#something about submission and punishment and free will

[shellysturnz]

the rules ~ (femboy!chris x strict-dom!reader)

in which... cherry presents her rules to femboy!chris.

content warnings... dom/sub dynamics, talk of bdsm, 18+ mdni

“Doll, posture.” Cherry cleared her throat, her cat-eye eyeliner only adding to her sharp gaze as he waited for Chris to correct himself. The brunette boy blinked back to reality, an apology instantly coming out of his glossed lips as he straightened out his back, his bright blue eyes looking towards the woman sitting across from him, awaiting his praise. 

Cherry gave him a satisfied hum, but it was far from enough to satisfy the feminine boy sitting across from her. Though Chris chose to ignore this, a bigger question was weighing on his mind. 

“So…” He cleared his throat, pulling at the lacy hem of his skirt as he noticed your eyes on his shaven knee. “Why’d you invite me up here? Usually we just go out to eat or-” 

“Well, we’re getting serious.” Cherry shrugged, lifting a glass of wine to her lipstick-coated lips. Chris’ eyes widened, the blue brightening. “We are?” He asked happily, making her chuckle as she nodded.

“We are, Chris.” She confirmed, leaning over to look inside her designer bag. “So, there are rules I expect you to follow.” Cherry explained bluntly, “I have a reputation to uphold, in both the marketing world and the BDSM community.” 

That wasn’t a surprise to Chris, judging by the mansion, he was sitting in currently it was no secret that Cherry made a lot of money at her job. It was surprising to hear that the woman was so widely known in the BDSM community as well.

“You do?” He asked curiously, tapping his foot rhythmically against the plush rug underneath him. Cherry nodded, swirling her wine in her glass as she spoke, “I host the biggest BDSM parties on the East Cost, doll.” She informed.

Chris’ eyes went wide as saucers. 

“If you can follow my rules, be my good boy, then I would consider bringing you along, maybe giving the guests a public display of my dominatrix skills.” The woman said calmly, a direct contrast to the swarm of bees flying around inside of Chris’ stomach.

“Can you handle that pressure?” Cherry arched a brow, sending a shiver down Chris’s spine. “Y-Yes ma’am.” He gulped, hoping he could measure up to the woman’s standards.

“Alright,” Cherry smiled proudly, opening up her purse that sat next to her and taking out a stack of papers. She carefully flicked through some with her long, black acrylics before pulling out a stapled bunch and setting them onto the coffee table between the two.

Chris didn’t dare touch them before permission.

“Go ahead, read through them.” She allowed, making Chris hunch forward as he began scanning through the sheet of rules. 

1. You are mine and mine alone. No other Dom is to boss you around, command you, or pleasure you. 2. You are mine to dress up. Clothing choices will be laid out for you every morning; you are expected to maintain your hygiene to the highest standard.  3. You are to keep a journal, documenting each day as my submissive. What you do and eat, who you speak to, and what you speak about. I will read this journal every night to ensure you’re not acting out. Full honesty is expected. 4. You are free to leave the mansion as you please, but if you are summoned, you should return in no less than an hour. 5. The stoplight system will be in place throughout our everyday life, not just sex. Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go.  6. In the scenario that guests are over, you will be attentive but refrain from conversing with them unless permission is given. 7. If you think you should ask for permission before doing something, then you most likely should. 8. You are no longer in control of your own pleasure. A cock-cage will be made to fit you perfectly, and you will wear it every day. Masturbating is strictly off limits. 9. You will accept your punishments as they are. No haggling. 10. The rules can be updated as the relationship progresses, some may be reduced, some may be added.

Chris’ eyes trailed down to the bottom of the page, 

I am your master, your owner, your dom. While I may push you to try new things, I will never push past your limits. We are a team in this, I’m merely the leader. If you agree to these terms, sign here. x_____

“The choice is yours, sweetheart.” Cherry’s tone was honest, softer but no less strict. 

Chris didn’t think twice before scribbling his sloppy signature onto the parchment.

this sucks and oh ppl wanted me to start a taglist?? sooo....

@araasturns @riasturns

[seveneyesoup]

i need to make another wikipedia collage poem. this will fix me

[zaynessbeloved]

Gravity instincts - Sequel

Synopsis: You’ve been pining for Colonel Caleb in silence, hiding your feelings behind friendship and stolen glances—until one lonely day in his apartment breaks your restraint. Drowning in the scent of his shirt and the ache of unspoken desire, you give in to your need.

Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, power dynamics dominance & submission (consensual), rough sex, praise & degradation mix, possessive/obsessive behavior, use of evol, mild voyeurism (security camera), slight dubcon vibe (due to voyeurism + power dynamic—but ultimately consensual)

Pairings: Caleb x reader

Word count: 1.8

Skyhaven Command—Two Weeks Later

You weren’t trying to make him jealous. Not really.

But the new lieutenant? Young. Friendly. Too friendly. A little too casual when he asked if you were free after the mission debrief.

You laughed politely. Declined, of course. But that didn’t matter.

Because Caleb was watching.

You could feel it—his gaze like a storm cloud gathering behind your spine. He didn’t say a word during the meeting. Didn’t even look at you directly. But the second it was over?

He spoke one word.

“Office.”

His voice didn’t leave room for argument. No one questioned it when you followed.

Now you’re standing in front of his desk, still in uniform, arms crossed, trying to keep your breath even while the door hisses shut behind you.

He doesn’t speak. Not yet.

He circles behind you—slow, calculated steps echoing off the metal floor. You hear the soft click of the lock. The low hum of the privacy field activating.

And then— “You think I didn’t see him?” Caleb asks, his voice low, controlled. Too controlled. “The way he looked at you?”

Your pulse jumps.

“I said no,” you murmur, turning slightly toward him. “He just—”

“I don’t give a damn what he said.”

His hand is on your waist in an instant, spinning you around, pressing you back against the edge of his desk. He crowds into your space, and you feel it—the shift. That magnetic pull. His Evol, subtle but present, curling into the room like gravity around a collapsing star.

“You shouldn’t have smiled at him,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Not like that.”

“I wasn’t—Caleb—”

“You think I don’t know that smile?” His hand comes up to your chin, tilting it until you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You give it to me when you’re about to come.”

Your breath catches—hard.

“And he thought it meant something else.”

He leans in, mouth brushing your ear. “That makes me want to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Your knees go weak. You can feel the hard edge of his desk behind you. Feel the heat of him in front of you. And suddenly, you’re the one forgetting how to breathe.

“You wore this uniform to work,” he says, hands drifting lower, tugging at your belt. “Thinking I’d be able to behave. Thinking I’d play nice.”

Your hands find the edge of the desk behind you, gripping hard.

“Caleb,” you whisper, flushed, voice trembling, “someone could hear—”

His mouth crashes against yours.

It’s not sweet. It’s not soft. It’s claiming. Teeth, tongue, breath stolen between clenched jaws and bitten lips. And when he pulls back, you’re gasping—ruined—and his eyes are still burning.

“No one’s hearing anything,” he growls. “Not unless I want them to.”

He pushes you back onto the desk with a thud, hand already sliding between your legs, your uniform halfway undone in seconds.

“You’re going to take everything I give you,” he whispers, dragging your hips to the edge, “and then you’re going to walk out of this room with my marks on your skin.”

The edge of the desk digs into your lower back as he yanks your hips forward, pulling you flush against him. His grip is punishing—not hurting, but firm. Unrelenting. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go for even a second.

“Do you have any idea,” he hisses, “what you do to me?”

Your breath stutters as his hands slide beneath your uniform, pushing fabric aside like it offends him.

“I spent that entire meeting thinking about this cunt,” he growls, fingers dragging through your panties, already soaked. “Wondering if you were wet under that perfect uniform. If you were dripping just from being near me.”

You whimper, eyes fluttering shut.

“Don’t look away,” he snaps, his hand tightening suddenly at your throat. Not choking—claiming. His thumb presses against your pulse. “You’re going to watch me while I wreck you.”

He tears your underwear down with one swift motion—doesn’t even look at them, just tosses them somewhere across the room like they’re unimportant.

Because they are.

Only you matter now.

“You like it when I talk like this, don’t you?” he murmurs, stroking your folds with two fingers, slow and cruel. “You want me unhinged. Want me to lose control. Want to be fucked by the man who commands an entire fleet—because you know I’d burn every star in the sky if it meant keeping you mine.”

You gasp—legs trembling, body arching into him without thinking.

He pulls his belt free with one sharp tug—the clink of metal loud in the otherwise quiet office—and unzips just enough to free his cock, hard and flushed and angry with need.

“You’re going to take it all,” he says. “Every inch. And you’re not going to be quiet about it, either.”

You open your mouth to beg—but he’s already pushing inside.

One brutal thrust—deep, claiming, perfect—and your head snaps back, a sound between a cry and a moan tearing from your throat. His hand is back at your neck, holding—not squeezing, not choking—just owning. His other hand grips your thigh, forcing your legs wide open as he begins to move. Not slow. Not gentle.

Possessive.

Hard, dragging thrusts that fill you to the hilt and pull back just enough to make you feel every inch as he slams in again.

“You hear that?” he growls, voice ragged. “That’s what your pussy sounds like when it’s taking its owner.”

Your fingers claw at the desk, desperate for something to ground you.

He leans in, mouth at your ear.

“I want you to think about this,” he pants, thrusting harder now. “Next time someone looks at you. I want you to remember how you feel right now. Split open on my cock. Owned. Marked.”

Your eyes roll back as he fucks you deeper—harder—his desk shaking beneath you, the sound of skin on skin echoing off metal and glass.

You can’t hold on. You’re close—so close—but he doesn’t let up.

His hand dips between you, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, brutal circles, timed perfectly with every thrust. “You’re mine,” he growls, voice breaking. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you sob, body convulsing. “Fuck, Caleb—I’m yours, only yours—”

You come hard, body tightening around him like a vice, legs shaking violently as the orgasm slams through you like a wave.

He follows with a loud groan, burying himself deep, his cock twitching as he spills inside you, hips jerking with every pulse. His hand stays at your throat, the other holding your hip in a bruising grip—claiming you from the inside out.

Silence follows. Just your ragged breathing. The sound of your heart pounding. The weight of everything he finally let loose. Then—softer. Rough, but honest. “If anyone else looks at you like that again…”

He leans in. Kisses your jaw. Whispers it against your skin. “I’ll break their fucking neck.”

You're still breathless, trembling against his desk, thighs sticky and shaking from the intensity of it all. His cum drips between your legs, and his hand hasn't left your body—not for a second. He keeps it there, palm warm against your stomach, like he's grounding himself with your presence.

But his breath hasn't slowed. His body hasn't relaxed. And when he speaks again—his voice is low. Dangerous. Hungry.

“That still wasn’t enough,” he mutters.

You glance up, eyes wide, voice hoarse. “Caleb—”

His hand grips your jaw, thumb sliding across your bottom lip.

“You think I can just let it go?” he breathes, dark eyes glittering. “After the way he looked at you? After the way you smiled and didn’t even realize how fucking perfect you are?”

You blink up at him, flushed and ruined, barely able to hold yourself upright—and still, your body pulses at his words.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, slowly circling around to stand in front of you. “But I’m going to punish you anyway.”

You suck in a sharp breath.

“Get on your knees.”

The command slices through the air like a blade. You don’t even hesitate.

You slide off the desk, your legs still wobbly, and lower yourself to the floor in front of him. His uniform hangs open now, belt undone, pants low on his hips. He looks down at you like you’re the center of his whole goddamn universe.

His hand slips into your hair.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, wrapping the strands around his fingers. “You look so fucking pretty like this. My perfect little thing.”

You flush, thighs clenching instinctively.

He strokes himself slowly, lazily, the head of his cock already hard again. Still wet from being inside you. Still twitching with the need to claim your mouth the same way he just claimed your body.

“You’re going to open that pretty mouth,” he says, tone soft but merciless, “and take everything I give you. No whining. No flinching.”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, eyes wide.

He pauses. Then groans—wrecked.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Say that again.”

You lean forward, mouth open, eyes locked on his. “Yes, sir.”

His cock jerks in his hand.

“I should keep you like this,” he mutters, guiding himself to your lips. “On your knees in my office. Mouth full of me, so no one else even thinks about speaking to you.”

You moan softly as he pushes the tip past your lips, your tongue swirling instinctively, tasting him, taking him deeper. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your pace—but never rough. Just firm. Just enough to say, I’m in control now.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that,” he breathes, voice cracking. “You take me so well. So fucking obedient for me.”

You gag slightly when he hits the back of your throat, but he pulls back immediately, fingers brushing your cheek.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, thumb caressing your jaw. “Good girl. There you go.”

Then deeper again. Slower. Controlling every inch. He starts to thrust gently, his hips rolling forward with perfect rhythm, watching you through hooded eyes like he’s hypnotized. Like he can’t look away.

“You like this, don’t you?” he pants. “Letting me use your mouth. Letting me fuck it like it’s mine.”

You hum around him, eyes fluttering, and the vibration makes him growl.

“God, you’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he mutters, hips stuttering. “Look at you… so good for me. So mine.”

You’re drooling. Moaning. Eyes glazed and cheeks flushed—and still, you don’t stop. You want this. Want to please him. To give him everything he asks for.

And when he finally comes, it’s with a long, guttural groan—his hand tight in your hair, his body shaking, his release spilling down your throat as he murmurs, “Swallow, baby. Just like that.”

You do. You swallow everything, never breaking eye contact.

When it’s over, he drops to his knees in front of you, hands cupping your face, lips brushing yours softly—almost reverently.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again, more to himself than to you.

Then, softer. “I don’t care if it makes me crazy. I’m not letting you go.”

© zaynessbeloved 2025

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @syluslittlecrows

previous part

[22ayla21]

Can I request Amphoreus man's react to their wife calling their name in the tone they know 'they fuck up' and be send to sleep on the couch. I love men who sometimes scared of their wives.

Bonus if their children join them on the couch make them think maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

Feel free to skip and I really love your writing ❤✨

"Honey, we need to talk"

They screwed up and realized they were now sleeping on the couch.

As soon as he hears her voice, cold, even and too calm, a shiver runs down his spine. He doesn't immediately understand what he did wrong, but he knows for sure that it is not up for discussion - he screwed up. And a harsh sentence awaits him.

He doesn't even try to argue. No, seriously, Mydei is certainly a mighty warrior and one of the strongest on Amphoreus, but he gives in to his wife immediately. His best strategies are submission and attempts at rehabilitation.

When he enters the bedroom, a neatly folded blanket and pillow are already waiting for him. He sighs heavily, realizing his fate for the coming night. Maybe if he is especially nice tomorrow, he will be allowed to return to bed?

But the real blow of fate is when the children come running to him. First one, then the other. They jump on the couch, make themselves comfortable next to him. "Daddy, we are with you!" They are so confident in their support for him in exile that he doesn't even know whether to laugh or cry.

Of course, they don't do it for no reason. First, they love spending time with their father. Second, they are simply curious about what he did wrong. The children begin to whisper theories: "Maybe you forgot the anniversary?", "Or did you accidentally break something important?", "Or maybe you ate the last piece of pie that Mom saved for later?"

The most annoying thing is that sometimes they guess. And when they happily exclaim: "Aha, so it's about the pie!", he understands that his life has become more difficult at that moment. His wife, passing by, only casts an expressive glance at him. He makes pitiful puppy eyes, but she already knows all his tricks. Not today, darling.

In the end, he resigns himself. He hugs the kids, wraps them in a blanket, and thinks that maybe this night on the couch wasn't so bad. But the next day, he does everything he can to earn forgiveness. Breakfast in bed, compliments, apologies - the whole package. And if he's lucky, he'll spend the next night in their shared bed, not in exile.

When his wife says his name in a certain tone – calm, but with such a hidden subtext that even the animals in the house tense up – Anaxagoras immediately understands: he has screwed up big time. Of course, he could object, try to defend his position, but no... He is too smart to push. Better to take the sofa in advance.

While he settles on the sofa, he thinks about what exactly he did wrong. Maybe he forgot something important? Or went too far in an argument? Or accidentally broke something that his wife valued again?

The children, noticing that their father is sleeping on the sofa, drag their pillows and blankets with smiles, settling down next to him. They say that they just don’t want him to feel lonely, but Anaxa suspects that they just like watching him being “punished”.

As they lie in the darkness, the children whisper: “Daddy, what did you do?” Anaxa is proudly silent – even if he himself is not entirely sure. But if his youngest son hugs him and says: "I still love you, dad," he feels a little better.

In the morning, his wife passes by, watching the "couch meeting" with a slight smile. The irony is that she is not surprised – she already knew that the children would be on their father's side. The next day passes under the sign of reconciliation: flowers, favorite sweets, hugs. In the end, he values his wife and does not want to sleep on the couch for long.

However, sometimes he still forgets and again finds himself in exile on the couch. But this is only part of family life – and he does not mind, because now he knows that he has allies in the form of children.

As soon as he heard his wife calling his name in a low, dangerously calm voice, everything inside him sank. He immediately understood that something had gone wrong. He turns around and sees her: crossed arms, slightly narrowed eyes and this expectant silence. No screaming, no emotion - and this is much more frightening.

A list of all his actions today scrolls through his head. Where did he screw up? What exactly did he do? Or, even more frightening, what didn’t he do?

He tries to justify himself, but her slight nod towards the sofa immediately makes him resign himself. A deep sigh, a proud bow... and a slow retreat to his place of exile.

When he has already settled down on the sofa, first one child appears next to him, then the second.

“Is mom very angry?” the eldest whispers.

“Will she forgive you?” the middle one asks.

Phainon only sighs and hugs them both.

It looks pathetic, but cozy in its own way. In the end, he lies on the couch with a couple of children's heads on his chest, knowing that at least he won't suffer alone. In the morning, when the wife sees this picture - her husband and children sleeping peacefully on the couch - her anger softens slightly. Maybe he has a chance to get his place in the bed back... but he may have to work a little more to atone for his guilt.

[esmeefreckles]

Competition | Alexia Putellas x Caroline Graham Hansen x reader

+18 SMUT MINORS DNI

ALEXIA G!P. CARO G!P. BLOWJOB. ANAL SEX. RIMMING.

"Okay, take them off." You commanded your girlfriends, Caro and Alexia, who did as they were told and pulled their pants down, freeing their cocks. 

The eroticism of the situation already kept them rock hard, and you reached out to hold them in each hand, hearing them sigh at your touch. Smiling mischievously, you pulled them a bit closer and pressed the tips of their cocks together, making a spark of pleasure run through them. "Are you both sure you don't want to back out?" you asked, feeling even more excited after seeing the visible reaction that their bodies gave at the act. Both of them confidently shook their heads, ready to endure anything.

You loved both of your girlfriends equally, and they would never doubt it. You knew that they loved you just as much. Even though both of them respected and cared about each other, it didn't stop them from being very competitive, always arguing about who was better at pleasing you, and trying to prove that they were the better one. You were definitely not going to complain about it, as you found this rivalry of theirs to be so hot. You wanted to see how far they were willing to take it.

And so, you waited for the next moment where you three were all together, your girlfriends already undressing you and planting kisses all over your neck and collarbone, and before you could get carried away by it, you spoke up. "Wait..." As soon as you said that, both of them pulled away from you and stared at you with a mix of curiosity and concern, making your heart melt as you said your next words. "I have a proposition for you two. I want to do something new, and I want to see who would be able to last longer," you stated, already seeing the intrigued look that you thought they would give, as they would not want to miss an opportunity to prove who has better endurance in bed.

"I'm always down for that. And what will be Caro's punishment once she loses?" Alexia asked, making you laugh at the small growl that came out of Caro.

"Whoever loses... will have their ass on the line."

Their eyes widened, and you could see the range of emotions flickering across their faces, being able to tell that neither of them wanted to show submission to the other, but backing down from a challenge would be weak in their eyes.

After a moment of silence, Alexia huffed and gestured in Caro's direction. "Is that it? Do you really think I would be scared of that? Might as well have her bend over for me right now."

Caro scoffed in response. "Oh, as if you would last longer than me. You can barely hold your load the moment you enter her."

Alexia turned to Caro's direction with an expression of challenge but smirked and crossed her arms. "Hmpf, let's see about that then. I've always wondered what you would look like with my cock deep inside of you..."

The smirk was returned tenfold. "Then you will keep wondering. I will accept as well, but don't come crying later when you find out that you're addicted to taking it up the ass."

You smiled, and after you made them undress themselves, you made Alexia lay on her back on their bed while Caro straddled her hips. Caro's cock was now on top of Alexia's, and that sight was affecting you just as much as you knew it was affecting them, even if they were trying to not let any sound escape them. But you wanted more, you wanted them to fully voice how good they were feeling without caring about looking weak to the other, so you finally grabbed both of their cocks together, earning two simultaneous gasps, and after a moment of feeling how hard and warm the shafts were against each other in your gentle grip, you began the slow rhythm of her hand while occasionally squeezing them tightly, making their groins burn pleasantly together. You could clearly see the way they were struggling to control their breathing as you rubbed them together, "How is it so far?"

"It's f-fine for me. I can't say the same for her." Alexia answered, though her voice and breathing were noticeably more strained than usual.

"...This is nothing," Caro growled, even though you could see how her hips were jerking and felt the twitches in her dick.

"Hmm... really? I guess I can do this, then." You teased while quickening the pace of your strokes, and you were delighted to hear that your girlfriend's grunts were now turning into louder groans while your hand kept pumping them both faster and faster. You couldn't hold your own moans at this act, secretly hoping they would allow you to do this many more times from now on, and when you saw the precum on their tips, you stilled your hand for a moment and brought the other to Alexia's tip, gathering the droplet of precum that was dribbling out of it with a finger and slowly spreading it all over Caro's cockhead, as Caro gives a surprised moan at the sensitiveness.

"Fu- Fuuuck..." Caro gasped.

Alexia was also giving you a surprised, but aroused look, her eyes rolling back when you jerked them again with both hands this time, the gliding of your strokes being aided by their precum, and by now, Caro and Alexia had no hesitation in letting their voices out as they approached their climaxes, both women starting to rock their hips alongside your motions like they forgot all about the punishment. With their cocks twitching madly in your hands, you knew it would only be a matter of time before they couldn't hold it anymore, and you wondered who was going to shoot first.

"Fuck!".

To your surprise, it came from Alexia, her cock erupting on her torso while she groaned helplessly with every blast of cum that came out. The insistent throbbing of Alexia's cock set off Caro as well, her own load shooting out on top of Alexia's while she tried to keep her balance as her body trembled with pleasure, all while you kept stroking them through their orgasms, coaxing even more cum and moans out of them. Eventually, they had nothing left to give at the moment, and as Alexia closed her eyes and recovered from how surprisingly intense that orgasm was, she felt you releasing your grip on them while the weight on her body disappeared, so Alexia opened her eyes to see them staring at her, with Caro giving her an infuriating smirk through her own panting.

