#Gap Clock Tower

[banepenis]

This thing looks just ripe for a plane

[rabbitcruiser]

Doors, Gates and Windows (No. 76)

51 Astor Place, NYC

Astor Place Building, NYC

Astor Place Tower, NYC (two pics)

Cooper Union, NYC (three pics)

Gap, PA

Paoli Battlefield Site and Parade Grounds, PA (two pics)

[sacred-treasure]

𝘿𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧

𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢 𝗧𝗢𝗝𝗜 𝘅 𝗙𝗘𝗠!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

Summary: Toji comes home after a long shift to you, his sweet roommate, asleep on the couch. His innocent admiration turns into something darker as he gives into repressed desires

Warnings: dark content!!—dubcon, somnophilia (touching over clothes, reader orgasms while asleep), age gap (toji's in his 40s, reader's in her early 20s), pet names, smut, 18+, do not read if any of these are upsetting to you!!

Word Count: 2.75k

Author's Note: This is loosely based off of @holeforzenin's Roommate Toji series. That version of Roommate!Toji would not do something like this, but the idea of that dynamic had us both reeling and I absolutely had to write something about it!!

Toji was tired. No, exhausted.

He’s honestly not sure there’s a word in the dictionary that can truly sum up the total depletion of energy from his overworked muscles. Each work day is never just as short as the schedule says and with him working a blue collared job, there’s absolutely no way he gets to clock out unscathed.

Every night he comes home to a silent apartment, a cold bed, and dinner already packed up in two tupperware containers in the fridge. They have matching sticky notes attached to them; one says “dinner!” and the other says “for lunch!”, and if he’s honest, he finds the little smiley faces you draw beside the messages endearing. But he probably would never admit to it. Not to your face, at least.

He’s used to the hum of the microwave as he lets the scent of spices from your cooking fill the small space of the kitchen. Toji may not be good at expressing it but he’s truly quite thankful to have you around the apartment. It’s hard enough having a job that demands every waking moment from him—not to mention the stacks of billing statements sitting on the dining table—but having to plan meals after each night is truly something he doesn’t have time for.

But tonight, he has something better than a homemade meal waiting for him.

Toji unlocks the front door with one of the keys attached to the old carabiner hanging off his belt loop, the simple action feeling immensely laborious. Grabbing hold of the doorframe, he toes off his shoes one after the other and neatly sets them beside your pair of converse, the soles scuffed and worn with their age. When he finally raises his head, he’s met with your sleeping form draped across the couch.

Typically, you finish separating his meals after eating a portion yourself and spend the rest of the night in your room studying until your brain physically can’t cram any more information inside of it. He never asks for your attention, though he misses it dearly at night, and tends to cling onto the memories of your laughter filling the living room.

A sudden applause snaps him back to the present and he turns his head toward the sound. The television is still on, one of the old cartoons you mentioned you grew up watching plays softly in the background. He scoffs and shakes his head at some joke that falls flat before stepping with heavy feet further into the apartment until he’s towering over the couch where you lay.

The light from the screen bathes your face in a warm glow. He takes this moment to really commit your features to memory, although he doesn’t know the exact reasoning behind his actions. The scene from the show changes and the colors illuminating your face alter their hue. He thinks you look pretty like this, peaceful at last after all your running around between chores, classes, and work.

Toji doesn’t even think before reaching down and tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. Your nose crinkles from the tickle of his finger brushing across your cheek, but your eyes remain shut. A smile tugs at his lips as he finds the action kind of adorable.

His eyes begin to wander lower as he focuses on each one of your steady breaths. The rise and fall of your body is accentuated by the thin tank top that clings to your chest, the strap beginning to slip off your shoulder and exposing another inch to the line of your cleavage. He feels heat slowly begin to crawl up his neck and he immediately fixes his gaze on the wall above your head.

“Fuck, Fushiguro, you know better,” he scolds himself.

Has it been a while? Yes. Has he ever viewed you in that light before? Well, if he’s honest it has crossed his mind. He can’t exactly blame himself. All he’s had time for is work and barely getting enough rest before doing it all over again the next day. There hasn't been time to even think about getting into a relationship, much less having time to find someone for sex.

However, having a cute, young girl in the house certainly makes things interesting. He’s only had thoughts that involve you for a brief moment, and the second he realizes what he’s imagining, he forces himself to stop.

Though, there’s something about this scene that stirs in his stomach before settling below his belt. It’s a feeling he can’t name, but one that isn’t altogether unfamiliar. It’s something akin to lust, but there’s another emotion curled around it—guilt, or maybe shame. He knows the role he plays in your life and he knows damn well he shouldn’t even be considering something like this.

But today Toji is just too tired.

That indescribable feeling in the pit of his stomach returns but for once, he allows it to stay. His fingers reach for the remote to the television, sparing only one glance to press a soft button to mute the sound before placing it back on the table. 

You look so pretty like this: hair sprawled out across the throw pillow, lips parted slightly with silent snores, pretty legs draped along the length of the couch. He doesn’t know why, but even with all the immense tons of guilt, he can’t stop himself from sinking down on the cushions beside you.

He tells himself he’ll only touch for a second. That’s all—he just needs one second to feel your warmth. But once his hand finally touches you for himself, he wonders why the hell he hasn’t done it sooner.

Soft doesn’t even begin to scrape the surface of just how heavenly you feel. His calloused palms lightly trail over the length of your shin, fingers curling around your smooth skin before brushing his thumb over your knee. Each touch is soaked in affection in its own specific way. Toji’s emotions blend and create something new he’s never felt before.

He lets out a heavy sigh through his nose as he halts his movements altogether. Reasoning and desire fight within him, his head is screaming protests that are ignored as his body’s instincts win the internal battle.

As he shoves the remaining guilt aside, that small spark in his stomach roars to life.

Toji leans down and presses his scarred lips to the bend of your knee. The touch is featherlight and innocent in its own way. With the close proximity, he can smell the scent of your body wash layered underneath the sweet smell of the lotion you lather yourself with after each shower.

The contact of his warm skin is met with goosebumps and he watches with awe as they scatter along the expanse of your leg. A smirk tugs at his mouth when he sees just how sensitive you are, even while unconscious. His eyes trail along your thigh, watching as the bumps spread higher and higher before they disappear under the hem of your pajama shorts.

The thin matching set you’re wearing does nothing but aid in the sense of guilt he’s already drowning in. It reminds him of how vulnerable you look like this, but he tries to reason with himself that he’s been good up until now, right?

His rough fingertips glide over your thigh but come to a full stop when they’re engulfed in the warmth pooling from your core. He hasn’t felt anything so welcoming in months—he doesn’t remember the last time he felt another person’s presence, besides the little moments he’s spent with you. But sexually? He feels like a goddamn teenager all over again.

The twitch of his cock behind his jeans is undeniable and he’s gritting his teeth in frustration at just how easily this is getting to him. But still, he presses on, his thumb swiftly pulling the hole of your shorts to the side and exposing your pink panties.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself in the otherwise silent room. The tension is so thick he wonders if choking on the air would be enough to kill him or if his racing heart would give out first. His hand moves of its own accord, traveling down to the worn denim and cupping the growing bulge below his belt. It’s screaming for relief, for any kind of friction, and his palm does little to stop the continuous blood flowing to the area.

Toji hesitantly reaches for your clothed center, his fingers pressing gently to the supple skin between your thighs. The heat nearly makes him flinch and he swears he hasn’t felt something this soft in his entire life. You let out a quiet sound from his touch as you stir in your sleep. His eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights but you merely change the angle of your arm before drifting back off once more.

Toji swallows once before continuing, his eyes trained on the barely noticeable line along the center of your panties. His thumb reaches blindly to the gentle slope of your body and makes contact with your clit. He applies the slightest bit of pressure, smiling as he notices the way your leg twitches, unsure of whether to close or not.

Your head turns and your eyebrows pull together in pleasure at the slow circling of his thumb. On a particular hard press, your breath hitches before breaking off in a pitchy whine. He’s absolutely certain he’s never heard anything sound as sweet as that noise and he’s determined to hear more.

He runs his pointer finger along the center of your folds and watches in awe as the fabric darkens immediately from your slick. He feels his body react strongly to the sight and suddenly his own underwear are sticking to him after a rush of precum leaks from his swollen tip. His freehand curls around his cock and squeezes just underneath the head, refusing to loosen his grip.

The sensation of the damp fabric sticking to your most sensitive area has a shiver creeping up your spine and your skin pebbles once more. Toji’s lust-filled, green eyes follow them in their wake up until they dive under the thin material of your tank top. Your nipples harden in response, peeking the fabric as they stiffen.

This is the most restraint Toji has ever shown in his life, he’s absolutely sure of it.

Every nerve in his body is set alight and is screaming out to touch you more, touch you the way he truly wants. His mind floods with the most perverted images: your eyes shiny with unfallen tears, his name falling from your swollen lips, you seeking him out when you just can’t finish yourself off. Every scene piles on top of the one before until anything left of his conscience is fully submerged in the thought of you.

“T…Toji?” Your voice weakly calls out into the quiet space, shattering the silence. His eyes immediately lock onto yours, taking in the dazed expression on your face. You’re blinking sleep out of your eyes but still drowning in the unconscious fog you were just under.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Toji placates gently, neither of his hands even attempting to stop their motions.

“W-What are you doing?” The tremor in your voice is notable as your gaze casts downwards, watching his wrist moving between your thighs. You gasp at the feeling, suddenly aware of how alarmingly tight the coil inside your stomach already is. “Mmm, Toji, I don’t know if you should be—,” you attempt to warn him, but he cuts you off once more.

“Let me take care of you. Just like I always do, right?” His deep voice is different than you’ve ever heard before. It’s rougher now, something gravely laced into his tone that isn’t the usual fatigue that you’re used to hearing after his late night shifts.

“I take care of you, don’t I, sweetheart?” He presses further, awaiting an answer. You hesitantly nod your head before resting it back against the pillow you had been sleeping on, letting the sensations of his experienced hands roll over your tired body.

“Attagirl, there she is. I got you,” he mutters to himself as he sees your eyes beginning to flutter shut. He pulls his hand away from your clit and begins to rub the inside of your thigh soothingly. His touch makes the slight panic flea your mind, he can physically see the tension leave your body as you give into your unconsciousness lulling you under the waves once more.

“So good for me…” The whispered words fall on deaf ears but he smiles at your features falling back into the peaceful state again. His cock is pulsing faster than the rise and fall of your chest, aching to be freed from the old denim of his jeans. But he focuses all his attention on you instead.

He brings his calloused palm back between your legs to cup your covered pussy once more. This time, he tugs at the bow at the center of the waistband, watching with a stifled groan as the panties bunch up between your folds. The action only defines your body even further and he has to bite back the urge to tear the fabric entirely.

“You’re fuckin’ ruining me,” Toji grunts as he presses his thumb back to your clit. He moves quicker this time, determined to make you feel good. He applies more pressure on each circle around your sensitive spot and your body begins to reel from it all.

Your thighs shut around his hand, rocking up into his touch subconsciously. Small whines begin cascading from your mouth and it only spurs him on further.

Toji doesn’t slow his actions when he notices you coming for him. He merely watches as your back arches, hips chasing after your orgasm as breathy, broken sounds spill past your parted lips. Your stomach clenches, thighs tensing as your hand comes to weakly push his larger one away when the pleasure blurs into overstimulation.

“Tojiiiii.” Another weak whimper escapes your slumber as your leg faintly twitches with his slow circles. Pride soaks the smile that adorns his face and he can’t even help the whispered praise that leaves him.

“Good girl. Did so, so well,” his speaks softly, the words dripping with adoration. You begin to move again and his eyes follow to your fingers that softly curl around his palm. There’s a fondness in his chest as he watches you reach out to him, looking for his support even in your subconsciousness.

Any remaining energy is completely drained from your body after the orgasm he brought forth. He watches your body fall into a deeper sleep than before he even interrupted, your chest reverting to its slow rise and fall. He gives a light squeeze to your curled fingers before standing up to finally retreat to his room for the first time tonight.

“Get some rest, pretty,” he whispers against your forehead as he bends down. His lips press a gentle kiss to your temple as he cups the back of your head, the act completely innocent in nature.

When Toji finally sinks into the soft mattress of his bed, he’s drowning in the memories of what just occurred. His cock still aches for his attention, swollen tip flushed and shiny with precum. He frees himself from the confines of the denim, wincing when his hard length slaps up against his stomach. The same hand that brought on your orgasm wraps around his thick dick. It doesn’t take long until he’s spilling white, a choked back grunt stuck in his throat as he pictures your soaked panties.

The next morning, the both of you dance around each other with a thickness in the air. Toji’s unable to meet your eyes due to the knowledge of what he’s done.

“Did you sleep well?” You ask innocently from the kitchen counter, your back facing the man twice your age. Toji chokes on his coffee, setting the mug down all too fast while clutching his chest.

“Shit,” he curses as he catches his breath. “Y-yeah. Guess I did?” The statement twists highest at the end and comes across as more of a question. “Late night. ‘M beat. How about you, kid?”

“I slept okay, I think? Had a weird dream last night,” your voice grows quieter as the flashes of Toji’s face foggily return to your brain. “Felt so realistic, though…”

[eclipsaria]

Took You Long Enough

Summary // In which a workaholic CEO finds his calm in the form of his respected senior’s daughter.

Pairing:

CEO! Seungcheol x reader

Warnings:

Fluff, slow-burn, romance, engaged, age gap(10 years), mentioned of kids, married, food, cologne and watch brand names, sugar daddy! Seungcheol if you squint, lmk if i miss out any

Side characters:

SVT members

W/C:

12 671

Rating: [ 13+ SFW ]

Note:

@nerdycheol , you are the one that suggested the watch brand and Hermés cologne brand🤣 and you as a cheol's wife, i take anything you said🫡

Song:

Main Masterlist

Seventeen Masterlist

Taglist

Âme Sœur Masterlist

The office buzzed to life every morning by 8:00 a.m. A polished world of swift elevator dings, the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, and the faint scent of espresso lingering near the breakroom. Floors were lined with pristine glass partitions, and employees moved with a subtle urgency, well aware of the silent clock that ticked behind every deadline.

On the top floor, behind a sleek black door embossed with silver letters, was the corner office of Choi Seungcheol, the man who built the company from the ground up. He wasn’t just the CEO, he was the presence. Charismatic, sharp, and composed, Seungcheol was known for walking into a room and changing its air pressure with just a glance. Rumor had it that he could read a financial report faster than most people could skim a menu, and no one ever left a meeting with him without either a promotion, a plan, or a panic attack.

But beneath his tailored suits and impenetrable gaze was a man with a past no one dared to ask about, and a reputation he carried like armor.

Today, as sunlight spilled through the towering windows of his office, Seungcheol stood facing the city skyline, coffee in hand, unaware that the day ahead would shift everything he thought he had under control.

At just 30 years old, Choi Seungcheol had already climbed the summit most people only dreamed of. It was hard to believe he started as a low-level assistant at the age of 20. No connections, no shortcuts, just a relentless work ethic and a vision that burned behind his sharp eyes. He wasn’t born into wealth, nor did he inherit the company. Every step upward was carved with grit and sleepless nights.

Now serving his second year as CEO, there wasn’t a single person in the company who questioned his leadership. Titles didn't need to be old to command respect, not when every project under his lead launched with flawless execution, crushing expectations and setting new industry standards. His name echoed in boardrooms across the city as a young prodigy, the kind of leader who didn't just manage—but rewrote—the playbook.

What made him even more admired, or perhaps feared, was how calm he remained in the face of chaos. Seungcheol didn’t just make decisions; he made the right ones and fast. He listened more than he spoke, observed more than he intervened, and when he did speak, the room listened.

He turned back from the window now, placing his coffee on the desk as his assistant knocked twice on the door.

“Come in,” he said coolly, buttoning his suit jacket.

In a world where soulmates were real, love was less of a question and more of a certainty. The rule was simple. When you meet your soulmate, just one look into their eyes, and you’ll hear wedding bells. Not a metaphor—actual bells. Ringing in your ears like a celebration only you two could hear. After that, everything seemed to fall into place, like the universe giving you a neatly wrapped ending: soulmates meet, fall in love, and live happily ever after.

Well… everyone except Choi Seungcheol.

His friends, his closest circle, were either happily married, halfway through wedding plans, or sending him pictures of their toddlers with captions like “Uncle Cheol, when’s your turn?” The world was moving fast, and for someone like him, who always caught up quickly, this was the one race he couldn’t outrun.

He wasn’t single because he hated love. He just didn’t want to gamble with emotions. Exes and soulmates don’t mix well. What if he fell in love with someone who wasn’t the one? What if he broke someone’s heart only to meet his true soulmate later, and it all came crumbling down? So he stayed away from flings, from love, from anything that could mess with the balance of his life.

Still, it didn’t stop the slow crawl of anxiety. He wasn’t worried about getting married late, he was worried about his parents.

At 27, his mother had set him up on a blind date with someone’s daughter, he showed up out of respect, but came home early with a headache.

At 28, his father mailed out carefully written profiles of Seungcheol to other families with daughters, practically advertising him like some limited-edition luxury product.

By 29, they dropped all pretense and started pushing for an arranged marriage. “Just meet her, see if your eyes ring,” they said. He didn’t.

Now at 30, Seungcheol didn’t know what plan his parents were cooking up, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

But what could he do? Nothing. And so, as always, he chose the routine that never disappointed him: Wake up. Go to the office. Handle meetings. Review reports. Sign approvals. Go home. Sleep.

It was safe. Predictable and efficient.

It was just another day at work. The usual hum of morning emails and the faint buzz of distant phones filled the air, when Seungcheol’s secretary knocked once before entering, arms full with neatly stacked document files.

She placed them on his desk without a word at first, as he flipped through the last few pages of a report. But then, came a rare request.

“Mr. Shin from Jeonghwa Group has extended an invitation. It’s a masquerade party,” she said, tone light but respectful. “Held by his wife. They’re hoping for your attendance.”

The name made Seungcheol look up, pausing mid-page. “…Mr. Shin?”

She nodded. “Yes. He personally requested your presence.”

Choi Seungcheol blinked once, then leaned back in his chair. Mr. Shin wasn’t just anyone, he was a veteran in the business world, one of the few people Seungcheol looked up to when he first entered the corporate jungle at twenty. Sharp, poised, but known for his warm charisma, Mr. Shin had once told Seungcheol over lunch: “Success is important, but relationships will carry you further than numbers ever will.”

Unfortunately, Seungcheol never quite grasped the latter.

He was never a party type. In his mind, parties disrupted efficiency. Hours wasted in polite conversation, standing under chandeliers, sipping drinks he didn’t care for. He didn’t hate people, he just… preferred structure.

But this invitation wasn’t something he could brush off. Not when it came from Mr. Shin. Refusing could send the wrong message, and disappointing both Mr. Shin and his wife was out of the question.

A soft sigh escaped his lips.

“…Tell them I’ll attend,” he said finally, a faint crease forming between his brows. “Clear the schedule for that night. If there are any clashes, push them back. And set a time for shopping. Something formal. Masked.”

“Understood,” his secretary replied with a slight smile, already tapping notes into her tablet as she turned to leave.

The door clicked shut behind her, and then silence returned. Seungcheol sat there for a moment longer, staring blankly at the papers in front of him before removing his glasses and slowly pinching the bridge of his nose. A heavy sigh followed.

“A masquerade party, huh…” he muttered.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The night of the masquerade arrived with a velvet sky draped in soft stars, the city skyline glowing beneath it like scattered jewels. Seungcheol’s black car pulled up to the venue. An opulent estate on the outskirts of the city owned by the Shin family, known for hosting only the most exclusive circles.

From the very first step inside, the masquerade felt like stepping into another world.

The entrance hall was grand. High arched ceilings adorned with delicate gold filigree, with glittering chandeliers casting warm light across the polished marble floors. Elegant floral arrangements stood tall in glass vases, the soft scent of fresh orchids and lilies lingering in the air. Staff in crisp uniforms glided past with trays of champagne and wine, offering delicate glasses that sparkled like the guests themselves.

And the guests. Each one hidden behind ornate masks, dressed in tailored suits and flowing gowns, laughter muffled by polite conversation and the occasional clink of crystal. The entire ballroom shimmered with motion and elegance, the air alive with quiet prestige.

At the far end of the room, an orchestra played a soft, haunting melody. A waltz that wound through the evening like silk. Violins harmonized with cellos as couples swayed gently across the dance floor, their silhouettes graceful under golden lights. The music didn’t demand attention; it wove through the space, letting elegance speak for itself.

Seungcheol stood at the entrance for a moment longer, absorbing the scene. Dressed in a deep charcoal tuxedo, his mask was sleek, made of brushed silver, perfectly fitted and simple. Just like him.

He adjusted the cuffs of his suit with quiet precision and took a slow breath.

Seungcheol moved through the grand hall with quiet grace, the soft shuffle of his polished shoes drowned by the music and conversation. His eyes scanned the crowd until he spotted a familiar figure near the center of the ballroom. Mr. Shin, dressed in a regal navy suit, silver embroidery trimming the collar of his jacket. Standing beside him, equally elegant, was Mrs. Shin, her mask adorned with pearls that shimmered with every turn of her head.

With his posture poised and his mask adjusted, Seungcheol approached them and gave a respectful bow.

“Mr. Shin, Mrs. Shin,” he greeted formally, voice steady. “Thank you for the kind invitation.”

Mr. Shin turned, a pleased smile stretching under his mask. “Seungcheol! I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show. I’m glad you came.”

Mrs. Shin offered a soft nod, “You look dashing tonight, dear. As always.”

“I wouldn’t miss this, not when it comes from the both of you,” he said with a light smile, still formal in tone. “The venue is breathtaking.”

They shared a few pleasantries, light jokes exchanged beneath crystal chandeliers. Seungcheol tried his best to blend into the moment, smiling at the passing comments, laughing politely, sipping wine when handed a glass, but the stiffness in his shoulders never quite faded.

And then, as expected, his conversation naturally veered back to what he knew best.

“Actually, just before coming here, we finalized the restructuring proposal for the third branch’s distribution-”

He stopped himself, but the Shin couple only smiled knowingly.

Mrs. Shin tilted her head with a gentle chuckle, “Oh, darling. You can talk about work all you like if it helps you feel at home. No masks are needed for that.”

Her words, though playful, pierced the tension in him like a warm knife through ice. Seungcheol let out a soft exhale, barely realizing he had been holding his breath.

And so, he spoke. About the company. About numbers. About staff growth. About challenges and solutions.

And strangely enough, the conversation didn’t feel out of place. Mr. Shin offered insights, Mrs. Shin listened intently, nodding with that gentle, matronly glow she always carried. The air grew lighter around them, the laughter more genuine, the pressure in Seungcheol’s chest slowly easing.

Then, Mr. Shin placed a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder with a proud smile.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he said. “My daughter just returned home after her studies abroad. I think the two of you will get along.”

Seungcheol turned just in time to see her approach.

You wore a pale lavender gown, subtle and elegant, flowing like morning mist. Your mask was delicate, silver trimmed with lace, soft feathers curling at the edges. You moved with the grace of someone raised in soft-spoken confidence, eyes quietly scanning the room until they landed on him.

The moment your eyes met, everything fell silent, except for the sound of wedding bells. Clear and unmistakable. Ringing only in your ears, like the universe had struck a chord, and fate had written the first line of a new story.

Both stood still for a moment too long, unsure whether to speak or breathe. And in the corner of his eye, Seungcheol saw Mrs. Shin’s knowing smile.

The bells still echoed faintly in Seungcheol’s ears, even as the rest of the ballroom returned to its natural soundscape. Soft music, low chatter, the clinking of glasses.

But for Seungcheol, the world had slowed.

His soulmate. He had finally found you. He should have felt relief, even joy. This was the moment most people spent their lives yearning for. The ache he had carried silently for years, the lingering worry behind every family dinner and silent commute, had finally found an answer.

