june

Reiner’s broad shoulders are slumped, his head bowed so his forehead almost touches your thighs. His hands hover desperately near your legs, not quite daring to grab without permission, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his palms.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispers, he’s been crying for hours. “I tried, baby, I really tried to stay away tonight. I sat in my car for forty minutes just… staring at your window. I thought if I waited long enough maybe the feeling would go away, but it just got worse. Everything feels wrong without you.”

You fold your arms, trying to look unaffected even though the sight of him like this (six-foot-something of pure muscle reduced to a sniveling mess on your floor) does something twisted to your stomach.

“Reiner, you need to leave. We’re done.”

He shakes his head frantically, blond hair falling into his eyes. When he looks up at you, his face is flushed, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. Tears are already threatening to spill over.

“I know what you said,” he chokes out, “but you don’t understand. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. Last night I woke up reaching for you and when you weren’t there I...” His breath hitches, and he actually presses his face against your thigh this time, muffling his words. “I felt like I was dying. Please… please just let me stay for a little while. I’ll be good, I'll be so good. I won’t complain about anything or ask for anything. I just need to be near you.”

His arms finally give in and wrap around your legs, holding you in place with that terrifying strength he never seems to use against you, only to cling like a lifeline. He’s nuzzling into you now, shameless and desperate, lips brushing the fabric of your pants as he keeps whispering.

“I miss your voice. I miss the way you smell. I miss when you’d let me put my head in your lap and you’d play with my hair even when you pretended to be annoyed… I’m sorry for everything. I’ll change, I swear. Just don’t make me go back to that empty apartment. I’ll do anything.”

He pulls back just enough to look up at you again, cheeks wet, lower lip trembling. He’s one rejection away from completely breaking down.

“Baby… please. I’m begging you. I’m already on my knees. What else do you want me to do? Tell me and I’ll do it. Don’t send me away tonight. I don’t think I can survive it.”

His grip on your legs tightens just a fraction, not painful, but possessive in a needy and broken way. The whiny edge in his voice has gone softer like he’s been repeating these same words to himself in the mirror for days.

You can feel his heartbeat hammering against your shin.

He really is a pathetic little mess.

And he’s not moving until you decide what to do with him.

Your eyes flick to the doorway just as she steps out, and something in your chest stutters. Semi. Short, dark hair that frames her face strikingly, piercings scattered on her ears like constellations, and rings on her nostril and lip that catch the light when she smirks. She’s in a black tank that hugs her frame, tattoos peeking from her shoulders - clean, bold designs that scream confidence. Her gaze locks on yours immediately, sharp and assessing, like she’s sizing up more than just your canvas of skin.

“Yeah.” You say, voice steadier than you feel. “I’m game.”

Namgyu waves her over. “Semi, meet your canvas. She’s a regular. Knows the drill.”

Semi nods, pulling on nitrile gloves with a snap that echoes a little too loudly in the charged silence. She wheels over a stool and settles in close, close enough that you catch the faint scent of her, something clean and spicy underlying the studio’s sterility.

“Hey.” She says, voice low and smooth. “What are we working with today?”

You pull out your phone, showing her a rough sketch. “Something like this. Simple linework, but make it yours.”

She nods, studying it intently before her eyes flick back to you.

“Bold choice. It’ll look good on you.” There’s a pause, her gaze lingering a beat too long on the visible edges of your ink and metal. “Ready when you are.”

She stencils it out efficiently, pressing the transfer to your skin with careful fingers that linger a second longer than necessary. When she peels it back, the purple outline looks perfect, edgy but feminine.

“Looks good.” She murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You’re used to this, huh? All that art on you… you won’t flinch easy?”

“Don’t worry, I’m tough.” You reply, a teasing lilt in your tone as the needle buzzes to life.

The first prick stings but you hold still, watching her work. Her focus is intense, brow furrowed slightly, tongue poking at her lip piercing in concentration. It’s mesmerizing, the way her hand steadies yours, the buzz filling the space between you.

As she shades the tattoo, she glances up. “What’s the story behind the one on your collarbone? Those hurt like a bitch.”

You chuckle, the vibration making the needle dance a bit. “Birthday gift to myself. Went in hungover… worst idea ever. But worth it.”

She smirks, wiping excess ink with a gentleness that contrasts her edge. “Brave. Or stupid. Kinda hot either way.”

The comment slips out casual, hidden under the hum of the machine, but it lands like a spark. Your pulse quickens, but you play it cool. “Flattery gets you tips, apprentice.”

“Free session.” She counters, eyes glinting as she switches needles. “But I’ll take the ego boost.”

The rest of the tattoo flies by in that easy tension - cheeky remarks veiled as small talk, her breath warm on your skin when she leans in to detail the tattoo. When she finishes, she cleans it up and wraps it with a satisfied nod. “Done. Check it.”

You twist your arm under the light, admiring the crisp lines, the way the ink curls like it’s alive. “Damn, Semi. That’s clean. You’ve got a gift.”

Her cheeks flush just a touch, and it almost looks like she’s shy under that cocky exterior. She peels off her gloves, rubbing the back of her neck. “Thanks. Means a lot coming from someone with skin like yours. Come back if you hate it in a week and I’ll fix it.”

You hop off the table, the new ink throbbing faintly. “Hate it? Nah. Might come back for more though.”

Her eyes linger on yours, a silent promise in them. “Door’s always open.”

A week later you’re back.

You tell yourself it’s for the ink, but the truth is simpler: you haven’t stopped thinking about her. The way her hands moved, steady and sure. That shy smile at your praise. The tension humming between you like a live wire.

Namgyu raises an eyebrow when you walk in, but doesn’t question it. “I’m booked solid, but Semi’s free.”

You nod, heart picking up pace. Semi emerges right on cue, that same tank and jeans combo, her lip piercing catching the light as she smiles - genuine this time, with a hint of surprise. “Missed me already?”

“Missed the freebies.” You shoot back, but your grin gives you away. “Ribcage this time. Under the boob, small script. Figured you could handle something… delicate.”

She leads you to a smaller bay, curtains pulling shut for privacy. The space is intimate with just a table, mirror, and her setup, the studio behind the curtain quieter now with the evening crowd thinning. “Shirt up, then. Let’s see the spot.”

You peel your top just enough, exposing the sensitive skin right under your breast, along the rib. The air is cool, but her gaze is hotter, tracing the curve with professional detachment that doesn’t quite hide the hunger.

“Perfect placement.” She says, voice a notch lower. Stencil applied, needle ready. “This one’s gonna sting. Breathe through it.”

The first pass is fire. The ribs are brutal, the vibration rattling your bones. You grit your teeth, but Semi’s free hand steadies you, thumb pressing gently into your side.

“You’re doing good.” She praises, soft but firm. “Real good. Hold that for me.”

Heat pools low in your belly, unbidden. Her words shouldn’t affect you like this, but they do, pooling warmth between your thighs, making you hyper aware of every glide of the needle, every brush of her fingers. A particularly sharp spot makes you hiss, back arching slightly.

“Shh, easy.” She coos, not missing a beat. “You’re doing so good. Almost there.”

The praise only intensifies the ache, and you shift, thighs pressing together instinctively to ease it. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Semi.

“Still.” She says, tone commanding but laced with amusement. “Wouldn’t want to mess this up.”

You freeze, but the damage is done. She pauses the machine, eyes dropping to your lap before meeting yours again.

“Good girl.”

The words hit like a spark to dry tinder. Your breath catches, thighs clenching harder, a barely audible whimper escaping before you can stop it. Semi’s smirk widens, cocky now, but she says nothing. She resumes her tattooing, her touches deliberate, grazing closer to sensitive skin than strictly necessary.

By the time she finishes, you’re a mess: breath uneven, face flushed, embarrassingly wet. The final wipe of the antiseptic cloth is feather light, but it still makes you flinch, half from the sting of fresh ink, half from the way Semi’s gloved thumb lingers at the edge of the bandage, tracing the curve of your rib like she’s memorizing the shape of you.

“Done.” She says, voice low. She peels the gloves off slowly, letting the latex snap against her wrist before tossing them aside. The sound cracks through the quiet studio.

You sit up, shirt still bunched under your arms, and try to act normal. Try. Your thighs are slick, pulse hammering between them, and every breath feels too loud. Semi doesn’t move back. She stays crouched between your knees, elbows resting on the trolley, chin in her hands, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing she’s ever tattooed.

“Looks good.” She murmurs, eyes flicking to the ink, then higher, to the way your chest rises and falls too fast. “You though… not so much.”

You swallow. “I’m fine.”

“Mm.” She tilts her head, lip piercing catching the light. “You’re breathing like you just ran a mile. And-” her gaze drops pointedly to your lap, “-still squeezing those thighs like they owe you money.”

Heat floods your face. You force your legs apart, but the motion only makes the ache worse. Semi’s grin turns sharp.

“Careful.” She warns, voice velvet and cruel. “Move too fast and you’ll smear my work. I’d hate to redo it… unless you want another hour under my needle.”

Your answering whimper is involuntary. She hears it - of course she does - and her eyes darken.

“Thought so.” She stands slowly, towering over you now.

The studio is empty now, with Namgyu long gone for the night. Semi flips the lock on the front door with a click that echoes like a starting gun. When she turns back, she begins stalking toward you with purpose.

One hand plants beside your hip, the other lifting to brush a stray hair from your cheek. Her thumb lingers at your lower lip, pressing just enough to part it. “You’re shaking, baby. All that tough girl ink, and one little ‘good girl’ turns you into a mess?”

You try to speak - I’m not - but it comes out a breathy stutter. She laughs, soft and mocking, and leans in until her forehead almost touches yours.

“Tell me to stop.” She whispers, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “Say the word and I’ll let you walk out of here with your dignity intact.”

You don’t say a word.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

Her hand slides down slowly, fingertips skating over the fresh bandage, then lower, stopping just above the waistband of your jeans. She doesn’t touch where you need her. She hovers, letting the heat of her palm radiate through the denim.

“Been thinking about this spot all week.” She says conversationally, like she’s discussing line weight. “Right here-” a single finger draws a lazy circle over your hip bone, “-wondered how you’d sound if I kissed it. If I bit it.”

Your hips jerk involuntarily. She tsks.

“Still.”

You freeze, and she finally rewards you by sliding her hand between your legs, cupping you over the fabric. The pressure is maddeningly light.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” She breathes, almost awed. “All this from a little praise? From me calling you a good girl while I marked you up?”

You nod, helpless.

Semi’s smile is wicked. “Then let’s see how good you really are.”

She pops the button of your jeans with one hand, the sound loud in the now empty studio. The zipper follows, slow and deliberate. Cool air hits your skin as she peels the denim down just enough to expose the lace beneath, already ruined.

“Look at that.” She murmurs, tracing the wet spot with a single finger. “You ruined my station, baby. Gonna have to clean this up later… or maybe I’ll leave it. Let Namgyu wonder who got fucked on his table.”

Your head falls back with a broken sound. She hasn’t even touched you skin to skin yet, and you’re trembling.

She leans in, lips brushing your collarbone, then lower, mouthing over the bandage like she’s kissing her own artwork.

“You’re gonna stay right here,” she says against your skin, “legs open, hands on the table. And you’re gonna let me taste how sweet you get when you’re desperate.”

She drops to her knees.

The first swipe of her tongue is teasingly slow, dragging up your center like she’s savoring you. Your back arches off the table, a choked moan ripping free.

She pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot against your clit. “Quiet. Wouldn’t want anyone walking by to hear what a needy little thing you are, would we?”

Then she devours you. There’s no teasing now, just relentless, perfect pressure, her piercing cool and filthy against your heat. One finger slips inside, then two, pumping in time with her tongue until your thighs shake and your hands scrabble for purchase on the vinyl.

You cum hard, vision whiting out, her name a broken prayer on your lips. When you float back, she’s standing again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes gleaming.

“Next time,” she says, voice rough, “I’m tattooing right here.” She presses two fingers to the spot just above your clit, right where your skin is still fluttering with aftershocks. “So every time you look down, you remember who made you fall apart on my table.”

You can’t speak, only nod, dazed and wrecked. Semi smirks, leaning in to kiss you slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“Book your next appointment on the way out, baby. We’re just getting started.”

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

Tonight’s job is a jewelry store in the heart of the city’s upscale district. The air is thick with anticipation as you crouch in the shadows, the neon glow from nearby signs painting your face in electric blues and pinks. A leather jacket hugs your frame, and the weight of your tools - a set of lockpicks, wire cutters, and a small jammer - feels reassuring in your pockets.

“Everyone in position?” Gihun’s voice crackles through your earpiece, steady as always.

“Ready on the roof.” Jiyeong replies, her tone clipped and focused.

“Alley’s clear.” Namgyu adds. “Let’s make this quick.”

You nod to yourself, slipping on your gloves.

“Going in.”

The back door’s lock is child’s play; a few small twists and it clicks open. Inside, the store is a glittering cave. Display cases filled with diamonds that catch the faint moonlight filtering through the windows. You move like a shadow, disabling the cameras with the jammer while Gihun hacks the main security system from a van parked two blocks away.

“Vault’s up ahead.” You whisper, approaching the reinforced door. Your fingers dance over the keypad, entering the code Jiyeong scouted from a corrupt insider. The door hisses open, revealing trays of gems and gold.

“Jackpot.” Namgyu murmurs through the comms, his excitement palpable.

You fill the duffel bags methodically, your heart pounding not from fear but from the thrill. This is what you live for. The rush, the precision, the bond with your crew.

“Time’s up.” Gihun says suddenly. “Silent alarm’s been tripped, someone must’ve upgraded the system. Move!”

Adrenaline surges as you zip the bags and bolt for the exit. The crew converge in the alley, splitting up as planned. You hop on your motorbike, the engine roaring to life as sirens wail in the distance. Tires screeching, you peel away, the wind whipping through your hair. Another clean getaway. Or so you think.

Across town, Detective Han Semi is nursing a lukewarm coffee at her desk, surrounded by stacks of case files under the harsh precinct lights. At twenty six, she’s a force to be reckoned with. Single, strikingly handsome with her short, tousled hair and sharp jawline, and a wit that can cut through bullshit like a knife. Her colleagues often whisper about her personal life: “Why doesn’t she date? She’s got it all, looks, brains, that cool-under-pressure vibe.” But Semi brushes it off with a smirk.

“Job’s my date.” She often says. “Doesn’t ghost me or leave the toilet seat up.”

Truth is, the work consumes her. She clawed her way up from patrol to detective, her clever mind and unflappable demeanor making her a natural at interrogations. Nothing gets under her skin; not taunts, not tears, not threats.

Her phone buzzes, shattering the quiet.

“Detective Han.” She answers, voice calm and authoritative.

“Detective, we’ve got another hit.” The officer on the line says breathlessly. “Jewelry store downtown. Crew got away clean. Again. Diamonds, watches, the works.”

She sets down her coffee, already grabbing her leather jacket.

“I’m on my way. Secure the scene.”

At the store, forensics are combing through the wreckage. The chief pulls Semi aside, his face etched with frustration.

“This is the fifth in three months, Han. Same MO: in and out like ghosts. I’m making you lead on this. Stop them before they bankrupt half the city.”

She nods, scanning the empty vault.

“Understood, Chief. I’ll review the footage, check for patterns. They’ve been lucky so far, but luck runs out.”

As she coordinates with the team, her mind races ahead, piecing together clues. This crew is professional, but everyone leaves a trail, and Semi is damn good at following them.

──────────────────────

Weeks pass in a blur of planning and reconnaissance. Back at the safe house, a rundown warehouse on the city’s outskirts, you and the crew huddle over blueprints for the next heist: a high-end art gallery with priceless paintings ripe for the taking.

“Entry through the side vent.” Gihun explains, pointing to the map. “Jiyeong on lookout, Namgyu on bags, you on the safes.”

You adjust your gloves, nodding.

“Got it. Let’s make sure the alarm bypass is solid this time.”

Jiyeong smirks.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got the codes. This’ll be easy money.”

The night of the heist arrives, the gallery’s exterior bathed in soft spotlights. You slip inside through the vent, dropping silently into the main hall. The air is cool, scented with polish and old canvas. You work quickly, disabling sensors and lifting paintings into Namgyu’s waiting bags.

“Almost done.” You whisper into your comms.

Then chaos erupts. The silent alarm triggers, lights flashing, a low hum building to a wail.

“What the hell?” Jiyeong hisses. “It wasn’t supposed to-”

“Police incoming!” Gihun barks. “Vents, now!”

You scramble, heart pounding as you crawl through the tight shafts, emerging into the back alley. Sirens blare closer, blue and red lights painting the walls. The crew sprints to their getaway vehicles: Gihun and Jiyeong to the van, Namgyu to his sedan, you to your motorbike parked in the shadows.

“Go, go!” Namgyu yells, engines revving.

You kick your bike to life, peeling out as the police swarm the building.

Glancing back, you spot her. A tall young woman with short hair and a commanding presence, talking to another cop outside the gallery.

“We need to block the alleys.” She says, her voice cutting through the noise, steady and unflinching. Something about her - the sharp jawline, the slightly tousled hair, the way she stands like she owns the chaos - captivates you. Handsome, confident, intriguing.

Just as you accelerate she turns her head, and your eyes lock for a brief, electric moment. She has no idea you’re part of the crew, just a biker speeding away from the scene, but that gaze lingers in your mind as you vanish into the night, the gang scattering in different directions.

The safe house feels smaller when you arrive at night, tension thick as smoke. You pull up last, stashing your bike in the hidden garage. The crew is already there, bags of art dumped on the table, but no one is celebrating.

“That was too close.” Jiyeong says, pacing. “How’d the alarm trip?”

Gihun rubs his temples.

“Glitch? Bad intel? Doesn’t matter, we made it.”

A knock echoes - the signal. Minsu, your police mole, slips in, his uniform rumpled and eyes shifty.

“You guys are hot.” He says without preamble. “They’ve put Detective Han Semi on your trail as lead. She’s sharp; witty, doesn’t rattle. Already digging into your patterns.”

Namgyu curses.

“Great. Another cop.”

Gihun leans forward.

“What do we know about her?”

Minsu shrugs.

“Single, workaholic. Coworkers say she’s handsome as hell, clever too. Keeps cool in interrogations. If anyone’s gonna catch you, it’s her.”

The room splits, and Gihun crosses his arms.

“We lay low. We’ve got enough haul to disappear for a month, let her trail go cold.”

Jiyeong slams her fist on the table.

“Screw that! We hit harder, show this Han chick we’re not scared. Stick it to her and make her chase ghosts.”

Namgyu nods with Jiyeong.

“I’m with her. Backing down now? That’s weak.”

All eyes turn to you.

“What about you?” Gihun asks.

You hesitate, that brief eye contact replaying in your mind. Semi’s intrigue lingers, but so does the risk.

“I… I’m not sure. Laying low makes sense, but quitting feels like giving up on us.”

Gihun sighs.

“We vote in the morning. For now, rest.”

As the others disperse, doubt begins to gnaw at you. Family or survival? The lines are blurring.

──────────────────────

Three weeks of uneasy truce drag by, the safe house thick with tension as the crew debates their next move. Eventually you settle on one final score before laying low: a bank branch in the city’s financial district, rumored to hold a vault stuffed with millions from a corporate deposit. You spend sleepless nights poring over details, your lockpicks polished and ready, your plan airtight. Or so you think.

Under the cover of a moonless night, you slip into the bank through a service duct. Your crew moves like a well-oiled machine: Jiyeong on the roof, her binoculars scanning for trouble, Namgyu in the alley, duffel bags ready, and Gihun monitoring the comms from the van. Inside, the bank is a tomb of silence, marble floors gleaming faintly under your flashlight’s beam.

You kneel before the vault, fingers dancing over the lock with practiced precision. Sweat beads on your forehead as the final tumbler falls into place.

“We’re in.” You whisper, voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through you. The vault door swings open, revealing stacks of cash, and you work fast to stuff the duffels.

Namgyu’s low whistle crackles through your earpiece.

“That’s gotta be ten mil, easy.”

Then hell erupts. A piercing alarm splits the silence, floodlights snapping on outside. Windows rattle as sirens wail in the distance, closing in fast.

“Surrounded!” Jiyeong’s voice cracks through the comms, panic bleeding into her usual sharpness. “Police everywhere, it’s a setup!”

“Escape route, now!” Gihun barks, and you sling a duffel over your shoulder, heart hammering as you sprint for the fire escape.

The metal ladder clangs under your boots, but in the chaos, your foot catches on a loose rung. Pain explodes in your ankle as you tumble, the duffel slipping from your grasp and thudding below. You hit the platform hard, a cry tearing from your throat.

“Ah, help!” You gasp, your leg throbbing with every heartbeat. Jiyeong’s silhouette appears at the top of the fire escape, her breath visible in the cold night air.

“I… I can’t.” She stammers, glancing back as flashlight beams sweep the alley below. “They’re too close. I’m sorry.”

Before you can plead she’s gone, her footsteps fading as the van’s engine roars to life, tires screeching as the crew abandons you.

“Wait! Guys!” You shout, voice breaking as you drag yourself up, limping toward the alley. The bank’s rear doors burst open, and a swarm of cops floods in, their shouts overlapping.

“Hands up! On the ground!”

Guns glint in the floodlights, trained on you as you stagger, pain shooting through your twisted ankle. You raise your hands, palms open, the duffel abandoned at your feet. Betrayal burns hotter than the pain, your crew’s absence a knife in your chest.

Then she steps forward - Detective Han Semi, her presence cutting through the chaos like a blade. Her short, tousled hair catches the light, her sharp jawline set as she strides toward you, leather jacket creaking faintly. Your eyes lock, and for a split second, the world narrows to just you and her. Recognition hits like a punch, those dark, intense eyes from the gallery heist.

“You…” She says softly, almost to herself, her voice barely audible over the sirens.

“Cuff her.” She orders, her tone snapping back to authority as she approaches. Her hand grips your arm, firm but not cruel, guiding you as your injured leg buckles. She glances at your ankle, already swelling beneath your jeans. “And call a medic for that leg.”

She reads you your rights, her voice steady, each word precise as she steers you toward her unmarked car. You limp along, the city lights blurring through the tears stinging your eyes, not from pain, but from the raw sting of abandonment. In the back seat, the cold leather presses against your jacket as Semi slides into the driver’s seat, her silhouette sharp against the dashboard lights, and for a moment, you catch her watching you in the rearview mirror, her expression unreadable.