"Well, well, well, it appears that someone lost. You do remember what comes next, don't you?"

Alexia grits her teeth at her current mixed feelings, being disappointed that she didn't last longer than her girlfriend while her body betrayed her by feeling excited at the thought of her punishment, but she didn't let that show and hung her head low. "You're right. I lost. I accept my punishment."

Caro rolled her eyes in amusement and chuckled when Alexia yelped after you suddenly grabbed her legs and pushed them up in the air.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's not going to feel like a punishment, trust me," you said, your mouth immediately delving into Alexia's exposed anus, drawing another yelp from her at the sparks that ran through her body.

It wasn't the first time you had done this, but it was never to help prepare for an intrusion, and as Alexia tried to ignore that tongue assault on her ass, Caro kneeled on the bed next to her head, positioning her still erect dick next to her face and looking down at her with an expectant look. "I didn't agree to this."

"I know, but if it will make for an easier entry..."

Alexia growled again and swallowed her pride, turning her head to the side and opening her mouth to allow Caro to push her cock inside.

"Ooh, I always wanted to do this..." Caro moaned out, starting a slow rhythm inside of Alexia's mouth, who felt shocked at her girlfriend's admission that she wanted to be sucked by her. Even though Alexia herself would never admit this to them, she also had similar thoughts, sometimes fantasizing about running her tongue all over Caro's cock, and now that she was actually servicing it with her mouth and enjoying that act, she briefly wondered about how this would change their relationship before their stimulations were starting to overwhelm her.

Between your rimjob and Caro slowly fucking her throat, Alexia knew that her cock was at full mast again, with another orgasm not being far behind, and when Caro felt the vibrations of Alexia's increasing moans on her cock, she pulled away, slapping her wet cock on those lips a few times for good measure, and walking to your side while smirking again. "Uh-uh, you'll only get to finish again when I fuck it out of you."

Alexia glared at Caro to try and mask how turned on that made her as you took your tongue out of Alexia’s asshole and watched intently as Caro lined herself with it, the three women hissing when it went inside.

"My lord, what a tight hole... I'll make sure to not let it stay that way moving forward," Caro grunted as she pushed herself to the hilt.

"Hmm... I can't wait to see that... I love you two..." you breathed out, and Alexia kept her mouth sealed shut to avoid making any sound.

The stretch was much less painful and a lot more pleasurable than Alexia imagined, and as Caro moved, she covered her face with her arm to not show her reactions, enduring the pounding she was receiving as unresponsive as she could until the cock inside her hit a sensitive spot that accidentally made a small cry come out of her throat, something that was noticed by its owner.

"Hmm, what's the matter? Did this feel good?"

"S-Shut up." Alexia weakly rasped out as Caro continued thrusting into that spot. Even though she was trying not didn't want to admit how she was feeling, the three women knew it anyway, the twitches of her drooling erection and the tremors in her body being clear indications. Alexia grit her teeth and tried to control her heavy breathing before she felt a mouth on her chest and a hand on her dick, and she removed her arm from her face to see you sucking one of her breasts while Caro stroked her. 

"W-What are you two... doing!" Alexia began, but her speech dissolved into a stream of moans at those new sensations. With your mouth on her nipple while your hand pinched the other and with Caro accelerating even more the pace of her strokes and her thrusts, stretching her even further, there was no way for Alexia to hold back her reactions and her orgasm anymore, and after a particularly hard thrust from Caro, her body stiffened and she once again unloaded all over herself, the spurts almost hitting you with the rest dribbling on Caro's still pumping hand.

Caro smiled in satisfaction as she watched Alexia cum while being fucked, and she decided to join in by hitting herself and painting her insides with her load. "Take it!" She groaned, the feeling of coming inside her girlfriend while the hole she was inside became even tighter made this one of the biggest loads of her life, and when it finally ended, Caro sighed as she pulled away from the stretched entrance with her seed leaking out of it.

After Alexia recovered, she rubbed her eyes with her hands and debated whether or not to look at Caro to see the victorious smirk she would be wearing, finally deciding to glance at her and have her suspicions confirmed.

"What a mess you made. I always knew that you would love getting fucked by me, and now, both of you know that too." Caro smirked while lapping up Alexia's cum that landed on her hand, and she growled quietly.

Being there, leaking cum, while Caro tasted her release after fucking it out of her, Alexia felt ashamed for letting this happen to her, and with a determined look, she got up from the bed and walked up to Caro, who raised one eyebrow at her sudden closeness. Caro didn't need to wait long as Alexia then surprised all of them by grabbing Caro's face and pulling her into a kiss, Caro eagerly kissed back while holding Alexia's hips, both of them sharing the taste in their mouths while all of the cum from today on Alexia's torso now smeared on Caro's. 

After making out for a moment, Alexia broke the kiss and looked deep into Caro's eyes. "Next time, you'll be the one bending over for me."

Caro raised her brows, but then lightly chuckled and smiled softly. "I'll be waiting then. But I warn you, I won't give it to you that easily."

"Hmm, I wouldn't want you to." Alexia breathed and took Caro's lips again, all while you stared in fascination.

It was a very rare treat to see your girlfriends interacting like this, let alone eagerly swapping spit with each other, and as you watched the sword fighting going on down there while they made out, you finally remembered your own arousal, forgetting all about it during the heated competition. Bringing a hand to your panties, it was no surprise that they were already drenched. A moan escaped you as you caressed herself, and a quick glance at your girlfriends made her freeze, both of them now staring at you with hunger in their gazes, with Caro speaking up to Alexia. "I think we already let someone have her fun today. Wouldn't you say that she needs her own punishment?"

"I agree," Alexia responded, and you laughed awkwardly.

"Heh heh... D-Don't say that, it's not like you two didn't enjoy it too!" you tried to argue, but there was a big smile on your face as they approached her, and you made no move to resist their touches, already thinking about what could be the next competition.

One thing was for certain, you knew they would be looking forward to it just as much as you.

[adelliet]

Joel Miller x f!reader

TEACHER'S PET

Summary: You, as always, didn't do your homework, so you got detention. But, what starts as a punishment turns into a secret, obsessive game of power and lust, that you will not forget.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, teacher/student relationship (both characters are adults), dominant/submissive dynamics, nicknames (slut, sweetheart, …), fingering, multiple orgasms, oral sex (male receiving), praise kink, unprotected sex (piv), creampie, school-setting tension, little angst!Joel

A/N: Hii! I hope you'll like this story/smut! If you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

It’s just another school morning.

You’re walking down the hallway with your best friend Maya. She’s grinning like an idiot, nudging you with her elbow as she sips iced coffee from a reusable cup.

“Try not to cum the second he walks in, okay?” she teases, half-whispered, half-laughing.

You roll your eyes with a snort, cheeks warming instantly. “You’re so dumb,” you mumble, but the corner of your mouth can’t help twitching into a smile. Because yeah… she’s not exactly wrong.

Joel Miller.

Your new literature teacher. Only two months in, and you’re already a mess. He teaches with that deep, Southern drawl, his voice rough like gravel and honey, and God help you, the man reads poetry like it’s a sin.

Every class with him feels like you’re being edged intellectually and emotionally. And maybe a little physically too. You walk into the classroom, and it’s all downhill from there.

You drop your bag by your desk and sit down, already distracted before class even starts. The room is buzzing with chatter, people rustling papers, unzipping backpacks, getting ready. You? You’re just staring at the door, waiting.

And then it happens. The bell rings and the door opens. There he is.

He steps inside with that signature calmness, a worn leather messenger bag slung across one shoulder, sleeves rolled just past his elbows, revealing strong, veined forearms dusted with dark hair. The cotton of his shirt clings to his chest in all the right places, and the way he adjusts his glasses as he looks around the room? Unholy.

Your core pulses. Just from looking.

He walks slowly to the desk, every step like a magnetic pull. His boots hit the floor with a muted thud, his posture relaxed but confident. That salt-and-pepper beard is trimmed perfectly, shadowing the line of his jaw you’ve stared at one too many times during his lectures.

You don’t hear a single thing he says. Because you’re not listening.

You’re watching his fingers. Those thick, skilled fingers, uncap a pen and jot something down on the board. You wonder what they’d feel like tugging your hair or gripping your thighs or—

You blink, cheeks burning.

“Okay, folks. Take out your homework,” Joel says, his voice a velvet command.

Only when zippers and rustling bags start echoing around the room, you snap, blinking back to reality. Shit.

You turn toward Maya, panic flashing in your eyes.

“You did the homework, right?” she whispers, pulling her sheet from her folder.

“I—” You hesitate. You had every intention of doing it. You thought about it, you really wanted to impress him, wanted to do well in his class. But something came up and then it slipped out of your mind.

You’re fucked.

Your fingers fidget. You chew the edge of your nail. Your leg bounces nervously beneath the desk. He’s making his way around the room, collecting the papers one by one. And then he’s at your desk, right in front of you.

He reaches for Maya’s assignment without a word, his body angled slightly toward you, and you can smell him—woodsy cologne, leather, coffee. Something warm and addictive. He leans closer.

“Y’got yours?”

You look up at him, eyes wide, your mouth suddenly dry. He’s so close. Close enough that your skin prickles, close enough that the heat of his body almost brushes your cheek. His gaze stays neutral, unreadable, but his jaw’s tense.

“I… I’m sorry. I meant to do it but something came up and I forgot.”

He exhales through his nose, gaze flicking toward the classroom window like he needs a second not to react. His voice is calm, but tight.

“That’s not the first time, is it?”

You flinch a little. It’s true, you've forgotten a few homeworks lately, too caught up in him to function properly.

“You’ll stay after. Detention.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “W-What? I’ll do it tonight—I’ll hand it in tomorrow, I swear, just—please, I have plans after school—”

He’s already moving on to the next desk without reaction, without argument, just: “Detention.”

You slump back in your seat, humiliated. Maya covers her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“Someone’s gonna be suckin’ Miller’s cock,” she teases under her breath. You elbow her, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”

But even through the sting of frustration and embarrassment, a little part of you, the part currently wondering how he’ll look at you when the classroom is empty and quiet and the lights are low, kind of… doesn’t mind.

Time alone with the hottest, most captivating teacher in the whole damn school? Doesn’t sound so bad.

You didn’t hear a single word for the rest of the class.

Not because the room was quiet—Joel’s voice still echoed, low and steady, through the lecture hall—but because your focus was completely consumed by him.

Every movement he made felt deliberate, magnetic. The way his broad shoulders moved beneath the fabric of his shirt. The subtle flex of his fingers as he turned a page or tapped chalk against the board. Even the faint lines at the corners of his mouth as he spoke, as if every sentence was backed with some deeper thought he wasn’t sharing.

Your thighs pressed tightly together beneath your white summer dress, a subconscious attempt to anchor yourself, to not let the heat building between your legs take over your mind completely.

The fabric of the dress, light and barely grazing your skin, didn’t help. It clung in places it shouldn’t, and the warmth of the room—or was it just him—had your skin tingling, oversensitive, alert.

You shifted in your seat, squeezing your legs together again when you saw him adjust the cuff of his sleeve, revealing more of his forearm.

Something about that simple act made your breath catch. It wasn’t just attraction. It was need, raw, irrational, impossible to ignore. Your chest rose and fell in shallow waves, your core pulsing with every stolen glance you dared to take. There was something primal about the way he commanded space. And you felt it everywhere.

When the bell finally rang, it startled you back to the present like a sudden jolt. The rest of the students began to gather their things, rustling bags and murmuring to each other. You blinked, hands reaching for your notebook in slow, distracted motion. Your pulse was still racing.

You and Maya were halfway to the door when his voice cut through the air like velvet wrapped in iron.

“Don’t forget—detention.”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

His tone wasn’t raised, but it held an edge. Stern, direct, laced with authority. But it didn’t scare you. Quite the opposite. It hit something deep inside you, something that made your knees go weak and your breath hitch in your throat. The heat that had been simmering all class long flared suddenly, dangerously. You could barely look at him, not with the way his eyes brushed over you, steady, unreadable, as if he already knew what kind of thoughts were spinning in your head.

Beside you, Maya let out a soft laugh and nudged your side. “Girl, get your face under control.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but you weren’t. Not even close.

Later, at lunch, Maya sat across from you at your usual table, smirking into her salad.

“You’re gonna combust,” she said, pointing her fork at you. “I swear, you looked like you were about to pass out when he said ‘detention.’ You okay?”

“No,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m not. I’m—”

“Thirsty,” she offered helpfully.

You peeked at her through your fingers. “Do you think… if I actually had a shot—like, a real one—to blow him, should I take it?”

Maya choked on her water.

“Oh my god,” she coughed, laughing. “You did not just say that.”

You leaned back in your chair, flushed and breathless. “I mean, I wouldn’t actually do it. Probably. Maybe…I don’t know! It’s just, he’s Joel Miller. Have you seen his hands? The way he talks?”

“Yeah, and the way he gives you detention,” Maya teased. “Which, by the way, I think you’re secretly looking forward to.”

You stared down at your tray, heart still fluttering like it hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of you. Because truth be told… she wasn’t quite wrong.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Every class felt like static noise in the background—your mind already stuck on what awaited you at the end. Detention. With him.

By the time the halls emptied and the last bell rang, your heart was racing like you were heading into something forbidden. You walked slowly, deliberately, each step echoing down the corridor, your palms slightly clammy as you pushed open the classroom door.

Joel was already there, seated at his desk with a few papers in front of him. He was reading something, brow furrowed, his fingers absently rubbing against his lower lip—a gesture so casual and yet so… distracting.

The door creaked as it closed behind you, and his head lifted. His eyes found yours in an instant, dark and unreadable, and he gave a slight nod toward the desk closest to the front. “Sit,” he said simply, and you obeyed.

You didn’t say a word as you settled into the chair, trying not to let your dress ride up too high. It was hot today. It wasn’t your fault that the short summer dress made your skin feel electric, or that your thighs kept brushing when you crossed your legs.

Joel stood up, approached slowly, and stopped at the edge of your desk. He looked down at you, voice calm but firm. “Do you even know what the assignment was?”

You hesitated, already knowing the answer was no. Your mouth parted to form something, anything—but he exhaled, frustrated, and slapped a sheet of paper onto your desk.

“The prompt,” he said, “was to write about your greatest desire. In poetic form. Minimum of two hundred and fifty words. You’ll sit here until it’s finished… and until I think it’s good enough.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

He arched a brow. “You heard me.”

Then he turned and returned to his desk, sitting back down with a controlled calm that made your stomach clench.

You stared at the blank page for a while, your mind swimming—not with words, but with him. Then you looked up at him and thought about his voice. His scent. The way his forearms looked with those sleeves rolled up. The veins in his hands. The line of his throat when he tipped his head back.

And then it hit you.

Words started flowing faster than you could think. Line after line, vivid and raw, filled the page. You didn’t filter. You couldn’t. It was as if something had broken loose in you—this quiet, desperate longing you’d been carrying for weeks, now shaping itself into metaphor and pulse-heavy confession.

Every so often, you looked up, and sometimes his eyes were already on you. Not for long. Just fleeting moments, but they ignited sparks all the way down your spine. And when your eyes locked, you had to squeeze your thighs together beneath the desk, trying to contain the wave of warmth rushing through you.

Finally, when you’d scrawled the last word and your hand trembled from how fast you’d written, you stood up, gripping the paper tightly. Every cell in your body screamed that this is insane, and yet… you were already crossing the room.

Little did he know, that you wrote about your sexual desire for him. You described it in detail, poetically, what would you like to do to him and how, as well as what would you like him to do to you.

He looked up as your shadow passed over his desk. His brow arched again. “That was quick.”

You didn’t answer. You just handed it to him.

Joel leaned back slightly, eyes shifting down to the paper in his hand. He lifted it slowly, his fingers brushing over the edges, and brought it closer to his face. He didn’t read aloud. But you watched, his expression change with every line. The tightening of his jaw. The flicker in his eyes. The stillness that suddenly overtook him.

Then… his gaze lifted to yours.

And it was different now. Heavy. Tense. You felt the weight of his stare everywhere—on your skin, in your breath, between your legs. It was first time he saw your outfit and he really scan you.

“This,” he said lowly, voice edged with something he was trying hard to suppress, “is inappropriate.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to cross a line…”

He stood up. Slowly. The scrape of the chair against the floor made your whole body flinch. He took a step toward you—close, but not quite touching.

“Stand there,” he said.

His voice had dropped an octave. Controlled. Commanding. You moved around the desk to stand where he’d pointed—his spot. Joel placed your paper on the desk, smoothing it with his palm.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. And neither did you. The air between you was charged, electric, so heavy it felt like gravity had doubled.

His expression was stern, serious, eyes narrowed with a fire that made your knees feel weak. He set a pen down on the desk next to your writing and said in a low, firm voice, “Cross out anything inappropriate.”

You nodded, swallowing hard, and leaned over the desk. Your white dress brushed softly against your thighs as you bent forward, exposing just enough of yourself to feel the shift in the air behind you. You knew he was still standing close—too close. You could feel the weight of his gaze pressing into your back, burning through the thin fabric like sunlight.

You feel him before you even hear him—his hand brushing against the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate. Goosebumps rise instantly, your spine tensing as heat coils low in your stomach. The pen trembles slightly in your hand.

“C'mon, keep going” Joel mutters, voice low, rough, but there’s something else in it, something darker. Teasing. Dangerous.

His fingers trail higher, grazing the hem of your dress, then slipping just beneath it. Your breath catches, and you grip the edge of the table harder.

Your eyes locked on the ink-stained paper in front of you, even though the words blur under your gaze. His hand slides between your thighs, calloused fingertips moving up your inner thigh slowly, torturously. “You’re too distracted. Maybe I should teach you how to really pay attention.”

You bite your lip hard as his fingers press gently against your underwear—just enough to make your hips twitch, not enough to satisfy anything. You can feel the smirk in his voice without even turning to look.

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “You gonna cross that out or keep pretending you’re some innocent little thing?”

Your hand moves shakily, red pen dragging a line across the paper, but your mind isn’t on the words anymore. It’s on his fingers, teasing at the edge of the fabric, sliding it to the side—just enough for him to slip between.

When he finally slides your panties aside, the first brush of his fingertips against your bare heat pulls a sharp breath from your lungs. You tense, the sensation electric—like a jolt low in your belly that travels down to your thighs. His touch is light at first, teasing, as if he wants to savor every second of this new power he holds over you.

“Already wet for me,” Joel murmurs, almost to himself, but loud enough that you hear it—and feel your face burn with heat. You don’t move, don’t speak. You’re completely frozen, except for the way your hips shift back just slightly, begging without words.

His index finger slides on the surface of your folds, slow and deliberate. He traces you from bottom to top, gathering your slick, then circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your knees tremble. He doesn’t rush. He wants to feel every twitch, every reaction—wants you to know you’re under his control.

You whimper when he presses down more firmly, rubbing slow, torturous circles. Your hands grip the table harder, knuckles white, breath shaky. He watches the way your body responds—the way you arch into his hand without even realizing it.

Then he slides a finger inside you.

The stretch makes you gasp. He moves it carefully, deliberately curling it just enough to brush against that sensitive spot deep inside. Your legs shake as he sets a rhythm—steady, unrelenting. Then comes the second finger, thicker, deeper. You moan, softly, head dropping as your body clenches around him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his free hand gripping your hip to hold you steady. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

Each thrust of his fingers is slow but deep, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The wet sounds between your legs grow louder, obscene, echoing through the quiet room. His thumb finds your clit again, rubbing tight circles in sync with the rhythm of his fingers plunging in and out of you.

Your body is fire—hips jerking, thighs quivering, mouth open with desperate little gasps you can’t hold back.

“You close?” he mutters, leaning in so his voice rumbles right against your ear. “Gonna come all over my fingers, sweetheart?”

You nod helplessly, barely able to form words.

And then he speeds up, fingers moving faster, thumb harder, and it’s too much. The pressure bursts all at once. You cry out as the orgasm rips through you, your muscles tightening around his fingers, your body shaking uncontrollably. Joel doesn’t stop, not until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and breathless, collapsing against the table, legs barely holding you up.

He finally pulls his fingers out, slow and dripping, and brings them to his mouth—sucking them clean with a low groan.

“You taste even better than I imagined.”

You’re still trembling when he steps back, his belt already undone, jeans pushed down just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, already hard from watching you fall apart under his touch. He’s looking at you like you’re a feast, like you were made just for this.

You straighten slowly, legs shaky, and turn to face him. Your eyes drop to the way he strokes himself lazily, precum glistening at the tip. You swallow hard. He raises an eyebrow at you, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“You starin’, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice thick with arousal. “You want it?”

You nod, stepping closer, sinking to your knees without breaking eye contact. Joel hisses through his teeth when you do.

“Good girl,” he says lowly. “Knew you’d look perfect down there.”

Your fingers wrap around the base of him, and he’s so hot and heavy in your hand that it makes your core clench again, already aching for more. You run your tongue along the underside, slow and teasing, tasting the salt of his skin. He groans, hand falling to your hair, not pushing—yet—but guiding.

You swirl your tongue around the tip, licking up the precum, and then you take him in—just the head at first, letting your lips stretch around him. He growls softly, head tipping back.

“Fuck, feel so good.”

The praise makes your thighs press together instinctively. You take him deeper, slow but hungry, feeling him stretch your throat. He’s big—almost too much—but you want it. You need it. His hand tightens in your hair when you hollow your cheeks and start to bob your head, setting a steady rhythm.

“Atta girl,” he grunts. “Doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

You hum around him, sending vibrations down his shaft, and he groans, bucking his hips forward just slightly. Your eyes water, but you don’t stop—you want him to use you. His breathing turns ragged as you take him deeper, faster, spit dripping down your chin, your hand stroking what your mouth can’t reach.

“Look at you,” he growls, gaze locked on yours. “On your knees, takin’ my cock like a good little slut.”

That makes you moan—so much so that your eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed by the need to please him. He twitches in your mouth, and his grip tightens.

“Shit—keep goin’. I’m close,” he breathes. “Gonna come down your throat. You want that?”

You nod with him still inside you, eyes wide, desperate.

“Then take it,” he snarls. “Take every fuckin’ drop.”

With a final thrust of his hips and a broken groan, he comes—hot and thick, spilling onto your tongue. You swallow quickly, not wanting to waste a single bit, your lips still wrapped tightly around him until he jerks from the overstimulation.

When you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, he’s staring down at you with a mix of hunger and admiration.

Before you can even wipe your mouth, Joel grabs you by the waist and hauls you up like you weigh nothing. You gasp, caught off guard, hands flying to his shoulders as he turns and slams you down onto the table. Papers scatter everywhere.

“You think you can just sit there in that little dress,” he growls, pushing your knees apart with rough, determined hands, “actin’ like a tease, not do your goddamn homework properly—”

He yanks your panties down your thighs and tosses them aside.

“—and not get fucked for it?”

You don’t get a chance to answer.

