#part time phd in management | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sutorus · 1 year ago

Text

THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.

PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader

WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms

A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?

reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:

it is said that those who cannot do, teach.

geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility.

but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do.

to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man.

but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you.

he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—).

when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like.

(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)

it was slowly starting to consume him.

the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year.

god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—

he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it.

everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives.

everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him.

but you damn well managed to.

and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair.

“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”

bullshit.

the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately.

and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class.

it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!

but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there.

however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.

you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours.

his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.

his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed.

under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are.

but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know.

but you knew for a fact that it was personal.

“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”

you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”

he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”

“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance.

“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively.

“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”

megumi lifts an eyebrow.

“you need to get one for each,” he says simply.

you grin. “deal.”

suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class.

it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious.

watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test.

he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you.

the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well.

the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak.

he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class.

when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild.

he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another.

you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages.

you smile, waving at the screen.

“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”

your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.

“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.”

you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying.

“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”

you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had.

“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”

you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip.

“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”

as always, satoru is no help.

“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”

suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”

satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.”

suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you.

“that won’t fix anything.”

satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.

“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”

suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.

at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong.

it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself.

he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again.

it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that.

suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this.

your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest.

the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know.

damn right it’s personal.

you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation.

geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off.

he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?”

your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over.

“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”

the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.

“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“

“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”

“miss—“

“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger.

geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“

“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”

he sits up, straightening his posture.

geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”

you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on.

“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”

there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair.

he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet.

“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you.

you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”

the man hums.

“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”

you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“

“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.”

your mouth goes dry.

before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from.

it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo.

you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction.

you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently.

but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you.

“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest.

he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”

you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom.

you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.

“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue.

“what a shame.”

your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”

he smiles sweetly.

“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now…

now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.

those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun.

you could so easily forget what you came here for.

“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”

he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”

“geto—“

“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”

you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn.

you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“then… push me, professor.”

it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest.

he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together.

it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two.

he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh.

geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief.

you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips.

if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.

but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.

geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan.

his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core.

“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”

he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.

god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin.

“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.

geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside.

you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips.

the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you.

“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”

you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again.

“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”

you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.

not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat.

he looks so good like this, just edible.

you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue.

he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.

geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive.

he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock.

it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds.

“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly.

“tastes better on your tongue, prof.”

geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of.

he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees.

you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper.

“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face.

he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants.

you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved.

you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside.

he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth.

god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would.

you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.

you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones.

“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”

“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”

and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man.

but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo.

so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks.

“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“

and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time.

he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over.

geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.

“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt.

you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.

“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“

“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core.

you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.

it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you.

“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs.

his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else.

geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear.

“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt.

you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn.

you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him.

longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you.

he notices you looking.

“do you need more prep? i can—“

“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk.

he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”

you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip.

“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”

geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him.

“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head.

his spirit is so unbreakable.

here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better.

geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair.

“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized.

“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”

he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers.

“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—

fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this.

he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle.

a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.

you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back.

when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening.

“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts.

he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out.

“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”

you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in.

the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you.

you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade.

“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“

“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go.

he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin.

your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.

he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt.

“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“

he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips.

geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you.

“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“

you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.

“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom.

you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.”

“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”

geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you.

“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”

“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”

“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”

you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts.

“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”

you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you.

you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you.

your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer.

the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release.

geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got.

“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“

it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you.

he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure.

it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you.

geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of.

when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy.

“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows.

“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”

“…is probably going to happen again, right?”

he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.

maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.

you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips.

“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?”

the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession.

so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles.

and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.

12K notes · View notes

the-boy-meets-evil · 4 months ago

Text

building blocks | yjh

(agreeing to be the teaching assistant is the last thing you want in a semester where you're already swamped with work. but, you need a letter of recommendation from the professor and you're out of other options. enter jeonghan, the menace who signs up for the class seemingly on a whim and disrupts your entire routine.)

pairing: master's student!jeonghan x TA!f!reader genre: university!au, strangers to loveres | fluff, minor angst, attempt at humor, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: 19.7k (idk what to say atp) warnings: mentions of eating and drinking, jeonghan briefly drives a motorcycle, they're both engineering students but i don't claim to know engineering, the angst is minor because there's some miscommunication smut warnings: lots of kissing, hand job, fingering, slight voyeurism? (jeonghan watches reader finger herself), kind of loser!jeonghan, missionary sex, nothing really crazy all things considered

a/n: this is for the TA collab hosted by the amazing @camandemstudios. those two have been working so hard on this and i can't wait to read all the fics. but go easy on me because i know next to nothing about structural engineering. credit to @caelesjjk for this banner, it's so amazing 🥰 also thank you to everyone that helped me brainstorm along the way @ugh-yoongi @haologram @highvern and of course to @wqnwoos for letting me borrow her name.

note 2: this isn’t proofread. i had something come up irl and wanted to get it posted, so i’m sorry for any errors! i’ll come back to it next week when i have a minute.

(tag list at the end)

Your entire academic (and professional, for that matter) career has been a battle. A fight to be taken seriously. A fight to get the right classes. A fight to make the right connections. A fight for every inch that you’ve gotten. There are times that you wonder if it’s all worth it, wonder if anything should be as hard as this. But, all you’ve ever wanted was to be an engineer. To be able to leave your mark in some sort of meaningful way, even if that’s also a little conceited. It’s all you want and you’re so close to getting some much needed room to breathe.

Except…

You have to make it through one last semester of this damn Master’s program. You managed to find a sponsor to allow you to commit to a final semester full time, with only part time research work. That’ll put you in a good position to carry on for your PhD, with your dissertation topic already picked and funded. Things had been going entirely too smoothly, in hindsight. You should have known. Everything about your application to the upcoming program is perfect. Except for the final recommendation. And, of course, the professor to give that recommendation won’t just give it to you to recognize the years you’ve put into this. No. He implies that there’s something he needs from you.

Nothing really awful, in the grand scheme of things. Not for someone that does want to return as a lecturer at some point down the road. It’s just that you didn’t really want to be forced into a teaching assistant position for Professor Choi’s introductory structural engineering course. It’s the course that weeds out who’s actually going to carry on with the civil engineering branch of the Master’s program from those who may switch out to something that better suits them. Which, again, isn’t a huge deal, except that you remember how burnt out the TA looked from when you took the course and it’s the last thing you need during your final semester. It’s hard to know that some portion of your future hinges on doing this. It’s also hard to forget another friend of yours admitting Professor Choi had given him a recommendation without the hoops.

Whatever.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that.

So you schedule your regular meetings with the professor, make a separate email folder for all course related communication, jot down the important dates, and figure out which lessons you have to help plan. First up is going to be the introductory class. Professor Choi comes in and introduces himself while you distribute the syllabus, an odd task when everything is available online through the portal, but he likes things in hard copy. Once he’s done his introduction, he leaves the rest of the first class to you, as he had with the TA in your course during your first semester. For a moment, you consider pointing out that this is a Master’s level course and you don’t really need to do the typical introductions. Most of these people have busy lives and, even though they’ll have to work together on projects, can manage without syllabus week. But, Choi is old school and you know it. You also need his letter, so what’s the point in trying to change his system? You’re not here to do anything other than fill a spot that he was having trouble filling, get your letter, and go.

When you scan the roster before the first day, nobody particularly sticks out. There are a couple of relatively familiar names, though you’re not sure you can place faces to them, but most of the students seem to be in their first semester of the program. It only takes getting to the introductions for someone in the course to stick out, though.

“Well, I’ve always been good at building Legos. I figure, how different can it really be?” one student answers.

It takes everything in you to school your face back into a politely interested expression when the rest of the class bursts out laughing. Your initial reaction had been incredulity. Surely he couldn’t be serious. There’s no way someone just wandered into this program because he liked building Legos. The laughter from the rest of the class dies down and you keep your attention on him.

“Why did you really join the program?” you ask. That’s what every student was supposed to be sharing. A problem for this student, apparently.

“That is why I joined,” he says with an infuriating smirk.

“What did you say your name was?” you ask.

“Jeonghan,” he answers without anything else.

You consult the roster in front of you and put a star by his name. This is someone you know you’re going to have to keep an eye on.

“Did I get a star already?” he prompts, earning another few chuckles from his classmates.

“Something like that,” you say and then turn to the person next to him. “And why did you join?”

Nothing else grabs your attention during the remainder of the introductions. Several students volunteer what they’re hoping to get out of the program. One brave student says she’s heard that Professor Choi is tough before asking for your opinion. Although you give a neutral answer, you make a note to speak to her privately to address her (very valid) concerns.

When it comes time for you to return to speaking about the rest of the semester, you expect Jeonghan to interrupt in some way. He gives the impression of someone that likes causing a little bit of chaos or bringing attention to himself. Instead, he simply listens, notes something down occasionally, and gazes at you so intently that you nearly feel yourself flush. It would be a lot easier to ignore him if he didn’t look like some kind of model, though. You catch yourself looking at him more than once when other students are sharing answers. His nearly black hair falls in longer layers around his face, not quite reaching his collar in the back. There’s something almost delicate about his nose, about all of his face, really. His features are soft in a sort of beautiful way. It’s only when he catches you looking that you shake any consideration of his features from your mind.

Once there’s only a few minutes left, you dismiss the class with a reminder that your email is beneath Professor Choi’s on the syllabus and you’re always around to help them. This class, you share, can be daunting and you’re here to help them get through it in one piece. That part comes out genuine because you do mean it. None of these students are to blame for the position you’re in. It’s not their fault that they have a TA that doesn’t really want to be in the position. So, you’re not going to make them suffer. You’re going to help them just as the TA for your class helped you. You make a note to reach out to him and ask for some advice.

