes, p in v (unprotected), swearing, drinking, light mentions of bondage.

word count: 2.25k

authors note: just like normal the Sidney pieces are the ones where I can get carried away… no but frl I’ve been writing this one for the last few days and it makes me happy to see it out.

You seemed to want to cause trouble tonight.

It was the end of season team charity gala and you were in some pretty black dress that served as a perfect contract from the white stilettos that you wore on your feet.

If it was a post break up outfit it would have been fitting, your dress hugged your curves as it made your breasts look heavenly.

But it wasn’t because of a break up, no this was arguably worse. You and Sidney had been sleeping together for the last three months yet that abruptly ended after rumours came to twitter of him spending time with some model.

Now you usually weren’t one for jealousy, it was an emotion you tried to avoid. But here you were sending Sidney a message that was simple telling him that you were done.

Yet that was so much easier said than actually put to practice. The captain looked gorgeous tonight as he walked around in a suit that was tight enough to leave little to imagination.

Sidney hadn’t let his eyes leave you since he arrived. It was hard to ignore how gorgeous you looked as you were in a conversation with some of the players, laughing as you let your hand brush over Ryan’s arm.

The Canadian always thought you had an eye for that boy, it was how you let your camera linger on him even as you started sleeping with Sidney. As it felt like he was proving his point the captain watched as you made your way to the bar to get another drink “just go talk to her.” Jeff groaned as he had been swearing for the last few weeks that all would make sense if you and Sidney got together.

If only he knew right?

The captains cheeks turned a tinge of red locking eyes with you as you went back to your conversation with Evgeni “sort that shit out for the sakes of the team.” The fellow Canadian added before he placed his hand on Sidney’s back pushing him in your direction.

Sidney wondered what you and Evgeni were talking about as your eyes sparkled looking at the captain “speak of the devil.” You smirked flashing the older boy your signature grin.

It was a look that Sidney would have thought that he would have gotten used to by now, but even after knowing you for two years it still made him weak in the knees.

Evgeni seemed totally unaware of what went on between you two as he smiled “surprised you didn’t bring that girl cap.” His voice was teasing as he watched the older boy nod bringing his drink to his lips “not really her scene.” Sidney’s comment was only met with a roll of your eyes and a scoff.

It irritated him how you could get under his skin so much easier when he was sexually frustrated “you got something to say?” The Canadian sent you a glare not realising that it only made you more amused.

You placed your now empty champagne flute on the table next to you “just think you’d need a bit of help to keep a girl satisfied.” Your comment made Evgeni snort before he slapped his hand over his mouth to keep quiet.

This little spat had been going on between you and Sidney for weeks now so he wasn’t surprised when he carried on into tonight “you’re old Sid, most men your age start needing help from some little blue pills.” You shrugged twisting the metaphorical knife in deeper before the older man wrapped his hand around your arm pulling you to the exit.

Anyone who had seen it thought Sidney just didn’t want to argue with you in front of everyone else but of course he had other plans “don’t remember you telling me I needed any type of pill to satisfy you.” Sidney’s voice was harsh as he pushed you into the elevator.

Your lips turned upright “didn’t think I’d have to explain faking to you.” Sidney always made sure you finished in bed but you were continuing on in your act to piss him off.

His eyes stared at yours as your back hit the wall of the elevator “you think you were faking it?” The hockey player let out a laugh as he hit the number for his floor.

When you remained silent his fingers dug into your waist “all the dang time,” you spat only getting cut off as his lips were forced onto yours.

The kiss reminded you of why you enjoyed being with him but as you remained strong not letting his tongue into your mouth it got him frustrated “it’s cute, you thinking you’re all strong today.” Sidney mumbled placing a slap to your ass cheek and as you opened your mouth to argue it gave him the chance to slide his tongue in between your lips.

You two went like this for another minute or two until the elevator doors opened on the captains floor “c’mon.” Sidney locked his hand with yours as he pulled you out of the elevator making sure you followed him to his hotel room.

As he fished for his keycard you decided that you wanted to push his buttons so as innocently as you could you let your hand reach over to the front of his pants where you began to palm his cock through the suit fabric “you are playing with fire baby.” The captain warned sending you a glare.

You leaned onto your tippy toes as you didn’t let your hand drop from his pants “ever thought that it was what I wanted to do?” You asked pressing a kiss just below where his earlobe was.

Luckily for Sidney he was able to open the door before you could do anything else to piss him off “been wanting to get you out of this since I saw you.” Sidney confessed letting his fingers run over the straps of your dress.

His hands cupped your breasts in their journey to your ass “Sid,” you whined as his lips nipped dangerously close to your sweet spot on your neck.

Sidney smirked as he turned to face you “only good girls get rewarded.” He shook his head “others have to work for it,” his voice was serious as an idea formed in your head.

You dropped to your knees never letting your eyes leave his “sure you don’t need some viagra first?” You kept this smirk as you undid his belt “change of plans princess.” Sidney scoffed pulling you back to your feet.

It confused you as he spun you around so that you were facing away from him “need to fuck you like the naughty girl you are.” He explained pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.

Your panties grew wet “what are you waiting for then?” You asked letting out a gasp as you were pushed against the comforter on the bed.

Sidney let out a grunt as your dress fell over your ass “not even wearing any panties huh?” He ran his fingers over the curve of your ass before he slapped the arena of skin causing you to moan “didn’t look good with the dress.” You explained hearing the sound of his pants hitting the ground.

Your wetness glistened as he looked at your core “you been thinking about this today?” Sidney was painfully hard as he watched you turn your head to look at him “been thinking about getting a good fuck for weeks.” You confessed running your tongue over your lip “but then you found a new friend-“ the reminder of why you ended was sour on your tongue as you sent him a glare.

It made Sidney laugh “you think she mattered like you did?” The boy reached for your hands as he held them on your back “you are my fucking world.” He added using his belt to tie your hands together.

You grew alarmed as you felt his tie go over your eyes “I’m going to fuck you just the way I want to tonight.” Sidney leaned over to whisper that in your ear.

For the most part you two were fairly vanilla, besides for the fact that you enjoyed the occasional fuck in your office where he’d awkwardly sit under your table eating you out as you’d edit the pictures you worked on.

A whimper fell from your lips “please Sid,” you begged feeling his cock brush over your slit. He smiled hearing how needy you were “don’t think I need some pill for this?” Sidney asked dragging his cock over your clit teasing you “if you don’t hurry up then maybe?” Your giggle was short lived as he drove his cock into your core.

It was hot as you were practically trapped beneath him blind as your sense heightened “god you’re so tight.” Sidney grunted thrusting into you.

Your pussy wrapped around his cock giving him an extra sense of pleasure “don’t stop Sid.” You begged bringing your hips back to meet his.

Sidney snaked his hand down your stomach to rub your clit “don’t plan on it,” the sound of skin slapping echoed off of the walls making your skin sweaty.

His lips nipped at your neck finally reaching your sweet spot “god,” you cried as you tried to force your hands out of the belt constraint.

It only made the boys smirk increase “it’s just me princess.” He cooed locking his free hand in your hair as your moans were muffled by the comforter when your head drove deeper into it.

You honestly forgot about how irritated you were at him as his cock drove deeper into your pussy “oh shit!” You gasped trying to squeezed your thighs shut “not tonight princess.” Sidney shook his head as he moved his knee between your legs.

The headboard continued to hit the wall with each thrust the boy gave “you still think I should have had those pills tonight?” He asked clearly wanting that question to be rhetorical.

Moans were the only real coherent thing that came from your lips “no Sid,” you shook your head feeling it build up in your stomach “making me feel so full.” You cooed clenching your pussy around his throbbing cock.

Sidney grunted at the feeling “so why’d you say it to him huh?” He questioned you bringing his hand from your hair to your neck as he brought your torso up to his.

When you remained silent his hand squeezed around your neck “asked you a question princess.” He grumbled urging you to answer him “wanted to piss you off,” you whispered only knowing the side he was on by the sound of his breathing.

He smiled letting out a gasp as he was getting close to his high “and now you want to come don’t you?” Sidney pressed a kiss to your temple as your head dropped against his shoulder “please Sid.” You begged letting out a gasp as the tie dropped below your eyes “going to have to do better than that.” The hockey player grunted as your eyes locked with his.

You shook your head “please let me come.” You repeated your beg as your body began to shake. It was like you weren’t allowing yourself to come until he said so.

Sidney pressed a kiss on your shoulder letting his teeth sink into the soft skin “promise to behave?” He asked feeing light headed as his eyes fluttered.

He watched as you nodded “be your good little girl forever.” Sidney smirked hearing you say that “you can let it go baby.” His words caused your orgasm to hit you like a truck.

Eyes screwing shut as white specks lit up the backs of your eyelids “shit shit shit!” You cried out as the boy fucked you through your high.

If Sidney’s had wasn’t still around your throat you would have fallen flat onto the mattress “good girl,” his words rang through your ear as he shot his warm load into your pussy as he came shortly after you.

Once you two came back down to earth and the boy let his cock fall out of you your body shuddered “was I too rough tonight?” Sidney asked moving his hand down to undo the belt around your hands.

He massaged the area of skin as he realised that a bruise was going to form there tomorrow “it was hot,” your confession made him laugh.

The boy lay next to you as you looked up at him with a smile “I meant what I said,” Sidney ran his fingers through your hair “really?” Your furrowed your eyebrows watching as he kissed down your arm.

You were never going to get over how he made you feel so giddy inside “wanna to give you the world.” At this point it began to sound like he was talking to himself as he got up to readjust himself between your thighs.

A giggle left your lips as you propped yourself up on your elbows “what are you doing?” You grinned watching him stare up at you from between your legs “showing you just how much I want you.” Sidney’s words were playful as his breath fanned at your core.

It didn’t take him long before he wrapped his lips around your clit “fuck Sid!” You groaned instantly wrapping your fingers in his curly locks of hair.

You were in for a long night of pleasure.

[epinebleue]

wicked (m) | 01

A wave of shock rolled over you, followed by a surge of gratitude. The boy had been disgusting, his touch violating, and in that moment, the justice of seeing him knocked down was almost cathartic. You hadn’t asked for it, but Leon had taken control, he had done something. Your arm still ached, but somehow, it didn’t feel as heavy now. You felt like you were no longer entirely vulnerable, like there was someone standing between you and the dangers of the world.

pairing: yuta “leon” nakamoto x reader

genre: mafia!au, angst, mature.

warnings: swearing, depiction of violence, illegal acts (selling and using drugs).

author’s note: y’all! i haven’t posted anything related to nct in MONTHS but we’re so back! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

chapter index | next chapter

The first time you stepped through the Cherry Lips’ door, all you had was a blue sports bag slung over your shoulder and a handful of coins in your pocket. You had wandered into the club by chance while searching for a new place to sleep, no longer feeling safe in the bustling areas of Seoul. The streets were full of drunks and rowdy, violent people. You had seen two neon red cherries glowing from afar, their light cutting through the darkness like a beacon, drawing you in. A white piece of paper taped to the glass announced the club was looking for a new bartender. Without a second thought, you entered.

You had worked at a club for nine months before, so you were hopeful your experience would be enough for the job.

Inside, the club lounge was sleek and seductive. A rich crimson carpet covered the floor, and geometric-patterned wallpaper adorned the walls. Golden frames displayed photographs of young girls blowing kisses. On the left, the bar beckoned, with its mirrored wall and shelves stocked with hundreds of bottles. Ahead, a semi-circular stage stood, its golden paint gleaming beneath the red satin curtains that obscured whatever was behind. Tables were scattered around, arranged to give the best views of the stage.

You called out a greeting, and before you could even look around further, the sound of high heels echoed from a narrow hallway beside the stage. A few seconds later, a woman appeared. She seemed to be in her late thirties, was taller than you and had her dark brown hair tied back in a neat ponytail that cascaded down her back. Every time she moved, her hair followed. You took in her white suit and black stilettos, the heels clicking sharply with each step.

“Evening, miss.” You said, trying to sound as respectful as possible. “I saw the notice about needing a new bartender.”

“What’s your name, dear?” She asked, extending her hand, which you shook firmly as you answered. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Kahi, the owner.”

She turned toward a narrow hallway. You trailed behind her, noting two doors at the end of it. Kahi reached one of them and held it open for you to enter. You sat down in front of a desk, leaving your bag on the floor, and took in the sparse decor: white walls, dark wood furniture, no pictures. So different from what you had seen outside.

She sat behind the desk and pulled a single sheet of white paper from a drawer. She wrote your name on it.

“How old are you?” You answered with honesty, and she seemed surprised. “Any experience in waitressing?”

“I worked for nine months as a bartender at a nightclub called Neon Fever. I have a recommendation letter, if you’d like to see it.”

"Yes, please.” She extended her hand, palm up, in your direction, and you quickly pulled the letter from your bag to hand it to her. She skimmed through it before looking back up at you. “Were you fired?”

“I quit.” You were quick to correct, fingers fidgeting nervously under the desk. “The work environment wasn’t great.”

Kahi took another look at the letter before handing it back to you with a deep sigh.

“I know that club. If you worked there, you could work anywhere.” You nodded, not sure whether to feel proud or disheartened by her words. “You’re young, you’re attractive, you’ve got experience, and you’re in need of a job. I need you to start tonight, so, if you want it, it’s yours.”

“Of course, of course I can do that.” You said, your voice shaky despite your best efforts to remain composed. You slipped the letter back into your dirty, almost ripped bag, which rested on your thighs. Kahi glanced at it. “Thank you so much, miss.”

Kahi seemed to hesitate for a moment, then asked: “I don’t mean to sound nosy, but do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

Her question hit you like a cold splash of water. Should you lie? Would she take it into account? You shook your head slowly, embarrassed.

“Not really, miss.”

She stood up and walked towards the other door in the hallway. You grabbed your bag and followed her up a small flight of stairs to another hallway, narrower than the one downstairs, with five doors. Kahi knocked on the second on the right before opening it.

A young pink-haired girl greeted you both from the inside of the room.

“This is Pinky.” Kahi said. “Pinky, meet our new bartender.”

Pinky waved as you stepped into the room. It was cozy enough, with a closet and two single beds, one of which you claimed by dropping your bag onto the bare mattress.

Kahi explained the tasks you would’ve to carry out in the club and how a part of your salary would be exclusively destined to pay for the room. You tried your best not to let your overwhelming sense of relief distract you, but it seemed impossible.

You no longer had to sleep in the street. Well, at least while you worked here. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a start. Plus, you now had someone to talk to, which you had sorely missed.

It felt like a new beginning.

It was a busy night. Raina had been sick for two days, and the absence of a waitress forced you to step in. Of course, as if the universe had sensed your extra workload, the club filled up quickly, making everything harder. To make matters worse, none of the orders were simple.

“Babe, table five wants a well-loaded daiquiri.” Nana’s voice cut through the chaos as you returned from delivering drinks to table three.

“Right on it.” You quickly moved behind the bar, grabbing a glass and rummaging through the ice bin.

Nana disappeared with a tray full of drinks prepared by Kaeun, your assistant bartender. Kaeun was decent, but there was one thing she lacked: speed. Thankfully, she was a quick learner. It was a relief to have someone helping, even if it didn’t ease all the pressure.

You finished the daiquiri and placed it on the tray next to the rest of the orders. With your right hand, you grabbed the tray and headed toward table five.

The man there was different. Most customers came for the girls dancing, the drinks, even the music. He didn’t seem interested in any of it. He sat back, his left ankle resting over his right knee, eyes glued to his phone. When you set the daiquiri down in front of him, his brown bangs fell over his eyes as he lifted his gaze to meet yours.

“Thanks.” His voice was low, but polite. He slid his phone into the pocket of his blazer. You gave him a faint smile, ready to move on to your next task. But then he spoke again. “Excuse me?”

You stopped, turning back toward him. “Yes, sir?”

“Do you know if Kahi is around tonight?”

You hesitated. You hadn’t seen Kahi all evening, which was odd. She usually made rounds, keeping things running smoothly. “I’ll check. Can I have your name?”

“Tell her Leon’s here. Thanks.”

You nodded and left, the questions already starting to form in your mind. Why was he asking for Kahi? Was he a new lover, maybe? As far as you knew, she didn’t date, and no one had ever mentioned a “Leon”.

It was three a.m. and most customers were drunk, lost in the spectacle of Pinky performing in a Snow White costume for Disney Princess Night. You smirked slightly at the memory of the costume drama that morning: Roa, dressed as Ariel, grumbling about Yuha claiming Cinderella’s gown.

Once the orders were served, you returned to the bar, placing the empty tray on the counter and telling Kaeun you needed to find Kahi. She looked concerned, reluctant to be left alone behind the bar, but you promised it wouldn’t take long.

When you knocked on Kahi’s office door, no answer came. You knocked again, feeling a little foolish.

“Kahi? You in there?” You called, your voice a little quieter this time. After a few seconds, you heard movement inside. The door creaked open.

The sight of Kahi stunned you. Her usually neat ponytail had loose strands falling around her face. She wasn’t wearing her jacket, and her shirt had two buttons undone. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and the papers piled up on her desk were a clear sign of stress.

“There’s a man outside. He says he wants to see you. Leon.”

At the mention of his name, Kahi’s expression shifted, her posture tense. You hadn’t expected such a visible reaction.

“Did he say anything else?” Kahi asked, her voice tight.

“No. Just that he wanted to see you.”

She sighed and straightened up. “Alright. Tell him I’ll be right there, please.”

You walked back to the lounge, your mind racing with questions. He clearly wasn’t a lover. Otherwise, she would have reacted differently at the mention of his name.

Back at the bar, Kaeun handed you another tray full of drinks. You tried to push the thoughts away and focus. After serving the drinks, you made your way back to table five, where Leon was once again absorbed in his phone.

“Sir.” You called out loud to get his attention. “Kahi will be here soon.”

He thanked you, his voice almost absent, before returning to his phone.

You couldn’t help but notice Kahi’s movements when she finally appeared. Her jacket was back on, her hair tightly pulled back, and the faintest hint of make-up covered the bags under her eyes.

The powerful boss was back in control.

Leon greeted her with a smile, but something about it felt off. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t genuine. It seemed rather cynical.

The night dragged on. There was a brief disturbance when a drunken man screamed obscene things at Yuha during her performance, but Baekho swiftly handled it.

