#hands-on programming internship

[murmusoftware]

What are the best internship programs in India that offer real project experience for students in 2025?

If you're a student looking to gain hands-on experience through a real-world software development project, then you should definitely check out the Project-Based Internship Program by Murmu Software Infotech.

🔹 Why this internship stands out:

It’s not just theoretical – you’ll work on actual live projects.

Technologies include .NET Framework, C#, ASP.NET Core, an open-source web development framework | .NET Core Web API, .NET MAUI, and MSSQL Server.

Ideal for students pursuing Computer Science, IT, or Software Engineering who want to strengthen their portfolio.

You'll collaborate with a team in different roles like Software Developer, UI Designer, or Digital Marketing Executive – just like in a real company setup.

Internship includes mentor support, progress tracking, and possibly even job referrals for high performers.

🔹 Perks:

Get exposure to real project planning and execution.

Learn to work in a team using Agile methodology.

Enhance your resume with a meaningful internship certificate and live project experience.

🔗 To apply or know more, visit:

👉 Get Free Programming Learning & Certification Courses and Internship in Ranchi

If you’re serious about preparing for a career in tech, this kind of project-based internship can make a huge difference. It’s a solid opportunity for anyone looking to bridge the gap between academic knowledge and industry practice

[oflgtfol]

fall 2021 really had me like in the depths of madness wildly seesawing from deep suicidal depression but then listening to horizons by starset and kicking my feet twirling my hair about venom. and then going back to the madness

[evilminji]

Been Watching Weird Fruit Explorer(?)... and I just...

W-Who let Bored Danny have BooTube?

Sorry, YOU-Tube. He has TWO Apps now. BooTube is bigger. Way more random, yet... somehow more niche? Meh. It's what happens when you get billions of billions of people who all have their own Obsessions to rant over, on a site.

Ember's channel is pretty lit, tho, ngl.

He stopped using YOU-Tube almost overnight. Too many ads, weird algorithmic pushiness. No thanks. It was too small and too "trying to take my money". You know?

Buuuuut? See.... TUCKER is the Tech guy.

Coding and that sort of stuff. HE does hands on work. You want a toaster? He can MAKE you a toaster! With LAZERS! Runs off The Goo! But a program? Eeeeeeeh? Hit it with hammer maybe? Monkey make fire? Hit with stick? Blergh.

Yeah, he can SORTA push through.

But he suuuucks.

And like... he had a headache, okay? His project had just, quiet literally, exploded in his face. So when he looked at his phone? All the apps were blobs. He clicked the one that LOOKED kinda right. Shoved his arm in his phone and brute forced a channel set up.

He figured he could ramble about Space!

It's not like he cared is anyone LISTENS or not! It's a "for him" thing, you know? Like a diary. But more... putting on a ☆~show~☆?

So he rambles from the floor of his Lair's Lab, crashs and wails in the distance, green sky occasionally visible as he lazily floats by windows. Dropping... juuuust past human knowledge understanding of Space. Talking like he's STUDYING somewhere. Referencing PAPERS no human will ever be able to find.

But a few they WILL.

Some of which, are currently? Only half written.

But then? Oh YEAH... he should eat! You know... Sam keeps bringing him fruits and veggies and stuff from her internship at that Botanical Lair. Stuff never seen before of Earth. Or hasn't been seen in centuries.

Again, like, a FEW that? Randomly? Have???

He picks up something sharply purple, bright orange insides. Crisp crunch. He makes a face. And starts to ramble about it, distracted from Space. "Weirdly mushroom-y" he notes. "Kinda bubblegum sweet? But like... CHEAP bubblegum. Like it hits you all at once and is kinda chemically. But it disappears real fast? Huh. Spicy too..."

It's the first video on the Playlist. One of hundreds. Two of the green Lanterns RECONIZE that fruit ad HIGHLY toxic to humans, can't recognize what planet they're seeing. Or how this alien teen got himself on YouTube.

He seems... unaware of how incredibly famous he's become.

But his strange techno Pharoah friend has not. HE is both perfectly aware and apparently amused. Has taken to feeding him rare and hazardous flora and fauna, to see if it tastes good.

....there have been an alarming number of plants from dead planets.

And the comments the kid makes? Alarming as hell.

Sam's just pleased everybody's getting their greens. Danny's glad him n tuck get to hang and do "try weird foods and fuck around, bro time". They've made lazers! Talked about stuff! Debated why Martian Manhunter is THE superior Justice League member.

Danny understands. Wonder Woman is a BAMF. But he's biased, Tucker. He doesn't CARE if she has a sword and flowy, impressive locks! Shape-shifting telepath! From MARS!!! *imaginary mic drop*

And Tucker? Is conquering the YouTube scene with this charming, weird, relatable young alien. Who rambles about Space, debates nerd stuff, eats weird plants and describes them, and makes sci-fi technology! Theme? WHAT THEME? Phantom is a weird channel, man. You never know what you'll find!

And no one can get rid of it.

Believe them, governments have TRIED. Censorship? Not possible. Not without removing the whole SITE.

[k12academics]

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[sparklecryptid]

Things I’ve seen and done working in a library as part of my internship that was slightly weird and make me admire everyone working in a public library:

- a guy bringing in a jug of milk, which while not too weird did have all of us going ?????

- the Fake Service Dog Incident

- threats to the library because of the Fake Service Dog Incident

- children bringing in bikes and being told to put them on the bike rack outside

- parents refusing to listen or parent their children until one of us comes over and asks them not to hit each other with the foam blocks

- I did three programs in a day once (toddler and baby based) and now I thoroughly admire teachers, youth librarians, and the lady that goes around just doing the baby and toddler classes all day

- people wanting me to log into their email

- people wanting me to do applications for them

- people not knowing how to log off a computer

- the printer works fine, but even then I wound up in there for an hour and a half helping people print

- having a guy try to grab his video game holds from my hands before I had a chance to scan them out for him

- made a child cry while just looking at them. Had to bring out the puppets to make her happy.

- pretty sure I was a few babies first introduction to People of Color given the area I was in was very white and the babies and parents did not stop staring at me

- worked on a project that was run by a very obviously queer historian and got to see old WWII ammo shells that were made into vases

Anyway support your public libraries and go to them because sometimes fun shit happens at them

[misctf]

I'm a fairly skinny guy, and I've always wondered what it would be like to be in a frat. Would you be able to help me?

You always wondered what it would be like to be part of a frat. Each day, as you walked to or from the library, you'd see them. Drunk, laughing, partying... what would it be like to be part of that? Where the only thing that seemed to matter was bro-ing out with your bros. You'd shaken that thought aside. After all, you were committed to your studies. Brain over brawn. Your future was bright- medical school plans, 4.0 GPA, and an internship doing research over the summer. All that hard work didn't exactly give you the time to focus on other things. Gym? No way. Banter over sports? You were never into that kind of stuff anyway. No- skinny, nerdy you wasn't going to be in a frat. Wasn't happening.

That was what you thought. At least until you bumped into Scott while walking to the library. You had been doing flashcards on your phone when you collided into his musclar back. He turned, initially shocked, seemingly ready to put his thick, bulging arms to use. But when he saw you, his dull eyes widened with a hint of excitement.

"Bro! You scared me there!" He laughed- his voice dull and dumb.

He rubbed the back of his head, exposing his pits and allowing his post work-out musk to invade your nostrils. His dull, brown eyes conveying little was going on behind them. His perfect smile somewhat predatory as he talked about his frat's newest recruitment strategy. The "Frat Exchange Program" was going to let nerds like you swap with a bro, get to live a little frat-life. And after a month, if you liked it, you'd be made a member. No hazing, no recruitment, no questions asked. But there wasn't much time left. And Scott made sure to really emphasize that you had to make the choice now. So you gave it a quick thought. Join the frat, get to experience frat life for a little bit, and then go back to your old life. Get the taste of it that you wanted, but still get to pursue your academic dreams. Seemed like the best of both worlds. And so you accepted.

The Frat Exchange Program was more of an exchange than you realized at first. You thought you'd just get to live in the frat house with Scott as your guide. But it was so much more than that. And the muscular bro that stared back at you in the mirror confirmed it. Scott was right when he said you'd be swapping with a bro. He just didn't tell you it would involve swapping bodies with him. Not that you were complaining. Your hands teased his your sensitive nipples as you gave your pecs a bounce. That musk that invaded your nose from earlier continued to do so, but now it made your dick twitch.

"Fuck..." You gasped as Scott's, now your dick, strained against the confines of your shorts.

And you grabbed it with your meaty hand. Watching as the muscles in your arms bulged. A dumb grin forming on your perfect face...

The first few days living as Scott were tough. Despite your increasing horniness and love for this body, your old habits continued. You'd found Scott's more conservative clothing and dressed in those as you went to his classes. You avoided alcohol and the banter with the other frat bros was awkward and forced. But when Derek invited you to the gym, you felt like you should go. Not because you wanted to, but because you wanted to make sure you maintained Scott's body. But that first gym session... the way your muscles ached... the smell... it was too much...

From that point on, you found yourself craving the gym. You'd started skipping his classes. Wearing only gym clothes. And as the other frat bros caught on, they encouraged you. You loved going to the gym with them. And when you returned after a tough gym session with your bros, instead of showering, you found yourself lounging on the couch. A beer forced into your hand, the big game on the large flatscreen TV on full display... Each passing day... each moment in the frat house... with your bros... It wasn't long before you were bantering with your new bros. Words like 'dude', 'bro', 'rizz', unironically becoming cemented in your vocabulary. Fuck... you loved this life...

When the month was up and it was time to swap back, you felt a sadness welling up from within you. Your dull eyes reflecting your inward dismay. Scott would be back with your body in just a little bit and then you'd go back to being skinny old you. It seemed impossible though- you were different now. Mentally, you weren't that nerd anymore. You were like any of your bros. And you hated the thought of that weak, skinny version of yourself. Which is why when Scott walked in with your body, your eyes widened in surprise.

Scott had certainly been busy that month while you were partying with his bros. He went to the gym, did whatever he had to in order to give your body the upgrade it needed.

"To be perfect for our frat." He said.

And when you swapped into your old body- now a hulking mass of muscle and testosterone- you felt truly at home. Scott had even done you the favor of dropping your classes and switching your major. And as you lounged on the couch, shirtless and bantering with your bros...planning your next gym sessions... you realized that the frat was perfect for you. That frat life was your life.

Just another successful candidate in the Frat Exchange Program.

[formulakracing]

i. now or never - t.w.

pairing -> student intern!reader x toto wolff

word count -> 1.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

do you know me though? do you really?

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

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

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

"sounds good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"like how late?"

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

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

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

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

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

"okay."

it's a quiet trek through the parking lot.

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

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

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

at that, the tears erupt into sobs.

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

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

the internship in question?

well, it was more like a job opening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

it was everything you could have dreamed of and more.

so, what was holding you back?

well, there were a few things.

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

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

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

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

and the third reason?

well, it was a bit more complicated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

to satisfy that hunger deep in your soul.

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

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

it was time to finally put yourself first.

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

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

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

all you had to do was press that final square.

submit.

your index fingers hovers above the button, nearly trembling.

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

within seconds, a new message appears across your screen.

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

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

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

we wish you the best of luck!

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐭 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let them think what they wanted.

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

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

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

Jisung was born into brilliance… and burden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

“Follow. No questions.”

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

My God, the library.

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

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

Han Jisung entered from the rooftop.

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

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

“Did they assign me one of the interns?”

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

“No.”

“But sir—”

“I said no.”

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

In came Mr. Grey.

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

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

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

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

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

The doors slammed open again.

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

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

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

You didn’t blink. Neither did he.

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

Yours said, I already am.

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

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

One second.

Two.

Then he left.

And you? You smelled the war before it began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss Y/L/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

The door clicked shut behind you.

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

Search: Han Jisung | Daejin & Grey

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

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

Then, an old university blog.

“The Boy Who Sued a Corporation and Won.”

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

Summary:

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

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

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

“This’ll be fun.”

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

---

The routine had set in fast.

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

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

But Jisung?

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

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

And she always was.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, please don’t say—”

“You,” Grey cut him off dryly.

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

He didn’t say anything.

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

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

“Eleven. Don’t be late.”

“I’m always late.”

“I’ll dock your paycheck.”

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

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

It was a Thursday.

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

Then came the part no one expected: live assignments.

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

Papers were passed.

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

Priority Confidential.

Below it:

Supervisor – Han Jisung

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

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

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

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

You exhaled once. Twice. Then knocked.

“Come in.”

The voice was casual, distracted. You entered.

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

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

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

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

You hated it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then,

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

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

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

His gaze lingered. Too long.

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

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

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

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

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

“Got it,” You replied, standing smoothly.

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

—he looked.

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

Nope.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

The door clicked shut behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

Well…one intern.

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

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

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

And that skirt?

Jesus.

He dropped the phone face down on the kitchen island.

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

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

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

The weight of your stare still burned behind his eyes.

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

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

Didn’t want to be.

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

Perks of being Han Jisung.

He had just opened the chopsticks when his phone buzzed.

Dad

Incoming call.

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

“Yeah?”

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

“You sound tired.”

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

“Hm. You’re still working with Grey?”

“Still am.”

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

“He’s using you.”

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

“Exactly.”

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

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

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

Another pause. This time heavier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She hot?”

“Jesus, Dad.”

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

“So, you hate her.”

“…Something like that.”

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

“I’m not new to this.”

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

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

“Call your mother.”

“I will.”

“Jisung.”

“What.”

“Don’t ruin it before it starts.”

Click.

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

“…She’s still just an intern.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. He’s going to be my evolution.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sung-ah.”

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

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

“For you? Always.”

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

“I got assigned someone today.”

“At work?”

“Yeah. Intern. I’m her supervisor.”

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

“She’s… interesting,” he muttered.

“That’s not a feeling, baby.”

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

“So, she’s not scared of you.”

“No. And that’s the problem.”

“Or the point.”

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

He closed his eyes. Let her words sink in.

“Thanks, Mom.”

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

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

“I will.”

Click.

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

…or the unraveling of his.

---

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

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

Just said, “You’re late.”

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

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

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

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

Grey entered last. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone, give her the floor.”

Y/N blinked. ���Wait—”

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

Shit.

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

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

Grey leaned back, considering. “Interesting.”

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

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

Jisung’s jaw ticked.

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

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

“Was that… a compliment?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m writing it down anyway.”

“You do that.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re stubborn,” he said.

“I adapt.”

“That’s worse.”

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

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

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

He looked away instantly, jaw clenched.

“Fucking hell…” he whispered under his breath.

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

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

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

Silence passed between them—not uncomfortable. Just focused.

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

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

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

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

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

“On it,” she replied.

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

“I’ll grab something later—”

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

“You didn’t have to—”

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

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

She blinked. He smirked.

“And that’s not an empty threat.”

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

“You’re not eating?”

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

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

Y/N finally took a bite.

And—damn it—it was really good.

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

And neither of them realized it yet…

…but this was how chemistry always began at Daejin.

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

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

Then—she paused.

Froze.

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

“Oh my God,” she whispered, breathless.

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

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

But when she turned—

He wasn’t responding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he was gone.

---

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

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

New Email: Preliminary Draft — Case #1782

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

He blinked, brows furrowing.

Already?

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

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

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

Then another ping.

Text from Y/N:

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

But it made his left eye twitch.

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

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

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

He gave you a slow blink.

“Yeah.”

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

Jisung’s brows rose. You were nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Focus, Han. Not now.

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

Prep for the Mock Trial

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The air went ice cold.

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

“I didn’t say that—”

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

“You think I didn’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Y/N, I—”

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

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

---

The atmosphere in the trial room was different.

Tense. Unspoken.

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

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

You didn’t look at him.

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

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

And she wasn’t looking at him.

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

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

Your expression remained neutral, every movement calculated.

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

Instead, he felt the hollow throb of regret.

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“Uh… maybe twice a week?”

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

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

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

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

Jisung forced a grin. “Yeah. She is.”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

“Y/N—”

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

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

“Okay,” he finally said.