Jeonghan’s eyes linger on you as the other students get out of their seats and begin talking, mostly about what they’re most excited for in the coming semester. You have to break first and look down to collect some papers from the desk. It also helps to remind yourself this is the same student who said he joined the class because he likes Legos. Ridiculous. When you look back up at the class, you’re half expecting to see his attention is still on you. It’s not. He’s joined a few classmates and is leaving the room without a backward glance.

Legos, you remind yourself, and return to gathering your things.

The one good thing about all this is that it’s an evening course, designed for people that have to work during the day. When the class is over, you get to go straight home to eat dinner and meld into the couch with your roommate, who also happens to be your best friend.

You: i’m tired, want me to pick up food on the way home?

Bestie boo: i already called in an order from that one place you like so you can pick it up on the way home

You: wow who are you and what have you done with my best friend?

Bestie boo: i didn’t pay for it

You let out a snort because that’s exactly the friend you know and love. He has to cover up ordering your favorite food from your favorite restaurant, which is sweet, by reminding you he’s still a giant pain in the ass. The gesture is enough for you to ignore it and just let him have this win. Maybe you’re off your game, but you’re a little tired.

“You should watch where you’re going.”

The comment nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Sure, you scare easily as it is. But it’s worse when the voice comes out of seemingly nowhere. Of course it’s Jeonghan from your class, leaning against the wall just outside the building. His eyes glint at your reaction, like he’s enjoying it. Maybe he is. A second later, he pushes off from the wall to come closer.

“And you shouldn’t scare people like that,” you retort when your heart slows a bit. He’s looking at you conspiratorially. “Did you have a question from the class?”

“No,” he answers easily.

“So…” you start.

“Do you memorize the faces of all your students so quickly?” he wonders, continuing when you give him an odd look. “Or am I special?”

“You made an impression,” you say neutrally.

“A positive one?” he presses.

“I didn’t say that,” you counter.

“But, still, you remembered me. Unless you learn all your students' faces before class as TA duties,” he says.

You sigh and decide to give him a partial truth, one that’s less likely to bite you than admitting his face is one of the only ones you remember. “I haven’t been a TA before so I don’t have a manual for how I’m going to approach it.”

“Happy I get to be your first, then,” he says and turns to walk away. He turns back over his shoulder with a wicked smile and calls, “see you next class!”

Your mind is preoccupied all the way to the restaurant to pick up the food and all the way back to your apartment. It’s only been one day of class and you can already feel that this student is going to be a menace. Worse than that, he seems like he knows he’s getting under your skin and wants to press it even further. Realistically, you just have to get through any of the classes that you lead. Otherwise, he’ll be the professor’s issue.

Seungkwan is waiting on the couch, aimlessly scrolling on his phone when you walk into the living room, takeout containers in hand. It’s relatively familiar, though you know that he also likes to be out whenever he can. A perpetual social butterfly.

“Today was already fucking annoying,” you moan when you set the boxes down and flop onto the couch.

Seungkwan gives you a sympathetic look. “At least you’re one step closer to getting what you need from that idiot.”

You’re confused for a moment because you hadn’t been thinking of Professor Choi at all. “Oh, yeah, no. I wasn’t talking about Choi.”

“What was the issue then?” Seungkwan asks as he leans forward to get his food.

“There’s this guy in the class and I don’t know. I can’t figure him out,” you offer. “He’s so annoying. Like who signs up for a structural engineering class just because he likes building Legos? And that smirk. Ugh. I hate him.”

“Sure sounds like it,” Seungkwan quips.

“Fuck off, I do,” you double down.

“What’s he look like? Is he cute?” he wonders.

“Does it matter?” you ask.

“No. You answered anyway,” Seungkwan says with a grin.

“Fine, yes he is attractive because for some reason I’ve been cursed. Why do all you annoying people in my life also have to be hot?” you whine, casting a look at your roommate.

“Did you just call me hot?” he barks through a laugh.

“Fuck off, just pick a show. It’s your turn,” you say with a push on his arm.

You make it through the first few classes as a TA without much to report. Jeonghan tries your patience, but there’s not much he can do during the class and he doesn’t linger afterwards. That’s usually when Professor Choi wants to debrief on the course material and make sure the next class is ready. The class is also just starting to get into the real material and away from the foundational information.

But, now the course is well and truly underway, which means you have to announce that you’ll be starting to hold your own office hours every week. Of course, Choi also has office hours and students could take advantage of those. Probably would, if not for the fact that he encourages the class to go to you first to try and resolve anything. Something about how he’s very busy and that’s why he has a TA. It’s exhausting and just another obstacle in getting what you need.

After getting feedback from the class, you decide to set two different times for office hours, one during the late afternoon and one during the early evening to accommodate schedules. A few students show up right at the start of your first office hours session with similar concerns. So, you invite them in and start to work through a few practice problems to illustrate the point that they’re struggling to understand. It’s actually surprisingly easy to work in this way. You would never admit it to Professor Choi, but it’s actually kind of enjoyable. There’s value in helping someone understand a difficult concept. It’s also really rewarding to watch the comprehension dawn on the faces around you as each of them seems to grasp what you’re saying.

Honestly, you can’t imagine your first office hours going any better when you’re already an hour into it and you’ve been working with the same three students. Of course, just as they’re gathering their things to head out, feeling more confident than when they showed up, Jeonghan appears in the doorway. He doesn’t even say anything at first, just looks around at the other students. They seem oblivious to what’s happening around them.

“Thanks again,” one student says as he’s standing up.

Another student catches sight of Jeonghan and she smiles. “Oh, sorry Jeonghan. We didn’t know you were having trouble with any of the concepts or we would have asked you to join us.”

“That’s fine,” he says easily. “I was busy until just now anyway.”

“Do you all feel confident with the topics? Or would you like to stay and go over something now that Jeonghan is here?” you ask, trying not to appear hopeful. (And failing at that pretty miserably.)

“Oh no, we’re definitely set. And we had plans,” the first student says with a look over at Jeonghan.

The three of them exchange goodbyes with Jeonghan and head out, allowing Jeonghan to close the door behind them before plopping into a seat at the table in your office. He’s directly across from you, which makes it hard to avoid his eyes. When you do meet his eye, though, he’s got a sneaky, all-knowing look on his face. You don’t like the loot of it one bit.

“What’s with the look?” you ask.

“What do you mean?” he retorts quickly.

“You’re making a face,” you say.

“Are you saying you don’t like my face?” Jeonghan asks, pretending to be offended.

“Why are you here, Jeonghan?” you ask to switch tactics.

“These are your office hours. I’m here to ask questions about the material,” he says.

“You don’t need any help with the material so far. I’ve graded your problem sets and the answers have been perfect,” you admit.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” he muses.

“I’m not answering that. It brings me back to my question, though. If you don’t need help, why are you here?” you press.

“Why does it seem like you don’t like me?” he asks.

“I don’t have any feelings about you either way,” you deflect.

“Now, that’s not true,” he disagrees.

“You’re determined to get under my skin,” you say, half as a joke.

“Determined to figure you out,” he corrects. “It doesn’t seem like you’re all that excited about being a TA.”

“That’s because I was forced into it,” you blurt out and immediately clap a hand over your mouth. That’s the last thing you meant to say. “I didn’t mean…”

“Now we’re getting somewhere in this relationship,” he says, sitting back into his seat with a satisfied smile.

You heave another heavy sigh, a common occurrence around this man. “Why are you so determined to figure me out? Why do you care how I feel about you?”

“Because everyone seems to like me right off the bat,” he says.

“I can see why,” you deadpan.

“So can I stay? Or do you have very important things to do?” he asks.

“It’s my office hours, so I’m here to help students until the two hours are up,” you admit.

“Perfect.”

The next few times that you hold office hours feature Jeonghan showing up for the second half. It seems deliberate that he doesn’t show up right when they start, especially because you always have at least one other student in your office. If there’s another student there, he joins in to ask questions along with whoever else is there. When it’s just him, his questions are much more personal. It’s obvious that he wants to know you. Know your likes and dislikes, know the things that make you tick, know who you are when you’re not at school. Seems very convinced that the version of you outside the walls of the engineering building is very different from the one he sees. Jeonghan doesn’t seem to realize that he’s slowly getting more and more of a peek into who you really are. Thankfully, he doesn’t bring up your slip about being forced into being a TA.

It doesn’t make it any easier to be around him.

It should. You should be able to get used to his particular brand of torture. Yet, with each new piece of information you learn, you unlock even more questions. It’s like you can’t ever really figure him out. Or maybe that he doesn’t want you to. He’s very careful to give vague answers about the serious things, while he goes on and on about the things that don’t matter. He’ll spend a solid five minutes talking about the latest Lego he’s building, but then breeze past the few questions you ask about him personally. It usually includes some sort of quip about how he’s wearing you down and how you clearly want to know him better.

“Bet you thought you were escaping me today,” a voice says, startling you out of your thoughts.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp. Your heart beats a mile a minute as you look up to glare at the intruder.

“No, Yoon Jeonghan. I can see the confusion, though,” he says and you sigh heavily.

“Office hours are almost over,” you point out.

“Not for 20 more minutes,” he counters.

“Right, but I was in the middle of grading something,” you say, indicating the design plans in front of you. He glances over at them.

“Hm,” he says.

“What, Jeonghan?” you ask with exasperation.

“Just doesn’t look like mine is all,” he says and plops into the chair across from you.

“Well obviously,” you say. “Can’t exactly grade your project with you sitting here.”

For some reason, that makes him break out into a wicked grin. “So you aren’t grading my assignment because you were hoping I’d show up.”

