#the evidence keeps stacking up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eimiette · 4 months ago

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late nights

࣪★ ⋆ ˙ ۪ ݁ 𓈒 ── SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: in the quiet moments between solving cases and late night paperwork, you and spencer blur the lines between friendship and something more, navigating the unspoken tension with stolen kisses in dark corners of the bau evidence room. GENRE: smut with plot, idiots in love (again, sorry) CW/TAGS: soft!dom spencer (duh), exhibitionism?, piv sex, oral f!receiving, lots of banter, est!fwb relationship, reader is referred to as a girl, praise asf.

the bullpen was nearly deserted, save for you and spencer reid, who were still chained to your desks, slogging through the seemingly endless pile of paperwork. the hum of the overhead lights and the occasional rustle of paper filled the quiet. everyone else had long since headed home, but you were too stubborn to leave until the job was done—and spencer was, well, spencer.

you glanced over at him, amused by how intensely he was concentrating on his work. his brow was furrowed, and his pen moved quickly over the report, as if he were solving a puzzle instead of filling out the same tedious forms as you. the sight made you smirk.

“hey, genius,” you called out, breaking the silence. “you got a second?”

he didn’t bother looking up. “for you? always,” he replied, his tone so casual it almost sounded sincere.

“great. i need your help in the evidence room,” you continued, stacking up a few files on your desk. “figured you could speed things up with that supercomputer brain of yours.”

he finally looked up, quirking an eyebrow. “and what, exactly, do i get out of this arrangement?”

you grinned. “the satisfaction of knowing you’re contributing to a more organized workspace. and, you know, my eternal gratitude.”

spencer sighed in mock resignation, setting down his pen. “fine. but only because i can’t stand to watch you fumble around in there any longer.”

you laughed as you led him down the hallway. “oh, please. we both know you live for this stuff. reorganizing the evidence room? it’s like christmas came early for you.”

he rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked up in a small smile. “if this is your idea of christmas, remind me not to accept any holiday invitations from you.”

you reached the heavy door of the evidence room and pushed it open, flipping on the overhead light. “i don’t know, i think you’d have fun. nothing like a little chaos to keep you on your toes.”

“or give me a migraine,” spencer muttered, stepping inside and taking in the rows of shelves filled with boxes and files. “alright, what’s the plan?”

“simple,” you said, setting the files down on a metal table in the center of the room. “we’ve got to merge these old case files into the new system. you’re a walking rolodex, so i’m counting on you to make this as painless as possible.”

he shot you a sideways look. “i see. so i’m just here to do all the thinking?”

“you got it,” you replied with a grin. “and i’m here to provide moral support and keep you entertained.”

“lucky me,” he said dryly, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes as he crouched down to examine the boxes on the lower shelves. “i hope your idea of entertainment is better than your idea of organizing.”

you crouched down beside him, nudging him with your shoulder. “you wound me, reid. i thought we were in this together.”

he snorted softly. “yeah, together in the sense that i’m doing all the work, and you’re supervising.”

“hey, i’m contributing,” you shot back, pulling a box toward you. “i’m providing witty commentary. keeps things interesting.”

he shook his head, but his smile grew. “i’ll give you that. it’s definitely not boring.”

you fell into an easy rhythm, working side by side as you sorted through the files. the banter flowed naturally, the quiet hum of the evidence room providing a backdrop to your back-and-forth. every now and then, you’d catch spencer watching you out of the corner of his eye, and each time, he’d quickly look away, like he’d been caught at something.

at one point, you both reached for the same box at the same time, your hands brushing. you felt a spark of something—maybe it was just static, maybe it was more—and you glanced up to find him looking right at you, closer than you realized.

“careful,” you said with a smirk, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “people might think you’re trying to hold my hand.”

he didn’t move his hand away. instead, his eyes held yours, the corner of his mouth lifting. “like what? that i’m trying to be helpful?”

you chuckled. “or that you’re trying to get handsy.”

he smirked. “not sure that’s a compliment”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “it’s not. but you know, you keep this up, and someone’s gonna catch on.”

“maybe,” he replied, his voice low, “but that didn’t stop you last time.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning in slightly. “last time, we were off the clock. think you can pull this off at work?”

reid's eyes hung low,“i’m a fan of multitasking. besides, you always say i need to get out of my comfort zone.”

you gave him a playful smirk, leaning in closer. “is that what you’re calling this? because it feels more like you’re trying to test your luck.”

reid’s eyes widened, feigning innocence. “i’m just here to help you with the evidence. if you’re reading anything more into it, that’s all on you.”

you raised an eyebrow and he let out a soft chuckle, his hand lightly brushing your arm. “i promise, i’m just focused on finding those files. though if you think my intentions are less than professional, well, maybe you’re the one with a wild imagination.”

you let your hand trail lightly along his chest, raising an eyebrow. “oh, i’m sure you’re ‘focused,’ but i don’t think it’s on the evidence files.”

reid’s smile widened, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested. “noticed, did you? guess i can’t help but be a little distracted when you’re this close.”

you held your breath as reid gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering to cup your cheek. the touch was soft, but the way he looked at you made your pulse quicken.

“you know,” he began, his voice low and earnest, “i’ve been thinking about you all night. can’t seem to focus on anything else.”

you raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “oh? and why’s that?”

he let his fingers trail gently down from your cheek to your waist, his touch making you shiver slightly. “partly because you’re wearing that skirt. it’s just... distracting.”

you felt a jolt at his touch, his fingers brushing lightly under the hem of your shirt. “distracting, huh? how so?”

reid’s gaze dropped to where his hand rested on your waist, his fingers barely grazing your skin. “every time i tried to work, all i could think about was how you looked—how you’ve been driving me fucking insane since you walked in.”

his fingers trailed lightly under the bottom of your shirt, his touch gentle and deliberate. you held your breath, feeling the heat of his hand against your skin.

“you’re making it really hard to stay professional,” he continued, his voice low and husky. “i keep imagining what it’d be like if you were closer, if i could...”

you felt a rush of warmth at his words and his touch. “and what if i don’t mind a little distraction?”

reid’s eyes flickered with a mix of desire and appreciation. “if that’s the case, then i’m more than happy to be distracted.”

without warning, reid’s body pressed against yours, and you could feel the raw heat emanating from him. his lips were soft yet demanding as they captured yours, and your hands instinctively reached up to entangle in his hair. the sensation of his lips moving against yours was electrifying, making your heart race and your skin tingle.

reid's hands found your waist, gripping tightly as he maneuvered you backwards. your back collided with the smooth surface of a nearby desk, papers scattering to the floor unheeded. in one fluid motion, he lifted you onto its edge, positioning himself between your legs. the wood was cool against your flushed skin as reid pressed his body flush against yours.

his lips broke away from your mouth, trailing a searing path along your jawline. you tilted your head back with a soft gasp, granting him better access as he kissed down the column of your throat. his breath was hot against your skin, each exhalation sending tingles of electricity coursing through your body.

reid's voice was low and husky as he murmured against your neck. "you're so pretty," reid whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. his lips brushed against your skin as he spoke, the sensation igniting sparks of pleasure. "been wanting you all day beautiful."

his hands roamed your body, leaving trails of heat in their wake. you felt yourself responding, a familiar warmth building low in your belly. reid's fingers danced along your curves as he continued murmuring praises and promises.

"’gonna make you feel so good," he purred, nipping gently at your earlobe.

your breath hitched as his words and touch inflamed your desire. you pressed closer, craving more contact. a soft moan escaped your lips as reid's hands found sensitive spots, expertly stoking your arousal.his hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt up to expose your bare skin. his fingers dipped under the lace of your panties, tracing tantalizing patterns. he leaned in to kiss you again, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. you could taste the sweetness of the coffee he'd had earlier as his tongue explored your mouth.

with a growl, he tugged at your panties, sliding them down your legs and tossing them aside. the cold metal of the desk against your bare skin made you gasp, but the shock quickly dissipated as reid's fingers found your slick folds. he stroked your clit, eliciting a breathy moan.

your body arched involuntarily as his fingers brought you closer to the edge. "fuck, spence..."

reid smirked, his eyes dark with lust. "god, you're so wet already," he groaned, his voice husky with desire.

he leaned down to kiss you again, swallowing your moans as his fingers continued their maddening rhythm. his other hand cupped your breast, squeezing gently through the fabric of your shirt. you were lost in the sensations, your body moving in sync with reid's.

he broke the kiss, his eyes raking over you hungrily, “"i want to taste you so badly."

without waiting for a response, he knelt before you, spreading your thighs. his lips grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, causing a rush of pleasure. his breath was hot and intoxicating as he worked his way up, teasing you.

“spread your legs baby, that’s it… wider.” his hands slid up your calves, his palms rough against your skin. his fingertips danced along your thighs, sending waves of electricity coursing through you.

his voice was low and commanding, sending shivers down your spine. you obeyed, your knees falling apart, revealing yourself to him.

reid's tongue traced along the crease where your thigh met your hips, teasing you.

“spence…” you whined, arching into him, craving his touch.

his hands slid higher, pushing your skirt further up and exposing your soaked center. he licked his lips, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"fuck, baby, you look so good like this." he leaned in, his lips ghosting over your core. "so pretty and wet... so ready for me."

a whimper escaped your throat as his breath washed over you. your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently, urging him to continue. he complied, his tongue flicking out to trace the outline of your lips. you shuddered at the sensation, your hips bucking involuntarily.

reid's fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place as he lapped at your center. you moaned, your head falling back against the desk.

"tastes so good," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin.

you rocked your hips, grinding against his mouth, desperate for more friction. he responded, his tongue circling your clit, teasing you.

"spence..." you panted, your voice hoarse.

his eyes flicked up to meet yours, his pupils dilated with lust.

"yes?"

"i need... please..."

"what do you need, baby?"

you bit your lip, struggling to form words.

"please, spence, i need you. i need you inside me. please."

your words sent a visible shudder through him. he pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire.

"since you asked so nicely..."

with a groan, he stood, undoing his belt and zipper with frantic urgency. his cock sprang free, hard and aching. you reached for him, wrapping your fingers around his shaft, stroking him slowly. he pressed his lips to yours, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss.

reid's lips never left yours as his hand shifted to his back pocket, smoothly pulling out his wallet. his movements were quick but deliberate, fingers deftly sliding inside to retrieve a condom. as he did, you began unbuttoning his shirt, your fingers working swiftly down the row of buttons, each one exposing more of his skin. his breath hitched slightly at the sensation of your touch, his focus torn between getting the condom and the feel of your hands on him. you could feel his muscles tensing under your fingertips as you pushed his shirt open, and he held the condom up with a small, breathless grin, his eyes locked on yours.

he tore the wrapper open and rolled the condom onto his cock with practiced ease. with a soft moan, he positioned himself between your thighs, his erection pressing against your entrance. you gripped his shoulders, lifting your hips slightly to meet him, impatient and eager.

he pressed his lips to yours, his tongue darting out to taste you. you moaned softly, returning his kiss, your tongues dancing together.

"spence, please."

he nodded, his eyes fluttering shut as he pushed into you.

you gasped at the sensation, your body arching off the desk, desperate for more. he was hot and hard, stretching and filling you, setting every nerve ending on fire. he began to move, slow and steady, his eyes locked on yours.

"you feel so good, pretty girl," he groaned, his voice husky.

he gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, guiding you as he increased his pace, “"wrap your legs around my waist."

your body complied without thought, locking him into place. the change in angle had you gasping and moaning as the delicious friction sent waves of pleasure coursing through you.

reid's eyes fluttered shut, his head falling forward, his lips brushing against yours. he guided your back to the desk top and held you there, thrusting into you, his pace relentless.

your breath was coming in short, shallow gasps as the pressure built inside you. your fingers dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as you climbed toward the peak.

"don't close your eyes, baby. look at me."

you forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze, losing yourself in his brown eyes.

"that's it, beautiful. so fucking beautiful," he praised.

he shifted his weight, changing the angle once again, his hips grinding against yours.

the sensation was too much, and you felt yourself tumbling over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you.

spencer buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning as you clenched around him, milking him. he thrust into you once, twice, and then he was coming, his body shuddering with pleasure.

the two of you collapsed in a sweaty, panting heap, reid's weight pinning you to the desk. you lay there, his heartbeat thudding against yours, his breath hot on your skin.

sitting up from the desk, you felt a gentle, lingering warmth from the moment as you stretched. reid stepped closer, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. his touch was tender but filled with the lingering heat of the encounter.

with a gentle hand, he guided you to your feet, helping you up from the desk. as you stood, your legs trembled slightly. you pulled up your skirt as spencer also redressed. “so,” you teased, nudging his side, “is this where you quote some obscure fucking statistic about how good sex improves cognitive function or something?”

reid chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with that familiar spark of mischief. “actually, studies show that it releases a significant amount of oxytocin, which can enhance bonding and trust. not that you needed an excuse.”

you rolled your eyes, helping him button up his shirt “trust you to turn this into a science lesson. oh my god you might as well give a damn ted talk on the benefits of cuddling?”

“maybe i will,” he replied, his fingers gently massaging your back. “did you know cuddling for 10 minutes releases enough endorphins to improve mood significantly?”

you let out a dramatic sigh, though a smile tugged at your lips. “spencer reid, you are a fucking nerd, and i mean that affectionately. but at least you’re a nerd with good hands.”

he grinned, shifting a little closer. “i’ll take that as a compliment. besides, i think i deserve some credit for that multitasking earlier.”

you laughed, your head resting against his chest. “okay, fine. you did okay. maybe even a little better than okay.”

“a little?” he scoffed, feigning offense. “i think i deserve more than ‘a little better than okay.’”

reid’s expression turned serious, though his eyes were still light and looked at you with affection. “as much as i’d love to bask in compliments, we do have paperwork to finish.”

you sighed, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “i’ll deal with hotch’s scolding in the morning. for now, how about we skip the paperwork and head to my place?” you pouted, pleading with your eyes and held your hands behind your back, feigning innocence as you waited for his response.

reid’s smile softened, clearly charmed by your playful act. “you know, i don’t think i can say no to that.”

you grinned up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “this is exactly why you’re my best friend.”

reid smirked, his arms encircling your waist. “glad i’m still in the running for that title.”

he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling back with a fond glint in his eyes. with a shared laugh, he guided you out of the office. as you both made your way to the parking lot, your giggles echoed in the hallway like a couple of a couple of teenagers sneaking out past dark.

⟢

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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mariasont · 1 month ago

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can you do a story where hotch accidentally calls Y/N by her middle name and the rest of the bau are like "👁️👄👁️ who's (insert name)?" and then a cute or fluffy moment happens where Y/N's like "oh yeah only hotch calls me that" PLS PLS PLSSSS

SECRET NICKNAMES - A.H

a/n: the emojis are so accurate im crying you know that’s exactly how they reacted 😭 but loved loved loved writing this one. slightly self indulgent because my middle name is grace <3

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: just sticky sweet fluff & morgan being an instigator but what’s new!!

wc: 0.9k

It had been a long day. The conference room was a mess. It kind of resembled a battlefield of ideas and failed theories. Evidence photos lay in uneven stacks, some forgotten at the edges of the table while others remained underlined with question marks and red ink. The faint scratch of a pen and the occasional sigh were the only sounds. It was late, and exhaustion was beginning to creep in. Eyes drooped, postures sagged, but no one had yet dared to suggest calling it a night yet.

You leaned back slowly, your chair tilting just enough to let you stretch your arms above your head. The weariness in your muscles felt almost tangible, meshing into every joint like a weight you let go of. Across from you, Hotch stood still as a statue, his arms crossed and gaze cutting through the evidence board.

"Alright, enough for tonight," he finally said firmly. "We'll reconvene tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. sharp."

The team didn't need to be told twice, practically jumping to their feet. Papers were scooped up, pens clicked shut, and chairs scraped back as everyone made their way out. But before you could slip away, Hotch's voice rang out, cutting cleanly through the room.

"Grace, can I see you for a moment?"

The team froze mid-movement. Morgan glanced over one shoulder, one brow raised, while Garcia’s head popped up from where she was stacking papers, lips parting in confusion. Reid, already halfway to the door, paused and turned, tilting his head like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t have all the pieces to.

JJ blinked, mouth “Grace?” to herself, clearly trying to place the name.

Emily squinted slightly before giving voice to what everyone was thinking. “Who’s Grace?”

You blinked, your brain scrambling for an explanation as your eyes darted to Hotch, who seemed oblivious to the chaos he had just cause. Typical man.

Clearing your throat, you forced a sheepish smile.

“That would be me,” you admitted, lifting a hand awkwardly. “Grace is my middle name. Surprise!”

The room remained suspiciously quiet, and you could practically feel the questions they all were about to voice.

“Hotch calls me that sometimes,” you added quickly, somehow able to keep your voice semi-light despite the burn in your cheeks. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, this is interesting,” Morgan said, leisurely sinking back into his chair with folded arms.

JJ squinted. “Is this some sort of secret nickname situation?”

Emily raised a brow. “Does this happen often? Hotch calling you Grace?”

“So, Grace,” Morgan drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “Care to explain why Hotch gets to call you that? Special privileges or—,”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you cut in, your voice cracked and it was unfortunately too loud to come off as anything but defensive. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal. He just—he just does sometimes, okay?”

“Oh it’s a big deal,” Garcia cut in dramatically. “What else don’t we know about you two?”

“Alright, enough.” Hotch cut in finally, shaking his head. “I told you all to go home. So go.”

Morgan made it halfway to the door before turning back.

“Y’know Hotch, if you wanted us out so bad, you could’ve just said it earlier. No need for the theatrics. We get it—‘Grace’ needs your undivided attention.”

Garcia gasped. “Morgan, you can’t just say that!”

But the damage was done, and the team left in a flurry of giggles and teasing comments, leaving you standing there, flustered and glaring at Hotch.

The second the door closed, you whirled around and smacked his shoulder.

“What was that for?”

“You know what that was for,” you said, crossing your arms. “Calling me Grace in front of them? Do you want me to be interrogated?”

His faint smile broke through. “It wasn’t intentional.

You shot him another glare which only served to turn that smile of his into a full blown laugh.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said, corners of his eyes crinkling. “I wasn’t thinking—it’s the sleep deprevation.”

Before you could respond, he reached out, gently grabbing your face and smooshing your cheeks together. You were sure you resembled a fish, brows drawn, trying to remain scowling at him, but the position made it hard.

“Truce?” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you.

Your resolve crumbled the second his lips touched yours (It always did). The warmth of his touch practically seemed into your skin, and your muscles melted against him like butter in the sun. When he pulled back you stared up at him, dazed and breathless, trying to remember why you were mad.

“That was—,” You cleared your throat, fighting to ridiculous smile threatening to appear. “You can’t just do that to avoid getting in trouble.”

“Did it work?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I’ll think about it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to weigh your options with the seriousness of someone deciding on a life-or-death matter.

“Alright,” you said slowly, drawing out each word. “I’ve thought about it.”

Grasping the lapels of his suit jacket, you pulled him down to you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that left no room for argument. When you pulled back, his smirk was still in place but his eyes were softer now and filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“But don’t think this gets you off the hook next time.”

He chuckled. “Noted.”

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#criminal minds fluff #Aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x fem reader #criminal minds fic

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heldbykento · 2 months ago

Text

⊹₊ ⋆ ㅤ— “FEEL YOU FROM THE INSIDE . .ᐟᅟ ”

part 1 | part 2

wrd count: 1304

warnings: smut, fem!reader x josh, dry-humping, drinking, josh is a pervert, semi-plot, make out, drunk reader, smutty indications, aggressive teasing

a/n : my bi-monthly drop!!!! wrote this for my dear friend adri, and me :3 but also because i just finished until dawn and this sexy man is EVERYWHERE… will be writing more of him soon. stay tuned ! ;)

you knew your limits when it came to alcohol, what you could handle and what you couldn’t.

but joshua washington had to be the world's best sweet talker. because you’d convinced everyone at the lodge you’d be the most sober.

now you were the only one slurring out a random song with an empty bottle of expensive vodka wrapped around your perfectly jeweled up and manicured hand.

“jooooosssshhhhh…” you slurred to him, clinging onto his bicep that felt oddly larger than usual. all he could do was give that signature sexy laugh and shake his head at you.

he was gentle with you, still obviously teasing but not to an extent.

the boy knew you weren’t 100% yourself when you got this drunk.

“mhm, that’s my name.” he said to you, the two of you weren’t necessarily separated from the group, but you weren’t close enough to be in their conversations.

that was always the case when the two of you were together.

but to him, close was never close enough.

you were rubbing your face all on his flannel, cheek chubbying up and only looking up at him through your eyelids.

eyes big and full of drunken content.

to him, you were just so pretty vulnerable.

the way he was looking down at you was almost straight out of a cheap porno.

his wide eyes, now low and full of an extreme emotion that your weak brain couldn’t understand.

but you had an idea that it was what you were wearing, not to toot your own horn.

soft layers: a tight white tank top stacked with a hot pink zip-up that had fur on the hood and graphics on the back, your tight denim shorts and fleece tights that were meant to keep you warm, but anyone with a right mind knew they were just for show.

technically… you had packed more outfits like this for the trip, but that’s because you weren’t expecting the cabin to be so bitterly cold.

so it wasn’t really even your fault.

in reality, you were dressing this way on purpose.

okay maybe you were dressed like this because you loved the attention.

the peering looks he gave you anytime you walked by, the snarky comments that left his perfect mouth.

who were you to blame? look at that man.

“feelin’ clingy tonight, huh?” he taunted, laughing in your face at the way you were holding onto him and gawking.

“me—? clingy? y’r funny, washington…” all you could do was stutter and stumble on your words.

he made you nervous and you were so intoxicated you could barely think before speaking.

holding him like this made you imagine all the possibilities. all the things you could be doing to each other right now.

and it almost felt like he was thinking the same, like you were always riding on the same wavelength.

you know something else you could ride on.

it was stupid to imagine but there’s always been a tension between you two, so thick and palpable that it left you knees-weak every time he flirted with you.

“let’s just cut the bullshit. c’mon.” before you could even process that he was talking to you, a rough set of calluses were wrapped around your forearm, tugging you somewhere in the lodge that you couldn’t quite comprehend.

the second you heard a door close behind you two, you realized you were in the master bedroom,

only knowing this due to the sudden change of temperature in the room compared to the living room.

“wha- aren’t they gonna n— notice that we’re gone?” you were confused, but you trusted him.

despite the evident look of hunger and lust in his eyes. you trusted yourself in his hands.