──────────────────────

The precinct hums with frenetic energy, a chaotic symphony of ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and officers weaving through cluttered desks. You’re processed under the harsh fluorescent lights - your fingerprints smudged onto a digital scanner, mugshot taken with the click of a camera, and your injured leg hastily bandaged by a bored medic who mutters about “another late night.”

Detective Han Semi doesn’t speak to you directly, but you feel her presence like a magnet. You catch her staring from across the room, her dark eyes thoughtful, almost searching, as she leans against a desk murmuring to a uniformed officer. Her leather jacket is slung over one shoulder, her short hair slightly mussed from the night’s work.

“Run her prints against the database.” She says quietly, her voice cutting through with calm authority. “And check for priors. Every alias, every city.”

Hours crawl by in a holding cell until eventually you’re led down a dimly lit hallway to an interrogation room. The room is sparse: a metal table bolted to the floor, two chairs, and a one-way mirror that glints ominously. You sit, the cuffs chafing your wrists, and wait. The door opens with a soft click and Semi enters alone, her presence filling the space. She sets a manila folder on the table as she plants herself in the seat across from you.

“Water? Coffee? Tea?” She offers casually. Her tone is light, almost conversational, as if you’re not sitting across from her in handcuffs.

You stare at the table’s scratched surface, silent, your jaw tight with defiance.

“That’s alright.” She says, unfazed. “Name?”

More silence. You trace a dent in the table with your eyes, refusing to give her anything.

“Okay, we’ll play it that way.” She opens the folder with a flick, sliding a thin file across the table. Your name, your past, petty theft, breaking and entering, and a string of minor charges from your teenage years stare back at you in stark black ink. “I already know your name. Quite the resume for someone your age. How’d you get mixed up with a crew like this? You’re young, smart. Could’ve chosen a different path.”

You glare, heat rising in your chest.

“Watch your mouth.” You snap, voice low and sharp. “They’re my family.”

Semi leans forward, elbows on the table, her voice dropping to a whisper that feels intimate.

“You think they care about you?” Her dark eyes hold yours, unflinching, searching for a crack in your armor. You don’t reply, jaw clenched so hard it aches, but her words land like a blade, slicing into the raw wound of your crew’s abandonment. She reaches across the table, her thumb brushing the back of your hand gently.

“If they care about you, why are you here?” She murmurs. “They let you get caught.”

Her voice is soft, not accusing, but it carries a weight that makes your chest tighten.

Your mind races. Is she trying to manipulate you? Or is it the truth? The betrayal burns fresh, Jiyeong’s panicked eyes flashing in your memory.

You finally meet Semi’s gaze, and up close, her presence is disarming: sharp cheekbones framing intense dark eyes, short hair falling just so, a faint scar below her lip, clearly from an old piercing. She looks at you genuinely, not with judgment, but understanding.

Her brows furrow slightly as you hold her gaze, and you notice a subtle shift - a faint blush creeping up her neck, barely visible against her tanned skin. Her stomach twists with an unfamiliar warmth, and for a moment, Han Semi, the detective who never falters in interrogations, feels exposed. She clears her throat, breaking the moment, and pushes a single sheet of paper across the table.

“We’re prepared to offer you a deal.” She says, her voice regaining its edge. “Help us catch the others, and you walk with probation. No jail time.”

You scan the paper, your cuffed hands fidgeting, the words blurring as your mind wrestles with loyalty and survival. You meet her eyes again, defiance flaring.

“Go to hell.” You say, voice cold, though the tremor in your hands betrays you.

Semi stands, the chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. She heads for the door, her boots echoing with purpose, but pauses just before leaving. She turns back, her silhouette framed by the doorway, and her voice softens, carrying a weight that lingers.

“Take the deal.”

──────────────────────

The next few days blur into a sterile routine of questioning at the precinct. You’re shuttled from a holding cell to the interrogation room daily, the cuffs on your wrists a cold reminder of your new reality. Semi is a constant presence, her steady voice cutting through the monotony as she sits across from you, her dark eyes sharp yet oddly patient.

“I really think you should take the deal.” She says each time, her tone calm but insistent, like she’s trying to reach past your defiance. “It’s your way out, a clean slate. Don’t throw it away.”

You lean back in the metal chair and deflect with a smirk, testing her boundaries.

“So, Detective, why no ring on that finger? Too busy chasing bad girls like me?” Your voice drips with playful challenge, aiming to unsettle her. Her lips twitch into half a smirk, unfazed.

“Job keeps me occupied.” She shoots back, gaze steady. “What’s your excuse for this life? Thrills? Or just no better options?”

“Touché.” You mutter, grinning despite yourself, enjoying the verbal sparring. It’s a game to keep her at arm’s length, to avoid the weight of her offer and the betrayal it demands.

The routine shifts subtly when Semi starts bringing you food, simple trays that break the monotony of stale precinct coffee and vending machine snacks. One evening she slides a paper plate across the table: a turkey sandwich with a smear of mustard and a styrofoam cup of coffee, still steaming.

“Mustard okay?” She asks, leaning back in her chair, one eyebrow raised. “Figured you might like it.”

You take a cautious bite, the tang of the mustard sharp on your tongue, and eye her warily.

“Not bad, Detective. So what’s your story, anyway? That scar under your lip, from an old piercing, right? Screams rebel.” You nod toward the faint mark, barely visible in the harsh light, hoping to crack her composed exterior. She chuckles, a low, soft sound that echoes in the small room, and leans against the wall, arms crossed.

“College phase.” She admits, her voice lighter than usual. Her lips quirk, a flicker of nostalgia in her eyes. “Thought I’d be in a band, touring the world, living out of a van. Life had other plans.”

“Rockstar cop? That’s hot.” You tease, grinning wider. “Got any tattoos to match the vibe?”

She hesitates, then rolls up her sleeve, revealing a small musical note inked on her forearm.

“A few.” She says, her voice softer, almost conspiratorial. “This one’s from those days. You?”

You tug up your sleeve, showing the faded street tattoo on your wrist, a jagged, hand etched dagger from your early days in the alleys.

“Survival ink.” You say, voice low. “From the streets. Keeps me grounded.”

The air shifts, the conversation flowing easier with each passing word, a tentative bond forming amid the tension. You trade small stories - her failed guitar lessons, your first pickpocket score - each word peeling back layers, blurring the lines between captor and captive.

Later that day Semi is called into the chief’s office, the glass walls offering a clear view of his stern expression.

“Han, this is getting personal.” He says, voice gruff, arms crossed over his cluttered desk. “You’re too invested in this girl. I’m pulling you.”

Semi shakes her head, standing taller, her jaw set.

“Chief, I’m close. She’s opening up. Just give me time.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples.

“Fine, one week. Show progress, or you’re off the case. Don’t let her get in your head.”

The next food drop comes the following evening, and when you see Semi you can’t help but mess with her again. You lean back, ankle still aching from the botched heist, and quirk an eyebrow.

“Here for my conjugal visit, are you?” Your tone is deliberately provocative, testing her again.

Her face remains stone, but her eyes spark with something, amusement maybe, or irritation. A faint pink creeps onto her cheeks from your comment, betraying her cool facade.

“Blushing, Detective? What, are you attracted to me?” You tease, stepping closer, your cuffed hands brushing the edge of the table for balance.

In a flash, she moves, pinning you against the cold cinderblock wall with a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Enough.” She growls, her voice rough, her face inches from yours. Her breath is warm, her grip steady but not harsh. A beat passes with your stares locked, the air crackling with unspoken tension. Your gaze subconsciously flicks to her lips, that faint scar drawing you in, and she notices, her eyes widening slightly. Her heart stumbles - she, the unflappable detective, feels a flush of heat, a flutter she can’t name.

She releases you abruptly, stepping back, her boots loud against the floor as she storms out, the door slamming shut behind her. You’re left alone, pulse racing, her faint scent of leather and coffee lingering in the sterile room.

──────────────────────

The next interrogation hums with an electric undercurrent, the air in the sterile room thick with unspoken tension. You sit across from Semi, the metal table between you a cold barrier, its surface reflecting the harsh overhead light. Her posture is composed, but her dark eyes hold a cautious intensity, studying you like a puzzle she’s determined to solve. You lean forward, elbows on the table, the cuffs on your wrists clinking faintly as you break the silence first.

“Is the deal still on the table?”

Semi’s gaze sharpens, her fingers pausing on the folder in front of her.

“Yes,” she says, her tone measured, almost too calm, “but time’s limited. The chief’s breathing down my neck, and your crew’s not slowing down. You’re either in or out.”

Her words are clipped, but there’s a flicker of something softer in her eyes, hope maybe, or a challenge.

You exhale, the weight of the decision pressing against your chest. The faces of Gihun, Jiyeong, and Namgyu flash in your mind, your family and your betrayers. The sting of their abandonment battles with the pull of Semi’s offer, her steady presence a lifeline in the chaos.

“I’ll take it.” You say finally, the words landing heavy.

Semi nods, a faint tension easing from her shoulders. She leans forward, sliding the folder aside to outline the details.

“Okay then. You’ll be set up at a safe house on the edge of the city, low profile and heavily guarded. Armed officers at every exit and window, surveillance 24/7. You’ll wear a tracker, and you’ll report directly to me. We’ll work together to bring your crew in - names, plans, hideouts. Give me everything, and you walk with probation. Cross me, and you’re back in a cell.”

Her eyes lock on yours, searching for any hint of deceit, but there’s something else there too, a spark of trust, fragile and untested.

She extends her hand across the table, her fingers steady, that faint music tattoo peeking from under her sleeve. You hesitate, then grasp her hand. The moment your skin meets hers, a spark jolts through you both, electric and undeniable. Her grip tightens briefly, her breath catching, and her dark eyes widen for a split second, betraying the cool facade she’s mastered. Your heart stumbles, the warmth of her hand lingering even as you both pull away. She clears her throat, tucking a strand of tousled hair behind her ear, her composure fraying just enough to notice.

“You’ll be moved tonight.” She says, standing abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “Stay sharp. This isn’t a game.”

Her voice is firm, but her gaze lingers a moment longer, a mix of resolve and something unspoken. She turns for the door, her boots echoing in the small room, leaving you with the weight of your choice and the faint, lingering warmth of her touch.

What comes next is uncertain - betrayal, redemption, or perhaps something more dangerous - but the dance has begun, and the steps are already pulling you into uncharted territory.

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

A/N Thank you for your patience lovelies! This is a chunky one.

-

The accountant leaves with a few shy steps out of the glass door, leaving the conversation on what’s almost certainly an unsatisfying note for him.

No answers. Only secrets. Only the elevator trip down to the floor below.

Agatha hadn't shared anything, just dismissed. Just evaded the question. Refused to tell him what she's been spending the company money on.

Multiple transactions of the same amount in cash. It certainly does seem suspicious.

What could that be for? Suddenly you remember the envelope. The unusual weight of it in your hands when she had sent you out at night for a secret delivery. No information. The promise of privacy.

Was that what was in it?

Were you so desperate for her approval that you committed a crime?

Of course not, you tell yourself. Surely that was something else. Why would she have you deliver something that precious?

And why would it be a secret?

You're holding your breath still, your chest static and shallow until you're certain he's gone. Until the door clicks.

If he'd gotten her in trouble for this, seeing you under the desk would be a professional death sentence.

At the gentle closing of the door she rolls back a little in the chair, her eyes focused on the curtains surrounding the room. Heavy and dark. Shrouding you in blissful privacy once again.

You exhale, but never shift. Only await your command. “Absolute idiot. Remind me to fire that man.”

Her fingers grab the thick leather arms of the chair tightly. The weight of her frustrations sitting heavily above you. Her expression unreadable teetering on serious. Her eyes heavy when she meets yours.

Still on your knees under the desk.

She looks down at you for a long moment before releasing a long, drawn out sigh.

Oh.

She's not serious. She's furious.

And maybe you wouldn't know if you hadn't spent this much time around her. In her bed. Under her desk. Bringing her coffee. Always staring at her. Always being there for her. Reading her signals little by little. Fingers balled up into fists. Posture straight. Jaw clenched. Eyes sharp in a way you haven't quite figured out.

And God you want to help. Of course you do.

That's what you're for isn't it?

The fabric of her trousers leans away from her skin where her legs cross, and you can't help yourself. Gently leaning forward as to not startle her. Your lips making contact with her soft skin. Placing a kiss on her calf.

You can never be sure what her reaction will be. You almost like it like that. The unknown. The danger. The softness she possesses mixed with the aggression you can never quite see coming.

But this time, she softens at your touch, just a little.

Her posture shifting ever so slightly. You try again. A kiss, then another. As quiet as you can. Not to make any sudden movements. Not for her to stop instinctively. Another along where her slacks separate from her skin.

She hums contently. Eyes low as she watches you.

You're helping.

She rolls the chair further back, giving you more room.

Allowing it.

You're helping.

Your hands meet the solid wood floors as you crawl out from under the desk slowly towards her. Like a statue above you in her oversized chair. Looking up through your eyelashes, hands reach forward to try and touch her. To help her relax. To show her how much she means to you.

Before you can reach her, there's a sharp pain in your shoulder. Only a second as her leather heel comes into contact with you slowly but firmly, preventing you from moving forward.

"No touching."

The look in her eyes. It's fury. It's fear?

"But Ms Harkness..." You look up at her pleadingly, her leather heel digging into your collar bone. "I could help you. I could make you feel better."

She exhales a jagged breath. She wants it. She needs it. She needs you. Perhaps she's too shy right here in the office. Her accountant was just in here. It's understandable.

Maybe she wants to talk about it?

"What was that about?" You ask tentatively. Words soft and shy.

"Nothing to concern yourself with."

Her tone quick to the point as it always is, but it's not enough. It's not anything. No answers and no dismissal.

"Ms Harkness—" you gaze up at her, waiting for a reaction. For something. For anything. "—Are you keeping secrets from me?"

Her nostrils flare as she takes her heel from your shoulder too quickly.

"You think I have secrets?"

You swallow a little too hard. Of course she does. Doesn't everyone?

"You're accusing me just like he was, is that right?" She elongates the 'just' and you fear the office won't be private enough for your punishment.

Being on your knees is a fitting position below her as you practically beg. "No. I didn't mean to— I didn't say—" but the words aren't quite right and you didn't mean it like that.

"Stand up." She instructs as she rises to her feet quickly and precisely, pushing papers onto the floor with her left hand. You hurry to your feet, closing the distance between the two of you when you're finally confronted with her head on.

Her blue eyes dark and ashy as she studies you for only a second. Hot breath between the two of you for a second. Another second. Slowly, agonizingly as she studies you. Like she doesn't know if she'll be able to control herself.

Like she's almost regretting getting herself in all of these conundrums.

Like she's not about to use her assistant for stress relief in her office after being told off for suspicious financial activity.

God, what have you gotten yourself into?

Her hands are on you too fast to process as she spins you around roughly, shoving you over the desk and the remainder of the papers left on it, her hands quickly finding yours and holding your arms behind your back. Heat coursing through your body as your head meets the mahogany too hard. So hard you wonder if you're bleeding. If you'd imagined the softness she had shared with you just recently.

"You feel brave enough to ask that again?" Her voice deeper, harsher. Angrier. Her hand gripping your wrists tightly. Ringing in your ears from the impact. If anyone came in here, you'd both be so fucked.

Heat pools to your stomach immediately at the aggression. The tension in her body. You can't help it. Swaying your hips a little to entice her. To show her you want to assist her. To help her relax.

"You wanna poke the bear?" But you want her angry. You want her everything. All the time.

"What are you hiding from me?" You ask with your face pressed against the desk, hoping that her meeting this afternoon is cancelled.

Her grip on your arms tightens a little at your words before removing them altogether, you almost groan at the lack of contact. Hoping this won't be over so soon.

Your skirt is pushed up in one swift motion, exposing you before her and you always wear pretty underwear to work now, obviously.

"Oh honey..." her fingers tease you over the fabric of your lace and you know what she can feel.

"You're trying to be all big and brave but I can see how desperate you are." Her words are gentler now, softer. Almost mocking. Like she knows you shouldn't be turned on at her being rough with you like this. Right here. Right where your colleagues could see you.

God you wish you could look at her now, revelling in the power. Growing wetter at her words as she guides feather light touches against the fabric. You push back against her, showing her how bad you want this. How bad you need her.

"Let me fuck all those questions out of your head, you don't need to think right now do you?"

"I thought you liked that I was smart and brave." You tease her, feeling her other hand firmly grab your ass, she must be studying how you look from this angle.

"I do when it suits me."

"And when—"

You try, but she pushes the fabric to the side quicker than you had expected, not dragging this out. Needing to feel how wet you are for her.

"Shut up."

So you nod instead, letting her take her time as she pushes two fingers inside you without warning. Without further preparation. Like if she doesn't use you right now she might die.

She sighs when she's all the way in, a content hum as she hears you moan for her. Like you're the best stress relief toy she could ask for. "You'll take what I give you, won't you?"

"Yes...thank you." You try and mutter out as she pushes you further into the desk with her other hand, feeling the mahogany against your face. Remembering the year you spent just putting coffee here. Wishing you could be closer to her.

You could never have imagined just how close you'd get.

Your back arches as she brings you to the brink, before she pulls out suddenly and irritatingly. You whine, and she only laughs in response.

"Poor little thing."

You push back, trying to find her, to find any sort of relief. You should have known she'd toy with you.

Before you can complain any further, she slaps your ass hard with the palm of her hand. Your wetness on her skin only making it sting more with the impact, making you yelp at the touch.

"Please." You beg, not entirely sure what you're asking for. For your orgasm back, for mercy.

She slaps you again, harder this time, making you jolt forward. Grabbing at your soft flesh between her fingers before she cracks down a third time. You stifle your cries with your fist, tears forming in your eyes.

But it's helping her, you think. Perhaps it's helping her.

"Don't ever ask me that shit again." Almost too quiet for you to hear under your heavy breathing.

"I'm—" but you can't finish your sentence as she smacks down on your skin again. And again. And again. Your body starting to shake, trying to hold back your cries as your legs tremble beneath you.

"Are you crying, sweet thing?" She mocks as she leans around to see your face, pulling you away from the wood with a handful of your hair to get a better view. You try to look up at her, your teeth in your fist as she admires her work with a sick smile.

You can only nod.

"Aw, poor baby." She coos, her fingers finding your slick entrance again before pushing back inside. "My poor sweet little slut. You seem to be enjoying this."

You can feel yourself dripping around her as she brings you the edge before pulling out yet again, your voice shaking from the lack of touch.

"On your knees." She commands, not bothering to move you herself. Watching you struggle to compose yourself, you push off of the desk, and hesitantly turn around to do as you're told.

Looking up at her with teary eyes. You barely have any time to get steady before she's shoving her fingers in your mouth, forcing you to clean yourself off of them. She raises her eyebrow as you gag a little at the sudden contact. Pulling out slowly when she's satisfied and grabbing your chin firmly in her hand.

"Open." And you do, she spits cleanly into your mouth. "Swallow."

You do. Of course you do. Your body still shaking. Your ass red and sore. You try to lean into her touch.

"See how good we taste together, pretty thing?" The back of her hand moves a strand of hair from your face as she counts your tears.

"Say thank you." She commands.

"Thank you, Ms Harkness." She smiles with closed lips, before turning to sit back in the large plush chair. Satisfied. Relaxed.

Done.

You kneel before her again, face wet with tears and desperate from the lack of touch. Her hands locked together over her chest as she gazes down at you.

You shuffle beneath her, trying to create any kind of friction. It's pathetic and desperate and you know she'd disapprove.

"Do you think girls who accuse me of lying get to come?"

"No." You admit, stopping altogether. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

She rolls the chair forward, patting her lap. You know your cue, your instruction, and you climb onto her, trying not to soak her designer trousers through your underwear. Body still shaking with adrenaline as you try to relax into her warmth.

You could get used to being up on her, being this close. Being this warm. She steadies you on her lap with her right hand, her left opening the drawer on the desk and grabbing a small tub, opening it impressively with one hand. It stings again when she pushes your skirt back up, a cold feeling when the contents of the tub makes contact with your skin, the smell of cocoa butter in the air as she soothes your skin.

You settle into her, it feels dangerous. Your face coming to rest in the crook of her neck.

You breathe her in, the cherry. The tension. Her body soft and relaxed against you as she rubs your sore skin with tender precision.

"Always so good for me, so good." She whispers, and you try not to wonder whether anyone heard through the glass walls. Your hands reach up to find the collar of her shirt, grabbing at her like she's the only thing tethering you to the world.

Her hands find your waist softly as she puts the tub back in the desk, and you wonder if she had placed that there just for you. You grab onto her, unsure as to what will happen next. Whether she'll send you away. Trying to savor every moment she's pressed against you softly like the comfort of your bed.

Her hands move from your waist to your back as she pulls you further against her. Like you're tethering her to the world too. Hands comforting you softly.

It feels less like desire and more like possession as she holds you close, breathing you in. Your body returning to normal.

It's silent for too long. The sounds of your breath dancing against each other as she holds you close. As she savors the moment too. You could sleep here.

You could stay here forever.

Maybe you could go on that yacht trip.

Maybe you should. Maybe she could use a trip.

Not a work trip. A real trip. Does she ever actually take time to relax or does she work the whole time on vacation? What else does she do outside of work? Outside of being a CEO?

You remember the books in her office. You wonder what she reads outside of business. Outside of psychology and investments.

What it would be like to curl up next to her on the couch with a story. With a fireplace. With a record.

As if she could ever live a life like that.

"Ms Harkness?" You break the silence, leaning back a little to see her. She seems upset at the loss of contact and you hope she can't feel your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. "Yes?" She asks quietly, looking up at you, her hands firm and warm on your hips.

You smile. "Does the yacht have one bed?".

She rolls her eyes.

"Yes."

"Would you let me sleep in it?"

She smiles, but it's clear she's trying hard not to.

"If i feel like it."

"Will you wear that sweater again?"

You see the cogs turn in her brain as she tries to figure out what you're talking about.

"The purple one you wore the night before the meeting." You remind her.

Her eyebrow raises, her tone softer and more playful. "That thing is probably older than you. It's all tattered and awful. I just wear it to bed." She dismisses the topic with a wave of the hand, like she's rejecting a business proposal.

"So you'll wear it to bed?"

"Hmm. I don't know."

Her eyebrows furrow as she thinks about it. "I got it from the airport in Bordeaux when I went to visit home so long ago. I don't usually keep things that long unless they're special to me." She sighs. "I should probably throw it away."

"No, don't. I like it." You tell her, your hands flat on her shoulders.

