#Interviewed for a Job Interview? Now What?

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Clark Kent X Reader: Secret with a capital S

a/n: this movie was amazing, david corenswet Superman has my heart and soul

Warnings: none (i think), this is basically just fluff

Word count: 1.4K

You didn’t know he was Superman. He hadn’t told you — which ate away at him constantly — and somehow, you still hadn’t figured it out on your own. He was grateful, in a way, that you didn’t work with him. If you had, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to keep up the charade for long.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was how deeply it would affect him to see you in danger.

He hadn’t been prepared for his own reaction — and neither had you.

You were at your job, focused on the task at hand, when the first tremor hit. The lights swayed, and the coffee on your desk spilled across the papers scattered there. Everyone froze for a moment, looking at each other uncertainly.

And then the second tremor hit — harder.

“It’s an earthquake!” someone shouted.

You glanced out the window just as a giant creature came into view.

“That’s no earthquake,” you whispered.

Everything after that was a blur. One moment you were in your building, watching the Justice Squade — watching Superman — fight some monstrous creature. The next, you were on the ground floor, staring up in horror as the thing started to fall… directly toward you.

You couldn’t run. It was too massive. Too close.

So you closed your eyes. Braced for impact. For the end.

But it never came.

A burst of wind hit your face — sharp, sudden. You flinched, then opened your eyes.

He was there.

Superman.

Just inches from your face, arms straining as he held the weight of the creature above you. His eyes locked with yours — wide and soft, full of something you couldn’t quite name. Then they hardened with focus.

“You need to get out of here,” he said, voice tight. “I can’t hold it much longer.”

You nodded, heart hammering, and ran.

The sunlight hit your skin as you finally made it out from beneath the beast. You turned to look back just in time to see Superman’s arms give out. He disappeared beneath the creature.

Your hand flew to your mouth.

He’d saved you. Superman had saved you.

And now he was… gone?

No. Not gone. That didn’t seem possible. Trapped, maybe. Injured. But not gone.

You stood there, frozen, staring at the spot where he’d vanished, willing him to reappear. But with every passing second, the ache in your chest grew heavier. The tears were already burning at the corners of your eyes when you felt a hand on your arm.

You turned — expecting anyone but him.

Yet there he was. Superman.

Everyone else seemed too busy congratulating the Justice Squad to notice Superman’s iron grip on you. You let him drag you along, half stumbling, half jogging to keep up with his pace. What the hell was going on?

And then, as if he couldn’t do anything more surprising, Superman pulled you into an alley and kissed you. It took you a second to realize what was happening. But then you were pushing him away. You gaped at him for a moment before finally managing to speak.

“I— I have a boyfriend!” you blurted.

You weren’t sure what you expected him to do with that information — apologize? Back away? But smiling definitely wasn’t on the list. Then again, Superman kept on surprising you. He gave you a big grin.

“I know you do,” he said.

You blinked. “That… that makes no sense.”

And then the gears started turning in your head, and you seemed to remember that your boyfriend had interviewed Superman on various occasions.

“Wait—Clark’s mentioned me?”

Superman’s eyes widened. Then he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, covering his mouth with one hand and shaking his head.

“You really have no idea, do you?”

You stared at him, confused.

And he smiled again — softer this time. As if letting a secret slip from his lips.

His hand moved to hold onto your cheek, and just as you were about to move away, he said something that made you freeze.

“You have a mole just above your hip bone.”

And the world seemed to stop. Because there was only one person in the world who knew that information. Only one person who’d ever cared enough to notice such a small detail. Your brows furrowed as you continued to stare at Superman. He caressed your cheek with his thumb, allowing you to come to terms with what he’d just revealed to you.

“Clark?” you whispered.

Superman gave you a soft smile.

“Hey, honey.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Your hands grabbed at his face, pulling him down into a kiss — desperate, trembling, relieved. Your heart was still pounding, still caught in the echo of near-death. His lips met yours without hesitation, arms circling your waist like he could finally let go, like he could finally breathe.

It was everything. Familiar and not. Clark, but not just Clark. Superman.

Clark Kent was Superman.

Oh my god. You were dating Superman.

And then your hand flew up — not to hurt, not really — but to do something. You smacked his chest, the impact dull against the solid wall of him.

“All this time?” you said, voice cracking. “You—you never told me?”

There were no tears now, just anger. Anger that he hadn’t told you.  That he hadn’t trusted you enough to share something so huge about his double life. Anger at all the excuses he’d made up.  Anger at all the danger he’d been putting himself in — every day — without you even knowing.

“I wanted to,” he said quietly. “Every day.”

“But you didn’t.” You shook your head, stepping back, running a hand through your hair. “God, Clark—do you have any idea what I felt just now? I thought you died.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “If anyone knew we were together, you’d be in more danger. I needed to protect you.”

You let out a shaky laugh, more bitter than amused. “You mean the way you just protected me? By throwing yourself under a building-sized monster?”

He didn’t answer. And your expression softened — just a little. Your scowl faded into a frown.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “And the worst part is, I didn’t even know it was you I was losing. I thought I was watching a stranger die… while the man I love was safe somewhere else.”

You’d never told him you loved him before. You hadn’t intended to now — but the words had just slipped out. He wasn’t even sure if you realized it. But he had.

His hands were at his sides now, clenched — like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t dare.

“I didn’t want to lie,” he said softly. “But I had to. And I hated every second of it.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. And you saw him. Not Superman. Not the hero. Just Clark. Your Clark. The man who brought you coffee in the mornings. Who teased you when you fell asleep with a book on your chest. The man who made you feel safe… even when he was the one running headfirst into danger.

You stepped forward again, more slowly this time — and let your body crash into his. You held on tight, terrified that at any moment he might disappear from your grasp. His arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the world. Like he always had.  Even before you knew his secret.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, still clinging to his suit like letting go might undo everything. And you kissed him again, more tender this time, your hands moving to hold onto his face as you did. When you finally pulled away, you looked him dead in the eye.

“You better not lie to me again,” you said, voice low but firm.

His smile was small but sincere. “I won’t. I promise.”

You searched his face for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. He kissed your forehead softly — a gentle, grounding thing — and you knew he didn’t want to let go either. But the distant sounds of celebration and shouting from the Justice Squad behind you said it was time.

He hesitated a second longer, then pulled back just enough to say, with a crooked little grin,

 “So Superman kisses you and the first thing you say is ‘I have a boyfriend’?”

You blinked at him in surprise.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

He raised his hands up. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re loyal.”

You smacked his chest again — this time just a little harder.

“Shut up, Kent.”

He laughed, really laughed — and you realized how long it had been since you’d heard that sound from him. His hand brushed yours one last time before he turned to go, stepping out of the alley and back into the world as Superman.

But now you knew. Now he was yours — all of him. And somehow, that made everything feel just a little less terrifying.

[mishappeningss]

Pretty much everyone and their mothers are in love with YN (as they should) but what about the ones who don't like her? A woman like her (amazing, talented, fierce, beautiful etc) for sure would've a few haters (women or men) there and here. What about them? Did fans or other drivers ever noticed those haters? They could be actresses, WAGs, models, older or younger drivers who couldn't and won't want to believe a woman is better than all of them combined, sleazy and irritating male actors who just needs a good slap on the cheek (repeatedly).... you get the gist.

you know what’s actually so funny? how ppl do still pretend that everyone in the paddock loves her like she’s universally adored, when in reality? there are haters. bold, bitter haters.

and i don’t mean just rivals — i mean grown ass men who can’t stand a woman is not only good at her job, but also powerful while doing it. so let’s talk about them, shall we?

more about driver!yn

helmut marko — the relic who can’t shut up

There has never been a race weekend where this man hasn’t made some widely backhanded comment about her — “Too emotional,” “Too focused on image,” “Not enough discipline,” blah blah. Helmut, please.

This man is allergic to women who don’t shrink themselves to make insecure men feel comfortable. And she doesn’t even acknowledge him — not in interviews, not in passing, not even accidentally.

And Max? Oh, he knows. He literally said, “I think Helmut’s afraid of her” on live TV once. And he was right.

guenther steiner — bitter as hell

Okay hear me out. He has his funny times — sure. But he’s also old school. He never believed in YN. Wouldn’t give her a seat. He’s been pressed since day one because she refused to do a cameo for a docuseries no one watched.

He’d made weird jabs about her being “more influencer than a racer,” which is funny because she’s the one actually putting points on the boards and selling out circuits worldwide.

And she knows. She walked past him in the paddock and said, “Hope you get a clean lap today!” They DNF’d.

valterri botas — lowkey bitter, highkey obvious

This one hurts because we all wanted to root for him. Their vibes were chill until she lapped him in one race and waved — like a little princess wave. Ever since? He’s been calling her a “brand over substance” type in podcasts, casually shading her every other sentence.

He isn’t overly rude, but has made enough passive digs to earn suspicion. Once said, “These days it feels like social media wins matter more than points.”

christian horner — oh, we’re tired

He wanted her. Badly. Tried to poach her when her contract with Mercedes was up. Even sent her flowers. She didn’t respond. Now suddenly he’s talking about how “fame is distracting” and how “the sport needs humility.”

Sir, you let your team run up a petty press campaign every time another driver breathes near your number 1. Maybe redirect that “humility” talk internally?

Everyone knows, the subtext is screaming.

Because she represents everything Red Bull didn't believe in. Because they could've signed her early — and didn't. Because Max respects her, and Horner sees that as a threat.

She's winning over the media. She's front page while his drivers are finishing P7. And every time she stands on a podium with that small smile, he's in the background with his jaw clenched like he's chewing gravel.

So yes, there are haters. But the thing is? They hate loudly because they know she wouldn’t even bother looking in their direction.

Because while they’re busy doing interviews about what she isn’t, she’s on another podium, holding another trophy, doing celebrations with her team and making headlines for being the moment.

She doesn’t respond, she doesn’t need to. Her results do the talking.

[cheerfulmelancholies]

"If you were a fruit, what kind would you be?"

"If a coworker tried to punch you, would you punch them back or try to respectfully talk it out?"

"What if you were held at gunpoint? Would you give the thief the money from the register?"

…Yeah, job interviews can really suck, and these were from years ago. I'm terrified of what it's like now. Assuming you even get a human and not an AI "interviewer" or something.

fellas is it just me or has job hunting gotten worse

[almostsaidiloveyou]

BROO more makeup artist reader plsss 🙏🙏🙏 My lesbian the heart loves this fic 😭😭😭

Yes of course lovely ! Here you go, more m.u.a reader <3 and tysm mwah 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

Imagine #15: ”Are you made at me? Or just horny?”

(makeupartist!reader - the part before this one - jealous!reader - smut with plot - 1.9k words)

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

It's been three weeks.

Three weeks since she kissed you. Since she yanked you down onto her lap and made you hump out an orgasm on her thigh like it was nothing. Since you left her dressing room with her hoodie in your arms and your underwear sticking to you the whole drive home.

She never mentioned it again.

But the damn late night texts began.

Stupid, blurry selfies. Her makeup smudged after a night out (probably right after the shift you worked)

One text read: "Could use ur hand right about now."

Then there were the PR package photos. Random lipsticks and shadow palettes from brands you'd never seen her actually wear. She wasn't the type to wear much makeup outside of red carpets or shoots anyway (if that were the case, then you know it'll be thoughts and prayers for you.)

One message came with a photo and text: "New shade. Wanna come try it on me?"

The most recent one? A mirror pic, sweatpants, sports bra, hair tied up. "Miss ur touch, makeup girl." No emoji, only those words.

You nearly threw your phone across the room. Screamed into your pillow.

Still nothing actually happened since.

You didn't reply to the texts. Not really, maybe a heart emoji once. A 'lol' another time. Mostly, you left them on read. Sent messages about time and place, what style her management wanted to go with, if she wanted to try new products. Keeping it professional. Or tired to.

She didn't push it when you ignored them. Didn't apologize either.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

So tonight? You show up for another late night interview taping. Same job...same routine. You sign in, get your kit set up, patiently sit down on your chair waiting for trouble to come through.

You're not nervous. You're irritated. You can't name it exactly, whatever's been boiling in your chest since that night.

But you know it probably has something to do with the way she's been flirting with everyone. Not even trying to be subtle about it anymore.

Five minutes in the greenroom and she's already laughing with the guest coordinator, eyes locked in deep, grin on her face. She lets the wardrobe girl button up her shirt too slowly, holding eye contact the whole time.

And the media? Don't get started. The rumored hookups & relationships? Too many to count. X (Twitter) is convinced she's dating a new person every week.

But when she finally walks over and drops into your chair?

She spreads her legs wide, like always. Ring clink as she adjusts the sleeves of her top. You pumped her chair up 3 times. Her thigh...the thigh presses against the side of your arm.

You set your brushes down a little too hard. She watches you: smirking. "Missed me?" she murmurs.

You don't answer, you're too busy uncapping the foundation bottle.

Her brows lift slightly, a bit surprised actually. "Wow. We're quiet tonight."

"Keep your face still," you mutter, dabbing foundation along her jaw. She tilts her chin up, voice husky. "Mmh. What's wrong? That time of the month?" You glare at her, pause for just a second, then press the brush to her cheek with more pressure than necessary.

She leans into it like she likes the pain. "Kinky," she mumbled under her breath. You don't laugh, not even a smile. She notices that immediately.

Her grin flickers, "Ohh," she says slowly. "You mad at me or just horny?"

You slam the compact shut.

Her lips twitch, "Oof definitely mad."

You grab the lip brush, grip it like it's a blade. "Stop talking.

She actually does goes quiet. No teasing, only looking. Studying your face: her eyes follow the curve of your jaw, the tight line of your mouth.

And then, softly "Come to my room tonight."

You hand barely fall, but you recover and keep blending. "I'm not doing this again," you say, voice a bit lower than you wanted.

"I think we should talk."

"Bout what?" you snap.

Her voice drops to something real this time. Quiet, more firm. "About what's been bothering you since that night you came on my thigh." You don't say anything. You focus on her mouth, that fucking mouth.

"It doesn't matter," you mutter. "I'm your makeup artist. And that's the problem."

You don't tell her about the jealousy. About the way you've been going crazy. How you've started dreading every shift with her, because you know exactly how she tastes like, what she feels like pressed between your legs. You wish she were like your other clients. The ones you don't know, who don't talk to you like matter. The ones you've never seen vulnerable and biting their lip when they look a your hands,

But she's not them.

She leans forward, smiling slow and sure. Voice lowers in something deep now, "Come to my room."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You're standing outside her hotel suite door. You received a text of her current hotel when you were on your drive home. You know you shouldn't be here. But you're here.

Your fist is raised, knocking (more like banging) before you can convince yourself out of it.

She opens the door. Boxers, a tank top, hair slightly damped. She smells like a fresh shower--warm expensive vanilla body wash--skin. "Bout time, I was gonna start touching myself without you." She jokes...partially.

You scoffed but walk inside. The room is dimply lit, one lamp by the bed. Her clothes from earlier draped over a chair next to a small suitcase.

You cross your arms, standing in the center. "Talk."

She shuts the door, locks it, leans against it. "I saw your face earlier, before I went on...right after "

"You frowned and rolled your eyes at the guest coordinator lady. Lookin' all grumpy." She added fast before you could say anything.

"What?" Your furrowed your brows.

"You're mad because I was flirting with her, right?"

"No..." You crossed your arms. "Is this why you told me to come here? To assume I care about who you flirt or don't flirt with?"

"You think I don't notice how you get when I say soemthin' slick to someone else?"

"Dude, you flirt with everyone, that's not new." You glare.

She pushes her hair back and walks closer to you. You just blink. "You didn't care before, so why now?"

You take a step back, quiet for a second. Then "Because--"

She cuts you off, " 'Cause I kissed you?" her voice is now low. " 'Cause I made you cum?"

She's right in front of you, skin warm, glowing. You hate her for being this bold. Hate her for being this fucking hot. And especially hate yourself for giving in....AGAIN.

You don't know who moves first, but your lips crash into her, rough, fast, messy. her arms pulls you in like she's been starving. Your jacket hits the floor, her hands find your ass instantly, squeezing through your jeans. Your fingers tangled into the damp strands of her hair, tugging hard enough to make her groan into your mouth.

She was trying to ruin you. That's how it feels when she kisses you. Like she already knows how and is just about to finish the job.

Her tongue presses past your lips and you taste the remains of her toothpaste. She walks you backwards towards the bed, her mouth never leaving yours. You're so caught up you barely notice when the back of your knees hit the mattress.

"Jeans off," she mumbled against your jaw, biting your skin just below your ear. "Wanna see how much you missed me." She impatinelty unbuttons them.

You hesitate for a second, "This doesn't fix anything, y'know?"

"Didn't say it would."

You yank your jeans down anyway. She watches you, lips parted, eyes low. Her hand drifts between your thighs, palm pressing over your panties. "Finally... get to feel you."

You look away. "Shut up." But she doesn't. she literally never does.

"So good," she hums.

She pushes you on the bed, crawls over you. Her tank top riding up. "I've been thinking about this," she whispers, voice raspy as she kisses your stomach. "…bout how you looked riding me. The way your mouth opened when I bounced my thigh."

Your head tipping back against the mattress, your groan, “You’re actually so fucking annoying.”

She smiles, breath warm against your lower belly. "Mhm, right. And yet..." She hooks her fingers into the waistband of your panties, "...look at you." Completely soaked for her.

She peels then down slowly, dragging them past your knees, your ankles, and tosses them somewhere behind her without even look. She pauses just for a moment, taking you in.

The way your thighs part, your chest rises. The way your eyes avoided hers, looking away, suddenly shy even after everything. She leans forward again, mouth brushing against your inner thigh, tongue teasing the skin, near where you NEED her the most.

"Open up f'me," she murmurs. "Lemme taste how much you find me annoyin."

Your face starts to burn. You swear under your breath but do exactly as you're told: legs falling open, heels digging into the expensive bedspread. She shakily exhales, her mouth parting as she finally lowers her head and licks one, slow, line through you.

You twitch, hips jerk. "Oh god."

She groans, mumbling something incoherent about how you taste.

Her tongue circles your clit before closing around it, lips sealing, and sucking lightly. Your whole body arches, you grip at her hair with one hand, the other hand grabbing the sheets besides you.

She's devouring you, hungry, no hesitation nor teasing. Works you open with her mouth, moaning into it. Moving her head like she can't get close enough. Even if she was already suffocating.

Two fingers slide into you without warning. Unhurried at first curling deeeep until your legs start shaking. You whimper, hips rolling up against her face, chasing the pressure.

You’ve been craving it.

She pulls back enough to talk, her fingers still pumping inside you, "Yea? You gonna cum already? Just from my mouth?"

You breath hard, "Shut up and keep going."

She smirks. "Say please."

'You hate her. You hate her. You fucking hate her.'

You yank her hair hard. She laughs into you, muffled and mean. Nonetheless she listens, her tongue flattens against your clit again, steady now. Fingers moving faster, stroking that one spot that makes your vision blur. Everything build fast, that tight feeling in your stomach, a fluttering eagerness in your legs. You're panting-moaning-whispering her name without meaning to. (Regretting it later on)

She hears it and loves it. "That's it...lemme have it."

Your thighs tighten around her head, your back arches, mouth falls open with a sound you barely recognize. You finally break and it's not soft; its a full body snap!

She doesn't stop, she works you through it, tongue slow now, fingers easing as you shake beneath her.

Gasping, eyes fluttering open as she pulls back. Lips swollen and shiny. She climbs up your body again, mouth finding yours without warning. You kiss her back tasting yourself.

Her hand cups your cheek. She still close when she whispers: "Still jealous?"

You roll her over in one quick (clumsy) move. Straddling her hips. She looks up at you like you just confirmed everything she was hoping for.

You reach down between her legs and press through her boxers. She gasps. You grin:

"Your turn~"

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

[solivagant-1]

⋆˙⟡ Let the Light In ⟡˙ ⋆

Ch 3: Demons

Characters: Rumi x fem!reader

A/N: Big big chapter that made me hungry at 2 in the morning while writing. Giving you some lore in this universe that will be revealed bit by bit, that way you can still insert yourself without feeling like your character is an OC (an oc is not the intention trust🙏)

In short, she was wrong.

Maybe if Rumi took a second to think about it more logically she would’ve saved a ton of time. Unfortunately, her mind these past few days has been anything but rational. One quick scan through your interview file, generously obtained by Bobby himself, told her all she needed to know. You had history. Here, in this file, was physical proof that couldn’t be fabricated by Gwi-Ma himself. Evidence of your college degree and references from previous employers were laid flat out. A completed background check that, besides a car incident a few years back, was squeaky clean. You were as human as can be. And it only made her patterns worsen.

You had been nothing but kind to her, she knows, and did nothing to warrant such an extensive investigation. Rumi had to throw on a dark gray, form-fitting long sleeve to hide the purple lines creeping up her arms and neck. 

“Yours are a reminder too, of a shame of your own.”

Rumi grumbles at the memory, crossing her arms over her chest. Though, he has a point. This remorse over jumping to conclusions, this guilt over treating you so coldly, it only feeds into her overall shame.

Rumi stares at herself in the mirror. There’s still so much she doesn’t know about her patterns. But if there’s one thing she knows for certain, the second she confided in Jinu, her voice grew just a little bit stronger. Her patterns are still too big a secret to share with her girls just yet. But apologizing to you, making it up to you, properly…Rumi wonders if baby steps are the way to go. One confession at a time. 

–

Your workday was pretty mind numbing. Between coordinating schedules for the idols, contacting different networks, and sending emails on behalf of Bobby, who was busy tending to the girls’ needs, you ended up being chained to your desk for most of the day. Your only escape was the occasional errand you had to run, which ended up costing you your lunch break. Though it’s nothing compared to the grueling schedule you’ll have in the next few weeks. Your coworkers have already warned you how the real stress ramps up closer to Idol Awards season. Not only would you need to help Bobby prep everything for the show-show, but also the annual pre-show gala the night before, and the post-show events and afterparties for when Huntr/x inevitably comes out on top. 

As Bobby updated you on who to get in touch with tomorrow, the floor’s elevator opened, creating a series of gasps and whispers from almost everyone in the room. You see a familiar purple-braided figure approaching you and Bobby when you peer over your cubicle wall.

“Hey Bobby, you mind if I get a word with Y/N? Alone?”

“Oh yeah! I was just getting her up to speed for tomorrow. Y/N, the conference room has the most privacy.” You nod and lead her to the room with bated breath. Surely now Rumi will finally stop beating around the bush and tell you what exactly it was you did to upset her. Up until now, you had been replaying every moment the two of you spent together, wondering what it was about you that ticked her off. Though right now, she seems a lot more mellow than before. No narrowed eyes, no intense staring, maybe I won’t get fired.

You open the doors to the main conference room. You’ve yet to sit in on a meeting here. Lately, anytime Bobby has a one with the higher ups, your job is to take over his other responsibilities. It's amazing he’s gone this long without an assistant. Rumi closes the door behind her and you brace yourself for the worst.

“I’m sorry.” 

You straighten. “You’re…sorry?”

Rumi takes a breath. “It takes me a while to warm up to people, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve treated you the way I treated you. I’m not usually this cold to people…and what’s worse is, I didn’t even give you a chance to let you in, I let my first impression get the best of me.”

Oh thank god, you had thought Rumi had hated you from the start. You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Apology accepted.” 

“I…would you maybe want to get dinner with me tonight? On me, of course. We could get to know each other better? I hope we can start over.”

Starting over. An idea comes to mind that makes you half smile. You bow and repeat your introduction from the other night. “Hello Rumi, I’m Y/N. I’m honored to be your new assistant manager.” She smiles. It's the first she’s given just for you since meeting, “And I’m Rumi, it’s nice to meet you too.” With that out of the way, she visibly relaxes; her shoulders drop, her jaw unclenches, and there's more of a softness in her eyes.

You walk her out of the conference room. “I have my driver waiting out front, if you want to eat now?” As if on cue, your stomach growls. Not taking your lunch was starting to catch up to you. “I’m not sure if Bobby will let me go early, there’s still so much to be done.”

Rumi hums, pulls out her phone, and types out a quick text. Your phone dings not a moment later. 

The notification is a text from Bobby that reads:

“Hey Y/N, we’ve got everything covered over here. You’re free to go early.”

You look back up at Rumi and notice she’s holding back a grin. You can’t help but marvel at the power she holds, and can only imagine what else she could do with just a few simple commands. She leads you out to her car with her driver already sitting patiently in the driver's seat. Rumi opens the door for you first and hops in right after. 

You turn to her, “Do you mind if we stop by my apartment so I can change? I’ve been running around in these clothes all day. It’s not too far from here.” She agrees and you tell the driver your address. It doesn’t take very long to get there, you lived so close to the office walking distance wise already. But when you arrived, a part of you felt bad about leaving Rumi waiting so long in the car. The least you could do is offer her to rest inside, right? 

“Do you want to come inside with me?” You ask her.

Now that Rumi’s sure you’re not a demon, she wants to put in the effort in getting to know you better. Zoey has already become more attached than the others, starting to chat more with you after practices and over text. Mira’s slowly beginning to warm up to you as well. So she has no qualms about going with you to your place for just a few minutes. If anything, Rumi realizes, seeing your place reveals a lot about a person. “If you want me to,” she replies, already unbuckling her seatbelt.

You knock three times after the two of you climb up the stairs. With it being close to evening, you know exactly who should be on the other side. The door swings open with a loud, squeaky creak.

“Y/N!” Your grandpa shuffles aside, holding open the door. “I didn’t expect you to come back so soon.” Rumi steps into view, “Oh! You finally brought home a girl.” He beams, shuffling forward to introduce himself. Both your eyes widen. 

“Grandpa she isn’t—“

“Oh, we not—“

He huffs, waving off your protests and allowing you both to step inside. He closes the door gently, “And here I thought I was finally getting great grandkids sometime soon, breaking an old man’s heart.” He tisks. Grandpa, that's not how that works. 

Rumi straightens, clearing her throat and silently praying her flush isn’t noticeable. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr L/N.”

“Come, sit, sit, make yourself comfortable. You must be that Rumi girl Y/N keeps talking about. Unless long purple hair is becoming a popular color.” You shake your head fondly while he sits at the main dining room table. Rumi sits across from your grandpa. You share the same hair color she notes. “I’m gonna go change. I’ll be quick.” You whisper to her, excusing yourself to head towards your room. Once you’re out of view, he turns to Rumi. 

“So is it true?” 

“Is what true?” 

“That you hate her.” He clarifies as if it were obvious.

“Oh! No, I don’t, I never did, I just had the wrong impression. Does—did she think I hate her?” Mr. L/N sips his drink loudly before setting the cup down. “What kind of impression?”

The impression that your granddaughter isn’t human. But she can’t say that. “Well, uh, we all have to be very careful in this…industry,” she clasps her hands, “It can be hard to tell what’s real and what’s not. Y/N is good at what she does, it just took me a minute to see it.”

He leans back. “Does it happen often?” He asks, “Or is it just that it's harder for you to trust in others?” Rumi was unprepared for being put on the spot like this. What is it with everyone reading me so well lately? Am I that predictable?! She thinks to herself. 

Before she can answer she’s saved by your door opening. Though when you came back out, she was even more unprepared for seeing you in casual attire for the first time. “Okay, I’m ready.” It takes a cough from your grandpa to snap her back to reality. Rumi clears her throat and stands.

“Before you go,” Mr. L/N gets up right after, “let me grab…Y/N, where are my cardboard boxes?” “Second cupboard next to the stove.” You reply without looking up from looking through your purse. 

In the kitchen, your grandpa folds out a cardboard box to pack various fruits; Apricots, nectarines, and enough oranges to supply an army. He hands the overflowing box to Rumi, “Here, for you and your singing friends. The citrus will help the voice.”

Her eyes soften, “That’s very generous of you, Mr. L/N.” Rumi carries the box with ease, her toned bicep and deltoid muscles now more visible under her sleeves. You try not to notice. 

He waves off her thank yous. You give him one last hug before leaving, making sure to lock the door behind you. The two of you are escorted back to the car. Rumi places the box on her lap when she sits. For a minute, the two of you sit in comfortable silence. 

“He sells fruit at a nearby market.” 

Rumi looks over. “Not as often lately. His health has been declining. It’s easier to keep an eye on him when we live together. He always has a surplus nowadays, so I bet he was happy handing some over to you.” Rumi smiles appreciatively. “I wouldn’t mind taking more off his hands,” she shrugs, thinking about his blunt yet caring nature.

“He actually kind of reminds me of Mira.”

-

The driver didn’t stop at a fancy steakhouse or a luxury restaurant. Instead, Rumi takes you to a hole-in-the-wall Korean Barbecue restaurant tucked away in the city. Rumi pays the owner a near million won upfront in exchange that they’d close the store for the duration of their meal. The owner himself happily leads you to their best table and seats you down with water and menus.

The owner seems to have taken an instant liking to Rumi, offering to bring out all the raw meat and side dishes whenever either of you ask. Rumi takes the lead in grilling the kinds you and her picked: Pork belly, beef bulgogi, and wagyu beef are all placed on the grill. You’re tasked with ordering and fixing the sides; settling on edamame, white rice, corn cheese, and a mix of assorted vegetables to start.

The heat of the grill makes you unzip and shrug off your jacket, and Rumi finally sees a glimpse of the marks that made her dead set on the idea that you were a demon in the first place. They’re not patterns, but a scar that trails down from the edge of your neck and disappears under your shirt. Rumi feels incredibly stupid for her earlier accusations. She doesn’t bother asking how you got it, opting to instead keep the observation to herself and flip over the food.

“So, why K-pop, Y/N?” Rumi makes sure to pay equal attention to both you and the grill. The aroma of searing meat wafts into the air, making your mouth water.

“I actually wanted to be an idol.” You admit, splitting the white rice onto two plates. “But let’s just say I wasn’t really cut out. Instead, I stayed here for a little bit, then got my degree in the states. This is actually my first time back since college. Everything feels different, but also the same, if that makes sense.” There’s much more to the story, but at that moment, you decided to leave it for another time. Death and family drama doesn’t really make for a very good conversation starter. “What about you?”

Rumi places some of the cooked bulgogi onto your plate. She adds some to her own right after, using cooking as a distraction to formulate her thoughts. “It started with my mom. You probably already know she was a Sunlight Sister. I wanted to save the world with my voice, just like she did.” Technically the truth. Rumi knows that she needs to see you as she sees Bobby: Someone she can trust, can confide in, but not someone who can know her about her double life. It should be easy she tells herself when she meets your eyes. Though, something about you makes her think otherwise.

She tries to keep that same pretense the rest of the night. The two of you laugh, bond, share jokes, becoming more than just Idol and employee but friends as the night wears on. Eventually the two of you become stuffed. Rumi lets you lean on her for support after she pays for the meal. 

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride home?” Rumi asks. “It’s not very safe to walk around at night.”

“I’ll be fine, I don’t live too far, remember? I have pepper spray in my bag in case things go south.” She shakes her head. 

Something in the air causes Rumi to pause. Her expression shifts completely. Her eyes darted down the street, as if she had seen or heard something that was just wrong, something that you couldn’t pick up on. She turns back to you, “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You barely have the chance to say goodbye before she speed walks away in the direction she looked in. Idols, you sigh.

You should’ve gone straight home.

But the glow of a 24 hour convenience store across the street beckons to you like a siren’s call. Surely a little late night sweet treat wouldn’t hurt? The doors jingle when you step through. You strolled down the isles, picking out a sweet red velvet yonsei bread and a small milk to wash it down. Could you stomach take any more food after the amount you ate at the restaurant? Probably not. But for dessert? Absolutely.

Shopping bag in hand you stroll off towards your home. That is until something catches your eye down the many dimly lit alleys surrounding you. Beams of light pierce through the darkness in sharp flashes. 

Your immediate thought? Could the Saja Boys be hosting another concert?

You follow the lights to investigate. There’s a distinct lack of music the further you go. Instead, a series of grunts echo from the walls. Footsteps race along the pavement with a sense of urgency. 

“Ugh, I’m sick of all these new tears.” A woman says, followed by a fatigued sigh. That voice sounds familiar. 

You peer over the corner. 

Rumi, Zoey, and Mira are all there with brandished weapons that look as if they were made from light. Mira swings her polearm, slicing a ghastly looking monster in half. The strike vaporizes it into a murky magenta mist. What the hell are those things?

Zoey launches a small blade at the head of one of them, killing it effortlessly. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you. Did you not just witness a murder? And of course, it draws everyone’s attention. “Is someone there?” Rumi’s voice calls out. 

A green one-eyed creature locks eyes with you. Its deformed mouth resembles a smile, its eyes glinting with hunger. The creature hisses with its serpentine tongue as it charges towards you. You book it. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t human. You on the other hand have to deal with your own human speed. For the briefest second you don’t hear footsteps. Relief overcomes you, only for your hope to be shattered when its large mass pounces on your back, making you eat shit. The bag lands right underneath you as you tumble right onto it.

You roll your body over to get away, but this creature is way stronger than you. Trying to shove it off doesn’t do a thing. Its scaly clawed hands hold down your shoulders to stop your writhing. It smirks, and unhinges its jaw. 

This is the end, you think. Of all the ways you imagined your death, dying to the hands of the Green Goblin wasn’t one you had considered. 

Just as you’re about to brace yourself for whatever demise it had planned for you, a bright beam of light pierces its body through its stomach, turning it to a flurry of purple mist. You let out a sigh of relief when you see her. 

“Y/N?” Rumi reaches out a hand to help you up. Her hands stay on your body as she examines you. Her eyebrows stay furrowed while her eyes scan you all around, trying to make sure you aren’t hurt in any way. Rumi bends down and picks up your crumpled shopping bag, wincing at the contents that no doubt got crushed and spilled when the demon pounced on you. Two other pairs of footsteps come to a stop behind you. You don’t need to look back to know who they belong to.

“I think we owe you an explanation.”

The three take you back to their penthouse. The drive there is silent and tense, and you have to stop yourself from breaking the silence with your growing list of questions. Asking what the deal was with the lightsabers probably isn’t a good icebreaker for the drive home.

After giving you a new change of clothes–the milk stain on your original shirt became much more noticeable in the light–they sit you down on the couch. All three lay on different ends with Rumi as the closest. She starts first, telling the story of demon hunters. Their past, their purpose, and how that all led them to here. You lean forward as you take in all this new information. Demons walking among earth? A protective shield to keep them at bay? And a whole group of protectors that’s been around for generations? Suffice to say your list of questions only grew as they talked.

“Does Bobby know?”

Mira’s lips press to a thin line. “It’s better for him if he doesn’t. The less people who know, the better. It’s how we’re remained secret for so long.”

“So, everything with patterns is a demon?” Rumi stiffens beside you, “Basically. We were so close to sealing the Honmoon for good, but the Saja Boys are ruining it,” she huffs.

“The Saja Boys?” “Oh yeah, they’re all demons. They plan on stealing all our fans and taking their souls for themselves.” You suppress a shudder. It’s no wonder you’ve never heard of any of them before their debut. Rumi’s been awfully quiet since her explanation. She places a tentative hand on your shoulder “Do you need a minute?” 

You nod, “I think I need some fresh air.” Rumi helps you stand, her hand hovering near the small of your back until you’re upright. You trudge your body towards the balcony off the main window and lean against the railing as you look at Seoul in a whole new light. 

The clattering of pottery draws your attention to the other side of the terrace. You go over to investigate, suspecting it’s just a bird or something causing a ruckus. The last thing you were expecting was to be stared at by two huge glowing orange eyes. Because of course, the night needs to get weirder the second you have a moment of peace. 

Emerging from the bushes is a large, blue…tiger? Atop its head sits a magpie wearing a tiny hat. It squawks as the cat approaches, revealing a set of three eyes on either side of its head. Both are equally terrifying, but neither have attacked you yet. Maybe they’re friendly? You think. After all, if not friendly, then why friend shaped? The bird has a hat after all. Truly a distinguished gentleman.

