Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
" You's a ride-or-die chick, you with the shit, or nah?"
Summary: Jack Horton puts a name on his kill list is Frank Moses. He wants him erased from the world, and for a job that delicate, he calls Han Cho Bai, the top assassin recommended by his own colleagues. Han is methodical, work-driven, and ruthless in his precision. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t hesitate.
Until your file lands on his desk.
From that moment on, Han is no longer working a single mission. He’s running two. One for Jack, and one for himself.
The reward? Cash…and you.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, DARK THEME, HEAVY SMUT, AU, DUB-CON, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, explicit content, mature language, age-gap, yandere behavior, manipulation, threats, Stockholm syndrome, drugging, abduction, torturing, gun violence, stalker behavior, possessive behavior, mention of masturbation, betrayal, killing, assassination, obsession, corruption, power tripping, mutual pining, erotic, heavy tension, ownership, manhandling, rough, dirty talk, spanking, BDSM, bondage, worshipping, oral (BOTH), PiV, unprotected, breeding kink, degradation, riding, edging, markings, dry humping, overstimulation, master kink, soft-dom undertones, aftercare, older man x younger woman, secretary! Reader x assassin! Han Cho Bai
The dim glow of the laptop screen carved sharp shadows across Han Cho Bai's face. He sat motionless in the sparse safehouse on the outskirts of London.
The chaos was already swirling around Frank Moses, but Han had his own mission. Jack Horton had paid handsomely upfront which was to eliminate Moses before the Nightshade mess escalated further.
Simple. Profitable. Routine.
Until the dossier.
You appeared in the third file in Frank's "civilian cover." Not Sarah Ross, the bubbly girlfriend who tagged along like a liability with lipstick.
No, you were the quiet one.
The secretary.
The one who handled his appointments, his forged documents, the mundane threads that kept Frank's retired life from unraveling completely.
Han had expected a faceless bureaucrat.
Instead, he found your photo.
Your eyes are sharp, guarded, and yet somehow soft at the edges that stared back through the grainy surveillance shot.
The way you tilted your head when listening to Frank, the slight purse of your lips when he rambled about old missions like they were grocery lists.
Han had intended to study Frank's weaknesses. Instead, he spent hours replaying grainy footage of you walking into the office building, coat collar turned up against the rain while the heels clicked with purpose.
He traced the curve of your cheek on the screen with a gloved finger.
Slow.
Deliberate.
His breath hitched. The fabric of his slacks pulled tight, an unwelcome heat pooling low in his gut.
" Pathetic." he muttered to the empty room, voice low and rough. But he didn't stop staring.
He told himself it was a strategy.
You were close to the target.
Leverage. Seduction. Blackmail.
Whatever got him inside Frank's circle fastest.
But the longer he watched, the more the plan twisted.
He imagined your voice is soft and professional while cracking when he finally cornered you.
The way you'd fight, then yield.
Or maybe you'd surprise him, bite back or make him earn it.
A dark chuckle escaped him.
" Tomorrow…" He promised.
" We meet tomorrow."
Tonight, though, he let the fantasy run.
He leaned back, eyes half-lidded, picturing you in this very room.
You'd be bound to the chair at first in practical and necessary, because you'd try to run.
Of course you would. But then he'd kneel and slide the knife along your thigh just enough to nick the stocking, not the skin.
Not yet.
He'd watch your chest rise and fall, hear the hitch in your breathing when his fingers replaced the blade.
" You think Frank can protect you?" He'd murmur against your ear, accent thick with want.
" He can't even protect himself."
You'd glare, spit something clever about assassins and egos. He'd laugh lowly and dangerously then kiss the corner of your mouth just to feel you tremble.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
Because beneath the secretary's poise, he'd seen it in the photos is hunger.
The same kind that clawed at him now.
“ Fuck.” He mutters, shifting in his seat as his hand drifts down, and palming himself through the fabric.
A groan rumbled in his chest.
He pictured flipping you over the desk, papers scattering in Frank's careful schedules ruined under your palms as you braced yourself.
He'd take his time slowly and torturously.
Every thrust a claim.
Every bite on your shoulder is a brand.
You'd curse him, moan his name like a threat, and he'd only go harder while whispering that you belonged to him now.
Not Frank.
Never Frank.
The thought of Moses even looking at you too long sent a spike of possessive rage through him.
Jack wanted Frank dead?
Fine.
But you? You were his bonus.
His obsession.
His.
He came with a choked curse, head thrown back, your name on his lips like a vow. When the haze cleared, Han straightened. He wiped his hand and closed the laptop with a soft click.
He checked his watch.
Dawn in four hours, then the approach is casual, charming, the perfect stranger with a forged ID and a smile that hides knives.
You'd open the door.
You'd smile politely.
And he'd make sure that in the first heartbeat is when you felt the shift and the inevitability.
Han stood, rolling his shoulders, already imagining the fun of it on how you'd bicker with him later, and call him a stalker or a psycho while your body betrayed you every time he got too close.
Dark. Tense. Delicious.
" Tomorrow." He repeated, voice velvet over steel.
He flicked off the light and stepped into the shadows, a predator already half in love with his prey.
…
The Thursday morning rush at Le Café Noir was the same predictable hum you’d grown to crave: espresso steam, low chatter, the clack of your keyboard as you chipped away at Frank’s endless backlog of “urgent but not classified” files.
Your latte sat cooling beside the laptop, half-forgotten, peaceful, and normal.
Until the world detonated.
The explosion outside rattled every windowpane.
Screams erupted, cups shattered, and customers dove under tables like it was a drill they’d practiced in their sleep.
You dropped too in instinct and curled around the laptop like it was a child. Your heart is hammering while fingers still flying across keys because Frank would kill you twice if these reports weren’t on his desk by noon.