Ah, yes. Now you see your mistake. Should have definitely seen that coming, too. “You’ve come to every other session. I wasn’t hoping you’d show up again, but it was a fair assumption that you might.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” he says placatingly. “D’you have a question?” you ask. The tension headache you associate with Jeonghan’s presence in your life is threatening to make an appearance.

“Nope,” he says, popping the last syllable.

A notification on your phone stops you from responding to him and you unlock it immediately. It seems that Professor Choi needs to give you a stack of assignments and instead of just walking a few doors down the hall, he had to send a message. You drop your phone back on the desk with the message still open and take a calming breath.

“Everything good?” Jeonghan asks with more care than you’re used to.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back. Have to go pick something up from Professor Choi’s office,” you say, already on your feet and heading towards the door.

It only takes a minute or two for you to go and come back. For once, you’re thankful for Jeonghan because it gives you the ready-made excuse that you’re just wrapping up office hours with a student waiting for you to return. He doesn’t need to know that student hasn’t ever asked you a class related question without another student present. You’ll take the wins where you can get them. The pain in ass in question is still sitting exactly where he was when you left him.

He looks up at you as you walk back in, set the folders on the corner of your desk, and sit back down. “You really hate Professor Choi.”

“I didn’t say that,” you counter quickly. Probably too quickly.

“You didn’t have to. Sometimes you have a really expressive face,” he comments and looks back down at his phone.

“Only sometimes?” you wonder. Jeonghan looks back up to regard you.

“It’s always expressive, but you work a little harder to control it in class than you do outside of it,” he decides. “You mentioned something about being forced into this. Why be a TA if you hate it?”

“I don’t actually hate being a TA,” you clarify. He seems to accept this at face value. “It’s just…I didn’t…no. Why am I doing this with you?”

“Because I’m asking?” he offers.

“I had never considered being a TA. I wasn’t opposed to it, I just hadn’t really fit it into my schedule. It has been a lot of fun, though,” you say. It’s the first time you’ve noticed how much attention Jeonghan gives you. The way his eyes are on you and it seems like he tunes out any other distractions.

“How did you end up here, then?” he asks. Any teasing or lightness is gone from his tone.

“Please don’t make me regret giving you the honest answer,” you say warily. “But, I’m applying for my PhD program. I have everything that I need…except for a final letter of recommendation.”

“Oh, you’re joking,” he says and actually does look offended on your behalf. “He’s making you TA for him in exchange for the letter? That’s why you said you were forced into it?”

“Yup,” you respond, popping the end of the word like he had done earlier..

“Well, that’s definitely shitty but I’m still counting myself lucky that you ended up with this class,” he says.

“I can’t figure you out,” you admit.

“I know.”

That should be annoying, the way he says that he knows you can’t figure him out. It’s like he’s not even trying to hide that he’s making it difficult to get to know him. Yet, he’s not making it a secret that he wants to get to know you better. There’s just something about him that prompts you to share things you wouldn’t with anyone else. No, that’s dramatic. It’s just easier to share with him than it usually is with someone else that you barely know.

Despite asking again if Jeonghan has any questions, he insists that he’s fine with just sitting there to keep you company while you have to wait to see if any student comes by in the last minutes of your office hours. For a change, he doesn’t ask any personal questions. Doesn’t try to press you into admitting things that you usually wouldn’t. He just takes out his laptop to make it look like you’re actually helping him in the event that anyone checks in on you.

Nobody does. The last few minutes pass quickly with you returning to grading the assignment you had been working on. The two of you gather up your things in relative silence and Jeonghan walks with you out to your car so that you can head home. You’re expecting something else or something different, but that’s all there is. Just a walk to your car, a smile with a goodbye, and him heading off in another direction. It’s somehow the strangest and most normal interaction you’ve had with him. It makes you pause to wonder if this is the real version of him. A little quiet, a little reserved. Not being a menace to anything and anyone in his path.

It’s not until you’re back home, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine while watching some variety show with Seungkwan that you realize it wasn’t quite the normal interaction you thought it was.

Jeonghan: i appreciated you telling me the truth about the class today

The message lights up your screen and all you can do is stare at it without being able to believe it. How are you getting a message from Jeonghan with his contact information saved? You’re racking your brain trying to figure out if you gave him your number, or saved his, and just didn’t remember.

“What’s with your face?” Seungkwan asks.

“Wow, that was nice,” you retort.

He looks over at your phone where the notification still shows a message from Jeonghan. “Finally gave him your number, huh?”

“No, I -” you start when another message comes in.

Jeonghan: you left your phone unlocked when you went to Choi’s office and I figured it was time for us to exchange numbers

Seungkwan, now more invested in your messages than in the show in the background, lets out a low whistle of appreciation. “Wow, he’s good. I see why you like him.”

“I don’t like him, Kwan,” you sigh.

“Sure,” he says dismissively.

As if to prove something, you make a show of moving your phone over to the end table and turning it over. Seungkwan gives you a Look that plainly says he’s not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell. Otherwise, he lets you go back to the show that you’re watching without bringing it up again.

The text thread with Jeonghan seems to haunt you every time you open your messages, at least until there are enough conversations to push it out of your view. Surprisingly, you don’t get any more texts from him when you don’t answer. He also doesn’t show up to your next office hours, which is a bit odd to you. And you can’t vent to Seungkwan about it because he’s still very convinced that it’s only a matter of time before you end up sleeping with Jeonghan. Ridiculous, honestly. Like you would waste your time on someone you’re not even sure you like.

That carries you through to your next class. It’s a slightly more complicated lecture that Choi does every semester to try and scare students off this path. He claims it’s so that everyone knows what they would be getting into. You suspect that it’s his way of reminding everyone just how smart he is. Not exactly the most flattering trait, but you suppose that he probably doesn’t care about that. Doesn’t need to. He’s been teaching so long that his job is guaranteed at this point.

The good thing, though, about knowing Choi won’t need you during the entirety of the class is that you get to just sit at the back of the class and do some work. It gives you the chance to get through grading some of the assignments for the class without having to take time away from something else. Let’s you get absorbed into that to tune out the grating sound of Choi’s monotonous voice as he tries his best to warn students off the path. You’re so absorbed that you don’t notice the way that Jeonghan periodically glances over his shoulder to where you’re sitting, trying to catch your attention even for a moment.

When the class comes to an end, you make your way up to the front as you would any other time. It’s a little irritating to have to check if there’s anything Professor Choi needs like you’re his personal assistant, but you’re also resigned. What you’re not prepared for, though, is that he calls Jeonghan up to the front of the room.

“Yes, Professor?” he says with so much respect and deference that it almost feels real, if you didn’t know how he feels. One of the only personal things you actually know about this mystery of a man..

“I really enjoyed your proposal for the final project using Legos,” Choi starts. “Every few semesters, I get someone that seems to think being good at using plastic building blocks means they’d make a good engineer. But, you’ve actually been doing wonderfully in the class. So, I want you to work with my TA here to refine the idea a little bit. I don’t think you’re meeting your full potential with it yet.”

“Oh, well Professor Choi…” you start and he waves a hand.

“Surely it isn’t a problem to help foster the best student in my class, is it?” he challenges.

“No, of course not,” you concede.

Professor Choi wears a triumphant smile. “Good. I’ll leave the two of you to coordinate your schedules. See you next class, Mr. Yoon.”

The formality of calling students by their family names nearly makes you roll your eyes. It’s only when you note the glint in Jeonghan’s eyes that you catch yourself. The two of you say your goodbyes and a silence settles in Choi’s absence.

“Should I just stop by your office hours tomorrow?” he asks when it’s clear you aren’t going to say anything.

“Sure, that works,” you say. “You stop by most of them anyway.”

“Does it bother you that I do?” he asks, a note of something you can’t detect in his tone. Maybe vulnerability.

That makes you soften. “No, of course not.”

“I can back off if it’s making you uncomfortable,” he says with a forced smile. “Maybe it was too much adding my number to your phone.”

“We can talk about boundaries when I see you during office hours tomorrow,” you joke. At least it seems to bring a real smile back to his face.

In a strange turn of events, Jeonghan shows up to your office hours only two minutes after they start. You haven’t even gotten yourself fully unpacked because you weren’t expecting him to show up at the beginning. Not when he seems to show up in the latter half every other time.

The differences continue as you settle into the work the professor assigned the two of you. Jeonghan pulls out his proposal, something you hadn’t actually seen yet, and talks you through his ideas. His idea had been to submit a design for a brand new structure built to scale entirely using Legos. It’s ambitious in a way because the blocks only come in certain shapes and sizes. You can’t just cut something down to fit the size that you need. It requires a good amount of forethought. But, for someone like Jeonghan who’s taken to the course like a fish to water, it doesn’t seem like it’s quite enough. You can see why the professor asked you to help him work through it a little bit more. It needs to be fleshed out a little further.

As the two of you go back and forth with ideas about how to give it an element that makes it more impressive, you’re stuck by how easy it is to work side-by-side with him. How well the two of you work together. It’s like every visit before this has been building up to the level of comfort you have now, even if you’re still pretending that you don’t really know him. Maybe you don’t, though. It’s not like he ever gives you real answers to your questions.

“Why Legos?” you ask as the two of you are feeling stuck on where to go to expand on the proposal.

“Because it’s funny to see how annoyed you get when I bring it up, so I figured it would be funny to imagine you grading my final project that has to do with Legos,” he says with that same look.

“Be serious for once, Jeonghan,” you sigh. “I’m trying to help you with this. It’s the least you could do.”

“Sorry,” he says after a moment and shifts in his seat. “It’s, well, it’s just always been the way that I zone out and reset. At first, it was just when I needed a break from dealing with people because I had to focus on the instructions. Then, I started to think about how impressive it was that they were able to form these insane shapes with building blocks. Then, it started to get more elaborate with me testing out what worked and what didn’t when I built my own designs.”

