#knotted blouse

[fluidease]

Oops! All Treenas!

[dress-this-way]

The Practical Polish of a Tidy Square Knot - YLF

[anielskaaniela]

Chic Bow Tie Clasps: Create Unique Bow Button Designs

In this post, you will learn how to sew fabric chic bow tie clasps with free PDF pattern. Welcome to the world of creative sewing! Whether you’re a seasoned seamstress or picking up a needle for the first time, this step-by-step tutorial is designed to guide you through the delightful process of crafting chic bow tie clasps. Perfect for adding a touch of elegance to any garment, these unique bow…

[janja-5]

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘

- sylus x reader

from strictly professional to lovers. everyone acknowledges you as his woman, but how far will he go for you when he realizes you are in danger?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—brief smut, very self-indulgent, injuries, descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, fluff, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc)

note: hi i'm back! <3 and with another part of the assassin!reader series that started with strictly (un)professional :D

Your lover is, without a doubt, a sex god.

He was insatiable, and he could do it anywhere. Before you could blink, he had shed himself of his clothes, saying something along the lines of “the sun’s way too hot today.”

As soon as Sylus pulled you into the pristine bathroom, he immediately pinned you against the shower wall and crashed his lips into you in a senseless kiss. His lips, hot and demanding, pried yours open, leaving no room for resistance.

“Ahh—hah—” His hands worked with dizzying speed, undoing your skirt and blouse in one swift motion, leaving you in nothing but your bra and underwear.

A startled gasp escaped you as he pulled at the drawstring of your panties, making them slide down with ease to gather at your feet.

“—!” You rode him, pressing your body close against his bare skin. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerking his head back as you gasped for breath, your chest heaving. Locking eyes with him, you shot him a glare. “Incorrigible… bastard…”

“Just the way you like me, hmm?” his perfect lips curled wickedly, before going for your lush lips once again.

It wasn't long before he made you an utter mess of moans and groans—when he slid inside you, stars burst behind your eyes. The way he stretched you, filling every inch, never ceased to catapult you to the heights of pleasure.

And when you rode him, taking him deep with every bounce, that you tasted the sixth heaven.

“Do it like you mean it, sweetie.” Sylus’s velvety chuckle brushed against your ear as he pressed a firm hand against your lower back, adjusting your angle on him. His gaze never wavered, fixed on your expression as bliss overtook your every feature.

“Shut up,” you hissed, dragging your sharp nails down his back. He only smirked, unfazed by the sting, as if the pain were nothing more than a tease.

The relentless man and his fierce lady. As the sounds of sex filled the air, as the tight knot inside you burst and as he held you steady when you went limp in his arms—

In that hazy, blissful moment, a thought settled in your mind— you truly wished that you were indeed made for each other.

. . .

“Tired already?” Sylus let out a satisfied snicker, a gleam in his eyes as he lazily ran his fingers through your hair. Now fully clothed and basking in the afterglow, the two of you sprawled across his bed.

You let out a soft whine, before sighing and nuzzling your face into him. “Just let me be, please. ‘m so sleepy…”

“Boohoo.” A smile was still on his face even as your lips were pursed into a pout. The way your smaller frame curled so defenselessly next to him each and every night made that tender part inside him even more fond of you.

You were rough, you didn't mince words, and most of all, you weren't afraid of him. You grew on him day by day, no one got him better than you.

And now, before he realized it...

The night was still long for him and he was wide awake, but looking at you so peaceful like this...

It was purely by instinct. To put his arms around your waist, to pull you closer, and to press this lingering kiss on the side of your head.

“Sleep well, kitten.”

Beyond the lovemaking and tender nights was, of course, the infamous individuals. The Onychinus leader and his notorious lady assassin.

Throughout all years you had been with Sylus, you knew you were here for a reason: doing his dirty work. That reason wouldn't change even when you had become lovers. You wouldn't want it to anyway.

“I’m telling you, I’m going,” you declared, crossing your legs and lifting your chin defiantly. “I can extract the information much easier on my own anyway.”

Sylus turned to you, his glare quiet but pointed, unamused. “You won't be fast enough.”

“I can!”

“You have to learn to pick your fights, kitten. A kitten can only get out unscathed for so many times before she stumbles.”

“Don't call me kitten!”

It felt like an insult to your ability. It was strange to you how he seemingly prevented you to join him to infiltrate this black market auction. You had gone and came out whole several times already—except for that one time. So, what's different this time?

“I’m giving you the chance to sit this one out and be pretty. So why are you refusing?” he clicked his tongue, exasperated.

“I just want to tag along, why? It'll help you out too!”

“Tch.” He shot you a distasteful look, and you frowned in response. “You’re really meddlesome.”

Now you were positively irritated. “What?!”

The two of you were locked in a glare before he resigned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do whatever you want, sweetie. Luke and Kieran, go with her.”

The twins next to you nodded dutifully and you threw them a withering stare. You most definitely didn't need these two buffoons to protect you.

“Boss is concerned,” Luke whispered in your ear with a wide grin as soon as Sylus walked away.

Kieran chimed in, “Mm-hmm, he definitely is.”

Is he? A part of you was caught off guard by the twins’ musings, but even if he was, it didn't make you feel better in the slightest.

You were deadly— you absolutely wouldn’t let anyone mess with you, and you were going to prove just that.

“Tell me who’s behind you... or die.”

You pressed the blade coldly against the neck of one of the black market Protocore dealers you caught, yanking his hair back to force him onto his knees.

“So, it’s you—!” he spat, a manic grin splitting his face despite your grip. “The Onychinus leader's infamous slut…”

You yanked his hair harder, eliciting a sharp hiss from him. “Tell me before I make you.”

“Ha. Hahaha!” He cackled, completely unfazed by your threat. This person was definitely not right in the head; even when you were this close to snapping his neck, he didn’t even falter.

“She is scary…” Kieran whispered to his twin behind you.

“No, that weirdo is even scarier. If I were him, I’d kiss Missus’ boots and beg for my life…” Luke retorted, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

The man in your grasp was still undaunted though. "Do you think I'm scared of you, woman? If so, then you're damn wrong because a whore like you can—"

"You misogynistic bastard." Your patience snapped, and you utilized your speech manipulation Evol on him that instant— "Talk."

"Urk—!" He trembled under the binding pressure of your ability, his glare sharp enough to cut, but his lips betrayed him, mouthing the words you sought. "Master... of Solon... Hotel..."

Without hesitation, you drove a punch into his face, sending him sprawling across the scattered cardboard boxes. "Luke, Kieran—let's go."

Your mood had been sour since you geared up for this operation. There was this gnawing irritation inside you that made you want to lash out at everything, and it was taking everything out of you not to.

Sometimes, you thought it wasn't that big of a deal that you were just a mere sidepiece to the leader of Onychinus. Your prized Evol was your everything— after all, it was what drew Sylus to you in the first place.

But lately, you started to think that it was no longer enough. Compared to the Miss Hunter, you were a generic presence in Sylus' life. And his words this afternoon definitely struck you in a way— making you wonder if you weren't good enough all this time.

"Missus, are you okay?" Kieran asked cautiously from behind, perhaps sensing the sharp edge in your demeanor.

You swallowed the bitter knot tightening in your chest. "I am."

"If you don't feel well then you can go straight back to the base," Luke suggested. "We'll meet Boss and tell him it's the hotel master."

You slammed your heel against the ground with deliberate force. "No."

You marched towards the meeting spot with stern gaze. No way. You were going to face Sylus with your head held high, making sure he knew just how lucky he was to have you.

"Please, if something happens to you—"

Crash! A deafening explosion suddenly erupted, throwing you off balance. You stumbled back, barely regaining your footing—only to find the three of you surrounded.

“Ha...” You scoffed, your eyes locking onto the bruised man with split lips—the one you'd manhandled earlier.

But before you could say a word, he lunged, and the absolute worst happened—

“Die!”

Suddenly, your mind blanked as he seized your throat and slammed your head against the asphalt. The impact blurred your vision, and exponential panic surged in as his grip tightened, choking the breath from your lungs.

"—!" You thrashed desperately, clawing at his hands, gurgling as each second drained more strength from your limbs. Lightheadedness crept in, your thoughts scattering into fragments as pure survival instinct took over.

You would die. If this went on any longer—no, you were going to die.

“You have to learn to pick your fights, kitten.”

The agony was beyond excruciating, a crushing force that felt like it pierced straight into your soul, if such a thing were possible. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring the edges of your vision. Anything—anyone— please—

But the last thing you saw was Kieran being stabbed, his body crumpling, and Luke pinned to the ground, struggling beneath the weight of his captors.

And then—

Your body felt weightless all of a sudden along with the last of your breath.

It was a magnificent disaster.

Sylus stood there, his right eye glowing brightly as he surveyed the wreckage around him—what he brought upon just moments ago.

The destroyed grand hall would serve as a warning to the hotel master. It didn't take him long to figure out that he was behind the raid of his Protocore warehouse and sold them out to the black market dealers.

He had decided this was enough as he stalked out of the hotel— until he was greeted with another atrocious sight.

It was then he saw someone choking on another person on the ground, and even with one look he knew. The terror gripped him so fast that black and red mist shot toward that man, ensnaring him in a chokehold and pried him away from—

You. You laid there motionless.

He sprinted toward you, flipping your body to face him. You were limp, the corners of your lips were bloodied, your neck was crushed and marked with bruises, but most alarming of all—

You weren’t breathing.

“Wake up.” Sylus commanded, taking you in his arms, gently patting your cheek. “Wake up, sweetie. Hey—”

You remained still, your head lolling lifelessly. And right in this moment, the thumping in his chest felt almost painful, because you couldn't possibly do this to him.

The one person who made his days better. He felt like a human the most while being with you, and yet now, you...

“Let me go!” the man behind him snarled, his voice a scream of fury. And as if a switch had flipped, he stopped trying to wake you, turning to him with eerie silence.

Just like that, he gathered you close, standing tall with you in his arms, cradling you close to his chest. The right eye of his glowed sinisterly as he spat out the words:

“Insolent vermin. You have touched my woman.”

His voice dripped with vengeance, the swirls of his red eyes glinted under the moonlight, narrowing as he hissed, “And I’ll make you pay.”

The black-red mist that ensnared the man tightened its grip, and he let out a howl as it choked him relentlessly, desperation flooding his voice.

“No! Graagh—!”

Sylus quietly watched as his bones twist and crack, blood overflowing the hard ground, the life draining from him as he fell like a mangled ragdoll before his entire being exploded into pieces, making him an example for everyone present.

Luke and Kieran were frozen in horror at the grotesque sight, not even a squeak escaping their lips, before turning to their master, with the woman he ever cared about in his arms.

You were beautiful.

Even as you lay still, a cast around your neck and bruises marring your skin, you were still every bit as stunning as you had been before all of this.

Sylus took a seat next to you, his hand cradling your cheek silently. His mind ran through with all thoughts of how you were still going to be in pain even when you woke up.

But at least, he knew you were going to, and that was enough for now.

Twice. It was the second time in which your life was at stake and he found himself on the receiving end of devastating news. The first time, you had truly died, and by sheer luck and compatibility, your body hadn’t rejected the Aether Core. This time, you were caught in a freak accident.

The mere possibility made something inside him burn. It was a given for him to have you always by his side. He didn’t know ever since when you occupied the fondest part of his heart almost wholly— but you did.

—and to see you like this was a painful shot right through his heart.

. . .

The moment you awakened, agony filled in your senses.

Memories came back like a whiplash and adrenaline kicked in, you were about to scream when you realized—

No sound emerged from your throat. You were on the brink of a full-blown panic when a hand gently rested on your arm, and your lover came into view.

“Easy, sweetie,” his baritone voice said. “You’re fine.”

But contrary to the calming words, your body suddenly began to shake uncontrollably. You couldn't distinguish where you were or how you had gotten here; all you could focus on was the haunting image of the man who had nearly choked you to death, and it didn't help that your throat felt like burning.

“Y/N.” Sylus caught your wrists, preventing you from thrashing, worry evident in his face. “What’s wrong?”

You gasped for air, teetering on the brink of tears. Your chest heaved with every breath you could manage, yet despite your desperation, you couldn’t form a single word.

“Don’t talk,” he shushed, realizing your panic, holding your gaze firmly. “Rest for more days and you will be able to. Don't push yourself.”

His voice grounded you, and you clutched at his arm for support. You were still trying to get yourself out of this illusion of danger that kicked all your senses alive.

Seeing your distress, Sylus moved next to you and pulled you into his embrace, gently patting your back. “There, there... I’m here. Nothing to worry about, hmm?”

He is here. You reassured yourself, working to steady your breath. He is here...

His voice lulled you, strong and steady, while his chest felt like a lifeline, anchoring you to the reality you had always had.

He ran his fingers through your hair, pressing his lips on the crown of your head. “So long as I'm here, I won’t let anything of this kind ever happen to you again.”

As long as he is here... You clung to him almost desperately. This was probably the most vulnerable side of yourself you had ever shown him, and yet in that moment, you were a whirlwind of emotions and couldn’t care less.

You aren't good enough. Your Evol is the only thing you have that is more precious than anything, and your fear whispers to you that you might just not hold any special position in his heart...

Strange how any of them no longer mattered that much anymore. When Sylus had you in his arms like this, you were sure. He simply made you feel safe more than anyone ever could.

You just had no idea just how much you meant to him as he whispered his promise into your ear.

“You have nothing to fear with me by your side.”

[3liza]

Meiji period fashion was some of the best in the world, speaking purely from an aesthetic standpoint you can really see the collision of European and Japanese standards of beauty and how their broad agreement even in particulars (the similarity between Japanese and Gibson girl bouffants, the obi vs the corset, the obi knot vs the bustle, the mutual covetousness for exotic textiles, the feverish swapping of both art styles and subjects) combined and produced some of the most interesting cultural exchange we have this level of documentation for. Europeans were wearing kimono or adapting them into tea gowns, japanese were pairing lacy Edwardian blouses with skirt hakama and little button up boots. haori jackets with bowler hats and European style lapels. if steampunk was any good as an aesthetic it would steal wholesale from the copious records we have in both graphic arts and photography of how people were dressing in this milieu.

[evelynaudrey101]

Mini Skirt Revival: Modern Twists on a Classic Favourite

Remember the revolution sparked by the mini skirt in the swinging 1960s? That iconic garment changed the fashion game and symbolised women's liberation and empowerment. Fast forward to today, and the mini skirt is experiencing a remarkable revival. This article'll delve into modern mini skirts, exploring how they've evolved and continued to captivate fashion enthusiasts across generations.

The Iconic Mini Skirt: A Brief History

Ah, the mini skirt—the brainchild of British designer Mary Quant, who introduced this daringly short piece of clothing that challenged conservative fashion norms. A spirit of rebellion and change marked the 1960s, and the mini skirt became an emblem of the era. Beyond its fashion statement, the mini skirt was intertwined with feminism and empowerment. It was more than just fabric; it was a message of breaking free from tradition.

Mini Skirts Today: A Comeback Story

If you thought the mini skirt had faded into history, think again. Like a phoenix rising from its ashes, the mini skirt has resurfaced in contemporary fashion trends. Designers have embraced this timeless piece and given it fresh twists to suit modern sensibilities. The mini skirt is no longer confined to a single style; it has transformed into a canvas for creativity, allowing fashion enthusiasts to experiment and express themselves.

Variety in Lengths: The Rise of the Black Maxi Skirt

But wait, isn't the mini skirt supposed to be short? That's the beauty of fashion's evolution—it's all about bending the rules. Enter the black maxi skirt—a stunning contradiction to the mini's traditional length. This elegant garment combines a maxi's sophistication with a mini's edginess. It's a match made in style heaven, offering comfort, versatility, and a touch of mystery.

Flirty and Playful: The Allure of White Ruffle Skirts

Picture this: a sunny day, a gentle breeze, and you stroll in a white ruffle mini skirt. The mere thought evokes a flirty playfulness that's hard to resist. White ruffle skirts have found their way into modern wardrobes, bringing a touch of whimsy and femininity. With every step, the ruffles dance, adding charm to your ensemble. Who said fashion couldn't be a celebration?

Lemon Blouse and Mini Skirt: A Perfect Summer Combo

When life gives you lemons, why not wear them? The mini skirt finds a perfect partner in crime—the lemon blouse. This vibrant pairing captures the essence of summer, radiating freshness and vitality. The lemon blouse adds colour, while the mini skirt keeps things breezy. It's like wearing sunshine and embodying the season's spirit.

Elegance in Simplicity: The Timelessness of the White Blouse

Speaking of timeless, let's not forget the white blouse—an effortlessly chic classic. When paired with a mini skirt, it creates a clean, sophisticated, and adaptable look. The white blouse complements the mini skirt's flair with its simplicity, allowing you to exude elegance without trying too hard. It's a combination that transcends trends and speaks volumes.

Effortlessly Chic: The Knotted Shirt Dress Revolution

The knotted shirt dress is a revelation for those who adore comfort without sacrificing style. This ingenious piece merges a shirt's appeal with a dress's charm. Imagine a mini skirt brought to life as a dress, casually knotted at the waist. It epitomises effortless chic—a look that transforms from daytime casual to evening allure effortlessly.

Modern Accessories: Enhancing Mini Skirt Outfits

Accessories are to outfits what seasoning is to food—they elevate the experience. Regarding mini skirts, the right accessories can take your ensemble from great to sensational. Ankle boots, with their edgy vibe, contrast beautifully with the femininity of the mini skirt. Statement belts cinch the waist, adding structure and intrigue. And oversized sunglasses? They're not just a shield from the sun but a statement of style.

A Burst of Confidence: How Mini Skirts Empower

Can a piece of clothing empower you? Absolutely. The mini skirt, once a symbol of rebellion, continues to empower individuals. It's a declaration of confidence, a refusal to conform, and a celebration of one's body. When you slip into a mini skirt, you're not just wearing fabric but embracing a burst of confidence that radiates with every step.

Embracing Individuality: Styling Mini Skirts for You

Choosing the right mini skirt involves more than just the latest trends; it's about embracing individuality. Whether you're petite, curvy, or somewhere in between, a mini skirt is tailor-made for you. Experiment with different styles, lengths, and fabrics until you find the one that speaks to your taste. Don't be afraid to add unique touches that make the outfit truly yours.

Mini Skirts for All Ages: Timeless Appeal

There's a common misconception that mini skirts are only meant for the young and the bold. But fashion knows no age limits. It's all about how you style it. The mini skirt might mean vibrant colours and playful patterns for younger wearers. As the years go by, the focus can shift to sophisticated prints and elegant cuts. The mini skirt is a canvas that evolves with you, ensuring timeless appeal.

Iconic Pairings: Footwear and Mini Skirt Combinations

The right pair of shoes can make or break an outfit, and mini skirts are no exception. Sneakers inject an unexpected casual vibe, turning a mini skirt into a statement of calm coolness. Heels elongate the legs, adding a touch of allure to your look. And let's not forget sandals—they effortlessly transition a mini skirt from day to night. The possibilities are as diverse as your shoe collection.

Breaking Norms: Rethinking Fashion Guidelines

Fashion rules were made to be challenged. The idea that age dictates what you can wear or that mini skirts have an age limit It's time to toss those notions aside. Fashion is about self-expression, and self-expression has no expiration date. Embrace the mini skirt with open arms, regardless of your age. It's a symbol of breaking norms and embracing your authentic self.

Conclusion

The mini skirt is a beacon of consistency and creativity in a world where fashion trends come and go. Its revival in various forms—the black maxi skirt, the white ruffle skirt, or the knotted shirt dress—is a testament to its enduring allure. This classic favourite inspires and empowers us, inviting us to celebrate our bodies and embrace our style without hesitation.

Unique FAQs

Can older women confidently wear mini skirts? 

Absolutely! Age knows no boundaries in fashion. Choose styles that reflect your personality and comfort, and confidently rock that mini skirt.

How do I choose the right mini-skirt for my body shape? 

Consider your body type—pear-shaped, hourglass, or athletic. Opt for styles that flatter your proportions and make you feel confident.

What shoes go best with a flirty ruffle mini skirt? 

Ruffle skirts exude playfulness. Pair them with ankle boots for an edgy look or sandals for a carefree vibe. Sneakers also add a fun twist to the ensemble.

Is it okay to mix patterns when styling mini-skirt outfits? 