"Like you like the glasses?" She asks like it's silly. Like you enjoying something about her is foreign and ridiculous. You nod, pushing her glasses up a little on her nose.

She lets you.

She studies you.

“I think you have bad taste.” She admits. Head tilted, before reaching into her pocket and pulling the diamond bracelet out. She takes your wrist delicately like you're made of paper, before clasping it onto you.

You wonder if anyone would ask questions about it in the office, but if she doesn't care why should you? One diamond bracelet doesn't mean anything. Right?

"You are my sugar baby after all." She jokes as she fixes the clasp shut and it is such a privilege to see her relaxed and playful. You could have a million more moments like this.

"Thank you mommy." You joke back. She rolls her eyes in response, but you wonder how she really feels about the whole exchange, or whatever this is becoming.

"Mommy is starved." She jokes, and you try not to get hung up on how the word sounds in her mouth. She taps your thigh twice, indicating she wants you to get off of her.

You do quickly, your body feeling more relaxed after being close to her. You take your professional place opposite her at the desk, standing and waiting for instruction as she puts the papers back in their rightful place. She clicks at you twice to get your attention like you're just her regular assistant. Not bothering to make eye contact with you as she voices her demand.

"I could go for some early lunch. Big sandwich. Make it happen."

You nod, knowing just where to go. Always remembering her preferences.

“Coffee too obviously.”

"Yes Ms Harkness."

--

Her curtains are open when she's back at work, and you watch her through the glass as you scroll through your emails at your own desk. She eats the sandwich with one hand while writing something with the other. Taking huge bites and getting mess all over the place.

You're sure there's salad on the million dollar contracts as she refuses to look at what she's doing.

You hold back your laughter.

Then, suddenly, she stands and abruptly leaves the office, walking past you without a second glance. Her eyes focused on the new task at hand.

It hurts a little to see her pass like this, but you know she doesn't want to draw too much attention to you. You wonder if she's gotten in trouble for sleeping with her assistants before or whether what she's doing is really that important.

There's nothing on her calendar for now.

She's gone for the longest hour imaginable as you take some calls and forward her a couple of emails. Another charity gala. A press interview. A designer.

You miss her touch, your hand with the bracelet wrapped around the wrist comes up to touch your neck, the marks she's left on you under the roll of the sweater. Her claim. Similar marks on your skeleton. All the way through as deep as a hold on someone could possibly go.

You want to know everything about her, to sit with her until the end of time. When she drip feeds you information about her it's like you're hungry for more. Starving. To be close to her in every sense of the word and you don't remember what being in love feels like but this feels explosive.

Nauseating almost.

Scary when you know so little about her. You double check her meeting schedule.

Where is she?

You miss her already and it almost hurts. Her family home in Bordeaux. Is this why she's so passionate about France? You didn't expect her to be close to family.

Her wikipedia says she's from Salem. You wish you could ask her without it being obvious you were Googling her. You wish you could ask about the girl in the photo with her. The girl at the coffee shop. All of it without scaring her off.

Maybe if you agree to the yacht you'll have her all to yourself. Nowhere to hide. No work to cover herself in. Just you and her and one bed and one sweater and one helipad.

You sink your teeth into your reports, trying not to notice the discomfort between your legs and the irritation under your chest. The jealousy. The uncertainty. The nausea you're too sure is from catching feelings.

At around four in the afternoon, the door swings open and she rushes past you. Barging past with power and precision. People move out of her way instinctively. Newcomers who have yet to be blessed with her presence. Long time staff who hate her.

And you.

The one who was bent over her desk this morning.

"Be in in five, bring the paperwork." She instructs as she rushes past you. Slamming herself into the chair with too much force and turning on the monitor with a violent slap.

You gather up the printed paper on your desk before following her in, turning to close the curtains when the door closes behind you.

"Leave them open. I don't want people thinking it's weird whenever you're in here." There's no joy to her voice anymore. No playfulness.

"Yes. Sure. No problem." You step forward into your spot, awaiting further instruction. You straighten your posture and put the paperwork on her desk.

"So I have the paperwork here for the Munro deal—" she cuts you off with a hand gesture.

"This isn't about the damn paperwork. I need to leave for a while. Get out of town. Just a few days. No work. No anything. Just to be someplace else."

You know this is about the accountant. You can't prove it, but you just know it. The thought of her being gone for a few days nearly kills you on the spot.

"Perfect time for a yacht, no?" She continues, picking up the stack of paper. You get it now, this looks like a business conversation.

Her eyes flick over the paperwork as she talks. Painting a business only deal to the people outside of the walls. She points to various parts on the pages as she continues.

"Go home. Pack a bag. I'll pick you up at eight tonight. No later."

"Yes, Ms Harkness."

She waves you away, and you can feel people burning holes into the side of your head as you leave the office.

Either they're onto you, or they think you're in trouble. You're not sure which you'd rather. But you know best. Hiding your smile from those at their desks.

A real trip. No business. She said so herself.

How are you supposed to keep working?

You think about what to pack in your new bag. The clothes she had gifted you. Perhaps a couple of your favorite items to bulk it out. She didn't say how many days. You could guess? If you run out of clothes you suspect that won't be a problem.

Sitting at the desk for the last hours of the day is almost agonizing. You watch her scream on the phone, the walls must be more soundproof than you realized, which is a relief. But you can see her hands frantic in the air, the vein in her forehead prominent. You can tell she's trying hard not to throw everything off the desk. To not reach for the whiskey she keeps in there for special occasions.

You hope you get to taste more soon. Not because you like it, but because it's hers. The taste of her in her world.

She leaves the office at five without saying goodbye to anybody. Do they know she's going away?

Is it a secret?

You hope the getaway you're romanticizing isn't her going into hiding as you wait out the last of the day. Rain starting hard against the glass windows of the office and you hope she isn't caught in it.

The only thing worse than a lengthy commute that leaves you no time to get ready is one that also soaks you entirely.

When you reach the lobby at six, you've already accepted your fate. The rain hasn't let up. Agatha said she'd pick you up in two hours. That would only give you an hour to get dry from the rain, pack a bag and prepare to leave.

You remember the black card in your purse.

Should you?

You feel a little silly. A little worried. Should you call an uber? She'd want you to, wouldn't she? That's who she is. You're one of hers, you tell yourself.

At this point, you suspect you might just be hers.

Or you could dream.

Your finger hovers over the uber button, it would get you home faster. Dryer.

You hover over the Uber Black section.

It feels frivolous. Your heart beats in your chest. Why does this feel so sneaky?

Without thinking any further, you book it. You tell yourself it's what she'd want. Or maybe you'd get in more trouble.

But after this morning, maybe you'd be okay with that too.

The black BMW arrives quickly, and it's warm and clean inside. The lights in the mist comforting you instantly. A quick change from the cool air outside. The heavy rain clears up almost as soon as you're in the car, and you wonder how you'll justify this now.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Agatha Harkness: Spoiled, aren't you? You do know I get notifications about that credit card?

Your heart beats in your chest. Does she mean that? Is she playing around? You lean into it. She's already invited you onto her yacht.

Even though she could take it back...

You: Would you rather me travel on the subway? I'd smell bad before you came to get me for your yacht.

You almost laugh at a sentence you'd never said before and it all feels a little surreal.

Agatha Harkness: Poor thing. Agatha Harkness: But I have no idea what the subway smells like.

You: Because you've never taken it? Agatha Harkness: Exactly. You: Because you're spoiled too. Agatha Harkness: I never denied that. But this is new for you. You: Thought you'd want to take care of your sugar baby.

You can feel her roll her eyes through the screen.

Agatha Harkness: "Anything for my princess." Is that what you want me to say? Jesus Christ.

You imagine her searching for the quotation marks on her phone screen, ten inches away from her face and her glasses on the end of her nose.

You: Maybe. If you say nice things to me I might wear all my prettiest underwear on the yacht.

She types. She deletes. She types. She deletes.

You can't figure out whether it'll be nice or not as the bubbles disappear and reappear.

Agatha Harkness: You'll wear whatever I tell you to wear.

---

As soon as you're in the apartment you're shoving all of your new clothes into the bag. Some skirts, some crop tops as well. Underwear. A bathing suit. You don't know how long you'll be on the boat. It could be a week. It could be forever. Maybe you'll live at sea now. Maybe that's who you are. Who even knows anymore?

You pack your jeans. It's risky, but you kind of like the risk.

She's clearly stressed out, maybe in some sort of trouble. It seems a little scary, a little bit of a whirlwind. To take a trip like this, not a work trip, with a woman you hardly know. A woman who might be running away from sketchy business. A woman who continues to use you for her pleasure.

Not that you'd complain.

You can't believe she lives like this outside of work. A helicopter to the Hamptons? Does she know you can just drive there?

Maybe she will just drive there. Maybe there is no helicopter.

That seems a little extreme.

But Agatha is extreme.

You've never been in a helicopter. The thought makes you nervous. How often did she do this before you? She always seemed to be in the office early to late. Not utilizing her wealth as often.

Maybe it was in secret, but you can't help but wonder if you really are making her happier.

You check your phone, exactly eight. You prepare to make your way to the door when you hear a bold knock on it.

That must be the driver and you hope it's a little less obvious than last time. You call out to Jake as you answer it, only to find him not home.

You should have guessed when he wasn't in front of the TV.

You open the door in complete disbelief when Agatha Harkness is standing right in front of you. No driver. No Rolls Royce. Agatha Harkness herself in a shirt under a sleek black jacket. Vintage sunglasses and driving gloves like it's another era. You nearly fall flat on your face.

"Ag— Ms Harkness!"

She raises an eyebrow.

"You're here. Like actually here. At my apartment. What happened to not wanting to be in the area too long?"

You try and close the door on yourself to stop her looking in. It feels too personal. Too weird for her to be here. Like she's really seeing you now. Seeing all of you. The parts you can't control.

You can't let her see this.

"Well, I thought i'd just drive us in one of my cars."

She gestures to a deep purple Aston Martin parked at the side of the road. The registration reads H4RKN3SS and you stifle a laugh.

There's the showpony. You bet her security hate her.

You can't help but smile though. She's personally come to collect you. In one of her cars. Her actual cars. No driver. No frills. Her actual car that she drives.

You didn't know she drove herself anywhere.

She stands tall and serious in the brown sunglasses. You hold your bag by your side. It's kind of awkward for a second as you don't know what to do. It feels both too normal and too strange.

"Sorry, I just didn't realize you drove I guess."

"I do sometimes. I just haven't in a while."

You take a deep breath in to try and relax.

"I can't wait to be in your car, Ms Harkness." You admit, and you almost see her smile, pushing forward with your bag and expecting her to leave towards the car.

"It's rude not to invite me in, dear." She says simply. Remaining in the same place.

"Oh, oh no I don't think you want to come in here, you shouldn't see this."

You keep trying to close the door behind you. You can't have Agatha Harkness in your run down apartment block.

"I want to see where you're living, and the sooner you let me in the sooner we can get out of—" she looks around the street nervously "—here."

"People are broke, but they're not animals. They aren't going to rob you or anything." You tell her, but she doesn't seem to trust your words.

Before she says anything, she's pushing you to the side and entering your apartment. You have no choice but to let her, stepping back and avoiding eye contact as she explores your space.

Her face unreadable. She pushes her glasses to the end of her nose before giving up altogether in the low light and pushing them on top of her head. She looks around the space a little, a couple of dirty mugs. A couple of pizza boxes. It's actually not as bad as it gets sometimes.

"Ah, I see" she starts, her footsteps too loud on the wooden floor "you share this space with the man." She pushes a pizza box to the side with her italian leather heel.

You laugh a little at the absurdity of it all. "Jake, yeah. He isn't here tonight. He works at a bar downtown so sometimes he's gone."

She stares down at the mugs.

"Sorry it's messy I'm trying this new thing where I just ignore it so he can see how bad it gets rather than clean up after him." You're talking way too fast and hoping you'll calm down soon.

"Good. you're not his mother." Agatha counters you in a slow, controlled way. Calming you a little.

This room must be the size of her closet space but something about her being in here is comforting somehow. Like some kind of warm blanket thrown over you. Like she'd protect you from him even though she doesn't need to. Even though he's not like that. Like she could whisk you away and keep you safe and sound forever.

"Show me your room." She says as more of a demand than a request and everything is ruined again.

"Ms Harkness, please don't do this." Embarrassment bubbling in your chest at how silly it feels in comparison to all the places she shows you.

"You saw my penthouse, it's only polite."

"You didn't show me your room."

"Honey we were busy." She says and you blush at the remark, padding gently over to the bedroom and opening the door with a loud hinge noise.

She enters reluctantly, her hand on her chin as she looks around like she's studying the space. The ceiling damp a little, the bed half unmade in your rush to get to work this morning.

Her hands flexed, she runs her fingers over your things. A bobble head, a framed diploma. "My smart girl" she expresses out loud when she reaches it.

Your heart skips a beat.

She picks up a framed photo next from the very back of your dresser, you hadn't even noticed it in so long.

"Who is this?" She asks like it's actually important to her.

"That's my childhood dog. His name was Kibble." You rebalance yourself, feeling very exposed all of a sudden. "He reminds me of being a kid when things get hard."

You hope that wasn't a lame thing to say. "Did you have a dog?" You ask, realizing this topic had never come up.

"No." She puts the photo down. "I don't care for dogs. I had a rabbit, though." She forces a smile. "But not as a child."

"When?”

She leaves through the small wooden doorframe, clearly done with this whole exchange.

“It’s truly awful in here.” She admits with a sigh, ruining the moment instantly as she leaves, putting her sunglasses back on as you sheepishly follow her out of the door. She ignores your luggage, leaving you to grab it yourself and slides in the side of her car.

Her car. Not one of her cars. No divider, no driver. Just her and something she picked out for herself.

Embroidered initials in the headrests as you settle into another part of her world. Timeless as she starts the car up and steers with expert skill, her capable hands in her leather gloves on the wheel like she’s from a different world. You wonder if she notices you staring.

To your surprise she drives in silence. The hum of the road. The sound of her trying not to yell at people who cut her off. To not start the trip off to an aggressive start. You see her clench around the wheel. It’s hard not to wonder if she’s trying to be gentler for you.

“Do you want the top down?” She asks out of nowhere, just when you were pondering how long the ride is.

“Yes!?” You beam with excitement, and in one swift press of a button it starts to pull down. Letting the cool evening air breeze through your hair.

You wonder if she always lets her hair get messy like this. Whether she drives around to relieve her stress. Or whether she did, before you.

She holds back a smile as she watches you breathe it all in, she looks content. Happy even. And you wonder how long the drive to the Hamptons actually is.

Or you were, before you realize she’s taking you to a helipad on the edge of the river.

Shit. You really thought you could get out of this one. Will you ever have a normal week in an office again?

The car gently rolls onto sleek concrete at the Hudson and you try not to focus too hard on the helicopter in front of you. It's both larger and smaller than you imagined and the nausea in your stomach isn't romantic anymore.

It's real and it's here and oh shit what are you doing again?

A man in a crisp black suit stands near the landing pad as Agatha pulls up like she's done this a thousand times. A few others further away. She pushes the button to push the roof of her car back up, slowly drowning out the sound of radios and chatter. Leaving you to sit in the quiet to try and compose yourself.

You close your eyes for a second, bracing yourself for the whole process, interrupted only by the man in the suit opening your door, and you notice in your panic Agatha has already gotten out and handed the keys to him. You swallow and try to feel your soul in your body before stepping out of the car.

It's a little windy, but still warm. The smell of jet fuel and something salty as you try and get closer to Agatha, who seems to be talking to some of the staff.

You grab the bag from the car before the man can help you, and he gives her a quick wave before driving her car away. She doesn't acknowledge him, but you suspect she pays him well.

Her sunglasses reflect the headlights as he drives away, as you scramble toward her, the blades of the helicopter beginning to spin in slow circles, causing the ground to vibrate.

You think you might be sick. You know you might be sick.

She ducks under the spinning blades and climbs aboard, ignoring the silent offer of help from her team. The driver already in place.

Her hand flexed and outstretched as she gestures for you to climb inside. You wonder whether she ever feels anxiety. Whether she ever truly gets scared.

You take a deep breath and slide into the leather seat. To your surprise, it's like the private jet inside only smaller. More compact. Two white leather seats with a shared table between them and another two facing, each with a bottle of water. Like a tiny floating lounge.

Somehow it calms you. For some reason you had imagined some kind of police or army chopper and it dawns on you your entire knowledge of Agatha's life comes from television.

The doors are closed behind you as the pilot hands you a headset which you shove on instantly to try and drown out the noise.

It works, and once you’re buckled up he hits you through the headset with a “good to go?”

You doubt you’d ever be good to go, but Agatha gives a certain “yes”, causing the blades to spin faster under the protection of the headset, and you grip your hands into the leather of the seat to try and distract yourself from all of this.

It’s only a short ride. Fuck had you forgotten you’ll be on a boat soon? Why are you falling for a woman whose main hobbies are various types of transport? Does she ever just watch tv?

It lifts off in one smooth movement, causing your body to press tightly into the leather. Hands still gripping until your knuckles are as white as the material.

The pilot explains the destination and the weather like this is just a regular taxi, and when you finally let yourself look out of the window your stomach turns. Heights have never been an issue, but heights like this are different. Exposed. Giant glass windows and the tilt of the helicopter. You focus on your breathing.

In and out. In and out.

When your eyes finally open it’s because of Agatha tapping on your arm violently after you suspect you’d accidentally been ignoring her. She points to the headset for you to listen to her, to pay attention. For a moment you almost forgot how comforted she makes you feel, and just the sight of her helps your body relax.

“I had him detour for this, open your damn eyes.”

Her frustration almost makes you laugh as you brace yourself to properly look out of the window at a perfect and magnificent view of Manhattan. The skyline glittering in the dark. It’s stunning. Putting all of your mornings and nights in perspective. In this city where anything feels possible, it looks like it too from up here. Maybe one of the most breathtaking things you’ve ever seen, and you quickly turn to her, not bothering to hide your smile.

“Holy shit!” You yell out, and you wonder whether that noise was the driver laughing at you.

“It looks better from up here.” She says plainly, like she does this all the time. Maybe she does.

After a long few seconds the helicopter begins to turn, heading to its real destination, and although the view was beautiful, it wasn’t enough to settle you from the motions of the machine. Hands in the leather again. Knuckles white. Hard breathing. It’ll be over soon.

Almost making you jump out of your skin is the unusual feeling of warmth across your knuckles, slowly at first. Tentatively like a scared animal. Dragging across all of your hand until you relax into it.

Opening your eyes to see the cruel, the heartless and the callous Agatha Harkness gently trying to hold your hand like it’s a first date.

Maybe it is, for her.

The nausea in your chest from the helicopter is quickly replaced by the nausea of emotions as you soften under her touch. You can’t help it. Looking from her hand to her face, and she’s staring out of the window into the night. You wonder if she’s smiling. If she’s nervous too.

You open your hand up further to her, and let her slide her fingers between you. You know she’d say it was just to calm you down.

But you also know otherwise.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins from the touch is enough to offset the nerves in your stomach, letting yourself look at her, look past her. At the ribbons of car headlights in the distance and the tiny tiny bridges lit up silver and gold.

“You have to get used to this, my island doesn’t have an airport.” She tells you through the headset, like any normal regular first date conversation.

The rest of the drive seems shorter, until you’re floating above a massive white yacht. If this is modest you’d wonder what the hell she owned before. The helipad coming into view as you prepare to land, and you can’t help but grip her hand tighter as the descent onto the water rocks the helicopter slowly.

The landing is smoother than you expected, and a small amount of staff wait with arms behind their backs near the helipad. You feel almost embarrassed as you realize there will be other people here with the two of you. Would you ever have a normal evening with Agatha?

The vibration of the helicopter eases out as it settles on the boat, replaced with the soft relaxing movement of water and the smell of sea salt. You almost whine as she untangles your hand, but don’t want to embarrass yourself.

She’s the first to step out onto the yacht because of course she is. She’s handed a glass of champagne immediately upon arrival, with someone grabbing your bags before you can protest and helping you out swiftly after.

The floor rocks gently beneath you and you could almost fall asleep instantly after the rush of the journey. She’s in her element, laughing with some of her staff. An entirely different woman to who you saw at the office. She seems relaxed almost. In her space.

The sound of obnoxious rich laughter echoes around you as she steps towards you and a small man hands you a glass of champagne too, nodding when you thank him.

“This is the crew, we’ve whittled it down to just who’s needed to give us some privacy.” She whispers to you as she approaches.

You lean forward to shake their hands, it feels weird almost as soon as you start but you’ve committed now so you’ll finish. They don’t seem to think it's that odd.

“This is….” She trails off, unsure of how to address you.

“...My friend.”

You nearly choke on the drink. She’s uncertain. You’re uncertain. They aren’t buying it. A couple of quiet smirks as they try not to look too hard at you.

She clears her throat, clearly wishing she could take back what she said, getting quicker to try and not over explain.

“Look, point is she’s not here as my assistant. She’s here as a guest. Everything you get for me, you get for her. Let’s work on preparing a late dinner, no almonds for her. No meat.”

They nod in agreement, you wonder if she’s had to specify because of the other assistants who were once on this boat. Once in your place.

You try not to get hung up on the ‘friend’ part. Agatha doesn’t have ‘friends’. Surely this is worse than if she just introduced you as her property.

Once the man is back from taking your luggage god knows where, she clicks at you for your attention. You follow her obediently as she leads you towards the bedroom.

It’s enormous, with a huge four poster bed, a messy bookshelf and a wrap around window, a small door that leads to a deck. White and crisp and fresh and you nearly die when you remember this is her actual bed where she sleeps on the boat. Not a hotel, not a guest bed.

Her bed.

You run your hands across the soft expensive fabric. You could sleep in here right now, if she’d let you.

Just you, Agatha and a four poster bed on the water. No work. No distractions.

Holding hands.

She likes you. It’s happening. This is it. She can’t deny it anymore. You almost squeal.

She’s already opening your luggage across the room on a little wooden desk, you only notice when she lets out a loud agonized gasp like you’ve stabbed her.

“Why would you bring these!?”

She remarks as she holds up your jeans with the tip of her finger like they’re tarnished. “On my yacht?”

You can’t tell if she’s playful or genuinely angry, so you laugh along.

Before you can tell what’s going on, she’s pushing the deck door open and launching your denim overboard into the water.

“Ms Harkness! Oh my god!”

She turns and wipes her hands of it.

“You can’t just do that? T- those are my jeans! Those are mine!” You stutter trying to think of how to even word what you’re trying to say.