Then the front glass imploded.
A black sedan plowed through the façade in a shriek of metal and safety glass. Shards rained like lethal confetti. You threw an arm up, flinching as fragments sliced the air inches from your face.
People were sobbing now, raw animal panic.
Another crash, and this time it's human.
A suited body hurtled through the broken storefront and landed in a wet sprawl right in front of your table while the blood poured from a caved-in temple and its pooling fast.
You stared, frozen, and breathed shallowly.
A shiny oxfords stepped into the crimson lake.
You peeked up through the table legs.
Han Cho Bai looked down at you like he’d been waiting years for this exact moment. Dark suit, darker eyes, and a thin trickle of blood sliding from his hairline.
His jaw clenched once, hard then his hand shot out.
Fingers like steel clamped around your wrist.
You yanked back. “ Let…go—”
He hauled you out like you weighed nothing then he's dragging you upright.
You swung the laptop at his head as he blocked without looking, the crack of plastic against forearm loud in the chaos. Then his arm snaked around your throat in headlock, precise, professional, and you felt the cold kiss of a suppressor muzzle digging into the small of your back.
“ Don’t move.” He murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“ Unless you want this to end very quickly.”
His voice was velvet dragged over broken glass. His hot breath ghosted your neck. You froze, not from the gun, but from the sudden and obscene heat that flooded your veins when his chest pressed flush against your spine.
He inhaled. Deep. Slow.
Like he was savoring wine.
A groan vibrated in his throat, so quiet you almost missed it. Then he was moving by dragging you through the wreckage, stepping over screaming patrons, shattered porcelain, and the dead man’s outstretched hand.
Gunfire cracked behind you. Han didn’t even flinch. Two quick pops from his free hand and the shooters dropped like marionettes with cut strings.
Outside, cold air slapped your face. He shoved you toward a matte-black Range Rover idling at the curb, yanked the rear door open, and threw you inside.
You scrambled for the opposite handle.
Locked.
He slid behind the wheel, slammed his door, and peeled out before you could blink.
“ Please…” You rasped, voice shaking with fury more than fear.
“ Just let me go. I don’t know anything. I won’t tell anyone—”
Dark eyes flicked to the rearview. “ You’re useful to my mission.”
The words were calm and almost boring. “ Cooperate. Or I’ll make the rest of your life very…uncomfortable.”
You laughed sharply and bitterly. “ Go to hell. I hope you die screaming.”
The car jerked as he stomped the brake. Your body slammed forward then your forehead cracked against the headrest.
Stars burst behind your eyes.
A fist twisted in your hair, yanking your head back until your throat arched painfully. Han leaned over the console, face inches from yours while his eyes glittering with something feral.
“ I like feisty.” He growled, voice dropping so low it vibrated in your bones.
“ It makes this more interesting.”
He buried his nose against your neck quickly and greedily inhaled then he shoved you back into the seat like you burned him.
You lunged for the door again, slamming the handle uselessly. His laugh was dark and amused.
“ Child safety lock, sweetheart. You’re not going anywhere.”
You swung at him as your fist connected with his cheekbone. He barely blinked, then the next second your face was mashed against the cool window, cheek smushed, and breath fogging the glass.
His weight pinned you.
A sharp prick at the side of your neck.
The world tilted, softened at the edges.
“ No—” You slurred, limbs turning to water.
He caught you as you slumped, arranging your body across the backseat with clinical care like you were fragile cargo.
The car accelerated again, smooth now, almost gentle.
Han glanced at you in the mirror.
You are unconscious, lips parted, and your chest rising slowly. His knuckles whitened on the wheel.
He was hard again.
Painfully so.
The way you’d fought, the flash of teeth when you snapped at him, and your scent still clinging to his jacket and it was unraveling him thread by thread.
He’d promised Jack Horton a clean kill on Frank Moses.
He’d promised himself he’d own you the moment he saw your photo.
Now both promises were colliding, and the collision felt like gasoline on a bonfire.
He didn’t know how long he could keep his hands professional. Didn’t know when the leash would snap and he’d pull over, drag you into his lap, and take what he’d been obsessing over since that first grainy image.
This mission wasn’t about the target anymore.
It was about how long he could resist devouring you whole.
…
You jolted awake with a gasp as ice-cold water sluiced over your head, and soaking your blouse and making your skin pebble instantly.
The shock ripped a muffled scream from your throat, but the fabric gag turned it into something pathetic and wet.
You thrashed, chair legs scraping concrete. The rope bit into your wrists and ankles in professional knots, and tight enough to bruise but not cut circulation.
Smart bastard.
Your eyes darted. It's a dim warehouse, high ceilings, rusted beams, and a single hanging bulb swaying like a noose.
Two meaty suits stood sentinel at the door, arms crossed, and their faces were blank.
One of them held an empty metal bucket.
Asshole.
A low and furious voice cut through the echo.
“ My fucking plane is gone again. That bald prick stole it. Again.”
A pause, then venom.
“ If anyone touches my hangar, I’ll carve their name into the runway with their own teeth.”
You screamed harder, chair rocking dangerously.
Footsteps. Slow. Measured.
Han Cho Bai appeared in the weak light, sliding his phone into his pocket with the casual grace of a man who’d just ordered takeout, not threatened mass murder.
He stopped in front of you, studied you like a painting he’d already decided to buy.
“ Glad you’re awake.” He said, voice velvet and lethal.
He dropped to one knee, bringing his face level with yours. Close enough that you could smell gun oil, expensive cologne, and the faint copper of dried blood on his collar.
“ This session might take a while. I need to teach you how to sing properly.”
You bucked, screaming into the gag, chair legs screeching. He laughed lowly, amused, and dark.
