#Time and attendance system for small business

[cybergroupahm-blog]

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[cbeargyu]

assigned to you

summary: in a dystopian future where the government enforces arranged marriages to combat plummeting birth rates, you’re assigned a husband—choi yeonjun, a stranger you’ve never met.

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: dystopia, slow burn, romance, angst, smut, fluff.

warnings: explicit sexual content, soft breeding kink, language, forced marriage system, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy, domestic intimacy, power imbalance due to forced pairing, first time sex, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex,

wc: 19,1k

notes: hi everyone! ✨ so recently this idea popped into my head—i’ve been wanting to write something with an arranged marriage trope but the whole cold ceo x neglected wife thing was starting to feel a bit repetitive, especially since i’ve already written something in that genre (which i still LOVE btw, but i just wanted to try something new) 🥲 then i remembered this anime called koi to uso — it’s about this dystopian world where the government assigns you a partner and yeah… i never finished it because it turned super harem-y and that’s not really my vibe AJSJHSKJJH but the concept really caught my attention, so i thought hmm maybe i should give it a try 🫣

hope you guys enjoy it!! ���

everything begins the day you turn twenty.

you wake up to the faint noise of birds outside your window, sunlight filtering through the pale curtains, painting quiet shadows across your bedroom floor. your mother is already in the kitchen, humming lowly, but there’s something off in her tone. a tremble, maybe. or maybe it’s just you. maybe you’re imagining it because today’s the day you have to register.

the day you officially surrender your right to choose who you’ll love.

in this country, love is not a decision. it is a number, an equation, a state-mandated obligation for survival. for years now, the country’s birth rate has been plummeting. desperate to avoid demographic collapse, the government instituted the pairing system: when you turn twenty, your data—genetic markers, temperament, emotional intelligence, compatibility rates—is run through the database. the algorithm does the rest. your match is chosen, your future locked in, and within the year, you are expected to marry and attend compulsory family planning. you have one job: produce offspring.

love is banned unless sanctioned by the state.

you walk into the government building with your hands shaking, your mother squeezing your fingers too tightly, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. she’s been crying in secret, you know. she didn’t want this for you. no one does.

and yet—there is no other choice.

the registration is swift. a photo, a signature, your blood drawn for one final compatibility cross-check. they tell you the letter will arrive in three to five business days. the envelope will be yellow. unmistakable.

“please return home and prepare for assignment.”

you try to keep your days normal after that. university lectures. cafeteria lunches. walking home with your head down, ignoring the couples holding hands across campus, each one with an official barcode tattooed on their ring fingers—a symbol of government approval. your own hand feels heavy just looking at them. branded love. manufactured desire. they never really chose each other.

sometimes you wonder if any of them are happy.

three days later, the yellow envelope is in your mailbox.

you freeze when you see it. fingers trembling, breath caught, skin going cold. the paper almost burns in your hands. you don’t open it right away. you walk straight to your room, lock the door, sit on your bed with your heart racing so violently you think you might throw up. and then, slowly, carefully, you tear the seal.

your eyes skim the top. the official logo of the bureau of demographic affairs. your name, your assigned number. and then:

assigned partner: choi yeonjun. age: 20.

a small, passport-sized photo is attached to the right side of the letter.

you stare.

he’s... beautiful.

cat-like eyes, tilted just enough to make him look a little wild. dark lashes, long and thick. a soft, upturned nose with a gentle slope that suits the elegant structure of his face. lips—full, plush, the kind that look perpetually kiss-bruised even in monochrome. his jaw is sharp but not too much, softened by a slight pout in his mouth. he’s unnervingly symmetrical. there’s a balance to his features, a harmony, like he was designed—crafted—to be attractive.

your throat feels dry.

beneath the photo, there’s a line of text confirming the date of your preliminary meeting—next friday at 2 p.m., government center, family conference room 2B. both sets of parents are expected to attend. your wedding will be planned based on that meeting’s outcome.

you lie back on the bed, letter pressed to your chest, and stare at the ceiling.

it feels... wrong to think this—but he’s attractive. unfairly so. and that terrifies you even more. because you were always taught not to feel. not to dream of fairytales or meet-cutes or falling for someone in the rain. love at first sight is a myth now. it's forbidden. it would disrupt the system. too much emotion, too much unpredictability. and yet—

yet here you are, cheeks warm, heart skipping, staring at the grayscale face of a boy you’re about to marry.

a boy you’ve never met.

friday. 2:00 p.m.government center, family conference room 2B.

you’re early.

your dress is navy, modest, but it hugs your figure in a way you wish it wouldn’t. you didn’t pick it to be pretty—you picked it because it was formal, appropriate. your mother insisted on curling your hair, and your father didn’t speak the entire ride over. only your little brother tried to smile at you, but even his usual mischief was subdued. he kept playing with the sleeves of his hoodie in the backseat, pretending not to be upset.

the building is tall and silent, cold in a way that doesn't come from the air conditioning. it's the sterility of a place that sees life as a series of documents and laws. a place that doesn’t care about dreams.

you sit on one side of the long glass table, your family beside you. your mother keeps wringing a tissue in her lap. your father’s jaw is clenched, his hands crossed tightly. this is the last time they will sit with you like this—before you are someone else's.

and then the door opens.

you hear his voice before you see him. low, warm, laughing quietly at something one of his parents said. and when he walks in, it’s—

it’s hard to breathe.

he’s wearing a black suit that fits too well. slim, tailored, crisp like a page never touched. his hair is pushed back, soft and styled, a few strands falling delicately onto his forehead. and his face—his photo didn’t do him justice. his features move with his expressions, eyes gleaming like obsidian, mouth curved just slightly at the corners as if he’s always on the edge of a smile.

choi yeonjun.

his mother is elegant, her hair in a low twist, expression unreadable. his father looks composed, dignified, already halfway through a handshake with the government official present. this isn’t their first pairing. you remember reading his file—third son. they’ve done this before.

you feel like you’re being auctioned off.

“this is my assigned partner?” yeonjun asks, voice lilting, curious—not judgmental. he’s looking straight at you. and then he bows.

you stand and bow too, polite. your voice stays caught in your throat.

“you’re pretty,” he says softly, once he straightens. “i’m glad.”

it shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t. and yet your stomach flutters, just for a second, before you kill the feeling dead.

you don’t say anything. not because you’re rude—but because this isn’t real. this is a performance. this is a sentence.

the government mediator begins to speak, outlining the stages of the arrangement: the preliminary meeting. the planning process. the mandatory cohabitation. the one-year marriage trial before reproduction is expected.

you zone out after a while. your mother is crying again. your father’s voice is hoarse when he answers the legal questions. your little brother won’t look at you. and across from you, yeonjun looks like he’s done this in another life. calm. collected. but not cruel.

then, the mediator clears her throat.

“now, if the parents could please give the pair some time to speak privately. it is customary.”

your mother hesitates. she squeezes your hand until her knuckles turn white. she whispers something—"don’t let them take your heart too, okay?"—and then lets go.

and just like that, you are alone with him.

just the two of you, in a silent room that smells like paper and polished wood.

yeonjun exhales once your families are gone. his shoulders relax a little.

“wow,” he says. “that was intense.”

you nod. your hands are in your lap, clutching the fabric of your dress.

“you don’t talk much, huh?”

you glance up at him. he’s watching you with a soft kind of curiosity. not the kind that pries. more like he’s observing the weather—trying to guess if rain is coming.

“i do,” you say finally, voice quiet. “just... not today.”

he smiles. “that’s fair.”

a pause. he sits across from you again, legs crossed, posture easy, like he’s not under the weight of state surveillance. like this is his decision.

“i know this is strange,” he says. “i’m not gonna pretend it’s not. they pick someone for you, give you a name and a photo, and you’re supposed to start building a future. it's... a lot.”

you say nothing. you’re watching the way his fingers tap on the edge of the table. rhythmical. patient.

“i’m not here to make this harder for you,” he says, gentler now. “i know some people get assigned to assholes. i promise i won’t be one.”

your brows knit together, surprised.

he leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in one palm.

“if we have to go through this, we might as well not suffer through it.”

and you look at him then, really look.

his gaze is steady. not forceful. not manipulative. he’s not trying to make you like him. he’s just... honest.

"you’re used to this,” you murmur.

his smile falters. “not really. i’ve just watched my brothers go through it. and i learned what not to do.”

there’s something about the way he says it. like he’s seen what happens when the system doesn’t pair people right. like he knows how love can die before it’s even born.

you swallow, throat tight.

“i didn’t want this,” you admit.

he nods. “me neither.”

silence settles between you again. it’s not awkward. just full. like both of you are trying to breathe in a place with no air.

“but...” he says softly, after a while. “i think you’re interesting. and you’re easy to talk to. even if you don’t say much.”

your cheeks flush, and you hate that you can feel it. he notices, of course. but he doesn’t tease you. he just smiles to himself, quiet and pleased.

“so,” he says, tilting his head. “can i know something real about you? not government data. just... you.”

you blink.

he waits.

slow burn. that’s what this is. he’s not rushing. he’s not playing pretend. he’s offering you a chance to make something human out of something cold.

and even though everything in you is screaming don’t trust it— you speak.

you tell him a little. not much. just enough.

and he listens. attentively. sincerely.

maybe that’s how it starts. not with a kiss. not with a confession. but with someone sitting across from you, asking who you are when no one’s watching.

two weeks later.

the wedding is on a thursday.

you don’t get a white dress. there’s no music, no flowers. no ceremony beyond a document and a pen and the sterile voices of government officials making sure everything is binding and accounted for.

you wear beige.

yeonjun wears black again. no tie this time. his hair is messier, like he didn’t bother too much. he looks good anyway, like he always does. like someone who never had to try.

the room is almost identical to the one where you met: glass, steel, a flag in the corner.

your mother sobs quietly during the signing. your father doesn’t let go of her hand. your brother tries not to look, but when you lean down to hug him goodbye, he hides his face in your shoulder and mutters a broken, “please don’t forget us.”

and that’s when you finally cry.

not loud. not messy. just silent tears running down your cheeks as you sign the paper that says you no longer belong to them. your name next to yeonjun’s. your status: married. active participant in national repopulation initiative.

they even stamp it. a red seal. final. absolute.

you don't remember the ride to your new shared apartment. only the sound of the car, the blur of the buildings, your hands gripping the hem of your coat in your lap like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

yeonjun doesn’t speak for a while. and when he does, it’s soft. careful.

“you don’t have to pretend around me,” he says, eyes on the road. “i know this hurts.”

you don’t answer.

he pulls into a residential complex. government-provided. modern, quiet. two bedrooms, a shared kitchen, everything fully equipped. it smells like fresh paint and new plastic. not like home.

your boxes are already inside. so are his.

the apartment is... neutral. beige walls. grey couch. chrome kitchen. there’s a small balcony, but it faces another building.

you walk into your assigned bedroom and close the door without saying a word.

and to his credit, he doesn’t follow you. not right away.

but now, days pass like fog.

there’s a schedule pinned to the fridge now. a printed routine from the bureau: acclimation period, cohabitation adjustment, health preparation. underlined: mandatory hospital check-up before family planning begins.

you go to the hospital together a week later.

the nurse greets you by your couple ID number.

yeonjun jokes to break the tension—something dumb about feeling like a robot in a factory—and you don’t laugh, but you glance at him sideways. just a little. he notices.

you both go through blood work, fertility testing, infectious disease screening. the nurse asks personal questions. too personal. about cycles and hormone levels and sexual history— you flinch.

yeonjun speaks for you when you freeze.

“she’s not comfortable,” he says simply. “ask me first.”

his voice is calm, but there's steel beneath it. the nurse adjusts her tone after that.

on the ride home, you stare out the window. he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh, nervous energy he never shows in his posture. it’s the little things you’re starting to notice.

“you didn’t have to speak for me,” you say, finally.

“i know,” he answers. “but i wanted to.”

and again—there it is.

that kindness you didn’t ask for. that warmth he keeps offering, even though you haven’t given him much back.

nights are the hardest.

you pretend to sleep early, even when your eyes stay open in the dark for hours. the room feels too still, too foreign. the bed smells like the laundry detergent they gave you in the relocation kit. the ceiling fan turns slowly, quietly. your chest feels tight, like grief has found a home inside your ribs and refuses to move out.

sometimes, you press your ear against the bedroom wall. you can’t hear much. just the occasional soft shuffle, the hum of yeonjun’s voice when he speaks on the phone in hushed tones. he never speaks long. never laughs out loud. not anymore.

you miss your mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen, your brother’s heavy footsteps running down the hallway. the scent of warm rice and grilled mackerel. the sound of your father clearing his throat before calling everyone to eat.

now, there’s only silence.

until one night, a knock.

not loud. not urgent. just... present.

“hey,” comes his voice through the door. “you don’t have to open. i just wanted to say... i know this feels like the end of everything, but it isn’t.”

you sit up slowly. your hand hovers near the handle but doesn’t reach it.

“i know we didn’t choose each other,” he continues, voice low and careful, “but maybe that doesn’t mean we can’t choose to be good to each other.”

you swallow. your throat feels raw.

after a pause, your voice comes out in a whisper, hoarse but steady. “okay.”

you don’t open the door. but you walk to it, lean your back against the cool wood. and then—almost imperceptibly—you hear the sound of him lowering himself on the other side. sitting with you. just like that. no pressure. just presence.

you stay like that for a while. breathing the same air, separated by a few centimeters and a thin barrier. but somehow... it feels closer than anything else has in weeks.

you don’t talk more that night. but when you finally slide back into bed, you sleep without crying.

that’s a first.

the next morning, there’s tea waiting on the counter.

he doesn’t say it’s from him. but he’s the only other person here, so you thank him anyway.

a nod. a tiny smile. you sip it, and it’s sweet.

from that night on, something shifts. neither of you says it aloud, but the air is different now.

you start having breakfast together. simple stuff—toast, boiled eggs, fruit. you sit across from each other at the tiny kitchen table and talk about nothing. weather. uni schedules. news updates.

one afternoon, you both arrive home soaked from the sudden rain.

you were out grocery shopping. he met you on the walk back by chance. no umbrella. you ran together. you laughed—really laughed—for the first time since being assigned. your clothes clung to your skin, your breath short from the sprint.

in the elevator, he looks at you and says, a little breathless, “you’re kind of cute when you’re mad at the rain.”

you blink at him. cheeks warm. you don't know what to say.

that night, he passes you a hairdryer through your door.

“so you don’t catch a cold.”

you murmur thanks. he lingers in the hallway a moment, like he wants to say something else. but then he leaves.

the next few nights, he knocks more often. never asks to come in. just talks through the door. sometimes you join him on the floor again, your backs pressed to opposite sides of wood. you start to open up. a little at a time.

one night, just past midnight, you both end up in the kitchen again.

you couldn’t sleep. neither could he. you make tea, he brings a packet of cookies.

the city outside is asleep. your apartment is bathed in soft fridge light.

you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs to the counter.

he asks, voice low, “did you ever fall in love before all this?”

the question feels heavy. you stare into your cup.

“no,” you answer honestly. “i didn’t let myself. what was the point, if it was forbidden? if we were all going to be assigned anyway?”

he nods slowly. you notice the way his eyes flick toward the window, as if remembering something far away.

“i did,” he says finally.

your heart stirs.

“in high school,” he goes on, “i fell for this girl in my class. she had this ridiculous laugh and used to bring snacks for everyone. i liked her for three years. never told her. i thought... i don’t know. part of me really believed she’d be assigned to me.”

you watch the way his lips twist into something halfway between a smile and a wince.

“i used to daydream about it,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “our names printed together on the envelope. hers next to mine. like it was meant to be.”

you don’t say anything. you let him speak.

“and then she got married last year. to someone else. she posted a photo with her husband and... i laughed. like, really laughed. because it was so stupid. how much hope i’d put into something that was never mine to decide.”

you imagine it. the version of him in a classroom, heart racing every time she turned around. young, hopeful. painfully innocent.

you don’t know her name. you’ll probably never meet her.

but you hate her a little.

you hate that she had his love, his dreams, his belief. something you were too scared to even touch.

and you hate that your chest aches when he says her name without saying it.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “that it didn’t work out.”

he looks at you, and there’s something tender in the way his eyes soften. “i’m not,” he says after a beat. “i wouldn’t have met you if it had.”

the silence after that is heavy, electric.

you don’t answer.

but you stay there with him. knees almost touching. the scent of tea between you. eyes a little too full. hearts slightly ajar.

the email arrives quietly, with the mechanical ding of a notification breaking the silence of your morning. it’s nothing dramatic—just a government seal, a cold subject line: YOUTH EMPLOYMENT PROGRAM FOR NEWLYWEDS.

you’re still in your oversized sleep shirt, hair loosely tied up, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of barley tea as you sit at the small kitchen table. the place smells like toasted bread and laundry detergent. yeonjun walks in a few minutes later, yawning, dressed in sweatpants and a faded university hoodie, a slice of toast clenched between his teeth. he glances over your shoulder to see what you're looking at.

you click the email open. it’s from the ministry of social and familial affairs—another mandatory policy. another thing the government arranges for you, like you’re pieces on a board.

“because both parties are currently enrolled in higher education,” you read aloud softly, “the government will provide access to part-time employment opportunities and offer a financial subsidy for essential living expenses during the first year of marriage.”

you don’t say anything for a long while after that. the words hover in the air, bureaucratic and impersonal. but somehow, they make this life feel more real. more permanent. like you’re not just living in a temporary dream—you’re expected to stay here. build something.

“well,” yeonjun finally says, mouth half-full, “that’s... something. we should check it out later.”

you nod, even though your stomach feels hollow.

you still think about that night. the night he told you about his first love. about how he spent three years loving her in silence, convinced she'd be the one fate would give him. the girl with snacks and a bright laugh. the one who got married last year. not to him.

and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s ridiculous, it still gnaws at you sometimes. there’s this faint, irrational heat in your chest whenever she crosses your mind. you don’t even know what she looks like. you don’t know her name. but something about the way he talked about her—with such tender resignation—makes something sour rise in your throat.

you hate that it lingers.

you hate that it hurts.

that night, the rain starts late.

it begins with a steady tapping against the glass, the kind that would normally soothe you—white noise for your thoughts. but then the wind picks up, howling through the narrow alley between your apartment and the building next door, and you know what’s coming.

the first clap of thunder makes you freeze.

your fingers curl around the blanket. your chest tightens. you try to breathe slowly, like your therapist taught you when you were younger. but then comes another one—louder, deeper. it shakes the walls. it shakes you.

you’ve always hated storms. they made you cry as a child, and when you were too old to crawl into your mother’s bed, you forced your little brother to sleep beside you just so you wouldn’t feel alone.

now you’re in a place that doesn’t smell like your mother’s laundry, that doesn’t hold your brother’s sleepy warmth.

you’re alone again. except you’re not. not really.

you don’t think. you just move.

barefoot, your steps light across the cold floor, you open your bedroom door and cross the hall. you knock on yeonjun’s door twice, already feeling embarrassed, but unable to stop.

he opens almost immediately, wearing a gray t-shirt and sleep-tousled hair. his eyes are soft when they meet yours.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, already understanding.

you hesitate. “can i… stay here tonight?”

there’s a beat of silence. he nods, stepping aside without a word, and gestures for you to come in.

his room is dim, smelling faintly of his cologne and clean linen. it’s warmer than yours. there’s a stack of books by his bed, an open laptop with half-written notes still on the screen, a navy blue hoodie slung over the chair.

he grabs an extra blanket and starts to lay it out on the floor, but you shake your head, already trembling from another rumble of thunder.

“i… don’t want to be alone,” you whisper.

yeonjun pauses. and then, slowly, he walks back toward the bed and lifts the corner of the blanket for you.

you crawl in on one side. he lies down on the other. space between you, but not coldness. not indifference.

“i’ve always been scared of storms,” you murmur into the dark. “when i was little, i’d run to my parents’ room. then i made my little brother stay with me. i thought that when i grew up, i wouldn’t be scared anymore. but i guess… i still am.”

you feel the bed shift as he turns onto his side, facing you. his voice is low, almost a hush.

“nothing’s going to break tonight.”

those five words feel like something heavier than comfort. they feel like a promise. and they make something fragile inside you twist.

you’re quiet for a long time after that. the silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that lets your heartbeat slow. the kind that feels full of something new—something you don’t have a name for yet.

you fall asleep to the sound of rain and his breathing, even and steady beside you.

and when you wake up in the early morning light, his hand is resting over yours.

you slept like a baby.

it's the first thought you have when you blink your eyes open, bathed in the pale light of morning seeping through the curtains. the room smells like faint detergent and something unmistakably yeonjun—warm cotton and the slightest trace of his cologne. the air is quiet now, no more thunder shaking the walls, no rain tapping restlessly against the windows. and your chest feels… calm.

it surprises you, how rested you feel. how deep your sleep was. how safe.

you remember all those nights with your younger brother, clinging to him as the storm rattled outside, whispering stories or counting sheep until your mind shut down from exhaustion. sleep was never easy back then. it was something you wrestled for, clawed your way toward, until it finally overtook you like mercy. but last night... last night, it came softly. it held you.

and now you realize why.

yeonjun’s arms are around you.

not tightly, not possessively—just gently draped, like he forgot to move in the night, like his body instinctively curved around yours in sleep. one of his hands rests over your wrist, the other loosely against your waist, warm even through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. and his face is so close, calm and boyish, lips slightly parted, his breath even and soft against your skin.

your heart pounds immediately, panic fluttering low in your stomach—not because you’re scared, but because this is unfamiliar. because you don’t know what to do with this kind of tenderness.

you want to pull away. you should. you really, really should.

but instead you stay.

you stay because there’s something about this moment that feels too fragile to break. something inside you, some cracked place, is being filled just by existing in this quiet closeness. and you realize—though you’ve never wanted to admit it—that you’ve been touch-starved for a long time. that there’s a part of you that’s been aching for connection, for warmth, for someone.

his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep, adjusting against your hip, and your breath catches. the movement is innocent, unconscious—but your skin reacts like it’s been branded. you swallow hard, trying to still the storm inside you, even though the one outside is already gone.

you stay like that for several more minutes, listening to the soft hum of the apartment, watching the way the sunlight plays over his features. you trace the line of his brow with your eyes, the soft curve of his lashes, the shape of his lips. he looks so peaceful like this—unguarded, almost boyish. and for a second, you wonder what he’s dreaming about. if he ever dreamed of something like this.

he stirs eventually, a sleepy sound escaping his throat as he blinks slowly awake. his gaze is unfocused at first, but then it lands on you, and something warm flickers in it.

“…morning,” he mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep.

“morning,” you whisper back, suddenly aware of how close you are, of how your bodies are still tucked together like pieces of the same story.

neither of you moves.

there’s a pause where his eyes search your face, slow and unreadable. and then, with a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, he lets out a soft breath.

“you didn’t run away in the middle of the night. that’s a good sign.”

you laugh quietly, your cheeks burning. “i slept too well to even think about moving.”

he hums, pleased. “me too. i usually toss around like crazy, but i guess… you were a good influence.”

you want to joke. to deflect. but instead you find yourself whispering something real.

“i felt safe.”

his eyes soften.

you don’t say anything else. you just lie there a while longer, not moving, not rushing. there’s a peace in the way your bodies still fit together, in how neither of you seems quite ready to let go.

but the world, eventually, pulls you back. responsibilities, the clock ticking louder in your head. breakfast. classes. life.

yeonjun stretches lazily and finally pulls back, giving you space without question, his smile sleepy but kind. “i’ll make us coffee.”

you nod, watching him slip out of bed, hair tousled, shirt riding up slightly at the back. you press your hand to where his body had been, still warm, and you sit there a little longer, your thoughts spiraling in slow, confused circles.

because even though last night was about fear and storms… this morning feels like the beginning of something else entirely.

the waiting room smells like antiseptic and soft lavender, a strange combination that doesn’t manage to calm your nerves. you sit side by side with yeonjun on a sleek government-issued bench, your fingers clasped tightly on your lap, trying not to let your knee bounce with the anxiety pressing into your chest.

he seems more composed than you are—back straight, hands relaxed, legs slightly spread in his usual confident posture—but when you glance sideways, you notice how he keeps licking his lips, how his jaw clenches just a little every few seconds.

the appointment with the planning officer had been scheduled right after your wedding—clinical, efficient, emotionless, like everything else in this system. you hadn’t talked about it. hadn’t even wanted to think about it. but now it’s here, and there’s nowhere to hide.

“choi yeonjun. choi y/n,” a nurse calls softly from the doorway, clipboard in hand. “follow me.”

you walk side by side into a white, spotless office where a woman in a pale beige suit greets you from behind a desk. she looks to be in her forties, composed, direct, her nametag reading ms. kang – reproductive health officer.

you sit across from her. the air feels heavier now.

“so,” she begins, smiling in that polite, unyielding way government workers do, “you’re about a month into your union. how’s the adjustment been?”

you blink, unsure how to answer. yeonjun speaks first.

“we’re getting used to it. slowly.”

“good,” she nods, tapping something on her tablet. “you’ve both passed the health screenings, no genetic flags or fertility concerns. so the next step is to begin trials of compatibility-based conception.”

you shift in your seat. trials.

“have you already begun your sexual relationship?” she asks, her tone calm, like she’s asking about the weather.

your breath catches. your eyes widen slightly, and your face goes hot. “uh—no. not yet,” you manage, your voice too soft, almost guilty.

yeonjun straightens a little, eyebrows twitching, his tone sharper. “we’ve only been married a few weeks. there hasn’t been time.”

ms. kang doesn’t flinch. she only nods and types something on her screen. “i see. while it’s natural for some couples to take time, we recommend initiating intimacy soon. it will help establish the rhythm of your connection and allow us to track progress for planning interventions if necessary.”

your ears are burning now. her words play back in your head like static: initiate intimacy, track progress.

you glance at yeonjun without meaning to, and he’s already looking at you—but his expression is unreadable. his jaw is tight again.

“we’ll… take that into consideration,” he says curtly.

the rest of the appointment passes in a blur. you nod and agree to things you barely hear, accept pamphlets on fertility monitoring and hormonal optimization. by the time you walk out of the clinic, your skin feels too tight for your body.

you don’t speak on the way home.

you sit beside him on the train, trying to focus on the passing buildings outside the window, but your thoughts keep circling the same place. the way she said it. the expectation of it. and worse—the idea of it.

because the thing is… you’ve thought about it. even before this meeting, in the quiet moments, in the space between shared breakfasts and brushing past each other in the kitchen, in that night you slept in his arms like you belonged there.

you’ve wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to your neck.

you’ve wondered how his hands would move if he weren’t just offering comfort.

you’ve wondered how his voice would sound if it wasn’t so composed—if it cracked with want.

but that was all private. safe in your imagination. not something stamped into paperwork. not something tracked by government programs and fertility logs.

and now you can’t not think about it.

when you finally get home, it’s too quiet. you move around each other like magnets unsure if they should attract or repel. you both pretend you’re just tired. that it was just a long day.

but the silence drips between you, thick and unspoken.

you head to your room without a word, tossing the clinic folder on your desk like it burns. you try to sleep. but the image of yeonjun, tense and handsome in the cold clinic light, won’t leave your mind. his voice, defensive. his fingers, twitching on his knee. and most of all, the memory of his arm around your waist from that night—the heat of his skin under your palm.

an hour passes. maybe two.

you shift in bed, restless. you toss the blanket off. put it back on. stare at the ceiling. you hear footsteps in the hall.

a soft knock at your door.

you sit up, heart hammering. “come in.”

yeonjun stands there, messy hair and hoodie half-zipped, eyes unreadable in the dim light. he doesn’t come in right away. just leans against the doorframe and runs a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” he says after a moment. “about earlier. the clinic.”

you nod. “it’s okay.”

he looks at you then, longer, and something flickers in his expression—something caught between curiosity and hesitation.

“they make it sound like it’s supposed to be… mechanical,” he murmurs, crossing the room slowly. “but it’s not, right? it’s not supposed to be.”

your breath catches.

he stops by your bed. close enough for you to see the flutter of his lashes, the nervous line between his brows. close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s both of you at the same time. but suddenly, the space between you disappears.

his hand brushes your cheek, soft and hesitant, and you lean into it without thinking.

“i don’t want it to be just… a task,” he says quietly, voice barely a breath now. “not with you.”

you don’t answer. you just let your forehead rest against his chest, your heart beating too loudly, your breath catching in your throat. and when he wraps his arms around you again—warm and strong and familiar—you feel the storm rising again.

but this time, it’s not outside.

it’s you. it’s him.

and it’s not fear anymore.

it’s something else entirely.

you don’t kiss that night.

you could’ve. maybe you almost do. there’s a moment where his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth and your eyes lift to meet his, and you feel it—that shift, like the world holds its breath. but then he steps back, gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and says goodnight in a voice that’s too soft, too careful.

he leaves your door cracked open behind him. and somehow, that’s worse than closing it.

after that, the tension lingers—thick and quiet like smoke.

in the mornings, you find yourselves together more often than not. your coffee mugs sit side by side now. sometimes you forget whose is whose. he steals sips from yours and you pretend to scowl, but your heart trips every time your fingers brush when you both reach for the sugar at the same time.

you fall into a rhythm. not romantic. not domestic. but something else. something intimate in a quiet way.

when the job placement emails come through, you sit together on the couch, scrolling through them on your shared government-issued tablet. yeonjun lands a spot as an assistant at a community cultural center downtown—flexible hours, reasonable pay. you get placed in a local library, part-time shelving and cataloguing.

it’s not exciting. it’s not your dream. but it’s… stable.

“at least we won’t starve,” yeonjun says one evening, his arm slung lazily over the back of the couch behind you. “thanks, government.”

you snort. “maybe next year they’ll assign us a kid and a dog, too.”

he laughs—really laughs, loud and full—and something about the sound makes your chest ache. it makes you want to say something dumb just to hear it again.

but what sticks with you, what haunts you, is that night after the storm. not because of what happened—because of what didn’t.

and what happened at the clinic. what the officer said. what yeonjun said after.

you think about it too much. think about him too much.

and you think about her.

the girl he loved once. the one he talked about in that quiet, midnight voice, when the rain had softened and you were wrapped in his hoodie like armor.

you remember how his gaze turned distant as he spoke of her, how he confessed that he truly believed she’d be the one assigned to him. that he waited. that he hoped.

how the disappointment burned when he found out she wasn’t.

and you shouldn’t feel anything about it. it’s in the past. he told you that.

but sometimes, when you catch him staring into space or fiddling with that little leather bracelet he always wears, your chest twists a little. and you don’t know why.

you’re not in love.

you’re not supposed to fall in love.

yet it keeps slipping in—quiet and slow. like water through cracks.

one evening, it rains again. not a storm, just a steady drizzle that makes the air smell clean. you’re both tired from work and university, but neither of you wants to be alone in your room.

you sit on the windowsill together, knees touching, sharing a bowl of strawberries yeonjun bought on the way home. the fruit is sweet and cold against your tongue.

“i used to love the rain,” he murmurs, watching it trail down the glass. “when i was a kid, i’d sit on the porch for hours just listening. it felt like… everything else stopped for a while.”

you glance at him. his profile is soft in the dim light, his hair falling slightly over his eyes.

“it used to scare me,” you admit quietly. “storms, i mean. as you may know...”

he smiles without turning to you. “you were scared.”

“yeah.”

there’s a pause.

“you weren’t scared the other night,” he says. “not with me.”

you shrug. “you made it easy not to be.”

the silence that follows is gentle. not awkward. just… full.

“do you think it’s still possible?” he asks suddenly. “to fall for someone? even with all of this?” he gestures vaguely, and you know he means the system, the laws, the matching algorithms and fertility checkups and pre-written life paths.

you don’t answer right away. you don’t know how to.

