#Internship Application Form

[jcmarchi]

Nanostructures enable on-chip lightwave-electronic frequency mixer

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/nanostructures-enable-on-chip-lightwave-electronic-frequency-mixer/

Nanostructures enable on-chip lightwave-electronic frequency mixer

Imagine how a phone call works: Your voice is converted into electronic signals, shifted up to higher frequencies, transmitted over long distances, and then shifted back down so it can be heard clearly on the other end. The process enabling this shifting of signal frequencies is called frequency mixing, and it is essential for communication technologies like radio and Wi-Fi. Frequency mixers are vital components in many electronic devices and typically operate using frequencies that oscillate billions (GHz, gigahertz) to trillions (THz, terahertz) of times per second. 

Now imagine a frequency mixer that works at a quadrillion (PHz, petahertz) times per second — up to a million times faster. This frequency range corresponds to the oscillations of the electric and magnetic fields that make up light waves. Petahertz-frequency mixers would allow us to shift signals up to optical frequencies and then back down to more conventional electronic frequencies, enabling the transmission and processing of vastly larger amounts of information at many times higher speeds. This leap in speed isn’t just about doing things faster; it’s about enabling entirely new capabilities.

Lightwave electronics (or petahertz electronics) is an emerging field that aims to integrate optical and electronic systems at incredibly high speeds, leveraging the ultrafast oscillations of light fields. The key idea is to harness the electric field of light waves, which oscillate on sub-femtosecond (10-15 seconds) timescales, to directly drive electronic processes. This allows for the processing and manipulation of information at speeds far beyond what is possible with current electronic technologies. In combination with other petahertz electronic circuitry, a petahertz electronic mixer would allow us to process and analyze vast amounts of information in real time and transfer larger amounts of data over the air at unprecedented speeds. The MIT team’s demonstration of a lightwave-electronic mixer at petahertz-scale frequencies is a first step toward making communication technology faster, and progresses research toward developing new, miniaturized lightwave electronic circuitry capable of handling optical signals directly at the nanoscale.

In the 1970s, scientists began exploring ways to extend electronic frequency mixing into the terahertz range using diodes. While these early efforts showed promise, progress stalled for decades. Recently, however, advances in nanotechnology have reignited this area of research. Researchers discovered that tiny structures like nanometer-length-scale needle tips and plasmonic antennas could function similarly to those early diodes but at much higher frequencies.

A recent open-access study published in Science Advances by Matthew Yeung, Lu-Ting Chou, Marco Turchetti, Felix Ritzkowsky, Karl K. Berggren, and Phillip D. Keathley at MIT has demonstrated a significant step forward. They developed an electronic frequency mixer for signal detection that operates beyond 0.350 PHz using tiny nanoantennae. These nanoantennae can mix different frequencies of light, enabling analysis of signals oscillating orders of magnitude faster than the fastest accessible to conventional electronics. Such petahertz electronic devices could enable developments that ultimately revolutionize fields that require precise analysis of extremely fast optical signals, such as spectroscopy and imaging, where capturing femtosecond-scale dynamics is crucial (a femtosecond is one-millionth of one-billionth of a second).

The team’s study highlights the use of nanoantenna networks to create a broadband, on-chip electronic optical frequency mixer. This innovative approach allows for the accurate readout of optical wave forms spanning more than one octave of bandwidth. Importantly, this process worked using a commercial turnkey laser that can be purchased off the shelf, rather than a highly customized laser.

While optical frequency mixing is possible using nonlinear materials, the process is purely optical (that is, it converts light input to light output at a new frequency). Furthermore, the materials have to be many wavelengths in thickness, limiting the device size to the micrometer scale (a micrometer is one-millionth of a meter).  In contrast, the lightwave-electronic method demonstrated by the authors uses a light-driven tunneling mechanism that offers high nonlinearities for frequency mixing and direct electronic output using nanometer-scale devices (a nanometer is one-billionth of a meter).

While this study focused on characterizing light pulses of different frequencies, the researchers envision that similar devices will enable one to construct circuits using light waves. This device, with bandwidths spanning multiple octaves, could provide new ways to investigate ultrafast light-matter interactions, accelerating advancements in ultrafast source technologies. 

This work not only pushes the boundaries of what is possible in optical signal processing but also bridges the gap between the fields of electronics and optics. By connecting these two important areas of research, this study paves the way for new technologies and applications in fields like spectroscopy, imaging, and communications, ultimately advancing our ability to explore and manipulate the ultrafast dynamics of light.

The research was initially supported by the U.S. Air Force Office of Scientific Research. Ongoing research into harmonic mixing is based upon work supported by the U.S. Department of Energy, Office of Science, Office of Basic Energy Sciences. Matthew Yeung acknowledges fellowship support from MathWorks, the U.S. National Science Foundation Graduate Research Fellowship Program, and MPS-Ascend Postdoctoral Research Fellowship. Lu-Ting Chou acknowledges financial support from the China’s Ministry of Education for the Overseas Internship Program from the Chinese National Science and Technology Council for the doctoral fellowship program. 

[joblocatorsworld]

EMRS recruitment 2023

एकलव्य मॉडेल निवासी शाळा भरती 2023 EMRS recruitment 2023 सरकारी नोकरी जाहिराती, sarkari naukri 2023, 12th pass, 10th pass, नवीन भरती 2023,Employment opportunities,https://www.joblocator.in/ एकूण :  6329 पदाचे नाव & तपशील :  1 प्रशिक्षित पदवीधर शिक्षक (TGT) 5660 2 हॉस्टेल वॉर्डन (पुरुष) 335 3 हॉस्टेल वॉर्डन (महिला) 334  शैक्षणिक पात्रता : पद क्र.1: (i) संबंधित पदवी (ii) B.Ed (iii) CTET पद क्र.2:…

[formulakracing]

i. now or never - t.w.

pairing -> student intern!reader x toto wolff

word count -> 1.7k

warnings -> cursing, age gap relationships, power imbalance, a little bit of toxicity, toto being sexy (as always), world-building, mentions of marijuana use, mentions of alcohol use, allusions to sexual fantasies, SLOW BURN (fr this time) yadayadayada (if i missed somethin’ lemme know)

a/n -> i apologize in advance if the internship i write about is nothing like an actual internship for mercedes LMFAO also, bear with me. i know it starts slow but it will pick up!

"oh, great. you're bringing up this fucking internship again. why are you always going on and on about this stupid program?"

swallowing thickly, you drum your fingers on the table, shrugging ever so slightly, "why not? i think it would be a great opportunity for not only grad school, but for career advancement. do you know how many doors that would open for me if i—"

"you'd be gone for an entire year. that's why i don't think it's a good idea."

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

inhaling sharply, you bite down on your tongue, suppressing a sharp retort.

why does it matter if i have to leave for a year? it's not like you care enough about my interests anyway.

he arches a brow, cocking his head, "why aren't you saying anything?"

"because it's not worth bickering about," fingers curling around the misty glass, you swirl it around, watching as the bubbles float to the surface, "you're right. i'd be gone for a year. it's such a competitive program. i don't even think i'm good enough to get in. they probably prioritize european students anyway. the deadline for the application is due in a week. there's no way i could get everything together in time. it's not worth all the hassle."

"good girl," he hums in approval, shoving a few fries in his mouth, "you know i support you throughout everything you do. i just don't want you to pour all of your energy into this one project just to be rejected. i know you. you'd be devastated. you wouldn't leave your apartment for weeks."

do you know me though? do you really?

the waitress slips by the table, sliding a receipt toward the middle of the table, "here's the bill, as requested. have a great night! be safe getting home!"

gnawing on the inside of your cheek, you wait until her back is turned. exhaling, you pick up the bill, "i'll get it."

"you sure?" he presses, "i'll cover the tip then."

"sounds good."

fishing your phone out of your pocket, you let it hover over the qr code. typing in your card information, you can't help but notice him fumbling with his pockets, searching for his wallet.

puckering your lips, it's your turn to tilt your head, "did you forget your wallet at home?"

"yeaaaaahhhh," his lower lips quivers, forming a pout, "would you mind? i can just venmo or cashapp you later."

"sure," clicking your tongue, you select the tip percentage on the screen, ensuring that the waitress receives a few more dollars than suggested, "okay, it's paid for. let's go."

he follows in suit as you slide out of the booth, shoving your arms in your jacket. pulling his phone out, his attention is fixated on the dim screen, fingers a flurry as he types away.

"hey, one of the boys is going through some shit. you mind if i catch an uber over to his place? i'll be home later."

"like how late?"

"i don't know," he shakes his head, gaze glued on whatever he was possibly reading, "it's matteo. his girlfriend cheated on him. it looks like he could use cheering up."

"i don't care," your eye twitches, yet you wave a hand, "as long as you don't wake me up when you get back."

"of course baby," he coos, placing a tender peck on your cheek, "get some safe, okay?"

"i will," you nod, "love you."

"love you too!" he beams, pulling you in for a quick embrace, "i'll be back before midnight."

"okay."

it's a quiet trek through the parking lot.

a breeze rolls through the cars, promising of frigid weather. tangerine rays filter through the trees, the sun making its descent toward the horizon. the sky is a blanket of a tranquil blue, with traces of lavender and magenta as dusk transitions to night.

clicking your key fob, your vehicle chirps, the engine roaring to life. opening the door, you nearly collapse into the seat, your vision blurred by tears. sniffling, you ensure your seat belt is on, shifting the gear into reverse.

as you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend as he clambers into the uber. you try to wave, to muster some sort of smile, but he is not paying any sort of attention as your car soars by.

at that, the tears erupt into sobs.

by no means was your boyfriend a terrible man. he was more than adequate, actually. however, the sheer disdain in his voice over the idea of your pursuing this internship left a sour taste in your mouth.

to be honest, it was more like an awful, putrid taste, bile rising up in the back of your throat as you wallow over the interaction, knuckles turning white as you grip the steering wheel.

the internship in question?

well, it was more like a job opening.

you left that part out, just so that your family and boyfriend would be more apt to the idea. after all, they did not need to know all of the particulars.

all they needed to know is that you were prepping for the opportunity of a lifetime.

an opportunity overseas to work with the mercedes amg petronas formula one team as a member of their media crew.

the internship spanned over the course of several months, following the team throughout the season. from what you could make out from the application, you would start just shy of the season opener in melbourne, around march third. the end date was unclear, but you figured it would end around the time the season was over in december. in all, you would be away from home for nine months.

and your internship duties? all you had to do was travel to luxurious cities, meet fans, promote the team across their social media platforms, and most importantly, film the races.

and the best part? it was a paid internship. mercedes would not only pay you for working with them, but they would also cover travel costs, food, and even software upgrades. additionally, you would receive a monthly stipend for your own personal spending, just so that you could "enjoy your time with us to the fullest."

it was everything you could have dreamed of and more.

so, what was holding you back?

well, there were a few things.

one, was your boyfriend. he was not keen on the idea of you leaving the country, even if it was only for a few months. he was very adamant that if you were to take this internship, then he would end your relationship.

according to him, nine months was too much for him to do long distance. although, the two of you had temporarily engaged in a long distance relationship before he transferred back home.

two, was your family. similar to your boyfriend, they were not happy about the idea of you leaving. they felt that formula one was too flashy. too extravagant. you would not fit in with all of the wealthy moguls and influencers.

you belonged here, in your mediocre college town where no one ever left. you would fare much better spending every weekend frequenting the same bars over and over again, running into the same people, making awkward, monotone small talk. besides, what if the internship was a scam? what if it wasn't everything you hoped it would be?

and the third reason?

well, it was a bit more complicated.

you had a bit of impostor syndrome, as you felt your skills were not good enough. your editing was too choppy. your transitions were not quite neat enough to fit the speed of the cars. since you were an amateur, your work was mainly posted across your instagram and tik tok accounts. your resume was nowhere near as elegant as the other potential applications.

so, why even try? why apply to something like this?

well, ever since you were a little girl, you dreamed of working in motorsports. you weren't quite sure of what you would do at the time, but you knew that it was your calling.

every time you watched a race or posted an edit, there was a shiver that ran down your spine, goosebumps appearing all over. there was a pull at your heart, nearly tugging away at you.

it was enticing, begging you to keep watching. to keep compiling clips together. to keep creating material that was crafted by you, and only you.

it called to push your creativity to the limits. to chase that dream.

to satisfy that hunger deep in your soul.

with graduation only if a few months, you were running out of time. it was now or never. make it or break it.

it was time to push yourself. it was time to break free from the clutches of your college town. it was time to take the leap, one that you had been putting off for so fucking long.

it was time to finally put yourself first.

to choose something that would bring you nothing but pure, immense joy.

and as you pulled into your driveway, you threw open your car door. scurrying inside, you made your way to your room, pushing the door open. tossing your bag on your bed, you hunker at your desk, locating that bookmarked tab.

everything was in order. you had the letters of recommendation. the personal statement was attached. the resume was completed. the portfolio was uploaded.

all you had to do was press that final square.

submit.

your index fingers hovers above the button, nearly trembling.

squeezing your eyes shut, you apply pressure, a clicking ringing in your ears.

within seconds, a new message appears across your screen.

thank you for your interest in this internship with the mercedes amg petronas formula one media team!

after receiving your application, our team will diligently look over your application and submit it for review.

a decision will be made in approximately six to eight weeks. once we have made our decision, you should receive an email in your inbox. make sure to check your spam, as it may be sent there.

we wish you the best of luck!

[endearng]

Loner to lover

Pairing: young!Spencer Reid x professor!reader Summary: Running away from your problems is said to be irresponsible, but it just might lead you to where you need to be; to whom you must be with and, utterly, to the one you're supposed to be. WC: 10.1k Warnings: jealous spencer (a warning of its own) unspecified age gap; infidelity; smut in the form of soft and vulnerable sex between two virgins - (p in v), creamp*e (sorry), softdom!spencer, dacryphilia if you squint. Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: I had to use the frightening 'L/N'. Sorry sorry sorry. Also I just know Spencer is a little shit when encouraged so... he's a bit insistent here............ anyways I love this do much and I hope you enjoy reading it as well. | Masterlist

Spencer remembers the time when you first met. The reason, happenstance and the enormous range of mixed feelings that it brought him.

Early twenties. Collecting BAs for fun. Dr. Spencer Reid thought of a social life second, third, fourth... whatever position behind his education. His responsibility and intelligence were mere details compared to his application to his studies, which was a trait that made him singular to every single one of the professors whose classes he chose to take. Quick and smart remarks, useful contributions, thought-provoking ideas, you name it; there wasn't a single good student expectation that Spencer couldn't meet. In the academic world, the young man was highly recommended and wanted by any and every superior who wanted a good insight on their research, and that was saying a lot — society's greatest minds would compete for that brilliant brain in hopes to have his attention and participation on their projects. Spencer Reid, to his colleagues, was a walking experiment: that guy was able to keep up with his classes, the research programs he was invited to be a part of (they were jealous of this particular information, because they had to almost literally fight their way into a internship) and, on his free time, he had the nerve to feed his curiosity and come up with even more ideas of his own.

A brilliant, lonely heart amidst a crowded sea of people who were mainly too focused on themselves to notice him, unless it was to compare themselves to the absolute success he was among the academic world.

Given his mild demeanor, it is no surprise that his professors would trust him anything and that he easily won their hearts over — he remembers attending dinners at their places when they were particularly close to him; Spencer was not a stranger to a safe proximity to his mentors, after all, they were his only friends. So, it was with a dreadful surprise that he received the news that his favorite professor and advisor, Dr. Brown, would retire. Immediately, Spencer thought, with a frown on his face, that nobody could replace him. Plus, it would be disencouraging to go to those classes with someone he didn’t even know. The news had dampened his mood, to say the least, and he was ready to protest.

"Don't worry, Reid," said Dr. Brown, kind eyes wrinkling in the corners as he smiled, sitting on his chair behind his huge desk, "Dr. L/N is a great person, in more ways than one. I'm sure you will be thrilled to work with her."

"I'm not sure. It takes me some time to get used to certain situations."

"I know, but I'm sure you've had to adapt to some unexpected events at some point," retorted the older man, psychologist mode in full swing, "This is no different. And, if I must say, not entirely unexpected. There's only so far a man can go without losing his mind.”

"I suppose so," Spencer muttered, feeling a bit selfish — it wasn't fair of him to put his thoughts before the older man's needs.

Dr. Brown looked at his pupil, who avoided eye contact for most of the time. The professor had taken an almost paternal liking to Spencer as they grew closer after the younger man stood behind in the classroom wanting to ask different and plenty of questions about the spectacle he had just watched, his first one. It was rare, for Mr. Brown, to have and hold a student's attention so uniquely, and it was as rare for Spencer to have someone explain things and welcome his curiosity so openly. Science had bonded them together — being men of science, they knew better than to argue with its effects.

"I was thinking, Spencer. If you're not so busy, you could keep leading the experiments in our lab, helping out our new professor." At that, Spencer's expression turned a bit sour, to which Mr. Brown chuckled, "Trust me, you'll have nothing to worry about. In fact, I think you two are greatly alike."

Spencer let nothing out but a hum of agreement, perking up slightly at that remark. He wanted to ask what the older man meant, but stopped himself, asking instead, "When does she get here?"

"I believe she is settling in her studio as we speak. You'll meet her tomorrow. I wish I could introduce the two of you, but, unfortunately, I leave at 3 a.m."

Exchanging goodbyes and wishes of a safe flight, Spencer left for his dorm, where he busied himself with the papers of the guest professor. Of course, he would not betray his ritual of researching the guest professor to know about their academic background, as well as their field of research, stylistics and projects to check if something would raise his spirits. It didn't matter that he wasn't pleased with the replacement.

Dr. L/N. You were, apparently, a great researcher for the Psycholinguistics area—a branch that made you known in fields such as Education, Criminology, Psychology, Linguistics, Communication... The list was endless. If he was honest, he felt a little baffled—and embarrassed—that he hadn't done any research on your contributions thus far. A mind like yours should get a recognition beyond any borders. Once he got a glimpse of your brain and what it could do, he was gone. Your resume was impeccable: you had studied in different institutions in countries, proficiency in multiple languages, uncountable papers and mentions of your name in studies in all the areas above.

He doesn't remember falling asleep or turning off his laptop. However, he remembers that, in dreams, he finds someone, but, strangely, he can't make up a face.

(...)

Walking through a bustling crowd of people always made you winded, the noise and the inevitable bumping too overwhelming for you to handle on top of being somewhere new. So, you preferred to sit and wait in a small, more secluded hall in the building that Dr. Brown said you would find his lab. After the morning rush, the corridors were filled by distant echoes of louder professors or students, which made you calmer; to think you weren't completely alone. Traveling to help out a friend was a much welcomed distraction from what you had left at home, something you weren't quite ready to access just yet. You could remember your shrink's voice as she said that, at times, it was useless to think so ahead of the future.

Unbeknownst to her, you agreed wholeheartedly. It was useless. The moment you could have done something for yourself was already lost, long gone, buried by endless hours of work and occupations to keep you from breaking a dam of lonely despair.

Speaking of the past, you slid your golden ring off your wedding finger, letting it fall inside your coat pocket as you made your way through the halls. Upon seeing a door with Dr. Brown's lab small logo on it, you cracked a small smile, remembering the story behind it: you and a bunch of other students trying to come up with a nice, thoughtful gift to encourage the guest professor's new interests. When you opened the door, you found a tall, thin man sitting by the computer desk, apparently engrossed until he heard the click of the lock, finding your eyes with equal parts startle and wonder, lips parted gently, surprise etched all over his pretty face.

The young man had innocent, almost bambi-like eyes. It was the first thing you had noticed about him. Staring at you, hazel eyes so expressive that you were sure he could speak through his glance alone.

After the initial surprise, you thought you knew who he was, having heard all about Dr. Brown’s new favorite student and mentee. Spencer Reid, who seemed to study for leisure, deeply intelligent and reliable. No wonder he was in the lab, settling everything so that he would be helpful. It was a faithfully vivid image, much like the one that had settled into your brain when your colleague had described who he was working with.

"Dr. L/N."

"Dr. Reid."

Your unison voices mingled in the air. You walked up to where he was, holding out a hand for him to shake. Dazedly, he stood up, taking your hands in his, which made you smile at him, appreciating his politeness. Spencer, on the other hand, felt frozen.

Whatever it was that he, at some point, imagined you would look like, it was nothing compared to the real thing. All your features seemed to be mathematically, precisely calculated to form one of the most beautiful and soft complexions he had ever laid his eyes upon. You spoke again, no longer blocked by his own voice, so gently that it was almost as if he was being physically touched by your voice. Your accent was not strong, but it was perceptible, something that he attributed to your multilingual abilities. "Sorry to barge in like that. It's nice to meet you. Dr. Brown told me a lot about you," you revealed, still smiling.

"It's okay. Nice to meet you too.” Tongue-tied. He felt illiterate, close to a woman who he was not supposed to have certain types of thoughts around. You breathed out a huff of amusement at his widened eyes.

There was a bit of an awkward silence when you both noticed that none of you had let go of the other's hand yet. With a clear of your throat and his fugitive glance, you both composed yourselves, retreating from your touch. "He said," you started with a chuckle, "and I quote, that you are now his eyes, ears, hands and brain in here. So, beforehand, I want to say that I truly appreciate your support and help." You said, politely, to which he smiled nervously with a shaky nod.

"It's no problem, really. Dr. Brown is one of the greatest here and it'd be naive of me to not accept his request."

You grinned, agreeing. "Yeah, he is a great man. Well, I believe you are more familiar with all the devices than I am." You said, motioning to the set-up behind him. "I do have these back at my university, but yours is a bit different from what I can see. I suppose they work the same way, but, to be honest, I don’t want to mess anything up."

Spencer blinked, scientist mode on full swing. "Yeah, yeah." He nodded, looking at her again. "You don't have to worry, I was just checking the last details before starting the experiments. Everything is already settled, but I can talk you through it if you want to conduct the experiment by yourself at some point.” He trailed. Curiously, he added, “If I may ask, what made you interested in this research?"

Your heart's happiness bursted into sparkles in your eyes as you smiled, glad that he asked you about it. You talked him through it, giving him specific details as he sat and listened like you were the most brilliant brain in the entire world. As you talked, he remembers feeling his lips twitching up in a small smile. Once you were done, encouraged by your honesty and heartfelt explanation, he revealed with a faint dust of pink on his cheeks, "I know. I, um, I searched and read some of your papers last night.”

"Really?" You asked, cordial.

"I try my best to get to know my professors' fields before meeting them. It's a way I found to keep my brain entertained and to get ready for what's coming next." He admitted softly, mentally patting himself on the back for not stuttering.

"That is a good approach. I must say I wish I had that kind of mindset when I was your age."

"It’s okay. You've been doing a great job."

Silence. Understanding from both parts.

"But... to answer your question, I have been really interested in working with language lately, more than usual, at least." You chuckled softly. Spencer couldn't stop his own grin at your enthusiasm, eager to hear your voice.

You agreed once he offered to show you how their device worked, sitting on the chair in front of it. Spencer motioned for you to go ahead and place your chin on the small stand. He took notice of your hands when you placed them on the desk, bitten nails and small, red spots on their edges. It concerned him, but he brushed it off, thinking it could have been a simple nervous habit, knowing he had no business asking or worrying about you. You were his professor, after all. "Whenever I lead this experiment with my students, they always tell me they feel like they are at the ophthalmologist."