“i don’t care. i just needed to get you alone.” his mouth made its way to your ear, slowly, as his warm breath came to touch with your skin,

your body froze up at the sudden attention, making you feel warm. “y/n. almost years i’ve been fantasizing about you, ever since we met,” he paused and cautiously reached for your hips.

his hands were warm and you felt safe, once you processed his words you became putty in them.

“huh?”

was all you could mutter out, keeping yourself in place by grabbing onto his triceps, looking up at him through your full and wispy eyelashes.

“i’m sayin’ i wanna fuck you, pornstar. your skin is so soft and warm. i wanna know,” he paused to straighten himself up and look at you.

“i wanna know what it feels like inside that pussy of yours.”

drunk, he was drunk this had to be the drinks talking. there was no way this was real.

even if he was intoxicated, that didn’t stop his words from going straight in between your legs. arousal pooling onto your lacy panties.

could’ve sworn your eyes started to roll back at the dirty talk, he was so good at it too.

“y’don’t mean that—“ he quickly cut you off, pulling you in nice and personal and grabbing at the plush skin that was covered by tight denim. “i do. with every fiber in me, i swear i do.”

the physical attention was overwhelming, and the verbal one was even more intense. you didn’t know what else to do but to give in to something you’ve been praying for for so long.

you couldn’t even suck in a breath before he was crashing his lips onto yours.

it was a kiss that made you dizzy, you melted into it though, wrapping yourself onto him.

he led you backwards, kissing you still while he was walking, pressing your back against whatever wall was close; stabilizing you with his knee between your legs.

you were holding onto the hair on the back of his head for dear life, loving the hot and messy kiss so much that it turned you on.

all the sexual frustration of not getting any in almost a year turned you into some horn dog.

your head was spinning, you could barely make out a thought. josh’s hand began to unzip your jacket, sliding it off your body while his lips started roaming down your neck.

“i ca— can’t take it,” a whine slipped out of your lips, head turned to face away from him to hide away your embarrassment.

this didn’t stop him though, you felt him smile against your skin and only itch on more.

rutting your hips for you against his clothed leg while he started sucking ravishingly against your neck, josh himself could barely keep himself from grinning at how much he’s won.

josh was the type for messy and quick sex. but when he thinks of having it with you, he wants it hard and slow.

painfully slow. so he can make you take in everything, make you feel everything all at once.

his fingers started sliding off the straps of your tight shirt, lips starting to make contact with the plush skin of your breasts.

“so fuckin’ sexy. just like i imagined. you g’nna let me give it to you? hm?” he was teasing, words muffled by the way he had his lips wrapped around your nipple.

“god i can’t wait to fill you up. gonna tell chris how good this pussy is.” josh snickered, grinning at the mess he was making of you.

and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

he brought himself up to bite on your ear, hands teasing your breasts as your hips (which had minds of their own) kept grinding on his knee, the friction making your brain go into mush.

your mind was completely blown, blank and empty.

fingers were digging and wrinkling up his flannel as your mouth was agape.

you were all hot and bothered, needing and yearning for more.

if you felt this good only from foreplay, imagine how good being so full of his dick was gonna be.

you couldn’t wait.

you were letting out noises you didn’t even know you could make,

and he was barely getting started.

#heldbykento #fan fiction #until dawn #josh washington #josh until dawn #joshua washington #josh washington x reader #until dawn fanfics #reader x joshua washington #smut fanfiction #josh washington smut #writing

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senascoop · 25 days ago

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perv bf jake drabble because I'm bored...

You're walking ahead of Jake, hips swaying, as his hungry gaze follows your every step. It doesn't bother you, not really, because you know you're just as perverted in your desires. But he's different. He outpaces your perversions, surpassing them in a single, lustful stride.

His mind starts to wander, drifting between your thighs, imagining an eternity trapped there. For him, it is heaven-the ultimate dream destination. It's in the way his eyes linger, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he loses himself in his fantasies.

You have been noticing recently that the stack of panties in your drawer keeps dwindling. A pair gone here, a set vanished there. You did not bother much with it at first. You must have misplaced them or forgotten them in some drawer or tucked them away in some forgotten corner. But then, he started replacing them.

Every time you discovered the deficit, he'd surprise you with new, better panties. Lacy, silky, or soft cotton—it didn't matter. He spoiled you, indulged your every whim. Such a sweetheart, you thought.

But was he?

There it lay, hidden in the remnants of discarded fabric. How they carried still with your scent, how a hint of musk could be detected from the traces of your arousal. There was the scent of Jake's lust and how he indulged, so twisted and secret.

He was not only replacing the missing pair of panties. He stole them and used them as prizes, jerking into the fabric and painting them with his own release. Your smell, your aroma, becomes some twisted aphrodisiac fueling his darkest fantasies.

He was no sweetheart. He was a thief, a pervert of the highest order. But you couldn't help the thrill that raced down your spine at the thought, the dampness that gathered between your thighs. Because deep down, you knew you wanted him to do it again. And again. And again.

The warm water streamed down your body while your hands caressed every curve of your skin soaped up with soap in the bite marks on the neck, breasts, and inner thighs. Each one remained a reminder of last night's raw passion. You felt the heat of water only make the memories all the more burning, when your body craved just a little more even with the evidence being washed out.

If you hadn't noticed it before, you did now. The little gap in the door from where you saw Jake, who stands across the room, a picture of brazen desire. His hand, hidden within the confines of his jeans, moves with a purposeful, rhythmic motion. It's clear what he's doing, the lewd act concealed but not truly secret. His eyes, once again, betray him.

A guttural, muffled “Fuck” is wrung from his lips, the word lost to the steamy air and the sound of the waterfalls. Even without the audible confirmation, you know him intimately, and his pleasure is as familiar to you as your own reflection.

As he spills himself, his release seeping into the fabric of his boxers, he allows himself a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss. His eyes flutter shut, a look of utter contentment etched onto his handsome face. But it's fleeting.

They snap open, his eyes darting right to you as if by magnet. There, in the small slit in the door, only big enough to be almost an oversight, he can see you. And you can see him seeing you.

His eyes scan your wet body, shameless in their appreciation. They linger on the curves he knows so well, the peaks and valleys sculpted by your natural beauty and the passion you share. His gaze burns a trail from the top of your head down to your toes, pausing at every tempting inch in between.

He gives you a look that's as sheepish as it is lustful. A smile tugs at his lips, crooked and full of mischief. It's the grin of a man who knows he's been caught, but couldn't possibly be more pleased about it.

As he watches, his eyes go to your towel, not blinking, as you start to dry yourself, and he follows the route of the towel with an imagination of how the absorbent fabric would feel on your skin, wishing his hands were there.

He's a sweetheart, in his own twisted, insatiable way. He indulges your every whim, worships your body with a fervor that borders on reverence. But he's also a thief, a pervert, a man consumed by his own dark, lustful desires.

And as you lock eyes through the gap in the door, you realize that you wouldn't have him any other way. His shamelessness is part of what draws you to him, the key ingredient in the recipe of your relationship.

#𝒮ena’s 𝒲orks ☁︎#enhypen imagines #enhypen #enhypen reactions #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #kpop imagines #kpop smut #kpop hard hours #jake hard thoughts #jake hard hours #jake smut #enhypen drabbles #enhypen scenarios #jake x reader #enhypen x you

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whitexwolfxx310 · 8 months ago

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|| What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie? ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: After accidentally revealing that you have a masked man kink, Bucky starts taking it to the next level.

Warnings: Smut- MDNI please!, oral sex (both ways!!), edging?, masturbation (F), praise kink, cursing, light stalking, breaking in, harassing texts/calls, and lots of angst.

Word Count: 4.3

A/Ns: Hi babes! This was going to be a short story but she came out kinda long, so I'm going to make it a 2 parter. Don't judge me 🙈 I looove masked men. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. This is also my first time getting more explicit with smut so don't judge me too harshly! xoxo

Snuggled up to Bucky under a comfy blanket with a bowl of extra buttery and salty popcorn, lights turned all the way down, you finally convinced him to watch the movie Scream. While you’ve seen it many times before and are aware of all the jump scares, you still cling onto him a little extra tight in preparation while he is completely unphased. About halfway through the movie, you hear Bucky snort.

“What?” You ask, looking up at him slightly. His face is illuminated by the glow of the tv.

“Something you want to tell me, Doll?” One side of his mouth is tugged up in amusement.

“Bucky, what the fuck are you talking about?” Confused, you sit up to look at him.

He just shakes his head, grinning, “I’m talking about how every time a masked man comes on that screen,” he points to the tv, “you press those pretty little thighs of yours together.”

Your cheeks instantly flush, “You noticed that?”

“I pay attention to everything when it comes to my girl.” Bucky leans back more, resting his arm on top of the couch still grinning, “Tell me about it.” His eyes narrow slightly, something a bit darker lurking, intrigued by this knowledge.

“I don’t know… it’s just like,” you brush your hair behind your ears suddenly feeling embarrassed, “kind of like a kink? A fantasy maybe? There’s just something so dark and exhilarating about an unknown man behind a mask that stalks and is obsessed with you. The anonymity of it I guess?”

By the time you’re done explaining, your hands unknowingly gripped and crossed your chest. Blinking rapidly, you let go and focus back on Bucky who is just watching you intensely.

He nods and purses his lips lightly, “Maybe if I keep watching this movie, I’ll want a masked man for myself,” He teases.

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” You grab a fistful of popcorn and throw it at him, sending you both into a laughing frenzy.

"You're cleaning that up, not me." Bucky laughs.

Him and his messes.

He scoops you in close to his body to finish the movie, and later that night he showed you that no masked man from a movie could ever compare to him.

Three weeks later.

While trying to grab your phone and keys out of your bag, you accidentally drop the stack of mail you had just picked up from the landlord’s office on the doormat.

“Shit!” You mutter to yourself. Bending down to pick it up, something catches your eye. Your apartment door is cracked open.

You stand up, discarding the mail and push open the door, “Hello?” You call out, “Bucky?” There’s no response.

Taking a few steps in, nothing looks out of place or any evidence that someone seems to have broken in. You start going through each room, keeping your phone firmly in your hand just in case. But there’s nothing. Walking out of the bedroom you decide you’re going to call Bucky to see how far away he is since he was on his way over, when you find him standing in the kitchen.

“OH! Fuck me-” You jump at the sight of him and grab your chest.

“Hey, Doll!” Bucky says, like the perfect golden retriever boyfriend that he is.

“Did you just get here?” You ask, your heart still pounding.

“Yeah, why?” he asks curiously, absentmindedly grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl off the kitchen counter and taking a bite.

“Um, yeah me too. It’s just-”

“Just… what?” He takes another bite.

“It’s just that... my door was open when I got here?”

“What?” Bucky’s face instantly changes, his eyes wide and anxious, “Go wait in the hallway until I look around.”

“I already did that-”

“Please?” He pleads as he throws out his barely eaten apple, already coaxing you towards the door.

Crossing your arms, you go and wait in the hallway while he looks around. After a few minutes he brings you back in.

“Everything looks to be fine, but I’m going to stay the night just in case.” You breathe a sigh of relief at Bucky’s words.

“Maybe maintenance came in and forgot to lock back up. I was having all those issues with my heater a few months ago,” You try justifying.

“Yeah maybe,” he says, with a small shrug of his shoulders.

About a week later is when the phone calls started.

Initially it was just 1 or 2 a day from a restricted number that you never picked up, assuming it was some kind of solicitation about your car’s extended warranty. But no voicemail was ever left.

As a few weeks went by though, it started to feel like borderline harassment. The number of phone calls jumped to an average of twenty times a day.

Sitting at your work desk your phone continued to violently vibrate, the words Unknown Caller lit up on the screen. You ran your hands through your hair, letting them linger on your scalp, starting to feel stressed every time your phone rang.

"Hey babes!" Hailee, your coworker/bff storms unannounced into your office, "You ready to grab some lu- oh my god. Are they calling you right now?" Obviously aware of the situation, she scurries around your desk in her too high heels and answers your phone. Clearing her throat, "Hi, thank you for calling Tammy's Whorehouse where we suck and fuck. How can I help you?" She taps an inpatient finger on her hip, waiting for a response and then the line goes dead.

Your hands fall down into your lap with an exacerbated breath, "No one ever answers."

"Have you tried tracking the number?" She puts the phone down and sits on top of your desk.

"I've tried calling my cell service, they can't do anything about it. If it keeps up, I just might change my number." You shake your head, "This is going to sound so dumb, but it has me so distracted. Apparently, I've been forgetting to charge my phone at night too? I swear I put it on the charger but then it dies in the night and that's why I've been late to work a few times."

Hailee tilts her head to the side, giving a sympathetic frown. "Sorry, girl. Hey!" She tries perking up, "Why don't we go get lunch and iced coffees? My treat?!" Her bright smile and shimmying shoulders get you to crack a smile. Jumping off your desk she claps her hands, "Yay!"

Suddenly there's a knock at your office door. Both of you stop the mini-iced coffee celebration and snap your attention to the nervous, uniformed teenager standing in the doorway.

"Delivery." he says shyly, looking between the two of you.

Hailee raises an eyebrow and smirks, looking you up and down, "Well, it wasn't delivered to my office."

You roll your eyes as you get up, smoothing your skirt down. Walking up to the boy, he quickly hands you a rather large bouquet of flowers. The intoxicating floral aroma hits you almost immediately, you cannot help but be astounded by the arrangement. Each individual flower is rather large, some darker than others; Ombres of red and burgundy into black.

"They're beautiful," You admire, inhaling deeply. "I don't think I've ever seen these before. Do you know what kind of flowers they are?" You ask the teen curiously.

"Black dahlia's," he recalled, and your stomach felt like it dropped with the mention of the name. "I don't think we've ever gotten a request for those at my family's shop before. That's the only reason I remember," he shrugged.

"Does Bucky have a brother? Because like, are you kidding me right now?" You glanced at Hailee who was making an over-the-top pouty face.

Asking the teen if he had CashApp to tip him, you quickly ushered him off. Searching through the flowers to see if there was a card or any indication that they were in fact from Bucky, but there wasn't.

That night, Bucky came over for dinner. He brought take out from a local Greek place that he really liked, but you were distracted. Just pushing the food around on your plate.

"You okay, doll?" His forehead puckered slightly in question.

"Yeah, um," You shake your head to try and focus, "Hey, thanks for the flowers today. That was super sweet and unexpected," considering you've been kinda stressed.

"Flowers? What flowers?" Bucky's posture stiffens.

"I got flowers delivered to me at work today, I just assumed it... was from you? Maybe it was a mistake then." There were suddenly mixed emotions being stirred around in a frenzy. If Bucky wasn't the one who sent the flowers, then who did? You tried saying they were dropped in your office by accident, but it just didn't feel right. It felt intentional.

"Well, honey, I don't know who it was, but it wasn't me." Bucky stands up from the kitchen table, grabbing his dinner plate. "Are you done?" He asks gesturing to your plate. You nod and he takes it as well, "But it's something I should do, and I'll be more conscious of it. I'm sorry,"

"No, Buck I wasn't-"

His lips press to the top of your head, "No, you're right. If anyone should be doing it, it should be me. Let me take the garbage out for you and we'll have the night to ourselves, yeah? Anything you want."

"Anything?" You repeat, in singsong with a grin.

He shakes his head, scraping the scraps from the plates into the garbage returning the grin, "I like where this is going," Tying off the bag, he holds up two fingers, "give me two minutes," he opens the door to the apartment and starts jogging down the hallway, "two minutes!!" you hear him call out.

The door to the apartment doesn't even fully shut before you hear the familiar buzz coming from your bag. Letting out an annoyed sigh, you angrily push away from the table and stomp over to the counter, dumping out your purse just to see Unknown Caller lit up on your phone.

You hit the green button so hard it doesn't register, so you do it again until it answers, "Hello?! What the FUCK do you want?!" No answer. But this time, you can hear someone breathing heavily. "You need some help. Seriously, leave me the fuck alone!" Hanging up, you slam the phone down onto the counter.

"Doll?" Bucky asks from the doorway, he sighs, "Was it that number bothering you again?"

"Yes!" You answer, flustered. "The next step is to just- change my number! I don't know what else to do."

Bucky steps in, closing in the door behind him with the back of his boot. His lips are pressed in tight line, "C'mere, darlin'," he holds his arms wide open, eyes soft. Dragging your feet, you meet him halfway and lay your head on his chest, "It's gonna be okay," he coos in your ear. "It's just some asshole with nothing better to do. They'll get bored soon enough. Worst case, we'll change your number. We can even go down to the store tomorrow and get you a new phone?" Bucky offers, trying to be optimistic as he caresses your arms up and down.

"I was just really hoping it wouldn't get to that point." You admit, pulling away from his chest just enough to look up at him.

"We'll do what we have to." Bucky smiles, cupping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger before pressing his lips to yours.

Letting your lips linger a moment as your eyes close, you inhale deeply, taking in the cypress scented soap still lingering on his skin from a shower he took earlier. It's your favorite. Hence why you keep buying it every time he runs out. Bucky's lips separate yours, and when just the tips of your tongues connect, a barely audible whimper escapes your mouth.

Like a gun starting a marathon, it was all Bucky needed to hear. Reaching down and gripping behind your thighs, he hoists you up. With a delighted squeak, you wrap your legs around his torso, laughing but keeping your lips on his as your hands run through his short hair. Using one hand flat against your lower back to keep you pressed into his chest, Bucky's other hand firmly grasped your ass. His fingers purposefully grazing the inseam of your jeans between your legs as he walked towards the bedroom.

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, keeping you both upright. You break the mashing of tongues to re-adjust your position and straddle him. Leaning in, you suck his bottom lip into your mouth, letting your teeth graze just a tiny bit before letting go. Bucky exhales a drawn out, low groan before licking his lips. The look in his eyes is absolutely carnal as he tugs your shirt over your head and throws it across the room. Not even bothering with your bra, he just pulls the black lace cups down beneath your breasts, propping them up in exposure as he dips down to flick his tongue across your nipple.

Initially it makes you shudder, but as he continues to suck, nibble, lick, repeat, you find reprieve in grinding your hips down into the ever-growing bulge in his pants. Bucky lets out a stifled groan before switching his mouth to your other nipple. You smirk to yourself; you just love to tease this man. Although, if we're being honest, this isn't so easy on you right now either.

Roughly gripping both sides of his face, you bring his lips back to yours. You’re starting to feel needy for more of his touch. Becoming desperate to relieve this fuel lit fire. Bucky’s hands were firmly placed on each of your ass cheeks, assisting your already rolling hips forward and back. He snakes one hand between your bodies, slipping it down the front of your pants, his finger sliding once between your slit. You both moan loudly in unison into the kiss.

"Fuuuck..." Bucky breathed, tilting his head back just slightly that your lips pull apart. "You're already so fucking wet for me," his lascivious eyes lock onto yours, his breathing already becoming rather ragged.

Hearing his debauched voice, knowing just that single glide of his finger has him aching so badly, has ignited a new spark in you. "It's all yours, baby," you purred. Biting the bottom corner of your lip, you slowly get off his lap. Hooking each of your pointer fingers into the front pockets of Bucky's jeans, you encourage him to stand up as you drop to your knees before him.

As he's fumbling with the button and zipper, you stare up at him with tantalizing eyes, your hands firmly grazing along his muscular thighs. Once he's able to get it open, you help start to shimmy down his jeans and boxer briefs passed his hips until they pool on the floor. Bucky's thick, long cock springs up at almost eye level in enthusiasm, instantly making your mouth water. Sticking your tongue out as far as you possibly can, you lock eyes with Bucky and press the tip to your tongue, dragging it to a flick.

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, his body quivered at the first contact. You smile as you taste the initial saltiness on your tongue, licking your lips before hollowing out your cheeks and taking him into your mouth. Bucky exhales deeply, his head starting to tilt back but he stops, making sure he maintains eye contact with you. You draw back, pressing your tongue upward firmly, go forward, and go back again. After a moment, a rhythm gets going, you now move your tongue side to side as you bob front to back, sucking harder.

"That's it," Bucky coaxes, "That's my good fucking girl," a small whimper escapes your throat at his words of praise. You clamp your legs together a little tighter as it's getting harder to ignore the incessant throbbing and growing wet spot between your legs.

The next thing you know, his hands are in your hair, gathering it up into a makeshift ponytail. Grasping his shaft with your hand steadily, you use that to guide your mouth, twisting and gliding easily. You know it's his weakness. Bucky's hips start to buck up into your mouth as he pulls your head down further onto his throbbing cock. Through now teary eyes you’re determined to watch as his face starts to contort with pleasure, his moans music to your ears just as your gagging is to him.

"You look...Ahh...so...fucking...pretty," Each word comes out with a drive of his hips into your mouth. In the dim lighting of the room, completely blissed out on pleasure, he looks like a fucking god. And he's mine. The thought alone is enough to make you explode. "Ugh!" Bucky growls, "I can't take it anymore! C'mere!" With a small 'pop', he pulls out and grabs underneath your arms and tosses you onto the bed.

Giggling, you wipe the excess saliva off your swollen, red lips as you push back further onto the bed. Bucky pulls your jeans and panties down and off in one swift motion before kneeling onto the bed. His eyes are glazed over, solely focused on between your legs. He crawls upward, and it's purely feline as he dips down, his mouth creating a seal and sucking once.

The combination of a loud moan and gasp get ripped straight from your lungs as you practically convulsed off the bed from being so aroused. Bucky quickly and securely locks your thighs in place to keep them open and from you going anywhere. He grinned, watching every single movement.

"Eyes on me, princess," he ordered. Pressing down on your lips, you nodded in anticipation. Leaning in, Bucky skimmed his lips on your very inner thigh, placing a feather light kiss that made your entire abdomen tense.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

"Fuck," Bucky sits back up on his knees, taking his phone out of the pocket of his jeans that was still around his ankles. "Hello?" You stare up at him in complete disbelief, "What, now?" He looks down at you on the bed, giving a sympathetic look and mouths 'sorry'. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he drags a hand down his face. "Yeah... yeah. No- I understand... Okay. Yep. I'll be there. Bye." He hangs up the phone.

"Don't say it," you bite out, crossing your arms over your chest and closing your legs.

Bucky takes a deep breath, "I have to go back, a mission came up."

"Annnd, you said it," you look up at the ceiling, refusing to keep that eye contact that you were so adamant on not even a minute ago.

"It sounded pretty important, Doll." Bucky is off the bed, pulling up his pants and re-adjusting himself in them.

"It always is," you mutter under your breath. Sighing, you just accepted the fact that your night is completely ruined. "So, what you're telling me is, that I'm getting cock blocked by The Avengers?"

