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noxturnalpascal · 10 months

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Dancing is a Dangerous Game

(FrankieMorales x F!Stripper!Reader)

A/N & Warnings: Sexual Content below - 18+ only, Frankie doing what he do (iykyk), unspecified age gap (anywhere from 10-15 yrs), talk of stripping/dancing as a job that pays the bills. The photos on the Moodboard are just for fun, the female Reader is not specifically physically described so you can imagine her however you want. Thank you to @saradika for the divider.

Did I make this prompt up myself for me and some fellow writers? Yes. Did I set the word count limit? Also Yes. Did I stick anywhere even close to that limit? *laughs hysterically.

PROMPT: Pick a Pedge Daddy character - Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Dave York, etc. (it can be Canon or Non-Canon/AU/No Outbreak).

PPCU Daddy is surprised - and excited - to learn that the grad/postgrad student he hires to watch his child sometimes also works as a: stripper/dancer/cam-girl/onlyfans-model/dating-or-escort-service (or straight-up SW)

*1000 word Minimum - 2000 word Maximum

WC: 4749 (I have a problem)

Frankie’s mouth was hanging open. He knew he should close it. He knew he looked like a weirdo. He knew he was about to get a “Catfish, lookin’ like a fish” joke from his friends. But for the life of him he couldn’t take his eyes off the stage, or close his gaping jaw.

Not since his babysitter walked on stage and started taking her clothes off.

To be fair, you're not his babysitter anymore. Not since he called you three weeks ago asking if you could babysit for him tonight and you broke the news to him that you'd gotten a new job and couldn't babysit anymore. At least now he understands why you left the not-so-lucrative world of babysitting for an arguably better-paying gig.

You've only been dancing for two minutes and he already sees more money on the stage than he would've paid you to sit his kid tonight. He’s been watching as you undulate your body across the stage, bending and dipping, stripping down to your underwear. Even though part of him thinks he should, he definitely doesn’t look away when you divest yourself of your lacy little bra.

He always thought you were hot. He was a newly-single dad, interviewing you for a semi-regular babysitting gig. He tried to focus on your resume and your qualifications. He tried to breathe through his mouth so he couldn’t smell your delicate perfume. He tried to ignore the dewy pink lipgloss you had spread across your mouth, which is in stark contrast to the bright red lipstick you are currently sporting.

He was very motivated by the fact that you, as a graduate student in your mid-20’s, seemed more responsible to leave his kid with than the other applicants to his babysitting ad, all of whom were literal teenagers. But truth be told - you were also really fucking hot. Horny dad and the hot babysitter, what a fucking cliche he was.

However, in the eleven months you babysat for him, he never acted on his inappropriate attraction to you. He never treated you as anything other than an employee. You’d show up to his house, hair in a messy bun, wearing comfy clothes, ready to sit on the living room floor all evening playing with his kid. He was polite, and respectful, and was almost positive you never caught him staring at your tits.

Your tits that he’s most definitely staring at right now. Holy shit you have great tits.

“Fuckin’ A Fish, if you’re gonna keep your mouth open, you could at least pour some beer into it.”

“Huh?” Frankie snaps his head back to the table he’s sat at, surrounded by his friends. They all chuckle.

“We’re about to order the next round and you didn’t even drink any of that one yet,” Benny says as he points to the dripping bottle in Frankie’s hand.

Oh, sorry, Frankie mumbles as he pushes the now-warm bottle to his lips and begins to drink the beer down, his eyes moving back to the stage. The entire club is lit only by colored lights that coordinate with the twirling lights and lasers pointed at the stage, pulsating to the tempo of the music you’ve picked. Fog rolls across the floor of the stage, cascading over the edge.

There’s a single golden pole at an outcropping of the stage that you’re now gripping with both hands, sticking your ass out towards the audience and giving it a wiggle. You let go of the pole and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties. You slowly begin to push them down and just as the crack of your ass comes into view Frankie momentarily forgets that he can’t swallow liquid and breathe at the same time.

He begins to sputter and cough, choking on the bubbly liquid and spurting it across the table onto the faces of half of his friends. He’s met with groans, curses, and several swats to the back of his head as he attempts to get his wheezing under control, and the fluid out of his trachea.

Santi, who somehow managed to avoid Frankie’s beer-foam projectile, slaps a palm on Frankie’s shoulder and says,

“Guys, Frankie’s real sorry, he’s just never seen a naked woman before.”

The laughter at Frankie’s expense serves as some form of forgiveness, and everyone slowly goes back to flirting with the wandering dancers and ordering their second round. Santi keeps his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and leans into Frankie’s personal space.

“You alright?” Santi asks, squeezing his friend’s shoulder firmly.

Frankie manages to mutter a strangled yeah before several rounds of trying to clear his throat. The lights have dimmed, sinking the club temporarily into a hazy darkness. He briefly registers that the song you were dancing to has ended, so you’ve most likely left the stage.

Santi laughs, shaking his head. He moves his mouth right to Frankie’s ear, almost whispering.

“When I convinced Will to have his bachelor party at this club I thought you’d be the one making your hot babysitter choke, not the other way around,” and he claps Frankie on the back hard, “if you know what I mean.”

Frankie’s eyes go wide as he meets Santi’s crooked grin, but his friend offers nothing more as he moves to the other side of the table, turning his devilish smile on the waitress. He orders two beers and three shots for each man, dismissing the groans of protest from the table. Bachelor Down!, he shouts at Will as everyone does their shots and chases them with cheap beer.

You approach the table full of men with seven other dancers, each of you assigned by the club to give a 20-minute private dance to one of the members of the bachelor party. You’re each in various states of dress, but most are only half-dressed. You’re back in your lacy underwear set - panties and bra - but the sheer nature of the fabric leaves little to the imagination.

Your previous job as a part-time nanny worked while you were an undergrad. When you started law school it became too much and you had to switch to more infrequent evening babysitting gigs so you had your days free for school and studying. Unable to keep up with school payments you recently had to find something new. Something that only required night and weekend availability, but paid really well.

Enter: Stripping.

You’ve only been doing this job for a little over a month but you’d quickly gotten very comfortable with being naked in front of strangers. You had your little dance routine and could easily make flirty banter with the club’s customers. Your boss was impressed enough that he’d started assigning you party gigs with some of the other girls, like this bachelor group.

You walk up to the group of strangers, the rest of the girls fan around the table as you’re left standing just behind a broad-shouldered man with a baseball cap on, curls sticking out from under the back strap. You turn to the man with a big smile on your face.

Holy Fuck.

Not a Stranger.

It’s Francisco Morales. The hot dad you until-recently babysat for.

He looks at you sheepishly. Your hands immediately fly to cover your breasts, suddenly mortified that your nipples are showing through your nearly-transparent choice of outfit.

“Mr. Morales!”

“Oh I- I already,” he begins to stutter. Is he telling you that he’s already seen your tits?

You look around at the collection of empty beer bottles and shot glasses on the table and figure that they’ve all been here for much longer than just your dance. So covering your nipples does nothing for your modesty as hot dad has probably already seen everything. You drop your arms to your side, attempting to look relaxed and casual.

“So I-uh. I guess you found a babysitter for tonight.”

He laughs. He actually laughs at your awkward attempt at diffusing the tension. Thank god. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can say anything one of his friends is speaking to the group. He explains that “everyone gets a private dance” and no one can object - and he looks right at Mr. Morales when he says this - because “it’s all been paid for already.”

Following the lead of the other girls you gently grab Mr. Morales’ hand, missing the looks back and forth between him and his friend. You do your best to confidently lead him back to the private rooms with the rest of his group. There are a dozen rooms in the hallway and eight of them have been held in reserve for this bachelor party group. Pulling him inside the last room on the right, you close the door behind you.

The room is dim, save for the red glow of the lights. The ceiling and floor are both painted black and the three walls without the door are mirrored. Towards the left is a single high-backed black leather chair facing a brass pole that sits in the exact center of the room. On the far side of the room is a curved loveseat against the wall.

This should be easy. Not just because this is your job but because unlike any other man you’ve ever led back here, this is a man you are extremely attracted to.

This is a man you have fantasized about.

You’ve imagined his curls between your fingers when you’ve grabbed a fistful of a customer's hair, imagined that it’s his stubble scratching between your breasts when you’ve pressed them close. You’ve envisioned his wide chest as you ran your hands down their front, his massive paws in your hands as you’ve taken their sweaty palms and placed them on your rolling hips.

You’ve wished they were his thighs that you were grinding your ass onto and his erection that you all-too-frequently felt pressing into you. That should make this easy. But instead you’re super fucking nervous. Even more nervous than your first night here, when you dragged your panties down your legs and bent over, exposing your pussy lips to a packed room of strangers.

What makes you most nervous is probably that the fantasies didn’t stop in the club. It would be one thing if they were just here, serving as a comfort, self-soothing by putting a familiar face in place of a groping stranger’s face. But that’s not the truth. You’ve imagined him at home too.

In the shower, pretending your hands were his hands as you pinched and plucked at your wet nipples. Daydreaming about his weight on top of you, fucking into you, as you drove one of your toys in and out of your wet cunt.

And if you’re being perfectly honest, you can admit that it’s been going on for almost a year, since shortly after he hired you to be his babysitter. Remembering the times you’d made yourself come on his couch, hours after his kid had fallen asleep, waiting for him to return home from a night out with his friends. Your hand stuffed down the front of your pants, petting your clit to the thought of him on his knees in front of you.

You never thought you’d actually be naked in front of your fantasy-DILF. This is like being slapped in the face with your own wet dreams. This is kind of a nightmare.

“Listen, you don’t have to-” he begins just as you start to speak as well.

“Mr. Morales I know-” and you both stop and let out breathy, nervous laughs.

“C-Can you please stop calling me Mr. Morales?”

“Oh sorry! Is that weird?”

“It sounds like the start of a bad porno,” he groans, laughing again. “Please just call me Frankie.”

“Of course, I’m so sorry Mist- Frankie. Sorry. Frankie.”

You both break out in laughter again, loudly this time, hoping to finally diffuse some of the tension. A knock sounds at the door and a deep voice - security - asks if everything is alright. You shout back that everything is fine and the room quiets down.

“I should start the music and get going,” you say quietly, motioning for him to sit on the curved red velvet seat against the far wall.

You press a button above his head and music starts up, the first of three songs forming a 10-minute loop that will repeat for this booking. You look into the mirrored wall to your left and notice how nervous you look. Then you meet his eyes in the mirror. Why does he look just as nervous?

You straddle one of his legs and shakily reach back to undo the clasp on your bra. You meet his eyes again. Fuck he can see how your hands are shaking. You look like such a fucking kid. A goddamn amateur. This is going to be the least-sexy lapdance he’s ever been given.

You can’t stop the gasp that leaves your lips when you suddenly feel his hot hands covering yours at your back.

“You can leave this on if you’d be more comfortable,” he says softly, barely heard over the pumping bass of the music.

“No I’m fine, I’m just…” you don’t know how to explain to him without embarrassing yourself but suddenly you’re making an admission and the word-vomit has left your mouth before you can even do anything to stop it. “I just always thought you were hot.”

There it is. It’s out there now.

He opens his mouth to say something and your nerves bubble up and come out as more words and why the fuck are you talking more?

“I know, I know,” you spit out before he can get a word in, “the babysitter thirsting after the hot dad, how prosaic, right? Talk about a bad porno.”

His warm hands still touching you, he slowly moves his fingers around yours, deftly undoing the clasp of your bra for you.

“It’s okay, I kinda… thought you were hot too,” his admission slips out in a whisper.

You really want to kiss him right now. But that would be a very bad idea. Security patrols the hallway and the door has a small window towards the top of it. It allows security to peek inside and see from the shoulders up. Usually if they can see your shoulders, all is good. If they can’t see your shoulders, it gives them an idea if rules are being broken or if the girls need help.

Kissing - among other things - is against the rules.

You barely turn to look at the windowed door but you’re embarrassed to think that Frankie must know what you’re thinking because it’s like he can read your mind. Or maybe he’s just thinking about kissing you too? Either way he puts his hands back down to his sides and lets you lean into him, allowing your bra to slowly shift down your shoulders until it falls into his lap.

Your tits are right in his face. You’re half naked in front of the hot dad whose child you used to babysit. The hot dad who you’ve pictured doing this exact thing with - and more. But he’s not even looking at your tits. He’s looking you right in your eyes and making you feel more naked than you’ve ever been in your whole life.

He shouldn’t be here, not doing this, not with you. He should ask for a different girl. He should tell the security guy to kick him out. He’s making you so uncomfortable, he can tell by your twitching movements and halting breaths. He can’t stop staring at you like he’s some kind of lonely creep, what a fucking weirdo he’s being.

You position your legs on the outside of his, keeping his legs slightly open and his hands obediently face-down on the couch next to him. You’re straddling him but hovering above his lap, seemingly careful not to touch him. When you put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself you begin to stiffly roll your body towards and then away from him.

He doesn’t know where to look. He can’t keep looking at your face, he knows the eye-contact is getting very disturbing. Why the hell did he tell you he kinda thought you were hot too? At least he didn’t admit the truth, that he thought you were fucking supernova-hot. He’s had to bite his tongue countless times to stop from asking you out.

He focuses his eyes at the hollow dip that lies at the base of your throat. It has a dance of its own, moving slightly with your pulse and rolling with your shallow breaths, the rise and fall of your chest a baseline rhythm. He tries not to think about your bare breasts just below, breasts that he’s thought about putting his hands on every single time you’ve walked into his house for the last year.

He can see your deep red lips in his peripheral vision, and immediately the image of those lips on his skin is conjured. He pictures a chaste kiss planted on his cheek followed by a less-chaste thought of his thumb pressed into your mouth, your eyes looking up at him while your lips leave a red ring on his hand. He needs to fucking calm down. This is just a dance. You’re at work doing your literal job.

He suddenly notices you’ve almost completely stopped moving. He looks up at your face and you’re wearing a tight, pained expression. His brows furrow. Oh no. What’s wrong? Is his erection noticable? Is he creeping you out too badly? Do you want him to leave? He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but you silence him with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders.

“I think I’m gonna die if you don’t touch me,” you squeak out in a strained whisper.

In the back of his head a part of him thinks that he shouldn’t immediately cave. It shouldn’t be this easy. Part of him thinks he should need more than just you saying that.

But he doesn’t. At all.

He slowly slides his body down the sofa, pushing his frame between your legs. You move your feet apart to accommodate his wide shoulders once you realize he won’t fit otherwise. He stops when his ass is sitting on the floor and his head is just above the seat of the sofa, you towering over him. He reaches down and begins to take off your platform heels one at a time.

As your bare feet hit the floor you run your hands up your neck, over your face, and through your hair, your knees knocking at his shoulders. Touching you gently with only two fingers on each hand, he pushes on the backs of your thighs, guiding you even closer to his face. He grabs your feet and holds them in his hands, forcing your legs to fold and pushing your knees past his ears as his head rests back on the seat.

You’re kneeling at the edge of the sofa, shins on the cushion, feet dangling over his shoulders, your toes curled in his massive hands on his chest, and his head between your thighs. Your face still looks uneasy, and he can just make out whining noises over the music. High-pitched and breathy, the way a dog would beg for scraps at the dinner table.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna touch you now,” he growls.

You grab the brim of his hat and twist it off his head, immediately diving your fingers into his locks. He squeezes your toes and you take his cue, lifting your hips and canting them towards his waiting mouth. Latching his mouth onto your underwear, he runs his tongue up and down your covered seam.

He feels you begin to rock your hips into his face, rolling your body above him. Any security who looked in the window would see your shoulders moving to the beat and assume you were kneeling on the couch and giving a lap dance. He can only barely see you from his angle, sees the lace of your panties, sees your wrists grabbing at his hair.

Letting go of one of your feet, he grabs at your wrist, dragging your hand from his head to the front of your own underwear. You run your fingers down yourself, parting them around his mouth, letting his tongue tangle in them. Then you grab the edge of the gusset and pull it to the side.

Wasting no time, he immediately begins to lick at your folds, tasting the wetness that has gathered there. A lot of wetness. Christ, you’re so fucking wet. His nose touches just below your clit and a string of your arousal attaches him to you when he pulls back slightly.

A slight pause in the music has his heart stop and his stomach in his throat. After a couple seconds - that seem to stretch on forever - the first song begins playing again, restarting what must be a looped set of music.

That must mean this private dance-time is halfway over. Ten minutes left but since you two probably started after everyone else you might not have the full ten minutes of privacy if his friends decide to burst in the door. Which, if they’re led by Santi, is a real possibility.

Less than ten minutes. No problem.

You must also feel the sense of urgency because you adjust your hand that is holding your panties to the side. You take your thumb and pointer finger and move them over yourself, parting your lips to open yourself more to him and pulling up slightly, exposing your nub. He flattens his tongue in response and drags it over your sensitive bundle, noting the way your body trembles when he does so.

He knows he doesn’t have the time to edge you as he’d like to, but he can’t help himself when he moves his head lower and twists his tongue into your hole, thrusting it into you. You are bouncing yourself slightly up and down, helping him fuck yourself on his tongue. He feels your wetness pouring over his lips and dripping down through his whiskers.

He feels your hand leave your own body and tangle back in his curls along with your other one, grabbing two fistfuls of hair tightly in your grip. Having had enough of his teasing you’re apparently deciding to take matters into your own hands.

Frankie loves eating pussy but this? This might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

He angles his head perfectly, opens his mouth, and sticks his tongue out stiffly as you begin to grind your pussy against his face. You’re using his nose, his tongue, his chin, even the bristles of his facial hair. You’re using whatever you can to get yourself off as you ride his face. It takes everything in his power not to break out in a giant smile.

He doesn’t hear you, you’re still being the quietest you’ve been since you got in this room, but he feels it. Shit, does he ever feel it. He feels your body tense, then your legs quiver, feels the pulsing in your cunt as you press yourself firm into his still-open mouth. He gently laps up your gushing orgasm as you release the grip on his hair and whimper softly above him.

Knowing you’re short on time, he has you climb off him much sooner than he’d like you to. Your heavy-lidded eyes meet his and then yours go wide. You bend down and grab his hat, plopping it back on his head and attempting to tame his just-fucked-hair back underneath it. You run to the corner of the room and grab a small robe hanging on a hook, skipping back over and roughly wiping his face off with it the way you would a toddler after a meal.

He quickly adjusts himself, tucking his protruding hardness under his belt in an attempt to conceal it as he watches you adjust your askew panties. Still topless, you throw the robe back towards the corner in a panic just as there is a quick knock at the door. Without a signal to enter the door flies open anyways, no less than three of his friends bursting through the doorway drunkenly, shots in hand for Frankie to partake in.

They make Frankie drink the shots before he even leaves the room and then they drag him away from you, hollering obnoxiously. All he can manage is an apologetic look over his shoulder as he hears the final song finally come to an end. Time’s up. Luckily you’re laughing at their antics and don’t seem to be upset. Maybe you were just flirting with him because that’s your job. Maybe you just wanted a good tip.

A tip! Shit.

Being dragged down the hallway Frankie grabs Santi by the arm and asks in his ear how much he should tip you. Santi says he usually tips $200. Frankie is shocked that a 20 minute dance would garner that big of a tip, but then again it’s been a long time since he’s been at a place like this. And to be fair, you - albeit unknowingly - let him fulfill a long-time fantasy of his.

$200 is more than he would have paid you to watch his kid tonight. No wonder you’re not his babysitter anymore. He fishes around in his wallet and takes out all the cash he has, $236. He manages to break off from the group of guys after they do another couple shots and he looks around for you.

Unable to find you he spots one of the girls you came to the table with and she lets him know you’re on a break but she can get the tip to you. He hands her the folded bills and she thanks him by leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. When she pulls back from him she widens her eyes at him and flashes him a knowing smile.

“I’m sure she’s very appreciative… of the tip,” she winks.

Frankie tries not to blush and resists the urge to high-tail it to the bathroom and wash his face off, opting instead to keep the scent of you on him. He returns to the table of his too-drunk-to-notice friends and finishes out the night of revelry.

3:03am

Hey

3:06am

Sorry

3:09am

You’re probably asleep

3:10am

I’m just getting home actually

3:11am

Oh cool me too

Sorry to bother

I just wanted to make sure you got your tip

I left it with your friend

3:14am

I did, yes. Thank you so much.

3:14am

Cool 👍

3:16am

Don’t take this the wrong way…

But how drunk were you tonight?

3:18am

Idk

Why?

What did I do?

I’m so sorry

3:19am

No, don’t be sorry!

I’m not trying to be rude.

I just….

Did you mean to tip me that amount?

3:25am

Oh my god

Was it not enough?

I can give you more

I’m really sorry

Do you have Venmo?

3:27am

No! OMG. It was plenty!

Literally the most I’ve ever been tipped is like 40%

You tipped me 118%

3:30am

3:31am

Yeah so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get too drunk

And accidentally just give me everything in your wallet

3:35am

Is that what happened?

3:37am

Because I can Venmo some money back to you

It’s really not a problem

3:40am

Sorry no

I just tipped what my friend told me to

3:41am

Well I checked with the other girls….

NONE of your friends tipped that much

And they were all very generous!

3:44am

But none as generous as you

3:45am

He’s such an asshole

I’m sorry

I didn’t know

I feel like an idiot

3:46am

Again, please don’t be sorry

It was VERY generous of you

And I’m very grateful

3:50am

I was in a giving mood tonight I suppose

3:51am

Mr. Morales, is that you being flirty?

3:53am

Oh we’re back to Mr. Morales now?

3:55am

Can you get a babysitter on Wednesday night?

3:55am

I don’t have custody this week so no babysitter needed

Why?

3:56am

We should go out to dinner

3:57am

Oh we should?

3:59am

Yeah we should

Frankie

4:01am

MY treat

4:01am

LOL I should hope so!

4:02am

Pick me up at 7 😉

4:02am

I will

See you Wednesday

#frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #writing prompt

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kiryoutann · 4 months

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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

SOMETIMES, you'd like to know who your mother was before she became your mother.

You want to know where the acidic and corrosive elements that precede each of her statements come from. Perhaps she acquired it from your father—someone even more poisonous than she was. However, from how it blended with her expression every time she said: “a man’s heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing!” you can't be convinced otherwise that before she met your father, she wasn't like that—that she was once a loving girl before he wrecked her and made her your vengeful mother.

Time heals all wounds, they say. And yet, as far as you know, your mother's is still dripping with blood. Rotten. Maggot infested.

You believed it was exactly what she wanted—so that it wouldn't heal, so that she wouldn't forget how much it burned and constricted her. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, and she will undoubtedly carry it with her until death. “A man's heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing,” she says, as if she's sure you'll forget what happened to her—to both of you. As if losing the love of her life was hereditary. “Don't you see, sweetheart? We are a paradox of contrasts and twins.”

You're still wondering whether it was a warning or a prayer. Good mothers ensure with all their body and soul that the past does not repeat itself, that their daughters do not embody everything they might become – their mothers. God forbid they dragged themselves across the floor, trembling fingers stretched stiffly clawing at doors that had been long since being slammed shut. However, your mother wasn’t always a good mother, and she often swore over her mother's grave that you would feel the same way she did.

And yet, despite her curses and how much you hate her as much as you hate your deadbeat father, apparently a sense of familiarity is what you're searching for.

Perhaps, that’s what made him catch your eye.

Soft footsteps were created when several pairs of ballerina pointe shoes came down the hallway after the performance ended. Smiles and laughter were among them—a familiar sight; the audience was satisfied with their performance, and they were sure that the ballet director had no more notes for them because, firstly, Marie, the main ballerina in the role of Giselle, had become the center of conversation thanks to her gifted movements, leaving no room for talking about little "building" errors for the other dancers. Second, this season has reached its end, which means they won't be showing "Giselle" again for at least the next few months.

“I saw you sneak chocolates before the show, El.” One ballerina teased.

“They're for energy!” Eloise insisted with a grin.

The ornaments on their heads moved as they both laughed. You flashed a smile but didn't dare enter into the conversation. Satin-clad feet kept moving in the direction of the corps de ballet dressing room door. More laughter and gossip ensued as you passed through the door to the small vanity you shared with another dancer.

"So where are you going after this?" someone at the next table asked, not at you.

You turned around, periodically glancing in the mirror to wipe away the last traces of makeup. "I don't know! Somewhere that can help me relieve stress, obviously. Soph?” Claudine directed her question at another, still not you.

“Sorry, girls, but I have to sit this one out. My mamma has been protesting about me coming home late lately ever since she saw some protests on TV. You two have fun without me.” Sophia declines—that leaves Jules and Claudine alone then. You were ready to return to your own thoughts when Sophia's hazel eyes fixed on you and called your name. "What about you?"

Claudine turned to you, her lips forming a teasing smirk. “Gonna go home and practice some more, no doubt,” she teased. “Live a little for once! Come out with us.”

You focused on untying your pointe shoes while the other two laughed. “No thanks, I'm tired. Think I'll just relax tonight.”

Rather than a teasing smirk, now Claudine's lips resembled a declaration that she was correct once more: "Look, I'm right, aren't I? She's still the same boring girl. No surprise that the best role she can get is dancing as a leaf in the background." It's no longer a myth. It is no longer a myth that other dancers—old and new—only see a robot prodigy, soulless in her single-minded pursuit of perfection. Your movements were full of precision, tempered by years of being under the training of a Russian coach your mother sought out for you. And yet your body is sharpened for nothing more than the purpose of being a vessel. Hushed jokes about you selling your soul to the devil for your skills.

“Aww, not even for one night? Loosen up that tight bun of yours?”

You shoved the last of your things hastily into your bag, not paying attention as someone else's hairbrush and chapstick were forced to sit on top of your toiletry bag—you can always return them tomorrow. The other girls are still laughing while you swing the overstuffed duffel over your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” you say tensely, clutching the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your shoes and hurried out of the dressing room, their taunts echoing in your ears.

London streets glistened wetly as you made your way down the sidewalk. The recent rain left dark spots on the pavement. You pull your coat tighter around you, shivering in the damp night air. As you passed a rowdy pub, loud voices and laughter spilled out onto the street. Warm light and the smell of beer beckoned from within, but you hurried on without glancing in, not wanting to face anyone's eyes.

The entrance to the subway glimmers under the streetlamps. You descend the stairs slowly, your shoes clicking on the concrete steps. The underground platform was nearly empty at this late hour. A lone figure dozed on one of the wooden benches, and a teenage couple whispered together further down the tiles. Your eyes roam over the tiled walls and ads for shows you'd never see—anything to avoid looking at other people and risking a confrontation.

The screech of brakes announces the arrival of your train, followed by beams of lights illuminating the dark tunnel. You boarded the mostly empty carriage and sat down, watching the dark tunnel walls pass by. On the opposite side, your weary reflection in the glass glances back at you.