Spencer chuckled. "Yeah. It does feel like it. You can't even move an inch."

You followed the instructions on the computer screen so that the device would follow your eye movements. It worked quickly, which made you pleasantly surprised and it was hard to hide it from your tone, "This is faster than any other I have tried before."

"Welcome to our university."

As you worked on the experiment, answering to the commands on the scream silently, the device following your orbs, Spencer took his time to study your features. Your hair was neatly up in a ponytail, dainty earrings adorning your ears that matched your gentle features. All your sharpness, if you had any, was in your eyes. An intense gaze that made him falter a bit, as if his brain had the need to stop for a second to store the sight of your gaze on him to remember it for good. Your movements were calm and collected, and, ironically, you looked rather young to be a doctor.

Once you had finished, you didn't pull away immediately from the device. The computer could no longer pinpoint where your eyes were, because then they were directed at Spencer instead glancing at him as if studying him, taking him in to remember his features like a quote that you knew by heart. As he turned to look at you, he started explaining how to save a volunteer's progress and, honestly, you were only half listening, focusing on his mild mannerisms, voice and use of language. You nodded here and there, absentmindedly storing that information. You two departed after exchanging some more information, mostly him guiding you through the campus, talking about each department and what was the fastest and best way to get to the building you were staying at.

Spencer remembers going home with renewed interest. He couldn't help but think about the way you portrayed yourself, the way you talked and moved, almost as if you were an ethereal being that was placed on Earth by an unfortunate mistake. Even though he had been unable to come up with a face for you last night as he read your thoughts, you had been an enchanting surprise. Unable to stop the thought, he gave it some indulgent room: you would, somehow, be a distraction. And he was crazy to get to know in which way.

A couple days went by without Spencer seeing you. You were quite busy yourself with the lectures you were planning and teaching. That morning, though, he had found you teaching Dr. Brown's previous class. It was surprising, and mildly irritating, to see that the class was the most crowded it had ever been. Taking a good look around and listening to a few comments that bothered him to no end, he found out the reason. Some of them wanted to simply see you. The thought was like being bathed in scorching water. He chose to sit in the front, because he thought, petulant, that you would know and remember his face and his face alone. As you entered the classroom and greeted the students with a warm good morning, you were pleasantly surprised to see Dr. Reid in the front row.

After neatly arranging your belongings on the desk, you started your class on the dot. “Hello, everyone. I am professor L/N and I am here to take over Dr. Brown's class.” You started, voice precisely clear. “Now, I understand that some of your colleagues might be running late for some reason. I don't mind if you are late at some point, but try not to make it a habit because it might disrupt our class. I do tend to start my lectures on the dot in respect to those who managed to get here on time. Today, we will talk about…”

You spoke gently, but you had your boundaries set and clear, which made Spencer squirm a bit. Seeing you so sure of yourself, so assertive, made something stir deep within him. Besides, the dumbstruck look of the many students gave him enough clue that he was not the only one feeling a little affected by you and your ways. As you went on and on about the topic, you gestured with your pretty hands, making smart remarks and cracking some light jokes that made everyone a lot less nervous around you. The new, pretty professor.

The topic, behavior, sounded redundant, at that point, because he had studied that subject over and over again, tiringly, exhaustingly, but there was just something about the way you spoke, about your mannerisms that he couldn't look away. You had a way with words, and he was fascinated by how you managed to make some more complex subjects so understandable to students, even if you sometimes drifted deeper into a certain concept, only to go back to them later. He couldn't even speak. The class was relieved while he was troubled.

“Huh, that's odd. Half of you are not in the roll.” You commented, turning the lights back on. “Is this correct?” You muttered to yourself, afraid that maybe you had the data of another class instead.

A girl suddenly spoke up, “Many of us are auditing.”

“Oh?” You wondered. “How many of you?”

Quickly calculating, Spencer bitterly noticed that about 70% percent of the class raised their hands. He wanted to think that it had to do with the fact that these people weren't around for Professor Brown. You smiled, warmly. It was a punch to the gut. “Well, I hope you enjoyed the lecture.

It was when the students slowly exited the class that he was able to reach you, gathering your papers and looking content. Sharply gentle eyes, impeccable posture and pristine clothes found his gaze and he found that he didn't want to look at anything else. He didn't seem to be ready to have that small heart attack every morning. He felt equal parts of embarrassment and a flutter on his belly. He approached you calmly, and as you greeted him, there was a warm look on your face. "Hi. Good morning, Dr. Reid.”

“You did a great job,” he blurted out, voice a bit strained. You only pretended you didn't notice. “Good morning.” He remembered to greet you back. Nice.

Your voice was low as you muttered a soft "thank you."

"Of course." He said, fiddling with the strap of his bag.

"I never asked... What is your field?” You inquired, curiously, grabbing your bag and walking side by side with him, exiting the room.

Spencer had that answer nearly tattooed on his brain. “I have PhDs in Chemistry, Engineering and Mathematics,” he started, nonchalantly, as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I also have a BA in Sociology and Philosophy. This is my third one, Psychology.”

“How old are you?” You blurted out, baffled.

“23. I, uh, I graduated from school at the age of 12.”

You stood there, speechless. Of course you knew that that was possible in some countries, but the casualness in his tone got to you more than his exceptional educational background. “That is… unreal.” You whispered. “You are so young and… and… You are still absorbed with learning.”

He chuckled, shrugging, delighted by your compliment. “Yeah, I guess… Not many people would make the same choices as I would.”

Your entire body froze, including your hidden hand, because his words had hit a particular spot within you. You gave him a nod, agreeing. “Well, it is still impressive.”

“I appreciate it.” He said, looking down and missing the slight dejection on your face. Nevertheless, his heart fluttered at the praise coming from you.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, you started again, “If I may ask, why did you switch from STEM to Humanities?” You asked, now mildly amused as he looked at you, taking the stairs with him to the office. Occasionally, your shoulders brushed.

“Curiosity.”

“Is that all?” You asked, puzzled.

“I was always surrounded with a wide access to books and overall knowledge. My mother was a Literature teacher.” He explained, a small smile gracing his face.

“That must have been nice. You must know a lot about the classics. They are my favorite kind of Literature.”

“They were good distractions, I guess… I wasn't, uh, the most popular kid growing up.” He trailed off.

“Me neither,” you said.

Spencer noticed that you walked with a hand on your pocket, but couldn't say anything about it, too much more focused on the way he seemed to be bathed in a newfound confidence around you. As you reached the office, he quickly placed his belongings on the leather couch by the door. With a low whine of disappointment, which caught your eye, he announced, “If you'll excuse me, I have to get a few books from the library.”

It was better than saying, hey, I was too distracted by you that I forgot that I also have responsibilities.

“Oh, sure. Go ahead. I'll be here.”

“Thanks.”

The door closed with a soft click, and you found yourself all alone again. Taking a look around, you busied yourself by analyzing your surroundings. There was a wall covered by huge, tall, dark shelves, cramped with books. The piece of furniture reached the roof with all sorts of technical literature. A small glass cabinet on the opposite wall showcased trinkets from all over the world, kids drawings and family pictures. A leather couch, cushions and an equally dark wooden desk adorned the room as well. A white light brightened the room, illuminating his titles, and a yellowish one lightened a painting on the wall, made by Dr. Brown's daughter, of the beach they visited frequently. It made you irrationally jealous. The reminder that other people had constant remnants of love was a stab to your chest, and you looked away from the bitter/sweet reminders.

Suddenly, your eyes got a glimpse of Spencer's belongings: technical books, a satchel bag, his coat and a small notebook. You wondered what he would write about in there, whether it was some sort of planner or he just thought out loud on those pages. You fought the urge to touch his stuff, deciding to sit on the couch after shrugging off your coat and laying it close to Spencer's things.

Still plagued by an annoying flicker of envy, you picked your ring, analyzing it with fierce focus between your fingers. The material, white gold, was supposed to adorn your hand for the rest of your life. The only personal thing about it was that it had been custom-made, by demand, just for you. A wedding band was supposed to hold, to be a souvenir of the deepest commitment of love. But as fate would have it, it had been nothing but an object. It held no meaning, since you and your husband easily slid it off when it was convenient.

There was a small date carved on the inside part of the ring. Neither you or Oliver wanted any stronger reminders of each other. To you, he was merely tolerable, and you struggled to feel anything but sorry for him. Despite the fact that you were helplessly coerced into marriage, you despised him for never having the guts of chasing a life, instead busying himself with living the fleeting pleasures that his parents' money provided him, spending his endless vacations overseas, sleeping around. A typical bohemian. A bon-vivant. The fact made you bitter. How does one possess every kind of mean and doesn't care to improve themselves as a person?

Inevitably, you were pulled into a strong stream of memories.

The sun filtered through the curtains, illuminating the dining room that held uncountable and expensive decorations. What caught your eye, though, is a much too long and large table with endless chairs. You remember thinking it was over the top, since neither you or Oliver would plan to have guests over. Swallowing your remarks, you smiled to your father and exchanged a look with your sister-in-law, not bothering to look at Oliver and therefore missing his awestruck look. It was the first time you were visiting the big house with its endless rooms, windows and useless areas. You ignored the subtle meaning of it: you were supposed to carry on your families’ names. The mason had been your parents’ gift, so you decided to stay quiet about it, not commenting on the tacky, outrageous muchness of things. You had learned the hard way not to fight back when it came to their decisions.

From a very young age, you were special. A charming, intelligent, quick-witted child who busied herself with studies and books who had a series of leisure time activities to go through during her free time. Hence, you grew up exceptional. You were always the center of attention somehow; being the first grandkid from both sides of your family granted you a few privileges, you held their entire focus, entertaining them with your particular and curious behavior during their gatherings. Whenever they showed up, your parents would remember some new ability for them to show you off. Playing the piano, chess, languages… You were always in the top of the class, in the best schools, surrounded by kids your age that belonged to the best families.

It was with a deep, heartbreaking sadness that you realized that you had their attention for your potential and everything you could add to their name. Nobody ever played with the first child.

Beautiful, graceful, wistful, clueless little you.

Your family’s connections and endless activities for you had been how you met Oliver in the first place. A smart, easy on the eyes boy who became a smooth talker as he grew older. You were friends from a very young age, but nothing more. You were always too caught up on working on yourself and your abilities in order to charm everyone that romance was something you couldn't even begin to fathom — it was nothing but a strange and distant feeling. You kept things platonic between you and him, spending time, mostly listening. Oliver would tell you all about his interests, and when the age came, he would tell you, rather technically, how his endeavors with other girls went.

You never thought of Oliver as more than a friend. In fact, his manners grew to annoy you, like a small barb in your shoe, if you were totally honest — not that you would dare to. You simply endured his existence, saving your reviles for yourself, because, growing up, you never knew what it was to freely express yourself. How lacking it was to grow up not knowing what it was to speak your mind freely without a strong reprimand of some sort.

Such painful dawnings had only taken place at the age of 20, when your parents and Oliver's had agreed to marry the both of you. Unable to fight back, you simply watched it happen. It was so damaging and traumatic that you could barely remember the times you had spent together, everything was just a big knot of confusing memories to which you felt more like an spectator than an actor. Over the course of the years, Oliver and you would make public appearances, but you had told him, on the first night after your marriage, that he was free to do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn't ruin your image. No. Not the one you had dedicated your entire life building.

Throughout the entire thing, your sister-in-law had been your anchor. A distant one, that sits in the bottom of the sea, as you navigated through your own life. Being too close to you was a sad reminder of your situation and she was aware of that. She had her friends and connections, unknowingly, check on you, though. She was all in for pretending her sad excuse of a brother didn't exist. Theresa and Oliver were polar opposites: a hard-working woman and a sluggish man.

Eventually, as you both moved through the world, engrossed in your true passions, Oliver had truly found someone. Someone you didn't bother learning the name of. Someone, you preferred to think, that didn't know about you and that if she did, she truly didn't care. The feeling was mutual. You, on the other hand, delved deeper into your studies, busying yourself to the fullest. It was nice, in a way, because that way, you were shielding yourself from the world and your inevitable, eternal struggle of a loveless life in the only way you knew how: through being someone.

It was far from a solution, but that's where it ended. It had been years since the last time you heard your name coming from someone else's lips. You didn't dream of it happening anytime soon. You didn't let it happen, anyway. Every advance was cut before it turned into expectations.

A small gasp erupting between your lips broke you out of your reverie when you heard the lock being harshly handled, which made you bolt straight to the door, dropping the ring on the floor. Opening it, you saw Spencer struggling to balance a huge pile of books and a tray with two cups of coffee. He thanked you softly when you offered to help him, your skin touching his briefly, jolts of something unknown coursing through both of your bodies. Pulling away, you placed the books on the desk, searching his eyes as he blushed like crazy.

“I got you coffee… I don't know how you take it, so I got it black with two sugars. There are many options these days, which can make choosing one a challenging decision, since there are undeniable and endless possibilities of you being allergic to some of the ingredients. Of course, there are also chances of cross-contamination. Now that I think about it, I should have probably gotten you tea. Oh, my God. Do you even drink coffee?” He finished, almost panting.

You stifled out a laugh. His ways were endearing. “It's okay, Dr. Reid. I'll drink it. I'm not allergic nor prefer tea over coffee. Okay?”

“Okay.” He said, puppy eyes finding yours again.

“Thank you, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” He said, smiling softly.

It quickly turned into your go-to order.

—

Students came and went, and you made conversation with them, which made you all the more endearing for Spencer. You asked about their day, how they ended up there, and you looked genuinely interested in their answers. It could be a stretch, but Spencer felt that, much like himself, you wanted to make connections — but not the professional kind. You wanted to belong somewhere, from the way your eyes held an intimate and unwavering hint of sadness when you heard their answers, but none of them had the nerve to ask you back. It was expected, though, because no one would think of a professor as a friend. The entire time, you were being addressed as such or as Dr.. You couldn't blame them. That was who you were, too lost in that character to remember who you actually were. If you had been someone, that is.

As Spencer sat behind the computer, ready to access today's tests, you chatted with a freshman student. Glancing at the clock, the girl with excited mannerisms almost shrieked, “Oh, my God! Is it that late already?! I have to go to my piano class.”

“Sorry to hear that,” you said, sounding a bit deflated. “It was nice to meet you, Dana. I'm really happy you've helped us.”

“Anytime, professor! Bye!” She said, walking through the door and closing it behind her.

You turned to Spencer, a hint of longing in your expression. “Are you leaving as well?”

“Not yet. I want to go over our results for the day.”

“Oh!” You exclaimed, approaching him to lean by his side on the desk, supporting your weight on one arm as your other hand touched the back of his chair. He could smell your perfume, something uniquely different, aromatic and so fitting. “Does it compare results automatically?” You asked, turned to look at him.

“Unfortunately, no,” he muttered, unfocused, eyes scanning all over your face, focusing especially on your lips. “I have to do that myself, which is why I'll take longer to leave. If we leave this for the last minute, it'll be much more stressful.”

“Slow and steady it is, then.” You said, grinning. “I'll stay to help you.”

—

Spencer remembers when he started feeling a lot stronger about you.

You were in the office, decorating it as your own. Spencer took notice of your belongings, trying to catch a glimpse of everything that made you yourself. There were abundant novels in many different languages filling the tall shelves, some souvenirs from different parts of the world, your titles… The analytic part of his brain took notice of the lack of family pictures and overall personal items. It was achingly professional and distant, the way you were setting your space. He couldn't help but chime in, “Is that all you're putting up?”

With a lopsided grin, you tried to justify, sensing his intentions. “I don't like cluttering.”

He didn't answer, sensing that it might be sensitive unknown territory. You unboxed a wood chess board, placing it on one of the bottom shelves. He looked at you, a silent question in his eyes. “Just in case someone wants to play,” you said, as you forced a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

The next day, Spencer walked through the office door with a box in hands. He hid it between the sofa and the wall. As you arrived, you talked briefly about the research, which was now coming to an end. Flopping down on the floor, crisscrossed and barefoot, you sighed, smiling as he updated you. “You know, I don't think I've ever been happier.”

“Yeah?” He asked, curiously.

“It almost feels unreal, how kind life's been to me lately.” You revealed, voice trembling a bit with emotion.

“Somehow, that's hard to believe.”

“Is that so?” You asked, playfully. Spencer had to swallow before your mischievous smile. A new expression on your face that he found that he quite liked.

“I mean, look around. You have everything some people think it takes to be happy.”

“You're right. Some people. I don't.” You retorted with a dip of your chin.

“What would make you happy, then?” He inquired, eager to find out. To become it.

You breathed in, closing your eyes. “I'll let you know once I figure it out.”

Should he say it? Would it be indelicate? Insensitive? Too much? Too straightforwa— “You sound a little hopeless.”

“Maybe I am.” You said, almost shrugging. Like it's not a big deal.

“You shouldn't be.” He retorted, sitting down in front of you.

“What makes you so certain?”

“You're young.”

“If anything, that only feeds despair, to some extent.” You said, distantly.

Internal battle at full extent, once again. “You know… I… I have been keeping an eye on you.”

You tilt your head the slightest bit, gaze unwavering. “What do you mean?”

Spencer struggled to form coherent thoughts, to articulate his own ideas before blurting them out rather excitedly. “You seem so… different. It's almost like you're out of this world. It's fascinating, actually. You're very deep in your own little world. Even the way you speak tells something about loneliness. So well, eloquently—”

“Susan Sontag.”

He smiled, satisfied. “See? How would you remember a quote by heart if your mind was filled with some things else?”

Against your will, you agreed. “You're right, Dr. Reid.”

Silence. He stood up, walking to grab the box behind the couch. He came back and sat in front of you once again, but this time, his knee brushed yours and neither of you mentioned it. You welcomed the warmth. Spencer hid the one coloring his cheeks. “Call me Spencer.”

“What is that?”

“Flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“You need some life around here.”

You giggled, absolutely delighted when you saw the box, containing an orchid Lego set. Spencer fought against his every instinct to just pull you into his arms at the sound that twisted his insides instantaneously. It was the first time he had heard you laugh, a rich, funny sound that seemed to have erupted from your own soul. “Is this for me? Because, you know, this might be the best thing I've ever gotten.”

“Oh, really?” He asks, feigning sarcasm. “I could've sworn it was the original piece on your wall.”

“Thank you, Spencer.”

“You're welcome.”

Despite your position, your posture was as elegant as it had ever been. He placed the pieces between the two of you. Eventually and almost silently, like a personal prayer, he learned how to call you by your name upon your insistence. With a soft look in his eye, he relented. Everything about him seemed to tell you that he was there to help you build the set. That it was alright, because he was there.

You two stood up, one at a time, once you had finished the set. Standing by the window, you glanced at the pretty plastic orchids that now were placed on your desk, right next to your name, a funny little piece amidst such a formal environment. He followed you after a brief moment of doubt. “You know, Spencer,” you uttered and he thought he might be addicted to the chain of sounds that makes up his name falling from your lips as he watched them, mesmerized. “Thank you so much for this. It's a nice feeling. Like I have a friend.”

You both shared the intimacy of a glance with each other. You decided to elaborate, too shaken by the thought of your loneliness being palpable. “You're right… I've always been a bit on the lonely side.”

He was pleased to see so much honesty from your end, and happy to see something of himself in you. He swallowed, trying to control these thoughts and keeping his composure. “I think you're very easy to get along with.”

“That's the first time I hear that.”

Spencer couldn't help the wince that came with the stabbing pain he felt at your revelation. “It's true. I…” Who are these people? “I think you're very easy to like.”

You thanked him again, quietly, lowering your gaze to the space between the two of you. Seemingly under a spell that had been casted by the way you let your guard down, ignoring the nervous pit on his stomach and not taking the time to process the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings running through him. You stood so close, if he could just— “Looking from up here, all people look so tiny.”

“Considering the extent of the universe, we are pretty tiny.”

You snorted, shaking your head softly. “Proportion changes perspective, huh, Spencer?”

Losing control over his words, utterly lost, he continued, “I also… I find you pretty… pretty.”

Your eyes glanced up to meet his. Spencer tried to read your expression, desperate to see if you were surprised, disgusted, uncomfortable or if you welcomed his words. Instead, he found a hint of longing in your eyes that he couldn't begin to understand. “I… I don't know what to say.”

Compliments were a sensitive, unknown territory for you. You only knew what these were if you outdone yourself in whatever earned you attention. Sighing, you looked at him, almost guilty.

“Sorry, I… I shouldn't have said anything.” He cringes, avoiding your gaze.

“It… It wasn't.” Deep breath. “It's just that… you're…”

Were there words in the English language for these feelings?

“I know. I didn't… I don't expect you to say anything in return,” he says, almost dejectedly. The truth is out and he can't take it back. “I just wanted to come clean. And I think that it's not just looks that draw me to you.”

You stood there, speechless.

“You're not mad? Or… or offended?” He tries.

You looked at his widened, scared eyes. It made you want to soothe him — the instinct disconnecting your mouth from any sense of ethics or decency that ran through your brain. Taking another deep breath, scared to death, “I’m actually flattered. You're a very beautiful person, inside and out, but… but… I'm your professor, Spencer, and older than you.” You said, voice wavering slightly as you got to look into his eyes again.

“Somehow… when I think about you… neither of these seem to be a problem. I can't—not think about you.”

His words crafted a small crack. There would forever be a memory in your brain of the exact same moment when his words settled in. You fell to pieces, and as you did, you felt yourself losing control of your own actions, of your sense of ethics or principles. Before you thought it through, as you felt every sense of reason leaving your body, you tilted your head up, a silent, welcoming consent of his lessening distance. Spencer, who looked almost pained with so much want, let out tiny puffs of breath as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He couldn't believe you were seemingly taking a risk like that, but he found that he couldn’t and didn't want to hold back any longer. The young man, very carefully, cradled your cheeks, bravely holding your glance as he caressed the soft skin of your cheek with his thumb. Time stood still when you closed your eyes, slowly, and he tilted your chin up the slightest bit, angling you just the way he needed. The touch, the existence of you was so intense and overwhelming that it made him shiver, and he was failing to keep his hands from shaking. Following the stream of whispered truths, you added, “I want to give you something to truly think about. I need your permission.”

Softly, Spencer brushed his lips against yours as he closed his eyes. It was gentle, tentative, almost experimental. The touch, albeit subtle, calmed his every nerve, and his shoulders relaxed at the contact. A shaky exhale left his lips when you pulled him in, placing your hand on the nape of his neck, the feeling grounding and safe. When your lips interlock together, it's a moment of realization; he doesn't think that he wanted something so badly without even knowing what it actually was.

Your touch is tender, as if you were both afraid that harshness would steal one from the other, relishing in the moment and in the rush of sensations that were unknown to the both of you. Spencer was so afraid that you were going to pull away and run, but he just couldn't control himself as he slid his tongue into your mouth, basking in the small satisfied sound that you made, his hands gripping your waist. You, on the other hand, felt as if you had been pushed into a sea of hot, scalding water. No touch had ever made you feel like that, and your desperation had you now tightly gripping at his vest, trying to get him impossibly closer to you. Your bodies pressed against each other set a trail of fire between the two of you, and the kiss gradually became more urgent. Violent, even.