Bucky sits on the bed, placing a delicate hand on your cheek, "I'm really sorry. I'll make this up to you tenfold, promise." He kisses you softly, "I have to go. I'll contact you as soon as I can. I love you," He offers a small smile.

You sigh, knowing you can never let him leave on bad terms, "I love you too, Buck." Sitting up you give him a hug and a few extra kisses that probably made him late.

Still sitting in bed after Bucky had gone, you felt irrationally irritated by how he left. Tapping on your thighs, a headache was already brewing from the pent-up sexual tension that you were unable to get out. That's when you suddenly remembered a little something on your phone that might just help you out in this situation. There was this one particular time you and Bucky decided to record yourselves having sex, and you've never went back and watched it. If there was ever a time to go back and do so...

Excitedly, you go over to the dresser. You pull open your underwear drawer and dig through all the way to the back, where you stash your favorite vibrator. You click the silicone button a few times to make sure it's charged, and all the intensity settings worked before laughing menacingly to yourself and closing the drawer. Tossing the toy onto the bed, you walk out to the kitchen.

Your phone was where you had left it earlier, still slammed face down on the counter. Sashaying over, you notice that there's an applecore sitting next to it. This is odd, because you didn't have one and Bucky is normally very meticulous when it comes to cleaning and picking up after himself. Going to throw it out, you realize there is no garbage bag in the trash can and suddenly it makes sense. Bucky was in a rush to leave; he probably didn't have the time to replace the bag. So, you do it yourself, and throw out the eaten fruit.

Getting back to your room with your phone, you notice that your underwear drawer is open. Pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes, you look from the bed, to the dresser, back to the bed. I could have sworn I closed that. Then again, maybe it's just the headache coming on. You close the dresser drawer, and all too eagerly jump under the covers.

The ambiance for a little 'self-love' right now is almost too perfect. Your bedroom is dimly lit with only a mood lamp and the fog covered streetlamps from down below your apartment. The light patter of rain hit against your bedroom window and fire escape underneath it, while some light thunder rolled some distance away.

Scrolling through your phone, it wasn't hard to find exactly what you were looking for. Pressing 'play', you're watching a side view of you taking Bucky from the back. Your mouth drops open slightly, seeing it from a third person view. Bucky has his Vibranium hand on the side of your face, pushing you down further into the mattress and he is just relentless. And the sounds, God the sounds. You grab the vibrator, turning it on and quickly placing it onto your already sensitive and swollen clit and start rubbing it and soft circles.

"Look at how good you take it,"

"Oh, God!"

"Are you gonna come for me?"

"Mhm,"

"I can't hear you, princess,"

"Can I come Bucky? Please, please let me..."

"Of course, my good girl can come. Here... lean down more...open those legs wider...touch yourself...yeah...fuck, yeah...just like that baby,"

The bed is practically shattering underneath you as Bucky, who isn't even there, coaxes you into having an orgasm with yourself. You rub the vibrator more intensely, knowing you’re about to come hard from the pent-up tension this evening. The lights surge briefly in the apartment from the passing storm, just as your head presses down further against the pillows and the ripples of pleasure aggressively take over your body.

The lights go out momentarily, and that's when you see the silhouette of a tall, dark hooded figure standing on your fire escape looking into your window.

The lights come back on a second later and you’re panting. Both from the release and from what you saw. The cognizance hits you that you just came in front of a total stranger. Oh, and maybe that I might have a stalker.

The cops came, looked around, made you feel like an idiot, took a report, and left. Not feeling comfortable staying in the apartment for the night, you called Hailee, who offered up her spare bedroom.

Sitting across from you with her legs crossed on the couch, her hair in a bonnet, a glass of wine, and blue raspberry vape, she leaned in, listening intently to the details leading up to this moment.

“Soo… you know I’m gonna ask,” she starts.

You sigh, “I don’t know when I’m going to tell Bucky. I always feel so guilty when he’s away and something happens.”

Hailee’s face scrunches as she waves her hand in dismissal, “No, no not that,” You raise an eyebrow at her in confusion. “Can I see it?” She lowers her voice, but it’s oozing with hope.

“Bitch,” both your eyebrows raise in aghast, realizing what she’s actually asking.

“What?! Come onnnn,” She whines, pressing her hands together in plead and pouts her lip.

“Oh my god, Hailee! No! Just… no.”

Rolling her eyes she composes herself again, “Okay, so like, you ever just… look at a man, and you just know?” Her hands wave around as she’s trying to explain, “Like, that man can fuck? I feel like that’s Bucky. And so…” Hailee looks so determined right now, “s-shame on you!” She points directly at you, this is comical, “for not sharing the video evidence! Because now I’m convinced you have a boring, vanilla sex life!”

Leaning back against the kitchen counter sipping your glass of water, you hear yourself coming down from the highs of ecstasy through your phone. Hailee’s wide eyes are glued, mouth dropped open, speechless, for once. The sound finally cuts off.

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a brother because-”

You quickly snatch the phone out of her hand, “Okay, you got what you wanted. Can we be serious now?!”

“Yeah,” Hailee shakes her head, “yeah, of course…” she takes a deep breath, “I’m just saying, you seriously have some career options if your current job doesn’t work out though.”

“Hailee!!”

“Okay! I’m sorry!” Her hands go up in a surrender, “but you put in a police report, and I mean, of course you can stay here. What else are you going to do?”

*Ding*

“Hang on, I just got a text.”

“Who the fuck would be texting you this late?” Hailee asks, getting off the couch to read the text with you over your shoulder.

Together you read the message:

Part 2

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @wintrsoldrluvr

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pedgito · 19 days ago

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𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 | Javier Pena x reader

summary | Authority looks good on him, but you think he'd look ever better on his knees.

author's note | written for @wannab-urs’s DMAMC 2025. forever and always a special thank you to @murder-wife for the beta.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!javier, dom!reader (but lbr, they’re both switch) obviously. reader has vague backstory (related to work), enemies to fwb, they fuck a lot oops, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), restraints, brat!javi as god intended, choking, coming untouched, edging for the greater good, amen.

word count — 6k

Javier Peña dominated every facet of his life.

Work. Home. It was no surprise with how easily he authoritates a room.

You’ve learned to mind your business at work, keeping to the file and lunch room. There, back, never anything less or more. It was a security net, a secondary salary unless your primary fell through—it hardly did, considering there was always dirt to dig up, but it was nice to have the additional income. One less stressor among the many. The road here had been long, sinuous and complicated and you were thankful for this overdue regularity in your life.

The one thing Javier hadn’t figured out about you was that you and him had more in common than he expected. Different sides of the same coin, you yearned for the control and command in whatever situation you found yourself in, liked the idea of you having power over the outcome.

It was a high that you craved like nothing else.

“Morning,” He greets casually—you’ve known him for a distance for weeks now, only trading files in and out, turning in his paperwork, signing off on certain things without looking like a robot. Assess, find, file, repeat. It was monotonous, but it was easy, “what are we up to today, cups?”

That stupid fucking nickname.

It was a running joke amongst your co-workers—he’d only caught on recently—watching how you plowed through a pot of coffee on your own, never re-using the same flimsy cup, always grabbing a fresh one. Your stack was only about six inches tall today, but you were running on mostly fumes.

“Fuck off,” You sneer, a lighthearted roll of your eyes, “this it?”

You yank the file from his grip as he spots the watch on your wrist—he analyzes, squints, grabbing your arm without acknowledgement as he speaks his mind.

“Pretty nice for a file clerk salary,” He frowns in consideration, “Cartier?”

He’s been prying recently.

Javier didn’t have any evidence, but there was a deep suspicion.

One, you were a mole—working for Escobar, infiltrating the DEA from the inside.

Or two, you were just a liar.

Your story has never changed. You transferred from the states a few months ago. You were living at a small apartment in town that most of the staff seemed to hole up in during their transfers and long-term stays. Javier would occasionally catch you in the hallway, but he never talked. He was always pensive, stiff, odd.

You worked as a file clerk, did your job, and went home. That was it.

Except it wasn’t.

He’d figure it out. It would eat away at him until it did.

“It was a gift,” You retort, pulling your wrist from his grip as you sign on the paperwork inside the file and place it aside, fiddling with the jewelry on your wrist as you fit the watch back into place.

Also, not a lie. It was a gift…from a client.

You side eye him as he continues to stare before you finally get annoyed enough to bark at him.

“Are you lost, Peña?” You ask, “You’re holding up the line,” He peers over his shoulder at the few men that have gathered behind him, cigarettes perched on their lips and an expectation for him to hurry it up, “Keep it moving,” You tease with a nod of your chin.

He flicks at the stack of cups and sends them tumbling to the floor with a triumphant grin, watching as your mouth gaped, trying and failing to hold back the chuckle that rises in your chest.

It was a harmful back and forth—not quite enemies, not friends either.

Eventually, he finds himself with a dilemma.

Weeks and weeks of nothing on the trail to take down Escobar and he’s grasping at straws, on edge, and you’re the easiest target for him to attack.

–

It was a simple trading of evidence for payment as you were gearing to make the drive home, helping out a co-worker under very specific terms that he wouldn’t approach you during work hours—he was almost positive his wife was cheating on him, begging you to dig up information on the supposed suspect.

She was going on extended vacations for work, a traveling nurse with a bad habit of leaving evidence behind—though, with her, it seemed like less of a mistake than her poor husband thought it to be. Either way, you got the information and he handed the money over.

It was one of the easier sides of your other job, less of a risk than running surveillance or being asked to break the law by government officials who were either corrupt or just desperate for information or a helpful break in a case.

Javier was being nosey, unfortunately. And you knew he was watching, turning your head to him as he approached when the coast was clear, cornering you at your door with a mere centimeter of distance between you both.

“Insubordination, really?” Javier bites, eyebrow raised in skepticism as he looks you over, not even a twitch of intimidation in your expression. “Carrillo would have your ass over this.”

You shake your head in amusement, pressing a gentle hand against his chest to shove him backwards, patting as if to console a child, “Javier, I don’t know what you think you saw, but you might need to take a break on these late nights at the office. They’ll drive you crazy.”

“Crazy?” Javier echoes, “Estás loca,”

There’s a certain jeer to his tone, stress collecting in his furrowed brow that helps you figure out where to attack, “Are you okay?” You ask with a serious tone, “Do I need to report you to Carrillo?”

“Traidora,” He remarks, “You think I can’t tell?”

You tilt your head in question, ignoring his own.

“I haven’t had a break in this shit in weeks, chasing a fuckin’ ghost—do you work for him?”

There it was, the lapse in judgment you were waiting for.

“Who is it?” You ask, “What are you after?”

He gives you a name, a subtle amusement to his tone like you should already know. It doesn’t immediately ring a bell and it shouldn’t, considering what he was accusing you of was the furthest thing from the truth.

“Carrillo knows what I do,” You tell him honestly, “So, go ahead. Tell him. I dare you.”

You knew it was a mix of work stress and whatever demons Javier was harboring in the backseat of his mind, a job that riddles you with guilt and what-ifs, it tends to boil over.

Whatever—you’d do him this one favor.

“Te verás estúpido.”

It shuts him up, thankfully.

–

You’ve got the file on his desk by eight o’clock the next morning—a long night of extensive research that led you toward a full file of usual information, whereabouts, alias, anything that could help out, even just a little. You’re pouring up a fresh cup of coffee when he spots it, dropping his bag into his chair and picking up the file like it was a spectacle, peering around all sides before he flips it open, a pink sticky note pressed into the first page.

His nose twitches, like a sniffle as he crumples up the note and shoves it into his back pocket, his eyes peering up to lock with yours from across the room, like he sensed your gaze. A smile gracing your face as you stirred your coffee, nothing out of the ordinary.

He approaches you near lunch, the file room emptying as people are heading toward the break room, but Javier catches you at the perfect time, back turned and he’s slapping the file on the desk behind you with a distinct clearing of his throat.

“You wanna explain this?” Javier inquires, fingertips spread across the file as he slides it toward you.

You stare him down, a silent challenge as his hands settle against his hips.

You push the file back, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He digs the pink note from his pocket and flattens it out, turning over a closed file to match up the messy cursive handwriting, “Is that not your handwriting?”

You quickly snap the file closed and pick it up, shoving it into his chest.

“Take the damn file, Peña,” You order him, a sheer darkness to your gaze that glosses over, compelling Javier to take the file without another word, “I’m not a traitor, okay?”

Javier chews at his bottom lip in thought, taking a quick glimpse through the file once more, impressed by the collection of information that has had him stalled for weeks, handed to him on a silver platter.

“You wanna grab lunch?” He asks casually, peering up at you from the file, a smile curling under his thick mustache, “My treat.”

“It fucking better be,” You remark.

–

It starts that way, a gradual comradery shared over lunch and late nights, moving from twenty-four hour dine-in spots to the comforts of your own apartments, trading off in a discombobulated schedule.

A big break in the case called for celebration, having finally caught the one member of Escobar’s entourage that they had been after for months, having been helping Javier behind the scenes with no expectation of credit, thankful that it didn’t intersect with much of your other work.

“So, is it usually cheating couples?” Javier asks curiously, shooting him a look of warning, “C’mon, chiquita, I’m curious.”

You shrug, closing the file as you tossed it aside, stretching back on the couch with your open beer in hand, enjoying the soft, plushiness of Javier’s couch.

“Family, sometimes,” You add, “And strangers, more often than you think.”

Javier makes a small hmph sound through closed lips, scratching as his cheek as his thumb circles the lip of the bottle, oddly reminiscent of something far too dangerous to allow your mind to wander towards this late at night, three bottles in, and sleep deprivation on the rise.

“Do you want me to walk you back?” Javier asks after a long period of silence, still repeating the same subconscious motion to the bottle as it sits between his thighs, legs outstretched and his left knee knocking against your own that were curled underneath you know.

“Give me a minute,” You murmur, eyes falling closed as down the rest of you beer and place it on the floor, your hand failing to support you as it slips from the cushion, sending you tumbling to the floor at Javier’s feet, laughing immediately at your drunken clumsiness as he leans forward in concern, placing the beer bottle on the table as he reached for you.

“Shit, you’re a sloppy drunk,” He jokes, subtly pushing your hair back to check for injury, a sudden charge to the air as you kneel between his legs, his chest hovering above, his tongue peeking out to lick his bottom lip, “is it always that bad?”

You laugh again, a soft snort through your nose as you shake your head.

“Wouldn’t you love to know,” You remark, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he chuckles, the faint smell of barley on his breath as you’ve come to realization that not only had his hand stayed on your face, but the other had joined—it was a silent yearning that Javier couldn’t find the balls to act on, so you do it for him, “—are you gonna ask to fuck me yet or not?”

“Is that what you want?” Javier counters, “You want me to fuck you?”

“I mean,” His thumb grazed along your bottom lip, a subtle pull that has you rising to press the palms of your hands against his thigh, willing to crawl into his lap if he pulled you further into him, but instead you hovering back, a challenging gaze and smirk only our lips, “unless you want me to fuck you?”

Javier’s face pinches together in confusion, amused but still wholeheartedly confused.

“You didn’t say no,” You tease, another beat of silence as he remains undecided before you’re answering him, “yes—I want you to fuck me, Javi.”

And, god, does he.

It’s messy—sweaty, hot, sticky, and nothing near graceful.

Javier fucks like you expected he would—because, despite your best efforts, it had been a thought to cross your mind.

He ravishes, controls, demands. He’s insatiable and greedy, never enough. One orgasm, a second, a third before you’re begging, pleading for relief. He likes to work himself up—he gets you first with his fingers, then his mouth, eventually sliding the head of his cock against the seam of your soaked, oversensitive folds and catching against your entrance before he slides in with a deep, guttural groan.

But, he can’t have all the fun.

You eventually wrestle him into the cushions, on his back as he grips at your thighs, both of your hands clutched against the arm of the couch and the back, Javier entranced with you, his eyes showing as much amongst his needy, wandering hands. And he tries to hold off—he does, but his climax hits him with gusto, leaning up to levy the dominance between you both as he fucks up into you, his foot sliding to the ground to steady him, face buried in your chest as he comes inside of you, something you two hadn’t discussed beforehand and comes as an immediately apology from Javier, his cheek pressed against your breasts as you slump back into the couch, leaving Javier to catch his breath as he leaned against you.

“Don’t worry,” You assure him with a tired laugh, “I would have let you know if I wasn’t okay with it before you did it.”

Exhausted, Javier chuckles too.

It was the first of many late night meetings—some work, mostly play. Javier finds himself a little more emboldened as time goes on, interrogating you like a suspect after a long, eventful day.

“Javi,” You sigh, “your dick is still inside of me and you want to talk about work?”

Javier shrugs impishly from his position beneath you, sitting in his lap as he leaned against his headboard.

He leans forward, pressing a wet kiss against the column of your throat before his kisses trail, teeth dragging against your neck followed by another wet, sloppy kiss.

Well, now you were curious.

You grip his hair, a gentle tug to pull his head back to look at you, a profound glint in his eyes at the action.

Speak, you command silently.

“I’m just saying—if the FBI knew what you could do, they’d be killing each other to get to you,” He explains, “but you wanted to be a file clerk?”

“I like the ease of it,” You speak through the gentle caress of his hands over your ass, rocking your hips to a slow rhythm, “simple, uncomplicated—fuck, that,” You sigh, head falling into his waiting hand as he cradles your face, watching you through a half-lidded gaze as you start to succumb to the throes of pleasure, “feels so good—I just,” You blink through the haze, a little breathless as you speak, “working freelance, you know, off the books…it’s easier.”

“And risky,” He warns, “without protection—“

“Who said I wasn’t protected?” You smile, releasing your grip on his hair as he slowly flips you underneath him, pulling out briefly to adjust the duvet , kicking it down the bed as he slid into you, knees pulled high over his hips as he gripped the sheets beside your head, thrusting his hips at an impossible to focus pace.

“Be—besides,” You begin weakly and Javier offers a mocking laugh, low and full of pure adoration, even if he’d never admit it, “I’d get too pricey for you.”

“Oh, should I be paying you?”

You stop, a gawking look on your face as you steady him at his shoulders, pausing his movements, “Did you think fucking me was payment? Oh, bebé, no.”

Javier balks for a moment, in disbelief that his sexual expertise and suave looks suddenly weren’t as valuable as he thought.

“I’m fucking with you,” You tell him through gritted teeth, your hand curling around the back of his neck, eyes locked on his as you offered him a sultry smirk, a subtle twitch of your lips, “but, you do owe me.”

And he’d pay up, eventually.

—

Javier’s things start to take shape in your apartment without a word—a spare toothbrush for the nights he was too tired to leave, a spare set of clothes—maybe two. You also always had his favorite beer in your fridge and a spare pack of cigarettes sitting on top of your microwave. It was little touches, ignored and unaddressed but he was like a constant presence in your space.

You were more secluded, careful—but Javier didn’t mind.

He just gets comfortable, though you both had clear boundaries, a strict line that neither of you crossed.

Feelings, out of the question.

And honestly? Not a problem.

Javier was a good friend and even greater fuck, but he would make a terrible partner, you both knew it.

And you can feel that urge, he wants that effortless, full submission that he won’t explicitly ask for—it’s what he used to, women falling so easily to their knees and begging for him, it, whatever he had to offer.

But, you see both sides of his personality. He could be commanding and in full control of a situation, but also had a tendency to let his guard down…just a bit, enough for you to pry your way in and settle there.

It was two battling personalities, one you’ve learned to subdue with a valiant effort, meld yourself to any situation, whatever was required.

Javier follows you back that day, disregarding his own apartment for yours, in a constant fog of distraction all day. Between the news, the ramping up of Escobar’s antics, and the pressures of the higher ups weighing on his and many others shoulders, he just can’t seem to find a way to relax.

Even as you lay in bed, slung over him in your near nakedness, your white button up still covering your frame as he squeezes at the soft flesh of your hips, grinding you down against his cock, half-hard for the last fifteen minutes. He’s frustrated, evidently so.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, pulling away from your lips with closed eyes, rolling onto his back as he rubs his thumb and middle finger against his temples.

You’ve gotta pull his mind away, leaning up on your palms to follow him, raising your leg over his lap to straddle him.

He chuckles, reaching for his nearly empty pack of cigarettes, plucking one out lazily before he’s tossing the box aside, but you’re quickly snatching the cigarette away and tossing aside, pressing your hands against his chest with an expectant look.

“What the fuck?” He gawks, looking you up and down and toward the floor, watching you shrug in response.

He moves to push up, but you push back, the distribution of weight giving you the upper hand as he falls back against the sheets, “Alright, real funny.”

“Close your eyes,” You urge him gently, obvious skepticism on his face but eventually he succumbs, throwing his hands up in defeat as he closes his eyes, suspicious to the various shuffling noises as you lean to the side, digging in drawer of your bedside table until you find the item you’re looking for, a distinct clink of metal that Javier recognizes too late, the metal tightening around his wrists and tangled through the loop of the bed frame slats.

“The fuck are these—” He shakes his fists, pointless, “did you sneak my cuffs out of the office?”

You shake your head, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, a clear distraction that Javier tries to fight.

“They’re mine,” You tell him, simultaneously enjoying the slow rock of your hips as it seems to have found a somewhat solution to his issue, wiggling underneath you at the movements, almost urging you to quicken your pace, insistent.

Javier cocks his head in both a show of question and defiance, pressing for more.

“What?” You feign innocence, peeling the fabric over the last button as you lean forward, cradling his face with your hands as you give him a slow, explorative kiss, your tongue slipping into his open mouth, chasing you as you pull away, “Citizen’s arrests are just as legal here as they are in the states, Peńa.”

“So, this is an arrest,” He counters, licking at his lips, tugging once more at the chains.

“Do you want it to be?” You tease, hands pressed against your thighs now, finding amusement at his obvious frustration, knowing that he was completely helpless in this situation.

“Tell me you have the key.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden realization, “Oh, fuck—”

Panic rises, but you quickly quell his worries, “Just kidding,” You reply with a chipper tone, picking the key up from the table while dangling it in front of his face, “you want it?”

Javier nods, yanking against the cuffs weakly.

You contemplate, face scrunching up as you think.

“Are you sure?” You question, glancing down at the hard line of his cock defined in his jeans, rubbing your palm against the bulge in the denim, gently pulling at the button to pop them open, “I think you enjoy it.”

You place the key at the center of his bare chest, nodding toward it.

“Beg,” You tell him, voice steady and completely serious, the eerily void of emotion that has Javier thinking you might be joking, attempting to get a rise out of him, he laughs.

“You can’t be serious,” He says, but doesn’t explicitly ask.

Your eyebrows raise expectantly.

A battle of silence.