Soulless.

Soulless ballerina.

TWENTY-THREE YEARS HAVE GONE BY: Thirteen times, you were part of the corps de ballet in Swan Lake. And now, the new director—whom they “imported” directly from somewhere in France to replace the old one—announces that the next season will be Swan Lake. You don't have anything against it—why should you? Thirteen times. Thirteen times in the corps de ballet, and this time will make no difference to you; just another faceless dancer in the flock, never the Swan Queen—they wouldn't risk a soulless ballerina in the spotlight. But wouldn't audiences grow bored of the same classic retold so often?

"Now now, I know you are all tired of this ballet," he said calmly. "But we will be doing something different - a new interpretation, with a fresh artistic vision. This will be Swan Lake as you have never seen it before. Rehearsals will focus on bringing new emotional depth and dimensionality to these iconic roles. Who knows – maybe some new faces will emerge for leading roles. I’m looking forward to seeing what you all can do. Now let us begin."

The familiar piano notes of our warm-up piece drifted through the studio as you took your place at the barre, fingers curling around the worn wood. You close your eyes and focus on steadying your breathing. Even when your muscles hurt from fatigue, you persist through well-known stretching exercises with a focused effort. Your eyelids flutter open, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the new director watching silently at the edge, his sharp eyes taking in each dancer.

“One.. and.. two.. and..”

As you move on to tendus and plies, you let the rhythm of the count wash over you – “.. three.. and.. four.. and..” Your burning thighs, your stretching calves, your flexing toes. "First position...and plié. Second position...and tendu. Third position...and rond de jambe." and the coach's familiar count. Your mind wanders as the dancers continue, thinking about the director's words about seeking new depths. Stealing a glance through the mirror, your eyes returned to the man—his ringed fingers in front of his lips as he pondered.

The music continues to play, swelling with a crescendo. You concentrate on your movements again, lifting your legs high according to standard and extending your lines through fingertips.

You found your eyes drifting to the director's reflection in the mirror more and more. The coach's voice faded into a blur as you studied his intense expression, watching for any sign of interest or approval. But time and again, his gaze passed over you without pause, lingering instead on Claire or Amelia as they executed perfect pirouettes or graceful penche poses. A familiar ache of longing and envy twisted in your stomach. No matter how hard you focused or how flawlessly you hit each position, you remained invisible to him.

Your breaths are shallow, and your head is whirling. Your eyes couldn't stop following him; he was walking around watching dancers who weren't you. He spoke to the coach, then stepped back with his hands linked behind his back. Still not you. As the music nears the end and the dancers have transitioned into combination movements, he still doesn't look at you.

You know the truth: this will be your fourteenth Swan Lake, and you will once again blend into the anonymous corps de ballet. The reflection of a woman in the mirror—your reflection, somber with lifeless eyes and dull hair pulled back in tight bun. The director stated that he wanted to bring forth new depths and emotional aspects to distinguish his Swan Lake from those of other opera houses, therefore it's fitting that he didn't choose you. As an empty ache expands in your chest, you accept the truth: this is your fourteenth Swan Lake, being another swan for the fourteenth time.

The director won’t choose you.

He won't choose you.

He won't choose...

You.

He chose you. You don't know why or how.

An hour later, you find yourself standing in Studio A, facing uncertainly across the hardwood floor. Five of the girls sat at the end of the room while the director watched Claire give her interpretation of Odette in her white swan act. You watch her movements critically, noting the slight wobble in her lower back and how her port de bras could be straighter. Her pirouettes needed more control and spotting—you counted two extra turns that threw off her balance. Then she launched into the black swan's sinister variations. Gone was the white swan, replaced by a vixenish temptress oozing sensuality from her pores. The director made a few thoughtful comments you didn't quite catch before dismissing her.

The director breathed out your name and you were quick on your feet. He crossed his arms over his chest as you took your place in the center. You looked at the girls behind you through the mirror reflection, then at the director, then signaled the pianist to begin.

The famous White Swan melody plays, and you start. Plie, tendu, glissade—your limbs moved through the steps as they had a thousand times, polished, technically perfect. Your movements rely on muscle memory, analyzing your every move through a critical lens. First pose: left arm extended, back straight, neck long. Check. The second one: right leg stretched to the sky, toes pointed to the max. But was your ankle tilted just now? You furrowed your brows while making a mental note to adjust. Entering another glissade, you land on the ball of my foot, keeping your plie low. One.. and.. two. You count the seconds, nitpicking any imperfections.

“Slow down, dear, find your breath.” The director's voice cuts through your thoughts. Find your breath? You were in complete control of your breathing, hitting every mark precisely as the music demanded. What more should you find?

You barreled ahead through the choreography, unwilling to let up on your own rigid standards even as he continued offering feedback. "Loosen your shoulders...savor each moment rather than rushing to the next...let us see you feel the music, not just hear it."

But you are feeling it. You feel every crescendo and decrescendo—you stay in rhythm with the music as the score enters the ritardando section. How could he say you didn't feel the music when you lived and breathed each score? You knew this piece inside and out. From the opening notes, you have remembered not just the choreography but every key change and tempo variation. By the time you sank into your final pose, you were a bundle of nerves.

“Your technique is superb, but so tightly wound,” the director said. “Try to loosen up your lines and embrace the artistry, not just the steps. Now, show me your Black Swan.”

As the dark notes of the Black Swan coda swirl, you pour all your focus into hitting each precise movement with flawless technique. You arch into an arabesque, extending your working leg to the maximum while maintaining perfect turnout. Your spot was fixed, and your balance was unwavering. You continue through the practiced motions, and you fly into your final fouetté combo. As the last note faded, you struck your ending pose.

Slowly, you straightened your body and lifted your gaze to meet his, pressing your sweaty palms together tightly. The director remained silent, hand in front of his mouth, and looked you up and down in a way that made you want to flee. But, you restrained yourself, waiting patiently for his consideration. The pressure in the room was so intense that it made you suffocate.

After what felt like eternity, he gave a small nod – neither acceptance nor rejection. “Thank you, Mademoiselle, that was… illuminating. Please check the cast list tomorrow morning – we will announce our decisions then.”

The compliment is ambiguous, with two implications that you know tend toward the negative. Your anxiety failed to calm down, and all you could muster was a hushed thank you before you left the studio in a daze, questions still swirling around unanswered like always.

Now here you are, unfortunate enough to be under the wailing sky of London with minimal cover from a shuttered cafe. The dense fog and wind impede your eyesight, making it difficult to see the towering structures. On the left side, several cafes and pubs radiate their orange lights from within, beckoning anyone in need of somewhere to go for a quick drink or two. Anyone but you, apparently.

The city streets felt hauntingly deserted through the deluge of falling water. Shivering even in your coat and tights, you knelt down and tightened your scarf. Puddles of water begin to form in the potholes, and you desperately hope that the rain will stop soon; you still have a long ride home on the subway to prepare for tomorrow.

Just then, a splash of heavy footsteps caught your attention.

Through the sheets of rainfall, you glimpsed a tall figure hurrying down the sidewalk, taking in what little details you could discern. His leather jacket and boots, yet the way he hunched his broad shoulders against the storm conveyed a certain roughness. You squinted to make out his face, only to find it covered by a mask and a hood pulled too low. It's unsettling, but disturbingly, it makes you enthusiastically guess what lies beneath it—was he handsome or scarred? Young or weathered by experience? It intrigued you so much that you didn't realize he was only three steps away from you.

As the stranger approaches, you take more details that should have set off alarms. His all-black leather jacket may have been fine material, but it was worn and faded. And although broad-shouldered, his build spoke more of hardened muscle than gentility. Everything about him screams danger. When he drew up beside you, you intended to duck past and continue on your way.

But something held you rooted to the spot.

Now, two strangers stood side by side, between them were raindrops dragged cruelly by the cold wind. His towering figure was as still as a statue; for a man his size, he was skilled enough to be almost invisible, almost. The scent of him washed over you then—alcohol, but not the refined wines and spirits of high society. This was something rougher, meant to burn away thought rather than enhance it. Beneath that, cigarette smoke and a musky men’s cologne, attempting to cover something.

The man is still silent, and you should've taken this as your second chance to leave. There are only two possibilities for a man like him: a perverted stalker or a serial killer—most likely the latter, because for what reason would he decide to take shelter under the awning of a dark bankrupt cafe with a woman when the surrounding pubs are still serving happy hour?

While the stranger settles against the wall, you notice his large hand drift casually into his pants pocket. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in panic wondering what weapon he might pull out – a knife, or worse. All instincts screamed to run away, but your feet remained rooted to the ground, frozen.

“Nasty night.”

Your body comes to a complete stop. The air is forgotten, and you wonder if you really heard him speak just now or if you were just hallucinating. He has a roughness to his voice, gravels, and a low range with a hint of timbre muffled by his dark mask. Unknowingly turning toward him, you stared at his side profile until he met your gaze, and you swiftly looked straight forward again.

“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” You stuttered in reply, cursing your trembling voice. Gripping your duffel bag tighter, you tried not to say anything that might offend him.

Minutes pass, the rain as the only noise. Finally, he spoke again, "Subway, yeah?" Between the sound of the rain and his muffled ones, you tried hard to make out what he was saying. After fully understanding it, you give it a nod.

“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”

The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes. From the corner of your eye, you knew he was taking off his mask. Your heart beats fast as you resist the urge to turn your head, settling to look at the dark street in front of you instead. Smoke wafts between you both, creating faint, short-lived tendrils in the air.

The two of you were in silence. You wanted to talk to him again but didn't know what there was to say; it could be that he just wants to smoke with a company, a quiet company. He let out a puff of fresh cigarette smoke, and you inhaled it all. Toxins are bad for the skin and lungs, and yet you're better off suffocating than giving the impression that you're disturbed.

“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He took the last drag and threw the cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.” His voice muffled again – he had put his mask back on.

You hesitated at his offer, biting your lip as you weighed the options rapidly in your mind. On one hand, the rain shows no signs of letting up, and this awning provides only a little protection at best. But to follow a strange man through the streets, alone, allowing him to take you to a spot where inebriation may be present—where his worst pals might be waiting. Girls your age being spiked is something you hear about a lot.

Shaking your head, you manage a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”

He tilts his head, his eyes peering from the mask's shadows as if reading your unspoken fears. Does he see the consideration behind your polite refusal—how now you are a vulnerable woman, and this relative anonymity without further conversation is a safe option, despite the discomfort? Within his dark eyes, there was a stirring that you didn't understand. Pity? Or mockery? Under his towering height and massive body, you were nothing but a frightened rabbit.

Gusts of wind drive cold droplets under the awning. You suppressed a shiver, hugging yourself tighter. “Really, I'll be fine. The rain can't last forever." A forced laugh follows your words.

You seize the chance to stare back at him. It was impossible for you to know what calculations were going through his mind, or what emotion lay beneath that mask. It's pretty unfair, you think, that he can hide under a hood that nearly makes him invisible in the dark of night while he can see all of you—a greasy-haired woman hoping the man in front of her will respect her dumb decision. It's the least he can do.

Just when you think this staring game would go on for another minute, he turns his gaze. “Suit yourself, love.” His voice comes out gruff, and your heart drops thinking you've let him down (but, for what?). "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."

A pang of guilt crashes into you as he turns his shoe the other way. For safety's sake, you rejected him, thinking you're being sensible; but there's an authoritative voice in the back of your mind telling you, "He's the first nice guy in a long time, and look what you gave in exchange for his kind offer." Self-doubt is playing in your heart. His back was already turning, boots squelching away into the rain.

“Wait!” You called after him, hating how small and frightened you sounded. He paused and searched back, eyes questioning through the mask. Steeling your nerves, you step into the downpour. “I'm coming with you.”

If this guy thinks you're an indecisive woman who can't even commit to a decision for more than five seconds, thank goodness he didn't say anything other than give you another stare. He led the way as he went, holding the door of one of the busy London pubs. More liquor and tobacco smells. You both entered, bringing a burst of damp wind with you. The warmth and noise within are a shock after the storm outside.

He steers you towards the fireplace, shrugging out of his soaked jacket. “Get yourself by the hearth,” he said, nodding to an empty chair. “Dry off.”

You did as he said gratefully, holding your hands out to the flames. The colors returned to your cheeks; fear slowly evaporated away.

“What'll you have, love?” He asked, and you frowned before understanding. Oh, drinks.

“Something light,” is all you say, eyes lowered again. The man gave a nod and went to give the bartender the order.

He returned not long after, setting the drinks down and taking the chair opposite to yours, stretching out his long legs toward the fire. You took the gin with a murmured “thank you.” He settled with his own—whiskey in a glass, neat. You glanced at the remains of rainwater dripping heavily from his clothes in a growing puddle at his boots. The drinks were enjoyed in companionable silence, still trying to find calm after the storm's fury.

The fire crackles merrily as you sit. Finding your voice, you clear your throat gently.

“Thank you, for…” Your fingers tapped nervously on the glass. “Well, for everything, I suppose.”

His eyes lifted from the flames to meet yours, and you offered a small smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

As the name slips out, you berate yourself. How stupid, giving up something as personal as your name! This man was still a stranger, no matter his kindness so far. For all you know, bad intentions could be lurking behind that calm gaze even now. But in the cozy glow of the fire, your sense of awareness wavered, lulled to sleep in a false sense of security.

He merely nodded, moving his hand to the mask hook over his ear without expressing much emotion. Your eyes widened, and your heart was pounding. The breath in your lungs stilled in anticipation as the fabric peeled slowly back, inch by inch. Is he about to...?

The man removed his mask, appearing at ease and lacking in secrecy. He looks at you, and you quickly look aside, pretending to offer him a little privacy. You wait for him to finish, to put it on again, but he never does. Is it okay to look-

Deciding to no longer be the uneasy one (since the guy looks completely unconcerned as he takes a long sip of his drink), you follow suit and allow the liquid to cascade down your throat. There's a slight thump as your glass hits the aged wood. Your curiosity is piqued even more by the fact that he hasn't made any moves to wear it again. Slowly, you raised your gaze, meeting that unveiled gaze – a secret not meant for your eyes.

Blonde eyelashes – pretty. Faint shadows hung under the eyes. Light stubble. Scars dotted his jaw, thin white slashes earned from unknown origins. His nose sat slightly off-center, clearly broken more than once in past altercations—bar fights, perhaps? Though something about the precise thinness of the lines didn't seem right for brawling. Regardless of which one, he is clearly no stranger to violence, and being near him is enough for someone to sense the danger he was capable of.

But, there is something about that powerful jawline, the intensity found only in his hooded eyes, spokes of steel and intricate details that defy explanation. Fire in his eyes. Even after taking off the mask and grasping it between his lengthy fingers—just when you think all the curtains have been exposed—he still remains a mystery.

(And you're just another gullible woman who believes she knows how to solve the puzzle.)

You wait; surely he will offer his own name in return now that you've bared yours. But seconds ticked by in the silence, and still he said nothing.

A flush crept up your neck at the realization that he had no intention of reciprocating. Did you misread this entire meeting? Why did he bring you here if not to talk? You observe his stony profile, wishing you could see past him. Did he intend to remain a mystery—an enigma full of intrigue? Or is it actually a test to see how long your curiosity can last?

Your fingers fidget with the condensation on your glass. Under this new tension, the easy silence fell away. Seeking an escape from the awkwardness, you looked for something, anything. Your gaze landed on a group of regulars in the corner, laughing boisterously.

“Do you, um, come here often?” You ask lamely, cursing your inability to make small talk. But there was an amused glint in his eyes that put you back at ease.

“Aye, I'm 'ere often enough,” he replied, taking another sip. You assume he finds humor in your discomfort, rather than mocking it. The knot in your shoulders loosened, and you relaxed into a smile again.

For good or ill, this man stirred something deep inside you—and you're desperate to scavenge for light, safe conversation topics to continue the conversation.

“So, um, what kind of work do you—” You catch yourself, cheeks warming. Too personal to ask a stranger met by chance. You let out a dry laugh. “Sorry, I don't mean to pry. It’s just… making conversation.”

At the small thud of his glass meeting the scarred wood of the table, your eyes darted up in surprise. Already empty—have you been so lost in thought that you missed him finishing? A swell of questions rose inside you as you watched his movements for a clue. Would he signal the bartender for a refill, extending your time together? Or was this the end—the strange encounter came to a close because you somehow offended him for prying too much?

“Military.”

Unexpectedly, he gave a single-word reply. Military—that explains a lot, from his physique and bearing to the scars and the lingering scents that cling to his coat.

"Oh!" was all you could think of as a response. More questions swim to the surface, demanding to be asked, but you quash them, not wanting to risk being presumptuous a second time.

Feeling indebted, you then offer, "I do ballet, with the Metropolitan Opera." The words slip out before you can check them, and inwardly you curse yourself once again.

Great. Name, job, and workplace. Why don't you give him your address next?

You bit your lip. Risking a glance up, you hope he won't take your openness as foolishness. His quiet acceptance has so far calmed your nerves, and now you find yourself craving that ease again.

“Must be rewarding,” is all he offers—you grow accustomed to his terse responses. Plain, perhaps even half-hearted, but you smile as though he had read you a lovely poetry full of flattery.

“Yeah, it's really rewarding to dance and like, share that joy with others.”

Liar. What can a soulless ballerina have to share? So far, frustration is what you inflict on your director, and criticism is secretly a “reward” for your fellow dancers. You understand perfectly well, from the top of your head to the balls of your toes, that there is no joy that you can share. However, this man didn't know. He doesn't know who or how you are. Since the very beginning, you have spoken truth to him; allow this one deception to pass.

Your fingertips made a gentle squeak as they rubbed across the condensation on your glass. “If I may ask… what inspired you to serve?”

For a moment, he was quiet, considering with eyes turned to the flames.

"It was a calling, I suppose," came the gruff reply. “The world had its darkness even then. Felt a duty to stand against it.”

After providing an answer, the two of you returned to silence. You gazed thoughtfully into the flames, thinking of how you might spark another conversation that didn't rely solely on question and answer. The last thing you want is for him to view you as overbearing or pushy.

“What drew you to ballet, then?”

It was unexpected for him to pose a question, and you were taken aback when he did. Your lips curved into a smile as you thought about the answer, and your mother's role in starting it all.

"Well, I think it started because Mom thought ballet was 'cute'." A tone of amusement permeates your voice. “She had no idea about the art or discipline—she just wanted to see her little girl swirl and spin in frilly costumes. But I had fun dancing, dressing up, and listening to the music...”

Somewhere in your head, your mother's voice echoes again. Bitter and resentful, encased in an everlasting nightmare. Your mother stood in the audience, and you ran towards her, tutu skirt fluttering gently. She wiped her eyes and knelt down in front of you, whispering, "You were marvelous, sweetheart," as she drew you in. She smiles, but it stops short of her eyes. Then a string of apologies, saying that he’s gone—that she knew he had promised you to be here, but he's gone. Dad is gone. And he'll never see what you can do.

“My first real performance, in elementary school… I was so proud when the curtain fell.” You continue, remembering another face that has long been a ghost in the past.

("Why did you let that man walk away?")

You clear your throat softly. “After that, it just felt right, you know? Like I'd found where I belong.”

Liar.

Steering away from the bitter past, you change the direction of the conversation again. “Are you from around here?” It's a simple question, maybe even stupid. His accent alone makes it plain he grew up in this land, but, no matter how long you've lived in England, you have a small grasp of regional dialects within the country.

“I mean, I know you're obviously from here—your accent kind of gives it away.” You waved. “I just meant—is this area home for you? Or are you from elsewhere originally?”

The barest upturn of his lips catches your eye. Was that a smile? On this gruff, grumpy stranger who has only revealed so little so far? Your heart beats at the sight, rare as a summer snowflake. He reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and held it between his dry lips. The lighter ignited, and white smoke was blown out.

“Manchester, originally,” he said, intonation hanging. He took another drag of his cigarette before exhaling slowly and adding, “A different world now. You?”

“I've been in the city for years now, but I'm from San Francisco.” You said. “When the chance came up to transfer here from my old opera house back home, I leapt at it. Felt it was time for a fresh start, to spread my wings and live on my own. And maybe get out from under my mom's feet—love her to bits, but she can be a bit much sometimes.”

From your own remarks, you can't help but question if mothers are as harsh on their sons or if this is solely reserved for daughters. Girls are taught to keep close to home and their hearts, while boys are free to roam and explore. Is it any wonder, then, that spreading your wings felt like escaping? You wanted to ask him but ended up lacing your tongue tightly.

The fire's burned low, just embers burning gently in the fireplace. Time passed unnoticed as the two of you sat chatting quietly. But outside, the rain began to subside until it was a fine patter on the roof.

“Storm’s passed, seems.”

As he speaks, you glance up to find his guarded mask has fallen once more into place. The easy openness that had soothed tired nerves now closed again – strangely making you bereft. A feeling of melancholy welled up in your chest at the thought of parting, of kissing away the intimate bubble the two of you had crafted and going back out there into the cold reality where you would be strangers again. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you searched for words.

“I suppose you're right… it has eased off some.” Your voice came out small and awkward to your own ears. Licking your dry lips, you added, “thank you, for your company. It was…nice, not to feel alone.”

He stood up, stretching his tall frame. After this, the spell of the evening will evaporate, and everything will return to the reality of loneliness once again.

“C'mon then, let's get you home,” he said gruffly, offering a hand to help you up. His strong hand envelops your smaller one—rough yet tender, sending warmth through your limbs that have little to do with the fire now dying.

Pushing through the heavy doors, the night air is a contrast to the warmth of the pub. Thick fog covered the streets, rain-slick stones glistening under the street lights. He waved at the first cab that passed—and you prayed it wouldn't stop so you could buy a little more time with him.

It stopped. The night was set to end.

He holds it while you slip inside. Through the open window, your eyes met his; he crouched beside the window, broad shoulders hunched. He's talking to the cab driver, but you can't hear it—not when your heart flutters madly in your breast over a single question. The ache of still not knowing his name. It seems wrong, unfair, that he knows you so well, yet you know nothing of him in return.

The cab lurches into motion, snapping the spell. Panic rises in your throat; you can't let him disappear into the night—to the back of your head like another passerby.

“Wait—please! I don't know your name."

Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out in a desperate rush.

The second ticks by as you wait. He finds you foolish, for sure—just another desperate, nosy girl who wants to play detective the second she sees a puzzle. The clinginess in your request must have given the impression that you were a fool in love—gullible and name-obsessed.

Something shifts in his dark eyes, and you hope it's a wall crumbling away. Then, in his low rumble – “Simon.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, almost parting your lips in question before—

“Name's Simon,” he repeats.

(And the sun breaks through storm clouds.)

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mintmatcha · 3 months

Text

a meet cute

cw: cisfem reader, reader is part gnome, dungeon meshi universe, it's about an insane side character, sorry

A gentle breeze cuts across the shop, just over the front counter. You have to lean into it to get any sort of relief from this summer's heat. Your shop door's bell chimes as a customer walks in. It's unusual that anyone is out this time of day in this type of heat, let someone fully robed, scarf and hat included. He's dressed in dark, rich colors, the types of dye that drip with indigo and money, a contrast to the reddish tuft of hair of his head.

He'd be cute, you think, if he wasn't a gnome.

It's not that you don't like gnomes-- you are one, mostly-- but gnomes around your age are boring. The men nod along to anything you say, try to impress you with pleasantries and tidbits, all with that glint in their eye, they've found their next wife. They are dictated by societal niceities and traditions, topped off with a strange sense of superiority, all while they still eye you like a piece of meat-

But this gnome isn't looking at you like that. No, he's marveling at your wears.

The stranger tilts the glass in the sunlight and rainbows refract across the floor, dancing in looping, wonderful patterns long after his movement has stopped. Figures of dancers twirling around each other, bowing and dipping with ease, disappate into the air. His hands are actually a bit small for a gnome, thin fingers, uncalloused and delicate with the way he inspects the magic.

"The runes on this are subtle," he notes, mostly to himself. "Gnome magic on elven crystal."

"You have good taste." You lean more forward on to the oak surface and he jumps a bit, as if he hadn't noticed you were even there. "And a keen eye."

The man melts into a polite smile. His eyes are downturned and his cheeks are round, tickled pink from the sun. He approaches you, a prickle of chill following suit. There must be some elemental magic sown into his clothing or something.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you," you say. "It's my work."

"You have a talented hand for magic, then."

"And you have a talented eye."

His nose wiggles in that delightfully gnomish way that only old men do. "No talent, all practice."

You give him your name, he gives you his. Holm. Classic. Boring. Standard.

"Is this a gift for your wife?"

"Oh, I'm not--" He waves that thought away with disinterest-- which happens to peak yours. "My party mate is getting married."

"An elf?"

"Dwarf, actually." He twirls to glass again and the waltz of light resumes. "To be honest, we aren't very close. I don't really know what she likes, I just think she deserves something nice."

"The effect won't be as brilliant for her, because dwarfs don't tend to have a very good mana flow, but it'll still be pretty. A couple glasses for her and her beau-" You wipe away a bead of sweat that's begun to roll down the side of your neck. "And maybe a bottle of chilled wine. I think that's a very good present for anyone."

He nods, button nose crinkled with delight as he places the glasswork on the table before you. "I'll get a sex then."

A beat passes. You can't help the wild smile that sneaks out. "What was that?"

"Hm?" He hasn't moved, frozen in place, still holding the glass. His expression doesn't change, but you swear there's a touch of pink creeping over his ears.

"You said a sex."

"No, I said a /set./"

"No, you didn't." You cock your head to the side in the way that makes your neck look long and your smile charming. "Are you thinking about sex, Mr Holm?"

He swallows and you think maybe you've gone too far. Your brand of needling is more of a half foot type of humor, which isn't universally appreciated, to say the least.

"I'm- I don't--" Holm surprises you by laughing at him self. "I don't do that."

Interesting. A gnome with a sense of humor. You didn't know those existed. You lean back, trying to bite back your smile as you speak. "What? Think about sex?"

"Or anything else to do with that word."

You inspect him a bit closer. The colors, the hat, the symbol burnt into his pouch-- they're religious symbols. He's a spirit worshipper, one of the religions in the south. You aren't sure of all of the intricacies, but you know the most devout are completely celibate.

Holm shrugs rather casually. "Close enough."

"Oh, you're one of those monk-things, aren't you?" For some reason, you're a bit disappointed. Of course the man you have a nice rapport with is one that won't fuck you.

Not that you want to fuck him.

"So, you must think about sex a lot." You call as you walk to your backroom. There's a couple of different versions of the glasses, so it takes you a moment to find another set of dancers. Really, this guy has nice taste; this is your favorite piece. "Since you can't have any."

"Probably less than you do-" he calls back. "Since you heard is when I clearly said set."