You kept an eye on Kahi and Leon, noticing how uncomfortable Kahi seemed in his presence, fidgeting, avoiding eye contact. Meanwhile, Leon looked right at home: relaxed, calm, almost smug.

Around five a.m., the club started to empty. The few remaining customers paid their bills, including Leon. He flashed you a smile as he left.

Kahi approached the bar.

“Everything okay?” You asked.

She gave you a half-smile but didn’t answer. Instead, she handed you a card. “Everything’s fine.”

You looked at the card in confusion. There was a name, Nakamoto Yuta, and a phone number written in bold black ink.

“Who’s Nakamoto Yuta?”

Kahi didn’t meet your eyes as she turned away. “His business name’s Leon. He wanted you to have his personal number. Said you caught his attention.”

You blinked, the implications of her words slowly sinking in. She left, and you stared at the card, your mind swirling. You could throw it away. Forget about him. But something about Leon, a dark, elusive presence, kept nagging at you.

Kaeun’s voice interrupted your thoughts, and you quickly shoved the card into the back pocket of your faux leather pants.

You’d figure it out later.

“It’s strange.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I mean, he talks to you once, then just hands over his phone number? That’s a little… unsettling.” Pinky shook her head, placing the card on the nightstand between your beds. “Sounds like a stalker, honestly.”

“To be fair, it’s a shame.” You muttered, sinking into your covers. “He’s pretty damn good-looking.”

“What does he look like? You never really said.”

You rested your head on the pillow, Leon’s image floating to the forefront of your mind as you began to describe him to Pinky: black hair, long bangs that partially covered his dark eyes. He had that presence about him that made him impossible to ignore.

“But more importantly, he was asking for Kahi.”

“Maybe they’re old friends?” Pinky shrugged nonchalantly. She wasn’t particularly interested, but you pressed on, needing to get your thoughts out.

“I don’t think so.” You closed your eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they only swirled more. “When she heard his name, she totally freaked out. If he were just an old friend, why would she react like that?”

“I don’t know... but Kahi’s been acting weird lately, way before he appeared.”

Pinky pulled down her black sleep mask, signaling the end of the conversation. You grabbed your book from the nightstand, trying to focus on the words, but your mind kept drifting back to him. Leon’s voice, his gaze, the way he carried himself. You read the same line over and over, frustrated, before closing the book and setting it aside. You turned off the light, trying to quiet your thoughts.

Like Pinky, you eventually drifted off to sleep. But he was still there, in the back of your mind.

“A what?”

“A girls’ night.” Shannon repeated eagerly. “Come on, join us! We haven’t had one in ages.”

You set the glass you were drying down on the counter, meeting your friend’s hopeful eyes.

“I don’t know... I’m not really in the mood.”

You spent six nights a week in a chaotic, lust-filled environment, dealing with drunk customers and the constant buzz of the bar. The last thing you wanted on your one night off was to step into a place just like the Cherry Lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to be the customer for once?” Shannon persisted, jumping up and down. You didn’t even look at her this time.

“What I really want is something different. Maybe a park, a movie, or going to a café…” You muttered, continuing your task of drying the glasses.

Shannon sighed, leaning on the counter. She lowered her voice.

“Okay, fine! I’ll just be honest. I met a guy last night and he invited me to this place, but Kahi says I can’t go unless you come with me. She doesn’t trust him, but she trusts you because you’re responsible.”

You frowned at Shannon’s words. Kahi had never told you what to do in your free time, so why was she suddenly acting like a mother, deciding you had to tag along for Shannon’s date? You weren’t the only responsible one, Nayoung and Roa were too.

Despite the annoyance, you knew you’d end up going. It was always the same: you didn’t want to hang out with the girls, then ended up having a great time. Still, it irked you to be forced into it, as if you were being expected to keep an eye on everyone.

Shannon called your name, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Are you still with us?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You smiled, snapping out of your thoughts. “I’ll go with you.”

Shannon squealed, thanked you, and darted off upstairs. You continued your work, but your mind wandered to Leon again. It had been nearly a week since he’d visited, and sometimes, you found yourself glancing at the entrance, hoping he would show up. Each time the door opened, your heart would race, only to be disappointed when it wasn’t him.

You hated how obsessed you’d become with him. You’d barely seen him once, yet there was something magnetic about him that kept drawing you in. More than once, you found yourself almost calling him, but fear stopped you. What if he didn’t remember you? Or worse, what if he’d lost interest? Pinky caught onto your obsession immediately and laughed at you every chance she got. You eventually decided to let it go, but a part of you still yearned for something to happen.

The girls’ night arrived, and the outfit she picked out made you feel like a mother hen. She was dressed provocatively, and you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. It wasn’t that the dress was inherently bad, but considering how young she was, you couldn’t shake the worry that the boy she was seeing only wanted to use her and then move on.

At eleven o’clock, you bid the other girls goodbye as they played UNO with Baekho and Minhyun. The taxi was already waiting. Shannon climbed in first, you followed, and Pinky was the last, closing the door behind her.

“You still haven’t told me how you met this mystery guy, Shan.” You said, breaking the silence. Shannon was busy fixing her lipstick, so Pinky answered for her.

“You don’t know? It’s such a romantic story!” Pinky said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“His father took him to the club to celebrate his twenty-first birthday.”

“Wait, it’s that guy?!” You laughed, incredulous. “He’s not even good-looking!”

“For your information, the lighting was pretty bad that day.”

Shannon kept on, trying to defend her date, telling you how the guy had approached her after her performance to compliment her. Lacking experience with men, Shannon had been the one to suggest going out. The whole story sounded a bit pathetic, but who were you to judge?

You were in no position to criticize.

It didn’t take long to get to the club, and when you arrived, a long line of people stood waiting to get in. Shannon walked up to the giant doorman, who checked the VIP list.

“He said we’re on it.” Shannon explained as the man looked for your names, opening the door for you once he found them.

The club was nothing like Cherry Lips. The lights were neon and pulsed in red hues, while a spotlight illuminated the bar. The crowd was younger, full of people your age, laughing, dancing, and enjoying themselves. The whole atmosphere was freeing. There were no creepy, older men leering at you. You realized, for the first time, how much you hated the Cherry Lips environment.

Shannon found her date quickly, hidden in a corner of the VIP area, surrounded by sofas. If it wasn’t for Pinky, you would have felt like a third wheel, as Shannon and the guy immersed themselves in their own world.

As you sipped your drink, some of the guy’s friends offered you a round of rainbow shots. The night was moving along smoothly until Shannon came back, her hair tousled. Pinky teased her about it, but all you could feel was the intense, unsettling gaze of one of the boy’s friends.

When Pinky went to grab another drink, he took that as his chance to approach you. Things escalated fast. His hands on your waist were a stark reminder of the discomfort you often felt at Cherry Lips. His body pressed too close, and the bulge in his pants made you freeze with anger.

You shoved him away, but he grabbed your arm, leaving marks on your skin.

“Are you out of your mind?!” You yelled, even though you weren’t sure he could hear you over the music.

Before you could process what was happening, your back collided with someone. You turned around, ready to apologize, but words died in your throat.

Leon stood there, his eyes fixed on the boy in front of you. It looked like he was ready to kill him.

The dim neon lights reflected off his dark hair. He was wearing a tight shirt that hugged his chest, and the sleeves were rolled up, showing off his veiny forearms.

The boy before you shot Leon a confused look, but you could see how much fear he was radiating. You wanted to punch the guy, but the anger inside you was nothing compared to Leon’s quiet, dangerous presence.

“Thank goodness you’re here.” You said, wrapping your arms around Leon. He gave you a questioning glance, but when you spoke again, he seemed to understand. “Love, look what this animal did to me.” You gestured to the mark on your arm.

“I think… this has been a misunderstanding.” The boy stammered, raising his hands. Leon stepped closer, his towering form making the boy visibly shrink.

“You calling her a liar?” Leon’s voice was calm but laced with threat.

“What? No, of course not.” The boy mumbled, backing away.

“Good. You might want to leave.” Leon took another step forward. The crowd around you, including Pinky and Shannon, had gathered, watching the drama unfold. “Because if I see you near her again, I won’t be so understanding.”

The boy hastily apologized, and disappointment washed over you. You stood there, heart still pounding, eyes locked on the guy. The music seemed to fade, the lights almost feeling surreal. Your arm throbbed where his fingers had left marks. It was more than just the physical pain. Something darker lingered, an uncomfortable ache that was eating you alive.

The way his hands had grabbed you. The pressure. The way you froze, completely caught off guard. Why hadn’t you done something sooner? The thought circled your mind.

You weren’t just an object to be touched without consent. You weren’t something to be handled like that. His eyes had made it clear what his intentions were, and yet, you hadn’t fought back right away. Why did it take so long to shove him off?

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away. It wasn’t your fault. You knew that. But still, that voice wouldn’t stop nagging.

Then, you felt the comforting presence of Leon, silent, steady. 

Stop thinking about this, you thought, pushing the spiraling thoughts back down. But the ache in your arm remained, a quiet reminder.

And then, unexpectedly, as the boy was about to scurry off, Leon punched him. The crowd gasped. The guy almost fell back, hands pressed to his bleeding nose.

Shit, had he really just done that?

A wave of shock rolled over you, followed by a surge of gratitude. The boy had been disgusting, his touch violating, and in that moment, the justice of seeing him knocked down was almost cathartic. 

You hadn’t asked for it, but Leon had taken control, he had done something. Your arm still ached, but somehow, it didn’t feel as heavy now. You felt like you were no longer entirely vulnerable, like there was someone standing between you and the dangers of the world.

“Are you okay?” Leon asked, bringing you back to the present. 

You simply nodded, too flooded by emotions to put words together. You glanced at him. Beneath the calm exterior you had seen when you met him, you could now sense something else.

“I am.” You whispered, finally finding your voice.

“I think we should go.”

“I… came with my friends.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Pinky and Shannon approached you, and you explained what happened. After showing them the scratch, you all agreed to leave with Leon. Shannon and Pinky squeezed into the back, leaving the front passenger seat open for you.

As Leon drove, you found yourself distracted by his silver rings and the luxurious watch on his wrist, definitely a Rolex. And his car, a black Bugatti, screamed wealth.

Leon had to be loaded.

“I can’t believe he did that. What a jerk.” Pinky said, shaking her head. “He had that hit coming. You were amazing, Leon.”

Leon glanced at you, then at her. “I haven’t even told you my name yet.”

“Oh, but she has mentioned you a lot lately.”

Leon glanced back at you, but it was brief. He had to keep his focus on the road, after all. You, on the other side, wanted to disappear and drag Pinky with you.

“Interesting.” Leon murmured, smirking. “But I’d prefer you call me Yuta.”

The car fell into a comfortable silence until Shannon groaned from the back.

“Oh, no. She drank too much.”

Yuta and you looked at each other for a second, panicking. If Shannon threw up in this fucking expensive car, you would kill her. Yuta quickly parked on the side of the road, and Shannon opened the door, intending to leave. Her plan failed, and instead, she leaned out to vomit. Pinky removed her seat belt to grab her hair and pat her back, telling her to breathe and calm down.

You buried your face in your hands, mortified.

“Are you feeling better?” Yuta asked Shannon once she had closed the door. The younger girl leaned her head on Pinky’s shoulder and gave him a thumbs up.

Shortly after, Yuta parked in front of the club. Shannon and Pinky exited, thanking him for the ride.

When they were out of sight, Yuta laughed lightly. Your cheeks burned.

“Please don't laugh.” You said, covering your face once again. “That was so embarrassing.”

“Come on, it was funny.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t even.” There were a few seconds of silence. “I’m sorry if sending you my number with Kahi scared you.”

“Well, you’ve punched someone for me tonight, I can’t be mad at you.”

Yuta laughed again.

You looked out the window for a moment, wishing that this moment could be extended a little longer. But you were starting to feel the effects of alcohol, and you were very tired. Your arm hurt.

“I better get going. I’ve got work to do tomorrow.”

You felt a buzz of heat in your chest, your arm still aching from the earlier incident, but the night had ended with the memory of Yuta’s smile lingering. As you waved him goodbye, you knew you’d be thinking about him for a long time.

Back at the club, Kahi sat at a table, working. She barely glanced at you.

“Looks like you had a good time.”

“I did.” You replied, surprised by her irritated tone. “What are you working on?”

“Numbers.” She muttered, taking a drag from her cigarette. “Not everyone has the privilege to enjoy a night off.”

You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push further. You were too tired, too confused to do so.

“Well, you’re the boss after all, right?”

“Yeah.” Kahi clenched her teeth. “I am.”

You shrugged it off, heading to your room. Pinky was already in bed, removing her makeup. You changed into your pajamas, slid into bed, and tried to forget about the night, but all you could think about was Yuta.

The scent of pancakes filled the air. The girls were already deep into their meals, and so you assumed they were just too hungry to wait for you. You sat beside Pinky and poured yourself some orange juice.

“So, you guys had a good time last night?” Yehana asked, watching Shannon struggle to open her mouth. The girl looked like passing out from the worst hangover imaginable.

“It could have been better.” Pinky said, grabbing a waffle from the plate at the center of the table.

“Why? What happened?”

Before you could say anything, you stretched your arm across the table to show her the scratch. It had turned red, and you felt the sting as your skin brushed the fabric of your sleeve.

“One of the guy’s friends tried to make a move on me.” You said, quietly. “And this is what I got for turning him down.”

“Oh fuck.” Yehana grabbed your arm, inspecting the mark before letting go. “What did you do?”

Pinky leaned forward and answered for you, her tone a mix of incredulity and amusement.

“Do you remember that guy who’s been eyeing her for days? Yeah, he appeared out of nowhere and punched the motherfucker who was bothering her.”

“No way!” Yehana’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes!” Pinky burst out laughing. “But I think she didn’t notice how he was looking at her last night. Trust me, he wants to bang her.”

A soft blush crept up your face, but you tried to ignore it as the conversation turned to other topics.

As the morning progressed, you discover the reason for Kahi’s bitchy behavior: Raina and Nana had resigned. No one knew why, they had just left without saying goodbye. Kahi didn’t explain, and you didn’t feel like pressing her for answers.

The club wasn’t as packed as it usually was, but you preferred it that way. Fewer people to serve meant less chaos. Kaeun was getting more comfortable behind the bar, her nerves fading as she gained confidence. It was a relief to finally feel like you had some help, especially since you still had to pick up extra shifts while Kahi looked for replacements.

You carried a tray with three cocktails to a table near the stage. Eunwoo, whose blond hair shimmered under the pink spotlights, was dancing on the pole. You set the drinks down quickly, turning to leave when you overheard some men discussing what they’d like to do to her.

The conversation made your stomach churn, and you couldn’t get away from it fast enough.

Then, Yuta walked in. He was dressed in the same black suit as the first time you saw him, and his gaze swept the room before locking onto you. He made his way over once you finished delivering the drinks.

“Good to see you again.”

“Likewise.” You replied, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. You gestured to the seat beside you. “What can I get you?”

“Whiskey. Dry.”

“Got it.”

Just as you began to work on his drink, Kahi appeared at the table. Without acknowledging you or anyone else, she slid into the seat beside Yuta. She didn’t speak a word until you served him his whiskey.

“I want a Bloody Mary.” Kahi said, her tone flat and demanding.

You raised an eyebrow, a tightness forming in your chest. No please? No thank you? You kept your expression neutral.

“Of course, miss.” You replied, forcing a smile. Stay professional, you thought, don’t take it personally.

When you turned to leave for the bar, you couldn’t help but feel the sting of Kahi’s casual rudeness. The sound of the tray hitting the table echoed a little louder than necessary. You exchanged a few words of frustration with Kaeun, who admitted that Kahi had yelled at her during your night off for not being fast enough with the drinks. It was nice to know you weren’t the only one who felt the pressure.

When you finally returned with Kahi’s drink, you placed it down in front of her with more force than usual. You couldn’t shake the frustration that had been building all night. Still, you knew you had to keep walking on eggshells. This job was all you had.

Yuta caught your eye as you left the table, his gaze warm, and a slow, incredibly attractive smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You quickly turned away, your heart fluttering.

Another night, and once again, Yuta showed up at the club, only this time, he and Kahi disappeared into her office. The door had been closed for nearly an hour now, based on your estimate. A string of red light from the spotlights managed to creep down the hallway, casting an eerie glow on the door. It looked almost like a portal to somewhere unknown, both unsettling and oddly enchanting.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Before they entered the office, there had been a brief exchange between them: an argument, you’d noticed. You didn’t know what it was about, but Kahi had seemed restless, defensive.

The pair clearly had some history together, but why had Yuta shown up out of nowhere? Why hadn’t his name come up in any of Kahi’s conversations in the four years you’d worked here?

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Kaeun asked, leaning over the counter, trying to peer through the crack in the office door.

“I don’t know.” You sighed, glancing over your shoulder at the closed door, your unease growing. “But whatever it is, it’s not good.”

You were placing the last glass under the counter when Baekho slid onto the stool across from you, his gaze heavy and distant. He rested his elbows on the counter and spoke with a low voice.

“I need alcohol.”

You studied his face before reaching for a freshly washed glass and filling it with vodka. His eyes seemed tired, his expression worn.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, your tone filled with concern.

“My girlfriend’s period is late.” He muttered after a while, looking down at his hands.

Your breath hitched in your chest as you stifled a gasp, wide-eyed in disbelief. You watched him gulp down half the vodka in one go, his eyes glistening with the threat of tears.

Kaeun, ever the optimist, leaned in with a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Baekho. If she’s pregnant, she can always choose to terminate the pregnancy... but if you decide to keep it, I’m sure you’d make a great father.”

You saw where Kaeun’s kind words were coming from, but they hit wrong. You shook your head, trying to catch her attention, your panic growing with each word.

“No, Kaeun.” You whispered urgently. “Baekho… can’t have kids.”

Kaeun’s face blanched, her mouth falling open. Her voice barely a whisper as she muttered a soft “oh”, her eyes darting between you and Baekho. She seemed embarrassed, unsure of how to save face.

The boy, unable to hold back any longer, downed the rest of his drink, slamming the empty glass onto the counter with a force that nearly shattered it.

“Alright, Baekho, listen to me.” You said, trying to steady your voice. “A woman’s period can be late for so many reasons. Don’t panic just yet.”