It’s one of the first truly real and truly honest things he’s said to you. Not hiding behind a joke or brushing off an answer. It’s just him and you feel like that one response helps you know him better than all the hours he’s spent in your office up until that point. It also helps you realize what the proposal was missing in the first place: something personal from him.

Ultimately, what is going to make this project stand out is something that makes it personal. A structural engineer doesn’t really need to design a building or a bridge or any other structure. They do need to design and analyze any of the support systems, though, which can be a dull job at times. Adding something more human will make it stand out. So, you suggest that Jeonghan take it a step further than just modeling a structural support system from Legos. You suggest that he set it up almost like instructions for an established set. But, instead of simple drawings to make it step by step, you suggest that he include little snippets about his previous experiences with using Legos, how he tests it to make sure he structure will hold, and any calculations he does for load capacity and gravity.

Initially, he seems a little unsure. It’s easy to see that talking about things that are more personal to him, especially for a final project, is uncomfortable. After a lot of reassurances that nobody but you and Professor Choi will see it if he doesn’t want them to, he finally agrees that it’s a good idea. It does seem like he’s at least excited about the prospect now, though.

While he’s rewriting his proposal to submit to the professor, you get back to what you had planned to do during the first part of your office hours before he showed up: grading assignments. Once again, his isn’t on the stack to be graded. Out of habit, you always grade his first and some time when he’s guaranteed to not be around. It’s oddly comfortable to work like this, grading papers while he types away on his laptop across from you.

Once he gets through typing up a new proposal, he asks if you would be willing to read it over. You’re just about to suggest that he email it to you, when he just hands his laptop over. Seems unconcerned about having you his laptop. Although he watches you carefully as your eyes scan through the words, it feels like his only concern is what you think about it. Which doesn’t need to be a concern at all. It’s perfect, as far as you’re concerned.

You tell him as much when you look up with a smile. “I love it.”

“Don’t be nice to me now,” he says nervously as you hand the laptop back over.

“What?” you ask.

“You don’t need to spare my feelings now when you’ve been ignoring my texts,” he says like he’s trying to protect himself.

“So much to unpack there and we’ll return to the texts,” you say, a little exasperated. “But, I’m not being nice about the proposal. It’s perfect and I genuinely can’t find a single thing I’d change. Choi’s going to love it.”

“Ah, well, he was right in getting your help. I wouldn’t have gotten here on my own,” he admits and it does actually make you smile again.

“Still your idea,” you say to encourage him.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” he says and you know it’s the real him for a moment.

“Okay, but back to the texting,” you say to shift.

“The boundaries chat, wonderful,” Jeonghan says, returning to his previous mask of being a menace.

“You really shouldn’t be going through a stranger’s phone and adding your number,” you chastise.

“We’re not strangers though, are we?” he challenges. “And I didn’t go through your phone.”

“No?” you ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Your phone was still lit up when you left so I called myself quickly and then created a new contact, and then locked your phone and put it back,” he says like it’s the most normal sentence in the world.

“That’s insane?” you state with a level of shock.

“I really wasn’t trying to cross some sort of line,” he admits with a shocking level of sincerity. “I just really like getting to know you and I figured you’d feel weird about giving a student in your class your number, even though you’re still a student as well. So, I just wanted to make it easier. If you don’t want me to have it, you can delete it right out of my phone.”

Jeonghan holds his unlocked phone out to you and it’s open to your contact. For some insane reason, you do actually believe what he said. It’s easy to see how he might want to befriend you and be hesitant on how to do that. He strikes you as the kind of person that can put on a mask of liking to be social, but really would much rather be at home or in a small setting like in your office with you. And you do actually enjoy having him around, even if you keep trying to pretend that he’s basically a stranger to you. He’s not wrong, either. You would have felt weird about exchanging numbers with him. You’ll never admit that to him.

He must see the hesitation on your face because he retracts his hand. Waits for you to say something, though. “I guess it’s not the worst thing that you have my number.”

“That’s almost a positive,” he jokes. “You could give a guy false hope that you actually might be starting to like me.”

“Oh, now I wouldn’t go that far,” you quickly tack on. “Wouldn’t want you to get a big head.”

“Have you seen the grades I’m getting? I already know I’m doing something right,” he brags.

“I have seen your grades since I’m usually the one grading them,” you remind him. “So, I have to balance it out.”

“You just wanna break my heart over and over again,” he whines.

“You’ll survive,” you deadpan.

Everything seems to carry on as it always does. You have to make sure you’re keeping up with all of your actual classes for your degree. Grade assignments when Professor Choi hands them off to you. Give feedback on the upcoming topics. Most importantly, you find plenty of time to disengage from all the hustle of classes. To enjoy time with friends where you can let your brain just wander onto things that don’t matter nearly as much.

Even though you don’t ever text Jeonghan first, it doesn’t seem deterred because you do always answer the messages that he sends to you. Some of them are idle thoughts throughout the day. Others are questions that he wants answers to and seems to think he’s more likely to get them over text than during the hours he spends in your office. Your favorites, though, are when he texts you some wildly out of pocket statement and then gets you to debate him on it because it’s always something completely inane. Something meaningless. It gets you so fired up, though.

“He’s so infuriating,” you complain as you forcely set your phone down on the couch next to you.

“I’m guessing we’re talking about Jeonghan,” Seungkwan says from his position on the other end of the couch.

“Why would you immediately jump to Jeonghan?” you ask.

“Bestie, we haven’t talked about anyone else but Jeonghan all semester,” he says. You fling a pillow at your roommate.

“First, you’re being dramatic. And second, yes I talk about him a lot. He’s infuriating,” you say.

“Whatever you say,” Seungkwan says dismissively.

“I might hate him,” you say.

“They say hate sex is the best sex,” he says without taking his eyes off his phone.

“And they say killing your nosey roommate isn’t actually a crime,” you retort.

Seungkwan looks up at you and smiles. “Let’s do it baby. I know the law.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Vernon,” you scoff.

“Maybe, but if you kill me, who’s going to lend their ear to you and listen to your troubles?” he asks.

“Van Gogh,” you answer immediately.

“He’s dead,” Seungkwan says with an arched eyebrow, carefully avoiding the more obvious retort.

“And so are you to me right now,” you say flatly.

“Touche,” he says with a light laugh. “What’s he done this time that’s got you all pissy?”

“He’s spent the last 20 minutes debating with me over whether or not a hotdog is a sandwich,” you say, expecting Seungkwan to think it’s just as ridiculous as you.

What you’re not expecting, though you should be, is for him to pick up Jeonghan’s side in the debate and make you rehash everything you’ve already talked about. It sounds like such an innocuous topic. Something so outlandish that it could possibly spark debate for more than a few minutes. Yet, here you are, having the same debate all over again. It makes you even more heated despite not having a stake or opinion before Jeonghan asked you. In fact, you had never even considered the question. It was one of the most effective he had posed since he started sending you random questions or opinions like this.

Somehow, though, your biggest mistake is telling Jeonghan that your roommate got just as invested as he had about the topic. Worse when you told Jeonghan that Seungkwan was on his side. It made it immediately obvious that you could not ever let those two meet. It would spell an instant demise for any remaining sanity you had left. The realization that they would be instant best friends is terrifying.

The debate about whether or not hotdogs are sandwiches lasts all the way until the next day when Jeonghan shows up at your office hours, right at the start. The look on his face tells him that he’s about to carry on the text conversation. But, thankfully, he falls silent when you say that you actually want to get some grading done unless he actually has a question about the course material. It makes him soften, actually, and he agrees that he’ll sit at the little table and work on some of his own homework. It doesn’t really give the impression that he’s asking you for help, though you’re sure that you could sell it if you needed to.

Normally, it’s not all that distracting to have Jeonghan in your space. Probably because he’s there so often that you’re kind of used to him by now. That’s a thought you don’t allow yourself to dwell on too long. It’s easier to maintain the idea that you kind of hate him than to consider what your real feelings might be. Yet, those thoughts seem to be swirling in your head just by him existing in the same space as you. If he’s equally affected, then you can’t tell. His fingers seem to fly across his keyboard as he works steadily on something.

Without warning, his voice interrupts the rhythm you finally find. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve never asked permission before,” you note, but don’t look up.

“I wasn’t sure if it was an office hours question,” he says with a little hesitation.

That does get you to look over at him. “Is it about the course material?”

“No,” he says.

“Shocking,” you sigh. “Well, whatever it is, let’s have it.”

“Do you want to go out and get dinner sometime?” he asks, looking more vulnerable than usual.

It’s enough to make your heart both constrict and threaten to beat out of your chest. Does he know that you’ve been sitting here internally debating what your actual feelings towards him are? Has it been that obvious on your face?

“With you?” you ask to buy yourself time.

“That would be the idea, yes,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

“I don’t know…” you start.

“You don’t know because you’re trying to spare my feelings? Or you’re not sure for some reason?” he asks to clarify.

That’s such a crossroads kind of question. You’re not actually sure what the answer is yourself. All you know is that you feel immediate panic at the thought of one of the professors, especially Professor Choi, seeing you out with him. It’s not that there are any rules about TAs and students dating. After all, TAs are just students themselves. But, since you’re doing most of the grading, setting some of the assignments, and even leading some of the classes, it’s frowned upon. It could give the student actually in the class some kind of perceived advantage. The thoughts just go rapidly flying through your brain as you look over at Jeonghan’s expectant face.

You decide on some version of the truth: that it doesn’t matter what you think, it’s not a good idea for you to blur that line. That if someone from the university saw you out, that it could possibly jeopardize everything you’ve spent years working on. That Professor Choi seems even more old school than most of the other professors. You’ve already sacrificed so much. It’s just not a risk you think you can take.