But fate, it seemed, wasn’t going to make it easy.

You are twenty. Young, bright-eyed, and still new to the world. Ten years younger. And worse, you are Mr. Shin’s daughter, the Mr. Shin he had admired for over a decade, the very man who shaped the path Seungcheol now walked. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel allowed.

This couldn’t be happening… could it?

Just as he was grounding himself, still locking eyes with the girl whose existence had just turned his world upside down, Mr. Shin’s voice cut in again, calm and casual.

He reached out, gently patting his daughter’s head as he looked at you with a father’s pride.

“I’ve been preparing for retirement,” he said, almost wistfully, “but before I can step back, I need to make sure she’s ready for what comes next.”

Seungcheol turned to him slowly, blinking.

“I need someone to teach her how to face the working world. Someone sharp, experienced… someone I trust more than anyone else in this industry.”

He turned fully to Seungcheol now, smile warm, eyes firm.

“So before I retire, Seungcheol… can I pass her to you? For mentorship, or practical training. Nothing prepares someone better than real experience.”

The room suddenly felt too warm.

Seungcheol’s grip on his champagne glass tightened slightly, his composed expression slipping just barely for a breath of a second.

Not only had he just discovered his soulmate, he was also being asked on the same night to personally guide you into the working world, into the very fire he had spent ten years learning to survive.

And you would be close every day. His soulmate. His senior’s daughter. His future trainee. His knees almost gave out, but he smiled faintly and nodded, because what else could he do?

“…Of course, sir,” he said, voice steady despite the quiet chaos behind it. “I’d be honored.”

But in his mind, there was only one thought: this is going to be a problem.

As if sensing the moment had grown too full, Mr. and Mrs. Shin politely excused themselves to greet other guests, leaving Seungcheol standing face-to-face with the person who had just unknowingly disrupted the stability he had clung to for years, you.

He watched you for a second longer, trying to find the right words, or any words at all.

You looked up at him too, unsure yet calm. Composed, despite the thunderous sound that only the two of you had heard. And then, gently, your voice slipped out from behind your mask.

“So… I guess we heard it too,” you said quietly, referring to the wedding bells.

Seungcheol let out a short breath, a dry chuckle escaping him. “Yeah. We did.”

A pause hung between you. Heavy, but not uncomfortable, more like the silence that comes when something profound has settled in the space.

“I’m Choi Seungcheol,” he said, dipping his head politely. “But I assume you already knew that.”

You gave a polite little curtsy, unable to suppress a small smile. “And I’m Shin Y/N.” You tilted your head a bit. That earned a faint, genuine smile from him.

The orchestra shifted to a softer tune, one that made the chandeliers shimmer with each drawn note. Around you, the world moved on—guests swayed on the dance floor, laughter floated in waves—but between you and Seungcheol, the air remained still. Electric.

“I didn’t expect this,” he admitted. “Tonight, or… you.”

You let out a small laugh. “You mean you didn’t expect your soulmate to be twenty years old?”

His eyes widened a little, surprised by your boldness, before he shook his head slowly with the ghost of amusement on his face. “Was I that obvious?”

“Just a little,” you teased. “But it’s alright. I didn’t expect my soulmate to be someone my parents literally worship either. So I think we’re even.”

He looked at you, really looked, and saw more than just his senior’s daughter. He saw someone with her own mind, her own spark. Not just someone being pushed into his world, but someone who could make space in it.

“If this gets overwhelming,” he said suddenly, voice a little softer, a little more real, “just say so. I won’t rush into anything. I know this is… a lot.”

You raised a brow, your gaze gentle. “Why do you sound like you’re the one overwhelmed?”

He paused, as if your words peeled away a layer of him.

“…Because I’ve spent years building a life I could control,” he said quietly.

You smiled behind your mask. “Then maybe I’m here to teach you how to let go. Just a little.”

That caught him off guard. A breath of silence passed… and then, he laughed, low and genuine, maybe for the first time all week.

“…I think you might be,” he murmured. And just like that, under the soft music, crystal chandeliers, and masks that hid just enough but revealed just as much. The world had quietly started to change for Choi Seungcheol.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The next day arrived with polished shoes, pressed suits, and a strangely quickened heartbeat that Seungcheol couldn’t quite explain, not until his office door was knocked on, sharp and polite.

His secretary peeked in with a gentle smile, then stepped aside. “Young Miss Shin has arrived, sir.” And then you stepped in behind her.

For a moment, just a moment, Choi Seungcheol forgot how to breathe.

At the masquerade, your mask had hidden part of your face, letting only your voice and eyes do the talking. But now, standing there in the light of his office, dressed professionally yet effortlessly graceful, you looked nothing short of a princess sent straight from a fairytale.

Your features were delicate, your posture refined, and your smile-

God, that smile.

You bowed deeply, a full 90-degree gesture of respect. “It’s an honor to work under you, Mr. Choi.”

That broke something in him, just for a second. He almost gulped, throat tightening as he tried to suppress the warmth crawling up his neck. His jaw clenched lightly, keeping his face composed as always, but his eyes… his eyes betrayed him for a heartbeat too long.

His soulmate was bowing to him like a subordinate, like he wasn’t losing his grip on the damn air in the room.

“Thank you,” he managed, his voice still firm but quieter than usual. “You may begin today.”

He cleared his throat and quickly looked away, standing up and adjusting his cufflinks just to buy time. “You may return to your tasks,” he told his secretary, who gave a small nod and closed the door behind her.

Now, it was just the two of you.

The air shifted again. Quiet, but not cold, just full.

You stepped forward softly, hands tucked behind your back, walking with a quiet elegance that echoed across the floor of his office. You stopped just short of his desk, leaned forward a little, and smiled.

“I wish for a happy time working with you, Mr. Choi.”

His heart skipped a full beat. He blinked once, then twice. He internally cursed himself for how fast his chest reacted, how your presence so effortlessly chipped away at the steel mask he had worn for years.

“…Don’t get too comfortable,” he muttered under his breath, turning slightly away as he pretended to check something on his desk.

He picked up a pen, but forgot what document it was for. Clearing his throat again, he motioned for you to sit on the chair in front of his desk.

“Take out a pen and a notebook,” he said briskly, avoiding your eyes. “If you want to be the next CEO of your father’s company, you’ll need to start by remembering a few things.”

Still smiling, you sat down and pulled out your notebook obediently.

“Rule number one,” he continued, finally looking at you again, but carefully now, like one wrong glance would unravel him. “No one cares about your title. Earn their respect with competence, not your last name.”

You nodded, scribbling it down.

“Rule two,” he said, watching the way your hair fell slightly as you wrote. “Always know more than you speak. And listen more than you think.”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze and softly replied, “That sounds exactly like you, Mr. Choi.”

His pen almost slipped from his hand. He coughed once more, this time trying to suppress the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Rule three,” he said sharply, eyes back on your notebook. “Stop charming your mentor. It’s distracting.”

You giggled, quiet, warm, and knowing.

He didn’t say it out loud, but deep down, he already knew that this was going to be a long, dangerous, beautiful mentorship.

The first few hours of your mentorship under Choi Seungcheol moved swiftly, on the surface.

He kept his instructions sharp, his tone professional, walking you through key departments, introducing the core team, and pointing out what made his company function like a well-oiled machine. To any outsider, it looked like another day of excellence from the CEO.

But the staff, sharp-eyed and always quietly observant, noticed something was off. It wasn’t something loud. There were no smiles stretched too far, no extravagant gestures. It was the way he stood a little too close.

The way his voice dropped just slightly whenever he spoke to you. The way he’d glance at you longer than he intended when you weren’t looking. And above all, the strange, rare gentleness in his expression when he watched you scribble notes or tilt your head in concentration.

To them, he was different today.

Seungcheol didn’t think so. He was just… doing his job. Guiding you, as Mr. Shin had asked, offering knowledge and sharing insight. So why did standing next to you feel like the only part of his day that wasn’t suffocating?

Every time your shoulder brushed his as you walked beside him, his chest felt lighter, like the years of pressure he’d buried beneath routine and deadlines were slowly peeling away.

He blamed it on the soulmate bond. That had to be it.

Still, it didn’t explain how you made silence feel so comforting. Even when neither of you were talking, your presence carried a calm aura—quiet but grounding.

And for someone like Seungcheol, a man who lived and breathed pressure, your calm was unfamiliar… and unsettling.

Not in a bad way, but in a foreign, “how-do-I-function-while-feeling-peace” kind of way.

He was in the middle of explaining their operations team structure when he noticed you looking up at him with that same unwavering gaze. Focused, soft, and admiring, as if he wasn’t just your mentor, but someone you deeply trusted already.

That was when he blanked out. He literally forgot the point he was going to make.

“-and that department handles… uh…” His brows furrowed, staring at the floor plan pinned on the wall like it had betrayed him. “The, um…”

You tilted your head. “The logistics team?”

He cleared his throat, nodding once. “Right. Logistics.”

His voice returned to its usual pace, but internally, panic echoed like an alarm.

Thankfully, a familiar knock on the glass broke the moment. His secretary peeked in again.

“Sir, your meeting is in fifteen minutes.”

A lifeline.

He straightened quickly. “Right. Thank you.”

He turned to you, voice brisk but not cold. “I’ll need to prepare. My secretary will guide you around the rest of the office.”

You nodded politely. “Of course, Mr. Choi.”

And just like that, he walked away, maybe a little too quickly, and stepped into his office, letting the door close behind him.

Only when the lock clicked into place did he exhale. Running a hand through his hair, he leaned against his desk for a second, glaring at nothing in particular before muttering under his breath: “…Wake up, Choi Seungcheol.”

He scowled at his own reflection in the black monitor, then sat down and opened the meeting files, anything to distract himself from the echo of your smile in his mind.

The meeting room was sleek and quiet, filled with department heads and key project managers all seated in neat rows around the long conference table. On the wall, the quarterly projections were being presented by one of the finance leads: charts, graphs, bullet points ticking forward one by one.

From the outside, Choi Seungcheol looked the same as always. Sharp suit, steady gaze, and the calm posture as he sat at the head of the table.

But his fingers betrayed him.

They tapped quietly against the table’s surface, then began twirling his pen between them. An unconscious habit. Over and over, the silver pen spun in rhythm, not once slipping, not once faltering. Precision, yes, but not focus.

His eyes stayed forward, directed at the slides, but his mind wasn’t in the room.

It was still in the hallway. Back where you walked beside him, soft footsteps echoing alongside his. It was stuck on the memory of the way you tilted your head, smiling gently. The way your voice sounded when you said, “I wish for a happy time working with you, Mr. Choi.”

His heartbeat picked up again.

He subtly loosened the top button of his collar with one hand, hoping no one noticed. A deep breath filled his lungs, but did nothing to cool the sudden warmth behind his ears.

Get a grip, Seungcheol.

One of the department leads directed a question toward him. He caught it, answered professionally and concisely. The pause before he spoke was half a second too long, but not enough to cause alarm.

His pen spun again, even faster now, almost mechanical.

Why was this happening?

He had handled crises, led multi-million-dollar negotiations, turned failing branches into flagship models. He had faced rooms full of foreign investors and government officials. But now, here he was, fidgeting with a pen like some college intern, thinking about a girl with calm eyes and a presence that made his carefully structured world feel… quiet.

Not empty, just quiet. And Seungcheol didn’t know if that was comforting—or terrifying.

Someone called out his name again, snapping him out of his trance.

“Yes?” he responded, blinking back into the present.

All eyes turned to him, waiting. He cleared his throat and nodded slowly. “I agree with the previous point. Let’s move forward with scenario B, but add a contingency plan for client-side delays. I’ll review the proposed schedule by Friday.”

Everyone nodded. The meeting continued.

But even as the presentation resumed, Seungcheol’s hand never stopped spinning the pen. And under the table, where no one could see, his leg bounced just slightly.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling, just barely.

The meeting ended without incident, at least from an outside perspective. Everyone filed out of the room with their notes and laptops, chatting quietly, discussing next steps. Seungcheol stayed seated for a few seconds longer than usual, pretending to review the printed schedule, though his eyes barely read the lines.

When he finally stood, he adjusted his jacket, gave his usual nod to his assistant, and made his way back to his office.

The walk down the hallway was normal. The familiar click of his shoes on polished floors. A few passing greetings from staff. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until he opened his office door. And you were there, seated on the leather guest chair in front of his desk, legs crossed, notebook in hand. You looked up immediately as the door opened, offering him that same disarming smile, the one that had singlehandedly ruined his focus for the past two hours.

“Oh,” you said softly, “welcome back, Mr. Choi.”

His steps faltered, but only for a second. He walked inside with his usual calm, closing the door behind him. “Did my secretary bring you back here?”

“She did,” you replied, standing up as a gesture of respect. “I didn’t want to wander around too long without you.”

His jaw tightened ever so slightly at that sentence.

Without me, huh?

He made his way around the desk, taking his seat while pretending not to notice the way your presence shifted the air in the room. He placed his notes down, but didn’t look at them.

You stood there quietly, notebook still in hand, waiting—always respectful, always composed. He hated how much he liked that.

“Did you find the rest of the office tour informative?” he asked, finally meeting your gaze.

You nodded, stepping forward again, calm and graceful. “Yes. Everyone was kind. But…”

You paused for a beat, then gave a teasing tilt of your head. “It’s a little boring without you.”

His pen rolled slightly across the desk from how fast his fingers froze.

You quickly added, “I meant that you explain things better. That’s all.”

“…Right,” he replied, clearing his throat, gaze darting briefly to the side before grounding himself again. “Let’s resume where we left off then. Sit down.”

You obeyed, smiling faintly as you opened your notebook again. Seungcheol forced himself to focus—not on you, not on your expression, not on the soft perfume that somehow lingered between the pages of your notes—but on his words. Yet, as he began speaking again about corporate hierarchy and strategic positioning, his voice betrayed him. It was softer now, gentler.

He wasn’t sure when that started happening. He only knew it never sounded like that before you arrived.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The sun dipped lower behind the skyline, casting a golden hue across the city buildings outside his office window. The office had begun to empty, lights switching off one by one as employees finished their tasks and bid each other goodnight.

Seungcheol was still at his desk, organizing a few final documents, when your voice cut through the stillness.

“Mr. Choi?” you asked, standing by the doorway, bag slung over your shoulder. “I think my driver forgot to come. I’ve been trying to call, but… nothing.”

He looked up immediately, brows tugging together. “Didn’t your father assign someone?”

You shook your head, looking only slightly bothered. “Both of my parents are working late today. The housekeeper said she can’t leave either. I can wait, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

Seungcheol stared at you for a moment longer before instinct kicked in. He grabbed his phone and stood up, dialing Mr. Shin with practiced fingers.

The call connected quickly. “Mr. Shin,” Seungcheol said with crisp professionalism. “This is Seungcheol. I wanted to ask if I should assign one of my drivers to send Y/N-”

“Why do you fetch my daughter back home?” Mr. Shin’s voice cut in, amused. “You know where my house is, and I’m sure my daughter trusts you.”

Seungcheol’s brain momentarily stalled.

“I- uh…” His voice cracked before he caught himself. “Yes, sir. Of course. If that’s what you prefer.”

“You’ll be fine,” Mr. Shin said cheerfully, “Good luck,” and then promptly hung up.

The silence in his office was sudden, sharp. Seungcheol lowered his phone slowly, blinking at it like it had betrayed him.

And then, your voice.

“So?” you asked, leaning slightly into the doorway now, your tone light, your smile just a touch too innocent to be unintentional. “What did he say?”

Seungcheol sighed, head tilting back briefly toward the ceiling. A soft groan escaped him, one of defeat rather than irritation. He looked at you, one brow slightly raised.

“Grab your things,” he muttered, already reaching for his coat. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you home.”

You let out a delighted hum, following close behind as he flicked off the lights and walked toward the elevator.

Inside, the air was calm and comfortable, yet Seungcheol’s heart thudded just a little faster. Not because of the weight of responsibility, but because you were beside him again, walking into the kind of silence that didn’t feel awkward.

This day was spiraling far faster than he’d planned… and he hadn’t even started the car yet.

The car ride started in silence.

You sat beside him in the passenger seat, hands resting neatly on your lap, your bag tucked by your feet. Seungcheol, behind the wheel, exhaled slowly as he adjusted the rearview mirror, not because it needed adjusting, but because he needed something to do other than look at you.

He wasn’t used to this.

His soulmate, sitting this close, beside him, inside his car. A space that had always been quiet, strictly for thinking or decompressing. Now? It felt like you were too close, and your presence was too warm. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, and then your voice came. Soft, teasing, and sweet.

“You don’t talk much when you’re driving, huh?”

His knuckles went white on the wheel. “I’m focused.”

You chuckled. “Focused on not crashing? Or focused on ignoring me?”

His jaw clenched.

God, your voice.

Light and lilting, floating straight into his ears, sitting there like it belonged. It curled around him slowly, teasing the edges of his control. He prayed to every higher being in the sky that the red light wouldn’t last long, or else he’d melt into the driver’s seat. And then you had to go and say it.

“By the way… I know I didn’t ask earlier, but is it okay that I sit here? In the front?”

He nearly choked on air. What was he supposed to say to that? No, please sit at the back so I don’t lose my mind?

“It’s fine,” he muttered under his breath, eyes locked firmly on the road ahead. “You’re my passenger. Of course you sit there.”

But you weren’t just his passenger, you were his soulmate, and you were looking at him like you could see every thought written on his skin.

He was barely holding it together. His grip on the steering wheel never eased. His heart was pounding in a very unsafe rhythm, and he had no idea what expression you were wearing because he didn’t dare glance your way.

Not until you touched him.

It was gentle, a brush of your fingers over his knuckles, maybe meant to comfort him. But the warmth that surged through his entire arm?

The way your touch somehow seeped into his skin and calmed every frantic part of him?

Too much, his heart skipped a beat, and that was when he almost crashed.

“-Shit,” he hissed as the car veered just slightly toward another lane. Someone honked loudly. Seungcheol reacted fast, jerking the steering wheel just enough to swerve back, crossing briefly into an open lane before easing to the side of the road.

He came to a slow, shaky stop. Only then did he realize, he’d been holding his breath. The exhale that left him was heavy, his hands still frozen on the steering wheel. His eyes wide, jaw clenched, adrenaline coursing through him, and beside him, you were giggling. Not just giggling, you were laughing.

He turned his head slowly, lifting one eyebrow in disbelief.

Your laughter only got louder, trying, but failing, to look apologetic as your shoulders shook.

“Y-You almost-” you hiccuped in the middle of your laugh, “-crashed because I touched your hand? Really?”

He should have been mad, or embarrassed. But instead… he found himself smiling, leaning back against his seat as the tension slowly bled out of him.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered, half amused, half exasperated. “Too dangerous.”

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, still breathless. “Sorry! I really didn’t think it’d throw you off that much.”

He clicked his tongue, finally letting out a small laugh of his own. “Don’t touch me when I’m driving, or I might not just almost crash next time.”

You placed a hand over your chest, playfully solemn. “Got it. Hands off the CEO while he’s behind the wheel.”

With a final, lingering look, and a sigh that carried a secret smile, he started the engine again. This time, the drive was calmer, still quiet. But the silence now? Laced with warmth.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The next day, Choi Seungcheol arrived at the office ten minutes earlier than usual. Hair styled neatly, tie perfectly knotted, suit crisp. A plan already mapped in his head.

Today, he told himself, he would not lose focus, he would be composed and professional. Distant, even.

He was a CEO, not some college boy crushing on his lab partner.

And then you walked in. Calm as ever, radiating soft energy like it was stitched into your aura. You greeted everyone with a polite bow, a warm smile that reached your eyes, and when your gaze met his across the hallway, you smiled wider.

He blinked once.

Not today, he reminded himself, adjusting the cuffs of his blazer. Stay sharp, Choi Seungcheol.

You followed behind him into his office, as per usual. You placed your notebook on the desk neatly, your voice as honeyed as it was yesterday. “Good morning, Mr. Choi.”

His heartbeat betrayed him again, but he forced a nod.

“Morning. Let’s begin the schedule,” he said, already opening his laptop to avoid your eyes.

But you weren’t done. You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing with playful curiosity. “You slept well after your near-death experience yesterday?”

He stiffened.

You were teasing him, again.

His jaw clenched, and he sighed through his nose. “It wasn’t near-death.”

“It was slightly near,” you said with a soft giggle. “You looked like you were about to write your will in that parking lane.”

He closed his laptop slowly, eyes finally meeting yours. “Are you done?”

You grinned. “Maybe.”

He clicked his pen once, and twice. Trying to stay unbothered and ignore the way your laughter from the day before still echoed in his ears like a favorite song.

“Right,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “Let’s move on to today’s shadowing.”

But you weren’t going to let him off that easily. You had plans. You stayed close, just close enough to keep him aware of your presence, but never inappropriate. You asked thoughtful questions, tilted your head as you listened, eyes always fixed on him with that same soft admiration.

Your voice? Still sweet.

Your tone? Still respectful, but never flat.

He was drowning quietly. And the worst part? He knew you were doing it on purpose.

He tried keeping distance. Told you to observe from the corner during a department discussion. You obeyed, then proceeded to thank him afterward, calling his approach “insightful and clean-cut.”

He told you to grab coffee for a break, hoping you’d step away. You returned ten minutes later with a second cup for him. His favorite, somehow.

He froze when you handed it to him. “How did you know this is what I drink?”

You tilted your head again, the faintest smile playing on your lips. “You mentioned it once. Thought I’d remember.”

He had no words, just sipped silently, while the heat of the coffee failed to cover the warmth spreading in his chest.

By lunch, he was cornered—emotionally, mentally, completely. And then came the final blow.

You peeked into his office again after a quick team session, hands behind your back like a child with a secret. “I finished organizing the files from the budget review. Do you want me to bring them now, Mr. Choi?”

He nodded. “Yes, that’ll do.”

You stepped inside, but instead of placing the files on his desk, you walked closer, slower, and set them gently right beside him, leaning just a bit forward. Then, you whispered, voice like silk, “You're doing great, you know.”

He turned his head so fast it startled even himself.

You stepped back immediately, that same sweet expression never leaving your face. “Just thought someone should tell you.”

He stared at you, absolutely blindsided.

You smiled again. “I’ll get back to my desk now.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, like you hadn’t just sent his heart sprinting through his ribcage.

He leaned back in his chair slowly, dragging a hand over his face, muttering under his breath: “…I’m doomed.”

Per Mr. Shin’s earlier request, Seungcheol knew that as part of your mentorship, you needed to start observing internal meetings, especially the ones that mattered. And this one, definitely mattered.

The conference room was filled with tension the moment it began. You sat beside Seungcheol, with his secretary just one seat away. The opposing company’s team stood at the other end of the long, glass table—well-dressed, well-prepared, and, unfortunately, woefully out of touch.

At first, the presentation was tolerable. Numbers were clean, projections stable, but as soon as they reached the slide titled Strategic Timeline for Implementation, everything changed.

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed.

The speaker on the opposing side continued confidently, explaining outdated timelines and collaborations with partners Seungcheol had long since flagged as liabilities.

He raised a hand, slowly, but firmly.

“Hold it,” he said.

The speaker paused. Seungcheol gestured toward the screen. “This segment. You need to revise this strategy. We’ve already seen instability in those markets. Collaborating there puts the project at risk.”

The man across the table gave a tight smile. “We understand your concern, Mr. Choi, but altering the current timeline may damage our relationship with the local representatives. A shift might send the wrong message.”

Seungcheol’s expression hardened.

“I said it needs to change.”

The tension escalated. His voice was still level, but underneath it was a warning. You could feel the air grow heavier around the table. The other attendees exchanged subtle glances. His secretary lowered her gaze.

You sat there, watching him. His knuckles were turning white, hand clenched against the table. His shoulders stiff, jaw set, clearly holding back the frustration simmering inside.

