Sunlight streams through our kitchen window, painting everything in that soft morning glow. I'm scraping the last bits of scrambled eggs from the pan onto Lana's plate, adding an extra piece of bacon because I know she needs the protein on workdays.
Lana sits at our little breakfast nook, scrolling through her phone with one hand while absently tucking her hair behind her ear with the other. She's already dressed for the drive, leggings and an oversized hoodie, though she'll change once she gets to the studio. Her makeup bag sits by the door, packed and ready.
"Here you go," I say, sliding the plate in front of her. "Protein-packed breakfast of champions."
She looks up with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Thanks, babe."
I watch as she picks at her food, taking small bites between long pauses. The clock on the microwave says she needs to leave in fifteen minutes, but at this rate, she'll barely finish half her breakfast.
"Everything okay?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
She sets her fork down and sighs. "I'm sorry, Adam. I just... I hate leaving you on days like this."
I slide into the chair across from her. "Like what? Tuesdays?" I try for humor, but it falls flat.
"You know what I mean." Her voice is quiet. "Shoot days."
I reach across the table and take her hand. Her fingers are cold despite the warm mug of coffee she's been nursing. "Lana, it's okay. You didn't hide anything from me, and you're not cheating. You're just making money."
It's our ritual, these reassurances. Like clockwork before every shoot.
"But it makes you uneasy, right?" She searches my face, looking for the truth I try to hide.
I mull it over in my head. Of course, it does. How could it not? Knowing that in a few hours, she'll be naked with some stranger, moaning for the cameras.
But I don't say that.
I don't lie, either.
"Lana, I trust you, okay?" I squeeze her hand. "I'm probably going to head to Starbucks and write to get my mind off it."
Her face softens, and she stands up, circling the table to wrap her arms around me from behind. Her chin rests on my shoulder, her breath warm against my ear.
"You're always so sexy when you write your little fan fiction," she says, her voice teasing but endearing.
I laugh, feeling my cheeks warm. "Don't make fun of me."
"No, never," she protests, nuzzling into my neck. "I have so much fun reading your Yandere reverse world Pokémon stories. They're perverted but cute."
My face burns hotter. It's one thing to write my guilty pleasure fan fiction about dominant female Pokémon trainers and their submissive male companions, but having Lana actually read them is both validating and mortifying.
She's essential for the editing.
"You're just saying that," I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck.
She spins my chair around to face her, straddling my lap in one fluid motion. "I'm not. I love how your mind works." Her fingers trace my jawline. "The way you write those possessive trainers... it's hot. Makes me wonder what's really going on in that head of yours."
I smile nervously, still not entirely comfortable with her knowing about my deepest fantasies. "Maybe I'll work on a new chapter today."
She cups my face in her hands and presses her lips against mine, the kiss deep and lingering. When she pulls away, her eyes are soft, but her smile is mischievous.
"Okay, baby, I'll be home around six, okay?" She runs her thumb across my bottom lip.
"I'll have dinner waiting," I promise, already mentally scanning through recipes she might enjoy after her... workday.
She slides off my lap, grabbing her purse and makeup bag. At the door, she turns back, her expression suddenly vulnerable beneath her confident exterior. "I love you, Adam," she says, like she's still amazed she gets to say those words to me.
"I love you too," I call after her, watching as the door closes.
And then she's gone. The house feels instantly emptier, quieter. I can almost feel the silence pressing against my skin, a physical presence reminding me of exactly where Lana is going.
I stare at the half-eaten breakfast on the table, the ghost of her perfume still hanging in the air. The familiar heaviness settles in my chest, that mixture of loneliness and something darker I don't like to name.
"I should get going before the depression starts," I mutter to myself, collecting the plates with more force than necessary. "Idle hands, after all..."
I know the routine by now. If I stay home, I'll end up in front of the computer, typing her name into search engines, torturing myself with new videos I haven't seen yet. I'll watch her writhe beneath strangers, listen to her moan for them, and hate myself for getting turned on by it.
Thirty minutes later, I'm showered, dressed, and walking into the local Starbucks with my laptop tucked under my arm. The barista, Mia, waves when she sees me. I'm a regular on shoot days.