Mixing patterns can be stylish if done right. Opt for patterns that share a colour or visual element, keeping one pattern more subdued to avoid overwhelming the look.

Where can I find sustainable mini-skirt options? 

Look for ethical and sustainable fashion brands prioritising eco-friendly materials and ethical production. Many brands offer stylish mini skirts with a conscience.

[thedreamingdevil]

Incest smut with Jeon Somi please! 🙏😭 Write whatever with her, I don't mind! She lacks smut around here 🥲

Don't Get Drunk

Jeon Somi × Male Reader (6,082 words)

Author's note: Sorry for being MIA! The new year has been a bit wild. I got a little too greedy and wanted to write all my ideas at once, but then I ended up not finishing anything. Lesson learned, right? I’m aiming to post one smut piece every two weeks from now on, so wish me luck! Also, my first non-Dreamcatcher smut, woo!

The dim glow of your television paints the walls of your living room in shifting shades of blue as you lose yourself in the hardcore porn playing loudly on screen. Your hand traces the thick veins throbbing beneath the skin of your cock. Each stroke sends a pleasurable jolt through you as you watch the bodies writhe and moan.

Boxers are all you bother with tonight, the cool air raising goosebumps on your bare chest, a stark contrast to the heat building in your groin. You're completely engrossed, riding the edge of release, when a jarring buzz cuts through the porn’s soundtrack. Annoyance flares instantly, a tight knot in your stomach pulling you from the brink of pleasure.

You glance at your phone screen, the bright numbers mocking you: 12:37 AM. Who the hell is ringing your doorbell at this ungodly hour? It’s Saturday night, for fuck’s sake, people are supposed to be out partying, not bothering you in your sanctuary of solitude and self-love.

Before you can fully register your irritation, the doorbell bleats again, a longer, more insistent sound this time, as if the person on the other side is determined to get your attention. With a frustrated click of your tongue, you reluctantly pull your boxers up, the soft fabric momentarily trapping your still-hard dick.

The buzz resonates again, now bordering on aggressive. Fine, you think, you'll answer it and send whoever it is packing. You stomp to the door, adrenaline mixed with residual horniness making your movements jerky. You yank the door open with more force than necessary, ready to unleash a volley of irritated questions, but the words die on your tongue.

Standing on your doorstep are two women. One, a vibrant shock of pink hair, is supporting the other, who is practically draped over her shoulder. And you recognize them instantly. It's your older sister, Somi, completely plastered, and her eternally bubbly, pink-haired friend, Giselle.

Heat floods your face, a flush of embarrassment. You hadn’t expected visitors, especially not now, especially not in this state, shirtless and still smelling faintly of your own musk. You try to subtly tug your boxers higher, hoping they conceal enough. Giselle, however, just beams at you, her smile wide and bright even in the dim hallway light.

“Hey!” she chirps, her voice slightly breathless from the effort of holding up your taller sister. “Sorry to bother you so late, but well, Somi insisted on coming here.” Giselle’s eyes flick towards you, her smile softening into an apologetic curve. “I offered to let her crash at my place, but she was really set on seeing you.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair and pushing down the lingering mortification. Somi is a mess. Her blonde hair, usually meticulously styled, hangs in tangled clumps around her face. Her white blouse is askew, twisted so far to the side that the lacy edge of her bra is clearly visible, and the swell of her tits threatens to spill out of the neckline with every unsteady breath she takes.

She looks up at you, her eyes unfocused and glassy, and a wide, goofy grin spreads across her face. She slurs your name, her voice thick with alcohol. “You’re the best! Thank you for letting me stay!” She doesn’t even wait for you to agree, just assumes she’s welcome, as always.

Giselle’s voice cuts through Somi’s drunken ramblings, bringing you back to the awkward reality of the situation. “Yeah, sorry about this,” she repeats, her pronunciation softening the words. “I really tried to get her to come to my place, but… yeah, you see how that worked out.” She gestures helplessly at Somi, who is now attempting to hug Giselle's arm, giggling nonsensically.

You manage a small smile. "It's fine," resignation coloring your tone. "I know how stubborn she can be when she's like this." It’s an understatement. Somi sober is headstrong; Somi drunk is a force of nature. With a sigh, you reach out and disentangle Somi from Giselle, taking your sister’s weight onto yourself.

Her soft body pressed against yours, her chest bumping against your bare arm. “Thanks for bringing this blondie here,” you say to Giselle, nodding your head in gratitude. “Want to come in for a bit?”

The offer is half-hearted, because the blaring porn audio suddenly registers in your mind, a pulsing rhythm vibrating through the thinly insulated walls.

Luckily, Giselle shakes her head, her pink hair swaying. “Oh, no, it’s really late,” she says, her smile still warm but tinged with tiredness. “I should probably head home. Just make sure she drinks some water, okay?”

You nod, a silent thank you. You can’t quite tell if Giselle heard the muffled throbbing bass from your apartment, but she’s smiling as usual, so maybe she’s either oblivious or just incredibly polite.

“Goodnight!” she calls out, waving as she turns to walk away, her pink hair bobbing in the dim light. “Goodnight, Somi!”

You close the door, the click echoing in the sudden quiet. Then, you turn your attention to the drunken blonde lump in your arms. Somi instantly latches onto you, clinging like a koala, her arms wrapping around your neck, her soft chest pressing firmly against your arm.

You notice then that her short skirt has ridden even higher throughout the evening’s drunken escapades, now barely covering her thighs. You grunt slightly at her unexpected weight, and half-drag, half-carry her towards the living room, her body limp and pliant against yours.

You dump her unceremoniously onto the stool of the kitchen countertop first, her breathing heavy and shallow. You stare down at her semi-conscious form, a jumble of irritation and something else stirring within you.

From as far back as you can remember, Somi has been a constant source of trouble. Always needing rescuing, always making messes, always relying on you to clean up after her.

You’d foolishly hoped that adulthood would bring some semblance of responsibility, some maturity, but tonight proves that she’s only gotten worse. And it’s always you who has to deal with it.

You’re barely an adult yourself, just out of high school, juggling odd jobs to make ends meet. You can barely afford to feed yourself, let alone constantly bail out your trainwreck of a sister.

But as you look at her now, drunk and vulnerable, a different kind of thought surfaces. Maybe, just maybe, Somi’s perpetual negligence, her constant state of disarray, maybe it could be useful to you in some way.

Your gaze roams over her curvy body, lingering on her glossy parted lips, slightly swollen and wet-looking. It drifts lower, to the generous mound of her breasts, straining against the fabric of her blouse, the nipples hardening against the thin material in the cool air.

Finally, your eyes settle on her exposed thighs, bare and pale beneath the hiked-up skirt. Your own cock, still semi-hard from earlier, stirs inside your boxers, tightening with renewed insistence.

The images from the porn movie on the screen flicker in your peripheral vision, blurring with the real, tempting flesh before you; you older sister. A dangerous, thrilling idea begins to take root in your mind.

Somi slurs her words, leaning heavily against the countertop. "Hey... sorry about all the trouble," she says, her voice low and deep. "But you don't mind, right? Cause we're siblings, after all." She lets out a giggle, a wet, bubbly sound that ends in a snort.

She stumbles further into your apartment, clumsily making her way to the couch like she expects you to scoop her up and carry her, like she is some fat, lazy crocodile ready to be provided endless comfort.

Her breasts, unrestrained by a bra, bounce with each unsteady step, quivering under her thin top as she collapses onto the couch, where she sprawls out, limbs akimbo, like she owns the damn place.

You watch her, a low chuckle rumbling in your chest, the predatory feeling already starting to stir. "Of course, sis," you say, your voice smooth, almost too gentle. "I will take care of my sister."

She grins drunkenly, eyes unfocused and glazed over. "Knew I could count on you," she mumbles, already drifting off, her words blurring together.

You watch her for a moment, the image of her sprawled out on your couch igniting a heat in your groin. Quietly, you push your boxers down, the sound amplified in the still room. You reach inside, your fingers closing around the thick shaft already straining against the fabric.

With a swift motion, you pull them down, freeing your rock-hard cock. It springs out, heavy and throbbing, pulsing with anticipation as you approach the couch, your footsteps silent on the carpet.

Lowering yourself, you position yourself directly in front of her face, your cock level with her slightly parted lips. Without a word, you guide the head of your cock to her mouth, the tip nudging against her wet lips.

Then, with a firm push, you slide your cock inside, the warmth and moisture of her mouth enveloping you. You hiss in pleasure, the sensation electric. Somi moans, a confused sound escaping her throat. Instinctively, she tries to pull her face away, a weak resistance against your forceful advance.

But you're ready. Your hand shoots out, gripping the back of her neck, your fingers tangling in her hair, holding her head firmly in place. You push deeper, inch after inch, forcing more of your length into her mouth. Her tongue, surprisingly, wraps around your shaft, massaging you, a primal, instinctive response even in her drunken stupor.

Somi’s voice is muffled, a garbled protest against your intrusive cock. "Mmmph… no…" she manages to moan against your flesh, her hand weakly pushing against your thigh, a pathetic attempt to dislodge you. Her eyes flutter half-open, unfocused and confused.

But you’re lost in the sensation, the friction of her mouth, the growing pleasure tightening your balls. You hiss again, a sharp intake of breath, as you slide in and out, slowly at first, savoring the feel. Her moans of unconscious protest only fuel your excitement.

You lean closer, "Come on, sis," you whisper, the word dripping with a sick intimacy. "I know you’re a good cocksucker." You shift your grip on her nape, tightening it possessively. "Just suck my cock every day, and then you can stay here as long as you want. You don’t have to hear Dad’s nagging at home anymore."

The proposition hangs in the air, a twisted bargain made in the heat of the lustful moment. Somi's head bobs rhythmically, almost unconsciously. Despite her mumbled protests, her mouth tightens around your cock, her body seemingly overriding her conscious mind.

Her back arches slightly off the couch, a subtle shift in posture that reveals a buried desire. Her legs clamp together, rubbing against each other, a telltale sign of her own arousal, even in this forced encounter.

It's as if her body knows, deep down, that she’s a slut at the core, always ready to submit to pleasure. She starts humming unconsciously, a low vibration against your shaft, and more saliva coats your cock, making each thrust slicker, smoother.

You slide in and out of her mouth, her soft lips wrapping tight, almost pleasurably so, around your girth. Her drunken unconsciousness seems to be turning into something else, something more primal and accepting.

Emboldened by her lack of real resistance and her body's involuntary responses, you become rougher, fucking her face deeper, your thrusts becoming faster and more forceful. Somi gags, a choked sound escaping her throat, her eyes watering slightly.

Her free hand, no longer weakly pushing, now clutches at your balls, a tighter grip, a more desperate attempt to push you away, but even then, she's still sucking, her mouth still working against your cock at the same time.

You feel a surge of dominance. "Fuck," you breathe out, your hand tightening on her neck, ignoring her attempts to push you away. "If my sister treats me like this, I don't even need a girlfriend." The thought, crude and selfish, reinforces your actions, justifying your violation in your own twisted mind.

After a few more slow, deliberate thrusts, you feel yourself reaching the edge. Your pace quickens, your groans growing louder, more animalistic. Then, you explode, cumming right inside her mouth, a thick, hot stream of ejaculate erupting from your cock, flooding her mouth.

It just keeps coming, a long, intense orgasm that lasts for nearly a minute. Somi gulps it all down, her throat working reflexively, despite choking and sputtering for air. Finally, you pull out, your cock slick with her saliva and your cum. Somi coughs, a wet, hacking sound, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes still hazy and unfocused.

"What the fuck was that?" she slurs, her voice raw and thick. You know she’s still not really sober, her awareness only just starting to flicker back.

You answer with a smirk, your voice light, almost joking, hiding the darkness of your actions. "Giselle said make sure I give you water, sis," you say, watching her confused flushed expression. "But I'm not sure it's quite enough."

The flickering images on the television screen cast an erratic light across the living room, but your attention is far from the movie. It’s fixed on Somi, your sister, sprawled haphazardly on the couch. You’d expected a slurry, indignant argument – the usual performance when she’s this deep into her cups.

Instead, she simply rolled, a slow, ungainly tumble, and landed with a soft thud onto the floor. A light snore rattles from her lips. You scoff, a dry, humorless sound. It's pathetic, really. You try to refocus on the screen, but the vibrant colors and action feel hollow, meaningless against the backdrop of this tableau.

The remote clicks in your hand, plunging the room into near darkness, save for the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the window. The silence is thick, broken only by Somi’s shallow breaths. Your gaze drifts back to her prone form. A different kind of heat begins to prickle under your skin. You let your eyes trace the curves of her body, the way her shirt rides up slightly, exposing a sliver of pale skin above her skirt.

Suddenly, the images that flood your mind are no longer scenes from the abandoned porn movie. They are scenarios starring Somi, her body pliant and yielding beneath your touch. The forbidden nature of the fantasy ignites a thrill, a dangerous spark that flares in your gut. You feel your cock stir once again, hardening stubbornly.

It’s a slow, insistent rise, fueled by a cocktail of curiosity and a dark, unsettling desire.

A short, mirthless laugh escapes your lips, echoing in the quiet room. "This is fucked up," you murmur to yourself, the words barely a whisper. And it is. Completely, utterly fucked up. Yet, the thought of stopping, of pulling back from the precipice of this madness, feels…unappealing.

A strange inertia holds you captive. No guilt washes over you, no immediate sense of revulsion. Instead, there's a chilling detachment, a sensation of watching yourself from a distance as you stand and, with a grunt, scoop your sister up from the floor. Her limbs are heavy, limp. You carry her back to the couch, the scent of cheap alcohol and something faintly floral clinging to her.

You lay her on her back, her head lolling to the side. Straddling her waist, you plant one knee deliberately between her thighs, feeling the soft give of her panties. Leaning close, your face inches from her slack-jawed, heaving face, you take a shallow breath, inhaling the boozy air she exhales.

Your hand, almost of its own volition, reaches out and closes over her breast, through the thin cotton of her shirt. You squeeze, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh. They’re soft. Softer than you assume. You knead, fondling the yielding mound, and Somi lets out a small, involuntary moan, a pathetic, muffled sound that vibrates against your fingertips.

Encouraged, or perhaps driven by something darker, you grip the hem of her shirt and tug it upwards, over her head. It’s a clumsy, quick motion, revealing her chest. Her breasts are already spilling over the lace edges of her bra, full and ripe. Without hesitation, you reach behind her and unhook the clasp, the plastic clicking open with a sharp sound in the quiet. The bra falls away, and her breasts, pale and heavy, are fully exposed.

A primal urge takes hold. You begin to play with them, your hands roaming over the smooth skin, groping and pulling, your thumbs circling her nipples, teasing them into hard buds. You repeat the circular motion, again and again, a hypnotic rhythm that feeds the growing tension in your groin.

"Fuck it," you breathe, another dry laugh rasping in your throat. "I can’t believe I’m actually doing this." The absurdity of the situation crashes into you for a fleeting moment.

Memories flicker in your mind – images of childhood games in the backyard, of late-night arguments over shared snacks, of sharing secrets whispered under the covers. Somi, your sister, the girl who used to play with your hair for fun and steal your candy. The contrast is jarring, sickening even. But your body, your treacherous body, has a different agenda.

Ignoring the ghost of shared history, you lean down, your mouth hovering over her smooth skin. With an act of transgression, you latch onto her brown nipple. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the room. You can’t stop now, not even if you wanted to.

You suck on Somi’s nipple, pulling and teasing, the sensation electrifying, forbidden. You taste her skin, a flavor you can’t quite place, something unfamiliar yet intimately connected to her. It’s salty, definitely salty, probably from sweat and the lingering remnants of her drink. But there’s also a sweetness, a subtle sugary note that plays on your tongue. Or maybe you’re just imagining it, your senses heightened by the illicit nature of this act.

It doesn't matter. Lost in the sensation, you keep sucking, alternating between her left and right breast, your hands massaging and kneading the soft flesh, milking them almost, as if trying to extract every last drop of sensation.

Suddenly, Somi’s hands are on your head. At first, they’re tentative, fluttering weakly against your scalp. But then, her fingers clench, digging into your hair, pulling with a surprising strength. She moans again, louder this time, a drawn-out sound that vibrates in your very bones. Her body begins to writhe beneath you, a subtle shift at first, then more pronounced.

Her legs come up, clamping around your waist, her thighs tightening, a silent, involuntary embrace. Her feet kick against the couch cushions, a restless energy fluttering through her limbs. Noticing the reaction, a flicker of something – triumph, perhaps, or a twisted kind of validation – sparks within you.

"Do you like this, Somi?" you murmur against her breast. "Do you want more?" Her eyelids flutter open, revealing unfocused, glazed eyes. She looks at you, a hint of confusion in her gaze, and then, instead of words, a soft whimper escapes her lips. It’s not a protest, not exactly. It’s something else.

Somi’s scent, a heady mix of alcohol and something uniquely her, urges you onward. You lift your head from her breast and trail kisses down her neck, nibbling and sucking at the soft flesh, feeling the pulse jump beneath your lips. Your hands roam lower, across her soft, slightly rounded tummy, towards her waist. You lift her hips slightly, your fingers finding the curve of her ass beneath her skirt.

The fabric is thin, offering little resistance as you squeeze her firm buttocks, feeling the heat radiate from her skin. This time, the whimper is replaced by something sharper, louder. "Wait, fuck…" she curses, her voice thick with sleep and confusion. "What the… what are you doing?" her voice is laced with a growing alarm.

You ignore Somi’s mumbled question, her words slurring slightly, and your hands tighten their grip on her bare breasts. “What…?” she starts to ask again, but you cut her off, your mouth descending to her stomach. You press kisses across her warm skin, the taste of her faintly sweet, before your tongue dips into her navel.

As you swirl your tongue around its depths, Somi’s back arches off the couch with a sharp groan. “Ahh…!” she protests weakly, a confused sound in her voice.

But beneath the protest, you feel the tremor in her body, the involuntary ripple of her muscles as she writhes against the weird, wet slide of your tongue. Her hands come up to your shoulders, gripping them, not pushing you away, but holding on as her body reacts in ways her words don't seem to understand.

Driven by a mounting excitement, you move your kisses lower, the line of her pelvis coming into focus. "Wait," Somi murmurs, but it’s barely audible. You’re already working on the button of her skirt, fingers fumbling with the clasp in your eagerness. With a snap, it gives way, and you roughly yank the fabric down, bunching it around her thighs, then off her legs completely.

You straighten up, her skirt now discarded on the floor, and you place her legs over your shoulders, spreading them wide. Her breath hitches, and a louder grunt escapes her lips as she instinctively tries to clamp her thighs shut. Her hands, still clumsy, reach down, attempting to shield her clothed pussy. “Stop, just… stop,” she mumbles, but her words are weak, unconvincing.

You slap her hands away from between her legs, the sound echoing in the quiet room, leaving her exposed. “Shhh,” you hush her, your voice low. “Don’t be shy, sis. We’re siblings, remember?” You gesture to the darkening stain spreading across the crotch of her panties. “Besides, you’re drunk. It’s okay. You want this, I know you do.”

You become rougher, your fingers hooking into the elastic waistband of her panties. There’s a sharp ripping sound as you tear the fabric apart, the thin material giving way easily. You pluck away the remaining tattered pieces, tossing them aside, leaving her completely bare. “See?” you say, your voice laced with a predatory satisfaction. “Nothing to hide.”

The scent of Somi’s arousal hits you full force, a heady musk that’s intoxicating, like a potent drug. It compels you, driving you to plunge your face directly into her exposed vulva. Her pussy is slick with her own juices, and the aroma is even stronger up close. You lick from the base of her swollen folds all the way up to her hard, throbbing clitoris, savoring every inch of her.

With each slow, deliberate lap of your tongue, you gulp in her flavor, the salty-sweet tang of her arousal filling your mouth. Somi gasps, her eyes fluttering open, wide and unfocused. A moan escapes her lips, soft at first, then growing louder, more desperate. “Please…” she whispers, her voice breaking, repeating the word again, “Please… please…”

Ignoring her plea, you continue to feast on her, your tongue relentlessly working her clit. You suck on the sensitive bud, drawing it deep into your mouth, slurping up every drop of juice she unknowingly produces. Her erratic moans and groans are music to your ears, confirming you’re doing exactly what her drunk body craves.