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

The Actual Courtroom Trial – Day One

Location: Seoul District Court, 9:15 AM.

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

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

“All rise.”

Everyone stood.

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

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

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

It was clean. Sharp. Confident.

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

Classic. But weak.

Witness Examination — Day Two

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“I tried. But the internal review team—”

“Objection. Hearsay.”

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

“By whom?”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

“It’s not one I authorized.”

“Yet it came from your department.”

“It did.”

“Then who accessed it?”

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

Gasps.

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

Recess

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

It was a cold war.

Final Courtroom Verdict — Seoul District Court

Day Six, 3:45 PM

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

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

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

A murmur swept through the gallery.

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

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

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

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

Until,

“Y/N,” Jisung called from behind her.

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

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

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

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

Jisung’s mouth parted, but nothing came out.

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing worth repeating,” you muttered.

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

You blinked. “He doesn’t care—”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

Silence again but heavier this time. More telling.

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

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

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

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

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

And Jisung sat alone again.

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

…One Week Later…

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

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

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

They only spoke when absolutely necessary.

And those conversations?

Clinical. Precise.

Like cutting stitches with cold hands.

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

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

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

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

She turned a page.

He swallowed. “About last week—”

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

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

---

The doors slid open. She was already inside.

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

“Getting in?” she asked quietly.

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

“I didn’t mean it,” he muttered.

She blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

The elevator dinged. She stepped out without turning back.

---

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

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

“Progress?”

“I think it was worse than silence.”

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

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

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

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

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

---

The knock was soft, but firm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked at him. Really looked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N didn’t speak for a long time.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another pause. A breath.

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

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

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

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

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

“Tomorrow.”

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His brow lifted slightly. “Oh.”

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

He exhaled, almost crumbling.

“You scare me,” he muttered suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

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

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

You nodded once. “You did hurt me.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

“So, we agree it’s toxic waste?”

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

“I still owe you lunch,” he said.

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

They weren’t fixed. But they were trying.

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

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

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

Jisung blinked. “Tell you what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t act like it’s just me.”

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

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

Then, without warning, you kissed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!” he whined, genuinely, breath stuttering. “Why are you bullying me right now?”

“Because you’re easy,” you grinned, grabbing the end of his tie and giving it a little tug. “And cute when you pout.” Jisung muttered something incoherent—probably a curse—before he gave up entirely and kissed you again, this time deeper, one hand firm at the small of your back while the other traveled down, fingers skimming the edge of her thighs. You let out a sharp inhale when he hoisted you up onto his desk like you weighed nothing. Papers crumpled beneath you, a pen went clattering to the floor, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care because his hands God, his hands were trailing up your legs with reverence and want all rolled into one shaky exhale.

He was looking at you like he didn’t know whether to worship you or unravel you.

“You’re trouble,” he whispered against her skin.

“I learned from the best,” you shot back, already popping open the first button of his shirt. “Mr. Han.”

“Oh my God—” He was dizzy. Fully, utterly gone for you. His tie was undone, shirt halfway open, and your lips were ghosting along the edge of his collarbone like you wanted to memorize the taste of him.

And then—

RIIINGGGG—!!

The desk phone blared.

The two of you froze.

Jisung groaned. “No. No, no, no.” You snorted, forehead falling to his shoulder in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m about to unplug that thing for life,” he mumbled into your neck. “Shouldn’t you pick it up?” you teased.

“I should sue it for emotional damage.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You kissed me and now I’m ruined—of course I’m dramatic!”

The phone kept ringing. Reluctantly, breath still uneven, Jisung reached around you for the receiver, muttering a soft, “Don’t move,” like you were going to evaporate if he looked away for too long. He cleared his throat before answering voice still wrecked, like he’d just sprinted up a dozen flights of stairs.

“Y-Yeah, Han speaking…”

There was a pause. You watched his expression shift from annoyed to concerned, his brows furrowing, jaw tightening.

“Mhm. Okay—okay. Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up and sighed like he just aged ten years in thirty seconds. You tilted your head. “That didn’t sound like a lunch reservation.” Jisung winced. “It’s not. That was about the Parker brief—something blew up with the client and I need to help clean it before it spirals. They’re asking for me personally.”

He stepped closer, brushing your hair back gently. “I swear to God, if I didn’t have to go—”

“You’d what?” you teased, lips quirking. He grinned, leaning in to kiss you one more time, slow and deliberate. “I’d definitely get fired.”

You laughed against his mouth and pulled back. “So dramatic.”

“I mean it,” he said, his tone suddenly sincere. “But I am going to make it up to you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Dinner. Just you and me. No work. No Grey. No emergencies. Just us.” Your brows raised. “Is this a bribe, Mr. Han?”

“This is me asking you on a date, finally,” he said, smirking. “And lowkey bribing you.”

“You’re lucky I like food,” you said, hopping off the desk as he helped her down. “Lucky you like me,” he mumbled under his breath.

You caught that. You both smiled. As you adjusted your blouse and smoothed your skirt, you stepped over to him and fixed his tie with practiced ease, eyes focused on the knot like it was the most delicate task in the world. Then you slid a finger down the center of his shirt, giving one button an extra pat.

“There,” you murmured. “Ready for war.”

“I was gonna say court,” he chuckled, “but same energy.” You turned to leave, heels clicking against the polished floor. And of course, his eyes dropped immediately to your hips. And stayed there. Shamelessly. You didn’t even have to look back to know. You paused at the door, turned slowly, and caught him red-handed, gaze glued to you like he was trying to memorize every step you took.

“So, you were staring,” you said, one brow arched in challenge.

Jisung blinked, caught like a guilty puppy. “I—I was just—I mean, technically, you’re walking in my office so it’s my job to supervise…”

“Supervise my ass?” He grinned. “Exactly.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still showing up for dinner.”

“Only because I want dessert.”

“Ohhh my God.”

You winked and walked out, leaving Jisung running a hand through his hair, muttering, “She’s gonna destroy me,” with the biggest lovestruck smile on his face.

Waw....our flustered boy always comes out in the end huh? 🥰

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[bad268]

MercDuo (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Mercedes Strategist! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Yeah (I was wondering if you could possibly write something about Kimi and a reader who is very young, but works for an F1 team (maybe in the strategy side or on the pitfall as someone's engineer). Maybe even at Williams with Logan to create some drama about Logan being replaced.) (Anon, thank you for being so nice! I <3 you!)

Warnings: Danica Patrick mentioned (but Jenson Button is a reader-defender on live!)

POV: Second Person (You/your/They/them)

W.C. 1221

Summary: Kimi and the reader are the youngest driver-engineer duo in F1.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

You started your internship with the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 team when you turned 16 and in the short year and a half you were there, you flew through the ranks. When Bono told you he was stepping down to follow Lewis to Ferrari, you assumed the new person would be just as cool.

As it turns out, Bono personally recommended you to Toto Wolff to take his place as race engineer. 

Your boyfriend Kimi, who you met at a smaller karting track when you first started learning about engineering, was going to be your driver. There’s no way this could have gone right. There were too many conflicting relationships and forces for it to run smoothly. At least, that’s what the media said. 

Well, you learned from the best and the best nominated you to fill the void. That said something. Not to mention, Toto would not have put you in the role if he didn’t think you could handle it. That said something. And last but most certainly not least, you and Kimi always had a working relationship. 

Ever since you joined Mercedes after him, you two set clear boundaries. Rule number one, no flirting on the job if they are in the middle of something. Randomly in passing was fine, but it was kept to a minimum. Rule number two, you work together, and work to find common ground. Sounded like a given. Rule number three, work is work; leave it at the garage, track, factory, or wherever you are at. Work stays at work and it’s not brought home. Vice versa. Your personal relationship stays outside of working hours.

It was never a problem because Kimi was in the junior program and you were in F1, shadowing Bono. Obviously, with Lewis leaving, the new seat was open for practically anyone. Also, while you were usually a part of the driver decisions and contracts, the team conveniently left you out of the new driver decisions until Kimi himself told you he was taking Lewis’s place. 

This was fine at first because you already saw Kimi around the factory, and you would just be in the background during races. There was absolutely no crossover.

Yeah, then Bono decided to go with Lewis, and Toto promoted you to Kimi’s race engineer. Queue the iconic moments between you and Kimi.

Australia, round one of the 2025 season, was one for the books. Not only were you and Kimi excited to show off the new car (which is definitely championship worthy!), but the entire fanbase was curious (and some angry) to see how you and Kimi would match up against the rest of the grid. You two were barely legal, and neither of you had much experience. That’s what they thought, at least. You had been studying strategy since you could read, and you were ahead of your classes. It was the same story with Kimi except he was driving.  Both of you flew through your respective ranks and were highly regarded. Some people were anticipating you both living up to the hype. Others were honestly hoping you would fail. 

You both walked through the gates hand in hand toward the Mercedes garage. Journalists and fans alike shouted questions at you both, but you two just walked straight past them and put on some sunglasses. This was the first sign you both meant business, and it brought a lot of attention to Mercedes in general.

“Here we see Mercedes rookie, Andrea Kimi Antonelli, and his race engineer and partner, Y/n L/n,” Jenson Button said as you two walked past the camera where he was commenting on the prerace show. “They are probably the youngest driver-engineer duo in all of motorsports, but they are proving everyone wrong with Kimi topping the free practice sessions and bagging pole in qualifying.”

“Not many people know this, but Y/n actually graduated at the top of their class super early, and started an internship shadowing Peter Bonnington, Lewis Hamilton’s race engineer, when they were 16. While that’s impressive, I just don’t think they’re ready for this kind of pressure just yet. They only just turned 18, and 2 years is not enough experience before being the lead race engineer.” Leave it to Danica Patrick to say something condescending, but Jenson was not going to stand for it.

“I am a(n) Y/n-defender first, commentator second,” Jenson chuckled, but anyone watching or listening knew he was being completely serious. Jenson knew your character. He knew how hard you worked to get where you are, and he was not going to stand for anyone shit-talking you. It just made it a little better that he got to tell off his nemesis, Danica Patrick. “I will fight for Y/n any time, any day. They have worked too hard for someone to start badmouthing them.”

“But don’t you think it’s at least a little questionable of Toto Wolff to bring on the second youngest driver, next to Max Verstappen, and the youngest race engineer of all time?”

“I think the answer is in the results,” Jenson stressed in disbelief. “You said it yourself that they’ve topped every session together, and the team has been looking pretty reliable for pitstops all weekend. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Kimi pulled out a win on his maiden race.”

“Kimi, radio check,” the broadcast cut to the drivers lining up on the grid, and your radio message to Kimi rang out.

“Loud and clear,” Kimi answered, and that was the end of the broadcast, so they didn’t catch the second half of Kimi’s message. Instead, it cut short, and the commentary team jumped into their own conversation.

“This goes to show they can be professional when needed,” Jenson laughed. “They may be young but they are professional enough to know there is a time and place. On the grid is not one of them.”

If they had heard the rest of the message, they would know everything Jenson just said was a lie.

“Oh, I don’t get any good luck?” Kimi teased as he looked to the lights for the formation lap.

“Amour (love), now is not the time,” You lectured as you talked a little quieter, especially around the rest of the team. They did not need to be alerted that their driver was currently distracted as he proceeded through the turns of Australia.

“What if I crash? Do you really want the last thing you say to me be ‘now’s not the time’?” Kimi retorted as he went through the formation lap.

“You’re so dramatic,” You groaned, but you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. You glanced around at everyone briefly just as Kimi was coming around the last turn and into his grid slot. You signed, “Ti amo. Stai attento bello. Torna a casa da me (I love you. Be careful handsome. Come home to me).”

“Sempre (Always),” Kimi said as he waited for the green flag to fly at the end of the queue.

“Now, focus on the race,” You turned serious again, “In the words of Sebastian Vettel, go fast, don’t crash.”