What you don’t say: that the question actually confuses you. That you can see yourself saying yes to finally figure out what exactly it is that’s going on with you and Jeonghan. You wonder what type of place he would pick. Wonder what he’s like when it’s really just the two of you without the risk of someone else butting in. You wonder if maybe he’ll answer all those personal questions that he’s so fond of dodging when he’s sitting in your office. It actually makes you wonder if saying yes is worth taking a risk when you’ve been so careful with everything in your entire academic career. It’s the kind of thought that really terrifies you even more. This is a man that you can’t even figure out your feelings towards and yet you’re considering taking a massive risk.

It’s one of the most intense office hours you hold and you’re left with more questions than answers.

It’s been another exhausting day between your own classes, research, and doing work as a TA. Sure, there are definite upsides to your schedule. It helps you feel like you have a complete grasp on the material. It also helps you feel like you might be well suited to being a lecturer or even a professor yourself down the line. You also know that you’re giving more to your time as a TA than you need to. It’s just that you don’t want to leave anything to chance. The stronger the recommendation from Choi, the better.

When you get to your apartment, Seungkwan is in the kitchen with Vernon and Chan. Which should be a concerning sight, since none of them are exactly great cooks, but you’re too tired to really care. You’re also kind of starving and whatever they’re making smells good. What’s the worst that could happen? So you call out quick greetings before heading into your room to drop off your things and change. You reemerge to the sounds of them bickering back and forth.

“Hey, do you want to try some of what we’re making?” Chan calls.

“She’s going to say no,” Seungkwan says.

“I’m starving. I’m down to try whatever it is,” you disagree.

“Looks like Chan wins this one,” Vernon teases.

A beep from your phone distracts you from engaging in the bickering back and forth. It’s the last thing you’re expecting, though it shouldn’t be. Ever since Jeonghan managed to get your number, and heard your half-hearted chat about boundaries, he’s been bothering you whenever he feels like it.

Jeonghan: have you thought about what I asked? You: no Jeonghan: don’t believe you You: my answer hasn’t changed Jeonghan: that it's not a good idea? You: exactly Jeonghan: that’s not a no You: isn’t it? Jeonghan: listen, I respect you and if you tell me no, I won’t ask again Jeonghan: the only thing I’m going to ask if you actually think about it before saying no You: fine

“Hello? Are you there?” Seungkwan asks, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“Huh?” you ask.

“Oh, she’s gone girl,” Chan says with a laugh.

“Who were you texting?” Seungkwan asks. He gives you a look that screams he’s about to tease the shit out of you if you’re honest.

“Oh, nobody important. Just a friend,” you say dismissively.

“Are we calling Jeonghan a friend now?” Seungkwan teases.

“It wasn’t Jeonghan,” you say with an eye roll.

“Who’s Jeonghan?” Vernon asks.

“I think he’s that guy we’ve been betting on when she’s gonna finally give in and sleep with him,” Chan says in an undertone to Vernon.

“I’m not going to sleep with…hang on. What the fuck?” you ask, wheeling around on Seungkwan. “Have you been betting on me again?”

“Only when you’re being an idiot,” Seungkwan says with a shrug.

“Wait, again?” Vernon asks.

“Bro, we have been involved in other bets,” Chan says.

“I need new friends,” you grumble.

From there, it devolves into the usual bickering that you associate with your friend group. Sometimes you wonder how you even got so sucked into this friend group where they’re two or three years younger than you. You’re incredibly thankful for them, though, even in moments like this where you want to strangle them.

Dinner moves into watching something and playing a game. It always goes the same way. Chan or Vernon take care of picking what to watch since they watch more TV and movies than you and Seungkwan. Conversely, Seungkwan usually picks the game, which is never a good idea because he always picks something that he’s good at. It doesn’t really matter to you, at least. Your brain tends to be fried from classes and research and all that. It’s nice to let them just make the decisions and chime in when you have something to say.

Thankfully, the conversations quickly move past your friends and their complete conviction that you have feelings for Jeonghan to much less serious topics. Sitting there, though, you feel an overwhelming sense of peace even in the chaos. Even when you say that you need new friends, you know that you wouldn’t trade these friends for the world.

It’s been just over a week since you promised to give Jeonghan’s question actual thought. You’re still not entirely sure why you agreed. It’s not like you’re actually going to say anything other than no. It’s been a little weird, though, because Jeonghan hasn’t brought it up again, either. It’s like he’s actually been true to his word. He even skipped your office hours when he would usually show up just to bother you and pretend to ask questions.

Since your workload has been a little light, you agree to go out for drinks with Seungkwan and some friends. It’s a much needed night to unwind and just not think about any of the issues that plague you during the week. It’s a night of ridiculous conversations while you all give each other a hard time about nothing that really matters. Eventually, as is always the way it goes, Seungkwan gets up and kicks off some karaoke. It’s a blessing and a curse. He’s got an amazing voice and you feel like you should be paying to hear someone sing that well. But, then he wants other people to join him and none of you are that keen to embarrass yourselves by following him.

Casting your eyes around the bar, they land on someone in a leather jacket. As you watch, he shrugs it off and sets it on the back of his chair. There’s something compellingly beautiful about him. He runs a hair through his short, perfectly textured black hair and turns his face slightly to the side. You’re appreciating his profile for a second before it hits you. This isn’t some stranger. It’s Jeonghan. It’s just that he’s clearly cut his hair and styled it differently. You quickly return your eyes to your group and only can hope that he hasn’t noticed you yet. Then again, Seungkwan has been loud and singing before returning to your table. Most people seem to have noticed him. Still, since Jeonghan hasn’t texted you or come over to say anything, you figure that maybe he hasn’t seen you. No matter what, you down another drink to forget about checking him out.

By the time it’s your turn to go up to the bar and get another round of drinks, you’ve mostly pushed the thought of Jeonghan out of your mind. With your back to his table, it’s been much easier to act like he doesn’t exist. Once you’re at the bar, it’s a little more difficult. Your eyes find his table without even meaning to. His jacket is still there, but he’s not.

“Looking for me?” a soft voice asks from just beside you.

It makes you jump a little to realize that he’s somehow right next to you. You try your hardest to act like you’re unaffected when you turn to face him. Try to act like you didn’t realize he was there. Kind of fail at that, honestly, because you’re one drink past the point of being able to pull it off. “Hey, Jeonghan. How long have you been here?”

He smiles that mischievous smile that always makes him look like he knows something that you don’t. “I saw you looking over at my table. You knew I was here.”

“I almost don’t recognize you with the new haircut and that leather jacket,” you say and only realize your mistake a second too late.

“The leather jacket back at my table?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “I saw you checking your phone too.”

“Were you watching me?” you challenge.

“Yes,” he admits freely. “You’re nice to look at.”

“Oh, well that’s not…I didn’t mean,” you stutter out, saved by the bartender setting a small tray down of drinks for you and your friends.

Somehow, though, because life isn’t fair (and neither is Seungkwan), your best friend picks that moment to waltz over claiming he wants to help with drinks. What he really seems to want is to introduce himself to Jeonghan. Even goes as far as pretending he hasn’t heard Jeonghan’s name before. Seungkwan manages to sell it better too and you think it would probably pass with anyone else that wasn’t paying such sharp attention. It’s only then that you notice Jeonghan doesn’t have a drink in hand. Doesn’t really seem the slightest bit drunk. Which is fine until Seungkwan manages to make it even worse by inviting Jeonghan and his friends to come join your group.

Then, something else that’s kind of weird happens. Jeonghan, who has spent the entirety of the semester up until about a week ago terrorizing you, barely says anything to you at all. He talks about his favorite artists with Seungkwan. Asks Chan for suggestions on some movies that he’s recently seen. Even laughs about random ass memes with Vernon. His friends, whose names you can’t even remember, fit in just as seamlessly. It’s a little…well, uncomfortable. It’s giving you entirely too much time to think and you don’t like it.

So, you do the only reasonable thing and you keep getting drinks. Stay just on the right side of drunk so that you’re aware of your surroundings, but not sober. It makes it easier to deal with everything happening around you.

As the night continues on, your merged groups seem to ebb and flow. Some people wander over, drawn in by the fact that it seems like a fun place to be. Other times, some wander off to make new friends or have new conversations. This is especially true of Seungkwan, which you’re used to. Your roommate is one of the most social people that you know. And then people start to make their excuses to leave as it gets later. How you end up outlasting Chan is a mystery, since he seems to have endless energy. It’s fine, though. You still have your roommate.

Well, until he tells you, without nearly the amount of shame that he should have, that he’s going to be bringing someone home that he got to talking to about karaoke. It’s a little unlike him, at least until you realize that the person isn’t a stranger. They’re definitely someone that Seungkwan has talked to before. It still leaves you a little lost on what to do or where to go.

“I never ask you for anything,” Seungkwan pleads. It’s patently false. He’s always asking you for things, just never things like this.

“I could text Chan or Vernon to see if they’ll let me crash on their couch,” you say, trying to quickly clear the cloudiness from your brain.

“Don’t they put their phones into DND as soon as they get home?” Seungkwan asks.

“My only other option is to just go home and put headphones on,” you say.

“You could come crash at my place. My roommate won’t be back from a trip til tomorrow,” Jeonghan offers.

“Perfect! Thank you!” Seungkwan rushes out.

“Um? Seungkwan? You can’t just send me to some stranger's house?” you protest.

“He’s not a stranger. He’s been in your class all semester and at your office hours nearly every day,” Seungkwan says with an eye roll. Jeonghan looks vindicated hearing this piece of information. “You’re so dramatic.”