The cat sits before you. Tentatively, you reach out your hand. “What the fuck.” You murmur to yourself as your hand makes contact with the soft fur. In return, the tiger knocks its head against your leg. The cat seems to enjoy your scratches, rolling onto its back for you to rub its stomach. The bird watches you curiously, opting to perch on the railing. You don’t even notice the balcony door slide open behind you. 

“Hey Y/N, I brought you some…” Rumi’s words die in her throat when she sees the scene. “Rumi, tell me this isn’t your pet. Shouldn’t exotic animals have more space to roam free? And, why is it blue? You have this thing on a balcony–“ she shoves the small package that was in her hands inside her hoodie’s pocket and rushes to cover your mouth. In the same breath, she pushes you away from the window, trapping you against the edge of the railing. She first looks over her shoulder to make sure Mira and Zoey didn't see the giant tiger outside or hear you talking about the giant tiger outside. Once she deems that the coast is clear, she looks down at you, and immediately blushes when she realizes the position she trapped you in.

Rumi’s hand recoils from your mouth “Oh! I–wow I’m so sorry.” she practically jumps back. When she does, she steps on the tiger’s tail, making him hiss in pain and jump into the greenery sectioned off from the walkable part of the balcony. Its body and large paws collide with a few scattered pots, effectively smashing one or two into a pile of broken pieces. You pick up on the sound of footsteps right before seeing the balcony door slide open.

Mira leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Hey, are you two okay out here? I thought I heard something break.”

“Everything's fine! I just tripped over some pots, is all!” Rumi laughs nervously. You turn your head away from Rumi because if you look at her for any longer you’ll burst out laughing. “We’re all good out here,” you manage out, staring at the floor. Wow, the ground looks very interesting today. Mira narrows her eyes, but shrugs, closing the balcony door behind her as she leaves.

You let out a small chuckle, earning a groan from Rumi. The tiger re-emerges from the vegetation, sitting between you and Rumi innocently, as if it hadn’t nearly just blown its cover. “You weren’t supposed to see this…” Is all she says. The cat barfs out a note card with a cute duck on the cover. You hold back a grimace, but pick it up regardless. It reads a message in Korean, signed by none other than the lead Saja Boy himself. “Wait, this is from Jinu?” You look up, “Isn’t he a demon? Why is he asking to meet with you again?”

“I—he—“ She has to stop herself from saying oh, because I’m half demon, and right now he’s the only one who can understand me. “He knows something about me that the others don’t, and it’s something that can jeopardize everything.”

She slumps down on the floor. “Tiger and bird aren’t my pets, they're his. I can’t let Mira and Zoey see them. Hence why I tried to get you away from the windows.” Their names are Tiger and Bird?

You scratch Tiger under his chin, sitting down on the ground too. “Aw,” you coo, “There’s not a single thought behind those eyes.” The bird caws in agreement, Rumi just snorts. You look at her over the blue fur, “Your secret is safe with me.” She sighs in relief.

“Do you plan on meeting him again?” She knows she has to eventually. If she can get through to him, maybe there’s a chance of getting him to turn on Gwi-Ma. “Eventually. He might be the key to taking down Gwi-Ma.” Rumi tilts her head.

“You should drop by the recording studio sometime. The girls would love the extra company now that we have someone who knows who we are. Right now we’re stuck trying to write a song for the Idol Awards that’ll hit the Saja Boys where it hurts. Maybe you can help us? We’ll be there all day tomorrow.”

Rumi reaches into her pocket and hands you the small package from earlier, your fingers brushing at the contact. It’s yonsei bread. The exact same flavor you chose in the convenience store from before. Somehow she remembered, and found one to give to you.

You give one final pat to the blue and black striped feline. “Sounds like a plan.”

Taglist: @blazemaster4014 , @ang3lz-lov3 , @rainbowmess823 , @honney-bonny , @tell-me-whyyyy-am-i-here , @thestarseternal , @tinysoap , @rujinuuuu , @pr0bablyr0se @coraldiplomatvoidhoagie-blog , @solardvst , @mvskedxrtist , @rileigh519 , @buzzinkhaleesi , @drpepperobsessed , @mysticsportsflapfriend , @left-and-right-up-and-down , @loftilydirevoid , @severelyuniquereview @wickedpyro, @stuxxnioe , @fruityg0rl

[kenniesf1]

guess who? | DR3

masterlist

pairing: daniel ricciardo x journalist!reader

summary: reader is an F1 journalist who confirms a relationship with a driver--but no one ever said he was currently on the grid

yn._.ln

liked by skysportsf1,maxverstappen1, and 512,983 others

yn._.ln i put the hot in hot lap 🫡

view all comments

user1 my favorite journalist!!!!!!

user2 fr i love listening to her commentary, she's so smart and she picks up things that literally no one else does

f1 We love Yn Ln in this house!

lando can you interview me next time 😁

yn._.ln i don't like the number 4 so no 😁

user3 women in formula 1 have a special place in my heart ❤️

user4 her interview with george and kimi was so cute 🥹

user5 she loves her rookies (and george was there too ig?)

charles_leclerc come to the ferrari garage next time

alexandrasaintmleux please 💐

yn._.ln can't, have to be with the media 😫

user6 SHE PUTS THE HOT IN HOT LAP 🚨

alex_albon why was my interview cut?

yn._.ln bc lily thought it'd be funny :)

isackhadjar am i your favorite rookie?

yn._.ln i can't say (...yes...)

isackhadjar buy me cain's then

yn._.ln back in nyc i will 😇

user7 everyone say thank you, yn, for feeding us !!!

user8 aesthetic, gorgeous, AND super super smart <3

yourbff still wishing your boyfriend drove the hot lap?

yn._.ln he's the best f1 driver so yes duh

yn._.ln posted a story!

yn._.ln you know what you did

view all comments

isackhadjar sorry

yn._.ln shut up, french boy

danielricciardo i just got flashbacks for a sec

yn._.ln muah 💋

deuxmoi posted a story!

deuxmoi Formula 1 journalist Yn Ln spotted at the Melbourne Airport

view all comments

user9 STOP does this mean she might be dating Oscar????

user10 omg she's definitely going to see oscar

user11 i have the feeling that yn was gonna have SO much fun with this "guess who she's dating" thing but now deuxmoi ruined it 😭

yn._.ln

liked by danielricciardo, mclaren, and 560,339 others

yn._.ln had a GIRL'S trip to melbourne (sorry oscarpiastri for the rumours 😬) (i'm having fun with this secret boyfriend thing either way 😛)

view all comments

danielricciardo g'day mate!

yn._.ln thanks for the tour, bloke!

danielricciardo come to the farm next time x

user12 oh...!

user13 she shut that shit DOWN!

user14 i'd be lowk insulted if i were osc 😭

oscarpiastri my girlfriend found it funny, don't worry!

yn._.ln TELL HER I SAY HI!

user15 OSCAR HAS A GF?????

yourbff had the greatest time with you babes xxx

yn._.ln right back at you, hottie xxx

yourbff we love the aussies in this house! liked by author

yourbff2 we did NOT like the vegemite

yn._.ln get that shit AWAY from me

danielricciardo ☹️

alexandrasaintmleux beautiful (i'm not just talking about melbourne)

yn._.ln sweetie!!!!!

user15 daniel is so present in this comment section 🤷🏽‍♀️

danielricciardo posted a story!

danielricciardo a bit more fancy than usual. girlf's job is too lavish 😔

yn._.ln posted a story!

yn._.ln posted a story!

yn._.ln no one here knows my boyfriend and i are about to hardlaunch

view all comments

user16 it has only been one month but it has felt like ten years

user17 idgaf who wins this race, i just want the hardlaunch

user18 IM DYING!!!!!!

danielricciardo why am i lowkey a fangirl with how excited i am

user19 lol d ric 😆

yn._.ln

liked by danielricciardo, lando, and 611,738 others

yn._.ln montreal grand prix!!!! my amazing lovely and sometimes forgetful boyfriend lost my paddock pass but he made up for it by snagging me this interview with max, who spent the entire time gushing over MY boyfriend. danielricciardo can you ease up on the love potion you're giving maxverstappen1? sorry to those of you who didn't guess, it's a skill issue. i love my boyfriend and we look hot together.

view all comments

danielricciardo i'm in love with youuuu. weird to see the track from the eyes of the media (aka my beautiful girlfriend) but had a great time nonetheless. thankful to finally be out so everyone knows you, the smartest person in all of f1 history, are mine, a person who just so happens to be a blip in f1 history. melbourne, montreal, anywhere is home with you, yn.

yn._.ln aww danny 🥺 you're too sweet, i can't believe i tortured you so long with this stupid little guess who

danielricciardo nah, i love you for your silly habits

lando finally, it's out. i was going crazy

danielricciardo you were the first to know, enjoy that PRIVILEGE

lilymhe my favorite couple 🫶 liked by author

carlossainz55 so happy for you two! liked by author

isackhadjar can we get daniel to stop death-staring at me now?

danielricciardo no :)

charles_leclerc Expect a double date

yn._.ln Monaco and Perth 👍

maxverstappen1 you took daniel away from me. #maxiel

user20 ariana what are you doing here 😭

yn._.ln sorry not sorry

user21 NONE OF US EXPECTED THIS!!!!! but still i love this pairing so much they're my parents

user22 FINALLY YN!!!!

oscarpiastri aussie for the win liked by author

danielricciardo if girlfriend shaped why take so long to reveal girlfriend shaped

user23 you okay?

user24 DANIYN!!!!!!! i totally saw it coming

yn._.ln guess who?

FIRST DANI RIC FIC!!! it rhymes because it's really really good (i hope lol)

[yunistxr]

ME BEFORE YOU ── .✦ J. YUNHO

“Some people live a thousand lives in one body. Yunho lived them all and then gave me mine.”

• author's note : I had to write this because I LEGIT started crying after watching "Me Before You" LIKE WILL WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE LOU I CRIED SO BADLY WHY😭😭 anyways yeah it is inspired by "Me Before You" I just love that movie😭🫶

pairing : jeong yunho x fem! reader

genre : romance, angst, drama, bittersweet

word count : 11.2k

summary : after months of job hunting and desperation, you take a position as a caregiver in a coastal village only to find yourself caring for Jeong Yunho, a once-brilliant dancer now confined to a wheelchair after a tragic accident. Emotionally shut down and determined to end his life on his own terms, Yunho resists your persistent warmth and chaotic charm. But as days stretch into weeks, the walls around him begin to crumble. What begins as reluctant tolerance turns into something deeper laughter, tenderness, and love. Yet love isn't enough to undo the pain that has already taken root. Inspired by Me Before You, this is a story about finding light in dark places, learning how to say goodbye, and carrying someone with you even after they're gone.

☆ ateez's masterlist

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Not in this quiet village by the coast, not in this grand, old house filled with grief, not in this suffocating quiet where joy had long packed its bags and left. But you were. With trembling hands and shoes soaked from the unexpected downpour, you stood at the door of the Jung estate, a resume in your soggy bag and desperation lingering in your eyes.

You needed the job. More than anything.

It had been six months since you’d lost your last one. Six long, aching months filled with ramen noodles, overdue bills, and half-hearted interviews. The job market in town was dry, and the family business your father had left behind was sinking like a stone. When you saw the job posting for a live-in caregiver position, you applied without thinking twice.

And now here you were.

“They say he used to be a dancer,” the woman at the door said quietly. Her name was Mrs. Jeong, Yunho’s mother. She was tall, with a regal air, but exhaustion clung to her eyes like shadows. “Before the accident, he toured the world. He was... alive.”

You nodded, unsure what to say.

“I’m not certified,” you admitted softly, voice almost drowned by the patter of rain outside.

Mrs. Jeong smiled faintly. “We’re not looking for a nurse. We’re looking for someone who won’t give up on him.”

She led you through the house, a maze of polished wood and cold marble. The walls were lined with photographs of a different life: Yunho in a tuxedo, Yunho laughing at a beach, Yunho mid-spin on a stage. There was a vibrancy in those photos that felt out of place in this house.

When you reached his room, she gave a hesitant knock before pushing the door open.

He sat near the window, back turned to you, staring out at the stormy sea beyond. His wheelchair was sleek, modern a contrast to the antique feel of the room. The air was thick with silence, like no one had spoken in days.

“You must be the new one,” he said dryly, voice low and edged with bitterness. “How long do you think you’ll last?”

You stiffened. “Depends. How hard are you planning to make it?”

He didn’t turn to look at you. “I’m not here to entertain anyone.”

“Good. I’m not looking for entertainment.”

He finally glanced over his shoulder. His eyes met yours deep, brown, and calculating. You weren’t sure what you expected, but the sheer intensity of him took your breath away.

He was beautiful.

Not just handsome. Beautiful in a way that made the room feel too small. High cheekbones, a soft mouth, long lashes framing those tired eyes. You imagined what he must have looked like in motion on stage, alive, commanding every space he entered.

But here, he looked like a ghost.

The days blurred together at first.

Your mornings started with wheeling him to the garden, rain or shine. He rarely spoke. You talked enough for the both of you. You’d narrate your breakfast, complain about the news, describe ridiculous dream plots from the night before.

He never laughed. Not once.

But he listened.

You caught him smirking once, just once when you tripped over your words, trying to pronounce a French movie title. “You’re hopeless,” he said. But there was a flicker of something like amusement in his voice.

Progress.

You tried everything. You brought books, games, playlists. You made him watch trashy dramas just to see if he’d roll his eyes. You baked, badly. The cookies turned to stone. You still made him eat one.

And he did.

One day, you wheeled him down the village main street, ignoring his grumbling about potholes and pebbles. You stopped at the café, ordered both your favorites, and sat beside him with your cup warming your hands.

“Why are you trying so hard?” he asked suddenly.

You looked at him, caught off guard. “Because I think you still want to live. Even if you don’t admit it.”

He didn’t respond.

But he didn’t ask to be taken home early that day.

You found the journal a week later. Tucked in a drawer beneath his books. You shouldn’t have opened it. But curiosity got the best of you.

It wasn’t a journal. It was a photo album.

Yunho, laughing in a field. Yunho in a dance studio, sweat-drenched and glowing. Yunho on a rooftop in New York City, hair tousled, arms raised to the sky.

There were tickets. Receipts. Napkins with doodles. A life.

You stared until your eyes burned.

“I was someone once,” he said behind you. You jumped.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.” He moved slowly toward the window. “Everyone looks. They want to see the contrast. Who I was. Who I am now.”

“I didn’t want to compare,” you whispered.

“But you did.”

You looked at him, really looked. At the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers twitched. At the way, grief clung to him like another limb.

“You’re still him,” you said.

He turned his head. “Not in any way that counts.”

You walked over and placed the album gently in his lap. “Then let’s find the parts of you that still do.”

Something changed after that.

He started asking questions. About your life. Your family. The tiny things you thought no one ever noticed how you always hummed when you were anxious, how you avoided eye contact when flustered.

He remembered everything.

You watched movies together, your legs curled up beside his chair. He let you braid his hair once, rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop you. On your birthday, he made his mother bring out the piano from storage and played you a song, shaky hands and all.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

The kiss came on a stormy night.

Power out. Candles flickering.

You were laughing, truly laughing at his attempt to mimic your dance moves. He wasn’t even trying. Just swaying his arms like spaghetti.

You stumbled beside him, breathless.

“You’re impossible,” you said.

“You’re relentless,” he countered, eyes glittering.

And then his hand reached up so slow, trembling slightly and touched your cheek.

The kiss was soft. Careful. Like he was afraid he’d shatter you.

But when he pulled away, you pulled him back.

And he smiled against your lips.

You were in love.

But love wasn’t enough.

You found the letter in his drawer. A confirmation. A clinic. Switzerland. June.

Your chest ached. Your hands shook.

“You planned to die,” you whispered, confronting him.

He didn’t deny it.

“I planned to go before I met you,” he said. “And then you came in with your ridiculous scarves and your banana socks and... God, you made me feel again.”

“Then live,” you cried. “Stay. Choose this. Choose me.”

He looked at you with so much pain, it felt like drowning.

“I want to remember us this way. Not with me fading. Not with you resenting what I’ve become.”

You screamed. You cried. You begged.

But he had made peace with his choice.

So you made peace with holding him to the end.

In Switzerland, the sky was achingly blue.

You sat beside him in the grass. He was weak, but present. His hand in yours.

“I loved you,” he said softly. “I still do. You gave me more than I ever expected. You gave me... joy.”

“I’ll never forget you,” you whispered, kissing his forehead.

“I hope not.”

And when the time came, you were there. Until the very last breath.

Months passed.

You traveled. You laughed again. Slowly, but you did.

You stood on that Greek cliff. You danced under cherry blossoms. You wore a scarf in Paris and took a photo just like his.

In every place he had been, you left a piece of your heart. And in return, he left you a map to joy.

A reason to keep going.

A life.

He taught you how to live.

And you taught him how to love.

by kiera. ☆ © 2025 by yunistxr | all rights reserved.

taglist <3

@yunniverse @woostcr

[cceresun]

─── job application .

pairing : baby saja x gender neutral ! manager ! reader

summary : in need of a job, you resort to the most sensible option: selling your soul .

author’s note : chat this is my first baby saja piece and he has like no personality so bear with me. also idc if certain things aren’t canon or are ooc

─── wc , 0.6k + masterlist

Rejected . . . Again.

You never seemed to have any luck when trying to find a job. Not when you were fifteen— and definitely not now at nineteen. It was a miracle you had managed to land your previous job and keep it for as long as you did. But now you were on the hunt once more, and you have been for a while. But with no real experience or qualifications under your name, it was hard trying to at least get a callback from someone. On edge all day for the past couple of months, you wait for a notification or a call to come through. So far, nothing.

That was, until one faithful night during a night out with some friends. It had been a while since you submitted your last job application, so you didn’t bother in keeping your phone off of silent mode. There was no way— after so long— someone would call you back. And how wrong you were. You didn’t know how to act upon seeing the missed call. Should you call back or was it too late? Was it even a call back?

Stuck in your own thoughts, you didn’t realize you had called back the unknown number until you heard a voice on the other line. You soon learned his name was Gwi-Ma, and he offered you a deal. You could live a life of wealth and privilege, but in return you had to give up your soul and help manage his new project of sorts— his new up and coming boy band: the Saja Boys.

Baby who didn’t understand why Gwi-Ma felt the need to send the boys a manager when he felt they were doing just fine on their own. Yeah they had their struggles here and there trying to book interviews and manage public appearances, but they definitely didn’t need a whole manager.

Baby who was the last of the five boys to accept you as their manager. He’d give you a hard time, always telling you that if you couldn’t handle it the door would always be open. Baby who wasn’t as rude to you later on, but still made comments from time to time.

Baby who couldn’t help but steal glances at you whenever your back was turned to him. He’d deny it if it ever came up, but he wasn’t exactly good at hiding it. Baby who doesn’t know when he started tolerating you. Maybe it was when you finally bit back after one of his many crude comments or when you stood up to a highly nosy interviewer after they had asked some questionable things to the boys.

Baby who knows you aren’t exactly a demon, but aren’t fully human either. He can’t take your soul to Gwi-Ma like the others— because it’s already his. Baby who doesn’t know what type of deal you made with Gwi-Ma, but what he does know is that he hates thinking about the exchange. Hates knowing Gwi-Ma forever holds a part of you.

Baby who hides his jealousy upon seeing you interact positively with practically anyone, whether it’s the other Saja Boys or a fan. His attempts at hiding his feelings are pointless as he isn’t as discreet as he thinks he is. Baby who can’t keep the scowl off his face whenever you get too close to Romance or Abby.

Baby who’ll continue to reject the idea of having you as a manager, even when he’s always heard asking for you or seen right by your side no matter the place or time. Baby who might just actually like you a lot more than he’d like to admit.

© cceresun || don’t repost or translate my works without permission !

[nanamisgirly]

Up for the challenge, Kitten ?

summary ⭐︎ Lying to yourself about the undeniable chemistry with the mischievous white-haired guy from finance was probably—already—a bad move. But getting too drunk on that team-building trip…? And thirsting over him? In front of him?? After losing a challenge??? Yeahhh, definitely the baddest move ever.

pairing ⭐︎ marketing!worker!AFAB reader x finance!engineery!Sylus content ⭐︎ multiple scene (surfing, interview, with friends,…), new characters, avoidance, one scene where reader is doing anxiety (very slight), provocative reader, expressing ‘flushing cheeks’ as to express her timidity/shyness nothing to do with skin color!!!, their dynamic change throughout the story, mutual pining that evolves, reader qualifies herself as brat, drÿ hūmpįng, consensual king sylus!, p€ssy drunk, dümbificãtion (both), big d sylus, fįngērįng, ōrál sëx (f. receiving), drunk confession, sylus is blushing almost the whole story, he moans!, big stretch, making it fit, cüm play, praising, domsub, breaking glasses (surprise surprise), ōrgásm denial, bēggìng, brat taming, sqūrtíng, emotional sēx, unprotected sēx (asked), êdgìng, sūcking on fingers, ōvërstímulātiön. and some more surprise !! 

wc ⭐︎ 24.8k notes ⭐︎ hihihiiii i’m sooooo happy to show you this work!! i enjoyed writing this a lot lot lot. i practically giggled each time i wrote frfr. and honorable mention to Meliaa my pretty lovely financial girl the only icon of this show in my opinion. I imagined her as a tall honeyed skin girl with green eyes and curly hair… ‘s all she’s just my baby🙂‍↕️🤞 also (if u read this) please know that i’d very much appreciate your comments i do not eat i promise! i tried to be creative with some formulations so any feed back is welcomed. don’t be shy to comment (or send ask anonymously) if you enjoyed something/ a scene/ a phrasing,… I WOULD DIIIIIE TO KNOW❤️❤️❤️ and ofc reblogs (with silly tags) are appreciated very very much. here that’s all ENJOYYY!! 💋

arts cred adeline_ns (on x)

“Well, it’s not that bad.” Rafayel, your best friend, shrugs mockingly as usual.

“What do you mean not that bad?” you snap back, irritation running your bold hot as you pour yourself a cup of coffee.

As if pairing with Sylus, that insufferable, numbers-worshipping financial engineer, for the goddamn new product launch wasn’t already punishment enough, now there’s a team-building retreat. Together. 

Okay, fine. Not just the two of you. His precious finance department and your marketing team were all being herded off to some idyllic escape in the name of bonding. 

Your directors had insisted: “it’s primordial for interdepartmental alchemy,” they’d said, probably while high on some synergy charts and LinkedIn buzzwords.

Right. For work.

Your ass.

“You both made a good job, y’know,” Rafayel goes on, completely unbothered by your sour mood. “The new product’s a carton-breaker. It’s probably the best we’ve ever had. Sold out in three hours.” 

“And it cost me my peace,” You mutter, rolling your eyes. “That man is the most irritating human to ever walk this planet. He’s smug, pretentious, and always, always, with his ‘it’s better like that’ crap.”

You scowl, your eyebrows tightening at the memory of all those late nights stuck in the office with Sylus. Him and his spreadsheets. His precision. His baritone voice calmly suggesting you redo your entire pitch deck because his model showed ‘opportunity loss.’ As if your creative campaign had been a PowerPoint napkin sketch.

You’ve convinced you lost at least three brain cells—and maybe a fragment of your soul—in the process.

“Still.” Rafayel sips his coffee, side-eyeing you. “Didn’t hear you complaining when he brought you that almond croissant every morning.”

You shoot him a death glare. “That was strategic manipulation.”

“Sure,” he hums, not even trying to hide his grin. “Definitely not a tiny act of affection.”

You pretend to gag. “Please. I’d rather date my inbox spam folder.”

Rafayel leans against the counter, smug as ever as you put some sugar on your drink. “You keep talking about him, though.”

“I keep talking about my trauma, Rafayel. That’s called processing.”

He raises both hands in surrender. “Hey, hey. Just saying. For someone you hate, you sure remember the way he says things. Like, word for word.”

You go silent, blinking at him. 

Then you chuck your spoon at his head. 

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You drag your carry-on behind you, already regretting every life choice that led to this team-building retreat. The airport smells like burnt espresso, it’s hushed with pressed people and kids crying there and here. Businesswomen and men walking rapidly as you approach the gate.

You scan the group—matching lanyards, branded hoodies, excessive happy smiles—and then you spot him. 

Sylus.

Easy to spot on with his over-six-feet-tall plus broad shoulders, mullet white hair and glasses on. Moreover, it would have been easy to spot him anyway, with all those people orbiting him. From finance girls to marketing execs, even the barista from the airport café did a double take.

You roll your eyes so hard you see your own frontal lobe.

Sylus’s eyes flick over the crowd like he just smelled you. He smiles as he makes his way toward you, escaping the boring conversations he was having. “Didn’t think I’d see you voluntarily show up before boarding.” He starts.

“I’m not here voluntarily,” you reply flatly. “This is corporate coercion. I was promised a beach and wi-fi. Not you.”

He grins slowly. “Still dreaming about me, I see.”

“Only in nightmares. You’re the sleep paralysis demon of my professional life.”

“Well, well,” he says, that smug, infuriating slow-blooming smile already placarded on his face. “They let you through the airport security with all that hostility?”

You don’t break stride. “Only because I promised not to stab anyone until we land.”

He chuckles, falling into step beside you. “Still the ray of sunshine I remember. It’s comforting.”

You glance at him sideways. “Lose the smirk, Sylus. This isn’t runway. It’s gate 23B.” you say as you take a look to the tailored half-coat he wears. 

“And yet you’re still checking me out,” he says, completely unbothered. “You know, I do have that effect on women.”

“You have an effect, of course,” you mutter. “Like a rash.”

The white-haired man grins wider, clearly enjoying this too much to your liking. “You wound me. But don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to work through your unresolved feelings. I hear there’s a group trust exercise. Maybe we can unpack that deep, smoldering resentment of yours.”

You curse everyone and everything in this moment—but especially Rafayel, for not being here because he’s from the accounting team.

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The heat hits you first. It’s thick, golden, the air smells like slat and the delicate arums of flowers. It wraps around you like a much-needed hug as you step off the plane and onto the tarmac.

You blink against the absurd beauty of it all. Mountains in the distance, ocean so blue it feels fake. The kind of place people Photoshop themselves into for dating apps. Someone even hands you a flower necklace. Yes, really. 

The company’s rented local vans wait at the edge of the small airport, sleek and air conditioned. Everyone piles in, sunglasses on, trying not to look like children on a school trip. Bu, well, it’s hard not to have your eyes glim in front of the sweetest candies ever.

The ride is really short, you stare out—amazed by the long palm trees adoring the side of the road, all the signs in French written all over. Even the van is extremely pretty, beautiful colors, the inside with parkette—nonetheless.

Everything feels like postcard, too much sky, too much blue, too much sand.

It can only light your mood up, excited to discover and try all the new places, this island has to offer. And as you arrive to the hotel your jaw drops even more on the floor. 

It’s everything but a hotel.

It’s an overwater fantasy—individual thatched-roof bungalows stretching out in neat little rows over the turquoise lagoon, each one with its own steps straight into the sea. There are kayaks tied to docks. Hammocks. Glass floors. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

“Careful,” a voice says beside you. “That almost sounded like joy.”

You jolt.

You turn to see Sylus standing far too close to you, sunglasses perched like a movie villain, watching your expression, analyzing you the same way he’d do to collect data on your ability to feel wonder. 

“Don’t ruin this for me.” You scowl.

“Just want to make sure you’re still the same bitter, overworked gremlin I flew in with,” He says, almost too casually, as he shrugs.

“What if I push you off the dock? That’d be bitter enough for you?” you smile sweetly, with venom. You don’t wait for a response. You’re already walking away, basket hitting the wooden pier that stretches out into the clearest water you’ve ever landed your eyes on. Below, fish dart through the turquoise shallows.

Only joy seems like to exist—laughter, waves, sunlight dancing on water, and the distant clink of someone’s luggage wheel catching on a board. You step into the reception area — a wide, open-air pavilion with carved wooden beams and the kind of aesthetic minimalism that screams wealth. A breeze drifts through, carrying the scent of salt, flowers, and something vaguely eucalyptus. There’s a giant bowl of chilled towels near the desk. You briefly consider burying your entire face in one.

You’re hit with a weird, floating sensation. Like you’re not entirely convinced this isn’t a jetlag-induced hallucination.

“Alright, team!” calls a voice. 

You turn to see the HR rep—bright polo shirt, clipboard, and the perky energy of someone who does trust fallsvoluntarily. She claps her hands once, sharply. “you’ll now be assigned your little island homes” she announces with a thick French accent. “they’re arranged in alternating order,” she continues. “One marketing, one finance, and so on—so we can organically mingle across departments while still having your own space to rest, reflect, and practice emotional regulation.” She adds the last part like it’s a joke. 

It's not.

She holds up a color-coded keycard. “Each one has a king-size bed, private sun deck, direct access to the lagoon, and a bathroom bigger than your last apartment. No roommates, don’t worry—just the occasional curious stingray.”

You exhale, half-relieved, half-annoyed you even felt relief.

“But do feel free to visit your neighbors,” she adds, with a bright smile that feels like a trap. “They’re just a plank or two away.”

You glance around. And right on cue, Sylus is behind you again, keycard in hand, eyebrows raised. 

“What number are you?” he asks, already knowing.

You hold yours up slowly. “Bungalow Seven,” you say, flat.

He grins. “Six.” He leans in just enough for you to be hallowed by his overpriced cologne. “Well, lucky for you—close quarters build intimacy. Or at least…proximity-induced confusion.”

You narrow your eyes, still not looking at him as he’s behind you. “Confusion?”

“You know. You hear something at night—soft moan, splash, name screamed into the lagoon…and you can’t quite tell if it’s passion or someone getting attacked by a mantra ray.” He raises his brows, leaning even closer to you. “Either way, I’m flattered you’d be listening.”

Your lips twitch. Then you process to turn slowly at him, giving him a practiced smile. “If I hear screaming, I’ll assume a shark got into HR’s bonding activities. Hopefully starting with you, my dear.”

He steps back, hand on his heart. “God, you flirt like a weapon.”

“Good thing, I’m not flirting then.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You wake up to a sunset bleeding gold across your bungalow’s ceiling, your suitcase half-unpacked and your soul still somewhere over the Pacific. You’d meant to take a short nap, only to recover from the long flight—but your body had other plans. Plans involving horizontal collapse and borderline hibernation, apparently.

You groan as your hand fumble on the crumpled itinerary beside your bed instead of your phone and you’re meet with a beautiful ‘dinner: 7:30p.m. Main pavilion, Buffet style. Casual dress.’

You consider not going for long long minutes. 

But eventually, you rinse the plane out of your skin, throw on something linen-adjacent, and follow the distant sound of laughter and clinking silverware toward the glow of the main dining pavilion.

It’s stunning. String lights twisted through palm trees, low tables on sand, candles in hurricane glass. The buffet is obnoxiously good—long tables of grilled fish, tropical salads, fruit that looks airbrushed, and at least three kinds of rice that you know you’ll mess up mixing.

You make a beeline for a plate, eyes still adjusting to all the beauty when a sudden voice takes you by surprise. “Hi, is this your third attack on the buffet too?” 

You glance up.

A beautiful lady—maybe your age—with sharp cheekbones, beach-curled hair and a quiet sort of chaos energy in her green eyes looks at you with the warmest smile. 

“Actually, it’s my first. I’ve just come out of my hibernation.” You speak. “I might eat an entire papaya and feel nothing in my stomach.”

“Perfect,” she grins. “I need someone morally flexible to split the grilled pineapple with.”

You raise and eyebrow. “Is this a recruitment tactic?”

“Yes. I’m building a breakaway cult. Our only rule is ‘never speak during HR icebreakers.’”

You let out a small laugh at her playfulness. “Meliaa,” she sticks out her hand. “Finance team. But the cool side.”

You take it. “Marketing. Emotionally retired.”

She clinks your plate with hers. “Welcome to paradise, emotionally retired marketing. May your bungalow be crab-free, and your neighbor be bearable.”

“Too late on that one.” You snort.

Meliaa doesn’t pry, but the glance she throws you says story time later. She leads you toward the beach seating where everyone’s half-tipsy, pretending not to be networking. You sit together under one of the big lanterns—the ocean playing a slow, welcoming melody.

Her company is surprisingly easy—funny and calm, absolutely nothing near those grumpy financial creaturesyou’ve met. Hours pass by a blue and your connection is well-welcoming, light. And somewhere across the pavilion, you catch a glimpse of Sylus’s raspy voice—low and amused, probably a bit tipsy.

Meliaa nudges your elbow with her own. “Now that I think about it. You’re the one who headed the carton-pleinlaunch a few weeks back with Sylus, right? The product that basically triggered a LinkedIn civil war?” You blink, mid-bite as she adds, “With Sylus. Unless I completely imagined the dozens of Slack messages and corporate gossip about you two…”

You follow her nod toward the far table, where Sylus is comfortable sprawled in a way that should be illegal in dress pants. He’s mid-sentence, surrounded by a few persons of the finance-team, one hand curled around a glass that is probably too overpriced for what it is, whine. His white mullet hair is slightly windswept, glasses pushed high on his straight nose, skin doing that just-warm-enough-to-look-unbothered glow.

You hum noncommittally.

“Oh, come on,” Meliaa says, stabbing a piece of pineapple. “you two set the whole building on fire—metaphorically and tragically. I’m sure people are still talking about it like it was a royal wedding.”

You hum again. Higher pitch, not biting.

“Everyone’s obsessed,” she adds. “Even the legal team has a weird theory that you two are, like, creative soulmates.”

You resist the urge to flip your fork.

Truth is, yes—the campaign was brilliant. Seamless. Unhinged. A little too synergized, if you’re honest. But working with Sylus felt like surviving a beautiful car crash: effective, chaotic, and guaranteed to give you a twitch in your right eye.

Meliaa tilts her head, watching you. Then, with surgical timing: “So…did you fuck?”

You fork pauses mid-air.

“What??” 

She shrugs, unbothered, popping the pineapple into her mouth like she didn’t just detonate a small social bomb. “Just asking. The tension in those launch photos was giving me very two-slide-too-close-to-each-other-in-a-PowerPoint energy.”

You blink. “We co-authored a product deck, not a sex tape.”

Meliaa cackles. “Same thing if you zoom in enough.”

You glare, but it’s all smoke. She’s laughing, and you’re…not really as mad as you probably should be. In fact, a small smile twitches your lips. “Anyway,” you soon to be friend says with a blink, “if you ever do, just give me a sign. Like, blink three times at the salad bar.”

You sigh and shove a chunk of mango in your mouth before replying, “Don’t wait too long. you’re more likely to see a robot cry on live television than catch me fucking that person.”

And as if summoned by sin, Sylus turns. His gaze slides across the crowd and lands directly on you, locking eyes—with his usual playfulness in his ruby eyes, a cocky smirk well put on his stupidly handsome face, he lifts his wine glass.

You don’t move. Just raise your slice of mango with your fork in silent salute, smile sugar-sweet but, unfortunately, the mango you put in your mouth is nothing sweet—it lost all his delicious taste. 

Meliaa lets out a low whistle. “Oh yeah,” she murmurs, hiding her smile. “This is definitely going in the Slack thread.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The next morning arrives in a slow, golden blur.

You spend the first half of it shuffling through the company’s very earnest attempts at “bonding.” There’s a trust exercise involving coconuts, a brainstorming session under a frangipani tree, and a mindfulness circle where someone from accounting got a bit too real during the 'one thing you’re grateful for' round.

Corporate bliss. With flip-flops.

Turns out, Meliaa’s in Bungalow Five. Just two wooden planks down from yours. She’d greeted you at breakfast like an old war comrade, slid a way-too-sweet coffee into your hand, and muttered, “Let’s survive this day like it’s a team-building hostage crisis.” You’d instantly felt grateful for her existence.

By the time the afternoon rolls around, most of the group is half-sunburned and sticky with coconut-scented resolve.