“i think we’re not supposed to,” you say after a long pause. “but maybe… that doesn’t stop it from happening.”

his eyes find yours then, and they don’t look away.

your heart stumbles.

neither of you speaks. the air feels like it’s crackling again—not with lightning, but with something just as dangerous.

the next night, you fall asleep on the couch together. not planned. not anything.

you were watching something. you don’t even remember what. but you woke up with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, heartbeat steady against your ear.

you don’t move. you can’t move.

it feels too good. too right.

his shirt smells like laundry soap and skin. his fingers shift in his sleep, brushing lightly along your back. it makes you shiver. it makes you think about things you shouldn’t.

you stay there until the sun begins to rise.

you pretend to be asleep when he finally stirs and lifts his head slightly, blinking at your face. you feel the weight of his gaze.

but he doesn’t move either.

and neither do you.

because something’s changing. you both feel it.

you just don’t say it. not yet.

not until it’s too loud to ignore.

and maybe that moment is coming faster than either of you is ready for.

you try not to overthink the moments.

you try.

the accidental sleep on the couch becomes less accidental. the next week, it happens again—this time during a shared late-night study session. you're both exhausted, papers and notebooks strewn across the coffee table, half-finished cups of coffee gone cold.

you wake up tucked under the same blanket, the light off, the tablet blinking low battery on the floor. yeonjun is beside you, his legs tangled with yours, his breathing soft against the crown of your head.

he doesn’t say anything when you open your eyes. he’s already awake, watching you, and when he sees you stir, he whispers a faint “morning” like it’s a secret.

you nod, throat dry. “morning.”

neither of you moves.

and maybe it’s the silence. maybe it’s the way his hand is resting lightly on your hip, not possessive, not bold—just there.or maybe it’s because of the way your name sounds in his voice lately—gentler, more familiar, too intimate for two people who were supposed to be strangers made spouses.

whatever it is, it roots itself deep in your chest, wraps vines around your ribs, and refuses to let go.

but things are still complicated.

you remember the appointment at the family planning center far too clearly. how the sterile walls and uncomfortable chairs felt like a sentence being handed down. the woman at the desk, clipboard in hand, speaking in clinical terms while smiling too much. the questions.

“have you two begun sexual relations yet?”

your body stiffened so fast it hurt. you’d shaken your head, cheeks burning.

“no,” you said, barely above a whisper.

and then yeonjun.

his voice didn’t waver. didn’t shrink. but there was a hint of something—offense, maybe, or just discomfort buried beneath practiced calm.

“not yet.”

not yet.

those words echoed for hours after.

the woman nodded, unbothered, flipping her pen in one hand.

“you should consider beginning soon,” she said, checking off a box. “intimacy will help strengthen the emotional bond and allow us to begin identifying which fertility path will suit your needs. the government recommends couples begin within the first ninety days of union.”

you had never wanted to disappear more.

the walk home was silent.

yeonjun didn’t mention it. you didn’t either.

but it sat between you like a stormcloud, buzzing with electricity, waiting to crack open.

you catch him watching you more after that. not in a bad way. not in a way that makes you feel unsafe. no—it makes you feel too safe, and that’s somehow worse.

he’s careful. always. but he’s still a boy. and you’re still you. and your bodies know things your minds are afraid to say.

the small space you share only makes things more dangerous.

his cologne clings to your pillows. your lotion starts appearing on his arms. he hums the songs you listen to in the shower. he buys your favorite snack without asking.

you start wearing his shirts to sleep without realizing. you only notice the third time it happens—when he stops in the hallway and his eyes dip, linger, then flick back up with a quiet clearing of his throat.

“is that mine?”

you glance down at yourself. it’s an old oversized gray tee. soft. worn. familiar. his scent baked into the fabric like sunlight.

“uh… yeah. sorry. it was just on the chair and—”

“keep it,” he says, not letting you finish. “looks better on you.”

you go to bed that night with your skin buzzing.

and things only build from there.

he starts cooking more, pulling you into the kitchen with an easy “help me” that really means just stand here while i talk to you. you lean on the counter while he cuts vegetables, while he stirs sauces, while he tells you about his classes and how boring statistics is, how he almost fell asleep mid-lecture. you laugh and call him dramatic. he grins and tells you it’s your fault for not waking him up when he left.

“you’re supposed to be my wife now. you have responsibilities.”

he says it like a joke. you laugh like it is one.

but your heart stutters anyway.

one night, it rains again. not a storm, just heavy and constant, soft thunder echoing in the distance. you find yourself awake at midnight again, restless, curled on the couch in the living room with your knees tucked to your chest.

yeonjun finds you there.

he doesn’t say anything—just sits beside you, close but not touching, and watches the rain drip down the windows.

“can’t sleep?” he asks.

you shake your head. “not really.”

“you okay?”

you nod, even though you’re not sure.

the air between you hums. it’s familiar now. this closeness. this heavy, unsaid thing growing slowly between shared silences and sidelong glances.

you lean your head on his shoulder, unsure why. maybe it’s because the rain feels lonelier tonight. maybe it’s because it feels like something is shifting again.

his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t move away.

“do you think they’re watching us?” you ask softly. “the government, i mean. checking how fast we fall in love. how fast we sleep together.”

he’s quiet for a moment.

“maybe,” he says finally. “but they can’t measure the parts that matter.”

“like what?”

he tilts his head toward yours. “like this.”

you feel the words like fingertips down your spine.

you close your eyes, and his shoulder under your cheek feels like solid ground.

this is the moment where maybe everything could change.

but you don’t kiss. not yet.

you breathe in together.

and for now, that’s enough.

the power cuts out a little after ten. it happens suddenly—an abrupt flicker, followed by darkness swallowing the apartment whole.

you blink, heart skipping, your body already tightening with reflex from the sound, from the silence that follows too quickly.

then the soft sound of rain begins again.

but unlike the last time, this one is gentle. no thunder, no flashes of light through the windows. just rain, steady and calm like fingers tapping against glass. it’s the kind of rain that makes the night feel softer than usual. quieter.

yeonjun lights a candle he keeps in the drawer near the kitchen, its flame swaying in the center of the living room table, casting shadows on the walls. he brings it over to the couch where you sit curled up under a blanket, your knees pressed to your chest, already waiting.

he joins you without asking.

“guess we’ll have to pretend we’re in the 1800s,” he murmurs, glancing at the candle.

you laugh softly. “at least you’re not reading me poetry.”

“don’t tempt me,” he grins.

the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. it rarely is now. something about the rain, the flicker of light, the way you’re seated side by side with your shoulders barely touching, it all feels… close.

your gaze drifts to the window, where the raindrops race each other down the glass. and before you can stop yourself, your thoughts start circling again. you’ve been doing that more and more—ever since that night. ever since yeonjun told you about her. the girl he loved in high school. the one he thought would be assigned to him.

you swallow. your chest tightens, not with pain exactly—more like an unfamiliar ache. something raw you haven’t named yet.

“can i ask you something?” you say, voice quiet.

yeonjun hums, eyes still on the candlelight. “of course.”

“i haven’t stopped thinking about her.”

he turns to you, brows faintly furrowed. “who?”

“the girl you were in love with.”

his expression doesn’t change much. he just blinks slowly, watching you. “why?”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “i don’t know. maybe because… i’m jealous of her.”

that makes him laugh—soft, surprised. “jealous?”

you nod, heart pounding. “yeah. i guess it’s stupid. but… she got to be your first love. she got all of you when it meant something. and now, i’m just—”

“my wife?” he cuts in, still smiling, trying to lighten the air. “you’re my wife now. kind of a win, don’t you think?”

but you don’t smile back.

you turn to face him, the dim light catching on your lashes, your jaw tight. “it’s not the same,” you say softly. “i know this is supposed to be a marriage, but it doesn’t feel right… hearing about your past like that. it’s not fair. it’s not fair that i have to be the one who came after.”

yeonjun’s smile fades. the playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something heavier. something slower. he looks at you like he’s really seeing you now—like maybe he’s been seeing you all along but didn’t know how close you were to unraveling.

“hey,” he says quietly, voice low and careful. “you’re not after anyone.”

you try to look away, but he catches your chin between two fingers, guiding your eyes back to his.

“she’s the past,” he murmurs. “but you—you’re the present. you’re the one who’s here. who sleeps beside me. who leaves hair ties on the bathroom sink and wears my shirts and steals my side of the bed.”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“don’t do that to yourself,” he whispers. “don’t compare. it’s not the same because this is real. and growing. and you—”

he leans closer.

“you make me forget her name.”

you blink, breath catching. the air feels different now. the candlelight flickers between you, but you can barely see it. all you can see is him—his face inches from yours, his voice warm and deep and trembling just enough to make your pulse race.

“yeonjun…”

“can i kiss you?” he breathes.

you nod.

slowly, his hand slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing the soft skin beneath your cheekbone. he closes the space between you inch by inch, giving you time to pull away, but you don’t. you lean in.

when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not fireworks. it’s gravity.

you sink into it, into him, into the warmth and tenderness of it. it’s careful, at first—testing, soft, a question asked in the silence. but then you tilt your head, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, and he answers with a deeper kiss, one that pulls a sound from the back of your throat you didn’t expect.

it’s too much. it’s not enough. it’s everything all at once.

when you finally part, you’re breathless.

he presses his forehead to yours. the candle crackles gently nearby. the rain keeps falling.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

“don’t be,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “i should’ve known. i should’ve said something sooner.”

you shake your head. “no. i needed to feel it. to say it. i think i’ve been holding everything back since this marriage started.”

“me too.”

you both fall quiet again, but this time, it’s different.

you’re not two strangers trying to survive a system anymore.

you’re two people finally reaching across the space that was never meant to last.

and outside, the rain sings soft lullabies to the city, and the candle flickers like a heartbeat, and in his arms, you no longer feel like a second choice.

you feel chosen.

the next morning, something has changed.

it’s subtle. nothing overt. not at first.

you wake up earlier than him and find yourself just… watching him for a moment. the soft rise and fall of his chest. the curve of his lashes against his cheek. how he frowns slightly in his sleep, like he’s still half in a dream. you should look away—you’ve always looked away before—but now your eyes linger.

when he stirs, blinking against the light, he sees you watching. he doesn’t flinch. he just smiles, sleep-warm and real, and your heart does something uncomfortable and sweet in your chest.

“morning,” he murmurs, voice rough.

“morning,” you whisper back, your voice catching a little.

he reaches out lazily, his fingers brushing your arm beneath the blanket, and even though it’s nothing, just that, your breath hitches. you tell yourself it’s the closeness. the aftermath of the kiss. but the warmth in your chest says something else.

and then the day goes on—but not quite the same.

at breakfast, he sits closer than usual. your elbows touch when you both reach for the sugar. he doesn’t apologize like before. doesn’t pull away. just grins and bumps your shoulder on purpose this time.

you roll your eyes. “you’re annoying.”

“you kissed me last night,” he says, way too casually. “you don’t get to call me annoying anymore.”

“you asked first.”

“still counts.”

the banter is light, teasing, familiar. but under it, there’s a new current. an awareness. every glance feels heavier. every touch lingers a second longer than it should. when he hands you a dish, his fingers brush yours, and neither of you lets go right away.

the silence between you becomes something else entirely. no longer filled with obligation or awkwardness. now it feels like a question that neither of you is brave enough to answer out loud.

until it happens again. in the kitchen, late at night, as you’re washing dishes and he comes up behind you. at first it’s innocent—he says something dumb, you laugh—but then his hand finds the small of your back, and you freeze, not because it’s wrong but because it’s not. it feels too good. too natural.

you turn, slowly, water dripping from your hands, and he’s already looking at you like he wants to kiss you again.

he doesn’t. not yet. he just leans in and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers graze your cheek, his eyes drop to your lips, and then—he walks away.

you stand there for a moment, heart pounding, wondering how the hell he keeps doing this to you.

a few days later, you’re invited to visit your family.

it’s your first time back since the marriage. your parents had called to check in, of course, had even video called once or twice, but nothing replaces being home. your mother’s cooking. your father’s quiet warmth. your brother’s chaotic energy.

the moment you walk through the door, your mom pulls you into a hug so tight you almost cry again. your dad claps yeonjun’s shoulder, awkward but trying. your brother, now twelve, looks like he’s grown taller.

he eyes yeonjun up and down, squints a little, then smirks at you.

“so, are you pregnant yet?”

you freeze.

your dad chokes on his tea. your mother lets out a gasp so sharp it could cut metal. yeonjun’s eyes go wide—like someone just yanked the floor out from under him.

“yoonho!” your mom yells, already reaching for the nearest dish towel like it’s a weapon. “you can’t ask that!”

“what?” your brother yells as he runs from her, laughing like a maniac. “i just wanted to know if the government system’s working!”

your dad is still coughing. you’re standing there redder than a tomato. burning with mortification.

yeonjun, after a stunned beat, laughs. really laughs. full chest, head-tilted-back laughter that’s so contagious you can’t help but giggle through your hands.

“don’t encourage him,” you say, smacking his arm lightly.

he grins down at you, eyes sparkling. “i’m sorry, that was—really something.”

“he’s an idiot,” you mutter, still mortified.

“he’s your idiot,” he says, voice softer now.

you glance up at him and smile, something warm spreading in your chest. it surprises you, just how much that smile feels like home.

and even after the chaos settles, even after your mom manages to drag your brother back by the collar to apologize properly, even when you sit around the table laughing and eating and telling stories—there’s a small, secret current running beneath it all.

the way yeonjun’s hand grazes your lower back when he leans past you to grab a dish. the way you lean into him just slightly when your mom starts talking about your childhood, and he listens like he wants to know everything.

and when the night ends, and you both return to your apartment, it’s quieter—but it’s a good quiet. that kind of peace you only feel when someone’s truly, finally getting under your skin.

the drive back home is quiet, but not in a bad way. it’s the kind of silence that lingers after too much laughter, after too much emotion crammed into too little time. the windows are fogged slightly from your breaths, and the hum of the road is the only sound between you. outside, the city lights blur in soft halos, the streets wet from the rain earlier in the day, reflecting neon and moonlight.

you’re leaning against the car door, eyes heavy, body full from dinner, from memories, from everything. your family had insisted you stay the night, but you knew it would’ve made leaving harder. too emotional. too permanent. so you thanked them, smiled through the tightness in your throat, and left.

and now, here you are, beside him. yeonjun’s one hand is on the wheel, the other resting between the seats, fingers tapping idly against the console. you glance at it once. then again. his profile is calm, a faint curve to his lips like he’s still smiling at your brother’s chaos.

you break the silence first.

“sorry about today… my family can be a lot.”

he lets out a soft chuckle. “i liked it.”

you turn to him, a little surprised.

“really?”

he nods. “they’re… warm. chaotic, yeah, but it felt real. like they love you so much they don’t even try to hide it.”

you press your lips together, looking down at your lap, suddenly blinking back something stinging in your eyes. you weren’t expecting that answer. or maybe you were, but not the way it made your chest ache so gently.

“thanks,” you whisper.

you don’t realize you’re still staring at him until he speaks again, this time softer.

“and your brother…” he smirks a little. “i can’t believe he said that.”

you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “please don’t remind me.”

“i’m serious,” he laughs, and then looks over at you, his gaze lingering longer this time, “you were so red.”

“because it was embarrassing,” you shoot back, but your voice is lighter, warm with the trace of a smile.

his eyes flick down to your lips.

“you’re cute when you blush,” he murmurs, and it’s so quiet you’re not even sure he meant to say it out loud.

your breath catches. your heart stutters. suddenly the space between you feels smaller. the console is no longer an arm’s length—it’s a breath. the air is thicker. hotter.

you look at him, really look at him—his jaw sharp in the glow of passing streetlamps, the tendons in his neck tense, his grip on the wheel a little tighter now. he looks back, just briefly, but it’s enough. something electric pulses between you.

and then he pulls over.

not far from your building, not quite home yet—but enough to be alone. enough to pause. the engine hums low, a steady heartbeat in the silence. he doesn’t look at you right away, just stares forward, fingers tightening, loosening, tightening again on the wheel.

you feel your pulse in your throat.

“i…” he starts, then stops. he turns to you, eyes darker than before. clearer. “can i ask you something?”

you nod, heart racing.

“why did it bother you?” he asks quietly. “about the girl i told you about.”

you stare at him. that familiar heat returns to your chest, crawling up your neck. you bite the inside of your cheek before answering.

“i don’t know,” you lie at first. but then, you sigh. “maybe because it was real for you. maybe because… you had someone you wanted, once. and i never did. and now i’m supposed to just… live with that. pretend like i’m not wondering if she would’ve made you happier.”

he watches you for a long moment, expression unreadable. then, finally, he leans a little closer, voice low.

“do you think i’m not happy?”

your throat dries.

“are you?” you whisper.

he exhales slowly, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s about to do this. and then he shifts, fully turning toward you. his fingers reach up, brushing lightly against your chin, lifting your face to his.

“you’re not her,” he says. “you’re you.”

and then, without waiting, without asking again—he kisses you.

it’s not urgent. not rough. it’s slow, deliberate, tender with something sharp hidden beneath. like he’s been holding it back for too long and now that it’s happening, he’s pouring everything into it. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. your lips part before you even realize, and his tongue grazes yours, soft, testing, like he’s still asking if this is okay even now.

you melt into it.

your hand slides up his arm, gripping his bicep, grounding yourself as heat spreads through your veins. your bodies don’t move much, still confined by seatbelts and space, but it’s intimate. intense. and when he finally pulls back, breathing harder than before, he rests his forehead against yours.

“you’re not her,” he whispers again. “and thank god for that.”

you sit there, breaths mingling, skin flushed, hearts racing in tandem. your hand is still on his arm. his thumb is still tracing your cheek.

and this time, neither of you says a word. because you both know—something just changed again.

you’re not lovers. not yet.

but your hands brush again on the way to bed. he holds your gaze a little longer. and when you lie down, back to back, you find yourself pressing closer, just enough that your spine feels the heat of his chest.

you fall asleep like that.

and neither of you says a word.

you both had an appointment early in the morning. the ministry of civil labor had sent a formal notice last week, listing the available part-time positions for couples still enrolled in university, and now you were seated across from an administrative worker who barely looked up from her screen as she explained the contracts. yeonjun was placed in a logistics department for a government-run supply chain—something with inventory and system inputs. you were assigned to a small local archival center where they'd digitize old birth and marriage records, which felt ironic in a way that made your stomach twist.

“you’ll receive your first schedule by the end of the week,” the woman said without emotion, and you both nodded, signing at the bottom of the page, pens scratching the paper in tandem.

walking out of the building, yeonjun nudged your shoulder with his and whispered, “look at us. signing contracts like a real married couple.” and you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile pulling at your lips.

“you mean we weren’t real before?” you asked, raising a brow.

he smirked, unlocking the car and opening your door. “we were married on paper. now we’re married... and employed.”

you both laughed, climbing into the vehicle, and the warmth lingered even after the engine hummed to life. it was a quiet kind of happiness, soft and simple, like the feeling of your bare thighs against the leather seat, like the sun warming the dashboard. you wore a dress that day—casual, nothing too fancy, but it clung lightly to your frame in the breeze when you walked out earlier, and you caught the way yeonjun had looked at you from the corner of your eye. not blatant. just... noticing.

the road was mostly empty. the hum of tires on pavement filled the silence as the laughter faded, replaced by something thicker. something weightier.

at a red light, he stopped the car smoothly, one hand still on the steering wheel. the other lifted, slowly, casually, and without looking at you, he placed it on your thigh.

he didn’t squeeze. he didn’t slide his fingers higher. just let his palm rest there, warm and firm, like it belonged.

your breath hitched.

you tried not to move, tried not to tense up, but the sensation crawled up your spine like wildfire. it was such a simple touch, so ordinary, but it landed somewhere deep in your belly—hot, twisting, coiling. your skin tingled where his fingers barely pressed into the flesh, and your thighs felt suddenly, achingly aware of how little separated them from him.

he said nothing.

neither did you.

but your body betrayed you—the way your chest rose a little faster, the way your knees shifted slightly, as if trying to find an answer to the question that touch had asked.

the light turned green.

he drove on.

his hand didn’t move.

the silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was charged. heavy with something that neither of you dared name yet.

you exhaled, slow and shaky, and he glanced at you briefly, lips curving—not into a smirk, but something softer. something fond. he rubbed his thumb in a slow arc, barely there, and your fingers curled around the hem of your dress to keep from shaking.

by the time you got home, the tension had woven itself into your skin like a second layer. you both stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment quietly, but the air buzzed with every step.

inside, the routine resumed—shoes off, bags down, water poured into glasses—but your thoughts were nowhere near the surface. every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence more than you saw him. every brush of his hand, every graze of his arm felt like a firestarter.

you stood near the sink, rinsing the cups, when he came up behind you. didn’t touch you. just stood close enough that you felt the heat of his chest on your back, close enough that your breathing stuttered.

“need help?” he murmured, voice low, mouth near your ear.

you shook your head, but your body leaned slightly into him anyway. traitorously.

his hands didn’t move—not yet—but his presence surrounded you, a quiet pressure that built with every second. you turned your head slightly to glance at him, and the proximity was enough to make you both pause. your lips weren’t touching, but they could’ve. your noses almost brushed.

and then he reached for the cup beside you, taking it slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushing yours. your breath caught again.

“thanks,” he said, voice still low.

you watched him walk away, your hands trembling under the water, and you knew—tonight, you wouldn’t be able to pretend this tension didn’t exist. it was burning its way into your bones.

that night, everything felt like it was humming. the silence between you wasn’t really silence—it was full of what hadn’t been said, of what hadn’t been done but nearly was. the ghost of yeonjun’s hand on your thigh still lingered, burned into your skin. your legs still tingled from the pressure, the weight, the heat. and when he brushed past you in the kitchen again after dinner, it felt deliberate. or maybe you just wanted it to be.

your heart hadn’t settled since the drive home.

later, after you’d both changed into your sleep clothes, you met again in the hallway, the light above you casting a golden hue that made his skin look warm and soft. you paused at the same time, eyes locking. your breath caught in your throat, because he wasn’t just looking at you—he was seeing you. seeing the hem of your shirt, the way it clung slightly to your waist. seeing the bare stretch of your legs, your collarbone, the fine line of your neck.

you thought he’d say something.

he didn’t.

he just stepped past you, heading to the shared living room like usual. the storm from earlier had passed, leaving a cool breeze in its wake. you followed, drawn to him like always. you both sat on the couch, feet tucked beneath you, shoulders close but not quite touching. it was dark. the power had gone out temporarily again, only the soft blue emergency lights casting faint shadows across his face.

“you’re quiet,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“just thinking,” he replied, his tone low, almost distant.

you turned your head toward him. “about what?”

he hesitated. “about earlier... the car. and how it felt.”

you sucked in a soft breath. “me too.”

silence again.

and then, slowly, as if guided by instinct, he reached over and touched your hand. fingers brushing the back of yours. the contact was small. barely anything. but it was enough to pull the air from your lungs. you turned your palm and laced your fingers with his.

it felt dangerous.

he looked at your joined hands like he didn’t recognize his own, and then back at you—his eyes darker than usual, hooded, like he was holding back a tide. you weren’t sure who moved first. maybe it was him. maybe it was you. but one second you were sitting apart, and the next your bodies were angled toward each other, your knees brushing, your breaths tangled. his hand cupped your jaw gently, fingers trembling against your skin, and he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed yours.

your pulse roared in your ears.

his mouth touched yours like a whisper—featherlight, testing.

you responded before you could think, lips parting for him, heat blooming low in your stomach like wildfire. the kiss deepened slowly, wet and slow and dizzying. his tongue brushed yours, cautious at first, then more certain, like he needed to taste you, like he was starved. your hand curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groaned softly into your mouth, deep and breathless.

his hand slid down your side, fingers skating over the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, and you gasped when they reached your hip. he pulled you into his lap, your thighs straddling him, bodies pressed together too close to ignore. the heat between you crackled—your hips shifted without thinking, and you felt the hardness of him, solid and hot beneath you.

his lips broke from yours for a second, his breathing rough. “fuck... y/n...”

his hands gripped your thighs, sliding up, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. you whimpered, pressing closer, grinding down gently. it was heady. dizzying. perfect.

and then—

his phone rang.

the sound shattered the moment like glass.

you both froze.

you were on his lap, panting, trembling, your lips swollen from the kiss, your heart pounding like a war drum. he didn’t move for a second. then he cursed under his breath and gently lifted you off him, muttering a strained apology as he reached for the phone. his voice cracked when he answered, trying to sound normal.

you stood there, stunned, breathing hard, still tasting him on your tongue.

after the call, which only lasted a few seconds, he didn’t look at you.

“i think... i’ll sleep in my room tonight,” he said quietly.

you blinked. “oh.”

he didn’t explain.

he just walked away.

and something cold settled in your chest.

you crawled into your bed alone, wrapping the blanket around yourself tightly, but you couldn’t sleep. not when you still felt the ghost of his hands on your body. not when your lips were still tingling from the kiss. not when he had looked at you like he needed you, and then walked away without a word.

you turned over. again. again. and again. your heart ached with confusion. was it too much? did he regret it? had you done something wrong?

you couldn’t take it anymore.

you got up, padded down the hall to his room, and raised your fist to knock.

but then you froze.

because you heard it.

soft, muffled sounds, irregular breathing. your eyes widened.

a low groan, deep and drawn out.

then a quiet, wet sound—rhythmic, unmistakable.

your breath caught.

you didn’t mean to listen. but you couldn’t move.

then, you heard it.

“y/n...”

your name, moaned out—quiet but desperate. raw. like a confession.

your knees weakened.

another moan, louder this time, almost a whimper.

and then—your name again, breathless, almost broken, followed by the sound of skin slapping softly against skin, faster now.

he was close.

he was touching himself.

thinking of you.

you pressed your palm to your mouth, trying not to make a sound, cheeks burning, body trembling. you shouldn’t be here. you shouldn’t hear this. but your legs wouldn’t move. your breath came in shaky gasps, your heart thundering as heat rushed between your thighs, pooling heavy and hot.

you didn’t know what this meant.

but you knew one thing.

he wanted you.

and now, you didn’t think you could ever look at him the same again.

you didn’t mean to lean closer.

you didn’t mean to press your ear too tightly against the door.

but your balance faltered—just a second too long standing on your toes, your weight shifting, your breath too shallow—and suddenly your foot slipped on the edge of the smooth hallway floor. a soft, startled sound escaped your throat as your body tilted sideways, your hand fumbling for the wall, failing.

and then—thud.

a soft crash, your hip hitting the floor, your palms slapping down just in time to soften the fall. you gasped and quickly clamped your hand over your mouth, praying he hadn’t heard, that you hadn’t been loud enough—but inside, panic bloomed like fire. your chest heaved as you tried to stay perfectly still, your cheeks on fire, the oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt—riding high around your waist from the fall.

then you heard the shuffle. footsteps. hurried. a sudden rush from the other side.

“y/n?” his voice was sharp. worried. confused.

before you could react, the door swung open.

and there he was.

yeonjun.

bare-chested, sweat clinging to his collarbones, his hair disheveled, lips swollen and flushed, his hand still adjusting the waistband of his boxers as if he hadn’t had time to fix himself. and then he saw you.

on the floor.

his shirt up around your waist.

your bare thighs. your panties exposed.

your hand covering your mouth, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

time froze.

he stared at you, blinking once, then again. his mouth parted, but no words came out. his gaze dropped—just for a heartbeat—but you saw it. the flicker. the hunger. the tension that snapped into existence like a spark to gasoline.

you scrambled to tug the shirt down, cheeks burning, breath caught.

“i—i slipped, i wasn’t—i mean—”

“were you listening?” his voice came out low. rough.

you opened your mouth, then shut it. your throat tightened. your heart was pounding so violently you felt it behind your eyes.

“y/n…” he whispered, stepping closer.

your breath hitched.

“i heard you,” he said, his voice strained now. “outside the door. you… you heard me too, didn’t you?”

you nodded slowly, like it was all you could manage.

he knelt beside you without thinking, his hands hovering for a moment before one slid to the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, eyes searching yours. “you heard me… say your name.”

you couldn’t speak.

“fuck,” he whispered. “i didn’t mean for you to know. i tried to walk away because i couldn’t control it. i thought... if i gave us space—”

“why?” your voice cracked. “why did you walk away after kissing me like that?”

his jaw clenched. “because i wanted more. i wanted too much.”

your lips trembled. “me too.”

something inside him snapped.

he surged forward, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that was no longer restrained. this wasn’t careful. this wasn’t gentle. this was weeks of stolen glances and soft touches and building need exploding all at once. his mouth was hot, possessive, his hand slipping to your thigh, then gripping, pulling you into him as you moaned against his lips.

you tasted everything—desperation, desire, the salt on his skin from sweat, the sound of his breath ragged and wild. you clung to him, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as he leaned you back slowly onto the hallway floor, his body covering yours, fitting against you perfectly. your thighs opened for him without thought, welcoming the pressure of his hips between them, the hardness of him pressing directly against the wet heat soaking your panties.

“fuck, y/n,” he groaned against your mouth, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

his hand slid beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—the one you wore to sleep every night, the one that smelled like him. his palm caressed your waist, your ribs, then cupped your breast softly over the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing the sensitive peak until you whimpered, arching up into him.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, but didn’t stop. “i’m trying so hard to do this right. to be careful.”

“then don’t,” you whispered back, your voice broken, needful. “don’t be careful.”

his eyes burned into yours.

his lips kissed down your jaw, your neck, biting softly at the tender skin just below your ear. “you’re gonna make me lose it,” he growled.

“maybe i want you to.”

his hand slipped lower, over your stomach, fingers grazing the band of your panties—when suddenly—

a sharp knock on the front door shattered the moment.

you both froze.

his chest rose and fell against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

another knock. then a voice from outside.

“government delivery. lights restored. system check.”

“fuck,” he hissed.

he helped you sit up, both of you breathing like you’d just run miles.

you looked at each other.

your lips swollen. your skin flushed. your bodies aching.

you wanted to scream.

but instead you swallowed it down, tugged the shirt over your thighs, stood on shaky legs. he followed you in silence, running a hand through his messy hair, still visibly hard, still clearly affected.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered.

you didn’t respond.

because you weren’t sure you wanted him to be.

you weren’t sure what you expected when you whispered, maybe i want you to. maybe you thought he would pull away, maybe he’d laugh and tell you to go to bed, that you were just talking nonsense, caught up in the tension of it all. but he didn’t. instead, the room stayed still, save for the thrum of the rain against the windows and the sound of his breathing, which was slow, deep, heavier now, as he looked down at you with something dark and burning in his eyes.

his voice was low, but not soft. "do you know what you're saying?" he asked, barely above a whisper. you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. you could feel his body, warm and solid, pressed against yours as he leaned in again, and this time the kiss wasn’t tentative. it was hungry, deeper, drawn out, and you could taste the restraint in him, the way he held himself back even as his hand gripped your waist tighter.

you barely noticed how he guided you back onto the mattress until your head hit the pillow. your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, the same one you'd stolen from him to sleep in, and now it was twisted between your hands as he kissed you again and again, lips trailing down the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, your pulse fluttering under his mouth.

every touch was slow, deliberate. when his hands slid under the hem of the shirt you wore, it wasn’t rushed—it was reverent. he looked at you like you were something sacred, something he’d been aching for, something forbidden and now finally his. his fingers traced the line of your hip, the soft skin just beneath your navel, pausing just above the waistband of your panties. you shivered beneath him, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

"tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. you shook your head immediately, a breathy no escaping your lips before you could second guess it. and something in him broke. or maybe it snapped into place. he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands roaming, learning the shape of you, the softness of your thighs, the arch of your back as you gasped under his touch.

he took his time. he whispered how beautiful you were, how long he had wanted you like this, how the thought of you in his bed had driven him insane since that first night the storm pushed you into his arms. every kiss lower was met with a pause, a glance, asking, confirming, cherishing. his hands didn’t fumble; they explored, gentle and firm, his mouth hot against your skin.

you had never felt like this before. it was more than arousal—it was a kind of unraveling, a melting of all the fear and restraint you had carried for so long. the rules, the systems, the cold logic of the world outside—none of it existed here. here, in his arms, you were just a girl wanting a boy. no laws. no assignments. no duties.

just him. just you.

and when he finally touched you, really touched you, the moan that escaped you was soft, stunned, your fingers digging into his shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck. you were wet, aching, needy in a way you hadn’t even known your body could feel, and yeonjun seemed to know exactly how to handle you—teasing, stroking, whispering your name like it was a prayer.

his own self-control was fraying at the edges. you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his voice broke when he groaned your name against your collarbone, the way his hips rocked against your thigh without even realizing it.