He lines himself up and pushes in with one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch makes you cry out, your nails digging into the wood of the table as your body adjusts to his size. He doesn’t give you time. His grip on your hips tightens as he pulls back and slams into you again, the force jolting the table beneath you.

“This what you needed, huh?” he grunts, voice sharp with control. “A hard fuck to teach you how to focus?”

“Mr. Miller—fuck!” you moan, your words barely coherent, back arching as he pounds into you, fast and brutal, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the room.

“Yeah,” he breathes, leaning over you, his mouth at your ear. “You take my cock like a goddamn champ, baby. So tight—so fuckin’ wet for me.”

Every thrust hits deep, dragging against that sensitive spot inside you, making your thighs tremble, your breath coming out in frantic, broken gasps. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head against the table, fully owning every inch of you.

“You gonna be a good girl next time?” he growls. “Do your fuckin’ homework when I tell you?”

You whimper, nodding, barely able to speak. He smirks, slamming into you harder.

“Say it.”

“I—I’ll be good,” you gasp. “I’ll do it, I swear—”

“That’s more like it.”

He releases your wrists and lifts one of your legs higher over his shoulder, changing the angle—and suddenly he’s even deeper, hitting spots that make your vision blur. You cry out, eyes rolling back, fingers clawing at the table’s edge as he keeps going, unrelenting.

“You feel that?” he hisses. “That’s me teachin’ you a lesson.”

You can feel your orgasm building again—hot and fast and uncontrollable. Joel sees it in your face, in the way your body clenches around him, and he grins darkly.

“Gonna come again, aren’t you?” he mutters. “Such a desperate little thing. Come on, baby. Come all over my cock.”

And just like that, you shatter—legs shaking, mouth open in a silent scream, your body pulsing around him. Joel groans low and guttural as you tighten around him, and a few rough thrusts later, he’s coming too—filling you with a hot rush of release, staying deep inside as your bodies collapse together on the desk.

He rests his forehead against yours, both of you breathless, sweaty, completely spent.

“Now that,” he mutters with a smirk, “is how you learn.”

The next morning, your thighs are still sore.

You try not to limp into class, but Maya clocks you the second you slide into the seat next to her. She leans in, eyes narrowing.

“So…” she hums, “how was detention?”

You glance at her, trying for casual—but the moment your lips twitch into a smile, it’s over. Maya gasps so loudly that a few people in the rows ahead of you turn their heads.

“Oh my god. YOU FUCKED JOEL MILL-”

You lunge across the desk, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“Are you crazy?” you hiss, eyes wide. “Do you wanna shout it louder, maybe let the principal know too?”

Maya yanks your hand away, but her eyes are dancing, her voice lowered now to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t you dare lie to me. I saw your face. You’re glowing. Like post-orgasm, wrecked-for-life glowing.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin. “Shut up.”

She gasps again, this time softer, leaning even closer. “You fucked him! You totally—oh my God. You and Professor Tall, Dark, and Growly?”

You’re already blushing. She fans herself dramatically.

“Okay, details. I want everything. Was it hot? Was he rough? Does he growl the way he does in class?”

Your cheeks burn hotter. “Maya—”

“He totally does, doesn’t he? God, I knew it. That man is sex personified. Did he make you come with just his—”

“Jesus Christ, Maya!”

She stifles a laugh. “Sorry, sorry! I’m just… I’m happy for you. That’s like… forbidden fantasy dreams fulfilled. You’ve had a crush on him since the first lecture, babe.”

You look down at your desk, smiling like an idiot. “Yeah. And now I can’t stop thinking about it. About him.”

Before Maya can reply, the classroom door opens. And there he is.

Joel Miller. Same flannel, same boots, same deep, intimidating presence—but now all you can see is yesterday. His fingers buried inside you, your knees on the table, the weight of him pounding into you like he owned your body. Your thighs press together involuntarily.

He strides to the front of the room, placing his notes on the desk. Your eyes trail over his hands, remembering how rough they felt on your skin. You’re so deep in the memory that you barely hear him start to speak.

“Alright. Let’s get started.”

But then, then he looks at you.

Just a flicker. A glance that lasts a half second too long. And the corner of his mouth twitches.

It’s not a smile. It’s something darker. Wicked.

Maya turns toward you, oblivious, scribbling something in her notebook. But you’re frozen, breath caught in your throat.

Did he just wink?

You can’t be sure. It was so fast, so subtle—but that little spark in his eye… it wasn’t nothing. It was intentional. And it was meant only for you.

He turns back to the board like nothing happened, like he didn’t fuck you senseless on his desk the night before. But your heart is racing, and your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

And now you have to survive the next hour trying not to squirm every time he says your name.

Hii! Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a lovely day!

BYEE!!! 🎀🌷

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐭 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐞

Pairing: manager!jisung x intern!afab!reader, enemies to lovers, law firm, the slow burn

synopsis: in mind and law. You tackle the new momentum of your job, something you've mentally and physically prepared for. But emotionally? It's not what you had in mind

warnings: suggestive, angst, law, lots of law, jisung is sarcastic, tension, mention of Changbin, plot, one Korean word (translations), time skips

a/n: 16k+ words, fellas. if you dare to have extra eyes for errors no you motherfucking dont. I loved this a lot.

You were born on the wrong side of the skyline. A place where ambition was considered arrogance, and dreams were just things people couldn’t afford. Your father was a mechanic—soft-spoken, hands always coated in grease, and eyes full of pride when you read under the streetlamp because the power went out again. Your mother, a former literature teacher turned night shift waitress, fed you stories instead of lullabies. They taught you that intellect was armor. That silence wasn’t submission, but strategy. That being underestimated was a weapon.

You weren’t the loudest girl in school—but you were dangerous on paper. Top of every class. Knew how to smile at teachers just enough to get what you needed, but never too much to owe them anything. You worked part-time at a bookstore just to read for free. When other kids were partying, you were drafting essays for scholarship competitions at 2AM with shaking hands and coffee-stained sleeves. You didn’t get into university by luck. You got in because you bled for it.

It was Riversley Law University, one of the most prestigious and soul-crushing programs in the country. Everyone whispered about the competition. The gatekeeping. The legacy students who’d never even touched a student loan form. You applied anyway. With one glowing recommendation from a retired judge, you’d once tutored on legal tech for free. With an application essay so raw it made the admissions board cry. With test scores so perfect they thought they were fake until you walked into the interview and quoted obscure 14th-century civil codes like they were bedtime stories.

You got in. Full ride. No one knew how. They thought you were connected. Rich. Sponsored.

You let them think what they wanted.

The top firms came recruiting like vultures during your final year. But Daejin & Grey? They didn’t do job fairs. They didn’t post openings. They hand-picked. And one day, a letter arrived. Real envelope. Black wax seal. No email. No call.

“You’re invited to an exclusive selection round. No details will be repeated. Bring your brain, your backbone, and black ink.”

Turns out, you were one of six students in the entire nation selected to compete for one internship spot. The selection process was insane—contracts in languages you barely knew, impossible moral dilemmas, interrogation-style interviews. People dropped out. Cried. Snapped. You didn’t. You passed. And you became the girl no one saw coming. The intern with fire in her veins and no family name behind her just you. Alone. Hungry. Unshakable.

Jisung was born into brilliance… and burden.

His mother was a top criminal defense lawyer known as “The Viper” in the courtroom—sharp heels, sharper tongue. His father, an occult historian and philosopher who lectured on forbidden languages and secret societies. He grew up in a glass penthouse where success was oxygen and weakness were punishable by silence. Jisung was 17 when Daejin & Grey found him. He had just won an underground student legal warfare competition (an invite-only thing where prodigies go to destroy each other’s arguments in mock trials that felt more like mind combat). He didn’t even enter; someone forged his application. He just showed up… and obliterated future politicians, heirs, and scholars. A week later, a man in an obsidian coat approached his mother during one of her high-profile court cases. Whispered something in her ear. She signed a contract on the back of a napkin. Jisung was summoned. They didn’t interview him. They tested him. Gave him an unsolvable case and watched him create a loophole in 24 hours.

They mentored him in secret. Fed him real cases under the table. Made him sign a blood clause at 19. By 24, he was the youngest partner in the firm’s history. He was the youngest to ever win a national law debate. A certified genius with a smirk that could convince CEOs to sign away their souls and maybe they did. People admired him. Feared him. Worshipped him. But they didn’t know him.

Because Jisung? Jisung was never taught love. He was taught leverage.

Daejin & Grey Law Firm wasn’t founded. It was forged out of war, silence, and unspeakable deals.

The firm traces back over 80 years, born during the post-war reconstruction era. Two men, Ha Daejin—a radical, silver-tongued lawyer who defended war criminals—and Theodore Grey, a disgraced British solicitor exiled for running a covert empire of offshore finance and blackmail, met in Seoul under unusual circumstances. Both were brilliant, both had nothing left to lose, and both were addicted to power. Together, they built Daejin & Grey as more than a firm. It became a sanctuary for those too cunning for politics, too dangerous for the courts, too ambitious for morality. It handles clients that other firms fear from criminal syndicates, foreign diplomats, to weaponized corporations. It's not just law, it’s chess. And they always win.

Rumor has it: The firm has a vault with contracts that could collapse governments. There's a floor you can only access if your name is etched in obsidian. No one leaves Daejin & Grey. You’re either promoted… or erased.

---

You stood in the towering glass lobby of Daejin & Grey, your heels echoing on the polished marble like tiny declarations of war. The receptionist didn’t even look up. Her access badge was silver. Everyone else’s was black. You felt the heat of judgment from passing associates, the subtle way people scanned your thrifted yet sharply styled outfit. You knew you didn’t look like money. But your mind? That was priceless.

An older woman with tightly coiled hair and stilettos sharp enough to stab came striding toward you.

“Intern. Y/N. You’re late,” she said. You weren’t.

“Follow. No questions.”

You moved through what felt like a museum of silence and danger—glass-walled rooms, people whispering in three languages, floors that required fingerprint scans. And then the library.

My God, the library.

Blackwood shelves. Ancient tomes. One door labeled RESTRICTED: Contractual Souls Only.

You swallowed. This wasn’t law school anymore. This was the underworld in heels.

Han Jisung entered from the rooftop.

The chopper dropped him five minutes behind schedule, and he hated being late—especially today, when a new batch of interns were supposed to arrive. He hated interns. Eager. Sweaty. Trying to impress him with quotes from Nietzsche.

He adjusted his ring, black obsidian with a serpent curling up his middle finger and rolled his neck before descending. His assistant, Jinhee, tried to brief him. He waved her off.

“Did they assign me one of the interns?”

“Not officially, but the chairman requested one observe your methods—”

“No.”

“But sir—”

“I said no.”

He walked into his office. 47th floor. The air smelled like power and espresso. His desk was cluttered with folders, red-stamped files, and one curious black envelope marked:

“Observe her. She doesn’t belong—but she might change everything.”

He frowned. Tossed it aside. He didn’t believe in fate.

---

Jisung and Y/N walked the same hall that morning. Opposite directions. Didn’t notice each other—yet. Y/N was being led through the Hall of Legal Legends, where portraits of past partners hung like silent judges. She paused in front of one particularly cold-looking man.

“That’s Ha Daejin,” the tour guide said. “He once freed a serial killer because he didn’t believe in prison. Said the law should be feared, not followed.” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a villain.” The guide smirked. “You’ll hear more of that.”

Meanwhile, Jisung turned a corner, passed a group of interns. Didn’t look at them—except for a second. One girl. Silver badge. Holding a leather-bound notebook like it was a weapon. Unfazed by the architecture. Sharp eyes. He paused for half a second. Blinked. Then walked on.

She felt it. That glance. That storm. They didn’t know each other yet.

---

The conference room at Daejin & Grey was less a meeting space and more a statement. A massive oval table of obsidian-black glass stretched across the room like the eye of some mythic beast. The lighting was deliberately dim—soft golden strips along the ceiling—making everyone’s expressions unreadable, dangerous. It smelled of polished leather, old money, and cold ambition. Interns filed in one by one silent, shoulders squared, eyes darting. You were among them, notebook pressed to your side, trying not to flinch at the weight of legacy pressing on you. All of you were being watched. Every step, every breath, being measured.

You took a seat at the far end, instinctively positioning yourself with your back to the wall. Never the center. Always the observer. The doors opened again and this time, the room actually paused.

In came Mr. Grey.

No one knows his first name. Not really. Just Grey. He walked with a cane not because he needed to, but because he liked the sound of it on marble. A silver three-piece suit, perfectly tailored, skin pale like stone, and a face so unreadable it could’ve been carved.

“Ladies. Gentlemen. Sharks in training,” he said, his voice laced with silk and venom. “Welcome to Daejin & Grey.”

“You are not here to learn. You’re here to prove you can survive. We will not teach you to be great. We will simply see if you already are. If you are not—” he gestured lazily toward the wide floor-to-ceiling windows, “—there is the door, and down there is your future. Bleak. Insignificant.”

Someone gulped. You did not. “From now on,” Grey continued, “you do not breathe without purpose. You do not blink without calculation. And if you ever speak in this room without reason…”

He smiled. Sharp and slow. “I will end your career before it begins.” He stepped back. “Now, allow me to introduce one of our youngest and most... unorthodox partners.”

The doors slammed open again.

Han Jisung strode in with the kind of lazy confidence that screamed I own this room. No tie. Shirt collar undone just enough. A black ring catching the dim light. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just walked out of a midnight negotiation and won. He didn’t look at anyone. He just leaned against the edge of the table, one hand in his pocket.

“Interns,” he said. His voice was casual, disinterested. “Congrats on making it this far. I assume most of you will disappoint me.” Some people chuckled nervously.

He scanned the room—quick sweep. And then, their eyes met.

You didn’t blink. Neither did he.

It wasn’t recognition. It wasn’t fate. It was challenge. His gaze said, Don’t try me.

Yours said, I already am.

Something shifted. Jisung turned back to Grey. “Can I go?”

Grey raised an amused brow. “You just got here.” Jisung shrugged, pushing off the table. “I’ve seen enough.” But he paused by the door. Tilted his head. Glanced over his shoulder not at the group. Just at her.

One second.

Two.

Then he left.

And you? You smelled the war before it began.

After Jisung made his dramatic exit, Mr. Grey waved a gloved hand, summoning the woman standing beside the projection screen. That was Ms. Park, the Head of Public Relations a woman whose smile was sharper than her Louboutins.

She took the lead. “Here at Daejin & Grey,” she began, “we operate on six principles. Discipline. Foresight. Loyalty. Discretion. Precision. And finally—ruthlessness.”

A nervous laugh rippled across the room. She didn’t smile. “That wasn’t a joke.”

The next forty-five minutes were a blur of corporate philosophies and non-negotiable ethics. Every new intern had to memorize the internal PR structure, the crisis protocols, and the company’s “zero tolerance” policy for emotional decisions. Everything had a script. Even your heartbeat.

You took notes like your life depended on it. Because it did. But the more the PowerPoint clicked forward, the more you felt the weight of your blouse clinging to her skin not from nerves, but from expectation. From the knowing glance Grey had shot her earlier. He knew.

The interns were finally dismissed for a break, filing out toward the executive café like a herd of wolves pretending to be sheep. The space was insane, sleek glass, gold accents, and meals plated like art. Even the salad looked like it had a stock portfolio.

You picked at a caprese toast, more out of habit than hunger.

Jisung wasn’t there. Of course not. He probably had his meals flown in, signed with blood, and served with jazz. You sipped your drink, but your mind wandered. Back to that look. The unreadable glance between you and Jisung. Like a challenge had been accepted without a single word exchanged.

Just as you were returning your tray, a shadow passed over you.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

That voice. Smooth as obsidian. You turned. Mr. Grey. He didn’t beckon. He just turned, and you followed. You stepped into a smaller conference lounge less intimidating, more personal. Warm-toned wood, a velvet chaise. Only the elite got invited here, you were sure of it.

Grey didn’t sit. He stood by the window, cane in hand, observing the city skyline.

“Well?” he said without turning. “What’s the verdict?”

You hesitated. “I… I think I’m scared. But I’m also excited.”

He glanced at you now. Just slightly. “Good. Fear without eagerness is cowardice. Eagerness without fear is arrogance. We don’t need either.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll try not to let you down.” Grey turned to face you fully now. His expression softened—barely—but it was there. A flicker. Almost paternal. “I know where you came from,” he said.

You froze. He continued, “Not everyone here was raised on champagne and legacy. Some of us crawled into this place with blood on our hands and fire in our eyes. You belong here, Y/N. But you’ll need armor.”

“I’ll build it,” you whispered, voice steady.

Grey nodded, satisfied. But then he tilted his head, curious. “You looked at Han Jisung today.” A pause. You raised a brow, unashamed. “He looked first.” That earned the ghost of a chuckle.

“You want to know about him?” Grey asked.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Grey tapped his cane twice on the floor. “Han Jisung is a prodigy. Recruited after flipping the legal department of a rival firm upside down as a client. Took the bar just to prove he could. Now he leads special projects and high-risk negotiations. Untouchable. Brilliant. Reckless.”

You absorbed the information like wine. Grey’s tone turned sharp again. “He does not play well with others. And he doesn’t train interns.”

You met his gaze. “Noted.” Grey smirked. “Good girl.”

---

The door clicked shut behind you.

Your apartment was quiet. Small, but personal. Walls filled with original sketches, abstract prints, pinned timelines, articles with handwritten notes in the margins. A vision board sat in the corner with the word “Grey-level” in capital gold foil across the top. You kicked off your heels and unpinned your hair, letting the curls fall as you moved like clockwork—smooth, efficient, methodical. Laptop open. Lights dimmed. Jazz humming low in the background.

Search: Han Jisung | Daejin & Grey

The results? Not much. Of course not. Grey’s people erased footprints before they were even made. But you was raised to dig deeper than the surface. And you did.

You found mentions of his name in trade journals, coded phrases like “unexpected turnaround,” “miracle negotiation,” and “the golden ghost.” Not a single photo. But a whisper here, a quote there.

Then, an old university blog.

“The Boy Who Sued a Corporation and Won.”

You clicked. A grainy screenshot showed a boy with a snapback on backwards, standing outside a courthouse. Young. Angry. Smirking like he knew too much for someone his age.

Summary:

Age 19. Filed a class action suit against a powerful music label for contract exploitation. Represented himself in preliminary hearings. Won the case and took a settlement. Disappeared from public eye for three years. Resurfaced… at Daejin & Grey.

You sat back, the gears in your mind turning. “So he’s that type,” you murmured.

Anger-driven. Genius-fed. Doesn't like to lose. Hides behind sarcasm because it's safer than vulnerability. You bookmarked the article. Then looked out the window at the glowing city. A little smile curved on your lips.

“This’ll be fun.”

And with that, you shut your laptop and poured yourself a glass of red a silent toast to a storm you knew was coming.

---

The routine had set in fast.

Early mornings. Sharp tailoring. Neutral tones and cool metal accents. You walked the marble floors like you’d owned them in another life, heels tapping like a metronome against the low murmurs of ambition. Daejin & Grey was a world built on precision and aesthetics—every glass panel, every steel fixture, every whisper of silk or leather had its place. You adapted like water in a crystal decanter.

You learned fast, spoke clearly, and listened sharper. You made yourself invaluable to your department, your reports were always early, always clean, always with that extra insight that made supervisors raise their brows and take notes. You didn’t speak unnecessarily in meetings, but when you did, the room always turned.

But Jisung?

Ghosted in and out. Rarely at your floor. Always with his tie loose, mouth set in a line of amusement or disapproval, never in between.

You caught glimpses. Like shadows in polished windows. And every single time your eyes met; it was electric. Subtle, but raw. Sometimes it was across the coffee machine, him leaning against the wall with a smirk as you stirred your drink without sugar. Sometimes in passing through the 8th floor where the high-stakes clients had rooms like hotel lobbies and meetings that reeked of old money and moral grey zones. And sometimes, just a glance across the conference table, where he sat sideways, his leg crossed, chewing the tip of a pen like he knew you were looking.

And she always was.

The blinds were half-drawn, letting in only slanted light that painted the dark wood floor in broken stripes. Mr. Grey sat behind his massive obsidian desk, signature cup of jet-black coffee steaming near his right hand, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he skimmed a tablet. His navy tie was undone, a telltale sign he’d been in meetings since dawn. Jisung stood by the window, posture casual, arms crossed, dressed in a soft black turtleneck and slacks that looked far too expensive for how uninterested he seemed. His hair was slightly tousled—he’d run his hand through it a few too many times. Typical.

“I told you, Grey. I don’t like babysitting,” he said, eyes fixed on the skyline. “There’s enough on my plate. Lee’s merger alone is—”

“This isn’t babysitting.” Grey didn’t even look up. “It’s exposure. Real-world pressure. She needs to be in the field, and you…” He finally glanced up, eyes sharp. “You need to get out of that damn ivory tower you’ve built around yourself.”

Jisung scoffed. “Nice motivational speech. You should sell it with the company’s scented candle line.”

“I’m serious, Han.” Grey slid a file folder across the desk. “Y/N. She’s sharp. Observant. A little quiet. Good instincts, but not molded yet. Reminds me of someone else I hired years ago.”

“Oh, please don’t say—”

“You,” Grey cut him off dryly.

Jisung rolled his eyes and walked over, taking the file with reluctance. He cracked it open, the name Y/N typed neatly on the top corner. There was a small square photo paperclipped to the first page. His eyes flicked over it briefly. She looked poised. Quietly powerful. The kind of face that looked like it’d seen a lot, but wouldn’t tell you unless you earned it.

He didn’t say anything.

“You’ll meet her at the conference,” Grey added, sipping his coffee. “I told her she’d be perfect for this. Don’t make me a liar.”

Jisung closed the folder with a snap and ran a hand through his hair. “What time?”

“Eleven. Don’t be late.”

“I’m always late.”

“I’ll dock your paycheck.”

“Charming,” he muttered, tucking the folder under his arm. “She better be worth the hassle.”

“She is,” Grey said, finality in his tone. “And maybe… just maybe, she’s the type to make you think again, Jisung.” Han Jisung didn’t answer. He just walked out, file in hand, wondering why the hell this girl was already starting to live in the back of his mind.

It was a Thursday.

You remembered because you wore the wide-legged gray slacks you saved for “power move” days. A quarterly strategy conference was underway, where junior analysts, interns, and mid-level associates were gathered to observe the department leads speak on major upcoming cases. Mr. Grey sat at the head of the room, calm, in control, sleek in that navy suit with no tie.

Then came the part no one expected: live assignments.

“Some of you will be handling case shadows,” Grey said, clasping his hands. “And some of you will be leading minor client packages. Let’s make things interesting.”

Papers were passed.

Your folder landed with a soft thunk. You opened it. A name. A file. A logo. A red tab labeled

Priority Confidential.

