#exposed to the mercy of another

[aeyumicore]

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab) ━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, possessive caleb, dom!caleb, light choking, use of gege ━ .ᐟ✧ A/N: a smol lil study into how i will write caleb <3 just wanted to explore it a bit. this is very short, just had a brain worm i wanted to itch. expect more of these small blurbs because i have so many ideas for caleb that can't possibly all make it into full fledged fics.

The first time Caleb fucks you, he does everything humanly possible to ensure you can’t hold back your moans. No–he didn’t wait his entire life to have you like this, just for you to keep those pretty little cries from him. 

Nope–he’d earned them. They were his. You were his.

“Princess, I want to hear you,” he groans, fingers digging bruises into the soft skin of your hips. His muscled chest is pressed firmly into your back, leaving absolutely no distance between you, him, and the wall. He only tries to hold you closer, tighter. 

“Angh–! No! T-Too loud,” you whimper, arching back so you can lay your head onto his shoulder and look up at his sparkling amethyst eyes, reaching your hand backward to grasp his sweat-dampened neck. “Someone will–hah–hear.”

“You’re such a brat, baby,” he grins cheekily down at you, a smile you knew all-too-well. One you’d grown up seeing frequently, coming to both adore and abhor. A smile that meant you were absolutely in for it. No mercy.

He leans down to brush impossibly soft, fleeting, kisses along your shoulders, across the blades, and down your spine. A jarring contrast to the way his pelvis slams into you so bruisingly that you have to push your palms against the wall to keep from banging violently against it.  

“Don’t make me ask again,” he murmurs, one hand snaking up your chest to wrap around the base of your throat. With his other hand he delicately brushes your hair off one of your shoulders, letting his fingers tenderly graze the ridges of your spine along the way and reveling in your shivers. 

He bites the inside of his cheek as your bare skin lays exposed before him. Your back, your shoulders, your neck…The amount of times he’d imagined you like this–and now it was a lucid reality laid before him. The forbidden fruit finally in his arms.

Another kiss, this time to your nape. A gentle squeeze to your throat, just enough to have your core clenching in excitement at just how much you know he’s holding back.

“Be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You’re about to refuse–unwilling to alert anyone in the house as to what you and your dearest Gege were up to, locked away in your childhood room. But it’s impossible as, in the years Caleb had spent  fantasizing about having you like this, it seemed he’d already discovered every conceivable way to make your body submit to him. To make you irrevocably his. 

“Oh God–! Caleb–mngh, please!” you moan when he drives himself straight into your cervix, nestling into your g-spot like he never wants to leave your sweet little cunt again.

His Adam's apple bobs thickly at the saccharine sound of your pleas, his hips snapping into you particularly harshly, as if urgently trying to pull that same cry from you again. His name.

With a ravenous growl, Caleb spins you around by your wrists, pinning both of them up with just one of his impossibly large hands. He restrains them above your head, his forehead pressed against yours as he cages you in with his thick bicep, forearm resting flat against the wall, sweat-dampened bangs prickling your eyelashes.

The fingers of his free hand are splayed out against the small of your back, the sheer size of his palm allowing him to cup your lower half into him, driving him deeper into you.

You’re face to face with a near fervent Caleb whose lilac eyes had shadowed into a deep indigo maelstrom that reflected darkness you’d never seen of him before. A blackhole of desperation, torment, longing. 

Possession.

You felt like you should be terrified.

And maybe you would be–if you hadn’t wanted him for so fucking long.

You almost don’t recognize his voice when he speaks next. Gone was the boyish charm and playful lilt you’d come to expect of your precious golden retriever Caleb.

“Fuck–say my name again.”

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[mssishipi]

ecstacy — yjw

— sex with jungwon is good, no doubt about that. but the thing is… he doesn’t know how to stop.

content tags: established relationship, unhinged jw, explicit content (smut): soft dom jw (is he really?), cuffs, usage of toys, fingering, nipple play, overstimulation, basically this fic is an actual torture so read at your own risk, squirting, unprotected sex, jw has a big dick (yum🤤), creampie, cnc. MDNI. WC: 3.3K

note: it's been a really long ass time since i last wrote a smut so please bare with me. my mind is so fried but atleast i tried ahuehue... not proofread, anw, enjoy reading and reblog!

One thing about your boyfriend Jungwon? He has a bit of a collection—of sex toys, to be exact.

It’s the kind of surprise that catches most people off guard, especially considering how incredibly gentle, soft-spoken, and genuinely sweet he is.

Well...he’s still soft-spoken—his voice never rises, never loses that calm, steady tone but gentle? Not quite.

Behind closed doors, there’s a different edge to him. His sweetness doesn’t disappear, but it’s laced with dominance, control, and an intensity that contradicts his daytime demeanor. If there’s one rough thing about him, it’s the way he takes control when you’re underneath him.

Sex with Jungwon is good, no doubt about that. But the thing is… he doesn’t know how to stop.

Once he starts, it’s like he falls into a rhythm only he can hear, and you’re just along for the ride, trembling and breathless and completely at his mercy.

Your wrists are cuffed to both sides of the bed, the metal cool against your heated skin. Your legs are spread and tied down, leaving you completely exposed—open for him. At first, it’s fine. You can handle it. The slow build, the teasing. The way he slips the toy inside your pulsing cunt, then drags it up to circle your clitoris with frustrating precision.

Each slow movement of the toy has you dripping onto the sheets, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up. You don’t miss the way Jungwon’s eyes light up with excitement, a sparkle in them. A small, satisfied smile curves on his lips as he watches your pussy clench around absolutely nothing, the vibrator pulsing against you while he teases, never quite giving you what you’re begging for.

That’s the thing about Jungwon—he knows exactly how to ruin you without even touching you properly. He hasn’t taken off a single piece of clothing, hasn’t even laid a finger on your most sensitive spots. And yet, you’re falling apart.

He makes you crave everything. His touch. A simple brush of his fingers. Even just a glance at what’s hidden behind his pants—his huge fucking cock, so painfully hard. You’ve barely seen it tonight, and that alone makes you dizzy with need.

Your head is spinning. Your throat burns from all the begging, the moaning, the hoarse screams you’ve let out over the past hour. Your legs shake, your wrists ache against the cuffs, and your eyes—God, your eyes can barely stay open. Every time he pulls another orgasm out of you, they roll back with a mix of pleasure and exhaustion. You’re so, so tired, and so wrecked.

“Please, please… just fuck me. Just fuck me already!” you cry out, voice cracking from exhaustion.

Jungwon is still sitting at the edge of the room, completely composed, watching you with fascination. Your legs tremble uncontrollably, still spread wide, still bound, as another orgasm rips through you. The loud hum of the vibrator fills the room, blending with your high-pitched moans and hitched breaths.

You try to shut your legs, to push the toy away from your aching core, but you can’t. You’re strapped open, so damn helpless. Your clit feels raw, burning from the endless attention. It’s been nearly two hours of this, and your entire body feels like it’s on fire. You’re drenched in sweat, heart racing, muscles twitching from the constant tension. And still… Jungwon doesn’t look finished. He watches you like you’re the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.

“L-Let’s just finish this and sleep, okay?” you gasp, trying to meet his eyes. There’s desperation in your voice, but you still try to sound sweet—still trying to bargain with the man who holds all the control.

Finally, he stands. His gaze travels slowly down your body, from your tearful eyes to your heaving chest. And then, he leans in and kisses you softly, almost tender. You melt into it, sighing against his lips, your body automatically responding despite the ache. You try to kiss him deeper, tongue desperate against his, hands twitching against the restraints as you try to pull him closer.

“Love you, my sweet little angel,” Jungwon whispers against your lips, smiling so gently it almost feels cruel.

You smile weakly back, eyes watery but soft. “Love you too… now please—please untie me?” you beg.

For a moment, your heart lifts in relief as you see him walk toward the cabinet beside the bed. You think he’s going for the keys because finally. But then your eyes widen in horror when he pulls out a small collection of toys instead and places them gently on the nightstand.

Your stomach drops.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“No!” you cry out, yanking at your cuffs even though you know it’s useless. Panic surges as he picks up a pair of nipple stimulators and places them over your already sensitive chest.

"Shit— no! Don't! Stop!"

The moment they turn on, you jolt. The soft suction and flickering pulses send electric shocks through your breasts, focusing on your nipples and making your back arch off the bed.

“Ahh—n-no! No more!” you shout, writhing, body bucking against the restraints.

Jungwon doesn’t say a word. His fingers trail down slowly, tracing the mess between your legs, spreading you gently. Then, without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you, curling and sliding them.

“Hahh… J-Jung… ahh—” Your head falls back, and your eyes roll. The pleasure blurs everything—your thoughts, your words. “I c-can’t… anymore…” you whisper, voice trembling, barely holding together.

Your thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm, lost to the overwhelming flood of sensation. Every nerve in your body is lit up, every inch of you trembling, wrung out, and oversensitive.

Jungwon, on the other hand, looks like he’s in bliss. His chest rises and falls with labored breaths, eyes locked on your body. When he feels your walls tightening around his fingers, his lips part with a quiet moan. The way you grip him—so hot, so wet, so helpless—nearly drives him insane.

Your head lolls to the side, arms stretched and chained above you. Your mouth hangs open, tongue slipping out slightly, drool tracing a path from your lips to your chin. You’re panting, muttering broken, incoherent phrases that even you don’t understand.

Underneath his pants, Jungwon’s cock throbs with the weight of restraint. Finally, he pulls his fingers out of you and quickly undresses, his hands shaking in urgency. He barely blinks, barely breathes, as he climbs back onto the bed.

Before you can even register his presence fully, you hear another vibration. A sob tears from your throat as a small egg vibrator slips inside you, humming to life with a relentless buzz. Another one is pressed directly to your clit, making your hips jerk violently. The stimulation is too much, all-consuming and now you’re crying, tears running freely down your cheeks.

Your mind is barely there when Jungwon settles over you. You feel his body hovering close, the warmth of him mixing with yours. He cups your cheek with one hand, gently brushing away your tears, while the other supports the back of your head.

“Shhh…” he soothes. “It’s okay, baby. You can take it, can’t you? Be my good girl, hmm?”

You can’t even answer. Your lips tremble, a sob stuck in your throat, your body wracked with pleasure that borders on pain. The buzzing on your clit, the pulsing deep inside you, the suction on your nipples—it’s too much!

“You’re my good girl, right? Answer me, angel,” Jungwon repeats.

“I-I… I’m y-your… nghh… g-good girl,” you manage to choke out, eyes squeezed shut. The moment you say it, Jungwon smiles—and not just any smile, but the one he gives when he’s deeply, thoroughly satisfied. It’s the kind of smile that says he’s proud of you.

He shifts on the bed, straddling your hips, his knees on either side of you. His cock is flushed, rock hard, and leaking precum. From this angle, you can see it clearly—aching and ready. Your breath catches.

“Say you can take it,” he says again, eyes burning into yours.

“I-I c-can t-take it… F-FUCK!” you scream as the vibrator inside you kicks up to a stronger setting. Your nails dig into your palms, your back arches off the bed, and your legs jerk against the restraints. Another wave crashes over you, and you’re gone again, mouth open in a silent scream before the moans pour out helplessly.

Jungwon groans at the sight of you. He tosses the remote aside and his hand wraps around his length, the slick glide of his palm a poor substitute for what he really wants, but right now, it’s enough because what he’s seeing? It’s everything.

You’re trembling, legs shaking uncontrollably, arms pulled taut by the cuffs. Your entire body is soaked in sweat, flushed, and still, you’re clenching and twitching, hips jumping with every surge of overstimulation. You’re crying, sobbing softly through parted lips, but your body won’t stop responding. And to Jungwon, there’s no more beautiful sight in the world.

Ecstacy.

He never understood the word fully before you. People always talked about it like a fleeting rush, a peak that fades as quickly as it comes. But with you? It lasts. It blooms slowly.

"Hahhh.... 'Wonnie, c-close again!"

Jungwon whines, an unfiltered, almost desperate sound as his hand speeds up. He braces himself on the mattress, panting through clenched teeth as the fire in his gut coils tighter and tighter.

You’re nearly delirious, legs quaking, sweat dripping off your skin in soft trails. The small toy is still pulsing relentlessly between your thighs, buzzing away mercilessly, and you—his perfect, precious girl—can do nothing to escape it.

Your body jolts, then locks up. Another wave crashes over you, and Jungwon can see it in real time—your stomach tensing, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering back as you climax again. It’s like your soul momentarily leaves your body and crashes back into it, all in one breathless scream.

He groans loudly, the sound raw and shameless, as his orgasm builds at the sight. His cock throbs painfully in his grip, aching for release.

“Stop! Please… stop! Make it stop!”

You’re sobbing, shaking your head side to side, tears streaking your cheeks as your voice breaks entirely.

A strangled gasp escapes Jungwon’s lips as his climax slams into him. His body jerks forward as he spills across your stomach and chest. The orgasm tears through him, spine curling, muscles locking, vision flashing white at the edges. His hips twitch helplessly as each pulse escapes him, breath ragged, mind floating somewhere far away.

Between his high and the aftershocks rolling through his body, he still hears you screaming his name, begging him to stop.

Jungwon blinks, disoriented. For a moment, his mind is blank, floating somewhere between euphoria and guilt. But then his eyes land on you.

With shaky hands, he reaches for the remote and flicks off the power. The hum of the toys dies, replaced by silence—save for your ragged breathing, the hiccuping sobs that break his heart, and the faint creak of the bed as your body finally begins to fall limp in exhaustion.

He moves fast but gentle, slipping the nipple clamps off first. His breath hitches at the sight—your nipples flushed deep red, firm and oversensitive. He swallows hard, fighting the urge to touch, to kiss, to soothe with his mouth.

Then there’s the vibrator still buried inside you. It’s soaked, your slick dripping down your thighs, clinging to the toy as it slips out with a wet, lewd sound. The air is thick with the scent of sex, of release, of everything you gave him tonight. His stomach tightens again at the sight, but he forces himself to stay focused.

“D-done?” your voice comes, barely a whisper.

Jungwon doesn’t answer right away. He’s still staring. His body might’ve just finished, but his mind is caught somewhere in the afterglow.

His fingers fumble briefly with the small key before unlocking the cuffs, one by one. You don’t even lift your arms—just lie there, shivering, twitching occasionally when a breeze brushes across your skin.

You let out a shaky breath as your wrists fall free. A sob leaves your chest, but this time it’s soft—relieved. Grateful. Your arms weakly pull inward, cradling your own chest as you collapse into the sheets.

But your body… it’s still trembling. You’re still soaked. That last orgasm hadn’t even faded, and the aftershocks have your thighs twitching with every shift of your hips.

Jungwon swallows hard as he kneels behind you, watching your body try to recover, the way you curl slightly into yourself like you’re trying to keep your insides from spilling over.

"J-Jungwon?"

You feel his hands gently reposition you, guiding you slowly onto your stomach. You let him, barely resisting, only sobbing quietly, the kind of sound that makes his chest ache and his cock twitch.

“One more,” he whispers near your ear, brushing his lips over your cheek. “Just one more, baby. Then I’ll stop. I promise, okay?”

You cry out, he gently pushes your legs apart and lifts your hips just enough, guiding you into position.

“Fuck,” he hisses, as he presses forward slowly but your body reacts instantly.

"Ahhh!" You gasp, then squeal as your walls clamp down, and without warning, a gush of liquid pours from you. You’re fucking squirting.

Jungwon groans, forehead dropping to your back, overwhelmed by the sheer sensitivity of your response. Your hips try to jerk forward, trying to escape, but he holds you in place with one arm curled around your waist.

You’re still spasming when he finally sinks inside, forcing his huge cock inside you. Your soaked walls resist him in a trembling way, trying to push him out while also drawing him deeper.

You scream again as he fills you, your voice breaking around the sobs. He hushes you gently, lips brushing your neck.

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby. Almost there. You can do it—just a little more,” he whispers, his own voice shaking.

He stays still for a moment, buried inside your pulsing heat, feeling your body flutter and tighten around him. His chest presses to your back, arms wrapping around you, holding you close as you sob into the pillow.

“My good girl,” he breathes, kissing the space behind your ear. “You’re doing so well. So perfect for me.”

You whimper brokenly, clenching again as he slowly draws his hips back—just an inch—and thrusts forward again.

Your body goes pliant beneath him, letting him take the lead, letting him guide every motion as his hips begin to roll with slow, fluid strokes. The drag of his cock through your drenched heat makes his head fall forward, jaw clenched, breath shuddering against your neck.

“Little more,” he pants. His eyes flutter shut as he sinks back into you, the tight grip of your body drawing another moan from deep in his throat. “Just… like that.”

You sob again, your hands claw at the sheets.

Jungwon groans softly and leans over you more. His hand slides gently around your neck, His thumb brushes your jaw, tilting your head up so he can see your face.

Your lips tremble. Your eyes flutter, barely open, hazy and wet from tears, but locked onto him.

He exhales sharply at the sight. He leans in and kisses you upside down, the angle is awkward, but lips finding yours between moans and movement. The kiss is messy, wet, desperate. His hips never stop, and the rhythm begins to build again, more urgent now. Each thrust hits deeper, heavier, guided by the way your body clings to him, keeps him buried.

He moans into your mouth as you whimper against his. Then his tongue drags over your bottom lip, over your cheek, catching the taste of your tears and sweat. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he licks up the salty trail along your face.

“Mine,” he breathes against your cheek. “All mine.”

Your only response is a faint cry as your body clenches again, another sharp squeeze that makes him falter, hips stuttering from the overwhelming sensation.

His hand leaves your throat and presses between your shoulder blades, pinning you gently into the bed as he pulls your hips higher, changing the angle.

“Ahh, f-fuck!” you squeal. Your thighs quiver violently, and Jungwon nearly loses it right there at the sound.

His pace falters for a beat, then picks up again, faster, more erratic. “So good—so fucking good,” he stammers out, neck slick with sweat.

Your walls clench again, fluttering around him, and he lets out a wrecked sound, almost pained in how much he needs this.

His hips slam forward as he grits out, “Pretty… you’re so pretty. So good for me.”

His hand moves from your back to your waist, holding you tight as he keeps grinding in. “I love you,” he gasps, not even meaning to say it again, but it falls out of him in a choked whisper. “I love you so fucking much…”

His voice cracks at the end, moaning into your skin.

His lips find your shoulder—he kisses it once, then again, moaning into your skin as he thrusts harder. He’s unraveling. His rhythm turns desperate, your name falling from his lips.

"J-just a little more, hmm? I'm gonna creampie this little pussy t-then— fuck, we're done." Jungwon pants, voice cracking with emotion, every word shaking as it leaves his mouth. His eyes are blown wide, focused on where he’s buried deep inside you. “I love you—ahh, I love you so much…”

Jungwon grabs both of your arms, pulling them back gently, lifting your upper body just enough to tilt your chest off the bed. Your back arches, his hips slapping against you, skin to skin, the sound filthy and wet.

Your breasts bounce with every motion, your body jolting under his force. You barely register your own scream before your entire frame begins to convulse.

"Holy shit." Jungwon gasps at the sight, eyes wide with stunned, reverent awe as he breathes out.

You let go completely—again—and it’s overwhelming. A fresh, hot stream releases from you uncontrollably, drenching everything. His thighs. The sheets. The space between you. The air fills with the scent of arousal and sweat, with the stuttering breaths of both your bodies falling apart at the same time.

His thighs shake violently as he spills his cum into you, a strangled, low moan escaping from the pit of his chest. He doesn’t stop moving—keeps thrusting, dragging his length in and out as he pours every last drop inside of you, desperate to make it last.

The warmth floods between your legs, and the way your body pulses around him only draws more out of him. And it’s almost an afterthought to you now, dulled by the overwhelming waves of pleasure and exhaustion. You’re beyond feeling it fully, your body too far gone from the overstimulation he dragged you through.

He whines high as he buries himself to the hilt again, staying there, pushing in as far as you’ll let him. Your body quivers under the weight of his release, and he presses his chest to your back, wrapping both arms around you.

"Thank you, thank you, my angel."

The room falls into a heavy silence.

When Jungwon finally, carefully pulls out of you, he pauses—eyes drawn to the mess he left behind. His release slowly trickles from you, glistening down your inner thighs, and he can’t help but stare.

Then his gaze drifts up.

Your body is limp against the sheets, your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Your face is flushed and dewy with sweat, eyes barely open, lips parted like you’re still floating in that lingering euphoric high.

And yet—something about the sight of you like that makes heat stir in his gut all over again.

Jungwon swallows hard as he feels himself twitch, already starting to thicken with the urge to take you again.

[ctrlkenma]

AND I'MMA MAKE HER TAPOUT! ☆

✦ f!reader, post timeskip, kenma is quite the horny fella, suggestive, explicit content.

KOZUME KENMA has insane stamina.

And he doesn't seem like it. Truly, he doesn't. After all, (and not to be stereotypical), but what could you expect of a twenty-two year old who's leisure time was spent playing 'vintage' video games and streaming it for thousands to see?

You definitely didn’t expect that right after those streams ended, he’d have you bent over his gaming desk, just inches away from a small Genshin Impact figurine. You turn around, your cheeks flushing a sweet, saccharine hue of scarlet as he cups your ass from behind, his hands firm and possessive.

The air is thick with tension, sexually charged, rather, as you feel his body heat radiating against you. Every breath you take is heavy with anticipation, and the way he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, sends a shiver down your spine. You can sense his desire, raw and palpable, and it makes your heart race. You’re completely at his mercy, craving every moment as he prepares to take you right there, the thrill of being so exposed only heightening the intensity between you.

No, Kenma is not just another boyfriend of yours you've had sex with. Kenma is an absolute fucking beast - and by the time you're on your third round, covered in his opalescent seed and dripping with perspiration (you're not sure who's it is), that very fact is made abundantly clear to you.

Kenma also isn’t shy about what he wants. He’d rather have you sitting on his face, completely lost in the taste of you. As he laps at your clit, he gets more and more pussy-drunk, his moans vibrating against the slick that covers his fave deliciously. Your muffled compliments only serve to fuel the desire within him, and he’s all in, ready to make you feel every bit of pleasure he can give. It’s raw, intense, and he’s determined to have you begging for more.

You're not exactly sure why he has such superhuman capabilities when it comes to sex. Perhaps, years of pulling all-nighters has finally translated into something good - that being the rather annoying ability to never get tired whilst he pounds his pretty, flushed tip into you, getting the angle just right, hitting you right where you want him.

No, actually. He hits it right where you need him. Because sex with Kenma has translated from something that started off with a few kisses into a ritual you're quite certain you can't live without.

You’d lose yourself in the heat of three rounds—four if the mood struck just right. Kenma would pause, a playful glint in his eyes as he reached for a bottle of strawberry-flavored lubricant from his side-table. With a teasing squirt, he coated your stomach, the slick, sweet substance glistening against your skin.

His fingers danced over you, massaging the lubricant in with a tantalizing pressure that sent electric shivers through your body. Each stroke was a delicious tease, trailing dangerously low, igniting a primal hunger within you. The air thickened with the scent of strawberries and coitus, as his touch turned your skin into a playground of pleasure, leaving you breathless and craving more.

The bottle spits its last, the slick gone, but you don’t stop - not until your body’s shaking, breath stuttering, chasing that high like it's the only thing that’s ever truly undone you. You’re soaked in heat, legs weak, stars bursting behind your eyes. And just when you're about to tapout, that voice cuts through - deep, filthy, smug - dragging out the words that ruin you - but make you crave it all over again.

"Just one more round, baby?"

[moonlightwritingf1]

No Mercy | LN4

💋 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N are still in the early stages of their relationship, discovering each other emotionally and physically. After a night out, Lando takes control in the bedroom. 

💋 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💋 word count ━━━━━━━ 5.2k

💋 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, creampie, rough sex, aftercare, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, begging for creampie

It had been a long night, the kind that left them both buzzing with energy yet exhausted in equal measure. The event had been glamorous, filled with champagne and laughter, but now, as she stepped into Lando’s apartment, the world felt quieter, more intimate. 

She kicked off her heels, letting them clatter to the ground, and tossed her clutch onto the couch. Lando stood by the door, his coat still on, hands in his pockets, watching her with a sly smile that made her stomach flip. He was always like this—confident, charming, and a little bit dangerous. It was one of the many things she found irresistible about him.

“What do you want to eat?” she asked, turning to face him. Her voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something deeper that neither of them had fully explored yet. They were still learning each other, discovering the ways their bodies fit together, the ways their minds connected. And tonight, something about the way he looked at her made her feel he was about to show her another side of himself.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned against the wall, his eyes tracing over her body with a slow, deliberate intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. His gaze lingered on her lips, then lowered, sweeping down her chest and hips before finally meeting her eyes again. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried a weight that sent shivers down her spine.

“Bend over,” he said.

The words hung in the air between them, thick and charged with meaning. She blinked, momentarily unsure she’d heard him correctly. But then his smirk deepened, and the glint in his eye left no room for doubt. He wasn’t teasing. Not this time.

Oh, she thought, her heart pounding faster. This is different.

She hesitated just for a moment, caught between surprise and curiosity. Lando watched her, patient but insistent, his posture relaxed but his presence commanding. He wasn’t going to push, not unless she gave him the go-ahead. But the look in his eyes told her everything—he wanted this. More than that, he wanted her to want it, too.

And she did. Somehow, in the span of two words, he’d managed to make her feel bold, reckless. She swallowed hard, her pulse racing as she took a step toward the kitchen counter. The cool surface pressed against her palms as she leaned forward, knees slightly bent, ass angled just so. The position felt vulnerable, exposed, but it also sent a jolt of anticipation through her.

Behind her, Lando moved. His footsteps were quiet, measured, but they echoed in her ears like thunder. She could feel his presence behind her, close enough that she sensed the heat radiating off his body. He didn’t touch her right away, though. Instead, he paused, letting the silence stretch out until it was almost unbearable.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to see you like this.”

His hands came down on her hips, firm and possessive, pulling her back against him. She gasped at the contact, her body already reacting to his nearness. His erection pressed into her lower back, hot and undeniable, and she couldn’t help but arch into it, craving more of him.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His breath was warm, intoxicating, and it sent a shiver racing down her spine. “Every time I look at you, I think about how fucking good it would feel to be inside you.”

His words were dirty, raw, and they sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her. She moaned softly, unable to hold it back, and he responded by tightening his grip on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need—”

“You need what?” he prompted, tone teasing but his movements were anything but playful. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee, positioning himself between them. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“You,” she breathed, cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal. “I need you.”

His chuckle was dark, almost feral, sending goosebumps cascading over her skin. “Good girl,” he said, leaning down to nip at the nape of her neck. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Before she could respond, he slid his hand between her legs, cupping her core through the thin fabric of her dress. She gasped, body tensing instinctively, but his touch was firm, unyielding. He rubbed against her in slow, deliberate circles, pressing just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting through her.

“Spread your legs wider,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “I want to feel how wet you are.”

She obeyed without thinking, letting her thighs fall open as his fingers continued their relentless assault. The heat between her legs was overwhelming, pooling deep inside her as his thumb brushed her clit. She moaned again, louder this time, head dropping back against his shoulder.

“You like that?” he asked, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “You like feeling my hand on you?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Lando—”

“Patience,” he said, tone sharp but touch gentle as he traced a line up her inner thigh. “We’ve got all night.”

He let out a soft groan of approval as his fingers dipped under her dress until they met the resistance of her underwear. “So wet already,” he murmured, tone laced with admiration. “You really are desperate for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted, voice breaking as he pressed his fingers against the fabric, applying just enough pressure to send waves of pleasure coursing through her.

He pulled back slightly, hands retreating to her hips as he leaned in closer. “Turn around,” he ordered, voice calm but commanding. “Face me.”

She did as he asked, turning with hesitant steps. His eyes locked onto hers, intense and unyielding, as if he were seeing straight through to her soul. His hands gripped her waist again, pulling her closer until there was barely any space between them.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low and hypnotic. “Don’t look away.”

She met his gaze, unable to tear her eyes away, as his hands traveled up her torso, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. A shiver ran through her at the contact, her heart racing as his fingers continued their journey, tracing the outline of her bra before sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders and slipping his hands beneath the fabric of her bra.

Her breath hitched as his fingers circled her nipples, teasing them lightly before applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. “Lando,” she whimpered, hands reaching to grip his arms for support.

He smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Do you like that?” he asked, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Or would you rather I go slower?”

“No,” she managed, voice trembling. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, leaning in to nip at her earlobe. “I knew you’d be greedy.”

His hands drifted higher, thumbs slipping under the straps of her bra and easing them down her arms. With practiced deftness he unhooked the clasp, stripping the lace away to bare her breasts to the cool air—and to his hungry gaze. A soft gasp escaped her throat as the garment joined the growing pile on the floor.

Without pausing, he found the hidden zipper at the small of her back. The sound of metal teeth parting was faint, almost teasing, as he drew it downward in one slow, deliberate motion. The dress loosened, silk sliding over her hips before gravity claimed the fabric. It puddled at her feet in a silent surrender, leaving her exposed beneath the dim light while his eyes roamed every inch of newly revealed skin.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a moan as his fingers reached the edge of her panties and pressed against the fabric as if testing the waters.

“Take them off,” he said, voice calm but insistent. “I want to see you completely bare.”

She hesitated, unsure, but his stare was unrelenting. Slowly, she slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them and leaving them pooled at her feet. He let out a low whistle, eyes raking over her nakedness with obvious appreciation.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice filled with genuine admiration. “Absolutely beautiful.”

His hands returned to her hips, guiding her closer as he stepped forward. She felt the hard length of his erection pressing against her stomach, and gasped at the sudden intimacy. He let out a soft groan, hands tightening on her waist as he ground himself against her.

“God, you feel so good,” he muttered, voice thick with desire. “So warm, so wet—”

She whimpered, hands grasping his shoulders as he continued to move against her. The friction was maddening, building the tension inside her until it felt like she might explode. “Lando,” she breathed, voice barely audible over her pounding heart. “Please—”

He pulled back slightly, hands sliding to her thighs. “Bend over,” he commanded, voice firm and unyielding. “I want to see you spread for me.”

She hesitated, heart racing as the words sank in, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his gaze, the raw hunger that said he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Slowly, she bent over again, placing her hands on the countertop and spreading her legs wide.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice filled with satisfaction as he stepped behind her. “Perfect.”

She felt his presence close, his warmth enveloping her as he moved in. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of him unzipping his jeans, the quiet rustle of fabric stirring her anticipation. He remained clothed otherwise, only freeing his cock from the confines of his pants, the intimacy somehow heightened by the contrast. His hands returned to grip her hips firmly, steadying her as he positioned himself at her entrance. She held her breath, anticipation humming through her veins as she waited for his next move.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice low and intimate. “Because I’m not going to hold back.”

“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling with need. “Please, Lando—”

He didn’t waste any time. With one swift motion, he plunged into her, filling her completely. She cried out at the sudden intrusion, body clenching around him as he began to move.

Lando’s thrusts were slow and deliberate at first, each one drawing a soft moan from her lips. He took his time, savoring every inch of her, every curve and contour of her body. His hands slid up her sides, tracing the line of her ribs before wrapping around her torso, pulling her back against him. She felt his breath hot on her neck, lips brushing her skin as he whispered sweet, filthy things in her ear.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “So tight, so perfect—”

His words sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn’t help but press herself back against him, urging him on. His grip on her hips tightened, and then, without warning, he picked up the pace. His thrusts became more urgent, deeper, each one hitting her in just the right spot. She moaned loudly, head falling forward as she struggled to keep up with his rhythm.

“Oh God, Lando…” she gasped, voice breaking. “Harder… please—”

He didn’t need telling twice. With a growl, he grabbed her waist and pulled her back onto him, driving into her with even more force. She felt every inch of him, every ridge and vein as he pounded into her. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure as he continued to thrust deeper and harder.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, voice rough and primal. “Take it… take all of me—”

She whimpered, fingers gripping the edge of the counter as she surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. His thrusts were relentless now, each one sending ripples of pleasure through her entire body. She felt her orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter inside with every movement.

Lando’s hands slipped to her thighs, lifting them slightly as he adjusted his angle. The change sent a jolt of electricity through her, and she cried out as he hit that perfect spot deep inside.

“Fuck, yes!” she screamed, voice echoing off the walls. “Don’t stop, Lando… don’t you dare stop—”

He didn’t. If anything, he only pushed harder, his movements almost desperate now. She felt his cock twitching inside her, evidence of his own impending release, yet still he kept going, driving into her with everything he had.

“I’m close,” he panted, voice ragged. “So close—”

She felt it too, tension in her body reaching breaking point. Her legs trembled, muscles quivering as pleasure threatened to consume her. She wanted to hold on, to prolong the sensation, but it was no use. The wave was coming, unstoppable.

“Lando!” she screamed as her orgasm finally hit. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her, body convulsing around him as she came apart. She clung to the counter, legs nearly giving out as pleasure overwhelmed every fiber of her being.

Lando didn’t slow. If anything, he sped up, matching her rhythm as he chased his own release. His thrusts became erratic, breathing harsh and uneven as he fought to hold on just a little longer.

“I can’t… I can’t wait…” he groaned, voice strained. “So good, baby… so fucking good—”

And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he found his release. His body went rigid, hands gripping her hips as he spilled inside. She felt the warm rush fill her, the sensation sending another shiver of pleasure through her already sensitive body.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just stood there, panting and trembling as their bodies slowly came down from the high. Lando’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel his heart pounding against her back, the rhythm matching her own as they tried to catch their breath.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You have no idea how good that felt—”

She smiled softly, turning her head to kiss his temple. “I think I might have some ideas.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. His hands began exploring her body again, gently caressing her skin as he slowly withdrew from inside her. She bit her lip, feeling a slight pang of emptiness as he pulled out, but it was quickly replaced by a new wave of arousal.

Lando seemed to sense it too, because his hands immediately went to work. He turned her around, pressing her back against the counter as his lips crashed down on hers. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. His tongue slid into her mouth, exploring every inch as his hands roamed over her body, teasing and taunting as he built her back up.

“You’re insatiable,” she murmured against his lips, voice laced with amusement.

He smirked, pulling back slightly to look down at her. “And you love it.”

Lando’s arms tightened around her as he hoisted her up effortlessly, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She let out a soft gasp, core still sensitive from the intensity of moments before, but his touch—his presence—was already reigniting the fire within her. His hands steadied her, one gripping her thigh while the other pressed firmly against her back, pulling her closer.

The kitchen counter was just behind her, and for a moment, she wondered if he might set her down there again, but instead, he carried her toward the hallway, his stride confident and purposeful.

“Where are we going?” she asked playfully, voice teasing as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Her breath tickled his skin, and she felt the faintest shiver run through him, though his expression remained assured as ever.

“You’ll see,” he said, tone low and smooth, like molten caramel. There was something dangerous in his voice, something that made her pulse quicken. His lips brushed her ear, sending electricity down her spine. “Just trust me.”

Trust me. It sounded simple enough, but coming from him, it was an invitation to surrender completely. And she wanted to. God, she wanted to.

He walked with her nestled against him, his body warm and solid beneath her hands. She could feel every ridge of muscle, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, steady and strong. His cologne surrounded her, a heady mix of cedarwood and spice that made her head spin. Every step brought them closer to the bedroom, and with each passing second, the anticipation grew thicker in the air.

When he finally reached the door, Lando kicked it open with a single powerful motion, carrying her inside. The bedroom was dimly lit, the soft glow of the night sky filtering through the curtains. He set her down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on her hips before sliding up her sides. She looked up at him, heart pounding in her chest, and saw the same hunger in his eyes that she felt on her own.

“Undress me,” he commanded, voice firm but not harsh. There was no room for hesitation, no chance to second-guess herself. She nodded, swallowing hard as she reached for the buttons of his shirt. Her fingers fumbled slightly, betraying the nervous excitement coursing through her, but he didn’t rush her. Instead, he watched with an amused glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying the sight of her eager yet slightly uncertain.

One by one, she popped the buttons open, revealing the expanse of his chest beneath. His skin gleamed under the soft light, and when her fingers grazed over his stomach, she felt the ripple of muscle. He wasn’t just handsome—he was powerful, and the realization sent a thrill racing through her veins.

Once the shirt was off, she moved her hands up and down his abdomen, looking up at him with a coy smile.

“What’s next?” she asked, voice dripping with mischief.

“Don’t play games with me,” he warned lightly, though there was no real threat in his tone. If anything, his words only fueled her boldness.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his collarbone, feeling his body tense beneath her. Then, with deliberate slowness, she kissed her way down his chest, stopping to nip at his skin just above his navel. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands tightening on her shoulders as if to keep himself grounded. But she wasn’t done yet.

With a flick of her wrist, she tugged his jeans down over his hips, the zipper already undone from before. His boxers slid off easily with them, pooling at his ankles. His cock sprang completely free—already hard again, still slick with her from the last time he’d been buried deep inside her. The sight made her breath hitch.

He was big. Thick, flushed, glistening not just with pre-cum but with the wet evidence of what they’d just done. Her thighs instinctively pressed together as her core clenched around nothing, aching for him again. She stared for a moment, unable to look away, her mouth slightly parted as heat rushed through her.

Lando groaned, grip tightening as he stepped out of his pants. “Take me,” he growled, voice deep and commanding. “Show me how much you want me.”

Her breath caught, but there was no hesitation now. She shifted back on the bed, spreading her legs slightly as she positioned herself. Lando climbed onto the mattress, movements fluid and confident, and knelt between her thighs. His gaze locked onto hers, desire burning in his eyes—a reflection of her own.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice rough and raw.

She nodded, biting her lip as she reached for him. Her hand wrapped around his length, squeezing gently as she guided him toward her entrance. He groaned again, hips twitching as she stroked him, and she felt a surge of satisfaction—she was in control now, and the power thrilled her.

But just as she began to lower herself onto him, Lando pulled back, eyes narrowing as he studied her. “Wait,” he said quietly, voice tinged with something darker and more possessive. “I want to taste you first.”

Before she could respond, he shifted, settling himself between her legs. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them wider as his head dipped. Then his tongue was on her, sliding along her folds with expert precision. She cried out, arching her back as his mouth worked its magic, licking and sucking with a fervor that left her breathless.

“Lando…” she moaned, tangling her fingers in his hair as he buried his face between her legs. His tongue delved deeper, flicking against her clit with relentless pressure, orchestrating every movement, every sensation. She was nothing but a willing participant in his game.

“Fuck, Y/N… you taste so good,” he murmured, voice muffled but commanding. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her legs higher as he continued to devour her, making no effort to hide his pleasure. “So sweet…”

Her head lolled back against the pillows, body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Lando’s tongue was relentless, exploring every inch of her, the tension building inside, threatening to overwhelm her.

“Lando, I’m… I’m gonna—” she gasped, voice breaking as her orgasm surged closer.

He didn’t stop; he doubled down, thrusting his tongue inside her with renewed vigor. His fingers found her clit, rubbing in circles as his mouth worked in tandem, the combination too much. Her vision blurred, stars bursting behind her eyelids as she came, hips bucking against him as waves of ecstasy washed over her.

As her breathing slowly returned to normal, Lando lifted his head, eyes filled with desire and smoldering. He crawled up her body, kissing her deeply as his hands roamed her skin, rekindling the fire that had barely cooled.

“Now,” he said, voice thick with arousal, “fuck me.”

