#i should hope by the end of this it's clear what the subject is but just in case it isnt:

[yoohyeon]

I thought I would have a nice day today, but it turn into a big fight how great

[fxstpace]

the accidental one-night stand

summary: the consequences of sleeping with your best friend while drunk include waking up with no memory of how you ended up in his bed and the awkward realisation that your friendship is irreparably damaged. but avoiding it only works for so long—especially when feelings you’ve both been hiding begin to bubble to the surface.

⇢ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, angst, best friends to lovers au, college au, idiots to idiots in love, debatable attempts at comedy, implied sexual content, nudity, profanity, alcohol consumption, injuries & hospital visits ⇢ word count: 10.0k ⇢ note: this was written for the lonely hearts café collab hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you so much for letting me be a part; please check out the other authors’ fics as well. i hope you enjoy :)

There were many things that you expected would happen after you and your friends went out drinking to celebrate the end of the semester.

Waking up next to a naked Jeon Wonwoo was not one of them.

The first thing you notice is the sunlight. It filters through the cheap blinds, casting uneven slats of light across the room. The scent of stale beer and leftover pizza lingers faintly in the air. Normally, you would’ve groaned, turned over, and buried yourself in your blanket to fend off the cruel reminder that mornings exist. For a moment, you’re convinced you’re back in your own bed, with nothing more pressing than to decide whether you should get breakfast or sleep in till noon.

The second thing you notice is the peculiar warmth of someone pressed against you. A shoulder brushes your arm; a leg, bent at an awkward angle, leans uncomfortably into your thigh. When you squint, you see a pink piece of fabric hanging off one of the blades of the ceiling fan. That’s new.

Your eyes widen. When you turn your head, you are subject to the horrifying revelation that your best friend is lying in bed next to you—Jeon Wonwoo, sleeping on his stomach, bare back exposed to the world like it’s a perfectly normal occurrence in the three years you’ve known him.

You must be dreaming. But then you see his glasses, folded neatly on the nightstand and placed on top of your phone. Oh no.

“Oh no,” you say aloud, because, apparently, merely thinking it isn’t enough.

Wonwoo stirs at the sound, a soft groan escaping his lips. His head turns slightly on the pillow, and you freeze, praying to every deity you can think of that he doesn’t wake up. Unfortunately for you, whoever is in charge of karma seems to be in a particularly spiteful mood.

“Mm?” His voice is groggy, muffled by the pillow. His eyes flutter open. It takes him a second to focus on you. When he does, his brows furrow. “Why are you in my bed?”

Silence. You blink at him. He blinks at you.

What can you say? There is no eloquent explanation for waking up in your best friend’s bed—especially when he’s naked and you’re one hasty movement away from unraveling whatever fragile composure you’re clinging to.

“I, uh— I was hoping you could tell me that,” you croak out.

He shifts, the sheets slipping lower on his body, and you immediately avert your eyes. “Are we—” Wonwoo pauses, glancing down at himself, then back at you. His face flushes a deep pink. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, pulling the sheets tighter around you. “Oh.”

“Are you…?” He starts, then clears his throat awkwardly. “You’re not… y’know…”

“Naked?” you supply, struggling to maintain whatever shreds of dignity you have left. “No. Thank God. I think I’m, uh, wearing your shirt, actually. But my, um, bra is hanging off of your fan.”

If a pair of eyes happens to wander up there, neither of you acknowledges it.

There’s another long pause, filled only with the sound of your combined breathing and the hum of traffic outside. You can feel him staring at you; it takes all your willpower not to bury yourself into the mattress.

Wonwoo blinks at you again, his hair mussed and sticking out in every possible direction, a faint sleep line on his cheek from where the pillow was pressed into it. It would almost be endearing were you not teetering on the edge of an existential crisis.

“Do you remember anything?” He finally asks.

You consider lying, but what good would that do, anyway? You shake your head. “Um, not a lot. Do you?”

He hesitates, and somehow, it’s worse than an outright no. “I remember… karaoke,” he says slowly. “And shots. A lot of shots.”

“Karaoke?” you repeat, horrified.

“Yeah.” Wonwoo looks faintly amused despite the whole situation. “You sang ABBA. Badly.”

“I always sing ABBA badly,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I don’t know either,” he says, sounding genuinely baffled, which is both a relief and a disappointment for reasons you refuse to examine. “Do you think—”

“What?” you prompt, though you already know the question.

Your best friend gestures vaguely between the both of you, the tips of his ears turning red. “Do you think we—?”

“Oh, my God, don’t say it,” you hiss, feeling your own face heat up.

“Well, something happened! You’re in my bed, and I’m—”

“Naked,” you finish for him, grimacing.

Wonwoo clears his throat again, suddenly very interested in the ceiling—though he pointedly avoids staring at the fan above your heads. “Yes. That.”

“Maybe we should just… not talk about it.” Your voice sounds weak to your own ears. You pick at your cuticles underneath the covers.

Wonwoo snorts. You stare at him.

“What?” you demand.

“You think we can just pretend?” The smile tugging on his lips is humourless. “Yeah, okay, good luck with that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Soonyoung was there last night,” he says grimly.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no,” you say again, because there’s really nothing else to say.

You thought you were successful in avoiding Jeon Wonwoo and Kwon Soonyoung. You were not, and this must be the universe’s idea of a cosmic joke, because you’re currently crouched behind a dumpster while your two best friends are having a frantic, hushed conversation a few feet away from you.

The smell is an assault on every sense you possess—a vile concoction of rotting leftovers, moldy cardboard, and something acidic you can’t begin to identify. You shift uncomfortably, regretting everything that possessed you to follow Wonwoo and Soonyoung to this cold, putrid place. Your sneakers sink into what you pray is just old soda.

“...I didn’t tell her because she looked so freaked out,” Wonwoo says, voice tight. He doesn’t sound angry, exactly—more like he’s restraining his frustration, the kind of tone that demands silence from anyone with half a brain.

Except Soonyoung doesn’t have half a brain. “You didn’t mention to her that you remember everything? That’s… kind of a big deal.”

“Of course I remember,” your best friend mutters. “I was drunk, yes, and extremely stupid, but it’s her. I remember everything about her.”

You instinctively press a hand to your mouth, breath catching in your throat. He remembers? All this time, you’d convinced yourself that the foggy gaps in your memory extended to him too—that’s what he’d said, hadn’t he? You were convinced that the awkward morning after was borne out of shared ignorance. Evidently not.

Soonyoung snickers. “You? Stupid? Sure, and I’m fucking Albert Einstein.”

“Can you be serious for once? It isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” You can practically hear Soonyoung’s grin, though his face remains elusive. “I mean, come on. You’re usually so—I don’t know—emotionless and now look at you. This is gold.”

You want to throttle him. You’re pretty sure Wonwoo wants to throttle him, too. He settles for a long, exasperated sigh instead. “I’m not emotionless. I’m just… worried.”

“Worried?” Soonyoung echoes, curious. “About what?”

“About her.” Wonwoo’s voice softens; the change is so startling that you lean forward without thinking, the damp ground squelching underneath you. “She looked so freaked out, Soonyoung. Like she couldn’t get out of my bedroom fast enough. How was I supposed to bring it up?”

You should leave. You need to leave, but your legs stay rooted in place, a strange combination of morbid curiosity and pure panic keeping you locked in place. 

“Fair enough,” your other friend acquiesces. “She was kind of a mess when I saw her that morning.”

“Exactly. So I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“But now you’re making it worse by not saying anything,” Soonyoung points out. “Come on, Wonwoo. You’ve liked her for years. You finally get her alone and you don’t even—”

“Don’t,” Wonwoo cuts him off, the word laced with quiet steel. “I didn’t plan for any of that to happen. You think I wanted to wake up next to her and realise it was all just… an accident to her?”

Your stomach twists painfully. There’s no way this is real. There’s absolutely no way you’re hearing this conversation right now.

“I left ‘cause I thought you would finally grow a pair of balls and confess,” Soonyoung says defensively.

Wonwoo scoffs. “Congratulations. Now it’s a fucking disaster.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” his companion chides gently. “She’s your best friend. She’ll understand if you talk to her.”

“She doesn’t feel the same,” Wonwoo says, so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat.

“You don’t know that,” counters Soonyoung.

“I do.” The resignation in Wonwoo’s voice carves something hollow in your chest. “She wouldn’t have been so freaked out if she did. That night—it wouldn’t have been an accident to her.”

Is this how Wonwoo saw it? Is this how you made him feel? The words linger in the air, heavy and unforgiving, until they slip through the gaps in your rib cage and squeeze your heart tightly.

“...I think you’re wrong,” Soonyoung says slowly. “You should give her more credit than that.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. You hear the sounds of footsteps shuffling on gravel and hold your breath, waiting for their voices to fade before daring to move. Your muscles scream in protest when you stand up. Your legs wobble, and you don’t move the hand clamped over your nose and mouth. 

Wonwoo remembers. He likes you. He thinks you don’t feel the same. Standing in the shadow of a dumpster and reeking of garbage and despair, you’re faced with one inescapable truth: You have no idea what to do next. 

The coffee shop is too bright, but it’s the only place where the owner gives out a free chocolate chip cookie with every purchase. You nibble at the cookie, brushing away the crumbs that fall onto your lap. Your cup of coffee is untouched, steam curling out of it in lazy spirals. Xu Minghao sits opposite you, occasionally stirring his tea. The spoon clinks against the ceramic; it’s a little bit annoying, but you can’t tell him that when he’s almost certainly called you over to interrogate you.

You can’t remember why you agreed to meet Minghao. You can barely remember how you even got here, your legs on autopilot while your brain went through a series of catastrophes all involving Jeon Wonwoo. Minghao’s eyes bore into you, quietly observing. He doesn’t say anything, but he always seems to be one step ahead of you—always knows things before you’re ready to admit them, which is why you’ve been avoiding him, as well. 

Yet here you are, because Minghao’s persistence is a force of nature. Finally, you break. “What?”

“You tell me.” Minghao’s reply is immediate. He leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other with the sort of poise that makes you feel like a feral raccoon in comparison. “You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

He merely narrows his eyes at you.

“Okay, fine.” You sigh and lean back, dropping your half-eaten cookie next to your coffee. “What do you think is so weird?”

“The fact that you’ve been avoiding everyone like the plague. The fact that your good mood about our finals ending lasted for, like, thirty seconds. The fact that you look like you’ve seen a ghost whenever someone mentions Wonwoo.”

You wince. “I don’t look like that.”

“You do,” he says.

“I don’t. I’m just tired.”

“Sure,” Minghao drawls, “and I’m the Pope.”

You glare at him, but he merely smiles at you, like he’s sitting on a cloud of smug superiority and you’re some lowlife staring up at him. He continues, “Do you want to tell me why I had to hear about your night with Wonwoo through six degrees of separation?”

“What— Huh? What are you talking about?” you flounder helplessly.

“Wonwoo told Soonyoung,” he explains without missing a beat, “who told his roommate Jihoon, who told his girlfriend Sana, who told her best friend Miyeon, who told her roommate Jihyo, who told her boyfriend Seokmin—who just so happens to be my roommate, as you’re aware. And now I know.”

You stare at him, utterly aghast. “What a small fucking world.”

“It is,” Minghao agrees, nodding sagely. “Don’t worry too much about it. They all mean well.”

You pick up your cookie and shove the whole thing into your mouth, before burying your face in your hands. “Kill me. Just do it. Right here. Please end my misery.”

“I’d consider it,” he says, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear your side of the story.”

“There is no story,” you say, voice muffled by your palms.

“Interesting,” your friend muses. “But according to all six of my sources, there’s quite a story. Something about you waking up next to Wonwoo? Naked?”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

Groaning, you drop your hands onto the table. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Enlighten me.” Minghao’s smile widens in the way it does whenever he’s truly intrigued by something.

You resign yourself to the sad fate of telling your friend about what happened that fateful night. “We went out to celebrate the end of the semester. There was drinking. A lot of drinking—” you hesitate, voice catching in your throat— “and then I woke up next to him.”

“Naked,” Minghao supplies.

“I was wearing a shirt!” you say a little too loudly. A few heads turn in your direction, and you lower your voice, cheeks burning. “Okay, yes, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or anything else. But nothing happened!”

“Mm.” His noncommittal hum feels worse than outright disbelief.

“I mean it,” you insist. “We talked about it. Sort of. And he said he didn’t remember anything, so—”

You swallow, remembering the conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. It sits in the depths of your stomach, hot and heavy and gnarly. You don’t want to bring it up. You really don’t.

Minghao arches a brow. “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Not remember anything.”

You swallow again, the aftertaste of your freebie dessert turning from sweet to bitter. “Why would he lie?”

“Why does anyone lie?” Minghao shrugs. “To spare someone’s feelings. To avoid awkward conversations. To hide the fact that they’ve been hopelessly in love with their best friend for years.”

“That’s not true,” you say, far too quickly. “That’s not… It can’t be true. If he’s liked me for years then—then remember when he had a girlfriend in our freshman year? He really liked her.”

You would know. You’d been there when he broke up with her, when you had to haul him to the nearest soju tent and let him get batshit drunk while you sipped on water and tried not to let your heart crack. Wonwoo had been heartbroken about it—enough for you to think that he’d loved her, and if his heart could have so much love bursting out of its seams, then what would it be like if you were given even a fraction of it? You’d squashed the thought immediately afterwards; he was here crying about his ex-girlfriend and you were a truly selfish person if you wanted to acknowledge your crush on him.

Minghao’s sharp gaze turns sympathetic. “I remember. But did you ever ask him about why they broke up?”

“No, I—I didn’t,” you admit. “He was crying his lungs out the day they broke up. I wasn’t gonna be insensitive. We never spoke about it afterwards.”

“So that’s why you think he can’t have feelings for you?”

“He’s Wonwoo. He’s not… He can’t— He isn’t—” Your words crumble under Minghao’s knowing smile.

“He is,” Minghao says, quiet but certain. “You’re just too busy panicking.”

“I am not panicking,” you say, panicking.

“Right,” your friend says drily, “and this is you at your most composed. Are you going to talk to him?”

“No,” you say immediately.

Minghao blinks, finally taking a sip of his nearly-cooled tea. “No?”

“No,” you repeat, crossing your arms. “I’m going to avoid him until graduation and then pretend this never happened.”

“That’s a terrible plan,” he deadpans. “It’s a great plan,” you counter. “Completely foolproof.”

“It’s cowardly.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Just drink your damn coffee. I’m paying for it.”

“Thank you, Minghao.” You smile gratefully at him. “I knew you would understand.”

Xu Minghao clearly did not understand.

It starts with him, obviously, because who else would take your very serious declaration to avoid Wonwoo until graduation and turn it into prime gossip material? By the time it reaches you again, it’s mutated beyond recognition. Sana texts you, asking if you’re okay because she heard you and Wonwoo had a “tragic lover’s quarrel.”

You stare at her message, then at your coffee, briefly debating the merits of deleting every single app on your phone. Then you sigh, and type back who told you that? and steel yourself for whatever reply you’re going to get. Her response is almost instant: Soonyoung said Minghao said you’re avoiding Wonwoo for dramatic reasons?? idk, call me.

You do not call her.

Instead, you stew in mild indignation until she finally ropes you into Taco Bell plans for the afternoon, promising that the food is on her. But the second you walk in, you know it’s a trap. Sana’s sitting by the window, her expression brighter than the fluorescent lights. She waves you over. You feel like you’re walking into a very elaborate sting operation.

“Hey!” she greets you, grinning. “Come sit! I already ordered drinks for us.”

“What’s gotten you so happy?” you ask warily, already exhausted.

“Nothing,” she says cheerfully. “I’m just so glad to see you.”

“Hm.” You eye her suspiciously. “And you picked Taco Bell because…?”

“Because it’s delicious, affordable, and deeply underrated,” she says in one breath. You want to scoff—everything she just spouted out about Taco Bell is false—but she continues, “Also, Jihoon’s coming. He said he was starving, and I thought, why not make it a group thing?”

“Right. Because I love being the third wheel.”

“Can’t you let me admit that I enjoy your company for once?”

Your response is immediate. “No.”

Sana’s face brightens when she glances behind you at the door. Jihoon walks in—but he’s not alone.

Jeon Wonwoo is with him.

You feel your stomach flip in that terrible, rollercoaster-drops-out-from-under-you way. Jihoon, for his part, looks completely unbothered as he scans the restaurant, but when you glance at Sana, you find her trying and failing to hide her triumphant smirk.

“Oh, my gosh,” she says in the fakest tone of surprise you’ve ever heard. “Wonwoo! What are you doing here?”

You glare at her, and she has the audacity to look innocent. Wonwoo, meanwhile, approaches the table with slow, deliberate steps; his hands are stuffed in his jacket pockets and his mouth is set in a thin line.

“Hi,” he says, glancing at you briefly before looking anywhere else.

“Hi,” you echo, willing your voice to stay normal. Jihoon takes the seat across from you, shoving Wonwoo into the booth next to you. The space feels smaller than it is, like Wonwoo’s presence is some sort of gravitational force you can’t ignore.

“What’s everyone in the mood for?” Jihoon asks, leaning back in his seat like a bizarre talk show host.

“Tacos,” you say immediately. “And to leave.”

Jihoon ignores the last part, turning to face his girlfriend. “Want to help me order for everyone?”

“Absolutely.” Sana is already standing, grabbing Jihoon’s hand. “We’ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait—” You try not to sound desperate. “Why can’t we all just go and order together?”

“No need! We know what you guys like.”

With that, they disappear, leaving you alone with Jeon Wonwoo.

The silence is instant and crushing. Your fingers pick at the edge of a napkin like it’s some kind of lifeline, the paper shredding under your nails. Next to you, Wonwoo shifts slightly, the sound of his jacket brushing against the booth unnervingly loud.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, then stops. “The napkin. You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you reply automatically, still shredding the paper to bits.

He sighs. “You’re going to tear it apart.”

Your hands still for a moment, then resume. “If Taco Bell runs out of napkins, I’ll buy them new ones,” you say, only a little sarcastic.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything to that, but out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift again, squaring his shoulders. Something in your chest tightens, wound up like a spring.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he says finally.

You laugh, short and humourless. “What gave it away?”

He doesn’t reply. You glance at him, but he’s staring down at the table, fingers tapping idly on the edge. You take a deep breath, gaze dropping back down to your hands. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” you offer tentatively—though it sounds unconvincing even as you say it.

“I agree. But you’re kind of making it weird.”

Your head snaps up. “...Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking at you now. “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, days? That’s not exactly normal behaviour.”

“...I wasn’t avoiding you.” Heat crawls up your neck.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. I was avoiding you,” you admit, voice dropping into a mutter. “But I, um, had a good reason for it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. “What was it?”

You stare at him, throat tightening. How are you supposed to put it into words? That you’ve been avoiding him because every time you see him, your brain replays that morning and his conversation with Soonyoung in painstaking detail, and it makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t understand? That you don’t know how to act around him anymore, and it’s easier to run than to face him?

“I don’t know,” you say slowly, shrugging. It’s a lie, and it feels thin and flimsy, but you can’t manage anything else. “It just felt… easier.”

Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment? Understanding? You can’t tell.

“Easier,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. “Do you think it’s easier now?”

“Not really,” you admit quietly.

“Exactly.” He leans back again, running a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. That night was—it was a lot. But I don’t want to lose our friendship because of it.”

There’s a lump in your throat now. You swallow hard, trying to push it down. You want to tell him that it’s not that simple, that every time you think about him, you feel like you’re standing on a cliff’s edge, terrified of falling. But the words stick to your tongue, and all you can manage is a small, “I don’t want that either.”

Wonwoo nods. “Okay. Good. That’s—that’s good.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you focus on the napkin in your hands—or what’s left of it, at least. Your thoughts spiral. You think about the way he looked at you that morning, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he resigned himself to the fact that you wouldn’t like him back. The way everything feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something permanent and irreversible.

Now, sitting here with him, you wonder if you’re still on that edge—or if you’ve already fallen.

“I just—” Your voice cracks slightly; you clear your throat. “I don’t know how to go back to being normal with you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate. “That’s okay. I don’t know, either. We can work it out.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it cuts through the static in your head. You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you see not just the calm front he’s putting up, but the uncertainty that bleeds through—the way his fingers fidget against the table, the way his gaze flickers briefly before meeting yours again.

You exhale slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more to yourself than him. “Okay.”

His lips twitch into the faintest smile, until it is immediately obliterated by Sana’s shriek as the four Baja Blasts she was balancing in her arms plummet to the floor in a tragic display of carbonation and crushed dreams. 

The walk back from Taco Bell is stiffer than it needs to be. Wonwoo had offered to walk you home—mostly because both of you weren’t keen on intruding between Jihoon and Sana—but you’re acutely aware of the distance between you and Wonwoo, an awkward, invisible chasm neither of you seems eager to cross. You fiddle with the crumpled receipt in your pocket, sneaking glances at him every few steps. Each time, you catch him doing the same, though you don’t acknowledge it.

You didn’t think your awkwardness with Wonwoo would fade away immediately, though you have to give him credit for trying. It still clings to the space between you like stubborn static. Even the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustling of leaves doesn’t drown it out.

“My cousin is graduating high school the day after tomorrow,” he says finally, breaking the long stretch of silence between you both.

“No way,” you reply, kicking a loose pebble on the ground. You watch it skitter away from you, and say, “They grow up so fast.”

“Yeah. It’s insane. I’m going back to Changwon tonight.”

“Really? I bet your aunt will be happy to see you.”

He smiles. “She’s going to screw me for not eating enough homemade food,” he says, and for a moment, it feels normal—but silence falls again, heavy and stilted.

It isn’t until you hear a soft, high-pitched cry that the spell finally breaks.

At first, you think you imagined it, a stray sound swallowed up by the evening breeze. But when you hear it again, clearer this time, you stop dead in your tracks, your head swiveling towards the source.

“Did you hear that?” you ask.

Wonwoo comes to a halt beside you. “Hear what?”

“That!” you exclaim as the sound repeats, urgent and mournful. You point towards the trees lining the edge of the parking lot. “There’s something over there.”

He squints. “Probably just a bird or something.”

“That’s not a bird,” you insist, already veering off the footpath. “It’s a kitten.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say, craning your neck to locate the source of the sound. Sure enough, a tiny ball of fur is clinging to a branch halfway up one of the trees, its pitiful cries echoing through the still evening air. “It’s stuck.”

“It’s a cat,” Wonwoo says flatly.

“It’s a baby. Wonwoo, it’s going to fall!”

“It’s not going to fall. It’s a cat.”

“Look at it!” you counter, gesturing wildly. “It’s hanging on for dear life. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He stares at the kitten, then back at you, shoulders sinking with impending responsibility. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, folding your arms.

“Fine,” he mutters, shrugging off his jacket. “Only ‘cause you asked.”

Wonwoo reaches for the lowest branch, testing its sturdiness before hoisting himself up. His movements are deliberate, cautious, and yet somehow still awkward—like someone who’s watched enough action movies to think he knows what he’s doing but has never actually climbed a tree in his life.

“Careful,” you call out, wincing as the branch creaks under his weight.

“Really? That’s the advice you’re giving me right now?”

“I could’ve said, don’t fall,” you point out.

The kitten, meanwhile, is less than thrilled about the rescue operation. It hisses and fluffs up its fur as Wonwoo inches closer, its tiny claws digging into the bark.

“You’ve got this,” you say.

“Oh, do I?” He grunts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

With a final, determined stretch, he manages to grab the kitten by the scruff of its neck, holding it up triumphantly. It lets out one last indignant yowl before going limp in his grip, big, yellow eyes blinking up at him.

“Got it,” he says, holding it up like a trophy.

“You’re a hero,” you deadpan.

But before he can descend, the branch beneath him gives a menacing crack.

“Wonwoo—”

The sound is followed by a split-second of stillness, and then gravity takes over.

Wonwoo plummets to the ground with a thud. The kitten, miraculously unscathed, wriggles free from his grip and bolts towards the bushes, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”

He groans, propping himself up on his elbows. His glasses are somewhere on the ground next to him; you fumble for them and hand them to him. He puts them on and says, “No. I’m not okay.”

“You fell out of a tree,” you say, as though he might need reminding.

“Yeah, I noticed.” His voice is tight, laced with pain. When he tries to stand, he immediately winces, clutching his ankle.

“Don’t move,” you say, panic creeping into your tone. “You could’ve broken something.”

“It’s just a sprain,” Wonwoo mutters, though his face says otherwise.

“How do you know?”

“Because I can still feel my foot,” he replies, like that’s the definitive test for a sprain versus a fracture.

You hover uncertainly, hands flitting uselessly between him and his phone. “I’m calling for help.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine,” you snap, voice shaking. “You’re injured, and it’s my fault because I made you climb that stupid tree for that stupid kitten—”

Wonwoo interrupts by saying your name softly. “It’s not your fault. I could’ve said no.”

“But you didn’t,” you mutter, blinking back the ridiculous sting of tears.

He huffs a weak laugh, leaning back against the tree trunk. “Yeah, well. You’re really persuasive.”

“Just don’t—don’t move, okay?”

“Okay. I won’t. You… You will come with me to the hospital, right?” He is quieter now, as though the adrenaline is finally wearing off.

“Of course,” you say immediately.

When you drop down onto the ground next to him, waiting for Sana—who you’d called earlier—to come drive you both to the hospital, you catch a glimpse of the kitten peeking out from the bushes, its wide eyes reflecting the streetlights. You shake your head. “Ungrateful little thing.”

“Worth it,” Wonwoo says, surprising you.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It was worth it. You were worried about it.”

Oh. You don’t really know how to respond to that, but the words are sweet as honey, and despite the chill brought about by the setting sun and the rising moon, you feel warm throughout.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital flicker faintly while you wait for Wonwoo to finish his discharge paperwork. You stand a few feet apart in the waiting area, unsure of what to say. Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you rock back on your heels. Wonwoo leans on his crutches, shoulders hunched.

“I, uh, brought my car while Sana and Jihoon were with you,” you say, not daring to meet his eyes. 

“You’re driving me to Changwon?” he asks, sounding more resigned than questioning. “You don’t have to.”

You lick your lips. Half the reason Jeon Wonwoo climbed up a tree and sprained his ankle badly is because you asked him to. The least you can do is drive him back to his hometown so he can attend his little cousin’s graduation ceremony.

“Yes,” you reply, a little too quickly. His eyebrows twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything. You shift from one foot to the other under his gaze, feeling self-conscious. “What, you think women are bad drivers?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think women are bad drivers. I think you’re a—” He pauses. “Wait, that’s a trick question. You’re going to kick my ass regardless.”

“Exactly. So you can just get comfortable in the passenger seat and think about the systemic oppression of women in the workforce while I drive.”

The lightheartedness helps, but only marginally. When his name is called, Wonwoo limps toward the discharge counter, his crutches squeaking against the polished tile floor. You follow, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets because you don’t know what to do with them. The nurse hands him a clipboard, and he scrawls his signature on the dotted line. 

You glance at his profile—the curve of his mouth, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose. It’s all so familiar, and you hate the fact that you feel like a stranger standing next to him. You know he likes you, and it’s eating you up inside, gnawing at your brain, because telling him you like him, too, would ruin everything.

Not that everything isn’t already hanging by a thread, but what if something happens that makes it impossible to fix? What if you break up, and the friendship you’ve been clinging to falls apart completely? What if everything changes even more than it already has, and you can’t stop it? What if you lose one of the most important people in your life, and no matter what you do, you can’t find your way back to him? What if, what if, what if—it’s a thought that echoes endlessly.

“You don’t have to look so worried,” Wonwoo says without looking up, startling you out of your thoughts. 

“I’m not worried,” you lie, chin jutting out defensively.

He glances at you, then. “You look worried.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Noted.” He hands the clipboard back to the nurse.

By the time you’re both outside in the parking lot, you’re back to being awkwardly polite, dancing around each other with all the grace of a baby giraffe. You watch as Wonwoo fumbles with his crutches, maneuvering them clumsily toward your car.

“I can carry those,” you offer, holding out a hand.

“I’ve got it.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything after, but his jaw tightens as he leans into the passenger seat. It takes some effort—his crutches clatter against the doorframe, and he winces, trying to angle his injured foot without bumping it. You pretend not to notice his struggle, letting him preserve what little dignity he has left.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you adjust the mirrors, stalling for time. Wonwoo doesn’t try to break the silence festering in between you both. The only sounds are the click of your seatbelt, and the soft hum of the engine.

The first few kilometres pass like this—with a quietness so thick, it’s suffocating. You grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, focusing on the road ahead as though it holds the answers to all your questions.

“So,” you begin after a while, when it becomes too uncomfortable to not speak, “your cousin’s graduation. Big family gathering?”

“Something like that,” Wonwoo says. “Everyone’s making a big deal out of it. She’s the youngest, so…”

“That’s nice.” You glance at him briefly, his face half-hidden in the shadows. “It’s good to celebrate milestones.”

He snorts. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to sit through hours of small talk about what you’re doing with your life.”

“Oh, I’ve been there. My relatives love to remind me of all the ways I’ve failed to meet their expectations.”

“And here I thought you were the golden child.”

You laugh dryly. “As if. My aunt still brings up the time I failed my learner’s permit test. Twice.”

“Twice?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “And you wonder why I think you suck at driving.”

“It was hard,” you defend, though your cheeks flush with heat.

The corners of his mouth lifts, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him lately. It’s fleeting, but it stays with you, lingering between you both.

Conversation ebbs and flows after that, accompanied by long stretches of quiet. You focus on the road, stealing the occasional inconspicuous—or so you hope—glance at Wonwoo. At some point, his head leans back against the headrest and his eyes flutter shut. 

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, his features softening in his sleep. You glance at him more openly now, heart tugging at the sight. He looks younger like this. The lines of tension on his face have disappeared, leaving only the quiet rise and fall of his chest. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and you resist the urge to push them back up.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, an unexplainable warmth blooming in your chest. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily he manages to disarm you without even trying. 

But it’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this. The memory sneaks in, unbidden—the morning you woke up beside him, the sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting golden streaks across his skin; his hair mussed against the pillow; his face so close to yours. The disorientation, the rush of emotions you couldn’t name, the way your heart stuttered because of his proximity.

The warmth in your chest turns cold. You inhale shakily, tearing your eyes away from him.

Wonwoo stirs slightly, his head turning a fraction towards you. You glance at him again, your resolve faltering for a split second. You wonder if he would laugh if he knew what sort of thoughts are running through your head right now, or if he’d give you one of those infuriatingly expressionless looks of his—the kind that makes you want to simultaneously punch and hug him.

When Google Maps announces the next turn, you straighten in your seat, forcing yourself to focus. The road stretches ahead, long and winding, illuminated only by the yellow glow of your headlights and the streetlights on the sides.

It’s a long drive, you remind yourself. Plenty of time to figure out what you’re doing. Or avoid it entirely.

For now, you simply drive.

The moment you step foot into Wonwoo’s aunt’s house, a wave of warmth welcomes you—the aroma of something sweet baking in the kitchen, faint perfume, and the hum of cheerful conversation. Wonwoo limps slightly beside you, leaning more heavily on his crutches than he probably wants to admit, holding his duffel bag with his other arm.

You glance at him, frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk around like this?”

“I’m fine,” he replies. You eye the faint wobble in his step but let it go for now.

Before you can dwell on it further, his aunt sweeps into view, her face lighting up like fireworks. Her hair, pinned back with a colourful bandana, curls in ringlets around her heart-shaped face. “Wonwoo!” she exclaims, hurrying over. Her gaze quickly shifts to you, and she clasps her hands together. “Oh, and who’s this?”

“This is—” Wonwoo begins, but his aunt isn’t waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, what a lovely young lady!” she gushes, stepping closer to you. “Are you two…?”

“No,” you blurt out, shaking your head vehemently. The tips of your ears burn as the word tumbles out of your lips. “We’re just friends.”

Wonwoo’s aunt looks mildly disappointed for a second before her smile reappears with renewed vigour. “Ah, well, it’s a shame,” she says. “You two would make such a beautiful couple.”

“Really, we’re just friends,” you repeat, your voice a little bit higher this time, as though saying it twice will make it truer.

Wonwoo shifts uncomfortably next to you, adjusting the crutch under his arm. His lips part like he’s about to add something, but he closes them again, opting for silence instead.

His aunt seems unconvinced, but thankfully doesn’t press further, instead ushering you both further inside. “Come in, come in! Everyone’s been waiting to see you, Wonwoo. And don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says to you with a pat on your arm, “you’ll fit right in.”