“ If I were you, I’d behave. Be a good girl, tell me everything about Frank Moses, and maybe you walk out of here with all your pretty parts intact.”
You glared murder, mumbled furiously around the cloth. The words came out garbled, but the intent was crystal.
“ Mmmph…die…mmmph…traitor—”
Han tilted his head, mock concern. “ Sorry? Can’t quite hear you. Something about dying? Or was that moaning?”
More muffled curses and threats. You thrashed so hard the chair tipped as he caught it one-handed, righted it without effort.
“ Feisty.” He murmured while his eyes were glittering.
“ I never expected you to have this kind of kink. Tied up, helpless, screaming for me…” He leaned in until his lips nearly brushed your ear.
“ You’re practically purring.”
You froze for half a second.
It's long enough for heat to crawl traitorously up your neck then redouble your struggles and screaming until your throat burns. He sighed dramatically, rolled his eyes, and reached behind your head.
One tug and the gag dropped to your lap.
First thing you did? Spit square in his face.
Han’s jaw clenched so hard you heard the teeth grind. For one terrifying heartbeat, and you thought he’d snap your neck.
Instead, he lifted two fingers, scooped your spit off his cheek, and slowly, deliberately then he brought them to his mouth.
His tongue flicked out.
He sucked them clean.
You gagged and your stomach rolled.
“ Sweet.” He hummed, eyes locked on yours.
“ Makes me wonder what else tastes this good.”
“ You're a disgusting piece of shit!” You spat.
“ I’m going to kill you. Slowly. When I get out of this, I’ll—”
He laughed again, but genuine this time and delighted. Then he drew his sidearm, a sleek black suppressor already threaded on, and twirled it lazily between his fingers like a toy.
“ I’m in the mood to play…” He said softly.
“ Your game. My rules. We’ll make it simple: I win, you tell me every single thing Frank’s been hiding. Names. Locations. Plans. Everything. Cooperate, and I’ll torture you the sweet way like slow kisses, soft touches, until you’re begging me to stop because it feels too good.”
He leaned closer, barrel of the gun tracing the line of your jaw while the cold metal kissing your skin.
“ Piss me off?” His voice dropped to a growl.
“ Then it’s the hard way. And trust me, sweetheart…I’m very creative.”
You swallowed. You tried to ignore the way your pulse hammered between your legs, but it's traitorous and wrong.
“ You’re insane.”
“ Probably.” He smiled, all teeth.
“ But you’re the one getting wet while I threaten to break you.”
“ I’m not—”
He pressed the muzzle under your chin then tilted your head back. “ Liar.”
You glared up at him, chest heaving, cheeks burning. “ Frank’s going to find you. He’s going to put a bullet between your eyes.”
Han’s grin widened. “ I’d love to see him try.”
He leaned in until his mouth hovered a whisper from yours. “ But until then…you’re mine.”
He straightened, tucked the gun away, and glanced at the two goons. “ Leave us.”
They filed out without a word.
The door clanged shut.
Han circled behind you, fingers trailing across your shoulders, and light enough to raise goosebumps.
“ Let’s begin…” He murmured.
“ Tell me about Nightshade.”
You clamped your lips shut.
He sighed, almost fond. “ Stubborn little thing.”
Then his hand slid into your hair and fisted it gently. Not painful, but possessive.
“ Fine.” He whispered against your temple.
“ We’ll do this the fun way.”
You closed your eyes, heart slamming, and your body is betraying you with every ragged breath.
He was going to break you.
And the worst part? Some dark and twisted corner of you wanted to see how far he’d go before you broke him first.
…
Han set the gun down on the scarred metal table with a deliberate clink, like he was laying out cutlery for dinner. Then he reached into his pocket and flicked open a butterfly knife.
The blade spun between his fingers in a silver blur in showy, practiced, and terrifying.
“ New rules…” He said, voice low and amused.
“ Every lie, every half-truth, every answer that doesn’t satisfy me? I cut something off you. Clothes first. Skin later, if you’re stubborn.”
He twirled the knife again.
“ But when you’re honest? I tore one rope. Piece by piece, you earn your freedom. Generous, right?”
You bared your teeth. “ I’m not playing your sick little game.”
He laughed darkly as it's rolling thunder in his chest.
“ Sweetheart, you started it the second you spat in my face. I’m just giving you what you clearly crave.”
He leaned in, mock concern dripping from every syllable. “ Come on. Give me your best. Insult me. Threaten me. Make me tremble in fear. I’m begging.”
You jerked against the ropes, chair is screeching.
“ You’re a pathetic, knife-twirling psycho who gets off on kidnapping women because no one will touch you willingly. I hope Frank finds you, ties you to a chair, and uses your own blade to carve ‘loser’ into your forehead before he blows your brains out.”
Han’s eyes sparkled. He actually shivered in exaggerated and theatrical. “ Fuck. That’s the spirit.”
He stepped closer until his thighs bracketed your knees. “ Now let’s play.”
He bent low, lips hovering a breath from yours. “ Tell me Frank Moses’s daily routine. Every habit. Every weakness. Every place he hides his toys.”
You let out a sharp, bitter chuckle. “ Go fuck yourself. I’m not telling you a damn thing about my boss.”
Han pulled back just enough to give you a theatrical pout. “ Pity.”
The knife flashed.
A clean slice down the center of your blouse. The fabric parted like water. The cool air kissed newly exposed skin as your bra and the swell of your breasts were on full display.
You yelped while jerking back as far as the ropes allowed.
Han hummed approval.
“ I'm starting to like this game.” His gaze raked over you, hungry.
“ I’m excited for your next lie. I can’t wait to see what else comes off.”
He leaned in again, but slower this time.