"The usual, Adam?" she asks, already reaching for a venti cup.
"Please," I nod, settling into my favorite corner spot.
"Perfect timing," Mia says, sliding my venti caramel macchiato across the counter. "Extra shot, just how you like it."
I thank her with a smile and a generous tip before making my way to an empty high-top table near the window. I prefer these to the booths—better lighting for writing, and the height makes me feel powerful.
I settle in, taking a long sip of my coffee before opening my laptop. The document is right where I left it yesterday, Chapter 52 of my Pokémon fan fiction. My protagonist, Max, is about to encounter Whitney, the Goldenrod City gym leader. In my reimagined world, she's not just tough to beat in battle.
I begin typing, losing myself in the world where powerful women take what they want:
Whitney's eyes gleamed with predatory intent as she locked the gym doors behind Max. "You didn't really think you could challenge me without paying the price, did you?"
My fingers hover over the keyboard, the fictional Whitney's carnivorous smile almost visible in my mind. I'm just about to type the next line when the chair beside me scrapes against the floor. I glance up, startled out of my creative flow.
A woman slides into the seat next to me, even though the café is practically empty. I frown slightly, my concentration broken. There's something familiar about her, auburn hair cascading over her shoulders, sharp features, eyes that seem to know more than they should. I can't quite place where I've seen her before.
"Hope you don't mind," she says, her voice carrying a subtle huskiness. "The Wi-Fi signal's strongest at this table."
I nod awkwardly, shifting my chair a few inches away. "No problem."
She pulls out a sleek MacBook, positioning it next to mine on the small table. Our elbows nearly touch. I feel a strange discomfort prickling at the back of my neck. There are at least six other empty tables in this Starbucks. Why this one?
I try to refocus on my writing, but her presence is distracting. She smells like expensive perfume, something floral with an undercurrent of musk. Professional. Polished. My fingers hover above the keyboard, lost.
"You're a writer?" she asks, glancing at my screen.
I quickly minimize my document. The last thing I need is a stranger reading about my sexually dominant Pokémon gym leader fantasies.
"Everyone dabbles a little bit," I mutter, taking a long sip of my macchiato.
She smiles, and something about it sends a strange shiver down my spine. "I could tell. You have that focused look. Very intense."
I offer a tight smile in return, hoping she'll take the hint and focus on her own work. But she doesn't. Instead, she shifts closer, her leg briefly brushing against mine under the table.
"I'm sorry," she says, though her eyes suggest she's anything but. "These tables are so cramped."
"Right," I mutter, trying to focus back on my screen. Something about her nags at me, like a word stuck on the tip of my tongue. I steal another glance at her, studying her profile more carefully. I just cannot place how I recognize her.
That's when I see what's on her screen. My heart nearly stops.
She's reading a web novel. Not just any web novel my web novel. Trainer's Pet the exact same story I've been working on for months under the username Smolbluntsmoker69. The current chapter is open, displaying the scene I posted just last night where my protagonist gets dominated by the ice-type gym leader.
"You're reading Trainer's Pet?" I blurt out before I can stop myself, my voice a mix of shock and sudden excitement.
She looks up, surprise flashing across her face before settling into a smile. "You know it?"
"I, uh, yeah. I've seen it around." My mind races, trying to process this bizarre coincidence. How likely is it that a random woman would sit next to me in a nearly empty Starbucks and just happen to be reading my obscure Pokémon fan fiction?
Maybe I'm getting famous? Lord knows the Discord server hypes me up.
"It's addictive, isn't it?" She scrolls through the page, and I watch my own words move beneath her fingertips. "The way the writer flips the power dynamics... it's refreshing."
My cheeks burn with an unexpected flush of pride. "How'd you discover it? It's not exactly mainstream."
She hesitates, her finger tracing circles on the trackpad. "I heard about it from a coworker. Word of mouth, you know how it is."
"What do you do for work?" I ask, genuinely curious about what kind of workplace discusses Yandere Pokémon fan fiction.