When you pull back, he doesn't let you go far, his face only inches away, barely registering that you actually needed to breathe so great was his need to feel you against him once more. Panting, you leaned your forehead against his, not ready to open your eyes and see his face. You'd be lost.

“At least now I have something proper to think about.”

Flustered at him using your own words against you, you couldn't meet his gaze. You tried to say something, but all the courage pumping through your veins seemed to have found a way out of your system, leaving you helpless, utterly defeated into silence. A small feeling of guilt started to grow inside you, and you were warring against it. You had just kissed a student in your workplace when you were trying to have a fresh start. Spencer, noticing your turmoil, was quick to engulf you in a hug. The action, so simple, worked like a balm to your nerves, and you allowed yourself to take a deep breath, inhaling his scent, which had just become your favorite. You didn't want to let him go, neither did you know if you would ever be able to.

Resting his chin on your shoulder, he cradles the back of your head. Under the sofa, lies a small, shiny object that was long forgotten due to both its irrelevance in your life and the first moment of genuine affection you've ever experienced.

—

You remember how it felt like to lose control of yourself.

It had been days since the secret kiss you shared with Spencer and it had been the last time you saw him. Your days were filled with endless phone calls with lawyers and Theresa, desperate to find yourself free from your doom excuse of a… marriage? It seemed offensive to even relate that word to whatever you had been forced upon doing. Your nights were spent by your bedroom window, watching as people came and went, noticing with heartbreak how distant you seemed to be from everyone. You were a stranger in many ways, but above all, you were a stranger to yourself. Every little manifestation of action or thought made you inevitably remember all the people and their behavior that shaped you into whatever you are today.

And then there was Spencer. Spencer, whose touch was making you feel constantly equal parts guilty and entranced. Spencer, who was spamming your email inbox, wondering where you were. Spencer, who was the only person you truly allowed yourself to think about. The sight of him haunted your nights and the ghost of his voice echoed inside your head when you were sitting around in the empty studio. It was supposed to be refreshing, really, how his mere existence made a new flicker of hope bloom in your chest that had been unknown thus far. It was bold to call it hope, but you preferred to do that because there was no other word, no other feeling that you knew well enough to associate it with the memory of him.

You had forgotten the sound of your voice. The only thing your apartment walls heard in the time span of three days and three nights had been the following string of words:

“Theresa, are you there? Can we talk?”

—

Spencer remembers how it felt to miss you like a lost puzzle piece.

It had been days and your silence was upsetting him like nothing ever had. Sick of replaying that moment over and over, he decided to find you instead. It was late at night as he walked your street after pondering whether he should or not confront you about your silence. There wasn't much to discuss. It was just a kiss — secretly, he was scared that you would argue so —, but the lack of news from you had him feeling on edge. A tall building, endless windows. On the fifth floor, he could make a figure staring out into the city, and he couldn't begin to explain where the strength came from to run up to where you were. There was only one apartment per floor, so he knocked impatiently on your door.

501.

Upon hearing the sound, you stared, a bit scared, at the door. Opening a small slit, you saw him and your entire body froze. You closed it immediately, fear etched into your features as if he was an impending threat. As if he could cause you any harm.

“Please,” he cried, resting his forehead on the door. He tried not to compare the stiffness of the object to the softness of your skin. A clear of his throat. “Please. Nobody's seen you for days. I… I haven't seen you in days.”

There was a minute of mortifying silence, but he decided to wait. What was another moment if he had waited for you for so long? Spencer let out another plea, this time, calling you by your name.

You let him in, but you couldn't meet his gaze. Nevertheless, he noticed your bloodshot eyes. Speaking your name softly, he inquired, worryingly, approaching you. “What happened to you?”

You took a small step back, straightening your posture once you realized how close he was getting to you. The action made your heart shatter. “Don't,” you pleaded, soft-spoken as ever.

“Look at me.” He croaked, pleadingly, timorous.

Reluctantly, you met his eyes. They were confused, questioning, and it was a first on his expression. You felt guilty for doing this to him. “I can't do this to you, Spencer. I can't.”

“Please… Talk to me. Don't shut me out.”

“We can't do this. I'm your professor, and, and…”

“Are you seriously pulling the professor card? I'm not one of those undergraduate students. I'm me. It's me. We've been so close and when I think something finally might happen, you disappeared. It wasn't fair.”

Each of his words were stabs in your already hanging by a thread heart. Rip the band-aid.

“I'm married.”

There was a moment of stunned silence from his end. You knew how cruel it was to use your formal marital state to avoid him from coming any closer, but you tried not to dwell on it. This was it. Spencer deserved better. And for the first time in your life, you couldn't be better. His silence made your stomach churn painfully, aware of the ache you were causing him, and desperate to be the one to soothe the damage you had done.

Spencer, on the other hand, stared at you blankly. Almost skeptically, even. You'd have analyzed it better if you weren't too busy with your own turmoil about him. “I don't see him anywhere,” he finally said, defiantly.

Surprise took over your features, and before you could form another painful remark, Spencer approached you decisively. “Where is him, huh?”

Cutting you off as you opened your mouth to speak, once again, he scowled. “Damn him. I would do anything just to have you around.”

The crack was now big enough that he could see all parts of you from where he stood. Right then, though, the glimpse he caught before you violently smashed your lips against his was enough to haunt him for a lifetime. Your gaze, so utterly tired yet determined, looking at him as if he was the only thing in your entire world — perhaps he was. The kiss was demanding, fueled by sheer animalistic hunger. You had been hungry your entire life, deprived of the simplest pleasures and there he was, ignoring all your lackness. You failed to think of a motive for his actions, but you decided that you utterly didn't care. To feel seen like that was enough of a reason for you.

His tongue pushed into your mouth, exploring every inch with a neediness that surprises even him. You gripped at his shirt's collar as his hands tangled in your hair, tightly, almost afraid you'd disappear. Neither of you recognized your own actions, everything was far too new for you to know how to act properly, losing yourself in each other, consumed by the unique, addicting taste of your kisses and the heat building between you. The sizzling, almost bothersome feeling in your core, combined with the intensity of his kiss left you feeling lightheaded. He pulls away, reluctantly, squeezing his eyes shut, as if refraining from doing something. You rest your forehead against his. Uneven breaths mingle together as you had your eyes on him, waiting for the final blow, when he would look back at you. “Let me in,” he croaked. “I wanna be yours.”

Don't.

“You deserve so much more than this. Than what I'm able to offer you,” you whisper in a ragged breath, closing your eyes, hands now softly holding his head.

“I'll take anything you are.”

You winced, a helpless crease finding its way between your brows. “You don't get it, do you? I can't. I can't do this to you. I don't know how to do this.”

He softened, hands never leaving your skin and eyes never leaving yours. “You don't have to know anything. I don't know it either. I just wanna be yours tonight.”

Silence.

“Is it because of him?”

You promptly retorted. “No. It's not because of him.”

“From now on, it's me.”

Spencer crashed his lips to yours, barely giving you time to let his words sink in. Seemingly trying to convey his emotions, his willingness to beg for you to let him in, his devotion to be yours in that moment. Brushing your fear of not getting him to stay, you gave in, too blinded by the sheer strength of the burning within you. Spencer kissed you deeper as you slid your tongue inside his mouth, ravishing and relishing in the taste of him. A small moan broke through you when he gripped your tighter, leading you to the nearest surface — conveniently, the bed. Spencer barely had time to take in his surroundings when he got there, too busy with you and the strong pull between the two of you, but his body unconsciously and seemingly knew exactly where to take yours.

You had now entered a land reserved for only the two of you. You looked at him, softly placing you on the bed, kissing all over you, as if you were something worth looking at, worth worshipping. The tears streamed down your face freely, and he kissed each of them as they bloomed again. “Let it all out. I'm here.”

Intertwining your fingers on the nape of his neck, adjusting so that he was between your legs, you looked at him intently while he lowered the straps of your cami top, eyes never leaving yours, lips caressing your collarbone gently. The action made you shiver, and you were under his trance, taking whatever he wanted to give you, signaling over and over that you allowed him to be yours, just like he asked to be. In hindsight, he was making you his.

Gingerly, you leaned up to reach his jawline, kissing and nipping at the soft skin, trying to find an outlet for all the overwhelming feelings and fire inside you. He moaned softly, basking in the feeling of being marked so gently, already satisfied with the mere thought that he would have something of yours to remember. It was when you were undoing his shirt, not so accidentally brushing your fingertips against his fiery skin that a wave of pleasure, embedded with a persistent feeling of guilt, crawled its way into your thoughts. You were like a helpless being caught between the fight of two violent ends, and you found that you loved it. You loved being at their mercy. You loved being at his mercy.

Quickly getting rid of your top, Spencer leaned even lower, brushing his skin against yours, which elicited a series of goosebumps to erupt on your skin. You clenched your hands after retreating them from his body, desperately trying to find something that could ground you instead of feeling everything all at once. He was overwhelming, and he had barely touched you. “I never knew I could feel like this,” you breathed out, unable to keep the truth from him any further when he skimmed his fingertips against your ribs, touching with the most desperate of delicacies.

Grinding against you, he whispered, rushed, “Do you feel how much I want you? I see you and I want you. Let me in.”

Spencer's words, albeit simple, were hitting many unreached places within you. Without breaking eye contact and a bit clumsily, you two got rid of the remnants of your clothes, baring yourselves to each other in more ways than one. Spencer, still accommodated between your legs, eased himself so easily into you, making you hold on tightly to his arms, you two both letting out strangled noises at the feeling. You, beneath him, around him, enveloping his length in the most pleasant wet warmth, sucking him in, gripping, squeezing, never letting him go. A broken sob erupted as he mumbled, “I missed you so much.”

You could barely find your voice, too lost in the sense of him on top of you. The taste, the sight, the smell of him inebriated you like no drug ever could. “Ah—I missed you too,” you whimpered. “You… have no idea.”

“Show me, then.”

Desperately, you pulled him in for another searing kiss, trying to convey how much his absence had made you feel, how guilty you felt by putting what it felt then like an unnecessary distance between the two of you. Trying to get closer, impossibly closer than you ever had been before. The sensations were shattering, and you found that you didn't want to be put together again. No, you were gladly ruined for the rest of your life. Scratches down his back, bites on his lower lip and an endless stream of whimpers left your lips complemented the exhilarating experience as he watched how you reacted to him.

Lowering your gaze to where your bodies met, you were met with an exquisite sight, how he pulled away just to shove his cock back inside you making you dizzy as he had his way with you. Following your line of sight, Spencer moaned as he saw the mess between you two, how his skin began to stick to yours as your arousal glimmered on his skin. Fully sheathed again, you cried out, “There's—mmmm—so much of you in me.”

“Will you remember me?” He asked, resuming his thrusts, violently shaken by your words. He wanted to give you all of him.

Struggling to speak, your entire body trembling with the force of his strokes, you stuttered, “I could never forget you.”

His hips halt their movements. He asks, pointedly, with a stark gaze that burned its memory into your very soul, "Say you'll remember," he whimpered with a small sigh. It was difficult to tell if it was from neediness, impatience, frustration or anything else.

It was not the time for semantics, but you smiled despite yourself as the tears started to to steadily roll down your cheeks, and you replied with a shaky breath, "I'll remember you forever."

Spencer pushed in again, swallowing the strangled moan that left your lips as he kissed you intensely and your tears kissed his cheek as well. Your bodies embraced one another, as if they needed each other to exist. The moon and the sea. You tried to hold on to him, hands curling against the skin of his back and legs circling around his waist. Spencer, on the other hand, had a desperate hold on your waist, which would probably lead to faint marks of his fingers. You found that you didn't care, the astounding feeling of him against you, so forcefully and simultaneously lovingly, could use all the memories to tell you later it had been real. That you had been yours as much as you had been his that night.

The pleasure building within you was new, almost scary given its force to shake everything inside. Spencer was equally reeling, trying to prolong the moment as much as he could, too caught up on the existence of you to let it go anytime soon. With a mewl of his name, you let go, pleasure coursing through your veins and spreading through your body like being bathed by the sultriness of your moment together. The fever reached your heart, and with tearful eyes, you watched him as he released inside of you, eyes dazedly searching yours and his lips singing your name like a prayer.

On top of you, in that place of sheer veneration, your bodies tangled together like an abstract painting. Neither you or him made mention to move, too content in the feeling of sticking to the other.

"I'm not leaving,” he muttered after a while, nuzzling your neck.

"Spencer..."

"I'm not leaving. You'll wake up in the morning and I'll be here.”

—

Tonight, you aren't watching strangers from the windows of your office nor from the ones in your studio apartment. Instead, you are walking home with Spencer, hand holding hand, a firm, fierce, steady grip that never faltered.

You now exist, hearing your name being called several times a day. And so does he, the one proudly uttering said name, whenever he gets the chance. A small, simple reminder that you belong together.

dividers by @cafekitsune <3

[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? 🥰

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[nymphomatique]

simulacra

atsv!miguel x fem!reader x comic!miguel

im no geneticist so please forgive me for any incorrect science terms 😁 i have no words for this one i wrote this with my pussy. enjoy! 

cw: bunch of word vomit before we get to the sex, miguelcest? two miguel’s like eachother very much, comic!miguel x fem!reader x atsv!miguel, boys kissing, reader fujoshing out, cunnilingus, ass eating (f receiving), blowjobs, ball sucking, handjob, fingering, squirting, voyeurism/cucking?? idk one watches for a bit, double penetration, anal fingering, unrealistic anal 🫡, nipple sucking (f), cum eating, honestly just vibes all around!

wc: 7.9k. im sorry.

—> so this was originally supposed to go up like several weeks ago with a note that i would be gone for school + summer classes (that i just finished!!!) but turns out i drafted it instead of queuing it like a fucking idiot 😁!!!!!! nonetheless, i’m so sorry for the wait. enjoy. 

“This is ambitious, even for you Miguel.”

“The worse that could happen is there’s no other dimension, then we take our dinner after this experiment.”

“You’re paying.”

“Only if I’m wrong.”

Geneticist by day, interdimensional scienctist by night, Miguel O’Hara proceeds as one of Alchemax’s brightest employees. A ground breaking research paper with a thesis on the future of genetics and their ability to be bioengineered and spliced with those of non-mammals earned him the title of lead geneticist, nothing short of prodigal in comparison to his peers. 

You and Miguel met two years ago during your internship for Alchemax, studying yourself to become a geneticist after reading Miguel’s thesis paper in your freshman year of college. Miguel is a famed alum of Nueva York University,  the science department’s crowning achievement in all its years of standing. When you had heard that the genetic science department had opened internship applications for Alchemax, you had been ecstatic. Not only would you have a chance to intern at the company of your dreams, but also get the chance to meet one of your academic idols. Needless to say, when you had read the words “Congratulations! You have been accepted and offered an internship position to study within Alchemax’s genetic science and engineering department.”, to say you were excited would be an understatement.

In the two years you’ve spent interning at Alchemax, you and Miguel have developed a close relationship to say the least. It had been a divine stroke of luck perhaps when you learned that you would be working along side Miguel as a lab technician, you had felt like you died and gone to heaven. Seeing framed photos of the scientific genius in his earlier years had no comparison to seeing him in person. To be crass, he was fucking sexy. Tall, extremely tall, broad and muscular in stature, and tan all over. Brooding eyes and a seemingly permanent frown of dissatisfaction present on his round lips, it was safe to say you had developed a slight workplace crush. 

Nevertheless, it seemed to be an unrequited infatuation. Miguel never seeming to want to talk to you about things beyond the study of deconstructing cells on an atomic level or changing the structure of somethings molecular composition, he seemed beyond disinterested in you. Still, you enjoyed the stolen glances and the misinterpretations of a touch or a word or a glance. It’s like a secret you have kept to yourself. 

It wasn’t all distaste on Miguel’s part however, after some time with him he began to share some tidbits out his personal life, rather reluctantly however. You caught him one day in the lab after hours, you had decided to stay late to work on a test subject, a spider with more than one type of species’ cells, an epigenetic experiment of yours. You were about to leave the lab when you saw Miguel hunched over his desk in his office fidgeting with a gadget you’ve never seen before. A rather crude looking watch, various types of wiring and exposed circuits coming together to form it. 

It was then he had explained to you his after hours personal project; inter-dimensional travel. To think he was ambitious was the least of your thoughts, you concluded in your head that he was downright stupid to think something like that is feasible on a level of understanding basic science and physics. But after witnessing the messy blueprints and nights of coffee and energy drinks, night after night, seeing how truly dedicated he was at just wanting to believe the idea of inter-dimensional travel, you had no choice but to indulge in him, your bubbling crush gave you no choice to object. 

So nights of him alone hunched over his desk, became late nights of both of you hunched over his desk together, fidgeting with formulas and logistics of opening a window to an entirely different universe. 

Sometimes you brought coffee, and sometimes he brought late night dinner (that he made in his kitchen) for the both of you. Regardless, the both of you had developed a work relationship, platonic of course, in the two years you’ve been present at Alchemax. You had even shared with him a draft of your own personal work for your final thesis before you graduate; the possibility bio engineering spider DNA with human DNA after your successful test of cross species creation of two types of spiders. To your surprise, Miguel had taken great interest in your work, even helping you with your thesis. It made it hard to not develop feelings for him under circumstances like this.

Tonight has been no different than any other. The two of you sat together in his personal office, gearing up to test a new iteration of the dimension opening watch, more sophisticated than one of the prototypes you walked in on Miguel tweaking at all those months ago. 

“Did you set up the tripod?”

“Check.”

“And the-“

“Yes, Miguel,” you drawl out, “the recorder is set as well. Can we get the started now? I’m tired and hungry. I’m counting on that burger.”

Miguel’s face goes stale and you hold in a laugh. You really love how easy it is to piss him off. “Get in position so we can start.” The fluttering thought of you and Miguel setting up and getting in position for a different type of movie crosses your mind and you blush a bit. Focus! You move behind the camera set up, and press record, signaling for Miguel to start the video log.

“Miguel O’Hara. Time is 22 hundred and 27. This is watch prototype 14-B. With this experiment, I hope to be the first person on earth to discover inter-dimensional travel.” 

You give a very subtle clear of your throat behind the camera and Miguel sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’m also accompanied by my lab technician.” You peek your head around the camera and wave with a smile. Unmoved, Miguel prepares to start with the experiment. A nervous glance to the camera and he twists the mechanism of the watch to the on setting. There’s a moment of silence, the room tense with anticipation, the silent clanking of gears filling the room, until its stops. There’s a short pause in hoping, anticipating something would happen but nothing. Miguel breaks the silence. 

“Attempt number 34 is a conclusive failure.”

“Knew you’d be buying me dinner tonight,” you quip, walking away from the camera, ignoring to turn it off. 

Miguel rolls his eyes at your comment shucking off his lab coat for the day. “Hurry up so we can catch the cafeteria before it closes.”

You’re hot on his heels, leaving the lab sauntering behind him.

“Attempt number 34 is a conclusive failure.”

“Knew you’d be buying me dinner tonight.”

Miguel was perplexed. Where are those voices coming from? 

Sat in his apartment, a glass of scotch on the rocks in his hand, with soft jazz lulling in the background. After a long day of hero work, the unwinding was needed, so such a rude interruption calls for investigation.

“Lyla?” He calls out softly, and with flitting of light she appears. Soft features and blonde hair all an illusion of light. 

“Yes?”

“Inspect where those voices are coming from.”

“On it,” and she’s gone once more. 

A sip of scotch luls the bulging nerve beginning to head at Miguel’s temple. With a sigh, and another curt sip, he gets lost in the soft jazz, the saxophone carrying him away just for a moment. Until..

“Miguel?” Lyla rouses him from his reverie, and he’s reminded of where he is. “I’m not sure where the sound is coming from. But I am sensing waves of molecular abnormality and instability, suggesting that someone could be-“

“Dimensional travel,” Miguel cuts. “Shock. Who do you think’s behind this?” 

“I’m not too sure, but I am worried. I’ll look into it further.” Lyla disappears once more within a moment. 

“For shock’s sake,” a sigh and thick fingers come up to pinch his nose bridge. This is the last thing he needs. He stands from the couch and is suddenly taken aback at the intense shaking in his penthouse. “What the sh- Lyla!” he calls out, but as the shaking continues she’s nowhere to be seen. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A bean of light shoots up from under the ground and blinds Miguel. He’s so fucked if he ends up in the hands of some villain. The floor splits from under him, swallowing him and spitting him out into a void-tunnel-like space, an amalgamation of orange, yellow, red, and pink lights. He feels like he’s everywhere and nowhere, all and nothing at once. He simply closes his eyes and braces himself for wherever this decides to drop him. 

Glass breaking alerts Miguel all the way from the cafeteria. 

“Did you hear that?” He stalls mid conversation. Quiet. Listening. 

You’re confused. “No? How good is your hearing you think you hear things from down here?”

“Sensitive hearing,” he says, still unmoving. There’s another pause, until he starts packing up his food to go. “Stay here. I think someone is in the lab.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “You don’t know me as well as I thought. I’m investigating with you, let’s go.” 

Miguel looks at you and any argument dies with the deadpan look you give him. Silently, he walks back to the lab and you’re just as silent, following behind him.

First, Miguel thinks he’s in a hospital. The white lights and broken vials he landed on making him think he fucked up some poor doctor’s office. Then, he looks around and he knows it’s not a doctor’s lab. The bunsen burners and scribbles upon a rolling chalk board riddled with math. Then, he sees the abandoned lab coat embroidered with the word ALCHEMAX. How did he end up here? That’s when he hears it. Hulking footsteps, followed by a lighter tread. Shit. Shit. Shit. He had no gear on. The footsteps were getting closer. He thinks fast, grabbing a piece of a broken beaker in his hand. 

The lab door swings open and that’s when he sees the both of you. Him and the stranger in front of him look at each other. Perplexed. You’re like me. Different. It’s unspoken. There’s a pause before you emerge from behind the large man and Miguel looks at you up and down, glossing you with his eyes. Cute, he muses silently. You raise a brow at him blatantly checking you out before you speak.

“Care to explain what’s going on here, or should we call security and let them deal with you instead?” A hand rests on your hip as you pose the question. A feisty one, he can tell. 

Miguel sits up and drops the glass. “I.. don’t know how I got here or how. One minute I was in my house and the next..” he shrugs and looks around.

You freeze, looking at the tall man before you both. “You don’t think.. do you?” And he freezes at the question a beat after you ask it.

“It worked.” 

“So, uh,” Miguel clears his throat. “Care to clue a guy in?”

You think you’re losing your mind. You can’t believe it worked. A person, a man, from another dimension is here. In your lab. You and Miguel did this. You want to burst with excitement and vomit in fear at the same time. 

Holy fuck, dimension travel is real. We did it. We fucking did it. 

You introduce yourself and your lab partner to the strange and is face goes staunch.

“What did you say..?”

“This is my- my lab partner Miguel. Miguel O’Hara.”

“No shocking way.. I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

It’s your turn to go staunch next. “You’re- what?”  It’s now you take a moment to look, really 

look at the other Miguel. First thing you notice is he’s drastically shorter that your Miguel, sitting at five foot eleven compared to the staunch six feet and nine inches of your Miguel. Then, you look at his face. Same brown tresses but less wavy, coiffed in a messy side look instead of the slick back you’re used to seeing. Still, you can’t deny his attractiveness looking at him. Some things seem to carry on between dimensions, like the same thick eyebrows, slightly tanned skin, and soft looking lips in a pout. You trail your eyes down his strong nose to his thick shoulders, muscles visible even through a plain white tee shirt. The small of his waist and the thick of his thighs strained against his denim jeans have your mind trailing off for a moment, with very inappropriate thoughts to have about a coworker and a stranger. 