Should you do something? You hesitated. You’d never seen him this serious before. This cold. It was a side of him you hadn’t met: CEO Choi in full form. Intimidating, sharp, commanding.

But something in you… moved.

Even if he’s your boss. Even if you’re scared. You didn’t want him to be swallowed by the storm he was holding back.

So, gently—barely noticeable to anyone else—you reached out beneath the table, and touched his knuckles.

The tension left his hand almost instantly. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look at you, but he felt it, and it grounded him.

His eyes flicked back to the presenter. His shoulders lowered slightly. And then—calm, steady, dangerous—he spoke again.

“I said the cons of not changing. If you can’t change,” he began, voice slow and clear, “I can already see your company failing, and dragging mine down with it.”

The room froze.

“So I suggest you change it,” he continued, folding his hands neatly in front of him, “or I’ll stop collaborating with you altogether.”

He leaned forward just slightly, voice dropping a notch.

“It’s not a question. It’s a statement.”

Dead silence followed.

The opposing speaker faltered, swallowed hard, and eventually nodded. “Understood… We’ll revise it.”

Seungcheol nodded once, satisfied. “Good.”

The rest of the meeting passed with no further resistance. Everyone suddenly became a lot more agreeable. When it ended, people stood slowly, gathering their notes and trying to pretend they hadn’t just witnessed the CEO version of a guillotine.

You, meanwhile, were still seated, glancing at him quietly.

As soon as the door shut behind the last guest, Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath. Not loud, but deep. Then he finally looked at you. Not cold, not intimidating, just… aware.

“Thanks,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “For what?”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just offered a small, dry smile. “For keeping me from flipping the table.”

You giggled softly. “Glad I could stop a potential lawsuit.”

He laughed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re sneaky, you know that?”

You tilted your head. “Me? I just touched your hand.”

“Exactly,” he murmured, eyeing you. “That’s the problem.”

The heavy oak doors to the meeting room closed with a muted click, sealing away the tension that had filled the space just moments ago. The silence that followed was a welcome relief, wrapping around the room like a comforting blanket.

Seungcheol remained seated at the head of the table, shoulders finally relaxed, jaw no longer set, but he didn’t move, not yet.

He glanced toward you, and then his gaze dropped to your hands.

They were resting gently in your lap, fingers slightly curled, relaxed. The same hands that had grounded him just minutes earlier with nothing more than a simple touch.

His eyes lingered there longer than he should have and you noticed.

A soft giggle slipped past your lips, making his eyes flicker up to your face in mild panic, but you weren’t teasing. Your smile was warm, as if you already understood what he was thinking without needing him to say it aloud.

You shift your seat closer to his, and without asking, without hesitation, you reached out and gently cupped his hands, both of them.

Your palms were warm. Your grip wasn’t delicate, it was steady and secure, like you weren’t just touching him, you were anchoring him.

He stiffened at first, not used to being handled like that. But when he looked up and met your eyes, something cracked inside him. Something quiet.

You smiled at him again, sweet and sure, and then said with the calmest voice he’d ever heard: “Hold onto mine if you want. I’m always here beside you.”

The words weren’t loud, they weren’t dramatic, but God, did they hit hard. His breath caught somewhere in his throat, his fingers, usually firm and commanding, hesitated, and then slowly, tentatively, curled around yours.

The pressure in his chest eased, the sharp edge of his thoughts dulled, and in its place was only your warmth, quietly settling in his bloodstream, pushing out the last remnants of the anger and disappointment that had clouded him just minutes ago.

It felt dangerous and addictive, but more than anything, it felt right.

He said nothing, still lost in your gaze.

And you? You didn’t ask for anything in return, you simply stood there, smiling as if you had all the time in the world to wait for him to breathe again.

And finally, he did.

“…You’re trouble,” he whispered, lips barely moving.

You laughed, soft and silvery. “You’ve said that before.”

He shook his head slightly. ���I meant it even more now.”

But he didn’t let go, not yet.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The day had finally drawn to a close. The last of the lights at the office flickered off, and staff began to disappear one by one. Choi Seungcheol stepped out of the elevator, jacket draped over his arm, briefcase in hand, ready to head home.

That was until his secretary caught him in the lobby.

“Mr. Choi,” she said with a small nod toward you, waiting quietly near the front entrance. “Ms. Y/N doesn’t have a ride.”

He blinked once.

Again?

His eyes drifted toward you. You were scrolling on your phone, humming lightly under your breath, completely unbothered. Just like yesterday.

Suspicious.

You looked up at him at just the right moment, smiling, and all his suspicion melted into a sigh.

“...She’s doing this on purpose,” he mumbled to himself, but louder than he meant to. Still, he nodded toward the car. “Let’s go.”

You fell into step beside him, cheerful and bright even in the evening glow. Once inside the car, you didn’t even hesitate, you walked straight to the passenger seat and slid in smoothly, as if it were your assigned spot.

Seungcheol sat in the driver’s seat, started the engine, and began to drive.

Silence filled the space again, peaceful, but electric in its own way.

He kept his eyes forward, focused, or trying to be. Then your voice—soft, laced with mischief—cut into the quiet.

“Do you want to get late supper?”

The car didn’t swerve this time, but Seungcheol’s grip on the wheel definitely stiffened. He glanced at you briefly.

Late supper? That was not in the schedule.

His routine was sacred. Home, shower, towel-dry hair for two minutes exactly, collapse onto bed, wake up, work, and repeat.

He did not do it spontaneously yet here you were, blinking at him innocently.

At the next red light, he turned his head fully to look at you.

“Late supper?” he repeated, like the phrase was foreign.

You nodded. “I know there are some places still open for people like me.”

People like you? What did that mean? Were you just… casual about life like that? Wandering the streets at midnight, hunting for warm broth and rice with no plan whatsoever?

That was chaos, and dangerous… but oddly tempting. And while his mind absolutely panicked over the idea of shifting his routine by even an inch, his heart was already halfway to the restaurant.

He stared at you. You stared back, innocently and unassuming, completely unaware of the inner breakdown he was having. Or… maybe fully aware.

He sighed heavily, eyes closing for a second. “Key in the address.”

You beamed, tapping in the location into his GPS. He drove through the green light with a defeated grunt. He glanced sideways, catching the teasing glint in your eyes. and for once in his life, he didn’t hate the idea of change.

The city lights shimmered against the night sky, and neon signs flickered above street corners, glowing softly like stars fallen to the ground. The GPS guided Seungcheol through a few narrow turns before slowing to a stop beside a quiet cluster of food stalls tucked between two buildings.

The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, fried batter, and warm soup broth.

It wasn’t flashy or pristine, it wasn’t anything remotely close to what CEO Choi Seungcheol was used to.

And yet… he was here.

You stepped out of the car with a bright grin, your shoes softly clicking on the pavement. You turned back to face him as he closed the car door slowly, taking in the unfamiliar scene like a foreign landscape.

“First time?” you asked, eyes twinkling under the streetlight.

“…Yeah,” he admitted, adjusting his sleeves. “Very first.”

You giggled, hugging your arms to yourself. “Same. But I wanted to explore, and I figured... food like this probably tastes better when you’re not worried about etiquette.”

He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “That’s what everyone says before they get food poisoning.”

You shot him a mock glare. “You’re such a corporate man.”

“And you’re reckless,” he muttered, but followed you anyway.

You led him to one of the stalls with a steaming pot of tteokbokki, skewers glistening beside it. The ahjumma running the stall gave you a kind smile and gestured for you to sit.

The two of you took seats on worn plastic stools under a flickering lightbulb, the table in front of you scratched with time, marked with memories. And somehow, to Seungcheol, it felt weirdly peaceful.

You handed him a pair of chopsticks and smiled. “Let’s try not to act like we just left a board meeting.”

Seungcheol stared down at the food. No plated silverware, no polished wine glasses, just bubbling spicy sauce and steam against the cool air.

It was chaotic and… warm.

He picked up a piece of rice cake, blew on it once, then tasted it. His eyebrows rose.

“...That’s not bad.”

You laughed. “Not bad? That’s it? That’s your review?”

He nodded, eyes focused on the next bite. “Spicy. A little sweet. Soft texture. Good balance.”

“God,” you groaned, “you’re reviewing it like a Michelin judge.”

“You invited a CEO. What did you expect?”

You laughed again, and the sound danced through the night air, making his chest feel far lighter than it had all day.

As you both ate, conversation flowed more freely. You talked about small things: food preferences, random bucket list items, silly high school moments. Seungcheol found himself leaning forward more, laughing softly, even forgetting to check the time.

He didn’t even realize how relaxed he looked. Tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, chopsticks clumsily trying to balance a fish cake skewer.

At one point, you handed him a tissue as he dabbed the edge of his mouth, cheeks slightly red from the heat of the spice.

“Next time,” you said between bites, “we should try grilled skewers by the river. I heard they open till 3AM.”

He stared at you.

Next time?

A part of him panicked again, knowing this was starting to become a habit. But the other part? The one quietly folding inside his chest, heartbeat slow and warm? That part didn’t mind at all.

After the last bite was eaten and the food stall cleared, you both stood up from your stools, stomachs full and spirits even fuller. You reached into your bag for your wallet, already fishing out a few bills to pay, but before you could even lift your hand to the stall owner, Seungcheol moved faster. With practiced ease, he gently pushed your hand aside—not harshly, but firm enough to make you blink in surprise—and handed over the exact cash to the ahjumma behind the stall.

He didn’t even look at you as he accepted the change with a polite nod.

You, on the other hand, were left blinking in quiet disbelief.

No words were exchanged in that moment.

The two of you returned to the car under the soft night sky, sliding into your seats once again. The car’s interior greeted you with its usual scent, clean leather and something that faintly smelled like cedarwood and coffee. As the engine rumbled to life, you turned your head toward him, curious.

“How did you have cash money in you?”

He glanced sideways, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the air conditioning. His lips curled into a lazy smile.

“I’m not always a card guy, okay?”

You let out a playful scoff. “Right. A card and cash money guy who doesn’t know how to relax.”

That made him laugh this time, a sound that was deep and rich and a little too attractive for your heart to handle. But it didn’t stop there.

He turned to say something else, only to realize you hadn’t buckled in yet. His eyes lowered to the strap by your side, then back at you.

“Seatbelt,” he muttered softly, but instead of waiting for you to fix it, he leaned in.

You froze.

The air felt thinner suddenly.

Seungcheol reached across you, one arm brushing past your shoulder, fingers catching the seatbelt smoothly as he clicked it into place. His scent surrounded you, something expensive and warm. He didn’t notice how close he was. He didn’t see the way your breath hitched, or how your lashes fluttered like they were trying to compose themselves.

To him, it was just another responsible act.

To you? It was too close. Too sudden and overwhelming.

He leaned back into his seat like nothing happened, shot you a relaxed smile as his hand returned to the wheel.

“Ready to head back?” he asked, as if your heart wasn’t thundering like a drum in your ears.

You stared at him for a moment longer, lips parting, unsure if you should thank him or scream internally. But eventually, you just gave a small nod, tucking your hands on your lap.

“Yeah…” you said quietly. “Ready.”

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The morning sun seeped gently through the sheer curtains of Seungcheol’s penthouse, casting warm light across his pristine walk-in closet. Rows of crisp shirts, tailored blazers, perfectly ironed trousers, and a curated collection of designer watches lined the walls like an exhibition.

He stood in front of the full-length mirror, a clean white shirt buttoned to the collar, his charcoal grey blazer slung loosely over one arm. His hair was still slightly damp, falling in soft waves over his forehead.

And yet, he frowned.

Something was… off.

His hands moved on their own, slipping off the blazer and replacing it with a navy one. He buttoned the cuffs, stared into the mirror and tilted his head.

No, too stiff.

He tried again. Swapped the navy for a muted sand-colored jacket, loosened the collar slightly, and he looked at himself.

Too soft.

A sigh escaped his lips. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

There was no event today, no company gala, no board of directors flying in from overseas. It was just a regular day at work. But then again… you would be there.

That alone was enough to make his entire closet suddenly feel insufficient.

He wasn’t even sure when it started, this strange habit of wanting to look just a little better each morning, starting from today. All he knew was that your eyes, so bright and attentive, always lingered a little longer than necessary. And the way you smiled at him, as if he was someone worth admiring…

He wanted to live up to that look.

He tried on three different watches before settling on a Piaget brand Polo Date watch. Switched out his usual thin-framed glasses for a bolder pair. Dabbed on a Creed brand cologne. Then he stood back, observing himself fully.

Blazer sharp, tie slightly loosened, hair perfectly imperfect, and a hint of confidence in his smirk, just enough to keep him grounded. Still, he chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

“Choi Seungcheol...”

But he didn’t change.

With one last glance in the mirror and a small breath to steady the fluttering inside his chest, he grabbed his keys and headed out.

The automatic doors of the building slid open with a soft whoosh, letting in a gentle gust of morning air. Seungcheol stepped into the familiar lobby, polished floors reflecting the low sunlight spilling through the glass walls. The day had just begun. Staff were slowly trickling in, exchanging greetings and organizing the day’s start.

And then he saw you, standing near the entrance, chatting lightly with the front desk assistant, smiling just enough to make time slow down.

You looked simple—fresh-faced, your hair styled neatly, blouse tucked into a modest skirt—but to Seungcheol, you were breathtaking.

Maybe it was the light hitting you just right, or the soft sound of your laugh, or maybe, it was just you being you. Whatever it was, he was gone the moment your eyes lifted to meet his.

You turned fully toward him, a little surprise in your gaze, followed quickly by something warmer, something curious as your eyes slowly drifted from his face to… his clothes.

You blinked once, and then twice before your lips curled up knowingly.

“Oh?” you said with an arch of your brow, arms crossing lightly over your chest. “New look today, Mr. Choi?”

He tried to act unaffected, adjusting the strap of his watch as if it wasn’t planned, as if he hadn’t spent twenty minutes debating between jackets this morning.

“I just picked whatever was clean,” he said flatly.

You giggled softly, stepping closer, eyes never leaving his figure.

“Well, whatever was clean looks really, really good today.”

He froze, not obviously, but just enough for his breath to catch for half a second.

You looked back up at his face, tilting your head, clearly amused at how his ears turned ever so slightly pink.

“Are you blushing?”

“I’m not,” he deadpanned.

“You are.”

“Y/N,” he warned lightly, though the corners of his lips gave away the smile threatening to break free.

You stepped beside him, walking toward the elevator as he followed. “You know,” you said, glancing at him sideways, “if dressing up makes you this charming in the morning, I might start asking you to do it more often.”

He scoffed gently, pressing the elevator button. “Don’t get used to it.”

“But you did it for me, didn’t you?” you teased, voice low and sweet.

The elevator dinged, and he walked in without responding. You followed closely behind, the space inside suddenly smaller than you remembered. He stood beside you, hands in his pockets, looking straight ahead. You looked up at him with a soft smile. You already knew the answer. And when he caught your reflection in the elevator door, still staring at him with that quiet affection, you saw it: that small smile, breaking through.

The morning had passed quietly. Well, as quiet as it could be when your mentor happened to be the CEO and also your soulmate.

You sat at your desk just outside Seungcheol’s office, sorting through case studies he had handed you earlier. You were almost done highlighting key points when your phone buzzed softly beside your notebook.

It was a message from your mother.

《Mom: Your father and I were wondering if Seungcheol is free for lunch today. Just something casual. We’d love to see the two of you together. I made a reservation already, just in case.》

Your eyes widened slightly at the abruptness. You sighed softly. Of course your mom didn’t wait for confirmation before booking a spot. After re-reading it twice, you got up from your desk, lightly knocking on Seungcheol’s office door before pushing it open.

He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his blazer draped over his chair, sleeves rolled up as he reviewed a report. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of your knock.

“Yes?”

You stepped in, holding up your phone. “My parents messaged. They want to have lunch with you today. Apparently they already made a reservation.”

He turned fully to face you, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Today?”

You nodded, showing him the text.

He didn’t react much on the surface, but you could tell he wasn’t the type who took surprises well. Still, his expression remained composed, only betraying a flicker of hesitation before he walked back to his desk and pressed a button on his intercom.

“Cancel the team check-in for 1PM. And block a lunch schedule under the Shin family.”

“Understood,” his secretary replied promptly.

He turned to you, expression unreadable but his tone even.

“I assume they picked a restaurant already?”

You nodded. “They did. I’ll send you the location.”

He gave a slow blink, then looked down at the stack of work on his desk, clearly adjusting his internal clock again.

You smiled faintly. “You don’t have to look so serious. It’s not a shareholders meeting.”

He gave a short sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve met your parents, right? Do they seem like the type to keep things ‘casual’?”

You laughed. “Touché.”

He watched you quietly for a moment, eyes softening. “Are you nervous?”

You paused. “…Maybe a little.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re… you,” you said honestly. “And I know how much they respect you, likewise to you.”

He held your gaze a beat longer, before his lips curved, just slightly. “You make it sound like I’m meeting them for the first time.” then he cleared his throat and reached for his watch.

“I’ll pick you up from your desk at twelve-thirty.”

You nodded, turning to leave, but not before tossing him a cheeky smile over your shoulder.

“You better dress handsomely again, Mr. Choi.”

The only reply you got was the sound of a pen clicking behind you, and a quiet, amused exhale.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The restaurant was elegantly quiet, the kind of place where even the clink of silverware was softened by velvet-covered walls and subtle classical music. The hostess led you and Seungcheol to a private room, where your parents were already seated. Your mother in her pearls, your father sharp in a navy suit, as dignified as ever.

“Seungcheol,” your father greeted first, standing to shake his hand. Seungcheol gave a slight bow, professional but respectful.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr Shin.”

“Likewise. Please, sit.”

You quietly slipped into the seat beside Seungcheol, across from your parents, your hands folded politely on your lap.

The first few minutes were expected. Business as usual. Your father inquired about company expansion, potential collaborations, the trajectory of your training under Seungcheol’s wing. You listened attentively, occasionally stealing glances at your mentor, who answered every question with calm poise and clean, articulate responses.

It was going perfectly. Then the food arrived, and with it, your mother’s sudden ambush.

“So,” she said lightly, reaching for her soup spoon. “How is my daughter in your company?”

Seungcheol dabbed his lips with a napkin before answering.

“She’s attentive. Observant. Quick to adapt. Not many would have the initiative she’s shown in just a few days.”

You blinked, warmth blooming in your chest. The compliment made you sit just a little straighter. But your mother wasn't finished.

“And how is she…” she said, stirring her soup slowly, “…as your soulmate?”

The spoon Seungcheol had just brought to his mouth halted halfway. Then-

Choke.

Not a polite cough or a dignified clear of the throat, no. A full-on choke. You nearly dropped your own spoon as you rushed to grab his glass of water and held it out to him with both hands. He took it immediately, eyes watering as he tried to recover, sipping fast, gulping once, then twice.

“M-Mom!” you cried, cheeks flushing. “Seriously?!”

Across the table, your mother wore the most innocent smile imaginable. “What? I’m just curious.”

Your father turned to her slowly, eyebrows raised. “Soulmates?”

Your mother nodded, sipping calmly from her tea. “I noticed at the masquerade party. They were staring at each other for far too long. I had a feeling something happened. So I made a few… connections.”

You and Seungcheol froze.

Her eyes flicked between the two of you. Him still trying to swallow down the last of his panic, and you patting his back while staring wide-eyed at her like she’d just exposed your deepest secret.

Then she tilted her head. “Am I wrong?”

Silence.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You were too stunned to deny it. Beside you, Seungcheol finally lowered the glass, setting it down slowly on the table.

But he didn’t look up. Not at your mother, and especially not at your father.

His fingers curled slightly in his lap.

You could see the gears in his head… what would they think? A man ten years their daughter, their trusted work partner… now tied to her by something unbreakable, fated.

He was terrified of your father’s judgment, terrified of how this would change everything.

You saw it all in the way his shoulders tensed, and how his eyes remained fixed on the tablecloth. For a moment, the air was still. Then your father set down his spoon with a soft clink and leaned back in his seat.

“…Choi Seungcheol,” he said.

Seungcheol immediately straightened in his chair, gaze still lowered. “Yes, sir.”

Your father’s voice was unreadable. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Seungcheol hesitated. “…Because I didn’t want to risk complicating anything. With your daughter… or with you.”

Your mother looked between the two men, eyes narrowing slightly. You bit your bottom lip, and your father was quiet again. Then, after a moment that stretched painfully long, he spoke.

“…You’re an honorable man, Seungcheol.” Both you and Seungcheol blinked. Your father continued. “I’ve known that since the first time you sat across from me in a boardroom. That hasn’t changed. But now…” He looked directly at Seungcheol. “That honor means something more. It means you’ll protect her.”

Seungcheol finally looked up, stunned.

Your father gave a small nod. “You didn’t choose this, neither did she. But if fate tied you together, then all I ask is that you treat her well, not as your intern, not as your subordinate, but as your equal.”

You stared at your father, lips parted in surprise. And beside you, you heard the breath Seungcheol finally let out. Quiet, shaky, and filled with quiet relief.

“…I will,” he said, voice low but clear. “I promise you. I’ll protect her, sir.”

Your father nodded again, then returned to his soup like he hadn’t just shaken the tension off the entire table. Your mother, watching everything with that quiet knowing glint in her eyes, simply smirked behind her teacup.

“Well,” she said, “now that that’s out of the way, let’s enjoy lunch properly.”

The quiet click of the car doors closing echoed softly in the air, muffled only by the cocoon of silence surrounding the two of you. The engine remained untouched. Seungcheol sat in the driver’s seat, his hands resting lightly on the wheel, gaze fixed on the windshield.

But he wasn’t seeing the road.

He was reliving the moment, the conversation over lunch, the weight of your father’s words, the softness in your mother’s knowing smile. He had braced himself for resistance, for disapproval, for that slight pause before your father might say “But she’s still too young.” Instead, what he got… was a blessing. Permission to be selfish with his heart, to love you out loud.

He swallowed hard, feeling the words echo in his chest like they had carved out space just for you. You didn’t choose this, but if fate tied you together... treat her as your equal.

And god, he would.

He would treat you like a queen. He’d spoil you relentlessly, shamelessly. He’d plan every date to perfection. He’d get you that charm bracelet you’d once said you liked, and for every monsary you celebrated together, he’d add a charm. One for each memory.

The pressure of restraint melted off his shoulders like winter snow beneath the sun. And in its place, something even warmer bloomed: freedom. Freedom to love you.

And so, without starting the car, without breaking the moment, he turned his head, and saw you already watching him.

Lovingly. Softly.

As if your gaze could read the chaos of emotions unraveling in his chest.

You smiled, a small, sweet curl of your lips. “Hi,” you whispered.

That single word, just one syllable, was enough to make his head spin.

He laughed. A real one. Not the tight-lipped CEO chuckle he gave in meetings, no. This one was open, light, carefree. His teeth showed, his eyes crinkled, and you, caught in his joy, joined him with a soft chuckle of your own.

Then the laughter faded into something quieter, heavier, something that made the air between you two spark.

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“Mind if I do something,” he said slowly, voice low and a little breathless, “that’s normal for a thirty-year-old me... but might be embarrassing for you?”

You blinked once, head tilted like a curious kitten, but you nodded, without hesitation. And with that, he leaned in.

One hand lifted, fingers brushing past your hair to cradle the back of your head gently. His touch was steady and certain, like he had waited long enough.

And then, he kissed you soft and warm, eyes closed. No rush, no pressure, just him letting everything he had been holding in for days spill into that single, quiet kiss.

You melted against him almost instinctively, lips moving in sync with his—tender, slow, meaningful.

And in that kiss, Seungcheol thought: so this is what peace tastes like, this is what fate feels like.

When he finally pulled back, your foreheads brushed, breaths mixing in the small space between. You opened your eyes slowly, cheeks flushed, lips parted. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it trembled with something sincere.

“I’ve been waiting to do that since the masquerade.”

