#//and he saved the day with them in the end

[nanamiskentos]

SCORCHED EARTH ✤ (五条 悟, gojo satoru)

── NO GOD, THE ONLY MAN IN THE SKY IS ME. Gojo Satoru is the nation's treasure, and its most dangerous asset. In a world where Supes are lauded as celebrities and heroes, there's only a select few that sees superheroes for what they really are ─ cogs in the propaganda machine, corrupt and lecherous. You're determined to hunt down the golden boy that leads them, to find Gojo Satoru and bring him down. But he's just as obsessed with you, and he gets to you first.

➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊, gojo satoru & afab!reader, wc ─ 5k

cw ─ MDNI. enemies to lovers, THE BOYS AU, love/hate sex, HOMELANDER GOJO 😁, superhero au, cat & mouse dynamics, vigilante!reader, evil!gojo to some extent, mentions of a plane crash to be safe, kitchen sèx, breaking n' entering but they're into that, súb!gojo if u squint, fíngèring, òral (f), usage of powers, 3x01 homelander/butcher inspired, BIG DÍCK GOJO!!

呪術廻戦 : 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ( author says ) s/o to the evil man who inspired the gojo in this fic. and these scenes: 1/2 ofc (i'd rec watching to understand who reader/gojo is also inspired by). art, gojouify.

A ballpoint cap balances between your teeth as you scribble furiously, blue ink streaking across a spare napkin. The address is way too far out, a shipping container, two hours away and tucked into the skeletal maze of the port.

"This is a long drive for a maybe." You press the phone tighter against your ear, frowning at the scrawled numbers and letters, "You're sure I'll find something?"

On the other end, Nanami exhales sharply, the sound of a clock ticking faintly over the static. He's still in the office, no doubt hunched over a desk lit by the sickly glow of a desk lamp.

"Well," he hedges, ever the careful one, "I wouldn't go alone."

You tip your chair back, gaze drifting to the chaotic sprawl of files pinned to the red-string board by the wall. Photographs, names, offshore accounts that all lead back to the same festering rot. Lawmakers, politicians and billionaires.

The smiling, all-powerful titans who owned the system that was supposed to hold them accountable.

At the centre of it all? Gojo Satoru. The strongest superhero that the world had ever seen, barely held in check by Vought and international courts.

You chew at the soft inside of your cheek, "And you're sure this is the best lead we have?"

"After that shitshow at Congress?" Nanami sounds tired, stretched far too thin, "This is the only lead we have, or the only thing that I can find right now."

Ah, yes. The hearing.

The day you almost had them — Gojo, Vought and every polished, pre-packaged lie they peddled. A smoking gun to set the set the system ablaze.

And then, you could only watch the live television stream as every key witness's head popped like a balloon. Blood spraying against mahagony desks, gray matter splattered across the Capitol.

And not many had managed to escape that room unscathed. Save for a select few politicians and reporters, dealing out breathless, shaken interviews alongside an unshaken Gojo Satoru and Congressmen Geto.

You exhale through your nose, fingers tightening around the napkin, "Yeah, I'll check it out. See if I can find somethin' to nail that cunt."

"Let me know what you find," Nanami intones, a pause. And then, in a far more cautious tone, like he already knows you won't take heed, "Stay safe. And if you do come across Gojo, do not engage with him. In any way."

The line clicks dead.

You toss the streaky pen aside, reaching instead for the amber bottle on the cluttered table, the burn of whisky that's begging to be made familiar once more.

Regardless, it's far too late now to head out and check the address, for night has fallen and you doubt you'll manage to get far.

Beyond the murky glass of your balcony doors, the city pulses with sleepless energy. Neon signs flickering like dying embers, billboards — no doubt plastered with the airbrushed faces of the Supes who run this nation.

Sirens wail in the distance, and somewhere, far beyond the skyline you swear you see it.

A streak of white and blue, fast as lightning, splitting the sky for a fraction of a second. You blink, gummy and dry, nothing. Just the tired hallucinations of an exhausted, paranoid mind.

Pretending that there isn't a ghost in the sky watching you right back.

Your apartment is dying.

The walls peel like old skin, flaking onto the floors that were never properly finished. The overhead light's flickering, buzzing with a weak and dying hum. And the power outlets sputter like they resent being used. It's not a home, it never really was. Just another hideout, another temporary grave you haven't had to lie down in yet.

You press your knuckles into your eyes, willing the exhaustion away, but it sits heavy in your bones. Haven't you been running long enough? But even now, even here, you know it's not enough.

Because he knows. Gojo Satoru must have caught onto your trail months ago, and you can feel it in the way that the law often seems to let you go, and nation-wide manhunts culminate in no harm done. Like Gojo's toying with you.

Your fingers skim over the mess of papers on the table, stopping beneath a stack of unpaid bills and flyers. A small USB drive, wrapped in blue and silver.

Ah. Flight 37, a transatlantic flight carrying 123 passangers that never managed to land safely. But a goldmine had been fished out the torn wreckage, a shaky video clip that held proof of what Gojo Satoru truly was.

Not a saviour, not a hero. Not the golden boy that was worshipped on screens, talk shows and the international stage of diplomacy.

There's a prickling sensation under your skin, a slow burn that crawls up your arms. Then, it sinks deeper, heat. Your stomach clenches, cramping up as nausea slams into you like a freight train, your head spinning, your vision pulsing black at the edges.

You stumble, dropping the USB on the table as desparate fingers gripping the kitchen counter to stay upright. But you recognise the blisters blooming on the pads of your fingers, slow and ugly welts that bloom like flowers of rot.

This is no wayward sickness, for you would recognise the familiar decay of radioactive exposure. Something that's not quite human, or mortal.

Your blood turns to ice. Hold tightening around the edge of the counter, nails digging into the cheap laminate. Slowly, carefully, you approach the balcony.

The terracotta curtains are coarse under your fingers as you pull them aside. The city beyond is still alive, cars streaking through wet pavements and lights beaming in the smog. But it all feels muted.

Standing on the ledge, hands folded neatly behind his back, Gojo Satoru.

Your breath stutters as you force yourself to inhale, exhale. Slow and steady, through your nose. Whatever sick ploy he's radiating, you know it's simply meant to shake you. A twisted power play on his end.

So you hold your ground, and after a moment, the nausea ebbs. The blisters on your fingertips sealing over, cells stitching the edges of your frayed flesh back together.

You've never seen Gojo out of that deep blue suit, never without the brass eagles that pin the ridiculous cape over his broad back. Most heroes at least pretend to be human, some charade that they cling to for the chance of a secret life, away from the eyes of the press and the authorities. Supes often put on disguises, and casual clothes, something to blend in with the mortals that they claim to protect.

But Gojo?

There's no separation, no mask nor pretense. He doesn't walk among mortal men, he hovers above them. There's no separating him from the brutal power he wields — capable of striking a laser through a man's skull, or razing a city to rubble. Just a god with a PR-approved script, and the power to carve regimes into ribbons.

And yet, aren't you still standing?

If the strongest wanted you dead, he would have made a spectacle of it. Blood and fireworks for the evening news, another death used as collateral propaganda so the masses can thank him. That's the only mercy that Gojo knows.

You school your features, masking the instinct to flee. Or toss a plastic chair at his face. Gojo is akin to a hungry shark, and fear is blood in the water. You know that the safest way to deal with him is sheer indifference. If you give him nothing, he has nothing to bite or feast on.

You tilt your head, resting your weight against the large window as you pry it open. Letting the night air seep in, cold pricking at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the chill that Gojo's already dragged in with him.

He's staring. The blindfold is gone, and those impossible blue eyes fix on you, as though they're trying carve a jagged cut straight your ribcage — his handsome features stilled to stone.

You arch a brow, "If you're here to watch me get off, it'll cost you a tenner."

A beat of silence. And then, the smallest flicker of something that isn't amusement, but not quite irritation. Gojo doesn't rise to the bait, but his brow ticks up. The barest movement, as though he's debating whether or not to indulge you.

Jaw twitching as though Gojo seems to chew his words, slow and measured, "May I come in?"

You stare at him, gaze sweeping up and down, almost against your will. The way his suit hugs his body, emphasising the unfair curve of his chest, the sharp lines of Gojo's muscles, the tensions in the fabric as it stretches taut over skin. Eyes falling to the strand of white hair that flutters across his face, swaying in the night's breeze. Absurdly perfect, as if he's crafted from some celestial ideal.

But you refuse to indulge him, pressing your lips together tightly, not even a flicker of acknowledgement to the fact that he's standing on your balcony like he owns the damn place. Slowly, you step aside from the window, taking the invitation. Gojo doesn't need permission, but you give it anyway.

As Gojo sweeps past, your eyes linger on the sharp strands of his undercut, the delicate sweep of his hair, so pale it almost looks unreal. But you can see his nose wrinkle, disgust painted across his fine features as electric eyes skim the clutter of your apartment. The peeling walls, the cracked appliances, the mess of papers strewn across your table.

Gojo stops at the red string board, his gaze lingering on the photos and notes that have been painstakingly pinned up, and you see his mouth twitch. As though he's amused by your conspiracy, your obsession, your silent war.

"It's really always about me, isn't it?" Gojo's tone carries the faintest edge of mockery, that damn entertained smile curling the corners of his petal-pink lips.

Your jaw tightens, a flash of anger rearing up inside you. You tear your gaze away from him, "Why are you here? Got no-one to fuckin' torture over at Vought?"

Gojo sighs, almost theatrically, and he's puffing his cheeks out. As though he's bored, like this is a mild inconvenience for him, "So, you're going on a trip tomorrow, huh?"

You track his gaze to the napkin still resting on the table, the address scribbled carelessly across its surface, "What's it to you?" Hoping that your voice is level, and as neutral as it can get.

Gojo Satoru doesn't quite answer immediately. Instead, he pulls off those thick blue gloves, one finger at a time. His hands are oddly elegant, but you know just how capable they are of ending a life in a second, how capable they are of tearing a throat out without breaking a sweat. The very same hands now tuck the gloves into the bronze-metal band of his belt with an almost unsettling level of care.

"Well, I'm just hurt you're going somewhere without me," Gojo quips slyly, "We could have had ourselves a little road trip, sweetheart. Thelma and Louise on the open road, eh?"

You don't say anything, although you're dying to mention how Thelma & Louise ends. Gojo just rolls his searing-blue eyes skywards dramatically, as though he's used to your stubborn attitude.

"Y'know, I could jus' pull you apart, limb by limb," Gojo tacks on casually, "Make you tell me where you're going."

You can feel the tension in your gut tighten, but you refuse to let the Supe catch onto it, although you have no doubt that his superhuman senses can hear the beat of your heart pumping, every hitch in your breath.

"Nah," you bite back, "That'd be worthless. Victim always goes into shock. You gotta' start small. Fingers, nails, ears..." Your voice trails off, calling Gojo's bluff, forcing your words out as if the prospect doesn't shake you.

Gojo's vibrant, jewel-tone stare doesn't break, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens like iron against a whetstone. "It could be a matter of national security, you know," he murmurs, "I have a duty to protect his nation, to weed out any enemies of the state."

You huff in weary, mock exasperation, dragging a hand over your chin in faux-contemplation, "Look, uh, I don't mean to be rude, but can we just skip to the part where you laser my fuckin' brains out?"

Gojo just swears under his breath, "Oh, for fuck's sake," he's muttering, side-stepping around your rickety table, stepping closer as an almost fond smile tugs at his lips, "Where's the fun in that? Come on, look at ya'. It'd be like putting down a wounded dog?"

You don't flinch, you refuse the possibility. But there's that pulse of heat, low in your spine, when Gojo leans into your space. An electric storm about to crack wide as he studies you, eyes falling to the table where your cards are laid out blatantly, and you jolt. Remembering the innocuous little thing, that USB. The one that could very well be his undoing.

"What do you have on me, doll?" Gojo drawls, his voice smooth and untempered, towering over you like an impossibly magnetic force. You hold your ground as his eyes widen, "You do have something, I presume?"

With slow precision (and trembling fingers), you lift the USB, dangling it between your nails as Gojo's eyes flicker for a split second. Amused smile slipping just enough to show something that's less calculated. As though he knows what you grasp, what you're capable of.

Gojo's expression hardens for a split moment, blush-pink lips parted as he watches you, drinks in the sight of you gredily. All before cold steels locks into place once more, his demeanour laced with something far more callous, like a man cornered who knows exactly how to strike back.

"Go ahead. Release it," Gojo steps closer, until you can feel his breath against your skin, and you catch the tang of iron and clean, expensive leather. "Let's light this candle, huh? I mean, sure, I'll lose everything, doll. But then, I'll have nothin' to lose." His voice is quiet, but there's unmistakable malice beneath it.

"First, I'll take out the nerve centres. The seat of the government, the High Courts. Then, any domestic defense capabilities. Critical infrastructure, cellular, Internet, all of it. And then?" Gojo pauses, teeth catching onto the plush flesh of his lower lip.

"Then, I'll just wipe this city right off the fuckin' map, for fun," Gojo adds, a dark smile curling at the edges of his lips, "Hell, I'll throw in that little town your friend's from. Kento, right? Nanami, from the office? Because, why not?"

Gojo's lips brush the shell of your ear, and you resist the urge to shiver, locking your eyes with his own defiantly, venomously as he continues, "See, sweetheart, I'd prefer to be loved. Y'know, as the strongest, I really would. But if you take that away from me? Well, being feared is A-one, okey-doke by me."

Gojo wants you to challenge him, to hear you break the silence with something other than terror, "So, doll," he murmurs, practically cooing, "Go ahead. Do it." His lips curl, sharp fangs poking out from his glossy, red mouth, "No? You don't wanna? Well, then, I'd say you have absolutely no fuckin' leverage. Because I am the strongest, and I can really do whatever the fuck I want."

You blink angrily, breath catching as Gojo watches you with an almost affection gleam in his eyes. As though he's enjoying this, this sparring match where he's got you pinned. So you swallow thickly, and deep down, you know he's right.

Gojo Satoru is unstoppable. He could easily turn on the world that worships him, props him up, and there's nothing anyone could do about it. No nuclear treaty, no tank nor fighter jet could stand a chance against Unlimited Void or Hollow Purple.

There's no undoing the seams and stitches that hold Gojo together. None, apart from...

Your eyes flicker downwards, instinctively, to the thick curve that bulges through the tight suit he dons. That mouth-watering, delicious bulge that's packed, and if Gojo steps any closer, it would jostle against your thigh.

You inch closer, smoothly, grasping at the stray strand of ice-white hair to tuck it behind Gojo's ears. His expression widening, raw and open for a split second as he shivers, purrs.

"Say I call your bluff, Gojo," you say coolly, "What are you gonna' do, right here, right now?" Your hand trails away from his ear, brushing the high, stiff collar of his suit. Fingers gently pressing into the warm flesh of his neck. You feel his pulse jump under your touch, staccato beats that hiccup along.

And you could have sworn that Gojo breathes out a gentle sigh, lips parting around the words, "Finally."

But his cerulean eyes are narrowed, jaw still clenched, as though he's trying to figure out your angle. Now, he truly does push closer to you so that packed curve brushes against your thigh. And it's big, larger-than-life, like everything about Gojo Satoru is.

Fuck this, you shake your head, as though you're tossing away your rationality. Reaching up to thread your fingers through soft, white hair. Pulling Gojo closer as he groans, closing the distance. Lips crashing against your own, forceful and desperate.

You can feel Gojo freeze, stutter as he seems to work through his shock. But then, something irrevocably shifts in him. Ocean-blue eyes fluttering close, so white lashes kiss his creamy skin. A large hand gripping at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

It's rough, and messy — and your tongue lingers on the taste of something like espresso, and sweet, sugar syrup to boot. The creamy taste of Gojo Satoru that lingers on your tongue and makes your mouth water.

"Tch', you –" Gojo murmurs, as though all the air in the world has been stolen from his lungs, "You jus' don't k-know how long I've wanted this. Ever since you, heh, fired that bullet at me when we first met."

His tone is erratic, large hands splayed against the small of your back, pushing you further against the kitchen counter.

"That shit went right through ya' head," you breathe, struggling to stay steady against the hard plane of Gojo's form, the muscles curling into you, "Didn't do a fuckin' thing."

Gojo's giggling, giggling as though he's already drunk on your touch, so utterly dangerous. Tugging at your top, fingers spread wide over the curve of your chest. Flicking at the sharp peaks of your nipples, "Waste of a perfectly good round, eh, doll?"

The tips of Gojo's ears are a searing shade of crimson, as he's pulling and toying with your clothes. You have never, ever in your wildest and most illicit fantasies imagined Gojo Satoru like this.

You've never pictured him so obedient, so desperate to meld into your hold. Bright blue eyes glazed over, filmy and hazy as his cheeks are mottled pink.

The most dangerous man in the entire world (or so you'd wager) has you firm against the cracking plastic of your counter, with his lips finding home on whatever skin he can find. Kissing, bruising, sucking at the tender flesh in a way that you know will leave blooming marks.

"C-can I?" Gojo pleads, as though he hasn't spent a lifetime whispering quiet threats into your ear, but now his large hand is softly pressed against the back of your neck.

Slick-strands falling from his lips as he sips at your taste, sucking gently on your tongue.

He kisses you firmly with such force that it leaves you dizzy, and the way he strokes at your cheek with a bruised knuckle is far too tender for a man who's practically a walking, ticking bomb.

He's roughly cupping your tits, kneading at the soft fat and flesh, "Hah, pretty, aren'tcha?" Strands of snow-white hair tickling at your neck as Gojo leans his head down, wrapping his lips around your nipple, lickin' and sucking wherever he can reach.

You arch your spine, pulling Gojo even closer. Grinding your clothed core right up against the hard length taut in that damned suit. Feeling every inch brush up against you.

"F-fuck," Gojo murmurs, slurring out babble and praise out through his kiss-swollen lips. You're slowly rocking your hips back and forth, unintentionally honestly, but you're desperate for some friction to relieve the ache that's blooming within your searing groin.

The pads of his fingers are tilting your jaw at the perfect angle, swollen lips sticky against yours, "Just like that," Gojo grunts, running his pink tongue over the kiss-bitten flesh of your own mouth, "N-not so mouthy now, are we?"

But then, because you think Gojo Satoru is unable to go even a second without antagonising you, the white-haired man is lifting his head. Glossy eyes tearing over your apartment as he pulls an unimpressed face, "Damn, this place is kinda' a dump. You really live like this?"

Your fingers latch onto the stray strands on his head, bucking your hips into his bulge harsher, "Says the cunt who made me a fugitive."

Gojo shakes his head, making a faint pshh, dismissive sound as he scoops you up, biceps not even curling to strain as he roughly stomps towards your meagre, thin bed. Laying you flat on the flat mattress as he rumples the waistband of your pants, hooking his thumb underneath the fabric.

You don't even realise it at first, but you're admiring those razor-sharp, strikingly handsome features. Watching as Gojo tugs at his cape, rough and coarse until the fabric tears away from his shoulder plates — until the azure stars and stripes end up on the wooden floor discarded.

"So, doll, how exactly do ya' want me? " Gojo titters, gently pulling a finger into the flimsy cotton of your panties. You can see his nose twitch, eyes flutter shut for a split second as he visibly reels from the messy, filthy slick pooling under his nails. You can only groan, arching at the sudden stimulation as he begins to crook his fingers faster against your folds.

You suddenly pull your thighs taut together, clenching the flesh to trap his hand, "Taste me, Gojo." Breath shuddering as Gojo's fingers suddenly still, ice-blue eyes blown wide at your gall to give him a command.

But he's always been an excellent soldier, hasn't he? Because he seems to be moving on autopilot, pulling his dripping fingers away and gently lolling his tongue on your translucent sheen, "Hah, I can't believe you're g-giving me orders." Gojo almost whimpers at your sweet tang, desperate to have your pussy drool into his waiting mouth.

"M-more, can you – oh, fuck," You inhale sharply, feeling Gojo's fingers imprint on your thighs, firmly spreading your legs apart so he can shuffle further back, his breath moist against your wet cunt, "Heh, never thought you'd ever be like this."

Gojo gives you a flat look, the underside of his eyes crinkling as he stares at you, "Don't get used to t-this." He's grumbling, but his eyes are blown wide, tongue darting out of his mouth to catch a stray drop of your precious arousal dribbling down your inner thigh, "It's just 'cause –"

You don't give his smart-alec mouth time to formulate any words, groaning as you pull at the thick, soft and tousled strands of white hair. Letting the tip of his sharp nose nudge against your clit as Gojo suddenly muffles a desparate, thirst-laden whine, "Mhm, mhm, fuck!"

"Yeah, y-yeah," You breathe, sighing in relief as he presses his tongue flat against your pussy, laving thickly at the glossy folds that he's desperate to munch at, "That's what I thought."

Stifled sounds prick at your ears, a mantra of words falling from Gojo's mouth, something that sounds suspiciously like "Thank you, t-thank you, thank —." The strongest man in the entire world losing his mind, so grateful to wrap his lips against your swollen bud, your throbbing clit as he sucks. Hard.

Your walls clench suddenly, and you can feel the tip of Gojo's tongue prod at your entrance. That length somehow managing to render you gummy, dazed and speechless as he pushes the wet muscle into your cunt, "Ah, ahh, 'Toru, please."

Nothing prepares you for how Gojo's long, slender fingers come to slap at your pussy. Lengthy digits pistoning right into your tender, sensitive walls as he's eager to curve and search for that sweet spot that will make you scream, "What'dya call me, sweets? 'Toru?"

Gojo's looking up at you, and if you didn't know better, you'd say his expression was almost shy. Those eyes, blue like the core of a searing star, like something inhuman was barely contained and desperate to break free. There's something eerie about how bright they are, how they seem to glow even in the dim, murky light of your apartment.

There's glossy, snapping strands of Gojo's new favourite thirst-quencher falling from his lips as he laps at you. Long lashes fluttering against high cheekbones as there's a slight sheen of exertion beading at his temple, "If, if I had known that all I had to do to shut ya' up was eat you out, then —" Gojo whistles low, the vibrations echoing through your cunt, "Woulda' drank this pussy a longgg time ago."

You buck your hips against his nose, canting against his shapely nose bridge, "Don't get c-cocky." Seems that Gojo's just that desperate for you to boss him around, because he's already turning his attention and bratty mouth back to your cunt, licking you right up until he's certain you're seeing stars.

He's still got his suit on, broad-shoulders snugly wrapped in the textured fabric. Sculpting over his bicep even as he draws you even closer, until he's face to face with his new, second favourite girl. With you being his number #1, of course, Gojo isn't afraid to admit that you plotting to kill him has turned him on immensely over the years.

The idea of you planting your thighs around his head 'til he's devoid of air has had him pulling and jerking at his cock, whimpering until he was shooting blanks.

"Come on," and Gojo's snickering at his own play on words, "Or s-should I say c-cum on." Smacking his lips filthily against your folds, fingers pushing at your clit and rubbing furious circles over and over again until you feel the world go blank, and you're star-struck.

Gojo's whispering sweet nothings, adoring praise into your cunt as you ride out your high against his face, "Pretty girl, s-so good for me, heh. Think 'm fuckin' addicted."

You're already lazily pulling yourself up, propping yourself back on your elbows as you take in the sight of a teary-eyed Gojo Satoru. You watch as he pulls himself up, frame towering over you in the flimsy bed as he tugs and paws at the thick, firm bulge in his suit. Now darkened with a translucent patch of his release.

Gojo's fisting his hand over his cock in some ineffective form of relief, "Wanna' show you, g-gorgeous, wanna' show you how the strongest fucks."

But then, his eyes are looking up, wide and superhuman. Searing blue that lights up the dim room like a torch, and it's only then you notice that the lightbulb that once precariously teetered from your ceiling has shattered, and there's a crack in the large window that you swore you've never seen before.

And clutched within Gojo Satoru's fingers, shards of silver metal and blue chips. Fuck, that hag, that doped-up cunt must have had that USB clenched between his fingers the entire time, swiping it off the table when you pulled him in.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart," Gojo scoffs, pulling out a cock that beams with an angry, red mushroom tip. Thick spurts of cum already clinging to the slit as he hisses, and your thighs clench in anticipation of the delicious split, "I got something b-better for you right here."

[goldenhourology]

SLACKING OFF.

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers

summary: being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.

warnings: handjobs, fingering, oral (f!recieving), unprotected sex, missionary position, belly bulge, grinding, praise, wonwoo is a service top!!, multiple sex scenes, jerking it in an corporate office bathroom lol, drunk horniness, miscommunication, reader is learning how to open up<3, mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.2k

note: hello new ppl, welcome to the first goldenhourology one shot ✨ I've written things in the past, but this is my first really long one shot. the longer it got, the more I stressed out lol. but I've seen a lot of people do this 20k word one shots, so I thought I'd try my hand at it! also idk much about tech, so if I got anything wrong in this, pls ignore it. thank you to anyone who gives this a read!!

in rotation: picture you, chappell roan / dress, taylor swift / valentine, laufey / diamond boy, sza

Some said your late 20s were the last few years of fun before you fully allowed yourself to be an adult, so why were you always drowning in work?

It didn’t help that you were an executive assistant in one of the biggest software companies in the U.S. When you took the job, surely, you should’ve known that you’d be signing up for an exorbitant amount of work, ranging from invoice management, planning travel for your boss, to even research for senior managers. Despite the constant stress you were under, you liked this job. You liked the trust that your boss had in you. You liked that they let you be independent and figure things out on your own.

And when you couldn’t … you simply contacted IT.

It helped that a senior IT specialist sat right across from your cubicle.

Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t the most talkative cubicle buddy, nor was he the most pleasant. He did his best to give you a smile every once in a while, but he had to fight the urge to throw his head in his hands whenever you send him a message on Slack. You didn’t typically need help with anything, except in the area of tech. You were so organized and incredibly smart – it didn’t take an idiot to see that – but god forbid, sometimes … you could be so technologically averse.

Maybe he just had too many years of schooling under his belt – he was 28 now with both a Bachelors and Masters in Software Engineering – but you surprised him with some of your requests. Sometimes, you’d delete files by accident, need to renew your subscription to important apps, even locked yourself out of your own computer once. He had interns underneath him that could be available to help you, but you had consistently messaged him. And he sat directly across from you. No matter what, it was always going to be Wonwoo that had to help you. Fate had made sure of that.

There were times that you realized you were bothering him. Either you heard him curse from behind his extremely large monitor or he adjusted his glasses so much that you thought he might break them in half. And to be honest, you liked being in control of your own work, so you’d try to find a solution. Typically, solving your own tech problems left your computer in more disarray.

And there was Wonwoo to save the day yet again.

You [10:58 AM]: Morning, Wonwoo!

You [10:58 AM]: I screwed up

You [10:59 AM]: Boss sent me some documents that were password protected, but he’s away for the next two days and not answering his phone

You [10:59 AM]: So I might’ve downloaded some software to help me unlock it and I think it’s attempting to hack my email as we speak

You [11:01 AM]: I’m so so sorry! I didn’t want to bother you

Jeon Wonwoo [11:01 AM]: I’ll be right over.

Luckily for you, Wonwoo was able to fix the problem and stop your email from getting hacked. Whoever was the owner of that virus-filled program you tried to download didn’t gain access to those password-protected documents before Wonwoo secured your computer. But it was close. Too close.

Not only that, but he had a multitude of other projects today. He had to train two new interns … have one of those annual performance reviews with the head of IT … change over a dozen new passwords for people … and then he found out that they’re changing servers. Which meant everything backed up on their former server had to be transferred over to the new one. Fucking great.

He wasn’t sure how many times he sighed today, but it had to be over a hundred. When he couldn’t stand to be sitting anymore, he stood up and paced around the third floor of the building. Today felt like the longest day of his life. And there was a mustard stain on his green sweater vest. And he got a shitty haircut a few days ago. And he probably needed new glasses because he was getting headaches. 

It was time for a coffee. As well as a day off.

Coincidentally, you were also headed to the break room that afternoon in need of a green tea. You were about to walk in when you heard your cubicle mate letting out a frustrated breath while talking to another IT specialist. He was clearly fed up about something, or maybe just tired of this day. You hid next to the doorframe, and just when you thought it was safe to step out, you heard your name fall from his lips.

“I don’t understand how she does it,” Wonwoo complained, hands smacking against his sides. “Seriously, it’s mind boggling. I’m pretty sure she has her Masters in Business Administration, but she does this shit that just makes me … Oh my god, she literally tried to download some faulty software off the internet today, instead of just asking me or someone else for help.” 

“Oh, yeah, everyone wants to turn to you when you got that attitude, man,” someone – Lee Seokmin, maybe? – joked.

“You get what a mean.” Wonwoo watched the first couple drips of shitty office coffee fill his cup. “I was able to save her computer, yeah, but it would be nice to avoid an emergency for a day.”

Seokmin slapped him on the back. “The joys of working in IT.”

You huffed, stalking away from the break room and back to your desk. There was only so much office gossip you could take, especially when it involved you. As soon as you sat down, you finished typing up an email at the loudest volume possible, your fingers basically punching themselves into the keys. You heard Wonwoo slide back into his desk chair, the fresh smell of burnt coffee wafting across to you, and he didn’t say a thing. Not that he would ever know you had eavesdropped. But not a “hello” or “how has computer been after this morning?” He went back to work, burning his tongue on the overly hot liquid.

Maybe Wonwoo was right; maybe you did need to just stop overthinking and ask for help instead of figuring stuff out on your own. Or maybe this asshole needed an attitude check.

You decided to not bother him for the rest of the week, complaining to your friends that Friday night about your shithead of a coworker. They said he might be looking out for you in his own fucked up way. You said he might just be an asshole.

Come Monday morning, you had realized your ignoring hadn’t effected him at all. He still sent you the same small smile as he walked in and sat down across from you. Could he really not see how pissed you are, or had the facade you’d crafted for so long as the perfect corporate employee work too well?

You should just be upfront with him, take control of the situation. Like always. 

You [9:44 AM]: I heard you in the break room a few days ago.

You [9:44 AM]: I just didn’t want to bother you. That’s why I had tried to figure out the issue on my own. Didn’t realize that was a crime

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: Crap.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: You weren’t supposed to hear that.

You [9:47 AM]: Well, I did

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Listen.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Not that it excuses anything, but there’s so much going on at work. It wasn’t all about you. I was complaining just to complain and I didn’t mean any of it.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: I’m sorry.

You [9:51 AM]: Wow

Jeon Wonwoo [9:51 AM]: What?

You [9:51 AM]: You’ve never come across as someone who can apologize well

Jeon Wonwoo [9:52 AM]: Are you sure you aren’t projecting right now? We sit across from each other. I’ve seen how stubborn you are.

You [9:53 AM]: I thought you were apologizing to me????

Jeon Wonwoo [9:56 AM]: I’m sorry. Again.

You [10:01 AM]: Okay, you’re forgiven

Jeon Wonwoo [10:09 AM]: Can I make it up to you with a coffee?

You didn’t go out on dates. The last one you went on was … years ago, probably in undergrad. Once you go for your Masters, all energy to date goes out the window.

Not that this was a date. This certainly was not a date.

This was an apology coffee after work, since the two of you seemed to have an affinity for caffeine at late hours.

Even if, per chance, he thought this was a date … you’d eventually have to let him down easy. It probably wasn’t in your best interest to date someone like Jeon Wonwoo, but you’d also closed yourself off from love for far too long. It wasn’t that you didn’t get lonely – you did, very much, especially on late nights where it was just you and your favorite vibrator – but it was just … scary. Opening yourself up. Losing just a small semblance of control. You weren’t even sure you could physically allow yourself to do that after being alone for so long. 

Your heart had been tucked away so many years ago, locked inside a box, and then in another box, and so on. With the final lock being so complicated that only someone who knew the last four of your social security number could answer. No one was opening up that box. Your heart was safe from the outside world.

You were independent, reliant on only yourself, and you liked it that way.

Once he had gotten both your coffees, he sat down next to you at a hightop table, folding his winter coat over the back of his chair. He had managed to remember your latte order and it tasted perfect. Your eyes flitted up, ogling him for a moment. When you’re not under the fluorescent lights of the office, Wonwoo was … attractive. To say the least. Maybe he always had been and you were too blind to see it. Maybe his face was perpetually hidden by his monitor.

His hair was tousled in the way that it looked effortless, even if he hadn’t brushed it after rolling out of bed. He had a tendency to wear sweater vests with white t-shirts underneath, or button-downs with jeans. But it was only when he showed off his forearms that you realized he was surprisingly built underneath his oversized clothes. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. You liked his glasses too; they always sat on the edge of his nose. A thin line was etched into both lenses, suggesting age, but they framed his face well.

Yeah, you thought to yourself, he is handsome.

“Why are you staring at me?” He asked, knocking you out of your stupor.

You blinked and looked down at your coffee, removing the lid. “Oh, I … uh … good question.”

“Listen,” he started, eyes flickering to his hands, “I’m really sorry about what I said –”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“– And I understand if you want to go to HR about this –”

You shook your head. “Wait, what? Why would I do that?”

He glanced around, until finally, his eyes were on you again. And suddenly, you were wondering if his eyes were dark brown or the color of cinnamon. “Isn’t that what any rational person would do?”

He had you stumped there. If this were a different situation … you probably would do that. “I’m not going to tell HR about this, Wonwoo. You apologized and said you didn’t mean it. I have to trust that.” And you didn’t trust lightly – hardly at all – but something about Wonwoo made you feel like it could be easy with him.

“We all have shit days,” you added, taking a sip of the scalding hot latte. “You have a ton of stuff on your plate. Doesn’t give you an excuse for what you did, but we all say things in the heat of the moment that we don’t mean. I have so many things to organize throughout the day, and sometimes it gets the better of me. Remember when I had book that last minute trip for our CEO and I was on the phone for hours with Delta and Suzanne in finance had the nerve to start bothering me about some invoice? I lost it on her for a straight minute.”

“Oh, my god, yeah,” he chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the memory resurfaced. “Her eyes almost came out of her skull at your reaction. To be fair … Suzanne needs to be knocked down a peg sometimes. She always blames IT when she can’t get into her email, but it’s because she’s constantly typing her password with one letter off.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. Your hand hit the tabletop a few times as you let your workplace personality fade in front of your coworker. “Those new IT interns don’t know what’s coming once Suzanne comes for them,” you joked.