“It’ll be fine. I can sleep in his room and you can sleep in mine. I’ll even make sure you have fresh sheets if you’re worried,” he says.

This is definitely a bad idea. Even though you’re not drunk, you’re definitely not sober enough to pretend you’re not at least a little bit interested in Jeonghan. Everything about him seems to be a study in contrasts. Confident but not in some toxic masculinity type of way. Chaotic but serious at the same time. Silly to where he would say he joined a class because he’s good at Legos but also genuinely smart. And beautiful in a way so few men seem to be. He’s just something entirely his own.

You shake your head because you realize you’re spacing out. This is a terrible idea and one you probably wouldn’t agree to if you were sober. It’s not like he’s actually a stranger, though. Jeonghan seems to have realized the conclusion before you open your mouth. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Dangerous question,” Jeonghan says with a glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” Seungkwan says and wraps you up in a hug before skipping off.

“Are you ready to leave, then?” Jeonghan asks when it’s just the two of you.

“Yeah, might as well,” you say. He nods, looking a little unsure for the first time since you’ve known him and turns to grab his jacket. Says a quick goodbye to his friends and you try to ignore the looks they cast over at you.

“Let’s go,” he says a minute later.

“Are we calling an Uber or something?” you ask.

“I’m sober because I rode my bike here,” he says as he leads the way outside.

“I’m sorry, you rode your what?” you ask, brain slow to catch up with what he’s saying. It’s then that you notice he didn’t just grab his jacket. He’s got a helmet as well.

“Bike,” he says and indicates a motorcycle parked outside the bar.

That brings you up a little short. It’s the last thing you would have expected when you thought of this man. Though, maybe it shouldn’t have been. After all, you said he was a study in contrasts. Isn’t this just another one of those?

Somehow, the more you look, the more it seems to suit him. It’s not some big, clunky bike. Not what you typically think of when you think of a motorcycle. It’s sharp and beautiful, just like he is, even if you can only admit that in your head. He pulls open a compartment that seems to be under the backseat and hands over a helmet.

“Promise I won’t go too fast,” he says with a softer smile than you’ve seen on him before. Like he’s actually trying to reassure you.

Sure, it’s not the first time you’ve been on a bike. It’s just that of all the ways you could have seen this night ending, this wasn’t one of them. At least you’re not feeling too self conscious as you slide onto the bike behind Jeonghan and wrap your arms around his waist. You miss the way his breath stutters as you settle in close to him. Miss the way his heart starts to beat out of his chest because you’re too focused on getting comfortable. Don’t even think twice about clinging to his lean frame. But, even with the drinks, it’s hard to ignore the way that your body slots perfectly against his. Or the way your thighs squeeze against his hips. Maybe there’s a lot more to whatever has been happening than you’ve been admitting to yourself.

Once you reach Jeonghan’s apartment, he carefully helps you off the bike and then puts a bit of distance between you again. It’s the first time that you notice he seems nervous, like maybe, you think, he might be reconsidering if this was a good idea. There’s not really much you can do about that now. You promised Seungkwan that he could have some privacy in the apartment and you’re already here. It can’t possibly be so bad that you really regret coming here. It could even help you sort through the very complicated feelings that are making their presence known.

Inside the apartment it’s incredibly cozy. Not at all like you imagine two single guys would live while they’re in school. It’s not overly cluttered, but it doesn’t feel cold either. Jeonghan disappears as soon as you both have your shoes off, which lets you look around at some of the decorations. He returns with a spare t-shirt and shorts for you to change into. Despite your insistence that it’s fine, he just presses them to you and indicates where the bathroom is for you to change.

It feels oddly…comfortable. Like this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him outside of class or your office. It also makes you take a little longer to change because you have to process whatever you’re feeling. Since you’re not sure exactly what to do after you change, you peek your head out into the living area. Jeonghan is setting some snacks and water out with the TV on in the background. You take it as a sign that you’re supposed to come out and join him. Momentarily, he disappears into his room and reappears also wearing more comfortable clothes.

The confusion only gets even worse from there. Maybe it’s just that Seungkwan’s gotten into your head. Since you’re finally processing that you might be interested in being something a little more with Jeonghan, you expect things to go a certain way. Seungkwan, and your other friends, for that matter, seem to think it’s only a matter of time before you cross over into being more than friends. Subconsciously, your brain must have latched onto that. Even wanted it, a little. But, now you’re here, and Jeonghan doesn’t do anything. He’s not the smooth, confident person that you’ve gotten to know over the course of the semester. He doesn’t try to pull any moves on you. Just makes sure that you’re comfortable, that you like the snacks, and that you like the show he has on.

It all feels like it’s a little too much and so Jeonghan shows you the way to his bedroom. Your nerves feel frayed because surely, this is the moment where things finally shift. Surely this is when he makes whatever move he’s held off on making up until this point. Quickly, you brush off the need to change the sheets. It’s not like it’s that big of a deal if something else happens. Without giving your brain a chance to overthink it, you lean in to give him a hug. His whole body tenses for a second and you’re about to pull away, when he finally relaxes and wraps his arms around you.

“You know, you can just sleep in your own bed,” you offer carefully.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he says through an emotion that you can’t place.

“I won’t be. Plus, I’d hate to force you into your roommate’s bed,” you suggest again, meeting his eye to reinforce the point.

“Oh, well, it’s…” he starts, eyes avoiding your gaze.

“Really, Jeonghan, it’s fine. Your bed is big,” you say.

“Okay,” he agrees and walks to the other side of the bed.

It’s confusing, to say the least. He slides into the opposite side of the bed without meeting your eyes again. You’re not exactly sure how to give him another sign that you want something else to happen without making it too obvious, especially because it’s not clear if he wants that. The guy constantly in your office was just on the right side of flirty. Always trying to wear you down. This Jeonghan in his apartment is much quieter, more reserved. Like he’s not really sure what happens now that he’s gotten you outside of school like he claims he’s wanted.

“D’you usually sleep with the TV on?” he asks and you pull a face.

“I’m not a psycho,” you snort.

“Good to know after I let you into my apartment,” he jokes back and turns on the TV anyway. “I’ll set a timer just in case we both fall asleep.”

Confusing. You’re laying in bed with this person that up until tonight you referred to as basically a stranger and there’s just…nothing happening. The two of you are plenty close enough that you could brush up against him, yet not touching at all. His attention seems to stay forward on the TV. Occasionally, he shifts to get more comfortable, but he doesn’t get onto his phone or even really look over at you.

Thankfully, the bed is comfortable and without even realizing it, you drift off to sleep laying on your side, facing Jeonghan. The last thing you remember is looking up at his face. Appreciating the cut of his jaw and the way the light from the TV threw his features into contrast. Then nothing but the easiest sleep you’ve had after a night of drinking.

In the morning, when it’s too early to wake up after a late night but late enough that the sun seeps through the curtains, you have a momentary panic wondering where you are. Slowly, the night before settles back into your brain and you relax into the bed. It’s only when you feel a weight around your middle that you wonder if everything is coming back. It is, though. You think back to the last things you remember before falling asleep. Jeonghan was safely on his side of the bed. Now, his arm is draped over your waist and he’s breathing rhythmically like he’s still fast asleep. For once, instead of overthinking it, you just slow your brain back down and drift back into sleep. After all, this is one the right path to what you wanted the night before.

The sun is fully up when you wake up again if the light streaming around the curtains is any indication. That’s not the only difference, either. There’s no weight around your waist and, when you look over your shoulder, the other side of the bed is empty. Which isn’t entirely surprising when your phone tells you that it’s nearly noon. It’s very unlike you to sleep in that late, but it makes sense. You’re just thankful that Jeonghan insisted on giving you so much water and something to make sure you didn’t wake up with a headache. Even though you’re still a little tired, you’re not hungover and that feels like a miracle.

But, what do you do now? Nothing happened last night, despite genuinely feeling like Jeonghan had some level of interest in you. But, then he did share the bed with you and curl up to you during the night. Maybe that was his subconscious way of showing what he couldn’t say. You’re out of the bed and nearly out the bedroom door when you hear voices drifting in from somewhere else in the apartment. Voices, plural. One is clearly Jeonghan, but the other sounds female and that stops you in your tracks.

The decision is immediate once you hear the second voice laughing at something Jeonghan says. You open your group chat with Seungkwan, Chan, and Vernon to ask if any of them are around to pick you up. Chan is the first, and fastest, to respond, saying to drop your location and he’ll be out the door to get you in a minute without any questions asked. That’s more than you’re expecting and you’re incredibly thankful. Makes it feel like one weight has been lighted as you quickly and quietly get dressed back into the clothes you wore the night before.

Chan texts you to let you know he’s only a few minutes out. That’s your queue to actually leave the bedroom and make an appearance out in the rest of the apartment. Jeonghan’s back is to you and it looks like he’s got a cup of coffee next to him. The other person you heard from the bedroom is, in fact, a woman. She’s stunning in an effortless way that actually makes your head hurt a little bit. It has absolutely nothing to do with the drinks the night before, either. Her eyes land on you and there’s a smile you can’t place. It could be saying that she knows she won, despite whatever effort you made. Something on her face must tip Jeonghan off because he turns around.

And it’s worse than you thought, immediately. The smile on his face is both welcoming and soft, like he’s actually happy to see you. It only makes the whole thing more confusing. Why is he looking at you like that with one of the most beautiful people sitting across from him?

“You’re awake,” he says, still smiling. “I hope Hana here didn’t make too much noise.”

“Sorry, babe, I only have one volume setting,” she, Hana, apparently, says with another smile you can’t place.

“Do you want coffee? Something to eat?” Jeonghan says and starts to get out of his chair.

“No, no, it’s fine. My friend is almost here to pick me up. Thanks for letting me crash last night,” you say without fully meeting Jeonghan’s eyes. It means you miss the confusion that settles in there.