She reached for him, her hand wrapping around his cock with a firm grip. Her eyes locked onto his as she guided him to her entrance, her body trembling with anticipation. Lando’s breath hitched, his gaze darkening as he watched her, his hands gripping her hips tightly.

“Take me,” he growled, voice thick with need. “Show me how much you want it.”

She didn’t hesitate. With a slow, deliberate motion, she lowered herself onto him, gasping as he filled her completely. Her head fell back against the pillows, a moan escaping her lips as she felt every inch of him stretching her, claiming her. Lando groaned above her, his hands tightening on her hips as he watched her take him, his eyes blazing with desire.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough. “You feel so fucking good.”

She began to move. Her hips rolled up to meet his, slow at first—deliberate, controlled. The thick slide of him inside her made her gasp, her back arching off the bed as pleasure coiled hot and tight in her core. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging crescents into his skin with each motion, as if anchoring herself to the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely.

She set the rhythm, hips tilting, grinding, riding each thrust with a desperate, breathless need. The drag of his cock inside her was perfect, deep, filling her so completely it was dizzying. Wet sounds filled the room, their bodies moving in perfect sync, skin against skin, heat against heat.

Lando’s breath came in ragged gasps above her, jaw clenched as he held himself back, letting her take everything she needed. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to hers. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and husky. “Take what you need.”

She moaned, the sound breaking free from her throat as her hips moved beneath him in frantic, rolling motions. She was on her back, thighs trembling as they cradled his body, and every grind of her hips sent a jolt of pleasure through her spine. She chased it—desperate, aching—her pace becoming more urgent, more erratic, even as exhaustion started to creep into her limbs.

Her body trembled with the effort, slick with sweat and need, and she could feel the burn building in her muscles, her thighs beginning to shake. But she didn’t stop. Not yet. The pleasure was too close—taunting her, tightening with every movement.

Lando hovered above her, breath ragged, his hands sliding up her sides, fingertips brushing over the curves of her body like he was memorizing her. His touch was reverent, grounding, but his eyes—his eyes burned into her with so much need it made her breath hitch. His jaw was clenched, body strung tight as he watched her fight for her release.

Her hips faltered for a moment, stuttering in their rhythm, and her hands gripped his arms harder, fingers digging into muscle.

“Lando…” she gasped, voice cracking with desperation. “I need you… I need you to fuck me.”

His entire body shuddered at her words, restraint snapping in an instant. He dipped down, mouth brushing her ear as he whispered, “You have no idea what you just started.”

And then he took over. Lando didn’t wait. With a growl, he surged forward, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her toward him. In one swift motion, he lifted her legs, draping them over his shoulders, and drove into her with a force that made her cry out. Her back arched off the bed, her hands scrambling for grip on the sheets as he claimed her completely.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough and strained. “You feel so fucking good.”

He didn’t hold back. His hips snapped against hers, each thrust driving her deeper into the mattress. The angle was perfect, his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. She gasped, her nails digging into his arms as he fucked her with a relentless rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Lando!” she cried, her voice breaking as the pleasure built inside her. “Oh God, don’t stop!”

He didn’t. If anything, he only went harder, his hands tightening on her hips as he pinned her down, taking what he wanted. She could feel the power in every movement, the way he controlled her body, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

She nodded frantically, unable to form words as the intensity of it all consumed her. Her legs trembled where they rested on his shoulders, her body completely at his mercy. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as he continued to fuck her, his tongue sliding against hers in a parallel of what his cock was doing to her.

“Come for me,” he demanded, breaking the kiss to look down at her. His eyes were filled with a hunger that made her shiver. “I want to feel you come around me.”

She didn’t need telling twice. With a cry, she shattered, her body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Lando groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own release, his grip on her hips almost bruising.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Inside me,” she begged, voice trembling with need. “Please, Lando, come inside me. I want to feel you fill me up. I need it—I need you.” Her hands clawed at his back, pulling him closer as if she could somehow make him deeper, make him stay forever. “Don’t hold back. Give me everything. I want to feel you pulse inside me, feel you claim me completely.”

Lando groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his control slipping as her words drove him wild. “Fuck, you’re so greedy,” he muttered, voice rough and strained. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her hips lifting to meet his every thrust. “I need it. I need to feel you come inside me, Lando. Please, I want to be yours. I want to feel you mark me, own me. Please.”

Her words were like a match to gasoline, igniting something primal in him. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her skin as he drove into her with a force that left her breathless. “You’re mine,” he growled, voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

“Yes,” she cried, her body trembling as the pleasure built to a crescendo. “Yours. Always yours. Just come inside me, Lando. I need it. I need you.”

With a final, powerful thrust, he did. His body went rigid above her, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he spilled inside her. She felt the warmth fill her, the sensation sending another shiver of pleasure through her already sensitive body.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just lay there, panting and trembling as their bodies slowly came down from the high. Lando’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, the rhythm matching her own as they tried to catch their breath.

Lando pulled back, his lips glistening as he looked up at her with a wicked grin. “You’re so fucking naughty,” he teased, his voice low and husky. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” His fingers traced lazy circles on her inner thigh, sending shivers through her already sensitive body. “But I like it. I like it a lot.”

She blushed, her cheeks flushing crimson as she tried to catch her breath. “You bring it out of me,” she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, before leaning down to kiss her gently. His lips were soft, almost tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. “Good,” he whispered against her mouth. “Because I plan to keep bringing it out of you.”

As the heat between them began to cool, Lando shifted, pulling her into his arms. He laid back against the pillows, cradling her against his chest. His fingers trailed lightly over her skin, soothing and gentle now, as if he were trying to erase any lingering tension. She sighed, melting into him, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

She nodded, nuzzling closer to him. “More than okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “That was… incredible.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re incredible,” he murmured. “But don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and content. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a while, they just lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten. Lando’s touch was tender now, his hands moving in slow, comforting strokes as he held her close. She felt safe, cherished, and utterly spent.

“Get some rest,” he said quietly, his voice a soothing rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you.”

And with that, she let herself drift, knowing that in his arms, she was exactly where she belonged.

[i2sunric]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 (p.sh)

PAIRING: brat-tamer!sunghoon x brat!reader

SUMMARY: your boyfriend loved tying you up, ruin you with his stupidly big dick and dirty talk. so, it was only fair that you got to be on top once, wasn’t it?

WARNINGS: smut. unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), boundage (or is it bondage? lol), handcuffs, curses, pet names (baby, hoonie), dirty talk, mockery, creampie, p in v, reader is a pillow princess, sunghoon is dom, reader hums a lot idk, cowgirl, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 22nd May 2025

WC: 2.1k

TAGLIST: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14

a/n: actually i don’t have anything to say like and subscribe! jokes, enjoy this inspiration i got from the photoshoot and LIKE & REBLOG pretty pls. also, lmk your thoughts on this!

The soft rustle of sheets followed the echo of your playful laugh, warm and mischievous in the dim light of your bedroom. 

Moonlight crept through the slits in your curtains, brushing over the flush of your cheeks and catching the glint in your eyes as you straddled Sunghoon’s hips, letting your fingers dance along the toned planes of his naked chest.

“You’re up to something,” he said, voice low and amused, the edge of a smirk curling his lips.

“Me?” you asked innocently, trailing your nails down his ribs, slow and gentle. He twitched under your touch, a breath catching in his throat. “I’m just appreciating my very handsome boyfriend.”

Sunghoon’s arms rested lazily above his head on the pillow, his lean muscles relaxed, his dark hair splayed out like a halo. 

His gaze wandered from your parted lips to the neckline of your camisole, which had slipped down one shoulder, exposing more than it covered. “You’re being suspiciously giddy.”

You leaned forward, your chest brushing against his as your lips ghosted over his. “Just lie back and enjoy it, Hoonie.” you whispered, kissing him softly, then again— deeper this time, with tongue and teeth and a little tug to his bottom lip that made him groan low in his throat.

He kissed back harder, his hands moving to grip your waist— only to pause as he felt something click around his wrist.

He pulled back, blinking up at you. “Wait… what was that?”

You tilted your head, still straddling him, your lips pursed in mock thought. “Hmm?”

He tugged at his hand again— another click. His eyes dropped to his wrist, now cuffed to the headboard with a smooth, black leather restraint. A matching one was swiftly snapped shut around his other wrist before he could fully react.

He knew those very well, they were the cuffs he usually tied you with during your freaky and hot nights.

You bit back a grin as his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What the hell?” he said, half-laughing, half-stunned. “Are those—? Were they under the pillow?”

“Mmhmm.” You traced a finger across his chest, then down his stomach, watching the way his muscles tensed. “I thought I’d try your game tonight. You always tie me up, it was time I got a turn.”

Sunghoon blinked up at you, restrained, completely at your mercy, and clearly not hating it. A slow grin spread across his lips. “You sneaky little brat.”.

You smiled sweetly. “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

He exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose, trying to pull at the restraints, just to test. “You’re going to regret this next time, baby.”

“Promise?” you asked with mock innocence, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth before shifting your hips against him, slowly grinding down. 

He let out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, and you felt the heat of him hardening beneath you, already eager.

You moved again, slow and teasing, just enough to build friction. “Oh? What’s that? Getting hard already? I thought you were supposed to be the one in charge.”

His jaw flexed. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I know.” You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then nipped just below his collarbone, where you knew he was sensitive. “But you love it.”

You started rolling your hips, dragging your damp folds along the clothed length of him, still teasing, still keeping the pace lazy. His eyes locked on yours, heavy-lidded, his breathing starting to pick up.

“You think you’re in control?” he asked, his voice husky and tight with arousal.

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, reaching between youp to lower his sweats and wrap your hand around his cock, stroking him with deliberate slowness, “you’re the one cuffed to the bed. So… yeah.”

He groaned, his hips bucking slightly into your hand. “Fuck, baby…”

You pumped him until he was throbbing in your grip, leaking pre-cum against your palm, and you rubbed the tip against your folds, teasing him with your wetness. “How does it feel?” you asked sweetly, slipping him inside you just a little, not even halfway. “Being the one who can’t touch?”

“Cruel,” he said through gritted teeth, “So fucking cruel.”

You lowered yourself onto him inch by inch, watching his face twist with pleasure as you took him all the way in. 

Your thighs trembled with the effort, but the heat of the moment drowned out the burn. You sat fully on him, clenching around him deliberately, making him curse beneath his breath.

Then, riding him slow and deep, you mocked his usual tone, breathy and condescending. “What’s wrong, baby? Can’t take it? Thought you liked being used.”

His eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide. “You’re crossing a line here.”

“Mmhmm.” You leaned down, kissed him again, swallowed his groans as you started moving faster, bouncing on him, hands braced against his chest. “But right now you’re gonna lie there and take it.”

Sunghoon’s eyes rolled back as you clenched around him again, his hips bucking involuntarily into yours. “You feel so fucking good,” he gasped.

You moaned as your thighs ached, the stretch of him and the power of control making everything hotter, sharper, more intense. 

Sweat slicked your skin as you moved faster, chasing the high, riding the edge. “Say it,” you panted, leaning close to his ear.

“Say what?”

“Say you like when I’m in charge.”

His breathing was ragged, jaw clenched. “No.”

“What?” you asked sweetly,  stopping your movements, dragging your nail on his jaw “I didn’t quite hear you.”

He sighed, looked away and murmured “I love when you’re in charge.” 

You grinned, biting his earlobe. “Damn right you do.”

You moved again, faster, deeper, the tension coiled in your stomach, and you didn’t stop, not when your thighs burned, not when he started cursing beneath you. 

You chased the climax with messy desperation, your bodies slick and sticky, the headboard creaking with each thrust. When your orgasm hit, you cried out his name, clenching around him with a trembling moan.

Sunghoon followed seconds later, hips jerking up off the mattress as he spilled into you with a strangled moan, his head thrown back, wrists tugging uselessly against the restraints. You collapsed forward, lips brushing his chest, catching your breath against his skin.

A long moment passed in silence. Then he chuckled, breathless and hoarse. “Holy shit.”

You kissed his collarbone before sitting up, fumbling for the little keys on the bedside table and uncuffing one wrist, then the other. He rubbed his arms gently as you rolled off him with a groan.

“Ughhh,” you complained, flopping dramatically onto your back. “My thighs are dead. I did all the work.”

Sunghoon turned to you, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Poor baby.”

You side-eyed him. “That was a workout, I don’t even have to go do the gym.”

He leaned in and kissed your shoulder, lazy and affectionate. “You looked hot doing it.”

“Yeah? You liked that?”

His grin widened. “Too much. But don’t think I’m not getting you back for this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Sunghoon’s eyes darkened. “Both.”

You were sprawled beside Sunghoon, skin flushed and sticky, chest still heaving from the ride you just took him on. 

Your legs felt like jelly, every muscle in your body thrumming with satisfaction, but also a tinge of regret as you muttered, “Never again. My legs are not built for that much cardio.”

Sunghoon laughed softly beside you, the sound low and sweet and lazy. He turned his head on the pillow to look at you, one arm draped over his stomach, hair mussed from your fingers and the way he’d tossed his head back. 

He looked good like this— completely ruined, jaw slack, lips swollen from kissing, eyes heavy with the kind of affection that always made your heart stutter.

“Liar,” he murmured. “You’ll do it again.”

You turned your head to face him, lifting an eyebrow. “Oh? Confident, are we?”

He reached over, brushing his fingers along the curve of your waist, trailing lazy circles over your skin. “You liked being on top. You liked teasing me.” He leaned in, voice lower now, dangerous in that signature Sunghoon way. “But you’re gonna pay for it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, you were into it.”

“I was,” he admitted, unashamed. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to make you beg next time.”

You shivered, not just from his tone, but from the weight of his promise. You could feel it— the way his body shifted closer to yours again, despite having just come, like he couldn’t get enough of you. 

His lips brushed against your shoulder, slow, unhurried, pressing a soft kiss to your skin as if to say, you’re mine. And you were.

You turned to face him fully, slinging a leg over his hips again, gentler now, the hunger momentarily sated but not gone. His hands settled on your thighs instinctively, thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin. You winced slightly. “Okay, maybe I need a break from cowgirl for a week.”

Sunghoon smirked. “A whole week?”

You sighed dramatically, resting your forehead on his chest. “I’m not built for being on top.”

“Aw,  my little pillow princess,” his fingers moved to your hips, massaging gently as he said, “Want me to rub them for you?”

“Mmm,” you hummed. “You’re trying to bribe your way back into my good graces.”

He grinned. “Is it working?”

You looked up at him, lips twitching into a smile. “I’ll let you know once I can feel my legs again.”

For a moment, the mood softened. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the pads of his fingers warm and gentle against your cheek. “You really surprised me tonight,” he murmured.

You blinked at him. “In a bad way?”

“No,” he said quickly. “God, no. You looked so good, baby., all confident and in control like that. You had me fucked up.”

You blushed, even though you tried to keep your face neutral. “You’re always acting like a freak with your ropes and cuffs. I thought maybe you’d be annoyed.”

Sunghoon shook his head slowly, eyes dragging over your face. “Never. You could tell me you want to tie me up and leave me there for hours, and I’d still say thank you.”

You snorted. “Knew you were a slut.”

He smiled and shrugged. “Only for you.”

You laid there for a bit longer, tangled together, your body resting against his, breathing in sync. His hand moved slowly over your back, dipping lower until it reached the curve of your ass, squeezing softly.

“I can’t believe you pulled that stunt,” he said after a while, laughing under his breath. “Like, how long haven you been planning this?”

“Days,” you said proudly. 

Sunghoon gave you a look that made your stomach flip. “That’s so hot.”

“I had to wait until the right moment,” you explained, playing with his hair, twirling strands between your fingers. “I knew if I tried it while you were being all brat-tamer mode, you wouldn’t let me get far.”

He smirked. “Yeah, probably would’ve flipped us over in two seconds.”

“Exactly.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “But tonight you were soft and sleepy.” you giggled “You let your guard down.”

His eyes darkened again. “You played me.”

You nodded proudly. “And you liked it.”

He rolled on top of you in a smooth, fluid motion, pinning your wrists to the mattress, and even though your muscles groaned in protest, a thrill ran down your spine.

“I did like it,” he murmured against your throat, pressing kisses along your jaw. “But that doesn’t mean I’m letting you off easy.”

You whimpered playfully. “But I’m sore…”

“Good.” His voice was pure sin, even as he kissed your neck sweetly. “You’ll be even sorer by the time I’m done next time.”

You swallowed, heart hammering in anticipation. “Is that a promise?”

His tongue flicked over your skin, teeth grazing gently. “A guarantee.”

You shifted beneath him, wrapping your arms around his neck, letting him lay between your thighs again, even if you both knew you wouldn’t go for round two right now. 

Your bodies were too warm, too content, too satisfied for anything more than skin on skin and whispered threats and teasing kisses.

“I’m gonna keep the cuffs on my side of the bed now,” he said suddenly.

You lifted your head. “Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you.”

You grinned. “Smart man.”

He kissed you again, slow and deep. “You’re trouble, baby.”

You looked into his eyes, fingers curling in his hair. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He stared at you for a beat, that smile of his growing. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

[lilacxquartz]

part 17 of 19 of kinktober: trapped

pyramid head x gn!reader

plot: while exploring the town, you find yourself incapacitated in the worst possible position — themes: warning for non con, dark smut, gender neutral reader, size difference, monster fucking, horror, gender neutral smut — w.c: 700ish

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

You were incapacitated.

Trapped in between the barely pried open iron bars, providing just big enough of a gap for your upper body to squeeze through and then… stall. In a way, it was humiliating, but in another sense, it was also terrifying because existing within the town as a whole was a death sentence in its own right. From one little miscalculation—you had potentially doomed yourself.

You tried to dislodge yourself again but the bars were too narrowly placed and you couldn’t push or pull yourself neither back nor forth and in doing so, you only found yourself more stuck than before. Panic quickly swept through your being in violent waves, abandoning all sense of rationality in favour of a hurried escape but nothing was working—but then finally, you heard it—the all too familiar scrape of metal, the thud of staggering footsteps—oh no, no, no… he was here.

You turned your head slightly back to just about catch a glimpse of him filling out the doorway, blocking all gaps of light that otherwise cut into the cell. In an attempt to avoid your flesh likely meeting the blade, you strove to push yourself forward, to at least nullify his efforts to strike you down… but then something else followed suit.

You froze as you felt his calloused hands brush around the soft contours of your exposed flesh; his fingers breaching the torn fabric and tearing away the cloth from the skin, readily exposing you to him. You remained statued in place as you feared for the worst, unable to quite comprehend what he was actually doing to you; almost delicately feeling you up—pushing—spreading your legs apart, ripping away at anything that acted as a barrier between you and him.

You tensed as you quickly understood what was following suit; feeling the tip of something very obvious poke against your most vulnerable parts. You writhed around and squirmed under his grip like a fish out of water, only to remain caught and hooked in his presence, feeling him drive into you in a near hungry pursuit. You gritted your teeth as you felt him force himself inside of you, feeling overwhelmed by his monstrous length that completely filled you out to the brim.

With shuddering, quaking cries, you softly wept as he continued to take in his brutal girth, feeling his cock slide in and out of your insides and stretch you out beyond a recoverable limit. With an unforgiving pace, Pyramid Head continued to hilt himself into your core, feverishly bucking into your body as a radiating, almost scalding pain akin to searing agony settled within the confines of your form. Of course however, he showed you no mercy, pounding into you with a near primal fervour; his hips slamming against your behind with each sawing motion.

Somehow, he grew needier as he continued to violate you—his fingernails digging bleeding crescents into the soft peaks of your ass, kneading against the cushioned skin and spreading you open as far as you could physically handle. It was as if he was trying to force you to accommodate the entire capacity of his impossible length, taking advantage of the limiting position, knowing that you couldn’t just pull yourself away.

Nearing his impending climax; his movements soon became more erratic and maybe even sloppy. He leaned his towering form closer wherever he could press against your bare back—causing the iron bars to crack open further—growling out heated breaths that rolled hot down your spine. Each passing thrust caused for you to shake, prompting you to involuntarily roll your eyes to the back of your head and perhaps even see stars from just how overwhelming it all truly was.

Just as you were about to pass out however, the monster finally came undone with one final violent rut of his stuttering hips. You gasped as you felt a stream of hot oozing warmth fill your senses to such an extent that your stomach nearly bulged from his pent up release.

Thinking it was all over, you tried to close your eyes to recover—but then you were promptly taken out of the cell, readily carried around like a rag doll, to be used and paraded around per each of his passing whims.

In a way you were thankful that he wasn’t going to end you outright.

But then you realised what your life was about to become and that much had otherwise terrified you.

Not quite a mercy after all and worse yet, rather a sentence in the hell you found yourself in.

[rafesbows]

ok weird request..

can you PUHLEASE do one with submissive rafe being loud in bed? like I mean excessively loud.. that's it!

his head is thrown back against the pillows, throat exposed, adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out another loud, broken moan. rafe doesn’t even try to hold back—not when your hips roll over him just right, not when your tight, wet heat is dragging him to the edge so fast he can barely breathe.

"f-fuck—baby," he whimpers, voice cracking as his hands grip your waist like a lifeline. "oh my god—oh my fucking—"

you press your palm over his mouth, barely holding back a giggle at how absolutely wrecked he looks beneath you. his lashes flutter, his brows pinched together in pure desperation, but that doesn't stop the muffled whines spilling against your skin.

"rafe," you tease, leaning down until your lips brush his ear. "you’re so loud."

he nods frantically, eyes squeezing shut as his hips buck up to meet yours. he’s completely at your mercy, panting against your palm, body trembling as he gets closer and closer to the edge.

when you move your hand, he immediately lets out the neediest moan you’ve ever heard, his head lolling to the side, his fingers digging into your thighs. "baby, please—please, i’m gonna—"

and then he’s gone, shuddering beneath you, his moans loud, completely helpless as he falls apart, pleasure overtaking every inch of him.

rafe is a mess beneath you. his fingers are gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles turn white, his chest heaving, lips parted as the prettiest, most desperate sounds slip out.

"baby, please," he whimpers, voice wrecked, hips jerking up despite himself. his eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you, his lower lip trembling. "i—I can’t—"

you hum, tilting your head. "can’t what, rafe?"

he groans, throwing his head back against the pillows. "c-can’t hold it," he stutters, his body arching as you pick up the pace. "feels too good—fuck—too fucking good."

you run your nails down his chest, watching as he shivers under your touch. "so sensitive," you murmur, your tone full of amusement.

he nods frantically, his hands reaching for you, but he’s too weak to do anything but grasp at your wrists. "m’so sensitive," he echoes, his voice so soft, so needy.

you lean in, pressing your lips to his ear. "then be a good boy and take it for me."

rafe lets out the loudest, most broken moan yet, his whole body trembling as he completely falls apart.

@ rafesbows

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Demon time I guess. Here are some head canons.

J.Price

likes butt stuff. He enjoys anal sex and anal play. Likes seeing you wear a princess plug. Enjoys his woman in frills and silks and in see-through robes. He goes down on his woman and has to be pried off. Don't interrupt his meal, sweetheart. He works hard so give him this. Just lay back. Oh is the princess plug not enough? It's just to open your ass up for him so he can fuck it deep and hard. No he isn't going slow, this hole is for fucking, the other is for love making and baby making.

S.Riley

Likes a woman that tells him what to do. He won't admit it, but he is very much a sub. When he's with his woman, there isn't a thought behind his brown eyes. She makes him walk around the house naked, maybe allowing him a jock strap if she's feeling merciful. It's not without rhyme or reason, though. She makes him be exposed, and he sees his gorgeous body in every mirror surface in his house. She insists that he's her pretty boy, scars and all. If he meets his quota of complimenting himself daily then he is allowed to hump her So Kates. But he can't cum on them unless he wants to be licking her heels clean.

K.Garrick

He is a classic man. A pleasure dom. He has no control over his life or job. So he finds it where he can get it. And that's his woman. Every ounce of pleasure belongs to him. He gets a thrill out of denying an orgasm if he thinks you haven't earned it. Enjoys pulling orgasmic shivers from your body when you think you can't give him another one. His favorite thing is to tie you up in intricate binds. And then he is placing a wand vibrator to your clit and smiling as you whine. You want his fingers? No sweety he decides if you get those and you won't get that till after he gets what he wants, and he wants a ruined orgasm from you first. He knows it cruel but seeing you cry is too cute.

J.MacTavish

A dog. A mutt. But his wee bonnie lass knew that since day one. Over the countertop in the kitchen. On the living room floor. Against the front door. In the shower. For some reason anywhere but the fucking bed. He's insatiable. All of that pent-up energy has to go somewhere. His balls ache from not coming in you or on you. He doesn't care if you had sex an hour ago. You can't just leave him hanging bonnie 😟. It's okay sweet thing, he'll eat your pussy for a bit, relax you and then fuck you in the bed since your knees have rug burn.

[headspace-hotel]

Eustress, or The Feeling of Mastery

When I heard the word "eustress" I didn't care for it, because it felt more meaningful than the word itself could hold. I explored that concept, over the next couple years, kept having experiences that returned me to it. Eustress: moderate or normal psychological stress, interpreted as being beneficial. How silly. There was a something in that word, but the word was an inappropriate enclosure for the something.

I made my own doctor's appointment and went to it. This was the hardest thing I did that year. It was a new kind of hard. I had always thought I would feel the sickening tightness of forcing, the nausea of silencing my body and my feelings to comply with orders from another person. That was the essence of my medical experiences throughout life: coercion, lack of autonomy, shame, being demeaned and belittled. The trauma resisted being treated as an irrational fear to be pushed down and ignored, so I accepted it. I released the werewolf gnawing on my guts and let the wolf-part of me decide how medical professionals would be allowed to speak to me and to touch my body. I wrote down these boundaries, brought them to the appointment, and walked like an apex predator. And it worked. That fall, I got my flu shot for the first time in my adult life. No crash of adrenaline, no trapped, agonizing panic.

A new kind of hard: not the hard of a dog in a cruel experiment being shocked with electricity no matter what it does, more like the hard of a sled dog running as fast as it can, a bloodhound latching onto a scent, a herding dog weaving and dodging to maneuver the sheep into their pen.

That's how I feel when I'm out, somewhere I probably shouldn't be, exploring some woods or a neglected hay field, searching for plants. You can discover anything in the places no one looks: little pockets of biodiversity, rare species, ecosystems thriving under the mercy of being forgotten. I feel...focused. Locked in. Perfectly stimulated by my environment. I'm good at what I'm doing: good at navigating thickets and clambering over rocks, wading through weeds and mud and weaving through brambles, observant, sharp-eyed, and I know what I'm looking at, where almost nobody else does. Swamp milkweed. Smooth carrionflower. Lyre-leaf sage. Alsike clover. Knowing them all by name is like a sixth sense, a power to move through a higher dimension. A world invisible to others becomes known to you.

Sometimes I feel this way when I'm writing, or rereading my own writing. Damn, I'm good. Sometimes I feel this way when cutting kudzu or invasive bamboo in the forest at work, tying them into a bundle and using my strength and stamina to drag them back to the nature center where they can be made useful in crafts and projects. Sometimes I feel this way when walking, covering ground between A to B, cooled by the breeze through my comfy linen pants. I'm a machine, a persistence predator, an animal doing what it evolved to do. Solving a chemistry problem and realizing I understand it. Pulling off a tough platforming section in a video game. That intoxicating feeling of strength and efficacy.

The counterpart of eustress is distress, the usual association of the word "stress." That's why eustress is hard to wrap your head around, because you imagine the feeling of being overwhelmed and powerless and try to come up with a version of that that's good and enriching (you can't). Insight arrived after that doctor's appointment, when I experienced the crucial ingredient of feeling powerful, not powerless. Then I thought of other times when I felt powerful, when I felt challenged but also engaged, stimulated, maybe even exhilarated.

Another word for this feeling might be mastery. It is good for us, I think. Not just to experience mastery, but to be exposed to it. Watching Simone Biles perform gymnastics makes my brain light up with pleasure, recognizing that I am witnessing pure excellence. Music, art, athletics, films, dance. Wow! That's excellent. Wow! Such mastery of the craft! Wow! So much practice and training! It is amazing how many things a human being could potentially become excellent at.

It's the same when watching a creature behave as it evolved to do, showing excellence within its niche. A tree swallow looping and diving, bumble bees pollinating flowers, a deer leaping gracefully. Wow! Millions of years of evolution, a creature thriving and excelling. I felt this when seeing a soft-shell turtle next to the road sprint into the creek and dive beneath the water as I approached. I didn't know a turtle could move that fast. Wow! What a weird-looking creature- but it's excellent at being the thing that it is.

Humans are adaptable, incredibly so. We can choose the thing that we are. We can be a lot of things. And we can be excellent at them. And no matter what it is, whether swimming or rock climbing or singing or dancing or worm charming (it's a real thing, look it up), there can be that glowing hum of pleasure at being good at it. Or watching others be good at it. That feeling can be a form of guidance. Okay, you're good at it...how does it feel to be good at it?

Are you challenging yourself enough? Are you pushing yourself hard enough? Maybe that's not the right question. Maybe instead it's: Does it feel good to be good at it? When you're doing less than your potential and not growing, the activity would probably cease to be stimulating. Eustress has two opposites: distress and boredom.

Of course it's bad for mental health when things are not effortful enough. That's why zoo animals need enrichment, and even pets can benefit from puzzle toys and ways to "earn" their food and treats. If things are effortless, then you don't experience effort leading to results, and that is a lot like being powerless. Whereas if you have the opportunity to expend effort and focus towards a result, getting the result makes you feel empowered.

Maybe this is one of the purposes of play: to psychologically recover from coerced effort, fruitless effort, or lack of opportunity for effort and reward, by rehearsing scenarios where a creature can feel effective and masterful doing something. From that perspective, play is a way of getting your healthy dose of eustress.

I am working on how to apply this knowledge...

[jupiterpilgrim]

New Skin

Irene Bae x male reader

word count: 15K

commissioned fic

It’s mid-afternoon, that point where productivity takes a nosedive and the clock hands seem to wade through treacle. You push back from your desk, time to stretch the legs. And, coincidentally, time to see if Irene Bae actually finished inputting those quarterly projection figures. That’s the official reason, anyway. The one you’d type into a time-tracking app if this place were that anal.

Unofficially? You just want to talk to her.

Irene. She’s been with the company for three or four months now. Casual contract, data entry, the kind of gig that’s meant to be a revolving door. But she’s stuck around. And in that time, she’s cultivated an air of almost complete invisibility. She’s a whisper in the office cacophony, a muted color in a palette of forced corporate brightness. She does her work, meticulously, flawlessly. Never complains, never participates in the break-room bitching sessions or the awkward birthday cake celebrations. Most people probably don’t even know her real name.

But you do. Bae Joohyun. You’d seen it on her initial paperwork. Irene’s the name she goes by here.

She speaks to you. Not much, never initiating, but she responds. There's a politeness there, a guarded stillness that never tips into outright rudeness, which is more than some of the other office drones manage. Maybe it’s because you’re her supervisor, a rung or two up the ladder. Maybe it’s because you’ve made a point of being… well, not a dick. Friendly, even. You try to be, anyway. God knows this place needs a bit less soul-crushing bureaucracy and a bit more basic human decency.

You weave through the maze of cubicles, a landscape of grey fabric and flickering screens. The usual suspects are in their pens: Wendy from accounts scrolling through what definitely isn’t work-related, Seulgi from marketing on yet another clearly personal call, her explanations pitched low and urgent. You offer a vague nod if anyone catches your eye, but your trajectory is set. Irene’s little nook is at the far end, slightly more isolated than the others, a small mercy in this open-plan purgatory.

As you round the last partition, you see her. And fuck, she looks… good. Really good. It’s nothing outrageous, nothing that would breach the unwritten dress code. She’s wearing a simple black top, some kind of soft, clinging material, with three-quarter sleeves. It’s understated, like everything about her, but it hugs the lean lines of her petite frame in a way that makes you notice the toned strength beneath. Her black hair, usually just neatly tied back or falling straight, has a slight wave today, like she maybe didn’t have time to fully straighten it, and it catches the shitty office light, making it gleam. Her head is bent, focused on her screen, one slender hand guiding a mouse, the other resting near the keyboard. Even the line of her neck, exposed where her hair parts, seems delicate, smooth.

You pause for a beat, a couple of feet from her desk, just taking her in. It’s not a leering thing, not really. More like… appreciation. Like noticing a rare, quiet bird in a flock of pigeons. There's a subtle tension around her, even in repose, like a coiled spring. You’ve always sensed it.

You clear your throat, just a little, not wanting to startle her. "Hey, Irene."

She looks up, and for a split second, before the usual mask of polite reserve slides perfectly into place, you see something else. A flicker of… surprise? No, not quite. Vulnerability, maybe? It’s gone before you can properly catalog it. Her dark eyes meet yours, large and surprisingly intense in her small face. No smile, not usually, but the tightening around her eyes isn't hostile.

"Oh. Hi," she replies. Her speaking manner is soft, not quite a whisper, but definitely low, like she’s conserving energy, or maybe just doesn’t want her syllables to travel too far.

"Just doing the rounds," you say, leaning a casual shoulder against the fabric wall of her cubicle. Trying for breezy. "Making sure everyone’s still alive after that marathon budget meeting this morning." You didn’t actually ask her to be in that meeting; her role doesn't require it. Just making conversation.

A tiny, almost imperceptible dip of her chin. "It sounded… long."

"You have no idea. I think a part of my soul shriveled up and died in there." You give a mock shudder. "Anyway, I was wondering how you were getting on with those quarterly figures. The ones for the Anderson account?"

She swivels slightly in her chair, her movements economical and precise. Her gaze drops to her monitor, then back to you. "I finished them about an hour ago. They should be in the shared drive, under 'Q3 Projections - Final'."

Of course, she did. Meticulous. You knew she would be. "Ah, brilliant. Knew I could count on you." You make a mental note to actually check them later, just for form's sake. "No problems with the source data? Sometimes marketing sends it through looking like a dog’s breakfast."

"There were a few inconsistencies in the initial dataset from last Tuesday, but I cross-referenced them with the updated figures from yesterday morning. It should be accurate now."

See? Smart. Doesn’t just blindly input. She actually thinks. Most of the temps just plough through, garbage in, garbage out. You find yourself smiling, a genuine one. "That’s great, Irene. Seriously. Saves me a headache later."

Her eyes flick down, then back up. Is that a hint of… satisfaction? Hard to tell with her. She’s a masterclass in neutral. "I just try to make sure it’s done correctly."

"And you do," you affirm, pushing off the wall slightly, taking a half-step closer, more into her personal space than you usually would, but keeping it open. "So, uh, besides saving the company from numerical chaos, what else is on the agenda for you today? Any exciting plans for… data collation?"

She considers the question, or at least appears to. Her fingers tap once, very lightly, on her desk. The nails are bare, neatly trimmed. No polish. "I have the backlog from the Henderson merger to sort through. It’s… substantial."

"Sounds thrilling," you say, and this time, you think you see the corner of her mouth twitch. A ghost of a smile. Progress. "Well, don't let it swallow you whole. If you hit any major roadblocks, or if the sheer tedium becomes a threat to your sanity, you know where I am."

"Thank you," she says, and her gaze lingers on yours for a fraction of a second longer than usual. There’s an odd sort of directness in her eyes when she properly meets your look, like she’s assessing something deep inside you. It’s unnerving and intriguing as hell. "I appreciate that."

"No worries." You linger for another moment, searching for something else to say, some way to keep this fragile thread of interaction going. You notice a small, potted succulent on the corner of her otherwise bare desk. It’s a tiny, unassuming thing, but it’s green and alive. "New plant?"

She glances at it. "Oh. Um. Yes. My… neighbor was moving and couldn’t take it."

"It’s… resilient looking," you offer, which is a stupid thing to say about a plant, but it’s out there now.

A tiny, almost inaudible huff of air escapes her. It might have been a laugh. It really might have been. "It’s supposed to be hard to kill. That’s what she said."

"Always a good quality in an office plant," you agree. "Or an office worker, for that matter. Well, I’ll let you get back to the thrilling Henderson merger files. Thanks again."

"You’re welcome," she says, her attention already starting to drift back towards her screen, the brief opening in her defenses slowly closing up. But it was there. A little crack.

You find yourself reluctant to leave, to let the usual office drone silence settle back over her. The way that black top clings just so to the curve of her back as she turns slightly, the faint, clean scent that you can only catch when you’re this close (something like fresh laundry and maybe a hint of a very subtle, floral soap). It’s doing things to your concentration that have absolutely nothing to do with quarterly projections. You know you should probably just go, get back to your own mountain of work, but there's a pull, a quiet magnetism she exudes that makes you want to just… stay. See if another tiny piece of the real Irene Bae might surface if you wait long enough, patiently enough.

That faint, almost-laugh, the tiny, fleeting opening… it’s enough. It’s more than enough. Now or never, idiot. Before the professional shell hardens completely again, before she retreats back into that fortress of polite distance.

"So," you begin, trying to make it sound like the most casual afterthought in the world, even as a different, less casual thought hammers in your head, don't fuck this up. "Seeing as it's Monday, and Mondays officially suck by universal decree… I was thinking of grabbing a drink after work. You know, just to sort of… defiantly kickstart the week. Would you, uh, be interested in joining? In case you don't have any other more interesting plan. No big deal if you have, totally get it."

There, it’s out. You hold your breath without meaning to.

Irene’s gaze, which had started to drift back to her monitor, snaps back to you. For a moment, her face is perfectly, utterly blank. Not surprised, not annoyed, just… still. Like a photograph. Then, a slow blink. She looks down at her neatly folded hands in her lap, then back up at you.

"That’s… very kind of you," she says. "But I think I’ll have to pass. I have a few things I need to finish up here."

A polite decline. Of course. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, managing a smile that you hope looks understanding and not like you just got gently punched in the gut. "Hey, no problem at all. Totally understand. Rain check for another lifetime, maybe?" you add, trying to keep it light, to show her it’s genuinely okay.

A tiny, almost imperceptible softening around her eyes. "Maybe." She offers that. "I’ll send through that Henderson merger summary report by end of day."

"Sounds good," you nod, already backing away, giving her space. "Don’t let it bury you alive. And, uh, thanks again for the Anderson stuff."

"You’re welcome."

And just like that, she turns back to her screen, the brief window of interaction decisively closed. You walk away, a familiar mix of mild disappointment and a strange sort of respect for her unbreachable composure settling in. Well, you tried. Can’t say you didn’t try.

The rest of the afternoon crawls by. You actually do your work, or at least a passable imitation of it. Around five-thirty, an email pings into your inbox. Subject: Henderson Merger Summary - Irene Bae. You click it open. The report is attached, and even a cursory glance tells you it’s immaculate. Clear, concise, all the key data points highlighted, potential issues flagged with brief, intelligent notes. Fucking hell, she’s good. Way too good for a casual data entry gig. You fire off a quick reply: "This is perfect, Irene. Seriously, amazing work. Thanks!"

No reply to that. You didn’t expect one.

By six, the office is starting to empty out. The symphony of keyboards has dwindled to a few sporadic taps. You grab your bag, sling your jacket over your shoulder, and head for the elevators. As one slides open with a soft hydraulic sigh, you step in, pressing the button for the ground floor. Just as the doors are about to close, a hand darts out, stopping them.

Irene.