Despite yourself, you laugh. It's not particularly funny, but there's butterflies in your chest and a tremble in your hands. You wrap the glasses in pieces of cloth and ribbon-- purple, to match his scarf-- before bringing them back up. The stranger is still watching you with that look on his face, the crinkle in his eye-

"It's on the house," You slide the gift wrapped presents over to him.

"I couldn't possibly."

"Just come back again some time. Or buy me a beer if you see me at the bar."

You both know that isn't a fair trade. Crystal is expensive, magic work even more so; you could charge him a couple hundred gold if you wanted, but... conversation is sometimes more valuable than money.

"I don't drink." He rubs the back of his neck, almost sheepish. "I eat, though."

The flutter in your chest gets worse. "Food then."

He nods. Taking the gift, he picks it up and starts towards the door, a hum on his voice and a deeper smile creeping up on his face. When he gets to the door, he puts up an arm to open it, then pauses.

He turns back around.

"I want to pay." The strange says, firmly. "I'll still buy you food, but I want to pay for these."

He pulls a bag of coins from his belt and presses them into your hand. It's heavy with gold. He doesn't pull away until you meet his dark, stern eyes and close your hand around the bag.

"I don't want to lead you on," he says, softly. "I find you very..."

He says more with silence than his words.

"Don't worry," you say, even though a worry does creep up your spine. "I'm not so desperate that I'll fall in love with a priest."

"Not a priest, but thank you." His cheeks puff with smile and you immediately know that you may have lied.

100 notes · View notes

cutieeva · 29 days

Text

Enslave

Female reader

Warnings : Love bombing. Power abuse. Threats. Coercion. Molestation. Profanity languages. Slut shaming. Rape. Violence. Framing. Attempt home invasion. Molestation.

SYNOPSIS

❛ ผู้หญิง ❜ Muse and Seduction, it is a well known name of the most Luxurious Adult Entertainment Complexe in Thailand also the least respected profession (Y/N) works in, not aware it will soon turn into a memory of calm before the storm in form of a man.

Thailand, a country known for its vibrant culture, rich history, and breathtaking landscapes, also has a complex and multifaceted adult entertainment industry. While it's true that this industry is visible and widespread, it's essential to approach the topic with sensitivity and nuance. From bustling cities like Bangkok and Pattaya to tourist destinations like Phuket and Chiang Mai, adult entertainment venues and services are indeed present. These can range from go-go bars and massage parlors to street workers and karaoke bars offering private rooms to many more and despite the shame and stigma associated with these works, many women still engage in this profession due to limited job opportunities and economic necessity. The pay can be more convenient and immediate compared to other respectable jobs, which may require years of education and experience to achieve similar financial stability.

Alike to the above explanation (Y/N) also choose to work in such environment—All for money and did she succced in having what she wanted ? Yes because the place she works in is called Muse and Seduction, one of the top Adult Entertainment Complexes— it's a adult entertainment where almost all of the sexual activities could be done, separately and wonderfully. It has sections of Cabaret : where dancers perform for their male guests. Private room also known as Lounges : where sex could be given if requested and money are fullfilled. Strips clubs : where adult dances or lap dances available. Sex clubs : only available to VIP members for the privacy of their group sex, fetishes activities and message parlor : to offer erotic messages or intimate service and adult theater : to watch porn without shame and more sections based on how well the adult entertainment complexes is going and her complex has it all that even surprised the past self of (Y/N) who didn't had the slightest idea of such things exist—no she wasn't naïve rather in awe to have so varieties like a deck of cards laid out before her. Despite its grandeur, the complex remained hidden from the public eye, accessible only to those who knew where to look letting her past self marveled at how seamlessly it blended into the surrounding landscape, a testament to the discretion and secrecy that shrouded the adult entertainment industry.

Quickly that time she entered not for the sex work she thought could only pay her rents and shield her from her runaway abusive parents rather at the Cabaret where dancers danced contrast to not being the most skilled or pretty, she impressed the manager with her passion and raw talent. Offered a job on the spot, she found a refuge and purpose in the vibrant world of dance and before she knew it she sat on the position of manager of Cabaret section where she once only stared and worked hard.

"(Y/N) !" The (H/C) haired woman turn around at her name call meeting the eyes of the old general manager who's wiping his sweat yet a smile plastered on his lips.

"Yes, sir". Politely she asked having a hint of some excitement news to be heard noticing the uncontrollable smile and fire on his eyes.

The air was electric as he made the announcement, his face splitting into a wide, toothy grin. "Today, a very, very, very special guest is coming!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious yet puzzling.

She raised an eyebrow, her head tilting slightly to one side. VVVIP visitors weren't uncommon in their establishment, but the level of excitement radiating from him was unusual. Whoever this guest was, they must be incredibly influential and wealthy to warrant such anticipation.

Her (E/C) eyes watched him practically bounce with energy, a shiver ran down her spine. She couldn't shake the feeling that this visit might bring trouble, particularly for the women who work here. A nagging sense of unease settled in the pit of her stomach, her mind racing with the possibility that someone might be coerced into doing something against their will.

"Understood". She dry chuckle, darting eyes to her pratice hall and to the general manager.

"That's why you also need to perform today". Ah ! No wonder he came to her because despite being a manager she still performs for the double money she is paid.

"So the party is hosted in here ?" Insinuating her sections making the general manager nod.

"Yes, unfortunately they want entertainment to be amused not pleasure". The grin turn into a scoff merely thought of lost profits, his eyes clouding with disappointment.

"They ? Didn't you just said one guest ?" (Y/N) was confused.

"Oh—actually it's group of men from a wealthy company but in mist of that is the golden egg would be". Oh ! She sink the information so rather than entertainment, it's to secure a lucrative deal. The company was willing to do whatever it took to secure success. What a classic tactic.

"Okay, please state the time, date and all the needed details". He nod giving her the paper written all the instruction. "Well then I goona go". Waving gently she enter her dance hall.

Tomorrow at 8:30 pm with Chinese Silk dance theme.

"So, the man is Chinese ? Or have those liking ?" She thought so for better she would single out the Chinese girls just for their safety to not caught the eyes of animalistic men.

Night descended, darkness enveloped the world, like an inky shroud suffocating all in its grasp. Yet, the moon, now a silver crescent in the sky, cast an ethereal glow, as if to defy the all-consuming shadows. Stars twinkled like diamonds scattered across the velvet expanse, their gentle sparkle a beacon of hope.

(Y/N) stood transfixed, her gaze riveted on the clock's ticking hands, mere moments away from striking 8:30 pm. She inhaled deeply, the air filling her lungs like a promise of new beginnings. "Today has to be perfect" she whispered to herself, a fervent wish born of hope and determination.

In her mind's eye, she envisioned a evening unfolding with grace and harmony, each moment a delicate brushstroke on the canvas of time. No embarrassing missteps, no unwilling participants, just a gentle, pleasant tone that would soothe the souls. The clock's ticking grew louder, a countdown to a symphony of perfection, as (Y/N) steeled herself for the moments to come, her heart beating in rhythm with the night's dark beauty.

"Beauties. Everything has to be perfect and do not worry I am here to protect you okay ?" Once more she reassure the women standing in a row each one a vision of elegance and mystery. Golden jewels encircled their arms, a radiant contrast to their varied skin tones, like sunlight dancing across a canvas of diverse beauty. The traditional Chinese dresses, with their revealing midriffs and flowing slit sleeves, seemed to shimmer in the soft light, as if the very fabric was alive. Their face however remained hidden behind delicate veils, a whispered promise of secrets and allure. The veils, like silken whispers, caressed their skin, casting an air of enchantment and subtle mystery seemed to embody the essence of ancient Chinese beauty, where subtlety and restraint whispered tales of untold stories.

"Yes mam". Each one in unison spoke with confidence knowing their mentor for several years.

"Hey (Y/N) I needed—" A man holding few papers walked in the practice hall when he frozen in his root staring at (Y/N) who turn around giving his amber eyes the look of her dress mirroring the several women however he appeared to be mesmerized by her.

"Oh manager Somchai, is there anything I can help you with ?" Jewels trembled with each her step, unleashing a cascade of sparkling light, like tiny stars waltzing across her (S/C) skin.

"Oh—Ah—I-I-I-I forget". Few laughes escape from the women behind (Y/N) watching the bar manager make a fool out of himself.

"Hush ! It's unladylike". In swept the crowd held their laugh at their own manager's scold yet few roll their eyes knowing it was harmless. "Excuse them". (Y/N) apologies to Somchai who shake his head still unable to part his lips and hide the tip of blush on his ears.

"So, how can I help ?" She repeated holding her own smile, catching his flustered face.

"I-I— it's the list of drinks that the guests should buy for our profits". Quickly he shoved the paper on her hand surprising her and himself at the rough action. "I-I am sorry". Closing his eyes, his tense hands clap together in forgiveness along the rigid fingers intertwined, forming a tight knot, like a prayer offered to the heavens. The sudden, earnest movement was almost comical, yet endearing, making her giggle at the sweet, silly gesture. The contrast between his serious expression and the childish motion only added to the charm, rendering her helpless against the tide of amusement that swept over her.

"W-what happen ?" The way his innocent doe eyes stare at her never would anyone unaware of his profession could assume he works in an adult industry.

"Nothing. You are so endearing". And as she expected his entire face burst into flame creating a teasing ohh from the women who ship them together hard earn a harsh "Shut up". From their senior.

"Thank you". Finally without stuttering he smiled and part his lips to speak when the clock's loud tick reverberated through the air, signaling the precise moment of 8:30 pm.

"Oh—I am sorry I must go". Swiftly she offered apologies, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't be". He disagree, silently encouraging her at their eye contact making her smile wider. Without anymore utters she led the procession of women, their golden jewels glinting in the soft light. At the threshold, (Y/N) paused, her slender fingers fluttering as she donned her own veil at the last moment, the delicate fabric whispering against her skin.

"Everyone ready to go ?"

"Yes". They mutter lightly. (Y/N) take a deep, calming breath as she pushed open the door, and a warm, golden light enveloped them, like a gentle caress. The room was aglow with sensual ambiance, the soft glow of table lamps and floor lights casting a hypnotic spell. The guests, already seated on plush, velvety sofas, turned to regard the newcomers, their faces bathed in the warm, golden radiance. Beers chilled on an opulent, dark-wood table, adorned with delicate, crystal glasses, reflecting the soft light like tiny, shimmering mirrors.

Soft, melodic music whispered through the air, weaving a subtle spell of relaxation and indulgence, as (Y/N) and her companions glided into the room, their veils shimmering like moonlit mist, their long, flowing sleeves rustling softly, like leaves in an autumn breeze. The atmosphere was alive with anticipation, the scent of perfume and the promise of mystery hanging heavy in the air, like the whispered promise of a secret shared among friends.

"Thank you for your services. We shall begin". her voice dripped in honeyed sweetness greeted the awaiting men as her eyes swept across the room, scanning for the golden man the general manager spoken of and then, in an instant, her gaze landed on him—an aged man, with a stomach as round as a full moon, adorned in the finest, most lavish attire, from the glittering gold chain around his neck to the diamond-encrusted watch on his wrist.

Her eyes narrowed. "He must be the one". Sighing deeply she bowed gracefully with a subtle, enigmatic smile, her body begin dancing like unfolding a lotus flower, petals of movement swirling around her. The men's screams of delight and admiration crescendoed, their eyes aglow with hunger and desire, yet she remained an untouchable, ethereal vision. Her dance was a masterful symphony of seduction and grace, each step, each gesture, a testament to her skill and artistry.

As she danced, she wove in and out of the tables, pouring wine with a flourish, her hands moving in tandem with the other women, who mirrored her movements with precision. The liquid gold flowed like a river, filling the glasses, as she continued to enthrall her audience, her body swaying, twirling, and bending in impossible ways.

Regardless of the provocative nature of her dance, she maintained an air of detachment, her skin never once touching the eager hands that reached out to her. Her eyes, like a hawk's, scanned the room, ever vigilant, ensuring none of the men dared touch her or her junior companions. The other women, too, seemed to be under her protection, their eyes locked on hers, moving in perfect synchrony, a testament to their trust and loyalty. The men, entranced by the spectacle, remained at a safe distance, their longing and desire hanging in the air like a palpable mist, yet they knew better than to cross the unspoken boundary. She was a queen, a goddess, and they mere mortals, privileged to witness her glory and forbidden to touch.

Soon the music reached its crescendo, (Y/N)'s dance came to a smooth, graceful close, like a summer breeze gently caressing the skin. The room, electrified by her performance, exhaled a collective sigh of relief and admiration. Though some of the men, entranced by her beauty, had attempted to brush their hands against hers, they had respectfully refrained from any further advances, acknowledging the unspoken boundary. The VVVIP guest, too, had maintained his dignity, his eyes never leaving (Y/N)'s face, yet his hands remained clasped together, a indication to his self-control. With a satisfied smile, he raised his glass in a silent toast, and drank, savoring the moment.

As the final notes of the music faded away, (Y/N) and her companions bowed, their movements fluid and synchronized and they departed like a gentle whisper, a soft breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers, leaving the men to ponder the memory of their enchanting performance.

Free-spirited and unencumbered, (Y/N) and her companions walk outside the hallway, sharing laughter and whispers echoing down the corridor.

"Today was fun".

"How amazing".

"Thankfully they knew the rules to not mess even the VVVIP was respectful unlike some of the others".

"This is my first time performing Chinese dance ?"

"Really ? Well I am Chinese but never did I also danced so sensually".

"But (Y/N) was best".

"Of course she would be when she is our senior".

Their joys whispered to one another filling (Y/N)'s ears in relief nothing unfortunate occur to one of the women and god forbid— to her. Wiping the line of sweat from her forehead she walked to their resting room passing through the living hall where main events of dances held.

"HELP ! HELP—". A cry of help echoed the room following with a loud thud alike to a slap making all the women wince.

"What was that ?"

"Isn't it sound like a woman ?"

"Also a slap ?"

"I am scared".

A knot of unease twisted in (Y/N)'s stomach, like a pit of pooling darkness, as her mind conjured the worst assumptions. A envision of woman, desperate and trapped, crying out for help in a place where hope seemed lost. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and without hesitation.

"Girls ! Go !". She commanded her workers to retreat to their quarters, their faces etched with concern.

With a deep breath, (Y/N) steeled herself, her determination burning brighter than her fear. She barged into the lavish hall, the doors swinging open with a soft crash, like a declaration of war. The room, once filled with laughter and music, now seemed tainted, its opulence mocking her. Her eyes scanned the space, searching for the source of her unease, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum.

Until her (H/C)'s eyes fell upon a scene that made her blood boil, a tableau of cruelty that seared itself into her mind. A man, his face twisted in a snarl, sat atop a woman, her body helpless and trembling, her clothes torn and disheveled. He laughed, a cold, mirthless sound, as he cursed with his words coated with venom while the woman's cries, like a wounded animal, filled the air with her sobs as the man rape her in front of others.

The room, once a haven of indulgence, transform into a den of depravity. Some men, seated on a large sofa, laughed and jeered, their faces flushed with excitement, while others watched with a mixture of fascination and disgust. A few, attempting to distance themselves from the scene, silently drank their plain disgust by the beers, their eyes averted, however their presence still complicit.

Red. (Y/N)'s vision was consumed by a sea of red, a crimson haze that fueled her fury. In an instant, she sprang into action, her movements swift and deadly, wordlessly she launched herself at the man, ripping him away from the woman with a strength born of rage. The sound of crashing furniture and shouting men filled the air as she hurled him aside, the group scattering in surprise.

Her eyes scanned the room frantically, searching for something to cover the woman's exposed form. But there was nothing —no cloth, no blanket, no shred of dignity left. So, with a swift motion, (Y/N) grasped the nearest ground mat, tearing it from the floor, and wrapped it around the woman's shivering body, shielding her from prying eyes.

That's when the same man lashed out, his hand closing around her forearm like a vice. (Y/N)'s jaw clenched in pain, her eyes flashing with anger, as she gazed straight into the man's raging eyes, their faces inches apart. "Why is he angry ? No—how dare he is angry ?" Complex emotions once more fueling her brain, hatred spite for the man so far her fingers itch to slit his throat and watch him bleed to death.

"No. No. No. No. (Y/N) you can't do it. Stay calm. Stay calm". Her inner rational self repeated after all the power held is by men not women.

"You fucking bitch ! What do you think you are ! Fucking cunt ? How dare you lay a hand on me ?" The man twisted (Y/N)'s arm only for her to stood firm, her eyes blazing with defiance. Pain was nothing new, and she refused to yield, her silence a challenge to his dominance.

Holding her trembling fist—not from fear rather from anger she calmly utter. "Dear customer, this section is cabaret not private room so please refrain from doing sexual activ—".

"Fuck you woman ! You all are slut what happens if I fuck one of you". Tension weighted heavy on his offensive words suffocating even her lungs by the audacity of this man. How dare ? How dare this man found the chest to spoke about them. This illiterate garbage.

"It seems you are illiterate because the meaning of cabaret is dancers in our complex. Pardon us for not explaining actually, we didn't knew an uneducated person would come to our threshold". Blazing her (E/C) eyes into the man, his grip tighten and she felt the heat of his body underneath the fat meat.

"What did you say you bitch—".

"Or are you perhaps deaf too ?" Her voice not a lace with sarcastism or mock. It's purely fill with rage. Rage of being helpless, useless and shame. Because no matter how this man violented the innocent woman and assulted (Y/N), the fact still stands—he is their customer.

Despicable. (Y/N)'s throat felt dry and cracked at the fact, as if the man's crushing grip had drained the last drop of moisture from her body. The pain was numbed by her revulsion and anger, emotions that seethed like a cauldron as she gazed up at his face, illuminated by the eerie purple and pink lights above. His features, once human, now seemed twisted and grotesque, a stark contrast to the inhumane actions that belied his civilized facade. Tears of rage swelled over her vision, casting a blurry veil over the scene, yet she continued to stare, transfixed by the horror of it all. A twisted sense of guilt slithered in, its dark tendrils wrapping around her heart, whispering cruel lies of blame and shame, as the colorful lights above seemed to mock her, casting an otherworldly glow on the nightmare unfolding below.

The door finally burst open again, this time however by the security guards. They finally trapped the man, even tearing his iron grip that left purple bruises—her eyes stare. This will heal, but what about the innocent woman ? The woman's who crimson blood flow out of her private part in front of so many eyes ? (Y/N) will have her untainted skin back without bruises but can the woman have her virginity back she oh so hard frought only to lose. Sorrows finally slide down mourning the unconsciously woman as she bend down, helping the cloth to prevent her nudity from exposing in process her eyes met a onyx eyes, a depthless pool of intensity that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken emotions burning with a fierce inner fire that she couldn't quite decipher regardless of the black spectacles that meant to conceal, only seemed to accentuate the piercing quality of his eyes. Quickly she avert the burning gaze. "He is no different than that man". Snarling her face, she walk not knowing his sight was set on her from the very moment she step inside.

She find herself sit outside the makeshift medical area, her eyes fixed on the curtain that shielded the woman's privacy. Beside her, the private female doctor, a specialist in treating victims of abuse, tended to the woman's wounds with gentle hands as the moonlight's pear through the window shimmering her unremoved outfit. Suddenly, the general manager burst into the room, his face etched with concern. However, he halted outside the curtain, respecting the woman's privacy. (Y/N) rose to meet him, her eyes questioning.

"What happen ?" she asked, her voice low.

The manager's eyes darted to the curtain, then back to (Y/N). "The security told me everything. Is she g-going to be okay ?"

"Yes but—". She paused, expression somber. "Her clit has tore, virginity is take away that's why it will cause her a lot of trauma". The manager nodded, his face set in a determined expression.

"So, she might not able to work right ?" Before (Y/N) could answer the female doctor pull the curtains closed.

"Yes, she isn't at the headspace to do. I am even afraid that it might also cause a trauma of men which is very much about this job". Discreetly (Y/N)'s fingers curl into fist holding the urge to suffer the perpetrater.

"Gosh ! Why did it had to happen in front of the VVVIP man". The man mutter a curse. "Our reputation and woman is lost face in front of him". A frown ink in between (Y/N)'s brows.

"What ? VVVIP ? But he was entertained and happy. We did our job perfectly". Pluzzed she elaborate. "Also sue the man not the innocent woman".

"I never want to sue the woman. It's not at all her fault rather I am angry at the man because that asshole is the one who last minute came here change the perfect schedule of attending your dance instead went to the living hall dance with completely different setting. A modern one".

"What ?" A grasp lip past her.

"Who was it ?"

"A man with black suit, black spectacles and his name is Wang Ji-Hyuk, he is a Korean man but his entire business is at China that's why we choose a chinese traditional theme also it was said by the asshole but he ruined it !" Fumes smoking out of his ears. "I am goona sue him". Bit his lips, he dial the number of the said VVVIP (Y/N) mistook.

"Wait ! So that man from before ?" (Y/N)'s mind reeled as a quick flashback assaulted her senses, transporting her back to the living hall mere seconds ago. She relived the moment when her gaze met the VVVIP's, the intensity of his stare still seared into her memory. But before she could even process her thoughts, the general manager's urgent grip on her arm yanked her back to reality.

"He's still outside, we should apologize," He whispered hastily, dragging her toward the door.

(Y/N)'s confusion deepened as she stumbled alongside him. Apologize? For what? She couldn't fathom what she had done wrong. The VVVIP's behavior had unsettled her of how a man so boredly sat and watched a woman get rape is truly inhumane, what apologize does she own to the VVVIP ? For protesting against the rape ? Protecting a innocent woman ? Or causing a scene unnecessary. Her thoughts swirled in a jumbled mix of emotions as she struggled to keep up with the general manager's rapid pace. Why were they apologizing? What part was her fault? None, she believes. Still the questions swirled in her mind like a vortex, leaving her bitter.

At the reception, they found the said man standing with his back to them, his imposing figure radiating an aura of authority. The soft hum of conversation and gentle clinking of foot filled the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside (Y/N).

Just as they approached, the head manager's voice cut through the calm, "Ah, sir, I see you're still here."

The VVVIP's back stiffened, and he slowly turned around, his movements deliberate and calculated and he faced them, his eyes locked onto (Y/N)'s once more, the intensity of his gaze making her heart skip a beat.

Time seemed to suspend as their eyes met, the air thickening with tension. The general manager's words of apology died on his lips, and the head manager's smile faltered, sensing the changed atmosphere. Pursing his lips, he nudge her hand allowing her to look away.

"W-we are sorry. Extremely sorry for the lack of professional and such unpleasant scenes to be caused". What ? What was her lips utter ? The way her mouth moved, forming words of apology, as if driven by a force beyond her control. Her voice was barely audible, a mere whisper, as she spoke the words she didn't mean to say. Her head bent down, weighed by the shame that wasn't hers to bear.

She felt like a puppet, her body no longer her own, but a mere marionette controlled by invisible strings. Her limbs moved, her lips spoke, but her mind was a distant observer, helpless to stop the charade.

The man's gaze still held her captive, his eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to strip her of her autonomy. She was a leaf blown by the wind, a feather tossed by the breeze, completely at the mercy of forces beyond her control.

"Yes, we are very sorry". The head manager bow respectfully making the VVVIP tilts his head.

His voice was laced with a jaded tone, as he asked "Are you ?" The words hung in the air, a lazy drawl that seemed to imply he already knew the answer.

"Yes we are—" His gaze shifted, those onyx eyes slicing through the manager like a knife.

"Not you". He said, not hiding the disdain as the manager's words were cut off, left dangling in the air like a severed thread.

His eyes narrowed, returned on (Y/N) solely. "Her" He said, the single word a cold, calculated stab.

A gulp pass through her throat fighting the conflict of emotions ranging all together among his gaze piercing through her like a challenge, a dare to deny the truth he already knew and the air vibrate with tension pressuring her to say something against her will even if it's the truth.

"Yes". No. "We are very sorry for the inconvenience". As soon as they passed her lips, a look of disappointment settled upon his face, like a shadow cast by a cloud. His onxy eyes, once piercing and intense, now seemed to regard her with a disinterest that was almost worse than his earlier disdain. He turned away, his movements economical and precise, as if he had already dismissed her from his thoughts.

The head manager's words, a futile attempt to salvage the situation, trailed after him like a forgotten echo. "Sir, please, let us—" However he didn't so care to offer the head manager a face going out leaving a exhausted (Y/N) from the long journey she endured today. Hopefully he never comes back is what she wishes.

A wish that is bluntly ignored by the gods or heavens above after the next day he shown his face once again like a calm before the storm.

"O my gosh ! He came again !" The manager appeared to be in elated mood. "Also he requested for you specially !"

"Alone for me ?" He nod excitedly as if he were to dance in front of the VVVIP. A tangled web of emotions evocated her like : revulsion, obligation, and fear wrestled for dominance as she was asked to dance alone for the same man whose behavior had disgusted her. Her mind recoiled at the thought, her heart heavy with the weight of conflicting emotions. The memory of his jaded gaze at the living hall scene made her skin crawl, her body trembling with the effort to suppress her true feelings. Uncertainty and powerlessness shrouded her, like a ship torn from its anchor, adrift in a stormy sea. "Understood". As common it was such unfortunate things for women to happen in this industry she learnt the past years to forget those memories as soon as possible.

"What is the theme ?" She asked.

"No theme". He answered. "Also he has bring a dress only for you to wear". He added causing a tension.

"What kind ?"

"You will see once you wear". Giggly he answered.

Soon the answer was present as her feet glided into the room, her (slender/plump/bony) figure draped in a flowing, silvery-white gown that cascaded down her body like a river of moonlight. The dress, crafted from the finest silk, hugged her curves with a soft, ethereal glow, its smooth texture catching the light with every subtle movement and the gown's neckline rose to her jaw, framing her heart-shaped face with delicate precision. Around her chest, layers of flowery, silvery-white fabric bloomed like a whispered secret, adding a touch of whimsy and romance to her overall allure.

While her shoulders were cushioned by puffed sleeves that fell to her forearms, leaving a tantalizing expanse of skin visible beneath. The sleeves themselves were a masterclass in subtle drama, with delicate folds and creases that added depth and visual interest to the overall design. As she moved, the gown's silken fabric rustled softly, releasing tiny whispers of sound that seemed to match the beating of her heart. The hem of the dress swept the floor with a gentle, lapping motion, like waves caressing the shore.

"How can I dance in this properly ?" (Y/N) asked noticing the man's eyes glossing over the material.

He ignore her question. "It must be expensive. Because you of course looked beautiful but now you look drop dead gorgeous". A strained smile came to her lips despite feeling the nagging rings on her stomach.

"Thank you". The old man waved his hand.

"Okay, now go ! Go fast". Pushing her back tenderly (Y/N) was faced to face into a private room with Ji-Hyun.

"Thank you for requesting me, Mr. Wang—".

