Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Balenciaga
Paris, France
8:58pm 

The last of the day’s light bled out across the Parisian skyline, casting the large showroom in a dusky glow. The store had officially closed two hours ago, yet its cavernous halls stood with a tense, anticipatory silence. 

You checked your reflection one last time in the glossy black mirror panels– clean, sleek, and sharp enough to pass for someone who belonged in Balenciaga’s upper management. You hoped.

You checked your watch. The black handle read 8:58pm. You exhaled. 

Two minutes until the mystery client, your thoughts hummed. 

"He's early," murmured Camille, the receptionist, as she passed you a minimalist black folder embossed with a silver 'S.J.W.' monogram. "You’ll do great."

You took the folder without flinching. Your patent heels holding your posture up firm. “He’s  expecting someone senior.” You said flatly, showing one last strand of vulnerability. 

Camille gave you a look that hovered somewhere between admiration and pity, “Whoever he is, he won’t know the difference.” 

You gave her a soft smile, “You’d better hope so.” 

And just like that it was 9:00pm. Sharp. 

The automatic doors whispered open. The air shifted.

He stepped in, alone.

Tall. Composed. Dressed in all black—of course. His presence wasn’t loud, but it vibrated with the same frequency as an unsheathed blade. 

The man was unreadable, as if any attempt to decipher his expression would only end in failure.

You didn’t need to introduce yourself to find out who he was. Sung Jin-Woo. You’d heard the whispers, seen the footage, everyone in fashion, and better yet half the world had. 

But fashion didn’t know him because he was flashy or thirsty for the limelight. No, quite the opposite actually.

He avoided cameras like a curse. Wore silence like it was tailored to him. And still, somehow, he had become an icon. Sophisticated. Elegant.

And tonight, he had requested a private styling session under one condition: total discretion.

You stepped forward, careful not to overplay the greeting. “Mr. Sung. Welcome to Balenciaga. I’ll be assisting you tonight. My name is y/n.”

He regarded you in silence, eyes dark and unreadable. 

Then, a single nod. "You’re not the one I asked for."

You remained poised, wondering how he would immediately see through you. “No. But I’m here to assist you in any way you need.”

Was that a dumb response? Your fingers curled just slightly. But there was no way you would lose his business, or better yet let down your brand. 

There was a beat of silence. Then, a shrug that somehow felt like a test passed. “Fine, then.”

Camille rose a little too fast, offering him bottled water off a shaky tray. “Water, Mr. Sung?” 

Jin-Woo smirked slightly, while holding his hand up. “No, thank you.” He turned back to you, his eyes mesmerizing. “I’d like to get started.”

You motioned towards the suite behind you, all set up and ready for his appointment. 

“I’ve pulled some pieces based on your preferences. Clean silhouettes. Monochrome tones. Minimal branding. But if there’s anything you want to change, I’ll make it happen.”

He followed without another word. The private suite door clicked shut behind him.

And just like that, you were alone with the master of shadows. 

Balenciaga
Private Suite
9:38pm

The door sealed you two into a room that suddenly felt more like a stage. Minimalist, low lighting, sleek chrome fixtures. Intimate in an odd way. 

Jin-Woo didn’t say much at first. 

He moved like a shadow that knew it was being watched – deliberate and soundless, his eyes taking in the room, the racks, you.

He didn’t look at you often. But when he did, it was intentional. Direct. Like he was trying to gauge whether you were useful or ornamental.

You were used to powerful men. Men who strutted, who postured, who needed you to know how important they were.

But Jin-Woo was different.

He didn’t try to take up space. He just… did. 

His presence pressed against your skin, just beneath it, like something electric. He wore a fitted black coat with a high collar that framed the sharp line of his jaw. Every piece on him was tailored to near perfection, like his body was a weapon and the fabric simply obeyed.

You straightened your back and met his gaze as you opened the folder Camille had given you. Inside: mood boards, texture samples, and garment suggestions. You offered it, but he didn’t take it.

Instead, he stepped closer.

Your breath pulsed, but only for a second. His presence was surprising. Slow, magnetic, yet comforting.

“Do you usually get nervous?” He asked, voice low. 

You didn’t blink. “Not in this business.”

The best response you could come up with. Damn, this man was so direct. 

Whatever the case, it earned something. Another smirk. Faint - like it curled up without his permission. 

He took the folder from your hands then, his fingertips brushing your skin. Cold. Or maybe you were just sweating.

“I didn’t request anything flashy,” he said, flipping through the pages. “I’m not here to be seen. Only in Paris for an event HQ is making me attend.”

You nodded. “You never are.”

That made him pause. His eyes flicked up again, and this time he studied you. Not just your face, but your posture, the way your black collared blouse hung tightly around your chest.

A flicker of something crossed his expression, maybe curiosity. Maybe annoyance. He was unbearably hard to read.

But still, you pressed on. 

“We’ve pulled more for you in the back. Tailored trousers, leather outerwear. The palette stays between charcoal, obsidian, and ash.” You hesitated. “I can bring them out at your command.”

Jin-Woo lifted his brow. Another smirk. “Command?”

You winced at the awkward comment. Pissed that you let something so weird slip. 

But instead you just chuckled to yourself, “Not command , I mean request.”

He ignored you, stepping toward the racks again slowly, scanning the hangers with his hands in his coat pockets. The silence returned, but it wasn’t empty.

You watched as he started sliding off his coat, folding it neatly and setting it on the black velvet bench behind him. And with that you caught a glimpse of the way his shirt clung to his frame. Broad shoulders. Clean muscle. God-like stature.

You realized you were watching too long. 

He noticed. 

“You’re not from the senior team,” he repeated again without looking, adjusting the collar.

Another strike. Of course he’s pointing that out again. You didn’t help him into the fucking jacket. 

But you answered confidently. “No. I’m filling in.”

He turned then. “Well, I’ll be in all week. That is until the event of course.” He paused, staring at you. “Think you can handle it?”

A challenge. Not cruel– but serious.

“Try me.” You said keeping eye contact, trying out a lighter tone. 

Something in his gaze softened. He nodded, then turned back to the mirror. 

“This is good.” He said, commenting on the sharp coat hugging his frame. 

“You make it good.” you replied, without thinking. 

A pause. Another smirk, with a surprised chuckle. 

You wanted to end it all. 

His eyes cut to you through the mirror. Awkwardly, he said, “...thanks.”

It was a single word. But it felt heavier than it should have.

You offered a small, polite smile. But inside you were screaming. 

He looked at you again—longer this time. His voice was smooth, deliberate. “You’re better than they said you were.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Who’s they ?”

Another half-smirk. “People who think I don’t pay attention.”

He stepped forward, just slightly. Close enough that you could feel his presence hum in your bones again.

“I want you for the rest of my sessions,” he said simply.

Your throat tightened. A flood of surprise washing over you. 

“Of course.” You nodded, keeping a professional distance. 

He looked back at you through the mirror, “Oh, and next time,” his voice hung low, recalling the shaky receptionist, “I would like to be completely alone.”

Chapter Text

Balenciaga
Senior Manager’s Office
7:02am

“You’re here early.” Your senior manager, Adrien, set his briefcase on your desk with a sharp crack. 

Your eyes shot up, “Wanted to get a head start,” you exhaled, “lots to work on before tonight.”