He nodded slowly, brushing the tears from his face with the back of his hand. You reached out, gently running your fingers through his hair, a gesture meant to comfort, even though you couldn’t fully understand the weight of his pain.

It was difficult enough for him to come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t have children, especially when fatherhood meant so much to him. But now, the thought of a possible infidelity added an unbearable layer of hurt, and you could see how deeply it cut, especially considering how much he loved his girlfriend.

The hours passed, and still, the door stayed shut. As the night progressed and the club began to empty, Pinky and Roa took over cleaning the room while you scrubbed glasses, your thoughts a constant loop. The sound of the office door opening caught you off guard. You froze, hand still gripping the glass you were cleaning.

Kahi cleared her throat, her voice sharp. You tried to compose yourself, but the tension in the air hung thick.

“Our guest is leaving.”

Kahi said, her tone cold. She headed towards the door with her usual air of control, and the remaining girls mumbled awkward goodbyes. Yuta then did something that made your heart sink: he ignored you.

The wave of disappointment hit you hard as soon as the door closed. For some reason, you had hoped for more. More acknowledgement, more attention. But he’d spent the entire night with Kahi, as if you didn’t matter at all. You knew it was irrational to feel upset, but that didn’t stop the frustration from boiling over.

You grabbed your phone the moment you hit the bed, fingers moving quickly over the screen as you typed:

We should go out sometime.

The message felt like a small, desperate plea, but you hit send before you could second-guess yourself.

After inspecting your clothes, Pinky decided to lend you one of her dresses. Each of them was beautiful, and it took you a while to decide which one you wanted to wear.

It was a Saturday night, and Yuta had invited you out for dinner. Where he would take you was a secret. Would it be elegant? Romantic? You tried not to get your hopes up too much. After all, it was just the first date. The location didn’t matter that much, you just wanted to get to know him.

I’m outside. You ready?

Coming.

You quickly hopped off the bed, with Pinky by your side, and made your way through the hallway.

“What if the conversation gets awkward?” You asked, your nerves starting to show.

“Ask him questions.” Pinky suggested, adjusting the collar of your coat.

“What if I run out of things to ask?”

“Then he’ll come up with something.” She reassured you.

“But-”

“Hey.” She raised a hand and pressed her finger to your lips, halting your words. “Everything will be fine. You’ve got this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Trust me, I’ve got a sixth sense for these things.” Once you reached the front door, Pinky straightened your dress and gave you an encouraging smile. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Yuta was standing outside, leaning against the passenger door of his scandalously expensive car, dressed in a dark blue suit. When he heard the door open, his face lit up.

He opened the passenger door for you and whispered in your ear as you slipped inside:

“You look gorgeous.”

Soft music played inside, and you couldn’t help but be thankful that he hadn’t seen the way your face had turned red at his compliment. As you fastened your seatbelt, Yuta climbed in and started the car. It moved smoothly, the hum of the engine almost soothing.

“So...” You hesitated, trying to break the silence. “Where are we going?”

“One of my friends owns this restaurant…” He explained, his hands gripping the wheel. “The Lotus. Have you heard of it?”

Of course you had! It was the restaurant of the moment, a must-visit place for celebrities.

A sudden feeling of self-consciousness flooded your body. Everyone there would be wearing designer clothes, while you wore a cheap (beautiful, nonetheless) dress. Maybe this whole date hadn’t been such a great idea after all. Maybe people like Yuta weren’t supposed to mingle with people like you.

Yuta kept on driving, oblivious to the insecurities creeping up inside you.

You turned your gaze out the window as the car left the industrial area where the club was, moving toward the open roads. The landscape seemed barren: yellow, dry ground as far as you could see. The scenery changed the more you drove, passing through residential neighborhoods where houses with two, three, four floors lined the streets.

One house, in particular, caught your eye. It was built from red bricks, with a black front door adorned with decorative glass featuring a delicate floral pattern. Stairs led up to a small entrance, surrounded by vibrant, colorful plants. Beside the door, a large window caught your attention, though white curtains obscured the view, leaving you to imagine what the living room might look like inside.

You could only dream of owning a house like that. Your salary barely covered the basics: rent, food, your phone bill. There wasn’t much left after paying for all of that.

Yuta’s voice brought you back to the present. Had you really been quiet the entire drive? You felt guilty for not trying to make conversation.

The entrance of The Lotus loomed before you, and suddenly, the reality of the situation hit you like a wave. Elegance, money, power. Three things you didn’t have. A young man opened the car door for you, and you stepped out with shaky legs. Yuta handed the keys to the valet and walked to you, placing his hand on the small of your back.

The glass doors opened automatically when you approached them and, inside, a hostess greeted you warmly and took your coats before guiding you to your table in the center of the salon. The sound of your heels was muffled by the plush red carpet, and you couldn’t avoid glimpsing your reflection in the mirrored walls.

Yuta ordered an expensive wine, and you nearly choked on your saliva when you saw the price.

Of course, it was simply pocket money when it came to Yuta.

The wine was delicious, and so you tried to let go of your discomfort. You were into the starters, eating something with salmon and some lemon, when a question you’d been holding onto slipped out.

“How can you afford all of this?”

Yuta raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “You aren’t one to beat around the bush, huh?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but words seemed to get stuck in your throat.

“I-”

“I inherited the family business after my parents’ death. I own Nakamuro Corporation.”

You blinked in surprise.

“Shut up. You really?”

Nakamura Corporation operated multiple businesses both nationally and internationally, from media and entertainment to luxury hotels. The Cerulean Hotel, owned by the company, was one of the most expensive hotels not only in South Korea, but in the world.

No wonder every single breath of his screamed wealth.

Yuta chuckled at your reaction. He went on to explain how, with no siblings, the entire family fortune fell to him after his parents’ passing. He had made some loyal friends throughout his life, such as Johnny, the owner of the restaurant you were eating in.

He had bought a penthouse in downtown Seoul as soon as he hit 21, but when the pressure of the business life became too much, he retreated to his family’s rural home in Japan, where his grandmother still lived.

“What about you?” He asked, his eyes sincere.

You mirrored his sip of wine, feeling the weight of the question.

“I, um… actually, I don’t really have any family. Just my girls.” You replied, your voice hollow. “My dad left when I was a baby, so my mom raised me as a single mother. When I turned 18, she met a guy online and… left. She didn’t even tell me. I came home from high school one day, and they were just gone. After waiting for a week, I realized they weren’t coming back.”

Yuta set his glass down, a look of genuine regret crossing his face.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t worry about it. You couldn’t have known.” You said, spinning the drink inside your glass absently. You took a deep breath and continued. “I started crashing on friends’ couches, taking whatever shitty jobs I could find. Eventually, I ended up living in the streets, then found the Cherry Lips. I don’t believe in fate, but I genuinely think that someone watching over me moved the pieces so that I ended up there.”

Yuta listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours. The dinner continued, the wine slowly disappeared, and the night soon came to an end. On the drive back to the club, the two of you chatted about everything and anything in particular. You loved seeing this side of him, more relaxed and open. 

When you said your goodnights, you swore you had seen Yuta glancing at your lips.

If you had to pinpoint the moment everything started to crumble, it would be when clients began visiting Kahi’s office. They’d only be inside for a few minutes, but when they came out, they acted off. They’d tap their feet, glance around nervously, sweat. When they left, they could barely walk straight.

A nagging feeling settled deep within you, a sense that something big was about to blow up, and when it did, there would be no coming back from it. Two weeks later, you would find out just how right you were.

Eunwoo was performing on stage when a man suddenly lunged at her. Baekho and Minhyun were on him instantly, but the man was wild, completely out of control. With brutal force, he shoved Minhyun aside, sending him crashing into a nearby table. The table splintered, and Minhyun collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest. Chaos erupted around you: Eunwoo’s screams, the other girls rushing from the dressing room to comfort her, and Baekho, with help, dragging the crazed man offstage.

Kahi appeared, her voice a booming command as she kicked everyone out. Kaeun rushed to Minhyun’s side, but you were frozen, staring at him, wondering if he was dead. Had you just witnessed a murder?

Kaeun grabbed his wrist, desperately searching for a pulse. When she finally found it, she sighed with relief, glanced at Kahi, and nodded. The pulse was weak, but it was there. He needed to get to a hospital.

Roa and Nayoung helped Baekho get Minhyun into the car, and you stood on the street with the other girls, watching the car disappear down the road.

Kahi turned back to the group, her face unreadable. “Get in.”

Everyone followed, hoping she’d finally explain what was going on, but she walked straight to her office, stopping only when you called out.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry?”

“Clearly something’s wrong.” You spoke louder, your voice firmer now. “Customers have been acting weird, getting in and out of your office every night, and now this. We work here, we live here. We deserve to know if something’s happening.”

Kahi looked you dead in the eye, but there was nothing in her expression. After a long, uncomfortable silence, she spoke.

“You’re right. I owe you the truth.” She straightened up, crossing her arms defensively. “We’re bankrupt. I’ve been selling coke to be able to pay the bills.”

Your world stopped. The words didn’t make sense at first, and you couldn’t process them. The girls around you wore identical expressions of shock.

“Kahi, are you insane?” Pinky cried. “You’re going to get us all in trouble!”

“What if someone finds out and goes to the cops?” Roa asked, her voice trembling as she sat down. “Oh, God…”

“No one will talk.” Kahi insisted, scanning the room, eyes stopping on each girl. “I’ve got pictures. They don’t want their wives, girlfriends, or bosses to find out where their money’s really going.”

You scoffed, running a hand through your hair. “If blackmail is your only backup plan, we’re literally fucked.”

“Then tell me how else I can keep this place running.” Kahi snapped, raising her voice. But you weren’t scared anymore.

“Well, shit, not by selling drugs!” You threw your hands up in frustration. “Why didn’t you ask for a loan? I don’t know! Do you have any idea how close tonight came to ending worse? What if Minhyun had died? What would you have done then?”

“But he didn’t die.” Kahi shot back.

You couldn’t believe that the woman in front of you, the one you had once looked up to, could act like this. So irrationally, so blind.

“He could have died.” You pressed. “And you’re our boss, Kahi, you’re supposed to protect us.”

The other girls murmured in agreement, but Kahi stood firm, her expression stone-cold.

“I’ll make this clear once and for all: I’ll do anything to keep this club afloat.”

“I get that.” You said, crossing your arms, mimicking her defensive stance. “But this isn’t the way.”

“If you don’t like it, then leave.”

The words hit you like a punch. Your heart skipped a beat, and you could barely find your voice.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. You’re fired.”

“Seriously? You’re kicking me out because I won’t go along with this?”

Kahi stepped forward, her perfume overwhelming. You could feel her breath as she towered over you.

“Anyone else?” She scanned the room, her eyes daring anyone to speak. But there was silence. She turned back to you, her final words cutting through the air. “I want you out first thing in the morning.”

You stared at her, her face a mask of cold indifference, and for the first time, you realized that the woman you once knew had disappeared. Even if things had been awkward lately, the realization hurt more than you thought.

“You’re such a bitch.” You said quietly, savoring the words you’d wanted to say for so long.

Kahi didn’t answer. She just turned, and the sound of her office door closing was the final blow. Your body sank into a nearby chair. The girls gathered around, comforting you, vowing to talk to Kahi and get you back in, but deep down, you knew it was over.

And maybe, just maybe, it was for the best.

You spent the rest of the night packing. You dug out your old bag from the closet and stuffed your clothes inside, the rest of your things going into a new backpack.

You didn’t sleep.

The next morning, you dressed in silence, the weight of what was happening sinking in. Despite the girls’ attempts to change Kahi’s mind, you knew there was no turning back. Kahi only emerged from her office to hand you a letter of recommendation and your severance pay.

You took one last look at your room. Regret gnawed at you, but there was no changing what had happened. You grabbed your things and walked down the hall, the entire situation feeling unfair.

When you reached the club’s floor, the place you once hated now felt like it was a part of you. The girls surrounded you, tears in their eyes. Kahi was nowhere in sight. You said goodbye to each of them, your heart breaking with each embrace, trying to hold back tears.

But they were your family, after all.

Pinky was the last to hug you, holding you tighter than anyone. Her tears soaked your shirt as she clung to you like you were her lifeline. You held her close, squeezing back.

Saying goodbye to the girls was hard, but parting from Pinky, someone you thought of as a little sister, the one who had made this place bearable, was even worse.

“Why are we being so dramatic?” Siyeon asked, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “We’ll keep in touch, right? We have phones.”

Nayeon nodded, trying to stay composed, but her mascara was smeared all over her face.

“Where will you go?” Kyla asked, brushing hair from her face.

“I don’t know-” You admitted, gently stroking Siyeon’s arm. “But I’ll figure it out and call you once I find somewhere to stay.”

You sighed deeply, grabbed your sports bag, and turned to leave. But before you could take another step, you remembered something.

“Please tell Baekho I said goodbye, and that I hope everything works out for him. Can you do that for me?”

Kaeun nodded, her voice soft yet firm. “Of course. I’ll tell him.”

You hated goodbyes, especially because you never really got to say them before. Your father had left before you even knew how to speak, and your mother had just vanished.

With your backpack over one shoulder and your sports bag in hand, you opened the door and walked out. You glanced one last time at the club, the place that had been both hell and home to you.

You walked down the street, trying to come to terms with what had just ended.

At the end of the street, you stopped, unwilling to look back. But you did anyway. The club’s neon sign flickered off, a dim glow that mirrored the hollow feeling in your chest.

You dropped your bags and sat on the sidewalk, pulling out your phone. You stared at the screen, unsure if you should call. But you dialed anyway.

After what felt like an eternity, you saw a familiar car turn onto the street and park in front of you.

Yuta stepped out, confusion creasing his brow when he saw your bags.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice gentle but full of concern.

And just like that, you broke. The dam you’d been holding back all night crumbled, and the tears spilled out. You collapsed against him the moment he sat down next to you, your body shaking with the release.

“Kahi fired me.” You whispered through sobs. “She kicked me out.”

No reposting or translations allowed.

© epinebleue 2023-2025

[liz-allyn]

new rules: sugar + vice vol. 2 (ch. 3) [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: how Peter spent his spring break from Honey, and how the summer vacation is going... 😬

words: 10.4 k

tags: fluff and angst (my otp), also: Peter being insatiable, Peter having PTSD, non-graphic smut scenes, voyeurism, Hawaii, TW: flashback to SA in Vol. 1, child abuse, domestic violence, being spied on, being creeped on by a drunk guy, please take care of yourselves if this isn't your cup of tea).

This took me a ridiculously long time to write. Thank you, everybody, for your patience and your support!

back to sugar and vice masterlist.

3 - New Rules

For a crime boss, Peter Parker was surprisingly good at following rules.

Rules were good. Rules were safe. Rules created order out of chaos. Peter always made the rules. For the Spiders, following the rules meant life or death.

1. Don’t use real names. 2. Never walk into a place without an exit strategy. 3. Always bring a weapon. 4. Remember that someone is watching—always. 5. Respect appointments.  6. Respect partners.  7. Respect the Boss.

Respecting the rules meant respecting the Boss. No one would dare question that. Even if his rules didn’t make sense.

8. No killing.

“Say what again?”

“I said ‘no killing,’” Peter repeated, firm.  His voice carried more authority than it had in weeks. Not since he’d left the city. 

The Penthouse in Queens was in escrow, sold in record time after John Walker’s disappearance. Leaving the city was against Counsil’s advice. (Matt even took the Lord’s name in vain!) But Peter didn’t care how it looked to anyone else. 

So, it was an early spring afternoon at the Catskills cabin when he announced the latest rule to his crew. Their reactions varied.

Peter distinctly remembered Miguel’s mouth forming a tight line before an explosive coughing fit. He choked, it seemed, on nothing—nothing other than the utter nonsense he’d just heard. 

Johnny leaned back in his chair, literally scratching his head. He let out a long, whistling exhale. 

Jess adjusted in her seat with a wince, not-so-subtle in her discomfort. 

Peni and Noir stared at Peter with deadpan expressions. In Noir’s case, he was as “deadpan” as capable before he stood up to pour himself five or six fingers of bourbon.

The only one who appeared unfazed was Felicia. 

She lounged in the back, a diamond nail file swiping against her manicure, watching Peter beneath the fringe of her false lashes. Her coral lips, painted in Chanel Rouge Matte First Light, remained perfectly still, though the nail file never stopped moving.

Peter could deal with everyone else’s grumbling. 

Matter of fact—Fuck ’em, he thought.

Peter was the Boss. 

But Felicia Hardy was scary.

It wasn’t the 4-inch stilettos she wore on Casual Fridays, or the sharp, carbon steel hairpin she sometimes used to twist back her frosted-platinum hair. It was all in her eyes: dark blue as the Atlantic, which held secrets just as deep. Her eyes were on him, unreadable as ever. 

It drove Peter nuts. 

He hated that he could never tell what she was thinking, only that she was thinking. Or maybe her eyes were smiling, a self-satisfied smirk that she could withhold from the rest of her face. She could’ve been thinking about leading the group into a slow clap. Or poisoning his water bottle. She gave up nothing.

Neither did Peter. He announced the Spiders’ new law, uninterested in giving anyone any explanations. Peter reminded them that he didn’t owe them one. If they didn’t like it, they could leave the organization whenever they wanted. No one was his prisoner.

Not anymore.

He knew they wouldn’t quit. They were loyal, but that wasn’t the reason. (Although, lately, he had reason to question everyone’s loyalty.)

The truth was they couldn’t leave. Not until it was over.

‘Over’ was the variable; the finish line was different for everyone. Everyone had a list of wrongs to right, and they were all prisoners to it. 

Just like Peter.

Peter was released the same afternoon he was arrested. He learned the cops had no real case. There was nothing Commissioner Alexander Pierce could pin on him. Nothing that District Attorney Frank Castle could charge him with. Not yet.

Peter had won. But the moment he came home, all he felt was loss.

The emptiness was so loud it made his eardrums throb. The quiet of his lavish, twentieth-story penthouse felt like a black hole, tearing him apart the farther he ventured inside. Soon, he was alone in the dark, swallowed by memories.

He saw the image of Eddie Brock rummaging for snacks in his pantry. A day later, Eddie would be dead. 

