#tempted to do a wicked au...

[newrochellechallenger2019]

HEAR ME OUT! HEAR ME OUT!

[smolstarthief]

I just finished watching the film version of "Wicked" and I can't help but think: MelJayVik Wicked AU anyone? 👀

[endlessdreamworld]

My Sinful Little Angel

a short AU fic featuring secret priest! Sunday of a small village x baker! gn reader

"Thank you again, Mr. Oak," you said as Sunday, the town's resident tailor finished repairing the frayed hem of your apron. "Here," you offer him a half dozen of today's special treat, powdered sugar shortbread cookies filled with raspberry jam.

"Thank you," he gave you a soft smile that made your heart melt. "Here," he offered you up some coins, more than he should but still a paltry amount the judgmental villagers would consider good and proper.

It was part of your little arrangement. You showed up one day out of nowhere, and the town's bakery took you in. You had a roof over your head and a belly full of food, but they paid you next to nothing.

"Tomorrow we're going to be maki--" a knock interrupted your sweet little announcement. It was the baker's son. Sunday didn't miss how your gaze fell to your hands clutching your newly repaired apron, how you seemed so very bashful in the presence of your peer. Oh God in heaven, please smite this wicked fool who dare intrude upon your shared sacred peace and tempt you so.

You gave him a small wave as you headed for the door, "I have to go Mr. Oak, duty calls." You were always so polite and sweet to him, so diligent, always doing more than you should. Sunday noticed the powdered sugar you had graced him with when he paid you for your work and brought it to his unworthy tongue. An ambrosia he didn't earn, one he didn't deserve. You were an angel made flesh, and far too good for a backwater place like this. One day, he swore, he'd do something about it.

As the sun set, he flipped the sign in the window from open to closed before heading off to his second job. Every flock needed a shepherd, and who better to play the role as he? And so the town's church offered a confessional booth service where he served as the confessor.

He settled in behind the screen and prepared his heart for the service. People always had such ridiculous things plaguing them so, but who was he to deny them salvation?

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

It was the sound of your voice. He held his breath. He couldn't help but hear how nervous and deflated you sounded. What heresy could you have committed to feel so low? "Speak freely, child," he spoke in an unrecognizable drawl. Sunday preferred anonymity. It was better when people didn't know who they were speaking to.

You sigh inwardly and steel your resolve, "I've been having sinful thoughts about another. One of my fellow peers."

Sunday has heard those very words before, and he didn't like where this was going. He was quite fortunate to be able to steer you away from such an unholy sin. "What sorts of thoughts?"

He listened to the sound of fabric brushing against the confessional screen, the sound of you squirming from discomfort. "Carnal ones I'm afraid. Whenever I'm with him, I pray his hands linger more than they should. Every night, I dream of clandestine meetings -- of the perverted sort."

Sunday hears how very affected you are, and he isn't going to allow some degenerate sully your pure soul and infect your mind. He was almost certain it was that baker boy with the way you could scarcely look at him, but if he were to do anything about it, he would need to be sure. "Those are quite heavy sins, my dear, but the lord forgives all who wish to repent."

"Thank you Father." He can hear the smile in your voice and he has you right where he needs you.

"To repent, it would be best to disclose the name of this wolf in sheep's clothing that assaults your thoughts and faithful heart."

Yes, give me a name. This whisper campaign to your excommunication will be as delicious as it'll be unsurprising. It'll be my revenge for whoever dares touch you so frivolously, my sweet angel.

You got quiet, the sound of conflict. Sunday's chest tightened, anguished by your misplaced sense of guilt. You were trying to shield whoever this dastard was by the kindness of your soul. He knew you needed one final push. "The lord forgives all who sin, even the serpent who tempts you so."

"Well," you swallowed thickly. Agony permeated your words as you work up the courage to oust the blasphemer, "it's Sunday Oak."

[thedensworld]

A Tempting Damage | K.Sy

Pairing: Nepo Baby Soonyoung x reader

Genre: office au!, enemy to lover au!

Type: romance, fluff, smut (mdni!)

Word Count: 15k

Preview: You should’ve known the moment he walked into the boardroom with a grin too expensive for someone so inexperienced, This was temptation—tailored in Armani and absolutely lethal.

How did the two of you end up here—his office, lights off, half-breathing on his desk at nine o’clock at night?

You should’ve known the moment this would spiral. The signs were all there.

Soonyoung Kwon was the grandson of your boss’ boss’ boss’ boss. Which, by hierarchy, technically made him your boss too—though the title felt more ornamental than functional. You still remember the day he stepped out of the elevator a month ago, flashing a dazzling smile, shaking hands with the interns like he was on a political campaign.

He had announced himself as the new Director of KF Label, like he was gifting you all with his presence. And then your former director, who clearly saw the chaos ahead and ran, called you in for a “quick chat” and gracefully asked you—read: begged—to guide Soonyoung during his adaptation period.

A polite corporate term, you’ve since realized, for “He has no idea what the hell he’s doing, so make sure he doesn’t crash and burn the company before Q4.”

And yes—he truly has no idea what he’s doing. He is rich in confidence, poor in skill. A golden retriever with a black card and a C-suite title. Infuriatingly cheerful, tragically unqualified.

Which is how you, the marketing manager who actually built her way up from zero, spent the past month babysitting someone who thought "brand synergy" was a soft drink.

Thirty days of training him, fixing his mistakes, dragging him out of meetings he wasn’t prepared for, and still—still—somehow he manages to get under your skin.

“Now, tell me…”

“What should I say… during the meeting… with the supermarket owners tomorrow?”

Your fingers dug into the edge of his desk as he slammed into you, hips snapping forward with a pace you didn’t know he was capable of. God. Why were you into this? And why were you suddenly sounding like a desperate young woman getting her brain fucked stupid?

Kwon Soonyoung was an idiot. A cocky, clueless pain in your ass.

Yet tonight—he was making you worse than everything he is. Your moan broke the silence of the office in a high, breathless pitch no one in this building had ever heard from you. You—who kept your heels sharp, your lipstick in place, and your tone professional no matter the pressure. But now? Now you could barely get out a single word. Barely answer his simplest questions.

Yet he kept asking them. “We have a slogan?” — his first dumb question, asked a month ago when you handed him a company profile and procedural system you had rewritten in the simplest terms possible. You’d practically turned it into a corporate comic book, hoping to minimize the damage.

And now?

“Should I wear a Rolex or a Cartier for tomorrow’s meeting?”

He whispered it against your ear like it was dirty talk, the smirk in his voice cutting sharper than his thrusts. He probably thought he won something. Okay—fine. He won a little. Ever since he had you bent over his desk, squirming, gasping, ruined.

But still—stupid. Always with the stupid questions. “You’re… stupid!” you managed, voice strangled between a moan and a cry, half an insult and half a plea. You barely made sense, and you hated that he knew it.

He laughed, low and wicked, before slowing his hips, dragging out the motion just enough to make you whimper at the loss. His hand ran along your front, slipping under your blouse and palming your breast like he knew you needed that grounding, that release.

“Please… Kwon Soonyoung…” you gasped, back arching when his fingers grazed your nipple.

But instead of mercy, he pulled you upright, chest to chest, keeping you firmly locked against him. His hand gripped your waist as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“Answer me first, Ms. Ji. And remember…” His voice dropped a note deeper, quieter, deadlier.

“I’m your boss. So it’s Director Kwon.”

The next morning felt criminal.

Not just because you only managed two hours of sleep, or because your thighs still ached from being bent over a mahogany desk like some overworked intern in a very inappropriate drama. No. It was criminal because you still showed up on time, coffee in hand, hair done, heels on, and speech script perfectly printed.

Even after Kwon Soonyoung had given you three orgasms in one hour. In the office. On his desk. Under the goddamn company logo.

You were trying your best to pretend it never happened. Really, you tried. The speech script was crisp, stapled, and revised at 3 a.m. in between waves of humiliation, aftershocks of pleasure, and the memory of him whispering “Answer me, Ms. Ji…” like he wasn’t buried so deep inside you— you forgot your own name.

You had cross-checked every paragraph, every bullet point, just to make sure you hadn’t unconsciously written “Your cock has a better function than your brain.”

Honestly? If that line made it in, it wouldn’t be inaccurate. Was there a company that specialized in evaluating performance like that? Maybe it was time to write to the Kwon family directly. You could pitch it as a side venture—something like Kwon Enterprise: More Brains Below the Belt.

Hell, they might even give you equity for surviving their grandson.

“Thank you, Ms. Ji,” Soonyoung said quietly, his voice low, velvet-wrapped. He took the papers from your hand, but didn’t let go. His fingers lingered. So did his eyes.

And you swore—you swore—you saw the same madness in them that you saw last night. The hunger. The chaos. The wicked tilt of his mouth that said he remembered everything.

You cleared your throat, yanking your hand away as if his touch burned. It did, in a way. You forced your face back into your best professional mask.

“Try not to freestyle this time, Director,” you said coolly, taking the seat beside him. “And no dumb questions about ‘what synergy means.’ It’s in bold on page two.”

He smirked without turning, flipping the paper open. But you caught the way his leg brushed yours under the table. Intentional. Definitely intentional.

Last night was incredible. You couldn't lie. But if this man thought he could rattle you in daylight the same way he did in the dark. Well. He really was stupid.

*

A gentle touch on your shoulder startled you out of your screen-staring trance—you didn’t even know how long you’d been zoning out. Your eyes blinked back into focus, and you looked up to see Kim Mingyu, your colleague and the ever-reliable Finance and Accounting Manager of the label.

His brows were furrowed, concern written across his face. “You okay, Y/n? Director Kwon’s called for you three times,” he said softly.

You sighed, pushing yourself up from the chair with a tired stretch. “I’m fine. Just... running on fumes,” you said, flashing him a half-smile that tried to pass for reassurance.

But Mingyu didn’t look convinced. He tilted his head, gaze narrowing just a little. “Is he still bothering you?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“That bastard,” he replied, voice lower now—him, meaning Jeon Wonwoo, your ex. The IT guy who cheated on you two months ago with an intern. The same incident that created a domino effect of side-eyes and rumors throughout the building. It wasn’t a secret that Wonwoo’s spiral post-breakup had revealed just how deeply insecure he truly was. And not just about you—about everything.

You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling a sudden weight in the room. “No,” you said, clearing your throat. “He’s not worth mentioning anymore.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, reading between the lines but not pushing. “Okay. But you know I’ll throw hands if I have to.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Appreciated. But no violence in the office—unless it’s against that printer in the copy room.”

That earned a soft chuckle from him. “Did Director Kwon actually say anything, or does he just need me to be present and breathing?” you asked, your eyes scanning your desk for the folder Soonyoung needed to sign. You knew how he was—selectively urgent.

Mingyu reached over and pulled a document map from the far corner of your workspace. “This. He needs this.”

You took it with a grateful sigh. “I’m seriously glad I have you, Mingyu. Otherwise I’d probably die in here for the stupidest reason—death by incompetent boss.”

Mingyu laughed, that boyish grin spreading across his face, fangs peeking out. “You’re dramatic.”

“You know I’m not.”

“True,” he replied, still grinning. “But at least the chaos keeps things interesting.”

You rolled your eyes with a quiet chuckle, fingers tightening on the file as you braced yourself to face Soonyoung again. That man could burn your patience to the ground in five minutes—and somehow still leave you… you didn't want to think about it!

You entered his office with quiet steps, the thick folder in your hand still warm from Mingyu’s grasp. Director Kwon Soonyoung sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair pushed back in a way that looked almost too polished for someone who once asked if a “slogan” was a new type of dip.

Without looking up, he extended his hand. “The file?” You placed it gently in his palm, expecting some sort of snide comment or dumb question about where to sign. But instead, he opened it, flipped straight to the right page, and signed with swift, confident strokes. No questions. No confusion. Just… efficiency.

Your brows lifted slightly. Who was this? Then, without looking up, “what’s the projected ROI on the third campaign under the Miju rebranding?”

You froze. Not from fear—but from pure shock.

He finally glanced up, and your eyes locked. There was no usual smirk, no cocky glint in his gaze. Just focus. Calculation.

You cleared your throat. “Projected ROI is 127%, assuming we maintain target engagement through the influencer channels and retail activations we discussed last week.”

A beat passed. He nodded once. “Good. Shift the TikTok rollout to next Monday. Make the data look prettier before we send it to the board. I want them convinced before they even read it.”

Another pause. You blinked. You were still blinking. He signed the final page, closed the folder, and handed it back with a smooth slide across the desk.

Then, with the slightest tug of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth, he said—

“You may go on the clock for today, Ms. Ji.”

You narrowed your eyes just slightly. “Excuse me?”

He leaned back in his chair, lazy again. Back to his usual smug, languid rhythm. “I said you may go. Early dismissal. I hear sleep deprivation reduces productivity—and I’d hate to see the company suffer just because you forgot how to say no to your boss.”

Your jaw tensed. He was back. The devil in Dior. But you refused to let him have the last word. So you smiled sweetly, flipping your hair off your shoulder. “Then I’ll use the time wisely and remind myself what good leadership looks like.”

His laughter followed you out the door. But so did his eyes.

*

You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing, the sharp buzz pulling you out of a sleep so deep, you almost forgot where you were. The living room was dim, the drama still playing quietly on TV—the last thing you remembered before dozing off. You hadn’t napped like that in years. Not since you started working your ass off at the label.

You squinted at your phone screen. 9:02 PM. The name flashing across it: “Boo Dam.”

“Mmm… Seungkwan…” you mumbled as you slid to answer.

“Honey!” his voice practically sang through the speaker. “You just woke up? Heol! That’s a record. Anyway—I’m going to this new bar with Vernon and Chan. Come join us!”

Seungkwan and Chan were your friends from college—your soulmates in chaos. Meanwhile Vernon… well, Vernon was the guy Seungkwan successfully seduced at a club a year ago with nothing but eye contact and a whiskey sour. They've been disgustingly cute ever since.

You stretched, letting your limbs slowly remember how to function. “Is it like a bar,” you asked, voice dry, “or a bar?” You didn’t need to explain the tone difference—Seungkwan knew.

Without missing a beat, he replied, “A bar. Capital B. Good lighting, better drinks, people who bathe.”

You smiled, already getting up. “Pick me up in thirty. Should I wear the red dress I sent you last week?”

The one you bought after seeing the intern Wonwoo cheated with had liked it on Instagram. It was an impulsive purchase—unlike you. But still… it looked fire on the model, and tonight, you wouldn’t mind setting something on fire.

Seungkwan gasped like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. “YES. Yes please! I want that intern to cry just by breathing the same air as you!”

You grinned. Tonight might not fix your mess of a professional life. But maybe, just maybe, it would remind you what it felt like to be you again.

*

Seungkwan rushed up to you like a windstorm in designer sneakers and pulled you into a quick hug that reeked of cologne and overpriced candles. “You look unreal. That intern is somewhere crying right now, I know it.” He held your arms and took a step back like he was inspecting artwork. “Ten out of ten. No—eleven. You’re welcome, world.”

Vernon chuckled beside him. “Glad you made it.”

“Thanks,” you laughed. “Though now I’m wondering if I overdressed.”

“You definitely didn’t,” Chan said without missing a beat, raising his hand to you. “You’re just raising the bar.”

The bar Seungkwan had chosen was all velvet mood and amber light—dim enough to hide your regrets but not dark enough to trip on your heels. Hushed conversations buzzed low under a jazzy remix of something that used to be a love song, and the scent of expensive gin and citrus filled the air.

You made your way toward the bar counter, scanning the place. But before the group could fully settle, Seungkwan clapped his hands once. “Okay, baby,” he turned to Vernon, “we need to find the bathroom. And by bathroom I mean selfie lighting. Emergency.”

Vernon just smiled, like this wasn’t the fifth time tonight. “Lead the way.” And just like that, the couple vanished into the crowd like glitter in a wind tunnel.

You slid onto the barstool, crossing your legs as you adjusted the hem of your red dress, feeling the fabric hug your skin in all the right ways. You stared after them, then turned back to Chan, brows raised. “Did they even sit down?”

Chan shrugged, raising his hand toward the bartender for an order, strong whiskey. “I give them ten minutes. Tops. Then they’ll either come back drunk or deeply emotional.”

You laughed again, warmer this time. “Or both.”

“Always both.”

“So,” Chan said, turning slightly to face you, “what do you want out of tonight?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Out of tonight?”

He nodded, serious now—his eyes clearer despite the liquor. “I mean… what would make this night feel like it was worth leaving your bed and dreams behind?”

You looked at him for a second. Your red dress clung to your skin in all the ways that made you feel powerful. But somehow, that question made you feel a little bare.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe just a moment where I don’t feel like I’m holding the weight of everything. A night where I’m not someone’s manager, not the woman who got cheated on by an IT guy with bad eyesight.”

Chan chuckled, amused. He knocked back a shot of whiskey, exhaling sharply as it hit. Then, as if it were the most natural shift in conversation, he muttered, “So. Still dealing with your incompetent boss?”

You tilted your head with a sigh, leaning your elbow on the bar. “Worse. I think he’s trying to be competent now, which is terrifying in itself.”

“Hmm.” Chan nodded solemnly. “Mine forgot to approve the budget this week and then blamed it on Mercury retrograde.”

You blinked. “Isn’t he the one who doesn’t believe in astrology?”

“Exactly.”

A beat passed, then both of you laughed quietly into your drinks, bitter and understanding.

“People like us deserve a position,” Chan muttered, more to himself than to you. Then he downed his next shot like he was trying to silence something. Maybe his ambition. Maybe the reality.

Your eyes followed his line of sight, catching a man on the other side of the bar—tall, broad-shouldered, eyeing Chan like he was something worth unwrapping.

Chan caught it too. He turned to you with a mischievous smirk, the kind you knew too well. “Excuse me,” he said smoothly, setting down his glass. “Duty calls.”

You laughed as he sauntered off, watching the silent exchange between him and the stranger—how easily Chan slipped into chemistry, how effortlessly people gravitated toward him.

It made you smile. And ache, just a little. Your friends really were better at finding men than you. You swirled your drink in its glass, watching the liquid catch the light like molten gold. Fuck.

A subtle shift in air made you glance to your side. Someone had taken the stool Chan had vacated minutes ago—unannounced, but not unwelcome.