“The IT interns don’t know anything. Period.” He jabbed his finger onto the table. “I mean, they’re interns, but it takes so much time to train them. If I have to teach them JavaScript one more time …”

“Say it, Jeon Wonwoo,” you egged him on, a chuckle filtering at the end. “What will happen if you have to teach those good for nothing interns JavaScript?”

A slow smile made it’s way onto Wonwoo’s face, and … damn, you were actually a really cool person. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you what will happen …”

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: Did you bring lunch today?

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: I just found this new cafe down the street and was thinking about grabbing something there in a few. Did you wanna come?

You [12:14 PM]: Do you think they have a chicken salad sandwich on the menu

Jeon Wonwoo [12:15 PM]: I can only assume so?

You [12:15 PM]: SOLD

You both go out for more coffees, before and after work. You found yourself excited to wake up early, to meet up with Wonwoo at the coffee shop located in the lobby of your work building. Always getting there before him, you typically ordered two coffees – remembering his order to a T – and when he walked in five minutes late, he promised to buy the next round. You never let him.

You began planning lunches over Slack, discussing what was on special at that cafe he found last month. In fact, you two talked most of the day on Slack. A message from you had once gotten on his nerves, and now … he was eager for it. Eager to hear your thoughts throughout the day, excited to talk about what new dumb question an intern asked him today or to see more pictures of your grandma’s cats.

And Wonwoo … Wonwoo was easier to get along with than you thought. You just had to peel back the layers before he finally got comfortable, and honestly, you could relate. To be fair, you had a few more layers than he did, but he was slowly learning that you were more than what he perceived. After that first coffee, he realized how funny you were, and then a couple lunches later, he learned you were an avid romance and thriller reader – and nothing in between. It wasn’t until last week that he finally cracked you open enough to learn about your love for Elder Scrolls Online. He was sure you were joking at first, but when you clarified how serious you were, he almost fell off his chair.

“I’m not shocked that you play it,” he said over coffee one morning. “What I’m shocked at is that you’d rather play Elder Scrolls Online and not Skyrim.”

“Of course, you would say that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I don’t really have an interest in the game universe. I started playing Elder Scrolls Online to relieve stress while applying to colleges, and then I just … didn’t stop.” You shrugged.

Much to his own surprise – even with your take on Skyrim – Wonwoo thoroughly enjoyed your company. It was insane that you both had spent almost two years sitting across from each other before realizing how much you liked each other. Words always left unsaid. Eyes staying glued to computers. It had been a routine for you both that you had never strayed from – until now. So many tech requests over Slack … and now he was actively looking forward to work everyday. To seeing you. To talking with you. 

You.

Jeon Wonwoo realized how much he liked stockings. Specifically, he liked the way you looked in them.

And that’s when things got dangerous.

He started to notice the days you would wear them, and then concluded which day you did laundry. You liked wearing blouses with a pencil skirt and stockings on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Those were now his favorite days. 

Wednesdays you’d wear dress pants and maybe a sweater, whereas on “Casual Fridays,” you were clad in a t-shirt with a cardigan layered and jeans. You always looked nice at the office, but those stocking days … they were getting to him.

Sometimes, he’d watch the way you walked away from your desk – either to the Boss’ office or to the finance department – and he couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down your legs. You had these stockings that had a slight tear in the back, and he wondered if you realized, or was he just too much of a perverted loser to be the first person to notice? He wanted to purchase a new pair for you. He wanted to replace all your stockings and buy you enough that you could wear them with a skirt everyday, just so he could see you in them.

Maybe he was a loser.

You looked up at him, even in heels, and you had this way of smiling at him that left him questioning why you liked hanging out with him in the first place. His personality couldn’t be that charming to warrant your attention. But you were warm – even when your hands were perpetually cold – and kind, never straying once he was in front of you. And you had this lip gloss that stained your lips magenta and made them shine. Even in the dim fluorescent lights. When his chair turned just slightly and he let his eyes glaze over you, one finger rubbing at his top lip, he couldn’t help but be curious if the gloss had a flavor to it … and then, he’d get distracted by your legs again. And your blouse, and your hair. 

Don’t even get him started on the way you smelled.

Maybe he was a loser. No, he was most definitely a loser. 

It was a Thursday night. Almost 7 PM and you were still at the office. You had plans to go out tonight to celebrate your friend’s new job, but you ended up having to cancel when the Boss placed a stack of paperwork on your desk before leaving the building at promptly 6 o’clock. Why he couldn’t have given you all these invoices and memos hours ago was beyond you, but you weren’t even halfway through this stack and the janitor was now mopping beside you.

When a Slack notification appeared on the side of your monitor, you didn’t even read it before spinning around in your chair. There Wonwoo was, leaning back in his own chair while a progress window ticked on one of his dual monitors. You raised a brow. “I didn’t even hear you over there,” you commented. “Why are you still here?”

“A month or so ago, the IT head told me that we’d soon be transitioning servers, so all of our backups and data need to be transferred over to this new server.” He explained, adjusting his glasses and glancing over at the progress window. It changed from 23% to 24% finished. “Someone had to be the lucky person to stay after hours and make sure it all went smoothly.”

You twirled a pen in your two fingers and crossed your legs. “Oh, that sucks.” Your skirt hiked up a little, and just that small flash of exposed skin had Wonwoo averting his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m assuming you’re still here because of that.” He nodded towards the pile of paper.

“No, no, obviously I love being here after hours with you,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone, but it still ignited a short spark of hope within him. (Wonwoo, can you chill the fuck out? He chastised.) “You know the Boss has a penchant for letting invoices pile up. He just so happened to let that pile end up on my desk before he left today. And some of these needed to be filled out …” Your eyes skimmed the first paper on your desk. “Oh, yesterday!”

Wonwoo offered to help you while also keeping watch of his computer – 28% finished – but you insisted you could handle it. “I already bother you enough during work hours,” you said before turning back to your desk. He knew by now that you were simply too stubborn to give up control of the project. Once you had started it yourself, you needed to see it through. He wasn’t sure if you two were close enough that he could be completely honest, that he could tell you that it was fine to let go this independence that you kept on a tight leash. He was willing to help. (God, was he willing.) 

But he chocked it up to telling you once that you were “so fucking stubborn.”

Your reply had come in the form of a swift kick to his knee.

Wonwoo glanced at his monitor. 67% finished.

It was 10 PM and you were just about finished with the paperwork, but you were running on fumes. Just a few memos left and you’d be done. To get you through the next hour, you needed something. So you headed to the break room, suddenly craving some burnt workplace coffee. (What was it about this coffee maker that gave it such a distinct burnt flavor? You’d never know.) After placing the pod of coffee grounds in the slot and filling the water, you pressed the start button, turning around with a huff to see Wonwoo striding into the break room. A crushed, styrofoam coffee cup was clutched in his large hand before he tossed it in the barrel beside you. 

“How’s your transfer going?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Coffee had started to pour from the machine and into your cup.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s at 88% now. Hopefully should be done in the next hour.”

“Me too, if all goes well.” A sigh escaped your lips. “I still have a few more papers to fill out. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour, but I haven’t looked through them all yet.”

Wonwoo stepped forward, reaching in the direction of the styrofoam cups. “If you had let me help you –”

You tried sidestepping out of the way to give him some room, but his hand brushed against your arm anyway. Your chin tilted up as your eyes met his, back pressing against the counter. “It wouldn’t have helped,” you finished for him.

His arm paused mid-air, and he looked down at you. Eyes narrowing, he replied, “You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. You have this desperate need to be in control of everything.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” Your tone took a hard edge. The last thing you wanted right now was to put effort into arguing, but you were tired and already on the edge of a breakdown. “I’ve relied on myself for as long as I can remember. I like being in control. I like being stubborn. If I didn’t do most things myself –”

“You ask me to fix something on your computer at least once a day.”

“That’s different.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, and you noticed then just how close he was. Your chests were practically touching. “Sometimes you do try to figure things out yourself and almost break your hard drive.”

His progress window was probably at 93% finished now. He should head back to his desk, but his feet stayed planted right where they were.

“Why does it matter?” You exhaled loud, your hands slapping against your hips. “Do you want an award or something? You have your way of doing things, and I have mine. I’m not perfect, but I … I like things the way they are.” Change is scary, you thought to yourself, but didn’t dare voice it out loud.

He was so close that he could smell your perfume. The scent of lavender mixed with orange blossoms and vanilla filled his nostrils, swirling around his brain. He could get addicted to this smell, to you. Maybe he already was. When his eyes roamed down to your legs and he saw his favorite pair of stockings on you, he damn near collapsed. In fact, he hadn’t even realized the soft groan had left his lips until your gaze found his, your pretty irises growing wide.

You were just so … captivating.

His hands were on both sides of you, pressing your back further into the counter. Your black coffee steaming and fully abandoned in the coffee machine. He was holding himself back, his knuckles going white with restraint. But he wasn’t like you. He could only keep himself in control for so long. And with you here right now, your perfume surrounding him, your stockings-clad thigh brushing against his leg, your a hand placed on his chest … he was a goner.

“Wonwoo,” you whispered, palm still resting on his shirt, “we …”

When your voice trailed off, Wonwoo’s instincts got the better of him. “Please, just …” One hand came up to smooth against your cheek, and he was almost out of breath as he pulled your face to his. “Let me do this.”

He gave you enough time to shove him back, to yell at him, to tell him you didn’t like him in that way. But your neck was craning towards his, and he took that as a sign to crash his lips onto yours. They were softer than he expected, and the taste … your gloss tasted like – well, like nothing. But if he pretended, he could’ve sworn there was a slight cherry aftertaste. His glasses bumped into your nose, but he’d been too overwhelmed to remember to take them off. Mouth moving against yours, his hips crammed you more against the counter, hard enough to leave a bruise on your spine. You didn’t care though. His shoulders were so wide that they shielded you, inviting your body into his, and your fingers fisted into his button-up. Tongues tangled, eager to taste more and more of each other. 

Wonwoo could kiss you forever. You didn’t want him to stop.

But all good things must end. Because when he instinctively placed his leg between yours, he knew this was going too far. Especially because you two were still at work. In the break room.

He instantly removed his leg, his lips breaking from yours. Your eyes connected, the room filled with only the sounds of heavy breathing, before you wiped a trail of spit from your chin.

Wonwoo’s head spun behind him. Thank god, there was no CCTV camera by the coffee maker.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: Good morning.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: I shouldn’t have done that last night.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:10 AM]: Still friends?

You [9:14 AM]: We probably shouldn’t be talking about this on Slack

You [9:15 AM]: Here’s my number: 855-777-0821

You [9:18 AM]: But yes friends :D

Wonwoo did not want to be just friends. But he was utterly terrified of what you would say if he voiced that. You had kissed him back, yes, but … hadn’t you agreed to be friends far too quickly? You had both hung out post-kiss – he liked to call this period of time A.T.K. (after the kiss) – and you didn’t seem to be ruminating on it like he was. Of course, he didn’t know what you were thinking, and you could be so hard to read sometimes when your layers weren’t stripped back enough. But …

Could it really have meant nothing to you?

If that were the case, he didn’t know how it was possible for you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss even if he tried. When he saw you the next day – Friday, January 9, A.T.K. – the first thing he noticed was your lip gloss and all he wanted was to have it smeared over his mouth again. He noticed the way your hair fell over your shoulder, remembering how soft the strands felt when his fingers had slipped between them. He noticed that you were wearing those jeans that hugged your ass just right, and – god, now he was wishing that he had touched more than just your cheek. Wonwoo wanted to touch you everywhere. And vice versa. He didn’t care if your hands were constantly freezing or if they were dry during the winter. He wanted you to touch him however you pleased. He wanted to grab you and kiss you and hold those cold hands in his warm ones –

Oh, my god. He had a boner. At work. Just the mere memory of a kiss had him shifting himself in his pants underneath his desk, hoping no one noticed.

Eventually, he stood up, trying to keep a casual hand over the bulge in his pants as he fast walked to the bathroom. Nobody batted an eye, but you did steal a glance over at him once his back was turned. Your brow raised at the way he was practically sprinting for the elevator, not realizing that he was heading for the second floor restrooms. He must be excited for something. Probably a package, you thought before turning back to your computer.

Wonwoo felt like he could finally breathe once he was inside a stall. He rested his head against the cool tile wall, feeling the ache start to settle in his groin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way. What 28-year-old gets a boner from a kiss? You had him acting like a goddamn teenager.

What had you done to him? Just one kiss and he was completely under your spell.

(Or maybe he’d been this way all along.)

His fingers fumbled with the zipper on his jeans as he finally pulled himself out of his jeans, stroking from base to tip. Thankfully, no one was in the bathroom. He couldn’t believe his life had come to this. The last thing he ever wanted was to be that guy who jacked off in the bathroom. But you had to wear those goddamn jeans –

Wonwoo wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, but he was doing a pretty good job even as this was killing him inside. He wasn’t like you; he found it hard to restrain himself, to ignore everything that was bubbling up inside him. He could feel himself cracking. What would be the thing that finally broke him?

The answer was simple: alcohol.

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: Dude lol. Why’d you run away from your desk like that

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: I think you could win the Olympics with that kind of sprint!

Jeon Wonwoo [11:39 AM]: Don’t ask.

Lee Seokmin [11:40 AM]: Alrighty then ;)

Lee Seokmin [11:41 AM]: On another note … you free next Thursday? My buddy in the marketing department, Josh, finally has a night off from his kid so we were thinking of getting a group together for drinks after work. Interested?

The last thing you ever expected was to be invited to drinks with Seokmin and some of the managers in marketing, but Wonwoo said you should come. “In fact,” he had clarified, “you should come so I don’t have to deal with DK’s drunk antics all night.” Who were you to deprive him of your presence when he was that desperate? Plus, there was a nice girl in marketing that was also invited; maybe tonight was the night to befriend her.

But the marketing people knew how to party. You were only halfway through your second beer whereas the rest of your group was on their fourth. And three tequila shots deep. Wonwoo, seemingly, had an affinity for tequila, unlike yourself. He was able to throw them back like it was nothing; he didn’t even need a chaser. When Seokmin had requested they all get a fourth, he was met with a round of cheers, and even Wonwoo – quiet, introverted Wonwoo – threw his hands up with excitement. You placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Are you sure about that?”

Wonwoo felt his whole body freeze when your hot breath reached his ear. A pale, pink flush appeared on his cheeks, but you chocked it up to how drunk he was. Eventually, he waved away your worry with his hand. “I’m fiiiiiiiiine. Hey, how about I get you another beer?”

“Are you even coherent enough to get me another –”

“HEY! Bartender! Can I get one more of these?!” He shouted, waving your empty glass in the air. “Oh, and more tequila!”

Seokmin slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, laughing along with him. As you made friends with the rest of the marketing department, you found yourself glancing at Wonwoo every so often. His cheeks were so rosy now, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose. To be fair though, everyone in this dive bar seemed to be in the same state of mind. Seokmin was singing along to the Sabrina Carpenter song blasting through the speakers. Josh was so drunk that he was crying about how much he loved his friends. They had even gotten Suzanne in finance to come out, and she was making friends with everyone for once. And Wonwoo … oh, god, Wonwoo’s head was now on the bar top and he was closing his eyes –

You abandoned your beer and walked over to your friend, shaking his shoulders. His eyes instantly opened, expecting to see Seokmin, but when his gaze met yours, he instantly felt all warm and fuzzy. “Okay,” you said, trying your best to hoist this 6 foot man off the barstool, “you’ve had enough. I’m taking you home.”

It was like pulling teeth to get him to tell you his address, but you guessed you shouldn’t be surprised when the man on your arm was blackout drunk. After flagging a taxi, you shoved him in the seat next to you and rubbed your hands together to get them warm. Wonwoo’s head was on your shoulder the second you sat down, his eyes fluttering closed as the taxi sped off into the night. You watched his fingers twitch on his thigh as he whispered sleepily, “I think my family would really like you.”

“Is that so?” You chuckled, squeezing his arm for reassurance, but little did you know just how much your touch effected him. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re you,” he replied, and then yawned. “Only you and Mingyu would do this for me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Mingyu?”

The taxi pulled up to a brick apartment building then, and your cold fingers struggled to get cash out from your pocket while Wonwoo was practically laying on top of you. Finally, you did your best to haul him out of the seat, thanking the taxi driver before gathering an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders. The building was definitely old with vines of ivy crawling up one side. There was a dead tree with snow covering it’s branches directly by the door, spilling snowflakes on your head as you struggled to input the code Wonwoo managed to remember. And then, you were pulling him up two flights of stairs, which took far longer than you estimated. You had basically ripped his keys from his hand once you reached his apartment and continued to drag him inside, laying him on the old couch that was conveniently right near the door.

Wonwoo grumbled as soon as his head hit the armrest, and he almost fell off the couch if it weren’t for you catching him and rolling him back onto the cushion. “I’m going to go get you a glass of water,” you said, quickly rushing off to his kitchen. “Please, for the love of god, don’t fall off the couch again.”

He whined for you to come back, but you pretended you didn’t hear it, because if you did, you’d have to reckon with the tingle that bloomed between your legs at the sound of his desperation.

The entrance of his kitchen was right in front of a small hallway that sectioned off two ways. There was a bedroom door on each side of the hall, and once you walked inside the kitchen, you found a tiny table from the 80s and the dishwasher currently running. You didn’t have time to contemplate that now, and instead pilfered through his cabinets until you found a glass and filled it with tap water. Rushing back to his side, Wonwoo was already laying halfway off the couch and you sighed.

You set the glass of water on his coffee table and lifted him back up. With a little bit of help from you, you both managed to shrug off his winter jacket and you tucked a throw blanket over him to prevent him from falling off again. A heavy exhale slipped past your lips as you knelt by his side, and you couldn’t help but reach out to pushed back his hair from his forehead. His eyes were closed, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. You smiled to yourself.

Were coworkers supposed to show this much affection for each other?

“Wonwoo,” you said softly, and he cracked one eye open. “Do you want some water?”

He shut that eye again, grimacing at the thought of anything entering his body right now. “Ab…absolutely not.”

“It’ll make you feel better,” you persuaded, but he still shook his head. “Okay, so what do you want right now?”

His breath stilled for a moment. “Can I be honest?”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“I …” No, he couldn’t be that honest. “I want you to … keep p–pushing back my hair. It’s … relaxing.”

You chuckled, “Okay, you got it.” Your fingers were at the crown of his head again, smoothing back the strands. You hadn’t noticed until now that he had a freckle on the left side of his forehead; maybe you’d just never been this close to notice. Well, actually, you had. There was this thing you two did called a kiss –

“If you’re going to fall asleep, I’m going to take off your glasses,” you informed him, slipping his glasses off and setting them by his glass of water. It was late, much later than you anticipated on staying out, and you both still had to go to work tomorrow. 

But then his hand was grabbing your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for how intoxicated he was. “Can I b–be honest again?” He slurred, his eyes half open to meet yours.

You sighed, placing your hand on top of his, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Just know whatever you say will be used to make fun of you tomorrow –”

“I can’t … I haven’t …” He took a breath to formulate the words in his head. “… Stopped thinking about our kiss.”

You blinked down at him, watching the way his eyes began to close again as he relaxed into the old couch cushions. “You can’t just say shit like –”

He scoffed dramatically. “I’m noooot,” he defended, his hand slipping off your wrist to curl underneath the blanket.

“Wonwoo …” Your voice trailed off, the words dying on your tongue.

“Who the hell are you?”

You immediately got to your feet at the sound of another person’s voice behind you. Eyes growing wide, you took in the sight of the man in front of you wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his chiseled abdomen as he shook a smaller towel through his hair. He might’ve been taller than Wonwoo, only by a little bit, and his skin was a golden tan that reminded you of summertime even in this harsh winter. Why was Wonwoo hiding handsome men in his apartment? The man looked at you, waiting for an answer, his brows raised.

“Oh,” you cleared your throat. “Um …”

“Leave her alone, Mingyu,” Wonwoo groaned from the couch, turning away from them to lay on his side.

So this was Mingyu, you concluded. This slightly god-like dude that looked like he walked straight out of a porno was the only other person who’d help Wonwoo when he was blackout drunk. Interesting.

Mingyu raised his hand awkwardly for you to shake. “His roommate,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you replied, grasping his hand for a moment and telling him your name. 

Mingyu instantly grinned, laying the small towel over his neck, holding both ends. “So you’re her.”

You blinked, not knowing how to respond to that. Perhaps there was no way to respond; the silence was comfortable enough. You decided to keep that in mind for later though.

“He’s … well, he got very drunk,” you informed Mingyu, gesturing to a now-sleeping Wonwoo with both thumbs. “I wanted to make sure he got home okay.”

Mingyu nodded, and then sighed. “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry,” he promised, opening up the door for you. “Get home safe, okay?”

Wonwoo: Sorry about that the other night. I won’t get drunk like that again. It doesn’t happen very often

You: it’s okay! I’m used to handling drunk people

You: don’t get me wrong, I like to have my fun but it’s easier for me to take care of other people than like … be incoherent and anxious lol

Wonwoo: By the end of the night I was starting to feel that way. Not fun

You: DRINK WATER

You: your roommate is hot btw. does he always walk around without a shirt?

Wonwoo: Of course, he didn’t have a shirt on when you met him

Wonwoo: Everyone likes Mingyu

You: well, I like you [UNSENT]

The bi-annual sales meeting was started to boost morale and talk with other departments that you didn’t see as often. It was typically held at a hotel in the downtown city, with the company flying in all the sales reps from across the country. There were even a few from overseas. In reality though, this was usually the week where coworkers made mistakes. At least one person was let go after these sales meetings, and HR had their eyes peeled for an entire week.

You never made a mistake at one of these. And you didn’t expect to any time soon.

This was a week of rubbing elbows with slimy sales reps and making sure some old man hadn’t spiked your drink. For most, this was a week to slack off, but a woman working in corporate couldn’t relax in these settings. You’d been making corrections to your boss’ presentation for the entire company for what felt like forever. (Realistically, it’d been almost two weeks.) You probably went through the 50 slides at least twice as much, checking for spelling mistakes and making sure it was in the right place on your desktop. Not on some random external hard drive. Not in the trash. 

But it was finally the day you’d been dreading. Presentation day, and everyone at the company was eager to hear the Boss reveal if they hit their goal for the year, amongst other things. You checked the slides another time, and then made sure no one would trip over the HDMI cord connected to the projector. The Boss gave you a reassuring smile, and then it was go time.

Your boss could be a shit bag – what CEO wasn’t? – but he had a way of speaking that made everyone so excited for the future. He was probably the reason why morale was always so high, and everyone looked forward to his presentation at these meetings. Your finger hovered over the right arrow button as he went through his speech, pointing out company statistics and what he wanted them all to accomplish this year, before finally getting to the goal reach. And his answer was nothing short of what the audience wanted to hear. He congratulated all of them, and everyone clapped together at the good news.

When you looked out at the crowd that had gathered, you realized almost every seat in the ballroom was filled. Some were even standing near the door and – wait, there was Wonwoo, leaning against the wall in the back. IT didn’t need to be here for this presentation. In fact, they were encouraged to be doing other things, like manning a table near HR and offering on-the-spot tech help. A smile made it’s way to your lips, watching the way Wonwoo was listening intently.

Once the presentation was over and the room erupted in small talk, your boss came over and thanked you for helping out yet again. “Of course,” you replied, as if there was anything else to say. He gave you a comforting squeeze of the hand before walking off to talk to some of his favorite sales reps.

As you shut your laptop and began to place your things in your backpack, Wonwoo slipped into the chair beside yours. Just the sight of his grin set you at ease, but also made you nervous at the same time. Why were you suddenly so nervous? This was just Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo. Just … your Wonwoo.

“Congratulations,” he beamed, giving you a high five. “I know you’ve been working on this all week, but you did it!”

You always stressed so much about this presentation, but at the end of the day … “All I did was press a button,” you shrugged.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but you didn’t accidentally delete your file like every other time you’ve messaged me on Slack.” He chuckled, and you scoffed at his teasing. “I’d call that a win.”

The second to last night of sales meeting week was the longest night of the year. It was a tradition for everyone to go out to a bar the company rented out, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on while celebrating a job well done. You only saw half these people twice a year, and half of the time they’d have a beer in their hands. 

You did your best to ignore every sales rep that tried to speak with you without slurring their words, but that was damn near impossible when some were already on their second cocktail. However, no matter how embarrassing it was, you did allow them to compliment you and your hard work. Who were you to turn down the validation? And when the time came, even your boss came over to compliment you again, and you realized there was truly nothing like being good at your job. 

Just for a moment, everything felt okay. It was like the loneliness dissipated, the sting of years without pleasure or having someone by your side … it all faded when you were rewarded for your hard work.

Maybe tonight was the night you had fun for once.

When you finally found Wonwoo later that night, he was surrounded by a few younger members of the IT team, debating what computer language everyone should be obligated to learn. You waved to him from where you stood by the bar top, and that was all it took to have him walking away from his team and towards you. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, insisting to buy you drinks for the rest of the night, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. If there was anyone here you trusted enough to hand you a drink, it was Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo.

The hour was reaching midnight now, and you weren’t sure how many martinis you had, but you were hiccuping a storm. That was a telltale sign that you were totally, thoroughly drunk. Wonwoo was only drinking beer and pacing himself, unlike that night at the dive bar, but he was enjoying the sight of you finally letting loose. You hung on his arm, staring up at him with your big eyes, glazing over from all the alcohol coursing through your system. He didn’t like how this effected him; he shouldn’t be attracted to the way your gaze looked while you were intoxicated. But he couldn’t help but wonder if your eyes held the same shine while your lips were wrapped around his –

No, this was too much. He should take you back to the hotel.

The two of you glanced around the bar, realizing it was mostly cleared out. You definitely needed to leave now.

He tugged on your arm, wrapping one of his around your waist to support you. “C’mon now,” he grunted, helping you walk out. “Let’s get you back.”

“I didn’t f–finish my drink thoooooough,” you argued, despite letting him lead you out of the bar. “And I can walk … on my own. Swear!”

“Listen, you took care of me once,” he said as you two walked into the brisk cold air. The hotel was, thankfully, only a block away. “Let me take care of you.”

Even with the alcohol pumping in your veins, just the sound of those words falling from his mouth made you grip him tighter. You felt like your bones were made of jelly, and it wasn’t just from the vodka. It was him, and the way he made you feel, and how secretly warm he was, and the way he took care of you as you took care of him, and – oh, god, you wanted to cry because you liked Jeon Wonwoo so much.

So, so much.

It was much easier to get you back to your hotel room than his apartment, seeing as this hotel had a working elevator. You slumped beside him, tripping over your feet every so often, as he hauled you down the hallway to your room. You gave him your keycard easily, and once the door was open, he squeezed your hand to silently let you know it was time to move again. He helped you into the room, shutting the door behind him, before laying you down on your bed with the clumsiness only he could have. 

You were laughing now, hiccuping from the alcohol, but laughing nonetheless. And he was laughing at your hiccups. Or maybe he just liked the way you grinned at him.

He assisted with taking off your boots and jacket, too embarrassed to remove anything else. And it definitely wasn’t appropriate to either. Tearing back the covers, he nestled you underneath them, and said, “You got everything, right? I’m a call away if you need me.” He grabbed one of the small trash cans in the room and placed it at your bedside. “If you need to vomit and can’t make it to the bathroom, just use the trash can here –”

You hand came out to wrap around his forearm. “Stay, Wonwoo.”

Your sleepy eyes were killing him, making his inhibitions melt and his cock throb at the same time. He sighed, sitting on the side of the mattress, and before he could stop himself, he was tucking hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t do that,” he said, his voice like a caress. “You know how it would look if someone saw me leave this room tomorrow morning. HR is on all our asses this week.”

“I know,” you slurred, and then pressed your flushed cheek into his palm. “I j–just thought you … were taking care of me thoooooooough …”

His resolve crumbled into a million pieces. This was complete, utter torture. You had to know how you effected him, but of course you didn’t, because you were stretching under the covers and yawning like you didn’t just make his heart stop. 

That’s how he ended up in your bed, shutting off the lights and settling underneath the comforter. Until you came closer and rested your head on his chest. Despite how fast his heart was beating, he felt so at peace, and you both fell asleep in the clothes you wore out tonight.

Only a few hours later, you woke with a clear head and the beginning of a hangover. Your head was pounding like crazy, and it took everything in you to slip out from the comfort of your bed and pad your feet over to the bathroom. The bright light was burning your eyes, but you needed it to find the Tylenol you left by the sink. Filling a cup with water, you took the medication and prayed it worked sooner rather than later.

You squinted at yourself in the mirror, realizing you were still in the outfit you wore yesterday. With a sigh, you picked up the big t-shirt you left on the floor yesterday morning and stripped yourself until you were in nothing but your underwear. You pulled the t-shirt on and slumped against the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold tile. Now this felt like heaven for your headache.

It took a couple of minutes to get yourself to move again, feet slapping against the floor as you walked out of the bathroom. You noticed Wonwoo was awake too, in the midst of slinking back under the covers, and you saw his jeans abandoned by his bedside.You crawled back to your cocoon of blankets, and he instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. And you … you didn’t move away. In fact, you pressed yourself closer, finally hearing how his heart raced. Wonwoo didn’t care if it was probably 4 AM and he probably had to leave in a few hours – before anyone else woke – because he was holding you and smelling you hair. You smelled … god, you smelled so good that it made him hard almost instantly.

You felt his hand splay against your spine, as if trying to hold himself back, and it was then that your eyes opened. The room was dark, but you knew when his gaze was burning into yours only seconds later. You slipped one hand out from the covers, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed over his lower lip. Under his breath, he muttered a soft, “Shit,” because you both knew where this was going.

You agreed you wouldn’t do this again. You agreed to be friends.

But now you’re kissing again.

Your hand moved from his face to his neck, and his hands are gripping your cheeks to make sure your mouth stayed on his. His fingers were shaking. He kissed you desperately, as if he needed this just to be able to breathe again, and maybe he did. You were like putty in his hands, molding yourself to his body as your tongue tangled with his. Whatever ache you felt in your temples drifted between your legs, causing you to moan into his mouth. And fuck, just the sound of you made his cock swell, precum soaking through his boxers.

The room felt so hot all of a sudden, but your cold hands came in handy as they rested on his neck. His left hand slid down to your ass, finally giving it a firm squeeze after kicking himself for not doing it when he first kissed you. That made you moan again, and he decided he’d never stop touching you like this, just so he could hear these sounds fall from your lips.

He slid his knee between your legs on instinct, and you didn’t hesitate to start grinding against his thigh. The friction felt delicious and soothing. You both kissed each other slower, a little messier, focusing on touching each other everywhere you dreamed about all these months. Your fingers traced down the column of his neck, down the thin cotton of the shirt he was still wearing from yesterday, while bucking against his thigh. His lips left yours, dragging across your cheek so he could nibble on your earlobe, feeling it grow warm and red from all the attention. “You have no idea how long I’ve needed you,” he whispered, and you damn near almost came from that confession.

You weren’t used to this; you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced pleasure like this with someone, but you couldn’t imagine stopping. Not when he angled his thigh just right, the muscle in his leg rubbing against your clit, your panties completely soaked. You cupped him over his boxers, feeling his bulge throb in your palm, and you cooed, “Can I …”

He groaned. You didn’t need to say more; Wonwoo was smart enough to know what you were insinuating. He felt disoriented, drunk off of you and your touch, smell, everything. “Are you … are you sure you don’t want to …” His voice was giving out, but from the way your fingers were slipping under the waistband of his boxers, you knew you wanted just this, and he’d give you whatever you wanted. “Yes. Yes, of course. That’s fine,” he finished.

You chuckled softly. He smiled against your neck. Pulling his cock out and wrapping your palm around it, you began to stroke him slowly. “Oh, god,” he was sighing into the crook of your neck, his brain in such a state of disarray when you resumed grinding against his leg while also pumping him from base to tip. This couldn’t be real; he had to be dreaming, but he could feel your wet panties sticking to his thigh. He could feel himself shake as he clung to you and pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your throat. It was all too much, but not enough at the same time. 

“Wonwoo,” you whimpered, and he dragged his lips back to yours just to feel how your mouth moved when you said his name. You bucked your hips faster, your arousal coating his thigh, and warmth bloomed between your legs. When your hand on his cock reached his head again, you rubbed the pad of your thumb over his slit, making more precum bead onto your knuckles. “Wanna cum with you,” you begged, stroking him faster and in time with your hips.

“I know you do, I know,” he breathed against your lips. “Just a little faster … yes, just like that. Fuck.”

Only a moment later were you trembling, hips stuttering as pleasure took over your body. You came hard, squeezing his thigh between your legs, and your cry was swallowed by Wonwoo’s lips. If he didn’t kiss you, he knew he’d moan so loud it would wake the entire hotel. Because – oh, god, he was cumming now, and he was sighing against your mouth as he erupted in your hand, ropes of cum staining your t-shirt. He could’ve swore he saw white. He’d never felt a release like this before; not with anyone else. Not even when he jerked off. But maybe it was because this was your hand and you were cumming on his leg, and fuck –

You were still shaking in each other’s arms, minds blank and reeling, bodies coming down from the high. It took the kind of strength that moved mountains to slip from his arms and clean yourself up. But by the time you came back from the bathroom and cuddled up next to him, Wonwoo was already fast asleep.

Jeon Wonwoo [6:08 AM]: I had to leave early this morning before anyone woke. But if you want, I’d like to see you at breakfast this morning :)

You [7:31 AM]: Jeon Wonwoo, I’m begging you to just text this to me

You [7:31 AM]: Also, was your phone hacked? Since when do you use emojis?

There wasn’t much to do on the last day of sales meeting week. The only things on your plate were to make niceties with some of the new reps, and probably attend a few presentations by HR. When you had finally woken up this morning to just you in the bed, you almost considered skipping the HR presentations, feeling too guilty and like they might see right through you. It was irrational, but you were sure that this was the only way to feel after realizing that you hooked up with your coworker and friend. 

Not that you hadn’t wanted to. Not that you hadn’t been thinking about it since your kiss. No, it wasn’t like that at all.