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The hum of conversation filled the large, sunlit private room in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. Laughter echoed off the walls, glasses clinked, and the smell of food already filled the air, even though not everyone had arrived yet.

The door creaked open, and in walked Seungcheol, dressed in a sleek black shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show his watch and veins. Beside him, you entered quietly, but not subtly, your fingers gently laced with his.

Heads turned, every conversation stopped. Then-

“Woooooahhhh- what do we have here?!”

“Wait, is that her?!”

“Cheol brought someone?! Willingly?!”

A wave of chaotic excitement crashed over the room as all of Seungcheol’s friends—his closest circle, the ones he called his brothers—immediately swarmed you with bright eyes and louder voices. Mingyu clapped Seungcheol on the back so hard he nearly stumbled. Soonyoung practically bounced on his heels. Seokmin gave you the biggest, warmest grin.

They were chaos, but they were warm.

You didn’t even have time to respond before Jeonghan looped an arm around your shoulders like you were already part of the family.

“So you’re the one who melted our stone-faced CEO, huh?” he teased, eyes glinting. “God, we’ve been hearing about you without even hearing your name. It’s an honor.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes but let out a small, amused chuckle as everyone finally settled into their seats.

The chaos didn’t stop there, though. Once the appetizers were cleared and laughter quieted to occasional giggles between sips of wine, Jeonghan leaned forward with a grin that screamed mischief.

“You know what’s crazy?” he said, pointing a lazy finger at Seungcheol. “This guy’s been dating her for two years and still didn’t bag her. Me? I dated my soulmate for three months. Three. Months. I couldn't bear waiting. A father now, remember those past times?” He flashed his ring proudly.

The others chuckled, some shaking their heads, others rolling their eyes at Jeonghan’s dramatics, even Seungcheol cracked a wide grin. But he didn’t say anything, not yet, because the best part hadn’t come.

After the main course, when desserts were being served and the wine glasses were half-full, Seungcheol stood up slowly, lifting his glass.

“I have two pieces of news,” he said, his voice calm but his smile soft.

Everyone quieted, eyes turned.

He looked at you briefly, then back at the group. “First- Y/N will be officially stepping in as CEO of her father’s company starting this year.”

A round of cheers, whistles, and applause erupted from the table.

“Yah! That’s huge!”

“A power couple, oh my god.”

“Don’t forget us little people when you both own half the country!”

You bashfully lowered your gaze, cheeks warm, mouthing a soft thank you as Seungcheol gently placed a hand on your back.

“And the second piece of news…” he continued, pausing for dramatic effect, “-is that she said yes.”

Silence with confused blinks, then-

“Wait- wait- WAIT- WHAT?!”

“SAID YES TO WHAT?!”

“Oh my GOD!”

“You’re LYING!”

The table exploded.

Mingyu stood up so fast he nearly knocked over his chair. Soonyoung dropped his fork. Jeonghan’s jaw dropped open like something out of a drama. Seungcheol just smirked, then gently reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He didn’t even need to open it. The moment the box was visible, the screaming got worse.

You held up your hand, heart racing, showing the sparkling ring on your finger with a small smile.

“I’m his fiancée,” you said, voice shy but filled with certainty.

“No. Freaking. Way.”

“Since WHEN?!”

“DID YOU DO IT AT WORK?! Was it a boardroom proposal?! TELL ME EVERYTHING!”

The group erupted again, voices overlapping, hands reaching for the ring, while Seungcheol calmly sat down next to you, sipping his drink like he hadn’t just broken the minds of every single person at the table. And in the midst of all the shouting and disbelief, he leaned in close to whisper just for you to hear: “You're mine now. Officially.”

Your heart fluttered. And in the chaos of friends and laughter, you never felt more sure. Of him. Of you. Of forever.

Tagging: @stvrrylove @sol3chu @firstclassjaylee @ateez-atiny380 @reiofsuns2001 @thetjtales @metaphorandmoonlight

[author-ssi]

Daddy ~KNJ

➜Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

➜Genre: Smut, (Slight) Fluff (in the beginning), One-Shot

Warnings: MAJOR Daddy kink (in case, it wasn't clear already from the title), reader is basically drooling over DILF Namjoon, age gap (Namjoon in his 30s, reader in her 20s), breast play&fingering&praise (Namjoon is an absolute service dom - don't even try to change my mind!), vaginal sex (reader rides Namjoon) [18+ MDNI]

➜Word Count: 3.7k

➜Summary: Namjoon had been searching for someone to care for his son for months and months, to no avail. Until the moment he saw you crouched on the ground, helping his son tie his shoelaces with a smile so pretty on your face. That's when he knew you'd be perfect for him... and, for his son too.

"Seungmin-ah, it's time to go to bed! Come on, sweetie".

If you were keeping count -which you were- that'd be your 5th attempt to usher the cheeky three-year-old over to his room.

"But Koya doesn't want to sleep yet... Look, he is full of energy!".

Seungmin swings the plushie around, almost hitting you in the face with it. You let out a huffed chuckle glancing at the clock on the wall.

It's almost 9 o'clock and he's the one who's full of energy...

You'd expect that after running around and playing with him all afternoon long, by the time his bedtime came, he'd be sleeping like a log.

"I'll tell you and Koya a fairytale so you both can go to sleep".

You pick him up and sit on his bed, laying him down and pulling the blanket over him.

Thankfully, he settles down, cuddling his Koya, close to him.

Taking the book of fairytales from the bed table, you flip over to the page of his favourite, Kongjwi and Patjwi.

... Or as you prefer to call it Korean Cinderella with a twist.

Seungmin claps his little hands excitedly, burying himself further inside his blanket, focusing his attention solely on your words.

Reaching out to offer him an affectionate pat on the head, you begin to recite the fairytale, smiling fondly at the thought of how much your life has changed ever since you got the job of babysitting this adorable little toddler.

~Four Months Ago~

Judging from how hard it had been for you to get an apartment in NYC, you were already prepared to face the same difficulty in finding yourself a job.

Little did you know, it'd be as easy as taking a walk in the park.

Literally!

Walking in the park, that one cloudy afternoon, was all it took for you to run into little Seungmin and his dad.

And oh, his dad...

Mr. Kim Namjoon.

A Korean-American.

CEO of a public education company.

Single father to Kim Seungmin, after his wife left him a year ago and ran off to Europe with another man.

Honestly, who in their right mind would even think about leaving this man for another?!

You still remember how in awe you were upon seeing him...

His tall frame towered over you and his son as he stood above you, clad in a black turtleneck that perfectly highlighted his muscled chest and wide shoulders.

His face bore youthful features and yet his eyes brought out a sense of wisdom and maturity.

The polite smile he wore, not only betrayed the dimple that appeared on his cheek but his refined manners too, as he offered you a hand to help you stand back up.

Looking up at his entrancing eyes, you accepted his hand and slowly rose to your feet.

"Daddy, look!".

The little toddler's voice finally enabled you to tear your gaze away from his father.

Seungmin pointed at his small feet, with a bright smile on his face.

His father furrowed his eyebrows puzzled, which rushed you to explain.

"His, uh, his shoelaces were untied and he was running around...

So I thought I'd tie them for him!

You know, so he wouldn't get hurt-"

"Thank you for doing that".

The man offered your hand a small squeeze in gratitude, before finally introducing himself.

You hadn't even noticed he was still holding your hand!

Hastily returning the handshake, you forced yourself to withdraw your hand introducing yourself as well.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Kim".

It felt proper to address him like that, since he seemed to be quite older than you...

Mr Kim slightly cleared his throat and offered you a small nod before turning to his son.

"Why don't you tell the pretty lady who helped you, your name as well, hm?".

You sucked in a breath and bit your lip in a desperate attempt to hide how much that affected you; a man as handsome as him addressing you as pretty.

Thankfully, the cute toddler in front of you was the perfect way to get your mind off of it as he raised his hand towards you.

"Hi, I am Seungmin!".

You noticed he was offering his hand for you to shake, just like he had seen you do with his father.

"Hi, Seungmin!

It's nice to meet you, I'm Y/N".

You resisted the urge to swoon at the sight of his small hand enveloped in your own.

So cute!

"And what else do you need to say to Y/N?".

"Thank you".

You shook yourself insisting it was nothing and adjusted your back on your shoulder, mentally preparing yourself to bid farewell to the two of them.

"Let me buy you a drink, Y/N; as thanks for helping Seungmin".

Your eyes widened at Mr Kim's unexpected suggestion.

"Oh no, you don't need to do that-".

"I insist".

Well, how could you refuse when he looked at you like that?!

And so, you ended up playing with Seungmin at the playground, while Mr Kim went to get the both of you something to drink.

You were pushing Seungmin on the swings when Mr Kim returned with a hot latte in each hand, offering one for you to drink.

Next thing you knew, you were sitting on a bench with probably the most attractive man you'll ever get the chance to lay your eyes on, drinking your latte and watching over his son continuing to play at the playground.

"Thanks again for helping Seungmin out.

I was too busy talking on the phone...

I should have been keeping an eye on him but work is just-".

He groans in frustration, before letting out a long sigh and turning to you.

"Never mind that now, tell me about you".

You purse your lips in thought, rummaging through your brain in an attempt to find something about you that's interesting enough to share with someone like Mr Kim.

"I'm just a girl, trying to survive college while looking for a job".

You shrug before taking another sip of your latte.

Meanwhile, the moment those words left your mouth, Mr Kim turned to face you with a knowing smile.

"Well, that's a happy coincidence".

And that's when you were offered the job of babysitting Mr Kim's son. And even though, you truly loved looking after little Seungmin, you couldn't help being even more thrilled by the prospect of spending even just a little time around a man like Mr. Kim.

~Present Day~

"And so, the new Mayor married Kongjwi, the owner of the shoe.

Now, you'd think that they got to live happily ever after…

But that's not the end of this story!

Jealous of Kongjwi's happiness, her stepsister Patjwi drowns poor Kongjwi in the stream.

Patjwi then disguises herself as Kongjwi and starts living at the palace as the mayor’s wife.

However, one day Kongjwi appears in her husband's dream and tells him about her tragic fate.

The mayor is shocked to learn this and starts desperately searching for his wife's body.

After months and months of endlessly searching, he manages to discover Kongjwi's body in the stream.

He cries cradling his wife's body close to him before leaning over to offer her a kiss farewell.

Yet, with that kiss, Kongjwi is brought back to life.

Once they both return to the town, the Mayor puts Patjwi and her mother in a dark prison and that's when he and Kongjwi finally live...

Happily ever after!".

You huff merrily closing the book and putting it back to its place before turning to Seungmin.

Alas, the story didn't seem to bring the toddler the drowsiness you'd thought it would, so you decide to simply leave him to play around in his bed hoping that at some point he'll tire himself enough to sleep.

You take the baby monitor with you and walk out of the bedroom, trying hard not to laugh at the kid scolding his plushie for not going to sleep.

Heading over to the kitchen, you start making yourself a warm cup of tea.

After carefully, pouring yourself a cup, you settle on the living room's couch and check the baby monitor sighing in relief when you see that little Seungmin has finally fallen asleep.

As you take a sip of your tea, you open your phone to check your Instagram for any messages.

After replying to your bestie's "where are you?" with a simple "babysitting", you quickly engage in conversation with her since the both of you have nothing better to do right now.

Soon, her texting gives way to an incoming call, which you're more than happy to answer.

Time goes by without you taking notice until you realise that you've finished your tea.

Abandoning your snuggling on the couch, you walk back to the kitchen in order to wash the used kettle and mug, having put the phone on speaker and placed it on the table behind you so as not to get water spilt on it.

"So... Is the Daddy hot?".

You roll your eyes at her sudden, crude question with a slight scoff.

She was never the kind to hold back on those types of conversations and thirsty comments, yet this time you decide to humour her and just play along.

"Well...

Let's just say, I wouldn't mind calling him Daddy too".

You hum cheekily and your best friend gasps.

"That much huh?".

"Oh trust me... He's a Dilf ".

You bite your lip, slightly embarrassed by yourself calling him that.

Your best friend lets out a hum and you're certain she also has a teasing smirk on her face.

"Hmm, no wonder you were so thrilled over a babysitting job".

You shake your head chuckling, as you stretch your body to put the kettle back in its place on the top shelf, before starting to wash your mug next.

"No no, I really love looking after his son. Seungmin's the sweetest!

Having Mr Kim around is just..."

"A bonus".

She finishes your sentence for you, giggling.

"But really, why don't you shoot your shot?

You know, flirt with him, show off your boobies".

Her saucy tone makes you roll your eyes.

"I'm not showing off my boobs to my boss!".

"You were the one who wanted him to be your Daddy...

Anyway, what I'm saying is-".

Waiting a moment or two for her to continue, you place the clean mug in its place.

When she doesn't, you assume that the signal must have been cut off so you wipe your wet hands on a towel before turning around to grab your phone and call her back.

Oh.My.God!

Your eyes almost pop out of your skull and your body freezes on the spot at the sight of none other than Mr. Kim himself leaning against the table where your phone is placed, his hand hovering over its screen.

"M-Mr. Kim! I-I didn't realise you were back home!".

You stumble over your words, feeling your cheeks burn red from the embarrassment.

The only thing that's left for you to do now is hope that he probably hasn't been home long enough to hear the entire conversation, or else you're most definitely fired.

Mr Kim smirks, the amusement clear on his face.

"I thought you'd prefer calling me Daddy".

You gasp, wishing for the earth to open up and swallow you whole right now.

He heard everything right from the start...

Well, there goes your job!

"I-I... It's not what I meant-! I was just, uh, joking! I-!"

You know your attempts at justifying yourself are futile.

You know that there's nothing redeemable you can say for yourself.

But you don't want to lose this job!

Yes, you need the money too but spending all that time with Mr Kim and Seungmin...

You can't bear the thought of never getting to see them again!

"Y/N..."

Your staggered breath catches in your throat once you realise how close to you Mr Kim has gotten.

He has placed his hands on either side of the kitchen counter, trapping you between them.

"Mr Kim-".

You look up at him in question, only to get lost in his eyes.

His large palm comes to caress your cheek, his thumb slightly stroking the soft skin.

"Mr Kim".

A low groan rumbles in his throat as he presses his mouth against yours, more fiercely.

You utter again, before his lips suddenly connect with your own and your mind goes blank.

"Do you know how much I had to hold myself back whenever you called me that?".

You let out a small gasp when you feel his other hand start to fondle your breast.

A wanton cry slips past your lips when his fingers brush over your pebbled nipple.

"Do you know how many times I wished you showed these off to me, and me only?".

His words barely register, you mind still remaining blank from the unforeseen pleasure.

You latch your hands onto his wide shoulders as he lifts you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist and having you sit on the kitchen counter.

"Do you know how long I wanted to hear you call me Daddy?".

His hand pushes your hair back, revealing your neck for him to bury his face into, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your warm skin.

You slightly throw your head back, your mouth parting in pleasure, while your hands run through his dark hair.

Both of his hands slowly start kneading your breasts as he lifts his lips from your neck, drawing them close to your ear.

"Go on baby, say it...

Let me hear that pretty voice of yours call me Daddy".

Your brain short-circuits at his words.

You honestly can't fully process what's happening right now.

Yet the words leave your mouth with no hesitation.

"Daddy".

It's as if a switch flipped in Namjoon's mind.

"Oh yes, that's it, baby".

He growls, quickly discarding your blouse and bra off of your body before leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth.

You mewl as he starts to suck on it and your legs press against his hips, urging him to touch you where you need him most.

"Daddy, please".

He lets your nipple out of his mouth with a 'pop' and he stands up straight, slightly towering over you.

His hand disappears inside your pants, touching you over your panties as he looks down at you, his eyes clouded with desire.

"Is that what you want Daddy to do, baby?

Rub your pussy for you".

You pant closing your eyes as you nod at him urgently.

"Words, baby... I need to hear you say it".

"Yes, Daddy please rub my pussy".

And that's exactly what he does...

And he does it so well...

"Eyes on me, baby".

His deep voice coaxes you to open your eyes and gaze upon him.

Namjoon marvels at the sight of you, panting and trembling in pleasure but it's not nearly enough to satisfy his need for you.

He needs to see you come undone now, just by his fingers.

Gingerly pushing your panties to the side, he licks his lips before he inserts two of his long fingers inside you.

"Oh, D-Daddy!".

You let out a gasp, feeling yourself already full with just two of his fingers.

The thought of what it would feel like to have his cock enter you next, sends shivers down your spine.

His other hand rests on your hip and when he begins to move his fingers slowly in and out of your wet slit, Namjoon holds your body still as you can't help but squirm from the building pleasure.

"Now baby, I want you to focus on my voice".

You don't get the chance to respond to his words.

A breathy moan rips past your lips, your nails desperately digging into his back when you feel him curling his fingers inside you.

Namjoon lets out a pleased hum before he leans over to huskily whisper in your ear.

"I'll start counting and once I reach seven, you're going to let go and cum for your Daddy, like the good little girl you are".

"One...".

His fingers start to pick up speed, while he continues to move them in and out of you.

"Two...".

His other hand starts roughly groping your breast again, making you whine softly.

"Three... Four...".

His fingers curl intensely inside you, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your whole body.

"Five... Six"

"Daddy, I'm going to-!"

"...Seven".

You let go.

A sweet, little cry resonates in the kitchen when you cum on his fingers, but Namjoon keeps moving them, steadily letting you ride out your orgasm.

Once your body relaxes, you let yourself lean towards him resting your head on his chest with a small hum.

Embarrassment threatens to creep up on you as the gravity of the situation comes down on you.

And yet, when your mind runs back to Namjoon's previous words and touches, you instantly admit to yourself that there's no going back for you now.

You want him.

Namjoon grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to look up at him.

He relishes your blissed-out expression and smirks when he detects the insatiable desire still reflected in your eyes.

"Tell me what you want, baby".

His deep voice tears up all your remaining inhibitions.

"You, I want you inside me Daddy".

You run your palm through his clothed chest before starting to unbutton his shirt.

Namjoon lets out a low chuckle, shrugging his suit jacket off of his shoulders.

"Such a good girl, using her words for me".

He swiftly lifts your body off of the kitchen counter and carries you over to the living room.

Your legs stay wrapped around his waist as you finally remove his shirt off of him.

Having his strong arms hold you like this, your sole focus remains on discarding his clothes.

Licking your lips at the sight of his well-built body, you let your hands wander all over it, mapping out his chest, his waist and his shoulders.

Namjoon sighs in satisfaction, before carefully placing you back on the ground, leaving you to stand in front of him topless.

He slowly takes a sit at the edge of the couch behind him and his hands reach out, pulling down your pants and undergarments for you.

Soft moans release from your lips, as he starts to ravish every part of your body with wet kisses and sensual touches.

"Daddy".

You whine, your knees slightly quivering from his heated affection.

"I know baby, Daddy will give you what you want...

Just wanted to take a moment and cherish that beautiful body of yours".

He mutters glancing up at you with lust-filled eyes.

He raises his hips slightly, taking off both of his pants and boxers with one swift movement before leaning back on the couch, resting his arms on the back of it.

One of his fingers points to his lap and your gaze zeroes in on his erected length.

"Go ahead baby, I'm all yours".

You gulp, hesitating for a mere moment before your neediness overcomes you, urging your body to move on top of him.

His hands immediately find their way to your hips, holding onto them firmly to help guide you, as you slowly sink yourself down to his cock.

"Don't rush, we've got all the time in the world".

Namjoon's hushed whisper is soothing and it momentarily distracts you from the slightly painful stretch of his cock.

But the moment you bottom out, a pleasurable heat spreads through your entire body.

Your hips slightly stagger as you itch to start moving them against him but Namjoon's hands keep them still.

His face draws close to yours, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his hot breath mingling with your own.

When he pulls away, his forehead touches yours as he looks deep in your eyes.

"Now, give Daddy a good ride".

Your back arches when his hands roll your hips setting up a steady pace for you to follow.

Once he's made sure you're able to keep up on your own, his hands wrap around your waist hugging your body close to him.

The way he holds you is so erotic; it makes you melt in his arms, hugging him back and letting him relish your unrestrained moans while you ride him.

Namjoon lets you chase your orgasm, simply enjoying the feeling of having you so intimately close to him.

His fingers run down your spine eager to watch goosebumps appear all over your skin.

Yet what takes him by surprise is your walls fluttering around his cock as well.

Namjoon groans throwing his head back, pleasure painting over his expression.

The sight of him losing his composure because of you urges you to pick up the pace, bucking your hips faster against his.

"Oh baby, you make Daddy feel so good...

Come on, won't you cum again around Daddy's cock, like the good girl you are?".

"Ah y-yes Daddy, I-I'm gonna cum!".

His half-lidded eyes are focused on you and you only.

The intensity of his gaze is enough to send you over the edge.

You bite your lip, in an attempt to muffle the shriek that leaves your mouth before your orgasm finally washes over you.

The pleasure your second orgasm brings you is even more intense than your previous one...

So much so, that when the afterglow settles in, you can't help but let your body slump on top of Namjoon's.

Snuggling against his slightly heaving chest, you gather up the courage to look up at him bashfully.

"Um... Mr. Kim-".

Your call for him gets interrupted by his mouth claiming yours in yet another passionate kiss.

Kissing you roughly and deeply, he doesn't draw back until he leaves you breathless.

His fingers brush through your hair tenderly but the look in his eyes is strict and his tone is absolute when he whispers to you.

"I thought we'd already established that from now on, you're only addressing me as Daddy".

[ddivilove]

Hai! May i request for beom taeha x fem! reader where reader is a librarian and receives cute notes in her books and she thinks that it must be some students messing with her but it turns out to be taeha who is actually obsessed with her (this is so cringe help😞)

୨୧ ﹒ LOVE IN LITERATURE.

➤ synopsis ﹕ literature is an art of many forms, but who knew that such art could be used for romance and courtship with a hint of wrongful stalking.

➤ warnings ﹕ semi - dark themes. involves stalking, mentions of murder, possessive & disgusting behaviour, age gap, vulgar words, mentions of implied masturbation, semi - explicit content. read at your own risk.

➤ the cast ﹕ beom taeha.

➤ author note ﹕ i don't really fully understand taeha, so if i mischaractise, which is might, i apologise ! i am trying my best, and this was fun to write, so i hope i did him some justice.

Literature. That was the world that Name lived in. Ever since she was young, she had wanted to be surrounded by the written works of creativity based on authors' imaginations.

Name worked in a small library, a library in town that was often slow in business. She rarely saw any newcomers. Only old visitors and friends. Not that she minded that, not at all. It was a hard thought about the change if new people began bursting through these halls. After all, she could barely rein the current book borrowers and library users to follow the rules.

She sighs as she opens the library again, her eyes lingering gingerly at the broken vase on the ground by the door. 'Some lunatic again.' She thinks as she enters the building. So many students come here to mess with her, it was tiring sometimes, especially when they break a thing or two while they're at it. As she cleaned up the pieces of broken clay, she heard the sound of someone approaching.

At this hour? She found it odd since most of the frequently appearing people of the city often showed up at noon until late afternoon hours. She turns around to see a young man.

Tall was not even going to cut it as it seemed as though he was towering her, almost like a giant. Even though he was tall, he looked no older than 25. He was probably a college student, she guessed quietly. His sharp silver, almost to the point of being white, eyes entranced her far more than she found comfortable. He had an atmosphere about him that made her think he's not a cheerful type.

"Hello, Miss." The young man says politely as he greets her with a smile, even though she saw right through that forced appearance. "Is the library open?"

She zoned out for a moment, but she got back to reality as she nodded in response. "Yes, yes it is." She responds quickly, embarrassed by her sudden zoning out. "You can go inside, and browse around if you'd like." At least he was polite, so she thought as she continued her work.

The male didn't really spare her a second glance after nodding, so she went back to cleaning the broken vase. When she entered the library, though, the male was nowhere to be found. She blinks, confused. She had seen him come in here, hadn't she? That was strange. She was definitely certain... unless she was going mad which could definitely be a possibility.