“And you’re mine. I don’t have many rules, dear. Let’s try not to break another.”

“But— but the water. The pollution." Your hands in your hair. "Do you know how awful that is for the environment?”

She laughs a full, enormous laugh, her head thrown back as she begins to root through your underwear in the luggage bag.

“Honey, you’re on a yacht with the third richest woman in America. You don’t have ethics and morals anymore.”

And god maybe she’s right. Have you really thought about this? About what kind of woman Agatha is? How she might be under the surface. What if she’s awful? Terrible?

How far would you go for her?

But stood under the cozy lights of the yacht, she’s beautiful. Magnificent. And you suspect you’d do anything for her.

She takes a confident step towards you, her heels softened on the carpet. “You’re mine now. You’ll wear what I want, understand?”

You nod stupidly under her gaze.

“You’ll wear no denim. You’ll wear no polyester. You’ll wear the perfume I buy for you, the fabrics I buy for you.” Another step, then another. “You’ll eat the food my staff prepare for you, the coffee you buy with my credit card, you'll ride in the cars i send for you—" she’s face to face with you “and you’ll never disobey me again, got it?”

You nod again, only remembering to use your words when she’s practically pressed against you. “Yes, Ms Harkness.”

“Atta girl.”

She doesn’t move for a moment, letting you breathe in her air, before quickly turning and offering you a tour of the boat to which you excitedly agree.

Everything is modern, but not steel like her house. Sleek woods and cozy rugs. It’s comfortable and relaxing, like a little floating paradise. She shows you the gym room that she claims is mostly untouched, a lounge with two gigantic sofas and a television as big as the wall, a couple of DVDs next to it. You wonder when the last time she used this was. She certainly doesn’t seem like a television or movies kind of person.

The library is exactly what you expected from her, and you suspect she must have something even more interesting at home. Tons of journals, stacks and stacks of books. Classic literature, history and modern occult.

The tour continues through an expansive kitchen diner with a wooden table similar to the wood in her office at home. The staff nod silently as you pass, acknowledging you without disturbing Agatha, she waves her hands around like she’s directing a boardroom as she points to the different doors and rooms.

Next up on the desk she gestures to what she considers a small pool, although you find any pool on a boat to be rather silly, and a square hot tub just next to us which you are clearly very interested in, letting her know you brought a swimsuit this time.

As you approach the end of the yacht, it begins to move, slowly and calmly into the water.

“Where are we heading?” You ask her as you drape your arms over the edge, looking at the moon starting to reflect on the water.

“Nowhere in particular.” Her arms drape over the edge now too. “Usually we go to another port, the island, but for tonight I just want to be away from here, just a little.” She sighs. You almost forgot you were escaping, not vacationing. “I trust the driver to do what’s best for us.”

“Do you ever get to drive the boat?” You ask, imagining her in the driving gloves and a little sailing hat. Adorable.

“Yes, sometimes.” She doesn’t elaborate, but she cuts you off when you start to ask about it further. “I won’t be working if I can help if, while we’re here.”

You feel yourself soften, maybe this will be relaxing after all and less like an escape plan.

“When was the last time you were here?” Your words soft as you both stare onto the other boats nearby. Wondering when the last time she properly relaxed was, without you.

“Long time ago.” She swallows up the salty ear, adjusting her jacket.

“Were you with anyone?” You can’t help but wonder.

“No.” Her expression is unreadable. “Just me and a glass of scotch and the water.” She spins around, pressing her back to the edge of the boat. Have you made her uncomfortable? “Stop asking questions.”

“I’m going to talk to the kitchen staff. I’ll let you decide where we eat dinner tonight. There’s a lot of beauty on this boat.”

She rolls her sleeves up as she leaves you leaning over the edge, clearly needing some time to herself. You relax, fully relax, letting your arms go heavy as you take in the view. The experience. Everything. Whatever this is, with her. Whatever it’s blossoming to be.

Your eyes scan the boat as you head back to the bedroom, trying to learn from her. How often does she come here? The place is immaculate. Clean and tidy aside from her things that remain untouched. They must go crazy picking up after her. A couple of stunning pieces of artwork as you pass down the hallway and onto the plush carpet of the bedroom.

Your fingers trace the edges of the reads on her bookshelf. Mostly old copies, well read with spines bent and pages folded over. Books on astrology, astronomy. Investing and inventing. Gardening and geometry.

She truly does read everything. A very thin layer of dust at the edge of the cabinet next to a small dish of silver rings, none of which you recognize.

A shy smile on your face as you trace everything, breathing in the part of her that hides from you as the boat rocks slowly beneath your feet.

A framed photograph of an old lady sits at the back of a dresser. You turn it over hoping for a note, nothing. Is this her mother?

Agatha never talks about family.

Next to it, a folded up photograph of a rabbit. A pressed flower. Several jars with what look like various herbs and twigs inside. Things that belong to a different woman that you know. Earthly and worldly and connected to the ground. Curious about the world.

You’re shaken when you hear her voice booming down the corridor, changing the air entirely. Destroying all peace curated in this room, she yells through what you presume is the phone. Her voice enraged. Your posture changes to become firmer. But you’d never fear her, not really, not ever.

“Just a few days. Just a few fucking days can you give me that!?” She yells as her footsteps get closer and you wonder if she’s looking for you.

Gone is the woman who held your hand as her frame forces through the doorway. You scramble away from her things as she approaches. “I’m going away from the fucking phone signal. Don’t contact me again.”

She slams the phone down onto the carpet so viciously you wonder if it even softened the blow. Fire in her eyes. Fire and something fearful. Her body shakes as her chest rises and falls. Like a ball of stress and rage and bitterness.

You’ve never seen her quite like this, never to this level.

She rakes her hand through her thick hair, tousled by the sea and the wind in the car. Exasperated.

Your cue.

You climb onto the bed and kneel at the edge for her. Saying nothing. Offering yourself. Showing your devotion for her. Your dedication. Your love, if that’s what the sick feeling is.

Polite. Ready for her. Her eyes pull from the floor, letting out a sigh of relief as they land on you. Like she’s already relaxed just at the thought.

She takes a step forward slowly. “You want to help me unwind, is that what this is?”

“Yes...mistress.”

You bow your head to her, feeling the heat radiating off her body as she gets closer to you. As she ponders what to do with you. How to use you best.

She taps the side of your arm twice, and you start undressing. Removing your shirt for her.

Her body seems gentle, but her words less so. Firm. Strong. Angry.

“God. You’re such a good little slut for me aren’t you? Waiting in here for me to find you.”

You nod a little, trying to make eye contact with her as her hands cup the side of your face, closing the gap between you. You can’t tell what mood she’s in at all. It’s dangerous and tantalizing.

“Dumb little thing when you’re like this. Don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

You swallow, your breath shaky as she pets your hair softly like you’re important.

“Don’t even know why I’m so pissed. Just want to help, don’t you honey?”

“Yes mistress.”

Her hand in your hair tightens, causing you to wince a little at the pain. Her words softer now.

“You’re the only girl I’ve ever brought here, do you know that?”

Butterflies dance in your chest.

Surely not.

Surely you aren’t that important to her.

Not missing your line, you look up at her sweetly.

“Thank you.”

Her hand soft on you again. Moving from your hair to your lips, gently touching, exploring.

“You’re so good at learning. Always thanking me properly. So obedient.”

She softly tilts your chin up with her thumb.

“Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to use you properly.”

You scramble to get naked for her as she faces away from you, taking off her jacket and draping it over the edge of a chair. Unbuttoning the first few buttons of her shirt and rolling the sleeves up. You try to tear your eyes from her as you strip but it’s almost impossible not to watch her every move.

Can you believe you’re in this position? Something you could have only dreamt of a year ago.

Back on your knees you steady yourself as she approaches, holding your breath to await her touch. Wishing she’d rid herself of her own clothes.

As she approaches she runs her fingernails up the side of your thighs, heat pouring through you, her breathing heavy but controlled. Like she’s pondering just how to take you.

Her hands drag agonizingly slowly up your skin, nails brushing over your hips, your chest, your chin.

“I bet you’re already wet for me.” She whispers, like she’s learning your body just as you’re learning her personality. You lean into her touch, she’s certainly right.

To your surprise she grabs your face roughly in one hand, her lips meet yours ferociously, tongue slipping against your own as she tastes you in a whirl of passion and excitement. Much different than you had expected her to be. Your hands remain by your side, where you know she’d want them. Leaning forward slightly to meet her kiss. Moaning softly into her mouth as her other hand finds your nipples that harden quickly at her touch.

She continues to kiss you, hard and messy, as she pushes her hand down over your stomach to between your thighs, causing you to fall forwards into her as she coats her fingers on you.

“Always so ready for mommy, aren’t you?”

The noise you make in response is something you’ve never made before. Primal and urgent.

Her head tilts as she analyses you.

“That’s what you want to hear isn’t it, my insatiable little thing. You want me to be so gentle and kind to you...”

You realize maybe this is a trap. Looking up into her eyes as she breaks away from you, it’s clearly a trap. If you don’t say anything she’ll punish you, if you say yes, she’ll punish you.

"...Filthy, depraved little girl."

She raises her eyebrows as she grabs your throat, smiling as your comfort turns to fear before her.

“You don’t even know me. Don’t know anything about me. Would kneel naked for me in the middle of nowhere just because I asked.”

She must think you’re stupid.

“And yet, you’re so fucking wet for me all the time.” Her voice crumbles into a laugh, like she’s broken you down exactly where she wants you. Ready to build you back up how she likes. “Just how I like you to be.” Her fingers teasing your entrance.

She easily slips a finger inside of you, continuing to hold your throat with her other hand. Forcing you to look up at her. Forcing you to stay in place. Eyes serious, with a smile you’re not sure you understand. Her strokes long and deep. Pleasure builds within you as you drip onto the bed of the yacht, just like this morning, she pulls out. Wiping her hand on your thigh.

“Please.” You beg. “Please I can be good for you.”

Is that what she wants to hear?

She takes a few steps away, before she’s unbuckling her pants. Leather hitting the floor followed by the sound of a buckle, she kicks her heels off as the fabric comes down to her ankles and she steps out. Slow and controlled but mouthwatering. A few more buttons of her shirt undone as she comes back over to you, and you reach out to try and touch her. Smooth skin that’s soft and inviting. Freckles on her thighs and a few on her chest, a small scar you can only wonder where it came from.

She diverts at the last second, reaching for the drawer in the bedside table and pulling out something she’d prepared just for you.

The strap is long and thick, purple and curved just slightly as it sits in the ring of the harness. She doesn’t look at you, just slips it onto her like she’s done this hundreds of times.

You try not to think about that part.

Then, she’s turning to look at you again. Imagining all the things she’s going to do to you.

“You used one of these before, pet?”

You shake your head no. You’d talked about it with an ex, but broke up right before the chance.

“Even though I’m mad, I’ll be so so gentle.” She coos, her mouth a small smile as she gestures for you to lay down. You wonder if you can trust her, you hope in this instance you can.

Crawling on top of you, her lips meet yours again, softer than you expect, before moving further down your throat, leaving further marks on your collar bones.

You can’t remember what you looked like before her.

The toy presses against your leg, firm and heavy. A little scary but mostly exciting. You want to be so good for her.

“You don’t need to hold back just because—“

“Shut up.”

Her hand reaches down, teasing you slowly before slipping two fingers inside you. Working you open to take the rest of her. “I can’t wait to feel how tight you are around my cock.”

The thought makes you spiral. The thought of you both being pleasured at once. You hope she can feel it just as much as you’ll be able to.

She plants one last hard bite on your throat as she pulls out of you.

“I want to keep you marked up all the time. Obvious that you’re mine.”

Gone is the night of the NDA. Right now in her bed, you’re the only one.

“Yours.” You whisper as she releases herself from you again.

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

“Nobody else sees you like this. All desperate and dripping.”

Her hands grip your hips firmly as you feel the toy press against you, just making itself known. You try not to grind into it. Try not to be too desperate. "Everyone at work. Imagine how they'd feel if they saw what you let me to do you. How needy you get for me." You try not to cry from desperation.

“You don’t even fucking know me.” She laughs again as she sits up, she admires her work, your throat covered in more marks layered over the last ones.

“I do. I want to.” You plead, looking up at her like she’s an angel. She’s your everything.

“I bet you do. So good for me. So soft and warm. The prettiest thing I ever bought.”

You wonder if she means the offer on the jet and whether you took the deal. It appears you did.

She spits once between your thighs, coating herself.

“Gonna be so fucking full of me huh?” You nod furiously as she lines herself up with your entrance. The silicone colder as she rubs it against you, getting it wet. “I don’t usually do it like this, but I want to see your eyes when I’m inside of you.”

The thought makes you feel like you’re on fire, one hand lining it up properly, the other on your neck so you can’t look away from her.

She smiles as you moan loudly as she pushes it inside of you, completely overwhelming and blocking out all of your senses. Forcing you open as you drip around her. A small amount of pain but she eases you through it gently, focusing on every micro-expression on your face.

Her breath is heavy as she gives you a moment to adjust, her eyes dark and feral as she looks down at you underneath her. Maybe the most vulnerable you’ve ever been with anyone. And it’s with her.

She studies your face again to see if you’re okay, and perhaps the scary Agatha Harkness isn’t so scary after all.

Urge and desperation takes hold of you as you try to push yourself further against her, enjoying the feeling of her skin on yours. Her eyes focused and heavy.

She thrusts once, pushing the rest of her inside, biting her lip to hold back her own noises.

“Fuck hon you’re so tight. I'm going to ruin you.”

You can only whimper in response as she begins fucking into you. Her face inches away. Filling you more than anyone ever has.

“So hot and tight all for me huh?” Ragged and heavy breath as the obscene sound of wet skin fills the room, probably drifting through the ship with the sound of your moans. "Stupid enough to trust me."

You reach up to wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer, her hands reaching under your thighs so she can be deeper inside you.

“I’m the only one to fuck you like this, yeah?” She asks again like this is a prize for her. “Mhmm” is all you can let out as her sweat covered forehead presses against yours. “Just you.”

She’s gentler than you thought she’d be, softer and more passionate as she watches you. You can tell she’s holding back as not to hurt you. It seems out of character for her, so you remind her again.

“Don’t hold back…please.” You beg, offering yourself up to her.

She breathes into your mouth, like you aren’t worth talking to directly, picking up the pace to fuck into you harder, rougher, faster. Your fingernails digging into her shoulders. Legs pushed impossibly wide by her own as she fucks you open.

“You will tell me if you need to stop.” And it’s not sweet. It’s not a suggestion. It’s a demand.

“Thank you.”

You get a wave of fresh air as she leans back so she’s kneeling in front of you, letting her push in deeper. The breeze of the water coming through the window, your hands coming to grab onto the expensive sheets.

Her body exposed, a harness and a bra as she begins to let go with you, pushing herself in deeper. Eyebrows furrowed, body shaking.

Your eyes close for a second, trying to center yourself. Trying to stay grounded as she fills you up again and again. Your body slick and exhausted as she picks up the pace.

“Feel how deep I am inside you? Fuck you feel so good….could fuck you like this forever.”

And you’d let her, you would.

“Please use me, take out your stress, do whatever you need.”

Her head shakes as she laughs, watching herself slip in and out of you easily as she hears your desperate pleas.

“Such a good fucking girl…just wanna be useful for me huh?”

“Yes…please.”

She pushes forward again, pushing you down by your wrists with all of her force. The skin on skin alone is almost too much as her bra pushes against your naked chest.

“Such a useful little thing. The things I have planned for you, you’re gonna let me do them all aren’t you?”

You nod despite not knowing what they are, because you’re sure you’d say yes anyway. She pulls out and flips you over onto your front before you get a second to brace yourself. Pushing back in quickly and firmly as you try to steady yourself on the mattress.

She’s losing herself in her own words, angling herself slightly differently and fucking her cock back into you. “Gonna stay in my bed until I need to use this pretty little body?”

“Yes. Whatever you want.” You cry against the pillow.

Her eyes closed tightly. “Tie you up, only come into the room just to fuck these tight little holes when I need to.” Noises from your lips become impossibly loud as the pleasure builds in you. “Ass in the air like a good little toy for me, letting me ruin your little body until you're broken.”

“Whatever you want.” Your brain malfunctions.

“Clearly too fucking dumb to think when I use you like this.” Her fingernails sharp in your skin as she pushes your head down to make the angle better for herself, the smell of her perfume close and overwhelming. All you want to do is please her.

“Does that feel good for you?” You ask desperately. Tears forming in your eyes, she pulls your head back roughly with her hand in your hair, taking a look at your face.

“So good for me pretty thing, angled just right for me.” She coos. "And so pretty when you cry for me like a fucking whore. Makes me want to be rougher with you."

She pushes back, slapping your ass with a firm hand on the redness she had left this morning. It forces more tears out of your eyes. Overwhelmed and oversensitive.

"Aw, poor thing, again?" She laughs as she leaves another mark on you, and another. Undoing all the lotion she'd covered you in this morning. Your body shakes as she pulls out of you, pushing you onto your back again, to see all of you. Her hand gently coming up to wipe your tears, before wiping them on her cock, and pushing it back inside of you.

Her hands wandering to your throat as she begins pounding into you, your legs wrapping around her waist to let her in deeper. The thick stretch wearing you out as she loses herself in you, panting and quivering. Her hair shielding you both from the lamp in the room.

“So fucking tight around me, you feel that?”

“Yes…fuck…so big.”

And you can see her letting loose, really letting loose. No handcuffs no plan. No control. Just using you to make herself feel better.

“You can take it.”

Her hands become fists by your head as she continues to use you, becoming a little slower as she gets tired.

“My perfect little thing. This is all you’re good for isn’t it? My little assistant.”

You run your hands through her hair, but she pins them back down to your sides.

“Stay still. Let me take what I need.”

She pushes back again, watching as she uses you, watching as your body moves under her thrusts.

“God hon you’re gonna make me come aren’t you?” She grunts as she rolls her hips against you, you stay still as instructed, letting her do what she needs to you.

“Yes…please.”

“You want me to come while I’m inside you?”

“Yes!”

“Beg me. Beg me to come while I’m inside you.”

“Please Ms Harkness please.” You babble as she shudders, fire within you from your own release as her motions stutter, before she collapses down onto you.

Your heavy breath mingles for a few moments, skin against yours before she finally pulls off, kicking off the harness and leaving it on the floor. Laying down next to you.

You couldn’t have predicted she would laugh, laugh like she’s won the lottery. If something like that would affect a woman like her.

“Such a perfect girl for me. So brave and beautiful.” She whispers as she faces you on the bed. Your body shaking where she left you.

“Thank you.”

You blush as she watches you, her eyes softer now. Gentle. Her face friendly.

“Not bad for your friend, huh.” You tease.

“Stop that.” She points at you. “Or I’ll have to take the bracelet back again. It’ll never see the light of day.”

You playfully pull your arm away from her in disapproval.

“And you don’t want me to take back the phone.” She continues. “Then what would you take photos with? Of the turtles or whatever the hell you care about in the sea.”

You can’t help but laugh at her ridiculousness. Curling up closer to her and her warmth. A juxtaposition to the cool of the air now it’s completely dark outside. She lets you push against her, wrapping her arm over yours.

“Are you ready for dinner? It’s a little late.” She whispers like you’re a sleepy baby. You whine like one at the question, trying not to pout.

“What, what could the problem possibly be?” She gestures to literally everything in the vicinity.

“Don’t wanna. All tired and sweaty.”

“Well that’s not my problem.”

“It kind of is?”

She snorts. It makes your heart melt, before she raises an eyebrow at you quizzically.

“Sorry…” you wonder if it’s even worth asking, but figure it’s worth a try. “Could we—" your voice becoming a shy whisper “eat dinner in bed?”

“Oh you really are a spoiled little thing aren’t you?” But her touches are light on your skin, comforting. “Thinking you’re some kind of princess.”

“Sorry. Isn’t that what you like?”

She smirks like she can’t hold it back.

“For the love of god stop apologizing.”

You push further against her when she doesn’t protest.

“I’ve never eaten in bed before.” She admits.

“What, never?”

“Why would I do that?”

True, why would she do that?

“It’s fun and cozy! We could wear towel robes.”

“You’re literally obsessed with towel robes it’s becoming a problem.”

“And you use your lap as a tray.” You explain.

“Barbaric and poor. You’re not eating in my bed.”

You pout.

“But I’ll let you eat on the bedroom couch.” She points to the couch you had yet to notice.

“And….?”

“And yes towel robe is fine. But only because you’ve been so good tonight.”

You smile as sweetly as you can, trying to melt her heart a little in hopes she’ll offer up bed dinner anyway.

—

She insists you take a shower, but refuses to come in and clean you herself. Baby steps.

Cleaned up and towel robes adorned, the chef brings in your dinner. Sitting awfully close to her half naked on the sofa, your blood runs cold when the man leaves after providing you the dishes. Your lap providing the perfect tray as expected.

“Wait. We clearly just fucked, the chef— he— what about the NDA?”

You want to believe she cares for you, but you did have to sign an agreement to be here with her. Who knows what would happen if people found out.

“Relax.” She takes an intentional bite. “All the crew have NDAs.” She talks with her mouth full. “I’m very high profile, you know.”

“Yeah. You won’t seem to let me forget it.” You pull the robe closer to you, adorned with her initials as always.

A few minutes go by of comfortable eating, the noise of the engine and your exhaustion stopping any awkwardness.

“Hey.” You begin, worried what you might unveil.

“What?” She rolls her eyes like she thought she might get through this meal with you being quiet.

“Do you really see me as your friend?”

The question feels silly. But you don’t know what else to ask. She sighs like you’ve really done it now. Like she escaped the shore to not have any drama and instead just brought a new breed of it.

“No. Not exactly.”

You feel both disappointed and relieved.

“Then what—"

As if you were seriously considering asking ‘what are we?’ to Agatha Harkness as she eats some kind of candied pear on her yacht.

She cuts you off with her finger in the air.

“Does it matter? You're mine. I don’t know.”

For now that’ll do, you think.

And words only mean so much anyway. The way this feels right now, always so different than the night before, is enough.

She sprawls across her side of the couch, the plate on the floor after the meal is over. She seemed to understand couch eating much easier than bed eating. You aren’t quite sure what you consumed, but you could easily get used to it.

You shuffle closer to her, getting sleepy with the rock of the boat.

“Who is that photo over there?” You ask as you put your own plate on the ground.

“Oh. My grandma.”

“I thought maybe she was your mother.”