He looked crisp. A semi-formal suit in charcoal gray, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest ease without arrogance. His hair was freshly cut, styled like he walked out of a luxury magazine spread, but the smile he wore? Surprisingly… cute.

“Hey,” he said, voice smooth but warm. “Are you alone?”

You blinked once, thrown for the smallest second before recovering with a polite smile. “Nah, I’m with friends.”

He nodded, gaze never drifting, posture casual but confident. “I’m Choi Seungcheol.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. Choi Seungcheol? You’d heard the name before. Everyone in the building had. Director of Grand Paradise Hotel, under the Choi Group. One of your company’s most important VVIP clients—usually talked about in numbers, not in the context of flashing a boyish smile at you in a bar.

“Ji Y/n,” you replied, offering your name with an ounce of surprise still clinging to your voice.

“I like your dress, by the way,” he said sincerely, his tone the kind of soft that didn’t ask for attention, but gave it fully. “You look amazing in it.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing clever came. His compliment didn’t feel like a line. It felt like the truth wrapped in manners. He flagged down the bartender, ordering something light—no shots, no bravado. Just a mild liquor with a twist of lime, like he was trying to prove he was here to talk, not to get drunk.

Cute. And unexpectedly polite—for someone carrying that much power behind his last name. Unlike someone you were really, really trying not to think about.

“So,” he said, turning slightly toward you, “my friends are at a table across the room. Do you mind joining us?” He paused, then added with a soft chuckle, “I promise they’re decent guys. No finance bros in sight.”

You considered it. Not too quickly, not too slowly—just enough to give the impression that you weren’t that easy, but you also weren’t cold.

You smiled, head tilting. “Sure.”

His eyes sparkled briefly at that, and in one smooth motion, he stood. Then, reaching for your hand, he helped you up from the high stool—like a man raised right. His grip was firm, confident, warm. And it was probably nothing. Probably just good manners.

Seungcheol’s hand remained gently on yours as he guided you across the bar, weaving through polished shoes, crystal glasses, and laughter that cost too much.

The place changed as you moved deeper—less noise, more privacy, the lighting softer, shadows richer. The kind of spot reserved for people who didn’t have to wait in line. And you were being led there. You.

When he stopped at the table, three men looked up mid-conversation, drinks in hand, posture relaxed in the way only old money could be.

“Everyone,” Seungcheol said casually, “this is Ji Y/n. She’s joining us tonight.”

You smiled, polite but composed, heart thumping a little harder than you liked. You recognized the faces before Seungcheol even opened his mouth. You’d seen them in magazine articles, shareholder meetings, boardroom slides—not up close, not like this.

Jeonghan sat at the far end, one arm draped lazily over the back of the velvet booth, legs crossed, a glass of scotch in hand. Hair tucked just right behind his ear, a soft silk shirt half-buttoned like he was born too elegant to care about dress codes. He was the kind of man who turned being looked at into an art form. You’d seen him before—once at a fashion gala you were nowhere near important enough to attend, and many times in the margins of headlines about high-end runway investments, creative directorships, and quiet takeovers. The heir of a fashion empire, and from the look in his eyes, fully aware of it.

Next to him was Joshua, spine straight, shirt pristine, smile the kind that had likely been melting boardroom resistance since he was a teenager. He exuded charm without arrogance—a quieter sort of influence that didn’t need to announce itself. You remembered him from a different kind of context: a company email signature at the bottom of a rejection letter when you’d applied to Hong Finance 8 years ago. Back then, you imagined men like him sitting behind high-rise windows, too far out of reach to even notice people like you.

“Nice to meet you,” you said calmly, shaking his hand with a professional grace. No bitterness. Just quiet history you kept to yourself.

And then—then your gaze moved to the last man at the table. Your breath stalled for half a second.

Kwon Soonyoung. He was mid-sip, glass frozen near his lips, eyes wide with what could only be described as… surprised indignation. He looked clean and collected in a black button-up with his sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone like the night didn’t deserve his full formality. But his stare? It was searing.

You’d never seen him in this kind of setting. Not as your annoyingly attractive director. But as one of them. Powerful. Prestigious. Connected.

You tilted your chin slightly, letting a small smile rise to your lips as if to say, Fancy seeing you here.

He blinked, then lowered his glass slowly. “Ji Y/n.” Your name sounded strange coming from his mouth in front of this table. Too familiar. Too… intimate.

Joshua and Jeonghan looked between the two of you with mild interest, picking up on the tension like it was perfume. Seungcheol remained seated, watching the exchange without interference. Then he leaned over, voice smooth as his smile.

“Looks like you two know each other?”

You chuckled softly and sat down beside him. Soonyoung’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tapped against the side of his glass, lips parted like he wanted to say something—but didn’t.

*

Your eyes met across the polished length of the boardroom table. Again. This has become a weekly ritual now—joining board meetings not just as the Marketing Manager, but as Kwon Soonyoung’s unofficial shadow. Secretary. Handler. Babysitter. Pick a label, they all applied.

Still, a small part of you secretly flattered at the elevation. The prestige. You were seen, involved, and whether they liked it or not, your presence had weight in that room.

Every time a meeting wrapped, you’d nudge Mingyu and mutter, “I’m going to be the one talking in there someday. Note that.” To which he always replied with a half-laugh, half-sigh, “Sure you are.”

He never debated you. He knew better. You didn’t bluff when it came to ambition. But right now, ambition wasn’t the problem. It was Soonyoung.

He’d been staring since you walked in. Sat down. Dragged him out of his office five minutes before the meeting began, muttering something about punctuality and image and for once just pretend you’re not a walking HR hazard.

Staring wasn’t new with him. He often looked at things the way a curious toddler would—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, like the world was one big mysterious object. But this time? This time his stare wasn’t childish curiosity. It was more like you grew a second head and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or wanted to poke it with a stick.

You shot him a sharp look, mouthing the word “Focus” and subtly motioning toward the executives who were mid-discussion about budget forecasting.

Soonyoung blinked, then smiled—too innocently—and turned his gaze toward the speaker, nodding along like he hadn’t just spent the last three minutes trying to telepathically undress your thoughts.

You furrowed your brow in suspicion before glancing down at your watch. Almost noon. And you were starving. Your fingers tapped the table quietly as the meeting stretched on, words starting to blur together. You tried to stay alert, but every time you felt yourself zoning out, Soonyoung shifted slightly in your peripheral vision. Not because he was fidgeting.

But because he was still watching you. And now you were convinced of one thing: He wasn’t staring like you grew a horn.

“You went home with Seungcheol-hyung last night.” His voice broke the silence as the two of you had just settled in after the board meeting—him tossing off his blazer like he ran the world, you gathering your files with the intention of escaping before your stomach officially started devouring itself.

Your steps halted mid-stride. “Yes, Mr. Kwon,” you replied, turning slightly over your shoulder. Tone neutral. Civil. Professional.

Soonyoung nodded slowly, a little too calmly. “I bet you went home… very safely.”

You blinked. Was that supposed to mean something? “I did, actually,” you said, brows lifting in subtle confusion. “Thank you for your concern.”

He slid into his chair, tilting it back with that look on his face. A smile curled at the corner of his lips—not his usual, goofy, harmless grin. This one was... sharp. Teasing. With just enough glint of mad to make you want to throw a stapler across the room.

“I’m expecting the summary from the meeting,” he said, lacing his fingers behind his head, “after lunch.”

You blinked again. “I was planning to finish it after I eat.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Mmm, but you always say I should send the report right after the meeting ends, remember? ‘Strike while the numbers are hot,’ wasn’t that your words, Ms. Ji?”

Shit. That was your line. You cleared your throat. “With all due respect, I’m afraid I can’t hand it in that fast. I’ll need some time to—”

“Really?” he cut in, voice dipped with mock surprise. “Because I need it quickly. You made that very clear. Efficiency is everything, right?”

You stared at him, mouth parting in silent disbelief. This was personal. You knew it. That little smile on his face was soaked in petty vengeance. You bowed stiffly, jaw clenched. “Understood, Mr. Kwon.”

As you turned to leave, fuming and still hungry, you could practically feel his smugness trailing behind you like expensive cologne. And everyone who saw you stomping back into your department after that? Knew exactly who you were cursing under your breath.

Kwon Soonyoung, the golden heir of the Kwon Group. A menace in designer shoes. And currently, the reason you’d be skipping lunch and possibly losing your sanity.

*

No one stayed in the office during lunch. It was the only sacred hour when even the most cutthroat employees stepped out to breathe something that didn’t reek of toner, stress, or twenty kinds of corporate ambition. Even Mingyu had left—after tipping you off about a new KF Label instant spaghetti that only needed five minutes in the microwave. “Garlic cream or tomato,” he’d whispered like he was offering black market gold.

But not you. You sat at your desk, typing the meeting summary like your job—or pride—depended on it. Which, let’s be honest, it did. You weren’t about to give Kwon Soonyoung the satisfaction of thinking he’d thrown you off just because he got a little petty over last night’s company. Your stomach growled in rebellion, but your ego growled louder.

When the last word clicked into place and the printer began humming behind you, you pushed away from your chair with a smug stretch and headed to the pantry. You’d earned that microwaved meal, sad as it was.

Except when you stepped inside, the scent of cheap instant coffee hit you first—followed by the last person you expected to see.

Kwon Soonyoung. Blazer gone, sleeves rolled up, stirring his coffee like this wasn’t the same man who’d made your blood pressure spike all morning. His tie hung slightly loose, hair messier than it had been during the meeting. He looked... calm. Almost casual. Like he belonged here. He didn’t.

“Ms. Ji,” he greeted smoothly, his voice low, almost too composed.

You bowed without thinking, still halfway in surprise. “I didn’t know you were staying in.”

He shrugged, not quite smiling. “Neither did I.”

Your gaze narrowed slightly. “Didn’t grab lunch, Mr. Kwon?”

He swirled the plastic stirrer in his cup, then leaned against the counter with the kind of confidence that didn’t belong in a pantry. “Didn’t have time,” he said, eyes cutting toward you. “You said I needed that report fast, remember?”

You ignored him and turned to the microwave, peeling back the film cover. “I came here for spaghetti.”

The microwave beeped. You retrieved the steaming bowl, grabbed a fork, and gave it a quick stir. The scent of tomato and roasted garlic filled the small space—a reminder that, yes, your company did do something right.

“So that’s it,” he said behind you. “The new KF Label product.”

You nodded without turning. “Premium instant line. Heat-and-Meet.”

There was a pause. Then, Soonyoung stood.

He moved to stand beside you, too close for the pantry’s size, or for what little sanity you had left. “You’re eating company product,” he said, voice lower now. “That’s very… loyal of you.”

“I’m starving. Loyalty’s a coincidence.”

He glanced at your fork, then back at your face. “Still looks good on you.”

You blinked. That line shouldn’t have worked. But it stirred something anyway. You cleared your throat. “Do you want a bite?”

He raised a brow. “You’re offering to share?”

“Don’t make it weird. It’s R&D. You’re the director. You should know what it tastes like before you embarrass yourself at investor tastings.”

Without hesitation, he leaned forward and took the bite directly from your fork. It was too smooth. Too deliberate. The slide of his lips against the plastic, the way he held your gaze as he chewed.

You stared at him, half wondering when the room got warmer. He swallowed, thoughtfully. “Tangy. Surprisingly rich.” He looked at you, a beat too long. “Kind of like the woman who made me eat it.”

You stared at him. Not just because of what he said, but how he said it—like it wasn’t a line, like it was a fact. His gaze didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. And then it did—just slightly—drifting down. You felt it like a touch: the way his eyes paused at your lips. Not in a rush. Not in hunger. Just there.

Studying. Contemplating. Wanting. Your breath hitched, just enough that you swore he noticed it. He tilted his head slightly, as if waiting to see what you’d do. And suddenly, the air between you didn’t feel casual anymore. It felt hot. It felt loud.

You didn’t move. He didn’t either.

But the tension between you was already leaning forward, even if your bodies hadn’t yet.

And then, slowly—so slowly—it happened.

Your eyes fluttered down. His breath brushed your cheek. Neither of you said a word as you both leaned in at the same time, like it wasn’t a choice but a conclusion. Like something you’d been avoiding had finally cornered the two of you in the smallest room in the building.

Your lips met—soft, hesitant at first.

A question. An answer. And then it deepened.

Not rushed, not frantic, but sure. Deliberate. Like every back-and-forth bicker, every power play, every petty jab in the boardroom had been leading to this.

His hand touched the edge of the counter beside you, grounding himself. Yours hovered somewhere near his chest before settling on the curve of his arm—tense beneath your fingers.

It wasn’t a kiss that screamed recklessness. It was a kiss that whispered, we knew this was coming. And maybe… maybe that was worse.

Because when you finally pulled away, just barely, lips still brushing, you didn’t dare look at him. Not yet. You just whispered, voice low and cracked at the edge, “That was very… unprofessional, Mr. Kwon.”

Soonyoung’s lips curved near yours. “Good,” he murmured, “because I’m not done being unprofessional.”

You barely had time to process his words—“I’m not done being unprofessional”—before his lips captured yours again, firmer this time. Less tentative. Less testing.

Your back bumped against the edge of the counter as he stepped closer, his hand skimming your waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of you through the thin fabric of your blouse. The scent of his coffee still lingered on his breath, mixing with something uniquely his—clean, warm, infuriatingly intoxicating.

You let out a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a gasp, as your fingers slipped into his hair—soft and slightly messy from the day. You gripped it lightly, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth. God. That sound.

His hand settled firmly on your hip, pulling you into him like gravity had a personal agenda. The kiss turned deeper, messier, your bodies syncing in a rhythm that felt far too natural for two people who spent most of their time trading sarcasm and sideways glances in glass-walled meetings.

It was heat. Friction. Unspoken things finally spoken with mouths instead of words. Soonyoung broke the kiss only to trail his lips to the corner of your jaw, his voice warm and ragged against your skin. “You always talk so much in meetings,” he murmured, his fingers brushing the exposed skin beneath your tucked blouse. “But now you’re so quiet.”

You swallowed, breath shaky, heart hammering against your ribs. “Maybe I’m waiting for a good question for once.”

He chuckled against your neck, low and sinful, before lifting his head—eyes dark, lips kissed pink, voice like velvet. “Okay then…”

His thumb grazed the hem of your skirt. “…Ms. Ji, what do I have to do to make you say my name again?”

You should’ve walked away. You should’ve reminded him this was a pantry, in a corporate building, at lunchtime. But instead?

You pulled him back into you like your body had already made the decision your brain refused to acknowledge. Fingers tight in his hair. Mouth crashing into his like you were both starving. And maybe you were.

You didn’t remember taking another breath—only the weight of his body caging you against the counter, the soft clang of your forgotten fork hitting the floor, and the rush of his hands finally going where your thoughts had wandered for too long.

Soonyoung hovered close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and deliberate. “You’re shaking,” he whispered, voice almost reverent.

“Am not,” you breathed, your fingers still tangled in his hair, holding him there like you weren’t entirely sure you could stay upright without him.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your skirt, slow, assured, until his knuckles grazed the band of your underwear. He paused, as if testing the waters. As if daring you to stop him.

But you didn’t. You let your head fall back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he tugged at the fabric—just enough to slip his fingers under, to brush against heat and softness and the part of you that ached with how long you'd resisted this exact moment.

A quiet gasp escaped you, and that seemed to break whatever restraint he still had. “God…” he exhaled like a confession, “you really drive me insane, you know that?”

He kissed you again, slower this time—almost sweet if not for the way his hand moved with purpose, with intention, like he wanted to memorize every reaction you gave him. Your hand gripped the back of his neck, grounding yourself in him, in this, in the ridiculous insanity of making out in the pantry like it was your last chance on earth.

“You’re always so in control,” he murmured, teasing the edge of your jaw as his other hand anchored your hip, “but I think you like it when I push.”

You opened your eyes just enough to meet his, and there it was again—that flicker of madness, mischief, and something dangerously close to need.

“Careful, Mr. Kwon,” you whispered, mouth brushing his, “push too far, and I might pull you under.” He smirked like he hoped you would. And then he kissed you again—deeper, slower, pulling you closer like the world outside that pantry didn’t matter.

*

You were flabbergasted. A month ago, you were heating instant spaghetti in the pantry, trying to pretend that fucking your boss didn’t feel like the worst idea you’d ever fallen into.

Now? You were sitting stiffly in a room with three people from HR, a folder in front of you, your hands cold despite how warm the room felt.

Yes, you had slept with Kwon Soonyoung. A few times. Consensually. Not impulsively, not irresponsibly—not from your perspective. And as ridiculous as it was to admit even to yourself, he hadn’t been bad at all in those areas. Too good, in fact. Dangerously good, both with his hands and the way he listened—actually listened—to your ideas during board meetings. He even stopped wearing Cartier and started taking actual notes.

So the fact that you were here, now, caught off guard and very much alone, felt like a slap out of nowhere.

The woman in the middle of the HR panel cleared her throat, hands folded neatly. “Ms. Ji. We wanted to discuss something concerning that’s come to our attention.”

You blinked, still unsure where this was going. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I did anything against the—”

“Your last relationship,” the woman interrupted gently, “was already a topic of concern when it involved someone significant to the company.”

Wonwoo.

You stiffened, jaw tightening. You hadn’t heard his name in weeks, and you preferred it that way. But yes, the intern he cheated with turned out to be someone's niece from the Kwon family. Of course that hadn’t died quietly.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the man sitting beside her cut in first. “We didn’t expect this one.”

You blinked again. “Excuse me?” They didn’t repeat it. They didn’t need to.

The third HR rep leaned forward, sliding a paper your way—an incident report, stamped and dated. “We’re going to have to take action regarding your affair with Director Kwon.”

Everything in you froze. For a moment, all you could hear was the soft buzz of the overhead light. You didn’t move, didn’t speak, as the words circled your head like a siren you couldn’t shut off. Your affair. Director Kwon. It felt like your lungs deflated.

“I… don’t understand,” you finally said, slow and careful. “On what grounds?”

The woman in the center flipped open a file. “There was a complaint submitted anonymously, referencing inappropriate conduct in the office. Specifically in shared spaces. A pantry, for instance.”