Perhaps it was the case of sleep deprivation, causing her to hallucinate again. I should get a check-up soon. She reminds herself as she sits on her chair by the front of the library. She looks at the clock. 9:36. She had some time to kill, it seemed.

She had been dusting the books when she returned to the desk to find a note attached to her book there that someone had given back after borrowing the day before. It had been a copy of a book filled with a compilation of sonnets by William Shakespeare.

She had read it before. It was indeed a clever way with words, but she never understood why people were so into reading them just for fun, but everyone has different tastes and takes on literary arts.

She slips out the note and unfolds it. It quoted the poem of Sonnet 18 in the books.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date."

"You are as beautiful as this poem, and even more so now that I've visited often to see you up close, Noona." It said at the end of the note in a cursive handwriting, befitting the impeccable taste of this mystery person.

She wonders who this person was. For one, she felt flattered, but she also felt incredibly perplexed by it all. It was not very often she be given notes of any sort, compliments, affirmations, or whatnot. Even more so, positive ones, she could recall a few negative notes from back then.

But this could all be a hoax, so she warns herself mentally not to be fooled. She had been played by pesky teenagers far too much in this place to fully trust and think this may be genuine. She tucks the note in her drawer before she grabs the stack of books and brings them back in their proper sections and shelves.

Day by day, the notes kept coming. Simple quotations of literature came alongside a compliment or two. Affectionate words that made Name's heart skip a beat sometimes. She still couldn't put a finger on who this mystery person was. All she knew was he was a man, but that's it. No other tell-tale of sorts.

She convinced herself that this was just another hoax made by those silly students once again. But her resolve was soon tested when letters slowly came with gifts of different prices. Sometimes food, or chocolates or even jewellery. Each was accompanied by a note filled with warmth that left her strangely curious.

As she picked up an emerald necklace from a box she had found in her drawer once again, she rethinks her original conclusion. Students wouldn't have this much money, would they? She admired the emerald's beautiful shining green colour. Unaware to her that there has been a man watching this entire time.

His lips curl into a smile, a sinister one that hele no good intentions. His gaze sweeped upward and then back down, memorising every curve her clothes showed vaguely, wondering how she looks with everything off.

His hands clench and then unclench in a way to surpress his fiery desires of claiming her and controlling them better. Soon. He thought to himself as he turned to pick up a book from any one of the shelves, choosing law to impress her. Even though he didn't know a lot about it, and his lifestyle goes against it.

Anything to talk to her. Ever since he first saw her, that was all he thought. He wants her, no, he needs her. His ache for her was overwhelming, and he needed to satisfy them desperately. It was the reason why he memorised his schedule. Her routines. Her actions were repeated every day. Committing to memory every single time like it was the first he's seen them, even though he's seen them practically a hundred times already.

His grip on the book tightens as he turns the corner and to the librarian's desk where she sat. A ghost of a smile appears on his lips when he notices that she is spacing out again like she does everyday at this same hour because of the slow shift at times like these. He stares at her for a few minutes as she mindlessly doodled on her little notebook.

He knew that was her diary, her journal where she drew her feelings out. She knew that there was trauma behind those drawings. Beyond that, impassive face was an abused fragile girl. And he knew he could use that to his advantage any day. But he won't, no, not yet. It was not time yet.

She looks up when she hears a clearing of a throat, her eyes widening by a fraction when she sees the man. Wasn't he the same one she saw a while ago? She knows he is that same man, his white-grey eyes told her enough. Those damn entrancing things.

"Excuse me, I'd like to borrow this book." He politely requests as she blinks out of her thoughts and quickly nods as she gets to work. Her fingers brushed against his as she took his library card and looked through it, cheeks flushing. That touch was electric, she thinks to herself. Incredibly so.

"Alright, you have a week before you have to return it." She responds quietly as she writes down the date of borrowing and when he would need to return it on the card and in her own record book. While she did so, she missed the man's lustful gaze towards her.

Beom Taeha. So that was his name. She heard of a few rumours on the Beom family. She wonders if they were true. Perhaps they were. He looks like the kind of man to do those things that his family's reputation is known for. She pushes the thought away half as quickly as she thinks it, though. She had no right to judge a man who she didn't know.

As she hands him back the card, their fingers brushed again, and she could've sworn she felt an electric rush against it. And so did he. He clears his throat again as he rubs the back of his neck. "Thank you, Ma'am. See you next week then." He bids her goodbye before he disappears out the door, leaving the flustered woman to figure her feelings herself.

She scolds herself quietly. That male looked no older than 25. It felt morally wrong. Plus, she never did like younger men, so why was she reacting this way? She wanted to bury a hole for herself and never get out. Meanwhile, Taeha makes a beeline for the hotel he stayed in. When he enters the room, he locks the door as he takes out a camera he had used to take some pictures of her.

His heated gaze increases in intensity when he sees the beautiful and perfect body that woman had. What was her name? Yes, Name Last/Name. His eyes linger to his fingers that had gotten fortunate enough to touch hers. He puts them to his lips and draws the tip of his tongue on them as if he could taste her.

"Hah... What am I going to do with, Name?" He asks to himself aloud as he unbuckles his belt, his "problem" springing out, ready to be dealt with. As he took care of himself, all he could think about was that he would have her. He won't take no for an answer. He will keep trying. That woman will be his. Body, soul, and mind. All will be his.

➤ taglist ﹕ n/a. ask to be added for future fics.

[triptuckers]

you're not alone - bob reynolds

Request: nope Pairing: bob reynolds x reader Summary: when you wake up early, you find out you're not the only one who's awake Warnings: THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS !! bit of angst (happy ending I promise), mentions of nightmares, mentions of past trauma, loss of loved ones, bob being a lil sad :( Word count: 2.5K A/N: listen it's very simple. I saw thunderbolts. I saw lewis pullman. that's it. enjoy!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

your eyes snap open as you blindly reach for the knife you keep under your pillow. but instead of an intruder, your blade meets empty space.

the only sound in your dimly lit room is your heavy breathing. damn these stupid nightmares. you were close to asking yelena if she could just knock you out so you could get some sleep.

you return the knife and lay back down.

but now that you're awake, and adrenaline is coursing through your body, it's hard to go back to sleep again. you haven't really spoken about it to anyone, but you know you're not the only one who has nightmares.

yours got worse after a mission was intense or had nearly gone wrong. you'd been doing the odd job here and there for valentina when she'd send you to go after someone who was going to rob one of her facilities.

but when you finally made it to the vault, you weren't met with just any robber. instead, you were met with a bunch people who seemed to have gotten the exact same assignment as you.

you were all there to kill each other. messy ends tying up themselves. after all, doing the dirty work was what you were good at. it's what you were trained for. follow orders, go in and out quickly, get the job done.

but instead of fighting these people, you worked together once you figured out valentina's real plan.

the next couple of days were a whirlwind of adrenaline, fighting, a lot of confusion and very little sleep.

you'd been trying to catch up on rest now that you've got a room in the former avengers tower, but after reliving your worst memories, the nightmares came back stronger and more intense than ever. all the details were there now, and you couldn't forget them.

you finally had a place where you could safely rest, and yet you didn't get more than two hours of sleep a night - if you were lucky.

you're looking around the room now. devoid of personality. you didn't have many personal belongings to take with you. mostly the weapons you carried and the clothes on your back.

taking yelena's advice, you'd gotten dark curtains to keep out the light. she said it helped her fall asleep. it didn't really help you much, but you were grateful for her advice nonetheless.

there's a dim glow coming from a gap in the curtains. you push the sheets off of you and walk over to the window.

way down below, new york was slowly waking up. people on their way to their work, or out on an early morning run. you glance over your shoulder at the alarm clock. almost 5 am. not too bad. it's more morning than night, and you decide that's acceptable for today.

you pull on a pair of socks and blindly grab a sweater. maybe you could use the extra time you got now by planning in an extra training session. it always helped clear your mind after a short night filled with bad dreams.

the hallway is dark when you exit your room. as you make your way to the kitchen, you wonder what else you could do today. there weren't any missions for you planned.

bucky was off on an assignment with sam, and alexei hadn't been home for a little over a week. maybe you could ask yelena or ava if they were up for a sparring session.

you enter the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the big light as you open the fridge.

the light seeps out and illuminates a figure standing on the other end of the kitchen island.

you reach for the nearest kitchen knife as bob turns on the light.

'jesus.' you breathe. 'bob. you scared me.'

'sorry!' says bob, visibly upset that he startled you. 'I'm sorry! I thought you saw me.'

'you're good, don't worry about it.' you say, returning the kitchen knife. 'I'm just a little jumpy, that's all.'

'I was about to make breakfast, do you want some as well?' asks bob.

'yeah sure, that sounds nice.' you say. 'thanks.'

bob walks over to you and smiles. somehow you didn't understand how someone like bob could also be the void. the two seemed so different from each other.

you make coffee as bob gets started on breakfast for the two of you. you pour a cup for bob and slide it over to him. then you take your own cup and move to sit at the kitchen island.

'what were you doing up this early?' he asks.

'couldn't sleep.' you say.

'nightmares?'

'yes.'

there's no point in lying. everyone here has nightmares. you'd be terrified of one of your new roommates if they didn't. you didn't live a life like the one you did and be able to sleep at night.

'want to talk about it?' says bob.

you really appreciate bob. he's always helping you, telling you he'll listen to you. always the first to welcome you back when you return to the tower after a mission. and right now, he's making you breakfast.

but as much as you appreciate him, reliving your worst trauma's because of the void was something that felt too personal to share. especially since bob doesn't remember anything.

you'd told him about the day the void had half of new york trapped in their most traumatic moments. you figured he deserved to know. you also knew he felt terrible about it, and you didn't want to remind him of it.

'no, it's fine.' you say.

bob nods as he turns around and sets a plate with eggs in front of you, as well as some toast.

'thanks.' you say as bob sits down next to you with his own plate. you notice he's careful not to touch you. he doesn't really talk about what happened, but you know it's hard for him. you just don't want to push him. he'll talk to you when he's ready. but you're desperate for him to know it's okay to talk to you, should he choose to do so.

you study his face as he eats his breakfast. you know he's tired too. he was awake when you went to bed last night, and he was up before you as well. the dark circles under his eyes seem to be permanent.

'bob?' you say.

he turns to look at you.

'why were you awake?'

'I was up all night reading a book yelena got me. it was so interesting I couldn't put it away.'

'bob. you told me that last week.'

'I did?'

'yes. when I asked you why you were still awake when I got back from a meeting at 3 am.'

'oh.'

you turn your chair to fully face him. bob leans back, so you're not accidentally touching him.

'what is going on, bob? I know we're all tired. but at least I get a handful of hours of sleep at night. do you sleep at all?' you say.

bob looks everywhere but your eyes.

'what are your nightmares about?' he asks you, catching you off guard.

'uh, well. bad stuff.' you say.

'will you tell me about it?'

'I'd rather not.'

'then I won't tell you why I don't sleep.'

bob grabs his plate gets up and instinctively, you reach out to grab his sleeve and pull him back.

he inhales sharply and recoils from your touch. the plate falls from his hands and clatters back down on the counter.

'sorry!' you say.

you see bob close his eyes and clench his jaw. you had made a mistake.

'I'm sorry.' you say again. 'I just... don't really talk about what happens in my nightmares. what I have to relive at night.'

your last sentence catches his attention.

'relive?' he says.

'fuck, did I say relive?' you say. 'I meant-'

'did I make it worse?' says bob.

'I didn't mean-' you start.

'don't do that!' bob cuts you off.

you raise your hands as a gesture of surrender.

this time, bob is the one to apologise. 'sorry. it's just that everyone always says this team is built on trust and yet no one seems to trust me. I'm not a child, you don't need to act all careful around me. you don't have to hide the bad stuff from me just because I can't remember what I, what the void, does.'

you're silent as you watch him fidget with the empty coffee cup in his hands. and you realise he's right. you can't tiptoe around him all the time. it's not fair.

'okay.' you say.

'okay?' questions bob, looking at you.

'okay, I'll tell you what my nightmares are about. but then you tell me why you don't sleep, deal?' you say.

'deal.' says bob.

'let's go to your armchair though, I don't want john accidentally walking in on me spilling my secrets.' you say, trying to lighten the mood.

bob is silent as he follows you. he sits down in his chair and you sit down on the couch next to him.

you take a deep breath as bob looks at you.

'as you know, I had a training that was similar to yelena's. I was young, and was trained to be a mindless soldier, assassin, whatever they called it at the time.' you say.

you look out over the skyline of new york, choosing to focus on bob's presence next to you, in case the memories start to drown you.

'I was training night and day. with other kids, then with older trainers, and then with holograms. to test every single probability, variable, whatever. then came the final round of training. holograms designed to look like the people I loved the most. friends I had when I was younger, my family. in a simulation, I was to kill them over and over again. I wore this specifically designed suit so everything felt real.' you say.

you look at the rising sun in the distance, aware of the way bob's eyes are fixed on you.

you take a deep breath. 'the final test, it was not a simulation. there was no holographic target. except I wasn't told that. I put on the suit, the glasses, everything that went with it. and then I killed everyone I'd ever loved. when I got the clear to take off the suit, the room was stained red. I was looking at the bodies of my friends, my family. that was the day I succeeded the program. I had nothing anyone could use against me. no one who would remember me.'

you quickly wipe away a stray tear that had fallen down your cheek. 'I relive that memory every night. except when the void got to me, it felt like it did that day. it felt real.'

bob is silent as you take a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself.

'that's why I don't sleep.' he says in a soft voice.

you turn to look at him.

'what do you mean?' you say.

'what you described, your worst memory. to have to relive it in such a real way. I did that.' he says. 'I do that to people.'

'no.' you say, moving closer to him. 'no, bob, the void does that to people. not you. you hear me?'

'still though, he's a part of me.' says bob, who hasn't moved away from you this time. your knees almost touch.

'I don't sleep because I'm afraid if I wake up, days will have passed. and I won't have any memory of any harm I've done to people.' bob confesses in a soft voice.

'oh, bob.' you say. you wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull him in for a hug, but you know you can't.

'I'm terrified of hurting you guys again. I don't know how to stop him if it would happen again.' says bob. 'I don't want to go to sleep alone. what if I wake up somewhere else?'

'well..' you say. 'that's easily solvable.'

'how?' says bob.

you shrug. 'we share a room. or I can sit next to you when you go to sleep in your own room. or if you take a nap in your chair, here. anywhere, really.'

'and then what? what if the- what if he takes over? what if-'

'then I'll try my best to wake you. I'll go through all of those rooms to find you.'

'you just told me what you had to relive. I wouldn't want you to go through that again. not for my sake, anyway.'

'bob. how many times do I have to tell you for you to finally understand it? you are not alone anymore. we've got you. I've got you.'

bob looks at you with an odd look in his eyes.

'I really wish I could hug you.' he says.

you smile. 'you can.'

'but-'

'stand up.'

he gives you a confusing look but does as you ask. you stand up as well, then gesture at him.

'you're taller than I am. so long as your hands don't touch any of my skin, we should be good.' you explain.

'I don't want to accidentally send you back.' mumbles bob.

'you won't. I trust you.' you say.

you step closer to him and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest. you feel his muscles strain as he tenses at your touch. then you slowly feel his hands carefully rest on your back.

you wonder when the last time was anyone hugged him. you long to be closer to him, to press your face in his neck, but you stand still.

'thank you.' says bob softly when you finally pull away. you smile up at him.

'see? told you it would be okay. now, do you want to go and take a nap? we can still get up in time for everyone else to wake up, if you want to.' you say.

'that sounds nice.' admits bob.

you look at him and a part of you swears he looks happier than before. or at least lighter. maybe he just needed to get this fear off of his chest. maybe you needed someone to listen to you as well.

something in you shifts as you follow bob to his room so he could take a nap.

'can't remember the last time I voluntarily went to sleep.' says bob as he enters his room. 'you'll be here?'

'I'll be here.' you confirm. 'and I'll get you out if the void takes over.'

'you promise?' says bob, as he lays down and pulls the covers over his body.

'I promise.' you say as you listen to his breathing become heavier until he falls asleep and soft snores fill the room. you'd stay next to him for as long as he needed you to.

A/N: thanks for reading! everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. please do not copy, translate, plagiarise or repost my work! some of these are requested by other people and I spend a lot of time and effort on my works <3 much love, marit

[lalalychee-x]

"Mirror Steam, Slippery Skin and T!ts" — Konig x reader

★ my headcannon post that this fic came from!

★ CW: NSFW, afab, masturbating and caught, shower sex, boob job, cum on tits, EMBRARRASSED Konig, I think Konig would be a tits-guy, size difference gets him horny, you're just cleaning and ask him for help so... ★ Here's your slow burn into desperate breakdown—sweet teasing, shy König unraveling all the way to the bathroom scene and your soft TITS,,, word count: 1433

The house had gone quiet. Nothing but the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional clatter of cleaning bottles being shuffled around.

You’d been tidying all evening, buzzing through different rooms with an almost meditative rhythm— because you thought it was time for a spontaneous deepclean of the whole house. Every now and then, a gentle “König, can you help me?” would float through the space, light and sweet and innocent.

And every time, he’d come.

Silent. Dutiful. But thoughts glued to the size difference between you two.

And every time, you reached for something—arched for something—spoke in that soft voice that just dipped with warmth when you said his name…

He felt himself breaking.

He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t sit still. You moved like you didn’t even know what you were doing to him—but oh, he knew.

You didn’t see the way his jaw clenched when you bent to pick something up. You didn’t see the way his gaze dropped to your chest when you leaned over, braless and unintentionally flashing him a good view. You didn’t hear the deep, ragged breath he took when your fingertips brushed his chest as he handed you a sponge, or the way his eyes fluttered shut after.

By the time the clock crept past eleven, König was vibrating out of his skin.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hulking frame hunched over, eyes glued to the floor. You were whimsically occupied, humming quietly as you rearranged a vase in the bathroom, stacking it gently on the shelf.

And when you stretched to reach the top?

He let out a strange sound, mixed with German you didn't quite catch.

That was it. That was the last straw.

He bolted upright—mumbling something in choked German—and nearly tripped over himself getting to the bathroom.

You initially thought nothing of it as you saw him disappear so abruptly.

The door swung shut, but it didn’t close all the way. Didn’t latch.

On the way into bed, just for a glass of water or something, you weren’t even trying to be sneaky. You just got out of bed, padding across the hall.

You don’t even realize something’s off until you pass the bathroom.

The door’s not fully shut. There’s a gap. A sliver of space just wide enough to catch a glimpse of him.

And ohhh, König...

König, towering and bare from the waist down. One hand was planted hard on the mirror, fogging under the weight of his breath. He’s braced against the sink, head dipped, chest rising and falling like he’s been running for his life.

The other hand? Wrapped tight around his cock like he was trying to mimic the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him.

And he doesn’t even tease himself. No slow strokes, no patience—just a rough, desperate grip as he fucks into his fist like a man starved.

His hand was so big—thick fingers barely managing to circle himself as he pumped hard, messy strokes down the length of it. He wasn’t graceful. Wasn’t smooth. He was wrecked, rutting into his fist like a man starving for relief. And god, you were watching him get off like some kind of pervert but the space between your thighs getting strangely warm and tingly.

Your breath caught. But so did each other's gazes in the mirror, just for a moment through the gap in the door.

You two have been together a long while, but you've never seen him so scared in real-time: eyes panicked, pupils blown wide like he'd been caught mid-sin.

He curses again, his hand sliding down the mirror.

"König—"

Eyes flicking down, lingering on the mess he’d made of himself, then slowly rising to meet his stunned, flushed face.

God, you didn't know what to say and he's scrambling to find words. But you slowly smile.

You reached the door—still ajar—and without a word…

Click.

You shut it.

Deliberately, even if you felt a bit flushed and bothered yourself.

He physically staggered. "Schatz — what are you—"

You slowly hush him, leaning against the sink on one hand, facing him side-on. Yes, you were a little shakey, but you were at least more composed than him right now.

"It isn't what it... looks like —"

"Were you thinking about me, handsome?" You cut him off, not even looking up at him with your gaze fixed downwards. You look at his cock still slick and hard from cumming into his fist.

You bite your lip, replacing where his hand was with your own, slowly pumping your hand across his length.

He twitched.

Then groaned.

You giggled softly, so close to his ear now. “You’re still warm…”

“S-schatzi, bitte…” he choked out, voice cracking with sheer embarrassment. “I—I didn’t mean to— I was going to clean—”

“I know,” you murmured. “But you didn’t.”

And then you slid your hand off and reached for the hem of your sleep shirt.

He jerked away—then stopped.

You pulled it off, dropped it to the floor. It's fine, you'd just chuck it into the laundry later since you basically put the whole house into tip top shape today anyway.

“I’ll help,” you whispered, soft and lilting, like this was just any other domestic moment. “Since you’re too big for your own hands…”

He let out a sound that didn’t belong in the throat of a man his size the moment he saw you stripped down to nothing but your panties.

And when you stepped into the shower and looked back at him over your shoulder, lashes low and voice teasing?

“König? Are you coming?”

His brain broke, cursing, "Fuck, Schatz— are you serious I—"

He moved almost immediately despite his empty protests.

Almost tripped getting to you

--

The steam had barely started to rise when König stepped into the shower. And he was rock hard again.

You stood in the middle of the stream, water cascading down your bare chest, your skin glistening and warm. Your eyes flicked down between his legs, and he saw you look.

He was so big, so solid—so twitchy, all that bulk and muscle packed into a flustered, ACHING man who looked like he was trying not to cry from the tension in his cock because that's all he can think with right now.

This is a 6'10 military man who's average dip to work would give someone cardiac arrest— but here he is, heart pounding like he's having a heart attack himself.

"Schatz, are you sure you—"

He cut off as you dropped down to your knees, hitting it with a wet slap.

He swore in a rough, low breath—filthy German spilling from his mouth like he’d forgotten English.

His hand braced against the wall, knuckles white as he slid down the wall, leaning against it so you could actually reach him.

You didn’t go for his cock directly, moving slow so the water cascades down your body. His breath hitched as he saw your soaked panties clinging to your skin, the outline of your pussy clear through the sheerness.

You let your breasts press together. Just enough. Just perfectly soft and plush. And then—

You slid his cock between them.

His hand slammed to the tile above you. “Please—please—what are you—”

You spit, just enough to slick him and cut off his confusion.

Because König didn’t know what to do with himself, much less what to do with his hands. His thoughts. His body. You had him trapped in your softness, your warmth—wet and slippery and teasing.

His hips jerked instinctively, rutting between the swell of your breasts, and he gasped at how tight it felt, how humiliatingly fast he was already trembling.

And you?

You looked up at him through soaked lashes.

So innocent. So loving.

“Feels good, König?” you purred.

He sobbed.

Literally. He could be really submissive when he wanted to be, and this was one of those vulnerable moments.

His breath hitched and shook, and he choked on a moan as his cock twitched between your breasts.

“I can’t—can’t—” he whimpered, voice wrecked.

“You can,” you cooed.

You tightened around him a little more. Moved faster.

He threw his head back, jaw slack. You feel him throb and pulse between your chest.

And to push it? You opened your mouth and let your tongue peek out to brush over the tip...

He came.

Hard.

The thick heat of it spilled over your chest, streaking your skin, his entire body almost convulsing with the force of it. He was trembling, the back of his head pressed against the wall like he was steadying himself.

You groan, slowly pulling off and slowly standing back up to press your chest against his torso in an embrace under the water. One of his arms instinctively wrapped around your back.

"Just ask next time, Köni..." You use a silly, endearing form of his name.

He rubs his face with his free hand, groaning but with no actual irritation. It was more amused and affectionate.

"Now, let's actually shower to clean the mess you made."

♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you!

[myloveer0]

''Dream at first lust''

(Ambessa x reader NsFw)😭🥵❤️

18+ Read it at your own risk!