Below it:

Supervisor – Han Jisung

Your blood stilled. Just as you looked up, you saw him lean on the doorframe at the back of the room, arms crossed, sleeves rolled, silver watch catching the light. He tilted his head slightly as your eyes met, mouth tugging in that slow, you ready for this? smirk.

“Y/N,” Mr. Grey called from the head of the table. “You’ll be reporting directly to Jisung. He’ll catch you up on the brief by end of day. Congratulations.” You swallowed, spine straight. “Understood, sir.” Jisung gave you a two-finger salute. The room kept moving.

But you? You were already calculating. Preparing. Bracing for impact. Because something told you this assignment was going to be everything you wanted… and everything you weren’t ready for.

You stood outside the glass wall of Jisung’s office, heels clicking softly against the polished concrete floor. Your reflection blinked back at you, sharp, composed, lips pressed into a line so thin it could cut glass. The folder in your hand had bite marks on the corner where you’d chewed it while overthinking. Not that you’d ever admit it.

You exhaled once. Twice. Then knocked.

“Come in.”

The voice was casual, distracted. You entered.

Jisung was leaning back in his chair, black sleeves rolled to his elbows, a pen lazily twirling between his fingers. His office smelled like cedar and fresh ink, the lighting warm but sterile like someone had tried to make it welcoming but gave up halfway through. Like him, maybe.

His eyes flicked up briefly. Then back down to the paper on his desk. “Y/N, right?”

“Yes.” You shut the door softly behind her. “You’re my supervisor on the K-Tech acquisition case.”

“Mmh,” Jisung hummed, still reading. “That’s what Grey says.” You didn’t sit until he gestured vaguely toward the chair in front of him barely looking up. His posture was everything you’d expect from someone with way too much power and too little patience: cocky, distant, infuriatingly relaxed.

You hated it.

“I’ve already gone through the case summary,” you said, placing the folder neatly on his desk. “I’ve highlighted the inconsistencies in the subsidiary’s financials. There’s—”

“—a shell company in Taipei laundering R&D funds,” he finished without missing a beat, still not looking at you. “Yeah. Noted that three weeks ago.”

You paused. Tilted your head. “Then why is it still unresolved?” That made him look up.

Slowly. Like a cat flicking its tail, unbothered but aware. His gaze was sharp, dark, and laced with something unreadable. Maybe amusement. Maybe boredom. Maybe both.

“Grey told me to loop you in,” he said, leaning back, fingers steepled. “Not give you the steering wheel.”

“I’m not here to steer,” you shot back, tone cool. “I’m here to work. But if you’d rather I sit in the corner and watch you twirl pens, I can pencil that in too.” There was a beat of silence.

Then,

“Cute,” Jisung said, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “You’ve got teeth.” You sat back in her chair, arms crossing. “And you’ve got ego. Big one. I’m surprised it fits in here with all the air you take up.” He actually laughed. A quiet, surprised sound, like you’d caught him off-guard and he didn’t hate it.

“Most interns are too scared to say half that.”

“I’m not most interns,” she said simply.

His gaze lingered. Too long.

You didn’t flinch. Didn't blink. You was dangerous, he realized. Not in the way of lawsuits or incompetence—but in the way your eyes cut right through his performance, the way your presence didn’t flinch under pressure. He’d seen plenty of people fold under his disinterest. But not you.

And the thing was, he liked it. God, he liked it way too much.

“Fine,” he said, voice dropping a note lower. “Let’s get this straight. You bring me something smart, I’ll listen. You waste my time; I’ll make you regret it.”

Your lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile. “You won’t scare me off, Han.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Good. Wouldn’t be fun if I did.” The room felt smaller. Warmer. Something thick and charged buzzed in the silence between you. Then he grabbed your folder and opened it, eyes scanning fast. You watched him, arms still folded, legs crossed, a flicker of fire in her gaze.

“I need full employee logs for the Taipei branch,” Jisung said, tapping his pen against the folder. “Also, see if you can get internal memos from the last quarter. Anything involving the budget committee.”

“Got it,” You replied, standing smoothly.

You reached for the folder, fingers brushing the edge of his desk like it owed you something. Confident. Effortless. And just as she turned on her heel to leave—

—he looked.

He hadn’t meant to. Not really. It just—happened.

The way your skirt hugged your hips, the subtle sway as you walked like every step was calculated, fluid, commanding the air around her. Jisung blinked, his jaw clenching a little too tightly.

Fuck.

He looked away fast. Sat back. Ran a hand down his face like it’d erase the ten seconds of weakness he just experienced.

“She’s your intern, man,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head, already annoyed with himself. “Get a grip.” But the image lingered. Along with the snarky little grin you gave him earlier the fire in your voice, the nerve.

He didn’t know whether he wanted to argue with you or—

Nope.

He shut the thought down. Immediately. He grabbed a random paper off his desk and stared at it like it was the holy gospel.

It wasn’t. It was a receipt for pens. Still, anything to distract himself. Because damn it, you were going to be a problem. And a hot one at that.

---

You leaned your head against the window, the cool glass pressing gently into your temple as your car hummed along the road, lights of the city beginning to dim behind you. Your phone was plugged into the AUX, and the low, rhythmic voice of RM filled the car like an ocean tide.

His voice always settled her nerves. Heavy thoughts dissolved into gentle weightlessness as you watched neighborhoods blur past concrete melting into trees, the air growing less polluted, the traffic thinning. Your week had already been a blur: Daejin’s pressure cooker energy, the barbed words exchanged with Jisung, the way he looked at you today like you were both a problem and a puzzle—

And still, he stared. Like he couldn’t decide whether to fight you or fold.

You scoffed softly to yourself and turned up the volume. You weren’t going to think about him right now. Not when your heart softened the closer you got to home.

The car crunched against the gravel driveway, your headlights sweeping over the familiar brick front and small white porch your dad had painted a decade ago. The house stood modest, cozy—just big enough to hold love and struggle in equal measure. You stepped out, heels in hand, dress blazer folded over your arm. The night air smelled like coming rain and hibiscus soap, your mom’s favorite. You climbed the steps two at a time and opened the door.

Inside, your father was seated by the small living room window, a blanket over his lap, the TV on low. Your mother was in the kitchen, humming to herself and peeling fruit, and Mr. Tae—her parents’ long-time caregiver—stood nearby folding laundry.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mr. Tae greeted first, smiling warmly as he turned around.

“Hi,” you whispered, setting your bag down. Your voice dropped into something gentle, reverent. “How’ve they been today?”

“Good. Your mom’s been on her feet most of the day—she’s stubborn as always. Your dad’s been quieter. Tired. But good.” You smiled softly and nodded. You walked over to your dad first, knelt beside him, and gently placed a kiss on his cheek. He didn’t say much—just smiled at you with kind, weary eyes and touched your hair the way he used to when she was little.

Your mom came over next, wrapping you in a warm hug that still somehow smelled like love and cornbread.

“How’s the new job?” her mom asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You gave a half-laugh. “Complicated. Intense. Full of egos and deadlines. But I’m hanging in.”

“You always do,” your mom replied, patting your hand. “You’re our miracle, remember?” You sat with them for a while. Ate some fruit. Let yourself be their daughter instead of a rising corporate intern or legal assistant. Let yourself exhale.

Because when you walked back into Daejin the next morning…you’d need that fire again.

---

The door clicked shut behind him.

Jisung leaned against it for a moment, keys still in his hand, the silence of the apartment washing over him like warm static. No city horns here. No coworkers. No Grey. No you. He exhaled slowly, dropping his bag by the door and kicking off his shoes with mechanical grace. The space was minimal, sleek—clean lines and dark accents. Black couch, polished concrete floor, deep green plants that he tried not to forget to water.

It looked like someone with taste lived here. It felt like a hotel room someone never fully unpacked in. He peeled off his blazer, draped it over the bar stool, and walked straight to the kitchen—grabbing a water bottle and a leftover half sandwich from the fridge. Gourmet. Chef Han at it again.

The light of his laptop blinked softly from the corner of the living room.

He ignored it. Instead, he wandered to the window, bottle in hand, and stared down at the city glowing like an artificial galaxy beneath him.

Another day of everything and nothing. He’d barely slept this week. Work had been brutal. Interns had been annoying.

Well…one intern.

His jaw twitched slightly at the memory of you walking out of his office, confident as hell, throwing shade and facts like you was born in a courtroom. That mouth on you—sharp. Quick.

Too damn smart for her own good. Too damn hot for his peace of mind.

He took a long sip of water, then grabbed his phone. Your file was still open in his emails. He didn’t mean to reread it. He did anyway. Background: modest. Grades: impressive. Demeanor: biting. Expression? Always looked like she was two seconds from either kissing you or ending your entire bloodline.

And that skirt?

Jesus.

He dropped the phone face down on the kitchen island.

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t ideal. He hated supervising for a reason—he didn’t like people clinging to him, watching him, depending on him. Especially not people who stirred up whatever this was. But you were different. Not in some romanticized, poetic way. No, more like…threateningly competent with legs for days and an attitude that gave him a headache and a half-chub at the same time. He groaned, running both hands through his hair before sinking onto the couch.

“God, Grey, why her?” he muttered aloud, throwing his head back dramatically.

No answer, of course. Just the sound of Seoul vibrating behind his window.

The weight of your stare still burned behind his eyes.

He knew this was going to get messy. He just didn’t know how soon.

But one thing was for sure, you were going to ruin him if he wasn’t careful. And part of him?

Didn’t want to be.

The food he had ordered just arrived, a warm burst of garlic and spice filling the cool silence of the apartment. Jisung set the cartons down on the island, unwrapping the napkins with the kind of robotic precision you pick up when you’ve eaten alone too many nights in a row. Spicy pork bulgogi, kimchi, rice, a small bottle of soju he didn’t ask for but the restaurant always tossed it in when they recognized his name on the order.

Perks of being Han Jisung.

He had just opened the chopsticks when his phone buzzed.

Dad

Incoming call.

Jisung stared at the screen for a second too long, jaw tightening. His thumb hovered, not because he didn’t want to answer, but because he already knew how this conversation would go. Still, he accepted the call and pressed it to his ear.

“Yeah?”

A deep voice crackled through the line, rough and low like worn leather.

“You sound tired.”

“I am,” Jisung replied simply, stabbing into his rice. “Been a long week.”

“Hm. You’re still working with Grey?”

“Still am.”

A pause. The silence between them said more than words could. His father had always had this way of making small talk feel like an interrogation.

“He’s using you.”

Jisung scoffed, mouth full. “Grey doesn’t use people. He recruits weapons.”

“Exactly.”

He didn’t answer. He chewed slowly, staring at the television that wasn’t even on.

“You still think you’re doing something different than me?” his father asked.

“Yeah,” Jisung said flatly. “Because I don’t destroy people for sport.”

Another pause. This time heavier.

“You sound just like your mother when you say shit like that.”

Jisung’s stomach twisted. He took another bite, mostly to shut himself up.

“You supervising someone?” his dad continued, like nothing had just happened.

Jisung rolled his eyes. “Why do you care?”

“Because I know what that means. You don’t let people close. If Grey’s making you, it’s not for nothing.”

Jisung hesitated, his mind flickering to you, the fire-eyed intern with the mouth that didn’t quit and the brain to match. The way you stood her ground, talked back, made his blood rush like he was seventeen again.

“She’s…interesting,” he finally muttered.

“She hot?”

“Jesus, Dad.”

“What? You said interesting. That’s code.” Jisung pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s smart. Loud. Got a mouth on her.”

“So, you hate her.”

“…Something like that.”

There was a hum of amusement through the phone. For once, not a scoff or scold. Just understanding. A scary kind. “Watch yourself,” his father warned. “Grey doesn’t push you unless he’s trying to teach you something. Or test you. Or both.”

“I’m not new to this.”

“You’re new to her.” Jisung froze for a second, chopsticks suspended in the air.

“I gotta go,” he said, clearing his throat. “Food’s getting cold.”

“Call your mother.”

“I will.”

“Jisung.”

“What.”

“Don’t ruin it before it starts.”

Click.

The line went dead. Jisung sat there for a second, staring at the phone like it might say more. Then he set it down, picked up his food again, and muttered under his breath,

“…She’s still just an intern.”

But for some reason, he didn’t believe it.

Jisung was never the golden boy. Not in the traditional sense.

He wasn’t the loudest, or the most obedient, or the one who stayed out of trouble. But he was the sharpest. Razor-witted, eyes always ten steps ahead, and a tongue that could cut through hypocrisy like glass. From a young age, he was used to watching people argue from the staircase—his father, tall and thunderous, always in some perfectly pressed suit, barking down at his mother like she was one of the many subordinates who feared him.

His father, Han Joon-won, was a underground kingpin. Notorious in South Korea’s legal underworld for getting even the dirtiest white-collar criminals off scot-free. even though he was just a professor, he made his name not by defending the innocent, but by twisting narratives so well, the guilty walked out smiling.

His mother, on the other hand, Min So-ra, had been a viper in her work but the soul of the house.  Jisung had grown up watching them clash. Not over love—they hadn’t had that in years—but over principles. Over Jisung.

“He’s not going to be your legacy, Joon-won.”

“No. He’s going to be my evolution.”

When Jisung was 16, his mother left. Just packed her bags one night, kissed his forehead, and disappeared into a train station fog with nothing but her passport and a spine of steel.

She didn’t fight for custody. She didn’t drag him through courts. She just said, “I trust you to choose who you want to become.” And that ruined him more than any custody battle ever could.

When he was 20 and fresh out of university—with the kind of transcripts people framed—Jisung had offers lined up. Corporate firms, legal think tanks, political gigs. But none of it felt… earned. It felt like a train his father had put him on long ago, and the tracks were already built for him.

Daejin wasn’t a regular firm. It wasn’t even fully public. It was a private legal-intelligence consulting group, used by billionaires and politicians when the government couldn’t be trusted. Rumors said they helped broker backdoor treaties and helped dismantle crime rings from the inside. Jisung had accepted. Not because he trusted Grey, not because his mother signed behind his back, but because it felt like the first decision that was his.

He’d finished the bulgogi, the soju still cold beside his elbow, untouched. A silence lingered too long in the space around him—the kind that scratched at his ears. So, he picked up his phone again and scrolled to “엄마”. mom

He hadn’t called in weeks. She picked up on the second ring.

“Sung-ah.”

His chest clenched. Her voice hadn’t changed. Soft, calm, always like the air after a thunderstorm.

“Hey,” he said, a little hoarse. “You free?”

“For you? Always.”

He smiled softly, letting his head fall back against the couch.

“I got assigned someone today.”

“At work?”

“Yeah. Intern. I’m her supervisor.”

“And how do you feel about that?” He paused. How did he feel?

“She’s… interesting,” he muttered.

“That’s not a feeling, baby.”

He chuckled, rubbing his forehead. “She’s annoying. And smart. And looks at me like she’s trying to read my blood type.”

“So, she’s not scared of you.”

“No. And that’s the problem.”

“Or the point.”

Silence passed between them again, but this time it felt full. Safe. “Don’t let your father live in your mirror,” she said softly. “Not when there’s still light in your eyes.”

He closed his eyes. Let her words sink in.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Call more often. I like hearing you wrestle with your own stubbornness.”

He smiled, biting back the wave of emotion building in his chest.

“I will.”

Click.

The line ended, and Jisung sat there for a long time phone on his chest, soju uncapped. Thinking about you, about the case, about whether this internship of yours was the beginning of your legacy...

…or the unraveling of his.

---

The lights in War Room A were low but moody designed that way to make people feel like the truth mattered more in the dark. Glass boards lined the walls, already filled with cryptic arrows and pin-dotted strings from other ongoing cases. The table was long, cold steel, with matte black folders laid out like they were handling national security instead of corporate lawsuits. Y/N walked in clutching her notepad, lips set in a calm line, her heels tapping softly against the grey tile. Her nerves simmered under the surface, but her expression stayed focused, professional. The room had a tension to it like the oxygen had been filtered for people who played chess with lives.

Jisung was already there, sleeves rolled to the forearms, silver watch glinting under the ceiling light. His jaw looked sharper this morning tighter. He didn’t look up when she entered.

Just said, “You’re late.”

“I’m early,” she replied smoothly, glancing at the wall clock—9:02.

He looked up then. Eyes dragging from her face to the file in her hand, then back. “Right. Two minutes early. Congratulations, you want a cookie?”

“Only if it’s got sarcasm chips in it.”

A ghost of a smirk flicked at the corner of his lips. But it vanished before it could get comfortable. “Sit,” he muttered, motioning to the seat beside him. As she sat, more of the upper-tier team began filing in. Analysts. Consultants. A lead from the surveillance branch. Everyone looked polished and exhausted, like they hadn’t slept more than three hours in days. The weight of high-profile work wore heavy on everyone here and Y/N felt it. Like iron in her bones.

Grey entered last. Of course.

Wearing an all-black turtleneck and long grey coat, he looked more like a grieving poet than the head of a high-level legal-intelligence firm. But the room straightened when he walked in. His presence commanded without barking.

He didn’t speak until he’d set his black coffee down.

“This is the KraneTech litigation,” he began. “Thirty-two million dollars’ worth of hush money misfiled as marketing budget. A whistleblower’s coming forward. We’re handling the internal case, prepping for external liability.”

He glanced around the table, then locked eyes with Y/N.

“This will be Y/N’s first live case. She’s under Han.” Jisung sighed through his nose. Loud enough for her to hear it. Not loud enough to get called out.

“Everyone, give her the floor.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait—”

“You have 90 seconds,” Grey added casually. “What’s your understanding of the case from the file you read yesterday?”

Shit.

She straightened. “KraneTech misappropriated marketing funds to pay off silence regarding potential internal abuse and fraudulent operations. The whistleblower is anonymous for now but has indicated they have documentation and digital logs.”

The room watched her like hawks. She continued. “There’s a timeline gap between February and April 2023 where no financial statements match the campaign budgets. That’s likely when the payouts happened. There’s also a legal scrub done during April that feels… strategic. Like they were anticipating investigation.”

Grey leaned back, considering. “Interesting.”

She held her breath. Then, he nodded once. “You’ll shadow Han. You have two days to prove you can handle the next phase of the audit alone.”

He turned to Jisung. “She’s yours. Try not to murder each other.”

Jisung’s jaw ticked.

Grey left with most of the others. The moment the room was half empty, Jisung stood and walked toward the glass board at the front of the room. Y/N followed, silent, watching him as he clicked a button and the case projection flickered to life.

He didn’t look at her as he said, “You’re not bad.”

“Was that… a compliment?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m writing it down anyway.”

“You do that.”

They stood side by side now, looking at the digital board—emails, blurred invoices, personnel profiles. “What’s your plan?” he asked.

She crossed her arms. “Trace the digital logins. Identify the cleaner who did the scrub in April. Follow the emails that were archived after the fact. There’s always metadata.”

“Metadata and luck.” He paused. “You might actually survive here.”

“I don’t need to survive,” she muttered. “I plan to win.” He turned his head just slightly, watching her profile as her eyes stayed on the board. It annoyed him. How pretty she looked when she was focused. How cocky she sounded when she didn’t even know the half of what Daejin really did behind closed doors.

“You’re stubborn,” he said.

“I adapt.”

“That’s worse.”

She smirked without turning to him. “Maybe you’re just slow.” He blinked. God, she was insufferable. And kinda hot.

He cleared his throat. “Meeting’s over. Get what you need. I’ll send you internal files by noon.” She nodded, then turned to leave the room.

His eyes dropped instinctively—for a second—to the sway of her hips, her skirt hugging just enough.

He looked away instantly, jaw clenched.

“Fucking hell…” he whispered under his breath.

The office they used was colder than necessary. The kind of cold that kept you awake and working, courtesy of Daejin’s air conditioning set to “keep them alert or kill them trying.” The space was sleek, functional, and minimal: two large desks facing opposite walls, a shared table in the center stacked with files, highlighters, redacted papers, and two half-drunk cups of espresso.

Y/N had shed her blazer somewhere around 9AM. Now in a simple white shirt with the sleeves folded to her elbows, her fingers flew over her keyboard, the blue glow of her screen reflecting off her glasses. She was in full problem-solver mode, lip caught between her teeth, brows furrowed in that way Jisung had, unfortunately, noticed more than once.

Jisung sat across from her, slightly reclined, eyes darting between an evidence board and the KraneTech whistleblower’s anonymized file. He was chewing the tip of a pen, annoyed that it was yielding nothing new. His own desk was chaos with purpose: files, sticky notes, USB drives, all organized in his uniquely ‘smart but unhinged’ way.

Silence passed between them—not uncomfortable. Just focused.

“You notice this?” Y/N asked suddenly, flipping her laptop to face him.

Jisung stood and leaned over, arms braced on either side of her chair as he scanned her screen. Her perfume—something light and sweet—hit him too quickly. He pulled back a little.

She pointed. “The logs from the scrub session in April? Someone tried to delete twice. Different time stamps. But only one was executed.” His eyes scanned fast. Sharp. “Good catch. That means they weren’t working alone. One initiated. One canceled. Which means—”

“Which means the second person might’ve backed out,” she finished. Their eyes met. A beat of satisfaction passed between them.

She looked smug. He hated that he liked it. He straightened and returned to his desk without comment. “Cross-check the list of digital IDs with those on the financial audits,” he added, already typing again. “There’s a chance the person who canceled left a trail out of guilt. I’ll trace the IP from the meta headers.”

“On it,” she replied.

Hours passed. Coffee refilled. Notes scribbled. The room thickened with brainpower and caffeine fumes. By 12:17 PM, her stomach growled audibly. She froze. Jisung glanced up, cocked a brow. “You gonna eat or let your stomach file a complaint to HR?”

“I’ll grab something later—”

“You’ve been saying that for four hours,” he cut in, pulling out his phone. A few taps. “Lunch will be here in ten.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I chose to. Which means now you’re going to eat, intern.” His tone was teasing but firm. “Take a break. Let your frontal lobe reset before it fries.” She gave him a look, soft but stubborn. “You didn’t have to—”

“If you say that one more time, I’m ordering dinner too and making you eat it in front of the entire board.”

She blinked. He smirked.

“And that’s not an empty threat.”

Ten minutes later, lunch arrived—grilled chicken wraps, sweet potato fries, and iced black tea. Jisung slid one over to her, then turned back to his desk like it meant nothing. Y/N stared at the food. Then him.

“You’re not eating?”

“Later,” he muttered. “I want to finish this trace.”

“You sure? I can share.” He shot her a sideways look. “Don’t tempt me.” Her cheeks flushed, but she masked it with a sarcastic chuckle, “Relax, Han. It’s not a marriage proposal. It’s just fries.” He smirked, but didn’t respond, back to his files, eyes scanning deep.

Y/N finally took a bite.

And—damn it—it was really good.

For the next half hour, they worked in silence again. Separate desks. Separate minds. But the same rhythm. The same obsession. The same unspoken energy. Enemies? No. Allies with fire in the air? Absolutely.