“I’d never have a photograph of my mother.”

And that is a conversation for a later date.

“But you were close with your grandma?”

“She died when I was quite young, but before that yes. She was my safe person. She grew up in France. My family stayed in her house occasionally after she passed. It was part of our heritage.”

“Is that why you go to France so much?”

“Hmm. It’s a comfort for me, I suppose. Different from here, as much as I love it. I have happier memories there than I do of our home in Salem.”

“You don’t have to talk about it.” You try and assure her you aren’t looking for gossip.

“I won’t.” She cuts you off firmly, like you’re prying.

You shuffle closer to her, her body stiff as you place gentle kisses along her neck. She softens at your touch. Melting into you a little as you calm her down. Bring her back to reality.

She’ll talk when she’s ready.

“You can always talk to me about it.” You say calmly, letting her know there’s no need, but you’re here for her.

“Okay.” Her voice shakes a little, like she’s never had anyone say that to her. But she doesn’t pull away, she leans into your comfort. Letting you caress her. Letting you breathe her in.

Your fingers tangle in the robe she’s wearing, her body hot and soft underneath it, using it as grip to climb on top of her.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I do care about you.”

“I care about you” she mocks your words back in a voice nothing like yours. “Please stop talking.” And you suspect that might be your final warning.

“And I like the photo of your rabbit.”

“You were snooping.”

“No. Only a little.”

“Snooper.”

“No. They were right there.”

“Snoopers don’t get to see my island.”

You pout.

“Because you’d snoop through all of my stuff.”

The playful energy in the air crackles as you relax onto her. Feeling normal. Without the power dynamic. Without the yacht. Without anything. Just two people enjoying each others company. Almost forgetting that you’re not here on vacation, you’re here on some kind of criminal hideaway, whatever it may be.

“Which is a shame because I have some really interesting things on the island.”

Your head cocks.

“What sort of things?”

She laughs just once.

“You’d never used a strap-on before, you’re not going to know what any of it is.”

“Oh. Those kind of things.”

She grabs your wrist.

“You’ll see them, soon enough.”

You smile. “Oh you want me to see them?”

“Oh I’ve dreamt of you seeing them.”

“Oh yeah?”

Her head tilts back like she’s looking at her thoughts. “Ever since you swanned into my office in that little skirt, I thought about whisking you away to my island. Watching you ruin yourself over me.”

You begin to sweat.

Your hand traces up her inner thigh under the robe, feeling the warmth radiating from her.

“Oh yeah? How?”

“You’d have been so clueless, so innocent if I’d brought you there right away. So willing to do whatever I wanted.”

“I still am.”

She’s still wet as you push against her, pulling her underwear to the side as you slip your finger between her folds.

“All young and dumb, wanting to please your boss. I’d have fucking destroyed you.”

Her words make your breath hitch in your throat.

“But you’re so soft.”

“Because sometimes I like you.”

She groans as you find her clit on your soaked fingers, teasing her entrance as she looks up at you on her lap. Cotton pressed against cotton.

“I’m working you up to it.” She smirks.

“I bet you are.”

You slide two fingers into her as she clenches around you, her hands reaching tightly onto your hips as you gently thrust into her, slowly and deliberately. Curling your fingers as you work her through it. Pushing her face into the crook of your neck as she comes quickly.

You roll back onto the gigantic couch beneath the both of you.

After a few moments of silence, she finally perks back up as she strolls back over to the bed, slipping under the covers robe and all.

“I have an art gallery on the island too. You’d like it. And a cocktail bar.”

You follow her over to the bed, hoping she doesn’t make you sleep on the couch.

“I’d love to see more than just your supposed wild sex things.” You laugh as you climb in opposite her.

“We’ll see.”

Her face hits the pillow instantly, sinking into the bed. It’s insanely comfortable. You shuffle over to her. Feeling her robe against yours as you press yourself against her, trying to get in one solid squeeze before she shoves you out of the bed.

She says nothing. Doesn’t move as you press against her. She snores immediately. Loud and throaty and hilarious. You wrap your arms around her, holding her close. Letting her feel affection even in her sleep.

You wonder what her secrets are.

--

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Immediately she paused, eyebrows furrowing as she looked you over. Your eyes didn’t move, unfocused and barely containing the strength to keep staring ahead. Hyunju’s hand quickly found yours, forgetting about the trash that needed to be taken out and gently guiding you inside.

She reached up, fingers gently stroking your cheeks as she searched your eyes for any sort of explanation, for any hint of what might have happened.

She spoke quietly, almost whispering.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

When you shook your head slowly she accepted your answer right away, arms enveloping your body and swaying gently as she held you. Her voice was sweet as honey in your ear, whispering soft “It’s okay”s and “I’m here”s.

When her arms finally released you she pressed a quick kiss to your nose, her eyes filled with pain as if she had taken some of your own. She left you standing in the hallway for a moment, eyes still glazed over with fatigue, still watering with tears that refused to flow.

When she returned she had your favorite pair of sneakers in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She greeted you once again with a small, comforting smile as she passed you the water. When you took a small sip she began to kneel down on one leg, gently slipping off your work shoes and placing them aside before helping you into your sneakers.

“Let’s go for a drive, yeah?” She whispered, squeezing your hand lightly as she rose to her feet. You nodded absentmindedly, turning towards the door once again as the sound of her keys jingling filled your ears.

She drove in silence for about 30 minutes. The soft hum of the engine and the small whoosh of passing cars were the only sounds to be heard. Soon you could see the small flickering reflection of street lights in the side mirror as you began to drift away from the hustle and bustle of the town.

When Hyunju began to take a series of small twists and turns you soon realized where she was taking you. You looked at her, for the first time really since you had gotten home. She gave you a small smile, and you replied with an expression of gratitude. You voice was sill uncooperating, but Hyunju could see in your eyes everything you wanted to say.

When you arrived at the beach you immediately felt the weight of the day lifting. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore hit your ears like a kiss, the familiar smell of salt water greeting your nose as Hyunju shut off the engine.

You stayed in the car for a while, head resting against the seat as you stared at the ocean in front of you. Eventually you reached for the door handle, Hyunju mirroring your actions and stepping outside.

When the cold night wind brushed against your face you were met with a small sense of rejuvenation. You took a few slow steps forward, trailing around the front of the car only to stop at the bonnet. Hyunju met you there, leaning back against the car as you did, your eyes fixed on the mesmerizing waves in front of you as hers were fixed on the face she loved so much.

When a few strands of your hair began blowing every which way in the wind Hyunju gently reached for your arm, pulling you in front of her to rest between her legs.

“Come here,” she muttered softly, her hands resting on your head gently, “your hair is a mess, baby.”

She began to slowly braid your hair, every minute movement of her fingers overflowing with the love and care you only found in her. You relaxed into her movements, eyes closing as you listened to the sounds of nature surrounding you, fresh air filling your lungs as your breathing finally evened out.

When she finished braiding your hair, Hyunju’s hands slid down to your shoulders, squeezing slightly. Noticing how tense you were she began to massage you gently without a word, her hands mending your body from the day that had broken you.

After a while you turned to face her, a stream of salt flowing down your cheeks as your once stubborn tears finally came. Hyunju didn’t panic, she didn’t speak, she simply took your face in her hands and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

At this point in your life you’re used to the staring, expecting most people to judge you on your looks, but this time it feels different. You can see from her eyes alone that there isn’t a judgmental bone in her body, and you can tell she’s trying not to be obvious while she gawks at you.

“What? I got something on my face?”

You chirp at her playfully as you hop down off the stage, looking towards her to flash her a smug grin. A small blush creeps onto her cheeks as she snaps out of her trance, quickly averting her eyes to the table in front of her and smiling awkwardly. For a moment she sits there, wishing the ground would swallow her whole as her cheeks grow redder by the minute, until you decide to slip into the seat beside her and tell her your name.

“Hyunju.” She replies quietly, a small crack in her voice, barely noticeable but there.

Pretty name. Pretty girl. It suits her, you think to yourself.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yeah.” She smiles as she answers, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners endearingly. “You were great. Not my usual music taste but it was cool.”

You raise an eyebrow at her, intrigued by her honesty. It’s no surprise that she wouldn’t have the same music taste as you. Her makeup is clean and sleek, her hair falling perfectly on her shoulders. Her outfit is smart and pretty, a frilly blouse paired with a simple skirt.

You on the other hand, look like someone that crawled through a bush to be here. With your half torn fishnet stockings, thick boots that could be heard from a mile away, smudged eyeliner and multiple piercings, you know you’re not going to be everyone’s cup of tea (or coffee in this case).

Mulling in your head about the contrast of yours and Hyunju’s aesthetics, that’s when she takes you by surprise.

“I… I really like your style.”

The shock on your face must be evident by the way she giggles at your reaction, her laugh sending a spark down your spine that feels like a ray of sunshine. The evening turns to night quickly as you spend it chatting with Hyunju, enjoying the faint scent wafting from her matcha latte as you begin to drown in the deep brown of her eyes.

You fall for her quickly.

Over the next few weeks you grow closer than you thought possible, two completely different souls finding comfort in each other’s presence as you begin share your lives with one another. She texts you daily, making sure you’re taking care of yourself and asking if you’ve written any new songs. You listen to her chatter over lunch about all sorts of things you would never have had interest in. The latest romcom she watched, her new pink lipgloss, her corporate job, all things that would’ve bored you to death before she came along but somehow you find it fascinating when it’s her.

She begins to show up at every coffee shop you play at, cheering you on with a silent smile every time. You begin to notice how your life seems brighter with her in it.

But there’s another side to it. The lingering touches, the banter that seems to border right on the edge of flirting, the tension in the silence. It all drives you mad.

You begin to think of her late at night when your body heats up, imagining how she would sound underneath you, how her body would feel pressed against yours. You find yourself staring at her lips when she speaks, her chest any time she leans over, her hands when her two middle fingers slip into the handle of her coffee cup, noticing how your thighs rub together subconsciously while your mind wanders.

It all builds to one climactic night, when your band are hired to play at somewhat of a rundown dive bar. You don’t expect Hyunju to turn up, knowing that it’s not her style. You know she wouldn’t feel comfortable here, and besides, you reckon she would stick out like a sore thumb.

That is until you spot her walking through the door. Her makeup is dark, the black around her eyes only highlighting the depth of the brown inside them. Her top is lower than you’ve ever seen her wear, just enough cleavage showing to make your mind race. Her leather skirt is the icing on the cake. It sits right below her ass, teasing you, egging you on, flooding all those filthy thoughts you’ve been pushing away right to the surface of your brain.

The show is agony, your fingers trembling as you struggle to hit the right notes knowing that she’s watching you. Eventually when it’s over you release a deep breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding on to. You stay backstage a few minutes more than normal, wondering how you’re going to confront your friend tonight when you can’t stop thinking about doing unholy things with her.

The sound of generic dance music begins to ring out over the speakers, filling the bar. With your bass tucked away and the stage closing you no longer have an excuse to avoid her, your stomach twisting with nerves as you begin to make your way out to the crowd.

When you finally approach Hyunju sitting at the bar, you get her attention by giving her a gentle tap on the shoulder, convinced that her bare skin seems to be burning your fingers. She immediately pulls you into her arms, embracing you and nuzzling her head into the crook of your neck. The smell of her delicate perfume and the heat of her body sends a jolt of need between your legs, one you can’t ignore anymore.

“Hyunju.”

Your voice is flat when you pull away, keeping your hands on her upper arms and holding her to face you.

“Yes?”

Her eyes fill with worry when you don’t answer right away, but you notice that worry melting into something else when she sees the way your eyes trail down her face landing on her lips. With a roll of your eyes and a deep sigh, every ounce of control you thought you had is lost and you finally give in.

“You look hot as fuck.”

Her tongue runs along her teeth cheekily, her lips curling into a coy smirk as she leans forward, her breath tickling your ear as she whispers her response.

“I had some inspiration.”

You bite your lip, your body stirring a mixture you’ve never felt before, equal parts nervousness and lust as she pulls pack just enough to gaze into your eyes. Your hands move to her shoulders before you can comprehend what you’re doing, hers instinctively holding your waist and pulling you close to her.

Your lips are on one another before you can breathe, and she tastes like everything you expected. Cool and minty, a faint hint of matcha on her breath. Before long your tongue is running along her bottom lip, her hands clutching your waist possessively when she opens her mouth for you.

Neither of you pull away until you’re dizzy without air, her eyes silently begging you for more as her hands fidget with your top, scrunching the material in her palms.

“I’ve been watching the way your fingers move all night.” She growls lowly, her hand trailing down your arm slowly until she reaches yours, linking your fingers. “You drive me crazy.”

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You blurt, taking her by surprise. She doesn’t catch on to what you mean until you lean in closer, saying the second part just loud enough for her to hear. “Come with me.”

It doesn’t take you long to get on your feet, your hips swaying invitingly as Hyunju watches behind you, trailing after you with two of your fingers in her hold. Your eyes are pitch dark as you push her into the bathroom, pressing your back against the door to close it and locking it with a shaky breath.

Hyunju looks at you like you’re a wild animal that’s about to attack her, and it’s not far from reality. Taking a step towards her, you press her against the wall, gently brushing her hair behind her shoulder as you begin to press wet kisses against her neck.

Her chest is rising and falling quickly, her hands finding their place on your waist again and holding you tightly. As you kiss your way down her neck your body melts into hers, confusion setting in when she attempts to push you back slightly.

“Wait, I–”

Before she can finish her sentence a sharp gasp escapes your lungs as you feel a rock hard bulge pressed against your groin. Her eyes widen at your reaction, eyebrows furrowed nervously as her breath seems to halt completely.

Her body remains still, the air between you hanging in limbo before you begin to trail your hand down her chest, slowly, carefully, stopping below her waist to stroke her erection gently over her skirt. Her breath hitches at the touch, teeth digging into her bottom lip as she tries to keep her body still.

“Is it okay?” She whispers nervously.

“Yes.” You breathe into her ear, the lust in your voice growing stronger with every breath you take. “Fuck yes, it’s more than okay. I just need you so bad, Hyunju.”

Her mouth hangs open slightly at your comment, her eyes full of vulnerable hunger as she remains paused in front of you. After a beat, her lips latch onto yours desperately, sucking and nipping lightly as your hands tangle in her hair. Your thigh moves instinctively over her waist, your body grinding into hers, her hardness rocking against your clothed clit perfectly and sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Her grip on your body tightens like a vice when she feels you moan into her mouth, her tongue swirling with yours messily as you give a slight tug on her hair. When it feels like you can’t wait any longer, you roughly pull her face away from yours, your voice a low husk when you speak.

“Fuck me, Hyunju. I need you.”

Your words darken her eyes immediately, her arms moving quickly to flip your back against the wall as she breathes heavily against your lips. Her hands begin to trail down your sides, slowly lifting your skirt up and bunching it at your waist.

A small whimper slips your lips when she rips your stockings abruptly, her fingers pulling your underwear to the side urgently before she begins teasing your clit with soft, slow circles. She winds you up for a few moments, relishing the way your body rolls against her hand and your voice fills her ears with needy pleas.

Eventually she gives you a questioning look, her hands reaching for her own skirt. When she sees your head nodding eagerly she has to bite back her smile. When she pulls down her underwear you can’t help but moan at the sight of her standing rock hard for you, drops of precum glistening at the tip proof of her need for you.

She leans you against the wall, wrapping your leg around her waist once again and using her other hand to line herself up with your entrance. The feeling of her tip teasing you prompts another needy moan from you, one that paints a smirk on her face before she leans in to seal your lips together again.

As your mouths melt together, you feel her beginning to push herself inside you, the pressure sending a wave of pleasure through your body and forcing you to whimper against her lips.

She waits a moment, wanting to let you adjust to the size, but you don’t want to wait. A low chuckle leaves her lips when she feels you rocking against her, your body instinctively asking for more, needing all of her. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she slowly slides all of herself into you, the tip hitting the spot inside you that causes you to throw your head back against the wall.

She takes the opportunity to pepper your neck with soft kisses, her fingers digging into your thigh as she holds your leg steady over her waist. Your arms grip her shoulders tightly, nails cutting into her bare skin when she begins to move, rocking against you slowly.

Her movements speed up quickly, your reactions giving her the encouragement she needs to keep going, only wanting to keep seeing you in pure bliss. Her free hand slaps against the wall beside your head, her hair sticking to the sides of her face with sweat now as you both feel that familiar surge building.

“Hyunju, you feel so good, holy shit.”

She smirks at your comment, moaning bashfully before pressing her forehead against yours. Her voice is low and unsteady when she replies.

“You take it so well, babygirl.”

Her words, her skin glistening with sweat, the sound of you slapping against her, the feeling of her filling you over and over again, it builds so fast and you can feel the knot in your stomach ready to burst.

“I’m gonna cum.” You gasp against her ear, your hands roaming her body for something to latch onto, something to keep you steady as you feel yourself fall apart.

Hyunju brings one hand to your neck, holding you softly and whispering sweet praises as you begin to break for her. She doesn’t stop moving after your body shakes and arches against her, her cock ramming into you at the same steady pace as her moans get more and more unsteady.

“I’m close.” She whispers shakily, giving a few more thrusts before she moves to pull out.

“No.” You grab her hair roughly, pulling her face to yours as you growl against her lips. “Fill me.”

Those words are all she needs to hear to finish, her warmth spurting inside you as her jaw drops. When she finally pulls out, her body slumps against yours as she tries to catch her breath.

You stay like that for a while, your fingers twisting strands of her hair delicately as she nuzzles into your neck. When she finally lifts her head to look at you her cheeks are bright red, and you wonder how could someone that made you feel so filthy five minutes ago now look so adorable, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips.

Your thumb absentmindedly strokes her cheek as you press a small peck to her forehead, your heart swelling at the way she closes her eyes and crinkles her nose shyly. She helps you tidy yourself up, fixing your clothes as best as she can and wiping the sweat from your face. All the while, all you can focus on is the softness in her eyes, the way her hands touch you in a way that makes you feel safer than you ever have before.

He leaned back, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, the firelight reflecting off his eyes. “You seem troubled,” he said, his voice as smooth as the liquor he was sipping. “I trust our arrangement is still to your liking?”

You could hear the slight amusement in his tone. He always enjoyed getting under your skin, pushing just enough to see what you’d do, how you’d react. But tonight was different. Tonight, you felt something snap.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Zemo,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your voice tight with frustration. “But whatever game this is, stop.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Game? I assure you, I’m playing no such thing. I’m merely… enjoying the company.”

You stood up abruptly, pacing the small space between the table and the wall. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one swirling inside you. You were angry, but more than that, you were conflicted. The line between attraction and mistrust was blurring, and you didn’t know how much longer you could keep up the charade of indifference.

He set the glass down, the soft clink of it against the table making you stop in your tracks. “Why do you fight this?” he asked quietly, his voice suddenly devoid of the usual playfulness. “We are both aware of what this is.”

“What is this, Zemo?” you challenged, crossing your arms as you stared at him. “Some kind of manipulation? Is this just another way to get what you want?”

He stood slowly, his movements graceful, deliberate, as he closed the distance between you. He was close now, too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body despite the cold air. His eyes, those dark, unreadable eyes, searched yours as if trying to find the answer you hadn’t even given yourself yet.

“No,” he said, his voice soft, yet firm. “This is not manipulation. This… whatever this is between us, it’s real. And you know it.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but his proximity, the intensity of his gaze, was making it impossible to think clearly. You wanted to deny it, to push him away, to pretend that you didn’t feel the same pull he did. But you couldn’t.

Zemo’s hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that took you by surprise. His touch lingered, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

“Please,” you whispered, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them. “Please kiss me.”

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Zemo’s eyes flickered with something—surprise, desire, maybe even conflict—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. His fingers trailed down to your chin, tilting your face up slightly, and then he leaned in.

When his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t the slow, tentative kiss you had expected. It was firm, decisive, like a man claiming something he had waited too long for. You melted into him, your hands finding his chest, clutching the fabric of his coat as if holding on for dear life. The taste of whiskey on his lips mixed with the undeniable hunger that neither of you had admitted to until now.

Zemo’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until the world around you faded completely. It was intoxicating, dangerous, and everything you shouldn’t want—but you did. God, you wanted it more than you could bear.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes, now darker and filled with something you couldn’t quite name, bore into yours.

“This changes things,” he whispered, his voice rough, but there was a flicker of amusement in his tone again, as if he knew he had won something tonight.

You exhaled slowly, your fingers still gripping his coat. “Yeah,” you breathed, “it does.”

Her lips part for a moment to answer you, but instead instinct takes over and her hands are moving before her brain. She grabs your waist and pulls you down on top of her, your legs straddling her denim jeans as she pulls you into a heated but soft kiss.

Yours lips move in tandem for a moment as she traces gentle circles on your waist, nerves making her almost afraid to touch you anywhere else for fear of overstepping an unsaid boundary and ending this glorious moment. When you pull away your breath is heavy and ragged, your heart racing as you look at the pleading eyes underneath you. She doesn’t need to say a word for you to understand how she feels right now.

You gently cup her cheek, giving her a nervous smile. “I love you so much” you whisper. She doesn’t reply, her tongue betraying her as her heart feels like it’s going to jump out of her chest, her fingers beginning to tremble slightly as she tries to maintain eye contact with you and not drink in the sight of your body on top of her.

Her breath hitches when you take her hand and begin guiding it away from your waist, her eyes darting down and up again. You know even without words that this is her way of asking “Are you sure?” and you shoot her a sweet smile, nodding gently as you guide her hands behind your back.

She pauses for a moment when you let go, leaving her with your bra strap in your hands. Feeling that she might need a bit of confidence, you slowly begin to slide the straps down your arms, your voice coming out quiet and almost shy as you whisper to her, “Please.”

She nods once, and her fingers begin unclasping you, cheeks reddening as your bra falls in her lap and you look at her with a growing lust. Her breath is heavy and uneven as she stares at your chest, her eyes large and almost entranced by the sight.

“Touch me.” You’re not asking anymore, you’re commanding.

She holds your gaze as her hands nervously reach for your chest, eyes widening at your reaction when she finally takes you in her palm. Your lips hang half open, your lower body subconsciously beginning to rub against the fabric of her jeans as you feel her start to palm your tits.

Your eyes roll back in your head as she squeezes and kneads you, her fingers shyly moving to pinch your nipples gently and her eyes watching as she elicits breathless moans from you. She feels a flame burning in her lower belly, and her mind turning to mush as pure instinct is taking over. She’s enjoying the show more than she ever thought she would.