“I try my best,” Kimi chuckled as he turned his full attention to the lights for his first Formula 1 race. His first pole position. His, eventual, first win in Formula 1.

~~~ Part 2 ->

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[kitkatpadywaks]

Arcane fic recs

i'm not over Arcane s2.

Key: 🔥Smut - ❤️ Fluff - 💢 Angst - ❤️‍🩹 Hurt/Comfort

Last Updated: 24th January 2025

Multi Fandom fic recs | Bucky Barnes fic recs | Daryl Dixon fic recs

BED CHEM by @yukioos (viktor x reader) ESPRESSO (BED CHEM PT2)

summary: you and mel walk down the hallways of piltover university when suddenly, you encounter two men trying to break into a professor’s laboratory.

🔥virgin!viktor by @pipthepiper (virgin!viktor x experienced!reader)

thinking about cuddling s1 Viktor ♡ by @juststrawberrytea

It's you in the reflection, not him. by @wheatbreadfuckyeah [Viktor x Reader] Graphite Powder Oh, To Capture You In Pages [Viktor X Reader]

🔥Study Date by @honey-pages (Viktor x Reader) 🔥Weaker (Study Date Part 2) ❤️Tea and Biscuits (Study Date Part 3) ❤️Play Fight (Fluff Fics Part 1) ❤️Kiss Me (Fluff Fics Part 2)

summary: Viktor waits for you in the library for an unexpected study date.

Kindling Sparks by @prettybouquets Golden Hour Confessions

🔥academic rivals by @ihopeinevergetsoberr (viktor x fem!reader) 💢🔥i'm in love with a dying man 🔥do you fancy a quickie?

🔥studying birds and bees by @dadsbongos

summary: viktor, alone and glum, is not comforted by the company of a fellow scientist at a hextech exhibition party. not until you mention taking him home, at least.

🔥Take My Hand by @zerun0 (Viktor x Y/N (Female) ❤️Ivy & Iron

❤️💢🔥The Prophecy by @lokidjarin-7567 (Viktor x You)

summary: When the friend of your youth, Viktor, sees you still living in the Undercity, and working in a strip club at that, he is determined to reconnect, and rekindle a childhood friendship that was rooted in something more.

Late Night Studying by @amaranthine-apollo

Asymmetrical Symphony by @sweetflanfiction (Viktor x gn!reader) pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7

summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Across the River by @am-i-interrupting

summary: After the explosion and disappearance of Vi, you take your little sister across the river to Piltover. You struggle to keep the two of you afloat but manage to get Jinx to the academy. This is where she procures an internship that changes your lives.

🔥❤️‍🩹Viktor x Reader by @bluecookies02 🔥Sub!Viktor x Reader

squeeze you in by @foolinafable (Viktor x reader)

summary: Viktor barely has the time, but he makes it for you

Take A Break by @unoislazy (Viktor x Reader)

summary: Viktor doesn’t want you to be like him. You’re taking a break and you’re gonna like it.

viktor x assistant!reader by @visbacktatto

❤️[4:24 am] what are we? by @aaksuitac

Can you feel anything? by @meownotgood

🔥A 'Quick' Experiment by @supernovalcholism (VIKTOR x GN!READER)

summary: After a long day working in the lab all day, Viktor and you find an anomaly. Another hour in the lab with the man you loved so dearly? Another hour couldn't hurt! Time for science!

Unspoken Rivalry by @supernovalcholism pt2 pt3

Early Morning Whispers by @harbinger-of-enmity (Viktor x GN Reader Drabble(?), brain dump(?)

🔥Keeping Him Company by @grugruel (Viktor x f!reader)

Personal Pigments - Cadmium Yellow Deep Hue by @thefandomsfervent (Viktor x Reader) Burnt Umber (Part 2) Ultramarine Light (Part 3) King's Blue Light (Part 4) Venetian Red (Part 5) Carmine Red (Part 6) Oro Scuro (Part 7) Burnt Sienna (Part 8) Lavender Tinted Gesso (Part 9) Quinacridone Rose (Part 10 - This is now a JayVik (and eventually Mel) x reader fic.)

summary: Heimerdinger forgets to warn the science bros that an artist is coming in to visualize them and Hextech, a collaborative program between a Piltover art school and the academy for some new hall meant to be unveiled at an upcoming progress day. Large paintings can take years to do, with Hextech’s promising growth they are to be started in a preemptive manner.

💢For You, Always by @narnian-neverlander [Viktor x GN!Reader]

summary: You press your forehead to his lightly and whisper your thanks again, and “What you did was more than enough. You will always be more than enough.” He tightens the arm still looped around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, the hand on your face slipping to the back of your neck, mirroring you. This is how things have always been between you two and how they should stay: clearly caring and loving, yet a certain line never crossed.

strawberry wine by @fushiguro-megloomy (modern au!viktor x artist!reader) 🔥After the Distance

summary: prompt - “if somebody were to kiss me, i’d want that person to be you”

The Handsome Assistant by @galactic-magick (Viktor x Reader) ❤️A Proper Date (Part 2)

summary: You keep running into the handsome Dean's assistant, whom you find you have a lot in common with. You develop quite the crush, and things get a little messy when your friends find out about him.

🔥💢(feel) whole by @kismetre

summary: ⤷ : in which you make viktor (feel) whole. and hope. and human.

May You Never Forget Me by @inkinflux (Viktor x gn!Reader)

summary: Viktor replays fond memories with his newfound power, though your memory refuses to allow him such peace.

💢❤️🔥Can you do that for me? by @grugruel (ruined!Jayce x f!reader)

summary: Formerly partners, you've started a new business in Zaun after Jayce's disappearance. One day, after hearing whispers of Victor's apparent evolution, Jayce shows up unannounced.

🔥i. wildflowers by @zevrra (jayce x reader x viktor) 🔥ii. wildflowers together 🔥iii. wildflowers forever

summary: you and vik get caught “messing around” in the lab by jayce; who surprisingly wants to join in on the fun.

🔥viktor x reader x jayce by @zevrra

summary: fem!reader and jayce help vik “focus” for a speech!

Lab shenanigans by @the-odd-shu (Jayce/Viktor/Reader) (POLYCULEEEE!) Hey Hextech, is it gay to cuddle your co-workers? (Part 2)

summary: A thread following the chaotic trio that is, laboratory illustrator!Reader, Viktor and Jayce being unsupervised in the lab.

auspicious (pt. 1) by @alg3a (jayce x f!reader x viktor / jayvik x f!reader) 🔥pt. 2

summary: Viktor and Jayce’s new lab assistant is the hottest topic at a council gala. After defending herself all night, an accidental confession leads to tension in the workplace.

❤️pick me up, lily flower by @vieoeil-riae (steb/gn!reader)

summary: your low blood pressure takes you down most literally, but your lovely boyfriend is medically trained and in love with you

steb/mage!reader hcs by @vieoeil-riae

I see you more, more, and more by @vieoeil-riae (steb/gn!reader)

summary: Steb, the romantic

🔥must be dreamin' by @vieoeil-riae (steb/fem!reader)

summary: despite having a strong sense of duty, steb is still as easily distracted by you as he was years ago

🔥take you down with me by @vieoeil-riae (steb/fem!reader)

summary: Both of you think the other might have died in the battle for Piltover, so you get emotional and fuck in a broom closet when you see each other again. Sounds fair, no?

🔥get clean, get dirty by @vieoeil-riae (steb/fem!reader)

summary: in the crescendo of a flirt, you finally push the right buttons to put steb's fantasies of your wet body under his touch in motion

🔥how good it feels by @vieoeil-riae (steb/gn!reader)

summary: the thought of you is enough to make steb break his own unspoken rules

🔥˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎ Il faut être deux... by @neuvilette-tea-party (Steb x F!reader)

summary: You get home, excited to visit the Montains like you are sure Steb does each year for his leave! But when you discover your lover, you realize you're going to climb something different...

Lovesick by @dulcecita-luzita (Steb/Lovesick Reader)

summary: You are utterly, hopelessly, and irrevocably in love with Steb.

Lovesick!Steb by @dulcecita-luzita

summary: Steb is consumed by an overwhelming love!

Softie by @dulcecita-luzita (Steb/Softie Architect Reader)

summary: a cool steady architect turns out to be a hopeless softie.

You get injured. by @choas232 (G/N! Reader x Steb)

summary: What was supposed to be a simple club raid goes horribly, horribly wrong.

❤️(eventual🔥)Le Coeur by @moonstrider9904

summary: The owner of a lovely and coveted coffee shop in Piltover falls in love with the Vastayan enforcer who keeps watch in her shop's surroundings.

💀🔥Ma Meilleure Ennemie by @nyxs2 pt2 pt3 pt4

summary: Silco was at his limit. The last few days had been a whirlwind, made worse by Jinx's eccentricities, which Sevika couldn't control. He was exhausted, his nerves on edge, so, as if it were the most obvious solution, one of his subordinates suggested that he relax… in a brothel. The idea was so offensive that Silco almost killed him right there. But in the end, there he was and unfortunately or fortunately you are the lucky one who will serve him.

🔥Sleeping With The Enemy by @grugruel (Silco x reader)

summary: You're a councillors daughter secretly working with the Eye of Zaun, fulfilling each other's needs.

Political needs, of course. It's purely business. They would never be stupid enough to start an affair . . . Unless?

What's Mine by @ro-written (Femme!Reader x sevika)

[ruesol]

catalyst - chapter 1

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex-boyfriend. (sukuna x fem!reader)

fanfic masterlist

Gravel crunched underneath your sneakers as you dragged them along the pavement. You had been running around the city with tired limbs and a resume in hand, trying to get a job after getting your last rejection letter from one of the medical schools you applied to.

Thank you for expressing interest in our medical program. Upon evaluating your transcripts, credentials, and extracurriculars, we regret to inform you that you are not eligible to join this year’s class. We will gladly consider your application for next year’s class if you wish to reapply. You may contact the admissions department for questions regarding the next application cycle.

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes again. You had been crying about your future for the past week. With all the hard work that went into all those volunteering hours, internships, and research assistantships, you were sure to get in.

But no, not in the system set up in this day and age. There will always be someone more qualified and well-connected than you. And even if they aren’t, they will always benefit from nepotism. 

Your feet dragged themselves till you couldn’t take it anymore. You broke down, ass landing on the curb in front of a random convenience store in the middle of some no-name neighborhood. Tears spilled down the apples of your cheeks as they drenched your chin and neck. The sky roared, and rain began to pour down. 

You wailed harder and tried to drown out the noise by yelling curses at the sky. You thought of all the tests you studied for, all the diagrams taped up on your walls, and all the money you spent on your applications. You had spent so much time and effort preparing for medical school that you couldn’t invest in a plan B. You needed a job to fund yourself, at least until you could get back up on your feet and figure out what you wanted to do, but to your misfortune, no one was hiring.

There was nothing more agonizing than being led astray from your original path. You began to question your abilities. Maybe if you had just paid attention in that class, you’d have an A instead of an A minus, or if you had just volunteered more, you’d seem more competitive. 

But it was all useless. What’s done is done. You groaned into your pruned hands. 

Then, all of a sudden, you could hear the muffled sounds of raindrops hitting canvas. “Funny, you seem different from how he described you.” You looked up to see a white-haired figure holding an umbrella over your head. “Uraume. No last name. Please come with me.”

You looked behind the figure and saw a sleek black Range Rover with tinted windows. It looked like it didn’t belong in this neck of the woods. Great, you were rejected from almost all the vacant positions in the city, and you were about to be trafficked for the benefit of wealthy people.

“I have a mace, so get away from me,” you said while walking away, not putting away much of a fight.

“Sukuna Ryomen. I’m sure you know him,” Uraume continued. “He needs you.”

Since when did traffickers start doing background checks on their victims? Your stomach churned as you began to walk faster, trying to outrun the chalky white-haired person who was now hot on your heels. However, having not eaten all day, you barely had the energy to pick up your speed, so you pulled your phone out to call the police, which, to your misfortune, was dead. You began to sob as you slowed down, and you noticed that the Range Rover was trying to catch up with you. 

It began to slow down beside you when its window rolled down. “Hey, it’s me, Yuuji!” 

You stopped, and so did the vehicle. Yuuji, your ex-best friend’s little brother, was smiling at you. “Just hear us out.” The boy (well, now a man) said with the most sincere eyes you had ever seen. Uraume walked towards you, covering your now-drenched body with their umbrella. 

-

You couldn’t believe your eyes- the once scrawny little kid you knew was now a tall man. Yuuji’s facial features had changed significantly. His round face was replaced by sharp angles (much like his older brother’s), and he also sported a few new scars (the ones beneath both his eyes being the most noticeable as they looked identical). He walked you through everything that had happened in Sukuna’s life since you both lost touch, while Uarume guided you both through the VIP area of the city’s most prominent hospital. They also casually added that they had a private investigator look into whatever you were up to in the past month, which freaked you out. No one wonder they knew way too much about you. 

It turns out that after you two lost touch, Sukuna became a famous boxing champion. He didn’t bother getting into the details of how it happened, but as far as you know, Sukuna never really expressed any interest in it whenever you were around. Yuuji pulled his phone out to show you his latest fight- the reason why he’s so battered up. 

You winced as you watched the clip, having a hard time trusting your eyes. There were many things you didn’t know about the martial arts world, but it was still shocking that you had no idea your ex was a famous and skilled fighter. It was apparent he had a knack for getting into fights with how he’d defend you whenever a bully charged towards you or a creep so much as to even looked your way. It never occurred to you that his punches were just that precise and had less recoil because he was training to be a professional fighter.

Now, here he was, on Yuuji’s phone screen, being beaten and battered like a piece of rice cake being pounded by a human mallet. “I thought you said he was good.” You mumbled. “He is, but he’s been burnt out and has refused any kind of treatment for it.

You raised your brow as the three of you stopped in front of a large wooden door. “And I’m here because?” 

“We have tried everything. Yuuji has to return to his classes soon, and I have never been able to connect with that man emotionally enough to support him through such a tough time. Even his therapist says he’s a lost cause because he refuses to cooperate.” Uraume says as they open the wooden door to reveal a large, dark hospital room. 

It takes you a while to register what’s going on, with the only source of light being the skyscrapers visible through the floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows on the opposite end of the room. In the middle of the room, against the wall, was a large hospital bed with a few monitors surrounding it. In it, you could see a mop of pink hair. 

Sukuna Ryomen- professional boxer and ex-boyfriend in the flesh. The steady rise and fall of his chest told you that he was asleep. The sight led to an invisible lump forming in your throat. The last time you’d seen him in person was when you both had your biggest fight together. A shiver went down your spine as you remembered all the hurtful words you had spat at each other. In that moment, neither of you could believe you could’ve been that hostile.

You’d only ever seen him sick with a fever, and he was horrible enough to deal with during that time. You couldn’t imagine how he was feeling right now. 

“As his manager, I’d like to hire you as his… well, I’m not sure what I’d call this position, but you’ll be making sure he gets better and is up to date with all his treatments and training,” Uraume said as they took you and Yuuji out the room. 

You sighed. “You want me to be his nanny?” 

“More like a personally involved manager, but we can have Sukuna’s doctor come up with a better name. Something to do with your field of interest. Her name is Dr. Shoko Ieri, and she’ll also be sure to refer you to all the good schools in the country so you can enroll in the next session.”

You didn’t know what to focus on first- the fact that you were offered a job (albeit a nanny for an adult) or that your idol, Shoko Ieri, was ready to refer you for your next applications. You had only ever seen her present at research conferences, all while you both had a common link this entire time. You felt lightheaded- the feeling of hope finally returning after a week of non-stop anxiety fits.

“So, do we have a deal?” Uraume extended their hand. 

But then again, things aren’t so good between you and Sukuna. At least from how you see things. Your relationship with him ended on a sour note, and even if you didn’t want to admit it, you did resent him a little for simply abandoning you and never making an effort to reach out again as you did. What if you failed? What if this whole thing ends up being one giant dumpster fire? 

You hesitantly looked at the pale hand in front of you. But then again, there was no way to go from here. What would you do anyway? Your paid internships never led to any full-time positions, and you barely had any money to get by after paying your rent for the next month. You also needed to pay for all the new applications and supplementary courses for your resume. 

“You should do it. They don’t like shaking hands with people, so this is major.” Yuuji whispered in your ears.

You gulped as your heart raced. In different circumstances, you would’ve said no, but you have nothing to look forward to besides getting a part-time job, which you knew wasn’t worth it with an offer like this to compete with it. You placed your hand in Uraume’s cold ones. They quickly shook your hand and pulled away like you had the plague (“They have a small case of germophobia,” Yuuji said later).

“When do I start?” you ask.

“Immediately. Since this job requires a lot of monitoring, I’ll have a few movers get your things and take them to Sukuna’s apartment. You’ll be living with him until he gets better” 

You didn’t know how to feel at that moment, chest still tight with the uneasiness from before. What you did know for sure was that Sukuna probably wouldn't be happy seeing you so at home in his personal space. 

[honeybunnyale]

In Over Your Head l M.O.

w.c : 5.1k

t.w.: Dark Fic (Eventually), Smut, having sex in public areas, CEO AU, Age Gap implied (Reader is a graduate student), Virginity loss, Miguel is typical egotistical man

a/n: Please read warnings for all of my works before reading. 18+ only!

Summary: Miguel likes the intern he technically stole from the research department.

You didn’t know how you got yourself in this situation. One second you were having a conversation with your ‘boss’ and the next, he’s fucking you in the elevator.

His mouth was hot and wet on your neck, breathing heavily and licking the sweat gathering at your clavicle. He felt your breasts bounce against his chest, your skin clap against his each time he thrusted up into you.

His hand tightened over your hip, lifting your skirt up higher along your waist. He loved the sounds of pure pleasure you screamed out each time his thick cock buried itself into you.

You mouthed lazily against his thick shoulders, your nails digging into his back as if you felt as if he were to drop you at any moment. Little did you know, your weight was nothing to him. 

Your back pressed firmly against the metal walls and Miguel digs his cock in further, his hips rocking side to side as he pulls his head away slightly to watch your eyes roll up in pleasure. 

You thought you were going down to the first floor to get some food, discuss some products, research and then look over goals and list of objectives completed. All over some steak, or lobster, in the Alcove, an extremely costly lunch spot. Not out of the ordinary.