He snorted a little too amused, almost as if it was “cute” how hard you were working. His weathered eyes flickered beneath the vintage spectacles, “So how’d it go last night? Was going to request a full report.” 

You tapped on the ipad next to you, watching the screen wake to an image of Sung Jin-Woo. His eyes just as mesmerizing in his client photo, which you promptly added as soon as he left. 

“Very satisfactory,” You said confidently, “No complaints from the client, but no purchases yet. He’s set to return tonight at the same time.”

Adrien nodded, putting on his signature pondering face– the one where you knew he was about to micromanage the shit out of you. 

You braced yourself. 

“Hmm,” he tapped his manicured fingers along your nameplate, “I’ll make sure to be at the appointment this time. I appreciate you filling in, but now that we know who the client is, we want to make sure he’s given the best service possible.”

You wanted to roll your eyes. Jam your pen in his eye. 

“For quality assurance purposes.” He added with a sly gaze. 

You smiled. “Absolutely, sir.”

Balenciaga
Main Showroom
8:59 pm

You swallowed. The last appointment had gone off-script, with you steering a ship you weren’t the captain of. 

But now you were being watched. By one of the most dangerous humans in the world and one of the most soul-sucking. Your boss. 

The click of the lock turned your thoughts sharp. Jin-Woo stepped in like a shadow incarnate, dressed down in a black sweater and slim trousers. Effortless. Dangerous.

 His eyes immediately drifted to yours. 

"You're here," he said, low, like he’d expected otherwise.

But then his eyes swept the room. 

He turned to you, then to Adrien, then back. His manner was calm. 

“I thought I requested a private appointment.”

Your stomach curled. Not for the notion that he still preferred your assistance over someone better, but for anticipation of your arrogant boss’s response. 

Adrien stood polished, offering a clean smile. He ignored the comment. 

"Mr. Sung, welcome back. Tonight, we’ve curated—"

“With all due respect Mr…” Jin-Woo’s voice cut like a blade. 

“Mr. Dubois, sir.” Adrien finished, his voice a bit more fragile than usual. 

“With all due respect, Mr. Duben,” he continued, uncaring of his mispronunciation, “I’ve requested a private appointment with Ms. y/n.”

His tone was calm but on edge. And he didn’t raise it. He didn’t have to. 

Adrien blinked, confused. "Yes, of course, but for our records and styling services, I’m here to—"

“No.” 

One word, absolute. 

He turned to you. "Should we begin?"

Your heart stuttered. You looked at Adrien, then back at Jin-Woo. Unsure of who to follow in this scenario. 

“Y-yes” you said quickly, avoiding Adrien’s eyes. “Follow me, Mr. Sung.”

Jin-Woo didn’t wait. He was already moving toward the private suite. His aura smoothed  past racks of monochrome blazers and slick runway coats. 

You followed, heartbeat louder than your footsteps.

Behind you, Adrien’s protest was overridden by the soft click of the door shutting.

The air changed.

Balenciaga
Private Suite
9:01 pm

He stood in the center of the room, back to you, hands in his pockets. 

“I don’t like being watched,” he said. “Not when I’m choosing something personal.”

“I understand.” You said, keeping your tone professional. 

Silence. 

Maybe staying completely professional wasn’t the best?

“You’re not just choosing clothes.” You offered, voice a little more understanding. 

He turned, the corner of his mouth curling. “No. I’m not.”

You felt heat crawl up your neck. The walls of the room were matte black, the lighting low and intimate. Who knew a few words could feel so personal. 

You tried to keep your tone even, and continued. 

“Tonight, I pulled some exclusive pieces– mostly structured tailoring, and new silhouettes from the pre-show. Balenciaga’s trying more sculptural pieces, so I wanted to see how it plays off your build.”

He stepped closer as you spoke, listening. Not just politely, but intensely. Like he wasn’t used to people speaking to him like this. 

“You think about that?” he asked. “...my build?”

The question landed somewhere between innocent and loaded.

“I have to,” you replied, confidently. “It’s my job.”

He made an approving noise in his throat, giving a small nod.

You reached for the nearest garment– a long, midnight wool coat with an asymmetrical collar, holding it between you. “Would you like to try?”

He didn’t move to take it at first. 

You wondered if he wanted you to help him into it, like you failed to do last night. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The thought of getting that close to him… touching him. It was a concept that was almost frightening. 

But instead Jin-Woo’s eyes dropped briefly to your lips. Then he took the coat, his fingers grazing yours. Cold and fire yet again. 

You busied yourself at the rack, flipping hangers for no reason at all, trying to reset your pulse. 

Behind you, you heard the soft rustle of fabric. Jin-Woo slipping out of his sweater and into the new coat. 

You turned slowly. 

His frame was lean, athletic, but it carried the weight of quiet power. Broad shoulders. Defined arms. That eternal midnight hair, slightly tousled from pulling the sweater over his head. 

The lighting caught the edge of his jaw, his cheekbones, casting half his face in shadow.

He turned, looking in the mirror, unsure. “Does it go over…or under the weird belt thing?”

You smiled at the slight slip of his intense demeanor “Over. I only pulled that belt at Adrien’s request. But I would skip it.”

“You have good instincts,” he said. “He seems like a person who tries too hard.” He slipped the belt from the loop, although fumbled with its clasp.

“Will you…” He murmured, fiddling with the leather in between his fingers. This newfound awkwardness was enough to subdue your nerves. 

So you approached him. Reaching for the belt, you felt your fingertips brush his arm as you undid the clasp, removing the item completely. You then smoothed the fabric over his shoulder, adjusting the collar near his neck.

 His scent caught you off guard: expensive, clean, and something darker beneath it. Something like rain on pavement in the dead of night. 

“You do this for a lot of clients?” he asked, voice quieter now. More curious.

“Style them?” you asked, carefully tugging at the hem of the coat. “Yeah. Though most don’t request me alone.”

He turned to face you, and for a moment, you were close enough to feel the warmth coming off of him. His dark eyes searched yours with interest. The kind that made it hard to breathe.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “Your job?”

That wasn’t the question you expected.

“I do,” you hesitated, “When I get to work with people who know what they want.”

He tilted his head. “You think I know what I want?”

“Don’t you?”

He didn’t answer immediately. But his eyes lingered on your face. 

He turned back to the mirror, feeling the collar for himself. 

“Mostly.” He replied. 

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Better to let the silence fester. 

“So,” he continued after a beat, “do you have someone waiting for you after this?”

You arched your brow, confused. “What do you mean?”

He slipped the coat off, putting it back on the hanger himself. “Like a roommate, a friend, or someone…”

“Um,” You were taken aback but the awkward shift, “No. No roommate.”

He nodded, scanning through the next selections. And then your mouth moved faster than your head. “...or boyfriend. Or husband, or anything like that.”

You wanted to smash your iPad on your face. That was incredibly forward, but why did it seem like that’s what he was asking?

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, “that was too much information…”

He smirked, earning you a small deep laugh. “Don’t apologize. I asked.”

You stood amused, and even a bit charmed. You made a mental note to breathe. 

But you had to continue. You held the next piece up, clearing your throat softly. “Let’s try this one.”

He stepped closer without a word. You reached up, holding the sweater in front of him, brushing your knuckles accidentally across his neck in the process.