Holding her hips firmly in place with one hand, you suck her clit harder, then slide two fingers deep inside her wet pussy, curling them upwards against the sensitive walls. Somi’s back arches even higher, her ass lifting entirely off the couch as if she’s trying to grind herself against your mouth and thrusting fingers.

Her moaning intensifies, becoming higher-pitched, more needy, almost frantic. One hand presses against her stomach, flexing and unflexing, while the other hand clenches the edge of the couch, her knuckles white. Her breathing is ragged pants now, each inhale and exhale shuddering through her.

Lost in the intoxicating taste and feel of her, you barely register the shift until it’s undeniable. Somi grunts, her body tensing, and then a choked-off swear word bursts from her lips. A moment later, her orgasm explodes, her nectar suddenly flooding your mouth in a rush of warm, thick liquid.

You greedily drink as much as you can, slurping up the rest as her body shudders violently, then gradually stills. Her breathing remains heavy, ragged, but the tension slowly drains away. Her eyes are still half-lidded, blinking slowly at the ceiling, unfocused and glazed over.

You sit upright between her legs, pulling her closer until her thighs straddle your waist. Your own cock is throbbingly hard and it twitches insistently right in front of her wet, pink entrance. You chuckle, a low, satisfied sound. “Wow, look at you,” you say, gesturing to the slickness between her legs. “You came hard. Guess you had your fun, huh? Now it’s my turn.”

She slowly looks down at you, her expression still hazy, but then, surprisingly, a giggle bubbles up from her throat. She reaches down and her fingers close around her own breasts, giving them a soft, distracted rub, her eyes still drifting.

You watch as, with a languid movement, she cups her breasts, fingers kneading and teasing, her thumbs circling and flicking over her taut nipples, bringing them to hard peaks. A low moan escaped her lips, mixing with your faint breathing. Then, a shift in posture. She hooks her hands beneath her knees, pulling them abruptly upwards, her thighs parting wide, an unapologetic display. Her legs frame the thin triangle at her core, slick and glistening even presented to you like a forbidden offering.

A laugh bubbles up from your chest. "Holy shit, sis," you manage, your voice a little breathless, a mix of shock. "Are you...are you actually into this right now?" Your older sister’s eyes, heavy-lidded with drink, meet yours, a flicker of something mischievous dancing within their depths. She bites down on her lower lip, a playful tug that accentuates its fullness, and a giggle, soft and throaty, escapes.

"Mmm," she hums, her gaze drifting down your body before returning to your eyes. "You've got a nice cock, you know that?" Her words are slurred but clear, each syllable deliberately laced with invitation. "And I think," her voice dropping to a whisper, "you totally need to put it inside my pussy."

The blatant filth dripping from your sister’s usually prim lips ignites something. A hot rush floods your groin. Without a second thought, your hand clamps around your already hardening shaft, the throbbing vein beneath your fingers pulsing with anticipation. You take a step closer, the couch looming, and you smack your engorged cock against the wet folds of her vulva. The sound is wet and resonant, echoing in the quiet room.

Somi’s breath hitches, a gasp turning into a drawn-out moan as the contact sends jolts of pleasure through her. Her body arches off the couch cushion, her hips bucking instinctively against your hand. The slick pre-cum and her own juices splatter outwards, glistening on her thighs and the velvet of the couch.

"Okay then, sis. I'm gonna fuck you now." You straddle her legs, parting them further with your knees, positioning yourself above her exposed core. With agonizing slowness, you guide the swollen head of your cock to the entrance of her slick, warm pussy, feeling the velvety soft lips part to receive you. Then, in one controlled motion, you push forward, sinking into her depths.

Her breath catches again, a sharp intake that quickly turns into a sigh of pure sensation as you slide deeper, the tight walls of her sheath gripping you like a hot glove. You grip her hips, anchoring her as you begin to move, driving forward with a slow thrust. Somi’s back arches even further, her breasts lifting towards the ceiling, straining against their own weight.

Her head throws forward as she tries to steal a glimpse of your cock disappearing deep inside her stretched pussy. You pause at the deepest point, holding yourself there for a heartbeat, savoring the fullness, the intimate pressure, the feeling of being buried inside her. Pulling back just until the tip is still nestled inside her, you slam forward again, burying yourself to the hilt.

A groan escapes her lips, her sweaty body rippling with the force of the impact, her muscles clenching around you in response. You repeat the rhythm, each thrust deeper and harder than the last, fucking your older sister with a growing urgency, your hands gripping her waist, pulling her towards you, meeting each of your deep, hard thrusts with an equally frantic upward lift of her hips.

Somi’s breasts bounce wildly, swaying up and down unevenly, the fleshy mounds jiggling with each powerful stroke, the underside of your balls slapping against the soft crack of her ass with a rhythmic thud. The sounds of your bodies colliding fill the room, punctuated by her escalating moans and your own ragged breaths.

"Oh, fuck," Somi mumbles drunkenly, words thick with pleasure, her hands now clutching at your shoulders, digging into your muscle. "It's so deep," she gasps, "fuck me harder, please."

The raw desperation in her voice is intoxicating. Driven by her pleas and the mounting intensity within you, you snap your hips harder, the pace quickening, the friction building. You lean down, burying your face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin, hot and flushed and intoxicating, and whisper against her ear, "If I go any harder, sis, I might just cum inside you and get you pregnant."

Of course, Somi was too far gone to grasp the implications of your words. Her mind was lost in the swirling vortex of pleasure. She just kept mumbling incoherently, her only coherent plea being, "fuck me harder… it's so good… I’m… almost… cumming…" Her toes curled inwards, digging into the couch cushion, and her hands clutched at your back, her nails lightly raking against your skin. Her tits were squished against your chest, their soft weight a delicious friction as your nose inhaled the intoxicating scent from the crook of her neck.

Your breathing grew shallow and rapid, your body straining with the effort to prolong this forbidden bliss. But Somi wasn't holding back any longer. Her movements stilled, her body suddenly going rigid beneath you. A silent wave of tension washed over her, replaced in moments by a shuddering release. You didn't need her to say a word; you felt it instantly, a hot, pulsing sensation as her orgasm flooded down around your pistoning cock, her inner muscles clenching and spasming in rhythmic waves.

The realization that you were fucking your own older sister raw, the echo of her voice begging for more, the wet, slick feel of her orgasm enveloping your cock – it all coalesced into an overwhelming wave of sensation. You reached your own precipice, teetering on the edge of oblivion. Separating your face from her neck, you dropped down, latching onto one of her swollen nipples with your mouth, biting down hard just as you slammed your cock deep, deep inside her canal.

Spurt after spurt of scalding semen erupted inside Somi's pussy, filling her with your forbidden seed. She cried out, a muffled sound as she gripped your hair, pressing your face harder into her boob, her fingers tangling in your locks. You huffed against the soft mound of her breast, every muscle in your body clenched tight, riding the peak of your orgasm. Slowly, languidly, you rolled your hips, prolonging the blissful, taboo-laden experience as your cum continued to pulse inside her.

The aftermath of your release hangs heavy in the air, thick with the scent of sex. You pull back from your older sister, the squelch of your dick leaving her wet depths echoing in the sudden silence that descends now that your ragged breaths are slowing. You shift back onto the plush cushions of your worn-out couch, the withdrawal making your cock feel strangely cold against the air.

A thick glob of your cum oozes from her folds, a pearly trail tracing a path downwards, a rivulet heading towards the shadowed cleft of her untouched asshole. Somi is completely still, lost in the deep abyss of drunken slumber. Her head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the couch fabric, her breathing shallow and even. Naked and vulnerable, she's laid out, a tableau of post-coital abandon.

A question claws at the edge of your consciousness – will she even remember any of this tomorrow? The thought flits through your mind, quickly followed by a surge of guilt and a thrill of illicit excitement. You’re breathing hard, chest heaving, your gaze fixed on her unconscious form. The soft rise and fall of her chest is mesmerizing, the curve of her body smooth and inviting in the dim light filtering through the blinds.

Then, the weight of reality crashes down on you, solid and undeniable. This happened. You actually went there. You fucked your sister. And not just a quick fumble, but a full-blown, unprotected creampie situation in her womb. There's no erasing it, no taking it back.

A low chuckle wheezes up from your throat, tinged with disbelief. "Fucking crazy," you mutter under your breath. You lean closer to Somi, a whisper inches from her ear. "You liked that, didn't you? You enjoyed that as much as I did, right?" Silence is her only reply, her peaceful slumber undisturbed by your whispered question.

Even in the aftermath, even with the dampness cooling on your skin, your cock refuses to fully submit. It throbs with a semi-erection, a persistent reminder of the pleasure you just experienced, and a blatant demand for more. Her nakedness, the lingering scent of her arousal, it’s all too potent. You can't deny the pull, the urge to dive back in.

Carefully, you slide off the couch, your bare feet padding softly on the worn carpet. You reach for Somi, gently looping her arm around your neck, her limp weighing on you. Then, you bend down, slipping your other arm under her knees, scooping her up in a bridal carry. She’s heavier than you expected, loose and pliant in your arms. You carry her through the narrow hallway to the spare room, the one you usually leave empty for nothing in particular it seems, until now. You reach the bed, a simple mattress on a frame, and gently toss her onto it.

A soft groan escapes her lips as she lands, rolling onto her side, facing away from you. You climb onto the bed beside her, the mattress dipping under your weight. With a hand on her hip, you turn her back towards you, then gently lift her up onto her knees, her ass rising invitingly in the air. Her upper body, still heavy with sleep, falls forward onto the mattress, her breasts spilling out, nipples brushing against the sheet.

You kneel behind her, your own cock stirring with renewed vigor, the sight of her presented ass sending a jolt of lust through you. You press yourself against her, rubbing your semi-hard cock against her wet entrance, feeling it thicken and lengthen with each passing second.

“You shouldn’t have gotten so drunk and come here, Somi,” you murmur into her hair, the words more for yourself than her. “You know that, right?” You nip at the nape of her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat. “And you know you liked getting fucked by your brother. Don’t even try to deny it.” Your voice is filled with the need to possess her. “One round isn’t going to cut it, sis. Not after this. I’m going to fuck you until my cock is sore and limp. Until you wake up and realize what we did.”

Consequences be damned. You’ll deal with the fallout, the inevitable chaos, when it comes. Right now, all that matters is this moment, this chance to feast on your older sister, to brand her with your mark until she’s fully sober and forced to confront the reality of what’s happening.

With that thought burning in your mind, you grind yourself against her hips, and thrust forward, penetrating her slick pussy from behind, driving yourself deep, right to the hilt. Somi lets out a muffled gasp, a sound that could be pleasure, could be protest, lost in the moment as you begin to move.

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - S.H

Pairing - KindergartenTeacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 4.3k

Contains - strangers to friends to lovers, slowburn, so much fluff, teacher!steve and mom!reader. No descriptions are given of reader or abbey, other than that abbey has curly hair, steve and reader are the same age (about 24-25), set early-mid 90's

AN - i don’t write for kids often so i hope this reads well and is realistic. i don’t have a clear end for this series in mind, so i’m gonna keep writing it for as long as y’all want it :) feel free to send requests for blurbs for this AU if you so wish and as always, thank you - emma

“Moooooom,”

You hear a tiny voice whisper in your ear. Most mornings started this way, if not all of them. Whoever said getting children out of bed in the morning was difficult had clearly never met Abbey. Every day you peeled your tired eyes open to see the miniature version of them staring back at you, the only difference being they were much wider, and lacking the distinct fog of leftover sleep.

Today her hair was sticking up in all different directions; frizzy curls here and tangled knots there. Your daughter takes after you in many ways, one being that she’s an active sleeper and it shows when she wakes up. Her bed was always disheveled; embroidered blankets strewn across her bedroom floor and little red lines indented in her cheeks where they had been smushed against her pillow.

“Mornin’ Ab,” you say, voice gravelly with disuse. “Have you made your bed yet?” you eye her suspiciously.

You know she hasn’t and she confirms as much when she spins on her heel and dashes for her room down the hall. Truthfully, you couldn’t care less if her bed was made or not, it was merely a guise to buy you a few extra minutes of peace and quiet each morning.

︵୨୧︵

When she doesn’t reappear, you assume she’s gotten distracted and decide to make your way downstairs to scrounge for something to eat. You never ate breakfast before you had Abbey; either for lack of time or because the smell of food so early in the morning made you nauseous. Eating three meals a day was just one bullet point on the long, running list of changes in your routine since becoming a mother.

Two bowls of Frosted Flakes were set out on the table after deciding there was no time for anything more nutritious.

“Abbey!” You call, “Breakfast!” 

You hear the sounds of sniffling and small feet padding on hardwood as she enters the kitchen– pouting. You try not to gape at the utter monstrosity of an outfit she's put on. She whines, “I don’t know what I want to wear!”

You sense a meltdown coming already, on today of all days. Pre-school was easy, as Abbey was a fairly agreeable kid. Or at least she used to be. Lately it felt like you had to battle her about anything and everything. 

“You look so beautiful, Ab!” you reassure her, attempting to deescalate the impending tantrum. She has on pink corduroy pants and a frilly forest green blouse. For accessories she’s sporting a chunky plastic necklace that definitely came with a dress-up kit, along with a tutu. You have no idea where the tutu came from.

Eventually she decides not to fight you, at least not on her outfit. However, as she climbs into the kitchen chair, she scowls down at the soggy cereal in front of her and asks in the most darling tone she can muster,

“Can I have Scooby fruit snacks instead?”

“How about I pack some in your lunchbox today and you can eat them at snack time?” you try to barter.

Sneaking a glance at the clock, it mocks you with its unforgiving hands– you’re going to be late and your daughter will have skipped supposedly the most important meal of the day. Some mother you are.

“But I want them right now!” Her petite fists bang against the wooden table and she’s a heap of dramatics wriggling in her chair.

“Hey, what did we talk about? Yelling is not nice, even when we’re frustrated. Right?” She acknowledges you with a teary nod along with more crying and petulant moaning that can be heard as you run to the bathroom and grab a hairbrush with two bows. When you return, she’s still moping over her breakfast, but taking bites nonetheless. A win is a win.

You begin detangling the mess of knots and snarls at the back of her head. “Ouch, Mommy!” she cries when you try to comb through a particularly tangled section.

You place one of your hands over the crown of her head like a claw in a poor attempt at keeping her from squirming, “The more you move the longer it takes, sweetheart,” 

“Hmph.” she pouts, folding her arms over her chest. When all is said and done, your daughter has her hair parted and tied into two high pigtails, secured with little pink bows, and you’re rushing her out of the front door with haste.

︵୨୧︵

In all the hubbub, you realize you’ve barely gotten yourself ready. Reaching over to buckle Abbey into her carseat, she asks,

“When can I sit up front with you?”

“When you’re this many,” You hold out both your hands to display all ten fingers.

She mimics you with her own smaller fingers, “Ten?”

“That’s right!” You smack a kiss on the crown of her head as you pull back, she smells like her strawberry scented shampoo.

“Watch your feetsies,” you warn and she tucks her legs unnecessarily far into her chest as you close the door. 

The ride is filled with the usual nonsensical ramblings of a five-year-old. She beams back at you through the rearview mirror, eyes sparkling and nodding fervently when you ask if she’s excited to make some new friends today. Your social butterfly, the complete antithesis of you. 

The elementary school is only a few miles from your home, and before you know it you’re circling a crowded parking lot and preparing to drop your only child off for her first day of kindergarten. The rush of emotions you feel are indecipherable, something like a mix of somberness, excitement, relief, and anxiety.

As you walk towards the front of the building, you’re surrounded by dozens of kids aged five through twelve greeting their teachers and saying ‘Hello’ to friends they haven’t seen all summer. The teachers are holding laminated signs that indicate their name and what grade they teach; thank God for that. Abbey’s little fist squeezes around your index finger and you can tell she’s becoming nervous, despite her previous unbridled anticipation.

“Hey, it’s okay,” You assure, “Look, I think that’s your teacher right there,” you point towards a tall, brunette man standing near the double doors.

A shy smile tugs at the corners of her lips when she sees the teacher in question. He’s dressed in a striped button-down shirt and khakis, with a lanyard dangling from his front pocket; the typical teacher attire.The sign he’s holding reads, ‘Mr. Harrington’ and just below that, ‘Kindergarten’ with a little cartoon apple printed next to his name. He looks young compared to the rest of the staff, closer to your own age. This must be his first year teaching.

As you approach him, Abbey treks in front, eager to meet him. Her backpack is adorned with sparkly butterflies and it covers nearly her entire torso; bumping the backs of her knees with every step she takes.

The man crouches down to her level and greets her, “Hey there,” he offers a warm smile, “what’s your name?”

“Abbey,” she says timidly, twiddling her fingers and flashing a toothy grin at him. She doesn’t bother with her last name, honestly you’re not positive that she even knows it.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Abbey,” he holds a gentle hand out for her to shake and she does so hesitantly, “My name’s Mr. Harrington, and I’m going to be your teacher this year. How does that sound?” The way he’s so patient and attentive with her stirs something within you that you haven’t felt in years, but he’s a teacher, for goodness sake. He looks up then, locking eyes with you and rising back to his full height.

This time, it’s your turn to shake his hand. “I’m Steve.”  He flashes you a smile directly out of a Colgate ad and you hope you’re not blushing as much as you feel like you are.

You must look nervous because he immediately assures you that Abbey’s in good hands this year. “We’re having an open house tonight, I hope to see you both there,”

You glance at your daughter, “What’d you think, Ab? That sound fun?”

“Yes!” She squeals and almost falls over from the weight of her backpack.

“Okay then,” With that, you crouch down to give Abbey one final hug. It’s clear that she’s itching to go socialize with the other kids, so you try not to delay her with your sappiness.

“Be good today, okay?” you give her a tight squeeze and a smacking kiss on her little cheek, “I’ll be back to get you at two-forty-five.”

“What will the clock say?” She asks inquisitively. Her favorite question.

“It’ll say ‘two-four-five’,” She nods in understanding, “But I bet you’ll be having so much fun that you won’t even remember to look.”

She’s already on her way to the door when she calls, “Love you, mommy!” and blows you a kiss with her lips puckered. You blow her one back and fight the tears threatening to surface. When did she get so big?

A pang of insecurity settles in your chest when you chance a look around and see all the children accompanied by two parents. You begin the walk back to your sedan before the thought has a chance to fester.

︵୨୧︵

Six hours goes by alarmingly fast when it’s spent running around your house in a frenzy, trying to catch up on all the cleaning you aren’t able to do when there’s a rampant five-year-old on the loose, making a brand new mess where you just cleaned an old one.

Before you can even register the time has passed, it's two o’clock and you need to pick Abbey up in a mere forty five minutes. Looking around your house, you feel satisfied with the progress you were able to make on tidying and call it a day.

This time, you decide to try and appear more presentable before visiting the school, and firmly remind yourself that it has nothing to do with how flustered your daughter’s kindergarten teacher makes you. By the time you’re dressed and have pulled your hair up into a halfway decent top knot; it’s time to go.

︵୨୧︵

The line for pickup wraps around the front of the building, aided by crossing guards and supervised by a few teachers. Twenty minutes into waiting, you regret not having gotten here a little sooner. ‘Tomorrow’ you think. Soon, you catch sight of two little pigtails bobbing up and down as your Abbey skips over to you, grinning ear to ear while Steve watches from the doors she just exited.

“Mommy!” she shouts as she bounds towards you. You place the car in park and run around to greet her.

“Hi, Bug!” you exclaim as you bend at the waist to pick her up. She gives you a tight squeeze around the neck, and you catch a split second of Steve’s gaze over her shoulder before he’s disappearing back inside the school

Plopping her as gently as possible into her carseat and fastening the straps over her chest, her mouth is already moving a mile a minute– absolutely ecstatic to tell you all about the activities she got up to while you were gone.

“What is ‘open house’ ?” she asks, kicking her feet like she can’t possibly contain all the excitement inside her little body.

“It’s just a chance for all the mommies and daddies to meet your teachers,” you explain, “And you get to show me around your new school, fun right?”

Her face lights up like a christmas tree at the prospect, “Are we gonna go?!”

“Yes, but first we have to eat dinner. What sounds good?”

Without missing a beat, she yells a little too loudly, “McDonalds!”