She slips inside, her movements quick and economical as always. She’s got a small, plain handbag over her shoulder, and she looks… tired. There are faint shadows under her eyes that weren’t as noticeable in the brighter office lights. The doors close, encasing you both in the small, brushed-steel box. An awkward silence immediately descends. This is always the worst part of accidental shared elevator rides.

"Hey," you manage, because the silence is starting to feel like a physical weight. "That report you sent? Seriously, top-notch. You made my evening a lot easier."

She looks up at you, a brief flicker in her dark eyes. "I’m glad it was helpful."

Her reply is soft, barely disturbing the canned muzak seeping from a hidden speaker. The silence stretches again, punctuated only by the quiet hum of the elevator descending. One floor. Two. You can feel the seconds ticking by. You want to say something else, anything, but the words just don’t come. Don’t be that guy, you tell yourself. Don’t be the slightly-too-eager supervisor cornering the quiet girl in an elevator.

She probably just wants to get home. Respect that.

The doors slide open onto the ground floor lobby. Freedom.

"Well, have a good night, Irene," you say, stepping out, already turning towards the exit. "See you tomorrow."

You’re halfway to the main glass doors when you hear it.

"You asked… if I had plans."

Her words are so quiet you almost miss them, almost think you imagined them against the backdrop of distant traffic noise and the lobby’s echoing emptiness. You stop. Turn around slowly. Irene is standing just outside the elevator, her bag clutched in front of her, looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher.

"Yeah," you say, walking back towards her. "I did."

"I don’t," she states. Just like that. No preamble, no explanation for the earlier refusal. Just: "I don’t have plans."

Holy shit. Your brain seems to short-circuit for a second. Okay. Okay, asshole, she just threw you a goddamn lifeline. Don't drown. You swallow, trying to regain some semblance of composure, to make your next words sound casual and not like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.

"Oh. Well, in that case," you begin, a slow smile spreading across your face, "the offer for that drink still stands. To, you know, combat the general Monday-ness of things. I know this great little bar not too far from here, actually. Good music, not too loud, and they make a mean old-fashioned, if you’re into that sort of thing." You pause, holding her gaze. "What do you say?"

She looks at you, properly looks, for what feels like a full minute. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a terrifying second, you think she’s going to say no again. Then, the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod. "Okay."

"Okay?" you echo, a grin breaking free. "Yeah, okay. Brilliant. My car’s just in the parkade across the street."

The walk to your car is filled with a slightly giddy, slightly surreal silence. You keep stealing glances at her. Irene Bae, willingly accompanying you somewhere. It feels… momentous. You unlock the car, a slightly battered but reliable sedan, and open the passenger door for her. She murmurs a "thank you" and slides in.

Once you’re both in and you’ve navigated out of the dimly lit parkade into the early evening traffic, the atmosphere in the car feels charged, but not uncomfortably so. It’s the buzz of something new, unexpected.

"So," she says, breaking the silence first, her gaze on the passing cityscape, a blur of office lights and neon signs. "This job. Is it… what you always wanted to do?"

You laugh, a short, surprised sound. "Managing quarterly reports and navigating inter-departmental squabbles? Not exactly the dream I had when I was, like, ten." You glance at her. "It’s alright, though. Pays the bills. I’ve kind of gotten used to it, you know? Found a rhythm. Got a decent team, for the most part. People I actually don’t mind seeing every day. That’s something, right?"

"It is," she agrees, turning her head slightly to look at you. "You’re good at it."

That surprises you. "You think so?"

"Yes," she says, with a quiet certainty that makes you sit up a little straighter. "You don’t… take advantage. Of your position." Her eyes flick to the road, then back to you. "You treat everyone like they matter. Even the casuals." There's a faint emphasis on the last word, a shadow in her tone that makes you wonder.

"Well, that’s just… basic decency, isn’t it?" you say, a little embarrassed by the praise. "Nothing to write home about. Everyone’s just trying to get through their day."

"Not everyone sees it that way," Irene counters, her words flat, devoid of inflection, but carrying a weight nonetheless. "I’ve worked in places… with terrible superiors."

"Ah, the petty tyrants of middle management," you sigh, shaking your head. "People with miserable, unhappy lives who get a tiny sliver of power and suddenly think they’re Genghis Khan in a polyester suit. They try to feel better by making everyone else feel smaller. It’s pitiful, really. Because at the end of the day, they’re still just employees. Same as anyone else. One major screw-up, one too many complaints, and they’re out on their ass just like the next person." You glance at her. "Hope you didn’t have to deal with too many of those."

She doesn’t answer directly, just looks out her window again. "It happens."

A beat of silence. You change the subject, not wanting to dwell on whatever bad experiences she’s clearly had. "So, do you live around here? Or am I kidnapping you to the other side of the city for this drink?"

"No, I live pretty close by, actually. Just a few blocks from the office."

"Oh, good," you say. "Well, after we’ve thoroughly deflated Monday’s ego with a beverage or two, I can drop you off, if you like. Save you the walk."

She turns to you again, and this time, the smile is a little more definite, reaching her eyes. "Thank you. I’d like that."

The bar is that classic thing: dimly lit, exposed brick, a long mahogany counter gleaming under strategically placed spotlights and indie rock plays at a conversational level. It’s busy enough to have a buzz, but not so packed you can’t find a quiet corner. You spot a small, empty table tucked away near a bookshelf filled with mismatched paperbacks. Perfect.

You lead her over, pulling out one of the sturdy wooden chairs for her. "Best seat in the house," you announce with a mock flourish.

She slides into the chair, her handbag placed neatly on her lap. "It’s nice," she says, looking around, taking it all in. "I like it."

"Glad it meets with your approval," you grin. "Now, the crucial question: what are you drinking?"

Her eyes scan the chalkboards behind the bar listing craft beers and cocktails. "Um. Maybe a… gin and tonic? If they have a good gin."

"Consider it done." You head to the counter, weaving through a few small groups. You order her G&T, specifying a decent small-batch gin you know they carry, and an old-fashioned for yourself. Waiting for the bartender to work his magic, you glance back at Irene. She’s watching the other patrons, her expression unreadable but not, you think, uncomfortable. She looks small and almost delicate in the low light, yet there’s that core of resilience you always sense in her.

Drinks secured, you carry them carefully back to the table. You set her tall, clinking glass in front of her and place your own squat tumbler down. Sliding into the chair opposite, you make sure you’re facing her directly. This feels good. Really good.

You pick up your glass. "Well," you say, raising it slightly.

Irene mirrors your action, her dark eyes questioning yours over the rim of her glass. "What are we toasting to?" she asks

A grin spreads across your face. "To new beginnings," you start, then amend it. "No, scratch that. To Monday nights that don’t suck. And, more importantly," you meet her gaze directly, "to the best goddamn casual worker this company has ever had the dumb luck to hire."

A beat of silence. Then, something remarkable happens. Irene laughs. It’s not a loud laugh, not a boisterous one. It’s a soft, breathy sound, genuine and utterly unexpected, crinkling the corners of her eyes and making her whole face light up for a precious, unguarded moment. "Oh my god," she says, still chuckling, shaking her head slightly. "Thank you." She clinks her glass against yours. "I’ll drink to that.”

That shared laugh, her unexpected, genuine amusement: it’s like a key turning in a rusty lock. The air between you shifts, losing some of its earlier, fragile tension, replaced by something warmer, more… possible. You take a slow sip of your old-fashioned, the sharp bite of whiskey and bitters a pleasant counterpoint to the sweetness of the moment. Her gin and tonic is already a little lower in its tall glass, the ice clinking softly as she sets it down.

"So," you begin, leaning back a fraction, trying to project casual interest rather than the full-blown interrogation your curiosity is screaming for. "Aside from being a spreadsheet wizard and a savior of Monday nights, what else does Irene Bae get up to?”

"Nothing too extraordinary. I like to read. And I walk a lot. Explore the city."

"Reading, huh? Anything good lately?" You try to keep your follow-up equally light. You’re intensely aware that every question is a potential landmine. Too personal, too probing, and she might just vanish back into that shell.

"I just finished a collection of short stories," she offers, her words measured. "Modern gothic. Quite dark."

"Sounds… cheerful," you remark, raising an eyebrow. "Matches the general Monday vibe, I guess." Your internal monologue is whirring: Modern gothic. Dark. Okay, that’s… interesting. Not exactly chick-lit. Adds another layer to the enigma.

She gives a tiny shrug, a graceful, minimal movement. "I find it interesting." She takes a delicate sip of her drink, her eyes watching you over the rim. Then, before you can formulate another carefully casual question, she flips it. "What about you? When you’re not cracking the whip at the office or rescuing Mondays, what’s your grand passion?"

The question, coming from her, feels like a small gift. You lean forward, genuinely pleased to share, to keep the conversational ball rolling. "Ha, 'cracking the whip.' If only. Mostly I just try to keep the ship from hitting the nearest iceberg." You grin. "Passions? Let’s see. I’m a bit of a film nerd. Old movies, foreign films, anything that isn’t a superhero sequel, basically. And I attempt to play guitar – emphasis on 'attempt.' My neighbors probably hate me."

"A film nerd?" A flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "Any particular director or era you favor?"

"Oh, man, where to start?" You launch into a slightly-too-enthusiastic explanation of your love for classic film noir, the French New Wave, the oddball genius of Kurosawa. You talk about the satisfaction of finally tracking down a rare print, the joy of watching a masterpiece on a big screen, even if it’s just at the local art-house cinema. You’re aware you’re probably rambling a bit, but she’s listening. Or at least, she appears to be. She’s still, her gaze fixed on you, not interrupting, just… absorbing. It’s more attention than she’s ever given you in the office.

You eventually wind down, a little breathless, feeling slightly foolish for your impromptu lecture. "Sorry," you say, laughing a bit. "Probably more than you ever wanted to know about black and white cinematography."

"No, it’s… interesting," she says, and you think she actually means it. Or maybe she’s just incredibly polite. "You’re passionate about it. It’s clear."

"Yeah, I guess I am." You take another swallow of your drink. The warmth of the whiskey spreads through your chest, mingling with the unexpected warmth of this conversation. "So, you said you walk a lot. Any favorite spots in the city? Hidden gems I should know about?"

"I haven't found any particularly interesting places yet. But, uh, I went to a historic library this month and the place is really pretty. I think that's a start."

"Sounds interesting. The city’s definitely got a lot to offer if you just wander. I keep meaning to do more of that myself, but, you know, life. Work."

"It can be hard to find the time," she agrees, her gaze returning to yours. Her expression is neutral, but her eyes are observant, constantly gauging. You have the distinct feeling you’re being carefully evaluated. "Do you… enjoy living here? In this city?"

"Yeah, I do, actually," you reply honestly. "It’s not where I grew up, but I’ve been here long enough that it feels like home. There’s always something going on, good food, decent music scene. And it’s big enough that you can disappear if you want to, but small enough that you still run into people you know. What about you? Are you originally from here?"

Another brief hesitation. "No. Not originally." She offers no more than that. Another door, gently closed. You’re learning the rhythm of it: she’ll answer the direct question, but volunteer nothing extra about herself.

"Well, no need to thank me for revealing the best gin in the city," you joke, gesturing to her glass.

A tiny smile again. "This place is cool. And the gin is really good."

"Well, I know you are a reserved person, but I’m honored you made an exception for my 'kickstart the week' initiative."

"It was…" she pauses, as if searching for the right word, "...a good suggestion."

The conversation flows like that for a while longer, a gentle ebb and flow of questions and answers. You learn that she prefers tea to coffee, that she finds crowded places overwhelming, that she once had a cat but doesn’t currently. Each piece of information is tiny, almost inconsequential on its own, but you hoard them like precious gems. In return, you tell her about your disastrous attempts at cooking, a funny story about your college roommate that happened years ago, your undying loyalty to a consistently terrible local sports team. You’re careful to keep it light, to match her level of disclosure, but inside, you’re buzzing. You’re actually talking to Irene Bae, and she’s… talking back. It feels like a minor miracle.

Her drink is nearly empty, and yours isn't far behind. The initial energy of the bar has mellowed into a comfortable, late-evening hum. You catch the bartender’s eye, you lift two fingers, then tap your chest and mouth "non-alcoholic beer for me this time." He nods, already reaching for a specific bottle from the cooler. Driving Irene home safely is suddenly a very high priority.

When he brings the drinks, a fresh, fragrant G&T for her, and a dark, malty-looking non-alcoholic brew for you, Irene is watching you, that quiet, considering look in her eyes again.

"So, about the work,” you start, “are you actually, you know, enjoying your time at the company? Aside from my brilliant supervisory skills, of course."

"It’s… okay," she says, which from Irene is practically a glowing endorsement. "I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, since I’m usually… quiet."

"Hey, quiet is fine," you interject quickly. "You’re always polite, you do incredible work, and you haven’t tried to set fire to the servers yet. Honestly, that puts you in the top percentile of casuals we’ve had." You mean it. "Seriously though, as long as you’re not miserable, that’s what matters."

"I’m not miserable," she confirms. "It’s… structured. Predictable. I appreciate that."

"Good." You nod, relieved. "So, what’s the plan then? Your current contract is up in, what, another month or so? Any thoughts on what you’ll do next? Back to the exciting world of job hunting?" You try to keep it light, but there’s an underlying purpose to your question now.

She looks down into her drink, swirling the ice with a long, slender finger. The small gesture somehow seems incredibly thoughtful. "I haven’t really thought that far ahead," she admits. "Find another job, I suppose. That’s usually how it goes."

This is it. Your opening. Your heart gives a little thump. "Well," you begin, trying to sound casual, like this is just a random thought that popped into your head. "About that. There’s actually been some talk… about your role."

Her head comes up, eyes narrowed slightly in question.

"The thing is, Irene," you lean forward a fraction, "you’re kind of indispensable. And some of us, higher up the food chain, have noticed that." You take a breath. "So, I was wondering… how would you feel about making your position full-time? Permanent contract, benefits, the whole shebang."

She stares at you, her expression unreadable. Surprise, definitely. Maybe a hint of suspicion? "You… can do that?"

"Not me, personally," you clarify quickly. "This isn't me pulling strings as your dashingly handsome supervisor." You shoot her a quick grin, which she doesn’t return, her focus entirely on your words. "The decision actually came from the big boss, old Henderson himself, after seeing the quarterly summaries and the work you did on that merger data. He was… impressed. He asked me to sound you out, see if you’d be interested. I was planning on talking to you about it sometime this week, but, well, now seems as good a time as any, right?"

Irene is silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on some distant point over your shoulder. You can almost see the gears turning in her head. Finally, she looks back at you. "I… I’d have to think about it."

"Of course," you say immediately. "No pressure at all. Seriously. Take your time. But," you can't help adding, "it would be really great to have you on board properly. As a, you know, full-fledged contract worker."

She cocks her head, a tiny, bird-like movement. "Why?"

The question is so direct, so simple, it throws you for a second. "Why?" you echo. You hesitate, searching for the right words. The real reasons are a tangled mess of professional admiration and a rapidly growing personal affection that feels way too soon, too intense to articulate. "Well, because… because you’re an excellent professional, Irene," you land on, hoping it sounds convincing. "You’re efficient, you’re meticulous, your attention to detail is incredible. You make my job easier, and you make the whole team look good."

She shakes her head slowly, a faint frown touching her lips. "What I do… it’s no big deal. Data entry, report summaries. There are plenty of people out there who can do the same thing."

You lean forward, a mock-serious expression on your face. "Actually, Irene, I don't like you just doing your job," you say, letting the pause hang for a split second before a grin breaks through. "Because what you do isn't just 'your job.' It's exceptional. And no, not 'several out there' can do it like you." You soften your expression, meeting her gaze earnestly. "Besides, everyone at the company genuinely appreciates you, and your work."

A beat of silence. Then, Irene laughs again, that soft, breathy sound that does ridiculous things to your insides. Her eyes, though, are sparkling with a teasing light you’ve never seen before. "Oh really?" she says, a playful lilt in her quiet words. "Is it everyone? Or is it… just you?"

Heat floods your face. You can feel the blush creeping up your neck. You look away, flustered, trying to come up with a clever retort, but your brain has apparently short-circuited. Shit. You’re usually better at this.

Seeing your reaction, her expression softens. "Hey," she says, her words a soft balm. "I’m just joking." She reaches out, just for a second, and her cool fingertips brush the back of your hand where it rests on the table. "Don’t look so terrified."

You manage a shaky laugh, looking back at her. Her eyes are kind. More than kind.

"And for the record," she continues, her gaze holding yours. "I appreciate that you like my work. You're very kind.”

Irene’s gaze is steady on yours, a hint of that earlier blush still dusting her cheekbones, but her expression is open, almost serene. That tiny, brave nod she gives is more articulate than a thousand words.

"Alright," you manage, letting out a shaky laugh. "Okay. That’s… that’s really good to hear, Irene. So," you venture, your smile softening, "does this mean you’re going to accept my incredibly generous, Henderson-approved proposal to become a permanent fixture of corporate excellence?"

She chuckles. It’s amazing how quickly she seems to be shedding layers of that formidable reserve, at least with you, in this moment. "I said I’d think about it," she reminds you, a playful glint back in her eyes. "No need to rush such a life-altering decision, right?"

"Right, right, of course," you concede, still grinning like an idiot. "Strategic deliberation. I respect that."

And just like that, the initial fear peak passes, settling into a comfortable, warm plateau. You talk. For hours, it seems. The second round of drinks arrives, your non-alcoholic beer surprisingly satisfying, her gin and tonic still her companion. The conversation meanders easily now, a stark contrast to the careful, step-by-step navigation of your earlier interactions. You touch on office matters: the ridiculousness of certain company policies, the upcoming (and dreaded) office move to a new floor, the latest gossip about which department head is feuding with another (which Irene, surprisingly, seems to have a few wry, understated observations about).

Then you drift to side things. You talk more about films you both like, discovering a shared appreciation for a particular cult sci-fi series from the 90s that you’re both shocked the other has even heard of. She mentions, very briefly, a passion for minimalist photography, focusing on urban decay and overlooked details, and you make a mental note to ask her more about it another time, when it feels right. You tell her about your disastrous attempt to learn coding during lockdown, which ended with you accidentally wiping your own hard drive. She doesn’t laugh uproariously, but her shoulders shake a little, and her eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that makes you smile unconsciously.

Time seems to dissolve. The bar gradually empties. You’re both leaning in slightly over the small table, the rest of the world faded into a pleasant, out-of-focus backdrop. It’s only when you catch a glimpse of the clock behind the bar, nudging past midnight, that you realize how long you’ve been here.

"Whoa," you say, genuinely surprised. "Look at the time." You glance at Irene. She does look a little tired now, the earlier animation softened by a gentle weariness around her eyes, though her expression is still content. "I should probably get you home. You must be exhausted."

She stifles a small yawn, then nods. "Probably a good idea. Mondays, even good ones, take their toll."

When the bartender brings the bill, Irene immediately reaches for her handbag. "Let me get my share," she says, her tone matter-of-fact.

You wave your hand dismissively. "Nope. Not a chance. My treat. I did invite you to defiantly kickstart the week, remember?"

"But we had four or five rounds," she protests mildly. "And you offered me a job. The least I can do is pay for my own gin."

"Consider it a pre-emptive signing bonus discussion fee," you counter, already pulling out your card. "Seriously, Irene. It’s on me. Please."

She hesitates for a moment, then a small, appreciative smile touches her lips. "Okay. Thank you. That’s… very chivalrous."

"I have my moments," you say, winking, as you settle the bill.

In the car, the city lights painting fleeting stripes across the dashboard, Irene gives you her address; a street in a quiet, older residential area not far from the office, just as she’d said.

"So," you ask, as you navigate the familiar streets, "you live alone?" It’s a casual question, but your heart beats a little faster waiting for the answer.

"Yes," she replies, looking out at the passing buildings. "For a few years now." She turns her head. "You?"

"Same here," you say. "Just me and my old movie collection. The second part probably justifies the first."

She gives a soft chuckle at that.

You pull up outside a well-maintained older apartment building, with a small, neat garden out front. It looks… peaceful. Like her.

"Well, here we are," you say, putting the car in park.

Irene turns in her seat to face you more fully. "Thank you," she says, her gaze direct and sincere. "For the invitation, for the drinks. It was… a really nice chat. I enjoyed it."

"Me too, Irene," you reply, your own sincerity matching hers. "Thanks for your company. It was a lot of fun. Definitely the best Monday I’ve had in a long time."

"Good night, then," she says softly. Her hand hovers near the door handle. For a wild second, you wonder if you should lean in, if this is the moment for a goodbye kiss, but something in her stillness, a lingering hint of that old reserve, tells you not yet. Don’t push it. Not now.

"Good night, Irene," you echo. "Get some rest."

She nods, gives you one last small smile, and then she’s out of the car, a fleeting figure disappearing into the building’s warmly lit entryway. You wait until you see the lobby door close behind her before pulling away, a wide, goofy grin plastered on your face that doesn’t fade the entire drive home.

—

From that night on, something undeniably shifts. Your bond with Irene, forged in the dim light of that quiet bar, begins to progress in subtle but significant ways. In the office, she still maintains her discreet presence, never drawing undue attention to herself. But with you, things are different. She seeks out your gaze more often across the expanse of cubicles, a small, almost imperceptible smile usually accompanying it. When you approach her desk, she looks up immediately, the guardedness you were so used to now noticeably lessened, replaced by a welcoming warmth in her dark eyes.

She talks to you more, too. Not just about work, though she’s still impeccably professional. She’ll share a wry observation about a particularly mind-numbing office memo, or ask your opinion on a new software rollout. Sometimes, she even initiates the conversation, a quiet "Got a minute?" when she has a genuine query or, increasingly, just something she wants to share. And jokes (Irene actually makes jokes). They’re subtle, dry, delivered with that understated wit you’re quickly coming to adore, but they’re there, little sparks of humor that light up your interactions.

It makes you ridiculously happy, this gradual unfolding. Every shared glance, every quiet conversation, every fleeting smile feels like a victory, a testament to the connection you’re building. You find yourself looking forward to seeing her each day with an eagerness that’s entirely new. There’s no denying it, not anymore. You’re liking Irene Bae more and more, and the thought of where this all might be heading fills you with a buoyant, thrilling anticipation.

The week has been a blur of spreadsheets that all look the same and meetings that could have been emails. Standard. You do your usual wander through the office tundra, a flimsy excuse to stretch your legs and make sure the drones haven't revolted. You offer the requisite nods, the "how’s it goings," the feigned interest in weekend plans that involve either mind-numbing DIY or equally mind-numbing children's soccer games. But really, your internal compass is pointing one way: Irene’s desk.

She’s there, a small, still point in the surrounding office chaos. Head down, focused. God, she’s beautiful. It’s not even a conscious thought anymore, just an accepted fact, like gravity or the office coffee being terrible. Today she’s wearing a cream-colored sweater, soft and slightly oversized, that makes her look even more delicate. Her dark hair is clipped back loosely, a few stray strands feathering her cheek. As you approach, she senses you, looking up. And this time, there’s no hesitation, no fractional delay before her polite mask clicks into place. This time, a small, subtle smile touches her lips almost instantly. It’s a tiny thing, barely a curve, but on Irene, it’s like a goddamn sunrise. Your chest does that stupid warm lurch it’s been doing a lot lately.

"Morning, Irene," you say, leaning against the partition of her cubicle, trying to match her quiet energy. "Or, well, almost afternoon, I guess."

"Good morning," she replies, her words soft, but the smile lingers in her eyes. That’s new. And definitely not unwelcome.

"Just checking in. How’s that… uh… creative asset compilation for the new campaign coming along? The one I dumped on you yesterday with zero notice?" You’d asked her to pull together a bunch of visual elements and a draft for some new ad copy. A bit outside her usual data-entry scope, but you had a hunch she’d be good at it.

"Almost done," she confirms, gesturing vaguely at her screen. "Just finalizing the font choices for the header. It should be ready by three."

"No rush at all, you’re a miracle worker as it is." You glance at her screen, trying to seem interested in fonts, but your attention snags on the small, almost hidden detail on her desk – a tiny, exquisitely wrapped parcel, no bigger than a matchbox, tied with a simple silver ribbon. It wasn't there yesterday. "So," you continue, keeping your tone light, "anything exciting happen since I last graced your cubicle with my overwhelming presence?"

Her gaze flickers to the small parcel, then back to you, and the subtle smile widens just a fraction. "Actually," she says, her fingers brushing the ribbon lightly, "I received what you sent."

Ah. So she got it. This week was her birthday. You’d thought about organizing something, a small surprise with a few of the nicer people on the team. But then you’d pictured Irene, the center of attention, forced smiles, awkward small talk… and you’d nixed the idea. She wasn’t the surprise party type. So, you’d sent a small, carefully chosen gift to her apartment instead (you still had her address from that night at the bar). A collection of short stories by an author she mentioned being a fan of and, apparently, she didn't have this book yet, which is a new release.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, feigning mild surprise. "Well, I hope I didn't choose something boring. Choosing gifts isn't really something I'm very talented at."

A soft chuckle escapes her. "No, it was… lovely. Thank you. You really didn't need to bother, though."

"Hey, what are supervisors for if not to occasionally bother their best employees with unsolicited tokens of appreciation?" you say, grinning. "Glad you liked it." You pause, then decide to take the plunge. "So, listen. Friday today. End of a massively busy week. Any chance I could tempt you with another round of drinks? All on me, of course.”

She looks up, and for a moment, you see that familiar flicker of hesitation, the slight tensing around her eyes. She bites her lip, her gaze dropping to the desk. "I don't know…" she begins, her words very quiet. "Don't you think… people in the office might find it a bit strange? Just you and me, going out for drinks together again?"

Her concern is valid. You’re her supervisor. And while this office isn't exactly a hotbed of malicious gossip, people notice things. But the thought of not seeing her outside these four grey walls, especially after the progress you’ve made, feels… deflating.

You shrug. "Let them think whatever they want. Honestly, Irene, who cares? It's just a couple of colleagues grabbing a drink after a long week. Besides," you add, leaning in a fraction, lowering your tone slightly, "no one here is interesting enough to be a dedicated gossip columnist. They’re too busy worrying about their own TPS reports. You don't need to worry about it."

She looks at you for a long moment. You can see the internal debate warring in her eyes. Then, slowly, a small, almost shy smile. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I’d like that."

—

Lunchtime. You’re at your desk, staring blankly at a spreadsheet that’s threatening to induce a coma, when a small shadow falls over your keyboard. You look up, surprised.

It’s Irene. She’s holding a small, clear plastic container, tied with a simple piece of kitchen twine. Inside, you can see a neat stack of perfectly round, golden-brown cookies. Homemade. No doubt about it.

"Hi," she says, a little shyly, holding out the container. "I, uh… I made these last night. For you. As a thank you. For the… for the other day. And the gift."

You’re genuinely speechless for a second. Irene Bae baked you cookies. You take the container, your fingers brushing hers. "Irene, wow. You… you really didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to," she says, that faint blush back on her cheeks. "They’re just chocolate chip. Nothing fancy." She pauses, then adds, with a tiny, playful smirk, "Don’t get spoiled."

"Too late," you say, already prying the lid off. The smell of warm butter and melted chocolate hits you. "These look incredible. Seriously." You take one, biting into it. It’s perfect: soft and chewy in the middle, slightly crisp around the edges. "Holy shit, Irene, these are… you’re a wizard."

"They’re just cookies."

"No, these are not 'just cookies'," you insist, taking another enthusiastic bite. "These are edible drops of pure happiness. You’re wasted on data entry, you know that? You should open a bakery."

"One business is enough for now," she says, but she looks genuinely pleased by your reaction. She lingers by your desk for a moment, not quite meeting your eye, but not leaving either. "How’s… how’s your day going? You look a little tired."

It’s true. The past few days have been a relentless onslaught of urgent requests, looming deadlines, and a particularly tedious software integration project that’s been fighting you every step of the way. You probably look like you’ve been wrestling a badger.

"Yeah, it’s been a bit of a beast," you admit, rubbing your eyes. "Lots of fires to put out. Trying to get the specs finalized for the Q4 roll-out, plus Henderson is breathing down my neck about those new compliance protocols. Standard corporate fun and games." You try for a light tone. "But I’m fine. Just need about seventeen more cups of coffee."

Her expression softens with something that looks a lot like genuine concern. "Don’t try to do too much," she says. "You’ll burn yourself out."

"Words of wisdom from the cookie queen," you say, smiling at her. "I’ll try to take it easy. Especially since," you add, your grin widening, "I’m really looking forward to those drinks later."

You expect her to just nod, to give one of her polite, non-committal responses. But instead, her eyes meet yours, and there’s a surprising warmth, a definite spark in their depths. "Me too," she says, her words clear and, to your utter astonishment, tinged with what sounds like genuine anticipation.

—

The end-of-day exodus is in full swing, the usual shuffle of tired bodies and the clatter of keyboards being powered down. You catch Irene’s eye as she’s gathering her things, and that subtle smile, the one that’s becoming less of a rarity when you’re around, touches her lips. She does look tired, a faint weariness around her dark eyes, but it doesn’t diminish the quiet prettiness that always seems to cling to her. If anything, the slight vulnerability makes her even more striking.

You meet her by the elevators, a silent agreement passing between you. No need for forced office goodbyes today.

"Ready to officially declare war on the work week?" you ask as you both step out into the cool evening air. The city is already starting to glitter, streetlights blinking on against the fading daylight.

She glances up at you, noticing you're not heading towards the parkade. "No car today?"

"Nope," you say, hands in your pockets as you start walking. "Figured if we're going for drinks, actual drinks, then driving is counterproductive to the whole 'getting drunk and forgetting responsibilities' vibe. Thought we’d walk."

Irene falls into step beside you, her pace surprisingly brisk for someone who looked so weary moments ago. "Didn't you come to work by car today? But… I could have said no to the invitation. You would have walked for nothing."

You shoot her a sideways grin. "Nah. I had a pretty good feeling you’d say yes."

"Very presumptuous of you," she murmurs, but there’s no bite to it, only amusement.

The walk to the bar is easy, the conversation flowing more naturally than it ever has in the sterile confines of the office. You talk like coworkers, at first. The new coffee machine in the breakroom, which everyone agrees is a downgrade despite its fancy chrome exterior. The inexplicable disappearance of all the good pens from the supply closet.

"Seriously," you say, shaking your head as you navigate a cracked paving stone, "it’s like there’s a pen gremlin. I bought a pack of twelve on Monday. By Wednesday, they were all gone."

Irene actually chuckles at that. "It’s Henderson. I saw him pocket one of mine yesterday when he thought I wasn’t looking."

"No way!" you exclaim, genuinely shocked. "The CEO? Stealing pens? That’s… actually kind of hilarious."

"He has very specific preferences for blue ink," she says, her tone dry, and you both laugh.

It’s like this, small talk, office anecdotes. Nothing too deep, nothing too personal, but it’s comfortable. You notice the way she walks, with a quiet grace, her gaze often drifting to the small details of the cityscape around you; an interesting piece of graffiti, an old, weathered doorway, the way the light hits a particular window. She doesn’t say much about what she sees, but you get the feeling she’s absorbing it all.

The bar is the same familiar spot, a haven of dim lights and good music. You find your preferred corner table, and Irene slides into the chair you pull out for her with a small, appreciative nod.

"Same again?" you ask, already knowing her answer.

"Gin and tonic, please," she confirms.

You head to the bar, ordering her drink and another of those surprisingly decent dark ales for yourself.

When you return, she’s watching the crowd, a faint smile on her lips. You set the drinks down, the tall glass of her G&T clinking softly against your bottle. You slide into the chair opposite her, the small table creating a sense of comfortable intimacy.

"Alright," you say, picking up your bottle and raising it slightly. "First round."

She lifts her glass, her dark eyes meeting yours. "To what, exactly, are we dedicating this particular round of defiance against the universe?"

You grin. "To surviving another week of corporate warfare. To Fridays. And," you pause, your gaze softening, "to the fact that the mystery of the stolen pens was finally solved, thanks to your important intel."

"You’re welcome. Happy to assist in the fight against executive kleptomania." She clinks her glass against your bottle. "Cheers."

You both take a sip, a comfortable silence settling between you for a moment. The bar’s atmosphere wraps around you, the low murmur of other conversations, the distant clatter from the kitchen, the bluesy track oozing from the speakers. It feels… right.

"So," you begin, after a while, setting your bottle down. "That whole full-time contract thing. Still mulling it over?"

Irene takes a slow sip of her G&T, her eyes thoughtful. "I am," she admits. "It’s… a big decision. More responsibility. More… permanence."

"No pressure," you reiterate. "The offer stands. But Henderson was genuinely impressed. You’ve made a good mark."

"It’s just… data," she says, looking down into her glass. "It’s not like I’m revolutionizing the industry."

"Hey," you say, leaning forward slightly. "Don’t sell yourself short. You have a knack for seeing patterns, for making sense of chaos. That’s a rare skill. And honestly, the way you transformed that Henderson merger data from an absolute clusterfuck into something coherent? That was art, Irene. Pure, unadulterated, spreadsheet art."

She looks up, and there’s a faint blush on her cheeks, but also a flicker of something else (pride, maybe?) "You really think so?"

"I know so." You pause, then decide to just go for it. "Look, I’m not going to bullshit you. The main reason Henderson wants you on full-time is because you’re damn good at what you do. But for me?" You meet her gaze, holding it. "I just… I really like having you around the office, Irene. You make the place better."

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, her lips parting slightly. The blush deepens. She looks away, down at her glass, then back at you, a complex mix of emotions playing across her usually composed features. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it, takes another sip of her drink.

She finally sets her glass down with a soft click, her fingers tracing the condensation. "That’s… a really nice thing to say," she says.

Your smile widens at her quiet admission, the sincerity in her dark eyes hitting you with a pleasant warmth. "Well, 'nice' is a good start," you say, your own words softer now. "I was aiming for at least 'not actively terrible,' so I’m calling this a win."

She gives a small, almost shy laugh, her gaze dropping to the G&T she’s cradling. The ice cubes shift and clink as she swirls the glass. "You set a low bar for yourself."

"Hey, gotta manage expectations," you retort, grinning. "Especially on a Friday when the main goal is to de-stress, not to impress." You take another sip of your non-alcoholic beer. It’s not bad, actually. Almost makes you feel like a responsible adult.

The conversation flows easily after that, the topics meandering from the absurdities of office life to more general things. She listens with an unreadable but attentive expression as you recount a particularly disastrous client presentation you had to salvage earlier in the year, even managing a small, sympathetic grimace when you get to the part about the projector dying mid-PowerPoint. Hours seem to melt away, marked only by the gradual lowering of the liquid in your glasses and the comfortable rhythm of your shared talk.

It’s Irene who eventually steers the conversation into more personal territory, and it’s so unexpected it almost makes you choke on your beer. She’s been quieter for a few moments, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. Then, she looks up, her dark eyes meeting yours with a new sort of intensity.

"So," she begins, her words careful, measured, "you mentioned your friends at the office. The ones you started with."

"Yeah?" you prompt, curious where this is going.

"Is it… just friendships? Or is there anyone… more specific?" Her gaze is direct, unwavering, and you realize she’s not just making small talk. This is deliberate. She’s plucking up the courage, right here, right now.

You try to keep your expression neutral, but you can feel a faint heat rising in your own cheeks. "More specific how?"

"You know," she says, a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug. "A girlfriend? Someone you’re seeing?" Then, her eyes flick to a point just past your shoulder, a subtle shift. "Like… Seulgi? You two seem… very close."

Ah. Seulgi. You should have seen that coming. Seulgi is vibrant, outgoing, and yes, you two are close. You share a lot of inside jokes, grab lunch together sometimes, and there’s an easy camaraderie between you that probably looks like more than it is to an outside observer. Especially an observant one like Irene.

You lean back in your chair, considering how to answer. Honesty seems like the best policy here, especially with the way Irene is watching you. "Seulgi and I…" you begin, then pause, choosing your words. "Yeah, we’re close. But it’s not… like that. Not anymore, anyway."

Irene’s eyebrows lift slightly. "Anymore?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Might as well just lay it out. "Look, years ago, when we both first started at Henderson Corp, fresh out of uni, barely knew which way was up… yeah, Seulgi and I had a thing. An affair, I guess you’d call it. It was intense, for a while. But it was a long time ago. We were young, stupid, figuring things out." You meet her gaze. "It burned out pretty quick. Honestly, we realized we were much better as friends. And that’s what we are now. Good friends. Nothing more, I promise."

She absorbs this, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, "Aren’t… relationships between employees frowned upon? At the company?"

"Officially?" you shrug. "There’s no explicit rule against it, as long as it doesn't involve a direct reporting line, which ours didn’t, even back then. Henderson’s surprisingly old-school about some things, but pretty laissez-faire about others. Unofficially, the policy is basically: keep it professional at work, don’t let it affect your performance, and for God’s sake, no dramatic breakups in the middle of the quarterly budget cycle." You take a sip of your beer. "What you do on your own time, outside the office walls, is generally considered your own business. As long as you’re not an idiot about it and it doesn’t spill into work, they tend to look the other way."

Irene nods slowly, processing that. "So… it’s okay?"

"Yeah, mostly. Just gotta be smart, maintain professionalism when you're on the clock. Everything’s fine. Honestly, there are probably more office romances brewing in that place than anyone realizes." You grin. "Henderson Corp: Where Careers and Questionable Life Choices Collide."

She gives a small, hesitant smile at that. The conversation drifts a little after that, back to safer, more general topics. You order another round, she sticks to her G&T, you get another non-alcoholic ale. The bar is thinning out now, the Friday night energy mellowing into a late-evening calm. Irene seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen her. She’s leaning back in her chair, one arm resting on the table, her earlier tension almost entirely gone. She even initiates a couple of topics, asking about a book you mentioned earlier, a small, thoughtful question about one of the characters.

It’s as you’re describing a particularly ridiculous plot twist that she starts to chuckle. Not a full laugh, but a series of soft, breathy huffs of amusement, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"What?" you ask, grinning. "Too unbelievable?"

"No, it’s not the book," she says, shaking her head, her smile widening. "It’s you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," she confirms, and there’s a definite warmth in her gaze now. "You’re… you’re actually quite funny." She pauses, as if surprised by her own admission. "It’s… rare. For me to find men funny."

You blink, then let out a surprised laugh yourself. "Is that a compliment, Bae Joohyun?" you tease, using her full name for the first time, enjoying the way a slight blush rises on her cheeks.

She rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn’t fade. "Don’t let it go to your head."

"Too late," you say, your grin spreading wider. "I’m officially adding 'surprisingly humorous to discerning women' to my resume." You lean forward, your elbows on the table, the atmosphere between you feeling lighter, more charged than ever. The drinks, the late hour, her unexpected praise… it’s all coalescing into something…

promising.

"So, Irene Bae, now that we’ve established this mutual… "liking"," you drawl the word out, enjoying the faint blush that returns to her cheeks, "does this improve the odds of you accepting Henderson’s most gracious offer of permanent employment?"

She picks up her G&T, takes a thoughtful sip. "Still thinking," she says, her eyes sparkling over the rim of the glass. "Wouldn't want to seem too eager, would I?"

"Heaven forbid," you agree, playing along. "Strategic ambiguity. Very professional."

The conversation continues, hours evaporate. The bar staff are starting to wipe down distant tables, the music has shifted to something even more mellow, and the crowd has thinned to a few lingering couples and solitary drinkers. Irene glances at the small, elegant watch on her slender wrist.

"Wow, it’s… getting pretty late," she says, her words carrying a hint of surprise, as if she hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed.