"You look beautiful". His gazed at her, his voice barely above a whisper. "More than I imagined." His eyes devoured her, drinking in every inch of her being, as if attempting to memorize her contours. His gaze lingered, branding her image onto his soul, claiming her as his own. Time seemed to bend, stretching out the seconds as he feasted his eyes upon her like the world around him melting away.

"Thank you". Nervously she thanked. "So, Mr. Wang, what dance would you—".

"Sit".

"Huh ?" She felt her ears misheard. "I said sit". Perhaps not because her sight followed his palm patting the cushion beside him causing her heart sink.

"I cannot".

"Why ?" Almost like an genuinely question he asked.

"Because I am here to dance not to talk if you want to talk, you can go to the host section where women will talk—".

"I know," he drawled, his tone laced with ennui along his face unreadable. Yet, his next words dripped with intention: "But I want you." The phrase hung like a challenge, freighted with unspoken consequences.

She began asking, "What do you—". But he truncated her inquiry.

"Well, I'm not here to talk, rather to propose something only to you". The hidden meaning behind his words sent her heart racing, as multiple worst-case scenarios flashed through her mind like a chilling slideshow. "That's why sit down". She obeyed regardless of her mind commanding the opposite.

"Good". A smile curve finally. "So, I want you to be my girlfriend".

Silence. For few seconds the words pass her mind registering not to process rather how to defy without offending because he isn't the first person to offer such kind of want from her, many did and will in the future for sure.

"You mean, sir. You want to have sexual relationship with me ?" He must be, because no man in their right mind would offer a cabaret dancer to be their girlfriend for romance unless it involves the sexual favors. Right ?

"I do". She bit her bottom lips. "However I want full ownership of yours. Like partners do. I want to be your boyfriend not just a sexual client to satisfy my needs". Ji-Hyuk with straight face explained, his piercing eyes bore into hers.

"Ownership ?" She is at loss. Truly, because men offered their advances for her services she crearly doesn't work for—never confess their love.

"Yes. I crave a bond that goes beyond mere physical satisfaction. I want to own your heart, just as you own mine." The intensity of his emotions left her breathless, his words echoing in her mind like a promise of forever she didn't ask nor want. Uncomfortable flooded her body, confuse to know the right way to react to a VVVIP guest who suddenly profess his love for her when she met twice or more like met eyes twice.

"What if I reject ?" Her own voice whispered in the almost silent room if overlooking the light pleasant music from behind. Her fingers dug in the cloth that isn't belong to her to earn comfort.

"Why would you ? I have everything a woman needs in a partner so you shouldn't have to reject me". His nonchalant attitude was eerie to her and it gave her the answer she needed. She can't reject him. She shouldn't. Because the way his gaze pinned her, heavy with expectation. The dress, a luxurious trap over her body along his weight with unspoken threats with the air thickened seem to have clear his intention. He isn't here to hear no. Let alone from a woman like her who's expected to be impressed, to be grateful, and to accept thoughtless like a doll to buy and show off.

Still she choose to say. "I am sorry but I can't, sir. I am very very sorry". More than the consequences she fears her freedom stolen, controlled and tramped by a wealthy man she is yet to even know.

"Okay," Ji-Hyuk said, his voice flat and emotionless, like a door slamming shut. He turned and walked away, leaving the dancer alone in the private room, surrounded by the suffocating silence. The soft click of the door echoed through the space, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside her. His abrupt departure left her thoughts reeling, anxiety swirling like a maelstrom, as she struggled to decipher the true meaning behind his enigmatic answer.

Was it a genuine understanding, or a cleverly disguised manipulation? The uncertainty hung in the air, a heavy fog that refused to lift. Soon the head manager burst into the room, his face flushed with urgency, and demanded

"What's going on? Why did he leave so abruptly ?" His voice was laced with a mix of frustration and concern. However, (Y/N) was too engrossed in her own thoughts to acknowledge his presence similar to Ji-Hyuk, who sat in the backseat of his luxurious car, puffing on a cigarette, his eyes gazing into the distance. His mind with how first and hard he fallen in love, and the rejection that came with it. The smoke from his cigarette swirled around him dwelling him to how he fell.

Trash. He thought, the moment these Thailand business men invited him to a Adult Entertainment Complex, he already judged them and cancelled the deal in his mind. Because two types of men are pathetic, one if they are consumed by greed lost rationality and another drown in lust lost control by their lower part that's why he doesn't make deals with entertainment industry, with what tragedy did he accepted their proposal. Huh ? Merely thinking of the chaos he is about to witness create a mirgrane however he still decided to go, why ? Because he wanted some relaxment too however his meaning of relaxment wasn't watching a barely adult woman getting rape by one of the trash from the Thailand worker.

"I regret coming here". He thought drinking the bitter beer. Gosh, he should have ordered wine, beer never suited his taste nor his class what father told him and he was right. Dull the mood has transformed and he outstretched his hand to his private secretary when the door bust open by a woman, a beautiful one and clearly from this industry judging from her Chinese theme clothes marched with pure rage towards the trash.

Intrigue fill his interest, he partly expected the woman to be naïve and display her emotions however he was beyond delightful to find her compose yet fierce personality. The way her eyes twitch yet not a wince slip her lips when he twist her arm, the way her delicate jaw clench in anger and those (E/C)'s burn like flames and the light hues from above shone at her so beautifully, gorgeously, he wished right there and that moment to claim her as his especially given his initial disappointment with her timid apology before departed the complex.

But now, Ji-Hyuk's lips curled into a sly smirk, the cigarette dangling precariously from the corner of his mouth, as he savored the unexpected turn of events. "She rejected me". She isn't as timid as he thought who needed a little push to be claimed instead turn out to be a little firecracker, who knew exactly when to withhold her flames, leaving him intrigued and wanting more. Her rejection was a tantalizing challenge, a hint of a deeper intelligence and inner strength that he found irresistible. A smart woman, one who could match wits and defy expectations, was a far more captivating prize than a naive, submissive one.

"(Y/N)!" The manager's sharp voice cut through her intense focus, snapping her back to reality. She blinked, her gaze shifting from the task at hand to the manager's expectant face.

"Yes, manager? Why did you come?" she asked, her tone measured, but her mind still reeling from the sudden interruption. Lately the manager has been coming to her a lot from the moment that VVVIP's existence came—her throat constricted, memories of the previous day's conversation with Ji-Hyuk flooding her senses.

"What conversation did you had with him ?" Her (E/C)'s eyes stare at his unusual stress expression.

(Y/N) paused, her eyes avert from his.

"So, I want you to be my girlfriend".

"However I want full ownership of yours. Like partners do. I want to be your boyfriend not just a sexual client to satisfy my needs".

"Nothing special". Lies smoothly roll her tongue.

"Is it really nothing special ? Really ?" The manager asked, his voice raising enough for to flinch.

"Why ? Yes, nothing special". In low voice she said, as her palm reached out to placate the middle-aged man. Her hand made contact with his shoulder, a gentle touch that spoke of reassurance. While a quick smile to others who stare at the raised voice.

"Then explain why did not only that Thailand business company cut our services but also all of our Thailand business companies !" (Y/N)'s eyes widened, a mixture of confusion and dawning recognition swirling within them. The manager's words hung in the air like a challenge, forcing her to confront the unspoken questions she had brushed off earlier. Why were there fewer people than usual today ? And now, all of their Thailand business companies? No. It can't be. Why did he leave with such a short "okay" if he was going to take this step ?

"Look ! (Y/N), you are my long term employee, I have watched you from the start of your life in this grey world of lust and men so I know you wouldn't do something to hurt our complex, will you ? No right ?" Immediately she shake her head. "That's why tell me if you said some offense words, we can apologize to him and correct the mistake". Past his calm voice suggesting, (Y/N) could clearly see his trembling hands.

"How did you know it's him. It could be anybody more powerful". She questioned, not want to confront the reality just yet. How could she ? After she rejected him ? If indeed he is behind the work, the cabaret manager can't limit her imagine of how power he has in his palm.

"Because, today every single Thailand client called at the same time, canceling their services. Of course I forcefully asked one of them where he told me the truth that a powerful person ordered them". He revealed. "And Mr. Wang is one of the top business man who has hands all over the Thailand industry even if the companies don't work together, it's easy to pull strings of connection". (Y/N)'s gut twisted into knots, her stomach churning with a sense of foreboding. The weight of the manager's words settled upon her, making her feel like she was drowning in a sea of responsibility. The pressure was suffocating, each breath a struggle as she tried to process the magnitude of the situation.

With a sense of resignation, she nodded her head, agreeing to take the fall for the mistake. "I'll go apologize," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words felt like a betrayal, a admission of guilt that she didn't fully understand.

"Then let's go ! We must hurry to seal the deal". Excitedly the manager without sparing a look at her, guide her to outside.

Why ? Why ? Why ? Why ? Why ? Why ? WHY ? like a annoying ring on her head spin around making her unconsciously deep her crescent scars on her skin. Like a holding her inner demons to explode. How ? Why ? How can fate always make her the victim of pathetic humans ? Huh ? Why she ? Wasn't her inhumane father trying sell his own daughter for few dollars enough that fate somehow brought a man to toy her entire meticulous bulit like crumble down. Yes, Roman wasn't built in one day but it sure burned in one day.

A cruel reminder that even the strongest foundations can be razed by the whims of fate.

Clenching her jaw, her heavy feet step towards the destiny she very much fears at the same time loathes. That's when a hand hold her wrist spinning her around and her eyes wide seeing the man.

"Hello, Mr. Wang. Thank you very very very much for letting us in. The fault entirely lies on us that's why Miss. (L/N) came to apologize with me". Forcing his hand together he plead in front of the Ji-Hyuk who across him sat lounged on the massive sofa, his casual attire—a light blue shirt with white line strips and grey trousers —a stark contrast to the gravity of the tense situation. One leg crossed over the other, his back leaned against the plush cushions, exuding an air of relaxed superiority while his gaze was fixed intently on the woman beside the manager. (Y/N) herself sat rigidly, her posture a picture of tense contrition. Her head bowed, chin tucked in, and jaw clenched in a tight line. Fingers curled into fists, her hands rested on her lap, betraying the turmoil brewing beneath her subdued exterior. A portrait of contained anguish.

Reading the obvious implication of his attention over her. The manager nudged her arm to which she part her lip. "Mr. Wang, please forgive me if any of my words that I didn't knew held much power offend you personally that's why I am sorry". She bow slightly. "Hopefully you can look past my mistakes and still continue to be in our services".

Click ! The soft scratch of the sliver lighter to a fleeting spark, and the gentle whoosh of flame embracing tobacco. Ji-Hyuk's eyes never left (Y/N) as he raised the cigarette to his lips, the tip dancing with each inhale. He smoked with deliberate slowness, exhaling wispy tendrils of smoke that curled around his words. His gaze, calm and collected, held (Y/N) captive as he spoke, his voice low and even. "So, will you finally accept the proposal you rejected?"

The woman swears she doesn't need a glance to feel her higher up head swirl to her side with perplexed written.

"If I do, will you continue to be in our services and spread good words among other business ?" His eyebrows rise in intrigue and the message clearly send to cut the trouble and make it back to normal.

"This". A gleam of satisfy flicker in his eyes. This passion, fire was he expecting from the woman he desires and he wasn't disappointed.

"Yes. Will you be my girlfriend". He asks, a question from his side however a taunt to her after all, 'no' was never an answer.

"Yes". Finally a smile touch upon his lips along his eyes crinkled at the corners.

𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏' 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚

After the chaos subsided and (Y/N), her boss drove out of the mansion by his personal driver, the air was electric with the buzzing of phones. The screens lit up with notifications, a flurry of activity that signaled the return of Thailand's services—and more. New companies, behemoths in their industries, had flocked to Ji-Hyuk's empire, eager to tap into his influence. The sheer scale of it all was suffocating. (Y/N) felt a wave of disgust wash over her as she realized the true extent of Ji-Hyuk's power. He had effortlessly manipulated the situation, bending the world to his whim. The thought made her skin crawl, her anger simmering just below the surface.

She was nothing but a tiny, insignificant doll in his vast playground, subject to his every caprice. He could trample her, walk all over her, and she was powerless to stop him. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow, her resentment growing with each passing moment. Snatching her wrist, she glance at the decorative lights of the cities with moon light donning from above and the next thing she knew she found herself standing in a cramped, dimly lit room, surrounded by the faint scent of perfume and smoke. She was dressed in a revealing theme outfit, her reflection staring back at her from a mirror-lined wall like usual ready to entertain the customer alongside her coworkers, equally dazzling in their attire, bustled around her, their chatter and laughter a cacophony in her ears.

Suddenly, the door slid open revealing Ji-Hyuk and the enigmatic owner of Muse and Seduction she never been lucky to catch glimpse of, stood before her. Mutters ring behind her, reeling her mind and she watched him come near her.

'𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

"From now onwards you aren't allowed to dance ever again". And her entire world crumble down once again.

"Am I getting fired ?" She swears, (Y/N) swears to not sweep desperation and hurried in her voice however her eyes also betrayed her vulnerably in front of the same man her fate is controlled by.

"No. You are just only allowed to work for me". Ji-Hyuk replied nonchalant as if he didn't taking away her dancing too, the only source of her income and comfort of identity.

𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒚

"Can I reject ?" She tries but she was aware of the defeat the moment his eyes racked over her figure and the owner of her complex cleared his throat.

Her answer doesn't matter. Never did and will. How unfair as her (E/C)'s in agonizing slow motion as her juniors slipped away, one by one, into the private rooms without her felt fresh twist of the knife hollow her inside.

Never again.

Suddenly the sanctuary, being to transform into a shrinking cage as its walls closing in with oppressive force, squeezing the last vestiges of hope from her lungs. Suddenly every tick of the clock was a countdown to her demise, suddenly the silence seems to be a uncomfortable noise she can't ignore and eyes of his heavy like a death warrant above.

Softly, she breathed: "Are you satisfied?" Her whisper hung in the air, a fragile question mark, as her gaze remained fixed on the empty space where the women had vanished, their absence a haunting echo.

A smirk lift his lip and with a sign of hand Ji-Hyuk command the owner to leave the couple alone to which he obeyed.

"Yes". Anticipation bumble within him as he stare at her waiting for the gaze to be returned.

She looked at him.

Chill. Straight chills ran through his body the way her numbed eyes bore into his, as if she could see right though his soul. Oh ! The taste of breaking a strong woman is like conquering a fire with bare hands. His fingers tremble to touch her.

So he did. Snake his hands around her waist and tighten the hug almost burying her into him.

𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒘𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏' 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌.

"How about we spend the night together. Alone, only you and me ?" The question mark lingered, a sly taunt, as if daring her to respond but she knew better. Only humans are worthy of consent or choice, not a pig, even the one who is about to be butchered. No one asks a pig if it wants to be slaughtered so does she that's why she nod lifting a smile.

The mini city lights twinkled like diamonds from the car window is once again a wonderful sight yet her inside remained heavy with a numbness that suffocated any spark of awe or happiness. Only pumping heart mechanically, a mere reflex before the slaughter.

𝒑𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

His tan slender palm, hold hers on her lap that she dared to glance at him finding his eyes already on her. He was about to speak when the driver announced.

"Sir, we have arrived". The master nod, merely going outside on his own before signaling her and her (E/C) eyes saw the familiar mansion like the previous time of her asking to apologize with her manager—not alone making her wonder if she not come, would her fate had been different ? Perhaps—for worse. She likes to delusion.

His palm finds her and almost drag her inside ignoring few numbers of servents bowing to them walked straight to the white stairs. Only noise of her racing heart and heels clicking echoed the eerie mansion until they arrived at his bedroom—she guess.

He released her hand, only to shed his professional armor, his fingers deftly untying his tie and unfastening his cuffs, the soft clinking of metal and rustle of silk. The cabaret steeled herself, bracing for the inevitable prepared to be used as a merchandise and discard at his whim.

As expected he closed in, his chin whispering against hers, their faces inches apart, the air thickened with anticipation. But just as their lips were about to meet, he detected the slightest hint of defiance—her hyoid bone tensed, a tiny rebellion, and her fist, clenched in a secret gesture of resistance. His onyx eyes, burning with intensity, snapped to hers, searching for surrender, but instead found a spark of refusal that turn him on so hard.

As their lips entwined, he was transported to a realm of pure bliss, his senses ignited by the sweet nectar of her mouth. He felt like a man blessed by the gods, granted the ultimate treasure to savor and devour. Every fiber of his being thrilled with ecstasy, his heart soaring on wings of delight, as he indulged in the tender flesh of her lips. The world around him melted away, leaving only the intoxicating taste of her, a divine elixir that left him drunk with pleasure. He was a king, and she was his conquest, his prize, his heavenly gift.

Unawarely he concerned her to the wall, cornered (Y/N) further than she was trapped. A nausea threat to pile over as she was clawed, touched, sucked into the unwanted torture. Tears swell her eyes, she wanted to bite his tongue and shove him away but against her want she continue to let the starved man indulged because the pig is layed, its flesh inspected, and now the blade poised about to slash its throat, mirroring the brutal violation of her own dignity.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆

Greedy hands tore at her outfit, exposing her flesh alike the pig's carcass, his onyx eyes devouring the sight of her breasts. His palm fondled one, hunger burning in his gaze, as her fingers instinctively wrapped around his hand, her nails digging deep enough to draw blood, a primal reaction to his violation.

Her breath hitched.

His lustful eyes snap to her.

Oh no. No. No. No. What did she did. She wasn't suppose to protest. She shouldn't be. A mistake—apologize—right she should apologize but why no voice is uttering. Suddenly his gaze burn her bare flesh, shame her.

And to her surprise, he retreat his hand. A displease paint his expression. Not to her intrude as she is thinking rather Ji-Hyuk realize this fire isn't his yet. She still doesn't belong to him.

Body, yes. Mind, yes but heart ? No. A not astonishing information wash cold over him. No, this is not good. No, not at all. He wants her everything. From her body to her fire to her heart—too. He wants her every bit to feast or else she never belonged to him at all.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

That's why he shifted away. Marching to the bathroom leaving (Y/N) with a command. "You are staying the night".

That night, they lay in bed, a chasm of silence and space between them. He had freshened up, and she had too, separately, as if seeking solace in solitude. They faced away from each other, feigning sleep, but (Y/N) was wide awake, her senses heightened. She felt his gaze upon her, multiple times, as he quietly turned to watch her pretended slumber. His eyes lingered, a silent scrutiny, as if seeking answers in her stillness. The darkness was palpable, punctuated only by the soft rustle of sheets, as they both waited for the dawn, their minds racing with unspoken thoughts. The distance between them seemed to grow with each passing moment, a heavy, unbridgeable gap, as they lay there, lost in their own private worlds.

As the sun's golden rays peeked through the window, casting a warm glow on her side of the bed, she quietly sat up on the soft mattress she rarely gets to touch let alone sleep, her gaze drifting to his peaceful form. His sleeping face, relaxed and serene, is a sight to behold, his features softened without the stiff spectacles that usually framed his eyes. Yet, as she beheld his tranquil countenance, a morbid thought crept into her mind. "Would he look as peaceful, as serene, if he were to die with his eyes closed ?" The question lingered.

"This is the first time you are so eagerly sparing me a look," His sudden, raspy voice sliced through the silence, making her jump as she realized he was awake, his eyes now opened to meet her surprised one. "What ? Why so shock ? Can't a man wake up early ?" He chuckle, sitting up and she shifted away as much as possible. Ji-Hyuk notice it.

"Well, good morning ?" He greeted expected to be returned.

"Good morning". (Y/N) replied.

Then he silently rose from the bed and vanished into the bathroom, leaving (Y/N) alone in the quiet morning light.

A soft knock on the door preceded the entrance of a maid, who curtsied and presented (Y/N) with a neatly folded outfit. "It's the master's order," she whispered, her eyes cast down. (Y/N) nodded, accepting the clothes, and followed the maid to a separate bathroom she used yesterday to freshen up and she changed into the new outfit, her movements were quiet and obedient. After finishing, she made her way to the master bedroom, where he awaited.

The moment she stepped into the room, his face transformed, a warm smile spreading across his features, like a sunrise breaking through the clouds. It was a sight she noticed how frequently he is showning alike she recalled the gentle curve of his lips in the morning, and the soft smile he had worn the day before raising a question is he letting his guard down ? Good then.

"It really did suit you. Looks pretty." His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his voice was low and smooth.

"Thank you". Ji-Hyuk stood up, walked near her.

"What would you like to have in breakfast ?" She narrowed her eyes on his caring question.

"Anything". Meekly she answered.

"Even grass ?" He smirked at her clenched jaw action.

"What ? What was funny ?" She wanted to yell yet knew to keep her mask on of compose and said. "I am sorry. No. Rather I do not have much preference as you like sir, order it". Polite and low her voice sounded however to Ji-Hyuk, it sounded distant and cold.

"Well, what country are you from ?" (Y/N) is confuse at his sudden question session.

"(C/N)".

"Hmm..then order something from your home country". The dancer paused a second to realize why he asked about that and it twist something alike a knife inside her guts of how caring his thoughts might be, it's ironic to his actions and power use he done.

"Understood".

"Ji-Hyuk". He called his name. "Call me by my name".

"Understood—". His onyx eyes burn into her eyes as if waiting for his name to roll out of his name. "Ji-Hyuk". And the sound certainly lighten the mood of the VVVIP due to his wider smile like a boy got his desired candy.

Soon they entered the grand dining hall with they sat at opposite ends of a sprawling, polished table. The long, empty plates stretched out before them like a canvas of fine china, adorned with intricate silverware and crystal glasses. At the head of the table, the private butler from the previous day she seen stood poised, his eyes fixed on her with a silent expectation, his presence exuding an air of refined elegance and discretion.

The butler approached, his eyes inquiring, and asked, "May I take your order?"

She parted her lips to say when under his watch she said her favorite meal from her home country while he opted for the Grilled Salmon. As they waited for their food. (Y/N) felt his gaze without looking the entire until their meals arrived, they ate in awkward silence.

"So, why did you start working in this kind of place". He sliced into the salmon, his knife gliding smoothly as he watched the juice trickle across the white plate.

She paused a quick second to meet his gaze thinking whether she should be honest or lie and as if reading her mind he answered. "I will know about your background anyway". She smiled quitely at his sentence because then why ask her ? It feels like being interrogated by the police.

"To escape my abusive parents". Her eyes then slide to her own meal.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

"Oh, physically or mentally ?" She furrowed her brows, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked up, meeting his gaze and he simply smiled, seeming to revel in her reaction because he had intentionally asked the question to draw her in, to make her willingly meet his eyes. After all, he had never gone to such lengths for a lady like her— dining together, wasting time, and inquiring about her past, which he could easily access. But he knew that to truly captivate her heart, he needed to understand it first. And so, he watched her, his eyes sparkling with amusement and curiosity.

"Both". He nodded, putting a piece of salmon inside his mouth not averting his own gaze.

"Then why didn't you go to sex work ? It pays more than cabaret do".

"It's uncomforta—it's uncomfortable to be in pain. As a woman, I always have to be in pain at my first period, my first sex and probably for my first birth that I decided not to have the latter two for the sole sake of pain". His notions paused as slow, knowing smile spread across his lips sinking the realization of her touched and in this moment he knew he had chosen perfectly. "Unlike men". She added noting all his reactions.

"Sounds almost to me you want to become a man".

"No". She chuckle bitterly. She wants to crush men. Cutting her meal she missed the way his eyes glowed in astonishment.

𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

"S-She smiled ?" It's the first time she smiled willingly and it's beauty so captivating that his breath caught in his throat.

"Ji-Hyuk, could I ask which country are you from ?" Her question snap from his daze.

"You already have known it".

"Not from you". Ah ! This wit is what drives him crazy. The challenge is to his liking. Too liking.

"Korea but stayed at China my most childhood due to my father being Chinese and his business in here".

"Then your friends must have celebrated birthdays together". (Y/N) smiled in envy.

"Yes. Very happily". Ji-Hyuk answered. "When is your birthday ?"

"(M/D), yours ?" It created a smile at his lips knowing her interest awaken on him.

"Mine at August 31". She nod noting.

"I would like to celebrate my birthday with you". An order it is she understood from his tone.

"And what about your parents ?" She asked something quickly.

"Well, they are dead. Both died in their arms". Smiling Ji-Hyuk said. "What a love. I want that too". Glancing at her he tilts his head making her look down in uncomfortable.

After that he continued to engage her in conversation, asking about her interests and hobbies. However, she responded with brief, monosyllabic answers while also trying to slip some questions about him.

Finally the breakfast ended with her glancing at the lavish clock attached on the white wall. "Ji-Hyuk, then I should go ?"

"Where to ?" He straightforwardly asked.

"Home". Ji-Hyuk clench his jaw. "Can't this be your home ?" He was tempted to say but he didn't, too soon.

"Okay," (Y/N) breathed, feeling a wave of relief wash over her as she turned to leave. When Ji-Hyuk next words stopped her in her tracks. "But—" Her heart sank, her lungs tightening once more as she turned back to face him.

"Give me your phone," he said, his hand outstretched, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.

Finding no excuse to refuse with a sense of detachment, her hand reached into her bag and handed over her phone. The VVVIP's fingers closed around it like a vice, his thumbs flying across the screen with a speed and accuracy that made her skin crawl and when he handed it back, (Y/N) felt a chill shiver her spine. Her GPS and location services were now enabled, her every move trackable.

Holding her phone tightly with a bright, empty smile, she waved goodbye, feeling like a puppet on strings as his personal driver escorted her to the car, and she was driven away from the mansion towards her own home.

The driver's silent gaze met hers in the rearview mirror as he pulled up to her apartment building, the unassuming structure a stark contrast to the opulent villa she'd just left. (Y/N) felt a mix of relief and anxiety as she gathered her belongings and stepped out onto the familiar sidewalk.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

With a nod, the driver waited until she disappeared into the building before pulling away, leaving (Y/N) to climb the stairs to her apartment with a sense of trepidation.

As soon as she locked the door behind her, she pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number. Somchai, the bar manager.

☾ ───────────

𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏' 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏

Three hours of silence. Three hours of utter disregard the woman he waste so much time isn't caring to pick his call nor seeing his messages making Ji-Hyuk anger seethed, simmering just below the surface as he glared at his phone, willing her to respond. But she didn't. She was ignoring him, dismissing his attempts to contact like he was nothing. The thought sent a venomous rage coursing through his veins. Who did she think she was, anyway ? Didn't she know he wouldn't be ignored ? He should have kept her locked away, hidden from the world, where she couldn't humiliate him like this. Now, he have no choice but to confront her by going to her home, hopefully she isn't with a man being a whore. Just the mere thoughts made his skin crawl, his mind racing with visions of her with another man. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let that happen.

The business man almost burst out of the car if his driver late to scramble open the door one second and Ju-Hyuk is at this point consumed in rage and jealousy. He reached floor and stood at her door, his hand slamming into the bell three times, the sound echoing through the hallway.