Miguel, your Miguel, has barely said a word, brooding over you and his tether silently. “Yeah. And this is Alchemax, yeah? My father owns this company where I’m from, the piece a’shit. Lyla would lose her head at this.”

Miguel decides to speak finally and it scares you a bit. “Did you say Lyla? As in Lyrate Lifeform-“

“Lifeform Approximation, yeah.” 

“Brother?”

“Gabriel, the pain in the ass he is.”

Miguel’s in disbelief. “No way this is- I did this.” He looks at you for a second and away, like he’s thinking, contemplating.

“Are you.. do you take it too? Rapture?” he chooses his words carefully, and you’re confused. Rapture? 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

You look between the two men, a bit flustered to be honest, and clear your throat, trying not to blush when they look at you. “Sorry to be that guy here gentlemen but uh- how do we get him back?”

“I think the pretty little scientist is right here, my brother. I think you know as well as I do why I can’t stay here for too long.”

He does. A dirty little secret he’s kept from not only you, but all of Nueva York, is that he’s the one and only Spider-Man. Not only does rapture need to be sated, but crime doesn’t allow for vacation time in this line of work. Left to its vices, Nueva York may very well burn itself from inside out.

“Get me the watch,” your Miguel asks you. You twiddle off to the office with broken glass and loose paper rattled all over the floor, picking up the watch in all its fried-wire glory. You grimace, before getting up to leave when you notice the camera from the video logs on the floor tucked away behind a fallen chair. You remember that you forgot to turn it off before you left for lunch. You bring it in jest, hoping maybe there’s something valuable on film. If not, you get to watch Miguel look incredibly handsome in his lab coat again, and you can’t complain about that. 

It’s quiet between the pair when you return. You can’t help but look at them, thinking how ludicrous this whole situation is, truly. “I still can’t believe you guys are the same person,” you muse aloud, dropping the broken watch on the counter along with the camera. “I forgot to stop recording, might be something worthwhile on that thing.”

“Thanks. We’ll clean up and uh, head to my place. S’getting late,” your Miguel says, dropping the watch in his pocket.

In the two weeks the other Miguel has been here, you’ve learned two things: One, Miguel, the both of them, are Spider-Man. Other Miguel had let it slip, and your Miguel confirmed it to you. Following a brief moment of shell shock, your mind began to race. His stamina is probably incredible, and he’s so big and durable, I wonder what he looks like under that suit. Speaking of that suit, you’ve never not noticed the bulge but knowing it’s been Miguel under there the whole time you bite your lip. You’re so fucked. Second, you were beginning to develop a bit of a crush on the other Miguel. You delude yourself into thinking it’s an enamourment that’s returned, the flirty jokes and wandering exchanges shared between the two of you.

This was something that unbeknownst to you didn’t fly under your Miguel’s radar in the slightest. When all three of you are together, you notice the way his muscles in his face pull at the borderline vulgar double entendres his doppelgänger makes towards you. The twist of his lips, the hard swallow in his throat. Is he… jealous? 

“Red or white?” you hear the other Miguel over the couch ask, and the question grounds you. You’re over at Miguel’s place, in attempts to figure out what missing code is needed to finally send Miguel’s other back to his original dimension. You had showed up on time, but Miguel had been running late with Spider-Man duties, so you and his tether found yourself plenty occupied within the wine cabinet, stocked with aged reds and whites. 

“Red,” you reply back. “What bottle is that? If it’s expensive he’ll kill you.”

“Chateau Cheval Blanc. 1947. Aged to perfection,” Miguel says, walking towards you at the couch with two large rounded glasses in hand accompanied with a rather expensive looking wine bottle. When he rounds the couch you quirk an eye at him. “All the bottles he has are expensive. And technically, they’re my bottles too.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but smile. With a pop, the champagne bottle opens, and the smooth pour of amber liquid fills your glass. 

At the first sip, it’s tart, a slight edge to the wine. But with each sip, the notes of fruit and full bodied taste of it begins to hit your taste bud. As you sip, conversation between you and Miguel follows. He tells you about his own perils as Spider-Man, his troubled home life, romantic life, and everything in between. 

You laugh. You sip. Your glass empties, and he refills it. You’re warm. Your eyelids become heavier. You’re blinking slower. You’re chewing your lip. You’re nervous.

You’re nervous to be alone with Miguel like this. You’re scared of his charm, his dry humour. His chiseled jaw and rounded lips. You really wanna kiss him.

You realize he’s been talking to you this whole time, sat across the couch, droning on about his own LYLA. You feel the heat in your stare, and you wonder if he can too. You can’t help but look at his lips while he’s talking, his tongue peeking out in a flash of pink to wet his lips after a prolonged sentence. 

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me. 

Your hand slowly comes up towards Miguel’s face and the words slowly die out of his mouth until he’s silent, staring at you like you’ve been staring it him. 

“S’good wine,” you say, rubbing soft circles into his cheek. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod and bite your lip. “How comes, baby?” You blush. He’s teasing you now. This is exactly what you wanted.

“Makes me feel warm.” 

You’re meek in your speech, and Miguel finds it adorable, building up the all too palpable feeling of attraction. “Just warm?” he prods, his turn to run circles onto your skin. You’re glad you worse a dress, you think, as his hand trails slowly up your thigh until his fingers are just centimetres away from where you really want them. Then he begins to caress your upper thigh with his thick hand. You’re beyond the point of wanting a kiss now.

You shake your head slowly. “Not just warm. Needy,” you sigh out. Your hand leaves his face and falls on top of his hand on your thigh, and you pull it up ever so slightly until he’s touching you where you really want it, his fingers simply resting against the fabric of your panties. “Feel needy here.”

“Oh, baby..” he drawls, and he pulls you in with a kiss with his free hand. You feel yourself melt into him, a little dizzy. Whether it’s the wine or Miguel, you’re unsure, but you savour this feeling, scared for it to end. Your lips exchange taste, his mouth tasting of the wine, mint and cigarettes. You can’t help but grind yourself into his fingers, and he finally gets the hint and rubs against the crotch of your panties, coaxing the wetness out of you. Your lips don’t leave eachother, the moment you’ve been waiting for being fuelled but the weeks worth of desire for this Miguel, and years worth of repressed feelings for the other. Your hands comb through his thick brown hair, holding onto him as if he’ll disappear if you let go. Your lips leave his to whisper your words of desire into his ear. You can’t wait anymore.

“F-fuck me, please.”

He groans, his lips making his way to your neck to suck, and when your field of vision clears up you freeze. Miguel is home. Standing in the doorway to his apartment, watching you suck face with his tether. You feel like a kid whose hand got caught in the cookie jar, the strong look of displeasure, anger, at catching you in the middle of defiling his couch. Other Miguel eases up off of your neck with a satisfied face that falls flat when he sees the expression on yours, eyes fixed over his shoulder. He sits up and turns around and freezes once he sees what you see.

It’s unbelievably tense in the room. Your mind feeling like it’s going a mile a minute, while also feeling like you’re unable to produce a coherent thought, a combination of Miguel’s touches and that damned red wine. 

Your mouth opens and closes over and over, until you blurt out some half-coherent apology for making out with his indimensional counterpart in his home. 

“I’ll um- leave.”

You get up and grab your purse, walking past your Miguel on your way to the door, but you’re met with a strong hand on your shoulder. His strong hand on your shoulder. “Sit.” 

It’s all he says. And you do. 

You slowly stalk back to the couch, sat in the middle trying to keep a respectable distance from the other Miguel, considering the embarrassing position you were caught in. Miguel makes his way over to the couch, looking at the wine bottle and wine glasses on his glass centre table. 

“1947. Good year,” he smirks, and you’re feel your stomach twist. What is he playing at?

Finally, Miguel sits beside you, and you feel your face heat up at your predicament. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

“I’m not upset about what you two did in here,” Miguel states plainly. He runs his eyes down your neck at the drying spit in between the juncture of it and your shoulder. You look down in embarrassment, but his hand lifts your chin up to look at him once more. “I’m just upset he wasn’t going to wait for me,” he says, brushing his fingers across your cheek and down your chin. You barely have a moment to process what the fuck is happening before his lips crash into yours. Your wine-muddled brain is swirling with so many thoughts but the only one you listen to is the one telling you to kiss him back, so you do. You kiss him back softly, letting him lead you into it. His tongue slips between your lips when you let out a soft moan, and the kiss breaks. Miguel chuckles at your face. He looks beyond you and eyes his twin. “You gonna join or what?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” other Miguel muses, and grabs your chin to kiss you next. The difference between the two kisses has your mind spinning. One soft but dominating, the other hot and heavy. You want to feel them both forever. You feel another pair of lips on your body, your neck specifically, softly kissing up and down the plane of skin there until the soft kisses turn into lingering nips, and the nips turn into bites and sucks that have you writhing against the couch.

Other Miguel breaks the kiss to move his way down to the juncture of your neck, littering it with bites and kisses as well. The stimulation on both sides feels so good, you can’t help but moan and tilt your head back. With lips preoccupied, a set of hands moves to life your shirt, exposing your bra and the swell of your breasts. Palms move through cups of your bra up, freeing your breasts. They’re only free for so long until a palm envelopes one, and a pair of lips from your neck migrates to your unattended nipple. Your eyes have been closed this entire time, the sensation and sheer circumstance throwing you for a loop. You open your eyes and look down, to see your Miguel sucking and pawing at your breasts, while the other continues to lick and bite at you. You feel sharp teeth graze your nipple and you hiss, your hand moving to the back of Miguel’s head and running your fingers through his brown hair, gripping slightly. He peeks up at your face with a smirk, biting one nipple and pinching the other. Your back arches and you inhale shakily and he chuckles. “Naughty fucking girl. Strip.”

It takes you a moment before your brain processes the words you just heard, but after a moment you realize what he said. Strip. You get up, back facing the two, and you undress slowly, and you become privy the sound of them stripping along with you. you sit back down between the two, hands in your palms and nervous. You’ve had sex before but never this intense, or with two guys at once. 

“Can you get on your hands and knees for me, mama? I want your ass this way.” Your Miguel asks.

Ever so pliant, you obey. Ass up, face down in the other Miguel’s lap. You take the time to look at his dick from where you are and your eyes bulge. He’s not the longest but fuck is he thick. He’s well groomed, his curly pubic hair kept primped and cut at his base. In your reverie, you feel something wet lick up at your slit and it sends a chill down your spine. He’s eating your pussy. Miguel is eating your pussy. 

“Taste so good down here too,” he muses from behind you, inhaling you before diving his tongue deep within you. Your lower body feels like it’s been set ablaze, your nerves on edge and Miguel’s prodding and licking and sucking and rubbing. His fingers circle your clit slowly as he eats you out and you feel like you’re in heaven. 

“I see you’re feeling good, huh baby. Make me feel good too, yeah?” Other Miguel says, caressing your hair away from his face. You nod, and grab his thick cock in your hand, beginning to slowly jerk him off. “Yeah, just like that baby,” he sighs, watching you intensely. You jerk him off for another moment before you lift your head up and lick haphazardly at the tip of his penis, twitching and leaking already. You look up at him as you give his tip kitten licks, and then put the tip in your mouth. “Fucking vixen, you are,” he groans, his hand coming to sit at the back of your head. You bob your head up and down slowly, trying your best not to scrape your teeth against his shaft while your Miguel eats you out so feverishly. You’re sucking and licking as best as you can, reaching a hand around to cup and massage Miguel’s balls, and his hips twitch up and push him deeper in the back of your throat. You moan, at both him and the Miguel behind you, and Miguel notices. He holds your head more firmly before he starts to thrust up into your mouth, fucking your face. Your mouth produces obscene noises, leaking spit around the base of his cock and down your lips. You moan as he fucks your face and suddenly you jolt. A thick finger breaches in you and starts thrusting against your walls, and you can’t help but moan, feeling already full from both ends. One finger becomes two, and Miguel finger fucks you to the pace of other Miguel’s hips. “Taking us so fucking well, baby. Good girl. So good. Take it for us.” You don’t know which one says it, but you keen at the praise. You want more. Your throat feels tight, like you’re gonna suffocate on this thick cock, but you hold out, feeling so good and hot inside. “Almost there baby. Swallow it all.” You muster the energy to flit your eyes up and see Miguel’s eyes closed as he fucks your face voraciously. You feel hot, both at the fingers inside you and the face Miguel is making. With each thrust, your nose hits his pubes and it makes him moan increasingly louder until he thrusts one final time and groans. “Take it for me, baby. Don’t swallow yet, fuck. Fuck!” he moans. He pulls his dick out of your mouth until it’s just the tip your lips wrap around. You breathe deeply through your nose, finally. You let Miguel’s potent cum spurt in your mouth until he finishes and pulls out. 

“Show me,” he breathes. 

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the white ropes of cum in your mouth and how groans, pulling you up to his lips to kiss him messily. You’re dumbfounded before you can even realize that your Miguel pulls you away and towards him next, pulling you into a kiss too. His tongue swirls in your mouth before he pulls away from you. “I told you I wanted to share,” he says, before kissing you again. Your head is spinning. You’re not even sure this entire thing isn’t some mega fucked up erotic dream you’re having. You can’t find it in you to care if it is or not for another moment when you feel Miguel grab your hand and wrap it around his cock. Your fingernails barely touch around the girth of him so you look down and holy shit. 

Miguel chuckles at your reaction to his size. He must get this often. His cock is definitely proportional to the rest of him, long and thick all over with a trail of curly dark hair at his base. It’s not as groomed as other Miguel’s but you don’t mind. The leaking, uncut cock in front of has you pulsating inside, and you bend down to lick the precum from his dick. “Such a good girl for me. I don’t even have to tell you what to do,” Miguel says, stroking your hair. You hear movement behind you before lips lick from your clit to asshole, and it takes you by surprise. Your lips pop off of Miguel’s cock and you turn around to see the other Miguel, already semi-errect with a smug smile on his lips. “I-I’ve never.. not there,” you stutter. “Just relax baby. M’here to make you feel good,” a says, rubbing his hand across your right ass-cheek. You nod and go back to sucking off Miguel, feeling the wet tickle of Miguel’s tongue against your asshole. You can’t help but tense as him placing kisses back there. He brings his other hand up to your other ass-cheek and spreads you apart. So vulgar, but you can’t help but find a part of you that likes it.

Miguel spit on your asshole, causing a squeak to leave your stuffed lips, before his plunged his tongue in the hole. Your head starts to fly back before Miguel’s hand stops you and pushes you down, two thirds of his dick down your throat.

“Ah ah, baby. Be a good girl and show me how you suck me off,” he says, rubbing the apple of your bulging cheek with his hand. Be a good girl and show him. With Miguel’s thrusting tongue in your ass, you keep forward and try and fit more of Miguel’s dick in your mouth, sucking him and jerking off what can’t fit in your mouth. “Just like that, baby. Yeah. Make your master happy.”

Your stomach contracts at the word master and something flips in you. You suck his cock until you feel like your jaw is about to dislocate, letting yourself get lost in the praise and the pleasure, feeling an orgasm build up from getting your ass ate. You begin your tremble at the constant stimulation, sucking even harder. Your feel Miguel’s dick twitch in your mouth, an almost there slipping from his lips as you suck and lick and jerk him off. Your hips start to shake when you pull off his dick, placing the tip against your tongue and jerking him, wanting to milk him of his seed.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.” Miguel pants.

You brace yourself and open your mouth even wider, jerking him as he cums in your mouth. Miguel’s tart cum falls against your tongue, falling down the side of your face as you hold your mouth open for him. He groans above you and curses. “Swallow it.” And you do. Miguel groans before he leans down to meet you in a dirty kiss, and you can’t hold it in anymore before you’re groaning into his mouth and shivering into him from your orgasm. Other Miguel doesn’t stop licking you, licking up the liquid leaking from your pussy with a salacious sounding moan. “Sweet fucking pussy,” he moans between licks, and you’re trembling at the overstimulation, sending you into a second orgasm. This time, you feel your body tense up, and before you know it, you’re squirting into Miguel’s mouth. You gasp, and move your hips from Miguel’s face, feeling your own liquid leak down your leg. 

“Yeah, baby. So fuckin’ sweet,” the words make your clit tremble, the sheer base in Miguel’s voice twisting and turning, prodding and pulling at your nerves. “Don’t run, lemme finish, yeah?”

Your hips buck up and away wildly but to no avail, Miguel proving to be an immovable force to your constant movement. With every suck and lick, you feel your energy depleted as the pleasure crosses the threshold of pain, the overstimulation making your body go both numb and still. You’re engulfed in a haze, your body going limp against the couch save for your pelvis held up by two very large hands.

Distantly, you hear skin slapping and you flit your eyes up for a moment to see your Miguel jerking off at the sight of you, surrendered fully to them both. Your eyes roll towards the back of your head when you feel the wetness of Miguel’s thick tongue lick up from your clit to your ass, prodding the tight rim of muscle lightly with his tongue. Before you can register what’s about to happen, you feel a gush of wetness leave you and you groan, utterly exhausted simply from foreplay. Your ears pick up on the increased speed your Miguel took in jerking himself off, a groan leaving his lips shortly after your own does. You picture him covered in his own cum, white sketched across his tone and tanned abs, and the mental picture is enough to get you excited again, despite the way your muscles protest.

“Such a good girl, taking my mouth like that.”

You suppose you should answer, but your tongue is limp in your mouth, unable to force a sequencing of words out. Instead, you let out a pathetic sounding moan.

“I want a taste too. Holding out on me, baby?”

You half expect the stimulation to start again, tensing up, anticipating a touch to your sensitive clit. After a beat, you finally notice you’re untouched still, and a part of you is graceful for this recovery time, but the shuffling behind you has you finding the strength to lift your head up and—

Oh my fucking god.

Your brain short circuits for a moment, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing above you.

Your eyes flutter open and close a few times, somewhat of a quick blink to make sure you’re not riding off some ecstasy high that has you imagining things, that has you imagining both Miguel’s kissing. 

It’s slow, and messy at the same time. Your fluids are being lapped up and exchanged by the two men, who lap up and exchange their own saliva as well. You’re struggling to make sense of the eroticism of it, and sheer absurdity of two Miguel O’Haras making out, both mouths wet of your pussy’s nectar. The cognitive dissonance starts to kick your ass a bit, rationalizing the logistics of self incest and it being plain out sexy. 

They break apart, both slightly flushed. Your Miguel eyes you with low, brown eyes while your gaze is transfixed at his wet lips, a singular web of saliva connecting both of the men’s lips as they pull apart. Your breath is caught in your throat and you’ve immediately made your decision about the bullshit logistics of this dimensional anomaly. It’s making you so fucking wet. 

You’re sure Miguel notices your face, as a breathy laugh leaves his plump lips, wet with both you and him and another him.

“Knew you’d taste good.” He winks and smiles a smile that has your legs regaining feeling once more. 

You slowly sit up, straddling yourself in Miguel’s lap. “Want you in,” your hands wrap around his strong shoulders and you lay your cheek against his chest, grinding your sensitive wet lips up and against his dick slowly. You have other Miguel in your line of sight, and you see him watching you both, cock straining against his stomach. It has you feeling warm, thinking of how he unwound you from the inside like that earlier with only his mouth. You can only imagine how it would feel with him inside you. “I- I want you in me too. Please..”

Your voice comes out as meek, but the raunchy display of your hips grinding, face flushed, is anything but. 

“Gotta go slowly, mama. You ready?” Miguel asks you, his large hands resting at your hips now, slowly increasing the friction of your wet pussy lips against his thick cock. You moan a bit, and nod in his chest. The thick tip of Miguel’s dick stretches its way inside your pussy, burning slightly despite how wet you are. You wince in pleasure, savouring the burn of the stretch. Other Miguel sits up and makes his way behind you, kissing your back and neck as you sink down onto your Miguel’s cock.

“Fucking tight,” Miguel groans, just as aroused and affected as you are in all the hazy pleasure. Once you’re fully sat, you can’t help but sit up and look down at your lower stomach, a slight bulge in your lower abdomen. “Holy shit,” you moan. You’re pushed back against Miguel’s chest and you squeak at the sudden movement.

“Gonna fuck your tight little ass, baby. Okay?” 

It’s rough the way he spits it out into your ear from behind you. You can hear the arousal and anticipation in Miguel’s voice. He spreads your cheeks, spitting on your taut hole. “Gonna have to relax f’me, baby. Gonna be a real tight squeeze.”

You wince and hold onto your Miguel as the other one enters you from behind. While his size isn’t as big as your Miguel, he’s still insanely thick and long in his own right. It takes a lot out of you to withstand the entrance. Soft kisses to your temple and shoulder, sweet nothings and whisperings of “You’re doing so well”, “Good little girl” tickle your ears. From who, you’re not sure. But the verbal praise makes the pain worth it with the way a concentrated heat builds in the depths of your stomach from their charged words.

“I’m all in baby, tell me when you’re ready.” You blink once, twice, and exhale a curt puff of breath. You can’t wait anymore. 

“M-move, but slow.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, the rocking of hips start, and you feel everything. The pain, the pleasure, the push, the pull, the sheer unnerving hot heat and sensation the two men bounce you between.

After the initial moment of processing the moment you’re having with these two men, these two Miguel’s, you feel your body become both wracked and accepting of the pleasure. The cant of hips get rougher, the spill of moans and breath get louder, and you start to feel yourself get lost in the raunchiness of it all. Your hands roam up a plane of firm musculature and it has you reeling. Miguel is so manly you can’t help but let it turn you on. 

“Feeling good, hm?” Miguel’s full lips are pulled into a smirk as he fucks up into your pussy and you simply grip onto his biceps as he drives into you harder. One particular thrust has you sitting up and leaving back into the other Miguel, head tucked away into the juncture of his neck as he fucks your ass from behind. “I think- fuck- we broke her, man. Can barely speak.” You can hear the smirk in Miguel’s voice as he says that, but you can’t be bothered to protest, because you feel like if you let them fuck you any longer you’ll enter comatose. 

Hands from behind you roam up from your hips to your breasts, squeezing at the expanse of your chest tenderly. Simultaneously, thick hands plant themselves on your hips, squeezing as they bring you down in time to the upwards thrusts of hips. “Oh my god- I’m gonna c-cum,” you breathe out, feeling your body wind itself up, preparing for another explosive release. The hands at your breasts start to squeeze your nipples, pinching and pulling the sensitive and erect buds, and you squeal. 

“So fucking sensitive, baby.” You know that’s the other Miguel, his lips are directly next to your ear. You turn your face towards his and plant your lips against his, desperate for a kiss. Your lips tingle as he kisses you back and you moan in his mouth, your hands running through his thick brown hair and gripping gentle for support. You’re sure that if you were to let go you’d fall face first into your Miguel’s chest, which wouldn’t be all bad now that you’re thinking about it. 

Your kiss with Miguel breaks when you feel something warm and wet wrap around your nipple- Miguel’s mouth. You gasp, feeling yourself tighten around him inside of your pussy as you watch him suckle at your breast. Lips trail up against your neck and they suck and Oh my god- he bites your nipple and you moan so loud it almost startles you. That signature smirk doesn’t cease to appear on Miguel’s face even with your nipple between his lips, and you’d smack him if he wasn’t fucking you oh so well.