And neither of them realized it yet…

…but this was how chemistry always began at Daejin.

The city outside had long gone quiet. Seoul’s skyline twinkled through the window, streetlights casting streaks of orange and silver across the tiled floor. The office was quieter now—no whirring printers or urgent footsteps. Just two exhausted minds submerged in data, theories, and the kind of mental endurance that only legal warfare demanded.

Y/N sat cross-legged in her chair, one earbud in, hair messily pinned up with a pen poking through it. Her screen was a swirl of digital records, duplicated entries, firewall logs, she was squinting now, moving files around like puzzle pieces in her mind. A cold cup of coffee sat beside her, untouched for the last hour. Her knee bounced unconsciously, the adrenaline refusing to die down even though her body begged for sleep.

Then—she paused.

Froze.

Brows lifted slowly, lips parting. Her fingers darted over the keys, pulling up the original access logs from April’s double-deletion. She’d been chasing a ghost for hours, but there it was, plain as day: a duplicated ID signature tied to two different employee databases. The same person had registered under two different teams. Fake alias.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, breathless.

She snatched the file from the table where Jisung had left it earlier—his own scribbled notes, dots connected, theories half-built. The answer had been under both their noses the whole time.

“Jisung!” she called out instinctively, spinning her chair around, face bright with excitement and a little disbelief.

But when she turned—

He wasn’t responding.

Slouched in his chair, arms draped lazily across the desk, Jisung’s head had dropped sideways. His laptop screen still flickered, casting soft light over his peaceful expression. One hand was still holding onto the same file she now clutched, his notes stopped mid-sentence.

She blinked, then smiled. The moment softened her. There was something intimate about seeing someone brilliant in their most unguarded state. She stepped closer, voice low. “Guess we cracked it… both of us. Not bad for an overachiever and a half-asleep grump.”

No reply. Just a soft rise and fall of his chest. A slight twitch of his lips, like he was dreaming—maybe about work, maybe something far less exhausting. She shook her head fondly, knelt beside him, and tapped his arm gently.

“Hey, genius. Sleeping on the job now?”

Jisung stirred. Eyes slowly opened, bleary and unfocused at first. His lashes fluttered and his brows knitted as he squinted.

“Shit—did I pass out?” he muttered, sitting up too fast.

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “Right in the middle of your future law firm commercial. ‘Han Jisung: brilliant, relentless, occasionally unconscious.’”

He ran a hand down his face, groaning. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, voice firmer now. “Don’t apologize.” He looked at her, confused, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “You need to go home,” she said softly, but there was command in it. “You look like you’ve been tired for years, not just tonight.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t argue.” She reached for his laptop and closed it. “I’ll clean up here, write up a preliminary. I’ll shoot you a copy before morning.”

He hesitated, still groggy, but caught in her unwavering gaze. Her voice was gentle, but it left no room for negotiation.

“…You always like bossing people around?” he mumbled, standing slowly.

“Only when they’re being stupidly self-destructive. Karma, really.”

That earned a small smirk. He slung his bag over his shoulder, but before he left, he paused at the doorway. She was already turning back to her laptop, immersed again.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quieter. She didn’t look up.

“Go home, Han.” He lingered for one more second, eyes tracing her silhouette under the cool light of the monitor.

And then he was gone.

---

Han Jisung’s apartment was all clean lines and controlled chaos. A half-folded hoodie hung off a kitchen chair, vinyl records were stacked by the turntable in no real order, and the scent of his cologne lingered in the hallway like a memory too stubborn to leave. He was buttoning up his dress shirt, sleeves still rolled to the elbow, his hair damp and messy from a rushed shower.

He grabbed his phone from the counter just as it buzzed.

New Email: Preliminary Draft — Case #1782

Sender: Y/N [yn.daejin.legal@corp.kr]

He blinked, brows furrowing.

Already?

He opened it, skimming fast at first—but then slowing.

Thorough. Organized. Insightful. She hadn’t just pieced together the data. She’d cross-referenced employee signatures, restructured their timeline, and even color-coded the suspects in the margin.

“…Damn,” he muttered, under his breath.

Then another ping.

Text from Y/N:

Morning. I might come in a little late today—just wanted to give a heads-up. Will join as soon as I’m done. Thanks again for last night. Hope you got decent sleep.

He stared at the message a moment longer than necessary, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but definitely wasn’t neutral. His fingers hovered above the keyboard—he started to type, paused, erased, then just tossed the phone on the bed.

“Tch,” he muttered, grabbing his blazer. “Why is she so annoyingly good at this…”

And still, as he grabbed his bag and locked the door behind him, the corner of his mouth wouldn’t stop lifting.

He walked into the morning rush of Seoul, suit crisp, heart slightly off-beat, and thoughts already spiraling back to the girl who’d made him a little more tired… and a lot more intrigued.

—

The room hummed with pre-trial tension. A long, oval table dominated the center—sleek, black wood polished to a mirror shine. Screens displayed the case name, stacks of legal documents fanned out in front of each assigned seat, water bottles untouched beside stiff black folders. Jisung sat near the end, one ankle lazily crossed over the other, arms folded, eyes flicking between the time on his watch and the door.

9:05. You was five minutes late. Not a big deal.

But it made his left eye twitch.

He was about to tap his pen against the desk when the door finally swung open.

You stepped in—hair pulled back in a high, slick ponytail, glasses perched delicately on your nose. That outfit? Deadly. A gray pinstriped shirt peeking from beneath a black cropped cardigan, slacks hugging your hips in a way that made Jisung’s train of thought flatline for two full seconds. He sat up straighter unconsciously.

You looked... put-together. Smart. Sharp. And not trying too hard. Your eyes met his and—there it was again—that same flicker of tension. Familiar, unspoken. But you walked over calmly, confidence in your steps, setting down your laptop and notes beside his before leaning in slightly and whispering, “Did you read the preliminary?”

He gave you a slow blink.

“Yeah.”

“Did I mess anything up? I—I rushed the tail end and didn’t double check that section with the warehouse codes.”

Jisung’s brows rose. You were nervous.

He leaned in slightly, voice low and smooth. “No, you didn’t mess up. It’s tight. You caught things even I didn’t at first glance.” You narrowed your eyes at him skeptically, biting back a smile. “You’re being sarcastic.”

Jisung tilted his head. “I’m actually not. Don’t get used to it though.”

You chuckled softly and straightened your back, trying to hide the little breath of pride you exhaled. The compliment, sarcastic or not, buzzed in your chest. Just then, the door opened again and Grey strolled in, black suit, no tie, coffee in hand, and that ever-serious gleam in his eyes.

“Alright,” he called out. “Let’s get this started. We’ve got five days before trial and no time to fumble.”

The room fell silent instantly, shuffling to attention. Jisung caught your glance from the corner of his eye as you both turned to face the screen. You were in this. Present. Awake. Ready. And damn if he wasn’t a little impressed. And a little more in trouble than he thought. Grey stood at the head of the table, setting down his coffee and clapping his hands once to get everyone locked in.

“Let’s keep it clean, focused, and brutal,” he said, eyes sweeping over the team. “We’ve got motive, but the jury’s going to need a narrative they can eat with a spoon. What’s the angle?”

There was a beat of silence before you cleared her throat gently.

“We start with the financial discrepancies in the subsidiary accounts,” you said, clicking your laptop and flipping the screen to show a clean graph. “Every quarter leading up to the embezzlement charge, there’s a small spike in activity—same offshore account, different shell companies.”

Grey raised a brow, mildly impressed. “And the evidence chain?”

“Verified. We have authenticated statements, plus a testimony lined up from the former assistant—she’s agreed to testify under condition of anonymity.”

Jisung leaned back in his chair, clicking his pen against his thigh. “It’s a good start. But it’s not enough to prove intent. The defense will call it mismanagement or incompetence. We need to tie the money trail to motive.” Grey nodded slowly and gestured. “Han?”

Jisung leaned forward, fingers steepled. “So, we hit them where it hurts—optics. The accused transferred funds under the guise of ‘consultancy fees’ to a company owned by his college roommate. We subpoenaed his travel history—it matches up with four ‘retreats’ that happen to line up with the largest deposits. Add in emails recovered from the IT sweep…”

He tapped his file. “There’s one that says—and I quote—‘just make sure they don’t notice until Q3.’ That’s intent, with a side of cocky.” Your eyes flicked over to him. “And we link that to the board vote he forced through last September? That’s when he got majority control.”

Jisung glanced sideways at you and gave a little nod. “Exactly.” Grey folded his arms. “So, what’s the sequence of presentation?”

You raised a hand slightly, already halfway flipping pages. “We open with the paper trail—the clean, technical breakdown. It builds credibility. Then Jisung drives the intent point home with the emails and personal ties. By the time we present the witness, the jury already suspects him. Her testimony just confirms it.”

Jisung looked at you. Really looked. “We build the wall first, then drop the hammer.”

You didn’t smile, but your lips twitched in mutual understanding. “Exactly.” Grey looked between them for a moment before nodding, pleased. “Good. Tag team it. Han, you handle cross. YN, you prep the witness and the opening presentation. You’ve got three days. I want a mock run-through by Thursday.”

Everyone else began gathering their things and filtering out, but YN and Jisung lingered, documents still splayed across the table like a living crime scene. You gathered your notes silently, then paused.

“You’re not bad at this,” you said lightly, not looking at him.

Jisung let out a soft scoff. “You’re pretty decent yourself. For someone who doesn’t shut up.”

“Maybe if you weren’t always so smug, I’d have less to say.” He shot you a lazy smirk, grabbing his folder. “Nah. You’d still talk. It’s the only way you function.” You raised a brow, grabbing her coffee as she stood. “Just be ready Thursday, counselor.”

“Oh, I will be,” he murmured, half to himself as you walked off ahead of him. His eyes dropped to the sway of-

Focus, Han. Not now.

The case was a web. But with you, he realized it wasn’t just untangling it. It was figuring out who was pulling the strings alongside him. And for once, it didn’t feel like he was doing it alone.

Prep for the Mock Trial

The fluorescent lights in your shared office buzzed quietly as papers rustled and two cups of coffee sat cooling, forgotten. The clock ticked past 9:00 PM, but neither of you had noticed the time. You were seated cross-legged in one of the chairs, balancing your laptop on your knees, voice low but focused as you ran through your opening statement draft. Jisung was pacing slowly with a pen in his mouth and a highlighter tucked behind one ear, eyes darting from paper to whiteboard. Every now and then, he’d mumble something or make a noise of disapproval under his breath.

“You skipped over the offshore transfer in August,” he said suddenly, cutting into her flow like a scalpel. “What?” you blinked, scrolling up. “No, I didn’t—”

“You did. You jumped from July to September like August didn’t exist. That transfer ties into the witness’ credibility. If you miss that in court, we lose the entire momentum.”

“I said August,” you insisted, your tone sharp now. “You must’ve zoned out again.” Jisung rolled his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t zone out; I just actually pay attention.” That landed a little harder than he expected.

Your fingers froze on the trackpad. “Are you seriously implying I don’t pay attention to my own case?”

“I’m implying,” he said coolly, “that maybe if you stopped treating this like a performance and started treating it like law, you wouldn’t miss simple stuff.” Your mouth parted, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You’re great at talking, Y/N, no doubt. But law isn’t about sounding smart. It’s about being right. And sometimes, you skip details because you’re so busy trying to be the smartest person in the room.”

The air went ice cold.

“Wow,” you said, standing up slowly, voice lower than before. “You know, I get it. You’re used to being the genius. The golden boy. So, God forbid someone comes in and actually keeps up.” Jisung’s mouth opened, then shut. His jaw flexed.

“I didn’t say that—”

“But you think it. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I do care about how I come across—because I have to. Because unlike you, I don’t have a safety net. I don’t have parents who could afford law school. I don’t have a family name. I earned my place here.”

“You think I didn’t?”

“No,” you snapped, “I think you didn’t have to fight tooth and nail just to be seen. I think you have no idea what it’s like to have people doubt your intelligence the second you walk in because you don’t come from the right background.”

He looked like he wanted to fight that but then he muttered it, barely audible:

“Maybe if you weren’t so defensive all the damn time, people wouldn’t doubt you.” Your eyes widened slowly. That one hit like a punch to the ribs.

“You know what?” you said quietly. “Screw this.”

You grabbed your laptop and shoved it into your bag with trembling hands. He stepped forward instinctively, guilt rushing in like a wave, but you cut him off with just one glance, eyes glassy and betrayed.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Y/N, I—”

“You don’t get to apologize.” The door clicked behind you as you walked out, leaving only silence and the buzzing light.

Jisung stood there for a long time, the weight of his words pressing down hard. He knew he messed up. And he knew sorry wasn’t going to cut it.

---

The atmosphere in the trial room was different.

Tense. Unspoken.

The team sat behind the long table facing the mock jury box. Grey was seated like a hawk, sharp-eyed and still. Jisung was at the end of the table, posture impeccable, face unreadable. His tie was perfect, hair neat, but his fingers tapped nervously under the desk. You walked in five minutes before the session started.

You were pristine with pressed slacks, a sleek ponytail, silver-rimmed glasses. The same woman from the steps that morning. Cool, composed, unreadable.

You didn’t look at him.

You didn’t even hesitate. Grey gave a curt nod as the session began. “Let’s run it like it’s real. Y/N, opening.” You stood, the room holding its breath.

And as you spoke—calm, clear, devastatingly precise—Jisung could feel the growing tension in his chest. You were flawless. Unshakable.

And she wasn’t looking at him.

The mock courtroom buzzed with a synthetic energy, the kind that stemmed from performance but mimicked the high-stakes atmosphere of a real trial. Every step, every statement was under scrutiny. Professors and legal consultants sat with clipboards, eyes flickering between the two leads of the case.

You hadn't glanced at Jisung once. Not during his opening statement, which was admittedly impressive but a touch rushed. Not when they passed each other the exhibit binder. Not even when he tapped your arm to hand over his notes on the cross. You took them without a word.

Your expression remained neutral, every movement calculated.

Jisung was unraveling. Internally. On the outside, he maintained the illusion of calm, jotting things down, nodding here and there, but underneath, it was pure chaos. He’d stolen a few glances. Your eyes were deadset on the witness, your jaw sharp, mouth pursed in thought. And each time you succeeded, each time the jury murmured in appreciation, he should’ve felt pride.

Instead, he felt the hollow throb of regret.

You stood for cross-examination, heels clacking against the floor with commanding rhythm.

“Mr. Wexler, you mentioned that the email correspondence between you and the defendant occurred ‘frequently’ throughout Q3, correct?”

“Yes.”

You tilted her head, sharp. “Can you define ‘frequently’?”

“Uh… maybe twice a week?”

“Twice a week,” you echoed, eyes flicking to the projector. “Then can you explain why there are only four emails logged between July and September?”

The room shifted. The witness stammered. Jisung smiled. Instinctively, he turned to share that moment with you.

You didn’t even twitch. Didn’t acknowledge the success. Didn’t give him the usual side-smirk you shared when a point landed. Nothing.

You sat, fingers interlaced calmly. Cold. Professional. Grey leaned in slightly toward Jisung, whispering just loud enough: “She’s sharper today.”

Jisung forced a grin. “Yeah. She is.”

What Grey didn’t know was why she was sharper. Pain had a funny way of refining focus. And you were in no mood to forgive and forget. Especially not mid-trial.

As everyone gathered near the board, unpacking the session, you contributed where necessary, objective and direct. When Jisung asked you if you needed his notes for the rebuttal? You turned to Grey and said, “Could you pass me the updated printout?”

When he brought up a shared strategy they’d discussed last night?

“Actually, I revised that this morning. I’ll use mine.”

Every time he tried to breach the space between you — professional or personal — you slid past him like smoke. Unbothered. It was killing him.

---

Jisung finally caught you at the vending machine, alone. No audience. No Grey.

“Y/N—”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Your tone was low but heavy. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

“Okay,” he finally said.

You didn’t even turn. Just grabbed your drink and walked away, leaving him standing there with his apology still stuck in his throat.

The Actual Courtroom Trial – Day One

Location: Seoul District Court, 9:15 AM.

The courtroom was charged. Polished wood gleamed under harsh lighting, papers rustled like whispers, and every cough, click, and sigh echoed like it mattered. The gallery was half-filled with press, executives, and sharp-eyed legal interns hungry for drama. Y/N sat at the plaintiff’s table, expression blank, body composed like a trained performer. Her braids were pinned in a clean updo, her suit crisply tailored, gray with a deep navy undershirt that matched the cold glint in her eyes. Jisung, sitting beside her, looked the part too, fitted black suit, no tie, top button undone. Hands loosely folded over his notes; brows furrowed. He’d barely said a word to her since the mock trial.

She hadn’t said a word back. And now wasn’t the time to fix anything. Because the judge walked in.

“All rise.”

Everyone stood.

“Court is now in session in the matter of Daejin Tech vs. KraneTech and Min Hyunsoo.”

The judge, an older man with sharp eyes behind square glasses, glanced down at his docket. “Opening statements?”

Grey stood first. “Your Honor, we intend to prove that not only did the defendant willfully breach contract, but in doing so, they manipulated internal reporting systems to inflate data and secure funding under false pretenses.” He glanced down at Jisung, who gave the most subtle nod. Grey continued: “We will show you emails, witness statements, and system logs that confirm deliberate falsification, with direct involvement from Mr. Min.”

It was clean. Sharp. Confident.

The defense countered with a calm but vague approach — denying nothing directly, playing the ‘miscommunication between departments’ angle.

Classic. But weak.

Witness Examination — Day Two

By now, the courtroom had warmed up. The crowd had grown. Legal press had started posting snippets, curious about the two Daejin lawyers making waves. Jisung took the floor this time. His steps were slow, measured. The court reporter’s keys tapped steadily as he approached the witness: a former financial analyst who’d been fired six months prior.

“You mentioned seeing irregularities in the data, correct?”

“Yes.”

Jisung leaned against the podium, casual but precise. “And you reported it?”

“I tried. But the internal review team—”

“Objection. Hearsay.”

“Withdrawn,” Jisung said easily, before shifting pace. “So you saw something. And you did…nothing?” The witness shifted. “I was told it wasn’t my place.”

“By whom?”

The man hesitated. “Let the record show the witness is taking a long pause,” Jisung added calmly, then looked to the jury. “Sometimes silence tells us more than words.”

The gallery buzzed. Y/N didn’t look at him. But her pen stopped moving for half a second. Just a twitch. Their next witness was the IT manager. Now it was Y/N’s turn. She stood tall, calm, with a file in hand as she stepped to the center. Her voice? Smooth and precise.

“You were in charge of all server logs for KraneTech?”

“Yes.”

“You have access to login timestamps, message histories, cloud storage?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She clicked a remote. The screen lit up behind her. “Can you explain this file name?” she asked, pointing to a suspicious folder — ’dev_recalibrationsQ3_v2’.

“It’s not one I authorized.”

“Yet it came from your department.”

“It did.”

“Then who accessed it?”

The man hesitated. Y/N didn’t blink. “I’ll save you the trouble,” she said, clicking again. “The IP address matches the defendant’s personal office system. And the login code was hardwired to his biometric key.”

Gasps.

“Would you still say you weren’t aware of any tampering?” she asked quietly. He swallowed. “No, ma’am.” Her face was emotionless as she turned back to the judge. “No further questions.”

Recess

Grey gave both Y/N and Jisung subtle nods of approval, but neither of them smiled. They weren’t talking. Not outside the courtroom. Not even in the prep room. They passed each other case files like strangers forced to cooperate. They presented united fronts like seasoned partners. But underneath?

It was a cold war.

Final Courtroom Verdict — Seoul District Court

Day Six, 3:45 PM

The courtroom was still. Not the kind of silence that came from boredom or fatigue, no, this one crackled. Anticipation hung heavy like fog, wrapping around every person in the room. Phones had been tucked away. The press wasn’t even live-tweeting anymore. Everyone was waiting. Jisung sat tall, his hands resting loosely on his lap. He didn’t look at Y/N. Not once. She looked straight ahead, lips barely parted, a pen clutched tightly in her right hand not writing, not fidgeting. Just holding. Her back was straight. Her jaw was steel.

The judge cleared his throat. “I have reviewed the evidence, testimonies, and expert analysis provided throughout this trial.”

A pause. “And while the defense attempted to establish a chain of miscommunication, this court finds that the fraud was deliberate, premeditated, and tied directly to Mr. Min Hyunsoo.”

A murmur swept through the gallery.

“I hereby rule in favor of the plaintiff, Daejin Tech.”

Boom. Just like that. Case closed. Grey let out the smallest exhale. A pleased smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “Well done,” he said under his breath. But his gaze wasn’t on Jisung. It was on Y/N.

They stood. They bowed. The courtroom emptied slowly, reluctantly — like no one really wanted to miss what came next.

But Y/N didn’t stay. She packed up her documents methodically, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone. The moment the courtroom cleared, she slipped into the hallway, heels echoing sharply against the marble floor. Her suit jacket clung perfectly, hair neat, gaze fixed forward.

Until,

“Y/N,” Jisung called from behind her.

She didn’t stop. Not until he caught up and stepped in front of her, blocking her path just outside the conference room doors. The hall was mostly empty, voices muffled behind glass and oak.

“I just—” He paused, jaw clenching. “I need to apologize. What I said that night, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was quiet but cutting. She looked up at him, not angry just… disappointed. Like she'd seen a side of him she wished she hadn’t.

“I shouldn’t have let myself get comfortable with you,” she said, slowly. “That was my mistake.”

Jisung’s mouth parted, but nothing came out.

“And I’m sorry for assuming I could be safe around you and still… be myself.” Her eyes dropped for just a second, then came back up, colder. “Won’t happen again.”

“YN/…” His brows furrowed, the guilt in his expression unmistakable. “Don’t do that.”

But she was already pulling herself back together. Tightening the line in her shoulders. Drawing the wall back up, brick by goddamn brick. “I’ll see you at work, sir,” she said, stepping past him.

That one word — sir — sliced clean and cruel. Not professional. Not respectful. Just distant.

And then she was gone. Leaving Jisung standing in the hall, stunned silent, holding onto an apology that had come too late.

---

The house smelled like warm rice and thyme-simmered chicken, that comforting kind of scent that wrapped around your bones and said you’re safe here. You sat at the edge of the couch, curled up under your mom’s old woven blanket. Your mother had already bombarded you with a second helping of food you didn’t ask for, and your dad had just settled beside her with a cold glass of malt.

“So,” her mom said gently, “how’d the case go?”

You exhaled slowly, letting your body sink into the soft curve of the couch. “We won,” you murmured, voice small but proud. Your mom grinned and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I’m so proud of you, baby. All those sleepless nights, hm?”

“Barely slept at all,” You chuckled softly. Your dad leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “And this Jisung guy? Your supervisor?” Your lips tightened slightly. “He was… fine.”