Management, he would have said. Key to keeping the company alive. You honestly thought you were going to be at the labs, where you had applied to intern in, helping around during tests and experiments. The exciting stuff.

But then Miguel asked about “the intern” after spotting you one day, asking who the hell you were after seeing you scurry around at some random and insignificant lab assistant’s requests.

It was obvious that the men in the room were having their fun making the new intern squirm, especially since she had such an obedient and innocent disposition. Or so they thought. Miguel saw through that.

He took you in, after LYLA told him about the internship program, where they took in young pioneers in the tech and science world to mentor and guide in the big leagues.

He was admittedly very irritated by his lack of knowledge of this program. He assumed the research department was pulling some strings to get more lackeys, right under his nose. 

It’s not like he could fire you, you clearly had ambitions, you had a certain look in your eye and the internship did give a hefty paycheck. His irritation, though displaced, quickly turned into disdain towards you.

But you, god, you were different. You were clearly stubborn, yet you understood when to back down. You knew when to let up, for him. You did things he wasn’t quite sure you fully understood you were aware of. Lyla had a laugh each time.

One time he’d been so damn annoyed at your presence, always suggesting new methods, new ideas that went against his own proposals. You had, mistakenly, sighed and made a face at his refusal to hear your propositions.

He barked at you to go get him a coffee from a very specific shop he knew was across the city. You went, sensing his irritation but not quite fighting back on his outrageous command.

He got so worried you might have gotten lost that he made Lyla track your location. She cracked jokes after that, telling you how you’re so good at following directions in an almost childlike voice whenever you followed one of Miguel’s tasks after that incident. You’d grimace every time and it’d make her chuckle.

Miguel thinks she was a little jealous. After that scene, something had changed. He didn’t know if it was guilt or the fact that the way you followed his absurd command turned him on. Especially when he saw how you had shoved a coffee on his desk and sat in his office the rest of the day drinking from another you had gotten with the card he had given you. 

Retaliation, harmless and if anyone else were to do it, definitely irritating. In some way, you had won over his respect. He now technically had another personal assistant by his side and at times he would ask you to look over documents and numbers before Lyla.

She would never admit it, but she did like to tease you for that very reason, almost as if she wanted to throw you off.

It never worked, you’d thank her for her fake positive remarks and compliments. But she did grow to like you, instead going to Miguel and teasing him about you.

“She really didn’t object when I offered your shirt…”

With her voice beside his ear, he feigns looking over screens projecting company analytics, instead looking over various points of views of footage of spider people in the missions he sent them to.

“Lyla…” he warns, his mouth starting to scowl and his brows beginning to furrow and come together in the middle of his forehead.

She floats around him, for a second, her yellow hue blocking his vision as she glides with her legs crossed and her upper body leaned back as if she were seated on a recliner.

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t tell me you didn’t find it cute. I saw your heart rate bump up, don’t lie, Miguel,” she sings.

He grumbles to himself and before he could respond with a stern nuh uh, the door clicks, your hip bumping it open as you barge in with folders cradled in one arm and a resupply of the coffee you had spilled on the other.

You smile widely, lifting up the cup and almost tripping as you make your way towards his desk. He almost stands completely to help you, worried you might fall in your heels but you shake your head and lift your arm.

“Got it!”

The coffee you had accidentally spilled on yourself earlier in the day had made a nasty stain on your blouse and sweater. He fought back a smile, the button up shirt was big on you, you had to tie it up at your waist and fold it up your forearms. You were dressed like a small town diner waitress.

Lyla was quick to give you something to wear, and without a warning he was greeted in the morning with a half coffee-soaked breakfast torta and you.

Wearing his extra shirt he had hidden in a closet somewhere for emergency changes.

His body flushed with heat so quickly he had to shrug you off dismissively, walking over to the other side of his desk in order to mask the sweat that started to gather along his brow when he saw you. He had to dismiss you to do another task elsewhere.

You weren’t stupid, if anything being an intern in Alchemax under the guidance of the CEO was telling of how not stupid you were.

Sure, you might come off as a suck up, or even at times, too docile. You did things that were asked of you almost happily, you followed directions down to a T, you liked making other people proud of you. You clearly glowed with praise. 

But that didn’t mean that you didn’t know certain people took advantage of that, it didn’t mean that you didn’t hear Lyla’s taunts at Miguel or the way he looks at you.

He was an older man, older than you at least. He was well built, smart as all hell and very, very, headstrong. And he liked you, he was attracted to you.

You’ve been teasing him more often, he doesn’t even realize and you’re pretty sure Lyla doesn’t either. They just think you’re a klutz, trying to impress (which you were) and getting ahead of yourself.

He was getting more and more dirty thoughts each day with you around. Just a week ago, he brought you to a meeting, you sat next to each other and your thigh was touching his, you rose from your seat to grab a water bottle across from him and he got a whiff of your sweet perfume, he felt your body heat.

He almost had the urge to pull you to his lap to make you stop squirming and moving.

He had to have papers on his lap to hide his sudden interest.

The day before, you bent down in front of him to pick something you had pushed off from his desk with your hip. From where he sat on his desk he got a peak of your panties clinging to your cunt, an obvious wet spot on the pretty pink cotton.

From the first time he’s introduced himself to you, to now, you always get hot when you see him. All your life, most of your time was spent studying, learning, researching and working.

What you did now was light work, being his intern meant you just had to take some calls at times, bring him some paperwork and just chat. You had the time and energy to look around and smell the roses now.

Most men in your university didn’t see you the way he did, their eyes didn’t hold the same intensity when he spoke to you. You’ve realized that you’ve been missing out on the idea of sex each and every time he had to hunch down to either whisper in your ear to take notes, or to hear your soft-spoken voice clearer.

You wanted him, you wanted more of his praise, his attention and his touch. God, when he guided you to turn a hall with his hand at your waist you wanted to just moan out and jump him.

He knew he should just nod his head in the direction of where you were going, at the very most just tap your shoulder, but your skirts made your curves look that much better, he could just take a handful of your ass and squeezed if he wanted and he thinks you would have thanked him for it just like everything else he does.

It was starting to get unprofessional and you were starting to want more than just too long and firm handshakes, his hand at your waist to steady you in the creaky and slow elevator, the intensity of his stare when you spoke to anyone that wasn’t him.

The door to his office opens slowly and you come in holding your tablet and folders.

He stares at your chest as you approach, he didn’t get a good look before, but now that he does, it’s making him upset. Your lace bralette was prominent, he could see it through your shirt.

He wonders how many have already seen you like that. But he was just exaggerating, he could see clearer than most, you didn’t even notice the black lace was showing through the pristine white of his dress shirt.

Your voice gets his attention.

“You have lunch in a couple of minutes,” you look up at him and you smile softly, “on me, for letting me borrow your shirt.”

His lunch spots always cost half a paycheck; you were teasing him.

He shakes his head, standing quickly and starting to walk out of his office. He thinks he’s had enough.

You freeze, he seemed upset. He opens the door, turning at your shocked figure still standing in front of his desk.

“Lyla-” he started. 

“You’re cleared, no meetings after your lunch,” she says quickly.

He nods firmly, Lyla didn’t even appear before him like she usually does. Her voice echoed around the room. His eyes were glued to you, eyes raking from your head to the toes of your heels. Then his head tips outside.

“Leave it, come with me.”

His eyes narrowed when you didn’t drop the folders on his desk immediately. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, instead your lip twitches and your brow furrows for a second. He must be hangry. You don't blame him; he's built like a building, but he didn't have to be rude-

His hand found your hip the second you were close enough.

You both walk over to the elevator in relative silence, his hand tightening with every turn of the corner. He was greeted by coworkers and yet he ignored them, at times going as far as shielding you from their eyesight and striding faster.

You almost stumbled trying to keep pace. He feels your stare and he briefly glances down at you. You feel your heart drop at his furrowed brow and frown.

“Are you upset?”

He ignores you for a few seconds too long, now standing in front of the elevator doors and fidgeting his fingers on the other hand. The one at your waist tightens as he avoids holding your gaze.

“No.”

You two waited for the elevator. He was pulling you close, his arm slinging over your back and his thumb and pointer playing with the waistband of your skirt.

He briefly sees you frown, his hands fidget with your skirt even more, his fingers starting to touch your bare skin, to graze over the fabric of your panties.

His hand stays there, tightening as the elevator rings open.

He guides you in the empty elevator, somehow staying impossibly close despite the ample space and room.

You could feel his bicep against your body, his hip digging into your side. He slouches, his body relaxing now that no one else was there.

He’s been touching you more often, similar to how he was now. His hands would squeeze you in appreciation when he passed by you, his body would press against your back in crowded halls and elevators.

He began to stare at you from afar. 

But never like this. Never to the point of pressing you against his body in such a direct way. You start to get nervous, your legs shift at his warmth, the feel of his larger body cocooning over you.

He presses for floor one. Your head tilts up, and he leans down slightly.

He stares into your eyes, then his gaze flutters down your body, going up and staying at your breasts, which now heave as he turns to completely face you slowly.

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

Your body goes hot, your attempts to step back were stopped by his firm hands now caressing up and down your sides.

It feels as if you were dunked in ice cold water, you were in over your head. Your heart starts to race as he tips his head.

He felt like a creep at your reaction. He shouldn’t be doing this, it was so wrong and yet the way your lips parted, stuttering for a response made him want to continue.

You looked so cute, in over your head.

“N-no, sir.”

He hums, the only sound after being that of the elevator creaking. It almost felt as if it was slower than usual. Much slower.

The small deceiving smile made your cunt throb. He seemed understanding, and you knew he wasn’t. He seemed kind and you knew it was an act.

You stare up at him, feeling his hand start to grope and squeeze, his thumbs starting to press against your breasts. A voice inside of you was telling you to get away, to run and hide.

He was a predator and you were the prey, despite you initially thinking it was the other way around.

“Just tell me you don’t want this and I’ll get us out of here, I’ll pay for the rest of your hours in the program and you don’t have to come back ever again.”

You swallow thickly and he follows the path your saliva makes down your throat. He can see you start to sweat, the small hairs on the back of your neck and arms standing.

He just needed confirmation.

That you wanted this, you wanted him. You ignore your inner voice, even for a second and the thought of being fucked by an older man, who must be experienced unlike the men your age overpowers every other con of getting into this coupling.

Just once, you convince yourself. Just one time with him and never again. You’d look for someone proper, a peer, an equal.

You nod, just once, and you swear his eyes glowed.

“Lyla.”

With a call of her name the elevator stops with a jolt, he inches even closer to you and suddenly the power goes out, you’re both shrouded in complete darkness.

You yelp in surprise, hands shooting out in panic and meeting his chest

His hands cupped your waist, his chest was at your front and his legs were starting to creep between yours.

“It’s ok, nena.”

He guides your hand to his shoulders, making them lock together as he hunches over to get his face closer to yours. Your back presses against the walls. He taps your waist and thighs.

“Jump.”

What else was your skirt supposed to do but ride up as your legs were lifted to wrap around his waist. He feels you tremble. He sees it.

In the almost pitch black darkness he can still see you so clearly. He looks down, his fingers tracing over the darkening spot on your underwear.

Your breath stuttered and he couldn’t control himself anymore. He pressed himself against you, you feel how large he was, how much his cock throbbed as you let out a whimper.

He was so strong, his arms pulsed, he didn’t even grunt as he held you up and your ankles crossed on the small of his back.

You could only feel him, your eyes were closed and he almost wished he could see your eyes. But the power had to be cut off so that the cameras couldn’t see what only he was supposed to see, and you wouldn’t need your eyes open anyways.

He could see everything else perfectly fine.

Your beautiful breasts were uncovered with each pull of the buttons of your shirt. Your panties were pulled to the side.

And he could see that you were dripping. Your hands were practically clinging onto his shoulders as he started kissing your collarbones.

Miguel thought you were trembling because he was already making you feel good. In part, that was true, but really you were nervous. His dick was pulled from his pants, his belt loose and low on his hips.

You felt the head and you gasped, he pressed further into you, head burying in your neck and making your head tilt up to the ceiling. You wine, his bulbous tip already stretching you, making your legs tense and your heart race so much you felt as if you couldn’t breathe.

You were really doing this, with him, in complete darkness and in an elevator.

“I know, I know…” he hushes. He knew how big he was, he enjoyed watching his partners squirm on it, whine and shift in an attempt to fit him in.

But you were so cute, so sweet and he didn’t want to make it hurt as much. His thumb meets your clit and you freeze, you moan loudly, sound so sudden you cover your mouth in embarrassment.

He chuckled, pressing on, tracing around the hood and starting to suck bruises on your shoulders.

He was so big, his head popped in and even still he had so much more. You started to break a sweat as his hips flexed forward, keeping you pressed against the metal walls, making you slicker, the arousal starting to slide down and lube up his cock so that he could slide in easier.

“Mr. O’Hara, It’s so big.”

He shivers, humming a satisfied yes into your skin, biting lightly. You felt something sharp, teeth dragging against your skin and making it pucker with goosebumps.

“You can take it, I know you can.”

An inch and you clench tightly, pressure building near your stomach. It wasn’t quite pleasurable yet, but his thumb circling over your clit in combination with the fullness he was giving you was making you whimper in excitement.

“I know I'm bigger than the rest. It’s okay, I’ll take care of you.”

You nod dumbly as inch by inch he manages to stuff his thick throbbing cock in you. You wouldn’t know about any others. If your mind was clearer you might have scoffed. He had an ego that matched his sheer bulk.

But as far as you knew, Miguel was sporting the biggest damn cock in the world. When he was fully sheathed in you, you felt as if you were going to be split in two, you felt him everywhere around you.

When he started moving you felt as if you were in heaven. He pumped into you, his heavy balls slapping against you, his hand squeezing your waist so tightly you’re sure he was going to leave bruises.

His breathing grew heavy, his mouth mumbled praises into your shoulder.

“So tight, been wanting this pussy since you started wearing that new perfume.”

New perfume? You started wearing perfume the week after you started working under him.

He pulls back and thrusts harder to make your tits bounce, his hands clawing at your bralette to expose your breasts. Your nipples were peaked, they jiggled and shook with each flex of his hips into you.

”Hermosa,” he groans.

Your whine gets muffled with his lips, your hands find their way to the back of his head frantically as his tongue invades your mouth. Your body wasn’t under your control, you’ve become so desperate to have him closer, to feel so much more.

You moan with your mouth wide open, feeling his nose press against yours and his lips attempting to devour your sounds and lips.

“Five minutes…”

You barely hear Lyla’s voice. It was said lowly, her volume quieted. She was obviously only talking to Miguel, warning him of how much longer she can keep the elevator under the dark before the front desk was notified of there being a problem.

Miguel leaned away from your lips, his thrusts becoming more frantic, his thumb swirling over your cunt, honing in on your clit.

“Baby, you need to cum for me.”

He starts rutting into you, grinding against your pussy, making your lower stomach flex in sensation.

“Can you do that for me, honey?”

You nod and he groans. You were so dumb on his cock that you didn’t think of the fact that if he couldn’t see you in the dark, he wouldn’t have seen you writhing on the walls, nodding your head as you whimpered from his cock pounding you.

You realize this after a couple of seconds.

“Yes, Mr-“, you let out a low groan, you could feel your cunt get tighter, he felt almost unbearably big now. You could feel each ridge and bulging vein. “Mr. Oh-Oh-“

He smirks, he feels his pride swell.

“Are you going to cum for me? So that I could fill your pretty little cunt?”

You crumble, your jaw tightens and your back arches off of the wall. You feel rabid, as if you were about to start foaming at the mouth from his words, and his touch, and his presence.

Your words were slurred, your walls squeezing him as you rode through the first release you’ve ever had by another hand.

“Yes, Mr. O’Hara-“

He staves off as much as he could, filling you up with thick cum the moment you had started catching your breath. He wanted to see you fall apart, he wanted to see your moan catch in your throat and your body twitch in completion.

Your cunt became so tight, it made him stutter mid thrust. It was so much, he hadn't had time to masturbate, he hadn't seen anyone in a long while and his balls were heavy.

The second he helped you stand on two feet, his softened cock slipping out of you, it was like a flood. He had to press your underwear against your cunt, making sure a trail of his cum didn’t leak onto the floor and be wasted.

He pressed his head against yours for a few seconds, your heavy breaths mingling together.

He hasn’t felt this good in a while. Being in the presence of someone that appreciates his time and effort, that admires him.

You were wonderful, intelligent, beautiful and oh so sweet. He stares at your face, his eyes flickering to your lips slightly parted in pants.