"you make me crazy," he whispered, biting gently at your shoulder. "since that kiss. since that first night. fuck—i think about you all the time. you wearing my shirt, you laughing in the kitchen, you sleeping next to me—"

"yeonjun," you gasped, your back arching as his fingers slid beneath your panties, finally, finally touching you where you needed him most. he cursed under his breath, kissing you again as your legs parted naturally for him.

he kept you on the edge, slow, patient, as if he was memorizing every sound you made, every breath you took. he didn’t rush to have you—not yet. this was still the prelude, the first taste, the careful unraveling. but you were close. too close.

and then.

he leaned over you again, lips brushing your ear, his voice hoarse. "can i make love to you?"

you nodded, heart pounding. "yes. please."

every movement after that was reverent, every sigh swallowed into a kiss, every tremble in your limbs steadied by his hands. he helped you out of your panties, gently, and shed his own clothes with a kind of urgency that was quiet, controlled, but full of need. when he settled between your legs, he paused, eyes meeting yours with a question so full of tenderness it made your chest ache.

his hand wrapped around himself, and your breath caught in your throat. he was thick, long—too much. your eyes widened without meaning to, and he noticed, chuckling softly as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, but your voice came out shaky when you murmured. “it won’t fit…” he hushed you gently, his palm stroking down your thigh.

“we’ll go slow,” he promised, though the way his jaw clenched told you even he was struggling to hold back.

the stretch was new, unfamiliar, but he moved slowly, letting you adjust, kissing you through the discomfort, murmuring praises against your lips. he held you like you were fragile, like the world would stop spinning if he hurt you, and when you finally relaxed around him, he moved with a rhythm that spoke of restraint and reverence, yet underneath it burned a fire he could barely contain.

it was gentle, yes, but not shy. it was soft, but not without heat. the way he groaned when your nails scraped down his back, the way he whispered your name like it anchored him—it was everything. his hands never stopped touching you, his mouth never far from yours, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the center of the universe.

the pace picked up only slightly, but the angle shifted when he gently maneuvered your body, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before whispering, “turn around for me, baby.” your heart skipped as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach, your cheek resting against his pillow, flushed and dazed, breath hot against the fabric. he settled behind you, large hands caressing the curve of your hips, his voice low and rough against your ear. “you look so good like this… fuck, i could lose my mind.”

you felt him guide himself back in, slower this time, deeper, and the gasp that left you was nothing short of a whimper, your back arching instinctively. the new position had him hitting that spot—the spot—with a precision that made your eyes roll back, your mouth dropping open against the pillow. “yeonjun—oh my god—” you choked, voice muffled, and he groaned above you, one hand gripping your waist as the other gently turned your face just enough so he could kiss your parted lips. “look at you,” he breathed, panting, watching your blissed-out expression with dark, desperate eyes. “you feel so fucking good—so tight around me… you were made for me, weren’t you?”

your voice came out broken, shaking. “it feels s-so good… i can’t—yeonjun, i—” but you didn’t need to finish. he could feel it. your body clenching around him with every slow, deep thrust. he bent over you, chest pressed to your back, skin to skin, and whispered filth in your ear in between kisses down your spine. “such a good girl,” he rasped, “taking me so well… fuck, i’m close. i can’t—i need to pull out…”

you nodded weakly, barely able to breathe, trembling as he gave one more thrust, then another—and with a strangled moan of your name, he pulled out and spilled his release onto the dip of your lower back, hot and heavy against your skin, dripping down to your ass. he groaned, his forehead against your shoulder, panting hard as he tried to come down from the high. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice ragged. “so fucking perfect.”

when he collapsed beside you, he didn’t pull away. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, both of you still catching your breath. the rain still tapped gently against the windows, the room now full of the scent of sweat and skin, of something new, something sacred.

"i’ve wanted you for so long," he murmured against your hair.

"i know," you whispered back, curling into him.

and for once, you didn’t feel cold. you didn’t feel alone. you didn’t feel like someone forced into something by a cruel system. you felt wanted. chosen.

his.

yours.

the morning came too quickly, the sun bleeding gently through the curtains, casting a golden warmth across the tangled sheets. your body still ached in the most delicious ways, and your skin was marked with soft reminders of his mouth, his hands, the way he held you like you were breakable and wanted all at once. you hadn’t said much when you woke. yeonjun had only kissed your forehead, helped you get dressed, and now you were sitting in the waiting room of the ministry’s planning clinic, the air sterile and overly bright.

the doctor, a warm-looking woman with gentle eyes and an enthusiastic tone, greeted you both like old friends. “ah! newlyweds,” she smiled, scanning her clipboard. “i see you’ve finally started your sexual life together. that’s wonderful news!”

your cheeks flamed immediately, and beside you, yeonjun coughed, suddenly fascinated by a poster about prenatal vitamins on the wall. “uh, yeah,” you mumbled, barely able to meet her gaze.

“good, good,” she said brightly, motioning for you to follow her behind a curtain for a quick checkup. “we need to make sure everything’s healthy and progressing normally. it’s still early, but we want to optimize for fertility, yes?”

you nodded, letting her guide you onto the examination table. her hands were professional, but the whole thing still made your stomach twist. you were sore—still a little tender—and she noticed, humming under her breath.

“you’re fine,” she reassured you, adjusting her gloves. “some sensitivity is natural after a first experience. but you’re healthy, everything looks good.” she smiled. “do you track your cycle, darling?”

you nodded slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “yes… i keep a calendar.”

“perfect. when was your last period?”

you told her, and she did some quick math on her tablet before her smile brightened. “then your most fertile window should be starting in about four days. if you’re trying to conceive—and you should be, of course—it’s best to be active every other day during that period. that increases the chances significantly.”

you wanted to sink into the floor. “o-oh.”

“don’t be shy. this is natural.” she patted your knee, then stood. “you’re young and healthy. your compatibility score is ideal. You just need to be consistent now. and relaxed. it should be something enjoyable.”

you weren’t sure what your face looked like when you stepped out, but yeonjun blinked and stood instantly. the doctor gave him a little wink and whispered something about keeping the environment fun, and you could practically feel the tension coil between your ribs as you exited the building together.

the ride home was quiet for a while. the hum of the engine, the soft buzz of traffic, the way your thighs were pressed together beneath your dress. he tapped the wheel with his fingers, sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

finally, you exhaled. “she said i’m entering my fertile window soon.”

his hands stilled on the steering wheel.

“in four days,” you added, your voice too high, too soft.

“oh.”

another silence.

“and she said we should—uh—every other day. during that window. for higher chances.”

“right.” he adjusted his grip again. “makes sense.”

but neither of you looked at each other. because the thing was, last night hadn’t felt like a scheduled duty. it hadn’t felt like a requirement, or a step in a plan designed by the state. it had felt messy, desperate, slow, sweet, and hungry. it had felt human.

and now the idea of doing it again, like you were just checking off boxes on a clinical list, felt… weird.

“does it feel weird?” you blurted, staring out the window.

yeonjun looked at you, startled. “what?”

“this. talking about it. like it’s a chore or something. when last night—” you trailed off, cheeks heating.

he nodded slowly. “it feels weird because it wasn’t just about the system. it was… about us.” his voice was quiet, unsure, but honest.

you twisted your fingers in your lap, the weight of his words settling between your thighs like the lingering ache from last night. you didn’t know how to act now—how to go from that kind of vulnerability to pretending you were just following instructions.

“i want to do it again,” you admitted, so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. “but not because of the calendar. because… i liked how it felt. with you.”

his knuckles tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching as he looked at you again. something in his eyes flickered—warm, molten, restrained. “good,” he said roughly. “because i haven’t stopped thinking about it since i woke up.”

your breath caught.

the red light ahead turned green, but neither of you were breathing normally anymore.

this wasn’t just about reproduction.

not anymore.

and neither of you knew how to navigate that yet—but the thought of exploring it again?

set your blood on fire.

you didn’t even make it past the front door.

as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned to you like something had snapped loose inside him—like the silence in the car, the weight of what had been said at the clinic, the image of you squirming in your seat all flushed and embarrassed, had pushed him past the edge. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a force that made your breath stutter, his lips crashing into yours with none of the hesitation from the night before. it was need—pure, undiluted need—and you melted into it like you’d been waiting all day.

your back hit the wall, your fingers clawing at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his abs while he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. his hands found your thighs, lifted you slightly, pressing your hips together in a rhythm already too hungry for the softness of conversation.

you moaned into his mouth, and that was it—he growled low in his throat, carrying you the few messy steps to the living room, collapsing with you onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. you straddled him instinctively, the dress you wore bunching at your hips, and the way you ground down against him made him curse under his breath, hands tightening on your waist.

"fuck, baby, you're driving me insane," he muttered, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging the straps of your dress off your shoulders as his thumbs traced soft, dizzying circles into your skin.

"then do something about it," you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips again just to feel him buck up into you, so hard already it made your mouth go dry.

he didn't need more encouragement.

he kissed down your chest, taking his time, pulling down the top of your dress to reveal more skin, his mouth hot and greedy as he licked and sucked at your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipple until you were gasping his name. his fingers pushed the fabric higher, baring your panties and the damp patch growing darker by the second, and he groaned, burying his face between your thighs like he needed to taste you just to stay sane.

you cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue worked slow, devastating circles against your clit, sucking gently, teasing you with the edge of release only to pull away. “so wet for me already,” he whispered, voice thick, lips glistening. “you’ve been thinking about this since the car, haven’t you?”

you nodded, eyes fluttering shut, and he rewarded you by sucking harder, his fingers slipping inside to stretch you just right, his other hand holding your hips down while you rode the edge again and again until you whimpered, begging, thighs trembling.

“please, yeonjun… i need you, now.”

he didn’t make you ask twice.

he pulled you onto his lap again, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips. and then he stood, shifting you onto the couch, turning your body gently, hands guiding your knees onto the cushions, your chest pressed to the armrest, your ass up for him—offered, exposed, throbbing.

"you’re so fucking perfect like this," he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other gripping your hip as he positioned himself behind you, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit, teasing, wet and hot.

you whimpered, pushing back slightly, and when he slid in, inch by inch, you gasped—eyes rolling back, the stretch sharp and addictive all over again.

“fuck, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, sinking in all the way until your ass met his hips. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

he started to move slowly, the position letting him hit deeper, every thrust punching little moans from your lips. the slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, his hands gripping your waist, your thighs, your hair. and still, he kissed your spine, leaned over you, whispered filth against your neck.

“you like this, baby? you like being fucked like this?”

“yes—yes, fuck, yeonjun—it feels so good—”

he reached around, rubbed slow circles against your clit as he fucked into you deeper, faster, making you cry out into the pillow, your body arching under him, thighs shaking again.

"let me see your face," he panted, one hand turning your head slightly so he could kiss you, so he could see your expression—your flushed cheeks, your lips parted, eyes unfocused.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growled. “you’re gonna make me come just looking at you.”

you felt it building again, heat coiling low in your belly, your body tightening, trembling, your moans turning desperate as he kept you right on the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

“yeonjun—i’m gonna—”

“me too—fuck—i need to pull out—”

but you reached back, grabbing his hand, voice shaking. “don’t. please. come inside.”

he choked on a moan, hips stuttering, and then he was spilling into you with a groan so deep it made your toes curl, holding you tight as he filled you completely, shaking from the force of it. your own climax hit just seconds later, white-hot and blinding, and you collapsed onto the couch, boneless, his body draped over yours, both of you gasping for air.

his come dripped slowly down your thighs, warmth spreading between them, and he didn’t move—just pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your back, your spine, whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.

neither of you said anything for a long time.

but you both knew.

there was no going back.

the following days slipped into a blur of aching need and restless nights. you both tried to keep the doctor’s advice in mind, to space out your moments, to give your bodies time to recover, but desire doesn’t listen to calendars or rules. every morning, before you left for university, you found yourselves tangled together, breathless and desperate, fingers tracing familiar curves as if memorizing every inch again and again. afternoons after classes weren’t any different; the moment you closed the door behind you, yeonjun’s hands were already on your waist, pulling you close, his lips claiming yours with the same fierce hunger that never dulled.

the days were a patchwork of stolen touches and whispered promises, of quick, heated moments before rushing to your part-time jobs—him with the university’s cultural center, tutoring students in language and literature, and you at a small café nearby, pouring coffee and smiling through the haze of exhaustion and longing. you came home exhausted but your body still hummed with anticipation, the ache of missing him settling low and deep, urging you back into his arms. your skin grew sensitive, your senses sharper; even the smallest brush of fingers sparked a fire beneath your skin.

and every time he pulled you close, you let him come inside you—every time—forgetting the cautious rhythm the doctor had suggested, letting your bodies rewrite the rules in the heat of the moment. the cool logic of planning was swallowed whole by your hunger, your need to be closer, to feel him deeper, to lose yourselves entirely in the mess and sweetness of this forbidden, stolen intimacy.

sometimes you’d catch yourself wondering if the doctor would be surprised—or scandalized—to know how little control you really had, how much your hearts raced and how your bodies begged for more. but in those moments, all that mattered was yeonjun’s warm breath against your neck, the way his hands shaped you like a secret only he was meant to know, and the way your own voice trembled when you whispered his name.

it was messy, it was frantic, but it was yours. and for the first time since everything began, it felt like freedom.

you were wiping down the counter when one of your coworkers, a woman named hana, leaned over with a gentle smile. she was older than you, maybe 35, and had a quiet confidence about her that made people listen. she lowered her voice just a little, as if sharing a secret.

“you know, i was assigned a husband too. i thought it would be awful, honestly. i was scared. but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. at first, i wasn’t sure if i could love him, or if he even cared. but slowly, i saw who he really was. and now, i’m so happy. we have two kids, and we’re thinking about a third. it’s scary, getting older, but i go to family planning a lot, trying to make sure it’s possible. the government even recognized me for wanting to keep repopulating. it’s strange, isn’t it? how these arrangements can lead to something real.”

you nodded, the thought settling deep inside your chest. could yeonjun and you be like that someday? sure, you cared for him. he was your husband, your partner in this harsh world. you pictured mornings waking up next to him, the soft light catching his face, the two of you building a life, maybe even raising children together. but love — real love? you had never felt it before, not like this. the feeling was foreign, like a story you’d read but never lived. still, yeonjun was everything to you, and that was enough for now.

later that day, when your shift ended, yeonjun was waiting by the door like always, leaning casually against his car. you slipped inside and immediately started talking about your day, the small victories, the tiring moments. he listened, eyes bright, then shared his own stories, laughter in his voice. the rhythm of your lives syncing quietly, comfortably.

and then, on a quiet street, just as the light ahead turned red, you suddenly blurted out, “do you love me?”

the car jerked slightly as yeonjun slammed on the brakes, both of you moving forward with the momentum. the question hung between you, heavy and unexpected.

he was silent for a moment, gaze fixed on the road ahead, and you could almost see the weight of the thought pressing on him. love was a strange word, loaded with promises and fears. but then his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, steady and sure.

“i do,” he said slowly, voice low but certain. “maybe not like the stories you hear — wild and all-consuming — but i love you. from the moment i saw you, from that first kiss in the storm, from every day since. every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment. it’s real. and it will only grow.”

your heart fluttered in a way that was both new and familiar, and when the light turned green, he eased forward, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter.

back at the apartment, the world outside disappeared as yeonjun pulled you close. the night was gentle but full of fire, his hands exploring with a tenderness that spoke of trust and deep desire. lips brushed your skin with reverence, soft whispers mingling with quiet moans. you traced the curve of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. every touch was a promise, every kiss a new discovery.

he took his time, patient and caring, making sure you felt cherished, safe. the moments stretched between you, slow and delicious, as if the world had paused just for this — for the two of you, tangled in sheets and warmth, sharing something sacred.

and as you finally melted into him, the love he had spoken of filled the space between your bodies, unspoken but undeniable.

“congratulations,” the doctor said, her voice warm, glowing even, as if she had just handed you the entire sky. “you’re pregnant.”

the world stilled.

you blinked, lips parting, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. yeonjun, who had just stepped inside the room after waiting anxiously outside, froze beside you. his eyes darted from your stunned face to the doctor and back again, like he was trying to make sure he’d heard correctly.

“what?” you breathed, voice barely there.

the doctor smiled, gentle and knowing, like this was her favorite kind of moment to deliver. “you’re about six weeks along. everything looks good so far. the symptoms you’ve been experiencing — the nausea, the cravings, the mood swings — they all point to a healthy early pregnancy. we’ll begin prenatal care from today.”

you felt yeonjun’s fingers slip into yours, holding tight, like he needed to anchor himself. like you were both floating. he didn’t say anything right away — his throat worked around words he couldn’t seem to find — but his hand trembled slightly in yours.

the tears came slowly, not from fear or sadness, but from something else entirely. wonder. disbelief. awe.

a baby.

your baby.

with him.

“i…” you started, then shook your head with a small, breathless laugh. “i thought it was just stress. i didn’t want to hope.”

“and yet, here we are,” the doctor said kindly. “your next steps will be regular checkups, nutrition monitoring, and continued intimacy when you feel comfortable. you’re doing great already.”

you could hardly focus after that — her voice faded to a background hum as your eyes lifted to meet yeonjun’s. he was already looking at you, completely undone. his gaze was soft, watery, reverent. like you were something holy.

he squeezed your hand. “we’re going to be parents,” he whispered, like saying it out loud would make it real.

and it did.

you nodded, blinking away fresh tears. “we’re going to be a family.”

the drive home was quiet, but not empty. yeonjun kept stealing glances at you at every stoplight, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like he couldn’t believe the little life beginning inside you was real. his hand never left yours on the console between you, thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles.

when you stepped into the apartment, he didn’t let go. he guided you gently to the couch, like you might break if he wasn’t careful. and then he was kneeling in front of you, both hands now on your stomach, even though there was nothing visible yet — just warmth. just possibility.

“thank you,” he whispered. “for this. for you. for everything.”

you touched his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands, heart swelling. “i didn’t do this alone, junnie.”

he leaned forward, lips brushing your still-flat belly, and then rested his forehead there, breathing slow and deep. “i’m gonna do everything i can to be good to you. to them. we didn’t choose this world, but i’ll choose you every day in it.”

you’d never felt more seen. more loved.

later that night, he held you closer than ever in bed, your back to his chest, one hand cradling your stomach, the other tangled with yours. the rain tapped gently against the window again, just like it had the night everything between you shifted.

and now it had shifted again.

you weren’t just husband and wife anymore.

you were parents.

you were a beginning.

and wrapped in his arms, with his heartbeat pressed against your spine, you let yourself dream — not of what the government wanted, not of duty or numbers, but of soft mornings and tiny fingers, of lullabies and laughter echoing through the walls.

of a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

but now, it was here.

growing inside you.

growing between you.

and it was love.

the apartment smelled of cake and laughter. pink balloons were tied to every chair, streamers hung slightly lopsided from the ceiling, and tiny frosting handprints decorated the corners of the tablecloth. your baby girl — chaeyeon — had turned one.

she was currently asleep in your arms, a little drool soaking into your blouse, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. you'd never seen her smile so much in one day, or so determined to wobble around on her chubby legs while everyone clapped for her.

your parents had cried. yeonjun’s mother had brought enough food to feed an entire village. your brother had looked absolutely horrified when asked to hold chaeyeon and had instead stood frozen like she was made of glass. yeonjun’s older brothers had been more relaxed — juggling their own kids, swapping parenting tips with you and yeonjun, their wives giggling over how much yeonjun had softened in just a year.

it was a blur of love. of family. of a happiness you never expected from a life that had once felt forced upon you.

now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

when the door closed behind the last guest, you let out a long breath and leaned against it. yeonjun was on his knees collecting bits of wrapping paper and cupcake crumbs, his sleeves rolled up and his hair a bit messy from carrying hana all afternoon.

“i think i have frosting in places i didn’t know were possible,” he muttered.

you giggled and padded over, gently placing a hand on his head. “she’s finally asleep. like… deep asleep. miracle of miracles.”

he looked up at you and smiled, slow and soft. “we survived our first birthday party.”

“barely.”

you both laughed, exhausted but giddy, and after tidying up the last of the chaos, you shuffled into your shared bedroom — the one that now held a rocking chair, a baby monitor, and the scent of lavender oil and baby lotion.

you sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at yeonjun as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. his skin glowed faintly from the sweat of the day, and his eyes were crinkled with something tender when he looked at you.

“hard to believe we’ve made it here,” you murmured.

“i know.” he crawled onto the bed beside you, resting his head against your shoulder. “long time ago we were just trying to figure out how to be in the same room without losing our minds.”

“or jumping each other.”

he snorted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “that too.”

you fell quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through his hair. “when they told me we were being assigned… i hated it. the system felt so cruel. mechanical. like love didn’t matter.”

“me too,” he admitted, voice low. “i kept wondering who you’d be. if you’d hate me. if i’d hate you.”

“and now… i can’t imagine waking up without you next to me.” you turned your face into his hair, breathing him in. “you’ve become everything.”

he lifted his head, eyes dark with something more than just love. “you gave me a family. you gave me her.”

“we gave her to each other,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

he kissed you then — slow, deep, familiar in a way that made your toes curl. and when he pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he murmured, “i need you.”

“then take me,” you breathed.

you barely finished speaking before he was on you, lips claiming yours again, more urgent this time, tongue teasing, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. you gasped, arching into his touch as he rolled a thumb over your nipple.

“fuck, i love how sensitive you still are,” he muttered against your neck, biting softly before soothing the skin with kisses. “you get wet the second i touch you, don’t you?”

you nodded, already trembling as he dragged your panties down your thighs, fingers grazing your slick folds. “you make me like this… only you.”

he groaned, dipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his thumb circling your clit until your hips were grinding against his hand.

“look at you,” he said, voice rough, “needy little wife. always so eager for me. i could fuck you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough, would it?”

“never enough,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulders. “please, junnie—”

he flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until you were on all fours, head turned into the pillow. “you know what this does to me, seeing you like this,” he growled, running the head of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in. “fuck, still so tight for me.”

you moaned, face burying into the pillow as he filled you to the hilt, rocking his hips with slow, brutal precision. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“tell me how good i make you feel,” he said through gritted teeth, fucking you deeper.

“so good—oh god, junnie—right there,” you whimpered. “you fuck me like you own me.”

“because i do,” he hissed. “you’re mine. every inch. every breath. and this pussy? fuck—this was made for me.”

your cries were muffled into the pillow, tears prickling at your eyes from the pleasure building impossibly fast. he bent over you, pressing kisses to your back, your shoulder, your neck, never stopping his rhythm.

“gonna come, baby?” he whispered in your ear. “cream on my cock like you always do?”

you nodded desperately, clenching around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a strangled moan.

he followed right after, cursing low and dark, emptying himself inside you with a final thrust. “fuck—gonna fill you up again. maybe give chaeyeon a little sibling.”

you both collapsed onto the bed, boneless and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around you from behind.

and in that moment, as the warmth of him settled over your back and your heartbeat steadied with his, you smiled.

because this was the life you never asked for — and yet, it was everything.

and now, there was no one else you’d rather be loved by.

[barnacles34]

Steamy Mornings and Massages (Winter x Male OC)

7k words

Tags: smut, fluff, office sex, office massage, soulmates, romance, very love-heavy

Chapter 1: The Day After

"Let's just stay here," Minjeong murmured, pressing soft kisses to the crown of Junho's head. The morning alarm had shattered what his typically precise mind had categorized as Optimal Comfort Configuration™, but neither of them had moved to silence it[1].

His face remained buried in the crook of her neck, accepting what his mind reluctantly acknowledged as the only form of comfort he'd ever truly wanted. "Well, my secretary," he rumbled against her skin, the possessive pronoun carrying new weight in the morning light, "on a very important day, doesn't want to go to work?" Despite his words, his arms tightened incrementally around her waist, betraying his own reluctance.

Minjeong's embrace constricted in response, her Busan accent thick with morning warmth. "What are you going to do? Fire me?" Despite the implied challenge, she still continued to press soft kisses on his forehead. He tightened his embrace further, relishing in the warmth of Minjeong.

The challenge in her voice activated something primal in his executive functioning. His teeth grazed her neck in warning, hovering over precisely the spot that would make any low-necked blouse useless to wear for the following days. "Maybe," he murmured, his hand sliding to the small of her back with deliberate intent, dangerously close to the curve of her backside, "I'll fire you and keep you here, all day long, so that you belong only to me."

"That's..." her breath hitched as his hand dropped lower, "...rather unprofessional of you."

He lifted his head just enough to fix her with that boardroom stare that never failed to make her pulse race. "Says the woman currently preventing her CEO from attending his meetings." Her CEO? Something warm raced inside of her—she thought, her ceo? And this time, she wrapped her arms tighter—however much her thin arms could tighten; nevertheless, an affectionate hug.

"I prefer to think of it as optimizing your morning routine," she countered, though her professional efficiency was somewhat undermined by the way she melted under his touch, furthermore when he traced the curves of her backside. "Some things are more important than the Zhang Corp merger."

His laugh vibrated against her throat. "Careful, Secretary Kim. That sounds dangerously close to insubordination."

"And what does the CEO do with insubordinate employees?" The question emerged soft and weaker than intended as his mouth traced a deliberate path along her collar, trying her most obnoxiously.

"That depends," he murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her breath catch. "Are they all as beautiful as you when they disobey direct orders?"

She attempted to maintain her composure, though her hands betrayed her by pulling him closer. "I wouldn't know. I've never seen you like this with other employees[2]."

"No," he agreed, suddenly serious as he raised his head to meet her gaze. "You haven't. You won't."

The intensity in his eyes made her throat tight. "Promise?"

Instead of answering, he caught her mouth in a kiss that effectively ended all discussion of work protocols and proper business conduct[3]. The morning sun painted complex equations of light across their entangled forms, but for once, neither of them was counting the minutes.

—

[1] The first recorded instance of CEO Kim's morning alarm continuing past its initial 0.3-second alert phase, a fact that would require significant updates to the home automation system's behavioral prediction models.

[2] The security system's emotion recognition protocols flagged this moment for what its algorithms could only classify as "Unprecedented Display of Executive Vulnerability."

[3] Later analysis would suggest that certain forms of insubordination yielded surprisingly positive results in terms of overall company morale, though these findings were kept strictly off the official record.

—

"You haven't eaten properly in days," Minjeong observed softly, her fingers tracing the subtle tension in his shoulders that most wouldn't notice. But she wasn't most people—she'd spent months learning to read the microscopic signs of his stress levels[4].

"I've been eating," he defended, though his attempt at authority was somewhat undermined by the way he instinctively relaxed under her touch.

"Coffee and quarterly reports don't count as meals," she countered, continuing her gentle exploration of his shoulder muscles. "I've watched you skip lunch three times this week alone."

He lifted his head to study her face, finding that mix of strength and tenderness that had first undone him. "You keep track of my meals?"

"I keep track of everything about you," she admitted, not backing down from his intense gaze. "Someone has to notice when you forget to take care of yourself."

His hand curved around the nape of her neck, thumb brushing her pulse point. "And you've appointed yourself to that position?"

"Consider it an extension of my secretarial duties," she murmured, then gasped softly as he tightened his grip in warning.

"There's nothing secretarial about the way you take care of me," he corrected, voice low and dangerous. "Is there, Minjeong-ah?"

The informal address, rarely used, made her breath catch. "No," she agreed quietly. "There isn't."

He studied her for a long moment, his analytical mind cataloging the flush in her cheeks, the slight quickening of her breath, the way she yielded to his touch while somehow maintaining that core of quiet strength[5]. "You're dangerous," he finally said, “dangerously beautiful, so beautiful,” then a kiss on the side of her neck which, eventually, will turn into a hickey and Minjeong hadn’t the power to resist her CEO’s advances anymore.

"Me?" She replied, out of breath, tremored, brilliantly transformed by her smile—the type of smile men fight wars for, the type of smile sinewy sociopathic CEOs would drop down for. "I'm just trying to make sure Korea's most brilliant CEO—I mean, my CEO, remembers to eat breakfast." Her small hand collected the waves of his hair, the aroma of the shampoo she recommended wafted in the air.

“Minjeong, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Is that a problem?” She pulled back her hand along his scalp, gathering hair, then trailing all down his nape, to his back: the type of affection that says, even if you were insane, I’d still be crazy about you.

Instead of answering directly, he pressed his lips to her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth—a calculated sequence of kisses that made her melt further into his embrace. "The only problem," he murmured against her skin, "is that you're making it very difficult to want to leave this bed."

—

[4] Her observation logs, never shared but meticulously maintained, included such details as the precise angle of his jaw when overwhelmed, the subtle shift in his typing rhythm when stressed, and the exact tone of voice that meant he'd skipped meals.

[5] The home automation system's behavioral analysis protocols struggled to categorize this new dynamic, where authority and surrender seemed to flow both ways simultaneously.

—

"Three days," Minjeong continued, her fingers finding the knots in his shoulders with practiced ease. "You've had that tension here since the Singapore deal started falling apart." The morning light caught the subtle furrow in his brow as he processed her words, realizing she'd been tracking his stress levels without him noticing. Her touch was methodical yet tender, each pressure point targeted with the same precision she applied to his scheduling.

"I didn't think anyone had noticed," he admitted, then caught her knowing smile. "Except you."

"I always notice," she replied simply. "Like how you've been drinking twice your usual coffee intake, or how your left eye twitches slightly when the board sends those passive-aggressive emails." Her hands moved lower, finding another point of tension. "You hide it well, but not from me."

He caught her wrist, bringing it to his lips. "It becomes…oddly weird when I see you do the things I usually do." The tease in his voice was softened by the way he pressed kisses to her fingertips.

"Consider it preventive maintenance," she countered, not backing down despite Junho trying to hide his habits under the rug, not backing down despite the heat in his gaze. "Someone needs to monitor your functionality levels[6]."

"Functionality levels?" His laugh rumbled against her skin as he shifted to hover over her. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"Would you prefer 'executive performance metrics'?" She managed to keep her voice steady even as his mouth traced a deliberate path down her throat. "I have spreadsheets..."

"Of course you do," he murmured, teeth grazing her collarbone in retaliation. "My perfectly thorough secretary, tracking every detail."

"Not just details," she breathed, hands sliding up his chest. "I know when you skip lunch to avoid the board members. When you stay late reviewing reports that could wait until morning. When you need..." she paused as his hand curved possessively around her hip, "...someone to remind you that you're human."

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Junho lifted his head to study her face, finding that unique blend of submission and strength that had first undone his carefully constructed defenses[7]. "And you've appointed yourself to that position?"

"Someone has to." Her smile carried traces of Busan sunshine. "Besides, I'm uniquely qualified."

"How so, Minjeong-ah?” Another tease. 

“Because you love me.” Minjeong stated, matter of factly. And this time, Junho seized her tight, trapping her under him, seizing her two thin wrists. Then, pressed a deep kiss onto Minjeong’s delicate lips. After a while, he released himself from the kiss, the kiss that Minjeong reluctantly let go of—her lips pointing outwards like a duck as he left. Finally, he said, “That’s right, I love you.”

Her stomach stirred with butterflies and more.

—

[6] Her personal files, never shared but meticulously maintained, included detailed protocols for managing various levels of CEO stress responses, from subtle intervention to direct action.

[7] The exact moment of this defensive breach had been logged by the building's security systems, though the footage was classified under "Executive Privacy Protocols."

—

Minjeong lingered in bed, her heart performing calculations that had nothing to do with quarterly reports. The smart home system's sensors detected her elevated pulse rate, though no algorithm could properly quantify the joy radiating from her smile[8]. She stretched luxuriously against Egyptian cotton sheets that still held traces of his warmth, letting herself marvel at the reality of being here, in his space, surrounded by evidence of Junho.

Her mind couldn't help but catalog the endearing chaos around her—academic journals scattered across surfaces, a tablet displaying economic projections that had clearly been reviewed at 3 AM, several coffee cups in various states of abandonment. The morning light revealed what darkness and desire had hidden the night before: Junho's private space was a fascinating contradiction to his public persona, a detail she filed away with all her other precious observations of him.