So why were suddenly terrified to see him at breakfast?

You got ready as quick as you could – but of course, making sure you wore that V-neck sweater that showed off your cleavage just right – and threw your hair up before leaving your hotel room. The line for the breakfast buffet was packed, but you waited patiently and decided to sit near the bar once you plate was full. The rest of the dining room was filled with people and you weren’t awake enough to make shitty small talk. Sitting here at the bar top was peaceful and quiet –

“Is this … seat taken?”

Your eyes met his instantly, and you noticed the way Wonwoo was cringing at the line he threw at you. You decided to forget it, for his sake, and gestured for him to sit down. Fuck, you were so goddamn nervous, even though you had agreed to meet him in the first place. You wore this low-cut sweater for him. You both sat in silence for a bit, crunching awkwardly on the burnt bacon, and shifting in your seats. 

“Did you …” You were surprised that your mouth was moving on it’s own volition, spilling any words that came to your head. “… Do anything this morning since you were up early?”

Wonwoo choked a bit on a strawberry, but recovered quickly. “Uh … yeah, yeah, sure. Once I came down here, one of the IT interns found me in a panic because he couldn’t set up one of the rep’s new work phones. Created a whole scene over nothing.”

You snorted and sipped your coffee. “Is that intern still breathing?”

His eyes flickered to yours, a slow smile growing on his face. “Yes, actually.”

You fell into sync then, letting the awkward silence melt away as you joked about Wonwoo’s interns. He wasn’t meant to teach college students, god help them. But as your plates became empty and a server came around to take them, you two were left with only the mugs in your hands, strangely reminiscent of that apology coffee he bought for you so long ago.

Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, so about last night – or I guess, this morning …”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you interjected, setting your coffee down. “I have a hangover, but I am thriving.”

He blinked. “Well, that’s good. But I was referring to –”

You almost couldn’t look at him when you said, “The fact that we’re definitely not just friends anymore?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that part.”

“I …” You licked your lips as you gathered yourself. There was this … terrifying flutter in your chest. You’d never felt something like this before, but you weren’t keen on letting it go. Not yet. “I would like to see you again. Like that. Definitely not during work hours. If you catch my drift. This is awkward.”

Wonwoo had to turn his head so you wouldn’t see him trying to hold in his laughter, but it was clear as day. You sighed loud and hit his arm, making him look at you once again as he snickered to himself. “You know, you could just ask me if I want to hang out.”

You leveled a look at him and huffed. “Okay, Wonwoo, do you –”

“Yes,” he beamed. “Always, yes.”

You found yourself at Wonwoo’s side more often than not. What used to be work get togethers transitioned to meeting up at a bar, or checking a new restaurant on the weekends. Sometimes he’d ask you to come over so you could taste test a new recipe he found. (Unfortunately for both of you, Wonwoo wasn’t very good at cooking, but he was getting better. Somewhat.) Those recipe nights, however, always led to him lifting you up on his creaky kitchen counter and kissing you so hard that you almost forgot to breathe. Until Mingyu came into the kitchen, making a gagging sound, and you two instantly detached from each other.

Friday nights were known as Mingyu’s Movie Nights, and Wonwoo began inviting you to those. He had said that this would help knock a few movies off your Letterboxd Watchlist, but you knew that was just an excuse for wanting to see you. You probably saw him more than anyone now, but you couldn’t deny that you … wanted to see him too. Having him in your life made everything suddenly better. He was kind and smart and thoughtful. He made you laugh in ways you couldn’t explain, and obviously … he didn’t have to do much to make you want him. He’d simply have to look at you and you’d get on his lap. If Mingyu wasn’t there, of course.

Wonwoo seemed to blossomed with you. He was more excited to leave his apartment, more eager to become a better cook. He spoke up often, whether it be at work or out with you, rather than letting someone talk. He wanted to learn all the things that you liked, wanted to touch you exactly where you needed it, wanted to find new ways to leave you breathless. Because it was for you.

Even Mingyu noticed a difference in his friend. He’d known Wonwoo for so many years now, but he’d never made this much of a change for anyone. One night, when you and Mingyu were alone in the kitchen, he mentioned, “He’s different around you.” And then kept pouring wine in three glasses while Wonwoo picked a movie from the living room.

There were also times where Wonwoo was a booty call, of course, and neither of you had any problems with that. Some nights, Wonwoo would call you after Mingyu went to bed, begging you to come over, but ended up settling for phone sex. His attraction to you in stockings only went up, and it was difficult for him to contain his arousal at work when you strutted around just knowing how it affected him. There was days where all he wanted to do was pull you into a janitor closet and fuck the living daylights out of you. But it wasn’t like you’d let him anyway.

You had your fair share of desperate moments too. Especially tonight, as you were out drinking with your friends at a local spot you’d been coming to for years. The live band was loud and you’d had your fair share of shitty margaritas already. One of your friends was tugging on the arm of some rando she met on the dance floor, yelling over the music that she was leaving and she’d text you when she was home safe. That left you shit out of luck for a ride home, and suddenly very lonely. The last thing you wanted was to drink alone at a shitty bar on a Saturday night.

Wandering outside, your heeled boots crunched in the snow as you looked for the nearest Uber. The fastest one around would take over 20 minutes to get to you, and as you looked around the empty city streets … wait, didn’t Wonwoo live around here? Maybe all the tequila was just getting to you. But you called him anyway, and despite the time reaching 1 AM, he answered instantly. He heard the slight lisp in your voice, and once he got out of you exactly where you were, he realized you were right. It only took him about 10 minutes to get to where you were, parking on the side of the road. 

He sighed at the sight of you sitting on the curb, shivering and hugging your jacket around you. Various drunk people filtered in and out of the bar, but none of them checked on you – a freezing girl just sitting on the side of the road. “Why didn’t you wait inside for me?” He asked, his breath hot against your cheek when he pulled you up in his arms. Your dress rode up a little, and his hands were quick to yank it back down. “It’s the middle of winter.”

“I jusssst thought … the cold air would sssssober me up,” you slurred, letting him place you in his passenger seat before running back over to the driver’s side. His car was warm, making you bury yourself in your jacket, but his hand on your thigh was even warmer somehow. If your fingers weren’t so cold, you’d wrap your hand around his wrist, inching his palm up higher as he drove.

Once he was parked, he wasted no time getting you out and helping you up the stairs to his apartment. Mingyu was passed out on the couch, an old movie from the 80s playing on the TV, but you could hardly register it because your brain was spinning and Wonwoo was practically dragging you to his bedroom. He was grateful that all the lights were off so you couldn’t see how messy it was, but honestly, it was a miracle if you could see anything clearly right now.

He sat you down on the bed and you looked up at him with bleary eyes, which made you so fucking hard to resist. All the tequila you drank was pumping through your bloodstream, and you couldn’t help but fist your hands in his t-shirt and try to kiss him. He evaded your lips though – no matter how much he wanted to – and you whined, “Whyyyyyy won’t you kiss me?”

“Shhh …” He whispered, yanking off your boots. “Inside voice. Mingyu’s sleeping.”

You smacked your hands against his mattress. “He’s sleeping in the living room!”

Wonwoo got back to his feet, gesturing as he instructed, “Arms up.” You were too intoxicated to do anything but oblige, lifting your arms as he struggled to pull your dress over your head. Once it was off and thrown to the side with your boots, your hazy vision caught him looking through his drawers for clothes for you to wear. But didn’t he just take your clothes off? You could’ve sworn he did that because he wanted you too right now.

You protested when he tried putting you in one of his simple white tees, but your body felt too limp to fight. He slipped the shirt over your head before pulling back his comforter and wrapping you in it. With your eyes half open, you watched him come to the other side of the bed, yanking his pants down and crawling in bed beside you. He reached over you and set his glasses on the side table. You sighed dramatically. Now he was just torturing you. Wonwoo simply chuckled to himself, realizing what you were angry about.

His arms instantly wound around you, his lips pulled into a smile at your hairline. You looked up at him with a scowl and your voice slurred, “Whysss your eyes closed?”

Wonwoo snickered under his breath. “Because it’s late and I’m tired.” His hand on your lower back traced circles, attempting to coax you to sleep.

“I thought you wanted meeeee,” you complained. Your hand reached in between you two, smoothing your palm against his groin as he slowly started to harden under your touch. You heard his breath hitch slightly, so you kept going, a soft ache beginning between your own legs at just the thought of putting him in your mouth. 

“Sweetheart, I always want you.” He then grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from him, and then lacing your fingers together. Pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, he sighed sleepily, “But you’re much sexier when you’re sober.”

You started to realize why you didn’t usually do this, why it had been so long since you let someone see every part of you. What you looked like completely stripped down – both inside and out – completely vulnerable for your person. How your face contorted during pleasure, and how it relaxed when you were taken care of.

Catching feelings like this meant giving up control.

You didn’t work on the weekends unless you had to, and when the Boss sent you a high priority email on Saturday morning, you didn’t hesitate. He had transferred over a bunch of sensitive files that were needed for a board presentation first thing Monday morning. But of course, something just had to go wrong: the files were corrupted and you had no way of figuring out what to do. And it wasn’t like your boss was on call like you were on a Saturday.

This was how you ended up at Wonwoo’s apartment.

You had called him in a panic, explaining what had went wrong, but he didn’t seem too fazed. He was used to your tech emergencies by now. But by the time you got to his apartment, out of breath after running from the train station, he had realized just how serious you were taking this. You both sat down on his couch and you let him work his magic. His fingers moved across the keys as if he were a musician, and you couldn’t stop biting your nail nervously.

Mingyu came back to the apartment after grocery shopping, waving at you before putting all the food away. Seeing as you were here, maybe they could all go out and have fun tonight. He went into the living room, ready to mention a band that was playing at a local venue later, but upon seeing the stressed look on both your faces, he exhaled. “It’s a Saturday,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Why do you two look like that?”

“Corrupted documents,” Wonwoo answered quickly, not even looking up from the monitor. 

“I don’t even want to know more,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket from the coat rack and tugging his arms through the sleeves. “Just your faces are making me anxious. I’m heading out. Don’t wait up.”

You gave Mingyu a wave as he left, but Wonwoo was too focused to even say goodbye. It took about another hour and one cup of coffee, but Wonwoo eventually figured out how to uncorrupt the files. You let out a sigh of relief as he handed the laptop back to you and you were able to open each of them without issue. Thank god, you had managed to figure this out before Monday morning. And … having Wonwoo wasn’t too bad either.

“Thank you,” you beamed, not being able to resist pinching his cheek. “My hero.”

Silence engulfed the room as you both noticed how the sky was already getting dark. You cleared your throat, slipping your laptop back into your bag and muttering, “Thanks again. I know I kind of barged in and wasted your Saturday afternoon –”

Like the saint he was, Wonwoo simply smiled at you. “No time with you is a waste.”

Whatever words you were about to say clogged in your throat. You swallowed hard, attempting to hide your fluster, but you ended up choking out, “I … should go.”

“You don’t have to.” He stood from the couch, walking over to you and running his hands down your arms. His brow lifted. “Do you want to?”

You let the strap of your bag fall to the floor as your hands cupped his neck. “No, not particularly.”

Wonwoo chuckled, leaning in and letting his lips just lightly graze yours. “We have the place to ourselves,” he hummed, slowly dragging you backwards with him. “Mingyu’s gone … probably won’t be back until midnight.”

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle, letting him lead you to his room, as limp as a rag doll. Once he shut his bedroom door behind you, he flicked the light on. You pressed your back against the door and your eyes roamed around the space. This was the first time you saw his bedroom with the light on; every other time had been pitch black. You liked that his walls weren’t bare – they were filled with posters of his favorite musicians or photographs. On his desk was a large monitor and a gaming set up, but also a camera with stacks of film next to it. His furniture was old – probably from the 90s, probably passed down from his family – but the scratches within the wood told a story. And unlike most men, his sheets were gray.

Wonwoo realized you were scanning his room, and he became acutely aware of the clothes scattered amongst his floor. He muttered something to himself, beginning to pick up the clothes piles and chuck them into his hamper. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I inherited the organized gene like Mingyu.”

You tilted your head, striding over and pulling him up, making him halt his actions. Your hands went to his face as you brought him closer. With a smile, you whispered, “I don’t want to talk about Mingyu,” before pressing your lips to his.

The kiss became deep far too quickly, or maybe time was passing faster than usual. Your lips crashed so hard against his that they’d bruise. He took off his glasses, setting them on his drawer, before his fingers hooked into the belt loops of your jeans. You stepped forward, making him step back, then another, and another – until you had him falling back on his bed. You straddled him, arching your back so you could lick into his mouth just how he liked. Hands sliding up his shirt, you felt his abdomen flex underneath you. His fingers in your belt loops jerked you closer, pressing your hips to his, and it wasn’t long before he was moaning into the kiss.

You smiled against his mouth, dragging your lips down his neck, and then even further, as you slinked down his body. Your eyes were trained on his, and he was trying his best not to look like a complete idiot in front of you. But it was difficult when you were looking at him with those eyes and – oh, now you were pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants, practically salivating when you noticed how hard he was already.

But … this was what you guys always did. Not that he had an issue with you giving him blow jobs, but none of this felt particularly intimate. You never really let him worship you; you took control of the entire situation. As if you were bringing your professional stubbornness to the bedroom.

“Wait,” he choked out as you palmed his growing bulge. “Can we … can we try something different?”

Your brows furrowed and you continued pressing sloppy kisses above his groin. “Why would we do that?”

Wonwoo let out a frustrated sound, and before you could prepare yourself, he was yanking his pants back up and pinning you underneath him. You blinked up at him in surprise, and he was gripping your wrists above your head now, his bodyweight pressing you into the mattress. He almost looked shocked that he had the strength to push you back, but his blown-out pupils gave away his true desire.

“What was that for?” You asked incredulously. Nerves clouded your thoughts, making you stutter. “I thought … I thought you liked …”

“No, trust me, I do,” he assured you, and then tipped his head as he gazed down at you. “I just … why won’t you let me take care of you?”

You scoffed then, trying to cover up how petrifying this conversation was becoming. Were you that transparent now, or did he simply know you far too well for your own good?

“I have no idea what you’re –”

Wonwoo gave you one of his infamous leveled looks, and you sighed. “You’re in constant need of seeking control when it’s always at your fingertips. It’s okay to let it go; it won’t slip away.” He let go of your wrists then, but kept his body hovering over yours, holding himself up by his elbows resting near your head. “Please, just … surrender it for once. Let me take the lead.”

You glanced down at your hands on your chest, twiddling your thumbs. Eventually, you murmured, “It’s hard. I’ve never done that before.”

“Can we try? I like …” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then let his head fall as he chuckled to himself. “This is so awkward. I just – I like prioritizing your pleasure. It feels much better for me and I think it will for you too. And if you don’t like it –”

“I’m not good with change,” you blurted.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice taking on that husky tone that made warmth pool in your stomach. His eyes flickered to your lips now, noticing how swollen they still were. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. It was just a suggestion, and I probably ruined the mood.”

You shook your head immediately, allowing your fingers to tenderly sweep over his shirt. “No, I …” A voice in the back of your head told you this was a good thing, and you did want this, but the fear of change was overwhelming. You wanted to step out of your comfort zone, desperately, for once. You were allowed to do this; you were allowed to be happy. 

Your gaze met his again. “I want to try.”

His eyes softened with affection, but then he asked, “You’re not just agreeing for my sake, right?”

“Now when have I ever done that?” You laughed, making him smile along with you. 

But as soon as his mouth met yours, that awkward, giggling persona seemed to melt away. Jeon Wonwoo morphed into an entirely different person, someone that possessed your jaw in his large hand, pulling at your bottom lip before kissing you harder. It was enough to leave you gasping for air once he pulled away, spit connecting you two, and he continued to suck and nip his way down your throat. He made sure to leave marks in places that could be covered up for work, but he’d know exactly where they were. God, would he even be able to control himself at his desk, knowing where his bites were hiding under your clothes? 

Tugging your sweater over your head, he practically whined at the sight of your breasts, constricted in the bra that you told him was too old once, but you kept wearing it anyway because he said it was cute. He lifted you for a moment, expertly removing it with one hand, before licking the valley between your breasts. You arched into him, sighing into your arm when he swirled his tongue around your taut nipple. He glanced up and realized you were hiding your face, so he pushed your hand off. “I want you to look at me while I do this,” he cooed, but it sounded more like a demand.

Despite the embarrassment, you did as he asked, feeling completely bewitched as you watched him cup the swell of your breast, tugging on your nipple. This felt like a goddamn Pornhub video. You two have had sex before, yes, but not like this. Never like this. Wonwoo had always let you do what you were comfortable with, keeping his other side at bay while you rode him hard on the couch. But this … this felt like something else entirely. The way he was lavishing both your nipples, coating them with his spit, demanding you to watch … Expletives filtered softly from your mouth, wetness gathering between your thighs. It suddenly felt too hot and your jeans were still on.

Wonwoo was taking his time with you though, and it was very clear to you that this wouldn’t just be one of those nights where you had sex for 10 minutes before ordering pizza. When he lifted his mouth from your left nipple, he asked calmly, “Do you like this or do you want more?”

You sneered, “Well, of course, I like –”

His hand came up instantly to pinch your other nipple, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that came out of your mouth. “No teasing,” he said, lowering his head to flick that nipple with his tongue. “Just answer me.”

“More,” you choked out, your hips arching off the bed, seeking friction. “Please, more.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss between your breasts once again, before lowering himself down your body. His eyes never left yours as he dragged his lips down your stomach. Eventually, he had to stand from the bed so he could finally unzip your pants, tugging when they got stuck around your ankles. When the cold air hit between your legs, you realized how soaked you were already. Wonwoo smirked to himself, slowly rolling your panties down your legs.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you joked, kicking your panties off into a pile by his bed. 

He lifted your ankle, nipping playfully, and replied, “Told you that you’d like me taking the lead.”

You rolled your eyes as he settled between your thighs, bending your knees back so your feet rested beside his head. You bit your lip as he placed sloppy kisses on your inner thigh, biting hard enough to make a bruise. Wonwoo fought hard to maintain a sense of composure, but god, the sight of your pretty pussy oozing slick made him wonder if he could cum untouched. You had let him finger you before, but had never been in the mood for this. And this was something Wonwoo had been fantasizing about since the day he noticed that tear in your stockings. He could jump for joy if that didn’t make him look like an absolute fucking loser.

He pushed your folds apart with two fingers, running a hand down his face as he attempted to school his expression. It was just so fucking hard to act cool when you were this aroused. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. You reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead, deciding to quip, “Wonwoo, can you even find the clit without your glasses on –”

Without warning, he spit on your pussy and buried his face between your thighs. The words died on your tongue immediately, and you let out the loudest whine he’d ever heard in his life. He smiled, but that didn’t deter him from circling his tongue around your clit. He wound one of his arms around your thigh, holding you in place as he pressed his face further.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, he sucked and drew out the prettiest sounds from you, using his free hand to slip two fingers inside you. You tasted exactly like he dreamed about, sweet and tangy and so unmistakably you. He looked up at you from between your legs, curling his fingers in the spot that made tears prick at your eyes, and when your gaze found his, it was like something in him snapped. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice muffled, feasting at you like he’d been starved for days. 

Your fingers were in his hair now, pressing his head more into you, which only made this more enjoyable for him. He nearly came in his pants when your hips began to buck against his face, but this was about you. And him experiencing you cumming on his face. But mostly you. His fingers pumped faster inside you and his tongue was now flicking your clit, allowing more of your arousal to invade his mouth. He’d never get tired of this taste; he was obsessed. Now that he finally got a taste of you … he never wanted to not be doing this. Never wanted his face too far from the apex of your legs. Not when you had the sweetest taste that could move heaven and earth between these thighs.

And when you finally came on his tongue, he noticed that your legs shook like an earthquake. Your essence flooded his mouth, and he moaned – god, did he moan – lapping at you, never missing a drop of what you gave him. His fingers kept curling inside of you, making your orgasm feel like forever. When he finally removed them with a wet pop, he didn’t miss the opportunity to have more of you, wrapping his mouth around those two fingers and licking off the last of your release. You watched him, completely mesmerized by the way he savored you, even darting his tongue out to capture the whatever seeped out of you. Your hips jolted, suddenly so sensitive, and he grinned up at you.

You hardly caught your breath before he crawling up your body, kissing you hard and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands fisted in his t-shirt, and when you ripped your lips away from his, you arched a brow. “You are still fully clothed,” you reminded, and then swiped at the spit lining his bottom lip.

Wonwoo simply smiled, ghosting his lips over yours before trailing them to your ear. “I’m getting to that part. Patience,” he whispered, nibbling on your earlobe. “You must really want me inside you.”

“I want to not be the only one naked.”

“Say it,” he prodded in a weirdly casual tone.

“What?”

“Say you want me inside you.”

“This is ridiculous –”

He lifted his head from your jawline. “I can easily leave this room and order a pizza,” he teased, and you blinked at him. He was actually being serious. He would completely ignore what looked like a throbbing erection in his pants, just to make a point. You knew he wasn’t trying to be mean; he wanted to get you out of your comfort zone. This was so stupid, because you did want him inside you. Embarrassingly so. He had just given you one of the best orgasms of your life, but you still had this … aching need to be filled. Your cheeks heated just at the thought of it.

“I …” Your eyes closed for a moment, trying not to make your whole face turn bright red. With a sigh, your eyes connected again, and you answered, “I want you inside me, Wonwoo.”

He rewarded you with a kiss, pulling away before it could get too heated again, and stood from the bed. “Well, when you ask nicely …” He smiled, that dominating demeanor slipping for a moment as he pulled his shirt off. You’d never get tired of the way Wonwoo looked without a shirt. He didn’t let anyone see it very often – he wasn’t like his roommate – but the moments he did, you felt eternally grateful. His torso was toned, with defined abs and pecks that made your mind boggle. You liked that his arms were long and muscled; his hands large and slightly calloused. 

You liked everything about him.

When he finally went to kick off his sweatpants, he noticed a large precum stain on the gray fabric from just eating you out. Which was probably the biggest jab to his calm and collected attitude right now, but he didn’t let it slip. He simply threw the sweatpants to the side, coming up close to the bed again, where your legs were now hanging off the edge. You gazed up at him as if he held the world in his palms, watching the way he reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, never used to the size. He was slightly thicker than average, but long. Longer than you ever expected. With a pretty pink head leaking sticky precum.

It was killing you how long he was taking. Your legs shifted, ready to make a move to yank him underneath you, but he was faster than you. He pinned your wrists about your head with one hand this time, using his other to keep a firm grip on his cock. “You want to be in control that badly, huh?” He asked, tilting his head.

His hand was moving up and down his shaft now, letting precum dribble on your stomach. Your eyes flickered from his cock back to his eyes. “I just … I need you, Wonwoo,” you begged, your voice taking on a new tone. And somehow … wanting him so bad like this was ten times more arousing than riding him on the couch. “Please, please, Wonwoo. Please, fuck me.”

Your pleas had him falling apart, and he sighed, letting go of your wrists to discard his boxers too. His cock flopped against his stomach, hard and aching and – fuck, had he always been veiny? He got on top of you again, cooing against your lips, “I know, baby, I know.” His rubbed the underside of his length against your wet folds, moaning at the slightest bit of friction. “I’ll fuck you real good. I promise.”

Pressing the head of his cock at your entrance, his breath hitched at just the feeling of your arousal coating his shaft. You both had never taken your time with sex. But he was doing that tonight now that he was in control, letting himself slowly push inside you, feel you completely stretch open for him. You mewled, slinking your arms around his neck and carding your fingers at the nape. And when he finally buried himself to the hilt, his lips fell open and he groaned. You felt so good he could cum right now, but he needed to get a grip. The last thing he needed was to cum too fast.

Not that you would like him any less if he did.

“Wonwoo,” you cried, your hips arching up to meet his. “Please.”

Your voice snapped him out of whatever trance-like state he was in. He settled more on top of you, resting his elbows on both sides of your head, and pulled all the way out so only the tip remained. You whined at the emptiness, which soon changed to a gasp when he bullied his cock back in. Your fingers tugged at his hair; your legs crossed around his waist, drawing him deeper inside. “Fuck,” he muttered, still feeling how tight you were, how you molded yourself for him. “So fucking … god, so wet.”

His restraint could only last so long. He’d gotten his fill of feeling you adjust around him. He couldn’t take this anymore, or he was going to cum before you both had even started. With a deep breath, he set a brutal pace inside of you, his hips snapping forward. Tears rolled down your cheeks; how could something feel so good that you cried? Wonwoo seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he was burying his face in the crook of your neck and groaning, “God, so good … you feel so good … how can anyone feel this good?”

The only word you could choke out was, “Ditto,” which you’d regret for hours after this. But now was not the time.

He was fucking into you so hard that you were already sore, but you were holding onto him for dear life, clinging to him as that warmth burned in your gut. The way his cock curved and grazed your g-spot perfectly, making you tremble and whimper his name like a prayer. He placed a hand on your stomach, feeling how deep his cock nestled inside you, and you noticed him shiver in your arms. He was trying desperately to fight off his release. That coil in your gut began to tighten, and from the way Wonwoo was breathing, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted you to cum first though – like always – wanted to feel you clamp around him, squeeze him so tight that he saw white. 

So he did what he did best: reached in between your bodies, finding your swollen, sensitive clit so easily, and rubbed slow circles. He lifted his head from your neck, wanting to see that familiar look in your eyes when you saw stars. “Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice was so deep that it reverberated against your chest.

And finally, as he pressed his thumb down hard and pushed into you just right, you felt your orgasm crest. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” you sobbed, body shaking as you came undone. 

But Wonwoo wasn’t stopping. He kept fucking into you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And when your walls squeezed him so tight, he buried himself completely and came hard, a generous amount of fucks leaving his lips. His cheek pressed against yours; his groans muffled by the comforter. You held him close as he filled you to the brink with his release, and it almost felt like hours before he realized he finished. 

You exhaled together, allowing your heart rates to settle. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then to your nose, and now he was kissing all over your face. Your cheeks instantly tinged pink, but you let him do as he pleased. He didn’t even make a move off you, letting his cock soften inside your warmth. When your eyes opened, he was staring down at you like you were the sun. You searched his eyes, “What?”

His dark gaze flickered to your lips for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you really say, ‘Ditto,’ during sex?”

You and Wonwoo had gotten into a routine. Of course, you saw him 5 days out of the week at work, but you wanted more of him. You figured out Mingyu’s schedule, coming over most nights when he wasn’t home – besides Mingyu’s Movie Nights. You would let Wonwoo cook for you, and he promised he was getting better, before he led you to his room with kisses to your neck and a firm grip on your hand. 

He always went with whatever you were comfortable with, but you found yourself letting him take the lead more often than not. You liked letting him prioritize you; you liked being selfish with him. Giving up control felt … much better than anticipated. Everything about this felt too good to be true. But you couldn’t help yourself, and you didn’t want to spoil it by asking him the dreaded, “What are we?” For now, you’d exist in your safe little bubble, where he would smile at you at work and then fuck your brains out after hours. It felt perfect, simple.

You approached sex through a different lens now. Instead of simply riding him on that godforsaken old couch, you let him go at his own pace: placing you on his lap, having his way with you and making you cum at least 3 times before he sunk you down on his cock, bouncing you up and down as you clung to him, practically letting him use you as a flesh light. Even when he let you sit on his face, it was on his terms: his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark, trying to suffocate himself with your pussy, not allowing you to cum until he said so, no matter how much you needed to. But it felt too good to stop. You didn’t want this to stop. You liked the lack of control, liked the way he took care of you. The way he bent your knees back as he slid into you, keeping eye contact, so you’d feel him that much deeper … the way he could feast on you for hours, never getting enough of your taste … there was something about it that made you feel more than beautiful. 

Especially when he looked at you as if you were his world.

Especially when he fucked into you and you realized you might be in love with him.

You tended to get lost in thought while laying in bed on an early morning. The birds chirped outside, your phone chimed along with each new notification. Curling underneath your comforter, you held your pounding head, reminiscing on last Sunday. You had gone over Wonwoo’s apartment and he had surprised you with a spaghetti dinner. Mingyu promised that it was “more edible than usual” before he left you two alone in the apartment.

You had noticed the shine in Wonwoo’s eyes, how excited he was to do this for you. He had never bothered to learn anything for anyone, but all he wanted to do was please you. To make you happy. And you could see that in the way he gazed at you, making your stomach do flip flops. Letting him have all this control over you, letting him see past the fortress you’d kept up for who knows how long … it was scary and exhilarating all at the same time.

He taught you how to play his favorite video game after dinner, placing you in between his legs on the couch and letting you lean back against his broad chest. His arms cocooned around you, nestling your body in his embrace. Sometimes he would nibble on your ear as you fought to maintain hand-eye coordination with the controller. Eventually, you had given up and asked to watch him, but that led to his hand dropping the controller as the enemy killed him off. And then his fingers were slowly slipping down the waistband of your leggings, rubbing your slit over your panties. You had arched into him, your ass pressing against his hardening erection as he pulled your panties to the side, already finding you wet and ready for his touch. He chuckled in your ear, “How long have you been thinking about this?” His index finger rubbed tight circles on your clit, and all that you could formulate for a response was a moan as he –

You cut yourself off from the memory before it could end you.

Your stomach churned. Despite your better judgement, you had completely fallen head-over-heels for senior IT specialist, Jeon Wonwoo, and that was terrifying. He had seen your personality unfold, seen the most vulnerable parts of you. But nothing was more scary than admitting to yourself how much you liked him, maybe even loved. You were frantic to the point of exhaustion, so stressed that you felt sick. Soon you were shivering, your head pounding as a fever came on, and you stayed home from work for a few days. Your phone notifications be damned – you stayed in your bedroom with the blinds closed, sleeping the days away.

Every so often, you would hear your phone chime. Your phone screen would light up with another text message. But … you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him. This behavior was illogical and stupid; you just simply couldn’t help yourself. You were an avoidant. The only thing you knew how to do was slowly push him away before he saw all the layers underneath your carefully crafted facade.

What if he finally saw how anxious you were all the time?

What if he knew how you secretly craved to be loved your entire life, but you looked for it elsewhere, in places like workplace praise or crowded bars where you couldn’t see another person’s face?

What if he knew you weren’t as organized up in your head as you were at your desk?

Or worse … what if he didn’t like you back?

TUESDAY, APRIL 22

Wonwoo: What’s going on?

Wonwoo: I managed to find out that you’re sick. I can make you soup, if you want? I know my cooking is terrible. But what if this time it’s good and it cures you?

Wonwoo: If I threaten to message you on Slack, will that make you reply?

Wonwoo: I promise I won’t. Unless … lol

Wonwoo: You’re not dead, right?

Wonwoo: Please, answer me.

FRIDAY, APRIL 25

UNKNOWN: hey, it’s Mingyu. I found your number in Wonwoo’s phone. he’s really messed up right now and worrying about you.

UNKNOWN: idk what’s going on between you two, but I don’t like seeing him like this.

UNKNOWN: just … call him. or text him. or something.

Jeon Wonwoo [10:13 AM]: Did your computer die and you need a new charger?

Jeon Wonwoo [3:21 PM]: I miss you.

When you finally returned to work, it’s on a day that your cubicle mate had decided to work from home. You couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or curse until the next day, when you wished that he decided to work from home forever. It was on a Tuesday morning that you finally faced him again, locking eyes with him from across the boardroom table in an all-hands meeting. You weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure what you could say, but … he didn’t speak to you any way. In fact, even when you both got back to your desks, he kept quiet, throwing on his headphones and focusing on whatever task was at hand. His attitude change wasn’t exactly surprising, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him either.

All your other coworkers looked bewildered. The silence between you two made just about everyone feel awkward. They all saw how close you and Wonwoo had become, and now everything just felt … flat. Silent. Empty. It was like you two were strangers. Maybe you had never really known each other in the first place, if you could both discard each other so easily. 

But that just seemed too good to be true. You thought about him everyday, despite yourself, and he had to think of you too. You caught his eyes on you every once in a while, and you couldn’t help but yearn for him in silence. It was probably time for you to take charge again and make the first move, but you found yourself hesitating. Again. You were overwhelmed with thoughts of rejection. 

This was why you never gave up control with someone before. It left you suddenly so, so doubtful.

You [1:34 PM]: I can’t get into my Outlook. I think I’ve locked myself out 

Jeon Wonwoo is now offline.

You [1:36 PM]: I miss you too

It was a busy Sunday, the first notes of Spring evident in the air. You needed to go to the post office today, the supermarket, probably check in on your parents … but that was all discarded when you made the sudden decision to take a taxi to Wonwoo’s apartment. Your hands were shaking more than his when he first touched you. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety, and when the taxi finally pulled up to his building, you considered never getting out. 

But you couldn’t continue being a coward. Besides, this driver had places to be, with the way he was arguing for you to pay in cash.

You were lucky enough to slide in through the building’s entrance while someone was walking out. The less you had to embarrass yourself by calling Mingyu to let you in, the better. The walk up those two flights of stairs was long and tiring, and it wasn’t because you always hated them. You physically couldn’t make yourself go faster, too frightened of what he was going to say when he saw you. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything; maybe he’d slam the door in your face. And you couldn’t blame him, because now you were at his door and – oh, god, you wanted to hurl.

The door was opening before you could even catch your breath. When you caught that first glimpse of Mingyu, you realized how much of a mistake this was. You could always turn back, run down the stairs before anyone could say a word.

But as soon as you both locked eyes, Mingyu raised his brow, but not in a mocking sense. It was as if … he expected you to be here. He sighed, leaning against the door, and without looking back, he called out, “Wonwoo! You got a visitor.”

Your eyes went wide, and then Mingyu was pushing past you, leaving the door open and muttering, “Good luck.” He was rushing down the stairs two at a time before you could even say a word back. But then you were seeing him, and you wondered if it had always been this hard to breathe around him.

Your fingers played absentmindedly as you both stared at each other. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he made no move to fix them. His own hand was too busy dropping the controller that had been in his grip, now clattering to the floor. His hair was messed up and he was wearing his favorite comfy sweatsuit, and you … you were put together, as always. Your hair unwashed, but pulled up in a ponytail, and wearing that cardigan he liked so much on you. If he wasn’t so hurt, just the sight of you would have him on his knees right now, begging to have you.