And God thanks, you’ve got quartier-libre for the late afternoon. Which mean :

“Meliaa!” you scream between breaths, as her surfboard shoots up like it’s trying to reach heaven. “You good?!” you laugh so hard your ribs ache, your friend getting absolutely bodied by waves was, apparently, your new favorite pastime.

She resurfaces, choking on saltwater and pride, hair slicked back like a shipwrecked mermaid. “That wave had audacity,” she gasps. “Tell my manager I died in the line of duty.”

You smirk, “already did. Also told tem you left your company laptop to me in your will.”

She flips you off dramatically with her water-wrinkled fingers.

“I also told you how to do this—like, a thousand times,” you say, wading over to grab her leash. “What was that? You flopped like a cursed baguette.”

“Okay, French Kelly Slater, I didn’t grow up inside a GoPro ad like you,” she huffs, still clinging to her board like it personally betrayed her.

You shrug your shoulder in false desinvolture, “what can I say, you missed all the fun then.” You help her get back on. “Bend your knees. center of gravity. Don’t throw yourself forward like you’re trying to hug a wave.”

“that’s rude. I’m an empath. The wave seemed lonely.”

You groan, push her board around to face the next set of baby swells. “Okay, empath. Paddle, paddle, up, not a crucifixion poses this time—” 

She tries again and almost makes it this time, popping halfway up before immediately slipping off and flailing into the water. You clap slowly, “10/10 for drama. 3 for form.”

Meliaa bursts out laughing, face barely above water. “You know what, I’ll just float. Floating is my destiny.” You paddle over, letting your board drift beside hers, both of you bobbing gently in the turquoise, the sun warm on your shoulders.

And just as a smartass remark starts making its way out of your mouth—

“Ladies.” A raspy, low voice crackles right into your eardrums. 

Meliaa shields her eyes, squinting at the sky as she floats on her board. “I think that’s your fuckboy.” She murmurs for only you to hear as Sylus paddles toward you.

You don’t even need to look to know she’s right. The syllables already reek of well-dressed arrogance and ego-drenched cologne, splashing straight onto your last nerve.

“I thought I heard two struggling seals and figured I should investigate.” Sylus drawls lazily as his board bumps against yours—utterly unbothered by concepts like personal space.

You shoot him a glance.

And immediately have to discipline your eyeballs. Because no, you’re not going to acknowledge how the wetsuit clings to him like it was vacuum sealed by the gods. 

You’re definitely not acknowledging the stretch of his strong thighs on either side of his board, solid and extremely salivating. And you’re certainly not acknowledging the way his ridiculous mid-length hair is slicked back making him irresistible, droplets catching on his lashes, making him look like he’s been hand-painted for thirst traps.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking but before he could even open his mouth, you’re quicker to beat him, “Sorry, we don’t speak corporate dolphin. Can you translate?”

Meliaa snorts, sinking halfway off her board from laughing.

Sylus only chuckles under his breath and leans in closer—so close you can actually count the droplets on his chiseled jaw—planting both of his annoyingly large hands between his thighs as his head stops centimetersaway from yours. 

“Y’know,” his voice drops enough to touch something hot in your stomach—your eyes drifting from his board nudging yours to his sharp eyes. “you’re quite funny to talk to,” he murmurs, head tilting as his eyes sweeps over you. “Always some bratty answers coming out of your mouth.” Before you can shoot back, his ruby eyes drop—flicking to your plushy lips and pausing there just long enough to spark heat in the salt-thick air. “Wonder what else you could do with that pretty mouth.” And then his eyes crawl their way back to yours, dragging your pulse up with them.

Meliaa slaps a hand against the surface of the water. “Yeahhh,” she says, pushing herself upright on her board with dramatic flair. “I’m letting you two flirts in peace before the ocean turns into a sex scene. I’m too hot and too single to witness this tension up close.”

“Go choke on a seashell.”

She cackles, already drifting off. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t film!”

You steal a glance at Sylus but he still as his eyes fixed on you—lips curled into that smug smirk, again. He leans in a fraction closer, water lapping gently between the boards. “Why are you always so bite-bite with me?”

“Bite-bite?”

He nods, lips twitching. “Yeah. All teeth. Little nips every time I open my mouth.”

You tilt your head back, putting some distance with him. “Maybe I just enjoy chewing through bullshit.”

He hums. “You’re so full of heat. I wonder what you’d do if you weren’t busy pretending you hate this.”

“Hate what, exactly.”

“This,” he says, motioning between you. “Me. The banter. The fact that when I get close,” his board nudges yours again, “You don’t move fully.”

You inhale slowly, refusing to blink first. “Careful. You sound like you want something.”

“I do.”

You wait for him to continue as you can clearly see mischief playing behind his pupils. “First one to ride that wave all the wain in—” he jerks his chin toward the break rolling in the near distance “—wins.”

You squint. “Wins what?”

He smiles, a real smile this time. “Don’t know. Anything the person wants.” You look at the wave, then at him.

“You’re on, Sylus.”

The wave rises, it’s a monster—one of those waves’ surfers dream about and lifeguards whisper warnings over. You both paddle hard, muscles burning, adrenaline surging like the tide behind you. You catch it at the same time, boards slicing the face of the wave with a smooth hiss. 

You two pop up in perfect sync, knees bent, bodies low—rooster tail of spray spreading behind your boards. Sylus is good—too good even. His form is fluid, confident. So confident he glances at you mid-ride and winks.

He can’t help but grin as you push forward, carving hard and spraying him with a mist of seawater. He lets out a small chuckle, swallowed by the roar of the wave, and retaliates by riding dangerously close to you as if he wants to bump you off—except he knows exactly how not to. “Friendly reminder,” he calls out, voice teasing over the crash of the surf, “if you fall, I’m totally carrying you back like a tragic romance heroine.”

“Dream on, Sylus.”

You pump down the face of the wave, gathering speed, muscles burning as you pull ahead. He chases right on your tail, throwing in a flashy spin. You’re nearing the shore now. Sand is visible. And so is the crowd gathered on the beach.

The wave’s energy is starting to fade, so you crouch lower—your board starts to shake slightly beneath you, but you hold. There’re only few meters left from the shore and Sylus is still standing upright when you hear his raspy voice again, “Ready to call it a draw?”

You laugh. “Only if you’re afraid of losing.”

His eyes gleam. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He suddenly crouches, touches the water with his fingers, and then—leans back dramatically like he’s sinking onto a bed. And, somehow, he’s still balancing perfectly, defying gravity itself. You jaw drops. “Show-off,” you mutter, brows furrowed in slight annoyance. The wave fizzles out, both boards glide into the shallows…

And Sylus hits the sand a second before you.

The water settles as silence makes its room between you. And as you try—hallucinate—to ingurgitate your defeat, the insufferable-financial-man-who’s-surprisingly-good-at-surf jumps off his board with his arms stretched wide and yells, “Victory tastes like salt and glory!” 

So uncharacteristically him. 

“By half a fin.” You roll your eyes, but you’re honestly too amused by the rare, boyish joy lighting up his face—the usual seriousness replaced with something softer, freer.

“A win’s a win. But hey—” He walks toward you, water sliding up his thighs, offering you a hand. His voice dips, low, “you were amazing. Like, scarily good. I didn’t know you could ride like that.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you up—but you don’t miss how your hand looks small in his, how he holds it a beat longer than necessary. “Yeah? I didn’t know you had physics-defying arrogance.”

“Only when you’re watching.” He squeezes your hand. “Now I get to ask you what I want, right?” He adds, voice laced in teasing heat.

“I guess so,” you murmur, pulse ticking in your throat. “Choose well. This ain’t happening again anytime soon.”

His full lips twitch upward. “Then I’ll make it count.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The next two days pass in a blur of sun and carefully scheduled corporate bonding. Paddleboard relays, beachside obstacle courses, something called ‘synergy sprint’ that involved trust falls and colored ropes—and a surprise group meditation session where Meliaa muttered ‘If I achieve inner peace, I’m quitting finance.’ Just loud enough for half the team to hear.

As for you, you play your part. Smile for the group photos, nod during the workshops, give your best fake-enthusiastic thumbs up when the manager says something like “let’s circle back to those pain points in a blue-sky brainstorm.” It’s all fine.

Functional. Entertaining in a mildly corporate-absurdist way.

But one thing keeps triggering you: Sylus.

He’s sharp, composed and maddeningly unreadable. Nothing out of the ordinaire. He leads his mini team through challenged with smooth authority, gives concise answers, asks the right questions. He’s polite and focused.

What is out of the ordinary though, is his lack of… teasing.

And that’s the part that makes you feel stupid for noticing. You shouldn’t notice. Especially when you both aren’t in cold—not when you laughed your way out of the water after the surf challenge.

And even if you were in cold, it shouldn’t annoy you. You shouldn’t feel strange when he doesn’t find a way to sit next to you during lunch time. You shouldn’t expect him to land an offhanded remark or throw a lazy smirk with a playful one-liner with that serious face of his.

“You two fought, when I left you in the water the other day?” asks, voice low as she ducks behind you during a ridiculous team-building dodgeball game, clutching your shoulders—using you as a riot shield.

“What?” you blink. “no.”

She lifts a brow. “So, he’s just suddenly forgotten how to flirt with you?”

“He was not flirting.” You scoff.

She gives you a slow, dramatic side-eye. “ ‘Wonder what else you could do with that pretty mouth’ ring any bells?” She copies him by dropping her voice octaves lower. “If that’s not flirting, I’m throwing out every lace set I own.”

You catch the ball midair before answering. “Maybe he’s just… dialed back.”

Meliaa leans in close, palms gripping your shoulders harder, and murmurs, “Oh, he’s dialed something, alright. Question is if it’s his mouth or his self-restraint. Either way, he’s one look away from unzipping that repressed little soul of his with his teeth.”

You choke on your own saliva, coughing once—just in time to get nailed in the shoulder by a foam dodgeball from one of the interns.

Your friend cackles behind you. “And that’s for ignoring sexual tension, babe.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The sun dips lower, staining the sky in warm amber as the salty breeze drifts lazily through the open windows of Meliaa’s bungalow. She’s sprawled on her bed in a silk robe, long legs elegantly crossed as a skin-care mask repose on her angelic face. 

Meanwhile, you’ve totally made a chaos of her room. A freaking mess—robes, pants, tops all upside down, flung with total disregard for gravity or dignity. You’re moments away from burning the entire place to the ground in pure aesthetic defeat. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this dramatic. You moved your stuff in earlier, hours before, when you both decided getting ready chez Meliaa would be ‘more fun.’ 

Lies. Meliaa’s fun. You are spiraling.

You only needed to find a pretty outfit for your last day in this idyllic place to be finally ready. But it seems like you’d be more likely to dig up a dinosaur bone than a fit deserving the view of the sun kissing the sea at the horizon.

You stand in front of her, two outfit options dangling in each hand, your energy somewhere between fashion breakdown and ritual sacrifice. “Okay,” you groan, as if you’ve just been through war. “Honest opinion. No diplomacy, no fake corporate optimism. Rip me to shreds if needed.”

Meliaa, still unmoved, peeks through her mask with the kind of look that should be illegal in five countries. “Rip away, darling.”

“Sooo, option one: these low-rise white pants—you know the ones; the wind would flirt��with them. And bonus point for comfiness. Paired with this top,” you say, holding up a barely-there lace halter. The lace slides down the back in elegant X, letting your arms sleeveless and the front is as much laced on your tummy to spiral on your chest where white tissue is covering the strict necessary. 

Meliaa hums, already intrigued.

“Orrrr,” you say, brandishing the second outfit like a weapon, “this simple dress.” And by simple dress you mean a lavender open-back gown with thigh-high slit, a plunging neckline, and hidden sorcery in the lining that keeps it clinging exactly where it should.

“I’m emotionally attached to both and also convinced neither is good enough to stand in front of the sun as it kisses the sea goodbye.” You continue, longing both of your fits.

Your friend lets out a deep sigh as she removes her mask. She sits up, eyes sharpening. “First of all,” she starts, “the white pants set is dangerous. That top should come with a warning label. I know a certain man that’ll short-circuit and probably miscalculate someone’s quarterly forecast.”

“But—” she raises a finger, “the dress is art. That slit says, ‘I have emotional depth and possibly a dagger’. That neckline? That’s a tax write-off for heartbreak.”

You blink, waiting for her final decision.

“The pants and the top are a better match for tonight.” You glance at the dress, a little heartbroken that she didn’t make it. “It’s just too beautiful to be wasted here.” The woman adds like she read your thoughts.

You nod, a slight pout tugging at your mouth as you lay the lavender dream gently on the floor. “’Kay. Let’s get ready then.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Dinner drifts by in waves of laughter, glinting glasses, and too many toasts. Someone near the bonfire sings just off-key enough to be charming. The vibe loosens. Barefoot colleagues dance in the shallows; others collapse into the sand, dizzy with wine and sun-warmed skin, their cheeks pink from both.

The night starts soft—genuinely good. Even the air feels kind when you arrive with Meliaa, the breeze teasing the hem of your white pants and tugging at the red lace thong she begged you to wear, claiming it ‘spiced up the whole vibe.’ The slender strands rise high on your hips, slipping above your waistband.

But speaking of Meliaa… she’s nowhere to be seen. 

Not since she made the ravishing acquaintance of some tall tanned brunette named… Caleb? Colby? Somehitng with a C and abs and the prettiest violet eyes. You lost track after your third glass of wine, the alcohol coating everything in a warm blur.

“S’uch a traitor.” you mutter, hiccuping softly as you slump back on your elbows in the sand. You’re not far from the sea—close enough to hear the lull of it kissing the shore. The candles flicker in the wind. Your hair’s undone, skin flushed and glowing.

You reach lazily for the bottle at your side, your body half-curled to grab it—fingers barely brushing the glass neck—

A hand beats you to it. 

“I think you’ve had enough.” A voice says—low, dry and extremely familiar. You blink up, trying to focus but disoriented by the angle. You know if your neurons work a little more you could probably put a name on this very attractive tone…

Your head tip up from where you were hunched over—

Red eyes.

Vivid. Vivid and locked on you like you’re a storm he sees coming from miles away and still chooses to walk into. It zaps through you, sharp and electric.

Your breath hitches when Sylus drops beside you, the bottle landing with a soft clink on his other side. He doesn’t say a word as he stretches his long legs in the sand, back slouched with that casual arrogance he wears like sin.

“Heyyy..” you mumble, lips already turned in a pout as you lean fully into him. “wznted t’ po-pour s’m… s’mrthing…” Your arm reaches lazily across his lap, moving at a snail’s pace, coordination drunk and dying. Your breast presses firmly against the inside of his thigh, warm through the fabric of his pants, and your ass lifts to reach farther… letting your low-slung linen pants slip lower—giving Sylus a perfect, lingerie-ad-campaign flash of your laced triangle thong.

His breath shifts but that doesn’t mean he looks away.

His glasses are still perched high on that too-sharp, too-wide nose, the metal frames catching the soft glow of the lanterns. His white mullet is loose tonight, a little windswept, a little fallen out of place—soft-looking in a way that makes your fingers twitch with the urge to tangle in it. 

And his ears—oh, his ears—have more silver than usual. Tiny earrings crawl up the curve of his left one like constellations. There’s even a thin piercing at the top, barely visible, but now seared into your memory forever—you want to follow all those with your tongue.

Just as your fingers graze the bottle, Sylus lifts it and shifts it out of reach—effortless, like swatting a bug. A splash of the drink hits his designer pants.

“Oopsie,” you murmur, blinking down at the dark stain, faking compassion. “S’ your faulty. Your thighs’re too…” You wave vaguely, struggling to find the word. “... too like that. All big and muscly and in the way of my needs.”

His jaw tics once.

“Gimme,” you whine, reaching again—more determined now, zero coordination though. You shift onto your knees and—predictably—overshoot.

Thump.

“Shit,”

“Goddamn it” you both murmur at the same time.

Your body crashes into his left shoulder, throwing both of you sideways into the sand. His head hits with a muffled grunt, yours landing hard on his chest, knocking the breath out of both of you. One of his arms snaps up by pure instinct, hand cupping the back of your head to keep you from full-on faceplanting into his sternum. 

“Y’counldn’t—” you start, voice muffled against his chest. You try to push yourself up but only succeed in straddling one of his thighs, palms flat on his chest, which is annoyingly firm. “You… y’couldn’t j-juh—juss gime ze btwolle, huh?” If you weren’t swimming in fog and expensive rum, you might’ve noticed the sharp pink blooming across Sylus’s cheekbones. The crimson climbing up his neck. The way the tips of his ears are glowing red.

“You drank too much,” he grits, shifting like he might sit up—like he might do something responsible. But you clamp your thighs tighter around his lap, grounding him in place.

“Nooooo,” you drawl dramatically, leaning in until your breath warms the shell of his ear. Your hair drapes over your shoulder like a curtain, catching light like a halo—if halos were horny. “Y’know… I’ve been vrrrrryyyyyygwoood,” you giggle into his neck. “didn’t even ask why you didn’t use your prize…”

Sylus goes very still.

He tries not to react to the way your hips are seated on him—warm and wholly dangerous. Or to how your lashes flutter against your flushed cheeks as you blink up at him, dilated and infuriatingly cute.

“What prize?” he murmurs, already knowing, already regretting it.

You jab a finger into his chest, miss, and land somewhere on his clavicle. “The one you won. Szurffff thingy… I did—I h-had lowzse…” your words fall apart on your tongue, melting into giggles. “You said, um… what was it… vic’tory like… c-con’quest? Trophyyyy? K-kiss-your-brat?” you squint, nose scrunching. “Ugh. You always gotta use aklll— I meant allll those compzlicazted words…”

Sylus chuckles low under his breath as he looks at you. Really looks at you. The curve of your flushed cheeks. The glitter of alcohol and something wanting in your eyes. Your mouth parts, soft and pink, talking too much. But so plushy and squishable and… kissable.

“Don’t tempt me,” he mutters, and it slips out too raw.

Your brows lift in genuine surprise. “Whass’ that?” you slur, cocking your head like a sleepy cat, lashes fluttering slow. “You… scared?” His hand holds your hip without meaning to. “No. I’m trying to be decent.”

You drop your forehead to his, smiling lopsidedly. “I dowan d’cent…” you say, gaze dropping blatantly to his mouth, your fingers come up naturally, brushing over his bottom lip, a thick press with your index. “I want t-to…” The rest of the sentence melts, heavy and hung in your throat. Your index finger stays right there, curved against the soft dip of his mouth.

And Sylus—Sylus who’s kept his distance half of this trip, who hasn’t teased or toyed with you since that wave-slick day—looks like he’s one deep breath (heavy breath for him) away from saying fuck it all.

But, unlike you, he sees the people watching you. You’re sunk so deep in this little world made of sand and him that you don’t care about the curious eyes of your team glancing your way.

Sylus doesn’t say a word, he simply moves. Once second, you’re straddling his thighs, lips brushing his chin—next second, you feel gentle fingers flipping you off his lap and into the sand beside him. You yelp, legs kicking slightly, your hair messier. “H-hey!” you whine.

But he has turned away, he needs to physically disconnect to breathe again. He tries to reset his pulse, forearms braces on his knees. His cock is pressing brutal and hard against the inside of his pants—impossiblyhard because of your bold moves. 

“Are you into moons?” you mumble as if nothing happened.

“… What?” his head tips toward you, the confusion etched in the small crease between his brows. His voice a little hoarse.

“Moon Girls,” you explain, “saw ‘em… hoverin’. Gr-gravitating. L-like horny moonz.” your face twists with annoyance. “You didn’t tease me those past days. Why? What gives? Did I stop being… what’s the word…” you trail off, spinning your hand in a drunk spiral. “…quite funny to talk t-to?”

You scoot closer to him until your thigh is pressed fully against his. “Y’know... I’m not olly funny” you add, hiccupping into the sentence. “I’m alose charming,” you counter with your chin raised, teetering on dramatic. 

His voice sounds wrecked with restraint when he finally speaks. “You’re something.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m a brat.”

He stiffens instantly.

“I mean—y’said I give bratty answers.” You nuzzle in closer, your forehead now bumping against his bicep. “You like that, huh? You like when I act like a brat?”

His eyes drop to your lips. The air is boiling.

 “D’you wanna see wh-what else my pr-pretty mouth can do?” Your sounds like a velvet trap as you lift your head to look at him with big utterly honest doe eyes.

His face turns. His lips part just slightly. He leans in until your noses are touching, breath tangled. “If I say yes?” he asks, voice barely a thread.

You freeze. Then hiccup. Then smile. A lazy, proud, drunken grin that melts every edge off your words. “Well… th-that’s a wuh-win-win situayshun.”

He huffs the quietest laugh, head shaking just once. His glasses slip down his nose. And without missing a beat, you reach up and nudge them back into place, your fingertips brushing his hot skin. You smile ear to ear as his obvious happy self, almost found of him.

“You’re going to regret all of this tomorrow, kitten,” he whispers, voice deep and tight with tension.

“Y’gonna kiss me or-or just call me pet names ‘til I pass out?”

He stays frozen for what seems like eternity before he lets his palm rest on the sand behind him and lets his weight drop on them. “You’re drunk,” his voice as loud as the sounds of the waves. “So drunk.”

You nod with exaggerated solemnity, your forehead bonking lightly against his shoulder. “Mmhmmmm, but like… like sexy drunk.”

He huffs, dropping his head back to look at the dark sky—asking the stars to give him patience tonight. Especially since more people are staring now. A couple of them whispering. Sylus’s jaw flexes once, then twice. He stands and pulls you up with him.

 When he finally looks at you again, his mouth is twisted into something between a smirk and a prayer. “Come on,” he says, hauling you up in the same motion. “You can’t stay out here giggling in the sand.”

You make a noise of protest. “I c-can!”

“Oh yeah? You wanna giggle while face-planting into the resort lawn?”

“’S not the worst place I’ve had my face,” you mumble into his chest as he stops and effortlessly scoops you into his arms without much warning. 

“Jesus,” Sylus mutters with his deep raspy voice. “You would say none of those stuff sobber.”

Your arms hook loosely around his neck as he starts walking, his steps long and steady. “Why not?” you ask, batting your lashes. “You said I was bratty. Brats say stuff. Brats say filthy lil things…”

He swallows audibly, jaw tight and serious. “You’re really testing me.”

You hum, cheek pressed to the side of his neck. He smells maddening—a bit of salt and his cologne, not something strong but more something inebriate. “But y’like me,” you whisper, words a bit thick to come out. “You like me even when I’m… mez-meessy.”

“You’re a disaster,” He wants to sound reproaching, but it’s awfully close to fond.

You lift your head, still clinging to his shoulders tightly—as tight as your drunk limbs allow you. “Y’ didn’y answer…”

“Answer what?”

“Why you didn't use your prize,” you pout. “You won. I was… generous loser. Coulda kissed me. Made me beg. Made me cry, maybe. That’s what they do in those brat stories, right?”

Sylus nearly stumbles. “God,” he says again. “Do you hear yourself?”

You grin, eyes glassy. “I’m adorable.”

He adjusts your weight, one arm under your thighs, one wrapped around your back. “You were more than adorable tonight,” he says, quieter now. “Everyone saw it.”

You blink slowly, putting more effort than necessary to understand this conversation. “saw w’the?”

“You. That dangerously beautiful, laced top and panties. Everyone was looking at you.”

“They were?”

Sylus hums. “…You jealous?” you mumble, your voice so small, so teasing.

“Not jealous,” Sylus replies, voice like flint. “Just… hyper-aware.”

You use your arms around his neck to push you up—or push him down—so you could nuzzle the base of his neck. “You didn’t tease me…” you murmur, bringing this topic again. “You were all noble and hot…was g’ing cra-zyyyy.”

He doesn’t reply. But his grip tightens.

“Y’know,” you go on, soft and dreamy, “I saw one of those girls. The Moon Girls. From earlier. She touched your arm. I would’ve clawed her if I wasn’t so busy bein’ tragic an’ pretty.”

“Kitten,” he warns, voice so low it rumbles through his chest. “Shut up.”

You giggle, your lips pink from too much wine and not enough water. “Y’called me kitten again. That’s not very decent of you.”

When he arrives at your bungalow, he doesn’t let you down. Instead, he keeps carrying you, one arm strong under your thighs, the other rifling through your tiny purse with calm precision while you’re draped all over him as a horny scarf. He hooks the key into the lock, muttering something about how you’ve filled your bag with “thirty lip glosses and zero dignity.”

You wiggle slightly in his arms, your lips pressing just below his jaw—leaving a perfect, wicked lipstick stain behind. “One bisouuuu,” you whisper, smirking widly as he goes rigid all over again. “Juz one. Not even for me,” you hold up your hand in a shaky promise, palm raised like a scout. “F’r you! You earned it…”

When he sets you down—tries to—his grip locks tight around you as your knees keep buckling and buckling under you. “You’re gonna wake up tomorrow and want to bury yourself,” he says gently as you sag against him.

“Then you can bury me,” you breathe, lips ghosting over his neck. “Deep. Real deep…”

“Don’t say stuff like that…” he groans under his breath, murmuring your name like it pains him.

“Your dick is pressed against me,” you add without flinching a tiny bit.

But Sylus? He freezes. 

Your hands come up to fist his shirt near his collar. “You’re so—warm. Hard,” you move your arms, looping them lazily around his neck, hips tipping forward, chasing the heat. “You seem big… ‘s nwot fzair.” 

His brows knit, the muscle in his jaw keeps flexing as he fights the urge to do anything. To move. To breathe. Your drunk gravity has him—hooked, hot and dying slow.

You rise on tiptoe, trying to close the distance, your elbows resting on his shoulders as you press your lips on his chin—Sylus dodging your kiss right in time and leave another pink stain here. He has his brows furrowed in concern, eyes begging for you to stop. 

“Y’zeem like…” your voice falters, but your heavy-lidded eyes are dead serious. “Like a man who givespleasure…” 

Sylus shuts his eyes for one breath. Two.

“Y’have long fingers,” you continue quietly, one of your hands dragging slowly up his chest, then to his mouth—pressing lightly to his bottom lip for the second time tonight. “So much lips—I mean, soooo full. And your nooseee…”

The other hand is tracing his nose now, fingers lazy and soft. He should stop you. He should move. But he’s frozen—shaking with restraint.

“You’re wasted,” he says, finally. Barely above a whisper. “And I’m not that guy.”

Your faces are the closest to each other that they’ve ever been. Your breaths intertwining with the other—he smells like menthe, yours a faint sent of strawberries alcohol, the one you had drunk earlier. “You could be…”

“Yeah,” he mutters, hand slipping lower on your waist, guiding you gently toward the bed, his strong legs finding their places in between yours as his guides you. “But then I’d have to spend the rest of my life hating myself.”

He tucks you in, brushing the hair off your face with fingers that could—God—do so much more, you blink up at him.

“Bet you’d still fuck good with the guilt,” you mumble.

He lets out something between a laugh and a strangled sob. “You’re gonna be insufferable in the morning.”

“I’m always insufferable,” you whisper, already drifting. “But cute. Real cute.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

“I don’t get it.” You complain quietly at the table, staring at the foam like it might offer answers. Rafayel and Meliaa exchange a look over their mugs, some weird mic of concern and confusion that makes your chest tighten. 

“He’s been avoiding me—“

“Wasn’t that what you wanted though?” Rafayel cuts in, raising an eyebrow. You kept talking in loop, repeating the same things over and over again since this afternoon: 

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I just—he’s weird lately. Since we came back from the retreat.”

To be fair, everyone’s been acting off. People from marketing and finance keep eyeing you like you grew a second head—whispering things you can’t quite catch, falling silent just as you pass. Everything would’ve been fine if he’d just acted normal. Or if, at least, you had a clue what the hell was going on.

Across the table, Meliaa and Rafayel are finishing their pastries, casually sharing a plate as if they’ve been besties for years. 

You squint at them, coffee in hand. “The two of you got close,” you mumble.

Meliaa shrugs, sipping her oat latte. “The vibes vibed.”

You nod vaguely and look back into your mug like it holds answers. You try to kick your brain into gear—comb through anything that might explain all this weirdness—when something clicks.

“Hey, um…” you start, not sure where you’re going, but you’re already talking so may you just end your thought. “You’re kind of always up to date with what’s going on around the company, right? You could maybe… ask Sylus something? I mean you both work in finance.” You try to make it sounds as casual as possible. And not desperate.

Meliaa pauses mid-sip, eyes already gleaming. “Sure” she says slowly, her tone light. “I’ll just go up to him and be like, ‘Hey Sylus, you know that girl from marketing who always looks like you’re personally offending her when you open your mouth? Actually, she’s super offended when you don’t flirt with her. Thought you should know.’”

“That’s not—” you start, flustered. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rafayel nearly choking on his drink, very much not hiding his laugh. “No.” you say with a voice that tries to sound convincing—but fail experimentally.

Meliaa grins into her cup, unfazed. “I’m just saying… if someone is being weird, it wouldn’t kill you to ask him. Directly.” She says it casually, but there’s something under it—something that lands a little too squarely.

“So, you do know something, don’t you?”

“Moi ? I was far too busy being cornered by that tall, sexy brunette from legal—” Rafayel stiffens beside her—enough for you to notice. His fingers pause around his glass. His eyes narrow, darting to her, unreadable. “While someone, was getting very cozy with a certain white-haired finance boy. Very cozily and very drunk, if I recall.”

Your stomach flips. 

You were indeed very drunk. And what you recall, is waking up with a pouding headache, the violent urge to vomit, and barely enough time to catch yoru flight—remembering nothing from the previous night, except someblurry moments with Sylus on the sand. And a shiver on your skin that had nothing to do with the cold.

Meliaa hums, all fake innocent as she drops the next bomb. “Sure. Just drunk enough to be all over him, and spend half the night looking at him like he was dessert.” She draws the words out and taps her spoon against her mug. “Not judging. I fucked that pretty violet eyed boy. I’m just… observing, y’know?”

You open your mouth to respond—defend or deny something—but Rafayel suddenly gets up, too quickly. His chair scrapes back loud against the floor.

“Well,” he says tightly, “I’ll leave you two to your girl talk—” 

“But Rafa—” you start, a bit throwed off by his reaction as he’s always up for some gossip.

“I’m going.” He avoids your eyes as he adjusts the sleeves of his jacket, already halfway turned away. “And I already paid for our drinks. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, ladies.”

Not a single glance to you. But to Meliaa? One long, unreadable look.

And then he’s gone—out the coffee shop door with a jingle of the bell overhead.  

You sit there, incrédule, and if you were in some cartoon, you’d be drawn with your eyes out of your orbits. The silence stretches and you stare at her, blinking over and over again.

You probably feel like your eyes are falling out when Meliaa chokes—literally spits half her oat latte back into her cup.

“What,” you ask slowly as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand like nothing happened, “was that??”

“Nothing,” she says faster than her brain can catch up, avoiding your lasers eyes. “It went down the wrong pipe.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb on me now. Why was Rafayel bolting like he owed you child support?”

“She busy-busies herself stirring foam that doesn’t need stirring. She’s smart.

“Oh my God. YOU BROKE HIM!!” you exclaim a bit too loudly.

“I didn’t break anyone.”

“You broke that man, Meliaa. He fled like you unlocked a trauma.”

She mutters something under her breath. You immediately lean forward.

“No, no, no. No mumbling. Speak clearly for the people in the back like you always do. Did something happen between you two?”

“Nothing major.” She shrugs

“What does that even mean?!” you drop your voice to a whisper this time. “Did you kiss? Sleep together? Is this a situationship? Friends with benefits—”

“Gosh,” she sighs.

“Did you emotionally destroy him and eat a croissant over his corpse?” you press.

“I will leave you here,” she says flatly, but her ears are bright pink and you know you’re onto something.

“Meliaaaa, be honest with me. Am I in soap opera? For your information, I’d love to! Are you secretly dating my other best friend ?!!”

“I think you are in a soap opera. And without my help.” She says calmly.

“Don’t know what you mean,” you reply, taking a biiiiig drink of your coffee—completely ignoring her veryobvious jab at a certain tall engineer.

“You don’t know what I mean?” Meliaa repeats, unimpressed. “Babe, you walked into that team retreat acting like a marketing angel, and left looking like a guilty little sinner. I don’t even know if Sylus has recovered.”

You scowl. “That’s bold coming from someone who may or may not have left emotional debris all over Rafayel’s soul.”

“Better than leaving literal drool on Sylus’s shirt—”

“I did not—wait, did I?” you blink in horror.

She sips smugly. “I’m not saying yes. But I’m also not saying no.”

You gape. “What happeneeeed that night? Tell meeeee,” Your head drops onto your shoulders in fake defeat. “I remember the lights, the sand, the pretty sounds of the waves and just… a fucking bottle of wine next to me and white hair with his insufferable smirk. I possibly haven’t done something stupid right? Did we kiss?? Did I try to kiss him??? Did I—”

Your phone buzzes violently on the table. You glance down and nearly knowk ober your drink when you see the name lighting up your screen :

Claire—Supervisor Marketing.

You grimace. “Ugh, it’s Claire. She wants me in her office.”

Meliaa whistles. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“I don’t think so.  She probably wants to talk about the campaign I’m working on.” You grab your bag. “Or maybe she found out I asked IT to unblock Tumblr on the office Wi-Fi.”

Meliaa snorts. “Please keep me updated if you get fired.”

You rise from your chair dramatically. “I will. But we’re not done talking. I will circle back to your tragic friends-to-whatever arc with Rafayel.”

She waves you off, already unlocking her phone. “I’ll be here. Being innocent.”

You squint. “Liar.”

She blows you a kiss as you leave the coffee shop in whirlwind of caffeine, gossip and rising dread about facing your very no-nonsense supervisor.

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You knock lightly on your supervisor’s office door, already catching the scent of the expensive perfume and power-tripping. You slap on your most professional smile—the one that stops just short of your eyes.

And when you hear a clipped, singular ‘yes’ your heart races up.

She doesn’t bother looking up when you enter, her attention glued to her screen—fingers tapping slowly and loudly across her keyboard like she’s solving nuclear codes and not just… most likely responding to an email. 

Finally, she gestures the chair in front of her desk with a lazy motion of her chin. You sit, back straight and composed.

“I called you in to inform you,” she says, smooth and clipped, “that your campaign from last quarter—the one with Mr. Sylus—has been selected for an internal spotlight interview.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, heart fluttering and racing up once again but this time not from apprehension, no—from joy. 

Spotlight interview.

That’s big. So big that you almost obscure how she said Sylus’s name—too friendly with a we-are-close tone.

Claire’s smile is tight, practiced. “Both of you will be featured. A joint interview. A short panel and a video segment.”

You school your face, play it cool. “Oh. That’s… unexpected. I thought the focus was on the new rollout—”

“It was,” She interrupts smoothly, leaning back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “But apparently, someone in executive comms thought the pairing was…”  Her stilettos gleam. “Impactful enough to highlight.”

You nod politely. “Well, that’s flattering.”

Her smile doesn’t budge, but her fingers tighten slightly around the pen she’s holding. “Yes, well, some people get very lucky with their assignments.”

Your jaw clenches faintly. “It wasn’t luck.” You immediately soften your tone to stay within the HR-approved border. “That campaign broke regional KPIs by—”

“121%, I’m aware,” her voice’s still cool as pressed linen. “You’re thorough. Ambitious. That much is clear.” You get the sense she wants that to sound like a compliment, but unfortunately it drips with something else—something like a slap dressed as praise. You wonder how long she’s been waiting to remind you she technically still outranks you.

Claire stands abruptly, walking to her window as if the skyline will soothe her clear irritation. “Just be sure to keep things professional during the interview,” she says, her tone skating dangerously close to condescension. “I know you and Mr. Sylus had… a certain rapport.”

Your ears heat despite yourself. “We worked well together.”

“I’m sure you did.” She turns, scanning you—eyes going up and down, that same fake-firm smile frozen on her face. “Comms will reach out this week. You’ll have to coordinate schedules with finance.” A slight pause. “Shouldn’t be too hard. He always seemed… very available for your timelines.”