Without a backward glance, you’re out the door and down the elevator. It’s only another minute or so before Chan pulls up, shockingly by himself, and smiles softly at you as you get into his car. All he asks is if you’re hungry and then starts navigating to your favorite place to get breakfast food that’s open at least into the early afternoon. It’s exactly what you need right now.

Chan lets you just be in your head while he drives with music playing softly in the background. It might be a dangerous decision, honestly. All you can think about are reasons for that person, Hana, your brain supplies automatically, to be in Jeonghan’s apartment like that. His roommate wasn’t home, to the best of your knowledge, so that means she was there for Jeonghan. Was that his girlfriend? Was that why he was so reluctant to do anything the night before? On some level, you do know that’s probably not the right answer. The rational part of your brain knows that he wouldn’t be so calm if that was his girlfriend. There’s no space in your brain for rationality right now, though. So, you’re going to stew in the feelings that she could be dating someone.

“Do you wanna talk about whatever happened last night?” Chan asks once you’re sitting opposite of each other in a booth.

“Not really,” you say. “Nothing happened last night, though. So, you don’t have to worry about whoever wins the bet.”

“I’m not worried about some stupid bet. I’m worried about you,” he says.

You shrug. “I think I might actually like him.”

“No shit,” Chan says with a knowing smile.

“You didn’t let me finish. I think I might like him and I don’t think it matters,” you say.

“Start at the beginning and we’ll figure this out together.”

It’s been a week since whatever happened at Jeonghan’s apartment and you haven’t spoken a word to him since leaving. Not that he hasn’t tried to speak to you. After breakfast with Chan, you realized you had both texts and missed calls from Jeonghan trying to figure out what went wrong. Those stay unanswered. Even if you’re being stupid, you can’t really bring yourself to behave in a different way. When the next class comes around, you avoid his eyes as much as possible. The one or two times you do look over at him, he looks incredibly hurt and confused. It’s funny, you think, how he’s the one that’s acting put out by this whole situation when you’re the one who had to wake up to some other woman in his apartment without understanding anything.

That leads to your first office hours. Thankfully, Jeonghan doesn’t show up to those like he normally would. The office feels a lot quieter, even though other students stop by to ask questions. It just all feels very professional and detached. Not comfortable in the way it does when he drops by. It’s hard to admit, even to yourself, that you had gotten used to having him around. That you even looked forward to it. Somehow, you’re not really sure how, Jeonghan became one of your favorite parts of every day you saw him. That realization makes you want to crawl into your bed and hide forever. No matter what, it doesn’t feel like you’ll have the option to go back to that. It sucks to realize it just took you too long to come to the very obvious conclusion.

Now, at least, it’s the weekend again so you have a short reprieve from all things school related. Well, all things Jeonghan related because you still have your own homework to handle, assignments to grade, and a new week to prepare for. At the very least, you deserve a little bit of a treat. Texting the group chat makes you realize, though, that a lot of your friends seem to have their own things going on.

Seungkwan is out spending the day with the same person that he brought home last weekend. They seem like they’re really enjoying getting to know each other, which you’re rooting for wholeheartedly. You want your roommate and best friend to be happy. Vernon is kind of vague saying that he’s got other plans. With anyone else, you might think that he’s also seeing someone. You just know that he tends to be a little spacy when it comes to sharing plans. Knowing Vernon, he’s probably just off with some friend of his. Once again, Chan comes through and says that he could really use a coffee. Apparently, there’s some new cafe by him that he’s been wanting to try out. It feels like an excuse because Chan will absolutely go anywhere by himself, but you take it all the same. He’s actually probably the easiest of your friends to speak to about this, even if he’s younger than you are.

One sip into your drink proves that this is the best decision for a Saturday afternoon. Chan chatters away about the things that have been going on in his life. He’s taking more dance classes in every free moment he has and it’s nice to see the way his face lights up talking about it. He certainly seems happier than any time you see him talking about his actual classes. Think about suggesting he give up one thing to pursue something else that would truly make him happy. His face is different when he’s happy like this. It makes it obvious how strained he feels with everything else.

A laugh pierces through the crowd and it gives you the worst sense of deja vu. Suddenly, you’re back in Jeonghan’s apartment. Which is crazy, right? What are the odds that he and the mystery woman are in this same coffee shop at the same time as you and Chan?

Not impossible, apparently. Well, at least in part. Your eyes cast around for the source of the laugh when they land on the mystery woman sitting with someone else that you don’t recognize. Your brain tries to stutter over the name before it forces you to think, Hana. Just as you’re about to look away, her eyes find yours like she could sense someone looking at her. She flashes a smile, which you try to return, before looking back at Chan and whatever story he’s sharing.

That should be it. Except, when she appears by your side a moment later, you realize it’s not. She has someone else you’ve never seen in tow behind her. Chan, not always as quick on the uptake, looks up at her in confusion.

“Hey, I wasn’t sure if you remembered me…” she begins and you’re quick to answer.

“I do, yeah. Sorry about the other day,” you say. Chan’s face has a look of dawning comprehension.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m sorry if I did something to offend you. I didn’t even catch your name,” Hana says and you open your mouth to share before she cuts you off with a wave of her hand. “No, Jeonghan told me. He’s done nothing but speak about you for weeks now.”

“And I thought I could be annoying,” the mystery person says from behind Hana.

“Oh, I’m so rude. This is my boyfriend, Joshua,” Hana introduces and your brain short circuits. What? Boyfriend?

“And Jeonghan’s roommate. I hit traffic coming back last weekend or I would’ve been there to meet you as well. Make the morning even more awkward,” he jokes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, rapidly trying to make your brain connect. “You two are dating?”

“Yup!” Hana says with a smile and then notices your face. “Wait, what did you think? That I was dating Jeonghan?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know. I just thought…it was still early-ish in the day and…” you stumble awkwardly.

“Babe, no. Jeonghan is very single. I was just early getting there because Joshua hit traffic and I was excited to see him,” she says. “He will kill me for saying this, but he hasn’t talked about anyone but you since the class started.”

“Please note that I had no part in spilling the beans. I have to live with him,” Joshua jokes.

“And just so there’s no more confusion, I’m one of her closest friends, Chan. Not a boyfriend or date or anything like that,” Chan says.

“Oh!” Hana says and turns to Joshua. “Jeonghan was mentioning him, remember? There was a movie we were supposed to watch.”

“Yeah, he did mention that,” Joshua agrees.

“Anyway, I’m sure you have lots to think about, but I’m nosy and I figured I’d say hi. Have a good weekend!” Hana says, full of more energy than anyone should have on the weekend. Joshua gives a smile and follows her out of the shop.

As soon as they’re out of sight, you drop your head into your hands. All that worrying and you could have just talked to him. Could have avoided this whole idiotic situation.

“Feeling kinda dumb right now?” Chan asks. You raise your head to glare at him. “I did say it didn’t seem like he was seeing someone.”

“Not the time, Chan,” you say.

“It’s completely the time. Look, yeah you fucked up by not just talking to him. But, you admitted that you liked him. He clearly likes you. Just talk to him. I’m sure you can fix it,” he says.

“I don’t know,” you start. “I was such an asshole.”

“I mean, yeah, you kind of were. But, he spent that whole night after Seungkwan invited them over getting to know your friends. Genuinely interested in everything we said. He’s not doing that just to make more friends. He wants to show you that he can fit into your life without anything really having to change,” Chan reasons and it brings you up short.

“When did you get so smart?” you question.

“I’ve always been smart, you just treat me like a baby,” he says with an eye roll.

“You are the baby in this friend group,” you point out.

“Just go figure out how to make it up to him,” Chan says.

Even though you know it was a terrible miscommunication, you’re not sure how to approach Jeonghan for the rest of the weekend. You’re also not sure how the conversation will go. So, despite knowing better, you decide to just take your time. Get yourself completely set for the coming week and figure that you’ll see Jeonghan during the next class. As much as you want resolution, you don’t feel like it would be enough for you to text him and ask to talk. That could also be taken wildly out of context.

So, you prepare for the next class. Make sure you look a little cuter than you normally would for class. Go over what you’re going to say with both Seungkwan and Chan, who’s gotten incredibly invested in the whole situation. It’s another class where you’ll just be sitting in the back and listening, which might also make it easier. You’re a little early getting there so that you can set all your things down.

But, then the class starts to fill in and you don’t see Jeonghan. Professor Choi closes the door, doesn’t comment on Jeonghan’s absence, and just starts teaching. It’s unusual. He normally takes attendance. Instead, he does a head count of the students and gets on with teaching. Everyone else is there. Jeonghan is the only one missing. You figure that maybe he reached out about missing the class. It leaves a weird feeling in your stomach, though, because you wonder if he’s okay. What if something happened to him?

At the end of class, you join Choi at the front as you do on every other occasion. The answer comes immediately when Choi looks up at you. “Mr. Yoon emailed me before the class to say that he was feeling very sick and wouldn’t be able to make it. I assured him you would send over some notes on the subject matter today.”

You try to avoid any relief that you feel at knowing it’s at least nothing that serious. It sucks that he’s sick, but at least he wasn’t in an accident or anything. You need to stop going to the worst case scenario, honestly. “Oh, sure. I’m sure he’s already ahead on the material, but I’ll send it over.”

“He’s such a good student,” Choi agrees. “Thank you for helping him with the proposal. I’m not sure if you read it over, but it’s exactly what I was looking for.”

“I did read it because he wrote it during my office hours. But, it was all him,” you say.

Professor Choi looks up at you like he knows that’s not entirely true. “I can feel your influence on it. In a good way, of course. You have a habit of helping people get to their best results.”