“Oh, I had that file I forgot the other day,” You switch topics, climbing off of him as you slip your unbuttoned shirt down your shoulders, revealing the bold colors and thin lace, material that hugged every curve of your body, a dark crimson red, sheer material leaving little to imagine—though, Javier had enough familiarity that he didn’t need to guess.

“Wait,” He interrupts, his hands balled into fists as you turn to him, one knee settling into the edge of the bed with the file in hand, looking at him….waiting, “come here,” He beckons, perking up as you toss the file aside and walk toward the head of the bed, fingers hovering over the key, “no—no,” He quickly interjects, “like—up here,” He explains vaguely, a weak attempt at asking you to sit on his face—he could come like that, he thinks. Eventually break you down enough. But, you remain ignorant to his demands, waiting for those specific words.

In the entirety of your midnight hook-ups with Javier he had never said please. It was a forbidden word in his vocabulary, far too confident and expectant, deserving to be knocked down a peg.

Besides, it was clearly working, the visible flush in his skin as you began to back away, his writhing against the sheets having shift his jeans further and further down his hips—never having been so thankful that Javier Peńa was a strict believer in going commando, silently helping the aid of his jeans down his legs with your bottom lip between your teeth, a predatory gaze and teasing touch at the inside of his thighs as you toss his jeans away, completely naked and at your control.

“Are you serious?” Javier asks, not an ounce of shyness when it came to his body, cock hard and leaking from the tip as he watched you turn, ignoring him as you grabbed the file and began to flip through, reading out the information as if he wasn’t even there, “Is this me owing you one?”

If there was one thing you knew about Javier, ignoring him was not the path to take.

Beg, your eyes demand.

Not a fuckin’ chance, his grimace retorts.

You twirl in the spinning desk chair, skimming silently through the papers now as Javier startle to unravel, eventually leaving you to get antsy, wandering around your room to fix the curtains, fold and tuck away a few loose pieces of clothing, only acknowledgement the small grunt he makes as you turn your backside to him, ass in the air as you picked up the discarded cigarette from earlier—he’s never needed one so bad in his entire life.

You reach for his lighter, placing it between your lips as you ignite the flame and press it to the end, awaiting the amber glow before you toss the lighter aside.

“You don’t even smoke,” He gripes, “You want me to say please? Is that it?”

You pull the cigarette from your lips and listen, approaching him so your stomach was at eye level, flicking the cigarette in the ashtray you had purchased specifically for him and cigarette after sex ritual, and he sighs, “Please,” It’s deadpan and lackluster at best, but you appreciate the effort, “baby, seriously.”

You shake your head in dismay, stubbing out the cigarette as Javier frowned.

“I’m helping,” You remind him, “I mean, I got your mind away from work, didn’t I?”

It was a slow but eventual realization that, yeah, you had. A hard task for even him.

You slowly climb over him on the mattress, dragging your hand along his chest and down his stomach, fingertips gazing against his pelvic bone, resting against his thigh.

“So, you’re going to beg,” You explain, leaning close enough to his lips that he can taste the remnants of smoke on your breath, “and I want you to, really, really mean it.”

He feels vulnerable, he is—but, he’s just desperate enough that he’ll let it slide.

For you.

He’s quiet for a stretch of time, watching as you toyed with the idea of touching his cock, watching it twitch with the slightest of touch, feeling like one tug would have him coming in your hand, a pathetic whine to follow. But, he focuses, lips parting as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, velvety soft skin as you caressed the girth of him, neatly trimmed hair at the base the peeked up toward his stomach, his tan skin almost glowing under the soft yellow light of the room, knowing you were throbbing just as bad as he was, feeling the needy pulse under your palm as you jerk your hand slow, from base to tip and back, rubbing your thumb over the slit at the head of his cock, so tantalizing you could take him in your mouth right now and take the load of him down your throat.

“Baby,” His voice relaxed but his body telling you otherwise, “Oh, fuck—you gotta go a little faster, tighter,” He directs, and you apply a minuscule amount of pressure to tease, “like that, like that,” he chants, his chest rising and falling as his brow furrowed, yanking roughly against the chain, your eyes catching at the movement. They were loose enough to avoid any discomfort, you were careful. It was mostly mind games, if Javier wanted out he could probably slip his hands through with enough concentration, but he wasn’t focused on that. He was focused on you.

He’s getting closer, the staggered breaths and soft whimpers that were like melodies, desiring nothing more than to give into your own temptation and sink down onto his cock, riding him until he was mindless.

You let go, much to his dismay, “Fuck,” He groans, eyes peeling open to look at you, “you enjoy this, don’t you?”

“A little,” You shrug, giving him a fair chance out, “do you want me to stop?”

“Where does that leave me?”

What are the consequences, he means.

“I’ll uncuff you, we’ll get dressed. I give you your file and you go home.”

You reach for his face, rubbing your thumb along his bottom lip, the unavoidable twitch of his tongue as he instinctively licks, your own lips parting in desire, the enveloping heat of his both pulling the digit in.

“Or, you beg for it hard enough and I’ll let you fuck me.”

A real, authentic plea. That’s what you wanted. One derived from desperation and primal need.

You straddle his hips slowly, pulling at the tied bows at your hip keeping your underwear in place, pulling at the thin ribbon until they loosen and fall, balling up the fabric in one hand while you hook your hand in the strap of your bra, unfastening it with ease, tossing the garment aside completely.

You position your cunt along the shaft of his cock, silently tapping at his chin until he opens his mouth expectantly, shoving the discarded fabric of your panties into his mouth without a word, an obvious smirk on his face at the action as you try to stifle the short giggle at his eagerness to accept.

“I think you really underestimate me, Peña,” You taunt, canting your hips as it drags along his cock, coating it in the sticky slick that has gathered between your thighs at your own neediness, suffering in silence and wishing for him to break, nearly caving in yourself, “Stop being so fucking stubborn all the time.”

His eyes roll back as the bulbous head of his cock catches at your entrance, nearly slipping in at how easily you slide against him, raising his foot to the mattress in an attempt to do so, his remark muffled behind the fabric, that heady taste of you on his tongue.

He’d come if he wasn’t so frustrated, but he’s there—right fucking there, the pace of your grinding quickening as you grip the balled up fabric in his mouth, using it as leverage as his eyes squeeze shut, the familiar coiling in his gut that you recognize too, slowing down considerably as you rip the fabric from his mouth.

“Say it,” You demand, slightly breathless, “just say it, Javi.”

Fuck it, he can’t do this anymore.

“Please, bebé. Please,” He begs, “this is fucking torture.”

That was the tone you were looking for, the shakiness to his voice that oozed desperation.

You nod and he’s almost expectant that you’ll undo his cuffs and let him have his way with you, but that wasn’t the plan.

Instead, you sink down onto his cock without another word, a long drawn-out groan from Javier followed by your soft moan of satisfaction, riding him almost desperately, the sound of skin and against, the sticky heat and humidity of Colombia seeping through the open window of your apartments, you both nearly delirious with overdue release.

His lip is pulled tight between his teeth, eagerly trying to match your hurried, erratic bounce of your hips as you claw at his chest, marks he’d admire for days to follow.

“Be realistic, baby,” He moans, “even like this you know that pussy belongs to me,” Your eyes flick up, greeted by the raise of his brows, tongue peeking between his lips with confidence.

Even now, he still has the nerve.

“Yeah,” You agree, egging him on with that salacious, vexatious tone, “Does it?”

He admires the slick mess at the base of his cock, angling your hips to grind down against him, cursing at his inability to grab and touch, flip you over and coax you into your climax with a twitch of his thumb, an easy fix.

Javier, unfortunately, was not a man to be tamed.

He was yours, but he’s never been solely yours.

You were special, though. He knew that.

He just needed a refresher.

“Seems a little unfair,” You shrug, his impatience growing and evident, “don’t you think?”

Your finger drags up his chest, inch by inch until the full expanse of your palm encircles his throat, his chin lifting in silent permission.

“Say it,” You counter, “come on, Peña.”

He chuckles, the sly fucker.

“Tell me this cock belongs to me,” You whisper low, close to his ear as your teeth drag along his jaw, “—that no one can make you come like I do,” You squeeze at his throat, a weak noise falling from his lips as his eyes roll back, “ and how pathetic and needy you look when I let you come inside of me.”

You squeeze once more, gentle but demanding.

He squeaks quietly, yanking weakly at the chains, “It’s all yours, bebé—fuck, it’s—right there, it’s—”

“Beg,” You urge, his mouth parts, breathing increasing more rapidly as you echo yourself, his head nodding instinctively in a desperation for relief, “beg and you can come, Peña.”

He does, a plethora of please—baby, please falling from his lips as you slide off of him, allowing him to come untouched, watching his dick twitch wildly, come coating his stomach in thick spurts as he groans, throaty and wet, eventually falling slack on the bed beneath you as you undo the cuffs without a word, a soft whine releasing from his chest as he arms fall to his side.

It takes a while, several minutes, eyes closed with a gentle and repressive touch of your thumb against his forehead, brushing away a loose strand of his hair, waiting for the haze to wear off.

“How do you do that?” Javier asks, returning the touch as his hand wraps around your wrist.

“What?” You counter with a playful smile, his tired one spreading across his features.

“You’re like…some kind of bruja,” He jokes lightheartedly, “No one’s ever—I’ve never let someone take control like that.”

“You look really pitiful when you beg,” You tease, “it drives me insane.”

You soothe his ego with a kiss, leaning over him to reach for his pack of cigarettes, squealing as his arms pull you back, swatting the contents out of your hands, wrestling you back down into the sheets with ease, your own body fighting a similar exhaustion.

“I wasn’t wrong,” Javier remarks, “estás loca.”

He sinks between your legs without a word, reminding you that he wasn’t a man to be bested, fingers stuffed inside of you as he pumped with an expertise that came with familiarity, learning what made your body tick—Peña was goddamn expert.

He’d rendered you speechless, fingers gripping the sheets, wriggling and whining without a tangible thought on your mind, words lost.

“Pobrecita,” He mocks, “come on—use your words.”

You hum weakly, wistful but hard-headed, “Make me,”

Fortunately, like you, Peña was always up for a challenge.

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier pena smut #javier peña smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #narcos smut #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #my writing #DMAMC 2025

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helioooss · 1 month ago

Text

i was never there

synopsis: yu jumin joins novis corp as it’s head corporate lawyer, but her boss, y/n, remembers her eyes from somewhere else.

w/c: 3k+

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! stripper by night, lawyer by day karina, swearing

a/n: a short one for the books, this is more a prompt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sun had barely crept over the horizon when your sleek aston martin pulled up to the curb of novis corp’s headquarters; the tech conglomerate you had built from scratch. the building, a masterpiece of modern architecture with its reflective glass and sharp geometric lines, it stood as a monument to your success.

as you stepped out of the car, the valet offered a polite bow before retreating and you adjusted your tom ford suit — a deep charcoal grey that sat perfectly on your shoulders, tailored to a level of precision; its silk lining was monogrammed with your initials, a subtle mark of exclusivity.

in your world, every single detail mattered.

as soon as the glass doors opened into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted immediately. the soft murmur of voices hushed to a whisper and employees straightened their postures instinctively as they caught sight of you.

your presence demanded attention, not because you sought it, but because you simply carried an aura of authority. heads bowed as you passed, a wave of respectful acknowledgment rippling through the space.

“good morning, y/n,” someone greeted softly, their voice tinged with awe.

you simply offered a slight nod, your expression unreadable as you stepped into the private lift. the moment the polished steel doors slid shut, the world outside felt momentarily silenced. you allowed yourself a brief glance at your reflection in the mirrored walls, backing a strand of misplaced hair and smoothing down the lapel of your jacket before the lift opened to the top floor.

here, the energy was palpable. this was where the very lifeblood of novis corp flowed, where your senior executives and teams orchestrated the daily operations of the tech giant. the open floor was a hive of activity: assistants juggling tablets and documents, executives murmuring into headsets and a faint hum of urgency in the air.

the moment you stepped out, it was chaos aimed at you.

“miss l/n, the european market data is ready for your review.”

“legal flagged the merger contracts; they need your approval before noon.”

“the board wants confirmation on next quarter’s strategic pivot —”

amidst the shitshow that you specifically called ‘the everyday’, your personal assistant, claire, darted towards you, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor as she clutched a stack of files to her chest whilst her usually composed demeanour was slightly frazzled as she struggled to keep pace with you.

“y/n,” claire began, her voice soft but persistent, “i apologise for the interruption, but felix has been trying to reach you all morning. he said it’s urgent, and i tried to hold him off, but he’s really insistent.”

you glanced at her, stride unbroken whilst offering a faint smile that was more a gesture of reassurance than warmth. “i’ll take care of it, claire. thank you.”

she gave a slight nod, relief evident in her expression, stepping back as you pushed open the heavy oak doors to your private office. the room was a reflection of your meticulous standards: minimalist yet luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unparalleled view of new york city. a sleek, dark wood desk sat in the centre, flanked by leather chairs and a low cabinet housing bottles of vintage scotch.

oh, and the air carried the faintest scent of bergamot, a signature detail you had to have.

as soon as you set your briefcase down, you loosened your tie slightly and sank into your chair. the intercom blinked with pending calls, but you ignored it for now, reaching instead for your personal phone. scrolling through the missed calls, you found felix’s name and with a small sigh, you hit dial.

he answered right after the first ring. “finally!” his voice was a mix of relief and mischief, as it always was when he called you.

“what’s so urgent, felix?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

“okay, hear me out,” he began, a tell-tale sign that whatever followed would likely test your patience. “there’s this club. super exclusive. like, billionaires-only exclusive. i’m talking black cards, champagne fountains, and the kind of entertainment that makes even the rich blush —“

pinching the bridge of your nose impatiently, you groaned. “just get to the point.”

“well, if you must insist,” he continued, “i need someone to vouch for me. someone who ticks the billionaire box. someone, you know, like you.”

“felix, why on earth would you want to go to a place like that?” you sighed, shaking your head. “everyone will just be as obnoxious as mum.”

“research,” he said, a little too quickly. “and before you ask, yes, it’s legit. i just…need to see it for myself. one night, y/n.“

“research,” you repeated, unimpressed.

“please, my dearest sister,” he pressed. “i promise it’s harmless. just one night, and then i’ll owe you. big time.”

he had always been the rebel — tattoos peeking out from beneath his sleeves, a penchant for bending rules and a charm that got him out of most trouble. he was your stepbrother, younger by five years and despite his antics, you couldn’t help but feel a soft spot for him.

he’d been your constant companion through a tumultuous childhood and for all his recklessness, his loyalty to you was unwavering.

you exhaled deeply. “if this turns into a mess, i swear, felix —”

“it won’t, i swear,” he interrupted eagerly. “you’ll barely even have to do anything. just show up, look rich — which is easy for you and let me in.”

there was a long pause. you weren’t one for foolishness, specially not something as absurd as this, but he had a way of getting under your skin and despite your better judgment, you relented.

“fine,” you mumbled; annoyance evident in your tone. “but this better not blow back on me — the press are already on my ass for not being present enough.”

“you’re the best!” he exclaimed, his relief palpable. “i’ll text you the details.”

shaking your head, you hung up and pressed the intercom button on your desk. “claire,” you began. “i need you to do something for me.”

“that’s my job, y/n,” her voice came through immediately.

“clear my schedule for tonight,” you carefully instructed. “reschedule all appointments and let the rest of the world know i’ll be unavailable after six.”

there was a brief pause from her end. “understood.”

staring out at the sprawling skyline, you heaved out a sigh. this wasn’t your usual scene, but something about it intrigued you nonetheless. tonight promised to be unlike anything you’d done before.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hum of the limousine was almost soothing as it glided through the city streets, the blacked-out windows shielding you and felix from the world outside. the interior was nothing short of opulent: plush leather seats in a deep oxblood red, a bar stocked with rare whiskies and chilled champagne and soft ambient lighting that cast a warm glow over the polished surfaces.

felix was seated across from you, his legs stretched out casually as he swirled a glass of whiskey he’d poured himself. his usual rebellious flair was subdued tonight, though the faint smirk on his lips betrayed his excitement.

he was dressed sharply, his dark green blazer and crisp black shirt a rare effort on his part. the tattoos that normally peeked from his sleeves were hidden, though you knew they were still there, a reminder of his defiant streak.

you, on the other hand, wore a simple white shirt and blue jeans.

“so,” felix began, his tone light but probing, “how’s the empire going?”

you gave him a sideways glance, your fingers lightly drumming against the armrest. “the empire is fine, felix. novis is on track to secure the venatrix deal by next quarter and the sirocco expansion is finally moving forward.”

“of course it is,” he said with a grin, taking a sip of his drink. “you’ve got the golden touch. everything you touch turns to money.”

“it’s not magic,” you replied, your voice steady. “it’s work. a lot of it.”

he shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “and that’s the problem, y/n. you work too much. when was the last time you actually did something for yourself? and don’t say this counts,” he added, gesturing around the limousine.

you gave him a small, wry smile. “this is for you, not me.”

“exactly my point,” he said, leaning back. “you need to live a little. have some fun. maybe get a girlfriend for once in your life.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “a girlfriend?”

“yes, a girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle. “you know, someone to share your life with? someone to remind you that there’s more to life than spreadsheets and board meetings?”

you exhaled softly, turning your gaze to the city lights flickering outside the window. “it’s not that simple. i’ve got responsibilities. people rely on me. there’s no room for anything else right now.”

“that’s the excuse you always use,” he said, his tone softer now. “but you’re going to wake up one day and realise you’ve built an empire but never lived your life. is that really what you want?”

his words lingered in the air and for a moment, you simply let them. as the limousine turned down a quieter street, the glow of the city fading into the background, you thought about what he’d said.

was he right? was there something missing in your meticulously crafted life?

before you could dwell on it further, the car slowed to a stop in front of an unassuming black door, illuminated only by a discreet gold plaque that read elysium.

the driver opened your door and the moment you stepped out, you felt the shift in atmosphere. the door was opened from the inside by a tall, sharply dressed man who exuded an air of authority.

“miss l/n, mr. l/n,” he greeted warmly, his deep voice carrying just enough deference to make you feel like royalty. “welcome to elysium. my name is pierre and i’ll personally ensure your evening is nothing short of exceptional.”

“thank you,” you replied, your tone polite but guarded as pierre stepped aside, gesturing for you both to enter.

the interior of the club was breathtaking — sleek and sophisticated, with an undeniable air of exclusivity. red lighting bathed the room, casting a sultry glow over the rich leather furniture and dark wood accents. the faint hum of low music filled the space and the scent of expensive cigars and perfume lingered in the air.

pierre led the way, his posture immaculate. “we’ve limited the floor capacity tonight to ensure you have a comfortable experience. it’s not often we host guests of your calibre.”

your gaze flicked to your brother, whose smirk grew with every step deeper into the club.

“they’re really rolling out the red carpet,” he whispered to you, amusement lacing his tone.

there were silhouettes moving across the far end of the room. they were fluid, deliberate, their movements drawing attention like a magnetic pull.

it wasn’t until you caught the glint of polished metal — a pole, that the realisation struck.

this wasn’t just a private club. it was a strip club.

“i thought you said this was a fucking nightclub,” you muttered in that scolding tone of yours. “or whatever you said it was.”

he laughed at your comment and had deliberately chosen to ignore you, clearly revelling in the attention. as you passed, heads turned subtly, and even the staff seemed to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

“our girls,” pierre continued as he walked, “are among the finest in the world. each performance is curated to perfection. should you require anything — anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“a dance costs a million for each hour,” felix raised his eyebrows playfully. “i can afford it, you have nothing to worry about.”

i’m going to kill him, you thought.

the corridor opened into a sprawling room bathed in deep red light, the glow casting shadows that danced across the rich leather furniture and polished dark wood accents. chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal facets scattering faint prisms of light though the overall effect was moody and intimate rather than pretentious.

pierre, ever the professional, either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the exchange. “elysium prides itself on discretion and sophistication,” he explained, leading you toward the bar. “our performers are not only the best in the industry but also highly selective about where they work. we cater to an exclusive clientele and tonight, they are all eager to perform for you.”

the words hung in the air and while his tone remained formal, there was no mistaking the double meaning.

this wasn’t just about entertainment — it was about status, yours specifically.

“you’ve truly outdone yourselves,” you said evenly, though your tone betrayed nothing of the thoughts swirling in your mind.

“only the best for our esteemed guests,” he replied, stopping at the bar. “would you care for a drink before you settle in? our bartenders specialise in rare and exclusive cocktails.”

“i’ll take a manhattan,” felix answered, leaning against the bar as if he owned the place.

pierre turned his attention to you. “and for you, miss l/n?”

“call me y/n, please,” you requested, keeping your composure. “i’ll have a glass of champagne for now.”

felix shook his head, whilst pierre only nodded. “don’t worry, pierre, this is a good sign — champagne is telltale of the kind of night she plans to have.”

you gave him a look, one that could silence an entire boardroom, but it only made his grin widen.

as the bartender prepared your drinks, your eyes scanned the room. the performers were elegant, their movements slow and deliberate as they worked the poles or engaged in subtle conversations with other guests. the lighting accentuated every curve, every flick of hair, every step in towering heels.

it was seductive, but there was a sophistication to it.

felix clinked his glass against yours when your drinks arrived, his grin mischievous. “welcome to the real world, y/n. you might even have fun tonight.”

before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with pierre, who gestured towards a hallway deeper into the establishment. “y/n, may i guide you to our private bar? we’ve reserved a section just for you.”

you nodded, offering a faint smile. “lead the way.”

he guided you through a discreet side door, the noise from the main hall fading into a low hum as you stepped into a quieter corridor. the lighting here was softer, the air perfumed with hints of amber and bergamot.

the sound of your shoes against the polished marble floor echoed faintly as you trailed behind him.

then, he stopped at a heavy door, its deep mahogany finish gleaming under the warm light. with a subtle bow, he pushed it open, revealing a private space that was both opulent and refined.

the room was bathed in a soft golden glow, with leather seating in a deep burgundy hue arranged around a bar made out of white marble. a crystal chandelier hung above, its light refracting into subtle rainbows across the room. the air was cooler here, yet tinged with the faintest trace of something warm and intoxicating.