You nod, a reluctant sigh escaping you. The beer has settled into a comfortable warmth in your system, your limbs loose, your head pleasantly fuzzy. "Yeah, you’re right." You pause, looking at her, at the soft way the low light catches her dark hair, the way her eyes seem even deeper, more expressive in the intimate gloom. "Damn shame. I wish this night wouldn't end."

She meets your gaze, her smile soft, questioning. "Oh yeah? Why’s that?"

The alcohol has definitely loosened your tongue, stripped away a few layers of your usual caution. "Because I like being around you, Irene," you confess, the words coming out easily, honestly. "Your presence… I don’t know. It’s kind of hypnotic." You give a small, self-deprecating laugh. "And now I’m going to go home and just… keep thinking about you."

"You… think about me?" she asks.

"Yeah," you admit, feeling your own cheeks warm a little. "A lot, actually."

She’s silent for a moment, then, very slowly, her hand reaches across the small table, her cool fingertips brushing against yours. It’s a feather-light touch, barely there, but it sends a jolt straight up your arm. "What… what do you think about?"

"Everything," you say, your gaze locked on hers, feeling a bit drunk on more than just the beer now. "The way you concentrate when you’re working. The way you have that tiny little frown when you’re figuring something out. The way your hair falls across your cheek when you’re not looking." You shake your head, a small, dazed smile on your face. "Lately, Irene, you’re pretty much the only thing on my mind."

Her fingers intertwine with yours, a soft, hesitant pressure. Her dark eyes are searching yours, and you can see a storm of emotions in their depths. "Lately," she confesses, "I’ve… I’ve been thinking about you too."

"Yeah? What do you think about me, Irene Bae?"

She takes a shaky breath, her gaze dropping to your joined hands, then lifting back to your eyes, bold and vulnerable all at once. "I think about… what it would be like… if you kissed me."

The world around you just… stops. Your brain stutters, reboots. You lose focus on the bar, the music, everything but her face, her eyes, the feel of her hand in yours. She thinks about you kissing her. That’s it. That’s all the fucking permission you need.

Before you can second-guess it, before the moment can break, you’re moving. You lean across the small table, your other hand coming up to cup her cheek, your thumb stroking her soft skin. And then you kiss her.

It’s insane, the moment your lips meet. Her lips are soft, yielding, tasting faintly of gin and lime. She gasps softly into your mouth, then kisses you back, her initial hesitation melting away into a surprising, eager passion. Her tongue, tentative at first, then bolder, meets yours. It’s not a polite, end-of-the-date kiss. It’s hungry, searching, like you’ve both been starving for this without even knowing it. Your fingers tighten in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathless.

When you finally break apart, gasping for air, your foreheads are resting against each other. Her eyes are closed, her lips swollen and glistening.

"Don’t let the night end here, Irene," you whisper. "Please."

She opens her eyes, her gaze dark, hazy with desire. "Okay," she breathes. "My apartment."

You’re on your feet in a second, fumbling for your wallet, the earlier weariness completely gone, replaced by a thrumming, urgent energy. Irene is already sliding out of the booth, her movements a little unsteady but graceful nonetheless. You throw some cash on the table (way more than enough to cover the bill) and then you’re out, into the cool night air.

You’re definitely tipsy, the world having a pleasant, fuzzy edge. Irene stumbles slightly as you step onto the uneven sidewalk, and you instinctively reach out, your arm going around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leans into you, her body warm against yours, her head resting against your arm. She’s giggling, a light, infectious sound that makes you laugh too, a stupid, happy, drunken sound. You walk like that, a tangled, giggling mess, your steps uneven but your direction certain.

Her apartment.

—

The elevator ride up to her floor is a blur of stolen kisses and breathless laughter. You’re pressed against the cool metal wall, her hands in your hair, your mouths searching, hungry. Every time the elevator dings at a floor, you pull apart, slightly dazed, only to crash back together the moment the doors close.

She fumbles with her keys at her apartment door, still kissing you, her body pressed flush against yours in the narrow hallway. Finally, the lock clicks. She pushes the door open, stumbling inside, pulling you with her. Her bag hits the floor with a soft thud. And then, before you can even register your surroundings, she jumps, her legs wrapping around your waist, her mouth finding yours again in a bruising, desperate kiss. You catch her instinctively, your hands splaying across her ass, lifting her, holding her tight against you as you kick the door shut.

She pulls back for a moment, her chest heaving, and a wide, triumphant smile spreads across her face when she sees yours. "You’ve got my lipstick all over you," she says, her words a delighted slur, as she reaches up to smudge a pink streak on your cheek with her thumb.

You glance around then, taking in her apartment for the first time. It’s small, neat, surprisingly minimalist but with touches of warmth: a stack of books on a low shelf, a soft throw draped over a simple armchair, a couple of framed black and white photographs on the wall. "Nice place," you manage.

Her eyes sparkle. "Did you come here to look at my apartment, or do something else?" she teases, her hips giving a suggestive little squirm against yours.

"Definitely something else," you growl, taking your "revenge" by burying your face in her neck, your lips finding the soft skin just below her ear, nibbling gently.

She yelps, a surprised, delighted sound, then dissolves into giggles, her body squirming in your arms. "Hey! That tickles!"

"Bedroom," you murmur against her skin. "Show me the way."

She points vaguely down a short hallway, still giggling, and you carry her, your mouths finding each other again, kissing deeply as you navigate the unfamiliar space. You find the door, push it open, and then you’re gently depositing her onto the bed, following her down, never breaking the kiss.

The world narrows to the feel of her beneath you, the taste of her, the soft sounds she’s making. After a moment, you pull away, reluctantly. "Clothes," you manage, your breath ragged. "Need these off."

You roll off her and stand, your fingers already working at the buttons of your shirt. Irene watches you, her eyes dark and hungry, as she sits up and reaches for the hem of her own sweater. It comes off in one smooth motion, revealing the delicate black lace of her bra, her pale skin almost luminous in the dim light filtering in from the hallway. Her petite body is, as you’ve always known, perfectly toned, every line and curve an invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, her fingers going to the clasp of her bra next.

The cotton of your shirt feels like a restriction, a barrier. Your fingers, clumsy with a mixture of alcohol and adrenaline, work at the buttons, fumbling them free one by one. It hits the floor. Shoes next, kicked off with impatient shoves of your heels, then the belt buckle clinks as you undo it, the leather sliding free. Your pants join the shirt in a heap on the floorboards. You’re standing there in just your boxers, the air of her bedroom suddenly cooler on your skin, or maybe that’s just the fever pitch of your own blood.

Then it’s her turn. Her hands go to the delicate clasp of her black lace bra. It gives way easily, and she shrugs the straps down her pale arms, letting the flimsy garment fall. Her breasts are revealed, small, yes, but perfectly shaped, round and perky, with pale pink nipples already pebble-hard in the cool air, or perhaps from anticipation. They’re exquisite. You’ve imagined them, of course, in fleeting, guilty moments, but the reality is so much fucking better. Then, she reaches for her shoes. She kicks them off one by one, the soft thud against the wooden floor loud in the charged silence. Finally, her hands go to the waistband of her pants, a simple black one that clung to her hips. It slides down her legs with a soft rustle, pooling around her ankles, leaving her standing before you in nothing but a pair of sheer black panties. They’re scandalously tiny, doing very little to hide the curve of her ass.

You feel like you can’t breathe.

You’re on her in a second, moving without conscious thought, your body acting on pure, undeniable instinct. You climb onto the bed, settling over her, your weight pressing her into the soft mattress. Your mouth finds hers again, but this kiss is different from the one at the bar. It’s rougher, needier, your tongue plunging, seeking, demanding. She meets your intensity, her own hunger flaring.

Your kisses trail down her jaw, her neck, your lips and teeth mapping the sensitive skin there. She arches into you, a soft whimper escaping her. You reach her breasts, your mouth closing over one hard nipple. She moans instantly, her fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tight. You suck, hard, your tongue laving the peak, then flicking, teasing. Her whole body shudders.

"Fuck… yes…" she gasps, her hips starting to buck beneath you. "They’re… so sensitive…"

You grin against her skin, moving to the other breast, giving it the same relentless attention. You squeeze and suck, feeling the delicate flesh swell in your mouth, the nipple hard against your tongue. The skin around it is already turning a delicious shade of pink, flushed and slightly raw from your attention. Her moans are getting louder, less inhibited, open-mouthed gasps of pure pleasure.

Her hands, which were gripping your hair, slide down your back, then lower, her fingers finding the thick, insistent ridge of your cock straining against your underwear. She squeezes, a playful, testing pressure, and a low growl rumbles in your chest. She feels you, hard and ready, and a wicked little smile dances on her lips, visible even as she throws her head back, lost in the sensations you’re creating.

Then, just as you’re about to lose yourself completely in the taste and feel of her breasts, she moves. With surprising strength, her hands are on your shoulders, pushing, guiding.

"My turn," she breathes

She pulls you, making you lie back against the pillows. You watch, dazed, as she straddles your hips, her gaze fixed on your groin. Her movements are slow, deliberate, almost torturous. Her fingers hook into the waistband of your boxers.

"Been waiting for this," she murmurs.

She pulls your underwear down, agonizingly slowly, inch by inch, her knuckles brushing against your straining erection with every downward tug. The fabric slides past your hips, down your thighs, until your cock springs free, thick, veined, and brutally hard, slick with pre-cum.

She just stares at it for a long moment, her dark eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. A genuine, almost awestruck smile spreads across her face. It’s the smile of someone who has just been presented with their favorite fucking meal.

She reaches out, her small hand surprisingly confident as it wraps around your shaft. It’s a perfect fit, her fingers cool against your heated skin. "Jesus," she breathes, her thumb stroking the thick, prominent vein that runs along the length. "It really has been a while since I’ve had sex." Her gaze lifts to yours, burning with an intensity that steals your breath. "You have no idea," she says, "how much this cock, your cock, is everything I want right now."

Before you can even process the raw honesty of her words, she leans down. Her tongue, pink and wet, flicks out, lapping delicately at the bead of pre-cum glistening on the slit of your tip. Then, she takes a mouthful of her own saliva (you see her gather it) and lets it dribble slowly onto your shaft, her fingers working quickly to spread the slickness all the way down, coating you, preparing you.

And finally, her mouth descends.

The moment her lips close around the head of your cock, you fucking groan, your hips bucking involuntarily. Her mouth is hot, wet, impossibly soft. She starts working you immediately, no hesitation, no awkwardness. Her lips create a perfect seal, her tongue swirling, lapping, teasing, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks with a practiced, almost reverent skill. This isn't the tentative exploration of a novice. This is the confident, devastating expertise of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

Holy shit. Irene Bae is a fucking professional.

You can feel the muscles in her throat working, a gentle, rhythmic pulse that’s already threatening to undo you. And her eyes. Fuck, her eyes. They’re locked on yours, wide, dark, and glittering with a deadly combination of intense focus and raw, unadulterated lust. There’s a challenge in them, a silent dare. Think you can handle this? they seem to say. Think you can last?

"Fuck, Irene…" you groan, your hips giving an involuntary jerk. "That’s… holy shit…"

A low hum vibrates from her throat against your shaft, a sound of pure, animalistic satisfaction. She pulls back just enough for the head of your cock to pop free with a wet, obscene sound, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of your slickness.

"You like that, baby?" she murmurs. "Like the way my mouth feels wrapped around your big, thick dick?"

"Yes… God, yes…" you pant, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you. "It’s… you’re amazing, Irene. Fuck, you’re so good at this."

Her smile is a predatory flash against your skin before she takes you in again, deeper this time. Her tongue is a relentless engine of pleasure, lapping, swirling, flicking against every sensitive nerve. She knows exactly where to press, where to tease, how to vary the pressure and speed to keep you right on that knife-edge of unbearable pleasure. It’s not just her mouth, either. Her hands are working you too, one wrapped firmly around the base of your shaft, pumping in rhythm with her sucking, the other gently cupping your balls, her fingers tracing lazy, teasing circles.

"Mmmm, you taste so fucking good," she says, her words slightly muffled but no less potent. She breaks suction for a moment, her hot breath ghosting over your hypersensitive skin. "I love the way you get so hard for me, the way your cock just throbs in my mouth." She punctuates the statement by taking just the swollen head between her lips and sucking, hard, focusing all her attention there, her tongue doing that insane swirling thing that makes your vision blur.

"Shit, Irene… don’t stop…" you gasp out, your voice rough, pleading. "Please, don’t stop…"

Her head bobs faster, a satisfied, almost guttural sound coming from her throat. "Oh, I’m not stopping, baby," she promises, her eyes blazing into yours. "I want to hear you moan for me. I want to hear you fucking beg." She sucks harder, her lips pulling, teasing. "Moan for me, supervisor. Let me hear how much you love your little casual worker sucking your dick."

The sheer audacity of her words, the way she so effortlessly flips the script, calling you out, it’s fucking electrifying. A raw, broken groan tears from your throat. "Fuck… yes… Irene… please… feels so good…"

"That’s it, baby," she purrs, her mouth still working you relentlessly. "Louder. I want to hear every filthy sound you make when I’m sucking you like this. I want to know I’m driving you absolutely fucking insane."

And you are. You’re losing it. Her mouth is a goddamn weapon, and she’s wielding it with devastating precision. She shifts her attention, her lips sliding down your shaft, her tongue laving a hot, wet path until she reaches your balls. You tense, anticipating, and then her mouth closes over one, warm and wet, and you fucking cry out.

"Oh my god… Irene… fuck…"

She sucks, gently at first, then with increasing hunger, her tongue rolling, massaging. Your balls are heavy, aching, and her mouth on them is an entirely new level of torture and bliss. She leaves them absolutely soaked, glistening with her spit when she finally moves back up your shaft.

"You like that, huh?" she breathes, her lips brushing against the underside of your cock, right where the skin is thinnest, most sensitive. "Your balls taste just as good as your cock. So salty… so fucking you."

Her tongue flicks out, targeting your frenulum with an accuracy that makes your entire body jolt. She plays with it, licking, teasing, nipping ever so gently with her teeth before sucking that sensitive ridge into her mouth. You’re bucking against her now, completely lost, your own moans a constant, ragged soundtrack to her ministrations.

"Fuck… Irene… please… I can’t… I’m so close…" you plead, your voice a shredded mess.

Her only answer is to work faster, harder. Her hand is a blur on your shaft, slick with spit and your own pre-cum, while her mouth continues its relentless assault. She takes you as deep as her little mouth can manage, her throat working, a series of soft, choked gagging sounds escaping her that are, perversely, driving you even wilder. She’s not just sucking your cock; she’s fucking devouring it, worshipping it.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" she asks, pulling back for a split second, her eyes wide and dark, pupils blown. Saliva strings from her lips to the head of your cock. "I want it. I want your hot load all over my tongue. I want to swallow every last drop. Please, baby, give it to me. Begging you."

That’s it. Her words, the sight of her, so beautiful, so depraved, kneeling before you, mouth open, waiting for your release…it shatters your last shred of control.

"Irene!" Your shout as your orgasm rips through you. Your hips slam upwards, your back arching off the bed. Hot, thick ropes of cum shoot from your cock, hitting the back of her throat. She doesn't flinch. She takes it all, her throat working, swallowing, her eyes locked on yours, a triumphant, ecstatic glint in their depths. You keep pumping, jet after jet, emptying yourself into her waiting mouth. The sensation is blinding, overwhelming. You’re vaguely aware of your eyes rolling back in your head, your body trembling uncontrollably. It feels like you’re cumming for an eternity, each pulse a fresh wave of unbearable pleasure.

When the last viscous glob finally spurts out, you collapse back against the pillows, panting, drenched in sweat, utterly fucking spent. You’re in heaven. Or hell. Or some glorious, filthy place in between.

Irene stays there for a moment, gently sucking the last drops from your now twitching, softened cock. Then, slowly, reverently, she pulls away, her lips making a wet sound. She licks her own lips, savoring the taste, a small, incredibly satisfied smile playing on her features.

"Holy… fucking… shit, Irene." You shake your head, still trying to process the sheer intensity of what just happened. "That was… That was, without a fucking doubt, the best blowjob of my entire life."

Her smile widens, a genuine, radiant thing that makes her eyes sparkle. The exhaustion is there, but beneath it, there's a deep, purring satisfaction. She leans forward, pressing a soft, sticky kiss to the now-sensitive head of your cock.

"Good," she murmurs. "That’s what I like to hear." Then she looks up at you. "I aim to please, supervisor. Especially when the benefits are… this rewarding.”

You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at her. She’s still kneeling between your legs, that pleased, cat-who-got-the-cream smirk playing on her lips, now glistening with your cum.

"Irene," you rasp. "Where in the ever-loving fuck did you learn to do that?”

She lets out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating deep in her chest. She reaches up, wiping a stray smudge of your load from the corner of her mouth with a delicate finger, then slowly, deliberately, licks it clean, her eyes never leaving yours. The gesture alone is enough to make your semi-flaccid cock give a hopeful twitch.

"Every woman has her secrets, supervisor," she purrs. "Maybe one day I'll tell you some of them." Then, before you can even process that delicious, infuriating coyness, she’s moving. climbing onto you with a fluid grace. Her petite, pale body straddles your chest, her knees bracketing your shoulders. She leans down, her dark hair curtaining your face. "Besides," she whispers, her lips brushing against yours, "who said anything about being done?"

Her mouth finds yours, a slow, deep kiss that tastes of you, of her, of pure, unadulterated lust. While her lips work their magic, her body begins a slow, deliberate crawl down yours. Kisses are pressed against your jaw, your throat, lingering on the pulse point there until you can feel your heart hammering in response. She moves lower, her tongue flicking out to trace the line of your collarbone, then lower still, across your pecs.

When she reaches your right nipple, she pauses. Her gaze, hot and knowing, flicks up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before her mouth closes over it. Your breath hitches. You weren't expecting that. Her tongue swirls around the already sensitive peak, rough and wet, then she starts to suck, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling the nub into her mouth, her teeth grazing it ever so lightly.

"Nghh… Irene…" A surprised, helpless moan escapes you. Fuck, that feels good. Way better than it has any right to.

"Sensitive here, are we?" she murmurs against your skin. "I thought so."

She continues her assault, licking, sucking, her lips working your nipple like it’s the head of another cock. And all the while, one of her small, deceptively strong hands snakes down your torso, past your navel, her fingers tracing teasing patterns on your lower abdomen. You feel the heat of her palm as it hovers, then finally settles, over the base of your now rapidly re-hardening cock.

"Oh, look at that," she says. "Not so spent after all, are you, big boy?"

Her hand closes around you. Even through the haze of pleasure radiating from your nipple, you can feel the change. Your cock, which had been softening, content in its post-orgasmic haze, now surges back to life, thickening, lengthening, pressing urgently against her grip. She starts to stroke you, slow, deliberate movements, her fingers slick with the remnants of your earlier release and her own gathering wetness.

"The night is far from over, supervisor," she whispers, her mouth leaving your nipple to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses towards the other one. "I know you can give me more. Much more." She punctuates the last word by taking your other nipple into her mouth, sucking on it with a greedy, demanding pressure that mirrors the rhythmic pull of her hand on your shaft. "And you will give it to me."

And she’s right. Fuck, she’s absolutely, undeniably right. Your cock is already granite-hard again, throbbing in her skilled grip, every nerve ending in your body screaming for more of her, more of this. The lingering exhaustion is a distant memory, burned away by this fresh, potent wave of desire she’s so effortlessly conjured. The slight ache in your balls is back, but it’s a good ache now, a heavy, needy throb that promises another explosive release if she keeps this up.

Her hand on your reawakened cock is a brand, her touch electric. The soft, rhythmic stroking, combined with the devastating assault on your nipple, is a one-two punch of pure, unadulterated sensation. Your breath hitches, your hips giving a small, involuntary buck.

"That’s it, baby," Irene purrs against your chest, her lips still teasing your other nipple, her words a hot, damp caress. "Feel that? Already getting hard for me again. You just can’t get enough, can you?"

"Fuck… no…" you manage to groan out, your eyes fluttering. "Not… not when you do that…"

"Mmmm, I know," she hums, a smug, satisfied sound. "The night is far from over, supervisor.” Your cock is already iron-hard again, throbbing with a renewed, almost painful urgency against her skilled fingers.

With a lithe movement that takes your breath away, Irene shifts, disentangling herself from your chest and sliding down your body. She straddles your hips, her petite frame settling over you, and the sight of her poised above you: dark hair tousled, lips swollen from your kisses, her small, perky breasts bare and flushed, nipples still pebble-hard; is enough to make your vision swim. She reaches down, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her sheer black panties.

"You like these, baby?" she teases. "Thought you might."

She doesn't wait for an answer. With a slow, deliberate tug, she pulls them aside, hooking the flimsy fabric around one hip, exposing her pussy to you. It’s perfect. Pink, glistening, the inner lips slightly swollen and already dewy with her arousal. The dark thatch of hair above is neatly trimmed.

"Ready to feel me again?" she whispers, her gaze locked on yours.

Before you can form a coherent word, she’s lowering herself onto you.

The way she takes your cock is a revelation. There’s no hesitation, no tentative exploration. She knows her body, she knows yours, and she sinks down with a practiced, almost arrogant ease, her hips rolling, her inner muscles clenching around you, milking you from the first fucking inch. A guttural groan rips from your throat as she takes you deeper, her tight, wet heat a scalding brand.

"Fuck, Irene… so tight…"

"Mmmm, you love how tight my little pussy is, don't you?" she moans, her head falling back, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance as she starts to bounce. "Love the way it squeezes your big, thick cock?"

"Yes… God, yes…"

Her rhythm is insane. She starts riding you with a skill that leaves you breathless, her hips a blur of motion, bouncing, grinding, rotating in ways that hit every goddamn nerve. She’s not just fucking you; she’s performing, a symphony of sensual movement designed to drive you absolutely wild. Her small breasts jiggle with every thrust, the pink nipples bouncing hypnotically. You can see the way her pussy lips stretch, glistening, around the base of your shaft as she lifts herself up, only to slam back down, taking you to the hilt.

"Look at me, baby," she pants, her eyes finding yours again. "I want you to watch me ride your cock. I want you to see how much I fucking love it."

You can’t look away if you tried. The sight of her, so beautiful, so utterly consumed by pleasure, her body moving on yours with such raw, uninhibited abandon, is seared into your brain.

"You’re… incredible…" you gasp out.

"I know," she says, a smug, breathless laugh escaping her. Then her expression shifts, darkens. "But you’re getting distracted." Her free hand snakes out, unbelievably fast, her fingers wrapping around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to demand your absolute attention. "You close your eyes on me again, supervisor, and I’ll make you regret it. Got it?"

The sudden pressure, her fingers cool against your heated skin, the sheer dominance in her gaze... Your cock gives a hard, convulsive throb inside her. "Fuck… yes… Irene…"

"Good boy." Her grip loosens slightly, but her hand stays there, a possessive brand. "Now, look at me. I want to see that pretty face of yours when I make you feel good. I want to see every fucking expression." She punctuates the command by grinding down, hard, her hips rotating in a slow, torturous circle that makes you cry out.

You reach up, your hands finding her breasts, squeezing them, needing to touch her, to feel her. They’re soft, full in your palms, the nipples like hard little pebbles against your skin. "Fuck, your tits are perfect, Irene…"

She moans, leaning forward, pressing them against your chest as she kisses you, a deep, filthy, open-mouthed kiss, her tongue tangling with yours. "Mmmm, you like them, baby?" she whispers against your lips, her hips still moving, still squeezing. "You can play with them all you want… as long as you keep fucking me with that big, thick cock of yours—God, it’s so good—It fills me up so perfectly!”

You can see it then, when she leans back slightly, her stomach tight, the unmistakable bulge of your cock pressing against her lower abdomen, a clear testament to just how deeply you’re buried inside her, how perfectly her petite frame is taking every inch of you. It’s a brutally hot visual, a stark reminder of your size against her smallness, and the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

"Jesus, Irene… I can see it… You’re so fucking tight…"

"I know," she pants. "Now make me cum, supervisor. Fuck me until I can’t see straight. I want your load. Give it to me."

This isn't the Irene from the office, the quiet, mysterious woman who barely met your eye. This is someone else entirely: a wild, insatiable creature of pure, unadulterated lust. And fuck, you love this Irene. You love every goddamn demanding, filthy, beautiful inch of her.

She rides you harder now, faster, her moans turning into raw, broken cries. Her body is slick with sweat, her muscles trembling with the effort, but she doesn’t slow down. She’s chasing it, that shattering release, and she’s dragging you right along with her. Her pussy pulses around your cock, squeezing, milking, each contraction an exquisite torture.

"I’m… I’m gonna cum…" she screams, her voice cracking, her back arching as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave.

Her body seizes, her walls clenching around your shaft in a series of violent, unbearable spasms. She’s crying out your name, her head thrown back, her entire being consumed by the pleasure. It’s beautiful, watching her shatter like this, so completely undone, so utterly yours.

But she doesn’t stop. Even as the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple through her, her hips keep moving, a desperate, frantic grinding, her pussy still milking your aching cock.

"Fuck, Irene… I’m close…" you gasp out, your own release clawing at you. "I’m gonna cum…"

The moment the words leave your mouth, she’s moving. With a surprising agility, she pulls off your cock with a wet, sucking sound, her own body still trembling. Before you can even register what’s happening, she’s scrambling off the bed, dropping to her knees in front of you, her flushed face upturned, her dark eyes blazing with a renewed, almost manic hunger.

"Give it to me, baby," she pants. "I want it all over my face. Drench me. Make me your fucking whore."

Your brain short-circuits. Her words, the sight of her kneeling there, so eager, so fucking filthy, it’s too much. You get out of bed, standing in front of her. You grab your cock, your hand slick and shaking, and start stroking, hard and fast.

"Look at me, Irene," you growl. "Open that pretty little mouth for me."

She does, her tongue flicking out in anticipation. You stroke faster, your balls tight, your vision blurring. One more stroke… two…

"FUCK!"

With a guttural roar, you explode. Thick, heavy ropes of your cum shoot from your cock, spurt after spurt, splattering across her face. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t turn away. She takes it all, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the hot, sticky load coats her cheeks, her forehead, her chin. A thick glob lands on her lips, and her tongue darts out, instinctively licking it away, a soft, pleased moan escaping her. You keep cumming, more than you thought possible, drenching her, covering her, marking her as yours.

When the last pulse finally subsides, you’re left panting, your body trembling, your cock still twitching in your hand. Irene stays there, kneeling, your cum dripping from her face, her hair stuck to her slick skin. She looks utterly debauched. Utterly fucking beautiful.

She opens her eyes, her dark gaze meeting yours. There’s no shame there, no disgust. Only a wild, exhilarated pleasure. She slowly brings a hand up to her cheek, her fingers tracing through the thick, creamy mess, then brings them to her lips, sucking your cum from her skin with a delighted, almost reverent expression. Receiving your load like this, being painted with it, clearly turns her on as much as it does you. It feels fucking amazing, this raw, shared depravity.

You can't resist. You lean forward, your own body still thrumming with the aftershocks of release, and dip your thumb into the thickest patch of your load still clinging to her cheek. You bring your slick finger to her lips.

"Taste good, Irene?" you murmur.

Without a word, her eyes still locked on yours, she parts her lips and takes your thumb into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, hot and wet, sucking sensually, cleaning every last trace of you from your skin.

You let out a long, slow sigh, your whole body going lax. "That was… Jesus, Irene. That was fucking amazing."

She releases your thumb with a soft, wet sound, a tiny, almost smug smile playing on her lips. "It was, wasn't it?" she agrees, her usual quietness now laced with a husky, satisfied confidence. "Best Friday night I’ve had in… well, a very long time." She pushes herself up, her movements fluid and graceful despite the intensity of what just happened. "I should probably… shower now."

"Yeah," you manage, watching her. "Good idea."

She disappears into the en-suite, and you hear the distant hiss of the shower starting. You lie there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, your mind a blissful, empty buzz. Eventually, you push yourself up. You should probably leave, give her space. It’s the decent thing to do, right? Even if every fiber of your being wants to crawl back into that bed and wait for her.

By the time she pads back into the bedroom, you’re mostly dressed – pants on, shirt half-buttoned. She’s wrapped in a fluffy white towel that looks ridiculously large on her petite frame, her dark hair damp and clinging to her neck, her face scrubbed clean and glowing. She stops when she sees you, her brow furrowing slightly.

"You’re… leaving?" Her words are soft, a hint of something unreadable in them.

"Yeah," you say, trying for casual, even though your limbs feel heavy, your head still pleasantly swimming from the beer and everything else. "Figured I shouldn’t bother you. It’s late."

She walks closer, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the fresh, clean scent of soap and her skin. "You’re still a little drunk, aren’t you?" she observes, her gaze steady.

You shrug, a sheepish grin touching your lips. "Maybe a little. The beer was good. The company was… distracting."

"You can stay," she says. "It’s no problem. You shouldn't be walking around like that.”

You look at her, surprised. "You sure? I don’t want to impose."

"I’m sure," she replies. "The bed’s big enough."

And just like that, the decision is made. You reverse the process, now unbuttoning your shirt and taking off your pants. Irene takes off her towel, drys her hair, and puts on comfortable pajamas. You both slide into her bed, the sheets cool against your skin. She keeps a respectable distance at first, lying on her side facing away from you. You lie on your back, staring up into the darkness, your mind replaying the night’s events.

"That was…" you begin, "quite a night."

She shifts slightly, turning her head on the pillow to look towards you, though you can barely make out her features in the dark. "It was," she agrees, her reply just as soft. "It’s been a long time since I… since I had a night that good."

"Me too," you admit. The silence stretches for a moment, comfortable, intimate. "So, this whole 'not going out much' thing," you venture, remembering her earlier comment at the bar. "Are you, like, super strict with your routine? Or is it just a general aversion to humanity?"

"A bit of both, maybe." She pauses. "But it’s also… more than that." Her words are hesitant now. "I just… I ended up depriving myself of some things. For a long time. For my own good, I thought."

"Things like… fun? Or just human contact in general?" you ask gently, trying to understand.

"Things like… letting go," she says, her meaning still veiled. "Being… open."

You process that for a moment. "Well," you say, trying to inject some lightness, "I hope, as your newly appointed (and incredibly charming) supervisor, I can attempt to bring a little more… spice? Unpredictability? Into your carefully curated life. Supervisors can be cool too, you know. It’s not all spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails."

She gives a weak, tired chuckle. "You’re cool," she concedes.

Silence again. This one’s heavier, but it’s not uncomfortable. It wraps around you both like the comforter you’re only half under. Her presence is warm and grounding, even with the distance she’s keeping between your bodies.

And just when your mind starts fuzzing at the edges, drifting toward sleep, you hear it.

“…hey.”

Your eyes flutter, but you don’t answer immediately.

She tries again. “Hey. You awake?”

You manage a half-conscious “Hmm?”

“I… I need to tell you something,” she says, her tone suddenly different. Strained. Fragile. “And I don’t think I’ll get another chance like this.”

You roll your head a little, but you’re already falling. You’re trying to stay up, your body fighting it, but there’s alcohol in your blood and pillows under your skull and her voice sounds like a lullaby even when it’s trembling.

“It’s kind of awful,” she says. “I mean: I think it is. Most people would think it is. I don’t even know why I’m bringing it up. I guess… it’s easier when I can’t see your face.” Her voice catches. She swallows. “And I’m drunk,” she adds bitterly. “That helps. Brave little idiot version of me that only comes out after gin and zero lighting.”

You want to say something, your brain claws for words, but you’re slipping. The room is tilting, your breath slowing, mouth too heavy to open.

“I don’t want this to blow up,” she goes on, like she’s already sure it will. “But you’re… nice. Too nice. And I think it’s going to matter eventually. So maybe it’s better you know now.”

She turns, the sheets rustling. Her breath’s close. She's watching you.

“I used to do porn,” she says into the dark. “I know it’s horrible. But, God, I liked it. Not just the attention, not just the money. I liked the sex. I was… addicted. Like, actually. Probably still am. I think I’m a… I don’t know. A nympho? That sounds dramatic. But it’s true. And I’m terrified you’re gonna look at me differently if you ever find out. Like it’ll be all you see. Like I’m… stained.”

A sharp breath.

“You probably will look at me differently. If not now, then later. And that’ll kill me. Because I think I actually like you. And you’re the first person in forever who makes me feel like I don’t have to hide.”

Her hand reaches out under the blankets, not to touch you, just to rest nearby.

“I’m still not sure if I’m ashamed because I regret it… or because I liked some of it too much. Isn’t that worse?” She exhales. “I tried to cut it all off. Cold turkey. Quit the industry. Quit everything. No sex. No relationships. No late nights. No bars. No letting anyone get close. I started hiding from everything I wanted. Because I had to. My last relationship was a disaster. Everything fell apart. I wanted to be invisible again. Safe. And I thought if I worked a boring job, wore boring clothes, kept my mouth shut, nobody would see me. Nobody would want me.” She pauses. The next words are like admitting a sin:

“And then you saw me.”

“You were kind to me. Just… kind. That’s all it took. And I started feeling again. I tried to fight it. I told myself you were just being nice. That it wasn’t anything. But every time you smiled, or made some dumb joke, or talked to me like I mattered… I couldn’t stop it.” She sounds exhausted. Hollow. “You’re the first person I’ve wanted to kiss in years. The first one I’ve wanted to touch. The first one I’ve let into my bed. And I hate that I like you. I hate that it scares me. Because I’m not… good.”

Her voice breaks, just a little.

“I’m not someone who deserves soft things. Or quiet moments. Or this stupid, beautiful night.” Another deep breath, followed by a silent bitter laugh. “And you’re asleep. Of course you’re asleep.”

She waits. Hopes, irrationally, for some murmur of understanding, some unconscious twitch of your hand to say you’re still with her. But there’s nothing. Nothing. Your chest rises, falls. Silent. Peaceful. Asleep.

Another rustle of sheets as she rolls back onto her side, facing away again.

“Maybe that’s better,” she whispers. “Maybe if you knew, you’d leave. Or worse… maybe you’d stay for the wrong reasons. I just wanted you to know. Even if you never hear it.”

She tugs the comforter up to her shoulders, folds in on herself, and presses her forehead to the pillow, eyes closed, breath warm against the sheet. And then she whispers one last thing. So quiet it almost doesn’t exist:

“Please... don’t hate me.”

—

The days that follow are not what you expected. Not at all. After that night, after the intensity, the confessions, the shared intimacy, you thought you’d climbed a new step with Irene, reached a new layer. You imagined easier smiles in the office, maybe even her initiating a coffee break, a casual lunchtime chat. You pictured the comfortable progression from Friday night drinks to something… more.

Instead, it’s like you’re back at square one. Worse, even.

Irene is a ghost again, but this time, her politeness is tinged with an almost painful discomfort. She still does her work, still impeccably, but she avoids your gaze. Your attempts at casual conversation are met with short, clipped answers. The easy banter, the shared laughter from that night at the bar; it’s all gone, replaced by a strained, awkward formality.

You try, of course you try. You invite her to your apartment to watch that terrible sci-fi series you’d bonded over. "Sorry, I have plans," she’d murmured, not looking at you. You suggest grabbing a quick drink after work, just like before. "I can’t, I’m busy." Even a casual, "Hey, fancy grabbing lunch in the park? Sun’s actually out for once," is met with a polite, "Thank you, but I brought my own."

Each refusal is a small, sharp sting. Always polite. Always with a hint of something that looks like regret, or discomfort, in her eyes. But always a refusal.

You know what this means, or at least, you think you do. She regretted that night. Of course she did. She was drunk. You were too. Maybe she was feeling lonely, vulnerable, and just got carried away by the alcohol and the moment. You probably came on too strong, misread the signals, pushed too hard, too fast. And now you’ve messed it up, scared her off, ruined whatever fragile connection you were starting to build. The thought settles in your gut like a cold, heavy stone. You fucking idiot.

Weeks bleed into each other. The distance between you and Irene solidifies, an invisible wall of her polite deflections and your own frustrated, confused silence. You stop trying so hard. What’s the point?

Then, the email from HR lands in your inbox. A reminder: Irene Bae’s casual contract is due to expire at the end of next week. Department heads need to submit any recommendations for extension or permanent placement by close of business Friday.

Your office feels colder than usual when you call her in. You keep your expression neutral, professional, as she walks in and sits in the chair opposite your desk. She doesn’t meet your eye, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over your left shoulder.

"Irene," you begin, your own words sounding unduly formal. "Thanks for coming in. As you know, your current contract is… coming to an end." You pause, waiting for some reaction, any reaction. Nothing. She just sits there, perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "HR needs a final decision regarding the full-time offer we discussed. This is… well, this is pretty much your last chance to decide." You try to keep the disappointment, the faint, stupid hope, out of your delivery. "So, I need to ask. What conclusion have you reached?"

She takes a slow, deliberate breath. Her gaze is still averted, focused on the framed print of some abstract cityscape hanging on your wall. When she finally speaks, her reply is short and cold.

"I… I’m going to have to decline the offer.”

You look at her. She’s still not meeting your eye, her gaze resolutely fixed on that abstract cityscape print on your wall as if it holds the answers to the universe. Her hands are clasped so tightly in her lap, her knuckles are white. You know. Of course, you fucking know. It’s not about the job, not really. It’s about that night. It’s about you.

"Irene," you begin, your carefully constructed professional composure starting to fray at the edges. You try to keep your delivery even, reasonable. "That… that doesn’t make a lot of sense, professionally speaking. This isn't just a casual offer. It’s a permanent position. Full benefits package, paid time off, a significant salary increase from your current rate. Henderson genuinely likes your work; he specifically mentioned your efficiency with the merger data. This office… it’s a good environment. People respect you here. There's clear potential for promotion down the line, further salary increases. Turning this down… frankly, it’s not a rational career move for someone with your skills."

You’re laying it on a bit thick, the corporate spiel, but you need her to see, to understand that you’re trying to offer her something good, something stable. Something she deserves.

Still, she doesn’t look at you. "I understand the terms, and I appreciate the opportunity." Her words are precise, almost robotic.

"Then what is it?" you press, a note of frustration creeping in despite your best efforts. "Because it sounds like you’re about to walk away from a genuinely great opportunity for no good reason." You lean forward, resting your elbows on your desk. "Irene… I know why you want to turn this down."

Her head snaps up at that, her dark eyes finally, belatedly, meeting yours. "No," she says, her reply sharper than usual, cutting through her quiet demeanor. "You don’t know."

"I think I do," you insist, your gaze holding hers. "It’s because of what happened between us, isn’t it? That night. After the bar."

Her expression shutters again, becoming unreadable, guarded.

"Look," you continue, softening your approach, trying to sound reassuring, "if that’s what this is about… if you’re sorry it happened, or if you felt pressured, or if you’re just uncomfortable now… it’s okay. I get it. I swear, I won’t pressure you, I won’t bother you at work. We can just… go back to how things were. Professional. I respect you, Irene. Your decision, whatever it is." You’re laying your cards on the table, trying to give her an out, trying to make this easier for her, even if it twists something in your own heart.

"It’s not because of you."

Not because of you? Then what the hell is it? "Then what?" you ask, genuinely bewildered now. "What’s the reason, Irene? Because I’m not seeing it."

She sighs, a tiny, almost inaudible sound. "It’s… complicated." She pushes her chair back slightly, her hands gripping the armrests. "I should probably just… go." She starts to get up, a clear intention to flee in her movements.