Peter’s eyes drifted to the large terrarium in the great room. From his illuminated basking rock, Rex locked eyes with him. The bearded dragon was motionless under his heat lamp, glowing red with piercing black eyes that suggested pure contempt.

Those judgmental little eyes triggered another memory: this time of Honey referring to the reptile as ‘the angry guy’ from a Pixar film that Peter hadn’t heard of. She’d laugh about it as she fed him blueberries, grinning wide as he’d eagerly snatch it from her fingers and gnash like he was starving. The dragon perched on her shoulder like he belonged there, his spiny tail spread down the length of her arm like armor.

Honey’s scaly guardian glared at Peter now, live crickets bouncing around his terrarium unfettered. He looked angrier than ever. Why wouldn’t he be? Peter sent away his best friend. 

Me too, buddy. Me too.

That was nothing compared to Peter’s nausea when he glanced into his office. What used to be his office.

He surveyed the damage from the threshold. The giant floor-to-ceiling window had been boarded up with plywood. The blood that previously coated the hardwood floor and walls had been cleaned up, but its scent lingered in Peter’s nose. All the destroyed furniture had been removed from the room, leaving it empty.

Empty. Empty. Empty.

Within seconds, Peter’s skin felt clammy. His lungs shrank to a walnut’s size. The tightness in his chest nearly brought him to his knees as he was ambushed by the memory of—

Peter was on his knees. He had been fighting to no avail. Unable to intervene, unable to stand, he was bleeding out from a gunshot wound and multiple broken bones. Never mind the guns that his treacherous guards held on him. Peter was watching helplessly. Uselessly.  John Walker was assaulting the woman he loved.  The woman he’d die for was rigid beneath Walker’s grip, her breath strangled in her throat. Walker was digging his claws into her flesh, bruising her while he salivated and rutted against her like a rabid dog.  Honey’s eyes were vacant in a way that scared the shit out of Peter. Her mind was elsewhere—retreating to a state of dissociation—while her ex-husband violated her. She was quiet, but Peter could hear her heart pounding.  He was trapped and panicking. He could hear it in his own voice as he screamed profanities at Walker. In his heart, he screamed that he was absolutely gonna kill that motherfucker with his bare hands. His screams were ignored. The whole attack felt... performative. Walker was taking his time, drawing the assault out, all while his guards howled with laughter.  He was putting on a show of torturing them. Honey had mentioned before that her abuser used to enjoy subjugating her in front of people. That’s why Honey suggested this—enduring this nightmare from which she had worked so hard to escape. She had apparently hoped to appeal to John’s barbarity and obsession, maybe as a diversion. She was offering herself as a ‘trade,’ buying time for Peter to rescue them. “It’s not a fair trade” is the only thing that comes to his mind. Peter is worthless.

When Peter returned to reality, he clutched the doorframe so tight that the wood cracked. Sweat beaded down his neck. His breaths came short, and he could taste bile in each one. 

He shot out of the room like a bullet. He left the penthouse just as quickly. That was it. Peter could never sleep another night there. Not while every thread in his bedsheets and every fiber of his being still smelled like her.

The Cabin was the only place he had left to go. Even if different ghosts haunted him. 

Peter’s thoughts shifted to the present meeting with his crew, hearing how the gang was reacting to his new rule:

“—we might as well call ourselves The Sugarhill Gang and organize ourselves a flashmob—” “—seriously, man, what decade are you even from?” “—fucking insanity, ya tryin’ to get us all killed—?” “—whatchu think our allies are gonna say when we can’t back them up?—” “—gonna need a whole lotta well-placed banana peels—”

Well. That went well.

Peter smirked as he mused. Sarcasm was his only friend.

Honey had rules, too.

Never serve espresso in a cold cup.

Don’t trust anyone who won’t sing along to their favorite song. (Run if they tell you they don’t have a favorite song.)

Always look someone in the eye when you clink glasses in a toast, lest you be cursed with seven years of bad sex.

Then there was their most sacred rule, established early in their “situationship”:

“I promise,” he said. “No touching. Until you ask me to.” 

It was the night Peter begged her to sleep with him—or next to him. Beside him, in his bed. 

It wasn’t that weird, right? Maybe it was a little inappropriate, but it didn’t cross any lines...

Who was he kidding? It was an episode of “Dateline.” Creepy as hell. It’s a wonder Honey trusted him at all. 

How was he supposed to explain (to the woman he’d essentially kidnapped) that he needed her nearby to sleep? He couldn’t close his eyes if it meant losing sight of her. He couldn’t rest without feeling her warmth, knowing he wouldn’t be abandoned.

Maybe Peter was just scared to be left by himself.

See? That’s what I’m talkin’ about, man. Creepy. A.F.

Or left with himself. 

Peter had spent twenty-seven days alone in a cabin. He had nothing but his own thoughts. 

On Day 28, he had a plan. He just needed to break it down into its most simple rules.

TWO WEEKS AFTER THE REUNION

“I think we should establish some ground rules,” Honey whispered to him, seated beside him. Almost. 

There was a short distance across the aisle of the twin-engine jet where they sat apart. If it were up to Peter, he’d have her draped across his lap, safety be damned. She declined the seat next to him, where he could easily wrap his arm around her. Or at least lace his fingers through hers. 

He couldn’t remember when he wanted to hold someone’s hand so badly. 

They were halfway to Honolulu; once again, she was barely outside his reach. Peter worried they were going back to ‘no touching.’ He would respect it if that was the case. Even if every second of not touching her felt like he was on fire.

“Yeah?” Peter croaked, a little too enthusiastic. He was trying to sound supportive yet subdued. Not too excited—but not dismissive. The result was some kind of “delighted grimace” as he nodded along like a bobblehead. “Ya, ah-uh, ye-yeah, that’s great, I love rules.”

If his nervousness was apparent, she didn’t call it out. 

“For the trip?” she added, providing some context.

“Oh, right. Right.”

The trip to Hawaii. The one they were just beginning.

Peter began preparing almost immediately after their reunion. He would’ve gone the following day, but Honey argued that she couldn’t bail on her co-workers. So, they waited until she was granted a week off at her request. 

He called in a few favors (friends of friends) and secured a private jet. Later, he learned what the owner meant when he said it was “built for a romantic getaway.” He found a cozy, king-sized bed in the back draped in luxurious silk sheets, and he was eager to spend most of the 11-hour flight from JFK making use of it with Honey.

But it was clear to Peter that wasn’t going to happen. 

The loud pop of a champagne bottle reinforced this. Felicia’s voice echoed through the Cabin with an enthusiastic “yowww!” He glanced behind his seat toward the sound.

The silver-haired vixen stood in the galley behind the seats with a bend in her slender waist and her lithe arm extended outward. She poured a generous amount of liquid gold into a crystal coupe, gripping a champagne bottle from beneath its base. It was a tantalizing display of isometric strength, poise, and raw muscle, showcasing her experience as a gymnast and ballerina (and occasional alcoholic). 

At the receiving end, Rebecca’s sparkling eyes scanned the toned arm of her server as champagne filled her glass. With bright, flushed cheeks, she quickly darted her tongue out to taste the foam overflowing from the rim. Felicia nodded in approval.

Rebecca Jimenez. Honey’s adult sister. Honey invited her on their romantic getaway. Along with her other sisters. And niece. And far too many of Peter’s crew for him to be comfortable with. 

It wasn’t so much a request as it was a condition. Honey reasoned with something thoughtful about memories and sharing moments. Peter worried that it was more about avoiding time alone with him.

Becca fluttered her thick lashes and shimmied her shoulders flirtatiously to Chappel Roan’s synth-pop melody. Music blared from the in-cabin speaker system while hidden LED light strips flashed in sync with the music. Cat and Becca were in sync with each other.

Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes. At this point, Felicia had a better shot at getting laid.

Across the aisle from Rebecca, their mother Ana audibly ‘harumphed’ at the fun being had. The matriarch’s baggy eyes were full of judgment, trying to ignore the middle sister’s scandalous behavior. Anxiously, she glanced out the plane’s windows while unconsciously clenching her fists, a glass of wine in one hand and a rosary in the other. 

Further back, Bella and Miles sat side-by-side, battling each other on their handheld Switches. They were wired on the excitement of travel and Sour Gummy Worms.

Gabriella Jimenez occupied the row behind Miles and Bella, buried in a black Billie Eilish hoodie. The youngest of Honey’s sisters kept her head down and her phone within four inches from her face. Peter had never seen her any other way.

By contrast, Selena Jimenez looked elated. She sat across from Rebecca, delighting in the makeshift celebration between the adults. The teen had the giddiness of a child being allowed to stay awake to watch the ball drop. It contrasted with the “cool girl” vibe she tried to feign.

At the airport, Peter saw Honey and Selena off to the side, engaged in a heated whisper. He could hear Honey grilling her to explain her clothing choice. Specifically, why was her little sister wearing a mini dress, heels, and a full face of makeup on such a long flight? Peter didn’t quite understand the problem, but he figured it was a sister thing and said nothing.

As they taxied on the runway, Honey vented about it to Peter, mentioning her regret that she invited Johnny Storm on the trip. Only then could Peter connect that and the cartoon hearts shooting from Selena’s eye sockets. 

Johnny was in the galley with Felicia, dancing like a fool while holding a whiskey bottle in the crux of his tattooed bicep. The brash, charismatic show-off was ‘just being himself.’ That included wearing a muscle shirt that was two sizes too small. 

To his credit, he wasn’t trying to draw the attention of a 17-year-old. For someone best described as ‘only sorta occasionally vain,’ Johnny talked a lot of shit about himself. He even admitted that he was dyeing his grays, to Peter’s shock. I mean, he knew about the hair dye, but would never have imagined Johnny being honest about it. 

Johnny avoided Selena’s longing gazes like the plague. Peter was pretty sure he heard him fart and belch—simultaneously—just to solidify his unattractiveness. He worked diligently to squash any suggestion that he would reciprocate the girl’s affection. 

Honey flashed a look at Johnny that suggested murder, which likely encouraged his efforts. 

“So, first, I think we should split up the days we’re going to the Polynesian Cultural Center and the Zoo,” Honey explained, with her well-worn planner in her lap. “I hate going to museums and not being able to read all the stuff.”

Peter brought his attention back to Honey, nodding along. “Yeah, me too. But––” 

“And I already know Bella’s gonna want to spend half her time in the peacock enclosure—did you know they bite?”

“Oh.” He didn’t. “I, uh…?” 

“And I already know Becca’ll blow her entire paycheck at the mall, but if she maxes out her credit card, that’s on her. She’s a big girl. Do not offer to buy anything, please. It’s like bringing an alcoholic to a bar.”

“Okay, well, maybe—”

“While Bella, Miles, and Selena are staying the extra day at Aulani,” Honey rattled on, “we can hit up Kualoa—Oooh, we need to do the group photo at the log! You know, the—”

“The one from Jurassic Park,” Peter finished, proving that he had been paying attention. 

It had been a topic in Honey’s fascinating presentation of facts about Hawaii. Along with the fact that the Hawaiian alphabet only had 16 letters. And that in the 1990s, a Category 5 hurricane blew all the chicken coops away, so now, chickens roam free on some islands like pigeons in New York.

“We gotta force Gabby to get up for Diamond Head, but I think she’ll really enjoy it.”

“Yeah, about that,” he jumped in, attempting to shift the conversation. “I was thinkin’ we might get some time, y’know?” She blinked at him. Peter’s gaze darkened, voice low and dripping with seduction. “Just you and me? Have a little fun? Y’know... alo—” 

“Chaperones!” Honey yelped as if just remembering forgotten keys. Her train of thought jumped the tracks. “We should split up to chaperone the kids! We’re gonna be spread out across the island, sometimes across multiple islands. I want to make sure that no one gets lost, everyone has fun, and no one gets bitten by a shark... or a peacock—should we start making lists? I’ll make a list!”

Without waiting for a response, she pulled out a pen attached to the cover of her notebook and dutifully started jotting down names. Peter let out a soundless huff. She was definitely avoiding him.

He calmly stewed in frustration but simultaneously reminded himself that the trip was about her. Only two weeks had passed since their reunion, and emotions were still inflamed.

9. Stay the hell away from her.

That was Peter’s rule throughout their separation. Ending his relationship with Honey wasn’t an easy decision to make. He struggled with it, especially in the weeks after he returned to New York City. 

One morning, he resolved to let her go; by that afternoon, his longing for love chipped away at his stubborn instinct to stay alone. The cycle repeated endlessly. 

Gwen used to hate that, too.

Stay away from her.

Peter had spent more time than he’d like to admit watching Honey from afar. Not stalking her or anything, just... watching. 

Out of sight, usually concealed on the rooftops, he’d watch her leave her apartment building in the early morning and follow her until she reached the greasy spoon diner where she worked as a waitress.  

She was safe there. She was fine. Peter just needed to know she was okay, and then he could simply—

Stay away from her.

Except for when he thought he had her schedule figured out, she would then stray from the routine. She would visit a coffee shop, linger for a bit, and then go to another coffee shop. Like she was ranking every latte in Manhattan. 

Who drinks that much coffee? (Besides him.)

Then, she would switch to a string of night shifts, which were the worst. Once, she got home after midnight and was headed back to work less than 4 hours later. 

That can’t be legal, right? 

Sometimes, it seemed like she was covering every available shift. It was exhausting to keep up with, and he knew she had to be even more worn out. He couldn’t understand it.

It wasn’t a financial issue; Peter had loaded her bank account with enough to cover her expenses for at least two years (in the event he needed to disappear for any reason). There was no way she needed the money. So why on Earth was she taking on so many extra shifts? At this rate, the coffee or the excessive overtime would drive them to an early grave.

Stay away from her.

He nearly broke his own rule one night when she took another detour after work. Instead of going home, she hurried down the stairs of a southbound subway station. It was after 11 pm, and the image of her alone on the train made his stomach twist.

He didn’t think. He just ran. 

When he found her again, she was just stepping off the platform onto the train, with the doors closing behind her. 

Again, he just ran. Like an idiot.

At least I’m staying away! He argued while clinging precariously to the top side of a subway car.

Miraculously, he made it to her stop without being noticed. He trailed behind her until she reached this mysterious, new destination. He was relieved. Then, he was incredibly irritated to see she had traveled to... yet another coffee shop. 

Fortunately, his phone buzzed. When he answered, Felicia was already in the middle of a straightforward greeting: 

“Where the FUCK ARE YOU right now, Spidey? We said MIDNIGHT! Whadda I look like, a stilted prom date?”

It was enough to pull his focus.

The ridiculousness of the situation wasn’t lost on him. He reflected on the absurdity of his frustration—hypocrisy. Honey had spent nearly her whole life in New York; it’s not like she’d never taken the subway before.

She wasn’t with ME before.

Honey never had to worry about a target on her back. Or Fisk’s goons going after her. But Peter did worry. All the time. He was caught between two fears: one, that his enemies would follow him to her, or the other, that she might never make it home. 

It wasn’t her home, he’d reason. That shitty, rundown apartment with the lazy Super who couldn’t just fixthefuckin’ A/C wasn’t her home. He couldn’t fathom why Honey decided to stay. It wasn’t where she belonged. 

But it’s where I left her.

Peter was very familiar with her ‘living situation.’ Her apartment had become a part of his regular commute, no matter where he was headed. He hung out on the building across the street, where he would monitor the windows from the roof. Hiding—Staking out (like a coward) waiting in anticipation for her to close the curtains. 

Stay far, far away from her.

Honey was as skilled a marksman as anyone he’d ever met. Even from across the street, seeing her made Peter feel like a bullet had pierced his lung. It took his breath away and stung like hell.

Across the street felt more forgivable than watching her like a pervert from the fire escape outside her window. The idea of being caught like that was mortifying.

If he needed to be closer, he would stick to the walls. Literally. It was risky—crawling up the buildings near Times Square and its thousands of tourists. He hoped they were too distracted by lights, selfies, and Sesame Street characters to notice him in the shadows.

Peter clung to the stonework by his fingertips, stopping inches from her windowsill. Not close enough to see inside. He didn’t intend to spy on her. Not a lot. 

All he needed was to hear her. He would close his eyes and just... listen.

Despite the chaotic symphony of the streets, he learned to distinguish the beeping of her microwave. He also knew her favorite radio station and which local news channel she preferred. He learned the sounds that marked her good days and her bad days.

The bad ones are on me. 

There were days when she couldn’t hold it in. Her muffled sobs and shuddering breaths devolved into heartbroken wails, and Peter forced himself to listen. 

I did that. 

Maybe the best thing he could do was leave her in peace and hope that one day... maybe... she’d—

She’s not alone. 

The realization turned his blood cold. Peter climbed the wall on this particular night and stopped just beneath her open bedroom window. He heard sounds coming from inside, but not the ones he had been expecting.

These were intimate noises that he’d recognized almost immediately. He had caused those sounds before. 

They were branded into his brain, echoing in the empty cavern of his dreams at night until he would awaken and realize he was still alone. He lay in bed with tears burning in his eyes while the rest of him felt harder than petrified wood. 

It was almost embarrassing how quickly her breathless sighs, needy groans, and moans of pleasure brought his obnoxiously painful erection back to life. Hearing them now, with one palm flat against the exterior wall, he knew he couldn’t be the cause... So, the logical conclusion was one that he did not like.

There’s someone else. Fuck, fuck, fahhhck she’s found someone else!

Of course, she’s found someone else! Because she’s fucking gorgeous, you idiot! What did you think was gonna happen?

One-half of Peter wanted to punch his fist through the wall and rip whoever was touching his girl right out of the room. 

The other half wanted to throw up.

Beneath those emotions, his brain was scrambled by heartbreak, grief, and a ridiculous sense of betrayal. Rage drove his pulse, but shock kept his thoughts empty. 

“Ohh, Pee-ter...”

He froze. Wait, did she just—his name is... also Peter?

That was definitely Honey’s voice. She sounded almost... pained? Her voice was strained tighter than a wire about to snap. 

Nooo. The odds of—

“Pleeease, Peter, please, just like that...”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat as his jaw hung open. He could have been dreaming again, but the whine that came out of her mouth was unmistakably erotic. Outside of the unlikely event that she’d taken some other guy named Peter into her bed, she was moaning his name.

Why did that make him so proud? Why did her inability to move on make him happy? What kind of monster wants that? How fucked up was he? 