“Y/N…” she speaks shyly for the first time since you’ve undressed. Your eyes open to look at her and listen intently, stomach flipping as you begin to feel nervous that this might be too much for her, that you might need to stop.

“I want to try something.” She says hoarsely, her arms snaking around your waist and body turning to lay you down on the bed. When she slowly tucks her hair behind her ears, a telltale sign of her nerves, you reach out with one hand and cup her cheek, gently caressing her with your thumb.

She begins to lower her head to your chest, and your eyes widen as you realize what she’s about to do. Her tongue peeks out, slowly making contact with your hardened nipple and you can’t stop the squeak of a moan that escapes your lips. She swirls around you, her hands resting on your waist as she feels your chest rising and falling beneath her, brain going foggy from the sounds beginning to spill from your lips.

When she feels you starting to grind upwards against her, a coy smile appears on her face, her confidence growing by the minute. She revels in how much you’re enjoying this, wondering to herself why she waited so long to take you like this.

Her eyes grow half lidded as she takes your nipple fully in her mouth, beginning to suck gently while one hand moves from your waist to play with the other breast.

“Fuck, Sae that feels so good.” You plead to her between moans.

The smirk on her face grows with her confidence, as she feels the fire in her stomach getting hotter. She decides to speak up, “Mmm I can tell.”

Your jaw drops at her cocky tone and you feel a sharp pang in your groin. Your neediness is growing with every movement and every word from Saebyeok.

“Take this off.” You whisper breathlessly as you grab her by the shoulders, pulling at her hoodie. She stops sucking with a lustful ‘pop’ of her lips, and nods at your command.

She pulls her hoodie over her head, tossing it to the side and biting back a nervous smile as you begin to pout when she climbs back on top of you.

“Nuh uh. This too.” You order, tugging at her sports bra. Her cheeks are bright pink as she sits back up, shyly hooking her fingers under the bra.

“Yes mam.” She says quietly, pulling it over her head revealing herself to you for the first time.

You reach out instinctively, stopping for a moment and meeting her gaze to check her reaction. She bites her lip and nods, brows furrowing as your hands begin to run down her chest. You pause when a tiny gasp escapes her lips as you brush past her nipple.

“You like that?” You whisper softly, brushing your thumb across her nipple a second time and watching her reaction carfeully. Her teeth dig into her lips, desperately trying to silence any sound that might escape her as she responds with a quiet, “Mhmm.”

A smirk spread across your face as you take your turn to be the cocky one, “I can tell.”

Your upper hand doesn’t last long as Saebyeok grabs your hands from her chest, moving to pin them above your head with an unreadable expression locked on your eyes. Panic floods over you for a moment, wondering if you pissed her off, but it fades the moment her eyes drop to your lips, and you know she’s going to kiss you.

Her lips meet yours with a hunger you’ve never felt from her before, her tongue slipping into your mouth and claiming ownership of you with no words needed. You try to break free of her hold but the grip on your hands tightens, and you can feel her lips smirking against yours. Her newfound confidence is driving you crazy, your lower body growing a mind of its own and eagerly pressing against her thigh.

When she breaks the kiss you stare at her for a moment, a mess of black hair framing her face, her eyes dark enough to see your own reflection in them, her lips puffy and red – partly from kissing you, partly from biting them.

She shifts slightly as one hand lets go of yours, beginning to explore your body again, fingers trembling slightly as she dares to move lower and lower, stopping to rest at the hem of your panties. Her fingers brush against the material for a moment before she looks at you with unsure eyes. Finally she whispers, barely audible, “Can I?”

You nod feverishly, embarrassing sounds escaping your throat as your body begs for her touch. Your eyes are trained on her fingers as they slip under your waistband, gently brushing past the hair you keep maintained, nervously shaking as they get closer to where you need her carnally.

Finally your head falls back against the bed as she slowly runs her index finger between your slick, a strangled moan filling the space between the two of you as you lift your hips to press into her.

Her jaw almost hits the floor when she feels how wet you are, her confidence close to shattering as she feels herself slipping into the same neediness you have on display for her. She dips her finger between your lips again, her middle finger joining as she feels you soaking her. “So wet…” She whispers in astonishment, “Is… Is that for me?”

“Yeah,” You choke out in between moans, “You got me so wet, Sae.”

Her fingers move slowly, exploring your sex with both curiosity and lust. When she looks at your face again, she can barely contain herself. The flush on your cheeks, the hunger in your eyes, the sweat covering your forehead causing strands of hair to stick to you. She had thought about this moment before, a lot, but she never imagined the sight to be this intense, this beautiful.

Her eyes drop to your panties again, her fingers slowing to a halt as her mind trails elsewhere.

“What’s wrong?” you breathe out worriedly.

“I want…” Her eyes are dark with pure lust now as she meets your eye, taking a deep breath before she quietly finishes her sentence. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of your head with how wide the statement makes them. Saebyeok’s hand slides out of your underwear, rising to her lips hesitantly before pausing for a moment. She watches your body shake, your jaw drop and your eyes grow cloudy as she put her fingers in her mouth, sucking the taste off of them with an intoxicated expression.

Animalistic need takes over as her body shifts, her hands moving to rest on your hips as she fiddles once again with the waistband of your panties.

“Can I take these off?” she says abruptly, taking you by surprise. You watch her fingers absentmindedly playing with the material for a moment, your brain foggy with need. When your eyes lock on hers again she’s staring at you intently, almost expectantly, waiting for your answer. You can see how much she wants you, her eyes filled with purpose contrasting her still body waiting for your approval.

“Yes.” You whisper, “Please do.”

With those three words she shoots you a greedy smirk, her fingers hooking in the sides of the last of your clothing and swiftly pulling them down to your knees as you raise your hips to help her. Her pace slows as she slides them off your legs, noticing how you instinctively press your knees together, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you are in this moment.

“Don’t be shy now, it’s just me.” She whispers, adoring eyes locked on yours as her thumbs gently soothe the skin of your thighs. “Can you open for me?”

With a shy nod you spread your legs as Saebyeok keeps her hands gently pressed on yours thighs, her eyes falling to drink in the sight between them.

“My god you are so beautiful.”

Your heart races as she pulls her hair into a rushed ponytail, strands of hair sticking out here and there, but she couldn’t care less, her mind is only focused on one thing now as she lowers her head.

You stop her, fingers gently holding her chin to look at you. “You know we can stop anytime you want.”

“I know,” She says with a soft smile. Taking your hand and lacing her fingers with yours, she rests them at your side, her face slowly descending between your legs. “Trust me, princess, I don’t want to.”

She begins with soft kisses to your inner thigh, her eyes locked on your expression, studying every small reaction from you. Your breath falls heavier from your lips with each kiss she plants closer to your wetness, a small moan slipping from you when you feel her breath against you.

You bite your lip in excitement when she slowly dips her tongue between your lips, flicking up and down on your flesh with a nervous expression. When a small gasp fills her ears, a quiet confidence begins to fill her again as she sees that you’re enjoying this. She snakes her free hand under your knee, holding your thigh tightly in place as she gently laps at the puddle between your legs.

“Don’t stop.” You whisper needily, and this was all she needed to hear to drive her further into devouring you.

She moves her fingers to gently pull your lips apart, her eyes never leaving your face as she takes in your reaction and your taste, shifting slightly beneath you as she feels her own thighs rubbing together, a dampness pooling in her own clothed core. After a moment her licks become less kitten like, her confidence growing as she uses the flat of her tongue to put pressure on your aching pussy.

She particularly enjoys the reaction this pulls from you, your back arching as you press yourself into her mouth, moans and curses spewing from your mouth uncontrollably.

Then she hits the spot.

Her tongue presses against your needy clit and a bolt of electricity shoots through you, your head shooting up to look at her with pleading eyes.

“Right there. Right there, Sae. Fuck don’t stop.”

She obeys your every word, running her tongue back up to where you need it and tracing soft circles. Your noises are loud now, and Saebyeok is mesmerized by each one that escapes your lips. Your hand in hers squeezing harder and harder with each wave of pleasure that passes you, your free hand grabbing a fistful of her hair in a moment of need. She feels a slight burn as you pull, but endures it as her mind is nothing but you now, making you feel good, bringing you to the peak.

She slaps her lips on your clit, sucking sweetly as a moan falls from her own throat, sending a vibration through your body that only enhances your pleasure. She notices this quickly, her eyes and ears only function right now being to please you, picking up on every little thing that brings you closer to the edge.

She moans again, her tongue swirling around your clit as she continues to suck, her fingers unknowingly digging into your thigh as her own lust soaks her underwear.

“Sae, I’m close.” You whisper breathlessly. Her eyes widen when she realizes what you mean. This is all she wants right now.

Continuing her assault on your clit, her eyes drop from your face to your chest, sparking an idea. Her hand quickly moves from your thigh, pinching and rolling your nipple under her thumb.

You can feel the tightness in your belly about to unravel, the high approaching you fast.

“Sae, I’m so close I’m so fucking close.” She watches in awe as your face contorts in pleasure, your hand squeezing hers as hard as you can. “I’m gonna cum, Sae.”

A long moan vibrates against your clit as she watches you come undone. Your body rolling against her as you ride out your orgasm, your hand in her hair needily pushing her face into you, her lips never leaving you as you shake and tremble against her, her hand still holding yours all the while.

When you finally let go of her hair she takes this as her cue to finish, her mouth leaving your pussy bare against the cold air. When you look at her your stomach flips, expectant eyes waiting for approval, her hair messy and a glistening wetness covering her chin. You can’t help but smile widely.

“Was that okay?” She asks nervously as you hold her face gently, pulling her up to sit on top of you.

“Are you joking?” You ask with a small laugh, “Sae, that was actually the best I’ve ever had.”

A shy smile spreads across her face as she leans in to kiss you, her lips giving you a soft peck before she rests her forehead against yours, catching her breath.

Only with your new found clarity do you notice her movements against you, looking down to see her thighs slowly grinding on you. Biting your lip, you raise an eyebrow at her “What about you…? Want some help?”

She hesitates for a moment, insecurity beginning to wash over her until you take the lead. You gently flip her over on her back, scooting into her side as your hand moves down her chest.

“Let me make you feel good, Sae.” You whisper, pressing a small kiss to her neck as she nods nervously, your fingers trailing down her stomach.

When you unbutton her jeans, Saebyeok pulls them down and quickly kicks them off, revealing a large wet patch on her underwear and causing her to blush uncontrollably. You gently trace your fingers along the wet patch, whispering in her ear with a soft voice. “You really liked that huh?”

She bites her lip as she nods, her thighs pressing against each other as she searches for any kind of friction. You let out a small chuckle at this, your hand moving to slip under her waistband. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

A small gasp escapes her as you slip your finger between her lips, feeling her engulf you as the sound of her wetness fills the room. She bites her lip to stop any more sounds escaping, and part of you wants to encourage her to be loud, but you think to yourself, maybe next time. For now, you settle for watching her breath get heavy, her eyes closing in ecstasy as she tries her hardest to keep them open.

It doesn’t take long to push her off the edge, her pussy already throbbing with need from the show you had just given her. Her hand grips your wrist tightly as her body stiffens, her hips thrusting to meet your fingers.

“Your close, baby?” You whisper, getting a rapid nod in response. “Cum for me, Sae. Please.”

Her mouth hangs open as she lets go, her head thrown back against the pillow and her legs shaking. As you help her ride it out, she roughly grabs your wrist, pulling you away from her. “Too much.”

You wrap your arms around her, pressing soft kisses to her forehead and cheeks, watching as her body sinks into the mattress while she catches her breath.

“You did so good, my love.” You whisper as you press another kiss to her temple, gently stroking her hair.

After getting cleaned up you both slip back into bed, tired after the events of the evening. Saebyeok curls under the covers first, waiting eagerly for you as you switch off the lamp beside your bed. When you climb in beside her she grabs your arms, rolling over and wrapping your around her. Despite her tall height and tough demeanor she really loved being your little spoon.

You rest your head against her back, feeling her chest rise and fall as your arms tightly hold her waist, the evening replaying in your mind.

“Sae?” You call quietly, hearing a sleepy hum in reply. “You really never did that before?”

She lifts her head to shoot you a confused look. “No?”

“I believe you, it’s just… You were good. Really good.”

A pink tint spread across her cheeks as she tries to suppress the proud smile on her lips, rolling over to face you and brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Like I said, you’re my first…”

She pauses for a moment, a shy smile covering her face as she avoids your gaze. Sae isn’t always be the best at expressing herself with words, awkwardly fumbling and muttering under her breath, but you can tell she tries. She rolls over again, wrapping your arms around her and shuffling under the covers.

It was at a faculty party, your history professor extending an invitation to all of his most promising students. You’d shown up, expecting nothing but other old men, ruing the day the students grew so rowdy, passing around stories about their own college days when they showed far more respect to their professors than your lot ever did.

Instead, you’d found her, nursing a glass of red wine in the library, a heavy book open in her palm. She glanced up, piercing blue eyes settling on you with disinterest, and yet you felt like you’d been struck by lightning. You took a deep breath as her eyes left you, going back to the book in her hand, and made your way further into the room.

Your finger trailed over the spines of the book, most leather bound and weighty, older than the mess of paperbacks in your dorm room. Scanning the titles, you realised each one was on World War I. You wrinkled your nose, continuing on.

You knew you should have been trying to network with some of the most eminent professors in the history department, but now you were finding it hard to break free from the woman’s gravity. So you stayed, looking over the books, trying to find something that would suggest your professor wasn’t as boring as you suspected he was. And if you kept sneaking glances at the other woman, then it was an added bonus to your evening. Dark hair and pale skin, red lips curling up at the corner, dressed in clothes that must have cost more than your entire wardrobe combined, she was the most wonderful thing to look at in that room.

She did not pay you any attention.

“Ah, there you are.”

You glanced up, your professor swaggering through the door, a glass of scotch dangling from his fingertips. In the corner of your eye, you saw the woman tilt her head in his direction.

“Oh good. I’m so glad the two of you found each other,” he said.

You looked over at the woman, finding her staring down your professor with a look of absolute disdain. Clasping your hands in front of oyur body, you waited for some kind of explanation. Your professor drew closer, the bounce in his step seemingly suggesting he hadn’t noticed the way the woman was looking at him.

“Agatha, let me introduce you to my best student.”

He scooped you up on his way, the hand on the small of your back directing you towards her. You’d done your best to keep your distance from her, not sure she’d appreciate you interrupting her. Now, propelled towards her, a sense of anticipation mixed with anxiety curdled in your stomach into something you didn’t like.

When he said your name, those blue eyes focused on you. You wouldn’t say there was interest there, but it certainly was something more than the disdain she’d shown him.

“Agatha’s interests lie more in historical folklore surrounding witchcraft,” he told you.

“Oh,” you said, “I was hoping to look at that for my senior thesis.”

“Agatha Harkness,” she said, eyebrow raising, holding a hand out to you.

You grasped it in yours, her warm skin soft where it met your palm. It was like an electric shock went through you from her touch while you tried to fit this view of a woman with the figure of legend you’d been collecting stories on for the last few years at college.

“Don’t you go trying to poach my best student, Agatha,” you professor tutted, “I’m still trying to convince her to instead look at something more modern and practical.”

“You believe another World War I scholar is practical?” she asked, the drawl of her voice letting you know exactly what she thought of that opinion.

“I would say there’s more need for them in the workforce than witches,” he replied, still good-naturedly, but his gaze had hardened.

“We should talk,” she said to you, turning her head back to you, blocking your professor out of the conversation.

“I’d like that,” you said, knowing you sounded breathless and probably too eager, but you weren’t about to miss this opportunity.

She finally let your hand go, fingers stroking softly along the length of your palm. Your lips parted and for just a moment her gaze lingered there before looking back to your professor.

“You may go now,” she told him, not bothering to keep it behind the cover of polite respectability.

He sputtered out some argument. She rolled her eye, placing a hand on the small of your back, so different from when his hand had been there, and led you out of the door. Eyes followed the two of you, most focused on her, a ripple of something going through the rest of the party. She pushed the front door open, leading you into the cool air of the night.

“So,” she said, leaning back against the railing of the porch, “you’re interested in witchcraft, are you?”

“Yes,” you replied, softly, almost embarrassed, and yet certain in your conviction.

“You should know that oaf is taking such an interest in you because you’re such a pretty young thing,” she said, “his last favourite is now positioned somewhere nice like Yale or Cambridge and he keeps taking the credit for putting her there.”

“I have no interest in World War I,” you said, hoping that was answer enough.

“Clever girl.”

The thrill of her praise would sustain you long after the party was over.

“If you’re serious about pursuing witchcraft for your senior thesis, come by my office tomorrow morning with a proposal,” she said.

She maintained eye contact as she took a long sip from her wine, her lipstick leaving a mark on the glass. You couldn’t stop yourself watching her, already under her spell. She passed the glass to you, half drunk, and turned to walked down the steps.

“Don’t disappoint me,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing in the night.

You drained the last of the wine from her glass and left it there on the wooden floor of the porch. You returned home without bothering to take your leave of your professor, knowing he wouldn’t matter by that time tomorrow. You were going to give her the best proposal she’d ever seen, of that you were determined.

She agreed to oversee your senior thesis on historical folklore of witchcraft.

You learnt very quickly that Professor Harness’s demanding nature wasn’t an overblown rumour. She expected excellence from you. Late nights and early mornings, you spent so much time with you nose in your books the outside world stopped feeling real. Your fingers had grown ink stained and your eyes ached from the strain of reading such small type.

Every meeting, she sent you home with a new stack of books, expecting you to be there again in a few days having read them all, ready to discuss every little detail in her office for hours on end. She took up most of your waking hours, and when you did manage to snatch some sleep, she haunted your dreams.

You hadn’t gotten over the way lightning had struck at your first meeting.

Her office had turned into a sanctuary for you. You’d rush in, an armful of books almost tumbling to the floor before you threw them down into one of her chairs and curling up on the sofa she kept flush to the wall under the window. Some days you were there from the moment she arrived until long after the sun set, just reading and taking notes.

The office itself was warm, sometimes overly so, the sun coming through the window at just the right angle to heat the air. Her desk was large, imposing, the perfect symbol for the woman who had become legend around campus. Bookshelves were overflowing with all kinds of books. Cheap paperbacks, hardcovers, leather-bound, in pristine condition and falling apart. Some she’d let you pour over but leave behind at the end of the night, others she sent you off with. All you knew was you wanted the chance to read every single one.

Sharing the space with her was just as nerve inducing as it was the first time. You became so aware of yourself, wanting to impress her. When she’d sit beside you, the sofa cushions dipping until you felt yourself slip towards her, you’d grow so still, trying to not touch her, scared of what that would do to you. Sometimes, she lent forward to look at the page you were reading and her dark hair would brush your skin.

There were times when you thought she might know what you were thinking. The way you felt out of control around her. Your need to impress her. Her gaze would linger just a fraction of a moment longer than was appropriate, assessing every inch of you. Sometimes her fingertips would graze over the skin of your cheek, or she’d grasp your chin, or she’d gently move your hair out of your face. Hours spent together, and you could never tell how she felt about you or your work.

It only made you try harder.

It wasn’t until two months in that your friends decided to take matters into their own hands. You’d just returned from a full day studying in her office when a knock sounded on your door. Stifling a yawn, you pulled the door open.

“Oh, so you are still alive,” you friend said, shoving past you into your tiny dorm room.

“Hello to you too,” you said.

“There’s a party tonight. You’re coming. Don’t even bother arguing. No one has seen you since you started studying with the witch,” she said, picking up a banana on your desk that had begun to turn brown, “seriously, does she keep you chained up or something?”

You weren’t about to dignify that with an answer. Not that the thought of being bound by Professor Harkness was one that you hated. It just wasn’t worth the time explaining that.

“I have so much work I still need to do,” you said.

“You’ve been working too hard. Come on, it’ll be fun. You still remember what fun is like, right?”

In the end, you let her drag you to the party after raiding your wardrobe for something more party appropriate. Standing, clutching the red solo cup full of something that burnt as it went down, you watched the game of ping pong going on.

“I’d be terrified if I had to spend all that time with her,” some guy was saying to you.

“She’s not that scary,” you said, already regretting your decision to come.

“Nah. I heard she made some guy piss himself with just a look,” he said, swaying closer to you.

“She’s not like that,” you said, shaking your head, “sounds like that guy just has poor bladder control.”

“Ha, you’re funny,” he said, leaning closer until his sour breath washed over your face, “wanna come upstairs so you can tell me what she’s really like?”

“No thank you,” you said, shoving him away form you.

“Whatever,” he spat, “frigid bitch.”

“So what’s she actually like?” your friend said, taking the drunk guy’s place when he swung away from you.

“Quiet, exacting, demanding,” you replied, “she expects excellence.”

“Sounds exhausting,” she said.

“No, no, it’s great. I love it. She’s… great,” you said, looking down into your cup, swirling the liquid in it, “she’s kind of brilliant.”

“Careful. You sound like you’re in love with her,” your friend laughed.

“Don’t be stupid,” you snapped.

“Maybe she’s done a spell on you. You know everyone says she’s an actual witch? She’s certainly mean enough,” she said.

“She’s not,” you snapped, “seriously, all those rumours are made up by sad little people who feel inferior whenever they see a smart woman because they know they can’t ever live up to her.”

“She growled like a dog at some guy who cut her off as she was walking,” she said.

“People make up such stupid lies,” you said.

“Someone has video of her insulting some students. It went viral on TikTok,” she said.

“They probably deserved it. She has standards,” you said.

“I’m just saying, be careful with her. Maybe she’s trying to recruit you to her coven, or maybe she’s hoping to sacrifice you in some ritual to get more power,” she said.

“Shut up,” you snapped.

Downing the last of your drink, you crumpled the cup and flung it aside.

“I’m going home. I have too much work to be getting on with for this,” you said.

“Hey, no, come on. I’ll stop talking about her,” she said.

You shook her hand off you.

“I’ll see you around.”

You ignored her as she shouted after you, letting yourself out through the back gate. Curling your arms around your body, you strode off down the sidewalk. The night air held a chill to it, the slow drip of autumn beginning to give way to winter. You tipped your head back to look at the night sky, so dark, the moon just beginning to wax.

You let your feet lead you back towards your dorm building, wandering through the night and the shadows. The air was crisp in your lungs and you let yourself breath in deeply. You should have been home, reading up on the intersect of witch trails with gynophobia in the Renaissance, but instead you had wasted time on a bunch of drunk idiots for nothing.

“You’re out late.”