Rising with practiced grace, she padded across cold hardwood floors, her bare feet gliding across the floor. His dress shirt from the previous night—the one that had hung open as they'd discovered more interesting uses for his mahogany desk—called to her like a siren song. She slipped it on, the fabric carrying traces of his unisex cologne and something uniquely him that made her stomach flutter[9].

Junho emerged from his ensuite bathroom to find her like this: drowning in his shirt, examining his space with that careful attention she brought to everything concerning him. His breath caught audibly.

"That's mine," he noted, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that never failed to make her pulse race.

She turned to face him, letting the hem of his shirt brush against her thighs. "Really? I think it’s mine."

—

[8] The home automation system logged this moment as: "Secondary User Biometrics Indicating Unprecedented Levels of Serotonin. CEO Response: Highly Favorable."

[9] Security footage would later reveal this as the exact moment CEO Kim's usually impeccable morning routine experienced a critical efficiency failure, though no one questioned why that particular shirt never made it to the dry cleaners.

—

"You know," Junho mused against her neck, his hands tracing idle patterns on her thighs, "for someone so concerned about my eating habits, you're being very distracting in my kitchen."

"Me?" Minjeong's attempt at innocence was undermined by the way her fingers kept playing with his hair. "I'm trying to feed you."

"Wearing my shirt. Sitting on my counter." His smile carried equal parts mischief and heat as he pulled back to look at her. "I'm starting to think this is corporate sabotage, Secretary Kim."

She tried to maintain her professional expression, though her lips twitched. "I would never compromise company productivity, 사장님."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow, fingers sliding deliberately higher under his shirt. "Then explain why Korea's most efficient CEO is currently contemplating skipping his 9 AM."

"Poor executive guidance?" she suggested, then squeaked as he nipped her earlobe in retaliation. "I mean... clearly you need better supervision."

"Is that your professional opinion?" His laugh was warm against her skin. "And I suppose you're volunteering for the position?"

"Well," she threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging gently, "I do have extensive experience in handling difficult executives."

He lifted his head, eyes dancing. "Difficult?"

"Demanding," she amended, then added with deliberate sweetness, "High-maintenance?"

"You," he declared, catching her wrists and pinning them behind her back with one hand, "are getting dangerously bold with your performance reviews[12]."

Her answering smile was pure sunshine. "Does that mean I'm not getting that raise?"

"Oh, I'll give you a raise," he promised, his free hand sliding up her spine as he pressed closer. "Right after we discuss your insubordination."

"I have a presentation prepared," she managed, though her breath hitched as his mouth found that sensitive spot behind her ear. "Complete with charts on CEO stubbornness metrics..."

"Using company resources for personal research?" His mock disapproval was somewhat undermined by the way he couldn't stop smiling against her skin. "That's a serious violation of corporate policy."

"And what's the penalty for that?" She arched into his touch, shameless. "More overtime with my boss?"

"Definitely." He captured her mouth in a kiss that tasted like laughter and promise. "Starting now[13]."

—

[12] The home automation system registered this interaction as a significant deviation from standard performance review protocols, though it noted remarkable improvements in overall satisfaction metrics.

[13] Later analysis of the kitchen's usage patterns would reveal this as the morning the coffee maker recorded its latest ever first brew, a delay that would become surprisingly routine.

—

"We're going to be late," Minjeong observed, though she made no move to leave her perch on the counter as Junho's hands mapped new territories beneath his borrowed shirt. The morning sun painted gold across his shoulders, and she couldn't resist tracing the light with her fingers.

"Concerned about punctuality now?" His smile was wicked against her collar. "After deliberately sabotaging your CEO's morning routine?"

"I would never," she protested, then gasped as his teeth found that sensitive spot below her ear. "I'm simply... optimizing your schedule."

"Is that what we're calling it?" His laugh vibrated through both their bodies as he pressed closer, effectively trapping her against the granite. "And how does this particular optimization benefit the company?"

Her fingers curled into his hair as his mouth traced a deliberate path down her throat. "Improved executive mood... increased satisfaction metrics... better work-life balance..."

"Very thorough analysis," he approved, his hand sliding higher up her thigh. "Though I think we need more data points[14]."

"준호야..." Her professional composure cracked entirely as his fingers found bare skin. "The Zhang Corp meeting..."

"Can wait." He lifted his head to meet her gaze, his smile carrying that perfect blend of authority and affection that never failed to undo her. "I'm conducting important research."

"On what?" She managed to arch an eyebrow despite her rapidly dissolving coherence. "How to make your secretary lose her mind?"

"Girlfriend," he corrected, voice dropping to that dangerous register as his thumb traced patterns on her inner thigh. "And I believe we were discussing your performance review[15]."

Jun abruptly stopped their performance review midway because the deal was on the line and time was running short. Minjeong was reminded of this painfully by how Jun pulled away from the kiss—she was pouty about it until they reached the office, when her damascus-like resolve kicks in.

—

[14] The kitchen's environmental sensors registered multiple instances of what could only be classified as "Critical Protocol Deviations," though these readings were automatically archived under "Executive Privacy Settings."

[15] HR would later note a curious correlation between the CEO's improved mood and these new "morning performance evaluations," though no one dared to investigate further.

—

Chapter 2: The Meeting

The Zhang Corp representatives sat across the mahogany conference table, their expressions carefully neutral as they reviewed the merger proposals. Minjeong maintained her perfect professional facade, though her pulse quickened every time Junho's hand brushed hers as she passed him documents[1].

"The third quarter projections," she murmured, leaning close enough that his cologne made her thoughts stray to their morning activities. His finger tapped twice against the paper—their private signal that he needed a moment to compose himself.

"As you can see," Junho addressed the room with that commanding presence that made board members squirm, though Minjeong could detect the slight roughness in his voice that hadn't been there before their morning 'delay', "our integration timeline is aggressive but achievable."

She took her seat beside him, crossing her legs in a way that made his pen pause fractionally on the contract. Two could play at this game of professional torture. His response was to rest his hand on her thigh under the table, hidden from view but commanding enough to make her breath catch[2].

"Secretary Kim," he said smoothly, his thumb tracing dangerous patterns against her skin, "would you pull up the logistics breakdown?"

"Of course, 사장님." She managed to keep her voice steady as she reached for her tablet, though her free hand found his wrist under the table, her fingers curling around it in what could have been either submission or warning.

The meeting proceeded with perfect corporate efficiency, though the undercurrent of tension between CEO and secretary created what the room's environmental sensors could only classify as "Critical Atmospheric Pressure"[3].

—

[1] The conference room's biometric scanners noted elevated heart rates in both CEO and secretary, though this data was diplomatically omitted from official meeting records.

[2] Security footage would later require careful editing to maintain professional appearances, particularly regarding certain "under-table activities."

[3] The Zhang Corp representatives would later confess to the fact that they could tell what was happening, no amount of demure leg-crossing could hide it. Though, they ignored it in order to get that deal (which was integral to them).

—

The private office door clicked shut behind them, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across imported marble floors. Junho rolled his shoulders, tension evident in his posture despite the meeting's success[4].

"Come here," Minjeong said softly, recognizing the signs of his post-negotiation stress. She guided him to his leather chair, her hands already moving to his shoulders. "You get so tense during these meetings." Instead of standing behind him and the chair, she stood in front, impending a mount to get ‘better access’ to his shoulders.

"Keeping my hands to myself requires considerable effort," he admitted, then groaned softly as her fingers found a particularly tight knot. "Especially when you keep giving me those looks."

"What looks?" Her innocent tone was betrayed by the way her hands slid lower, tracing patterns down his upper chest. "I was being perfectly professional."

He caught her wrist, tugging her to face him. "Professional? Is that what you call that thing you did with your pen?"

"Taking notes?" She smiled down at him, letting her fingers trail along his tie. "I'm very thorough in my documentation."

"Very thorough," he agreed, pulling her into his lap with practiced ease. "Though I noticed some interesting gaps in the meeting minutes."

"Oh?" Her hands returned to his shoulders, kneading the tension even as she shifted closer. "Like what?"

"Like how many times you deliberately brushed against me," his voice dropped lower as her fingers worked their magic, "or how your skirt kept riding up when you reached for files[5]."

"Maybe," she breathed, her ministrations becoming less therapeutic and more intentional, "your secretary just needs better supervision."

His laugh rumbled through both their bodies. "Is that what you need, Secretary Kim?"

Instead of answering, she pressed a kiss to that spot below his ear that always made him growl. His hands tightened on her hips in warning, but she didn't stop her exploration of his neck, her fingers still working the tension from his shoulders even as she created a different kind of pressure entirely.

"The door," he managed, though his hands were already sliding under her blouse.

"Locked," she murmured against his skin. "I'm very efficient."

"My perfect secretary," he agreed.

—

[4] The office's environmental controls registered what could only be classified as "Post-Meeting Stress Relief Protocol: Executive Override Engaged."

[5] The meeting's official minutes would maintain strict professional standards, though certain observations were kept in much more private records.

—

"You're still tense," Minjeong observed, her fingers tracing new patterns down his spine. The afternoon light painted gold across his desk, where various merger documents lay forgotten. "Let me take care of you properly."

She slid from his lap, moving behind his chair with practiced grace. Her hands returned to his shoulders, this time with more purposeful intent. Junho's head fell back as she worked a particularly tight knot, a sound escaping him that had nothing to do with professional conduct[7].

"That noise," she murmured, leaning close enough that her breath teased his ear, "is definitely not going in the meeting minutes."

His laugh turned into another groan as her thumbs hit a sensitive spot. "Keeping secrets from the board, Secretary Kim?"

"Only the interesting ones," she admitted, her hands sliding lower, tracing the muscles of his back through his expensive shirt. "Like how my very commanding CEO turns to putty when I do this..."

His hand shot up to catch her wrist in warning. "Careful," his voice carried that dangerous edge that made her stomach flip. "You're getting bold with your observations."

"Just maintaining detailed records," she breathed, not backing down despite his grip. "For example, when I press here..." Her free hand found another knot, making him inhale sharply. "Your left eye twitches slightly. And when I do this..." She leaned forward, letting her lips brush his neck. "Your pulse jumps exactly like it did during the merger talks[8]."

The chair spun suddenly, Junho pulling her back into his lap with decisive force. "You," he growled, hands spanning her waist, "are playing a dangerous game."

Her smile was pure innocence, though her fingers were already working his tie loose. "I'm simply being thorough in my duties, 사장님."

"Your duties," he repeated, watching her with dark amusement as she stripped his tie with expert efficiency. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"Would you prefer 'executive stress relief'?" She gasped as his teeth found her collar. "Or maybe 'personnel management'?"

His laugh vibrated against her skin. "I prefer," he murmured, hands sliding deliberately up her thighs, "when you stop talking altogether[9]."

—

[7] The office's audio sensors temporarily malfunctioned during this period, a technical glitch that occurred with suspicious regularity during certain "private meetings."

[8] Her personal files contained extensive documentation of CEO behavioral patterns, though certain observations were encrypted under "Private Research: Ongoing."

[9] The afternoon's remaining meetings would require creative rescheduling, though no one questioned why the CEO's mood had improved so dramatically.

—

"You missed a spot," Minjeong murmured against his mouth, her fingers finding another knot of tension in his shoulders even as she shifted closer in his lap. The leather chair creaked softly beneath them, a sound that would forever carry new associations in both their minds[10].

"Did I?" His hands slid higher beneath her skirt, mapping territories that were becoming dangerously familiar for office hours. "Or are you just making excuses to keep touching your CEO?"

She pulled back just enough to give him that look—the one that somehow managed to be both defiant and yielding. "I take my responsibilities very seriously, 사장님."

"I've noticed," he growled, catching her wrist as she tried to maintain the pretense of massage. "Like how seriously you took those meeting notes earlier. Very... thorough."

Her laugh caught in her throat as his lips found that sensitive spot below her ear. "I was documenting important observations."

"Such as?" His teeth grazed her pulse point, making her grip his shoulders for balance.

"Such as," she managed, though her professional tone wavered as his hands grew bolder, "how the great Kim Junho gets distracted when I cross my legs. How your voice drops exactly half an octave when you're trying not to react to me. How you tap your pen twice when you're thinking about—"

He silenced her with a kiss that effectively derailed all attempts at analysis[11]. When he finally pulled back, her dazed expression made him smirk. "Any other observations to record, Secretary Kim?"

“I must’ve forgotten, I usually remember better when you kiss me.” She hinted, and he obliged, letting his lips connect yet again with Minjeong. This time, the endless teasing reached a breaking point that both of them coalesced to at the same time.

He tightly grasped her backside then pulled her up from the executive chair to the executive table. Wherein, she was splayed across the wide table. “We really have to ban tables when we’re around each other.” She joked. 

“That’d be a terrible idea.”

“How so?”

“Where else could I splay you across like this, then explore you, centimeter-by-centimeter?”

“Hmm…” she hummed, pleased, "Yeah?"

“Yeah.”

“Then come here, my ceo.”

“My beautiful secretary, whatever shall I do with you?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you find out?” She pulled as tight as she could, locking her arms around his neck.

He obliged, meeting lips with her once again. He felt the softness of her face as he explored deeper into the kiss, forgetting time and everything except what was being shared between them. Journeying his hands further, entangling it into the silken strands of his lover as he deepened the kiss, and she replied with a deep sigh—trembling with a mix of her high register. 

“You’re such a good woman for me, Minjeong.” He said before nipping at her lower lip, catching it softly between his teeth with a teasing tug, Minjeong let out a breathless laugh, “you’re devouring me, Junho.” Regardless, he dug deeper, letting his entire body shift into Minjeong’s malleable, petite body—letting his hand explore more of her silken strands, almost saying, yes Minjeong, that is my purpose: to devour you.

Now, instead of every 5 seconds, Minjeong’s soft moans that only served to goad Junho on were musically released into his ears every second. Precautiously, she asked, “how good is the soundproofing in your private room-ah!”

“Not good enough to hide your moans, dear.” He replied, his voice like rough gravel. Her eyes widened suddenly from the need to hide her moans. Yet he dug deeper, letting his loin rub against her wet bottom, daring her moan out loud.

Despite all the regulations, the possible condemnation, their passions only grew more. Mouths moving in sync, gazes meeting momentarily, it wasn’t just kissing anymore—it was a language. The type of language where Minjeong coalesced to his dangerous games and learned to enjoy it, almost as much as him.

“Junho, seriously, I don’t want to be seen as-”

“Minjeong-ah, I don’t give a single fuck if my employees hear you and I.” The teeth that so brazenly tugged on her lower lips trailed down her neck, tracing the soft tendons.

Whispering, in a verbose way, “And as you are my secretary, my extension, my life-line, you’ll follow. Me.” And as Minjeong was getting battered by the gravel-slung voice of Junho—she hadn’t noticed how her blouse was opened, bra pushed down to reveal the breasts that he was so infatuated with—only until she felt the torsion of her nipple.

“Ngh!”

“I love that, Minjeong, scream out. I’ll fuck you until the entire floor hears you call my name.”

And another wet mewl that inspired his further deviance.

Feeling the soft suction of his mouth on her neck, she deduced that it could only mean one thing: another hickey just placed above the collar of her blouse, the same sort of hickey that the Zhang corp executives couldn’t keep their eyes off of—any justification in their minds that it was a skin discoloration was debilitated by how intensely Minjeong and Junho shared those deadly glances, likely to jump on each other as soon as they left—and they were right.

“Junho—ngh!”

“Louder.” He replied, testing her, “fucking. Louder.” Then he pressed deeper, grinding his rough textured pants on the creamy soft bottom of Minjeong.

“Please Junho, seriously.” Was all that she could get out of her bated breaths, her deep moans.

Then suddenly, he stopped, caressing the softness of her cheeks with his, back-handed, knuckles.

“You look so beautiful when you’re all tired and exhausted, did I tell you that before?” Letting the tune of his voice marinate with Minjeong (who was recovering from how hot and bothered she was just a second ago).

However good his intentions were, he wasn’t perfect. The way Minjeong’s body looked splayed against the messy paperwork, her blonde hair all frizzy and stuck to the desk, how her chest went in-and-out catching all the breath she lost—all of it made it impossible for him to resist anymore.

He pounced on her again, connecting lips against her wet, trembling lips that nonetheless accepted him so openly, like a warm cup of milk tea on a winter morning. That momentary pause had changed everything, Minjeong—now fully conquered by him—was begging for that penetrative action that he would give out so liberally to her.

“Naughty woman, bad secretary, what else?”

“Junho’s toy.” 

“Fuck.” And in a flash, his belt flew off, then in another flash, his pants fell down. 

“Tented much?” She was truly in no position to tease: a strategic error.

He grinned at the statement, finally, teasingly, let his underwear fall inch-by-inch. 

Simultaneously, she bunched up her legs then pulled off her panty that revealed the color combinations that he would die for. Though before he could look for longer, she crossed her shins—hiding the cause of Junho’s demise behind her thin legs.

They shared a giggle before Jun hugged her soft body.

“I will penetrate you in this office.”

“Yes. It appears so.”

“No, like, do you consent?”

“Idiot..” Minjeong pulled him in for another kiss. Which, coincidentally, made his tip graze her engorged and swollen core, Minjeong almost came instantaneously from that alone.

And he could tell, laughing, “Seriously, Minjeong?”

“It’s your fault, you trained me like this.”

“This is like our 3rd time.” He said, as if to brush it off.

“This is my 3rd time.” 

And Minjeong would be certainly hurt by the thought that Junho’s partners before her made it more than his 3rd time for him—some of them, the girlfriends, she saw. 

He caught on the clues before it was too late, “Minjeong, not to compare, but who else have I been so crazy about? Who else did I track for every minute of the day? Who else did I let in my home (his girlfriends didn’t, actually, get to enter his home)? Who else would make me lose composure when they’re out of my sight-line?”

Letting his forehead touch against hers, he could feel her heart rend and beat and do all sorts of bothered gymnastics.

“It’s always been about you, Minjeong. You are the brilliance of my life, the expansion of a born star—bright from millions of light years away.”

And she needn’t say anything or reply. Absolving him by wrapping her arms tighter around his nape, then holding up her head to desperately kiss Junho again and again.

In between all the kisses, he penetrated Minjeong. His length, constricted against her core, travelled softly—wringing out all sorts of noises. Her swollen pussy wrapped around him gently but tight. “I love you, Minjeong.” Was the last thing said before Minjeong’s eyes went into the back of her head—a cute habit—before she orgasmed and creamed all over.

As per her request, Junho didn’t stop. He let his hips move as slow as he could possibly go before it could be called torture. During all this, Minjeong grabbed for stability as she was getting fucked through her orgasm, feeling that intense thrusting from the love of her life as she covered his length in more of her slick.

“Oh f-” He covered her mouth this time, respecting her wish to stay at least a little lowkey in the office, whatever the hell that meant right now. Then, shallow thrusts turned into slow thrusts all the way to the hilt, getting Minjeong to scrunch her face in pleasure, eyebrows knitted in the highest pleasure, her mouth agape with strands of her saliva connecting the roof of her mouth to her tongue.

“I love you, Minjeong. Fuck. This is insane, having sex with you in my office.”

“Ngh~ I - I love you so much,” was all that she could get across before succumbing to her dopamine receptors—eyes joining the back her head. Junho connected lips with her again, letting her legs lock around his waist, then rubbing his pelvis against her engorged core, clitoris and all.

After Minjeong finally got used to the familiar motions, he grasped her thin waist, almost wrapping his two hands around the entire circumference of her tight waist. Then their eyes met momentarily, Junho had the I am going to fuck you through this desk eyes whilst Minjeong had the prey eyes that relentlessly coalesced to him. Though, before he could go wild, he brushed off the stray hairs stuck to her forehead, gave a reaffirming kiss on her forehead before pumping all the way in.

The small of her back surrendered to his tight grip, bending against the pushes and pulls. Her legs tightened the lock around his waist—almost painfully tight, but that didn’t matter to him, who’d get to pummel her soft pussy.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he planted his body against Minjeong’s, pinning her two thin wrists against the stable table.

“You’re fucking me so good, Junho,” Minjeong replied, her rare use of the curse made him chuckle by the side of her head. 

“That’s right, baby,” Junho bear-hugged Minjeong, only thrusting deeper and deeper, pelvis rubbing against hers, to make her cum again.

“NGHHH~!” The abrupt moan startled him and herself—however, they didn’t care as much about the employees anymore after indulging in each other’s bodies. Instead of stopping or evaluating the situation—as the rationalists would do—they dug deeper into each other, trying to carve each other with their soft and swollen lips.

Suddenly, he lifted Winter and turned her over. Bending her back against the table before dipping his cock into her pussy again. This time, the entrance was entranced with the soft, tight, wet feeling that he was fully obsessed with. This time, he had more ready access to her soft ass that was so soft and supple that he had to relieve it of its aesthetic beauty: with some redness spread across her ass.

“Oh my god!” Winter squeaked as she reacted against the heavy-handed slap against her ass, loving it, spreading—overflowing—his length with her slick.

Leaning over, he held Minjeong’s chin for the last stretch, considerably slowing down and enjoying each other’s presence.

“How much do you bet the coworkers will give us bad looks?”

“The female workers already give me horrible ones.” She said whilst her chin was held stable by his hand, still moaning against the soft thrusts.

“Hmm, broad generalization. How do you know this?”

“That hickey that you gave that was far too purple and far too above the collar of my blouse.”

“No long-necked turtleneck?”

“No, that’d ruin the point, I wanted to show off the gift my Junho-ssi gave.” That was the moment when he moaned hard, pressing deep inside Winter before releasing all his seed—the seed that Winter felt bounce against her cervix, making her moan out and squeal happily.

“God. Minjeong, you will be my demise.” He sighed before Winter turned around and kissed him, “as long as I get to stay with you, through demise and all,” she said between the kisses.

—

[10] The office furniture procurement department would later note an unusual request for "enhanced stability features" in executive seating, though they wisely chose not to inquire further.

[11] The building's environmental controls registered what could only be classified as "Critical Temperature Fluctuation - Executive Override Protocol Engaged."

—

Evening painted Seoul's skyline in shades of amber and gold, the office gradually emptying as another corporate day drew to a close. Only the executive floor maintained signs of life, though its usual efficiency had given way to something far more intimate[12].

"We should go home," Minjeong murmured against Junho's shoulder, though she made no move to leave her position in his lap. His shirt had long since been unbuttoned, her blouse delightfully rumpled, both their professional facades thoroughly compromised.

"Should we?" His fingers traced lazy patterns up her spine, his other hand still possessively curved around her hip. "I rather like having my secretary exactly where she is."

She lifted her head to meet his gaze, finding that unique blend of authority and affection that never failed to make her heart race. "Your secretary has plans for you."

"Oh?" His interest visibly peaked. "More performance reviews?"

"Better." She smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm cooking you dinner. Besides, breakfast was skipped."

The surprise in his expression made her laugh softly. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," she interrupted, then added with deliberate sweetness, "Unless my CEO is refusing a direct offer from his girlfriend?"

His hands tightened on her waist. "Using that title to manipulate me now?"

"Is it working?" She bit her lip, watching his eyes darken at the gesture.

Instead of answering, he pulled her into a kiss that suggested dinner might be delayed[13]. When they finally broke apart, his smile carried dangerous promise. "Your place or mine?"

"Yours," she decided, fingers playing with his collar. "Your kitchen needs christening properly."

His laugh rumbled through both their bodies. "Just the kitchen?"

"We'll see how dinner goes," she teased, then squeaked as he stood suddenly, lifting her with him. "준호야!"

"Efficient time management," he explained, setting her on her feet but keeping her close. "The sooner we leave..."

She pressed against him, deliberate and knowing. "The sooner you can help me... cook?"

"Among other things," he agreed, already reaching for his jacket. The predatory grace in his movements suggested cooking might not be the evening's primary activity[14].

—

[12] Security logs would note this as the third consecutive evening of "Extended Executive Hours," though the actual nature of these extensions remained diplomatically unrecorded.

[13] The office's automated systems began learning to expect these end-of-day delays, adjusting power consumption accordingly.

[14] The kitchen's motion sensors would later flag unusually high activity levels, though whether any actual cooking occurred remained a matter of some debate.

Fin

I fixed some stuff that I executed poorly before, like the crazy amount of math references; which, in foresight, was far too much.

I really had to get this out quickly. Now, I think it's a good idea to not expect anything from me for an entire month (hopefully not).

hope u enjoyed.

[saerotonins]

NOBODY KNOWS

ft. sylus x fem!reader

— when there’s danger in secrecy, Sylus is always ready to challenge it.

word count: 6.1k 

content warnings: smut, angst if you squint, quick xavier cameo, jealous and possessive Sylus, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (f! receiving), mirror sex, creampie, use of nicknames (doll, sweetheart, darling), reader is a bit mean to Sylus, very slight spoilers/implications from his myth card (it’s not even that obvious), i suck at endings

note: this is my first ever full-blown smut fic, and hopefully more to come as i improve along the way <3

song inspo: nobody knows by kiss of life

—

The mask on your face feels hot and annoying. Out of all the themes the Hunters Association would go after for the annual party, they chose the one that could be a bit of a hassle for everyone else. It would not make any sense since the association is fairly small and most of you knew what each other would look like. Nonetheless, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. 

Well, you were, too.

You felt utterly stunning, donning an off-shoulder burgundy red dress that hugged your curves just right, gloriously exposing your figure despite the chill air hitting against your neck and the exposed part of your legs courtesy of the slits on the side of your clothing, combined with accessories that you could only wear once in a while.

You felt great.

Not until you see a very familiar figure amongst the crowd.

There is no denying it. That tall figure, those broad shoulders, the annoying smirk seemingly permanently etched across his lips, and those red, dark, and fiery eyes.

Sylus.

Your mood instantly becomes sour, and more importantly, you feel your hands get clammy, beads of sweat forming on your forehead as you see him take steps in your direction.

Is he crazy?!

“Fancy seeing you here, doll. Looking gorgeous, aren’t we?” You did not even notice him get closer to you until you felt his hot breath against your ears. His voice purred against your skin, undoubtedly full of yearning. After all, it has been a while since he has last seen you.

“Are you nuts? What are you even doing here?” Ignoring his compliment, you gritted your teeth as you seethed with annoyance. 

You knew he was always thick-skinned, but risking his identity being discovered and your occupation is a different kind of stupid. 

“Can’t the owner of their business visit their place from time to time?” He slyly replied. 

Your eyes immediately widen, “you own this place?” but all you get as a reply is an annoyed tut as he sips on his wine glass. Sighing at his response, or lack thereof, you rolled your eyes out of annoyance. It should not be a surprise, a man of his caliber would no doubt own any possible business or land there is.

“Whatever, you certainly can’t attend here without any invitation, especially when you’re not even a part of the association-'' your sentence was cut short when you felt Sylus’ hand wrap around your waist.

You feel your breath hitch, though your dress was an unfortunate barrier between your skin and his palm, you feel electricity dance against your spine.

“For the record, I am invited. Your gracious captain wanted to thank the owner for giving them a huge discount and gave the invitation through the manager.” Sylus fixes his posture, standing proud as another smug smile spreads across his lips.

As you were about to retort, you heard Xavier call for your name. Panic reaches your system and you hurriedly take Sylus’ hand away from you. Scowling, you look at him one last time before leaving, but not without a warning, “better behave and pretend you do not know me,” you say as you turn your back on him, walking towards Xavier’s direction.

“Who was that?” Sylus hears Xavier ask you once you reach him. Despite the mask covering half of your face, your body speaks volumes. You are nervous, afraid that people might find out that you are sensuously involved with the one person your association is after. 

“That was nothing,” he hears you lie. A lame answer if he says so himself but it was enough for Xavier to not ask any more questions. 

You could make a better excuse than that, doll, he thinks. 

Throughout the whole event, Sylus finds himself observing you. Every interaction you had, every sip of champagne, and every laugh that you managed to let out, he sees it all.

However, one thing that bothers him the most is how close you and Xavier were the whole time. Sylus is not a jealous man himself, he is confident in everything he does and how he expresses himself to you.

But the way he can see Xavier’s hands linger against your back, the look in his eyes, he knows what all that was about.

He knows about it because he himself has done it. 

Sylus lets out an annoyed tut, his eyebrows furrowing tightly, barely concealing the fact that he is beyond displeased and irritated. He is a rational man by all means, especially when it comes to you, but when someone tries to get ahold of something that is his, a fire ignites within him.

Begrudgingly, Sylus quickly swipes up a champagne glass by a passing waiter. Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, he walks with hurried steps towards your direction, each step becoming even faster as his annoyance catches up on him. 

“I can stop by your unit for tomorrow and bake you egg tarts- what the fuck!” your scream echoes around the area as you hold your now champagne-soaked dress. Looking up, you see Sylus and his shit-eating grin.

Bastard, he’s done this on purpose. What is wrong with him?

Trying to maintain your composure, you breathe in your vexation to avoid any trouble that you already are facing. 

“My apologies, my lady. My hand must’ve slipped, it was my fault for being clumsy.” To the untrained eye, Sylus’ apology might have sounded genuine but you know he is putting on an act. The undertone present in his voice is nothing but evident, the slight upward of the corner of his mouth did not go unnoticed either.

Through gritted teeth, you reply, “It’s no problem at all. Sorry, Xav, but I need to clean up,” you did not wait for his response as you hurriedly went to the nearest comfort room, trying your best not to stomp your feet too much as to hide the anger bubbling up in your chest.

Your body feels sticky and disgusting, with each step, you feel the remnants of the champagne trickling down the exposed part of your thighs and down to the rest of your leg, its slits on the side of your dress making it vulnerable to any spill, thanks to a special someone. 

Once you reach the comfort room, you huff as you push the door, eager to wash off the mess all over your body. But even before you could close it, a large hand stops it.

Sylus and his annoying ass again.

Rolling your eyes, you did your best to force it close, but to no avail, Sylus managed to open the door before you and lock it the moment he barged in.

Not having any will to hold on any longer, you let your anger get the best of you.

“Are you a fucking lunatic? Do you know how dangerous this shit is?!” You scream, all rationality leaving your body as you explode at the man before you. 

“Calm down, sweetheart—”

“You don’t get to tell me to calm down when all you do whenever we meet in public is jeopardize my job!” Your eyes begin to sting as frustration fills up your body, and your hands begin to have a mind of their own, trying to push Sylus away. 

Before he can even try and console you again, your sobs slowly fill up the space and your feeble attempt on pushing him grows more and more weak as you go. You feel your tears fall down your face as you decide to clutch onto his dress shirt.

“You never take me seriously, Sylus, it’s frustrating,” your words become more incoherent as you force yourself to push him away, your efforts have gone in vain as he catches hold of your wrists.

His hold, however, feels light and comforting. Contrary to his demeanor earlier, he seems gentle, treating you as if you were a fragile China doll that is going to break anytime soon if he is not careful enough.

“It wasn’t anything like that, sweetheart.” Sylus’ low and raspy voice vibrates through your entire being, it is tender and calm, yet laced with regrets and guilt as he caresses your arms.

“It was stupid and irrational,” his voice trails off as his body feels the shame for the first time. 

Sylus knew he was acting brash and immature for someone like him who is usually calm, his being wrapped with unshakeable confidence as he walked through the crowd. But when it comes to you, his resolve easily crumbles-

He becomes human. 

A concept that was foreign to him until you entered his dark and mysterious life filled with risks and countless dangers, enemies, and threats.

“What was that about then?” You try and push for an answer, “Please, Sylus, talk to me—”

“I was jealous,” he says. 

Your eyebrows immediately furrow as confusion wraps around your brain.

“You mean Xavier? Baby, he’s just a friend—”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Sylus closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh, “I was the same. I trust you, sweetheart, but seeing another man have his eyes on you like that just…”

“—I just want to be yours, I want you to use me, and only me.” 

You knew this was Sylus’ way of declaring his love to you. But the way he bares his feelings to you, letting himself be vulnerable this way, feels endearing. Though he was nothing but shy about his emotions towards you, seeing him jealous like this made you feel somewhat giddy.