---Imagine waking up in the middle of the night, only to find Ambessa standing before you. What would you do?---

Note: I decided to write this because of my love and obsession with Queen Ambessa. This idea suddenly came out of my brain randomly and i went full lock on with it. Need to contribute for more Ambessa fics! asap!!

(This is not perfect and might encounter typos)

Part I

“Ugh… Mhmm… F*ck!” A deep groan escaped your lips as waves of satisfying pleasure washed over you. Your shoulders tensed involuntarily, and your breath hitched. You set your phone down on the bed and stared at the dark ceiling of your apartment, feeling satisfaction and incredulous act you had indulged in for days.

You raise your finger, feeling the sleek wetness of your release coating it. Are you being ridiculous? Where has your dignity gone? With a chuckle, when it comes to this woman all that dignity seems to disappear and unexisting.

It has been days and weeks as you found yourself endlessly replaying Ambessa's provocative TikTok videos and delving into tantalizing online fiction. Each new glimpse of her stirred a primal desire within you, pushing you further to the edge. Now, you watched another viral video of her, found yourself losing control. In an intoxicating haze of desire, your pants disappeared and you already coming and succumbed to overwhelming pleasure.

“W-why aren’t you real?” you whimpered, staring at your phone. On the screen, Ambessa was smiling; it was the scene from the final episode before the fight with Mel and Caitlyn. You stared at it, her captivating smile radiating. She embodied beauty, exuding a deep, masculine and feminime energy that drew you in like a moth to a flame. It was an intoxicating obsession, one that left you yearning for something just out of reach. It was a frustrating and a heartbreaking feeling.

You let out a long, heavy breath and shook your head, sinking deeper into the comfort of your pillow. It wasn’t the first time your mind had wandered back to her—ever since you finished watching Arcane, she’d been all you could think about. Ambessa Medarda: the Matriarch of War, the warlord, the stateswoman. Her presence was magnetic, powerful, and utterly inescapable.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop her from invading your thoughts. Not that you wanted to. You didn’t bother hiding your fascination, even from yourself. That's why you indulge yourself by watching her edits on tiktok and fanfiction available you can find anywhere in the internet just to fill the empty feeling on your heart. But it wasn’t enough. It never was.

Which always result to plessuring yourself. You’d close your eyes and imagine her—sweet yet commanding, masculine yet graceful, towering at six foot nine. The thought of her consuming you, taking you, using you as she pleased—it sent a shiver down your spine every time.

You rubbed your eyes, the weight of drowsiness settling over you. Glancing at the clock revealed it was already hitting midnight. You had planned to take a quick dip in the tub after losing yourself in yet another fantasy, hoping to wash away the lingering wetness that clung to your core.

You never liked sleeping that way—it left you feeling sticky and exposed—but tonight, exhaustion seemed determined to win. Your eyelids grew heavier with every passing moment, and the thought of dragging yourself to the bathroom felt impossible.

''Maybe in the morning…'' you whisper hazily, surrendering to the pull of sleep.

..

Thud!!

Your eyes snapped open at the sound of something heavy falling somewhere nearby. Your sleepy eyes stirred open, mind groggy and slow to catch up. The room was dark, broken only by a thin blade of moonlight cutting through the gap in the curtains. For a moment, you lay still, listening, your heart beating a little faster. You where the type of person who was sensitive to sound especially in the sleep. For a second, you wondered if you were just hearing it.

Reaching out blindly, you felt around for your phone, your hand fumbling over the sheets until your fingers brushed the cool surface of the screen. The glow of the display was harsh, making you squint as your tired eyes adjusted. 2:03 a.m.

You groaned softly, letting the face fall back onto the bed. “Too early for this,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your face with a sigh.

Then it came again.

A sound.

You breath caught, your fingers tightening around the phone. As you immediately sat up in bed, but this time wide awake, ears straining against the silence hoping to hear any sound. Your pulse drummed in your ears now, faster, sharper. You weren't just imagining it.

You scanned the room, but darkness was all you could see. Your apartment's bedroom was a decent size, familiar down to the last detail; you knew every inch of it. There was nowhere for anyone to hide—except in the shadows. You were certain the sound had come from your room, not outside. But how? How could someone get in?

The apartment building wasn’t cheap, boasting heavy security at every turn. No one could enter without passing layers of surveillance, and your door required a fingerprint scan. If anyone had tried to force their way through, the alert would’ve blared instantly.

You told yourself it was nothing. Maybe the wind. Maybe something you'd left precariously balanced had finally tipped over. But no matter how hard you tried to rationalize it, your body didn’t believe it. Your breath was shallow, as though even the act of breathing too loudly might give yourself away.

The phone was still in your hand, but you clutched it like a lifeline, your thumb hovering over the screen. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to move, to do something.

Your chest tightened when you heard it again—a creak.

This time, there was no mistaking it.

It came really inside the room.

You froze.

Your breath caught halfway in your throat and eyes grew widen. That was when you saw it—just barely, a shadow in the darkness. A tall figure, not even a few feet from your bed. It was standing still, like staring at you.

Your chest tightened as panic surged through you, an icy wave that rooted your place. Your hands trembled violently as you raised your phone, fumbling for the flashlight. Your heart pounded so loudly you thought it might burst.

The beam of light sliced through the darkness, illuminating the figure—just for a second.

Before you could process what you saw, it lunged.

You didn’t even have time to scream. Your phone slipped from your hands, bouncing onto the bed as the weight of the figure crashed into you. The air was knocked from your lungs as you forced back, your body pinned against the mattress.

A muscular arm coiled around your neck while the other pressed against the bed beside you, trapping you beneath its weight. You gasped, trying to fight, but it was useless. The pressure on your chest and neck kept you still, every movement was a struggle. You tried to move your legs but it only use it's own legs to pin it back down. It was impossible to escape.

The sharp, metallic scent of sweat and something faintly unfamiliar hit your nose. Your hands clawed instinctively at the arm restraining you, but the grip only tightened. Your mind raced, desperate to make sense of what was happening. Afraid your gonna be hurt much more worse which is death. Will you die in bed? A shurde of horror travel in your skin..

"Don’t move," the voice hissed again, low and guttural, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

Your blood ran cold as the realization sank in—you were helpless. Your body trembled uncontrollably, your throat dry and tight as though it had been sealed shut. Your chest heaved, every breath against the arm pressing against my neck.

Fear consumed you, raw and paralyzing. Tears pricked your eyes, spilling over as you began to sob. Your voice came out broken, barely above a whisper.

“P-please… please don’t hurt me. You can have whatever you want. Take anything you want from me. M-money—if you want money I’ll give it you. Just—just please don’t hurt me!”

The grip on your neck tightened, cutting off the desperate words spilling from your mouth. Your heart pounded wildly as you gasped for air.

“What are you talking about?” the voice snapped, colder now, laced with impatience. “Where am i? what kind of place is this”

You froze. Confusion collided with fear, and for a moment, you couldn’t even process the question. The grip eased just enough for you to wheeze out a frantic, “I-I don’t know! What are you talking about?”

Then it hit you. The light. Your phone. It was still on the bed, the flashlight casting a faint glow against the dark. Your trembling hands fumbled blindly, desperate to grab it.

When the light finally landed on the figure above you, You froze again—this time in utter disbelief. Your eyes widened, every ounce of fear momentarily replaced by a surge of shock that rippled through your entire body.

It was a woman.

Not just any woman.

Her familiar face, her piercing eyes, the sharp lines of her jaw and the scars in her face—all of it was unmistakable. Your breath hitched as your mind reeled.

This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t possible.

It was her. Ambessa Medarda.

Flesh and blood, alive, and impossibly here in front of you. Even touching and pinning you down.

The woman you had dreamed of. The woman you had wanted.

For a moment, you forgot about the weight pinning you down, the fear that had gripped you moments ago. You could only stare at her, mind a chaotic swirl of disbelief, awe, and a lingering sense of stange excitement.

“A-ambessa...??” The name slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Her eyes narrowed at the sound, sharp as daggers. She didn’t loosen her grip; instead, her forearm pressed harder against your throat.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice a low growl. “What is this place? How did you bring me here. Tell me—are you one of them? The Black Rose?”

Your head shook wildly desperate. “I’m not—I swear—please!” The words spilled out, choking as you clawed at her arm.

Ambessa’s lips curled into a sneer, her dark eyes piercing through you, scanning every inch of your body like a predator weighing its prey. There was something chilling in the way she looked at you— as if she was deliberating, assessing if you were a threat capable of fighting back. She was everything the woman you knew. No doubt.

The silence stretched, before she finally released her grip. Maybe realizing that you were just a helpless and weak woman. You staggered back, clutching your neck with trembling hands, your breaths ragged. A violent cough racked your chest as you struggled to refill your lungs, the imprint of her strength still burning into your skin.

Ambessa straightened her posture, exuding an air of quiet authority as her dark eyes scanned your place. She was fully alert and cautioned. The room was dim, offering little for her to see, but her presence seemed to fill every corner nonetheless.

You cursed under your breath, still shaken. She was impossibly strong—stronger than you’d imagined. Just with her bare hand can easily send you to your death effortlessly. You almost get choke to death to the woman you were lusting every night.

That moment of reprieve gave you the chance to really look at her, to take her in fully. She was massive, taller than anyone you’d ever seen, and built like she could crush stone with her bare hands. Broad shoulders, arms thick with muscle, every inch of her radiated strength.

Her skin was rich bronze, smooth in places but broken by scars that suit her more. Her wet silver curls fell freely over her shoulders, stray droplets trailing down the curve of her neck. Her perfect figure, lean and powerful, was wrapped in a red silk robe that clung to her like it was tailor-made to emphasize her dominance. She looks like she just got out of a bath. And was upset where she have gone into.

Your breath hitched as your eyes traced the elegant lines of her frame, and you cursed again under your breath, this time at your own weakness. She was breathtaking—hotter than anything your imagine. Seeing her in person didnt do no justice on what you saw on screen. She was impossibly attractive on how you see her.

Her brows frowned before your eyes met. Maybe she felt it—the intensity of your stare, the way you couldn’t look away. The way your gaze have the possibility to devour her.

Her gaze flickered downward, scanning you every inch of your body as you lay there on the bed. Her right brow raised. You shuddered under her scrutiny, your breath hitching in your chest just with her stare alone. God knew. How much the effect this woman can make you. Then, her eyes darted to the faint glow of your phone still lying on the bed.

Her expression changed in an instant, her lips parting slightly.

You followed her gaze, your stomach twisting in horror as you realized what she was looking at—your phone, the light still illuminating your screen.

Your heart stopped.

There, clear as day, was her. Ambessa Medarda. Smiling, confident, every inch the figure she was. Her image—your favorite image of her—boldly displayed on your wallpaper.

Your cheeks burned, humiliation spreading like wildfire through your body. Of all the times, of all the situations—this had to be the moment she saw it when she was right next to you in real life.

Her hand moved before you could react, snatching the phone from the bed.

“Wait!” you gasped, panic breaking through your embarrassment as you sat up abruptly, reaching for it. But Ambessa didn’t flinch.

With a casual motion, she placed her large hand on your shoulder and pushed you back. It wasn’t rough, but the effortles strength behind it was enough to send me stumble back onto the mattress.

The phone was now in her grasp, her sharp eyes scanning the screen. Inspecting the strange object in her hand with curiosity but cautionly.

Good thing she doesn't know what a phone is or else. It would be a death of you. But suddenly out of nowhere her finger swipe the screen. Your jaw dropped in disbelief.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart lurching as her finger effortlessly moved across the phone, the screen responding as if she’d done it a thousand times before. How could she know how to use it? Was it instinct, or was you just that unlucky? You just remember. You underestimate how intellegent this woman is. She wasn't a warlord for nothing.

You bolted upright, a panicked boldness taking over as you reached out, desperate to snatch it back before she saw anything else.. But before your hand could even graze hers.

“Stay...” Ambessa demanded. Her arm didn’t relent; her gaze bore into you, daring you to defy her.

The word rolled off her tongue, low, smooth, and dripping with something you couldn’t quite place— a hint of seduction that hit you like a lightning bolt.

You froze mid-motion, Your outstretched hand trembling as your body betrayed me. Your knees felt weak and fall back to the bed, your heart pounding not from fear this time but in heat. A warmth bloomed in your chest, sliding lower, pooling deep in my core. You bit down on your lip hard, trying to keep it together, but it was impossible to ignore the wave of hunger rushing through you. You felt ridicolous right now. How can you be horny in this kind of situation.

How could you not? This was all you have been dreaming about for weeks. This wasn’t fear. This was something darker, deeper, something you didn’t dare name.

You felt like a rotten tomato, shame washing over you as you realized—why haven't you put you a password on your phone. How could you be so careless? Your mind raced, imagining the photos, the bookmarks, all of it laid bare for her to see.

Ambessa’s lips curved into the faintest smirk, her eyes still fixed on the glowing screen. She turned the device over in her hands, examining it with an almost childlike curiosity, though her sharp expression was anything but innocent.

“Interesting…” Ambessa murmured, her voice thick with intrigue, her thumb brushing across the smooth glass again. “What kind of object is this, child?”

Her tone sent a shiver down my spine, the word child landing somewhere between teasing and commanding, making you feel both small and utterly exposed.

You swallowed hard, unable to form a single coherent word, your body tense as her gaze flicked back to you.

Ambessa looked at you like you had been caught red-handed, guilty in your act of pleasure. You couldn’t meet her eyes. You cant, in fear all the hunger, the desperation, the crumbling restraint you barely holding together. Instead, you dropped your gaze to the sheets, heat crawling up your neck.

Shit! Your mind screamed at you.

[tangerinesgirl]

Push Your Buttons

Sergei Kravinoff x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+, explicit

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: pure smut, public sex, asphyxiation, sex used for information, rough sex, sexualised reader, mean boss, stranger/anonymous sex, creampie (wrap it up folks), size difference

Notes: slight canon deviation (yeah sure Kraven doesn't wear his wet button up during the Mr Tackling scene but he does now)

Totally oblivious to the man shouting at you to hold the elevator, you drown out your sorrows with your cheap, slightly on the turn, instant coffee, marinating in the same rusty travel cup you have used for years.

Even though you didn't exactly like working for Mr Tackling, you were in too deep now, you couldn't leave even if you wanted to. Honestly, you probably more know about his business than he does. Mr Tackling doesn't even see you as a human being most days, you're sure he only hired you to be his receptionist and personal assistant as a front, only wanting the eye candy, and barely thinks you do any work.

You're late coming in today. Originally on time, but sent home by Tackling as your outfit wasn't "short enough". He makes your skin crawl. But you have to obey his demands, trying not to think about what happened to the last man who did.

You're snapped back into reality by the sound of something loud hitting the door button on the elevator. Eyes widening as you immediately clock the source of the noise being a small metal knife. The doors remain open as the man slides through the gap before retrieving his knife.

Straight away, you feel unsafe being alone in the lift with him. You take in his appearance through the awkward silence, as the lift whirs upwards. Memorising him to warn someone when you are out of the enclosed space.

Young, you want to say 30s, brown hair, damp and slicked back, as if he's just been swimming. Beard, trimmed to a suitable length, but still with a wild quality to it. You can't get a good look at his eyes, his gaze furrowed, staring at the ground.

You almost double take when you glance at his bare feet. What happened to his shoes?

Black trousers and white shirt, dripping wet. Unbuttoned at the collar teasing the muscles he is hiding underneath. Rolled up at the arms, his veins and muscles nearly pop out as he clenches his fists. Angry? Or preparing for something?

You can't deny he is a handsome man, even though you are scared, you can't help but be attracted to his ruggedness. Your breath hitches in your throat, unable to help clearing it with a cough.

As you do so, the man snaps out of his trance to look at you. His brown eyes tracing you up and down. You avoid his gaze and nervously pull down your short skirt, suddenly becoming self conscious at him oggling you.

Suddenly the man lunges forward, his body towering over yours, you back into the wall as he reaches behind you to press a button on the lift panel. The lift comes to an abrupt halt, the alarm starting to ring in your ears.

The noise of your own heart beating drowns out the alarm as you stare at the man in front of you, neither of you moving even after pressing the button. His hand next to your head, looming over you as his beard statts to tickle your face. You wait for him to make the first move.

"You know Mr Tackling?"

His voice rumbles through his chest, the deep bassy notes going straight to your core. You can't help but wonder what your name would sound like with his Russian accent.

"I uh...yeah, I'm his PA."

SHIT why did you tell him that? You don't know who this man is, you fear you may have put a mark over your head now. You guess he would find out anyway, your job being common knowledge around the office.

The man hums in thought.

"Would you tell me where he is?"

You hesitate, less likely to give up that information.

"I, I'm not sur-"

He moves his arm by the side of your head to your chin, cupping it to moving your face upwards, making you look at him. On closer inspection, you start to notice blood specks on his white shirt. You doubt it is his own.

"I won't ask again", he continues.

"What are you going to do to him?", you ask, but really, you already know the answer.

"You really have sympathy towards him? The man who sends you home to change as you don't look hot enough for him?"

"How did-"

"Never letting him touch you...", his hand travels down your body, catching on your blouse, "but yet let a complete stranger do so?"

You look away guilty, blushing at his words. You do like the attention he's showing you, part of the anonymity scares as well as excites you.

His hand snaps back onto your head as he pushes your cheek, making you look at him once again. Your coffee cup falls out of your hand in shock, spilling onto the laminate floor.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

His words sting, but end up going straight to your core. You should be afraid, but your body is saying otherwise, and he knows it.

"Will you show me where he is? ...or am I going to have to fuck the information out of you?"

The damp of his shirt starts to seep into yours at the close proximity. You can't seem to find the words, taken aback by his boldness. You start to move your leg up his, saying more than what you could have done with words. Your bare legs catching on the creases of his trousers.

The man looks at your lips, hungrily, as you trail up his leg. Seems you're both just as into this. He nods subtly, picking up on your consent, before his lips crash into yours. The force pushes you further back into the wall, both his arms leaning against the glass for stability as his tongue explores your mouth. You glance at his arms, his hands steaming up the mirror, as you moan softly into the kiss. You can't help but wonder what those hands look like wrapped around other parts of your body. You start to grind your hips on his crotch at the thought, slowly starting to feel his erection through his trousers.

He pulls away from the kiss briefly to yank your shirt open, the sound of buttons popping off around the elevator. His hands immediately palming at your bra, dipping inside to caress your breasts. You melt into his grip as your hand dips underneath your underwear.

The man stops to unzip his trousers, his cock bouncing free in the very little space between you. He wastes no time as he pulls your panties to one side to slide his cock inside you. You're grateful you decided to touch yourself before he did this, making entry a little easier, not quite realising exactly how big he is. He struggles to fit himself inside you.

"Fuck, so tight", he whispers absentmindedly next to your ear.

He grips hold of one of your legs, lifting it, spreading you further apart to make room for more of his cock. Slowly starting to thrust into you, you squirm underneath him, desperate for more. The wall behind you digs into your back with each push. You wrap your leg around his waist, making him fully insert himself into you.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head feeling him stretch you completely. Looking at him, you notice he's also totally blissed out, with some small shock and impressed looks glinting in his eyes. He takes a second before continuing to thrust inside you. Part of you wonders if he's ever managed to fully seat inside anyone else before, with his reaction.

The force of his pace winds you, unable to make any noise. You somehow can hear him pant and moan over the continuing alarm. Your body goes limp as you let this complete stranger fuck you however he seem fit, your hands digging into his back through his shirt, clawing into him for stability, craving for him to be even closer to you.

His lips start to trail down your jaw, before reaching your neck, feeling him leaving bites and bruises, you wonder what your boss would think seeing them. You swear he even growls as he does so, like a wild animal. His hand instinctively pushes some of your hair behind your ear, giving him more access. But his fingers linger there, teasing the pulse point on your jugular. Lifting his head, he sees your eyes pleading with him, letting him use you however he wanted to.

His hand effortlessly engulfs your entire neck, as he gently presses the sides. You can feel him still spearing up inside of you as the oxygen escapes your throat. His other hand ghosting at your entrance, before his fingers start to rub at your clit. He watches you closely, enjoying this power over you, and the way your walls swallow his cock perfectly.

He can feel himself close to release too, he tries to pull himself from you, but your steel grip on his back lets him know to continue. Before you know it, his pace starts to stutter, pushing one final time up into your cervix. Warmth rushes inside your cunt, his seed filling you up is nearly enough to make you orgasm again. You hum gently at the feeling. His cum starts to seep out of you, onto his trousers, but neither of you care right now.

The overstimulation is enough to make you cum. The combination of him fucking into you, playing with your bundle of nerves and seeing the veins in his hands flex and control your breathing, makes you unravel. Your toes curl inside your heels as your walls clench around him, feeling every vein of his cock as your orgasm washes over your body.

There's a pause as you both come down from your high. He removes himself from you, tucking his cock back into his trousers, pressing the alarm button again, the elevator whirring back into action.

You catch your breath as you pull your skirt down, going to do up your blouse but cursing when you remember it no longer has buttons. The man can't help but smirk seeing you have no choice but to have your bra on display. You can still feel his seed drip out of you, through your underwear and onto the floor. The elevator gives you no time to regain your thoughts as you reach the top of the building.

As soon as the door opens, you're greeted to a handful of people waiting for the elevator. Various murmurs of "about time" and "what's the hold up?" pause when they see the doors unveil the two of you. The smell of coffee and sex wafts through the air as you quickly squeeze past them, avoiding the embarrassment. The man in the lift following you, quick on your heels.

One worker eventually pipes up.

"I guess I'll take the next one."

[marzipanandminutiae]

The '49 Little Women movie does suffer a lot from being made in the aftermath of WW2, but one thing it does great is Jo climbing the fence in that massive dress all the time. Look at a tomboy in military inspired clothing climbing shit! She isn't stopped by them because they're her clothes and she knows how to wear them

When you compare that Jo to 2019 Jo you really see how modern people cannot understand that historical people were in fact people, and we don't need to modernize them to make them so.

I also wonder if that movie Got It better because women and girls were still broadly expected to wear skirts when it was made. And anybody who's been around Actual Human Children knows that you will never stop some little girls from climbing things, no matter what they wear. It's just a question of how much damage you want their clothing to sustain while they do it (hence why real 1860s children's clothing was generally made of dark or printed, hard-wearing fabrics, and little girls didn't wear their hoops for everyday play attire- and very few pieces of it survive, regardless)

I have done things in an instep-length skirt that a lot of modern people wouldn't believe possible. Last week I climbed over a sharply-angled waist-high beam to squeeze through a tiny gap, walk across the attic of a historical site, and wind an 18th-century tower clock. It was awesome. Did I have to tuck up my skirts to a level that some might have considered indecent when the clothing I wear was popular? Yes, and that's why I'm glad I don't actually live back then! But you'd better believe not every woman was going to let propriety stop her from Having Experiences, even if she liked wearing skirts and had no desire to don trousers, and many didn't.

These women are climbing a freaking glacier. I couldn't even do that in trousers, skill-wise

Now, does that mean that skirts are the most practical choice for doing these things? No. It is probably better to wear trousers when climbing a tree, for example. I am glad women have trousers as an option today and I know that was a hard-won battle, just to be clear. But it does mean that they're not fully IMpractical in the sense of "a garment you cannot do physical activity in if called upon to do so"

[rabbitcruiser]

The Metropolitan Life Insurance Co was formed on March 24, 1868.

[writingwisterias]

Day 4: Spanking

RE6! Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Spanking, Dom Leon, Sub Reader, Office Sex, Fingering, Age-Gap, Masterlist

You were beginning to piss him off, your endless complaining as you followed him around the department from mission briefing to training. He never understood how you willingly chose this path in life, optionally putting yourself in the horrible nightmares you commonly faced with him - especially if you were going to complain about how gross it was. Today you must have woke up and decided that it was a perfect day to annoy your partner as you tackled the never-ending pile of paperwork you both let pile up. A stack on each desk in the crappy room they called Leon’s office. You started the task off by being quiet, only asking for intel or information he could remember when you couldn’t but as time passed you grew more bored. Your attention span slipping. The tapping of your pen became more annoying than the ticking of the clock, his hangover wasn’t prepared for this behaviour today. 