“You say that like he set your desk on fire,” your mom said with a teasing smirk. You smiled faintly but didn’t elaborate. Just twisted the edge of the blanket between your fingers. Your dad raised a brow, the way he always did when he was scanning for more beneath the surface. “Something happen?”

There was a long pause before you gave a small nod. “He said something… personal. During a fight. It just… I don’t know. Hit too close.” Your mom’s eyes darkened slightly. “What did he say?”

“Nothing worth repeating,” you muttered.

Your dad studied you for a moment longer, then sat back with a deep sigh, that thoughtful dad sigh that only ever came before life advice that could level you. “You know,” he said slowly, “sometimes we say stupid things when we care too much and don’t know how to say it.”

You blinked. “He doesn’t care—”

“He does. That’s why he pissed you off so easily. And why you’re still hurt.” You looked at him then, eyes tired. He met your gaze with a small, knowing smile.

“I’ve said some cruel things to your mother before. Words that hurt deep, even if I didn’t mean them. Sometimes men get scared, or flustered, and instead of admitting it… we shoot. And the first thing in the line of fire is usually the person closest.”

Your mom nodded softly from beside you. “Forgiveness doesn’t make you weak, darling. It means you’re strong enough to love past someone’s worst day.” You exhaled through your nose, leaning your head on your dad’s shoulder. You didn’t say anything but the weight in your chest loosened just a little.

—

The office lights were dimmed to a low glow, but Jisung hadn’t moved. His suit jacket lay draped over the couch, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tie undone. He stared at the report on his desk, not really reading it. His fingers tapped mindlessly against the table.

There was no music. No celebration. Just silence and a gnawing ache behind his eyes.

He couldn’t stop replaying the way she said sir.

He’d earned that. He deserved that. But it still stung like hell. The door creaked open, and Grey strolled in with two takeaway cups in hand. “You’re still here?” he asked, incredulous. “Jesus, Sungie — we just won our most high-profile case this quarter.”

Jisung didn’t look up. Grey set one cup on his desk. “Why aren’t you home getting drunk and screaming into a karaoke mic with Changbin?”

Silence.

Grey’s gaze narrowed as he pulled up a chair. “This is about her, isn’t it?”

Still no answer. “I shouldn’t’ve made you supervise her,” Grey said eventually. “You hate team-ups. I knew that.” Jisung finally shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s not it.” Grey’s brow lifted. “Then what is?”

Silence again but heavier this time. More telling.

Grey leaned back, mouth twitching. “You fought, didn’t you?”

Jisung didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t have to. Grey sighed, shaking his head. “She’s smart. And she keeps you on your toes. And she makes you care when you’re trying not to.”

“Grey…” Jisung muttered, tone low and warning.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna lecture you. I’m just saying, maybe don’t be a dumbass.” He stood, finishing his coffee. “Go home, Jisung. This office doesn’t need your brooding. And she sure as hell doesn’t need more silence from you.”

He clapped him on the shoulder once not hard, not playful. Just grounding. Then he walked out.

And Jisung sat alone again.

But this time… he picked up his phone. And he stared at her name. For a very, very long time.

…One Week Later…

The clack of heels against marble, the hum of printers, the sharp scent of espresso drifting from the break room work carried on like the world hadn’t cracked open just days ago.

Y/N walked in every morning exactly at 8:50. Not too early. Not too late. Her hair pinned neatly, makeup clean and sharp. Professional. Untouchable.

Jisung noticed. He always did. But he kept his eyes on his screen when she passed his office. He pretended not to glance up when her laugh rang out from across the hall quieter now, but still there.

They only spoke when absolutely necessary.

And those conversations?

Clinical. Precise.

Like cutting stitches with cold hands.

Jisung stepped in to the meeting room with a file in hand, the tie he forgot to tighten swinging slightly as he moved. Y/N was already seated at the end of the table, flipping through a document.

“Update on the Barlow merger,” she said without looking up.

He slid into the seat across from her. “I… yeah. I got your notes.” A pause. “They were good. Really… good.” She nodded, still not looking at him.

The silence stretched like plastic wrap thin and suffocating. Jisung tapped the corner of his folder. “YN, I—”

She turned a page.

He swallowed. “About last week—”

“Jisung,” she said gently but firmly, still not lifting her eyes. “Let’s keep it about work.”

He nodded. Slowly. The tightness in his chest returned like a tide. “Right. Just work.” He left first.

---

The doors slid open. She was already inside.

He hesitated just for a second. But it was enough. She saw it.

“Getting in?” she asked quietly.

He stepped in. They stood in opposite corners, the silence buzzing with everything unsaid. As the doors closed, he risked a glance. Her arms were crossed. Eyes forward.

“I didn’t mean it,” he muttered.

She blinked. “What?”

“That night,” he said, a little louder now. “What I said. I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

Her eyes flicked to him, unreadable. “I know.” That should’ve been comforting.

But it wasn’t. “Then why won’t you look at me?” She exhaled. “Because I’m trying to keep my distance.”

The elevator dinged. She stepped out without turning back.

---

Grey glanced up from his desk when Jisung walked in looking like a man who’d just been hit with a lawsuit and a love confession at the same time.

“She talked to me,” Jisung said, tossing himself into a chair.

“Progress?”

“I think it was worse than silence.”

Grey hummed, closing his laptop. “You wanna know the worst kind of heartbreak?” Jisung rubbed his temple. “I already feel it, so go ahead.”

“When you realize they don’t hate you,” Grey said, “they just don’t trust you anymore.”

Jisung didn’t respond. Grey leaned back. “So, you’ve got two options. One — give up. Let her slip away because it’s easier than fighting. Or two — work your ass off to prove her heart’s safe with you again.”

Jisung looked up slowly. “And if she never gives me that chance?”

Grey cracked a small smile. “Then you better make damn sure she knows you would’ve taken it.”

---

The knock was soft, but firm.

Grey didn’t even look up from his screen. “Come in, Y/N.”

She pushed the door open, the crisp scent of bergamot tea and wood polish instantly familiar. The blinds were cracked just enough for the golden evening light to spill in, catching the silver in Grey’s cufflinks. “You wanted to see me?” she asked, stepping in and shutting the door behind her.

He finally looked up tired eyes, lips pursed, tie slightly loosened like he’d been too busy to care today. Or maybe, too weighed down.

“I hate doing this,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Truly, passionately, hate it. But apparently, I’ve become the damn emotional chaperone in this firm.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry… for what, exactly?”

Grey rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You and Han Jisung. You haven’t spoken more than four sentences unless it’s about legal briefs or witness statements in two weeks. And that boy—” he paused, exhaling deeply, “—he’s not okay.” Her throat tightened just slightly, but she kept her face still. “We’re being professional.”

“You’re being frosty,” Grey deadpanned. “And he’s being distant because he thinks he deserves it. But the truth is, Y/N…” He paused. “He’s breaking. Quietly. Slowly. And I’ve only seen him like this once — first year. He tried so hard to prove himself and failed a case that cost an innocent man jail time. I walked into the office and he was just… sitting there in the dark.”

YN swallowed. She hated the visual of that, Jisung, the firecracker of their courtroom, looking that dim. That alone hurt.

“He hasn’t said anything,” she said carefully.

“Because he doesn’t know how to,” Grey said. “Because people like Jisung? They weren’t taught love like you were.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

Grey leaned forward. “His parents didn’t raise him with softness. His father only calls to scold or guilt-trip, and his mother left him to fight those battles alone. Every emotion he’s got, every ounce of passion or fear or pride, he channels into work because it’s the one place he can control. He doesn’t fall for people easily, YN. But when he does, it’s… heavy. Terrifying.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, heart twisting.

“Of course you didn’t,” Grey said gently. “He doesn’t let people know. But I do. I’ve seen it. I see it now. He’s in love with you, Y/N. Has been for a while.”

Her breath caught. She blinked. “No… he’s not. He’s just… regretful.”

“Regret doesn’t make someone stare at your desk like it’s a missing limb,” Grey said sharply. “Regret doesn’t make him pause at your office door and walk away ten times in a day. That’s love. Unsaid. Unshaped. But it’s there.”

She sat back in the chair, the leather cool against her skin as her mind tried to wrap around the weight of Grey’s words. The idea that Jisung — chaotic, brilliant, frustrating Jisung — loved her was something she hadn’t let herself entertain. Not really.

“You’re scared too,” Grey said quietly, watching her expression change. “But I’m telling you now… either talk to him, or you both keep walking around like ghosts. And you’ll regret it far more than that night.”

Y/N didn’t speak for a long time.

But when she left his office, her fingers hovered near her phone.

---

The quiet of your apartment felt louder than usual. No music. No background show running just for noise. Just the low hum of the fridge, and her pacing footsteps against the hardwood floor.

You stood by the window, your phone in hand, thumb hovering over Jisung’s contact like it weighed ten pounds. Grey’s words were still spinning in your head, colliding with the memory of Jisung’s tired eyes, his hands pausing at her office door, the things he never said.

You pressed Call before she could overthink it again. The phone didn’t even get to the second ring.

“Hello?” His voice came fast, sharp, almost breathless. “Y/N? Hey. Hi—are you okay? Did something happen? I—I was just—Are you okay?”

You blinked at the window, lips twitching despite herself. “Hey, Jisung.”

“Hey,” he breathed, like your voice hit him like air after drowning. There was a pause. Then he continued, voice softer, still a little shaky:

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t think you’d… I mean, I hoped you would. I just—God, it’s good to hear you.”

Your chest squeezed at that. “I just wanted to check on you,” you said gently. “How are you?”

Another pause. A breath.

“I’m okay. I mean—work’s fine. Everything’s… fine. I’m just—” He stopped himself, then laughed under his breath, awkward and raw. “I’ve been better.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, heart aching. “Me too.”

You could hear his breath slow just slightly, like the ice between them cracked not broken yet, but thinned. “I wanted to ask,” she continued, voice steady now, “if I could see you. Tomorrow. In your office. Just us. If that’s okay.”

Jisung didn’t even hesitate. “Yes,” he said immediately. Then softer. “Yeah. Please. Anytime. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” she said, a tiny smile ghosting her lips. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

There was another silence, but this one was warm. Almost comforting. And when they hung up, both of them stared at their ceilings for a long, long time. Waiting. Ready to try again.

---

The sun had barely settled into the sky when you stood at the threshold of Jisung’s office, your heart thudding harder with every breath. You weren’t nervous at least, you told yourself you weren’t. You were just… bracing yourself. For a conversation overdue. For feelings neither of you had signed up for. Your hand hovered over the handle, fingers curling in, then releasing. The hallway was quiet at this hour. No distractions. No excuses. Just you, a closed door, and the man you hadn’t stopped thinking about.

You finally knocked, three soft taps. Polite. Almost unsure.

“Come in,” his voice called through almost instantly, like he’d been sitting there waiting.

When you opened the door, the first thing you noticed was how he looked up fast, like he’d been facing the door the whole time. His hair was a little messy, eyes tired but alert, like he hadn’t really slept even though it was a new day. His tie was loose. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up just enough to show his forearms.

Your heart did a little tumble you didn’t appreciate.

“Hey,” you said quietly, stepping in. He stood up halfway. “Hey.”

And for a second, neither of you knew what to say. It was like the air between you was stitched together with tension and apologies that couldn’t be said in passing. Jisung cleared his throat. “Do you want to sit?” he asked, nodding to the two chairs by the coffee table near his desk. The sunlight was spilling in through the blinds, casting soft stripes of light over everything. You nodded and took a seat, smoothing down your skirt. He sat across from her, elbows on his knees, like he was ready to leap forward—or run.

“I wanted to talk,” you started, eyes locked on him.

“I know,” he said quickly. “I mean—I’m glad you did. I’ve been trying to figure out how to…” He trailed off, sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. “God, I’ve messed things up, haven’t I?”

“Not entirely,” you said softly. He looked up at you like that single sentence kept him from drowning. You licked your lips. “I talked to Grey.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Oh.”

“He told me things. About you. About how you grew up. About how… hard it is for you to get close to people.” Jisung shifted. The slight flinch in his posture wasn’t lost on you. “I didn’t come here to push you,” you said gently. “I came here because I needed to hear you. Not your file. Not Grey. You.”

He exhaled, almost crumbling.

“You scare me,” he muttered suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You do. You walk in like you’re on fire and you don’t even notice the way the room bends around you. You don’t flinch when I’m cold. You challenge me. You see through me like no one ever has and I—I hate it because it’s terrifying and I love it because it’s you.”

You sat frozen for a breath. Then another. Your lips parted, stunned. “I didn’t mean what I said that night,” he said, voice lower now. “I knew I crossed the line the second I saw your face fall. I’ve been trying to figure out how to say I’m sorry ever since.”

You nodded once. “You did hurt me.”

“I know.”

“But I also didn’t let you explain.” Jisung stared at you for a long time, then whispered, “You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I know,” she said back. Another moment passed. And then you reached for the coffee cup sitting cold on the table between them, lifted it to your lips, and made a face. “Jesus. How long has this been sitting here?”

He huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t drink that.”

“So, we agree it’s toxic waste?”

He nodded. “100%.” A beat. Then she smiled barely. But it was there. And Jisung? He smiled too, but his was full, slow, blooming like it had been dying to stretch across his face again.

“I still owe you lunch,” he said.

“And I still owe you a win,” youreplied.

They weren’t fixed. But they were trying.

Han Jisung’s hands have never felt so useless. He’d just begun to feel like the ground beneath them was leveling out, like he could speak to you again without hating himself. And then you had to look at him like that, half-curious, half-devilish. Like you were planning something dangerous, and he was helpless to stop it.

You sat forward, your eyes locked on him, voice honeyed but sharp.

“So… why didn’t you tell me?” you asked casually, like you weren’t about to unravel him.

Jisung blinked. “Tell you what?”

“That you have feelings for me.” His brain blue-screened. Full-on system failure. “I—uh—w-what? Feelings? Me?” You tilted your head, clearly amused. “Grey sort of told me yesterday.”

“Grey told—?!” he choked. “That—traitor—”

“Why didn’t you just say something?” you asked again, eyes twinkling. He fidgeted in his seat like it was suddenly too small for him. “Because! You’re—you. And I’m me. And this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m your—supervisor,” he stressed, as if that helped.

“That never stopped you from bossing me around in meetings,” you teased.

He groaned. “Don’t say it like that, I already feel like I’ve committed emotional HR violations.” You leaned back, lips pressing together to hide your laugh. And then, slowly, you stood. Jisung watched you, wary. “What are you doing?”

You circled his desk like a cat, stopping behind his chair. “Wait,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips, “are you flustered right now?”

“I’m not—!” he squeaked, voice cracking slightly. “I am composed, thank you.”

“Flustered. About me,” you sang, enjoying this far too much. “Han Jisung has a crush on his intern…”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered under his breath, cheeks flushing even deeper.

“As if you aren’t too,” he shot back suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. And it hit you like a slap of heat. Your smile faltered for half a second. You blinked. “What did you just say?”

Jisung’s lips parted, like he wanted to take it back but he didn’t. His eyes flickered to yours, wide and honest.

“Don’t act like it’s just me.”

A silence fell between them, heavy and buzzing. And then—God help them both—you leaned forward, bracing your hands on the arms of his chair. Close enough to see the stubble on his jaw. Close enough to feel his breath hitch.

You tilted your head. “You talk too much.”

Then, without warning, you kissed him.

Soft. Bold. Quick. But the second your lips pressed to his, your brain short-circuited with a thousand alarms. What did I just do? Your heart slammed against your ribs, panic bubbling up before you even pulled back.

“I—” you breathed, stepping back fast, “I shouldn’t have—”

But you didn’t get the chance to finish. Jisung was already out of his chair. And then his hands were on your waist, pulling you in, and his lips were back on yours, urgent this time. Messy. Real. Like he’d been waiting for this moment since the first time you argued with him.

You melted into it until you were both breathless and laughing against each other’s mouths.

“You totally overstepped,” he whispered, grinning. You rolled her eyes. “You literally chased me.” He smirked, still breathless. “And I’d do it again.”

One kiss turned into two. Then three. Then neither of you could remember who started what anymore. Jisung’s hands were frantic, like he couldn’t decide where to touch you first. Your waist? Your jaw? Your hips? He settled for all of them, one after the other, pulling you impossibly closer between kisses that left you both gasping.

You weren’t helping—at all. You were smirking against his lips, fingers sliding under the collar of his shirt as you murmured, “You know, for someone so professional in meetings… you’re kinda desperate right now.” Jisung pulled back just enough to look at you, mouth parted in shock. “Wh—” His voice cracked. “That’s not fair—!”

“Awww,” you teased, dragging your finger down the center of his chest, “did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yes!” he whined, genuinely, breath stuttering. “Why are you bullying me right now?”

“Because you’re easy,” you grinned, grabbing the end of his tie and giving it a little tug. “And cute when you pout.” Jisung muttered something incoherent—probably a curse—before he gave up entirely and kissed you again, this time deeper, one hand firm at the small of your back while the other traveled down, fingers skimming the edge of her thighs. You let out a sharp inhale when he hoisted you up onto his desk like you weighed nothing. Papers crumpled beneath you, a pen went clattering to the floor, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care because his hands God, his hands were trailing up your legs with reverence and want all rolled into one shaky exhale.

He was looking at you like he didn’t know whether to worship you or unravel you.

“You’re trouble,” he whispered against her skin.

“I learned from the best,” you shot back, already popping open the first button of his shirt. “Mr. Han.”

“Oh my God—” He was dizzy. Fully, utterly gone for you. His tie was undone, shirt halfway open, and your lips were ghosting along the edge of his collarbone like you wanted to memorize the taste of him.

And then—

RIIINGGGG—!!

The desk phone blared.

The two of you froze.

Jisung groaned. “No. No, no, no.” You snorted, forehead falling to his shoulder in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m about to unplug that thing for life,” he mumbled into your neck. “Shouldn’t you pick it up?” you teased.

“I should sue it for emotional damage.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You kissed me and now I’m ruined—of course I’m dramatic!”

The phone kept ringing. Reluctantly, breath still uneven, Jisung reached around you for the receiver, muttering a soft, “Don’t move,” like you were going to evaporate if he looked away for too long. He cleared his throat before answering voice still wrecked, like he’d just sprinted up a dozen flights of stairs.

“Y-Yeah, Han speaking…”

There was a pause. You watched his expression shift from annoyed to concerned, his brows furrowing, jaw tightening.

“Mhm. Okay—okay. Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up and sighed like he just aged ten years in thirty seconds. You tilted your head. “That didn’t sound like a lunch reservation.” Jisung winced. “It’s not. That was about the Parker brief—something blew up with the client and I need to help clean it before it spirals. They’re asking for me personally.”

He stepped closer, brushing your hair back gently. “I swear to God, if I didn’t have to go—”

“You’d what?” you teased, lips quirking. He grinned, leaning in to kiss you one more time, slow and deliberate. “I’d definitely get fired.”

You laughed against his mouth and pulled back. “So dramatic.”

“I mean it,” he said, his tone suddenly sincere. “But I am going to make it up to you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Dinner. Just you and me. No work. No Grey. No emergencies. Just us.” Your brows raised. “Is this a bribe, Mr. Han?”

“This is me asking you on a date, finally,” he said, smirking. “And lowkey bribing you.”

“You’re lucky I like food,” you said, hopping off the desk as he helped her down. “Lucky you like me,” he mumbled under his breath.

You caught that. You both smiled. As you adjusted your blouse and smoothed your skirt, you stepped over to him and fixed his tie with practiced ease, eyes focused on the knot like it was the most delicate task in the world. Then you slid a finger down the center of his shirt, giving one button an extra pat.

“There,” you murmured. “Ready for war.”

“I was gonna say court,” he chuckled, “but same energy.” You turned to leave, heels clicking against the polished floor. And of course, his eyes dropped immediately to your hips. And stayed there. Shamelessly. You didn’t even have to look back to know. You paused at the door, turned slowly, and caught him red-handed, gaze glued to you like he was trying to memorize every step you took.

“So, you were staring,” you said, one brow arched in challenge.

Jisung blinked, caught like a guilty puppy. “I—I was just—I mean, technically, you’re walking in my office so it’s my job to supervise…”

“Supervise my ass?” He grinned. “Exactly.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still showing up for dinner.”

“Only because I want dessert.”

“Ohhh my God.”

You winked and walked out, leaving Jisung running a hand through his hair, muttering, “She’s gonna destroy me,” with the biggest lovestruck smile on his face.

Waw....our flustered boy always comes out in the end huh? 🥰

Taglist: purple means I can't tag you

@pixie-felix @pessimisticloather @necrozica @sh0dor1 @leeknow-minho2 @jitrulyslayyed @igotajuicyass @bbokvhs @katyxstay @maisyyyyyy @katchowbbie @yoongiismylove2018 @morkleesgirl @rockstarkkami @alisonyus @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @makeawitchoutofme @jc27s @jeonginnieswifey @nikki143777 @lillymochilover @imeverycliche @heartsbystars @iknow-uknow-leeknow @maxidential @ebnabi @ari-hwanggg @xxxxmoonlightxxx @rossy1080 @hanniebunch @tricky-ritz @woozarts @zerillia @queenofdumbfuckery

check out my pinned if you want to be added to the taglist!

~kc💗

[henley-reeves]

Maybe if you want to make a statement against genocide, you shouldn't do it with a setting of Eurovision contest AND make genocide survivors into villains. And then have the hero of the show literally TORTURE a genocide survivor! The Doctor did go too far in the past, but it was ALWAYS either presented as a HUGE dark moment the Doctor is ashamed of and feels enormous guilt about, OR the companion angrily calling the Doctor out on their actions and why it is WRONG on every level. The Doctor faced no repercussions for his actions in the end, and Belinda DIDN'T call him out angry enough or at all, to be fair. I mean she walked in on her friend, TORTURING the survivor of the genocide she just learned about, and she didn't immediately stop him, she just watched for a few moments while he continued to do that! And in the end of the episode she was not even angry at him or terrified that he is capable of doing things like that to a living being. She just told him he scared her. IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY??? Also, what was the ending of the episode about?? Do you think allowing a survivor of a genocided planet sing a song about their people and home would somehow make it for a good ending??? What were the consequences for the corporation? Was it destroyed? Were the people responsible punished or faced consequences? Was justice served? Was the contest dismantled since it was funded by blood money? Did the Doctor have the "Let me help you" speech to Kid? Did the Doctor offer to help in any way to the survivors of the planet to free them from oppression? Did the Doctor feel awful for torturing someone who came from the planet of suffering? Didn't look like it. Wasn't he supposed to feel compassion and wish to help people who went through something so terrible the Doctor is all too familiar with themself? Remember when Ten locked Tentoo up in a different universe for committing genocide? Remember how Twelve went back and saved Davros when he was a kid? Remember when Donna called the Doctor out for murdering children of Racnoss and refused to travel with him because this behavior was so terrible? Remember Ten's "THE MAN WHO NEVER WOULD" speech against genocide and refusing to kill a man who just murdered his daughter? Remember how Amy yelled at Eleven who pulled a gun at a war criminal and gave him an angry speech on how he is supposed to be the guy "WHO NEVER WOULD"?? Remember how Bill cried and asked Twelve "HOW MANY PEOPLE YOU'VE SEEN DIE? HOW MANY TILL YOU LOST COUNT?" Remember how the Ood were enslaved by an evil corporation and then rose up against their torturers, and the Doctor was kind to them and helped liberate their people and they were not presented as villains for fighting against their oppressors? What happened in this episode in terms of the main plot, was NOT a good message and NOT a good execution. At several moments I actually rooted for Kid, because I felt like his anger was justified, seeing all these people basically being all happy "Hunger Games" style watching contest funded by murder of the entire planet while the victims were silenced and forced into submission and treated like garbage by the entire galaxy.