The razor-sharp tip of the butterfly knife traced the side of your throat in light enough not to break skin, but heavy enough to remind you how easily it could.
His free hand settled on your thigh, fingers splaying wide, then sliding upward in lazy circles.
Closer.
Dangerous.
The heat of his palm seared through your skirt.
“ Try again.” He murmured.
“ Frank. Routine. Now.”
You swallowed.
The words tumbled out before you could stop them in stupid, useless, and desperate.
“ He…he likes his coffee black. Two sugars. Always reads the paper at seven. Complains about the crossword. Sometimes he forgets where he parked the car—”
Han’s head tilted. A disappointed groan rumbled in his throat. “ That’s not singing, darling. That’s babbling.”
His fingers paused, thumb brushing the sensitive inner seam of your thigh. “ I rather want to hear your threats. Insults. Filth. Not his stupid trivia.”
With a deep and theatrical sigh, he straightened. The knife snapped shut and vanished into his pocket.
Your eyes traitors and it darted downward.
There it was.
It's unmistakable.
The thick and training bulge in his slacks.
Heat flooded your face, then shot straight between your legs. You clenched your thighs together instinctively.
It's wrong.
So wrong.
Han noticed. Of course he did. His lips curved into something predatory. “ Maybe a different method will get you to hit the right note.”
He moved behind you. Fingers worked the ropes quickly and efficiently.
One wrist came free. Then the other.
It's an opportunity.
You exploded out of the chair as your fist swung hard. Your knuckles cracked against his cheekbone. He grunted then his head snapping to the side.
You bolted in bare feet slapping concrete as your blouse flapped open and a heart in your throat.
He caught you in three strides.
An arm banded around your waist, yanking you back against his chest. Your back hit solid muscle. You felt every inch of him is hard, hot, and furious.
Click.
Cold metal snapped around your left wrist.
Then the right.
Handcuffs. Heavy. Professional.
You screamed.
He lifted you like you were made of paper, hoisting you over one broad shoulder. Your bare stomach pressed to his suit jacket as your skirt rode up, exposing thighs and the edge of your underwear.
“ Put me down, you bastard!”
Han strode toward a shadowed corner of the warehouse, and his voice vibrated through your body. “ You wanted the hard way. So I’m giving it to you.”
He dumped you onto a low cot shoved against the wall in a thin mattress, no sheets, and just a scratchy blanket. You scrambled back, chains rattling while wrists cuffed in front of you now.
He loomed over you, loosening his tie with one hand.
The other reached for his belt buckle.
“ You’re going to sing.” He said softly.
“ Eventually. And when you do…” His eyes dragged over your torn blouse, your heaving chest, and the way your thighs pressed together like that could hide how soaked you were.
“ I’m going to make sure every note tastes like me.”
You glared up at him, chest rising and falling, pulse hammering in your ears, between your legs, everywhere.
“ Try it.” You hissed.
“ I’ll bite it off.”
Han’s laugh was low, delighted, and dangerous.
“ Oh, sweetheart…” He murmured, crawling onto the cot while he's caging you beneath him.
“ That’s exactly the kind of foreplay I like.”
…
Han’s weight pinned you to the thin mattress, the chains on your wrists clinking every time you shifted. He leaned in slowly and deliberately until the thick ridge of his cock pressed right against your soaked core through the last scraps of your clothes.
The friction was obscene. It's hot, insistent, and him grinding in lazy circles that make your hips twitch despite yourself.
“ Still not singing?” He murmured, voice gravel and smoke.
His teeth caught your bottom lip then tugged it hard enough to sting. “ Tell me about Frank.”
You tried to glare, but the moan slipped out anyway. It's low, broken, and betrayed. His growl vibrated against your mouth like approval.
“ Stubborn little slut.” He nibbled the side of your neck, slow drags of teeth over pulse point.
“ One truth, and I’ll make it so good for you.”
The bite sharpened while the pain bloomed sweetly. Your back arched off the cot before you could stop it.
“ He…he keeps a burner in the glovebox of the blue Audi.” You gasped.
“ The one in the underground garage on the 14th. Code’s 9-3-2-7.”
Han froze. Then pull back just enough to meet your eyes.
A slow and dangerous smirk curled his lips.
“ Good girl.”
He crashed his mouth to yours.
Tongues clashed in messy, hungry, and no finesse. He devoured you like he’d been starving for years. You moaned into him, helpless as your fingers curled uselessly in the cuffs.
His hands roamed. His rough palms sliding up your ribs, cupping your breasts then squeezing hard enough to make you gasp into his kiss.
He tore the ruined blouse apart with one vicious yank. Buttons pinged across concrete. The cool air hits the skin. Then his fingers found your nipples by pinching, rolling, and tugging until you writhed beneath him.
“ Fuck.” He growled against your tongue, sucking it deeper before releasing you with a wet pop.
Both of you panted while the chests are heaving.
“ If you’d been honest earlier, I’d have had my mouth on you hours ago.”
He dipped lower in your jaw and throat. He bit, sucked, marked as the dark blooms spreading under his mouth like signatures.
Your cuffed hands shot to his hair, yanking, and trying to pull him closer even as you cursed him under your breath.
Han only hummed, pleased. Then his mouth closed over one breast.
Hot. Wet. Relentless.
He sucked hard on the nipple while his fingers tormented the other by pinching, flicking, and rolling until you were sobbing little pleas into the dim light. When he finally pulled off with a filthy pop as your nipple was swollen, glistening, aching.
“ Again…” He ordered, voice thick.
“ Frank. Now.”
His free hand toyed with the hem of your skirt, knuckles brushing the damp cotton of your panties. Teasing. Threatening.
“ Lie to me…” He warned.
“...and I stop. No matter how wet you get. No matter how much you beg.”