The space between you shrank, but neither of you acknowledged it.

He shifted slightly, his voice low.

“Do you work late often?”

You glanced up. His face was unreadable.

“Only when it’s worth it,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral.

He nodded slowly, gaze falling to your hands as you adjusted the hanger. “So... tonight’s worth it?”

You swallowed.

He wasn’t teasing exactly. His voice lacked the bravado of someone used to flirting. Instead, it was curious. Like he was gathering data, trying to understand you.

“You’re not like most clients,” you replied truthfully.

He raised a brow. “Is that a good thing?”

You smiled. Surprised at how well you could look him in the eye as you said, “Yes.”

He smiled back. Soft and genuine. Like the air was getting softer. 

He moved toward the mirror again, sweater in hand, this time catching your eyes in the reflection.

“This one feels…different.”

“Different good?” you asked.

He nodded. “Good, yeah. Like something I’d wear if I had to walk into a room and make someone remember me.”

“You already do that,” you murmured without thinking.

His gaze shifted sharply back to you.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks and stepped back, pretending to look on your ipad. “Professionally speaking.”

But you could tell he was reacting. Something flickering behind his eyes. Amusement maybe, intrigue. 

Balenciaga
Private Suite
10:00 pm

You walked him toward the glass front entrance, flicking on the security lights as you passed.

“Thank you for tonight.” you said, professional, even.

He gave a small nod, but he didn’t move to leave.

Instead, he stood just inside the doorway, his hand on the glass, eyes locked with yours. The streets outside were quiet, with city lights casting soft reflections over his face. 

He looked out, then back at you.

“That coat,” he said quietly. “The last one.”

You tilted your head. “You want me to send it to your team?”

“No. I want to remember how I looked in it.”

You blinked. “We can arrange a photo–”

“No,” he said, eyes catching yours. “I mean… how I felt in it.”

Something unspoken twisted in your chest.

“You looked powerful.” you said. Simply stating the truth. 

“Is that it?” He paused, “Interesting.”

Silence. You expected him to leave, but he didn’t. Instead he remained standing there, like he wanted to continue to tell you something but didn’t know how. 

“You’ll be here again next time?” 

Something about his tone did not feel professional. 

You nodded. “If you request me.”

His mouth curved just slightly. “Then I will.”

Then he stepped out into the night.

With the room empty, but bursting with his presence. 

Chapter Text

Balenciaga
Main Showroom
1:32 pm

It was late afternoon the next day, and the showroom had returned to its usual rhythm. Models being prepped for fittings, your fellow stylists huddling  around moodboards, and Adrien pacing like an over caffeinated storm about god-knows-what.

You were pretending to scroll through supplier updates on your phone when it buzzed with a new message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number
I keep thinking about that last coat. And the way you said it made me look.
– J

Your heart hammered. You paused, looking up. Then back down again. Once. Twice. 

No need to do investigative research. It was him for sure. 

You read it again. 

And again. 

The message was quiet, but direct. Just like him. 

You hadn’t given him your number, you were sure of it. Employee contact information was typically a big no no, especially in high end luxury. So how in the hell did he get it?

You hovered your thumb over the screen, unsure of what to say. 

And then.

Unknown Number
Am I out of line? We can stick to only talking during our appointments if that’s easier. 

Your mouth went dry.

Before you could think too hard, your fingers moved.

You
No, you’re fine. But I am wondering how you got this number?

Immediate response.

Unknown Number
Simple. I asked Camille. 

Another message. 

Unknown Number
Don’t mean to be so forward. I just didn’t want to wait until tonight to tell you that.

There were no emojis. No punctuation flourish. Just simple honesty, molded into blunt words.

Your fingers hovered again.

You
I’m glad you didn’t. 

The typing dots appeared immediately.

Then disappeared.

Then reappeared. 

Unknown Number
See you tonight. 

Balenciaga
Private Suite
8:46 pm

You told yourself this was just another appointment. It wasn’t a date or anything. 

God, no. 

Definitely not a date. 

You were already in the back suite, pretending to review the garment selections one last time– though you’d done that twice already.

Your reflection in the mirror caught your eye.

You’d worn something different tonight. Still professional, but different. 

Black tailored pants, a soft blouse a little more upscale than usual. The silk clung to your arms more delicately, and the neckline dipped just low enough to be interesting. Your lipgloss was a bit plumper than normal.

And you told yourself it was for confidence.

But still, you checked the time on your phone three separate times before the knock came.

He didn’t wait to be let in. He was here early. 

His eyes found you instantly, and he paused just inside the fitting suite, looking you over for a moment longer than polite.

"You look..." he started, then stopped, lips pressing into something unreadable. “Different.”

“Different?” You lied, ignoring the inappropriate observation. 

He gave you a small, bashful smile. “Nicer.” 

You smiled back, although it was at your feet. You motioned towards the new rack, “Your team reached out to us today.” You watched as he moved silently to the arrays of charcoal and ash. “We’re keeping it simple and looking at two looks specifically for the HQ event. They want something formal, something...memorable.”

“Memorable,” he echoed, dragging the word out like it amused him. “That sounds like something Adrien would say.”

“Adrien did say it,” you deadpanned, earning your reward– his laugh. Low and warm.

You reached for the first look, a sharply structured dark tuxedo with subtle textural elements in the lining. He took a seat instead of heading to the fitting room.

You paused, “You’re not changing?”

He looked at you, steady. “I will. In a minute.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers laced loosely together. “They’re making a big deal about this HQ gala. Media, sponsors, foreign dignitaries. It's all... theater.”

You tilted your head. “I’m guessing you don’t like events?”

“I don’t like pretending.” he said simply. “But I owe it to the guild. I have to go.”

“Well you’ll be the best dressed there.” You offered, shrugging. 

“Right.” He grinned, “And I have you to thank for that.”

The words settled in the space between you. You weren’t sure how to respond, so you turned to hang the first suit option beside the second.

“What is your date wearing?” You asked lightly. An innocent question coming from a stylist nonetheless, I mean you had to make sure the two of them coordinated after all. 

Silence. 

You couldn’t handle it. 

You felt him watching you. He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile. He just looked at you, head tilted slightly, as if trying to figure out why you asked.

“A date,” you clarified, voice casual. “Or multiple. It is a gala, after all.” Jesus. Now you were just rambling.

His brow raised. “Is that... something people do? Bring multiple dates?”

You laughed awkwardly, wondering how the hell you got yourself in this mess of a topic. “You’d be surprised.”

He remained quiet, but for only a moment. He stood, moving slowly.

“I hadn’t thought about a date,” he said, voice lower now. “Not until recently.”

He stepped past you then, toward the changing area. Your mind suffered a million questions you couldn’t ask. 

He disappeared behind the velvet curtain of the fitting area, second tux in hand, as you were left standing in the silence of the suite.

You pretended to adjust any clothing you could find, but your mind kept replaying what he had just said.

Not until recently.

You were still wondering what exactly that meant when his voice cut through.

“Do you also style hair?”

You blinked. “Yes. Wardrobe, grooming, hair, prep. Comes with the territory, especially for high-profile clients.”

There was a pause.

Then the curtain slid open. And he stepped out.

Wearing the midnight velvet suit. The second option you were most intrigued to see him try. 