The lips sucking hickeys into your neck stop and the cold air drying the spit there makes you shiver. Miguel chuckles behind you and you feel the reverberation of the sound in his chest up against your back and it makes you feel warm inside. You can’t hold on for much longer if the two keep teasing you like this. “P-please let me cum, I can’t anymore,” you heave out, both exhausted and inexplicably excited.

“What do you say, Miguel. Should we let her finish?” A voice behind you. Your eyes squeeze close at a particularly intense thrust to your ass.

“Mmm, I don’t think she wants it enough.” A gravelly voice from your front says. He unlatches from your nipples. Thick fingers tease at your clit and you keen forward. 

“P- please oh my gosh please let me come I want it so bad-“ You feel like you’re on your knees, begging to two unmerciful gods to turn your punishment into something considerably comparable to a torturing pleasure. 

“Hold on for juuust a little, baby. We’ll make you feel real good, real soon.” 

The thick fingers teasing your clit, which you’ve deduced belong to the Miguel behind you, move on from their teasing to rubbing strong circles into your clit and you feel your legs begin to tremble. The feeling of your body getting ready to unwind feels closer and closer and you feel your ass and your pussy get fucked harder and harder until- 

When it happens you feel disjointed from your body, watching from third person. You can see yourself, squirming and twitching and shaking and squirting again all over Miguel’s couch and lap and they’re still fucking you because they haven’t cum yet. Your body begins to go slack and you fall against your Miguel’s chest, lips grazing his nipple as he continues to fuck up into you fervently. 

“Looks like we fucked you numb, baby,” he laughs and you hear it- feel it in his chest, and you moan lazily. “Oh baby, I know. I’m almost ready to cum. Just a little more.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna burst back here,” Other Miguel grunts above you. His hips pound roughly for two- three- four more thrusts before his stills into you and you can feel his cum spurt into you and you shiver. Right behind him your Miguel follows fucking his cum into your pussy with a deep and heavy groan. 

“S-So deep…” you breathe out, relishing in the stillness between all three of you. Heavy breathing weighs in the air for few moments before you feel Miguel slowly begin to pull out of your ass, his cum leaking out of you lewdly. You inhale a sharp breath as he moves to sit down on the couch, and that’s when your Miguel lifts you off of his semi-softened cock and onto your back on his lush sofa. 

Your chest rises up and down and your eyes flutter closed as you struggle to catch your breath and wrap your head around what happened, but you barely get a moment’s rest before your knees are pushed up to the side of your head and you’re basically balancing yourself on your shoulders. Your eyes shoot open and you see two heads above you.

“Gotta taste our work, don’t we?”

One mouth against your creampied pussy, one mouth against your cum filled ass. You’re not too concerned about who mouth is where- but them sucking at your holes, licking up their cum and yours too is sending your body into overdrive with the overstimulation.

You focus on the image up above you and your eyes bulge in your head at what you see, with each lick up your mounds, the tongues between the two Miguel’s touch. With each lick their tongues touch longer, and longer, until they kiss once more, exchanging each other’s cum with your in their mouths and you’re sure you’ve begun to witness an orgasm induced hallucination. They finish kissing, lips and mouths wet and messy, and your legs come back down from your head to the soft couch cushions. 

Your mind is absolutely reeling, processing the last few hours up until moments ago, feeling warm in the face already. 

You’re so fucked going back to work.

[rafesyangel]

What happens if reader tries to apply for a summer internship

Cw: manipulation, rafe is just toxic

It was just a quiet night The kind where silence filled the place , your vanilla scent still hung in the air. You slammed your laptop shut in excitement finally gathering the confidence turning toward rafe, nervous excitement bubbling in your chest.

“So… I’ve been thinking,” you began carefully. “There’s this summer internship you know..” you stammered around him anxiously waiting for his reaction

“I thought what if I could ap..”.

You didn’t finish. You didn’t have to. Rafe already ditched whatever he was doing and focused on you now, he had a way of silencing a room without a word.

“What do you need that for?” He calmly questioned you and you blinked.

“What?”

“I said why would you need that?” he repeated, calmly too calmly

“You’re not applying for that.” Your mouth parted in disbelief.

“Rafe, why? It’s just a summer internship. It’s not like I’m—”.

“I dont risk my life for you everyday with some lowlifes doing sketchy shit so you could go around and leave ,” he cut you , voice harder now. “How do you think you are able to afford getting your lash extensions every couple of weeks baby or your nails done ? and who is affording your expensive shopping sprees”.

“Rafe I made my mind its none of your concern i-.” He stood, towering, clearly pissed off.

“It is when it starts pulling you out of this house, out of my bed, away from me then that matters to me.” You stared at him dumbfounded

“Rafe, it’s an internship, its not like im going to stat all day away “ You were Trying your best , he cant just stop you like that

But he stepped closer, his tone dropping, colder, filled with restrained anger. “You aren’t going anywhere princess”

“I want something for me, Rafe” you suddenly snapped at him

He let out a harsh laugh. “You ? Want something? You’ve a rooftop over you , me paying your damn bills , i can provide everything you wish for ? Without even lifting a damn finger and You wanna be like one of those tough feminists now huh!?” Rafe said clearly angry at you now

“That’s not what this is, rafe i just want to be able to afford stuff myself i just kno-”

“No, it is what it is” he growled. “And you’re not doing it. You’re not wasting your precious time doing stupid desk stuff working a 9 to 5 with random men and chasing their validation when you could be here with me”

You were speechless, you truly dreamt of that position most of your life and he just stopped you like that

Maybe he was right

Maybe he doesn’t want you to spend your coming years trapped in a boring job barley getting paid , while you could just sleep in his arms everyday the only thing on your little mind is your next new hair color

There it was.

He didn’t shout or yell or force, Just declared. Unmovable. Like everything Rafe said when he decided something for you, He tilted his head, voice softening into something so sweet the kind of sweetness that made your stomach twist.

“Why do you wanna fill your pretty head with such nonsense baby?” He cooed , big hands wrapped around your face as his finger removed that one tear that fell from your glassy eyes

you felt the tears already forming struggling to hold it in, not from weakness, but fury

You were starting to understand him now how he is right until rafe opened his mouth and it felt like he dropped a bucked of cold freezing water on you

“But i…i..already sent in the application,” you said, “they should call me in the next hours” Rafe didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink., He just gave a slow, smile

“You won’t get a call. I made sure of that.” Your heart dropped.“What?”He leaned in, kissed your cheek and whispered to you

“Dumb little puppy remember when when you asked me to fix your MacBook for you?didn’t you? I did that “

“Then I hit ‘delete.’ You’re welcome, baby”

“You forgot to close the tab sweetheart”

And just like that, rafe once again ruined your chances :(

[ledesaid]

Superjob 📦 

→→→→→→→→→→→→

In front of him, there is a sheet of paper. It is important, just like many things have been in his life.

It is a job application.

It's the second one he's submitted.

The first was for the Justice League, and technically speaking, he's still working there.

But now, he is officially a grown-up teenager, and he needs to take this big step.

He is not part of the great Wayne Enterprises, Queen Industries, or anything similar.

This, he has achieved on his own, and that makes it even more valuable.

"Radio WHIZ"

He will work as a junior assistant to the warehouse manager. It's not what he had expected, but the career path could lead him to an internship in the offices where the radio program is recorded.

Everything with patience... And speaking of that.

HR: Everything looks in order, you just need to write down your parents' phone numbers on form 15F to complete the paperwork.

Yes, things like this still follow him. It’s not easy to say he lives on his own, that the address he provided is one of the safe houses Red Robin lent him, or that the phone number he wrote on the record is registered under Clark Kent’s name...

But if there's one thing he is certain about, it's that he has friends who understand him and have given him ways to handle situations like this.

Billy: My family lives in different cities.

HR: No problem, kid.

Two names were written on the paper. The HR woman read them with a bit of surprise. If you were in the industry, it was mandatory to recognize those names.

HR: Bruce Wayne is your guardian?

Billy: I prefer to call him my emergency contact.

HR: And this Clark Kent… isn’t he the Clark Kent from The Daily Planet?

Billy: I also prefer to call him my emergency contact.

She seems to ignore what he says, but continues the conversation.

HR: Sorry for the question, but why are you applying for a job like this when you could be working with them?

Billy: Because I want to do this on my own, and I like this city.

HR: Kid, you have something special, I can feel it. And I know for a fact that Mr. Sterling Morris likes seeing that in people

She definitely confirmed the phone numbers after Billy left. Protocol required verifying the applicants’ information.

Can you imagine the surprise she felt when hearing the voices of the Bruce Wayne or the renowned reporter Clark Kent?

She couldn't believe it, it was them! And they accompanied him on his first day of work a week later.

---

[district4loading]

The CEO (WLW)

Twice Sana!Dom x Female Reader!Sub

6K Words

Content Warning: smut, some angst cause why not, a bit of an age gap, mentions of cheating, fingering, oral, strap

Minors DNI

A/N: There aren’t many times where I can see Sana being dominant but goddamn when I saw these pictures I doubted myself.

I started writing this last night and just finished today (It's 10 in the morning). I hope you bottoms enjoy!!!

Anon - "i know you said in your intro your mainly going to write bottom sana… but any plans of a top sana fic soon for the girlies >< love ur writing btw!"

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Maybe this was like you

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"How the hell did I end up here?"

That's what you ask yourself as you stare at the ceiling in this unfamiliar bedroom. You're on the bed half naked and there's this breeze coming from the vents that's got goosebumps forming on your arms. You contemplate getting up and putting your dress back on. It's frankly too expensive to be on the floor anyways, no matter how clean the porcelain tiles are.

But you stay there, trying—then giving up in the same instance—to hear what's being said on the other side of the door. Everything was going fine, she was kissing you and touching you everywhere you needed her to. Until her phone rang, then she muttered "I have to take this" and left you, in your panties in her enormous bed. Seriously, no single person needs a bed this huge.

Well, that's what materialism does to you.

You start to blame yourself, regretting coming here in the first place. It's the fact that you're a college student, the fact that she's got maybe eight years on you. Oh yeah, and maybe also the fact that you're her intern. Well more specifically an intern at the company she runs.

As an arts and design major, internships mattered. So why not apply for an internship at one of the most popular fashion brands in the country? That was your thought process. In the competitive field, among all the other applicants you were chosen for the position. Two weeks later you met the CEO Minatozaki Sana who you never thought could be so attractive in every way possible. Every time you saw her around--which wasn't much--she'd make your knees go weak with only a glance.

How'd you end up in her bed? You don't exactly know. Well, it was maybe six in the afternoon when you were heading out of the office. Then she stopped you and randomly asked if you'd like to get drinks and of course you agreed. Next thing you knew, you're in her penthouse and she's unzipping your dress.

Now you're starting to get frustrated and you sit up, wondering if she forgot that she had someone waiting for her. That's when you actually get a look at the view outside, through the floor to ceiling windows. "Damn" You mutter, actually getting up from the bed to look at the lights.

Because what else were you gonna do? Leave?

Then after what felt like a millennia, you hear the door open up behind you. "I'm sorry, it was really important..." She trails off, noticing how you've migrated from the bed "Enjoying the view I see" She puts her hands in her pockets and you turn around just in time to see it.

You mean to give her a nasty look because you're upset with her for making you wait so long. However, the moment you open your mouth the words get stuck in your throat almost immediately when you see her. She's got on the same thing she's had on all day, this all black Prada outfit and somehow you're still starstruck about how good it fits her.

She comes closer and gets her hands on your waist like they're meant to be there "Now, where were we?" she asks, dipping her head down to your neck and kissing the skin softly. In the time you were waiting, you nearly forgot how good her lips felt on your body. A soft moan slips from your mouth and you already need more.

This is so not like you, opening your legs for some CEO who'll probably kick you out in the morning. But somehow, you just can't resist her. You pull her body closer to you and you allow her to lead you to the bed. Now you're on you're back again and she's on top of you. "Did.. mm did you turn your phone off?" You ask between heavy breaths and whines, because she's sucking on your neck so hard she'll definitely leave a mark and it feels so good.

"Yeah" She pulls away and nods, looking into your eyes. Your hands gravitate to her face and you begin to feel her soft cheeks, you still can't believe she's real. You pull her down, in an attempt to put her lips on yours but she turns away before any of that could happen "I don't kiss, remember?"

You scoff and roll your eyes, having half a mind to push her over "Yeah but you'll give me hickeys, right? And you'll eat me out but kissing is too intimate i guess"

Sana sighs "If you're going to act like that then you can go" Is what she says, but she doesn't move. She stays there with her body on you, face just inches away from yours.

"Then get the fuck off of me" You try to get up but she holds you there and she gives you this look. Her eyes widen a bit and her eyebrows furrow as if she wasn't expecting you to actually challenge her. Then she scowls as she holds you still.

You swallow and you give her the same testing look but you stop squirming, figuring that you'd let her figure out what the hell she'll do next. Unexpectedly, Sana leans forward and connects your lips. It's almost embarrassing how fast you fall into it, into the butterflies and the hot feeling of it all. You kiss her back, she shoves her tongue into your mouth and you whimper when you feel her hand snaking its way down your body.

Sana chuckles into the kiss as her hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties. She breaks the kiss "Happy now?" She asks as her fingers come into contact with your arousal. The truth is, you're soaked, and you've been soaked ever since she got her phone call. So you buck your hips into her hand.

"Very happy" You respond with a broken gasp, your cheeks burning red as you feel her begin to circle your clit ever so slowly. She kisses your lips again, but it's only a short peck this time before she goes back to your neck.

She takes a deep breath in and sighs hotly into your skin, causing a chill to run down your spine "I hope you know... I don't normally do that, especially for a girl I barely know" She hums, putting more pressure and speed in her movements. Usually you'd say something clever but you can't, there couldn't possibly be anything clever that comes to your mind when all you can think about are how good her fingers would feel inside of you, rubbing against your walls and stretching your cunt as you cum over and over again.

Maybe this was like you

Instead of saying anything at all, you grab her shirt with one hand, then use the other to keep a firm grip on her wrist. It feels too good and you need to make sure she doesn't move or slow. Sana holds back a laugh as she realizes just how fucking needy you are. "Easy on the shirt, do you know how much this costs?" She mutters into your neck but you don't really care about that right now.

Sana starts rubbing up and down your slit in slow, deliberate movements and you nearly cry out in protest. That is, until you feel her long, slender finger prodding your entrance "Fuck.. please Sana" You whine, raising your hips into her hand "Please" You beg again and it actually sounds like you might sob if she's not inside of you in the next second.

"I was going to start off with one... but jesus baby you're so fucking wet for me I think you can take two" She takes your earlobe between her teeth and bites down gently, her tongue only grazing against the skin as she slides two fingers inside.

The stretch is immaculate, perfect even and her fingers fit so snug inside of you that you just might think you were made for her. "Oh my fucking god" Your jaw goes slack and your eyes squeeze shut. You can't even control it when you clench around the digits. You need them deeper. When she curls her fingers you allow a strangled sob to escape your throat cause it's been stuck there for a while and after that you start to let everything out.

She's doing it so well, like she's experienced. She's older so obviously she'd be good at this, you just weren't able to actually conceptualize it until now. You can feel your slick dripping and it's getting everywhere, seeping through the sheets and into the mattress. "Please don't stop... don't fucking - Ah!" You cry out, your hand still firm around her wrist.

Sana lifts her head a bit, her face is right in front of you and even though your eyes are shut, you can feel her gaze on you. She's breathing out of her mouth and before you know it, her lips are on yours again. Heat spreads throughout your body as you try your best to keep up with the kiss. The thing is, it's just too good. She's just too good. You couldn't even dream of making yourself feel this good with your own fingers.

As if she can read your mind, she begins to fuck you faster. Now you can't even kiss her back. You're just moaning into her mouth, your lips parted as she licks and kisses all over them. Soon enough she pulls away and kisses your cheek "You're falling apart baby, I wish you could see how pretty you look right now." She stops for a moment, then all you can hear are the sticky sounds coming from in between your legs "God, just fucking listen to that" You already know she has that fucking smirk on her face when she says it.

For a split second you think about how your panties are still on, and how badly they're ruined right now. Then you stop caring because the praise is driving you crazy. You know she must say this shit to every other girl she fucks, it's so obvious but you can't help but feel special when she says it to you. "I.. can't fucking.. believe.." You choke the words out like you've forgotten how to speak. You're a thousand degrees and Sana's making everything even hotter.

You don't know why, but you decide to open your eyes and the sight above you only makes you want to shut them all over again. She's so hot, almost too hot right now. She stares directly into your eyes "You're going to cum aren't you" You nod frantically as your legs begin to tremble "There you go, be a good girl and cum on my fingers, darling" and her voice is so perfectly raspy when she says it. You bring your hands up, then you wrap your arms around her to pull her as close as possible. Her mouth is near your ear again and all of the feelings are too much.

"I'm so fucking close" You whine long and loud and Sana hums directly into your ear.

"Do it" She grits through her teeth and that's when you cum.

Your body arches into hers but she holds you down, her fingers still moving wildly inside of you. "Fuck!" You moan, your body shaking and shuddering on the older woman's fingers. Then you go silent, your lips still parted as the pleasureful waves continuously wash over you and your mind goes completely blank. "Fucking hell" You sputter, finally allowing your muscles to relax.

When your arms loosen around Sana's body she smiles at you and kisses your lips again "I thought you said you don't kiss?" You smile back at her.

"I don't but-"

"But what?"

"But you made a big fuss about it so I did" Sana shrugs, kissing you one more time before kneeling so she can unbutton her top.

"So do you end up kissing every girl who makes a big fuss about it?"

"I don't" She slides the garment off, then tosses it to the side as if she didn't just talk to you about pulling it too hard. "But I don't know, you're different"

"Oh, please spare me the performative b.s. I know for a fact you say that shit to every other twenty year old you fuck"

Sana flinches at your crude word choice, then unzips her pants "For your information, I don't normally do this with college students" She slides them down her slim legs and crawls between your legs. You lean upwards and allow her to unclip your bra. "They're all usually ditzy party girls who don't know how to think for themselves. That's more of a turn off than anything"

"So what about me turned you on, Sana?"

"I've been watching you since you started working with the company. You're smart, opinionated, driven... and sexy. I like how you you're always on time, how you make yourself presentable no matter what, how you know what you're doing. You know what? I'd bet my net worth that you haven't been to a party in months" She reads you like a book, and the only thing you can think of is how sexy her voice sounds while she does it. "You're different, Y/n"

You know it's probably an act, you know she's just saying it to get you attached. But goddamn it, her voice sounds so genuine, so real, so attractive that you start actually believing it. She begins to kiss your body, down your neck, between your breasts and suddenly she's between your legs. You open them for her and she holds each one, looking into your eyes as she kisses your thighs. She leaves marks, sucking and kissing on your flesh and it's obvious that she wants you to beg.

So you do.

"Sana.. please"

She smirks, then hums as if she doesn't know that you want her face buried in between your legs right now. "Want your mouth"

Sana slowly moves closer to your center and she sticks her tongue out. Then she nudges her head just a bit further and you can feel the muscle sliding up and down your slit. You bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning too loudly as her grip on your thighs tighten. It's a bit painful, the way her fingernails are digging into your skin but it turns you on. Only because her marks are going to stay there and in the morning, you'll be reminded of this moment when you see them.

"I'll admit, the first time I saw you, I couldn't wait till I could get my mouth on you" She mutters, then purses her lips to leave small kisses on your clit. "You taste just like I thought you would"

Your legs tremble a little, it's far too much. Her words and her plump lips are doing wonders for you right now. The hot pleasure almost taking your breath away. With a small whimper you say "please" cause you need more. You need her sucking and licking until you're falling apart all over again on her tongue.

"So impatient" She makes a 'tsk' noise with her mouth before taking your clit between her lips. She sucks, moving her jaw in an up and down motion and your vision goes blurry. You gasp and you reach your hand down to run them through her silky brown hair.

"Fuck - how are you so... fucking.. good" You whine, your hips begin to squirm. The pleasure is so overwhelming, but you're raising your hips and you're pushing her head down. You don't want her to move, she can't, not when she has you like this. So you keep her there the best you can. "please please please please please" You chant it like you're casting some sort of spell.

Then Sana fucking giggles, and you feel it. It's like a vibration that sends a shock through your veins and your reactive body shudders in response.

She keeps it up, using her mouth in ways you never knew were possible. Then your body's heating up again, faster this time as beads of sweat start to form on your forehead. You're completely flushed at this point and it's embarrassing but that doesn't matter because if she keeps this up you might actually..

Sana stops, allowing her tongue to lap up your wetness for a moment before she lowers her head. You're breathing heavily at this point, you were right at the edge and she just stopped. A frustrated sigh escaped your lips and you looked at her, about to ask her why she would stop and then you feel her tongue prodding your entrance.

Without warning she shoves it in and you stop breathing for a moment. "Fuck!" You choke, and Sana just tightens her grip on your thighs. She pulls you closer and gets her tongue that much deeper. It feels like absolute heaven, like you're right where you're meant to be.

She has your body fucking shaking and jerking on her tongue and she's smiling the whole time. Sana's turning you into an absolute mess and she's enjoying every single moment. Every single flick of her tongue had a specific purpose that made you see stars.

"Shit, I'm close" You warn and before you even know it, Sana's sliding herself off of the bed. "Where are you going" You sit up and there's a dazed look on your face as you try to figure it out on your own because of course she won't tell you.

You open your mouth to say something but you forget whatever it was that you were going to say when you see Sana walk out of her walk in closet with a toy in her hand. It's pink, and kind of translucent but it still makes your eyes widen.

A smile grows on your face as you watch her put it on carefully. She's deliberately being slow with it too, a smirk on her face as she tightens the straps well.

When it's finally on, Sana climbs onto the bed and in between your legs which you end up opening for her. She leans in and kisses you on your lips, nice and slow and there's nothing that feels better in this moment. Her soft lips make you feel like you're floating in space, the way it eliminates every other thought in your mind.

Then Sana buries her face in the crook of your neck, grabbing the toy with her hand to line it up. "I'll take care of you Y/n, I promise i'll have you screaming my name and cumming on this toy until you're begging me to stop" She almost growls the words into your skin, and you know she fucking means it.

"Please" Is the only word you utter before you feel the head of the dildo push past your entrance. Your eyes widen and you wrap your arms around Sana's body "Oh my fucking god" You try to moan but it comes out silent, like you've lost your voice.

She slides it in nice and slow, with gentle consideration but you're still wincing because it's fucking huge. You try to focus on your breathing and it works for a little bit, until she eases it in deeper and you forget everything. You're sure it's tearing you apart, but you can't help it when your legs wrap around her waist.

"You okay?" She raises her head and plants her fists into the mattress to hold herself up.

You swallow and nod your head, hoping she'll ignore the tears in your eyes because you've never felt so full. "I- Yeah.. just go slow please" 

The look Sana gives you is understanding and a small smile appears on her lips. She leans down and kisses you again but it's only a short peck for reassurance. Then she draws back and then rolls her hips forwards. It only goes in half way but the sound you make is nothing short of pure, raw lust. You grab onto her arms and close your eyes, digging your nails into her skin in an attempt to cope with the overwhelming stimulation.