[halfway-happyyy]

thinking about frank's big doe eyes omgg. i just know he'd look so at peace sucking his girl's tits, the look up at her as if she's a goddess, can't believe he gets to do this and make her feel good too. need to run my hands through his hair and rub his cheek and stare at him while he relaxes. like it's not a want but a need omg</3

wait, wait, wait, why is this hitting me right in the kink button? 😵‍💫

it's the image of frank - the punisher - allowing himself to feel secure, and comforted by you in the most intimate of ways; the sheer intimacy of it can only really be replicated through cockwarming.

now, frank usually drifted off to sleep with his big warm, mitt gently caressing your breast, so when he mumbled one evening that he'd like to try something, you didn't bat an eye.

you were sitting up in bed, reading a novel, when he moved to rest his head in your lap. he looked worn out; you could see it in the deepened creases next to his eyes and in the violet shadows underneath them. his umber hair was growing long, and you brushed it out of his eyes before peering down at him.

"you okay, frankie?"

he didn't answer, but his fingers found the hem of your t shirt, and gently began to push it up, exposing your warm skin to the cool bedroom air. he turned his head slightly to press sloppy kisses to your stomach, and continued to lift your shirt up until the cool air kissed the rounded curves of your breasts.

"can I, baby?"

as if there were ever anything in the world you'd deny him of.

"yes, frank."

he had tilted his head up and sucked a nipple into his mouth, while his other hand gently massaged your free breast. the image of him like that - suckling on you, eyes closing of their own volition because he was just so at peace - was enough to get you off then and there.

it's the closest he ever gets to being in a submissive headspace.

on some nights - when he gets home late - sore and bloodied, and utterly worn out from the day, he doesn't even have to ask. he finds his way to you in the darkness, lays down in your lap, shucks your shirt up (if you're wearing one), and sucks a nipple into his mouth.

it's the glassy, blissed out look in his eyes while he's doing it, and the little groans that sound in the hollow of his throat, that really get you. it's how needy his hand is on your other breast, how sometimes it gets him so hard that he has no choice but to grind, and rock against the pillow between his legs.

"'sat feel good, frankie?" you whisper, while running your fingertips along his scalp - all of it has the man nearly whimpering.

sometimes it ends in the best sex of your life, but most of the time you're just content to offer him a shred of comfort, a shred of security in a world that has been inexplicably vicious to him for the most part.

"i've got you, frank. take what you need."

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Random headcanons: You set their wallpaper of a spicy picture of you

Featuring: Task force 141

Warnings: suggestive, NSFW

Captain John Price:

He rarely unlocks his phone during the day, so you assume it is safe to set his wallpaper to you wearing nothing but his hat, sitting on the bed, legs spread, hands tied in the front with a silky ribbon and one of his cigars between your lips.

You did not account for the fact that sometimes Price shows memes to his team or fact checks stuff in front of others, so you can imagine the shock on his face when he unlocked his phone to show Soap something.

Soap: Sir? Is this-

Price: Yes, it is

The conversation ended there, with the Scotsman leaving the room in a subtle, yet fast manner, trying to hide the forming buldge from his captain, who, on his side noticed everything, but decided not to comment on it, in order not to make the situation more uncomfortable than it already was.

Yes, Soap avoided Price for the entire day and they have never spoke about the incident again. Even though the captain notices his Sergent hungrily eyeing you from time to time, which makes his mind wonder of certain possibilities. (If you are into it)

As for you, you did get your punishment, after you spent 20 minutes laughing at your husband story.

Y/N: Poor Soap

Price: What about me? I had to avoid unlocking my phone all day.

Y/N: You never unlock your phone.

Price: There was not a reason for it, luv.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

This man is phone rotting, whenever he is away from others and has some free time. Whether it is Reddit, Tiktok, or texting you - obsessively, he is on his phone - period.

For his picture you wear a sexy black lingerie, barely covering you and his balaclava. You are sitting on the sofa, with your elbows on your knees, leaning into the front camera, his dog tags hanging from your neck.

Simon goes feral.

He is immediately finding a quiet place from where he can call you and jerk off, while staring at your picture.

He will beg you to praise him, order him around and guide him in what to do and you can say anything - and I mean, anything.

This man is a slut for you. He is a huge switch. When he turns submissive he is completely at your mercy. Just, please, tell this man what to do and how you want him to do it.

Bonus points if you video chat and touch yourself, while edging him. He will try to hold himself back, but if you push him enough, he will cum within minutes.

This is how much power you have over him. Use it wisely.

And yes, Simon will absolutely fuck you stupid the moment he gets home. And will insist on taking pictures together, so he can keep something while on deployment.

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

He will open his phone in front of Ghost and get lost, staring at the photo of you, hand mindlessly grabbing Simon's tight.

For his picture, you are laying face on the bed, back arched, wearing nothing but tight blue panties with the scottish flag on them. Side boob is slightly showing.

Soap doesn't even register Simon or where his hand is, who is shifting from side to side, but not peeling his eyes off of you, nor removing Soap's hand from his tight.

When the Scottsman finally snap from his trance, he is texting you every spicy thing he can think of and sending you pictures of his, and Simon's buldges with the caprion:

"Look what you did, darling. LT wants to stop for some dinner tonight, now too. Make sure to recreate the picture once we get home. We are gonna put some English in you too."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another chronic phone user. Gaz is on his phone 23/19. He is obsessed with animal videos and staring at ya'll pictures. Editing and candid photo stuff is his drug.

You warn him in advance that you will send him something, as he has the habit of showing off his editing skills*ahem* your cutesy couple photos *ahem* to either Price, or Laswell.

The last thing you want is to flash his superiors.

So, you tell him to unlock his phone at a specific time and make sure he is alone.

The picture for him is you wearing his sunglasses, naked, on the balcony. You are sat on a chair, legs crossed. The picture is taken at sunrise, right when the sun is softly highlighting your chest.

Somehow Gaz didn't time this right, he expected a attachment, not a wallpaper - in his defense, and he opened his phone in the middle of a briefing.

The sergeant dropped his phone on the ground while trying to catch it, creating the (trying to hold a hot stone effect). Price shot him a questioning look, but kept talking, pretending not to notice how Gaz picked his phone face down and put it in his pocket.

For the entire briefing Gaz couldn't focus on anything but your picture. He tried so hard, not to get a boner, but knowing you took the said photograph while he was sleeping, maybe 15 minutes before he got up for work - got him wild.

He went radio silent the entire day and when he got home, he didn't bother talking, or greeting you - Gaz just lifted you up from the couch and smashed his lips into yours.

[skzficdump]

Last Time

paring: bangchan x femreader

gender: angst, smut, ex!bangchan, he´s your ex but you´re still his

word count: 780

warnings: oral sex (fem reciving), sex without protecion, dirty talk, dominant/submissive dynamics, breeding kink, toxic relationship / exes, relationships marked by pain and desire, emotional exhaustion and sexual dependence

The storm outside raged as if it knew what was coming. As if the sky were about to break around you. You knocked on the door with trembling hands, soaked, repentant, furious with yourself for being there. For continuing to fall into it.

He opened the door without surprise on his face, but with something deeper in his eyes: rage, desire, and that bitter pain that came with pride.

"I didn't think you'd come back," Chan said, his voice low, almost grave.

"I didn't come for you," you lied. You both knew it.

He stepped aside. He let you in. Like he always did. He closed the door, and the click resonated like a gunshot.

"What do you want then? Another half-hearted goodbye? Another excuse to leave?"

"No. I just… I don't want to think," you said, and your eyes met his. Furious. Burning. Broken.

One step. Two. And now you had him in front of you. His hand moved up your neck, gentle but firm. He held you there, his gaze fixed on yours.

"I do think about you. Every damn day. And I hate you for it."

He kissed you without warning. Hard. Demanding. He pushed you against the wall, and your back hit with a thud. Chan's mouth was wild, and his hands moved down, anxious, as if he feared you'd faint if he didn't touch you quickly.

"This is what you want, huh?" he whispered against your lips as he lifted you off the floor, his hands under your thighs. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and he carried you to the bed, still kissing you as if it were the last thing he was going to do.

When he dropped you, his eyes roamed your body with hunger. He was no longer the sweet boy you dated. He was fire, rage, and pent-up lust.

He took off his shirt leisurely, revealing his taut, defined muscles. Then he pulled down your pants and underwear in one motion, his eyes fixed on your wet center.

"So wet for me… even though you say you don't love me. You're such a hypocrite."

He firmly opened your legs and positioned himself between them. His tongue descended where you needed it most, without warning, without mercy. Slow at first, then deep and precise, as if he knew it drove you crazy when he used only the tip and then his entire tongue flat on your clit.

"Chan…" you moaned, gripping his hair. "God, don't stop!"

"I'm not going to," he said with a crooked smile, his mouth wet for you. "Today you're mine. All of you. I'm going to make sure you can't walk tomorrow."

And he did.

He unbuttoned his pants, freeing himself with a throaty groan. His erection was hard, throbbing, and when he showed it to you, rubbing it against your entrance, your body arched in anticipation alone.

"Are you ready?" he asked, even though you were already dripping for him.

"Yes. Chan, please…"

He entered suddenly, with a firm, deep thrust, making a cry escape your lips. It was too much. Too perfect. Too wrong.

His thrusts were strong, rhythmic, his hands on your hips and his eyes fixed on your face.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, panting.

"Yes…"

"Good. I want you to remember that every time you're alone."

He pressed harder. He changed the angle. He made you see it, feel it, live it. Every movement was wilder. More desperate.

"I'm going to fill you," he whispered in your ear. "All the way. I'm going to leave you marked. As punishment. As a promise. Because even if you're not with me, you're going to take me inside you."

The knot in your belly exploded. You screamed his name as you came, shaking, trembling. And he didn't stop. He kept thrusting harder, with hoarse moans, until he came inside you with a brutal grunt, buried deep inside, releasing all his frustration.

"That's it…" he whispered, lowering his forehead to yours. "You're mine. Even if you don't love me. Even if you leave tomorrow. This body… belongs to me."

He held you for a moment. Tight. As if he didn't want to let go.

And then he pulled away. As if that were the hardest thing in the world.

"Go if you want. But don't come back. Not again."

You remained silent. He didn't look at you.

You dressed in the darkness. You still carried his essence inside you. His words. His damned love turned into hate, turned into desire.

You left without closing the door completely. Because a part of you knew that if you touched it again…

He would open it again.

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: How would yan chuuya, jouno, light, megumi and gojo react to a darling that just doesn't care that they're yanderes?

I already did a similar concept with Chuuya before but I added him nonetheless because I wrote this with a darling in mind that is even fine with the Yandere killing

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, clinginess, isolation, murder

Tags: @maggiequinn59 @shumidehiro @leveyani @izanami78 @lovley-valentine7

Darling doesn't care that they are obsessed

Yagami Light

✍️Light takes the information very well, a pleased grin on his lips when he realises that none of the things that he does seem to bother you. It’s a sign of submission from your side, something that could only ever please a man with a god complex like he has. This is how it should be after all. You should know your place and love him utterly and completely for the perfect being that he is. Light has done some terrible things in the name of his proclaimed love for you, things that he believes he has the right to do as no one is allowed to steal the person away from him that he plans to keep by his side after he has become the New God. Stealing what belongs to a deity is nothing short of a sin. A sin that has to be punished with death itself. After having confirmed that his feelings for you haven’t scared you nor have some of the actions that he has committed which you were aware of, Light starts truly testing how far your adoration and your dedication go for him. He reveals his ideologies, his mission, his identity to you as well as the future he plans to have with you all whilst you remain loving and loyal. Oh, you are indeed worthy of ruling this world alongside with him. He chose wisely.

Nakahara Chuuya

🟠Chuuya tends to let his delusional side get the better of him yet upon initial discovery that you truly don’t care about his behavior as long as he keeps on loving you and treating you well, the Executive is a tad bit concerned. Are you sure? You’re really fine with all of this? He’s in the Port Mafia, he’s killed people for you even. It’s just hard to believe that you accept all of it as gracious as you do to the point where Chuuya wonders if you’re trying to trick him. That distrust remains for a while even if you give him no reason to doubt you. Paranoia is rarely soothed by logic after all. Once Chuuya has been convinced that you truly mean it when you say that you don’t care about his obsession he gets undeniably more delusional though. If you don’t mind his obsession after all he can’t possibly be as bad as he thought he was. He starts indulging in his obsession for you more and more as you basically give him a free pass, asks of you to move in with him so that he can protect you better all whilst spoiling the living shit out of you. He doesn’t really have to hold himself back as much anymore which leads the Executive to turn his possessive behavior up quite a bit. You won’t mind after all.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️For Jouno this knowledge is a bit of a double-edged sword. On the one hand you are easier to deal with, don’t throw any tantrums which could get on his nerves and show quite a level of obedience that deeply satisfies his possessive side. The composed sound of your heart doesn’t overwhelm him but sometimes he also finds himself getting bored. Don’t forget that this Hunting Dog is still an utter sadist after all who would love to listen to the melody of your frantic heartbeat once in a while. After all it’s quite unspectacular for you to be so monotonous with your behavior and your acceptance all of the time. As much obedience and acceptance you may give him after all, it is all for naught if Saigiku doesn’t have control over you by having you fear him. Loyalty and love are not enough in his mind, not if there isn’t fear that weights you down and has you carefully thinking about every stupid decision you might make. The sadist inside of him is truly talking out of him with this desire yet Jouno never attempts to restrain his actions. Since you’ve already taken so well to everything that he’s done so far he’s sure you won’t mind learning how to be a bit scared of him~

Fushiguro Megumi

💙Megumi’s silent paranoia has led him to justify his overprotective and somewhat overbearing behavior most of the time yet there is a shred of awareness still left somewhere inside of him. It is this last shred of sanity that is the only thing letting him know that you shouldn’t think this way, that you should be scared of him. Perhaps you’re trying to trick him? Something holds Megumi back from believing you when you first admit it to him, almost accusing you of trying to fool him so that he lets his guard down. The moment you manage to convince him though that you are speaking the truth the last shard of awareness shatters and leaves him thoroughly led by his paranoid and overprotective instincts. Of course he trusts you. It’s everyone else that he doesn’t trust though. So you two better spend time alone with each other where others won’t be able to bother the two of you. When he isn’t with you, try not to leave the house. If you do, please contact him and let him know where you are, what you are doing and when you are back home again. No, he isn’t overbearing and overprotective. He only wants to ensure your safety, wants to know you’re safe.

Gojo Satoru

🩵Gojo totally eats your behavior up as soon as he knows that you really don’t mind his overbearing, clingy and paranoid attitude. This man has no restrains to begin with as he never holds his affection back but everything becomes even more gross for the people forced to watch as soon as you indirectly give him the free pass. The man is thrilled, constantly smothers you in love and presents and he quickly pushes this relationship to move in the direction he wants it to go. You quickly find yourself moving in with him as it takes him little to no time to convince you, you find yourself spending an almost overwhelming amount of time with him as he gets quickly jealous when you pay attention to others as his possessive and needy nature quickly cages you in. You’re compliant, you’re sweet and you love him for the person that he is which only pushes Gojo to cling tigthter and tighter to you. He finds comfort in you, he finds his peace when he’s with you and he only confines his pain and his feelings to you. You know him. You understand him. You love him. For those reasons he will never let you leave him nor will he ever let anyone lay a finger on you.

[yawnderu]

CW: cucking, voyeurism, jealous FWB!Simon, is there a tag for Simon being straight but making a cuck suck his dick asking for a friend- breeding kink at the end if you squint.

“That all you got?” Simon taunts, his tone filled with condescension as he looks down at the man fucking you pathetically; just a warmup for Simon, something to get you nice and ready.

“Go on, then. Make her scream.” As he speaks, Simon unbuttons his pants, his hard and throbbing cock springing free. His hand goes down to his shaft, starting to stroke himself slowly as he focuses on the way the other man is fucking you, seemingly going harder than usual based on your surprised expression. He's not bad at it— but he's not Simon, just a placeholder while he's deployed, you both know it.

“Pathetic excuse for a fuck.” Simon's eyes lock into yours, his gaze intense and demanding despite the needy look you give him, greedily wanting more than what the man fucking you from behind can offer. It's almost enough to make him falter, but he just keeps stroking his cock, his desire for you growing with each thrust, hips bucking into his own hand.

“Like that?” The man asks you softly, planting a hard smack to your ass, only making you moan louder. Simon takes a step closer, his throbbing cock standing tall and proud, a challenge evident in his eyes.

“Move.” Simon isn't a patient man. A month-long deployment is enough to make his balls almost painfully heavy, the tip of his cock looking almost red, leaking precum like a broken faucet. He grips the man's hair, fingers tightening their hold as he pushes him aside, barely using any strength.

The man's blue eyes lock on Simon's cock before going back to meeting his gaze, a display of pure submission that goes ignored. Simon positions himself behind you, one of his hands gripping your hip firmly, making sure you stay in place. He rubs his cock up and down your folds, pausing after a second as he looks down at the man watching intently.

“Fuckin' hell, mate. Can't even make her wet.” There's annoyance clear on his tone, though possessiveness is also bleeding through it, subtly showing care for you, even when all he wants right now is to fuck. You look over your shoulder just to see Simon position himself in front of the kneeling man, his throbbing cock tantalizingly close to his face.

His eyes widen slightly when the man leans in closer, making eye contact with him before wrapping his hesitant but eager mouth around Simon's thick cock. The unexpected act sends a jolt of arousal through his body, his dominance and desire intensifying.

“Suck it like you mean it.” He tightens his grip on the man's hair, guiding his movements as he thrusts into his wet, inviting mouth, making him take it deeper despite his loud gags. Simon's eyes lock with yours, his gaze filled with nothing but pure dominance. An audible groan escapes his lips, his breath growing heavy as he tilts his head back, quickly pushing the man away once his cock is wet enough.

“Watch closely, lad. This is how a real man fucks.” He lines himself up to your pretty cunt, taking a moment to admire the curves of your body, the swell of your ass that only adds to your allure.

“Always ready for me, hm?” Simon is never this vocal during sex— he's simply showing off, and you both know it, yet you don't bother teasing him about it, arching your back to give him easier access instead. He wastes no time, thrusting into you with a force that leaves you breathless. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he sets a rough, punishing pace, his movements rough and unrelenting.

He leans closer to you, burly arms wrapping around your waist for leverage as his masked face rests on your soft back, your hands gripping the sheets underneath you, the other man in the room long forgotten.

“Mine.” He whispers into your ear, only for you to hear. He rams his cock into you, making his point clear, setting a punishing rhythm. As your orgasm washes over you, Simon's release is quick to follow, his body tensing up and shuddering against yours as he shoots ropes of hot cum right into your needy cunt, thrusting as deep as possible, secretly hoping your birth control will fail this time.

[sleepingdeath-light]

burning spice cookie smut hcs + fem s/o ; 18+

requested by ; snail-noodle (04/10/24), anonymous (31/10/24), anonymous (10/02/25) & host sapphire (anon) (25/01/25)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; burning spice cookie

outline ; “could you possibly do some nsfw headcanons of burning spice cookie with a female reader?”

&

“CAN WE GET SOME BURNING SPICE COOKIE NSFW HEADCANONS? Female gender reader! I am nineteen, lol. Thank youuuu! <3”

&

“May i request something involving Burning Spice Cookie? Perhaps his favorite positions during intimacy or his kinks? Female reader if possible! (I am over 20 - just to clarify!)”