He kisses you. You melt into him, your arms still clutching over his shoulders and your body stretched to meet the lips happily.

You would be good for him, you already are.

Could you blame him for thinking of keeping you as a personal assistant after your internship ends?

The lights flicker on, your eyes burn from the sudden illumination and you blink rapidly as you attempt to focus. His face has never been this close to yours, it almost makes you yelp in surprise.

He kneels, smoothing down your skirt quickly and you finally move to button up your shirt when the elevator starts to move down, panic starting to rise in your chest.

Lyla, such a sweetheart that she was, skipped the first few floors until you were both standing semi-composed.

Your heart was beating out of your chest when the doors opened. With a glance above you, you were halfway down to the lobby. You swallow thickly each time you are pushed back, Miguel now having his back against the wall and your body following beside him in the corner.

Heads were staring straight forward in silence, the only noise being that of greetings to Miguel and the elevator walls trembling as it went down agonizingly slowly.

You stare forward, your breath hitching when you feel a hand inch close to your ass, fingertips grazing the fabric of your skirt.

A conversation starts at the front, the room then fills with low chuckles and Miguel’s hand makes contact with your cheek, pawing and kneading at it like a cat.

You lift your head and stare beside you and his expression is unchanged, stern and bored. The corner of his mouth lifts as he glances down, his fingers pinching you teasingly.

You cover your gasp with a cough. Some heads turn in annoyance and they quickly turn away when they catch Miguel glaring down on them for even thinking of looking at you.

The back slit of your skirt was played with between his fingertips, you ignored it, squeezing your legs together tightly.

Then his hand surpasses the back of your skirt, lifting.

“Mr. O’Hara,” you whisper.

He ignores you, and suddenly his fingers pry your thighs apart and his palm cups you. He shakes his head at you, feigning innocence.

You attempt to hold in your moans as he grinds his hand onto you. He stops with each level.

There were a hundred floors in the whole building, and there was about a third left to stop on.

You curse yourself for pressing against his side in an attempt to stabilize your legs, it only gave him more access. By the time the elevator had lowered down to floor ten he started rubbing your swollen clit over your underwear vigorously.

You were fighting the urge to cu, his fingers were covered in your slick and his cum still stuffed and packed into you from before.

By floor two, you were alone. The second the doors slid shut you gripped onto his shoulders and moved your hips against his palm boldly, moaning out into the air and burying your face against his chest as your body trembled in another orgasm.

He was holding onto you tightly by the time you reached the first floor, rubbing your back soothingly and pressing a kiss atop your head.

You were still breathing heavily as you walked past the front desk and made it out the doors to the front steps.

Lyla pops up on Miguel’s shoulder in a sitting position, swinging her legs. Her elbows rested on her knees and her chin was held up by her palms. She smirks knowingly, staring as you shift on your feet. You feel her stare. 

“Lyla…” Miguel sighs, snapping his head at her in warning.

“It should be here in a couple of minutes,” she says mockingly.

She continues to swing her feet and Miguel attempts to swat her away. Suddenly she appears in front of you, her hands in the pockets of her coat as she smiles.

“Black lace, huh? Classy, I like it.”

You look down, your whole body firing with heat and embarrassment.

“Lyla, I swear to-“

“Have fun you two!”

You stare at the ground, he shifts closer, awkwardly. He puts a hand on your arm, leaning down to speak to you softly. 

“She won’t tell anyone, she literally can’t, it’s against her programming…”

You were initially worried about that, your mind just barely registering the fact that you two could have easily been caught. You could have been reported for public indecency, who would have hired you then?

”I know… I trust her. And you.”

Should you? He asks himself, thinking of what he’s probably going to rewatch later that same night. He’s going to ask Lyla for the recording he knew she had.

Lyla knew him more than most, she was practically his diary, he spilled his deepest and innermost thoughts in their recording sessions.

She knew that he was going to fuck you in that elevator, so she turned off the systems for thirty minutes. She knew he would want to spend time with you afterwards so she cancelled all of his meetings and plans for the day.

She was probably cooking up the highlights of what happened in the elevator that very second.

He nods and you both wait in silence. You shiver from the breeze passing through, he realizes you didn’t have one of the sweaters you would usually bring with you to work. It was now stored somewhere in his office.

He’s sure Lyla wasn’t going to bring up the fact that you left it there, for his sake of course.

He gives you his coat, draping it over your shoulders, barely glancing down at you as if it wasn’t a big deal. You stare up at him for a while as you both wait for a ride.

It stops in front of you and the image reflected off of the dark tinted glass makes your heart stop. You looked a mess, your skirt wrinkled, your makeup dragging and your neck and lips swollen.

You looked thoroughly and completely fucked. It was like a badge.

His hand finds your waist, leading you into the car as the door slid open, you vaguely hear his deep voice give out directions for the restaurant he wants to go to for lunch. His hands slither over your waist to pull you closer.

He closes the privacy window and kisses your cheek, then your jaw, leaving a trail of pecks down your neck as he hummed at your smell. Your sweet perfume with a hint of sex. 

You close your eyes, warding off your inner worries and taking in the feeling of affection in such an intimate way for the first time.

How were you going to tell him that he just took your virginity?

--------------------

Thank you for reading! Miguel is a typical douche in this one and he’s delusional in thinking Reader genuinely understands and likes him like that. But he’s sexy and rich and I would ignore all of those other qualities as well.

-Alejandra 💋 🐇

[pucksandpower]

Never? Never.

Day 14 → Innocence Play 💋 Lewis Hamilton

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The office feels charged. There’s a weight in the air, one that sits low on Lewis’ chest as he waits. His arms are crossed, and he leans back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the armrest.

He’s not impatient, exactly. More … curious. A steady line of candidates has been moving in and out all morning, but none of them have made much of an impression.

Then the door opens.

You step in, and for a second, the world seems to shift. Lewis sits up straighter, the tapping on the armrest stops as his hand stills. It’s subtle, but something inside him clicks.

You’re standing there, blinking up at him with wide, innocent eyes, dressed in a way that shouldn’t catch his attention but does. There’s something about you — something that feels out of place, but in a way that demands his attention.

You look young. Too young, maybe. But your resume … he remembers it well. It was strong, impressive even, especially for someone your age.

That’s why you’re here, why you got the interview. But now that he sees you — sees the way your lips press together nervously, the way your hands fidget at your sides — he knows. He’s already decided.

You’re the one.

He clears his throat, motions toward the chair opposite him. “You can sit.”

You hesitate for half a second, then move quickly to take a seat. Your movements are precise but careful, like you’re hyper-aware of the space around you.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice almost a whisper. Lewis has to resist the urge to lean in closer, as if proximity could make you louder.

For a moment, there’s silence. It hangs in the air between you, but it isn’t uncomfortable. He watches you, studies the way your fingers lace together in your lap, the way your gaze flickers between him and the floor.

“So,” Lewis finally says, his voice deep, smooth, breaking the stillness. “You’re younger than I expected.”

You look up sharply, and there it is — that nervous energy he noticed the moment you walked in. “Is that … a problem?”

Lewis leans back in his chair, watching you carefully. “Not necessarily.” He lets the words hang, lets you sit with them for a moment. Then he adds, “Your resume says enough. But you know, experience counts too.”

You nod quickly, like you’ve rehearsed this. “I’ve worked hard to gain as much experience as possible, despite my age. I did an accelerated program, internships, and I’ve had hands-on experience in sports therapy.”

He smirks a little, not unkindly. “That’s what the resume says. But I want to know if you can keep up. My schedule is … demanding.”

“I can handle demanding.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow, intrigued. There’s a quiet strength in your voice now, something steady beneath the nerves. It draws him in. “You sure?”

You nod again, a little more confidently this time. “I’m sure.”

For a moment, he just looks at you. There’s something about your determination, your innocence wrapped in a quiet kind of fierceness, that makes him want to test you. Push a little further. See how far you’ll go.

“You know what I do, right?” he asks, voice low, almost teasing. “How intense it gets?”

Your lips part slightly, eyes wide again, but you don’t look away. “I know.”

“And you think you can keep up with that? With me?”

You hesitate, but only for a fraction of a second. “I do.”

Lewis lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and there’s a flicker of something — something he can’t quite name — that runs through him. Maybe it’s the way you sit there, unwavering under his scrutiny. Or maybe it’s the fact that you’re still so young, so innocent, yet there’s an undeniable strength beneath it all.

“You don’t look like you belong here,” he says suddenly, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Your cheeks flush, but you don’t back down. “Maybe I don’t. But I can do the job.”

That makes him smile, really smile this time. “Confident.”

You don’t respond, just look at him with those wide, innocent eyes that make something inside him twist. He’s always liked control, liked knowing where everything stands, and right now, he’s trying to figure out where you fit into that. Because you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t affect him like this. But you do.

“Okay,” he says finally, breaking the silence again. “Let’s say I believe you. What makes you think you can handle me?”

You blink, clearly caught off guard. “I-I mean, I’ve worked with athletes before. High pressure, fast-paced environments.”

Lewis shakes his head, leaning forward now, arms resting on the table between you. “No. What makes you think you can handle me? It’s not just about keeping up with the physical demands. It’s about knowing what I need, sometimes before I even know it myself.”

You swallow hard, and he watches as you process the question. It’s not fair, not really, because how could you possibly know what he’s asking for? But he wants to see how you’ll respond, how far you’ll go to prove yourself.

“I … I think I’m good at reading people,” you say slowly, carefully. “I can pick up on what they need, even when they don’t say it out loud. I don’t know everything about you yet, but I’m confident I can learn.”

There it is again — that quiet strength. The determination that makes something inside him tighten. He likes it. He likes you.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer now.

You blink, unsure how to respond. “Is that … bad?”

Lewis shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “No. It’s not bad at all.”

There’s a beat of silence, then he adds, “You’ve got the job.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “But … you didn’t ask me any real questions. You haven’t seen what I can do.”

“I don’t need to,” he says simply, standing up from his chair. He walks around the table, stopping just in front of you. “I already know.”

You stand too, a little more slowly, still looking at him like you can’t quite believe what’s happening. “But … why?”

Lewis steps closer, close enough now that he can see the way your breath hitches just slightly. He lowers his voice, eyes locked on yours. “Because you’re the only one who walked in here and made me feel something.”

Your breath catches, and for a second, neither of you move. There’s something electric in the air, something that crackles between you, and Lewis feels it in his chest, in the way his pulse quickens.

“You’re going to learn a lot,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper now. “About me. About what I need. And I’m going to push you, test you, see how far you can go. But I think you’re ready for that.”

You swallow hard, and he watches as you try to steady yourself, try to keep up with the intensity of his gaze. “I … I am.”

Lewis nods, satisfied. “Good. We start tomorrow.”

With that, he steps back, giving you a little space, though the air between you still feels charged, thick with something unspoken. You seem unsure of what to say, how to respond, but Lewis doesn’t need words right now.

He turns, walking toward the door, but pauses just before opening it. Without looking back, he says, “See you at 6 AM sharp. Don’t be late.”

Then he’s gone, leaving you standing there, breathless and wide-eyed, already wrapped up in something you can’t quite name yet.

But Lewis knows.

He knew the moment you walked in.

You were always meant to be his.

***

The penthouse feels warm, alive in the afterglow of celebration. Outside, the city hums in the late hours, but inside, it’s just the two of you. The clink of glasses and quiet laughter fills the space as you sit on the plush couch, facing each other.

The race earlier had been electric — Lewis on top of the podium again, his smile wide and genuine, the energy of the crowd still buzzing in his veins. Now, it’s quieter. The adrenaline has faded to something softer, and there’s a comfortable ease between you that hadn’t been there in those early days. It’s been months of working together, and you’ve found your rhythm.

Lewis leans back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one arm resting lazily on the back of the couch. His other hand holds a glass of Almave and he swirls the liquid idly, watching the way the light catches in the amber liquid.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, his voice low, cutting through the comfortable silence.

You look up at him, blinking a little as if pulled from your thoughts. “Just … taking it all in.”

Lewis smiles, a slow, crooked thing that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good night, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “It was … perfect.”

He watches you for a moment, studying the way you say it, the way your eyes seem to sparkle just a little more tonight. You’re both a little tipsy on the high of the win and the celebratory toasts that followed. The Almave is smooth, the evening smooth, and everything feels just a little softer around the edges.

“You’re getting better at this,” he says, leaning forward slightly, eyes still locked on you. “The whole celebration thing.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be the one celebrating.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Why not? You’re part of this. Part of me.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, heavier than you expected, and you don’t know what to say. Lewis is always like this — direct, confident, never afraid to make you think, to push just a little further than you’re comfortable. It’s why you’ve grown so much since you started working with him. He makes you better, challenges you in ways no one ever has.

“You don’t have to keep quiet when things go well,” he continues, his voice soft but firm. “You’re allowed to enjoy it.”

You nod, but there’s something in your eyes, something guarded. He notices it right away, the way you pull back just a little, and he doesn’t like it. He wants to break through that wall you still keep up sometimes, even after all these months.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, leaning in a little closer now, his voice low and gentle. “You look like you’re holding something back.”

You shift uncomfortably, eyes darting away for a second before you force yourself to look at him again. “Nothing. I’m just … tired.”

“Liar.” He says it with a teasing smile, but his eyes are sharp, focused on you in that way he has, like he can see straight through the layers you try to put up. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

You nod, but there’s a hesitation, a flicker of something that passes over your face. Lewis doesn’t miss it. He never misses anything when it comes to you.

“You don’t believe me,” he says, voice softer now, almost coaxing.

“I do,” you protest, but it’s weak, unconvincing.

Lewis sets his glass down on the coffee table, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Tell me something,” he says quietly, his eyes holding yours. “Something you’ve never told anyone before.”

You blink, the request catching you off guard. Your eyes widen slightly, and Lewis can see the panic flash across your face, just for a second.

“I don’t know if-” you start, but Lewis cuts you off.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No deflecting. You can trust me.”

There’s a beat of silence, and he watches as you wrestle with yourself, weighing whether or not to let him in. He’s patient, though. He knows you need time. And he knows you’ll tell him, eventually. You always do.

“I don’t …” you start, then stop, biting your lip as you look down at your hands. “It’s … personal.”

Lewis leans back again, but his eyes stay fixed on you. “That’s the point. I’m asking you to let me in.”

You fidget in your seat, your fingers twisting in your lap as you avoid his gaze. “I’m just not sure if it’s … the right time.”

Lewis lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “If not now, when? We’ve been doing this — whatever this is — for months now. I think we’re past the point of secrets, don’t you?”

You stay quiet, your eyes darting to the side, and Lewis can see the internal battle you’re fighting. He can almost feel it, the way you’re teetering on the edge of letting something out that you’ve kept hidden for a long time.

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to place a hand on your knee, his touch light but grounding. “It’s just me. You know that, right?”

You finally look up at him, your eyes searching his for something — reassurance, maybe, or understanding. And Lewis holds your gaze, steady and unwavering, waiting for you to decide.

“I don’t know if you really want to hear this,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis tilts his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Try me.”

There’s a long pause, the air between you thick with tension. Then, finally, you take a deep breath, your shoulders rising and falling with the weight of whatever it is you’re about to say.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” you start, your voice shaky but determined. “Because it’s … it’s embarrassing. And I don’t really know how to-”

Lewis cuts you off, his voice gentle but firm. “Don’t overthink it. Just say it.”

You swallow hard, your eyes dropping to your hands again as you fidget with the hem of your shirt. There’s a long pause, and Lewis can see how hard this is for you, how much you’re struggling to get the words out. But he stays quiet, giving you the space you need, his hand still resting on your knee, a steady presence.

Then, in a voice so soft he almost doesn’t hear it, you finally speak.

“I’ve never had an orgasm.”

***

There’s a stillness in the room after your words hang in the air. Lewis watches you, his eyes sharp, but his expression softens — careful. He wasn’t expecting that. Of all the things you could’ve said, this isn’t what crossed his mind. But there it is. Laid bare between you both.

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” His voice is quiet, but there’s something darker beneath it, something that makes the air feel heavier, charged.