“we’ve taken great care to ensure your comfort,” he gestured for you to step inside. “a selection of our finest performers has been prepared exclusively for this space tonight. as per tradition, all our vvip performers wear masks to preserve their mystique.”

your gaze shifted to the centre of the room, where a single pole stood illuminated by a spotlight. at its base, a woman danced, her movements fluid and hypnotic.

she was dressed in black, the fabric clinging to her graceful frame in ways that accentuated her every curve. a delicate mask adorned her face, its intricate lace design concealing her identity while leaving her eyes and lips visible.

and those eyes…

almond-shaped and lined with the faintest hint of shimmer, their depth was startling. they locked onto yours the moment you entered and for a second, it felt as though the world narrowed to just the two of you.

her lips were no less striking, painted a deep crimson that contrasted beautifully against her glowing skin. they moved subtly as she shifted her expression, curving into a faint smile that was neither coy nor brazen but perfectly balanced between the two.

you moved to one of the leather chairs directly in front of the pole, lowering yourself gracefully into the seat. a glass of something pale and sparkling had already been placed on the table before you — krug, if you had to guess.

she danced as though gravity held no dominion over her, movements slow and deliberate; her body bending and turning with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly.

her eyes never left yours.

there was no touch, no exchange of words. only the silent conversation carried through her gaze.

you sipped your champagne, the crisp bubbles fizzing faintly on your tongue as you watched her.

“her name is karina,” pierre’s voice broke the silence, soft and almost reverent as he stood to the side. “one of our most gifted performers. she never agrees to private dances, but tonight, she insisted.”

you raised an eyebrow at his comment but said nothing, your eyes still locked with hers.

her lips curved slightly, a small but unmistakable reaction to his words. whether it was amusement or approval, you couldn’t tell.

there was a certain kind of power in her performance, an effortless command of the room that rivalled your own presence in the boardroom. it wasn’t just her beauty — it was the way she carried herself, the silent confidence in her every movement.

for the first time in a long while, you felt captivated.

as the music swelled, she climbed higher up the pole, her body arching and twisting with a grace that seemed to defy logic. the light caught her skin as she spun, casting shadows across her toned figure.

her gaze found yours again as if she had never looked away.

the song ended, the final note hanging in the air as karina stilled, her body poised and elegant as she held your gaze one last time. then, without a word, she stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as swiftly as she had appeared.

you leaned back in your seat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“she’s…impressive,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“indeed,” he replied, his tone pleased. “shall i have her return for a performance, miss l/n? or would you like to see the next girl?”

you glanced at the glass in your hand, then back at the empty spotlight.

“perhaps,” you said, your tone deliberately nonchalant, though the way your thoughts lingered on those eyes and that smile betrayed you entirely. “i’d like to see karina again.”

he gave a slight bow, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. “i’ll leave you to enjoy the performance, y/n. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me.”

you sent him a faint nod, watching as he quietly slipped out of the room — the air seemed heavier now, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

the soft spotlight followed her, casting her in a halo of warm light as she emerged out of the shadows. her movements were deliberate, the sway of her hips measured, her body arching with the kind of elegance that felt effortless. the music swelled, a sultry melody that filled the private bar, wrapping itself around you.

the pole became an extension of her, her fingertips grazing it lightly as she spun effortlessly, hair cascading over one shoulder like silk.

pushing yourself up in the leather seat, you cradled the crystal glass in your hand, the crisp bubbles fizzing against your tongue were forgotten.

your attention was fixed solely on her.

her gaze was dark and unrelenting, as though she could see through every wall you’d ever built. it made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to, yet you couldn’t look away.

for years, your life had been a steady climb to the top. every decision and sacrifice you made — it had all led you to become one of the youngest billionaires in the world; a life of luxury and power, yet moments like this felt foreign to you.

you had never allowed yourself distractions. relationships had always been a distant thought, something you dismissed as incompatible with the weight of your responsibilities. and yet here you were, sitting in the middle of a dark room, utterly captivated by a woman you didn’t know.

as the music deepened, so did her movements. she slid down the pole with precision, her legs extending gracefully before she landed softly on the floor. then, she began to close the distance between you.

you stiffened slightly as she approached, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floor. her every step was a calculated mix of power and allure, head tilting slightly as her eyes burned into yours.

when she reached the edge of your seat, she leaned down, her hands bracing against the armrests on either side of you. the faintest scent of her perfume: something floral with a hint of musk wafted over you.

your breath hitched.

karina’s face was mere inches from yours, her lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile.

she tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder and as she leaned closer, her lips brushed against yours — not quite a kiss, but enough to send a jolt through your body.

the touch was light, but it lingered. your hand tightened slightly around the glass, though you made no effort to pull away.

her eyes locked onto yours again, the corner of her lips quirking up ever so slightly. she didn’t move, staying close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of her breath against your skin.

“you’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with amusement.

“you’re not what i expected,” you replied, your tone steady despite the way your pulse raced.

her smile widened just a fraction, her lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. “and what did you expect, miss l/n?”

you let the question hang in the air, unwilling — or perhaps unable to answer it.

she pulled back slightly, her eyes flickering over your face as if she were committing every detail to memory.

then, with a graceful turn, she returned to the pole, leaving you frozen in your seat, every nerve in your body alive.

but your focus wasn’t on the dance anymore.

it was on her.

the song reached its end, her final spin slow and graceful, her legs extended as she descended to the floor.

when the music ended, she stayed still for a moment, catching her breath, before calling out softly, “cut the music.”

the silence was deafening.

she stood up, reaching for a glass of water placed on the table near the pole. she sipped it slowly, her back turned to you, before setting it down and facing you again.

“you’re y/n l/n,” she said, her voice carrying an easy confidence, as though she were stating an undeniable fact.

you straightened in your seat, your composure returning. “i am indeed, and you’re karina.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she stepped closer, her mask framing her captivating eyes. “so, you’ve heard of me?”

“pierre mentioned your name,” you replied. “and according to him, you never agree to private performances.”

“ah, pierre,” karina chuckled softly, a low and melodic sound that sent another ripple through you. “that’s true, but you’re not exactly a regular guest.”

“why did you agree?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

she tilted her head, her smile deepening. “curiosity.”

“about what?”

her gaze didn’t waver. “about you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “me?”

“it’s not every day the most eligible bachelorette in the world walks into a place like this,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “how could i not be curious?”

her honesty was disarming, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“you don’t seem like the type to come here,” she continued, her voice softer now. “i wanted to see what kind of woman you are.”

“and?” you asked, meeting her gaze.

karina smiled again, enigmatic as ever. “i think you’re a woman who knows exactly what she wants, but you haven’t decided if you’re ready to take it.”

her words hung in the air, sharp yet tantalising. you swallowed hard, the weight of her observation pressing against you.

before you could respond, she glanced at the clock on the wall, her expression softening. “unfortunately, my time’s up — but i will see you again, hopefully.”

you watched as she stepped back, her movements as graceful as ever. “thank you.”

she turned back to you, her dark eyes glimmering. “the pleasure was mine, miss l/n.”

“please call me y/n.”

she nodded and then, just like that, she disappeared through the door, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her lips brushing against yours.

moments later, pierre entered the room, followed by an awestruck felix.

“holy shit,” felix yelled, his wide eyes taking in the space. “this room is insane. do you know how much this costs?”

you raised an eyebrow at him, still feeling the warmth of karina’s presence. “do i want to know?”

“five million dollars. per dance,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

you smiled faintly, your thoughts far from the number. “well, tonight was the most expensive night i’ve ever had then.”

he put an arm around you, ruffling your hair. “told you you’d enjoy it!”

the limousine hummed softly as it glided through the quiet streets. deeply in your thoughts, you sat stiffly in your seat, legs crossed, arms folded, the leather cool beneath you.

the night had been…complicated, to say the least.

felix, sitting across from you, looked far too pleased with himself, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk that only irritated you further.

“never again,” you said sharply, breaking the silence.

he glanced up, the smirk widening as if he’d been waiting for this. “never again, what?”

“you know exactly what i mean,” you snapped, glaring at him. “you are never taking control of a night out again.”

he raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “elysium? come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“felix,” you said through gritted teeth, “it was a strip club. a strip club. do you have any idea how bad that looks for me? if anyone had taken a photo of me, it could’ve been a PR disaster.”

he laughed, leaning back lazily against the plush seat. “oh please, that place is so exclusive. and anyway, it’s not like you were doing anything scandalous. you sat there, drank champagne and watched a performance. you didn’t even touch anyone. honestly, it was boring.”

you stared at him. “boring? you dragged me to a place where the floor alone costs millions to reserve and you think it’s fine because you had fun?”

“well yeah,” he said casually, shrugging. “and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself. i saw your face during that dance.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you looked away sharply, your fingers tightening around your arm. “that’s not the point, felix.”

“oh, it absolutely is,” he countered, leaning forward. “look, you’ve spent your entire life building this empire. you’re brilliant at what you do but you don’t live, y/n. you don’t even let yourself breathe. all i did was give you one night to do something out of the ordinary and now you’re acting like the world’s going to end.”

“because it could,” you shot back. “my name, my reputation — it’s all tied to novis. if anything jeopardises that, the fallout would be catastrophic. you don’t understand what’s at stake.”

he tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “no, i don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter but still firm. “because unlike you, i actually let myself live every now and then. when was the last time you did something just for yourself, y/n? when was the last time you let yourself feel something that wasn’t tied to work?”

his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. you glanced out the window, the city lights blurring as the limousine sped through the streets. “this isn’t about me,” you muttered, though the defensiveness in your tone betrayed you.

“oh, it’s absolutely about you,” he said with a knowing grin. “come on, admit it. you didn’t hate last night as much as you’re pretending to. i mean, you could’ve walked out anytime, but you didn’t. you stayed.”

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “felix, i can’t afford to have nights like that. my life isn’t like yours.”

“and that’s exactly the problem,” he said, his voice more serious now. “you’re so afraid of messing up, you don’t even let yourself enjoy anything. y/n, you’re one of the most powerful people in the world and you’re scared of living? what’s the point of all this success if you never let yourself have anything?”

you didn’t answer, his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. instead, you stared out the window, your reflection blurred against the city lights. he leaned back, clearly feeling like he’d won the argument, though he said nothing more.

as the limousine approached your building, you sighed deeply, finally breaking the silence. “this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. no more clubs, felix. ever.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “we’ll see.”

as it rolled to a stop, you stepped out without another word, the weight of the conversation lingering as you made your way inside.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the way karina had looked at you — as if she saw right through the walls you had spent years building.

her eyes haunted you, dark and full of secrets you suddenly found yourself wanting to uncover. and for the first time in years, you wondered if there was something, or someone, outside your carefully constructed world worth stepping into the unknown for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the morning was as chaotic as ever, the hum of novis corp’s top floor vibrating with urgency the moment you stepped out of the private elevator. polished shoes clicked against a mix of wooden and marble floors, assistants and executives alike moved from desk to desk, each with something that required your attention.

“y/n,” the updates for the venatrix deal are ready.”

“legal has flagged the elara contract for revisions.”

“the team needs your approval on the new AI interface by noon!”

normally, you thrived in the controlled storm of your office. today, however, your mind was elsewhere. your focus wasn’t on contracts or product launches — it was on her.

the memory of last night lingered in sharp detail: the intoxicating crimson glow of the club, her sharp gaze, the brush of her lips against yours.

karina had left an imprint you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried.

the design meeting was supposed to centre you. the team presented mock-ups for novis’s latest AI interface, a sleek design meant to revolutionise smart tech, but as the lead designer droned on about user functionality, your attention slipped.

their words barely registered. your eyes were on the screen, but your mind was still in elysium. the feel of her perfume in the air, the way her eyes had locked onto yours: daring you to react.

“y/n?” samuel, the lead designer’s voice, broke through your thoughts, ultimately bringing you back to the present.

you blinked, shifting slightly in your seat. “yes?”

“we were asking for your feedback on the gradient colour scheme versus the flat monochrome,” he said, his tone careful.

you glanced at the screen, the options displayed clearly, but for once, the answer didn’t come easily. “the gradient,” you pointed after what seemed like at eternity. “it’s fine.”

a few of the designers exchanged surprised glances. it wasn’t like you to give such a vague response.

when the meeting ended, you stepped into the hallway, only to find giselle waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with a look of exaggerated curiosity.

“well, that was weird,” she said, falling into step beside you.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your tone clipped as you navigated through the bustling corridor.

“you,” she replied, waving a hand dramatically. “you’ve been off all morning. normally, you’re snapping necks and giving ted talks in these meetings. today, you were practically sleepwalking. so, spill. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you said curtly.

she narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. “is this a felix thing? what did he do now? start a crypto farm in the middle of montana? buy a haunted house because ‘it looked cool’? or, wait — did he drag you to one of those ridiculous underground poker rings again?”

you gave her a sharp look. “felix has nothing to do with this.”

“so there is something,” she said, her smirk growing. “come on, boss, you can’t keep secrets from me. i’m like the human recourses version of sherlock holmes.”

“giselle,” you warned, stopping in your tracks and fixing her with a pointed glare, “drop it.”

she raised her hands in mock surrender, but her grin didn’t waver. “fine, fine, i’ll drop it; but if you spontaneously combust during the next board meeting, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

as you started walking again, she called after you, “oh, by the way, your new head corporate lawyer is waiting in your office. yu jimin. punctual, sharp as a blade, and word on the street: dangerously hot. good luck!”

the name sent a jolt through you, stomach twisting as you reached your office doors, the memory of last night rushing back with startling clarity.

when you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the figure standing near the window.

she was dressed sharply in a black suit that fit her perfectly, the crisp white shirt beneath it undone just enough to convey confidence without stepping into arrogance. her posture was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other at her side.

her dark hair was pulled back neatly, accentuating the sharp lines of her face. when she turned at the sound of the door, your breath caught.

her eyes met yours, and for a split second, the world tilted.

it was her.

the woman who had unraveled you the night before, the one who had danced with the kind of precision and allure that left you spellbound.

karina.

no, yu jimin.

“miss l/n,” she greeted, her voice smooth, calm, and so painfully familiar. “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

you forced yourself to nod, gesturing toward the chair across from your desk. “miss yu, please, have a seat. and call me y/n.”

you walked quickly to your desk, avoiding her gaze as you settled into your chair. when you finally looked up, the intensity in her eyes was undeniable.

she sat with perfect posture, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her expression polite but unreadable.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat, “tell me about your experience. what drew you to novis corp?”

her lips curved into a faint smile, one that sent a chill through you.

“my career has largely focused on high-stakes corporate law,” she said smoothly. “mergers, acquisitions, billion-dollar lawsuits — you name it. novis corp stood out to me because of its reputation for innovation and precision. it’s a company that demands excellence; i happen to provide that.”

her tone was professional, poised. but then her eyes glinted, and her smile widened just slightly.

“but if i’m being honest,” she added, “it wasn’t just the company that intrigued me. after last night, the person behind it all captured me.”

your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to maintain a neutral expression.

“i’m not sure what you’re referring to,” you said evenly, though your voice wavered just slightly.

“of course not,” she said, her smile deepening, though she didn’t press further.

the rest of the meeting passed in a blur of questions and answers, though the tension in the room never dissipated. every time her gaze lingered on you, you felt your resolve crack, memories of her dance, her eyes and her lips flashing vividly in your mind.

when it concluded, jimin stood gracefully, smoothing her blazer as she moved toward the door.

just as she reached for the knob, you hesitantly called out, “and miss yu?”

she paused, turning back to face you. “yes?”

you met her gaze, forcing your voice to remain steady. “i was never there.”

her smile returned, slow and knowing, her eyes glinting with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “don’t worry — the only person in that room was karina.”

for the second time in two days, yu jimin had left you completely undone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#kpop x reader #karina imagines #karina x reader #karina #aespa x reader #kpop gg #kpop imagines #jimin x reader #yu jimin

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beardedjoel · 2 months ago

Note

Okay then #19 from the first prompt post with sugar daddy Joel (since you're cockblocking my other genius idea 🙄) and he better be OLD old how we like it 🫡

we both know how much we love our man sd joel (and we are not talking about your other idea)! but OLD old coming right up 🤪 absolutely love this prompt and this version of joel being such a good daddy. this was healing to write tbh

yes, here — sugar daddy!joel x f!reader

request: "when the teasing in the dressing room gets a little too hot". sent in as part of my 5k celebration!

wc: 3.9k

warnings: smut (fingering, piv), public sex, daddy kink, sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship but they're in love, large age gap (implied reader is much younger and joel is "pushing sixty"), reader is picked up by joel

“Do I really have to come out… there… and show you each one?” You’re nervous, feeling exposed, as you see your reflection in the lavish dressing room. A baby blue silk thong and bra set with the matching garter belt stare back at you. It’s hugging your curves in all the right places, you’ll admit. The quality of the fabric is evident as you slide your fingers over it, adjusting the bra to make your tits sit a little perkier, tilting your head as you inspect them.

Joel smirks from outside the door, thighs spread wide as he lounges back on an expensive, plush white couch. “Well, my money, my rules, I’d say,” he teases you. “So yes.”

It wasn’t like you had that much to be worried about - Joel had rented out the entire boutique just to sample new lingerie on you. It wasn’t the first time he’d purchased lingerie for you, or given you a stack of cash to do so on your own time, but it certainly was the first time you’d had to try it on like this in front of him in public. Well, semi-public, you suppose, counting the one boutique employee who was trying to keep a casual, respectful distance. You’re sure Joel was slipping her an obscene amount of money for her discretion.

You suppress the smile on your lips at Joel’s teasing. Fair enough. What daddy says, goes. You unlock the dressing room door, stepping out, your body language shy as his eyes adjust on you, drinking in the look with lustful eyes. His lips, seemingly turned up in a perpetual smirk today, grin even wider. You step across the small open area outside the dressing room, all plush, soft cream carpets and a sparkling chandelier above, to where Joel sits, smoothing out his perfectly tailored suit.

“It’s nice. I like this one,” he concludes cooly, his voice deep and rumbly, the sexiness of it scratching a very particular itch in your brain. “Turn,” he says, spinning his fingers to mimic the motion he wants from you. You sport a timid smile, starting to turn, flushing warm as soon as you realize your ass is on full display, only a flimsy piece of silk string wedged between your asscheeks for the entire store - albeit empty - to see.

Joel leans forward, his large hand enveloping your ass cheek as he gives it an appreciative squeeze, dropping it to let it bounce. “Show me the next one,” he says, patting the flesh once more to send you on your way back to the dressing room. “That lacy black one,” Joel clarifies once the door is shut behind you.

You stare inquisitively at the rack inside the dressing room. It’s full of suggestions, pre-picked by the staff for you based on Joel’s instructions of what he was looking for. You scan the hangers until you find the one he’d requested, slipping it on. It’s a skimpy sheer black set with an embroidered trim of deep red flowers, sexier in its own right then the last one.

Joel’s positive reaction to this set is similar, his hands placed on your hips, rubbing his thumbs along your skin as you stand between his spread legs for inspection. “Very sexy. But I think I’m wantin’ to see you in somethin’ a little more… cute.”

You bat your lashes at him. “Cute? Which one, daddy?” you coo, watching his eyes darken as you shift your stance, popping your hips to accentuate your curves and bend your chest closer to Joel’s face. His eyes flick to your tits, curving deliciously out of the enticing design of the bra, the sheer material surely giving him a clear view of your nipples as they stiffen.

A tiny chuckle is pulled from his throat, his eyes back on yours. He blatantly ignores your teasing, although you can see the effect it’s already having on him, his cheeks tinged with color as his excitement grows. “Thought there was a pink one in there somewhere. Fuzzy, too,” he says, arching an eyebrow as if to say, go on then.

“Yes, daddy,” you say sweetly, obeying him to sort through the rack in the dressing room again. You see exactly the one Joel was asking to see next, standing out from the others by the sheer volume of it in comparison to some of the skimpy pieces. A flowy light pink set made up of a babydoll top opened in the front, sheer all over and lined with a soft, fuzzy trim. It’s luxurious and a little more showy than you’re used to, giving off the ultimate rich man’s housewife vibe in its tasteful extravagance.

“You’re sure about this one? It’s… a lot…” you ask from behind the door as you slip on the pieces, tying the soft fabric of the bra into a neat bow in the center of your chest like a present to be opened by Joel. You wonder if you should even question him - it’s Joel’s money and Joel’s wishes, but you can’t help but feel this one is a little much. You surely don’t have what it takes to pull off the look of a rich housewife like he’s expecting. The other lingerie felt it suited better how you viewed yourself - a sugar baby, a fun thing for Joel to play with and throw his money at.

Joel senses the hesitation in your voice and feels the shift in the air. “I want to see it,” he reassures you, stern in his tone.

You crack open the door, stepping out into the warm white light of the chandelier once again. Joel’s eyes drag up slowly from your feet to your face, taking everything in with a ravenous sparkle in his gaze. “What’s all this? Why’re you hidin’ over there?” Joel asks when you refrain from stepping closer.

“N-nothing, daddy,” you stammer out, quickly closing the gap as if that will avoid further suspicion. His eyes narrow, and you get the feeling that like many times before, Joel is easily reading right through you.

“You don’t think I look… ridiculous in this?” you finally manage to ask at his silent prompting. The truth is, you love the set. You think it’s gorgeous - fun but with plenty of class, pretty but for all the embellishments it still holds its elegance. You just have some strange fear prickling in your belly all of a sudden that one day Joel might wake up and realize you’re not enough for him. Not experienced enough, not worldly enough, not well versed in finances or business or any of the things that take up so much of his time. Somehow that’s all being projected onto a damn lingerie set today.

Joel cocks his head, the creases between his brows deepening. It’s so unlike you to show this lack of confidence around him. Typically, Joel makes you feel on top of the world - special - and you have no problem being the sweet, alluring woman he knows you to be. You don’t know what’s gotten into you today or why you suddenly worry you don’t fit into his life somehow.

“Ridiculous?” Joel scoffs, leaning forward. His hand grabs yours, holding it gently but with a certain authority that makes you crumble every time. “Now why the hell would you say somethin’ like that?”

You avert your eyes down to the carpet, watching your toes wiggle nervously. “I don’t know,” you mutter, finding your decision to bring this up rather regrettable now that you’re faced with it. Joel tugs your hand, forcing you as close as you can get, your shins hitting the edge of the couch, Joel’s legs on either side of you.

“Tell me, sweetheart, or I’ll bend you over my knee an’ make you,” Joel drawls, keeping his cool despite the threatening nature of his words. Tears prick at your eyes, making you even more frustrated at yourself.

“Daddy…” you whine, eyes wide. “Here?”

“I ain’t above doin’ whatever, wherever to remind you of the rules.” Joel’s grip on your hips is hasty but controlled as he moves your body, pulling you down to straddle him. His exacting gaze locks onto yours as he bunches up the sheer fabric hanging down over your ass, then brings a gentler hand than you’d expected to your flesh, giving it a light smack. You pull your lip between your teeth, biting down softly as Joel does it again, cocking a brow at your continuing silence. You both know that even through the discomfort, the threat of his actions, it turns both of you on, and you can feel your core start to pulse with need in the background of the self doubt you’re feeling.