He had to turn around and walk away. If he didn’t right now, he’d just –

“Wait,” you said, walking in and closing the door when he spun away. “Please, don’t. I –”

“What could you possibly say?” He snapped, facing you once again. You had never heard his voice at this octave before, never seen so much distress on his face. “I thought we knew each other well enough that you wouldn’t cut me off out of nowhere. As if I’m just some guy you met at a bar last weekend.”

Your mouth opened, and then closed. 

“Do you … do you even understand how worried I was about you?” He ran a hand through his hair, voice cracking for the first time in forever. You took a step closer to him. “You weren’t answering me and I just … my head went to the worst. I thought Mingyu was gonna kill me the next time I mentioned your name. And then, to see you at work and realizing that you were actually just ghosting me was a fucking punch to the gut. I didn’t get it. I still don’t get it. But I’m so pissed at you for hurting my feelings that I’m not even sure if I wanna know.”

“Wonwoo –” You started.

“Please, don’t say my name like that,” he sighed and pinched his nose. “I realize that you came all this way to finally break the news to me, but I’m good. It’s very obvious to me now that you don’t like me as much as I like you, and to save us the pity party, let me get you home –” He reached for his wallet to grab some cash for your next taxi.

But you interrupted before he could finish.

“I love you.”

He paused, looking up and making sure he heard you right. “What?”

“I’m in love with you,” you said it again, and it felt so freeing to have this weight lifted off your shoulders. You moved closer, now standing a foot away, but refusing to touch him for your own good. “And I’m not just telling you that as an excuse. Ignoring you was cruel and I can never forgive myself for hurting you. I just … when I realized how deep my feelings for you were …” Your throat closed up, as if your body was acting on instinct, preventing you from being vulnerable with him.

Wonwoo closed the distance. “Hey,” he whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I’m right here with you.”

His voice was so reassuring – as always – opening you up like a blooming flower. And suddenly, your mouth didn’t feel so dry anymore and your nails stopped making crescent-shaped indents in your palm.

“I got scared,” you confessed, your gaze locked on his. “And I ran away, because that was the easiest thing to do. I thought ignoring you would be best for both of us, and I stubbornly didn’t want to hear your opinion on any of this. What I did was wrong and I … I hate myself when I do stuff like this to people I care about.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, but he wiped them with his thumb before they could fall. You sniffled, noticing the hurt in his eyes had faded, replaced only by adoration. Your lips pursed as you searched his gaze.

“I’ve just … never allowed anyone to open me up like this. I’ve never given my feelings to someone and let them care for me.” You blinked, your eyes rimmed red. “I’ve hardly been able to comprehend my own feelings because I’ve been scared shitless of them in the first place. But I can’t … I can’t justify pushing you away anymore. Because I love you. I don’t like being alone anymore and all I ever want to do is see you. Sometimes I’m afraid if I stop holding you, you’ll disappear. You do so much for me; you literally fix something on my computer everyday. I think if I let you go right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, and I –”

Wonwoo cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t remember the last time he kissed you like this: so gently with his palm cupping your jaw. You felt yourself relax when he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His tongue licked into your mouth, sighing with relief when the familiar taste of you entered his orbit again. The taste of coffee and peppermint gum and the peanut butter and jelly you definitely had for lunch today. It was everything he loved about you, and he smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he said, “Sorry, I interrupted your monologue.”

“It’s okay. Someone needed to before I got into the Hamlet soliloquy I prepared.”

He chuckled, grinning from ear to ear, and just that had a blush creeping to your cheeks. “I forgive you,” he whispered, leaning back in to ghost his lips all over your face. Your warm breath fanned his mouth. “Just don’t do that again. I know I don’t show it very often, but I’m secretly very …” He smiled softer this time, pecking just slightly on the corner of your mouth. “Sensitive.”

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, wanting him all the more closer. “I know. I promise.” You brushed your nose over his. “If I ever ignore you for even a couple hours, you have full permission to annoy me on Slack.”

Wonwoo had to cover his mouth from letting out the loudest laugh possible, but it made you feel all the better to see him happy. You could spend forever seeing him this happy. You got up on your tiptoes just to stare at him more, to press yourself closer and feel his grin against your cheek.

But he was holding your face now, sighing down at you with a smile that almost made you swoon. “For the record,” he replied, “I love you too.” 

[thebubblesareevil]

Retired hero Danny

Danny has saved the world more time than he could count and they would never know. He didn’t care

Ancients! He preferred it.

He retired from being a hero when the Justice league came into the picture. Ever since he was crowned the ghosts don’t really threaten humanity anymore so he’s more than happy to leave the non ghost threats to earth get handled by the Justice league

He runs a repair shop in amity park, he’ll fix anything and everything at affordable pricing

The only member of the Justice league that knows about Danny is Diana. She didn’t know about him until some enemy trying to summon chronos succeeds and she gets frozen in time

Luckily clockwork has mellowed out over the years and takes this time to tell her how proud he is of his favorite granddaughter following in her uncle’s footsteps.

He did tell her he was retired but would help if it was truly needed.

As far as everyone else is concerned the ritual was a dud

One day a major threat approaches and the team has beaten down time and again. Batman is getting desperate.

Wonder Woman asks to borrow a phone

She makes a call in the meeting room

Danny’s dead device depot: you kill it I fix it, how can I help you today.

“My name is Diana of themascyra. I was told you could help….we have run out of options.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“A new god by the name of Darkseid intend to bring our world to ruin. His army is without end and we cannot hold them back much longer”

“Hmmmm sounds like a tough job” tinkering is heard in the background “ tell you what, get me some of those cookies like yer mom makes. The nutty ones and we’ve got a deal”

“Kourabiedes? That’s it? But-“

“No buts, you just get those started while I take care of this creep. I should be done by the time they cool down.”

The line goes dead.

The team looks at her defeated. Certain that was a dead end, but Diana gets up and heads to the kitchen. If half of what her grandfather had told her was true then she would need to start baking

Meanwhile on Apokalypse….

The doors to the throne room fall to the ground before Darkseid

A large humanoid man stands in the doorway holding a large club like weapon with glowing text on the body

“So you’re the creep that’s been messing with my niece, huh? Don’t worry I have just the thing for creeps like you.”

Later that same day

Danny sits down at the table across from his niece as she tells him all about her friends and their adventures while he enjoys his slightly crispy cookies.

[witherby]

If the last fic takes place before the Batfam knew about Conners existence, I just wanna see Mouse explain to them that a Superman cosplayer saved them lol

I love that. "Yeah some cosplayer saved my life. 10/10 would let him do it again."

Littlest Wayne: Information Gathering

Masterlist is Here!

"You and Superman need to come straight to the Cave when you return to Earth."

"I miss you, too, babe," Hal smirks, gliding just above the ground on a planet he and Clark are guarding for a major diplomatic conference. "Tryna get the debrief out of the way so we can get me out of by boxer briefs right after?"

"Mouse was in a hostage situation in Metropolis today that was too overcast for them to get out of."

Hal's good mood plummets. He almost shouts for Clark to get his ass over to him so they can immediately head back.

"Are they —"

"Alive, and relatively unharmed considering the severity of the event."

"What does relatively mean in this context, B?" Hal snaps. "Relatively unharmed by vigilante standards or by civilian standards? Are they in the hospital?"

"Some bad bruising to the temple and a low-grade burn on the right arm. They're safe."

Bruce's calm tone and steady cadence helps relax Hal. His shoulders un-tense and he lets out a sigh.

"Alright. But there's more to it, otherwise you wouldn't have contacted me."

Bruce hums in that quiet way he does when he's pleased by Hal's deductive reasoning. It makes him smile and miss him that much more, and he's only been gone two days.

"They were rescued by a new Meta. Called himself Superman."

"Look at you, crackin' jokes on an official League line. Never thought I'd see the day!"

"..."

"You're not joking. There's a second Superman flying around?"

"A Superboy, by the looks of it. He's the real deal — the flight, the strength, and the suit all points to another Kryptonian. This will make three, after Supergirl."

Hal furrows his brow. He lets his feet hit the ground and starts to pace, kicking up little bits of purple dirt. This planet is ridiculously fragile. It's part of the reason he and Clark are protecting it during these peace talks.

"Is it a baby? Don't remember either Kara or Lois looking pregnant."

"A teenager. Around Mouse's age, by the looks of him, and very inexperienced from what scattered footage I can find of the event."

"Which makes no sense. There's something up if he's a teen but still can't use his powers right. Supes told us he could hone his almost perfectly before he was old enough to drive a car. A new scheme by Luthor or Waller, maybe?"

"I knew I married you for a reason."

"Keep praising me like that and there won't be time for a debrief when I get home."

Bruce hums again. His considering sound. The Green Lantern suit feels very constricting, all of a sudden.

"You don't need to rush your mission to get back. There is one more thing you need to know prior to return, however."

"I'm all ears."

"Mouse described the Superboy as... handsome."

Hal falls to his hands and knees, kicking up a small cloud of purple dust.

"No, no, nooo! They're just a baby!"

"Well. They're seventeen."

"Well I say they're too young for romance! Yesterday they were afraid of Cooties!!"

"Time flies. It's inevitable."

"We're gonna wrap these peace talks up tonight."

Bruce sounds amused on the other end of the line, like he hasn't just crushed Hal's entire world three sentences ago.

"You aren't due back for another week."

"We're wrapping it up tonight!"

"Okay. Agent A will know to set your plate tomorrow."

"Can he make some of those mini quiches? I'm gonna need comfort food to get over this."

"I'll pass the request along."

"And can you wear the see-through robe you were given after you shot that Dior commercial?"

"...if you slick back your hair, yes."

Hal grins. He's still not happy about his youngest kid growing up so fast, but this is a nice consolation prize.

--

True to his word, Hal and Clark get the peace talks concluded by nightfall and head back to Earth. Clark is given the general run-down of what happened on the way, and his curiosity and insistence on getting answers lets Hal know it'll be a long night. He's gonna slick his hair back anyway. He misses his husband, dammit.

You sit at the meeting table in the Bat Cave, feet propped on top exactly like Jason does it, with your hands stuffed in the pockets of your hoodie. You stare groggily at Hal and Clark as they fly in from their trip, shuffling to your feet to give them both sleepy hugs.

"Welcome back," you yawn. "Dad said you have questions?"

"Hey, Mousey," Hal grins, ruffling your hair. You grumble and wave his hand away, then grumble louder when Clark does the exact same thing. "Just got some follow-up questions about the field trip, then we'll let you get back to bed."

You go back to your seat and slump into it, rubbing your eyes. "Kay."

"Did the boy you met tell you his name?" Clark asks, sitting to your right. There's a dossier sitting on the table that he flips open, glancing over the information Bruce collected with Tim's help. He frowns at a still image pulled from his interview on TV.

"Just called himself Superman," you explain. "He had a version of your suit on. It looked legit. I'm guessing he's not your son, based on the way you're looking at the file."

"He is not. Did he seem to be acting maliciously or under someone's control? Was he flesh and blood or robotic?" Clark asks. "Did he hurt anyone? Did he try to hurt you?"

"No," you say, "he was warm. He's flesh and blood and definitely saved us from that fire. In fact he seemed...uh.."

You wave your hand around vaguely and pick over the best way to phrase this.

"Okay! There's a boy at school named Rory. He transferred to Gotham Academy this year after being homeschooled."

"Mousey," Hal speaks up, "I know you're tired, but we kinda gotta stay on track —"

"I am!" You insist. "I am, I swear. Look, it was obvious Rory was homeschooled because he didn't know how to, like, socialize properly? He asked a lot of questions that feel like common-sense if you're used to going to public schools and talking to people outside your family. The Superman cosplayer kind of acted like that."

"Cosplayer?" Clark mouths at Hal, who waves him off.

"So you think he's never been out there doing any hero stuff before that day?"

You shrug and nod. "I think he's never been out at all before that day. He reminded me a lot of Rory on his first day of school."

"But he didn't hurt you?" Hal asks.

"I promise, he didn't. He spoke to me like twice and then brought me to the EMTs to get looked at. Then Jason showed up and brought me home after making sure the school knew I wouldn't be taking the bus back from Metropolis."

"Last question," Clark promises, recapturing your attention. "Can you find him right now? With your shadows?"

"Uh, I can try."

Your gaze becomes a little distant. The shadows cast from one of the overhead lights shifts and dissolves into the ground, zipping out of the cave. Hal and Clark wait silently as you work, feeling for the presence of the boy that saved you just a day before.

"... M e t r o p o l i s..." You mutter, voice taking on that faint, echoing quality it does whenever you speak through the darkness. "...A r o o m...c o n c i o u s...k n o w s I s e e..."

"Come back, Mouse," Hal says, urgent. You take a moment to get your bearings, yawning and rubbing your face. "He knows you used your power to find him?"

You nod. "He saw my shadow move in the corner of his room. Guys, it's so bare and dark. He's got a cot, an alarm clock, and one blanket in there. It looks like some room you'd stick a sick person in to quarantine them."

"Where in Metropolis is he? That doesn't sound like the Solitary Confinement cells in the prison."

"It's not a jail. It looked like a lab, I think?"

"Lex Luthor," Hal and Clark state at the same time. Clark stands up, drawing you into another gentle hug, then heads for the exit.

"Thank you for your help, Mouse! Sleep well."

"Bye, uncle Clark. Have a good night," you call after him. When Hal stands, you rise with him, stretching. "Can I go to bed, now?"

"Yeah, hon," Hal nods, pressing his hand to your back and guiding you to the stairs. "We'll head up together. I'll tell your dad what we learned when he comes back from patrol."

"Kay," you mumble, climbing the steps with another wide yawn. "M'sleeping in tomorrow. Being up at two am sucks."

Hal chuckles. "Yeah, it does. We'll put your breakfast in some Tupperware for when you get up, then."

Once the two of you climb through the grandfather clock and reenter the manor proper, you give Hal one more goodnight hug, then excuse yourself to go to bed. Your eyes are closed as you shuffle into your room and nudge the door closed behind you, navigating the space from memory. It's not until you start climbing back into bed that you feel a dip in it that shouldn't be there.

The dip of another person's weight.

You snap your eyes open and you inhale to scream. A hand presses itself to your mouth, and you find yourself staring at those brilliant blues from yesterday.

"Waitwaitwait-" the boy gasps, whisper-shouting. "Please!!"

You push his hand off and he lifts them both up in placation, floating off the bed and several feet away from you.

"What do you want!?" You whisper-yell back. "Why are you in my room!? That's creepy!"

He grimaces, knees curling towards his chest. In the low light, you can see color painting his cheeks.

"I wanted to come see you," he murmurs.

"Why?"

"I don't know your name."

You're completely flummoxed. You shake your head and shrug.

"Do you need to?" You ask.

The boy floats a little closer, his gaze intense. He looks at you like...he looks at you like you're the most important thing in the world right now. It makes your stomach swoop.

"Yes," he says, completely sincere. "I'm...I can't...there's this..."

His brow furrows. He's exceptionally easy to read, like he's never known how to be anything except fully, authentically himself. It's a welcome change in a family of vigilante detectives with emotional intimacy issues. It'll help you know if he's trying to deceive you, too.

Quietly, you give him your name. His eyes snap to yours and he repeats it, lips shaping the vowels and consonants with an unusual reverence. You can feel your own face getting a little warm.

"I'm...Conner," the boy says. His eyes dart to your mouth. You oblige.

"Hi, Conner," you mutter. His whole body un-tenses, looking like a puppet with his strings cut as he almost dangles in the air.

"Can I —" Conner cuts himself off. He drifts closer to you. You shift back, feeling cornered from where you kneel in your bed. "Ah. I wanted... I don't know how to say..."

Exhausted and confused, you gesture at him to hurry it up a little. You know you should probably alert someone that the new Meta boy is literally floating four feet away from you right now, but you know he isn't here to cause harm.

"It's late," you speak up. "Can you try a little harder to get the point across so I can sleep?"

"Yes," Conner says quickly, obediently. "Call for me."

You blink heavily. Your mind feels like sludge. "Elaborate."

"When you need something," he specifies. "If you're in danger, or lonely, or just...or just want to. Please. Call for me and I'll come to you."

"Why?" You yawn. It's getting harder to stay conscious. You let your body fall over until you collide with the pillows, eyes slipping closed. "Why me?"

Conner floats above you, reaching down to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with more reverence than is appropriate for having barely met. His fingers brush against the bruise on your temple, featherlight.

"Because it's you," he says, as your consciousness fades. "Something in my heart is yours... I hope that's okay."

You hum, managing a barely discernible "kay," in your last seconds of awareness before sleep pulls you under.

In your subconscious mind, you register warmth wrap around you for a moment, and then you're alone with nothing but a cracked window as evidence anyone had ever been there.

[moonlitstoriess]

You Were Mine First- Lucien x fem!reader (2/2)

Summary: For one hundred years, Y/N carried the weight of a bond Lucien never felt. Then, one day, it was gone—severed, rewritten, given to another. She thought she could endure it. Thought she could live unseen, unnoticed. Until the day Lucien walked into her shop… and fate forced them face to face.

See masterlist

Previous part

Warnings: mention of injury, angst, miscommunication (gets resolved towards the end), fluffy end

Lucien shifted on his feet, running a hand through his hair. This wasn’t his problem. This wasn’t supposed to bother him this much.

But she’d left. Y/N had left.

And wasn’t that telling? How many times had he seen someone disappear overnight? How many times had someone been forced to run because of rumors—because of accusations? But this wasn’t some nameless, faceless person.

This was her.

The female who, for some reason, always had that ridiculous book of herbal remedies tucked under the counter when he came in, despite her pretending she never read it. The female who always kept her guard up around him.

The female who might’ve been a Hybern loyalist.

Lucien clenched his jaw.

That’s what the rumors said. That’s what the whispers had claimed for weeks now, hadn’t they? That she was hiding something, that she wasn’t who she said she was.

And maybe they were right.

Maybe he’d been a fool, walking into her shop every damn week, trading snide remarks, and thinking—what? That she was just some ordinary shopkeeper? That she wasn’t tangled up in something deeper?

So that means she really was what the rumors said? She really did support Hybern?

The thought made his stomach twist.

But then another voice in his head scoffed.

Everyone hides something, idiot.

Lucien exhaled sharply. He needed to get out of here.

But he didn’t move.

Because something was still nagging at him. A little thread, dangling just out of reach.

And then—click.

Arlena.

Her grandmother.

What if she hadn’t left?

Lucien’s heart gave a hard, single beat against his ribs.

Because he knew where Y/N’s house was. He had walked her back once, when he’d come across her on the streets, arms full of heavy bags, stubbornly refusing to ask for help even as she nearly dropped one. He had taken them from her without asking, ignoring her scowl and muttered complaints the entire way.

His feet were already moving.

Then he was walking faster. Then faster. Then nearly running.

And he had no idea what he was expecting to find when he got there.

The sun in Summer Court was relentless, a golden fire drenching the city of Adriata in warmth and light. The breeze carried the scent of salt and citrus, and the streets bustled with life—merchants calling out, waves crashing in the distance, silk-draped fae laughing as they walked past.

And yet, for Y/N, the brightness of this place had yet to reach the parts of her that had long since dimmed.

She had chosen Summer for a reason. Not just for the distance, not just to disappear. The land had been an old inheritance, a quiet place left behind by her mother’s bloodline—a side of the family she had never known well, yet had always carried within her. It was a small, unassuming property near the edge of the city, with enough space for a home and a shop. The perfect place to start over.

She had savings from her years running her shop in Velaris, a decent enough sum to buy the storefront she now stood before. The first few weeks had been exhausting—negotiating prices, hiring help for renovations, deciding what this shop would even sell.

It was nothing like her old store in Velaris. No trinkets, no delicate crafts.

Instead, her hands now worked with nature itself. Herbs, teas, salves, elixirs. People came to her shop not for decoration, but for healing, for energy, for sleep, for clarity. A new purpose, one that let her bury herself in the motions of work, in the careful grind of mortar against pestle, in the measurements and mixtures that demanded precision, leaving no space for intrusive thoughts.

But some nights, even potions could not drown out her mind.

Lucien knows.

Oh, Cauldron. He knows.

And yet… he still chose Elain.

How many times had she woken up, heart pounding, that thought looping like a curse in her head? How many times had she tried to make sense of it, only for every answer to twist the knife deeper?

She had spent countless nights staring at the ceiling, going over every word, every sentence, every interaction. Had it meant nothing? Had he truly been so disgusted by the truth that he couldn’t even face her before she left?

Her fingers tightened around the wooden door handle of her shop, her reflection caught in the glass.

She had tried to forget.

Tried to move forward.

But how does one move on when their mate has broken the bond and chosen another?

The sun was bright, the sky was endless, the waters shimmered like liquid gold. But in the end, even the Summer Court could not burn away the shadows curling in her heart.

"It’s crazy how life changes."

Lucien nodded slowly, his gaze focused on his hands—not seeing, not really listening. His mind churned with thoughts so tangled, he wasn’t even sure what Jurian was talking about.

A few weeks ago, he had run to Y/N’s home, desperate for answers, for something, for her grandmother. But Arlena was gone, too. The house was empty, untouched, a ghost of the life that had once been there.

Either way, Lucien had been left standing in the street, feeling something he hadn’t in years.

Lost.

After that, he gave up. He went back home, forced himself to push it all aside, to bury it in the corners of his mind where things he didn’t want to deal with went to rot.

It was easier than trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. Easier than chasing ghosts. He spent the following days with Elain during his stay, listening to her soft, soothing words, getting to know her, trying to connect with her like he had hoped to for the past year.

They spent the following days together, talking, laughing, sharing time in a way they never had before. And Lucien had tried, truly tried, to tell himself that this was it—that this was what he wanted, what he needed.

But now, weeks later, he realized it wasn’t the fairy-tale connection he had imagined.

He didn’t feel as happy as he thought he would.

Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he was just an ungrateful brat who couldn’t appreciate the beautiful, kind mate who had been right in front of him this whole time. Elain was everything he was supposed to want.

But maybe it was because he kept thinking about a certain shopkeeper who made Elain open up to him through her gifts in the first place.

Because somewhere deep down, his mind wandered back to Y/N.

But he couldn’t help it.

His mind kept replaying their conversations, the way she had spoken to him, her sharp words cutting through him like a blade—yet there was something there, something he couldn’t explain. A pull. A sense of ease when he was around her.

Why?

Why had she made him feel that way?

He had been around Elain, and it had always been careful, calculated. Everything had felt like a slow, hesitant dance. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for her, because he did, but...

With Y/N, it had been different.

It had been natural.

Her sarcasm, her cold demeanor—none of that had scared him off. It had intrigued him. She hadn’t expected anything from him. There had been no pressure, no attempt to make him fit into some mold of what he was supposed to be.

With her, he had felt like he could breathe.

So why did he keep thinking about her? Why did she keep creeping into his thoughts when he had a mate who, in many ways, was exactly what he needed?

It wasn’t fair.

And maybe that’s what it all boiled down to—fairness.

Maybe it wasn’t fair to Elain that his mind kept wandering back to Y/N, but there was something in the way they had connected. It had been real. It had felt like more than what he had with Elain, more than the gentle smiles and words he’d shared with her.

The more he thought about it, the more it became clear.

He wasn’t sure if it was because of how easy it had been to be around Y/N, or because of how guarded she was, but there had been something magnetic between them.

And that scared him. Scared him more than he cared to admit.

He shouldn’t even be thinking like this.

Lucien’s chest tightened as the thoughts swirled in his mind, making him feel like he was suffocating. Why had he thought there was something there between them? Why had he thought there was a connection?

The questions piled up. One after another, relentless, endless. He couldn’t find a way to quiet them.

His thoughts flickered back to Elain, and for a moment, guilt washed over him.

Why couldn’t he focus on her? Why couldn’t he just be satisfied with what he had?

But then, like a fresh wave, his thoughts returned to Y/N again.

Where was she now? What was she doing? Was she still in Velaris? Had she found somewhere else to go, somewhere safer? Was she still running from whatever had haunted her?

And, most importantly, why the hell did he keep thinking about her?

There was no answer, not really.

But one thing was clear—he couldn’t shake her.

No matter how many times he tried to bury it, no matter how many days he spent with Elain or how many nights he lost in conversation with her, his mind kept returning to Y/N. The girl with the cold exterior, the one who hadn’t wanted him in her life, but had made him feel like he belonged.

His chest tightened at the thought. He didn’t know what any of this meant, or what he was supposed to do with the feelings that twisted inside of him every time he thought of her.

But for the first time, he couldn’t deny the truth anymore.

Y/N had gotten under his skin, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

Lucien snapped out of his thoughts with a sharp flick to the head, the sudden jolt making him hiss and instinctively touch the spot where Jurian had struck him. "The hell was that for?" he growled, wincing at the mild sting.

Jurian raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair with a look that practically screamed, Are you kidding me? "You've been staring at your hands for the past five minutes," he remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I figured I'd help bring you back to the land of the living."

Lucien gave an exaggerated sigh, slumping back further into his seat. He rubbed the sore spot on his head. "I can't hide it anymore," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. "I need help, J."

"One," Jurian began, his tone suddenly shifting to an almost exasperated, deadpan delivery. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? It’s enough to make me lose my patience with you." He paused for a beat, clearly making fun of Lucien's sense of familiarity. "And two," he continued, leaning forward slightly with a smirk, "please, do tell. What has been gnawing at that pretty little head of yours? I’m dying to hear it."

Lucien inhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping absently on the armrest. "You remember how you told me two months ago to visit Y/N’s shop?" he asked, his voice quieter now, careful not to give too much away.

Jurian nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I remember. Thought it might work out for you, seeing as you were so... desperate for your little flower princess." His voice was thick with mockery, but Lucien wasn’t in the mood for it.

Lucien clenched his jaw for a moment, steeling himself. "Well, yeah. Her," he finally said, voice low and almost embarrassed. He could feel the weight of the words on his tongue. "I’ve been visiting her shop. And, at first, it was just to buy some gifts for Elain. You know, to finally get things to move forward with her. Things started... well, things started to feel like they were finally falling into place."

Jurian snorted, clearly waiting for the real meat of the story. "But?"

"But," Lucien continued, trying to steady his nerves, "it wasn’t just that. There was... her." He sighed, rubbing his face as if the words hurt to say. "It’s like there was this connection. Not with Elain—don’t get me wrong, I care about Elain—but with Y/N, it was different. I don’t know why, but it was easier to be around her. It was like... like I didn’t have to try so hard. And yes, she was cold, distant, but it was like she saw through me in a way no one else did. And now—now all these rumors are flying around."

Jurian's gaze turned calculating, but his voice was still light when he spoke. "Oh yes, Lord Theon’s ex-fiancée? I heard Lord Theon was in the middle of some important meeting when he got wind of the rumors. Apparently, he fainted right there in front of everyone."

Lucien’s eyes darkened as he leaned forward. "Yeah, that’s the one," he muttered, shaking his head. "But this... these rumors, J. I don’t know what to believe anymore. They’re talking about Y/N like she’s some sort of... monster. A traitor, even. I can’t... I won’t believe it until I see solid proof. Not from the mouths of gossips who can’t even get their stories straight." He leaned back, clenching his fists. "Her shop’s gone. She’s gone. I don’t know where she is, and it’s been driving me crazy. I’ve tried everything—asking around, checking everywhere... nothing. She’s just... gone."

Jurian watched him carefully, his expression turning more serious now. "And yet here you are, still obsessing over her," he noted, a flicker of amusement in his voice but something else, too. Something deeper. "Interesting."

Lucien ran a hand through his hair, looking down at his lap. "I don’t even know why I’m overthinking this," he admitted. "She’s no one to me. I barely know her. I haven’t even spoken to her for weeks, and yet here I am, losing sleep over her. I don’t know what I’d even say if I saw her again. But..." He trailed off, the weight of his unspoken words hanging between them.

Jurian let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head with an almost disdainful grin. "Oh, for the love of the Mother, Lucien," he muttered. "Always the same with you. Always caught up in your feelings for someone you think you can’t have." He crossed his arms and leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "I’m starting to think you like torturing yourself."

Lucien froze, his gaze snapping up to meet Jurian’s. "What are you getting at?"

Jurian’s smirk faltered, and for a moment, his eyes turned dead serious. "Be ready by sunrise," he said, his voice clipped. "We’re going to find her."

Lucien’s heart skipped a beat. "What?!" he demanded, leaning forward in shock. "Are you serious? How do you know—"

Jurian stood abruptly, cutting him off. "For the Mother’s sake, Lucien. Just follow the damn orders."

Lucien’s chest tightened, the urgency in Jurian’s voice making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "What orders? What are you talking about?"

"Don’t worry about it," Jurian snapped, his tone cold and commanding. "You’ll know soon enough. Just be ready."

Lucien stared at him for a moment, disbelief warring with his need to find answers. Find Y/N. But Jurian was already moving toward the door. Lucien stood up, unable to contain the wave of confusion and doubt that hit him. "J, wait—"

But Jurian’s voice was already fading as he disappeared into the hallway. "Sunrise, Vanserra. Sunrise."

And with that, the conversation was over.

Y/N was just closing up her shop, the scent of dried herbs and fresh lavender lingering in the air as the evening sun dipped low in the Summer Court. The street outside buzzed with the usual market hustle, but tonight felt different. There was a strange undercurrent she couldn’t shake. She brushed it off at first—perhaps it was just her nerves. But she was wrong.

As she placed the last jar of salve on the counter, a loud crash came from outside, followed by frantic shouts.

Y/N’s heart skipped. Without a second thought, she grabbed a small satchel, filled it with several healing vials, and tossed her cloak over her shoulders. Something told her she wouldn’t be returning here tonight.

The noise grew louder as she made her way toward the door. Her shop, a little haven of nature’s remedies, had been her peace, her sanctuary. But the world outside wasn’t so kind anymore. The scent of burning wood hit her as soon as she stepped outside. The cobblestones felt hot beneath her feet as she jogged toward the chaos.

When she turned the corner, she froze. A group of men, cloaked in dark robes, were holding down a merchant while another was ripping through his cart. They weren’t from around here—Y/N would have recognized them if they had been. Their movements were swift, practiced.

One of them saw her. The sharp, calculating look in his eyes made her blood run cold. He gestured to his comrades, and within moments, they were heading her way.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. Her fingers slid into the pouch at her waist, pulling out a small glass vial. The green liquid inside was her creation—a soothing balm for the mind, meant for clarity and focus, but it could also disorient anyone who wasn’t prepared for its effects. She uncorked it, letting a quick drop fall into the air between her and the oncoming attackers. The scent of mint, rosemary, and sage swirled around them, and within seconds, they stopped in their tracks, blinking in confusion.

She didn't wait for them to recover. She darted forward, using her agility to slip between them, knocking another vial out of her pouch. This one was for healing—applied in the right spot, it could make someone feel like they were reborn. She splashed it across the face of the closest attacker, watching as the flush of pain in his face faded, replaced by stunned relief. He staggered back, disoriented.

But there wasn’t time to waste.

“Who sent you?” she demanded, her voice cold, her heart racing.

The leader, now regaining his focus, scowled. “Does it matter?”

“Answer me,” Y/N pressed, her voice a low, dangerous hum. She kept one hand on another vial—this one a far more potent concoction meant to knock someone unconscious for hours. The threat in her tone was clear.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment. His eyes flickered to his men, who were recovering more quickly than she’d hoped. Then he finally spoke.

“We're just a few of many... but you're a lot more trouble than we anticipated, shopkeeper.” He gave a harsh laugh. “You'll be seeing more of us soon.”

Y/N didn’t wait to hear more. She turned, bolting through the alleyways of the Summer Court, her mind already calculating her next move. She couldn’t let them get away. She couldn’t let herself be dragged back into whatever mess this was—especially not after everything she had done to get away from it.

Her thoughts churned, a storm in her mind. Who were they? What do they want from me? But no matter what, she knew she couldn’t let them win. Not again. Not when she had worked so damn hard to build this new life, to carve out a little peace for herself.

The Summer Court was still bright and warm, the air still heavy with the scent of flowers, but Y/N could feel the storm building. Whatever game these people were playing, she wasn’t going to lose.

Lucien stood in the doorway of their shared quarters, staring at the crumpled parchment in his hands. He had been pacing for the past hour, the weight of his decision hanging over him. He had to leave, had to find her—find Y/N—but that didn’t mean he could just vanish without saying something to Elain.

His thoughts tangled, the words not coming easily. The last thing he wanted was to lie, but he also couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. Not until he had answers. Until he knew what the hell was really going on.

With a quiet sigh, he unrolled the parchment and began to write:

Elain,

I need to go with Jurian on a mission for a few days. Don’t worry, it’s nothing dangerous. I’ll be back soon, but I wanted to let you know. I’m leaving at sunrise and won’t be reachable for a while.

I’ll see you soon.

Lucien.

He set the quill down and stared at the letter, the words swimming in front of him. He wanted to say more, to apologize for his absence, to explain the chaos building inside him. But it wasn’t the time. He had a job to do, and for once, he wasn’t going to let his heart dictate his next move.

He folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with a wax stamp before using his magic to send it to her, hoping she would see it before he left. Then, with a deep breath, he turned on his heel, heading for the door.

The gnawing sense of urgency in his stomach had grown into a fierce hunger. The rumors about Y/N didn’t add up, and that only made it worse. Was she really the monster they were painting her to be? Or was it something more? Something deeper?

He wasn’t sure what he hoped to find—proof that she wasn’t the traitor, or maybe the confirmation that she was. The truth would hurt either way, but at least it would settle the chaos inside his mind.

The letter to Elain had been easy enough to write—too easy, almost. He couldn’t let her get involved in this. Not when the stakes were too high, not when he had no idea what was going to happen. He hated himself for keeping her in the dark, but there was no other choice.

His heart twisted in his chest, but he shoved the feeling aside as he pulled the door open to leave. He had no time for guilt. No time for second-guessing. He had a mission to complete.

Lucien walked down the hall with his footsteps steady but heavy, as if the weight of his own thoughts were trying to drag him back to his quarters. He caught sight of Jurian, leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed and looking annoyingly unbothered.