Now she's thrusting in and out of you in a rhythm, her pace slow and steady. You appreciate that she's taking her time with you because you hadn't realized just how long it's been until now. "Look at me, princess" Sana says it softly but it's also demanding. So you do. She smiles a little "You have the prettiest eyes"

All you can really do is moan and it's embarrassing because she's telling you all the right things and now the monstrous stretch is starting to feel so good. Sana really did know how to fuck and you're already craving more. "Please.. faster" You beg, giving her the most pathetic set of pleading eyes.

She does as you say on command, fucking you faster and deeper. You feel the smooth silicone toy scrape against your walls with each movement she makes and you can feel yourself getting wetter because she's just hitting all the right spots inside.

Sana takes a moment to look down at where your bodies meet. "Look at that. You're fucking creaming for me" She announces, referring to the white ring of slick thats forming around the base of the toy. You can't see it, but you know it's a lot.

"Only for you" You say it like you've lost your goddamn mind. It's insane, this is the first time she's fucking you and the first time you've been to her place but you're already letting her claim you. It can't be good and you know it, but how are you supposed to think about that when she's eight inches deep inside of you and saying all the right things.

Then she slows down and eventually halts her movements. She repositions herself and leans upwards until she's sitting on her heels. Without pulling the toy out, Sana grabs the backs of your thighs and pushes them like she's trying to bend you in half. You're not even that flexible but she manages to get your knees to your chest. She leans over and holds herself up by your thighs. You can't help it when you squeal because the pressure hurts so fucking good.

You brace yourself as she moves her hips and it feels even better. This new angle allowed the toy to get that much deeper and it's making you feel like you wouldn't mind doing this over and over and over again with her. "You're.. fucking me.. so damn... good" You manage to say the words through your moans because you just have to let her know that she's destroying you.

As if she didn't already know that

Of course she gives you that smile and then she starts actually fucking pounding you. You don't know where all this raw force is coming from, she's a thin woman, slim arms with little muscle mass but somehow she's able to pin you down, fold you and fuck you like this. 

She's got it so fucking deep inside of you that you think you might cry. "Sana- fuck I can't- god you're so... I- please" Your breathing quickens. It's embarrassing how close she has you right now. "Fuck- if you keep.." You can't even finish your sentence, that's how bad she's wrecking you right now.

Sana gets the message, chuckling lowly at your struggles as she continues to fuck the shit out of you. You can hear how sloppy it is, that distinct sticky wet noise that's loud in your ears. It tells you just how wet and fucked up she's got you, it tells you that you'll probably be back at her door soon after this is over. It tells you that you might actually be hers sooner or later.

You gasp, then your hands are frantically looking for something to hold onto as your orgasm approaches hard and fast. "You're going to make me fucking cum" You warn, deciding to grab onto the duvet, because she's too far away for you to reach.

She hums and nods her head "That's right baby, cum for me again" She grunts and that's when your body begins to short circuit. She's using even more force now because your cunt is clenching tight around the girthy toy, making it harder for her to keep the same pace.

"I can't... I-" A loud moan follows your words and you finally fall off the edge. "Cumming" Is the only word you manage to say as it hits you like a truck. Your entire body trembles as she fucks you through it, never stopping her unrelenting pace. You freeze for a moment, eyes slamming shut just before everything crashes down. You begin gasping and gaping and Sana let's go of your thighs.

She spreads your legs open and falls between them, getting her lips on yours as fast as humanly possible. You're finally able to get your hands on her and your hold her close like she's gonna go away forever if you don't. You're eating each other alive, tongues dancing together as your saliva gets everywhere and the distinct flavor of your slick on her lips only adds to your arousal.

Sana breaks this kiss and gives you a smile "Again, i'm very sorry about the phone call. But I think that made up for it"

"Maybe"

Now you've got no clue what to do.

Should you leave? Should you stay? Should you ask her if she wants you to stay? You cringe at the last option.

You try to move from under her but Sana keeps you there "Stay" She asks, in such a cute voice as if she didn't just contort your body in a thousand different ways. So you stay there, and minutes pass and you wonder how long it'll be before she tells you to go. 

It takes a little while but soon she gets up and she leaves you laying there and you feel that cold breeze again. She's taking off the harness, taking her time and then you notice her gaze shift to the bedside table. "Is this yours?" She goes to pick something up.

At first you're a little confused, until you remember that you took your necklace off and put it there when she went to take her call. Now she's got the priceless item in her hand, holding it all wrong as she dangles it in front of her face. "Yeah" You get up and take it from her hands "Be careful, the clasp is broken" You say it harshly, but you don't exactly mean to.

"Sorry" She scratches the back of her head after you take it from her "Why don't you get it fixed?" She asks as she watches you struggle to put it on.

"Because the part is unique, there's only one and... it can't be fixed"

"Oh" She pauses, noticing the change in your relaxed demeanor. Something about you is colder and more tense. She tilts her head "So why don't you just get a new one... I'm sure there are nicer necklaces that-"

"It was a gift from my grandma, this was the last gift she gave me before she.." You can't even bring yourself to say the words as you absentmindedly hold the pendant between your fingers. It brings you comfort. "Sorry for ruining the mood" You sigh, trying to stop yourself from tearing up. Not here, in front of this woman who probably didn't give a fuck about you.

Sana sits next to you on the bed and she touches your thigh "No, don't be sorry. I was curious" You sniffle and nod your head. When you turn to look into her eyes, they look so gentle, so considerate in all the right ways. Maybe it's because you're in a vulnerable position right now or it's cause you just slept with her, but when she asks if you want to stay the night you don't even hesitate to say yes.

What have I gotten myself into now?

-

"Hey, Y/n? You're wanted in Miss Minatozaki's room" Your mentor, Jihyo pulls you aside. You try your best not to wince, keeping secrets was never your thing. Either way, you manage to hum and nod, hoping that she'd walk off but she doesn't "Hey wait, listen you know how she's the CEO of the company and everything right? I feel like she's taken more of an interest to you more than any other intern i've trained. You should definitely build off of her interest in you, show her that you'd be an asset to the company and hey maybe she could get you a comfy position here if you'd like to come back. Or if not, she can put in a good word so your job search goes well after you graduate"

You smile politely. 'Never in a million years' is what you want to say but instead you settle on "I'll be sure to do that"

It's your last week interning for the company and you're happy for that, happy to never have to step foot in this building again and hopefully never see Sana's face again. But you still have to answer to her so you decide to make it quick, taking the elevator to the 60th floor because of course her office is on the top floor.

You take a deep breath before opening the door to step inside. Sana looks up at you from her computer as you close the door behind you. "You know it's really low of you to get my mentor to send me up here to you" You cross your arms and you decide not to sit down, you didn't want to get yourself comfortable with her. Not again.

"Well how else am I supposed to get your attention if you've got me blocked on everything?"

"You're not supposed to. That's why I blocked you, because I don't want your attention" You can't help but lose your temper in front of her. It's crazy how she brings out the absolute worst in you.

Sana just sighs, "Look, you need to stop being so fucking childish and talk to me like an adult" You're at a loss for words, you genuinely cannot believe that you just heard her right. Your eye twitches just a bit and you begin to laugh "Y/n" She calls you, and she's serious about it too, but you can't help the giggles that escape your lips "Y/n" she says your name again sternly.

"I'm sorry" You begin to gain control of yourself "It's just funny to hear the cheater call me childish"

"You really don't have to be so loud"

After the first night you spent with Sana, you started doing things like that casually. Whether it was sneaking around the office or showing up to her place, you always found a way to hook up. Then it became something deeper and more romantic when she started buying you gifts, bringing you flowers and taking you out on dates. Sleeping over became a norm in your relationship and after maybe six weeks she was practically begging for you to get serious.

So despite everything in your living being telling you not to, you decided to try it out. The gifts were nice and so were the dates and not to mention all of the kisses and hugs. You had already fallen for her by then and in the blink of an eye everything shattered when you caught her with her assistant. You didn't stay for an explanation, shit you really didn't need to. The gross ass make out session they were having said enough.

So much for "I don't kiss"

You really beat yourself up over it, shit you were still in the process of beating yourself up over it. The wound was still fresh because it'd only been two weeks since. You should've known she was full of shit.

"Oh really? Which one do you think people would be more concerned about? The fact that you've been fucking the intern or the fact that you've been fucking your assistant?" You say it louder on purpose just to piss her off and Sana only huffs at you "Why did you call me up here?" You get straight to the point, because you didn't like for your time to be wasted.

"I want you to give me another chance"

You stare at each other for a few seconds and you almost laugh out loud again because she can't be serious right?

"No. Give me one good reason why I should?"

"Because I got you this" She opens a drawer in her desk and pulls something out, placing it on top of the wood and sliding it forward.

"Sana, you can't win me over with gifts. It's so disrespectful that you think i'm so easy-"

"Just, open it"

You walk over to her desk, sitting down in a chair as you unwrap the present-like box. "What the hell" You mutter as you go to open the box, there's a necklace in it but something about it is familiar. "Is this.." You gasp then put your hand over your mouth as you look at Sana "You got it fixed? I.. how? The part was one of a kind.." You glance back at the clasp, it looks brand new.

"I had some connections and you seemed really bummed about it, so I took it and I wanted to surprise you but then.." Sana suddenly feels uneasy about finishing the sentence. Your eyes begin to well up with tears as you gently pick up the necklace from the box.

Then she starts her apology "I'm really sorry about everything.. If it makes you feel any better I didn't actually fuck her- well I used to before we made things official but not after that! I swear you just walked in at a really bad time and she kissed me and I didn't push her away immediately but I promise we wouldn't have done anything else.. I was just being dumb"

She stumbles over her words in an attempt to make things better, to at least gain your forgiveness if not your trust. You couldn't even bring yourself to take your eyes off of the necklace, and you barely hear anything she's said but something in your heart softens for her. You wipe your tears and sniffle "Thank you so much" Is all you manage to say before you begin to break down.

Sana finally gets up, she wraps her arms around you and it feels so right. Now what are you supposed to do? Tell her to go fuck herself after she's done this? You can't bring yourself to even push her off of you, on the contrary you actually pull her closer. It takes a while, but she pulls away from the hug and you already miss it. "Sana.. I, I need time to think about everything"

You stand up, and put the box with the necklace in it on the table "Wait, at least take the necklace. It's yours"

Figuring there was no harm in it, you take the necklace and with that you walk out of the door.

To keep things short, it's probably the worst decision you've ever made.

[animationnut]

Internships

Day 4: Future

Ao3 link here!

...

“Oh yes, I completely understand. No, no, please don’t apologize. With such a prestigious law firm, of course you’d be swamped with so many qualified applications. You can’t pick us all! Mm-hmm. You’re welcome, and thank you again for selecting me for an interview. It was a really valuable experience. Yes, you too. Bye.”

Candace tapped the red End Call button on the screen and dropped her cell to the couch cushions. The fake smile she had plastered on her face throughout the disappointing phone call (her Placement and Work Skills class taught her that even if you don’t mean it, a smile can greatly improve your tone of voice) dropped like a ton of bricks.

“Ugh! You were a glowing candidate,” she mocked, storming the few steps it took to cross from the den to the kitchen. “Well, if I’m such a glowing candidate, why didn’t you hire me?”

She yanked open the cupboard and pulled out one of the cheap plastic wine glasses they kept stacked behind the well-used coffee mugs. She nudged open the fridge with her foot and snatched a bottle of ice wine by the neck. She filled her glass to brim and took a long swig.

Her intern application to Higgins and Dartmouth had been her last hope. Her blank work placement form lay near the basket of apples, taunting her. It was due back to her professor in two weeks, meant to be filled out by the employer taking her on as an intern.

Twenty applications she filled out, and she had been rejected by all of them.

Anxiety seized her heart, squeezing tight, and she chased the sensation back with another gulp of wine. With a tired sigh, she trudged back to the couch and snagged her laptop from the coffee table she had taken from her parents’ antique shop when she moved from the dorms to her apartment.

She started to research from scratch, making notes of paid internships and unpaid internships for law firms. No longer in a position to be picky, she started filling out every online application she could find for internship programs. She had initially wanted to work within an hour commute from her suburban apartment, but she reluctantly broadened her travel time.

Her Google search was interrupted by Gitchee Gitchee Goo blaring from her phone. It was the preset tone for her brothers and she accepted their video call request, propping it up against her laptop so her camera was angled at her face.

“Hey Candace,” said Phineas brightly. He and Ferb were squished together on Phineas’ bed, with Perry sitting on Ferb’s lap. “How was your day?”

Forcing a smile, Candace said, “Oh, it was fine. Kind of boring. My roommate is gone for the week, so it’s just me.”

Perry frowned sharply, looking at her accusingly. She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t tell you I was going to be alone because I knew you would insist on staying with me. I’m fine, okay?”

Well, mostly fine. There was still the fact she might fail her internship assignment because she couldn’t get a flipping internship.

She raised the wine glass to her lips and was halfway through a drink when Perry’s voice erupted through her phone’s speakers. “What are you doing?!”

Choking on the liquid in surprise, Candace pressed a hand to her lips to prevent wine from spewing all over her laptop screen. She gazed at Perry’s strict expression, the light on his translation collar blinking rapidly. “What?” she wheezed.

“It’s ten in the morning! Why are you drinking at ten in the morning?”

“Oh.” Candace wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, setting the glass on the coffee table. “Well, it’s Saturday, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t think it’s healthy to drink so early in the morning, sis,” said Phineas in concern. “Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t,” Candace confessed.

Perry crossed his arms. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

Candace rubbed the space between her eyes. “I got rejected from another law firm,” she muttered. “My last law firm, actually. Can you believe it? Twenty rejections.”

Her voice cracked, and much to her surprise, tears stung her eyes. “We’re coming over,” said Ferb immediately.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” said Candace quickly, using the sleeve of her sweater to dab the tears from her eyes. “It’s just so frustrating. I have great grades, I give interviews that, according to the recruiters, portray me as a ‘glowing candidate’. But I don’t have stellar grades, I have zero connections, and I’m always getting beaten out by people with loaded recommendation letters.”

“Well, everyone is wrong,” said Phineas firmly, “because you are the perfect candidate and they’re missing out. Do you want Ferb and I to make some calls? I think we still have the number for the lawyer who works for Har D Har Toy Company. We had to collaborate when we made the Perry toy, ‘cause apparently there’s a whole copyright process involved.”

“That is beyond sweet, Phineas, but I really want to do this myself,” said Candace gently.

Perry tilted his head. “Is that why you didn’t tell us before about all the rejections you received?”

Candace winced. “Yeah,” she muttered. “I’ve still got some insecurities that I’m working on. I know that I’m smart and creative, and I know I’d be an amazing intern. It just stings, you know? Especially when I know you guys would be picked up in a heartbeat.”

“That’s not true,” insisted Phineas.

“Phin, colleges are already begging you and Ferb to attend their school,” said Candace with a smile, “and you’re only fifteen. My own high school principal didn’t even know my name when I was your age.”

“What do we say about comparing you to your brothers?” said Perry pointedly.

“That it’s a futile effort, because there’s no better Candace Flynn than me,” she parroted with a fond eye roll. “But I don’t think that’s going to work on my internship applications.”

“You know there’s always OWCA.”

Candace bit her bottom lip. It was something Perry had brought up when she first mentioned her internship applications two months ago. She had initially rebuffed his offer, for working under Monogram sounded like a massive chore. But now, well, with zero prospects and her deadline looming, it didn’t seem like a horrible idea.

“I guess I’m out of options,” she said slowly. “But I’m still not really pumped by the idea. I don’t really want to work with Monogram. He’s beyond grumpy.”

Perry grinned. “You get used to it. He’s not a terrible boss, I promise. Just selfish and old. But if that’s what’s bothering you, you can work with Admiral Acronym.”

“Pinky’s boss?” Candace had a fuzzy picture of an English woman with a brunette bob and an obsession with all things pink. She’d met the woman only once or twice.

“Yup. She’s way less wound up than Monogram.”  When Candace still seemed hesitant, Perry said lightly, “It’s like you said. It’s difficult to get into an internship without connections. Well, I’m your connection. I’ll set you up with a virtual meeting with Acronym, and you can take it from there.”

Candace mulled it over. It did seem like a brighter prospect, working in Admiral Acronym’s division. She would also have the opportunity to showcase her knowledge in an interview, as opposed to Perry opening the door and letting her saunter right into the position. If she got the internship, it would be by her own merit.

“Okay,” she agreed, and she laughed as Perry and her brothers beamed. “Will you write me a letter of recommendation?”

Perry nodded enthusiastically. Phineas leaned close to his webcam; eyes bright with excitement. “Does that mean you’ll be staying at home for the duration of your internship?”

“Yes, yes it does.”

Phineas whooped and sprung to his feet, flailing his arms in a happy dance. “Don’t get too hyped,” she said loudly. “Acronym might not take me.”

“She will,” said Perry confidently.

His faith in her caused her heart to soar. “Thanks, Perry.”

He smiled warmly and pressed a paw over his heart, which she knew meant ‘always’. Ferb scratched the top of Perry’s head. “What if we go out for brunch tomorrow? We’ll bring Mum and Dad.”

“I’d love that,” said Candace sincerely. “You guys cool if I disconnect? I’ve got an interview to prepare for.”

“Sure thing,” said Phineas, plopping back onto the floor next to Ferb.

“Perry, can you email me some basic questions I can expect her to ask?”

The platypus gave her a thumbs up. “You got it. But before I do that, you’re going to dump that wine down the drain, drink a glass of water, and eat some food.”

With a dramatic sigh, Candace typed the name of her favourite crepe restaurant into the Google search bar and began an online order. “Well, if you insist.”

Expression softening, Perry said, “I love you, kiddo. Text me throughout the day so I know you’re safe.”

“I will,” she promised.

“Love you, Candace,” said Phineas, blowing her a kiss through the screen.

“See you tomorrow,” said Ferb, also blowing her a kiss.

“I love you guys too,” said Candace, “with everything I’ve got. Talk to you later!”

The video app cut out to her home screen as she hung up. She went over to the sink and poured the remainder of the wine down the drain. She snagged a bottle of water from the fridge and took a long gulp. Though her mind was gearing up to prep for her OWCA internship interview, her growling stomach reminded her of a more pressing matter.

“Hmm, cookies and cream crepes or loaded Mexican crepes? Decisions, decisions…”

[goyardgoyangi]

𐙚 busy woman pt. 2 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⌗ pairings: eren x reader, slight! erwin x reader

⌗ summary: you don’t believe in fate, but you do believe in probability. the odds of running into a stupidly attractive guy at a highly competitive internship interview? low. the odds of him rejecting you? …higher. the odds of ending up in the same program — and on the same project team after all that? practically zero. and yet, here you are.

⌗ word count: 1.4k

♥ pt. 3 ♥ masterlist ♥

You keep your head down during the remainder of orientation, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the welcome folder in front of you. The company logo, the neatly organized internship schedule, the overly enthusiastic "Welcome to Amazon!" message— all of it is infinitely more appealing than the possibility of accidentally making eye contact with him again.

Eren Yeager.

Your first real rejection of the year. Over 200 resumes and internship applications sent, countless hours of cold calling, but nothing stung quite like his.

The same guy you had foolishly, delusionally asked out after your interview. And now, by some cruel joke of the universe, he’s sitting just a few tables away, existing in your professional space like a bad omen.

You steal a glance in his direction. He’s leaning back in his chair, lazily spinning a company-branded pen between his fingers, looking completely unbothered. Meanwhile, you feel like you’re on the verge of overheating.

It’s fine. You’ll just avoid him for the next three months. Simple.

That delusion lasts for approximately five minutes.

“Alright, let’s get you all into your project teams!” the program manager announces with a bright smile.

You hold your breath. Please, no. Please, no.

Names are called, groups are formed, and then—

"Eren Yeager,

The rest of the names blur into static.

You don’t move at first, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you misheard. That your brain, fried from years of caffeine abuse and late-night study sessions, is simply playing tricks on you. Maybe all those Celsius energy drinks finally did you in, and this is just some sort of fever dream.

Or, better yet, maybe this is an opportunity. You could file a lawsuit claiming that excessive caffeine consumption has caused you to hallucinate a really hot guy who rejected you without a second glance, and Amazon is complicit. Emotional damages, mental distress— hell, you could probably milk it for enough settlement money to put a dent in your student loans.

But then you hear the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and your delusions of denial crumble.

You look up.

Eren is pushing himself up from his seat, tilting his neck from side to side to relieve tension— from what? Holding up his annoyingly beautiful head? It’s unfair, really. Even his neck is attractive. You try not to stare, irrationally envious of whatever lucky girl will get to kiss that neck, rest her head against it, run her fingers through his perfectly long, tousled hair,

Nope. Not going there.

And then he starts making his way toward the assigned table.

You wish a freak power outage would strike the building right now— it is Washington, after all. Would the damn rainy weather finally work in your favor for once?

But with a deep breath, you gather your things and force yourself to follow. You’re an adult. A professional. You will notlet some pretty boy ruin this for you.

You take a seat across from him, avoiding his gaze as introductions begin. Names, majors, eager smiles— interns all fresh-faced and ready to climb the corporate ladder. You do the same, maintaining the facade of someone who is totally, definitely not having an internal crisis.

But you can feel it. His eyes on you. Like he’s only just now registering your existence.

And then, finally—

“Huh.”

The noise is barely more than a breath, but it snaps your focus to him before you can stop yourself.

“Huh?” You respond instinctively, confirming your existence to the very man who rejected you with less warmth than the average LinkedIn recruiter. Fuck.

He tilts his head slightly towards you, green eyes scanning your face as if trying to place you in a different context. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His tone isn’t mocking. If anything, it’s just... casual. Which somehow makes it worse.

You force a polite smile. “Yeah. Funny how that worked out.”

“Yeah,” he muses, leaning back in his chair. “Really funny.”

He doesn’t sound amused at all.

The team lead starts talking, outlining project expectations and assigning initial tasks. You nod along, take notes, throw yourself into the discussion. But every so often, out of the corner of your eye, you catch him looking at you.

Like he’s still trying to piece together how you ended up here.

And maybe you are too.

The first week of the internship is a blur of onboarding meetings, technical trainings, and awkward team introductions. You keep your head up the best you can, focusing on your work and doing your best to pretend Eren Yeager doesn’t exist.

It’s easier said than done.

For one, he’s annoyingly good at what he does. While everyone else is still figuring out the company’s internal tools, he’s already breezing through code reviews, making small tweaks like he’s been here for years. It’s frustrating. But what’s more frustrating is the way everyone seems to gravitate toward him. The other interns in your group (especially the girls) loudly laugh at his dry humor, lean in when he talks, and nod a little too eagerly at his suggestions.

You? You do the opposite. You keep conversations strictly professional, responding to him only when necessary, ignoring the way his deep voice somehow cuts through all the background noise.

And, for the most part, it works.

Until Friday.

Your team decides to grab lunch together after a morning of back-to-back meetings. You consider skipping, making up some excuse about needing to catch up on work, but you don’t want to seem antisocial—not yet, at least. It’s only the first week, and burning that card too early would be a rookie mistake. Better to save it for when projects ramp up and you actually need to lock in.