"Oh, you know this and that," she says vaguely, waving her hand dismissively. "Nothing interesting. What about you? What do you do?"
The deflection is smooth but obvious. I decide not to push it, too flattered by finding an actual reader to risk making her uncomfortable.
"I'm between jobs right now," I say, my standard response these days. "My girlfriend supports me while I figure out my next move."
"Lucky girlfriend," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Getting to take care of a handsome guy like you."
I shift uncomfortably in my seat but can't help feeling a little thrill at finding someone who appreciates my writing. I don't tell her I'm Smolbluntsmoker69, something holds me back, but I lean closer, pointing to her screen.
"That part coming up is one of my favorites," I say, indicating the scene where Max battles and loses to female Lt. Surge leading to his first rape. I was very proud of that scene.
She arches an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "So you like to read smut, huh?"
My face burns instantly, and I stammer, "That's… that's smut written for men, isn't it?" I close my laptop slightly, defensive. "Why don't you pick up a romance novel from the grocery store if you want the stuff for women?"
She laughs a warm sound that somehow puts me at ease despite my embarrassment. "I'm Morgan, by the way," she says, extending her hand. Her grip is firm, confident.
"Adam," I mutter, still flustered.
"Well, Adam," Morgan leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "what if I told you I've read every single chapter of Trainer's Pet twice? That scene with Sabrina and her Psychic Pokémon?" She fans herself dramatically. "I had to take a cold shower after that one."
I nearly choke on my macchiato. "You can't just say things like that in public."
"Why not? We're all adults here." She gestures around the nearly empty café. "And honestly, the femdom elements in yo… I mean, in that story, they are remarkably well-crafted. The power dynamics, the psychological aspects... it's not just about the sex."
"You really think so?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"Absolutely. I've always had a thing for the Pokémon gym leaders, actually. Grew up playing the games." Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "And let's just say the femdom fetish content was a natural progression. It felt like a no-brainer when I found Trainer's Pet."
I SAID THE SAME THING TO AN INDONESIAN GUY IN THE COMMENTS!!
There's something disarming about Morgan's candor, the way she discusses these topics without a hint of shame. I find myself relaxing despite the intimate turn of conversation.
"So what do you like about it?" she asks, nodding toward my laptop. "The fantasy of submission? Or is it the role reversal that appeals to you?"
"I..." No one's ever asked me this directly before. Not even Lana knows the full extent of what draws me to these stories. One of my college Ex's got me hooked onto yandere content.
"I guess I like the idea of someone wanting you so much they'd do anything to have you. Even if it's... unconventional."
Morgan's eyes seem to darken slightly. "That's fascinating. The obsession aspect, the possessiveness. There's something primal about it, isn't there?"
"Yeah," I admit, surprised by my own openness. "In real life, it would be awful, but in fiction..."
"It's intoxicating," she finishes for me, nodding with an understanding that makes me feel both uncomfortable and seen.
I take another sip of my drink, suddenly aware of how much I've revealed to this stranger. Morgan tilts her head, studying me with those piercing eyes.
"So, what does your girlfriend do? For work, I mean."
The question hits me like a bucket of ice water. My throat tightens instantly. Images flash through my mind, Lana on her knees, sucking down someone's huge cock.
"She's in marketing," I blurt out, the lie slipping from my lips. "Digital marketing. Social media stuff."
Morgan's eyebrow raises slightly. "That must be interesting. What company?"
"A startup," I add hastily, doubling down on my fabrication. "You probably haven't heard of it. They're still pretty small."
I feel a twinge of guilt for lying, but what am I supposed to say? 'Oh, my girlfriend gets gangbanged on camera for a living, and I jerk off to it when she's not home'? It's none of this woman's business anyway, no matter how much we bonded over Pokémon smut.
"How about you?" I deflect quickly. "Are you in a relationship?"
Something flickers across Morgan's face, disappointment, maybe? But she recovers with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Not at the moment. I'm... selective." She runs her finger along the rim of her coffee cup. "I know exactly what I want, and I'm willing to be patient to get it."
I take a long drink of my macchiato, suddenly wishing it contained something stronger than espresso.