You were trembling. You are caught between loyalty and the screaming need pulsing between your thighs.
But your desires won.
“ The safe house on Baker Street.” You whispered.
“ Second floor. False wall behind the bookshelf. He keeps the old SIG there.”
Han’s eyes flashed. “ Perfect.”
He ripped the skirt away in one brutal tear. Your panties followed. It's shredded and gone, then three thick fingers plunged into you without warning.
You cried out, back bowing off the cot. He fucked you hard, fast, and curling deep while his thumb grinding your clit in brutal circles.
“ Look at you…” He snarled against your mouth, biting your lip again until copper bloomed.
“ Soaking my hand like a desperate little whore. Bet you’ve been dripping since I dragged you out of that café.”
He kissed you again in a filthy but possessive way while his fingers drove you higher. Then he released your mouth then dragged his lips to your ear.
“ Filthy slut.” He whispered, voice dripping venom and lust.
“ Cumming for the man who’s going to kill your precious boss. You’re going to squirt all over my fingers and thank me for it.”
The words hit like a slap.
Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up.
You shattered.
Hard.
A gush of wet heat soaked his hand, the blanket, your thighs. Your legs shook violently, cuffs rattling as you convulsed beneath him.
Han kept pumping through it but slowly now while drawing it out then watching your face with something close to reverence.
“ Fuck.” He breathed, almost awed.
“ That’s it. Soak everything. My perfect, broken little toy.”
You collapsed, trembling, chest heaving, tears of overstimulation pricking your eyes. He didn’t pull out yet. It just stroked lazily inside you, and let you feel every inch of the mess you’d made.
Han leaned down, licked a slow stripe up your throat, tasting salt and sweat.
“ Such a good girl when you’re honest.” He murmured, smug, and dangerous.
“ Keep singing like that…and I might let you cum on my cock next.”
You whimpered in half protest and half plea. He chuckled darkly then his fingers were finally slipping free with a wet sound that made you flush hotter.
“ Don’t worry…” He said, bringing his glistening fingers to your lips, smearing your own release across them.
“ We’re just getting started.”
…
The zipper’s rasp cut through the heavy air like a promise. You stiffened beneath him, every muscle is locking as Han freed himself.
His cock sprang out. It's thick, flushed dark, and already leaking at the tip. He hissed through his teeth, low and satisfied then dragged the blunt head through your soaked folds in one slow and deliberate slide.
You moaned before you could stop it.
He laughed dark but delighted, and nipped your bottom lip hard enough to sting.
“ That’s it. Sing for me, sweetheart. Give me more about Frank and I’ll fuck you so full you’ll forget your own name.”
Silence.
You’d already spilled too much. Guilt clawed at the edges of the haze, but it wasn’t strong enough to drown the ache between your thighs.
Han groaned in frustration.
His free hand wrapped around your throat, not choking, just firm. Possessive. “ Nothing?”
His thumb pressed against your pulse. “ Fine. Then I’ll tease.”
He shifted, aligning himself so the slick head circled your clit in lazy and maddening loops. You shivered violently, hips jerking up despite yourself.
He nudged your entrance in once and twice then poked just inside, stretching the rim without giving you more.
“ Fuck…please—”
“ Look at you…” He murmurs, voice velvet and venom.
“ Dripping down my cock and still pretending you don’t want it. I could jerk myself off right here, paint your pretty pussy white, and leave you empty. But I’m nice…I want you to cum screaming around me. All you have to do is sing.”
You clamped your lips shut. “ I’m not saying anything else. What I told you before…it was a mistake. This whole thing is a mistake.”
Han’s smirk sharpened. “ Are you sure about that?”
He nudged again but deeper this time. His tip is breaching you then pulled out completely.
The emptiness hit like a slap.
You whimpered involuntarily.
With exaggerated drama, he sighed and sat back on his heels. One hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking himself right in front of you in slow and obscene pulls that made wet sounds echo in the dim room.
He tipped his head back while hissing through clenched teeth then his eyes half-lidded as he worked himself.
“ So fucking wet you’re dripping onto the blanket. You want this cock so bad you’re shaking, but you’re still trying to be loyal. Cute.” He murmured.
You were burning.
Every slide of his fist made your core clench around nothing.
It's wrong.
So fucking wrong.
But the sight of him, his veins standing out while the precum beading at the slit, and the way his abs flexed with each stroke that snapped something inside you.
“ The weapons cache.” You blurted.
“ Under the old textile factory on the east docks. The third crate from the left is rigged with C4. He keeps the detonator taped under the driver’s seat of the van.”
Han froze mid-stroke. Slowly, he tilted his head. Then he laughed in low but triumphant, and prowled forward again.
“ Repeat it.” He ordered, voice velvet over steel.
“ Old textile factory on the east docks. The third crate from the left is rigged with C4. He keeps the detonator.” You repeated.
“ Good fucking girl.”
In one brutal thrust he buried himself to the hilt.
Both of you moaned in raw but the broken sounds that tangled together.
He collapsed over you, face buried in your neck, teeth sinking in as he marked you again. His hips rolled slowly at first in deep then dragging pulls that let you feel every thick inch stretching you open.
Your thighs clamped around his waist instinctively. Your cuffed hands scrabbled at his hair while tugging it hard as he fucked into you with punishing patience.
“ You shouldn’t even be here.” He rasped against your skin.
“ You were never part of the mission. You were just Frank’s pretty little secretary. But the second I saw your picture…”
Another deep thrust.
“ I knew I’d use you. Break you. Own you.”
He curved his hips, tip kissing your cervix. You cried out and your nails digging into his scalp.
“ Fuck…yes, just like that.” He growled.
His mouth found your jaw, then crashed into yours in a messy and devouring kiss. Your tongues are sliding as the teeth are clashing.