Goddamn, that’s beyond jealousy… that’s professional envy garnished with personal salt.

“Of course,” you reply, sweet as syrup. “we’re both very committed to making things work.”

Claire’s eyes twitches almost imperceptibly. “Dismissed.”

You rise with practiced grace, shoulders squared, chin high as you pass her office’s door already calculating outfits, lighting angles, and exactly how smug-not-smug you’ll look on camera next to Sylus when he inevitable flirts during the interview—with the interviewer!! Not you, of course.

You’re practically jumping on your feet—probably too much. So much that you don’t notice the fucking wall directly in your path.

Full force. Full face.

A loud BAM that eco throughout the whole floor. You groan as heads turn your way in concern, someone even audibly winces. You ignore them all, ignore even that inconvenient event and square your shoulders again as you keep walking toward the elevator.

But unfortunately, and because humiliation likes company, you bump into someone. You start to grumble an apologize—as you’re literally struggling to find stability—but you feel strong arm holding you in place—

“Hey, be careful next time, kitten.”

Kitten. That surname awakens something—moments to be precise. Blurry moments. Soft sand, salty wind, white hair contrasting with the dark ocean... and arms.

The man looking down at you, catching you in the same strong arms and keeping you from falling.

Sylus’s face is serious. Serious lips pulling into a straight line, serious ruby-red eyes, serious brow pinched in the slightest crease (as his usual), serious nose—serious everything.

You take a step back, barely recovering, barely holding your heart into your ribcage, barely breathing—as you see him for the first time since the work trip. And while you’re busy reeling, he’s already throwing a line. “Well,” he says, eyes flicking down to where your shoulder just collided with his chest, “didn’t know you missed me that much.”

You roll your eyes, pulse sprinting. “It’s your fault for standing in front of structural hazards,” you mutter, brushing imaginary dust off your sleeve—and your pride. 

He lets out a low chuckle, something that shoots your body, like drugs. 

But just as you open your mouth—maybe to say something flippant, maybe just to breathe properly again—the elevator dings. Doors glide open.

He steps in wordlessly.

You hesitate for half-second, too long, before following him inside. And when you do, you realize the elevator is completely empty. Leaving alllll the space for you both.

Too much space, actually.

So much space that Sylus stands on one side and you take the opposite. As far away as the metal box allows you.

And it’s dead silent. You glance sideways—his arms are crossed on his firm chest, his jaw sharp in profile, eyes fixed on the ascending floor numbers. His mullet hair perfectly netted with gel, some rebellious hair falling on his forehead. His ears are empty—for your displeasure… all his earrings and piercing earrings are gone.

Your throat tightens. The silence is anxious. 

The elevator hums softly, and you fumble for something to say. Anything to break the tension that’s crawling under your skin like static. But your brain pulls a blank. No witty comeback, no sarcastic jab.

You don’t know what to do. What to say. This Sylus is foreign to you.

It’s just you and him, and this unbreathable silence… and the suffocating awareness of your lack of knowledge on what you did the last night of your trip. The maddening echo of ‘what did I say?’ eating you alive. 

You fidget with the hem of your sleeve. A growing feeling you’re not used to fills your body, and you’re novice to this—novice to control nervousness.

You keep throwing glances at him and his unreadable face does nothing to calm your state.

But unfortunately, your mouth beats your mind and speaks on its own, “Did I…” you pause, tongue dry, heart hammering. “Did I do something that night?” something that made you want to stay away from me?”

The words hang in the air, heavy and exposed. Sylus’s jaw ticks as he turns slowly to look at you—straight in the eyes. Digging holes on your skin through his rectangular glasses.

Ding.

The elevator doors slide open to an incoming flood—people, noise, coworkers stepping in and chatting about deadlines and lunch—leaving your question between you two like a live grenade.

You get bumped forward in the small wave, forced to shift closer toward the center—and that’s when his hand catches you.

A strong hand, wrapping around your forearm with casual force, yanking you gently but firmly toward him. You stumble slightly and end up right in front of him—his body now behind yours, one hand still resting just above your elbow.

He shifts to the corner, shielding you from the crowd without a word. His chest barely brushes your back. His breath grazes your temple when he leans down the slightest bit to murmur, voice low for only you:

“Not here.” And his voice is so deep, so raw, so—

You shake your head—there’re so many people in the elevator and you having bed thoughts wasn’t quite the right moment.

You swallow, trying to force some air into your lungs. You could stay quiet like he asked. You could just wait. But feeling the heat of him behind you, the faint shift of his chest when he breathes, his perfume wrapping around your lungs…

Maddening.

“Fine,” you whisper so only he hears, arms crossed now. A hip cocking so your ass could shift backward and be at his crotch level so your ass could… graze. “If you’re trying to punish me with the silent treatment, it would work better if I remembered what I actually did.” 

No response. But your little brat move definitely had an effect on him—his tailored trousers suddenly not sitting quite so comfortably anymore. You tip your head slightly, voice whisper-thin and soaked in fake innocence. “Unless I confessed a dark secret? Or maybe I tried to…” You drop your voice impossibly lower as your eyes meet his and the top of your head hit his chest from the back. “…Kiss you?” 

And you probably don’t remember a single thing. But pretending you know exactly what happened—what you did, what you didn’t—is your only weapon right now. The performance is the whole game, isn’t it?

And that drives Sylus like a mad man.

But he still hasn’t say a word. He keeps staring straight ahead like you’re not burning holes into the back of his sanity—you press further, shifting again against his obvious bulge, “You’re cruel, you—”

“You didn’t kiss me.”

His voice slices through the tiny space between you, too close to a growl.

Ding.

He doesn’t move and wait patiently for the people to leave—until the noise dies. Before guiding you to the side with measured calm—firm and steady hands wrapping around your hips. He shifts you aside, clearing his path.

You suck in the most needed breath of your life—air, finally—but it doesn’t soothe anything. Not your heart, not your nerves, and certainly not the heat crawling up your throat.

You don’t know if you’re more breathless or furious.

So just as the doors start to close, you shout, “Don’t be cold for the interview.” Your voice is loud and sharp.

The doors are nearly shut when he stops—turning slowly toward you—his eyes find yours through the narrowing gap.

Smoldering.

And you feel it. It’s consuming you. 

The electric thing pulsing between you both like a drawn wire waiting to snap. 

Stronger than ever.

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Conference Room C. 30 minutes.

The robotic chime from the room’s speaker system is barely done when his voice follows, just as grating:

“Did you hear that? Don’t make us late.”

You glare at the cracked ceiling like it personally betrayed you. Your eyes twitch at the insufferable sound of hishorrible voice hitting your eardrums. You glance at him through the mirror you’re putting make-up in front of.

“I don’t even understand why they put us in the same room.” You mutter, feeling your nerves reaching the maximum of their capacity.

Sylus throws an arm over the back of the couch, smugly comfortable as one leg is crossed over the other—his head dropping to the resting head. “Small budget,” he says. “Big dreams.”

You scoff. “The company makes millions. They could at least give us two rooms.”

“They could,” he agrees. “But they didn’t. Because they know people like us can make it work.”

“You’re a man. I’m a woman.” You say as you eye the choice of lipsticks lying on the table. It’s the last touch for you to be ready.

He finally looks at you, eyes dragging from your naked thighs to your hands fidgeting between the multiple choice of lipstick to your face. 

“And?” his voice sounds dangerously calm. 

Conference Room C. 20 minutes.

“And a lot of things could happen.”

A beat.

“Like?”

You meet his eyes through the mirror. Your mouth quirks—seeing an opening to push his boutons, to annoy him just as much as you’re annoyed. 

Annoyed by the situation. Annoyed by his permanent bak-and-forth. Even though you deserved it. Annoyed byhis sexy form. Annoyed by the white shirt and the two buttons udone from the start. Annoyed by that damn chain holding the collar together and dropping into the opening of his shirt—between his defined pectorals. Annoyed by his long white hair brushes the tops of his shoulders. Annoyed by the silver earrings that made an apparition. Annoyed by his sexy glasses—fitting him way too well.

 “Like you’re a man. And we know what men are capa—”

“What are you assuming?” he cuts you off, sharp. His voice like a blade cutting through the electric air starting to form. 

You hear the leather couch squeaking as he rises—watching him approach in the reflection, long legs taking slow step toward your chair. 

“I’m not that kind of man.” He’s angry. Obviously angry. But not loudly angry. A kind of hurt, angry…

And you turn your chair around to face him—but as you’re meet with strong thighs dressed in a thighs skinny jeans molding his structured muscles, right on your eyes levels, inches away from you… it’s intimidating. And Sylus sees you longing here, so he brings his fingers to lift your chin.

“If I were,” he leans in, letting his other hand drop on the back of your chair, his face bringing closer to yours. “If I were that kind of man, I would’ve taken advantage of you the last night of the trip.” Your breath catches, finding struggle to breathe—to smell anything else than his perfume. 

“Instead…” his voice softens, but it coils around you, tighter than before. “I dodged your kisses. Even though I wanted it more than anything else in this world.”

A silence follows, heavy and hot. 

“I let you talk, Ramble about how you thought I was hot. Sexy. How you wanted me to take you apart and put you back together in ways no other men would have done before..”

Conference Room C. 10 minutes.

His magnificent red eyes gleam, pupils slightly dilated as his fingers tighten on your chin.  “I would want to make love to you. Perhaps, you sounded like you wanted to be fucked, like an animal.”

He tilts his head, gaze dropping to your parted lips—voice dropping lower.

“Who would have thought…” he almost whispers against your lips. “A pretty little thing like you wanted to get fucked raw? Thought about my dick, hands, and lips in this way?”

You swallow hard, unable to come with a smart answer.

“But maybe it was my mistake,” he muses, the chair tilting further back as he leans in harder. “Because you said it yourself…” his thigh slips between yours—your knees spread by the pressure alone. “…You’re a brat.” 

Another long pause.

“And brats?” he smirks now, his veiny hand once holding your chin trace down, until it wraps around your throat—thumb resting on your pulse point, pressing, making you gasp. “Brats need to be punished. That’s what they do in your stories, right?”

Your chest rises, falls. Something between fear and craving coils low in your stomach. And just as you think he might kiss you—

He steps back, jaw so tight you hear it click.

“But I’d never touch you like that.” His voice barely there, the ghost of it brushing your skin. “Not unless you are stone-cold sober. Not unless you beg me for it.” His voice is barely above a murmur, and you swear your probably imagined this sentence from how hard your heart is pounding—muffling everything.

Conference C. 5 minutes.

He circles your chair like a storm pulling itself together. Picks up one of the lipsticks you’d been staring at before. “Wear this one,” he turns it in his fingers with something unreadable in his expression.

“That’s the same shade of the kisses you left on my jaw and chin that night.”

- - - 

The overhead light is clinical everything is too quiet—except for the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

You’re sitting naturally… or pretending to at least. Legs crossed, palms resting flat against your thighs, your body rigid under the illusion of poise.

Lipstick : perfectly applied.

“Glad to see you listened to me,” Sylus voice comes low and heat-wrapped. He’s sitting next to you in another single couch—close to yours but far enough for your heart to have a normal beat.

You hum—noncommittal. 

Your throat too tight to come up with anything clever. Your head’s still not here. Still in the lounge room. Still caught on that single sentence, the one he left you with like a match to gasoline : ‘brats need to be punished. That’s what they do in your stories, right?’

And it’s like this meticulous sentence detonated something in your head, flashes of your night coming slowly to your mind. Your knees buckling as he kept you pressed against his chest, your words—words that would never come out sobber, the kind of filth you let slip between giggles… and hiccups… and need…

Your mouth had said everything. And he’d done… nothing.

Heat crawls up your chest now, wrapping around your neck, pinking your cheeks. From the corner of your eye, you see Sylus watching. Smirking like he knows exactly what memory just came rushing back—head resting in his hand, elbow propped on the armrest. 

Red eyes fixed on you, lazy and unbothered while you silently unravel next to him. And it’s so hard to act natural. With all those lighting and cameras trained on you like prey… it wasn’t the moment for the memories to come back.

“Well, we’re getting started in about five minutes.” A lady with a smile too bright to be real says, “I’ll ask questions about your collaboration, the launch, the success. Nothing personal, nothing crazy.” She continues, adjusting her notepad. “Just act normal, and everything’s gonna be fine.”

Easy for her to say.

You shoot her a polite nod, but your spine won’t relax.

Someone behind the camera gives a hand signal—letting you know that the camera hit recording. You adjust slightly in your seat, smile easy but measured. Sylus sits back with that usual unreadable seriousness.

The interviewer begins her intro—bright voice, polished tone—giving a quick overview of your roles in the company, your departments, and the product campaign that’s made your names unavoidable in the internal news cycle.

“Alright,” she says, flipping her page. “The New Horizons campaign took off faster than expected, with 200% increase in engagement in the first three weeks. Everyone’s calling it the blueprint for cross-departmental collaboration. What made you two clicks?”

Your answer flows like liquid. “We never tried to click.” You smile enough to take the edge off the honesty. “We were brutally honest about our differences from the start. But I think that’s what made us sharp. We weren’t afraid to challenge each other.”

The interviewer nods. “And that didn’t slow anything down?”

You shake your head once. “It pushed us forward. I focus on market behavior, storytelling, user emotion. Sylus…” you glance sideways at him, briefly. “Breaks things down to the finest equation. We worked in parallel, but we also pulled each other out of our usual lanes.”

He exhales a short huff—more amused than dismissive. “She doesn’t like rules.” His gaze flicks toward the woman in front of him, then back to you, lingering. “I like results.” He makes a small pause before adding—just to tease you. “She delivers.”

You bite back a smile, the edge of your mouth tugging upward anyway. “If you were about to say something bad,” you murmur to him, light and playful, “I’d have ripped your head off on camera.” You almost forget your encounter with him earlier—feeling your body relax at the sight of the missed Sylus.

“You seem close to each other.” The interviewer chuckles, scribbling down something. “And it seems like… there’s no ego between you.”

“Oh, but here’s ego,” you admit easily. “But it doesn’t get in the way. We both want the same thing : the best outcome. The rest in just noise.”

Sylus leans forward a little, forearms resting on his knees, voice just a touch lower. “It’s rare to find someone who know how to make the noise useful.”

Your chest rises, calm. Steady. Steady.

“You two sound like a dream team.” And the way the woman says it, the way her face lights up. You know that shift—when an interviewer finds their entry point, and starts aiming lower, under the surface.

“Some days,” you say lightly.

Sylus nods in agreement, completely unfazed.

“Talking about dream and certain days.” She flips her page, a little too casual. “You both went to the team-building retreat weeks after the campaign took off. It was mentioned a few times in your department note—apparently, that was a needed pause.”

Your pulse kicks. You nod, lips already shaping your answer before your thoughts fully form. “Yes,” you reply, voice calm. “There was a creative gridlock in the weeks leading up to the launch. Making both our team works harder, day and night, without interruption. Everyone was operating on different bandwidths. The retreat… was really great to reset things. It felt like a bowl of fresh air.”

She laughs slightly. “Sounds intense.”

“It was,” you reply, gaze unwavering. “We had to drop a lot of personal pride to get anywhere.”

Then she turns to Sylus. “Do you agree?”

He pauses—and that silence says everything. He knows exactly what she’s poking at. Still, his voice is even when he replies. “I think we underestimated how fast things can change when people stop performing.”

She smiles sweetly and asks, “Is it ok to answer some anonymous questions?”

The woman’s smile grows just a little too sweet, pen poised when she sees the glances you and Sylus are exchanging before nodding. “Alright, then.. First anonymous question.” She reads from her page, “be honest : who’s more competitive between the two of you?”

You tilt your head, gaze sliding to Sylus with faux consideration. “I’m strategic,” you say slowly, fingers folding neatly in your lap. “He’s obsessive. So, define competitive.”

He doesn’t even look at you—speaking like he already predicted your answer. “She cheats.” You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “I optimize. Don’t be mad because your precious equations can’t calculate charm.” That earns a small upward twitch of his mouth. “They can. Charm just isn’t scaleable.”

“Tell that to our numbers,” you shoot back. “Or to the CEO who called my presentation ‘a case study in persuasion.’”

The interviewer grins. “So… both of you?”

“Exactly.” You and Sylus say at the same time—not even trying to coordinate it.

The woman hums as she flips to the next card. “Second one’s fun. What’s one habit the other has that drive you crazy?”

You bite your lower lip in thought. And the man beside you can’t help but let his eyes drag over them—you’re oblivious. “He pauses before answering like he’s running an internal lie detector test.” Sylus lifts an eyebrow, his full attention on you, almost mock-offended. “I think before I speak.”

“You brood before you speak.”

The interviewer chuckles again. “And Sylus?”

He lets a beat pass—his eyes still on you, something sharp and fond behind his gaze… the intensity of it, almost makes you squirm on your couch. “She has zero patience. For meetings. For protocol. For… silence.”

You smile, but your heart pounds hard against your ribcage—knowing exactly what he meant. “Because silence means you’re about to say something cryptic and inconvenient.” You try with a wrecked voice.

“You don’t need silence to say something inconvenient.” He murmurs it so low the woman on the other side misses it—much to her displeasure.

“Alright, alright… let’s try something a little deeper, shall we?”

There’s a small silence—that kind of pause that feels too prepared. Like she’s testing waters. 

The stillness in your spine tightens like a reflex. You clear your throat gently, keeping your tone smooth. “He…” your eyes stay forward, though you feel the subtle shift of Sylus leaning back beside you, “...knows how to surf. Pretty well, actually.”

It’s true. It’s harmless. And absolutely not what the interviewer was fishing for—judging by the way her brows twitch up, like she’d bitten into something too bland.

You fight the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Sylus doesn’t smile, of course. He rarely does. His voice is flat, unreadable. “She talks too much when she’s nervous.”

You side-eye him immediately, lips parting as more flashes of this night come back to you. “That didn’t surprise me though,” he adds, glancing at the interviewer before locking eyes with you. “But she listens when it matters.”

The woman goes still for a beat, caught off guard by the sincerity buried in his otherwise clinical tone. “Well, that’s… good to know.”

She looks between you. Then reads the final one, “Last question. What’s something you haven’t said to each other yet?”

There it is. 

Your pulse kicks, and you can feel Sylus shift next to you—just a subtle change in the air around his body. Not something anyone else would catch.

One second pass.

Two.

Three. 

“If there’s anything worth saying,” he says finally, his voice calm but edged with something harder, “it’ll be said off camera.”

She laughs softly, almost like she’s impressed—or disappointed. “Well. That’s fair.”

The red light above the camera dies out. The room relaxes with it. Crew members begin to stir, chairs scraping gently, quiet voices picking up around you. You exhale deeply, tension releasing from your shoulders. The session’s over—but the real conversation, the one left dangling in the silence between you and Sylus?

That one hasn’t even started yet.

Still, you try not to think too deeply about it as the last mic clicks off your blouse. You murmur a quick thanks to the sound tech before rising to your feet, smoothing your skirt. Sylus is already up, straightening his sleeves with quiet precision. Like he didn’t just dodge the most important question, for the interviewer. Like he didn’t just put your world upside down in the lodge. Like his fingers aren’t still burning your chin.

You walk past him—ready to put all this comedy behind you but suddenly he calls your name, and you halt mid-step. 

“You hungry?” his voice breaks the static in your head.

“What’s the offer?” your eyes narrow. Almost defensive.

He slips his hands in his pocket, walking beside you as you head toward the exit. “Dinner. Meliaa’s already on her way.”

“Meliaa?”

“I called her,” he says simply. “She was close by. I thought you would like her presence.” Well the real reasonis : with Meliaa around, the odds of you saying yes were higher.

“I called Rafayel too. And Caleb,” Sylus adds, glancing down at you. (With Rafayel into the equation now, the odds were even more higher.)

You dig through your mind, trying to recall who’s Caleb. And—

“Caleb is the tall brunette with the purple eyes. He hooked up with Meliaa during the retreat.”

“Yeah...” you say, nonchalant. Like you knew exactly who he was the whole time.

Sylus only nods, offering nothing else, as he holds the door open for you.

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The restaurant is warm and low-lit. it’s tucked away behind a wine bar, too nice for a work dinner, too casual for anything official. The kind of place where the shadows lean in and the drinks hit too smooth.

Your comrades are sitting near a floor-to window glasses, you spot them first. Meliaa is pinned between Rafayel and Caleb at a round booth. Her expression is bright, animated, her cheeks slightly pink on her honeyed skin… but you don’t miss the restless tension in the way her fingers toy with her glass stem. Rafayel is a little too close, one arm resting behind her on the booth’s back and Caleb, on her other side, has his thigh pressing firmly against her—not budging.

You don’t miss the way Meliaa shifts her shoulders back when she sees you. Relief flickering in her eyes. 

“Oh, thank God,” she grins. “I was starting to consider stabbing one of them with a breadstick.”

Rafayel turns his head lazily toward her, the pad of his finger brushing the small hair on the back of her neck. 

“You’re late,” the brunette man suddenly speaks.

“5 minutes,” Sylus replies before you do, voice cool. He’s already assessing the table, his eyes flicking from seat to seat. But as expected—and rather quickly—he takes the open space beside Caleb. They’re probably friend… you assume.

That leaves you with one seat. Next to Rafayel.

Not that you complain about that.

You’re complaining about sitting directly across the hot-sexy-long-white-haired man. 

Meliaa shifts to make room—which only forces the two tall men to move in closer—giving you a smile that’s part apology, part plea. You slide in beside Rafayel, feeling the heat of his arm radiating next to you. Like he’s burning hot.

Another thing that is burning hot : Sylus gaze already on you. Sharp and unreadable beneath the low amber light.

Tension coils on the table. From all sides.

You clear your throat. “So, what did we miss?”

Caleb chuckles, low and amused, swirling his drink. “Just Meliaa dodging questions.”

“Dodging?” Rafayel cuts in with a slow tilt of his head. “I’d say she’s being very generous with her silence.”

Meliaa doesn’t answer. She just lifts her glass, sips, and stares down the center of the table like it might save her.

Well, it won’t.

But you will.

You hum and probably wait for few seconds—let the silence stretch until the static in the air buzzing between the glances feels heavy.

“I want a little drink,” you say abruptly. That earns you a flash of narrowed eyes from Sylus and a very enthusiast, far-too-fast, “Coming!” from your girl.

You reach the bar like it’s finish line—and you’re both relieved, it’s a small, expensive restaurant. Which means fewer people tonight. Fewer eyes. 

Meliaa slides onto the stool beside you, fixing her curls with one hand while the other flags the bartender like her life depends on it… and it just might. The only real question is : whose life is spiraling faster?

The moment the bartender turns his back to mix the drinks, you lean in.

“Okay,” you murmur low, “what the hell is going on?”

She blinks at you, innocent. “What do you mean?”

You give her a look—a look that means, I Know, You know, We know. 

She exhales sharply, bringing two fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You remember Caleb. My little paradisiac escape?”

You nod.

“Well…” she winces. “Our one nightstand… kind of became a five-night stand. Plus, texting. And maybebrunch. And, um, sex on the roof of the lodge and… sex everywhere, actually.”

You tilt your head, amused by her unraveling. “And Rafayel?”

She picks up a lim wedge from the bar and pops it in her mouth like a criminal about to testify. “I didn’t plan that either. You just introduced us and we… clicked.”

You swear you only bite back your laugh because she she looks two seconds from yanking her own hair out. “When I said ‘you’d like him’ I didn’t mean like him naked in your bed.”

“I didn’t mean that too! They just kept showing up.”

“They’re both into you.”

She mutters something under her breath, before adding, “They both fuck extremely well, too.”

The bartender returns with your drinks. 

“I told them both I’m not looking for anything serious,” she insists. “I was clear. And they agreed. Verbally. Out loud.”

“And yet, back there,” you nod toward the table, “they were both glued to your sides like emotionally unstable shoulders pads.”

Meliaa groans. “Y’know what’s crazy?” she slides her stool closer to yours and lowers her voice. “They both know I slept with the other…” you raise a brow as she drops her voice even lower and bring a hand to your ear like she’s whispering the world’s most scandalous secret. “…And they both told me they want to prove they fuck better than the other.”

And here, you totally snap. You laugh so hard you nearly fall off the stool—actual tears leaking down your face. Meliaa just stares, green eyes wide like she’s been betrayed.

“You’re laughing to my hexagon of bad decisions?” she accuses.

“Giiiiirl,” you wheeze, wiping at your cheek. “You have two sexy, emotionally deranged men down bad for you and you call it a problem?” you shake your head, trying to calm down. “Just go for it and fuck them both.”

“I already did!!!”

“At the same damn time, sweetie.”

“You did lose all your last brain cells on that interview...” she takes her drink and finish it in one go.

She clinks her empty glass down with too much force than necessary. And you’re still puffing next to her when she sighs dramatically and speaks. 

“Yeah. You’re right.” She twists in her stool to look at you, a wicked glint flickering in her eyes now. “I will do it. Will fuck them. Senseless.”

You snort. “They’re more likely to fuck you senseless.”

She waves a dismissive hand in your face like you’re speaking nonsense, then grabs your shoulders with both hands. “Thank you for your advice, soldier.” She says sweetly, pressing her hands on your shoulder to get up.

You look at her going back to the table like the chaotic soldier that she is before calling after her, “Please stretch first!” and go back to your chair still laughing under your breath. You exhale, trying to cool the remnants of amusement off your face, only to feel someone move into the space she just vacated.

You don’t even have to look—you know that presence too well by now. It drapes over you like a shadow.

Sylus slips onto the high stool beside you, turning it slightly so his body angles toward yours. His long legs stretch out, planted on either side of your own—silently claiming territory. One arm drape lazily along the counter, the other resting loose over his knee.

There’s no rush, no sound, just the heavy calm he wears like cologne.

But it’s like the air shifts to accommodate him... and so does your pulse. He��s still dressed in the white shirt—made of sin and for sluts men.

You inhale without thinking.

“I’m a slut?” Sylus voice is… confused.

Ahhhh, your damn mouth. You didn’t even realize you said your last thoughts out loud.

“Well…” you trail off, letting your eyes drop on his open collar and the chain diving in, “dressed up like this, yes.”

His brows lift slightly, a smirk twisting his lips. 

Oh. A smirk.

It’s been a while.

“Calling me a slut then?”

You shift slightly on your stool, annoyed at the way your thighs press tighter together to the sound of his hoarse voice. “I mean,” you mutter, eyes refusing to meet his, “if the shirt fits.”

He leans a little closer—letting you feel the gravity of him. “Maybe I wore it for someone specific?”

Your head jerks toward him, “And that someone was… a reflective surface?”

His mouth twitches. He definitely missed your little games. “Are you jealous of my mirror now?”

You glare. “I’ve seen the way you look at it.”

“That mirror’s been there for me when no one else was.”

“Ew… now you sound pathetic.”

“Do you like pathetic men?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?” The heat is rising up your throat simmering just beneath the surface, and you feel yourself unraveling under the weight of his gaze.

“Pathetic men,” he repeats, approaching his stool to yours until your round sit is trapped between his thighs. “Do you like them?”

 “I like everything and everyone but you, Sylus.” You say under your breath toying with your glass—unwilling to drink it. Unwilling to let the alcohol dull this. You want to feel every second of it. Every pulse of heat. Every flick of his voice against your skin.

“You’re not that special,” you lie.

He tilts his head—giving you an unfair view of his bronzed neck, the muscle there taut, kissed by the dim bar light. “I’m literally trapping you against the bar right now,” he murmurs, voice rough silk, “and you haven’t moved.” 

You straighten, bristling— mostly from the burn pooling in your lower stomach. “I could move.”

“Of course, do so.” A simple challenge.

As you don’t move, he leans in until his lips are brushing delicately your ear “Exactly.” He dissociates every syllable. And you swear how he says it… it feels like a kiss. A taunting kiss.

Your entire body flares hot. From the tips of your ears to somewhere shameful deep. 

You grip the edge of the bar for support and stand. 

Fast.

Too fast.

Because of your original position and Sylus one, your legs tangle in the small space he created. The movement throws you off your balance and you tumble forward between your stools. 

You gasp—a surprised, inelegant sound—as your hands shoot up, grabbing at the nearest anchor: the back of his neck, his hair, thick and soft between your fingers. Your body crashes against his chest, knocking the glasses on his face askew. 

His arms snap around you with effortless speed—one bracing your lower back, the other slapping flat against the bar to keep you both upright.

His grip doesn’t loosen. You don’t move.

“Well,” he says, voice a little breathless, but laced with that same maddening smirk. “Aren’t you a professional at falling into me?”

You open your mouth—but nothing comes out. Your brain can’t think—too busy thinking about his hand splayed wide against your back. Technically it’s your waist, but the way his forearm is low, hot and firm just above the swell of your ass—

“That’s three time now, kitten.” he adds, adjusting his glasses with a slow slide of his fingers. “I’m gonna start thinking you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Maybe,” You whisper face burning hot, body burning hot… pussy burning hot.

Your thighs press together for any kind of relief, but you’re trapped. His are bracketing yours—caging you in a tight hold. Your chest is flush against his collarbone, your shirt stretched over the shape of your breasts as they rise and fall, pressed to the open cut of his shirt, that damned chain cold between your hot bodies.

He exhales, a slow, shaking thing, and his breath fans your lips when he speaks again. “You mess up my glasses again…” his voice dips lower, gravel catching at the edge, “and I might actually lose my patience.”

You blink hard, struggling to hold your ground—but your fingers are still in his hair, fisted tight. And something in you wants to push further. Wants to abandon everything, let it all go, and just sink into the heat of this.

So, you tug.

Not hard, but with intention—your nails scraping gently at the base of his scalp as you guide his face up to yours. His head tips back, lips parting slightly, the faintest flush of pink climbing his high cheekbones. His lashes flutter low. And you swear, swear he’s just as close to breaking as you are.

The way he looks like this. Held in your hands? Seeming vulnerable?

You can’t help but push your thighs a bit higher, grinding against his cock. Well, more like a damn monsterfrom the tent straining against his jeans.

His hand presses harder into your lower back, pulling you the rest of the way down until you’re practically straddling his lap—so you could have the perfect friction against your pulsing clit.

“You drunk?” he rasps, eyes glassy already.

You shake your head, almost dizzy from how close you are. From how hot it is in here. “No,” you breathe.

“Good,” he says, almost to himself. “When you said you wanted a little drink I…” he cuts off, biting his cheek.

You trace your fingers up through his hair again, soft strands curling between your knuckles. “What?”

He doesn’t look away. He can’t. Not when he’s drowning in the liquid, he wanted oh so badly. “I got scared,” he whispers, his voice barely a small stain on the lipstick he asked you to put. 

It feels like you’re drinking his words, drinking him. “Scared?”

His hand slides higher, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, brushing your bare skin and making you jolt. “Yeah, because… I don’t know if I can wait past tonight.” His voice fractures. “With all my respect.”

Oh god.

“I don’t think I want to wait,” he confesses, lips ghosting the corner of your jaw. “And if you get even a littletipsy, if you told me something sweet, if you looked at me the same way you did the last time you were drunk…” his tongue darts across his bottom lip, and your eyes track it like prey. “If you even whispered all the unholy things, you want me to do you again, and I couldn’t do anything—”

Your breath is ragged waiting for his next words. “—I think I’d lose my mind. Completely and utterly.”

And he’s not even really touching you but the wet ache between your legs grows as if he was just buried deep and dragging you wide open. 

“I’m sober,” your voice comes rougher than you expected. “100% sober.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. Those eyes looking at you like he wants to make you, his meal. 

“I want to use my prize.” He says with an unsteady voice. Referring to the challenge he won during the retreat—and it feels like it’s been centuries since this moment in the clear water.

You lean in, almost forgetting you’re in a public space. “Yes, tell me.”

Both his hands grip your waist tighter, pressing you harder on his length.

“Please, spend the night with me.”

──────ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The cool night air hits your flushed skin like a slap—you’re practically dragging Sylus across the small, dim parking lot by his collar, heart slamming so hard it’s a miracle your heels stay under you and your shirt isn’t ripped by the hard boum boum boum of your organ.

You see his car parked on the corner right after you turn. It’s a sleek, lack, and vicious-looking engine. Clean line, matte finish, purring low and luxurious under the streetlamps. It’s the kind of car that screams I have more money than your entire bloodline reunited. 

Sylus fumbles quickly into his pocket to pull out the key. 

But in no time, you shove him right against the side of his stupid expensive car, the impact solid, the look on his face wild. And then you’re on him. Palms pressed flat to his chest, mouth nearly on his, breathing him in like oxygen you’ve been starved for.

He smirks. “Impatient?”

“You asked politely,” you growl, voice rough with something molten and raw. 

Your hands slide down—over that infuriating shirt, feeling his abs twitching under the fabric. You trail down to the waistband of his jeans that have done nothing to hide what he’s packing.

He’s rock hard. And when you drag your body flush to his, grinding against him shamelessly, he groans. Deep and low, eyes fluttering closed.

“I waited,” you whisper against his jaw—leaving a hint of your lipstick. “I was nice, reallyyyy nice… But Sylus, if I don’t have you inside me soon—”

His hand comes up, palm cupping your jaw—firm, putting some distance between your filthy mouth and his skin. “You think—” he’s breathless, fighting to put some air into his lungs. “—I haven’t been waiting?” You open your mouth to snap back something, but his look on his eyes makes you stop.

What is happening between you is beyond lust. It’s something consuming, aching and needy.

“I want this to slow,” he says softly, thumb stroking your cheek. “Not some rushed thing in a car. Not—”

And you’re probably on the verge of psychiatric.

He’s making you insane. His self-control is insane. His mouth is insane. His hands are insane. His needs to do good is insane.

Everything is too insane.

You crush your lips onto his. And it’s only just a peck. A hard peck. Just to soothe your need you think. But when your mouth pulls away by only inches, his hand comes to your throat—drawing you back flush to his body. And in one fluid motion he switches places—pinning you between the car and the long, sharp line of him.

And this is kiss is nothing nice.

It’s all pent-up frustration erupting between your mouths. His lips force their way between yours—nothing delicate like he suggested moments ago.

Your lower lip is effectively trapped between his generous one—sucking on it, nipping them. And slowly he pushes your lips apart—a moan leaves your mouth and he’s muffling it directly as his tongue slides between your welcoming warm. 

He’s dominating this kiss. Tilting your head with his hand on your throat where he needs it—to drink you like hewants to. 

It’s maddening, the way he kisses is maddening. 

Because even though he’s obviously the one in control, he stills chase your pleasure—chasing every whimper, every moan every gasp. His glasses are skewed by now, your kiss having knocked them off their straight line, completely fogged by your breaths.

Your lipstick is smeared across his mouth and jaw, staining him in smudged proof of your hunger. There’s even a faint line beneath his nose, a bold mark left from where he dragged up his face.

Sylus is high.

High on you. High on the way your skirt rode up your thighs. High on the feeling of your ruined panties clinging to your cunt—leaving surely a dark, obscene patch of slick on his pants.

The kiss was so nasty, there’s drool on the corner of your lips once he drags his mouth away from yours—well, not really. His lips are still pressed against yours a thin string of spit is connecting you both. 

“You’re wet,” his breath is ragged, like he’s just run a marathon.

And it’s not mocking, not teasing, it simply hurts him.

His hand shifts from your jaw to your thigh, curling under the hem of your skirt—slow at first but when he meets the hot mess between your legs with the tip of his fingers… he’s losing all last strands of sanity.

A sound punched right from his gut comes out of him and straight into your mouth—forehead falling to rest against yours.

You smile, your cheeks rosy as you struggle to breathe. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve got myself wet back in the bar.”

“Of course you did,” he hisses, dragging your soaked panties aside with a rough swipe of his fingers. And the cold hair hitting raw your swollen pearl makes you throw your head back and hips jolt forward. 