Jurian’s eyes flicked up when he heard Lucien approach, a smirk spreading across his face. "You ready to go, or are you going to stand there brooding all morning?"

Lucien’s lip curled, annoyance mixing with the raw energy that thrummed through his veins. "I’ve been up all night, and I’m still not sure if this is a good idea," he snapped, his voice clipped.

"Good idea? It’s a terrible idea," Jurian said, sounding almost cheerful. "But I figured you'd want to at least try to solve the mystery of the disappearing witch. Plus, you’ve been staring at your hands for a week now like they might hold the answers."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching at the mention of the damn hands. "Don’t start," he muttered, rubbing his face in frustration.

Jurian grinned wider, clearly enjoying the way he was getting under Lucien’s skin. "Oh, I’m just getting started, don’t worry." He pushed off the wall, stretching lazily.

"I’ve been searching everywhere. I’ve asked every damn person who might know, and it’s like she disappeared off the face of the Earth." His voice was tight with frustration, hands balling into fists at his sides. "I should’ve known better. Trusting the rumors, getting wrapped up in this... mess."

"You’re really going to blame yourself for this?" Jurian raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for self-flagellation, but this is just... sad, Lucien."

Lucien shot him a glare. "Not the time for jokes, Jurian."

The smile on Jurian’s face faltered for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "No, I guess not. You’re right," he said, his voice low. "We don’t know what’s going on with her. But we’re going to find out." His tone shifted again, becoming more serious. "It’s not like you have any other option at this point. You want this. You need this. And if it means going after someone you barely know, someone with half the city convinced she’s a monster, then you’ll do it, because you’ve already made up your mind."

Lucien’s chest tightened, the weight of Jurian’s words landing harder than expected. "I’m doing it because I need answers," he said, his voice steadier now. "Because this... it’s more than just rumors. It’s about what’s real. And if I have to track her down to find out the truth, then that’s what I’ll do." He paused, taking a slow breath. "But it’s not just about finding her. It’s about knowing who she really is. What she’s done, or... hasn’t done."

Jurian studied him for a long moment, eyes calculating. "We’ll find her. We’ll figure it out," he said with a nod, sounding more serious than before. "But if this goes south, Lucien... I want you to know, it’s not on me."

Lucien gave a dry laugh. "Of course it’s not on you. It never is." He clapped his hand to Jurian’s shoulder, trying to steady his nerves. "Let’s just get this over with. I can’t do this alone."

Jurian’s smirk returned, but there was something more behind it now—an edge. "Good. You’re finally admitting it."

Lucien shot him a look. "Don’t push it."

"Fine, fine," Jurian said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Let’s go find your best friend. But I’m warning you, if she turns out to be as bad as they say, I’m not sticking around for the emotional crisis that follows."

Lucien gritted his teeth, trying not to let the sarcasm get under his skin. "Just don’t slow me down, J. We have a long day ahead of us."

Jurian chuckled darkly, the sound echoing in the hallway. "After you, my brooding friend."

Lucien shot him one last look before heading toward the door, his heart pounding with every step. The mission was simple: Find Y/N. But the questions, the doubts, they lingered, gnawing at him, growing louder with every passing second.

And as he stepped out into the morning light, the only thing he was certain of was that nothing about this search would be simple.

It has to be Elain who sent those maniacs here.

Who else would it be? It makes sense. She had to be the one. All the signs point to her—quiet, calculating, the type to hold grudges until they fester. And why wouldn’t Elain go to such lengths? After everything that happened, it had to be her. She’d wanted to get rid of Y/N for so long, hadn’t she? She'd never let go of what happened. Of what Y/N took from her.

It’s so obvious, and yet... why would Elain care now?

She’s moved on, hasn’t she? Lucien’s at her side, everything she’s ever wanted right there in Velaris. The life she dreamed of. She has him, she has peace. She doesn’t need to keep trying to ruin everything Y/N has built, not now.

No. She was overthinking. This is just paranoia talking. What reason could she have for coming after me now? She reached her goal. She got her happy little ending, with the sunlight and the soft life, the happiness that should've been hers in the first place, that Y/N "took" away from her. That should be enough for her, shouldn’t it?

Y/N must be exaggerating.

But then, that little voice in the back of her mind—the one that’s been whispering to her for days—speaks louder, sharper, like the snap of a blade being drawn. Elain wouldn’t stop there. She never did. It’s not enough for her. It was never enough. She always had to be the one on top. And why should Y/N think she’s changed? Why should she think that her perfect, pristine world in Velaris is so flawless that she doesn’t feel the need to drag Y/N into the dirt one more time?

Elain sent them. Elain sent them.

Fury rises in her blood, hotter than anything she’s ever felt. It’s like a fire, wild and uncontrollable, consuming everything in its path. The bloodthirsty rage that’s been bubbling just under the surface for so long bursts free, flooding her mind with sharp, ugly images.

Let Elain think she’s won. Let her think she’s found peace in Velaris with her perfect life and her perfect love. She doesn’t know what Y/N’s been through, what she’s become. Elain has no idea what she’s turned into.

The moment Y/N steps closer to her house, the feeling intensifies. That familiar weight, that oppressive sense of ownership she has over everything here. It’s home. And the thought of someone daring to cross that boundary, to threaten what’s hers... It fills her with a need to destroy, to make them feel the pain she’s endured.

This ends now.

Y/N steps through the gate, the weight of her anger settling over her like a storm cloud, ready to break and wash away everything in its path. Her fists curl at her sides, knuckles white.

The world is a blur around her, but her focus is clear, sharp—so sharp it hurts. Elain thought she could do this, that she could manipulate and twist things from behind the scenes, that she could silence her.

Well, Elain’s about to learn that Y/N’s not something to be erased. She’s survived everything Elain could never understand.

Y/N feels the pulse of power in her veins, a power she’s learned to control, to shape with precision.

But at the same time, her mind is full of questions she can’t seem to shake, voices she can’t quiet.

Why would Elain care now? She has everything she wanted. She has Lucien. She has Velaris. She has... peace.

But the bloodthirsty part of Y/N screams, telling her the answer. Elain hasn’t changed. She’s still the same. She never stopped hating Y/N. She never stopped wanting her to pay for what she did.

And if Elain’s the one who brought this chaos to Y/N’s doorstep, if she’s the one who is responsible for all of this...

Y/N will make sure she regrets it.

The days stretched on, each one dragging heavier than the last. Lucien had expected a difficult journey, but what grated on him most wasn’t the exhaustion, the unrelenting pace, or even the unease curling in his gut. It was Jurian.

The bastard was too comfortable.

Even after days of walking through untamed wilderness, Jurian showed no signs of strain. He was always two steps ahead, moving with purpose, like a man who knew exactly where he was going. That, more than anything, was what made Lucien’s nerves prickle.

Because he didn’t.

Lucien had asked—several times—but every demand was met with the same infuriating response.

"You’ll see when we get there."

Or—

"Patience, Fox Boy."

Or, the worst of them all—

"You ask too many questions."

Lucien had never wanted to punch someone as much as he did right now.

The sun was dipping behind the treetops when Lucien tried again, this time without the usual exasperation in his voice.

"You owe me an explanation, Jurian."

Jurian didn’t even pause. "I owe you a lot of things, but an explanation isn’t one of them."

Lucien exhaled sharply, quickening his pace until they were walking side by side. "You’re leading me somewhere, but you refuse to say where. You’re dragging me across this entire damn territory on nothing but vague assurances and half-truths. And I’m supposed to just—what? Trust you?"

Jurian finally looked at him, eyes glinting with amusement. "That is how journeys usually work."

Lucien scowled. "Not when the guide is a lying bastard."

Jurian’s smirk widened. "Then maybe you should’ve stayed home."

Lucien’s temper flared, but he bit it back. He needed to stay sharp. Fighting Jurian wouldn’t get him answers—at least, not yet.

He settled for a different approach.

"What’s so damn important that you dragged me away in the middle of the night for this?" His voice was quieter now, more measured. "What aren’t you telling me?"

Jurian didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch between them, long enough that Lucien thought he wouldn’t answer at all. Then, with a casual shrug, he said—

"It’s about Elain."

Lucien’s stomach dropped.

His steps faltered for half a second before he forced himself to keep walking. "What about her?"

Jurian didn’t so much as glance at him. "Isn’t that what you’ve been wondering all this time?"

Lucien’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. "Don’t play games with me, Jurian."

Jurian let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Then stop making it so easy."

Lucien swore under his breath. "What did you find out?"

"Not here," Jurian said easily, as if they were discussing the weather and not something that had haunted Lucien. "We need to keep moving."

Lucien let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Of course. Keep moving. Keep following you blindly, like a fool."

Jurian only smiled. "See? You do learn."

Lucien clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

He didn’t push further—not yet—but he felt it. That creeping, gnawing sense of dread curling around his ribs. Something was wrong.

And Jurian knew.

They traveled in silence for the next few hours, the tension between them thick enough to cut. The further they walked, the more Lucien noticed the shift in the land.

At first, it was subtle—just a feeling. The way the trees seemed to lean inward, their branches gnarled and twisted. The way the air grew still, heavier, like it had absorbed something dark long ago and never fully let go.

But by the time they reached the outskirts of the abandoned village, there was no ignoring it.

Lucien knew this place.

Not this village specifically, but places like it.

War-ravaged. Hollow. Ghosts of the past lingering in every shattered doorway and burned-out home.

The scent hit him first. Not fresh rot, but something old, lingering beneath the earth. The kind of decay that never fully faded, no matter how much time passed.

He stopped walking.

Jurian did too, his expression unreadable.

"What is this place?" Lucien asked, his voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly would disturb whatever still lurked here.

Jurian scanned the ruins ahead. "One of the many casualties of the war."

Lucien didn’t need him to elaborate. He could see it—feel it.

The remnants of homes, long abandoned. Blackened, crumbling walls. A dried-up well in the center of the village square, its stones cracked from heat. Rusted weapons littered the ground, half-buried beneath dirt and dead leaves.

War.

"Hybern," he muttered under his breath, his throat tightening.

Jurian, for once, didn’t offer some sarcastic remark. "One of many villages that got caught in the crossfire," he said, voice quieter than usual. "People forget that it wasn’t just soldiers who died."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "We’re going through it?"

Jurian nodded. "It’s the fastest way. Unless you want to add another three days to the trip?"

Lucien shook his head, already stepping forward. "Let’s get it over with."

He could hear it.

The echoes of screams. The clash of steel. The silence that followed when the battle ended and there was no one left to save.

Lucien didn’t argue.

They moved carefully, stepping over broken beams, past shattered doorways and collapsed roofs. The air was thick, suffocating. A graveyard without the graves. The silence here was wrong. No birds. No insects. Just the whisper of the wind through empty streets.

Lucien tried not to think about the people who had once lived here.

Tried not to wonder if they’d been innocent. If they’d fought. If they’d even had the chance.

Jurian, for once, didn’t make any snide remarks. He was watching. Not just the village, but the shadows between the ruins.

That’s when Lucien felt it.

A shift in the air.

A ripple through the silence, like something watching.

He stopped.

Jurian did, too.

"You feel that?" Lucien asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jurian nodded once, hand moving toward his sword. "We’re not alone."

Lucien’s magic flared, crackling beneath his skin.

And then—

A shadow moved.

A flicker of something darting between the ruined houses. Too fast. Too smooth.

Lucien’s blood turned to ice.

"We need to go," Jurian said lowly, his voice calm, but firm.

Lucien didn’t argue.

They turned—

But the wraiths were already closing in.

The first wraith struck fast—a blur of darkness lunging from the shadows.

Lucien barely had time to react before his instincts took over. He dodged, twisting out of the way just as clawed fingers swiped at his throat. The air where he had stood shimmered, the wraith’s claws leaving behind a faint, sickly glow.

Poison?

"Shit," Jurian swore, unsheathing his sword in a single, fluid motion. "Run or fight?"

Lucien barely had time to answer. Another wraith rushed him, its form shifting between mist and flesh, solidifying only at the last second. He ducked, spinning on his heel as his dagger flashed in the dim light—slicing clean through the creature’s chest.

No blood.

No scream.

Just a horrible, hissing noise as the wraith reformed, its body pulling itself back together as if the wound had never been there.

Lucien’s pulse spiked.

"Fight," he gritted out. "And hurry."

There were more of them now.

Emerging from the ruins, peeling themselves from the shadows. Dozens.

Their eyes glowed—a color that wasn’t quite gold, not quite silver. Not alive. Not dead.

Jurian let out a short, humorless laugh. "Great."

And then they were on them.

Lucien fought like hell.

He moved with precision, dodging the wraiths' attacks as his blade flashed, slicing through their forms—only for them to reform again and again.

They were fast. Not solid for long enough to land a killing blow.

One lunged at his back—he twisted, barely avoiding its claws as another wraith swept toward his side.

Too many.

Then—

A blast of steel.

Jurian’s sword cleaved through the nearest wraith, cutting it clean in half. The creature dissipated, its shadowy form writhing before it melted into the ruins.

Lucien’s breath hitched.

Jurian grinned. "Gotta love blessed steel."

Lucien swore under his breath. "Could’ve told me that earlier."

"Where’s the fun in that?"

Lucien didn’t have time to respond before another wraith attacked.

Jurian’s blade swung—another kill—but the creatures weren’t stopping.

Lucien cursed. His magic flared, the heat of his power surging through his veins. He reached for it—grasped at it—fire burning at his fingertips.

The wraiths shrank back.

Lucien exhaled sharply. Fire. That’s what they feared.

Without hesitating, he unleashed it.

Flames erupted from his hands, roaring through the air, setting the ruins ablaze.

The wraiths shrieked.

They fled.

Dissolving into shadows, vanishing into the ruins.

And then—

Silence.

Lucien stood there, chest heaving, flames still flickering at his fingertips. The smell of burning lingered in the air.

Jurian let out a slow whistle. "Could’ve started with that."

Lucien shot him a glare. "I thought we were running."

Jurian smirked. "You wanted to fight."

Lucien rolled his eyes, shoving his dagger back into its sheath. "Next time, maybe warn me about the blessed steel before I nearly get my throat ripped out."

Jurian chuckled. "Noted."

Lucien glanced back at the ruins. The wraiths were gone, but that creeping unease still clung to the air.

He exhaled sharply. "Let’s get the hell out of here."

Jurian nodded. "Agreed."

And without another word, they moved on.

They didn’t stop until the sky bled red and gold, the last remnants of sunlight sinking below the horizon.

Lucien’s limbs ached, the wraith attack still burning in his muscles. They had covered miles since then, moving swiftly through the crumbling remains of another forgotten village. It had been abandoned long before the war with Hybern, yet the weight of destruction still lingered in the air.

Burned homes. Collapsed rooftops. Statues worn down by time and war.

A ghost town, untouched for years.

Lucien pulled his cloak tighter around him, his breath misting in the cold air. "Where the hell are we?"

Jurian didn’t glance back. "A place people don’t walk into unless they have a damn good reason."

Lucien scowled. "And what’s our reason?"

Jurian was quiet.

Too quiet.

Lucien’s irritation spiked. "Jurian."

Nothing.

"Jurian, I swear to the gods—"

Jurian sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "We needed a way through. This was the fastest route."

Bullshit.

Lucien stopped walking. "You keep saying we need to hurry, but you haven’t told me why."

Jurian paused, his back still turned. "Because if I told you, you’d think too much."

Lucien clenched his jaw. "And I’m not already thinking too much?"

Jurian finally turned. "Would you rather go back to Velaris? Back to the lie you’ve been living?"

Lucien’s blood ran cold.

His fingers twitched toward his dagger. "What the hell does that mean?"

Jurian didn’t answer. He just sighed, shaking his head. "We’re stopping here for the night. Keep your questions to yourself until morning."

Lucien barely resisted the urge to punch him.

But he let it go. For now.

The fire crackled between them, casting long shadows against the ruined walls.

Lucien sat with his back against the cold stone, arms crossed, eyes locked on Jurian. He still hadn’t gotten a straight answer.

And he was done waiting.

"You knew about the wraiths, didn’t you?"

Jurian didn’t look up from sharpening his sword. "Figured we could handle it."

Lucien let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "And the ruins? The fact that no one comes through here? That wasn’t a warning sign?"

Jurian finally met his gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Lucien’s stomach twisted.

Because he didn’t know.

He wanted to. Jurian had been the one person who hadn’t treated him like an afterthought, the one person who wasn’t waiting for him to fall in line with someone else’s plans.

But this—this secrecy,

Lucien leaned forward. "Tell me why we’re really here."

Jurian exhaled. "Because this place still holds remnants of the Cauldron’s power. And I need you to see something for yourself."

Lucien frowned. "The Cauldron was destroyed."

Jurian’s gaze was unreadable. "Was it?"

A chill ran down Lucien’s spine.

He had seen it shatter during the war. Seen the pieces scatter into nothing.

Hadn’t he?

Lucien’s fists clenched. "What aren’t you telling me?"

Jurian looked at him for a long moment, then simply said, "You’ll find out when we get there."

Lucien gritted his teeth. "That’s not good enough."

Jurian smirked. "It’s going to have to be."

Lucien swore under his breath.

He had a feeling that, whatever waited for him at the end of this road, it was going to change everything.

And he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

The wind howled through the skeletal trees, rattling the bare branches like bones clacking together.

They had left the abandoned village behind at dawn, but the land only grew more hostile. The deeper they traveled, the colder it became. The quieter.

Too quiet.

Lucien had spent enough time in Prythian’s wild places to know when nature had gone still for a reason. And this place—the stretch of land leading to the Cauldron’s ruins—was wrong.

He glanced at Jurian, who was unnervingly calm. Like he expected this.

"How much farther?" Lucien asked, voice low.

Jurian didn’t answer immediately. He surveyed the forest ahead, gaze sharp, before murmuring, "A few more days. If we’re lucky."

Lucien scowled. "If we’re lucky?"

Jurian only kept walking.

Lucien followed, but the unease creeping up his spine didn’t leave him.

They set up camp in a clearing that night.

Lucien’s muscles ached. His exhaustion was bone-deep, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Because he could hear it.

Faint at first, like a whisper beneath the wind.

Something was out there.

Jurian was still awake, sitting by the fire, sharpening his blade. He didn’t react to the sound, didn’t even glance up.

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "You hear that?"

Jurian hummed. "Yep."

Lucien’s fingers twitched toward his dagger. "And you’re just—what? Ignoring it?"

Jurian finally looked at him, utterly unbothered. "No point worrying about something until it shows its teeth."

Lucien let out a sharp breath. "You’re insane."

Jurian grinned. "Probably."

Lucien rolled his eyes, but his grip tightened on his blade.

Because the whispering didn’t stop.

And whatever was out there... it was watching them.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

One second, the fire crackled peacefully. The next, shadows exploded from the trees.

Lucien barely had time to react before something slammed into him, sending him skidding across the dirt.

His head spun. He caught a glimpse of glowing eyes, of blackened flesh, before Jurian’s sword sliced through the air.

A shriek—a sound that shouldn’t exist—ripped through the night.

Lucien rolled to his feet, his blade drawn.

The creatures were wrong. Their shapes flickered, shifting unnaturally. They had too many limbs, too many eyes, their bodies twisting in ways that made Lucien’s stomach churn.

And they were fast.

He barely dodged the next attack, his instincts screaming. He slashed, his blade cutting through one of the creatures, but it didn’t bleed. It only shrieked, retreating into the darkness before another took its place.

"What the hell are these things?" Lucien growled.

Jurian’s expression was grim. "Remnants."

Lucien swore. "Remnants of what?"

"The Cauldron’s destruction left things behind," Jurian said, slicing through another. "Things that shouldn’t exist."

Lucien didn’t have time to process that.

Because one of the creatures lunged—

And this time, he wasn’t fast enough.

Pain exploded in his shoulder as claws raked through flesh. He staggered, his vision blurring.

Jurian swore. Then suddenly—

A flare of golden light.

Lucien barely registered it—barely registered the way the creatures shrieked and fled—before the world tilted and his knees hit the ground.

His vision swam.

The last thing he heard was Jurian muttering, "Well, that complicates things."

Then—darkness.

When Lucien woke, he wasn’t in the forest anymore.

The air was damp, thick with ancient power.

He groaned, forcing himself upright. His shoulder ached, but it had been bandaged.

Footsteps.

He turned his head just as Jurian entered. “Good. You’re awake.”

Lucien frowned. “Where are we?”

Jurian crouched by the fire, tossing him a waterskin. “We made it.”

Lucien’s stomach dropped.

He looked around, really taking in his surroundings. The cavernous walls. The stone pillars, cracked and covered in old runes. The lingering hum of magic, faint but unmistakable.

He knew this place.

Or at least, he thought he did.

Lucien’s mouth was dry when he said, “This is where the Cauldron was, isn’t it?”

Jurian’s expression was unreadable. “It still is.”

Lucien’s heart skipped a beat.

He shot to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder. “That’s not possible. The Cauldron was destroyed.”

Jurian tilted his head. “Was it?”

Lucien’s breath hitched.

He felt it before he understood it—the low, thrumming pull of magic older than the world itself.

He stepped forward, the pulse growing stronger, rattling in his bones, in his very soul. His breath turned shallow, his heart hammering.

Something was wrong.

Something was breaking open.

And then—

The world snapped apart.

Pain ripped through him, tearing through flesh and bone, through his mind, his soul.

A vision struck—

Not a memory. A truth.

A vision of a golden afternoon.

A female stood before him—Y/N.

His heart lurched at the sight of her, at the sheer familiarity of her. His mate.

Not Elain.

Her.

Lucien saw it now—the moment it had happened. The moment the Cauldron had chosen her for him.

It had been gentle. A bond of warmth, of understanding. A bond that had existed before it had even been acknowledged, woven into the fabric of who they were.

Y/N’s eyes had widened, and Lucien had felt it too—that pull.

That undeniable, world-shattering pull of a true mate.

But then—

Then the vision twisted.

The Cauldron trembled.

It had been fractured, unstable from its own rebirth. It faltered.

Lucien watched in horror as its power surged, its mistake unraveling before him.

It was not meant to break bonds.

But it had.

The vision shifted—

To the King of Hybern.

To Elain.

To the final battle, the moment the Cauldron ripped him apart and rewrote fate itself.

Y/N's bond with him had been severed.

Destroyed.

And in its place—

The Cauldron had forced him onto another.

Elain.

A lie.

A mistake.

The Cauldron had realized too late what it had done, the wrongness of it, but its power had already been spent.

Lucien's soul had been torn in two, bound to a woman who was never meant to be his-while his true mate had been left behind. Forgotten.

She had believed he had rejected her.

Had abandoned her.

Had chosen another.

And he—

He had been living in a cage of fate's broken design.

Lucien gasped, the vision collapsing around him.

And as the truth settled into his bones, something within him shifted—

Something long dormant-long lost-

Snapped back into place.

His bond-his real bond-roared to life.

It hit him like a storm, like a fire that had never gone out, only buried beneath the ashes of deception.

And Y/N-

He could feel her.

Her breath.

Her heartbeat.

Her presence, far, far away-but there.

Alive.

Real.

His mate.

His true mate.

Lucien stumbled back, his chest heaving, his vision still spinning as the power of the Cauldron recoiled, leaving him standing in the aftermath.

His knees buckled, and he clawed for stability, gasping for air, for something to hold onto.

The world slowly pieced itself back together.

And when it did—

Lucien turned.

His gaze locked onto Jurian.

“You…” His voice shook, raw, disbelieving. “You knew this whole time.”

Jurian’s expression was entirely unrepentant. “Yep.”

Lucien’s hands curled into fists, his breath coming too fast, too sharp. “You knew this entire fucking time?”

Jurian grinned, leaning against a nearby pillar. “What can I say? Watching you torture yourself over the wrong female was the most entertainment I’ve had in centuries.”

Lucien growled, taking a step forward. “You—” His mind was racing, piecing it all together. “That’s why you suggested I go to her shop.”

Not a question.

A statement.

Jurian’s smirk widened. “Also guilty.”

Lucien’s stomach turned. “You planned this.”

Jurian tilted his head, smug as ever. “Maybe I just got tired of seeing you so blind and Y/N so stubbornly quiet about this whole charade. Decided to take things into my own hands.”

Lucien bristled, rage crackling through him. “And you didn’t think to tell me sooner?”

Jurian exhaled. “You forget—I was with the King of Hybern for a very long time. I know everything about the Cauldron. How it works. How it fucks people over.” His eyes gleamed. “And I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I’d told you outright.”

Lucien’s blood boiled.

His fists clenched.

And before he could stop himself—

He lunged.

He grabbed Jurian by the collar, slamming him into the nearest stone pillar.

“For a year,” Lucien snarled, his grip tightening, “a fucking year, you watched me tear myself apart for a female who wasn’t even mine—while you let my real mate believe I abandoned her?”

His teeth bared, his voice shaking with rage, betrayal, agony. “What in the Mother’s name is wrong with you?”

Jurian didn’t so much as flinch.

Didn’t even look surprised.

He just sighed. “Being a hero never really suited me.”

Lucien’s fury burned hotter.

Jurian clapped him on the shoulder—the audacity—and drawled, “Now, why don’t you let go of me so we can go get your true mate back?”

Lucien froze.

His grip loosened.

His chest heaved.

“You…” His voice wavered. “You know where she is?”

Jurian rolled his eyes. “Umm, yes? I know everything, you moron.”

Lucien’s stomach dropped.

Jurian smirked. “She’s in the Summer Court. Opened up a new little shop, actually. Real cute setup. You’d love it.”

Lucien didn’t wait to hear the rest.

He was already moving—pushing past Jurian, heart racing, mind spinning, body desperate to get to her.

To fix this.

To see her.

“I messed up,” he breathed, cursing himself, cursing everything.

Jurian followed lazily, shaking his head. “Yeah, no shit.”

Lucien's claws pressed into his palms.

Midway, Jurian reached for his shoulder in some semblance of camaraderie.

Lucien shoved him off. Growled. "We will talk about this. You have a lot to explain."

Jurian sighed, exasperated. "See, this is exactly why I was debating whether to tell you in the first place."

Lucien shot him a warning look, but he didn't stop.

Couldn't.

His mate was out there.

And he was done waiting.

The Summer Court had been kind to Y/N. More than she had ever expected.

The warm breeze brushed through her hair as she walked through the quiet, lamp-lit streets, the scent of salt and citrus filling the air. The Summer Court was nothing like Velaris—there was no suffocating weight of what had been stolen from her here. No reminders of what she had lost.

Her fingers curled around the small bag she carried, the last of the day’s earnings from the shop tucked safely inside.

She had built something here. A quiet life. A peaceful one.

The distant hum of the ocean waves was a familiar comfort as she hummed softly to herself, her steps light against the cobbled path. This life—it wasn’t the one she had imagined, not the one she had once dreamed of when she thought she had a mate. But it was hers.

Maybe she was never meant to have a mate.

And that was fine.

It had taken a long time—too long—but she was finally learning to accept it.

That didn’t mean she had forgotten. That didn’t mean she had forgiven.

One day, she would have her revenge. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even a year from now. But one day, when they least expected it, she would make sure Elain Archeron paid for what she had done.

But for now, patience. Peace.

She exhaled softly, shaking off the thoughts as she reached her home. The small cottage was modest, but it was hers, a place untouched by the ghosts of the past. With a hum, she dug out her key and slid it into the lock, twisting it open—

And froze.

Her humming died on her lips. Her breath caught in her throat.

Jurian was leaning against her kitchen table, a plate of freshly baked pastries in hand, biting into one like he had every right to be here.

And Lucien—Lucien was standing near the window, looking as if his entire world had just been ripped apart.

Jurian was the first to speak, still chewing, still as smug as ever.

“Oh, Y/N, dearest. Sorry for not telling you about our arrival beforehand. Things just… got a little messy.” He gestured vaguely, swallowing another bite of her food. “But you really should be more logical with where you keep your keys. I mean, under a flowerpot? Really?” He sighed, as if truly disappointed in her lack of caution. “Anyway, I believe you need no introduction to this guy.” He jerked his head toward Lucien. “He desperately needs to talk to you. Also—” He licked his fingers. “Delicious pastries, as always. Your cooking skills never cease to amaze me.”

Silence.

Y/N stared. Lucien stared.

And then, at the exact same time—

“You know him?!”

Jurian only grinned.

Lucien’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide. “You know her?!”

Jurian, the absolute bastard, only took a sip from his glass before placing it down and answering with complete nonchalance. “Oh, yes. Lucien, see, Y/N and I have been friends for over a year now. Since the moment I knew about the whole Cauldron drama, I made sure to visit her shop and get to know her. And we’re now the closest of friends, aren’t we, Y/N?” His smirk was absolutely infuriating. “As for Lucien, well, that’s a long story, really, but let’s just say—”

Jurian never got to finish his sentence.

Because the moment the words closest of friends left his mouth, Y/N snatched the nearest thing within reach—her wooden fruit bowl—and hurled it straight at his head.

Jurian dodged, but not fast enough. The bowl smacked his shoulder, and a few apples tumbled onto the floor.

“Friends?!” Y/N seethed. “Friends?!” She turned her glare on him, fists clenched. “You barge into my home, with someone you know I can’t be around, eat my food, and now—now you admit to being my friend because of some—some Cauldron what?! And you were friends with him this whole time too?!” She pointed an accusing finger at Lucien, her voice rising with every word. “I cannot believe you, Jurian. I really can’t. Friends aren’t like this!”

Lucien took a hesitant step forward. “Y/N—”

“Shut up!” she and Jurian snapped at the same time.

Lucien’s mouth shut instantly, his jaw tightening.

Y/N took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. She jabbed a finger toward the hallway. “Go into the other room. Now.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. He turned and left without another word.

Jurian sighed dramatically, rubbing his temple. “You know, I really don’t get enough credit for all the effort I put into making people’s lives better.”

Y/N shot him a look that could have burned him alive. “What. The fuck. Did you do.”

Jurian raised his hands in mock innocence. “I fixed things.”

“You fixed things?” she echoed, voice dangerously low.

Jurian smirked. “Alright, fine. I didn’t. The Cauldron did. I just… helped speed things along.”

Her nails dug into her palms. “You better start talking. Now.”

Jurian only sighed, shaking his head. “You never did have any patience.”

Y/N reached for another throwable object.

Jurian immediately lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Calm down, will you?” He glanced toward the hallway. “Just—just listen to him. Really listen. And then, then, you can kill me later. Deal?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “I make no promises.”

Jurian grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Y/N huffed, turning on her heel before she could strangle him, pacing toward the hallway. Behind her, she heard Jurian call out, “Lucien! You’re up!”

Her hands clenched. Her heart pounded.

And as she turned to face Lucien once more, she steeled herself for whatever was about to come next.

The moment Y/N stepped back into the room, she regretted it.

Lucien stood near the window, but his usual sharpness, his composed demeanor, was gone. His broad shoulders slumped forward, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. And then—her gaze finally took in the bandages wrapped around his shoulder blade, the stark white fabric stained with hints of red.

She hesitated. Swallowed hard. “What the hell happened?”

Lucien stiffened, like he hadn’t expected her to speak first. “It’s nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes but didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, she moved further inside, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Silence wrapped around them, thick and suffocating. It was unbearable—too many things left unsaid, too much anger simmering beneath her skin.

And then Lucien let out a long breath, sinking into one of the chairs, pressing his hands into his face, fingers dragging through his unkempt hair. He looked—defeated. Like the weight of the world had finally broken him.

Y/N crossed her arms. “What is going on?” she demanded. “Why are you two in my house? What the hell is happening?”

Lucien inhaled sharply, like he was bracing himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

The words hit her like a whip.

She blinked. “What?”

His head lifted, and those amber eyes-so raw, so open in a way she had never seen before— locked onto hers. "I am so sorry for not knowing sooner."

She frowned, her heart beating just a little faster, even as confusion twisted through her. "Lucien, speak properly."

He exhaled. And then, barely above a whisper, he said it.

"You're my true mate."

Everything in her froze.

Her lungs forgot how to breathe, her body forgot how to move. It was like the world tilted beneath her feet, and she barely managed to remain standing.

The words repeated in her head over and over again, and yet she couldn't process them.

Couldn't believe them.

And then-a cold, bitter laugh escaped her lips.

Lucien's brows furrowed. "Y/N-"

"So she was right." Her voice dripped with ice.

Lucien looked at her as though she had lost her mind. "Who-"

"Elain," she spat. "She really did tell you, didn't she? That you were my true mate?"

Lucien's eyes widened, shaking his head. "No-"

But she cut him off, her voice rising. "No what?

No, you didn't believe her? No, you weren't disgusted by me like everyone else? Because that's exactly what she said. She told me that you knew. That you knew about the rumors. That you knew I was your mate and that you didn't care because you were repulsed by the idea of being tied to someone like me."

Lucien went still. A deadly, terrifying stillness.

"What did you just say?"

Y/N let out another cold laugh, but it didn't feel like laughter at all. "Don't act so shocked."

His voice darkened. "When did she come to your shop?"

She scoffed. "Two days before I left."

Lucien's entire body tensed. "She threatened you?" His voice was eerily calm, too calm, but there was an underlying rage in his tone that sent chills down her spine.

"She told me to leave," Y/N snapped. "Told me I didn't belong. That you were hers and that I needed to disappear. And guess what, Lucien?

Even here, I still can't escape her. Even here, she has eyes watching me. People attacked me because of her. Because of you."

Lucien shot to his feet so quickly the chair nearly toppled over. "What?"

YIN smirked cruelly. "Even here, I get no peace.

Even here, I am hunted because of the female you chose.��

Lucien's breathing was ragged now, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was tight, his golden eye burning with fury.

Then, in a raw, unsteady voice, he whispered, "I swear, I had no idea."

Y/N just stared at him.

"If I had known," Lucien continued, voice cracking, "I would have—fuck." He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. "I never felt the bond before. The Cauldron chose Elain. And I thought-" His throat bobbed. "I thought that was it."

Y/N's lips parted, a sliver of something other than anger creeping into her. "You-" She hesitated. "You didn't reject the bond?"

Lucien looked at her like she had gone insane.

"Reject it?" His laugh was humorless. "I never even knew it existed."

She blinked, trying to process his words.