"No." The word is out before you can stop it, sharper, more commanding than you intended. You’re on your feet too, moving around your desk, stopping her before she can reach the door, positioning yourself between her and her escape route.

She freezes, her eyes wide, trapped.

"Irene, wait," you start, “okay, look. I’m sorry. For… for what I did. For that night. We were both drunk, I know that. And if you’re uncomfortable now because of it, if I made you feel… pressured, or weirded you out, then I am truly sorry. That was never my intention. I just… I thought you liked me too. I guess I misinterpreted things." God, you sound like a desperate idiot.

"I do like you," she says. "I told you that. At the bar."

"Yeah, but…" you trail off, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "I thought you were just… drunk. Saying things. I didn’t think…"

"That’s the problem," she cuts in. "Liking you. That’s the problem." She finally looks up at you. "If I stay here… in this job… in the same environment as you… things will… they’ll develop." Her gaze is pleading, desperate. "And I know how it will end."

You stare at her, completely lost. "Develop? End? I… I’m confused, Irene. Is it so bad? Liking me?"

A sad, hollow little laugh escapes her, a sound that tears at something inside you. It’s devoid of any humor, filled only with a deep, weary pain. "Oh, you have no idea. It’s not about whether liking you is bad." She looks up, her dark eyes swimming with unshed tears. "It’s that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of liking you."

"But… it’s mutual, Irene," you say, stepping closer, wanting to reach out, to comfort her, but holding back, unsure. "I like you. A lot. I… I thought that was obvious. The way I act around you, the way I talk to you…"

"I know," she whispers, a single tear finally escaping, tracing a path down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. "I know you do. You… you treat me so well. Better than I deserve."

"Don’t say that."

"But it’s true!" Her words gain a desperate edge. "And that’s why I’m afraid! I’m afraid you’ll… you’ll be disappointed in me. Like any other guy would be. Eventually."

"That won’t happen, Irene," you assure her, your conviction absolute, even if you don’t fully understand the depths of her fear. "Not with me."

Her gaze searches yours, desperate for reassurance, for a guarantee you can’t possibly give, not without knowing what demons she’s fighting. "How?" she breathes. "How can you be so sure?"

"You just… you have to trust me.”

She sighs then, a long, shuddering exhalation that seems to carry the weight of years. Her shoulders slump, her head lowers. "I… I have a past," she says. "A past that I’m… I’m not proud of."

"It’s okay," you say gently. "Everyone has things in their past they’re not proud of, Irene. That doesn’t define who you are now."

She shakes her head, still not looking at you. "No, this is… this is different." She takes another shaky breath. "When I was younger… much younger… I… I was a porn star." The words come out in a rushed, choked whisper, as if saying them aloud might shatter her. "For three years."

Porn star. Irene? Your quiet, meticulous, reserved Irene? Your brain struggles to reconcile the image with the woman standing before you, so vulnerable, so afraid.

"I… I almost told you," she continues, her words tumbling out now, as if a dam has broken. "That night, at my apartment… when we were in bed. When I was drunk and feeling… brave. But you were already asleep. And I just… I gave up. Maybe, I thought, maybe it was better that way. Better for you not to know."

She finally lifts her head, her eyes raw, pleading. "My last relationship… it was four years. And it ended the moment he found out about it. He didn’t just leave. He… he leaked it. To my work, to everyone I knew. As revenge. Because he felt… betrayed, I guess." Her words are choked with remembered pain. "I had to leave. My job, my apartment, everything. I was… traumatized. Completely exposed." She shudders. "That’s why I only work as a casual worker now. I’m terrified of staying in one place too long. Terrified that eventually… someone will find out. That it will all happen again."

She looks at you then, her face pale, her eyes wide with a terrible, naked fear. "So now you know… Do you… do you think I’m disgusting now? Do you think I’m a whore?"

You listen, your own expression carefully neutral, though inside, a storm of emotions is raging: shock, yes, but overwhelmingly, a deep, aching empathy for what she must have endured. Disgusting? Whore? The words feel alien, obscene when applied to the woman in front of you.

You step closer, very slowly, and gently, calmly, you reach out and take her trembling hands in yours. Her skin is cold.

"No, Irene," you say, your gaze holding hers, willing her to believe you. "No, I don't think you're disgusting. And I sure as hell don't think you're a whore." You give her hands a gentle squeeze. "I am no one to judge you. No one. And what you went through… at your old work, with your ex… Jesus, Irene, I am so incredibly sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine the trauma of feeling exposed like that, of having your life and your privacy violated so brutally."

She stares at you, her lips parted, her dark eyes wide with a dawning, incredulous surprise. It’s as if she was braced for a blow, and instead, you offered her… understanding.

"The job offer," you continue, your tone unwavering, "it still stands, Irene. Henderson wants you because you’re brilliant. I want you here because this team, this office, is better with you in it. That hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed that."

"You’re… you’re serious?"

"Deadly serious," you affirm. "The contract is yours if you want it. No questions asked, no judgments made." You pause, then take another step closer, your grip on her hands tightening just a fraction. "And more importantly, Irene…" Your words are softer now, laced with all the unspoken emotion that’s been building between you for weeks. "I still want to keep… seeing you. Dating you. Whatever this is that we’re starting." You search her eyes. "If… if you still want to, of course. After all this."

For a long, breathless moment, she just looks at you, her expression a maelstrom of shock, relief, and a fragile, burgeoning hope. Then, slowly, wordlessly, she steps forward, closing the small distance between you. Her hands leave yours, sliding up your arms, to your shoulders, and then she’s rising on her tiptoes, her face lifting to yours.

Her lips meet yours, soft, hesitant at first, then deepening with a desperate, grateful intensity. It’s not like the hungry, alcohol-fueled kisses from before. This is something else entirely. It’s a kiss of acceptance, of relief, of a future that suddenly feels possible again. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are shining, her cheeks wet, but she’s smiling. A real smile. Radiant.

"Yes," she whispers, but the words come out clear as day. "Yes to both.”

—

Two months have passed since the night Irene told you her secret. You hadn’t pressured her for details after that. You figured she’d share more when she was ready. And maybe you’re dying to know, because there’s a whole life behind those eyes you’re only just beginning to uncover, but you’ve kept quiet. The important thing is simple: Irene’s here, now, with you. Not a passing contract worker anymore, but a full-time part of the company, of your team, of your life. She’s taken root, quietly but firmly, in your space.

And the sex? If anything, it’s only gotten wilder, like with the weight of her secret off her chest, she’s finally able to let go in ways you hadn’t seen before. The shy smiles, the slow, calculated movements…still there, sure, but now layered with something hungrier, less reserved, like she’s reclaiming something with every time you push her over the edge. You love it. Love her.

Which brings you to today. Your birthday. You didn’t tell anyone at work, not even Seulgi, who usually insists on dragging your ass out for overpriced cocktails every year. No thank you. You didn’t want a party. All you wanted was your day off, the luxury of doing absolutely nothing with Irene. You arranged to meet her at 6:00 PM at your apartment, which left your afternoon free. You went for a run in the park, as you usually do, and for some reason, the day feels brighter; maybe because it’s your birthday, or maybe because you know you’ll be seeing Irene in just a few hours. The air was cool, but the city was beautiful, glinting in that late afternoon gold.

By the time you got home, you were sticky with sweat, a faint sheen from the walk making your shirt cling to your back. You opened the door expecting the familiar sprawl of your apartment (the faintly messy pile of laundry on the chair, the open laptop on the coffee table), but instead, you stopped dead.

She was standing there, barefoot on your rug, a modest little cake perched on the kitchen counter, a couple of small, wrapped boxes beside it, the faint scent of chocolate and flour in the air.

“Irene… what the fuck…” You blink, stunned, taking it in: the simple but unmistakable gesture. She’s dressed so casually it almost undoes you: black tank top, thin and loose enough that you can see the faint outline of her nipples beneath, and tiny gray cotton shorts that barely cover the tops of her thighs. Her hair’s pulled back, but messier than usual, strands framing her face. She looks so effortlessly gorgeous it pisses you off a little, how she always does this without even trying.

“You… you didn’t have to,” you say, still standing in the doorway, key half out of your hand. “Seriously.”

She shrugs, but her lips curl up, pleased. “It was a pleasure,” she says, walking toward you, her bare feet making no sound against the floor. “You deserve it.”

You exhale, feeling something tight release in your chest. She’s already so close now, tilting her head up to kiss you. You bend down automatically, catching her mouth in yours, slow and grateful. She tastes like the chocolate she must’ve sampled from the cake.

You pull back, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower. I’m disgusting after that walk.”

She smirks, and her hand snakes out, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “But you look hot like that.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “It’ll be quick.”

She lets you go with a small, satisfied hum, and you head to the bathroom, stripping as you go. Under the hot spray, you let your muscles relax, your mind drifting. This week’s been a nightmare: training a bunch of new hires who couldn’t give a shit about what you say, their apathy bleeding into your own work, your inbox piling up, everything a fucking mess. You rinse your hair, scrubbing shampoo out, and call out loud enough for her to hear in the other room.

“I swear to god, babe, this week’s been brutal. I’ve been babysitting these useless newbies, none of them care, none of them listen—” You towel off roughly, stepping out, water still dripping down your chest. “—and I still have to keep up with all my own shit. It’s like I’m doing two jobs.”

You walk into the bedroom, still talking as you rub the towel over your head. “I should’ve just told Henderson to shove it and let them sink.”

And then you stop mid-sentence.

She’s standing there.

Naked.

Not a single stitch of clothing, just her flawless, toned petite frame, the faintest sheen of lotion on her smooth skin, her black hair loose now, falling around her shoulders. And her nipples (your breath catches) her nipples are each dabbed with a smear of dark, glossy chocolate, the scent of cocoa rich and unmistakable from where you stand.

She tilts her head, eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “Do you really want to talk about work? And by the way, I don’t think you’ll be needing clothes right now.”

You’re frozen, towel hanging loose around your hips, your cock already stirring in response to the sight of her.

She steps closer, one slow, deliberate stride at a time, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. Her fingers ghost over the edge of your towel, teasing, tugging, and with a practiced flick, she pulls it free. Your cock springs up, hard and ready, and she smiles like she expected nothing less.

“You didn’t really think cake and presents were your only gifts, did you?” she murmurs, eyes dropping to your length appreciatively.

Before you can answer, she pushes you gently but firmly backward, making you sit on the bed. You fall back onto the mattress, legs spread, leaning on your elbows, watching her climb up, her knees on either side of your thighs.

“It’s time for your second gift,” she says.

She shifts forward, and her small, perfect breasts are suddenly right there in front of you, chocolate gleaming on her tight little nipples.

You groan, sitting up and catching one of her nipples in your mouth without hesitation. You suck hard, your tongue circling the hard peak to clean away the bittersweet smear of chocolate. She lets out a soft, sharp gasp, her fingers immediately threading through your damp hair, gripping the strands, holding your head firmly in place. You take that as an invitation.

You drag your tongue over every last trace of the chocolate, lapping at her skin, feeling the delicate flesh swell and tighten even more under your attention. The taste is insane; dark, rich chocolate melting into the salty, warm taste of her skin. Once the first nipple is clean, glistening, and pink from the friction of your tongue, you move to the other. This time you start with your teeth, grazing them ever so gently over the hardened bud.

She shivers violently, a full-body tremor, her hips giving a small, involuntary buck against the mattress. "Fuck… yes…" she pants. "Right there… don't stop."

"You like that?" you murmur against her breast, your hot breath making her shiver again. "Like it when I bite?"

"I… fuck, yes," she admits, her hands tightening their grip in your hair, almost pulling. "Bite it harder."

You do, clamping your teeth down just enough to make her gasp again, a sharp, pained-pleasured sound that makes your cock throb. Then you soothe the faint mark with your tongue, lapping at her, sucking her deep into your mouth until her moans become a steady, breathless rhythm.

"Fuck," you breathe, finally pulling back to look at her, your lips wet and dark with chocolate. "You taste so fucking good."

She smirks. "I know," she purrs. "I was hoping you'd think so." She leans forward, her clean, hard nipples brushing against your lips. "They're all yours tonight, supervisor. A birthday present. You can do whatever you want to them."

"Anything?" you ask.

"Anything," she confirms, her eyes glinting. "Suck them, bite them, cover them in your cum… Just make them feel good. Make them feel used."

That's all the permission you need. You dive back in, taking her left nipple into your mouth again, but this time your assault is rougher, needier. You suck hard, creating a powerful suction, pulling at the flesh, your tongue a relentless engine against the peak. She cries out, a raw, open-mouthed sound, her body instinctively pressing closer against yours.

"God, you're so fucking sensitive," you mutter against her skin, loving the way her body reacts to your every touch. "I love how your nipples get so hard for me, how they just stand at attention, begging for my mouth."

"They are," she gasps, her hips starting to writhe. "They've been aching for you… for weeks… every time you look at me in the office…"

You pull away from her breast just enough to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses up her chest, over her collarbone, until you reach her mouth. You capture her lips in a deep, filthy kiss. Your tongue, slick with her taste and melted chocolate, plunges past her teeth, and she meets it eagerly, her own tongue wrestling with yours. You let her taste herself on you, the sweetness of the chocolate mingling with the salt of her skin.

When you finally break the kiss, you're both panting, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. "See?" you breathe. "I told you you taste good."

Irene licks her swollen lips, a dazed, utterly debauched look in her eyes. "Fuck," she whispers. "You're right." Her gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth, then back up again. "You know what else tastes good?” she asks, cupping the back of your head and guiding you down, down until your shoulders hit the mattress again. Then she moves, her thighs sliding up, one smooth motion as she positions herself right over your face, her pussy bare and slick, already dripping for you.

You barely manage a breath before she lowers herself onto you, her inner thighs framing your face, her weight pressing you down in the best possible way.

“This will be more delicious than the cake,” you say, voice muffled against her.

Irene smiles down at you lazily, like a queen about to settle onto her throne. Her hands find the headboard above your head, bracing herself, and then, finally, she lowers herself onto your mouth, her warmth enveloping you, her thighs tightening around the sides of your head.

The first contact is enough to make your cock twitch against your stomach. You slide your hands up the backs of her thighs, fingertips tracing the toned, soft muscle there, and then up further to her ass, gripping it firmly as you pull her closer, burying your face in her cunt. She’s soaked already, the slickness smearing across your lips and chin as you flatten your tongue and drag it slowly from the very base of her slit all the way up to her clit, savoring every second.

She lets out a sharp gasp, her hips twitching forward instinctively.

“Shit…” she breathes, looking down at you, her expression already beginning to shift from teasing control to raw need.

But for now, she’s still in charge. She rocks her hips forward just a little, her pussy sliding wetly over your mouth and nose, smearing you with her arousal. You keep your tongue out, letting her use your face however she wants, just occasionally giving her little flicks against her clit to remind her how eager you are.

“You love this, don’t you?” she says, her tone soft but with that dangerous little edge that always drives you crazy. Her fingers tangle in your damp hair, holding your head still as she starts to move her hips in slow, deliberate circles against your mouth. “Love being under me… letting me use you…”

You can’t answer (she’s not giving you space to) but your moan is deep and guttural, vibrating against her slick folds as you slide your tongue back up to her clit and start circling it in slow, agonizingly steady motions.

“Mmm, fuck…” she exhales, head falling back slightly, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths.

She’s setting the pace. You know better than to rush her. Your hands stay planted firmly on her ass, kneading the flesh as she rides your face, her hips rolling smoothly, confidently. The heat of her grows with every pass of her pussy over your tongue, her slick spreading across your cheeks and chin, and every time you flick the tip of your tongue against her clit just a little harder, she gasps and rocks her hips more forcefully.

“You always… eat me so fucking good…” she mutters, her voice breaking into a breathy moan as you latch your lips around her clit and start sucking gently, your tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud.

Her thighs tense around your head, the muscles flexing beautifully as she grinds down harder, chasing more friction. The more you give, the more she takes, rolling her hips with more intensity, dragging her soaked slit all over your face, smearing herself on you like she owns you (and she does).

Right now, she does.

“Don’t stop,” she hisses through gritted teeth, her fingers gripping your hair tighter, anchoring herself as she starts to lose some of that controlled rhythm, her movements becoming more desperate, more erratic.

You moan into her, the sound vibrating directly against her clit, and she cries out, a sharp, needy sound that makes your cock throb with how much you want her. But this is her moment. You flatten your tongue again, letting her grind against it, letting her slide herself up and down at her own pace, her pussy getting wetter, creamier, with every second.

“Fuck… fuck, you’re making me so wet…” she gasps, looking down at you, her dark hair sticking to her temples now as her body starts to glisten with sweat.

She lifts herself slightly, just to reposition, then slams her hips down against your mouth again, harder this time, her pussy mashing against your tongue and nose. You slide one hand from her ass to her lower back, steadying her, encouraging her to keep going, to use you just like this.

You can feel the shift now. The subtle change in her moans, from teasing and playful to raw, involuntary noises she can’t hold back. Her thighs begin to shake slightly on either side of your head as she rides your face, her slick coating your lips and chin, the taste of her getting thicker, sweeter, more intoxicating.

“I’m so fucking close…” she whimpers, her voice cracking with how hard she’s working herself against your mouth.

You respond by tightening your grip on her ass, pulling her down harder, guiding her against your tongue as you focus all your energy on relentless, steady strokes against her clit. She gasps, her whole body shuddering above you, her head dropping forward so her hair hangs in her face.

“God… yes… just like that… don’t you fucking dare stop…” she growls, grinding her pussy against your face with wild, desperate circles now, her control all but gone.

The wet sounds of her pussy dragging over your lips fill the room, slick and obscene, her arousal practically dripping onto your chest now as she rides you, using your face like her own personal toy. You keep your tongue out, letting her smear herself all over you, letting her control everything, loving how small but powerful she is, how easily she can overwhelm you with just her hips and her need.

“Shit… shit…” she pants, her thighs clamping tighter around your head, her fingers gripping the headboard so hard her knuckles go white.

You feel it, the way her pussy clenches, her body going rigid above you as she slams her hips down one final time and cries out, a long, shuddering moan that echoes off the walls. Her whole body quakes as she cums, her pussy gushing over your mouth, slick and creamy, her arousal spilling down your chin and onto your chest as she grinds out every last wave of her orgasm against your face.

You don’t stop. You keep your tongue moving gently, lapping up everything she gives you, licking around her swollen clit and savoring the taste of her cum as she rides out the aftershocks.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she collapses forward, her body draping over yours, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and slick with sweat. Her thighs tremble as she slowly lifts herself off your face, and you look up at her, lips and chin gleaming with her wetness, your eyes glazed with pure, feral hunger.

She smiles weakly, her breathing still ragged. “Happy birthday…” she whispers, voice hoarse but full of smug satisfaction.

You grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Best fucking birthday ever.”

She laughs softly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting herself on your lips, her tongue slipping into your mouth with a slow, deliberate slide.

And then she pulls back, biting your lower lip gently, her eyes still dark with want.

“But we’re not done,” she says as her hand trails down your chest and wraps around your cock, already throbbing and slick with precum. “That was just your first gift…”

You groan, tilting your head back, already ready for whatever she has planned next as she shifts her weight and starts to slide down your body.

You laugh breathlessly, wiping the last traces of her slick from your chin with the back of your hand, still riding that high from having her grind out her orgasm on your face. “Jesus,” you exhale, your chest heaving. “That’s already the best fucking birthday I’ve had in years.”

She chuckles, low and throaty, still catching her breath. Then she leans in, presses a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth, and whispers, “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

That pulls a grin out of you immediately. You squeeze her ass, your fingers digging into the soft but firm flesh, pulling her closer as you smirk. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

She pulls back just far enough to give you that look: mischievous, calculated, playful. Her lips tilt up in a smirk, then she bites the inside of her cheek and says, almost sing-song, “Wait here.”

Then she’s sliding off you, her bare feet hitting the floor with that soft, soundless grace that only she seems to have. You watch her as she pads out of the room, completely naked, that tight little body moving with unhurried confidence, her hips swaying just enough to make your already rock-hard cock give another desperate throb.

From the bedroom, you hear the faint sound of a zipper, metal teeth rasping open. A pause. Then some soft rustling. Your heart picks up, your curiosity burning, trying to piece together what the hell she’s planning. And then, her footsteps again, crossing the hall, getting closer.

She comes back into the room, eyes glinting, and tosses something at you. You catch it on instinct.

It’s a small bottle.

You turn it over in your hand, read the label.

Lube.

Your brows shoot up and you look at her, grinning in disbelief. “What the hell do you plan on doing with this?”

She climbs back onto the bed, crawling up slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking prey, her eyes locked on yours, her knees spreading on either side of your hips until she’s hovering right above you.

“You’re the one who’s gonna do it.”

You blink, your brain still processing, the words sticking in your throat for a second. “Wait… what?”

She leans down, her lips grazing yours as she whispers, “Because it’s your birthday…” she kisses you, slow and soft, then pulls back, “…and because you’re such a great supervisor…” another kiss, deeper this time, “…you get the privilege of fucking my ass today.”

Your whole body tightens instantly, your cock jerking so hard it practically aches. You stare at her, eyes wide, like she’s just handed you the keys to some secret vault you didn’t even know existed. “Are you… are you serious?”

She sits back on her heels, all casual, like she didn’t just offer you the dirtiest birthday present imaginable. “Of course I’m serious.”

Then she reaches behind her, drags her fingers slowly down the curve of her own ass, giving one cheek a light slap, making it jiggle just enough to send your pulse into overdrive.

“It’s been a long time since I took it in the ass…” she says, almost absentmindedly, her voice that same casual, almost shy tone she uses when discussing quarterly reports, like this is just another item on her to-do list. Then she looks right at you, her eyes dark and steady, “…and I kind of love anal.”

Your jaw slackens a bit, your mind racing with images, with questions, with raw, hungry need.

She grins at your reaction, shrugging one bare shoulder. “Makes sense, right?” she adds, almost teasing. “Former porn star. Guessing I’ve done it… more times than I can count. It's part of the job.” Then her voice drops just a little more, breathier, more vulnerable. “But… it’s been years since I’ve had a real dick back there. Just… toys. Dildos.”

Your cock twitches violently at that, thick and hard, standing straight up against your stomach. You groan, dragging your palm slowly along your length, almost needing to ground yourself with the sensation. “Fuck, Irene…” you mutter, shaking your head. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“But you like it… don’t you?”

“Like?” you laugh quietly, breathless. “This is… this is the best fucking gift.”

She smiles, pleased with herself, then crawls forward a little more, turns, and gets onto all fours right in front of you. That perfect little ass of hers tilted up, back arched so her cheeks spread just slightly, giving you the clearest possible view of her tight, pink little asshole. Your throat goes dry.

She glances back over her shoulder at you, smirking. “Well… supervisor… you gonna get started?”

Your heart is hammering out of your chest. “Damn right.”

You pop open the bottle of lube, the faint plastic crack of the cap clicking free, and squeeze out a generous amount into your palm. It’s cool and slick, coating your fingers easily as you rub them together, warming it up a little.

Without wasting any more time, you slide closer to her, one hand gripping her hip, the other bringing the lube to her ass. You let the first cold drop fall right onto her tight little hole, watching as she shivers at the sudden temperature shock.

“Ohhh… fuck,” she breathes out, her back arching deeper as her hands grip the sheets.

You smear the lube over her asshole with slow, steady circles, massaging it in, spreading it across the perfect crease of her ass, making sure it’s slick and glistening all over. Her cheeks are shining now, slippery under your fingers, and that tight little star is all slicked up, glistening and ready.

The more you work the lube in, the more she relaxes, her breaths coming deeper, slower.

“You’re loving this,” you murmur, running your thumb gently along the rim of her hole, teasing her.

She looks back at you, biting her lower lip, her eyes half-lidded with arousal. “You have no idea…”

You apply a little more pressure with your thumb, testing her, and she pushes back slightly, welcoming it, her body already opening up for you.

“Mmm… that’s it,” you say under your breath, gripping one cheek and spreading her wider, admiring the way her asshole puckers and flexes, slick and inviting.

The contrast between the shy, composed Irene everyone knows at the office, and the filthy, unashamed woman kneeling naked in front of you now, offering you her ass like it’s the most natural thing in the world… it’s fucking intoxicating. You love this about her. That duality. That quiet power.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the small of her back, your hand still massaging circles around her entrance, feeling her pulse there, steady and hot. She shivers again, but it’s not from the cold now; it’s pure anticipation.

“You sure about this?” you ask.

She laughs, breathless. “Don’t make me beg…”

You grin, sliding your lubed fingers lower, brushing her slick pussy briefly, just enough to make her moan softly, before bringing your hand back up to her ass. You add a little more lube to your fingers, making sure it’s dripping, then slowly, carefully, you press the tip of your index finger against her tight, pink hole.

Her breath hitches. Her whole body tenses as you apply steady pressure. The tiny muscle fights you for a second, a stubborn little ring, before it finally gives way with a soft squelch. You slide your finger in, just to the first knuckle. She groans, a low, guttural sound that’s half pain, half pure bliss.

"Fuck…" she breathes out, her hips twitching. "Okay… okay, that’s… mmm."

You wait, letting her adjust to the feeling of being filled, your finger still and warm inside her. Then, you start to move it, a slow, gentle circling motion. Her asshole clenches around you, tight and hot.

"Easy, baby," you murmur. "Just relax for me. Let me open you up."

She exhales, a long, shuddering breath, and you feel her body soften, her tight muscle relaxing just a fraction around your finger. You push in a little deeper, hooking your finger slightly, massaging her from the inside.

"Oh, god… that feels…" she trails off. She pushes back against your hand, wanting more. You continue the slow, steady rhythm, and she lets out a soft, contented sigh. "It's… it's so nice," she whispers. "To be able to do this again."

You keep moving your finger, feeling her pulse against the tip. "Do what, baby? Take a finger up your ass?" you tease gently.

She lets out a wet little laugh. "That too. But… just this. All of it. The sex… being filthy…" Her voice drops, becoming more serious. "But feeling… safe. Feeling protected while I do it. Knowing you’re not going to… hurt me at the end. Or judge me." Her hips rock back, pressing her ass more firmly onto your hand. "God, I’m so happy you didn’t give up on me. That you insisted on staying."

You slide your finger out slowly, coat it with more lube, then add a second finger to the first. You press them both against her entrance. She gasps as you work them in together, stretching her, filling her more completely.

"I would never lose a woman like you, Irene," you say. "You're the most beautiful, intelligent, fucking amazing woman I've ever met. Past, present, all of it. You're perfect."

She shudders as your fingers begin to move inside her again, a slow scissoring motion that makes her moan, a high, keening sound this time. She looks back over her shoulder, her face flushed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Fuck… that’s…" she bites her lip, a shy blush creeping up her neck despite the raw vulgarity of the situation. "That’s… really nice of you to say, but… maybe we can leave the love talk for later?" she gasps out between moans. "Talking about these things while you have your fingers in my ass isn't exactly… the best time."

You bark out a laugh, the tension breaking. "You're right. My bad." You lean in and bite her ass cheek playfully. "Sorry for trying to be romantic while I finger-fuck you."

"It's okay, baby," she giggles, her whole body relaxing into your touch now. "Just… focus on the finger-fucking part for now."

"Whatever you want, boss," you say, grinning. You add a third finger, and she cries out, her ass clenching hard around you, starting a slow, relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of her tight little hole. The lube makes a wet, slapping sound with every thrust of your hand, a filthy soundtrack to her ragged moans. Her ass cheeks are spread wide, giving you a perfect, obscene view of her pink, stretched muscle gripping your fingers. You watch, fascinated, as she completely melts under your touch, her body surrendering to the pleasure.

"Fuck, Irene… look at you," you growl. You rotate your fingers inside her, feeling her stretch wider around them. She cries out, a sharp, high-pitched sound. "You're taking my whole hand like a champ. Just imagine how good this is gonna feel when it's my thick cock stretching you out instead."

"Mmmm… don't… don't stop," she pleads, her words broken by gasps as she pushes her ass back onto your violating fingers, meeting the pressure.

"Oh, I'm not stopping," you promise, your pace quickening slightly. You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. "I think I'm gonna get addicted to this. To your perfect ass. I'm going to want to fuck it every single day." You thrust your fingers deeper, imitating a hard fuck. "How's that sound, baby? Waking up every morning with my cock already buried deep inside your ass, filling you up before you've even had your coffee."

Her response is a raw, guttural moan that vibrates through her entire body. Her hips begin to grind against your hand in wild, needy circles. "Yes… fuck… keep talking," she pants. "Tell me more… tell me what you're gonna do to my ass…"

You glance down between her thighs and your own cock gives a hard throb. A glistening, clear trail of her arousal is dripping from her soaking wet pussy, running down the inside of her thigh and pooling on the sheets. She's not even touching herself, but the thought of you fucking her ass is making her cunt gush.

"Look at that," you murmur, your free hand reaching down to trace the slick path of her juices. "You're so fucking wet for this, aren't you? So horny just thinking about my cock in your ass that your pussy is weeping for it." You dip your thumb into her slickness and bring it back up to her asshole, smearing her own cunt juice around the rim of her hole, mixing it with the lube. "Let's make it even messier."

"Please…" she whimpers, completely gone. "Please, just… fuck me… I need it…"

You pull your fingers out of her with a loud, wet sound. Her asshole, stretched and glistening, puckers greedily, empty for only a second. You can see how ready she is, how open you've made her.

You draw your hand back.

The sound of your palm connecting with her ass cheek is sharp and loud, echoing in the quiet room. A perfect, red handprint blossoms on her pale skin. She yelps, a shocked, ecstatic sound, her whole body jolting. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her eyes wide, dazed, and full of pure, unadulterated need. Her chest is heaving, her lips are parted, and her ass is red, abused, and beautifully, perfectly ready for you.

The lube glistens like syrup under the low light, a sheen coating the delicate wrinkle of her pink asshole, smeared slick between the cleft of her cheeks and dripping slowly toward the tight seal of her pussy. She keeps herself open for you, kneeling deep into the mattress, arms stretched forward, arching her back like a fucking exhibit. She’s panting, her head down, black hair spilled over her shoulder blades in wild, careless strands.

You trace the tip of your cock along the seam of her hole, barely nudging the outer ring, and she makes a noise: sharp, needy, almost angry.

“Don’t tease me,” Irene growls, hips pushing back against you, practically punching your cock with the weight of her ass. “Put it in. Now.”

You obey. You press forward slowly, resisting the urge to just bury yourself to the hilt and fuck like an animal. Her hole yields just a little, then grips you, impossibly snug, sucking you in with a hot, slick resistance that makes your whole body twitch.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter under your breath, biting down on a curse as the ring of muscle clamps around your head, slow and greedy, dragging every millimeter into her. “Jesus, you’re… tight.”

“I know,” she smirks into the pillow, biting down on her bottom lip as she breathes through the stretch. Her tone is breathless but taunting. “I haven’t been used in a while. Not properly. Not like this.”

You ease in another inch. Then another. Her asshole flutters and clamps, adjusting around your girth like it’s testing you.

“That’s it,” Irene whispers, then harder: “Keep going. All the way. Don’t you dare stop until your balls are fucking pressed against me.”

You grit your teeth, rocking your hips gently forward, both hands gripping her sides to keep steady. Inch by inch you sink into her, the resistance melting into slick pressure. She moans, a raw, throaty sound full of pain twisted with hunger. Her whole body shudders as the last inch disappears into her heat.

When your pelvis finally nestles flush against the swell of her ass, your balls brushing her dripping cunt, she exhales hard; like she’s just been filled with something holy.

“Goddamn,” you breathe, locked inside her, unmoving for a second, overwhelmed by the feel of it. “You’re gonna break me.”

“No,” she says, lifting her head just enough to look back at you. “You’re gonna break me. Keep moving, or I’ll sit on your face until you pass out.”

You pull back slow, dragging yourself out until just the thick head is left buried inside, then push back in with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes her whine low in her throat.

“That’s it,” Irene murmurs. “Nice and deep. I want to feel every inch. I want to feel it in my fucking stomach.”

You start to move, slow and steady, your cock plunging deep into the hot grip of her ass and pulling out again, over and over, building a rhythm. Her moans rise in pitch, sharp and cut with whimpers, but her ass keeps pushing back onto you, meeting every thrust with a greedy snap of her hips.

“Faster,” she snarls. “Don’t be gentle. I don’t want gentle.”

You pound into her harder, the slap of your skin against her ass echoing in the room, obscene and constant. Her back arches deeper, the curve of her spine a perfect invitation, and you drive in deeper still, your hands spreading her cheeks to watch your cock disappear again and again into that slick, stretched hole.

“Fuck yes,” she gasps. “That’s it. That’s your hole. Say it.”

Your brain is on fire, body wound tight, but you nod, fucking her faster, harder. “My hole. All mine. Fuck—so good, Irene.”

“Tell me what I am,” she spits, grinding her ass against you mid-thrust. “Tell me what you’re fucking.”

You groan, barely coherent. “My whore. My nympho slut. My fucking anal-obsessed goddess.”

“That’s right,” she laughs, low and mean, pleasure twisting her words. “I’m your filthy bitch. Keep filling me. I want you so deep I can’t walk tomorrow.”

You grip her hips and slam into her, cock buried to the base every time, her ass stretched wide around you. Her pussy is a mess now, slick and twitching, untouched and throbbing with every shockwave of your rhythm.

“Harder,” she snarls. “I want to feel your cock rearranging my guts.”

"Alright, ma'am," you growl.

You give her exactly what she's begging for. Your hips become pistons, slamming into her with a brutal, relentless force. All your strength is channeled into your cock, driving it into her ass again and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding echoes in the room, obscene and glorious. You grip her hips so hard you know you'll leave bruises, using them as handles to anchor her as you pound into her without mercy.

Her moans shatter, turning into raw, animal cries of pain and ecstasy. She pushes back against you with every brutal thrust, her body a taut bow of pure sensation. You watch your cock disappear into her tight, glistening hole, the muscles of her ass clenching desperately around you. Her untouched pussy is a mess below, dripping her slick onto the bed with every jarring impact. She's so fucking hot, so insatiable.

"Tell me again what a filthy whore I am!" she snarls, voice cracking. "Tell me how much you love fucking my tight ass!"

"You're my perfect little anal slut," you pant, the words ripped from your throat as you continue your assault. "You take this cock so fucking good. Your ass was made for this. Made to be stretched, used, and filled by me."

"It was," she sobs, the words half-lost in a scream of pleasure. "It's yours! My ass is your fucking property! Now wreck it! Wreck me!"

Her body starts to tremble, fine tremors at first that grow into violent, uncontrollable shudders. Her asshole, which was already impossibly tight, clenches down on your cock like a vise, spasming, milking you with an intensity that almost makes you lose control. She's close. So fucking close.

"That's it, baby," you groan, feeling her body start to come apart around you. "You feel that? You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum all over my cock from your ass."

"I am… fuck… I'm… oh god…"

Her head whips back, a choked, guttural scream tearing from her lips as her orgasm hits her like a lightning strike. Her entire body locks up, her back arching so high her knees lift off the bed. Her asshole spasms violently around your shaft, a series of deep, rhythmic pulses that feel like she's trying to suck your cock clean out of your body. She’s coming, harder than you’ve ever seen anyone come, purely from the brutal, relentless fucking you’re giving her ass.

"FUUUUCK!" she screams as she shatters. Her body convulses around you, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through her. She's sobbing, drool trailing from the corner of her open mouth, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation. You don't stop, slamming into her through it, dragging her along the edge of that climax until she’s twitching, sobbing, her thighs soaked, everything between her legs shaking from overstimulation. Her asshole clenches over and over, like it’s trying to keep your cock inside her permanently. The sound of your name on her lips turns into a whimper, a plea.

And then she collapses.

She goes limp under you, body gone soft, her face buried into the mattress, hair plastered to her neck with sweat. You slow just enough not to hurt her more, but you're still buried in her, and she’s still trembling like something in her got snapped and rearranged.

You reach down, cup one hot, twitching cheek in your palm, fingers sinking into the softness, then you slap her ass. She jerks violently, crying out again, a fresh gush of wetness from her untouched cunt.

Irene’s panting like a dog, but she lifts her head slowly, pushing herself up on shaky elbows. Her asshole is raw and red, clenching around nothing now that you’ve pulled out, and your cock stands slick and flushed, aching to go again.

You run a hand down her back, smearing sweat, and watch her shiver under your touch, still catching her breath. She looks over her shoulder, eyes dark and dazed, lips parted.

“What now?” she asks, still high on it, a smirk tugging at the edge of her fucked-out expression.

You crawl over the mattress, slow and deliberate, the mattress dipping under your weight until you’re hovering above her. You reach out, brush her damp hair away from her cheek, and tilt her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours; you lean in and kiss her.

It’s not rushed. Not forceful. Just the soft press of your lips on hers, a quiet connection that feels startlingly out of place after how violently you’d just been inside her. But it fits. Her lips part easily, kissing you back, slow and sweet, her moan caught between you like breath being passed from one lung to another.

When you pull back, your thumb stroking gently over her cheekbone, you speak low and close.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She blinks once, then laughs; a little stunned, a little disbelieving, the sound raspy and full of heat. She shifts onto her side, hair falling in her face, her lips tugged up into a crooked grin. “Jesus,” she murmurs. “That’s a hell of a romantic thing to say after you fucked my ass like it owed you rent.”

You laugh too, forehead pressed to hers, eyes shut for a second. “I mean it.”

“Yeah?” she whispers, her palm sliding up your chest, nails dragging faintly across skin. “You always get all poetic when I let you wreck my holes?”

“I’m discovering new talents,” you say, and kiss her again, deeper this time, longer, your tongue meeting hers slow and deliberate, savoring her like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. Her fingers find your hair, tangling in it, keeping you there until she finally pulls back, panting softly, her lips swollen and wet.

You straighten, letting your hand glide down her bare side, palm trailing over the curve of her hip. “Come on,” you murmur, fingers nudging at her.

She doesn’t move.

Instead, she stretches lazily, catlike, then rolls onto her back, arms above her head, bare chest rising and falling. “Make me,” she says, grinning like a brat, teeth flashing beneath the curtain of black hair stuck to her cheek. “If you want me up so bad, you better earn it.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re in that mood again?” you mutter, and before she can blink, you lunge, grabbing her under the thighs, flipping her off the bed in one fluid motion. She shrieks, half-laughing, half-startled as your arms lock around her, her bare ass landing square in your hands.

“Hey!” she gasps, but she’s laughing, eyes bright. “Assault!”

“You asked for it,” you growl against her throat, kissing her hard, biting the skin there just enough to make her squirm.

Still holding her up, you reposition your grip—one hand under her ass, the other around her back. Her legs wrap around your waist like it’s instinct. She clings to your shoulders, breath hitching as your cock brushes against her inner thigh, then her slick, drenched cunt.

You drag the tip along her folds, once, twice.

She gasps. “Fuck, fuck, I’m—” she starts, but your head nudges inside, the slickness between her legs so intense it practically sucks you in.

“Sensitive,” she finishes, her whole body jolting.

You groan as you push deeper, her pussy hot and swollen and soaked from everything that came before. She’s not just wet—she’s drenched, her folds clinging to your cock like velvet, the entrance spasming as you ease in inch by slow inch. Her breath stutters out of her mouth in broken moans, arms tightening around your neck, her nails biting into your skin.