He sped up. Hard. Relentless. The cot creaked under the force. He caught your cuffed wrists, pinned them above your head, and interlocking fingers with yours like some twisted lover’s hold.
“ Who do you belong to?” He demanded between groans.
“ Who’s your fucking master?”
You shook your head, lips trembling. “ No—”
He chuckled darkly. Slowed. Edged you cruelly by pulling almost all the way out, then slamming back in just enough to tease the spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
You whimpered while your thighs were shaking.
“ Say it.” He snarled, pressing deeper, grinding against your clit with every roll.
“ Or I’ll edge you until you’re sobbing.”
Another slow drag out.
Another punishing thrust in.
You cried in actual tears slipping down your temples.
“ I belong to you!” You screamed.
“ You’re my master…fuck…please—”
Han’s smirk was pure sin. “ That’s my good little whore.”
He unleashed. His hips snapped forward, drilling you into the mattress. Fast. Brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. You could feel him swelling inside you, thickening.
In one final, savage thrust then he buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, flooding you with hot pulses.
The sensation tipped you over.
You shattered around him, walls clamping down, squirting again in messy waves that soaked both of you.
Your legs trembled violently while your thighs are locked around his waist like you’d never let go. Both of you panted in sweat-slick and wrecked.
Han stayed inside you, softening slowly, but still twitching. He brushed damp hair from your forehead with surprising gentleness.
“ After this…” He murmured, voice rough but certain.
“ You’re not going back to Moses. Not ever.”
He kissed the corner of your mouth softly and almost tender.
“ Starting today, you work for me. Only me.”
You closed your eyes, chest still heaving, body humming with aftershocks. Somewhere beneath the shame, the guilt, and the wrongness—
A dark and traitorous part of you thrilled at the thought.
…
Morning light sliced through the cracked blinds, painting thin gold bars across the concrete floor. You woke sore, but deliciously and shamefully sore.
Every muscle protesting, thighs sticky, and core tender from the way he’d used you last night.
No cuffs.
No chains.
Just your skin and the faint metallic tang of sex hanging in the air.
You groaned, rolling onto your side, pressing your cheek to the thin pillow. For one stupid heartbeat you thought maybe it had been a fever dream.
The warehouse, the knife, the way you’d screamed “master” while he filled you.
Then you saw him.
Han sat on the edge of the bed, still in yesterday’s black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, broad back to you. Phone pressed to his ear, voice low and clipped in rapid Korean.
He ended the call with a curt “Ne” then his thumb swiping the screen dark the second he sensed your eyes on him.
He turned while smirking in slow but predatory.
“ Morning, pet. Did you sleep well after selling out your boss?”
You glare, but it’s weak. “ Fuck you.”
“ We already did.” His grin is pure arrogance.
“ Twice more after you passed out. You begged so pretty the second time I almost felt bad.”
You clenched your jaw so hard your teeth ached. “ You got what you wanted. Now let me go.”
Han laughed in low but dangerous as the sound vibrated straight to your clit. His hand drifted to your thigh, fingers brushing lazy circles up the inside, higher, and teasing the crease where leg met hip.
“ I told you last night…” He murmured.
“ You’re not going back to that pathetic old man. You work for me now. Forever.”
You kicked his hand away.
He caught your ankle in a steel grip, yanking hard enough to make you gasp. Then he dragged you closer and flipped you effortlessly until you straddled his lap as your bare cunt pressed to the thick ridge still trapped in his slacks.
“ Did you feel that?” He growled, rolling his hips once.
“ That’s what happens every time you pretend you don’t want this.”
Your traitorous hips rocked slowly and involuntary grinding against him. The heat bloomed low in your belly.
You hated it.
You hated him.
Han cursed under his breath, hands clamping your waist. “ No matter how much you fucking deny it…this greedy little pussy loves getting railed by me.”
“ I got a call while you were drooling on my chest.” He says conversationally like he’s not grinding lazily between your legs.
“ Jack Horton. He wants an update on Moses. Told him the job’s…in progress.”
Your stomach twists.
Frank. Your boss.
The betrayal sits heavy now that the haze of orgasms has thinned. Han feels you stiffen as his eyes sharpen.
“ Don’t…” He warns softly.
“ Don’t go noble on me now. You came on my cock screaming you were mine. That’s permanent.”
“ I was—” You search for a lie that’ll save your pride.
“ Coerced. Drugged. Whatever.”
He arches a brow. “ Drugged? Baby, the only thing you were high on was my dick.”
“ Now. We’re going to get up, shower, and put on the clothes I left for you. Then you’re coming with me.”
You pull his fingers out with a pop. “ To do what? Help you murder my boss?”
He smirks. “ Tempting, but no. You’re going to call in sick like food poisoning. That's tragic. Then you’re going to sit in my lap while I finish planning Frank’s very bad day. After that…”
He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “ You’ll suck my cock under the desk while I take calls. Keep me calm. You’re very good at that now.”
“ You’re delusional if you think I’m playing obedient little pet and I’m not your fucktoy.” You spat.
He nipped your bottom lip, sharp enough to sting. “ You moaned like one. Begged like one. Called me ‘master’ while I fucked you raw. So yes—”
He licked the tiny bead of blood he’d drawn. “ You’re my perfect little fucktoy.
Rage boiled over.
You shoved him, hard.
His head cracked against the wall with a satisfying thud. You rolled off him, scrambling for the door while your heart is slamming against your ribs..
Fingers closed around your wrist like manacles.
He threw you back onto the bed. You bounced once. Then he was on you by flipping you onto your stomach, pressing your cheek into the sheets, and one massive hand between your shoulder blades.
He grabs your ankle and drags you to the edge of the mattress.