“Oh, actually, I—I think I should head back,” you say, lifting up your thumb and jerking it backwards.

“Don’t be silly,” Wonwoo says, unexpectedly. “It’s dark. You can’t drive back alone.”

“I—”

“He’s right, dear,” his aunt adds. “Stay for the weekend. I have a spare bedroom you can sleep in.”

You try to backtrack, shaking your head. “I didn’t— I don’t have any clothes, or toiletries. I didn’t pack anything.”

“That’s quite alright,” his aunt says. “We have extra toothbrushes, and I’m certain I have clothes that could fit you. Consider it a little vacation, if you will.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Wonwoo nudges your shoulder with his and gives you a pointed glare. Pressing your lips together, you—still a little unwilling—follow her into the living room. The sound of Wonwoo’s crutches tapping against the hardwood floor draws attention. A dozen pairs of eyes swivel towards you, curious but welcoming.

“Wonwoo’s here!” someone exclaims. His cousin bounds over to greet him, carefully navigating his crutches.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Language,” he chides, offering her a smile nonetheless. “And it’s just a sprain.”

But her attention quickly flicks to you. “And who’s this?”

Before you can answer, another voice cuts in. “Is this his girlfriend?”

You freeze. Wonwoo sighs.

“No,” you manage to say, laughing nervously. “I’m just a friend.”

Wonwoo nods in agreement, but it's too late. The murmurs have already begun.

“Really?” another middle-aged lady—another aunt, you suppose—asks, eyebrows raised. “Just friends? You two look so comfortable together.”

Hah. As if. You’ve spent the last few weeks avoiding Wonwoo so rigorously that your friends had to shove you both together into a Taco Bell booth for you to start talking to him again. Comfortable, your ass. Of course, you can’t say that aloud, so you turn to Wonwoo, silently pleading for him to step in, but he seems more focused on shifting his weight into his good leg. His family’s scrutiny, it seems, doesn’t faze him nearly as much as his sprained ankle does—which is understandable, to be fair. Just not for you at the moment.

“Seriously, we’re not—”

“But why not?” his cousin pipes up. “He’s handsome. You’re pretty—it’s like fate.”

Heat rises to your cheeks again, and you resist the urge to crawl into the nearest decorative vase and never come out. Wonwoo finally takes pity on you, clearing his throat.

“Can we all calm down? She’s here because I needed a ride,” he says measuredly.

“Sure,” his uncle mutters, and it’s followed by a smattering of chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” his aunt finally interjects. “Let the kids sit down before you lot grill them to death.”

Reluctantly, everyone’s attention shifts to the basketball match playing on the television. Wonwoo hobbles toward the nearest loveseat, and you instinctively reach out to steady him when he wobbles a little. He doesn’t say thank you, but the way he lets your hand linger on his arm feels like silent acknowledgement.

“You’re not going to make me carry you if this gets worse, are you?” you murmur, settling into the seat next to him, careful not to jostle his injured leg.

“Not unless you want to,” he deadpans.

You roll your eyes—but the moment your knees accidentally bump, the room feels a touch too small, too warm.

Conversations begin again, and occasionally, someone makes another comment about how “nice” you two look together, and you muster up a strained smile each time. Wonwoo, meanwhile, remains utterly unfazed, answering questions about college and his injury like he isn’t the centre of his family’s romantic speculation.

“Your family is… nice,” you whisper, when the room quietens finally.

“They’re just excited to see someone new,” he says.

“Excited to marry you off, you mean.”

He hums. “Maybe.”

His aunt hands out warm plates of brownies topped with ice cream, and you gratefully dig in. You’re mid-chew when his uncle asks, “How did you two meet?”

You groan inwardly, resting your spoon on your plate and barely restraining yourself from banging your head on the coffee table. Wonwoo’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. He shrugs and says, “We met through a mutual friend. Simple enough.”

“Very simple,” you echo, nodding your head prudently, hoping to end the conversation there.

“But was it love at first sight?”

Wonwoo tilts his head slightly, as though he’s genuinely considering the question. You elbow him hard, ignoring his startled oof. “No,” you answer quickly. “We didn’t even like each other at first.”

“Didn’t we?” Wonwoo asks, lips curving upwards.

“No,” you say firmly. “You were too quiet, and I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

“Maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough,” he quips.

You gape at him. “That’s—”

“Adorable!” someone cuts in, and everyone—except you—bursts into laughter.

You bury your face in your hands, utterly defeated. Wonwoo, on the other hand, seems entirely too pleased with himself, his soft laugh barely audible over everyone else’s.

You glance at him once again, dropping your hands and letting them rest on your lap. He’s resting back in his seat, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. The tiniest furrow creases his brow, a sign he’s not as comfortable as he’d like everyone to believe.

“You should’ve stayed off your feet,” you say softly, leaning closer.

“And miss all this fun?” he says, smiling softly. He’s quieter, now, seemingly tired of all the socialising, but he watches his relatives bicker over something stupid with fondness.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile.

It’s only later, as everyone disperses to their rooms, that silence befalls upon you both yet again—though not quite as awkward as before. Standing outside the guest room, you turn around to face Wonwoo, who leans heavily on his crutch now, fatigue evident in his every movement.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods, face impassive. “You?”

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

His lips quirk upwards for the smallest of moments before he nods towards his door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you say, slipping into your room and closing the door behind you.

Sleep, that night, is a stubbornly elusive thing. You toss and turn, unable to close your eyes for more than a few minutes. Each time your mind refuses to quiet, you assign a new reason for your restlessness—the bed is too firm, the covers are unnaturally warm, the pillow is too lumpy. But you know, deep down, that the true culprit lies just down the hallway.

Jeon Wonwoo.

The thought of him—his silent steadiness, the way his mouth twitches up slightly when he finds something amusing, the fact that you’re in the same house as him—makes your pulse flutter in ways that you’re sure aren’t good for your heart.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The faint creak of a floorboard breaks the stillness, and your heart jumps before logic catches up. It’s an old house; it makes noises. Then, there’s another creak, a softer one, like when someone is careful and doesn’t want to disturb anyone else.

Curiosity—and the undeniable urge to see him—wins over your hesitation. You slide out of bed, the floor cool against your bare feet, and pad to the door. When you open it, you nearly collide with Wonwoo in the dimly-lit hallway.

“Oh,” you whisper, pretending to be startled. “What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo shifts his weight to his better foot, leaning against his crutch. He’s dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweats, hair slightly mussed. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs. “You?”

“Same,” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Your room’s closer,” he says.

You step aside, holding the door open for him. “Come in.”

Once inside, he maneuvers carefully to the bed, his movements slow to avoid jostling his injured foot. He sits down on the edge of the mattress with a soft groan, stretching his leg out.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, hovering awkwardly near the desk chair.

“I’m fine,” he replies, leaning back on his palms. “Don’t hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” you mutter, sinking into the chair opposite him.

The quiet stretches, each second feeling longer than the last. You wonder if this is how it’s going to be for a long time—awkward, but unavoidable, because not being by each other’s sides isn’t an option. You fiddle with the hem of your sweatshirt, glancing at him and then quickly looking away when his eyes meet yours.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your fingers still. “Talk about what?”

Wonwoo tilts his head. “Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

You chew on your lip. Maybe it’s because it’s so silent that nothing seems intimidating anymore, or maybe it’s everything you’ve pushed down so far finally reaching a tipping point, or—and perhaps the most likely reason—maybe you’re just incredibly, terribly, immensely stupid, but the words spill out faster than your mind reacts.

“I heard you,” you blurt out.

He straightens a little. “Heard me?”

“The other day,” you clarify, voice wavering. “In the alley by the dumpster. With Soonyoung.”

The shift in his demeanour is subtle, but you notice it—his shoulders tense, his fingers curl around the covers on the mattress. “Oh.”

You take a deep breath and force yourself to continue. “You told him you remembered. That night. The… you know.”

Wonwoo doesn’t immediately respond, his gaze fixed somewhere near the desk lamp.

“I’m not mad,” you add quickly, feeling the need to fill the silence. “I was a little confused, but—but I get why you lied. I just—” You hesitate, wringing your hands. “I feel stupid. You remember everything, and I… don’t.”

His eyes snap to yours. “You’re not stupid. We were drunk. It’s only natural that you don’t remember.”

“I don’t even know what I said to you,” you say, barking out a short, bitter laugh. “Or what I did. I’ve been over analyzing it for days, and you’ve just… known.”

“Because it was important,” he says, voice low.

Your heart stutters. “Important?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

The air feels too thick, like the walls of the room are closing in on you. You swallow hard and muster up a weak smile. “You didn’t think to, um, bring it up?”

“I thought about it,” he admits. “A lot. But I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“Wonwoo,” you say, “we’ve already messed things up.”

“Fair point.” He gives you a small, rueful smile.

You let loose a soft exhale. It feels like a weight off your chest, somehow, as though partially revealing the truth eased some of the static in your head. Wonwoo shifts on the bed, adjusting his position with a wince. Without thinking, you stand and move closer, grabbing a pillow to place under his leg.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Making sure you don’t injure yourself even more,” you say, propping his foot up gently.

“Thanks, doctor.” He’s teasing you, and you know it, but his voice is soft when he says it. Your heart, that traitorous organ, speeds up a little.

You straighten up, but something about the way he looks at you pins you in place. His eyes roam over your face, searching, and it makes your skin feel too warm.

“You don’t have to feel embarrassed,” he says after a moment, “about not remembering.”

“...I can’t help it,” you admit, barely more than a whisper.

He leans forward slightly; his hand brushes against yours. “Then let me help you.”

“What are you—”

Before you can finish, he reaches up and removes his glasses, setting them on the nightstand. His movements are deliberate, his eyes fixed on you. When he says your name, it sounds like a plea, and then, “C’mere.”

You sit down next to him. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure he can hear you. “Wonwoo,” you whisper, voice trembling.

“Do you want to remember?” he asks.

Your throat feels dry; your hands clench into fists at your sides.”I—”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, leaning in slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips. You don’t move away. You can’t, so you nod instead. When his mouth meets yours, it’s anything but tentative.

Wonwoo’s lips mold against yours insistently, sending sparks shooting through your veins. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively reach up, threading your fingers through his hair.

You gasp when he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours unhurriedly, in a way that makes your knees weak even though you’re already sitting. He tilts his head, exploring your mouth with a thoroughness that leaves no room for hesitation. His hand slides up to cup your jaw; his thumb brushes against your cheek. The combination of his touch and his kiss is overwhelming. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire.

When you pull back for air, he doesn’t let you go far. His breathing is ragged, his fingers still gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks hoarsely.

You hesitate. “I— Your foot is still injured.”

“So?” Wonwoo counters, lips twitching. “That doesn’t mean I have erectile dysfunction.”

“Wonwoo,” you groan, half-laughing, half-mortified as you push at his shoulder.

He chuckles, warm and low. “Okay. No sex. But kiss me again.”

So, in the darkness of the night, in the quietness of his childhood home, you do.

There was a time when you thought Jeon Wonwoo was going to ask you out.

It never happened, of course—you wouldn’t be in this pitiful state if he had, wouldn’t be rotting in bed in layers of your own misery and heartache. 

You remember the way he’d looked at you that night. His gaze lingered just a second too long, his expression soft in such a way that made your heart flutter and your stomach twist into thousands of tight knots. You’d caught yourself staring at his lips, wondering what they’d feel like against yours, and immediately looked away, cheeks burning. He’d seemed nervous, too—words stumbling over each other like he was rushing to get them out. For one foolish, fleeting moment, you’d thought that he was going to say it.

When he told you about his girlfriend, you’d plastered on a smile and congratulated him. Still, something in your chest had sunk that day. What had you expected, really? For him to sweep you into his arms and confess that you were the one? He had always been kind, but kindness does not equate love.

Except it does, because Jeon Wonwoo had told Kwon Soonyoung that he likes you. It’s impossible—it has to be, because he had been devastated when he broke up with his girlfriend. But you remember the accidental one-night stand, and the night spent in Changwon, and the fact that he climbed up a tree to save a measly kitten just because you asked, and you know you’re lying to yourself.

And you? When he broke up with his girlfriend, you felt… relief. His sadness wasn’t something that you wanted to enjoy. No, you hated that he was hurting. But the other part of you, the part of you that had waited for this moment without ever acknowledging it, was thrilled.

The truth always finds a way to slip out. You’ve always been bad at hiding it, but the truth is this: You’ve loved Jeon Wonwoo for as long as you’ve known him.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand go something like this: 

It starts with Kwon Soonyoung. Of course it does.

When Soonyoung gets drunk—really drunk—he becomes the type of mess no one really knows how to handle. He laughs too loud, stumbles too much, and becomes emotional over the smallest of things. The only difference tonight is that he has, apparently, outdone himself. He had, in his drunken state, managed to get himself stuck in the worst part of town with a phone number he couldn’t remember dialling, and no one had the heart to tell him he probably should just stay the night.

Somehow, Sana managed to rope you and Wonwoo into picking him up, much to Xu Minghao’s glee. 

And somehow, equally confusingly, you are on Jeon Wonwoo’s lap in his car, his foot fully healed now. The seat belt buckle digs painfully into your thigh, but it’s forgotten quickly—simply due to the fact that Wonwoo’s lips are on yours.

His hands are gentle as they rest on your back, holding you closer, almost like he can’t believe this is real. The softness of his lips, the careful yet urgent way he kisses you—it’s enough to make you forget the world outside of his car, enough to make you forget about your late-night rescue mission.

It’s dizzying, intoxicating, and when he pulls back for a brief moment to catch his breath, you barely let him before you’re leaning in again, eager for more. Your hands move on their own, finding his shirt’s collar and gripping it as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

You forget that you’re both in a car, in the middle of the night, on some random dark street far from home. You forget that there’s so much you’ve buried underneath layers of friendship and years of yearning. 

It all blurs out, except for the one question nagging you ever since Minghao posed it to you back in the coffee shop.

“Wonwoo,” you murmur against his lips, and his kisses slow, just enough to listen. “Why did you break up with your girlfriend in freshman year?”

He pulls back, brows furrowed slightly. “Because of you,” he says simply, as though it was obvious all along. 

Your breath hitches. The words settle into your chest, fluttering like wings, wrapping around your heart. Because of you.

“I don’t— I don’t understand,” you whisper. “Why?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately. His hands move to your face, fingers brushing away stray strands of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. He leans forward, just enough to close the distance between you both, and kisses you again.

It’s different this time. The kiss isn’t frantic or urgent. It’s slow. His lips move tenderly against yours, hands slipping down to the small of your back, pressing you against him. When he pulls back this time, it’s only by a fraction.

“You’ve always been there, you know?” he murmurs. “It was hard, trying to get over you. I didn’t want something to happen and for our friendship to end ‘cause of something stupid.”

It turns out you and your best friend are a pair of idiots, juggling the same worries about toeing the carefully-drawn line between friendship and the forbidden zone beyond it.

All at once, the confession you didn’t even realise you were dying to make slips past your lips. “I’ve liked you from the start,” you say, a little breathless, and before you can stop yourself, you’re laughing lightly. “I never thought I’d—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head while your hands find their way back to his shirt, tugging him close.

His lips return to yours, his kiss deeper this time, more insistent. There is no hesitation this time. The kiss spirals between soft and demanding, his teeth nipping your lower lip and your tongue sliding against his. His hands are everywhere, pressing you to him as if trying to make up for lost time, and you let him, falling into the moment with a fervour you didn’t know you possessed.

You pull back only when your lungs burn for air, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. Wonwoo’s hands settle on your hips, warm and gentle.

“I think,” he says, gruffly, “Soonyoung’s probably passed out by now.”

“Priorities,” you tut, but a laugh bubbles out of your throat anyway.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand also include dealing with an irate Kwon Soonyoung the next morning, when he barges into your apartment without warning. You and Wonwoo, with identical bedheads and noticeable embarrassment, stand in a corner together while he paces your living room.

“You’re telling me,” he says, turning around so violently, he nearly trips over his own heel, “that you forgot to pick me up because you were too busy sucking face in Wonwoo’s car?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say, at the same time Wonwoo says, “How crass of you, Soonyoung.”

Your friend splutters, flabbergasted. “Wow. Maybe I should quit college and start a matrimony service instead.”

⇢ a/n: this entire fic was inspired by two of my favourite kdramas: business proposal, and love next door. thank you to skye, @etherealyoungk, & kae, @ylangelegy, for beta reading this fic & leaving sweet comments! thanks for reading & i hope you have a wonderful day!

[minswriting]

Head Empty, No Thoughts - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

About: You can’t focus properly because all you can think about is how much you desperately needed to be railed. Hotch, being the amazing boss that he is, helps his agent with quite enthusiasm.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, boss/agent dynamics, soft!dom aaron, praise kink, fingering, oral (f), unprotected sex, doggy style, aaron’s an ass man what can i say? porn with no plot. not proof read because that’s lame

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Please make sure to reblog to support your content creators!! @nachrosas helped me with making sure this story is good lol. i hope you all enjoy! if you have any thoughts, feel free to send them in my inbox!

To say you’ve been having issues concentrating was an understatement. For the past few weeks, you’ve been going to work, trying your best to focus on cases, and yet, you could hardly concentrate on anything you’re meant to do. You simply follow orders and stay silent for the most part. It’s not that you didn’t want to work. You adored your job, even if it gets really hard sometimes. Your team is like your family, and you usually contribute to profiles and other parts of the case.

The issue was that it’s been months since you’ve had sex and it’s making you very grouchy and unable to think about anything else.

You craved to be touched, to be fucked so hard that you could cry from pleasure. Your last hookup, many months ago, hadn’t even been good. He didn’t make you cum once so you had to resort to using your fingers. And your fingers and toys can only do so much compared to being properly dicked down.

Currently, the team is on a case in Tampa, Florida. After a series of homicidal home invasions, you guys had been called to investigate. You tried your best to remain focused, drinking coffee, listening to Hotch giving orders, and hearing everyone give their ideas on the profile. And yet, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t give your perspective. You simply just listened with a neutral look on your face.

By the end of the night, when everyone had gone to the hotel to get some rest, Aaron had stopped you in the lobby to talk to you before you could go up to your assigned room. He put a hand on your arm, causing you to turn around to look at your boss. His brown eyes looked at you with concern despite his stoic facade. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, furrowing his eyebrows as he spoke.

You nodded your head, giving Aaron a small shrug. “Of course,” You replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been very quiet the past few weeks,” Aaron said, looking at you as though he were analyzing your every move, profiling you. “Tense, too.”

“Well, I think we’re all tense all of the time, Hotch,” You joked, trying to change the subject. Of course, Hotch would notice that you weren’t yourself. You work with a bunch of profilers, and while the others always try not to profile the team, Aaron was one who usually profiled the team to ensure mental stability out on the field. It was his job to make sure you were all doing alright. However, you didn’t particularly want to tell your boss that you’ve been so…distant from work simply because you need to get railed. That would be awkward and unprofessional.

Aaron quirked an eyebrow at you, noticing the obvious change in subject. “You’re not usually so quiet during cases. Your insights are valuable on this team, and if something is plaguing you about your position, I need to make sure you’re doing alright, Agent.”

“Hotch, I promise it’s nothing related to the job,” You sighed, tilting your head. “I’ve just been distracted and frustrated, but it’s due to personal matters.”

“Perhaps talking about what’s bothering you could make you feel better?” Aaron pointed out.

You shook your head no, cheeks reddening in embarrassment as you thought about the idea of telling your boss about your personal issue. “I-it’s not something I should talk about,” You cleared your throat. “Especially with you.”

Aaron looked at you with a look of confusion, noticing how your cheeks got red. “Especially with me?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed once more. “What do you mean?”

You groaned internally at yourself with a small grimace on your face due to embarrassment. You realized that Aaron wouldn’t relent. He would interrogate you until the answer came out. So you decided to say “fuck it” figuratively. “I haven’t had sex in months,” you said bluntly. “And it’s been all I can focus on. But I’ll figure it out and I apologize it’s been affecting my work. I’m going to go to my room now.” And with that, you turned around and quickly walked away, not waiting for your boss to respond.

When you had gotten to your room, you quickly opened the door and closed it behind yourself, throwing your bag to the side as you quickly went to bed, burying your face into the pillow and letting out a muffled scream. You took a deep breath before turning onto your back and looking up at the ceiling. To say you were officially embarrassed was an understatement. You were mortified. You had confessed to your attractive boss that you hadn’t had sex in a long while and that it was affecting the way you worked.

With a sigh, you got up from the bed and went to your go-bag, grabbing a lavender purple nightgown before going to the bathroom and taking a shower. And once you had gotten settled into bed, reading a book, there was a sudden knock on your hotel room door. You checked the time, noticing how it was after midnight.

You closed your book, putting it onto the nightstand before getting out of bed. You smoothed out your nightgown before walking over to the door. You opened the door a crack, just to see who was standing there. Aaron stood there, still dressed in his suit but without the jacket. You opened the door all of the way. You immediately blushed as the embarrassment came rushing back. “Hi,” You said quietly, feeling exposed as you were only wearing your nightgown while Aaron was still in his work clothes.

“Can I come in?” He asked, looking at you with a look that you can’t quite place. You didn’t say anything as you stepped to the side, allowing Aaron to walk in. You closed the door behind him, biting your lip in nervousness. You turned to look at Hotch, not saying anything as he looked at you. He not-so-subtly looked you up and down before meeting your eyes. “You’ve been frustrated,” was all he said.

You nodded your head, heart pounding in your chest. “I have,” you said hoarsely.

He paused for a moment, as though he were thinking of what to say next. “You know,” he began. “If there’s an issue with one of the members of my team, it’s my duty to find a solution.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. “This isn’t something for you to find a solution to.”

Aaron let out a sigh, a break in his usual stoic demeanor. Being outright with himself was hard as he usually hid his emotions and thoughts from those around him. “I’m saying that I can help you,” he exclaimed, taking a step towards you.

“What?” You asked, still clearly confused but you had an inkling of what this was about. As Aaron got closer, you stayed put.

And when he reached you, he tentatively put a hand on your cheek, running his thumb across your skin. “I can help you,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched at Aaron’s touch. You felt dazed as you looked into his brown eyes. “Hotch-“ you whispered, not quite knowing what else to say. You couldn’t help but glance down at his lips, fighting the urge to just lean in and kiss him. Your gaze moved back to his eyes.

“What sort of boss would I be if I allowed my best agent to wallow in her frustration?” He asked huskily, leaning in, his breath fanning over your face. All you could smell was Aaron’s cologne and the faint smell of whiskey. And without waiting for your response, Aaron’s lips were on yours, kissing you tentatively as if he were afraid you’d pull away. But when you made a soft noise and kissed Aaron back, he deepened the kiss, moving his other hand to your waist and pulling you closer to him.

You didn’t quite know what to do with yourself other than to kiss Aaron. You couldn’t deny the obvious attraction you felt for your boss. You had kept it a secret, not wanting to ruin the professionalism that had been built between the two of you. But now, as Aaron’s chapped lips moved against your soft ones, you could hardly find yourself to care. Especially when it has been far too long since you’ve done anything.

Aaron’s hand moved from your hip to the bottom of your nightgown, lifting it up a bit. After a few minutes of kissing one another deeply, Aaron pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “Tell me to stop at any point,” he whispered.

“Please don’t stop.” You whispered back.

And without any hesitation, Aaron kissed you again. His tongue licked your bottom lip and you graciously parted your lips for him, allowing him to explore your mouth with his tongue. His hand went underneath your nightgown, slowly trailing upwards. Your breath hitched when his fingers reached the waistband of your panties. He pulled away from the kiss, moving to kiss your jawline and neck as his fingers slipped underneath the waistband.

His middle finger touched your slit, feeling the wetness that had pooled. You gasped at the feeling, bringing your hands to Aaron’s shoulders. “You’re so wet,” he said against your skin, trailing his finger from your hole to your clit before he began to gently rub circles against the nub.

You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut. Aaron moved his head so he could look at you. He continued to rub soft circles with his middle finger before dipping it into your hole, gently inserting the digit. The way your body jolted at the intrusion made Aaron chuckle breathily. He began moving his finger in and out of you at a teasingly slow pace, getting you used to the feeling. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

You opened your eyes to look at Aaron, who was already looking at you. Your lips were parted as he gently moved his finger. And after a few moments, he added a second one, immediately curling his fingers. You let out a choked moan, maintaining eye contact with Aaron, as you held onto him. You felt drunk on lust, finally getting pleasured by someone other than yourself. “A-Aaron,” you moaned, breathing heavily.

“Beautiful girl,” he said, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. “Does it feel good?” He asked as his fingers moved at a slow pace inside of you, hitting your g-spot with each movement.

You nodded your head.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Good girl,” He said with a small smirk on his lips as he moved his fingers inside of you faster.

A shiver went down your back at the praise, an action that didn’t go unmissed by Aaron’s eyes. You began moaning louder, feeling that familiar heat building inside of you as Aaron’s digits moved with purpose. “I-I’m so close,” you whined.

Aaron hummed, keeping the pace. “Go ahead, baby, let go for me,” he said breathily.

And with a few more pumps of his fingers, you came, legs shaking as you tried to hold yourself up as you came undone on his fingers. Aaron’s free arm immediately moved to wrap around your waist, holding you upright. You threw your head back, whining with pleasure. When you finished you opened your eyes, looking at Aaron as you breathed heavily.

He withdrew his fingers from your cunt, bringing the digits to his mouth and sucking on them until they were clean. He moaned at the taste, the sounding sending sparks down to your pussy.

You couldn’t help yourself from looking down, seeing the bulge in Aaron’s pants. He looked so painfully hard and you wanted to help him just as he was helping you. You brought your hand to his bulge but before you could touch it, Aaron grabbed your hand. “Not yet,” he said, licking his lips. “Tonight’s about you.” And with that, he gently pushed you over to the mattress, making you sit on the edge.

You watched as Aaron got on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with his chocolate brown eyes. He lifted your nightgown just enough to reveal your panties. He put his fingers on the waistband, pulling them down and off of you. “I need to taste you, baby,” Aaron said, licking his lips as your bare cunt was revealed to him. “Is that alright?”

“Y-yes,” you whispered, looking at him with anticipation.

“Good girl,” he hummed before spreading your legs, burying his head between your thighs as he dived right in. His tongue licked a stripe on your pussy.

You immediately whined, eyes fluttering shut as Aaron’s tongue began to lap around your pussy. He circled your clit before putting his lips on the nub and sucking gently. “O-oh fuck,” you moaned as you entangled a hand in his hair, tugging at his locks. Aaron let out a groan against your cunt, sending vibrations through it. “Feels so good, Aaron,” you whined, throwing your head back in pleasure.

What was at first gentle quickly turned into Aaron eating you out like a starved man as he quickly got addicted to the taste of your pussy. He sucked on your clit, lapped his tongue around your cunt, dipped his tongue into your hole as his nose rubbed against your clit. He was messy with it in the best way possible.

It didn’t take long until you came for a second time that night, clenching your thighs around Aaron’s head as you arched your back and tugged at his hair, moaning his name so loudly that you were sure anyone sleeping in the room next to yours could hear.

And when you came down from your high, you relaxed against the mattress, allowing your back to fall onto the soft fabric. You breathed heavily, your chest moving up and down. Aaron pulled away from your cunt, his face absolutely covered in your juices. “You alright?” he asked, licking his lips.

You nodded your head, looking at Aaron with a small lazy smile. “So good,” you giggled gently.

Aaron chuckled, unbuttoning his shirt. “We aren’t done yet, baby,” he exclaimed, tossing his dress shirt to the side before undoing the belt of his pants. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly.”

You bit your lip as you watched Aaron undress. He was so fit and toned. You watched in anticipation as he tossed his belt to the side before unzipping his pants. He pulled them down along with his boxers, his cock slapping against his stomach. He was so hard, his cock red and leaking with precum. You couldn’t help the whimper that left your lips as you looked at it because he was hung, to say the least. “You’re so big,” you whispered in fascination. “Will it fit?” You’ve never had sex with anyone as big and thick as Aaron.

“You flatter me,” Aaron exclaimed, a teasing smile on his lips. He gave himself a few tugs before walking over to you. “We’ll make it fit.” He said simply. “On your hands and knees.” He commanded.

And you obliged without hesitation. You turned yourself so that you were on your hands and knees, your ass in the air. You felt a light smack on your ass, sending tingles down your spine. “God, you’re beautiful,” Aaron said as he massaged the flesh of your ass.

He then grabbed your hips, pulling you closer to him before lining his cock to your pussy. He teased himself and you, spreading your wetness along his tip, causing him to hiss in pleasure and for you to let out a whimper.

He then lined himself to your entrance, slowly easing his cock inside of you. You whimpered again, this time louder as Aaron stretched you. The slight pain you felt was worth it as you were finally being filled for the first time in months. And then Aaron bottomed out, you felt him pressing so deeply inside of you in a way you had never felt before.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Aaron groaned, keeping himself still.

“You’re so fucking big,” you whined in response. Both of you stayed still for a bit, allowing you time to adjust. And when the sting subsided, you let out a breath. “You can move.”

Aaron gently pulled his hips back before slamming into you again. He was slow with it but hard, making you really feel his cock inside of you. You yelped in pleasure, eyes closing. Aaron had one hand on your hip, the other on your right buttcheek as he thrusted into you at a slow pace.

“F-faster.”

“Say please.” Aaron replied, keeping the slow pace.

“Faster, please,” your voice hitched as Aaron pressed himself deep inside of you again.

“Good girl,” He said before moving his hips faster. His cock began hitting your g-spot deadass, causing you to moan much louder than before.

“O-oh my,” you moaned. You stopped holding yourself up with your arms, allowing your head to fall forward onto the sheets as your hands gripped them. Aaron’s pace was brutal as he very much did not hold himself back. This is exactly what you meant by needing to be railed. “So good!” Your voice was muffled from the sheets.

“You feel so good, my pretty girl,” Aaron groaned, watching the way your ass bounced with the harshness of his thrusts. He smacked it again, this time harder than before.

You whined in response, pressing yourself against Aaron as you began meeting his thrusts with your own movements. Your nightgown was ridden up to your chest, the straps falling from your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Aaron groaned, tilting his head back as he fucked you. You were so wet and tight around his cock. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to last long. He swallowed, moving back to look at you. You were absolutely gorgeous in the position you were in.

The whole scene was quite obscene and pornographic. Your ass was up, your back arched as your head was buried in the mattress. The sounds of your moans filled the air along with the loud smacking of skin hitting skin. Not to mention the fact that your pussy was so wet that you could hear the noises of it with every thrust of Aaron’s cock.

You felt that burn building once more as Aaron’s cock moved inside of you. Your eyes were rolled back from the pleasure as he fucked you so good. “I-I’m so close,” you mewled, your walls clenching around Aaron’s length.

“Ah,” Aaron groaned. “Be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?” He said, putting both hands on your hips as he drilled himself into you. “My beautiful girl,” he said with each thrust.

When your orgasm hit, it hit you hard. You came with a choked sobbing moan that you were sure other people on the floor definitely heard. Your legs shook aggressively as you clenched tightly around Aaron’s length, moaning his name repeatedly. Aaron fucked you through your orgasm, keeping up his brutal pace as he chased his own high. With a loud groan and moan of your name, Aaron pressed himself deep inside of you as he came, spilling his seed.

And when he finished, he pulled out and you both collapsed on the mattress, Aaron lying down next to you. Neither of you spoke as you breathed heavily, basking in the post-orgasmic feeling. After a few minutes, when your breathing finally caught, you lifted your head to look at Aaron, who was already looking at you, and you both couldn’t help the small chuckles that left your lips as Aaron pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

The next morning, when everyone had met at the station to continue working on the case, you were much more like yourself. You were more focused, engaged with the team, giving your input on the profile. Everyone just assumed you had slept well. But every time you glanced at Hotch, there was a subtle exchange of thoughts as you both would briefly recall the previous night. A quiet agreement that you both would seek one another out for relief.

Because what kind of agent would you be if you couldn’t ease your boss’s stress?

[puffleyia]

After Hours || Theodore Nott

Theodore Nott x fem!reader || 2.3k words

Warnings: Unprotected & clothed sex, p-in-v, Theo speaking some Italian (hope the translations are accurate..) yeah, i'm a sucker for that.

Summary: Exams are two weeks time from now. You've made a deliberate effort to steer clear of your boyfriend, Theo. One unfortunate night, he ends up dragging you into an empty classroom and teaches you a lesson worth remembering.