It was already tailored perfectly to the line of his shoulders. The lush fabric looked like it belonged to him. 

But it was the way he wore it. Like he wasn’t even trying to look this good. 

And then he ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it back. It reacted like butter, falling in uneven waves over his forehead.

“Is it too messy?” he asked.

You hesitated. Then stepped forward.

“Sit,” you said softly, nodding toward the low styling chair by the mirror.

He obeyed, quiet, letting you move behind him.

You began, threading your fingers lightly through his hair. You held your breath as best you could, not wanting to let yourself indulge in the sensation you were truly feeling. 

His strands were incredibly soft for someone who had so much power. You slid your fingers through again, slower, letting them trail near the edge of his scalp as you measured his length. 

His jaw flexed. 

“You ok?” you asked, your voice lower than before.

No words, just a small nod. His eyes hung fierce in the mirror’s reflection. You could’ve sworn they weren’t looking at his hair. 

“I should finish the look,” you murmured, pulling your hands back before you lost your nerve.

You popped open a drawer beside the mirror, pulling out a small dab of styling cream. Within seconds you were back– hands thick in his hair, styling strands delicately among the structure of his face. 

“How’s this?” You took a step back. 

He hummed, studying the slight adjustment. “Perfect.” 

Your Apartment
Primary Bedroom
1:22 am

Your eyes glazed over the glowing screen of your phone. You scrolled lazily, wondering why you were keeping yourself awake. You had to get up for work in almost 5 hours after all. 

Your thumb hovered over the lock button, clicking it softly as the screen went dark. You shifted in your sheets, tossing the phone on your nightstand. A large sigh released as you nestled into the plush mattress. 

Bzzz. Bzzz . 

Your ears perked up. A text? This late?

Sluggishly you grabbed your phone, squinting your eyes at the blurred notification. 

Your stomach dropped. 

It was him.

Unknown Number
I’ve been thinking. 

Another message.

Unknown Number
I would like you to accompany me to the gala. 

Jin-Woo.

Asking you to be his date? In the middle of the night? 

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest. Nerves rushing through your veins. You made a mental note to change his contact to his actual name. 

Unknown Number
As my stylist, of course. 

And there it was. So he wanted you there to work . 

As his employee . 

You sighed, staring at the screen. Wondering why you felt even more knots now. 

You
Sure, I can arrange that. 

His response was immediate. 

Unknown Number
Good. It’ll be nice to have you there.

You swallowed, mind boggling still on the notion of why he would want you . There were dozens of better qualified stylists that he could hire. You mainly just styled B-list celebrities while the higher ups handled the real jobs. 

But alright– whatever he wants. 

You
I’m glad I can assist. 

You reread the message, and then began typing a follow up. 

You
Want to make sure you feel confident. 

Another vibration. 

Unknown Number
And what will you wear?

You paused. Taken back by the bold question. 

You
Not sure yet. Probably something Adrien picks, unfortunately. I’ll be representing the brand.

Unknown Number
Wrong answer. 

A pang hit your chest.

Wrong answer? What does that mean? You could almost feel the sharp smirk behind his words. 

And so you took a leap.

You
What would you like me to wear?

Three typing dots emerged. You held your breath in anticipation. 

Was this the response he wanted? One teetering on the line of professionalism?

Unknown Number
You look good in black. 

Your brow lifted instinctively. Your palms sweating.

And then another.

Unknown Number
But I’ve yet to see you in lace. 

Chapter Text

Balenciaga
Senior Offices
8:02 am

The next day you shuffled into work, still groggy from the long day prior. Images of Sung Jin-Woo’s late night texts swam through your head amidst a sea of nerves and exhilaration. 

He wants me to go with him to the gala. You repeated. And wear something with lace. 

“Good morning my pupil.” Adrien’s annoying voice sang. It was a bit chipper for 8:00am. 

You forced a crooked smile, “Good morning.” You paused, “I have an update.” 

Might as well get right down to it.  

You couldn’t wait to see how he tries to ruin this for you. 

He stopped in his tracks, clicking away on his phone without looking up. “Oh, I already received word from Mr. Sung’s people.” He said arrogantly, “Can you believe they insisted on dressing you themselves? ”

He huffed, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “I mean, first the demand for the private appointments and now this - who the hell are these people anyway?”

You did everything you could to swallow your smile. God damn, Jin-Woo really was powerful. He had your smug little boss croaking at his feet. 

“Yeah,” You lied, “How rude.”

“Right?” Adrien finally looked at you, offering you a knowing look like you were “in this together”. 

He sighed, turning back to his phone, “Well, anyway, they dropped the look off this morning. It’s on your desk.”

Already? You blinked in disbelief. 

But he just asked me last night…a mere 7 hours ago?

Either way you made your way over to your desk– slightly jogging more like. As you approached, you were relieved to find the absence of your desk mate. Either she was late or getting coffee.

Good , you thought. You didn’t need any judgement on what his people picked for you. 

It could be hideous. Or it could be stunning. Nonetheless, you felt vulnerable as hell. 

And there it was. A sharp black box perfectly still amidst the mahogany of your desk. The office hummed with a quiet tension, edging you closer. 

You leaned your head over, examining the sleek packaging. The box itself was large and rectangular in scale, the structure looking heavy. Expensive. 

Anxious, you tugged at the black satin ribbon. The box opened with a whisper, revealing a single folded note on top of dark tissue paper.

“Saw this at our last appointment. Thought it might suit you.” - J

You froze. You thought this would be from his people. Not… him.

And damn. The Shadow Monarch had taste.

Dark, sharp, effortlessly devastating. 

You peeled back the tissue paper a bit more. Yep, it was the dress from the new winter collection, the one you had lingered on in the showroom weeks ago. 

It was a mid-length, backless noir dress with delicate chain accents that shimmered perfectly at the waist. You recalled brushing your fingers across the fabric, imagining how it would feel against skin. After styling it in the main showroom, you hadn’t thought much about it. 

Looks like he liked it too. 

But then. Your breath caught. 

What was this?

Underneath the dress, was…

Black lace lingerie. 

Lace. You thought. 

It was delicate. Scandalous. Seductive.

Your pulse stuttered. Heat climbed up your neck. It was the kind of lingerie you’d select for a big shot client’s wife or mistress. Not for a stylist to wear to an event. Especially not his stylist.

You touched the lace, half-expecting it to vanish like a hallucination.

The box stared up at you. The dress. The lace. The note that sent your heart spiraling.

You’ve dressed people before. But in this moment… you felt like you were the one being styled. Watched. Chosen.

You quickly laid the dress back on top, covering the risque garment. And as timing would have it, your desk mate promptly returned, blowing on her coffee as you sealed the box back to its original state. 

You took a deep breath, sliding the gift next to your feet. 

So now what? You walk into the HQ party draped in a dress he picked? Wearing secrets underneath only he knew about?

Your thighs clenched. 

Why yes. 

That’s exactly what you’ll do. 

Paris, France
Highway 12
8:13 pm

The city was soft around the edges tonight. Rain slicked the cobblestones and turned the amber glow of the streetlights into golden streaks across your windshield. You were half-listening to jazz, half-replaying the intricacies of the laced garment Jin-Woo had given you. 

God, the way that damn box pulled like a magnet under your desk all day... 