“Irene—fuck—you’re soaking,” you hiss, your lips brushing her ear.

“I know,” she moans, her words thick with need. “It’s from before…I came so hard… ahh, god, don’t stop, don’t—”

You don’t.

You fuck her slowly in the air, each thrust smooth and deep, her weight light in your arms but heavy on your cock. Her pussy clenches with every movement, already overstimulated and begging for more. Her head falls back, exposing the line of her throat, mouth open in helpless pleasure as you move inside her.

Her moans get louder, warmer, wetter, her body rocking with every motion, the slap of skin against skin muted by the softness of her thighs wrapped tight around you.

“You like that?” you whisper, kissing her collarbone, trailing your tongue between the swell of her breasts. “You like getting fucked right after I ruined your ass?”

She nods frantically, face flushed, lips parted. “Y-yes, I—fuck, yes, I need this, don’t stop, I’m so close already.”

You kiss her, swallowing her cries, letting her whimper into your mouth as you keep thrusting up into her, slow and deep, filling her again and again until her cunt spasms, her whole body clinging to yours like she’s afraid to fall. Her moans melt into kisses, breathy, broken, desperate, like she’s trying to stay anchored through her own bliss.

And you just keep holding her, hips rolling, fucking her deeper… slower… not letting her come down yet.

Your arms are burning with the effort, but you don't care. The feeling of her wrapped around you, your cock buried deep inside her slick, hot cunt, is worth everything. Her body is a dead weight of pure pleasure, clinging to you, her head thrown back as you continue the slow, relentless rhythm. Each thrust is deliberate, deep, a lazy roll of your hips that slides you all the way in until your pelvis presses against her, then draws you almost all the way out before sinking back down.

She whimpers into your mouth every time you pull back, a desperate, needy sound. "Please..." she breathes against your lips, her own hips trying to buck, to rush the pace, to find the friction she so clearly craves.

"Shhh," you murmur, capturing her mouth in another long, slow kiss. "Just feel this, baby. Let me love you." You fuck her with an infuriating gentleness, your movements tender, almost reverent. It's the exact opposite of what her body is screaming for, and you both know it.

That’s the fucking point.

"You're... torturing me," she pants, her nails digging into the muscles of your shoulders. Her pussy is so wet it's practically frictionless, dripping down onto your thighs, but it clenches around your cock with a desperate, pulsing grip.

"Am I?" you whisper, your lips tracing a path down her throat to her collarbone. You continue the slow, deep strokes, ignoring her plea. "I'm just loving you, Irene. Showing you how much you mean to me. How perfect you feel." You thrust upwards, slowly, filling her completely, and hold yourself there for a moment, letting her feel every thick inch. She moans, a long, frustrated wail.

"No... please... I need it harder," she begs, voice cracking. She starts to writhe in your arms, trying to grind her hips against you, to create her own rhythm. "Fuck me... please, just fuck me properly."

You chuckle softly against her skin, a low, dark sound. "But I like this," you say, resuming the agonizingly slow pace. "I like feeling you squeeze me. I like hearing you beg." You kiss her again, a deep, possessive kiss that smothers her protests. You can feel the frantic, thrumming energy building in her, the pleasure coiling into a tight, unbearable knot of pure need.

Her body is trembling now, her skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. "You're an asshole," she gasps, her voice a mix of fury and arousal. "You know what I want... you know what I need, and you're just... playing with me."

"I am," you agree easily, your hips still rolling in that same, maddeningly slow rhythm. "And you love it. Look at you. You're soaked. Shaking. Completely coming apart just from me being inside you."

"Then make me come!" she cries out, her control finally snapping. "For fuck's sake, stop making love to me and just FUCK ME! Fuck me hard! Use me like I'm a toy, like I'm just a fucking fleshlight you own! I need it! Please, I need you to ruin me!”

You kiss her neck gently, your lips brushing her skin in a gesture of pure affection that completely contradicts the filthy words she just screamed.

"A fleshlight?" you murmur against her ear, your voice a soft, teasing caress. "Is that all you think you are to me, Irene? Just a set of holes to use?" You slide almost all the way out of her, making her gasp and instinctively clench her pussy around the thick head of your cock, trying to keep you inside. Then you push back in, slowly, deeply, until you bottom out against her cervix. "That doesn't sound very romantic."

"I don't want romantic right now!" she cries. Her body writhes in your arms. "I want to be used! I'm just a cunt for you! A tight, wet hole for your big dick! Please, I'm begging you, just pound me! Pound my cunt until I'm stupid! Forget my name! Forget everything but how good it feels to fuck me!"

"Are you sure?" you ask, your voice still infuriatingly calm and gentle. You continue the slow, deep fucking, each stroke a deliberate act of torture. "Because I love making love to you, Irene. I love holding you like this. Feeling your heart beat against mine."

"Fuck my heart!" she sobs. "Fuck my heart and fuck my brain! Just fuck my pussy! Please! I'll do anything! I'll be your good little whore, I promise! Just stop teasing me! I can't take it anymore! I'm going to come just from this, and I'll fucking hate you for it!"

You stop moving.

For one torturous second, you are completely still inside her. She whimpers, her body frozen in anticipation. "Alright," you growl. "If you're going to beg for it like a good little whore, then I guess I have to give you what you want."

"Yes..." she breathes.

Your grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of her ass as you slam her down onto your cock harder, rougher, the sound of her soaked cunt getting louder, wetter. The wet smack of flesh on flesh fills the room, and she yelps, then laughs through it, her eyes wild, her smile twisted with too much pleasure.

“God, yes—fuck me, use me—don’t stop—don’t you dare—”

You do exactly what she demands.

You use her.

You fuck her like she’s a doll made just to take cock, just to squeeze and stretch and be filled until her mind breaks and drips out of her pussy. You slam into her over and over, brutal rhythm, zero mercy. Her nails are digging into your shoulders, her forehead pressed to yours, moaning every breath into your mouth as her body takes the full force of your thrusts.

“Fucking hell,” you growl, gritting your teeth as her pussy tightens and pulses around your cock, “you’re taking it like a fucking slut, Irene.”

“I am,” she pants, the words shuddering out of her, “I’m your fucking slut—I’m your toy—make me fucking cum, I want it, I want it, please!”

You feel the change before you see it. The muscles inside her pussy, already clenched tight around you, suddenly begin to flutter, then seize, locking down on your shaft like a superheated vise. Her eyes, which were squeezed shut, fly open wide, not with pleasure, but with pure, unadulterated shock.

"Oh... oh my god... I'm..."

A sharp, strangled cry rips out of her as the first gush erupts from her cunt. It’s not just wetness; it's a hot, violent spray that shoots out, soaking your stomach and thighs, splashing on the floor below you. It’s a shocking, uncontrollable release, and her entire body locks up, trembling in your arms as she comes so hard she can’t breathe, can’t think.

You don't stop. You don't even slow down.

The sight, the sound, the feeling of her completely letting go like this makes you lose control. You keep slamming into her, your cock driving through the gushing fluid, making it splash and spray with every thrust. The fucking is louder now, wetter, a constant, obscene slapping sound. Another powerful torrent shoots from her, then another, seemingly endless. Her pussy is a broken faucet, gushing warm, clear fluid that runs in rivers down your legs, pooling on the floor.

"Aaahhh—fuck—it's still coming!" she screams. "I can't stop it—what's happening?! Fuck, fuck, don't you dare stop!"

Her legs, locked around your waist, are trembling so violently she can barely hold on. Her entire body jerks with every stroke, completely helpless in your grip. You fuck her through the flood, your own vision blurring, your body on fire. You watch her face, see her mind completely erased by pleasure, her eyes rolled back, her mouth wide open in a silent, unending scream.

You only slow when the last pulses drain from her, the violent gushes finally slowing to a warm, steady trickle down her thighs. Her limbs go limp, her body slumping against you, completely boneless and spent. She collapses against your chest, shivering and dazed, her entire body buzzing in the aftermath.

With a groan, you stumble back with her still in your arms and half-fall, half-sit on the edge of the bed. She’s still on your lap, your cock buried deep inside her wrecked, dripping pussy. Her arms curl weakly around your neck and she buries her face in the crook of your shoulder, her breath coming in shallow, trembling gasps.

You hold her tight, your own heart hammering against your ribs. Your hands slide slowly up and down her back, a soothing, grounding motion. You kiss her hair, her temple, the shell of her ear, whispering her name over and over.

Finally, you tilt her chin up to kiss her. Her lips are soft, wet, and slow to respond, her body still floating, completely fucked-out. She moans weakly into your mouth, a sound of pure, exhausted bliss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are barely open, her long lashes wet with tears and sweat.

"Mmm," she sighs, nuzzling her cheek against yours. Her gaze drifts down, looking at the mess. Your bodies are gleaming, the floor is soaked, and the air is thick with the clean, musky scent of her release. "Your cock is magic," she whispers. "That was… Jesus Christ. I don't even squirt. Like, ever. I think I've maybe done it once in my entire life, and it was nothing… nothing like that."

You chuckle, your forehead pressing against hers. "Well, I guess your pussy just really, really likes me."

"I guess so," she murmurs, a lazy, dazed smile spreading across her face. "Or maybe you just finally fucked me hard enough to break me.” Then her hand slips between the two of you, down to your lap. Her fingers wrap around your shaft, still rock hard, still throbbing inside her. “Are you close?”

You nod, your breath hitching. “Yeah.”

Her smile changes—still soft, but wicked underneath.

“Good.”

Then she pushes you back, palms on your chest, making you fall flat onto the bed with a surprised grunt. She rolls her hips as she pulls off your cock, the slick noise of her body separating from yours obscene, strands of wetness sticking to your shaft.

She straddles you like she owns you; knees braced on either side of your hips, sweat-slick thighs trembling but determined, ass flexing as she angles herself just right. You’re flat on your back, heart thundering in your chest, cock twitching and red and glistening with her slick, twitching against your stomach until she grips it with one hand, lines the head up with the soaked, glistening pucker of her asshole, and then sinks.

Your breath catches in your throat as her ass envelops you again, tight and hot, that familiar pressure building immediately as she sinks down with a slow, sinful twist of her hips. The tip slides in, and she moans, a low, guttural sound of pleasure and defiance, her back arching, hair sticking to her damp face. Her hole stretches around you perfectly, so perfectly it borders on painful, but she keeps going, inch by inch, until her full weight settles against your hips and you’re buried to the base.

You groan, your fingers digging into the sheets as her ass clenches around your cock like a fist. She lifts her head, licking her lips, eyes half-lidded with bliss.

“Still so fucking hard,” she murmurs. “You love my ass, don’t you?”

You nod, helpless.

“I could ride this cock all night,” she whispers, then smiles wickedly. “And I just might.”

She starts to move.

No slow buildup, no gentle grind: she fucks you, bouncing on your cock with reckless rhythm, ass clapping against your thighs, wet, loud, filthy. You groan through gritted teeth, hands finding her waist to keep yourself grounded, but it’s impossible to keep up with her. She’s wild. Even after cumming twice, even after being reduced to a trembling, soaking mess; she’s still fucking insatiable. Every drop of strength she has is poured into fucking herself on your cock like a nymphomaniac possessed.

“Oh my god,” you groan, hips thrusting up instinctively to meet her. “Irene—Irene, I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

“I know you’re close,” she gasps, riding you harder. “I can feel it. Your cock’s throbbing like it’s about to explode. Come on. Don’t hold back.”

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, and slaps your face (not soft). Your head rocks to the side, the sting immediate, and your cock jerks hard inside her.

“Cum,” she hisses, breath hot against your mouth. “Fucking fill me. Cum in my ass. Do it.”

Your hands clamp onto her hips, pulling her down with every thrust, using her body like a goddamn toy, because that’s what she wants—her words, not yours. She’s a toy, a whore, a filthy little anal slut who wants nothing more than to milk the last fucking drop out of you.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” she pants, her nails dragging down your chest. “I know you do. I can feel it. You’re right there. Do it—cum inside my ass.”

Your brain goes blank. There’s no air, no words, just pleasure, pure and blistering, like you’ve been set on fire from the inside out. Your whole body seizes, hips jerking up into her as the orgasm slams into you like a bomb.

“Fuuuck—” you groan, head thrown back, every muscle tightening.

You cum. Hot, thick spurts of seed shoot deep into her tight little ass, each pulse more intense than the last, her body milking you with every squeeze, every rhythmic clench. It pours out of you, heavy and helpless, so much it feels like your balls are emptying themselves completely into her. She moans low and deep as she feels it, still grinding, slow now, purposeful, drawing out every spurt like she’s harvesting it.

“Fuck yes,” she groans, eyes fluttering shut. “So hot inside me… I can feel it—all of it. So warm. So fucking full.”

You can't stop moaning, your voice a pathetic, broken thing in the quiet of the bedroom. Your orgasm has left you hollowed out, your body trembling and weak, but she’s still moving. Her hips continue their slow, tight circles, grinding your now hypersensitive cock against the walls of her asshole. Every tiny movement sends a jolt of raw, overstimulated friction through you that’s almost painful. Your semi-flaccid cock twitches again, spasming weakly, squeezing out another dribble of cum into the hot, slick grip of her ass. The wet, squelching sound is obscene.

“Jesus,” you whisper. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, your whole body tense. “Irene—I can’t—please, stop…”

She just laughs. It’s not her usual soft, sweet chuckle. This is a low, throaty, cruel sound that vibrates down through her body and into yours. She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, her sweat-slick hair falling around her face like a dark curtain. Her eyes are glittering with a wild, sadistic light.

“Stop?” she purrs, her hips not pausing their relentless, grinding motion. “Oh, baby. We’re not stopping. We’re just getting started.” She grinds down harder, a deliberate, punishing circle that makes you cry out. “Remember earlier? When I was begging you to fuck me harder, and you just kept going slow? When you were teasing me, making me wait, making me plead for it?”

You nod weakly, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Well,” she says. “Payback’s a bitch. This is my revenge. Now it’s your turn to beg. It’s your turn to lie there and take it, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much you want me to stop. You don’t get to move. You don’t get to pull out. You just take it. Understood?”

“Irene… please… I’m empty,” you plead, your hips instinctively trying to squirm away from the relentless pressure.

Her hands shoot out, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your head. Her grip is surprisingly strong. “I said, don’t move,” she hisses. “And you are not empty. I know you, baby. I know your body. There’s always more. And I’m going to milk every last fucking drop out of you before I’m done.”

With your arms pinned, you’re completely at her mercy. She speeds up, just slightly. The slow, torturous grind transitions into a purposeful, steady rhythm. The wet, sloppy sounds of your cum lubricating her fucking get louder. She’s using your own release against you, turning it into a slick coating for her relentless ride.

“That’s it,” she moans, her own pleasure building again. “Feels so good, riding you when you’re this sensitive. I can feel your cock twitching inside my ass with every fucking squeeze. You love it, don’t you? Even though it hurts. You love being my toy.”

“It’s too much, babe…” you groan, your head thrashing on the pillow. Your cock, against all odds, is hardening again inside her, engorging with trapped blood, the sensitivity becoming an unbearable, burning ache.

“Too much? Oh, no. This isn’t even close to too much,” she taunts, her pace quickening even more. She starts bouncing on you, her ass slapping against your thighs, each impact sending a shockwave of sensation straight to your overstimulated nerves. “I’m not stopping until I cum again. And you’re going to be hard and buried inside my ass for that whole ride. You’re going to fill me up again while I’m screaming.”

She’s a fucking demon, a beautiful, insatiable nympho riding you into oblivion. She can feel you getting hard again, feel your body’s unwilling response. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“Oh, look at that,” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now. “Getting hard again for me. Such a good boy. You can’t help it, can you? Your cock just wants to please me. It just wants to be milked by my greedy little asshole.”

Her words are a death sentence to your self-control. Your body is already screaming, a raw nerve of overstimulation, but her filthy promises send a fresh wave of heat through you. You’re actually hardening again, impossibly, painfully, inside the slick, tight grip of her ass.

“You’re on the edge again, aren’t you?” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now, a brutal, merciless bouncing on your raw cock. “I can feel it. Your cock is twitching inside my ass, getting ready to shoot for me again. Good. I want it. I want your hot load coating my insides. I want to feel you pump every last drop into my greedy little hole.”

“Irene… please… I can’t…” you plead.

“Shhh. You don’t get a say in this. You don’t decide when you’re done. I do. I’m going to milk your balls dry, and you’re going to lie here and take it like the good little toy you are. I want to feel you come apart inside me. I want to feel you lose your fucking mind.”

She feels the tell-tale tremor run through you. She knows. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“Oh, yes… right there…” she hisses, her pace becoming even more punishing. “You’re going to give it to me now. You’re going to fill your whore’s ass up again. Fucking beg me for it. Beg me to let you cum.”

“Please,” you sob, the word ripped from a place beyond your control. “Please, Irene… let me cum… please…”

“That’s it,” she purrs. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

She lets go of your wrists, braces her hands on your shoulders, and with a final, guttural cry of her own, she sits down on you. Hard.

The sudden, overwhelming pressure is blinding. It forces the air from your lungs in a choked scream. Your body goes rigid, your back arching violently off the bed as the second orgasm rips through you with a force that feels like it’s tearing you apart. It's a complete system overload, a raw, involuntary expulsion that is pure, agonizing bliss.

Hot, thick ropes of your cum shoot deep inside her again, flooding her, filling the space that was already slick with your first release. You’re screaming, incoherent, your mind completely blanked out by the intensity.

As you flood her, a sound tears from her throat; not a taunt, but a raw, shocked scream of her own. Her whole body locks up, seizing around you. Her ass muscles spasm violently, a deep, powerful clenching that milks you even harder, drawing out every last drop of your release. The sheer force of you coming inside her, filling her so completely, has pushed her over her own edge.

“OH FUCK!” she screams, voice cracking as her own orgasm hits her suddenly. She’s coming apart on top of you, her body convulsing, her mind wiped clean. You feel her climax in the way her inner walls flutter and pulse around your still-erupting cock. She’s coming from your cum, from the feeling of being brutally, completely filled.

She rides out the violent waves, her body still moving on instinct, until the last shuddering tremor racks through both of you. Finally, with a long, shuddering sigh, she collapses, her body a dead weight on top of yours, her face buried in the crook of your neck. You’re both panting, drenched in sweat, completely and utterly broken. Her ass is still wrapped snugly around your now-softening cock, your combined releases making a warm, sticky mess between you.

For a long time, the only sound in the room is your ragged, shared breathing. You stroke her hair, your fingers trembling slightly, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks. She feels impossibly warm, impossibly real, molded against you.

You let the silence stretch, letting the intensity fade into a soft, warm quiet. You feel her press a weak, open-mouthed kiss against your throat.

“I love you, Irene,” you whisper. It's the first time you've told her that. It feels like the only true thing in the universe right now.

You feel her tense for a second, then melt against you even more. She lifts her head, her face a beautiful wreck. Her eyes are hazy, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looks at you, and the raw, unadulterated love in her gaze steals your breath all over again.

“I love you too,” she whispers back. She leans down and kisses you.

She pulls back, resting her forehead against yours. “Jesus,” she breathes, a shaky laugh escaping her. “No one’s ever… done that to me before.”

“Done what?” you murmur, your thumb stroking her cheek.

“That,” she says, her gaze soft and vulnerable. “Made me feel so… completely dominated. So used and broken. And then… made me feel so completely loved, all in the same breath. I didn't know that was possible.” She nuzzles her face into your chest. “I trust you so much. I can be… all of this… this filthy, needy thing… and I know you won't leave. I know you’ll still be here to hold me after. You are the first person to understand me completely."

You wrap your arms tighter around her. “I’m never leaving,” you say. “You can be whatever you want with me, Irene. Dominant, submissive, a fucking demon, an angel. It doesn’t matter. I’ll still be here. I’ll still love you.”

She sighs, a sound of pure, contented relief. “Good,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut. “Because I think you broke my ass. You’re going to have to carry me to the shower.”

You chuckle, kissing the top of her head. “Deal.”

—

An hour later, after a long, hot shower that washed away the sweat and cum but left the buzzing, bone-deep satisfaction, you're both on the couch, tangled together in a thick blanket. The apartment is quiet and dark, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. You take the cake that Irene prepared and put it on the coffee table.

It's a rich, dark chocolate cake, with a glossy ganache frosting that’s a little uneven on the sides, a testament to the fact that she made it herself. A few simple, elegant chocolate shavings are scattered on top. It looks cute and real. You find a few candles in a drawer and stick them in the center.

"Alright, birthday boy," she murmurs. "Make a wish."

You look from the flickering candles to her face, her skin glowing in the warm light, her eyes soft and heavy-lidded with exhaustion and love. "Already got it," you say quietly.

You lean forward, and blow the candles out in a single, gentle puff. The wicks glow red for a moment before extinguishing, leaving thin trails of smoke curling in the air. You cut a large, messy slice and hold the fork up to her lips. She parts them, taking the bite, and her eyes flutter shut. A low, genuine moan of pure bliss rumbles in her chest.

“Holy shit,” she sighs as she chews slowly. “Okay. This is what I needed all along.”

You laugh, taking a bite yourself. "What, not the two hours of borderline-abusive anal sex?"

She nudges you with her shoulder, swallowing. “Okay, both,” she concedes, her lips quirking into a grin. “But this is a very, very close second. I can’t believe the cake actually turned out good. I had to whip it up in a rush before you got back from your walk.”

"This is honestly the best chocolate cake I've ever had," you say, meaning it. You pause, a wicked grin spreading across your face. "But... I think I still prefer the taste of it on your tits."

Her laugh is sudden and bright, a beautiful, airy sound. A faint blush colors her cheeks, and she hides her face in your shoulder for a second. "Oh my god, you're an idiot," she murmurs into your t-shirt, but she’s still shaking with laughter. “In my head it was an incredibly erotic idea.”

She leans her head against your shoulder, tucking her legs up under the blanket, and you both eat the cake in comfortable silence for a few minutes, sharing the fork.

“I really like this,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?” you ask, nudging her gently with your head. “What part?”

She sighs, a sound of deep, bone-deep contentment. “All of it. The chaos from earlier. The quiet now. You.” She pauses, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the blanket over your thigh. “Just… this. Sitting on a couch, eating cake. It feels so… normal. I haven’t felt normal in a very long time. I think I forgot what it was like.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and sincere. “For years, I just felt like this… lonely creature. Hiding. Just trying to get through the day without anyone really seeing me. It’s so nice to not feel like that anymore. To just be… here. With you. And for it to be this easy.”

You put the plate down and turn, wrapping your arms fully around her, pulling her into your lap. You kiss her forehead, holding her close. “This is your new normal, Irene,” you whisper into her hair. “You’re not a lonely creature. You’re my amazing, brilliant girlfriend who makes killer chocolate cake and who I get to come home to. You’re not alone anymore.”

She burrows her face into your neck, holding you tight. You feel a wetness on your skin and realize she’s crying, but it’s a quiet, happy, cleansing cry.

After a moment, she pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a watery but radiant smile on her face. She leans in, kisses you softly, deeply.

“Happy birthday,” she whispers again against your lips. “This was a really good day.”

—

It’s deep into the night by the time you make it to bed. The room’s completely dark except for the faint glow of the city filtering in through the slats in the blinds. Irene’s lying on her side, bare under the sheets, one leg tangled with yours, her fingers lazily drawing circles on your chest.

“Can I tell you something?”

You turn to face her. “Always.”

She takes a breath. “It’s… about my past. The… stuff I used to do.”

You nod, gently brushing her hair back from her face. “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

“No. I want to.” Her hand presses against your sternum, anchoring herself. “I just haven’t really… said this out loud in a long time. But I think it's time to tell you the whole story.”

You wait.

“I got into porn when I was twenty-one,” she says, slowly, like each word needs to be chosen carefully. “I was drowning in student loans. I’d dropped out after two years of college because I couldn’t keep up financially, and I was so fucking angry; at myself, at my parents, at the system. I was doing retail. I was behind on rent. I was living in a place with mold on the walls, sharing a mattress with someone I didn’t even like.”

You nod, your hand finding hers under the blanket and squeezing it.

“People think porn is this glamorous, expensive thing you fall into because you’re greedy or slutty or broken. But it wasn’t like that. It was desperation. And curiosity. And yeah, maybe a little recklessness too.” She chuckles, but it’s dry. “I found an ad on the internet. It was a new adult film studio that was gaining popularity. I think it no longer exists today, but it was becoming well-known at the time. The ad didn't say much, just ‘professional shoot, high pay, women 18–30.’ And I thought… fuck it. What else am I gonna do?”

A new adult film production company

Your thumb runs along her knuckles slowly. She continues.

“I wasn’t scared, really. I was more scared of being broke forever. I’d always been… into sex. A lot. Like, way more than anyone I knew. Masturbating three times a day since I was a teenager. Hookups that made my friends call me names behind my back. But porn? It felt like a way to finally own that part of myself. Monetize it. Flip the script.”

She shifts, her cheek brushing your chest. Her voice steadies, but it’s raw.

“The first shoot was awkward as hell. I cried afterward. Not because I hated it. I didn’t. I liked it. I liked the power of it, the thrill of being watched, of giving someone a fantasy and being in control of how far I’d take it. After spending 1 week filming the scenes, I came home with two thousand dollars in a brown envelope and the weirdest feeling that I’d just started something I couldn’t undo.”

The way she talks—it’s not rehearsed. It’s not for pity. It’s like she’s finally giving herself permission to speak it out loud.

“And from there it just… grew. I filmed more. I used different names. I met people who pulled me in deeper. Some were great, honestly. Some were predators. But the money came fast. I paid off my college debt in under a year. Got a better place. Better food. Clothes. And I was fucking constantly. It was like being high.”

She pauses. Her fingers clutch yours tighter.

“I got addicted. Not to the money. Not even to the attention. To the sex. To the permission. Like I was finally allowed to be as filthy as I’d always been inside. And people were clapping for it. Commenting. Downloading. Jerking off to me. I became this thing. A brand. A body.”

You feel her exhale. Her voice cracks at the edges.

“Eventually I couldn’t tell where Irene the girl ended and Irene the performer began. I’d be doing grocery shopping and people would stare at me and I’d wonder if they recognized me. Or if I was just imagining it. I stopped dating. Who the hell wants to date a girl who’s had fifty dicks on camera? I started pulling back. Told myself I’d film one last scene. Then another. Then another… Eventually I met a guy, he was nice. And I thought maybe this was my chance to leave that world and live a normal life. I had no idea what was yet to come.”

Her voice fades for a second, and you hear her swallow.

"My relationship fell apart when he discovered everything. I had every intention of telling him the truth—I swear I didn’t mean to deceive him—but it was such a difficult thing to bring up. I was trying to find the right moment, building up the courage. By then, I had already left the adult film industry and was working a regular job, trying to move on with my life. But I waited too long, and somehow, he found out. I still don’t know how it happened. Maybe one of his friends stumbled across something and told him, or perhaps he came across one of my old videos online. It doesn’t really matter now. After that, my world unraveled. He told everyone: our friends, even people at the company where I worked. The shame and judgment were overwhelming. So, I just… vanished. I cut ties completely. Deleted all my social media accounts, changed my phone number, and moved to a new city to start over.”

You can feel her heartbeat through her chest, thudding softly against yours.

“And since then, I’ve been alone. Not just physically. I mean… alone. I didn’t touch anyone. I didn’t let anyone touch me. I thought if I deprived myself long enough, I’d stop wanting it. That I’d be better. Cleaner. Deserving of a different life.”

She lifts her head, finally. She looks at you like she’s terrified. And yet still determined.

“Then you came along. And for the first time in years, I wanted to want again. Not just for the release. But for the way you looked at me. The way you talked to me, saw me. You didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared. You didn’t treat me like I was made of broken parts.”

You move your hand to her cheek and stroke it gently.

“I was scared I’d fall back into old habits. That if I let myself be touched again, I’d become… her. That insatiable thing. The one who always needed more. But it’s different with you. I don’t feel empty after. I don’t feel used.”

She exhales, her lips trembling. “I feel… real. Like I can breathe again. Like I’m allowed to be who I am. And still be loved.” Then quieter. “You don’t think I’m sick, do you?”

Your response is immediate. Fierce.

“No. Not even close.”

Her lip trembles. “I’ve done things that would probably make you run if I told you. Stuff I can’t take back. And I still want sex. I’ll probably always crave it too much. I’m still trying to balance it. Be healthy. Not lose myself in it again. But it’s hard. It’s messy. I feel like damaged goods, sometimes.”

You cup her face in both hands, pressing your forehead to hers.

“You are not damaged. You’re not sick. You’re brave. You’re human. And you’ve survived more than most people even think about. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. And you have a right to want. To need. To feel.”

She lets out a sound like a sob, but it turns into a laugh, wet and breathless.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “No one’s ever said that to me. Not like that. I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me like this. Not even me.”

You pull her close, so close there’s no air left between you.

“You deserve to be loved, Irene. Every inch. Every version. Every mood. You deserve it.”

She stays curled against your chest, her breath soft and steady now, her body wrapped around yours like she’s trying to memorize the shape of safety.

“I was such a bitch when I started,” she says.

“You were not.”

“I kind of was.” She laughs quietly, her nose brushing against your jaw. “I didn’t talk to anyone. I barely made eye contact with you the first two weeks.”

“You were reserved,” you correct her gently. “Not rude.”

“I was terrified,” she admits. “Not of you, just… of everything. I had the feeling that I was constantly being watched. I thought I’d last maybe a month before someone recognized me. Before the whispers started.”

You nod, stroking her spine slowly with your fingertips.

“I almost quit the second week,” she confesses. “I wrote the email. Had my resignation drafted and everything. I thought it’d be easier to just run. That’s always been my thing—run when it starts to feel like people care too much.”

You tilt your head, nudging her nose with yours.

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” she says, a small smile forming at the corner of her lips. “You wouldn’t let me.”

You smirk. “That makes me sound controlling.”

She giggles, quiet and real, the kind of laugh she only gives you when it’s just the two of you in the dark like this.

“No, you were just… kind. And persistent. You kept checking in. Bringing me coffee even when I wouldn’t talk to you. Including me in conversations even when I’d pretend I was busy.” You shrug like it was nothing. Because to you, it was nothing. The bare minimum. But to her? It’s clearly more. “I don’t think I would’ve stayed if it wasn’t for you,” she says, voice dipping lower again. “You didn’t push. You didn’t ask too much. You just… let me be, while still reminding me I wasn’t invisible.”

Her fingers skim your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over the corner of your mouth. “So yeah. Thank you. For being patient. For not giving up on me before you even knew what I was hiding.”

You meet her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I didn’t know what you were hiding, but I knew you were worth knowing. That was enough.” She looks like she’s about to protest again, maybe deflect or crack a joke, but you don’t let her. “And for the record,” you add, leaning in just a little, your lips grazing hers, “you being here tonight? With me? That’s the best birthday present I could’ve asked for.”

Her eyes flutter shut for a second like she’s letting it soak in. Then she leans forward and kisses you, slow and unsure at first, but then deeper, warmer, like her body’s catching up to what her heart’s just now starting to believe. Her fingers wind into your hair, her chest pressing to yours, and her lips stay against you for long moments, whispering wordless thank-yous between every soft drag of her mouth.

—

Everything is fine. For months, everything is fucking perfect.

The revelation of Irene’s past, that raw, terrifying confession in the dark of your bedroom, didn’t break you. It bonded you. A routine settles in, easy and comfortable. She keeps the apartment, a permanent fixture now, her quiet confidence growing day by day. She starts talking to people more, a small smile here, a shared joke there. She’s still Irene, reserved, observant, but the wall of fear has been dismantled, brick by brick. She’s a common face in your life now, an essential one. Her toothbrush is in your bathroom holder. Your hoodie is her favorite thing to sleep in. You trade nights at each other’s apartments, building a small, shared world of takeout, inside jokes, and lazy Sunday mornings.

And the sex. Fuck, the sex. Knowing her history, knowing the deep well of experience she draws from, only makes it hotter. It’s not just a physical act; it’s a form of communication, a place where she can be completely, uninhibitedly herself. And you… you’re falling in love with her. It’s not a sudden realization, but a slow, creeping certainty that settles in your bones. You’re in love with every part of her—the quiet office worker, the demanding lover, the brave woman who is learning to trust again. Everything is fine.

Until today.

The office is quiet. It’s break time on a Monday. Half the staff are outside or in the break room. You’re just walking back to your desk after refilling your water bottle when you see it. A huddle. Four, maybe five guys from the junior sales and IT teams, clustered around a workstation at the far end of the open-plan space. Their backs are to you, their shoulders hunched together, their focus absolute.

You hear murmurs, low and conspiratorial. A snicker.

"…Jesus, look at her take that…"

"No way that’s really her…"

"God, I’d pay good money…"

A familiar, unpleasant prickle goes up your spine. You start walking over, your curiosity piqued. Probably just watching some stupid viral video or a sports highlight. You come up behind them, peering over the shoulder of some fresh-faced IT kid.

And then you see it. Your heart stops. Literally fucking stops. The blood in your veins turns to ice.

On the monitor, displayed for anyone to see, is a porn video. The image is sharp, clear, and utterly undeniable. It’s her. It’s Irene. Younger, yes, but unmistakably her. She’s on her knees, her mouth wrapped around some guy’s cock, her eyes looking straight into the camera with a practiced, dead-eyed expression that is so alien from the woman you know it makes you physically sick.

You freeze. For one, long, terrible second, your brain cannot compute. The two realities: Irene, your Irene - the woman who makes you laugh and brings you cookies, and this woman on the screen, a sexual commodity - violently collide, and your mind just… shorts out.

You don’t even think. You move. You shove your way through the huddle of gawking men, their surprised yelps barely registering.

"Who the fuck put this on?" you scream, your words ripping through the quiet office, echoing off the partitions.

Your eyes land on the person in the chair. It’s fucking Kyle. A newbie from the sales team, barely twenty-two, a smirking, entitled little shit you’ve disliked from day one, the kind of kid who thinks sexual harassment policies are just a suggestion.

You grab him by the collar of his preppy polo shirt before he can even react, hauling him out of the chair, slamming him back against the cubicle wall. His feet scramble for purchase.

"Was this you?" you roar, your face inches from his, your knuckles white where you’re gripping his shirt. "Did you do this?”

His smug little face has dissolved into pure, slack-jawed terror. "Whoa, man, chill out! I-It wasn’t just me!" he stammers, his eyes wide, darting between you and the screen where Irene is now taking the guy’s cock deeper down her throat.

"I’m going to ask you one more fucking time," you snarl, giving him a hard shake. "Did. you. put. this. on?"

"N-no! I mean, yes, but—but Kevin recognized her!" he squeaks, pointing a trembling finger at another terrified-looking newbie cowering nearby. "He said he’d seen one of her movies before, and we didn’t believe him, so we just… we just looked it up to see if it was true! It was just a joke!"

"'A joke'?" you repeat. "You think this is a fucking JOKE? You had no right. No fucking right!" You draw your fist back, every ounce of rage in your body screaming at you to smash it into his stupid, terrified face, to wipe that pathetic excuse off the planet.

"Hey! What the hell is going on over here?"

The commotion has drawn a crowd. Park Sooyoung from HR is there, her face a mask of stern disapproval. Seulgi from accounts is peering over a cubicle wall. And then, among the new faces trickling in from the break room, drawn by your shouting, you see her.

Irene.

She stops, a cup of tea in her hand, a look of mild curiosity on her face. Then she follows everyone’s gaze. First to you, holding Kyle pinned against the wall. Then to the huddle of now-terrified men. And finally… to the monitor.

Time slows down. You watch as her eyes land on the screen, as they widen, as she processes the grainy, moving image of her younger self. You see the exact moment of recognition. You see the color drain from her face, leaving it a sickly, ashen grey. You see her mouth fall open in a silent, horrified expression. You see her worst fear, the trauma she’s been running from for years, realized in the most brutal, public way imaginable. And it breaks your fucking heart. The rage in you evaporates, replaced by a cold, sickening horror that mirrors her own.

Her cup slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor, splashing hot tea across the grey carpet. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes are still glued to the screen, her body frozen. Then, a choked, strangled sound escapes her lips. She turns, her face a mask of such absolute, bone-deep horror that it will be seared into your memory forever, and she runs.

"Irene!"

You let go of Kyle, shoving him away so hard he stumbles and falls. You push past Wendy, past the stunned onlookers, your entire being focused on getting to her. But she’s already at her desk, her movements frantic, clumsy. She snatches her handbag, her hands shaking so badly she can barely hold it.

"Irene, wait!" you call out, but she’s not listening. She’s a cornered animal, driven only by the instinct to escape. She bolts, running for the elevators, her footsteps echoing in the now-silent, watching office.

You lunge, your body moving on pure instinct, throwing yourself through the gap just as the polished steel doors of the elevator begin to slide shut. You land inside with a heavy thud, the doors closing behind you, sealing you both in the small, descending box. The world outside: the shocked faces, the murmuring, the obscene image still frozen on that monitor, is gone. It’s just you and her.

And she’s broken.

Irene doesn’t just stumble; she collapses. Her body gives out completely, her legs folding beneath her as she hits the floor in a heap. A raw, animal sound of pure agony is torn from her throat, a sound that has nothing to do with the quiet, composed woman you know. She curls into a fetal position on the cold, sterile floor, her hands clawing at her hair, her whole body shaking with violent, uncontrollable tremors.

"No… no, no, no…" she gasps, her words dissolving into ragged, hyperventilating breaths.

This isn't just crying. This is a panic attack, full-blown and terrifying. You’re on the floor with her in an instant, you gather her into your arms, pulling her trembling body against your chest, trying to shield her from a horror that’s already inside her head.

"Irene, hey, I’m here. I’ve got you," you murmur. You hug her tight, trying to use your own body to still her shaking. "Breathe, baby. Just try to breathe with me."

"I knew it," she whines, her face buried in your shirt. "Oh god, I knew this would happen… I was so stupid… so fucking stupid to think I could just… leave it behind…" Her words are punctuated by desperate, panicked gasps for air. "It’s never going to stop. It’s always going to find me. It’ll never fucking stop haunting me…"

"Shh, shh, no, that’s not true," you insist, your heart fracturing at the sheer, raw despair in her words. You gently take her face in your hands, forcing her to look away from the floor, to look at you. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, her beautiful face streaked with tears and twisted in a mask of pure terror. "Irene. Hey. Look at me." Your tone is firm but gentle, trying to cut through the noise in her head. "Look at me. I’m right here. You see me?"

Her gaze flickers, struggles to focus on yours. She gives a tiny, shuddering nod.

"Good," you say, your thumbs stroking her tear-soaked cheeks. "You are not alone in this. Do you hear me? I am not leaving you. Not now, not ever. We… we can get through this. Together. But I need you to be strong right now, Irene. I need you to just hold on for me. Can you do that?"

"I can’t…" she chokes out, a fresh wave of sobs shaking her. "I can’t go back there. I can’t face them. I can’t…"

"You don’t have to," you say immediately. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do." And then, the words, the most honest, urgent truth you possess, just… come out. A desperate anchor thrown into the storm of her panic. "I love you, Irene."

Her frantic, panicked breathing stutters. Her wide, terrified eyes blink, the wildness in them receding for just a second, replaced by a look of stunned, utter disbelief. She stares at you as if she’s never seen you before.