You don’t look at him, your face flushed with embarrassment, your hands still fidgeting in your lap. “I don’t … I don’t really know why,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just never happened.”

Lewis leans back against the couch, his arm sliding across the backrest, fingers just brushing the top of your shoulder. He’s processing this, taking his time. He’s no stranger to intimacy, but this is different. This is you.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, sees the way you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice low, pulling you back from wherever your mind is racing to. “Look at me.”

You hesitate, but finally, your eyes meet his. There’s vulnerability there, a kind of rawness that makes his chest tighten. He’s used to seeing you composed, in control of yourself, even when you’re nervous. But now? Now you look small, like you’re afraid of being judged.

Lewis doesn’t judge. Not you. Not ever.

“First of all,” he says, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “there’s nothing embarrassing about that. Understand?”

You nod, but you don’t look convinced. He can tell this is something you’ve been carrying around for a while, something that’s weighed on you.

“And second,” he continues, his smile widening just a little, “I may be vegan, but I’d be more than happy to devour you.”

Your eyes widen in shock, your mouth parting slightly as his words sink in. “What?” You whisper, like you didn’t hear him right.

Lewis chuckles, low and deep, leaning in closer. “You heard me.”

He can see the confusion in your eyes, the way your mind is working overtime to process what he’s offering. He likes seeing you like this — unsure, but curious. There’s something about the innocence in your gaze that stirs something primal in him, something possessive.

“I-” you start, but you cut yourself off, clearly unsure of how to respond.

Lewis tilts his head slightly, watching you carefully, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to do anything. Let me take the lead.”

Your breath hitches, and he watches as your lips part again, eyes darting away from his. You’re nervous, he knows that. But there’s something else too, something that feels like anticipation. You’re intrigued, curious, maybe even a little excited by the prospect of letting go.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers now twisting the fabric of your shirt again.

Lewis shifts, closing the space between you, his hand moving to cup your chin gently, turning your face so that you’re looking at him. “You don’t have to know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “All you need to do is trust me. Can you do that?”

You hesitate, your eyes searching his, trying to find something, some kind of reassurance. But there’s only certainty in his gaze, the kind that comes with confidence, with control. He knows what he’s doing, knows how to read you, and he wants to show you just how good it can be.

“Yes,” you finally breathe, the word barely audible but enough for Lewis to hear.

“Good,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your bottom lip now. He watches as your breath catches, your lips parting just slightly under his touch. There’s a shift in the air between you, something electric, and Lewis feels it deep in his chest. He’s been patient with you, kept things professional, but there’s always been this undercurrent, this tension.

He’s not interested in waiting any longer.

His hand drops from your chin, trailing down your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone. He watches the way your chest rises and falls, how your breath quickens just from the lightest touch. It’s intoxicating, watching you respond to him like this, and he knows you’re feeling it too — the pull, the anticipation.

“Let me show you,” he whispers, his voice low, almost a growl. “I want you to feel everything.”

You bite your lip, clearly still nervous, but you don’t pull away. You’re trusting him, even though you’re unsure of where this is going.

Lewis leans in, his lips just inches from your ear as he whispers, “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

Your body stiffens for a moment, but then he feels you melt into his touch as his hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer. It’s slow, deliberate, the way he moves, as if he’s savoring each moment, each small reaction from you. And that’s exactly what he’s doing.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your face, gauging how you’re feeling. There’s still that uncertainty in your gaze, but there’s something else too — desire. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and Lewis can feel it in the way your body leans into his, the way your breath hitches whenever he touches you.

“Don’t think,” he murmurs, his lips just brushing against yours, teasing. “Just feel.”

You nod slightly, and that’s all the permission he needs. He closes the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s soft at first, almost testing the waters. But as soon as he feels you respond — feels the way your lips part under his, the way you sigh into the kiss — it deepens. His hand moves to your waist, gripping you tighter, pulling you even closer as he takes control, guiding the pace, the rhythm.

You’re tentative, unsure, but you’re following his lead. And that’s all he needs.

Lewis pulls away just slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and he can feel the warmth radiating from your skin, the way your body is buzzing with something new, something unfamiliar.

“How are you feeling?” He asks softly, his voice rough but tender, his hand sliding down to your hip, holding you steady.

Your eyes flutter open, and you look at him with a kind of awe, like you can’t quite believe what’s happening. “I … I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice shaky. “I feel … different.”

Lewis smiles, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip again. “Good different?”

You nod, biting your lip again, and he can see the way your body is responding, even if you’re not fully aware of it yet. You’re relaxing into him, letting go of that initial hesitation, and he loves seeing it — the way you’re starting to trust him, to trust yourself.

“Let me keep going,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear again, sending a shiver down your spine. “I want to make you feel good. Just … let me lead.”

You hesitate for a second, your breath catching in your throat, but then you nod. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but it’s there.

Lewis doesn’t waste another second. His hand slides down your side, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip, while his other hand cradles the back of your neck, pulling you closer for another kiss. This one is deeper, hungrier, and he can feel you responding, your body leaning into his touch, your lips parting for him.

He’s in control. And you’re letting him be.

And as the night stretches on, Lewis knows one thing for sure — he’s going to show you everything you’ve been missing.

Lewis deepens the kiss, feeling the way you respond, how you melt into his touch. He moves with a slow, deliberate intensity, his hand exploring the curves of your body, memorizing every line and contour. There’s a purpose to his movements — he wants to show you what you’ve been missing, and he’s determined to do it right.

“Just relax,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod slightly, your breath hitching as his hand slips under your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and Lewis feels it, the way your body reacts to his touch. He smiles, a dark, satisfied smile, knowing he’s already starting to break through the walls you’ve built up.

His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin lightly. He can feel your pulse quicken, the way your breath comes in shallow gasps, and it only fuels his desire. He wants to hear you, to feel you lose control, to know that he’s the one making you feel this way.

“Do you trust me?” He whispers, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Yes,” you breathe, the word barely audible, but it’s enough for Lewis.

“Good,” he replies, his hand moving lower, tracing the waistband of your jeans. “Just let go. Let me show you what it’s like.”

You nod again, and Lewis feels a surge of satisfaction. He wants to take his time with you, to savor every moment, every reaction. His fingers deftly undo the button of your jeans, and he feels you tense slightly.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing purr. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

You take a shaky breath, and he can feel you trying to relax, to trust him. He slides your jeans down, his hands trailing over your thighs, his touch light but firm. He wants you to feel every sensation, to be completely aware of what he’s doing.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, but there’s a softness there too, a tenderness that surprises even him. He wants this to be good for you, wants to show you how it should feel.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says softly, his hands moving back up, caressing your skin. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

You bite your lip, your eyes locked on his, and Lewis can see the mix of emotions there — nervousness, anticipation, desire. It’s intoxicating.

He leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss, his hand slipping between your thighs, finding the soft fabric of your underwear. He can feel the heat radiating from you, the way your body is already responding to his touch.

“Just let me lead,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers teasing you through the fabric. “I promise you’re going to love this.”

You nod, and Lewis takes it as his cue. He slips his fingers under the waistband, finding the soft, wet heat of you. You gasp, your body arching into his touch, and he smiles against your skin.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. “Just feel.”

You’re breathing harder now, your hands gripping his shoulders, and Lewis can feel the way your body is trembling. He watches your face, the way your eyes flutter closed, your lips parted as you try to catch your breath.

“You’re so responsive,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I love how you’re reacting to me.”

He increases the pressure slightly, his fingers finding a rhythm that has you gasping, your body arching off the couch. He can feel you getting wetter, your arousal slick against his fingers, and it drives him wild.

“Do you like that?” He asks, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice breathless. “Oh God, yes.”

“Good,” he replies, his fingers moving faster now, the pace increasing. “Because I’m not stopping until you come for me.”

You moan, your body trembling as the pleasure builds, and Lewis can feel you getting closer, your muscles tensing, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He wants to push you over the edge, to see you lose control completely.

“Let go,” he murmurs, his voice a rough command. “I want to feel you come.”

You’re close, he can feel it, and he moves his fingers faster, his thumb finding just the right spot. You cry out, your body arching off the couch, and Lewis can feel you clenching around his fingers as the orgasm crashes over you.

“That’s it,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Let it out.”

You’re trembling, gasping for breath, and Lewis doesn’t stop, his fingers still moving, drawing out every last bit of pleasure. He wants you to feel it completely, to know what it’s like to lose yourself in the sensation.

As the waves of pleasure finally start to subside, he slows his movements, his touch gentle now, soothing. He watches you, the way your chest rises and falls, your eyes still closed, a look of bliss on your face.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping out, his hand moving to rest on your thigh. “Absolutely incredible.”

You open your eyes, looking at him with a mix of amazement and exhaustion. “I … I can’t believe that just happened,” you whisper.

Lewis smiles, a slow, satisfied smile. “Believe it. And trust me, it’s only the beginning.”

He leans in, kissing you deeply, his hand still resting on your thigh, grounding you. He can feel the way your body is still trembling slightly, the aftershocks of your orgasm making you shiver.

“How do you feel?” He asks softly, his lips brushing against yours.

“Amazing,” you reply, your voice shaky but filled with wonder. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

Lewis chuckles, a low, satisfied sound. “Oh, it can be even better. I promise you.”

You bite your lip, looking at him with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. “Really?”

“Really,” he says, his hand moving up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “I want to show you everything, make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

You blush, the color rising in your cheeks, and Lewis feels a surge of affection for you. You’re still so shy, so unsure, but you’re trusting him, and that means everything to him.

“I want that,” you say softly, your eyes locked on his.

“Good,” he replies, his voice filled with determination. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

He kisses you again, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that takes your breath away. His hand slips back down, finding the heat of you once more, and he can feel the way your body responds, the way you’re already getting aroused again.

“I want to taste you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire. “I want to make you come with my mouth.”

You gasp, your eyes wide with surprise and anticipation. “I … I’ve never …”

Lewis cuts you off with a kiss, his hand moving to gently push you back against the couch. “Trust me,” he says, his voice a low growl. “You’re going to love this.”

He moves down your body, his lips trailing over your skin, leaving a path of fire in their wake. He takes his time, savoring each moment, each reaction, until he’s settled between your thighs, his hands gently spreading you open.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes dark with desire. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

You’re trembling, your breath coming in short gasps, and Lewis can feel the anticipation radiating off you. He leans in, his tongue flicking out to taste you, and the sound you make — the soft, desperate moan — drives him wild.

He starts slow, teasing, his tongue moving in gentle, deliberate strokes, wanting to savor the taste of you, the way you respond to his touch. He can feel your body tensing, your hips arching towards him, and he holds you steady, his hands gripping your thighs.

“Just let go,” he murmurs against your skin, his tongue finding a rhythm that has you gasping, your fingers tangling in his braids. “Let me make you feel good.”

You’re moaning now, your body trembling as the pleasure builds, and Lewis can feel the way you’re getting closer, the way your muscles are tensing, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Oh God,” you gasp, your voice high and breathless. “Lewis, please …”

He smiles against your skin, increasing the pressure, his tongue moving faster, more insistent. He wants to push you over the edge again, to feel you lose control completely.

“Come for me,” he growls, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. “I want to taste you.”

You cry out, your body arching off the couch as the orgasm crashes over you, and Lewis doesn’t stop, his tongue still moving, drawing out every last bit of pleasure. He wants you to feel it completely, to know what it’s like to lose yourself in the sensation.

As the waves of pleasure finally start to subside, he slows his movements, his touch gentle now, soothing. Lewis pulls back slightly, watching you as you lay there, your chest still rising and falling from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

The look on your face — blissful, flushed, and so vulnerable — makes something twist deep in his chest. You’ve just experienced something new, something he’s given you, and the knowledge of that fills him with an intense satisfaction.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his smile slow and full of heat. “You taste incredible,” he murmurs again, voice rough, letting the words hang between you. “I’ve never tasted anything better.”

You’re still catching your breath, but your eyes find his, and there’s a spark of something there — nervous, but … curious.

Lewis can see the way you hesitate, the way you’re trying to form words but don’t quite know how. He leans in, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “What is it, love?” He asks, his voice soft, coaxing. He’s patient, not wanting to rush you.

You bite your lip, your cheeks flushed with both the intensity of what’s just happened and the thought clearly forming in your mind. “I … I want to …” You hesitate, glancing away briefly, embarrassed. “I want to do the same to you.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow, intrigued, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits, watching the way your gaze drops to his chest, avoiding eye contact.

“I just don’t know … how,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

His heart stirs at your shyness, the vulnerability of your admission. There’s something so genuine about you, so unaffected. He can see the innocence still lingering in your eyes, even after everything that’s just happened. It makes him want to be gentle, to guide you, to show you that there’s no pressure here — just a shared experience between the two of you.

Lewis shifts his weight, sitting up and leaning back against the cushions. He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to be nervous,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing across your skin. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You shake your head quickly, your hand reaching out to touch his chest, your fingers splayed against his skin. “I want to,” you say, the words coming out more firmly now, but still tinged with uncertainty. “I just … I don’t want to mess it up.”

Lewis chuckles, the sound low and warm, easing the tension in the room. “You won’t mess it up,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Trust me, you can’t mess this up.”

You glance up at him, your eyes searching his face, and he can see the resolve settling in. Slowly, you shift, moving closer to him, your hands tentatively sliding down his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle. Lewis watches you carefully, his breath slowing as your touch grows more confident.

Your fingers dip lower, brushing the waistband of his sweatpants, and you pause, glancing up at him again. “What do I … do first?” You ask, your voice small but filled with curiosity.

Lewis reaches down, his hand gently covering yours, guiding it to the drawstring of his pants. “You start by taking these off,” he says, his voice deep, steady. “Just go slow.”

You swallow hard, but you nod, your fingers trembling slightly as you untie the knot and slowly pull his pants down. Lewis helps you, lifting his hips slightly to ease them off, and soon, they’re discarded on the floor. He’s left in just his boxers, his arousal evident beneath the thin fabric.

You bite your lip again, your eyes widening slightly as you take in the sight of him. “I don’t … I don’t know if I’ll be good at this,” you admit, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

Lewis reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch soft, reassuring. “You don’t have to be perfect,” he says gently. “Just listen to me, and I’ll tell you what feels good. Okay?”

You nod, your nerves still there, but there’s a determination in your gaze now, a desire to learn, to please him the way he pleased you. Slowly, you reach for the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down carefully, and Lewis lets out a low breath as he’s freed from the confines of the fabric.

For a moment, you just stare, your hand hovering uncertainly above him. “It’s … bigger than I thought,” you murmur, and Lewis can’t help but grin at your honesty.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice laced with amusement. “You’ll get used to it.”

You look up at him, biting your lip nervously, and Lewis reaches down, taking your hand in his. He guides it to him, his breath hitching slightly as your fingers wrap around him, tentative but curious.

“Like this?” You ask, your voice small, unsure.

Lewis closes his eyes briefly, feeling the warmth of your hand around him, the softness of your touch. “Yeah,” he breathes, his voice rougher now. “Just like that.”

You start slow, your hand moving tentatively at first, feeling your way through the unfamiliar motions. Lewis watches you, his breath deepening as you grow more confident, your movements becoming more fluid. He can see the concentration on your face, the way you’re so focused on getting it right, and it only makes him want you more.