It just sat under your legs. Begging you to take another peak– just to make sure it was real. 

And as the universe would have it, Jin-Woo wasn’t due for another session tonight. So for the first time in a couple of days, you got to head home at your normal time. 

To be honest, you were a little relieved you didn’t have to see him. After his risque gift, you weren’t exactly sure you could face him. 

What would you even say? 

“Thanks for the underwear?”

“I can’t wait to wear it on our non-date?”

You shook your head, turning the steering wheel. God, you had no idea how to act with this man. 

You were two blocks from your apartment when the traffic stalled.

To your frustration you turned head on into a loaded jam. Cars spit out on all sides of the road, honking and inching forward trying to fight their way out. 

You rolled my eyes, leaning back in your seat, staring ahead at the glowing rift that was the obvious cause of the cluster. 

A portal.

Of course.

It stood solemn, shiny and glittering. Police surrounding it on all sides in some sort of semi-circle. 

This wasn’t new– you had encountered many before. They always loved to pop up and cause road closures when you really needed to get somewhere. 

You slowly slid forward, making your way with the rush, when you had a thought. 

Hmmm.

What if this was an S-Rank portal… you considered.

You watched the portal glow heavier as you inched closer. The number of cars in front of you  starting to clear a little faster. 

And then.

Stepping out of it like he had just come back from picking up coffee, was him .

Jin Woo.

He looked completely unbothered, dressed in the Balenciaga sweater you'd steamed and sent to his people just this afternoon. Black cashmere, snug fit, French seams. Now stained, with a splash of something deep and red across the shoulder.

He glanced up briefly, scanning the halted cars, but didn’t quite notice you. 

You took your time observing him, loving the privacy you had. You were now stuck behind a red light anyway, with nothing to do but stare.

A front-row seat to the most casually terrifying man in existence.

The one who had sent you thousand dollar lace underwear– the kind that was physically designed to seduce the male gaze with lustful intentions.

You bit your lip.

Your fingers moved before you could stop them, typing out a text with a familiar mix of exasperation and curiosity.

You grinned like a child, hitting send immediately. 

Your head jerked back to the stop light, praying it was still red. You had to see. 

Jin-Woo’s eyes suddenly perked. You watched as he slid his hand slowly in his pocket, retrieving a glowing phone. 

You
You got blood on your new sweater.

His lips curled, a sly chuckle following. His jaw accentuated beautifully against the light of the screen. 

He looked up, scanning the darkness for your presence. An intrigued look on his face. 

Then finally, you saw the subtle shift in his posture as his eyes landed on yours.

Perceptive was an understatement. 

You raised a hand and waved– barely more than a flick of your fingers.

He grinned back. 

And with that, the light ticked green. 

You turned your focus back on the road, satisfied with the impromptu interaction. You finally got to a normal speed, leaving him and the clustered mess behind you. 

Bzzz.

Your heart skipped, tapping the screen immediately. 

SJW
I think it makes me look powerful.

Chapter Text

Paris, France
Hotel Suite, HQ Event
8:04 pm

The HQ event was already in full swing. 

You stood by the vanity, hands smoothing over the sleek black fabric of your dress– handpicked by the guest of honor himself.

It hugged you in all the right places, the slit revealing just enough leg to make you self-conscious. The chains draped effortlessly over the stretch of your hips. 

And beneath it, the secret. 

The secret that brushed your skin with its delicate lace, catching your breath whenever you moved. 

You snapped your mind back to reality. 

Jin-Woo stepped out from the bathroom, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored tux, sharp and dark. 

His presence had yet to falter in commanding attention. It was something about the quiet power in his movements.

You both were in a hotel suite just above the event space, finishing his look. 

It was fairly quiet, except for the soft hum of a steamer and the occasional rustle of fabric. The Paris lights filtered through each window, casting a warm glow on his tux. 

And god damn, that tux. 

It hugged his frame like it had been stitched from shadows themselves. 

You turned to face him, holding the silk tie he had yet to put on. “You forgot this.”

He stopped a few feet in front of you, gaze dragging up your body slowly before settling on your eyes. “Did I?” His voice was smooth, low. Almost amused.

You stepped closer, the silk sliding over your fingers as you looped it around his neck. 

The distance between you was minimal now. Close enough to smell the subtle cologne he wore– something warm, clean, and seductively dangerous. Your fingers faltered just slightly as you worked the knot.

He watched you, eyes steady.

“Are you nervous?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t look up. “About the knot?”

“About everything.”

You grinned, tightening the garment slowly. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He smirked, knowing you were right. “A little,” he offered, “but I have you.”

Your heart pulsed. Even though you knew that didn’t mean what you wanted it to. 

You proceeded to finish his tie, your hands stilling at his chest a little longer than necessary. 

“There,” you murmured. “You’re good to go.”

He didn’t move right away. Just looked at you, unreadable as ever. 

Then, finally, he turned toward the door.

You stood idly, watching his effortless silhouette walk to the exit. You were to arrive at the event after him, as his people so bluntly warned you. 

But as he reached the door, his body shifted. You watched as his sleek frame halted for just a moment.

His voice was low, intentional. 

“The dress,” he paused, “You wear it well.”

Your breath caught, thinking you had avoided the mention of it all together. 

You cleared your throat, “Thanks.”

A beat.

Then, casually, too casually, he glanced over his shoulder. 

“And that other thing,” he turned, “You wearing that too?”

You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Um,” You paused, “yes.”

His mouth curved just slightly. “Good girl.”

Paris, France
HQ Event
9:16 pm

The ballroom glittered.

Standing in the throws of it, the event was lit with golden light and low music, the kind of elegance that demanded whispered conversations and stolen glances over expensive liquor. The crowd shimmered in designer gowns and tailored tuxedos.

 But none of them held a candle to him.

You watched from across the room, tucked near a low-lit bar with a glass of their signature drink in hand.

He was easier to observe from a distance– safer, even. Because up close, you weren’t sure if you could keep your face neutral, not when he looked like that .

The tux you’d chosen hugged his broad shoulders, tapering perfectly along his frame. The crisp white shirt lay stark against the dark fabric, with the tie you’d slung around him sitting neat at his collar.

He was devastating.

People swarmed around him. Politicians, executives, socialites, all leaning in when they spoke, hoping to capture even a fraction of his attention. 

He nodded politely, offered faint smiles, his posture effortless. Unbothered. Untouchable.

And the women…

They were everywhere. Beautiful, charming, magnetic in their own right. One had her hand on his arm as she laughed. Another leaned in close, brushing imaginary lint from his lapel.

He smiled, always. Nodded. Gave a polite chuckle when someone made a comment about his strength or the rumors circling his last dungeon raid. 

But there was something guarded in him. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes told a different story.

Your dress clung tighter now, like a pull between the two of you. The delicate lace beneath it warmed against your skin every time you remembered his voice from earlier.

 “Are you wearing the other thing?”
“Good girl.”

It played in your mind like a loop, your body responding without permission. Thighs flexed, palms sweating.

And now as you watched him, surrounded by gobs of more important people, you wondered if he was as aware of you, as you were him. 

You wanted him to leave them, to walk up to you and say something that would match your growing fixation on him. To lean in and whisper that he hadn’t stopped thinking about you. That he thought of nothing but what you were wearing underneath and couldn’t wait to see you in it later. 