"I love you," you repeat. "And because I love you, I will fight for you. I will protect you. Those fuckers who did this? They will be punished. They will be gone from that office before the sun comes up tomorrow, I fucking swear it. I will talk to Henderson. I will talk to HR. I will talk to every single person in that office and I will explain exactly what happened; that a couple of immature, pathetic little shits violated your privacy and humiliated you, and that they don’t represent what our company stands for."

You lean closer, your forehead pressing against hers. "Remember what I said? That it’s a good office, with good people? That is still true, Irene. The people who did this… they are the exception. They are newbies who don’t fucking belong there. You do. You belong there."

Her breathing is starting to even out, her gaze still fixed on yours, clinging to your words.

"You don’t have to be silent," you continue. "You don’t have to hide. I can be your voice, if you want me to. I will scream for you until my own throat is raw. All I ask… all I need from you right now… is that you don’t run away. Not from this. And not from me."

For a long moment, she just looks at you, the tears still flowing silently down her face, but the raw panic has subsided. Then, with a shuddering cry that’s more relief than pain, she collapses forward, her arms wrapping around your neck, clinging to you as if you’re the only solid thing in a world that has just disintegrated around her.

"I love you too," she whispers, her words muffled against your shoulder, choked with sobs. "God, I love you so much."

A huge, shaky smile breaks across your face, even as your own eyes start to burn. You hug her back, hard, burying your face in her hair, breathing in her scent. "That’s great," you whisper, laughing a little through the sheer, overwhelming emotion of it all. "That’s… that’s all that matters." You pull back, looking into her eyes again. "We can do this, Irene. Together."

She looks at you, her face a mess, her body still trembling, but for the first time since this nightmare started, there’s a flicker of her old strength, her resilience, in her eyes. She nods, a small, jerky movement. "Yes," she says. "Okay. Yes. I can… I can try."

Just then, a soft chime rings through the small space, and the elevator doors slide open with a gentle whoosh, revealing the brightly lit, indifferent emptiness of the ground floor lobby.

—

The hours that followed your escape in the elevator were a blur of cold, focused fury. While Irene was safely behind the locked door of your apartment, you went to war. You didn’t just want to find out what happened; you wanted names, you wanted details, and you wanted blood. Leveraging your supervisor credentials and a couple of quiet, pointed conversations with reliable sources (people you knew weren’t part of the office’s smirking underbelly) the whole pathetic story spilled out.

It was exactly as the terrified little shit Kyle had stammered. A rookie named Kevin, a recent transfer from another branch, had recognized Irene. He’d apparently bragged to his new friend Kyle that he’d jerked off to one of her films back in college. Kyle, ever the skeptic and dickhead, had called bullshit. So, on a slow Monday afternoon, they looked her up. When they found the videos, confirming Kevin’s claim, their pathetic little minds were blown. They couldn’t just keep it to themselves. They had to prove their discovery, gathering a small, willing audience of other bored, morally bankrupt juniors to gawk at their coworker’s past, laid bare on a company monitor.

The ugliest part, the detail that made you want to find them and break their fucking hands, came from Park Sooyoung in HR, who had pulled one of the other witnesses aside. Just before you’d walked in, Kyle had allegedly joked to the group that maybe he should make Irene a "proposal" (a bit of quid pro quo). She could fuck him, and in exchange, he’d keep her secret from spreading to the rest of the company. He claimed, when confronted, that it was "just banter." You classified it as attempted blackmail and gross misconduct of the highest order.

Their expulsion was swift and brutal. You, Sooyoung, and Henderson, the big boss himself, had them in a conference room before they could even clock out. By the time they were escorted out by security, their careers at Henderson Corp were over, and the big boss promised you he’d be making a few calls. Thanks to his contacts, those two little shits were going to have a very, very difficult time finding another job in this industry, in this city, ever again.

Now, the next morning, you stand at the head of the main conference room. Your entire team is here, seated around the long, polished table. And so is Irene. She’s sitting between Wendy and another woman from her department, a silent, formidable wall of female support flanking her. She looks pale, exhausted, her eyes slightly puffy, but she’s here. She showed up. The sheer, breathtaking courage of that simple act makes you look at the people in the room with renewed determination.

You clear your throat, and the room falls silent. Everyone’s eyes are on you.

"Good morning, everyone," you begin, your tone calm, level, professional. You let your gaze travel around the room, meeting the eyes of each person there. "I’ve called this meeting because I need to address the incident that occurred in our workspace yesterday afternoon. I’m not going to go into the explicit details, because frankly, they are irrelevant. What is relevant, what is critical for every single one of us to understand, is what that incident represents."

You pause, letting the weight of your words sink in.

"Yesterday, a member of our team had her fundamental right to privacy violated in the most egregious way possible. She was exposed, without her consent, to a small group of employees in an act that constitutes severe, targeted harassment." You can feel the anger, still simmering just below the surface, but you keep it leashed, transforming it into cold, hard authority. "Let me be absolutely, unequivocally clear: this type of behavior is not just unacceptable within this company; it is antithetical to everything we stand for. This is a zero-tolerance policy issue. The individuals responsible for perpetrating this act, for creating what is legally defined as a hostile work environment, have already been terminated. Their access has been revoked, and they will not be returning."

A few people shift uncomfortably in their seats. Good. Let them be uncomfortable.

"We are all human beings here," you continue, your tone shifting slightly, becoming more personal, more human. "We come to this office every day from different walks of life. We all have experiences, we all have histories, we all have traumas and triumphs and pasts that are entirely our own. And no one—no one—in this room, or in this company, has the right to excavate another person’s history and put it on public display for their own amusement or judgment. The moment we start believing we have that right is the moment we lose our own humanity."

Your eyes find Irene’s across the room. She looks up, meeting your gaze. You give her a small, almost imperceptible smile, one meant only for her.

"I am incredibly proud, and frankly, humbled," you say as you continue to look at her, "that our coworker chose to walk back into this office today. That she chose to stay with this team, even after what happened. That choice shows an incredible amount of trust in us. In all of us." You look around the room again, at your team. "It shows that she believes this incident was an anomaly. That she believes the rest of us are better than that. And I hope, I expect, that every single one of you will spend every day proving to her that she is absolutely right to place her trust in us once more."

"We have an obligation to maintain not just a physically safe workspace, but a psychologically safe one. And what happened yesterday was a profound breach of that psychological safety. It will not happen again." You take a deep breath. "Irene, what you did today, just by being here, took more courage than most people will have to show in their entire careers. You are facing this with your head held high, and you have the full, unwavering support of this company’s leadership, and of your team." You start clapping, a slow, deliberate sound in the quiet room. "I’d like to ask for a round of applause for Irene."

For a split second, there’s silence. Then, Sarah, sitting next to Irene, starts clapping loudly. Then another person, and another, until the entire room erupts in a wave of sustained, genuine applause. It’s not polite, corporate clapping; it’s loud, it’s heartfelt. The women beside Irene grab her hands, squeezing them tight, hugging her shoulder. You see a single, fresh tear roll down Irene’s cheek, but this time, she’s smiling through it, a watery, overwhelmed, but real smile.

You let the applause continue for a long moment, a testament to her, a cleansing of the ugliness from yesterday. When it finally dies down, you clap your hands together once, a sharp, decisive sound that brings the focus back to you.

"Alright," you say, your tone shifting back to that of a no-nonsense supervisor. "Thank you for your attention. The matter is dealt with. Let’s get back to work. We have deadlines to meet, and no one is slacking off on my watch."

A few nervous chuckles ripple through the room as people start to stand, the tension finally broken. You wait as the last person files out of the conference room. You inhale and exhale slowly your shoulders slumping slightly. It’s over. The worst is over.

Then, you hear the soft scrape of a chair. It’s Irene. She didn’t leave with the others. She pushes herself to her feet and slowly walks towards you, navigating the maze of chairs.

"That was a great speech," she says.

You manage a tired grin, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Well, I have to live up to my fancy supervisor title sometimes, right? Can’t just be about chasing you for reports and stealing your pens."

Her smile widens. "Henderson steals the pens, not you."

"Right." You look at her, and she looks, even at this delicate moment, the most beautiful woman in the world. "How are you doing? For real."

She considers the question for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "I’ll be fine," she says. "Tired. A little… wrung out. But I’ll be fine."

"Do you think you can work today?" you ask gently. "Because if you want to go home, you just say the word. I’ll handle everything here."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I want to stay. I need to stay." She meets your eyes, and there’s a flicker of her newfound fire in them. "I’m done running."

"Okay," you nod. "Okay. But you take it easy." You pause, then a thought strikes you, a desire to anchor this new beginning with something normal, something just for you two. "Hey. You wanna… you wanna go out to dinner tonight? After work? A proper place, with tablecloths and everything. No dive bars."

"Wow, look at you," she teases. "We’re evolving. No more getting me drunk at a bar. Now it’s romantic dinners?"

"Well, now that you've said you love me—twice—I figure I don’t have to get you drunk anymore to trick you into liking me. Saves me some money."

She chuckles again, reaching out and patting your shoulder lightly. "You’re an idiot." Her expression softens, her eyes searching yours. "Hey… can I kiss you?"

You glance instinctively towards the glass door of the conference room, a conditioned reflex. "As long as it’s quick," you whisper back, your heart starting to hammer again for a much, much better reason.

She rises up on her tiptoes, her hands coming to rest on your chest, and presses her lips to yours. It starts as a quick, sweet thank you, but neither of you can hold back. It deepens, fast, her mouth opening against yours, your arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against you. It’s a long, full, passionate kiss, filled with all the terror and relief and love of the last twenty-four hours. It’s a victory.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathless, she reaches up with her thumb and gently wipes the corner of your mouth. "My lipstick," she murmurs. She looks you right in the eye, her own gaze clear and steady. "I love you," she says again, not as a desperate confession in a falling elevator, but as a simple, solid statement of fact.

"I love you too, Irene," you reply.

She rests her forehead against yours for a moment, a comfortable, contended sigh escaping her. "I’m happy to be here," she says softly. "I like it here."

You smile, a teasing glint in your eye. "I hope that’s because of me, and not just because of the significant salary increase and comprehensive benefits package."

"Mmm, it’s mostly because of the salary, to be honest," she says, deadpan. "But you’re nice too, I guess."

"Alright, you," you say, reaching out to playfully nudge her. "We better get going before someone walks in and finds us. Back to pretending we’re just professional coworkers."

"Okay, boss," she says. As you both turn to leave, she gives your ass a sharp, surprising slap.

You yelp, jumping in surprise and turning to look at her with wide, laughing eyes. "Hey! That’s harassment!"

She just winks, her smile turning wicked. "Not my fault you have such a nice ass."

You shake your head, still laughing, a feeling of pure, unadulterated joy bubbling up inside you. "Well, it seems like you’re not that shy, mysterious woman from a few months ago anymore."

She steps closer, looping her arm through yours, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walk towards the door together.

"You’re right," she says, and that confidence of hers that you love so much is back. "I’m not." She looks up at you, her eyes full of love and fire and endless possibilities. "Now, I’m your woman.”

[rafesangelita]

♡ NSFW ALPHABET : COWBOY!RAFE X FARMER’S!DAUGHTER!READER EDITION

warnings: fluff, soft aftercare, tit play, secrecy, descriptions of unprotected sex, cum play, breeding kink, a little bit of traditionalism, illusions to virginity loss, praise, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), male masturbation, brat taming, mentions of having children

a/n: this took me forever, i hope y’all love it! who else should i do an nsfw alphabet for?

wc: 3.6k

₊˚⊹♡ A : AFTERCARE (what are they like after sex?)

when they don’t have to worry about being caught, or they know they have enough time to bask in each other’s post-orgasm bliss, they could spend hours just talking and whispering to each other in the their own little love bubble. farmer’s!daughter!reader loves when cowboy!rafe traces shapes into her skin, his rough fingers being a stark contrast to her soft flesh. she’s pressing delicate kisses from the apples of his cheeks down to his pecs, leaving behind remnants of her cherry lipgloss. rafe is usually the one who falls asleep last, and he takes full advantage of the matter by watching you sleep peacefully, your eyelashes fluttering closed as you drift off into a deep slumber.

₊˚⊹♡ B : BODY PART (their favorite body part on each other)

cowboy!rafe is a tits man all the wayyy. if he’s not staring at your exposed cleavage every chance he could get, he’s doing a million other things to them in his free time. squeezing and groping them whenever you two manage to sneak in a little mid-day makeout session, sucking and biting on them when he has you pinned down, crying out for mercy while he fucks you into oblivion, or his personal favorite; when you let him tit fuck you and he gets to watch his cock disappear in and out of the perfect swells. if you were producing milk, you swore rafe would be down to try it since he’s made it abundantly clear that he’s obsessed with your, what he likes to call, ‘cowboy pillows’.

farmer’s!daughter!reader can’t choose just one, so of course she’s going to go with rafe’s shoulders and his back. those were the first things that caught her attention when her father first introduced them to each other and he was wearing that tight, white t-shirt of his. she couldn’t help her mind from running straight to the gutter, her dreams soon becoming a reality when she found herself with her legs on either side of rafe’s head, her calves sitting prettily on the cowboy’s shoulders while he plowed into her like there was no tomorrow. her love for his back stemmed from watching him work shirtless all day, the sight of his muscles sending butterflies to flutter in her tummy.

₊˚⊹♡ C : CUM (anything to do with cum)

with the massive breeding kink rafe has, he prefers to fill you up to the hilt with his seed. he’ll fuck whatever cum managed to drip out of your glossy folds back into your cunt until he can’t see a single drop, the idea of you becoming pregnant further riling him up for round two. however, when rafe cums anywhere else other than your pussy, he loves to get messy. if you’re ever the one on your knees for him (which is surprisingly rare) and he finishes on your tongue, he likes to tap you with his cock as you bat your eyes up at him. he’ll even take some of the sticky succulence and spread it around your lips before watching you lick yourself clean.

₊˚⊹♡ D : DIRTY (a dirty secret of theirs)

further expanding on cowboy!rafe’s breeding kink; there’s nothing that turns him on more than the prospect of keeping you here on the farm and turning you into a mama. considering you’ve never expressed any kind of desire to ‘escape’ your town, rafe figures he might as well lock you down here with him and your babies. it’s all he thinks about when he’s inside of you. he imagines you waking him up with his favorite breakfast, a baby on your hip and another one crawling by your feet as you cook on the old stovetop. rafe would work the absolute hardest to make sure that you never have to, the only worry in that pretty head of yours being what dress you should wear for the day.

farmer’s!daughter!reader’s dirty little secret is that she actually likes the fact that you and rafe have to sneak around in order to be together. she loves the thrill. growing up, her father worked tirelessly to keep her interactions with boys very limited, so now that she had a handsome cowboy right in her backyward, she was elated once she got a little taste of something rugged and tough. every time rafe had to cover your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud, you clenched around him tighter, your whines and moans being muffled by his rough palm. “mmph, shit— you gotta be quiet, ‘sweetheart, you don’t want us getting caught now, do you?”

₊˚⊹♡ E : EXPERIENCE (how experienced are they?)

“wait— how many girls have you been with before me? be honest..” you stopped rafe from lifting your dress up, both of you breathless from your earlier exchanges of heated kisses. “i don’t think you wanna know that, ‘darlin.” you whimpered, now feeling full of self doubt as rafe deemed himself a pro and you were just utterly clueless. “i can’t do this with you, rafe, i don’t know what i’m doing—” rafe was quick to reassure you, his fingers hooking underneath your chin as he prompted you to look up at him. “i’m gonna teach you, don’t worry about it, baby,” he kissed you, “i’m gonna make you my own personal breeding whore, ‘you like the sound of that?”

₊˚⊹♡ F : FAVORITE POSITION (click here for !reader’s fav)

cowboy!rafe absolutely loves ‘cancer’ the most. he loves seeing the way your face twists in pleasure as he delivers slow and calculated thrusts that meet your cervix with each stroke. intertwining one of his hands with your own, he used the other to fist your hair at the roots, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him even when you felt your head threatening to droop. “takin’ my cock so fuckin’ good, angel, just look at that pretty face.” he praised you, making you whimper at the sweetness and sincerity in his tone. “you were made to get fucked like this,” rafe could feel his tough resolve slowly crumbling down as you brought him closer to the edge of pure euphoria, “all mine.”

₊˚⊹♡ G : GOOFY (are they serious or humorous?)

this can vary. sometimes they’ll start off humorous, and rafe being rafe, he’ll say a few jokes here and there to help you relax. however, don’t be fooled because it could turn serious real fast once he has you out of your panties. rafe loves to watch all of your reactions to his movements so he can remember what gets you riled up. in doing this, he makes sure to watch you intently, his serious gaze always making your cheeks heat as he says the filthiest things you’ve ever heard. rafe is constantly teasing you for never being able to hold eye contact with him, the intensity in his stare never failing to make you feel small. “you’re just so serious sometimes, i can’t handle it!”

₊˚⊹♡ H : HAIR (how well groomed is he?)

cowboy!rafe doesn’t shave his lower regions.. but, he does keep himself trimmed. to be quite frank, you never really cared about that aspect when it came to intimacy. you knew rafe had more important stuff to worry about other than his hair, and honestly you liked it that way. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he looked better with a happy trail. shaving his face, however, was a different story. you had to practically beg him to keep the pornstache but once the summer heat got to him, he knew he couldn’t keep it up any longer. the stubble along rafe’s jaw always tickled you, a yelp and a half giggle leaving your lips as he buried his head in between your thighs.

₊˚⊹♡ I : INTIMACY (how are they during the moment?)

both of them are so engaging with each other, especially when cowboy!rafe talks farmer’s!daughter!reader through his thrusts, always praising her for taking him so good. even though they’re the closest two people could possibly be with one another, they’re clinging onto each other like it’s not enough; like the only way they could be close is if they merge into one. foreheads touching, fingers intertwined, lips ghosting over the others, it couldn’t get more romantic than this. they share a moment where nothing else exists, when the sounds of rafe’s groans and your whimpers are the only things that you two could make out as the world comes to a stand still in each other’s arms.

₊˚⊹♡ J : JACK OFF (how often does he do it?)

now that you two are getting in round after round nearly everyday, rafe doesn’t feel the need to do it anymore. if anything, he finds himself having to slow down a little bit, which is almost impossible, considering he has a sex symbol for a girlfriend. before you two had even kissed each other though, he had to force himself not to look at you so he could stay focused on the work he was doing. rafe made the grave mistake of watching you ride your horse one day, and had to tell your dad some elaborate lie as to why he needed to go inside for a ‘quick second’ when really he had to rub one out for the sake of his own sanity. what turned into a ‘one time thing’, soon became routine until you two finally got in bed together.

₊˚⊹♡ K : KINK (one of his kinks, read more here)

cowboy!rafe is 100% into brat taming. whenever both of your combative behaviors clash, he finds himself having to pin you down and talk you straight until you’re giving in to his every request. he loves seeing the surrender in your eyes once he’s made it abundantly clear that you’re not getting your way, and he’s the one controlling the reigns. farmer’s!daughter!reader also gets to indulge in this kink, considering it turns her on when he’s assertive and a tad bit demanding. seeing cowboy!rafe be serious and cold as steel wasn’t something new to her, but to have his stoic demeanor directed towards her was something that she found thrilling, especially because it just gave her the opportunity to rebel against him for funsies.

₊˚⊹♡ L : LOCATION (favorite place to do the deed)

contrary to popular belief; it is not the barn. sure, cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader have had a lot of quickies in there, but nothing beats the soft plush mattress of her bed. rafe is already so used to his body being sore from a hard day’s work, that once he actually puts ‘work’ into something else, he’d rather both of you be in a comfortable setting. sure, you two had grown used to the hay and the dirt from inside the barn, along with the small space of the tool shed out back, but when you finally snuck him in and you two made love on your soft, clean sheets, there was no going back. it also didn’t help that your bed was the most comfortable thing he had slept on in decades..

₊˚⊹♡ M : MOTIVATION (what turns them on?)

not even exaggerating, everything about cowboy!rafe turns farmer’s!daughter!reader on. watching him work around the ranch, lifting hay bells, roping in cattle, hell, even chugging water down was attractive. he was all man, and you were just so smitten by it. you loved the fact that he was so strong and he didn’t have to talk a lot to prove a point; his actions were always louder than his words. even the little things turned you on. before you two had gotten romantically involved with one another, your heart would beat in your ears anytime his face scrunched up in pain whenever he’d hurt himself, especially when he’d moan or groan— that’s when you’d let your imagination run wild.

cowboy!rafe on the other hand was turned on by your sassy attitude. you weren’t scared to hurt his feelings, and for a man who was used to women catering to him at the drop of a hat, he enjoyed the change whenever you played hard to get (it made him want to fuck you back into your place even more). he liked it when you insulted him since he had a list of things to throw back at you when you were underneath him crying out his name for mercy. “i don’t wanna see those tears now, ‘darlin, just earlier you told me i was good for nothing except kissing your daddy’s ass, now you’re begging me to let you cum. ain’t that some shit?” he’d laugh mockingly in you ear while you whine helplessly.

₊˚⊹♡ N : NO (what they wouldn’t do/turn offs)

cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader have never had a conversation about their “don’ts” but anything having to do with water sports or fecal matter is a gigantic no on both of their ends (they spend way too much time with the animals on the farmland, and even though they’re very much desensitized to it already, they rather not). another big no for them is bondage. despite rafe throwing a lasso over farmer’s!daughter!reader multiple times in a playful manner, neither of them want to be restrained or tied up while they’re intimate with each other. they already have to hold themselves back for most of, if not all, the whole day, so when it comes time for some much needed love and affection, they’re not going to double down.

₊˚⊹♡ O : ORAL (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc..)

cowboy!rafe is a giver at heart. his head is between your thighs at least twice a day. he can’t go without a taste or he’ll be incredibly cranky. he doesn’t care about maintaining a cleanliness when he eats you like a man starved, he prefers to be as messy as possible. the best part is that he could do it anywhere, even when it’s the most inconvenient like under the kitchen table while your father rants about the city folk and their need to expand their developments. to say rafe was skilled with his tongue would be an understatement. he knows exactly what it takes to get you going, your thighs locking around his head every time you feel that coil in your tummy burst, your cries of pleasure being music to his ears.

₊˚⊹♡ P : PACE (fast and rough or slow and sensual?)

this can vary depending on whether or not they’re sneaking around. while rafe prefers to take his time and fuck you both ways, he prefers slow and sensual so you two are much more intimate. when cowboy!rafe is slow and sensual, he’s moving his hips against yours at an angle that makes you see stars, your bottom lip trembling as he kisses your cervix with each thrust. he’s interlocking your fingers, pressing kisses to your knuckles while he watches you take him with ease. he keeps his eyes trained on your face, his chest blooming with pride every time you lose yourself and he feels your walls flutter around him, sucking him in like a vice.

₊˚⊹♡ Q : QUICKIE (their opinion and how often they do it)

sometimes quickies are all that they can spare, especially on the days where there’s a heavy workload around the ranch. all rafe has to do is give farmer’s!daughter!reader his ‘look’ and she’ll be waiting for him in their designated shed in no time. despite having to be quick, rafe never fails to have your legs trembling around his waist while he fucks you standing up, his worn out blue jeans pooling around his ankles as your back digs uncomfortably into the metal wall. your cherry red nails are raking down his back, his chin resting in the curve of your neck as he presses wet kisses to your chest. “f-fuck, you make these quickies feel like an eternity..”

₊˚⊹♡ R : RISK (do they take risks, etc..)

cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader’s entire relationship is a risk, but it’s one that they’re willing to take. with your dad being rafe’s employer, you two have had to keep your relationship a secret and keep it hidden from just about everyone on the ranch. weary of the consequences that may come out of being with cowboy!rafe, the last thing farmer’s!daughter!reader wants is for rafe to get fired and have to leave. even though your father already trusts rafe and has told him that he’s family, rafe thinks it’s better to be safe than sorry when it comes down to a man finding out his daughter is sneaking around with his hired help. in due time though, they’ll come clean about all of it.

₊˚⊹♡ S : STAMINA (how long can cowboy!rafe last?)

this cowboy won’t stop until you’re begging him to. rafe doesn’t care if he already came and he’s shaking so much with overstimulation it hurts, he won’t rest until you’re fucked out and can’t take another round. unlike your quickies, you and rafe can go for hours and have marathon sex (which is something they usually do whenever your father leaves out of town for whatever reason). you know rafe’s body like the back of his hand, and you know that as soon as he can’t hold himself up anymore it’s your turn to take the reins. it’s needless to say that rafe gets off on the fact that he’s the one that makes you lose yourself, your face when you’re cumming is by far one of his favorite sights of all time.

₊˚⊹♡ T : TOYS (do they own or use any sex toys?)

landline telephones are the only form of tech they have on the ranch, so there’s no way in hell anyone has sex toys lying around. there’s only one sex shop in town and no one would be caught dead walking out of there, considering small town gossip spread around like wildfire. farmer’s!daughter!reader is definitely more curious about sex toys than cowboy!rafe is for sure. “you don’t even need any of those things.. i’m literally right here.” rafe would act offended when you first brought up your interest in something you heard a friend of yours talking about. “i know that, obviously, i just— i don’t know.. my best friend said it was a game changer.” you shrugged. “well, your best friend is a liar.”

₊˚⊹♡ U : UNFAIR (how much they like to tease)

farmer’s!daughter!reader is notorious for this. she knows rafe is a true gentleman and that fact alone makes her do everything she could to push him past his limits and drive him insane. even after they were in an established relationship, she would do things to get a reaction out of him. this included wearing revealing outfits, riding her horse in rafe’s clear line of vision, talking and flirting with the other cowboys in order to rile him up.. but all of that was used against her once they were alone. it was rafe’s turn to tease her when the head of his cock would be prodding her entrance, her chest rising and falling as rafe muffled her whines. “shouldn’t have been trying to piss me off today.”

₊˚⊹♡ V : VOLUME (how loud are they?)

although cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader have gotten used to having to keep their volume low, it doesn’t stop the occasional squeal or scream from falling from your lips and forcing rafe to cover your mouth while he pounds you in. even though you tend to be the louder one, rafe has still had to bite down on his lip and bury his face in your neck to keep from revealing what was going down in the room next to your father’s. having to be quiet all the time gave rafe the skills to successfully whisper his praises in your ear, the gruffness of his voice only making you squeeze around him tighter. “make a sound,” he’d tease, “go ahead and get us in trouble.”

₊˚⊹♡ W : WILDCARD (random headcanon)

how cowboy!rafe reacted when you told him you wanted him to cum inside you for the first time: you were on top of him, his hands resting in the curves of your hips as he littered your bare chest with kisses. “i-i’m gonna cum—” rafe heaved, attempting to roll over so he could pull out. you only held onto him tighter, your eyes finding his as you shook your head. “i don’t want you to finish anywhere else,” you whispered, “cum inside me please.” rafe groaned at your words, something primal taking over him as he put you in a mean mating press. “yeah? ‘want me to fill you up?” he’d taunt, his fingers digging into the flesh of your calves as he emptied himself inside your needy cunt.

₊˚⊹♡ X : X-RAY (what’s going on in cowboy!rafe’s pants?)

lord have mercy. you remembered seeing rafe’s cock for the first time like it was yesterday. you two were making out in his old truck when you felt it, his jeans growing tighter by the second. you couldn’t believe he was packing that much when you saw the large bulge straining painfully against the denim material. rafe was hesitant when he felt you palm him, a shaky breath falling from your lips as you took him out of the confines of his underwear. you audibly gasped, both you and rafe sharing a look once his length sprung up. he was huge. you felt your mouth water when your eyes landed on the vein that ran down the underside of his cock, your insides fluttering with anticipation at the prospect of having him inside of you.

₊˚⊹♡ Y : YEARNING (how high is their sex drive)

cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader drive each other absolutely crazy.. these two are on each other as soon as they get the chance. they’re stealing glances at each other whenever they can, holding hands when no one is looking, playing footsies underneath the dinner table, they can never get enough. farmer’s!daughter!reader always manages to slip in a few kisses here and there, followed by a hushed whisper of a promise to give rafe something ‘more’ when they get each other to themselves. there’s no stopping them once their clothes are off and they’re tangled up in each other, neither of them willing to pull away for even a split second.

₊˚⊹♡ Z : Zzz (how fast do they fall asleep afterwards)

farmer’s!daughter!reader is usually the one falling asleep first, her body feeling spent as her eyelids grow heavy with each stroke of rafe’s fingertips on her back, and understandably so. rafe will clean her up while she dozes off, drifting in and out of sleep as he kisses her softly. on days where rafe might overwork himself, he’ll end up falling into a deep slumber in your arms, his cheek pressing against your tits as he snores softly, the compromising position making you chuckle. “you know you’re gonna have to go to the backhouse soon..” you’d whisper, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. rafe would answer with a groan, his arms wrapping around you even tighter. “i’ll leave in a little..”

[dark-konohagakure2]

imagine succubus!reader lurking in the phantomhive manor to find a victim for the night cause a succubus gets their energy if they take control but ends up getting caught and noncon-ed by sebastian until she cant take it anymore and begs to stop

UGHHH I HAVE BEEN STUCK WITH THIS IDEA SINCE THE DAY I IMAGINED IT 😭😭 petition for more succubus!reader fics 😔

tw: noncon, succubus!reader, size difference, tail pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, humiliation, creampie

All characters depicted are 18+

Sebastian takes his duties as the butler of the Phantomhive household very seriously, so seriously in fact that he doesn't ever sleep, mainly because demons don't need to sleep, but the fact still remains that there is no butler more diligent than Sebastian. His keen senses are able to pick up on the smallest of noises, even the faintest creak of the floorboards won't escape his notice. If a pin dropping doesn't go unnoticed by Sebastian, then there is no way in hell that he won't notice the presence of another hellish entity in his midst.

He is equal parts intrigued and concerned. Sebastian knows he can effortlessly dispatch any threat towards his master, bit even so the thought of another demon being after him is quite concerning. Never one to waste his time dwelling on any worries he might have, Sebastian will quickly do his part as a butler by apprehending the uninvited guest.

It's comically easy for Sebastian, he's not called a devil of a butler for nothing, he's able to use his superior strength to yank the little demon over to him when she's unaware, grabbing her by the pointy tail, which makes her hiss out in pain like a cat. Sebastian likes cats, even the ones with claws, but he sadly can't pet her, not when she's been such a bad girl as to even attempt to endanger his master.

Sebastian knows precisely how to deal with a naughty little succubus like herself, her kind feed off the sexual energy and desires of men, so he'll give her exactly what every succubus wants, he'll give it to her until she's begging him to stop. It's a fitting punishment for the demonic intruder, and it finally gives Sebastian the opportunity to stop feigning his humanity, even if just for a short while.

"Naughty thing, did you truly believe you could intrude oh my master's property without consequence? Oh how adorable~ I'll be sure to give you something to remember before sending you back to our home~"

His eyes are glowing unabashedly now, the glowing red orbs now having a feral intensity to them as he starts teasing the lesser demon, yanking on her tail roughly as he exposes her holes to his hellish gaze, teasing her sensitive pussy lips mercilessly before he decides to have his fill of her. Sebastian hasn't had a good fuck in a while, and certainly never with another demon that was aware of his true nature, so he's going to savor this rare treat.

Being centuries old, Sebastian is well versed in the art of making somebody come undone around his cock, whether they want to or not. His hips will slam against her from behind, his balls slapping against his ass while he fucks her raw, pulling on her tail like a bully pulling on the braids of a girl he likes. Sebastian's cock is long and thick, even in his human form, so it'll ram against her oversensitive womb with every thrust, forcing her into one mind breaking orgasm after the other.

Demons typically can't reproduce with one another, so Sebastian can cum inside of her to his heart's content without a care in the world, and he won't be satisfied with cumming inside of her just once, he's going to breed her until she's begging him to stop, and for hours after that too. It won't take long for her to go from confident and rude to whining and pleading with him to show mercy, but nothing will come of those pleas aside from her receiving even more mockery and even more loads shot into her already overstuffed womb.

He finds her reactions and pleading to be both adorable and pitiful, not to mention ironic; a creature who feeds off of sex now begging him to stop fucking her, her impish pussy overflowing with cum and weakly gripping his cock, fucked loose from the brutal pounding she's getting. He definitely won't be stopping anymore despite her pleas, after all, lesser demons make lovely fucktoys.

"Oh my~ begging already, little one? How sad, your kind usually loves getting ravished so, you truly are a disgrace from all demonkind~! How cute~!"

But alas, he can't keep this adorable little kitten as a house pet as much as he wants to, his young master would never allow such a thing, but Sebastian takes pride in the fact that he successfully subdued another interloper, and she won't mess with him again, that is unless she wants her holes destroyed again.

[lunicxie]

୨९ 𝑭𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕

Toji takes his bimbo girlfriend, you, shopping at the mall and you're buying too much and taking too long

cw: ♡ nsfw / mdni ♡ age gap ♡ power imbalance ♡ dumbification ♡ daddy kink ♡ size kink (?) ♡ belly bulge ♡ creampie ♡ mean!toji ♡ brat taming ♡ manhandling ♡ spanking (ass/thighs) ♡ semi-public sex ♡ quickie ♡ mirror kink ♡ lingerie ♡

You’re in a changing room, trying on a a slutty, lace baby pink lingerie set. The thong’s basically useless, and the bra’s more decoration than support. You turn to the mirror, checking yourself out with a satisfied little hum. “When will you be done, doll?” he groans behind you. You smile with fake innocence, being your eyelashes at him, hopping up slightly, making your perky tits bounce. “Wait a little more.”

Toji stands. You catch his reflection behind you, tall, broad, and intimidating. He doesn’t even ask, just pushes you gently forward so your hands press to the mirror and your hips tilt back. “Toji—” you start, but his palm smooths over your ass, then lands with a sharp slap that makes you gasp. “This the fifth set you’ve tried on,” he mutters, fingers sliding under the thong, “and we’ve been at the mall all day, I just earned that money.” Your breath catches.

The lace is tugged to the side before you can think to argue. His fingers dip between your thighs, checking just how wet you are. “Yer fuckin’ soaked,” he says low, dark. “Of course you are. Bet you’ve been dripping since the second I got up.” He tugs his shirt up and his pants down slightly, revealing his toned abs and defined V-line. “Y’want daddy’s big cock?” Another shark also delivered on your ass, making you whine. “Shut yer pretty mouth up.” He chuckles as he hooks a finger into his pants and boxers to pull them down. “You want it?” he asks, voice dropping. His tone’s cocky, but the look in his eyes is darker. “Then be patient.”

He leans down, grip firm on your waist, pressing you gently against the mirror. His body’s warm behind you, big and overwhelming. The mirror fogs up some more as your face is pressed against the mirror now, fingers scrambling against the cool material as he bullies his member into you, slow and deep, and you let out a soft whimper in response. “Too much?” he asks, showing down his pace slightly. He didn’t want to hurt you, after all, you were still young. Why would a beautiful 24 year old date a 38 year old man with a son? Never made sense, but you dated him anyway.

His palm lands sharp across your ass, again. You gasp, the sting blooming warm under your skin as you steady yourself on the mirror. Lace panties tugged just high enough to expose everything he wants access to, and that smug look on his face says he’s nowhere near done. “Count it,” he says, low and rough.

Smack

“That’s one,” he says when you don’t. “Wanna start again?” Your cheeks flush as you mutter, “One…”

Smack

“Two…” His hand smooths over the spot he just hit, warm and firm, then grips tight enough to make you squirm. “You keep buyin’ stuff you don’t need, but I’m being merciful, only one more.” he murmurs. Another sharp slap, this time delivered on your thighs, making them press together as if you like the attention (which you did, of course). And he noticed, as always. “Filthy little girl, gettin’ turned on by a lecture.” he spoke as he leans down behind you.

“M’sorry…” you pout, “I didn’t mean to spend all of it…” He laughs under his breath, not buying it for a second. “No you’re not,” he says, pushing the back of your neck into the mirror just firm enough to keep you in place without hurting. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be this wet.”

The lace is bunched high on your hips now, your reflection flushed and trembling in the mirror, lip gloss wiped off and mascara rolling down your face in the form of tears. Toji’s standing behind you, looking like a man who’s seconds away from completely losing patience. “Ya think I gamble for fun?” he growls, voice right at your ear. “I do it so my girl can live like a princess. But this was too much, understand?” You nod in response, slow and wide-eyed. One hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing your upper body down just enough to deepen the arch of your back. You feel the heat of him behind you, teasing you. You whimper, thighs squeezing together, lashes fluttering.

His hand trails from your waist down to your lower belly, his large palm covering the entirety of your lower belly. “I’m not lettin’ ya outta this room until ya feel me right here.” He grinds his thick, throbbing cock against your folds, leaving a sticky trail of pre-cum while he reaches down with his hand to spread your legs apart, his fingers digging into your inner thighs. "You like feelin' how much dick I got for ya, don'tcha?" His calloused hand remains firmly planted on your belly, claiming it possessively.

"Fuck, yer little pussy’s so tight," he grunts, his thick head slowly spreading your tiny lips apart as he pushes harder, the fabric of the panties stretching taut around his massive size. "Goddamn, it's barely fitting." He grunts and pushes harder, his thick shaft slowly forcing its way into your tight entrance. “Fuckin’ hell,” he groans as he feels your tight walls clench and try to avoid the intrusion up. "Fuck, doll, yer stranglin' my cock," he groans, pushing deeper. "Slut, look at ya takin' this huge—h-hah—dick like it was made for ya." he groans, his free hand roaming upwards to squeeze your breast, making you let out a moan.

He grunts and thrusts deeper, his massive cock stretching you to your limits. "Yer little belly's gonna be so full of my hot cum." He slaps your ass hard enough to leave a red mark. You feel his massive length throbbing inside you, your tiny pussy struggling to accommodate his size. Every thrust sends shockwaves through your body, your stomach bulging slightly as his thick head hits your cervix. You let out a pornographic moan, your voice echoing in the room as you feel your first orgasm building.

"Look in the mirror, ya nasty little slut," he grunts, pounding into you hard enough to make your breasts bounce. "See how yer stomach's all bloated with my dick? Ya look like a damn whore, takin' this huge cock. Yer gonna cum for me, aren’t ya, ya little slut?" he pants, his hips moving like a jackhammer. "I can feel you clenching around me. Cum on daddy’s dick, now." His fingers twist and pinch your clit, pushing you towards the edge. As your orgasm hits, your body convulses around him, milking his cock for all it's worth. He lets out a deep, guttural groan, and you feel a sudden warmth flood your insides. His cock pulses powerfully as he releases his thick, hot cum deep inside you. His release seems endless, filling your tiny belly to the brim, to the point that some of his seed spilling out of you, dripping down your thighs as his massive member remains inside you.

Slowly, he pulls out his thick, glistening member from your stretched and filled pussy. You whimper at the sensation, feeling a flood of his hot cum spill out and drip down your legs. “Look who lost the race.” he mumbles, letting out a snicker. Meanwhile, you’re still catching your breath, legs a little shaky as you smooth your hands down your thighs. Toji’s already tugged his shirt back into place, watching you with that smug, satisfied look as you carefully cleaned the unbought lingerie.

“Y’good?” he asks, voice low but amused. You nod, cheeks flushed, lips still parted. “My legs feel sore.” He grins, stepping behind you to help you steady. “That’s what happens when ya run my card and yer mouth.” You pout, putting on your tiny, pink crop top and slip back into the glittery micro skirt.