"Bitch ! If there is a man. I will fucking kill him". He swore and the no answer only fueled his anger, he began pounding on the door, his fists shaking with fury. "Open up!" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. "I know you're in there! You can't hide from me!"

And before he thought to break the weak wooden door, it swing open by (Y/N) herself who's surprise cross her expression finding his disheveled appearance, for the moment his heart skip a beat as his gaze lock into her beautiful (E/C) eyes and his anger falter until a glimpse of an unfamilar man behind her sat on the sofa, seems to be waiting for her.

𝒔𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒎𝒆 '𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚, 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒂 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔

"Bitch, fucking bitch". He mutter under his breath, staring at the man and snap ! As if the thread of holding his inner demon exploded and all his vision could see was red and his mind the urgue to kill the man alive.

He pushed (Y/N) aside, his hands shoving her away like a mere obstacle. She stumbled, her eyes wide in alarmed seeing him march into the room.

"What is he doing ?" (Y/N)'s confusion dissipated in an instant when the VVVIP's palm curled into a fist, poised to strike her co-worker. Her eyes widened in horror with her piercing screams earning Somchai's attention who now noticed his menacing stance is already too late. Ji-Hyuk fist flew, connecting with a sickening crunch that sent Somchai stumbling backward. The sound of the impact was like a crack of thunder, making (Y/N)'s heart skip a beat on contrast to his satisfaction.

"Stop it ! What are you doing ?" She scream and jumped before him to defense the only man who ever treated her like a human angering him more.

"Move". She shake her head.

"Please tell me why are you doing this ?"

"Because you are fucking having an affair". Flames coating his voice as he narrowed his eyes to her pluzzed gaze.

"What lead you to believe that ?"

"Well, this alone of him being in your room proves that and the reason of not answering my messages and phone calls". She openly for the first time scoff.

"First of all I had no idea of your messages and phone call because it was charging in another room and". She paused, looking at her side. "There are people with me". The table turns and Ji-Hyuk turn to the side with his eyes wide finding two women and another older man standing in horror holding few papers related to work. "They are all managers like me in Muse and Seduction".

His eyes dropped, falling to the floor as the weight of his mistake crushed him. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, his breath knocked out of him. His hands, still clenched into fists, now felt limp and useless, painted with the innocent manager's blood. "Fuck !"

The room fell silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of the managers, who were still trying to process the scene that had just unfolded and Ji-Hyuk's mind is a jumble of emotions, his thoughts racing with the realization of what he had done. All his hard work, all the progress he had made in building trust with (Y/N), had been undone in an instant, all his hard work in drain and now start from square one again. What a fucking idiot. Never did he knew one day his emotions overshoadow his logic that he so thinks is pathetic at the same time a newfound realization set in. He can't anymore bear the loss of this woman. How beautiful yet tragic.

"It was my fault. I-I will pay the bills of his medica—".

"Sir, could you please step a bit ?"

"S-Sir ? Step a bit ? What do you mean ?" For the first time in front of (Y/N), he stutter his words, bewildered by the fact she is choosing a random man over him ? Why is she telling him to leave ? "You want me gone ?" His voice accusing and onyx eyes betrayed feeling the regret of letting the man alive.

"No, sir I meant to—".

𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒘𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒕

"What ?" Aggression evade his face and (Y/N) flinch in pain when Ji-Hyuk's grip on her forearm, his fingers digging deep into her skin "Fucking bitch, what ? Cat caught your tongue".

"Ji-Hyuk, I am simple asking you to move so I can grab my phone to call—". He scoff loud to cut her polite request.

"Now you are calling me by my name ? What a clever little mouse you are ?" He twist her arm a little, gleaming to find a hint of change expression.

"Aren't you a fucking whore ?" He twist some more and she clench her jaw brushing off the memories that comes with the pain, bitter memories of the past men repeating the action.

"Aww, is my whore daughter crying ?"

"What bitch ? Spread your leg, why can't you open your legs like a bitch in heat".

"What a little woman we have here ? Listen, woman are submissive, not wild cards".

"Fuck you woman ! You are all slut, what happens if I fuck one of you".

"So, (Y/N) fucking (L/N) talk, do you want to me to leave ?" Bottled anger and resentment simmered, a potent brew of fury and fear the more he speaks. The echoes of past men's condescending voices swirled around her, a cacophony of control and possession that threatened to consume her.

"Talk ! Can't you fucking talk ?" Each word, each phrase, was a drop of water, slowly drowning her, suffocating her.

"(Y/N), answer me !" Her lungs burning, her heart racing, as the weight of their collective entitlement crushed her. And then, something inside her snapped.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP". She exploded and he was silenced. "Yes I do indeed want you to be gone. So please for god's sake go away with your sad excuse of a man". She straight glare at him making him falter a little and without a word he left.

For few seconds she stood silently before Somchai's gently pat on her back bring her to reality.

"I am sorry for the scene". She asked forgiveness to her co-workers who shake their head, brushing off her apologize. "Also I am sorry, Somchai". She said to the man who watched and seen the entire thing and couldn't help feel pride swell his chest.

"Don't be". Shortly making eye-contact he smiled silently telling her it's not her place to apologize.

Gingerly, (Y/N) asked, "Should I call an ambulance or take you to the hospital ?"

His response was nonchalant "No need, it's not my first time." A hint of a reckless past lingered in his words, leaving (Y/N) wondering what kind of life he had led to become a bar manager in this Adult Entertainment Complex along the lines his teenage years, he claimed, were a blur of wild abandon and devoid of serious goals or direction.

The meeting had reached an impasse, with Somchai and the others swiftly exiting, leaving (Y/N) alone to ponder the consequences of her action, sitting on the sofa. She massaged her forehead, trying to ward off the looming headache and speak of the devil, her phone buzzed, a message from Ji-Hyuk, popping up on the screen.

"Make sure to come to my birthday tomorrow". (Y/N) was taken aback by Ji-Hyuk's calmness in the message as she brace herself for anger, resentment, or even threats only to get this ? Her initial unease grew more, scared of unpredictability. When another notification pop. "Or else you have to pay for today". A clear threat despite the indirect words still she felt a twisted sense of relief after all at least she knew he was indeed still mad and have a temper because another one of the lessons she had learned on this job is the unreadable ones were always the worst. It's never known when they would explode or what they were brewing inside the calm facade so, with Ji-Hyuk's overt threat, she could prepare herself, unlike the unpredictable ones who kept her on edge.

"What a headache". She hold her head on her hand and slumped on the sofa not having the strength to move.

Beautiful the color blue is and Y/N looked absolutely stunning in the silk light blue dress sent by Ji-Hyuk this morning. The delicate fabric hugged her body perfectly, and the soft hue complemented her skin tone exquisitely with her hair cascaded down her back like a golden waterfall, with loose strands dancing in the gentle breeze as she stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the taxi to arrive she booked few seconds ago.

"What is going to happen ?" Worried cast upon her face imagining his treatment for talking back at him yesterday. She hated it. Hated being scared of little things, little mistakes makes her reminiscent back to the days of her parents where her mother unnerving, unforgiving eyes follow her around along her father's hating her guts for being merely a female. Her (E/C) eyes stare at the gift she held, a expensive watch—not with much thought she brought but it hurt her to spend her hard worked penny on to someone she doesn't care plus with her finance—the gift is too much for her. Hopefully he doesn't break it into pieces.

She was lost in her thoughts when a sleek, lavish car pulled up beside her, its black windows gleaming in the sunlight caught her attention. "It's his". Shs understood and confirmed more when the window rolled down, revealing the familiar face of the driver, who greeted her with a courteous smile. "Come inside, ma'am."

Wordless she obeyed feeling to step into a world of wealth and power, the scent, the softness, the space all makes the car so much more lavish to sit on, a mix of surprise and curiousity brew inside her soaking on the money she never dreamed to be inside and the door closed behind her with a gentle thud, snapping her out of the admiration.

Soon they pulled up to the grand estate, the driver opened the door, and she stepped out, her smile faltering for a moment as she gazed up at the imposing structure. The familiar mansion loomed before her, its beauty almost painful in its intensity. The sunlight danced across its facade, casting a warm glow that made it shine like a golden palace of the gods.

As she entered, her eyes observed in awe at the opulent interior. Crystal chandeliers refracted rainbow hues, and intricate frescoes adorned the ceilings. The air was alive with the sweet scent of exotic flowers, and the soft hum of classical music whispered through the halls. The decoration certainly more heavenly than before.

And at the heart of this splendor stood her master, his eyes locked onto hers, and she felt the familiar tug of the invisible leash on her neak holding on his hand.

𝒑𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

His hand outstretch and she smile like a pretty doll letting him hold it like a prince he is and they walked together towards the private ballroom where faint party noise could be heard and her (E/C)'s glance at him. "Happy birthday...". She tailed off. "Ji-Hyuk". Finally she added making him smile and caress.

"Thank you". He said caressing her hand by his thump. "You look beautiful in the dress I choose".

"Here's your gift". (Y/N) extended her hand, offering the gift bag. "It's not much, but I hope you like it." Ji-Hyuk's eyebrows shot up in amusement as he accepted the bag, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and he opened the packet, revealing a sleek watch with a black leather strap— a luxurious and expensive timepiece indeed, yet to Ji-Hyuk, it was surprisingly plain and almost...tacky.

"This ?" His gaze narrowed, his expression hidden the disdain staring at the color black seemed dull and unrefined to his eyes, a far cry from the sophisticated and elegant accessories he was accustomed to making him wonder about (Y/N)'s taste. Had she really thought this was something he would appreciate? Shouldn't she have at least asked him before bringing something so...pedestrian into his home?

The air was thick with unspoken questions as Ji-Hyuk's eyes met (Y/N)'s, his expression a mask of polite gratitude. "Thank you," though his voice neutral, still his eyes betraying a hint of disapproval. And (Y/N) notice it.

"Your welcome". She look away clenching her fist.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆

"By the way you are staying the entire night with me". He commanded leaving no room for argument not like she has a tongue to argue. Once was a mistakes. Twice wouldn't be so she bit her tongue.

Then they stepped into the resplendent golden ballroom, the air was alive with the gentle clinking of champagne glasses and the soft hum of conversation. The room was abuzz with people from all walks of life, each with their own agenda, yet united in their anticipation. They mingled and chatted, forming tentative bonds, their eyes gleaming with a shared desire— to curry favor with the elusive Ji-Hyuk.

However beneath the polished smiles and courteous laughter, a different story unfolded. Each guest harbored a secret hope, a dream they dared not speak aloud. They were all waiting for the host, the enigmatic Ji-Hyuk, rumored to possess the power to make their deepest desires come true and once they spot him, a collective hush fell over the room. Ji-Hyuk's arrival was met with a subtle yet palpable shift in the atmosphere. The masks of civility slipped, revealing glimpses of avarice and longing. Eyes gleamed with an unspoken hunger, as if the very presence of Ji-Hyuk might unlock the doors to their wildest ambitions.

"Terrifying". She mutter under her breath, clearly feeling eyes burn her skin along his as the spotlight is on both of them together.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

As Ji-Hyuk's lips grazed her cheek, a shiver ran down her spine. His gentle whisper, "Let's go, sweetheart". sent a mix of emotions swirling within her. Their steps harmonized, drawing them closer to the crowd, and with each stride, her anxiety intensified. The air thickened, making her feel like she was being slowly suffocated, as if the walls of her lungs were closing in.

The crowd loomed before her, a sea of faces blurring together like a den of hyenas waiting to pounce. Ji-Hyuk's reassuring squeeze on her hand only added to the pressure, a reminder that even the gentlest touch from the most powerful predator could be overwhelming. The thought sent a tremor through her veins, as she felt like a vulnerable prey being led into the heart of danger.

"Welcome, Mr. Wang".

"Oh my friend, long time no see. Happy birthday".

"Happy birthday. Just didn't saw you for few years and you look more younger than before".

"Happy birthday. Mr. Wang, here meet my wife".

"Mr. Wang nice to meet you".

"Mr. Wang, you seem such a busybody ?"

"Mr. Wang, thanks to you the new wine business is going smoothly".

All their voices come mush to her yet when she glance he looks as unaffected rather he looks composed, calm and smiling and answering to each one of them.

"Oh ! Mr. Wang, who is this beautiful lady in your arms ?" This earned her attention holding her breath to hear. A escort ? A girlfriend ? A nobody ? Hopefully he choose one of these.

But her heart sank.

"My soon to be wife". Her eyes wide and breath hitched. Chest racing and almost as if feeling her eyes he slide to meet hers.

What ? Wife ? Wasn't the deal to be his girlfriend ? Why ? What changed ?

As if reading her mind he part his lips speaking wicked words. "And I am proposing to her right now. In front of her".

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

Her body froze, shock and fear rendering her immobile. She couldn't look away, couldn't speak, could only watch in horror the scenario unfolded. A waiter approached, bearing a dark blue box, which Ji-Hyuk opened with flourish as if it's hold a treasure in it, revealing a stunning ruby ring. Without a word, he slid the ring onto her finger, his eyes glinting with triumph.

The room erupted into applause and cheers, the noise almost deafening her. Ji-Hyuk's smirk grew, his lips curling into a cruel smile as he mouthed the words, "You are mine now, forever." Pleasuring from her tears sliding from her eyes the guests that the guests are oblivious to her distress, mistook her tears for joy, or simply chose to ignore them.

Tormented.

Hatred.

Anger.

Is all she felt. Those negative feelings spread thoughtout her body like a poison bit by the snake in front of her a man, who is smiling so wide, so happy she wish to crush it and watch him suffer, cry, beg. Anything but happiness.

"Excuse me. I need to use the restroom". Without hearing his reply she march toward to the escape, gripping her grown and dug her fingers on the innocent fabric she wish to tore it right there and then. While the business man observed her every single little moments and drowning in her torment after all it's her punishment. Her punishment for humiliating and shaming him yesterday in front of those pest. As much as he urged to rip her head off he also realize she was a wild cat without a leash so as a good master he brought a leash on his name and put the ring of forever to always remind the woman she belongs to him in eyes of law and all and she should be submissive. Ah, the pleasure of breaking her fire.

𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

With arrogance drunk his mind, he mindlessly exchange strings of words to the pathetic men he deems until he frown glancing at his watch to still not find (Y/N) at his side. "Where is she ?" Certainly not ran away because it's stupid and such action from her is honestly disappointing so hopefully she won't sad him. Right ? Right. Because excusing himself he went to their shared bedroom and about to go outside not finding her when his ears perk at the shower water and immediately a smile curve.

His eyes burned with anticipation, his mind consumed by the promise of forbidden pleasure. He shed his tie, his movements deliberate as he walked to find the door unexpectedly open. Sweet, such a two-faced woman. It's really a sign of inviting him isn't it ? And indeed it was beholding a sight that made his heart race because there she stood beneath the shower's gentle caress, her clothes plastered to her body, accentuating every skin, every contour. The water had transformed her outfit into a translucent second skin, making her irresistible. Ji-Hyuk's onyx eyes devoured the sight, his gaze lingering on the way the fabric clung to her, highlighting the softness of her skin that he noticed the subtle stiffening of her shoulders, a whisper of awareness that she was no longer alone. A sly, sensual smile spread across his face as he stepped closer, his movements silent as a predator's. With a gentle, yet possessive touch, he wrapped his hands around her waist, his fingers brushing against her skin.

The water continued to cascade down, creating a sultry melody that accompanied his whispered words "Such a siren you are". His breath caressed her ear, his lips grazing her skin, as he pulled her closer, his body aligning with hers, the heat between them palpable.

Finally she turned, her movements unfolded like a tantalizing dance, each moment a promise of surrender. Her expression remained serene, yet her half-lidded eyes alike to velvet curtains covering her beautiful (E/C) eyes with water continued its gentle caress, dripping down her face, tracing paths of desire and her pink lips, inviting and plump, seemed to whisper a silent invitation, begging to be kissed, to be claimed.

Sending a painful thorb in his pants and without second thought forgetting the party, the people awaiting and everything he descended, anticipating a tender kiss when her grip on his shoulder electrified his body with a sudden, searing pain. She slammed him against the wall, his head cracking against the hard surface, sending a jolt of shock and taken a back through his veins escaping a low groan from his lips yet she showed no mercy, her fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back with a fierce cry. His vision blurred, the room spinning around him, as she smashed his head into the wall once more crashing his vision to be lost only seeing glimse of her hateful eyes.

☾ ───────────

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒘𝒆'𝐥𝐥 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘

As Ji-Hyuk's eyes fluttered open, a throbbing, sharp pain hit him like a sledgehammer, forcing his lids shut again. The harsh glare of the bathroom light bulb pierced through his brain, making him question his surroundings. Why was he in the bathroom ?

Gingerly, he sat up, and the pain struck again, making his head spin. Memories began to resurface, fragmented and hazy, like a dream. He recalled inviting (Y/N) to his birthday party, proposing to her in front of everyone...and then following her when she stormed off.

The memories came flooding back, and with them, the anger and humiliation widen his eyes. She had pushed him, violently, against the wall. The audacity! How troublesome women could be. She thought she could escape him? Ha! He would track her down, and when he did, he would be polite, coaxing her back with a gentle touch...or else she might flee again.

Ji-Hyuk stood up, shrugging off the stiffness in his shoulders and back. He dusted his already immaculate clothes, a habit born of precision and control. He walked outside to the bedroom, expecting to find her gone, "as I thought". A wry smile twisted his lips as he confirmed his suspicion.

Rolling his eyes, he headed downstairs to summon his butler, intending to order a thorough search of the mansion. After all, no one thought to look for a hiding person in their own home, do they? But before he could issue the command, the servant approached him with a knowing look.

"Master, I think I should inform you...she left last night," the female servant said, her voice neutral. "She took her luggage and instructed us not to disturb you."

Ji-Hyuk's laughter echoed through the hallway, a low, menacing sound. "Ah, how delightful. She thinks she can outsmart me ?" His eyes gleamed with amusement, impressed by her audacity.

𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐, 𝒘𝒆'𝐥𝐥 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘

Ji-Hyuk's expression turned glacial, his voice dripping with calm anger. "Find her right now. I want her in front of me within 24 hours." His demeanor had shifted from amused to menacing, leaving no room for failure.

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 (𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘)

His butler, usually unflappable, appeared before him with a panicked expression. "S-sir, I-I have something to report..." he stuttered, parting his lips to deliver the unthinkable words: "She's gone forever, sir."

Ji-Hyuk's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with questions. What? How? What did he mean by gone forever" ? He demand an explanation when the door burst open, and a group of police officers entered, their presence a jarring surprise.

The sudden invasion of his private space, combined with the butler's ominous words, made Ji-Hyuk's head spin. He felt a growing annoyance, his control slipping. "What is the meaning of this ?" he demanded, his voice cold and authoritative.

𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃 (𝒘𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘)

"Mr. Wang, you are under arrest for tax evasion, embezzling money from your shareholders and series of crime that are still under investigation". He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, his mind reeling with the implications.

"What ?"

𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒎 𝑰 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 (𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐)

The butler's whisper jumbled words added to the chaos "All of the bank contracts, shareholder agreements and those important evidence are missing...and I've got a message from the bank that all of our money is gone, finished." Ji-Hyuk's gaze snapped to the butler, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and shock. "Someone took today early morning verifying it's you, sir".

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ?

The butler's voice cut through the chaos, "And I believe it's—" but Ji-Hyuk finished the sentence himself, his voice dripping with venom, "(Y/N)'s work, right ?" The setvant's nod was like a confirmation of the most unpredictable he never imagined.

"And the shareholders are very anger along other companies who's contracts are missing".

𝒐𝒉 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏', 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏', 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝐫𝐞 𝒔𝒐 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆

Ji-Hyuk's laughter echoed through the room, a cold, mirthless sound. "Ha! She was playing the bigger game, huh? I underestimated her...this time." He felt a wave of fury wash over him, realizing he was not only facing arrest but also financial ruin, all because of the woman.

Ji-Hyuk's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with a manic intensity as he muttered, "Oh, such a fierce woman cost me my ruin." The police officer's words droned on, a familiar litany of rights and warnings, but Ji-Hyuk's mind was elsewhere. How classic, he deem men pathetic who lost control by their lower part and here he is the same.

"You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you and you have the right to an attorney..." The irony wasn't lost on him —he couldn't afford food let alone a lawyer now. The thought sent a fresh wave of complex emotions coursing through his veins.

His mind was else where though while the police's the cold metal of the handcuffs and the police officer's firm grip on his arm. Still Ji-Hyuk's smile never wavered, even as he was led away in disgrace, wondering where (Y/N), who he was ruined by is.

The sky above seemed to stretch out in endless splendor. The white clouds, fluffy and soft like cotton candy, gathered around the plane, casting a serene shadow over the landscape below. The sprawling cities, once bustling and overwhelming, now appeared tiny and insignificant, a testament to the power of perspective.

She couldn't help but gasp in wonder, her eyes fixed on the breathtaking view. She had never been on a plane before, let alone in first class, and the experience was almost surreal. The gentle hum of the engines, the soft glow of the cabin lights, and the attentive service of the flight attendants all combined to create an atmosphere of luxury and tranquility.

Somchai's voice cut through the hum of the plane's engines, his words dripping with genuine interest. "So, how are you liking it?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers, as if she was the only view worth beholding.

(Y/N) met his gaze, a laughter-filled smile spreading across her face. "Amazing," she replied, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "I've often seen how it looks from phone and TV, but never in real life...due to financial problems." She shared her truth without hesitation, her words unfiltered and raw.

Somchai's expression remained soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, leaning on the seat besides her. "Well, now you won't have to," he said, his voice low and reassuring. The words hung in the air, a reminder of their shared secret— the plan to steal Ji-Hyuk's money, the plan that had brought them together.

Clenching her jaw, her heavy feet step towards the destiny she very much fears at the same time loathes. That's when a hand hold her wrist spinning her around and her eyes wide seeing the man.

"Somchai ?" The least person she expected to see stood in front of her.

"Boss, can I...for few seconds talk to her ?" He pleaded the general manager who looked skeptical however she didn't wanted because the only bit of dignity of her should be remain at her work place.

"No, Somchai. Please let me go". She tug her hand for him to lose yet not go.

"I am sorry, (Y/N) for holding you wrist against your will. But please, please talk to me". The way his eyes begging and brows frows together she nod getting the boss's permission too "Thank you. Thank you". Then only he let go before apologizing to hold her wrist.

After they went to another room.

She asked. "What is it ?"

"You are not really going to apologize right ? After all working in this industry I know this much first it's not your fault". Her eyes flick clenching her heart at the reality how by little humanity from a man seem like a blessing when it's nothing. "And second your life will forever be trapped once you she step foot into his mansion because he wants you".

"I know". Without emotions she lowered her gaze.

"And you are okay risking it all ?"

"Woman never have choice". Bitterly she said and he realize.

"Then how about create a choice ?" Her eyes confuse.

"What do you mean by that ?"

"The entire reason you are force to do this becsuse you lack financially and even if you did not lack it the man is powerful enough to strip you down until you are nothing so why not steal the reasons of your imprisonment ?"

"What ? How ?" She breathed looking at him as if he had horns in his head. However he smirked telling his plan of her pretending to be with him when in reality she is going to find Ji-Hyuk's all documents and papers of bank to steal his money and fly somewhere he can't find her in case he wants revenge or simply her.

"It's risky". (Y/N) shake her head. "And crazy". She added.

"Well it's better than doing nothing also I want to see you smile and free like you deserve". He smiles. "Like all women deserve.

As soon as she locked the door behind her, she pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number. Somchai, the bar manager.

"Come to my place immediately ! I have gps tracker on my phone and I am sure people will tail me if I go out so come to my place". After that he went to her apartment where she showed him all the detail bank records she took when he was asleep.

"But there is something else too". (Y/N)'s words earned his attention and his eyes wide seeing even the shareholders and business companies contracts and corruption. "And I think we should leak the corruption and take the shareholders and other companies's money to frame him of stealing money also leaking their private information". Making them plan not only running away but also ruining him for once and all before running away that's why at the proposing day she knocked him out to escape.

"Thank you, Somchai, without you I do not what I could have done".

"It's alright". He simply shrug.

"Well, I am going to my home country where my father earlier transferred from to thailand but—". She side eyed him. "Why are you coming with me ?" And he put a hand on his chest, acting as if he is in pain.

"Ouch ! You wound me. I thought you would be happy".

"I am but..." She tailed off laughing. "You seem to be a romeo helping his Juliet after all. O my gosh ! What am I saying, I do not like that story at all". A disgust expression cast her face.

"Ah ! Why not ? It's such a tragic love story". The bar manager argued.

"Right, love story more like a impulsive infatuation". She roll her eyes.

Somchai chuckled humbly "Also, indeed, I am not a Romeo." He confessed with a sheepish grin, acknowledging his unromantic past. After graduation, Somchai was a free spirit, splurging money with his friends, and living life on his own terms. His days blurred together in a haze of adventure and recklessness until one day he saw a girl, a beautiful girl he swear took his breath and her name is (Y/N) (L/N) and her profession, rather than shocking him, filled him with admiration for her fearlessness and dedication. Unlike his past self, who had been coasting through life on his father's wealth, (Y/N) worked tirelessly, unapologetic inspired him to stop relying on his family's influence, left bad influence and joined the very same complex to protect his secret crush blossomed into love from alongside even if she isn't his, Somchai is proud of her independence as long as he can stay beside her.

"Good because I can't see you becoming one".

"Really ?" Amused he laughed.

"Really". She sweetly said. "Somchai". At her smile his heart swelled with joy, knowing that he was the cause of her happiness making him bliss to simply be near her, to bask in the warmth of her presence, and to watch her shine.

"You really know how to make a person—".

"What ?" (Y/N) cut him off excited.

Laughing he finished "Enslave".

FIN

⌜ This story is inspired and I thought to turn the lines of song ❛ make you mine by public ❜ into my dark thriller. It was fun and hopefully you like it ⌟

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qveerthe0ry · 6 days

Text

What Means to You, What Means to Me

Summary: Max Phillips changes everything. Written for @perotovar 's offering of Frith Word Count: 8,046 Pairing: Max Phillips Loki (The Trickster God of mischief and chaos) x afab! NB! Bisexual! Reader Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: smut, talks about gender non-conformity, talks about gender dysphoria as it relates to sex, GENERAL GENDER FUCKERY Beta: My sweet angel @for-a-longlongtime of course A/N: Under the cut

Author's Note: First of all, I just want to thank Erin for putting together this writing challenge and sharing SO much about Norse Paganism. The effort you put into this, from the moodboards to educational resources is incredible. And the fact that you've shared something so close to you with all of us made this writing challenge feel like getting a warm hug <3

Second, see the author's note I wrote at the end (as to not spoil the story) if you want to know the ways Loki ingrained himself in this fic.