He was fucked up enough to not move. 

Peter stayed still, regardless of how his conscience criticized him. The shame wasn’t enough to overcome his greed. Not this time. And what he did next—savoring her lewd sounds, hanging off her wall with one hand while the other deftly unbuckled his belt—was monstrous enough to prove his point.

10. Never break a secret you can’t control.

Peter didn’t tell her about that night. He avoided discussing his stalking dutiful watching altogether. The times she avoided his eyes had him convinced she already knew.

No touching. 

Respect the Boss. 

Now, Honey was the Boss. And if Peter wanted to win back her trust, that’s how it had to be. That’s what Gwen would say. He needed to be brave. He needed to trust her.

And that’s how Peter Parker ended up at a karaoke bar: Scared shitless.

It was Honey’s idea (of course, it was). It came off more like a challenge. They were at the end of their trip, and Peter had all but totally failed to woo her. Honey dodged every romantic display of devotion, every attempt to charm her, and his every effort to make her happy.

No romantic private dinner cruise on a yacht. No couples-only spa day being lavishly pampered in a secluded lanai. No honeymoon villa, either—not for anyone but Peter, who spent the last six nights sleeping alone. 

Honey’s excuse was that she had to keep watch over her sisters. “Can’t have Gabby up all night on TikTok and Selena sneaking out to creep on Johnny...”

Honey made the rules. 

How Peter ended up at the hole-in-the-wall bar with Honey’s family and his crew—the baddest, most feared mob in the Tri-State Area—was a blur. 

He watched Felicia climb onto a dinky stage covered with a musty, stained carpet. She approached a mic stand in front of a cheap backdrop lit by old Christmas lights, topped by a tiny disco ball swaying overhead. 

She was fueled by a bottle of champagne and three healthy pours of Clase Azul.

“It’s not for shots! You don’t shoot it, you South Shore meathead; ya savor it! Didn’they teach ya anything about culture at the country club back in Long Island?”

Concealing herself behind a shield of boldness that had always served her well, Felicia belted out “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.” She practically writhed with the mic stand. The song's lyrics scrolled down a small LCD screen next to the stage, but she didn’t spare it a glance. 

The Black Cat was as theatrical as a diva, fearless in her delivery. She milked whistles from the crowd while she passed suggestive glances at Rebecca.

Honey ate it up, relishing how Becca’s face flushed at the attention. It triggered a cackle that Peter had never heard from her before. She teased her younger sibling gleefully as she danced around the dive bar with Miles and her other sisters. 

Not being of legal drinking age, the teens were sober, but nobody else could tell. They all let loose, chasing a different kind of high. 

Honey’s aura was as intoxicating as it was contagious. The woman radiated childlike energy, bright rays of sunlight burning through clouds. She was effervescent and enchanting, even as she fist-pumped through an improvised 80s training montage. She really was a maniac. And a sorceress.

When the DJ called Johnny’s name, she wildly applauded, hooting and hollering like they were in a saloon.

Johnny wasn’t even at “their table” anymore. He’d abandoned his party a half hour ago, instead preoccupied with charming the pressed linen pants off a group of elderly Japanese women. Each of them was adorned with pearl earrings, flowy pastel blouses, and a variety of sun hats perched atop carefully styled hair.

That whole exchange began when Johnny Storm swaggered up to their table, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to be suggestive, flashing them a grin that had probably left a trail of broken hearts across multiple continents.

The tallest of the four women, the one with the silk scarf tied under her chin, exchanged a glance with her friends before giving Johnny a slow, assessing look. The one in the strawberry-patterned cardigan hid a giggle behind her hand, while the others sat up a little straighter, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Johnny, undeterred by their age or their unimpressed expressions, leaned in slightly. “Ladies,” he said in a velvet voice, “I have a feeling you’re the real stars of this place. Tell me—do any of you sing?”

The one with the visor, who had been stirring her drink with a tiny umbrella, let out a dramatic sigh. Like she had been waiting all night for this question. 

“Young man,” she said, adjusting her pearls, “do you think we came here not to sing?”

Now, he was squeezed between his adoring fans. He’d bought the round of neon-colored cocktails they were sipping on through dainty straws. The women cheered for him with their perfectly manicured hands.

He tipped back his head and put a shot glass to his lips. In a second, the spicy cinnamon amber liquid was gone. He extinguished the fire in his throat with a growl, clanked the empty glass down on the tabletop, then pressed a quick kiss with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ to Strawberry-Patterned Cartigan’s cheek before pulling away.

The woman instantly flushed with shock, almond-shaped eyes going wide. Her friends burst into laughter, which had them shaking their delicate, birdlike shoulders. She brought a hand to her cheek as if to verify the audacious gesture was real. 

Then, with the grace of a woman who had raised children and scolded many men in her time, she delivered a light but decisive smack to Johnny’s bicep—not in true anger, but in a way that sent the entire room into a fit of delighted laughter.

“You little scoundrel,” she huffed, though her lips twitched upward despite herself.

“I regret nothing!” he shrugged, taking the stage.

Speaking of “no regrets,” Johnny Storm nailed Shania Twain’s “That Don’t Impress Me Much.” And Peter was very much impressed.

The room transported to another dimension of reality, one where troubles were far away, and the only thing left behind was good cheer. Honey was the star at its center, Peter observed, an absolutely mesmerizing sight to behold. Her delight burned through everyone’s inhibitions and fear. Peter felt lightheaded and giddy witnessing her joy.

It was almost enough to distract him from the fact that Honey mandated everyone, including Peter, sing a song by themselves.

Peter wasn’t scared. He wasn’t.

He just wanted to die. His complexion turned a pale green. He gripped his bourbon so tightly it was a surprise the glass didn’t shatter.

It was like flipping a switch on a time machine. Honey’s request—no, Honey’s sadistic act of torture—reverted the most ruthless Mob Boss in New York back into an awkward, insecure teenager. 

Singing in front of Honey that night at his old Baby Grand piano (the one he eventually, to his great embarrassment, tossed into a wall) was a rare display of vulnerability.

Peter remembered that night vividly. It was back in a time when Peter had wanted her so badly that he was willing to do anything. He would have sung her the entirety of Dear Evan Hansen if it brought them closer. If he could just touch—

Goddamnit, we’re really doing this all over again?

Honey’s given name was announced over the loudspeakers. Peter blinked in her direction, watching as she took another sip of her mojito, set down the glass, then bounced up to the microphone.

“This one goes out to someone special,” she purred. The slight slur in her voice from her buzz was almost undetectable. 

She placed both hands on the microphone as a few bright, metallic guitar strums rang out through the giant speakers. Peter gulped, staring like a spaceship had landed in the middle of Central Park. 

Honey’s eyes didn’t meet his directly. Instead, they scanned the room, seeing only her friends and several unimpressed (and frankly annoyed) patrons. “You know who you are.”

The lead electric guitar strummed the Major chords in an unhurried, lazy rhythm—

D-major, A-major, E-major, F-sharp minor...

Honey closed her eyes and crooned, “You make me come...”

Peter choked on his drink. Full-body short-circuited. 

“Owww!” someone catcalled from the audience. 

Peter had actually died, he was pretty sure.

But the melody repeated—

D, A, E, F-sharp major...

Now her eyes were fixed on Peter, the kind of mischief in her gaze that only meant trouble. “You make me com-ple-eete...” 

The melody repeated. Honey failed to match the higher D-major note on the last syllable, falling a little flat. It wasn’t totally tone-deaf, but it was the kind of sound that triggered an eye twitch in those who were sensitive to off-key singing. Honey didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

Peter didn’t criticize. He was still dead. Or speechless, his brain stalling during its system reboot.

At the next chord of F-sharp major, she found the right key again, heartachingly passionate as she laid out the next grenade of a lyric:

“You make me com-plete-ly miserable...”

The music died down momentarily, a dramatic pause in the song. A second later, the whole band—bass, drums, and guitar—roared back to life. The A-major chord thrashed in staccato jabs beneath Honey’s voice as she began the next part of the song. 

Peter was still jarred from the force of the blast. The whole thing was a stunt, capped off with a not-so-subtle jab at his persistent demand for her attention. Or at least that’s how she saw it.

It was a stunt, right? That means I don’t have to actually sing now—?

A vibration in his pocket jolted him out of his daze. 

Quickly, he grabbed his iPhone clad in a spider-adorned case. Miguel’s name lit up on the screen. Saved by the buzz. He hopped up from the table, phone to his ear, and shuffled out the front door.

A few minutes later, he was wrapping up the call. It was a straightforward status report. Enough to distract Peter from the karaoke bar but caused its own kind of stress.

Honey had invited Miguel and the others to Hawaii, but they all were suddenly busy—or so they said. 

Peter knew Miguel wouldn’t be caught dead in a karaoke bar.

When the call was over, Peter tipped his head back and exhaled slowly. Fatigue weighed on his shoulders. He needed a vacation from the vacation. He pocketed his phone into his khaki trousers, brought his free fingers to his forehead, and rubbed at the worry lines there. 

When he reopened his eyes, he stood beneath a canopy of stars. The moon hung low over the black ocean horizon, and the tide glistened in its light. Staring at the stars above felt like a mirror image of his experience staring at the streets beneath the Empire State Building. Peter stood on the edge of both worlds, belonging to neither.

No touching.

The thought was accompanied by the sensation of his body hairs standing on end. Lightning erupted beneath his skin, setting his nerves on fire. His hickory eyes blackened, pulling focus like an owl in the night until they found their target.  

Honey stood alone outside the bar’s entrance, shifting her weight between her wedge sandals. Peter observed her, raising an eyebrow at how she wrapped her arms firmly around her middle. The curve of her spine and shoulders made her appear to be cocooning herself. Peter could feel waves of anxiety radiating from her.

That’s when he noticed the strange man lurking closer to her. He stood just over six feet, and with his silver hair and fake teeth, he looked old enough to be her father. 

The tourist sported a crooked grin as if he had shared a joke, but Honey didn’t find it funny. Instead, she stepped back while he swaggered closer. Clearly drunk, his gait resembled a stumble. He wobbled just a foot away from her, which was eleven feet too close for Peter’s comfort. 

“I’m jusss’ sayin’—” the creep slurred with a deep, gravelly voice. “I can getcha a drink.” 

To anyone else, Honey remained calm and composed. No surprise there. For years, she fought for her life while hiding in plain sight.

But Peter knew her signs. Each time her eyes darted to the side, her alarm was as noticeable as sirens and flashing red lights. Her whole body signaled a fight-or-flight-or-fawn response. He didn’t rule out the possibility that feral was just as likely an outcome. 

Stay away.

Peter waited, feet glued to the Earth. Not hesitating, but not moving. Not intervening. Not breaking the rules. Not crossing any lines. Not touching.

The glassy-eyed man reached for her. “You ain’t gotta be alone—”

“She’s not.” 

They heard Peter’s voice before they noticed his presence. It was calm, but foreboding—like the stillness of a cemetery. The Earth seemed to quake from the quiet intensity radiating off of him. 

Conversation stopped cold. He had their attention.

There was no urgency in Peter’s tone or movements. Just the slow, deliberate precision of someone who had already decided how this would end. He stood as a monolith, radiating darkness and authority. Like Anubis, ready to guide the dead to the underworld. 

Honey blinked at him… several times. Peter loomed large over the drunk man with a sovereign sparkle in his eye. It was a serenely vicious display of what could only be described as reverent malice. The proud way the Devil gazes upon his own Kingdom in Hell.

No killing.

No blinking. 

No touching. 

Peter’s mouth made no sound, but his eyes spoke volumes. 

11 - Don’t pick a fight you can’t win. 

Her drunken predator scoffed dismissively as if he could read Peter’s mind. Simultaneously, he took a big step back and abruptly stumbled off. A heavy odor of sweat, sunscreen, alcohol, and piss-your-pants terror trailed behind him, while he muttered something that sounded like “whore” beneath his breath.

Peter didn’t bother watching the man leave. But when the threat was clear, he finally met her eyes. 

Honey’s shoulders slowly relaxed, releasing the tension in her body. Despite her apparent calm, she seemed frustrated with herself for becoming flustered at all.

Peter’s gaze held no victory or smugness. Instead, he looked endearingly patient, like waiting for a signal of some kind.

11.5 - Never lose a fight that picks you.

Honey crossed her arms over her chest, feigning disinterest. “I had it handled,” she declared.

Amusement sparkled in his brown eyes. “Yeah?” he murmured with a slight head tilt.

Now, she was the one to huff. Honey sighed with irritation, shaking her head as she briskly walked back inside. “Go fuck yourself,” she grumbled, but without any actual malice to it.

By that time, the party was over. 

Honey gave hasty goodbyes, explaining her drop in enthusiasm as exhaustion from an eventful week of travel. Her only desire was to go back to the hotel and crash. She didn’t object when Peter insisted on walking her. He was unsure if she was finally accepting his help or if she was too tired to argue. 

They walked side-by-side down a main road in unhurried silence. 

Peter stole a few anxious glances at her, observing with concern the way her brows drew together pensively. Unexpressed feelings tugged at the edges of Honey’s smile like an argument was on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t seem like she had enough energy to fight.

Peter didn’t know which scenario was worse. 

The uncomfortable silence ended with a whack. 

Both of them froze mid-step, halted by the familiar sound. Like a baseball hitting a leather mitt. It was the unmistakable sound of a fist to flesh. The next noise was all wrong. It was a strangled, breathless shriek. It was like shattering glass, a foreign wail that was too high-pitched for any man or woman. 

The cry of a terrified child in pain.

Wide-eyed, Peter and Honey snapped their gazes over to the source. Shadows played beneath the fronds of a palm tree on the street corner, the canopy illuminated by a golden streetlamp. They concealed the figures of a man, a woman, and a smaller person between them.

A boy, they noted—a baby. No older than three. The family likeness was unmistakable. The boy’s father had his tiny forearm twisted up behind his back. The child was screaming like his arm was broken, his face soaked with hot tears that glistened in the streetlights. He shrieked and wailed—like a toddler should. 

Standing a few feet away from the boy and his father, the woman watched the scene in silence. She hugged herself while swaying slightly, her eyes drifting in and out of focus.

That look, both Peter and Honey knew very well. Judging by the scene, it wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Peter jumped to action, rushing from Honey’s side. He caught the grown man’s arm just as he was about to strike his son a second time. By the time the father looked back to see who interrupted him, Peter had already crushed the bones in his wrist.

The boy tumbled to the ground, still sobbing with an added level of panic. But his cries were overshadowed by the howl that tore from his father’s throat. 

Honey watched in horror as the man’s entire arm seized in Peter’s grip, his useless fingers twitching helplessly. The father was on his knees, staring up at Peter with sudden desperation. His breath came in ragged gasps, the pain suffocating him. 

Peter appeared to wait a few moments, not for the screaming to stop, but for his victim to come to terms with what just happened.

The crime boss had no remorse in his eyes. No shame to be found, not even for the pleasure he took in splintering the man’s bones. He exacted justice. He righted a wrong. It was as simple as that. 

Panicked screams persisted, with the boy’s mother now shrieking. Terrified, she clung her sobbing child tightly to her chest and fled the scene. 

Peter appeared unaffected, leaning down close to the whimpering man’s ear. He placed a calming hand on the shuddering man’s back. 

“Next time,” he whispered, sharing a secret that was cast down like a curse, “I take the whole thing.”

Once Peter let go, the father flattened on the ground, crumbling faster than his carpal bones. The situation ended as Peter stepped backward, leaving the man to writhe on the pavement alone. 

An eerie calm fell over them, contrasting the pounding of their hearts. 

Then, Peter directed his attention on Honey, studying her with worry. She blinked at him, wide-eyed and shaken, as he closed the gap between them. His hands surrounded her shoulders, his fingers gripping her tight. The action seemed as if he was reassuring himself.

An unspoken exchange between them set them off towards the hotel. 

They walked briskly, his hand on her lower back to guide her and keep her moving. His pulse wasn’t racing—he wasn’t panicked. But he remained on high alert, scanning their surroundings even though the immediate threat seemed to be over.

His main concern was Honey. Her heavy silence left him wondering how she processed everything. The pressure didn’t let up until they stood in front of the gated entryway to Peter’s villa. It wasn’t located near the luxury suites where Honey stayed with her sisters, but she didn’t question it. 

The entrance to the private villa was secluded, with lush greenery forming an arbor that nearly enclosed them completely. The shroud of nightfall was almost like a protective bubble around them. It was the closest thing to a haven that Peter had within 5,000 miles.

He was still holding her close, though they didn’t move to go inside. The distant rolling surf and heavy evening air helped to calm them down. 

At some point, they both looked down. Peter’s eyes widened in horror to see a bloody handprint on the dress’ waist. It was from where Peter’s hand had been. The blood belonged to the father, obviously, but he snatched his hand away like he’d been burned.

It was Peter who appeared to be struggling now. A storm of emotions raged behind his eyes, an amalgamation of relief, revenge, and regret. Honey kept peering at him, at his hands, and at his face. He could almost see the moment replaying in her mind endlessly. She was either at a loss for words or silenced by her fear of him.

“Honey...” Peter stuttered, trying to find his voice. 

He jabbed his fingers into his hair, running them across his scalp. His voice was thick in his throat, making it harder to breathe, and every sound died before it left his mouth. 

“I... You... I-I-I—”

“I’m sorry,” she replied abruptly. Melancholy filled her eyes.

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Wh... what?”

“About tonight,” she explained, but her explanation only confused him further. “About the karaoke bar. And about my song.”

It took several moments for Peter’s baffled mind to catch up, during which he’d side-eyed her like she’d grown another head. She was apologizing...? For karaoke? For that 90s song?

He didn’t know the song well or remember the band’s name, but he had a vague recollection of a 50-foot-tall Pamela Anderson-giant in a sporty bikini. He did, however, remember the song’s takeaway: “You make me miserable.”

“It was—it was very rude of me,” Honey admitted remorsefully, a small line forming between her brows.

Peter blinked, still unsure how to respond. “I’m... sorry...? I’m sorry,” he mumbled despite his confusion. She continued to study the flagstone beneath her toes. He tucked his chapped lip between his teeth, pondering quietly as the tension between them faded. 