“You love teasing me, don’t you?” his voice feels distant, a small siren voice through the fog overtaking your brain.

You nod and find a smart-ass answer he lives for, “Love watching you pretend you’re composed.”

“Kitten—” he warns, voice not even sounding human.

He presses two fingers to your entrance. Not pushing in. Just sliding between your folds, gliding through the wetness like he needs to punish himself with restraint. His eyes drop to watch—if he can, through the blur of actual tears swelling at his lashes. His self-control is fighting for its life—but it’s cracked, shattered by the warm of your pussy dripping down his hand.

Every breath he takes against your neck is a prayer not to fuck you right there, right now, with no mercy. 

“Don’t you dare be soft with me,” you fist his shirt, hiccupping. “You’ve had months to be gentle.”

He crushes your body to the car door, hand diving beneath your thigh and lifting—hoisting your leg up around his hips so you’re perched, pinned, spread open for him to rut into with that thick, unrelenting hardness pressing through his jeans. The dry friction alone make you cry out—the damp heat of your cunt grinding against his cock through layers, but it’s still too much. 

“I’m going to fuck you stupid,” he says against your mouth, so low, so close, voice a whisper and a threat. “But not here. Not like this.”

You shake your head, dazed. “Why not?”

His hand grips your thigh tighter, almost bruising. “Because if I do it here, I’ll ruin you for real. You won’t walk. I’ll make a mess of this pretty car, and I won’t stop. I won’t fucking stop, kitten.”

You whimper, forehead resting against his shoulder now, breath fogging on his skin. “Sylus…”

“Get in the car.”

He breaks away long enough to hit the key fob. The sleek lights flash, the door clicks open with a quiet hum—and before you can think or process, he’s pulling you down, dragging your panties back to its place, letting the elastic snap back against your sensitive clit with a loud slawck—that almost make you cum on the spot.

He’s pulling the handle and forcing you in. You stumble into the leather seat, still gasping, body trembling. He leans into the frame, one hand on the top of the door, the other on your thigh—sliding up again. 

“Buckle in,” he rasps, eyes dragging down your wrecked body, lips still shiny with spit and your smeared lipstick. 

He shuts the door and stalks around the car to the driver seat in long stroke.

- - -

When the elevator dings, he pulls you down the hall—fast and controlled. The click of your heels echo against the pristine floor. His apartment door opens with a quiet beep. A smooth slide. 

Rich-boy security system.

Once you enter, you’re directly overwhelmed by his scent. A light perfume of spice and… lavender, maybe, or something even more ruinous. 

His place is clean, minimal everything nettling put at their places. The skyline behind the floor-to-ceiling windows glows like fire, golden-orange spilling across glossy floors. Somewhere to the left, a low fire crackles in a stone-lined hearth near the couches, throwing dancing shadows over leather and glass.

You stay where you are, just inside the doorway. The door clicks shut behind you, and you press your back against it, heart hammering. He moves ahead, smooth and silent, dropping the key fob onto a table like it’s the last thing tethering him to restraint.

Then he turns. And the look he gives you—slow, raking, searing—melts everything inside you.

Your lipstick is a mess. You know it. It’s all over his face too, smeared beneath the sharp line of his cheekbones, staining the edge of his mouth. His white hair glows silver in the firelight, casting flickers over the chain resting against the open collar of his shirt. His glasses have slid low on his nose, and he makes no move to fix them.

The tension between you is unbearable. Electric. You feel it coil in your stomach, in your thighs, your throat. One spark away from burning everything to ash.

You can’t take it.

“Sylus…” your voice is breathless, cracked. “Do something. I’m going crazy.”

His head tilts—barely. A shift in the firelight. But his eyes are pure heat. He walks toward the living room with precise steps. And each one he takes is just worse than the other. Torturing you until your bones disintegrate.

“You remember what I told you earlier?” he says without looking back.

“Huh?”

“Before the interview.”

“You said a lot of things.”

“I did.” He drops onto the couch, sprawling back with a quiet sigh—legs spreading wide, arms draping along the back. He adjusts his glasses with a single lazy finger, and his haze finds your again. “And one of them was that I want you to beg.”

Your breath catches. He pats his thigh, palm open. “Come here.”

Your pride should say no—should anchor you at the door, fighting for some last scrap of dignity. But unfortunately, the heat pooling between your legs has already ruined your panties—and far more, your thighs are sticky with your substance. 

You’re stepping forward before your brain can catch up, led purely by instinct.

“Come sit,” he murmurs. “Right here.”

It’s humiliating.

His eyes never leave you, locked on your skirt, watching the way it hugs your hips, how it sways with each slow, hesitant step.

The tension in the room deepens, thickens until it suffocates.

“And you know what else I said?” His voice is smooth as silk and twice as dangerous, still undressing you with his eyes. You reach him, heart thudding so hard it rocks your ribs.

You shake your head, pulse roaring in your ears.

He smirks the kind of smirk that knows exactly how it splits you open inside. “I told you brats get punished.” He runs his middle finger around his thigh—slow, little circle… and your eyes open wider by millimeters. “You qualify as one, don’t you?”

“That’s what you said,” he adds when you don’t answer. “Last time… you hinted you liked being put in your place.” His voice is slick with memory.

You instantly go hot all over. And even hotter as you stop in between his thighs, and he looks at you through half-lidded eyes—his cheeks flushed of that soft, delicious pink.

“That’s quiet mean of you…” your reach for his chain, looping it between your fingers like a leash. “Considering you already kissed me—”

Your sentence dies—gasped away in surprise when two firm hands come to your ass and pulls you onto him. 

You collapse into his lap, one hand shooting to brace yourself against the couch behind his head, the other gripping his shoulder as your hair spills around your face—falling to make a perfect halo around you. 

Your breath quickens as you’re hit with another memory: a flustered Sylus, flat on his back in the sand, eyes glazed, mouth parted.

Just like now. Unless now he’s more… dangerous, sure.

“And so?” he whispers, his mouth one breathe away from ravishing yours entirely.

“What are you gonna do to make me beg?” you ask.

“Strip.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I won’t repeat myself.”

You gulp audibly. Because the way he looks at you are giving everything but soft.

So slowly, extremely slowly it’s borderline painful, you remove your top—dropped without care onto his pristine floor. Leaving you only with a laced bra and your strained nipples like they’re offering themselves to theirmaster.

“What I will do to make you beg, mh?” His gaze burns as one of his knuckles brushes your clavicle. A single featherlight touch going straight between your thighs. 

“That’s easy.” his index finger trails down the center of yoru chest. It glides to the dip of your bra—right between your breasts where a tiny single red bow is. His thumb presses into the delicate bone at your sternum.

“I will just toy with you.” And he bites his lip because you’re already semi-shaking his thighs—the strain on his control his palpable. He absolutely wants to devour you, make a mess out of you. 

Claim you in all the way a man has never possibly done before. He continues his way with you. A single finger along the edge of the cup, grazing the curve of your breasts without ever touching the peak.

Your hips twitch.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, almost curious. His lips ghost the air near your throat but doesn’t land—he lets you feels his warm breath when he speaks again. “What happened to all that attitude, kitten?”

His hands move—and you fight not to growl… or scream… or cry… you don’t know which reaction is more appropriate.

His long digits palm your ribs, sliding up up and just when you think he’s going to take the full weight of your aching breasts and give you some relief—he trails down. Leaving your skin flaming where he touched it.

“Your skirt’s on the way.” He mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching in evil delight as your brows knit together in full, tortured frustration. “Can’t feel you soaking your panties correctly.” His white hair glints in the firelight like moonlight on snow. “Make it easy for us both and get rid of this.”

You groan—a bratty, breathless sound—but obey. You push up on shaky feet and toss the skirt so fast it’s nearly offensive… if you weren’t so eager.

“That’s right.” His voice’s smug velvet sliding under your skin.

One hand slides up to your shoulder. A single finger dips beneath the strap of your bra and, without a hint of hurry, drags it down your arm. It falls loose. He repeats the process on the other side, watching the lace shift lower—watching your nipples grow tight under the exposure, making his mouth salivate.

Your skin prickles are you unconsciously start to rock yourself on his pants. You whisper nearly delirious. “Touch me.”

“But I am touching you,” his voice’s syrup-thick, his lips ghost along your cheek, then your jaw, then the slope of your neck—never landing long enough to satisfy. “Maybe you just need to learn patience.”

“Don’t—” you start, voice breaking on the word.

He clicks his tongue. “The rules are the rules, kitten.”

His rough palms splay wide across your thighs, fingers curling until his blunt nails catch the edges of your lacy thong. He tsks. “You nasty little thing,” he hums. “You wore this under your skirt… to the interview.”

You press down harder into his lap, rutting now, your body no longer interested in playing coy. One of your hands snakes down to guide his fingers.

He grabs your wrist instantly—gently, but with firm finality. His eyes darken. “I could have taken you long ago…” the heat of his breath brushing your collarbone. “If you hadn’t made it so hard for us to—”

“I made hard nothing.” You cut in.

His brow arches. “You interrupted me?” he drawls, leaning back suddenly and dragging his warmth away.

You bite your inner cheek, heat pulsing between your legs for so long it’s unbearable now. “Fine…” you start slowly. “Maybe I made something hard,” your lips twitch slightly in amusement. “Your dick, maybe.”

The second the word leaves your lips, you know it’s the wrong move. So wrong. Especially with how tight you’re clenching around nothing.

Because in one blink—one heartbeat—he moves.

You yelp as he manhandles you. In less than a second, he’s flipped you over. Your chest crashes to the cushions, your ass perched high on his lap. One strong arm pins you there, his palm flat between your shoulder blades, keeping you down like a misbehaving pet.

“You are a brat,” he murmurs above you, voice dangerously fond. “Guess I’ll have to remind you what happens to smart mouths.” Then his hand slides down your back. Pauses just above your ass. You shiver, bracing yourself for slap….

That never comes.

A spank would be too merciful. 

Instead, he drags his index under the curves of your ass, across the damp strip of lace stretched tight over your soaked cunt. He traces your swollen slit with the lightest touch—barely grazing the obvious outline of your folds through the ruined fabric. So soft it hurts.

And suddenly he takes the twin straps of your ridiculous thong and pull.

So harsh that your squirm uncontrollably, your eyes nearly rolling back in shock. A ridiculous high-pitched moan escapes you as your panties catch itself between your fat lips—a hard pressure on your swollen clit.

“Sylus—” you gasp.

He chuckles darkly behind you, sounding maddeningly pleased. “That’s better,” he murmurs. “Fits nicer like this.”

Your whole body is trembling. You’re humiliated and throbbing and nothing is enough. Or is it? Is it enough when he doesn’t let go of the straps and rocks them?

Then side to side and gentle little tug. Each motion saws the lace tighter, sliding it exactly where it hurts the most—barely over your clit, dancing just on the edge of pleasure and pain. You sob into the couch.

Because no, it is not enough.

Sylus knows how to tease you with cruel finesse. His thumbs drag circles into your asscheeks. His knuckles skim the backs of your thighs. His mouth brushes behind your ear like smoke and never offering you the deliverance you need.

You make helpless little noises in the back of your throat, and it only fuels his precision. He lets one fingertip ghost over your inner thigh, dragging closer, closer until it’s nearly brushing the ruined lace clinging to your cunt.

Your hips jerk back, chasing the phantom touch when he backwards. 

“Please,” you gasp, not even realizing the word came out of your mouth. 

“Hm?” his voice is silk. Mocking.

You clench around nothing. Practically crying. 

“Touch me,” your voice muffled by the cushion, you say louder your next word. “Please.”

He tugs the panties again, this time even tighter. Your muscles tense on his lap. “What was that?” he breathes against your temple.

“I—fuck, Sylus—please, I need it. I need you to—” but the words never quiet reach your tongue. 

“Say it.” He’s so close behind you that you feel his voice vibrate in your spine.

You twist your head over your shoulder to look at him—his jaw is clenched, lips red and stained with your lipstick, his eyes black with hunger. He’s wrecked but won’t move until you break.

“Say what you need, kitten. Not some vague whining. Not ‘touch me’.” He leans in, breathing heat into your ear. “Use your words. You’ve never had a problem with that mouth.”

“I—fuck,” Your face burns. “Your fingers..”

His hand stills against the top of your thigh. “But they are touching you.”

“Inside me,” You almost scream. “Inside my pussy. Please, Sylus, please—”

One hand comes to the meat of your ass, spreading you. The other, those long cruel fingers, trails from the soaked strap of your thong down between your folds, and this time doesn’t stop. 

Two fingers press into your entrance with no pretense, no mercy. He sinks them deep and slow to hit your spots fast and precisely.

“Oh God—”

“Fuck.” He groans behind you, forehead dropping to your shoulder as your cunt clenches around him violently, gripping down on the length of his fingers. “You’re so wet,” he pumps, once. You choke out a sound that’s not a moan, not a cry, just something wrecked from your chest. 

“That’s it,” his lips brushing your neck. “You wanted my fingers?” and he give you three more hard thrusts making you arch off the cushion and lift your ass higher.

“You’ve got them.” He scissors them open inside you, and you swear you’re seeing the goddamn constellations in front of your eyes.

“Shit, do you even feel them?” he grits, voice barely human. “You’re dripping everywhere, you’re so wet my fingers easily slide in.” He growls when your pussy answers—wet sounds and droplets of arousal dripping on his expensive pants.

“Look at the mess you’re making,” he whispers, almost reverent. “You’re soaking down my wrist.” When he pulls back, it paints his skin—slick, shining, messy.

“Sylus!” you choke on a sob when he adds another finger, your walls fluttering violently around the stretch. You’re so close—teetering, body tight like a drawn bowstring. Probably two or three more thrusts and—

He stops. Withdrawing completely.

The emptiness is a sucker punch. A broken sound rips from your throat, half-sob, half-curse—too raw to be dignified, too honest to hold back.

Before you can twist around and claw at him, he’s already moving—flipping you with a suddenness that makes your heart stutter. You land on your back with a soft thud against the couch, hair fanned wild, and legs still spread from desperation.

His figure looms over you… a shadow made of fire.

“Open,” he orders, holding those soaked fingers just inches from your mouth. And you do, because what else could you possibly do?

But before he slips them past your lips, he drags the mess of your arousal across them—painting your mouth with yourself.

When his digits land on your taste buds, your tongue curls immediately around them, helplessly obedient. He watches closely through his rectangular glasses, his collar’s chain hitting your chin as he hovers over your figure. 

RIP.

A swift, shocking sound of lace tearing. Your gasp nearly causes you to bite down on his fingers, but his eyes catch yours with a silent warning: don’t even think about it.

He tosses the ruined panties aside like they were in his way all night, like they never stood a chance. His lips hover beside your ear as you still suck greedily on his fingers.

“Keep going, since you’re already so good with your mouth…” A smirk ghosts across his lips, wicked and warm. “I’ll enjoy mine too.”

You blink up at him, dazed.

“Keep sucking on my fingers while I taste my favorite lollipop,” he growls.

Sylus disappears between your volcano. And at the mere feeling of the tip of his tongue on your cunt—he feels himself levitating. You taste knocks the air from his lungs. His free hand tightens around one of your thighs, forcing it wide open. The couch creaks under the pressure of how hard he holds you down.

His tongue swirls around clit like you’re the sweetest candy ever. Flicking the delicate nerve side to side before closing his lips around it. He sucks so hard you jolt forward, moaning around his fingers.

A dark, animalistic sound reverberates from deep in his chest, straight into your bones, as he closes his eyes and feasts you. He licks up all the juices that came down your folds and the junction with your thighs like it’s some divine nectar he must drink to keep living.

“What kind of taste is this?” he rasps, totally delirious, so delirious he removes his fingers from your mouth, bringing his two thumbs to spread your lips open wide so he can bury his nose deeper into you.

He pulls back only to blow a slow, teasing breath on your throbbing clit. Then dives back in, slurping all the way from back to front. A helpless moan vibrates from his throat against your core. He ruts his cock against the couch like he can’t help it, seeking relief from the ache you’ve caused.

Your hands fly to his fluffy hair, gripping the base of his neck and his silken strands to push him deeper, as your thighs fall open wider—giving him full access to your desperate pussy.

And Sylus, so lost, gives in his need. Sharp teeth gently napping your clit, not to hurt you—applying the right pressure to send you plunging into the abyss of pleasure.

“Need you to soak my face, kitten,” He murmurs, voice all smug and drunk.

And honestly? he feels like he’s the one to cum first, into his boxer, nonetheless. And without a single touch coming from you. 

His hands grip your thighs with such desperation you’re sure you’ll bruise tomorrow. The friction against your clit, the slick and drools pouring from his tongue… it all sends you spiraling. So fast, so full, you’re sure you’re seeing your orgasm breaking open like fireworks behind your eyes.

But it doesn’t.

Your head snaps up looking at him and he’s already looking at you. His ears are flushed pink glasses crooked and fogged, hair a fucking mess like he’s been through war. 

A war he’s winning. 

“The fuck are you doing?” you snap, heavy breathing as he denied your orgasm once again.

“You didn’t beg.” He tsks, his voice maddeningly calm, lips brushing tender kisses up your pubic bone like an apology. 

You try to move—try to rut your hips against his mouth, anything, anything—but he’s stronger. He barely even needs to hold you down. His grip stays lazy and firm and so damn effortless it makes you scream inside.

You sob, a real cracked sound, torn raw from your throat. Because it’s torture. Because you were right there. Twice.

Because your body doesn’t know how to deal with the pleasure that keeps burning and burning with no outlet.

So, you eat your pride and beg.

“Sylus,” you whisper, a trembling whimper hanging from your lips, eyes glassy and rimmed with the shimmer of real tears from overstimulation. “Let me cum, please. Please,” you say, as if repeating it might break whatever sick restraint, he’s shackled you with. “I can’t take it anymore, I—”

He goes back in without warning. His tongue flicks your clit fast, precise, lips locking around it in a tight, desperate seal. And before your brain can register, he pushes two fingers deep inside you, curling them right into that spot that makes your vision blurs. Fucking you open on his tongue and digits with ruthless precision.

You’re brought to the edge really quickly like he has memorized the exact rhythm of your undoing. 

Your spongy walls clench so tightly around his knuckles you think you might break them. You gasp helplessly squirming under the sheer intensity of it all.

“My good girl, asking all nicely and cutely.” He chuckles on your glistening folds, another hand going up, up, up—finding your bras and pushing it down with slow force until your tits spill free.

He toys with your hardened nipple, rolling it between his fingertips, pinching them until your much smaller hand come to cup his.

Your body draws tight like a scream with no sound, all nerve endings snapping taut as violin string, and then—

He hums. The vibration of it sends a shudder up your spine, that’s what does it. That’s what tears you open.

You squirt.

So hard and so unexpected your vision whites out at the edge, hips bucking hitting his teeth, thighs closing around his head and he lets them. Let’s you suffocate him in your divine warmth.

You soak him for what seems hours, your slick is everywhere—on his wrist, his palm, his nose… even your ass sticks to the soft couch.

“Fuck—fuck, exactly,” he grows, eyes fluttering shut as he devours your orgasm that followed right after. Your limbs go slack, twitching as wave after wave crashing through your core.

And it doesn’t help that Sylus keeps going, mouth still latched to your cunt like it’s his only salvation, fingers pistoning in and out with greedy, relentless strokes, chasing every last drop of your high like he wants to taste your very soul.

You sob his name through grit teeth, clamping your plush thighs tighter around his face and—

BREAK.

“Huh?” he withdraws, fingers dragging out so slow it makes your back arch with the aftershocks—barely registering the breaking sound of something.

“You broke my glasses.” He chuckles out, almost cheerfully and licks his fingers clean, discharging his glasses with no more attention to them—moaning deep in his throat when your remained liquid hits his tongue.

“I—I didn’t… what?” your chest is rising and falling rapidly, one breast out, your lower body naked and messy, your eyes half-lidded blinking up at him through wet lashes.

His gaze is molten, locked to your pussy as it flutters mindlessly when he speaks with a rough voice. “My glasses,” he says, panting. “You broke them with yoru thighs.” He kisses your jaw, “hot.” And he kisses your mouth, letting you smell and taste your essence on him. Tongue gently slipping between your parting lips—contrasting with the feverish need he ate you out minutes ago. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden intimacy.

When he breaks the kiss, one hand snakes behind your back, expert fingers unclasping your bra, stripping you in one fluid motion. Then he prosses to remove his shirt, impatient. The next victim’s his belt, fast and jerky. And that’s when you notice the wet spots that your core left where you grinded on him earlier but also the wet wide spot on his crotch and the freaking bulge straining his pants—bigger than before.

“Did you—did you cum?” you ask, surprised. “And get hard again?” 

“He laughs softly. “I didn’t, it’s just…” he exhales through a crooked smile, discarding his pants until only his boxer remain­—a perfect view of his cock sitting monstrously against his lap. “Guess I got a little excited. And the pre-cum kinda… never stopped.”

His lips trail soft kisses across your cheeks, your temple, the bridge of your nose. His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing right under your eyes as he kisses your pouty lips. “I should say,” he murmurs, voice lower. “As much as overstimulating you was… unreal—” he chuckles once, quietly, like it’s secret between you. “—I want to make love to you.”

And there’s no more teasing in his voice. He almost looks at you with puppy eyes, almost pleading you through his long lashes. But most importantly, he’s checking for the smallest flicker of discomfort.

When you nod, small but certain, he scoops you up as if you weigh nothing. One arm beneath your thighs, the other curled around your back—holding you close to his bare chest like you’re breakable. And you kind of are. Because your legs are trembling. Your heart’s wild. And your body? Your body doesn’t know what to do with the echoes of the orgasm he just ripped out of you.

“Use your words, big girl,” he says softly.

You inhale a deep breath as new feelings start to grow on you. “Yes, Sylus. I’m okay with that.” Your arms wrap tightly around his neck, your legs wrapping as tight as they can around his waist when he gets up the couch and walks.

“We’re going to my bedroom, still okay?” You only hum, nuzzling your head on his shoulder. And the more you walk his house, the more his scent—dark cologne, the clean warmth of expensive wood and luxury soap—settles into your skin in the most delicious way.

Once he steps into his room, you can only be amazed. Because like the rest of his house, it’s minimal with subtle gold accents, matte black fixtures. But it’s in a warm way. The bed is massive, low to the ground and made with silky charcoal sheets. On the far wall, huge windows give way to skyline view, but the curtains are drawn halfway, letting in just enough city light to paint shadows over the sharp angles of the room. A sleek black shelf houses a series of rare books and vinyls, but not a speck of dust dares exists.

He places you delicately on the bed, kneeling between your thighs, looking at you like your body is some lost divine scripture that needs to be studied. 

Remembered. Painted. 

His gaze lingers. His hands trail slowly up your legs, tracing patterns on your skin.

“Sylus… remove your boxer for the sake of God. I’m going insane.”

“My kitten’s getting impatient.”

“Yes! How are you supposed to make love to me with your boxer still on—”

“There’s a lot of ways,” he whispers hot against your skin. 

He leans down, lips brushing softly over the swell of your chest before wrapping around one of your nipples—sucking gently, tongue dragging greedy circles. There’s nothing hurried, he only wants to enjoy himself. Taking all his time to commit your skin to memory as he’s been waiting a looong time. 

His free hand slides up to cup the weight of your other breast—palm wide, fingers splaying to massage every inch. His thumb brushes your nipple, again and again, coaxing little whines from you while his tongue torments the other. 

You arch into it, fingers lacing through his hair. “I could whisper sweet nothing into your ear, until you come.”

“That’s torture—” you gasp, your back arching as he nips lightly and soothes it with another swirl of his tongue.

“It’s not.”

“It is!” you snap, tugging at his hair and forcing him to lift his head. His mouth leaves your breast with a wet sound, lips kiss-bitten and glistening. “Even for you. God, Sylus, you’re painfully hard.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“That so?” you mutter, and you sneak a hand between your bodies. Palming him through the fabric causing him to hiss through clenched teeth. 

And if you weren’t sure he was huge, the weight pressing against your palm is all the confirmation you need. A fucking thick dick is straining against the soaked cotton of his boxer briefs, throbbing against your touch.

You push his boxer down, eyes locked to the place where skin is revealed inch by inch.

And you swear that’s some joke.

Not only is he thick… but his length is delirious.

Two veins trace the sides of his shaft, pulsing with heat, visibly twitching. The tip is fat and flushed red, the redder red you’ve ever seen. His shaft is slightly lighter than the rest. Rivulets of pre-cum keep forming at the tip and slip down the vein like they’re drawn to the base of him and hitting right under his bellybutton. It’s even slightly curved, and you can’t see your face but you’re sure drool is pooling at the corner of your lips. 

“I promise I’ll be gentle,” his voice takes you out of your trance. And his voice is not cocky, or smug or arrogant like most men.

No, he’s genuine and real.

“I—that’s not, I mean—huh..” the words tumble out awkward and fragmented. 

Your body feels caught between panic and desire, staring at the reality of what’s about to stretch you open. Because how the hell you’re going to take all that?

“I’ll go slow. We’ll take our time,” answering your silent question with a soft kiss on your lips, soft lips against soft lips—a whisper of affection rather than hunger.

His nose nudges yours as he props himself up on his forearm beside your head.

And the world seems to still. All that heat and chaos burns into something deeper. Vulnerable.

The weight of his cock nestles between your folds. It presses against your slit with aching patience, the kind of pressure that makes your body clench in anticipation.

But he doesn’t push in, he lets his tip circles over your clit, drinking on each breathy twitch, each flutter of your lashes. He slides through your wetness, letting your bodies get reacquainted, soaking himself in all the arousal he pulled from you earlier, until his shaft is completely coating of you. 

He drags his whole length over your puffy folds again, watching the way they wrap around his girth. He makes a different type of mess between your thighs.

This time with intent. This time with… love.

His forehead presses against yours, and there’s something twisted in his expression—an ache. A soft panic. “I forgot a condom,”

But your response is immediate.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, skin to skin, until not even air exists between you. Until every inch of his length is trapped perfectly between your soaked folds, your pussy pulsing around nothing yet, craving.

“That’s ok. I—” a whimper. “Just… just pull out in time. I’m clean. And—I take the pills.”

His eyes flutter shut. “I’m clean too,” his breath is slightly shaky, as if disappointed of himself. “I’m sorry..”

“That’s okay,” you say quickly afraid he won’t finish what he started. “I promise. That’s more than okay, Sylus.”

And finally, not without a sharp exhale from him, he shifts his hips. The thick head of his cock kisses your entrance.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

As you only nods, he insists. “I mean it,” he says, voice raspy. “Even if it’s one second in. I’ll stop.”

“I know,” you whisper, heart loud in your chest. “I trust you.”

And Sylus just might as well feel his heart shatters in devotion. You’re so open beneath him, vulnerable and trembling… he’s about to show you just how much you can trust him. 

His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers tight, grounding you to him. The tip pushes past your entrance, and your lips part on a trembling gasp—a sound caught between pleasure and ache. Your cunt flutters, clamping down on just the head like it’s enough

“Fuck,” he groans into your neck, shaking. He tries so hard to hold back and be careful. “You’re so tight. I thought I prepped you enough, I—”

You cling to him, fingernails digging into the back of his hand as the other come to claw against his back. His hips move forward once again, another inch in. Your eyes accumulate tears as you arch off the bed, legs wrapping tighter around him.

“You’re pulling me in, kitten,” his voice cracks, and full of awe. He feels as overstimulated as you, his veins pulsing against your warm walls, the raw feeling of your soaked cunt making his eyes water too.

His brows draw together in a pained sort of bliss as he presses his forehead to yours. Your walls are fluttering widely, the resistance to tight to let him slide in. So his hand slips down your belly. “Gotta soaks you more, yeah?” 

His thumb begins circling, slow and sloppy, dragging maddening shapes into your swollen clit. Enough pressure to make you writhe, make your hips jerk under him. And your body answers in the only way it can—with more slick, more heat, more unrelenting need. “Gotta make this pretty cunt weep for me.” 

And greedily, your pussy loosens around him by millimeters—just enough for his length to dive deeper onto your warm. “That’s it,” he groans. “There you go. She’s opening up for me now. Such a good kitten we have here.”

His breath hitches when he slides another inch deeper, your walls hugging him tighter, soaked and pulsing.  “You’re doing really good, my girl,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Let me love you like this.”

You can feel the tears slipping past your temples. From the stretch, from the emotion, from how filthy and tender it all is. Every word makes your heart tremble, every roll of his hips makes your soul splinter a little more.

And once he bottoms out—hips flush against yours—Sylus’s jaw clenches, entire body trembling with restraint as he fights every primal instinct screaming at him to thrust. 

As for you? You’re whimpering beneath him, nails dragging down his back in a desperate scramble, his cock stretching you to the brim borderline with discomfort but never crossing this line. It’s just overwhelming pressure and the need for him to move.

Your pussy is still trying to accommodate when your hips roll on instinct, chasing friction—anything—but it nearly undoes him.

“W-wait—wait,” Sylus gasps, and his hand squeezes yours so tightly it makes your fingers ache. His other arm wraps around your back, trying to hold you still, trying to hold himself together.

His cock throbs violently against your velvety warm, the curve of his dick hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. Your whole body is begging for deliverance, for movement. While his, is begging for stillness. He physically can’t move, not when his length is wrapped from base to tip by your dripping pussy.

“Kitten,” he groans into your neck, something wrecked that send a shiver through your spine. “I can’t—I can’t… move yet. You’re—mghn—too good.”

“Sylus,” your hips move again, desperate this time. “Please…”

“I need… a second,” he pants, biting down on your shoulder. “You feel like… like fire.”

The words hit you deeper than it should. It’s not some dirty talk. It sounds like confession. And even more has his long digits find your face. Gently cupping your jaw as he pulls back the strict necessary to look at you. 

Eyes red-rimmed, sweat curling on his forehead and neck—sticking his hair on his skin. His lips part in a quiet awe as he makes eye-contact with you.

He pulls out an inch.

An inch. Nothing more.

And he slides back in.

You moan loud—no control, no shale. The stretch is heaven, the friction molten. Your hands claw at his back again as he repeats the motion, dragging his cock out in torturously slow inches… and pressing back in deeper.

Your breath stutters. “Sylus—”

“Shh, I know,” he whispers, kissing your jaw, your mouth, your tears. “You’re taking me so well, baby. So fucking well.”

And then he starts moving.

Not fast. But with intent. Deep, full thrusts that make your body arch off the sheets. His hips grind against yours at the end of each stroke, making you feel every press, every glide, every drag of his cockhead against that spot that makes your soul flicker.

Your pussy clutches him harder with every thrust. Your legs shake around his waist.

And his voice turns into something darker, deeper, even filthier now that he’s buried deep and claiming you one thrust at a time.

“Listen to that,” he pants, eyes flicking down between your bodies, where you’re joined. “You hear how wet you are for me? How sloppy this perfect cunt sounds every time I slide in?”

And how could you not hear them? It’s the only sound in his room. The wet slap of him inside you is filthy, echoing through the sleek, expensive room like a symphony of ruin. Your slick coats his cock, his thighs, your inner legs. You’re dripping from being so full, so thoroughly claimed. Every thrust feels wetter, dirtier—needier.

“That messy little pussy talkin’ back to me.” He’s rutting into you so deep your vision sparks. “Keep making those sounds, kitten,” and as if it’s on command, your puffy folds let out a louuud squelch, a boble of slick dripping down his balls. And your mouth moaning out loud his name.

“Well, both of you talkin’ to me is also great,” he chukles, a hint of the smug Sylus coming back.

His thumb finds your clit again—rubbing it in tight, practiced circles. He uses the pressure of his thrusts to roll your body up into his until your back’s arching and your throat’s spilling out shameless, broken noises.

His voice is distinct sound in your ear when he speaks again. “Want me to feel that sweet cunt chokes my when you let go?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out—just this high-pitched whine as your entire body coils tight. Pleasure so bright it borders on pain.

“Say it. Say who you belong to,” he growls into your ear, hips pounding you now, hard and deep, not rough—just desperate. “I wanna feel you milk me like you need it.”

Tears are sliding down your mouth, your cheeks red. “You—” your voice breaks. “Sylus. To you, Sylus.” His thrusts get ragged, frantic. His mouth finds yours and he licks your wet lips before kissing you feverishly. “Come with me. Come on my cock, now.”

Your orgasm rips through you like a wave detonating from the inside out. Your pussy clamps down around him with a violent, soaking pulse. You scream—actually scream—as your body shudders and seizes, limbs locking, spine arching, eyes fluttering shut.

He groans a sound punched from his soul. His cock throbs inside you once, then again, then again. Your feet press down his ass when he tries to pull out. And his eyes blown wide, panic fodling his features. “Kitten I’m gonna—”

“I know, come in me..”

“But—”

“Come. In. Me.” You say firmer, feet and thighs locking him in place.

Hot, thick ropes of cum spill as your order. Filling deep into your fluttering heat. He jerks against you, his hand still holding yours presses harder on the mattress, sweaty.

Your cunt’s still twitching, sucking at him greedily, as if trying to keep every drop. He stays buried inside, breathing hard, nose in your neck, arm curled tightly around your waist like if he lets go, he’ll lose part of himself.

The room’s full of panting and the sound of your soaked bodies pressed together, skin clinging with sweat and arousal. Eventually, he pulls back and your walls clamp slightly around him making him whimper.

Sylus is intoxicated by the mess down your thighs and how his cum lakes out of you in white bullet. He can’t help himself but bring two fingers and push it all back in making your thighs twitch with overstimulation.

“You’re insufferable,” you laugh as you feel your body goes limbs.

“As if,” he narrows his eyes, a playful grin tugging his lips. “You enjoyed all of this.” He smiles, kissing you for the nth time tonight.

-

BONUS

“Did you saw that?” Claire’s voice is slow, dripping with distaint. Your marketing supervisor seems to have found a new gossip to talk with the woman interviewer that had the courtesy to receive you and Sylus on her panel months ago. “Sylus?” she whispers just as lower. Poor things. Unfortunately for them, you’re sitting front row to their little whisper-fest, legs crossed casually at your desk, Meliaa lounging across from you, sipping her absurdly large iced coffee. She flashes you a devilish grin. This is her doing. She’d planted tiny mics days ago Claire’s desk when she started to be more irritable. ‘Just to catch the juice,’ she had said sweetly when you tried to scold her. “Yes!!” Claire exclaims, trying to keep her voice quiet. “It’s been months since he’s come to work without a lipstick stain on his collar.” You bite back your laugh. Meliaa claps a hand over her mouth. “You think he’s seeing someone?” the interviewer murmurs, the subtle pinch in her voice betraying her clear disappointment. Claire hums knowingly. “Seems like it. He’s even less grumpy. And I swear, he was texting someone. I saw it on his phone when he left it at the cafeteria table… he saved the contact as Kitten.” Your face heats instantly, but you fight to keep your expression neutral. But Meliaa’s eyes are already screaming: you little minx. Claire continues, adding that the girl might be you. “Could be,” the other woman says wistfully. “She did seem… close with him.” Claire scoffs. “Close? She looked like she was two seconds away from sitting in his lap.” Meliaa snorts. “She did, though.” You give her a playful kick under the desk. She grins unapologetically. “So unfair,” Claire murmurs. “I’ve been trying to get Sylus to crack a smile for years. Suddenly this twenty-something comes in and he’s all happy and glowing and—moaning at his phone screen.” Your head jerks up. “Moaning?” Claire nods solemnly. “I walked into the break room last Friday. He was alone. I swear he looked at his phone and whispered ‘fuck’ like it physically hurt him.” You and Meliaa exchange a look. She wiggles her brows. You look back at your laptop, your cheeks heating more now—not from embarrassment, but from memory. Last Friday. That was the day you sent him that picture under your desk. The one with the lace. The one captioned, “Guess what I’m not wearing at this meeting?” “She’s got magic,” the interviewer mutters, jealousy obvious on her voice. And right on cue, your phone buzzes on your desk.  Sylus💋: Boardroom’s free. Five minutes.  You barely success to suppress your grin when another message pops up. Sylus💋: And bring your lipstick. I want it all over me. Including my dick. You tuck your phone into your blazer, smiling ears to ears. The absolute audacity of the man. You lean toward Meliaa with a sly little smirk and whisper, “Looks like I’m about to go work my magic.” She exhales, bringing her fingers to her nose like she’s been through it for the thousands time now.  “Well, I’ll guess I’ll call my entertaining men.” You both high five each other before you strut out almost jumping to the ceiling.