"For a year," he went on, shaking his head, "I tried to make someone who isn't mine love me back. And this whole time—" He exhaled roughly. "It wasn't even her."

Y/N's stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"

Lucien's gaze softened, an aching kind of sadness filling his features. "It was the Cauldron that bound me to Elain." His voice was barely a whisper now. "I had no idea you were my true mate."

Y/N couldn't speak. Couldn't think.

Lucien took a step closer, as if drawn to her. "If I had known..." He trailed off, his throat working, his voice breaking. "If I had known, I would have-"

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

Because in that moment, Y/N finally understood.

For so long, she had carried this pain alone. Had believed herself abandoned, discarded by the one who was supposed to be hers. But Lucien... he hadn't known. He never knew.

And now?

Now, he did.

And it changed everything.

he tension in the room lingered even after their argument had settled into an uneasy silence. Y/N sat stiffly, arms crossed, glaring at Lucien, who still looked shaken. Jurian, leaning back against the worn-out chair, exhaled heavily before breaking the silence.

“I knew,” he said simply, voice quiet but certain. “From the moment Hybern found the Cauldron.”

Lucien’s head snapped up, his amber eyes narrowing. Y/N’s stomach twisted. “What?” she demanded.

Jurian nodded. “The moment I saw what the King was doing with the Cauldron—saw the way it was twisting fate—I knew something was wrong. I saw the bonds forming, the way the Cauldron was interfering with them. That’s when I knew.”

Y/N frowned, still processing. Lucien’s jaw tightened. “You knew about me and Y/N?”

“Yes,” Jurian admitted. “And I knew when the Cauldron forced the bond between you and Elain that it wasn’t real.”

Lucien sat back, looking dazed. Y/N gritted her teeth. “And yet you didn’t tell him.”

Jurian turned to her, gaze sharp. “Would he have believed me?”

Silence.

Jurian sighed. “That’s why I started searching for you, Y/N. I knew you were out there, and I knew you’d have the truth he needed to hear. I couldn’t just go to him with claims—I needed him to see for himself.”

Y/N clenched her fists. “For a hundred years, I felt the bond. I carried that knowledge alone, knowing my mate didn’t even know I existed. And then one day, the bond just… snapped.” Her throat tightened. “I thought you had broken it, Lucien. That you had known about me and rejected me.”

Lucien flinched. “I didn’t knowingly break it. I—I had no idea.”

“Right,” she scoffed, but there was exhaustion in her voice now.

“Right,” she scoffed, but there was exhaustion in her voice now.

Lucien dragged a hand through his hair. “I thought Elain was my mate. I never even considered the possibility of another. I never felt the bond before, not until the Cauldron forced one on me.” He looked at her then, eyes desperate. “I would never have ignored you if I had known.”

Silence stretched between them again, filled only by the weight of the truth settling over them.

But then Lucien suddenly stiffened, his mind catching on something. “Wait,” he muttered, looking at her sharply. “You said Elain hasn’t left you alone. That she has spies watching you—even here.”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “Yes. A few days ago, I had a run-in with some of them. They said things—things only Elain could have known. It was clearly a message from her.”

Jurian sat up straighter. “How did they look?”

Y/N frowned. “I don’t know. They wore dark cloaks. Concealed their faces.”

Jurian swore under his breath. “That’s not Elain.”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Right. And I should believe you?”

Jurian leaned forward, voice low and serious. “Trust me.” The weight of his tone made both of them pause, their gazes locking onto him. “Those weren’t Elain’s spies. They were something worse. Sages of the Cauldron.”

Y/N froze. “What?”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “Sages?”

Jurian nodded. “They’re a faction that still worships the Cauldron. They protect what’s left of its power, and they sense when something unnatural happens. If they’ve been watching you, it’s because they felt something shift.” His eyes darkened. “Like a broken bond that wasn’t supposed to break.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Lucien straightened, eyes burning with new intensity. “Then they’re a threat.”

Jurian shrugged. “More than that. They might try to interfere if they think the bond is being restored.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “So… what now?”

Lucien turned to her, his face unreadable. “I can still feel the bond. You can’t.”

She nodded.

His jaw tightened. “How do I restore it?”

Jurian exhaled through his nose. “You have to sever the Cauldron’s bond first. You have to break your tie to Elain completely.”

Silence fell again as both Y/N and Lucien absorbed that truth.

Lucien looked away, expression unreadable. Y/N sat rigidly, mind reeling.

So that was the answer. The reason she couldn’t feel it anymore. The Cauldron’s interference had severed her side of the bond. And the only way to fix it—

She let out a shaky breath.

Lucien was staring at the floor, his expression unreadable. But when he finally spoke, his voice was certain. “You’re right.”

Jurian stood suddenly, clapping his hands. “Then get up, both of you.”

Y/N and Lucien blinked at him.

Jurian smirked. “We’re going to Velaris.”

“No way in hell am I going back to that place ever again.”

YN’s voice rang through the room, sharp and unwavering.

Jurian sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Come on, YN—”

“Are you crazy?” she snapped, pacing furiously. “Do you even know what happened there? The rumors they spread about me? The lies? Elain practically controls everything over there. Her sister is the High Lady, her other sister is a Valkyrie. Do you think they’ll ever believe me? That they’ll ever like me?” She let out a bitter laugh. “They think I’m a traitor. That I betrayed them. That I was loyal to Hybern. And you—” she whirled on him, her anger burning through the room. “What is wrong with you, thinking I should just waltz back in there like none of that ever happened?”

Jurian’s jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. “YN, I know what I’m doing—”

“Oh, do you?” she cut him off. “Because it seems like you’re just throwing me to the wolves.”

Jurian’s nostrils flared, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think I’d put you in danger? That I’d lead you somewhere you’d be torn apart without reason?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was frustration brimming beneath it. “I didn’t spend a whole year watching all this unfold just to push you into a losing battle.”

YN opened her mouth to snap back, but before she could, a voice—low, steady—cut through the tension.

“Enough.”

She froze, turning to see Lucien step forward. Jurian took a step back as Lucien came closer, his gaze fixed entirely on her. His golden eye flickered, his russet one locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

Then—so, so gently—he reached out, his fingers barely grazing her cheek. A featherlight touch, as if he feared she would flinch away, as if she were something delicate, breakable.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice raw with something she couldn’t quite name. “I want to feel our bond again. I want to be mated with you. I want you to feel the same. I want us to have what we were always meant to.” He swallowed, his fingers lingering against her skin. “Do you want that with me?”

YN’s chest ached. She had spent a century convincing herself that this bond, this mate, was nothing but a cruel joke played by the Cauldron. That Lucien had known and broken it on purpose. That he had chosen Elain over her.

But here he was—standing in front of her, asking her if she wanted this. If she wanted him.

Her thoughts swirled, chaotic and tangled. The years of resentment, the pain of watching him from afar, of knowing and then suddenly not knowing—the bond ripped from her as if it had never existed.

And yet…

“Yes,” she whispered.

Lucien exhaled, his fingers twitching against her cheek, but she wasn’t finished.

“But,” she continued, her voice steadier now, “it’s not something that can be fixed overnight. It will take time. There’s too much history, too much—”

“I know,” Lucien murmured, his eyes searching hers. “But we can work through it. We will work through it. If we both give it a chance.” His thumb brushed along her jaw, just once, before he pulled back slightly. “I already know my answer, YN. I just needed to know yours.”

She met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest, and with a slow exhale, she gave him what he was asking for.

“Yes,” she said again, firmer this time.

Lucien’s lips parted, something flickering in his expression—something warm, something relieved.

“Then we need to face them,” he said softly. “We need to prove to them that we’re in the right. That you were never the villain they made you out to be.”

YN’s throat tightened. “But—”

“There are no buts,” Lucien interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “If we want them to see the truth, then we can’t keep hiding. We can’t keep letting Elain’s version of events shape the world’s perception of you.” His russet eye darkened. “And if anyone knows more about these bonds—about what the Cauldron did—it’s Rhysand. You may not trust him, but he’s the only one who might have real answers.”

YN hesitated, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

From the corner of the room, Jurian was watching them with a smirk, arms crossed as if he had known this exact moment would happen.

She scowled at him, then let out a long breath before shifting her gaze back to Lucien.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if anything goes wrong—if anything—” she jabbed a finger at Lucien’s chest, “you’re winnowing us out of there immediately.”

Lucien’s lips twitched. “You have my word, ma’am.”

Jurian clapped his hands together. “Perfect. Now, let’s go break some illusions.”

The moment Lucien winnowed them into the townhouse, Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine hit her. The flickering glow of candles on the dining table illuminated the shocked faces of Feyre, Rhysand, and Elain—mid-dinner, forks frozen halfway to their mouths.

The silence lasted all of two heartbeats.

Then—

“What the hell?” Rhysand was on his feet in an instant, shadows curling around him as his violet eyes locked onto Y/N with a feral snarl.

Feyre shot up as well, stepping protectively in front of Elain. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her gaze cutting to Lucien, to Jurian, and then back to Y/N.

Elain’s expression had brightened the second she saw Lucien, her brown eyes lighting up in relief, in happiness—Lu, you’re back— but then she saw Y/N.

The warmth drained from her face like a candle snuffed out. Her lips parted in surprise before curling into something sharp, something cold. “What is she doing here?”

Y/N clenched her fists.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Rhysand bit out, his power rippling through the room, the air thick with warning. His voice dipped into a growl. “Traitor's have no place in this city.”

Feyre’s hands clenched at her sides. “You betrayed us. You sided with Hybern—”

“I did not side with Hybern!” Y/N snapped, the words flying out before she could stop them.

“You expect us to believe that?” Elain’s voice was quiet, but full of venom. She lifted her chin. “After everything you did? The lies you told, the way you—”

“Don’t you dare,” Lucien cut in, his voice low, furious.

Elain blinked at him in shock. “Lucien, you—”

“I what?” Lucien stepped in front of Y/N, shielding her as he glared at Elain. “You think I’d just stand by and let you rewrite history?”

Elain’s face twisted, her usual soft demeanor fracturing into something hard. “You’re really choosing her over me?”

“Choosing truth over lies,” Lucien corrected, his russet eye burning with anger.

Y/N’s breath hitched. The sheer force of his protectiveness—his rage—made her head spin.

Elain flinched, but quickly masked it. “I don’t know what she’s told you—”

“Enough,” Jurian interrupted, stepping forward with a sigh, arms crossed. “Gods, you fae love the sound of your own voices.”

Rhysand snapped his gaze toward him, his power crackling in the air. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Jurian drawled. “Would you all just shut up for a moment?”

A tense silence settled over the room.

Rhysand’s expression darkened dangerously. “You think you can waltz into my home and speak like that—”

“Yes, actually,” Jurian cut in, entirely unfazed. “Since you all are so convinced of your own version of events, I thought it might be nice if, for once, someone told the truth in this godsdamned city.”

Feyre scoffed. “And you expect us to believe you?”

Jurian only smirked. “Oh, you will. Because this time, I have proof.”

Feyre hesitated. Rhysand’s brows furrowed slightly, as if considering whether it was worth listening at all. But Elain—Elain was already shaking her head, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, voice trembling just enough to sound believable. “I never spread rumors about her. I never—”

“Cut the act, Elain,” Lucien snapped.

Elain flinched again, real hurt flashing across her face, but Lucien was unrelenting. “You knew exactly what you were doing,” he said, voice steady. “You wanted me to believe she was a traitor. You wanted all of them to believe it. And you succeeded, didn’t you?”

Elain’s lip trembled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Are you sure?” Jurian said, tilting his head. “Because I have some very interesting letters in my possession. Letters sent from a certain Archeron sister to certain key figures in Velaris.” He pulled a stack of parchment from his coat and held them up lazily. “Want to guess what they say?”

Feyre’s expression wavered, her gaze flickering to Elain. “What… letters?”

Elain paled. “I don’t know what those are.”

“Don’t you?” Jurian’s smirk widened. “Shall I read them aloud? Or do you want to admit it now, before I air all your dirty secrets in front of your precious family?”

Silence.

Elain’s hands clenched at her sides. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

Then—Feyre turned to her, something cold creeping into her stare. “Elain…?”

Elain swallowed. “I—”

“You actually did this?” Feyre’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the air like a blade.

Elain’s composure finally cracked. “I—” She let out a breath, her hands shaking. “I had to! You don’t understand—”

“You had to?” Lucien’s voice was like ice. “You ruined her for what? So you could paint yourself as the innocent one?”

“I—” Elain’s voice hitched, and then, as if on instinct, she turned to Feyre. “Feyre, you believe me, don’t you?” Her eyes welled with tears, her lower lip trembling. “You know I would never—”

Feyre took a slow step back. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Silence pressed down on them all. Y/N barely felt like she could breathe, her chest tightening.

Then—

Rhysand exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze like steel as he finally spoke.

“Into my office. Now.”

His voice was an order, absolute and final, his eyes cutting to Lucien, Jurian, and Y/N.

Lucien straightened, his face unreadable. Jurian gave a mocking little bow, a smirk still playing on his lips.

As for Y/N—she couldn’t stop herself from glancing back at Elain, who had slumped into a chair, face buried in her hands. Feyre stood over her, expression torn.

But before Y/N could process any of it, Lucien’s warm hand pressed against her back, guiding her forward.

They had won the first battle.

But the war had only just begun.

Rhysand leaned against his massive oak desk, arms crossed, violet eyes sharp with scrutiny as they landed on Y/N.

“Y/N.” The single syllable carried the weight of a century’s worth of accusations.

Y/N sighed. The room felt suffocating, and for a brief moment, she considered staying silent. But then—Lucien shifted slightly in front of her, his stance subtly protective, as if to remind Rhysand that no amount of power or authority would allow him to intimidate her now.

That small action settled something inside her.

So she met Rhys’s gaze head-on and spoke.

Rhysand’s Office – Truth Unraveled

Rhysand leaned against his massive oak desk, arms crossed, violet eyes sharp with scrutiny as they landed on YN.

“Y/N.” The single syllable carried the weight of a century’s worth of accusations.

Y/N sighed. The room felt suffocating, and for a brief moment, she considered staying silent. But then—Lucien shifted slightly in front of her, his stance subtly protective, as if to remind Rhysand that no amount of power or authority would allow him to intimidate her now.

That small action settled something inside her.

So she met Rhys’s gaze head-on and spoke.

“I knew about my mating bond with Lucien for a hundred years,” she said evenly. “I felt it snap into place the first moment I saw him. I felt it every day after that, the pull, the warmth, the… inevitability of it.” She inhaled sharply. “And then, one year ago, it broke.”

Rhysand didn’t react immediately, but his eyes darkened, assessing.

“I felt it break,” Y/N continued, her voice gaining strength. “One moment, it was there—the next, it was gone. At first, I thought it was something Lucien did. That he had chosen to reject it. The pain of that, of thinking he had knowingly severed what was between us…” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “It nearly destroyed me.”

Lucien shifted closer, as if the memory of her pain was enough to stir his own anger all over again. “I never broke our bond,” he said, his voice tight, restrained. “I never would have.”

Rhysand studied him. “Then how do you explain—”

“I explain it like this.” Jurian cut in, dropping a thick stack of aged papers onto Rhys’s desk with a smug grin. “The Cauldron did a shit job with the whole mating business.”

Rhys arched a brow, unimpressed. “You’re expecting me to believe the Cauldron—one of the most powerful forces in existence—messed up?”

“I’m expecting you to read before you make an ass of yourself,” Jurian shot back. “But then again, making an ass of yourself seems to be your specialty.”

Rhys’s jaw ticked, but he ignored him—for now. He flicked a hand, and the papers lifted into the air, pages flipping on their own. His eyes scanned the documents, and for the first time since they arrived, a flicker of uncertainty passed over his face.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never questioned it,” Jurian went on. “Lucien is mated to Elain—a female who can barely stand to be in the same room as him? And you? Your mating bond appeared at the exact moment Feyre needed you most?” He gestured lazily to Y/N and Lucien. “But these two? They felt the bond for a century, only for it to be ripped away the second Elain entered the picture?”

Rhysand said nothing, but the way his brows furrowed slightly told Y/N that he was at least considering the possibility.

“The Cauldron doesn’t make mistakes,” Rhys finally murmured, but there was doubt in his tone now.

Jurian snorted. “The Cauldron also created Hybern, Koschei, and—oh, I don’t know—every cursed thing to ever walk this world. I wouldn’t exactly call it flawless.”

Rhys exhaled slowly, setting the papers down. “This is… a long argument.”

“No shit,” Jurian quipped.

Rhys shot him a dry look before turning back to Y/N. “And you?” His voice was quieter now. “You believe all of this?”

Y/N lifted her chin. “I believe that what I felt was real. That what Lucien and I still feel is real.” She hesitated. “And I believe that Elain—your Elain—ruined my life. She threatened me in my own shop. Pretended to be a friend, only to turn out to be a foe."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Rhysand took his time processing. Then, slowly, he straightened, stepping toward them—

Only for Lucien to subtly shift again, his body angled just enough to block any further approach.

Rhys paused. A flicker of something—maybe amusement, maybe understanding—crossed his face before he exhaled sharply. “Look,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “I apologize, Y/N.”

Her breath caught.

“But Elain is my family, too,” he continued, his voice measured. “And when I was faced with choosing between believing her—the soft, kind sister—and you, the one who had already been painted as a traitor, what choice did I have?” His gaze was piercing, like he was daring her to challenge him. “Rumour or not, as a High Lord, I take the safety of my people seriously. When I was told you were a traitor—”

“Oh, please,” Jurian groaned, rolling his eyes. “Spare us the ‘noble High Lord’ speech. You believed her because it was easy to believe her. And because you’re an arrogant prick.”

Rhys’s lips curled into a slow, predatory smirk. “No wonder after all these years, I still hate you, you insufferable sea urchin.”

Jurian placed a hand over his heart. “And yet, you still haven’t drowned me. Must be love.”

Y/N almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, she turned back to Rhysand, who was watching her again. “If you wish to say anything to Elain,” he said carefully, “you can. But I give you my word, we will deal with her.”

Y/N hesitated.

Then, she shook her head. “No.” Her voice was quiet. “Just tell her… that I pity her. And that I hope, someday, she finds peace.”

Lucien stiffened beside her, and even Rhys’s expression faltered for a moment.

Finally, the High Lord nodded. “Very well.” He crossed his arms again. “Now, let’s discuss what happens next.”

Y/N’s spine locked.

“You will be compensated,” Rhys continued. “And you are welcome in Velaris again. If you and Lucien wish to restore your bond—”

Lucien didn’t move.

Rhys sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine. Compensation, freedom, all of that—done. But I assume you’ll need time to adjust?”

Y/N studied him. Then, slowly, she said, “I’ll decide on that myself.”

Rhysand smirked. “Fair enough.”

Lucien still didn’t relax, but Y/N found herself… lighter. Not at peace, not entirely. But lighter.

And for now, that was enough.

A year later, Y/N never thought this would be the life she was living now.

For a hundred years, she had carried the ache of an unfulfilled bond, the pain of watching her mate exist in another court, seemingly unknowing of her. And for one year, she had lived with the grief of thinking that bond had been shattered forever.

But now?

Now, she woke up each morning with the weight of Lucien’s arm wrapped around her waist, his breath warm against her skin, his presence as solid and certain as the rising sun. Now, the world was bright—vivid—colors she had forgotten seemed to have seeped back into her life, as if the bond’s return had repainted everything she saw.

It hadn’t been an easy road. Rhysand had helped them restore the bond—not out of guilt (though there was plenty of that) but because, deep down, he knew he had made a mistake. They had traveled across courts, met with creatures even Amren would hesitate to cross. The process had been slow, painstaking, but with every step, with every new piece they uncovered, something between her and Lucien clicked back into place.

And then—one day—it simply snapped back.

The moment it did, she had felt it, as if the universe had taken a deep breath and exhaled in relief. And when she looked into Lucien’s eyes—his real, warm, knowing eyes—she saw everything she had ever wanted staring right back at her.

At first, they took things slow.

Lucien came with her to the Summer Court, choosing to leave behind the baggage of his past and start anew beside her. They rebuilt their lives, not as broken pieces forced back together, but as two fae learning each other all over again—this time, without the weight of uncertainty, without the ghosts of what-if's haunting them.

Jurian, of course, refused to let them be too happy without his interference. He bought a home nearby just to be annoying, dropping in at the worst possible times.

Y/N had taken the compensation Rhysand offered—not as a favor, but as what was owed—and built something of her own. She had a place now, a home she had made with Lucien, a life that felt like it was hers again.

Their bond grew stronger with every passing day, deepening with shared experiences, whispered conversations under the stars, stolen kisses in the sunlit waters of Summer.

And when they finally gave in—fully, completely—when they stopped holding back…

The mating frenzy was ruthless.

YN chuckled just thinking about those months—months where they couldn’t be apart for longer than a minute, where just being in separate rooms felt wrong. Months where Jurian had been kicked out of their home more times than she could count, storming off with a string of curses because for the love of the gods, could you two just keep your hands off each other for one damn second?

(No, they could not.)

Lucien had proven to be as romantic as he was insatiable.

He left notes for her everywhere, tucked between bookshelves, slipped beneath her pillow, hidden in the folds of her clothes. Some were sweet—I love you more than words can say. Others were mischievous—I’d rather be tangled up with you in bed than doing whatever the hell I’m doing right now.

He woke her with kisses, pressed flowers into her palms for no reason other than to see her smile, whispered mine against her skin like it was a prayer.

He danced with her in the moonlight, slow and unhurried, even when there was no music. He traced the lines of her hands, the curve of her cheek, as if memorizing every inch of her, as if he still couldn’t believe she was real.

And when she woke up from old nightmares, from memories of pain and betrayal, he was always there—his hands steady, his voice soothing, his love unwavering.

As for Elain…

She got what she deserved.

Rhysand and Feyre had not taken kindly to the deception, to the lies that had unraveled their court’s foundation. It hadn’t been a harsh punishment—not exile, not death. But Elain had been stripped of the privileges she had grown accustomed to, forced to reckon with the consequences of her actions.

Even Nesta, cold and sharp as she was, had sent Y/N an apology. A simple letter. No excuses, no justifications—just acknowledgment of the wrongs done to her.

But none of that mattered anymore.

Because YN was here. Living.

A warm hand curled around her wrist, pulling her from her thoughts.

Lucien’s molten gaze met hers, a soft smirk playing on his lips. “You’re thinking too much again.”

She huffed a laugh. “And you’re distracting me again.”

His fingers traced slow circles against her skin. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as he pulled her against him, his arms caging her in, his warmth seeping into her.

And as he kissed her, slow and deep, she thought—

This.

This is what it was always meant to be.

“You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.”

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[anothermaletfwriter]

Invigorated Waters

(Long story ahead)

This vacation was supposed to fix their relationship, if only Jacob (on the left) had been more specific with his wish.

Jacob had planned out this trip with his long-time boyfriend, Adam. They had met on their sophomore year of college and were now both 35 years old. While the early times were sweet, Jacob found it difficult to maintain the same love he once held for over a decade. He had initially attributed it to their relationship stabilizing and becoming stable before he realized that it was physical attraction as well. Neither of them were as physically fit as they were back in college. They even admitted they hadn’t had good sex in years. Jacob felt even more guilty of his dying love especially after he accidentally spoiled himself of a planned engagement in the upcoming month on Adam’s phone.

After many nights researching how to revive a dead bedroom and ignoring the numerous suggestions, though most were demanding enough to be orders, of breaking up, he scheduled a two week long trip in the Palawan province of the tropical country of Philippines. It was an ideal place to resurrect his love. The warm weather would soothe any tensions and the novel experience a new country could spontaneously reignite his love for soon-to-be SO. He had planned out the entire itinerary: staying at the most expensive luxury hotel, island hopping via the boat tour, eating at local restaurants and exploring other tourist destinations. The costs of love necromancy slammed his savings he built up as a digital marketer.

Most of the vacation passed and it was days till they had to get to the airport and fly back home to the states. Jacob found himself somehow drifting even further apart from Adam. His passion was still dead. It wasn’t fixed by the countless colorful corals they snorkeled through, the sweetness of their halo-halos, the countless Filipino ballads playing throughout the whole beach town or even the cute tropical locally-made souvenirs he bought for Adam. He even downloaded Grindr for a week to find a 3rd but not even a third person could spice up the bedroom. His intrusive thoughts of sleeping other men only became more rampant.

The night after an uneventful day of scuba diving and street stall dining of fishballs and taho, Jacob stayed up to feel Adam’s warm hairy chest just for a slight chance of him rediscovering what made him fall in love with him in the first place but it was no use. It was a history of their touches and he felt the end was near. At this rate, he didn’t know what to do. Break up and re-do their entire lives separately? Or suppress his dead love pass the engagement and then the wedding and be miserable underneath to keep Adam happy? Maybe his façade would shatter during their marriage and a divorce would follow. His thoughts swirled around like a typhoon, wrecking his visions of an ending love life. The white noise of an inevitable disaster surrounded his ears, pushing him deeper into their waves until his phone dinged.

Jacob stared at the brightly notified phone with his tired eyes and read a Telegram message.

“I can help with your boyfriend problems,” It was sent by an unknown number.

“I don’t have a lot of money left. I spent it all on this vacation.”

“Don’t worry it’s free. Meet me outside your hotel lobby in 10 minutes.”

Jacob hesitated to respond. His gut told him against the offer. At best, it was a prank text and at worst, he didn’t want to imagine the worst. But he needed to do anything to bring back his love life so he reluctantly messaged, “Okay, I will. See you there.”

Before he went down to the lobby, he held Adam tightly and gave him a kiss on the lips. Despite him being a heavy sleeper, the kiss caused a smile to form. His sneakers shuffled on the brightly clean ceramic floors before they crunched on the gravel path out. The honks and roars of the jeepneys and clinks of other people’s flipflops collided in the warm humid air. An overhead purple mosquito zapper beeped, a few sparks coming out of it.

An attractive Filipino man, presumably in his early 20s, who wore a grey cap and a blue muscle tee that revealed his defined arms, approached him. Introducing himself as Joshua, he revealed he was the one texting him as he himself was an Engkanto, a human being with magical powers. He went on to list the many tourists relationships he had solved, and mentioned that problems like of Jacob and Adam were his bread and butter.

Jacob felt uneasy as the young man spoke to him. There was nothing off about his appearance, in fact he envied his physique as it reminded him of a younger, prime version of himself. There was an unexplainable chill and pang of distrust that rang through his bones yet he felt compelled to go with him.

He followed Joshua through the forest on the way to a hut, where he would perform the love ritual that was said to bring back any love, even if one of the partners was dead. Jacob’s heart fastened worriedly as he delved deeper into the jungle, damp grass brushing past his lower eggs and piercing through the eerie silence of the dark greenery. The small hut was made of bamboo, elevated a few feet off the ground. Jacob walked up the stairs, hearing Joshua shuffle through his pocket. The interior was dimly lit, with a purple candle in the middle, with nothing else. No sacred symbols or sacrificial totems or skulls.

Joshua motioned him to sit down, across from the candle. Jacob sat on the cold rickety floor.

Joshua followed after him, sitting opposite. He took out a small black canister from his pocket and opened it, scooping some of the purple goo. From the dim light, it resembled candle wax but of a thicker and more transparent consistency.

“This will bring back your love for your boyfriend,” Joshua said, his voice calm and deep. He brushed a generous amount on Jacob’s forearm, “Adam right?”

“Yeah his name is Adam,” Jacob didn’t even dare to ask him any rational questions, like how he figured his relationship problem all out or how he got his number. He chalked it up to Filipino magic. The goo felt warm on his forehead. He began to feel tired, though he was sure it was due to how late at night he was staying up, “How does it work?” He yawned.

“Some magical spirit energy stuff, it’s too hard to explain to normal humans,” Joshua brushed the goo on his own forehead as well, an evil grin that stretched past what a normal human could emote escaping through. It was last sight Jacob remembered before he fell asleep. There were no dreams of reuniting with Adam along the beach that represented his renewed love or flashbacks to his first date at the college town’s Waffle House, just darkness in his sleep.

Jacob woke up with an intense energy next morning. But his bedroom was different. He knew from the bright green walls and sturdy fan swaying that he was not at the luxury hotel with expensive AC and gigantic windows that overlooked the forest but at a house. He reached to grab to his side but Adam wasn’t there.

“Holy shit,” He exclaimed to himself, hearing his new voice and Filipino accent. He felt up and down his face, free from any facial hair and his Adam’s apple poking out more. He looked down on his stomach, differing from the white and flabby belly, it was smooth, tan and shredded with his abs. He glazed his soft hand across the crevices between his abs before he squeezed his bigger chest. He stroked his arms, admiring the craftsmanship of his biceps. He opened the phone camera, as muscle memory let him unlock it. His hair was short and jet black, face slimmer and youthful. It was real. He had swapped bodies with Joshua!

Jacob messaged him frantically, “Dude, give me back my fucking body.”

An instant response followed, like Joshua had been expecting it, “Relax. I’ll give it back once I fix your body’s love. It will take some time. While you wait, have fun in my body. I’ll let you know when we can swap back.”

Son of a bitch. Jacob searched his short’s pockets and found the container from last night, it felt lighter but he shook it, hearing the weird liquid droopy noises. He still had the swapping purple goo, ready to use to swap them to normal again, whether Joshua wanted to or not, “You better swap us back before we have to leave tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll hear back before sunset. Just enjoy yourself and your new body, I worked hard in building it :)”

Jacob shut off the phone and rubbed his hands on his forehead out of frustrations. Part of him believe he had been tricked but the optimistic portion of him expected a fixed relationship before he went to bed that night. He thought of how badly he was missing his boyfriend, planning not to sleep with anyone as he didn’t want to betray Adam.

He got off the bed and stood on the floor, realizing the world was shorter than he remembered in his old body. He was the only inhabitant of the house, hearing no one else except TFC on the large TV in the living room. More memories of the body permeated through his mind, as his hands and brains coordinated together through the fridge and cabinets to cook a typical Filipino breakfast of garlic fried rice, bangus, cherry tomatoes and tortang talong. The tangy savory flavors meshed well in his new tongue. Jacob hoped that when he returned to his original body, he would remember how to cook the Filipino food. While cleaning the dishes, his phone dinged.

Heart pounding from anxiety, he opened to Telegram. But he was disappointed that it was someone else. Jacob was surprised as he was able to understand the Tagalog frequently. The text came from Tomas, a 35 year old, also a local like Joshua, and one of his fuck buddies.

“Handa ka na ba para sa aming pre workout session?” (Are you ready for our pre workout session?)

Jacob was quick to nearly decline the message but before his smooth fingers could hit send, a surge of lust overpowered his body. More memories of Joshua started to infiltrate and even replace some of his own. Jacob was unable to recall the first few moments of relationship, not even during their college years. He was losing himself to the Joshua’s consciousness. Why wouldn’t he accept the offer? He was young and he had a terrific body that anybody would kill to have, let alone have sex with. That’s why he was popular in not only Grindr but on OnlyFans as well. Local neighbors to travelers from across the country and even internationally were common visitors to his bedroom. But that was Joshua, not Jacob. He was still Jacob, even if he wasn’t in his original body, unfortunately that didn’t matter as his fingers deleted the declining message and sent a thumbs-up emoji.

His fears of assimilation quickly dissipated when Tomas arrived at his front door for their ‘session’. He was a paler muscle daddy Tito that worked from home as an accountant, taking frequent breaks at work. Joshua-Jacob closed the door as he led him to his bedroom like it was a weekly routine. Quick to strip down, Joshua-Jacob ripped off his black shorts and underwear, unleashing the monster between his legs. He stroked it frantically before Tomas stopped any premature actions.

Tomas’ mature yet energetic face stared seductively at Joshua's eyes, stroking his tender jawline and playing with his straight black hair. Tomas whispered to him, smirking as he took off his clothes, down to his tight red thong that barely covered his older bubble butt, “Huwag sayangin ang iyong enerhiya” (Don’t waste your energy yet)

At first, Jacob returned to consciousness. He was a total sub bottom as the last time he recalled topping was before his first hookup with Adam. Now this body was a prime example of a dom top. With each thrust, more of Joshua returned back to form, getting more prominent. Joshua held on the older man’s wide muscular waist as he clapped his firm cheeks vigorously, causing the both of them to moan loudly, after all, their noises were drowned out by the vehicles on the road outside. Sweat dripped down from his pecs to his six pack and eventually to his double digit inch cock, shaved perfectly. A shot of dopamine hit through his system as he finished inside of the older man. His legs shook as he continued on for a second round on the hot piece of meat that posed in front of him, finally stopping after a few more minutes.

Tomas laid ass up on his bed with Joshua’s seed leaking from his looser hole. He caught his breath, sweating, “Wow, iyon ay mas kamangha-mangha kaysa sa karaniwan mong ginagawa.” (Wow that was more amazing than you usually do)

Joshua continued to flex his body for his cocky ego. He had the physique and libido e of a young God. Without thinking, words left his mouth, “Mas may energy ako ngayon.” (I have more energy today)

After they cleaned up, they went to the gym together, where Joshua snuck in a quick blowjob after doing a chest day that would have ended him in his original body. Once their pumps wore off and it was time for Tomas to go back to work, they went off separately for the rest of the day.

Joshua, whose heart and dick couldn’t stop pounding from the new lingering memories of pounding the bubble butt of the muscle daddy, sat on the beach shirtless, hoping to catch a few waves and perhaps a few more dudes. He relaxed as the sun reflected off his tan skin. He could get used to this carefree lifestyle, no worries about monogamy or the sorts. That was Joshua, though. Jacob yearned for the intimate warm touches that Adam used to give him, even if all he now remembered of him was of the past month. Time was running out.

Joshua-Jacob frantically spammed Jacob-Joshua, berating him for not telling him about the memory destruction result from body swapping. There was not even a left on read message. He must be having plenty of fun with Adam. His fears of not making it back to his old lifestyle and body vanished as a wave of libido and energy devoured him yet again. The once suppressed guilty desire of fucking other men other than his boyfriend conquered him again. Joshua's spirit took over again.