You’ve heard of this queer club before, but you’ve never been inside. You’d thought the descriptors were exaggerations, but you find out quickly that you were wrong.

Security is tight at the door, and they ask you questions as they scan your ID that sound like small talk but are a bit more probing once you think about it. Your pockets are patted down and you walk through a metal detector before you even breach the front door.

You’re wondering if it’s even worth all this. You’re by yourself, no one’s meeting you here, and you don’t plan on going home with anyone.

Really, you’re just bored, in a fairly new city with no one familiar but your new co-workers to converse with; those are the last people you want to be around on a Friday night after a long work week.

So you’re here. Are there a dozen other queer bars you could have gone to on this rainbow-lined street? Yes. But none of them really feel right. So you’re here, finally in clothes that you feel comfortable in, around people who aren’t going to make you feel uncomfortable in them.

And its reputation precedes itself.

Gaudy. Over-the-top.

There’s three floors, the top two cut out to overlook the dance floor in the middle of the ground level. There’s chandeliers everywhere, far too ornate for a fucking nightclub. Candelabras litter every tabletop with flaming wax that you’re sure is a fire hazard in an establishment like this. There’s fuzzy, cozy-looking lounges and really hot people walking around serving complimentary waters on gold trays and maybe it was a mistake, coming here.

But you’ve already been through the TSA of nightclubs, and so you might as well grab a drink while you’re here and make the uber ride home worth it.

At least the drinks seem to be cheap. You take too long staring at the specialty cocktail names when a bartender asks how you’re doing, and end up ordering your favorite drink anyways. At least they seem nice, unlike some of the bars you’ve been to at the not-mandatory-but-suggestively-obligatory happy hours after work.

You sit at the bar, a little intimidated by the fancy decor and skilled dancers that overwhelm the club.

The music is unsuspecting, something soft and melodic that you only realize is live music when your eyes settle on her.

Her fiery red hair cascades down her shoulders, igniting all the skin exposed by her backless dress. She’s sitting at the piano in the middle of the dancefloor, obscured by couples and others dancing around her.

She’s everything. The most gorgeous woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Her nose is strong and her jawline juts and contrasts with those soft brown eyes. You’re yearning before you can even realize it, a kind of consumption that leaves you breathing heavier than normal as you sip your drink probably way too quickly.

You focus on her long, nimble fingers, painted red at the nails and fluttering so skillfully over the ivory keys that it makes your cheeks feel hot.

The ringing of the keys doesn't register over the thumping of your heart and the blood rushing in your ears, which feel like molten lava. Perhaps that’s why you don’t notice she’d finished her set until she’s a foot away from you, placing an order you’d only know if you were able to read lips.

Christ, her lips. Plump and painted in the same shade of red as her hair and nails, they purse as she sips from a champagne flute. She’s so dainty, and poised, everything you’ve never had the desire to be.

And she’s staring right at you.

“See something you like?”

Your breath gets stuck in your lungs and your heart flutters in a medically dangerous way.

“You’re incredible.”

The words roll off your tongue without any go-ahead from your brain.

She laughs anyway, with her head thrown back, and the sight of her throat elongated makes your own go bone-dry.

“If I had a nickel,” she jokes with a wink.

Your half-melted brain scrabbles for something to say so you can be graced with her presence for even one more second.

“How long have you been playing?”

She quirks her perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, and she smirks, and something about the way she can see through you like cellophane turns you on and it makes you feel wicked.

“You don’t really care, do you?”

From your peripheral, you see her long, toned arm inching closer to yours on the bar. Her fingers touch yours, feather-light, and you shiver before you freeze in place.

“I— No, I do.”

You can barely hear her low chuckle over the house music that’s started to play in her absence, but you do, and it sounds like heaven and hell all at once.

Slowly, torturously, she leans closer to you, and her bubbly breath ghosts across your cheek, your jaw, and then gusts in your ear.

“Don’t lie to me, handsome.”

Her tone is teasing, sing-songy in a way that might be annoying if you weren’t so aroused.

Your fingers clench around the glass you’re holding, and her own do the same over yours.

“What do you want me to say?”

You don’t know if you’re more scared, horny, or irritated. They’re all three tied for gold, at this point, with tipsy coming in second and way too warm bringing up the rear.

And the pure audacity this woman has is impressive, as she places her lips so so lightly under your earlobe. You hope to god her lipstick stains.

“Ask me if I wanna get out of here.”

Your lungs inflate too quickly, and your eyes close, and you lean into the touch of her lips.

“Where would we go?”

It’s a stupid question. Why in your right mind do you give a flying fuck? She could drag you to the DMV and you’d happily follow like a pup.

She stands from the barstool, tall, taller than you realized, and the proximity puts her between your spread legs.

Your thighs flex involuntarily, and your fingers twitch and ache to touch her.

“I know a place. If you want?”

Her eyebrow is quirked at you again as she leans back. You can’t find your words, so you stand in answer, and now you’re too close. Every delicious curve of her body is pressed against your front and you unhand your drink to dig your nails into the top of the bar.

“Please.”

Her grin is so mischievous that it startles you, those sharp canines on full display. You think about how they’ll feel against your skin as she nods her head and prompts you to follow her.

You might as well be wearing a leash, the way you trail her so closely. You twist your fingers as the nerves start to pick back up, and all of a sudden you’re in front of some elevator doors with a very huge and intimidating bouncer guarding the buttons and staring you down.

“Before we head up, just so you know, I’m working with a… different set of equipment than you might expect.”

You nearly ask her to repeat herself, a bit too overwhelmed with the eyes on you and the situation you’re about to get yourself into. But your brain plays a game of catch-up, and somehow this little fact makes you feel more comfortable.

“That’s cool— me too. I mean, maybe? I don’t know what— uh, what you’d expect me to have, but… yeah.”

Your voice trails off as the big burly bouncer chuckles at you, and your face could probably melt off of your skull with how hot it feels, but then she grabs your hand and squeezes to tug you into the elevator with her.

The club sounds are nearly all drowned out now, and you’re certain she can hear your heartbeat in the silence as she crowds you against the back wall.

“My name’s Max,” she says, speaking all breathy and low against the skin of your neck.

You shiver, barely eke out your own name as her body presses against yours.

It’s heavenly, the way she feels against you, but the way she teases your earlobe between her dark cherry lips feels hellish. You still haven’t touched her, even though your hands are burning to feel the silk of her dress over her waist. You’re intimidated and horny and mentally working yourself up to do anything on your own without her giving you direct orders.

There’s a ding, and all momentum is lost when she turns away from you to enter the snow globe of a penthouse beyond the open elevator doors. You follow eagerly.

“This is your place?”

Your voice is awe-filled as you look around. The walls are just windows, and the city lights and the last few minutes of sunset brighten all the dark wood and leather around you.

“Yeah, so’s the club.”

Her tone is nonchalant, and you gape at her as she steps out of her strappy, expensive-looking high heels. Maybe you shouldn’t be so surprised. She has all the confidence of someone who owns the world, and her cockiness is reflected in the ostentatious nature of the club and her penthouse.

But you’re still shocked. Maybe you’re shocked because she’s chosen you, out of every other patron, to come up here with her.

“It’s nice— the club. And here, too.”

She chuckles and shrugs but she thanks you as her bare feet bring her close to you once more. You feel your hackles raise as she approaches, along with your heart rate, but she walks right past you.

“Follow me.”

As if you’d dream of doing anything else.

Her bedroom is all windows, too. The bed is huge, much bigger than a normal king, and the space itself is fairly empty of any personal touches. It suits her mystique. You feel like you have a million unanswered questions, but none of them matter when she shoves you down onto the mattress and straddles your thighs.

Your mouth drops open, but she steals the words from your breath when she grabs your hands and places them on her hips.

Finally.

Fuck, she feels incredible under this silky dress as you squeeze her waist and arch your hips up into her.

You tell her as much, and get another one of those cocky chuckles that goes straight to your center.

“Do your worst, handsome.”

And maybe you’ve never been the best at getting into someone’s bed, but you’re certain you’re the best once you’re between the sheets.

It’s no exception, with her. You’re so eager to please. You worship every last inch of her body once it’s revealed to you. You take note of all the places you kiss and lick that make her breath hitch, you tease her until her cock weeps, and you take her so far down your throat that tears sting your eyes.

Her nails dig into your scalp, and you feel like the cocky one when she begs you to pull off, when she tells you that you’ve damn near sucked her soul out through her dick.

Your clit is throbbing and you’ve soaked through your underwear by the time she hastily pulls them off of you. She kisses you breathless and bites your lip with her sharp teeth as you roll the condom down her length. The way she whimpers when you finally straddle her sends you reeling. Your hand finds her tit, and your palm rolls against her taut nipple as you finally get her cock to slide through your slick folds. She arches into your touch and she begs and there’s no force powerful enough to keep you from giving in to her pleas.

Her face twists up so fucking beautifully as you impale yourself on her. Inch by inch, so slowly, teasing her like she’d teased you earlier in the night. You feel satisfied and hungry at the same time when you’re flush with her thighs. Her hips buck when you pinch her nipple, and she hits the perfect spot, and neither of you have any resolve leftover.

It’s a give and take that lasts too long and is over far too quick. You ride her, and she thrusts up into you, back and forth until you both crumble at the same time, blinding and intense and loud.

You might black out.

One moment you’re stroking her skin with your fingertips and thanking her over and over, and the next you’re sitting up against her headboard with a glass of water in one hand and her fiery hair in the other.

She’s sighing in your lap, nuzzling into the heat of your thighs with her aquiline nose.

“You’re incredible,” you say for probably the millionth time that night.

She chuckles again, just like she did when you first told her, but her pretty brown eyes shine when she looks up at you.

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”

Your face gets all hot again, and you feel shy, eyes darting around the room to focus on anything but the gorgeous woman resting on you.

“Does it bother you when I call you that?”

You huff.

“Not at all.”

“Are you trans?”

You huff again.

“No. I— I don’t know. I’m just… me. In-between. I don’t really feel like I fit any one description.”

She hums and presses a kiss to your mound through your underwear.

“I understand.”

“I’ve always been like this, you know? Before I knew what it was. I just didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. Not in an insecure way. Just that it didn’t feel right.”

“Do you want a dick?”

Her bluntness makes you laugh.

“Sometimes I do.”

She nods, and the way her silky hair feels against your bare thighs makes you shiver.

“It’s actually kind of awesome, I’m not gonna lie.”

She laughs with you.

“Don’t rub it in.”

“I’ll rub it in if you give me another five minutes.”

She does.

You fall asleep in her arms, exhausted and sated and happy.

She’s gone in the morning. All the shades are drawn, those same hazardous candles from the club lighting the apartment dimly. Your clothes are dry cleaned and hanging in a bag you’re certain costs more than your entire outfit. There’s a note next to your half-empty glass of water on the nightstand.

See you around.

Except you don’t.

You wait eight whole days to go back to the club. You wear something nicer, go through the tight security, and saunter up to the bar with much more confidence than your first visit. You wait for her. You drink one too many and hope to find her walking around or playing the piano.

A few people come up to you and ask you to dance, and you refuse each one with the bitter taste of irony on your tongue, and then you go home alone after last call with a headache and queasy stomach.

Maybe she’s just out of town, you tell yourself. She owns an entire nightclub, she’s clearly a very important woman, probably quite busy, too.

You go back the next weekend, and the next, and you don’t see her once.

So after a month, you go again and this time you accept the offers to share a dance, grind against people with a weird confidence you know comes from the woman you hope to see tonight. You share meaningless kisses and buy a few people drinks but refuse an offer or two to ‘get out of here.’

You start to lose hope when the dim lights flicker brighter and last call is announced. But as you bid goodbyes to a group you were hanging with, that very large and scary bodyguard from the elevators is walking towards you, and this time his presence is more exciting and less intimidating.

“Max would like you to come upstairs.”

And while it’s kind of annoying, and seems pretentious— why didn’t she come down here and tell you herself?— you follow. Eagerly. Once again.

He lets you take the elevator up by yourself, and this time the anxiety is more anticipation than it is fear.

Though, when the doors open, you’re face to face with a guy.

He’s got a familiar cocky smirk on his face, messy gelled hair, and he’s leaning up against a wall with his arms crossed.

Panic, is what your body tells you to do, leave, run. But you’re frozen under his thick gaze.

The elevator doors start to shut, and you take a step back when he moves to hold them open, but he chuckles.

A cocky little chuckle.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Max.”

“No you’re not.”

“C’mon, handsome. It’s me.”

You shiver when he calls you that, but not in the same way you did when she said it.

“Is this some kind of joke? Listen, she didn’t tell me she was exclusive with anyone—”

He cuts you off by saying your name in a pleading tone.

“Come in, please, just give me a minute to prove it to you.”

Panic. Run. Leave.

You ignore every instinct to finally step out of the elevator.

“You told me, last time, that sometimes you wished you had a dick. Right?”

You nod before you can think better of it.

Who is this guy?

You’re no stranger to genderfluidity, the way a haircut or makeup or different clothes can drastically change someone’s look— but this isn’t that. This can’t be that. While they have similar features, her sharp noise was still softer, her eyes were less crinkled at the edges, her brow bone was much less prominent. If this is smoke and mirrors, she’s one hell of a magician.

“Do you wish you had one right now?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. Are you guys twins or something? What’s going on?”

He chuckles again, and you have to say, it’s much less arousing coming from him than it was from your Max. He reaches out to touch your arm, and you want to shove him away, but you can’t.

Your body feels frozen, again, but not from fear. There’s a strange sensation that courses through you, some unexplainable energy that makes your bones feel like they’re vibrating, makes your blood feel thick and heavy in your veins.

It scares you, but the newly soft look on this Max’s face is just comforting enough to keep you from a full-fledged panic attack.

That, and the fact that it’s over just as quick as it started. Your body loosens back up as Max’s hand on your arm rubs reassuring circles.

But then you feel weird. A strange turning low in your gut, kind of like arousal, but not quite. And your pants feel tighter, more constricting than they did earlier.

You look down.

There’s a bulge in your pants, like there would be if you were packing. But you’re not. You’re certain you made the decision to leave it at home when you left earlier in the night.

You look back up at him. He’s smirking.

“You can touch it.”

You do, despite your brain screaming how weird it would be to touch your crotch in front of a man you’ve never met before.

You have a dick.

You feel it now, and while the feeling of it in your hand isn’t foreign to you, the fact that it’s sensitive and fucking actually attached to your body is.

You pull your hand away like it’s been scalded.

“What the fuck?! How did you—“

You stare at him open-mouthed and terrified and maybe a little bit turned on.

“Does it matter? I gave you what you’ve always wanted.”

He looks from your face to your… dick, and back again, smirking, admiring, like he’s just finished an art project.

“Will it… Will it go back?”

“Do you want it to?”

“I— I don’t know.”

Max chuckles that damn chuckle, all full of himself. But this time, it’s her. You know it is, now. As crazy as it sounds, it’s the only thing that makes sense. This is your Max.

“Why don’t you take it for a test drive? If you don’t like it, I’ll change you back.”

You gape at him. It’s all clicking. This is your Max, and they’ve listened to you and done something so fucking weird but so fucking sweet. You don’t know how, and you honestly are starting to care less and less the longer Max keeps staring at you like he’s proud. Of you or himself, you’re not so sure, but it’s working.

“It’s— it’s you, isn’t it?”

“I told you so.”

“Fuck,” you sigh, “where have you been? I came back. Every weekend.”

Max hums.

“I was a little caught up. Got into a bit of trouble, as I do. But I’m back, and I wanted to see you. I’m glad you came.”

“Are you— I mean… you look a lot different?”

He shrugs.

“Do you still think I’m hot? I can change back—”

“No! No, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I was just confused. You’re still—”

“Incredible?”

You huff a laugh, and finally relax for the first time since you got into that elevator.

“Yeah. Incredible.”

His cocky demeanor falls to the wayside to make room for something more sincere. He takes a few steps until you’re face to face with him, and places a suspiciously cold hand on the back of your heated neck.

“I missed you,” he mumbles.

“I— I missed you too. That night… I’ve thought about it so much.”

“Mmm, yeah? Me too.”

You kiss the stupid smirk off of his face.

He tastes the same as you remember before, like champagne and sweet mint and her. His teeth are just as sharp, scraping your tongue as it explores every bit of his mouth.

His free hand grabs your hip and pulls you even closer to him and fuck, that feels better than it has any right to. Your cock stirs in your pants and you buck your hips again, fiending for this new type of friction.

“Come to bed with me?”

All you can do is nod and follow.

The bedroom looks just the same as it did last time, but the lack of sunlight makes everything feel quieter tonight— slower, more serene.

He turns down the covers slowly, and you stand at the foot of the bed, extremely uncertain about what happens next, even though your dick throbs with anticipation.

“You still into this?”

Max’s voice startles you out of your own head.

“Yeah, sorry. Nerves.”

He hums and steps closer to you.

“Nothing to be nervous about, handsome.”

You nod and let your eyes trace up and down his body, noting his broad shoulders in that crisp white dress shirt and his thick thighs under the satiny sheen of his slacks. He’s still just as gorgeous in this masculine form, and it’s as irritating as it is enticing.

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

“Shit.”

His words go straight to your cock, and you’re unashamed to palm it in your hand and press and curse at the completely new sensation.

“I’m assuming that’s a yes,” he chuckles. “Do you want my ass or my pussy?”

Your hand on yourself stills.

“You— you have a pussy?”

“I can.”

And it shouldn’t surprise you, after everything else that’s happened in the last ten minutes, but it still does. Your breath stutters in your chest and your dick fills out even more against your hand and you distantly wonder how big Max made it, if it’s exactly what he wants.

“Can I— Will you show me your pussy?”

He leers at you when you ask, and it only turns you on even more.

“I was hoping you’d go for that.”

He starts unbuttoning his shirt, but this whole mad situation has you feeling much more comfortable, in a fuck it kind of way. You step into his space and work the buttons free, and follow with your mouth. His skin is cold under the heat of your lips, and by the time his shirt hangs free from his shoulders you’ve made it your personal mission to warm up every inch of him.

It’s easy to work his belt open, undo his fly and watch it open to a thick thatch of pubic hair. You pause to press your lips to his again, to reach around to cup his pert asscheeks as his slacks fall to the floor.

You can’t stop grinding against him, even as you press him back and down onto the bed. You just follow, fully clothed, hesitant to deny yourself this new heady feeling of pressure to your cock.

It’s only when he suckles your top lip and reaches down to palm you that you realize you’re teetering on the edge of embarrassing yourself.

Your hips jolt away from him and it hurts a bit when you rip your lip out between his teeth, but all the better to take your mind off the intense, heavy arousal in your gut.

“Okay?”

He asks it with a smirk, like he already knows the answer, so you don’t give him one. You just stare down past your heaving chest to see the damp spot on your pants and start to unfasten them to relieve some of the pressure.

“You’re gonna want to chill out. Refractory periods are annoying with those things,” he warns.

You huff.

“That’s kind of you,” you joke.

It’s better, just in the thin fabric of your underwear, less resistant. You want to take them off too, but you’re afraid that the euphoria from seeing yourself with a dick will really conflate the issue at hand.

So you shuffle down the bed a bit, and press your lips to Max’s flat chest, to his nipples that are half the size they were last time. They pebble quickly under your attention, and you bite down on one when you accidentally drag your cock along the mattress.

He groans and arches into you, goads you on with a hand on the back of your neck.

“Are you as good at eating pussy as you are at sucking dick?”

It’s almost comical, the way he applies pressure to urge you further down his body.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You nip at his sparse happy trail as he pushes you down with his large hand on your shoulder and delight in the way his muscles twitch under your mouth.

“Some time this century, yeah.”

You hum, nose at the wiry curls on his mound and grab the wrist of his hand that’s still pressing on you.

“You’re not very gentlemanly,” you tease.

He laughs as he stares down at you with his dark eyes. His hand moves to cup your jaw and you let it, let him trace your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Is that what you want? A gentleman?”

You suck his thumb into your mouth as you shake your head, grinning around his knuckle. You bite down a little harder than you mean to and he hisses. He yanks his hand from your mouth to grab the back of your head and tug until your face is buried between his thighs.

You relent, breathing in the scent of him, bypassing any preamble to shove your tongue inside of him. The way his hips buck into your face makes you smirk into his folds and dig your nails into the skin of his thighs.

He still makes the most beautiful noises, when you get down to it. Desperate, hungry, eager. For as cocky as he is, he sure writhes against you like a shameless whore as he whispers curses into the dark room.

You savor the taste of him, the warmth and tightness of him around your fingers, the scratchy feeling of his bush tickling your nose. The way his strong thighs tense and relax under your grasp makes you want to feel them do the same around your waist.

You look up when he starts clenching around your fingers like a vice, and the thought of that feeling around your new dick makes you whimper into his pussy. You focus even more on the way you suckle and flick his clit, to try and set the arousal aside so you don’t come before you can even slip into him.

He’s got his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his back arched off the bed when he finally shudders and comes. You work him through it, lapping at his dripping hole, letting him grind against your tongue until he’s squirming away from your touch.

You’re dragging this out. Stalling. You press little biting kisses to his thighs and his mound as he’s coming down. Maybe if you just worked him through one more, you’ll be calm enough to—

“C’mere already.”

You roll your eyes at him as he tugs on you, but you go willingly to hover over him and let him lick his taste from your mouth. His hums are lower and more subdued in the aftermath and they rumble deep in your chest as you try your hardest not to grind into him.

It doesn’t matter.

His free hand wraps around your cock and the feeling turns you on so much that you almost feel nauseous. You can feel all five of his fingers there, even with how big his hands are. He’s around you, and the familiar sensation on the inside mixed with the foreign sensation against your skin is a bit confusing but so hot. He squeezes and you jolt, bite down hard on his lip, but it only makes him chuckle.

“That good, huh?”

You groan into the crook of his neck in answer, completely at a loss for words.

“I’d like to say the novelty wears off, but I haven’t found that it does.”

You feel like you’re on fire, honestly, like you’re trapped in a burning building with no way out. It’s hard to speak or breathe or think with his hand wrapped around you over your underwear. You can’t even begin to imagine how good his skin is going to feel against yours.

“C’mon, handsome, lie back for me.”

You do, with his help, reclined back against his decorative pillows. Your breathing is ragged as he takes his time getting your shirt off and pressing surprisingly sweet kisses to everything revealed to him.

You ground yourself by petting his hair, coarse and a little sticky from hair gel but thick enough to be extremely satisfying to card through. For a moment you’re able to focus on the feeling of it slipping between your fingers instead of the throbbing of your prick.

But then his thick fingers find the elastic waistband and creep underneath. It shocks you out of your false sense of security. When your panicked eyes meet his, they’re so warm and soft you think you could maybe cry a little about it. But he speaks up instead.

“Are you still okay with everything going on?”

And you are, even though you’re hanging by a thread and preemptively embarrassed by what’s about to go down; you want it so bad.

So you nod.

“Words, handsome.”

You huff.

“Yes, Max. Please.”

He hums and smiles.

“Good boy.”

You’re engulfed by embarrassment when your cock jumps dramatically at his words, right beneath his hovering face. You feel even hotter when he huffs out a laugh.

But then he’s pulling your underwear, and it’s there, in plain sight, a gorgeous cock. It’s perfect, it’s how you’ve always imagined yours would look if you had one. Like Max knew, somehow, was inside your brain and could see the same fantasies that you could.

It jerks again in the cool air. You can feel the blood rushing there, a powerful gush that makes it twitch when you think about how it’s your dick, on your body. He hasn’t even touched you yet and you can feel pre-cum dripping down your shaft.

“Can I taste?” He asks.

You nod, then remember your words.

“Please.”

You can’t produce more than a whisper as you watch him lean forward, like slow motion, with his tongue hanging out dramatically and his eyes locked on yours.

The first touch of his tongue against your skin has your hips flying off the mattress at a speed that you’re sure defies laws of physics.

He just looks so fucking gorgeous with your prick eclipsing the middle of his face. Your prick looks so gorgeous. God, you’re starting to understand where cis men get their audacity from.

You tighten your grip on his hair for no other reason than you need something to hang onto or you might just float off into space. He teases you with more kitten licks, up one side, then the other, and you watch in awe. You can’t take your eyes off it, even though it may delay the inevitable if you could.

He kisses the head of it, and his tongue does something wicked right underneath it that makes you tug his head back by his gelled locks.

“Too much?” He asks, even as he winces at your tugging.

“You’re teasing, and all that’s going to lead to is disappointment on your end.”

God, why do you sound like you’ve just run a marathon?

“I’ll never be disappointed by making you come, handsome.”

He’s so fucking annoying. You want to fuck his face just to shut him up, but you know that would only last about ten and a half seconds.

You curse and close your eyes and dig your head back into the pillows. He must take it as a signal to continue, because bright, staticky stars burst behind your eyelids when he takes you into his mouth for the first time.

Fuck. You’re inside him. It feels hot and wet, kind of squishy, but so tight when he sucks and sinks his mouth down even farther.

You yell. The dramatic noise is ripped from your vocal chords without your consent, and your eyes fly open to look down at him. Those plush fucking lips look so goddamn good wrapped around you, all wet and red and swollen. You squeeze his hair in your hand. You’re so torn between wanting to chase the warmth of his mouth and wanting to arch away from it.

Then you feel it, that familiar twisting deep and low in your gut, only it’s ten times as intense as it usually is. You start to panic.

“Max! Max, please, I’m—!”

He pulls off quickly, and squeezes the base of your jerking dick. It kind of hurts, and you hiss and watch in horror and wait for something to come out. But it doesn’t. It’s so weird, the way he’s manually shut down your orgasm with one touch. Completely different than the way you would have had to hold back without this new dick.

“That’s—”

“Incredible, right?”

You huff in the midst of catching your breath. You still feel like a hair trigger, but without someone’s finger hovering over it now.

“Oh my god,” you sigh.

He laughs and lets go of you. You watch him wipe the corners of his pretty mouth and distantly think that you can’t wait until you get used to this, so you can make him gag and watch his drool and your cum seep from it.

Your dick jerks at the thought, and it’s strange to have the evidence of your arousal be so obvious. It’s like a damn car alarm.

“Wanna fuck me now?”

You laugh, delirious.

“My new nickname’s gonna be One Pump Chump.”

He slithers up the bed to lie beside you.

“It’s totally understandable. Normal, even.”

You raise your eyebrow at him.

“How big is the sample size?”

He shrugs and smirks but his eyes focus on the bedsheets between you.

“I know I seem like a douchebag, but I really just wanna help.”

You pout at him, but fix your face before he looks back up at you. You run your hand through his hair, gently this time, and something about this whole situation is making your heart feel all gooey.

“You only seem like a little bit of a douchebag.”

He grumbles at you but smiles.