Your stomach dropped. So fast, it made your fingers go numb. “And—if I may,” the younger HR rep added, “there’s also concern regarding power dynamics, given your reporting line.”

You wanted to laugh. But it wasn’t funny. Because you’d worked so damn hard. You trained Soonyoung. You cleaned up his messes and wrote half the proposals with his name on them, and still walked into every meeting like your career had been built on steel, not glass.

And now, after everything, it came down to this? A moment. And an anonymous report.

You clenched your jaw, sat straighter, and folded your hands in your lap. “So what kind of action are we talking about?”

The room went quiet. The silence that followed your question felt like it lasted forever. And then the answer came, quietly, like they already knew how you’d react—and were bracing for it.

“We’ve decided,” the woman said carefully, “that you will be reassigned to a different department effective immediately.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Reassigned?”

“Demoted,” the man clarified with corporate softness, as if using the word wouldn’t hit like a fist. “You’ll be moved from Marketing Management to Administrative Strategy under Corporate Communications.”

You stared at them. Not because you didn’t understand. But because you did. They weren’t firing you. That would’ve made noise. No—they were burying you quietly, slipping you into a department where your work wouldn’t shine, where your name wouldn’t show up on campaign reports, board meeting minutes, or executive proposals. They were pushing you out of the light.

You let out a slow, controlled exhale, refusing to let the tremble in your chest reach your face. “Is Director Kwon receiving the same treatment?”

Another pause. “No,” the lead HR officer said. “After discussion with the executive board, it was determined that Director Kwon will be formally warned, and the matter will be noted in his file.”

A warning. You blinked. A warning for him. A demotion for you. You pressed your lips together, not trusting your voice to stay steady. “And that’s fair, in your opinion?”

“Ms. Ji,” the younger officer interjected gently, “you’ve had a prior history of internal relationship issues that—”

“He’s my superior.” You snapped before you could stop yourself. “If anything, he should’ve been held to a higher standard.”

They didn’t answer. No one ever did, when the unspoken truth hung heavy in the air. He had power. You didn’t. And even if you were the one who helped him become competent, presentable, capable—even if you were the one cleaning up his early failures and doing your work and his—they didn’t care. Because it was easier to punish the one they knew would quietly take it.

Your jaw clenched as you stood, straightening your blazer. “I understand.”

The head officer gave a polite nod. “Your reassignment email will be sent by the end of day. Your new manager will expect you tomorrow morning.”

You turned to leave, your heels echoing sharper than usual against the tiled floor. Your desk had never felt this bare before. You moved like your body had detached from the rest of you—silent, efficient, folding your things with the kind of care you’d normally reserve for the start of something, not the end. Each click of a pen, each rustle of a folder being stacked, was sharp in the quiet.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t cry. You just packed. A shadow passed in your peripheral vision.

“Y/n?” You turned slightly to find Mingyu standing there, a confused frown drawing across his face. His eyes darted to the box on your desk, to your emptied shelves, then back to you.

“What’s going on?”

You kept your head down, pretending to double-check a folder as you tucked it into the box.

“I just got an email from HR,” he continued, voice tightening. “They’re asking me to step in as acting Marketing Manager… temporarily.”

He said the last word like it tasted wrong in his mouth.

You didn’t answer. Your fingers paused at the edge of a stapler, then moved past it.

“Y/n.” Mingyu stepped closer. “What the hell is happening?”

You closed the box slowly, pressing your palm flat against the top as if to anchor yourself. Your chest felt too full—tight with shame, anger, disbelief—and none of it had a name you were ready to say out loud.

You looked up, just enough to meet his eyes. His worry was sincere. Of course it was. He didn’t know. He wouldn’t have accepted the offer if he did.

“I’m being moved,” you said quietly. “Another department.”

“Wait—what?” Mingyu blinked, stunned. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, voice low and flat. “Not right now.”

He fell silent. You could hear the protest building in his throat, the way he shifted his weight like his body didn’t know whether to stay or follow. But he didn’t press. He just nodded once—slow, reluctant.

You gave him a tight smile, the kind that didn't touch your eyes. Then you picked up your box and walked out of your office—your former office—without looking back.

*

Soonyoung walked into the office with his blazer half off and irritation simmering behind his eyes. The lunch meeting had been a disaster—numbers thrown around without context, board members talking in circles, and nobody knowing what the hell they actually wanted from him. He needed grounding. He needed clarity. He needed you.

So when he stepped out of the elevator and saw Mingyu standing by his office door instead of you, he frowned. “Mingyu?” he asked, blinking like he’d walked into the wrong floor. “Where’s Ms. Ji?”

Mingyu straightened a little, caught off guard. “I… see HR hasn’t told you.”

Soonyoung’s brows pinched. “Told me what?”

“Ms. Ji has been reassigned to another department,” Mingyu said, careful with his words. “I’ve been assigned to assist you until your new executive assistant is recruited.”

For a beat, the air felt thicker. Soonyoung tilted his head, confused. “She was moved? When?”

“I’m not sure about the details, sir,” Mingyu replied, trying not to fidget under Soonyoung’s narrowing gaze. “I only got the notice after lunch.”

Soonyoung stared past him for a second, processing. You were just… gone? No meeting. No sarcastic remarks. No quiet nod as you handed him a stack of deadlines and subtle reminders to behave like a functioning adult. No draft on his desk of the proposal you were supposed to polish before 3 p.m. Gone. Without a word.

“Right,” Soonyoung finally said, brushing past Mingyu and into his office. “Thanks.”

At exactly 2 p.m., two sharp, precise knocks echoed against the glass door of Soonyoung’s office. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Only one person knocked like they were keeping time on a metronome. The door opened anyway.

Kwon Soonyoung looked up to see Lee Jihoon—his cousin, his childhood sparring partner, and unfortunately, also the manager of the Human Resources department. Jihoon was sharp as ever, dressed in a pale button-down and black slacks, sleeves rolled past his elbows like always, giving him the air of someone both overworked and unbothered by it.

He walked in with calm purpose, a single manila folder in his hand and a look on his face that said this wasn’t a social visit. Soonyoung sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What now?”

Jihoon said nothing. He reached the desk, dropped the folder down with a solid thump, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Your notice,” he said, tone clipped. Soonyoung dragged his fingers through his hair and opened it with two fingers like it might bite. Inside was a printed letter bearing the company’s watermark and the clinical, unmistakable phrasing of HR. The header hit first:

Formal Reprimand — Director Kwon Soonyoung.

Beneath it:

Violation of company policies regarding professional conduct and inappropriate relations within workplace hours...

A wave of heat spread across the back of Soonyoung’s neck. He exhaled through his nose. “A love letter,” he muttered bitterly.

“I warned you,” Jihoon replied, not even flinching.

Of course he had. Jihoon had been warning him since the second week Soonyoung started at KF Label. First subtly. Then with passive-aggressive memos. And then with real conversations—cousin to cousin, HR to Director.

Soonyoung kept reading. Then he stopped. Your name was listed. His. Dated timestamps. A note about internal protocol breaches and the review that followed. “She was moved because of this?” Soonyoung’s voice was low. Tight.

Jihoon gave a slow, neutral shrug. “She’s been reassigned to Corporate Communications under Admin Strategy. Effective immediately.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Jihoon didn’t move from where he leaned against the desk, arms crossed again. “The complaint came in. Security reports matched the time. You want the details? You’ll get them in writing. Bottom line—HR took action.”

“She didn’t file anything,” Soonyoung said, more to himself than anyone.

“No,” Jihoon replied. “But someone else did. You’re in a glass building, Soonyoung. Don’t act like you’re invisible.”

Soonyoung looked away, jaw clenching. “She didn’t deserve that,” he muttered.

“No, she didn’t,” Jihoon agreed, voice flat. “But she’s not the one with Kwon as their last name. You are. And between the two of you, the board wasn’t about to sacrifice their own director—so they cut the easier string.” The words hit harder than they should have.

Soonyoung sank into his chair, fingers curling slightly around the edge of the folder. “She made this department function,” he said. “She made me functional.”

Jihoon tilted his head, stepping away from the desk. “And now she’s somewhere no one will bother her again.”

He reached for the door handle, pausing with one foot out. Then, without turning back, “She covered for you every single time you slipped. Maybe instead of being angry at HR, you should be asking yourself why she ever had to.”

The door clicked closed behind him.bAnd for the first time since Soonyoung sat behind that director’s desk, it didn’t feel like power anymore. It felt like consequence.

Days later, Soonyoung stared at his screen, the cursor blinking beneath the words he had retyped at least four times. He wasn’t good at this part. The… formal part. The “trying to keep things clean after it’s already messy” part.

But he had to try something. He’d already felt the hollow space you'd left behind the second he walked into the office and saw someone else standing where you should have been. The wrong energy. The wrong rhythm. Everything off balance. The chair behind your old desk was too still, like no one dared to fill the space you carved.

So he wrote the email like a coward—because walking to your new department unannounced felt too aggressive. And calling felt too personal.

Ms. Ji, I would appreciate the opportunity to meet briefly regarding recent events and your transition. Please let me know if you’re available this week, at your convenience.

Regards,

Kwon Soonyoung

Director, KF Label

He wrote it like a professional. And hated every line of it. But he sent it anyway. Then he sat there, one elbow on the desk, teeth pressing against his knuckle as if it might keep the anticipation at bay. It didn’t.

When your reply came in twenty-three minutes later, he opened it instantly. The corner of his lips lifted—small, involuntary.

I didn’t realize you had mastered the art of professional communication—should we alert HR?

Of course you’d say that. He let out a breath of something that was almost a laugh. It tugged at his chest in a way that was both cruel and comforting. You hadn’t blocked him out. Not entirely. You still knew how to twist the knife with charm. He leaned back in his chair and reread the last line.

Please book a meeting room that doesn’t echo.

So you were coming. Soonyoung swiveled in his chair, glancing toward the hallway, toward the part of the building where he used to see you moving between departments, coffee in one hand, files in the other, bossing people with that crisp, no-nonsense tone that made him fall for you in the first place.

It had been a month. A month of kissing you like he couldn’t help it. A month of crossing lines in ways that felt reckless but right. And then one day—just gone. No fight. No confrontation. Just a folder on his desk from Jihoon and a quiet, echoing absence.

He turned back to his screen and opened the calendar. Booked Meeting Room 5A—the only one with decent soundproofing—and sent the invite. As he pressed send, he sat back and rubbed a palm against his jaw, heart slower than usual but heavier.

You were coming. But this time, you were coming from a different department, a different floor, a different version of what the two of you had built—one meeting, one mistake at a time.

And he didn’t know if you were coming as a former colleague, a woman he’d ruined something with, or someone who still wanted answers.

Soonyoung wasn't the type to fall for the cold ones. Not at first glance, anyway. His usual preference tilted toward softer edges—women who laughed too easily, said yes too quickly, and let him coast through the surface of things. People who didn’t poke at his insecurities or point out the gaping holes in his competence like it was part of their daily job description.

Which is exactly why you were not his type. At least, you weren’t supposed to be.

You were the definition of precision—smart, fast, efficient, and terrifyingly prepared. You didn’t flirt. You didn’t dangle compliments or flash polite smiles unless they were strategic. You were the woman who made everyone in the room sit up straighter when you walked in.

And yet, from day three, he was already in trouble.

You’d walked into his office with your file folder tucked against your chest, wearing a blood-red pencil skirt and a black blouse so sharp it could’ve sliced someone’s quarterly budget in half. Stockings, heels, hair pulled back in that tight, quiet way that made him forget what you’d said right after you said it.

He hadn’t even known what department you were from before then. But he knew from the second he looked at you that you were dangerous.

You weren’t just attractive. You were intimidatingly put-together. The kind of woman whose brain was hotter than her body—and her body was already a goddamn threat.

Call him a pervert—but he’d nearly choked on his own thoughts that day. And his type? Changed. Overnight. It wasn’t just the clothes. Or the legs. It was how you looked at him when you spoke. Like you knew ten things he didn’t. Like he was your slowest subject in class.

And that mouth. You didn’t curse. You didn’t yell. You told him he was stupid with elegant, HR-friendly, vocabulary—inefficient, unprepared, unfamiliar with protocol. Words that stung more than insults because they were true.

Soonyoung wasn't a saint. He loved women. But your breed? Rare. Too rare to ignore. Too rare to resist. Maybe that’s why when you’d stayed late with him that first time—papers everywhere, the city lights bleeding in through the blinds, and you standing too close with your hair falling from that bun—you became inevitable.

Maybe that’s why his hand reached for you like instinct. Why you didn’t push him away. Why your kiss tasted like the end of something professional. And maybe that’s why he’d bent you over that desk that night—not just because he wanted to (God, he did)—but because some part of him had already fallen.

*

"Fuck..."

Your breath hitched as you settled onto him, your knees braced on either side of his thighs, the edge of the table digging lightly into your back. The polished surface was cold. His hands were anything but.

Soonyoung’s fingers gripped your hips with a firmness that said he’d been dreaming of this—of you—for longer than he wanted to admit. His thumbs pressed into the curve just above your waistband, guiding you, grounding you.

Each movement between you was desperate but controlled, like something learned through tension rather than timing.

Earlier, You arrived at Meeting Room 5A at 4:01 p.m. He was already inside. Blinds drawn. Door locked. Suit jacket hung neatly over the chair beside him. His shirt sleeves rolled up, wrists bare. A bottle of water sat untouched in front of him, condensation sliding down its sides like even it was nervous to be in this room.

You didn’t sit right away. Soonyoung looked up, eyes scanning you with something unreadable. He stood as you approached, as if unsure whether to greet you like a colleague… or something else.

“Ms. Ji,” he said quietly, too formal for the way he was looking at you.

“Director Kwon,” you returned with equal sharpness, sliding into the chair across from him. You placed your phone on the table, screen-down. Just in case.

Silence hovered like a third presence. He was the first to break it. “I didn’t know they were going to move you.”

You tilted your head. “That’s the thing about consequences. Sometimes they arrive quietly.”

“I didn’t file anything,” he said. “You know that, right?”

You gave a small, humorless smile. “I know. But your silence wasn’t exactly protective either.”

That landed. He didn’t argue. The seconds stretched again, thick with things neither of you wanted to say out loud.bThen, Soonyoung leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. His voice dropped, no longer formal. “I miss working with you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers tapped against the wood, rhythm steady. “Is that what this meeting is about?” you asked eventually. “Missing your assistant?”

He smirked, but it was hollow. “You weren’t just my assistant, and you know that.”

You did. And that was the problem.

His hands slid up slowly, tracing the slope of your waist, steadying you as you moved against him. He tilted his head back just slightly, his jaw clenched, mouth parting with a quiet exhale that barely made it past his throat.

You didn’t need him to say anything. You felt it in the way he held you tighter with every shift. The way his fingers pressed into your skin like he couldn’t believe this was real again.

Your palm found his chest, steadying yourself. He was too warm, too solid beneath you.

Then he looked up at you. Eyes darker. Focused. Not on what you were doing, but on you—like watching you fall apart on him was more powerful than anything else he could feel.

His hand rose, brushing up the length of your spine, fingers threading into your hair before tugging just enough to steal your breath again.

You weren’t sure when your head tipped back, or when your hands gripped his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you tethered to this moment. The edge between pleasure and collapse was thin now—barely holding.

His breath was ragged against your throat, each exhale growing more erratic, his hands no longer guiding but gripping—like he was trying to ground himself in you, like letting go too soon would ruin everything.

Soonyoung’s voice came low and strained against your skin, “Y/n—don’t stop.”

You didn’t plan to. Your rhythm faltered for half a second, hips stuttering from how tightly your body coiled around the sensation—but he was right there, his hand steady at the small of your back, keeping you close, keeping you moving.

Your foreheads touched. Sweat. Breath. Tension.

He looked at you—really looked. And for a beat, the air stopped. There was nothing but the heat of his palm at your waist, the tremble in your thighs, the way your name barely formed on his lips like a prayer or a warning.

And then it hit you—how close you were. How close he was. Every movement became desperate, sloppier. More like instinct than intent.

Your lips brushed his cheek, your body arching as your pulse surged, your voice catching in your throat. “Fuck—Soonyoung—”

That did it. His hands tightened, his body tensed, and in the space between control and surrender, you both tipped over the edge—together. Breathless. Silenced. Shaking.

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of your breathing. Tangled limbs. Quiet gasps. And the soft creak of the table beneath you. He didn’t speak. He just held you—one hand still at your back, the other cradling your waist like you might disappear if he let go too fast.

Your breath was still uneven, your limbs trembling slightly as the silence wrapped around you both like a warm, heavy fog. You rested against his chest, trying to steady your heartbeat, when his voice broke through.

Soft. Low. Like a secret he wasn’t ready to share but couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Resign.”

You blinked.

“Hand them your resignation.”

The words didn’t register at first—your mind too hazy, your body too loose. But when they did, your brows furrowed instinctively. You lifted your head just slightly, startled.

He was already watching you. Still inside this moment. Still bare and open and raw in a way he rarely allowed.

“I—what?” you whispered, breath catching again—but not from desire this time.

Soonyoung reached up, brushing a strand of damp hair from your cheek. His touch was slow, almost reverent. And then he tilted your chin until your eyes met. His gaze wasn’t playful now. No teasing. No smug curl to his lips. Just quiet sincerity.

“I couldn’t watch you being humiliated like this,” he said. “Not after everything you’ve done. Not after everything you’ve fixed… for me.”

You felt it then. The way your throat tightened. The sharp sting behind your eyes. You didn’t even realize a tear had fallen until his thumb was already brushing it away, tender against your cheek like you’d break if he pressed too hard.

His fingers traced the curve of your face, slow, careful. You hated how gentle he was being—it unraveled you faster than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to be gentle. This wasn’t supposed to feel like he cared.

But he did. And that made it worse.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. Tried to pull back the flood of emotion that had been simmering under your skin since the HR meeting—since the reassignment, the whispers, the humiliation you had to wear like perfume the minute you stepped into your new floor.

And now this. Soonyoung, who was never supposed to take anything seriously, was the one seeing you the clearest.

Your lip quivered. You bit down on it hard enough to taste metal, willing yourself to stay composed. But the second tear came. Then another. You looked away, ashamed of your silence, your vulnerability, your inability to respond.

“Y/n,” he said gently, pulling you closer, foreheads touching again. “If they don’t see your worth… leave. And I’ll help you find a better place.”