Normally he would ignore it optionally turning his attention away from you as if you were invisible but today you weren’t letting him. He admired your ability to be so noisy sometimes, how as soon as that office door shut you were so open with him and chatting to him about literally anything. You were currently perched on the corner of his desk, watching as he scribbled the answers to the questions on the dotted line. “You know I didn’t expect you to have such nice handwriting” You spoke up from beside him, peering at the neatness of his handwriting. Leon just scoffed ignoring your comment in hopes you would eventually return to your desk like normal. “Was it always this good? You know like when you were in school and stuff” 

Leon tried to keep his cool, but the pounding in his head made it hard. “Yeah I guess, it’s not something I normally think about” He responded through gritted teeth. You hummed in acknowledgement of his answer pondering on your reply. “What do you think about?” You asked again, this time your feet began to swing in his peripherals as he tried to avoid looking at your skin, the way your thighs squished outwards on his desk from where you were perched upon it. He often felt sick with the amount of time he thought about you, the way you always seemed so perfect in shape to fit against him.

He always palmed himself when he would get back to the hotels, watching as his seed spilt down the drain if you had to press against him during battle. “How annoying you are” He grunted. You let out a mock gasp, pretending to fall back against his desk dramatically only for you to hit his hipflask that he had yet to screw shut. The metal case tipped over, the contents spilling off the edge and onto the floor. The look he gave you was less than amused, you felt like you were being scolded by your parents as he glared at you. “Oops,” You whispered. Leon sighed heavily, standing up from his chair, his form now towering over you. “This is what happens when you fuck around and don’t do your work” He grumbled, leaning over the desk to pick up the now empty hipflask. His body was so close, his aftershave wafting in your face as he leaned over you. “Don’t you have anything to say then? Huh sweetheart” 

You couldn’t help but shrink under his gaze, his voice deep as it rumbled through his chest. “Leon, I’m sorry really…I just” You mumbled, playing with your fingers. It felt humiliating the way he spoke to you like you were being told off by your parents. Yet as you looked up to meet his gaze, one that was sharp and cut through you instantly you couldn't help the way your pussy began to clench, arousal settling in your stomach. “You're really going to offer me an excuse mixed in with your apology?” He chuckled. The chair creaked as he sat back down and then again as he adjusted himself, his legs spreading showing off his crotch. “You’ve got to be kidding me if you think I would let you touch that after the crap you pulled today” he sighed noticing your greedy eyes. Your cheeks flushed red in the embarrassment of your gaze being caught. “I said I was sorry” You sighed. Leon didn’t respond, his eyes cutting through you like daggers as he sat there. 

After a few minutes, he only patted his thigh, the slap echoing around the cramped office. Your eyes widened but you still complied, sliding off the desk as you made your way over to him. You moved to perch on his lap only for him to tut and shake his head “Not like that, bend over” He smirked. With a small nod you complied, settling yourself over his knees your ass peaked perfectly next to his hand where it rested on the armrest of his desk chair. If anyone was to walk in now you were sure that you would have to go and find a ditch to throw yourself in, never being able to show your face around the office again. He tugged up the hem of your pencil skirt, bunching the fabric to expose your thong. “You always taunt me with your office clothes, do you know how many times I’ve had to rub myself to you when I get home? Christ, you don't know what you do to me” 

The change in attitude made your head spin, the way he was grabbing at the flesh of your cheeks made the coil in your stomach tighten. “Leon..I don’t understand-” You were cut off as a stinging pain spread throughout your ass. He rubbed it slowly, soothing the area as a sickening grin grew on his face. “You’ve been annoying me all day, it’s only fair you get some punishment for wasting my expensive whiskey” He grumbled as the second slap landed. You could feel the area grow hot as the feeling of a thousand little needles spread throughout both of your cheeks. You whimpered as he cupped your pussy, feeling the small wet patch growing in the thin fabric of your thong. “You’re actually getting off to this, naughty girl” He chuckled. You nodded, a whimper leaving your lips as yet another slap landed. “How many have we done so far then sweetheart?” Leon asked, his hand soothing the throbbing skin. “T-three” You whimpered, bracing yourself for another slap. Leon hummed in approval, his hand now stopping its soothing motion, “Shall we say 7 more slaps and I’ll consider you forgiven? And we can both get what you really want” 

You whimpered in response, his question was more of a statement anyway. Each slap was harder than the last, either from the sting of the last slap or because he was adding more power to them. You whined at the final slap, the angle of it different as his fingers hit your pussy. “There all 10, well done,” He said as he soothed the redness of your cheeks. His fingers slid your thong to the side exposing your puffy pussy to him. The lips glisten in your arousal as he spreads it around.

His fingers curled inside reaching for the soft spongy part of your walls to make you moan. You could feel his cock underneath you, the length hard as it throbbed in his trousers. His thumb started to circle your clit, giving it the attention you craved. Your fingers grasped at his sleeves as you went rigid with pleasure desperate for your release. The cold air made your raw skin sting, and the sensations became so much that you loosened over his lap as your orgasm ran through your body. Leon chuckled over you, bringing his fingers to his lips as he sucked on them, “Oh darling, we aren’t done yet”

Taglist: @kasueli @luvrgreyy @michellekmsh @miss0giarra @cinnabunnysavvy @redollface @my-loved-figure-skates @luvlouiee @drawboo22 @moth-quasar @nyxxoxo

[nocturnals-sculpture]

Addictive Like Poison

WS Bucky Barnes x Stark Reader

Summary - You don't want to leave, you want to stay here and be mine, you want to be mine

Minors do NOT interact with my account or posts as they contain NSFW content which this one includes: kidnapping, blood spilled, drug use, age gap, non-con ish, forest sex, name calling, cream pie and choking.

Being the daughter of the famous playboy millionaire and the amazing iron man, has its pros and cons, fake friends, suitors asking for your hand, some begging, some bribbing and kidnapping attempts that weren't long lived, but it all came down to the same thing every time like clock work "no" he said not taking his eyes away from the screen taking a sip of his coffee. My mouth agape "why dad everyone is gonna be there" I pleaded looking at pepper for support, but her face was turned away, he turned his chair towards me giving me a dead pan look, his glasses falling a bit off his nose the architectural hologram illuminating his face a dull blue.

"Well not everyone is gonna be there because you are not going" I gritted my teeth storming out ignoring the few glances I got from the other towers occupants, slamming the door to my room grabbing my phone from the desk. My eyes flickered through the different notifications I focused on texting my friends ignoring pepper as she stood in the doorway, she cleared her throat "whatever you have to say pepper doesn't matter, it sucks being a stark" I blurted falling back onto my bed "having bodyguards spy on me from every corner, having everyone fake being friends with me to get to the ohh so amazing tony stark" my eyes closed in annoyance.

"Wow that sucks" her voice held a bit of humour her eyes followed me as I fell back onto my bed, I scrolled through the millions of texts of people asking me if I'm going to the party some somewhat felt kinda genuine while others just asked to to supply the whole party with alcohol and food, I rolled my eyes I loved getting attention but it wasn't for the right reasons "how about this" pepper came to stand close to me making me raise up and look at her,"I'll turn off the back exits cameras you have until 10:30" excitement boiled inside me as I leaped up hugging her tightly "but you have to take Evie with you" she huffed catching her breath as I let her go 'yes yes yes' I exclaimed excitedly as I rushed to my walk in closet chosing out an outfit as she walked off giggling.

The dress I chose was black and short stopping above mid thigh, it was strapless and supported my boobs nicely, the simple lace design glistened with sparkles, I moved on with simple makeup except the lips which I used a deep red that could consider a blood like colour puckering my lips I added a clear gloss giving it a final touch my body shivered as the hair on the back of my neck rose, an unsteady feeling of beginning watched filled me, "Jarvis is anyone in my room" my voice was soft as I connected to the robots signal 'there is no one in or near your quarters ms yn, should I send your father an alert?' his voice fazed out a bit but I didn't think much of it.

I opened my jewelry case grabbing the black necklace hanging it around my neck I grabbed my phone placing it into my bag and slung it over my shoulder, peering around the corner of my door making sure the cameras were off before sneaking out 'were we off to night yn' Evie's robotic voice spoke quietly "we're living life to the fullest Evie" I murmured smiling as I got into the unmarked get away car dad always had encase of emergencies "25 downtown avenue" I spoke, the GPS pinged online and the car started to move, I clicked my seatbelt on and went onto my phone I took a photo sending it out on my status with the caption 'the life of the party is coming' instantly gaining about 100 replies.

Somewhere in a hydra base.

"Winter Soldier is ready for take off" a operative spoke into the bases mic as he stared at the young girls picture she had posted only moments prior, their fake account beginning one of your 'close friends' spam accounts which you didn't question because she had multiple "get the prize then get out you got that" the winter soldier stood emotionless as the commander spat in his face, his body was tense in the gear strapped tightly to his body the leather surely leaving marks, his hand lifted wiping the spit off his cheek as the commander turned his back walking out the room.

"I've sent the coordinates to your GPS, make sure she doesn't have any trackers or that your tailed" a operative walked along side him to his motorbike, and turned his tablet to Bucky "your target is yn stark daughter of Tony stark we need her ALIVE" the winter soldiers eyes moved down to the tablet and gritted his teeth under his mask feeling his cock stir in his pants, he nodded before switching on the bike and heading out but the image of you never leaving his mind, he didn't know if it was the target on your back or the mer sight of you that allured him, it was strange, it didn't frighten or disturb him it angered him to the point where his whole body reacted, his fists clenched white around the handle bar of his bike, his eyes glared back hearing the engine of the hydras van trailing after him.

He knew one thing, he had to find out what it is that your doing to him one way or another he will get it out of you even if it risks the mission "entering targets approximity" the operatives voice dragged him out of his unaware state, his bike slowed down to park in a dimly lit alleyway and the van taking refuge by the door of the building for a quick get away "winter soldier is a go" the voices made him want to rip out the ear piece and get this shit over and done with alone no voices telling him where to go or what to do, he climbed off the bike walking towards the building getting a few touches and hollers of tipsy pent up drunks some trying to hold onto him but his steps were consistent and theirs were too wobbly, the blaring music filled his ear getting louder and louder through the doors "find the commotion find the prize" he listened to his commanders words his eyes locking on target.

Back to you

The burning sensation from the alcohol running down my throat almost made me gag, a tight smile was forced onto my lips as I was giving another one, bodies of a few friends and strangers were pressed tightly against me as I danced on the dance floor, it was so packed I almost couldn't breathe "who the fuck is that" a woman slurred as she leaned against me she was too drunk to keep her hand up very long but my eyes met his and I knew she was talking about him, I rolled my shoulders getting her off me making my way towards him my breath hitchhiking as I have been caught "I don't need a body guard" I yelled so he can hear me over the music, my eyes dragged up and down him his gear was nothing I've seen before.

He didn't answer just stood there staring at me my eyes looked around him a bit more something seemed off til I saw the red little patch "fuck" I muttered backing away from him his steps quickly following mine I turned and ran pushing my way through the crowd towards the back exit I could feel him right behind me, I blinked my gaze was starting to blur and my head spin 'what the fuck was happening' my steps faulted as I pushed through the doors making me collapse onto the floor, my breathing was laboured I used my remaining strength to try crawl away from him back he bent down grabbing my ankle dragging me towards him, my body scraping against the concrete making me scream out in pain "that's enough" my eyes glazed with tears turned to the voice seeing a few more agents coming towards us.

"soldat stand down" the man barked at the soldier behind me but he just stepped over my and grabbing my hair to pull me up, I screamed and clawed at him as he dragged me towards them, the group raised their guns aiming at the man "winter soldier stand down now" he yelled my eyes glared up at the man holding me terror settled at the bottom of my stomach I heard of him I've seen the footage of the night he killed my grandparents "Хотел бы я посмотреть, как ты попытаешься победить меня, а я в это время убью твой приз" (I'd like to see you try to beat me while I kill your prize in the meantime) their bodies stiffened at his words, they fired warning shots as he took out his gun pointing it at them, my body trembled with fear my head still spinning from the spiked drink.

His grip on my hair tighten as he fired back each bullet shot hit its target till it was only the commander left "Ты больше не можешь меня контролировать" (You can't control me anymore) the commander fired his own gun but hit his metal arm instead, the winter soldier fired his gun again hitting the man in the middle of his head my eyes closed tightly fearing the same fate but instead I was dragged to the van and thrown in the back I tried raising myself up as I heard the nearing sirens but my body was to weak I was thrown around as van started to move getting further and further from the sirens "why are you doing this" my voice cracked my throat sore and dry, I didn't get a reply, my eyes started to droop and my body grew too tired to fight, I collapsed against the vans hard floor my vision going black 'I should've stayed home'.

I woke up my chest raising and falling as I panted my eyes were quick to move around the room but the light above me was too bright, I hissed as I tried to move my eyes jerking to look down at my hands, they widened seeing some of my skin already covered in red my breathe wavered and my eyes began to fill with tears "why is this happening to me" I cried out, the constraints burned against my skin as I tried to move "Я бы не стал пытаться избежать кровавой розы" (I wouldn't try escaping blood rose) his voice made my body shake and my head fall as I heard him step closer, my eyes stayed focused on the floor.

His metal arm reached out gripping my chin forcing me to look up at him "what the fuck have you done to me кровавая роза (blood rose)" his voice was deep and sharp his dark blue eyes staring into mine filled with anger, I shook my head free laughing bitterly "me I've done nothing to you" I spat onto his boot I flinched as he raised his hand but it wasn't to slap me but fish out the knife in his pocket my eyes glazed with tears and fear I started to beg "please don't do this, if you want money I'll get you money I'll get you anything you want" "Заткнись" (shut up) he barked, his free hand pushed my head aside I closed my eyes tightly feeling the cold metal press to my skin but no pain was given, I heard the soft thud as my necklace drop to the floor flinching as he stomped on it destroying it completely before leaving me alone.

I felt hot but the room was cold my eyes were atleast adjusting to the light, I could see that I was in the basement which was surprisingly clean except for the dirty boxes that lay around the room and even though he wasn't in here I still felt like I was being watched I peered over my legs down to the floor where the crushed remnants of my necklace lay the feeling of dread and terror taking place in my chest "how are you going to find me" I whispered my felt felt sore and tired each time I closed them the blank space grew longer and longer till I fell asleep.

I don't even think I rested my eyes for 10 minutes till I felt him raise my chin my eyes looked at him with fear but they calmed seeing him, he didn't have the same rage in his eyes as he did before he pressed a glass to my lips "drink" he said his voice didn't have the sharp edge to it I opened my lips letting the cool liquid slide down my throat soothing it once the glass was empty he kneeled down placing it on the floor grabbing a few other things one of them a cloth, I hissed as he pressed it onto my scraps I had gotten before, with quick motions he had cleaned the wounds "why did you disobey hydra" I asked between grunts of pain "their going to kill you" I breathed slowly my eyes looking at his but his didn't meet mine.

"Answer me" I raised my voice making his face snap to mine, the fury in his eyes returning "you can't just kidnap the most wealthy guys daughter, go rogue from the most feared villain group and not want anything in return" the anger and fear was clear in my voice as I spoke to him my head following his movement as he stood up "just let me go if your not getting anything out of it" I pleaded but he just turned walking out "I promise I won't tell anyone please" I screamed after him but all I heard was silence, when time had past I don't know if it was hours or days he would bring me some heated up frozen meal and water, he never spoke or replied to me, just let me out when I needed to use the toilet or shower I'd have to use the bathroom attached to the basement then he'd take me right back to the chair he was nicer then the other kidnappers I've had.

But this time was different he didn't bring down any water or food he just stood infront of me for a few seconds before undoing my restraints I opened my mouth to speak but I knew it was useless, I watched with confusion as he just walked out leaving me here free my eyebrows creased together 'maybe it's a cruel test' I just waited, waited till the feeling got too much I slowly raised myself up to my feet but stumbled as I tried to walk my legs were to weak I layed there still my chest raising and falling slowly as I took it in it felt weird being free from the chair, I stiffened hearing his footsteps near my body trembled as it thought of punishments he might give me instead he stood beside me bending down pushing his arms under my legs and head lifting me into his arms.

My cheeks turned a pinkish colour as I fell against his body I felt worried but also something I couldn't describe this was way different then the way he treated me before, my hands rushed to wrap themselves around his neck as he carried me up the stairs his body flinched feeling my arms around him, my eyes closed as we reached the top step the light being too bright for my eyes it was day time, I took a deep breath it wasn't fresh air but atleast it was better then the basements somewhat stale air, he placed me onto a soft cushioned surface which I presumed to be a couch "stay" was all he said before I heard his footsteps disappearing my eyes soon opened as they adjusted to the light I looked around the room, it was nothing special no pictures or anything on the walls the couch was the only settable surface in the room.

He entered with food and water placing it on the table in front of me, taking a seat beside me he just stayed there silent his eyes watching my every move I stopped every few bites my gazing darting over to him "why did you bring me out" I asked my mouth somewhat full but he didn't speak instead his eyes held something else in them I placed my food back down a weird feeling crept up my spine making me want to run and get out of there, just like a sign the wind clicked the door open my eyes moved between Bucky and the door but his never left me 'i at least have to try' I took a quick breathe before taking off jumping over the small objects in my path my eagerness making me run even faster, we were in the middle of nowhere the forest wherever I looked stretched on for miles so I chose to keep following the dirt road.

I heard things crash as he followed me quickly gaining up his boots thumped against the dirt I could hear his deep breaths, my lungs burned like there was a fire inside my eyes peered behind me only to be the reason of my downfall I tripped on a branch the force of impact winding me I felt his body onto of me I could already the imagine the smirk against his lips his arms caged me down each arm on either sides of my head, he leaned down his breathe ticking my ear "Я поймал тебя, и моя кровь поднялась" (I caught you my blood rose) he growled as his body pressed down on mine, a small gasped left my throat as I felt his bulge pressed against me, my fingers dug into the gun as I tried crawling away but one of his hands lifted and wrapped itself around my neck, his finger tips slightly dug into my flesh.

"Ты не хочешь уезжать, ты хочешь остаться здесь и быть моей" (You don't want to leave, you want to stay here and be mine) his voice was low and seductive he rocked his body against mine "you want to be mine" he growled his hand pushing me to look at him, I couldn't speak i didn't know what to say his eyes glared at me with lust pressing himself further onto me the slight pressure on my clit made my eyes flutter and mouth clench shut, I felt his soft lips press against my neck his lips opened nipping and sucking at my skin, it wasn't the love bites that you see in every cringy romance they were the ones from the movies that are hot and heavy the ones you only watch with your door locked.

My throat vibrated as I tried to conceal my moans as his lips moved around my neck, his hand tightening as my body shivered with excitement, his rough finger tips slowly moved down my smooth skin from my neck to my collarbone to my soft breasts his fingers dug in gripping them roughly, my mouth opened panting stuffing my head into my arms his fingers slowly moved across my skin to my soft breasts his hands kneading and gripping them my nipples get pinched between his fingers, his voice growled into my ear "moan for me Кровавая роза" (blood rose) his breath sending a tickling sensation through my body.

He moved his hand gripping the edge of my dress stretching it away from my body til the sound of tearing fabric filled our ears my eyes glazed with tears as I watched the fabric fall discarded on the floor, it shouldn't be happening this way "no please" I pleaded but he went back to ignoring me his fingers pinching and pulling at my nipples, he breathed me in as his hand started to fall again grazing my skin leaving a trail of goosebumps, his fingers brushed down my stomach to the edge of my lacy underwear "Кровавая роза" (blood rose) he growled letting his fingers slide underneath the fabric, I closed my eyes and took in a shakey breathe feeling the sensation of his rough finger tips graze my clit.

His finger circled around my clit in an agonizing slow motion, each completed circle drove me more and more insane, my hands dug into the dirt my moans becoming harder and harder to contain "just admit it, this feels good" he muttered his voice holding determination as his finger dipped down into my lips teasing the hole, my eyes rolled it was weird but good sensation 'fuck' I mouthed into my arm letting my teeth bite down onto my skin, it seemed to make him more determined his finger entered slowly pumping in and out coating his finger in my wetness my body reacted to each motion making a dry chuckle leave his throat "are you just a slut Кровавая роза" (blood rose) he said I could feel his smirk against my neck.

I shook my head, I felt the brush of his tongue along my neck as he licked his lips "somehow I don't believe you" he spat, the pumping of his finger increasing, I choked out a broken moan my legs quivering "I promise I'm not" I moaned small tears running down my cheek, I felt his palm start to move against my clit I already felt overwhelmed "I-i just please" I didn't know what I was begging for but just something that's more of this, I whined as he pulled his hand away from me the lose of his body heat making my body shiver as he got up, his hands wrapped around me pulling me to my feet only to push me into a near by tree his body pressed up against me.

"Beg like the slut you are" I felt myself clench around nothing his words only fueling my excitement I watched his arms cage me in his muscles flexing as he spoke "answer me slut" his hand moved to grip my hair moving my head so I was facing him, my eyes traveled to his lips they looked so soft, I lost control of my body pushing my lips to his, his body didn't flinch he didn't pull my hair to get me away he just stood there my lips molding into his, the hand gripping my hair soon started to push me more into him while the other grabbed my hips turning my body to his, the hand moved its way back gripping my ass.

My arms moved to wrap around his neck fingers interlocking as his hand dropped my hair "jump" he muttered against my lips his hands securing themselves against my ass I jumped gasping wrapping my legs around his waist, he pressed me into the tree letting one of his hands move from their spot to undo his pants he discarded the belt onto the floor beside the torn fabric of my dress I felt his hand disappear into his boxers pulling out his hardened cock the tip already leaking with pre-cum, he pulled his lips away his eyes staring deep into mine filled with a predatory gaze, his eyes remind too mine as he moved his dick to run up and down my slit toying with me.

I tightened my arms around him rocking my hips to his desperate for more friction he chuckled at my attempts "beg" he said his eyes moving up and down my body with a lustful stare I whined feeling defeated "please" I whined making him growl 'more' my body shivered as he pressed the head of his cock to my clit "please fuck me, just fuck me" I cried with a desperate moan I watched his eyes ignite with dominance, I waited with anticipation as I felt his cock slowly move to the hole teasing the entrance before pushing in, my body clenched feeling the burn of the stretch, my fingers let go of each other to dig my nails into his back "fuck" I moaned wavily he paused waiting for me to adjust he was being so caring it somewhat scared me.

As soon as my breathing calmed and my body stopped shaking his hips slowly started to move, I moaned with every thrust my eyes closed in pleasure leaning my head back against the tree I gasped feeling the cold metal of his metal arm wrap around my neck tightening a bit till my throat clenched I could still breath but with shallow breathes my eyes rolled to the back of my head feeling him speed up a pleasureble sensation filled me "I'm gonna cum" I choked making his hips hit my harder, the sound of skin slapping skin echoed through the woods behind us, my body jolted with each thrust.

My fingers dug so deep I was surprised I haven't drawn blood, his shoulders rose and fell with each breath he took, his eyes closed as I felt his cock swell "I'm not on birth control" I said my breaths quickening but his thrusts only continued, my moans started to get louder as I grew closer my legs tightening around him "fuck" I cried out my body quivering as I felt myself cum, I moved my hands to his chest pushing him trying to stop him "too much" I whined but his thrusts never ceased "please stop" I pleaded he stopped for a moment and I breathed in relief but I wasn't so lucky.