But instead, he gave you a look. Just a look.

You sipped your drink, refusing to let your expression betray anything. Your pulse seizing. 

His eyes were sharp, the ability to cut through the crowd and only see you. 

And then, just barely, his gaze dropped.

Not to your face, but lower. Just for a second. 

A reminder.

The lingerie. The secret.

Your stomach tightened.

Paris, France
HQ Event
11:43 pm

The event was roaring. A success in every way. 

You had met people, schmoozed designers, and received endless compliments on the infamous dress. 

It was a perfect night. 

Especially whenever his gaze met yours. 

And across the room, over champagne bubbles and glittering celebrities, he looked again. 

This game you were playing was becoming one of your favorites. First, a passing glance in the middle of someone else's conversation, now an on-the-clock check in with you from across the room every couple of minutes.

His stares. They lingered. Longer than they should.

And you didn’t smile. But neither did he.

Each acknowledgment was enough to send heat curling low in your stomach. 

You sipped your champagne, numerous glasses in, just to ground yourself. The lace beneath the dress smirked at you, like it knows he’s imagining you in it.

You drifted toward the edge of the marble-topped bar, checking your messages as a way to avoid the growing pressure of another one of his glances. 

Behind you, someone whispered about “the girl in the black chain dress.” You grinned, but pretended not to hear.

He was still talking to someone important, smiling politely. But as you let yourself peek, his body angled slightly, flicking up again.

To you.

Although this time, he tipped his head, just a fraction.

A silent command.

Come closer.

Do you walk toward him?

No. You don't move. Not right away. How could you be sure?

You took another sip, keeping your eyes on the bubbles, pretending to be absorbed in the glass while the rest of the room surrounded him.

Let them orbit him. Let them crave his attention. See what he does. 

So you stayed still near the marble bar. Your hips leaning slightly against its edge, the slit in your dress falling open just enough to catch a whisper of thigh. 

And it worked.

Moments passed and the powerful crowd began to blur, him moving through it confidently, yet still keeping under the radar. 

Always commanding. Always intimidating.

He didn’t rush. But his eyes stayed locked on yours.

As soon as he approached, he plucked the glass gently from your hand and set it down. His body stood close, not touching, but enough to make you want him to. 

His voice was low, brow arched. “Comfortable?” 

You nodded to your dress casually, assuming that’s what he was referring to. You pretended like you were discussing the fabric and not the secret lace beneath it.

You met his gaze. “Depends.”

“On what?” He grinned. 

You swallowed, allowing the champagne buzz to do its work. 

“If you’re going to keep looking at me like that.”

You saw the faintest pull of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Not pleased– entertained . 

His gaze flicked to your hand, where your fingers rested at your thigh. He didn’t move, but you could feel him thinking. Imagining. Picturing what lay beneath. 

“I’m just wondering,” he said, voice quiet and smooth, “How does it feel?”

You turned your head slightly, knowing now for sure you were definitely not talking about the dress.

“It’s…” You rested your elbow on the bar, “...soft.”

You noticed his jaw clench just a bit. His arms pulse for a mere second. 

But he kept his stance, as smooth as ever. 

Your fingers hovered just above the hem of your dress. Baiting him subtly, telling him without saying it. 

His eyes drifted down, the sight of your fingers near the edge enough to keep him intrigued.

“Lift it.” He said. Voice low and calm.

You swallowed.

“Here?” you whispered.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “No one’s watching.”

Your eyes flicked around the room. 

Laughter. Music. Glasses clinking. Everyone was consumed in their own orbit. Wrapped in their own conversations.

He leaned in slightly, close enough for your breath to stop completely.

“I said,” he hummed “lift it.”

Still nothing, your hand flinched. Unsure if this was truly reality. 

“I won’t touch.” He said– soft, dark.

It was as though it was just you and him. 

Your hand trembled.

You weren’t shy. But this…this was different. This wasn’t playful anymore. This was him stepping foot into the other side. The side where there were no boundaries, only commands.

Your heart pounded, fingers brushing the silk again. 

And then, slowly, you lifted.

Just an inch.

Then another.

Until cool air hit lace, just enough to show where your stocking met the garter

His jaw tightened.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t speak.

But his eyes…god, his eyes. They made promises your body was begging to hear.

You flushed, heat rising to your throat. You dropped the hem almost instantly.

His eyes scanned your face slowly, dark with something you hadn’t seen from him. A small smirk. 

“You follow direction well.”

A shiver ran through your spine. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already turning slightly, body angling protectively between you and the rest of the room. 

Anyone who might’ve glanced your way was now cut off by the sheer stature of him, as if even being seen by someone else was no longer allowed.

“I want to know what else you’ll do,” he said lowly, a whisper near your ear, “when I ask.”

Chapter Text

Paris, France
HQ Event
12:30 am

The city glowed behind you like a film set. Your heels ached, but you didn’t dare move. 

His eyes remained glued to yours– calculating. Observing. 

A group passed behind you, laughing a bit too loud. He used it to his advantage, snaking a firm touch to your back, guiding you gently away in a quick pulse.

“I want to leave.” He said. 

Your throat went dry. “You do?”

A beat.

“Yes.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he stepped a bit closer, just enough so you had to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. He looked at your lips, then at your throat, then back to your eyes. 

“Will you come with me?”

You faltered for a moment, his eyes unbelievably intimidating. “Where?”

He smirked briefly, amusement sweeping through him. “That’s not an answer.”

You opened your mouth, searching your mind for what to say. 

Your voice barely came out a whisper, “Are you sure you want to…”

The thought was lost. Caught between confusion and disbelief. 

He took a breath to answer. His chest rising slowly. But then, the elevator dinged.

A sharp burst broke the tension immediately. Jin-Woo straightened slightly, expression flipped. A group of executives piled out, one of them gesturing toward him. 

“Mr. Sung,” a tall man approached. “Chairman Lee is requesting your presence upstairs.”

A brief pause. “ Immediately .”

His jaw tensed– enough for them to see. 

He held your gaze. “I’ll be back,” he said, quiet and firm. 

You nodded, staying right where he was leaving you. Because what he really meant was, “Wait here.”

Paris, France
HQ Event
12:48 am

His absence was deafening. 

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe right. 

Everything buzzed in your mind, playing back with a burst of adrenaline. 

All of the fittings. The accidental touches. The way he had watched you with unmatched observation. 

And then there was tonight. The way he made you lift your dress… commanding you like he owned your body more than your own skin. 

There was something about it that was terrifying. Exhilarating, but nerve racking. 

There was always the option to leave. But the voice inside your head, the burning yearn to find out more, told you to stay.

To wait. 

And so you took your post a bit near the back, shifting slightly from the bar as the guests got consistently drunker.

Your glass of champagne had started to go warm in your hand, untouched. You weren’t sure how long it had been since his slick frame had disappeared behind that elevator. Minutes? An hour?

It was tough waiting. But his command rang like a ghost in your ear. 

So you continuously scanned the crowd for him— subtly, obediently. 

Maybe he wouldn’t come back. Maybe the night would end right here. With a pit in your stomach the size of your heart. 

And then. The crowd shifted.

Your eyes snapped toward the main entrance.

It was him.