The weight of those words hit you harder than anything else. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

But your hand slid to his chest, curled softly in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto.

And for once, he didn’t ask anything more from you. He just stayed with you in this quiet, undone moment.

*

You didn’t mean to call anyone. You had told yourself you'd just shower, maybe eat, maybe sleep—but instead you found yourself curled up on the edge of your bed, still in your clothes, your phone pressed to your ear as it rang.

It was late. The kind of late that made everything feel heavier. The dim light from the kitchen gave the room a soft glow, but your phone pressed to your ear felt heavier than usual.

“I’m just… tired,” was all you said when Seungkwan picked up, his voice chipper at first—then cautious. He didn’t push. He never did. He let the silence fall, filling it with his presence, not questions.

There was a pause, long enough that you almost said “never mind.” Then your voice slipped through again, barely above a whisper.

“What do you think if I’m resigning?”

A beat. Then Seungkwan answered, calm and sincere. “I don’t mind. I mean, yeah—it’ll be hard to find something with the same value, same reputation. But if that’s what you want, I’ll support it. Always.”

You sighed, pressing your thumb against your temple. Your head hurt in the kind of way that wasn’t about lack of sleep—but a lack of peace.

“I don’t know, Seungkwan... I really don’t know.”

“Of course you’re clueless. You’ve been shoved around and put in situations where you had to survive. I understand,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Do you have any career plan? Is someone offering you a job?”

No. No one. Well— Soonyoung had said he’d help. Said it with conviction in that private moment like it was gospel. Like he meant every word.

But he was Kwon Soonyoung. A man who once asked if “ROI” was the name of a new intern. Who didn’t know how to schedule his own meetings without color-coded prompts you made for him. Who showed up to investor brunches with lipstick on his collar—your lipstick—and still made a joke out of it.

You couldn’t even trust him to send an attachment properly in an email. And now he was asking you to trust him with your life after this?

Your silence must’ve stretched too long, because Seungkwan spoke again. “Is it him?” That stopped your breath. You didn’t say his name. You didn’t have to. He knew.

“I don’t know what he promised you,” Seungkwan continued gently, “but if you’re holding on to that as your only parachute, make sure it’s not just… words.”

You closed your eyes. You wanted to believe him.bWanted to believe that Soonyoung meant it—that he would fight for you, that he saw everything you sacrificed for that label, that he wouldn’t let this end with you packing your things and being erased.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You didn’t know if it was belief… Or wishful thinking. And you were tired of hoping. You didn’t answer. Just let the silence fall again.

*

When Soonyoung stepped into his apartment, the first thing that hit him wasn’t the silence—but the scent. Something warm. Garlicky. Familiar. He paused by the door, blinking like he had to recalibrate. There was someone in his kitchen. You.

Wearing one of his aprons—badly tied—and frowning softly at the pot in front of you. The sleeves of your blouse were rolled up, and your hair was clipped messily at the back. You didn’t hear him come in right away, too focused on adjusting the stove and tapping at the edge of the box labeled KF Meal Kit –Kimchi Jjigae.

He chuckled, loosening his tie. You and these damn company products. It was the fifth time he’d seen you cooking them in the last month. At work. At home. He shrugged off his blazer, folded it neatly, then quietly walked to the kitchen. You looked up as he reached the counter, eyebrows raised and a small smile tugging at your lips.

You leaned a little on the counter, watching the pot begin to simmer. He stepped closer without thinking, hands finding your waist like they belonged there. You didn’t move. You didn’t stop him. If anything, your body softened beneath his touch, like it remembered the rhythm of standing this close.

Soonyoung exhaled quietly, pressing his forehead near your ttemple I miss you,” he murmured.

There was no teasing in it. No smug grin. Just honesty, spoken low and barely audible over the bubbling of the meal.

You blinked, the words catching you off guard—but not in a bad way. They melted into the air, sinking into the skin between his palms and your ribs. You didn’t respond immediately. You just leaned the tiniest bit into him, a silent answer in itself.

His thumb brushed over your hip, and he pulled you just slightly closer—not possessive, not rushed. Just… here. Present.

You tilted your head toward him slightly. “Dinner’s not even done yet and you’re already getting sentimental?”

Soonyoung chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder, “You in my kitchen is enough. Feels like I’ve already won.”

And for a moment, it was quiet. Dinner was long gone—plates in the sink, lights dimmed, and the two of you curled on the couch like gravity pulled your bodies together on instinct. The TV played something neither of you paid attention to. Just background noise to the slow rhythm of Soonyoung’s fingers trailing along your cheek, brushing the edge of your jaw, memorizing your face like it was the first time again.

You blinked, lazy from the warmth of his hold, when he spoke.

“I talked to Joshua hyung today.”

Your brow lifted. “Yeah?”

“He said there’s a manager position opening in his company. He’d like to see your resume.”

You turned toward him a little, eyes wide in disbelief. “Really?”

He smiled, nodding, looking far too proud for someone just casually bringing life-altering news. “Yeah… I told him about you. About how competent and sharp you are. He said he can’t wait to meet you.”

You stared at him. “That’s… unexpected.”

Soonyoung immediately pouted, his brows knitting together in that ridiculous way that never quite matched how tall and put-together he could look in a suit. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I wouldn’t come through?”

You chuckled under your breath, “No, it’s not that. I just…” you exhaled, “I didn’t expect you’d actually do it. I know you can, with your last name and network. But I guess a part of me thought… I was just someone who helped you with work.”

Soonyoung stared at you like you’d just said something blasphemous. Then sighed heavily and pulled you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin.

“You should know by now that you’re more than that, Y/n. Everyone sees it. Even Seungcheol hyung said you were—what did he say—ah, charismatic.”

You groaned, pressing your face briefly into his shoulder. “Don’t bring that up…”

Soonyoung chuckled, a little too amused. “What? It’s true. Remember that night he drove you home from the bar? You told him what you did—accidentally, if I recall—and he just went, ‘So you’re the one supervising Soonyoung? Ah… the annoying marketing manager, huh?’”

You sighed dramatically. “Great. That’s my legacy.”

“Sexy annoying marketing manager,” he corrected with a grin, pulling you closer.

“Shut up.”

He laughed harder now, contentment laced into every curve of his smile.

Then, a pause. Softer.

“You’re not mad?” he asked.

You looked up at him. “Mad?”

“For… helping you like this. I mean, I know you’re strong. I didn’t want to bruise your pride or make it seem like I thought you couldn’t land something on your own.”

You stared at him, heart clenching in that way it sometimes did when people said something too kind. Something too thoughtful.

“You’re competent. Smart. Efficient,” he said, as if repeating it to himself. “And I was worried you’d turn it down because you thought I was underestimating you. But I wasn’t. Not even a little.”

You blinked, then smiled, unable to stop the warmth spreading through your chest.

“You’re cute, Soonyoung,” you murmured, fingers reaching up to pinch his cheek gently.

“Hey! I’m being serious!” he protested, squirming under your touch—but his grin betrayed him.

You leaned into him again, nestling under his chin as his arms instinctively wrapped tighter.

“I know you are,” you whispered. “And that’s why I might actually consider it.”

He didn’t answer. But the way his breath slowed, and the way his thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, said everything.

The TV murmured in the background—some drama neither of you were really watching—as the quiet between you stretched long and comfortably still. The couch dipped just slightly beneath your bodies, your fingers lazily tracing the hem of his sleeve. You were dangerously close to dozing off again in his warmth. Until—

“Soonyoung-ah?”

The sudden voice made you jolt so hard you lost balance. He turned his head sharply—just as you tried to sit up. Your knees caught the edge of the coffee table, he tried to grab your waist, you both fumbled—and then fell.

Hard.

The thud was loud, a tangle of limbs and fabric hitting the floor, followed by a stunned silence and a hissed curse from Soonyoung.

“Oh my—are you okay?!” came the voice again. It was closer now.

You froze, eyes wide. Soonyoung groaned beneath you. “Why didn’t you lock the damn door?” you whispered sharply as you sat up from his chest, trying to fix your shirt, your dignity already lost in the living room rug.

“I didn’t think I needed to!” he hissed back, rubbing the back of his head.

Then a pair of heels stepped into view.

“Oh,” said a woman with a well-maintained bob cut and too-perfect makeup. Her tone was pleasantly surprised, but her gaze was anything but subtle. “I… didn’t know you had company.”

You scrambled upright. “Hello—I'm sorry—I didn’t hear anyone come in—”

“Clearly,” she said with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Soonyoung stood, brushing off his slacks and walking past you like nothing happened. “You visit,” he said flatly.

His mother blinked. “I brought food. And I wanted to check on you.”

He walked toward the kitchen without glancing back. “I’m not twelve.”

She gave you a knowing glance and followed. “Still, you always forget to eat when you're under pressure. And you’re hosting. I had to make sure she wasn’t starving.”

You stiffened slightly. Soonyoung looked back at you, unreadable. “She ate.”

“I can see,” she said, eyes flicking toward the leftover meal kit container on the counter. “Microwave dinners. Very romantic.”

His mouth twitched. “It’s from the label.”

His mom looked at him, then at you, and smiled again, this time softer. “You must be the reason he’s actually showing up to board meetings.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what to say.

“Mom,” Soonyoung interjected, tone clipped. “You’ve delivered the soup. You’ve confirmed I haven’t died. Are you staying?”

She tilted her head slightly. “I can go. Don’t let me interrupt.” Her gaze lingered on the couch—on the crumpled blanket, the two glasses, the clear closeness—before she turned to the door.

“I’ll call you later, Soonyoung,” she added as she slipped her heels back on. “Nice to meet you, Miss…”

“Ji,” you supplied quickly.

“Miss Ji,” she echoed with a small smile before she stepped out, closing the door with an audible click.

Silence.

You turned to him, breath still uneven from both the fall and the mortification. “So that was your mom.”

“Yep.”

“She didn’t seem… warm.”

“She’s not.”

A pause. “She said she brought food.”

He rolled his eyes. “She’ll Venmo the maid to drop it off later.”

“…You okay?”

Soonyoung scratched the back of his head, then looked at you with a crooked grin. “Honestly? I’d rather fall again.”

You laughed. Loudly this time. And maybe—just maybe—it made the awkwardness a little easier to carry.

*

Your first day at Hong Finance went better than expected. The morning had been a whirlwind of handshakes, onboarding documents, and a glossy welcome kit with your name printed in soft gold on the folder. The office was sleek, everything glass and grey and expensive-smelling, but the people? Surprisingly warm. Joshua, your new Director, had personally introduced you to each team member, casually mentioning that you came highly recommended—without saying by who.

Though you had a guess. A certain someone who used to forget what KF Label even stood for.

You worked through the day with quiet diligence, letting your brain adjust to the faster pace, the bigger picture, and the knowledge that you weren’t being micromanaged by HR this time around. You weren’t running damage control. You were actually doing your job—and being respected for it.

It was 6:10 when you stepped out of the building, your heels clicking gently on the pavement. The golden haze of sunset stretched across the city skyline.

And right there, leaning against a black car with sunglasses perched atop his head, was Kwon Soonyoung.

He looked like he belonged on the cover of a lifestyle magazine—tailored slacks, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, one hand in his pocket and the other lazily scrolling his phone. But the second he spotted you, he straightened up and pulled the door open.

“For the newly hired marketing manager of Hong Finance,” he grinned.

You raised an eyebrow as you walked up. “Look who’s playing chauffeur.”

“I prefer ‘supportive boyfriend who can finally say that title out loud.’” He gave you a dramatic bow before you slid into the passenger seat. “You worked hard. I’m proud of you.”

You chuckled as he got in, started the engine, and the two of you merged into the soft blur of city traffic. “So how was your day?”

He shrugged with a grin. “Better now. I was thinking of you the whole time. Could barely sit through my meeting without wondering if you were dying in there or thriving.”

“I’m thriving,” you smirked. “Try not to look so surprised.”

He glanced sideways at you, eyes softening, then turned back to the road. “You know, I meant it when I said I wanted to take you out tonight. Properly.”

You leaned your head against the seat, lips curving. “I know.”

He glanced at you again.

“And I meant it too,” you added, mischievous. “‘Finally growing up,’ huh?”

Soonyoung groaned playfully. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“Nope.”

It happened six months later. You weren’t expecting it. Not after all the teasing. Not after the jokes he made every time marriage came up, always with a sly grin and a "we’ll see" or a "why rush, we’re young, aren’t we?"

And certainly not on a regular Saturday afternoon, in the middle of folding laundry in his apartment, your hair tied up in a loose bun, wearing one of his old oversized shirts that still smelled like his cologne no matter how many times you washed it.

But maybe that was why it happened. Because you weren’t dressed up. There was no audience. No violin strings, no rooftop dinner. Just sunlight spilling through the windows, the quiet hum of domestic life, and the two of you surrounded by all the little pieces of your routine. Your world.

He stood behind you, not saying anything at first. Just watching. You felt his stare and turned around, sock in hand. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Soonyoung tilted his head, lips quirking faintly. “I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

He laughed softly, but didn’t look away. “I mean it.”

You waited.

“I was thinking,” he said again, this time quieter, “about how I used to think love was chaos. Fireworks. Like a storm you couldn’t control.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice.

“But you’re not chaos,” he went on, stepping closer. “You’re… steady. You’re grounding. You told me when I was being stupid. You stayed when it would’ve been easier to quit. You even learned to like our new meal kit.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest tightened. “So now you’re confessing your undying love through carbs?”

“No,” he chuckled, then reached into his pocket. “I’m proposing through this.”

Your breath caught as you saw the small velvet box. He opened it slowly, revealing a ring so simple and beautiful it nearly took your breath away. No diamonds shouting for attention. Just a gold band with a small, elegant gem. The kind of thing someone would wear every day. Quiet. Constant.

Just like the love he’d built with you.

“I’m not good with a lot of things,” he admitted, voice trembling just slightly. “But I know I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I want our dumb, quiet mornings. Our microwave dinners. You calling me an idiot when I deserve it. And maybe one day, you walking into my office again—but with my name.”

You stared at him, completely speechless. Then he laughed, nervously. “You don’t have to say yes now, by the way. I know your career’s still—”

“Yes.”

He paused. “Wait—what?”

You dropped the sock you were holding, stepping closer. “Yes, Kwon Soonyoung. You idiot.” His smile split wide as you tackled him in a hug, the ring box still clutched in his hand.

*

Meeting his parents was something you’d quietly prepared for, even if Soonyoung said you didn’t need to. “They’re not scary,” he promised with his usual shrug. “You met my mom. My dad’ll just talk about the stock market until someone stops him.”

Still, as you sat beside Soonyoung at the long dining table in their sleek Hannam-dong house—with its museum-level lighting and not a single speck of dust—you knew this wasn’t just any dinner.

His mother greeted you first, of course, in a flurry of perfume, pearls, and the kind of warmth that felt performative but not unkind.

“Oh, you’re getting prettier!!” she said, gripping your hands with both of hers. “Soonyoung was never this glowy, you know. He must be eating well.”

You smiled, bowed politely, and thanked her—twice. She seemed like someone who appreciated a bit of extra etiquette. She gave you a quick once-over—your outfit passed the silent inspection, thank God. then insisted you sit beside her son like you were already part of the family.

His father arrived late, after the wine was already poured and the soup already served.

He was tall, imposing, with the kind of sharp silence that made your posture straighten without thinking. His handshake was firm, his gaze sharper.

“You’re working in finance now, I heard?” he asked, cutting his steak slowly.

“Yes, sir. Hong Finance. I handle B2B marketing strategies under Director Hong Joshua.”

His father hummed, noncommittal. “I see. No family ties to the industry?”

You blinked, just once. “No, sir. I’m from Busan. My family runs a small printing business.”

Another hum.

Soonyoung glanced at you, eyes flicking in concern. You nudged his knee gently under the table—a silent it's fine. I got this.

The conversation moved, meandering through safe topics, until the elder Kwon brought up the label again.

“You know, the KF Label still has too many bleeding points. Sales growth is good, but not stable. I’m not convinced Soonyoung understands where it’s leaking,” he said bluntly. “You do understand what I mean by that, don’t you?”

Soonyoung opened his mouth, clearly trying to assemble something in his head. You could almost see him reaching for words, for numbers you knew he hadn’t looked at since last quarter.

But before the silence stretched too long, you calmly lifted your glass, smiled, and spoke.

“The margin inconsistencies in the semi-premium line have been narrowing, actually. Since February, we’ve scaled down redundant distribution channels and optimized the logistics route from our Cheonan facility. The recent push with ‘Heat-and-Meet’ expanded brand visibility with minimal promo spend.”

You placed your glass back down and added, with polite finality, “Soonyoung has been involved in all those strategy approvals. We’ve made it a point to streamline executive summaries so he can lead without getting buried in jargon.”

The table went quiet for a beat. His father looked at you properly now—eyes no longer cold, but assessing. Appraising. “Hm,” he said. “I wasn’t aware of the Cheonan streamlining.”

“I prepared the original logistics adjustment proposal,” you said with a slight smile. “But the final call was Soonyoung’s.”

A pause. Then, almost grudgingly, the elder Kwon nodded. “Impressive.”

Soonyoung gave you a look under the table—half grateful, half floored.

His mother clapped lightly. “You speak better about business than some of his uncles do, dear.”

You blushed politely and simply replied, “I just care about what I do, ma’am.”

His father said little else after that, but the look he gave Soonyoung as he excused himself from the table later carried something unfamiliar. Respect. Maybe for the first time.

And as you and Soonyoung helped clear the dishes together in the kitchen, his mother called from behind you with a small, satisfied smile:

“You’re already helping him become a better man, Y/n.”

Soonyoung grumbled, cheeks warm. “I told you. She’s the smart one.”

You just bumped your shoulder into his and whispered with a smirk, “Glad someone finally noticed.”

*

The revolving glass doors of KF Label glided open with a quiet sigh as you stepped inside, heels tapping steadily against the pristine marble floor. The lobby hadn’t changed—still sterile, still polished, still smelling faintly of lavender diffuser and corporate ambition.

But you had. Not Ji Y/n, the former marketing manager. You were now Kwon Y/n. The name settled differently on everyone’s tongue now. Especially here, where whispers spread faster than memos.