“Am I doing it okay?” You ask, glancing up at him, your eyes wide, seeking approval.

Lewis groans softly, his hand moving to rest on the back of your neck. “You’re doing perfect,” he says, his voice thick with desire. “Just keep going.”

You bite your lip again, nodding slightly as your hand moves faster, finding a rhythm. Lewis’ breath hitches, his body tensing slightly as the pleasure starts to build. He’s trying to stay in control, to guide you, but you’re learning quickly, and the way your touch feels — tentative yet eager — is driving him wild.

“You’re so good at this,” he murmurs, his hand tightening slightly on the back of your neck, encouraging you. “Just like that.”

Your cheeks flush at his praise, and you seem to grow even more confident, your movements more sure. Lewis can feel his control slipping, the pleasure coiling tight in his gut, but he doesn’t want to rush this. He wants you to feel how much he’s enjoying it, how good you’re making him feel.

“Do you want to use your mouth?” He asks, his voice low, rough with desire. “I can show you how.”

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes widening slightly at the suggestion, but then you nod. “Yes,” you whisper. “Show me.”

Lewis shifts, adjusting himself so that you have better access, and he cups your cheek gently, guiding you closer. “Just start slow,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your lips. “Don’t worry about being perfect. Just take your time.”

You nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you lean in, your lips brushing against him tentatively at first. Lewis groans softly, his hand tightening on the back of your neck, but he’s careful not to push you too hard. He wants you to move at your own pace, to find your own rhythm.

You open your mouth, taking him in slowly, and Lewis’ breath hitches, his body tensing as the warmth of your mouth surrounds him. “Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so good.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide, and he can see the uncertainty there, but also the desire to please him. He groans, his hand guiding you gently, showing you how to move, how to take him deeper, how to use your tongue.

“Just like that,” he breathes, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re doing so good, love.”

You follow his lead, your movements slow and tentative at first, but you’re learning quickly, finding a rhythm that has Lewis’ breath coming in shallow gasps. He can feel his control slipping, the pleasure coiling tighter with each passing moment.

He’s never felt anything like this — the combination of your innocence, your eagerness to learn, and the way you look up at him, eyes wide and full of curiosity — it’s intoxicating.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hand tightening on the back of your neck as you take him deeper, your mouth moving in perfect rhythm with his guidance. “You’re gonna make me come if you continue doing that.”

You pause for a moment, looking up at him with wide eyes, and Lewis chuckles softly, his hand brushing through your hair. “Keep going,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I want you to finish me off.”

You nod slightly, your lips sliding back down over him, and Lewis can’t hold back the groan that escapes his lips. The pleasure is building fast, and he knows he’s not going to last much longer, not with the way you’re moving, the way you’re looking at him like you’re determined to please him.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his hand tightening in your hair as the pleasure coils tight in his gut. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

You take him deeper, your mouth working in perfect rhythm, and Lewis can feel the tension building, the pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. He groans loudly, his body tensing as he reaches the edge.

“God, I’m gonna come,” he gasps, his hand tightening in your hair. “You should stop if you don’t want to swallow-”

But you don’t stop. Instead, you push even further, taking him deeper into your mouth, your movements growing more confident, more determined. Your tongue swirls around him, your hand stroking in time with your lips, and Lewis feels his control shatter.

He’s never felt anything like this — your eagerness, your willingness to please him, the way you’re pushing yourself to learn and to give him everything he needs. It’s overwhelming, and it sends him spiraling over the edge.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head falling back, his eyes closing as the pleasure crashes over him in waves. His body tenses, his muscles locking up as he comes, the intensity of it almost too much to handle.

You don’t pull away. You keep going, your mouth and hand working together to draw out every last bit of his orgasm, your movements steady and sure. He can feel the way you’re trying to take everything, the way you’re pushing yourself, and it drives him wild.

He’s gasping for breath, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his release, and he forces himself to open his eyes, to look down at you. You’re still there, your eyes locked on his, a mixture of determination and curiosity in your gaze.

“God, you’re amazing,” he breathes, his voice rough and unsteady. He gently pulls you away, his hands cupping your cheeks, guiding you up to his level. “You didn’t have to do all that, you know.”

You bite your lip, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I wanted to,” you say softly. “I wanted to make you feel good.”

Lewis’s heart swells at your words, the sincerity in your voice. He leans in, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your lips, and it only makes him want you more. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close.

“You did,” he murmurs against your lips. “You made me feel incredible. You’re incredible.”

You blush, the color rising in your cheeks, and Lewis can’t help but smile. There’s something so genuine about you, so unaffected by everything that’s happened. It makes him want to protect you, to show you that you’re safe with him, that you can trust him.

He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes, his expression softening. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For trusting me. For letting me be the one to show you this.”

You smile shyly, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “Thank you for being so patient,” you reply. “For making me feel … good.”

Lewis chuckles softly, his hand brushing through your hair. “I’d say we both came out of this feeling pretty good,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye.

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, and it’s like music to his ears. He kisses you again, slow and tender, savoring the moment. There’s a warmth between you now, a connection that wasn’t there before, and it feels like the start of something new, something real.

As the night wears on, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, talking and laughing, the intimacy of the moment lingering between you. In the back of his mind, Lewis knows that this is just the beginning, that there’s so much more to explore, so much more to learn about each other. And he can’t wait to do so.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[5:09 pm]

(cw: f!reader, hurt dog, vague description of a snake bite)

tagged! @severeanxietyissues

There weren't very many days when the guys of Nu Chi Theta just relaxed however they wanted. No partying, no hosting people, just enjoying the warm sun and the fresh breeze. Fratboy!Taeyong sat back in a lawn chain in the front yard, feeling more relaxed than he had all week. He had all his assignments turned in, he was ahead on his homework, and his brothers were quiet. If he opened his eyes, he'd find a few of them in the yard with him or around the house, finding things to keep themselves busy and quiet. Johnny and Jaehyun were grilling for dinner out back, Jungwoo and Doyoung were inside baking some kind of dessert, and Taeyong really couldn't bring himself to care about anything beside food right now. This was his new version of paradise.

Paradise that was interrupted by someone shouting, hurried footsteps, and barking. He pried his eyes open just in time to catch a blur of brown and black fur and someone in an all blue outfit chasing after the blur. Right into the backyard.

The brothers sitting around him all sat up, looking confused, but only Taeyong sat up and decided to follow. He jogged right past Johnny and Jaehyun, who was standing frozen with tongs in his hand and staring right into the far corner of the yard. Where you and a dog were.

Taeyong approached slowly, listening to your soft coos as you kneeled to the right of the dog a few feet away with your head downcast as you spoke, "hey baby, hi. You're okay now. I'm not here to hurt you."

Your eyes snapped up to Taeyong, your voice still calm but firm, "he's scared, approach from the side and keep your eyes down."

Taeyong didn't argue and followed your instructions without question. It was quiet, save for the quiet panting and whining of the dog. Occasionally, the scared dog would growl or bare his teeth, but you weren't deterred. "What happened to him?" He asks you softly.

"I saw him limping around campus and his paw looks infected. I tried to approach him, but I scared him instead," you explain lowly.

Taeyong nods, "poor guy."

The two of you sit side by side for a while, calmly and quietly making small talk while you both give the dog time to relax and come to you. Taeyong learns that you're in your final year of an undergrad veterinary program and that you love animals. You tell him all about the pets you have at home and the animals you've helped save through your internship at a local clinic. He finds that the excited twinkle in your eyes when you talk about animals has his heart racing, just a little bit.

The dog inches forward slowly, sniffing around the two of you before he whines and lays his head in your lap, clearly tired from running and his stress. "Such a good boy," you coo, petting behind the dog's ears.

Taeyong holds his hand out for the dog to sniff and smiles when he feels the wet tongue on his skin. "Hey, I'm Taeyong by the way. This is my frat house," he introduces himself with a shy smile.

"Nice to meet you Taeyong," you smile as you shake his hand, "my friends call me Bug."

Carefully, you lift the dog into your arms and begin walking back toward the open gate. Taeyong stops beside Johnny and snags a few pieces of meat for the dog. The dog snaps it up happily, his tail wagging in your arms as you laugh and smooth a hand over his fur.

Taeyong takes a look at you and the dog, feeling his heart skip a beat at the sight of you smiling at the dog sweetly and the happy dog in your arms. His eyes catch on your shirt and his eyes widen in panic, "oh my god! Are you alright? Is the dog fine? Why is there blood?!"

"Huh?" You ask, looking down at yourself in confusion before your eyes crinkle up in a smile, "oh! Yeah, we're good!"

Johnny coughs, eyeing you warily, "do mind giving an explanation for the blood on your shirt, please?"

You giggle in what Taeyong can only assume is excitement, which he didn't think anyone would feel when talking about a bloodied piece of clothes. Your eyes are shining with elation, "I helped birth a set of twin calves earlier!"

Taeyong feels his heart soar. You love animals, you're pretty, you're kindhearted, and you have the cutest giggle he's ever heard? He might go out and buy a ring right now.

"Just uh, willy nilly?" Jaehyun asks as he feeds the dog some more of the meat.

"Oh no, silly!" You laugh again. Taeyong finds himself smiling unconsciously at the sound as you continue, "one of the vets at my clinic got called out to a farm for an emergency delivery and I tagged along. It was totally awesome!"

Johnny and Jaehyun's eyes dart over to Taeyong, looking at the look of pure wonder on the frat president's face as he looks at you. They both recognize the look well and smile at each other. Jaehyun's elbow knocks Taeyong's, "hey bro, aren't your fish having some kind of issues?"

You perk up as Taeyong panics, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find something to say. You speak first, "I can help! I've been helping the doctors at the clinic with their aquatic cases. Please?"

The dog in your arms pants happily and his tail wags even harder. Is it possible that this dog is rooting for the two of you too? Taeyong gulps but smiles, nodding jerkily, "feel free to come by whenever. I'd appreciate the help and your expertise."

You squeak happily, accepting the wet kisses on your cheek from the dog, "I'll be here tomorrow morning! Bye!"

You trot happily back out of the backyard with an obstructed wave as you leave. Taeyong stands breathless and staring at the same spot where you were just standing.

Johnny chuckles, plating the last of the food before he claps a hand on Taeyong's shoulder, "you know, I'm pretty sure I saw her climb that oak tree in the middle of campus to save a nest of baby birds. Then again, she was about 30 feet in the air and I was focused a little more on the firefighters swarming the trunk."

Jaehyun laughs, shaking his president's shoulders with a teasing smile, "I heard that she did a hike a few years ago and saved the professor from a rattlesnake bite. She used a huge stick to get the snake away and then carried the professor down the hill on her back. It was totally sick!"

Taeyong nods noncommittally as he gulps, "I think I just fell in love."

[redflagshipwriter]

Snatching Snitches 5

masterpost

Raven contemplated the hole she was digging and decided that the only way out was further down. Things had escalated rapidly. Helping Robin get his ugly cat back had seemed like a nice deed, and then when she learned it was actually a ghost, it had seemed funny to register it as Dick’s cat. It was a harmless prank to saddle him with the cat he didn’t seem to like much.

And then it turned out to be the ghost of a human child who, so far as she could tell online, appeared to actually still be going to school. What the fuck was going on with that? Was the carboy dead or not?

‘I’m a terrible person for thinking that’s even funnier. This is literally a Schrödinger bit’

Raven smirked to herself as she waited for Robin to get back with the super-secret adoption paperwork that Bruce kept in his study to cry over whenever he and Dick had a fight. He was definitely going to notice that it was missing, but she was willing to bet that Bruce would think that Dick had done it himself. Those idiots couldn’t communicate about feelings if their lives depended on it. She was going to get away with this, no sweat. She just had to keep going until the end. Sure, the consequences would get worse the more she did, but that wouldn’t matter if she pulled it off.

“I might be going down, but Dick is going to be planted,” she muttered to herself, stretching out her hands and then rotating her wrists. She cracked her neck. That had been a lot of paperwork. 

The air buzzed to let her know that Robin wanted to come back. Raven opened up a portal and he slipped through, much like a cat himself. Granted, it would be hard to convince a cat into one of those preppy blazers. It was a real flashback to Dick’s mathlete days. Raven choked down a laugh as Robin lifted his face to confront her directly with a crisp envelope in hand.

“Here.” He looked like a combat accountant and he only came up to her collarbone. God, she loved working with the trainees. It was a perpetual joke that no one else was in on.

Raven took the envelope with a smirk and a flick of the wrist. “Thank you.” She hadn’t been willing to steal from Batman personally. “I’ll take this to get filed.” She held the paper up a little higher and marveled at how light it was. This little paper was going to be so goddamn funny.

The little boy looked like a half-scale doll of a businessman with his hair slicked back. It was difficult not to laugh when Robin nodded gravely. “You are an admirable colleague.” Beneath the tightly-leashed exterior, Robin was awash with sincere gratitude and warmth, with a hint of admiration. It was a significant improvement on the resigned scorn he had for the other kids in the tower.

‘His diction is just like Dick’s. I’m gonna have a war flashback to infiltrating that museum internship program to find magical forgeries.’ 

His crisp little businessman tone aside, that was… sort of touching feedback. She nodded back at him. “Your professionalism is also appreciated. I’ll file a personnel request in a few minutes..” Raven had been thinking it over while she waited. “We need to move quickly. I’m going to have a field trip to train one or two of the new kids. You’ll be my assistant.”

Robin’s nose flared, but he otherwise did not react to the, as he would see it, unfortunate need to have tagalongs. “That will suffice,” he agreed, the pompous little pussycat. The air around him soured with regret.

She sent him back in another portal and then sat at her laptop to file a request for him on a mission. Someone in the Batcave approved and filed the request within minutes. Pretty typical for them. The next request was for Suzie, and then the last member of the group… Robin’s little Superboy friend, actually. If there were a lot of ghost fights, it would be a good chance for him to see more aerial combat. Supers were a little overly confident if you didn’t deliberately let them get their asses handed to them by someone else who could fly. 

When she was done with administration work Raven spun around on her chair and stretched out her shoulders before she got up to do a little magical research into Amity Park. The human world wasn’t generally very safe for non-life, so there might be some relevant background information. She wanted to know the magical landscape before she brought Secret there. Sure, she was already dead, but she was still basically an elementary schooler. She was learning a lot and maturing, but she would never actually hit 10 years old. Raven had a significant duty of care.

Unfortunately, she hit a dead end with that line way too early and had to look into the online resources. It looked like nothing of note had really happened in Amity Park history, so it had to be a modern era problem.

“Who the…” Raven furrowed her brows and scowled at the screen. “Who are these losers?” She sneered at the government website. They had an inventory of their weaponry on their private server that seemed ridiculous and unnecessary.  “Good thing I asked for a Super, we might need a shield,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t know if this would harm Suzie if it hit her…”

The tiny girl herself drifted through the wall not an hour later, blonde hair floating in an invisible breeze. “Hi, Raven.” Her blue eyes were bright with interest. “You have a mission for me?”

Raven tried not to sneeze on the smoke. “Secret,” she said evenly. It always sort of fucked her up to see dead kids, even if they were still wandering around and having a better afterlife than their life had been. “Yes, I do. We are looking into a custody situation for another ghost. There’s something really strange in this place– it is full of ghosts. There’s nothing in the history to justify this level of spiritual saturation.”

It was really bothering her, actually. This type of thing usually took a long time to accumulate.

Suzie’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “So you need me to act as a warder?” She beamed. “Guide someone to the afterlife?” Her smoky sleeves floated around her body in a mock embrace and then billowed out like wings. She was adorable.

…She should probably not suggest that around Robin. He might make her cry and undo all of Raven’s work to engender confidence.

Raven kept her tone even. “I don’t think that’s what we want to do, but it would be foolish not to bring you along to get your expert opinion.”

As expected, the child puffed up with pleasure at being trusted. Nurturing that confidence had been a trial, and Raven wasn’t going to let a chance pass by. 

“This is Danny,” she said, and beckoned Suzie over to look at her screen. “He died a few months ago, but on the official record? He’s alive and well and attending school, although his grades have dropped.” 

Damian was going to have to dig into his allowance to get tutoring for his new kid.

Suzie hummed, fascinated. “He’s a big kid,” she said, cocking her head. “Like fourteen?”