You startled, whirling around, heart thumping in your chest. Stepping out of the shadows, hands in her pockets, Professor Harkness looked like the devil come to collect your soul. You’d give it willingly if only she asked for it.

“I was at a party,” you said.

“You should be careful,” she said, taking slow steps towards you, “pretty young thing like you all alone at night. Anything could happen.”

The way she smiled made you feel as if she was the wolf and you the sheep, the prey to her predator. You were desperate to let her sink her teeth deeply into you.

“Nothing that interesting happens to me,” you said, voice quiet.

“Come, pet,” she said, hand landing on the small of your back, “I’ll walk you home. Can’t have something happen to you. I’ll feel so much guilt.”

You let her lead you back towards campus, the bright lights beckoning you home. You didn’t ask how she knew where to take you, so focused on the feeling of her hand splayed over your back, the warmth of her skin seeping through your thin shirt and into your skin.

“I suppose I’ve forgotten what it is to be young. I assumed you’d be curled up in bed, reading the texts I gave you,” she said, “of course you’d be out on a Friday night at a party.”

“My friend dragged me with her. Apparently I’ve been missing in action since I started working with you. She said I needed to have fun,” you said.

“I thought we were having fun,” she said, voice a low rumbled against your ear.

“We are. I am,” you said, so quick it brought a smirk to her lips when you turned your face towards her, “I shouldn’t have gone tonight. It was a waste of time.”

“Have you been drinking?” she asked. When you didn’t answer, she lent closer, “I won’t tell anyone if you have.”

“I’m over 21,” you whispered.

“Such a grown up girl,” she said, “I can smell the cheap vodka on you.”

She paused in front of your dorm building, warm light spilling out the entrance. Both hands came up to cup your cheeks, calloused skin scraping against yours, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. She lent forward again, right into your personal space. Her fingertips stroked over your soft skin as she pulled them away before her index finger gently tugged on your lower lip.

“Sweet dreams, kitten,” she whispered before disappearing back into the shadows of the night. If not for your racing heart you might have thought you’d hallucinated the entire thing.

She didn’t mention it when you slunk into her office on Monday, passing you a cup of coffee without a single word, but a raised eyebrow. You took it with grace, curling up on her sofa, opening the book in your lap. When she settled beside you, feet kicked up on her coffee table, you didn’t even look at her out of the corner of your eyes.

Her fingers were soft as they brushed your hair over your shoulder, gently tucking it behind your ear. Lingering on the curve of your jaw, you shivered, dragging your gaze over to her. The corner of her lips pulled up for a fleeting moment.

“Tell me your thoughts.”

You did, the words spilling over your words like secrets, softly spoken in the confessional of her office. You lent back, watching you, legs spread, interest in her blue eyes. Her finger ran along the length of her lip, intent as she watched you talk yourself out. Once you were done, her hand came to cradle the back of your head, nails scraping over your scalp.

“It appears as if your weekend wasn’t totally wasted,” she said.

“No,” you said.

“Good.” Her lips pressed together to repress her smile, “keep reading.”

Her long fingers tapped the book in your lap and she left you alone to your reading. You snuck a glance at her before bowing your head and trying not to think about what this meant.

Nor the way you yearned for more.

From that day, you noticed a change. Her hands would linger on you, her touch growing familiar and yet no less exciting. You stayed later and later, curling up on her sofa, growing comfortable as you waded through history with her. She guided you, shaping your research into something you could be proud of as you poured over books and wrote long paragraphs for her to read. Shared meals and shared drinks, you’d sit on the floor of her office, take out containers scattered over the coffee table. You shrunk further away from your friends, finding their conversations inane and childish, drunken antics no longer fun but puerile as you worked on something far more important. You lost yourself in that room, an addict who needed their fix every day or else you were given over to malaise.

She indulged your need for her attention, her open door policy lasting 24 hours a day. She seemed to enjoy how much you wanted to share the same air as her. Every time you said something, your eyes would turn to her, desperate for her approval which she freely gave. You spent time watching the way her fingers traced over words on the page in front of you, trying not to think about how much you wanted her to do the same thing across your bare skin. Her praise became greater, more frequent, each one hard won for, and each one treasured like the most precious of gifts, hoarding them to revisit every night before you fell asleep.

You hadn’t realised how comfortable you’d grown in her presence until the afternoon you realised you’d fallen asleep on the sofa as you tried to craft the perfect sentence. Your eyelashes fluttered and you were slow to blink your eyes open. Draped in a soft blanket, the warm air heated from the small space heater Professor Harkness had dragged into the office, you glanced around the room. It was darker than you’d remembered, the window showing a night sky while the lamps offered a soft refuge against the dark.

Something tightened around your ankle. You turned your attention towards it. Professor Harkness was sitting on the other end of the sofa, your bare feet resting in her lap. The book in her hand was left unattended as she stared down at you, a confusing expression on her face. Her grip on your ankle tightened again and you offered a lazy smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to drop off,” you said, voice rough with sleep.

“I’ve been wearing you out,” she said.

With the softness of sleep making it difficult to school your features, your cheeks heated at the implication. Not that you would have minded. In fact, you wished that was the reason you were so tired.

Her finger trailed along the arch of your foot. You shifted, the touch a tickle. She did it again, smiling down at you before she let you go.

“Sleep, if you have to. You’re no use to me if you’re too tired to function,” she said.

“No, no, I’m okay,” you said, sitting up, the blanket pooling around you.

The thought that she’d placed it over you for your comfort made your head spin. To then sit by you, to welcome any part of you into her personal space as you slept was even worse. Your chest ached and your heart clenched and you wanted to crawl into her lap.

“Perhaps you’re right. We should take a break. I’ve been working you too hard,” she said.

You would let her work you harder if it meant more moments like this.

“Come, pet. I’m taking you to dinner.”

You were helpless as you followed her. She drove, the car feeling so close with the dark night pressing in against the windows. You tried not to watch her, the hands you’d been fantasising about controlling the machine with such power.

The restaurant was nice. Intimate. Small tables and soft lamps offering pools of light, plenty of shadows to hide in. The maître d' seemed to recognise her, leading her to a table at the back. You lowered into your seat, taking note of the candle on the table between the two of you. The entire thing felt like a dream.

“Um, I’m not sure I can afford this place,” you said.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, waving off your worry, “I’m paying.”

“Oh.” You clasped your hands in your lap, “thank you, Professor.”

“Why do you always call me that?” she asked.

“Call you what?” you asked.

“Professor,” she replied, “I have a name.”

“Sorry. Do you not like it? I was trying to be respectful,” you said, anxiety taking hold of you.

“Agatha is fine,” she said.

“Okay,” you replied, “Agatha.”

Her smile was self satisfied and she lent back in her chair, eyes sweeping over you. You let her drink her fill of you, not sure what she was looking for, but wanting to give it to her. You’d give her anything she asked for.

“I must admit, I wasn’t sure about taking on a student. I usually don’t. But I’m glad I did. You’ve been quite the diligent student,” she said.

“I’m glad you did too,” you said.

“Of course you are, pet,” she said.

Before you could say anything else, the waiter paused by the side of the table. She ordered for you, glancing over as she did so as if ensure you didn’t argue. You weren’t about to. You’d do whatever she wanted as long as it pleased her.

The wine was expensive, full bodied, better than any other you’d had. It stained her lips and you wanted to lick it free from where it clung to her skin. The discussion over dinner was about the things you’d read that day, listening to the way she so easily connected one story to another. Her mastery was awe inspiring. It was easy to ignore the romantic setting and the wine that kept being poured for you as she spoke, her husky voice doing something delicious to you.

It wasn’t until dessert that it all came crashing back into you. The creme brûlée in front of her was beautiful. The spoon cracked the top and she took a bite, slowly pulling the spoon from between her lips. Her eyelids fluttered shut and a low moan reverberated through her chest. Your cheeks heated, thighs pressing together, turning breathless. A slow smile spread over her face and when her eyes opened again they were smouldering.

“You must try this. No other place does one as good,” she said.

“Oh, uh…” You looked down at the tiramisu in front of you.

“Come here, pet.”

She held out a spoon of the creme brûlée towards you. You lent forward, not quite able to believe what was happening. She placed it in your mouth, blue eyes holding yours over the top of the candle’s flame. It felt as if everything was moving in slow motion as she drew the spoon back.

The small noise of pleasure that came from you had her gaze lowering to your lips. Your tongue darted out, chasing the sugar on your lips. Her eyes darkened and she lent closer over the table.

“How’s that, pet?” she asked, husky, a rasp of a voice.

“It’s delicious,” you said, breathless and high pitched, a perfect opposite to her.

“It is, isn’t it?”

You watched in fascination as she scooped up some more, her tongue licking the spoon clean. Your breath hitched. Under the table, her foot gently brushed against your shin. Her blue eyes twinkled with something you wanted to drown in.

“Eat your dessert, kitten,” she said, “then I’ll take you home.”

You did as you were told, not even tasting coffee and cream of your own dessert. You were so focused on watching her devour her’s, indecent in how much pleasure she took from it. You were squirming in your seat as she finished, feeling on fire.

It wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was fair. You wanted her so much and she was just… making it worse.

She seemed not to realise the exact effect she was having on you as she led you out of the restaurant and back into her car. You stared out the window, not needing to be caught staring any more than you already had. It wasn’t until the rumble of the engine cut off that you realised something.

“This isn’t my home,” you said, staring up at the large two story house in front of you.

“No, it’s mine,” she said.

“What?”

You whipped around to stare at her. She wasn’t even looking back, the door open as she stepped out of the car.

“Are you coming or what?” she asked.

You scrambled to follow her, almost tripping over yourself in your haste. You weren’t sure what you expected, reproach for following her into her house or to be welcomed in with warmth. What you weren’t expecting was to follow her into the back where the kitchen was.

“Do you want tea?” she asked.

“Sure,” you replied, “what am I doing here?”

“Having tea,” she said, glancing at you over her shoulder.

“And then?” you asked.

“Going to sleep. I can’t trust you to do that on your own,” she replied, “clearly.”

“I really am sorry about that,” you said.

“Stop apologising,” she snapped.

Your lips formed the word sorry again before you stopped yourself. Instead, you watched her boil the water for the tea. Your confusion was mixing with your yearning, leaving you unable to do anything but wait for her to tell you what was going on. Pouring the water into two mugs, the strings from the teabags resting against the sides, she looked over her shoulder at you again.

“Come on then.”

You followed her with the two mugs of tea into her living room. It was comfortable, almost like a more lived in version of her office. Sitting beside her on the couch, comfortable and well loved, you watched her lean forward and place one mug on the coffee table. She passed the other to you, fingers brushing together, looking at you from under her eyelashes.

“There you go, kitten,” she murmured.

“Thanks.”

You looked down into the cup, steam rising from the surface of the steeping tea. Your fingers fiddled with the string of the teabag. Her hand landed on your thigh, startling you.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” she said.

“I don’t know what I’m going here,” you said, dragging your eyes up to her.

“Do you not want to be here?” she asked.

“No, no I do,” you said, rushing through the words, “it’s just…”

Her hands were gentle as they took the cup from your hands, placing it down beside hers. You could only watch as she swung her leg over yours, settling herself in your lap. Both hands cupped your cheeks, thumb stroking along your cheekbone.

“Agatha,” you whispered.

“Yes, pet?” she asked.

“I want you,” you confessed.

“I know.”

Her lips pressed against yours, scorching as she consumed your very soul. Your hands hovered above her waist, scared that to touch her was to break the moment, that it would make her come to her senses. She kissed you deeper, nails digging into the skin of your cheeks as she tipped your head back. Her tongue swept into your mouth. She was so warm when your hands made contact with her body.

She moaned into your mouth, filthy and hot, making you claw at her. She tasted of the burnt sugar of the creme brûlée and the wine you’d split with her. She kissed deeper still, stealing your breath. You tugged at her shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of her pants. Shoving your hands up, you felt the soft skin of her bare back against your palms, your fingertips, wanting to feel every inch of her.

Her hands slipped into your hair, shoving it out of the way, tugging on it in a way that had you mewling into her mouth. You felt her grin against your lips before she lent back, staring down at you. Her eyes had darkened, her lips kiss swollen, cheeks flushed.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked.

You shook your head before surging up to capture her lips in another kiss. Her fingers tightened in your hair and she made a small noise as your nails ran down her spine. You felt out of control, wanting more from her, the way you always did. There was something about her that drove you crazy, that had always driven you crazy. Even before you’d met her she’d consumed you.

She sat back again, hands slipping from your hair. You watched as her hands crossed over her body, slowly peeling her shirt off her body. You were dumbstruck, watching her with wide eyes and heaving breath. She flung the shirt aside, shaking her hair back from her face.

“Are you going to touch me, pet?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

Your hands slid around her ribcage, feeling the way her skin moved as she inhaled. She was so warm against your palms, real and there with you. You were slow as you trailed your fingers up, brushing the underside of one cloth covered breast. Your eyes darted up to her face, finding her watching you instead of your hands.

“Go on,” she encouraged.

You cupped them, feeling the weight of them in your hands. Leaning forward, your lips brushed over the curve of one then the other, vulnerable skin soft. Your tongue dragged over it, tasting her. She made a small noise, a rumbling in her chest, hands coming up to curl around the back your neck. She pressed you closer.

Reaching around, you released her from her bra, tugging the straps down her arm. Your mouth was on her again, exploring, until your lips wrapped around a nipple. The noise she made was one of approval, back arching towards your mouth. When you sucked, gentle at first, testing the waters, she pressed you closer again. You wanted to please her so badly.

With your hand, you rolled the other nipple between thumb and forefinger. Your name sounded so sweet on her lips, urging you to continue. Her soft sighs and the way her hips rolled against you only made you want more. You wanted to worship at the alter of her body, to take communion from between her legs, to whisper your confessions into her skin. You wanted to drown in her.

Fingers tilted your chin up, your mouth popping free with an indecent noise. She chuckled, pressing her lips to yours again, teeth sinking in to your lower lip until you tasted the coppery tang of blood. You whined, surprised at how much you enjoyed the sensation of the pain mixed with the pleasure.

You made a pained noise as she climbed off your lap, standing half naked in front of you. Your fingertips skated over her skin. Without a word, she pulled you up off the couch and tugged you towards the stairs. You followed, willing to go wherever she wanted, as long as you could keep touching her.

She paused halfway up, turning to grasp your face in her hands, kissing you again like she couldn’t stop herself. You whimpered into her mouth, hands on her bare waist. She dragged you the rest of the way up, pinning you to the wall at the top of the stairs. You groaned, pressing her closer, wanting her everywhere. One leg slotted between yours and the noise you made would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so lost in her. Her thigh pressed against you, just enough pressure to have you grinding down, seeking out more.

“So needy, pet,” she murmured against your lips.

“Want you,” you managed to choke out before her tongue was in your mouth again and you were rolling your hips against her thigh.

“When I fuck you, it won’t be against the wall,” she said.

She tugged you further down the hall, slamming open a door to what you hoped would be your final destination. Her lips were on yours again, possessing you, guiding you where she wanted you. She paused, just long enough to tear your t-shirt from your body, flinging it aside.

Her lips trailed down your neck, latching on at your pulse point. You whined, tipping your head back to give her more access. You felt on fire. Her hands were skating over your bare skin, nails dragging in a delicious way, making you gasp out her name in a plea for more.

Rather than give in and give you instant gratification, she took her time with you. Her hands were slow but sure as she peeled your clothes from your body. It was the same level of precision she used in her work, getting exactly what she wanted. Only this time, you were the thing she wanted.

When she lowered you onto the bed, you were bare before her. Your usual self consciousness was washed away in the tide of your longing for her. Her eyes swept over you, lingering, taking their time to drink you in in your entirety. Her fingers played with your nipples, watching with an academic interest as you arched up, your small whines doing nothing to spur her on.

Holding your eyes, she pressed kisses to your skin, soft and slow, making her way down your body, lingering the closer she got to the apex of your thighs. You trembled, fingers clenching in the comforter.

“You keep your hands right there, pet,” she said, staring up your body.

You nodded, willing to agree to anything she asked of you in that moment.

“Good girl,” she said before her lips pressed to the crease where your hip met your thigh. You inhaled sharply and she grinned. Her teeth sunk in, leaving a dark bruise on your skin as she sucked on it.

She hovered for a moment, her breath ghosting over where you wanted her the most. You pulsed, suspended in the moment before her mouth made contact with you. Her hands curled around your thighs, holding you open for her as her tongue ran through your folds. You cried out, hips bucking up into her mouth.

She chuckled, the vibrations going through you in a way that made you feel like you were being undone. Her tongue teased you again before pressing against your bundle of nerves. You whined, fingers clenching, her name a prayer on your lips. She pinned your hips to the bed, giving your clit a harsh suck. The feeling ricocheted through you, fire curling in your veins, your muscles tightening.

She feasted on you. Relentless, unforgiving, refusing to give you a chance to breathe. She was like a woman possessed, singular in her intent, putting everything into her goal. She was taking you apart, slowly and surely, and all you could hope was that she’d put you back together again when she was done.

Her fingers slid inside of you, so easily it would be embarrassing under other circumstances. They were slow at first, teasing and never giving you quite enough. But then she curled them, pressing into the special place no one but you had managed to find. Your legs trembled.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered.

“No you don’t, pet,” she said, “you don’t come until I say so.”

“But-“ you tried to argue.

“You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?” she asked, cutting you off, thumb running in slow circles over your clit.

“Yes,” you replied, whiney and desperate.

“Then don’t you dare come without my permission,” she said, face lowering back to your throbbing core.

Her tongue was back on your clit as her fingers continued to stroke inside of you. You trembled, shaking, trying so hard to stave off your oncoming orgasm. Tears pricked in your eyes, fingers clenching tightly on the hold you had on the sheets until it hurt. She kept going, ruthless in what she wanted. She had complete control over you.

It was so close, you could practically taste it. You were straining, doing everything you could not to tip over the edge. She was a master of your body, able to play it to perfection. Her tongue kept dragging over your clit, sucking on it, fingers twisting and curling, dragging out every iota of pleasure your body held.

“Agatha,” you sobbed, “please.”

Blue eyes stared up at you, dark and dangerous.

“Please,” you begged.

Her fingers gave another slow stroke. You whimpered, your entire body on fire, wound tight as you did what you were told. You always did what she told you to do.

“Go on, pet,” she said, “keep your eyes on me and you can come.”

You let out a relieved breath. When you let yourself go, the wave of pleasure crashed into you, wave after wave. She held your gaze the entire time, drinking in the way pleasure contorted your body. The way you cried out her name felt holy, a cry of worship as you stared into her eyes.

When she drew back, she held her hand up, tongue running up her fingers. You reached out, grasping her wrist. She let you pull her hand towards you, your lips sliding down her fingers, lapping your arousal from her skin. Her eyes smouldered as she watched you, a pleased smirk on her lips.

“You are a good girl, aren’t you pet,” she murmured, gently stroking you hair with her other hand. The pulse of pleasure that went through you was bright and intense. You liked being her good girl.

Your tongue swirled over each digit, cleaning her up as best you could. A flicker of fondness passed over her face before she pulled it away from you. Leaning forward, her lips pressed against yours, rough and intense, passionate in ways you hadn’t experienced with anyone else. It made you feel wanted, desired, the way you always felt wanted with her. After all, she’d agreed to take you on for your senior thesis when she so rarely took people on.

“Alright, kitten,” she whispered against your lips, “let’s see how many times I can make you come tonight before you beg me to stop.”

When you awoke in the morning, deliciously sore and definitely sated, you rolled over in the large bed, hands reaching for the warm body you were expecting to find beside you. All you found was cool sheets. Squinting your eyes open, the light was still kept at bay from the drawn curtains, but the room was empty of another person. You sat up, rumpled and unsure.

You slipped out of the bed, tugging your clothes back on but your feet bare. You were slow as you eased the door open, padding out onto the landing you’d paid no attention to the night before. On silent feet, you descended to the lower level of the house, following the sound you could just hear.

Agatha was in the kitchen, her back to you, encased in a flowing silk robe. You blinked, pausing as you drank her in. Her hair, wild and out of control, long fingers tapping on the counter, legs bare where they peeked out the bottom of the robe. She was breathtaking in the morning light.

“You’re staring, kitten,” she said, voice still rough from sleep.

“Sorry,” you said, slipping into the kitchen proper.

She turned her head, glancing at you over her shoulder. Her eyebrows drew together and the corner of her lips turned down.

“Why are you dressed?” she asked, stepping away from the counter, “were you planning on sneaking out in the morning?”

“No, I… I wasn’t sure what was appropriate,” you said.

“Please tell me this wasn’t your first time,” she said.

“Of course not,” you said, “although I suppose it is my first time with my professor,”

She hummed but didn’t give you more of an answer. Anxiety was seeping into your body now.

“I thought you might want me to leave.”

Her eyes snapped back to you, displeasure painting her features.

“Come here.”

You didn’t move.

“I’m not going to ask again, pet,” she said, voice hardened, “come. Here.”

On soft feet you approached her. With sure hands she caught you, fingers pressing into your hips as she held you tightly. Your eyes darted around her face before dragging down. Bare skin met your eyes until the shadow of the robe obscured her from your vision. She was naked under the robe and there was still a part of you that wanted to unwrap her like a present.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked, gaining your attention again.

Your eyes snapped up to hers and you shook your head.

“I thought I’d made it obvious that the only place I want you is with me,” she said, “the only person I want you thinking about is me. The only person I want touching you is me.”

You trembled.

“Do you want that too, kitten?” she asked, drawing closer.

“Yes,” you breathed out.

“Then you’re mine, pet,” she said, her nose skimming along the curve of your jaw.

Her hand squeezed your hips and her lips pressed to the vulnerable skin behind your jaw before she pulled away. Your breath caught and you felt lightheaded. You ached to pull her back to you, to lose yourself in the feeling of her body and her skin and her mouth. Would you ever stop feeling this way with her? You didn’t think so.

“Now, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been pushing you too hard lately. You can have the weekend off,” she said.

“Oh.” You were still trembling from the brush of her lips and her words, “thanks.”

“So you won’t be needing those clothes,” she said, flippant and dismissive, “you certainly won’t be in them long.”

You flushed, cheeks heating. There was a twist to her lips, amusement twinkling in her eyes. You slipped closer to her again, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Whatever you want, Agatha,” you whispered.

“All I want is you, pet,” she replied.

the two of you are in the kitchen on your mutual day off for a late breakfast. he, predictably, is not contributing at all but instead opts to beguile you with every last detail of the incredibly complex hierarchy at his job. 