Author's notes: Hellooo, requests are open ! It's a blast writing ab Theo !! I've only gotten back into writing recently after not writing fics for a good while. sorry if i'm slow at churning out fics. I'm busy!

It was roughly two weeks before examinations, and professors have even stopped giving out homework as to focus students’ time on reviewing for their respective subjects. You’ve been studying your ass off in the library day and night, sometimes offering your friends to join in as well. Though, they quickly get bored as they soon offer to do much more interesting things  than studying such as having a go at wizard chess, or exploding snap.

It took a lot of self control not to join them, and it took even more not to just put down your book and see Theo. You had been purposely avoiding him because he would always end up distracting you, one way or another. You always catch him stealing a glance at you, and you would almost squirm at the way he looked at you; severely in discomfort as the tension between you two only continued to rise due to the lack of interaction.

It felt suffocating to say the least, so you even began trying not to even breathe in his direction. Needless to say, the bastard still had his ways. He would sometimes sneak up behind you in the library, as you pore over the shelves, inviting himself in as he grabbed your waist and buried his face in your neck. Another is when he would attempt to ensnare you right after your classes. 

In the end, you always found yourself ending up hiding away in your common room. You would get past him just by the skin of your teeth each time, as he used his cunning words and a dangerous tone that was like poisoned honey.

You thought, or, more like hoped it would be a quiet night tonight, staying up past curfew hours at the library and praying none of the professors nor prefects would catch you. Though perhaps you were too engrossed in Advanced Potion Making to notice the echo of footsteps that slowly grew louder as it drew nearer to you. Your ears simply blanked it out as mere white noise.

It had not even registered yet in your head until you felt an arm wrap around your shoulder, as someone sat beside you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was, as you could see him faintly through your peripherals. “You’ve been so distant lately, amore,” he says, his tone unhappy and laced with a hint of something else you couldn’t quite make out underneath it. 

“Sorry, Theo, I-I’m only trying to focus on the exams at the moment. I mean, not in a bad way but, if I spend time with you, I’ll only end up distracted,” you say, trying to clarify yourself to him. Maybe it would’ve been a good idea to tell him sooner. He sighs, “I guess I’ll just have to–” he gets cut off as you both stiffen at the sound of someone approaching.

He hastily places a firm hand over your mouth, silencing your protests, and shoves your book, notes, and quill into your arms. Before you could object, he then relocates you two into an empty classroom, hastily and skillfully sneaking around the halls to get there. It looked unkempt, and it seemed as if it were not used regularly either. He finally released you from his grasp as you gasped for air. “Theo! What the he–” you say, as he quickly covers your mouth again. “Shh, you’re gonna get us caught, principessa.” He says in a low voice, in a near-whisper before he lets go again. “Ahem,” you clear up your throat before you speak, “I-I believe I should get going, Theo.” He furrows his brows at that, frowning slightly. You head towards the classroom’s door, before he grabs you by the waist from behind and pulls you in.

“Who said you were leaving, hm? Are you trying to avoid me again?” He says, as he moved the both of you to sit on one of the chairs. You remain in his arms, unable to get out despite your attempts to wiggle out and you end up on his lap. “Theo.” You say firmly, trying to assert yourself to let him know you really are serious about studying. “Mm, fine, since you’re so stubborn. Tell you what, how about I study with you?” He says suggestively, his voice making you feel things you were not supposed to. Not right now at least.

“Really?” You say skeptically, raising an eyebrow. You place your stuff down, with a dull thud as it is placed on the table. Sounding slightly annoyed, he says, “What's with the attitude, hm? Are you doubting me?” “F-fine, then,” you hesitantly agree, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wants to be. Alone with him.

“Brava ragazza,” he says, as he rests his head on your shoulder whilst flipping open your book. You can not help but faintly squeeze your thighs together, you didn’t know most of the time what he was saying when he spoke to you in Italian, but you found it incredibly hot when he did. Your actions do not go unnoticed by him, though he was not going to do anything yet. You pick up your quill, your eyebrows knitting together as you attempt to focus on taking your notes. 

“Tell you what, I’ll ask you a few questions to help you. If you get it right, I won’t do anything. If you don't…” He says, his voice trailing off as he does not continue what he was going to say, though the timbre in his voice gave enough implication. You gulp and nod, your throat bobbing as you swallow. You knew you did not really have much of a say, Theo’s done a good job of cornering you. Not to mention the fact he knew you were slightly struggling with potions, too.

“Right then, amore, can you tell me how Golpalott’s Third Law influences the effectiveness and stability of potions?” He asked amusedly, his foot tapping the floor rhythmically. “Uhm,” you say, muttering in an attempt to answer, “Uh, well, it’s... um, when you have a potion with, uh, lots of different poisons, right? So, um, the antidote... it's not just, um, the sum of... wait, no, it's more than that! Yeah, um…” You begin feeling your mouth go dry as the tension in the room fills the air. You feel your heart thump loudly against your ribcage.

“It’s when you have multiple poisons mixed together in a potion, the antidote needs to be more potent or comprehensive to counteract their combined effects.” He says, cockily smirking as he corrects you. Your breath hitches as he takes off your robes and his, tossing it aside as he hikes up your skirt and gropes you. “Theo!” You gasp at his actions. He buries his face on the crook of your neck, as he breathed in your scent before he began kissing it.

“Cazzo,” he mumbles before he spat out another question, “What are the common ingredients and methods used to counteract the effects of different poisons?” You feel the tent in his pants growing, his cock pressing against your clothed cunt. “I–” You manage to get out before biting your lip, stifling a moan. You had reviewed this, but lust simply clouded your mind for you to formulate a cohesive answer.

“Um, er.. D-dittany, for uhm, venom,” you say, as Theo continued teasing you, grinding his hips upwards so that you could feel his dick. You moan at the friction on your pussy, feeling your panties get wet. “I..” You slur, unable to say anything further. “Cockdrunk already, cara mia?” He lets out a guttural laugh, bending you over the table and grabbing your hips roughly as he continues grinding his cock on your pussy. 

“Don’t forget, Bezoar, for example–” he grunts, “–is a stone found in the stomach of certain magical creatures like goats. It's known for its ability to neutralise many poisons when ingested. Then there's the Antidote to Common Poisons…” He corrects you, adding more strings of information you probably needed. Though, it was not as if you were paying attention, as you were moving your hips hungrily back onto his dick, only being separated by thin fabric. 

“Merda, might as well just fuck you if you keep getting my questions wrong, principessa.” He says, his voice dangerously low as you hear the clink of his belt unbuckling and the distinct sound of his fly unzipping. You look over your shoulder, watching him intently as he pulls down his dark grey boxers and frees his cock. “Theo, please,” you whine, as he smacks your ass and pushes your panties aside. “I thought you were too busy studying? Maybe I should just leave you to that,” he teases you, tapping his dick on your cunt and rubbing it in between your folds.

“No, please,” you plead, and desperately you pressed yourself onto his cock. “Beg, cara mia,” he husked condescendingly, enjoying humiliating you as he continued teasing your wet pussy. “Please, mmhn–” you moan, “I’m sorry, Theo. I-I need it, please, need your cock,” you whimper, flushed from embarrassment as he finally slipped the tip inside you. He pressed inside, at a gruellingly slow pace. 

“Cazzo, una puttana così sporca, aren’t you huh?” You could not place your finger on a single word he said in Italian, but your pussy definitely could. He groaned loudly as he grew impatient, shoving the rest of his dick into you. His groin pressed flush against your ass. You moaned loudly at that, and with a swift motion, he reached out and clamped his hand over your mouth. “Shh, cara mia,” he whispers sultrily in your ear as he quickly silences you, unwilling for the both of you to get caught.

You let out a few muffled sounds against his hand as he began thrusting into you, slowly drawing out his cock as he slammed it back into you with such force that the table beneath you shook. “Such a slut aren’t you? Merda,” He rasped as he uncovers your mouth, “yes!” you say, as he’s eliciting vulgar moans from you each time he fucked his dick back in.

He slithered his hand down onto your pussy, rubbing your clit. He leans in, grunting, as he kisses your nape. He sucks on your neck, trailing down to your back, leaving red marks as he sealed each one afterwards with a kiss. “Ti senti così maledettamente bene, amore,” he groaned, only setting his pace rougher as he hit a particularly deep spot inside you, hitting your cervix. 

“Oh fuck, Theo,” you whine, as you tried to remain as quiet as you could. Your hands firmly grip onto the edges of the table, your nails digging into it, as he fucks you into oblivion. Tears brim at your eyes, as close them shut. Some teardrops cling onto your pretty lashes, and some flow down your cheek, falling down, staining the pages of your book. He loved watching you cry in pleasure, observing your expressions as he drove himself into you.

He loomed over you, using a hand to cup your jaw to force your head to look up at his face. “Open your mouth, cara mia.” He said, an authoritative tone that rolled off his tongue like butter. You oblige, parting your lips, your tongue lolling out as you do. He spits in your mouth, the hand holding your chin clamping your jaw shut afterwards . “Swallow.”

You do as he says, swallowing his spit as he lets go of your jaw and your head hangs down soon after. With that, he fucks you rougher, his pace frantic. You become nothing short of a moaning mess, he returns his hand to your clit and strokes it rhythmically in time with his thrusts. You let out small whimpers and whines as you feel hazy and drunk on his cock. 

Theo, in an intoxicated trance, mutters a string of curses and praises in Italian. You cry out his name in ecstasy with every jab at your sweet spot as he ploughs into you. You feel a familiar warmth pooling at your stomach, only feeling more pleasurable by the second. “Theo, m’gonna cum, T-Theo,” you babble almost incoherently. He leans in briefly, and in a gravelly tone, “Cum on my cock, cara mia.” He says, letting his breath trickle down your neck.

Spasming around him, you dissolve into pleasure as you see stars. You selfishly clench around his dick, as if you wanted to milk him dry. Cumming all over his cock, you quite literally bury your face into your book, in an attempt to muffle the loud moan you let out as you do. 

His thrusts grow languid and sloppy, hips stuttering unrhythmically as his climax nears. “Want me to cum inside you, principessa?” He husked, now digging his fingers into your hips as he chased his high. “Yes, yes, mhn–” you chant, unable to think straight. “Theo, please,” you pleaded. 

With one final thrust, he groans loudly and buries himself fully inside you and stuffs your pussy with his cum. You felt his cock pulsing inside you, both of you panting as he rode out his orgasm. “Fuck, atta girl,” he says breathily, praising you as he pulls out of your cunt. He watches as you softly moan as you feel white globs of cum trickle out of your folds, dripping down your thighs.

He hastily tucks his cock back into his pants, pulling your skirt back in place as he walks (more like carries) you back to your common room that night before he headed back to his. Well, it was safe to say you definitely got nothing done that night, though he makes it up to you the following afternoon by actually helping you study with potions.

[occamstfs]

Work-Study

Coach Decker molds job-searching Jeremy into the athlete he never wanted to be, before now that is. Soon enough he'll never want to leave.

As football season nears its end I figured I'd get one last story out of it! Hope you enjoy this Academic -> QB -> Coach TF! Best! -Occam

“Jeremiah eh? Can I call ya Jere?”

“I’d um, rather you didn’t sir.” 

Jeremiah was less than thrilled about visiting the university’s head football coach to ask for a job, but when the tutoring program he was basically running for the university was shut down he was left with little other choice. The overworked clerk in charge of the school’s work-study program barely allowed him sit down before ushering him over to the stadium. Something about the coach Jeremiah didn’t even know the name of needing an assistant.

Staring at the burly man he now knows as Coach Decker, Jeremiah can scarcely believe he let the mousy bookkeeper strongarm him into meeting with the coach. Had he paid more attention at the work-study office perhaps he would have noticed just how frantic the clerk was, as if his neck were on the line had Jeremiah not gone. At any rate, Jeremiah clearly needs to work on his willpower, and what better chance than running calmly walking away from the beyond intimidating coach right now. 

Speaking of the man, Coach Decker scratches his beard as he looks at the neat resume in his hands. Looking up to sneer at the applicant he sees Jeremiah smile docilely as the will to puff out his chest and flee immediately vacates. The coach, seeing this as supplication, switches to a hungry grin and drops the resume to the table, “Have a seat Jerry, would ya?”

Jeremiah hesitates though acquiesces, instead choosing to focus on the assigned nickname once more, “Would you mind just calling me by my full name Coach Decker? I’d like to keep our relationship strictly business and I feel like treat-” Decker raises his hand to cut Jeremiah off. “Oh worry not lad. Trust. I won’t be having you do anything you don’t want to do.”

There’s some bizarre glimmer in the older man’s eyes that Jeremiah neglects to make a deal of as Decker directs his attention to a small bowl filled with snacks in front of him, “Why don’t you have a treat lad.” 

“Oh I don’t know Sir-” The coach clicks his tongue and Jeremiah almost flinches, “I insist, Jeremiah. And while we’re on the subject of names let’s cut this Sir shit out. Call me Coach.”  Jeremiah nods in agreement and shakily reaches to grab some protein bar he doesn’t recognize from the bowl, averting his eyes as to not meet the stare of the man. Yet, he still feels the burning gaze as he unwraps the bar and takes the first bite.

Jeremiah isn’t quite sure what happens after that. He blinks and suddenly Coach is laughing. The student smiles to pretend he understands whatever Decker is laughing at as the coach reclines and throws legs on the desk, scuffing up his neat resume underfoot. The younger man feels he should be bothered by this blatant disrespect, but he simply sits in a daze.

“Glad you enjoyed it Jez hah! The boys all love those things. But anyway, back to the interview eh? What made you wanna sign up to be an assistant coach?” Jeremiah’s eye twitches as he hears Coach refer to him as Jez. But then, it’s what he’s always gone by, right?

The overtures of a headache begin as he tries to recall if that is indeed, but he shakes it off. Stupid to get hung up on that, not like Coach’ll call him by something he doesn’t want to be called. Better to just go with the flow, trust the man. In fact, he now vaguely recalls his mom whining when he first started going by Jez. Which obviously only made him want to go by it more. He exhales a quiet laugh as he remembers.

It’s at this moment he takes heed of the second half of Coach’s statement, assistant coach? Finding his mouth dry from devouring the protein bar he clears his throat and speaks up, “Sorry, Coach I thought I was just going to be your personal assistant?”

Decker doesn’t try to hide the smile on his face as he pretends to think, “hmmm no no son. You came in to be a real part of the team didn’t ya? Not some pen-pushing pansy.” Jez’s eyes glaze and Coach watches as his words begin to sink in. “You were just sayin’ how much you love the sport, boy.”

Love the sport? Does he? For the life of him Jez can’t remember having watched one game all the way through. He’d never, uh. And then like a wave, Coach’s words wash over him- through him.

Of course he has. He’s always been a fan of their team though for sure, he bleeds orange and white. What’s possibly more important than watching his team curbstomp. Memories of helping out his mother in the kitchen on Thanksgiving burn like old film as he recalls broing out with his dad and brothers in the living room. 

 Like he’d be any help in the kitchen anyway, hah! His hands are good for nothin’ besides catching- uh. No, no he’s never played. He’s just a fan. Jez furrows his brow as he adjusts to his new memories. Clear recollections of scowling at his dad for shouting when his team scores are wiped and replaced by his own screaming alongside the man, screaming even louder.

Under his breath he whispers, “just a fan.” Some fight in him yet as some subconscious self-preservation sees the changes occurring and understands what Coach Decker is going to do next. This only excites the coach more, he knows Jez doesn’t stand a chance, but even this petty struggle will help heighten the severity of his upcoming transformation. Let’s see what a stud he’ll be able to mold.

“Well now Jez I wouldn’t say you’re just a fan. Hardly any of your classmates near the dedication you got to our team!” Jez’s eyes half return from vacancy, the sound of his sucking up drool fills the office as he speaks up, “my uh, dedication?”

Knowing he has Jez on tenterhooks he pauses to truly perfect his next attack on the man’s reality, “Well yeah Jez! Not anyone’s just up and switch their majors to be a better athlete.”

True alertness arrives to the younger man’s expression, eyes quiver with what can only be fear. Coach wonders if he’s stepped too far, too quickly. “I- I don’t believe I did do that S- Coach?” Even as he disputes the man, Decker watches as his will is enacted.

He certainly paid no mind to what Jez, Jeremiah, was wearing when he walked in, but he could be sure it wasn’t athletic wear. Coach looks down from the man’s pained expression too late to see his pale legs revealed as his dress pants shift to cheap shorts. He almost laughs as his button up sews shut and shades to their school colors.

“Well if ya so Jez,” Coach does little to disguise his intentions, “now what did you say your major was again?” His face drops as a pit develops in his stomach, “it’s engi-erk” he gags as he tries to speak it allowed. Gulping he tries again and is totally unable to say engineering. 

He gasps and reaches for a drink on the coach’s desk to avert choking on his words. Throat wet with some electrolyte-ridden concoction, an idea worms its way to the foreground of his mind: as if he’d waste time learning the best way to stack blocks. Fuck that noise- he followed the same path Decker did way back when, a B.A. in Sports Management.

Mind over matter, Coach smirks as he sees the man truly begin to be molded by sheer suggestion. Eyes narrow under thickening brows. Jez speaks up with a thicker baritone now rife with vocal fry, “uhhh, ‘s that a joke coach? You gave me the rec letter for the program?” Glasses no longer sit right on his face as it slowly begins to square out. 

Coach guffaws and pats his meaty though, “Hah! Just pullin’ your leg champ! How could I not know your schedule, basically made it for ya every semester after all,” he pauses to let the words sink in. Jez tilts his head and adjusts how he sits, unfamiliar with how to rest in a body on the precipice of change, “given you’re my star player.”

What happens next is too impossible for Jez to even begin to remain cognizant of, Coach Decker however watches with delight. The man still reclining rubs his thigh and adjusts his pants as he sees Jez shaped to be the perfect stud QB.

Images of drills throughout almost a decade of play invade his mind as the sound of his, once dressy, now tennis shoes shredding to tatters resounds. His feet become unto paddles that allow him to tear down the field, toes stretch and soles widen to propel a man much larger than himself into brutal action. A trove of curls grow across its top as it grows indeed large enough to hold the brute he is to become.

Jez has always been partial to a man’s legs and would surely lust for the trunks that he seems to be growing. His mind is thankfully absent as calves seize, flexing and bulging into what can only be described as ham hocks. Scars from a few minor surgeries hide under the new furry forest of hair as in his mind he recalls training with a furor to recover and ensure he never had to spend time off the field again.

This is all well and good, but now his mind and body move into the real meat of the matter. Eyes twitch though remain glazed over as the trail of hair racing up his new bulky thighs reaches his hips. Even lost in the delirium of his changing mind, he bites his lip and still unchanged hands cannot help but reach towards his cock as he feels the most oppressive changes yet begin.

Jeremiah was never much of a size queen, nor was he ever emasculated by his average cock. And now, Jez is more concerned with the asses of other men, men he was more than happy to dominate on and off the field. Though one look at his own cock was more than enough to get him harder than anything. Rapidly it fills the jockstrap his briefs had become, and just as quickly as his pants tear through his cheap athletic shorts does his cock burst from its containment.

Pubes blanket it from every angle as they race across his inner thigh and cover his needy balls pulsing heavier. His hands struggle to grasp the dick as it surges harder and twitches girthier as thick veins travel up the length and pump it larger with every racing beat of his heart. 

Opposite his immaculate cock grows an ass he would have killed to have in his past life. Likewise his increasingly impressive cheeks refuse to be hidden by his shredded shorts. Bursting free from the frayed pants his new ass forces him to sit higher in the seat as it packs on the exorbitant weight needed to stick out from thighs so impressive, and buoy a core excessively powerful. Curls decorate his rounded ass like a peach as it fills out to a degree that even straight men will find it hard to not appreciate.

Speaking of filling out, his stomach rumbles as it too begins to grow to become his most powerful asset on the field. Joining force with his tree-trunk thighs and racing ahead of bulging biceps to-be, abs burst onto his torso as a treasure trail traces up towards his chest. Already altered memories of his watching the football team shift to insert himself into the massive shoes of the QB. 

Body hair races across his form as a harbinger of the growth that is yet to come. Every pore begs to display his masculinity and his rapidly increasing testosterone is more than happy to let this be the case. His pits and face race to fill with hair dense enough that sunlight could never break through as he gropes at the heavy balls aiding and abetting his changing mind. As hair continues to spread his growing strength is soon to follow.

His hands depart from his quivering cock to instead feel his new cobblestoned core before they are to be evermore covered up as his waist bulks up to give him the strength needed to be a powerhouse. Memories of striving to do his best in various academic contests and electives evaporate as all his free time instead pours into days at the gym and hours upon hours of studying tapes and techniques to excel at the game. He distinctly remembers staring at his impressive form in the mirror, getting off to his six-pack and feeling up the heavy pecs that lie above them, he was, is, irresistible.

His stomach begins to bloat as pecs pile onto his chest. “Gonna need to put on some pounds if you wanna play in the big leagues boy.” Jez creates new memories all by himself of his years training under Coach Decker. Sitting there he grunts as his hands are pushed by a torso trading definition for pure power as his chest grows to hold arms as strong as pistons. In his mind’s eye Jez sees himself throwing a ball down a field under the watchful eye of Coach. With his current arms he sees them max out a throw of not even fifty yards. Seeing the grimace on Coach’s face he grits his teeth. He must be better. The empty stadium is filled with the sound of his biceps bursting the sleeves of his shirt, muscle summoned from nothing as he hurls the ball well past the end of the field. He needs to do more. Better.

New footballs appear in his rough hands as soon as the last is sent rocketing down the field. Each one further and faster than the one that came before. His eyes are filled with determination as his mind loses the care to focus on anything but hurling with efficiency towards men who aren’t there. With each hurling sphere his biceps progressively pack on more power, more strength. Thick veins travel down the radius of them before they are joined by a litany of pulsing others trailing from every angle as hair thickens up from his forearm to hopefully meet with the sweaty garden teeming in his pits.

Coach’s laughter echoes through the empty stadium as it blares in every corner of Jez’s mind. The new athlete goes to wipe his sweaty brow and is caught off-guard as he feels the scratchy hairs on his wrist rub against his wider forehead and thicker eyebrows. He grunts in confusion and then grabs at his own throat as it produces a sound, “whuh?” duller and dumber than he’d ever produce. At least in an uhh, interview?

Looking around he almost goes into shock as he seems to be standing on a football field. Hyperventilating he goes to steady his breathing, pushing at his chest only to find his hand bump up against pecs too large to be possible. Dreading what he is to see if he looks down, he does so anyway and falls backwards in shock as he sees what has become of his bookish body. And then, just as soon as the subconscious paltry remains of Jeremey awakens, he finds himself sitting opposite Coach again in the office.

Struck with a powerful headache he groans and rubs at his forehead as his hair pulls into a choppy look. He mumbles in his fried voice, “ughh what’d I drink last night Coach?” Decker laughs again as he prepares the final assault on his new player’s mind, “Well Jez, after winning the big game I’m sure you drank half of what the bar had Hah!” Jez’s eye twitches as his jaw squares out and his stomach bloats just a tad more.

“Now that you’ve graduated though I’m sure you’re off to the big leagues huh?” The rusty gears in Jez’s hungover mind struggle to understand what he means, when did he graduate? Half-drooling he wipes his mouth and scratches his forearm on facial hair that has evolved from messy stubble to something intentional. He’d never abandon his team, his Coach. Seeing his brows furrow in as deep a thought as he can muster, Decker speaks up, “Well if you wanna stay Jez, you’ll need a few more years under your belt. That’s for sure.”

Jez’s pulse quickens with excitement as he looks back at the coach, he can be Coach’s right hand man. The chair he sits in groans as he puts on weight from a few years of playing the sport from the sidelines. Behind Coach the trophy recently summoned from Jez’s victory is joined by a couple others from his years coaching QB’s at Decker’s side.

A few premature greys dot his beard and hairline as his figure continues to fill out. He loses a bit of speed but his strength stays steady as the years working out alongside his team keep him ever-honing his own form, muscle tediously maintained and defined by his slowly increasing years. Seeing him near the end of his transformation Coach scratches his own beard, “How old’re you now kid?” 

The once university senior again struggles through his foggy mind, “OH! Uhhh twenty-” No that can’t be right, looking down at his tanned hands on thick thighs. He’s gotta be at least thirty something right? Seeing his confusion Decker moves on, he’s been scrambled enough, “Ah don’t worry kid, we’ll work out the details later. Gotta finish this interview and all. So, Jez, you still interested in bein’ my Offensive Coordinator?”

The heart of the younger coach skips a beat, facing burning with blush under a beard rising higher on his face. “M-ME?” His chest pumps larger yet with pride as his whole form almost vibrates with excitement. Fuck it feels like he’s 22 again! Suddenly he’s standing, his meaty hands pounded on Decker’s desk as the head coach reaches out for a shake.

Jez feels more fulfillment than he ever thought possible as he shakes Coach’s hand. Brings him back to holding that first trophy in his hands. Even further back to committing to play QB for Decker, his parents proudly standing to his side. He can’t wait to see where the team’s going next under his tutelage. 

The new offensive coordinator feels Decker’s heavy arm around his massive shoulders. Looking down at the man he would’ve sworn was taller he smiles and deepens his newly earned smile lines. Decker pats the sweaty man on his back, “and to think! You just wanted to be my assistant!” The pair share a hearty laugh as Jez doesn’t quite understand what he’s implying, “Psh- Sure Coach, as if I’d do that chicken-shit work!” The pair head off laughing to greet the team and announce Jez’s new position.  

P.S. If you're interested in some more football TF's check out HairyJockTf's Artist to Athlete, which uses the penultimate image of this story quite superbly!

[simpxxstan]

Nobody Else (part 1)

pairing: chaebol!wonwoo x chaebol!fem.reader

genre: enemies with benefits to lovers, smut (minors do not interact please), mild angst

summary: the girl who was proud about making her own destiny, the boy she swore to never interact with. sometimes it takes a lifetime to know someone, even yourself. because who would've seen any of this coming?

chapter word count: 13k

warnings: honestly, way too much smut. cockwarming, oral sex (m. receiving, f. receiving), usage of sex toys, orgasm denial, gagging, overstimulation, dom-sub dynamics, public sex (i don't even know if it's feasible, please suspend your beliefs about reality while reading aah), unprotected sex (please do not do this irl), breast play, spanking, use of spit during sex, usage of petnames (darling, babe, sweetheart for female), usage of word slut (for female), usage of sir and daddy (for male), sir kink, daddy kink, office sex, use of profanities, lots of bickering. let me know if i missed something out!

a/n: and we're back. (or are we?) honestly, i write when i get the time. and i don't know when i'll get my schedule to clear up again </3 hopefully within a few months my life will be back on track.

hope you enjoy this!!! posting this in two parts because it's way too long otherwise. do leave your thoughts, i swear reading them makes me so happy. open to hearing criticism too so pls my inbox is right there for you to rant. have a nice day!

You’ve known Jeon Wonwoo since the age of eleven, but you’d never thought you’d end up like this. Being in the same social circles as you and your family, the young Jeon heir had never really been your friend. However, that did not mean you didn’t meet him. In fact, you met him quite often. He went to the same school as you, he was always there at the parties you went to, and everyone around you kept talking about him. No matter what the season or the age, everyone was infatuated with Jeon Wonwoo. 

Objectively speaking, no. 

Subjectively speaking, not at all. 

You could never understand why one would find a man with no beauties to his personality, nothing to his merit except a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and those never-changing black clothes, attractive. Apart from that, he never exchanged a friendly conversation with you. Never a moment of warmth. And you reciprocated the feeling absolutely. You had no desire to seek his favour. He simply never left the periphery of your life, and it annoyed you. But not enough to bother you. You’d grown used to the sight of the tall boy, who never spoke to anyone except his tight-knit group of absolute losers. And he should have remained in your periphery, never in your focus. You wanted nothing to do with the cold, arrogant nerd. 

So naturally, you’d never, in your wildest imaginations, thought that you’d be here, sucking his dick off under his desk while he engaged himself in a meeting on his desktop. You had been in that position for hours, your mouth lolling over the wetness surrounding his penis, both from your saliva and the slow trickle of his pre-cum. While he has switched from meeting to meeting, both with corporates in Korea and internationally, his suit impeccable and the glasses sitting neatly on his nose, you’d cockwarmed him. That would’ve still been fine, had you not enjoyed it so thoroughly that it had become a routine for you both over the months. 

After a solid two hours (and a few more minutes), he’d allowed himself to push back the chair a bit, pull his pants down further, spread his legs wide enough to meet the annoying temptation that had been bugging him for so long, and thread his hands into your hair, indicating you to step out of the haze you’d fallen into and get on with the job. And oh boy, you’d obeyed. At this point, it was a reflex for you. Feeling the way his hands caved your jaws and neck, you leaned into his touch, all while keeping your eyes on the little twitches he made on his face. Perhaps it was his need to be dominant, or perhaps it was just his arrogance, but he never slipped during sex. Even when you were giving him the most mind-blowing blowjob, like right now, using techniques you’d picked up over time, slipping your tongue under his cock to feel his veins throb around your tongue, gently nipping the foreskin to make the red tip burn harder, and taking him into your throat completely without a moment of a gag reflex. He’d never show you how much he liked it, never praised you, never revealed that he wanted it as much as you did. 

It was all a part of the act, you knew that. 

It was designed to make you more eager to perform well, more eager to earn his praise, more eager to put your all into this. 

Jeon Wonwoo, with his signature cold stares and the arrogant tilt of his smirk, would break you every time, and you’d come back for it, again and again, addicted mindlessly, like a drug. 

Eventually, his cum would flow down your throat, and you’d feel his body relax against yours, as he let you lay your head on his thighs for a few moments to recuperate. 

But never enough. 

“Up, sweetheart. I thought you had a party to attend.”

He helps you stand up, smirking at the pool of your cum on the floor where you’d been sitting, with the bullet vibrator parked deep into your pussy, which had given you endless orgasms and sent you into heaven, all while you’d felt the weight of Wonwoo’s warmth on your tongue. 

His words bring you back to reality, as you limp towards the washroom to clean yourself, slowly breaking your daze. “I do. When are you going to change?”

“I don’t want to. I’ll look good even if I don’t doll up.” With a snicker he goes back to his desktop, and you roll your eyes at the implication of his words.

“I still don’t understand why you’d ask them to deliver the dress here.”

“It is pretty late. Imagine if I’d have to go back home, change, and then leave for the venue. Too much hassle. I would have to leave an hour back. Your place is much closer to the venue.”

“And so you chose to make my bedroom your vanity room?

From Wonwoo’s vantage point in the study, he has a direct view into the master bedroom, where you’re settling yourself into a fresh pair of lingerie and the jumpsuit, which had been designed exclusively for you, for this occasion. The jumpsuit was perfect, made to look professional and yet classy, just as the event demanded, and in midnight blue, your favourite shade. You smiled while wearing it, your secretary had truly learnt your style well and ordered the perfect outfit for you. 

“I’ll be out in ten.” You can feel his eyes on your figure, even from the distance.

You’re too engrossed in fixing the zip on your back to notice Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe, his eyes fixated on you. 

“Do you need help?”

You give him a look. There’s that semi-permanent smirk lingering on his face, he knows he’s pushing your buttons. Outside of sex, you would never ask for help. In fact, you wouldn’t ask Wonwoo for anything. What could he do for you that you couldn’t do yourself? 

He doesn’t say anything else, he quietly steps in and takes grip of the zip. After pulling it up, he doesn’t say a word, carefully watching you wear your scanty makeup. It could be a little creepy, but you surprisingly don’t mind. Or perhaps you just don’t care. 

“Ah fuck. I forgot to bring the lip gloss.”

“But you just wore lipstick?”

“No,” you turn around and outside of Wonwoo’s periphery. Slipping your feet into your heels and putting on the earrings that had also been sent by your secretary, you told him, “The lip-plumping one. It makes my lips look nice. Well, nicer. They’re already quite pretty, as I’ve been told.” You hear Wonwoo scoff behind you, and you turn around to face him. 

“Well, how do I look?”

His hands are in his pockets, his shirt buttons are halfway opened and his hair is messy, but he still looks better than you do after all this effort. 

“They’ll love you.”

You smile. That’s more than enough feedback from Jeon Wonwoo. He doesn’t have to praise you outside sex if he can’t do it while fucking.

“They always do.”