You nodded at familiar faces—staff from various departments, even the security guard who once complimented your meal-prep lunches. Some smiled with genuine warmth, others with thinly veiled curiosity. And a few didn’t bother to hide their surprise.

Your steps slowed only when you reached the seventh floor. There, near the meeting room, you saw him. Kim Mingyu. He looked up from a file he was reviewing, pausing mid-page when he saw you. His expression didn’t change much—no shock, no smile. Just a polite flicker of his brows. You offered a small, courteous smile and bowed slightly. He returned the gesture with the same practiced civility. That was all.

It was a month after your resignation when you’d found out through Dokyeom in a hesitant voice over a coffee meeting, that it was Mingyu who had filed the HR report. The report that cost you your role. Since then, there’d been no real confrontation. No apology. Just stiff smiles across event halls and neutral nods across meetings.

Jun, Soonyoung’s secretary, greeted you the moment he saw you approach. He looked much livelier than he did during your era of damage control.

“Y/n,” he beamed, standing quickly and smoothing his tie. “You look amazing, as always.”

You offered a gentle smile. “Is he available?”

Jun nodded, already walking to the heavy door. “Just finished a call. I’ll let him know.”

He knocked once and pushed the door open with a practiced hand.

“Sir,” he said with a knowing grin, “your wife is here.”

There was a pause, then a familiar voice from inside, low and warm with the tone he reserved only for you.

“Let her in.”

And just like that, you stepped through the door—leaving behind the past titles, the old pain, and the fractured stares.

You weren’t here to prove anything anymore.

You were here as Kwon Y/n—his partner, in more ways than one.

Soonyoung stood the moment you entered, his face lighting up with that boyish grin that never failed to soften you. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled, and the stress lines on his forehead were deeper than usual.

Still, he reached you first—fingers brushing yours before he gently guided you toward the couch like you were something precious.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he asked, sitting close, knees turned fully toward you.

You tilted your head, teasing, “What would you have done if I told you?”

“Prepared something,” he said dramatically, eyes twinkling. “Like a red carpet. You’re a star here, baby.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your hand against his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you.” He leaned his head against your shoulder then, a deep sigh escaping from him as his whole body relaxed. “Have you had lunch?” you asked quietly, resting your cheek on his head.

He shook his head. “No time. This anniversary event… the product launch, five proposals due by tomorrow—” he exhaled sharply, motioning vaguely to his chaotic desk. “I’m going crazy. If you hadn’t walked in, I might’ve actually curled under that table and disappeared.”

You ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I took a half-day off.”

His head lifted slightly. “Why? Still feeling fatigue?”

You nodded, pressing your lips together. “Yeah. And I went to the doctor earlier.”

That made him sit up straighter, concern painting his face. “You should’ve come home. Why didn’t you say anything? Why are you visiting me if you’re not feeling well?”

Instead of answering right away, you pulled a neatly folded document from your bag and handed it to him.

His brows furrowed as he took it. “Wait—this… is this what I think it is?”

“Open it.”

Soonyoung unfolded the paper slowly, eyes scanning over the lines until they landed on one sentence that made everything around him blur.

Pregnancy confirmation – estimated gestational age: 6 weeks.

He looked up at you, completely still.

You smiled, a nervous, tender curve. “Surprise.”

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. His hands trembled just enough for you to notice, the document still in his grip.

“I’m—” he blinked, voice rough with disbelief. “I’m going to be a dad?”

You nodded, your own breath catching. “Yeah. We’re… we’re going to be parents, Kwon Soonyoung.”

For a second, he just stared.

And then he laughed—a soft, breathless sound of pure joy—as he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest with a mix of awe and something almost like reverence.

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “I swear, you are.”

“I’m telling Jun I’m going home. Everything can wait until tomorrow.” Soonyoung stood up with a spark in his eyes after pulling you into one last firm hug.

You opened your mouth to protest—“Soonyoung, your schedule—”

But he already had his phone to his ear, spinning half toward his desk while still watching you like he couldn’t stand looking away for too long.

“Jun. Yeah. Cancel everything for the rest of the day. Postpone the internal review, shift the client call. Send a memo that the director is off-duty. No, not sick—in love.” He grinned at you while Jun, somewhere across the floor, probably died a little. “You can blame the most beautiful woman in my life.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to burst out laughing. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic,” he said, putting his phone down and coming back to you. “I’m in love. And apparently, I’m going to be a dad, which means I have very important priorities now.”

He helped you up gently, his hands warm on your arms. “Let’s go home, baby.”

You smiled, heart full. “Okay.”

As the two of you stepped out of the office hand in hand, the corridor lights overhead felt softer. Familiar faces turned, surprised, and smiled—some knowingly, some with wide eyes.

But you didn’t care.

Not as he walked beside you, fingers laced tightly in yours, saying things like “I’m buying dinner. No—wait, I’m cooking! No, I’m ordering and cooking!”

And you laughed. Because this was your life now.

Messy. Bright. Full of Soonyoung.

The end.

[revelboo]

I am unbelievably tempted to request a sandwich with the Ark and the Nemesis or either with Metroplex cause I think it’d be hilarious.

There’s so much potential for chaotic sandwiches: Sunstorm and Rung, Prowl and Skywarp, Shockwave and Ironhide- There’s so many that would go to shit so quickly and I LOVE that. If I wrote about your AU, the place would rapidly burn to the ground lmao

I’ll spare you an actual writing request; could you just let me know your most outlandish requests??

Including this one? Copter harem- Whirl, Vortex, and Spinister with one human. And someone’s asked for Prowl, Shockwave. 🔞 Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Interludes Pt 10

The Ark x Reader, The Nemesis x Reader

• Clawed servos flexing as he can’t stop touching the rig hooked into him allowing him to mass shift far past his normal limits, Nemesis vents. Not trusting the tech that had been the collaborative efforts of Brainstorm, Shockwave, Wheeljack, and Perceptor. Not trusting anyone except himself. This thing meant to give Titans a ‘chance at normalcy.’ Which he couldn’t care less about as he growls and snags one of the dancing humans around the middle and turns towards his companion. What he is interested in? Fragging. “What about this one?” He growls at the Ark. Doesn’t particularly care about this dirtball planet or its strange little organics. But he’s bored. And after spending millions of years ferrying thankless Cybertronians around, he’s more than a little frustrated.

• Dangling from the big, purple Cybertronian’s arm, you just stare as his companion bends to stare at you. And you’re just buzzed enough to start laughing. “This one’s down to fuck if that’s what you’re after.” And the yellow one slowly smiles as he straightens. Both of them turning and striding for the bar with you dangling against the purple mech’s hip like a bag of cement. Apparently they’re not interested in pleasantries, just getting down to business. Not that you have an issue with that, spotting one of your friends and giving them double thumbs up as they double over cackling at you. Yeah. This probably isn’t your most dignified moment, but you’re over here living the dream.

• Grabbing a room token and letting himself in, Ark frowns at the way Nenesis is carrying you. Almost certain he’s doing it wrong, but you’re not complaining. After millennia stuck in his alt mode? He’s ready to live. And he’s so horny, he might overload before he’s even inside you. “I found the human, I’m going first,” Nemesis growls as you laugh. Jaw gritting against the urge to point out that the other mech didn’t find you, he just snatched the first human he saw, but as the other Titan glares at him, he gestures toward the berth. He can be patient. It’s only been a millennia already.

• Swinging you down onto your feet, Nemesis growls and catches your arm when you back up. “Don’t,” he growls and you smile. ‘I’m not running, just stripping, okay?’ You ask, hooking a finger in your top covering. And he’s tempted to tear the thin cloth, unwrap you like a present. Reluctantly letting go instead and watching with predatory interest as you strip for him. ‘So how do you want to do this?’ And he reaches out to push you, sending you stumbling to sit on the bed, before he snarls and flips you onto your belly. Leaning to vent against your neck and freeing his spike as he rocks his hips, impatiently sliding the length of his spike against you. ‘You have zero chill, huh?’ You groan, fingers fisting in the sheets as you rock back against him. ‘I can respect that.’

• Gasping when he shifts and the head of his spike stretches you, there’s a moment to worry that he’s a bit more than you can handle. But then you make yourself relax, sucking in a sharp breath when he drives deep, hips meeting you as he snarls, clawed servos digging into the mattress when he begins thrusting. And it is too much, his hips pumping urgently as he snarls what sounds like profanity, those wicked claws tearing into the mattress. Body coiling tight as you squirm under him, kicking out a leg, aware of the noises you’re making as he ruts against you until you’re gasping as you come apart. Hear him snarl, hips snapping against you before he’s overloading to fill you. And you don’t even try to move when he pulls out. Not sure that you can move, thighs trembling so hard.

• Hears your muffled ‘holy fuck,’ as you press your face into the bedding and Nemesis chuckles as he backs off. Venting and freeing his own spike, Ark smoothes a hand up your back. So soft. “What’s your name?” He asks as he sheaths himself inside your wet heat and you moan instead of answering. There’ll be time to talk later, though. Hips pumping, his optics shutter at the feel of you wrapped around his spike. “I think I like this planet,” he growls and Nemesis clears his vents loudly. ‘This one particular human is tolerable,’ he mutters, watching you squirm with a needy sound. Has so much catching up to do after being stuck in his alt mode so long. And he’s going to start by spending the night buried inside you. They can take turns. Maybe work towards reestablishing the Titans since there’s so few of them left. You seem willing enough.

Previous

Next

[pomefioredove]

Hi, can I have a chocolate cookie #1 with whipped cream, frosting, and dried fruit please?

rip rollo flamme

order #1, chocolate with whipped cream, frosting, dry fruit

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the gentleness you deserve

tropes: royalty au, first kiss, only one bed characters: rollo additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, platonic diasomnia fam! no dialogue

Rollo was bound to dislike you.

He had made up his mind on this long before you stepped foot in Fleur City. A member of the Draconia family, blood or not, is no friend of his.

Though he was asked to greet the visiting royal family as an ambassador of Noble Bell College, and he did, as was his duty, he wanted nothing to do with you at all.

You wanted other things.

Curious. Rollo had always thought such a trait to be impudent; fantasies that clouded the mind with doubt, mere distractions from the truth.

You were curious.

You strayed from your royal family to ask him about his city, his school, and himself. You had so many thoughts, so many wants. You were alight with curiosity for magic, of all things, pestering him with impudent questions about other worlds. Silly, strange you.

Rollo was bound to dislike you. Even though you were magicless. Even though you were untouched by its filthy fingers.

He had made up his mind, long before you came along with your questions and your curiosities and your soft, innocent hands, that always seemed to find his no matter where he hid them.

A member of the Draconia family, blood or not, is no friend of his.

Still, the hymn of salvation sung itself in the back of his mind. He let himself forget about his wants for a magicless world, a painless world, and he became curious.

You clouded his mind with doubt, as he so feared, and he fell in love with you, or, perhaps, the myth of saving you. It was a fantasy, but one he could not seem to grind into the ashes and cinders of his mind.

The more he asked for your thoughts- your true home, your past and present, your world- the more he longed for your feelings, as well.

His heart, or perhaps the hollow space between that and the cage of his chest, called for yours. His filthy hands reached for your soft ones, and you became charred with impurity, not of the Draconia family, but of him.

One night, whilst you were out, your room at the Hôtel Grève caught fire.

The righteous, virtuous student council president of Noble Bell College was quick to offer his in its place.

With a trembling, yet certain hand, he touches your face, your hair. What would your wicked foster family think, if they could see this?

You regard him with soft eyes, so innocent, so blind, as if you really could not see the monster that lay on the bed with you now, touching you with charred hands.

Would they be disgusted?

His pale fingers stroke over your cheek.

Would they be afraid?

He finds your hair and is tempted to pull, if only to hear a sound come from your perfect lips. Anything to ground himself, anything to see the impression he's left on your mind and soul.

Would they even know?

His eyes flutter, his dark lashes brushing against your cheek as he meets your lips with his own, only touching for the shortest of breaths, like the lick of a flame, burning and yet delicate.

Rollo curses you with the softness you crave, the gentleness you deserve, the kindness he does not.

He wants to pull away when you kiss back.

And yet, he does not.

He had made up his mind.

[hazymoonlinh]

Can I request Mydei x reader royal AU. They’ve known each other for some time (like both tend to sneak out during gatherings because they both don’t like it). Mydei doesn’t know reader’s “real name” or status and only knows her by nickname. When marriage is brought up by parents, Mydei rejects the idea not knowing it was reader and gets the cold shoulder the next time they meet 😭

He eventually finds out who reader is tho after some event

Sorry, I have been struggling with my life lately.

But, I hope it’s not too late for the request <3

“If Only I Had Known Your Name”

A Royal AU • Mydei x Reader • Sweetness, Secrets, and the Sting of Almost

⸻

You met beneath the moonlight,

not as royals, not as heirs,

but as shadows slipping through velvet halls,

drawn to silence like flame to the wick.

He called you Lark.

Because the first time he heard your laugh,

it was soft, uncontained, and golden.

Like something that had been caged too long.

You never told him your true name.

And he never asked.

You were both just runaways of royalty,

slipping past servants and expectation.

You in your simpler cloak,

he with his hair tied messily back—

two young nobles tired of playing perfect.

You sat side by side in gardens forgotten by nobility,

shared stolen figs,

whispered about distant stars.

You once teased, “Maybe we’ll meet there in another life, and just be.”

He had only smiled and said, “Don’t tempt me.”

⸻

But time moves like a cruel tide.

Your parents speak of alliances.

Of names and bloodlines and legacy.

The prince from Amphoreus, they say—

the Lion of the West.

A man of elegance and strength.

He would suit you well.

You smile through the ache.

Because it’s him.

It’s Mydei.

He just doesn’t know it’s you.

⸻

But he doesn’t say yes.

He rejects the proposal before he even sees the portrait.

Says he doesn’t believe in arranged love.

Says he’s not some prize to be bartered.

Says—

“I already care for someone else.”

You are in the next room when he says it.

And it feels like something cold and final

shoved straight into your chest.

⸻

The next time you sneak out,

you do not smile when you see him.

“Lark?” he asks, noticing the shift in your eyes.

You shake your head.

“Maybe you shouldn’t call me that anymore.”

He steps closer, slow and uncertain. “What’s wrong?”

But you just walk past him.

And say, with a bitterness you don’t recognize in your own voice:

“Funny. You speak of love like it’s yours to hold—

yet you’d throw it away without knowing her name.”

⸻

He doesn’t understand.

Not then.

Not until the night of the gala,

when you descend the grand staircase in royal white,

crown at your temple,

and every eye turns to you.

Even his.

And that’s when it shatters.

When he hears your full name announced.

When the air leaves his lungs.

When the memory crashes in:

The one he had pushed away—

the faceless girl he turned down for honor,

was the one who had stolen figs and fed him laughter in the garden.

You.

His Lark.

⸻

After the ceremony, he finds you alone.

You do not turn to him.

You do not curtsy.

You do not offer a smile.

He kneels beside you anyway.

“You knew who I was,” you say.

“I didn’t,” he whispers. “I didn’t—Lark, I didn’t know it was you.”

You close your eyes.

“I would have told you… but I wanted to know if you’d choose me without the crown.”

He places a hand over his chest. “I did choose you. I chose the girl who smelled of fig leaves and wore laughter like armor. I just didn’t know… the names could be the same.”

Your voice trembles, the anger already unraveling into grief.

“And now what? It’s too late?”

He reaches for your hand.

And this time, he doesn’t hold it like a prince,

but like a man who knows what it is to lose something golden.

“It’s not too late,” he says, so soft, so bare.

“Let me know you again.

As Lark. As your name.

As whoever you want to be.”

You finally look at him.

And in his eyes—

the truth:

He loved you when you were nameless.

He would love you no matter what name you wore.

⸻

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy VIII

a yandere art professor John Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge. If you haven't seen the movie that's ok, I will fill in the gaps as we go...) ->chapter map

VIII. 

-It’s possible you’re hanging around the art building a little early for your shift, on the day you know Matt’s critique is going down. You can’t eavesdrop without making yourself obvious, but you hover in the hallway, pretending to look at student work on the wall. 

The moment you see Matt as he exits Wick’s classroom, you know it didn’t go well. “What did he say?” you ask with a frown, unable to fathom what problems the professor might have found with Matt’s work. 

Matt, however, just shakes his head. “He’s such an asshole. He picked apart every fucking little thing. We’re not fucking medical students, I don’t know the name of every muscle and bone.” You can tell he’s in a terrible mood over it, and you offer a sympathetic smile. 

“I guess…he’s just trying to make sure you learn.” You can’t think of anything else to say. You’ve forgotten a lot, but you remember having to draw medical style diagrams in life drawing 101. It’s not unreasonable on Wick’s part to expect it, unfortunately. 

“Why do you always apologize for him?” The edge in Matt’s tone takes you aback. You’ve never seen this side of your usually sweet and laid back art student, but everyone has a bad day once in a while. 

“I’m not. I’m sorry he was mean to you. That’s fucked up.” 

Maybe Wick is having a bad day too? You think about how sweet he was to you at the beginning of the semester, compared to the professional coolness he treats you with now. Something is up with that man, and maybe you shouldn’t care, but a part of you wonders what demons he’s fighting on the daily. You’re sure it hasn’t been easy, after his wife died.   

Matt groans, raking his fingers through his long hair agitatedly. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly. “Want to hang out tonight?” he offers. “The guys and I are going to watch a movie.”

“Uh…” You feel terrible, but you would rather eat glass than hang out with his friends. You want to cheer him up though. “You can come over to my place if you want.” 

He looks at you, tilting his head like he's reading everything between your lines. “What's wrong with my place?”

“Matt…I do not feel ok around your friends.”

He looks at the ground, his hands shoved in his pockets. “They don't mean anything by it.”

“Yes they do. You are way too sweet to be hanging around with those assholes.”

He bristles at this. “They’re my friends. They're like my family. I've known them my whole life.”

“Okay?”

“So you’re too good for us, huh?”

You're know he's just in a bad mood, but it still stings like a knife between the ribs. “I didn't say that.”

“Sure. I see you, y/n.”

He clearly had a chip on his shoulder about this, and you hate it, that there's a part of you that wants to cave. That wants to believe you're overreacting, and that your survival instincts are just off, and you’re being a stuck up bitch. 