“Besides, there’s like, a billion things you’re gonna want to try with that thing. You’ll get practice.”

That thing suddenly doesn’t feel as pressing anymore. You’re still hard as rock, but it finally feels like it would take a little more than a gentle breeze to make you spill.

“Let me fuck you, then.”

“Yeah?”

You nod and smile; and some of that eagerness comes back to light up his devious eyes. He reaches for the condoms in the bedside table and you admire all of the taut muscles under his tan skin.

“You want help with this?”

You roll your eyes, but it’s kinda sweet. You’ve never actually put one on at this angle before. So you get between his thighs when he lies back and let him roll it on you.

“You can definitely get someone pregnant with this too, so… be warned. Don’t sue me about it, it won’t go over well in court.”

Your dick bobs in his grasp as you laugh. It feels so weird and fascinating.

“Noted, thank you for the disclaimer. And sorry about the lawsuit?”

He squeezes your prick around the condom and smiles up at you.

“No worries, that was decades ago.”

You laugh until the words catch up with you. But you don’t have time to question it much, because he’s lying back and spreading his thighs for you, getting a pillow under his hips so his glistening pussy is tilted perfectly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him so aroused and ready for you, and at the thought of how much more wet and tight and hot it’s going to feel compared to his mouth.

You sigh and play with his little clit, still wet from your saliva. He keens and seeks out more friction and you have to fuck him. His pussy is even more enticing now, knowing you can slide your prick inside.

You shuffle closer and try to remind yourself to take your time. You purposefully glide your hands up his thighs, feeling the way the hair gets more sparse and fine the further up you go. You’re delighted by the little goosebumps that form under your fingertips and the way he sounds so relaxed when he sighs.

Shuffling even further now, you settle those thick thighs over your own and let your knees cage his slim hips. When you look up, he’s watching you through hooded eyes with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You really are gorgeous,” you tell him, softly, afraid to disturb what’s becoming a very peaceful calm before the storm.

His breath hitches a little and you see it as it ripples his chest.

“You really are handsome,” he winks back.

Your hand wanders up higher, across his ribs, and your thumb presses against his stiff nipple and rolls it. You feel the small noise he makes under your palm and smile.

Your other hand grabs the base of your cock, sure to keep the base of the condom from slipping down. The subtle move kind of makes you feel like a pro, and you’d snicker about it if the euphoria that flooded through your body didn’t overwhelm you.

It’s kind of like an out of body experience. But you’re also painfully aware of your body and this new appendage and the way the feeling of it is wreaking havoc on your entire being.

You slide your cock through his wet folds and even just this feels incredible, the way every bit of him feels rubbing against your sensitive cockhead. You can’t drag it out any longer, you know.

“Are you ready?” You ask him hesitantly.

“Are you ready?”

You snort and roll your eyes and pinch his nipple. His back arches and the movement makes your dick slip down, press just barely against his opening. You suck in a breath and it takes every ounce of willpower not to shove yourself inside to chase that wet heat.

“Okay, okay, I’m ready. Just fuck me already. Gonna feel so good.”

For him or for you, you’re not sure which he means, but it doesn’t matter.

You try to take your time. You really do. But as soon as the head of your prick slips in it’s like you have no self control.

You chase the warmth, plunge all the way into him, and stay.

Oh my god.

“Oh my god.”

Max chuckles at you and you can feel it. You’re so fucking wrapped up in him. Every little move, shift, clench, it surrounds you and overwhelms you.

“You feel so fucking good, Max.”

You’re sure you look absolutely wild. Your jaw is permanently dropped, eyes wide as you try with all of your might to hang on.

“Ditto,” he breathes.

His eyes look dark and intense, when your eyes can finally focus in.

“Do you— did you make it exactly how you like?”

It’s so stupid to be asking questions right now but it’s the only thing you have to keep you somewhat composed.

“Yeah,” he admits, a little breathless.

“You get off on that?”

You know he does before he answers, can feel him clench and contract around you. You muster up the dexterity to find his clit with your thumb and press.

“I do! I do, fuck.”

You finally start to inch out of him, slowly, afraid that too much friction will send you over the edge.

“Are you using me like a toy?”

He whimpers, and the sound alone makes you snap your hips back into him.

“No, no, that’s not it.”

Your brows rise up in question, and you pull out again as you wait for him to explain.

“It’s— I dunno. I like that you… hah, shit, like that, don’t stop.”

You feel smug that you’ve derailed his thoughts by starting to fuck him with a slow rhythm, if only because he’s derailed yours a million times in the two nights you’ve shared.

You circle his clit and groan at the way his pussy squeezes you. It’s hard to even pull out of him, it’s like he’s sucking you right back in.

“You were saying?”

And it doesn’t sound smooth coming from your mouth, your breathing labored and your voice strained.

“I like that you’ll think of me when you fuck. I like knowing I made you like this for me even if others get to enjoy it. I like knowing— shit— I like knowing I’m the one that makes you feel good.”

You balk at his confession. Such a beautiful explanation for something so possessive. From anyone else it would sound so objectifying. But with this strange relationship the two of you have, it makes your entire body burn.

You collapse on top of him once the words really sink in. You hide your face in his sweaty neck and begin to rut into him with the knowledge that you’ll probably crumble far too quickly, but you don’t quite care.

“You do, you make me feel so good,” you tell him.

He whines and works his hips against yours to meet your frantic thrusts. You grab his hair again and bite faint marks into his neck that make him writhe and squirm against you.

“You do too— harder, please, fuck me harder.”

Man, your hips are starting to ache, just like with your strap, but this time the sensation of feeling him wrapped around your very real cock keeps the discomfort at bay and it’s just pure bliss.

So you double down, raise back up to put more of your back into it. Your sweaty hands slip against his skin as you try to grab his hips for leverage.

“You gotta touch yourself for me,” you pant.

The way he scrambles to comply just turns you on even more, gives you one more tick in the ‘power tripping’ column. He looks so fucking beautiful under you, back all arched in pleasure, his face scrunched up in concentration. His bicep is bulging as he slides three fingers back and forth across his clit, so frantic but so practiced.

You fuck him and try to think about anything other than how good he feels. You’re plunging into the world’s softest, warmest hole and he’s moaning for you, you’re making him feel just as good as you do, and you’re going to lose it.

“Gonna come, Max. I can’t—”

“Do it, come for me. Wanna be the first.”

Your hips stutter as the wave finally, finally crashes over you. You try so hard to fuck through it, try to make him come again, but as the first shock of your orgasm spikes up your spine, you can’t think to do anything but try to bury yourself as far as you can into his tight cunt.

You know he’s saying something encouraging by the tone of his voice, but his words go in one ear and out the other as you grind into him and rest your sweaty forehead in the middle of his chest. It feels so good you could cry.

Your fingertips dig into the flesh of his hips as you ride it out, and your chest starts to burn and your throat starts to ache and your eyes start to burn.

You are crying.

“Shit.”

It comes out as a broken sob, muffled into his chest, and he starts at the sound.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

You shake your head against him.

“I’m fine.”

“I know, just breathe though.”

The breaths you suck in are all shuddery and stilted, and there’s snot, and it’s so embarrassing but comforting all at once.

He urges you to slip out, and he even holds the condom for you, pulls it off, and ties it while you try to reel yourself in.

You don’t, not right away at least, because once you get over the crazy rush of endorphins and serotonin and dopamine or whatever that’s flooded your body, you start feeling extremely self conscious about the whole sobbing during sex thing, and the fact that he didn’t get off, and—

“Come snuggle?”

You’re not sure when he got up, but he’s holding up a robe for you in one hand, and cradling your head in the other, and ushering you out into the living room. His fireplace is on now, and there’s a tall, snobby glass bottle of water on his end table.

You’re tired, now. Like, bone-deep exhaustion. You slump into him where he’s sprawled out on his leather couch and close your watery eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

He shushes you gently, pets your head that’s on his chest that definitely has your dried snot on it still.

“Don’t be sorry. As long as you feel good, I feel good.”

You nod, and taking a deep breath comes easier to you this time. You brave a look up at him, and his eyes are warmer than ever as they reflect the orange-yellow flames.

“Thank you.”

He smirks then, and you feel the tension in the room shift.

“So how was it?”

You grin and hide it in his pecs. You’re hyper aware of your spent dick lying soft and sticky on your thigh. You’re so much more tired than you ever usually are after an orgasm. It was all so different, every little bit of it. And there’s this calmness you feel now, after all the commotion, and it hits you all at once that it all feels right.

There’s no cleaning your strap, putting away your toys, no sliding on your underwear to hide the thing that just gave you pleasure. There’s no awkward dissonance. It’s just… normal. Normal in a way it’s never been before. Effortless bliss, like a sensory deprivation tank. Nothing.

“It was everything.”

Author's Note: I wanted to share a bit about what really resonated with me as I learned more about Loki. The one thing that stuck with me throughout this writing challenge is that Loki is not a bad guy. I will be honest, the only thing I knew about Loki before this was from the MCU, which to me seems like an oversimplification of the norse god from everything I've learned about him. Erin provided me with this very thorough video that analyzes Loki and his myths. To me, he seems like someone who liked to 'stir the shit' for the sake of curiosity. I didn't find much ill will at all in these tellings of his trickery, just a guy who wanted to fuck around and find out about things, someone who did more than just wonder what would happen.

Second, Erin said he's Like a fun older brother. Very playful and mischievous. Very straight-forward. Protector of outcasts; lgbtq+ folks, disabled people, neurodivergent people, etc. This was another driving force behind this fic. It wasn't a coincidence that Max met reader their first night at the club, they founded the club for the sole purpose of creating a safe space for queer people and takes an active role in making sure their patrons feel like they belong.

Lastly, Erin said their pick for me would be Max / Loki because of the gender fuckery, which excited me as much as it made me feel honored. When watching the aforementioned video, I learned about Loki turning himself and Thor into a bridesmaid and a bride, respectively. Loki himself was unrecognizable and was the exact image of a woman. However, Thor pretty much just looked like himself in a dress (this is paraphrasing.) I loved the idea that Loki's shapeshifting could not only be directed toward other people, but could vary in vagueness. These undefined rules for Loki’s gender felt like how I personally view gender in general, as well as how I relate it to my own identity, and I really took that idea and ran with it.

Anyway, thank you again @perotovar for this writing challenge and the piece of yourself you shared with all of us. I love you so much! <3

#pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #max phillips #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #perotovar's offering of Frith #writing challenge

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hyflix · 1 month

Text

Cass gets Tim to enroll with her in an adult ballet class. Tim agreed, thinking that he can just quit after a week, but ended up falling in love with the dance. Their vigilante background and athleticism immediately raised them to be the best dancers in the class.

Soon, the rehearsals for their first recital went underway. Cass was chosen to dance a divertissement from Giselle. It was a pas de deux and Tim wanted to dance with her but their master wanted to space out the better dancers for variation.

Recital night came and Tim was nervous. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Damian and Steph were coming. It was one thing solving cases and taking down rogues in front of your family. It was another to be dancing in front of your family.

Tim snuck a peek through the curtain. He spots Bruce and the others making their way down the aisle to the front row where no one was seated yet.

Tim counted. 'Ok, B, Al, Dick, Steph, Damian, Jason- JASON!?'

What the heck was Jason doing here? He looked out of place with his brown leather jacket and jeans in contrast with the others' more formal outfits.

Forget what Tim thought about dancing in front of his family. It was an even worse thing to dance in front of your adopted brother slash crush!

Plus, Tim didn't know how Jason would react when he finds out what story Tim's dancing to.

The recital started. Cass and her partner were the fifth to perform while Tim and his partner were eleventh.

Cass performed beautifully and Tim gave her a kiss on the cheek when she walked backstage after.

"Jay's here," Cass says. "You'll be fine, yes?"

Her words gives Tim strength. Jason's here and there's nothing Tim can do about it. And while he's here, Tim will give him a hell of a show.

***

Jason doesn't know how he got here. No, scratch that, he knows exactly how he got here. He was just cleaning his guns in his apartment when Dickhead appeared and dragged him out. Jason's a bit offended. He's not exactly a fan of ballet but if Dick had just told him that Cass was performing, he would have gone willingly. He would have pulled out his nice suit too if he'd been given the chance.

Jason didn't have the printed program, Damian and Blondie were hogging it but Jason enjoyed the feeling of not knowing what dances were next. He just relied on the names and titles flashed on the screens at the sides of the stage.

The dancers were good, considering that they were adults dancing ballet for the first time in their lives. But Cass just blew them out of the water. Jason made a note to rush out and buy flowers before they go to the expected family dinner.

The next performances flew by. Some danced classical, others modern, one was even dressed as Batman. Or a tutu version of Batman's suit.

"Oh, he's next!" Steph whispered two seats away from Jason.

Jason perked up when he heard familiar piano notes. He looked up from his phone onto the lone male dancer on stage. Then he turned his gaze to the screen.

Pride and Prejudice

Timothy Drake

Was this a joke? Is stuck-up, perfect Tim really dancing? And to Jason's favorite book, no less?

Tim began. His movements, while graceful and flowing, also exuded power and pride. He danced with his eyes closed, like he was savoring it. A small smile played at his lips.

Jason's prejudices completely melted away in the two minutes and 38 seconds that Tim was dancing. Jason had met Tim as Robin. Jason had met Tim as Red Robin. Jason had met Tim as Timothy Jackson Drake. But Tim right now? This was the rawest Jason had seen him.

Tim was gorgeous. He was ethereal. He was everything Jason had ever wanted. And in that moment, Jason knew he had fallen in love.

#jaytim #timjay #double red #red robin hood

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shebunie · 10 months

Note

Do you think you could write about mizu x reader being a belly dancer, how do you think she'd react when her traveling friend starts belly dancing to some music or something-?

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥

𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝘅 𝗕𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗗𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟭.𝟭𝗸 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁, 𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗼𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴─

“This is not helping,” Mizu mumbled while adjusting her cap, following the cheers and applause of a forming crowd not far from her. The narrow, bustling streets were filled with the lively sounds of market vendors haggling, the tantalizing aroma of spices, and the enchanting melodies of street musicians.

The swordswoman couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration as she surveyed the scene. Mizu's wandering feet led her to a bustling square where a spirited atmosphere promised entertainment of all kinds. The crowd had gathered around a makeshift stage, and curiosity sparked in Mizu's eyes as she edged closer to see what the commotion was about.

As she maneuvered through the sea of people, the rhythm of enticing music filled the air. Mizu's sharp instincts honed in on a familiar beat—the intoxicating melody of dancing. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Mizu couldn't resist the pull of the performance unfolding before her.

On the stage, a mysterious figure gracefully swayed and twirled, casting a spell on the onlookers with every sinuous movement. The dancer's attire shimmered in the sunlight, adorned with intricate embellishments that caught and reflected the vibrant colours of the surroundings. Mizu couldn't help but be captivated by the mesmerizing display.

Much to the woman's surprise, the mysterious dancer turned out to be none other than you. Realization hit her like a sudden gust of wind. It was you, donned in that attire of vibrant silk, with gems that cascade down your arms as it draped across those hips that clung to your form, accentuating the graceful arcs of movements. The tinkling sound of delicate bells attached to their clothing harmonized with the rhythmic beat of the music, creating a symphony that echoed through the marketplace.

Her travelling companion had somehow managed to gather an impromptu audience. Mizu's eyes widened as she observed your fluid movements. How their hips swayed, hands tracing intricate patterns in the air, and their whole body seemed to speak a language of its own. The crowd, initially drawn by the music, quickly shifted their attention to the captivating performance unfolding before them.

For a moment, Mizu forgot her annoyance and found herself mesmerized by your newfound skill. Your dance was a mesmerizing spectacle, and the rhythmic undulations seemed to cast a spell over the gathering crowd. The coins tossed into the makeshift hat at their feet served as a testament to the crowd's appreciation.

Caught in the hypnotic sway of the dancer's movements, Mizu couldn't help but appreciate the artistry. However, the stoic demeanour remained intact. Unbeknownst to her, a mischievous glint sparkled in the eyes of her companion, you who had been sharing the path to revenge for some time.

Seizing the opportunity to break through the sword wielder’s composed exterior, with a grin you gestured towards the makeshift dance floor. "Come on, Mizu! Join me!" Such infectious enthusiasm contrasts with Mizu's restrained demeanour.

Mizu's initial reaction was a raised eyebrow and a hesitant shake of her head, but you persisted, adding a teasing twirl to their dance. The crowd cheered, encouraging Mizu to let loose. She scoffed at the suggestion, her attention fixed on the performance before her. "I’m not much of a dancer," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of aloofness.

Dancing was not her forte, and she had always been more comfortable with a sword in hand than moving to the rhythm of music. But as the crowd's enthusiasm grew, and you continued to dance with uninhibited joy, Mizu felt a flicker of something within her—a spark of curiosity.

You approached her with a twirl, "It's more fun when you join in," a whisper to her ear, you slyly intertwined your hands together, and you felt her stiffen. Caressing her face with a free hand, it seemed as if the market square seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in the centre of the world. There was a subtle softness in your gaze, a silent invitation to step out of her comfort zone.

“I’ll guide you through it.”

After a moment of contemplation, Mizu sighed, realizing that resisting your infectious energy was a futile endeavour. With a reluctant smile, she gave your hand a gentle squeeze, and you pulled her into the dance. The crowd erupted in cheers as Mizu tentatively moved to the music, her movements initially rigid but gradually becoming more fluid.

As the two of you danced together, Mizu's initial discomfort melted away. She started to enjoy the experience, feeling the freedom that came with letting go of her usual stoic demeanour. The composed woman found herself smiling genuinely, revelling in the unexpected joy of the moment. The dance continued, weaving a story of a blossoming relationship, adventure, and the magic that happens when one lets go of inhibitions.

As the music reached its crescendo, concluding their performance with a graceful bow. The crowd erupted in applause. Both panting slightly from the exertion, a triumphant grin plastered on your face.

"How was that?" you asked, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Mizu chuckled, genuinely impressed. "Well, that was certainly… different."

You beamed at her response, earlier worries about entertaining the crowd dissipating like morning mist. The sun's golden rays painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, creating a breathtaking canvas that stretched across the horizon. Having successfully navigated the lively market, found a quiet corner bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The distant sounds of the crowd blended into a gentle hum as they settled into a moment of tranquillity.

"You were amazing out there, Mizu," you praised, a genuine smile gracing your face. "Who knew you had such hidden talents?"

Mizu smirked, a rare display of satisfaction crossing her features. "I suppose there's more to me than meets the eye. But don't get used to it; I don't plan on making a habit out of dancing in public."

You chuckled, acknowledging her reserved nature. "Fair enough. But I'm glad you joined in. It added a bit of charm to the day."

As the sun continued its descent, the market square transformed into a mosaic of warm lights and shadows. Street vendors lit lanterns, creating a winsome ambience that enveloped the surroundings. Strolling through the narrow pathways, exploring the enchanting stalls that offered an array of exotic wares.

They shared laughter and stories, creating memories that would linger in their hearts long after the journey's end. Mizu, known for her stoicism and unwavering focus on the mission at hand, found herself enjoying the simple pleasures of the moment. The infectious spirit of you had a way of breaking through her walls, and for a fleeting moment, Mizu welcomed the respite.

As the night wore on, Mizu and you, sated and content, made their way back to their lodgings. The market square, now quieter, still echoed with the distant melody of music and the memories of a warrior's dance. Little did they know that their paths, intertwined by chance and connection, would continue to unfold with each step of their voyage.

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odyssean-flower · 1 year

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The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 1 - Spring: The Garden Meeting

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader

Summary: While taking a break from a ball, you run into Neuvillette in the gardens

Warnings: None except for restrictive gender roles, also for some reason Fontaine's regency england (sort of) now?

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Of all the balls that you had attended, this was by far the most glamorous, and the dullest. And the worst thing was, your champagne glass was empty.

You picked at your dull gown, which maintained a respectable air of elegance despite the fact that it was clearly secondhand and had been mended several times, and held in a sigh. Not that anyone was looking at you, sitting on a stuffed couch with the rest of the ladies who, like you, weren’t fortunate enough to have a dance partner.

All eyes were on the amber-colored dance floor, where young men and women dressed in sleek black tuxedos and pastel ruffles respectively were twirling around in each other’s arms under a glittering chandelier. The smiles and blushes on the faces of the dancers were a stark contrast to the scheming mothers and fathers watching them like hawks from the side, frequently whispering to each other. Your own mother was no exception, of course.

You caught the eye of your younger sister, who looked about to burst out of her skin from nervousness as she danced with a nice-looking young man, the son of a viscount if you remembered correctly. You heard your mother clucking her tongue next to you, most likely wishing that your sister looked more like a lovestruck maiden. You, on the other hand, were happy for her for not stumbling over her feet, since you knew how hard she practiced all week in order to dance without embarrassing herself at her first ball.

Her partner, seeming to have noticed her tension, whispered what seemed to be words of comfort into her ear, for she blushed and smiled just a bit. He seemed like a considerate young man. Perhaps your mother wouldn’t leave this ball disappointed after all.

Speaking of disappointments…you felt your mother give you a sidelong glare for the third time in the past hour. You held back a sigh.

Truth be told, you didn’t know why your mother still brought you to these things, despite the fact that you were “past your prime,” so to speak. Not that you were much in demand even when you were in your prime. Blessed—or cursed—with an unremarkable face and a curt, reticent personality, it was as though the gods had marked you for the fate of spinsterhood since birth (you had tried to explain this to your mother, but the scolding she gave you had dragged on for so long that you didn't bring it up again). Your debut in society had made little fanfare and you had sunk into invisibility by the end of the year.

Of course, you couldn’t begrudge your mother for her frustration. Your father was a baron, the lowest noble rank, and your family was firmly in the ranks of the “impoverished gentility,” on the verge of falling below that if they didn’t marry into greater wealth. You were the oldest child and had no brothers. The hopes for a successful marriage match now rested on the slim shoulders of your sister, who had just come of age this year. Her dress was newly ordered for her–your parents had spared no expense.

You sincerely hoped that this young man would take a liking to your sister (how could he not?), not just for the sake of the family’s future, but also for your sister’s mental wellbeing. She was sunshine itself, but also prone to bouts of insecurity and nerves that took not a little effort to coax her out of.

The music showed no signs of winding down. It seemed that this dance would go on for some time yet. By the time you were on the receiving end of your fourth glare in an hour, you finally decided to excuse yourself and go out into the spacious gardens.

You would have much preferred going to the library and finding an interesting biography or novel to read, but alas, it was improper to wander the estate of a stranger without telling the host first. But the fresh air and different scenery were a much-needed distraction from the hissed conversations around you and icy glares from your mother.

It was late in the evening, so you couldn’t appreciate the gardens in their full glory, but even in the faint moonlight and dull glow of the orange lamps, you could tell that the gardens were magnificent. They were elegantly arranged, with dainty flowers and stately trees lining stone paths and pale marble statues of women in flowing dresses standing like silent guards. There were other people scattered around in the gardens as well, mainly couples who wanted some privacy away from the ballroom.

You spotted a large arched trellis to your right. It was covered in white roses and seemed to lead to some distant part of the gardens. It reminded you of the portals to fairyland in the fairy tale books you've read. The thought brought a small smile to your face, and not a little bit of guilt for thinking of such childish things when you should really be more concerned about your prospects. I'm allowed a little bit of whimsy, aren't I? You told yourself.

You walked through the arch, following the path. Once you emerged on the other end, the air almost seemed to smell sweeter and the moonlight brighter. Maybe it was because you could no longer hear the music. This seemed to be the part of the garden where the roses were planted, as you could make out their distinctive shapes around you in the darkness. There were fewer lamps here and no presence of people, but you could still see the mansion in the distance, so it should still be okay to be all the way out here, right? At least, that was what you told yourself.

As you proceeded down the path, you gradually heard the sound of burbling water. Its source was soon revealed when the path ended at a large stone fountain. It was topped with an elaborate carving of a mermaid sitting on a shell, from which the water emerged. You could see the copper glow of coins at the bottom of the basin. There were benches around the fountain, and you sat down on one of them. The area was surrounded by tall trees that blocked off the other areas of the gardens like a dome. This place seemed perfect for reading or quiet contemplation.

You engaged in the latter, tilting your head back and looking up at the night sky. The first stars were emerging. It was truly nighttime now, but you couldn't bring yourself to go back. The thought of having to sit back down on that damned couch and be forced to watch that glittering world from the sidelines seemed like the worst torture in the world.

Why did Mother bring me here? You wondered for the umpteenth time. I could have been using this time to practice my piano or painting. Skills that will actually help my future.

As you stared up at the sky, you gradually sensed a presence near you. You slowly turned your head, preparing yourself to run. When you saw who it was, you nearly gasped.

A tall, stately figure was standing by the fountain. His long silver hair, tied with a ribbon, gleamed beneath the moonlight. His dark blue robes practically blended into the night. He was turned away from you, but you knew who he was immediately. Anyone who lived in Fontaine would.

The Chief Justice, Neuvillette.

What is someone so important doing here? And unannounced, no less.

The Chief Justice hadn't been an invited guest to the ball, you were very sure. For one thing, his arrival would have been announced with far more ceremony. For another thing, he was known to rarely show up to such events unless his presence was specially required.

He didn't seem to notice you were there at first, as he seemed preoccupied with peering into the bottom of the fountain. Has he dropped something? You wondered. And how did he get here without me hearing him?

You briefly considered going up and greeting him before ultimately deciding to sneak away and return to the mansion. Getting involved with someone as important as him never ended well for people like you. What if someone caught you two alone here? You and your family would become fodder for the tabloids.

Yes, stealthily taking your leave was most certainly the right choice here. You picked up your skirts and got up from the bench, then tiptoed slowly to the start of the stone path, carefully watching your step. You had just set your foot on the stones when a voice suddenly called out to you from behind.

"Good evening, Miss. What a lovely evening we have today."

His voice was low and smooth, different from the commanding tone he used during trials. Your family only had the luxury of going to the Opera Epiclese once or twice a year, but you could distinctly hear him ordering the audience to remain calm in your head.

Cursing inwardly, you composed yourself, turned around, and curtsied. "Good evening, Monsieur Neuvillette. My sincerest apologies for not greeting you first. You seemed to be in the middle of doing something important, so I did not wish to interrupt you."

As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you wished you could take them back. They sounded sarcastic even to you. It was a nasty tendency of yours to say things without considering how they might sound to other people, even if they sounded perfectly well-meaning in your head.

However, Neuvillette didn't seem to take any offense. In fact, he nodded like your excuse was perfectly reasonable to him. "No, I should be the one apologizing for being so inconsiderate towards a lady. I let my whims get the best of me instead of greeting you."

"Oh, I assure you that it is no offense to me at all, Monsieur. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall return to the ball."

"Then I shall escort you."