A sheepish half-smile warmed his face. “I’m, uh... sorry I didn’t get to hear the rest of it,” Peter said. He slipped both hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. 

Honey released her lip and sucked in a courageous breath. “I shouldn’t have made you feel like you were forced to sing,” she confessed. “That was... not cool.”

“Nah,” he chuckled lightly. “You were great. Everybody had fun.”

“Not you,” she frowned, still hardly able to meet his eyes. “You weren’t having fun.”

“That’s just ‘cos I’m a pussy and I had no clue what to sing,” Peter revealed to her conspiratorially, scrunching his nose and bobbing his head from side to side. “It’s- it’s like my mind went blank. Just... ‘Happy Birthday’ and ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,’ and no way was that gonna happen.”

The conversation fell silent again, but the mood had shifted. The waves seemed calmer in the distance. 

“I would’ve liked to hear it,” Honey added as an afterthought. She met his eyes with a genuine spark. “Whatever you would’ve chosen.” 

They were quiet again, suspended in time and space, with Peter caught in her endearing gaze. It made him want to melt. It was like staring into the sun, where he could only observe her light in fleeting glances. Meanwhile, his hands in his pockets ached for her warmth. 

It felt like they were on the precipice of their journey.

“Are you, um—” she cleared her throat while her fingers twisted the edge of her sleeve. “Are you going to invite me in?” 

Peter froze at her modest question as his thoughts came to a standstill. Too many seconds went by with Peter staring at her like a flustered fool, his lashes fluttering. 

“Y-you mean... to-to stay?” 

He framed it like a question, but he simultaneously nodded his head in unspoken agreement as if there were no doubt. At this point, he was afraid to make any assumptions. Worried that he possibly misunderstood, Peter added, “Or did you want— I-I-I can... get a different room—?” 

“Stay,” she whispered, feather-soft.

The simple reply left her lips while her eyes contained volumes of words—entire essays on longing and fear of intimacy that she had memorized and was prepared to defend. Sonnets penned with heartfelt sincerity. 

“Stay with me.”

Peter didn’t look away. He stared back, questioning if his eyes and ears were lying to him. Wordlessly, he watched as she reached over, freed his hand from his pocket, and pressed her palm to his. 

He studied the action intently, trying to document every moment. Only letting his eyes shut when their fingers wove together. Peter was enraptured, awestruck at the way her touch soothed him, as chaste as it was. He was suddenly lightheaded, heart thrumming in his ears, and he craned his neck forward. With tenderness, he pressed a soft kiss to her hairline, taking a moment to rest his chin against her hair.

Their last night in Hawaii was spent in each other’s arms, adorning one another with tender kisses and comforting caresses. They melted into each other. Every blissful moment Peter spent inside of her felt like a wildfire, setting his soul on fire. The lines between their bodies blurred like smoke billowing and twisting in the wind.

Admittedly, Peter had forgotten what this was like. The signs were familiar; their hair was damp from perspiration. Their sweaty chests heaved as they panted from the exertion. The rhythmic pounding of skin connecting with skin overlaid with the melody of their moans. The pitch ranged from soul-shattering groans to helpless whimpers while they poured filthy words and devoted praise into each other’s ears. 

It wasn’t fucking. It wasn’t just sex. 

It was something Peter had only experienced a few times in his life. Gwen was the first— the first woman he’d ever made love to. Honey was the second. There was nothing Peter wouldn’t sacrifice to have her be the last.

Two hours after they landed in New York, the couple stood outside of a different entrance. In the hallway outside of Honey’s apartment, stray voices from televisions turned too loud, and shrieking young children competed with the echo of distant sirens. Overhead, a flickering yellow bulb buzzed like it resented the effort. 

Peter avoided having his gaze linger too long at the stained carpet beneath his Flower Moon lace-up trainers. The floor stains blended well with the frenetic carpet pattern that reminded him of an old movie theater. 

Her building was uncomfortably warm—and so humid for a moment he thought he was still in Hawaii—but he avoided criticism about it. He made a mental note to have one of his associates pay a visit to that useless Super, so they could “discuss his timeline” on getting the A/C fixed.

He had the handle of Honey’s suitcase in his palm, having carried it up the stairs for her. A chartered car waited outside her building.

The two of them stood facing each other in front of her door, a pregnant pause between them. 

“So,” Honey timidly began, pointing with her eyes. “This is me.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “I wish it wasn’t.” A tinge of blue colored the statement as it sat unanswered. 

She cast her glance down at her shoes. “Thanks again… for everything.”

“Oh, yeah…it was— um, it was nothin.’” Sheepishly, he looked everywhere but at her, and when he finally did, he found her studying him. Her gaze was soft and curious.

“It’s not nothing,” she said, resolved. “We never went on any family trips. At least not like that.”

He blinked at her several times, not sure what to say.

“I’ve got an early shift,” Honey sighed, glancing at her door handle expectantly.

“Oh? Oh. Yeah, right. You, uh, gotta—”

“Clean up around here. Tackle some of this laundry—“

“I, uh—yeah, I get it, I gotta, um—“

“You don’t have any laundry to do.”

“Well, no—"

"Someone else does it."

"I, um—”

“I don’t think you know how to do laundry.”

Pink traveled up the back of his neck and painted his cheeks a lovely color. “I remember how to do laundry,” he argued coyly. “It’s-it’s easy—”

“Someone folds it for you, too. Turns your briefs into tiny little squares.”

“One mishap. I had one laundry mishap—”

“Aren’t you, like, a scientist or something?” Her lips curved into a cheeky grin. 

“I am perfectly capable of laundry,” Peter gently affirmed. A thousand-watt grin adorned his face. “I have a Ph.D. in laundry from the school of… cleaning.”

“Don’t worry. Your laundry handicap is safe with me,” she teased.

Peter turned his head away, unable to shake the smile off his face. “You seem like you’re an expert in this field.”

Honey pursed her lips, with courage balled up in her throat. “Well, maybe I can teach you.” Her eyes caught his. “If you’re not too busy.”

For the second time in 24 hours, Peter questioned his hearing. Confronted with her fluttering lashes and somewhat suggestive tone, his jaw hung open like it had forgotten its purpose.

“Do you want to come inside?” Honey stated clearly, purposefully—recognizing his distress. 

Peter gawked at her like a pot of gold, transfixed by the preciousness of the moment. He felt like swallowing a powerline just to get his tongue to move. “I…uh…”

“C’mon, don’t make me use some dumb, teenage boy metaphor," she rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm not gonna ‘help you with your load—’”

"I can’t," he blurted, with the pain and urgency of ripping off a bandaid. 

The smile fell from her lips just as abruptly. For a moment, they were both stunned. 

“Oh.” She quickly redirected her gaze.

Peter bit his tongue, his brain screaming at him to recover. He tried to think of some kind of explanation, knowing that a simple ‘no’ wasn’t going to be enough. 

“I-I-I have—I’m… I’m sorry, I gotta—” He took a breath. “I just—I-I have this—y’know—”

She nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I get it.”

“It’s not that—I would. I want to—”

“You’re busy. I get it.”

“It’s just this—um, this, uh—thing I have. Johnny and me. And Miguel. And Jess. It’s uh-a-a meeting. Hotel business, y’know. Numbers and boring stuff—”

“You don’t have to lie.” 

It was a soft declaration that felt like a stab to Peter’s stomach. Her gaze was razor sharp, while her face retained a tight-lipped smile. 

Peter shook his head more aggressively. He looked at her the way a captain watches his ship sink. "No, no, I’m not—"

"I had a really good time, Peter," Honey interrupted, with her hand on the doorknob. “Thanks again.” 

Before he knew it, he found himself standing alone in front of her closed door. Almost entirely full circle.

Closing his eyes, he let his head fall backward with a heavy sigh. His fingers twitched at his side, debating whether or not he should knock. 

Peter’s phone once again came to the rescue, but he yanked the device out of his pocket with a scowl on his face.

An unread message was waiting for him. He already knew who it was from. The phone unlocked with a scan of his face, then the encrypted app unlocked once he entered a six digit code—041894.

A message was waiting for him, sent from a contact only labeled by two emojis.

Don’t use real names.

🇮🇹🏋️ “Where are you? We had a meeting.”

Peter’s immediate reaction was a wince. Out of an abundance of caution, he glanced over his shoulder, despite him being alone in the hallway. 

Somebody’s always watching.

Gritting his teeth, he tapped out a reply.

🕷️ “Late. Got held up.”

Respect appointments. 

🇮🇹🏋️ “I’m putting my ass on the line for you. The least you could do is be on time.”

Respect partners.

🕷️ “Don’t go gettin’ your panties too wet. I’m not far.”

🇮🇹🏋️ “If you stab me in the back on this, it’s your funeral.”

The Boss pursed his lips at that. Part of him wanted to snark right back. He’d hate to disappoint.

🕷️ “Threatening again? And I was gonna use 👅”

🇮🇹🏋️ “I don’t need to remind you of what’s at stake.”

Peter bit down on his tongue, feeling his stomach suddenly churn. He glanced back at Honey’s door, recalling the trip he’d finished. The memories he’d made. 

Honey never went on any family vacations. Neither had Peter. The difference was that Peter had gone so long without a family, he didn’t know what to do once he’d found one. He still didn’t know.

🇮🇹🏋️ “Don’t forget. You came to me. This was your plan.”

Doubt suddenly filled his mind—not just about his plan, but also this “family” thing.

Peter had never considered his associates as family. The most attachment he had was to Miles. Mostly, he’d felt sorry for the kid and maybe a little protective of him. Considering how he met Miles, that was understandable. 

Miles was nearly killed because his uncle was a punk. Couldn’t keep his business separate from his family. 

Don’t pick a fight you can’t win.

Business and family are a volatile mix. That’s why Peter wouldn’t get mixed up in ‘families.’ 

Or... he hadn’t. Not yet.

He hadn’t met Honey. During the short time they were together, she wove a tapestry into his heart, pulling together threads that went unseen. He hadn’t noticed them for years. Knowing her forced the tapestry to take form: the picture of Peter’s family was finally clear.

It was almost worth risking everything. But winning? It was worth losing it all.

He chewed on the rough skin of his lower lip, eyes narrowing on the blinking cursor on his screen. Then brought his thumbs to the keyboard.

🕷️  “Slow down, tiger. You keep ridin’ my ass like that, you’re gonna make me cream my pants right here.”

As soon as he hit ‘send,’ Peter heard the familiar ding of a microwave. His eyes flicked toward the source. Like Pavlov’s Bell, he was conditioned to it. And a split second later, he made a choice.

Fuck it. Frank can wait.

🕷️ “Ttyl, babe. gotta take care of a little problem.”

Peter shoved the phone back in his pocket, throwing himself towards Honey’s door. His fist went wild, knocking erratically. Seconds later, he heard her footsteps approach, alarmed. When the door opened up, she gazed up at him with owlish eyes.

“M’m sorry,” Peter leaned inwards on the doorframe. “I seem to have forgotten something.”

Her brows shot to her hairline. “Oh?” She glanced over her shoulder to where her suitcase was parked—that sweetheart—an apology of some kind was already on her tongue. She looked worried, like she was about to ask him if she accidentally switched toothbrushes.

When she faced him again, Peter’s lips were on hers. His hands cupped her cheeks, fingertips crawling across her scalp. Honey’s body was stiff for a moment, but then she melted like butter with a swipe of his tongue. Her body softened until he scooped her up in his arms, his hands kneading the flesh on the back of her thighs.

Peter pushed her over the threshold. With abandon, he let his tongue brush against hers like he wanted to commit it to memory. Both of her arms went from his shoulders to his nape, hooking herself around his neck as she groaned into his mouth.

The vibration from her groan triggered another one from deep in his belly. He let his fingers wander across the silky fiber of her leggings, greedily squeezing the mounds of her ass while grinding her warmth against his waist.

“I forgot...” he muttered in staccato breaths between kisses, “turns out... you’re the only... thing that I give a shit about.” 

Honey hissed as his fingertips prodded at her heat through her tights. Her eyes rolled back at the pleasure, and it took her a moment to regain her focus. 

She found Peter staring up at her with a dopey half-smile. His eyes were a different story; full, unbridled passion burned inside their amber hue. Pure admiration glowed in his gaze, with tiny laugh lines that shot out like sun rays from the outside corners of his eyes.

One of his hands traveled beneath her shirt, gliding up the skin of her back. She shuddered at the touch, meeting his lips hungrily for another batch of kisses. He let her control the kiss, relishing in the sublime feeling of her nails across his scalp while her tongue played with his.

It was a crime to pull away. But he was a criminal, after all.

“Jus’so you know, you were right,” Peter interrupted, stealing his lips away from her as much as she would allow. “I gotta huge load that I need you to help me with—”

The laugh that burst from her lips was punctuated by a snort. He basked in the light of her grin, idly kicking his foot backward against the door. The door latch clicked as it slammed closed.

@blooming-violets @moonyslove78 @raindropsandteaandtears @withahappyrefrain @sincericida @lanadelreyscokewhor3 @backtothefanfiction @zhanylai @webslingingslasher @moonstruckme

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[nahisummerhold]

Heard it on the Grapevine

Daily Writing Challenge February 2025 Day Four - Salty

The solicitor’s office was neat as a pin, books lined the built-in shelves, knots in the wood making for a more decorative look over standard milled lumber, the cabinets that held their files were burnished and warm, blown glass vases and bowls in blues and green decorated surfaces around the office. Ornate carpets in the same shades as the displayed artwork covered the floors. The office was opulence reined in to dance a fine line on being too showy for such a serious business.   

The woman that walked in was wearing a tailored black knee length pinstriped skirt that hugged the curves of her hips and legs perfectly, a testament to the skill of her tailor. A long sleeve yellow-gold silk blouse exposed a vee of mahogany skin and a simple necklace in gold with a teardrop blue topaz. The one nod to her sometimes flashy nature were muted gold stilettos with ankle straps. She was in the colors of House Summerhold, a reminder that she was the heiress to the noble house, no matter that it was not much more than a mansion and some lovely lands with rolling hills, and just enough income to cover expenses. Smiling, Nahivli reached out to shake the hands of the woman and man that were waiting for her.

“You asked us to let you know if any odd charges came across the estate expenses,” a regal woman said as she led Nahilvi into the boardroom, gesturing for her to take a seat. “There have been unusual activity that need some attention, I hope you got our note that your uncle would be joining us as well?”

It was why Nahi had dressed as she did, even professional attire could be armor if used correctly, “I did, it will be interesting to hear what the estate manager has been doing since I last saw him and acquired his agreement in how the legalities of the estate were arranged.” She had actually blindsided him and his children who assumed she and her mother had died with her father when Kael’thas’ forced were defeated in Tempest Keep. Having walked in with a number of legal documents, she arranged for her mother and step-father to have a little house that overlooked the ocean, an formal agreement for her family to remain on the estate as long as they left her mother in peace and a reminder to them that they were not truly in charge of the estate, just managing it for as long as she would allow. 

Really, she wasn’t sure she wanted the estate and title, but she also did not want to give up control of the home where her mother and stepfather were living and her uncle was untrustworthy at best. He had not been the author of the worst of her emotional torment when she was young, but he certainly had not helped with his insinuations that Nahilvi was not Mianos, her father’s, child, combined with picking at her when the chances arose. So, maybe she was a little petty, but everyone had their moments in that, right?

“What are these expenses?” She asked and before the woman could answer the door opened and her uncle Hoovanil and cousin Hamdil entered. 

Her cousin walked over and kissed her cheek, “Nahi, you should come and visit, I would love to introduce you to my children.” 

A pang of guilt hit her for a moment but her expression never changed, “I will have to see what I can do.” Then she turned her attention to her uncle, refusing to get up out of her seat, a small power play in making him come to her like a person having to pay respects in a court. 

“Niece,” Hoovanil said as he walked into the room and taking a seat opposite her, “what is this about? I thought that all the arrangements were handled the last time you visited.” Hamdil took a seat next to his father, but didn’t look pleased to have to choose a side. 

With an almost imperious nod to the solicitors, she wordlessly asked them to explain, “We are here because in the agreements that you all have signed, there was a level of oversight allowed to our office to make sure the estate was being handled in the manner that it had been in the past and recently we have noticed some large expenditures.”

Nahi tipped her head, and her jaw tightened, “What kind of expenditures are we talking about?”

“It seems that there are new agricultural changes being made,” the other solicitor said and flipped through some pages then turning them so Nahi could look at them, but her eyes had gone to her uncle and cousin. Hamdil, in turn also looked to the older man,

A smooth tone flowed with Nahi’s next words, her eyes narrowing, “Agricultural changes?” 

Hoovanil sat up straighter with a glare and a small sneer, “I am trying to make the estate successful again like it was when my grandfather took possession of it.”

“What is your plan?” She was trying to be polite and calm, but even Hamdil was looking surprised at his father, so it was tough to allow her uncle to speak. 

“A winery,” Hoovanil said simply, not saying anything else.

Hamdil sighed, “Dad…”

With a wave of his hand the elder Summerhold dismissed his son, which made Nahi tense. Hamdil had been her protector through much of her youth and to see him waved aside did nit earn her uncle any brownie points.

“We looked into the viability of your investments,” the first solicitor said. “It takes at least three years to grow vines to a stage where you can even consider bottling. Then it takes aging of the wine before you can consider marketing it.” 

Hamdil continued to look at his dad then stood, “What the fuck are you thinking? Those hills can’t be planted, you know that.” 

“It is a good plan, all the land on the hills is going without use.” Hoovanil replied just as angrily, “And if she…” he waved his hand at Nahi, “Isn’t going to support us, then I have to do something. Banictusia thinks it is a good idea too.”

“My wife?” “His wife?” Hamdil and Nahi said at the exact time.

Bringing her fingers up to press in front of her ears. “So, we now have the starting of a vineyard that the estate can’t support financially, so you and Hamdil’s wife can get back at me, for not just giving you money?” It was so difficult to get her the modulated, thank goodness for her voice lessons, Nahi could begin to feel actual rage starting to seep through, oddly enough that only seemed to happen when dealing with her family. Turning to look at the solicitors with a practiced smile, “How much did this drain the accounts?”

They looked at one another, “Nothing, when the charges came through we called this meeting and locked the purchases until we could get your clearance, Lady Summerhold.” 