“I ain’t afraid to go harder,” he growls.

Your eyes well up when he smacks again, harsher this time, enough to leave a bit of a mark, and you finally find yourself breaking down. “I look like I’m trying to be someone I’m not, okay?” you blurt out, sniffling.

“An’ who’s that you’re tryin’ to be, hm?” Joel asks, calm and curious, his free hand carefully grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, keeping you from tilting your head away from his probing stare.

“S-someone who belongs in your world. Aren’t you just going to get sick of me one day? Realize you want someone that people won’t look at like they do me? Someone… sensible.”

“You got all this from a piece of lingerie, princess?” Joel asks, rubbing your ass in lazy circles. He sighs, softening. “I’m not doin’ enough t’make you feel special, I know that. I’ve been busy lately.”

You had to admit you’d noticed, and maybe it seeped into your subconscious, eating away at you that all of this was too good to be true. You’d only been in this arrangement with Joel for six months but it had been heavenly, everything you’d been looking for. You didn’t care that he was pushing sixty, that you two looked like the walking embodiment of what judgemental people imagined a sugar daddy and his baby to look like. You admired Joel for who he was, and had before he’d even brought up how badly he wanted to spoil you. The best part was how much he cared about you above all else, above the money, always doting on you and wanting to guide you, protect you.

“I know, daddy,” you say, frowning sympathetically. “It’s okay, it’s not that. I just… want to make sure that you still want this. That I can be everything you want.”

Joel tsks. “Oh, sweetheart, you already are. That hasn’t changed for me one bit. Look at what I got sittin’ right in my lap. Funny, sweet, carin’, and -” He leans in, wrapping his hand around your cheek, kissing you deeply. “So damn sexy in the lingerie I picked out for her.”

You can’t help but giggle at his teasing compliment, hearing the sincerity in his voice. A weight lifts off of your shoulders, realizing you’d been acting foolish, letting your negative thoughts outweigh any sense of rationality. All of the lonely evenings of late when Joel remained at work, leaving you in his spacious penthouse downtown to come home to, or the mornings when he had to rush out the door, had gotten to you more than you’d realized. You understood it was temporary while he oversaw an important project at his firm, and he’d never stopped trying to carve out as much time as possible for you when he could. You smile, finding peace washing over you once again, raking your fingers through his greying beard.

“Daddy…” you coo, giving him a sultry giggle. “You think so?” you ask innocently, peering down at your outfit.

“Mhm,” he mumbles. “Y’know why this one is my favorite? Why I picked it out special?” You shake your head, feeling it start to swim with desire as Joel’s quickly growing bulge presses against you. His hand slips down your body, right between your legs, and you gasp when his fingers touch bare skin, a teasing touch right to where you’re already slick for him.

“Nothin’ in my way,” he says, grinning darkly. You suppose you’d been too lost in thought in the dressing room to properly register the purposeful hole in the panties when you’d put them on, but now it was all you could think about as Joel’s fingers work their magic. Easily sliding one digit in, he quickly adds a second one, moving them in a steady rhythm.

Joel watches with pride as your eyes start to glaze over, your needy, bitten lip begging him for more. He leans in for a ravenous kiss with small bites to that enticing bottom lip, listening to the gasping little moans caught in your throat.

“You’re naughty, daddy,” you say with a breathless giggle against his lips.

“Mhm,” he murmurs back, kissing you again until the heat grows so unbearable between the two of you that you find your hips slowly grinding against him, seeking relief. “Can you blame me for wantin’ easy access to somethin’ this sweet?” he asks you, bringing his shining fingers to his lips, coated with your arousal, sucking on them.

“You always have it, daddy. Even when I’m not wearing this,” you purr, feeling yourself drip as you watch him lick his fingers clean, rolling your hips over his once again. You hum contentedly as warmth flickers in your core at the friction, especially with the gusset of your panties being well, nonexistent and allowing for your clit to rub on the dark fabric of Joel’s suit pants.

He chuckles, amused, and nods. “That’s right, isn’t it?” he agrees, his eyes growing more serious as he reaches down, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly. “An’ despite all this, how I can’t get enough of you, you still thought I’d get bored of you? Bored?” He says the words like he’s lamenting, incredulous that you could see anything other than what he does: the woman that he’s completely infatuated with, the one who plagues his waking and dreaming thoughts alike, the one who he considers it an honor to come home to, laying in wait every night for his cock or his hands or to hear what’s on his mind.

You stammer, seeing that Joel feels hurt you could ever feel less than in his presence. He pulls his cock free, the familiar warmth of it irresistible against your body, but you glance around, seeming to remember yourself, where you are.

“Yes, here,” Joel says sternly before you can even ask the question, seeing your adorable, nervous expression like this is the first time you two have done something unsavory in public. You always act innocent about it though, and Joel eats it right up every damn time, letting it harden his cock as he starts to slide it into your tight, needy hole.

You gasp, eyes going wide as you bask in that sweet spot along the border of pain and pleasure. Joel’s size always takes some getting used to. No matter how ready you are, how many times he’s fucked you, it’s the same stretch and impossibly full feeling as your body adjusts.

“How could I be bored, hm, my darling girl? You think daddy is bored of this?” he asks, threading his fingers into your hair at the back of your head. You give him a weak shake of your head, eyes fluttering when he starts to move his hips, pressing his cock deep inside of you.

“N-no, no I don’t daddy.”

“Attagirl,” Joel responds proudly, bringing his lips to yours. Your hips collide with his as you meet for greedy kisses, rolling them to meet each thrust upwards of his with soft moans into his mouth. A sound, presumably the front door of the shop in the distance, clanging hard against itself as someone tries to open it when it’s locked, rings out throughout the otherwise quiet store. You realize you haven’t even seen the single employee loitering around anymore, off somewhere to give the two of you some privacy.

“D-daddy -” you gasp out as he ups the pace, forcing you along for the ride. “Th-the door - maybe we should -”

His eyes, darkened and lustful, dance as his lips turn up in a smirk. He shakes his head, leaning down to bite your bottom lip, pulling it hard. You moan, your mind a quickly muddled mess, your heart racing.

“C’mon then, if you’re worried about privacy,” he grunts out teasingly, grasping at each side of your ass with his large hands, starting to lift you up, cock still buried deep inside of you as he carries you across to the dressing room. You crash your lips into his again, hungrily taking, the two of you lost in your own world as he slams you up against the wall. Your legs hook tightly around Joel’s body, keeping him pressed deep every time he drives his hips forward. In here, you feel like you can be louder, knowing it’s a ridiculous concept, but the moans that Joel pulls from your throat would have escaped no matter what at the angle he’s hitting inside of you.

You whimper when you feel yourself getting close, your core tightening as your entire being sits on the edge of pleasure. You start to moan louder, until you’re sure it can’t be contained anymore, circumstances be damned.

“Play with yourself,” Joel grits out, and you quickly unlatch one arm from around his neck, putting a finger to your swollen, aching clit. “Let me feel my baby squeeze daddy’s cock so tight.”

You cry out, nodding fervently as you try to hang onto Joel’s shoulder while rubbing circles on your clit. You can feel the both of you slick with sweat, your bodies pressed impossibly close, his heat surrounding you feeling like home. You can feel both of your bodies trembling with the exertion of this position, but neither one of you wants to stop now, not when you’re both so close. He brings his face to the crook of your neck, pushing all the fluff from the trim further down your shoulder before he bites and sucks on the skin, sending pleasure bursting through you.

“I’m gonna come daddy, I’m gonna come!” you scream out in pure ecstasy as it sweeps you away, your body tightly held against Joel’s as you lose yourself to it, your head tilting back to lean against the wall.

“That’s my girl. That’s it, cream on daddy’s cock like a good girl,” he grunts. “F-fuck.” Joel’s thrusts turn more erratic and choppy, the grunting right in your ear one of the sexiest sounds you’ve ever heard in your life. You can’t believe you had worried for even a second about Joel’s feelings towards you when he’s just as lost as you are in this, stringing praises for you under his breath.

“You want me to fill you up, princess? Let it drip right out of your pretty new set? Show everyone who’s mine?”

Breathless as your pussy clenches around him from his words alone, you nod for him. “Y-yes daddy, please. Fill me up.”

He groans loudly as he slams his hips into yours one last time, spilling himself into you. Heady ecstasy fills your mind with the loveliest haze as you feel Joel come undone inside of you, showing his devotion in the most physical form.

“God damn. You’re perfect.” he pants out, placing soft kisses everywhere his lips can find in the moment - your neck, slowly working up to your jaw, your cheek, your forehead. He still hasn’t let you go, pulled himself out of the mess you’ve both made of your cunt, wanting to sit in this moment a little longer.

Joel finally settles your limp body on the luxurious bench in the dressing room, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, his arms slowly releasing from around you. He stands up tall, tucking himself away and adjusting his suit jacket before tipping your chin, staring into your heavy lidded eyes.

“You know I’d do anythin’ f’you, darling girl. Give you the entire world if I could.”

“I know, daddy.” You give him an exhausted smile, leaning back against the wall. You grab at your clothing, neatly folded on the bench beside you, moving to start stripping off the lingerie and dressing back up. Joel grasps your hand, shaking his head.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he says softly, pulling you to stand, letting you put your tired weight on him as he slips the sheer, fuzzy teddy and panties off, leaving you naked. His eyes land between your legs, where his spend leaks down your thighs, and he kisses you softly, letting his hands roam in gentle patterns down your back. You melt into him, sighing. “Let’s get you dressed an’ get some lunch in you,” he whispers against your lips.

“You don’t have to go back to work?” you ask hopefully as Joel starts putting on your underwear for you. He had set this shopping excursion up first thing in the morning, presumably so he could use the rest of the day to manage things at the office and come home to you wearing the new lingerie later on.

Joel’s head shakes, having you step into your skirt before fitting it snugly on your hips. “No, baby. I want to make sure I’m givin’ you my full attention today like you deserve.”

He watches you light up as he pulls your blouse over your head, starting to tidy your outfit up and adjust everything to have you looking polished again. Warmth fills your entire body at his careful, gentle tending to you after how roughly intimate you two had been. You kiss his cheek softly, moving to his lips, feeling his hands tighten around you as he presses you closer to him.

“I’d really like that, daddy,” you say against his lips, leaving him growling softly at the especially sweet lilt you’d used on his title, knowing the effect it would have on him. He surges forward, capturing your lips more ravenously and sliding a hand to your ass to press your hips to his already growing erection. Seeming to remember his duty to care for you above getting his dick wet another time, he pulls back, interlacing his fingers with yours and taking a long, steadying breath.

“Lunch,” he says decidedly. “Then wherever my darlin’ girl wants to go.”

As you two detangle from each other, you catch sight of the pink, fuzzy set, laying on the ground and filthy with the mess you’d both made of it. Joel smirks, his brows raised in amusement as he takes your hand, leading you to the sleek counter near the front to check out. The woman gives you both a practiced smile, slightly strained but still professional despite everything she’d been witness to this morning.

Joel turns to you, pulling out his wallet, thumbing through the bundle of cash inside. He’d have to remember to compensate the boutique worker extra to express his gratitude for her patience and above all else, her continued discretion.

“What d’you say, sweetheart? We take all of it?” he asks you.

Your eyes go wide at the unexpected suggestion, unable to tear your gaze off of his handsome features. You thread your arm through his, pressing yourself close to show your appreciation for everything today - beyond the pretty new things he was buying you, he’d reminded you of the confidence and safety that you had with him, the deep bond you two shared that was unlike anything either of you had experienced before.

You can’t help but beam when you answer Joel’s question. “Yes, daddy. Especially that pink one.”

lingerie that inspired reader's look:

#julie's 5k celebration #julie's 5k celebration fic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #x reader

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faebled-stories · 2 months ago

Text

The Weight of Approval

Kinkvember Day 19: Facesitting

(G)-IDLE Cho Miyeon x Gender Neutral reader

11.7k words

It’s just another shift at the café—a grind that blurs together with yesterday and all the days before. The worn counters, the hum of the coffee machine, the clink of mismatched mugs—it’s all routine. The same cracked tiles beneath your feet, the same smudged menu board hanging above the register. The café isn’t much, tucked into the corner of a busy street, frequented more for convenience than ambiance. It’s the kind of place that serves as a pit stop for hurried commuters, not somewhere anyone lingers.

You barely register the motions anymore. Each cup you fill, every polite smile you force, feels like another tick of the clock until your shift ends. But even then, that only means returning to your tiny apartment—three floors up in a creaky, aging building where the walls are thin, and the heater groans louder than it works. Inside, there’s a stack of unopened bills on the kitchen counter, a fridge that hums louder than it cools, and shelves lined with little more than ramen packets and canned soup. Payday is still a week away, and you’ve already done the math—it won’t stretch far enough.

Every month is the same. Rent looms like a guillotine, always just one mistake away from coming down. The café job was supposed to be temporary, just something to cover the basics until you landed something better. But “temporary” stretched into months, and now it feels like a trap, closing in around you as the bills keep piling higher. Nights at your other job—a late shift at a dingy convenience store—blur into exhaustion. Between the two jobs, sleep is a luxury, and dreams? Those have been shelved for “later,” though you’re no longer sure when “later” will come.

The bell above the door rings, jolting you from your thoughts. It’s automatic to glance up, expecting a regular with their usual small talk and routine order. Instead, she walks in.

The woman is striking, her presence undeniable from the moment she steps inside. Everything about her is sharp and precise, from the tailored fit of her sleek black suit to the effortless grace in her stride. The glint of her designer heels catches the dull light of the café, momentarily outshining the worn surroundings. Her dark sunglasses obscure her eyes, but you feel the weight of her gaze, like she’s sizing up the entire room in a single sweep. She’s out of place here, like a panther wandering into a pet shop.

She doesn’t wait in line. Instead, she glides directly to the counter, her movements fluid and purposeful, ignoring the subtle whispers and curious glances from the few other patrons.

“I’ll take my usual,” she says, her voice low and polished, each word perfectly enunciated.

You blink, caught off guard. There’s an air of expectation in her tone, as though her usual should be obvious. For a second, you feel like you’ve failed an unspoken test, unable to recall what she’s asking for. “I—uh—I’m not sure what your usual is…”

Her sunglasses slide down just enough for you to see her eyes. They’re sharp and assessing, a piercing gaze that seems to cut straight through you. “Is there a problem?” The question is more of a challenge than a clarification, her tone daring you to falter.

Before you can stammer out an apology, your coworker Minnie steps in, her movements quick and anxious. “I’ll take care of it,” she says, her voice soft and hurried. She doesn’t look at you as she nudges you aside, her trembling hands already reaching for the espresso machine.

The woman steps back, folding her arms as she waits. Her gaze, however, doesn’t leave you. It’s piercing and unrelenting, a quiet power that feels suffocating. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to—her presence alone commands the room.

Minnie works quickly, though her nervousness is evident. She fumbles slightly with the milk, spilling a few drops as she pours. When the drink is finally ready, she hesitates, glancing at the woman as if trying to gauge her mood. After a tense moment, Minnie takes a deep breath, picks up the cup, and walks it over.

You watch as she offers the drink, her posture stiff, like she’s bracing for something. The woman leans in slightly, inspecting the cup with the precision of a jeweler examining a diamond. She murmurs something, soft and deliberate, but her eyes remain locked on you.

Minnie freezes for a beat, her shoulders tightening before she nods and turns back toward you, her steps quick and unsteady. Her face is pale, her usual cheerful expression replaced with unease.

“She…” Minnie begins, her voice barely above a whisper as she sets the cup down on the counter in front of you. Her hands fidget with her apron. “She wants you to bring it to her.”

You glance at Minnie, confused. “Me? Why?”

Minnie shakes her head, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “But you should just do it. Don’t… don’t upset her.”

The anxiety in Minnie’s voice sends a chill down your spine, but there’s no time to question it. The woman hasn’t moved. Her gaze is fixed on you, calm and unwavering, yet it carries a weight that feels oppressive, like a predator sizing up its prey.

You pick up the cup, its warmth doing little to steady your trembling hands, and step toward her. Each movement feels deliberate, exaggerated by the tension in the air. Her eyes track your every step, sharp and unrelenting, leaving you feeling utterly exposed. The café’s noise—the hum of the coffee machine, the soft chatter of patrons—fades into a dull background buzz as all your focus narrows on her.

When you’re close enough, you extend the cup toward her, your pulse hammering in your ears. Her fingers brush yours as she takes it, her touch cool and fleeting, yet it sends a shiver racing through you. Her lips curl into a faint smile—small, deliberate, and unsettling, like she’s amused by some private joke you’re not in on.

“Well aren’t you adorable,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth, with just enough of an edge to leave you unsure if it’s a compliment or a taunt. Her gaze lingers on you, unhurried, peeling back invisible layers like she’s already learned more about you than you’d ever willingly share.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat as she tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting into something closer to curiosity—or is it calculation?

“How would you like to earn some extra money?” she asks, her tone casual yet deliberate, as if the question is part of a test.

The words land like a thunderclap, unexpected and disarming. You blink, caught off guard, the full weight of her presence pressing down on you as the question hangs in the air. The answer should be obvious—of course you do. You think of the bills piling up on your kitchen counter, the hollow ache in your stomach from skipping meals, and the rent looming over you like a storm cloud. But there’s something about the way she asks, something that makes your pulse race with more than just hope.

“I—uh…” Your voice wavers, and you hesitate, but the intensity of her gaze pushes you to nod, slowly at first, then more firmly. “Sure.”

Her smile deepens, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Instead, there’s a flicker of satisfaction, like she’s just confirmed something she already knew. She reaches into her purse with a deliberate, practiced motion and pulls out a business card. The action feels almost ceremonial as she hands it to you with a lazy grace. The card is pristine and minimalist: Ascend International. Cho Miyeon, CEO.

“Come to this address at 8 pm tonight,” she says, her tone smooth and unyielding. “Don’t be late.”

You glance down at the card in your hand, its edges crisp and cool against your fingertips. The weight of it feels disproportionate to its size, like it’s a key to a door you’re not sure you’re ready to open.

Her gaze flickers down to your mouth, and for a moment, she pauses, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as if an idea has just occurred to her. “Stick your tongue out,” she says suddenly.

The request catches you so off guard that you hesitate, unsure if you’ve heard her correctly. But her expression remains unchanged—no humor, no patience, only expectation. The air between you feels heavy, charged, as if she’s testing you.

Against every instinct, you comply, your face heating as you stick out your tongue. You feel ridiculous, exposed, yet there’s a compulsion in her gaze that makes resistance impossible. She studies you for a beat, her smirk deepening in satisfaction before she straightens, her presence as composed and commanding as ever.

“Good,” she murmurs, almost to herself, before turning and striding out of the café, her movements fluid and unhurried, like someone who always gets exactly what they want.

As the door swings shut behind her, Minnie sidles up beside you, her voice low and shaky. “You… you have no idea who she is, do you?”

You shake your head, your fingers clutching the card tightly. “No. Should I?”

Minnie’s eyes widen, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by something cautious, almost fearful. “Cho Miyeon,” she whispers, glancing toward the door as if expecting her to walk back in. “She owns half this city. If she wants something from you…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Just don’t screw it up. People don’t usually get second chances with her.”

You look down at the card again, its elegant design somehow intimidating. It feels out of place in your hands, like it belongs in a world far removed from your own. Yet, as the weight of her gaze lingers in your mind, you think about your reality—your landlord’s last warning, the meals you’ve skipped, the endless grind of multiple jobs that never seem to be enough.

Maybe this is the kind of risk you need to take.

If you can survive it

-----

Stepping into Ascend International’s headquarters feels like stepping into another world. The building itself is a towering monolith of glass and steel, its sleek facade reflecting the city skyline with an almost arrogant perfection. The sheer scale of it is intimidating, a symbol of power that dominates the horizon, making everything around it feel insignificant by comparison.

The lobby is no less imposing. It’s cavernous, every surface polished to a mirror-like gleam. The pristine marble floors stretch out endlessly, their subtle veining shimmering under the soft, calculated lighting. Minimalist artwork, abstract yet commanding, adorns the high walls, while brushed metal accents catch the light in subtle, expensive flashes. It’s a space that whispers sophistication but demands reverence, as if even the air inside has been curated for those who belong.

The people moving through the lobby only add to the sense that you’re out of place. They stride with purpose, their designer suits immaculate, their gazes fixed straight ahead as if they’re always on the brink of something important. No one lingers. No one hesitates. Everyone here seems to belong, moving in seamless synchronization, like pieces in a machine that runs on ambition and authority.

Clutching the business card Miyeon gave you, you force yourself to breathe steadily as you approach the reception desk. It looms ahead of you, an enormous slab of black marble so flawless it seems to absorb the light around it. Its size and stark design make you feel even smaller, dwarfed not just by the desk but by the sheer magnitude of the world you’ve just stepped into.

Behind the desk sits a young woman, impeccably dressed and exuding the kind of confidence that only comes from being part of something this powerful. Her name tag reads Song Yuqi, but it’s her sharp eyes that capture your attention. They snap up the moment you approach, and in a single, sweeping glance, she seems to assess everything about you—your clothes, your posture, the nervous energy you can’t quite suppress. It’s a look that feels both brisk and invasive, as if she’s already reached a conclusion before you’ve even spoken.

“Hi, I’m here for an interview with Ms. Cho,” you manage to say, though your voice sounds smaller than you’d like. You straighten your posture, hoping it’ll help mask the nervous tension tightening in your chest.

Yuqi’s lips twitch into a faint smirk, a flicker of amusement crossing her otherwise polished demeanor. “Oh, I know what this is about,” she says, her tone light and almost playful. Her gaze drifts over you again, slower this time, adding an unsettling layer of scrutiny. It’s as if she’s sizing you up for something you’re not privy to, enjoying a private joke at your expense.

Without another word, she opens a drawer with precise, practiced movements and pulls out a slim stack of papers. She hands them to you with a flick of her wrist, her smile deepening as though she’s waiting for your reaction. “Here,” she says, the amusement in her voice unmistakable. “You’ll need to sign this.”

You glance down at the papers, your breath catching as your eyes skim the first few lines. The text reads: Employment Contract. The words jump out at you—personal assistant, non-disclosure agreement, exclusive services—but most of the document is dense with legal jargon that blurs together as your eyes dart across the page. Then, a number leaps out at you—the salary.

It’s staggering. More money than you’ve ever made in your life. More than you’d even dared to dream of earning, even after years of grinding through multiple shifts and sleepless nights. For a moment, the weight of it all hits you at once: no more overdue bills, no more rationing groceries or waking up in a cold sweat over rent. This could change everything.