Joshua-Jacob began the rest of the day on Grindr, with the goals of finding more hookups and parties. It was a wonderful experience, fucking so many different men, from on a boat to a secluded spot on the beach and even in the hotels near the one he was staying in originally. He never tired out, often going for multiple rounds like he did with Tomas, with no need for breaks except for water. The men lusted him for his physique, youthful endurance and the powerful thrusts he made with his member and hips. Many of them hoping to see him again and continued to message him on social media.

Joshua finally rested at a bar. He had finished his American cheese burger and a healthy kale salad. His seat faced the ocean. The sun was orange, its rays glimmering on his glamorous muscles and on his deep dark brown eyes. He found it hard to imagine a life other than one of hedonism and freedom until his phone rang, revealing it was 6:00 pm.

Shit, it was sunset. There was a notification. Not from Telegram. It was Grindr. It was from the couple looking for a 3rd account. Thank fucking God.

“Free rn?” The account, likely Joshua, the imposter Jacob, in charge, messaged.

The real Jacob felt himself come back as he replied with a “Yes”. Memories of Adam and their entire relationship together returned, back to the beginning of when they ate undercooked chocolate cheesecake pancakes and had food poisoning the rest of their first date night. He realized that by not being with Adam, he had an affinity that he truly cared and loved him. It followed the old saying of not knowing what really matters until it’s gone. He was so close to getting home and being back with his loving boyfriend.

The account responded with a simple Thumbs-up. It was all Jacob needed as he ran to the hotel, careful to dodge other pedestrians and the rampant tricycles that carried the other tourists and their luggage. The hotel door was unlocked and the room was dark as Jacob entered. He could see Joshua and Adam were sitting on their bed naked.

Jacob introduced himself as ‘Joshua’ to the both of them, taking notable excitement in Adam. Without much speaking, likely from Adam’s awareness of the language barrier, they fucked. Despite Jacob’s attempts of meshing in between them, he was always pushed aside by both of them, always topping but never in the middle. Despite not bottoming as Jacob usually did with his boyfriend, the sex between them was spectacular, as he filled them up with bucket loads of his semen. His kisses with him were the most passionate he ever did in his life. He thrusted with soul and love into him. By the time that Adam fell asleep, the part of the bed they were doing it was soaked in their liquids intermixed with each other.

“Alright,” Jacob panted, sweat covering his glorious body, speaking to his former face, “Let’s swap back, now. I feel it again, thank you.”

Joshua shook his head, “Nope, thank you for giving me your wonderful life and your even better boyfriend. I can’t believe you gave all of it up,” The same grin he had recalled the night before now appeared on his face and mouth. He felt as if a demon possessed his body and was mocking him, it probably was at this point.

“You’re giving me back my body, my life and my boyfriend,” Jacob shouted, looming over his former body.

Joshua looked unimpressed with his threats, yawning slightly, “You should have known better than to trust an Engkanto, let alone of the trickster type,” He simply lied down on the bed and pretended to sleep, cuddling with Adam, in a cruel way of mocking Jacob.

Jacob thought fast, remembering the jar of purple goo in his pocket. He reached out and opened it to find nothing. Scooped empty. Entirely clean like it was never there. Despite his failure, he grabbed his body by the arm, which was lightwork due to his younger and powerful strength, “Swap us, now,” He demanded with rage in his smaller pupils.

Jacob was met with the torment of his own laugh cackling at him, with a deep undertone that caused shivers, like his original body was being corrupted, "You think you were clever thinking you could use the purple jelly against me?”

“But I shook it around earlier and I heard it. I didn’t lose or misplace it in between now and then” Jacob's skin grew bumpy from the goosebumps. He felt like he was in a nightmare, his stomach turning on itself as his old face morphed.

“Don’t forget I’m a trickster.” His grin grew unnaturally big, like his mouth was too big on his own face. “I like the attempt though, you really want to swap back. But I did notice how much fun you had in my body. I think even more than I did with your own body and your awesome boyfriend!”

“I just want to be back in my own body and be back with Adam. Nothing more! I want my life back, Joshua!!" Jacob screamed, hoping it would wake Adam up, but he didn’t.

“Joshua? I think you hit your head or something cause that’s your name, not mine. I’m Jacob,” His body taunted before he started to mutter an ancient language. Some remnants of it sounded Tagalog but the others sounded ancient, it was not human in origin.

“W-what, no. Don’t lie to me, Joshua, Jac—“ Jacob stopped speaking as he felt his own self merging with Joshua’s body. He looked at his own Jacob's face. He felt increasingly dizzy, as Jacob helped sit him down, who explained that he had fucked a bit too hard for his own good. Despite how hard he tried to shun him out, Joshua-Jacob’s post-college years of working in the field of marketing in America mutated into times living between popular touristy areas in the Philippines, only able to afford them from his OnlyFans income and sugar daddy money. His own personality and thoughts replaced by that of Joshua, as the familiar shock of testosterone and libido electrified his body. It caused Joshua to get a hard on and passionately kiss Jacob.

Jacob offered no resistance, allowing Joshua to feel every spot on his body with his tongue. It didn’t take long for Jacob to get onto his position with his jiggling white ass up in the air. Joshua slid in with ease, relentlessly hitting his prostate and causing the both of them to finish within minutes. In the release of his semen, the remnants of Jacob’s consciousness and personality drained out of his body. The transformation was complete. Joshua finished, collapsing on the soft mattress on his back, his bulky chest rising up and down. Jacob was generous enough to hand him a water bottle from America.

“Thank you, Kuya Jacob,” Joshua said as he gulped down his water, spilling some onto his abs and then using a clean towel to dry it up, “You guys are leaving for America tomorrow morning?”

Jacob nodded, as his supernatural grin turned into a generous smile. “Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know the next time we vacation here.”

Joshua whispered as he put on his shorts and black jersey, “Congrats on your future engagement. You two would make amazing husbands. You’re always welcome here in the Philippines!” He smiled.

“You’re a good young guy. Get home safe,” said Jacob, waving goodbye as he cuddled with Adam.

Joshua left the hotel with hope for the next day, with many collaborations and hookups he was going to perform that day as part of his typical life. The notion of finding a guy and settling down was foreign and too weird to him. Why should he only stay with one guy when he had such an irresistible and young body? He was young and he needed to enjoy that and pleasure himself.

[missarchive]

motel six

spencer reid

cw; spencer reid x fem!reader, spencer gets caught jacking off, cowgirl, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, softdom!reader, sub!spencer, one bed troupe, oral (m. receiving), aftercare, unprotected p in v, spencer’s a little desperate and awkward (what’s new)

an; HIII ALLL!!! This is based on an ask I received earlier this month, but I have had a few similar ones so I finally made a fic for them. The truth is that I have been seeing a beautiful woman and she is taking up most of my time. BUT- I managed to sneak this one in. I will start posting more consistently again now that my writer’s block has finally disappeared. As always, please leave some feedback if you liked it (if you didn’t just know you’re stepping on my hopes and dreams). Love and miss u guys xoxo

wc; around 3k

Your stomach twists. A long day chasing leads and poring over case files has already left you drained, and now you have to share a room with someone? You glance around at your teammates, who are pairing off with little hesitation. Morgan claims a room with Rossi. Hotch and JJ take another. Emily and Garcia get the third. That leaves…

You turn your head just as Spencer Reid—resident genius, profiler extraordinaire, and your usual case partner—adjusts the strap of his bag with an unmistakable grimace. His hazel eyes dart to yours before flicking away, his jaw tightening.

Of course.

"Looks like it's you and me, Reid," you say, trying to keep your tone light.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he nods stiffly and brushes past you toward the room number scribbled on the keycard sleeve. Your stomach sinks further, but you push down the unease and follow.

The room is as underwhelming as expected: beige walls, scratchy-looking blankets, and a single queen bed shoved against one side. A rickety wooden chair sits near the window, but otherwise, the space is cramped.

Spencer stops in the doorway, his whole body tensing. "You take the bed. I’ll sleep in the chair."

You frown. "Reid, that thing looks like it’ll collapse if you breathe on it too hard. We can just—"

"I said I’ll sleep in the chair," he snaps, dropping his go-bag by the door.

The sharpness in his voice catches you off guard. Spencer is always a little awkward, sometimes distant, but rarely outright rude. You watch as he rubs his temple, his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if he might crack a tooth. He looks… angry. At you?

"Okay," you say slowly. "Did I do something?"

"No," he bites out. "Just drop it."

You exhale sharply, irritation flaring. "Spencer, we’re both exhausted. If something’s wrong, you can just—"

"Just leave it alone, Y/N."

His words are clipped, final. You stare at him for a moment, searching his face for an answer, but he won’t meet your gaze. The room suddenly feels suffocating.

Fine. If he wants to be an ass, let him.

"I’m going outside," you mutter, grabbing your jacket. "Maybe by the time I get back, you’ll have figured out how to use your words like an adult."

You don’t wait for a response before stepping out into the cool night air.

The motel parking lot is nearly empty, save for the team's vehicles and a couple of semi-trucks parked along the far end. You breathe in the crisp air, letting it wash away some of the frustration bubbling inside you.

Spencer’s behavior isn’t just annoying—it stings. You thought the two of you were friends. Sure, he can be awkward and distant, but he’s never been outright cruel before. Whatever is bothering him, he clearly doesn’t want to share it with you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering as the cold seeps through your thin jacket. After a few minutes, your irritation starts to wane, replaced by exhaustion. You don’t have the energy to stay mad, and honestly, all you want is to collapse into bed and sleep for at least twelve hours.

With a sigh, you make your way back toward the room. The hallway is silent, the only sound your footsteps against the aging carpet. You reach for the door handle but freeze as a muffled noise seeps through the thin walls.

A low, breathy moan.

Your heart stutters.

You strain to listen, barely breathing as another quiet sound follows—one you recognize immediately.

A strangled gasp, unmistakably Spencer’s.

Heat rushes to your face as your brain supplies every possible explanation, each one more embarrassing than the last. You should walk away. You should turn around and pretend you never heard anything. But your hand stays frozen on the doorknob, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Another moan drifts through the door, this one louder. You swallow against the sudden lump in your throat.

"Fuck," Spencer gasps. "O-oh god— please."

His voice is low, rough. Desperate.

You grip the doorknob tighter, debating for what feels like an eternity. Should you walk away? Or—

You ease the door open, pressing your hand against it as if to stop yourself from charging forward. Spencer’s back is to you, his head thrown back as he works himself over, his hand moving in rapid strokes.

You can’t help it—you step further into the room, drinking in the sight of him.

He’s sprawled on the bed, shirtless and pale in the moonlight filtering through the blinds. His arm muscles are tense, sweat dripping down the side of his face. The blanket is thrown back, revealing his naked lower half: his long legs, his perfect hands—

His cock, thick and wet between his fingers.

You feel a rush of arousal at the sight, your blood pulsing hot. This is so wrong. So inappropriate. He’s your teammate, for god’s sake, and yet—

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to walk away.

Spencer's hips jerk upwards, his body shuddering with pleasure. "Y/N," he gasps again, his head falling back against the pillow. His eyelids flutter shut, his brows drawn together.

"Y/N, fuck, please—" His hand moves faster, stroking himself with a rough desperation that makes your breath hitch. You can’t look away as he thrusts against his grip, his hips writhing, his spine arched.

"Ah- fuck," he gasps, his body tensing, his fist tightening around himself. His mouth falls open, his eyes squeezing shut as he comes with a strangled moan.

You press your hand over your mouth, holding back a whimper of your own as you watch him.

Spencer sags against the mattress, his chest heaving. He's so fucking beautiful, and—

And you’re still standing here, watching him.

Your eyes dart to his face, and your stomach plummets as he turns his head.

He opens his eyes, and you meet his gaze across the room.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

Then you both leap into action.

He scrambles upright, fumbling for the blanket to cover himself. You jump backward, tripping over the threshold and landing hard on your ass.

"Shit," you hiss, wincing at the pain that shoots up your tailbone. "Shit. I—fuck, I’m sorry. I should—"

"Y/N," Spencer says in a strangled voice. "I—I thought you were gone. I didn’t know you were—"

He trails off, looking anywhere but at you. You struggle to your feet, smoothing your clothes down self-consciously. This is awkward as hell.

"I thought you were asleep," you admit, wincing. "I didn’t mean to—"

Spencer draws his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. He looks so fucking embarrassed, and you can't blame him.

You should say something. Apologize. You should put him at ease—

But the sight of him still has your pulse hammering.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down your racing thoughts. "I’m sorry, Spencer. I really am. I don’t mean—this is just—"

He raises his head, his eyes searching your face. "What were you doing, standing there?" he asks softly.

You swallow against the lump in your throat. "I don’t know," you whisper. "It was wrong, what I did. I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have watched you. I’m sorry."

Spencer lowers his gaze, his face still flushed. "What if I wanted you to?" he mumbles.

Your heart jumps. "What?"

"I wanted you to watch me," he says louder, his eyes darting up to meet yours. "I’ve been wanting you to for weeks, ever since you asked me to take over the case files."

"What?" you repeat stupidly.

Spencer shifts, his cheeks flushing a deep red. "I started—I started thinking about you. Fantasizing about you. You touching me, kissing me— everything."

Oh.

You stare at him, trying to process. "Reid," you say softly. "I—"

"Don’t apologize," he says quickly. "It’s not your fault, I just—I wanted you. So fucking bad. I thought that sleeping next to you would be—"

"What?" you prompt gently.

He exhales sharply. "That it would be uncomfortable," he says in a rough whisper. "That it would drive me crazy. That maybe you’d—maybe you’d feel it too."

His gaze flicks up to yours again, full of hope.

Your heart races. "Is that what you want?" you ask, stepping forward.

Spencer's breath hitches, his fingers tightening around his knees. "Yes," he rasps. "Oh fuck, yes. If you—Y/N, I’ll do anything you want. Just—just don’t leave me alone again. Please."

His words send a surge of pleasure through your veins. The sight of him, desperate and pleading, is almost too much to bear.

"Spencer," you whisper, taking another step forward. "Come here."

He scrambles to his feet, rushing toward you. You meet him halfway, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. He melts against you, pressing his face into the curve of your neck with a sigh.

"I can’t believe you saw that," he murmurs into your skin.

"I can’t believe I did either," you admit with a chuckle. "But I’m glad I did."

Spencer raises his head, his hazel eyes searching yours. "You are?"

You nod, smiling softly. "Yes."

His face flushes. "Do—do you want to watch me again?"

You smile wider. "Maybe later," you tease. "Right now, I think it’s my turn."

Spencer's eyes widen as you press him backwards, onto the bed. "I thought you were tired," he murmurs, his voice already thickening with arousal.

"I am," you agree, smiling. "But this is more important." You drop your jacket onto the floor, pulling off your shirt and jeans in quick motions. Spencer's eyes dart down to take in the sight of your naked body, and you flush at his hungry gaze.

He groans, throwing his head back against the pillow as you climb on top of him.

It takes a lot to shock Spencer Reid. But you're definitely up for the challenge. The look on his face is priceless as you take his cock in your mouth, not wasting any more time. His hips buck against the mattress, his hands threading into your hair.

"Fuck," he gasps. "Oh my god. Y/N."

He tangles his fingers in your hair, urging you on as you work him over. He's so responsive, moaning and gasping and whining—fuck, it's a beautiful sound.

You work him deeper, taking

Spencer moans loudly as you take him deeper, his thighs trembling. "Y/N, oh fuck, I—fuck—"

You press one hand against his hip, holding him steady as you swirl your tongue over the underside of his cock. Spencer bucks against your grip, his fingers tightening in your hair. He's still so sensitive from his previous release, but he's still getting harder—thicker—by the second.

You run your tongue along the underside of his cock, teasing the spot behind the head.

"Oh fuck," Spencer gasps, his voice broken. "Y/N, please—please don’t stop. I’m going to— ah."

You press your other hand against his stomach, feeling the muscles contract. His whole body is straining upwards, his back arched and his eyes squeezed shut.

You take him all the way in, swallowing around his length as you work your lips over his shaft. Spencer comes with a cry, his hips jerking as he empties down your throat. You swallow every drop, holding his gaze as you slowly pull back.

"Touch," he rasps, his fingers searching for your own.

You swallow against the ache in your throat and smile up at him, lacing your fingers with his. "How are you feeling?" you ask, running your thumb over his hand, keeping your voice soft as to not disturb the air.

Spencer sighs, though not out of exhaustion, you assume he’s still taking everything in as you see his head rolling against the pillow. "It’s never felt like that before."

You grin. "Glad I could help."

He shifts, reaching for his discarded pants on the floor. "We should—we should clean up," he mumbles, his eyes darting to yours. He flushes when he sees your expression, and his face turns even redder as you realize what he’s doing.

"Reid," you laugh. "Are you really reaching for tissues right now?"

His ears turn bright red. "Well, what—what else am I supposed to do?"

You shift, straddling his hips as you lean down. "How about we do something else," you murmur. You kiss his jawline, working your way down his neck.

"Like what?" he asks in a breathy voice.

"Like this," you reply. You shift, taking his cock inside you. Spencer's breath hitches, and he groans at the feel of you surrounding him. You clasp his shoulders as you begin to move, his hands falling to your hips. He gasps with each thrust, his eyes falling shut as his head lolls back against the pillow.

"Y/N," he whimpers, his fingers digging into your skin. “I don’t know if I can-."

You ride him harder, sliding up and down his cock. “Yes you can, baby. I know you can give me one more,” Spencer's hips rock upwards to meet you, his breath coming in broken gasps.

His fingers tighten around your hips, holding you close as he thrusts upwards.

You’re both panting and gasping now as you chase the peak. You're so close. So fucking close.

"Please—" Spencer groans. "Y/N. I'm—fuck, I'm coming."

You feel him spasm inside you, his fingers tightening almost painfully around your hips. You groan, your movements slowing as you ride him through his orgasm. Spencer's eyes are closed, his mouth open as he gasps for air. His body trembles beneath you, and you feel a surge of satisfaction as you reach yours, too.

You slump forward, catching yourself on his shoulders as you press your forehead against his. He opens his eyes and smiles at you, a warm expression that makes your chest ache.

"Hi," he murmurs softly.

"Hi Spencer." You smile back.

You both lay there for a moment, enjoying the weight of each other’s bodies. Finally, you roll off him, stretching out next to him on the creaky motel bed.

You reach for him, pulling him into your arms as you smile. He nestles against you, his arm snaking around your waist as he presses his face against your chest.

You wrap your arm around him, whispering soft praise into his hair as you stroke his skin gently. He relaxes further, his body growing heavy with sleep.

The mattress is uncomfortable, the sheets too thin. But somehow, you feel more at ease than you have in weeks.

Spencer Reid is a brilliant man. But he’s also really fucking good at other things too. And you’re excited to find out what else he’s good at.

You smile to yourself, your chest warm with affection.

"Goodnight, Reid," you whisper into his hair.

He hums a soft reply, his breathing already slowing. You wrap your arm tighter around him, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift off into sleep. Tomorrow, the case will continue, and so will your job. But right now, you have Spencer in your arms.

And that’s more than enough. You smile again, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as you drift off to sleep. This room might not be perfect. But it’s home for the moment, and that’s all you need. You drift off to sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of Spencer's heartbeat against your chest.

[eepy-cookies]

A relaxing yet quiet Birthday

Characters: Shadow Milk Cookie / Sage of Truth x Reader Genre: Fluff Summary: Today was your birthday, and yet someone does remember your own birthday. Disclaimer: This is made for fun so be aware of ooc!

Birthday is a just a normal day, is what a cookie would normally thought, and yet you knew it was just a normal day- except you the cookie witch proposed a a festival in your kingdom this month to attract many cookies to celebrate the Bloom Festival even if the year is not good.

As the project president you made sure that every cookie was behaving well and on board to make sure that the festivity was going well. And thankfully they all did, including the beast cookies.

Burning Spice Cookie would refuse, but putting him as a patroller in case thieves and bandits likes to appear he is on the job. Plus rewarding him with good food would also make him cooperate well after all he was a huge help.

Mystic Flour Cookie would do nothing in apathy, but she too was curious about the unique festival you made, she also made her own botanical garden area and it has become an attraction to cookies who needed a good quiet corner as log she puts on "please remain silent and relax" and it worked on introverted cookies who likes to be quiet.

Shadow Milk Cookie on the other hand was about to do a theater but you need to make sure that he doesn't cause deceit when performing since he and the rest of the beast cookies are untrusted to some cookies in the kingdom. Heck even Candy Apple and Black Sapphire Cookie are behaving well as his minion assistance, but they also do want to enjoy the festival too. Pure Vanilla insisted on him making a theater to perform perfectly well as long you were watching him much to his dismay.

Over all the end of the festival was today and you can finally get all the cookies to relax after the festival, plus they were all paid well since every cookie was relaxing well and even if there was a bit of chaos but its mainly on the thieves and bandits there is no worse case scenarios and even if there is, a presence of the higher up cookies can handle them plus for even safety measures you cast a spell on the cookies on your kingdom for an extra surveillance to ensure employee safety incase something happen, you had no idea how much it saved them from hardships.

And now here you are, walking around as every cookie you see greeted you and thank you for your hard work. Heck you even saw Burning Spice Cookie was enjoying his meal and laugh and gave you a pat on the back and Mistic Flour joining him for a meal and smiled at you, she looked relaxed. They told you that the festival was supposed to be boring but thanks to the unique attractions you propose they got the role they desired.

You are glad that they are doing well and they got a good amount of rest needed and plus the customer cookies were enjoying themselves buying souvenirs and following the rules safely things were going well for you.

And yet you cannot rest.

You walk up to where the theater where Shadow Milk Cookie is, and right on time Candy Apple Cookie being ordered by Shadow Milk Cookie put you to the reserved front seat as they all begin. And you do admit the theater was enjoyable and there was some good laughs here and there, thus the performance was a success and thus made once announcement.

"And a FINALE thank you to (Y/N) Cookie for creating this AMAZING festival and a HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you (Y/n) Cookie!"

"?!"

Your face went red as the crowd goes wild and started saying Happy Birthday to you as Black Sapphire Cookie was recording this moment for the laughs.

...

..

.

"Shadow Milk Cookie! I can't believe you did this to me, I thought I kept my birthday a secret!"

"Ppfftt! Oh COME ON now darling, Not everyone knows that today is your birthday~ After all I know the perfect details about you!"

"Oii..."

You stared at him confused for a moment but when he noted 'not everyone' the instant you knew...

---

[You remember a good memory, a proposal to create the best festival to all cookies as soon as possible for a week. Not all cookies where on board and feel anxious but Sage of Truth found potential in your proposal and decided to accept this festival proposal.

Because of this you and Sage of Truth are good friends ever since, it allow him to gain the experience of more knowledge and plus and a creation to create festivals for the cookies to have a newer better purpose something so enjoyable yet healing.

Sage of Truth was genuinely looking forward on your festival project and thus help you plan, create problems and solutions in advance in case something happened, and finally looking at cookies who hides the good talents to create something for the festival.

But he soon notice that he was able to get closer to you in the process.

You even gave him a mini doll as a souvenir and as thanks for his participation, and he kept it securely close to him under his hat at all times.

Even if he was sealed in the tree, he was able to get the doll you gave him close to his chest.]

---

And when the sunset is happening and the night market has begin along with the singers getting ready to perform for the fans who are also enjoying the festival.

This has been more livelier for every festival you made and because of this you were content with your project living on and even now.

"Say, Shadow Milk Cookie..."

He looked at you with a curious smile, "Shall we walk together in the stalls, just the two of us?" You ask with a smile and yet his eyes were widened and blush with glee happy to hear that you still want to hang out with him.

"Of course my darling~"

With that you two hold hands just like in the past, it doesn't matter whether or not Shadow Milk has become. To you he is still the same cookie that you love no matter what.

After walking around trying the food, drinks, and mini games, the two of you were gazing at the botanical garden booth watching the night sky that was now showing fireworks. The two of you staring and admiring the night sky in fireworks as every cookie was enjoying the rest of the festival before the closing.

And before the clock reaches 12 am, you looked at Shadow Milk Cookie and leaned closer to him, he noticed what you are doing and yet was blushing from the kiss on the lips. His eyes were wide and he was shaking and yet he decided to pull you to a hug.

He doesn't want to break the silence and yet, he went closer to your ear.

"My, you really are bold tonight~ My darling~"

You can't see his face, but his hair eyes showing hearts can tell you one thing. After this, you know what happens next.

[lemonlover1110]

For a request could you do like a "What if?" situation, what could've happened if Toji won against Gojo and Geto, coming back to Megumi and a girl he met and wanting to be better for them and be happy, with fluff? I hope I explained myself 🥹

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader Warnings: Fluff

Toji would have never imagined that he’d find himself in this spot. Falling in love again was not in his cards. He lost his damn mind, and for a moment all was bleak.

Life was the same. Job after job. Another life taken, a stupid amount of money wasted in a matter of days, leeching off women until another job was available— But after a damn near death experience with the stupid Gojo brat, Toji decided to change something… Yeah, that’s what he tells you.

Toji had no plans on changing anything until he met you.

He doesn’t know what it was. He saw you and couldn’t tear his eyes off you, until he got his ass off his chair and walked over to you. He took you out, laughed for the first time in what felt like eons, paid the bill and got your number. All to be repeated once again. And again. And again.

A moment of clarity hit, and his life took a turning point. He picked up his act, along with his kid. Though he might regret it now.

“Seriously? This stupid movie again?” Toji complains, watching as Megumi picks the same movie. A film that the poor man has had to watch five times over the past week. Five-year-old Megumi just fixates on something and won’t let it go for months.

“It’s a good movie! You can’t blame Megumi for choosing it.” You quickly defend the child, not wanting Megumi to listen to the criticism from his father. Toji’s a big whiner— He’s just bored because nobody is getting shot in the film.

“Yeah, whatever.” Toji rolls his eyes as he plops down on the couch, right beside you. The bucket of popcorn that he holds is quickly taken, seized by you. Toji throws his arm over your shoulder, bringing you closer to him before placing a chaste kiss on your temple.

You smile at him, a look that somehow conquered the man’s heart. He doesn’t know what it was… What it is. But you’ve managed to make him fall head over heels for you.

The purest thoughts run through his head, but your dirty dirty mind decides to speak. Your lips go to his ear, whispering, “Let’s save the X-Rated movie for later.”

He smirks, loving the idea. He’ll just have to find a way to knock Megumi out, but he can do that, no doubt.

“Okay, it’s ready!” Megumi exclaims as he runs to the couch to take a seat between the two of you. It’s what makes Toji regret ever picking up the brat. Megumi can’t give you two an ounce of space, he’s always plopped right in between.

“You managed to set up the movie all on your own? Good job, Megumi.” Toji ends up praising the boy, ruffling the child’s hair. He ends up smiling at his blessing, the slight annoyance quickly fading away.

“He’s smart, Toji. He can set it up faster than you.” You joke, your finger reaching over to poke the man’s cheek. Toji ends up scoffing.

“Yeah, yeah.” The man responds. He’s falling asleep at the opening music, already finding himself bored. He can’t believe it. He got himself a shit job that pays little to no money to support you two. All to not be able to pick the movie he wants to watch, for the popcorn to be taken from him, and for a stinky child to be in the middle of him and his girlfriend.

Toji shakes his head disappointedly, reaching over and taking the bowl of popcorn from your lap. All for you to whine, which makes him give it back.

It might not be ideal, but Toji wouldn’t have it any other way. His life has color once again, and he has no one else to thank but you.

[wonderjanga]

Billy saving the day in civilian form?

Things were not looking good for the JL. Lex Luther had got them all thrown into a bunch of prison cells that would nullify their powers. As for Batman, he paralyzed Bruce! Somehow. None of them really know how. So while they were all panicking, no one noticed a little kid walk in and stared for a solid second, looking absolutely bewildered.

Meanwhile for Billy, he’d simply come to the Lexcorp branch in Metropolis because Whiz wanted him to do a segment on Lex and his company. A nice lady had been showing him around and giving him the details on everything when the next thing he knew she was gone, likely having moved on and assumed he was still behind he. He’d wandered around getting more lost until he found the JL.

When they finally noticed him…

Flash: “KID, LET US OUT!”

Supes: “PLEASE RUN AWAY!”

Flash and Supes: *look to each other* “DON’T LISTEN TO HIM!”

They bickered some more. Clark wanted to send Billy away because he didn’t want a kid to be wrapped up in this and like any normal person Barry wanted to be out of his prison cell.

Eventually, Billy did find a way to open the cell doors.

Flash: *in a hypoglycemic coma, passed out on the side of the road*

Billy: *sprinking sugar in his mouth* “Flash?”

Flash: *still comatose*

Billy: “Flash??” *slaps his cheek a couple times*

Billy ended up having to steal Flash’s comm, and after a bit of trial and error he got it to work and called J’onn, because J’onn works in the medbay quite a bit.

Martian Manhunter(MM): *picks up his comm* “Yes, Flash?”

Billy: “Mr. Martian Manhunter Sir?”

*silence*

MM: “Who is this?”

Billy: “This is Billy. Uh… Flash is knocked out on the side of the road.”

MM: *has to hold back the sigh of a century* “I will be there momentarily to pick Flash up. Please do give him something that has sugar in it.”

Billy: “I did.”

MM: “Good. Then I’ll be right there. Don’t leave him alone.” *is about to hang up* “Wait. How did you know to give him sugar and also how did you access his communicator if he’s knocked out-”

When J’onn came to collect flash later, he was like “Wait a minute… I swear I know you from somewhere…” Billy dipped before he could actually figure anything out though.

[urdsstiny]

I WANNA BE YOURS | hamzah

the past few days had been challenging for both Hamzah and his roommate, you. your relationship was always a bit strange; you never viewed each other as anything beyond friends, but that was a far cry from the truth.

occasionally, you’d find yourself entwined with him, breathless and sweaty, yet either of you ever discussed it or reflected on those moments. you were just roommates—nothing more.

however, when you brought a reoccurring guest home again, hamzah felt a wave of confusion wash over him. jealously was definitely a part of it. and now, she was introducing them again.

as hamzah stepped into the apartment, he took off his hat with a sigh as it hit the floor. he had been busy filming a vlog all day with martin and hadn’t even noticed that you had brought that guy over again until he emerged from your bedroom, shirtless. from the flushed look on his face, hamzah knew why he’d come over.

"hey dude." the guy greeted him as he brushed by him to the door, a cocky smile on his face. as soon as the guy entered his field of vision, he felt anger boil in his veins. the guys cocky little smirk just making him even more irritated.

"hey." hamzah replied back, forcing a small smile. he moved his gaze away from the guys semi-exposed chest to you, who was exiting your bedroom with a yawn. you didn’t noticed him at first, only finally spotting him when you entered the kitchen. “oh, hey. how was work?”

as you crossed into the kitchen, hamzah followed behind, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "it was alright." he replied, his gaze still eyeing the guy through the window, watching him walk down the sidewalk with a few of his friends.

hamzah looked away as he leaned back in the chair. "y'know, it's kind of strange that you've been bringing that guy over so often." you frowned slightly as you began to make some noodles, too late at night to justify anything more.

"how is that strange?" seeing you begin to mess with the noodles, brought hamzah’s attention away from the window and to you. though his frown stayed on his face. "because it just is. i mean who is he? and does he have to come shirtless every time you bring him over?"

"well," you smirk, "he's gonna end up naked anyways. it's called time saving." you joked as you looked back at hamzah, realising he was not finding it as amusing as you.

and just like that, the irritation was back. the mention of the guy ending up naked and you sleeping with him, just made it worse. he scoffed, bringing a hand to his forehead with a sigh, before mumbling something under his breath.

"what was that?" you asked, not realising you were poking the bear with your question. he raised his head, looking you in the eyes. “you really want to know what i said?" he asked, moving his hand to grip the edge of the table.

you nodded, words failing you as you watched his eyes darken. they looked over your body, clad in an oversized shirt and shorts that were invisible underneath the top. it made hamzah's heart pound harder against his ribcage. he stood from the seat before moving to you, stopping once he was directly in front of you. his gaze scanning over your body before meeting your eyes. "i said, that i'm sick of that guy coming around."

"why?" you lose your nerve slightly at him so close to you "it's not as if he bothers you." as soon as you replied back, the thought of that guy touching you in all of the places that make you squirm, filled his mind. hamzah took a step closer, crowding you up against the counter. "but he does bother me."

"why? did he do something?”

"yes, he did do something. he came here." hamzah replied, voice dropping to a near whisper, his gaze going down to your lips for a split second. your chuckles grew dry as you realised what he was implying. you stood silent for a moment, glancing up at him. "are you jealous, hamzah?"

hamzah's jaw tightened at the mention of jealousy, his gaze hardening. "no." he replied, the lie leaving a bad taste in his mouth. he was jealous, so jealous. he leaned down, his face mere inches away from your own. "why would i be jealous?"

"because you wish you were him.” you choked out, trying to keep the same confidence you had entered the conversation with. it was hard with him looming over you, his gaze making you tremble.

hamzah froze, feeling his heart pound even harder. you were right. he wanted to be the one. he pushed away the thought, trying to fight the growing urge to pin you against the counter. "why would i want that?" he asked, looking straight into your eyes.

you smiled, giving him a sultry look as you answered. "i'm not answering that for you, hamzah." you stated before turning, finishing your noodles. the moment you turned, showing more of your thighs as your shirt rode up, hamzah swallowed as he took in the sight.

he fought the urge to grab your waist and pull you to him, the look on your face making him want to rip away that shirt. he watched as you finished up your noodles, still fighting against the growing urge to touch you. he knew he should leave the kitchen but he couldn't bring himself to move.

you finished with making your food, standing still as you waited to see if hamzah was going to make a move. your chest pounded as you waited on something, anything, words or even just touch. you craved it.

you just standing there, waiting for his next move... it was driving him crazy. he needed to touch you, he needed to hear you say his name. hamzah's hands came to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. your thin shirts the only thing separating the two of you.

you felt his hands come forward to grip your hips as he leaned down into your ear. he pressed up closely against your back, the feel of his hard chest against you making your skin ignite. he leaned forward, his breath fanning over your ear.