Besides, you’re not just here to sharpen your technical skills. Networking is just as valuable (if not more), according to every career advisor who has ever haunted your inbox with “friendly reminders” about the importance of building connections in the workplace! So you tag along, telling yourself it’s the smart move.

And it is. It would be. If it weren’t for him.

You start strategizing, surveying the seating arrangements like a war general preparing for battle. The Art of War, internship edition. You claim a spot at the far end of the table, strategically positioning yourself between the most talkative team members so that maybe, just maybe, you can make it through lunch without having to interact with him.

That’s the plan. The mission. And you’re really, really hoping it doesn’t fail.

Again—easier said than done.

“So,” one of the interns, Sasha, says, pointing her chopsticks at you. “You guys knew each other before this, right?”

You nearly choke on your food. “What?”

She glances between you and Eren, who’s seated diagonally across from you, picking at his rice bowl with a bored expression. “You both interviewed on the same day, didn’t you?”

You hesitate. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Sasha grins. “That’s so cute! Like, fate or something.”

You let out a strained laugh. “More like unfortunate probability.”

Eren finally looks up at you, amusement flickering in his green eyes. “You don’t believe in fate?”

You grip your chopsticks tighter. “I believe in statistics.”

“Huh.” He tilts his head. “Then what are the odds of you asking me out after the interview and us ending up here?”

Your stomach drops.

The table falls silent.

You want to die.

Sasha’s eyes go wide. Another intern, Jean, lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That happened?”

You open your mouth, then close it. You should lie. Deny, deny, deny. But you can already feel the heat creeping up your neck, the betrayal of your own body giving you away before you can make up an excuse.

Eren, the absolute menace, just smirks.

Well, as they say, the truth will set you free. For better or worse, with no perfectly rehearsed answer from your imaginary shower monologues, you do your best to improvise. “I was feeling bold,” you say finally, forcing a casual shrug. “Didn’t expect to see him again, so I figured why not?”

Sasha gasps, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Wait, that’s actually so badass.”

Eren hums. “Yeah. Ballsy move.”

You shoot him a glare, but he just pops a piece of chicken into his mouth like he hasn’t just obliterated your entire sense of dignity with one sentence.

The conversation finally shifts after that, but you can feel his gaze still lingering on you, a second longer than necessary before he looks away.

For the rest of lunch, you sulk to yourself. Fuck the career center, you should’ve just stayed in the office. And if fate was actually real, fuck her too.

[a-ikus]

curiosity killed the cat and satisfaction won't bring it back.

pairing: touya todoroki x f!reader w/c: 1.3k warning/s: lots of world building lmao, sci-fi/horror au, eventual smut + body horror notes: helllooooo!!! another repost i apologise but this is the prologue to a longer fic im working on, just a lot of world building in this inspo/acknowledgements: playlist

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates + voting • kofi • askbox

it was a dream come true when dr. kurogiri had accepted your internship application, a world famous astro-biologist, astro-geologist and astro-botanist, one of the last to work in an actual expedition team. you hope working beneath him will finally sate the curiosity you'd grown up feeding into.

nearly all crews formed in the space boom had disbanded, old hangars once housing ships torn down to become labs, rusted metal tossed aside for tempered glass, engines exchanged for supercomputers, pilots turning from aerospace to the astro-sciences to study all they'd discovered during the boom. 

kurogiri and shimura's team was one of the last left, the latter inheriting the hangar and his ship as a teenager, his lucky morgana. he was young, not even eighteen when he did his first expedition, returning to earth famous, dr. kurogiri and commander shimura's name's well-known in your household as you grew up; both for his age, of traversing the stars in solitude, and for his discovery: shimura wasn't the first to find life, certainly not the last. he was the first to recover such an organism alive. to bring it back to dr. kurogiri's lab, to maintain the alien life for years. something no one has ever come close to again.

he'd been a respected, house-hold name ever since that fateful expedition. at only nineteen, he'd met his pilots, touya todoroki and shuichi iguchi. by the time you'd joined his team, he'd built a whole crew; in-house mission specialists, toga himiko and bubaigawara jin, payload commander, hikiishi kenji and flight engineer, sako atsuhiro.

watching the crew from the lab, you'd always been curious about him, about his reputation, of his crew. staring through the window, you watch toga bound around the hangar, skipping as she pokes bubaigawara's shoulder, remembering the hushed warning your friends had whispered in your ear the night you'd gone out to celebrate your internship; that shimura's team was crazy.

cursed.

rumours had swirled ever since shimura returned from his first expedition, stumbling from the ship that left him orphaned, only a bandage in place of his left thumb, index and middle finger, limping down the runway holding a gnarled gash at his side, skin and tendons split, torn and jagged at the edges like something had tried to tear him in half. like wildfire, a rumour spread that his ex-mentor had set him up on his exploration, an attempt on the young commanders life, to kill him before he could tell the world of the life he'd found. the legend of shimura's curse only spreading more when iguchi and todoroki were named pilots on his second expedition.

from what you'd heard through the trusty grapevine, the pair were once pilots for the air force.

allegedly, their final mission resulted in one of the worst explosions in recorded air force history. iguchi, unconscious from the blast had suffered burns to most of his body — losing one of his legs, his right covered in grafts, his torso mangled by the fire, angry scares from the tip of his fingertips all the way up the side of his skull, not a single hair growing on the left side of his body, dark brown stubble dotted over the other half of his face, the jagged patch of hair atop his head buzzed, dyed a soft pink. he'd been closer to the explosion, the censored files making it clear he was lucky to survive. that he wouldn't have without todoroki.

EXPLOSIVES INCIDENT RESULTING IN GRAVE INJURY TO AIR FORCE PERSONNEL january 1st | east hangar casualties: 2 victim/s: shuichi iguchi, male, 21 rank: officer injuries: third degree burns to 30-40% of body, smoke inhalation. AMMENDED: third degree burns to 35% of body, left trans-tibial amputation.

victim/s: touya todoroki, male, 23 rank: first officer injuries: third degree burns to 15% of body, second degree burns to 40% of body, smoke inhalation.

INCIDENT REPORT: at the time of the explosive - believed to be carbon bisulphide - officer iguchi was inside the cockpit of LV-011 knocked unconscious inside the aircraft after the initial explosion. surveillance captures first officer todoroki running towards LV-011's burning wreckage, dragging iguchi from inside the aircraft, both officers suffering wounds from the fire as well inhalation related injuries. alarm both victims are reported to have been wearing civilian clothing at the time of the incident, the victims in the midst of locking the eastern hangar at the time of the explosion. first officer todoroki's report pending. first officer iguchi's report pending.

your nosiness was cut short only moments after it began, each report after the initial one required authorised access, all you knew was both men were honourably discharged soon after, before they'd even woken up.

the next day, you couldn't help but stare through the glass window once more, todoroki and iguchi working side by side, like they had been their entire career. todoroki ditched his uniform, shedding the thick material in favour of a black shirt, standing beneath the big spacecraft. he stretched his arms above his head, tapping the bottom edge of the wing as iguchi spoke, the shiny scars snaking over his fingertips stealing your attention easily, the dark patches of scarred skin stretching over his hands and wrists. like a winding path, it leads you to the next scar, a large span of disfigured skin where an angry flame had engulfed his arm, a long winding path of marred skin curling around his bicep and shoulder blade, disappearing under his shirt at his back, although, you see a sliver of it continuing around his collarbone before it vanishes again beneath the shirts neckline.

from what you'd heard, his arms and torso were the worst, the flames licking at his skin as he dragged iguchi out, spreading from iguchi's clothes to his as he tugged him from the burning wreckage. the scars elsewhere had healed to a light, raw pink; the patch of skin up the side of his face, singing half of one of his eyebrows off, and a patch of skin at his jaw and the side of his throat burnt smooth, and a patch of white hair missing just above his ear.

your eyes are glued to him as he speaks, one and a half eyebrows drawn down in a thoughtful expression, icy blue eyes glancing between iguchi and morgana, back and forth as the pair spoke. until the electric blue met you.

in a few short strides, he's at the lab door, "your parents never teach you it's rude to stare?"

his tone is light, a playful lilt as he pokes his head through the door, staring down at you at your desk.

"i-i didn't- i wasn't trying to—"

"second degree," he gestures to his face, to his throat, the pink skin shining under the sterile white lights of kurogiri's lab, your eyes following his fluid movements, watching his scarred hands as they dragged the neckline of his shirt down.

"and third." he splays his palms in front of you, like he's trying to convince you he's innocent of something, twisting his wrist to show the uneven patches of scar tissue spanning over his wrists and forearms , even tugging the hem of his shirt up to show you the same swirling scars at his hips, nearly covering the entire sliver of his stomach you can see.

"what happened?" your voice is soft, like your tone needs to be gentle on the tender, raw skin.

"some tanks beneath the ship exploded, they say it was a freak accident, the steel overheated or something," he gracefully glides into the lab, leaning on your desk, "iguchi says it was an accident, i think it was an attempt. but i'm like a cockroach, they should've known i'd come crawling out of there."

he winks, his eyelashes long and dark unlike his snow white hair, and your shoulders sag, relaxing more around him as he joked, "so, newbie, tell me at least a little about you, other than you have a staring problem. start with your name, i'm touya."

your eyes twinkle, a heat burning your cheeks as you repeated his name, the weight of his given name on your tongue so much heavier than reading it in articles and reports. dropping your pen, you offer out your name, and your hand.

© all works belong to @a-ikus and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[goldengleams]

maxed out | luke hughes

In which Luke calls you out.

Warnings: swearing, fighting

LUKE HUGHES!!!!! ANGST!!!!! Two of my favorite things, hope you enjoy!

————————————————————————

The week was almost over but you felt like you hadn’t achieved anything. You had completed dense readings and wrote two papers and yet an exam and a project loomed in the future. And that wasn’t including the internships you needed to apply for. Apparently they weren’t kidding when they said junior year of college was going to hit you like a ton of bricks.

Three of Luke’s attempts to set up a FaceTime date with you had gone declined, you had opted to do more work instead. Instead of watching a livestream of your boyfriend’s game, you settled for watching the highlight reel before you went to sleep, sending him a congratulatory text when he played well.

You knew long distance with Luke wouldn’t be easy but you both were willing to give it a try. Your relationship was strong when Luke was at Michigan and you thought you would be able to balance everything.

You thought wrong.

Forgotten were all the busy nights when Luke had saved you from your studies or you went to watch a movie with him in his room. Quick lunches and chats in between classes seemed so important just a year ago, but now you couldn’t bring yourself to take your mind off college.

You had sent endless apologies to Luke, which he accepted, but you still felt bad. You knew each other’s schedules pretty well so you felt bad declining his advances when he knew you didn’t have a club meeting or a class. Unfortunately, you never really had a real break due to assignments.

As you wrote in the homework for the next week in your planner, you heard other girls passing by your door. Their voices were loud as they talked about which bar to hit up first, who they were going to meet there.

You felt yourself slipping, tears forming in your eyes at the reminder that that was you. Last fall, you had the boyfriend, the friend group, the perfect schedule. Now, that had all crumbled. You hadn’t felt this alone since your first semester.

As if your body was reacting to the stress you had put it under, you felt yourself start to tremble. Your pen fell from your hand as it shook and you slumped over at your desk. You tried to breathe through the shakiness that overcame you, but it was no use.

You had pushed everyone away in hopes that you could accomplish your schoolwork and applications before you devoted time to relationships with others. Luke, especially, had hurt the most to ignore. He had never made you feel alone. Now, you felt absolutely defeated.

In the midst of your tears, you felt your desk vibrating. Lifting your head, you saw your phone sat on the charger, buzzing with a call.

“Call from Luke Hughes 🤍”

Your stomach dropped. You knew exactly what Luke was doing. About a year ago, when he had first started thinking about leaving early to play in the NHL, Luke had pushed you away, thinking it would hurt less. In an effort to save your budding relationship, you made a promise to call each other when you felt like you weren’t ready to talk face to face. If the other felt like something was wrong, a call was the way to get them to open up.

But Luke had never called you before.

Taking a deep breath, you quickly tried to gather yourself before you clicked the green answer button.

“Hey,” you croaked. You quietly tried to clear your throat so that Luke wouldn’t think something was wrong.

“Hi Y/N,” Luke said softly.

A beat went by with no conversation, so you decided to take control in an effort to steer him off his original course.

“Um, how was the game? I didn’t catch the highlights yet, I’ve just been finishing some homework.”

“On a Friday?” Luke questioned. His tone of voice was bordering on disapproving.

“Yeah, Luke,” you bit back. “I’ve been swamped with work.”

“Y/N, you’re literally the only person I know who works this hard. You can’t always be swamped with work, my god,” Luke complained. “We haven’t talked in a week, y’know.”

“I know, Luke,” you said, feeling a lump rising in your throat.

“I just don’t get it, Y/N. Things used to be so much easier. We used to actually make time for each other, and we used to-“

“Luke, don’t tell me shit I already know,” you warned. “We both knew that things would be different long distance, and we’re still figuring it out.” You knew it was a weak argument, but you felt the need to defend yourself against his fighting words. Whenever you called Luke out on his lack of communication, you never went in with criticism like this.

“No, no I will tell you because I thought we agreed to be there for each other, Y/N. You don’t even watch my games, let alone care about my well-being. It’s like you’re not even there!”

“Are you serious?” You flared. Whether it was due to Luke being the youngest sibling or just being a boy, he always knew how to push your buttons at the worst times. “You know how much I care about you, so don’t even say that, Luke.”

“Yeah well it doesn’t feel like it-it feels like I’m just another task for you now, Y/N,” Luke shouted into the phone. “I have games and practice and everything else and I still manage to talk to you!”

“Well I’m sorry that I’m still in college, trying to get a degree and an internship and every other fucking thing at the same time!” You snapped.

“See, you don’t even care that I was literally there with you, not even six months ago!” You could hear Luke slamming his hand on his desk and you imagined he had a pretty intense look on his face. This wasn’t good. “In case you forgot, I took classes and did homework too, Y/N, but I still had a social life and cared about my friends. It’s like you’re trying to act like you’re smarter than me as an excuse!”

“Fuck you, Luke!” You hadn’t meant to start yelling at Luke, especially not through the phone, but you couldn’t help it. You were at your breaking point with school and Luke was at his breaking point with you.

By now, the tears were flowing in steady streams down your face. To be pushed to the side like this by Luke was something you had never expected.

You couldn’t help the sob that escaped your throat. Once one got out, you couldn’t stop them. The weight of your relationship, school, and your future was finally crashing in on you.

“Y/N?” Luke asked. “Babe, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not!” You mustered out through your tears. “You called me and I thought you were gonna ask me if I was okay, if I needed anything.”

“And, god, I know I haven’t been a good girlfriend or a good friend, Luke, but I’m on the verge of a fucking breakdown and, and I can barely get through each day, and I guess I just hoped you could tell,” you gasped, feeling close to the point of no return. “I hoped that you wouldn’t give up on me.”

There was silence on Luke’s end of the line.

Your heavy breathing filled in the tense space. You were acutely aware that your walls were thin and someone may have heard everything, but you couldn’t care at this point. You sniffled pitifully, full blown crying having calmed down a little.

“I’d never give up on you, Y/N,” Luke said quietly. “You know I care about you, I’d never give up on what we have.”

You felt a breath enter your lungs as he said it. Maybe there really was hope.

“For real? Because we just had a screaming match on the phone,” you let out a pitiful wet chuckle.

"Well, I did plan to call you tonight to like, actually call you out and see if you were okay but it didn't really go that way," Luke said, sheepishly. "I never wanted to make you cry, Y/N. I'm sorry."

You nodded, knowing Luke couldn't see you but feeling comfort in his intention. You took a deep breath, feeling your nerves calm.

"I mean, you weren't wrong, Luke. I haven't called you and I haven't texted, and I know it's not right but I was just so overwhelmed that I didn't want to take it out on you,” you sighed. “Everything’s been piling up and it’s hard for me to admit that I need help.”

"Y/N," Luke whined. "You know I'm here. You don't have to be stressed out all alone, babe."

"I know," you mumbled. You dragged the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your face to wipe your tears. "I miss you, Lukey. School isn’t fun when you’re not here."

Your phone started buzzing on your desk and you realized that Luke was trying to FaceTime you. You swore that boy could stay on FaceTime all day if his life depended on it. He loved just watching you through the screen, whether it was getting ready or just cooking, he enjoyed every moment of it.

“Hey babe,” he answered when you picked up. He had a small smile on his face and he looked so cute with his freshly washed hair and sweatshirt on.

“Sorry I look rank, I didn’t think we’d call tonight,” you admitted. Your hair was pulled back in an uncommitted hair style and your glasses sat on the bridge of your nose, half sliding down as you tried to wipe your eyes more.

"You look perfect, Y/N. And I miss you more, by the way," Luke countered, laughing a little. "I just want you to relax and do something other than stress about school."

“I mean, I’d like to do that too, just for the record,” you mumbled, yawning into your hand. The stress of the week was finally making you tired.

“How about you go get your nails done and go to lunch? See if Molly’s around,” Luke suggested.

You smiled at Luke on the screen. Even after your relationship was just tested, you and Luke always seemed to pull through.

“Maybe,” you replied. “I did finish my assignments for this weekend, so I could probably rela-”

“Yes! Just sent you money, I’m texting Rutger to tell Molly,” Luke rambled. Your heart warmed at the idea that he was so adamant on helping you de-stress after everything that went on this week. You watched Luke’s determined face on your phone screen as he went to work. Your boyfriend had always shown his love in actions. Luke poked away at his phone and when he was content, set the phone back up against his desk.

“Rutger said he’ll ask Molly but that she’s probably free, so you can finally leave that cave that you call a room,” he laughed.

“Oh please,” you rolled your eyes. “But thank you, that would be really fun to hang out with someone, I’ve missed doing that.”

You and Luke talked for a few more minutes, catching up on his games and his brothers. He even mentioned flying you out for a game, but that was a conversation for another day when you weren’t exhausted. It wasn’t long before your eyelids were drooping, yawns escaping your mouth frequently.

“Go to sleep, babe,” Luke said softly.

“But I want to talk to you, Lukey,” you mumbled, but also stood up to make the short walk to your bed. You climbed in under the sheets and immediately felt peace.

“Call me in the morning, okay?”

You gave a sleepy nod, and mumbled a goodnight to him. You felt better about everything you had talked about with Luke. Everything would be alright.

“Love you, Y/N,” Luke said.

“Love you, Luke, sweet dreams,” you whispered. You shut your phone off and dreamed of seeing your boyfriend again soon.

————————————————————————

Luke has been looking so boyfriend in the last few games so I had to write this!! Enjoy the angst 🥰 feel free to send me requests!!

[cyberagentchaos]

PERNAH DENGAR FRASA MASTURBATION BUDDY ATAU JERK BUDDY? - PART 1

Baru-baru ni aku berhubung semula dengan kawan baik perempuan aku masa aku mula-mula kerja kat company ABC dulu. Dia masih bekerja kat sana dari mula kenal dulu sampai sekarang dah lebih 11 tahun sedangkan aku dah berpindah randah ke company lain demi sesuap payslip. hahaha. Company tu adalah company kedua aku selepas internship aku tamat. Masa kat company pertama (internship) dulu aku tak ada rezeki untuk disambung kontrak sebab tiada kekosongan jawatan walaupun bosses kat situ berkenan dengan cara kerja aku. Yelah kan budak baru habis belajar. Intern lagi. Mestilah rendah diri kan. Kerja pun bagi sehabis baik sebab muda dan sangat bersemangat untuk berikan yang terbaik dan berkorban untuk syarikat haha.

Okay berbalik kepada cerita kawan baik aku tadi. Untuk memastikan nama dia kekal rahsia aku namakan dia Nurul Quratul Nadzirah. Aku panggil dia macam-macam nama. Nurul la, Atul la, Zirah la..last-last aku decide panggil dia Zirah je senang haha. Zirah ni masuk kerja lebih kurang sama dengan aku beza dalam beberapa bulan je. Aku masa tu fresh from university dan kira masuk-masuk lepas interns tu jadi eksekutif muda la. Yang zirah ni pulak dia masuk sebagai Pembantu Tadbir sahaja dan masa tu dia dah habis diploma dan dalam proses nak sambung ijazah sarjana muda la. Kedua-duanya masa tu masih bujang dan belum kahwin. Aku masatu dah putus pun dengan ex girlfriend masa kat universiti dan masa ni masih belum kenal dengan future wife lagi haha. So sementara aku masih single tu aku pun enjoy hidup sebagai anak muda di perantauan. Habiskan duit untuk game, karaoke, makan, pakaian dan porn hahaha..porn masatu aku sibuk kumpul DVD lagi..banyak jual kat kedai-kedai yang aku tau boss dia kaki simpan DVD jenis XXX haha..

Aku masuk kerja dulu sebelum zirah ni masuk. Jadi masatu aku pun belum ada kawan sangat. Pergi mana-mana pun sorang aje. Waktu breakfast sorang-sorang, lunch pun sorang-sorang. Memang ada eksekutif lelaki dan perempuan lain yang ajak makan sama jugak tapi dorang ni selalu sangat keluar. sikit-sikit lunch mesti nak keluar..aku malas sebab jem teruk masa lunch ramai keluar jugak..masa ada sejam je.. mana la cukup..jadi kalau dorang nak makan luar aku malas nak turun cafe pejabat je.. Setiap kali lunch aku sama ada makan sorang kat cafe atau aku bawak naik atas makan atas meja pejabat..Camtulah rutin harian aku sampailah zirah masuk kat unit aku, masa hari pertama dia lapor diri aku tengok muka boleh tahan comel dan manis orangnya. Rendah sedikit orangnya, bertudung sopan, kulit dia tak putih tapi cerah..baju kurung sopan..senyum manis je..peramah dan bijak orangnya (dekan setiap sem). Masa tu aku jenis pemalu nak bertanya itu ini lebih-lebih kat dia sebabnya aku takut dia tak melayan. Yelah perempuan baru masuk kerja, muka boleh tahan lawa dan comel. Tentu-tentu sama ada dah kahwin, dah tunang takpun paling kurang dah ada boyfriend jadi takdelah aku nak melebih-lebih. Aku diamkan ajelah. Hari pertama dia masuk dia masuk time hujung-hujung tahun camnilah, bulan 12. Masatu ramai staff lain pergi bercuti jadi tak banyak tempat untuk dia rujuk berkenaan system application. Masatu staff baru kena register dalam internal system pejabat tu supaya kalau nak akses apa-apa files atau pekeliling ke, nak apply cuti ke atau buat tuntutan kepada syarikat mesti melalui sistem dalaman. Kira canggih jugak la untuk tahun tu dan zaman tu..company intern aku dulu pun pakai manual form lagi kena isi pakai tangan..haha.. Selalunya benda ni team HR dan ICT yang uruskan termasuk setting desktop pejabat. Oleh sebab team ICT pun ramai yang cuti, jadi dia pun berpaling pada orang paling dekat iaitu aku. Haha. Kalau ikutkan aku pun nak cuti tapi baru masuk beberapa bulan kan takkan dah minta cuti panjang dah kot haha so dari situlah bermula kitorang berkenalan. Jadi aku lah jadi orang ICT, aku jugak la jadi orang HR haritu haha. Sebabkan aku pun dah lalui proses tu masa aku masuk kerja dulu jadi senang la aku nak ajar dia apa kena buat.