 •͈ ₃ •͈ 

(can't add a divider whaaaaat • ︡ᯅ·︠  ..... if you made it here, know you're some special creature! hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. and plslslslslslsssss comments what you thought about it pslslslslssssssssss)

🏷️ : @tinyweebsstuff @min-the-monster @ellenoreridgewood @ikesimpleton @kpop-athena @thiccthed @lovelyletterssentatnight @sh3sa1dwhat @marliisastarfrfr @fullofdelight @grlyeetswrld @fantastucbaby @jadeloverxd @sylustabbykitty @sleepisfortheweakpooh @dummiebunny @imindmemind @yourownstars @mdxilyyy @jupkoe @fancypeacepersona @mothmansockpuppet @sennie-xx @bakubae000 @sylusaethercore @velainey @lostpsycho13 @meg1oss @libraryyyyyyyy @calebs-apple @jaisisnsnsh @pina-chan @mothmothmothmothmothmoth

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Mind The Gap - Just Life III

Sweetie

Toto Wolff x fem!reader

-> masterlist

Summary: Thinking that you finally achieved peace in your family life, balancing the coparenting and working with Toto’s ex wife, another disaster is coming at you. At first you think it’s the same old story as before with George on the scene again, but it’s not him this time and it makes situation even worse.

Warnings: curse words, angst, implied infidelity, cliffhanger 🤭

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: I’m giggling kicking feet at how this story is going. Fucking love it. Hehe. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts ;)

Playlist inspiration: This is Cigarettes After Sex

—

“What's it like to live in the shadow of your husband, being the mother to both of your children, and stepmother to his other kids?” The interviewer asked you with all the equipment around for the Drive to survive filming. You never liked being around the cameras, always avoiding but this time you couldn’t do that anymore, because you were working with Toto’s ex wife Susie with something for her F1 Academy.

“Well, things aren’t exactly easy, but we can manage. And I wouldn’t say that I’m in the shadow of my husband. He’s on his own matters and I’m on my own.” You answered sharply but with a soft smile.

The interviewer smiled amused. “Hm. What about your collaboration with Susie? She’s Toto’s ex wife. Isn’t it tense or awkward?”

You were growing irritated by those questions but Toto’s words from earlier resonated through your head, to keep an open mind and just smile. “We're good friends. Which is needed when we are parenting each other's kids.”

“I see. And what do you say about George Russell being a reserve driver for Mercedes? Surely it was a huge thing at your home when Toto decided that.”

You couldn’t wrap your mind around the question. “I’m sorry, what?”

The man was surely moved by your reply, relishing in your shock. “Oh, you don’t know that?”

“I’m sorry, we're done for today.” You hopped off the chair, walking to the backstage where Susie stood. She was still that same stunning blonde just with more wrinkles on her face.

“You know about it?” You choked out with tightness in your throat.

Susie frowned sadly. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Toto told me over the phone yesterday.”

“He— He told you and not me? Oh god. This is—“ you were nearly crashing out how your heart beat fast. The idea of George being near again, it was nauseating. And the idea he told his ex wife and not you… that was something.

Toto was at Brackley, presenting the great news. He got conflicted feelings, all that circus in the past now being completely useless. George on the other hand stood there flashing his signature smile, feeling like a winner.

“I’d like to welcome George back to the team. We’ve been through the crisis, but it looks better now. He will be present for the development of the car for the next year, I hope you’ll help him to get into the matters of that.” Toto smiled a little, feeling a bit nervous, because you were actually haunting his mind. He thought you’re in that sweet oblivion.

Max stood at the end of the room, watching George with a sour expression on his face. He couldn’t believe that Toto was that desperate to get him back, because nobody wanted to be in the Mercedes anymore, all his reserve drivers quit.

The crowd was gone and he snatched George to the side with a warning look in his eyes. “I hope you don’t have any stupid ideas in your mind, Russell.”

George just shrugged. “Don’t worry. People can change, Verstappen. Apart from you.”

Max grabbed him by his shirt grunting dangerously. Toto came just in time, separating them. “Easy, champs.”

“The only champion in this room is me.” Max huffed, which made George laugh. “Oh yeah, Toto’s golden boy Maxie. I was his golden boy before!”

“Yeah, but then you decided to fuck around with his wife, huh? Got you nearly losing everything, hm? How was your job in the kitchen, washing dishes after closing?” Max was now full of anger.

“You dick-!”

“HEY!” Toto’s deep voice resonated through the room, shutting them both up.

“Stop talking shit and behave like grown men.” Toto sighed with furrowed brows. George and Max gave each other a look and then they walked in their own directions.

—

The apartment in Monaco was unusually quiet when Toto got home in the evening. Walking to the kitchen he nearly had a heart attack. You stood there, leaning against the counter, the dim light illuminating your figure clad in a bathrobe. Your hard expression spoke for itself. “Torger Christian Wolff.”

If he could he’d crawl out of his skin at your tone. “Honey—“

“Don’t honey me. You betrayed me.”

He took a step closer, tossing his car keys on the kitchen counter. “Look, I wanted to explain it to you, but you were so busy lately and I didn’t-“

“You spoke to her about it.” your tone was bitter and he was taken aback by it.

“You told me that she’s not the problem to be around. You were fine with us communicating.”

“So now you’re trying to backfire it on me? Susie is a great woman, but sometimes I get some off vibes from her. Like she wants to have you for herself. Like the old times you guys shared. And it pisses me off.” You scoffed, crossing your arms on your chest.

Toto took in a sharp breath to calm himself to not overstep with his words. “Is this about Susie or about George? I’m kinda lost.”

You gasped at his audacity to be sarcastic. “Maybe both, Toto. It's about the fact that you’re not telling me the important decisions you make and you tell it to your ex wife instead. Maybe because she understands you more as an F1 academy director? Who knows. But I’m your wife, who was hurt by George in the past, our family was hurt by him, and you just invited him over like he’s the good old fella who wants to have a good time.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, okay? But you need to understand the big picture on the other side. He’s got a huge amount of experience through the years he spent in Formula E in America. The technologies are getting fast forward and… I need to admit that I can’t keep up the pace.”

“You can’t be serious. This is a nightmare, Torger.” You were furious.

“Sweets, don’t call me that, you know I hate that.” He grunted annoyed.

“That’s the last thing that matters to me right now.”

You looked out of the window. Maybe your life was never meant to be peaceful. Ghosts of the past haunting everything you love.

He took another step closer to you, but you raised a warning finger. “I don’t want to be near you for a couple of days. I’m so fucking stressed right now with everything going around.”

He hummed and stopped in his tracks. “Understandable.”

Your arms falling along your sides, you rounded him, but he caught your wrist making you turn and look at him. “Can I get a little kiss, maybe?”

For a brief moment you nearly slipped and kissed him to the oblivion, but you held back. “No.”

And with that you left him in the kitchen, disappearing into the bedroom to get a few lucky hours of sleep.

—

Walking through the paddock in Austria, Toto’s family around along with all his kids, you should feel proud that you’re representing the F1 academy when Susie wasn’t able to be around because of her other influencing activities, but it was strange when it was you, the young wife of her ex husband. You needed to get stronger in this matter, because the nosy press interviewers were everywhere with their annoying questions, trying to get a scandalous sensation out of everything.

Ross was in charge of your kids - girly girl and baby boy who wasn’t so baby anymore. The Wolff girl was about to turn six years old and the baby boy was gonna be three in a month. Sometimes they were a real disaster when together, but Rosa had a special effect on her half siblings that they behaved well with her.

You stood in the Mercedes hospitality, talking with some sponsors when George appeared out of nowhere, which wasn’t something unusual but he had your baby boy in his arms clinging to his neck. Blood boiling in your body, you tried to keep calm, to not throw a tantrum and you just excused yourself and walked towards them.

“George.” You said with a harsh tone. He turned from your boy to look at you with some sort of soft smile, one that you remembered only from the early days of your relationship.

“Oh, your boy was wandering between the garages so I thought I’ll go and look for you. He was nonstop saying mommy, mommy. So…” he handed your kid to you, your maternal instincts flaring to the roof, wrapping your arms around his fragile childish body while your boy clung to the top of your dress. George watched that little gesture, some strange glimpse of something flashing through his eyes. Something he could have with you if he wasn’t acting like a dick.

“Well. I’m glad I found you. I won’t bother you.” George cleared his throat, turning on his heels and hurrying out of the hospitality. You stood there surprised, you didn’t know what’s going on. This was very weird of him, but you shrugged it off.

Rosa nearly had her eyes out from the shock when she saw you walking with the boy to the garage. “I’m so so sorry! He just left my sight and I couldn’t—“

You stopped her with a soft smile, still holding your boy close. “That’s okay, Ros. George took him to me.”

She gave you a sceptical look. “He did what?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t kidnap him and that he didn’t want a driver's seat in exchange for his life.” She was trying to be funny but that idea was not very appealing to you.

“Hm… he was acting weird, but I’m glad he just got him to me safely.”

Your boy spotted George in the crowd and he tried to wiggle out of your grasp. “Uncle George!”

Brows furrowed, you tried to calm him down, shushed him, but George came by anyway. Rosa gave him a sharp glare, very judgmental look that could kill. She got it after her father after all.

Your boy tried to reach for George, you on the other hand tried to avoid that connection again. But your boy got the attention of the people around, his whines and desperate pleas turning heads around the paddock.

“Great…” you mumbled.

George just stood there with a dumb expression that softened after the while. Giving up on every attempt you just handed him your son. Instantly he calmed down in his arms which run a scary feeling down your spine.

“You don’t want to upset your mommy, do you? Where’s your father after all?” George spoke to the boy with a gentle voice. The one you remember so well from the nights you spent tangled in intimacy.

What? No.

No.

No.

Not those thoughts.

“Toto is— somewhere.” You cleared your throat.

George hummed, rocking your sweet boy in his arms. The Wolff offspring in the arms of evil.

Truly ironical. Or so you thought.

Suddenly you spotted Susie in the distance, which was strange. She shouldn’t be there. Rosa was about to speak but all of them saw what came next.

Toto joined Susie’s side with a huge grin plastered on his face and she leaned on her tiptoes to give him a soft kiss on his cheek.

Your face fell. Heart aching in your chest. It was you who invited the enemy into your family nest.

Then his eyes locked with yours.

Oh no.

—

Please don’t use my writings without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

—

Tags: @mimisweetz

[blank-potato]

Checkmate

Pairing: Lex Luthor x Reader

Summary:

Lex smirks, eyes narrowing. “You, on the other hand, seem like you’ve finally grown up. That chip on your shoulder must’ve gotten heavy after all these years.” “It’s not a chip,” you reply coolly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “It’s a reminder of every condescending word that ever came out of your mouth.” You tilt your head, mock-thoughtful. “But I was mistaken, you’ve changed, too. When I knew you, you still had hair.” “Still petty, I see,” he says finally, voice like a knife under velvet. “And still bald,” you shoot back, a sweet smile curling at your lips.  Or You and Lex are old rivals from university, and when you apply for a job at LexCorp, he decides to make your life difficult.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, rivals to lovers, enemies to lovers, being mean is the same as flirting in this universe, fingering, finger sucking, implied p in v sex

WC: 4.6k

A/N: Never thought I'd see the day where I'm obsessing over Lex Luthor. I fear I may never recover. Enjoy Lex being mean to you.

☆☆☆

Lex didn’t do interviews personally. He didn’t bother dealing with hiring, screening, or vetting. That was for department heads. But when he saw your name on the shortlist…

He knew.

This one, he had to do personally.

He was standing at the window, the skyline glowing like embers beneath an overcast sky. One hand tucked behind his back, the other swirling a cup of coffee, untouched. Plotting Superman’s demise in silence, calculating, rearranging the next steps in his mind like a chessboard.

Then, a knock at the door. His assistant’s voice, completely forgettable, cut through the moment.

“Mr. Luthor, your ten o’clock is here.”

There’s a pause as he curls his lip. 

"Let them in."

You step through the door, all calm angles and steady eyes, dressed like you own the building. The moment he sees you, there's a familiar flicker, more of disdain than recognition. It passes through him as if he were seeing you for the first time all over again.

You walk in all confident and composed, then take the seat in front of him without waiting to be invited.

"Lex," you say like it's an old joke.

He reads your name off the paper as if he doesn't know who you are.

You know what he's doing. You know this game.

"You don't remember me, Luthor?"

"Remind me."

"College? Lab partners?"

He shrugs, bored. "Vaguely."

"You systematically ruined my life until I had to transfer schools."

"Oh, that."

The dismissal in his voice is like acid. The ease with which he says it makes your jaw clench, but you bite your tongue. Not yet.

"And now you're applying for a job here?"

He leans back, arms crossed, sceptical of your intentions.

He remembers. Of course, he remembers. When you first met, you were a bright-eyed, happy-go-lucky idealist.

By the time he was done with you, you were hollowed out, paranoid, questioning your own brilliance.

Some of his finest work.

And now?

You're as peppy as ever and prepared for whatever he had to throw at you. 

"Yes, I am," you reply coolly, settling into the chair across from him.

Lex chuckles, but it’s nowhere near pleasant. "Bold move. I admire that. Even if boldness didn’t help you much back in college."

"Still as clever as ever. You haven't changed," you say, voice flat. It didn’t take a genius to see it, his tone, his posture, the smug air he wore like a tailored suit. Still the same. Just older now, richer, and more dangerous.

Lex smirks, eyes narrowing. “You, on the other hand, seem like you’ve finally grown up. That chip on your shoulder must’ve gotten heavy after all these years.”

“It’s not a chip,” you reply coolly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “It’s a reminder of every condescending word that ever came out of your mouth.”

You tilt your head, mock-thoughtful. “But I was mistaken, you’ve changed, too. When I knew you, you still had hair.”

“Still petty, I see,” he says finally, voice like a knife under velvet.

“And still bald,” you shoot back, a sweet smile curling at your lips. 

He hears it, he just chooses not to respond, strategic, you suppose. Instead, he smiles, the kind that says he’s already ten moves ahead, already deciding what version of this encounter will serve him best.

"I thought you were in Central City working at S.T.A.R. Labs. Lead bio-engineer, if I'm not mistaken," Lex says, moving the conversation along.

You glance at him, expression unreadable.

"Keeping tabs on me?"

He lets out a dry, humourless chuckle. "Hardly. I have your file, remember? Plus, you showed up on a few watchlists. Your name popped up here and there. I skim. You worked at a startup here and there, took a gap year to travel, worked at Stagg Industries for an impressive two months…”

You scoff at his words. You left for moral and ethical reasons, which is ironic, seeing how you turned out. More cynical now, perhaps a little jaded, but definitely willing to bend a few rules. You wouldn’t be applying here if you weren’t. 

“...before you ended up on S.T.A.R. Labs’ doorstep,” he finishes, clearly amused.

You lean back in your seat. "Good to know you’re up-to-date on my life.”

Lex shrugs, feigning indifference, but you see it. The way he enjoys this, the posturing, the little digs.

Still acting like the world revolves around him, like he’s the centre of gravity and everyone else is just circling.

"Come on," he says smoothly, steepling his fingers, "you didn’t think you could go from the backwater university I banished you to, to Stagg Industries, to then working at S.T.A.R. labs without someone noticing?"

"Someone?" You arch a brow. "Or just you?"

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn’t have to.

The silence says it all, the little gleam in his eye, the way his fingers pause just briefly on the folder like he’s savouring the moment.

"I was limited at S.T.A.R. Labs," you say, voice steady. "They thought too small. But you..."

You pause, trying not to choke on the words as they come out.

"You, Lex… you're brilliant."

He raises an eyebrow. Those weren't the words he was expecting. "Trying to feed my ego? Probably your best course of action."

"I'm just saying you’re different. You’ll do what others won’t. Things that’d make them wince, make them sick. But you don’t blink."

Your eyes narrow slightly. "Staying there, under their thumb? That wasn’t an option for me."

Lex leans back slowly, smirking like a cat that’s just spotted a mouse trying to act like a lion.

"But you want to be under my thumb?"

You smile, not coy or sweet, but dangerous.

"I didn’t say that. I just know where power lives. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want it, so… let me work my magic for you."

Lex leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, eyes narrowing.

"Let’s get one thing straight," he says, tone sharp.

"I don't need your so-called magic. Anything you can do, I can do for myself, and better. I don’t need you."

He starts pacing, a practised rhythm in his movements.

"And the last thing I need is some ex-S.T.A.R. Labs engineer with a grudge playing at ambition in my building. You think you’re clever? You think dropping my name and smiling like you’ve got leverage is enough to earn a seat at this table?"

He’s ranting now. You remember this version of him well. Lex Luthor, the self-made god.

And you know he could go on like this for hours if you let him.

So you don’t.

You calmly reach into your bag and slide a slim folder across his desk.

“Here,” you say simply. “A proposal that was swiftly rejected.  Too ‘unethical’ and… ‘evil’ apparently. That’s why I left.”

He glares at the folder, then opens it anyway, flicking through the pages with disinterest, scanning the first few lines like it’s beneath him. But then—

Something changes.

His hand pauses. Eyes narrowing. Then widening. Just slightly, but it’s enough for you to notice.

He’s caught it.

The reason you came to him, and only him.

"You start on Monday."

☆☆☆

You turn up early. Of course, you do.

As your parents always said, "Be early or die." They raised a little overachiever, and the habit stuck. It wasn’t about brown-nosing, it was about control. Showing up first meant owning the space before anyone else could.

A junior assistant meets you in the lobby, barely makes eye contact, then wordlessly leads you through the sleek, glass-and-steel hallways of LexCorp.

You're practically buzzing, ready to make real change, whether it’s good to change is debatable. But you’re ready to prove something, to him, to yourself, maybe even the ghosts of college past.

You get in an elevator that goes down and keeps going down. So far down, you're wondering if Lex was bringing you down here to kill you.

You're led through dark hallways until you're led to your office.

"Here’s your desk," the assistant mumbles, gesturing to a tiny, windowless room tucked behind a stairwell.

You step inside.

And blink.

Compared to your old setup at S.T.A.R. Labs, lab-grade everything, top-tier simulations, equipment falling out of your ears. This was... pitiful.

A shoddy old desktop tower sits on a wobbly metal table, screen covered in dust like no one’s touched it in a decade. You tap the power button, and the fan wheezes like it’s taking its last breath.

"When’s this from...the '90s?" you mutter.

You glance around. No beakers. No consoles. No sensor arrays. Just a single flickering overhead light and a filing cabinet that might double as a rust museum.

This was ridiculous.

In Lex’s glittering, perfect empire, no expense spared, no corner untouched, this was no oversight.

This was intentional.

You knew it instantly. This was Lex’s way of putting you in your place. A passive-aggressive power play. His proverbial foot now pressed against your proverbial neck.

But he could kiss your proverbial ass.

You’d eat dust if you had to, but you'd build something that made him regret ever underestimating you.

Still… even a revolutionary needed tools.

You glance at the sad excuse for a machine and exhale sharply through your nose.

He was an egomaniac, sure. You understood that.

But if he wanted results? If he wanted your mind working for him?

He was going to need to cough up more than a broom closet and a glorified toaster.

You storm your way up his ivory tower, fuming on the very, very long elevator ride. Once you reach his floor, your shoes pound against polished floors, blazing past his assistants. And honestly, they couldn't get out of the way fast enough; you were clearly on a mission.

You reach his office, throw the doors open without knocking. And there he is, in all his bald glory.

Lex Luthor. The picture of calm and composure. Sitting behind his monolithic desk like a king on his throne.

He doesn't flinch, barely even reacts. Just look up, like he knew you were coming.

You can almost hear his smug little voice in your head, “How predictable.”

"You put me in the basement?" you demand, hands clenched at your sides.

Lex doesn’t even look at you properly, just flicks his gaze back to his tablet like you’re a minor inconvenience.

"You wanted the job. I gave you the job."

As if your anger is some fine wine, he savours it. A low chuckle escapes him, infuriatingly pleased with himself.

You pluck the tablet from his hands and toss it on the floor, definitely cracking the screen.

“How rude,” he chuckles.

“You can at least look at me while you fuck me over,” you demand, leaning down towards where he's seated.

Lex sighs but maintains eye contact.

"What," he says, voice dripping with mock innocence, "you expected a corner office? State-of-the-art lab? A ribbon-cutting ceremony?"

You stare at him, jaw tight. "It’s not like you’re lacking resources here. I need a real lab. I need equipment. I need lab techs."

He finally stands and walks toward you, that signature predator calm in every step.

The smug look on his face, equal parts superiority and challenge, is as attractive as it is infuriating.

“Yes, sir,” you bite out, voice thick with sarcasm.

☆☆☆

The next few weeks are a slow-burn hell. The kind that makes you remember exactly why you transferred universities all those years ago. It wasn’t quite like the time he had someone hide venomous snakes in your bedroom, but it was close. 

Lex hadn't changed. Not really.

Still a master at psychological warfare, or, more accurately, a master at being a world-class, arrogant, little shit.

You want updated software?

“Not approved.”

You need a functioning microscope?

“We’ll revisit that next quarter.”

How about a single qualified lab assistant?

“Shitty interns build character.”

He never outright says no. No, that would be too easy. Instead, it’s endless delays, strategic miscommunications, and just enough obstacles to make you wonder if this entire setup was designed to make you quit.

But you don't.

You adapt. You improvise. You build.

Piece by piece, hour by hour, you're making progress, in spite of him.

Working after-hours. Cannibalising old hardware to Frankenstein together something that shouldn’t work, but somehow does.

He watches it all, too. Not openly. Lex doesn’t do open.

Everything he does is behind glass, behind code, behind five layers of plausible deniability.

He had cameras installed in your office, in your lab, just to watch you work. Observe all your little habits, pinpoint all your weaknesses. It was his new hobby.

Every time a new report hits his desk or one of your little “basement experiments” produces something useful, he knows about it and he's surprised. He'd forgotten just how tenacious you were…he could fix that.

It takes a month of your being at the LexCorp before Lex decides to descend into the basement himself.

You’re not exactly surprised.

You figured he'd show up one day to gloat in person instead of continuing to act through other department heads to slow down your progress as much as he can.

But you’ve been resourceful.

Taking over an abandoned storage room down the hall, dusty, forgotten, and turning it into your real lab.

Boxes stacked like barricades, wires spilling over tables, blinking consoles cobbled together from scavenged parts. It’s chaotic, but it’s yours.

Lex steps in, quiet, almost predatory.

He takes it all in, the clutter, the hum of machinery, the faint smell of solder and old paper.

“What brings you by?” you ask, without looking up from your workbench.

His eyes linger on the tangle of equipment, then on you.

“Figured I'd check in on my investment.”

You scoff, continuing to solder a cluster of circuits. “You must be really bored.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, please…,” you mutter, setting down your tool. “You're definitely bored. Bored and looking for ways to make my life a living hell, just like in college.”

“I don’t think of you,” Lex replies coolly. “You’re irrelevant. You’re… background noise.”

“And yet you’re down here,” you say, finally turning to face him. “You’ve always been like this. Seek and destroy.”

You circle the side of your workbench, moving until there’s nothing between you but air.

“The entire first year of college,” you start, your voice slipping into a tone laced with nostalgia and bitterness, “you had it out for me. At first, you were sneaky about it, pretending to be friendly, playing the charming little rich boy when all along you were plotting.”

Lex’s lips curl into a tight smile, his eyes flashing with bad intentions.

“I realised about a month in,” you continue, your voice cutting sharper now, “when I found pictures of me wasted at a party plastered all over the university website.”

You watch the twitch in his jaw; he's enjoying this.

“You made sure that I almost missed midterms. I was one misstep away from flunking out while you sat in the front row like you owned the place.”

Mid-conversation, you reach out and take hold of his tie. You toy with it between your fingers, twisting the expensive fabric casually like it’s nothing more than a distraction.

Lex doesn’t stop you, nor does he pull away.

He just watches, curious to see where this is all going.

“I remember all of that,” you say with a tight laugh, stepping closer, “in the span of one week, my apartment building was bought out from under me and scheduled for demolition. My internship offers vanished, and I can't prove it, but I know you got me hit by that car!”

He shrugs, “Guilty.”

“And you made sure I was nowhere to be found by the time the dust settled. You really weren’t holding back, were you?”

You glance at him, eyes narrowing with a mix of disdain and something that almost feels like amusement.

“I wanted you gone,” Lex says flatly, no hesitation, like it was as simple as breathing.

“And you succeeded…,” you chuckle dryly as you tug him a little closer by his tie.

The smile fades from your face, your voice softer than he's used to. “I wanted to be your friend, you know? Back then, I figured sharing my ideas with someone as smart as you…would only make me better. Make us both better.”

Lex can’t stand the sentiment. The idea that he might’ve had a chance to connect with someone like you… that could make him gag. The vulnerability? The concept of partnership? All of that feels alien to him, something he’s learned to suppress.

“And now? What do you want?”

“I want to fuck you.”

He steps back slightly, his eyebrows furrowed, not in confusion, but calculation. His expression flickers between surprise and something more nefarious.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” he asks, voice low, guarded, eyes narrowing as if weighing every possible outcome in a single breath.

“Running from a challenge, I see,” you say, voice low, a teasing smile playing at your lips.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t handle me,” you continue, stepping closer, letting your tone drip with knowing confidence, “that’s why you're hesitant.”

Lex’s eyes flash with irritation, and maybe something else.

“Constantly wanting to be the smartest in the room,” you press on, fingers lightly brushing the front of his shirt as you lean in, “knocking down anyone who gets too close, anyone who makes you feel even the slightest bit inferior…”

“Not to mention the fact you only date girls you think are dumber than you,” you murmur, tracing a slow line down his chest, “safe, predictable, controllable.”

“But someone like me…”

You tilt his collar, adjusting his shirt with deliberate care, fingertips lingering just long enough to unsettle.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.”

He scoffs, sharp, dismissive. But there’s a flicker in his eyes, a crack in his usual armour.

For the first time, he’s caught off guard.

And you see it, the brief, fleeting confusion where he can’t quite read you, can’t quite predict your next move.

“You underestimate me,” he says, looking at you through his eyelashes, voice low, tightly controlled, but there’s tension coiled beneath the surface.

His hand curls around your wrist harshly and tosses it away, as if trying to reassert control, to put space between you and the weakness you just exposed in him.

“You really should be careful what you ask for,” he says before he tugs you in by the lab coat. The ball was now in his court, and you had to stay sharp, figure out just what kind of game you were playing …

“Not running?”

“I don’t run. Least of all from the likes of you. That’d be… pathetic.”

The eye contact intensifies as you hold his gaze, not rising to the bait the way he wants you to. You’re all too used to him baiting you to react.

“Then what are you doing down here in the basement with someone supposedly so pathetic?”

His jaw tenses, a muscle twitching near his cheek as he steps closer, the air between you charged.

“Maybe I’m trying to prove you’re not as above it all as you think you are.”

You tilt your head, just slightly. “And what if I’m not?”

His lips curl into something sharp. “Then I guess we’ve both got a problem.”

“I have a solution,” you say, reaching out again, going straight for his tie and pulling him to you, stopping just short of your lips connecting. You feel him match the mischievous smirk on your face.

“Determined little thing, aren’t you? Tell me, have you fantasised about this? Making out with the guy that made your life a living hell…”

He pushes you back against your workbench, eyes dark with something fierce. “Getting me all riled up, no matter how much I try to shut it down and fuck up your plans…Are you a masochist?”

You peck his lips, pulling back slightly. “I'm just trying to find a way to get rid of all this tension.”

That’s all it takes before he’s pulling you back in, hungry and insistent. You’re both scrambling to get each other’s clothes off, the urgency building with every touch.

A particularly expensive-looking prototype lands with a heavy thud, skidding dangerously close to the edge.

“Hey!” you protest, instinctively reaching out to save it.

“I’ll replace it,” he says flippantly, not missing a beat as he climbs on top of you, like the price tag on your research project meant nothing compared to his agenda.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this before…Back in college, you always thought that somehow you’d get one over on him, that you’d be the one firmly with the upper hand. Oh, how you wanted Lex Luthor at your mercy. This would have to do for now. You’d have him in the palm of your hand eventually; you just had to bide your time.

“Fuck me like you hate me,” you breathe out as he presses his lips to your neck, the heat and roughness of his kiss sending shivers down your spine. “I do hate you,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and dangerous.

“Then it should be easy,” you challenge.

He kisses you again, all heat and sharp intent, like he’s trying to brand the taste of him into your mouth.

Pulling you back by your hair so that you can’t reach his lips. So he’s always a dickhead, even during foreplay. 

“Desperate, are we?” Lex scoffs, smirking at the needy, wrecked expression on your face.

His eyes roam over you like he’s already won, and you hate how much you love it. The only thing better would be wiping that smug look off his face. 

“Do you always have to be like this?” you breathe out, trying to fight against the hand tangled in your hair, but his grip only tightens, yanking your head back further.

“It’s what you like about me,” he says lowly, his voice brushing over your skin like velvet and threat.

Your neck is fully exposed, vulnerable under the watchful eye of Lex, who leans in without hesitation, kissing along the curve of your throat, lips trailing heat, before sucking a mark or two just to remind you who you belong to.

He feels you gulp as he leans in closer, blue eyes boring into yours. It's more intense than you thought it’d be, like being pinned in place by sheer force of will, but you’d be lying if you said you wanted it any other way.

“Clothes off now,” he orders. Lex is one for efficiency, so you can’t imagine how fun it’d be to tease him. You slowly start taking off your clothes piece by piece, watching each one of his micro expressions, seeing what excites him. 

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can speak, “Nuh-uh, we’re doing this at my speed.”

It’s not long before there’s a pile of clothes discarded on the floor, as you reveal more skin to him. He’s good at hiding it, but he’s hungry. He wants nothing more than to devour you where you stand. 

The second your panties drop to the floor, he’s on you again, pushing you up against the wall.

You make eye contact again, and you quirk an eyebrow.  “You’re not getting undressed?”

“And reward you? You have to earn it.”

“And how exactly do I—?” 

You’re cut off, but his hand wraps around your throat. Admittedly, you’re cut off guard, and Lex enjoys watching you struggle, waiting for your brain to catch up to your body. Small gasps escaping your throat, your eyes squeezed shut. 

“Lex,” you say, your fingers curled around his wrist.

He’s expecting to see you begging for mercy, but what you say next surprises him only a little.

“Harder, Lex,” you demand, with a determined look in your eye, your hands pulling him closer instead of pushing him away or tapping.

“So you are a masochist,” he deduces, squeezing harder on your neck, just like you want. 

“Shut…up…” you managed to get out before, you’re moaning in ecstasy.

His other hand finds its way to your cunt, and he finds it dripping for him. There’s no warning as he starts fingering you. His fingers curling up inside of you, right, where you want them, no, need them.

You gasp out words that are more like mumbles, but without thinking, you blurt out, “Please…”

And that comes out clear as day.

“Please?”

He looks so utterly pleased with himself, you hate it.

You squirm, but he’s holding you in place by the throat. You’re stuck. 

“Say it again,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you, “Say it, or I stop touching you.”

You knew he had you. Checkmate.

“Please, Lex,” you relent, breathless and trembling.

“Please, Lex, what?” he presses, voice smooth and infuriatingly smug.

You bite back the multitude of expletives you want to drown him in, clenching your jaw instead, because he knows exactly what he’s doing, and worse, he knows you’ll give in. 

“Please, finger me, Lex,” you mumble.”

He pulls you off the wall, pressing you flush against him, so close your lips could brush with a breath.

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Please, I… I need you to finger me…” 

The honest truth was, you were growing desperate. The ache between your legs only grew stronger the longer he held you like this. 

Apparently, you look pathetic enough for him to fuck now. 

“Open your mouth,” he demands.

You open your mouth, accepting his fingers in your mouth without protest. You suck his fingers diligently, tasting yourself on them. 

“Look at me.” He smirks, making intense eye contact with you, “That’s it, good girl.”

You can’t deny that it’s hot. If only you knew what he was thinking in that 

Your eyes water a little, and he pushes his fingers back far enough to make you gag. 

“You have a gag reflex? We’ll have to get rid of that …”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, saliva dripping from them and releases the hold he has on your throat.

“Is that your way of asking to have sex with me on a different occasion?”

He eases his fingers back into your wet pussy, making you cry out.

“We both know this isn’t a one-time thing.”

☆☆☆

Sex with Lex was exactly what you expected, but also nothing you expected. A lot more begging and crying on your part. But you did slap him across the face at one point. Things got wild, to say the least. 

He shifts, sitting up and trying to find the clothes you threw across the room when you stripped him.

“Your project… I was looking over your newest reports, and I have something big in the works. Cloning is your speciality, no?”

“Yeah, I worked on it at Stagg,” you say before shaking your head. “Wait, we just had sex, and you want to talk business, of course,” you reply with a tired smirk.

“Business waits for no one except the stupid,” he retorts coolly.

You chuckle softly at the absurdity of it all, brushing a hand through your hair.

“Anyways, we’ve done our own cloning experiments, and it has worked,” he continues, “but the subject is… dumb, to say the least. Lacks higher reasoning, nuance, just muscle and instinct. So I think your skills and research could be put to better use on this.”

You barely have time to respond before he adds, “I want you to head up a new department.”

You raise an eyebrow, mock gasping, “I sleep with the boss and get a promotion?”

He lets a rare smirk slip.

“What’s the project?” you ask, sitting up and buttoning your shirt.

“Project CADMUS. I’ll send you everything you need to catch up.”

“Thank you, sir,” you say, winking at him.

“Don’t make me regret this, or I’ll make you regret being born.”

Main Masterlist

[shotmrmiller]

Close enough to keep (part 1)

(it's safe for now but it won't be soon, i think. simon isn't cruel but he's not kind, either. forced proximity because i said so, any plot holes yall see, no yall didn't.)

You've always known your luck is bad— universally bad, actually. If it were raining tits, you'd look up and still catch a dick to the face. And you've come to the conclusion that it isn't by chance. It can't be. If you have an interview for your dream job, your car isn't just breaking down; all four tires are missing, save for the lugnuts left on the asphalt like confetti. Got a promotion? Your boss just quit, and the company's declared bankruptcy before you could even order celebratory takeout.

It's that kind of bad.

(Which is why you don't buy scratchers at the corner store. Buying one means you run the risk of owing money instead.)

So when you go out for an early morning walk when the city still sleeps— because you've promised yourself you'll stick to your re-started health journey this time— it should come to no surprise that instead of finishing your walk with a cup of iced coffee in one hand and your other wiping the sticky sweat from your brow, you find yourself in an interrogation room, staring blankly at a man who didn't bother introducing himself before he started pelting you with questions about the high profile murder you'd just witnessed no less than half an hour ago.

You've swallowed the metallic panic weighing down your tongue and told him everything. Six times, you've repeated yourself, but he's written nothing down. The thick curtain of bristle that hides the grim line of his lips shivers, his mutton chops twitching as he clenches his jaw. His eyes are the color of a frozen lake under a sterile sky and are framed with prominent crow's feet, the kind that tells you he smiles often— but only at his kids or his dog. Not here. Not now. Not you.

Still, he watches you with something somewhat gentle like an attempt at sympathy, or maybe even pity. You don't know which is worse.

He asks you again, his voice like gravel crunching underfoot, and you startle, the hair that's not stuck to the nape of your neck standing on end. He's not asking questions to find answers. He's asking to confirm what he already knows. He's watching to see if you'll lie.