Deep down, you know you’re not. 

You've put yourself in uncomfortable situations like this before for boys…and you're not going to do it again. No matter how heartbreakingly handsome Matt is, or how good a kisser. 

“Don’t be like that. Come over. I'll make you dinner. We can watch any movie you want.” You lift your eyebrows at him, and only an idiot wouldn’t understand the code for we can makeout while a movie plays in the background.

He looks up at you through his hair, and you can tell he's sorely tempted. But pride wins out, and he shakes his head. You guess it's bros before hoes. How predictable.

Well, they can just have themselves a circle jerk for all you care. 

You watch him stump away, and you don't know why your eyes sting and your chest feels too tight.

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[hersterical]

I'm intrigued by Bishova. Do you have any recs?

I’ve tried to come up with a list that I think you’d like based on some of your posts but I think we might have just a little bit of different tastes. If anyone who sees this has any other good recommendations, especially something with a sort of Killing Eve ‘these two are so Not Normal about each other’ type of vibe, then please share!

Christmas in July by Alexismobeal, Rating: M, Word count: 276,515, Chapters: 38/38

has a deep dive into Yelena being on the asexual spectrum and how they can have a level of physical intimacy that they’re both comfortable and satisfied with (not the whole story but it is a major part of the story)

‘best laid plans’ by smilesmild, Rating: E, Word Count: 25,556, Chapters: 2/3

“Yelena has been tasked with retrieving top secret surveillance data from Bishop Security. She decides the only way to do this is by seducing Kate Bishop.”

’aqua regia’ by polarkai, Rating: E, Word Count: 190,020, Chapters: 12/?

Suicidal Yelena whose main hobby at the beginning is sitting on Kate’s fire escape and spying on her. Kate becomes Yelena’s friend and sex ed teacher

Axinite25 has literally dozens of bangers but three standouts to me are ‘strangers passing through’ (vampire kate sits outside Yelena’s window every night and tries to tempt her and Yelena lets her try), ‘An Eternity in an Hour’ (John Wick era Kate), and ‘are you coming home?’ (yelena is ordered by kilgrave to kill kate). Those three are all one-shots but the vampire one is part 1 of a series

’Red Post-Its’ by Ofibooks, Rating: G, Words: 67,099, Chapters: 9/9

Kate’s pretty sure that someone else is living in her apartment.

‘Love Me Whole’ by ImAMarvelSimp, Rating: E, Words: 281,356, Chapters: 33/?

Someone orders a hit on Kate so Yelena and some of her widow friends kind of kidnap her (though it’s not long until Kate’s on board). Lots of angst, whump, and amazing action scenes.

‘breaking little hearts like the one in me’ by SimplyKorra, Rating: E, Words: 55,356, Chapters: 10/?

Winter Soldier au (not a rehash of the movie) where Kate’s the winter soldier

‘Could We Forget All the Ways We’re Broken’ by Adimnos, Rating: M, Words: 156,199, Chapters: 20/22

Kate and Yelena start off working against each other on assignment but they eventually reach a point where Yelena would rather basically torch her whole life than see Kate die

Pretty much all of these fics came before Thunderbolts so there’s going to be some inconsistency with that now

The Witch and the Widows by Bishopson is also really good but bishova is not the focus. The main focus is friendship between Wanda and Yelena in an au starting right after Age of Ultron. Also includes Wanda/Bucky and an even more complicated sister relationship between Nat and Yelena

[takaraphoenix]

Haven't done a lot of fic teasing lately, so have a sneak peek into The Stilinski Pack, a Steter No Hale Fire AU where, instead of Peter, it was just a rogue Alpha that tore through town - and turned Stiles, Boyd, Erica and Isaac, before getting taken out:

There was a kanima loose in Beacon Hills. The Stilinski Pack were not all the people the Alpha had turned. Peter closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he bent over the table in the office with the map of Beacon Hills. They were keeping track of victims and their location, hoping it would clue them in either to where the kanima lived, or who its master was.

“Looking busy there, Lawyerwolf.”

Peter’s lips curled into a small smile as he felt some of his tension ease off. “Never too busy for you, darling. What can I do for you?”

When he looked up, he found Stiles casually leaning against the doorframe. The black jeans were delightfully tight and drew the attention to Stiles’ long legs. A crooked grin sat on his full, kissable lips and those pretty doe-eyes were sparkling with mischief. It was like someone had designed Stiles Stilinski in a lab specifically to tempt Peter Hale.

“Well,” Stiles pushed off the doorframe and walked into the office. “It’s been a couple weeks now that I’ve been learning from your sister and a thought occurred to me.”

Peter stepped aside so Stiles could stand beside him and take a look at the map too. Honey-colored eyes sharpened as that very clever mind surveyed all the clues they had so far. It was thrilling to see the boy figure things out. His body was one thing, but oh, that mind was the even greater temptation.

“Your thought,” Peter prompted after a stretch of silence.

“Right,” Stiles blinked and looked up from the map. “If we want to be a real, proper pack, if that’s the goal of me learning how to be a proper Alpha, then I’ll need a Right Hand and a Left Hand of my own.”

“Mhmh,” Peter pursed his lips, having a feeling where this was going.

“So—o, I was thinking, since you guys are super invested in making my pack the best possible pack, I figured hey, maybe the great and famous Left Hand Peter Hale would take one of my betas on as an apprentice,” Stiles was fidgeting nervously and biting his lip. “Erica, to be precise.”

Peter was fighting the urge to smile, because Stiles’ nervousness was entirely too charming. “Erica. She can be quite wicked. She could make a good Left Hand.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Stiles perked up with a broad grin. “So, that a yes?”

“Yes, darling,” Peter heaved a put-upon sigh. “Send her my way and I’ll take her under my wing. It would be nice for Malia to have someone else learning alongside her.”

Stiles’ grin nearly split his face as he nudged Peter. “Thanks, dude.”

“I have told you countless times not to call me that,” Peter shot him a glare.

It didn’t lessen Stiles’ grin. “Whatever. So I’ll tell Erica to text you about the details. Awesome. I gotta go though, I’m patrolling for killer lizards with Laura and Tali.”

“Tali,” Peter repeated the name like it was poisonous.

“She hates when I call her that,” Stiles snickered wickedly. “See you later, Lawyerwolf.”

“Don’t torment my sister too much, Alpha Stilinski,” Peter requested teasingly.

“No promises on that,” Stiles saluted him and walked out of the office.

Peter snorted softly and tried to fight the fond smile. That boy was an absolute menace. Peter needed to have him.

[moscatosin]

🖤 between heaven and hell - devil!mattheo x angel!reader x mortal!harry 🖤 angelic au. part one. minor angst. cutesy vibe. mattheo would make the sweetest devil. enjoy with white wine.

The apartment is ever so warm and comfortable, a perfect winters eve. You’re curled up all snug and tight beneath soft, fluffy blankets on the couch as the relaxing scent of lavender and vanilla candles lit mingle around the living room. A novel, half read; is splayed across your lap that you’re mildly focused on – your halo, illuminating with a faint pearlescent shimmer, hovers a few inches above your head, pulsing ever so steadily to the rhythm of your heartbeat. Behind you, tucked neatly are your wings; a gorgeous cascade of ivory feathers kissed and bejewelled by twilight that flicker gently as you read.

Your presence as an angel, irrespective of your location; has always radiated a quiet and sweet divinity. While you should be focused on the printed pages in front of you, your mind can’t help but wander to the mortal boy that you’ve become smitten with – Harry; a kind hearted and understanding soul whose steady love manages to anchor you int ways you can’t even begin to describe to a world, that even after centuries of being alive you still are working out – both confused and amused on how to understand. Earth – such a funny place.

It's not just a sudden chill which warms the apartment; dropping the temperature eerily low leaving a trail of goosebumps and prickles along your tanned skin; but something else – a disturbance of sorts; both sharp and intensifying electric, that tug rather uncomfortably at the celestial threads of your soul. The newly formed shadows in the corner of the room begin to twist and contort rather darker than they should within a tiny slice of heaven as Mattheo Riddle; devil incarnate, the absolute synonym of trouble, steps out from them – his presence both unexpected and yet a rather delicious disruption that you’d rather not confess to within your sacred solitude.

His eyes smoulder, mimicking embers of a roaring fire – romantic shades of amber and cognac flecked with glittering gold, catching the candlelight within the room like that of falling stars. His dark curls; messily tousled, frame his face – a high contrast to the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw, as well as that wicked charm he wields with a lazy smirk that could easily care through the solid boundaries of temptation itself.

“You’re breaking my heart, my angel”, he murmurs out with a voice like velvet, as smooth as butter; laced with a longing that has your halo flickering to a new heartbeat. Mattheo steps closer; making himself comfortable in your living room; his shadows appearing as if they’ve slipped through the twilight. His gaze, heavy with an adoration you’re still not used to, pin you in place; the air between you both thickening with a desire that feels like a sin you haven’t committed – yet. “Does that Harry boy know how bright that halo of yours burns when you’re tempted, or is that light you shine just for me?”

You set the book down on the coffee table and toss the blankets back, rising from the couch; tugging down your little white dress as your wings rustle softly – their glow cascading a shimmer across Mattheo’s face which artistically highlight the growing hunger in his eyes. Not for food, not for mercy, but for you. Letting you a deep sigh; you shake your head, running a hand through your hair as your worlds begin to collide.

“You know that I’m his Riddle, so remind me… why do you still bother me?” “His”, Mattheo chuckles out with a smirk; snapping his fingers twice. “Remind me of him again...” “Harry. Mortal. Good, steady, safe. Everything you’ll never be. Just- just why are you chasing something you know you’ll never have?”

Your halo flares with a warning; Mattheo’s obsidian horns darken with a sultry glow. You can feel your pulse beginning to betray you; quickening beneath the weight of this devil’s stare like you’re trapped within your own sanctuary with nowhere else to go. Mattheo lets out another laugh, this one deeper than before. The sound is soft, warm, curls around you like a ribbon of forbidden caress, as he leans against the side of the couch; close enough to you that you begin to smell the scent of cedar and scorched earth which eliminates sense and sensibility from you.

“Ah yes, the chosen one. Safe. Steady. Steady, is boring my angel”, Mattheo whispers; reaching out to brush his fingertips against your wrist, the warmth in his touch sparking hot upon your skin, sending a shiver through your wings. “It’s obvious – and I know you feel it – the way your heart skips when I’m nearby. The way your mind clouds with stars and shadows. Your little mortal crush might hold your hand, but oh my sweet, sweet angel, I could make you fly.”

Locking his eyes on yours, infatuated and unashamed, a tension you weren’t expecting to feel crackles between the two of you. Exhaling a shaky breath, you step in closer, shaking your head before slowly biting at your bottom lip.

“Mattheo, you are nothing but trouble”, you counter, your voice taunting, yet trembling with the effort you need to upkeep in order to hold your ground. “Just a devil with some sweet words a bad reputation. I love Harry. He is my world and you… ugh; you’re just a terrible, vile idea.”

You should step back, but you can’t – drawn to his heat as the space between where the two of you stand shrinks until it is no more than a mere breath of the divine and the damned. Mattheo’s smirk softens into something tender, something dangerous, something you become intoxicated by as his hand lifts to graze your cheek. His touch a gentle juxtaposition of what most would expect from someone who has fallen as far as he has. It feels like a vow. One so unholy, you begin to think of perhaps jumping headfirst straight into the chaos he resides in.

“A vile idea?”, he murmurs with a husk, dropping his head so that his lips brush against your ear sending your halo into a flickering fit. “Perhaps – but oh what I wouldn’t burn for you angel. I’d give up every shadow and tortured soul just to feel your light.”

His hand traces across your chin; thumb brushing across your lips before dropping down to choke you for a second as a tease. He knows the effect it has on you. He see’s it. The way your eyes widen like that of a doe and your breath hitches as you quietly beg inside your mind for more. You’re caught in this obscene sincerity which shouldn’t exist that makes Mattheo a little more perilous than any other devil should be.

“You’re nothing but drunk on lust, Riddle and trust me, if you think I’d let a bad idea like you have my heart – you’ll have to fight your way through the garden of Eden and the pearly gates to get to me.”

He grins, all fangs and fire as his hand slips around your waist; anchoring you within the storm of his affection you’re becoming more tempted by each passing second. “Fight? Please – I’d spend eternity winning you over if you’d let me; and believe me, when you finally let me love you, I’ll make sure that heaven itself is jealous of what we have and what I do with you.”

With that said; he’s gone, vanished within a smoke and a flash, leaving you breathless – leaving you alone with thoughts you shouldn’t have. Your wings ache to unfold; your heart caught up in the reckless pull of a devil who is hopeless and utterly enamoured; determined to drag you into his lovesick hell.

[justbelievinginmagic]

hi! im haley. she/her. 26. a place to read fanfiction ♡, write fanfiction ♡, & reblog kpop men ♡. i'm trying to update like a waltz & im(mortal) monthly; all of my other fics are updated whenever i feel like it! i do not have a taglist fyi! all my reader fics are fem!reader! please be +18!

✦ . ⁺ about me. my art. my ao3. ⁺ . ✦

ATEEZ Like a Waltz Masterlist

OT8 x Reader | When 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or will you be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? Divergent-1900′s Mafia AU.

When Worlds Collide Masterlist

OT8 x Reader | What if Aniteez appeared on Ateez's ship after being sent through a Cromer wormhole? How would the two crews work and live in harmony when worlds collide? Slice of (Sky Pirate) Life AU.

Mirage Masterlist

OT8 x Reader | When a surprise attack by the emotionless Android Guardians strikes the airship, the Illusion, a shattering choice sends you back to a time before you met the crew of Ateez, before piracy, and before the rise of the Guardian's Initiative! Divergent Ateez Lore / Technopunk Pirates / Time Travel AU.

Bewitched Masterlist

Seonghwa x Reader | All your life you had been asked: would you be a good witch or a bad witch? You wanted to be a good witch. and, finally, you would be! the day arrived; you were going to Shiz University, the most-esteemed magical college in all of Oz! You were prepared to work hard and make your dreams come true. but when you stumble upon cold bullies and an even colder sorcerer-in-training named Park Seonghwa who seemed to captivate you at every turn, will you be able to achieve your magical goals or will you fall under his spell? Wicked AU.

The Captain & His Sea ; The Sea & Her Moon Drabbles

Davy Jones!Hongjoong x Calypso!Reader | When the goddess of the sea fell in love, a gift became a curse upon the lovers. Pirates of the Caribbean AU.

you can devour me whole; i dedicate to you my life

Seonghwa x Hongjoong x Reader | you've escaped your vampiric lovers at least... you thought you did. but at every turn you are haunted by them. will you ever feel like yourself again or are you simply theirs? Yandere Vampire AU.

BTS The Dragon-Blood Chronicles Masterlist

OT7 X Fem!Reader | Dragon-blood folk have been gone for centuries. But, when Prince Namjoon gets sent away from the Palace at a young age for unruly behavior, things begin to change in the kingdom, and eight magical fates begin to unravel. Fantasy / Dragon AU.

I Need U Masterlist

Taehyung x Original Female Character | This fic incorporates a female original character named Song Nari into the  Bangtan Universe (focusing primarily on HYYH storyline and Smeraldo lore while incorporating BU MVs) and explores her relationships with the boys throughout the years as things go wrong and right before their lives get forever changed by a wish made by not only Seokjin but Nari. Will her presence change what happens in the end? HYYH AU.

One Shots Inspired By Songs Masterlist

ENHYPEN im(mortal) Masterlist

OT7 x Reader | Seven souls search for answers about their forced immortality. In the process, they find more than they could imagine brewing - including a strange magnetic pull towards a human woman. Will they be able to find their humanity once more or will their world crumble beneath the weight of immortality? Sci Fi Vampire AU

STRAY KIDS Ariadne’s Thread Masterlist

Hyunjin x Reader | When tempted by an intoxicating offer by Hyunjin the Goblin King, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in the Labyrinth. Labyrinth / Faerie AU.

Burrow Masterlist

Chan x Hyunjin x Reader | After escaping the facility that made you what you were, you strive to reunite your broken trio and build a life that was worth living. Sci Fi Hybrid AU.

do you even lift, bro??

Changbin x Plus-Sized!Reader | Changbin loves showing off for you. Idol AU.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER Starstruck Masterlist

Yeonjun x Reader x Kai | When the Ever-Lasting Star stops tick-tocking over a fantastical land, the very fabric of the world begins to change. A princess faces magical curses, mythical beasts, corrupt cults, and old friends in order to rewire the universe to find your true happily ever after. Fantasy AU.

(fyi: i cross-post all my works on ao3 under the same username!)

divider credit @anitalenia!!

[tallulah477]

Birthday Gift

Kinkmas Day 2: Titty Fucking

Pairing: Prince!Human!Neteyam x Maid!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Tit fucking, Slight dirty talk, Slight possessive/obsessive behavior and language, Cumming on chest/tits

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Dedicated to @tsewtx for creating this fantastic AU. Love you, Wren! Catch up on Royalty AU here!

Summary: (Royalty AU) Prince Neteyam receives a lot of fine gifts for his birthday, but the only thing he really wants is you on your knees and your perfect tits around his cock.

Prince Neteyam always receives many gifts for his birthday.

He is recipient to the finest jewelry, made from precious metals and adorned with a multitude of diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires. Amongst the small mountains of gold and silver crafted pieces, hang other pieces of lavish clothing - soft, silk dress shirts in multiple colors, intricate waistcoats that look like they took a lifetime to create.

A new pair of leather riding boots that would look good on him, but that look amazing on you. 

“C’mon, y/n,” He mumbles, dark eyes glittering with desire as they trace along your standing figure. “Show me the new things I own,”

You stand in front of him, clad only in an unbuttoned emerald green silk shirt that falls halfway down your thighs and the leather boots that hug your legs until just below the knee, the little buckles on the sides clanking with each step you take as you walk uncertainty towards him, giving him a small twirl when he silently moves his pointer finger in a circle. 

He grins at your hesitance. So many years of doing this with him, being his good girl, his whore, the perfect little maid for his majesty - and you’re still so shy, like somehow you’re not 100% positive that he's completely and utterly obsessed with you. 