You glance back at Yuqi, who’s watching you with that same faint smirk, her amusement sharpening as if she can read every thought racing through your mind. There’s something unnerving about how much she seems to know—like she’s been expecting you to react this way all along.

Your hand hesitates over the contract. Rationally, you know this is unusual. Signing a contract before even meeting with Miyeon feels strange, almost reckless. But the rational part of you is quickly drowned out by the sheer allure of the number staring back at you. Slowly, almost dreamlike, you pick up the pen and sign your name. It feels surreal, like you’re crossing an invisible threshold into a world you’re not sure you belong in.

When you look up, Yuqi’s smirk has widened, her amusement shifting into something sharper, almost predatory. She takes the papers from you with a practiced efficiency, her fingers grazing yours briefly before she sets them aside. “Top floor,” she says, her voice smooth and a little too cheerful. “Room 2601. Don’t keep her waiting.”

You nod, your throat too tight to respond, and turn toward the elevator bank. As you walk away, Yuqi’s voice trails after you, light and teasing but with a faint edge of something you can’t quite place. “Good luck,” she calls, her tone carrying a hint of pity that sends a shiver down your spine.

As you press the elevator button, the weight of what just happened settles over you. The sleek lobby, the polished marble, the silent power radiating from every corner of this place—it all feels like it’s pressing down on you, reminding you of how small and out of place you are. Yet, in your hand, the signed contract feels heavier than it should, a reminder of the door you’ve just opened.

After stepping into the elevator, the doors glide shut with a smooth finality, sealing you off from the world below. Yuqi’s soft chuckle lingers in your mind, faint yet cutting, like the echo of something you can’t quite grasp. Was she mocking you? Warning you? The question gnaws at you, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

The elevator begins its ascent, smoothly but at an unnerving speed, and each floor that flashes by on the display only amplifies your anxiety. By the time you reach the top floor, your heart is pounding, each beat echoing in your ears.

The doors open with a soft chime, and you step out into a long, dimly lit hallway. It’s strikingly different from the bright, bustling lobby below—quiet, almost unnaturally so, with thick carpeting that muffles your footsteps. Floor-to-ceiling windows line one side of the hall, offering a sweeping view of Seoul’s glittering cityscape far below, the lights sprawling endlessly in the night. The silence is profound, almost oppressive, heightening the tension coiling within you.

At the end of the hallway, a single door waits: Room 2601. The numbers gleam in brushed silver, unassuming yet undeniably foreboding.

You approach the door slowly, each step making your breath come shorter, the weight of anticipation settling heavily on your shoulders. Reaching the door, you raise a hand, hesitate for just a moment, then knock. The sound is barely more than a whisper against the thick, quiet air. Then you wait, each second stretching out into tense silence, your mind racing as you imagine the woman behind the door—the woman who is already reshaping the course of your life with a single, strange offer.

Finally, the door opens. Miyeon stands there, poised and composed, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the tension you’ve built up in your mind. Her presence fills the room instantly, commanding and undeniable. The tailored lines of her outfit emphasize her power, every detail of her appearance deliberate, perfected. She doesn’t say anything at first; her cool, assessing eyes are enough to strip you of any lingering confidence.

“Did you sign the contract?” she cuts the silence, her tone calm but unyielding, the question landing with an air of finality. Her gaze doesn’t waver as she waits for your response, clearly expecting nothing less than the truth.

“Yes, Ms. Cho,” you reply automatically, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nervous tightness in your chest.

A faint, almost predatory smile touches her lips, curving with just enough subtlety to unsettle you. “Good.” She takes a step closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. The weight of her gaze feels unbearable, as though she’s deciding whether you’re even worth the moment she’s spending on you. “Let’s begin your orientation,” she says smoothly, though there’s something in her tone that makes it feel less like an introduction and more like a trial.

You nod, swallowing hard, trying to push down the uncertainty tightening in your stomach. She watches you for a moment longer, as though savoring your discomfort, then parts her lips, her words delivered with meticulous precision.

“I need to know if you’re capable of handling my needs—whatever they may be,” she says, each syllable deliberately enunciated. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she takes another step forward, her voice low and unyielding. “This position demands complete obedience and total surrender. Is that clear?”

Her words hang in the air, their weight almost suffocating. You hesitate, the gravity of her demand pressing against you. “You…want me to surrender?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, exposing the crack in your resolve.

A flicker of disappointment crosses her face, quick and sharp, like a blade slicing through your hesitation. “Yes.” Her tone is calm, yet there’s an edge to it that leaves no room for misunderstanding. “If you want to work for me, I expect unquestioning compliance.”

She lets the silence stretch, forcing you to absorb the weight of her words, her gaze unrelenting. Then, her expression hardens slightly, and her voice lowers, smooth and controlled. “Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, a flush of heat rising to your cheeks. “Yes, Ms. Cho.”

She pauses, her eyes narrowing further, as if testing your sincerity. Then, with a measured look, she speaks again. “Good. Fetch the bench from the corner.”

The command catches you off guard, but her tone leaves no room for hesitation. You glance around quickly, spotting the object she means. The bench’s design immediately captures your attention—sleek and purposeful, with polished steel legs and padded leather cushions. Its unique height and tilted headrest stand out, clearly crafted with precision, though its exact purpose escapes you. There’s an air of deliberate intent in its construction, as if it was made for something specific, yet unknown to you.

Miyeon’s gaze remains fixed on you as you approach the bench. The weight of her stare makes you hyper-aware of your movements as you grip the sides of the bench and carefully drag it to the center of the room. The polished floor amplifies the sound of the legs sliding into place, each scrape making your pulse quicken. The act feels symbolic, a deliberate display of your compliance, and the tension between you thickens with every passing moment.

When you’ve positioned it where she wants, you glance back at her uncertainty. Her expression remains unreadable, but the faint quirk of her lips suggests satisfaction. She steps closer, her heels clicking softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“Lie down,” she commands, her voice calm yet leaving no room for doubt.

The words catch you again, and you hesitate for a brief moment, your body instinctively stiffening. “Ms. Cho, I—what exactly do you mean by…?”

Her gaze sharpens instantly, silencing you with a single look. Her voice, deceptively soft, cuts through the air like a blade. “Are you questioning me again?” she asks, her tone laced with challenge. “I thought you understood what surrender means. Lie down. Now.”

Her words land with finality, and you feel a flush of shame rise at your hesitation. Swallowing hard, you nod and lower yourself onto the bench, the cool leather pressing against your back as you settle in. The elevated headrest cradles your head, tilting your face upward as though the bench itself is positioning you for her. The chill of the leather seeps into your skin, grounding you in the moment, while the faint scent of her perfume lingers in the air, mingling with the tension that fills the room.

Miyeon steps closer, standing above you, her presence towering, her gaze unbroken. Slowly, deliberately, she reaches down and hikes her skirt up to her hips, revealing toned thighs and the delicate edge of lace. Her movements are smooth, calculated, as if every motion is part of a performance meant to remind you of your place. She slips her panties to the side with practiced ease, her poise never faltering, and positions herself above you.

Her movements are deliberate as she lowers herself onto the bench, aligning her body perfectly with yours. The height of the bench leaves her perfectly positioned—not too low, ensuring her weight presses against you with satisfying firmness, yet not so high that she feels unsupported. The angle of your head allows her to settle fully, her thighs bracketing your face as her warmth and presence close in around you. The air feels thick with her scent—rich, musky, and faintly floral—flooding your senses and leaving your head spinning before she’s even settled fully.

Leaning forward, she braces herself on the bottom of the headrest, her hands naturally finding the spots perfectly molded for her grip. The design seems intentional, as if tailored for this very moment. Her fingers tighten briefly as she steadies herself, her gaze flicking down to meet yours. There’s no softness in her expression, only a sharp, expectant coolness that cuts through the haze clouding your mind.

“Stay still,” she murmurs, her voice calm but carrying the weight of command. The words feel like a seal on the moment, binding you to her expectations. Then, with deliberate ease, she presses down, enveloping you completely.

Your world narrows to her—the pressure, the weight, the intoxicating heat of her body as it moves against you. Tentatively, you extend your tongue, pressing it to her for the first time. Her taste floods your senses, earthy and rich, tinged with the saltiness of her skin. It’s overwhelming, disorienting, but also grounding, her presence completely consuming every thought, every breath. Encouraged by the faint shift of her hips, you try again, moving with more intention. You let your tongue trace slow, deliberate strokes, convinced you’re finding the rhythm she expects.

Her thighs press firmly against your head, creating a perfect seal that traps you beneath her. The leather of the bench beneath you feels immovable, your position leaving you utterly at her mercy. With her weight pressing down, each inhale becomes a struggle, your breaths reduced to shallow pulls of air through your nose—and every one of them is filled with her. Her scent is heady, musky, and floral, a potent blend that seeps into your senses and clouds your thoughts. It feels like you’re breathing her in completely, your lungs filled with nothing but her presence.

Her body feels warm, responsive, as though she’s relaxing against you, her hips beginning to move in slow, deliberate rolls. The grind of her pelvis against your face is measured, controlled, and demanding, and you adjust your movements instinctively, matching her pace. Her thighs tighten subtly around your head, holding you even more firmly in place, leaving no room for error, no room for escape. You feel every shift, every slight increase in pressure, and interpret it as a signal that you’re doing something right.

The faint tension in her breathing seems to deepen, her exhalations growing slightly louder, and you take it as a sign to focus more, to give her exactly what she needs. You adjust your tongue, letting it trace patterns you think she’ll enjoy, responding to the subtle cues in the way her hips shift. Her warmth spreads against you, slick and inviting, and you press more firmly, convinced you’re making progress, that she’s responding to your efforts.

Her scent grows stronger, mingling with the heat radiating from her skin, and you lose yourself in the rhythm she’s setting. Each movement feels purposeful, deliberate, as if you’re aligning perfectly with her desires. Her faint exhalations become the only sound you can hear, soft and measured, a quiet reward that urges you to keep going, to match her pace with precision. Her thighs flex against your head, squeezing slightly, and her hips grind down harder, forcing you to adjust to her increasing demands.

Trapped between her thighs, the pressure becomes all-encompassing, the weight of her pressing down leaving you barely able to think beyond her. Each inhale feels heavier, as though her scent is suffocating you in the most intoxicating way. You pour everything into your movements, your tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, convinced that her silence is approval, that the steady roll of her hips means you’ve found exactly what she wants.

The seconds stretch into minutes, your efforts intensifying as her body shifts with increasing deliberation. The grind of her hips becomes more insistent, demanding, and you press harder, moving your tongue with more purpose. The pressure of her weight feels all-encompassing, her thighs gripping your head tightly, leaving you immobile, entirely at her mercy. You focus entirely on her, responding to her every movement, certain that you’re meeting her expectations.

Then, you feel it—a subtle, unmistakable slickness spreading against your tongue. It’s warm, intoxicating, and sends a jolt of confidence through you. Her arousal feels like confirmation, a silent acknowledgment that you’re doing something right. You match her movements with renewed focus, interpreting the growing wetness as proof of your success.

But then, without warning, her weight lifts.

The sudden loss of pressure is startling, disorienting, and you blink against the light as your eyes flutter open. The brightness of the room feels blinding, a harsh contrast to the cocoon of warmth and scent you’d been engulfed in. Her essence still lingers heavily in the air, clinging to you, intoxicating, making your head spin like you’ve been drinking something far too strong.

“Wait…” you murmur, the word slipping out unbidden as she rises fully. Without thinking, you push upward, your body instinctively trying to follow hers, desperate to maintain the contact, to hold onto the sensation. You feel drunk, untethered, and you try to lift your head toward her, as if that alone could pull her back down.

But Miyeon moves with calm, dismissive ease, pulling her skirt down and smoothing it into place with the same practiced precision she began with. She steps off the bench, her movements steady and composed, as though what just happened was a passing thought, nothing more than a fleeting interruption.

Her expression remains untouched by the moment, her gaze sharp and appraising as she looks down at you. The cool detachment in her eyes feels like a splash of cold water, banishing the haze that had clouded your mind. The confidence you felt just moments ago evaporates as she folds her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Time’s up,” she says smoothly, her tone businesslike, almost bored. There’s no emotion, no warmth in her voice, as though she’s closing a meeting rather than commenting on your performance.

You sit up slowly, your body unsteady, your breath uneven as you try to process what just happened. The remnants of her scent and taste cling to you, making your head feel light, dizzy, as though you’re still intoxicated by her presence. Your mind clings desperately to the moments when you thought she was responding—the subtle shifts, the pressing weight of her hips, the slick warmth of her against you. You were so sure you’d succeeded, but the cold finality of her words shatters that illusion.

Miyeon steps back, her expression unchanging as she watches you. Her gaze remains fixed, cool and detached, giving nothing away. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as you wait for her to say something, anything, that might redeem the moment.

But she doesn’t. Her stance, her tone, her movements—all of it makes one thing clear: you’ve fallen short.

Her silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, before she finally speaks.

“You get a C,” she says, her voice unhurried, calm, and somehow all the more cutting for it. Each word lands with surgical precision, slicing through the hope you’d just started to build. Her tone is devoid of emotion, her expression cold and detached, as though grading a forgettable report. “You missed the mark entirely.”

The words feel like a punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stare at her, struggling to process, grappling with the sudden weight of failure. “You’re giving me a…C? But I thought—I felt you get wet, Ms. Cho. I thought…”

Her eyes narrow just slightly, enough to silence you before you can finish. The room feels colder as her gaze sharpens, pinning you in place.

“Did you?” she replies, her tone so detached it feels clinical. “Just because my body has natural reactions doesn’t mean you were doing anything remarkable. Don’t confuse basic biological responses with skill.”

Her words hit like ice water, cutting through the fog of your confusion and hope. She takes a step closer, her presence looming, her expression hardening as she begins to dissect your performance with brutal precision.

“Your efforts lacked strength,” she begins, her voice carrying a steely edge. “Your tongue was weak—unfocused. No rhythm, no consistency. I set a pace for you, and you couldn’t even manage that.”

She pauses, letting the words sink in, her critical gaze sweeping over you as though she’s already dismissed you. The weight of her disappointment presses down harder than her thighs ever did.

“And you completely ignored my clit,” she continues, her tone growing colder, harsher, each syllable cutting deeper. “I practically guided you there, made it obvious, yet somehow, you missed the most important part.” Her lips curl into a faint smirk, but there’s no humor in it, only a razor-sharp derision. “I even grinded myself against you, practically handing you the answer, and still, you failed to deliver.”

Her words are relentless, brutal. Each one dissects a flaw you hadn’t even realized, exposing every weak point you thought you’d hidden. It’s as if she’s stripping you down to the core, piece by piece, revealing everything you couldn’t see in yourself.

She takes a measured step back, her voice dropping lower, colder. “The bare minimum,” she says, enunciating each word with icy precision, “is to make me cum. And you couldn’t even come close to doing that.”

The words hit like a hammer, reverberating in the silence that follows. The finality in her tone leaves no room for argument, no possibility for redemption. Her gaze remains fixed on you, sharp and unwavering, her disappointment so palpable it feels like it’s physically crushing you.

“I don’t need someone who merely tries,” she continues, her tone growing colder still, like frost spreading across the room. “I need someone who performs, who instinctively understands what I require without me having to spell it out. Excellence isn’t negotiable in this position.

The words leave you hollow, your confidence shattered under the force of her critique. Each syllable lands with precision, tearing apart every scrap of pride or hope you’d felt during the act. The air feels suffocating, thick with the weight of her disappointment.

“Please, Ms. Cho,” you manage, forcing the words out even as a lump rises in your throat. “Give me another chance. I can do better—I’ll work on everything you said, I’ll improve if you just—”

She raises a hand, cutting you off, her expression turning to stone. The gesture alone silences you, her gaze cold and unrelenting.

“There won’t be another chance,” she states, the words cold and final. “Not here. I don’t invest my time in mediocrity.”

Her dismissal feels absolute. Her attention shifts away from you, as though you’re no longer worth a moment of her time. She steps back to her desk, picking up a pen with the same calm precision she’s shown all evening, and resumes her work without so much as a glance in your direction. The sound of the pen scratching against paper feels deafening in the silence.

“You may leave,” she says coolly, her tone as unyielding as stone. “This position requires skill, precision, instinct—and you’ve shown none of those.”

The words hang heavy in the air, sharp and final, cutting through the silence like a gavel. Your body feels frozen in place, unable to move as the weight of her judgment presses down on you. Slowly, numbly, you rise, your legs unsteady beneath you, your chest tight with the sting of failure.

Each step toward the door feels heavier than the last, your mind replaying her critique with relentless clarity. The sharpness of her dismissal leaves you feeling stripped bare, your confidence shattered completely. You’d thought you’d done well, thought you’d sensed her responding, but her cold, clinical analysis has left no room for doubt. You fell short—entirely.

As you reach the door, you glance back once, hoping for even a flicker of warmth or reconsideration in her expression. But Miyeon’s gaze remains fixed on her paperwork, her focus already shifted, as though you’ve ceased to exist in her world.

You leave, her scent and the weight of her words lingering heavily in the air around you, each step away from her office feeling like another layer of failure pressing down.

The weight of her words settles heavily in the silence that follows, each one lingering in the air like a closing door. You stand, feeling hollow, the sting of failure biting deep. Each step toward the door feels impossibly heavy, as if you’re dragging your very sense of self along with you. Her critique replays in your mind, each cutting line driving the shame and disappointment deeper. By the time you reach the door, her dismissal has stripped you of whatever pride you had left, leaving you exposed and aching with the sting of her judgment.

As you step out of the building, the scent of her perfume still clings to the air around you, subtle but intoxicating. Her taste lingers on your lips, and her piercing gaze haunts your thoughts, replaying again and again with relentless clarity. You can’t stop thinking about every moment, every mistake, every opportunity you missed. Her words echo in your mind, each replay stinging more than the last, but beneath the pain and disappointment, something else lingers—a pull, an inexplicable need.

There’s something magnetic about her, something that refuses to let go. The effortless authority she carried, the way she dismissed you without a second glance—it’s intoxicating, a force that leaves you restless, unsettled. The intensity of her presence lingers, drawing you back even as the humiliation burns. Somehow, you want another chance, not to prove yourself to anyone else but to her—to earn her approval, to be exactly what she demanded.

-----

The morning after that unforgettable Monday encounter with Miyeon, you wake with her still lingering in your mind—her voice, her scent, the calm precision with which she had dismissed you. The memory of her critique, her unyielding detachment, plays over and over, cutting deeper each time. Somehow, she has taken root in your thoughts, filling them in a way you can’t ignore. Her essence lingers—not just a memory but something that feels alive, woven into every corner of your mind, unrelenting and impossible to shake.

The café where you usually spend your mornings feels miles away, though it’s just down the block. Instead of showing up to your shift, you find yourself sitting at your small kitchen table, staring blankly at your phone, waiting for something—anything—that might offer a way forward. The thought of pouring coffee, of going through the motions while she dominates your thoughts, feels unbearable.

By late morning, desperation pushes you to try a respectful, measured call to her office. Yuqi’s voice is professional, polite, and painfully impersonal. You introduce yourself, forcing your tone to stay steady even as urgency tinges every word.

“I wanted to see if Ms. Cho might be open to reconsidering…” you begin, your heart pounding with every syllable. “I know I didn’t meet her expectations, but if I could just speak with her, I’m sure I could—”

“She’s made her decision,” Yuqi replies with finality, her words cool and unyielding. “Ms. Cho has a very clear standard.”

The line goes silent, and you’re left holding the phone, the emptiness pressing down on you like a weight. Your heart sinks, but the idea of giving up feels unbearable. That night, you sit down at your desk, composing an email that takes far longer than it should. Every word feels inadequate, yet you pour your sincerity into each sentence. You admit your mistakes, express your deep respect for her, and humbly ask for another chance. As you hit send, you close your eyes and release a shaky breath, hoping your words will reach her, that she’ll sense your sincerity.

By the next morning, there’s no reply. The café calls to ask if you’re coming in, but you barely register the message. You can’t go back—not yet. The silence from Miyeon feels sharper now, amplifying your anxiety. Without thinking twice, you call her office again. This time, your tone carries a quiet urgency, though you fight to keep it professional.

“I understand Ms. Cho’s standards are high,” you say softly, your voice earnest, almost pleading. “But I know I can meet them. I just need a chance to show her.”

The rest of the day drags, heavy with unanswered questions. As evening falls, you find yourself composing another email, this time rawer, more vulnerable. You lay everything bare—your mistakes, your desire to improve, and just how much this opportunity means to you. With trembling hands, you hit send, feeling both exposed and hopeful.

By midweek, the desperation gnaws at you like a dull ache that refuses to leave. Miyeon has somehow consumed your every thought. Her presence is no longer just a memory—it feels like she’s there, looming in the edges of your mind, controlling your every emotion. Her scent, her voice, her unyielding control—they haunt you in the quiet moments, filling your chest with a weight that grows heavier with each passing day.

You’ve stopped checking your work schedule entirely. The thought of being surrounded by noise and chatter while Miyeon’s critique echoes in your mind is unbearable. It’s as if nothing else matters but reaching her, proving yourself worthy of her attention, her approval.

That afternoon, you decide to go in person. Nerves buzz under your skin as you step into the sleek lobby of Ascend International, the company’s towering headquarters. Yuqi greets you at the desk with a polite but distant smile, her practiced professionalism impossible to crack.

“Hi,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m here to leave a message for Ms. Cho. I’d like to speak with her if she’s available.”

Her smile doesn’t waver, though there’s a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. “I’ll be sure she receives your message,” she says with polite finality.

As you walk away, hope mingles with dread. You tell yourself she must know—must feel—how far you’re willing to go to prove yourself. It’s impossible to imagine her being unaware of your persistence, of how deeply she’s embedded herself into your thoughts. Yet the silence continues to gnaw at you, relentless in its clarity.

Thursday passes in a haze. You leave another voicemail, your voice trembling with the weight of your growing need.

“Please,” you say softly, almost whispering into the receiver. “I know I fell short. But if she would just allow me one more chance, I won’t disappoint her.”

The intensity of your plea surprises even you, but at this point, pride is irrelevant. You’d give anything just for the chance to redeem yourself. As you leave the office, you find yourself in the lobby once more, hoping for even the faintest sign of acknowledgment. Yuqi looks at you with that same polite sympathy, her small kindness like a bitter reminder that you’re clinging to something fragile.

By Friday morning, the week’s silence feels unbearable. Every unanswered call, every unread email, weighs on you like a sentence passed. Miyeon’s critique plays in your mind with brutal clarity, her voice sharp and cutting as she dismisses you. It’s as if she left a part of herself with you, tethering you to her, drawing you back no matter how much it stings. You can’t let her go, and yet you fear that every effort has been futile.