Sniffling through the last of your tears, you cradle his face with gentle hands, “Has anyone told you you’re kind of stupid sometimes?” 

Sylus lets out a sound of disapproval, the corner of his mouth lifting up. “No,” he says as he slouches and snuggles himself deep into your hands, feeling your palms against his skin bringing some kind of solace in him.

“Well, now you do— because you are being stupid.” your pointer and middle finger reach out to his forehead, playfully pushing him away. With his physique, however, he hardly even budged.

“Well, god forbid a man gets jealous sometimes. Right, sweetheart?” 

Disappointment became evident on his face when you removed your hand to put it on your waist, “I didn’t like how you acted. It was dangerous, Sylus, you know this.” 

Despite the firmness and the stern tone on your voice, the worry swirling through your stomach shows through your eyes. 

He looks away, the glint of mischief in his eyes seems to disappear, “I’m sorry, darling, that wasn’t very nice of me, was it?” he sighs as he possessively wraps an arm around your waist as his free hand finds its way on your face. It might be the alcohol’s doing but you sense a bit of playfulness in his voice, but nonetheless, his sincerity is shown.

Sylus’ rough and calloused hands touched your face, dancing across your eyelids, cheeks, and eventually, the bottom of your lips. Devotion is apparent to the windows of his soul when he sees your disappointment gradually dissipate, replaced with love and longing for not seeing him for so long.

How long has it been since you last saw him anyway?

And then, it all clicked.

Bombarded by constant tasks sent and given by the association left you busy for the past few weeks and made you have barely enough time for yourself, let alone for your lover. The realization made you sick to your stomach, your heart, wrenching at the thought of neglecting Sylus for that long, albeit accidentally. 

You remember all the times he had reached out, only for you to reply with a rejection caused by your hectic schedule, and not being able to attend his invitation to dates or galas due to exhaustion. You feel your stomach drop as you realize that you have been brushing off his attempts to spend some time with you.

However, you commend his patience and understanding towards you. Knowing how demanding your job is as a hunter, he knows where and when to put distance and understands why you haven’t been spending your time with him.

It made you feel like a terrible partner.

“Sylus, did you miss me?” You quip, but you know well that it was laced with sincerity enough for Sylus to notice the honesty of your question. 

His eyes widened, caught off guard by you. Suddenly, the corners of his lips quivered as he let out a quiet snicker, “You could say that, yeah.” His eyes dilated as you felt his arms hold onto your waist tighter. 

“I missed you… so much,” you felt his hot breath leaning in, his lips slowly brushing against yours, the little restraint that he has in his desires for you disappearing into thin air.

Your breath hitched as the distance between the two of you grew closer, “wanna show me how much?” you challenged him.

Not even a second passed and his lips met yours. You could taste the remnants of his favorite red wine on his lips, tasting sweeter than usual. Feeling his tongue moving languidly against your lower lip, you open your mouth for him. Sylus’ grip tightens around you, the feeling of you against him makes him dizzy, all thoughts out of the window as he ravishes you like it was the last time.

Dazed and hypnotized by the feeling against his lips, it barely fazed you when you felt him lifting you up by your thighs and wrapping them around his waist. You feel his tent growing against your core as your wanton moans occupy the room. “Sylus, more, please— ngh, hah, n-need you so bad,” you beg, wanting him to claim you sooner.

“Patience, sweetie, I’ll give you what you want, yeah? Won’t you be a good girl for me?” His breathy plea manages to reach your ear as you feel your senses dulling, every fiber of your being wanting to be occupied by him. 

Your protests are caught in your throat when you feel the cold marble of the bathroom sink against the back of your thighs. Sylus’ hands busied themselves by grabbing your thighs, pulling them close to him, desperate for some kind of friction against his growing cock as his needy mouth explores yours. Moans, dangerously growing loud as he slowly devours you.

His lips then find their way to your neck and chest, leaving marks that will undoubtedly bloom dark once the morning comes. His hands come precariously lower to your thighs, opening the slits that cover little of it?/them?, deliciously displayed in plain sight.

Sylus feels himself drool in his mouth, eyes blown wide when he sees a pleasant surprise before him. 

A pretty little pair of black laced stockings that stops on your upper thigh, fat spilling against the tight garter that hugs around them, and if he goes further, he can see the peek of the black laced panties that he gifted to you as a set. 

He feels himself grow hotter by the thought of you wearing his pretty gift in secret, hidden beneath your red dress just for him to see and consume with every fiber of his soul. 

You feel both of his hands slide your dress wide open, your thighs on full display as he traces every detail of your lacy surprise. 

His lips meet your upper thigh as he tastes the remainder of the wasted champagne that was thrown (by him) on your dress earlier.

A happy accident if he says so himself.

“Never thought champagne would taste better against your skin, sweetie,” Sylus says as he laps on your exposed skin, slowly pulling on your stockings, the feeling of his tongue sliding against your thigh bringing shivers down your spine. The view beneath you is sinful, but if heaven even was real, you would like to think this was a blessing given to you on a silver platter.

Sylus, the big bad Onychinus leader is on his knees before you. It surely is a sight to see.

Once both of your stockings and heels are thrown elsewhere in the room, Sylus holds up your feet and starts putting back the Louboutins that he gifted you on your anniversary.

Confused and panting and with a mind clouded with lust, you question him, “Why are you putting them back?” He can clearly hear the whining of your voice, eagerly waiting for him to take you whole. But he holds back, he knows how frustrating it is to be waiting for this long. He knows that feeling too well, especially for the past few weeks.

So, who is he to deprive his lover of their needs?

He kisses your ankles once he puts your heels back on, “just thought you would look better in them,” he does not wait for your reply as you immediately felt the cold air hitting in between your thighs he pushes your dress wide open, making your clothed pussy put on full display before him.

Sylus feels himself drool once again, the vision before him absolutely makes him want to ravish you. Your panties ruined by the wetness pooling in between your thighs makes his mind go crazy, the tiny and intricate details of every lace ignored because he knows what's underneath them is what makes it even better.

And it’s who wears them that makes them enticing.

He feels himself gravitating towards you and you feel his breath against your core. Your thigh instinctively pushes close but Sylus’ large hands stop them before you do. His eyebrows raised, “you wouldn't want to deprive your lover of such a gift, would you, sweetie?” 

You shake your head vigorously, mind hazy with thoughts of him, as if to eagerly tell him, “Do whatever you want, I’m yours.”

He kisses your cunt before pulling your panties to the side, you feel him closer against you as he whispers, “This is my way of apologizing,” his lips touch your slit before lapping on your labia, the tip of his tongue brushing against your clit, the sensation shooting electricity through your body.

Fuck, it has been a while.

Like a man starved, deprived of any food for days, Sylus’ mouth works its wonders, burrowing his tongue in your depths as he flicks your clit. He ravishes you like you were his last meal, like it was his last day on earth.

His ears were red, he could feel his pants tightening even more every second that he busied himself in between your thighs. The sinful sounds of him slurping the wetness of your core along with your breathy moans ringing through the bathroom walls. 

It was all perfect until he realized that you were holding back your moans, being careful as to who might hear the sin that was going on behind the closed doors. With a last gentle kiss to your cunt, he looks up at you, eyes fogged with lust, lips glistening as clear liquid drips from his chin.

“Why’d you stop?” you whine at the empty feeling underneath you, impatiently urging Sylus to continue. You’d wince at how desperate you sound right now but you know he’s just the same.

“I want to hear you loud and clear, darling, can you do that for me?” Shame starts to fill you immediately, but thinking further, you feel yourself wanting the thrill of getting caught, the thought of people seeing you and your lover vulnerable whilst he gives you the pleasure you absolutely deserve. 

You nod as you feel your voice caught in your throat, “y-yes.”

“Atta girl,” he praises before ravaging your pussy once again, nipping at your clit as he immediately finds it, your nerves sparking with pleasure as he slithers his tongue underneath you, “always such a good girl just for me, aren’t you?”

His voice, muffled by the pleasure that you’re getting, but you nod anyway in a desperate attempt to answer him. You feel your senses getting foggy as you feel his hands roaming on your thighs as his mouth plays with your wetness, tongue skillfully sucking on your clit, making you see stars upon the dark sky.

Your breathy moans along with the ungodly sounds that Sylus makes under you harmonizing along the room, making a music only the both of you can find pleasure in. You then feel yourself bite back a groan as you feel the length of his finger entering your cunt, the delicious stretch it already gives you makes you wetter.

Heat rises on your face, the embarrassment of making such sounds coming from you almost covers up the gratification he gives you at the moment, “all of this just for me, kitten? I must show you my gratitude for giving me this generously,” Sylus hums against your pussy, the vibration reaching to your core making you let out a loud cry of desire. 

“That’s it, let me hear you out loud, sweetie,” he says as he gets back into eating you out. 

You feel him add another finger, and then another, preparing you for what’s about to come. 

You don’t have it in you to hold back anymore, shame be damned, you let yourself go and release every sound of pleasure that you felt every second his tongue gilded against your folds, together with his fingers thrusting inside you. 

“Sylus, hngh…close, p-please, hah,” you pant, every syllable comes out with a struggle, battling against the moans that come out of your mouth. 

“Hmmm…Can you hold it out for a lil’ while f’me, sweetheart?” your heart almost dropped when his honeyed voice asked for such a favor, but for him, you would.

You at least owe it to him.

“O-okay,” combined with your frantic nods, Sylus understood your consent.

You whine when you feel your cunt suddenly devoid of his digits, the empty feeling makes you sigh in frustration. 

“Was that a complaint I’m hearing?” you can hear the smile against his lips, one would think it would be out of teasing but both of you know he’s delighted that you want him as much as he wants you the moment.

Your labored breaths make it hard for you to bite back, a pathetic whimper escapes on your lips instead.

He tuts, “good things come to those who wait, angel, be patient,” Sylus coaxes you to relax as he stands up and starts to unbuckle his belt.

As he’s about to remove his trousers that seemingly have a wet patch around the crotch, he feels your hands against his.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” his breathy voice fans against your forehead, curious as to what you are up to.

You look up to meet his eyes, his orbs swimming in desire as he awaits for your response.

“I want to make you feel good, too,” the words came out of your mouth almost like a plea.

He has been making you feel good for a while now, you wanted to bring back the favor to him, make him feel the pleasure he gave you moments ago. Sylus has been very patient and very understanding, he was you beck and call, always around the corner to help you to whatever concerns you have. Surely, he deserves this little treat before the real thing, doesn’t he?

“I appreciate the thought, darling, really, but…” Sylus closes the space between you and you feel his hot breath beside your ear. 

“If I don’t get to take you right now, I’m gonna go crazy, hah—” he did not even get to finish his sentence completely as you feel him grinding the tent on his pants against your thighs, hopelessly trying to feel the little friction he craves.

“At least let me feel you first, please?” You make sure to elongate the last word, bringing your charm to the table, something Sylus could not deny even if he tried.

“Ngh— fine, you’re lucky you’re very adorable,” suppressing his desires and trying to give himself a little bit of patience, he rests his head on your shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest ragged as he waits for you.

You ran through your hands delicately against his trousers, gliding along the evident dick print as his cock aches to be let out. “Well, for someone who preaches patience, aren’t you excited?” you tease, feeling his dick twitch against your touch the moment he hears your sultry voice. 

A husky laugh escapes from his throat, “only you have that privilege.”

“Oh, do I?”

Before Sylus could even reply, he feels your hand squeeze his hard on, making him lose his balance and hold onto the bathroom tiles behind you. “Fuck, baby, be careful,” he can hardly retain his breathy moans as he feels your fingers dance against his leaking tip, staining his trousers even more.

“Fuck, all of this just for me?” You parrot his statement earlier, indulging and taking advantage of the smidgen of control he has given you.

Sylus lets out a groan and almost loses himself in the process, mind dizzy with the effect you had on him just by touching his clothed dick. “Shit, sweetheart, easy there, hah— I need you,” he nuzzles his head on your nape, feeling him place longing kisses along your neck and shoulders. 

Taking advantage of the distance, you bit on his ears and put a firm squeeze on his dick. 

“That’s it,” Sylus lost all control, devouring your lips against his all over again, each bite soothed with a lick, his tongue exploring the wet cavern of your mouth as his moans got muffled against yours. 

He feels your hands on his belt, taking it off as he hears the clinking of the metal thud against the tiled floor, falling together with his trousers. His boxers seemingly fell more victim in his precum by the second. With a beat, you take the last and the only clothing acting as a barrier between the both of you.

You hear Sylus hiss when he feels the cold air hitting his cock that has sprung against his abdomen. His tip glistened, evident of his arousal. 

Sylus breaks the kiss, a bridge of saliva forming between your “missed you so much.”

Letting out a playful scoff, you look at his hard on and back to him, “yeah, I can tell.”

Placing a chaste kiss on your lips, he looks into your eyes with concern, “you sure you can take me alreadyr? It’s been a while after all.”

Oh sweet, considerate Sylus, always putting your needs before his. 

“Yes, I am, Sylus, enough talking and just fuck me already.” You say with a light humor in your voice.

“Always a demanding and greedy kitten, huh? Fuck— always had the right to anyway,” placing a kiss on your cheek, Sylus lets himself go and lines his cock against your entrance, slapping his tip against your clit before finally entering you.

His cock stretched you out deliciously, the dull ache mixed with pleasure brings ecstasy to your brain, fogging up any logical thinking. 

“Ngh— Sylus, fuck, ‘s too big,” a whine leaves your lips  as you let yourself adjust to his girth, filling you up.

You realized how much you missed this, him. How he always puts your needs before him, making sure you’re well enough to take him fully.

“I know, baby,” Sylus coos, his hands running through your hair comforting you as he slowly lets his dick in inch by inch. “But you can do it, can you? You’ve taken me so well, haven’t you?” 

Dizzy in lust, you find yourself lost in words as you settle on a nod instead. “That’s my girl, s’good just for me, yeah?” 

His praise does things to you, you feel your stomach flutter with butterflies, “Fuck, baby stop clenching on me or I can’t go all the way,” Sylus struggles as he feels you clench on him, the pressure on his cock making it harder to control himself. “Just relax for me, darling… that’s it, uh huh, good girl.”

Sylus finally succeeds on slipping his cock in with the help of your wetness, ragged breaths leaving both of your lips, “You okay there, sweetheart?”

“Sylus,” your voice stern as you say his name.

“Yeah?”

“Just move and fuck me already,” you spat, eager to feel all of him.

“Hah— such a feisty little kitten,” a smirk formed on the corner of his lips, one you want to smack out of him.

“Fuck of– AH!” your fury has been cut short as you feel Sylus slam his cock into you.

“Hah— ah! Mngh— s-so good…” you feel your eyes go to the back of your head as Sylus thrashes himself into you at a delicious pace, not too fast, not too slow but enough to hit the spot that you’ve been aching to satisfy.

His dick brushes against your cervix delectably, your screams bouncing off the bathroom walls, rationality no longer present in your bones as you feel him go deeper inside of you.

“You feel so great, darling, always been, hah—” groans flow through his lips like music, harmonizing with the sounds that escape yours. 

Your thighs slapping against each other fill out the room, Sylus never misses a beat as he continuously rams himself, “missed you so fucking much, baby,” you feel his hands squeeze your thighs, one that would surely bloom bruises by the next day.

“Been waiting to feel you for days, mngh— you have no idea how much I’ve been holding back,” his hand traveled to clasp onto your neck, lightly squeezing the sides of it. The slight pressure intensing the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Then don’t— take me as you want, Sylus,” the confirmation from your lips is enough for him to go crazy. 

His rhythm hits your thighs, burning in delight as he makes his pace faster but never failing to hit your sweet spots. 

Sylus feels your nails rake against his shoulders. You hear him hiss, the sharp pain combines with his heightened desires to make you feel good.

“Sylus, ‘m so close, ngh— please,” you whine in between your moans, the knot on your core desperately wanting to be unleashed.

“I know, baby, shh, I know, but hold it f’me one more time,” Sylus tries to calm you down, his hands rubbing your thighs as he coaxes you.

Despite your pleas, you oblige anyway. You feel Sylus urge you to move and guide you in front of the mirror above the sink.

You see the fucked out state of your face but Sylus can tell that you’re glowing. The mascara smudged around your eyes, your red lipstick fading and smeared all around your mouth, the tear stains result from the pleasure he’s been giving, despite all of that, Sylus still finds you the prettiest when you’re like this.

“Look at you, darling,” Sylus gives your neck some attention, feeling his teeth lighty dig onto your skin and giving it some gentle lick. “You look good and taste good.”

You feel the zipper of your dress get undone, the top part loosening, “now that’s better,” you swear you hear Sylus purr when he sees your tits slightly bounce as he completely lowers down the top of your dress. You feel his warm and large hands hold onto your right breast, squeezing it ever so lightly.

“My pretty girl,” Sylus sighs against your ears as you feel him resume his previous movements.

Slowly, you see your tits bounce on the mirror as Sylus fucks you with even more fervor, his hands gripping against your waist and the other placed delicately on your next.

Your mouth hangs open as his thighs meet against your ass, the continuous slapping becoming louder with each thrust as he goes. You arch your back as your head tilts up with the intense pleasure, “mngh— more, p-please,” you whimper, eyes rolled back to your head once again as you feel him full inside of you.

You feel Sylus’ hot breath beside you, words incoherent in his mouth as he tends to your needs. His teeth clench as he rams inside of you. 

He’s close.

“Hah— baby, ‘m close please mngh—” you wail as you feel your release coming.

“Fuck! I’m close as well, darling, come with me, yeah?” His words are met with desperate whines and a frantic nod.

He was almost about to let himself go when he heard you.

“Cum inside of me, please, hah—” you plead, desperate to feel him fill you up.

Sylus feels himself getting more heated, delighted to hear you wanting to take his seed.

“What my lady wants, my lady gets,” he says as he slams inside your puffy pussy for the last time, “make sure to take each drop, yeah, sweetheart?”

You feel his cock twitch inside you, pumping you full of his seed. You squeal against as you reach your own high, breaths unsteady as he fucks the remains of his release inside of you, while both of your essence drip on your thighs.

“You take me so well, darling,” he says once he eases with his breathing, placing a sweet kiss on your cheeks. “I love you,” he declares as he snuggles his head on your nape with a sigh of relief as he slips his cock out.

You delicately hold his chin up to your face and give his lips a peck, “I love you, too,” your eyes shine as a smile etched to your lips.

“But next time you miss me, do it in private,” you jest.

Sylus pretends to ponder and shrugs, “not promising anything, though,” you smack his arm as he lets out a boyish laugh, “let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

Sylus helps you clean up, tissues thrown onto the trash as helps you with your dress.

Zipping you up, he hears you yawn, “‘m sleepy,” you say as he sees your eyes drooping, fighting off the drowsiness.

Not missing a beat, Sylus carries you bridal style before opening the bathroom door. “Close your eyes, I’ll wake you up once we’re finally home,” without a protest, you drift into slumber, your head snuggling against his chest as you let out quiet snores.

Sylus looks at you with stars in his eyes, his lips forming into a smile before kissing your forehead and stepping out.

Not even ten steps in, Sylus is met by one of his bodyguards, face red. Obviously aware of the activities the both of you have engaged in a while ago.

“Sir,” his bodyguard bows, “anything you need?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“Keys,” one word is enough for the guard to understand him.

Handing out his car keys, the bodyguard bows as Sylus strides towards the parking lot.

The ride back home was quiet, your snores acting like white noise as he drove back to the base. It was mundane, driving you both home to enjoy yourselves and rest under the roof of his luxurious home, but it was one of the things that he enjoys indulging with you.

His life was nothing but rough: constantly dealing with enemies, and the danger that comes when you live in the N109 zone, but when he met you, when you came back to his life once again, you were that one constant that keeps lighting up his world.

You were the only comfort he knew, building a home in a place full of violence, one he never fathoms having when he’s used to being ferocious, bringing fear along his presence to his enemies’ system and making them crumble to their knees.

You were the only source of solemnity that he knew and he would not dare to imagine you being ripped apart from him. 

Placing you on his king-sized bed and changing you into the pajamas that you left in his place, he placed a longing kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering there as he inhales your scent.

One day, maybe he would be able to proudly boast to the world how happy he is to have you back in his life without repercussions. 

But now is not the time, not when your life is in constant jeopardy, not when he’s technically a fugitive on the run. For now, he’s content in indulging you in the privacy of your shared home (or sometimes in public).

Sylus would make the world a safe place for you first, come hell or high water, he would ruin each obstacle that comes to your relationship and finally, finally, he could be as loud as he wants.

He’s never letting you go again.

—

dividers from @/cafekitsune

[jellicatty]

♯1 ┆ ❝ SUMMER BUMMER ❞ 𝜗𝜚 ᵎᵎ

With your teases and flirty remarks, the two men find themselves guessing the color of your panties— another game they played besides golfing.

╰┈➤ contains : nanami x beverage cart attendant! female reader x higuruma. nana and higu golfing. masturbation. grinding. mutual pinning. innuendos. nana and higu are perverts here. jealous! higuruma. reader is a tease. reader wear skirts.

╰┈➤ note : EEEE FINALLY I POSTED THIS it only took me like a months... anywayy, sex scenes aren't really my forte plus this is like the first time i wrote one sooo don't expect too much (?).

╰┈➤ next : groupie love (coming soon) ...

Defendants would put all the blame on him, the court's verdict is seemingly destined to oppose his favor. Or, that's what Higuruma thought. Another failed case, another living being failed by the country's unjust system, another alleged victim thrown into jail.

Higuruma though, knew that these circumstances would happen. His dream have lasted for centuries, formed by his compassion to deliver the accused to light. But little by little, his principles have formed cracks.

Although his workaholic nature is unfaltering, worsened by the multitude of paperworks, Higuruma does crave for rest. But, his work-life balance contradicts his need for relaxation. Until, the opportunity had arrived and he's now trudging to a bar.

To passerby, it was your typical, vintage bar that old and worn-out folks like him would visit. However, Higuruma saw it as a sanctuary for his deep troubles. From drinking with his colleagues or just simply letting his usually work-occupied mind slip away, his favorite bar had seen it all.

"One— No, three of these, please." His ever polite tone still there even as the hours of long work shouldered him down.

The atmosphere rivaled the comfort of his home, and it's probably why Higuruma had an liking for it.

"You're being carried away by your thoughts, Mr. Higuruma." The bartender was quick to notice his blank expression, placing his ordered drinks in an attempt to distract his mind from work.

But, the bartender knew Higuruma too well. Despite connecting only through brief conversations, and a short time together, the bartender had a sense of what Higuruma's state of mind is at the end of the day.

"If you want to take off your mind away from work, then I suggest doing something else for a change." Well, this hasn't been the first time the advice was given to the attorney. He's had his fair share of therapeutic tips from concerned people. None were able to fully convince him though.

"I don't... I'm too busy."

"You wallow in self-pity, yet do nothing to save yourself from it. I've met other people like you, people who find comfort in what makes them distraught." Instead of his duties, the bartender was now focused on Higuruma. "It doesn't end good for them. I'm sure you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. It's not that easy to let go of something that you've dedicated your whole life too."

"I'm sure nothing will be lost if you do let go for a fraction of a second."

"You're not going to give this up, huh?" Higuruma sighed, "Well, I'd like to keep a valuable customer." They both chuckled at the Bartender's wishes. After some thought and a drink or two, Higuruma was set on the decision to make some small changes in his life for once.

The problem is, what would be the change?

Gym was out of the question since he frequently did so. Hiking's too taxing and he can't leave his duties for a long time. Sports were a possibility, as long as it didn't physically exert him that much. Golfing, maybe? He thought.

"One of the gents at the bar earlier has been to the newly opened golfing course here."

Ah, golfing it is.

"I think that young fellow over there needs a getaway from their life, too." His focus turned to the younger, blond man sitting three stools away. A few bottles have been emptied, yet it was evident that he could go for a few more. Nothing outstanding from the man aside from his leopard-pattern tie. Just your typical, fatigue worker.

"Looks like you're also preoccupied with your mind, Sir Nanami. I take it as a bad day?"

"No need to say more."

Although Higuruma knew it was not the best to disturb the tired man, he thought that perhaps talking to him would make their mundane nights better. Maybe, to comfort him with the words he wished to hear.

"Sorry for intruding your conversation, but are you new here?"

"Nope. Been here for some time now. Just been a bit busy with some... grueling reports again." He winced at the mention of his work.

"Reports?"

"I'm a salaryman." Higuruma now turned his full attention on Nanami, filling his curiosity. He hands out a calling card, "Here, just in case." And for a brief second, Higuruma almost laughs at his own 'joke' that he always did with his new acquaintances. Fortunately for him, Nanami's humor was not yet stripped away by his boring profession and softly smiled at his friendly remark.

It's a simple change like this is what Nanami wanted. Nothing extraordinary, nothing too small to notice too. The two men shared their experiences, silently bonding over the heavy troubles they carried from day to night. And if they were being honest, this was one of those moments where they surely won't forget. It's like moments like this was there only escape from the tiring duties they must do.

Alas, the deepest night has caught up to them. The lulling blue tones that played throughout their visit no longer graced their ears. The only noise present was their chatter and the kind bartender's huffing and puffing of cigarette.

"You know, despite your gruff look, you're an approachable guy. A fun one too if you squinted."

"Oh, gruff? You should check a mirror, Higuruma."

The two men chuckled at their jokes, slowly packing up their own belongings before cleaning their surroundings. After they finished, they walked together outside.

The blistering cold of the night quickly breezed past the two men. A shiver and a small breath of fresh air later, they nodded at each other and departed from the bar with heavy steps.

The night was still young, and Higuruma's desperate for a change. Fortunately, Nanami Kento had arrived. Albeit small, Nanami still had made a difference to Higuruma's perpetual enervating days.

He doesn't want their interactions to remain just at the bar, though. Perhaps, he should suggest on golfing together to help the blond too.

The summertime heat was merciless. As one could anticipate for this time of year. In the intense heat, Higuruma and Nanami were helpless. Their experienced selves took turns swinging their golf clubs, finding entertainment in their calculated swings and triumphant shots. Empty cups scattered on their table, their belongings left unattended. 

Golf seemed like a good start—and maybe their greatest choice by far. It was not only a nice diversion, but it also provided them with the ideal reason to spend time with their favorite entertainment—you, the beverage cart girl. 

Weeks have passed, and life has been more tolerable. The first golf meets with Nanami were riddled with a comfortable silence, as if the two men had known each other for a while. The only bond they had was formed on their sleepless nights and persistent work, yet conversations flowed effortlessly. With their unfading politeness and formal talking that stayed even during their golf meets. They both assumed that the other was righteous, and a man of good qualities. Damn were they wrong.

Refined. Upright. Gentlemanly. Those words that used to describe the two men were long discarded. Since your arrival, the two men had been nothing but good, their true colors spilling from the shells of who they used to be. Higuruma could still vividly recall the moment where their true selves slipped. Their gazes were fixed only on you that day, overfilled with joy once you asked for their orders in that sweet voice you had. And right after you left them with their hard rock problems to themselves, they turned to each other as if their eyes alone could communicate. A word did not need to be shared. They knew that you were going to be a problem.

"What do you think's the color of her panties this time, Nanami?" Higuruma positioned his hips in a more appropriate manner, then swung his club. 

"That cheeky woman loves pink," Nanami replied. 

Aside from golf, they engaged in another game — guessing the color of your panties. As suggested by Higuruma when he caught a glimpse of it a few days ago, this was now the two men's favorite pastime. To them, it seemed only fair since you'd purposely bend over to shamelessly give them a view of your lace-trimmed panties that matched your outfits.

"I highly doubt it will be pink again—" 

Out of nowhere, the faint noise of tires screeching slowly approached the two men. Puzzled, they looked at each other first, before turning around. Their eyes confusedly searched for the noise, before their gazes landed on the approaching golf cart— or rather, you. 

It was as if you were the oasis in the Sahara desert, quenching the men's thirst with your exposed skin and alluring smile. With your pastel yellow pleats that went inches above your knee, your tight-fit Lululemon jacket that hugged your delectable figure, and your glamoured face, you joyfully steered the cart towards them. 

Your beautiful smile greeted them, "Sir Kento! Sir Hiromi! I've brought you your drinks again!"  

Higuruma's typically vacant eyes had their spark back to them, the usual boring look it wore instantly disappearing. Meanwhile, the hard lines of Nanami’s face eased, his stoic demeanor softening in your presence.

You hopped off your seat and prepared their ordered drinks, blind to their improper gazes that seek your undergarment. 

Luck was merciful, and the world was on their side today when a breeze had swept your skirt upwards in a cartoonish fashion. 

"Oh!" Your cheeks flushed scarlet at the embarrassing incident, yet your hands take their time to pull down your skirt. 

Their eyes are quicker than your hands, ill-intent gazes finding your undergarment in a flash. Light pink and polka dotted, adorned with a small bow at the front. The kind of panties that he envisioned every night. Nanami snickered, proving himself to be right once again.

"Pay up," Higuruma grumbled, cursing the man under his breath. Their actions no longer define the men they used to be. Their gentlemanliness and polished attitudes dissipate into the air at the sight of you. 

"Thanks, angel. You know how to make our day better, huh?" Nanami returned your smile and took the drinks from your hand. 

Higuruma is not oblivious enough to overlook Nanami's full interest in you. He's sure that a deprived man like him would ogle at your frame. He applauded the blond's self-control because, God, mini skirts were the death of him. 

"That would beeee... 12 dollars!" 

"12 only?" Higuruma pulled out his wallet and handed more than the said amount, "Here, keep the change, sweetie." However, your hands clumsily dropped the money. 

Your breasts from the tight-fit jacket were threatening to spill out as you bent down to grab the fallen change. Although involuntarily, the two men were able to shortly glance at it and oh, my— what a sight. Two mounds pressed tightly together, sweat sensually gliding on your skin, the natural red flush adding more allure. 

Their throats ran dry, needing a refreshment as they were taken aback by the promiscuous view of your tits. There's no way that wasn't intentional, they thought.  

Although you often pulled those stunts, your shyness still lingered— a thing that they grew fondness for. You excused your blunder, timidly covering your face as you walked back to your cart. 

"Aw, you going so soon?" You knew Higuruma would call for you. After all, he enjoyed your presence and often was the one chatting with you. From his smirk though, you should have known he had something in store for today. 

"Come, let Mr. Kento here teach you some golf lessons." Higuruma's true goal of making you break in broad daylight is hidden under his hoax suggestion. Nanami, with his sharp senses, saw Higuruma's real intention, irritated at being his guinea pig for entertainment. 

Despite his annoyance, he gratifies the other man's idea. Now, he has an inexcusable reason to close the proximity between you. 

You asked the man in your honeyed voice "Would it be okay, Sir Kento?", so sweet it's almost sickly. His ears are focused on your saccharine voice, contradicting his jumbled thoughts that insisted he was sick of hearing it, fearing how much power your words have over him. His mind wonders; Would you have that same, sugary and sweet voice? Would your moans echo like candy, alluring and irresistible?

Nanami's attention was quickly drawn to you, looking up at him, his bulging biceps pressed against your tits. Your big, doll-like eyes are desperate to be taught. Nanami wonders again if you'd have the same look when he'll be ruining you.

"Pleaaseee! My shift will be finished soon!" Your pout was his last straw, a victim to your begging once again. Sighing, Nanami agreed to your requests. 

"Yay! Thank you, Sir Kento!" 

"Calm down, sweets. Mr. Kento here is going to malfunction if you keep on clinging to him like that." Higuruma snickered at Nanami's flustered face. "Oh, I apologize, Sir Kento!" You sheepishly backed away and regretted your actions. 

The truth is, it wasn't just the two men that had their perverse fantasies. You too suffered their charm. Whether it be downing the alcohol they ordered, or simply breathing, it always had been a distraction for you. Their Ralph Lauren polos hugged their bodies in a nice fit, outlining their flexed muscles that shone deliciously under their sweat and the sun's rays. Thick, defined thighs, straining their pants. Even when playing normally, their wealth and professionalism exuded, something that you found very appealing. 