Raven hid a wince. “That’s right, he died at 14,” she agreed. “He was caught up in a summoning and taken to Gotham two months ago in a secondary form.” She kept a subtle eye on Suzie, watching her emotional state. This was probably a sensitive topic. “If possible, we are going to transfer custody to one of the Gotham vigilantes. I’ve already contacted an afterlife young ghost protective center.”

‘Had no idea that existed until this morning, but whatever.’

The little ghost went silent for a long moment and considered that, bobbing faintly in the air. “I suppose if they think the placement is fine,” Suzie said slowly. “I would feel better seeing the ghost. Danny. What was the secondary form?”

She didn’t smile, because she was a hardass bitch. “A housecat.”

Suzie giggled. “That’s cute,” she said, and then hummed as she tipped her face up to think. “It sounds like he was vulnerable. Becoming something cute and small is a way to be safe. I’m glad that we are looking into it.”

“Yes,” Raven said, and switched her tabs. “There are two factions of ghost hunters in this city, one of which is actually Danny’s parents. So I will be doing a home check with Robin while you and Superboy do recon of the general area. Depending on how good they are, you may or may not catch their attention.”

Suzie stared. “His parents.”

“His parents.”

Suzie’s eyes darkened. “I wonder how he died.”

Given that she had been murdered by her adoptive brother, the odds were good she was thinking the same thing that Raven was.

It was an effort to keep her voice neutral. “That’s my first question,” Raven agreed. “I don’t like it. It’s very convenient that these ghost hunters suddenly have ghosts in their vicinity after years of failure.” She pulled up their neon website. “They have to be complicit in hiding the death, at the very least.”

“Or seriously negligent.” Suzie crossed her legs in the air and hugged her ankles, bent over into a tiny shape to peer at the screen.

Raven inclined her head, but she couldn’t quite buy that anyone would fail to notice their child had died in the house a few months back. “I want you to look at these images of suspected ghosts off the GIW servers and tell me if you know anything about any of them.”

“Right!” Suzie nodded in determination. Her emotions spilled out in the air, wholesome and sincere. “I’ll do what I can.”

Raven’s answering smile was real. “I know you will.” She hit print. 

Not an hour later, Raven gave up on her books for the day and rolled her neck out. “I’m going to run an errand,” she announced. “What do you want to do?”

Suzie looked up from the folder she had made to mark up entity photos with her questions and comments. “I’m fine here, I’ll leave when I‘m done,” she said vaguely, and then immediately went back to what she was doing.

Raven nodded and went to her closet to pull out a suit. She styled herself to be as boring as possible and then took herself to Gotham city hall. 

The receptionist looked up at the clack of Raven’s heels approaching. “Good evening,” she greeted, radiating the overwhelming impression of normality and reasonability. “I need to file a certificate of adoption on behalf of a client.”

“I can take that.” The clerk indicated the sign in sheet. “Would you put your name and time of visitation down?”

“It’s better if I don’t.” Raven leaned her elbow on the counter and flourished the envelope, smiling faintly. “Here you go.”

The clerk paused, but Raven’s general aura was too powerful for her to protest that it was irregular. “Thank you.” She opened it and pulled out the paperwork. Her eyes widened and brows went up when she read the names. “That’s…”

“Overdue?” Raven asked dryly.

“All in order,” came the correction. A stamp came out and was pressed firmly on the bottom of the paper. “I’ll have this filed before the end of the day. Will there be an announcement in the newspaper?”

“No, it’s better not to,” Raven said, really coaxing.

The clerk took a deep breath. The exhalation where she would have told anyone else “It is a requirement” came out silent. “I can see why,” she said instead. “Thank you. Will that be all?”

It really felt like there should be more fanfare. But Raven shook her head. “No, that’s all– Actually, can I get more of those papers, blank forms?” 

Maybe she wouldn’t need them! But something was very odd with little Danny Fenton. If he was somehow passing for living… She might have to have him adopted via the human court system as well to avoid compromising his education.

…How the fuck was she going to pull that off?

Raven worried over the problem on her way back to the tower, scowling up a storm cloud of negativity that sparked rain. She slammed her way back into her room and was faintly grateful that Suzie had already cleared out. Raven pulled up her stub of a file on Danny Fenton and started adding more biographical information. She’d seen there was a sister in the same school, but Raven found the first photo.

“...Hm.” She added the photo and went looking for photos of the parents. Danny had blue eyes and black hair, which really wasn’t a common combination. It was weird that his sister had red hair. She didn’t get it from their dad, it turned out, who was a black-haired brickhouse of a man. Raven’s heart rate picked up with excitement as she searched up images of Madeline Fenton. Her university affiliation photo showed a beaming middle aged woman with subtle white in her red hair who apparently lectured on occasion. Bit premature, those white hairs, since she was only 39. Not much older than Raven’s Teen Titan’s cohort, as a matter of fact. Oh, fuck. A delicious timeline came together.

“And 14 years ago…” Raven mumbled to herself, feeling a wicked idea come together. Oh, fuck yes. She full-on villain cackled at the throwback photo of Madeline Fenton at age 25, when Dick had been 22 and in love with any redhead with a pulse. “She’s hot,” Raven said with relish, and slapped her hands on the desk in delight. It was the first full body photo she had found online, and Madeline Fenton was a goddamn fox. “Oh, Dick would have. He would have.” She cracked her knuckles and set in to do something truly heinous as a backup plan. “Now I just need someone to help me falsify DNA results.”

It was a late night, but it was going to be so worth it.

The adoption hit squad landed in Amity Park at 9 am local time on Sunday, ready to investigate Danny Fenton's unliving situation. 

[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 8 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Y/n discovers a few things and a few more are revealed.

Warnings: sex, minors please stay away.

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

Y/n was upset. Her semester was ending. The exchange programme had come to a close. Now, she’d have to leave for her internship and then go back to her university for the remainder of her studies. She’d miss her friends. She’d miss this new country. 

And who knew how long Azriel was posted here in this city? 

It was a coincidence that they met and they had a good few months together but Y/n really did not want to go back to a life where he was not a constant. 

The idea of it didn’t sit well with her. 

After her last exam today, she’d taken some time for her friends here. On her way back to the apartment, she’d started feeling upset but then she wore a smile and rang Azriel’s doorbell.       

He’d opened the door, took one look at her, and fucked her wildly like he wanted to reinforce something. And then, they made love to each other with Y/n slowly riding him. 

Y/n let herself rise and fall, eyes closed. Her hands were on his chest, tattooed and perfect for her. His large hands nearly covered all of her ass. 

Fuck. 

He was such a large man and the most convincing evidence of it was deep inside her, thick and throbbing as she rode him at her own pace. 

She could feel the air on her body. Her nipples were already hard and were even more sensitive after Azriel had sucked on them and smeared his saliva, and then left them exposed. 

Her breasts ached and all she wanted was his large hands to pinch and grab them roughly as if he selfishly owned her. 

His hands. Gods, they were so perfect. 

The tattoos on his fingers was an arousing sight. 

Especially after she’d once seen herself suck them. 

The way those hands groped every part of her and were still on her ass. 

She was in bed, tired after exams and sex. Azriel had woken up after a nice cuddling session for a meeting. It was an urgent one and he’d promised to return soon but Y/n was not going to pester him even if he didn’t. 

The man had a job. That too, at Umbra got fuck’s sake. That was an empire on its own managed by some young fellow Y/n hadn’t bothered about since that was not her field. 

Sex with Azriel always made her sleepy and she always woke up feeling refreshed. 

Her eyes were closed. The furry blanket was so cosy and she was just there. 

Her phone rang and interrupted her peace. 

Y/n groaned in frustration. She grabbed it and softened when she saw Azriel’s name. She swiped on the screen and accepted the call. “Hey.”

“Hello, sweetheart. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.”

“No, no. Tell me.” She wouldn’t tell him that she wanted to sleep even more. 

“Could you bring me my iPad? It’s on the nightstand.” Y/n rose and looked around for the device. 

“Where. . Got it.” She removed herself from the sheets, ended the call, took the iPad, and was about to walk out of the room when a message popped up. 

Miss Y/n’s mother has sent a parcel to the apartment she shared with Nesta Archeron. We believe her mother has no knowledge of her current whereabouts and her exchange program. 

What? 

Y/n tapped on the notification and the chat opened. It was a group chat with Azriel and a bunch of people. She scrolled and read the messages.

Other members of the group chat were constantly updating on her location and activities while Azriel had sent the occasional ‘okay’.

She also found photographs of her taken from her outings with friends. Taken from a distance and clearly not with her consent. 

The more she saw, the more she wanted to smash her head against something. 

Why? 

Why did Azriel have her followed? 

He’d always known where she was, at what time, who she was with. She hadn’t bothered hiding much from him. 

Then why was this. . ?

Y/n walked over to the room with the iPad, the group chat open on it.

She saw Azriel’s eyes widen as she entered the room. She placed the iPad on his table. “What’s this?”

He looked at the chat quietly and then looked up at her. 

Y/n felt hot with fury coursing through every part of her. And yet, for some strange reason, she felt cold. 

It wasn’t until Azriel walked over and wrapped a jacket around her that she realised that she hadn’t dressed after leaving bed. 

She’d been naked and angry. 

“I’ve had you followed, Y/n.” 

And she couldn’t control it. 

She was barely restraining herself until then but to hear him say that he had her followed broke the dam. 

“Why? Didn’t you trust me enough to go out and not cheat on you?” 

This time, Azriel sounded confused. “It wasn’t because I thought you were cheating on me.” 

The audacity of this man to say such a thing. He had her watched and followed and photographed and so much more. 

“Scroll up, Y/n. This started the night I met you in that club before we ever spoke to each other properly.” He extended the iPad to her. 

She hesitantly took it and scrolled up furiously. When she reached the first message, she saw the date the group had been created. Feyre’s birthday. There was a photo of her dancing in that club with Nesta. 

Somebody had sent a few documents. She opened them—her CV, biodata, details of people close to her. 

“You’ve known all this about me?” He silently nodded. She felt like such a fool. 

Y/n couldn’t even think. She couldn’t process it like this. So she simply kept the iPad on his desk and walked away. 

“Y/n. Y/n, listen to me, sweetheart.” He was following. She increased her pace and entered his room. Her clothes were on the chair and she began dressing. “Y/n, please. I only wanted to know about you.”

She looked at him and it hurt. 

It hurt to know that this man didn’t trust her. 

Didn’t trust time. 

Didn’t trust their connection. 

“I would’ve told you everything with time.”  She wanted to cry. “Whenever I was ready to revisit my past and speak about it, I would’ve told you. About my childhood. My ex. My mother.”

“I only wanted to know about you.” He was pleading but she was so tired. 

“You did not trust that our relationship would reach to the point where I would ever confide in you. You thought yourself entitled to find everything about me. .” She choked back a sob. Azriel moved to hold her but she took a step behind and he halted. 

“You did not trust me.” It was a whisper and it broke everything. “And therefore, you violated my privacy.”

“I did not get that information because I didn’t trust you.” Azriel moved. When he reached her, he kneeled. 

“I was impatient. I wanted to know everything about you immediately. I’m desperate for anything you’ll give me. You heart, your body—I cannot have them unless you give them to me. But information—that I can take from any place. And I’ll take any scrap of it you leave behind.”

What was this feeling? She was being broken but also healed at the same time. And even then, everything hurt. 

“And as for being followed, I had to know that you were safe.” He was still kneeling. The world was blurry.

Y/n was still cold as she hadn't dressed completely. 

She didn’t know anymore. 

She didn’t want him to know that she had a troubled past at least until she could help it. 

She knew it would’ve come out soon but this soon? It wasn’t at her own pace. 

What was she supposed to do? 

Should she explain it to Azriel?

Should she be angry at him? 

Should she end this relationship? 

It was dizzying now. Her breathing was becoming difficult. 

She could hear her sniffles, Azriel calling her name. “. . breathe, sweetheart. Inhale. . . Exhale. . .” 

He kept telling her to inhale and exhale until she could focus on those words and force her breathing into a pattern. 

She was sitting now. Azriel was wiping her nose with something. A blanket was draped over her. He was right there, holding her hand. 

Her eyes fluttered close and Y/n faded into the dark. 

****

Whispers.

Somebody was talking. 

Somebody was responding. 

It ached. 

Something more than her body ached. 

“. . rest and she’ll be. . medicines. . . care.” 

Y/n faded away again. 

****

Y/n was warm. In a room. It was dark. And a hand held her own. 

Azriel was right there, sitting on the floor, one hand holding hers and the other arm folded on the bed to rest his head. 

He must’ve fallen asleep. 

She tried to rise and felt too weak. But the shuffling of the blankets was enough to wake him up. 

“How are you feeling?” His deep voice asked. 

“Fine.” She didn’t want to say anything more. Absolutely nothing. 

She’d sweat a lot. The greasy feeling of it remained on her body. “You have a fever.” 

Oh. 

“Have some medicine.” And he rose to leave her side, to get a strip of tablets and water from the nightstand but she did not let go of his hand in the first instance. 

“Y/n.” And then she immediately let go and looked away. What was she supposed to do? 

Was their bond supposed to be overlooked by this? 

Could it be so easily sidelined? 

She saw his hand with the medicine come in her line of sight. “Medicine.” 

His voice was only deep whispers ever since she woke up. As if he was afraid his normal pitch would shatter something.

Y/n quietly took the medicine and water and consumed them. Azriel was there to take the glass away from her and he kneeled by the bedside. 

“You had a panic attack and then you fainted.” 

“And the fever?”

“You came to me with the iPad unclothed, leaving your body exposed to the cold. And you didn’t fully dress when you came to the bedroom.” And she was now wearing one of his sweatshirts which was too big for her.

Y/n could tell that he was being careful with his choice of words. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He clutched her hand as though in prayer. “It’s my fault you had a panic attack.” 

Damn straight. 

Was there any point? 

“I need to go.” She knew she sounded weak and pathetic and even if she did go back to her apartment, there was no way she’d be able to take care of herself.

“Please. Rest here until you recover. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” 

“Don’t you understand?” Oh gods, she was going to sob any moment now. Or scream. “If I stay here, even for a single second, I will not get any clarity.” 

“As you wish.” Azriel retreated to a distance. Y/n slowly stood up under his gaze. 

She remembered that she had only worn her panties and jeans when Azriel had followed her to apologise. So she removed his sweatshirt he had dressed her in. 

When the sweatshirt was over her head, leaving her bare, Y/n saw that Azriel had turned away, as if he knew his permit to see her naked had been revoked.

She wore her own clothes and looked around. She grabbed her phone and walked towards the door where he stood with his back towards her.

Upon hearing her footsteps, he moved away, clearing the way for her. Once she began walking, she heard him follow her. She looked behind and saw his imposing figure behind her.

He was in pain. 

So much pain. 

She could see it. 

But so was she. 

And Y/n had had enough of ignoring her own pain for others. 

But Azriel standing there and following her from behind was a realisation. 

That he’d always be there. Behind her if not beside her. 

“Call me.” He suddenly said. “If you need anything—medicines, food, anything—just call.”

She wanted to kiss him. So she turned away and left his apartment.

Y/n climbed into her bed, her fluffy blanket, and fell asleep without changing her clothes. 

****

Azriel had a mission. 

Scratch that, he had two missions. 

One, Y/n’s recovery. 

Two, Y/n’s forgiveness.

He honestly didn’t understand where she’d gotten the idea that he had her followed to monitor her in case she cheated. 

If she did cheat on him, it would be the fault of the fuckwit who thought he could drive a wedge between them. 

Azriel would simply dispose of any such menaces and Y/n wouldn’t even know anything.

He sighed.

Her not knowing had not turned out well for him. 

He’d flown in his personal doctor in the middle of the night. And while she’d been resting in his apartment, he’d gotten a doctor in the city to check on her. 

His doctor was situated in one of the apartments, ready at a moment’s notice. 

Azriel kept stock of medicines and food ingredients, just in case she wanted something. 

And he waited like a dutiful husband. 

And while he waited, he googled up on how he could earn her forgiveness. 

The bugs in her apartment began transmitting her sound. She was crying and talking. He heard the name Nesta. And more crying. 

She was worried about how this would pan out. 

How she’d been an excellent fool by falling for him. 

Wait. 

Y/n had fallen for him? 

Oh. 

He shouldn’t be happy considering what happened but he couldn’t help it. 

And it was then that Azriel decided that he should probably get rid of those bugs before she saw one or saw something else on his iPad. 

He wasn’t going to hide the iPad. 

He didn’t like hiding things from Y/n but there were certain things he simply hoped she’d never find. 

It was poor thinking but what else could he do? 

He was obsessed and his morals clashed and crashed far too often for it to make sense. 

As as for how to earn her forgiveness, Y/n’s favourite books had a lot of fictional men grovelling after fucking up. 

He needed to analyse everything. 

What exactly was she hurt about. 

What could he do to stop her hurt? 

How to make amends. 

How to convince her that he was not a complete piece of shit and was worth some consideration of forgiveness. 

Her safety had been an important concern. 

If Y/n knew the number of people that had started following her while she went out on her own. 

The number of people that had been beaten up so that she could roam around outside without anything to fear.

The number of phone numbers he’d looked into after any call that made her uncomfortable. He had them all deactivated.

No. 

Her safety was an important matter that needed his attention. 

It was not a bargaining chip to win an argument or to prove a point. 

It was simply his duty. 

But how was he going to convince her that he hadn’t worried about her cheating? 

That he was only endlessly and ravenously curious about her ever since he first saw her? 

Azriel sighed. He needed advice. He picked up his phone and called the one person he trusted enough with such a matter. When the call was answered, he began. “Hello, mum.”

****

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