You want to say yes, of course you do, but your shifts at the ER barely cover the minimum of your living expenses. Your resolve begins to crumble, however, when she looks at you with those saucer-round eyes, and her bottom lip juts out in the most precious pout. Who knew she could be so harmlessly manipulative?

“I don’t know, Ab. I think we have some chicken nuggets in the freezer at home, though,” you say, with an air of hopefulness that she might accept the compromise.

“Not the same,” she whines, “Please, Mommy! I’ll be extra extra good please–”

And with that, it’s over.

“Okay! Okay, fine,” you feign annoyance through a smile, “We’ll stop on the way home,”

You can still hear her squeals of excitement when you close the door and walk around to the driver's seat.

︵୨୧︵

Abbey dresses a little more cohesively for the open house than she did this morning. This time she’s clad in a thrifted pair of overalls overtop a little purple blouse. She leads you, hand in hand, inside the school like she knows exactly where she’s going– despite only having spent six hours here.

Steve’s classroom looks exactly how you’d expect. The walls are a light, mint green and it’s as if a character from Sesame Street threw up all over it. Abbey leads you to a reading nook in the corner of the room, surrounded by books and complete with several bean bag chairs, and proclaims this is her favorite spot. She shows you where her desk is– right in the very front of the classroom– and on it, a laminated sticker with her first and last name sits neatly near the top. The walls are lined with colorful letters in alphabetical order, accompanied with numbers just underneath them.

“Abbey!” you hear a familiar voice call, “I’m glad you and your mom could make it!” turning to you then, “I’m actually not sure I ever caught your name,” he chuckles awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the fact that he doesn’t know it yet.

“Oh, it’s–” and before you get the chance to tell him, Abbey pipes up and tells him your first and last name with a confidence that she certainly didn’t have when it came to her own introduction this morning. You’re relieved that she feels so comfortable around him already.

He repeats your name back to you and holds out his hand for you to shake, “It’s nice to meet you,” You pay no mind to the way your heart beats a little faster in its cage at the sound of your name on his lips. His palm is surprisingly soft when you grasp it in your own.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you grant him a polite smile, “Abbey could not stop talking about you on the way home,” you pinch her side, teasing, and she giggles in that contagious way that kids do.

“Is that so?” he feigns surprise when he looks at her.

“Nooo!” her giggles amplify as she becomes increasingly bashful.

He crouches down to meet her at eye-level, exactly like he did this morning, “Well, that’s a shame, because I think you might be one of my favorite students,”

Now, she’s a heap of laughter and has a blush spreading from the apple of her cheeks to the tips of her ears. You can’t help but feel enamored by how great he is with children, silently wondering if he comes from a big family, or if he has a child of his own.

“Did you introduce your mom to Nibbles?” he asks her when her laughing mostly subsides.

She gasps like she can’t believe she would’ve forgotten such a thing, then she hauls you by the arm over to a tiny cage on a table, presumably for an even tinier animal.

“Mommy, look! This is Nibbles,” She’s peering between the metal bars of the enclosure and encouraging you to do the same, when you lean in closer you see a small, tan gerbil sleeping in a little nest of bedding.

“He’s our friend and he helps us learn, so we have to be very careful with him,” she tells you with a sudden seriousness that's amusing to see displayed on such a young face. It’s obvious she’s parroting Steve.

You turn to see Steve observing from a few feet behind you, both hands shoved in his pockets, “I didn’t think teachers actually had class pets,” you breathe a huff of laughter.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles with you, “I brought him from home, actually. Figured he could use some socialization. With dozens of children.” he informs you sarcastically. God, he’s funny too.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you to be a hamster guy,” you tease.

“He’s a gerbil, first of all,”

“Right, sorry, my bad,” you smirk.

“No time for a dog, I guess,” he shrugs, “thought I could use the company,” he’s clearly still bantering, but there’s an underlying melancholy in his tone that you can’t quite place. Before you can think about it for longer than a second, an impatient five-year-old is tugging on your arm and begging to show you the library.

“Okay, alright,” you laugh, “better get to it, the library awaits,” you shoot him an apologetic look for having cut the conversation short. You feel less guilty, however, when you see more parents and children start to funnel into the classroom, busying him in yours and Abbey’s absence.

“See ya, “ he waves. 

“Bye, Mr. Harrington!” Abbey yells, already halfway down the hall. 

︵୨୧︵

In the library you have to shush Abbey several times, much to her dismay.

“We use our inside voices in the library, Ab,” you remind her for the fifth time. She frowns but it’s temporary when she spots her favorite section: the picture books. Abbey is ahead of a kindergarten reading level now, and it's one of her favorite hobbies, but you can still never go wrong with a good picture book.

You’re about to follow her when you hear someone call your name. 

You turn, “Stephanie?” you ask, puzzled.

“Oh my gosh! It’s been forever!” an old friend from your shared high school, Stephanie, pulls you into an unreciprocated bear hug. Squeezing and swaying back and forth for an awkward amount of time.

“Hey,” you draw out the last syllable and try to paint your voice with a nostalgic excitement, “How have you been?” you ask, even though you’re sure you’d rather be shot than continue this conversation.

You don’t know if you could really call Stephanie a ‘friend’, or if you ever could. The only reason she even knew your name being the shared, piranha-esq social circle you both ran in years ago. She reminded you of your past– who you used to be– someone who you’re not particularly proud of.

“Oh, I've been just fine!” She gestures wildly with manicured nails. Her lips are overlined and her hair is still damaged from bleaching and too many perms. Evidently, not a lot has changed. You ponder if she’s still the mean girl she always was underneath all that makeup, or if at some point in your adolescence she decided to mature.

“Todd and I just bought a house over on Maplewood, are you familiar?”

“Oh, no, not really– my daughter and I live across town,” You don’t like how ashamed you feel, “I’ve heard it’s beautiful over there, though,” you attempt to smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“That was your daughter?” She’s trying not to sound taken aback and failing, “With–?”

“Yes,” Your teeth grit ever so slightly. You hate that she won’t say his name, as if speaking it into existence would somehow break you. Like you’re fragile.

“I was terribly sorry to hear about what happened, Hon,” Her sudden sympathetic tone irritates you, whether it’s genuine or not. You don’t need pity, especially not from Stephanie Nettles.

“It’s okay, Steph, really,” losing patience by the second, nothing about it was okay. “It was a long time ago, Abbey and I are doing fine,” you assure her.

“Oh,” she fawns as she presses her bony hands against her chest above her heart, “Can I meet her? Would you mind?" Her tone is saccharine sweet. You figure it can’t hurt, but when you turn around to retrieve Abbey, she’s not where you left her. The spot on the rug that she was previously occupying is empty and her book is abandoned on the floor.

“Abbey?!” Calling a little too loudly for the setting you’re in but you can’t bring yourself to care. You search row after row, it’s not a big library, and after every shelf you’re expecting her to be there– browsing novels and you’ll feel silly for overreacting.

But that doesn’t happen, and you realize with mild panic that she definitely left the library; somehow without you noticing. You suppose this is the safest place for her to go missing, but the thought doesn’t soothe you for long as you still have no idea where your daughter could be.

Stephanie is staring at you with concern, but still making no effort to help you locate Abbey. You don’t speak and neither does she as you rush out of the room and begin to pace the halls, still calling out for her. You check the bathrooms by the gym, a couple of empty classrooms that aren’t locked– she’s not there either.

When you’ve checked every available room and potential hiding spot in the near vicinity and still see no trace of her, that’s when the real dread sets in. What if she’d wandered outside and been taken? Or worse, there had been an accident and she’s hurt? She could be miles from here by now, she could be–

“I think this might belong to you,” a mellow voice rings out.

Steve and Abbey walk leisurely towards you, hand in hand. A complete contrast to the frazzled mess of anxiety you are right now. You hurl yourself in their direction and wrap Abbey up in a hug, lifting her off her feet.

“Oh my God, Abbey,” normally you’d be fuming at her for wandering off like that when you know that she knows better, but you can’t feel anything other than relief in the moment.

“Found her on the swings,” Steve continues, “Isn’t that right?”

Your relief does eventually morph to frustration, “You know better, Abbey Jane. Don’t stray off like that again. Do you understand?”

She succumbs to her guilt and you can tell her short-lived freedom has lost its novelty. “I’m sorry, mommy,” her little eyes well with tears. “The other kids were going to the swings, I wanted to go,” she pouts.

“We could’ve gone, baby, but you have to ask first, okay?”

Her meek response is muffled in the crook of your neck, “Okay,”

She’s still sniffling into your shoulder when you remember Steve is there, and your surroundings come back into focus.

“Thank you for finding her, Steve–”

“--His name is Mr. Harrington, mom,” she corrects like she can’t believe you’d embarrass her like that by calling her teacher the wrong name.

“--Mr. Harrington,” you stifle a laugh for your daughter's sake, sending him a knowing look.

He returns the expression, “Anytime,” he smiles, sweet . “Think that's enough scaring your mom for today, huh?”

Instead of acknowledging with words, she simply nods her head, eyes glued to the floor, ashamed.

“I think someones getting sleepy, might be time to head home,” you drag a gentle hand down her back soothingly.

“Will you carry me?” she asks too adorably to say no, despite her being ever-so-slightly too big for it. Grunting as you pick her up, you say, “Thanks, again,”

“No need,” he ruffles Abbey’s head lightly as you pass, “See you tomorrow, right?”

“See you,” her eyelids are heavy already. You make your way back to the car slowly but surely, arms growing more numb with every step.

︵୨୧︵

Abbey manages to bargain a bath out of you and four books before bedtime instead of the usual two. How you ever say no to her, you’re not sure. By the time you finally tuck her in, it's well past nine o’clock.

“Did you have a good day today?” You ask as you bend down to kiss her forehead.

“Yes, Mr. Harrington is my favorite teacher,” she proclaims drowsily.

“He’s your only teacher, Ab,” You snicker.

“But he’s still my favorite,” she replies in the same cadence one would say ‘Duh’.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to go to sleep super fast tonight so you can see him sooner, right?”

You can practically see the lightbulb turn on above her head like she’s just had a groundbreaking revelation and nods fervently. You tuck her in tight on both sides, and give her a kiss on each of her cheeks and once more to her forehead for good measure.

“Love you, Abbey girl,” you tell her on your way out, “Goodnight,”

“Goodnight, mommy,” she says wearily from underneath her princess bedsheets.

The door closes with a soft click and you make your way to the living room. You never had the chance to ask Stephanie what she was doing at the school– from what you knew, she didn’t have any children. Perhaps she was a teacher. It didn’t matter as long as you didn’t have to interact with her again.

As you lounged on your old sectional, you couldn't help your mind wandering back to thoughts of Steve. You wanted to know more about him. Where he came from, what made him want to work with kids, why he needed a gerbil to keep him company. Distantly, you imagined what he was like outside of an elementary school setting. You hoped one day you’d find out.

He was Abbey’s teacher, sure, but what was the harm in a little crush?

taglist - @soulxiez

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

[scarlett-bitch69]

[d-z20]

The Therapist's Touch (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You sought out Dr. Harkness for clarity, for someone to help untangle the mess in your mind. But as your sessions progress, the line between guidance and something far more intoxicating begins to blur.

- OR -

Agatha manipulates you and your mind and uses it as a way to start fucking you in the name of 'therapy'

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon, smut, Dark Agatha, gaslighting, manipulation, other toxic behaviour, fingering (R recv), praise kink, lots of 'good girl', talking through orgasm, mild choking at the end

Words: 2.9k

A/N: Just to repeat: this fic contains dubcon smut, gaslighting, and manipulation so if that is something that triggers you, please do not read. Requested Fic

AO3 | Master List

You met Dr. Harkness after a particularly bad week. You hadn’t been sleeping, your thoughts a tangled mess of self-doubt and frustration. Friends—if you could even call them that anymore—had started pulling away, and work was becoming unbearable. It was one of those situations where you weren’t sure if you were the problem or if everyone else was. You needed clarity. You needed someone to untangle the mess in your head.

And Agatha was perfect for that.

The first few sessions felt normal, even helpful. She was warm but not overly so, sharp-witted with a knowing smile that made you feel like she already had you figured out. You liked that. You wanted to be understood. She had a way of pulling things out of you, teasing out the thoughts you hadn’t even fully realized were lurking under the surface.

"You feel like you're being abandoned," she told you during a session, her voice smooth and steady. "Like the people around you are slipping through your fingers, and you don’t know why."

You nodded, relieved that someone finally understood.

"It must be frustrating," she continued, tilting her head slightly as if weighing her words carefully. "To always be the one reaching out, only to be left in the cold."

Your breath hitched. Was that true? You hadn’t really thought about it that way, but… now that she said it, it felt right.

"Maybe you expect too much from people," she mused, watching you carefully. "Or maybe they don’t appreciate you like they should."

A quiet pressure built behind your ribs, something heavy and unseen. That wasn’t a comforting thought, but there was something… validating about it. Like all the hurt you felt wasn’t just in your head.

"Maybe," you admitted.

She smiled, pleased. "I think people take advantage of your kindness. You let them, don’t you?"

You did, didn’t you?

—

The shift was slow, insidious. Agatha never outright told you what to think—she just guided you there, nudging you toward conclusions you weren’t sure were yours or hers. Your relationships became strained, but Agatha was always there to reassure you.

"You’re growing," she told you after a particularly emotional session. "You’re starting to see things for what they really are."

Warmth unfurled in your chest, wrapping around your ribs like a protective embrace. The weight of her gaze felt like an anchor, steadying you in a way nothing else had.

Agatha was dangerous in the way that only truly intelligent people could be. She never raised her voice, never forced an idea on you—she simply led you there, guiding you through your own thoughts like she was pulling a thread loose from a tangled knot.

And God, she was beautiful.

You noticed it in pieces at first. The sharp line of her cheekbones, the way her eyes stayed locked onto yours just a little too long, the elegant way she moved. She always dressed immaculately, sleek dark blouses that clung to her just right, lips painted in deep shades of red or plum. And then there was her voice. The kind of voice that settled into your bones and curled up there, wrapping itself around your ribs like it belonged to you.

It was embarrassing, really. You were falling for your therapist. But she made you feel seen in a way no one else had. And she never discouraged it.

Not directly.

"You hesitate when you talk about what you want," she noted, her voice gentle. "Why do you do that?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "I—what?"

"You second-guess yourself." She studied you carefully, fingers tapping lightly against the arm of her chair. "I’ve noticed it. You’ll start to say something, then stop. Like you’re afraid of being too much."

Your pulse fluttered. "I guess I just… don’t want to be a burden."

Her lips curled into something almost like amusement. "A burden?" she echoed, as if the idea itself was absurd. "Who told you that?"

You hesitated. Everyone, you wanted to say. Every time someone stopped texting back, every time you felt like you were grasping too hard to keep people close.

Agatha hummed, tilting her head just slightly. “Who have you been talking to about this?”

You blinked. “What?”

Her gaze was steady, expectant. “You said you feel like a burden. Who put that thought in your head?”

You hesitated. “I mean… I don’t know. I guess I mentioned it to a friend the other day, and they—”

Agatha tsked softly, shaking her head. “And what did they say?”

“They told me I was overthinking.”

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips. “Ah. Overthinking.” She leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against the arm of her chair. “That’s an easy way to dismiss you, isn’t it?”

You frowned. “I don’t think they meant it like that—”

“But it made you feel unheard,” she pressed gently. “Didn’t it?”

Your breath came a little faster. “I… maybe?”

Agatha nodded, like she’d expected that answer. “It’s interesting,” she mused, voice low and thoughtful. “How often people minimise your feelings. How quickly they brush you off.” Her gaze flickered back to yours, something soft and reassuring in it. “I would never do that to you.”

A tightness bloomed behind your ribs, bittersweet and impossible to ignore. “I know,” you murmured.

Her lips curled in satisfaction. “Of course you do.”

She leaned forward slightly, voice softening. "They made you feel that way," she spoke, like it was some kind of revelation. "Not because you are a burden, but because they don’t know how to appreciate you properly."

Something about the way she said it made your stomach twist.

"They don’t see you the way I do."

The words hung between you, electric.

You exhaled slowly, suddenly hyperaware of how close she was, how intimate these sessions had started to feelThe space between you felt thinner than before, her voice dipping into something softer, closer—like a secret meant only for you.

And then, like she knew exactly what you were thinking, she smiled.

"Tell me," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "When’s the last time someone truly listened to you?"

Your pulse hammered.

It should have set off alarms. But it didn’t. Because she was listening. She was there for you. More than anyone else has been.

Had anyone ever really listened?

—

The next session, Agatha watched you with something unreadable in her expression. Like she was studying a puzzle, waiting for the pieces to click into place.

“You seem tense,” she noted, her voice low, honey-smooth.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, but it came out strained. “Yeah, well. Life’s a little stressful.”

She tilted her head, gaze sharp, like she was peeling you apart layer by layer. “You hold yourself so tightly,” she stated, studying you like a specimen under glass. “You don’t even realise it, do you?”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Your shoulders.” A flick of her fingers. “Your jaw. Your hands.”

You followed her gaze, your fingers curling instinctively before you forced them to relax.

“I think,” she continued, voice slow, deliberate, “you’ve spent so long bracing for impact that you don’t know how to let go.”

A strange heat curled in your stomach, something unspoken threading through the air between you.

She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees. “Would you let me help you?”

Your stomach flipped. “Help me how?”

Agatha smiled—calm, measured, soothing. “A simple exercise. One that might help you process the tension you’re carrying.”

You hesitated, but there was no reason to refuse. It was therapy. She was your therapist.

“Okay,” you said finally.

Her smile deepened, approval warm in her gaze. “Close your eyes,” she instructed.

You obeyed, exhaling softly.

“Now,” she assured, “I want you to focus on the weight of your body. The way your spine curves. The way your breath moves through you.”

Her voice was hypnotic, her words weaving their way into your bones.

And then—

Fingertips against your jaw.

You startled, eyes flying open, but Agatha hushed you gently.

“Shh,” she soothed, thumb brushing along your cheek. “It’s alright. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your breath came a little faster. The warmth of her touch was dizzying. “I—yes,” you whispered.

Her lips curled in satisfaction. “Good.”

Her fingers trailed lightly, tracing the curve of your throat. You swallowed, pulse hammering against her touch.

“Your body reacts before you do,” she noted, head tilting slightly. “You don’t even realise how much you hold back.”

Heat rushed to your face. You couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or something else entirely.

Agatha’s grip firmed just slightly—not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you she was there. “I want you to let go,” she murmured. “Trust me to guide you.”

Your mind spun, tangled between this is fine, she’s my therapist and why does this feel so good?

But you trusted her. So you nodded.

Her smile was slow, knowing. “Good girl.”

Your stomach flipped again. A rush of warmth curled through you, unsettling in its intensity.

She let her touch linger a moment longer before finally pulling back, leaving you bereft. “See?” she said, as if the moment hadn’t just unraveled something inside you. “You hold onto so much. But I can help you carry it.”

You swallowed hard, clinging to her words like a lifeline. “…Thank you,” you murmured.

“We’ll work through it together,” she promised.

You believed her.

You wanted to believe her.

Even as something in the back of your mind whispered that maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t.

—

The session after that felt different from the moment you stepped into the room. The air in Agatha’s office was heavier, charged with something unspoken. It coiled around you, wrapping tight around your ribs as her eyes tracked your movements, assessing, waiting.

“Welcome back,” she said smoothly, gesturing for you to come further in. You obeyed, feeling strangely exposed under her gaze. She hummed, studying you. “You look tense again.”

You exhaled sharply. “I mean… I guess?”

Her smile deepened. “You’ve been thinking too much. Haven’t you?”

Your breath caught. Because—yes.

She chuckled softly. “I told you, darling. You carry everything too tightly.”

You swallowed.

“I want to try something different today,” she announced. “Something a little more… physical.”

Your brain short-circuited at the word.

She leaned forward, voice dipping into something lower, more intimate. “Have you ever done guided breathwork before?”

You shook your head.

She nodded, as if she expected that. “It’s about control,” she said. “Releasing what no longer serves you.”

Your breath hitched.

“May I touch you?” she asked, voice velvety smooth.

“Y—yeah,” you stammered, your pulse pounded in your ears.

She stood, stepping behind you. The air shifted as she moved closer, the heat of her body ghosting along your back before her hands settled on your shoulders—firm, warm, grounding.