He emerged like the night was following. Tall, commanding, his tux hugging every muscle, somehow looking darker. Your eyes drifted to his unbuttoned jacket, the crisp white shirt laying slightly open underneath. 

People turned. Chatter ensued. Cameras frantically flashing. Their lights bounced off the dazzling chandeliers in a dizzy pandemonium. 

And the press threw questions like knives. 

“Mr. Sung, can you comment on Chairman Lee’s announcement?”
“What does this mean for the future of the guild?”
“Mr. Sung, over here!”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t acknowledge. 

Instead he walked straight through them, unblinking, unhurried. They parted for him instinctively, like he was bending gravity.

And his eyes. God his eyes… they were unapologetically locked to yours. 

He didn’t stop until he reached you. His figure looming like a demonic shadow. 

Within seconds he grabbed your wrist. His touch like a jolt of lightning pricking your insides. 

And without warning, he leaned down, mouth barely from your ear. 

“Exchange.”

Paris, France
Your Apartment
12:53 am

The world blinked.

One second you were in the ballroom. Bright lights, people, his hand around your wrist—

And then…

Silence. Warm shadows. A bolt of energy. 

Your bedroom.

The soft thump of your heels landing on the floor was the only sound. You tripped a half-step, his arm catching you instantly.

You were familiar with his powers, but…this. This was electric. He had completely transported you. In a fucking blink of an eye. 

Your expression feigned complete awe, although he clearly didn’t have time for that. 

He stood over you like a man who was past the point of return. Silent and intense.

“H-how…” You trailed off hazily, “how’d you find my apartment?”

His expression dragged up your frame. A blatant disregard for such an irrelevant question.  

“You wore the lingerie.” He said. 

You swallowed. 

“...yes.”

He nodded. His head angled to meet yours. 

“You waited.”

Another pulse. “Yes.”

He took another step. So close you held your breath to stay sane. 

“I’ve been patient,” His voice was deep as he walked you backward, “Letting you touch me every day. Button my shirts. Fix my collar.” 

He paused, releasing a gruff sigh. “You know what that did to me?”

You shook your head no. Heat rising up your spine. 

“And tonight,” he murmured, rubbing a faint circle over your temple, “You obeyed me so well.” He bit his lip, “You know what that did to me?”

Your knees buckled, so much so he had to keep you steady. 

He stepped in again, chest nearly touching yours, hand splayed against the wall beside your head. Your back pressed hard against the surface, cornered under his figure.

Power hummed beneath him. 

“God, I want you…” He whispered, tracing his finger down to your lips. His breath danced across your skin, tickling you with edge. 

All you could manage was a soft exhale. A clench of a jaw.

He waited painfully long. Letting you bask underneath his body. Squirm under his touch until he deemed you ready. 

And then he leaned in. His lips hovering inches above yours. Grazing so god damn soft, barely touching. Just…feeling. Wandering.  

He let them dust yours, back and forth. Back and forth. So light it hurt. 

Your back arched slightly from the wall. Your body yearning without permission, coiling into his frame with a shred of desperation. 

He grazed forward at the movement. A small hum as his mouth finally connected to yours. 

He gently fell into you. Slow. Yearning. 

You sighed as his soft tongue parted your lips with a supple confidence, a low sound emerging in his throat.

You pressed into him, hands sliding up his silky shoulders in response, wanting to feel every intoxicating curve. 

He tasted like heat and sex, like a storm churning inside a man who had been still for too long. 

His fingers trailed up your scalp, threading through a thick clump of hair as he coaxed your mouth open further. Wider. His tongue slipping against yours with the finishing suck of your bottom lip, followed by a deep groan.

“I want to see it.” He exhaled, pulling back for a moment.

You stood breathless. Unsure of what he meant. But then his eyes trickled down, resting on the peek of your cleavage, the lace of the lingerie hiding beneath. 

You slowly turned, moving your hair aside for him so he could unzip your dress. Your heart pounded, wondering how expertly he would unwrap you to see the present he bought. 

“No,” he said, his voice dark. 

He let his voice feather on the shell of your ear. “I’ve taken you apart enough times with my eyes.” His hot lips closed around the cartilage, “Now I want to watch.”

A whimper. Small. Juvenile. 

But he waited, nipping at your ear lobe in anticipation. Hands wandering along your hips. 

You nodded shakily, wondering how you could give him what he wanted. 

You reached behind, fingers brushing the zipper. You hesitated– looking over your shoulder. Wondering if you should continue. 

His gaze met yours. Dark. Waiting .

And so you took a breath. Carefully, you dragged the zipper down gently. One inch at a time it slid, ticking down each prong for his gaze. It revealed the dripping silk of your skin with every pulse.

You then let the straps slide from your shoulders, baring the top of your back. The cold hair pricked your chest as the swell of your breasts laid exposed beneath the lace of the bustier. 

You could hear him sigh. A slight bite of his bottom lip, a shift in his posture. 

And then the dress fell lower. And lower. But you didn’t rush.

Instead you peeled it off your hips like a second skin, catching it slightly at the curve of your thighs before letting it fall down in a pool at your heels.

You stepped out of it, turning back to face him. Eyes locked like an innocent doe. 

He stared with authority. His jaw tightened, breaths heavy. He let you stand there for a moment, admiring what was clearly his. What he had chosen and the woman who so obediently displayed it for him. 

And the lingerie quite simply left nothing to the imagination. In fact, it begged to be removed. 

The bra hugged you tightly, lifting your breasts with a sinful perfection. The panties were high-cut, hugging the suppelest curve of your hips. And beneath them, was the glint of a thin garter belt, holding suspender clips that trailed down the tops of your thighs.

You could feel him count the ways he could undo you. 

And then, he grinned. 

His hand came up, tracing the thin strap at your hip, following it down to where the garter clipped to your delicate stocking.

“Turn around,” he murmured.

You did. 

His palm slid up your back, then down again, cupping the curve of your ass through the lace. He squeezed hard, his palm grabbing a fistful of its weight. 

A low growl in his throat. “Lie down.”

You obeyed. Lowering against the bed with your back to the sheets– wearing nothing but lace and a growing ache. 

Jin-Woo stood at the edge, fully clothed. He unhooked his cuff links, pushing up his sleeves slowly. His gaze dragged across you. 

He remained silent. Just observing, thinking. But then, a small clear of his throat. 

“Touch yourself.”

Your eyes widened. 

He grinned, taunting. “You’re doing so well. You don’t want to stop being good for me, do you?”

Your breath shook, the hesitation overriding. You had never done this in front of a man. Ever.

“Or,” he murmured, leaning in,“I can leave you like this.” His hand slid dangerously up your thigh, “Wet. Needy. Wanting.”

A jolt of embarrassment. Your core was undoubtedly growing moist, his voice alone making it drip. 

He paused, waiting for your decision. His hand edging you, showing you what your reward could be.

And so you began. Your hand slid down to your covered opening, carefully moving the panties to the side. 

He sat back, jaw tense, eyes dark with hunger. 

You did as you were told. 

Your fingers grazed against your center, sliding your index finger in between its lips. You closed your eyes, rubbing a small circle against your clit. 

“Slower,” he said.

You obeyed, dragging your fingers through your slick folds, swallowing a moan as you brushed your growing clit at a gentler pace. 