“ What did you fucking say earlier…I was delusional?”
“ Do you think I'm fucking delusional?”
He smirked. “ Well…let’s test that.”
His palm cracked across your ass in hard, stinging, and the sound echoing like a gunshot.
“ Bad girl.” He purred against your ear.
“ You need to be punished.”
You cried out in more shock than pain.
“ Count.”
Another slap. Harder.
“ One…” You gasped.
He didn’t stop. Each strike landed heavier, alternating cheeks, building heat, building fire.
By five you were sobbing in tears soaking the fabric while your thighs trembling, and cunt dripping onto the blanket.
By ten your ass was blazing red, skin throbbing, and every nerve singing.
Han’s palm smoothed over the abused flesh is gentle now and almost reverent.
“ Look at you…” He murmured, fingers dipping between your legs then sliding through the slick mess he’d made of you.
“ Crying from a spanking and still so fucking wet. What a filthy, desperate little slut.”
You whimpered when his fingertips circled your clit in once, twice then withdrew.
The zipper came down again.
No warning.
No tease.
He lined up and slammed into you from behind, burying himself in one brutal thrust. You screamed into the mattress, back arching, and hands fisting sheets.
He fucked you like he hated you. Like he owned you. The deep, punishing strokes that knocked the breath from your lungs, and hips snapping forward with enough force to bruise.
The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, obscene and relentless.
“ Tell me…” He snarled while his teeth grazing your earlobe.
“ Do you understand now? That you work for me. That you leave Moses. That you’re mine.”
You bit your lip, refusing.
Another sharp spank landed on your already raw ass as the pain flared bright.
“ Say it.”
Silence.
He slowed. He agonizes and edges you then dragging the thick head along your walls without mercy.
“ Say. It.”
You broke.
“ I understand!” You screamed, voice cracking.
“ I work for you…I’m yours…fuck…please—”
Han groaned, pleased. “ Good girl.”
He rewarded you.
Hips pistoned faster, harder, chasing his own release while grinding against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.
One hand snaked around to pinch your clit in rough circles and you shattered. You came with a broken sob, walls fluttering around him, soaking his cock, the sheets, his thighs.
He followed seconds later with a deep and guttural growl rumbling through his chest as he flooded you again while hot pulses that seemed to go on forever.
He stayed buried inside you, softening slowly while biting your earlobe hard enough to mark.
“ That’s my pet.” He whispered, smug, satisfied.
“ No more running. No more pretending. You’re mine now. All mine.”
You trembled beneath him.
You're exhausted, wrecked, and aching in places you didn’t know could ache.
And when he finally pulled out, he rolled you gently onto your back and brushed sweat-damp hair from your face with surprising tenderness—
You didn’t fight, not this time. Because some dark and ruined part of you already knew.
He was right.
You weren’t going back.
After that, he carries you to the shower, washes you himself. It's slow, thorough when his possessive hands mapping every inch like he’s memorizing territory.
He dries you, and dresses you in one of his black button-downs and nothing else. The shirt hangs to mid-thigh as he rolls the sleeves, fastens only the middle three buttons, and eyes dark the whole time.
In the main room, his laptop is open on a desk cluttered with blueprints and burner phones. He sits in the leather chair, pulls you into his lap sideways, and your legs draped over the armrest.
You stiffen when you see Frank’s photo on screen in surveillance stills, schedules, and routes.
Han’s arm bands around your waist. “ Relax. You’re not betraying him anymore. You’re just…mine.”
His free hand guides yours to the phone on the desk. “ Call your office. Tell them you won’t be in. Ever again.”
You stare at the screen.
Your old life on one side.
This dangerous and intoxicating madness on the other hand.
His lips brush your ear. “ Do it, baby. And I’ll reward you on this desk until you forget his name completely.”
Your finger hovers over the call button.
You press it.
Han smiles against your neck, teeth grazing skin.
“ Welcome to your new job, secretary.”
Author's Note:
Ahm...I guess when you get to this Author's Note, you should all wash your eyes. Just kidding.
Thanks for requesting @warilyboundlesscatalyst for Han Cho Bai fanfic, so here it is. I hope you and all the readers will enjoy it. 🫶🏻😇
Summary: What starts as an uneasy alliance quickly turns dangerous when desire is used as a weapon. When Han realizes he’s been manipulated, the line between rage and attraction blurs. Words turn sharp, threats linger, and unresolved tension ignites into something far more volatile.
Warnings: 18+ Explicit sexual content, rough intimacy, themes of manipulation and betrayal, power dynamics, dubiously consensual elements, violence during encounters. Red 2 AU.
Author's Note: Since Han loves his plane more than anything...I couldn't think of any better idea than this one.
The soft light from a hanging bulb lit up the old safehouse, making shadows dance on the walls. Y/n was a smart agent, now teamed up with Frank Moses and Marvin Bogart in this tense partnership.
Frank's charm and Marvin's wild stories kept things moving, but she always watched Han Cho Bai closely. He was the mysterious Korean who loved his special plane more than anything.
In this mess, that plane was the only way out, and Han kept the hangar keys hidden tight.
Y/n stayed calm during the day, laughing with Frank and listening to Marvin. But that night, in a dusty warehouse near Moscow, y/n went for it.
Han sat alone in a corner, cleaning a small gadget with care, his dark eyes far away. Y/n walked over, moving her hips a bit to catch his look.
“Han” she said softly, sitting on the box next to him, her leg touching his. “You seem stressed. All this chasing—don't you want to just escape?”
He looked up, careful but curious. “The plan doesn't wait.” he answered, his voice deep with an accent, full of quiet strength.
Y/n leaned closer, her fingers lightly touching his arm, feeling the firm muscles under his shirt. “Maybe I can help you unwind.” she whispered, her breath warm on his ear.