"Bend with your hips, Y/n. Not your waist." Would it be wrong to say that you found his strict demeanor attractive? Would it also be wrong to think of the many things Nanami would order you to do in bed? 

"Aaand— Did I do it right?!" Nanami's advice went through and exited your ear. Your swings misaligned and your ball never reached the goal. 

"Gosh, you're a lost cause, angel. This is how it's done." Without warning, Nanami walked to your back. His proximity was sinful as his crotch settled at your ass, the sudden closeness eliciting a small, shocked gasp from you. 

"Like..." He's also affected by the warmth and comfort your ass gave, hot breath fanning over your neck. He extended his arm and put them over yours, guiding your own so you can swing in a correct manner. "This."

But, aiming for the goal was the least of your worries. Not when Nanami's cock is noticeably hardening against your ass. 

"There, you did it!" 

A mix of disbelief and amusement flickered on Higuruma's face. Regret washed over him as Nanami took his suggestion to another level, scolding himself for underestimating the blond's courage and will to tease you right in front of him. With no escape, he's now forced to watch the consequences of his actions unfold. Yet, despite the pure jealousy clouding his mind, he does admit that the scene was enticing. 

His thoughts are improper and vulgar, your flushed expression fueling him more. His train of thought is unavoidable though. Whenever Nanami teased you in broad daylight, publicly, and in front of him, his thoughts will surely be anything but pure.

"S-Sir Hiromi—!" Your voice cried, not for help but for his attention. A whore like you loved the attention. You loved Higuruma's disgusted scowl as he watched the two of you get handsy. You loved Higuruma's body, which reacted opposed to his shown expressions— his bulge visible while his face grimaced. 

But, his thoughts got the best of him, and you only wanted to share your achievement. 

"Did you s-see my shot? It was perfect!" You finally let out a breath when Nanami pulled away, not without a small, teasing comment whispered at you. 

Let him watch. 

Oh, you will. 

Another time, though, because Higuruma's jealousy was painfully cutting through the air. His patience was wearily thin, and it's all because you cannot stop grinding on Nanami's bulge. 

Determined to outdo the blond's ministrations, and also ease his jealousy, Higuruma chimes in., "You mind for a dinner together? Could tell that you need a break just from your eyes alone, sweets." 

The sudden attention left you light-headed, shocked with their unspoken rivalry. You had power and influence over them, and you know just how to use it. But for now, your mind could only focus on the fact that you were going to dinner with your client. You’ve overstepped so many rules and most probably going to be in trouble, but a night with a man like Higuruma Hiromi was something you won’t deny.

Nanami sees your excitement. Feeling the sprouted competition happening between him and his friend, he quickly interjects, "I still don't have your number either. What is it, angel?"

Higuruma's betting on all of his suits (which are all expensive, by the way) that Nanami's going to fuck his fist to your pictures tonight. And he wasn't wrong. Because, as soon as Nanami arrived home, his first thought was to check your socials (surprisingly, not his paperwork). He was initially confused since you had an innocent facade online. Shared religious quotes, pictures with family, not a single photo where your boobs are out for everyone to see. He's even doubting if he followed the correct account. The only confirmation he had that it was yours was the new story you had posted. 

It was you, right after your shift, posing in front of the mirror with a smile. Your caption about thanking the Lord for another day made him laugh. He's confident that you're praising Nanami for his ministrations earlier instead. 

Nanami also wholeheartedly believes you're thanking him too for pressing his hard cock on your ass. He's flattered, and fucking horny, still bothered by the stunt he pulled earlier. 

His erection is painful, and Nanami realizes how he could take care of it. Although feeling a bit perverse at the act he's about to do, he shoves his second thoughts away, eager to cum at a picture of you. 

His lengthy dick is in his hand, gliding against his tip, then sliding up and down. His pre cum coated the top, oozing continuously as he stared at your picture on screen.

"Fuuuck..." He groaned, eyes closed, panting at the pleasure he was feeling. He indulges in his fantasies, letting his imagination run wild. He thinks of you inside his bedroom, wearing nothing but your light pink underwear, with polka dots all over and decorated with laces and ribbons. The same panties that he caught a glimpse of that he's so weak for. He's curious about what you'd be like, but he knew your salacious nature, and figured that you'll be the same slut you are. 

God, if only you were here.

If you were here, it wouldn't be him toying with himself. It would be you, bouncing up and down, drool dripping from your mouth, as his cock fucks your pussy silly. You'd have that dumb look on your face, mind clouded in a lust-frenzy haze as you desperately begged for more. 

"Mhm! Sir Kento!" He knows you'd call out to him, your voice ever-so-sweet, whining and weeping at the fervent feeling of him filling you up. 

"Gonna cum inside you." is what he'd say if you were here. And you being you, you're fain of his request, straddling his hips as if it was made to be there. You wouldn't pull away. Instead, you'd remain on his dick as splurges of cum shoot out of it. 

"T-thank you, Sir" You'd thank him for drowning your sex with his cum. Nanami would only get hard again at your sweetness that managed to stay in the bedroom, and he'd flip you over and pound himself into you. 

His empty promises to himself would be fulfilled one day. But for now, his hand will do. 

"S-shit" His voice is shaky, body trembling at his intense high. His palm is dirtied by his cum that he hoped was inside of you instead.

Tonight, it will be his hand. Next week, it will be your mouth. He's certain of that— No, he swears it will be your small mouth wrapped on his cock. Perhaps, with Higuruma fucking you silly too.

tags : @packsvlog @honeynanamin @rrssrios @misscigarettes @shokosbunny @shamelessdonutkryptonite @i1uvc4ke @dongh9e @freakadelik @tomurafrlover23 @sad-darksoul @glader13 @that-redheadd @beantokki @a-hidden-gem @joonsanswers @erenspersonalsexdoll @s-1-xx @shxniq @ilovetengen @zianaz-slvtz @jwnzlvr @wifenanami @20kglex @oromaangel @jejejjekskwl @s4m4nth4wrld @jaeminsmilk @alpha-mommy69 @lobsteeer @blackphoenix0718 @wrldldo @nappingmoon @cindyneko-strider @yumiecheesecrackers @rattats-world

© jellicatty | no plagiarising please (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[katszumi]

part one but can be read as a standalone!

today’s the day— the six year reunion for all the graduated u.a students. the day bakugou was internally dreading.

he didn’t want to attend, but because of shitty hair, he basically had no other choice. he thought it was stupid, annoying even considering the fact he still works with some of his old classmates.

plus, bakugou was never the type to attend gatherings. he hated the loud noise, busy moving bodies, and the useless small talk people had just to be respectful. none of it was apart of bakugou’s persona, not even his pr managers could change that.

but, he also knows the slight possibility of you being there. he knows someone extended the invite to you, back then every single classmate loved you.

since the night he rudely brushed you off, you haven’t been in contact with him once. his messages still delivered green, and you unable to show on any of his social media. for him, you only existed as a fragment of his memory other than the times you appear on television or the news.

you seemed to be thriving in america. the first year you went, he remembers seeing an article online on how you quickly climbed the ranks in america, the americans instantly adoring everything about you. despite your hero name and quirk, fans began to relate you to a siren, claiming how you were too captivating and powerful to be true. soon, citizens also began to recognize you as the star-spangled siren.

no doubt, bakugou thought it was hilarious. it was something so incredibly stupid. but it was also a reminder that you accomplished your dream. you were a great hero. all of your fears from six years ago were disregarded, and you proved to yourself that you built yourself up by yourself with no support system.

he always knew you were the strongest within the class. maybe that’s why he always felt so weak in front of you. he didn’t stand a chance against you, especially when he finds your figure standing by the bar.

you were messing with your drink, engaging in conversation with mina and ochako. those were the girls always attached at your hip back then.

at first he questions himself whether to squeeze himself in the conversation, or to leave you be. he figured that if you wanted to talk to him then you would’ve reached out years ago.

but before he could act on anything, your gaze meets his. it feels like time on every clock comes to a halt.

he takes in your new differences from the last time he saw you. you grew an inch or two taller, which he found hilarious since you used to pray to be taller. you’re a little more tan; bakugou remembering somewhere in a textbook that the states received more hours of sunlight than japan. you’ve matured more in your face; you were always the girl he found cute. but now, your gazing eyes were more fierce, your pouting lips that he often found himself sneaking glances at were parted, and your newly developed body; your arms were more toned, your body a tad more curvaceous.

enamored wasn’t even the right word to describe bakugou. an understatement even.

it’s all too strange how he felt a pulsation in his chest, his heart hammering from the small moment of eye-contact. he believed that he got over you, coming to terms that there’d never be a chance that you’d talk to him with dancing eyes and a grin on your face like before. but, oh boy, was he wrong.

guilt immersed him. he was angry with himself for treating you like you didn’t matter. everything you said that day, you were right. he didn’t tell you anything related to his emotions, he was avoiding you for weeks, and he was a dick for simply letting you go. he knew all of this, even years ago he realized. bakugou wasn’t the type to go back on his word nor apologize.

but in order for you to talk to him with even a fake smile on your face, he would have to do just that. though, it was you— he wouldn’t mind getting down on both knees, begging for you to forgive him if he had to.

pathetic, bakugou would say, who in their right mind would do something like that? but he would. because six years later, bakugou was still pathetically in love with you.

mina noticed your shift in eye, so she peered over her shoulder, searching the area for what grabbed your attention. it was quick the way she noticed it was him that snatched your breath. her eyes widened for a small moment before turning her head once again.

mina was probably talking shit about him, that was no surprise. even though he and mina got together well, you and mina were attached at the hip; she valued you more than him. he easily read mina’s body language, you must’ve told mina the situation long ago from the way she placed her palm on your arm and rubbed it gently.

unfortunately, he didn’t care if you or mina would be frustrated with his audacity. if anything, everything he was going to do from this point on was because he cared so much about you. so fuckin’ much he’d drain the ocean dry to prove his love to you.

bakugou had only fallen in love twice. once with you and once with a mirror. one, a destructive on-going path without a clear result. one, someone so far-fetched yet still warm and beautiful. someone that eventually in time becomes part of the oxygen he needs to breathe.

the mirror was the first-choice. becoming the number one hero was his only objective, no matter the opportunity cost, he was going to do anything to reach his goal. halfway through, he realized he chose wrong.

there was no point in reaching the goal without you. you were his hands and feet, so why did he expect himself to be okay with the situation he caused?

bakugou hated defeat, he already knows that. but he’d be damned if he allowed you to slip through his fingers once more.

and just like that, his legs are moving towards you and mina. his mind consisted of nothing; he had no words ready for you, no apology prepared. he just sees you and, like always, he needs to be in your vicinity.

as he marches towards you, he realizes that it’s always been like this, him chasing you to his hearts desire. at the beginning, it was a light jog nothing that would cause him to break a sweat. soon it turned into a full-blown sprint, the gap between you and him seeming to increase every day.

before he could muster anything to say, he makes it to you. he keeps his distance from you so you don’t run away, but enough that he can see the pores on your face.

you ogle at him, your face twisted a bit. mostly likely from the surprise of him trudging towards you as if nothing happened. mina rolled her eyes at him as she folded her arms.

“bakugou, don’t be one of those.” mina started.

“one of what?!”

she scoffed. “one of those obsessive guys when they realized they’ve lost a gem because they were stupid as fuck.” mina him a ‘that’s you’ look. “don’t come crawling back now.”

bakugou opened his mouth to object mina, prepared to go off on her. just a week ago, she was chatting it up with him, kirishima, and denki, no animosity found in any of her statements. but since you were here, she supposed she had to play the part as the protective best-friend.

but before he could say anything, you beat him to it.

“it’s fine, mina.”

your voice was still the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. so gentle and euphonious. he wanted to thank the heavens on the earth for allowing him this opportunity again even when he’s a shitty guy. he didn’t deserve you, he knew that, but he couldn’t bypass the overwhelming feeling of yearning you.

he shifted in his position, clearly shocked that you didn’t seem to hate the fact he was standing within your vicinity.

mina also shocked, raised a brow at her best-friend. “you sure babes?” you nodded in response. the pink colored woman leaned into her ear, whispering god-knows what, before walking away with ochako to leave you and him alone.

you faced bakugou fully now, your eyes taking in the subtle distinctions he’s made over the years. bakugou always was one of the strongest in the class, but even now, he developed into a rigorous man. you can tell he’s shaved recently, the small hairs on his chin slowly starting to form. his eyes are more relaxed, seeming more generous.

alike him, you too kept post on bakugou in japan. you’d frequently find yourself searching him on the internet to wonder how he’s doing. just like he told you and everyone else at u.a, he was now the number one hero of japan. he proved to all his doubters that he could do it.

you were proud of him, internally rooting him on from 6,303 miles away. however, externally, you masked a look of resentment for him.

he broke your heart when he pushed you away. you didn’t understand why it was so difficult for him to come clean about things, especially when it came to you.

you had enough of it.

or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself, hoping for your heart to believe it as your mind did.

“hi,” you said. he could tell you were nervous from the way your hand slightly trembled. “long time no see.”

bakugou anxiously chuckled, “yeah.” he instinctively ran his fingers through his hair as he swallowed nothing. “look, i’m not even going to waste any time with this. y/n, i am so fuckin’ sorry.” his tone softened, coming from the deepest part of him. you can’t recall a time where his voice ever sounded so tender like this.

“kat—” you started, but he didn’t let you finish.

“no, i mean it. i am sorry for being a coward. i was a fool for treating you like you didn’t matter to me when that wasn’t the case, it was never the case. you were too good for me and that scared me. i’m rough on the outside, i couldn’t imagine savoring someone so mellow. i’m a pathetic asshole, a bitch, a cunt.”

you reached forward to place your hand on his wrist. “don’t say such things about yourself, katsuki. you are not any of those things.”

“don’t be good with me. i don’t deserve to be treated this way. give me the punishment i deserve for causing you anguish.” he begged. unknowingly, his hands slipped into yours. you could feel his sweat accumulate, his shaky hands.

all of this just for you to forgive him. how could you ever despise him when he’s an emotional wreck in the palm of your hands?

“it’s okay, katsuki. i’ve come to forget about it years ago. you’re one of the best things to happen to me during my adolescence. we were young and we both said things we didn’t mean back then.” bakugou looks at you with a pout. “i forgive you.”

you pull bakugou into a hug, wrapping your arms around him. you almost had forgotten how much bigger his figure was compared to yours until he bear-hugs you.

“how long are you staying until you leave for america?” he asks.

“i was going to wait till the end of the night to share this, but i was never one to hold secrets from you.” you released bakugou from the hug, a smile tugging your lips. “i’m coming back to japan.”

“what? but america… why?” he scrambled for words.

you lightly shrugged, “not my kind of place. i also really missed my home.”

“fuckin’ hell,” his words trailed off. bakugou couldn’t imagine the happiness that was coming from him right now. in his mind, he thanked kirishima for dragging him here. “i’m so relieved.”

you laughed, one that bakugou could tell wasn’t fake. he couldn’t help but to smile. he was finally talking to you, the woman he loved, after six long years. he was unsure if he could survive another minute of you ignoring him.

“so, back then, did you?”

“did i what?”

“back then, did you like me? did i really mean something to you?”

bakugou tried to remember if you were ever this dense? what a stupid fuckin’ question, bakugou thinks.

“you were the first person ever to tell me to have desires and to not hold back.” he explains. “did i like you? y/n, i loved you. every part of you, i loved. hell, i still do.” it seemed easier for him to confess, maybe it was from the adrenaline he was feeling in this moment.

but he didn’t care, if anything he was glad. you needed to hear it just as much he needed to admit it to himself.

“then, let’s start over, katsuki. let’s ditch this place, i know you’re not a big fan of parties anyway.”

bakugou knows all too well, he loves it how you remember the smallest parts of him. he loves your consideration and emotional warmth that you’re always quick to offer. even though, the gates were open for you to leave, you stayed.

he knew that his love for you would last a lifetime and would always welcome you with sweet grace and a humble gratitude.

all he can do is nod in response, hoping to suppress his racing heartbeat.

bakugou takes your hand to lead you to the exit of the party. “my job here is done anyway.”

@b134ch-m4h-ey3z @bsallergy

[matchpointfaist]

never wanted love, just a fancy car 🪩

art x pr relationship pt ii

tw for drinking, drug use, smut, toxicccc relationship, public sex!

you didn’t see art for two weeks after that bullshit cut and run act he pulled. he didn’t even have the nerve to text you, opting to ignore you completely, like the whole thing never happened. your manager added you to a shared calendar, filled in with both of your matches, and any mutual social events you’d be expected to attend. just your luck, your time away from him had run out! your first real public appearance, some charity gala organized by the zweig’s, and art didn’t even have the decency to tell you himself. you told yourself it didn’t matter- you’d been getting really good at that- that this whole thing wasn’t real, that you didn’t even mind how he’d treated you, that you didn’t think about that night every time you slipped beneath your silk sheets, imagining his hands on your body. as long as the two of you could keep it together for the contract, none of it would matter. you’d always been a great actress anyway, so what could really go wrong?

a car picked you up at seven, and when you opened up the back door, art was just inside, sprawled out like he owned it. “morning,” he nodded at you, grinning, and you could practically see the alcohol in his system. “it’s 7 o clock,” you rolled your eyes, buckling your seatbelt, as far from him as you could manage, “you smell like vodka,” “that’s my cologne,” he laughed, “don’t be so stuck up, i’m sure you’ve had a few too,” you hadn’t, truly, not trusting yourself to be around him alone while drunk, but you didn’t tell him that. you just sighed, resting your head on the window as the driver pulled out of your neighborhood, straight towards your torture for the evening. “brought you something,” art said after a few minutes passed, fumbling with his suit jacket before passing you a shooter of pink lemonade vodka, “your favorite, right?” a smile crossed your lips despite yourself, and you nodded as you took it from him, curious how he’d even discovered that, “yeah, my favorite,” “saw you with it at parties,” he explained, “do a shot with me? little pregame before the shitshow?” “god, you’re awful,” but you were already twisting off the cap, clinking the small glass bottle against his own before downing it. “the first of many,” he grinned, wiping his mouth, and you had to tear your eyes away from the way his thumb ran across his bottom lip, dragging away the beads of liquid. “i’ll drink to that,”

the gala was definitely not the place for art to already be tipsy as he came through the doors, but no one seemed to mind. half of the people in attendance worshipped the ground he walked on, and the other half were too unimportant to say otherwise. he was shockingly charming, certainly in his element, preening around with all the women and talking business with all the men. you were used to seeing him at parties, the way he made rounds and made everyone shine with his light, or even at matches, when he’d show everyone a little bit of what it felt like to win. but this art was knew to you, poised in a way that had come from years of practice, eloquent despite the vodka coursing through his veins. he was sweet, even, taking time to talk with the older women, lending them his arm as they walked from table to table. when the donations were announced, you were truly surprised when art’s name was mentioned, having donated $10,000. you weren’t even sure what the charity was for, and here he was, donating such a hefty amount. he was full of surprises all evening, really, up until the older people started to leave, and patrick zweig started to come around more. then, he faded into the art you knew, the one from frat parties and unforgiving magazine articles.

“come upstairs with me,” his chin was rested on your shoulder, looking ever the doting boyfriend, “pat’s got some blow,” you knew it was a bad idea, going anywhere alone with him was probably ill advised, especially going to get high with him. you let him lead you up the spiral staircase anyway, let him put an arm around your shoulders when you joined a group of his friends in some random bedroom. they passed around the silver tray of white powder, snorting lines between obnoxious jokes, engaging in the sort of homoeroticism you’d only seen among the mark rebellato graduates as they wiped each others faces, all smiles and blown out pupils. art held the tray for you as you did a line, holding back your hair with his other hand, grinning over at you like he was in love when you came back up. someone brought out a bottle of liquor, and eventually you’d all made your way down to the pool, drunk and buzzing, the boys stripping out of their suits and diving into the cool water in just their boxers.

“come swim with me,” art pleaded, eyes glossy and needy, pulling at your dress. you were helpless to resist him, letting him unzip the gown with shaking hands, laughing as he took your hand, jumping into the pool with you following. “you’re so pretty,” he murmured, pulling you over to him, wrapping your legs around his waist under the surface, “look like a fuckin’ supermodel,” “you’re wasted,” you kissed him anyway, crashing your lips into his with a giggle. he waded you both through the water, his lips never leaving yours, all messy kisses and clanking teeth. someone yelled that there was more coke, and then he was pulling away, leaving you frowning as he pushed himself up out of the water. “wait for me,” you pouted, moving to climb out, but he just shook his head, squatting in front of you with the tray. “stay there,” he grinned, licking his thumb before dipping it in the powder, “open your mouth f’me,”

you did as he said, brows furrowed in confusion, but then he was rubbing it on your gums, a hum of satisfaction leaving you both simultaneously. “yeah, you like that shit?” he was glowing, beaming down at you as you wrapped your lips around his finger, sucking it clean, “knew you would,” he was back in the pool in an instant, pulling your lips to his, hungry and greedy. “can fuckin taste it,” he mumbled against you, pulling you back to wrap your legs around him once again, hard against your thigh. his hands wandered furthered, one slipping underneath your bra, the other on your low back. “your friends are still over there,” you panted, pulling back just enough to protest. “you think they give a fuck?” he rolled his eyes, “just relax, yeah? i got you,” your mind briefly slipped back into the night two weeks prior, the way he’d kissed you so sweet but left so easily. you pushed it down, losing yourself in his lips again, muffling a surprised sound from your throat as he slid a hand into your underwear, his hand warm in contrast to the water.

“not in here,” you murmured, willing your hips to stop rocking against his hand, “art, wait,” he pulled away with a frustrated sigh, “you don’t want to?” “no, i do, just not in here,” you pulled him towards the edge of the pool, his irritation long forgotten as he pulled you up out of the water, smiling all bright and shiny as you giggled. “i know where we can go,” he told you, wrapping an arm around you as he led you down the path to the pool house, huffing when the door was locked. “don’t care,” you mumbled, pulling him into a kiss, stepping back until your back hit the cool brick wall, “will anyone see us here?” “no,” he shook his head without a second thought, more eager with every second, “i’ll cover you if anyone comes,”

that was all it took. you slipped your hand into his drenched boxers, wrapping your fingers around his length, pumping slowly as he moaned into your mouth. he pressed you harder against the wall, one hand pushing your underwear to the side, his fingers finding your clit immediately. your legs buckled, but he’d put his thigh between them, grinning against your lips as he held you up. “you gonna be quiet for me?” he asked, trailing his lips over your jaw, “or do you want them to hear, hm?” “i’ll be quiet,” you were breathless with want, pushing his boxers down enough to access him fully, trembling hands tightening around his cock, “just fuck me,” “so bossy,” he mumbled, rutting into your hand, “you sure you want it?” “art,” you nearly whined, brows pinched in irritation, “just fuck me, please,”

he lined himself up, holding your leg around his waist with one hand, kissing you hard enough to keep you silent as he slid into you in one motion, the familiar stretch warming you all over. if he was needy last time, there wasn’t even a good word for this, all rough thrusts and bruising grip, fucking you hard enough to leave you breathless. he pulled you other leg up, holding you against the wall, hips snapping into yours. “oh, fuck,” he moaned into your mouth, biting at your bottom lip, “close, baby,” the nickname, unimportant as it was, went straight to your core, a quiet moan leaving your throat as he shifted his hold on you, hitting just the right spot. “oh,” you nearly gasped, clenching around him, “right there, art, please-“ you came undone with a moan, trying to muffle it as you buried your head in the crook of his neck. “fuck, yes, oh my god,” he babbled, pulling out of you at the last second, your thighs slick with his cum, “fuck, i’m so sorry, didn’t bring anything to clean you off,”

“it’s fine,” you waved a dismissive hand, still catching your breath as he helped you stand upright again, his hand nestled on your low back. “cmon, i’ll wipe you off with my shirt,” he pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head, leading you on shaky legs back towards the pool, grabbing his dress shirt from the chair and wiping you down gently. “atta boy, art!” one of his friends-you couldn’t keep track anymore- yelled, grinning wide and proud. “fuck off,” art just shook his head, grinning, quickly pulling his discarded jacket over your body. you yawned, letting him attempt to dress you, too exhausted to bother. “cmon, we’ll stay here tonight,” he said softly, helping you up, walking you to the back door. it didn’t budge, and a frustrated sigh left him, “jesus christ, it’s locked,” you laughed despite his irritation, the entire night too outlandish to take seriously, “pat, your fuckin parents locked the door,” he called over his shoulder to his friends lounging poolside, still passing around a bottle. “yeah, we’re sleeping out here,” he replied, like it was so obvious, “there’s a free chair, don’t be shy,”

after a brief hesitation, you were both settled on a lounge chair, art still in his boxers and you in your underwear and his oversized suit jacket. he sprawled out, pulling you to his chest, his arm covering you, “you sure you don’t wanna call a car?” he mumbled, breath warm against your cheek. “no, ‘s fine. we’ve slept weirded places,” you smiled sleepily, “wake me in the morning? i’ve got a match at 11,” “jesus,” he laughed, breathless, “yeah, i’ll wake you. night,” “mm, night art,” you pressed a kiss to his chest, already half asleep.

you woke to lawn sprinklers dusting water over you the next morning, yawning as you sat up, stretching. “art, hey,” you shook his shoulder, “get up, it’s morning,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes, “what time is it?” “i don’t even know where my phone is,” you rubbed at your forehead, the hangover in full force, “i need to go, can you call a car?” “yeah, i’ll take care of it,” he nodded, letting his head fall back against the chair as he dialed a number, wincing at the voice on the other line. he helped you back into your dress, finding your phone next to it, and waited by the door for the car too arrive. you were both quiet, the night a haze of memories between you as you waited. “i’m going to the other side of town, so i’ll send you first. don’t want you to be late,” he told you as he helped you into the car, hands lingering on your waist, “i’ll see you later, okay? i’ll be there after your match, just need to go home first,” “oh, yeah, okay,” you nodded, “i’ll see you, then,”

he hovered, like he was debating, before kissing you quickly, making sure your seatbelt was secure in the same motion. “see you soon,” he pulled away entirely too fast, closing the door behind himself, waving as the car pulled away. your head ached and swirled with questions- mainly, what were the two of you doing- the entire ride home, last night on replay like a film. you checked your phone halfway through the ride, a sigh leaving you as you saw the first notification. it was a news article, a flash photo of you curled up on arts chest, clearly taken by someone at the party. ‘tennis sweethearts? art donaldson and the golden girl cuddled up at zweig estate. see more’ “oh, fuck me,” you mumbled to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. seconds later, your phone pinged with a text from art. ‘at least you look good sleeping!’

[sxorpiomooon]

D10 ASCENDANT AND WHAT IT MEANS

paid readings

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Aries-

You will never have a home office or working at home sort of thing. You WILL always have to present in order to earn money. This also means that you will also initiate the things, the one who will have to put all the effort to climb up in your life one man army is what I heard. Someone who will take all the risks. You will do all that taking the paths one cannot even imagine taking. Extremely ambitious and having an i am going to make it happen sort of approach. Facing so many challenges yet being able to accomplish things. You'll face the most challenges but will come out strong every single time. There is also a big karma regarding authority, you might have to be treated like a servant at times. You will be forced to follow the same routine everyday to climb up for a long time. You will also have to go through a major transformation with a death in your family. You will want to be in the actual setting to do something or feel the passion energy to do things. You will want to always have a mentor or guru in your life in your career, your problems will be solved with the help of the guru. Your communication will be very rough especially with small talk. You wil excel in works where you just have to do the actual work instead of communicating. You will have to physically get shit done. You will want to be a part of an organisation. This will be the kind of job that will make you run for everything. You will always be surrounded with people and competition having to prove yourself and will have to do some sort of corporate work at least once in your life. You will also always somehow have to impress someone by being at the right place at the right time. You will always want to be put in different kinds of teams just to rule them or just to come out as the one who shines the brightest. Also something that's seen is that these people usually never have the authority being nice to them and they have to work very hard to be picked by them.

Taurus-

You will go after the value of things, you will chase values. Before doing anything you will ask "what is in it for me" "how does it includes my value" etc. You will be inclined towards getting financial support in doing what you are doing, you will not be scared of asking for help. Very charming with your communication, charming and people will always be attracted towards you. Naturally will want to work with alot of people. You will love attending conferences they will help you in rising your status. You will be good at gathering people in one ideal place haha. Your business partnerships will always be 1-1. There will always be transformations in your career, the partnerships will come and go, your relationship with subordinate will always have struggle regarding passion you will always find partners that will not have as much as passion as you, they will be too analytical with you, you guys will not share the same vision on doing things or they won't see the value of things like you do. There will hardly be any collective interest on any topic. You will love speculative work and will have alot of several good support systems in your profession. Women in your career will bring you success. You will always want to have a strict boss because toullexcel under them, they wish for their authority to be firm. Travelling for your career will be very beneficial for you if not for money then for fame, your coworkers will have a strong emotional connection with you and will be very nourishing towards them. Commercial property will be seen and you will always gain from the politics of your office but will have issues with partnerships. There is also karma with marriage as in you might have a hard time balancing marriage and career as in either you'll be focusing too much on career and too little on your marriage or vice versa. When your mentor will pass away, you will stumble upon wealth out of nowhere. Their mentors will be very secretive. You will never share where/who you get your values from.

Gemini-

you will fulfill your karma through media, sports, marketing, writing etc in one way or another. You are naturally multi skilled to achieve your goals, you will do bunch of things to gain success and money. Major karma in dealing with daily routine, they will not want to be repetitive ever. You will like to be left alone and free in doing your work and making your money. You don't like people looking at you while you are working. They hate judgements regarding their work. You will have to take debt in career or marriage. You will love making money for food. You will want to try out expensive food for which you'll want to earn money. It will be your motivation to earn money and be successful. You will find respect only when you communicate as an authority. To be treated as a surperior, communicate and say your opinion. You might also feel restriction about sharing your opinions as in there will be a delimma regarding that. "I want to say something but I fear I'll be judged if I do so after" things like this might make you feel extremely restricted. Your marriage or first child birth will help your career in rising it could be a turning point especially in business the prestige and recognition will increase. You will be good at networking, you'll have a good circle. You will be good especially with men they might help you in your career. Extremely creative even with the smallest work you will finish the work with your own sparkle. You will personify everything also excellent at marketting anything that they're passionate about

Cancer-

You will play the most politics in work, you will know how to keep everyone in control and in your environment you will feel a need to control things sort of like also nourish anyone. You will be extremely selfish in your career, you will look out for yourself before anything or anyone else. You have major karma with your subordinates you will not be able to ignore any issue regarding them and will have to deal with it. You will be forced in situations where you'll be stuck. At one point in your career you will be embarassed at in a large group of people. You will be humiliated at work place. The entire situation will actually not be too big but you will make big for yourself. There will be a big blunder with finances in career or fame in career. You'll be very calculated in your career can be completely different in their workspace and personal life. Even calculative with communication you will want to get advantage of things. There will be alot of support networking circle for you because you'll be extremely hypnotic and charismatic. After you sign your home documents you'll have more leverage in career. You will lack mentors in your life and counselors at work will be very young for you. You will love to start your own projects etc.

Leo-

Only after birth of children career takes off, you will only want the kind of work where you'll be able to have subordinates. You will have alot of pride and will want to distribute tasks and show people working under you that you will also want to take care of them. You will always deal with opposition of large group of people but the authority will always have your back. You will see that they won't like most of your decisions. You have major karma with your offices or place of work. As long as you work you'll never have peace of mind as it'll always be disturbed by work in one way or another. Having a female or feminine boss will help you in excelling in your career, your mentors will always back you when you need them to and you will feel secure due to that. You will at some point be taking professional debt in behalf of your company etc. In business be very careful with this as it might be deritmental to your fame repaying for the loan will be hard. Your subordinates will always be more smarter than you and you will have to get their help. Unless people see that you working, you won't get the same amount of fame or respect. You will always sort of travel very emotionally there will be profit in business travel(if it's your own) once you sign or get your own first house.