_

And they do. The photographers, the journalists, the social elites, the ministers, their wives, their mistresses, the chaebols, their heirs, and their bastards. Everyone loves you. How could they not? You’re perfect in every way possible. At twenty six, you’re at the height of your life- young, charming and intelligent, everybody wants you. Ever since you took your father’s already prospering business to new heights four years ago, straight out of grad school, by introducing Korea to the world of AI like they’d never seen before. The industry had not just been disrupted by your introduction of AI to the field of healthcare and diagnosis, but also awed by the sheer magnanimity of your creations. You hadn’t spent years perfecting your ideas in vain. 

Everyone wants a little bit of your time, a little word with you, slipping in a plea and a pickup line in the same tone, and you love the attention they throw at you. Honestly, this is where you were born to be. The spotlight is where you deserve to belong. 

But eventually, the crowd dissipates, leaving you walking towards the bar looking for a martini, arm looped into the arm of your sister. “Y/N-ah, I tell you, let’s go to Jeju this weekend! The weather is perfect now- not too hot, not too cold. The forecast also recommends visiting now!” She tugs at your arm playfully, and you smile fondly. She knows your answer, but she never stops trying. “And what about your husband?” “I need a break from him, please. He’s getting on my nerves!” “Darling, it’s your hormones.” She slaps your wrist. “No! Stop saying that. Kyungmin says the exact same thing, in the exact same tone! It’s so annoying. Stop ganging up against me! Anyway it’s not my fault I’m pregnant. The least he can do is take care of me. If he can’t take care of me now, how is he going to be trained to become a father? Huh? How will he take care of our daught-” “You don’t even know that.” “I do. I have a feeling.” “You can just say you want a girl, you know. There’s nothing called ‘a feeling’.” “Damn it. Just because you have a trash sixth sense doesn’t mean you can dismiss mine, my intuition never goes wrong!” 

And you’ve reached the bar, and the bartender serves you your drinks- just a virgin mojito for your sister though. “The canapes are great.” “Hmm… But I’m craving oranges! That’s why we should go to Jeju, yah!” “Unnie, you’ve gotta stop. Don’t excite yourself more than you need to. Do you want orange juice?” “No, eww. Not this artificial flavour.” “If you really want to go to Jeju, take Kyungmin Oppa and go. Don’t ask for me- I’ll never be able to keep up with your tantrums.” “Hmm. That is true. Now that you mention him, I suddenly miss him. For all my complaints, I still love him though-” You giggle at the sudden sappy tone of your sister, tuning out parts of her endless chatter, while your eyes search for someone in the crowds. 

Jeon Wonwoo stands out, so he’s easy to find. 

He’s wearing the same suit he’d worn earlier, not changed like he had told you. He looks tired and yet, good. Before you realise it, he’s looking back at you, and walking towards where the two of you are standing. 

“Oh! Wonwoo-yah! How have you been?” Your sister asks, ever friendly. She’s the only one in the family who doesn’t show that the Jeon and Y/L/N families are rivals in business and hence, avoid speaking to each other. That norm wasn’t broken by you. To be fair, even the nights you spent together had very little conversation. No orgasm-induced dopamine could break through the wall of your egos to encourage you to be friendly with each other. Hell, outside of the bedroom, Wonwoo isn’t even attractive enough to catch your eye. 

“Hmm, I’m good, Noona. I see your baby is growing fast. How many weeks left?” His tone is courteous, formal, and sweet. Makes you want to laugh at how different he sounds from the usual voice you hear him speak in. 

“About eleven weeks to go. This trimester has been killing me, I swear. I’ve told Kyungmin I don’t want any more kids. Ever. I don’t think I can go through this again, and I haven’t even gotten to the pain of delivery yet. I don’t even know if I can go back to skating after this.”

You scoff. “As if. First get over your never-ending honeymoon period. Then talk about not having any more kids.”

“I support Y/N here. The company will need an heir, and I don’t see anyone else providing any.” 

You sigh. There he goes. You roll your eyes at him, “An heir doesn’t have to be through blood relation. Merit exists. But then how can I explain this to someone whose existence is owed to nepotism.” 

“Rich of you to say so.”

You take a step closer to Wonwoo, too riled up by the calm way he’s speaking. “I’ve built my world from the ground. From level zero. I haven’t just sat on a throne that was presented to me.” 

“Forever the brat, huh? Running your mouth even in public, begging me to shut it?” You notice that Wonwoo has also come closer to you, and you can smell the cologne off him. He’s a solid four inches taller than you, even when you’re wearing heels. But you stare right back into his eyes, yours angry and his cold and superior, as usual. You wonder for the n-th time if his blood even runs warm. You’re tempted to retort back, disgusted by the below-the-belt remark, going off-topic, but your sister’s gently pulling your arm, reminding you that you’re in public. “Back off. Don’t make a scene, guys. Let’s not ruin the evening?” She puts on her best smile to calm you down, and you step away, seething in vain. Wonwoo’s smirk never leaves his face as you two bow and walk away. The way he’s looking at you reminds you of other memories. 

You suddenly wonder if your sister had heard the comment or not. Considering her though, probably not. Thank god it was her and not someone else. 

_

The rest of the party flows seamlessly. You’re spiralling slightly in your head though- overthinking can’t be avoided. The way Wonwoo was successful in riling you up has shocked you, to say the least. There have been a thousand such instances, but you don’t remember losing your temper to this extent in any of the situations. But somehow, Wonwoo talking about you not being interested to have children vexed you so much? It just didn’t add up. 

It’s the first time you’re doubting your current situation. You’d been absolutely convinced that settlement between the two of you was more to your benefit than his. It wasn’t like you had a dearth of men wanting to fuck you. It was quite the opposite. But a few scandals and rumours had taught you that keeping your private life discreet was the optimal choice. Especially if you were a woman and people simply assumed you’d sucked someone’s dick to get ahead in life. 

But the arrangement with Wonwoo was so perfect. He wanted discretion, so did you. He didn’t want to get involved with a random hookup who could get pregnant, you didn’t want a random hookup to get you pregnant. He wanted someone to match his wavelength, and you needed a vent for your stress. Now that you consider the drastic improvement in your energy and efforts, in retrospection, becoming Jeon Wonwoo’s submissive had been the best decision of your life. 

_

It had begun quite suddenly. At your sister’s engagement party. Everyone was delighted with the new couple, especially you. Your sister had never shown any desire to join the company, satisfied with following her passion of ice skating. And now she was getting married to her boyfriend of five years, the love of her life, and everyone was left fondly jealous of the pure happiness on her face, even you.

Perhaps it was because of this jealousy that you’d decided to flirt with Wonwoo at the after-party. Against your better judgement, you’d drifted towards him by the end of the night, until your knees were touching on the barstools, and he was leaning back looking over your figure again and again. I was wondering which spot would be ideal for me to bite first- your collarbones, your cleavage, your thighs or your belly button, he would tell you later. God knows why you’d suddenly decided to find him attractive after fifteen years of knowing each other, but that was it. You’d ended up in a hotel bed that night, fucked until tears ran down your cheeks, begging him to go harder and faster whenever he slowed down to look at the mascara dripping down your face, leaving hickeys all over the soft skin of your breasts, not letting you rest of a second of the night, going at it till dawn. 

“Wonwoo… I can’t…” you’d begged, your words muffled through your panties stuffed into your own mouth, the overstimulation hitting you hard as you squirmed against his tongue fucking his cum back into your pussy. “You can, sweetheart, give me another one… hmm? Do you want to be a good girl?” 

And you had let loose. Given yourself up to him, to make or break you, as he wanted, and then put you together one by one as the sun rose up in the sky as you’d drifted to sleep. The next afternoon, you’d woken up feeling like a new person, and decided it was the best night of your life. The man in question was nowhere to be seen, but you didn’t care. The bliss ran too deep. 

Sadly, not deep enough. The overthinking kicked in a few hours later, and you cussed yourself for becoming so easy for an undeserving man like Wonwoo. Just because he’d made you cum and given you a good time didn’t mean you’d go against your rational thoughts. In a way, he was no better than your best dildo. Except you liked your dildo. You simply did not like Jeon Wonwoo. The arrogant brat had been the type of man you’d avoided all of your life. You hadn’t seen him work hard in school, and now that he had inherited his father’s company, you didn’t see him work any harder either. Sure, Jeon Estates was doing better than ever, but that was only because the economy was booming and the housing market was doing well. He had done nothing extra. Unlike you, who had built your world yourself. You’d never taken your father’s prosperity as complacency, and strived to make a name for yourself. And now people knew of Y/L/N Corporation as synonymous to both your father’s name and your name. 

And you had, like a silly stupid girl, gone and slept with this very man. 

And you had liked it. 

That was the worst bit. An accidental hookup would have been fine. But no, you wanted to sleep with him every night, if it meant he’d treat you to the same feast you’d blissed out on last night. There was a certain happiness in giving up to him, letting go of the constant worries that burdened you down, and allowing him to take control, but god knows how you ended up trusting him so much in bed.

Anyway, you reconciled with yourself, it’s just a one-time thing. It’s not like it’s going to happen again. 

You were wrong. Jeon Wonwoo had picked you up that evening and taken you directly to his house. 

“What did you want to talk about that you couldn’t do in your car?”

“The chauffeur was there.” 

“It’s not a big deal, Jeon. You can just say that you regret last night, cause honestly, same. Don’t want to dwell on it.” You were in a rush to leave, because you didn’t want to think about the memories in this same house the night ago. 

“Are you sure?”

His question had taken you aback, as he watched you with his hawk eyes, licking his lips.

“Y/N, I … couldn’t tell you in my car that I didn’t regret it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

You’re speechless, waiting for him to continue, as he took another step forward. 

“Wonwoo, I… you know this is a bad idea.”

“I do,” he chuckles darkly. “You look like a bad idea, as I’ve known for years now. But when I see you wearing that hideous turtleneck to hide the hickeys and that tiny skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, I keep remembering the way you submitted to me last night. For all your big talk and your attitude, you obey pretty easily, huh?”

You stand up, indignant. “Wonwoo, you can’t use that against me. Listen I know we’re not friends-”

“Be my submissive. I want, no fuck, I need you. You’re perfect.” He’s standing an inch away from you, bending his neck gently to look into your eyes. His mask slips for a second. A million emotions flit through your brain, and you’re deliriously begging for your intelligence to kick in, but there’s something about the subtly layered desperation in Wonwoo’s voice that makes you curious. 

“What are your terms?”

_

You look at Wonwoo across the dining table. He looks as put-together as ever, not a hair out of place, as he converses with the middle aged-men sitting next to him while eating dinner. He quickly notes your glance and looks back, and you turn your eyes away before he catches the blush along your cheeks. 

No, there’s nothing wrong with the arrangement. It works perfectly in your favour. As long as nobody knows. 

_

You’re wrapping up a meeting with the board members of the company, when you get a call on your phone. It’s Wonwoo. Excusing yourself from the meeting, you pick up the call while walking back to your office.

“Hello?”

“Are you going to the Paris Conclave?”

The invitation for the event had arrived just that evening, the first time they were inviting your company. It had made you gush with excitement, happy that you’d been able to take your company to this prestigious conclave. Moreover, this would be the first time you’d be visiting Paris, one of the few dream destinations of your life. Due to a packed professional schedule, you had hardly been able to travel for the past few years, and the thought of going to Paris made you naturally happy.

“Yes, of course. Getting fomo? I can get a croissant back home for you.”

“I can get my own. See you there.”

He cuts the call. 

What was that? He’s going to the conclave as well? That’s impossible. Jeon Estates had never been invited before this-

“Jisung-ah.” You call for your secretary, who appears at your side quickly. “Has the Jeon Estates been invited to the conclave?” 

“Ma’am, I- why, yes. I hadn’t checked the list for their name.” His voice drops as he speaks, mirroring the disappointment rising in you too. So, it wasn’t only you who had been invited for the first time. 

Fucking Jeon Wonwoo. Even had to call you to rub it in, the nerve. 

“Well, we’ll just have to outshine them there. I’m sure we shall. Please organise a meeting with the team leaders and managers today so that we can get the presentations perfected.”

Your secretary bows to you and leaves you alone in your office. 

_

Paris comes sooner than you had thought, and you’re bursting with excitement. Nervousness too, a little bit. But your confidence isn’t so easy to rattle. You’ve picked out your choicest outfits for the trip, hellbent on making it memorable. You’ve even kept a few days extra in hand to allow you free time to travel the city. 

You had asked your sister if she’d wanted to come along, but she had said that her doctor hadn’t deemed it safe for her to travel by airplane now. “I’m so jealous! But there’s nothing to be done.” “Go with your husband and your baby afterwards.” You’d kissed her forehead when bidding the final goodbyes before leaving for Paris.

There was just one little worry worming through your brain. Not even a worry, just an irk. Jeon Wonwoo would also be there. You’d have to compete again for the spotlight. As if the jerk deserved to be there. 

“Ma’am, do you want to go through your speech once more?” Jisung asked you from the seat next to you. You smiled, the younger man was definitely nervous by the look on his face. “Why, are you scared I’ll forget? You know I take vitamins every day to strengthen my memory.” “I do, but-” “Don’t worry. Don’t let anxiety deter you from forming the memories of the fun times you’ll be enjoying there!”

Fun. 

As if. Jisung knew well enough that you rarely had time for fun, and consequently, neither did he. He saw you overwork yourself every day, staying at the office till late, obsessed with perfection, ensuring no loose ends were visible. Even if you tried your best to send him home when his work time ended, he wanted to stay back out of compassion for you. He was truly the best secretary you could’ve asked for. He was godsent- he’d learnt your habits and your thinking process within days, and soon he produced documents and answers before you asked for them, pre-empting your thoughts. After working with you for three years, he was good enough to be your clone- that’s why you sent him to many events and meetings as your representative if you couldn’t make it. You knew he’d handle it as well as you would, and report all the key details to you at the end of the day. 

“Yes, Ma’am. I hope it all passes well. We’ve all worked hard.”

“And hard work always pays off, you know that Jisung-ah. Now, sleep quickly so that we’re not tired due to jet lag once we land there.”

_

They’ve assigned Wonwoo a seat next to you at the conference table. As if seeing his face here wasn’t bad enough. 

“Will you never leave me alone?” 

He scoffs, “Me? You’ve been at my tail since you were a kid.”

“Oh shut up. Inside school, outside school, at parties, at funerals, at my graduation, at my sister’s wedding, you’re always fucking there. And now you’re here, to steal the spotlight. Not that you can anyway. Don’t try too hard Jeon, you’ll just look pathetic.”

“It’s funny how vain you are. You think I have any desire to steal your spotlight? Go ahead, be the talk of the party, by all means.”

“And I will! I don’t need your permission for it.”

“Hmm-”

The rest of his words get tuned out as the convenor of the conference begins their speech. You turn your eyes towards them, but you can feel Wonwoo’s eyes burning on you. 

“What did you say?” You whisper to him. 

“Never mind. Do you want to go out tonight?”

“Go out?” You turn your head towards him, leaning in, incredulous. 

“For dinner.” 

You almost burst out laughing. “And pray, why would I go with you?”

He scrunches his nose and pushes up his glasses. “You’re going to miss out on seeing the Eiffel Tower?”

“No. In fact, I have plans on going today myself. But you didn’t tell me why I’d-”

“Come with me.” He turns his face away from you, his expression cold and unreadable. 

“Hell nah. We don’t know each other, okay? Just because we’re both newcomers here does not mean we have to maintain solidarity or any of that shit.”

“You’ll regret it, sweetie.”

“I regret nothing.”

“We’ll see.”

_

“Jisung-ah! You were scared for nothing. That presentation was flawless.”

“Yes Ma’am. I know our team always works hard, but the nerves never stop,” the young man looks much fresher after the conference wraps up for the day, his tie undone slightly. You can easily understand how his mood changes reflect in his facial expressions and attitude after the long hours you spend with each other on a daily basis. 

“Are you still up for going to the Eiffel Tower tonight? I’m planning on skipping the post-conference dinner. But if you want to stay, I won’t force you to come with me.” 

“No Ma’am, I was thinking…” he hesitates, but you raise your eyebrows to urge him to continue. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to visit the Eiffel Tower again, so I do want to go with you … but after that I’d like to go to one of the clubs in the nightlife zones? I’ve heard from friends that the Paris nightlife is crazy.”

“Ooh!” You pat him on the back, “Yes please Jisung, finally you’ve started to act your age. Go, be young and wild, I’ll cheer for you!”

“You won’t come along?”

“Oh no. I’m way too old for that. Plus I never was into the club scene. And for real, you should go out and enjoy without me sometimes. People will start thinking I’m your girlfriend.”

Jisung opens his mouth to say something, but ends up just smiling shyly. “Okay Ma’am. Then should we leave for the Eiffel at 7 pm?”

“Yes. Pick me up from my suite then.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

_

“Sorry Ma’am, the Eiffel Tower has been booked out for the evening. It’s been a really sudden booking, and we’re sorry for the inconvenience, but it’s just been booked out completely by a private party and no external visitors are allowed.”

You’re wearing your best white silk Gucci dress, the one you spent your entire salary on as soon as it was released at last year’s Fashion week, and a stunning Cartier necklace, ready to spend the best evening of your life atop the Eiffel Tower, savouring life at its finest… but no. Some jerk just had to book it for this evening. 

You slide up to the lady at the front desk, whose bored expression does nothing to calm your nerves down. Jisung has tried his level best to convince her, but it’s failed. So you try the one thing you know always works. 

“Ruth-” you see her name from her name tag pinned on her chest. “I can outbid the private party.” 

“I’m sorry Ma’am, I didn’t get you.”

You laugh, a careful measured laugh, to hide your irritation at having to say it again. “I said, I can pay you more than whatever the private party’s booked it at. I just want ten minutes. Isn’t it a win-win situation for all of us? Ten minutes for me, and your private client can enjoy it for the rest of the night.”

Ruth smiles, pitifully. Wretched woman, she’s clearly not affected by your offer. This is what seeing too many rich people in a day does to a person, it immunes them to bribe, you think. Well, it’s her loss. 

“I’m sorry Ma’am, but we really cannot accept your offer. It’s against our rules-” 

“Let me speak to your manager, Ruth. Trust me, when they hear my name, they’ll let me in,” you smile again, attempting to remain amicable instead of bursting out into the wildest Korean slang.

Ruth smiles again, “You are, currently, speaking to the Manager here, Ma’am. We simply cannot allow any external visitors tonight. Can we book a slot for you tomorrow? If you’d like to visit again, in the morning or later.”

Jisung tries to interject, but he sounds resigned. He seems intimidated by Ruth, and frankly speaking, you get it. He’s just twenty four and spends over thirteen hours in a day with you, so he’s not used to snarky women. Well, apart from you, and you’re never snarky to him.

“Ruth, my dear. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m here at the Paris Conclave.” You say your name solemnly, expecting it to have the same effect it has in Korea, but alas, the woman remains untouched as ever. “I’m dreadfully sorry Ma’am- wait, did you say Y/N Y/L/N?” Your smile becomes wider. Oh so it does have the intended effect. “So you finally will let me in, huh? You do know who I am.” 

Suddenly Ruth’s demeanour changes and she’s smiling pleasantly. “Oh Ma’am, the private client has specially informed us to allow you in. Only you.” “I’m sorry, what? Why would they suddenly ask for me-” “Mr. Jeon told us that you would be here. I’m so sorry for the miscommunication, Ms. Y/L/N-”

“Mr. Jeon?!” You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you bitch. Aloud you say, “Mr. Wonwoo Jeon?” “Yes Ma’am. He’s booked the entire place for the evening. He has been waiting for you too,” Ruth smiles graciously, doing nothing to relieve your confusion. “There has been a mistake. I don’t think he meant me. We’ll leave now-” “Ma’am, I’m sure there’s no confusion now. Mr. Jeon asked us to bring you up as soon as you arrived. We’re sorry to keep you standing here on your date night.” “Date night? This is ridiculous. Wonwoo and I are not-” Jisung whispers into your ears right at moment, noticing your bloodshot wide eyes, “Ma’am, I think there’s no point fighting with them on this,” he says in Korean. “This lady seems adamant, and you shouldn’t miss out on an opportunity to visit the Eiffel Tower when it’s lit up so prettily. Even if it is with Mr. Jeon,” you wince at his suggestion, and he smiles apologetically. He’s right, you realise. 

“Okay, but Jisung comes with me.”

“I’m sorry Ma’am.” Oh I’ve had enough of your sorries. “No one except you are to be allowed up.” 

“Wow. First you say no external visitors. Now suddenly I’m allowed and Jisung is not-”

“Ms. Y/L/N, these are simply instructions from my client.” 

Jisung bites his lip and says, “Well I guess it’s not written in my fate then. Ma’am, don’t miss out on my account. Please enjoy. I’ll just go downtown and waste the night away. I’ll see you tomorrow then? Please make sure to eat dinner!” You’re seconds away from whining and pulling another tantrum, but Jisung whispers fighting to you in his soft indulgent tone that he uses on you whenever you’re being a brat and he needs to take care of you. And then he’s gone, and you have no option but to face Ruth. That bloody woman. “Welcome to the Eiffel Tower, Ma’am. Please accompany me as we take you to the top.”

_

At the top, Jeon Wonwoo stands with a glass of champagne in his left hand and his mobile phone in his right. 

“If you’re going to work on your phone and not enjoy the view, why the fuck did you book this place out?”

You walk towards the man standing in the open air viewing area, and he smiles at you. The annoyingly handsome smile, where his eyes crinkle up, and his perfectly white teeth are revealed in a rare display. 

“You came. I knew you’d come.”

“How so?” A server appears from nowhere and offers you champagne too, which you accept. You’ll soon switch to whisky though, to calm your nerves down. 

“You’re easily predictable. You act like any other average tourist, although you pretend to be such a princess.” 

“Everyone comes to visit Eiffel Tower on their first day in Paris, Wonwoo, there’s nothing weird about this-”

“Exactly. Average. Me? I personally prefer to see it from the window of my hotel, so that I can see it in its glory without experiencing this slight dizziness and bling of the night view.”

“You’re stupid. That’s why you have such stupid preferences. This night view? Priceless.” 

“Let me inform you, darling, it cost me a hell lot to book this. So not priceless.”

You laugh, looking at Wonwoo, who’s leaning against the railing facing you, and then back at the gorgeous night view. The Champs Elysees looks glorious with the lights. You can sense Wonwoo leaning in closer. His cologne and perfume mix to create a dark, musky smell that’s new. You’ve never smelled this on him before. “Why did you book it? That’s what I've been asking since forever.” 

“I want to fuck you against this railing.” 

You choke on the champagne, before catching your breath and turning back to face him. 

“What?”

“You heard me the first time.” He maintains eye contact, but in that cold, nonchalant way of his, like he didn’t just propose the most scandalous thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Aren’t there cameras?”

“Will pay for them to be turned off.”

“That’s probably illegal.”

“I don’t care. I’ll pay enough. Plus, I’ve already located the blind spots.”

You take a deep breath. As ashamed as you are to admit this, it does turn you on. A lot. If Wonwoo would touch you under your dress, he’d find evidence of the same. Sex like this- in public, definitely the most outrageous thing you’ve done. But Wonwoo suggesting it? The fact that he booked this place out on a probability that you’d come and a hope that you’d agree to it? The more you think about it, the hotter your body feels. You can feel your nipples straining against your dress in the cold air, and your face turning red with imagination. 

“If you don’t want it, we can just eat dinner and leave.” Wonwoo’s eyes have become impossibly  gentler but also darker, like he’s seconds away from losing his control. His sight betrays his words as he keeps looking at your lips. Thank god I applied the lip plumper tonight, you think. But then his eyes go to your breasts, like the pervert he is, and he smirks at the sight of the two nubs pressing hard against the soft silk. 

You shake your head.

“Say it.”

“I want it too.”

“Atta girl,” his smirk widens, before he leans in to capture your lips. It’s a rough kiss, nothing romantic like one would expect atop the Eiffel Tower, but it sets the right mood for the night. You realise that all servers have disappeared, and you’re perfectly alone, as his lips move down towards your neck, leaving beautiful hickeys along the way. “It was torture and heaven waiting for you. Knowing you’d come, but fearing you wouldn’t.” His hands take away your champagne glasses and place them on a table nearby, before bending you backwards on the railing, making your head zoom more with pleasure. What if I fall off? What if someone catches us like this? What if he takes a picture of me like this in front of the view, with my tits out and my lipstick ruined?

“No bra, huh? You’re so sexy in this dress, I want to fuck you in it. You mind that?” You’re panting as he keeps kissing you in between his words, tongue dominating yours right away. It’s like a switch flipped inside you. Just minutes ago, you were so against sharing the Eiffel Tower view with Wonwoo, and now you’re letting him fuck you here. It drives you crazy.

“Wonwoo just- I don’t care, I need you now.” He bites all over your shoulder, slipping down the straps to grope your breasts in the rough-handed manner you like, sure to leave bruises with the way he kneads them while leaving open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone.

“Just because we’re out in the open doesn’t mean you forget your bedroom manners.” He bites down on your nipple, surely missing his favourite clamps back home, and you squirm in his iron grip. 

“Sir please!” 

“That’s better, sweetheart. But what do you want?”

“C-Co-” he alternates his bites with little kitten licks, looking up at you. “Articulation, baby. Speak up.” “Want your cock, in my m- mouth, Sir!” He pulls away from you, leaving the cold air to tease your bruised nipples, and laughs. Fucking laughs, but it turns you on again. “If you insist.”

He takes off his belt and ties your hands behind your back, and then pushes your shoulder down and you fall to your knees, and he stands back, tall. “Oh, what a pretty sight,” he sighs, taking in the night sky view, and then looks down at you, but makes no move to open his pants. You assume you’ll have to take care of it yourself, so you attempt to open the zipper with your teeth. It’s not particularly difficult, but in the process you get some drool over Wonwoo’s cock over his pants. “Tch. Dirty girl, drooling everywhere,” he wipes away the drool from the edge of your lips, before you slot your mouth against his erection, now free from his underwear and pants which have slid down his legs. It’s not as hard as it gets during sex, but that’s what you’re here for. Nothing but a slut for him to use. Your ankles burn against your heels in this position, but it’s okay. You’re losing your mind as you swallow his sheath inch-by-inch, until you feel his skin against your nose, and you stay like that for a second, easing out your gag reflex. But before you can move, Wonwoo thrusts deep into your throat, eyes not leaving yours. It makes you roll your eyes, the pleasure of the surprise way more than the pain, and makes you crave for more. He slowly wraps his hands around your head, a strong broad support for you to rest in, and continues to ram his dick inside your mouth. Your body becomes limp as you slowly surrender to his actions, your mind blank, except a crazy wanton desire to please him and make him cum. You’re too sex-crazed right now to reason out why only Wonwoo elicits this reaction from you. 

But then his dick gets rock hard, and right when its weight becomes the best and warmest around your throat, wet with saliva and pre-cum, he pulls out. You can’t frame words instantly, but you whine. “Ah, Wo- I- pl- co- please…” He laughs cockily at your state, and you blush with shame at the way you’re acting. “Get up,” he walks away from you, leaving you to your own devices to stand up in those heels. 

It strikes you yet again, just how open this all is. Anyone can walk in. The security guard may be jerking off watching this on the security cameras, and you won’t lie, it’s hot as fuck. The thought of Wonwoo and your activities being porn for someone else- oh fuck. 

Wonwoo sits on a couch meant for visitors on the balcony. “Come baby,” he beckons, and you sit on his lap. His cock is still hard, leaking pre-cum, and you’re tempted to lick it off, but you won’t make a move until he tells you to. You can’t disobey him now- if he spanks you in punishment, you won’t be able to walk to the conference tomorrow.

“Spit on it.” And you do. Wonwoo likes your spit, for some reason, and you wordlessly obey. Then he pulls out something from his pocket, and you realise- “No Sir! Please, not the paddle today!” It’s a folded paddle, the pocket-friendly one you can buy at cheap sex stores. “I need to walk tomorrow, I can’t if you spank me-” “But you’ve been so naughty. Begging for my cock in a public place like the little slut you are. Not accepting my invitation to come up here and making me wait for so long. Turning my offer for dinner down at the conference this morning,” You try to protest, but he simply inserts his thumb into your mouth, and you instinctively start sucking on it. “Now be pretty, and let Sir show you your place.” While you’re still distractedly sucking the thumb, you don’t even realise when he’s lifted the back of your dress and the paddle hits the ass flesh exposed by your thong. “Count.” “One,” you whimper out, not wanting his thumb to slip out of your mouth. The spanks continue, alternating on ass. He can alternate between asses and keep the same pressure just by one hand, the other holding up your dress, his hands big enough to cover your entire ass cheek. The spanks burn more after the moment’s relief due to the cold air, and by the time you reach twenty, your knees have given up, and you’re drooling on Wonwoo’s shoulder. 

“Don’t make a mess. Sit up straight.” As you do so, he asks you, putting away the paddle and tucking your hair behind your ears. “Have you learnt how to behave? Or do you need another reminder?” You fervently shake your head, but he whispers in his insanely sexy tone, “Words.” It makes you shiver, and you respond, “Yes Sir. I’ll not misbehave, Sir.” He smirks, and leans back. “Now ride me like you mean your words, darling.” 

You don’t need another command. You sit down on his dick quickly, ready to take the burn without any prep, because you’re already leaking down your thighs. He grips your hips with one hand, steadying you, and cards his other hand through your hair. As you begin bouncing down on him, he shudders and releases low grunts, but nothing breaks his composure. He never once whispers Good Girl, as you cum once, but you still keep riding him to ensure he reaches his climax. Somewhere after your orgasm, he starts thrusting up from below to meet your efforts, and it brings him closer to his orgasm as he scrunches his nose and closes his eyes. When he does spurt inside you, he whispers softly enough that you almost miss it, “Fucking gorgeous.” 

That’s enough praise for the night, you think to yourself, as you fall limply against his chest, nearly passed out from the strain, his cock still spasming inside of you. He soothes your hair, and you fall asleep.

_

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Please wake up! We’re running late. Ma’am? Ms. Y/L/N?” You open your eyes blearily to see Jisung shaking you lightly. Slowly you come to your senses, and you can hear his voice louder, and see the desperation in his face clearly. 

Fuck. 

What have you done?

“How late am I?” 

“Not too bad, Ma’am,” Jisung scrunches his nose as he looks at the clock on your bedside table. “We have twenty minutes to go.” 

“Fuck!” You scramble out of bed, not even bothering to check if you’re clothed, and make your way to the washroom. There’s a pain growing in your head, and it’s only when you see yourself in the mirror that you realise that you’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts. What even happened last night? The last thing you remember, as you try to recollect while quickly brushing your teeth, washing your hair and hopping into the shower all at the same time, is that you had passed out on Wonwoo’s shoulder. Then the world had gone blank. Fucked into oblivion, truly. He must have brought you into your room. Oh fucking hell, he owed you at least that much.

By the time you wrapped your bathing suit around you and walked back into your bedroom, Jisung was gone, but your outfit and shoes were laid out on the bed and there was a note, I’ll pack some breakfast for you, Ma’am. Please come down directly to the conference hall. Thank god for Jisung, that was one prayer you said everyday. He’d been partying too last night, hadn’t he? And yet, he had responsibly made it on time and woken you up as well. You were getting too irresponsible, too lax. Your discipline was gone and you mentally bashed yourself for it. All because of that stupid Wonwoo.

After that, it doesn’t take much time for you to get dressed. Jisung must’ve noticed the hickeys on your neck, and brought you a jacket with lapels and a collar high enough to hide most of the marks. You quickly tied a scarf around your neck, making it look fashionable by adding colour to the otherwise beige monotone outfit, and praised yourself mentally for looking this good even without makeup. Dabbing on some lip balm in the elevator, you quickly reached the conference hall, finding yourself a minute late. Again, thank god for Jisung, the boy had reserved your seat, made excuses on your behalf and kept a croissant and coffee ready at your seat, so that everyone greeted you with kind smiles. 

Except Wonwoo, who had that unreadable expression again. 

Must be pathetic, living like him. What worth was a face like that if it couldn’t express anything?

_

Four days later, you land in Incheon amidst the wildest of storms the country has faced in the year. You won’t admit it, but you’re glad you travelled in your private jet, where you can close all windows down and wrap yourself up in a blanket burrito to drown out all signs of the storm. You wish storms didn’t exist, and you wish no one would have to see you in this weak state. Not Wonwoo for sure. 