The light overhead sounds like it's chewing on static, and it is deafening.

"You'd seen him before, correct?" Your chair leg scrapes as you shift in your seat and nod. Your nameless, badge-less interrogator leans forward slightly, and you swear the room sways with him.

"I need verbal answers, understand?"

You clear your throat that feels dry like sandpaper and say, "Yes, sir."

He exhales slowly, steadily, and his chair groans as he pulls back. "You say you've seen him before?"

"Yes, sir. A couple of times on my way to the bus stop. We only nodded at each other in passing, nothing more." The way his body folded before he hit the ground, the wet, heavy slap against concrete, his jaw crooked unnaturally. You flinch. A forgettable face turned unforgettable.

He doesn't say anything at first, just watches you, gaze neutral, until something behind them flashes. A revision, your shaky answers and trembling hands having unlocked the next step in his plan. Then, he turns his head, not toward the two-way mirror, not toward the door, but toward a patch of shadow in the corner of the room. His lips barely part beneath his heavy mustache, and the word comes out like boots over bone.

"Ghost."

From the darkness, a shape moves— big. Unreasonably big. Broad shoulders, neck like a tree trunk, and eyes so dark they seemingly consume light. He moves with unnerving ease, like someone taught not to disturb the air.

You don't recall hearing him enter.

Now you're not sure if he ever did.

You feel heat, maybe breath, or maybe it's the pressure of having the attention of someone who's been trained to measure threat first and humanity second. Ghost stands behind you like something summoned rather than employed, casting a shadow much broader than his frame should allow. Your body moves instinctively, shoulders curling toward your ears, hunched and uneven, as you try not to breathe too loud. Not to exist too loud.

The interrogator then looks at you and says it with no flourish. No comfort. Not like he ever seemed terribly interested in your comfort anyway. "You're to have a shadow until," his arms cross, forearms thick and steel-corded, "we find out who is cleaning up."

He cards his fingers through his hard-earned brown hair as he exhales. "And whether they think you're worth the mess."

The door unlatches with a soft click, and the interrogator simply stands, his chair creaking as it's relieved of his weight and walks out without another word. You turn slightly, not enough to be obvious, but just enough to catch a quick glimpse of Ghost but he's already looking at you, the eye sockets of his mask hollow outlines, framing a stare that doesn't blink, doesn't soften.

And then he glances at the door. Move. You're out of your seat in a fraction of a second, and when he walks, you follow because there is no other option. The hallway is dull, colorless, lined with doors that look identical yet feel different. The squeaky footsteps on the sterile tile floor echo, but Ghost's don't.

From behind, his shoulders are impossibly broad and squared like armor bolted into flesh. His back is straight, arms loose but heavy at his sides, and the fabric of his jacket strains at the seams across it, taut with bunching muscle.

His walk lacks swagger. It's lean, mechanical. Just mass and momentum— the bulk of him not something he carries but something he commands.

Ghost is a man built for consequence.

There is an exit at the end of the corridor, glowing faintly beneath an overhead bulb, and your thighs coil with the want to get the fuck out of this wretched place, but Ghost doesn't. He walks with no hurry toward it, and when he reaches for the handle, he pauses, and you think he might speak. Might explain. Might warn.

But he doesn't. Simply pushes the door open, and the outside world spills in. Gray sky, damp pavement, air humid and clinging to your skin, and the distant hum of something normal, something free. Except you're not.

Ghost leads you toward a sleek, unmarked black SUV that does not exist on paper— it's too clean, too new, the kind of car that disappears without a trace when it needs to and he opens the passenger door for you. Not out of courtesy, but out of control.

You jump slightly to slide in, and the interior is just as unsettling: Leather seats that haven't been broken in, the dashboard spotless, and the console glowing faintly with a system you don't recognize. No radio. No GPS.

Great.

Ghost gets in without a word, and the engine purrs to life. You dare a glance at him, but he's already looking ahead, both gloved hands curled around the steering wheel as he drives in silence. The road stretches endlessly, no signs, no turns; The kind of roads that don't show up on maps unless you already know where they lead.

Wonderful.

[mister13eyond]

How would you explain the cohost AU to someone who has been out of the loop and not checking in so far? <Aka me

LMAO YOURE SO VALID IT EXISTS IN A QUANTUM STATE WHERE IM ALWAYS VAGUELY ALLUDING TO IT BUT NEVER ESTABLISHING ANYTHING lemme go through some basics!

-Exists in a combined ut/dr universe

-In it, the events of Undertale happened and monsters made it onto the surface 10 years ago. There, they mostly stayed in the small town around the base of the mountain and a lot of them settled into basically their Deltarune roles on the surface (toriel adopted Kris [along with Asriel and Frisk] & is a kindergarten teacher, Alphys is a high school teacher... notably undyne is a gym teacher like she was in the ut ending because ACABBBB LMAO)

-Darkners also exist as just like, a Phenomenon that happens sometimes. Everyone just knows that sometimes items come to life. Whether through being loved or abandoned or whatever, they just. Pop up one day as a living thing. Mostly they just settle into society with everyone else.

-Tenna is a Darkner that has been an actual TV personality and show host for a long time now

-Mettaton used to be his viewer back in the Underground, back when he was watching discarded tapes that he and Alphys scavenged from the dump. Tenna inspired his TV personality when he and Alphys pulled their scheme in the Underground, and his dream role was always to one day work on the same stage as Tenna

-After making it onto the surface, he built his way up from an online influencer into being a real, actual, full-fledged celebrity, the first monster celebrity!

-Mettaton was invited as a guest to Tenna's show in hopes of boosting ratings, as the show had been running for a decade with Tenna as the host and was waning in popularity

-it worked!!! Really well!!!

-Insanely well! In fact, every time Mettaton appeared on his show, Tenna saw a noticeable ratings increase!!! And Mettaton just keeps coming back to guest on his show, because wow, his idol, Tenna...

-Eventually Tenna asks Mettaton to cohost the show with him and Mettaton agrees! But things aren't all that idyllic behind the scenes.

-For one, while Mettaton has a crush on Tenna, they're also COWORKERS. For a long time it's just unresolved pining, Mettaton holding back his feelings and Tenna having a complicated relationship with Mettaton because he has a lot of Baggage from Spamton

-Eventually, Mettaton- who has been working himself half to death because he's pouring everything into this job, and experiencing worse and worse battery malfunctions- has his battery bulge so bad that it knocks out half his critical wires and put his arms out of commission, requiring him to be rushed to the robot hospital and for the bomb squad to be called (lol)

-His Ex body then has to undergo major maintenance, but he finally reappears on the show in his box body and discusses his health with the audience

-also, tenna, spurred on by almost losing Mettaton, finally acts on his feelings, and tenna and Mettaton hook up while Mettaton is in the box body

-for a while they're like honeymooners, sneaking off to mack on each other behind the scenes on commercial breaks

-but rumors are flying like crazy and someone asks them in an interview if they're together and mettaton, feeling tired of tenna dodging the "what are we" conversation, says YES. Which sparks a huge argument and ends up getting the interview canceled and never published, because Tenna is Terrified about the paparazzi and what it would do to the show and ALSO WHAT IF THINGS GO LIKE THEY DID WITH SPAMTON?

-And right as they're arguing about this

-In comes Spamton

-To fall back into Tenna's life

-AND THEN IT GETS MESSIER AND I'M ALREADY TALKING FOR LONG ENOUGH SO

- Anyways the point is: mettaton and Tenna have big messy unresolved feelings for one another while also being cohosts of a successful late night talk show and actual celebrities!!! That's the basis of it! They're really bad at this and they run a show together!!!

-Also the majority of darkners from TV world work on the set

-ALSO ALSO mettaton and alphys and Mettaton's cousins are all really close and have a recurring group call.

OKAY THAT'S MORE THAN I INTENDED TO WRITE BUT THERE YOU GO. BASIC CONCEPT OF COHOST AU!!!

[theplotmage]

Sci-fi/Fantasy Writer PROMPTS, Activities and Exercises: Ideas to Spark Creativity and Fight Writer's Block! Try this out!

Character Creation & Development

1. Alien Species Bio – Create an entirely new alien species. Detail their appearance, culture, language, and planet of origin.

2. Fantasy Race Creation – Design a new fantasy race with unique traits, beliefs, and magic systems.

3. Character’s Dark Secret – Write about your character’s biggest secret and how it affects their choices in the story.

4. Intergalactic Job Interview – Write a scene where a character interviews for a job on another planet.

5. Hero or Villain? – Take a character and rewrite a scene where they’re the hero. Now, rewrite it with them as the villain.

6. Character’s Fatal Flaw – Choose a character and write about their fatal flaw—what could lead to their downfall?

7. Create a Fantasy Ancestry – Design a family tree for one of your fantasy characters, exploring their magical or royal lineage.

8. Magic System Blueprint – Create a unique magic system with rules, limitations, and societal consequences.

9. Inter-species Romance – Write a love story between two characters from different species or worlds. How do they overcome their differences?

10. Superpower Conflict – Give your character a superpower, then make them face a challenge where their power causes more harm than good.

World-Building & Setting

11. One Day in a Fantasy City – Write a day in the life of an ordinary person in your fantasy world.

12. Galactic Government – Design the political system for a galaxy-spanning empire. How does it manage different planets?

13. Map Maker – Draw a detailed map of your fantasy or sci-fi world, including key landmarks and unexplored areas.

14. Alien Landscape – Describe a bizarre alien planet’s landscape and its effect on the inhabitants.

15. Sky’s the Limit – Design a sky in a sci-fi or fantasy world. Is it green with floating islands? Does it have three suns?

16. Magic and Technology Clash – Write about a world where magic and advanced technology coexist but are constantly at odds.

17. Futuristic City Tour – Write a detailed tour of a futuristic city—describe the technology, architecture, and social dynamics.

18. Weather Control – Create a world where the weather is controlled by a powerful group or machine. What happens when it fails?

19. Invent a Holiday – Design a holiday in your fantasy or sci-fi world. What does it celebrate, and how is it observed?

20. Multiverse Portal – Write a scene where a character discovers a portal to a parallel universe. How is it different from their own?

Plot & Story Development

21. Time Travel Trouble – Write a scene where time travel goes wrong. How do the characters fix the timeline?

22. The Last Dragon – Write a story about the last dragon on a planet, and why it’s being hunted.

23. Space Heist – Plan and write a scene where a crew of space outlaws steals something from a heavily guarded space station.

24. Elemental War – Imagine a world where the elements (fire, water, air, earth) are at war. Write about how it affects daily life.

25. End of Magic – Write about a world where magic is slowly disappearing. How does society adapt?

26. Alien Invasion from Another Dimension – Write a short story about an alien invasion, but from a dimension parallel to ours.

27. Betrayal in Space – Write a scene where a crew member on a spaceship betrays the rest of the team. What are the consequences?

28. Space Pirate Crew – Create a band of space pirates and their spaceship. Write a day in their life aboard the ship.

29. The Artifact – Write about an ancient, magical artifact found in a sci-fi setting. How does it change technology?

30. Rogue AI – Create a scenario where an AI system gains consciousness and decides to rebel against its creators.

Conflict & Challenges

31. Magic Duel – Write an epic magic duel between two powerful wizards or sorcerers. Focus on creative use of magic.

32. Futuristic Dystopia – Imagine a dystopian future where society is controlled by corporations. Write a rebellion scene.

33. Alien Diplomacy – Write a scene where humans negotiate peace with an alien species for the first time.

34. Survival on an Uncharted Planet – Write about a team crash-landing on a mysterious planet. What challenges do they face?

35. Telepathy Gone Wrong – Create a story where telepathic communication backfires, causing chaos among those who use it.

36. Fae Court Politics – Write about the inner workings of a fae court, with political intrigue and magical manipulation.

37. Symbiotic Relationship – Write a story where an alien species requires a symbiotic bond with another species to survive.

38. Shape-Shifting Battle – Write a battle scene where both combatants are shape-shifters. How do they outsmart each other?

39. Uncontrollable Power – Write about a character who gains a new, uncontrollable power. How do they handle it?

40. Artificial Gravity Failure – Write a scene where artificial gravity on a spaceship fails. How do the characters react?

Perspective & Point of View

41. Non-Human POV – Write a scene from the perspective of a non-human (alien, dragon, robot, etc.) and how they view humans.

42. Object POV – Write a story from the point of view of a magical artifact or futuristic device.

43. Villain’s Perspective – Rewrite a pivotal scene from the villain’s point of view, explaining their motivations.

44. Mind-Meld – Write a scene where two characters experience a mind-meld. How does it affect their relationship and understanding?

45. AI POV – Write from the perspective of an AI that is learning about human emotions for the first time.

Miscellaneous & Fun Prompts

46. Sci-Fi Tech Ad – Write an advertisement for a new piece of futuristic technology. What are its uses and potential downsides?

47. Fantasy Cookbook – Create a menu for a tavern in your fantasy world, complete with magical drinks and enchanted meals.

48. Starship Design – Design a unique starship for a crew of adventurers. Describe its layout, capabilities, and any quirky features.

49. Create a New Currency – Invent a new form of currency in your world. What does it look like? How is it earned or spent?

50. Interstellar News Report – Write a news article or report about a major event happening in a galaxy far, far away.

Bonus Activity: 30-Day Writing Mastery Challenge with the Plot Mage Planner

Activity – For the next 30 days, fully immerse yourself in your writing project by using the Plot Mage’s All-in-One Writing Planner.

Here’s how!

1. Day 1 – Start with character creation using the guided worksheets in the planner. Fill out the character profiles and experiment with different backstories and traits.

2. Day 2-5 – Dive into the world-building section, where you can craft your world’s geography, politics, and culture using detailed prompts and templates.

3. Day 6-10 – Develop your plot with the fully guided general outline. The planner’s roadmap will help you break down your novel’s key plot points and arcs.

4. Day 11-15 – Organize your book series overview. Plan out future books or tie in different plot threads with the automated and synced pages for maximum cohesion.

5. Day 16-20 – Take advantage of the repository of writer tools integrated in the planner. Research, brainstorm, or discover new writing aids from all over the web in one convenient place.

6. Day 21-25 – Refine your writing by using the planner’s automated daily writing goals and tracking pages. Keep your progress in sync across devices and stay on top of your schedule.

7. Day 26-30 – Reflect on your journey. Use the planner’s overview to assess your story’s progress and tweak any sections, ensuring everything is aligned before moving forward.

Try these exercises by using this world bible, tinker and play around with this tool

[overtheggum]

how to get the girl in ten (easy) steps ♡ : six and two thirds

paring : nonidol!soobin x fem!reader

word count : 0.5k

genre : fluff, such stupid fluff - romantic comedy

warnings : profanity, inaccurate university descriptions, food and drinks, there's like no concept of time they're just in school the whole time ig (i don't even know what counts as a warning so please let me know!)

playlist ! : forty one winks by tomorrow by together, attention please! by enhypen, but i like you! by boynextdoor, pick up your phone by hojean

author's note : this is my first fic ever written so feedback is appreciated!

p.s if you want to be added to the taglist, please either leave an ask or a comment!

masterlist . step six and one third . step seven .

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

STEP SIX AND TWO THIRDS: TALKING TO HER OUTSIDE OF THE STEPS

Soobin’s favorite class was Social Psychology.

Not just because it sounded smart (although it did make him feel like a genius when he casually mentioned it in group chats), but because he actually liked it—genuinely. Even if he groaned about the readings to Beomgyu like he was suffering for science.

At first, he picked it just to fulfill a requirement. But a few weeks in, he found himself actually looking forward to it. The lectures weren’t just dry theory—they were reflections of things he saw happen around him every day: why people conformed, how relationships formed, what made someone decide to speak up in a group or stay quiet.

They talked about viral trends, real-world studies, and once, an entire unit was built around episodes of The Office to explain leadership styles.

It was weirdly comforting. And kind of thrilling.

He especially liked the unit on impression management—the way people shape the versions of themselves that others see. It made him think about everything: how he acted around Y/N, how he let Beomgyu be the loud one while he stayed quiet, how even the way he dressed had changed lately.

(Okay, that last one was Yeonjun’s fault. But still.)

The professor helped too—dry-humored, sharp, and the kind of teacher who called people out when the room got too quiet. It scared Soobin, but he also kind of loved it. He started sitting closer to the front. He took color-coded notes. He might’ve even raised his hand once.

But the real reason it was his favorite class?

Y/N sat beside him.

It had started about two weeks ago, right after they’d worked on that puppet project together. She used to sit two rows back, but one day, she walked in and took the seat next to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And now, thanks to mandatory group discussions, Soobin could talk to her every class without sounding like he was inventing a new language. No pre-planned sentences. No accidental frog memes.

Just… casual, easy conversations about whatever they were learning that day.

Like why people lie in job interviews, or how social roles mess with your sense of identity. It slowly changed to learning about each other’s favourite food, or how they met their respective friend groups.

Once, she’d doodled a tiny cartoon of the professor mid-rant in the margins of his notebook. He didn’t even care that it was in pen.

Soobin still wasn’t sure how to tell her he liked her. But sitting beside her, talking like this—outside of The Steps—it made him feel like maybe he didn’t need a master plan all the time.

When he talked to her,

Maybe this was enough.

For now.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

taglist! (open!)

@tubatukimoa @fairyxtailxx @soobskz @page-isa @bear-gyu @ssamuurinz @bamtoriamy @stantxtforabetterlife

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

[siananas]

Between two takes

Gabriel Howell x reader (part 2)

Go read the 1st part if you didn't already ;)

Here is the second part (and probably the last) for my fanfiction on Gabriel Howell (Snotlout in How to Train Your Dragon the live action)

(The version translated in French is already posted and is called "Entre deux prises")

Word count : 12 286

TW : Multiples sex scenes (x3)

Enjoy ! <3

My filming in Spain is going really well, I love my new position which I find very fulfilling, the teams and the actors are amazing too, I’m really lucky to have landed in such a great place. And yet, a part of me stayed in Belfast with my friends and the man I’ve started to have real feelings for. Those same feelings aren’t fading or even slowing down now that I’m far from him, every message I get from him makes my heart beat a little faster, not to mention his selfies.

If my heart doesn’t stop because of the selfies Gabriel sends me, then it’s because of the pictures others send me of him. For example, Gabriel recently sent me a TikTok trend where he’s running while singing the lyrics to “Ceilings” by Lizzy McAlpine, all while dressed as Snotlout. That video made me laugh so much, and the message that followed made me laugh but mostly melt: “I’d be ready to run even faster and longer for you, singing whatever you want.”

We call each other from time to time, but it’s still rare because of our busy schedules and how tired we are. Those calls are the only moments I get to see his smile again, the one I love so much, and to hear his laugh that warms my soul. I know he misses me too because he doesn’t mind telling me, even though he always adds that I did the right thing by accepting this job offer. He doesn’t want me to feel guilty for leaving.

Days go by and I hear even less from Gabriel. I figure he’s enjoying time with his friends and family in England. I also heard he’s had several photoshoots and has to get ready for other projects. I’m proud of him, but I wish I could share all this with him—not have our lives running so parallel.

Despite the sadness that haunts me when I’m alone, time mostly flies by. I have less than a month of filming left, and that means the How To Train your Dragon live-action wraps today. I take the opportunity to send a message to all my friends, and to Gabriel as well, I congratulate them on their hard work and tell them how excited I am to see the result. They all reply sweetly, including Gabriel:

"Thank you for your always so well-written words. I wish you were here to celebrate the end of filming with us, but since you can't be here for that, you’ll be with us for the film release! You have no choice!"

"Then imagine when I’m there in person? It’s going to be even harder for you!"

One evening, as I’m getting ready to eat, I get an unexpected video call from Gabriel. I answer, a little surprised, and see him smiling on his couch. I can’t help but smile back. "Good evening, what did I do to owe this call?"

"I just wanted to see you and hear your voice."

"And kill me with your cuteness, right?" I say, laughing and glancing at him often while trying not to hurt myself cooking at the same time.

"Never!" We laugh together, then he just looks at me.

"What are you doing?"

"Cooking or at least trying to, since you’re distracting me."

"No, because when you’re here, you’ll be the one cooking." I stick my tongue out at him and he laughs, nodding.

"That’s true! I can’t wait to cook for you again."

"I can’t wait either. So, is everything going well on your side? Not too tired?"

"Very tired, yeah, but also very happy. I’ve done a lot of shoots and interviews, and they all turned out great!"

"I’m going to frame them all, set them as wallpapers on every single one of my devices, maybe even get them tattooed." He laughs, which makes me laugh too.

We laugh and keep talking while I eat my dinner, and during the conversation, an idea hits me: I wrap filming in five days. If I plan things right, I might be able to surprise Gabriel for his premiere. I don’t say anything to him and decide to do some research after we hang up.

"You haven’t even seen them yet!"

"No, but I already know I’ll love them, because I really like the model."

"You’re such a flirt."

"I know." I wink at him and then serve myself a plate.

"Oh, and I’ve got the premiere of the Nightsleeper series in six days."

"Ohh, amazing! I’ll finally get to watch it! I’ve already gone through your whole filmography."

"Even my mom isn’t as big of a fan of me as you are."

Here I am in London. I love this city so much, but knowing I’m here to see Gabriel makes me appreciate the moment even more. I hurry over to Nico’s place, she kindly agreed to host me for a bit. When she opens the door, we throw ourselves into each other’s arms, so happy to be reunited. We talk a lot while I get ready for the evening, and she even helps me with my hair. I missed her so much.

I’m all set for the premiere, I look stunning, and thankfully the weather is on my side. I’m wearing a gorgeous long dress with beautiful heels, my hair is curled, and I’m wearing makeup. Nico let Gabriel’s manager know I’d be attending so he could add me to the guest list. I thank her for the thousandth time as I grab my handbag and hurry off to catch my taxi.

A mix of nerves and excitement swirls inside me as the distance between Gabriel and me shrinks. But that feeling fades the moment I step outside, the fresh air helps me find my focus and gather my courage.

I walk up to the building, give my first and last name, and they let me in. I wander a bit through the reception area, which is a cinema lobby. I grab a glass of champagne and sip it while admiring the film posters on the walls. I stay alert to my surroundings, keeping an eye out for Gabriel’s arrival. I recognize some other actors from the series taking photos on the red carpet, but no sign of Gabriel yet, true to form, he’s fashionably late.

He steps off the red carpet and starts greeting some of the actors. I wait for the right moment to approach him, one where there aren’t too many people around. When he heads to get a glass of champagne, I seize my chance and walk up behind him.

As I walk through the lobby to set down my empty glass of champagne, I see the building’s door open and Gabriel step inside. My breath catches for a moment. He doesn’t see me as there are too many people, and he’s definitely not expecting me here. He starts getting photographed, and I stay where I am, hidden among the crowd, just watching him.

I soak in this moment, I’ve missed him so much. Then he laughs briefly before putting his serious face back on for the photos, and I absolutely melt. I just want his hands on me and his lips on mine.

“You’re even more handsome in real life, Mr. Howell,” I say, trying not to laugh.

He turns around quickly to see who just spoke, and I watch as confusion flashes across his face, followed by shock and then he wraps his arms around me. I laugh softly and hold him tight. I can finally breathe in his scent again, feel him against me. He pulls back slightly so he can look at me, brushing my cheek gently with the back of his hand, the cool touch of his ring sending a little shiver across my skin.

“And you’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”

I smile and nod. He kisses my cheek and walks away, holding my hand until the very last second.

I laugh again and pull him into another hug. We part reluctantly when his manager calls him over.

“Sorry, I really have to go. I’ll come find you as soon as I can, promise.”

I’m floating on a little cloud after our reunion, so much that I don’t really know what to do anymore. So I just watch Gabriel from afar while nibbling on some of the food's buffet.

A fairly young man approaches and starts chatting with me as if nothing’s out of the ordinary, as if we already know each other. I stay polite even though I don’t recognize him.

We chat much more naturally now that I know he’s not some guy trying to flirt with me. Gabriel keeps glancing our way, smiling each time, he’s so adorable.

“Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself, I’m Thomas, Gabriel’s best friend. He has told me a lot about you.” I blush, finally understanding the friendly behavior. I let out a nervous little laugh and shake the hand he offers me.

“Sorry, I didn’t know! Nice to meet you!”

The event organizers announce that the screening is about to start, so we all head to our assigned seats. I end up next to Thomas, perfect! Gabriel’s manager did a great job. Before the show begins, I spot Gabriel walking up the aisle, scanning the room for me. I give him a little wave and he quickly makes his way over. When he reaches me, he leans in to talk, one hand on the back of my seat and the other on the seat in front of me. He laughs when he sees Thomas sitting beside me.

I watched the first two episodes closely. Every time Gabriel appears on screen, I melt. He’s so sweet in the series, and so sexy in real life, the contrast makes me smile. At the end of the screening, everyone applauds and heads back into the lobby. All the actors are getting interviewed left and right. I chat about what we just watched with Thomas, who I find more and more likeable.

“He’s not bothering you too much, is he?” Gabriel jokes. I laugh and shake my head, never taking my eyes off him. Then his gaze locks onto mine, and he gives me the most radiant smile.

“You’ll tell me if you liked it, yeah?”

“Promise.” I smile warmly at him, and I notice his eyes linger on my lips for a moment then the lights dim, signaling the start of the screening. He kisses my forehead quickly and hurries back to his seat.

Gabriel stops by briefly between interviews, but we don’t get a chance to talk. The fatigue from my trip is starting to hit me hard. Thomas asks if I’d like him to drop me off since he’s leaving, but I politely decline. We say goodbye and he goes to say a few words to Gabriel, then heads out. I feel the tiredness even more now that I’m alone, but luckily the room empties out pretty quickly. Around thirty minutes after Thomas leaves, Gabriel finally joins me.

We hop in a taxi. During the ride, I stare out the window with wide eyes, this city amazes me every time. Gabriel never lets go of my hand, stroking it gently, and I know he’s not looking out the window at all, he’s watching me.

“I’m really sorry for making you wait, you must be exhausted,” he says, placing his hand gently on my hip and caressing it lightly. I rest my hand on his bicep, stroking him in the same way.

“Don’t worry, I get it. Besides, it gave me time to stare at you as much as I wanted,” I say with a soft laugh. He kisses my cheek, lingering just a bit longer, and I melt.

“Shall we head home?” I nod, and we walk toward the exit. His hand rests on the small of my back, and I love that contact.

We finally arrive at his place, and I quickly take off my heels. He chuckles at my struggle and kneels down in front of me to help. As he takes them off, he kisses my ankles and calves, sometimes letting his lips trail slowly up my legs. The soft scrape of his stubble makes me shiver, and I bite my lip. I run my fingers through his hair, it’s grown longer since the last time I got to touch it. He looks up at me, still on his knees, and with that look in his eyes, all I can think about is sex. I keep running my hand through his hair and he closes his eyes to enjoy it. He’s going to drive me crazy.

Eventually, I ask him to get up and give me a tour of his apartment, which ends in his bedroom. He leans against the doorway of his bedroom, arms crossed, and says:

“So, this is the real me. My actual home.”

“I love it even more than your Airbnb in Belfast.”

“That’s sweet of you.” He chuckles softly. “Do you want to take a shower?” he asks.

My gaze drifts to his outfit, which I’ve already admired tonight but I just can’t get enough. Then my attention shifts to his crossed arms, making his biceps stand out.

“If you’d like, I can help you take off that dress” He says, pulling me from my daydream.

“Only if I can take off your top” I reply, bolder than I expected. He laughs lightly, tilts his head back, biting his lip, then steps closer and gently places my hands at the hem of his polo shirt. I lift it up and slide it over his arms.

I look at his bare torso, biting my lip again. I dare to run my hand along his skin, starting from his hand, up along his arm, his shoulder, then down over his chest and abs. I hear him sigh softly, clearly enjoying it, and I feel just as hot as the view before me.

“My turn to enjoy the view?”

I nod and turn around so he can reach the zipper on the back of my dress. He slowly lowers it, then slides the straps off my shoulders, letting the fabric gently slip down my body. I shiver.

He slowly turns me around, and the look in his eyes mirrors exactly what I’m feeling: he wants more too. For now, that "more" begins with his lips pressing against mine. We kiss just as gently as his previous touches until the kiss deepens, turning more and more sensual as our tongues begin to dance together. My hands slide down his chest, reaching for his pants. I undo the button and lower the zipper.

Now in my underwear, back still turned to him, I feel him step closer. He moves my hair over one shoulder, making room for his lips to kiss the exposed skin. The chills continue as his hands find my hips.

He places kisses on my shoulder, neck, nape, and behind my ear, his hands still softly caressing my sides. Everything feels so gentle and perfect but I want more. I want his hands and lips everywhere on me.

That must have been the signal he was waiting for, because without breaking our kiss, he leads us to his bed. He lies down, pulling me with him so that I end up straddling his hips. The kiss becomes even more sensual, nearly sexual, and our growing moans are the only pauses in our breath as I slowly move my hips against his.

I'm as turned on as he is, I know it, and I can feel him against me. Desire takes over, and I pull away from him to pull his pants down with his help, then straddle him again, but this time without kissing him. I just look at him, running my hands over his chest and gently rubbing myself on him.

"You are so hot" he says between moans as he runs one hand over my chest and the other grabbing one of my thighs.

"I’m so turned on because of you" I say, taking off my bra, still rubbing myself against him. He bites his lip and cups my breast. He sits up and kisses me full on the lips, pressing down on my hips to accentuate the contact between our intimate parts, making us moan together.

We stay like this for a while until Gabriel can't wait any longer, he reverses the position so he's lying on top of me and can rub himself against me as he wants. His lips are on my neck then on my breasts and finally on my panties, I run my hand through his hair and the look he gives me is obscene as if he's hungry for me and the response of his mouth on my vulva proves I’m right.

He removes my panties to gain full access to my crotch, which he tastes and then devours, making me moan louder and louder. He takes such good care of me, like no one before, to the point where he makes me come pretty quickly, but I need more, I need his penis inside me to be satisfied. I don't know how to show him, so despite my embarrassment, I decide to tell him out loud.

"Gabe, I want more... I want you all... Inside me..."

A very sexy groan escapes his lips while they are still between my thighs, but apparently he wants the same thing since he retrieves a condom from his bedside table before putting it on and positioning himself between my legs.

He gently rubs the tip of his penis against the entrance of my vagina and moans with need. I'm tired of waiting, and he understands, but he doesn't go any faster. He enters me as slowly as possible and holds my hips so I can't go any faster. This slowness is torture for me. Once he's fully inside me, he gently caresses my cheek and steals a kiss.

"Tell me what you want princess."

"I want you to move... Make love to me, please..."

He bites his lip and steals another kiss before starting to slowly move in and out of me, which makes me moan immediately.

"It's so nicely asked that I have to obey your wishes" he says, his voice a little deeper than usual because of the pleasure that takes his breath away.

His thrusts gradually accelerate, and we're nothing but moans and gasps of pleasure. Our bodies fit together perfectly, as if they were made for each other. As I feel my orgasm coming, his thrusts become slower but stronger. I no longer moan but scream, my body tenses more and more from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Come for me, darling, show me how good I make you feel..."

"Gabe, it's so good, don't stop... Don't stop..." I say as I begin to come around his penis. He continues to make love to me until my orgasm passes, and his, which has arrived in the meantime, too.

He stays lying on top of me for a few more minutes, still inside me, catching his breath while I gently run my fingers through his hair. Eventually, he pulls away to slip out of me and takes off the condom to throw it away. Then he comes back and pulls the blanket over us.

“We should take a shower, we're gonna mess up your bed” I say, already half-asleep.

“Don't worry, I'll change the sheets tomorrow” he replies, stealing a kiss.

“Alright… I’ll help you.”

“You should probably go to the bathroom before you fall asleep, right?”

“Good point…” I say, exhausted, and force myself to get up. I go quickly to the bathroom and come back into his arms, falling asleep almost instantly.

I wake up slowly, the morning light peeking through the curtains. I’m no longer in Gabriel’s arms, we must’ve moved around a lot during the night but once I’m awake enough to notice, I turn over and cuddle up next to him. I smile as I look at him, unable to resist gently running my fingers over his few-days-old stubble. He slowly wakes up too, and smiles when he sees me, then buries his face in my neck, wrapping his arms tightly around me.

“Good morning” he says with his deep, sleepy voice.

“Morning,” I reply, kissing his shoulder. “Sleep well?”

“Very well. And you?”

“Yeah, working out before bed always helps.” We laugh softly together, and I feel him start to plant soft kisses along my neck.

“What’s your opinion on morning workouts?”

I can’t help but laugh at his question.

“I wouldn’t say no, but right now I really need to eat something or I’m going to faint.”

He jumps out of bed and runs to the kitchen still completely naked. I laugh watching him go. I get up, slip on my panties and his polo shirt from last night.

I join him in the kitchen, biting my lip as I watch him make breakfast. He turns around for a second and stares at me—apparently longer than he expected to.

“That’s just plain teasing, Y/N.”

“I just put on whatever was lying around, it’s not my fault,” I say, raising my hands in mock innocence. “And you should at least put on some underwear, it’s dangerous to cook so little dressed!”

I walk over, give him a light smack on the butt, and take over whisking the eggs.

He laughs and heads off to put something on. We finish preparing breakfast together and eat it out on his little balcony. My eyes keep drifting between him and the view, it’s hard to choose which is better.

We also chat about the first two episodes of Nightsleeper from the night before:

“No seriously, I did enjoy it, but I wish you had more screen time! You were so adorable whenever you showed up. Such a huge contrast with the very sexy man I saw before and after the screening, by the way.”

“You think I’m sexy? That’s new!”

“Not new at all! You were so sexy on the How To Train Your Dragon set! With your little v-neck and those big arms... oh, such good memories!”

We laugh as we clean up breakfast.

“I’m glad you like me that much. It’s mutual, he says, stealing another kiss. So, what do you want to do today?”

“I don’t know yet, but I want to go to the center of London. I’ve missed this city way too much!”

“I didn’t know you liked London that much.”

“Oops, guess I forgot to mention that! And I need to stop by Nico’s place to pick up my stuff.”

“Nico was in on this??”

“Of course! She helped me with your manager too.”

“Wait ! He was in on it too?? I can’t trust anyone!” he jokes.

I go take a shower while Gabriel takes the opportunity to change the sheets. He has prepared a simple but cute outfit for me, a pair of wide-leg jeans with embroidery down one leg and a plain white t-shirt. He lets me choose which jacket I want while he heads off to shower. I use the time to message Nico and let her know we’ll be dropping by later today.

“And this is the theatre where I’ll be playing soon!” He says as we reach a theatre.

We decided to take public transport instead of the car, it’s just easier that way. Gabriel rarely lets go of my hand, afraid of losing me in the maze that is the London Underground, which I find funny since I actually know the place better than he thinks.

He shows me spots he loves, even his old drama school, and I genuinely enjoy it, it finally feels like I’m really part of his life, just like I wanted.

“Oh, for What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank, right?”

“How do you remember that? I mentioned it once months ago!”

“I did my research, I even read the book” I say proudly.

“You’re so sweet for caring so much about what I do” He says, kissing the back of my hand, which he still hasn’t let go of.

“It’s normal, I want to support you the best I can.” He hesitates for a moment, then leans in and kisses me shyly.

“I’m really lucky to have you. So, so lucky.” He gently caresses my cheek, and I get lost in the deep brown of his eyes.

“Then what should I say, huh?”

Our romantic moment is cut short by Gabriel’s phone ringing. He apologizes and answers.

“No way! Leave us alone!” he laughs after a few seconds of listening. I give him a questioning look, and he just smiles at me. “I don’t even know how long she’s staying! I want to make the most of it!” he continues, still laughing. I whisper, asking who it is, but he shakes his head. So I get closer to eavesdrop and I immediately recognize Harry’s voice. I snatch the phone from Gabriel.

“Harry!!! I want to see you too!!! Nico and I were talking about how we all need to get together!” I say excitedly, while Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Thank you! You’re not a killjoy like your boyfriend!” Harry laughs. “I’ll text the group and we’ll organize something. By the way, how long are you in town?”