&

“(I’m over 18+ 😊) I’ve been on a massive Burning Spice Cookie kick since I got back into playing Cookie Run.. Do you have any nsfw headcanons about being his submissive (g/n)?”

warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, dominant!burning spice cookie, cock warming, overstimulation, dumbification, power play, pet play, collaring, public sex acts, marking kink, orgies, humiliation, pet name kink, dacryphilia/crying, sadism, cum eating, face sitting, orgasm denial, free use, temperature play, sensation play, and sensory deprivation

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

burning spice cookie is an uncompromisingly dominant person in the bedroom with a distinctly sadistic streak to him that you only truly get to glimpse when you’re being punished or when you convince him to engage in some actual rough play with you. sure, occasionally he may float the idea of letting you try to reverse the roles and earn his submission but the chances of you ever winning in a fight against him are so slim that the whole thing is more like an elaborate, messy, form of foreplay than anything else — one that usually ends in him fucking you into dumb, blissful submission whenever you give up and return to your rightful place beneath him

… though if you ever were to win he’s not going to walk back on his promises and he will let you take the lead as a reward for your determination and success. after all, as the former herald of change he does still have that desire to push you past your limits and help you explore and experience things you wouldn’t have necessarily looked into yourself (even if that desire is more of an unconscious instinct than a conscious thought these days…)

he adapts his style of dominance to your personal preferences as a submissive — e.g. leaning more into his sadistic tendencies if you’re an extreme masochist, becoming stricter and harsher with his punishments if you’re the type of brat that needs to have their submission earned, taking complete control and pretty much treating you like an object if you just need to be manhandled and fucked stupid for a change, etc. — but left to his own devices he’s mean, degrading, harsh, and also almost playful in how he treats you in the bedroom

burning spice cookie is extremely vocal in the bedroom and never seems to stop making noise no matter how hard you try and get him to shut up or to, at the very least, be a bit quieter. he moans and groans and slurps and grunts when he eats you out, making sure that you know exactly how much he’s enjoying his meal (if his bruising grip on your hip and refusal to let you move away until he’s had his fill wasn’t enough of a clue). he’ll make you ride his cock or his thigh and tease you for being so desperate and helpless, making you beg for him to touch you properly or to let you cum and only relenting when he gets the exact reaction he’s looking for: teary eyes, pouting lips, and his name spoken so brokenly that it’s like music to his ears. he’ll degrade you for being such a slut for him while he’s fucking you into the mattress from behind, calling you his cocksleeve in one breath before commenting on how you were made for him in the next. he’ll praise you for your perfect body and addictive taste and tell you how incredible it feels to be buried inside of you to the hilt, often times pulling away in the middle of fucking you with his dick or fingers or tongue to tell you how good you’re doing for him. oh and that’s not even mention the throaty groans and grunts that slip from his lips when he finally cums…

… so… yeah… he’s pretty vocal alright

doesn’t really call you any specific pet names in the bedroom, outside of whatever slips out of his mouth when he’s dirty talking you, but he is extremely receptive to you calling him things that emphasise his role as your dominant — bonus points if you call him ‘master’ or ‘my lord’ but he’s not super picky as long as the implication he wants is still present

very much so into humiliating you and emphasising the power dynamic between the two of you, and will frankly go as far as you let him in that regard: public sex, nudity, making you get off on his calf or even his shoe if he’s feeling especially mean, making you degrade yourself before he even considers touching you, etc. — if left unchecked he can get mean as hell, so be sure to clarify your personal boundaries with him before you even consider engaging in any sort of play like this together

he’s extremely possessive by nature and you’ll never leave his bedroom without at least a few new marks decorating your body (be that bite marks, bruises, scratches, cuts, or something else entirely), and the idea of permanently branding you as his is extremely appealing to him. but if you don’t want a permanent physical mark he’ll gladly settle for collaring you instead — and you’d best believe that the collar you’ll end up wearing is of the highest quality money can buy

(and, as a bonus point, if you’re also into pet play he’ll incorporate the collar into it as much as possible: leashing you up and taking you for walks, dragging you towards him or pushing your head down to clean up the messes you’ve made using a harsh grip on it, playing with the metallic sections of the collar when he’s in a more casually possessive mood, branding the collar with a term relating to whatever animal you regress into during scenes with him, etc.)

loves it when you get all dumb and limp and cockdrunk when he fucks you, and thinks it’s attractive as hell when you’re so far gone that all you can do is babble his name over and over again. this means that overstimulation is going to become a frequent part of your sex life with him… but, hey, at least you’ll never leave his bed unsatisfied

burning spice cookie is big into testing your limits in bed to keep things interesting, and one way that he goes about doing this is by employing various forms of sensory play: experimenting with heat and the cold, taking away and amplifying each of your senses in sequence, caressing and torturing you with items of varying textures, mixing pain with pleasure, messing with water and with wax, etc. — he loves keeping you on your toes and, even more so, he loves figuring out new ways to get you off

loves to make you cry and think you look hot as hell when you’re sobbing and babbling from overstimulation or desperation. bonus points if you wear mascara specifically so it can make even more of a mess when he makes you cry

he can be mean as hell and can easily edge you for hours at a time until he gets the result that he wants from you… or until he gets bored of denying you and decides to just finally start fucking you for a change of pace

loves it when you appeal to his ego by begging for him — be that his tongue, his voice, his hands, his cock, or any other part of his body — and he especially loves it when you’re visibly and audibly desperate for whatever you’re begging for… and extra bonus points if you sprinkle in some praise towards him and one of his favourite pet names too

as touched upon in previous points, burning spice cookie has no shame and no fear and thus no problem with having sex in public or semi public settings — he doesn’t care who he’s talking to, how powerful they may be or how vital to his cause they are, if he wants your mouth on his cock he’s going to ask you to blow him then and there without a second’s hesitation. and if you’d rather not do it in public he’ll either dismiss the other people present or just pick you up and carry you somewhere private so he can get what he wants

absolutely up for bringing more people into the bedroom if that’s what you’re into — just as long as everyone plays by his rules and you remember that, no matter who you fuck or suck or kiss, you’re still his lover and submissive and nothing is going to change that. he’ll even play around with other mortals himself just to stave of his boredom, but make no mistake his focus is always on you and he can/will put things on hold if he notices something he doesn’t like

big into free use, for both of you actually. he wants you to feel confident enough in yourself to not just ask for what you want from him, but to just take it whenever the need strikes you. he wants you to be shameless, blatant, and desperate enough for him to stop caring about anything other than your needs in the present moment because he finds the idea to be hot as fuck… and because he doesn’t want you to feel completely used in your relationship when he’s the only one taking advantage of the free use thing (he’s a beast, not a monster!)

burning spice cookie has a massive size kink and gets off on you struggling to take him to the hilt when you fuck. this ties in wonderfully to his dacryphilia and dumbification kinks, both of which were explored in previous points

can appreciate cockwarming under the right circumstances — i.e. when you’re falling asleep right after having sex with him — but otherwise he tends to get a bit antsy and impatient when he’s buried inside you to the hilt and unable to move, so the whole cockwarming thing ends up getting thrown out of the window pretty quickly

loves going down on you, maybe even more than he loves it when you go down on him — but only just. he loves everything about it from your taste, to the feeling of your slick and squirt covering his face and neck, the sounds you make as he ravishes you, the feeling of your body trembling under his hands and mouth, how reactive you are when he uses his teeth to tease you, and more — honestly he could easily spend a whole day between your thighs and never tire of the experience. bonus points if you’re sat on his face when he does this, and extra bonus points if you get so overstimulated that you end up squirting and going limp, but as long as he gets to taste you he isn’t especially picky about the specifics of it

will also eat you out after he’s finished inside of you, he does not care and in fact has developed quite a taste for the flavour of his spend mixed with your slick

[h8ani]

In which a silly thought of teasing Rindou for a month would be fun, but after a simple week he would surely snap and make you remember why you should never play games with him

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: fem!reader, dacryphilia, edging/orgasm control, rough sex, reader is alluded to squirting, mean!rindou, potential dubcon, choking, established relationship, masturbation (male)

Here is my submission for @wakashawty NNN collab! This is my first collab ever and was so so so fun to do!

Something about Rindou is, don’t test him. He isn’t one for jokes and there will be consequences even if it’s meant as a joke.

You thought it would be funny, a comical lil thing to do. If you were smart and had even an ounce of self-preservation, this thought wouldn’t have crossed your mind, the thought being discarded as you went on with your day. But yet here you were. Wanting to participate in No Nut November was supposed to be a little joke, you must’ve taken it too far because now you found yourself bent over the back of the couch, hands pinned behind your back, and being edged for what seems to have been hours. You never meant for it to go this far yet here you are.

Rindou’s thrusts are rough and unrelenting as he fucks up into you, his grip on both of your wrists keeping you in place draped over the couch. The sound of skin slapping skin is all you can hear, constantly ringing in your ears as your pussy continues to take the abuse. You felt the wetness drip down your thighs followed by the sickly squelching sound your pussy started to make, you wince once you felt Rindou’s cock still from within you. Embarrassment wasn’t the word you felt while you were powerless over the couch, you were mortified. Rindou pulls his cock out of you and you feel a quick ‘slap’ against your pussy. His fingers gather up your slick before pushing two of his digits in knuckle deep eliciting a choked out moan from you. Rindou kneels down so he’s eye level with your dripping core now, a proud smirk appearing on his face. “Oh? What’s this? Are you enjoying yourself?” He curls his fingers hitting your gspot perfectly, your legs tremble as he starts finger fucking you. “You’re not meant to enjoy this.” He tsk’s from behind you, fingers slamming against your pussy allowing the wetness to drip down your legs.

You try to twist your wrists free, the feeling of being defenseless was something you weren’t particularly fond of, you hated it really, preferring to hold him close to you and have your hands roam across his body— he knew that of course. He knew everything about you, from the way you loved having your hair played with when you had a long day and were sleepy down to what you loathe, but you weren’t meant to like this; this was a punishment for a stupid idea that was brought to fruition.

You hear him groan suddenly, thrusts slowing down and a sigh slips past your lips as you think it’s all over now.

Oh, you stupid, stupid girl.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He says, voice ever so present in your ears.

Rindou sees you tense up, your body stiffening once you hear him. He has to fight back another groan once you involuntarily clench around him.

Rindou doesn’t particularly care to be like this with you, never a fan of “punishing” you if that’s what this even is. He fucking hates being teased, but you knew this, so why did you even try?

“Babe!” Rindou hears you call, your footsteps heard climbing up the stairs. “Babe! Babe! Babe!” You rush into his room with a smile coming across your face. He raises an eyebrow, curious as to what you were so excited about.

“What?”

“Guess what we’re going to do together this month?” Your smile only gets bigger as you speak to him.

“Thanksgiving?”

“Wha? No! Well yes, but not the answer!” Tired of guessing already, he gives you a bored look and waits for you to continue, hands motioning you to finish what you wanted to tell him. “We’re gonna do No Nut November!”

“Absolutely not,” Rindou says quickly which only leads to the most devious smile you could muster.

“Too bad! If I’m playing then you have to play!” You exclaimed before slipping out of his bedroom before he could interject again. You were serious about playing the game too, he knew you were. What he didn’t know was just how dirty you would play it. He could deal with you purposefully grinding your ass into him at night, that was nothing new to him. What he didn’t expect was the tease of a century of you sending lewd photos of yourself while he was at work.

Once his phone vibrates against his desk he thinks nothing of it when he sees your name pop up with a notification of a text, you always send texts while he’s at work. Clicking in his password he clicks the notification only to slam his phone hard against his desk. The photos sent were of you, in a short mini skirt bent over with no panties on, he could see only from the waist down but he noticed your fingers gathering your own slick, slim fingers prodding your entrance like you were teasing yourself. Rindou picks his phone back up to see multiple photos sent that he couldn’t look away from, another text comes in from you ‘ Wish you were the one touching me:( ’ His face now the shade of a tomato and cock pressing hard against his slacks he stands up abruptly and marches down to the single stall men’s restroom. Fingers lock the door quickly and tug his pants down even faster until he finally fists his cock. A low guttural groan leaving him while he thinks of fucking you in that mini skirt, how he wouldn’t even let you touch yourself one bit and allow him and only him to touch you. He strokes himself faster while his thoughts run rampant, precum leaking past his tip until he spills the rest of his seed all over his hand. Rindou curses internally once he looks down to see the mess, head falling back against the stalls door. Once he got home, your little game was going to be over.

To his surprise, he had more restraint than that. In your eyes that was a green light to keep going, you continued, and continued, and continued to tease him. Until one day, you wore that dress, that one fucking dress. The one that you wore on your birthday that brought back so many memories to his mind, specifically memories of him stripping the dress off of you. The dress you were wearing drove him up the wall. You couldn’t plan to wear that and expect him to keep his composure like he did the past week, you just couldn’t.

He knew that you knew what that dress did to him, how the satin snug around your curves in the most perfect way that he went crazy for. So you coming downstairs acting as if you were going out, that didn’t fly with him.

“Y/n” the tone in his voice was enough to send shivers down your spine, you dared to glance over your shoulder to see him standing up. “Come here.” He says simply. You may like to tease and play games but you knew better than to argue, especially with the way Rindou was looking at you.

You made your way over to him, the only sound that could be heard was of your heels against the floor. Once you made it in front of him, his presence seemed more threatening than it was when you were a few feet away. Slowly looking up at him you’re met with his cool lavender eyes, staring so emotionless back down at you.

“I’m only going to say this once. Bend over, before I bend you over myself.”

You were tired yet you needed more, you needed to cum. Constantly being brought to the edge only to be pulled back was a pain you never knew before.

A gasp escapes from your lips once you feel his arm slip in front of you and press two cold silver ringed fingers to your clit. The pressure is enough to bring you back to a high so quickly and make your legs shake. “Please…” you whimper while pushing your plush hips back into his own. Instantly his fingers still against you, hot wet tears beginning to well up in your eyes. The frustration and growing pain in between your legs reaching a new all time high.

“Please what?” His head tilts to the side although you couldn’t see it.

“Wanna cum, ‘m sorry.” You try to grind down into his fingers to alleviate yourself, you expected this not to work in your favor, what you didn’t expect was for Rindou to let your wrists go that he held, the dead weight of your arms falling forward ached from how long they were pinned behind your back, you rubbed your wrists, moving them around in the process.

You’re pulled up by his strong and steady hands, spun around to face him, suddenly making eye contact with him brought a suffocating tension in the air you didn’t feel when your back was the only thing that faced him. The air around you is so weak and brittle, feeling as if it would snap at any moment if given the chance. Your eyes met his with an alertness as he stared through you, the stress from the situation you put yourself in was evident even to him. His stare was uncomfortable, it was meant to be, making you squirm just from a single look from him. Your breath felt constricted as you finally spoke. “Baby…” you say, eyes stinging and rimmed red. You blink and let the stray tears fall, hand quickly wiping them away as you utter, “Please.”

His face softens, arms dipping and hooking around your legs so you can sit on top of the couch, instinctively you wrap your legs around him. “Tell me, love,” he positions himself at your entrance while he speaks. “What month is it again?”

“November?” You say confused, legs spreading to allow him in further. “Why are you asking? What are you getting at?”

“What was that little thing you wanted to do called again? No Nut what?”

“November…” you glare at him, irritation running high now. You begin to close your legs but his hand that was holding onto your waist stops you, causing you to hold yourself up on the couch now. His grip on your thigh is rough as he pushes your legs open further.

“You wanted this, didn’t you? It’s the name of the game sweetheart.” He smiles, a deep chuckle erupting from him. “You’re not cumming, end of story.” With that he pushes in, burying himself to the hilt. A sob rips out of you once he starts fucking you at a brutal pace, the way he still has any energy to continue, his pace unwavering was unbeknownst to you because you were tired, drained even. He was so deep and it was sending your mind into a frenzy making you dizzy with each thrust, your own body wanting to give out and let Rin take you as he pleases.

Tears rolled down your cheeks with every slam of his hips against yours, Rindou just laughs, grabbing your cheeks with one hand simultaneously squishing them, you muster enough strength to glare with the tears blurring your vision. “Don’t you look cute crying, you mad at me now? ‘s that it?” He angles his hips in a way that has you crying his name out, thrusting upward he hits the spongey spot within you that sends your legs into a spasm. You feel your stomach tightening up for the nth time tonight. Your hands reach up to grip his shoulder as you feel yourself so, so close to your orgasm.

Please, please, please.

You were ruined. Silent sobs were let out as you hooked your ankles together, a desperate move for him to stay inside of you. Rindou watches the way you blink more tears away, the hopeless look you had as you stare up at him, silently begging him to allow you to cum. “You gonna quit it with these games?” He brings his hand to your cheek, thumb wiping away whatever tears that continue to fall. You nod almost before he can finish, a slight peek of hope appearing on your face. “You pro-”

“I promise! P-Please, please I wanna cum, I need to cum Rin.” You shakily blurt, pulling him in even closer, feeling him even deeper than before.

“You pull this shit on me again and I won’t be so nice next time.” He says before slipping a hand in between you two, you feel his fingers press against your clit, moving in quick circular motions.

It should embarrass you how quickly the knot in your stomach tightened up, you should be even more embarrassed with the sounds you were making, how pathetic you sounded, but you didn’t care, all you cared about was your impending orgasm and how it will be the best damn orgasm of your life.

Rindou thrusted up into you roughly, now pulling away his hand which elicited a desperate whine from you which he quickly shut down. He wraps his hand around your throat squeezing ever so slightly, your attention now centered on him. “You cum from my cock, understood?” Nodding as well as you could, his grip tightens around your throat, fingers pressing in just the right spot that makes your head tingle. His pace quickens, thrusts still rough and hitting you just right. You were breathless, eyes glazed over and head spinning from the lack of oxygen, but who needed to breathe when all you wanted to do was cum.

Unperceived to you, you clenched tighter the longer you were without any air in your lungs. Rindou groans while watching you with lidded eyes as he feels himself nearing his nth orgasm of the night, thrusts becoming rougher, more erratic. A strangled gasp leaves you as you suddenly feel the coil inside snap, your body overcome by the pleasure consuming you and the mess you were making. Your body shook against his and Rindou releases his grip on your throat. His hands now hold your waist as he finishes inside of you with a grunt, his hot cum pumping inside you, painting your insides white as he rides out his high.

Your mind was spinning, unsure if it was from the sudden oxygen rushing to your head or from the intense orgasm. You slump against him with an exhausted huff, Rindou runs his hand through your hair as you both calm down, the heavy breaths from you both are the only sound that can be heard.

“Learn anything today?” His voice suddenly heard, barely having any energy you lazily nod, head tilting up from against his chest.

“Yeah, November is for Thanksgiving and Thanksgiving alone.”

@bitchcraftinc @enchantedforest-network

[revelboo]

THE HOLIDAYS SPECIAL SHITPOST IS CANON??? Omg, and it’s not a one time thing, anybody can just watch it??? if its in idw does that mean the traveling mtmte can accidentally intercept it? Can anybody, not anybody but a bot, just yoink it? Neutrals just spreading it. Thinking about swindle, or somebody just sending off to different groups aside from the ones in earth. Overlord, Tarn, Kaon, the reason the decepticons lose the war is because theyre humanfraggers. But if it lands on anti-cybertronians hands it can be used for major propaganda :(

Yeah, I suppose it is now canon to the fics on the Masterlist under IDW/G1 🤣 I treat the ones under Lost Light as wholly separate. That little PSA is definitely not going to have the intended effect, though. There are a lot of lonely or just outright bored Cybertronians on both sides.

Everything Is Alright Pt 96

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Leaning his chin on a fist as you sit with your back to him on the other arm of his throne, he listens to you tell him about the wreck. About blundering into the middle of a fire fight between Starscream and the Autobots. About talking to him after he’d taken you and decided to keep you, asking him about his day and Megatron hears your voice soften with genuine affection. You talk about meeting Soundwave and the cassettes. Starscream’s failed attempt to free you giving him pause, because when has the Seeker ever cared for someone besides himself? But listening to you, it sounds like he’s learning to care. You leave out some things, he knows. Not mentioning how Star had claimed you. Or Soundwave. But finally you fall silent, little shoulders tense. And your story just leaves him more exhausted. Because he’s not sure what to do. Punishing Starscream will also punish Soundwave. And you.

• Behind you, Megatron is silent. For all you know, your story bored him so bad he fell into recharge. So it’s a surprise when he reaches and runs his servo against your side and you look up at him, those red optics staring at you. “You’re an incredible amount of trouble for being so small,” he mutters, chin still on his fist as the servo slides to tip your chin up. “But useful. That fool can’t act out for fear of you being harmed. He might be trained yet.” And he smiles down at you, that look making your skin prickle. Trained? “Don’t worry, I think you’ll enjoy helping.”

• “I’m not helping you make him miserable,” you say, pushing at his servo with warm little hands as your eyes narrow. That unexpected attitude sparking through him. He’s seen little glimpses of it amid the submissiveness, but usually you’re quick to hide it. To play at being docile. It makes him want to push to see how far you’ll bend before you lash out. And he’s curious despite himself. Remembering that little glimpse of you under the Seeker. The sounds.

• “I only want to reward good behavior,” he says, that smile becoming something wicked that makes you freeze. Because he’s not so scary or intimidating when he smiles, that severe face seeming younger, more open. Pushing away from his servos, you scowl at him, trying your hardest not to acknowledge that for a heartbeat you thought he was handsome. Absolutely not. “And you don’t really have any say in it, pet.”

• Stuck patrolling with Soundwave even though the communications officer isn’t at all suitable for this, Starscream knows it’s just so Soundwave can watch him. Make sure he’s not plotting and he hates it. Still needs to do more research and right now? He can’t even think about his plan or Soundwave will know. He has no doubt the other mech is eavesdropping in his mind. Spying. For Megatron. Frustrated, they walk their circuit looking for any sign of Autobots and coming up empty. The enemy quiet lately. And he almost wishes an Autobot would show up, someone to take his frustration out on. And even if he could plot, he’s too distracted with worry. Hates leaving you at Megatron’s mercy. He’s felt that mercy, bears the scars of it and you’re so small. So fragile.

• Feeling the Seeker’s thoughts seething almost out of control, Soundwave vents tiredly. Understands the worry, but he trusts Megatron. He’d tried pinging Rumble and Frenzy both and had only gotten a distracted ‘busy’ from Frenzy and a flicker of emotion he really doesn’t want to think too closely on. Almost sure both cassettes are busy with the same human Rumble had disappeared with. Hoping they don’t do anything too impulsive but also sure that they likely did. Neither had ever been great at thinking things through, preferring to act on impulse. Like you. Reaching for things you want no matter the consequences.

• Returning to base, Starscream heads for the bridge and his optics narrow to find no guards waiting today. Wings flaring, he strides inside and freezes. Hissing softly as Soundwave brushes past him and also stops. Because there’s Megatron sprawled on his throne, but he’s pulled a little table in front of him and you’re in the center of it in a nest of blankets, one draped around you so only your face is visible. It’s the embarrassed anger on your face that snares his attention. “If you hurt-”

• “Your little mate is fine. Just a bit put out. Did you patrol as I asked?” Megatron growls, cutting Starscream off. Sees the Seeker’s wings flick up, trembling with rage, but he sullenly nods. “Good. Claim your reward.” Flicking his servos at you as you stand, he growls softly. “The blanket?” Now you’re shooting him a sullen look, eyes narrowed as you let the blanket fall with your back to him. He can see enough, though. The delicate chains dangling from your wrists and throat, and the draped, sheer cloth that doesn’t even start to hide you. That covering had been a happy find amid the pile of soft things Starscream had for you and the look on your face when his Insecticons had fetched it to him along with the chain? That had been even better. Almost as amusing as leashing you and watching you change into your new covering while trying to keep yourself hidden from him. Those angry eyes doing things to him. “Mass displace and claim your reward.”

• Embarassed you look at Soundwave and Starscream. Soundwave frozen and Starscream’s optics are sliding over you hungrily despite how mad he looks. Part of him likes this, you think. Seeing you bound. It’s not like Megatron had touched you aside from attaching the chains about your wrists and throat. And there’s enough extra chain you’re not actually restricted, the chains looping up to the thin collar around your neck. Know it’s meant to mock you and infuriate Starscream and Soundwave. A punishment for them lying about you being a pet. Megatron trussing you up like a pet. A plaything. Soundwave moves first, hands on the table and lunging up as he mass displaces to drag you into his arms. Big hands running over you checking that you’re okay and reassuring himself. That concern taking the edge off your mortified anger. It’s not like Megatron hasn’t seen Starscream fucking you. Is the warlord playing chicken? Trying to shame Soundwave and Starscream for wanting you? Or does he just want to watch? “Star?”

• Soundwave’s hands are on your hips as you look back at him. Those chains making a silvery sound where they slide against Soundwave’s plating, your skin on full display through the sheer fabric you’re wearing. But he’s frozen trying to figure out the game. To humiliate him? To mock him? There’s an angle, but as you stare up at him he finds himself coming to you anyway. Mass displacing and reaching to touch you through the fabric. Pulling you back to him, Soundwave following with a soft growl. Aware of Megatron staring at him in challenge. Daring him. Ignoring the warlord, he brushes his mouth against your throat. “Are you okay?” Relaxing a tiny bit when you nod, soft hands touching his sides, running up his chassis. Tangling his servos in your hair, he pulls you into his arms. Growling when his arm bumps Soundwave, the communications officer’s hands on your hips so you’re pinned between them.

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