He moved us to the ground I tried to protest but his hips started to move again turning my words into moans "fuck" I was too overstimulated to take I just let my head hang back on the dirt floor, I felt a weird vibration from the floor, my eyebrows creased in confusion as I moved my head to look it was a nearing car, my heartbeat sped up and my motions to get him off increased 'please stop' but he didn't care he didn't even look at the car, the adrenaline pumped through my veins I watched the car come to a speeding holt, That's when I felt it, my eyes fluttered shut and a choked moan ripped from my throat I felt the warm liquid spill inside me "I told you to wait Bucky" my breathe hitched as my eyes jerked over to the man getting out of the car.

"Hail Hydra"

Any advice or critiques is very much appreciated, thank you for reading my post I hope you enjoyed.

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[hopeyoufindalovelikethis]

The One Match I Lost Gladly

One of the reasons I’ve always leaned toward Sylus is because, like me, he understands the rhythm of combat and the discipline it takes to hold your ground. I love Muay Thai and train regularly. And through that lens, I wanted to explore what it feels like to be guided not just by a fighter, but by someone who makes you feel safe even in your weakest moments. Thank you for reading and remember that you don’t have to win to be worthy of being chosen—you already are 🤍

Synopsis | She had trained hard, trying to match his skill, but even her best couldn’t close the gap between them. After a sparring round left her disheartened, Sylus reminded her that his goal wasn’t to defeat her—but to make her stronger for the moments he couldn’t stand beside her. She hadn’t won the match. She had already won him.

The Onychinus Tower always felt quieter this time of evening—just after the shift change, when most of the guards had moved to the perimeter levels, and the central halls grew still. You stepped through the glass doors leading to Sylus’s private training floor, the hum of motion sensors flicking on the perimeter lighting. The room ahead opened like a hidden chamber of steel and shadow: matte-black floors, padded walls, twin punching bags suspended from reinforced beams, and a single elevated ring lit by the soft amber glow of overhead LEDs.

Sylus was already there.

He stood by the far punching bag, dressed in his full black gear—training shirt clinging to the shape of his back, shorts cinched just above the knee, his hands wrapped and gloved, as though he had been waiting exactly for this moment. His gaze lifted the second you entered, locking on you not with surprise, but with something steadier—intent. You caught the faintest rise of his brow, that familiar spark of approval hidden behind the cool cut of his expression.

“Took your time,” he said.

You smirked, walking toward the bench to set down your bag. “Don’t start with me.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “You’re the one who asked for training. I’m just reminding you who you asked.”

You peeled off your hoodie, revealing your short-sleeved top and matching black shorts. Your soft pink gloves swung gently at your wrist, catching in the air. Sylus glanced at them, then back to your face, the barest hint of warmth breaking into his usual stillness.

“Cute gloves,” he murmured. “Dangerous look.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “Just don’t hold back because they’re soft pink.”

“I won’t,” he said, his smirk captured your heart as always.

You followed him into the open space between the ring and the mats. He stood in front of you, arms folded over his chest, the line of his mouth unreadable.

“Hands,” he said.

You raised them—guard up, elbows in.

He moved closer, lifting one of your wrists and tilting it slightly. “Tighter angle. You drop your left too early when you exhale. Tells your opponent you’re winding up for a hook.”

You nodded, adjusting. “Noted.”

He stepped back, motioned you to begin shadow work. “Start slow. One minute on the clock. Focus on footwork and breathing.”

You moved into motion—jab, reset, cross, pivot. The silence was filled only with the sound of your breath and the slight scuff of shoes on the mat. Sylus circled you, not as a predator, but as a shield—eyes sharp, arms behind his back, studying everything. When your right shoulder rolled forward too far, he stepped in and corrected it. When your stance shifted unevenly, he tapped your ankle with his foot—not harsh, just enough to bring your focus back.

The minute passed.

“You’re tighter than last time,” he said. “More control in your core. Still too reactive when you take a hit, but your form’s improving.”

You nodded, breath steady. His praise meant more than he let on, and you knew it. He didn’t offer it lightly.

“Switch,” he said. “Movement drills. Bag.”

You moved to the punching bag beside him, already centered, and began again. Jab. Jab-cross. Uppercut. Hook. Sylus stood just behind your shoulder, close enough that his presence felt like a tether. His hand came up once to realign your elbow, fingers brushing briefly across your skin. His voice remained steady—deep and instructional, but never impatient.

“Breathe through impact. Don’t waste air before contact.”

You nodded, focused.

His voice dropped closer to your ear. “Don’t hold back just because I’m watching. Hit like you mean it.”

And you did.

The bag jolted from the final cross, and you stepped back, chest rising and falling, sweat beginning to gather at your temples.

Sylus’s hand came up to rest on your back, a silent signal to stop.

“That’s enough warm-up,” he said. “Now we go in.”

You inhaled slowly as you adjusted the strap of your glove, the clean scent of leather mixing with the warmth of your breath. Sylus was already stepping into the ring, moving with quiet focus as he leaned against the ropes, waiting.

He leaned against the ropes as he waited, one glove resting on the top rope, his body relaxed but alert. His expression didn’t change as you approached, but the moment your feet met the canvas, he straightened. His eyes swept over you once—your posture, the set of your jaw, the slight quiver in your stance—and without a word, he lifted his hands.

You nodded. And just like that, the round began.

Your feet shifted into position, instinct sharpening as you closed the distance. You struck first—quick jab, testing distance, then a pivoting hook to test his reflexes. Sylus blocked it effortlessly, barely moving his arms as he countered with a measured cross. You ducked and stepped back, recovering your stance, trying not to overthink the way his body moved like he had memorized every form before you even began.

You threw another combo—this time faster, more confident. He dodged cleanly.

His feet barely made a sound on the canvas, and yet each movement cut into your rhythm like a whisper slicing air. When he did respond, it was never reckless. One low jab to your ribs, just enough to unbalance you. A palm press against your shoulder to knock your step wide. He wasn’t trying to hurt you—he was reminding you of the difference. Not to shame. Just to teach.

You knew that.

But still, your breath caught when you stumbled slightly, a foot slipping out of stance. Sylus paused, immediately giving you space, hands lowering to check your reaction.

You raised yours again, more from stubbornness than composure. “Again,” you said.

He nodded once. No smile. No teasing.

This time, you landed a clean jab. You felt the impact in your shoulder, the brief satisfaction of control. But it didn’t last. When you followed up with a cross, Sylus leaned aside with ease, caught your glove against his forearm, and in one fluid pivot, stepped behind your guard and tapped your side.

The match was light. But the gap felt enormous.

You lowered your arms slowly, stepping back as the timer sounded. The round was over. You pulled your gloves off and slumped onto the nearest corner stool, your back hitting the post as you reached for your towel with a sigh.

Sylus crouched in front of you a moment later, removing his own gloves with slow, practiced motions. He handed you your bottle, then rested his forearm on the edge of the ring beside your thigh.

“You’re getting stronger,” he said, voice calm. “Your angles have improved. You kept your footing better today.”

You nodded, but your eyes dropped to the mat. “Not good enough, though. Not if you were serious.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he studied your expression—the way your shoulders curved inward, the subtle way your mouth pressed into itself. The effort you had given was real. And so was the disappointment in your voice.

“You don’t spar me to match me,” he said at last. “Not yet.”

You looked up, and he met your eyes fully.

“I’ve been trained since forever,” he continued. “I’ve fought men who would slit my throat for blinking. I didn’t survive that world because I was kind. I survived it because I had no other option.”

You said nothing.

“But I train you,” he said, quieter now, “so you’ll have the strength to stand your ground even when I’m not there.”

That sentence sat heavy in your chest. Not because it hurt, but because it healed something deeper than your pride.

He reached up then, his gloved knuckles brushing your jaw gently, lifting your chin just slightly. “Don’t measure your strength by my experience. You’re not meant to be a version of me. You’re meant to survive with me.”

You tried to speak, but he leaned in, just enough that your thoughts scattered.

“I wasn’t fighting to win today,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple as he spoke. “Because I already lost the only match that mattered.”

Your breath caught. “What match?”

Sylus smiled against your skin. “You.”

Your chest tightened, not from exhaustion—but from something warmer.

“You didn’t need fists to win me over,” he said, his voice dipping low, rough around the edges but full of certainty. “You used your love. And that’s something no one else could ever land.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle and unwavering, a gesture that grounded more than it asked. His lips then found your cheek, lingering there with a warmth that made your breath catch, and when you finally closed your eyes, his mouth met yours—soft, unhurried, and full of something that had no need to prove itself.

The kiss ended without a word, but the air between you shifted. Your chest still rose and fell with the rhythm of the match, yet your mind had quieted in a way your body hadn’t. You kept your eyes closed for another second, letting the weight of Sylus’s nearness settle like a balm across your skin.

He didn’t move away immediately. His hand remained at your side, fingers splayed gently across your ribcage, thumb brushing once along the hem of your training top. When he finally leaned back, his expression had softened—but there was a glint returning to his gaze. One you recognized.

“Get back up,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “What?”

He reached for the towel you had set aside, brushed it along the side of your face to catch the sweat near your brow, and smirked.

“We’re not done, kitten.”

Your lips parted slightly in protest, but he lifted one brow with slow finality.

“You want to be better, don’t you?”

You gave a small nod.

“Then let’s fix one of those gaps while your heart’s still beating like it means it.”

He stood and extended a hand. You took it, and he pulled you back onto your feet—not roughly, but with the kind of strength that reminded you who he was. Not just your partner, but the man who had earned every scar he carried and who now offered all that discipline to you, without reservation.

“You’re teasing me,” you muttered as you wore your gloves back and shifted your stance, trying to hide the grin tugging at your lips despite the burn still lingering in your chest.

Sylus stepped back toward the center of the ring, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Of course I am, kitten. But I meant it. We won’t stop until at least one of your gaps gets covered today.”

He wore his gloves, then raised them again. His posture shifting with clean precision. No more foreplay. No more indulgent softness.

This was your second drill.

And somehow, as you stepped into the second drill, it didn’t feel like you were just stronger—it felt like you were steadier. You weren’t moving to impress him anymore. You were moving because he had reminded you that you were already enough. You exhaled slowly, squared your shoulders, and met his gaze with a fire that no longer needed to prove itself—only to grow.

“Ready when you are.”

Sylus’s mouth curved slightly.

“Good,” he said. “Now keep your left up. I’m not letting you walk out of here until it’s second nature.”

And just like that, the round began again—sweat, breath, rhythm, and the silent tether between two hearts training side by side.

[noctis-kingfisher]

Blue Hour (iv) ⁞ Isagi Yoichi

iv. Speak My Language

SYNOPSIS -> Your life finally settles after a rough divorce, and all you want is to run your flower shop in peace, but when 20-year-old Isagi Yoichi starts working for you, the summer might get hotter than anticipated. INFO -> Isagi x reader, afab!reader, flower shop au, Summer Solstice Point au. WARNINGS -> 18+, NSFW, age-gap romance, reader has vaginismus, reader is 28, Isagi is 20, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, eventual questionable dubcon but not with Isagi, divorced!reader, sexual exploration, pov changes(?), she/her pronouns are used for reader, canonverse despite some age disparities and how that affects the canon timeline (just don't think about it), no use of y/n, tags are subject to change. WORD COUNT -> 2.7k

Minors and empty blogs will be blocked.

<- prev. -> masterlist -> next

The sense of lost affection in a lover’s touch wasn’t something new to you. That moment when grazes of fingertips in the sunrise settled heavily with obligation and nothing lighter than their interest had become.

But those moments were only experienced during the dating phase, the getting-to-know-each-other-beyond-the-test-of-time phase. And the test of time had left you both weary.

Never did you think a lover’s crumbling touch would reach you in marriage. And yet it had.

The seeds of undoing were planted with reluctant nights of intimacy, your ex-husband's reason being that the physical limitations of your body made sex too difficult to deal with on a normal basis. They were tended to and watered with later work shifts, a distancing that left you feeling as though the little quirks that made you left much to be desired. Those seeds grew into towering sunflowers in the span of three years, mocking you as they kept ever in line with the sun.

Alone in the flower shop, you noticed rain began in a patter against the windows, giving the place an even more desolate and isolating vibe than usual. More so, it reminded you of when it fell that one cold summer day.

---

Rain doused the curtained windows of your bedroom, shielding you both from the gloom of the stormy morning. The coolness wrought from the clouded weather lowered the inside temperature enough to prickle your skin even through your comforter. Your only recompense on such mornings was from your husband beside you, who then shifted over to encompass your body as he woke earlier than his alarm.

He took a look at the digital clock on your side table through groggy eyes before he buried his face in your hair.

“Mornin’…” Oliver mumbled, his voice rumbly and deepened impossibly further from sleep. His bare skin scorched you through your pajamas, and his hands began to wander in a rare bout of affection. At least, that's how you chose to interpret his morning wood. “We got thirty minutes…”

Mornings of intimacy eventually became few and far between halfway through your marriage. At the start of its wane, though, Oliver would try to rekindle the flames in the ways he knew how, but those ways made it seem like he had veiled the part of his brain that remembered your body. He wanted normal, and if he pretended, maybe one day he’d get it.

He never got it.

But you still tried to keep up.

Even with the chill of the air conditioner he’d set to freezing every night, making your body unable to relax, even with the limitations of your pelvic floor, and his hands that spent too little time to prep you. Thirty minutes would never be enough. You both knew that.

Still, you braced your legs around his thickened waist from time off the field, trying to calm your shivering from the air pocket created when he lifted himself enough to see him attempt to enter you. You couldn’t take him.

He stilted when you hissed, knowing this song and dance, and took the time to rub the tip of him along your slit to help in some way before he tried again. Your reaction was lighter this time, but you were so tense when he nudged inside with a dreadful pop. You gripped his shoulder with your nails, and he hung his head in defeat.

Oliver pulled out and separated from you with a brush of a peck to your temple, his stubble scratching your face. “I’ll just get to work.”

You bundled the blankets around you the moment he got off the bed and resituated his boxers.

“Sorry…” The words left you out of habit.

He looked back at you, swallowing the words on his tongue as he couldn’t figure out how to articulate whatever it was he wanted to say. You didn't think you could stomach it if he did.

“Why can't we be normal?” his eyes read easily enough.

“I’ll be home late tonight,” he breathed lowly instead. He took the warmth with him to the bathroom to care for his problem before the alarm could alert him of the awaiting workday.

On his way out, hair freshly washed and dried, suit and tie donned (though the first three buttons of his shirt never stayed closed), he stopped when he was faced with you again, something pinched between his brows and your heart.

"Bring the umbrella with you. It'll get worse later today," you said to fill the stiff air, moving to fetch the one in the closet by the door, but he stopped you with his hands on your shoulders.

"No need. I'll be fine." He guided you back to sit on the bed. "I'm just taking the car."

My car, you held in the words. His vehicle had been totaled not long before your wedding after a drunken party outing that had set his football retirement in motion. It was a whole sensation in the media. He felt no need to get a new one, even though it left you here.

"Now… don't give me that look, sweetheart," he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up a little. "Call some of the girls. That'll raise your spirits. Tell 'em hey for me."

They're all at work, you internally grumbled. You also didn't like the insinuation that this—this unease—is of your making.

"I should," you said instead. "Maybe we'll go for a walk."

It was said as sarcasm, but Oliver brightened. "There you go, baby. Have fun today. You don't get up to much since you quit working. Don't wait up for me."

You held down the urge to remind him that it was his football career that aided in that.

Maybe it was childish, but you went on that walk. With little to no one about, you meandered the sidewalks without an umbrella, letting yourself swim in the downpour until the work traffic began in the evening. You caught a cold that day.

Oliver didn't notice.

It took a long time before you could approach him about any of your discomforts out of fear of coming across as someone beneath him or throwing a spoiled tantrum. The building was under your name, but your ability to keep both of you afloat mainly stemmed from your family's wealth since you stopped working. Everything was yours.

And you knew if you brought everything to the surface, the foundation you built in marriage would come crashing down, reduced to a skeleton. You didn't want to hear the "I told you so"s from friends or see the disappointment in the eyes of your parents.

Oliver was good, you knew, despite everyone else's protests. He deserved a good marriage with someone "normal." Maybe if you knew that beforehand, things would've been different.

---

Breaking the muffled roar of the rain, the noise grows clear in a sudden whoosh when the door opens, the signature chime going off.

Isagi Yoichi rushes inside the flower shop, soaked to the bone from the rain, with a plastic bag in hand. His breath is heavy as if he ran, and he's without an umbrella. He closes the door to the weather and abruptly halts, his words dying on his lips. Upon feeling the slight chill of the place, he flits to the panel and raises the temperature to the limit you showed him, confused as to why it’s lower than normal to begin with. Nothing higher than the shop needs, warm enough so you won’t freeze.

“I’m really sorry I’m late,” he then rushes to say as he approaches the counter and bows his head to you, drops of rain falling onto the wood from the ends of his dark bangs. “I saw the fridge was out of milk”—he sets the bag onto the counter—“and I wanted to get some more before you drank your tea. I should’ve called you on the way there—I saw a dog in the store and said hi, and then I remembered I don’t have your number—which is okay!—and then the cashier had to tell me the daily sales, and he was a bit hard of hearing. Then the rain really started falling, and I should’ve bought an umbrella, but I figured running would be faster, and an umbrella would just slow me down—and then there was a—” He stops mid-action of fishing in his pocket when he realizes he hasn’t stopped talking. He wilts seemingly out of expectant reprimanding and takes a big pack of gummy worms from his pocket and onto the counter.

You don’t know how they fit in there.

They’re sour-tropical flavored.

“I’m rambling. Sorry… I passed a stall selling these. I thought you might like them, Ms. Sato. Since it looks like it'll be slow today. I’ll mop the floor…”

The whirlwind of events leaves your heart reeling with everything before you—the chill leaving your arms, the tea you’ll be able to have, a snack, and a clean floor—all because he went out in the rain for you without prompt. Warmth blooms in your chest as you stare at the pack of candy and bag of milk and spreads to your face. You can’t stop the smile from reaching your eyes. “Thank you, Isagi.”

His head pops up at being addressed so kindly, mop in hand and working the floor, even though he keeps dripping wherever he mops. When he sees you smiling so happily, and you actually laugh from joy like the kind you gave him the day you met, he suddenly doesn't know what to do with his energy. He rushes back up to the counter, although not knowing for what, the need to be closer outweighing reason.

Those two words of thanks weigh heavily for you, carrying remnants of a past you’re sure he knows nothing of, but the look of utter relief on his face feels as though he does. But that’s impossible.

He nods resolutely. “You’re very welcome, Ms. Sato.”

You chuckle lightly as you take in the sight of him; he looks like a wet cat. “Here.”

He follows you around to the bathroom door in the kitchen area like a puppy at your heels.

“There’s extra shirts in the lockers for you to change into. One of them should fit. They’re old uniforms I stopped requiring ages ago.”

It’s true you used to provide uniforms for all your workers, but that practice has long died down since there wasn’t really a need. It’s not like you need Sakura Ame no Haichi* plastered on everything but the front of the shop.

Isagi rakes a hand through his wet hair to draw it back and nods attentively. The wet blanket of bangs part with the sides falling forward to shape his face at his temples. “I’ll find one. Thanks a lot, Ms. Sato.”

After he steps inside, you exhale a heavy sigh of relief from having been so close to his white shirt, see-through from the water. Combined with his brushed-back hair, you don’t know if you would’ve survived a moment longer. How is it that he’s so muscular? You take a step but pause, a terrible notion crossing your mind.

You turn back to the door.

Hesitantly, you stand like ice with your hand out.

After a moment of poor consideration, you grab the handle and push open the door with a step inside. "Oh, Isagi, there are towels under the—"

The sight of him stops you at the door. He's already shirtless, but a layer of scattered napkins is pressed across his back and front, shoulders and arms, sticking to him from the water. It's like he's wearing a whole new shirt.

Laughter spills out of you before you can stop yourself. "I'm sorry—" You have to clutch your stomach.

You don't know what it is about Isagi Yoichi. But he always manages to clear your head of anything too heavy.

Isagi flushes to the point that his ears turn red, and he whips away from you. "I found tissue, so don't worry!" He scrambles to take them off, but that leaves him bare in front of you, which makes everything worse, so he keeps his back to you out of embarrassment.

Wholly amused, you step forward and pick at his back.

He jumps slightly and looks over his shoulder to see a piece of tissue between your fingers.

"There was a piece stuck to your back," you reason, "so I got it for you." The awkwardness of barging in catches up to you in that moment, so you make to leave quickly. "Let me know if you need anything else."

You don't get to open the door a quarter when Isagi's large hand gently stops it. You feel his burning presence at your back grow closer as he softly clicks the door shut. His hand remains on the door, but it doesn't make you feel trapped. The scent of petrichor and something distinctly Isagi surrounds you.

"Ms. Sato," he asks quietly, "would you mind… checking for more?"

Turning around, it's hard to school the heat rising to your face. His chest is bigger than the view over his clothes suggests, and quite unexpectedly, he has abs. Maybe he just enjoys working out, but it's hard to return your gaze to his face.

Warmth pools in your gut the longer you look at him, and you can see the same behind his eyes. That look he gives you, it's the same one he had that night outside of the restaurant, so innocent yet so sure. His desire stumbles forward awkwardly yet confidently to what it wants, unknowing of the path or way to strike but willing to forge ahead all the same.

You raise your hand to his chest and trace a finger along his collarbone, grazing slowly over his heated skin. He instantly reacts with a hiss and a jolt. Thinking your cold hands startled him, you pull away.

"No—" Isagi takes your hand. "You didn't do anything wrong. It just…"

This awkwardness of his becomes an impetus like that of the tip of a rose's thorn.

He brings your hand back to his chest. "Felt really good…"

Watching closely, you slowly drag your fingers down the valley of his chest and over the gentle seam running between his abs, relishing in how much is surrendered under your touch with each prickle that shoots through his body.

His hair falls forward to curtain his eyes from view as he hangs his head with a full body shudder. Your fingers reach the hem of his dampened pants, and you notice the tent he's starting to sport. This might be the first time your chill has ever been well-received and to such an extent. The notion does something for you.

"Ms. Sato…" He raises his head, dangerously close, and his eyes have soft tears welling in them.

This is enough torture for the both of you, so you grasp the nape of his neck and meet him in the middle again, allowing yourself to fall under the guise of someone who can't hold back, though you'd rather not think too hard on it. Not with how he melts into you this time, much more controlled and fluid despite his excited trembling.

And when he presses you against the door, mouth hot on yours and desperately wanting to trail across your skin if it wouldn't mean separating from your lips, you know which path you're bound to take tonight.

---

This is the first time you've locked up shop while an employee remains inside with you.

The security system beeps in readiness once you press in the code, and you turn to Isagi, dressed in a uniform he no longer has use for tonight. His face is still flushed, but the intensity from the day has settled down to a calm brewing.

You show him to the staircase at the back of the small kitchen area and stop. This is also the first time you will lead an employee up these stairs.

"Ready?" You look to him, hand on the doorknob. No going back.

Isagi nods readily. "Yes."

-----------

*桜雨の配置 "Cherry Blossom Rain Arrangements" was basically what I was going for. I realized I had never named the flower shop.

Kinda late now but—while my other writings and future fics are/will be more inclusive, Blue Hour really is a self-indulgent piece. Ms. Sato isn’t very malleable to fit a lot of people. She’s not much of an author-insert anymore, either. I personally see her as a separate character that fits the local demographic of Japan, but she encounters, experiences, and possesses things that I do; for instance, vaginismus, very poor blood circulation, and having a non-existent chest. Not quite like Ms. Kim from the manhwa, but essentially her. And while I try not to write many descriptive factors for the mc (race, hair type, weight, etc.), I hope readers can still find escape in her.

This one is especially for those with shitty pelvic floors and the itty bitty titty committee. And divorcees—

And frankly those who hate Oliver Aiku. Fuck that guy. Who’s that. Don’t know him.

I'll be going through previous chapters to revise potentially non-inclusive descriptions in the coming days. Thank you for reading!