You give him a wide-eyed, sugary look. “Daddy…would you be mad if I asked you to buy it” He snorts, reaching for your shopping bags. “Shameless brat.” But he’s already pulling out his wallet again. His little doll needed new lingerie anyway, what would be the harm? After all, he gambles for her.

You loop your arm through his as you walk out of the changing room together, still a little messy. “So small ‘n pretty.” he cooed, stroking your hair. “Thanks, daddy!” you smile sweetly, pressing up against his side, a hand on his chest to guide him down just a little. When he leans in, you kiss his cheek softly, leaving a glossy pink mark behind like a signature. He glances down at you, lips twitching into a smirk. “Making me yours, I see?” he mutters, voice low. “Cute.” But he doesn’t wipe the rest off. Doesn’t even try.

© lunicxie my blog is small, so reblogs are more appreciated than likes!

[plutotheplum]

chapter five | the emperor

zayne x fem!reader

“Like what?” Zayne whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sweet. “Like you mean something to me? Like I can’t stand the thought of you marrying Caleb?” He raises his brows, trapping your chin between his thumb and finger, forcing you to meet his eyes when you look away. “Like you’re the only one for me?”

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, mild angst, kissing, oral sex, blowjob, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, overstimulation, vaginal fingering, belly bulge, confessions

wc: 7.1k

a/n: *stands around awkwardly* hey y'all.... i know it's been a while and i'm sorry it's taken me this long to get zayne's chapter out!! hope you all enjoy!! mwah mwah <3 (little sylus snippet at the end :3)

also on ao3!

series masterlist | next up: the devil

“Would you sit still and stop hobbling around?”

Zayne’s exasperated voice has you giving him your own irritated glance, letting out an annoyed huff of air to voice your displeasure. He’d been insistent, hovering around you ever since he’d seen you today, his eyes narrowing when he’d seen the awkward way you were adjusting yourself to make the ache in your thighs and hips more comfortable, no doubt courtesy of Caleb from the night before.

“I’m fine ,” you say, flopping down on his couch when he sends you a stern look, snuggling up against the cushions, hugging one to your chest. “Just a little sore.”

“Apart from the obvious,” Zayne clears his throat, gesturing vaguely to your neck where the splotchy marks still lingered, although much lighter than the days before. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Of course I’m up to this,” you grouse, sitting up with a wince. “You’ve put me through far worse, Zayne. I’m insulted.”

“That’s not-”

You watch with a smug smile when Zayne’s cheeks flush pink, his hand moving to cover the lower half of his face. The tips of his ears are still enough to give him away, your smile growing wider when he adjusts his glasses agitatedly, pushing them up to sit higher on the slope of his nose.

It wasn’t as though your claim held no weight, not when evidence of Zayne’s exploits still lingered in your camera roll, well-hidden among a mirage of other photos. His long hours were what had made him crack the first time you’d ever slept with him. You’d been met with a weary expression and loose tie that night, his phone in one hand and a bag of take-out in another. 

You’d never seen him so wound-up before, the unfamiliar, agitated bounce of his knee piquing your interest. A few attempts at prodding for answers later, Zayne had snapped. Exhaustion forgotten, you’d been at the mercy of his mouth, fingers and cock, the grip he had had on your hips enough to leave bruises until the next day and a limp in your walk much similar to the one you were sporting today. 

“No,” Zayne says when he sees the questioning expression on your face, shaking his head, “I’m not doing- we’re not doing that .”

“Boo,” you sigh, head falling against his shoulder when he sits down beside you. “I thought you’d at least be jealous, Zayne.”

“Were they?” he asks, leaning back against the couch.

“Yes,” you muse, taking his arm, your fingers drifting over the pale scars that covered his forearm, thumbs rubbing across his warm palm soon after. “Xavier and Caleb particularly.”

“I’m not surprised,” Zayne sighs, his head falling back as you dig your thumbs into his palm more firmly, massaging his hand with purpose. “You’ve made them desperate.”

You peer up at him, taking in the relaxed expression on his face, the exposed length of his neck. The lack of reaction makes you pout, however, your lower lip jutting out at Zayne’s calm acceptance. It was a stark difference from the other three men, unruly impatience replaced by cool indifference, hastiness by languidness. 

“What does that make you?” you ask curiously, “the one that lurks in the shadows and bides his time?”

“I’m experienced in that aspect.”

His words make you pause, your brows furrowing when his head lifts and he stares down at you. No , you think, a breathless laugh escaping you; although it sounds more akin to a strangled wheeze. When Zayne’s gaze doesn’t waver, you begin to shrink back, your foot pushing at his thigh when he tries to move closer to you, keeping him anchored to one side of the couch whilst you move towards the other end.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you breathe out flippantly, refusing to look at him when his lithe fingers curl around your ankle, brushing across your skin in a gentle caress. 

“Maybe,” Zayne murmurs, his voice low. “But you’re not completely stupid, are you?”

You send him a glare, trying to pull your foot free to no avail, flopping back when he simply digs his thumb into the sole of your foot, massaging absentmindedly. When he doesn’t say anything else to explain himself, you let out a disgruntled noise, sitting up agitatedly. 

“You and Caleb are the worst ,” you announce, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean, does it look like I’ve been blessed with telepathy?”

“No,” he replies coolly, reaching across to flick your forehead. 

You whine at the action, rubbing at your forehead in an attempt to soothe the pain that lingers. There’s a smile pulling at Zayne’s lips as he watches you, his fingers drifting across your ankle again in lazy motions. It irks you slightly, the way he looks so invitingly domestic, and the thought of a baby, your baby, being held in his arms isn’t helping at all. 

“What did he say?” Zayne asks after a few moments, his eyes finding yours. “If you let him cum twice, he must have said something worthwhile.”

“I’m not telling you,” you scoff sharply, cheeks growing hot when you remember Caleb’s confession and the aftermath that ensued. Your face scrunches when Zayne’s fingers drift across the sole of your toe fleetingly, your knee jerking out in response, the ticklish feeling making you curl away. “It’s none of your business, Zayne,” you protest adamantly, a wheeze leaving you when his fingers don’t let up, an involuntary laugh bubbling out of you soon after, “you- you wouldn’t like what he said anyways.”

The latter part of your sentence makes Zayne’s fingers pause abruptly, his gaze fixing onto you sternly. “Tell me.”

You wiggle your toes, hoping for him to continue massaging your ankle, a frown coming across your face when he shakes his head stubbornly. All you can manage is a heavy sigh, your head tilting to rest against the back of his couch. “Apparently he’s been pining after me for fifteen years,” you begin, watching Zayne’s expression carefully.

It’s subtle, but when you inch closer under the pretense of getting more comfortable, you can just spy the darkening of his eyes. If anything, his reaction spurs you to reveal more.

“He also said the baby was going to be his,” you say off-handedly, biting back a wince when Zayne’s fingers tighten around your ankle, the muscle in his jaw tensing as he grits his teeth together. “Rafayel and Xavier said that as well, so I suppose it doesn’t-”

“What else?” Zayne interrupts out, his voice sounding strained.

“I don’t why you’re prying for more,” you say exasperatedly. “We- we should just leave it here. I did tell you that you wouldn’t like it, Zayne.”

You squeak when he pulls at your ankle, tugging you across the length of the couch, his hands smoothing over your waist as he picks you up, settling you on his lap. Your breath hitches at the sudden change, throat drying when he leans closer, his arms wrapping around your waist firmly. 

“Something about marrying me,” you confess breathily, hands landing on Zayne’s shoulders. “Caleb said he’d marry me,” a nervous laugh escapes you, “probably- probably didn’t mean anything by it.”

“But you let him cum twice,” Zayne murmurs, peering up into your eyes searchingly, “you let him. Clearly, you were moved.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be?” you ask, shooting him an incredulous look. “I mean what the hell was I supposed to do with fifteen years, Zayne?”

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever kissed.”

You slap your hand over Zayne’s mouth before he can reveal anything else, your heart beating out of your chest. “No,” you say sternly, shaking your head, trying and failing to process his words as his fingers slip under your shirt, stroking across your waist gently. “No, no - you don’t get to do this.”

It’s difficult to glare at him like this, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment when his hands skim higher, a soft, breathy sound leaving you when his thumbs slip under the elastic band of your bra, stroking across the underside of your breasts in a soothing motion. You try to keep your eyes open, teeth sinking into your lower lip when one of Zayne’s thumbs brushes over a hardening nipple, an unbidden noise slipping out of you.

“Don’t marry him.”

Zayne’s words pull you out of your haze of pleasure, bleary eyes blinking open to find that your hand has slipped off of his mouth. You move to cover his mouth again, but he stops you, his fingers lacing with yours instead.

“I never said I was going to marry him,” you sigh, slumping against his chest, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “I haven’t even had the baby yet, Zayne.”

Zayne lets out a weary sound in response, his hands rubbing across the expanse of your back. You squirm closer, arms wrapping around his neck, face pressing closer, chest flush against his. It’s nice , you think belatedly, warm and cozy and… safe. The change of pace is welcome, the dull ache in your thighs ebbing away slowly, soothed away by the practiced motions of Zayne’s thumbs. 

“So have mine,” he whispers after a moment, his fingers curling into your shirt. “Have my baby.”

“You know better than anyone I can’t choose ,” you muse, peering up at him, a wry smile pulling at your lips. “You’re being illogical.”

“You seem to make me that way,” he replies, cupping your jaw, squeezing your cheeks together for a moment before letting go. “Funny how I can’t seem to think straight when you’re around.”

You flush at the words, letting out a flustered sound. “You sound ridiculous,” you sputter, yelping when he grabs your wrists firmly, stopping you from pushing at his chest.

“And Caleb didn’t?” Zayne retorts, raising his brows in question.

“That- that was different!” you protest, “you’re- you’re you !”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asks, leaning towards you. “Hm? Am I not good enough?”

“I never said that,” you say, feeling short of breath when Zayne leans in further, the tip of his nose brushing yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips, every shuddering breath that escapes you fogging up his glasses slightly. 

“I’d be a good father,” Zayne murmurs, his lips brushing across your jaw fleetingly. “Diligent,” his fingers slip back under your shirt, “patient,” you bite back a whine when his hands cup your breasts through your bra again, “attentive,” you mewl when he pinches your nipples.

“What about me?” you whisper, fisting his shirt to pull him closer, squirming on his lap when his lips brush over yours fleetingly. “Would you take care of me, Zayne?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he finally closes the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours in a slow, soft kiss. Zayne’s glasses dig into your cheek when he presses closer, but you’re too busy tilting your head in an attempt to deepen the kiss, your hands sliding up to cup his cheeks. 

“Am I really the only woman you’ve ever kissed?” you mumble against his lips, finding yourself drawn into another kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

“Yes,” Zayne replies, a content noise escaping him when you slip your fingers into his hair and you begin to pepper his cheek with kisses. “That- ah- that night,” he rasps, cupping the back of your head when you bite his neck, “you were my first-”

You reel back at his words. “ What? ”

Zayne sighs, trying to pull you down for another kiss, his brows furrowing when you resist. You stare into his eyes, searching for some sign, any sign that what he’s said is some ill-mannered jest, but you find none, even when you go to the desperate lengths of taking his glasses off. 

It didn’t make any sense for it to be his first time, not when you so clearly remember the way he’d maneuvered your body seamlessly. His head buried between your thighs, smooth strokes of his tongue and gentle, affectionate kisses to your clit which were enough to make you cum embarrassingly quickly. Not to mention the feeling of his hips settling between yours, hard cock slipping into your wet, aching pussy without hesitation, measured thrusts that had had you clawing at his back and seeing stars. 

“What do you mean I was your first ?” you ask, breathless and taken aback.

“It means exactly what you think it does,” Zayne replies bluntly, his head tilting. “I wanted it to be with you.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?” you shoot back, throwing your hands up. 

“I was…” he pauses to clear his throat, a light flush tinging his cheeks, “preoccupied at the time.” His hand cups the back of your head, pulling you in closer despite your panicked protests. “...Much like I am now.”

You sag against him when he kisses you again, gasping into his mouth when Zayne stands, his hands sliding under your thighs to keep you against him. The wall is hard against your back when he presses you up against it, your legs locking behind his back, a needy whine escaping you as he presses his hips between your thighs, evidence of his arousal rubbing up against you.

“We- oh - we have to talk about it,” you begin, head tipping back when Zayne’s mouth drifts, dragging down your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. “Zayne-”

“Later,” he grumbles, his grip on your thighs loosening as he lets you down, back down onto your feet. Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your cheek, fingers curling into his shirt when Zayne’s mouth ghosts over your ear, gently kissing the shell of it. “We can discuss it once we’re finished.”

You blink up at him when he pulls back, letting out a sigh. When Zayne dips his head, you meet him halfway, landing a quick peck to his lips. 

“I thought you’d be the most hesitant,” you confess, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt absentmindedly. “I didn’t think you’d even agree.”

“But I did ,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again, “and I meant it, so stop worrying and let me take care of you, love.”

“Don’t call me that,” you whisper, heart twinging uncomfortably in your chest, “stop- stop acting like-”

“Like what?” Zayne whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sweet. “Like you mean something to me? Like I can’t stand the thought of you marrying Caleb?” He raises his brows, trapping your chin between his thumb and finger, forcing you to meet his eyes when you look away. “Like you’re the only one for me?”

“I hate you,” you say, voice small and trembling slightly, “I wanted a baby… not- not whatever this is.” You gesture between your bodies agitatedly. “ This wasn’t a part of the agreement.”

“You’ll end up choosing one of us,” Zayne says, his thumb smoothing over your cheek, while his other hand drifts lower, pressing against your stomach. “I want it to be me , I want to see you glowing with my child, not someone else’s.”

“This was a terrible idea,” you sniffle belatedly.

“Yes,” Zayne smiles faintly, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, “you seem to be brimming with those. Perhaps I should have let you show us that presentation after all.”

“You missed out,” you mumble, “definitely better than whatever you’d see at a medical conference.”

Zayne’s laugh makes you feel warm, body curling into his, your fingers tugging at his shirt until he follows the motion, leaning down. Your head tips back, hands sliding up his chest, arms wrapping around his neck to draw him into another kiss, lips working against his eagerly.

You both stumble into his bedroom, Zayne’s lips refusing to detach from yours even when you try and push at his chest to get him to lay down. He ends up pulling you down with him, hands lifting you up easily to settle you down on his lap, a squeak escaping you when his hand squeezes at the fat of your ass.

“We’ll go slow,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough, “I don’t want to tire you.”

“That’s considerate,” you breathe out, capturing his lips hungrily, “but I have something else in mind.”

Zayne grunts, his brows furrowing when he feels the absence of your weight on top of him, sitting up to watch you slink down from the bed, settling between his thighs with feigned innocence. He lets out a soft sigh when you paw at his trousers, pulling them down with eager hands, your gaze turning hazy when you see his hardened cock, the thick bulge in his boxers enough to make your thighs squeeze together needily.

“Come here,” Zayne whispers, patting his thigh, his other hand caressing your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut, head tilting to nuzzle into the warmth of his palm, the stroke of his thumb enough to have you letting out a quiet whine. “Come here, love,” he tries to coax again, hand stroking over your hair, “let me take care of you.”

“N- no,” you pout, shaking your head, “I want you in my mouth.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you’re already dipping your head, mouthing at his boxers, the fabric darkening with your spit as you whine and nuzzle against his clothed cock. Zayne groans at the feeling of your mouth, your eyes flitting up just in time to catch a glimpse of the exposed length of his neck, his head tipped back in pleasure.

You smile, suckling a little more, shifting back when Zayne’s hips buck up, chasing after the feeling of your mouth.

“ Fuck ,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair to peer down at you. “Take me out then, love. It’s all yours.”

You do as he says, eager hands pulling at the waistband of his boxers, throat drying at the sight of his cock. Pretty , you think, biting your lip when you see the tip of his cock, colored a few shades darker than the flush on his cheeks. Zayne’s cock is long and thick, and you’ve spent enough nights together for him to have taught you how to swallow his cock, the gentle stroke of his thumb across your chin enough encouragement for your mouth to drop open.

Zayne rasps out a curse when your mouth envelops the head of his cock, his hands curling into fists beside him, his hips jerking involuntarily. You mewl, the sound muffled by his cock filling your mouth, your head dipping to take him deeper.

There’s a moan following soon after, the low, hoarse sound making your eyes squeeze shut in delight, tongue eagerly swirling around Zayne’s cock. 

“That’s it. Taking me so well, love,” Zayne whispers, fingers ghosting across the bulge of his cock outlined in your cheek whenever you bob your head, “good girl. My good girl.”

The taste of his pre-cum, heady and intoxicating, combined with the whispery utterances of praise have you shuffling closer, your hand slipping into your shorts and panties to stroke across your dripping pussy. The sounds are obscene, spit dripping from the sides of your mouth and down your chin as you suck and lick the best you can.

You whine when Zayne tugs at your hair gently, pulling you off of his cock. “‘m not done,” you complain, hand wrapping around his spit-slick cock, squeezing enough to have his thighs twitching and more thick globs of pre-cum beading at the tip. 

“If I cum,” he sighs, his hand petting your hair, the soothing, stroking motion of his hand making you feel dazed, “I won’t be able to cum in you.”

“But ‘m being good,” you mumble, leaning forward to mouth across the hot length of his cock, tongue lapping across a prominent vein, following it towards the base of his cock, your nose brushing against the coarse hair that lays there. You press a kiss to his hip, eyes flitting up to meet his. “Just wanna make you feel good, Zayne.”

“You- hah- ,” his head tips back when you grip his cock more firmly, his teeth sinking into his lower lip when you lave your tongue over his balls. “You are ,” he manages out, voice strained, “you always do.”

The suckle of your mouth on his balls is enough to have Zayne biting his fist, the muffled sounds of his desperation combining with the soft gags that emanate from you when you envelop his cock again, cheeks hollowing as you suction, nails digging into his thighs when Zayne’s hand presses against your head, holding you in place.

You whimper, fingers pressing inside your aching cunt, hips humping needily, panties and shorts now drenched with your slick. Every bob of your head has his thighs twitching, Zayne’s groans making you mewl, the hoarse sounds escaping his throat encouraging you further, fingers massaging his balls greedily. 

Every soft suckle at the head of his cock makes Zayne’s patience fray, his fingers pushing at your forehead when you whine and try to kiss the tip of his cock, your lips smeared with spit and pre-cum, the debauched sight of you making his cock throb . 

“Come here,” Zayne rasps, his hands sliding under your arms to haul you up onto his lap. Your arms wind around his neck, mouth slotting against his eagerly, moaning when he licks into your mouth. He can taste himself on your tongue, a grunt leaving him when you paw at his chest, your fingers pulling his shirt over his head hastily.

You squeak in surprise when he suddenly flips you over, peering up at him with a shy smile and flushed cheeks. 

“I love your cock,” you slur dazedly, cooing when Zayne cups your cheek, the reverent kiss placed there making your heart flutter.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, smiling against your jaw, “what else do you love, baby?”

“How smart you are,” you sigh dreamily, hips lifting to help him as he pulls your shorts down. Your fingers run through his hair when his face buries into the crook of your neck, his mouth hot against your skin. “How patient you are with me,” you continue breathlessly, letting him slip your bra and shirt off, your back arching when Zayne’s mouth drags lower, across your chest.

Zayne lets out a low noise, a heavy breath of air leaving him when he sees your bare breasts, his jaw clenching at the sight. You bite your lip when he kisses the side of your breast, sighing softly when his tongue swirls around your areola, nails scratching at his scalp when his mouth envelopes one of your tits.

“Love your smile,” you mumble, thighs pressing together when he stares up at you, the lewd image of his tongue flicking against your hardened nipple enough to make you mewl. “Love- ngh- love your eyes, Zayne.”

The scrape of his teeth has you tugging at his hair, mouth dropping open and head tilting back into the pillows when Zayne bites down with measured restraint, tugging at your nipple with his teeth. It doesn’t seem to help when his hand slips between your thighs, lithe fingers pulling your panties to the side, your body seizing when his fingers slide through the wetness coating your dripping pussy.

“Is that all?” he asks quietly, tongue swirling over your other areola, his lips pressing against the side of your breast in a fleeting kiss.

Your breath catches when he lifts his head, the implication behind his question becoming clearer the longer the silence between you grows. Too soon , Zayne thinks to himself, his gaze softening when he feels you twitch, his lips brushing across your cheek in an apology. 

“Zayne, I-” you begin, pausing when words fail you, mouth opening and closing while your brows furrow, nervousness making your fingers tremble.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, muffling your needy sounds with his mouth as he sinks two fingers inside of you. “It’s okay, love. We can work up to it.”

You nod, thighs spreading open wider when his fingers curl up, hitting exactly where you need him to, the sensations making your aching cunt clench around his fingers. Every scissor of his fingers and flex of his wrist has you crying out, nails raking down his back when he quickens his pace. 

“Good girl,” Zayne breathes out, his mouth latching back onto your breast, “such a good girl for me, yeah?”

“Y- yes!” you gasp, tears beading at the corners of your eyes with every thrust of his fingers, every brush of his thumb against your throbbing clit, fingers reaching back blindly to grab at the pillow, teeth sinking into it as you moan and whine. “Zayne- oh- Zayne, please! ”

“That’s it, love,” he whispers encouragingly, mouth dragging along your jaw, peppering soft kisses to your cheek. “That’s it… cum for me, baby.”

A strangled sort of moan works its way out of your throat when Zayne crooks his fingers a little more and presses his thumb against your clit firmly, the sensation making your thighs twitch. You can feel his smile against your skin when your back arches, his lips returning to your tits, teeth nipping and tugging, your pussy fluttering around his fingers as you cum.

You blink up at him blearily, shaking your head with a whine when he settles between your thighs, his hands guiding them to rest on his shoulders.

“Another one,” Zayne murmurs, his head lowering to kiss your puffy folds, “give me another one, love. Please?”

Good manners were going to be the death of you. You watch as he thumbs apart your folds, hips jerking weakly when his lips press against your still swollen and faintly throbbing clit.

“Just one more?” you ask meekly, the heat in your lower stomach already beginning to build again when he kisses your clit once more.

“Yes,” he replies, lips pressing gentle kisses to your inner thighs. “One more and then I’ll fuck you, love. Nice and slow and fill you to the brim so you’re bred, hm?”

“Who taught you how to speak like that?” you ask exasperatedly, throwing an arm over your hot cheeks, unable to stop the thrill that Zayne’s words had sent down your body and was now dripping out of you, the strings of slick clinging to your folds.

There’s no answer given, instead Zayne’s tongue gliding over your wet, fluttering pussy, drawing a sharp gasp out of you. You’re sensitive, thighs twitching at every minute ministration, fingers tangling in Zayne’s hair yet again.

“Oh fuck ,” you whine, toes curling against his broad back, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Zayne grunts into your pussy when you tug at his hair, his body shifting forward to hike your legs up higher, mouth latching onto your clit. You whimper when his tongue flicks against the achy bud, cunt clenching involuntarily as he sucks, the soft smack of his lips against your pussy enough to make you drool.

The motions of his tongue and the massage of his fingers around your thighs is too much, your back beginning to arch once again, hands pushing at Zayne’s head weakly as you try to squirm away, the pleasure too much.

“You can take it,” Zayne says, his voice hoarse, “if you let Caleb fuck you twice, you can take this.”

“I- I can’t-” you whine, hips bucking up when Zayne’s tongue slips into your empty pussy. “Oh my- fuck- Zayne! ”

He keeps you pinned down, your sharp, little breaths only spurring him on, his cock still hard and throbbing, hips grinding against his bed to try and relieve the ache. You’re seeing stars, much like that first night, eyes squeezed shut tightly as every thrust of Zayne’s tongue inside of you leaves you gasping for air.

You try to sit up, rising up onto your elbows, head tipping back while your legs jerk out as Zayne’s face presses right between your thighs, the bridge of his nose pressing up against you deliciously. 

“All you have to do is cum,” Zayne says, his eyes watching you carefully, “that’s all you have to do, baby. Let me take care of you.”

“‘s too much,” you hiccup, making Zayne hiss in pain when you pull at his hair without abandon when his tongue presses inside of you again.

His mouth returns to your clit soon after, sucking with renewed fervor, the sensations making your elbows give out, body flopping back down onto his bed tiredly, cheek squishing against the pillow, spit leaking from the corner of your mouth.

“‘m gonna-” you slur, cunt clenching desperately, toes curling once more. “‘m gonna c- ah! ” 

“Cum,” he rasps, fingers slipping back inside of you once more, lips smacking against your clit in lewd, sticky kisses that leave his chin and lips shining with your slick. “Cum for me, love. Be good and fucking cum .”

The roughness of Zayne’s voice coupled with the command has you squirming and writhing, hands flailing around to grab onto anything you can find, only to find your hands pinned down by Zayne, his fingers lacing with yours tightly as you cum, your noises muffled by his mouth slotting over yours, his tongue delving into your mouth.

The press of his knee against your pussy isn’t helping, your hips rocking up involuntarily resulting in your pussy grinding across his thigh, a yelp escaping you when he presses his thigh against you harder, his kiss growing hungrier. You feel like you’re being devoured, mind blank except for the ever encompassing presence that is Zayne and the pleasure that leaves you quivering.

“Good girl,” he whispers, pecking your lips gently, his hand brushing your hair out of your eyes, “did so well for me, love. Always do.”

You preen at the praise, arms wrapping around his neck tiredly as he settles between your thighs, the soothing motion of his hand stroking over your hair making you feel content. The sweet words he whispers make you relax further, eyes drooping shut.

“Do you want to stop?” Zayne asks softly, rubbing his shirt across your cheek, cleaning the spit that had leaked out from your mouth earlier.

“No,” you whisper, peering up at him, your fingers splaying over his neck. “I want this, Zayne. I- I want you.”

His head drops forward, his breaths warm against your shoulder. Your hands slide up, cupping his cheeks to lift his head, thumbs smoothing across his cheeks gently. There’s a tense silence, something unreadable flitting through Zayne’s eyes, a sigh leaving him as he rises onto his knees, fisting his cock in one hand, jerking himself lazily.

“You’re annoyed,” you supply, hooking a leg around his hip as he shuffles forward, the head of his cock brushing across your clit fleetingly.

“Maybe,” Zayne replies, “but not at you. At myself.”

“Why?” you ask, teeth sinking into your lower lip when he smacks his cock against your pussy, translucent strings of your slick clinging to the length of his cock with every smack, pre-cum smearing across your clit in thick globs.

“Because I should have never let you leave after the first time.”

There’s barely enough time to register his words, Zayne’s cock sinking in immediately after, his hips pressing forward and hands landing on either side of your head. It isn’t fast or feral, just a slow, measured rock of Zayne’s hips that have him burying inch after inch of his cock inside of your pussy until he’s bottomed out.

You watch his expression with desperate eyes, an airy sound leaving you as he draws his hips back before sinking his cock back in with a languid thrust. It doesn’t feel like fucking , doesn’t feel like all the other times that you’ve had with Rafayel, Xavier or Caleb, it feels unfamiliar in a way that has something wretched curling around your heart.

“Go faster,” you mumble, desperately trying to deflect, “I want it harder.”

“No,” Zayne’s reply is blunt, “feel this, love.” His hand slides over your thigh, hiking your leg up higher as he fucks into you, slow and deep. “Feel this , feel what I feel.”

And you can feel it, you can feel the soft touch of his fingers, the brush of his chest against yours as he lowers himself, your breasts squishing against him. You can feel the brush of his lips over your forehead, over your cheek, the gentleness of his kiss as he captures your lips. You can feel the drag of his cock, deep, rolling thrusts that have you whining and whimpering and digging your nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. 

“Whose baby?” he asks, staring down into your eyes intensely, “whose baby are you going to have?”

“Yours,” you blurt out. You’ve said it to each of them, each man before Zayne, but this feels different , your eyes fluttering shut. “Yours, Zayne,” you breathe out, “I’m going to have your baby.”

“Yes,” he whispers, “yes, you will, love.”

Zayne lays kisses along your jaw, mouth working lazily just as his hips do, his tongue laving over your neck, teeth scraping along the sensitive skin. You whimper, trying desperately to pull him closer, back arching under his weight.

“Take my cock,” Zayne murmurs, his face pressing into the crook of your neck, “take what I have to give you, baby.”

“I- I am taking it,” you whine, legs tightening around his hips, lips puckering up. “Wanna kiss, Zayne.”

He lets out a laugh, the low, hoarse noise making your cunt clench around him, Zayne’s laugh morphing into a groan when he feels how tightly you’re gripping him. 

“I’ll give you as many kisses as you want,” he soothes, pecking your lips sweetly. “Kiss you all the time when you’re all swollen with my baby and when you’re grouchy when your ankles start to hurt. I’ll kiss you all over, love.”

“‘m gonna hold you to that,” you mumble airily, moaning softly when his cock thrusts into you at the same time, buried so deeply in your cunt that there’s a bulge in your stomach, Zayne’s fingers drifting over it.

“Look at that,” Zayne says, landing another kiss on your lips as you blink down, eyes wide. “That’s where you’ll have my baby. I don’t need to cum twice to know that it’s going to be mine .”

It’s too much, his words coupled with his kisses, your gaze unable to stray from the bulge formed by his cock, the sight so distracting that Zayne lets out a noise of displeasure, his hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back, his lips slotting over yours firmly.

“Zayne,” you mewl, thighs quivering when his cock drives into you over and over , “Zayne- ah- ‘m gonna cum…” you whimper when he buries his cock to the hilt, his balls flush against your ass. “‘m gonna cum!”

“That’s it,” Zayne rasps, his voice strained as he feels you clench around his cock, your fluttering walls making his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. “Cum, love. Let me breed you.”

You cry out, Zayne’s name leaving you in a strangled chant, your nails raking down his back when he drops his weight onto you fully, cock pushing in deeper and deeper , until you can spy the bulge in your stomach when he shifts to give you a brief glimpse.

He groans into your mouth when you pull him into a kiss, hissing at the pain that burns across his scalp when you pull without abandon, his cock twitching and jerking inside of you while you cum, head thrown back and legs shaking.

“ Fuck- love, please- ”

Zayne doesn’t know what he’s even asking for, the tight grip of your walls making him gasp, his hips stuttering as you lick into his mouth, the kiss sloppy and clumsy. He can’t hold back anymore, not when you’re begging for him so sweetly, not when your cunt is so obviously trying to milk him dry. 

He cums with grunt; thick ropes of hot cum spilling inside of you, the sensation of your fluttering pussy drawing out a ragged breath from him, his hands giving out as he slumps atop you, his arms wrapping around you tightly. 

“Don’t pull out,” you whisper, pouting slightly when he lifts himself after a few moments, drawing away from you.

“A few more minutes,” Zayne relents, his eyes fluttering shut when you kiss his cheek, heart thudding when he feels how soft your fingers are against his skin. 

You bite your lip when he finally draws away, thighs pressing together tiredly as you watch him walk into the bathroom, the muscles in his back flexing, eyes lighting up at the sight of the red welts dragging down the length of his back.

“All marked up,” you announce, arms stretching above your head, letting out a yawn when he returns. “Looks pretty.”

“Grayson is going to give me a hard time in the changing room,” Zayne muses, his hands running along your sides, head dipping to lay kisses all over your stomach. You brush his hair out of his eyes, smiling when he kisses your lower stomach.

Zayne’s hands are warm as they rub over your thighs, massaging out the ache, his lips drifting across your hip as he lays reverent kisses to your skin. You let your fingers slip through his hair lazily, thighs shifting when he wipes between them with a hot, damp cloth, your eyes fluttering shut at the soothing comfort.

“Keep the rest in for me,” he whispers, his fingers stroking across your puffy pussy, pushing in the cum that threatens to leak out even after he’s cleaned you up.

“I’ll try,” you mumble sleepily, arms looping around his neck, hips squirming as he pulls your panties back up over your hips, your body curling into his.

Every stroke of his hand over your hair lulls you, a tired smile coming across your face, lips pressing against Zayne’s in a slow kiss. His hand slides over the dip of your waist and curve of your hip, curling around your thigh to bring you closer, lips working against yours gently.

“Thank you,” you whisper, face pressing into his chest, “for always taking care of me.”

Zayne clears his throat, his arms tightening around you. “I don’t plan on stopping,” he murmurs into your hair, the feeling of your body against his enough to make his heart lurch.

“Ever?” you ask, voice small, your fingers tracing across his skin absentmindedly. 

When Zayne’s hand slips between your bodies, you shiver, his palm pressing against your stomach firmly. You don’t know what compels you, but your hand slips over his, fingers lacing together, the intensity of his gaze like a binding vow.

“Ever,” Zayne promises, his hand caressing your stomach, lips pressing against your forehead.

The stroke of his thumb over your lower stomach doesn’t seem to help, eyes growing glassy with tears. “Maybe you should stop talking,” you suggest, letting out a shaky breath, “it’s making me hormonal.”

Zayne huffs out a laugh, his eyes bright with amusement. You scrunch your nose when he nuzzles into your cheek, squeaking when he squeezes the fat of your ass.

“I’ll say much sweeter things to you when you’re pregnant,” he muses.

You can’t stop yourself from letting the question slip out of your mouth. “Like what?”

Zayne kisses your forehead, his lips brushing across your ear soon after. “First hint,” he whispers, pulling you closer as though trying to meld your bodies together. “Three words.”

- 

Crows were never Sylus’ favorite animal.

Although that was before he’d ever found Mephisto, and the small, injured crow that had tapped its beak against the sweeping windowpanes of his penthouse had been enough to fill him with a sense of pity towards the little creature all those years ago. 

Still, pets had to be trained, didn’t they? He’d started off small, a hidden stash of seeds here and there until the stubborn, pesky, and still recovering bird had finally given in and flown off to uncover whatever treasure was awaiting him. 

Sylus still wasn’t unsure how it had happened, but the crow had taken a liking to him. Perhaps it was the little blobs of jam that had managed to bribe the creature, or perhaps it was the gentle scratches Sylus had offered him, the soft features under his fingers making his guarded disposition crumble until he’d caved and given the impish crow a name.

It hardly matters now, however, not when Sylus’ mind is now occupied by thoughts of you , laced with festering moments of longing that leave him feeling embarrassingly flustered. 

Sylus supposes its why he’s here now, sitting behind his desk in the late hours of the night. He narrows his eyes at Mephisto when the crow pecks his fingers teasingly as he carefully loosens the collar from around the crow’s neck, gently stroking across Mephisto’s tuft of feathers in a silent thank you. 

The small camera embedded in the collar is unharmed. Sylus feels foolish doing this, but he can’t seem to help it, possessiveness clawing at his insides until he relents. The footage is shaky and slightly blurred by the glass, but it’s enough for him to catch a glimpse of you.

The way you curl up into Zayne’s body has Sylus’ hands tightening into clenched fists, knuckles turning white when he sees you bare and sated, his teeth grinding together when he sees Zayne brush a kiss to your forehead.

It’s not normal to obsess , not like this at least, the drive on his laptop filled with footage of you over the past four days. Sylus mutters a curse under his breath when he sees you smile and lean into kiss Zayne, the sound of his laptop slamming shut drawing a startled caw out of Mephisto.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out to pet the crow’s head gently, “I left some jam and seeds in your bowl. Eat up.”

Sylus’ fingers work with practised ease as he wraps his fingers with tape, his shirt pulled over his head, tense shoulders rolling in an agitated motion as he stalks towards the punching bag. The first slam of his fist doesn’t make him feel better. Neither does the second, or the third… or the twentieth. 

He wipes at the sweat beading on his brow with the back of his hand, rolling his shoulders again, the familiar sluggish ache of exertion beginning to settle in. The punching bag no longer hangs from its hook, strewn half-way across the room instead.

Mephisto pecks at its frayed edges.

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[hanan-alsfamily]

Winter has arrived

And all we have is our worn-out tent that barely withstands the biting cold, frost, and rain! 😓💔 Day after day, my child is exposed to the harsh cold in this tent until illness has taken over his small body. An ear, throat, and chest infection make the pain unbearable, and all he can do is cry and scream in helplessness and endless pain. 😢💔

We’ve provided him with the necessary medical care 💉💊 but our urgent need now is to rent a house or even just a room to shelter our exhausted bodies. The war, which has lasted a year, has left us with nothing but one setback after another, each worse than the last. We are now in a situation no one would envy, living at the mercy of the harsh winter and the unforgiving conditions of war. All we hope for is a safe shelter that can protect us from the cold and illness!

$4,309 USD raised of $20,000 goal

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Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #152 )

[cameronsbabydoll]

i want ward to eat me out then bend/fold my legs to my head pounding my pussy then switch me to doggy fucking me even more deeper while rafe is tied to a cuck chair

the room is dimly lit, the air thick with tension and the scent of arousal. ward’s kneeling between your thighs, his strong hands gripping your hips as he pulls you closer to his mouth. his tongue dives in without hesitation, lapping at your dripping pussy with a hunger that makes your toes curl. he’s relentless, sucking on your clit hard enough to make you gasp, then dragging his tongue down to tease your entrance, tasting every bit of you. your fingers twist into his hair, pulling him closer as your hips grind against his face, slickness coating his chin. he groans against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your core, and you can feel yourself unraveling already, thighs trembling as he devours you like a man starved.

“fuck, ward,” you moan, voice shaky, and he doesn’t let up, his tongue plunges inside you, curling and flicking, while his nose presses against your clit, driving you wild. your orgasm hits hard, a wave of heat crashing over you as you clench around nothing, soaking his mouth with your release. he pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, lips glistening, before grabbing your legs and yanking them up.

“hold still,” he growls, his voice rough with lust. He bends your knees toward your chest, folding you in half until your ankles are damn near by your ears. the stretch burns in the best way, leaving you exposed and vulnerable as he lines himself up. his cock’s thick and throbbing, the tip already leaking as he rubs it against your soaked entrance. then he slams into you, no warning, no mercy—just a deep, brutal thrust that fills you completely. you cry out, the angle letting him hit spots so deep it’s almost too much, his hips snapping against yours with a force that makes your whole body shake. he’s pounding you relentlessly, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room, your pussy clenching around him as he drives you toward another edge.

across the room, rafe’s tied to a chair, ropes biting into his wrists and ankles, his cock straining against his pants as he watches. his jaw’s tight, eyes dark with a mix of fury and helpless arousal, unable to do anything but stare as ward fucks you senseless. “enjoying the show, son?” ward taunts, not even breaking rhythm, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you folded as he rams into you harder. rafe’s chest heaves, a low groan slipping out despite himself, his erection painfully obvious.

ward pulls out abruptly, leaving you whimpering at the sudden emptiness, but he’s not done. “on your knees,” he orders, voice commanding. you scramble to obey, ass up, face down, and he’s behind you in an instant. he grabs your hips, yanking you back as he thrusts into you again, deeper than before, the angle making you scream into the sheets. doggy’s his domain now—he’s fucking you like an animal, each thrust stretching you, hitting your cervix with a delicious sting. his balls slap against your clit with every brutal stroke, and you’re a moaning, dripping mess, pussy gripping him tight as he takes what he wants. “look at him,” ward snarls, fisting your hair to lift your head. “look at rafe while i ruin you.”

your eyes lock with rafe’s, his face flushed, lips parted as he pants, completely at your mercy—or ward’s. ward’s pace picks up, impossibly deeper, and you shatter again, cumming so hard you see stars, your walls pulsing around his cock. he doesn’t stop, fucking you through it, chasing his own release until he finally spills inside you, hot and thick, groaning your name.