“You don’t have to be bashful,” He says, leaning forwards so he can rest his forearms on his thighs as he gazes at the expanse of soft skin on display, both between the gap of the shirt hem and boots as well as the tempting sliver of smooth, markable canvas shown between the open button down. “You know you’re the most beautiful woman alive.”

The flush on your face and the way you can’t meet his eyes make his cock even harder in his trousers. The hard length pushes at the tight material, threatening to burst the seams. Neteyam stands, eager to be closer to you, to touch you, and relieve some of the pressure. He crosses the room, tall figure towering over yours as he stares down at you, eyes filled with heat as he grips your jaw in his large hand, possessively. 

“You look so pretty in my clothing,” He murmurs, tilting your head up so your plump lips brush against his. 

“Thank you, your highness,” 

Neteyam’s lips are warm against yours as he kisses you, the soft press of his mouth against yours is enough to make your breathing stutter no matter how many times it’s happened before. His lips slide across your cheek, laying gentle kiss after gentle kiss along the heated skin as he makes his way to your ear. His breath is hot against the curve as he breathes, “Are you going to be a good girl for me and give me my present?”

You nod, voice struggling to manifest when he nibbles on the shell of your ear, and you’re just able to force out a squeaky, “Yes, highness,”

He kisses you again, this time a little harder, a little more needy. His free hand moves to brush the soft material of the shirt to the side, revealing one of your breasts to his hungry gaze and brushing his thumb over your hard nipple, before pulling back and biting his bottom lip with a wicked smirk. 

“Undress me then,”

His long fingers tease along the sensitive skin of your thigh as you work carefully on undoing the clasps of his shirt. Your delicate hands push the material off of his broad shoulders, revealing the toned expanse of his chest and your eyes can’t help the way they zero in on the excited rise and fall of his chest and the muscles that shift under his skin. The necklace around his neck shifts in time with his breaths, the small thin golden band he had made for you years ago threaded through the chain lays next to his heart - exactly where it should be, he tells you, until he’s able to put it on your finger officially. 

The metal glistens in the low light of the room, contrasting beautifully against his dark skin, but your eyes are pulled away from the sight when his hand cups your jaw again.

“Going a bit slow, aren’t we?” He chuckles, lips brushing against yours with each word. “You know it’s not fair to tease the birthday boy.”

His hands grip yours, warm palms dragging your own across the strong muscles of his chest and down the flat planes of his stomach until they reach the waistband of his pants. He keeps one of your hands there, and your fingertips gently caress the skin just above the fabric. He guides your other hand down further until you’re cupping his bulge, feeling the thick hardness in your hand.

“Feel how hard I am for you?” He murmurs, hand tightening around yours to make your fingers curl around him through the taut material. “Need you so much.”

“I’ll take good care of you,” You promise. 

Your hands expertly work at the fastenings on his trousers, his length jumping out and slapping against his belly, long and thick and beautiful in its glory. His cock is familiar to you - intimately familiar in the way that every part of your body knows the shape and size of it by memory. Every ridge, vein, and curve - engraved in your brain and heart.

He prefers to fuck you. Is obsessed with the feeling of your tight heat wrapped around his cock like a warm hug he never wants to be released from. He loves to feel the way your pussy clenches around his length, wants to feel your nails raking across his back as he ruts into you, hear your pretty mewls when he pounds your cervix before he floods your insides with his release.

He wants you on your back, or on your stomach, or on your side - it doesn’t matter. He wants you anyway he can have you, just as long as it’s you with him, crying his name as you cream all over his cock.

And he’ll get that. Soon. But for now, he wants this. 

He kicks his pants off, suddenly impatient as he stares down at you. He pulls you towards him, catching you off guard with the force of his tug as he sits on the chaise at the foot of his bed, and you fall onto his lap with a shocked yelp.

“Teyam!” You gasp, and his nickname falls from your lips without you even catching it. 

“Be a good girl and give me what I want, okay?” He grunts, ripping the silk shirt from your body and leaving you entirely bare to his hungry gaze, save for the boots still hugging your legs. “On your knees. Now.”

You rush to comply - the firm, authoritative timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine as you slide off of his lap and onto the floor. Neteyam leans back against his bed, the weight of his body supported on his forearms as his upper half lounges against the soft covers. His thighs are spread wide to accommodate your position between them and his cock pulses at the view.

It’s not a new sight, but it’s still his favorite sight.

You on your knees, staring up at him with those eyes, batting your long lashes at him with a combined look of shy maiden and sex vixen that makes him want to slide his hand in your hair and push your face into the ground so he can bury himself inside you from behind until the sounds you're making match the expression on your face. But no - he has a plan. He made you promise to give him whatever he wanted for his birthday, and he wants this.

“Come on, y/n,” He says, and he’s trying to be calm, trying to stay the golden, level headed prince that he should be, but even he can hear the whine in his voice. “Put them on me. Want to feel them,”

His breath feels like it's stuck in his lungs when you kneel up, hands cupping the sides of your chest as you lean closer and closer to his throbbing erection. His shirt and boots are not the only thing he’s put you in tonight. The fine jewelry of intricately made necklaces and rings he’s received throughout the day also adorn your perfect body. Three very expensive necklaces of varying lengths hang from your delicate neck, the regal blue stone on the longest one hanging beautifully just above the valley of your breasts. 

The feel of your tits enveloping his length has him reeling, the soft pillowy mounds molding around his cock like they were made to cradle him between them. Your hands hold your breasts together tightly around him, the rings on your fingers shining in the light are a variety of mixed metals and glittering jewels, and he decides then and there that he never wants to wear them himself. He only ever wants to see the beautiful jewels on you. 

It’s good, so good - the feel of your breasts massaging his heated length. But he needs more. 

“Spit on it,” He groans, and it’s taking all he has to not just fuck up into the tight space. There’s already a wet line along the opening of the valley from his precum and he’s obsessed with the way your wet skin glistens in the low light of the room. “Spit on it, y/n. Get it all wet and slippery so I can fuck them.”

The sound that rips out of his throat when you do is almost a whimper. His cock twitches when you let the glob of saliva fall from your tongue and onto the flushed tip, the spit coating the head and running down the sides and into the warm and newly wet embrace of your breasts. 

You do it again, adding more wetness to the mix to help with the slide as you glide yourself up and down his shaft. Neteyam lets out a punched out moan, hands balling into fists next to him as his head tilts back in pleasure, eyes fluttering closed for just a second before his head snaps back up, intent on not missing a second of the breathtaking image in front of him. 

Your nipples are just peeking out from the cage of your fingers, two hard buds pointed tantalizingly between your pointer and middle fingers and he mourns the fact that he can’t both fuck your tits and suck on your nipples at the same time. His hips kick up, abs flexing as he rocks into the tight space, and the tip of his cock nudges the blue gem of the necklace with each thrust. 

“So good for me,” He moans, reaching out to run his thumb along your bottom lip. He lets out a shuddering breath when your tongue comes out to swipe against the pad of his thumb. “Yeah, do that. Put your tongue to good use,”

Neteyam’s eyes roll back into his head at the first feel of your tongue on his swollen tip. He rocks faster, hips now completely off the chaise as he fucks your tits with vigor, your tongue lolling out to lap against the head every time it reappears back through the cradle of your breasts. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” He grunts. “So perfect for me.” 

The sensation of his cock tapping against the wet muscle is driving him wild, and he can’t help but watch in wicked satisfaction as your own eyes hood in pleasure at the taste of his precum coating your tongue. He knows you, knows you better than anyone else ever will or ever could. He knows that if he were to sink his fingers between your thighs, you would be dripping for him. 

“You were made for me,” He breathes. He can feel his stomach tightening as his orgasm barrels closer and closer. “Made just for me. Mine. My good girl, my whore.”

You hum in agreement, nodding enthusiastically as your responding moan vibrates through your tongue and against his cock. But it’s not enough. He needs the words - needs to hear them confirmed in your sweet, soft voice. 

“Say it,” He demands. His mind is reeling, desperately trying to decide where he wants to cum. He wants to mark you everywhere - wants to cum on your pretty tits, paint them white with his release and watch as it drips down your gorgeous body. He wants to cum on your face, marking your beautiful features as his just so he can have an excuse to take you to the large tub across the room and wash your entire body clean, only to dirty you up again before you’ve even stepped out of it. He wants to lace his fingers in your hair and drag your head down, sheathing his cock in the warm embrace of your throat and mark you from the inside - it would be less messy, and you wouldn’t be able to wash it off afterwards. “Say it, y/n,”

“I’m yours,” You whisper, thighs unconsciously trying to rub together as you desperately try to keep up your pace and the pressure of your chest against his length. “Your whore,”

“F-fuck!” Neteyam whimpers. “Fuck, fuck,”

In the end, he chooses your tits. He stands abruptly, nudging you back slightly so he can stand properly in front of you and finishes himself off, fisting himself furiously as you gaze up at him with those innocent eyes of yours that just make him want to wreck you even more. He cums with a guttural groan, ropes of white shooting from his swollen tip and landing directly on your heaving breasts.

You look stunning - like a beautiful, fucked out goddess brought to Earth just for him to have and cherish. His cock twitches in interest as he continues to stare at you, and your hooded eyes look up at your Prince in awe.

If you thought you were getting any kind of a break, you were wrong.

**Special thanks to @neteyamsyawntu for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @anastasia1777-blog @localjasmine @tsewtx @skywonder @neteyamswillow

[aamputation]

SVSSS AU ... Benevolent System 0.3

related to [THIS] Shen Yuan art and -> [1st] [2nd] [4th]

As didi had promised, the little System had immediately chimed in with a mission the second Shen Yuan had appeared in the world. Granted, the mission was kind of important– seeing as he didn’t have a weapon aside from the Benevolent System Fan that held didi yet, and completing the quest would provide him with an honest-to-Airplane spiritual blade, which in his millennial nerd brain was more tempting than even the limited edition, limited run release of that Hatsune Miku statue he’d special ordered from Japan. 

According to the mission blurb that had appeared on the surface of his fan, the spiritual weapon Shen Yuan was supposed to be looking for was based on an old legend. Even as obsessive as Shen Yuan is about the world-building and lore of PIDW (including the monsters, of course) he can hardly remember much about the weapon as it was mentioned in the actual web novel. As far as he can remember, it was only vaguely mentioned in passing—something to do with one of Bingge’s wives, somewhere in the mid-triple-digits. It was a legendary semi-sentient blade created by an ancient Beast Cultivator, and was so powerful (but not more powerful than Xin Mo, of course) that if one were to be chosen to wield it, they would be able to communicate with and control even the wildest creatures—any number of beasts who roamed the mountains, oceans, and skies could become as docile as a lapdog! The possibilities were endless, one could amass a beast army to span the Human and Demon Realms, probably even the Abyss as well!

Naturally, upon hearing all of this from didi, Shen Yuan’s first thought is: sorry, wife number two-hundred something, but there is absolutely zero chance anyone else is getting their hands on that blade! 

As you well know, dear reader, the chaotic whims of fate all but doomed Shen Yuan the second he set foot into his favorite trash fire web novel’s setting. Now that he’s been living in the PIDW world for a short while, there’s one thing he knows for sure, and it’s that fate has a wicked sense of humor. Thus, our intrepid transmigrator followed the quest instructions to a tee, only to be held up when he realized he needed a guide to navigate the next branch of the quest. And so here he is, marching into the heart of the Steelwood Wilds on the edge of the Borderlands where monster-ridden trials await him with her at his side—Yin Xue, wife number 234—a rogue beast cultivator far too skilled for her own good, and who would not have been out of place in Ling You, Cang Qiong’s Beast Taming Peak. 

Shen Yuan curses the heavens above and subtly shakes his fan as a punishment for didi—the little shit should have warned him about this! He’s going to have to tread very carefully, lest he get suckered into some shitty romantic subplot with pretty characters that definitely are not his to conquer! Granted, she’s an infant right now in the story, barely older than eleven by the looks of things, so Shen Yuan will happily keep himself safely in the role of weird senior cultivator. Of course, since his luck is apparently abysmal, the plot has decided that she would be the one guiding him through the treacherous terrain. In truth, dear reader, despite his obvious seniority, Shen Yuan’s pride is suffering as he is not being guided so much as being dragged along, while the precocious tween makes snide comments about his incompetence.

“Are you sure you’re even qualified to hold a blade, Shen qianbei?” Yin Xue peers at him with one raised eyebrow as her beast companion—a still-growing bird as dark as ink that he recognizes as an Ironwing Falcon—lets loose a short, soft screech from its perch on her shoulder, as if sensing the real threat they are to face is not within the forest, but is in fact Shen Yuan’s complete lack of practical skills. 

Indignant, Shen Yuan puffs up his chest even though he knows deep down that his only real skillset he has in his arsenal right now is his ability to fake it til he makes it. He can only pretend to be competent long enough to get through the worst of what this trash fire universe will inevitably sicc on him. Obviously he can’t sword fight (at least not without some serious Matrix-style training with didi’s help) and his cultivation skills are basic at best, despite essentially having cheatcode-ed his way into the late core formation stage. All he truly has are a fancy fan that’s all but a deus ex machina, as well as his own frantic wits. 

“It’s just a blade,” he sniffs, forcefully maintaining an air of manufactured confidence. “It’s not that special.”

Yin Xue, of course, doesn’t seem convinced. She crosses her arms and stares at him with an intensity that makes Shen Yuan regret his entire existence.

“Maybe,” she replies, choosing her words carefully, “but it’s definitely not just a blade. It’s the blade. The one that makes people tame the beasts, bend the wilds to their whims, and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, xiao Xue,” Shen Yuan interrupts her quickly. He genuinely doesn’t need another lecture from this toddler. “It’s important. I’m going to find it. I’m going to become the most incredible Beast Scholar in this entire world—oi, don’t look at me like that, I have a plan.” His voice wavers slightly on the word plan, but he can’t let her see that. He has to maintain his facade.

Yin Xue shoots him a suspicious glance before nodding curtly and signaling him to move forward. “I hope Shen qianbei’s plan involves not dying before we reach the last known location mentioned in the legend.”

Silently, Shen Yuan prays for the same.

The Wilds are far more dangerous than he could have imagined, even knowing all the ins-and-outs of the PIDW world as befits his giant fanboy status. Within minutes of stepping inside the dense, dark forest a giant, rampaging Ironhide Serpent-Tailed Bear comes crashing through the trees, its roar shaking the ground beneath him. Shen Yuan will admit that he freezes, his eyes widening with his ripple of fanboy excitement before his palms grow increasingly clammy with fear as reality sets in. The thought: that fucking thing could kill me! blares like a klaxon in his head on repeat. Of course, Yin Xue the thrice-damned child doesn’t even flinch, which causes Shen Yuan to call out in alarm.

“Xiao Xue!”

But as she simply swings out her arm, releasing both her Falcon and her potent qi-infused whip, he is reminded of the fact that even as a child, she’s far more experienced than him. Hell, the kid is actually well into the early qi condensation phase. Within moments, both girl and bird are deep into battle with the behemoth. 

“Shit shit shit– uhh, didi? A little help!?”

《 Of course, [Host]! This didi is ready and willing to assist! {UPLOADING TRAINING PROGRAM…} 》

《 {INITIALIZING.TUTORIAL:MARTIALFAN_ARTSv5.7.pkg} 》

《 … 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!  》

《 «𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠…» 》

Shen Yuan hisses while his mind is inundated with boundless knowledge, stretching his mental limits. His qi rages in his meridians and he inhales sharply as the sensation of his bones and muscles ripping themselves apart overtakes him, followed by a swell of nausea as they seem to be rebuilding all at once. The process is agonizing in its intensity. He gags, the pain making his vision darken at the edges before as suddenly as it had come, he’s back to normal. Although, it’s not truly normal. He can feel the way that didi has burned the practical knowledge of the fan arts into his brain, forcing his body to undergo all the training required to use such skill in the span of seconds rather than decades. He wipes his mouth and swears violently as the Ironhide Serpent-Tailed Bear enters his range. He moves smoothly into a fighting stance.

“Holy–!”

Shen Yuan moves, but it feels almost like autopilot. He knows it’s him doing the fighting, it’s his body performing the actions, the strikes; and it’s his mind issuing the commands to execute it all, but it’s so surreal how natural it feels despite having never learned any of it before this very moment. As his fan deflects another strike from the venomous tail the beast is named for, Shen Yuan spins and sends a blast of qi-infused compressed air at it just as Yin Xue’s spiritual whip makes contact, the colliding forces ultimately ripping the monster apart in seconds.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Yin Xue crows with the confidence of someone who’s used to killing monsters even before breakfast. “Why didn’t you say you were a Wu Shan master, Shen dashi?!” Yin Xue bounces excitedly in place, her youth even more obvious in her behavior, “Just think: if you had a proper blade, you would be even more unstoppable!”

“Right,” Shen Yuan mutters, as if the entire moment where he stood there like a deranged gaping fish wasn’t incredibly embarrassing enough. 

“What happened to your old sword, anyway, Shen dashi?”

“Uh, let’s just say I left it worlds away, hm?”

Yin Xue wrinkles her nose, but doesn’t press. “Okay, whatever you say, dashi…”

By the time the duo manage to reach the altar where the legendary blade is rumored to be confined, Shen Yuan has never been so glad for didi’s presence before in his life. The System really has been working overtime, offering warnings and alerts as they continue to navigate through the forest. With didi’s help, Shen Yuan unlocks a few additional cultivation skills almost like he’s in an RPG, levelling up his Talisman and Array skills to a mid rank level. It leaves him breathless, nauseous, and lightheaded each time, but the rush when flexing his newfound abilities is like no other. Yin Xue grows more and more attached to him as he reveals more of his hidden skills—he feels a little bad deceiving such a cute kid like he is, but there’s no denying the delight he gets from watching her eyes widen in excitement and awe every time he breaks through a challenge’s barrier like tissue paper.

The passing thought of collecting cute little disciples crosses his mind, but he dismisses the idea before it fully forms. A wanderer’s life is no place for a child to grow up in. 

Shen Yuan stares at the altar, a rustic stone monolith that serves as a tomb for the blade. Ancient vines and various flora of an ominous nature twine around the shrine itself, and there is a strange energy around the altar—almost like an invisible weight pressing down on him. He can see where the blade is sealed, just out of reach. Even behind its mystical barrier, Shen Yuan can feel the way it pulses with a wild power, the very untamed nature of it making his heart race. 