The sensation was so sharp, especially with him watching you. You immediately wanted to let go, your body flooding with a pulsing need.

You continued massaging, rubbing deep circles while a  sharp sigh fell from your lips. 

“Good,” he smirked. “Keep going.”

You bit your lip, hips rolling involuntarily. Your other hand clenched the sheets, eyes starting to flutter from that delicious heat rising in your belly.  

“Now,” he said, leaning forward. His voice was coated in steel, “tell me.”

“T-t-tell you…” you whispered, breathless. “Tell you, what?”

“What you want.”

You sighed mercilessly without warning. Your fingers still moving at his determined pace.

“I…” A shiver of pleasure hit you. Your legs tightened as you hit a particular spot. 

“I’m waiting.” He said calmly.

You tore your mind back to reality. Attempting to focus. “I want you to…”

He waited, head cocked to the side. God he looked fucking amazing like that. 

“...to touch me.”

“Where?”

“My…my breasts. My thighs. Everywhere.”

He smirked, and leaned in. “Not good enough.”

His hand ghosted up your leg once more. It was tortuously soft, careful not to touch where you needed it the most. 

You let out a pathetic cry. 

“I want your hands on me,” you tried again. “On my pussy. I want you to—”

He cut you off with a look.

“Just my hands?” He loomed closer. His fingers dragging dangerously close to your now dripping center. 

His nose dragged over you like a dog memorizing a scent, inhaling deeply up your thigh. “No, you want more, don’t you?”

You whimpered, fingers drenched from the wet drip of your slit. His voice was like a sex toy on high. 

“I think you want me to take you in my mouth,” he kissed your leg deeply, “And you want to cry for  me…beg for me to suck on that pretty little clit…”

Another kiss. Another inch forward. His lips dragged up your skin, open and wet, his tongue flicking over your garter clip as he took it in between his teeth. 

You gasped. Hips twitching. 

“Did I say you could move?”

You clenched. “N-no.”

“Then don’t.”

His knuckles emerged, brushing against your aching cunt. Observing. Appreciating. 

And then he leaned in, exhaling slow and warm against your entrance. Your body jolted. A soft plea releasing. 

“I said still.” He reminded you. 

You squeezed your eyes shut as he smiled against you. And then one, long, devastating stroke of his tongue wandered up your slit. 

You moaned uncontrollably.

His hands held your thighs down, thumb pressing into your skin. Your mouth dropped open, legs shivering in an array of desperation. 

He licked you again…sucking you sweetly with soft moans from his throat. 

He was playing. Worshipping. His tongue gliding up you like he knew every little spot, every point that would make you cry more pretty sounds for him. 

There was no rhythm. No mercy. Just delicious perfection as his throat surged a masculine sound, vibrating through the squelches of your pussy juice. 

It was enough to keep you desperately suspended. Your chest heaved, fingers curled against your sheets, back threatening to arch but held down by his inhuman strength. 

His tongue circled your clit, lazy, hungry.

Your body started to shake. Hips lifting on instinct, needing more, begging to release the unbearable pleasure. It was too soft. Too delicious. 

He pulled back immediately.

You let out a noise. Needy and guttural. 

“I said, still .” he said sharply.

“I-I’m sorry.” You gasped. 

He reached for his belt, undoing the metal release. “Again.” 

“I’m sorry.”

His smile was cruel. “That’s better.”

He returned to you with purpose. Stroking himself as he ripped the lace covering your breast, allowing it to spring free into his mouth. 

He sucked longingly on your nipple, rolling the erect bud between his tongue and his teeth. 

His hand then drifted back to your pussy, slipping a finger inside with an immediate fullness. Your hips jolted, mind bending from the rush of pleasure. 

You felt him smirk as he slid it farther, curling against a spot that you clearly liked. 

“You’re going to cum,” he said against your throat. “But not until I say.”

“I can’t…p-p-lease…”

“Yes.” He said darkly. “You can and you will.”

You writhed beneath him, holding on by a thread. He slid another finger in with a deeper precision, admiring your cries as he curled the other.

Back and forth he went. Deeper. Sloppier. Meaner. Your eyes rolled back. Begs growing louder with each pump. 

“Now.” He said. 

And just like that– you shattered. 

Your entire body arched with a snap. Thighs shaking, your hands clawed at the sheets as you broke free, loud and cumming right onto him. You consumed the space between you– rolling, pulsing, and shaking with euphoria. 

Jin-Woo held you through it like a child. Your chest heaved as he kissed your neck, fingers still inside as he gathered every last tremor with adoration. All the while his deep voice hummed in your ear, “That’s it sweetheart…” He smiled as his finger flicked inward. “Cum all over daddy my good little slut…”

You collapsed back. Utterly defeated. You lay dazed, doused with sweat—

But it wasn’t over. He instantly shifted, standing on his knees, sliding his pants down to reveal his throbbing cock. 

You watched in awe as it sprang free. Thick and flushed, the tip glistened with endless precum. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, never seeing such a beautiful sight. 

Without hesitation, you reached for him and—

He caught your wrists, pushing them above your head. He held them tight, tying them in place with the belt he had just removed.

“You don’t touch me,” he growled, looming between your thighs. “I take you.”

And then he entered. One thrust, driving into you. Smooth, deep, groaning. 

You gasped with fullness. You felt so raw and so desperate. Swallowing all of him whole– so full you thought your hips would break.

“That’s it…” He sighed, burying himself further. “So good baby, you take me so fucking well…”

Another thrust. His cock reaching deeper. His thickness opened you completely. 

Each pump drove breath from your lungs, his groans growing deeper and more hungry as he pulsed his hips. 

He fucked you deeper into the mattress, pumping back and forth with a painfully perfect rhythm. He was punishing. Worshipping. He was so fucking powerful. 

You wrapped your legs around his torso, forcing yourself to take him as deep as you could– to do anything you could to please him. He moaned, eyes hazy with lust as he felt you. “Yes, just like that sweetheart…” He said through a flexed jaw. 

You cried out, walls clenching around him. He gripped your thigh, yanking you into him as he pounded you harder. “Fuck…grip my fucking cock baby, fuck you’re so small…”

You were close again. Too close. You could barely stand it. 

“Not yet,” He demanded, quickening his pace with brute force. 

You nodded through prickling tears, the squelching of your pussy the only audible sound.

His hand slipped down, rubbing your clit once more. You held onto everything you could, forcing yourself to swallow the pleasure brimming to a boil. 

He felt your pussy twitch around him, enough to have him reach his end. He groaned, breathless and authoritative, “Cum with daddy,” he groaned, feeling your thigh shake within his palm. “C’mon sweetheart, give me your fucking cum…”

The coil inside you snapped. You came hard— violently —as he groaned into your neck, spilling inside you. He collapsed onto your forehead, still inside as his hands reached for your wrists in desperation. 

You opened wide, accepting all of him, feeling every jerk of his pulsing cock deep in your center. His body pressed against yours, hot and sweaty like he could mold you together permanently.  

He sighed, his heart beating against your chest a mile a minute. “Fuck…”

You tilted your head forward, grazing his lips for the lightest kiss. But instead he took you all in, sinking his mouth hard and passionate. 

He pulled back, mouth hovering. A small smirk curling up his left cheek. “Again?”