After that first day in Paris, the two of you had barely interacted. Primarily, you were too ashamed to speak to him. How could you smile and talk normally to someone after getting railed by them on the Eiffel Tower, especially when that same someone was annoying as fuck in reality? Sure, eye contact had been made several times, over dinners, over the conference tables, when you’d been on the stage presenting, and when running into each other in the corridor. But words? You possibly couldn’t. It’d be too much for the fragile self-respect you’d been holding on to. 

You really want to avoid him once you’re back in Seoul as well. The workload seems to have tripled in the few days you were away, with endless tiny emergencies and approvals pending to be resolved. You’re again thankful for Jisung, but there’s only so much the poor boy can do. You make it a point to send him home soon after his scheduled timing every day, but you can’t say the same for yourself. 

It’s the fifth night of you eating ramen from a cup noodles pack and sipping on apple juice from a 1 litre tetra pack, that you finally give up on the abstention. It’s a hard decision, but somehow, your overworked brain and sleep-deprived body leads you to one craving, and one craving only. 

Thirty minutes later, Jeon Wonwoo arrives at your office. He’s been to your office only rarely, as you both prefer to meet up outside professional areas, but in the darkness of the empty office, he can easily recognise your brightly-lit room. He’s dressed in formals too, as if he’s just got off work himself, and you think he may be in the same boat as you. But definitely not as much as you- you’re a perfectionist who looks over everything yourself, Wonwoo doesn’t even come close for sure. 

“It’s one of those nights, huh?”

He gently opens the door and walks in. Everything about him seems to be delicate today: perhaps it’s because his shirt is damp from the rain he’s surely walked in, his hair is wet and falling over his eyes, and his tie is gone. His jacket is soon gone too, dropped off on the couch, and he takes off his shoes. They’re leaving slightly muddy footprints, and you wonder if Wonwoo even drove and came or just ran like a peasant. 

“How’s work treating you?”

“Stop wolfing down that ramen, it’s not healthy. Not as bad as you, as I see. I finished up hours ago,” his eyes don’t meet yours, and you know it’s a lie. It’s one of the signs of lying, as you’ve picked up over the years. Wonwoo rarely breaks eye contact while speaking, always honest, and his lie is really odd to you right now. Why would he lie to you about this?

“I was wondering, if…” you stand up from your desk, taking in the figure of the man sitting on your couch now, manspreading and head leaning back. He’s tired, why did he lie about getting off early?

“Come here, princess.” 

That’s all it takes, and you sit on his lap and wait for his lips to meet yours. He indulges you in your wish, and immediately the tension in your body eases out. Along with the stress of work, you’d been even more worried that he’d bring up your last night together, and you’d get too ashamed to remain turned on. But he doesn’t, and you’re glad. You let your lips be bitten by him, but then he soothes over the burns with his tongue. He tastes like candy, and you tell him the same. 

“Hmm, low sugar.” 

Then he picks you up and gently walks over to your desk, holding you in the same bridal pose without even a muscle flinching. With one hand, he clears the laptop sitting atop your desk to the coffee table, and swipes the rest of the clutter on the floor. It would’ve made you angry otherwise, but you’re already entering subzone with the way he’s handling you. Lips still locked on yours, holding you in that pose with just one hand as you hold on to his shoulders for dear life, it’s a crazy show of strength and you’re getting incredibly turned on by it. You let yourself go, giving it up to this person, who seems to be so reliable, so strong, so manly. 

As he lays you down on the desk, he takes off your trousers and underwear in one go, and sits down on the chair you usually sit on. 

“You’re so wet, so dirty. Did you touch yourself after texting me to come over?” Your pussy is at his eye level, and you’re looking down at him, his eyes menacing and beautiful at the same time. His question makes you squirm, as you reply, “Of course not.” Then there’s a slap across your cunt, and you whine. “Manners?” “Of course not, Sir.” “Liar,” he smirks, and dives headfirst into your cunt. 

It’s a treat he rarely gives you. Only when he’s very happy with you- like after you’ve taken thirty spanks, or you’ve eaten dinner with him while having a vibrator stuffed up your cunt, or you’ve let him wash you in the shower (for some reason, Wonwoo likes that a lot. He ties you up to these poles he’s attached in his bathroom, and plays with your body by applying as much oil and soap he wants, making sure not to touch your pussy for hours, denying every release to you even as it builds up just from the oversensitivity of having your nipples and ass played with). 

You wonder why he’s so happy. 

But you can’t care enough, now that his tongue is working so hard against your clit. The sensation makes you lose all rational thought, as you lean back against the desk, mind empty, and just moaning his name. You remember the first few times he’d fucked you with your mouth gagged, but then he’d told you he likes your sounds way too much, so you’d stopped controlling them too. He gets what he wants. After all, only he can fuck you so well. 

“Wonwoo, please-” He moves his head up, licking his lips which are glistening with your slick. “How do you address me baby?” “S-sorry! Sir, please I-” “Hmm?” He leans back in, humming against your clit. His tongue now moves to your hole, nose brushing against your clit. “Can I come? Like this? May I? Please?” When he moves away again for breath, he removes his hands from your thighs, and you see the red marks he’s left there just by how tight he was gripping them. It’s a wild sight, and your climax hits you right then, coming before he could answer. “So impatient, coming all over my face even when I’ve told you not to come without my permission.” But even his scolding sounds gentle tonight, softly chiding rather than his usual harsh coldness. In your post-orgasm clarity, you wonder again what’s gotten into him. 

He licks away your cum, and it makes you burn with overstimulation. “Uhhhhh, please-please Sir!” “Stay still.” His hands are back at your thighs, spreading them apart, and he seems hellbent on getting another orgasm from you. Your screams are louder this time, and you’re growing even more desperate to get something bigger to fill you up. You wrap your hands in his hair, and tug unconsciously while he keeps licking at your pussy. His entire face is hazy with your slick, thank god he’d taken off his glasses earlier, but he doesn’t care. He keeps diving in. 

“Sir, please, I’m going- uhhhh,” he pulls away instantly and smacks your cunt hard. “No coming until I allow you to. Let Sir have his treat.” “Please Sir I’ll be so good, I promise, I- please let me, just this once.” Another smack, and you’re screaming. Thank heavens the office is empty. 

“Do you not understand my words? Should I retrain you?”

“No! I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise.” 

“Hmm, you better be,” and this time he doesn’t just lick your pussy, but also starts entering two fingers alongside his tongue, hitting your g-spot almost instantly. You’re whining yet again, losing your breath, but everytime you’re about to come, he pulls away. You can’t figure out how he realises, but soon two hours pass by, and you’re still being edged. Your legs are shaking, and you can’t think straight. You just want more of his fingers, you want his cock, inside your mouth, your cunt, hell, you just want to orgasm once. 

“Girl, stop moving. You’re so filthy, dripping like this. What would your boytoy think if he saw you like this? Should I call him to clean this mess on your desk?” He’s curling his finger inside you, and it’s really hard forming words when you’re seeing stars like this. 

“Sir, I-” “What’s his name? Jieun?” “Ji- Jisung. Aaah, please-” “Look at you begging. So pathetic. No wonder your secretary is so pathetic. He really likes you, you know?” Your eyes go wide, trying to register his words. “Why- why are you- how do you–” “Hush. I want to know, is he jerking off to you now? Thinking of how slutty you looked in those grey trousers, how perfect your ass looked? Bet you show off in front of him on purpose.” You’re squirming harder, not wanting to think about Jisung right now. “But- but daddy, I on- only want you!”

He laughs, then he leans in to whisper into your ear, “Daddy? That’s a first. Say it again.” 

“Daddy, please! I only want your cock.” 

“Really? So demanding, like a wife. But you’re just a slut. You’d do this to Jisung as well, won’t you?” “No! I swear- please. Daddy, just, it’s just you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I swear!” You nod feverishly, the sensation building up inside you again.

“Okay baby girl. Come for me. Come for daddy. Then I’ll take you home and fuck you good. This desk is too small.” You don’t need to be told twice. You gush all over his hands and some of your come ends up on your desk and his pants too, but he only chuckles. Licking off the come on his hands, he smiles. “You taste like sugar, sweetheart.”

_

The sheets you wake up in smell overwhelmingly like Wonwoo. The man is nowhere to be seen, but the blankets next to you are shuffled and the pillow has a dent, and you remember being caved by his warmth at night when the storm had hit Seoul again and you’d woken up for a second before falling asleep to the steady rise and fall of the chest wrapped around you. 

You wake up slowly, adjusting your eyes to the sunlight. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in Wonwoo’s bedroom, but this is the first time you’ve slept over. Usually you leave, no matter how late it is. But it feels good. It feels oddly intimate. 

Your legs burn when you walk, but you try to look for your clothes. 

Your shirt is ripped again. 

You strut out of the room after wearing your panties and bra, which is barely holding on to one hook remaining, and find the man standing in the open kitchen, wearing a tank top and sweatpants. He’s drinking coffee, and a book is in his hands. 

“Wonwoo, you’ve torn my clothes again. How am I supposed to go home like this?”

He turns to face you, smiling and fixing his glasses, and standing up. He looks so good in the warmth of the sunlight falling on his golden skin. “You’re up.”

“Do you think I can keep buying new clothes?”

“Yes. Now, calm down. Do you-”

“Wonwoo!” 

“For god’s sake, I can’t take your shit this early in the morning. You want to fight, please do. Not now. It’s too early. You just always find something up your ass and have to pick on me for nothing, huh?”

His smile has faded, and the warmth in your body seeps away. About time, though. You don’t want to start feeling safe in Wonwoo’s private space. It’s too intimate- waking up in his bed, seeing him walk around in sweatpants, drinking coffee he’s making for you. It’s too much.

“This has to stop, Wonwoo.”

“Okay, fine! I’ll not rip your shirts. Take my card and buy something-”

“This arrangement has to stop.”

He turns away from the coffee machine for a second, and stares at you. You walk towards him, and he looks even better up close. His tank top shows off his arms, and they look soft yet really firm. You want to touch-

“Why? Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not-”

“Do you want to date someone? You can, you know. I don’t care-”

“Wonwoo-”

“Did I hurt you? Was I too much last night?” he steps closer to you, furrowing his eyebrows in evident confusion, and you suddenly can’t breathe. His expression is very much readable and it only reads as one emotion- concern.

“Wonwoo, please.” You take a step back, hugging yourself with your arms. 

“Does it hurt? I am sorry if it does-” 

“It’s not your fault. It’s a me thing, I swear.”

His eyes become clouded by even more confusion, and you quietly walk away and sit down on the kitchen counter. 

“This is becoming too much for me. I- I got into this arrangement thinking that it would be a good way to vent stress. But it’s toxic now- I can’t think of any other way to deal with stress except this. Don’t you notice how our meetings have become more frequent now, especially initiated from my end? In the last three months, I’ve initiated sex fifteen times, and you’ve only six times. You see? This has become my only solution now.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t look at you, but he keeps wincing at your words as if he’s being hit physically. Then he responds, when you’re done, “That does sound like  a you problem, like why-” 

You slide off the counter with a huff, muttering Fucking jerk under your breath, but he catches your wrist before you can walk further away. 

“Don’t touch me if you’re going to react like that. I fucking knew it, why did I even talk to you? I can just walk away, I didn’t even need to expose my weaknesses to you.” 

He yanks you closer using your wrist. “This isn’t a war, Y/N. I don’t get off on knowing about your weaknesses, for fuck’s sake. Can you stop being paranoid?”

You sigh. You know you’re always paranoid around him- funny, because he’s seen you in more compromising positions than anyone else. If he wanted to blackmail you, or hurt you, by hitting your weaknesses, he would, you realise. Is that why you’ve learnt to feel so safe around him? 

“I’m sorry I reacted like that, Y/N. Talk to me, let’s work this out together. Let’s set up a system to slow our meetings down if you like?” 

You bite your lip, and look up at him. “How?” 

“Umm, how about you start to find other sources for it? Like hanging out with friends? Developing hobbies?” 

You huff again, twisting your hand out of his grip. “Wonwoo, if I had other sources, would I not use them?” 

“Darl-”

“Don’t call me that! We’re not having sex right now.”

“Y/N. Take your time to find other sources, then. If I’m your only means of relieving stress, it is extremely toxic. You’ll become dependent on me, and-” his pupils shake, looking away from you, “you’ll find it tough to date and all. Been there. Done that. That’s why I can tell you this.”

You’re about to reply something, when your phone rings out in a shrill tone. Surprisingly, Wonwoo’s phone rings out at the same time too. 

You jog into the bedroom to find your phone and pick it up. It’s your sister. 

“Y/N-ie! You’re not at home?”

“No. Why? Are you coming over?” 

“No, I just made Kyungmin drive us to your place to see your place is empty. Where are you?”

“Never mind where I am. Why did you come over?” 

“Mum and Dad want us to have lunch with the Jeons,” you can hear her giggle. But you’re stunned. “With the Jeons? Now? Today? For what joy? Are we buying their company?” She giggles again, leaving you more frustrated. “You’ll find out. I’ll send you an address then, come over directly!” And she promptly ends the call, leaving you blank and confused. Your phone pings- there’s the address of a restaurant, and a message asking you to be there within an hour. You realise only now how late you’ve woken up, and you’re glad it’s a Sunday.

“Why am I eating lunch with your parents?” Wonwoo walks into the bedroom, that confused look on his face again. “I could literally ask you the same damn thing. What’s going on?” “Does it look like I’ve got a single clue, babe?” He smirks at your cluelessness, and walks into his ensuite bathroom, leaving you speechless. Did he just call me babe? You wonder, but then your mind flits back to the issue at hand. 

“Wonwoo!” You scream at him from outside the bathroom. You’re sure he can hear you, so you don’t wait for a reply. “Yah! What am I supposed to wear? You’ve torn my clothes, you fucker!” Your stress levels are rising again. You’re going to have to go back home to wear something appropriate. You realise that you haven’t even brought your car. You’ll have to ask Wonwoo to drive you back. But fuck, what if your sister is still at your place?  Then she’ll see you both coming together, and undoubtedly she’ll prod and poke you. Then you won’t be able to have the upper hand at lunch when Wonwoo signs his company over to you. But there’s no other option as well. Well, there is- you can always stop at a boutique or a shop to buy something and wear it on the go. But that’d mean you’d have to go out in this hideously ripped blouse of yours. Oh!

“Wonwoo! You dumbass! I hate you! What have you done now? Why are we going for this lunch? For god’s sake.”

“Stop screaming, woman.” The door suddenly opens, and a half-naked Wonwoo steps out, engulfed in the steam from what was definitely a very hot shower. You have to stop yourself from moaning out at the sight. It reminds you of the three times you’ve showered together, and you can’t help but think back to the vivid memories of those sessions. 

“How can I stop screaming? I don’t even know what’s going on. You knew about this, didn’t you? Why are you so calm?” Wonwoo takes another step towards you, and he runs his hands along your arms. You shiver under his touch, realising you’re still wearing just your underwear. “Calm down. This isn’t a big deal, you’ve dealt with more serious issues. It’s just lunch.” “But it’s lunch with your family. I don’t even know why.” He presses a hand along your cheek, and you’re feeling even more conscious and nervous. Why? This is really unusual, because Wonwoo is right. You’ve been in worse emergencies. Why is this getting on your nerves? Probably because your periods are due this week. These are just your hormones. 

“Just enjoy the food. You’re anyway good at ignoring me in public places, and you can do the same to my family too.” 

You bite your lip, and shake your head. “I need fresh clothes.” 

“Yeah okay. Get into the shower and clean yourself up. I’ll ask my secretary to send something over.” “What? How-” “I think she’s the same dimensions as you.” “Oh.” You step away from him, swallowing whatever words you had to say. “I’ll go into the shower then.”

_

Thirty-five minutes and a very nice warm shower later, you’re standing in the bedroom and there’s a very pretty black dress on the bed. There’s also a new pair of lingerie next to it, complete with red roses sewn into black lace. Wow, that’s what Wonwoo asked his secretary to buy, huh. He definitely knows her dimensions very well. And the clothes fit, almost perfectly as if tailor-made. The dress is of unknown brand but the feel of the satin on your skin feels nice enough for you to forget about its origin. 

“Done?” Wonwoo steps into the room. “Jeez, can you knock? Scared me.” You’re applying Wonwoo’s sunscreen (frankly shocked to see him owning it, but then, his skin is pretty nice). You’ve also applied the same perfume as his, and combed your hair in a million different ways, to make up for the lack of make-up or your usual products. 

“Knock when I’ve seen you naked in this very room a hundred times? No thanks. Let’s go, we’re late.” 

“Hmm,” you slip your feet into your shoes and pick up your bag. “I’m ready.” So is Wonwoo, you notice, who’s dressed in a grey sweater and jeans. The softness of his clothes contrast the sharpness of his features, and it… looks nice. 

It takes you two twenty minutes to reach the restaurant, the ride passed in silence as you catch up on work mails from your phone. 

“I’ll go first, and you come ten minutes later, okay?” “Yeah. And Y/N, don’t tell them you were with me, okay?” “Of course not. I’m not a dumb nut like you.” And you shut the door of the car with unnecessary force as you walk out of the car. You swear you can hear Wonwoo curse behind you, but you give no fucks. 

“Oh! Y/N-ie! Welcome!” You walk straight into the arms of your mother, who’s dressed in a gaudy dress that does not suit her figure. “Eomma! How many times have I asked you not to wear these dresses?” “Oh shush! I bought this last weekend. Don’t tell me it looks bad, I’m in a good mood now.” You grimace and walk towards the table where your sister, her husband, and your father are waiting for you, smiling from ear to ear. Mr and Mrs Jeon, and Wonwoo’s younger brother are sitting on the other side of the table, also smiling from ear to ear. The excessive smiles are disturbing you, you’ve positively never seen Mrs. Jeon smile that wide.

“Oh, you look so good! Did you lose weight, Y/N-ie?” Mrs Jeon beckons you to sit next to her, and she takes your hand in hers. You force a smile on your face, still clueless about what’s going on. You can only hope they start talking about it when Wonwoo comes. 

Speaking of the devil, he does come way earlier than you asked him too. You’re suddenly nervous, as the families start smiling again. “Aigoo, our handsome boy is here. Sit here, sit here.” Your sister welcomes him and he sits wedged between her and his mother.

“Eomma, what’s going on?” he asks.

“Aah, straight to the point. Forget about that, tell us, did you both come together?” You spill out the drink from your mouth, almost choking. “Us? Together? Hahaha. No, of course not! Why would you think that Mrs Jeon? Hahaha.” “Hmm…” your sister exchanges looks with your mother and Mrs Jeon, before finally giving you that stupidly bright smile again. “Is there something you both want to tell us? We’ll give you a chance before-” Wonwoo interrupts, “Appa, what’s this nonsense? Just tell us without this suspense.”

Mr Jeon, who’d quietly been busy on his phone for so long, looks up and stares a little blankly. His wife nudges him, and then he seems to remember. “Oh, so, Wonwoo. You know you both can tell us what you want.” Your father pipes in, “Yes, same goes for you, Y/N.” Wonwoo and you exchange confused looks before you speak up, “Okay, but really. What’s this suspense for?”

“We know you’re dating.” Your sister blurts out, and there’s a sudden silence at the table. 

You think your eyes may burst out from the shock, and the way in which your palms instantly become sweaty is a dead giveaway of your nervousness. “What?! Unnie, are you out of your mind? What the fuck?” 

“Language, Y/n-ah.” Your mother says, “You think we don’t know what you both are doing, huh?” And then she giggles. The damn audacity.

“I think there’s some grave misunderstanding, Mrs Y/L/N. Y/N and I are… certainly, not dating.” Wonwoo’s mother grasps his hand across the table, and says, “Oh my son. My dutiful son. You don’t have to pretend about this. Just because Jeon Estates is rivals with Y/N’s company, doesn’t mean you both have to be secretive about dating!” There’s a little cough from both fathers, and Kyungmin and Wonbin, Wonwoo’s brother, burst out laughing. 

“Eomma, we’re not hiding anything. It’s a fact, we aren’t-”

“Explain these then. Booking out Eiffel Tower for a dinner date, huh?”

“Eomma, how do you know? Are you spying on me?”

“No! Of course not! We just looked at your credit card bill, accidentally. Then I spoke to Bora, your secretary, and she confirmed that you’d been spending a lot of time with Y/N. Not only that, there’s more-”

“Yes, indeed. Y/N-ie, why didn’t you ever tell us?”

You gasp, feeling lightheaded. “Did Jisung…? That trai-”

“Not Jisung. Jisung wouldn’t open his mouth. So I spoke to your chauffeur. He tells me he regularly picks you up from Wonwoo’s place?”

That’s it. This is it. It doesn’t get worse than this. This is your end. Oh, earth, swallow me up.

“Darling,” Mrs Jeon rubs your back, “Please don’t feel so shy. We know that our husbands haven’t left a great friendship for you two heirs. But you need not worry about all this rivalry.”

Your sister joins, “Yes. I’ve convinced Appa, and our lovely Aunt Jiwoo has convinced Mr Jeon too. Oh you both are so silly, hiding a precious thing like this from us.”

Wonwoo and you glare at each other. You realise there’s no point in explaining things to these people sitting in front of you. If they’ve reached the point where your sister is calling Wonwoo’s mother as aunt, then they must have discussed this extensively before calling you two to this lunch. An ambush, that’s what this is, you think in despair. 

“So what we’re saying is, instead of keeping it hidden like this, why don’t the two of you get married? Wonwoo-ah? You’re turning thirty next year, aren’t you? I want to see my grandchildren too,” Mrs Jeon says, and everything falls in place. This is blackmail. Your mother’s been asking you to get married ever since you took over the company, claiming that having a man at your side would help your life be perfect and free of any troubles, and even forcing you on some arranged dates. Wonwoo must be going through the same kind of thing, with him being three years older to you also. It fixes the nail in the coffin, and you stand up from your seat.

“That’s not happening. Mrs Jeon, Mr Jeon, Wonbin-ah, I’m sorry if this disappoints you, and the same goes for my family too. Wonwoo and I are grown adults. What we do is none of your business.”

“But if you are dating, what’s the issue with getting married? And from what I hear, it’s not even a recent fling. All this has been going on for a year now!” Your mother cries out loudly. Although you’re sitting in a secluded corner, the restaurant isn’t quite empty. 

“We’re not… dating. That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you all along.”

“Well, then are you guys enemies having movie sleepovers?” your sister adds, and it’s too annoying. “And why did you come over in Wonwoo’s car?” How the fuck? But then you realise, nothing is beyond these women. They may be keeping tabs on your and his car GPS for all you know. 

Wonwoo stands up, looming over your figure. “That’s quite enough. Like Y/N said, what we do is not your business. Thank you for your concern, and enjoy your meal. Eomma, since you’ve taken access to my credit card already, might as well use it to treat yourselves with this meal.” He steps out of the chair, and walks over to where you’re standing. He swiftly grabs your wrist, and pulls you away, “Let’s go. This is a waste of time.” And just like that, the two of you walk away.  

_

Six days later, a wedding invite stands ready in front of you, held out in Jisung’s pale hands. “Does it look good, Ma’am? I’ll send it for printing then.” 

You sigh, and nod your yes.

_

part 2 is now out!

[no-144444]

Judgy McJudgy Pants or Osc? You decide!- o.piastri

Day 9 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: you and oscar are getting closer, or are you?

part one | part two | part three | part four

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You stepped out onto the asphalt with a smile. Another weekend, another race, another day in your perfect job. Well, maybe not perfect. Oscar Piastri, aka Judgy Mcjudgy Pants was somehow still in the paddock and somehow still getting on your nerves. Anyways, Thursday meant media day, which meant you got onto the track early, usually with some of the F2 or F1 Academy drivers for an early morning cycle. By early, it really meant early. 5am start, and since it was Austin, spectators were already filtering in. Running beside you today was none other than Judgy Mcjudgy Pants himself, Oscar Piastri.

“So JMcJP,” you started as your cycle began. “How are you feeling about this weekend?”

He chuckled at the nickname, then answered with a simple ‘good’. You rolled your eyes. You had never been able to get good answers from him, no matter what. He’d always be too busy giggling like a schoolboy to answer your questions, so you saved the shitty ones for him.

“Descriptive,” you deadpanned. “Now, since we at SkySportF1 are so nice, we decided to bring someone special in to interview you!”

“Not just because you don’t want to do it?” he smirked.

“Everyone welcome Logan Sargeant!” you ignored his snarky comment and turned to Logan, who appeared beside you as you cycled. You handed him over the mic and cue cards and just focused on your ride, off-camera. The track was a little over 5 kilometres, so it wouldn't be a long interview.

“So Oscar,” Logan cleared his throat. “Anyone special in your life at the moment? Other than your debilitating crush on our lovely F1 presenter Y/n Y/l/n?”

Oscar’s face dropped and he stopped cycling. “This isn’t live right?”

“It’s not, don’t worry,” Jordan, your camera operator, explained with an apologetic smile on her face.

“Thank God,” he cheered, relieved. “Logan you asshole!” Oscar pushed into him, with a smile, but pushing all the same.

“What? You need to confess eventually?!” Logan scodlded, somehow staying on his bike.

“Not right now though, I was making good progress!”

“What, you could get through 3 whole words without giggling, or are you up to 4?” Logan mocked.

“I am a grown man-”

“Maybe I’d believe you if you just had the balls to ask her out.”

“You two are so slow, hurry up!” you called from about two hundred metres in front of them. “Alright, next question!” Logan moved on, cycling onwards again. “Who’s your best friend on the track?”

“Well I would say you but you’ve left us for Indycar, so… probably Lando, Alex, or Zhou,” he nodded.

“And why is that?”

“Lando and I are teammates, Alex and you were teammates so I saw you two together a lot, and Zhou and I were in F2 together,” he shrugged.

Logan’s eyes widened at the next question. “Who’s your favourite SkyF1 presenter?”

Oscar sighed, but told the truth anyway. “Y/n, probably.”

“I hope you’re not talking bad about me!” you shouted back at them, even further ahead now.

“Only good things!” Logan shouted back with a smile as Oscar fell deeper into his embarrassment. “Alright Oscar, who would you choose as your date to the prize-giving gala at the end of the year?”

Oscar sighed again, knowing what he was subjecting himself to. “Probably Y/n.”

Logan laughed as Oscar sighed, and an awful idea popped into his head. He turned to the camera with a big smile, and said. “If Oscar wins today we should make Y/n go as your date for the gala.”

Oscar’s face filled with dread but he knew how much Sky liked to torture their hosts, so he knew they’d love the idea. You? Not so much. In a selfish way, he was pretty happy that Logan had said it, because it gave him a chance with you. A whole night with you to himself? Sounded perfect to him. All he had to do was win the race.

“Y/n! We have an idea!” Logan shouted to you. “If Oscar wins today you have to go as his date to the prize-giving ceremony at the end of the year!”

You groaned as you reached the starting/ finish line again. “Do I have to?” you looked to Ted Kravtiz, technically he was your boss. He smirked and nodded, and you started hoping that Oscar wouldn’t win today. “Sounds like a deal,” you said, unenthused.

Logan cheered as Oscar’s sense of dread deepened, and he started to feel bad that they were forcing you to spend time with him. This couldn’t just be about the shoes, right? You had to hate him for another reason. It’s just… you never dropped the facade, in front of him anyway. You were always mildly irritated with him (except when he won his first race), and if you weren’t mildly irritated, you were completely. The cameras cut, Logan started chatting with you as Oscar stood there, catastrophizing even more.

You watched as Oscar essentially left the room, though he was standing right there. You’d never seen him get like that, he was always so calm and so collected, and it was almost worrying to see him be anything else. After a few minutes he left without a word to either of you, and you started fearing the worst. Maybe you’d brought this JMcJP thing too far, maybe he hated you, maybe you should go talk to him.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ After a few interviews, you found yourself walking around the McLaren motorhome trying to find Oscar. Eventually, you found his driver’s room and knocked on the door hesitantly. “Oscar?”

It swung open and you were met with a very confused looking Oscar who pulled you into his room and shut the door behind you two. He put the back of his hand against your forehead, seemingly… checking for a temperature?

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. “You never call me Oscar.”

You rolled your eyes at his awful excuse for a joke, and sighed. “Y’know I did come in here to apologise, but I don’t think I’m going to do that now-”

You turned for the door but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back. He raised an eyebrow. “What would you be apologising for?”

“Logan this morning, you don’t have to use me as your date for the prize-giving ceremony, use your girlfriend-”

“Don’t have one,” he answered quickly. “And I need to win, right?”

“Right,” you smiled. “But seriously, don’t ever feel pressured to like… do what Ted says. Or be around me, I know we don’t always get along, but it is all in good fun, right?”

He nodded, all too happy that he could finally get through a conversation without giggling. “Right.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you smiled, going for the door handle but once again, he pulled you back.

“You don’t just dislike me because of the shoes, right?” he asked.

You chuckled. “What would you say if I don’t dislike you, but I am still hurt over the shoes?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh good,” he chuckled. “And how can I pay my penance for that?”

You thought about it for a moment, then smirked. “Winning today would be pretty helpful, I wouldn't have to think about a date then.” He smirked and nodded, finally letting go of you and letting you leave the room.

He had to win today. ୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

“And it’s Oscar Piastri who crosses the finish line first, making this his third career win!”

Fuck off. He won. And you weren’t even mad.

Ted looked at you with a smirk. “Not needing a date for the ceremony then?”

“Shut up,” you scolded, playfully hitting him. ୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

part one | part two | part three | part four

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

[yazmarina]

feed your misery

oscar piastri x afab!reader, side lando x reader

oscar already feels as if he's taken everything away from lando. what's one more?

warnings/notes: smut, slight (?) angst, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is fwb with lando, post-hungary 2024

a/n: everything i write for this goddamn race is partly sad. but this is also sexy. i hope it's sexy enough :')

"Hey, race winner."

Oscar whips his head around, momentarily confused. He immediately grins upon seeing you, though he tries to conceal it, his face settling into a polite smile instead.

But you spot it, despite his fireproofs covering the majority of his neck. The deep blush creeping up to his face is just barely visible over the collar.

You stopped him just outside of his driver's room, his helmet in his hand and his race suit hanging off around his hips. He smells strongly of champagne and his hair is slicked back from all the liquor drenching it.

"Hey yourself," Oscar responds coolly, opening the door to his room.

"Congratulations again," you reply, your neck craning upward as you try to meet Oscar's eyes.

"Thanks," Oscar says, eyes scanning over your face.

"New hair?" He goes on to ask, tilting his head to the side to study you closer.

You nod. "Yep. I thought today might be special so I did something different with it. And, it turns out, today was special, with you winning and all."

You end your sentence with an innocent bat of your eyes as you grin girlishly up at Oscar.

Oscar bites down on his lip, forehead creasing, as if deep in thought, After a few more moments, he jerks his chin inward, gesturing you inside.

"Why don't you come in?"

You pause, glancing around to see if anyone from the team is nearby. You've never been inside either Lando or Oscar's room in the motorhome, despite the...situations you've found yourself in with Lando before. He always preferred to have you in highly private places, and you understand why.

Not that you were expecting anything to happen with Oscar at this moment, that would just be in bad taste, as if it wasn't bad enough that a press officer was sleeping with–

"You okay?" Oscar asks, already inside, his eyebrows raised. Your hesitation dawns on him quickly enough and his lips meld into a smirk.

"Why? Scared that Lando might see you?" he adds, depositing his helmet on top of his massage table.

You scoff, stepping into the small space of his driver's room. The door clicks shut behind you and Oscar just stares, waiting for you to say something.

"Why would I be scared of Lando?" You ask, a hand on your hip as if to challenge the driver.

"Well, you should be," Oscar warns with a laugh. "He's not in the best mood right now."

"And whose fault is that?" You question.

"Not mine," Oscar deadpans, expression turning serious. You pause, realizing that you've hit a sensitive subject matter.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way," you quickly apologize, pursing your lips.

Oscar chuckles and shrugs. "It is what it is."

"Though, seeing you might help him, you know...blow off some steam," Oscar continues, giving you a pointed look.

You force yourself to meet his eyes. "But I wanted to see you."

Oscar blinks, his mouth falling open at your admission. He snickers, as if in disbelief.

"Did the two of you fight or something?" Oscar mildly accuses.

"No, it's just...I thought it would be better if I left him alone for a bit," you explain. "Like you said, he doesn't seem too happy at the moment."

Oscar doesn't respond. He just looks, taking in the sight of you. You'd kill to know what's running through his head right now, with the way his eyes travel down your body. The urge to fidget with your McLaren uniform is strong, your skin growing warm under his hardened gaze.

"And you thought you'd come to me?" Oscar questions. "Like a rebound?"