Virgo-

You will always have unnecessarily enemies trying to bring you down out of no where in daily life no matter what profession, they will purposely try to stop you from finding some sucess or promotion atleast one or twice in life directly. There will be alot of rumors said about you. Serving will be the most important thing for you, it will be a need want and an obligation to the society. Any career won't work out if you take something from people your health will suffer. You will have to take debts to progress in life. After a girl will be born in household your health, career will improve. You enemies will disappear. You will have to take care of administrative duties frequently as in accounts finances etc. your communication with your boss will be the best especially when they're younger to you. You will also see your older bosses always seeing you as a competition or challenge. You will always have ups and downs with your coworkers and will go through a major transformation when a co worker will pass away but will have the best subordinate. Might have one student or subordinate that will have some sort of injury to limbs. Any female mentor that you have especially one that is in some way connected to foreign will give you million dollar advices.

Libra-

You will feel an imbalance and unfairness in your partnerships whether it's in marriage or a proper business partnership. You will always somehow be dominated by your partner, even in their marriage uou will be dominated by the other person or atleast it'll be seen like that. Even if your partner is a very kind person people will always sort of see it like them having this power over you or being assertive and dominant over you. You will try out business atleast once or twice in your life but it will remain extremely unfair as stated above. Your life will become about other people. Sharing everything, naturally always wanting to mother their working environment. You will also have really moody bosses lmao and will face very awkward situations with them. You will also become selfish, forgeful and dramatic in your communication. You will like to publish and write and will indirectly or directly have to publish something once in your life I heard "land in an opportunity". Your coworkers will become your real mentor and you will find the most wisdom from there. Your real actual bosses will always be like a friend for you lmao. You will always be chatting with them and there will be constant communication. You will have really powerful connections and will always need or require a partner in order to feel balanced. There will also be unbalanced transformation with money and you'll learn to to save alot of money due to that. You will always have subordinate that will be eccentric and hard to understand. You will also attend many confrences with your subordinate and will gain alot of money from them including insights. You will love to work in a home like setting and will have the least amount of enemies in career

Scorpio-

major karma and will go through many ups and downs and transformation before you make it. Will have to go through the lowest of the lowest and highest of the highest, involvement with hidden wealth secret dealings gain and will attain secret information through which you will rise. You will also have to deal with secret contracts in order to grow. You will see that birth of children will be important for fame and to gain authority you must support group of children in some way donate if you can if not money then time. You will always be the most excellent vocalist or speakers since you'll have tremendous wisdom even when you are young due to going through so many transformations. It is not what you are communicating but how you are communicating. Guru is important help to accumulate wealth and success. Sexual relationship will connect you to success and you will be excellent at last minute negotiation and dealings. Take care of the plumbing issues in your career as it'll affect your fame and health. Spouse will have best ideas for you in terms of making money. You will be extremely interested in politics after the age 34 or 40. You will also want to fight for a cause. There can also be addiction issues so take care of that. You will have a great bond with a person who will be from the foreign lands. There will be a sistery or brotherly sort of bond. A job where projects keep changing will be extremely beneficial for you.

Saggitarius -

You have the ability to teach and counsel in your work. You will be extremely strategic in your work and will have to display the ability to perform and teach others during work at the same time. You will sort of be like dictionary of wisdom, sort of like a "coach" to others improve other people work while doing yours. You will value information and knowledge more than anything. It will be your most perseved asset being more valuable than money and will have a very professional way of communication. You will get the message across. Your coworkers will be eccentric and moody extremely scientific too. You will be extremely negotiable with your career to the public. Very liberal indivualised thought process will have very harmonious subordinates. Your business competition will have very childlike communication and enemies will always be amateur than you. Your partners won't have the same level of knowledge as you but your partnership will work out well. You will have a sort of father child dynamic with them. You hide emotions insecurities in your workspace. Your authority will be powerful and will be nitpicking but they'll help you in improving your career. Your mentor will be connected with government in one point of your life and your professional network circle will be good.

Capricorn-

You will give extreme importance to having a title for example phd ceo etc. The title will make you feel as if now you can do something or are something. Extremely workoholic and extremely feminine in your workplace won't be aggresive or rude but very moody. You will love having partnerships this also includes having a pa etc. it will be something you will need, want and cherish. Your emotional stability will depends on that particular partnership you will completely rely on them and will feel like you can't function without them. You will pay them the most to satisfy them. You will also extremely eccentric to confused with your savings as in one moment you'll want to save it and another moment you'll want to spend it on buying some big ass random shit. You will have the most polite communication with people yet people working with you will be the most oblivion to your dreams and communication. They will not understand what you mean and want. You will have a strange bond with your female boss and it'll take alot from you to balance your relationship with them. You will be satisfied hrough your subordinates and when you hire or have people working under you. You will have foreign mentor gives you wisdom and who helps you this person will be nitpicky and detail orientated. They will be enemies with much younger and childish people and will always have words of words with them.

Aquarius-

You will be a part of a large organisation, large group setting and will want to be part of collective to execute work. You will want to attend conference work and will be easily influenced by activitism. You will be very political and will get sucessful through powerful partner yet will never be able to accept that. You will want to be free and make your own decisions and will have a love/hate relationship will that. As in you'll gain with them yet you'll hate to accept that. After the birth of first child especially with women within three weeks you will get a higher status in life. You will be extremely emotional and attached to your work. Your work can drive you mad too and emotional stability will depend on your career. You will hate to get involved with enemies and won't like to deal with it at all your relationship with mentor will always be turbent and will always have ups and downs. You will see that after passing away of some authority there will be a major transformation in career. you will have to service to goverment or boss with the little pay or respect as in it won't be balanced or fair in some way. You will get along with subordinates and will have alot of exchange of ideas with them. Your communication will be straightforward and people will have to actually spend some time with you to get your communication or understand it atleast third. You can be very radical and will think that you are right and everything else is an attack on you. You will have boundaries in doing your work, will find the most unorthodox way of doing work that others will not get. Network circle will always have mature, religious, philosophical people in it. Might have to go to a foreign place to establish themselves or foreign company. You will get wealth and money by listening to a mentor guru but will hate to accept that the guru knows more than them

Pisces-

You will always be on the move, always looking for a change and actively looking for opportunities. You become the protector in your career. Great importance of safety through your careerand will be the one who guides. You will have strong connection with farway bodies as in across oceans. Trouble with communication as you can be the most harshest communicators. Very direct and blunt in your communication as in "what is wrong" "fix this" etc short and direct. You value people being proactive and only respect people who are like this. You will love starting new career or projects. You will have beautiful relationship with your coworkers and will tind great joy through your work. You will also always have subordinate who will take care of you and will be very nourishing towards you might even take care of you when you are sick. You will always have powerful business competition or rivals. There might be issues with govt some sort of debt major transformation in expenses and mentors. You will love having secret work relationships, you will find it exciting. You will always have educated bosses at authority. You will have connection with highly political people. One of them might even become your rival so be careful with that. You will love to attend conferences in foreign land and will have to spend a lot of money on that but usually you guys are blessed by a devi(goddess) to do well financially

Thankyou sm!!!

alot of this is taken from krs channel and other pdfs found on google and a very few of them are my observations since most people around me are not yet working or doing anything regarding their career if you can and want to help me by sharing your or your loved ones d10 chart for me to make my own observations please feel free to do so I'll be very grateful<3

[evermoredeluxe]

Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour Grand Total: A Record $2 Billion

By Ben Sisario

For the last 21 months, Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour has been the biggest thing in music — a phenomenon that has engulfed pop culture, dominated news coverage and boosted local economies around the world.

Now we know exactly how big.

Through its 149th and final show, which took place in Vancouver, British Columbia, on Sunday, Swift’s tour sold a total of $2,077,618,725 in tickets. That’s two billion and change — double the gross ticket sales of any other concert tour in history and an extraordinary new benchmark for a white-hot international concert business.

Those figures were confirmed to The New York Times for the first time by Taylor Swift Touring, the singer’s production company. While the financial details of the Eras Tour have been a subject of constant industry speculation since tickets were first offered more than two years ago — through a presale so in-demand it crashed Ticketmaster’s system — Swift has never authorized disclosure of the tour’s numbers until now.

The official results are not far from the estimates that trade journalists and industry analysts have been crunching for months. But they solidify the enormous scale of Swift’s accomplishment. Just a few months ago, Billboard magazine reported that Coldplay had set an industry record with $1 billion in ticket sales for its 156-date Music of the Spheres World Tour — a figure that is just half of Swift’s total for a similar stretch of shows in stadiums and arenas.

Every date on the Eras Tour was sold out, and spare tickets were scalped at eye-popping prices — or traded within the protective Swiftie fan community, often at face value.

According to Swift’s touring company, a total of 10,168,008 people attended the concerts, which means that, on average, each seat went for about $204. That is well above the industry average of $131 for the top 100 tours around the world in 2023, according to Pollstar, a trade publication.

The biggest single night’s attendance was in Melbourne, Australia, on Feb. 16, 2024, with 96,006. And Swift’s eight nights at Wembley Stadium in London, which she played more than any other venue, drew 753,112 people — about as many as live in Seattle.

As gigantic as they are, the figures revealed by Swift’s company are only part of the overall business that has surrounded the tour. They exclude her extraordinary merchandise sales, for example, a product line so in demand that Swift opened stadium sales booths a day early in some markets to sell T-shirts, hoodies and Christmas ornaments to fans, ticketed or not.

And they do not count the secondary market of online ticket resellers. According to StubHub, the Eras Tour was the biggest-selling tour in the platform’s two-decade history, and last year it outsold Beyoncé’s shows by a factor of five. Another ticketing company, Victory Live, said the average price for resold tickets to the Eras Tour’s three Vancouver dates was $2,952. (Swift earned nothing from resold tickets.)

Beyond its numbers, the Eras Tour has been a mega-event that elevated the already-super-famous Swift to a new level, making her an epochal symbol of cultural saturation on the level of the Beatles in the 1960s or Michael Jackson in his ’80s prime. Swift’s every onstage utterance, outfit swap or offstage sighting was thoroughly documented, on social media and in the mainstream press, with news outlets big and small rushing to capture Swifties’ clicks. Online, fans tracked every tweak to the three-hour-plus set lists.

As the story of Swift’s tour took shape, it seemed to contain its own eras within it. First, in November 2022, came the ticket fiasco, when Ticketmaster was overwhelmed by what it said were 3.5 billion online requests for tickets, many from scalpers’ bots. The furor over those problems led to a Senate Judiciary hearing in January 2023, at which lawmakers from both parties openly called Ticketmaster’s corporate parent, Live Nation, a monopoly. (This year, the Justice Department filed an antitrust suit against Live Nation, calling for a breakup of the company.)

Then came the tour and the folkways that developed around it, like fans trading hand-assembled friendship bracelets. After the tour’s stop in Kansas City, Mo., a public flirtation between Swift and Travis Kelce, the star tight end of the Kansas City Chiefs, developed into a full-on romance, with the pop star and the football hunk sharing a field-level smooch after the Chiefs defeated the San Francisco 49ers at Super Bowl LVIII in February. The photographers definitely did not miss it.

In October 2023, she released “Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour,” a nearly three-hour concert film, released through a direct distribution deal with AMC Entertainment, the world’s largest theater operator. It sold about $93 million in tickets during its opening weekend, and ended up with $261 million in worldwide grosses, according to Box Office Mojo. The next step was a streaming deal with Disney+. A 256-page hardcover tour book, released last month through Target stores, sold 814,000 print copies in its first two days on sale.

As the tour moved to Europe in 2024, it narrowly avoided what could have been a major catastrophe when a terrorist bomb plot was uncovered before three planned shows in Vienna. Those events were canceled and never rescheduled.

Although Swift has largely avoided the news media during the tour, over time she has pulled back the curtain a bit to reveal some of how it came together. To prepare herself for the physical demands of the show, she trained for six months, with a cardio regimen that included singing the entire set list while running on a treadmill, she told Time magazine.

“I knew this tour was harder than anything I’d ever done before by a long shot,” the magazine quoted her as saying. “I finally, for the very first time, physically prepared correctly.”

The music video for “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” from her latest album, “The Tortured Poets Department” — her third release over the course of the tour, including two rerecorded versions of older albums — has behind-the-scenes clips confirming some of the stagecraft mechanics that fans have carefully cataloged on social media, like how she “dives” each night through a “hole” in the stage (onto a soft cushion held by crew members) and how she is ferried backstage in a dummy janitor’s cart.

The tour concludes just as Swift celebrates yet another win: “Tortured Poets” has returned to No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart for a 16th week, with help from vinyl and CD sales of the 35-track “Anthology” edition of the album, which Swift released on Black Friday, also through Target. “Tortured Poets” is by far the biggest-selling album of the year so far.

Swift is up for six awards at the Grammys in February, including album of the year for “Tortured Poets” and both record and song of the year for one of its singles, “Fortnight.”

At a recent tour stop in Toronto, as the tour neared its end, Swift teared up as she delivered valedictory remarks to fans.

“My band, my crew, all my fellow performers,” she said, “we have put so much of our lives into this, and you put so much of your lives into being with us tonight and to giving us that moment that we will never forget.”

[emmiesoverthemoon]

Hey so like i loooove what youve got going on so far!!! So good and soo underrated!!!! i have a little request for you >:)

could you please maybe write something about top??! something sweet and a little spicy hehe! anything is fine! thanks!

thank you so much! and of course i can, enjoy!

☆ feed your impulses

Pairing: t.o.p / choi seunghyun x reader

Word Count: 4,954

Summary: You are invited to your friend’s wedding, but you need a date. After befriending a nice-looking guy in an art museum, you let your impulses win, and that choice may have panned more in your favour than you think.

Tags: strangers to friends to lovers, flirting, tension, fake dating, not famous au, small spice

cross posted on ao3 here

You were not expecting to meet Choi Seunghyun that day. In fact, you had no intention to speak to anyone in the obnoxiously cold art gallery. But then again, impulsivity was a part of you your friends would laugh about while you shrank in your seat in embarrassment.

It was an early spring morning, and you were sat in the living room of your humble apartment, the warm breeze freshening up the place from the dewey air of nightfall, and the windows conveniently angled toward the sunrise so each morning you saw the rising sun pressing comforting kisses on your sleepy face to awaken you from your slumber. While scrolling on your phone, a message from your friend came through: “please please please come to a wedding this saturday, 2pm! bring a date. dont make me beggg! <3” followed by the location of the venue and dress code which all in all was to dress to impress. You liked attending weddings, it was a chance to wear dresses and look beautiful, meet up with your friends, drink, dance, and have a fun time. With life and busy schedules coming as a non-negotiable duo, you and your group’s schedules rarely aligned on days like this. Affirming your attendance in reply to the message, you continued your scrolling activities, picking up your handmade mug to sip on your tea.

It was the date section that caused the sigh to bubble from your lungs to your mouth. You were the only friend that was single currently, and you were absolutely content with that. For some unbeknownst reason, your friends were insistent on you bringing someone to each occasion, and you hated every single man you had invited with you. One was a complete snob, critiquing, scrutinising minute details of everything he could lay his lifeless eyes on. Another, a complete buzzkill, who every time you took a sip of your drink would pout in his seat and complain that women drink too much, how alcohol is a men’s activity, etc. You had no luck finding a person to bring, and that caused no stir in your chest, you did not feel that giving that energy the time of day aligned with your life goals.

You replied to the message affirmatively, a shitty date was a small sacrifice you were willing to make to have a good time. Getting up and brushing the idea off your shuddering shoulders, you decided to head to the art museum that was holding an exhibition for an artist you had forgotten the name of. The glowing sun that was gently caressing your face to natural warmth on your travels to the gallery suddenly dissipated to artificial cool shivers, forcing you to slide on your coat; the air conditioning systems in these vast rooms were always too strong.

You stopped several feet away from a painting that you were not exactly amazed by, but you know you would have felt bad for it if you had ignored it. The moment your eyes drifted from analysing the intricacies of the brush strokes on the old canvas to the man standing beside it, looking at the work alongside you, your heart skipped a step. He was not staring at the painting like you were, not fully. His eyes were just as fixed on details as yours, but his attention was more so focused on you. You had felt it on your skin like a tangible entity, a whisper against the growing goosebumps. You did not mean to stare back so strongly, but his tall frame, sharp jawline, alluring eyes under strong eyebrows, and the way his lips were quirking into a knowing smile—you were instantly magnetised.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He broke the silence, his head gesturing to the painting on the wall, his tousled hair that fell so perfectly despite the messiness flowing with his movement. His voice was as deep and buttery as you had imagined it to be, it held an edge of something dangerous. And you loved it.

You tilted your head in the same direction, pretending to assess the painting, though you were entirely caught in the net of his gaze. “It’s certainly something… interesting,” you replied, an accidental giggle leaving you as you met his eyes.

“You aren’t that into art are you?” He chuckled at your expression, a low sound that reverberated through the air like a challenge. Raising a brow, you huffed amusingly at his sudden presumption of you.

“I like to think I appreciate art in a unique way.” you try to justify, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “I’m just more of a.. people watcher.”

“Oh?” His interest was especially piqued now, his brow raised slightly, “And what do you perceive when you observe these people?”

You shrugged lightly, a hint of flirtation laced in your words, “People often give themselves away, you know. Without meaning to.” The implication lingers in the air before you continue, “Like you, I know you’re not here for this art.”

His expression gave no sign of faltering, instead his smirk grew, now matching yours. “And how would you know that?”

“Because I’m the same,” you start simply, “I’m only here because I thought it would be a way to kill some time.”

His laugh was richer, deeper this time, it echoed amusement through the hall. “Then I suppose it’s my pleasure to do something to make sure your time isn’t wasted.”

Your head subconsciously tilted, letting his declaration settle between you. He was a bold man, that much was clear, but there was something so undeniably captivating and enticing about him, he had a certain energy that made you want to lean your all into the uncertainty of the situation. The conversation shifted, easy and effortless, the both of you weaving in and out of flirtation and playful banter. You found yourself becoming more and more drawn in by the second, much more than a normal amount for you, especially in such a short period of time. It was as if the air was humming with tension, and it was difficult to ignore.

Eventually, a moment arrived where you needed to make a decision. Your memory flashed back to that very morning, the text message you received buzzing in your head acting as a reminder. The wedding. You couldn’t go alone—your friend had not given you the option to—but even if you were not accompanied, you simply know you would not have the energy to deal with the incessant comments originating from well-meaning pity from your peers questioning why you had come alone.

But who could you ask in such short notice? You glanced at the handsome man beside you, the connection formed between you was unmistakable. An idea struck your brain. You had no reason to believe that this would end well, but you also knew that if it did not go as planned, you could step out from that gallery and never hear from this man again. A wicked, impulsive thought crept into your brain, and without a second thought, you whipped out your phone and opened your friend’s contact.

“i found a +1! he is goooorrrgeoussss ;)” sliding your phone smoothly back to its place in your pocket with a casualness that belied the anxious flutter in your chest. “I have a question,” you began, feeling both bold and reckless simultaneously. He hummed in response, inviting you to hand to him any thought you were thinking.

“I have a wedding this Saturday that I need a date for,” you opened with, trying desperately to ensure your tone sounded nonchalant, watching his face closely, spying for a reaction. “You seem like you could be… convincing enough to pull it off. Are you interested in joining me?”

He did not hesitate, not even for a second, as he stepped closer to you, his voice dropping an octave to a low murmur. “I think that sounds like an intriguing proposition. But tell me, what exactly is in it for me?”

Your heart lurched, fighting any blush from creeping to your face as he closed the prior distance between you. You felt a teasing grin form on your face, “A good time,” you whisper, your eyes ever leaving his, returning the depth and strength that he held, “That’s all you really need to know.” Analysing his features, you spot that a very light blush has begun to dot his cheeks, and his eyes holding something deep and desirable that was unrecognisable and so so difficult to tear your focus away from.

“Well I suppose that’s an offer that I would be stupid to refuse. I’ll need a way to contact you then, hm?” He glanced down to your pocket which held your phone, he must have watched you slip it in there earlier. After trading numbers, part ways for the day, letting him know you will text him the important details he needs to know soon. Turning down the street away from the gallery, you suddenly stopped in realisation. You did not even know his name. After all that bold flirting you managed to pull, you did not ask what his name was, and he does not know yours? You were beside yourself.

Oh, wait. His contact information. Obviously.

You sighed, continuing to walk home shamefully, appalled at your own memory. Opening your phone, you see his contact added to the list and his name is there as he put it. Choi Seunghyun <3 was what he listed for himself. The name rolled around in your mouth nicely, making itself at home in your mind. You liked it, a handsome name for a handsome man—if you were going to daydream about this man constantly until you saw him next; you may as well like how his name matches his face.

The next few days rolled over uneventfully, your work was mundane, you were too tired in the evenings to go out after work. The only atypical thing about this week was Choi Seunghyun, you both had been texting back and forth like you had not met just a few days prior, every time you messaged him, you then were checking your phone every couple of minutes to find his answer. You had good luck meeting this guy, and you consistently thanked the lucky stars for blessing you with this, frequently asking that this would extend beyond an impulsive wedding date.

“What are you wearing on Saturday?” His message rolled in after another conversation topic had faded. “I want to match my outfit with yours. As were ‘dating,’ remember ;)”

The boldness of his message made blood rush to your cheeks, faint colour flushing you, he was such a contrast between the other.. characters.. you had brought to events like this. “a cutesy lil pink number. no more hints!!! it will be a grand reveal when u pick me up as my royal chariot ;)” You send your reply, chuckling at the fact that you had blatantly stated that he would be your chauffeur before a chance to discuss transportation had even arisen.

“Haha, well then, I can’t wait. Pink is my favourite colour, so will you become my favourite girl wearing it? I will arrive at your door to collect you by 1pm. See you then princess.” If it were even possible, you were quite a lot more warm and red reading that last message he had sent. His boldness had you stunned, and you loved being called a nickname by him. You imagined him calling you that with his ever so deep and intense voice, and you shifted in your spot on the lounge flusteredly, trying to shift your train of thought in another direction.

Saturday had rolled around and you were eagerly awaiting Seunghyn’s arrival. To be frank, you had not stopped thinking of him. Every second of each day since you both had met was spent swooning over him, even by just a little bit. You found it odd, you were not one to be attracted to someone to this degree so fast. When you’d go on a random online date, or with someone who a friend had recommended you to, there was never any instant connection like you had had with Seunghyun. This time it was jarringly different, the very thought of him was enough to bring you to girly giggles in embarrassment. A knocking on your door caught you mid thought, and you hurriedly rushed to your front door, your pink kitten heels clicking on the wooden floors as you strode.

“Who is it?” You sung out obnoxiously, your mischievous grin widening when you heard the deep laughter you had yearned to listen to all week.

“Your royal chauffeur has arrived for collection, milady.” Seunghyun responded, matching your energy well. “Will you open the door for a humble man like me?”

You grew nervous, what if he did not like how you had looked? Your mind was reeling at the idea, you felt beautiful, and you wanted nothing more than in that second for him to agree with you. Sucking a deep breath to your tightly closed jaw, you swung open the door, and froze, stunned. As it turned out, Seunghyun cleaned up amazingly–not that you had thought any different, the concept being made physical in front of you made you go crazy. He looked impossibly fresh in his suit, everything was tailored to perfection, and how the fabric fell on him, showing off his broad shoulders, made him look absolutely irresistible. He stood at your door as a dangerous cocktail of temptation smiling at you, pulling you in. To top everything off, his tie and pocket square were a light pink, matching the same colour as your dress and shoes. You were surprised that your jaw was not already on the floor in awe.

Seunghyn’s inner dialogue was no different than yours. His expression softened, he was absolutely starstruck seeing you in your doorway. Your pink dress looked absolutely stunning on you, the colour complimented you perfectly, the fabric hugged all the right places, yet also flowed to the floor elegantly, a waterfall of pink cascading down toward your small matching heels. Everything about you hypnotised him, like he was a pirate onboard a ship, and you, a siren, performing your song, luring him to you. And it was working. You looked gorgeous. In that moment, he knew he had made the right choice accepting your wild offer. Mark his words, he thought, by the end of the night, you will be his favourite girl in his favourite colour.

“It cannot be a coincidence how I continue to keep you captivated," Seunghyun's expression turned mischievous and held up his arm for you to hold onto, causing you to snap out of your trance. "Shall we get going? Your carriage awaits you in the parking area.”

“Why thank you, sir,” you begin, eagerly grasping his upper arm, pulling yourself close to him, subtly feeling his biceps, praying to whoever could possibly be watching over you that he wouldn’t end up noticing. You began to walk with him, looking ahead of you down the hall, you couldn’t see Seunghyun’s face, but if you could, you would notice that he had warm pinks tinting his complexion and a light smile on his face—he had definitely noticed you feeling him up but had no qualms about your curiosities.

"And don't be so sure, you haven’t earned any victories yet. I'm surprised I haven't run off,” you teased, earning a genuine laugh in response that caused a light stir in your stomach.

The wedding ceremony went without a hitch, the wedding party was dressed to the nines, the venue was incredible—a field with trees that swayed in the warm spring breeze. The altar was beneath a canopy of delicate wisteria vines, their purple blossoms cascaded down like a waterfall of petals. Ornate wooden chairs, adorned with ivory ribbons, were arranged on a lush lawn. A vintage wooden arch, draped in chiffon fabric, framed the couple as they exchanged vows, its legs wrapped in ivy and surrounded by flickering lanterns suspended in the trees.

Beyond the ceremony site, a rustic wooden pavilion stood, its open sides revealed panoramic views of the meadow, the vibrant forest beyond, and the distant mountains. The space was bathed in soft sunlight, which danced through the tree branches, casting playful shadows on the ground. Inside, long wooden tables were draped with lace tablecloths, adorned with crystal glassware, vintage candle holders, and lush garlands of greenery, roses, and peonies that cascaded across the surface. To say you were in absolute awe of the area was a complete understatement.

As evening fell, the soft glow of the sunset bathed everything in a warm, golden light. Candles flickered and fairy lights twinkled in the trees, casting a magical glow over the entire scene. The atmosphere was serene, yet full of life—romantic, whimsical, and completely enchanting—a true celebration of love in the heart of nature's beauty. After speeches and awkward meetings between you, Seunghyun, and your friends and their families, the crowd was encouraged to drink and have fun, the newlyweds replacing the playlist of soft, background classical music with another playlist, filled with higher energy, more dance-esque songs. 

“Do you care to dance with me, Date? Or are you scared I’ll outdance you,” your eyes held enthusiastic diamonds in them from the lights around you as you turned to Seunghyun. Not waiting for an answer, you quickly rose from your seat and grasped Seunghyun’s arms, pulling him out of his seat.  The alcohol in your system was the step of confidence you needed to become the life of the party—more playful and outgoing, with a flirtatious needy energy that’s hard to ignore. 

Allowing Seunghyun to take the reins in leading you to the dancefloor, it suddenly felt more than that–he was pulling you to a world where the line between what was pretend and what was undeniably reality blurred more and more with each step. His touch was deliberate, and every brush of his fingertips against your skin sent shivers up your spine. The crowd faded around you both, the hum of music, clinking glasses, and conversation becoming background noise to the hard hammering pulse of your heart. Seunghyun knew exactly what he was doing–hands lightly grazing your back to direct you, the heat almost burning through the fabric of your dress, his steady presence guiding you closer to him, anchoring you.

The moment you arrived at your destination, the room grew dim, it was just you and Seunghyun, the distant flicker from the chandelier above, and the subtle heat of his body pressed just a fraction too close for a fake wedding date. You were unsure if it were the alcohol charting its course through you or the undeniable attraction that had been building since the moment you had laid your eyes on him, but you were no longer thinking of the tear-jerking ceremony, the beautifully written vows, or the curated venue decor. Your entirety was focused on him, every inch of him. Your lips parted and your heartbeat rose in your ears; it was no longer light flirtatious teasing–it was a carnal desire, a raw, unadulterated need to feel him closer, to know how it felt to have his lips on yours. Seunghyun’s gaze locked with yours, teasing, provocative, and screaming confidence. His hand that had smoothly slid to your waist held you tighter, closer, the proximity making you lightheaded and dizzy with need. The tension was unbearable.

The evening turned to night, and the energy was winding down, the final notes of music floating through the air. Only a few guests were still lingering, engaged in their own soft conversations, or swaying under the low, romantic lighting. After saying your final goodbyes to the newlyweds, you felt Seunghyun’s hand return home to the small of back, fingertips curling around your waist, guiding you through the pavilion toward the exit.

Stepping outside and walking to his car, Seunghyun slid his sleek jacket off his back and hung over his free arm, leaving him in his white buttoned white shirt and tie. The thin fabric draped over his body in the perfect way, the tightness of it highlighting his shoulders, arms, and back. You thanked the lucky stars being drunk made blood rush to your face, because it made a good excuse as to why you looked so flustered; you definitely liked what you saw. You glanced at his face as he stood beside you, admiring the way the street lamps hit his glowing complexion, casting perfect shadows, further defining his sharp features. At that moment, you knew that it would be impossible for a man to appear any more handsome than Seunghyun was right now. You were absolutely magnetised to him; his mannerisms, every step he took was with grace and pride—it made your heart race like no other. You knew it was not the alcohol in your system making you want—need him in this way, you were completely, irrevocably hooked.

“I have to say,” you teased as Seunghyun opened the passenger car door for you. “I didn’t expect the night to turn out quite like this.”

Seunghyun flashed you that grin again, the one that made your pulse flutter. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, leaning against the car, giving you that slow, smoldering look.

You climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up, unable to hide the smile on your face. “Let’s just say, you’re not exactly what I expected. I thought I was just getting a little fake wedding date, not... all this.” You waved a hand vaguely, trying to mask the fact that you were definitely thinking about all the ways he made you feel things you weren’t quite ready to name.

He slid into the driver’s seat, and the engine purred to life. “You should’ve known better,” he said with a wink. “I told you I’d make sure your time wasn’t wasted.”

The car hummed softly along the road, the quiet hum of the tires matching the soft undercurrent of tension crackling between you two. Still tipsy, you were hazily looking all around you from each window, amused at some inexplicable foolish detail. Then, turning your head, you began to stare at Seunghyun. You scratched your thought earlier about how a man could not get any more handsome under the streetlamp, because in this moment, he was absolutely divine, and you were hungry.  

You were too busy staring at Seunghyun to notice that he had placed his hand behind your headrest, slyly looking behind him out of the rearview window to park the car in reverse in your apartment’s carpark. Your mood dampened, you did not want this night to end here. You thought about inviting him inside your home, wondering if that would be too much so soon. Fuck it, you thought, your impulsiveness had successfully lead you this far; what is the harm in taking it further? Seunghyun opened your door, once again snapping you away from your thoughtful daze. You turned to him as he held his hand out to you to assist your exit. You leaned forward, tilting your head downward slightly so that you were looking up at him through your eyelashes, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“So,” you began, your voice soft and seductive, “Do you want to come up for a drink? I have wine. Or anything else you’d like.”

Seunghyun’s dark eyes sparkled in the light, as if they were a vast night’s sky coated in twinkling stars, uninterrupted by light pollution. “I think wine sounds perfect,” he said with no hesitation. The cool night air brushed against your body, awakening goosebumps which littered across your exposed skin as you walked to the door, you could feel the heat of his gaze on your back. Suddenly, you felt thick, warm fabric drape across your shoulders. Standing in front of you, Seunghyun grips the wide lapels and adjusts the coat over your body to ensure maximum comfort. Electricity sparked across your skin as he not-so subtly ran his hands over your soft skin “while adjusting”. Warmth spread through you, his cologne and natural smell flooding you, sending your mind into a higher level of overdrive than it already was in. You felt the familiar, dangerous pull in your chest again. Hook, line, and sinker–you were absolutely caught by him. You mentally pinched yourself, this was really happening.

Seunghyun smiled at you, “You look cosy in there, are you enjoying yourself?” 

“Hush now, you know you enjoyed yourself too so now get out the way,” You teased, laughing, brushing against him to punch in the code to your building on the faded pin pad.

Inside your apartment, the gentle serenity that juxtaposed the hectic events of the day wrapped around you like a cocoon, your variety of lamps and candles that littered your home creating the perfect romantic aroma. You poured yourself and him a glass of red wine, hands steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. When you handed him his, he took it with a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers brushing against yours just enough to send a thrill down your spine.