And this… this is why she paid them, even if her finances were tighter than she ever wanted them to be. “Thank you both.” Turning back to her uncle and her cousin, “Uncle Hoovanil, you are no longer the estate manager for the Summerhold property. Hamdil, are you willing to take on the responsibility?” 

Running a hand through his hair, “I can’t Nahi.”

The three words stung, in the past three months now had two men she cared about say about the same thing to her. “Alright. If one of the family can not manage the estate, I will find an outside source.” She nodded to the solicitors and they returned it, Nahi really didn’t have the money for this but she would make it work somehow. 

Turning to look at her relatives, she tipped her head to the side, “I need the two of you to understand something, I am on the edge of asking for you to leave the property, but I do not want to hurt you, or make a decision in haste.”

“You are not even our blood!” Hoovanil screamed, standing and knocking back his chair. 

Hamdil stood too, placing a hand on his father’s chest, “Sorry Nahi.” 

Continuing to sit still, with her feet planted on the ground feeling she needed that support. It is not like it was the first time she heard those venomous words. 

“I will sue you, have the estate ripped from your hands,” he continued to yell at her. 

Looking to the solicitors, “Can you make sure that the staff remains paid, but absolutely no financial support goes to my family?”

They looked at one another, it was a big ask and probably they couldn’t do it, but she needed to keep her head and think of things that had to be handled, but her money was limited. “We will see what we can do.”

Maybe what she saved on not paying her family would cover some of the costs. Looking back at her family, her face expressionless, “Hamdil, you know I love you, but your father and wife are out of control. This needs to be handled quietly, if it is not then I will have to ask you to move off the property, you understand that, right? You really need to understand that.”

The look her cousin gave her almost broke her heart, he couldn’t choose who his father was, but she was glad of it as she truly loved him. He nodded, “When you hire someone I will work with them Nahi. You are not in this alone.” 

The logic part of her understood, so she nodded, “Thank you.”

His choice started her uncle in a new round of hysterics so she stood, completely ignoring him and smiled at her solicitors, “I will be in touch so we can go over the arrangements.” Smoothing her skirt she walked by her cousin and touched his shoulder, then walked out of the office, Summerhold colors on full display.h

@daily-writing-challenge

[mendeshoney]

apple of my eye, take a bite

A/N: surprise surprise! this is a part two to "a taste of the devine," with a special little halloween twist! to my lovelies, @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech happy halloween babes! the title is inspired by lyrics from the song “eve” by precious pepala

Summary: You and Andrei go to the team Halloween party at a club, and it takes Andrei down memory lane.

Pairing: andrei svechnikov x f!reader

Word Count: 5,120

Warnings: five year age gap, older woman x younger man, fluff, previously established dynamics (including msub x fdom dynamics, switch, mdom x fsub dynamics), smut, semi-public sex (in a club), hints of biting/hickies, penetration, finish inside, unprotected sex

Russian terms used (bearing in mind the author does not speak Russian and definitely Google’d these) can be referenced here.

~

“I feel like this won’t make much sense,” Andrei quietly mumbles to himself, adjusting the ‘hat’ of his costume, his eyes casting to the side once he sees movement from inside the closet.

The sliding frosted glass door is closed, so he can only see your shadow as you move around, and he can feel himself start to get antsy.

You’d kept your part of the couples costume a shrouded secret from him, claiming you wanted to surprise him. 

As far as surprises go, he typically liked yours a lot, but given his current predicament, he found himself a little more anxious than normal.

He glances at himself in the vanity mirror in your shared bedroom, running a cursory hand over the fuzzy material of his Halloween costume, and frowning a little at his reflection.

“Kroshka, I don’t-” He starts, cutting himself off and turning back toward the closet when he hears the sliding door open. 

You finally emerge, body in an emerald green mini dress that you’d sewed fake vines onto so that they curled and twisted around your figure, enhancing your silhouette, vines trailing down your shoulder and around your arms until they rested delicately on your wrists. Those beautiful legs of yours donned a pair of thigh high velvet stiletto boots, the color matching your dress perfectly. 

You looked a lot more like that character that Evgeny used to tease him for having a crush on when they were kids, Poison Ivy, than you did the biblical Eve.

Sukin syn.

Andrei’s hard in seconds, heart pounding furiously as his stomach flutters.

Babochki, he thinks. Butterflies.

He laughs suddenly, feeling nervous out of the blue. 

“What do you think?” You ask, turning your body a little so he can get a better view.

“I think there’s butterflies in my stomach,” he says honestly, the words coming out faster than he can process, but when you flush deeply, he feels a twinge of satisfaction. 

“You still have a way with words, don’t you?” You tease, trying to look anywhere else but him, and he knows that strategy.

Sometimes, when you’re not sure how to receive his compliments, you try to brush them off, but tonight’s not a night Andrei can let that fly.

He can feel his hands twitching at his sides, and his feet are moving towards you before he even realizes, that familiar gravitational pull too strong to resist.

“Ty vyglyadish' krasivo, lyubov' moya.” He murmurs. You look beautiful, my love.

You smile at his words, his hands coming to rest on your waist and pull you closer. “Spasibo, malysh.” You finally seem to take in his costume, and you giggle lightly. “You look so cute!”

He frowns, brows pinched together. “I’m glad you think so.”

You smile, giggling a little more. “Of course I think so.”

“Remind me again why I couldn’t just be ‘Adam’ for Halloween?” He asks, fingers playing with a fake vine on your shoulder.

“Because no one cares about Adam,” you remind him gently. “The story’s about Eve and the Apple. Adam’s just there.”

Andrei pouts a little, turning back toward the mirror and staring at the apple suit that covers his upper half, the red hat on his head with the apple’s stem and a little leaf, and the dark brown pants on his legs. “I guess so,” he laments, then turns his gaze back to you.

You know him so well at this point that when the corner of your mouth quirks up in a small smile, he isn’t even surprised, and just smiles right back at you. “Don’t worry, shchenok, everyone still thinks you’re sexy.”

“I don’t care about everyone,” he says without a second’s hesitation. “Just you.”

A small flush works its way up your neck and cheeks. “I still think you’re sexy, too.”

Andrei’s heart pounds then, that familiar disbelief that he was able to call someone like you the love of his life surfacing in his chest. He bends his head, pride surging through his veins when you accept his kiss. 

“We should probably go soon,” you murmur against his mouth.

Andrei hums, shrugging. “Or we could stay home. Have our own little Halloween party.”

“Not an option, I’m afraid.” You say, and pull yourself out of his arms to head back into the closet. He watches, completely entranced, as you pull on a pair of thigh high velvet stiletto boots, the color matching your dress perfectly, and he can feel himself start to tent in his pants. 

“Kroshka,” he tries again, the word nearly getting caught in his throat, “Are you sure we can’t just-”

You cut him off by standing, grabbing your small clutch and his car keys, tossing a curt “Let’s go, moye yabloko” over your shoulder as you head to the garage.

Andrei glances at himself in the mirror one last time, offering his reflection a long-suffering sigh, before grabbing his wallet and trailing after you.

~

His teammates don’t laugh as much as he expected, which he supposes is because out of all the costumes tonight, he looks the least ridiculous.

Jesperi, Teuvo, and Sebastian are dressed as Alvin and the Chipmunks - Jesperi was elected to be Theo against his will, Teuvo gladly accepted the role of Simon because it meant he was the smartest, which left Sebastian as Alvin, who claimed it was only fair since his last name began with an ‘A’ - Freddie, Anti, Jacob, and Brett dressed up as Michaelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, and Rafael from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Brent was dressed as Sully from Monsters Inc, and those were just the costumes he managed to figure out on his own.

There were far too many others for him to keep track of or understand and some were just a headache to look at, so he ended up focusing on the one thing he knew would keep his attention - the way your ass moved in your dress as you walked through club toward the VIP section they’d reserved for the team party.

The girls complimented you on your outfit and assured Andrei that he looked cute instead of silly, and it only made him feel marginally better.

He was still dressed as a giant apple for the night, after all, while his bombshell of a girlfriend looked like a walking fantasy.

After you’d said hello to everyone, the two of you ended up separated, the girls heading out to the dancefloor, some of the guys heading to the bar to grab drinks and snacks, and the rest settling into the VIP section.

Andrei plopped down between Jesperi and Freddie, removing his costume’s hat and putting it on the little table in their section, tuning out most of the conversation happening within the first ten minutes and instead finding himself focused on you and that beautiful dress out on the dance floor.

His eyes were glued to you as you danced, lost in the familiar way your hips moved and how carefree you were. Other people may have needed a little bit of alcohol in them to be so uninhibited, but you didn’t. You never had.

Watching you now, it reminds him of the first night he met you.

It had been earlier this year, when the guys had been having a particularly rough week of games, and they’d gone out to a club to relieve some stress.

You’d been there with some of your friends, and Andrei had been feeling a little bit too confident after a few drinks. He’d locked eyes with you barely ten minutes after he’d arrived and couldn’t take his eyes off you the whole night, couldn’t seem to find the need to wander more than ten feet out of your orbit.

He finally found the courage to approach you after Martinook had all but threatened to send Freddie after you first, pushing off the bar and heading over to you. 

He tried the gentlemanly approach, introduced himself properly by taking your hand, and from that first touch there was this crazy electric wildfire of sexual tension that neither of you seemed to be able to deny. You didn’t seem disturbed by him being five years younger than you, and he couldn’t have cared any fucking less about you being twenty eight. 

He worried for maybe half a second about you not being able to understand him through his accent, but you had no problems with it, even beyond the blaring music of the club. Then, he offered to get you a drink or a bottle of water - whatever you wanted really, he didn’t care - before asking if you minded if he joined you for a dance.

One dance became two, then four, then six, and then the next thing he knew, you both had locked yourselves in a storage closet down the back hall of the club and he had you pinned against the wall, his jeans and boxer briefs around his thighs, your dress hiked up to your waist, thong pulled to the side, and his cock buried so deep inside of you that you had to bite down on the meaty flesh of his shoulder to keep from crying out too loudly. 

You’d fucked twice in that closet before you took him back to your place and fucked another two times. In the morning, you’d managed to contain yourselves in the shower, but Andrei lost all restraint and licked your pussy on your kitchen table until your throat grew hoarse and your legs shook so much your table started to squeak.

He managed to rein it in and take you on a date two days later, and then you invited him out for dinner another three days after that. After about ten dates without any sexual interactions at all, and about a month in total of you actually knowing each other, he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, and you both celebrated when you said ‘yes’ to him by locking yourselves in at his place and fucking like bunnies for about two days.

Andrei had learned everything about what you liked in bed in that first month, and you’d learned everything about what he liked. 

You’d also learned enough about one another that Andrei was pretty sure he’d end up marrying you and having about five or seven kids within the next seven years, because there was no possible way he’d ever manage to find someone as brilliant as you ever again.

And at this point, you’d barely been dating a year. 

He’d say he was probably moving too fast in any other circumstance, but he was pretty sure you were on the same page.

He feels a nudge in his side, and Andrei glances over, momentarily shocked because he’d completely forgotten his friends were dressed in costumes, and the orange fabric around Freddie’s eyes nearly scared him shitless for a second. 

“You want another drink? The chipmunks lost a bet so they’re buying for the night.” Freddie says, gesturing to where Jesperi had gotten up and was now writing down orders on his phone. 

“Sure,” Andrei says. “I’ll take one.”

Jesperi points to where you are on the dance floor and asks Andrei “One for her too, right?”, and when Andrei nods, Jesperi gives him a thumbs up before stalking over to the bar.

He has a feeling it’s going to take Jesperi awhile to put in the drink orders for the whole section, so Andrei resumes watching you, reminiscing on the day you first met and chiming in on the conversations around him every now and again.

You finally wander over with the girls once the drinks arrive, and Andrei immediately opens his arms, feeling content when you settle into his embrace and onto his lap. He hands you your drink, careful to keep your hair out of your face when you take a sip.

There’s a sound of fake retching, and you and Andrei cut your eyes to where Jesperi’s making faces at the two of you. You roll your eyes, settling into Andrei a little more, and he wraps his arms around your waist, securing you to him.

“Jealous, KK?” One of the other girls asks, and Jesperi’s nose scrunches.

“Hardly.” He scoffs. “I’m basically watching my older sister make out with one of my best friends. It’s disturbing.”

Andrei feels you stiffen in his arms, but Jesperi’s already turning away, and Andrei squeezes you gently. “Zajka?”

You turn to Andrei, a slightly stunned expression on your face. “I…does he really think of me that way?” 

“What way?” Andrei asks, bringing a hand up to gently caress your cheek. 

He can see the shock starting to settle in a little more. “Like an older sister?”

And though Andrei knows they’ve never really talked about it, because it’s not really a topic that would come up, he knows for certain the answer is yes. 

Especially after the way you looked after everyone during the beach trip this past summer, all Andrei heard for weeks during training camp and preseason was how much everyone missed your cooking, people asking how you were doing, and demands for him to bring you around more.

Since you’d barely been together for six months at that point, he didn’t push you about it at all because he didn’t want you to feel pressured or rushed, even though he knew you liked everyone just fine. It was another thing he felt like would make it feel like this was going too fast, even though you’d probably be on the same page about this, too.

“I think a lot of them think that way.” He admits. “Pretty sure Freddie thinks of you as a younger sister. Burnsy too, to be honest.”

There’s a thoughtful look in your eyes now, and after a beat, you nod. “I didn’t know that.”

“Is that…is that okay?” He asks, slightly unsure. He doesn’t know that he’s seen you this…contemplative before.

You turn to Andrei, and give him that dazzling smile of yours he loves so much. “Of course it’s okay. Just took me by surprise a little.”

He nods, sitting up a little more so he can press a kiss to the base of your neck. “They love you as much as I do.”

Andrei’s surprised when his kiss makes you shiver a little, and he pulls back a bit, raising a brow at you.

You flush, suddenly bashful. “I just…” He raises a brow when you seem to be trying to find the words to say, and you gesture with your head towards the dancefloor. “Feels familiar, doesn’t it?”

Realization hits Andrei and he smiles, nodding. “It does, zajka.” 

A sly, cheshire smile works its way onto your lips, and Andrei feels his heart begin to pound in anticipation. “Let’s see just how well you can tempt me a second time, moye yabloko.” 

You’re downing the rest of your drink and getting up from his lap faster than he can blink, and then you’re heading back out to the dancefloor with the girls. 

As Andrei watches you walk away, he catches the wink you send him over your shoulder before you disappear into the crowd, and he smirks to himself. 

Da nachnetsya igra.

Let the games begin.

~ 

Drink in hand, Andrei makes his way through the crowd, his puffy apple costume coming in hand by parting the crowd a little as he moves - he even has the ridiculous hat on again - until he finally reaches where you are in the middle of the dance floor. 

He taps gently on your shoulder, and when you turn around, your eyes look up at him curiously, a small smile on your face.

Andrei leans down so you can hear him better, saying “Hi, I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, and I thought I’d introduce myself and bring you a drink.”

It’s not exactly what he said that first night, but it’s close enough. So what if he skipped a few cheesy lines?

You lean back a little, staring at the drink in his hand before taking it with a small amount of hesitation. “Thank you,” you say back, leaning in like he had. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

“I’m Andrei,” he says, holding his hand out.

You take it, shaking it once when you tell him your name in return.

The nostalgia has those butterflies resurfacing in his stomach, and he tries his best not to smile like a total idiot. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” You say, then smirk a little at his costume. “You know, I’m pretty sure I was warned to stay away from you.”

He laughs a little, stepping closer into your space. Bending down so he’s right next to your ear, he rests a hand on your waist and says “One bite won’t hurt.”

At your responding chuckle, Andrei feels goosebumps ignite on his arms. “I’ve heard that before.”

“It’s different this time,” he promises. “It’s just us. And there’s no punishment.”

“Sounds a little too good to be true,” you say, pulling away a little and taking a sip of your drink, blinking up at him from under your lashes.

Andrei rights himself, shrugging. “Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” He gestures with his head towards a hallway that he’d confirmed about ten minutes ago had both a storage closet as well as what looked like an unused office full of boxes, but still came equipped with a couch and a perfectly solid desk.

He makes his way toward the hall, waiting for all of five minutes before you appear in front of him, the glass your drink was in now empty save for the cherry stem he already knew had a knot in it.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you joke, taking careful steps toward him. 

He holds a hand out, pleased when you take it, and he leads you toward the end of the hall. The door to the storage closet is on the left, and the door to the empty office is on the right. He places you in front of him, his hands resting on your waist from behind.

“Pick a door, zajka.” He says softly. 

You hum a little, taking a step forward. You open the door on the right first, but there’s a small noise that leaves you, and Andrei’s confused when you don’t take a step inside. You open the door to the left, and the second you see the closet, you spin around, smiling wickedly at him before pulling him inside.

He flips you the second he crosses the threshold, shutting the door and locking it before pinning you against the wood, placing his arms on either side of your head. “Didn’t like the office?”

You shake your head, tilting your chin up, waiting. “Not the same.”

“I would’ve liked fucking you on the desk.” He admits, the image of it still fresh in his brain.

“You didn’t fuck me on a desk till I moved in with you.” You remind him.

He smirks. “Oh I remember,” he promises. “Hard to forget the time you made me come so hard I almost passed out.”

You shrug. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

He drops one of his hands from the door only to bring it up between you, running a finger down the side of your neck, to your collarbone, your chest, before teasing at the neckline of your dress. 

“If you rip this dress before you get me in your bed, moye yabloko, you’ll be sorry.” You warn, but even so, your back arches off the wall, pushing your chest into his touch.

Andrei smirks. He’s never been one to shy away from his punishments.

Instead, he trails his hand down your dress and to the hem, pushing it up your thighs until he can reach under it to bring his fingers to your core, pleased when he finds the fabric of your thong already soaked. 

“May I, moya koroleva?” He asks sweetly, eyes focused on where his hand lingers. 

You nod, breath hitching a little when he pulls your thong to the side and runs his finger between your folds. “I want it like the first time.”

Andrei blinks, eyes darting back up to your face. 

That first night was intense - and beautiful - but also not the kind of sex the two of you have most often. He likes to please you, likes taking his time warming you up or worshiping you the way he’s learned that you like best. Other than the occasional quickie, you two rarely ever just get straight to it.

“Can you take me like this? Right now?” He checks.