You pout, but guilt pinches at your chest at his words.

You and Lando were never official, that was clear to you both. You only ever started messing around after his win in Miami, the celebratory dinner and partying leading to you joining him in his hotel room, fraternization clause be damned.

Then it happened again in Imola, and again in his apartment in Monaco. And so it went on like that for weeks, and it was only a matter of time before an unassuming hickey peeking over the collar of your McLaren polo caught Oscar's attention

"Any large mosquitos around here?" Oscar had asked on Thursday afternoon in Barcelona.

You looked up from your tablet, giving Oscar a look as the two of you walked the track. He gestured to his own neck and your hand practically flew up to your throat, your eyes going comically wide.

"That's just an allergy," you lied, ignoring the looks from Oscar's trainer and race engineer.

After the track walk, Oscar chanced upon you alone as you headed back to the motorhome. He fell into step beside you, nudging you lightly.

"Who's the lucky guy?" Oscar asked innocently enough, looking genuinely curious.

Just then, Lando came into view, walking straight towards you from the opposite side of the paddock. He flashed you a smile and a quick wink and all the words you had were lost to the wind. You stuttered, legs stopping altogether, your whole body rooted in place.

Oscar followed your line of sight and audibly laughed.

"No way." Oscar practically giggled. He gave you a long, hard look as you tried to gather back your bearings.

"I thought you were supposed to be my press officer?" Oscar asked teasingly.

"I am," you answered defensively. "What, you want a blowie, too?"

Oscar spluttered, obviously shocked, but he played it off with a nervous laugh.

"I mean, if you're offering," Oscar shot back, head tilted as if to challenge you.

It was your turn to balk at his words, your whole face morphed into surprise.

"Oscar Piastri," you began. "I never took you for one of those guys."

Oscar just shrugged before leaving you standing in the middle of the paddock, dumbfounded.

"I genuinely just wanted to congratulate you," you tell him now, crossing your arms over your chest.

Oscar nods. "You've congratulated me already. Anything else?"

The room falls silent again and you feel your frustration rising. What did you want? Are you so easy that you'd throw yourself at the nearest race winner, hoping that the adrenaline ends in a good fuck? Would you be so callous as to get in between teammates right after a race like that?

As if on cue, Oscar sighs, running a hand over his face.

"I already feel like I've taken something from him. You'd just be the nail in the coffin at this point," Oscar continues, watching you carefully.

You know what he's implying, and you know he's right.

But things have been different with Oscar for the past few weeks after Barcelona and the whole hickey incident. It's as if he refused to let you out of his sight, suspicious of every moment that you aren't in his presence.

'Were you with Lando?'

'Are you going home with him?'

'I'll take you home. No, Lando, really. I got her.'

Which could all mean nothing, really.

But you couldn't be too sure, either. There's a gnawing feeling inside of you, an itch you can't scratch, not until you find out if this is what you think it is.

So, you bite the bullet.

"He doesn't own me, you can't take what isn't his," you state matter-of-factly.

"That's not what I mean," Oscar deflects.

"Then what do you mean?" You press further, tired of whatever this back-and-forth is.

Something flashes across Oscar's face, something you've never seen from this gentle of a human being before.

"If I fuck you right now, will it change anything?" Oscar asks, voice sharp and eyes steely.

You're taken aback by his candor, but it's a relief to hear it outright, finally out in the open. What you both came here for.

"It changes everything," you declare.

Oscar sighs. Then swallows.

His hand reaches for you and before either of you can think much about it, your lips crash into his, your back slamming against the door. You hear the click of the lock and it's like a trigger, the way it strips you of your inhibitions, your hands reaching up to tangle roughly in Oscar's hair.

He licks into your mouth, messy and uncoordinated, but you gasp and pant all the same, relishing in the way he grinds against your thigh.

"Hurry up," you urge as he parts from you, lips attaching to your neck, well above your collar this time.

Oscar merely hums, taking your skin between his lips and suckling hard. You whimper, knees nearly buckling at the sensation.

"Oscar, you can't–"

He pulls away, hooded eyes admiring his handiwork.

"I can. And I just did," Oscar counters, reaching behind you and immediately tugging the zip of your skirt down. The garment falls at your feet and you kick it off to the side.

"You know he'll hate us both for that," you point out, touching right where you know Oscar marked you, a hint of regret in your voice.

You never meant for this to happen. You swear you didn't.

"I'll take my chances," Oscar says with a noncommittal shrug.

He kisses you again, fiery and impatient. Your own hands tug down at his race suit, a frustrated groan erupting from Oscar as he stumbles out of it, undoing his boots in a hurry as he does so.

You're overtaken by the smell of champagne, and you know you'll end up smelling like it too once you're done. Lando would be suspicious. He'd ask. He'd press. He'd beg.

Oscar's bottom fireproofs and underwear are peeled off, leaving him bare from the waist down. Your bottom lip fits between your teeth as you take in what's between his legs.

"Like it?" Oscar asks, voice dropping an octave, pressing himself flush against you. He reaches down and rubs his tip over your clothed cunt.

You gasp, hips bucking forward to meet the sweet friction against your clit. Your whole body rocks with his as you feel yourself swiftly soak through your panties.

"Oh god," you whisper, your fingers digging into Oscar's shoulders.

"So this is what Lando gets after every race," Oscar wonders out loud, taunting you. "This is what you've been keeping from me, huh?"

You shake your head, not trusting yourself enough to speak without stuttering.

"Y-You should've j-just asked," you manage between ragged breaths.

Oscar snickers. "That easy, huh?"

Before you could reply, you're pulled away from the door and shoved towards the massage table. You catch yourself, grabbing at the edge before you can topple over.

"Bend over," Oscar commands, palm flat against your back. He's not pressing you down, his expression stern but cautious.

You can refuse.

You do as you're told, laying your torso flat on the table. Oscar tugs your underwear down, letting it fall to your ankles before you sweep it away with your foot. You arch up as best as you can, just as you know Lando likes, and Oscar curses under his breath.

"Oh, muscle memory," Oscar jokes, aligning his cock with your entrance.

You huff, intending to bite back, but your words cut short when you feel Oscar sheath himself inside you, agonizingly slow, stretching you out completely.

"Fuck," you sob into your hand, a slight burn between your legs.

"You're okay," Oscar reassures, pulling back before fitting back in. The second time is less of a shock but you squeeze your eyes shut nonetheless, still not accustomed to Oscar's size.

"I got you," Oscar supplants. He leans down to kiss your shoulder.

"So good. So good for me."

You let out a breath, your body easing up as Oscar gently takes hold of your hips, going out and back in for a third time. It's easier now and you blink away the tears that have gathered in your eyes.

"Yeah?" He asks, burying his nose in the fabric your polo as he peers at your face. You gaze back at him as best as you can, given the awkward angle, your heart clenching as you catch him looking, eyes shining, even in the dim lighting of the room, imploring you, wide and vulnerable.

You nod.

"Yeah."

Oscar tightens his hold on you and slams his hips against yours harshly. He's relentless, setting up a pace that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"Oh my god," you gasp, voice garbled with how hard Oscar's going.

All you hear from Oscar is his shallow intake of breath, an occasional grunt when you clench particularly hard. The massage table squeaks beneath you, and you hold on for dear life as you feel your knees tremble.

It's a dizzying feeling to have Oscar this close to you, something you never thought you'd experience. And predictably, you can't help but think of Lando, somewhere out there, maybe even in the next room over, hearing you gasp and moan over Oscar's cock.

This is so fucked. This is unfair.

You whine when you feel Oscar push particularly hard inside, burying himself impossibly deep as you clench and clench and clench.

"Christ," Oscar mutters, thrusting into you shallowly. "I'm not gonna last."

You whimper, reaching behind you. Oscar grips your wrist, using your arm to anchor himself as he tugs you backward. You lift slightly off the table, the new angle allowing him to reach even deeper. His other hand remains locked holding onto your waist.

You know you look absolutely debauched right now, Oscar fucking you from behind like some bitch, in your uniform, no less. It sends your brain into a frenzy, knowing what this means, what it will mean after.

It doesn't take long before Oscar's rapid movements stop, his dick twitching between your walls, his cum spilling inside. He immediately lets go of your arm and you slump forward, exhausted.

Oscar drags his cock in and out a few more times, riding out his orgasm. You feel some of him drip out of you and you both groan simultaneously.

"Don't step in it," you warn weakly. You try to straighten up, your legs quivering from the effort.

Oscar maneuvers around the mess before bracing an arm around your waist and helping you up on the massage table. You watch as he bustles about, looking for tissues, handing you a few once he finds the box.

He retrieves your underwear from the floor and offers it to you.

"Was that too much?" Oscar asks, surprisingly tender.

You pause, unsure what to make of his question. It's nice that he's asking, but not something you expected.

"No," you say with a shake of your head. You push yourself off the table before hurriedly pulling your panties back on.

You can feel Oscar's gaze on the back of your head as you grab your skirt, dressing yourself silently.

"Are you gonna tell him?" Oscar presses. You turn to look at him.

"No. It doesn't matter, anyway," you reason. "We're not doing this again."

Oscar seems genuinely surprised at this. He catches himself and nods instead, portraying his understanding.

"It might matter to him, though," Oscar suggests.

You shrug weakly.

"I'll deal with it."

[brunchable]

LAZARUS SERUM || Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Part I

Part Two | Part Three Words: 8.5K Themes: Very Angsty?, Break-up, Violence, Kidnapped, Super Human transformation, Action, Attempted Assault, Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers. Summary: Set in 1942. Steve allowed being a Super Soldier inflate his ego. After a breaking up with Steve, your world shatters then you're abducted and subjected to a mysterious experiment. A/N: I was washing the dishes when this came to me. I thought Y/N was really BADASS at the end. Baby girl is bad bitch, she on Fire. Paint the town red can be her song. A reblog would be noice <3

The sun was setting over Brooklyn, casting long shadows across the streets. You and Steve walked side by side, your fingers intertwined, the cool breeze of the evening wrapping around you both. Steve’s small hand fit perfectly in yours, a comforting reminder of the years you had spent together, supporting each other through thick and thin. 

It wasn’t easy being with him, especially with how the world treated him—just a scrawny, sickly guy who never knew when to give up. 

Your parents disapproved and your friends laughed at you for choosing Steve over James. You always tell Steve, ‘If they laugh, then fuck'em all.’

He has a good heart and you loved him for it— for his determination, his kindness, and his unwavering sense of right and wrong.

As you walked, a heavy silence hung between you. The reason was clear: James or known as Bucky Barnes, was shipping out to fight in the war. The three of you had been inseparable, a trio bound by shared history and deep affection. But now, Bucky was leaving, and the thought of losing him weighed heavily on your heart.

“Well, I guess this is it. I’m heading out tomorrow.” Bucky finally stopped and turned to you both, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You nodded, trying to keep the sadness from showing on your face. “It’s not going to be the same without you, Bucky.”

He gave a small chuckle, though it lacked its usual warmth. “You’ll manage. You’ve got this punk to keep you busy.” He playfully nudged Steve, who smiled weakly in return.

“I should be going with you, Bucky,” Steve said, his voice tight with emotion.

“You’re gonna be fine, Steve. You’ve got that heart of yours, and that’s stronger than any muscle.” Bucky’s expression softened, and he reached out, placing a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder. He turned to you, his gaze filled with concern. 

“And you, Y/N… take care of him, will ya? Someone’s gotta keep him out of trouble.”

You forced a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I will, Bucky. I promise.”

Bucky pulled you into a tight hug, holding you for a moment longer than necessary. When he finally let go, he clasped hands with Steve, their handshake lingering as they both tried to hold onto the moment.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” Bucky said, trying to lighten the mood.

Steve gave a small laugh, but it was strained. “No promises.”

With one last look at both of you, Bucky nodded, then turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the distance. 

As he left, the weight of his absence settled over you like a thick fog. The world suddenly felt colder, emptier without Bucky’s presence.

“He’ll be okay,” Steve said quietly, more to himself than to you, as you both stood there in silence, watching Bucky disappear.You leaned into Steve, seeking comfort in his presence. 

“I hope so. I don’t know what we’ll do if something happens to him.” Steve squeezed your hand, trying to be reassuring. 

“He’s strong. He’ll make it back.” But deep down, both of you knew there were no guarantees in war.

× × × × 

A few weeks later, the day finally came when Steve received his enlistment notice. You were there when he got the news, a mixture of pride and worry swirling in your chest. He had finally done it—he was going to fight in the war, just like Bucky. But that also meant he was leaving you behind, just like Bucky.

“I can’t believe it,” Steve said, staring at the paper in his hands, his voice filled with excitement. “I’m actually going.”

You smiled, though it was bittersweet. “I knew you would. You’re the most determined person I’ve ever met, Steve. They’d be crazy not to let you in.”

 “I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. You’ve always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.” Steve looked up at you, his expression softening.

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m so proud of you, Steve. You’re going to do great things. Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”

Steve’s eyes were filled with emotion as he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I promise, Y/N. I’ll come back to you. I swear.”

But as you held him, a deep sadness settled over you. First Bucky, now Steve—everyone you cared about was leaving, going off to fight a war that seemed so far removed from your life in Brooklyn. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread, a fear that things would never be the same again.

× × × × 

The day Steve came back from the super-soldier program, everything changed. You had waited anxiously for news, praying that everything would go smoothly, that he would come back to you safe and sound. When you finally saw him again, it was nothing like you imagined.

The first time you laid eyes on the new Steve Rogers was outside a government building, where a crowd had gathered. You pushed your way through, eager to see him after weeks of silence. When you finally spotted him, your breath caught in your throat.There he was—tall, muscular, and impossibly different. The boy you once knew was gone, replaced by a man who exuded power and confidence. It was Steve, and yet it wasn’t.

“Steve!” you called out, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd. You tried to make your way toward him, but the throng of people pushed you back, jostling you aside as they clamored for a closer look at the hero.

Steve seemed oblivious to the crowd around him, focused entirely on the conversation he was having with a woman by his side—Peggy Carter. You had heard about her, of course, but seeing them together was different. There was an ease between them that made your heart sink.

“Steve!” you called out again, louder this time, but he didn’t hear you—or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. You watched as Peggy leaned in closer, her hand resting on his arm in a way that felt far too familiar.

Then, as if in slow motion, you saw Steve get into a car with her, leaving you standing alone in the crowd, feeling completely invisible.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to see you, to run to you, to hold you in his arms like he always did. But instead, he was driving away with someone else, and you were left behind, forgotten.

× × × ×

A few weeks pass by with not one word from Steve, the last time you heard his voice was on the radio, giving a speech that would motivate the soldiers out there or in the newspaper. You were sitting by the window, reading a book while your cat rested peacefully on your lap. Then, there was a knock at the door. You kept your ears attentive, though your eyes were focused somewhere else.

You heard your mother answer it, and you listened as she exchanged a few words with whoever was at the door. A moment later, she called out to you, “Y/N, there’s a soldier here to see you.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion as you walked toward the door. A soldier? Why would—?

As you reached the doorway, your breath caught in your throat. There, standing in the threshold, was Steve Rogers, but not the Steve you remembered. He was taller, broader, wearing an army uniform that fit him perfectly, and his entire presence seemed… different. The frail, sickly boy you had known was gone, replaced by a man you barely recognized.

“Do you know this gentleman, dear?” Your mother, still standing by the door, looked between you and Steve, clearly confused. 

“It’s me, Mrs. L/N, Steve Rogers.” Steve gave her a warm smile, his voice deeper than you remembered. 

Your mother blinked, looking Steve up and down before recognition finally dawned on her face. “Steve? My goodness, look at you! I didn’t even recognize you. You look… Well, you look like a different person altogether!”

“Yes, he… he certainly does.” You forced a smile, still trying to process the fact that he's standing there. 

“Well, I’ll leave you two to catch up. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” Your mother gave you a strange look as she walked past, heading back into the house. 

The heck was that about?

As she disappeared into the other room, you turned your attention back to Steve, your heart pounding. You looked up at him, which was something you weren't used to. He's so. . .tall.

“Steve… is that really you?”

“It’s me, Y/N,” Steve replied, his voice deeper than you remembered. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Things have been… crazy in the last couple of days.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” You nodded, trying to hide your disappointment.

Steve smiled, a hint of the old Steve you knew shining through. “I’m more than okay. I want to make it up to you. How about I take you out to dinner tonight? Just the two of us.”

Your heart lifted at the thought. Maybe this was your chance to reconnect, to get back to the way things were. 

“I’d like that,” you said softly. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Listen, I need to go back but I'll see you at our favorite spot? Six-thirty?” He reaches for your hands and kissed the back of it. 

“I’ll be there,” you chuckled at his romantic gesture.

“Don’t keep me waiting.” He winks at you, and you couldn’t help but giggle. This new playful side of him, got you hooked like a fish.

× × × ×

“Good evening, Ma'am. Do you have a reservation for tonight?” the hostess asked politely, her hands poised over the guest book.

“Yes. Steve Rogers?”

The hostess scanned the list, her finger trailing down the page. “Table 11. Right this way.” She smiled warmly and gestured for you to follow.

Your heart quickened as you anticipated seeing Steve, but when you reached the table, your smile faltered. The chair opposite you was empty. The hostess pulled it out for you, and with a quiet sigh, you sat down, your eyes flickering anxiously toward the door.

“Can I offer you any refreshments?” 

“Not at the moment.”

“No problem. Let us know if you need anything.” With a nod, she left you alone, leaving the weight of the evening to settle over you.

Minutes turned into an hour, and you found yourself glancing at the door every time it opened, only to be met with disappointment as someone other than Steve entered. As the hours passed, your hope began to wane, replaced by a growing knot of irritation in your chest.

But as the hours ticked by, your hope began to fade. The restaurant was closing, and still, there was no sign of him. The waitstaff was cleaning up around you, giving you sympathetic looks as you sat there alone, trying to hold back the tears.

The restaurant was winding down, the waitstaff quietly cleaning up around you. Their sympathetic looks were hard to ignore as you sat alone, struggling to keep your emotions in check. You felt a lump in your throat, your eyes stinging as you blinked back tears.

“Miss, I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re closing,” a waiter said gently, approaching you with a cautious smile.

You nodded, trying to muster some semblance of dignity, “I’m so sorry. I’ll be on my way.” You snuffled and smiled as you got up from your seat. Getting up alone was hard, the weight of embarrassment was weighing you down. 

Just as you turned to leave, the door swung open. Steve rushed in, his face flushed and hair slightly disheveled. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, hurrying over to you. “I got caught up in something important. I didn’t mean to be late.”

The staff paused in their work, their eyes shifting between you and Steve. There stood the dashing soldier, looking every bit the hero in his crisp uniform, yet here he was, unmistakably late. As their gazes turned to you in your lavender shirtwaist dress, it was clear they understood why you had waited so long.

“It’s eleven.” Your voice seethed after glancing at your watch, noticing a red smudge on his collar, “They’re closed. Let’s talk outside.”

Without waiting for a response, you cleared your throat and walked out, brushing past him intentionally to make your anger known. Steve followed closely behind, sensing the storm brewing between you two. This was the first time he had been this late, and you were struggling to decide whether to forgive him easily or let him feel the full weight of your emotions.

“Steve, where were you? I waited for hours,” you said, trying to keep your voice whole, this feeling like you were losing him is foreign and hard to keep internally.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I got caught up with something… important.” Steve barely met your gaze, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“More important than us?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, the pain of being pushed aside finally surfacing.

Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s not like that. You know I’m trying to do the right thing. There’s so much going on, and I—”

“Forgot about me?” You didn’t want to be this person, but the loneliness and the fear of losing him had been building up for too long. Without Bucky around, you had no one to turn to, no one to share this burden with. “I understand that you have responsibilities now, but you made a promise.”

He finally looked at you, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Y/N, I’m not leaving you behind. I just. . . things are different.”

“I can see that,” you said, you look at him from head to toe. The man standing in front of you wasn’t the same Steve who used to hold you and make you feel like the most important person in the world. This was someone else, someone who had outgrown you, “You’ve changed, and I’m not talking about your appearance.”

“I’m still me, Y/N. But now, I have responsibilities, people who rely on me.” Steve looked down, guilt flashing in his eyes. 

“And what about me?” you asked, the hurt evident in your voice. “Do I even matter anymore, or was I just someone to keep you company when you had nothing else?”

“Don’t say that,” Steve replied quickly out of spite, “Maybe… maybe you were only with me because you felt sorry for me. For who I was.”

His words cut deep, and you recoiled as if he had struck you. “You think I was with you out of pity? Is that what you believe?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, his voice strained.

“How could you think that?” you said, your voice rising with a mix of anger and hurt. “I was with you because I love you, Steve. Not because I felt sorry for you. I believed in you, and I loved you for who you were, not because of what you couldn’t do or how you appear.”

“I’m just not sure where I fit in this new world, and I’m not sure where you fit in it either. I'm trying to wo—”

Your chest began feeling tight because of his words. You had always known that things would change after the serum, but you never expected him to question your feelings like this. 

“So, what are you saying? That there’s no place for me in your life anymore? That I don’t belong because you’ve become someone else?” You emphasized his structure with your hand.

Steve shook his head, looking frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I just… I feel like we’re both hanging on to something that’s already gone.”

“Already gone? Nothing was gone, at least not on my part.” Tears welled up in your eyes, but you fought to keep your voice from cracking, “Is there someone else? Is that why you’re looking for a way out?”

“No! Of course not. It's because for once in myself I feel like I'm worth something,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

The finality of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had fought so hard to hold onto him, to keep the love between you alive, but now it felt like you were losing that battle. You had wanted him to stay tonight, to make things right, but now you weren’t sure if there was anything left to salvage.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned away, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over. 

“You know what? Just… go, Steve. Do whatever it is you have to do. I will not think less of myself just because you do not know how to love me anymore.” you said, your voice heavy with resignation.

“Y/N…” Steve’s voice was soft, filled with regret, but you couldn’t face him. Not now.

“Please, Steve. Just go.”

What you really wanted to say was, “Please stay. Show me that I still matter to you.” But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You were too afraid that he wouldn’t fight for you, and the thought of that was too painful to bear.

Steve hesitated, his eyes wandering as if trying to find the right words. He just stood there, saying nothing. 

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you walked closer to him, his face softening as you reached up and gently adjusted his collar. Your fingers brushed against the fabric, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. 

Then, in the calmest voice you could muster, you said, “Lemon helps with removing lipstick stains.”

Steve’s eyes widened in panic, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the spot where your fingers had been.

“Y/N, I seriously don't know how this got here—” he began and it almost sounded genuine, his voice filled with panic as he tried to close the distance between you.

But you took a step back, your eyes now red and brimming with tears. You raised a hand to stop him, your voice breaking as you sobbed deeply, “Don’t. Just… don’t.”

Steve’s heart shattered at the sight of you sobbing, your pain a statement in every tear that fell. His instinct was to reach out, to hold you, but your outstretched hand and the heartbreak in your eyes kept him rooted to the spot.

If Bucky were here… The thought pierced his mind like a knife, and suddenly, jealousy coursed through him, hot and irrational. Bucky. The one person who had always managed to make you smile, even when he couldn’t. The one who could draw out your laughter with just a word, a look. The one who, despite being his best friend, had always been a shadow in the corner of Steve’s mind when it came to you.

Was it easier with Bucky? Did you love Bucky more than him? Had you ever thought of Bucky in ways that Steve couldn’t bear to imagine?

“You should’ve just chosen Bucky.” Steve muttered and with one last, tortured look at you, Steve turned away, his steps. He walked away, leaving you standing there, your tears flowing freely now. He didn’t look back, too afraid of what he might see if he did.

Your breath caught in your throat, the shock of his words slicing through the already unbearable pain. You stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to process the bitterness in his voice, the finality of his statement.

The Steve you had known was gone. You didn’t know if looking for him would be worth it because you knew how it would feel—it would feel like reaching for smoke.

Heartbroken and feeling more isolated than ever, you decided to walk home alone. Your cries echoes the street, water gushing out of your eyes like it’s being released by a dam. The echo of your footsteps on the empty streets was a haunting reminder of just how alone you felt. Steve had left, and with him, it felt like a part of your heart had been ripped away.

Steve’s words replayed in your mind, cutting deeper with every repetition. The idea that he thought you might have been with him out of pity or that you're better off with Bucky was a knife to your heart, twisting with every breath.

The streets of Brooklyn were eerily quiet, the usual bustle replaced by an unsettling stillness. The lamps cast long, distorted shadows across the pavement, and every sound seemed amplified in the silence. You quickened your pace, trying to escape the weight of your thoughts, but it was no use. 

As you turned down a narrow street, the familiar surroundings suddenly felt foreign and oppressive. You hugged your coat tighter around you, your mind racing with a mixture of fear and despair. Ahead, the road forked into two directions—one leading to your home, the other into an even darker, narrower alley. You turned towards home, your heart pounding as you tried to shake the feeling of being watched.

Then, without warning, you heard the screech of tires on the asphalt. Before you could react, a van skidded to a stop in front of you, its headlights blinding in the dark street. The doors flew open, and three men in dark clothing jumped out, their faces obscured by shadows.

Panic surged through you as you spun on your heel, trying to run, but it was too late. They were on you in an instant, their grips like iron as they dragged you towards the van.

“No! Let me go! Help! Please someone!” you screamed, thrashing against their hold, but your voice was swallowed by the night, and the empty streets offered no help. Your heart raced, the fear consuming you as you struggled with the best you can.

A cloth was suddenly pressed against your mouth and nose, and a sickly sweet smell filled your senses. You tried to hold your breath, to fight against the drowsiness that quickly overtook you, but it was no use. The world around you started to blur, your vision darkening as your body went limp.

The last thing you heard before everything went black was the sound of the van doors slamming shut and the dull roar of the engine as it sped away into the night.

× × × ×

DAY ONE

When you woke, the world was a haze of pain and confusion. The first thing you noticed was the cold metal pressing against your back, you were naked. Your wrists and ankles were strapped to a metal table, the restraints biting into your skin. Panic clawed at your chest as you struggled against the bonds, but they held firm, keeping you pinned down.

Your vision was blurry, your head pounding from whatever they had used to knock you out. Slowly, the room around you came into focus—bare, clinical, with walls of stark white. You weren’t in Brooklyn anymore. You weren’t anywhere you recognized.

You heard voices, cold and detached, speaking in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out the words, but the tone sent chills down your spine. Footsteps approached, and a shadow loomed over you.

A man’s face came into view, his expression devoid of any warmth or compassion. “She’s awake. Prepare the serum.”

The word “serum” sent a jolt of fear through you, and you renewed your struggles, trying to break free. But the restraints didn’t budge, and the man paid no attention to your terror or the muffled screams that bounced off the walls.

You felt a sharp prick in your arm as they injected something into your veins. Immediately, a searing pain shot through your body, like liquid fire burning through every nerve. You tried to scream, but your voice was caught in your throat, choked off by the agony that consumed you.

The pain was unbearable and you could feel your body convulsing on the table, your muscles seizing as the serum spread through you. It felt like your entire being was being torn apart, every cell screaming in protest. You began to foam in the mouth, the scene your captors watched was like out of an exorcist movie.

And then… nothing. The world around you went dark, and you slipped into unconsciousness, the pain finally giving way to merciful oblivion.

“Sir, should we stop?” One of them said, “Her vital signs are getting dangerously out of limits, she might go into cardiac arrest.”

“No, keep going until that last vial is finished. I want to see what’ll happen. Then we repeat until there’s signs of success.” 

DAY TWO

You awoke to the sensation of your body being dragged, rough hands gripping your arms as they pulled you across the cold, unforgiving floor. Your vision was clouded, your mind struggling to grasp onto reality as the fog of unconsciousness began to lift. Every inch of you ached, a dull, throbbing pain that seemed to seep into your very bones.

As you were hoisted back onto the metal table, the cold surface pressed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The restraints clamped down on your wrists and ankles once more, their cruel bite familiar by now. The room around you was still the same—sterile, white, and devoid of any humanity.

You tried to speak, but your throat was on dry and on fire, your voice barely a whisper. "Please... stop..."

Your plea fell on deaf ears. The figures in lab coats moved around you with the same clinical detachment as before, their faces obscured by surgical masks. One of them approached, holding a clipboard, his eyes scanning the data as if you were nothing more than a lab rat.

"Her vitals stabilized overnight," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But... the readings are inconsistent. I'm not sure if the serum is taking effect."

The man from before—the one who had ordered the serum—stepped into view, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. He leaned over you, his eyes scrutinizing your face with a mix of curiosity and impatience.

"Let's see if she can handle more," he said, his voice flat, giving nothing away.

Panic surged through you, your heart racing as you remembered the excruciating pain from the day before. You tried to struggle, but your body was too weak, too drained from the torment they had already inflicted on you.

The man nodded to one of his colleagues, who approached with another syringe, the liquid inside glowing with an ominous, sickly hue. You watched in horror as the needle approached your arm, every muscle in your body tensing with dread.

"No... no, please..." you begged, your voice breaking.

But they didn't stop. The needle pierced your skin once again, and the liquid fire coursed through your veins, more intense than before. The pain was immediate, searing through you like a thousand white-hot knives. You thrashed against the restraints, your screams tearing through the air, but there was no escape from the agony.

The world around you blurred as the pain became all-consuming, every nerve in your body ablaze. You could feel your heart pounding erratically, your vision darkening at the edges. It was too much, too overwhelming.

But this time, there was no merciful oblivion waiting for you. The pain persisted, dragging you down into a nightmare from which there was no escape. Your body convulsed violently, your muscles seizing as the serum wreaked havoc within you.

The voices around you became distant, muffled by the roaring in your ears. You couldn't make out what they were saying, but their tone was one of cold observation, detached from the suffering they were causing.

"Her body's reacting... but the patterns aren't consistent. It’s hard to tell if it’s working or if she’s just... rejecting it."

"Increase the dosage," the man ordered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched your writhing form. "We need to push her further. If there's any sign of success, we'll see it soon enough."

"But sir," one of the lab technicians hesitated, his voice uncertain. "If we push too hard, she might not survive the next round. The readings are already erratic—she could go into shock or worse."

"That’s a risk I’m willing to take," the man replied coldly. "We won’t know until we push her limits."

Your heart sank at his words. There was no end to this. They were going to keep pushing, keep testing, until either the serum took hold of your body or gave out entirely.

As you lay there, barely conscious, the pain began to ebb slightly, leaving you trembling and drenched in sweat. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you tried to cling to consciousness.

"Prepare the next dose," the man ordered, his voice devoid of any empathy.

This time, your heart sank even deeper. The nightmare wasn’t just beginning—it was accelerating, and there was no way out. You were trapped in this hell, at the mercy of those who saw you as nothing more than an experiment, a means to an end. And whether or not the serum was taking effect, you knew that whatever happened next would push you to your breaking point—and beyond.

DAY EIGHTY

When you woke, the familiar chill of the metal table greeted you. The room was as stark and clinical as ever, but something had changed within you. The pain was still there, a constant, gnawing presence, but it no longer controlled you. You had become accustomed to it, numb to its bite. It was just another part of your existence now.

Eighty days.

Eighty days of torment, of relentless experimentation, of feeling your body and mind pushed to their breaking points and beyond. You had lost track of time somewhere around the third week, the days and nights blending into a seamless blur of agony and darkness. But even as the days passed, you remained conscious, aware—alive.

The door to the room opened, and you didn’t bother to turn your head. You knew who it was. The man with the cold eyes approached, his footsteps echoing on the hard floor. He had become a constant in your world, his presence as regular as the pain he inflicted. 

“You’re still with us, I see,” he remarked, his tone as detached as ever. He moved closer, inspecting the restraints that held you down. “Most impressive.”

You didn’t respond. You hadn’t spoken in days—there was nothing left to say. Every word, every plea had fallen on deaf ears. You had learned long ago that silence was your only companion in this hell.

“Her vitals are stronger,” a technician noted, glancing at the monitors that tracked your every heartbeat. “We’ve noticed a significant increase in her strength and resilience. The serum seems to be taking effect.”

The man nodded, though there was no satisfaction in his expression. “Eighty days,” he mused, as if talking to himself. “Eighty days, and you’re still here. Stronger, faster… more than we ever anticipated.”

He turned his gaze to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But are you in control, I wonder? Or has the serum taken control of you?”

His words hung in the air, but you didn’t flinch. The battle for control was something you fought every day, every hour. The serum coursing through your veins had changed you in ways you couldn’t fully understand yet, but you were still you—or so you told yourself.