Morgan shifts in her seat, angling her body toward me with an unsettling familiarity. "So, Adam, have you read any of Smolbluntsmoker69's other works? The Legend of Zelda one is absolutely brilliant."
My mouth drops open slightly. "You read the Zelda one too?"
Morgan smiles, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "Of course. The one where Link is constantly dominated by the Gerudo warriors? It's exquisite work. The way the author builds tension through Link's reluctant submission..."
A strange feeling washes over me. I never published that story anywhere except in my private Discord server. It was still in beta, with only about a few dozen people having access to it.
I guess someone could have stolen it and posted it somewhere else maybe?
"How did you..." I start, then stop myself. My heartbeat quickens. "Are you in the Discord server?"
Her eyes sparkle with something I can't quite identify. "Discord server? I'm not sure what you mean."
But there's something in her voice, a slight hesitation that feels off. I study her face more carefully now, noting how her gaze doesn't waver, how she seems to be watching my reactions with almost clinical interest.
"The author has a Discord," I explain cautiously. "It's private, invitation-only. That Zelda story isn't published publicly."
"You know, I'm actually…" I begin, almost ready to confess that I'm Smolbluntsmoker69, when her phone buzzes loudly on the table.
Morgan glances at the screen and frowns. "I'm so sorry, I have to take this." She answers with a clipped tone, "Yes? Now?" Her professional demeanor shifts instantly, her voice becoming sharper, more authoritative. "Fine. I'll be right there."
She ends the call with a sigh, closing her laptop. "Work emergency. I have to run." She looks genuinely disappointed as she gathers her things. "It was really nice meeting you, Adam. Maybe we can meet up here again sometime?"
"Yeah, I'd like that," I say, trying to sound casual. "Good luck with your emergency."
Morgan scribbles something on a napkin and slides it across to me. "My number," she explains with a smile that's both warm and somehow predatory. "Just in case you want to discuss more... literature."
As she walks away, her heels clicking rhythmically against the tile floor, I stare at the napkin with her elegant handwriting. I ball it up and toss it into my empty coffee cup. No way I'm calling a random Starbucks woman, no matter how much she appreciates my writing.
"I can't believe I just met an actual super fan," I mutter to myself, shaking my head in disbelief. What are the chances of randomly encountering someone who not only reads my obscure fan fiction but has read multiple stories of mine? The universe has been very strange lately.
—
Morgan's point of view
I walk into the studio with measured steps, my heels clicking purposefully against the tile floor. The familiar scent of hairspray and sex hangs in the air, a cocktail I've breathed for years now. My face remains perfectly composed, betraying none of the excitement bubbling beneath the surface.
Today was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I push open the door to the makeup room, spotting Lana immediately. She's sprawled in the chair, her blonde hair disheveled, skin flushed and gleaming with sweat. They've been working her hard today. I can tell by the slight tremor in her hands as she scrolls through her phone. Poor thing looks exhausted.
Good.
"Hey, stranger," I call out, settling into the chair beside her. The makeup artist hovers nearby, waiting to touch up my foundation.
Lana looks up, her eyes brightening with recognition. "Morgan! Hey, you look so happy. Did something good happen?"
I allow myself a genuine smile, the first real one I've given anyone at this studio in months. "I met someone truly interesting today." I keep my voice casual, measured, though inside I'm practically vibrating with triumph.
"Really?" Lana perks up, setting down her phone. Always so eager to celebrate others' happiness. It's almost endearing how naive she is. "That's amazing! I'm so happy for you."
I nod, letting the makeup artist begin her work.
Lana watches me with those wide blue eyes, completely unaware that I'm talking about her boyfriend. Her Adam. Soon to be my Adam.
"How much longer until your contract's up?" she asks, tilting her head. "You've been talking about leaving for a while now."
I laugh, the sound light and airy. "Sooner than the producers would like," I tell her, watching her reflection in the mirror rather than looking at her directly.
What I don't say is that I've already made arrangements with my financial advisor. Everything is in place. My exit strategy is flawless. Alls thats left is finding the perfect partner. And Lana sure as hell helped me with that.