"do you have any idea of what you do to me." he questioned, his low voice sending a shiver down your spine. you giggled, and his grip tightened. "maybe."

hamzah's jaw clenched at your response, the grip on your hips tightening. "you’re brat." he whispered, before biting your earlobe. you spun around, his hands moving down slightly as you leaned forward. "what are you gonna do?"

his hands slid to your backside, gripping hard. hamzah looked into your eyes before suddenly picking you up, placing you on the counter. "i think we both know the answer to that." you smirked as you finally leaned in, pressing your lips to his while your hands gripped his shoulders.

he leaned in, meeting you halfway as he pushed his lips against yours, his hands moving up to thread through your hair. hamzah pulled away for just a moment, taking in the sight before him. "i can't stand that there's other guys out there touching you." he said, before connecting his lips to your own once more.

hamzah started pressing small kisses along your jawline, before moving down to your neck. once he reached your sweet spot, he bit down on the sensitive flesh, before sucking and marking it red. he pulled back, staring at the mark before growling and attaching himself to your neck once more.

"that's not m'fault." you murmured as you moved ur neck to give him more access. "i know it's not." he replied against your neck, he slowly moved down, leaving a large trail of marks along your neck, before he reached the hem of your shirt. pulling away for a moment, he looked into your eyes as he tugged on the material. "this really needs to come off."

"i’m not having another one nightstand with you, hamzah." you couldn't be only with him once. he was addictive. he watched as you grew vulnerable, and for a moment, he knew then that was it for him. he would never want anyone else.

he watched as you grew vulnerable, and for a moment, he knew then that was it for him. he would never want anyone else. he shook the thought away, before leaning forward, so his mouth was close to your ear. "i don't want a one nightstand either." he replied, his fingers tugging on the shirt. "i want to make you mine, and only mine."

“make me yours, hamzah.”

[writtenbyan-aries]

i swear I’m ovulating 😩 i need NEED the nastiest Matt smut you can possibly give me im literally on the floor begging for it mama please

∶ Summary: What happens after office hours, well, that’s just a different kind of business.

∶ Warnings: smut, boss!Matt x secretary!Reader, swearing, sexual tension, kissing, unprotected sex, creampie, oral, choking, filth

∶ Word Count: 3.6k

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

The ding of the elevator at the end of the hall snaps you out of your tired stare. You quickly snap into acting like you were working.

“Good morning.” Matt smiles as he walks up to your desk, “Sorry I’m late. My idiot brother needed a ride and proceeded to spend thirty minute past the time we needed to leave getting ready.” He rolls his eyes, “Did anyone call yet?”

You shake your head, “Not yet, Mr. Sturniolo, but I-“

“You don’t have to call me that, sweetheart. You’ve been my secretary for quite a while now, I think Matt is just fine.”

You tilt your head, “Sorry, Matthew. I’ll work on it.”

A smirk plays at his lips and he tries so hard to fight it off, “Uh huh, you better.” He taps your desk, “Call downstairs, have them bring me up a coffee, and get whatever you like, too.” He gives you a wink, “I’ll be in my office, I have a meeting scheduled for..” he hums as he tries to remember and you fill in the blank, “Nine fifteen with Mr. Colby Brock.”

“That’s it.” He smiles, “I’ll be in my office.”

You nod, reaching for your phone. You dial the number for downstairs and listen to it ring a few times before someone picks up, “Sturnique, this is Stacy, how can I help you?”

“Hey, Stace. It’s y/n from upstairs, could you have someone bring up Mr. Sturniolo’s coffee order and can you also add on vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso please?”

“His usual and a latte, extra espresso. Anything else?”

“No, that will be everything. Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Have a good day!”

“You, too.” You smile to yourself as you hang up the phone, leaning back with a sigh. As soon as your back hits the chair, the phone rings again. You lean forward, moving in closer as you pick it up, “Matthew Sturniolo’s office.”

“Hello, I’m looking to speak to Matt.”

“May I ask who’s calling?” You rip off a sticky note and grab a pen, pausing when you hear her sigh, “Yeah, it’s his girlfriend, Melanie.”

You raise your brows, “Okay.. give me one second, I’m just going to put you on hold. I’m not sure if his meeting is done with yet.”

“He’s in a meeting right now?” She scoffs, “Fine.”

You don’t hesitate to press the hold button. You push yourself up from your chair and walk over to knock on his door.

“Come in.”

You push the door open and he smirks, “What can I do for you?” You tilt your head, “I have a Melanie, on hold for you.” His face falls and he leans down to rest his head on his desk with a groan, “Fuck me.”

Your brow twitches up as you fight back a smirk, “I told her that I wasn’t sure if your meeting was done with yet or not.”

He lifts his head and nods, “It’s not. Tell her I’ll call her later or something.” You nod, getting ready to back out and he calls out, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You smile and close the door, making your way back to your chair. You pick up the phone and sigh before taking her off hold, “Hi, Melanie. You still there?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“Okay, so Matt is still in with his current clients, but he did tell me to let you know that he will call you back in a little bit.”

“Figures.” She hangs up and you sit there stunned, “Have a good day to you, too.” You set the phone down and turn as Matt’s doors open, “She’s a ray of sunshine.” You tease, “Girlfriend, I assume?”

He shakes his head, “Not even close.”

“Oh. That’s shocking.” You shake your head, “Not that you can’t get a girlfriend or anything, I know you can probably get one if-“

Saved by the bell.

The elevator dings and you look at Matt, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He smirks, laughing as he shrugs, “You’re fine, don’t sweat it.” He turns, “Oh, thank you.” He takes his cup labeled with an M.S, groaning as he takes a sip, “This is exactly what I needed.” He hands you your cup and you take a sip, “I feel that.”

“Thank you.” You smile at the gentleman before he turns to walk away. You lean back, turning to look at your computer screen, “Oh, did you want me to book your tickets for Italy now, or..” you look back at him and he nods, “You can do it now. Make sure you book yourself one, and I’m going to need two extras for my brothers.”

You both speak at the same time, “He better not make us late for that.”

You both laugh and Matt nods his head, “You get it.”

You move closer to your desk and the elevator dings again. You look at Matt, “We’re not expecting anyone right now.” He looks back down the hall and sighs, “Oh my god.”

A girl comes walking down the hall, “Some meeting you have here.”

“You must be Melanie.” You glance at Matt and back to her, and she nods, “Melanie St. Paul. Yes. Matt, can I speak to you in your office.”

“No.” He shakes his head, “We’re fine right here.”

You sip your coffee, clinking on the flight ticket page, trying to act like you’re not listening.

“You didn’t call me last night.”

You clench your jaw, fighting to keep your eyes on the screen. A part of you felt lowkey jealous because you liked Matt, and you can’t say he doesn’t know. With how he acts with you, creating all of this tension, you’re certain he liked you, too.

“I’m sorry, I had a late work meeting, and then I had a dinner with some clients, and then I went home and passed out.” He shrugs, “I don’t-“

The phone ringing cuts him off and Melanie sighs as you reach to pick it up, “Matthew Sturniolo’s office.”

You nod to yourself as you glance up at Matt, “It’s Sam, he’s returning your call from yesterday.” Matt nods, “Transfer him to me.” He looks at Melanie, “Look, I gotta take this. I’ll call you later, just.. go home. Please.” He turns and walks into his office, closing the door behind him.

Melanie huffs, turning on her heel before stomping down the hall. You give it a few seconds, waiting for her to step on and leave and you transfer the call to Matt.

You bring your personal cell phone up to your ear and smirk, “How’d you like that?”

“Y/n?” He laughs, “oh my god, you are a genius. Thank you.” He hangs up and comes back out. You slide your phone on the desk and turn towards him, “You’re welcome.” You smile, “So, do I get to know who she is?”

“She’s someone I went out with last week. I didn’t feel anything, so I kinda just have been blowing her off, hoping she gets the hint.” He shrugs, “And from that.. I don’t think she has.”

“I don’t like saying this, but she seems a little crazy. Like showing up to your workplace?” You raise your brows, “If she comes again, I’m calling security.”

“If she comes again, I’m calling security.” He laughs, “I thought she was nice, but after the date she blew up my phone, asking how it was and all of that. She kept asking questions about my past dates and if they were better than that one. It was weird.”

“Yeah, that’s..” you shake your head, “Insane.”

“Right?” He sits down in the chair in front of your desk, “You know..” he plays with your pens in your cup, “I’ve had the best time on our work dinners than actual dates.” He glances you at you, and you smile, “Really?”

He nods, “Yeah, you actually listen to what I have to say, and I know it’s mostly about work, but maybe-“

The elevator bell dings and you lean over, “It’s Colby.”

Matt stands up and walks over, “Hello, Mr. Brock.”

Colby smiles and walks up, reaching out to shake his hand, “How’s it going? We ready to talk business?” Matt nods, “Oh, for sure.” He looks at you, “If anyone calls-“

“Take a message.” You nod, “Got it.” You smile and turn back to your desk, finishing up getting the tickets bought for Italy.

The phone rings and you reach over, “Matthew Sturniolo’s office.”

“Hey, y/n. It’s Nick.”

“Hey, Nick. What can I do for you?”

“I know Matt’s in a meeting right now, but can you tell him that Chris and I will be up for lunch?”

You jot down the note, “I will do that. Anything else?”

“Yeah, email me what you want from Cerio’s.”

“You don’t-“

“Matt insisted.”

“Okay.” You smile, “I’ll look over, oh. While I have you on the phone, your ticket, and Chris’ ticket, is taken care of for Italy. I’ll email them to you.”

“You’re the best. Thank you.” He sighs, “I’d love to chat more, but I gotta go.”

“Bye.” You hang up and continue going over emails. An hour later, the door to Matt’s office opens, and him and Colby both walk out, “Thank you so much for coming in. I’ll go over everything and I’ll have y/n send over the finalized copy of the contact.”

“Sounds good.” Colby nods, reaching out to shake Matt’s hand, “Have a good day.” He looks at you, “You too.”

“Thank you.” You smile and look at Matt, “Nick was the only one who called, he said him and Chris are coming up for lunch. I also told them that their tickets are paid for, which I also emailed to you.”

“You’re the best.” He smiles, “So we got Colby’s team on board. If we can pull this off, they can get our line into the fashion week.”

“Oh, Matt. That would be amazing!” You lean forward, resting your chin on your hands, “When do you need to send in the final product?”

“Two weeks is the deadline, so if you don’t mind. You’re probably going to have to stay late a few days within these next two.” He sits down and you shrug, “Not a problem. I’ll do whatever you need.”

He purses his lips slightly, nodding his head, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He looks at you with a smirk, “So, anyway, as I was saying before hand-“

The phone rings and you can tell Matt is getting irritated. You glance at the phone, “Do you want me to-“

“Yeah, please. It could be Sam.”

You nod, picking up the phone, “Matthew Sturniolo’s office.” Your eyes go wide and you motion for Matt to go to his desk, “Yes, Mr. Golbach, I will forward you to his office right now… mhm, not a problem at all.” You glance over as his office door shuts and you transfer the call.

You hang up and lean back. If Matt gets this deal, he’s definitely getting into fashion week.

You were chewing on your nail, waiting for Matt to come back out of his office. You were trying to keep your mind occupied, but this was a big deal for you, too.

An hour and a half later, Matt finally comes out of his office. You stand up, “Well?”

Matt takes a deep breath, “We got it!”

“We got it!?” You cover your mouth, “Hell yes!” You open your arms walking over to hug him. He wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up off the ground with a spin, “He said he liked the presentation of the proposal, which, honestly that was all you.”

He sets you down and shakes his head, “Thank you for working so hard on that.”

You smile, giving him a shrug, “My attention detail pays off once again.” You laugh and he nods, his eyes searching your face, “Yeah, it does.”

As soon as the elevator dings, Chris and Nick can be heard yelling to him from down the hall.

“Of course.” Matt mumbles, walking towards them, “Why do you always have to eat in my office?” Chris gives him a look, “Uh, your office has the best view?”

Nick hands you your bag, “Your lunch, darling.” You smile as you take it, “Thank you.” You go to sit at your desk but Matt stops you, “No, no. You’re coming in with us.”

You smirk and nod, “Okay.”

Throughout lunch, you mainly listened to the boys talk about their deal with Sam. Italy, and what they wanted to do while in Italy.

Occasionally, Matt would bring it back around to you, praising you for all of your hard work.

You wanted to jump him right then and there. You couldn’t lie, the tension was getting thicker and thicker as each day went by. You just wanted him to push you up against a wall and kiss you as hard as he could.

“Y/n?”

You blink, “What? Yeah, sorry.”

Nick laughs, “I asked what you want to do in Italy while we’re there.” You lean back, “Mm, good question.” You sigh as you think, “I would love to visit the Pinacoteca di Brera.”

Matt’s eyes go wide, “Say that again.”

“Pinacoteca di Brera.” You smirk, “What? Did I say it wrong?” He shakes his head, a smile on his face, and Nick speaks up, “No, you say it so beautifully.”

You smile, “Aw, thanks. I guess.” You laugh, “It’s been a dream of mine to go to Italy.”

“Guys. I think there’s a robbery happening down there.” Chris points at the window and you look over, “What?” He looks back, “Yeah, look.” You all go over and sure enough cops fly towards the scene and Chris breaks into laughter, “Sorry, that’s not-“

“Idiot.” Nick shakes his head. You avert your attention to the scenery overlooked by his office window, “You do have the best view.”

Matt’s eyes never leave your face, “I know.”

You look over at him as he walks away and you go back to sit down. A little bit later, you’re back at your desk, and as the brothers are leaving, Matt’s one thirty is here.

“Hello, Mr. Rosetti. I’ll let Matthew know you’re here.” You smile and call into his office.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You right back a smile, “Mr. Rosetti, your one thirty meeting is here.”

“Perfect. You can bring him in.”

You hang up and stand up, “Right this way.” He follows you into his office and Matt gives you a nod, “Thank you.” You smile, “Welcome.”

You close the door and sit back down at your desk. A few phone calls and email replies later, Matt and Rosetti come out of his office.

“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Rosetti, I’m excited to work with you.”

“As am I, Mr. Sturniolo.” He nods, “Talk soon.” He gives you a nod before turning to leave and you spin your chair towards Matt, “I think that was your last meeting of the day.”

“Good, put on the voicemail and come in here. I need it to be after office hours for a little bit.” He turns to walk into his office and you comply with his order, hitting the button on the phone and walking into his office.

As soon as the door closes, Matt’s hands are on your waist, “I can’t keep doing this professional relationship, I need to know what you feel like around me.”

You gasp at his words, pulling him in for a heated kiss.

His hands slide around to grip your ass before wrapping his arm around your waist. He kisses down your neck, spinning to walk you over to his desk.

He bends down, breaking the kiss so he can swipe his desk clean. He lifts you up, setting you down on it, and his lips press to yours again.

Your hands work to undo the belt on his dress pants, proceeding to undoing the button and zipper on them, too.

His hands push your dress skirt up your thighs and he gives them a squeeze as your hand slips into his boxers, “Fuck, I need you so bad.”

You nod, “I’m yours.”

He jumps on it, pushing your panties to the side and gliding his fingers up and down your needy cunt a few times before pushing two fingers in. You gasp, your hand sliding up to tangle your fingers into his hair as you moan, “Fuck, yes.”

Your head tilts back, moaning louder as his fingers curl upward repeatedly. You tilt your head up, eyes following him as he drops down to his knees. His fingers pull out of you and they’re replaced with his tongue.

You gasp, pulling him closer with your heel on his upper back, hand still in his hair, “Fuck, Matt.” Your brows furrow with pleasure, lips parting as he moves up to suck on your clit.

“Tastes so good, baby. Just like I thought it would.” His eyes move to stare up at you as his tongue laps at your needy entrance.

You let out a whine, rolling your hips forward, “Feels so good.. fuck, fuck.” You lean back, your hand pressing into the desk for support, “Yesyesyes.”

You groan as he pulls away, biting your lip as you watch him free his cock from his boxers.

You lift your leg, moving to the edge of the desk more and you gasp, moaning out as you feel his cock slip into you. His hand slides up to your neck, gripping tightly as he pulls you in.

His lips crash on yours, your moans swapping together as his thrusts pick up. Your eyes flutter shut, whines and whimpers slipping from your lips, “Matt.. yes.” He rests his forehead against yours, “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

He slides his hand around, tangling his fingers into your hair, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. Seeing you..” he groans, “Seeing you walk around in those cute little business outfits. Fuck. You just.. look so fucking good.”

You reach up, pulling him in by the back of his neck, “I do it for you.” You crash your lips to his, swallowing his groans as he thrusts harder, “Fuck, fuck.” You squeeze around him, “D-don’t stop.”

Your hand slides down to his shoulder, your nails digging into it, “Fuck, M’gonna cum, please don’t-“

You tighten your leg around his waist as you feel yourself let go, moan after moan flying from your lips as he guides you through your high, “F-fuck, fuck.” His lips find yours, moving with yours with heat.

He bites down on your lip, tugging gently, “That’s it, there we go.”

Matt slides his hand to your cheek, pressing kisses back your jaw and down your neck, “I want you, all of you, baby.” He groans, “Fuck, I’ve needed you.”

“I’ve needed you.” You moan, tilting your head back to look up at him, “So fucking bad, Mr. Sturniolo.” You bite your lip, watching him smirk. He presses his lips to yours, “This is the only time you get to call me that, when I’m showing you who’s boss.”

You smile, gasping as you feel him thrust deeper, “What I want to show you who’s boss a time or two?”

“I can make an exception, Ms. Y/l/n.”

He crashes his lips into yours, his grip on your waist tightening, “Fuck, m’close.” He buries his face into your neck, your arms tightening around his, “Let me get you off.”

He leans up, stepping back and his eyes track you as you move down to your knees. You look up at him, lips immediately wrapping around the tip and working him into your mouth fully.

You bob your head, working what you can’t fit with your hand. He groans, his hand laying on your head as he bucks his hips, “Fuck, that’s it. That’s it.” He tilts his head back, eyes closed as he bites his lip.

A few bobs later, and you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, his cum slipping down your throat as you swallow.

You lean back, smiling up at him and he pulls you to your feet, “You are the best secretary anyone could possibly get.” He presses his lips to yours and you smile, “So does that mean you’re going to finally ask me out on a real date?”

He nods as he fixes his pants, “I’ve been trying to all day.” He laughs, “But it’s just one thing after another today, like damn.”

You fix your underwear and pull your dress down, “Well, even though it took forever, I’d love to go on a real date with you.” You step forward and press your lips to his, “Also. If Melanie comes back, I am calling security, actually. I’m going to go call the desk right now and tell them not to let her through.”

Matt chuckles as he follows you out of his office, “You know what I’m really excited for now?”

You sit down at your desk and look at him, “What’s that?”

“Italy.”

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Thank you so much for reading! I love you so much! Catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[startheskelaton]

Super cliche but Disney inspired Nightsparkblaster?

Beauty and the beast with Sparkplug and Nightflyer as Belle and Adam. Nightflyer was cursed to be in his predacon alt mode by Soundblaster on accident. Now they live in an old castle trying to fix Night.

Uhh, Slip and Arachnid are the candle and clock. Mrs. Potts is Soundwave and Chip are Rumble and Frenzy. Spark's ex boyfriend is Gaston, and Megs is Bell's dad. Instead of being an inventor, they don't like him because he was previously a warlord.

Spark ends up at the castle because she heard legends and wants to prove herself to the king and queen (Op and Elita) as a scout. Maybe she stays because she finds out what happened to Night and wants to help him and Sound?

I’ve gotten more then one ask about Sparkplug and her boys resembling a beauty and the beast type story. So fuck it, it’s the weekend, let’s draw something fun. Love the ideas but I changed it a little bit, sorry!!

I image here Sparkplug is the daughter of a wartime soldier turned normal medic…. One that’s not exactly liked as he did some shady stuff in the war. Sparkplug spends her days reading about the world and taking care of her father as he tends to forget his own health. She also deals with the advances of the town hunter, Landlot, sadly she has resided to her fate to having to marry him one day as Landlot’s fortune may help her family stay alive.

One day, Megatron is called to do work in a town far away. He heads off much to Sparkplug’s dismay, as he hopes to show her that she won’t have to marry in order to support them. While traveling he comes across a haunting castle, belonging to a kingdom that fell to ruin many years ago. While seeking temporary refuge there, he is captured by the monsters that lurk there.

When her father’s horse comes home without him, Sparkplug fallows the tracks to find out what happened. When she finds him, he’s locked in a dungeon, his arm amputated as punishment for trespassing. This is when she comes face to face with The Nightflyer, a being that seemingly has control over a horrible beast. To save her father, Sparkplug trades her life for his, and the Nightflyer takes her up on the offer.

Sparkplug is now the maid of the castle, her job is to take care of the people residing there. This comes as a shock to her as there seemed to be no one there, until the furniture and decorations started talking. Those who lived in the castle were turned into objects, alive yet restricting in their autonomy, from gaurds and servants… to the princess that once called this place home.

More in prt:2

[fics4damelaningirls]

you called the wrong parent

ft. duke thomas and batmom

There was one thing that the goons in Gotham didn’t fully understand. If you attempt to kidnap a Wayne kid, don’t call their mom. She doesn’t like to bullshit with people, especially when it’s about her kids. She’s not gonna let a goon ask for ransom, she’ll personally find them and deliver an ass whooping. Apparently these goons that kidnapped Duke didn’t receive that message.

“I really suggest not to call my mama. She ain’t as sweet as the publishers make her out to be. Well she is, but not when there’s something bad happening to us” he tried warning the goons as the phone rang on speaker.

“Who the hell is playing on my phone?” you answer.

“We have your son” the bald goon spoke

“Which one? I got five” you asked irritated.

“What’s your name kid?” the tattooed goon asked Duke.

“Hi mama” Duke says loud enough for you to hear. Your response was a groan, and they heard some shuffling on your end.

“Hey baby, I’m on my way” you say hanging up the phone, not giving the goons any room to ask for ransom.

For the next thirty minutes the goons tried to talk about what they were going to do when you walk through the doors. If you could even find them, which made Duke chime in.

“You guys are screwed” he laughs.

“We aren’t scared of a woman kid” the bald one scoffs. The door to the warehouse opens loudly, and there you are in your sweats and a hoodie holding one of Jason’s guns pointing it at the goons.

“Let my son go” you said politely walking up to them knowing that Duke has most likely been free of his restraints by now.

“Did you bring the money?” the tattooed one asked.

“You idiots didn’t even ask for money. But since you aren’t moving to free my son. I hope y’all move fast enough to call an ambulance.” You deadpan.

“For who lady? You?” they asked laughing, but that laughter turned into screams after two gunshots rang through the warehouse.

“Yourselves” you say shrugging putting the gun in your tote bag. You turn to Duke “I know you broke free a while ago. Let’s go home” you say sticking your hand out. He grabs it pulling you in for a hug.

“Love you mama” he says squeezing you, “Also I warned them about calling you” he says laughing.

“Love you too baby” you said laughing at what he told you. The drive home he talked to you about his day up until his kidnapping, when you made it back to the manor everyone was standing in the foyer.

“Where were you?” Bruce asked walking up to you.

“Saving Duke” you reply smiling.

“I told them not to call her” Duke says making the others laugh. You pulled out the gun handing it back to Jason while everyone was laughing. That stopped everyone from laughing to look at you confused.

“They’re alive, just both have a bad knee now” you shrug heading upstairs, “I’m going to finish my nap” you said looking over your shoulder.

[stradakiev]

Ok I’ll talk about it

I love this idea and agree with it soooooooo much and it’s my favorite Martha take ever

From Martha’s first story Smith and Jones she is figuring things out as if the doctor would without first seeing the doctor do it. She talks about how the windows aren’t exactly air tight and that there must be something keeping the air in. She figures out the genetic transfer, gets the Jadoon to catch the plasmavore, and brings the doctor back so he can fix the scanner. If you want to dig deeper with this episode the doctor is not introduced as his character he is John smith and Martha is studying to be a doctor. Foreshadowing she will play his role at the end of the season.

We don’t see much of this in the second episode because it her out of here element for real this time and she’s taking it in but still a very active character in the story.

Gridlock we get to see Martha separated from the doctor and kidnapped onto the highway. Martha is the one descending to the lower lanes and learning the stories of the sounds at the bottoms and putting the pieces together. It’s her quick thinking to turn the engines off to save them until the city was open by the doctor and they could drive up.

Daleks take manhattan and evolution of the daleks is when we see Martha start to boss the doctor around. Unlike other companions we’ve seem Martha spends a lot of her initial time traveling with the doctor actually away from him. When the doctor wants to just go off and see why the daleks changed their minds she asks if he’s just going to leave Hooverville to die. She is the one thinking of how to keep people alive like a doctor like the doctor. I like to think that the doctor hiding from the daleks behind Martha is symbolic of the doctor hiding from his grief and in many ways responsibilities and becoming more reckless while Martha holds things together.

The Lazarus experiment- the only part of this episode I want to focus on is the ending. The doctor suggests “one more trip” and she tells him she’s not going to keep doing it like that and that it’s either a full time passenger or good bye and the doctor agrees to it. Her being the one to have the power to chose to travel with him and be a full time companion makes her fulfill the role of the doctor as she decides who will be traveling in the tardis and he agrees like a companion typically does to an invitation.

42 her and the doctor are again apart for most of the episode and once the doctor has saved Martha he is possessed for the rest of the time while Martha cools his temperature and ejects the fuel from the sun saving both the day and the doctors life. So again companion doctor reversal once the doctor has saved her from imminent death.

Human nature and the family of blood- do I need to go into it? The doctor literally turns into a human and leaves everything up to Martha so she is the doctor for the episode and is the only one using the tardis (we’ve never seen her touch the console this much).

Blink- my man isn’t processing his grief with rose and now is separated from his ship. I can only imagine how much he was struggling. Martha was keeping them afloat with her job in the shop.

Utopia and the sound of drums!!! You can see Martha this whole episode just process more and more how poorly she’s been treated by the doctor by the way he interacts with jack and the stories of rose. She moves the story around narratively with the watch which. From here to where he family is kidnapped in the next episode (and we get the iconic scene of her yelling at the doctor) she is transforming herself through her actions until when she finally uses the vortex manipulator (the first type of time travel she has used by herself) she becomes the doctor.

Last of the time lords Martha is fully acting in the doctor role walking the whole worlds by herself without a weapon spreading a message of home. Her message is the doctor but in that moment she is the doctor. She embodies everything he is while he is removed from having control in the story.

I think the sound of drums/last of the time lords is Martha’s version of dark water/death in heaven. Martha is a lot more emotionally healthy than Clara and also has a live she has dreams for on earth so she chooses to leave. Martha has to cope with the consequences of becoming the doctor so she becomes a unit soldier I think to cope with how she has changed fundamentally but it also nicely brings those two lives together for our successful Queen. Whereas Clara becomes the doctor and no longer has anything or any dreams connecting her to earth to she toxically spirals out until she dies and then becomes not human so we love our toxic queen too

So basically I like to call season 3 the season the doctor was numbing his grief with reckless decisions, straight up not existing, and he’s classic running from it with adventures bc they have a savior complex. He got away with falling apart this much for a whole season bc Martha is a queen and held shit together.

Clara becomes the Doctor but can we talk about how Martha is also the Doctor. Besides being an actual doctor, she also becomes a soldier and tries to justify it to herself. She went through hell and saved the earth and bore that weight alone, and was never thanked for it. In the Doctors Daughter she is forced to watch as her Hath "companion" sacrifices themself for her and dies horribly, and she has to leave them behind. Is this thing on

[suzukiblu]

. . . so like, no PROMISES for doing the whole month, buuuuut . . . day one of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh, should I? In all the spare space I’ve got in here?” Tim asks, still sounding wry. 

“Buy a bigger boat, babe, I don’t know what to tell you,” Bernard says reasonably. “How’re we gonna keep a kept boy without a bigger boat, huh? You want a big pet around, you gotta have a big space for him. Let him really stretch his legs, you know? Or spread ‘em, whichever.’ 

Kon buries another laugh in his arms and Tim rolls his eyes, smiling fondly. Jokes aside, they really are crammed in pretty tight on the bed–it is just not that big a bed to be fitting three people in–but Kon minds literally nothing about that. Not even a little bit does he mind that, in fact.

He likes it, more like. Likes being all up in someone else’s space even without anyone actually fucking each other or even making out or like–just, anything, he guesses. He doesn’t get to do that often enough, it always feels like. Everybody’s always–busy, or moving, or . . . 

He just wants to, like . . . get to do this kind of thing more often, he guesses. 

Doesn’t hurt that it’s Tim whose space he’s currently all up in, either. Like–he has definitely not gotten to be all up in Tim’s space too many times that weren’t directly related to one of them saving each other’s ass in a crisis situation. Or, like, occasionally being transportation to a crisis situation; that has also been a thing more than once. 

. . . actually, fuck, thinking too much about being Tim’s usual designated transportation or just being all shoved up in each other’s space while the world was trying to end while he’s gay is not something he’s gonna be able to be normal about, huh. 

Like . . . wow, yeah. Not even a little bit normal. 

Jesus. 

“Oh, I see, so this is just another excuse to try and get me to trade in my perfectly sound and perfectly outfitted boat,” Tim says, which sort of distracts Kon from his own personal Chernobyl: Horny Edition. Like, kind of, anyway. “Is there literally anything that we have not managed to do in this bed? Genuinely, please tell me what position you have in mind, I’m honestly curious.” 

“Well, what about letting your boy sleep at the foot of the bed?” Bernard asks even more reasonably, which actually just made Chernobyl: Horny Edition like, twelve billion times worse, probably. Just–Jesus, again. “You think you’ve got the real estate for that on this mattress? No you do not, because you’ve failed to plan ahead and you should be ashamed.” 

“Yeah, Rob, shouldn’t you have a Bat-contingency plan for that?” Kon teases past more laughter, and Tim sighs. 

“You know, I did worry if you’d get along with each other or not, but I think it’s worse that you do get along with each other,” he muses, picking a peach slice up off the plate in his lap and eyeing it assessingly, because Tim is literally incapable of not assessing things, apparently, boyfriend-delivered breakfast or otherwise. “Actually, no, it’s worse that you encourage each other.” 

“I’m a very encouraging person, man, what can I say?” Kon says, flashing him a sharp grin. Tim rolls his eyes again, but with that little fond smile again, and Kon feels warm and heady and a little bit desperate to get his mouth on his cock again or, like–get kissed again, maybe. 

It’s maybe a little stupid, how he can’t really tell the difference between those things. Like–which one he really wants, he means. But like, in his defense, he is still experiencing his own personal Chernobyl right now and he’s just doing his best with the resources he’s got available, okay? 

“Oh absolutely, yes, I’m always so encouraged in your presence,” Tim says wryly. Kon grins at him, then sticks his tongue out at him instead. Tim drops the peach slice on his tongue like a weirdo, and Kon represses another laugh and pulls it into his mouth. What, it tastes good. And it’s not any weirder than getting hand-fed a protein bar was, either way. 

Well–maybe still a little weird, but whatever. 

Tim picks up a piece of waffle–Bernard cut them up in quarters, Kon guesses–and holds that out to him, and that . . . Kon hesitates a bit over that, because . . . 

“Sorry,” Tim says. “Don’t want it to get cold.” 

“That’s, like–your plate, man,” Kon says, his face feeling a little hot as he flicks his eyes up from the offered waffle chunk to glance at Tim’s face, because for some ridiculous reason his brain’s gotten stuck on that over a waffle, even after not really thinking of it with just the peach. Though that seemed . . . less deliberate, maybe, so . . . 

“No it’s not,” Bernard replies matter-of-factly, shaking his head as he picks up a banana slice off his own plate and pops it into his mouth. “Tim’s plate has way fewer waffles on it and blueberries instead of peaches. Also oh my god, Tim, don’t feed your boy dry-ass waffle with nothing on it. There’s whipped cream and caramel sauce over here, you want any, Kon? Also butter, if you’re feeling basic. I won’t judge, sometimes the vibe is just butter.” 

Kon takes a long moment to process the fact that Bernard put the plate he made for him on Tim’s lap, and also that Bernard went to the effort to make his plate different, for like . . . whatever reason. 

“. . . um. Caramel, if that’s cool,” he answers, a little belated, and wondering if Tim, like–told Bernard he likes peaches, or . . . well, he’s pretty sure peaches and caramel sauce are not standard waffle toppings, or at least not standard in most people’s usual breakfast setups, so like . . . “Uh–thanks.” 

“Gotcha, man,” Bernard says easily, reaching over to the tray and coming back with, weirdly, like a little, like–carafe, or whatever? pitcher? like the kind of thing people put coffee creamer in, except just full of caramel instead–and passing it to Tim. 

Which . . . okay, low-key weird that Bernard felt the need to pour out the sauce bottle into a fancy little pitcher, but Kon isn’t gonna lie, he’s a little charmed by it. Like, it’s just a funny little quirk, but . . . 

“You’re so fucking cute, man,” he says, laughing again and then grinning at Bernard in amusement. “Like, A+ hosting, don’t get me wrong, totally killer hospitality, but I wasn’t gonna knock down Tim’s Yelp rating if the bottle was sticky or whatever.” 

“Huh?” Bernard asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression, then seems to realize something and clarifies–“Oh, no, Tim only has the shitty cheap syrup that makes a shell when you put it on ice cream or whatever, I wasn’t gonna put that on waffles, I just made my own.” 

“You made it?” Kon says in bemusement, a little startled by the idea. That’s like–a thing? “Like–what, from scratch?” 

“Yeah, Tim said you liked caramel but again, the only caramel he had on deck was shitty cheap stuff,” Bernard replies with a shrug as Tim pours some sauce onto–Kon’s plate, apparently–and swipes the waffle quarter he’s holding through it. “Personally I’m more the whipped cream type but like, caramel is way less annoying to make from scratch when you don’t have a stand mixer, which your bestie continues to refuse to invest in because of some nonsense about ‘limited counter space’. So like, normally he whips the cream, because it’s his fault I gotta do it by hand anyway and also, you know, he’s got all those sexy, cream-whipping vigilante muscles that I was pretending not to notice but was not above taking advantage of. But we didn’t want you to come up without somebody around, so today my arm is sore, fuck you, babe, buy at least a hand mixer already.” 

Kon . . . blinks, once or twice, and feels–weird, maybe, because that rattled-off chatter makes it sound like . . . like Bernard made that sauce, like–specifically for him? Like . . . just because of him? 

Did he?