“Let’s see if we can push it further,” he said, signaling to the technician.

The restraints were released, and you felt the cold metal slide away from your wrists and ankles. You didn’t move, not yet. You had learned to conserve your strength, to hold back until the moment was right.

“Sit up,” he commanded.

You obeyed, slowly raising yourself into a seated position. Your movements were deliberate, controlled. You could feel the power coursing through your body, every muscle coiled with potential energy, but you kept it in check.

The man stepped back, giving you space, watching you closely. “Stand.”

You slid off the table, your bare feet touching the cold floor. You stood, swaying slightly as the blood rushed to your head. But you remained upright, your gaze locked on the man who had been your tormentor for nearly three months.

“Walk,” he ordered, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

You took a step forward, then another. Your legs were shaky at first, but you quickly found your balance. Each movement felt strange, foreign, as if you were inhabiting a body that wasn’t entirely your own. But you continued, step after step, until you were standing directly in front of him.

“Good,” he said, nodding approvingly. “Very good.”

He reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. The touch was light, almost gentle, but you could sense the underlying threat in it. “Now, let’s see just how far we can take this.”

You didn’t react as he motioned for the guards to step forward, their weapons at the ready. You knew what was coming next. This was another test, another attempt to push you beyond your limits.

The guards surrounded you, their faces expressionless, their grips tight on their weapons. The man gave a slight nod, and they moved as one, striking out at you with calculated precision.

But this time, you were ready. The serum had done its work. You were faster, stronger, and as their blows came toward you, you reacted with a speed that surprised even you. You deflected the first strike with ease, the second with even greater efficiency. Your movements were fluid, instinctual, a dance of power and precision.

Within moments, the guards were on the ground, groaning in pain, their weapons scattered across the floor. You stood over them, breathing heavily, your heart pounding with adrenaline. The power surging through you was intoxicating, overwhelming, but you were in control. For now.

The man watched you with a hint of something in his eyes—respect, maybe, or perhaps something more sinister.

“Yes,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

You stood there, the blood rushing in your ears, your body alive with the thrill of what you had just done. But beneath it all, there was a gnawing sense of unease. You had changed, become something different, something more. But at what cost?

As the guards were dragged away, the man turned to you once more. “Eighty days,” he repeated, a slight smile playing on his lips. “And now, the real work begins.”

You didn’t respond. You had nothing left to say. The battle was far from over, and as you looked into the cold, calculating eyes of your captor, you knew that whatever came next would push you even further into the darkness.

But you were ready. Because after eighty days of hell, you had learned one thing—you would survive, no matter what.

DAY 100

The pain had reached a point where it was almost surreal, as if your mind had detached itself from your body to protect what was left of your sanity. You lay strapped to the cold metal table, your skin clammy, your breaths shallow. The serum that had been forced into your veins was taking its final toll. Your vision blurred, the edges of your world darkening as you teetered on the brink of consciousness.

The man with the cold eyes stood over you, his expression hard as he watched the monitors tracking your vitals. He had been relentless, pushing the experiments further each day, determined to force the serum to work. But today, something was different. The lines on the monitor were becoming erratic, your heart rate spiking and dipping unpredictably.

"Her vitals are deteriorating rapidly," a technician warned, his voice tinged with anxiety. "She's not stabilizing. We should stop."

The man clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "We’re too close. Increase the dosage."

"But sir, she won't survive—"

"Do it!" he barked, cutting off the protest.The technician hesitated for a moment before injecting you with another dose of the glowing serum. The liquid fire surged through your veins, and the world around you exploded into pain once again. But this time, it was different—this time, your body couldn’t take it.

You convulsed violently on the table, the restraints digging into your skin as your body fought a losing battle. Your vision darkened further, the room around you fading into an indistinct blur. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, a desperate rhythm that couldn’t keep pace with the assault on your system.

And then, it stopped. The world around you went silent. your life flashed before your eyes, beginning with the warmth of your childhood—the comforting embrace of your mother as she read you stories at night, the sound of her laughter filling your small apartment in Brooklyn. You remembered the day you met Steve, the shy, awkward boy who had tripped over his own feet trying to impress you, and Bucky’s teasing grin as he nudged Steve forward, encouraging him to finally ask you out. There were memories of long summer days spent in the park, the three of you inseparable, sharing ice cream and dreams of the future.

But then, the memories shifted. The warmth drained away as you saw Steve walking away from you, his back turned, his footsteps echoing in the empty space between you. . .

“Dispose of the body.”

× × × ×

D - 100

When you woke up this time, you weren’t in the cold, sterile room. Instead, you were lying in an alley, discarded like trash. The hard, wet pavement was unforgiving against your body, and the chill in the air bit through your clothes. You don’t know what day or even month it was.

Your once neat and tidy outfit was now torn and filthy, covered in grime and dirt from the alleyway. The lavender shirtwaist dress you had worn so proudly earlier was now barely recognizable, stained with mud and who knows what else.

Your hair, once carefully styled, was now a tangled mess, strands sticking to your face, damp with sweat and the moisture of the night. You could feel the grit and dirt under your nails, the remnants of your struggle to free yourself from whatever hellish place you had been held. Your hands were scraped and raw, the skin broken and bleeding in places.

Your face felt gritty, as if you’d been dragged through the dirt. As you lifted a hand to touch your cheek, you could feel the rough texture of dried blood and dirt clinging to your skin. Your body aches all over, every muscle sore from the strain of whatever had been done to you. The cold dusk air bit into your exposed skin, making you shiver as you struggled to push yourself up from the ground.

The street was dimly lit, the sound of distant traffic the only sign of life around you. The once-familiar streets of Brooklyn now felt alien and hostile, and in your current state, you felt like a ghost haunting the city you once knew.

You stood there, shivering and alone, the reality of your situation sank in. Whoever had taken you had done something to you—something that had changed you. But they had deemed you a failure, or perhaps an afterthought, and simply left you to fend for yourself.

You felt stronger, different, but the overwhelming sense of abandonment weighed heavily on your heart. You looked down at your hands, trembling as you tried to comprehend what had happened to you.

Just as you began to move, your disheveled appearance caught the attention of a group of men lurking in the shadows. They saw an easy target—someone weak, vulnerable, alone. Their eyes locked onto you, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you like a predator sizing up its prey. But they had no idea what they were about to face.

“Hey, look what we got here,” one of them called out, his voice dripping with malice. He stepped forward, a smirk spreading across his face as he took in your bedraggled state. “You look like you’ve had a rough night, sweetheart.”

Another man snickered, his eyes narrowing as he moved to block your path. “Where you headed in such a hurry? We could keep you company.”

The men began to circle you, cutting off any chance of escape. Their leers and mocking laughter echoed off the walls of the alley, making your skin crawl. You backed away, your heart racing, but they kept closing in, their intent all too clear.

One of them reached out to grab your arm, but before his hand could make contact, something snapped inside you. The fear that had gripped you earlier was replaced by a cold, detached resolve. 

With a sudden burst of strength, you lashed out, your fist connecting with the man’s jaw. The impact sent him reeling backward, blood spurting from his mouth. He stumbled, crashing into a pile of trash cans with a loud clatter, his smug expression replaced by shock.

The other men hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized you were not the helpless victim they had assumed. But their hesitation quickly turned to anger, and they surged forward, determined to make you pay for their friend’s humiliation.

But they didn’t stand a chance.

With a newfound power surging through your veins, you moved like a force of nature. You dodged their clumsy attempts to grab you, your movements fluid and precise. Every strike you landed sent them staggering back, their groans of pain filling the air.

One man lunged at you, his hands reaching for your throat, but you ducked under his grasp, spinning on your heel to deliver a powerful kick to his midsection. The force of the blow knocked the wind out of him, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.

Another man tried to grab you from behind, but you twisted out of his grip, your elbow slamming into his ribs with a sickening crack. He howled in pain, clutching his side as he fell to his knees.

The last man standing looked at you with wide, fearful eyes, his confidence shattered. “What the hell are you?” he stammered, backing away.

You stared at him, feeling that cold detachment settle over you once more. “Someone you should never have messed with,” you replied, your voice calm and steady.

Without another word, you stepped forward and struck him with a swift, powerful punch. He didn’t have time to react before he was sent crashing to the ground, unconscious.

As you stood there, surrounded by the groaning forms of the men who had tried to attack you, the reality of what you had just done began to sink in. You had taken them down with ease, without even thinking. The fear that had gripped you earlier was gone, replaced by something else—something darker, more dangerous.

You looked down at your hands, trembling slightly as you tried to process what had just happened. They were bruised and dirty, knuckles bloodied from the fight, but they were steady, powerful. You weren’t the same person who had been taken from the streets and subjected to whatever hellish experiment had been done to you.

You were stronger now, and that strength came with a cold, hard edge that scared you as much as it empowered you.

But there was no time to dwell on it. You needed to get out of there, to find somewhere safe where you could figure out what had been done to you. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before you began to walk away from the alley, leaving the men behind.

As you disappeared into the early morning light, the realization that you were truly alone settled in your heart. You had been discarded, left to fend for yourself. But you would survive this. You would become stronger, faster, more powerful than anyone who had ever underestimated you.

And if Steve had truly discarded you as well, if he had moved on and left you behind, then you would prove that you didn’t need him—or anyone else.

By the time the sun began to rise, you were no longer the same person who had waited at that restaurant, hoping for a fresh start. The flame that once burned brightly for Steve had turned to cold, hardened embers.

You vowed never to let anyone discard you again.

.

.

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.

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.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you trudged through the streets, your skin a canvas of bruises and cuts, each one a testament to the brutality you had endured. The world around you seemed surreal, almost detached, as if you were walking through a twisted dream. 

People noticed you—how could they not? Their eyes lingered a fraction too long before they darted away, some filled with pity, others with fear or disgust. Concerned mothers pulled their children closer, shielding them from the sight of you as if you were a monster, something to be feared and avoided. Whispers followed you like a shadow, just out of earshot but thick with judgment, dripping with the cruelty of strangers who saw only the surface.

No one approached you. No one dared. The stares didn’t bother you. In fact, you welcomed them. Let them look, let them fear. You would not be pitied. You would not be scorned. If the world wanted to see you as a monster—then so be it. 

As you walked, a familiar part of town began to come into view. You knew these streets well, every crack in the sidewalk, every faded storefront. It had been a place of comfort, of familiarity—but now it felt foreign, like you were an intruder in a place that no longer belonged to you.

Then, through the blur of people, you saw her. Your mother. She stood on the corner, frantically handing out pieces of paper with your picture on them, her eyes scanning every face that passed by, desperate and searching

When her gaze landed on you, her expression shifted—first to shock, then to fear, relief, and heartbreak that hit you like a punch to the gut. Your heart clenched, a pang of pity slicing through the wall you’d built around yourself. You had steeled yourself against so much, but seeing her there, so fragile, so broken, was almost too much to bear.

“M-Mom?” Your voice cracked, a betrayal of the emotions you fought so hard to suppress. For a split second, you felt like yourself again, but then that cold voice in your head reminded you: no tears, no weakness.

She rushed toward you, disbelief widening her eyes, her hand trembling as she covered her mouth in shock.

“Y/N? Is that you?” she gasped, her voice trembling.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to speak as she reached out to you. Her hands, trembling, cupped your face, her touch so familiar yet so foreign. Tears welled in her eyes as she took in your appearance.

“What… what happened to you?” she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

The tears in her eyes reflected the pain you had tried so hard to bury. But you couldn’t let it out—not now. Not after everything.

“I’m fine,” you managed to say, though the words felt hollow. You pulled away from her touch, the warmth of it almost too painful to bear.

“No, you’re not,” she insisted, her voice shaking as she looked you up and down, trying to understand what had happened to her daughter. “Who did this to you? Where have you been?”

You shook your head, the emotions churning inside you too chaotic to form into coherent thoughts.

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied, your voice colder than you intended. “I just need to go home.”

Your mother’s brow furrowed, as she looked at you with a mother’s instinctive fear. “No, we need to take you to the hospital. You need to be checked out, Y/N. You’re hurt—”

“No!” you snapped, the force of your voice startling both of you, desperation in your tone, “No hospitals, no police report.”

“Y/N, please. You need help. We have to tell someone—”

Help? No one helped. 

“I said no!” you repeated, your voice trembling with an intensity that silenced her. “They won’t help. They’ll just ask questions, questions I can’t answer. They won’t understand, Mom. No one will.”

“But, Y/N—”

“I don’t need a doctor. I don’t need the police. I just need to go home. Please, Mom… just take me home.” Your breath came faster, panic rising in your chest as the thought of being in a hospital, of facing the police and their endless probing, became unbearable. 

Her face crumpled with worry, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she wrapped her arms around you, holding you tightly as if trying to shield you from whatever had hurt you. 

Slowly, she nodded, though her worry was still palpable. “Okay. Okay, we’ll go home. But promise me… promise me that if you need help, you’ll let me know. Just… don’t shut me out.”

You nodded, but the motion felt distant, like it didn’t quite belong to you. “I promise,” you whispered, though even as the words left your mouth, they felt empty, a hollow reassurance to ease her fears.

× × × × 

The rain poured down like icy needles, but you barely felt it through your black raincoat. Across the street, through the glowing window, Steve and Peggy danced together, they danced together like a well-rehearsed melody, a song you had once known by heart but now could only hear as a distant echo. Their connection was a knife, twisting in the hollowed-out space where your heart used to be.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms as you stood there, seething. Every drop of rain that pelted against your coat felt like a reminder of the cold, hard truth—you had been replaced. Forgotten. Left to rot in the streets while he found comfort in another’s arms.

Your anger simmered, bubbling up from the depths of your chest. You had been willing to fight for him, to stand by his side no matter what. But what had that loyalty gotten you? Abandonment. Betrayal? And now, as you watched them dance, that anger solidified into something colder, harder.

“Y/L/N.” a deep commanding voice called your name.

Two officials stood in the shadows, their presence barely registering as you finally tore your gaze away from the window. They weren’t there for the party—they were there for you. Without a word, you pushed past them and joined their side.

[ms-demeanor]

Hi! You’re in the LA area, right? I hope you and your family are okay.

Unrelatedly, I ran across a thread on Mastodon about Proton Mail, which I think you’ve talked about before, and was curious what you make of it / how credible it is: https://code4lib.social/@inthehands@hachyderm.io/113838748729664639

I'm fine thanks! Worried about some friends but I'm good.

I think that thread is not incorrect, but is also bullshit.

Email protocols do not allow for 100% anonymous communication and never will, when Proton was subpoenaed for user data that ended up with some French climate activists getting prosecuted they were transparent about what was requested and updated their logging rules to store less data. *Starting* from the assumption that protonmail is supposed to be totally secure OR sells itself as totally secure is disingenuous.

The great thing about open source software is that you never have to trust a shithead CEO when they talk about what the software does. I get why people are angry at the CEO (I think the CEO is at least half wrong in that he is claiming that Republicans will challenge monopolies, but he's not wrong about the destructive corporatism of the Democratic party even if he is *in essence* wrong about which party is more likely to gesture in the direction of breaking up tech monopolies) but A) the thread says that proton's software is "opaque" and it just. Literally is not. and B) that thread links to another thread talking about how what proton is selling is trust and nope. They don't have to sell trust; you can see what their software does if you choose to investigate it, there's no need for trust when you can verify. What they're selling is transparency and from where i'm standing they are indeed quite transparent.

God. Imagine thinking that a zero trust service is selling trust.

So I think the argument that "protonmail actually isn't as secure as it claims" is bullshit that people bring up whenever they're mad at the company (whether they have legitimate reasons to be mad at the company or not).

For the record: you should never, ever, EVER treat email as a secret. Nothing you do over email is really secret because *the rules that allow email to function as a service* require at least some very sensitive information to be an open part of the protocol.

The Proton page on end to end encryption is *very* clear that it is the contents of your email messages that are encrypted, not your email as a whole, and in the image they use to illustrate this the parts of your email that *cannot* be made private (sender, recipient, subject line, time sent) are shown unencrypted:

They're not subtle about letting people know this. Nor are they quiet about the fact that replies to encrypted emails are not encrypted by default.

So the thread is *technically* correct in that all the security "holes" described reflect reality, but it's correct like saying "McDonald's says that you can eat their food for every meal and you'll put on ten pounds of muscle but ACTUALLY putting on ten pounds of muscle requires a huge amount of dedication and a very careful diet and a lot of resistance exercise" - like, I guess yeah that's what you have to do to put on ten pounds of muscle but where exactly was McDonald's making that claim? Did they actually make that claim or are general statements like "I'm Lovin' It" being misinterpreted in bad faith by people on the internet who are mad at something a CEO did?

So. Like. Yeah the CEO is being a shithead, the social media team made a pretty bad fuckup by doubling down on his shitheadery, the product still works as described, AND the thread discussing all of that is deeply annoying.

So.

I think this thread actually does a great job of explaining why I've never seen a "hackers for social justice" group that has lasted. This reminds me a LOT of when someone tried to say that you shouldn't use firefox because the former CEO was a homophobe. There are a lot of deeply shitty people who have made important contributions to our tech ecosystem and if we threw the baby out with the bathwater every time Notch from Minecraft ended up being Notch from minecraft you'd lock yourself out of a lot of really important tools. And this isn't the same as "buying harry potter merch funds transphobia" because it literally doesn't; especially with open source tools you can continue using the software and cheerfully hate the CEO because A) fuck that guy and B) what the fuck are you going to do about it, guy, this shit's encrypted.

I don't want to get too deeply into a discussion about what is or is not cancel culture, but what I'm seeing in that thread (and what I see coming up every time someone brings up the "But the French Climate Activists!" thing) is an attempt to prioritize political alignment over real-world utility. It's attempting to cancel a *genuinely useful tool* because someone involved in the development is an asshole.

By all means, don't give protonmail money if the CEO's trump-positive comments make you feel unsafe.

However: What service are you going to use that is as accessible and as secure to ensure that you actually *are* safe? There are alternatives out there. Do they actually do more than proton? Are they easier to use? Are they open source? One of the responses to that thread was "yeah, that dude seems shitty; i'd switch to another service if there was another one that I felt was as secure" and that's pretty much what I think the correct attitude is. (If you really, really still want to switch, Tuta has been the broadly recommended alternative to protonmail for years but at this point Proton has a suite of services that some users would need to replace, not just email)

IDK i think shit like this contributes to a lot of the bad kind of security nihilism where people are like "oh no, things will never be secure and even my scrappy little open source product is headed by an asshole, i may as well use google because everything sucks" when they should have the good kind of nihilism which is like "man, there are a lot of assholes out there and they're never going to stop being assholes; i'd better take proactive steps to act like the people who make tech stuff are assholes and operate from a better base of security at the start"

so the takeaways are:

Proton never claimed that anything but the message contents of your e2e encrypted messages are encrypted; as far as these things go, they do a pretty good job of being both secure and easy to use compared to other offerings.

Yeah the CEO is being kind of a shithead and I'm not a huge fan of that.

If you think the CEO is being a shithead and don't want to give the company your money, don't pay for their services, but the CEO being a shithead doesn't actually mean you can't trust their services; their services are literally built on zero trust, if the CEO literally wanted to hunt you down personally he wouldn't be any more able to decrypt your emails than he was before and he wouldn't be any more likely to respond to a subpoena than he was before (proton does respond to subpoenas when required but not otherwise; they've been compelled to produce more data in the last decade than before because law enforcement finally realized who they needed to yell at - one of the bigger issues here is the Swiss courts being more willing to grant subpoenas to international complainants than they were before)

The reason we don't go see hogwarts movies is because doing so gives JK money and that does actual real world harm; using firefox does not have an impact on Brendan Eich's ability to materially change the world. It is very weird that we're in a place where we're treating *open source encryption software that is simple enough for your grandma to use it* as though it is Orson Scott Card.

Sorry i'm still stuck on people thinking that proton, famously open source, is opaque, and that an encryption service with zero trust architecture is selling trust.

Anyway if you've ever got questions about security/privacy/whatever services privacyguides.org is a very reliable source.

OH I FIGURED OUT WHAT WAS BUGGING ME

There are a bunch of people discussing this talking about how the CEO's social media is what has made them feel unsafe and I'm going to be a dick here and say that facts don't care about your feelings.

The CEO saying stupid shit doesn't actually make you unsafe in a situation like this; if the CEO was a violent transphobe or aggressive racist or horribly misogynist that wouldn't actually make any of the users of the product less safe. That's why the SJ hacker stuff I've seen hasn't had much staying power; I think that groups that focus on making people feel included and welcome and safe to be themself within the group run into really big problems when there's a conflict between people in the group FEELING unsafe because of (genuinely important in many ways) cultural signifiers like political alignment and so in order to accommodate that feeling they end up doing things (like some kinds of collaboration/accountability practices, abandoning useful tools, WAY too much personal transparency and radical vulnerability for people who are doing crime shit) that ACTUALLY make them less safe.

The CEO being a shithead may make you feel bad, but moving to a less secure platform may actually be dangerous. One of these things can have a big impact on your life, and it is not the one that is happening on twitter.

Anyway. Email is inherently insecure and if you want a secure messaging tool use Signal.

If you are doing crime shit don't talk about it on the internet and DEFINITELY don't talk about it in any kind of unencrypted platform.

If you are a French climate activist who would like to not get arrested if Tuta gets a subpoena for data, use the email service in concert with tor and be cautious about senders/receivers and subject lines.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Hey I was wondering would it be possible to do the dorm leaders with an s/o that suffers from Essential tremor.

And Essential Tremors is a nervous system condition, also known as a neurological condition, that causes involuntary and rhythmic shaking. It can affect almost any part of the body, but the trembling occurs most often in the hands, especially when doing simple tasks, such as drinking from a glass or tying shoelaces.

I have it and I was just wondering how they would deal or help with it

Disabled Yuu

I actually know a bit abt this but I did keep it vague as I don't have it myself. I also hope to do more disabled ayuus fr. I made Yuu assertive and exasperated in some parts– like Honestly if ur being an ass or demanding info abt someone's disability you have full right to return the energy.

I avoided the whole fixing thing in this too– though Azul’s part does bring it up. Platonic as I focused more on the hand aspect. Azul is Pre Overblot!! Hence why hes 2x as sleazy. I didn't Malleus cause it came out corny af. Also this is old and I wrote this on no sleep. Sorry this took so long I have like 70 reqs. Enjoy.

***

Riddle 

Since the first Unbirthday party you shared with Heartstabyul he got educated very quickly on the subject. He sees you shakily bring a cup to your lips and guiltily assumes it was because of his overblot. He doesn't blame you, I mean come on, he tried to kill you after all. It was then you explained to him your condition

Since then, he actually read up on it in his own time. He's honestly one of your biggest supporters– though you do need to remind him at times you don't need coddling. Still, you can appreciate it…

“Prefect.” You pause and turn your attention to the housewarden beside you. “Your tie is unkempt today. Will you allow me to fix it?” He asks thoughtfully, not wanting to intrude or risk coming off as rude.

“Ah, can you really? I'd appreciate it.” You presented your neck to Riddle, allowing him to reach over and adjust for you. His gaze was focused as he untied it, re-wrapping it with perfection as if it were second nature. Given his upbringing, you don't doubt it is.

“Thank you by the way, today I just didn't have the energy to deal with it.” When he's finished you pull away and nod at him. “Of course. Should you ever need help with anything in the future let me know. I'll be glad to help.”

Leona

Leona doesn't notice and doesn't really care. It's only when you share a room with him where he sees it, watching you tremble from where you lay. You have a blanket and the dorm is warm.  Why are you shaking?

“Look at you trembling in the lion's den. Do I scare you that much?” He quirked an uninterested brow at you as you turned your head to him.

“... It's a neurological condition…” You spoke bluntly, hoping that would be the end of it. “So it causes you to tremble like this?” 

“Yeah pretty much.” Leona merely hummed, and the subject dropped. No invasive questions. No taunts. No pity.

He's not mothering you or bending over backwards in the future and don't expect him to. It's clear you've been able to handle yourself well enough. Still, he takes it into consideration. He'll bite his tongue when you take a bit longer to do things.

You don't need to be babied, but when he sees you struggling to open a wrapper of some sort of a candy he offers his hand “Give it here. I'll help you out” You wordlessly handed over the candy and watched him slice through it with the claw on his thumb.

“Tch. You make me do too much…” It's an insincere remark as he hands off the candy bar and continues on his way.

Azul

“... I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly Azul, can you repeat what You said?”

“Cant believe your ears?” Azul wore a smirk as he put a hand on his chest, speaking once more with his confident tone. “The Mostro Lounge has quite a special deal just for you, dear Prefect! A special cure to your ailmen–”

“That's what I thought you said.” Azul paused for a moment taking in your annoyed tone. Did he miscalculate? “Something the matter Prefect–”

“Azul.” You now looked at him with a cold glare, clearly pissed. Azul swallowed, steeling his anxiety behind his businessman persona though the slight widening of his eyes gave away some of his true emotions. “... Yes, Prefect?”

“Why the fuck do you think saying that is okay?” You couldn't tell right now if your hands were trembling from your condition or rage. “Are you dense?” you ask, voice harsher.

“N-no, Prefect. I'm sorry if anything I said has caused you offense…” The deepened glare silenced him. “Think for a moment the implications of you wanting to cure me, and even if I did accept then what? You'd seriously hold something as sensitive as this over my head? Would you even be able to cure it long term?”

How badly you wanted to tear him a new one and let him have it, insults resting on your tongue. Instead, you sighed, exhausted from this conversation already. It wasn't worth your time.

“I'm not some ‘charity’ case though I doubt you know the meaning of the word. I don't need your ‘cures’. Just… leave me alone from now on. Don't talk to me, don't approach me.” you turned away and sped off, more frustrated than ever.

It would take until after his overblot for an apology.

Kalim 

Oh Kalim… he really does mean well but…

“And this spoon is designed for shaky hands!”

“I don't need…”

“And these are silk ribbons you wrap them with!”

“Thank you but–”

“And these magical devices are to help check blood pressure–”

“Kalim.”

Kalim blinked and tilted his head, still in the middle of putting the excessive amount of gifts into your hands “Ah?” He blinked for a moment. “Ohhh I know that tone, that's the same one Jamil uses when he tells me I go overboard…”

Kalim's brows knit together and he rubs his head through his white hair. “Did I go overboard again?” He's so genuine it's hard to be mad at him.

“... A little. Hey‐” You hold Kalim's face and pat him on the head. “Thank you though. It's very sweet of you to look out for me, but… I don't need all of these things. I'll be alright okay?”

“Oh! Okay! Well if you ever need anything I'm here!” Kalim pumps his fist then turns to the massive pile of boxes behind him. “So um… what should I do with these…?”

"Donate them maybe?”

Vil

Another example of doesn't really care. He inquired about it once, asked some polite questions and left it at that. There's no need for him to bother you.

When the VCD tournament comes around and he spends more time with you, he takes note of how it affects you. Many expect him to make comments or give you products to take care of your hands more, and he does, however he would have done that regardless of your condition.

Your disability doesn't define you and you're capable on your own. You don't need an able-bodied outsider to tell you what to do or how to feel. A really good ally. 

As he collects all the data on how your condition affects you specially, he's able to give you some welcome help. 

“This potion is good at helping with seizures, but it can also help with your Tremors. I will show you how to make it.”

Idia 

“So your hands can't stay still? Oof, bad RNG.” He immediately realizes he used video game terms out loud and dies just a bit. 

Really it's only Ortho that inquires about it. Your body's not any of Idia's business so why should he care? After all, how many times has he seen you irl? Yeah lol, he's cool. He barely knows you aside from a few random encounters on a bad roll. 

However Ortho cares. He cares a lot. And he's always trying to find ways to potentially help or cure you. Idia watches his little brother researching every book he can find on your condition and sighs.

“There's no cure right now Ortho. now even magic. Besides that's Yuu’s choice, isn't it?” He shrugs and looks off to the side apathetically. 

Sad beeps come from the humanoid. “Yeah I know that… I think I upset them but I didn't mean to…” The child's mournful expression suddenly perks up. 

“But! I'm not trying to do that! I'm researching the best way to make a game controller!” 

“A game controller? Isn't that pretty easy?”

“Well yes but…” Ortho pauses, reflecting on his earlier conversation.  “I asked Yuu if they enjoyed any video games and they said that they do. However, it's hard to play certain games because of their hands. So!”

Ortho shows Idia the 3d model he sculpted in his program. “I'm working on one that will work for them.”

“Working on one that works for them…” Idia looked to the side. He couldn't imagine a world without video games… and he doesn't have much to do… and he supposed the Prefect is okay…

“Send the file to me. I'll get to printing it.”

[marimoscorner]

Consumerism & Witchcraft

Written by Marimo (he/they)🌿

I’ve seen a turn for the better in some witchy spaces regarding consumerism in the past few years, but overall it still tends to be an issue for us as a community. I’ve decided to try and breakdown the pitfalls I’ve noticed in my own journey, in the hopes that it will inspire and assist others. I’ve also provided alternatives and ideas on how to make small changes in our practice to help us better protect the Earth, stick it to the failing system and still acquire our bits and bobs we love so dearly.

As always, I am no authority on any subject nor am I perfect—but we’re all learning as we go, so let’s dive right in 🌿

A Preface

There are some things that should be made entirely clear before we begin:

You are not a bad person for wanting an aesthetic

You are not a bad person for unknowingly falling into pitfalls. Only if you continue to purposefully do so after knowing better

You are not a bad person for consuming content/objects or for not always making the most sustainable decisions. At the end of the day, we can only control our small part of environmental impact, while the rest is left up to the major corporations that make more pollution than any of us ever will

You are only human. Show yourself some grace and understanding that the internet so lacks.

My Experience in Consumerist Hell

I have fallen victim many times to consumerism in witchcraft. Starting my journey at the ripe age of about ten years old and heavily in the broom closet, I was quickly drawn in by the shiny rocks, the brand new candles and scents, the promise of new tarot decks and pendulums and other fancy, shiny new equipment. I was consuming an online aesthetic along with my ideals, and it distracted me from starting my journey by learning well.

I began to spend my birthday and holiday money on the aesthetic of things. While, granted, I still did buy a few literary resources now and again from my local secondhand bookstore—I was stubbornly ignoring the sage advice to learn and understand first before diving in headfirst.

I purchased statues, crystals, too many tarot decks to use. I purchased osteomancy bones I later returned to the earth, for I had not done enough research to know that that animal was mine to practice with. I had a tankard full of incense sticks, and even a growing pile of books that would not be read. While I liked to consider myself crafty with my homemade Maypole and various hand-bound Grimoires, something was becoming apparent: this was all a distraction.

The aesthetic I was partaking in was providing me with a false sense of progress and practicality.

When I’d go to do a tarot reading, I’d become far too overwhelmed with choosing a deck to read in the first place. When making an offering to a deity, I’d feel pressured to also bolster the altars of all the other deities I’d set up, and with my wide pool, the connections felt muddy. Often times I’d be off-put on a project or spell because I knew I needed to film it and it needed to look nice.

In the long term, I don’t have many of these items today. I’ve sold and donated a vast breadth of them. Feeling overwhelmed costed me a few years retreat from my craft to recuperate. However, what has stuck with me is the knowledge I picked up along the way.

So, What’s the Issue? TL;DR

I’ve noticed a few issues here in making these mistakes myself.

Consumerism absolutely distracts you from learning and your craft

Overconsumption leads to environmental damage. If everyone hoarded supplies, there would not be enough to go around. And with what gets thrown away every year…it paints an ugly wound on the Earth

We damage our learning abilities by not allowing ourselves to be anything less than perfect

The need for aesthetic creates barriers to entry within the community and creates a divide of haves and have-nots

You won’t be able to truly follow your individual path if you are only consuming and not creating for yourself

Consumerist culture promotes appropriation. Metaphysical stores carry items from closed practices (such as white sage and palo santo, or coyote bones) because someone is buying them. Don’t be that person, and find alternatives relating to your own culture instead

Consumerism can influence your spiritual decisions based upon monetary inclinations (where some may sacrifice a quality ingredient over a higher quantity of a lower quality ingredient)

So, what can we do?

Firstly, I want to clarify that I am not against collecting, nor am I against maximalism or the beautiful visual aesthetic we carry as a community.

I am an artist a very visual person and understand the longing for a beautiful home and workspace. However, this aesthetic shouldn’t come at the cost of irresponsibly harming the Earth or another community.

Thus, I’ve compiled a list of small things that I will be incorporating into my practice to make it more mindful and sustainable. I hope that you’ll join me in a few of them.