Lama-kelamaan aku dengan zirah ni makin rapat la jadi aku tahulah semakin banyak pasal dia. Lepas dari haritu setiap hari aku akan breakfast dengan dia, tengahari tepat pukul 12.30 dia mesti terpacak depan meja aku ajak turun bawah makan. Dah macam isi dengan kuku la katakan tapi masatu aku tak berani lagi nak ungkap pasal boyfriend ke apa sebab aku taknak rosakkan hubungan baik kitorang. Aku anggap je dia dah ada boyfriend dan dia anggap aku sebagai kawan makan lunch sahaja. Nak harap dia single kang nanti aku pulak yang berharap lebih-lebih takut aku frust haha jadi lebih senang aku anggap macamtu. Keakraban aku dengan zirah ni bawak sampai ke telefon. Masatu Whatsapp belum lagi dikenalkan kat Malaysia. Ramai masih guna messaging services biasa (SMS). Jadi masatu aku kerap jugak topup setiap minggu sebab aku dengan zirah banyak borak setiap hujung minggu. Lepas waktu pejabat pun kadang makan malam kat gerai dekat dengan pejabat aku sebelum balik. Masa tu zaman Hot Tiket hotlink tengah popular. Jadi kejap-kejap aku turun dari rumah sewa aku beli hot tiket kat kedai telefon untuk pastikan kredit sentiasa ada untuk borak dengan dia. Kalau kredit aku dah habis, dia pulak akan call. Bila kredit dua-dua habis kitorang message je. Last-last habis sebab masing-masing tak beli topup kad.

Selang dekat nak setahun berkawan rapat, aku dengan zirah ni makin rapat dan dia pun dah mula send gambar selfie kat aku. Time tu hantar guna MMS (Multimedia Messaging Service) haha siapa masih ingat tau la..Telefon pintar masa tu baru nak naik..aku ni baru masuk kerja jadi skip dulu beli telefon pintar mahal-mahal ni..Aku ingat lagi phone pertama aku beli bila aku mula kerja tu adalah Nokia 701..masatu Nokia masih relevan la.. gambar dan video memang tajam buat masa tu..taksilap aku phone tu dipanggil symbian phones bukan smartphone..Bila nak jimat duit topup kitorang borak kat facebook chat. Senang sebab guna data dari duit (1 mesej satu sen). Jadi dia pun makin kerap cerita itu ini last-last sampai ke topik seks.

Aku pun tanyalah apa pendapat dia pasal seks semua. Mula-mula risau jugak sebab aku taknak rosakkan hubungan baik dengan satu-satunya kawan perempuan yang aku ada kat pejabat tu. Kawan baik pulak tu. Buatnya dia rasa tak selesa dan jauhkan diri dari aku kan dah malu je tak pasal-pasal. Jadi aku bertanya dengan cara perlahan dan tenang dan tanpa memaksa. Mula-mula seperti yang aku anggap zirah ni agak ketinggalan pasal isu seks ni. Bila aku cakap pasal blowjob, pancut luar ke pancut dalam ke apa semua dia taktau. CD Blue pun dia boleh taktau..apa tu? CD warna biru ke? cerita apa? Pelik kan.. rasa macam dia ni betul-betul perempuan melayu terakhir. Terlindung dari segala pengaruh budaya kuning...sampai la aku yang explain panjang lebar. Dia pun ooo macam tu ekk..ooo yeke..eee pelik-pelik..betul ke weh? Aku pun layan je pertanyaan dia dengan batang yang tegang la haha tapi tanpa bagitau dia la kan. Aku taktau la korang macam mana tapi bagi aku perempuan yang innocent dan tidak tahu apa-apa pasal seks lebih mengghairahkan daripada yang nakal dan open to sexual conversation...bagi aku awek yang jenis innocent tapi curious ni lebih mengghairahkan sebab kita tak tau macam mana tindak balas dia lepas dia dapat semua maklumat tu..boleh jadi dia pun lebih open dan lebih slutty dari awek yang dah tau semua benda tadi kan..

Last-last sembang punya sembang sampai ke topik melancap. Dia tanya aku pernah melancap ke? Sebab aku dah selesa dengan dia time tu aku pun terus terang dengan selamba..aku kata mestilah pernah weh..selalu..dia macam wow ye ke..ko melancap tu macam mana..aku kalau dapat soalan mcmni dalam mesej memang auto naik batang la...hahaha..dahla aku duduk sorang..jadi line selalu clear takde nak kantoi ke apa dengan housemate..pastu umur awal 20 an time tu memang libido berada di kemuncak..stim aje memanjang..asal ada bahan baru je..mesti layan sambil tangan dalam seluar haha..jadi berbalik kepada cerita tadi...dia tanya aku melancap lelaki tu macam mana..perempuan pun melancap ke..aku kata beza mestilah beza perempuan mana ada batang..camnilah aku kata..ko duduk dengan sapa? sorang ke atau dengan roomate? dia kata aku duduk satu rumah sewa 3 bilik dengan 5 housemate lain..aku kata haa ramai jugak..ada DVD player tak rumah ko? dia kata ada..aku pun bukak la CD blue yang aku kumpul bertahun-tahun tu..aku carik satu yang tunjuk porn star dia melancap lelaki dan perempuan, pancut dalam, pancut muka semua tu aku pilih sebab lengkap dengan pelajaran yang aku nak ajar dia..sebab memang aku kaki porn, aku ulang tayang hampir semua CD blue tu..jadi aku dah hafal pun jalan cerita dia..tujuan aku nak bagi dia tengok dulu video ni sambil aku ajar dia satu-satu sexual terms dan position dalam video tu...jadi sebab kan esok kerja aku kata okay zirah esok aku pass CD ni kat ko..aku tau rumah ko ramai housemate jadi pandai-pandai la ko tengok ya jangan sampai kantoi...😂😂.. dia pun bersetuju je...tak sabar nak tunggu esok dia kata..

[omamorens]

a while back you said something akin to “inkblade college au.. (head full of thoughts)” !! would you be so kind as to open your head and share them? i am begging you on my knees…. spare inkbkade college au.. pls…

dear anon you dont have any idea of the floodgates im about to open but!!! im imagining two main routes for this college au. bear with me with this long answer!!

the ‘met-again at college’ au:

In this version of the events, the Rat Grinders probably broke off to do their own individual thing after finishing junior year and their redemption quests.

Oisin would probably distance himself away from Elmville but still pursue wizarding school elsewhere. Probably at the Bastion City University.

This time, he does it correctly with no cheating.

Though if he was being honestly, still having access to the full benefits from the school of conjuration was probably an unfair advantage.

So he always pushed himself to do harder, to excel beyond expectations. He’s a chronic over-worker and just wants to do things right for once.

Oisin never gets into another adventuring party again and instead studies to be some type of wizard scientist, developing new spells and technology probably.

Adaine, by this time, is already a world-renowned adventurer and top divination wizard of their age, in her own right.

She’s already established somewhat of a mark to history at the young age of 24? 25? probably younger, honestly.

Oisin hears about her from time to time— they do occupy the same wizarding circles and its kind of hard to avoid mention of the Elven Oracle.

But she was a famous figure now, literally beyond reach from a lowly college student like himself.

Imagine his surprise when he sees her walk into his class one day, but not as a student, no.

Adaine was a guest speaker and was about to discuss to them the very interesting topic of the Cosmology of Extraplanar Realms and Studies of Divinities

Oisin blanked out most of it.

Too starstruck from seeing Adaine again and oh… his chest was hurting again, phantom-pains from the shatterstar that never really left his mind.

Or is it?

Before he knew it, the session has ended. He thinks it ended too soon but the topic was actually discussed for two hours.

But his professor has an announcement to make? He stayed back to hear it out.

“Miss Abernant will be conducting research in the university for some time, and she has graciously granted the Wizard Department the opportunity for a student to take up an internship role for the duration of her team’s stay. Interested students may submit a form to me and the decision will be passed to Miss Abernant’s team after careful deliberation. That is all, thank you.”

Oisin has spaced out again, reeling from the thought that their paths would probably cross even more now that she’ll be at BCU indefinitely.

“Mr. Hakinvar? Oisin Hakinvar?” his professor called for him, and he addresses her, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Ms. Abernant, this is the top student of the Wizarding course, Oisin Hakinvar. I would speak highly into considering him for the role…”

Oisin has drowned out the noise again, because Adaine was staring at him, a twinge of familiarity setting in on her features. And of annoyance.

“Oh, I know of him.” she says tersely, “Top student, you say? No unfair advantages to speak of?”

Oisin’s brow twitched at that, answering the question himself, “None at all. I’ll make sure to send in my form for the internship role.”

Because he was prideful more than anything, and the subtle mocking comment made at him was baseless.

Adaine doesn’t know him, not the way that he is right now. Not after he’s pushed himself over and over to prove that he is worthy to be here.

“Very well! I’m sure Miss Abernant will be pleased to review your form.”

“Trust me, I am very good on both paper and practical application.”

Adaine shouldn’t even care for him at all, but she was curious. After Oisin and his adventuring party disappeared off Elmville, she always wondered what they were up to. Maybe more evil plots? Maybe they died somewhere off Spyre? Who knows.

Now she does, and the kindling of curiosity was highly-flammable, the worst of all motivators she could have.

And yet.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” she says to him, like a challenge. Oisin was set on meeting her to it.

This AU is definitely tagged as “Enemies-to-Lovers”, constant bickering and challenging looks, academic rivalry too because thats always nice. Maybe a bit of mystery because I do love the allure of putting them in a dark academia setting.

the ‘they got close during senior year and went to college together’ au:

This one is definitely sweeter and idyllic.

If you’ve ever heard of Sabrina Carpenter’s new song “Please, please, please” this is the general theme; its what Adaine would feel like.

Because in this AU, Adaine finally gives Oisin the chance to date her during college.

They’re always together anyway; with both being wizards pursuing academe, their schools of study interact in much more ways than anticipated.

Lots of cute dates in between classes too!!

Going to the newest cafe to try out their menu.

Amusement park dates!! Museum dates!!!

Bastion City is filled with things to do.

And even when they don’t, just studying together was already a date.

Oisin would always have some part of his body in contact with her.

Maybe his tail wrapped around her calf under the table, his free hand on her knee when they read together side by side, or just letting her lean on to him if she gets too tired to sit upright.

Adaine, on the other hand, was a little more paranoid of their relationship.

Was she just lying in wait for Oisin to fuck up? Hopefully not, but the chances are never zero. And she hates thinking of that, because at some level, she does trust and love Oisin, wholeheartedly.

But the past has always been haunting her in some way or another.

And it’s hard to relax when danger has been everything you knew your whole life.

But Oisin was soft with her, caring and understanding, frankly a little possessive and obsessive, but it was just the healthy amount that makes her want to drag him to bed every night and assure him that she is all his.

And Oisin proves to her that he is all hers.

Just imagine. Domestic Inkblade. never thought i would live to see the day that both words are in the same sentence.

Lots of late night cuddles, of assurances, of future plans togethers.

Unending conversations of “i love you” said in the most unconventional ways.

AND OF COURSE this is college. you cant expect me to think of college au without having Adaine live up to her “Party Wizard” title!!!

Adaine definitely lets loose at parties. She has her friends with her, a loving boyfriend, and her life has never been better.

But god she has the worst alcohol tolerance known to mankind.

Oisin is definitely watching over her, excusing himself from drinking too much just incase Adaine goes wild again.

And oh she does.

Thank god Oisin is there to [i will not elaborate what happens here, but god is it in my head; just guess].

And then she wakes up with a raging headache and Oisin is more than happy to care for her (making her hangover food, massaging her sore spots).

Like I said, domestic. Fluff and comfort and so much healing. LIKE SOOO MUCH. this is the answer to the “we could’ve had it all” tag because in this AU, they have it all.

Good for them… good for them!!

Will I write this? Not anytime soon but God would I kill to read it. Someone… anyone… save me inkblade college au save me…

[freesia-writes]

Ch 8: Further Developments

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 2.4k

Author's Note: Perhaps this has been off to a bit of a slow start... but I would like to assure you that there is a fun bit of action coming shortly. ;)

Family dinners were one place where Hunter felt he could truly relax. Surrounded by the people he enjoyed most, safe and satisfied, it had a grounding effect and he held a deep gratitude for the weekly tradition. He leaned back in his chair, finishing the last of the juice he’d come to love since arriving. It was a local concoction of fruits and nuts, blended and pressed by hand through fine mesh, and had a rich, complex flavor that seemed both sweet and savory at the same time. In keeping with most of the naming conventions of the island, which included places like The Cobbles, Town Square, and The Forest, the locals had kept it very simple and straightforward, calling it Lo Juice officially while most people simply referred to it as Lo. 

“Thanks for saving this for me,” Hunter said to Phee, who had commented as she poured his glass that it was the last of their bottle, and she’d forbidden Tech from drinking it until family dinner. There was just enough for him, Hunter, and Omega, who all shared an affinity for it. 

“Sure thing,” she answered, casting a smug glance at Tech, who frowned in harmless exasperation. 

“It seems ridiculous that one cannot enjoy the beverage of choice in his own home simply due to the imminent arrival of a sibling who, in virtually every possible scenario, should have no problem procuring his own bottle of said beverage.”

“Thanks to you too, Tech,” Hunter said, lifting his empty glass in a toast. Tech shook his head, opting to change the subject. 

“This vegetable side dish you prepared was excellent. It is not within your usual realm of cooking. What inspired the new endeavor?”

“It was delicious,” Phee agreed, her thigh resting against Tech’s as he sat beside her – a minor yet meaningful form of physical touch that he appreciated. “Where’d you find this stuff?”

“Lyra gave them to us. From her garden,” Hunter answered, secretly pleased to see that the serving dish was scraped clean.

“Lyra, huh? And who might that be?” Phee tipped her head, regarding Hunter with a little too much scrutiny for his tastes.

“She works at the school. Omega enjoys talking to her, and she’s been helping her a lot with applications and internship stuff. She ran into me one morning when I was coming back from an empty hunt and sent them home with Omega later on… ‘so we wouldn’t go hungry’,” he echoed, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Huh. Well that was kind,” Phee remarked, eyes twinkling. “You should bring her next week.”

“What?” Hunter blurted out, noticeably quickly, “Why?”

Phee laughed at his response, shrugging her shoulders with nonchalance, “Why not?”

“I mean… She’s just some lady from school. She’s not family.”

“She could be,” Phee answered in an almost sing-song voice, taking great pleasure in Hunter’s mildly flustered appearance. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Sarge. She doesn’t have to be family – anyone’s welcome here. I mean, we put up with him…” she tilted her head toward Crosshair, who was distracted in conversation with Omega, and her humor effortlessly diffused the situation.

“How big is her garden?” asked Echo, who had tuned in from across the table.

“Is that a euphemism?” Tech asked pertly, earning a delighted chuckle from Echo, who shook his head as Hunter answered.

“No idea. Why?” 

“If she’s got a lot of this, it would be a great lunch at the training academy.”

“Are you providing lunch now?”

“No, but we could. Sell it for some credits.”

“You’d probably eat it all before anyone else got to touch it!” Wrecker accused, breaking into the back-and-forth.

“Yeah, because I eat sooo much,” Echo said dryly, eyeing the much bigger clone pointedly.

“Hey! I’ve got a fast metabolism!” Wrecker laughed, bumping Echo on the shoulder warmly and catching the attention of the others at the table. “And it’s not that you eat a lot, it’s that it’s too tasty to pass up!”

“The vegetables are delicious, but I think we really need to consider that it’s actually the excellent roasting technique that brings out their flavor,” Omega said, failing to suppress the mischievous grin bursting behind her tightly-pressed lips. 

“That’s right!” Wrecker joined in, “Otherwise they’d taste like dirt!”

“You’d probably still eat it,” came the slithering snark from the end, where Crosshair was reclining in his chair with his boots crossed on the corner of the table. 

“First of all,” said Phee, kicking his chair hard enough to jerk him sideways and bring his legs crashing to the ground, “Get your feet off my table. And secondly, leave the grump show at the door. What’s eating at you, anyway? I thought you were all happy about the observatory thing.”

“What observatory thing?” Omega echoed, eyes widening inquisitively as Crosshair delicately rearranged his limbs with disdain, pointedly avoiding Phee’s gaze. 

“I’m going to work at the observatory, for now…” the sniper said, almost glaring at each family member in turn as though daring them to say anything positive about it or ask anything further. Hunter picked up on a curious sheepishness in his demeanor.

“Crosshair shared earlier that he received an opportunity to assist in the various tasks needed to fully restore the telescopes, scanners, and other equipment to complete working order. He seemed excited at the possibility of this particular endeavor,” Tech filled in, aware but entirely unbothered by Crosshair’s narrowed eyes boring into the side of his head. “One would think that an engineer such as myself would be a more natural choice, however these particular duties will combine his sharp eyesight with his precise movement and rapid calculations. Therefore, it is an ideal fit for Crosshair.”

“So naturally, he’s thrilled,” Echo observed, raising an eyebrow at the glowering topic of discussion. “What’s so bad about it that you look like a Kowakian Monkey Lizard at the thought?” 

Omega giggled, earning a fond flicker of the eyes from Crosshair before he returned his attention to the inanimate center of the table to answer, “There are only two other people who work there: an old Xyloan and a Zygerrian. Both are insufferable.”

“A Zygerrian?” Tech said, his interest piqued. “They do not usually leave their own system, due to the outside world’s strong disagreement with their moral code and the ethics of their choices.”

“You mean their lack thereof?” Echo said, disgust on his face. He’d heard about them during his time in the 501st, and that, combined with their own encounter with them on Ord Mantell, had given him more than enough material to form a strong opinion. “What is it doing out here? Looking for slaves?” he sneered.

“No idea what he is doing out here,” Crosshair said, pushing the last bit of rice on his plate with a fork. “I only talked to the old lady.”

“The elderly Xyloan, you mean,” Tech corrected.

“Sure.”

“And she offered you the post?” The tinge of disbelief in Tech’s voice was undeniable, and Hunter felt a smirk threatening to betray his mirth.

“After a bunch of nonsense about the planet choosing me and how perfect it all was and how ‘the provision’ would continue, yes. She did,” Crosshair answered evenly. 

“Fascinating.”

The rest of the evening progressed as usual, with leisurely discussion over residual treats and warm drinks. Phee was an excellent host, always adding small touches to each dinner that made everyone feel satiated and cared for. From the glowing lanterns on the table to the ever-changing assortment of foods (thanks to Tech’s sudden interest and consequent expertise in cooking), it created a perfect haven in an already idyllic setting. 

Everyone had plans to attend the lunar festival, which was centered in the Town Square. Since Xylo was the biggest island of the planet, people came from around the globe to enjoy the festivities, bringing their own unique wares, foods, and talents. It seemed to be building an excitement around town that was becoming quite infectious. Young people were given flower crowns and “blessed” with exhortations to consider their future endeavors with benevolence and selflessness, and amid a wide array of entertainment, the Xyloans would tell their customary tale of how the island came to be. 

It had been passed down over the centuries, traveling through so many people that some thought it had gotten embellished along the way. But it was a revered tradition, whether the details were true or not, and there was something inspiring about the dedication that the elderly storytellers showed in their performance. It would be the first time that Hunter and his family would have the opportunity to attend, but they’d already heard so much about the festival as a whole that it felt as though they’d been a part of it for years. Everyone headed to their own homes that night with a sense of excitement, finding it pleasant to be part of something so unifying and eager to see how it would all play out. 

The next couple of weeks went by rather quickly. Everyone seemed to be busy in preparation for the lunar festival. Omega was gleefully impatient for the most part, with periodic days of gloom or frustration due to the social issues with her classmates. It was hard for Hunter to see her going through it, but he was woefully ill-equipped to provide anything other than a steady stream of encouragement and positive regard. When he heard about some of the things they would say, he almost took Wrecker up on his offer to rough up the young adults, but Wrecker provided a steady source of calm and perspective about the whole ordeal. 

Lyra was a morning person, apparently, and somehow she and Hunter had fallen into a pattern of walking together in the early hours. He didn’t hunt every day, and after having run into her a number of times as she enjoyed the same calm paths and tranquil woods that he did, there was an unspoken agreement that they could pass the time together. They spoke, here and there, but also found that they were both comfortable with silence, which was a welcome reprieve for Hunter, who greatly valued the refreshment for his senses. 

Some mornings were particularly cold, and they opted for brisk walks up in the hills, exploring the craggy cliffs that rose above The Forest. Hunter never could hide his smirk at the number of layers of clothing she would wear, bundled from head to toe as they walked. Other days, when the fog was lighter and the air carried some warmth, they would venture further across the island, crossing rivers and weaving through the trees to find little inlets and small beaches. 

Lyra always insisted on taking some time to search the ground, no matter the setting, and would inevitably end up with a few odds and ends tucked into her pockets. The first time Hunter had grumbled about it, wanting to keep up their pace, she informed him gently and honestly that he was free to continue on his own. He’d chuckled at that, surprised at her ability to deliver the thought with neither sass nor ill will, and he’d instead contented himself with a thorough scrutiny of the nearby river, trying to assess if it would be a good location for freshwater fishing.

Their conversations were quiet and sporadic, initially focused on their immediate experiences on the island but slowly growing to include things from the past. Both seemed to be fairly private people, and neither of them were quick to offer up information without being asked. Hunter kept his origins vague, sharing that he had some wartime experience as a mercenary, “and some other things here and there”. He talked in general terms about the skills of each of his brothers and insinuated that Omega had been with them from the start. It was easier that way, and he was deeply grateful that Lyra didn’t pry, instead taking in his words with silent nods and the occasional hum. 

Similarly, however, he noticed that she was equally nebulous about the specifics of her own journey so far. He’d been able to gather that she was from Coruscant, where she had held a few different jobs, cooking her way through a few restaurants of increasing prestige, then moving into a server position where she waited on quite a few of the political elite. This had led to her offer of an administrative job in a highly-regarded Republic office, which she’d joked was given purely based on her “ravishing good looks and undeniable charisma”. She seemed to think that was all a lifetime ago, however, laughing it off as the gifts of youth and viewing herself as distinctly beyond all that. She’d never been married, and there was no mention of children. Her grandmother had been a significant figure in her life before passing away, and she was estranged from her parents but didn’t share why.

The office job had gone smoothly for a number of years, but then it became more and more tumultuous – “scandals and drama” – she explained, so she chose to leave and find something as far away from it all as possible. And that’s what led her to Xylo. Hunter couldn’t resist asking how she found the planet, since it had been such an unexpected discovery during Tech’s thorough search, but she shrugged, a smirk playing on her lips as she answered: “It was a fortuitous tale of twists and turns… so many of them true.” 

He’d left it at that, respecting her own sense of privacy as she had observed his. The following silence was broken only by a clumsy squawk as Lyra slipped on some rocks while crossing a river, and Hunter had moved so quickly to catch her that he’d leapt into the water beside her, fighting to maintain his balance as his boots scraped against the smooth stones. He’d flung one hand around her waist, and grabbed her hand with the other, pausing for a few seconds for both of them to regain their footing. Apologizing profusely the entire way to the other side, she’d been too distracted to notice the redness on his cheeks at the sudden proximity they’d shared in that moment, and it would have taken someone with senses that rivaled his own to register his increased heart rate.

.

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