“You’re so wound up,” she murmured, her thumbs pressing in, kneading slowly. A soft sigh slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

“Breathe with me,” she instructed, her lips near your ear now. “In…”

You inhaled shakily.

“Good,” she praised. “Now out.”

Her hands moved lower, gliding down your arms, her touch light but deliberate. “Again,” she hummed.

You obeyed, and as you exhaled, her hands skimmed lower, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ribs, her thumbs teasing at the sides of your breasts. You stiffened, heat pooling between your thighs, but she only hummed in approval.

“You’re still holding back,” she whispered, breath warm against your skin. “I need you to let go.”

Her hands drifted lower, over your waist, her grip firm as she guided you back against her body. A quiet, shuddering exhale left you, your head swimming, warmth pooling low in your stomach.

“Good,” she praised, voice like silk. “You’re doing so well for me.”

A shiver ran down your spine as she pressed closer, the solid heat of her flush against your back.

“This tension you carry,” she sighed, her breath hot against your skin, “it needs to be released.”

Her hands slipped lower, over your hips, nails scraping lightly against fabric. A slow, deliberate drag that sent fire licking through your veins.

“Let me help,”

And then her hands moved lower. Your whole body went still.

Agatha hummed in approval. “You feel that, don’t you?”

A sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—escaped your lips, as your body burned with arousal.

“Good,” she praised again, like she could feel you unravelling beneath her touch. “You’re doing perfectly.”

Her touch dipped between your thighs causing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat as your body jolted, nerves alight.

“Shh, this is part of the process,” she soothed, her lips grazing your ear, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. “Trust me.”

You did. You shouldn’t, but you did.

Her hands were steady, patient, coaxing you back against her body. Heat seeped into your skin where she pressed, her perfume—something dark, heady, intoxicating—curling around you like smoke.

“This is what you need,” she declared, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your clothed clit. “A full release.”

Your body arched, a broken moan slipping past your lips before you could swallow it down.

“There it is.” Agatha’s voice was rich with satisfaction, her free hand dragging lazy patterns over your torso, her nails grazing just enough to make you shiver. “That’s my good girl.”

Shame curled low in your stomach, but it was drowned out by the pleasure winding tighter, by the way she spoke like she knew you better than you knew yourself. Maybe she did. No one else had reached this part of you—no one else had understood what you truly needed.

Only Agatha.

“You’ve been holding so much inside,” she mused, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. “I think it’s time to let me take care of you.”

You whimpered, your breath coming in uneven bursts, but you didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to.

A pleased hum vibrated in her throat as she pressed her fingers against your slick heat.

“Oh, darling,” she cooed, her lips brushing against your temple, “you do need me.”

Your head lolled back against her shoulder, your lips parting in a breathless moan as she circled your clit with practiced ease, teasing and coaxing you into submission.

“Such a sweet thing,” she remarked, her other hand coming up to tilt your chin, guiding your gaze to hers. “Look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy, and the look she gave you made your stomach tighten.

“There’s my good girl.”

The praise sent a pulse of heat through you, something deep and desperate unraveling at the sound of it. You wanted to please her. To prove that you trusted her.

Her mouth slanted over yours, swallowing your gasped moans as her fingers slid inside you, slow and purposeful. A sharp cry left you as she stretched you open, her thumb still circling, teasing, never letting you sink too deep into mindlessness. She wanted you present. Aware.

Your body jerked, overwhelmed by the sensation, but her hands were steady, guiding you through it. “Breathe,” she instructed, her lips brushing against your cheek. “In through your nose… there you go, good girl… and out.”

You tried. You really did. But every exhale was a stuttering moan, your body trembling against hers.

“That’s it,” she soothed, her fingers curling just enough to make you keen. “Let yourself feel it. Let yourself fall.”

Your fingers grasped at her sleeve, desperate for something to hold onto as she worked you open, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’ve spent so long running from this,” she murmured, voice low, hypnotic, each word coiling around your ribs and pulling tight. “From what you need. From what I can give you.”

You shook your head weakly, barely processing her words through the pleasure threatening to swallow you whole.

“No?” She tutted, her fingers never ceasing. “Then tell me, darling… why are you shaking?”

You couldn’t answer. She had you undone, every nerve alight, every thought consumed by her.

“Let go,” she commanded, her voice velvet-soft but unyielding. “Let me take care of you.”

As the pleasure coiled tighter, your body trembled against her, every muscle wound impossibly tense. Agatha’s touch never wavered—precise, knowing, relentless.

"That's it," she murmured, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. "You’re so close, aren’t you?"

A breathless whimper escaped you, your hips bucking into her hand, chasing that final push. She chuckled softly, her fingers maintaining their rhythm, teasing you to the brink.

"Good girl," she praised, her voice dipping into something darker, richer. "Give it to me. I want to feel you cum on my fingers."

Your breath hitched, your body straining under the weight of pleasure, but she didn’t let you fall just yet. Her free hand dragged up your torso, nails grazing along your ribs before curling around your throat, a light, possessive pressure that made you gasp.

"You've been holding onto this for so long," she crooned. "But not anymore. Let. Go."

Her grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly as her fingers curled against your g-spot, pushing you past the point of no return. A sharp cry tore from your lips, your entire body arching as the pleasure finally snapped, pleasure ripping through you in waves.

"That’s it, my sweet girl," Agatha cooed, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Ride it out—just like that. So perfect for me."

Your walls clenched around her fingers, the aftershocks making you shudder, but she didn’t stop. Not yet. She drew out every last pulse of pleasure, her touch easing from devastating to indulgent, dragging you through the bliss until you were nothing but a boneless, gasping mess in her arms.

"Such a good girl," she muttered, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple as her fingers finally stilled, her palm resting possessively against your slick heat. "I knew you could do it."

She let you catch your breath, but her fingers traced slow, lazy circles over your sensitive skin, teasing, reminding you who had brought you to this point.

Your breath still came in uneven shudders as she finally pulled her hand away. You barely had a chance to process the loss before she brought her fingers to her lips, her darkened eyes never leaving yours as she sucked them clean.

Heat flared in your cheeks.

Agatha only smiled.“We’ll continue this next session,” she promised, brushing a stray bead of sweat from your forehead. “I think we’re making real progress.”

-----

In this AU Agatha totally only became a therapist so she could mess around with people's minds and get paid for it.

N.B Agatha's behaviour is extremely toxic and manipulative due to the power she holds over reader. This work is purely fiction and such actions have no place in the real world.

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @jujuu23 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19

[janja-5]

😍😍😍😍😍

[oceanicwriting]

angry.

summary: angry because your classmate screwed up the final project days before the deadline, theodore nott decides to give you a little break, or did you ask him for it?

pairing(s): bsf!theodore nott x fem!reader

a/n: first post! i wanted to say that english is not my first language. sorry for the grammar mistakes hehe ;-).

reference to oral sex (f!receiving), best friends with benefits, cursing

ㅤㅤㅤyou were furious. your legs moved at an unusual speed, warning everyone to get out of your way with the simple echo of your footsteps. you didn't want to run into anyone, avoiding any eye contact that would make the insults in your head explode. you needed a break from the wave of rage your schoolmate had unleashed.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen you reach the door to your best friend's bedroom, theodore nott, you open it with a simple push. he's lying down with a book raised over his blue eyes, but as soon as he recognizes your figure entering he focuses on you.

ㅤㅤㅤ—hey, —he says, noticing the expression on your face—. what's wrong?

ㅤㅤㅤ—can you believe that fucking ronald lazy weasley allowed his stupid rat to eat our dark arts project? —you explode, pulling on your tie to undo the knot that has begun to suffocate you—. he's such a fucking moron!

ㅤㅤㅤtheodore can't help the mocking smile that appears on his lips because he told you more than once not to trust a gryffindor like weasley.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i can't believe it! that son of a bitch really does this to me days after handing in the project to master snape. —the tie flies everywhere in the room and theodore can't help but notice how your chest moves erratically—. damn weasley! i never want to see him again.

ㅤㅤㅤ—come on. can't miss O's do it again? —he questions with an indifferent smile and approaching the edge of the bed.

ㅤㅤㅤthat comment hadn't helped the fury that continues to burn inside you, but you should have seen it coming. from the first moment master snape paired you with the redhead, theodore told you not to trust. of all the people in the world, a weasley. you had been so stupid.

ㅤㅤㅤ—did you really trust your work to a stupid weasley? —that leaves you speechless and you can see him raise his eyebrow with self-centeredness. what a detestable gesture—. we know you could have thought better of it, tesoro.

ㅤㅤㅤyou cover your face with your palms, stifling the scream that's trapped in your throat. you were screwed and it was your own fault.

ㅤㅤㅤtheodore, on the other hand, draws your agitated figure in detail. the skirt pressing against your ass as you move from one side to the other, your breasts moving under your clothes and your pretty long legs. why had you come to his bedroom?

ㅤㅤㅤ—how could i be so stupid? —you say to yourself. with the movement and the round of emotions, the heat of your skin begins to bother you, having to forcefully remove your vest—. god. i have to think of something fast, theo. i can't fail...

ㅤㅤㅤhe knows you're still talking, but the scent of the perfume you're wearing has intensified and the white blouse makes your erect nipples transparent. he wasn't going to be able to concentrate if you kept moving like that.

ㅤㅤㅤ—hey...

ㅤㅤㅤyou stop suddenly and, without having noticed his gaze, you say: —if you're going to say something rude, you better shut the fuck up.

ㅤㅤㅤtheodore sighs in the middle of a laugh and licks his lips slowly. only then you can notice the predatory gaze that runs through your body from head to toe.

ㅤㅤㅤ—why did you come? —the question seems tricky to you and you only answer with a frown—. you have erect nipples. is that for me?

ㅤㅤㅤshit, you weren't wearing a bra.

ㅤㅤㅤ—nott...

ㅤㅤㅤtheodore silences you with the creaking of the bed as it stops supporting his weight.

ㅤㅤㅤ—has it made you hot? right? —he questions without a hint of shame in his darkened gaze—. you came looking for me to calm you down. or am I wrong, tesoro?

ㅤㅤㅤyou try to deny it, moving away a few steps that end up digging your own grave. theodore quickly reaches out to the door knob to block the entrance... or exit.

ㅤㅤㅤ—you're breathing heavily. what's the problem? —he questions against your ear. his voice was charged with an electrifying and suffocating desire—. answer me.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i-it's not the time.

ㅤㅤㅤthe soft laugh makes you falter, supporting your weight with the grip on the boy's shoulders. theodore comes closer to trace a path of wet kisses that descend to your exposed collarbone. just feeling his scent mix with yours makes you feel faint even more.

ㅤㅤㅤ—so hot for me, aren't you? —he whispers.

ㅤㅤㅤyou expected his lips to stick to yours as usual, however, theodore got on his knees in front of you. his gaze fixed on you as if you were the most beautiful work of art on the entire planet.

ㅤㅤㅤ—oh, i'm going to eat you so well that you'll forget about it in seconds, cara mia.

ㅤㅤㅤyou weren't so angry anymore.

[sungbeams]

RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT — psh

sending your boyfriend an innocent selfie after a long and tiring day quickly snowballs into something far from innocent...

⟡ ┆ pairing. park sunghoon x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, established relationship, idol!AU (for sunghoon, y/n unspecified)

⟡ ┆ content warnings. guided + mutual masturbation, phone sex, edging, dirty talk, a tiny bit of voyeurism?

⟡ ┆ word count. 9.7k

⟡ ┆ note. first full length fic on this account !! biggest thank you to @jayparked for reading over this and listening to me complain about this fic <3

Silence greets you as you open the door to your apartment, quickly toeing off your shoes and limping into your living room just to let yourself fall onto your couch with a sigh. Your head falls backwards, leaning against the backrest, and you maneuver your feet to rest on top of the coffee table in front of you, stretching out your aching muscles with a relieved exhale. Rhythmic and consistent ticking interrupts the quietness around — coming from the clock hanging above your bookshelves — and even as you try to fight it, your eyes flutter close in an hopeless attempt to find at least a bit of relaxation.

Today had been stressful. And that's bordering on being an understatement.

Within the first hour of arriving at work, you had somehow managed to spill coffee on yourself. And even though it wasn’t that big of a stain — in fact, it was barely even noticeable unless you knew it was there — it still bothered you enough to agitate you every single time you spotted the small splotch on your white blouse. As if that wasn't enough, your colleagues kept bothering you throughout the day, and, just when you thought you were finally done with your tasks for the day and could take it slow for the rest of your shift, your boss decided to unload a massive amount of work on you. Your first instinct had been to hide in a bathroom stall until your shift was over and go home, ignoring the assignments and just call in sick next week, not wanting to interact with even one more person. In the end, your inner people-pleaser won, and you had forced yourself to push through. Relieved you finished your work and excited to finally go home, especially considering you wouldn't have to go back until Monday, you stepped onto the subway train — just to find out your usual station, the one closest to your home, was closed for maintenance work for the day, running on limited service only, meaning you had to get off at the following station. And even though the walk from there only added a few minutes to your journey, it still felt like the last straw to your already crappy day — the fact that it was raining and you hadn't brought your umbrella certainly didn't help — and all you want to do now that you're home is to bury yourself beneath your blankets and forget about this whole day.

More than anything else though, you can't help but wish you'd be able to curl up in the arms of your boyfriend, maybe watch a movie with him, or just spend the evening cuddling with him while he lets you vent while his skilled fingers work out the knots in the muscles of your shoulders, something he has done several times in the past when you've been stressed. But alas, Sunghoon just so happens to be several hundred miles away from you, currently preparing for Enhypen's next stop in their Walk the Line Tour in Saitama. Luckily, they were almost done with their tour. They only had two more weekends, four concerts in two different cities, left, and then you'd get to finally wrap your arms around your boyfriend again. The urge to call him, to hear his soothing voice to help you relax, is overwhelmingly strong, but you know he's likely more than exhausted and stressed out himself. After having to deal with hours after hours of rehearsals, the last thing you want is to bother him even more by unloading your troubles on him, especially since they seem to be oh so trivial and irrelevant now that you're back home and able to get a breather.

With another sigh, you push yourself to your aching feet, resisting the urge to fall back down onto your comfortable couch and let the pillows embrace you, your joints cracking and crunching, muscles aching in protest at the movement as you drag yourself towards your bedroom to change out of your work clothes. As you open the door, you find your bed exactly the way you had hastily left it in the morning after accidentally oversleeping, the duvet hanging halfway off the bed, and — much to your annoyance — the small lamp on the right side of your bed still turned on since you seemingly had forgotten to turn it off when you were rushing to get ready to go to work, skipping about 10 steps in your usual routine to avoid being late.

Not wanting to stay much longer in your stained shirt, you quickly open the white blouse to leave it hanging off your shoulders while you pop open the button of your pants and pull down the zipper, your hips the only thing keeping them from sliding off your body and falling to the floor. With your pants undone and the cold buttons of your shirt brushing against your skin, you make your way over to your dresser to pull out one of your oversized shirts — one that your boyfriend had previously owned before you had stretched it out by wearing it to sleep or whenever you needed its warmth, the lingering smell of him bringing you comfort in the nights he wasn't able to make it home or when you fell asleep before him. You throw the shirt onto your bed before hunting down a pair of fuzzy socks to pull over your aching feet, currently bare against the cold floor since you had left your shoes by your front door immediately after coming home.

Pulling off your dirty — and smelly — clothes and putting on the fresh shirt, you sit down on the foot of your bed while letting out a deep breath, rolling your shoulders and neck, stretching your sore muscles as your nerves finally settle after your stressful day. Looking at yourself in the mirror opposite of your bed, hair disheveled and the wrinkly old shirt hanging from your body, a thought pops into your head.

Leaning back to grab your phone off the bed from where you had thrown it when you initially entered the room. Swiping and tapping on the screen, the camera app opens, and you take a quick picture of your reflection in the mirror, your bare legs peeking out from underneath the oversized shirt, the washed-out material covering your entire upper body. Your hair is a mess, and you can clearly see the exhaustion written all over your face in the photo. If it were any other person, you wouldn't send them a picture like this; you'd delete it and pretend it never happened. But it's Sunghoon. Your boyfriend who has seen you at your absolute worst, whether it be ugly sobbing because of a movie or that one time you were so sick you were barely able to get out of bed. So you can't quite bring yourself to care about your looks. And as messy as you may appear, you also find yourself thinking he might appreciate it. After all, he had never made you feel like you needed to hide yourself away from him since you started dating, telling you just how gorgeous you are to him every chance he gets — whether that's after just waking up next to him or after some _intense_ time spent together.

Tapping away on your phone, you send him a message with the image attached to it:

> hope rehearsals are going well and you're doing alright. also hopefully you're having a better day than me, i'm gonna make a quick dinner and then crash i'm exhaustedddd :( talk to you later or tomorrow ily \<3

The rest of your evening passes by in a blur. A cup of instant noodles gulped down as fast as possible without choking on it or burning your mouth before you're rushing through your nighttime bathroom routine, skipping over a few steps you just can't bother to do until you're falling into bed. You don't fight the sweet embrace of sleep as it takes over you, your eyes fluttering close as your body floats away, knowing the next day — a Saturday, finally the weekend — would be less stressful and allow you to rot to your heart's desires.

[--]

The next time you open your eyes, the sun is up and light filters through your curtains. Reaching over to check the time on your phone, the screen displays several missed calls from your boyfriend from the evening before. Seeing the notifications almost instantly wakes you up, the back of your neck tingling with worry as your hands begin to shake, your mind going crazy with all the possibilities of what could've happened that would cause him to call you that many times at eleven at night. You press your phone against your ear while rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes, anxiously listening to the repeating sound of the dial tone, the heartbeat echoing in your ears speeding up with every passing second.

After a few more rings, your boyfriend’s raspy morning voice replaces the silence of the other end of the line.

"(Y/N)? It’s…7:30 am. On a Saturday. Don’t you have the day off? Why are you up already, babe?"

Your worries instantly melt away as his voice fills your ear, his baritone sending shivers down your spine, replacing the uneasy tingling with a different, although similar, sensation. Despite only being separated for a few days, you still find yourself missing your boyfriend already, not able to help yourself even if you wanted to. Maybe it's related to your fluctuating hormone levels during your menstrual cycle or because the anniversary of your relationship is fast approaching — or just the fact that your boyfriend has been looking extra handsome recently — but you're starting to get impatient, desperately wanting to run your hands through his dark hair and over his smooth skin again.

"I fell asleep early yesterday, and I woke up just now to several missed calls from you. I was worried something happened,” you reply with the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips, not a hint of anxiety left in your body.

Sunghoon chuckles slightly over the phone, and you can hear the quiet sound of rustling in the background, most likely caused by him sitting up in his hotel bed. And indeed, just as you're imagining, several hours away from you, Sunghoon is sitting upright, leaning against the headrest of the hotel room, his pillow pressed against his back, his hand reaching up to brush his messy hair out of his face. Somehow, though, it ends up even messier, sticking up from his head in all directions. Not that he particularly cares right now. No, all he really cares about is being on the phone with you, able to hear your voice at the beginning of his day.

"Well," he clears his throat, a teasing tone taking over his voice, "you sent me that selfie last night, and I wanted to have some fun with you... but I guess you had better things to do."

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he lets his eyes adjust to the bright morning sun shining through the half-closed curtains, not having had the energy to get up to close them the night before.

A laugh erupts from you as you mentally picture your boyfriend sitting in the bed of his hotel room, duvet pooled around his waist and one arm slung over his bare chest as he's leaning back against the headboard with a playful pout etched onto his face. You silently sit up — your arm starting to fall asleep from the position in which you have to hold your phone against your ear — shirt slipping off your shoulder in the process as you reach up to push some of your hair out of your face.

"Yeah? What kind of fun?"

Your voice is curious, although hushed, almost as if you don’t dare to speak too loudly, even though you’re completely alone with no one to disturb. On the other end, you can hear Sunghoon hum slightly, the rumble in his chest echoing in your ear and sending the noises straight towards your core, your plush walls fluttering around nothing. Even after being with and knowing him for quite some time, little things like this — his voice after just waking up, his cheeks painted in a dusty pink, his hair a fluffy mess just asking to run your hands through it — still instantly manage to melt you into a puddle, goosebumps rising all over your skin.