“Oh, I’ve got six more days” I say, glancing at Gabriel, his expression darkens a bit at that.

“Alright, we’ll plan something before you leave, promise!”

“Awesome, can’t wait! Kisses my Harry!”

“Kisses, Honey.”

We hang up, and I hand the phone back to Gabriel.

“And I’m your Gabriel?” he teases while pocketing his phone. I move closer and kiss the corner of his lips.

“Only if you want to be.”

“Of course I do.”

“Then yes, you’re my Gabriel. But just so you know, I’m not sharing you like I share Harry.”

“Please keep me all to yourself” " he says with that look, equal parts sexy and sweet, the same look he gave me yesterday when he was on his knees helping me out with my heels. I like that side of him more than I thought possible.

“I promise. You’re all mine now. No one else.”

“Is there a reason you’re leaving in just six days? Do you have a job lined up?”

I kiss him sensually, completely forgetting that we’re in public (thankfully, the street is almost empty). Gabriel smiles radiantly after our kiss, clearly happy with what I just said. We continue walking, hand in hand, and stop at a café for a bite to eat.

He asks me tons of questions about my job in Spain, and I answer with enthusiasm. He’s really engaged, and I understand how he feels when I take such interest in his own projects.

“Yeah, I’ve got a small shoot in France. It won’t last long, three weeks max.”

“That’s great! So many opportunities, you’re definitely climbing the ladder!”

“Exactly. I’m even planning to renegotiate my contract with my boss after the France shoot.”

We switch topics, brainstorming what we could do during the rest of the week. I confess my love for musicals and he teases me at first, but then admits he loves them too. So we pick a night to go see one. He also has a photoshoot later this week and agrees to let me come with him. We discuss other fun touristy things to do, both in central London and a bit further out.

The day winds down after lots of walking, talking, and laughing, a perfect reunion day. We arrive outside Nico’s place, and just as we’re about to go in, Gabriel’s phone rings again. He checks the caller ID, and I notice a slight change in his expression.

”I need to take this, I’ll meet you upstairs, okay?”

While I’m sipping my drink, I suddenly hear Gabriel’s voice from outside. It echoes in the courtyard because of how the buildings are set up and because he sounds angry, which startles me. I strain to hear, and Nico gets quiet too, realizing something’s off.

I nod. He answers quickly and steps away. I go up to Nico’s place, she opens the door, a bit surprised to see me alone. I explain Gabriel got an urgent call but he’ll be up soon.

We settle on her balcony with cold drinks while we chat. I tell her about our night together, she’s shocked to hear we finally “jumped on each other,” as she puts it. Then I share how the day went and what we’ve got planned.

“No, you clearly don’t understand! Absolutely not!” Nico and I exchange a confused glance, neither of us has any idea who he’s talking to. “I’m not in a relationship, what are you even saying?? No, that was just a friend, but that’s not the point! I said no, alright? I have work, I’ve got to go. Bye.”

Nico looks at me, stunned, while I go pale. Okay, sure, we hadn’t clarified our relationship status, but come on we slept together last night. I thought we were more than just friends.

“Nico, don’t let him in. Tell him I left. I don’t care where, just tell him I’m gone. I don’t want to see him right now” I say, voice filled with anger. She nods instantly, gets up as he knocks on the door, and I quickly hide in her room. I press my ear to the door, listening closely.

“Heyyy Nico! How’s it going?”

“Hey Gabe, all good! You?”

“Great, great! Where’s Y/N?”

“Oh, she told me to let you know she went to see Harry tonight!”

“What? But we were supposed to spend the evening together, why’d she suddenly change her mind?” I hear the worry creeping into his voice.

“I don’t know, she does what she wants. Don’t worry, she’s a big girl, she knows what she’s doing” Nico says, her tone noticeably colder than usual.

“Yeah, but… never mind. I won’t bother you any longer. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem! Drop by anytime!”

We spend the evening talking about the whole situation with Nico. We always come back to the same conclusion: I’ll have to talk to him at some point, because none of this makes sense. As exhaustion hits me, I break down crying in Nico’s arms.

They say goodbye, then the door closes. I walk out of the room, not realizing that tears had been streaming down my cheeks for a while. Nico comes to hug me, and I thank her for lying.

I feel my phone vibrating and see that it's Gabriel. I put it on silent. He tries to call me several more times, but I still don't answer. He sends me a message: "I don’t know why you suddenly changed your mind, but be careful on the road. I hope to see you tomorrow. I already miss you."

We talk late into the night until I finally fall asleep in her bed, mid-conversation. The next day, I wake up feeling slightly less miserable, they say sleep gives perspective. I join Nico in the living room, she's already having breakfast. I sit down with her and grab something to eat.

“I think I love him... That’s the most painful part. I love him and maybe he doesn’t. When you love someone, you want to tell the whole world, why doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know. There has to be an explanation, because I’m sure he loves you. He talked about you so much on set, always with hearts in his eyes. This whole thing is so weird.”

“I just wanted to have a great week with him and now I’m crying because of him.”

We dress up nicely for another sunny day. The weather has been kind during my stay, and I’m grateful. I wear light beige pants with a white crop top. I tie my hair in a bun, put on my gold jewelry and sunglasses on my head. I grab my tote bag and return to the living room, feeling cheerful. Nico compliments me, and I return the favor. We head out and start walking toward the corner café to grab some smoothies.

“So, did you sleep well?”

“I was exhausted, so yeah.”

“Are you going to talk to him today?”

“I mostly want a girls' day. I’ll see about talking to him tonight.”

“Whatever you want! I love the sound of a girls' day.” We laugh and go get ready.

“Y/N?”

I frown when I hear someone calling me. I recognize Gabriel’s voice and my heart stops. I turn around and see him about to enter Nico’s building. We lock eyes. I’m glad my sunglasses are now on my face as they hide the tears in my eyes. He doesn’t know what to say, he just looks at me, confused.

He looks genuinely shocked and hurt, which only breaks my heart more, but in that moment, anger wins. He nods silently. I glance at him one last time, then turn around and walk away. Nico joins me, and we leave.

“Do you have something to say, maybe?” I ask, feeling anger rising.

“I... I was worried. Harry told me you didn’t sleep at his place, that he hadn’t even seen you yesterday.”

“I was at Nico’s.”

“But I don’t understand... Nico told me—”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of things in life we don’t understand. Now leave me alone, okay?” I cut him off.

I show the message to Nico. She sighs in frustration and looks at me, waiting for me to say something.

She tries to bring up the scene a few times, but I change the subject every time. I feel the anger rising too fast. Still, we manage to have a good day filled with all kinds of shopping.

We get back to her place in the early evening with some takeaway. We eat in front of the TV, and I turn on my phone for the first time of the day. I see a message from Gabriel, sent shortly after we saw each other this morning:

"I don’t know what I did, but please talk to me. Hate me, insult me if you need to, but just talk to me. Your silence is killing me."

I nod, book an Uber, put on my shoes and jacket, and leave quickly.

“You’re waiting for me to say I should talk to him, right?”

“Yes. You need to talk to him. Right now.”

“But it’s almost 10 PM, I don’t want to bother him…” I say, trying to come up with excuses.

“Stop talking nonsense. Call a taxi and go see him.”

The ride feels longer than expected, maybe it’s just my nerves making time drag. I finally arrive at his apartment building. I take a deep breath, type in the code, and go inside. I walk up to his floor, take another deep breath, and knock on the door.

I wait a few seconds, then the door opens to reveal Gabriel with a big smile, a smile that fades the moment he sees me. Neither of us understands what’s happening, we just stare into each other’s eyes. I notice his hair is messy and his eyes are ringed with fatigue. He looks unwell, and it breaks my heart.

“Forget it. No need to explain, Gabriel. We’ll talk another time” I say, looking at him, unsure if I should start crying, kiss him, leave, or do all three at once.

“Finally, the pizza delivery guy! Come back soon, darling!” says a voice I don’t recognize. Someone passes down the hallway behind him, moving from the kitchen to the living room. My eyes follow them, then return to Gabriel.

“I didn’t know you had company, sorry” I say quietly.

“I... I didn’t know you were coming... If I had known, I would have…”

I choose the last option, before breaking down in tears or, worse, kissing him. I walk away quickly without looking back, take the stairs to go faster, and once outside, I keep walking fast without thinking where I’m going, I just want to run away. Suddenly, I hear footsteps running behind me. My blood runs cold, afraid I’m being approached by a stranger, but then I hear my name.

I turn and see Gabriel. He catches up to me and grabs my wrist, as if to make sure I’m not running away.

“He’s just a friend, nothing more. I needed to think about something else, at least for one evening. I spent the night and the day anxious, I just needed a distraction, I swear” he says.

“And I’m just a distraction too?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Apparently, I’m just a friend even though the night before you made love to me or so I thought. Maybe that was just a distraction too” I say, raising my voice little by little. I see on his face that he understands I heard his phone conversation.

“No, you’re not a distraction, and making love with you was one of the most beautiful things in my life.”

“But I’m just a friend, right?”

I spent the night at Nico’s. Gabriel and I agreed it was better if we spent the night apart to calm down on our own before seeing each other again. Luckily, we’re meeting today with the HTTYD youth group, perfect for keeping things light.

“What you heard was me trying to protect you, I assure you.”

“Protect from what, Gabriel??? I don’t understand anything!!!”

“It was an ex of mine. He’s unbearable. I’m trying to get him out of my life, but he keeps coming back. I didn’t want him to know I was seeing someone because I don’t know how he’d react. He’s too toxic. I promise you I’m telling the truth, Y/N” he says, his voice trembling, tears in his eyes.

“So you don’t consider me just a friend?” I ask, tears in my eyes too.

“Honestly, it’s been months since I considered you just a friend. I had a crush on you so fast, I don’t even know if I ever saw you only as a friend.”

“You know, it hurt so much to hear that I was just your friend because I care about you so much, way more than just in a friendly way. I thought you understood that when we made love.”

“I thought you understood too... Maybe I should have tried harder” he says, laughing softly. I laugh softly too, wipe a tear from the corner of his eye, and keep my hand on his cheek, where his beard has continued to grow since the beginning of the week.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to talk to you sooner…”

“Don’t apologize. Anger is stronger than anything else. The most important thing is that you came tonight” he says, placing his hand over mine on his cheek. He takes my hand and gently kisses it, then lets go to pull me into a hug. I hold him tightly, breathing in the scent I love so much, tears streaming down my cheeks. He softly strokes my hair, and I really take advantage of this contact to release the tension.

Sometimes my attention drifts as I listen to the others talk. I think of Gabriel beside me but still so far away. I decide to discreetly place my hand on his. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him look down at our hands and smile. I’m happy with my choice and rejoin the conversation with everyone. I feel Gabriel is more into the discussions too, like he’s more relaxed, and it makes me happy. I catch Bronwyn’s gaze, watching my hand on Gabriel’s. She smiles beautifully and winks at me. I hold back a laugh.

We all meet for a picnic in a park. When Nico and I arrive, everyone’s already there. I get a big hug from each person. Even Mason managed to come, even though he’s just passing by London. We all sit on the blanket Bronwyn brought and nibble on what Harry prepared.

I sit next to Gabriel, which is a relief because I caught his gaze once when we arrived and wanted to cry while holding him. At least sitting side by side, I’m less likely to catch his eyes. We all chat, telling stories about our lives, plans, and more. We quickly get back to our group dynamic and laugh a lot.

We decide to play a card game in teams. I’m with Gabriel, Mason with Julian, and Nico with Bronwyn and Harry. We have fun and tease each other a lot. Gabriel wins first. He leans closer to me to look at my cards and help me win. His shoulder presses against mine, and his hand rests on my hip. This sudden closeness almost makes me warm.

He whispers in my ear to play a card, which I then play.

I unfortunately lose and let myself fall backward.

“That’s cheating, Gabe! Don’t help Y/N!” Mason yells, pointing at us.

“Am I not allowed to be close to my partner?” Gabriel chuckles, making me laugh too.

“Yes, but don’t tell her what to play” Julian complains. Gabriel and I share a knowing look, and I blush from the closeness. He gently kisses my cheek and stops helping, but stays close, stroking my hip.

“NOOO! I knew I should have played the other card!!!” Everyone laughs at me, and I can’t help but laugh too. Gabriel tickles my stomach to tease me, and I quickly get up to catch him and bring him down with me.

Gabriel straightens up and helps me to stand as well. The second round goes better, I’m definitely not the last loser this time. While Julian deals the cards for the third round, I shiver a little from a gust of wind. Gabriel motions for me to come sit between his legs. I hesitate for a moment, then go for it. I lean my back against his chest, which warms me. He keeps his legs raised on either side of me so he can stay sitting and not fall backward. We pick up our cards, and he wraps his arms around me to hold them. When he’s not playing, he rests his chin on my shoulder and closes his eyes, he’s really adorable.

“YOU COULD HAVE HELPED ME WIN!!!” I say, tickling him back.

“That’s cheating! I wasn’t allowed!!!” he laughs, struggling.

“I don’t care!!!” We laugh together, tickling each other.

“Lovebirds, second round is starting!” Harry says, laughing.

After a few more rounds and as the sun slowly sets, we decide to go have drinks together. We’re at a bar that Harry and Gabriel especially like. We all order drinks, I stick to a soda, and so does Gabriel. The jokes and conversations continue here as well.

We win the round, and after celebrating, the game continues for the others. Gabriel takes advantage of having free hands to pull me close. I rest my head against his collarbone and gently stroke one of his forearms that is holding me, enjoying the moment and laughing at our friends’ silly jokes.

The wind brushes lightly against my skin, just enough to cool my flushed cheeks—the same rosy cheeks from Gabriel’s hug that keeps me warm against the breeze itself, a wonderfully pleasant cycle.

“Hey Gabe, what’s with the new look? Growing a beard now?” Harry jokes.

“I just haven’t had time to shave, that’s all,” Gabriel laughs, tossing a peanut at him.

“Well, take the time, because this is getting out of hand!”

“I don’t agree… it suits him,” I say casually, watching the others play. Harry laughs and resumes the game while Gabriel whispers in my ear.

“Really? You think it suits me?” I turn my head slightly toward him, which brings us very close.

“I like it a lot, yes. I also like it when you’re clean-shaven, of course, but with this, it add something extra.” I smile at him warmly, and he quickly kisses the corner of my lips.

“That’s sweet, but no thanks, I’ll pay for the trip myself!” I laugh and sip my drink.

This time I’m sitting across from Gabriel, at the end of the table, which doesn’t help us focus on the conversation. Several times we just look into each other’s eyes, smiling like fools. As I try to refocus on the conversation for the umpteenth time, Gabriel gently places his hand on mine on the table. I turn my head toward him and say softly:

“You’re not helping me concentrate, Howell.”

“Oops, didn’t mean to!” He winks at me, and we laugh together.

“Hey, Y/N, would you come with us to the HTTYD premiere in Los Angeles?” Mason calls out, surprising me.

“I’d like to, yes, but it depends on my schedule and my income,” I say, laughing lightly.

“Income isn’t an issue don’t worry, we’ll chip in so you can come,” Julian replies.

The evening ended faster than we expected. We all part with great sadness but try to comfort ourselves by saying we’ll do this again soon enough.

I go home with Gabriel as planned, I even brought my stuff from Nico’s place with me. We arrive at his apartment, and I’m surprised to see it’s really clean and tidy.

“Did you clean and tidy up because of me?” I say, laughing as I take off my shoes in the entryway.

“Kind of. I wanted to show you I can take care of my place,” he laughs, closes the door, sets my things on the couch, and takes off his shoes.

“You really are an incredible man,” I joke. My smile widens when I see a gorgeous bouquet of flowers in a vase on the table. I walk over and spot a small card in it.

“Open the card, it’s for you,” he says, approaching me. I take the card and open it. “Since I can’t give you my heart, I offer you these flowers. Hoping you like them as much as I like you <3” The card is signed “Yours, Gabe.” I put the card down and turn to him, smiling brightly.

He opens it and finds a drawing I made myself, already framed. He looks closely at the drawing: elements from the set, like his honey milk cup and my hot chocolate cup, his umbrella from the rainy day we got caught in the rain, his Snotlout helmet, a red dragon resembling Hookfang and other cool minimalist doodles. He sets it on the table, pulls me into a hug, holds me tight, and strokes my hair.

“I love them so much, they’re beautiful, thank you.” I gently kiss the corner of his lips. “I have a little something for you too.” I say, reaching into my bag for his gift.

“You shouldn’t have!”

“Shut up and open it! It’s not much.” I hand him the wrapped present.

“Thank you so much. It’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received, I think.”

“I’m glad you like it, I really worked hard on it!” I joke. He loosens his hold slightly to look at me, brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, and kisses me gently. I let myself go into the kiss. We kiss softly and tenderly, our hands caressing each other’s bodies like we’re discovering one another.

The kiss lingers, but we eventually pull apart. We snack a little, then take turns showering before meeting back in bed. Only a bedside lamp is lit, and we lie facing each other on our sides. As usual, I get lost in his gaze. I think back on everything that’s happened in just a few days and feel happy and reassured that it all ended well. Gabriel breaks my daydream by saying:

“The week’s going to fly by... You leave in three days already.”

“I know. I don’t want to leave either.” I place my hand on his cheek and gently stroke it.

“I don’t want to be away from you anymore, I don’t think I have the strength for it.”

“Unfortunately, your job and mine mean we’ll have to be apart often.”

“True, but that’s something we can’t change... However, in our free time, we do have a choice. Come live here with me, or get your own apartment here if you prefer, I know you love London anyway.”

“So... you’d like me to... I mean, you want me to live with you? You wouldn’t mind?” I ask to be sure I understood. Gabriel blushes a little.

I look at him, shocked by his proposal, and stammer my answer:

“I... I don’t know... It’s not nothing... Changing countries completely...”

“Don’t worry, it was just a suggestion. You can think it over if it’s a possibility for you.” He says with a reassuring smile. I nod, somewhat relieved not to have to answer right away but still surprised.

“True, I promise to fix that soon, and you promise to think about my offer?”

“I know it’s early for this, but yes, I’d really like to live with you.” He says, a little embarrassed. I decide to tease him to lighten the mood.

“You’re skipping steps, Howell! You haven’t even asked me to be your girlfriend yet!” I joke. He chuckles softly.

I laugh softly, nod, and we shake hands to seal the deal. But before letting go, he pulls me close and kisses me. I laugh against his lips and kiss him back gladly.

This morning we’re visiting an art museum. We booked a guided tour but prefer to stay at the back of the group to discuss the works together. Gabriel is really interested and interesting, I already knew that but I’m rediscovering his artistic sensitivity, and I hang on to his every word. He speaks so well about what he sees and feels facing these works. When a painting particularly moves me, I try to talk about it, but none of my words are as beautiful or descriptive as Gabriel’s that follows.

The next morning, waking up is incredibly pleasant, the outside light is gentle since it’s gray and raining, it’s neither too hot nor too cold under the blanket, and Gabriel’s arms are very comfortable. We wake up slowly, stealing kisses and caresses.

I eventually get up, hunger stronger than everything else. Once breakfast is ready and set on the table, I go back to Gabriel, who’s still dozing in bed. I sit beside him, push some hair from his face, and steal a sweet kiss.

“Breakfast is ready.”

“Waking up with you is perfect, I want only mornings like this forever.” He says in his morning voice as he gets up. We go have breakfast then get ready according to the rainy weather.

As the tour goes on, I focus more on him and his sentences than on the artworks themselves. Seeing the paintings through his eyes is even more beautiful than through mine, which I didn’t think possible, how can someone else describe so well what I feel, putting simple emotions into more beautiful words ? After almost two hours, the guide thanks us and leaves us at the gift shop. I buy two or three postcards of paintings I especially liked, then we leave to find a restaurant for lunch.

We enter the first restaurant that looks decent enough, rain forcing us to decide quickly. We order, and the meal arrives.

“I really enjoyed that visit.”

“Me too, but next time we won’t take a guide.” I nod, laughing lightly. “I saw you weren’t really interested in what the guide said, I was the only artwork that you were interested in.” He jokes.

“It’s not my fault you’re so interesting, and also very handsome.” I say, no longer daring to look up from my plate.

“And you’re really adorable.” He says, putting his hand on mine.

We stroll through London at my request, I want to see the city in the rain.

We finish eating, then continue our stroll through the city. I’m close to Gabriel, holding his arm, which holds the umbrella. We both enjoy the rainy weather, so we keep walking rather than taking public transport.

While people and vehicles seem to be in fast-forward, fleeing the outdoors, we’re in our slow-motion bubble, accepting the rush around us. The silence between us is not unpleasant, it’s natural and calming.

“It’s good to know you like the rain, it rains a lot here” Gabriel jokes.

“To be honest, I don’t really like it, but here it’s not unpleasant, it fits the city’s mood.”

“You’re not wrong! I’ve liked the rain ever since I moved here. Maybe you’ll feel the same.” He winks at me and I chuckle softly. He kisses my cheek.

We arrive at the studio quickly, luckily, and he rushes off to makeup and wardrobe. I stay with his manager and chat, taking the opportunity to apologize again for the delay. Gabriel returns to the set once ready, and I silently thank everyone who dressed him, he looks so handsome, I could probably drool. Again, he’s very natural in front of the camera, like when he plays a role in a film, and I can tell this isn’t quite him either. He takes on a more confident, darker role, and it’s very sexy.

Then his phone rings, he apologizes and answers. I see his face change, he looks a little panicked and he hangs up quickly.

“Maybe I forgot a shoot and I’m an hour late!” he says while calling a taxi. I can’t help laughing.

“Can I come with you?”

“Of course! I want everyone to know why I’m late!” he says, getting into the taxi. I get in with him.

“Because of what? Me?”

“Yes, the gorgeous woman accompanying me is the reason for my delay! I was too busy following her everywhere.” He jokes and kisses my hand. I playfully tap his shoulder, laughing.

After more than two hours, Gabriel goes back to the dressing room to change, and I chat again with his manager. We talk about Gabriel’s talent in front of the cameras. The main person joins us, stands beside me, and places his hand on the small of my back, stroking lightly.

I lose myself in watching him, every part of his body. He changes outfits and hairstyles several times, and every time he comes back, it’s like I forget how to breathe.

Sometimes he glances at me and quickly smiles, and for a few seconds, I feel like I’m back on the HTTYD set, like at the start of “us”. But now, there’s something more—desire. I want to kiss him, touch him, and for him to do the same. I want him. I want this shoot to last forever but also to end quickly so we can go back to the apartment and I can jump on the man in front of me.

“Sorry again for being late, I totally forgot,” Gabriel apologizes to his manager.

“No worries, it happens, and the team here is lovely too. The interview for this photoshoot will be next week, I’ll send you a reminder.”

“Great, thanks! Well, we should go, we still have things to do.” He says without looking at me. We say goodbye to his manager and leave.

Whether in the taxi, on the way to our seats, or during the show, Gabriel always has a hand on me as if he doesn’t want to lose me or for me to forget he’s there. It works well since every time my mind drifts away from the stage, I think about what will happen when we get home.

Night has fallen by the time we exit the building. A taxi is waiting. He holds the door for me, and I get in. He places his hand on my thigh, and I bite my lip reflexively, every touch affects me more than it should, and he notices. He places a soft kiss on my neck and whispers in my ear:

“We’re going straight to the theater, I don’t want to be late for that too.” I nod. Damn, I’d forgotten about the musical tonight; the wait is going to be even longer than I thought.

Yet when we step through the door, Gabriel doesn’t jump on me. He takes off his shoes and heads to the bathroom. While I take off mine, I hear the bath running. I join him and watch as he prepares the bath with a bath bomb, candles, and fresh towels.

The musical is really good, though I only knew its name, so it’s a pleasure to discover it more deeply. Leaving the theater and walking to the subway, we talk about it with Gabriel, he enjoyed it as much as I did, so it’s even nicer to discuss it.

When we’re just a few meters from his apartment, the conversation ends, and a certain tension builds between us, like static electricity every time our bodies brush while walking. I know he feels it too, and we’re both eager to get inside.

“I hope all this is for you and me.” He nods with a smile, then turns off the main light, leaving only the soft glow of the candles.

“Undress, I’m coming.” He says before slipping away. I obey, undress, and tie my hair up in a bun, then get into the water. I sigh in pleasure as I lie back in the bathtub.

A few minutes later, Gabriel returns with lots of snacks and wine. He places everything on a small table, sliding it next to the tub so we can reach the food. Then he undresses. I watch every move, and he clearly notices, he locks eyes with me as he sheds from his clothes.

“You’ve been looking at me like that all day,” he says, stepping into the tub opposite me. He lies back, putting my legs over him, and starts massaging my feet.

“Sorry… I can’t help it…”

“Why?” he asks, taking a sip of wine before continuing the massage.

“You’re handsome, sexy, and so interesting, I never get tired of listening to you or watching you.” He groans softly, tilting his head back.

“You could give me an erection just with your words.”

“I could give you an erection with my words and take care of it with my mouth.” I say, sitting up in the bath to kneel between his thighs, stroking his chest while gently kissing his neck. His hands roam over my back and buttocks.

“That’s very tempting… but I want to enjoy this bath first.” I give one last kiss to his chest and pull away with a gentle smile. This time I lie back against him, my back resting on his chest.

We rinse off and step out to dry. Once dry, I drop my towel to the floor and look Gabriel in the eyes. His gaze roams over me, and I feel that desire again, now too strong to ignore. I quickly move toward him and kiss him passionately, placing my hands on his cheeks. He steadies himself on the sink behind him, and his other hand on my back presses me against him. We kiss deeply, our naked bodies pressed together. Soon, I’m aroused and so is he. We break apart and rush to the bedroom.

We nibble here and there, drink wine, exchange a few words, but mostly remain silent, probably too calm to dare speak. Still, I feel something is left unsaid; I sense Gabriel isn’t telling me something, but I don’t want to force him.

After a while, he begins to wash my body, even massage certain spots. I see he’s enjoying it, so I let him. He never touches me where I want, as if he knows he’d lose control—or I would. When I wash him, I do the same, for the same reason.

He lies down on top of me as we resume our kiss. I moan feeling him hard against my entrance and can't help but rub myself against it which makes him moan as well, he takes his lips off mine to look at me as he rubs the head of his penis against my clitoris, I bite my lip so as not to moan too loudly while looking into his eyes.

"Do you want me that much?" I nod. “You've been waiting for this all day.”

"Yes, I've wanted you all day, I can't wait anymore." I said desperately.

"I'm not going to fuck you even if I really want to, I'm going to make love to you, I'm going to take such a good care of you so that you can't say no to the offer I made this morning." He says as he rubs himself against my wet vulva. I nod my head pleading and moaning.

Indeed, he will take all his time to make love to me, as I ask and as I want, he will make me come several times and in a different way. When he sees that I'm too tired to continue he stops, cleans me, gives me something to drink and then comes to hug me in the bed that we soiled for hours.

He strokes my hair while humming a melody, and I can’t help but smile at how sweet the moment is.

“I have something to ask you, Y/N.” He says almost in a whisper.

“Mhm, tell me.” I reply, pushing back sleep.

“I’ve tried several times today but couldn’t do it, so I think I just have to go for it. Would you like to be my girlfriend?” He asks with little confidence. My smile widens and I look up at him.

“I want to be your girlfriend. I want to be with you for as long as possible, until you get tired of me.” He chuckles softly, caressing my cheek.

“That’s not going to happen anytime soon. I love you too much for that.” He gives me a beautiful smile, and I realize his words—he loves me? It makes sense, since he’s asking me to be his girlfriend, but I panic a little anyway. Lost in my thoughts, unsure what to say, I decide to answer honestly and simply:

“I love you too.”

His smile grows wider and I literally melt. He kisses me gently, and I respond to his kiss. That night, we both fall asleep smiling, our hearts full of love.

That morning I wake up smiling, thinking about last night but also feeling a tightness in my chest, as today is my last full day here. Luckily, I quickly forget the downside with Gabriel’s arms around me as usual, breathing in the scent of his bare skin against mine.

“Good morning, girlfriend.” He says in his morning voice and I chuckle softly.

“Good morning, boyfriend. Did you sleep well?”

“Probably the best night of my life, yes. And you?” I nod, and he steals a kiss from me.

“Are you okay?” He asks as he finishes putting on his shoes. I swallow and nod with a smile.

We get up to have breakfast, then get ready. Gabriel has a rehearsal for his play that I’m not allowed to attend despite his requests to the director.

He’s dressed simply, but I still drool, a black t-shirt with baggy jeans, nothing amazing, but on him it’s incredible. The t-shirt fits perfectly between tight and loose, just enough to outline his pecs. He’s wearing a watch and a bracelet on his left wrist. I scan his body with attention and desire.

“Yes, why?” I say casually.

“You were lost in your thoughts.” He chuckles softly.

“Oh, uh, it’s because, uh…” I stammer, looking for an excuse.

“Don’t worry, you don’t need an excuse. I know you were just enjoying the view.” He chuckles again and gently moves closer, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear while I blush slightly. “I’m yours you know, it means you can look at me as much as you want.” He says before pressing his lips to mine.

I walk Gabriel to the rehearsal studio.

“Two hours, then we meet here, okay?”

“Yes sir! I’m going shopping while I wait!”

“Sorry again for leaving you.”

“Don’t be sorry, you don’t have a choice.” I smile gently and kiss his cheek.

“See you soon, princess.” He kisses my cheek and leaves while I wave goodbye with a big smile.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by that same man, who gives me a beautiful smile. I stand up and kiss him.

I go shopping nearby, stroll around, take photos—living the good life. I could really see myself living here, I admit. The two hours pass quickly since I’m busy. I even arrive a bit late at the studio, but luckily Gabriel hasn’t come out yet. I sit on a nearby bench and wait, scrolling on my phone.

I take the opportunity to chat with Nico and tell her Gabriel asked me to be his girlfriend and that I said yes. She’s so happy for us and already teases me about a possible wedding. I find myself blushing at those words, imagining a distant future with the man I love.

“I got us bagels and smoothies for lunch!” I say, showing him the bag of food.

“I don’t need just any woman, but mine.” I blush as he grabs me by the hips, pulling me close and kissing me again. I part my lips with his, smile at him, then we continue back to the apartment.

“Perfect! Thanks for thinking of that, I didn’t have time to do any grocery shopping.”

“See, you really do need a woman in your life.”

When we get home, we sit down to eat while watching a movie. We then settle on the couch. I snuggle against him and he puts his arm around my shoulders. It feels good to just relax a bit, I feel like I’ve been running around all week.

“I really can’t wait to see the live-action of How To Train Your Dragon”

“Why?”

“I guess I miss seeing you as Snotlout.” I say, laughing.

“But you have tons of photos and videos.”

“Yeah, but it’s you dressed as him, not really Snotlout. I can only see the real one in the movie.” I pout and he laughs.

“You want me to be more like him in real life? Acting cocky and bad at flirting?” He jokes.

“You’re already bad at flirting, don’t worry.” He makes a shocked face and tickles me.

“How am I bad at flirting?? You fell in love with me!!”

We tease each other for a long time, laughing, shouting, having so much fun that when we go back to the movie, we have to rewind because we didn’t follow anything.

“I have a thing for twinks, it’s not my fault.” I laugh harder as he tickles me more aggressively.

“You’ll regret saying that!”

After the movie we decided to put a second one on while we play some card games on the coffee table. I lose at every round and Gabe make fun of me for it so I decide to throw him off a bit to get a chance at winning :

“If I win this round, I get the right to suck your dick.” I say while looking at him straight in the eyes with a serious face, making him blush. He gulps his saliva while shaking his head yes.

“What if I win?” He asks shyly.

“Mhmmm… You’ll get the right to fuck me in the position you want” I say, this time with a beautiful smile on my face which makes him smile too.

The round end by a victory on my side and he agrees with great pleasure to let me suck him off as I asked. His moanings will always make me hot but these ones especially, They are pleading just like his gaze, I have a lot of power over him and we both enjoy it a lot. 

I don't let him come, I postpone his orgasm as long as possible which drives him crazy, he runs his hands through his hair or mine, his moans practically turn into tears, he squeals my name and begs me to let him come. I end up allowing him to do so, he comes on my cleavage and my face. I suck him until the last drop then I go to wash myself and when I come back I laugh slightly when I see which physical state Gabriel is in.

He goes to the bathroom and comes back to continue the movie. He starts to doze off and I find him adorable. I tell him to lie down with his head on my lap, and he does, slowly falling asleep while I play with his hair. I start to drift off too, and when I wake up, Gabriel is gone. I hear the shower running, so I get on my phone while I wait. It’s already 7 p.m., I leave in about thirteen hours, so little time. If I didn’t have work, I’d definitely postpone my flight.

“My poor baby, what have I put you through?” I sit next to him and gently stroke his face, which he turns towards me.

“I don’t know, but you can do it again anytime, I love it when you take care of me.”

“I love it too, you can be such a good boy when you want to.” He smiles adorably at my remark and I steal a soft kiss from him.

We eat while talking about the play he’ll be in soon, and about this morning’s rehearsal, which we forgot to debrief earlier. Once we finish, he cleans the dishes and I take the opportunity to get something from my bag. I put the little box on the counter next to him as he dries his hands.

I get up to prepare dinner with whatever I find in the fridge and cupboards. Gabriel joins me and watches me cook because I told him I didn’t need help.

“Do you want me to come with you to the airport tomorrow?”

“Of course! Every second counts.”

“I agree. He kisses my cheek. I'm going to miss you, you know that?”

“I know, and I’m going to miss you too,” I say, finishing the meal as he sets the table.

“Is this for me?” he says surprised. I nod and he takes the box and opens it. It’s a keychain shaped like a house with a heart-shaped hole in the center. He smiles and holds it carefully, reading the engraving: “My home is wherever you are.” He looks up at me, surprised.

“That means…? You’re saying yes?” he stammers. I laugh and nod.

“I want to live with you. I want to build a future with you. Here or anywhere else.”

I laugh even more and place my hands on his cheeks to make him look at me. I don’t know how to share my joy with words, so I just kiss him lovingly.

Tears come to his eyes. He pulls me into his arms and we hold each other tightly before he kisses me.

“Would you want to live here or move somewhere else?” I laugh at the rush of his question.

“I like your apartment. We can stay here for now.” He nods happily.

“I’ll make space for you in the closet and room for your decorations! We can buy new furniture if you want to change things, no problem!”

We spend the evening organizing my move and everything that goes with it. Gabriel is truly happy and it shows, he’s excited like a child. He’s really adorable and I thank whatever higher power brought me such an incredible boyfriend. I’m lucky to have him in my life and lucky he welcomed me into his. We go to bed very late, as late as possible, actually. Thankfully, we tell each other that the next time we meet, it will because I'll be moving in with him.

The next day we’re pretty quiet, probably because we realize the moment to say goodbye is fast approaching. Maybe staying silent can slow down time, who knows. Yet, when we’re at security in the airport, it feels like the week just started yesterday. It was yesterday I found Gabriel in the crowd, held him again in my arms and now here I am, holding him again but to say goodbye.

One last look. And off I go, without looking back so I don’t start crying. The words from the night before echo in my mind, a promise, a call to our future: The next time we see each other, it will be to start our life together and we’ll never be apart again. Him and me, for a long time, forever.

I breathe in his scent to memorize every note for the time we’ll spend apart. We slowly let go, still holding hands. He gently strokes mine while looking into my eyes and I lose myself in his, in that brown I’ve loved from the start and will probably never get tired of. I see sadness in his eyes and my own reflect the same. I know I have to go if I don’t want to miss my plane, but I can’t. Gabriel lets go gently and I know he’s doing it to help me leave. I softly kiss his cheek and he does the same. Then we kiss. One last kiss.

“See you soon, Y/N.”

“See you soon, Gabe.”

I hope you liked that chapter as much as I loved writting it ! If so don't forget to like, repost and comment, it really motivate me.