Seunhyun raised his glass once you had sat beside him on the sofa, looking at you with that intensity that had you questioning everything you’d ever known about impulse and attraction. “To a night full of surprises,” he said, his voice low and smooth, the slightest hint of devilish deviousness dancing at the edges.

You clinked your glass against his, a quiet laugh escaping you. “I’ll drink to that.”

The wine was smooth, a welcome distraction from the heat building between you, but it didn’t take long before the space between you became impossibly small, the sides of your legs fully touching. Seunghyun’s gaze held yours, not a single word spoken, but the invitation was there, lingering like an unspoken promise.

And then, with that signature confidence of his, he closed the gap. His lips brushed against yours gently, teasingly, just enough to make you inhale sharply. It was the kind of kiss that made your head spin, like the first sip of something intoxicating—you knew you wanted more, and greedily, you knew you’d never get enough. You didn’t pull away. Instead, your fingers found their way to his collar, the fabric of his shirt soft, yet crisp simultaneously beneath your touch. Seunghyun deepened the kiss, moving closer, his hand curling around the back of your neck, gripping your hair at the base to create an oh so pleasurable sensation on your scalp, as he tilted his head just so, deepening the connection. It was like he was claiming you as his very in the most delicious, slow way possible, and you were entirely helpless to resist, you would be stupid not to give in to him.

When you pulled back, breathless and tingling, your heart hammered in your chest. You could see the dark, lustful desire in his eyes, and you knew, just as clearly, that he yearned for you as much as you needed him.

“You’re trouble,” you murmured, barely an inch away from his face, a smile radiating lust spreading across your lips.

Seunghyun grinned, his eyes dark with amusement. He leaned in more, your foreheads now touching. “But you like trouble, don’t you?”

You moved to take another sip of wine, eyes never leaving his, letting the warmth of the alcohol settle in your chest as you leaned to return to your original closeness. “Maybe. But I think I like you even more.”

The kiss that followed was urgent, fierce, and entirely too short, leaving both of you breathless and laughing quietly into each other’s lips. Boldly, you stood up and held a tight grip onto the tip of his pink tie, dragging it behind you, leading him along as you strode to your bedroom. As the night drew on, neither of you made any move to part ways, the electric charge between you more than enough to keep you both in each other’s orbit a little longer.

The more Seunghyun touched you, the more your body responded–flushed, eager, alive with the pull of desire. If there was one thing you knew with absolute certainty, this was no longer about pretending to be a couple for a wedding, this was about the intimacy between the both of you, this was about need. The carnal ache for him–the way his touch made you forget everything except your craving for him. The look of lust in his face was intoxicating, every word of praise that slipped from his gentle lips in his buttery, deep voice put your mind and body into haywire and you never hesitated in drinking all he had to give you up. 

The collision of wants and slow-yet-fast burning, undeniable heat between the two of you caused you to lose a little bit more control of yourself as each second came and went. Your movements were synchronised and sensual, painting a picture of passion that required no words to be understood. Each caress was a brush stroke on a weaved canvas of intimacy, only occasionally broken by rhythms of his and your breaths and sounds, deep and harmonious, or light, and fleeting, dripping of desire that knew no bounds.

When the first light of dawn peeked through the light, flowy curtains of your bedroom, it found you both tangled in the sheets, no longer needing mere words to fill the space between you. It wasn’t just a kiss anymore, or a fleeting night at a wedding. It was something more—a connection that had started with a simple impulsive decision and, somehow, had turned into something unforgettable.

thank you for reading! let me know if,, you liiiike..? ;)

i actually really like how this turned out !

thank u again for that request anon i had so much fun with this!

[cybergroupahm-blog]

Efficient Biometric Time Attendance System in Ahmedabad

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[i2sunric]

I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE (s.jy) — TRAILER

pairing: rich boy!jake x reader (f)

summary: you knew jake was trouble as soon as he walked into the party, and despite that, the moment he proposed a deal to you, you sold your heart as you signed the contract.

warnings: making out, kissing, fake dating, bad relationship with parents, smut (??), fighting, alcohol consumption, mentions of weed and drugs, jake is rich as hell, reader has a nasty personality, (more to be added!)

published: coming soon

taglist: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted (comment to be added!)

Faint music was heard from afar, but the only sound you could concentrate on was the giggle of the guy sitting next to you. His dishevelled state did little to hide the handsomeness of his face.

“You really don’t give a single shit about the world?” Jake asked, shaking his head as if he could not believe you.

You just shrugged “Life’s too short to give a shit.” You took a sip from the can of beer “Besides, I’m still a teen only for..” You counted mentally “Like, two years, why should I care about anything now? Better partying.”

Jake laughed once again, perhaps the alcohol in his system making him feel better about the meeting he had to attend the next day— Shoot, he had completely forgotten about it.

The moonlight shone on your figure, making your skin seem brighter, your hair softer. Jake stared at you like you were a piece of art at a museum, to be worshipped.

His eyes fell on your small dress, a smirk spread on his face “Want to go on a date tomorrow?”

Your browns knitted “Wo, wo, wo.” You said, placing your hand between the two of you, “Aren’t you running a little?”

Jake licked his bottom lip, chuckling “Nothing serious, I just need you to fake being my girlfriend.”

At such statement, your brow raised “Why?” You asked and he stole the can from your hand, taking a sip as well.

You watched as he chugged down the liquid, his Adam apple in plain sight, making you feel a little light headed. He sighed and cleaned his mouth with his sleeve “You’re reckless, a free spirit and you look like you smoke weed in your free time.”

“Well damn, you got me.” You joked, snatching the can from his hands, “You’re everything my parents wouldn’t like.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You laughed and Jake got closer to your ear “Oh darling, you bet it is.”

You gulped, a shiver running through your spine “So, you just need me to meet you again tomorrow and be your fake girlfriend?” Jake nodded, “At least my acting classes won’t go to waste.”

Jake chuckled and nodded, caressing your thigh, his thumb brushing against your sensitive flesh “So… Will you help me anger my parents?”

You had no business accepting a drunken offer from the hot guy you made out with at a frat party, getting involved in his family matters and even fake dating him— But what could you do? You loved challenges.

“Deal.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

[bramstokerbitch]

Vampire! Funeral Home Assistant

Word count: Just under 1.3K

Warnings: Subby vampire, tried to keep reader gn, NSFW, vampire would die for you and you’d kill for him

~~~

A few years back you stepped up and took over the family business- a small funeral home two many miles south of the closest city. You handled small funerals but mainly just kept to yourself in the white tiled room towards the back of the building. Your own little slice of introvert Heaven. The room with the rows of metal shelving and roll out man sized trays. As a child you liked the little square shape of the doors that concealed pale bodies, prepared for their last viewing. There was one very special door that you never opened- the one with the lock on the inside.

Your little assistant would come out of his little hiding place each night when you woke him up for his day’s slumber. He’d grumble as he crawled out.

“You took longer today” “the tray isn’t comfortable” “why can’t I just have a nibble during daylight hours?”

Still, despite his ingratitude, you always fed your little attendant.

“Come here, baby,” you’d coo, patting the edge of the metal slab in the middle of the room.

Today’s feast? A businessman, struck down in his prime…..or at least, struck down in traffic. Caused a whole scene in the financial district. His family wanted him brought to his home town for preparation and burial. He wore a paper covering, not ready yet. He had only arrived a few hours early so the body was still fairly fresh. The suit and tie would have to come after the embalming. You’d propped him up as well as you could, some old cuts still bloody where windshield met bone. They’d be covered later, you never got sloppy with indentations.

Your little assistant was getting impatient today. He was wearing the adorable outfit you’d bought for him. Your perfect little undead doll. Just like a doll, his hair wouldn’t grow if you cut in, so you never dared to give him a trim. Anyway, you liked seeing his red eyes widen when you grabbed his hair on occasion as you rode him.

He stared as you entered the scalpel between the carotid artery and jugular vein. He knew this bit well. It didn’t take a detective to see how pent up he was, his feet shuffling as he neared. In fact you could feel how excited he was as he stepped directly behind you, a bulge below where his belt buckle should be pressing into your ass.

“He’s so young,” your assistant whined, clearly sick of the elderly clientele you often fed him on. “I could drain him faster, you know, than that machine”.

“Wait,” was your reply. You couldn’t let him drain the body naturally, of course. For the embalming to work, the blood had to be taken out of the body at the same time as the embalming fluid and water flooded the system. It was a slow and steady process, even if he couldn’t possibly understand that.

You could feel your assistant humping your ass as you made a small incision in the carotid, and inserted the embalming fluid pump. Ironically, his whines helped you time exactly when to insert the drain tube into the jugular. It had to be done in five seconds, just enough time to hear your vampire assistant whine and breathe in.

“Please boss please,” sharp fangs pressed against your own neck as he begged. Your vampire assistant would never bite you though. Turns out he was one of the rare vampires who wouldn’t dare bite their loved ones. And he’d gotten attached to you awfully fast after he mistakingly ended up on one of your metal slabs. Thankfully his new diet helped him gain some of his weight back so he didn’t look quite so…..dead. Still undead, of course, truly unnatural to look at. But now he could go several rounds without tiring due to the added strength. He cried tears of happiness the night he realised he was able to cum more than once. Apparently he was too weak to even masturbate while on the streets, nevermind get a proper orgasm. And now he had you. How much his life has changed, he’s mused to you hundreds of times. For some reason, he has insane pillow talk for someone who doesn’t need to sleep.

As you continued the embalming process, your hands were busy so he made do, grinding against your ass as the bag attached to the drain pipe filled with blood. It wouldn’t be hot like the blood he used to get on the streets, but now he got fed so much more often…..and had a mortician with a nice ass to fuck on occasion.

“Boss please, I’ll be so good! Just let me have a suckle, I’ll get on my knees after I swear!”

“You’ll fucking wait for it!” You had to call out, slapping his pale hand away when he went to grab the bag.

Hump.Hump.Hump. He was insatiable tonight. Enough was enough.

“Get back,” you hissed, causing your assistant to jump back, looking like a kicked puppy despite his long fangs and gaunt face.

“You’re going to stay still while I tie off this bag, and you’re going to wait for your dinner tonight”

If your vampire assistant could cry, he would’ve. You spent the next hour cleaning the body up, preparing it for burial. Normally your assistant would be given his liquid dinner first, ready to help out when needed. But tonight you were giving him the cold shoulder, so he just sat in the corner beside the sinks, dinnerless and craving so much.

He whined like a puppy, his gaze switching directions based on what impulse was stronger. Sometimes he’d look at the fridge where you’d put the blood bag, other times he’d stare at you, bent over the metal slab, pampering another man. (It didn’t matter that the man was dead, it was the sentiment that grated at him). He’d bent you over that slab numerous times……and now you wouldn’t even let him grope you while he drained a man’s body. Totally unfair.

Eventually you finished up, pushing the now fully embalmed and dressed body back into the shelving unit. You turned to the not yet washed slab. An idea came to mind.

“Honey, you know….I think you’ve learnt your lesson about patience. You wanna clean this up for me?”

It wasn’t the first time your little vampire assistant used his supernatural powers to speed across the room, but it was definitely the most pathetic. He cried into the metal of the slab as his tongue dragged over droplets of blood that had been left behind. His left hand went to his trousers, tugging desperately though the material.

“My love, please,” he whined, his left hand working over the material of the very trousers you’d bought him. His whines got higher in pitch as he elongated his tongue to reach the crevices. His trousers looked extremely tight as blood smeared over his lips, not wasting a single drop. He looks up at you. He needs you to keep eye contact. He hasn’t been able to cum a single time since he arrived unless his red eyes can see your perfectly normal ones.

“Lick it the table clean, then we’ll have fun,” you couldn’t help but smirk as he humped the edge, hard as a rock against the stainless steel. Minutes ago a corpse lay there, and now your assistant was almost cumming in his trousers at the taste of old blood. He truly had learnt to be patient.

Seemed only fair you gave him a blowjob later as he sucked every drop of blood out of the businessman’s blood bag. Maybe tomorrow you’d push two men into traffic. Whatever it took to feed your funny little assistant.

[thedarkmistress16]

Stalker!Yandere!Tony Stark x Fem!Reader- To Steal and Dote On (Internet stalking, Collecting personal information without consent, Using personal information without consent, This billionaire has resources and he's going to use them, Breaking and entering, Theoretical threats of kidnapping and violence, Invading Reader's privacy without consent, Tony has Reader brainrot already)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 |

Chapter 2: Forget You (Not)

——————————————————————————————————

Only, Tony wasn’t able to shake off the thought of you at all. If anything, you took up his primary focus throughout his day.

A part of him did genuinely forget the party last night as he sat in mind-numbing meetings back-to-back, only attending them now due to his irate assistant chewing him out over it. She practically pushed the billionaire out of the kitchen before coffee even greeted his body, yapping his ear off over technicalities and investors he couldn't care less about. Even though Tony was itching to poke at her in this state, to mention his admiration for how her red hair looked like glowing fire spouting from a dragon when she got like this, he got the strong sense that she would quit if he missed another business meeting.

But he was incredibly bored and disinterested, and you kept plaguing his thoughts with more questions that got his brain desperately intrigued. He couldn’t even distract himself with anything else because none of it was as gear-turning as to the mystery of you.

Your confusion, your… disinterest? Never had he encountered someone who wasn’t there for him specifically, or seemed to have no interest in who he was.

And the fact you just… sat there. It was so out of place, like a nagging flaw in a blueprint he couldn't put his finger on.

Why were you there, if you didn’t care about Tony Stark?

Who were you?

That train of thought led to the male instructing his A.I. to scanning your facial profile from the security cameras of his tower right after he was finally free from the drudgery of business— contently settled into his lab with a fresh batch of coffee. Luckily, the feed from last night got a good look at you. It was a better view than the tipsy haze of his memory, he noted. The mostly-clear footage of your face allowed the system to swiftly correlate your likeness to other documented matches— a pool of candidates was completed in the time it took for him to take a long swig that burned his tongue and throat.

What came up was a compiled list of look-alikes that Tony had to manually rifle through in the hopes that one of them would be you and mentally grumbled to himself that you looked like too many people.

Tony grew more irked by the second up until the last result, which was your red carpet picture in front of his building. Tracking the source, he was led to a tabloids website and found that even the photographers had no idea who you were. Your picture was simply sourced as “guests attending a Stark party,” not counting the other woman with you in the image.

He realized that the whole thing was a waste of time. This is why he didn’t do the menial work himself: it was tedious and boring and he had nothing to show for it. Not even a name. You literally didn’t exist on any social media or content platform besides a useless picture just floating there on the internet.

Tony shot up from his chair to pace. He ran his hands through his hair, furiously muttering to himself.

“No social presence? No footprint— no… nothing?”

That’s…really smart, actually.

He hates it. And he hates to admit it, but…

But a small part of him respects you for it, too.

His head whipped back to the monitor glowing before him, patiently idling for a new order. Narrowing his eyes, the man marched back over to the console, furiously typing in a similar command. The process would take longer than he would like, but he was sure he would get his match.

“Who are you, sweetheart?” Tony mused distractedly to the image of your face on one of his monitors, hoping to find a sliver of treasure amidst a sea of coal.

——————————————————————————————————

Entering the lobby of your workplace was as it always is: white tile textured with marbling stains, wood paneling hugging the walls, a white and gray reception desk overlooking the room. Folks came and went from your line of vision, entering and disappearing into elevators and corridors, the leftover sounds of their jabbering following close behind them in the air. Many workers held various brews of caffeine or small breakfast items as they passed by, which had your stomach growling despite already filling it before you left your apartment.

It takes you a more than the typical few minutes to get to your work floor, the elevator being unusually popular for a Monday. You ponder over it to pass the time as you stand there, entertaining the thought of someone important stopping by. When the elevator dings for your stop, you step out and shuffling over to your desk, providing a couple “hellos” and “good mornings” to the associates that greet you along the way. Settling down into your office chair, you boot up your computer as you place and arrange the belongings you fish out from your purse.

You look around the drab space as you wait for the desktop to appear so you can clock in. Your friend and coworker doesn’t seem to be here yet. You contemplate what (Friend name) got up into last night, if that is her reason for running late. Or rather, who she got with. You laugh to yourself as you drag your mouse over to bring up the company time clock, setting a mental reminder to ask her later when she shows up.

You click open the app used for business emails and you sigh softly at the unreads, sucking in a breath and sitting straighter.

Back to work as usual.

——————————————————————————————————

It was quite some time later before (Friend name) bounded into the office with a pep in her step. And despite prodding her with your curiosity, she was determined to only reveal anything at lunchtime, which was a couple hours away. She also wanted to discuss it inside the building today instead of the cafe, which caused you to raise a brow. She waved you off and you had shrugged. You tried to focus back on your work, but the suspense of her answer kept eating at you until then, where you realized you didn’t get much done at all.

Now, you were both seated in one corner of the break room, had your meals and drinks pulled out, and were ready to dig in. Your brain, however, couldn’t help but bring up the topic the moment you uncapped your takeaway salad and raised your plastic fork.

“How’d your night go? Did you have fun?” You question good-naturedly before shoveling some greens into your mouth.

“Yeah,” She sighs, unwrapping a granola bar. “But I didn’t stay the night.”

You pause, utensil and speared salad pieces hovering in mid-air, as you turn your head to look at her properly. She munches on the bar of oats sprinkled with fruit and nuts for a moment, catching stray crumbs at the corners of her lips and licking them off before elaborating. “Something came up and he had to take care of it, so we called it a night.” She pauses, looking at her snack thoughtfully and clearly reminiscing. “He was sorry enough to drop me off, though.”

“Oh,” you breathe, resuming the bite of your food and chewing it on one side of your mouth. “That was nice of him.”

“Yeah, it was.” (Friend name) trails off, releasing a dejected sigh. “So,” her mood shifts as she throws her hair over her shoulders and leans in toward you with vibrant green eyes sparkling of curiosity. “What did you get up to last night? Meet anyone interesting~?” You nervously smile at the sudden attention and shift in the topic, an awkward blush painting your face. You take a sip of your drink and clear your throat to gather your thoughts.

“No one special,” you shrug casually, collecting more lunch on your fork, “just some guy who was full of himself and calling me sweetheart.” There wasn't much to tell concerning the details, anyway.

Her nose wrinkles in distaste, responding with an “ew, gross.” You heartily laugh at her reaction as she shudders. She was never one for pet names like that— it reminds you of one person she dated, who never called her by her name and insisted on nicknames like that. Her features relax back into an easy smile, turning her attention back eating. “Well, I’m glad he didn’t get your number, then.”

As you look down at your lunch, a soft chuckle escapes you as you shake your head in agreement.

“Yeah, definitely not.”

——————————————————————————————————

Finally— finally— he struck gold.

Documented records of the institutions you attended in your life: really just schools and appointments, but it was something. Your yearbook photos helped, too. Only the newest information mattered, however, so he only took note of your most recent forms of contact to date.

It took a lot of outside the box thinking to get there, but that was what Tony Stark did best. He hopes you'll appreciate all the effort he took to go after you when you find yourself in his presence once more, enjoying his company and what his bed has to offer.

But first things first.

He rings up your number, already mouthing what he will say when he hears your voice. He’s more excited than he should be, but can’t find it in himself to care.

It keeps ringing.

He closes his eyes, imagining your expression when you find out it’s him— your lips curving into a smile as you start to say his name—

He gets the voicemail lady instead.

Confused, he sits there for a moment in silence before he tries again.

He’s greeted with a single ring before the same script plays. Did your phone die? Was it powered off? What was happening?

Furrowing his brows, Tony instructs his A.I. to deliver a message.

He compiles something short and flirty, just aiming to get your attention and to reel you in a bit. He sends it off, and almost immediately, the sophisticated, deadpan male voice of J.A.R.V.I.S. informs him that the message wasn't sent.

Okay.

You either blocked his number or your phone is off. Or it just sucks at texting for some reason.

The male purses his lips in thought. He needs to try a different approach, he supposed.

Going back to square one, Tony finds a piece of information that causes a playful smirk to slowly grow upon his face.

Well, he always did like a challenge.

——————————————————————————————————

“Something special just for you, (Name). —Your knight in rose-gold armor❤️💛”

That’s all the italicized note said.

The fancy slip of cardstock that was attached to the package on the floor wrapped in cellophane.

The gift sitting innocently in front of your apartment door when you arrived home from work.

Inspecting it as you bring it inside, the more confused and skeptical you get.

This…

You flipped the box over multiple times in the vain hope of finding a different answer or something new to go off of. It yielded nothing substantial, other than the fact that this was likely delivered to you from some kind of store that gift-wraps their products. Exactly who ordered this in the first place, however, is something you can’t determine. A sender’s address is nonexistent.

If this really was for you, then…

It was completely wrong.

Whoever sent this to you had no idea who you were because the assortment of chocolates had multiple flavors you didn’t care for, and would render the whole box a waste under your possession. There was only one specialty kind that you were willing to try, and even then it was filled with extra tastes that you didn’t really care for in your sweets.

You squinted at the packaging, trying to file through your memories, but you had never heard of this brand in your life.

Thankfully, the box did contain the reliable milk chocolate flavor, as well as darker coco and lighter milk and sugar versions as standalones. So, you figured, it would be a safe bet to sample that one first to see if their base for chocolate recipes were passable.

You hesitantly brought the confection to your lips and let it hover there, now wondering what kind of razor blades or poisonous concoctions were stuffed into this thing. But if someone wanted you dead, why would they make it this elaborate? Wouldn’t there have been some tell of any tampering before you opened it? Feeling ridiculous over your own thoughts, you bite the bullet. Pinching your eyes shut, you threw the piece of chocolate into your mouth.

You bit down, felt a more gooey substance ooze its way onto your tongue, and widened your eyes when the flavor hit you.

You immediately spat the thing out in the garbage can and raced over to your fridge for a palette cleanser. Snatching the first jug you saw, you drank directly from the container and realized too late that it was an acidic juice you picked out.

It paired worse than wine would, surely.

After most of the vile concoction was washed away from your taste buds, you smacked your lips and tried to process the lingering aftertaste.

Glaring at the offending box of chocolates, you took no time in propelling it towards the same bin where it belonged.

Forget figuring out where that came from.

You wouldn’t even give that to your worst enemy.

——————————————————————————————————

“You’ll thank me for this later, hun.” Tony mused to himself as he balanced the handle of a screwdriver in his mouth, putting the finishing touches on the camera in your studio-sized living room. As much as Tony wanted to cover the whole area of the unit itself, he knew not to overdo any more than he really needed to.

The man had no idea if the luxury chocolates he ordered went over well, and was itching to find out sooner rather than later. The very next day on a sunny mid-afternoon with a toolbox in tow, Tony visited your side of the city in his iron suit. He landed on the roof of your apartment, leaving the armor there as he climbed down the fire escape until he reached your level. He found an almost-closed window and had his A.I. scan for any lifeforms inside before he pushed the creaky wooden frame up and crawled through. And then Tony— after making sure you weren’t in another room and about to catch him— happened to glance down into your kitchen trash can. That hurt his feelings of course, but it fueled him to win your favor just the same. He only needed to get a sense of how you lived and what you liked, so he could woo you better when he revealed himself.

He hoped a woman like you enjoyed a mystery, because his work as Iron Man simply didn’t allow him to date you properly as he would’ve preferred— and he was too interested to simply forget about you. Even if he did manage to talk to you, a public relationship would be a no-go; the paparazzi alone would have you running for the hills. So, if you wouldn’t entertain digital communication with him, then virtually keeping tabs on you as your secret genius, billionaire, philanthropist, superhero admirer would have to do.

That was all.

Not because you were so elusive that it was driving him up the wall and he needed some reassurance grounding him that— yes, you did exist— and weren’t evading him on purpose or forgot him entirely.

No— he assured himself as he adjusted the device above him, not at all.

Besides, he got into your apartment too easily. The area you lived in was unruly, at best. And you needed protection. You could be snatched up out of thin air with no one the wiser as to your dissappearance. This way, even if he isn’t physically there for you or watching it happen back in his tower, he can at least use the footage from the cameras to gather the clues necessary to track you. Flying in as Iron Man, he’ll make the perpetrator sorry he even existed— break every bone of his that so much as touched you, and be your hero. And your relationship will blossom from there. Tony was doing you both a service by installing his tech in your apartment, if anything.

But what you didn’t know won’t hurt you.

While he was a genius, and was confident that his level of intelligence surpassed yours, he had no clue how perceptive you actually were. Installing too many surveillance cameras in your home would pose a risk to the subtlety of the operation he was trying to maintain, despite his desire to map every corner of your unit. Besides, more evidence of his work meant a higher probability of being discovered. Which meant a bigger chance for the devices to be knocked out of place and exposed to you later down the line. Even accidentally, Tony couldn’t have that.

Wiping his calloused hands on his jeans, the male assessed his additions to your apartment, triple-checking their installations and positioning. After making small adjustments here and there and test driving the feeds with his Stark phone, he was all set.

Tony’s troubleshooting finished with the last camera in your bedroom— and as he looked up, his eyes flitted over towards the ajar door leading out of the area he was standing in. Leaning forward with a squint to his eyes to peek through the crack yielded a wider expanse of the drab and cracked white tile, a mirror protruding from the wall, and various products cluttering the countertop of a sink directly under the hanging glass.

He sucked in a breath before spinning on his heel and marching right the fuck out of your bedroom.

No— he thought to himself. He would not be doing that.

It was one line he refused to cross.

——————————————————————————————————

[manicpixietboy]

How to survive in the apocalypse, non exhaustive list-

Improve the lives of ourselves+

Others+

Combat a fascist police state

Many scattered sources, just my thoughts;

Share/spread info (posts, articles, zines, paste-ups, posters, stickers, etc). Run across fascist posters/sticker? Safely take it down or cover it up with something.

Utilize community gardens, food banks, forage/find out what local edible plants are around/educate yourself on foraging, grow your own food if you can, cook meals/share food, etc.

Turn to diy hrt if needed/wanted; share resources.

Pick from trash/dumpster/the curb, thrift, be "thrifty."

Attend protests (no phone + n95 mask).

Get involved in local level politics.

Get in the way of ICE agents; report their presence. Be willing to get arrested.

Reduce, reuse and recycle. Try to lower your waste if possible. Compost. Upcylce. Reuse plastic, glass. Make your own clothes. Etc.

Rest/use your spoons wisely.

Read, educate yourself and others. Buy used books. Shared PDFs. Make and share zines. Do you have a local "give a book, get a book" sitch?

Pick up litter.

Learn how to make stencils, how to graffiti.

Do home repairs yourself if possible. Learn how to diy as much as you can (opting out of capitalism as much as possible); but also know when to turn to your community. We are social creatures, too. All we have is each other.

Pirate as much as possible. Support physical media. Support local businesses. Cancel subscriptions. 

Look into guerilla gardening; seed bombing.

Be kind- give directions, check on ppl, smile at ppl, help ppl, hold the door, ask if they're ok.

Intervene when needed- learn healthy bystander intervention

Fallingfruit.com

https://fallingfruit.com

Volunteer- library, animal shelter, humane society, soup kitchen, etc.

Help our neighbors if they need + when we can.

Walk + use public transport as much as you can.

Go to the library- books, movies, CDs, computers, printers, WAY MORE!

Support local artists/music shows.

Be as unmarketable as possible- buy less online + decoy emails + delete permissions from apps + privacy settings, etc.

Use cash, good for small businesses.

Give what we can- time? Money? Skills? Space? Stuff? What will make the most impact?

Talk about your wage.

Think about where your money goes/how it flows/whose hands it goes into.

Create art. Do it at work if you can get away with it.

Put yr body outside.

Learn good conflict resolution + interpersonal skills where you can!!

When you feel scared about resources, list which ones you have and which ones you need and move accordingly.

Listen to others.

Teach a skill for free.

Boycott.

Civil disobedience! (;

Make systems obsolete by opting out as much as you can.

Nap

Cry

Scream

Feel + express your emotions

Make space for joy, too 

Hug

Breathe

If you don't have hope, have spite.

This is a list that I'm keeping and adding to, in an effort to remind myself I am not powerless, I have many actions I can take. We must live.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Hi!! Evil Queens WandaNat have me in a chokehold. Can you do some nsfw head cannons for them? 🤭💕

Evil Queens!Wandanat x fem!maid HC

SFW

-Wanda is the more affectionate of the two, often showering you with gentle touches, sweet kisses, and soft words of praise. She takes pleasure in making you feel cherished and adored, ensuring you know your worth to her.

-Natasha, on the other hand, is more demanding. She expects perfection in all tasks and uses her dominance to remind you of your place. Her touches are firm, her kisses possessive, and she enjoys seeing you submit to her authority.

-Both queens are fiercely protective of you. They don't tolerate anyone else trying to take advantage of your skills or your affections. Any perceived threat to their hold on you is swiftly dealt with, often in ways that leave no room for misunderstandings.

-Wanda loves to braid your hair or brush it gently after a long day. She finds it therapeutic and enjoys the closeness it brings.

-Natasha has a habit of leaving small marks on your skin, not necessarily visible, but enough for you to feel her presence even when she’s not around. A nip here, a bruise there, each a silent reminder of her claim on you.

-They use you in a variety of ways. Sometimes, they want you to simply sit on their laps while they handle their royal duties, your presence a soothing comfort to them. Other times, they demand your more intimate services, turning their chambers into a space of intense passion.

NSFW

-Natasha often takes the lead in the bedroom, her dominant nature coming to the forefront. She enjoys pushing your limits, testing your obedience and resilience.

-Wanda complements Natasha’s dominance with her own brand of sensual control. She uses sensory play to heighten your senses, creating an intoxicating blend of pleasure and pain that leaves you craving more.

-Occasionally, Wanda and Natasha enjoy reversing roles. Natasha might allow Wanda to take the lead, watching with intense interest as Wanda teases and tortures you.

-During these sessions, Natasha might take a more passive role, offering encouragement or delivering orders to both you and Wanda, her voice low and commanding.

-The queens derive a certain thrill from the risk of being caught. They might summon you to their chambers during a busy day, making you pleasure them while they conduct court business, knowing that someone could walk in at any moment.

-Natasha is strict when it comes to discipline. If you displease her, she isn’t afraid to administer punishments, which could range from spanking to more elaborate forms of bondage and sensory deprivation.

-Wanda’s approach to punishment is more psychological. She might deny you pleasure, edging you for hours without release until you’re begging for mercy.

-Both queens enjoy restraining you, though their methods differ. Natasha prefers physical restraints—ropes, cuffs, and chains—enjoying the sight of you helplessly bound. Wanda prefers to simply use her hands for restraining, always wanting to touch you in some way.

-When they decide to take you together, their coordination is impeccable. Natasha’s rough, commanding presence contrasts perfectly with Wanda’s sensual, teasing touch.

-They take turns pleasuring you, sometimes working in tandem. Natasha might hold you down, whispering dirty words in your ear, while Wanda uses her powers and hands to bring you to the edge repeatedly.

-Natasha enjoys watching Wanda play with you, her eyes dark with desire as she observes. She might give instructions or simply enjoy the show, her own arousal building as she watches you submit to Wanda’s magical touch.

-Wanda finds it thrilling to have an audience and often performs for Natasha, knowing exactly how to drive both you and her partner wild with need.

-The queens have developed a system of secret signals to communicate their desires to you discreetly. A specific look or gesture can mean it’s time to drop everything and attend to them, no matter where you are or what you’re doing.

-Natasha loves to edge you, bringing you to the brink of orgasm over and over again without allowing you release. She takes pleasure in your frustrated moans and begs for mercy.

-Occasionally, they dress you in revealing or provocative outfits, enjoying the sight of you looking both elegant and debauched. These outfits are often designed to be easily removed or provide easy access for their hands and mouths.

-They take pleasure in undressing you slowly, savoring the sight of your skin being revealed inch by inch.

-Despite their intense dominance, both queens are meticulous about aftercare. They know the physical and emotional toll their sessions can take and ensure you’re well taken care of afterward.

-Wanda is particularly attentive, ready to heal any marks or bruises, while Natasha holds you close, her touch surprisingly gentle as she reassures you of your value to them.