"I think you know just what kind of fun I’m talking about, baby,“ Sunghoon lightly growls into your ear, pushing the duvet completely off his body, pressing a hand against the growing bulge in his underwear to relieve some of the pressure, "You looked so sexy, with your hair all messy from the day, your makeup smudged, and my shirt covering your gorgeous body. Wish I could be there right now to tear it off of you; be the reason you're all messy and disheveled for me.”

A quiet whimper involuntarily slips past your lips, your boyfriend chuckling lowly into your ear in reaction. He's aware of the effect he has on you, especially that of his voice. Whenever when he would want to tease and rile you up, he'd intentionally lean closer to you, whispering into your ear, his breath brushing over your ear, and no matter how innocent or suggestive his hushed words would be, your body would always react the same: shivers wrecking your body, breath speeding up, and eyes glazing over as you gaze up at him. The thought of those memories alone causes you to shudder and press your legs together, dampness slowly forming between them and ruining your underwear.

"Let’s try something different today, alright, sweetheart?"

You clear your throat in hopes your voice wouldn’t come out as breathy as you’re anticipating, but without avail, "Like...like what?”

"I want you to lie back down. I know you just sat up a few moments ago; I heard it, but now I need you to lie back down. Can you do that for me, baby?“

Your response comes as a hum, not trusting your voice and wanting to relish in Sunghoon's commanding tone without interrupting him. Silently, you shuffle down in your bed until your head is resting on your pillow again before kicking your duvet off your legs to feel less trapped and constricted, allowing you to move freely. Your shirt rides up in the process, exposing the bare skin of your stomach, goosebumps forming on it as the cold air of your bedroom comes in contact with your hot skin.

"I saw a blog post a bit ago online; it was about this couple in a long-distance relationship, and to spice things up in their bedrooms, they tried this little game that blew their minds away. How does that sound?"

You swallow thickly despite your mouth feeling as dry as a desert, breathing out a soft 'good’ as you impatiently wait for your boyfriend to continue husking into your ear.

"It's...I'm not sure how to describe it. It's like a guided mutual masturbation game? I'll get you to fuck yourself just the way I want you to do it while you get to listen to my voice and allow me complete control over you. Let me guide you, tease you, make you pleasure yourself until you cum all over."

Unconsciously, you start rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure forming between them. One of your hands sneaks down your body, rubbing your folds over the wet spot forming on your panties as you try your hardest to swallow down the whimper forming in the back of your throat.

"Baby, I know you’re touching yourself already. Unless you want to deal with the consequences the minute I get back home, I’d suggest you move your hand away from your pussy right this moment,” your boyfriend growls through the phone, the roughness of his voice startling you, “Busy your hands by taking off your underwear for me, okay?”

"Okay… 'm sorry,“ you mumble quietly before lifting your hips off your mattress to allow you to quickly roll your panties down your legs, exposing your dripping core to the chilly air of your bedroom, the contrast of hot and cold, as well as your growing arousal, causing shivers to run down your spine, "What now?”

"Alright, it's called 'red light, green light' game. The rules are simple. When I say 'red light’ you’re not allowed to masturbate; you’re not allowed to touch yourself or do anything to pleasure yourself. You have to lie perfectly still and just listen to me touching myself and telling you all the things I wish I’d be able to do to you if I'd be home right now. And when I say 'green light’ that’s when it’s your turn to play with yourself, and I’ll have to listen. That’s when you get to touch yourself, rub your clit and finger yourself; do everything to try and make yourself cum. You understand?“

You nod your head in confirmation before realizing your boyfriend can’t see you, opening your mouth to whisper your words of confirmation into the eerie silence of your apartment, "Yes, I understand.”

"Good girl.“

You clench your eyes shut for a moment at the term of endearment falling from his lips, exhaling slowly through your nose to keep yourself from letting your fingers brush over your exposed skin. Once again, you can hear rustling on the other end of the line. An almost inaudible grunt echoes in your ear before Sunghoon begins speaking again, "We’ll go back and forth like that until I tell you to cum, alright? I want you to be honest with me if you don’t want to do this with me.”

You can’t help but chuckle slightly at your boyfriend, ever the gentleman, but also feel oddly touched by him making sure you’re comfortable with what’s about to happen between the both of you — all of this just because of an innocent selfie shared with him after a stressful day at work. Taking a deep breath, you try your best to control the shakiness of your voice, which you know will inevitably be there once you open your mouth to answer Sunghoon.

"Don’t worry about me, Hoon. I’m okay with this, and we always said we wanted to try some new stuff. I’m excited to try this with you.“

He sighs in relief at your reassurance, "And you’ll tell me if it gets too much? Or if you end up not liking it?”

You can't help but snort slightly at the way your boyfriend’s voice goes from deep and husky to soft and gentle within the blink of an eye, “Of course I will! I promise I'll let you know if I'm uncomfortable in any way. And we both know I wouldn’t be able to lie to you even if I tried.”

You both quietly laugh together for a few moments before Sunghoon clears his throat, his voice much deeper when he talks into his phone again, “Before we get started, do me a favor and put yourself on speaker phone. I'm gonna do the same so we have both our hands free, alright?”

"Okay,“ you reply with a hushed tone before taking your phone away from your ear and tapping the screen to put it on speaker.

"Ready to get started?”

His voice is louder in your room now, almost enough to convince you he’s right beside you, sitting on the edge of your bed and telling you what to do while watching you with hungry eyes, if not for the slight static sounds and rustling coming from your phone. The sad reality, however, is that he’s not in your bedroom, nowhere near you in fact, and if you were to reach out, your fingertips wouldn’t be able to brush against his hot and flushed skin like you desperately wish they would. It frustrates you, not being able to feel him on your body, but you force yourself to remember he’ll be back home soon — as a matter of fact, he'd be coming home in 10 days — and you both will get to catch up on moments missed together. Snapping back to reality, you take a deep breath, curious as to how this 'game’ Sunghoon has planned will turn out.

"Yeah, I’m ready,“ you breathe out, your fingers twitching to touch yourself, to run them down your body until you’re met with your already sopping core, but, as hard as it is, you refuse yourself and the need to do just that.

While you’re lying in your bed, desperate to touch your body, Sunghoon begins to pull down his underwear, his hard and aching cock springing free and hitting his lower abdomen. With a groan, he starts teasing himself with one finger, running it over the slit of his dick, the head red and angry after being ignored for so long already.

"Just got my cock out,” he moans slightly as his finger slowly collects droplets of his precum, “it’s so hard for you already, desperate to be touched...Remember, it’s a red light for you at the moment, baby. You have to lie still and just listen to me as I start touching myself.”

Adding a second finger, Sunghoon slides them over the underside of his cock, running them along the prominent vein there until he reaches the base of his cock. Wrapping his fingers around his thick girth, he lets out a relieved sigh. Having his own hand around himself comes nowhere close to the amazing feeling of your hand dragging up and down his stiff length, but knowing you’re lying in your bed, wanting nothing more than to touch yourself, and having to listen to your boyfriend’s sounds of pleasure is good enough for him at this moment.

"Oh fuck, do you hear how turned I am for you, baby? So turned on, knowing you can’t do anything else but listen to me touch myself, desperate to run your fingers down your own body, huh?“

His panting fills the void of your room, your fingers burying themselves into your duvet as you try to hold back from moving even a single muscle in your body. He lets out a grunt that echoes off your walls, sending shockwaves straight to your cunt as you find yourself wishing, hoping, _needing_ for him to tell you it’s your turn to touch yourself. Your breathing speeds up as you continue listening to your boyfriend, his soft moans, his groans, his grunts. The mental picture of him laying with his cock out, his hand wrapped around himself, burns itself into your mind, and you swear you've never been so jealous of someone’s hand before.

Sunghoon groans again as he lets his thumb swipe over the head of his cock, collecting the beads of his precum, continuing to relish in the sensation, "Feels so good, stroking my hand up and down my cock. Just knowing you’re listening to me doing these things, waiting for me to tell you it’s your turn.”

Your breathy moan interrupts him, your thighs clenching in impatience, "Sunghoon, please…wanna touch myself.”

"Ah, ah. Poor thing…don’t worry, it’s gonna be your turn soon.“

Sunghoon smirks, even though he's aware you’re not able to see it. Knowing you’re desperate, _so desperate_, to touch yourself — something you usually were rather shy about when the two of you are together — turns him on even more, his cock hardening even more in his hand as he continues to stroke himself.

"You wanna touch yourself, baby?”

"Please,“ you whine, throwing your head back as your self-control is wearing thin, "please let me touch myself.”

"Okay, green light for you.“

Taking his hand off his cock takes more effort and willpower than Sunghoon would’ve ever thought and is willing to admit, but he’s instantly rewarded when he hears the relieved moan falling from your lips and echoing through his hotel room. He can’t help but thank the heavens for the fact that he doesn't have to share a room with any of the other guys, or, god forbid, a manager. On top of that, the hotel rooms thankfully happen to be soundproof, so he truly doesn't have to worry about anyone outside of these four walls hearing him, no passing staff members or hotel employees — otherwise, he knows, he would have a great deal of explaining to do or deal with some peculiar glances thrown his way and hushed whispers surrounding him for the entire length of their stay.

While your boyfriend is struggling to place his hands next to his body, restraining from touching himself, you want to immediately run your hands down your body and touch your swollen lips to relieve the tension between your legs, play with your clit and thrust your fingers into your wet cunt until you’d finally get to cum. However, Sunghoon has other plans for you.

"I know you want to touch your pussy but you need to wait a bit longer, go slow on this green light.”

"I can’t,“ you whine at him, a pout prominent on your lips as you start to get annoyed at your boyfriend for teasing you, or rather making you tease yourself, like this.

"I know you can. Don’t be a brat now; just listen to what I'm telling you to do,” Sunghoon’s voice rumbles through the speakers of your phone, and you sigh in submission, giving him the clear to continue with his instructions, “I want you to touch your body. Slowly. Close your eyes and imagine me there while you play with your breasts, tweak your nipples, pull on them until they’re all hard and perky.”

You follow his directions, your hands lightly pushing the material of your shirt over your chest, running them over the hot skin of your chest, fingers playing with the rim of your areola to tease yourself before you ghost over your nipples. Your breathing speeds up as you finally start to feel actual pleasure shooting through your body, tiny jolts setting your veins alight as you start to roll your perky buds between your fingers. Breathy moans fall from your lips as you pinch your nipples, occasionally pulling on them just to let them snap back down, the slight sting of pain only intensifying your bliss.

"Such a good girl, doing what I tell her to do. Go on, run your fingers down your body to your pussy, stroke the inside of your thighs, and over the outside of your lips all while imagining me lying on my bed with my hard cock resting on my stomach, twitching to be touched,“ Sunghoon rasps as he’s thinking about how you must look, touching your body to his voice as you’re writhing on your bed, desperate for your release already.

He knows how impatient you can get, often whining for him to go harder, faster, to stop teasing you whenever you’re together, even though he likes to take his time with you. He enjoys riling you up until you’re nothing but a whining and moaning mess underneath him, until even the smallest brush of his fingers against your swollen clit could send you over the edge, and so, with your consent, of course, he often finds himself reveling in your impatience, enjoying the desperation written on your entire body as he edges you over and over again.

You, on the other hand, want nothing more than to plunge your fingers into your dripping heat, wet enough for two of them to slip right past your lips. Your hips jerk off the mattress when your fingers first make contact with the inside of your thighs, already so sensitive just from listening to your boyfriend pleasure himself and stroke his dick.

"Can you feel yourself getting wet, baby?” Sunghoon’s voice sounds choked, almost as if it pains him not to touch himself while having to listen to your breathy moans and pants.

"Yeah…“ you whine as you slide your hand between your thighs, your fingers running over your lower lips and feeling your silky essence coat your skin, your other hand continuing to tug at your perk nipples and massage your breasts, "so wet for you.”

"Only me?“ he asks with a strained voice, his hands clenching beside his legs as he continues to listen to the little noises slipping past your lips as you run your fingers over your body, jaw tensing as he resists the urge to touch his aching cock, leaking against the taunt skin of his stomach.

You give him a desperate whine in reply as your hand bumps against your swollen clit, desperate to get some attention from your fingers as well, "Only you. Only for you, Sunghoon.”

"Go on then, baby. Go and finger yourself for me. Just one finger for now, though.“

Sighing in relief, you finally slip a finger between your legs, sliding it into your center, curling it upwards and moving it inside you as moans tumble past your parted lips, raw from biting them to try and keep quiet, not that you care about your noises anymore now.

"Feels so good, fuck, Sunghoon…please let me cum,” you beg for your boyfriend, already dreading the moment he’s going to tell you to pull your finger out of your pussy again, knowing it will inevitably happen once he hears you getting closer to your orgasm.

"You wanna cum? You wanna cum all over your greedy finger, baby?“

You whimper out in response, the tip of your finger barely grazing against that one spot inside you that your boyfriend is usually able to reach without any problems, his long fingers curving in your cunt as he brings you to the edge over and over again. You slip a second finger into your pussy, a small part of you hoping two of your fingers would come at least partially close to how his usually feel inside of you. With no avail. Dreaming about Sunghoon’s fingers only makes your thighs quiver even more, tears of frustration forming in your eyes since you know your fingers will never feel as good inside you as his do. 

"Answer me, baby,” Sunghoon’s demand snaps you out of your daydream, your fingers continuing to twist and curl inside you.

"Wanna cum…p-please, I wanna cum so badly-“

Sunghoon can tell you’re frustrated based on the choked sound cutting off the whine in your voice — and he almost feels bad for you. He knows you're usually not a fan of touching yourself without any help, his specifically, but he puts his faith in you and this little game the two of you are playing, trusting that you’ll be able to finish by just listening to him pleasure himself and his voice while his body succumbs to his carnal needs. Despite this, you’re still able to feel your walls flutter around your fingers as the heel of your palm nudges against your swollen clit, drawing a sobbed whimper from you.

"That’s too bad, baby. Red light for you now.”

You mewl in protest, wanting nothing more than to keep your fingers buried inside you until your release would finally wash over you. However, not wanting to disobey your boyfriend — and especially not wanting to deal with his punishments — you slowly pull your fingers out of yourself. Your digits are coated in your essence as you place your hands next to your body, smearing your juices onto the skin of your thigh, waiting with anticipation to hear Sunghoon’s groans resonate from the speakers of your phone.

In the bed of his hotel room all the way in Japan, Sunghoon moves his hand back to his cock, fingers wrapping around himself, slowly sliding it up his length until he reaches the top, his thumb running over the head to spread the pre-cum leaking from it over his hot skin. He groans your name at the motion, imagining it was your hand wrapped around him instead, imagining you sitting between his spread-out legs, your mouth kissing up and down his shaft, lips closing around him just for him to thrust into your wet heat while fisting your hair.

"Sunghoon,“ your whine interrupts his train of thought, his eyes flashing open to stare at the cold wooden ceiling of his room, "talk to me, please. Tell me what you’re doing.”

"That what you want?“ he rasps, continuing to stroke himself as his hips buck up to meet his fist.

"Yes, please,” your voice is small as you respond, almost as if you’re scared to admit your lewd thoughts, scared to get judged or ridiculed despite knowing your boyfriend would never do anything like that, would never make you feel like you have to hide yourself from him.

He chuckles slightly at your request, discovering a new side, a dirty side of you that you have never shown him before whenever you two have been together. He grunts as he tightens the grip around his dick, the muscles in his lower abdomen drawing taut as he feels himself inching towards his own orgasm.

"Fuck,“ he grunts as he lets his thumb slide over his slit a few times, his legs clenching at the pleasure rushing through his body, "stroking my hand over myself, wishing it was yours instead of mine. I’m thinking about all the times I’ve had your pretty lips around me, the noises coming from you as I pull on your hair to guide your head up and down my cock until you let me fill your mouth with my cum. Thinking about it dribbling past your lips, running down your chin, and making a mess of you before I fuck you into the mattress, throwing your legs over my shoulders as you scratch up my back.”

You can’t help but let your hand wander back towards your core again, running it over your swollen sex before you let two of your fingers rub small circles on your clit. You whine at the feeling, wanting to finally, finally give in to your body's pleas. However, what you forget to think about is that Sunghoon knows you; in fact, he knows almost better than you know yourself, your body, your movements — and the noises you make when he's fucking you. The moment you moan at the feeling of your fingers on your aching clit, he knows you’re touching yourself despite it not being your turn yet. His eyes snap open, his hand stills on his hardened cock as his eyebrows furrow in disbelief, not quite wanting to believe what his ears are hearing.

"Babygirl, I said red light,“ he pants after picking up his movements again, the sound of his hand stroking himself clearly audible at your end of the line, "you stop when I say so. Don’t make me punish you when I get back home.”

Your breath hitches and your fingers pause their movements. The whine falling from your lips could be described as nothing short of pathetic as you mumble out a halfhearted apology, your hands trembling as you pull them away from your wet, almost dripping, pussy. Your legs start twitching in response, your body burning at the denied orgasm, so close to the edge but not allowed to let yourself submit to the feeling just yet. You can’t help but hate yourself for giving in, weighing in the option of just taking your boyfriend’s punishment once he’s back by your side, but, in the end, you know the kind he would give you wouldn’t be just a few spankings until your ass would be raw and red. 

Oh no, knowing Sunghoon, he wouldn’t let you cum for several days until you were a begging and delirious mess for him, the only thing on your mind being him and his cock. Only then would he allow you to cum, after making sure you’d tell him — assure him while sitting on your knees with his hard cock in front of you, your hands wrapped tightly around it — that you wouldn’t disobey him again. It had happened before after all, only once, but enough to engrave it into your memory, the way your body trembled, your mind reeling at the denied orgasm, your lower lips so uncomfortably drenched you felt like you were going insane.

Sunghoon continues to stroke himself, moaning your name into his room and, once again, thanking the universe for his hotel room being soundproof as well as the fact that it was still early enough for him to be sure none of the other members would be awake right now to disturb him. His heart is beating out of his chest as he listens to your shuddering breath and soft whimpers sounding through the speakers of his phone. He can tell you’re trying your hardest to hold back, wanting nothing more than to touch yourself again, to finally rub your clit once more and make it over the finishing line, but you're keeping yourself from it in order to please him, to not make him punish you. And he absolutely loves it. Loves knowing the control he has over you even several hundred miles away from you.

"Sunghoon…please,“ you breathe out, whiney, your begs sounding like a broken record.

"Use your words, baby,” he says, his voice cracking as he tugs especially hard on his thick cock, "tell me what you want.”

"Please, p-please wanna touch myself again…“ you beg for your boyfriend, desperate to push your fingers back inside your sopping core and make yourself cum, being denied your orgasm too often already.

"Fuck, so desperate for me…you like playing with your pretty little pussy that much, huh?”

You nod despite Sunghoon not being able to see, a frail, nothing short of desperate, moan slipping past your lips. Your walls clench around nothing, begging to be filled up again, to have your fingers rub against them. Your legs twitch in anticipation, muscles tensing up, and you have to grip onto the duvet that’s pooled around your hips in order to not give in to the urge to touch your body despite it not being your turn just now. Hearing those sounds coming from you, Sunghoon can’t help but feel sorry, stilling the movements of his hand before letting out a deep sigh.

"Alright, it’s your turn again. Green light for you, but I want you to follow my lead again, okay, baby?“

"Okay. Thank you,” you sigh, your body relaxing again at the thought of you finally getting to finish.

"I want you to rub your hands over your body. Run them over your breasts, circling your fingers around your nipples, and then down your tummy to work your way towards your pussy. Now…put your fingers along the insides of your thighs and push them wide apart; are you following what I’m saying, baby?“

You moan in confirmation, your fingers running over the sensitive insides of your thighs, turning you on even more than you already are, ready to push them into your weeping hole as soon as he tells you to. Your nipples are hard and pert against the cold air inside your bedroom, desperate for your attention, which is directed towards another part of your body.

Sunghoon clears his throat before he continues, need and want turning his voice hoarse, "I want you to imagine this while you’re fucking yourself, while you’re trying to make yourself cum right now. I want you to imagine the skin of my face brushing against the insides of your legs; imagine my mouth coming closer and closer to your pussy, my hot breath fanning over your wet lips. And before you even realize it, imagine my tongue running over them, gliding from one end up to the other, drinking you in, sucking on your clit as I’m going down on you.”