“Shen dashi,” Yin Xue murmurs, awestruck, “we found it!”

“Mn,” he hums in response, his eyes travelling over the surface of the monolith as he searches for a way to dispel the barrier array. He does a double take as his eyes catch on something engraved in the ancient stone. He steps closer, eyes narrowing as he murmurs aloud the inscription.

“Toothless jaws strike to the bone. Held in a grip and tame the wild—both beast and blade become beguiled.”

“What does that mean, Shen dashi? Is it… some kind of riddle?”

Shen Yuan furrows his brow, tapping his chin with his fan in thought. He feels the need to solve this on his own, and he has a feeling that didi wouldn’t help him even if he’d asked. This is part of his quest, after all; he has to complete his very first System Mission on his own or he’ll never get anywhere in this world. Didi is an amazing resource—basically a giant OP cheat code—but Shen Yuan wants to be able to rely on himself as much as he can, although he is incredibly grateful for his cute little system’s help.

“... toothless jaws… strike to the bone… in a grip…”

Shen Yuan scowls, furiously wracking his brain as he considers possible answers. It feels annoyingly Tolkien-esque, and although he’s adored the author’s books for years, he’s not exactly well adept at translating riddles. He stares at the shortsword where it remains, suspended in air inside the sealed barrier array, his eyes catching on something that seems to have been embossed onto the sword’s sheath. He steps closer, squinting as his mouth moves involuntarily, reading aloud the words.

“Yu Shou Shi… Ren ..?” 

The Beastmaster’s Blade? What kind of unimaginative–

Suddenly, it happens.

The ripple of qi is the only warning Shen Yuan gets before the barrier array explodes outward. He barely has a second to shield Yin Xue from the shock-wave as it hits them—it feels like he’s been cored out, the energy carving through him and the residual foreign qi echoing in his battered meridians.

The blade chose him.

He stumbles down to one knee, not processing Yin Xue’s panicked cries as he blinks, dumbfounded. He looks back over his shoulder where the blade remains suspended but no longer trapped behind the array. It moves in mid-air and he only has a second to react as it flies into his hand, as though it has been waiting for him all along. The moment it makes contact, the world shifts.

His thoughts become clearer. He can hear the thrum of the blade’s soul, as wild and untamed as any beast, yet purring like a domesticated cat in his grasp. Shen Yuan can sense the blade’s fraternity with its fellow beasts, he feels their roars, their needs. He’s always been fascinated with the beasts of the Great Master Airplane’s world, but his belief that they aren’t enemies to be feared is only reinforced—with this blade in hand, they are his subjects to be understood.

Yin Xue, hands trembling where she reaches for his kneeling form, takes a cautious step closer. “You… it picked you!”

Shen Yuan’s fingers tighten around the snowy-white hilt. In his hands it doesn’t feel like a simple weapon, but a promise. He has no idea what he’s getting into, allowing this half-feral semi-sentient weapon imprint on him, but for the first time since his arrival in the PIDW world, he feels genuine excitement as he considers his future here.

“I guess…” he says, glancing at his blade with new understanding. “Maybe being here is worth it after all.”

Yin Xue tilts her head at him, confused but grinning. There’s genuine warmth in her voice when she speaks. “They say the Beastmaster’s Blade is untameable, but… don’t let it tame you, Shen dashi.”

Shen Yuan nods, smiling down at her as he pats her head. She leans into the touch like a contented cat, her smile brightening. He feels the determination solidify in his heart. He will definitely use this blade, that it chose him is a blessing he’ll not soon forget. He will write the best bestiary this garbage fire of a world has ever seen—if only to prove that he’s worthy of the incredible weapon in his hands. 

But as the saying goes, dear reader, “even the smallest stones can create the greatest ripples,” and although Shen Yuan isn’t aware of his own influence yet, the consequences will drastically change this world he’s landed in—hopefully, for the better.

[1st] [2nd] < > [4th]

shout out to adornedwithlight for the reblog banner

[lipglossanon]

Day 23

Kink: Edging

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x witch!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, edging, AU - heavily inspired by Young Goodman Brown lol, cnc, handjob, teasing, slight dirty talk, slight voyeruism

not proofread

He never should have followed Goody Brown into the forest. There had been talk of witches at the ale house and after being plied with too much drink, he stumbled out into the night. He caught a glimpse of the blacksmith’s wife slipping off into the trees out past the edge of town and began to follow. 

A cold wind blows—the rattle of dead branches sounding like bones being jostled in a coffin. Leon pulls his frail coat tighter to his body and pushes forward, keeping to the path cutting through the forest. He hears sounds in the distance and catches whiffs of smoke. 

Finally, a gleam of firelight tempts him off the path and deeper into the trees. He sees Goody Brown slip between the bark and follows after, not prepared for the scene he stumbles upon. 

Dozens of people from the town are here; Leon’s shocked eyes bounce from one to the next. 

“Welcome to our Sabbath,” a voice speaks from behind and he turns. 

He’s never laid eyes on you before, a nymph in modest clothing. 

“Sabbath?” He repeats, brows pinching. 

You grin and his heart races with nerves. 

“Yes, come pr’thee hence,” you lead him over to a chair at the edge of the makeshift circle. 

Settling into the seat, he feels a lethargy like never before. A wooden bowl at his feet gleams in the firelight, eyes dazedly jumping around, catching sight of the other townspeople. Goody Redfield lay with Goody Valentine while Goodman Wesker watches. 

“This is devilry,” he gasps out, unable to move from the chair you pressed him into. 

“Mayhaps, but tis pleasurable nonetheless,” you smile, a sharp curve of your lips, as you undo his trousers. 

“Thou must enjoy the sights of devilry,” you mock, pulling his half hard cock free from its confines.

His muscles feel weak and he’s unable to stop the groan from slipping out when you grip his stiffening length. 

“Stop this madness, witch,” he bites out, body shaking under your touch. 

“Goodman Kennedy,” you click your tongue, moving to kneel beside him. “Thou sought us out wen’st thou followed Goody Brown.”

His cock throbs in your hand as you stroke him once, the skin slipping back to show off his drippy tip. Before he can voice another complaint, you form a tight tunnel with your fist and begin to raise your hand up slowly. Once only the head is being squeezed by your wicked fingers, do you slowly move back down his cock. 

You keep this maddening pace until Leon’s whimpering and begging, hot shame pushing his lust higher and him closer and closer to climax.  

“Worry not, Goodman Kennedy,” you murmur in his ear. “Tis only your seed we ask of you, not thy soul.” 

He groans, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, tasting the smoky air of wood burning and incense. His eyes flick down to watch your hand grip his cock, fingers cold against the blood hot skin. Wasting no time, you pick up the pace again, thumb brushing his slit to smear what’s dripping across his sensitive head. 

You stop right before he’s able to climax and he keens, thighs shaking and tears gathering in his lashes. 

“Aww,” you coo, falsely sweet. “Tis no fun if it happens too soon, Goodman Kennedy.”

His balls ache from being made to stop so suddenly, your devilish fingers teasing his swollen sac and making him whimper. 

“So heavy,” the serpent’s tongue in his ear does nothing to quell his lust. “Doth thou wish to gift me with thy spend? Twould ease that awful ache in thy body.”

Shuddering, Leon bucks his hips into your hand. 

“Pr’y thee may have it. I only wish to end my misery,” he moans.

“What a misery it is,” you laugh, high and mocking. “Well met, Goodman Kennedy, I shall rid thee of thy burden.”

All the air leaves Leon when you grip his cock more firmly, hand working over him in quick, rough strokes. His tip weeps pearlescent seed, balls drawing up tightly when you spit on his dick. 

“To help thee,” your wicked laugh sends chills racing down his spine. 

“I’m—“

“Good boy,” you purr, jerking him faster. 

His back bows, legs stiffening as he spills all over your hand and into the bowl on the ground. You say something but it’s lost to him, focused only on the euphoria blazing through his body. Your hand keeps pumping his throbbing cock and more and more of his seed spurts from his tip into the wooden bowl. 

When he’s unable to give you anymore, you remove your hand and bring it to your mouth. He watches with tired eyes as you lap up the seed marking your skin. 

“Many thanks, Goodman Kennedy,” you grab the bowl and stand. “You may join the others if thou wish. Or leave. It matters not to myself.”

“What are you—“

You tap his nose with your clean hand, “Ah, that would be telling. Run home, Goodman Kennedy. It seems thou wouldst not wish to stay after midnight.”

Leon shakily rises from his seat and stumbles away from the fire, from the debauchery happening mere feet away. He collapses upon his bedding once he finally makes it to his abode. Your laughter and touch stain his body long after the night is through. 

[sanjoongie]

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖: 𝕄𝕚𝕣𝕣𝕠𝕣 𝕊𝕖𝕩

🥀Pairing: Grim Reaper! Hongjoong x Old Maid! Reader

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact

🥀Au: urban legend au, bloody mary au, grim reaper au, 19th century au, historic au, supernatural au

🥀Trope: strangers to lovers

🥀Summary: When you chant Bloody Mary in the mirror to get a glimpse of your future husband, you see the Grim Reaper instead, but those aren't mutually exclusive

🥀Kinks: Mirror sex, foreplay, penetrative sex with no barrier, anal (f), back shot (hongjoong is a gentleman and doesn't overstim you)

🥀Word Count: 1,875

🥀Betas: @mejuii

🥀Day Two: Cheating/Creampie🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀 Day Four: Public Sex

“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,” You chanted into the mirror.

You wished to see the face of your future husband but you weren’t willing to go up stairs backwards--you’d most likely break your neck--so you were doing it in your mother’s dressing room. It had a long mirror and was perfect to chant Bloody Mary’s name. Your friend said you were tempting death but you’d rather know if you were going to die before finding a husband. You were tired of being called an old maid.

After your fourteenth Bloody Mary, you raised your candlestick and peered into the mirror. All you saw was yourself and a disappointed look appeared on your face. Of course that stupid urban myth wasn’t true and anyone that said they actually saw their future husband was lying, clearly--

“Hello, Lovely.”

You screamed bloody murder and dropped your candlestick, putting out the flame on the wick in the process.

“I’m still here,” A voice whispered into your ear and every hair on your body stood up.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “There’s no one here, it’s all in your head, there’s no one--”

Two pairs of hands squeezed your upper arms and you jumped. “Weren’t you looking for a husband?”

You swallowed, not sure that you were even entertaining the fact that this was actually happening. Perhaps this was all in your head. “I didn’t see anything in the mirror though,” You whispered into the darkness.

“No,” The voice said, now sounding like it was in front of you, “You saw the Grim Reaper.”

A small whimper escaped your throat and your knees gave out. You would have collapsed onto the floor but instead a strong pair of arms grabbed you and carefully led you into a sitting position. The candlestick you had brought in was suddenly lit and a handsome face glowed eerily from it.

“Don’t worry, Lovely,” The grim reaper assured you, leaning on his legs while looking down at you. “I’m not here to kill you.”

You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes. “But that means I’ll die before I find a husband.”

A sad smile bloomed on the Grim Reapers face. “That’s what they all assume, isn’t it?”

That caused you to pause. You wiped away your tears and sniffled. “What does that mean?”

“Do you ever think that perhaps you saw the Grim Reaper in the mirror because I am your future husband?”

“I…” You swallowed, not sure how to handle that. “I’m Death’s Mistress?”

The Grim Reaper chuckled. “You could just call yourself Mrs. Kim.” He offered you a hand up. “Or you could start by calling me Hongjoong.”

You took his hand and it did feel warm against yours. You stood up, still unsure of what was going on. “What happens now?”

Hongjoong didn’t let go of your hand but he did raise it so he could place a kiss against the back of your hand. A skull appeared there. “First, I mark you as mine.”

New tears came but they were from a place full of hope. “I’m yours?”

Hongjoong smiled again but this time it was more happy than sad. “Secondly, I show you just how happy I am to make you mine?"

You licked your lips. “Yes, please,” You said eagerly.

Hongjoong undressed you with the care of a gentleman. Each piece of clothing was folded neatly and each inch of newly revealed skin was kissed softly. Hongjoong allowed you the same permissions, watching your reactions as his body was bared for your desperate eyes. The two of you were acting as if the naked body in front of you was food for a starved person. And in a way for each of you who was starved for the affections of another, it was true.

Hongjoong brought you over to the mirror that had connected you two, and by the light of the single candlestick in the room, he showed you just how much he would adore you as his future-wife-to-be.

With his head over your shoulder, Hongjoong admired your body in the reflection of the mirror. He murmured into your ear how soft your skin was to his waiting hands. His hands traveled over your shoulders, cupped your breasts, moved down the plain of your stomach and finally halted at your womanhood. After playing with your body, you were eager and pliant for him to show you what was waiting for you in your married life.

“Look at how your body reacts to mine,” Hongjoong purred, “Your nipples are pert, waiting for my mouth to close over them.” He spread your pussy lips and smirked at your wetness being reflected in the mirror. “Your cunt is wet and ready for me.”

You turned your head into your shoulder, embarrassed at how wet you were for this stranger who played with your body so well. Hongjoong wasn’t having that, however. He gently pushed your chin so that you had no option but to peer into his dark eyes in the mirror. “Don’t hide from me, Lovely. I want all of you.”

Hongjoong wet two of his fingers, dipping into your hole but not pushing into you, and then began to slowly circle your clit. You whimpered as the lust in your stomach curled even more. Your hips began to buck into his circling. “More,” You pleaded, not even aware of what exactly that more was.

You could, however, feel Hongjoong’s length behind you. He had been slowly rubbing himself between the cheeks of your buttocks. He wasn’t looking for anything other than some brief relief against his throbbing cock but he did groan when you asked for more.

“I can’t, I can’t,” Hongjoong responded. He dug his teeth into your shoulder in an attempt to ground his desire to take you as his wife right here and right now.

“Why?!” You cried out. “This feels so good.”

“We must be wed, Lovely,” Hongjoong insisted. “You are marked as mine but I cannot claim you until it’s official, those are the rules.”

You boldly locked gazes with Hongjoong, hungry for more pleasure from him. “Then why did you tempt me only to take it away?”

Hongjoong growled. “I didn’t mean to take it this far, I only wished to show you some simple pleasure!”

You wound your arms behind Hongjoong’s head, drawing his hungry gaze to your breasts. You pulled his head to yours and pressed your lips to his. He kissed you, his tongue flirting with yours before he moaned into your mouth. “I thought I was the one tempting you,” He groaned, pulling away.

“I…I can find a loophole but it will be difficult,” Hongjoong pleaded with his eyes.

“I want it,” You said quickly.

Hongjoong’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. “You really were made for me, weren’t you?”

Hongjoong pushed his cock between your thighs, rubbing the length of his cock against your wet folds. You whined as you received more attention to your clit but none of the penetration that you were looking for.

“Patience,” Hongjoong urged you.

“I’ve had enough patience waiting for you,” You growled back, “I had to resort to calling for you in a cursed mirror!”

Hongjoong chuckled and then groaned when your lower lips clenched around nothing but whispered against his cock. “Soon, soon,” He promised, “I’ll show you a different kind of pleasure.”

Hongjoong pulled his cock from between your thighs and then pushed you forward. You were mere inches away from the full length mirror, making you blink, not understanding. Hongjoong put each one of your hands against the edge of the mirror, encouraging you to cling to it. “You’re going to need to hold onto something,” He instructed.

“Hongjoong!” You squeaked in worry as you felt his wet cockhead pushing against your puckered hole.

He raised an eyebrow in question in the mirror. “You can say no. I will leave you and return upon the day of our wedding. I will wait for you until then.”

You pouted, stomping your foot. “No. I want what you are offering. I just… is it truly pleasurable?”

“Do you trust me?”

You looked into the eyes of the Grim Reaper. They were honest and genuine. Something about this stranger told your entire body that he had your best interests at heart. So you said, “Yes.”

You did indeed need both those hands around the mirror’s edge as Hongjoong fucked your puckered hole. And while he pushed in and out of your other hole, he played with your clit still, giving you immeasurable pleasure. You moaned and you felt his other hand slip around your neck. It wasn’t threatening, simply a way to show he was here.

“Look, Lovely, look at how happy you are,” Hongjoong commanded softly.

You looked at yourself and you didn’t recognize the woman there. Your hair was clinging to your hairline. Your lips were parted sensually to breath and whine. Your body was shining with the sweat from the fucking. Your breasts swayed at each thrust of Hongjoong behind you. You glowed with an inner happiness that must only come from being adored and pleasured and given exactly what you wanted.

“Cum for me, Lovely.” Hongjoong’s hand became more firm, forefinger and thumb pressing against your jaw, not wanting you to look away as he brought you to your climax.

His hungry eyes ate up everything you offered. Your forehead furrowed as you choked out a long moan when your climax hit you. Your breasts jolted as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your noises were music to his ears but it was the happy satisfaction on your face that truly made his heart beat… for you.

Hongjoong pulled out and gently pumped his cock with his hands. You didn’t see but rather felt his seed spurt on your backside. He grinned, tongue curling around his upper lip, as if he just won a prize.

He kissed your shoulder in thanks. “I wanted to show you pleasure, not push you over the edge,” was his explanation for finishing outside of you.

You pouted, like a child whose favorite toy had just been taken away. “But Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong let out a chuckle, a manly one that spoke of how aware he was that you were desperate to receive everything from him. “There will be a next time, Lovely.”

You turned in the mirror and he took you in his arms. The light from the candlestick painted his features in yellows that flickered over his handsome features. “Don’t leave me. Take me with you.”

His eyes were serious and his mouth opened to only utter the truth. “You are with me forevermore, my love. I am yours and you are mine.”

You wrinkled your nose at the awareness that you were naked, sweaty and now cold that the serotonin faded. “Perhaps we should get dressed first.”

Hongjoong’s eyes twinkled in merriment. “You don’t want to welcome the deadlands the way you were brought into this world?”

You gasped and slapped Hongjoong’s ample chest. “How dare you, sir.”

Hongjoong laughed, tipping his head back with heartiness, and you discovered that you wished to spend the rest of your life making him laugh exactly like that.

🥀Day Two: Cheating/Creampie 🥀 Mini Masterlist 🥀 Day Four: Public Sex