"There's no need for that, Monsieur. It's not very far from here. And also…" you decided to address the elephant in the room. "Forgive me if I am mistaken, but I don't believe that you were an invited guest of the ball. It may cause some confusion if you were to suddenly appear here."

"Ah," he said, like he hadn't considered that. You noticed that he didn't deny being uninvited. "You're right, Miss. Then, will you allow me to escort you up to the arch at least?"

"...Very well, Monsieur. Thank you for your kind offer," you said, because it didn't seem like he was about to leave you alone.

The two of you began walking back in silence. Your mind was occupied with the burning question of what exactly was the Chief Justice doing in a garden without telling anyone, but you couldn't think of a way to bring up the topic without coming off as overstepping your position. But then, isn't he the one who's technically trespassing here?

"So, Monsieur Neuvillette, if you don't mind my presumptuousness in asking, what occasion brings you here?"

"Well…it is as I said before. I am simply here to indulge my whims. I was taking a walk nearby when I heard the delightful burbling of a fountain and couldn't help but come and take a look. Ah, do not worry. The owner of the estate already knows I'm here and has permitted me to take my walks in the gardens."

"Oh, I see," you nodded, even though you didn't. It was too dark to make out his face, but his tone sounded completely sincere and truthful. Not that you could do anything even if he was lying.

There was another brief silence. "And you, Miss? What are you doing here alone, away from the ball? I would assume that most young ladies your age would rather be there."

Normally, you would have been irked by such a question. You’ve heard it too many times in the past. But Neuvillette sounded like he was genuinely curious.

“There’s no need for me to come to balls, so I would rather be doing something else with my time,” you admitted. “I’m only here to accompany my younger sister, who has just come of age.” And because my mother made me come, you silently added.

“No need to come to balls? Are you already betrothed?”

“No, no, that’s not it,” Now you wished you hadn’t answered. It was awkward trying to explain this to an outsider. “It’s just that there’s no point in me being at them. I already know what lies in store for me, and there’s very little chance of it changing.”

“You’ve already decided what you’re going to do in the future? You’re quite the ambitious person.”

It seemed as though he misunderstood. How wonderful. You were somewhat hesitant over whether or not to tell him the truth, since people always acted like you told them you were going to move to the Fleuve Cendre or something like that, but you didn’t want to leave any misunderstandings. “No…it’s not as grand as what you might be thinking, Monsieur. I will become a governess.”

“A governess?” For the first time, you heard something other than polite interest in his voice.

You couldn’t blame him for his reaction. A governess was a role that befell women whose families declined in fortunes or who couldn’t find a husband. It wasn’t something anyone wanted to become. It was a thankless job with low pay and job security, not to mention being at the mercy of the whims of the rich. However, for plain, unassuming people like you with little wealth or connections, it was the only path you saw to survive in this world.

“Yes, Monsieur.” You didn’t really feel like explaining yourself. You learned the hard way that people like him wouldn’t understand anyways. "It is the role given to me in life."

“I'm afraid I do not understand. Were you forced by someone to pursue this path?"

"I wouldn't say forced, exactly. It's more that I'm making use of what limited resources I'm given in life. Governesses are always needed after all, and it's a perfectly respectable job for someone like me to support myself and my family."

In your opinion, some people were fated to become beautiful brides or famous adventurers, while others were destined to a life of being in the background. You knew from a young age that you were the latter. It was far wiser and easier to accept that and face it head on.

"Hmm…" Neuvillette said. He seemed to be thinking deeply about your words, which was a first for you. "You have very strong sense of purpose, Miss."

"I suppose I do. Although I prefer to think of it as accepting the inevitable. I’ve already been preparing myself for it, anyway. We are all given different roles in life by fate, and this is mine."

Neuvillette didn't say anything. Most likely, he was baffled by your words. You found that people got uncomfortable when you talked about fate, but you didn’t really know how else to explain it. Honestly, you were surprised at yourself for being so chatty as well. Maybe it was the darkness of the night, or maybe you drank too much champagne, but you found yourself talking about such things more easily.

At least he didn't attempt to change your mind or give you some cliched rousing speech to "follow your heart" or "never give up" like most others you told this to.

The two of you reached the arch, and the lights of the mansion appeared in the distance. You could even hear the music from here.

"We've arrived at the arch," you turned to him and curtsied once more. "Thank you very much for accompanying me, Monsieur Neuvillette."

"Ah…" he said, almost as if he was surprised by the abruptness of how you're leaving him. He's probably not used to being treated this way, you mused to yourself. "Before you go, may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

You debated internally whether or not you should refuse. Having your name known by powerful people seemed like it could lead to trouble, but you couldn't think of any good reason to refuse him without making yourself look suspicious. You decided to compromise by only giving him your first name.

"Miss [Name]..." he said. Your name felt strange to hear your own name coming from his mouth. You weren't sure you liked it much. "I'll remember it."

That sounds weirdly ominous, you thought to yourself. He sounds like a villain who will show up later in the story when you least expect it. Your imagination liked to amuse itself in this way sometimes.

You said goodbye to him once again and headed back to the ball. You swore you could feel his eyes on your back as you walked away.

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#genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #my works #the winding path of fate #neuvillette x female reader

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slavonicrhapsody · 2 months

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i think rykard had a tendency to disregard formality except as Ritual or as Political Ambition, like as just a headcanon. the way he marries tanith and deeply adores and confides in her, when a lot of her descriptions emphasize the potential gulf in social power between them (drawing on a lot of tropes heavily associated with the character of Lowborn Sex Worker Consort) and how he held a disregard for the way the Golden Order handles itself (creating a strict orderly hierarchy of power between its peoples and appropriate mannerisms between one class and another (see the pages and how kenneth haight talks)) and how he has a studious scholalry streak from his archeology at mt gelmir and his sorceries, i can see him as being this larger than life figure who takes the formality inherent to ritual worship and power and really pushes that to its limit to get the kost bang for his buck, just going all in, which builds up this idea of a figure out of legend, and then its immediately contrasted by a frank, casual manner of speaking outside of those circumstances, a way where he holds himself as a singularly powerful lord but despite that hes easy to talk to, and he values the opinions and ideas of those who would normally be his "lessers" or "beneath him" and takes them seriously and treats them with respect

a lord who takes counsel from prince and pauper alike, who married a dancer, who speaks bluntly and without shame but encourages others to do so as well, who embraces the blasphemous and heretical such that you never feel you have to hide anything from him, but when he conducts a ceremony for the great serpent its like the whole world stops to bend its ear for the way he channels such power and authority that you cant help but believe that hes truly something different from all of you, and yet despite this you speak freely to him anyways. such a man could inspire ruthless loyalty to the bitter end with ease, throughout the most horrible of wars, all until it hits that critical breaking point of the serpent, and even then some still cant bring themselves to break away from him

ok theres ABSOLUTELY a theme of repudiating the conventions of nobility and class with Rykard… I think his belief system is based on the idea that the gods are no better than mortals, and they have no inherent divine right to rule: “When Rykard turned to heresy, taking by force became the rule. The gods were no different, after all.” The gods “take by force” just like any common mortal tyrant, so why should we accept that they have an inherent authority over us? There’s this theme of seizing one’s own fate and taking power for oneself — like Bernahl calling out to the Greater Will directly that “we refuse to become your pawns” — which I think would be really inspiring to like, a common soldier who’s felt disrespected and taken for granted all their life. Though Rykard is as noble as they come, he too is fighting against a suffocating Order. Tanith explicitly likens the plight of ordinary Tarnished to the Shardbearers… they’re all made to “scurry about, fighting over what miserly scraps they allow us.”

Speaking of Tanith, Rykard making her his consort is such a deliberate political statement? Lords like Kenneth Haight would no doubt look down on her because of her commoner foreigner background, like he even calls Godrick, a demigod, a “country bumpkin!” Marrying Tanith instead of someone from Erdtree nobility shows that Rykard doesn’t care at all about established class structure… why is Tanith any less worthy than an Erdtree noble? I think Tanith is speaking from experience when she says this about Rya: “Besides, no-one should be blamed for their heritage. Think about it. We are resisting the ways of the Erdtree itself. What matters one's lineage in such a crisis.”

basically one of Rykard’s blasphemous beliefs is that the gods are only gods because they are strong enough to stay in power and keep people under their control. he would have a society where every person is the master of their own fate. at least I think that’s what his followers thought before he fed himself to a serpent god and started eating people

#asks #rykard #elden ring #at the same time i feel like at heart rykard doesnt actually care about meaningfully changing society #he just feels massively insulted by the gods in power and wants to become more powerful than them. hence the serpent god #tyrannical gods who use people as pawns are BAD. unless theyre meeeee :3

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ateez-himari · 5 months

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HEATED COACHELLA STAGE

After many attendees holding their breath for the next bold move MinAri might enact, it seems as though their shyness finally dissipated.

April 20, 2024 (6:48PM)

While weekend two unfortunately marked the last performance held by ATEEZ on a Coachella stage as of this year, the group left an ever lasting impression with powerful choreography paired with breath taking visuals and raw vocals. Through the numerous clips circulating online there is a specific instance that has been sending social media platforms into a reposting frenzy, one involving a rather passionate display by main rapper, Mingi, and lead vocalist, Himari.

While viewers were expecting something such as this to happen due to the intimate moment shared between the two during their first performance, it seems as though none were truly ready to witness it with their own eyes on stage. The interlude to their song 'Arriba' left gasps echoing in the crowd as Mingi pulled the maknae in for a true lover's kiss, an arm tightly draped across her waist whilst the other motioned for attendees to make some noise. In contrast to the beginning of the group's career where the two saw their reputation nearly torn to pieces following dating rumors, which were later disproved as nothing more than a scheme to have the vocalist removed, the crowd showed their support through loud cheers and vibrant excitement.

Their own bandmates could be seen encouraging them as some used water bottles to simulate rain, every artist on that stage including backup dancers visibly enjoying the relaxed atmosphere that had been created. Following the performance several members had gone live for a few minutes, one of them being Seonghwa who briefly mentioned a comment refering to the heated kiss as the vocalist could be seen giggling in the background prior to him playfully scolding her.

'That...we definitely expected it since he had talked about it during rehearsal, but I thought it was going to be like the first day. It flustered me too but seeing everyone having fun made me happy.'

Despite these heated stage interactions no official label has been placed on their relationship due to no statements coming out regarding the situation, leading some to believe that it was no more than a rehearsed act to rile up fans or that whatever is happening between them is simply a more intimate level of friendship. There is a possibility that this moment stemmed from the artists' immersion in the performance as well as the heat of the moment, as the youngest is after all a member of the 'Demon Line' and both are known to have rather intense stage personas.

'Seeing people say that they're still 'just friends' is so funny to me 😭Like do you guys not see everything they've been doing for a year now ? I get the people saying they could be 'friend with benefits' but come on...' - X user

It seems as though neither artist not the company intends to lift the mystery surrounding their relation to one another as of yet, leaving netizens to create countless speculations without the certainty of a confirmation. One thing that everyone can be sure of however is that this group knows how to set a stage on fire no matter who the people watching might be, living up to their newly earned nickname of 'Pirate Kings of Sahara'.

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#ateez au #ateez imagines #ateez 9th member #ateez extra member #ateez female member #kpop oc #himarinews♡

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overrboarrd · 11 days

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roman reigns x rogue [oc]

word count : 3.3k

warnings: mentions of alcohol and smoking, vulgar language, suggestive content

a/n: tell a friend to tell a friend…she’s baaack! the first chapter is relatively the same, i just did a few minor changes. i also realized i wanted to switch it from a self-insert to an original character for story purposes. if you’ve read the first version, welcome back! and to those who are new to me, i hope you enjoy! <3

CHAPTER ONE: ACQUAINTED

There was a sea of them.

Loosely unbuttoned Brioni suits.

Platinum Audemar Piguets that glistened underneath scarlet lights.

A nauseating deluge of Creed Aventus and Tom Ford cologne circulated through the atmosphere. VIXENS. The neon sign above the stage so boldly revealed what the clients were there to spend ‘hard earned’ money on. Some were fresh blood, possibly there to have a brief escape from their mundane lives. Or more frequently, engaged men grieving their final taste of true freedom, surrounded by friends that solemnly swore to never reveal the infidelities of the night. The most lucrative men, however, were few and far between. They would enter through the tall obsidian doors, eyes roaming through the crowd for one woman. Until then, they’d saunter to a concealed section towards the back of the club. Twenty dollar bills would fall to the floor, while two to three hand picked dancers kept the charitable donors entertained as they waited.

She took one last look over her body. Heart-shaped lips rubbed against each other, their deep red color contrasting against her golden brown skin. Her hands ran through wavy crimson extensions, making sure they were secured properly to her head. Swarovski crystals embellished black patent leather that barely covered the most intimate parts of her body. A deep sigh escaped her lips, while a guttural, nagging voice played in the back of her mind.

‘I will not tolerate a whore for hire as my daughter.’

‘You will not be a part of this family.’

She shook her head, gathering her thoughts as she walked up to the closed curtain. A millisecond later, the announcer’s gruff voice boomed into the microphone.

“Gentleman, I introduce you to our main event of the evening. La charmante et mystérieuse dame en Rouge!”

Applause erupted from the crowd as the main lights dimmed, a single spotlight highlighted where the large fabric started to divide. Slowed music with hints of echoes and reverb flooded the speakers. Whistles traveled randomly throughout the club as she made her way to the center of the stage, her hands delicately grabbing the silver pole. She walked languidly in a circle, eyes meeting familiar faces. Many of her high paying regulars were there. Their lustful eyes roamed the sparkling garment that adorned her. She relinquished control to the music that pulsated through her veins, her back pressing against the cold metal as she inched to the floor, legs spread and chest perched. Her routine was the same almost every night; The main stage dance, which differed slightly depending on the night, the walk through the crowd, and then the final walk back to the stage. She always managed to keep the same three marks: dance for a group near the stage, give a quick lap dance to one of her regulars near the middle, then tease one of the moguls at the section in the back, just to keep the boss happy and well paid.

Each move was executed flawlessly. Jaws fell to the floor, pockets emptied by the second. Her fingers caressed the shoulder of an eager gentleman who quickly began to tremble underneath her touch. A smirk spread across her face as she made her way to the back section, shoulders high while her heart raced in anticipation.

Inhale. Exhale. Fifteen thousand. Almost halfway there. Her chest tightened with every step, the goal within reach, but each bill felt heavier than the last. It wasn't just about the money. It was everything—her studio, her family, the fear that her soul might get lost in the atmosphere of Vixen’s before she could make it out. The internal encouragement barely soothed her nerves, while her heels clacked across the black floor to the relaxed tempo of the music.

Three unfamiliar figures lounged against the corner leather couch.

Two gazes lingered on her attire as she arrived in the middle of their section.

One clenched jaw almost went unnoticed.

An unwavering pair of dilated pupils stared at her as her hands traveled down the front of her body, slowly making their way to the floor. Her derrière emulated ocean waves while she held her ankles. Two of the men, twins from what she observed, were in fitted black crew necks, with black slacks to match. If it wasn’t for the stark difference in their hairstyles, she wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. The duo followed the club’s protocol, grinning while throwing a few bills and keeping their hands to themselves. Their companion, however, wasn’t as enthusiastic. His hair was slicked back into a neat bun, all 42 muscles in his face were relaxed, perfectly unreadable. His hands clasped together, thumb running over the 24 karat gold band that wrapped around his index finger, posture still somewhat upright.

It threw her off, to say the least.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, shifting her attention to the stoic man. Her stomach knotted as she met his gaze. There was something about him—an authority, a quiet confidence that clashed violently with the sleaze surrounding him. It wasn’t just his size or his looks; it was the intensity behind his stillness, as if he could see right through her, past the dance, past the act. She walked around the small table in the middle of the section to stand directly in front of him. His eyes never left hers. Not when her palms pressed against his shoulders, cleavage spilling over the shiny black leather as she straddled his muscular thighs. Not when she slid a perfectly manicured finger underneath the thin straps on her shoulder, causing it to cascade down her arms. His composed expression did cease to exist, however, when the garment almost completely revealed her breasts. Large tawny hands flew to her chest, unintentionally cupping the soft mounds as he held the fabric against her.

“Get up.” His deep voice commanded firmly, carrying loud enough for the tables nearest to them to hear.

A small gasp escaped her lips as she blinked, body frozen in place, completely taken aback. Her eyes scanned the crowd for security. The four men, gargantuan in their own right, didn’t dare move from their positions against the wall. ‘No touching the dancers.’ The sign posted near the entrance was as clear as day. It was then she became acutely aware of her audience’s eyes still on her. The heart that raced in anticipation only a few minutes earlier now pounded in embarrassment. Small trembling hands pushed the stranger’s rather large ones away from her, pulling the bustier to its correct position. Her eyes met his again. Stunned. She swung her legs over his, quickly removing herself from his lap, hoping their small scene wasn’t too noticeable. As she turned to leave, a tight grip wrapped around her wrist. A thick wad of hundred dollar bills, folded neatly in a blue rubber band, was placed in her hand. She threw a hardened glare the man’s way as she left their section, trying to disregard the flames that blazed throughout her body.

Though she did her best to perform the remainder of her set unfazed, the crowd’s energy was drastically different than before. Multiple stares alternated between her place on the broad stage and the dim area where she once was. A few clients left before she finished. The other dancers whispered amongst themselves while she briskly walked backstage towards the locker room, barely making it through the door before a forceful yank pulled her back.

“What the hell was that?” A hoarse voice breathed down her neck, the acrid stench of cigarette smoke permeated her nostrils. She turned her face up in disgust before snatching her arm away from the gaunt man.

“Oh I’m sorry Vince, did my dance mess up your deal? ” She huffed sarcastically, taking a few steps to create some distance between them, leaning against the blotchy wall in the narrow hallway.

“That was hardly a dance.” His chapped lips formed into a scowl.

Her shoulders shrugged carelessly. “No one told you to watch me like a hawk.” She bickered. “Besides, your sugar daddy told me to get off of him. Wasn’t my fault.” Another small knot formed in her stomach as the stranger’s smooth voice replayed in her head. His firm touch still lingered on her skin. “How important is this one, anyway?” She inquired before thinking. Vince never shared too much about his investors, all she knew was that a few of them would randomly show up at the club during the week. Vince would call herself and about four of the best dancers into his office to let them know that major clients were there, and that they needed to give them their utmost attention. Whatever they said, went, with no questions asked.

“His name is Roman Reigns. Just know that he could pay us very well.” Vince curtly answered, sparing whatever details about his arrangement with the extremely reticent man. She mindlessly toyed with the stack of money in her hand while Vince’s nonsense about the ‘importance of the elite clientele’ went in one ear and out the other. Wasting the little breath that he truly needed to save.

Long, grimy fingers snatched the roll of bills from her grasp. “Since you blatantly ruined what would’ve been the biggest investment for the club this year, I’ll take this for my troubles.” A smug smile spread across his face, and before she could protest, Vince’s hunched back turned towards her. Leaving her beyond infuriated and at least a thousand dollars short.

The longer Mr. Reigns and company resided in the back of the club, the more spectators decided to end their festivities early. None of her regulars requested their usual private dances, and almost all of her earnings came from hammered guests who’d try disputing their drunken splurges with their bank first thing in the morning. She did her best to secure new clients and avoid the trio for the remainder of the night, to both of which she had no avail. After admitting defeat to regaining the money Vince graciously took from her, she took her final trip of the night to the locker room. It was almost empty, most of the other girls left once they got done performing. The highlight of the job, or the club really, was that no one’s shift needed to be longer than a few hours. Especially if they were highly esteemed. Fortunately, she was. Unfortunately, it had seemed some of her rapport was ruined due to her encounter with Roman.

Misplaced lipsticks and bobby pins were scattered everywhere while she sat at the extended vanity. She stuffed the gray duffle bag with drugstore makeup, heels, and her jewelry that she began to take off until the repulsive smell of nicotine surrounded her again. The sound of a flicked lighter pierced her ears, a small, soft yellow glow appeared in the reflection of the mirror.

“What now?”

“Go put your heels back on. You got a private dance in ten.”

Her body swiveled in the metal chair, confusion etched on her face. “All of my regulars left.”

Vince’s pull from the cigarette was unnecessarily drawn out. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth where he exhaled the virulent smoke.

“Roman would like to see you. Alone.”

————

It was supposed to be like every other night.

Go to the club. Get on stage. Get the money. Go home.

How she ended up in a completely new outfit, on the way to perform for the same man who ruined her entire routine earlier, was beyond her. After Vince barged in the locker room informing her of the last minute encore, he advised her to change and reminded her to do whatever Roman wished. The last thing she wanted to do was possibly ruin his deal again and lose more money, so she reluctantly obliged. Her attire this time was much simpler. No crystals or embellishments, or anything to bring any more attention to herself. ‘Ironic.’ She thought. Chills crept up her spine as she walked closer towards the private suites. When she tried to do her job, he wouldn’t let her. ‘So why the hell does he want to see me now?’ Her mind scanned over an imaginary list that yielded no answer.

Two knocks.

She exhaled a shaky breath. Then she entered.

He was already seated on the red channeled loveseat, a glass of scotch, neat, sat on the small table beside him. And like their first encounter earlier, his eyes latched onto hers. The music, reminiscent of a classic Janet Jackson song played through the overhead speaker. She stood still for a moment, afraid to make another wrong move. Terrified, to risk the job that allowed her to achieve her dream. An internal ‘pull yourself together’ spoke softly, before she decided to proceed with her routine.

She took a few slow steps forward, easily finding a pace to complement the music. Her petite hands caressed every curve of her body as she walked, with slim fingers that glided down the valley between her breasts and around to her wide hips. It was then Roman’s eyes followed the trail her fingers left. He sat up and leaned slightly leaned forward, his elbows rested on his thighs as she inched closer to him. Her short path from the door ended right in front of him, and his brown eyes worked their way up her body before meeting hers again. He reclined back into the couch, legs spread wide. A wordless gesture inviting her to stand between them that she hesitantly accepted. Her body continued to flow with the music without touching him- given his abrupt reaction from earlier.

She took the liberty to disrupt the silence between them.

“So, what brings you here tonight?”

“Small talk?” His voice was quiet, playing smoothly in her ear, but the tension in it was hard to miss. “This place isn’t for that.” He paused, just long enough for her to see something flicker in his eyes—regret, hesitation, something that didn’t quite match the ruthless image he was trying to project.

Her involuntary grimace from his harshness caused him to tense.

“Needed the distraction.” He offered a short answer.

She nodded silently in response. Her eyes lowered, avoiding his prolonged gaze.

He watched as she continued to maneuver effortlessly, her body perfectly aligned, head held high. Her arms extended gracefully outward, fingers delicately splayed on the back of the couch as she circled him. He felt a rush of adrenaline and a heightened awareness of his own senses-some which he hadn’t felt in years. Each of her movements flowed seamlessly into the next, like a river meandering through a serene landscape. The rapid beat of his heart betrayed his usual unmoved demeanor, struck by her grace and skill. She was mesmerizing, and he found himself admiring her physical prowess and the confidence she exuded, as if she was absorbing the music into her very being.

Her legs carried her around the room with purpose, each step, each turn taking her to a new part of the space. She sunk to the floor, her legs extended in a perfect split once she resumed her place in front of him. After ascending from the floor into a poised stance, she allowed herself to fully take him in; staring at his darkened eyes, trailing over his full lips down to his thick beard. Her teeth captured her bottom lip as her eyes moved to his broad shoulders and muscular arms that barely fit in the black long sleeved shirt. Her proximity and the scent of her perfume almost completely overwhelmed him.

Roman picked up the chilled glass, raising it to his lips and taking a slow sip, seeking refuge from the palpable tension between them before meeting her gaze again.

“How badly do you need this job?”

Her head jerked slightly before tilting to one side, brows knitting together and lips turning downward. “What the fuck is your problem?” She was absolutely over it. Vince and every single one of his arrogant, entitled clients could go to the trenches of hell for all she cared. As much as she loved the fast money, she wouldn’t continue to tolerate the disrespect.

“You seem to think you own this place,” her voice stayed calm, but her eyes flashed with anger. “And maybe you will. But don’t act like you own me.”

A scoff escaped Roman’s full lips and his brows raised.

“You should be thanking me for the payday. I know your other clients are only giving you spare change.”

“What payday? You haven’t dropped a dime since you’ve been in here.” She argued.

“The money I put in your hand.” He stated matter-of-factly. “That definitely wasn’t for the show you put on earlier. If that’s what you want to call it.”

It took everything in her not to smack the smug look off of his handsome face. “The money that Vince took due to the show that you ruined, mind you.” Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head, her legs carrying her away from him. “Who even comes to a strip club if they don’t want to be touched.” Her big eyes bore through his as she stood next to the door.

Roman rose from his position on the couch. His heavy feet stormed over to her and he looked down as his statuesque form towered over her.

“Vince did what?”

Her eyes widened as she mentally slapped herself for letting her anger get the best of her. As much as she couldn’t stand the man, the last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize Vixens, especially for the other women. She shook her head, grabbing the door handle. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Here.” He reached out to grab her wrist again to stop her from leaving, and she felt the, presently unwanted, warmth engulf her body. Roman reached in his pocket, pulling out his wallet.

Incautiously, she reached out to stop him, her palm brushing the top of his hand. She retracted it almost immediately after noticing his nostrils flare.

“Don’t tell Vince I gave this back to you.” He commanded, pushing past her and walking out of the suite.

Her pupils followed him as he left, eyes wide, and unblinking as she processed his words. What was he doing? First, he humiliated her, and now this? Her fingers tightened around the cash while her red lips formed a perfect 'O', looking down at the even thicker bundle of money he placed in her hand.

————

‘Vince has lost his mind.’ Roman shot a text to the twins, informing them of his location before he stormed into Vince’s office, catching the son of a bitch with his legs propped on his desk and counting the money that he more than likely shorted from his dancers.

The slimeball shot up from his seat, fumbling to put up the loose bills.

“Mr. Reigns-” He clapped nervously. “Please come in, have a seat.”

“I’ll stand.” Roman snipped.

Vince’s jaw clenched. “How was the rest of your evening? I take it that my Vixens treated you and your companions well?” His eyes looked past Roman’s shoulders to Jimmy and Jey as they stood in the doorway.

His Vixens. Roman restrained himself from rolling his eyes at the dense man. “More or less.” He decided to keep the conversation with Rogue to himself. "Are you ready to talk business?” A single brow raised as he glared at him.

An eager nod came from Vince. He walked to the door, shutting and locking it after the twins fully entered the office.

“Although I have a few propositions to make-” Roman’s gaze lingered on the pile of bills Vince had tried to hide. He didn’t care about the money, but the way Vince treated his girls, especially Rogue—it mattered now. “We have a deal,” Roman said, his voice hard as stone, but his mind was already elsewhere. This was only the beginning.

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