Minimize Supplies. While I used to have a huge selection of stationary for my Grimoire, I now limit myself to a simple pencil and watercolor set if I’m feeling artistic. This helps me actually use my Grimoire for study, rather than to keep perfect. It’s also friendlier on my wallet!

Thrift Supplies. There are plenty of perfectly good items that get donated daily. You can get high-quality candles and holders, old crystal bowls for altar offerings, spare crafting supplies, fabric for alter cloths and even clothing if you so wish—all for a fraction of the cost new and while saving the planet just a little bit more. Hell, you can sometimes even find good silver!

Share Supplies with your Community. You can create a sort of barter system with other witches in your area. Perhaps you create a sigil for them, and they provide you with a candle spell. Play to your strengths and grow together!

Look for Creative Outlets. Do you really need to go buy an altar statue that’s been mass-produced? Or can you give your deity the personal gift of a drawing, painting or even hand-modeled or hand-carved rendition? This will also deepen your connection to your craft and your magic, and make it more meaningful and stronger. If you really like something, though, go for it!

If you aren’t the artistic sort, consider supporting an artist before going to a large company. While I haven’t purchased from them myself, Blagowood on Etsy has beautiful deity statues carved from wood by their small team in Ukraine for a comparable cost to the standard mass produced metal statues. I consider this extra labor of love going into these pieces and those of similar small companies to be much better energy for my practice. I myself may put out some art prints and other handmade supplies in the future, but I will likely spread them around my community first.

Try Secondhand Books. While not available in every area and further still not as available for witchcraft and occult books, you may strike luck! Not only are secondhand books less expensive, but you’ll be supporting a local business. That’s not to say you can’t buy firsthand books, but some searching around may be beneficial to the earth and to your wallet in the long run.

Be mindful of where you source supplies and decor. If you are a fan of taxidermy decor, make sure that you source cruelty free. Bats can practically never be sourced without cruelty, so if a shop carries them, I’d be mindful of their other specimens. The same goes for if a shop decides to forgo a culture’s wishes and carry supplies sacred to them, such as white sage or dreamcatchers. Supporting folks who turn a profit off of others’ suffering is not something many would wish to include energetically in their craft.

Search the Wild for Tools. Find sticks, flowers and other plants out in the forest. Learn how to rockhound in your area for crystals. Your craft will be more powerful the more connected it is to the land you are surrounded by. Be sure to reference guides for safety and legality!

Get Creative with Purposes. If you are having difficulty finding exactly what you need by thrifting or searching, make another tool multipurpose if it would do the job good enough. Find supplies that are easy to source and work as substitutes for other ingredients (ex. Quartz as a stand in for other stones)

Spend more time Doing. Go out into the woods (safely) and advance your connection to the earth instead of worrying over the perfect item for your collection. Your craft will benefit

At the end of the day, all of this is your decision. Take what you like, and leave what you don’t. Even if we don’t agree, I thank you for your time and open mind. I will continue updating about how I incorporate these steps, and I will also hopefully post more on witchy crafting in the future.

I wish you well, and hope you’ll decide to follow along on our journey!

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hiiii!!! Babes wow I’m so IN LOVE with the way you write soft Miguel!!! It’s the cutest effing shiz 🥹 I go very weak in the knees for a big grumpy indifferent man that is so dang painfully soft for their girl it’s such a huge turn on for my heart 😩 I also came to share that I’ve been imagining Miguel overhearing reader talk about how she’s never had a secret admirer and then a few days later she finds a red rose w/a lil note addressed to her. From a distance Miguel & Jess watch as she parades her lil rose around the others all smiley and Jess asks if he’s gonna tell her and he murmurs “let her have her little admirer” Like that mans got it baaad 😮‍💨

hiii!! omg stop it, that’s so fucking sweet!! thank you! and me too!! I love mean cold grumpy men that have a soft spot for their girl, like embarrassing soft and mushy for her!! it’s my weakness😩 that is the cutest idea. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

secret admirer

miguel o’hara x f reader

wc: 722

part 2 -> here

You were never usually one to receive spontaneous gifts from others, rarely one to have a secret admirer, so when you walk into your office and see a singular red rose with a small envelope attached, your stomach immediately somersaulted. 

A few days prior, you and Peter were talking about gifts and what he should get MJ for their upcoming anniversary, and then the subject of secret admirers arose. You mentioned how you've never been on the receiving end of those small romantic gestures and how you wished and hoped you could be at some point. To you, it was a simple flyaway comment, but based on Peter's solemn reaction, you couldn't help but think that he felt guilty.

You did ponder if Peter left it for you as a sympathy gift, but the red rose was a tell-tell sign that he didn't. So now, you couldn't help but wonder who gave you the flower. Who knew the passcode for your door? Who knew about your whereabouts? All these questions span in your mind as you walk into your office.

You reach for the rose, bringing the flower to your nose, softly breathing in its fragrant scent as you pick up the envelope. You place the flower down and glance around your office, looking through the windows to see if anyone's watching. Once you know it's clear, you open the paper and pull out the small note. 

' I heard you've never had a secret admirer before,

I'm glad to be your first. 

Spider-Man '

Even though it's tagged Spider-Man, it could be anyone. Literally anybody. Hundreds, if not thousands, of possibilities. But the one spider that first came to mind was Peter. You wanted to tell him about the strange coincidence and share your happiness about the situation. So you flag him down, rose and note in your hand as you search through HQ for him.

You finally spot him in the cafeteria with Jess and Miguel, talking over food and coffee. You hesitantly make your way over with a smile as you subtly wave over to him. 

"Sorry- sorry, do you mind if I borrow Peter real quick?" you ask, glancing between them all.

"Sure," Miguel softly smiles as he looks you up and down, noticing the rose in your hand. 

"Thank you, we won't be long. Hurry- come on," you say, tugging Peter's arm. 

"Alright, alright," he huffs, taking a final bite of his burger before placing it down. "What's so urgent anyway?" he grumbles, trudging after you as he adjusts Mayday in the Björn.

"You know how I mentioned the other day- about the secret admirer thing...?" you start, looking at him eagerly. "Well, look what I just found," you smile, showing off your rose and note. "I went into my office, and- and it was just sitting there, for me. A rose for me!" you excitedly gush, smiling widely. 

"No way?" he says, his joyful tone matching yours. "Let me see the note,"

As he reads through the letter, you glance around the cafeteria, your gaze honing in on Jess and Miguel, who were not so subtly staring at you. Suspicions rise when you notice them whisper to each other, heads together as if they're in cahoots.

"Hey Peter, can you do me a favour?" you ask, slyly leaning forward.

"Sure, what's up?"

"This might be really wrong, but I need you to do something for me. I need you to eavesdrop, please?" you say sweetly, hoping to mask the morally wrong favour you were asking.

"Seriously?" 

"Yes, please. And do it quick. Miguel and Jess- hurry,"

"Shut up then, so I can listen," he shushes you, chuckling.

He's quiet for a few moments, a slow smile creeping on his face as he listens in on their conversation. 

"What are they saying? Tell me," you ask, eyes keen as they dart around the room.

"I can't tell you..." he grins, shaking his head. 

"Why? Why not?" you playfully hound, gesturing with your hands. "Come on, please?"

"God, he's gonna kill me," he mutters. "All I heard was the end part... Jess said, 'Are you gonna tell her about the rose?' and then Miguel said, 'Let her have her little admirer. She needs it,' okay? That's all I heard,"

Your smile widens. 

The rose, it was from Miguel?

[onebadassunicorn]

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst, drinking, gambling, gore, blood, talk of suicide and death

word count: 2.8k

Taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @sinfully-yoursss

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Image owned by Sam Pei Arts.

********

Chapter 5

Hewn City was colder than you remembered.

Not in temperature, but in the way the shadows clung to the alleyways, in the way the people watched you from the corners of their eyes, never offering more than a hushed word or a cautious glance before they vanished into the darkness.

Finding a warlock here was proving to be harder than you had anticipated.

At first, you tried asking subtly—mentioning your interest in magic, in curses, in severing things. But the moment the words left your lips, people shut down. Some scoffed and walked away, others looked at you like you were insane, and a few, the older ones, whispered warnings under their breath, urging you to leave it alone.

But you couldn’t leave it alone.

You searched for days, scouring the city’s seediest corners, slipping into dimly lit taverns, gambling halls, brothels—anywhere you might hear a whisper of them.

Nothing.

No one was willing to talk about a warlock, much less tell you where to find one.

It became clear that Lucien had been right—these warlocks were feared for a reason, and even in a place as dark as Hewn City, they were a subject better left unspoken.

And as the days dragged on, as each dead-end piled onto the next, something inside you began to break.

Hope—fragile and flickering—died a little more with each passing night.

You stopped looking.

And you started drinking.

At first, it was just a few glasses of wine to take the edge off, to quiet the screaming nothingness in your chest. But soon, wine turned to whiskey, whiskey turned to fire spirits, and before long, you were spending your nights in a haze, letting the burn of alcohol blur the lines of your misery.

Then came the gambling.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted to win.

You threw down coin after coin, watched the piles dwindle, watched strangers leer at you across the table, watched your life slip further and further away with every hand you lost.

And when that wasn’t enough, when even losing didn’t make you feel, you found yourself in the pleasure halls.

You let stranger's hands wander over your body, let lips trace along your skin, let warm breath ghost against your ear as faceless strangers touched you—

And you felt nothing.

Not even disgust.

Not even sadness.

Just… emptiness.

At one point, someone whispered in your ear, asking if you wanted to go somewhere more private, if you wanted to forget.

And for the briefest moment, you almost said yes.

But then—

A flicker of a memory.

Azriel’s hands, rough and reverent, tracing over your body with something like worship. Azriel’s mouth murmuring I love you against your skin, his shadows curling around you like they never wanted to let you go.

And suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

You shoved the stranger away, stumbled out of the pleasure hall, your breath ragged as you gasped for air, as the reality of what you were doing came crashing down.

You were trying to erase yourself.

Trying to drown in drink and meaningless touches because you had no other escape.

And gods help you—

You should have stayed with Lucien.

Lucien, who had held you when you broke down. Lucien, who had offered you a home, a place to heal. Lucien, who had wanted you, not as a mate, but as a friend, as someone worth keeping.

But you hadn’t wanted to burden him. Hadn’t wanted to bring him down when he was happy, when he had Vassa and Jurian and something that resembled a life.

So instead, you were here.

Drunk, alone, and more lost than you had ever been.

And now—

Now there was only one way to break the bond.

You couldn’t go back to Velaris.

You couldn’t face them, couldn’t let them see what you had become.

You couldn’t see him with Elain.

Couldn’t see the satisfaction on her face that she won.

If you couldn’t sever the bond through magic, if you couldn’t erase Azriel from your soul—

Then you would erase yourself.

*****

The air in Hewn City was thick with the stench of blood and filth as you staggered through the alley, your body barely able to hold itself upright. Your vision blurred, pain radiating through every nerve as you pressed a trembling hand to your side, feeling the warm, wet rush of blood spilling between your fingers.

The attack had been sudden—a group of males lurking in the shadows, waiting for easy prey. And you had been just that.

Weak.

Numb.

Too slow to fight back.

The first blow had sent you sprawling onto the cobblestone. The second had cracked against your ribs, sending agony splintering through your bones. Then came the dagger—sharp and cruel as it sank into your side, ripping a scream from your throat.

Now, you could barely move, could barely breathe. The world tilted, a sickening, lurching motion, and you collapsed against the wall of the alley, your knees hitting the ground hard.

This is it, you thought distantly. This is how it ends.

And a part of you—maybe the biggest part—didn’t care.

But then…

The pain was so intense, you could feel your resolve slipping. The shields you had worked so hard to fortify so that he would never feel you again were fraying.

And then in a split second, your shields cracked.

And the bond—the cursed, wretched bond—flared to life.

*****

At the House of Wind, Azriel’s world exploded.

One moment, he had been lying next to Elain, sipping the tea she had made for him, his mind a haze of exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name.

The next—

Pain.

Agony, sharp and blinding, lanced through his chest, ripping the air from his lungs. It was as if he was being stabbed by a thousand daggers over and over again. He screamed, his hands clawed at his ribs, his heart slamming against his sternum as his body lurched forward.

"No," he gasped, barely able to form the word.

He stumbled out of Elain’s room, his vision darkening at the edges as something inside him—something primal, something old—shattered.

Hearing his screm, Cassian and Rhys were already rushing toward him, their eyes wide with alarm.

"Az?" Cassian grabbed his arm, steadying him as his knees nearly buckled. "What the hell is going on?"

"She’s—" Azriel’s voice broke. His entire body shook as he clutched his chest, as he felt the unbearable pull of the bond—something he had ignored for weeks, something he had shut out—snapping back into place.

Like a blade straight to the heart.

Like lightning racing through his veins.

Like you were dying.

"She’s in danger," Azriel rasped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "She’s—" He pressed a hand over his heart, his knees nearly buckling again. "I feel her slipping away."

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look—one of shock.

Because Azriel had spent weeks acting like you didn’t exist.

Like he didn’t care.

But now—now he was standing before them, sobbing, his face contorted with pain, his hands shaking as he tried to stay upright.

"I have to go," he choked out. "I have to find her."

Elain stepped out of her room then, her brown eyes wide with concern. "Azriel," she said softly, stepping toward him. "You’re probably having an anxiety attack. Breathe. Here—sit down, drink this."

She pressed another cup of tea into his hands, and without thinking, he drank. The liquid was warm, soothing, and his heartbeat slowed slightly, the panic starting to subside.

Elain gave him a small, reassuring smile. "You should go," she said gently. "Make sure she’s okay. Maybe she just needs some help."

Azriel nodded, the pain in his chest starting to dull.

Cassian crossed his arms. "We’re coming with you."

Azriel shook his head. "No. I—" He exhaled sharply, forcing the words out. "If she sees all of us, she might panic. I need to do this alone."

Rhys frowned, studying him. "That makes zero sense. Why would she panic if she sees all of us? And, you haven't cared about her in months, Az. What the hell changed?"

Azriel didn't answer.

Because he didn't know.

So before they could stop him, he winnowed away—

Straight to Hewn City.

*****

The streets of Hewn City were darker than Azriel remembered, the shadows stretching long and jagged against the cold stone. The stench of filth and old blood clung to the alleys, the air thick with the weight of unseen eyes watching from the shadows.

He moved through the city, his pace measured, his heartbeat steady. The frantic panic that had gripped him earlier—the desperation to find you—had dulled into something else.

Something emptier.

He told himself he was here because of the bond, because something had drawn him here. But even now, as he checked every alleyway, every dead-end corner, something inside him was… quiet.

Very quiet.

He was here now more out of a sense of obligation rather than worry.

When he finally found you, lying crumpled in a dimly lit alley, he didn’t react.

His steps didn’t falter. His breath didn’t hitch.

He simply stared.

Your body was curled in on itself, your clothes torn and stained with blood and filth. The bruises along your arms, the gash in your side, the dried streaks of crimson along your face—it all told him enough.

You had died alone.

Azriel knelt beside you, his hands steady as he reached out and rolled you onto your back.

Your face was still, your skin pale beneath the dim torchlight. Your lips were slightly parted, your eyes closed as if you were simply sleeping.

But you weren’t.

He knew that the moment he felt nothing.

No pull.

No bond.

Just… absence.

Azriel exhaled slowly, shifting back onto his heels. He waited—waited for something to hit him, for the weight of your death to crash into him, for the grief to finally come.

But it didn’t.

There was no pain. No sharp, unbearable agony at the loss of a mate.

No guilt.

Only… relief.

The weight he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying was gone.

The bond was gone.

And so was its hold on him.

Azriel tilted his head, watching the way your hair fanned across the bloodstained ground, the way your fingers were curled slightly inward, as if even in death, you had been waiting for something.

Waiting for him, maybe.

He felt like he should care.

Like he should be on his knees, sobbing, mourning you.

But he didn't care.

He felt nothing.

You were gone.

And instead of breaking him, it felt like something had unshackled inside him.

Slowly, Azriel rose to his feet, his shadows curling lazily around him. He let his eyes drift over your body one last time, searching for—something.

But there was nothing.

No grief.

No sadness.

Not even anger.

Just an end.

Without another word, without another glance, Azriel turned on his heel and walked away.

He left you there, lying alone in the alley, the darkness swallowing your still form.

He didn’t bury you.

Didn’t take you back to Velaris.

Didn’t even consider it.

Because what would be the point?

It was over.

And as he stepped into the night, feeling lighter than he had in months, he realized something.

He should feel something.

But he didn’t.

And that…

That was all the confirmation he needed.

And when he reached the outskirts of the city, he winnowed away—

Straight to the House of Wind.

*****

Azriel arrived at the House of Wind with a cold clarity settling in his chest.

The weight of the bond—of you—was gone.

The moment he had turned his back on your lifeless body in that darkened alley of Hewn City, the last remnants of obligation had dissolved.

And he felt nothing.

The Inner Circle was gathered in the main hall when he winnowed in, their expressions heavy with expectation. Rhys and Cassian stood side by side, their gazes sharp and unreadable. Feyre and Mor were seated near the hearth, their eyes worried, hopeful. Amren stood off to the side, her silver eyes piercing as they tracked his every movement.

He barely hesitated before speaking.

“She’s dead.”

The words fell flat, emotionless.

A sharp, pained inhale cut through the silence—Feyre’s. Mor’s lips parted in shock, a quiet, strangled sound escaping her throat.

Cassian stiffened, his wings snapping tight behind him.

Rhys’s expression barely changed, but the room darkened, the air tightening with the force of his power.

Azriel let the silence settle, let them absorb it before he added, “And I’m relieved.”

The words echoed like a slap.

Feyre’s eyes widened, her throat bobbing as she shook her head, as if she had misheard him.

Mor stared at him like she no longer recognized the male standing before her.

Cassian took a step forward, seething, but Azriel continued before he could speak.

“I can finally be free,” he said, voice cold, final. “I can pursue Elain the way I was meant to. I plan to marry her.”

A quiet, broken sob came from Feyre, her hands clutching at her arms as she turned away, tears streaming down her face.

“You bastard,” Mor whispered, her voice shaking.

Azriel didn’t look at her.

Didn’t look at any of them.

Rhys was silent, his violet eyes glowing, his power thrumming so strongly that the very walls of the House of Wind seemed to tremble.

Cassian was not silent.

His wings flared, his hands curled into fists, his entire body radiating fury. “Where is she?” he growled.

Azriel blinked, unbothered. “Still in Hewn City.”

Feyre choked on a sob, turning fully away from him, as if she couldn’t stand to look at him.

Mor stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “You—” She cut off, shaking her head, her hands trembling. “You left her there?”

Azriel’s lips twitched into something almost bored. “What does it matter? She’s gone.”

Cassian lunged.

The first punch cracked against Azriel’s jaw, sending him stumbling back a step. He barely had time to register the pain before Cassian grabbed him by the front of his tunic and slammed him against the wall.

“You left her there?” Cassian roared, his teeth bared, his fists shaking with rage. “You left her like she was nothing more than garbage?”

Azriel didn’t struggle.

Didn’t react.

He simply looked Cassian in the eye and said, “She was a burden. I’m glad to be rid of her.”

Cassian hit him again.

The second punch was harder, a sickening crack filling the room. Blood spilled from Azriel’s lip, but he barely registered it.

Mor gasped, hands over her mouth, her eyes filled with horror.

Feyre sobbed quietly, rocking slightly where she stood, as if the pain of losing you—of losing the version of Azriel she once knew—was too much.

And Amren—

Amren stepped forward, her silver eyes flashing. “You disgust me,” she said, her voice like a blade, cold and sharp and merciless.

Azriel finally turned his gaze toward her.

“You always pretended to be the noble one,” she continued, taking another step, her fury radiating off her in waves. “The loyal one. But you are nothing. Not anymore.”

Azriel’s lips curled slightly. “And yet I still stand here.”

Amren’s power snapped, silver light flickering dangerously around her. “Not for long,” she bit out.

Rhys held up a hand to stop Amren’s incoming attack. He had remained silent up until now, his power vibrating through the room, dangerous, volatile. But as Azriel wiped the blood from his mouth, as he let out a slow exhale, Rhys finally spoke.

“Get out.”

The words were quiet.

Deadly.

Azriel tilted his head. “Rhys—”

“I said get out,” Rhys repeated, stepping forward. His violet eyes blazed with something dark, something lethal. “You are not to return until I say so.”

Azriel exhaled through his nose, glancing at the others, at Feyre’s shaking form, at Mor’s hatred, at Cassian’s barely contained rage.

And he felt… nothing.

So he straightened his tunic, wiped the last of the blood from his mouth, and winnowed away.

The silence he left behind was thick, suffocating.

Then, Rhys turned to Cassian, his voice sharp, urgent.

“We’re going to find her.”

Cassian nodded once, hard, his fists still shaking. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, Rhysand and Cassian winnowed to Hewn City.

The alley where Azriel had left you was dark, the scent of blood still lingering in the air.

But when they reached the place where your body should have been—

You were gone.

There was no sign of you, no blood, no evidence that you had ever been there.

Cassian’s wings tensed. “Who would have taken her?”

Rhys’s expression darkened, his mind already racing through possibilities. “Someone who didn’t want us to find her.”

A sharp breath.

A terrible, gut-wrenching thought.

Or someone who had saved her.

Because if you had still been alive when they had taken you—

Then that meant you were still out there.

And gods help anyone who had dared to take you, because Rhysand would not rest until he found out who.

Even if your own mate didn’t even give a damn about you anymore.

Chapter 6

[deathbxnny]

helloo, platonic ratio, aventurine and sunday with a teen!reader like mafuyu asahina?

Hello Anon! Thank you for the great request, and I'll hope you'll like this!!<33

Content: Reader is a teen, platonic relationships, mentions of potential suicidal thoughts, fluff, older brother figures hsr men, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》DR. RATIO

When he first took you under his wing as a student, he was pleased with your work ethic and especially your grades. You studied all the time, excelling in everything and any subject. But despite all of these great achievements, he still noticed a certain... emptiness to you.

It started out with him noting that you never did anything else BUT studying, which he didn't think was healthy either. After digging deeper, he found out that you once had a love for music that was stomped out by your previous caretakers. And that alone made him immideatly realise many concerning things about you that needed to be helped.

He tried his best to handle the situation with the care it needed and slowly ease you into a feeling of safety for your passions around him. He'll slowly get you back into the art of music after he got you professional help, too, by asking you to sing/play him songs whilst he worked.

》AVENTURINE

Aventurine immideatly noticed something off about you, when he took you under his wing as a little assistant. You were kind, generous and helpful on the surface, but he could feel the darkness festering under it anyways. You were good at hiding the pain, yet he knew better than to think that you could keep it up forever.

He saw a part of himself in you, when he found out that the darkness had eventually turned into a need to end it all. He understood and related, which is why he wanted to save you, if he couldn't save himself. He knew about your passions and how you had to give them up when coming to the IPC and so he decided to simply make you return to what you once were.

He took you to musicals, operas, live shows, theaters, and anything else that could potentially feature music. Aventurine somehow also figured out what instrument you used to love playing and bought you the most expensive one he could get his hands on, on top of tutoring lessons if you needed them to get back into it. He was hellbent into turning you back into you once were, before he finally says goodbye to the world himself.

》SUNDAY

Hiding any form of emotions from Sunday was absolutely impossible, something he made very clear from the beginning. He noticed the way your eyes lost their light whenever no one was around, the way you'd always give everyone painfully empty smiles. But he didn't confront you on it. Not at first, at least.

He observed you for a while instead, never really letting you out of his line of sight as he began watching the way you began dipping lower and lower mentally, the more you lost your passion for anything. When he noticed you giving up your love for music too, he decided to finally confront you. He tried to be gentle and soft-spoken, even using his abilities if he had to, to find the root of the issue.

Once he gets you the help you need, he'll make it his personal mission to also help you feel better around the estate. He'll have your favorite music playing often, make plays for you to sing in, and also ask Robin to rekindle your love for your passions. He hopes that with enough patience and care, you'll be okay again and finally live out your life like a young teen should.

Okay, I hope this was alright for you, Anon, and thank you again for your request!!<33

[beat-the-morning]

Car rapids || Hozier x reader

Kinktober: Day 3 - Quickie

prompt list

Tags: quickie, car sex, semi-public sex i guess, dom/sub undertones kinda

Summary: Things get hot while on the car with Andrew on the way to his parent’s house for dinner, unfortunately you can’t be late, so it’s time to be quick

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: idk if i did yesterday’s since im scheduling these as i finish them but i probably didn’t because i don’t like writing it. So sorry for that. Anyway hope you like this one that i wrote between 11pm and 5am but i did like it so make of that what you will. Tomorrow’s prompt is facesitting I’ll see you all there

|| 💙FULL FIC UNDER CUT💙 ||

Your hands were on the wheel, eyes focused on the road as you drove across the Irish countryside. Your boyfriend, Andrew, sat next to you, looking out the window while he hummed along to a song playing from the car speakers. You and Andrew had decided to go on a little weekend getaway to Galway, just the tiniest change of scenery since leaving Ireland was out of the question, given the dinner with his parents on Sunday, which you were driving to right now, being a bit over halfway there. For once and by powers unknown to you, you were on time, early even, maybe because you told Andrew that you were already running late when you told him to finish getting ready when you were actually not, something that, once he found out about when you were already in the car and moving, he had (jokingly) complained endlessly about for the first fifteen minutes of the journey before apologising with a kiss to your cheek and putting on some music.

As you continued to drive, Andrew’s eyes wandered from the passing views over to you, a tiny smile forming in his face as he looked you up and down, his hand moved to your thigh, squeezing it ever so slightly. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, trying your best to suppress a smile. “Andrew.” You warned him.

“Hm?” He hummed in question, fake innocence in his voice as he spoke. “What is it, baby?”

“Hands off,” you gently scolded him, “can’t focus on the road if you’re all over me.”

“It’s just a hand on your thigh, love, nothing more.” He smiled, his grip tightening a little.

“Last time you said that we ended up having a pregnancy scare.” You reminded him.

“You’re the one that told me to finish inside when I wasn’t wearing a condom,” he teased back, chuckling softly, “and you’re on birth control now, anyway.”

“Not my point.”

“Then what was it?”

“That it’s never ‘nothing’ with you, or with me.” You said, the last words coming out in a flustered whisper.

“So I should take my hand off your thigh?” He smirked, knowing he was slowly winning you over.

“Maybe…” you mumbled, “you can keep it there, if you want, but no higher.”

“As you wish, baby.” He nodded, leaving his hand on your thigh, his fingers drawing small circles on it. He went back to looking out the window as you drove, a comfortable silence falling over the both of you again, only disturbed by the soft music.

°*°*°

“I was thinking,” Andrew said, breaking the silence that had fallen over you both a little over an hour ago, his hand still on your thigh, “you practically never drive, you’re always my passenger princess, especially in longer drives.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “why do you say that?”

“Because you’re driving right now, why?” His grip tightened on your thigh again.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “you drove us on the way there and then drove everywhere while we were in Galway, thought I’d let you rest from the wheel for a bit.”

“That’s sweet of you,” he smiled, “so it’s not because you don’t like my reckless driving?”

“No, I actually really like it, it’s fun when you drive like a maniac.” You chuckled, “ and I like the things we do while you’re driving, too.” You added, a cheeky smile on your face as you felt your cheeks heat up.

Andrew smiled too, a clear idea in his eyes now that you had brought up the subject. “Yeah? You like it when I finger you while we drive through the middle of nowhere, baby?” He teased, you nodded, biting your lip as you felt his grip tightening again. “Use your words.”

“Y-yeah,” you whined softly, suppressing a moan.

“D’you want me to do it while you drive, baby?”

“Can’t.” You answered, “I get distracted easily, I could crash your car.”

“Stop the car, then,” he suggested, his voice smooth and sultry as he leaned slightly closer to you. “Let me make you feel good, pet, it won’t take long.”

“You always say that,” a whine escaped you as you feigned resistance to his advances, in reality, your eyes were already looking for a good place to stop the car. “To you ‘not taking long’ means at least forty five minutes.”

“Won’t take more than ten, fifteen at most.” He whispered, “just stop the car and get on my lap, let me feel you around me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds you make, sweetness.”

You found a spot to stop at right as he stopped speaking, and thank God you did because you had seriously considered stopping the car in the middle of the road and fucking him right then and there. You slowed down, driving to the side of the road and stopping the car as Andrew’s smile widened, he leaned closer to you as he clicked his seatbelt open, his lips finding your jaw and planting soft kisses as you clicked your own seatbelt open. You turned your head towards him, your lips finding his and immediately latching on, passionately kissing him as you moved from the driver’s seat and onto his lap, straddling him as best you could. His hands moved to your skirt, pulling it up as fast as he could, a couple curses escaped him between kisses as he struggled to get the maxi skirt out of the way. You giggled softly at every curse of his, your hands working fast on his belt and jeans, quickly undoing them and pulling them down along with his boxers just enough so his cock, already hard and with a flushed tip, could spring free from its confines, slapping against his clothed stomach and making him whine lightly.

You spat on your hand and started to gently jerk him off while he struggled with your skirt and your hips gently grinded on him, you core desperate for some attention. “I’m going to rip this thing off you, I swear to God.” He muttered under his breath in frustration, moaning softly as you moved your hand. You giggled softly. “Not funny, baby.” He scolded you.

“You know you can just lift it up, right? You don’t need to take it off completely.” You reminded him, your lips finding his neck, peppering soft kisses along it.

“But then how will I see what pretty panties you’re wearing today?” He complained, still fighting the skirt.

“You do that and we’ll be late to dinner with your parents, and I’m not going to explain to them why we're late.”

“Fine,” he conceded, lifting your skirt and caressing your ass for a couple seconds before smacking it sharply, making you whine, “and don’t bring up my parents while I’m trying to fuck you again, yeah?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled softly. Andrew moved your underwear to the side, pulling you closer and blindly positioning you above his cock. You slowly sat down on it, making both of you gasp at the feeling. You moved your hips up and down on his cock, bouncing on it as he held onto you, planting warm kisses on your neck.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re perfect, so fucking perfect.” He moaned onto your neck, starting to thrust up, meeting you halfway. His hand moved from your side to your pussy, his thumb finding your clit and flicking it quickly, pressing on it every so often, making you whine softly. Your hands moved to his hair, gripping his long curls while pure white pleasure ran through your veins like the most potent drug. You felt that all-familiar coil form in your lower abdomen, your breathing becoming ragged and whiny. “Almost there, baby? Already? You’re really sensitive today, you never get like this so fast.” He teased, each sentence finishing with a kiss to your neck.

You wanted to argue back, but when you opened your mouth to do so all that came out was a loud moan, your face heating up from slight embarrassment as Andrew chuckled. The coil in your stomach became stronger and stronger with each passing second, your legs shaking slightly, bouncing up and down on his cock was becoming increasingly difficult as you felt your orgasm coming, “Fuck! Andy!” You moaned loudly, stopping your movements out of sheer ecstasy, your legs shaking with pleasure, Andrew continued to fuck you, thrusting up into your pussy as he played with your clit. “Please! Oh my god! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease” you begged in a desperate moan, you weren’t even sure what it was you were begging for, Andrew did though, he kissed from your neck to your ear, whispering softly as he fucked you mercilessly.

“It’s okay, darling, come for me, let me feel you, baby.” He lightly bit your earlobe as you found your release, the coil in your core snapping as you moaned loudly, your hips shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. His hand moved away from your clit and to your hips as he lifted them up and down to fuck you better, overstimulating you as he chased his own release. He came not long after, his hips snapping up to yours as he filled you with his cum, soft groans escaping him while you whined from the overstimulation.

He came down from his peak, kissing your neck and face as you still tried to ground yourself. “Fifteen minutes,” he said with a smug tone.

“What?” You asked softly, still a bit out of it.

“We took fifteen minutes, told you I could be quick,” he chuckled.

“How the hell do you know that?” You mumbled into his shoulder, your post-orgasmic tiredness catching up to you.

“Car clock,” he said smugly, “it was 2:07pm when you got on my lap, and now it's 2:22pm.”

“You’re impossible,” you giggled, thinking it funny how he had made a mental note of the time just to prove he was right.

“You love it,” he smiled into your hair. “I think I’ll drive the rest of the way, you look exhausted, love.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nodded, getting off his lap and settling onto the passenger's seat, after fixing your underwear and skirt. Andrew fixed his own clothes, adjusted the driver’s seat to accommodate his height, and began driving to his parents’ house, still on time for dinner.