Her hand moved to his chest, pressing as she kissed him slowly and on purpose. He held back for a second, then let go, his hands on her waist, pulling her onto his lap.
The kiss grew deeper, mouths exploring as she pressed against him, feeling his body respond. She undid his shirt buttons, showing his strong chest, and scratched her nails down his skin.
“Let me make you feel good.” she said, biting his neck softly while her fingers opened his belt.
He made a low sound, pushing up as she touched his growing hardness, stroking it from base to tip. A drop of wetness appeared, and she spread it with your thumb, making him breathe sharp.
Y/n knelt down, taking him into her mouth right away. Her lips wrapped around him as she moved her head, sucking gently, tongue circling the sensitive part.
Han's fingers went into her hair, guiding her until she made a small sound, which made him more eager. “Yes,“ he whispered, his control slipping. She pulled back a little to say, “Give me all of it.” then went deeper, taking him fully.
He reached his peak fast, spilling warm liquid into her mouth, and she took it all, cleaning him with her tongue and a happy look.
In his dazed moment, she took the hangar keys from his pocket—his pants were open, guard down.
She kissed him once more, soft and long, then left with a quick smile. “Good night, Han.”
---
Morning came, and the team got ready to move.
Han, still feeling the night, went to the hangar by himself, keys in hand. Or so he thought. Near the locked door, he realized—the keys were gone and so was the plane.
His mind flashed to y/n, her touch, her mouth. It all made sense now: not real desire, but a trick. Anger rose hot as he rushed back to the others.
Frank packed supplies when Han stormed in, eyes full of fire. Y/n stood close, looking at a map like nothing happened.
“You!” Han said sharply, pointing. “You took them. Where is my plane?” The fight started—his words angry, hers cool and without regret. “We needed that plane, Han. You were being so stubborn about it.”
Frank got in the middle, his voice even. 'Take it easy, Han. We're together now. Drop it—we needed the plane, not fights.'
Marvin had flown to Paris on his plane. Han's face tightened, but he stepped back, giving her a hard stare. “You'll make up for this.” he said low, full of promise.
Y/n looked right back, no shame, a small smile on her face. “I can't wait.”
---
Night covered the camp outside the city, the team around a dim light making plans against their enemies.
Frank drew paths on old paper, Marvin was back after two days, but Han pulled away. He sat in the plane—got back through Frank's help —in the front seat, staring at the buttons like they could fix things.
Y/n waited till the talk got deep, then left quietly, climbing into the plane.
It smelled of seats and gas, Han's shape stiff in the moon's glow through the glass.
“Hiding like a sad kid?” she teased, her voice soft in the space.
He didn't answer, holding the wheel tight. She kept going, sitting in the other copilot seat. “Come on, Han. Upset over a plane? I thought you were stronger.”
He stayed quiet, but she saw his jaw move. She leaned in, teasing more.
“Or are you mad I made you feel so good so quick. Took you in my mouth like it was easy—and it was. Admit you loved it.”
That broke him. Han turned fast, eyes dark with anger and heat. “You think it's fun?” he said rough, jumping up to push you against the front.
His mouth hit hers hard, full of need, all his built-up feeling coming out. She kissed back strong, biting his lip to make him curse. His hands pulled her shirt open, buttons flying as he touched her chest, squeezing firm. “You like games?” he said low, twisting her sensitive spots till she bent with a breath. “I'll make you beg for it.”
You pushed him back enough to take off your pants, opening your legs wide on the seat, challenging him. “Then take me, Han. Show how you'll make me sorry.”
He moved quick, dropping his clothes. His hard length pressed at her warm center as he got between her legs. With one strong push, he went deep inside her, filling her completely.
She called out, nails in his shoulders as he moved fast and hard. The sound of bodies meeting loud in the small area.
“Tight little thief” he said, going deeper to touch the spot that blurred her sight. She wrapped her legs around him, matching his rhythm, her body holding him close.
“More...” she said, and he did, his hand down to circle her sensitive bud rough.
Sweat covered them both as he turned her around, bending her over the controls.
He hit her back side sharp, the warmth spreading, then pushed in from behind. His fingers in her hair, pulling her head back as he took her strong, his body hitting hers.
“Is this what you wanted?” he said rough, reaching to pinch her bud. The feeling built quick, tight inside her.
“Yes—yes!” she said loud, pushing back. He made a deep sound, his moves slowing as he got close.
With one last deep push, he let go, filling her with warm release deep inside. That sent her over, her body shaking around him as she broke, wetness covering him.
Breathing heavy, he pulled out, his warmth running down her legs.
She turned, smiling in the glow. “Even now?”
Han's eyes narrowed, but a small smile came. “Not yet.”
Outside, the team's talk went on, not knowing the war they started.
I love it when the actors and hopefully more Korean actresses speak in their language to everyone… mostly the people in Hollywood.
I really love it when Lee Byung Hun speaks both Korean and English. I hope he gets to speak English more. When I heard about him being bullied, I was like what do you guys mean??? He speaks English well, he just has an accent and needs to articulate his next thoughts in another language 😭😭 what the actual hell?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
What do you think about not-so-younger In-ho (around in his early forties, basically like lbh looked in RED 2 👀) with present!Gi-hun? It's a concept that has been in my head for a while and I can't stop thinking about it...
Like this? 👀 or post-game Gihun? I feel like it would so cute if it was clueless Gihun helping Han or something, and stealing his wallet (and heart). He's like, yipeee, gonna gamble away this handsome man's whole inheritance. It's the least he can do for me.
And Han can spank him until he cries with those leather gloves. hehe.
the gif of lbh kicking away glass from that movie is etched into my brain forever.