“I can,” you say. You reach forward, fingers finding one of the belt loops of his pants and pulling him forward. “Please, malysh. I don’t want to wait.”

His heart beats hard against his ribcage. 

It’s rare that you’re the one pleading for him, that you’re the one asking for it this way, and he can feel the way his breath starts to stutter as he tries to maintain his composure.

The second he nods in agreement, it’s a race to get inside of you.

In a hurry, the two of you work to unbutton and unzip his pants, shuffling them down his thighs along with his boxer briefs. His aching cock springs free, and before you can reach for him, he’s bending down to lift you up and pin you against the wall, helping to wrap your legs around his waist. 

He balances you in one arm as you press your weight into the wall, reaching down to line his cock up to your entrance. The second he can feel it catch, he presses in at the same time that you angle your hips downward, and he pushes until he’s seated all the way inside and his hips press yours against the wall.

You take a gasping breath, head lolling back as your eyes squeeze shut, arms flying to his shoulders and nails digging into the skin as your pussy grips him tightly. 

“Zajka?” He asks, worried. “Are you okay?” 

You nod, breathing harshly through your nose. “Move, malysh, spasibo. I need you.”

Andrei has a sudden feeling he’s going to have a hard time trying to remember to breathe if you keep talking.

Carefully, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock rests inside, and then he pushes back inside in one brutal stroke that seizes the breath from your lungs once more.

“Just like the first time,” he reminds you, before setting a rough and steady pace. 

Your moans fill the room in seconds, and Andrei doesn’t care anymore about who can hear you or who can’t. 

Especially when he knows you couldn’t care less about it either.

This time, you’re not at Freddie’s house and worried about making a good impression. 

You’re here, with him, pretending like it’s the first night you met all over again, except this time there’s less to be cautious of for both of you.

Although…

If you do want it like it’s the first time again…

“You can’t moan too loud, kroshka.” He says, pressing in closer to you as his strokes slow a little, dragging himself in and out of you with precision. “Don’t want anyone to hear how pretty you are when you’re dripping on my cock, do you?”

Recognition flashes in your eyes like a bright flame, and you capture your lip between your teeth, nodding obediently. 

“Need something to bite down on, my beautiful Eve?” He murmurs, gathering you up in his arms and pushing until he’s flush against you, tilting his head to expose his neck. “Do it, it’s okay.”

You wind your arms around his shoulder and lean forward, and when Andrei feels your lips on his neck, his whole body shivers, groaning at the way he can feel your teeth bite down before licking over the wound, then sucking a bruise into the skin.

That’s another thing the two of you don’t give a shit about anymore. 

Andrei’s all too proud to wear your marks like a badge of honor, so as you suck on his skin, feeling his pulse beneath your tongue, he knows you take notice of the way his cock drives deeper into you.

He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to manage a second round in this closet, too desperate to fill you up and then drag you home so he can do it over and over again.

When his hips stutter a little, you finally pull away from his neck, leaning back to examine your work, smiling proudly. “Such a pretty little thing, moye yabloko.”

Fuck.

It is just like the first night all over again.

Andrei remembers the dirty things you whispered to him then, too. He remembers how he’d never heard something so sultry, so sexy in his entire life. It somehow made him hornier, made him feel like he could go insane with how much it made him need you even more in that moment. 

It was like you knew exactly what to say and what to do to drive him insane, to make him feel like he would do anything to prove to you just how good he could be. 

“You’re the same good boy you were that first night, too,” You taunt again when he doesn’t respond, and a sharp hiss falls from his lips when you tug his hair harshly, prompting him to tilt his head up so he can look at you.

His knees nearly buckle, and he thrusts hard into you once in warning. 

“You can’t say things like that,” he breathes out, focusing on fucking into you in deep, hard strokes. 

“Why?” You breathe out, bringing your hands from his shoulders and tossing the hat of his costume off of his head before sinking your fingers into his hair. 

He shakes his head. Any other man might be embarrassed, but that’s never been a thing between the two of you, and especially not when you’re being intimate. 

“It makes me…u menya babochki.” Andrei admits, trying his best to stay focused. I get butterflies.

“Babochki?” You ask, tone just shy of a whine, slightly mocking him. “Do I give my pretty shchenok butterflies?”

He looks up when he feels your hand on his cheek, staring into your eyes, and he can feel himself getting closer to his orgasm just looking at you. You run your thumb over his lips as they part, resting the pad of it on his tongue before his cheeks hollow, sucking gently on the digit. 

You smirk, eyes rolling back in your head when Andrei gives a particularly hard thrust, causing your back to arch a little more and your body to press further against his. He can tell you’re getting closer, can read all your little tells. 

The way your chest starts to heave, how he can see your nipples starting to poke through the fabric of your dress, the way your body starts to go lax, thumb slipping from his mouth and hand moving to rest on his chest instead. 

“You gonna come for me?” You ask, tone somewhere between taunting and begging. 

Andrei nods furiously, welcoming the molten lava spreading across his spine as he finds solace inside of you. “Da, moya koroleva.”

“Gonna come inside of me?” This question is definitely a taunt. “Gonna fill up the pretty stranger the very first night?”

“I did it once,” he reminds you. “I’d do it again, but only for you.”

Your blinding, satisfied smile takes over your face and Andrei feels his heart fall to your feet in adoration. “Come with me,” he begs.

You nod, tilting your hips a little until he’s hitting that beautiful spot inside, and your eyes flutter shut, pussy squeezing tighter around him.

He loses all control after that, cock pounding into you in a frenzied, nearly manic pace, trying so hard to keep going for you while also chasing his own orgasm. 

When he feels you lock him in that familiar death grip, your come drenching his cock and making the slide oh so right, his eyes squeeze shut, and a loud, satisfied groan leaves his mouth as he throbs, spilling inside of you until he feels like he can’t breathe right.

For a moment, the two of you can only remain like that - you slumped and sated in Andrei’s arms and his hips pinning you to the wall. 

When he feels you begin to squirm, he carefully pulls out of you, then sets you back on your own two feet as gently as he can. He’s quick to locate a stack of paper towels behind him and grabs a few to help you clean up before pulling your thong back into place and tossing the paper towels into a trash can near the door.

“Do I look okay?” You ask, fussing with your dress.

Andrei nods, letting out a content sigh. “Beautiful as always. What about me?”

When you glance up at him, Andrei’s expecting the same, but then you blink, and a surprised laugh practically barks out of you. It startles him a little, and your hand is flying to cover your mouth, eyes glistening with delight.

“What?” He presses, starting to fuss with his own costume. “What is it?”

“Drei, how hard did you come?” You ask through fits of giggles.

“You said like the first night, so pretty hard.” He admits, unashamed. “Why?”

“You’re…you’re…” You can barely say it through your laughter. After a second, you take a deep breath, calming yourself, and then smile at him happily. “You’re as red as an apple.”

If he - apparently - wasn’t already red, he definitely would be by now. 

“How bad is it?” Andrei asks, rubbing at his face absently. 

You shrug. “No better and no worse than after a shift on the ice.”

He pouts, brows furrowing. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“It’s normal,” you explain. “It might be tough to explain away when we say goodbye to everyone in a minute, but it’ll be alright.”

“We’re going home?” He asks, already excited. 

You nod, shrugging your shoulders a little. “Pretty sure that’s what we did the first night, too.”

He smirks, stepping closer to you and pulling you to him by your waist. “We did a lot of things that first night. And the next morning.”

Your own cheeks flush now, and you nod. “That we did.”

“Feel like a trip down memory lane, kroshka?” He murmurs, already leaning down.

You rise up on your tiptoes, lips brushing against his when you say “I think that sounds lovely, malysh,” before kissing him softly.

[strljaem]

“because it's fun watching you get flustered.”

adapted by ; “my demon” kdrama.

💿 : drunk in love, beyoncé ft. jay-z.

The fight between Jaemin and me had been brewing for days. Tension simmered beneath the surface, waiting to explode at the smallest provocation. It finally did, with a remark from him that was more biting than usual, igniting a storm of angry words between us. His usual cocky smirk faded as I shot back with just as much venom. But then I crossed a line—mentioning something that hit too close to home. Jaemin's eyes turned cold, his jaw clenched, and he grabbed his jacket, leaving the apartment without another word.

The silence that followed was unbearable. The once lively and cozy apartment felt cavernous without him. The cluttered kitchen with his unfinished coffee cups and the living room where he liked to watch late-night dramas with me felt eerily empty. I tried to focus on work, meeting deadlines and attending meetings, but my thoughts kept drifting back to him. His absence was a heavy weight on my chest.

Days passed without a single message or call. It was as if Jaemin had disappeared from my life. I knew he was likely at his company, but I had too much pride to reach out first. I kept telling myself that if he wanted to come back, he would. Yet, every evening, I found myself pacing the living room, glancing at my phone, hoping for a notification that never came.

After a particularly restless night, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to see him, even if it meant confronting him at his company. I spent extra time getting ready, picking out a tailored black blazer over a crisp white blouse. My skinny jeans hugged my legs, and I wore my favorite black stilettos to add a touch of authority. I was determined to maintain my composure and not let him see how much I was affected by his absence.

The drive to Jaemin's company felt longer than usual. I parked in the underground garage and took the elevator to the main lobby. The building was a towering structure of glass and steel, its modern design gleaming in the evening light. As I stepped out of the elevator, the sheer grandeur of the lobby struck me—white marble floors, high ceilings, and intricate light fixtures that cast a warm glow. A massive chandelier hung in the center, casting patterns of light across the room.

The receptionist recognized me and gave me a polite nod as I walked toward the private elevators leading to the executive offices. The hallway was dimly lit, with black walls contrasting sharply with the brightness of the lobby. It was almost eerie, and my heels echoed loudly as I made my way to Jaemin's office.

His office was behind a large glass door, and as I pushed it open, I was greeted by a room that was both grand and imposing. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a huge leather sofa sat beneath it. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with dark-colored volumes, and a grand piano sat in one corner. The atmosphere was heavy, almost oppressive, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

Jaemin's CEO desk stood at the far end, a large nameplate reading "Na Jaemin" carved into a metal plaque. Despite the familiar setting, the room felt different—like something had changed. I walked slowly, taking in the scene. The silence was overwhelming, and I could almost hear my own heartbeat. As I approached the bookshelves, my fingers grazed along the spines of the books. Everything was meticulously arranged, each book perfectly aligned.

One book, in particular, caught my eye—a dark green volume that seemed slightly out of place. I reached to pull it from the shelf, but as I did, a hand pushed it back forcefully, making my heart jump. I turned, startled, and there was Jaemin, standing just inches away.

He looked different from the last time I'd seen him. His jet-black hair was wet, falling across his forehead, and he wore a blue cardigan with gray sweatpants. His chest was exposed, revealing his chiseled abs. His eyes had a dangerous glint, and he crossed his arms as he stared at me.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low and edged with annoyance.

I swallowed, trying to regain my composure. "I came to see why you haven't been home," I replied, attempting to sound confident despite the racing of my heart.

Jaemin's lips curled into a smirk. "I figured you needed some space to cool off," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You seemed pretty angry last time we talked."

"That's because you were being impossible," I shot back, my irritation rising. "You just left without a word!"

He shrugged, still maintaining that infuriating smirk. "Maybe I needed a break from the constant nagging," he retorted.

I felt my temper flare, but I kept it in check. "So, is this what you do when you need a break? Lock yourself in your office?" I gestured around the room, emphasizing the emptiness.

Jaemin's smirk widened. "It's quiet here. No one to bother me," he said, his tone teasing.

I crossed my arms, not willing to back down. "Well, it's time to stop hiding and come back home," I said firmly. "Or do you plan on staying here forever?"

Jaemin's eyes flickered with amusement. "Maybe I will," he said with a playful shrug. "I kind of like it here."

I was about to retort when I noticed the golden necklace around his neck—a demon face pendant that seemed almost out of place given his casual attire. It was a stark contrast to his otherwise relaxed look. Jaemin followed my gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"Pervert," he said with a smirk, noticing I had been staring at his abs.

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, but I quickly regained my composure. "Why do you have to make everything into a joke?" I shot back, my irritation showing.

Jaemin chuckled softly. "Because it's fun watching you get flustered," he replied, his voice smooth and teasing.

I took a step back, crossing my arms in defiance. "Fine, then stay here if you want," I said, turning to leave. "But don't expect me to come running after you again."

I reached for the door, but it was locked. I frowned and tried to turn the doorknob again, but it wouldn't budge. Jaemin leaned against the bookshelves, watching me with amusement.

"Why'd you lock the door?" I demanded, my frustration growing.

"Because I knew you'd try to leave without a proper conversation," he said, his tone almost playful.

I felt my anger boiling over. "Unlock it now," I insisted, my voice sharp. "Or I'll scream."

Jaemin laughed softly. "Scream all you want," he said, his eyes gleaming. "No one's here except us."

I was about to yell when Jaemin teleported in front of me, his hand wrapping around my waist and his other hand covering my mouth. The sudden closeness made my heart race, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. His eyes locked onto mine, and I could see the hint of golden light in them—a sign of his demon nature.

"Shh," he whispered, his voice low and gentle. "I'm sorry about what happened. I didn't mean to hurt you."

His hand slid from my mouth to my waist, pulling me closer. I could feel his heart beating against my chest, and the intensity of his gaze was overwhelming. I stuttered, trying to keep my cool. "It's fine," I said softly. "Just... let me go. I'll wait for you at home."

Jaemin hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching mine. But then he released me, stepping back with a slight smile. "We'll see if I come back," he said, teasingly. "Don't get your hopes up."

I rolled my eyes and turned to unlock the door, feeling my cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger. "Whatever," I muttered, opening the door and storming out. As I walked down the hallway, I could still feel his touch on my waist, and my heart was racing from the encounter.

The drive back home was filled with a mix of emotions—anger, confusion, and something else I couldn't quite place. The way Jaemin had held me, the intensity of his gaze—it was different from the way he had been during our arguments. It was almost tender, yet still teasing in his own infuriating way.

When I arrived back at the apartment, I felt a surge of frustration. I had expected him to be contrite, to apologize and agree to come home, but he was as infuriatingly confident as ever. I wasn't sure if he was coming back, and that uncertainty gnawed at me. Despite my anger, I knew that if he showed up at the door, I wouldn't be able to turn him away.

But Jaemin was unpredictable, and I wasn't sure what he would do next. Would he stay at his company, enjoying the solitude and quiet, or would he come back to our shared home, ready to make amends? As I sat in the empty apartment, waiting, I knew one thing for sure—Jaemin had a way of keeping me on edge, and I hated that I couldn't seem to stay angry at him for long.

[bah-circus]

🤹 level 3 for ask game? :]

Of course dear audience! We have heard your request and have found a suitable performer for you! We hope this performance suits your needs, but you are free to make any adjustments you wish.

❣︎For Our Next Act, Please Welcome,,,❣︎

Random Pluralpedia Role!!! TW Artistic Nudity

°·⊱ Name: Maria, Themis, Katsumi, Aria, Ruri, Cannela, Eve, Anais, Ravyn

°·⊱ Age: 22

°·⊱ Race/Species: Human

°·⊱ Source: Mixtive [ Angel from Killer Chat + MOTHER ATE by Jane Bell ]

°·⊱ Role: Succubus / Appellisian

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ Sex: Female

°·⊱ Gender: Hyperfem, Slutthing, Whorepretty, Pervertgirl, Hypersexdollic, Girlish, Lustbodiment, Impurecravic, Obsessivelover, Uhsogirl, Girlmaxxing

°·⊱ Pronouns: It/Its; She/Her; Dyke/Dykes; Fuck/Fucks; Sin/Sins; Hed/Hedon; Bite/Bites; Lus/Lusts; Luv/Luvs; Viscera/Visceras; Gut/Guts; Shi/Hir; Deu/Deus

°·⊱ Sexuality: Pansexual-Lesbian

°·⊱ Personality: The side of sinself that one sees is always meticulously planned, and dependent on if she feels one can be trusted. Seems like a mean girl when you first meet, but is actually a girl’s girl. For the girls, gays, and theys. Among those fuck trusts, she also reveals luvself as an unapologetic maneater, in the style of Jennifer from Jennifer’s Body (“I’m not killing people, I’m killing BOYS!”). 

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ Nicknames/Titles: [Prn] Who Adventures, The Heartsick Angel

°·⊱ Likes: Hunting, Stiletto Knives, Stiletto Shoes, Meat, Makeup, Shopping, Concerts, Helping Girls out of Sticky Situations, Getting Herself into Trouble, Sex

°·⊱ Dislikes:Judgemental People, CisHet Men, Bad Hair Days, Acrylics Popping Off, Vegetables, Authority, Any Sort of Drugs or Alcohol [Hates the Feeling of Losing Control]

°·⊱ Emoji Sign-Off: 🍎🩷🎀🎆🩰🌺

°·⊱ Hexcode: #E1A1BE

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ TransIDs: permaFucked /sx,permaSober,  trisSexWorker, transOnlyFansFamous, transInfamous, trisSerialKiller, permaBloodstained, permaCoffinAcrylics [Pink], permaLipgloss, transOwner, trisHarmful, Pinkamian/transPinkBlood, Glitteramian/transGlitterBlood, transCarnivore

°·⊱ CisIDs: Spanish-American, Pale Skin, Blue Eyes, Blonde Hair, Erotomania, Bipolar Disorder, BPD, OCD, Hypersexual, Serial Killer, Maneater, Cannibal, Black Widow, ASPD, NPD

°·⊱ MUDS: Absorbent Love Disorder, Acute Attach-love Disorder with Splitting (AALDwS, S-AALD)

°·⊱ Paras: 🥄, 🔦, 🐾, ⚰️, 🦴, ☠️️, ⚱️, ❣️, 🦖, 🌹, 🌼, 💤, 🛍️[Makeup + Knives], 🥇, 🏓, 🫀, 🩸, 👀, 🚨, 🔪, 🔫, ⛓, 🔗, 🦷, 📸, 🦈, 🫨, ♀, 🌹🥩, 💭🔪

°·⊱ Extra: May or may not do sex work, but is always an advocate for manipulating men. 

°·⊱ Faceclaim: 1 | 2

Oh man did I have a funfunfun time with her, thank you so much for the request!!!! - Pest Swarm ; Mikey