You almost can’t hear him from the squelching sounds your soaked pussy makes as your fingers move inside of you. Your mind is rushing, scrambling to get your mouth to produce any other sounds besides the constant moans spilling past your lips.

"Fuck,“ you cry out, throwing your head back and straining your neck.

Your body shivers as you imagine everything he just told you, his hands all over your body, his tongue on your cunt. Arching your back off of the mattress, your walls clench around your fingers, which never stop working their way in and out of you.

"Imagine my head between your thighs, your hands tugging on my hair as I’m pushing my tongue inside you, tasting your essence in my mouth. Keep playing with yourself, baby. Keep imagining me right there with you. Bet you wish it were my fingers buried deep in your cunt instead. You’re really close, aren’t you?”

You reply with a weak moan, “Yes, please, please…”

Sunghoon knows the telltale signs of you being close to your orgasm, and even without seeing you, he can still hear the way your moans get more and more whiny, your breathing speeding up, and your vocal cords producing the most beautiful sounds as you groan out his name, causing his dick to twitch against his stomach, untouched. Just before you can feel yourself tumbling over the edge, he tells you to stop again, the two simple words spoken into the void of your room the most torturous thing he has ever done to you.

Your body listens before your mind even processes his words, your hands moving away from your dripping and clenching pussy as soon as those words leave his mouth. You throw your head back in irritation, your eyes fluttering open, tears of frustration burning behind them, your skin scorching hot as you try to calm your breathing. Pleasure slowly fades away, slipping from your grasp, and all you’re left with is a dull ache between your legs, feeling empty after you pull your fingers away from your drenched folds, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Sunghoon’s chuckle sounds out of your phone in reaction to your whiny sob ripping its way from your vocal cords, “You didn’t think I’d let you get off this easy, did you? Now, you gotta listen to me again..."

He groans as he lets his hand glide up and down his cock again, his breathing quickly turning into messy panting. He tries to force himself to not go too fast, wanting to draw out his orgasm even more than he already had. Sunghoon doesn’t want to cum before getting to hear your beautiful and desperate moans again, needy whines echoing through his hotel room while you’re pleasuring yourself. No, he doesn’t want to miss out on that experience.

The thought of you lying on your bed — your body damp and sticky due to the sweat coating your skin while your hands are pressed against your sides, fingers twitching with anticipation — drives him absolutely insane. He can’t wait to come back home and reward you for doing this experiment with him, licking you up until you would be trembling underneath the slightest of his touch, just to drive you over the edge again and again.

"God, I’m so hard just from thinking about going down on you. I love it so much, eating you out, seeing your eyes roll back into your head as I wrap my lips around your swollen clit,“ a choked moan cuts him off as he throws his head back, his throat straining at the effort to keep himself from cumming, "hearing you whimper, hearing you moan my name, whining for me to make you come…”

Being able to listen to him moan like this, so desperate for his release, draws out an involuntary shudder that makes your pussy throb in anticipation and need. You clench your fingers by your side to keep yourself from running them over your trembling body, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palms.

"Fuck…Sunghoon, please. I wanna cum, please, let me touch myself again,“ you whine desperately, being denied too many times now.

Sunghoon nods on the other end of the line, not that you’re able to see it, but he groans in confirmation, "Go on, touch yourself to my moans. I want to cum together with you, fuck…rub your pretty little pussy for me, baby.”

Sighing in relief, you instantly move both of your hands down your body towards your core, slipping two digits past your wet lips while the fingers on your other hand start rubbing circles on your swollen clit. You’re past the point of wanting to build up to your orgasm, ready to let it crash over you and take you with it until you’re completely wrecked.

"God,“ he almost growls into your ear, his voice strained with effort, "I’m imagining you, laying in bed. I bet your fingers are pressing really _really_ hard and quick circles against your clit, huh?”

"Y-yes! Please, please feels so good," you babble out, your own thoughts not making any sense to you anymore.

Your panting becomes erratic, whines falling from your mouth as you feel yourself teetering on the edge. The pace of your fingers quickens, and you can’t help but let a loud moan slip past your lips, your lower one slipping out of the grasp your teeth had on it just moments ago. Your moans turn into whines and heavy breathing as your toes curl at the pleasure pricking at every nerve in your entire body. Moving your hand away from your clit, you let it ghost over your body, dragging your fingernails over your scorching skin until you reach your breasts to roll one of your nipples between your fingers.

"That's it, come on, say it now. Say it for me, baby,“ he urges you, desperate to release all over his hand, the head of his cock colored an angry red as he continues to pump himself to the pace of your breaths.

"Shit…I-I’m gonna cum,” you stutter, your voice airy and feeling lightheaded as your body threatens to get overwhelmed with desire.

"Yeah? Gonna cum all over your fingers for me, baby? Gonna cum so hard, your thighs will shake for days when you think about this? Won’t be able to walk today?“

You mewl loudly in response, your walls fluttering and twitching around your fingers, your palm rubbing against your swollen clit as your other hand grips tightly onto your breasts, tweaking and pinching your nipple, "Fuck…y-yeah...”

Your boyfriend groans at the other end in response to your noises, his breaths nearing erratic as he rushes to meet the pace of your movements with his own stroking, his hand fisting up and down his hard cock, “Cum for me, baby. Cum all over your fingers like the good girl you are for me.”

"Ah, fuck…fuck me, feels so good!“

You move your hand away from your chest, angling the fingers buried inside you so you could press quick small circles against your aching clit again, and soon enough you’re choking out a loud moan, your voice echoing off your bedroom walls as you feel yourself coming closer and closer to your release.

Your orgasm crashes over you in one big wave of heat, your back arching off your bed as your hand stills inside your pussy. Your release gushes from your core, coating parts of your trembling hand. Drool threatens to escape past your lips as your jaw slackens, the moans tumbling from your mouth come nothing short of pornographic, your orgasm too intense for you to bite them back or even attempt to contain them. 

Loud groans fill your room, joined by the wet sounds of your boyfriend pumping his cock at a mind-blowing pace, coming straight from the speakers of your phone as you hear him panting faster and faster until he grunts out, "Oh fuck, shit…I’m cumming, I-I’m cumming!”

Sunghoon desperately continues to stroke his cock as it twitches in his hands, his muscles burning with strain as they tighten all over his body. He throws his head back as his vocal cords produce the loudest groan you’ve ever heard come from your boyfriend’s throat. His chest heaves up and down as he shoots his release all over his hand and his lower abdomen, completely emptying himself onto his burning skin. He continues to lazily move his hand up and down his cock to ride out his high until sensitivity starts to settle in and he pulls his hand away from his slowly softening dick, letting out a low sigh in relief.

Slowly, his breathing starts to even out, his body relaxing; he feels his muscles loosening up, and he revels in the lightness of his body after his orgasm. The thin sheen of sweat that covers his body begins to dry on his skin, still hot and burning, and the sticky feeling makes him cringe slightly — not that he cares in this moment. Through the speakers of his phone, he can hear your breathless panting. Reaching over, he holds onto the device to press it against his ear again, wanting to have your voice echo directly into his ear.

Just as Sunghoon, your breathing starts to slow down little by little, the familiar hazy weightlessness taking over you. You almost feel as if you’re floating through the clouds, even though, at the same time, you find your body wanting nothing more than to sink deeper and deeper into your mattress until it would be swallowed wholly.

Pulling your fingers out of your ruined cunt, you can’t help but whine as you take in the mess you’ve made of the top of your duvet, “Sunghoon…I made a mess.”

"Yeah? Made a mess for me? Wanna show me?“ he teases you lightly, his voice sounding louder, which leads you to assume he has his phone in his hand again instead of carelessly tossed onto his bed.

"Mhm,” you shake your head in denial, “I’m all gross and sticky.”

"Baby, we’ve had sex before; it’s nothing new for me to see you this way. But if you don’t want to show yourself to me right now, you don’t have to. Whatever makes you the most comfortable.“

You can’t help but smile as your boyfriend’s soft and caring side pushes its way back to the forefront again, shoving his dominant side back down until the next time you'd find yourselves in a similar position — maybe when you're finally face-to-face again. He has always been caring after sex, making sure you had everything you needed and weren’t uncomfortable in any way. There have been several occasions of him carrying you towards your bathroom, sitting you down in the bathtub, and running you a hot bath before sliding right behind you, his big hands massaging your shoulders and running over your scalp to relieve any tension in your body. Some rare times, you had even fallen asleep, right there surrounded by the hot water causing your muscles to relax and your boyfriend's arms wrapped tightly around you, your eyes slipping close, and the next time you opened them, you were lying in bed next to Sunghoon, covers draped over you and his soft snores filling the silence of your bedroom.

You snap out of your memories to reach over to your bedside table, grabbing some tissues out of the box standing there to carefully wipe away the mess between your legs before taking two of the wet wipes you’re keeping there as well to sporadically clean yourself until you’d be able to muster the strength to get up and walk over to your bathroom — or would fall asleep from the exhaustion starting to settle into your bones.

"Thank you, Hoon.”

"What are you thanking me for, baby?“ he chuckles right into your ear.

"Just…this. You know how hard it is for me to cum when we’re not together, and I’ve had a really crappy day yesterday, so...I really needed this,” you explain to your boyfriend, your face heating up at the confession.

You’re truly grateful to have him in your life. Even if he often doesn’t realize it, but the smallest things he does, like making sure you’re comfortable with everything and anything he does, encouraging you whenever you are feeling down, or even just picking up a snack you mentioned running out of. All those things and so many more make you feel at home around him, wanting to keep him in your life until the day you’d die.

Sunghoon laughs slightly, and you can hear him swallow thickly before he replies, “There’s no need to thank me. I love you, and I care about you. Despite your selfie yesterday being sexy as fuck, I could tell you weren’t feeling well. That was the real reason I called you in the first place. To check up on you and cheer you up. But of course this is also a nice way to spend the morning before a busy day and the concert later tonight.”

"I love you, too,“ you reply, not quite knowing how to appropriately respond to your boyfriend's words.

"You do know I’ll have to punish you when I get back home, right? For not listening to me back there?”

You could swear you can hear the smirk on his face through your phone when he says those words, lowering his voice until it’s almost comically husky. Laughter slips past your lips, your boyfriend joining you in it as you say, through your laughs, “Sure. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Sunghoon clears his throat on the other end of the line after both your laughter dies down before you hear some rustling and his feet patting on the floor of his hotel room, “What do you have planned today? No work, right?”

Before you get to answer, you hear the water tap turn on in the background as your boyfriend had gotten up to walk to the bathroom of his hotel room and wash his hands. Meanwhile, you are staying in bed, exhausted, and your muscles still twitching slightly from the intense pleasure you felt just moments ago. You take a few moments to reply, wanting to relish the comforting silence between the two of you.

"Not really, to be honest. I was thinking of maybe heading to the store for ice cream or snacks later and then just catching up on some shows and spending the day curled up on the couch. Do you have a lot to do today other than the concert?“ you finally answer his question, finishing your response with another question in hopes of being able to talk to Sunghoon some more before he would have to hang up to attend to his schedule for the day, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

"No, we only got soundcheck in the afternoon, and that's it,” he replies to you, turning off the running water before he dries his hands with his phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, all while continuing to talk to you, “I think maybe two or three interviews tomorrow, but that should be it…”

"Sounds great,“ you yawn in response, reaching up to run your hand over your face in hopes of waking yourself up some more.

"Go back to sleep, baby. You deserve some rest; take it easy today, okay?” he chuckles, his voice turning even softer than before, almost as if he’s hoping to lure you to sleep with his deep baritone.

He truly hates whenever you force yourself to stay awake just to talk to him. He recalls the endless nights while he had been stuck in a different timezone, on tour in the US, preparing for concerts and countless interviews while also juggling livestreams, the late-night conversations with you, your voice slurred as you'd force yourself not to fall asleep just to be irritated and exhausted the entire following day until you'd get to hear his voice again. And even though he’s now only a few hours away, in the same timezone for a change, knowing he'll be back within less than two weeks, the memories instantly weigh down on his chest, his heart with guilt, not wanting you to neglect you and your needs just for him.

"Okay…you're right...“ your voice slightly drifts off before you ask one last question, "Sunghoon?”

He perks up, his gaze previously settled on the stark white covers of his bed, almost as if you were in the room with him and he would be able to look straight into your eyes when he looks up through his lashes. His heart drops as he’s looking at the bare wall opposite of him, despite knowing he wouldn’t have found you standing there anyway.

"Yeah?“ he replies instantly, matching your low volume with his voice to lull you further to sleep and not startle you right out of it.

"I love you,” you whisper, exhaustion finally catching up with you.

 You want to stay awake longer, want to use every possible second to talk to your boyfriend some more, but you're also aware of the fact that he hates you staying away just for his sake. You know it makes him feel guilty for not being beside you, not being able to hold you as you fall asleep, even though you have told him time and time again that you can live with the occasional distance; it’s what you signed up for after all when you started dating an idol, a member of one of the most sought-after boy groups of the moment at that.

Your eyes feel heavier and heavier as you finally give in and let sleep take over your body, dozing back off to sleep with your phone slowly slipping out of your hand.

On the other end of the line, Sunghoon knows you have fallen asleep when he hears the soft thud of your phone hitting the mattress, your soft breathing filling his ear as he smiles to himself, satisfied to not have you awake any longer and overexert yourself further. He whispers his next words, more to himself than with the intention of you hearing him.

"I love you, too. I’ll text you when I know at what time I’m gonna be coming home. Now get some sleep.“

©sungbeams — all rights reserved. i do not give permission to copy, repost, modify or translate my works.

[immoral-stranger]

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 // 𝐌𝐕𝟏

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒. 🪐 “I like to stick to walls. Observing conversations, lifting them when they fall.” – Foster the People, Fire Escape.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: There's a dinner party and reader is a chef, so a lot of talk about food. Reader is also very self-deprecating. Allusions to issues regarding mental health and self-worth, but it's not really the main story. It makes sense, I promise, I just don't know how to warn about it.

A/N: My sister requested this after we watched the movie Sommartider (very swedish), so there's a similar scene in that. I personally find this one very cute. ♡

The apartment smelled of butter and garlic, the scent clinging to the sun-warm kitchen, filled with light that spilled through the sheer linen curtains. It was small but charming, a snug little nest tucked into the hills of the French Riviera, not too far from Nice. You stood at the counter, hands damp from having peeled potatoes, a half-prepared gratin tray in front of you. It had been a gift from your parents, a fittingly named Marseille bleu Le Creuset roasting pan. You would’ve never bought it for yourself—too expensive—but as a gift, you’d been thankful to receive it. 

“Did you decant the wine like I told you?” Imogen’s voice drifted from the other room, where she was preening in front of the gilded mirror you’d picked up at a flea market. It wasn’t her style—too rustic, too worn—but she’d said it added “charm” to your place, always opting for a backhanded compliment instead of the truth. She hated your style because it was the opposite of hers. 

You didn’t look up from your work. “No, uhm—”

“Kinda busy,” she interrupted, breezing in. Imogen always moved like she was on a runway, even barefoot in her sister’s modest kitchen. Her hair was swept into a sleek bun, and she wore a silk blouse that you suspected cost more than your entire apartment deposit. Sponsored, most definitely. She paused to eye the tray in front of you. “What even is that?”

“The base to dauphinoise potatoes,” you said, flicking a glance at her. She didn’t care about the answer; she never did. Imogen asked questions to fill the air, not to gather information. You also suspected that she loved the sound of her own voice so much that she never felt the need to shut the fuck up. 

She wrinkled her nose, but it was half-hearted, like a habit she wasn’t willing to break. “I still can’t believe you do this out of pure enjoyment.”

You shrugged, lifting a knife to thinly slice another potato. “Everyone needs to eat, Imogen.”

“Yeah, that’s what Uber Eats is for,” she said breezily, perching on one of your barstools. “No need to go to culinary school.”

You turned to give her a pointed look, hand on your hip. “And who do you think works in the kitchens at the restaurants you order from?”

Imogen made a face, part exasperated and part amused, and waved you off. “You do not always have to poke holes in other people’s logic. It’s an unattractive trait.”

Before you could respond, the sharp trill of the doorbell cut through the room. Imogen’s eyes widened, and she hopped off the stool in a single fluid motion. “Oh god, that’s them—” She smoothed her blouse and gave herself a quick glance in the reflection of a hanging copper pot. “Do I look good?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but your voice softened in spite of yourself. “You always do. It’s your job.” 

As Imogen floated toward the door, a knot of tension twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t jealousy—it never had been. It was more complicated than that: a mix of frustration and yearning that you didn’t want to untangle. Imogen walked through life as though she owned the air around her, while you had spent most of yours holding your breath. 

She pulled the door open with a practiced flourish, stepping aside to let Daniel stroll in first. His confidence and laughter preceded him, a quick kiss placed on Imogen’s cheek, and she giggled in a way that made you want to hurl. 

Daniel moved with the kind of ease that made it impossible to tell if he was posing or simply existing. Former Formula 1 driver, now Imogen’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, who appeared far more interested in globetrotting and sponsorships than in anything truly meaningful with her. With a bit of self-distance, you actually really enjoyed Daniel’s presence. He was funny and kind, even though you had nothing in common. 

“Danny, always good to see you,” you said, managing a polite smile as he stepped into the kitchen, lifting your attention from the food preparations. 

“Whatever it is you’re cooking smells wonderful,” he replied, inhaling deeply. “This is Max,” Danny added, stepping aside to reveal the man behind him. 

Through a gap, you could spot Imogen in the entryway, observing your reaction and how you greeted the both of them. It was almost like she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t embarrass yourself—or, worse—embarrass her. You, of course, knew who she had invited over for dinner. You’d had to sit through hours worth of gossip all the times you and Imogen caught up on each other’s lives. So, having two world-famous athletes stand in your kitchen wasn’t as surreal as it may sound. 

Max was taller than you’d expected, his broad shoulders and quiet presence making the doorway seem smaller. Clad in a simple black t-shirt, he seemed like any other guy your age. He looked relaxed but not indifferent, his gaze curious as he took in your modest apartment.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the rising amusement. “Danny, I don’t know if it’s funny or offensive that you think I don’t know who he is.” 

They both chuckled slightly at your words, and it was like you could see how tension released from Imogen’s shoulders, instantly becoming a couple centimeters shorter. 

“I would shake your hand, Max, but I have oil all over mine,” you said, holding up your slick fingers as evidence, before returning to the food, dealing with a marinated cut of meat. 

“Right,” Danny said, clapping Max on the shoulder and steering him further into the room. “She’s got this whole culinary genius thing going on, doesn’t she? Always smells like a five-star restaurant in here.”

“Not exactly,” you said, though the compliment made your cheeks feel warm. You glanced up at Max, who was still watching you, his smile small but genuine.

“Well, don’t let us interrupt your masterpiece,” Imogen said airily. “We’ll stay out of your way. You’ve got this under control, right?”

You only nodded, turning back to the food. It wasn’t until you heard Imogen’s laughter trailing into the living room that you allowed yourself to relax. There was a faint comfort in being in your element, even if you weren’t entirely alone.

In the background, you heard them talk as Imogen poured up glasses of wine for everyone. The wine she had forgotten to decant—that you knew needed air to taste decent. You heard her talk about the wine like it was something special. You, however, knew that she had stolen all of her knowledge from when she shot an ad for a winery somewhere in South Africa, and it didn’t particularly look like either Max or Danny cared that much. Ironic, for someone who had their own wine company, but you also got tired of hearing Imogen talk about things she didn’t really care enough about to research but talked about anyway to seem interesting. 

As she poured the fourth and final glass, you saw Max pick up two of them in your periphery. You tried to not visibly tense up as you heard his steps approach across your creaking wooden floors. He set both the glasses down on your kitchen island with a careful clink. 

With a wordless nod, you thanked him, picking one of the glasses up and swiveling the red liquid around to aerate it. 

Max lingered near the counter, his hands tucked into his pockets as he studied the array of ingredients you had spread out around you. “Is that you?” he asked, nodding toward a framed photo on the wall. 

It was one of the few remnants of your short-lived modeling career—an editorial shot of you, disturbingly close up, showing skin texture and flyaway hairs, vivid watercolour-like makeup in patches around your face and neck. You didn’t even look like yourself in it, which maybe was why it was the only photo of yourself you could bear seeing every day as you spent time in your kitchen. 