“-which obviously pissed minsu the fuck off because he always double-checks those details, you know?” his rings clink against the kitchen island with every drum of his fingers, but the rhythmic sound is strangely soothing.

“i can’t imagine minsu pissed off,” you muse as you crack a few eggs into the hot saucepan, tossing the shells and rinsing the residue off of your fingers. 

namgyu reaches up to scratch the back of an ear. “well, he cried. but, i mean, the anger was definitely there under the surface.”

“i’m sure.” your roommate gives a little huff at the deadpan tone. “but he got it sorted?”

“yeah,” he huffs again, more derisively this time. “fucking mina was pouring doubles this whole time without realising it. junho’s gonna shadow her next week, i think.”

you have to suppress a smirk as you put some bread on to toast. it wasn’t news to you that namgyu has some kind of one-sided beef with the university student. she’s a social butterfly and makes absolute bank in tips - now, you suppose, some of it may be due to the fact that her patrons are getting more bang for their buck - so naturally namgyu has to go against the curve and make his dislike known. 

namgyu isn’t impressed with your apparent lack of reaction. the fingers resume their drumming on the counter-top. “you know, thanos offered me ket after his show last night.”

your hands still over the toaster. there it is. in his mind, this is probably the tiniest inkling, just enough to insert the topic into the conversation ‘organically.’ to you, it’s a sign that you may as well give up on breakfast already. “he knows you’re clean.”

he shrugs. “i think he’s just doing it to be polite.”

“it’s not polite,” you shoot back instinctively, cursing the protective streak. usually you act oblivious to his advances for a while first, but thanos has caused namgyu to fall off the wagon too many times. you bite your tongue to stop yourself from speaking on it further, but even out of your peripheral you can see the way his chest puffs up a little in satisfaction.

“yeah, well… i said no,” he clarifies redundantly. if he had relapsed again, it would’ve been pretty obvious. the two of you both know how quickly any drug rips through him now.

affecting a nonchalant demeanour, you turn to wave your spatula at him. “you want a gold star? participation trophy?”

his mouth scrunches up sulkily. “technically it should be a non-participation trophy.”

with a huff, you focus back on the eggs, which are just about ready. “save some of those zingers for the comedy club, man.” the four slices of toast pop with a metallic ping, and you stack them on a plate to set in front of him. next comes the butter and a knife, directly beside his right hand. 

even as you start to season the eggs, he makes no move to butter the toast, just watching your side profile. “sometimes it’s hard to say no.”

you swallow down a laboured sigh. in the early days, you’d just about cried whenever he said something like that. namgyu had admitted to you in a moment of intense vulnerability right in the depths of early withdrawal that one of the rare things that managed to ease the burden was sex, but that finding a girlfriend was out of the question. casual sex wasn’t really possible either; by the time desperation truly kicked in, he wasn’t exactly in a good state of mind to chat someone up. 

you’d slept together for the first time that night. almost two years of being roommates, of wishing you could do more to help him disentangle himself from addiction, and finally you’d seen a little willpower, a shred of relief return to him. it was practically philanthropic. your steady, smouldering attraction to him made it an obvious choice to give him an offer. 

if namgyu felt like he was going to do something stupid, or if the physical and mental pangs of withdrawal were getting the better of him, he could use you within the walls of your apartment as a distraction instead. no questions asked, whenever he needed.

your friends quickly began to suspect the two of you had entered into a friends-with-benefits relationship and neither of you moved to dispel the rumour. it was more dignified than what really went on. 

over the past few months, the two of you have had sex more times than you can count. you’ve been woken up in the night to grant him permission to fuck your thighs, you’ve been late for work sucking him off because he made the mistake of watching scarface, he cried from a handjob when he hit one month clean. recently, though, you get the feeling that he’s grown accustomed to taking you when he wants. even though he’s better now - all his friends see it too - he hasn’t slept with you any less. 

the slight sourness of burning cuts you back to reality, and you quickly move to dislodge the eggs from the base of the pan. “namgyu, the toast.”

they remain untouched. he slides the plate towards you, making no excuse for his unhelpfulness. 

switching the heat off, you place the frypan on the metal of the sink and quickly butter the bread yourself, dividing them onto two plates. the two of you have this exact same breakfast every tuesday morning (barely, as the clock creeps closer to midday) without fail. you with paprika and some salt, namgyu with a flash flood of smoky sriracha.

“they’re a little burnt because my sous chef apparently called in sick today,” you drawl once his has finished. your unspoken routine leads the two of you to the couch, where you draw your knees up and rest your plate precariously on them to start eating.

as always, namgyu eats like he’s trying to choke on it. the overenthusiastic sounds and sauce that collects in the corners of his lips would gross you out were it not for the vivid memory of how little he had eaten back in the throes of addiction. he never had an appetite - not for food, anyway - and when he did eat he just picked at convenience store fried chicken or mcdonalds hash browns, throwing away what he didn’t get through. 

you, on the other hand, try to enjoy the fruits of your labour, though the egg is definitely overdone. namgyu’s finished before you even begin your second piece. “is the a/c on?” he asks suddenly, discarding the plate on the coffee table with a loud clank.

“we don’t have an a/c, namgyu.”

he swallows. you try not to let your eyes linger on the bobbing in his throat. “it’s just - i don’t know, i feel so cold all of a sudden.”

you reach over to poke at the soft skin of his upper arm. “you don’t even have goosebumps,” you point out, pausing to take another mouthful of crackly egg white, “go put a jacket on.”

namgyu points his chin away decisively. “it’s like a chill in my bones. a jacket wouldn’t help.” 

“sounds terrible.”

put out by your dubious tone, he sinks back against the couch. you’re not sure why exactly, but since he’s been weaning off of the drugs and eating better with your cooking, his hair has begun to curl up like it too has received a new lease on life. his skin isn’t so pallid, his eyes have a genuine glimmer rather than a manic one, but his sulky pout is the exact same as it’s always been.

the silence between you, softened by the background noise of muffled traffic in the streets below, doesn’t last long. you’re midway through chewing down a particularly large spoonful when you feel his hand on your inner knee.

you fight another sigh, even as your core begins to heat like a pavlovian dog. “namgyu…” almost without thinking, you begin to chew a little faster, knowing what’s coming. 

“deoksu asked me to pick up a shift at the pent tonight. some high-rollers changed their flight schedule to come earlier and it’s got him tweaking.” namgyu’s fingers squeeze around you for just a moment, hand gradually stroking down. his eyes are on you, but they’re lowered, as if in deference. 

“are you gonna go?” you question before jamming the last of your breakfast into your mouth. 

a slow, solemn exhale. “i should, i could use the money. but i just don’t feel like i’m in a good state of mind right now.” his hand has slid low enough that his pinky is now resting where your thighs meet inches away from your clothed core. “thanos’ offer really fucked with me, you know?”

you lean forward to set your plate down, inadvertently squeezing around namgyu’s fingers. he lets out a quiet groan you don’t think you were supposed to hear. “weird. you seemed totally fine last night.”

clearly, namgyu is abandoning his version of subtlety as he swivels around on the couch to face you and exerts enough pressure to part your thighs, palming you. “if thanos is there again tonight, i don’t know if i have the willpower to say no twice. i need you.”

your legs fall open on their own as your breath quickens at the muffled pleasure of his hand on you. “can i at least go put the laundry on first? i have shit to do today, namgyu.”

he rubs a little faster, knowing he’s wearing you down. “i’ll be quick.”

“you won’t be quick,” you counter immediately, even as you rock your hips into his touch. “you’re not going to shoot up in the next five minutes if i go put a load on.”

“yeah, well, i’ve got a load, too,” he whinges, hand sliding up to your knee to part you further for him. 

you hate the way his stupid joke pulls a genuine laugh from you. “that’s not even-” your words are punched out of you as he tugs at you impatiently, pulling you by both calves so you twist and fall back ungracefully onto the couch cushions. “what’s gotten into you?”

“i told you, thanos-”

“he’s such a recurring character, namgyu,” you complain even as he begins to slide your pyjama shorts down. you don’t fight him. “if he’s really that bad, i’ll call him myself and tell him to stop pulling that shit.”

your shorts are flung to a random corner of the room after he snakes them off your ankles. he scooches down a little lower, hands stroking up the inside of your legs until they reach your thighs again. 

another benefit of playing reluctant and unsympathetic? namgyu bribes you with head.

he whines your name like you’re being unbelievably cruel. “don’t worry about that now. it’s not important.” dipping his head, he drags the point of his tongue in a swooping arch around your clit. you suck in a sharp breath and the reaction makes him dig his fingers into the soft skin of your thighs tight enough that the rings pinch a little. 

groaning, you let the weight of his hands push your legs open wider as he gives your clit a few licks before sucking it into his mouth. you shudder and snake your hand down to latch onto his loose curls. you suspect namgyu is a bit of a selfish lover naturally; at the start, he was clumsy and heavy-handed on the rare occasions he went down on you. 

but for all his lack of skill, he’s a very quick learner. it didn’t take long for him to work out what you liked and hone in on it. namgyu isn’t a munch. he’s efficient. he wants to make the delay to fucking you as short as possible. 

you certainly aren’t complaining. the smoulder inside you is quickly fanned into flames, and you have no hesitation in rocking your hips below him, breath catching when his nose bumps against your clit. he lets out a muffled grumble of approval, satisfied he’s going to get his way. namgyu always does. 

the last slivers of pride you have force you to bite down on your knuckles and hold back any sounds of pleasure. in the early days you’d eagerly offered yourself to him in times of need like a martyr. lately, your cat-and-mouse game of pleading and reluctance gets you far wetter than it should. 

there’s a certain kind of power to making namgyu really work for it. and, judging by the way he’s grinding at the couch through his boxers, he doesn’t mind groveling - not that he’d ever admit it. 

try as you might to remain silent, your shallow breaths and stuttering hips are a dead giveaway of how desperate you are to get off. lapping at you messy, just how you like, namgyu glances up to assess his success rate. though you can’t see his face, buried nose deep as he is, you can feel the curl of his grin, the pressure of his cheeks in the crooks of your thighs. the smug motherfucker. 

you tip your chin back, breaking away from the sinful sight of him yet pressing the back of his head down a little harder, making him grumble again. two fingers snake their way inside you and this time you can’t hold in the shaky moan it pulls from you. he’s well-versed in tracking down the most sensitive parts of you, and this is no different. there’s no building up to it, no slow pumps to relax your core, no sensuality at all. he hooks them up slightly and drags the pads of his fingers against you. your nerves are trapped on both sides, and he’s growing more impatient with every second that passes by. 

a lazy smile tugs at your lips. it feels so good it’s almost too much, balancing on the perfect edge of mind-blowing and overwhelming. as the nails of his free hand dig into the plush flesh of your outer thigh, you feel an orgasm begin to build. a tiny mirage at first, a flicker of warmth a little keener than the rest, but soon building up until your teeth are digging grooves into the back of your hand with the force of holding back.

your heel drags up his back almost like it has a mind of its own, and your spine arches so restlessly your neck aches. namgyu’s tongue speeds up, occasionally pressing your clit up against the edges of his front teeth, the sensation sharp enough to make you jerk underneath him. 

you’re so close you can almost taste it, can feel yourself tensing up in anticipation of a violent release, when namgyu suddenly lifts off of you with an audible pop, slipping his fingers out and getting off the couch casually despite the tent in his pants.

“na- y- what are you doing?” your voice is embarrassingly reedy as you slide your hand between your legs unthinkingly, rubbing against the fine bones of your wrist to ease the ache. it’s too late; your high is dissolving like fairy floss in water. “what the hell?”

he wipes at his face, seemingly unapologetic and unbothered. “you said you had laundry to do?”

you gape at him in disbelief. “are you fucking kidding me? hey, where are you going?”

namgyu shrugs, bending down to pick up the two empty plates. “doing the dishes.” 

naked from the waist down and dripping with need, you stare openmouthed at your roommate pads over to the kitchen and sets them down with a clank. for a few moments, words fail you. you just watch him silently, his forced aloofness at odds with the clumsy, awkward way he washes the pan and dishes - a chore he’s always despised.

finally, you manage to stand on shaky legs and track down your sleep shorts and underwear to slide back on. you grimace at the tacky feeling, making a mental note to change before you do the washing. “what happened to not having the ‘willpower’ to turn down drugs?” you question with air-quotes, even though he has his back to you. 

“i guess i’m just progressing in my recovery,” he offers up by way of explanation. you frown at his lofty tone as he turns halfway to send you a fake-concerned look. “you seem really bothered. i thought you’d be happy for me.”

you scowl suspiciously, joining him in the kitchen. he has his hands plunged in the warm water to clean a single teaspoon, soapy to the elbows, with splashes all over his shirt. you hate the way his untidiness makes your heart twang in endearment. “you’re such an asshole,” you mutter instead.

namgyu hums and returns to the task at hand. by the time he drains the water, all of the dishes are stacked precariously on the drying rack, most of them still with frothy bubbles in the dips and divots. he ignores you for so long that eventually you decide to give up on his odd behaviour and actually get your own jobs done. it’s just as you approach the hallway that he speaks up airily. “if you want help with something, you know, you can just ask.”

pausing in the doorway for a beat, you then turn back to him. he’s wiping himself - but not the dishes - dry with a paper towel, lips quirked up but pressed between his teeth like he’s trying to suppress it. you furrow your brows. “what?”

he shrugs again, leaning back against the benchtop. “if you need something, all you have to do is say so.”

you huff at his evasiveness, crossing your arms over your chest. “you want me to beg you to fuck me?”

namgyu’s rings click a steady beat against the counter. for a moment, he drops eye contact with you, chewing at the skin of his lip. 

like the sun breaking through clouds, his intentions start to come into clarity. “are you saying you want this to be mutual?” your irritation softens at the way he shifts a little in place. namgyu seems weirdly sensitive, a raw edge exposed. the last time he acted this vulnerable was when he first accepted your help that night. “namgyu…”

he promptly stands upright, looking away almost defensively. “you act like it’s such a fucking inconvenience but you never say no. i just-” his mouth twitches. “forget about it.”

you’re not dropping it that easily. just as he pushes off the bench and goes to leave, you rush forward to barricade the entrance. “you just what?”

namgyu shakes his head silently, staring stubbornly past your shoulder at the hallway. he tugs at the lock of hair at the nape of his neck, a nervous movement you often saw from him in the early days of withdrawal where he’d do anything he could to keep his hands busy. your heart seizes at the thought that you’ve misjudged him. “namgyu,” you continue emphatically, “did the pill thing with thanos really affect you? i’m sorry, i should’ve- if you need the distraction, we can-”

“i don’t need it,” he blurts suddenly, sucking in a breath through his teeth. his eyes close lightly, like he can take the words back if he doesn’t see you react to them. he utters your name, hand still wound in his hair. “that’s the problem. i don’t need it, i just… want it. still. i want you.”

your tongue has a mind of its own, spilling words before you can vet them. “that doesn’t sound like a problem to me.” his eyes open at your words, crinkled in trepidation. “listen, namgyu, if i didn’t want you too i would’ve said no a long time ago. fuck, i probably would’ve set you up on tinder myself.”

“don’t mess with me,” he warns, but the words are soft and unguarded.

reaching out to playfully tug at the worn fabric of his oversized black tee, you can’t help but smile. “i’m more than happy to renegotiate the terms of our arrangement. you can take what you want, and i get to as well.”

namgyu stares down at you for a few seconds, searching your face. finally, his expression relaxes. “what do you want, then?”

pleased, you begin walking backwards, towards the hallway. “i want you to finish what you started before i grow cobwebs down there.”

“that’s disgusting,” he’s complaining even as he presses you up against the wall to halt your exit. his mouth descends on you before you have the chance to retort.

apparently this is a morning of new developments. for all the times the two of you have had sex, not once has namgyu kissed you. getting off was the goal, just a means to an end - although, you suppose you’d incorrectly assumed that was all it was this whole time - and foreplay and hand-holding was not really part of that.

now, though, your heart quickens at the sensual press of his lips on yours. his hands wander lower, from your shoulders to your chest, past your stomach to rest on the curve of your hips. it’s like he’s unwilling to relinquish any points of contact. a different kind of needy than the one you’ve grown accustomed to. 

you return his need in full. as he slides your shorts off, you’re cupping his face in both hands to ensure he doesn’t stray. the dull sting of teeth finds your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make you whine out your next breath. he digs in a little harder before soothing the skin with the warmth of his tongue. his hands leave your hips; you murmur his name but it’s swallowed between you.

the absence is quickly explained by the press of something stiff across your lower abdomen. neither of you bother taking your shirts off. he rocks against you once, twice as his hands slide back under the outsides of your thighs. his fingers curl slightly and you lift a leg in response, sucking in a sharp breath against him as you feel the base of him against you. 

just as you begin to slip your tongue past his teeth, eager to taste every inch of him, he pulls on the other thigh. your heart races as he prepares to fuck you against the wall. you push off with your other foot, and he lifts.

barely a second passes before his arms give out and your feet are thudding harshly down on the carpet again. you can’t help it. you try to keep kissing him, but you’re snickering so hard you can feel your own breath ricocheting off of his cheek. 

“shut up,” he murmurs against you, nails digging into your thighs warningly, “i’m still recovering.”

your laugh blooms louder and this time you have to pull away. “what a weak excuse. come on, pipsqueak, let’s find you a step stool.”

namgyu doesn’t respond. at least, not verbally. while he might not have the strength to hold you aloft, he certainly doesn’t mind wrapping his arms around your chest and knocking you off balance, bodily dragging you down the hallway as you fight to keep your feet beneath you. you cry out in indignation even as your laughter remains at the ridiculousness of your situation; both of you, naked from the waist down, with namgyu marching you down to his bedroom in fake annoyance. 

he rounds the corner and, without a word, tosses you onto his bed back first. he’s tugging at your ankles before the springs of his mattress have even settled. your breath leaves you for the second time this morning as you find yourself at his mercy, dripping with need that you no longer need to act coy about.

namgyu’s slid you so that your hips just barely rest on the edge of the bed. you prop yourself up on your elbows to await his next move. even though his cock is so flushed it must hurt, even though you can see the wet glisten of precum clinging to the fine hairs of his happy trail, he takes his time in rocking against you, covering himself in your arousal. 

with every swipe he drags slowly but deeply against your clit, and you can’t muffle the desperate whine that wordlessly begs for more. on every upstroke, the tip just barely begins to press inside you, enough to make your breath hitch hopefully, before he passes by. you arch, spreading your legs wider, but it doesn’t make him fuck you. 

namgyu picks up his pace, letting out satisfied groans low in his throat. one hand is tucked under the crook of your knee to keep you open for him, the other holds a thumb to the top of his cock to you to keep from sliding off. “god, that’s so fucking…” he trails off, practically panting. the beginnings of sweat stick dark strands of hair to his cheeks.

despite the feeling of emptiness, the friction on your clit as well as your previous denied orgasm is enough for you to start feeling that coil inside you start to tighten. your breaths are just as rushed as his now and you paw at your chest to ground you, dragging over your stiff nipple through the fabric. namgyu lets out a broken curse at the sight. 

your breaths sync, your hips rock in turn with his strokes along your cunt. every time, you’re convinced he’s going to finally fuck you properly, but he never dips in further than the blunt head of his cock. though your lips move - whether to express your pleasure or beg for more of it, you can’t even tell - the only sound that you can produce is a hiccuped moan in time with each rut of his hips. 

namgyu’s often vocal during sex. a lot of the time, especially if you’re the one putting in all the work, he’ll just be bitching about whatever issue arose that made him need release. but then there are occasions where the air is filled with groaned sighs and the hiss of air between teeth. swearing and praising that grows more incomprehensible the closer he gets. 

that’s exactly what he’s like now, and - like all of those times - you grow impossibly wetter at the lust-filled sounds. you’re there; so close you can feel the pulse begin, can feel the muscles in your fingers and turns beg to tense up. but he’s already denied you once before, and you can’t take it again. 

you use your free leg to hook around him with the intention of pulling him closer, preventing him from leaving you. the timing is serendipitous. just as you push against his lower back, he’s beginning a new slide of his hips forwards. the teasing hint of pressure against your core doesn’t pass, but instead breaches you. the moment the fat tip of his cock pushes in, instinct takes over. namgyu’s hips snap forward unceremoniously to chase your tight, wet heat, only stopping when he’s flush against you.

you’re so soaked that there’s no resistance, but the sudden intrusion, unbearably deep, has your back arching off the bed with a broken scream. 

“shit, i’m sor- oh, fuck.” even as your hands have flown down to grab at any part of him you can reach, he doesn’t relent. the hand that had been holding him steady now rests flat against your pelvis, holding you in place as he thrusts primally into you. 

through your overwhelmed haze, you can see the way his eyes squeeze shut, jaw hanging slack at the new height of pleasure being inside you has awarded him. you dig your nails into his forearm, his wrist, like a lifeline, practically sobbing with how incomprehensibly good you feel.

namgyu’s gasping out apologies, praise, approximations of your name, as he somehow manages to drive his hips into you even faster, even deeper. the second you feel him begin to twitch, it’s like a string is cut. 

your orgasm hits you so hard that for a moment you go completely silent. it tears through every nerve in your body, neurons firing and neon colours flashing bright behind clenched-shut eyes. your breath returns, every exhale a broken moan. your leg tightens around him, keeping him close.

beneath your hold, namgyu’s wrist jostles a bit. through the wall of pleasure, you notice fingers twisting between yours. he’s still pressing his hand against your lower abdomen to hold you steady, but now your hand is pinned there too, secure in his grasp. 

he spills into you moments later. just as your high begins to settle into a warm, simmering pleasure, he tumbles into the throes of his. his hips stutter but refuse to still completely, fucking hot ropes of cum into you as his chin tips back, chest heaving. 

finally, just as your nerves begin to sting, namgyu slows to the tiniest grind, completely spent. once again, you find your shallow breaths falling in line with his. after a few moments, he curls inwards, lying on top of you with a grunt. 

the air is punched out of you at the sudden heft. “hey,” you protest, but there’s no bite to your words. “that cannot possibly be comfortable.”

his voice rumbles against the duvet right beside your ear as his cheek presses against the fabric. “mind your own business.”

even as your body begins to mostly settle, the throb in your core still makes you clench rhythmically, and you can hear the quietest grunts coming from namgyu with each one. your lips twitch. “hey, namgyu?”

“yeah?”

you grin, twisting your head around to face him. his eyes watch you hopefully. “remember when you couldn’t lift me off the ground ten minutes ago?”