Then, just when your resolve begins to waver, your phone rings. The unknown number on the screen sends your pulse racing, and you answer with shaky hands.

“Ms. Cho has agreed to see you,” Yuqi announces, her tone brisk and efficient. “Tonight at 8 p.m. sharp. Do not be late.”

Relief crashes over you like a wave, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and gratitude. You’ve been granted another chance—a chance to prove yourself, to rise to her impossible standards. As you hang up, the tension that has consumed you all week begins to dissipate, replaced by a renewed determination. Tonight, everything will change

-----

By 7:30 p.m., you’re pacing in the sleek lobby of Ascend International, nerves thrumming under your skin like a live wire. The building’s towering glass walls reflect the city’s lights, casting long shadows across the pristine marble floor. Yuqi sits at her desk, her posture casual yet poised, her sharp eyes occasionally flicking up to you as you move restlessly.

When the clock hits 7:40, you finally gather the courage to approach her desk. Yuqi’s gaze snaps to you, her lips curving into a faint smirk as she leans forward slightly, her tone light and teasing. “Nervous?” she asks, though it’s clear she already knows the answer.

You nod, swallowing hard. “She’s expecting me,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though it cracks slightly under the weight of your nerves.

Yuqi doesn’t hide her amusement. “Oh, I know,” she replies, her tone bordering on playful, though there’s something sharp beneath it. She taps a perfectly manicured nail against her desk before gesturing toward the elevator. “Same room. You’re cutting it close, so I’d suggest moving quickly. Miyeon’s not known for her patience.”

Her words make your pulse quicken, and you nod quickly, stepping toward the elevator. But just as the doors slide open, Yuqi calls out, her voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “Good luck,” she says, a hint of mock pity in her tone. “You’ll need it.”

The elevator ride feels endless, the quiet hum of the machinery doing nothing to calm your racing thoughts. By the time you reach the top floor, your hands are trembling, and a bead of sweat rolls down your temple. You step out into a long, dimly lit hallway, its polished floors gleaming beneath your shoes. The door to Miyeon’s office looms at the end, imposing and unyielding, and you force yourself to move forward, each step heavier than the last.

At exactly 7:45, you’re standing outside Miyeon’s office. The weight of the moment presses down on you, suffocating, as you glance at the sleek double doors. This is it—the culmination of a week spent consumed by thoughts of her, by desperation, by the need to redeem yourself. Her dismissal on Monday has been looping in your mind, relentless and unforgiving, and you’ve been preparing for this moment every second since.

Taking a deep breath, you press your hand to the door and push it open.

The atmosphere inside Miyeon’s office is heavy, almost oppressive. Everything about the space exudes power, from the minimalist decor to the sharp angles of her desk.

Miyeon is seated behind it, her posture as precise as ever, her face unreadable. Tonight, though, there’s a sharpness to her expression, a tension in the way her hands rest on the desk. Her gaze lands on you the moment you step inside, freezing you in place. Her eyes are piercing, cutting straight through any pretense of confidence you’ve tried to muster.

“You’re back,” she says, her voice sharper than you remember, each word clipped and deliberate. The skepticism in her tone slices through the air, leaving no room for pretense. She lets the silence linger, her gaze unrelenting, before she adds, “I suppose you’re here to prove something.”

“Yes, Ms. Cho,” you manage, forcing yourself to stand taller, to appear more confident than you feel. Your voice is steady, but inside, you’re unraveling under her scrutiny. “I’m ready to meet your standards.”

Her lips curl into the faintest smirk, though it holds no warmth. If anything, it feels like a challenge, an unspoken test to see if you’ll falter. She stands slowly, her movements deliberate, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she rounds the desk. Every step feels measured, calculated, as if she’s sizing you up all over again.

When she reaches you, her gaze doesn’t waver. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. “You’ve had an entire week to think about Monday,” she says, her tone cool, almost conversational. “Tell me—what makes you think this time will be any different?”

You swallow hard, the question hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I’ve… I’ve thought about everything you said, Ms. Cho,” you reply, your voice quieter now, but no less determined. “I know I fell short, but I’ve prepared. I’m ready to prove that I can meet your expectations.”

Her eyes flicker, the faintest glimmer of something unreadable passing through them. She doesn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch until your nerves feel like they’re about to snap. Then, with a brisk motion, she gestures toward the center of the room.

“Then show me,” she says simply, her voice low but charged with authority. “And don’t waste my time.”

Without needing further instruction, you step toward the corner of the room where the bench waits, sleek and polished under the dim office lights. You retrieve it carefully, its weight familiar in your hands, and position it in the center of the room. The leather gleams, the elevated headrest perfectly angled for what you know is to come, designed to cradle you in place beneath her.

You lower yourself onto the bench, the leather cool and firm beneath you, grounding you as you settle into position. The headrest cradles your head, tilting your face upward in a way that leaves you open, exposed, perfectly aligned beneath her. Your breath quickens as Miyeon steps closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Each step feels deliberate, each sound echoing the weight of your expectations.

She stops just in front of you, her sharp gaze sweeping over you, calm and detached, as though calculating every detail. Without a word, she slips off her heels and sets them aside. Her fingers move to the hem of her skirt, gathering the fabric upward with fluid grace. Her thighs come into view, smooth and commanding, a contrast of elegance and strength. The edge of her lace panties teases at your vision before she moves them aside with a simple, routine motion.

Her scent—muskier, richer than you remembered—immediately fills the air. It’s overwhelming, a heady blend of something primal and intimate, saturating your senses as she steps forward and positions herself above you. It’s a smell that haunted you this entire week, lingering like an ache in the back of your mind. You’d tried to forget, to push it aside, but nothing could dull the memory of her—the way she consumed you so entirely, only to dismiss you without a second thought. Now, as her warmth radiates above you, it feels like you’re being granted water in a desert, but only if you can prove you’re worthy to drink.

When she lowers herself, her weight presses down fully, engulfing you in her presence. Her thighs press against your cheeks, trapping you completely beneath her. Each shallow breath you manage is filled entirely with her scent, and for a moment, you’re paralyzed by how familiar it feels, how much you’d been craving this. It’s as though the week of rejection, of begging for this chance, has only amplified your hunger. Nothing else could satisfy you but her.

Tentatively, you begin, pressing your tongue to her with slow, cautious strokes. Her taste fills your senses—earthy and rich, tinged with saltiness, intensely familiar and utterly consuming. The longing you’ve carried for days surges forward, and you push past your hesitation, tracing deliberate patterns as you adjust to the faint shifts of her body. Her warmth grows against you, and you focus entirely on her, on the faint signals she gives—the flex of her thighs, the subtle tilt of her hips.

Her breathing remains steady, restrained, and her body feels poised, in control, as if she’s still testing you. You move with more purpose, pressing your tongue more firmly, hoping to draw a reaction, to prove you’ve learned. Her hips begin to move slightly, setting a measured rhythm, and you match it, your tongue tracing careful circles in time with her movements.

Her thighs tighten slightly, holding you in place, and her warmth presses against you more firmly. For a fleeting moment, you think you’re succeeding, that you’re drawing her into the moment. But then, her weight begins to lift.

The change is subtle at first—the brief press of her thighs as they shift upward—but it’s enough to make your heart drop. Her warmth pulls away, leaving a sudden void that feels unbearable. Her expression is faintly impatient as she rises, her movements deliberate, as though confirming what she already suspected: that you’ve failed her again.

A horrible sense of déjà vu washes over you, sharp and unrelenting. The rejection from your first evaluation, the cold detachment in her voice, all come rushing back, amplifying the ache in your chest. The memory of that moment has haunted you all week, and now it feels as though it’s happening all over again. Panic claws at you, raw and immediate.

Her voice cuts through the silence, low and unimpressed. “I see you haven’t learned anything.”

The words slice through you, sharp and final, and desperation surges in their wake. You can’t let her leave—not again. Before she can move further, you reach up, your hands trembling as they find her hips, gently but firmly holding her in place. Your lips brush against her folds, pressing soft, pleading kisses that linger just a moment longer than they should.

“Please, Ms. Cho,” you whisper against her, your voice breaking. “Don’t leave. I know I can do better. Please—just let me try.”

She doesn’t move. You press another kiss to her, slower this time, the desperation in you mounting. “Please,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “I need this. I need to show you. I won’t fail you.”

Another kiss. She doesn’t lower herself, doesn’t speak, and the silence feels crushing. Your kisses grow more frantic, more desperate, your lips trembling as you pour every ounce of pleading into them.

“Don’t go,” you whisper between kisses, your voice cracking with emotion. “Please, Ms. Cho. I’ll do anything—just give me this chance. Let me prove I can please you.”

You press another kiss, and this time it lingers, your lips soft and reverent against her warmth. “Please…” you murmur again, the word barely audible, carrying the weight of everything you’ve felt this past week—the sleepless nights, the ache in your chest, the obsessive need to have this moment again.

For a moment, the air is suffocatingly still. Her body remains poised above you, her thighs tense, her piercing gaze boring into yours, unreadable and unwavering. You’re left hanging, each second dragging painfully as you wait for her to decide if your pleading, your desperation, is enough.

Finally, she shifts, lowering herself back down slowly, deliberately. Her weight settles on you again with a quiet finality, her thighs bracketing your face and trapping you completely beneath her warmth. Her presence floods your senses again, her scent, her taste, her closeness—more consuming now, more intense after nearly losing it.

“Continue,” she says, her tone clipped and cold, leaving no room for hesitation. “This is your last chance.”

Her words settle heavily in the air, fueling your determination. She lowers herself slowly, her weight pressing down on you with deliberate command. Her warmth engulfs you completely, her thighs framing your head, trapping you in place. Her scent surrounds you—intense, musky, and deeply familiar, stirring the longing that had haunted you since her rejection. This is your moment, your chance to prove yourself, and you won’t squander it.

You press your tongue to her carefully at first, savoring the sensation. Her taste floods your senses—earthy, slightly salty, and utterly her. It’s overwhelming, a reminder of everything you’ve been craving since that first evaluation. You move cautiously, tracing along her in slow, deliberate strokes, letting her subtle shifts guide you.

As you work, her hips begin to move slightly, a faint rhythm that you match immediately. You focus entirely on her clit, finding it with purpose and letting your tongue trace precise circles over the sensitive spot. Her body responds subtly at first—a slight flex of her thighs, a faint deepening of her breathing—but then she begins to grind against you, her movements deliberate, setting a demanding pace.

Her thighs tighten around your head, holding you firmly, and her warmth spreads against you as her arousal builds. The faint scent of her grows stronger, more intoxicating with each passing moment. The low sounds that escape her—soft, unrestrained moans—cut through the silence, quiet but impossible to miss. The sound of her pleasure fills you with renewed purpose, driving you to push harder, to make her lose the control she clings to so tightly.

You adjust seamlessly to her movements, your tongue pressing more firmly as her hips set a rhythm that grows more demanding with each passing second. The warmth of her envelops you completely, her scent thick and intoxicating, saturating your senses until nothing else exists. Her thighs flex around your head, tightening their hold, as if to anchor herself against the rising tide of sensation. Every inhale you take is filled with her, each shallow breath a reminder of the position she holds over you.

Her soft moans slip past her lips, each one slightly louder than the last, their restrained nature fraying at the edges. The controlled grace she carried moments ago begins to falter, her movements sharpening as her hips grind against your tongue with increasing insistence. You respond instinctively, letting your tongue trace circles that align perfectly with her pace, adjusting to every subtle cue her body gives.

Her thighs tremble against your cheeks, their strength faltering as the tension in her body builds. The moans grow breathier, tinged with urgency, and her weight presses down more fully, holding you in place beneath her. Her breathing becomes uneven, hitching with every deliberate motion of your tongue as you follow her lead, unrelenting in your efforts to meet her every need.

Suddenly, her movements grow erratic, the control she held so tightly slipping entirely. Her body tenses above you, her thighs clenching tightly around your head, cutting off your world to everything but her. A sharp, shuddering moan escapes her lips, low and unrestrained, the sound raw and involuntary. Her hips press down fully, grinding against your tongue with forceful, almost frantic motions, riding the crest of her climax.

Her body tightens completely, trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure overtakes her. You remain steady beneath her, your tongue moving with careful persistence, guiding her through every pulse, drawing out each lingering sensation. Her knuckles whiten as her grip on the head rest tighten, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.

For a long moment, she remains like that—tense, trembling, pressing herself fully against you as the final shudders of release course through her. Only when her body begins to relax does her grip loosen, her thighs softening their hold on your head. Even then, you don’t stop entirely, your movements gentle now, offering a last, tender caress as her breathing begins to steady once more.

Her breathing slows as her movements begin to still, her weight easing slightly as she lifts herself just enough to create space. But as her warmth pulls away, a thought flashes through your mind: this isn’t enough. You can’t just meet her expectations—you need to surpass them.

Sliding your hands up, you let your palms glide over the curve of her hips, steadying her as you adjust her position slightly. Your fingers trail downward, curling firmly to grab handfuls of her cheeks. The sensation of her soft skin under your hands is electrifying, and you feel the tension in her body shift as you grip her firmly. You spread her open with care, creating the perfect angle to access her most sensitive, tightest spot. It’s a bold move—one she hasn’t guided you to, one she hasn’t even hinted at—but you know you need to take this risk. You have to make yourself unforgettable.

With deliberate intent, your tongue traces lower, teasing the sensitive curve of her entrance before pressing further, exploring the tight ring of her ass. The sensation is new, unexpected, and her reaction is immediate.

Her body jolts slightly, her hips lifting momentarily in surprise as a sharp, breathy gasp escapes her lips. For a split second, your heart races, unsure if you’ve overstepped. But then her hips press back down against you, a reflexive movement that tells you everything you need to know. Her thighs tremble against your cheeks as her weight shifts fully onto your face, and the tension in her body gives way to something rawer, more unrestrained.

Her moans begin to spill freely now, soft and breathy at first, slipping past the tight control she holds so carefully. The sound fuels you, driving you to press deeper, to let your tongue move in slow, deliberate circles over her most sensitive areas. Her grip on the desk falters as her hips grind harder against you, her movements growing more erratic, more demanding.

You alternate between her ass and her folds, moving with seamless precision. Your tongue delves deeply, savoring her, while your nose brushes against her slick warmth with each shift. Her hips jerk, grinding against your face as though her body can’t decide which sensation to crave more. The weight of her bears down heavily, leaving you struggling for air, but all you can think about is her. Every detail—the way her thighs tighten around your head, the faint tremble in her muscles, the unrestrained sounds spilling from her lips—it consumes you entirely.

Her thighs shift slightly, and then, with a deliberate motion, she lifts her legs off the floor, letting her entire weight press fully onto you. The headrest beneath you creaks slightly, adjusting to the added pressure as she settles in, trapping you completely beneath her. The shift is overwhelming, her body sinking into yours entirely, her warmth and slickness engulfing your senses. Each shallow breath you manage is filled with her scent, and the sensation is intoxicating.

Your hands tighten on her cheeks, spreading her wider as you focus entirely on her ass. You let your tongue explore deeply, pressing into her with slow, deliberate strokes, circling and teasing the sensitive area with unrelenting purpose. Her body tenses above you, her thighs trembling violently as her breathing turns ragged and uneven. Each exhale is sharp, shaky, and punctuated by guttural moans that grow louder and less restrained as she begins to lose control.

Her hips grind down against your face, her rhythm faltering, her movements desperate. Her breathing becomes erratic, catching with each flick of your tongue, until the sounds spilling from her lips dissolve into broken gasps. The pressure of her weight presses down harder, and her thighs clamp around your head with such force that it feels like she’s grounding herself entirely in you, refusing to let you go.

Her body begins to quake above you, losing all rhythm as her hips move erratically, chasing the sensations building within her. Her breathing stutters sharply, and then, with one raw, unrestrained cry—the loudest, most primal moan you’ve ever heard from her—her climax overtakes her.

Her entire body shudders violently, her hips grinding down fully, pressing you deeper into the headrest as she rides out wave after wave of intense pleasure. Her slick wetness spills onto your face, warm and undeniable, marking the raw power of her release. The sensation spurs you on, your tongue moving with soft but purposeful strokes, coaxing every last tremor from her body.

Her thighs quiver uncontrollably, gripping your head like a vice as she rides through the overwhelming storm of her climax. Each moan spills from her lips in sharp, uneven bursts, her control shattered entirely. Her grip on the headrest tightens, her knuckles white, as though anchoring herself against the intensity of the moment.

You can feel her unraveling completely, her body vibrating with aftershocks that seem to go on forever. Her weight remains heavy on you, holding you in place as she takes in shallow, ragged breaths, her body still trembling with the echoes of her release. Even as her movements begin to slow, her thighs remain locked around you, as though she’s reluctant to let go of the sensation. Every ounce of her focus is still on you, every ounce of yours entirely on her.

Finally, her body begins to relax. Her breathing slows, and her thighs loosen their hold, trembling slightly as she lifts herself off you with deliberate care. Her legs are unsteady as she straightens, smoothing her skirt with the practiced precision you’ve come to expect. Her breathing is still uneven, her chest rising and falling as she regains her composure.

For a moment, she stands there silently, her gaze heavy and unreadable as it lingers on you. The scent of her, the taste of her, clings to you, saturating your senses entirely. The room feels charged, her presence commanding even in stillness. You dare not assume anything—she’s still the one in control, and any sign of approval must come from her. Yet, in the weight of her silence, you can’t help but feel that you’ve done something right.

Her chest rises and falls evenly as she regains her composure, her expression remaining as poised and inscrutable as ever. You think you’ve proven yourself, think you’ve risen to her exacting standards, but the thought lingers, unspoken, as you wait. Every second stretches, heavy with anticipation, until finally, she speaks.

“Well done,” she murmurs, her tone softer than usual but still carrying that commanding edge. The weight of her approval lands squarely on you, and a quiet sense of pride begins to unfurl in your chest. Then, with a slight glance back at you, her lips curve in what could almost be a smile—subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable.

“Bold,” she says, her tone as measured as ever, but there’s a hint of something beneath it—impressed. “Unexpected, but… effective.”

The words hit you like a wave, filling your chest with pride, though you keep your expression neutral, refusing to let the satisfaction show too openly. Still, the acknowledgment lingers, affirming that your risk wasn’t just noticed but appreciated.

“Report here Monday morning,” she continues briskly, her tone returning to business. “You’ve earned your place.”

Her words hang in the air, settling over you like a blanket of relief. You don’t let the triumph show too openly, knowing she’s still watching you, but a quiet sense of accomplishment blooms within. She turns away, stepping back toward her desk with deliberate, unhurried movements, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. The sound carries finality, a subtle dismissal, but also an acknowledgment of what you’ve achieved.

You remain where you are for a moment, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath, her scent and taste still vivid, still clinging to you. The weight of her words settles warmly over you—a victory hard won, a moment of validation you’ll carry with you. You’ve proven yourself tonight, but you know better than to assume it’s enough. This is only the beginning.

A faint trace of satisfaction flickers across her face as she glances at you one last time, her gaze lingering briefly before returning to her work. With an elegant nod, she dismisses you, her attention already shifting back to her desk.

Carefully, you rise, your legs unsteady from the intensity of the moment. Before leaving, you reach for the bench, the familiar weight grounding you as you lift it and carry it back to its original place in the corner of the room. The small act feels significant, almost ceremonial, as though returning it to its spot closes this chapter of the evening. Once it’s in place, you step back, sparing a glance at Miyeon, who is already engrossed in her work, her demeanor as composed as ever.

Each step toward the door feels deliberate, carrying the weight of everything it took to earn this moment. As you leave her office, the memory of her words—and her body—lingers in your mind, a reminder of what you’ve achieved and what’s still expected of you.

The quiet buzz of the building greets you as you exit, a stark contrast to the intensity of the room you just left. The evening air feels cooler, crisper, as you step outside, but the warmth of her approval stays with you. Miyeon’s words echo in your mind, solidifying the pride swelling in your chest.

“Bold. Unexpected, but effective.”

Those words, more than anything, stay with you, reminding you of the risks you took and the reward you earned. Monday will bring new challenges, but for the first time, you feel fully prepared to meet them. You’ve been given a chance to prove yourself again, and you’re determined to exceed every expectation.

-----

Back in the office, after the door softly clicks shut, Yuqi steps inside and leans against the frame, arms crossed and a smirk on her lips. “Alright, spill,” she teases. “What’s the deal? You actually allowed a second chance? I thought that wasn’t your thing.”

Miyeon glances up from her desk, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Oh, please. I knew from the start I was going to,” she says smoothly. “There was potential. I just needed to see it under the right conditions.”

Yuqi raises an eyebrow, the smirk widening. “So the whole week of calls and emails? You’re telling me that wasn’t just for your entertainment?”

A faint smile curves Miyeon’s lips as she leans back in her chair. “Maybe I enjoyed it,” she admits. “But desperation does something extraordinary—it strips away everything unnecessary. What’s left is either weakness or strength.”

“You and your tests,” Yuqi mutters, shaking her head with a laugh. “You could’ve just brought it up on Monday.”

“That wouldn’t have shown me what I needed to see,” Miyeon replies with a knowing glance. “Pressure reveals everything. It’s like a diamond—only the right conditions bring it out.”

“Wow,” Yuqi says, stepping forward to nudge Miyeon’s shoulder lightly. “Soft-hearted Cho strikes again. Admit it, you like a little drama.”

Miyeon chuckles, her tone turning playful. “Only when the effort is worth watching.”

“Noted,” Yuqi replies, heading for the door with an exaggerated wave. “Don’t worry, I’ll mark this historic event down. Second chances with Miyeon Cho—they’re like spotting Bigfoot. Rare and highly debated.”

Miyeon shakes her head, unable to suppress a laugh. “Get out of here, Yuqi.”

Yuqi grins, pausing at the door. “Hey, if you get bored over the weekend, you know where to find me. Or maybe I’ll just swing by Monday with popcorn to watch the show.”

Miyeon points to the door, her expression feigned exasperation. “Out.”

“Fine, fine,” Yuqi says, throwing her hands up in mock surrender before slipping through the door with a grin. “Don’t get too sentimental on me, boss.”

As the door closes behind her, Miyeon’s smile lingers. Her gaze drifts back to the now-empty space, thoughtful yet satisfied. She had known all along what could be achieved, but sometimes the right kind of desperation was the key. Pressure, determination, and grit—it all had to surface naturally, and it had.

With a quiet exhale, she turns back to her desk, already contemplating the days ahead with a sense of certainty.

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