“Totally narcissistic, I know,” you snorted, keeping your eyes on the frying pan sizzling on the stove. 

“No, uhm, I didn’t mean it like that.” Max’s tone softened. “I think it looks cool. You must model too then?” 

“Nope.” You shook your head, glancing up at him, surprised by his sincerity. “I mean, I tried to, but I quit a while ago and went to culinary school.”

“That explains all this.” Max said, gesturing to the kitchen.

“I may have gone overboard,” you admitted, laughing softly. 

Imogen, perched on the edge of the sofa like a cat surveying her domain, twirled a lock of her hair idly before cutting in smoothly. “Is she boring you with her food talk, Max?” Her voice had that lilting quality you recognized well—equal parts teasing and dismissive, designed to simultaneously charm and belittle.

You stiffened instinctively, your movements freezing, spatula scraping the bottom of the pan. 

Max, however, straightened slightly, his casual stance shifting. “Not at all,” he replied, his tone easy but resolute, as if dismissing her suggestion entirely. Then he turned toward you. “Actually…” He hesitated, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I help with anything?”

“Oh, probably not,” you said, trying to recover from sounding too surprised. “Imogen always says that I’m like a dictator in the kitchen and that my recipes are unreadable.” 

Max stepped closer, peering down at your notebook with recipes, pages filled with messy handwriting, arrows, and scratchy diagrams. “No, I get it. It’s like a mind map. Makes it easier to see the process,” he said after a moment. “Even if I don’t know what half of these things mean. What even is… a wild turkey?” 

You tilted your head, genuinely surprised that he could make sense of your ramblings. Looking over, you saw his finger point to one ingredient. You let out an unguarded laugh, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. “It’s bourbon, for the marinade,” you explained. “Does this look like turkey meat to you?”

The meat sizzling in the frying pan was obviously some cut of beef, to judge by the colour. You didn’t need to be a culinary expert to know that. 

“No,” Max admitted with a grin. “And it would be weird to measure meat in tablespoons.” 

Your lips quirked upward, and you reached for a pear from the fruit bowl beside you, along with a cutting board and a little knife. You were hesitant to give him one of your good knives, worried he’d cut himself the first thing he did. It was quite common for people to do when they were unfamiliar with the sharpness a chef’s knife could have. 

“I guess you can chop that pear in little cubes, if you want to help.” 

Max took the pear from you, turning it over in his hands as if he were inspecting some foreign object. “A pear?” 

“It’s for the salad,” you explained, already turning back to your own task. 

“You can put pear in a salad?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve eaten a pear since I was about seven.” 

You arched a brow, glancing at him over your shoulder to see that he was fully sincere. With swift movements, you took the knife and cut a slice of the pear before dipping it into a vinaigrette you’d already prepared. 

“Try it, for science,” you said, holding it up for him to taste. 

Max hesitated before taking a small bite, his brow furrowing slightly as he chewed. Then he nodded, his expression lightening. “Huh, you know what you’re doing.” 

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you dismissed his comment, turning to look at the stove again. 

Max chuckled in response, shaking his head. He then stepped closer to the counter as he grabbed a knife. His movements were unpracticed but deliberate, the pear wobbling slightly as he began chopping it into uneven pieces. You felt the familiar itch of not being in control, almost taking over your own movements. But, you stopped thinking for a moment. Dinner wouldn’t be ruined just because the pear wasn’t in perfect cubes. And Max was actually putting in effort, biting down on his tongue, a line forming between his brows as he focused.

“Are you always this much of a perfectionist,” you asked, viewing his motions, “or are you just showing off in front of me?” 

“I’ve never put this much brain capacity into anything before,” Max joked, adding a laugh as he examined one of the misshapen pear cubes. 

For a moment, the kitchen fell into an easy rhythm. Imogen and Danny’s laughter floated in from the other room, a sharp contrast to the quiet concentration shared between you and Max. You didn’t usually let anyone help in the kitchen—it was your sanctuary, your domain—but for some reason, with Max fumbling his way through chopping fruit and throwing curious questions your way, it didn’t feel like an intrusion. 

When the food was done, the four of you gathered around your dining table, decorated with pottery and plates that you had collected throughout the years. Nothing matched, just like you preferred it. The golden hour crept through the windows as the room filled with light from the sun and flickering candles. 

And the dinner went fine, just like it always did, even though you couldn’t help but imagine the worst-case scenario of accidentally poisoning someone, or forgetting an allergy, maybe dropping the main dish right on the floor. Your sister and her company ate like they enjoyed it at least. The added blur of wine helping with the atmosphere. 

You were always the most quiet one in group settings, only speaking when spoken to, really. But you liked it that way. The stories Max and Daniel could tell from their lives were vastly more interesting than anything you had experienced anyway. Imogen too lived a more eventful life with fashion weeks and world travelling. Everyone seemed to like it that way too, the scrape of forks against plates punctuating Danny’s latest story. 

“…and when I finally got the bloody thing out of the house, the neighbour’s dog chased it straight back in,” Danny concluded, laughing as he leaned back in his chair. Imogen giggled, dabbing her lips with a napkin in that poised way of hers.

Max chuckled but shifted his gaze to you, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “So, how did you end up going from modeling to cooking?” He asked, after Danny was done telling the detailed story about a snake entering his house back home in Australia. 

You didn’t realise for how long you’d been quiet until you were now forced to speak, your voice sounding foreign to even your own ears. Setting your fork down, you answered, “I gave myself one last runway season to see if I could support myself. I walked three shows, while Imogen walked like thirty.”

“Thirty-two,” Imogen corrected, not missing a beat. She reached for her wine glass, taking a delicate sip before adding, “I’ll always believe you could’ve done it if you didn’t give up so easily.” Her tone was light but pointed. 

Your lips tightened. “I didn’t give up, Imogen—I moved on.” 

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” she said with a faint shrug. “You never see yourself as anything special, always such a plain Jane.” 

The words settled heavily in the air, their weight pressing against your chest. For a brief moment, the table fell silent, the only sound the faint clink of cutlery against porcelain. You forced yourself to maintain an even expression as you reached for your glass of water. 

“It’s kind of hard to when you’re having dinner with three child prodigies,” you answered, letting out a pathetic laugh to conceal your emotions. 

For someone who was so afraid of you embarrassing her, Imogen really had no issue with her own words causing embarrassment for others. 

Max frowned slightly, his hands stilling as he turned toward you. “I wouldn’t call myself a prodigy,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else—discomfort, perhaps.

“Yeah, right,” Danny said, nudging Max with an elbow. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, mate. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Max smiled faintly but didn’t reply. There was a softness in his expression that made your stomach twist, though you quickly moved your gaze to look at your plate; the uneven shapes of pear in the salad were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 

The conversation shifted, as it always did with Imogen, back to her. Something about a designer or a photographer saying she was the best model to work with. Something about a socialite event where ridiculous things had happened. Ridiculous meaning stupidly expensive or over the top. You wanted to laugh, knowing that they most likely didn’t use the real thing for the crazy champagne fountains she talked about, or that the sturgeon caviar they had served was a cheap knock-off, because no chef in their right mind would use the amount she mentioned. 

You zoned out as she talked, only starting to pay attention again when the conversation drifted towards what they were doing tonight and that they might need to call a cab soon. 

“Oh, where are you going?” you asked, unsure if you actually cared. 

“A sponsored event on a yacht in the marina. You know the jewelry company I did an ad for?” she replied casually, her tone almost bored.

You nodded, though the familiar ache of exclusion began to settle in your chest. You knew the exact advert she was referring to, not because you cared, but because those freaking pictures of her were everywhere. In stores, on every social media app, on digital billboards across multiple cities of the French Riviera—hell, you’d even seen it at a bus stop. 

“I assumed you wouldn’t want to come,” she added. The statement wasn’t cruel, but it stung all the same. “You never do.” 

Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass as you gave a small nod, keeping your face neutral. “No, I guess you’re right.” 

Max hesitated, glancing between you and Imogen. “I mean, she could come if she wanted to, right?”

“Yeah,” Imogen said, tilting her head as though the idea had never occurred to her. “I guess I could make a call to get you on the list.” 

“Don’t bother, you know it’s not my scene anyway,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you intended.

Danny grinned, leaning back in his chair. “A wild night for her is solving a crossword puzzle with a pen you can’t erase.” 

“Or,” Imogen added with a smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief, “when she’s brave enough, watching an episode of Criminal Minds instead of Friends like she usually does.”

Their laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls with the kind of ease you’d never quite mastered. It wasn’t malicious—at least not intentionally—but it still left a weight in your chest, heavy and familiar.

You kept your head down, pushing the last bit of salad around your plate, and told yourself you didn’t care. This was the dynamic, after all. Imogen had always been the star of the show, and Danny loved playing her supporting act. You had other friends who understood you better, who you had more in common with. Max, though—Max had been a surprise. And even now, as their laughter rang on, you caught him glancing at you from across the table, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

The dinner ended not long after. They had places to be, important people to talk to—while you had sitcoms to watch and dishes to take care of. You were happy to see Imogen every once in a while when she and Danny were both in Monaco, and you loved cooking for people, no matter who they were. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little happy knowing that Imogen was busy with work all throughout the upcoming month. 

As they filtered out, their voices trailing off into the warm Riviera night, the apartment felt suddenly too quiet. Locking the door after them, you slid down onto the floor, sitting with your knees tucked up towards your body, rubbing your tired eyes with the back of your hands, not caring if mascara crumbled all over your face. You felt empty, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. The half-drunk bottle of wine on the kitchen counter looked temping as you considered finishing it yourself. 

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Max trailed behind Danny and Imogen as they strolled toward the cab waiting just down the street. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the sea, and the stars twinkled faintly above the rooftops.

Danny was cracking a joke, and Imogen’s laughter rang out like a bell, but Max barely registered it. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his mind somewhere else entirely—back upstairs, at the table, watching you push your food around with that faint, detached smile.

He slowed his steps, his feet dragging. The idea of the yacht party, the glitz and endless small talk, suddenly felt suffocating. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of leaving felt… wrong. Max hated events like that. Everyone knew that. And while it was nice to catch up with Danny since they didn’t see much of each other nowadays, he found Imogen insufferable. He could play padel with Danny tomorrow if he wanted to talk more with him. Before he could think better of it, Max stopped altogether.

“Hey,” he called after them, making Danny and Imogen turn around.

“What’s up?” Danny asked, his brow furrowing.

Max hesitated, then gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I think I forgot my phone. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Imogen gave him a bemused smile, her head tilting slightly. “You sure? It’s not like we can wait forever.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Max said firmly, already stepping back. He waved them off. “Have fun.”

He turned before he could see their expressions and made his way back to the building.

The walk up the stairs felt oddly daunting now, each step heavier than the last, as though the weight of his own indecision was pulling him back. The soft hum of the building at night—the faint creak of pipes, the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors—seemed to grow louder with every passing moment. Max reached your door and hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly near the wood.

What was he even going to say? He wasn’t the type to overthink things, but this felt different. He didn’t want to overstep. What if you didn’t want company? The evening had already been a mixed bag of awkward moments, and the last thing he wanted was to make it worse.

Max sighed, his arm lowering slightly, just about ready to turn back when he heard your voice from the other side of the door.

“I miss you too, like craaazy,” you said, your voice muffled but clear enough through the door. Max froze, his curiosity getting the better of him. You sounded close, as though you were standing right by the door. Picking up the pieces, he figured you were talking to someone over the phone. 

“Imogen and Daniel came over for dinner earlier, and he brought a friend of his, and it was the most awkward thing ever,” you spoke again. 

Max frowned slightly. He was the friend, of course. While he’d sensed some discomfort during the evening, particularly whenever the conversation turned toward you, he hadn’t thought it was that bad. Who would you be talking to like that anyway, debriefing something that had just happened? Did you have… a boyfriend? 

“Mum,” you added, your voice cutting through his doubt, “of course it was a boy.”

He relaxed a fraction, leaning slightly closer to the door without realizing it.

“A cute one, too,” you admitted. 

Max blinked, warmth creeping into his face. A cute boy. That was a twist he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t help but grin, his chest lifting slightly at the thought. And you definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.

“You don’t have to ask if I bottled it. You already know I did,” you said after a brief pause, your voice quieter now. “I’m not like Imogen. I don’t think I’ll ever learn to be that easygoing.” 

Max was back to frowning, this time for a different reason. He didn’t like the sound of that. He wanted to knock, to interrupt, but he didn’t move.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you,” you said, your tone softening into affection as you ended the call. “Tell Dad I said hi. Buh-bye.”

Max barely gave himself a moment to think before he raised his hand and knocked. There was a pause, long enough for him to wonder if you’d heard, and then your voice came through the door. 

“Did you forget something?”

By the sound of your voice, he could tell that you were expecting it to be Imogen coming back for something. Not him. 

Max smiled despite himself. “Yeah,” he said, the words coming out more confidently than he expected. “I think I did.”

For a moment, there was silence, and then he heard rustling from behind the door, almost as if you’d stumbled to reach it. The lock clicked, and the door opened, revealing you with wide, startled eyes. You looked more tired than you had before, makeup and clothes a bit askew. He assumed Imogen had something to do with how polished you’d looked at the beginning of the evening. 

“Max?” you asked, your voice pitched slightly higher in surprise.

He cleared his throat, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I was wondering…” he started, shifting his weight but keeping his tone light, “if maybe, I could stay here and be boring with you?” 

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, though the words sounded stupid the moment they left his lips. He half-expected you to laugh, but instead, you blinked at him, your surprise melting into something softer.

“Uhm, yeah,” you said, stepping back to let him in. “Sure.”

Max stepped inside, and for the second time that night, he was struck by how inviting your apartment felt. The uneven warmth of the terracotta tiles beneath his feet, the mismatched chairs around the small dining table, and the array of plants lining the windowsill. It was nothing like he was used to, yet it felt like the picture-perfect definition of the word home.

Moving into the kitchen, his eyes landed on something on the counter—a tray of something, its surface dusted with cocoa powder.

“You made dessert?” he asked, tilting his head toward it.

“Yeah,” you said, shutting the door behind him, smoothing out your shirt with your hands. “I made tiramisu. Want some?”

Max didn’t hesitate. Moments later, he was seated on your sofa with a fork in hand, his first bite of the tiramisu silencing any lingering awkwardness. “Fuck me, this is like the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

You laughed, a soft, almost shy sound that Max couldn’t help but find adorable. You really couldn’t handle compliments well, and Max was going to use that to his advantage to make you wonderfully uncomfortable. “And you were going to have all this dessert for yourself instead of going out with us?” he asked, setting his fork down briefly to give you a look of mock betrayal.

“Well,” you said with a small shrug, sitting down beside him with your own plate of dessert. “I wasn’t really invited in the first place.”

Max frowned. “That’s not fair. They should’ve—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s not my scene anyway.”

Max studied you for a moment, his fork hovering over the dish. You were the opposite of so many people that he knew. And so similar to himself that it was almost scary to him. 

Tucking up your legs under your body, you made yourself comfortable on the sofa before you continued talking. “I tend to stick to the walls in places like that anyway. Just observing conversations, trying but failing to lift them when they fall.” 

“Do you also feel like you’ve got a foot in your mouth whenever you open it?” he wondered honestly. 

“Exactly. Always putting my foot in my mouth,” you replied with a chuckle. 

“Sounds impressive to me,” he joked with a grin. “I’m not that agile.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You were the one to bring it up.” 

For a moment, the apartment settled into a quiet hum, the faint sounds of the outside world barely audible through the walls. Max leaned forward, setting his plate down on your coffee table. The TV was noticeably black in front of the two of you.

“So,” he asked, tilting his head slightly, “what is it tonight? A crime show or… what was the other thing?”

“Friends,” you replied, reading in his reaction. “You’ve never seen Friends?”

Max’s brows lifted. “Not really. Maybe bits and pieces, but I couldn’t tell you much about it.”

“Oh my god,” you said, your tone equal parts horror and humor as your eyes widened dramatically. “You have a lot to learn.”

He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me everything I need to know.”

You smiled, a real one that softened your whole face. You picked up the remote, turning on the pilot episode. Max wasn’t really paying attention, but he liked how certain funny things made you audibly laugh. The more you watched and the more tiramisu you ate—the more the comfortable feeling spread like a fire through your living room, silently burning as he placed an arm around you and shared your blanket. 

This wasn’t where he’d thought he’d end up as he had entered your apartment the first time tonight, but now, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡

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White Blouse Envy: Effortless Sophistication for Every Occasion

Some pieces stand the test of time in fashion and continually win hearts with their timeless charm. The white blouse is one such wardrobe staple that never goes out of style. This classic piece has garnered a reputation for its versatility, making it a must-have in every fashion enthusiast's closet. The white blouse covers you whether you want a sophisticated office look or an effortless chic ensemble for a casual day out. Let's delve into the world of white blouses and discover how to rock them with enviable ease on any occasion.

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For formal events, a white blouse can be a game-changer. Pairing it with a black maxi skirt adds a touch of sophistication that is hard to rival. Alternatively, a white ruffle skirt will do the trick for those who prefer a more flirty look, bringing a touch of femininity to the ensemble. The beauty of a white blouse lies in its chameleon-like nature, adapting effortlessly to any outfit and occasion.

Casual Chic with White Blouses

Who says you can't achieve a relaxed look while donning a white blouse? Pair it with your favourite jeans or a trendy mini skirt for a laid-back vibe. The combination of casual and chic will surely turn heads wherever you go. Embrace the comfort of a white blouse without compromising on style.

Accessorising White Blouses

Accessories can transform any outfit, and a white blouse is no exception. Statement jewellery and elegant footwear can elevate your white blouse ensemble to a new level of sophistication. Pairing a lemon blouse with the right accessories can give you a refreshing and vibrant look, while a white blouse can be the perfect canvas for showcasing your favourite jewellery pieces.

Seasonal White Blouse Outfits

The versatility of a white blouse shines through all seasons. Layering with cosy sweaters or blazers adds warmth and flair to your outfit for colder months. In summer's scorching summer heat, opt for breathable fabrics like cotton or linen to stay cool and comfortable while looking effortlessly chic.

White Blouse Styling Tips for Different Body Types

The key to nailing any outfit is understanding your body type and dressing accordingly. With white blouses, this holds particularly true. For those with an hourglass figure, accentuate your waist with a tailored white blouse. Pear-shaped individuals can balance their proportions by choosing A-line skirts or pants with white blouses. Embrace your body and style it with confidence.

Celebrities and White Blouse Fashion

Fashion icons and celebrities have long recognised the charm of white blouses. From Marilyn Monroe's iconic look to modern celebrities donning white blouses on red carpets, these timeless pieces grace Hollywood with their elegance and allure. Whether a high-profile event or a casual stroll in the city, the white blouse has been a go-to choice for celebrities worldwide.

White Blouses in the Workplace

The workplace demands a balance of professionalism and style. White blouses effortlessly bridge this gap, allowing you to create sophisticated office looks that leave a lasting impression. Pairing a white blouse with tailored pants or a pencil skirt exudes confidence and competence, setting the stage for success.

Ethical and Sustainable White Blouse Brands

For those concerned about the environment and ethical fashion, numerous eco-friendly and sustainable white blouse options are available. Supporting these brands enhances your wardrobe and contributes to a greener and more conscious fashion industry.

Care and Maintenance of White Blouses

Keeping your white blouse pristine requires a little extra care. Avoiding spills and stains and knowing how to handle different fabrics during washing can extend the life of your favourite white blouse. Treat your white blouse with love; it will reward you with timeless elegance for years.

White Blouse DIY: Customising Your Look

Add a personal touch to your white blouse by experimenting with DIY projects. Dye it a pastel hue or add embroidered details to create a unique, eye-catching look that reflects your personality. Customising your white blouse lets you embrace individuality while donning a wardrobe classic.

Epilogue: White Blouse Confidence

The white blouse offers a canvas for effortless sophistication, whether heading to a formal event, a casual outing, or the workplace. Its unmatched versatility makes it a style choice that will always stay in fashion. Embrace the confidence of wearing a white blouse, knowing you can conquer any occasion with poise and grace.

Conclusion

Effortless sophistication is not just a fashion statement; it's a way of life. The white blouse, with its timeless appeal and adaptability, perfectly embodies this philosophy. Embrace the charm of this wardrobe staple and let it be your go-to choice for every occasion.