“Thank you,” you say earnestly. It’s the most genuine compliment he’s ever given you. He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a folder to hand to you. “Did I miss picking up an assignment to grade?”

“No,” he says with a smile you’re not used to seeing. “This is your letter for the recommendation packet. I already sent it in, but I thought you might like to see a copy.”

“Thank you so much, Professor Choi,” you say with a relieved sigh.

“You’re incredibly bright, probably one of the brightest students I’ve ever taught,” he says and it takes you completely by surprise. “I know it’s probably seemed like I’ve been hard on you because I have been. I knew there was even more potential in you waiting to be coaxed out. I also know I made it much easier on John to ask for a recommendation. But, between you and I, your letter is much more complimentary and personal than his was. I can’t wait to see what you accomplish.”

It all suddenly makes sense. Everything that Choi has put you through since asking for his letter. It almost makes you laugh. “I’m sorry for doubting your motives for asking me to TA this class.”

Now, Professor Choi does actually laugh. “Oh, no need to apologize for that. It’s much easier to get the most out of a student when they think they have something to prove.”

“You may be onto something,” you agree.

“I’ll see you next class,” he says and closes up his briefcase to head off.

With that bit of good news, you feel a lot lighter. You almost don’t even need to read the letter (though, you definitely will later). It’s enough to know that your entire future is still open ahead of you. It makes all of the miscommunication with Jeonghan feel incredibly silly. It also makes you feel a little bolder. So, you figure that you still have the location for Jeonghan’s apartment dropped in a group chat. Why not get him some food and medicine to help him feel better? It’ll give you a chance to apologize for how you’ve handled everything up until this point.

That idea seems a little poorly thought out when you show up at Jeonghan’s apartment with soup and medication. He answers the door, looking completely fine healthwise and confused to see you standing on the other side of the door.

“Professor Choi said you were really sick so I figured I’d bring some soup to help you feel better,” you offer, holding up the bag to show him.

“Why are you here?” he asks. There’s none of the normal warmth.

“I was worried about you,” you admit.

He sighs and leans against the doorframe without letting you in. “I can’t do these mind games.”

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately. “I know I messed up really badly. I owe you an apology.”

“You might as well come in,” Jeonghan says and steps aside. “Soup does also sound good. It’s cold out.”

“Right, here,” you say and hand it over to him.

“Is there enough for you to eat with me?” he asks and takes the bag. “Oh, it looks like it. Wanna join me? And you can try to explain what’s been going on?”

“Sure,” you agree.

It’s mostly silent as Jeonghan heats up the soup and puts it into two bowls for you to enjoy it with him. He sets the bowls at the kitchen table and also sets some drinks down for you. The two of you take a few sips first before you venture to explain what’s been going on.

“I’m really sorry, Jeonghan,” you say.

“So you’ve said,” he comments. He’s not going to make this easy on you.

“That whole night when I stayed here wasn’t exactly what I signed up for,” you admit. He opens his mouth, but you wave him off. “Let me try to get this out. You were so kind and caring to me when you brought me back here. Then, I was kind of expecting something to happen and nothing did…”

“Because you had been drinking. I wasn’t just gonna be like hey, let’s jump into bed when your mind wasn’t fully clear,” he says with a scoff.

“That’s fair. I get that,” you acknowledge. “Then, I don’t know. I saw Hana sitting out here with you the next day and I just kinda freaked out. I had realized that I might actually like you and here’s this beautiful person in your apartment for who knows what reason. I worried she was your girlfriend or something.”

He snorts a little derisively at that. “That would be kinda shitty to share a bed with you and then let you walk out to find me with a girlfriend. She’s not, by the way. She’s my roommate Joshua’s girlfriend.”

“Yeah, I know. I ran into her and Joshua while I was getting coffee over the weekend,” you admit sheepishly. This seems to surprise him.

“You met Joshua?” he asks.

“They didn’t tell you?” you ask in return and he shakes his head. “Probably because Hana told me that I’m the only one you’ve talked about since starting the class.”

“I wouldn’t have even cared if I had an answer to why you started ignoring me,” he says.

“I got a bit scared,” you say softly.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t just speak to me,” he insists.

“I know that. I really am sorry, that’s all I can say,” you offer.

“Well that and you can tell me that you do actually like me. Not that you might like me or something else vague,” he says with a glint to his eyes.

“You are…infuriating,” you say with a laugh. “You’re beautiful and smart and funny and impossibly kind. You make me want to pull out my hair at least once a day…”

“Don’t do that. You have nice hair,” he interjects.

“But, yes, I’m trying not to be scared anymore. So yeah, I do like you,” you say.

“What about being the TA for my class?” he asks and you shrug.

“The class will end eventually,” you say.

“Does this count as our first date, then?” he asks like the true demon he is.

“Only if you plan something else for our second date,” you concede.

“Deal,” he agrees.

Everything feels a little bit easier after that. A little bit lighter. Like you actually can breathe for the first time all semester. You tell Jeonghan about the letter and he suggests that you read it right then with him. It makes sense, in a way. Working with Jeonghan has brought out exactly the side to you that Choi wanted to see. It feels like this is kind of his win as well, even though he didn’t realize it. It also feels a little less overwhelming to read it with him by your side. (It’s a rave. Way better than anything you could have dared to hope for and better than any other letter written by him that you’ve read. Everything feels worth it and like it falls into place.)

Now that the awkwardness is out of the way, Jeonghan shares that he wasn’t actually sick, which you already know. It’s obvious looking at him that he feels fine. It does surprise you a bit that he admits to avoiding you to give himself time to process, though. Then he moves onto talking about Joshua and Hana, grumbling that they hadn’t told him about running into you after you relay the entire conversation. Even goes as far as to say that he would have come to class so that you could have figured all of this out. Instead, he admits telling Joshua about the plan to skip. That’s why Joshua isn’t there, though. He claimed he was going to give Jeonghan his space to work through whatever he was feeling and spend the night at Hana’s. You make a mental note to thank Joshua for that.

“How early is your day tomorrow? Do you want to stay and watch a movie or something?” he asks a little awkwardly when you finish your soup.

“Not that early,” you answer easily. “A movie sounds good, but can we watch something in your room? I feel like laying in bed and being lazy.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” he says.

“We don’t have to,” you say quickly.

“Can I say something that’s really gonna make me look…not cool?” he asks.

“Sure,” you say curiously.

“You make me a little nervous,” he admits.

That completely surprises you. Nothing about Jeonghan really seems anything short of confident in everything that he does. It’s kind of nice to see him falter. All you do is hold out a hand to him. “It’s okay, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

He takes your hand easily and lets you lead him into his own bedroom. Seems very content to let you just set the pace of what’s happening. So, you settle on top of his covers and he hands you the remote. It’s nice to get to control what’s on the TV for a change, even if you’re not really paying much attention to it. Jeonghan is a little stiff against his headboard as you try to settle into his body.

“Is it okay if I lean against you like this?” you ask, suddenly worrying this is too much.

“Of course,” he says after a moment.

“You can tell me if…” you start.

“No,” he says firmly. “No, I’ve been thinking about this since the last time I had you in my bed.”

“Just since then?” you tease.

“No, it was definitely before then, but I’ve already lost a lot of cool points,” he says.

“I don’t want to possibly misread the signs, but are you okay with…” you start, once again, before he cuts you off.

“I am fine with absolutely anything you want to give me,” he says and you wish you could see his face. Wonder if he’s blushing.

“And if that’s just a cuddle?” you test.

“Fine,” he says.

“Or if it’s a kiss?” you ask and feel the breath he takes. “Or what about if it’s a lot more than a kiss?”

He takes another beat. His voice sounds a bit strained when he speaks. “Definitely more than just fine.”

That’s really all the confirmation that you need. Making sure you’re on the same page is important and getting this kind of consent makes it easier to relax. You settle further back into his chest and pull his arm around you, let one of your own arms drape across his lap. It feels like it might be easier for him to settle that way. So that you can’t see his face and he doesn’t have to worry about losing any more cool points. Not that those really matter with you anyway. More than anything, it’s entertaining to see the way this constantly confident, perpetual pain in the ass gets so tongue-tied now that he’s getting what he wants.

The more time goes by, the more he seems to relax a little more into what’s happening around him. His fingers absently run along your arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. He leans his head down to meet yours and you could swear his lips press the lightest kiss into your hair. His entire presence is a little overwhelming. And he smells amazing. It’s such a unique scent that you can’t place. Something light, airy, and delicate. Something that seems to perfectly suit him. It might be your new favorite scent.

Nothing about the TV show is keeping your attention. It feels like little more than a precursor to what you both know is coming. But, Jeonghan doesn’t make the first move beyond the contact his fingers make with your arm. The first actual move seems like it might belong to you, which is actually kind of exciting. It’s a bit thrilling to know that you’re going to be in charge with this man who’s done nothing but send every one of your senses into overdrive. It’s nice to know that he doesn’t need to be in control of everything.

Almost as if you’re testing the water, you run your hand across his lap, careful to go slowly. He stops breathing for a second as he seems to wait to see what you’ll do next. It prompts you to run your hand back and forth a few more times, not bothering to move on from the subtle imprint of his dick through his sweatpants. Everything about him stills: his hand freezes on your arm, he doesn’t fidget, and his breathing is incredibly shallow. He starts to get noticeably harder underneath your hand while you keep your eyes trained forward, even though you have no idea what’s going on in whatever show you picked as background noise. There’s something strangely intimate about this in the way it feels a little innocent.

Finally, when he starts to moan a little with each motion, you pull your hand away. Delight in the way he actually whimpers at the loss of contact. It’s time to actually face him so that you can see what you’re doing to him. Repositioning yourself, you see the look on his face. He’s a little flushed just from the attention and his eyes are wide. Waiting. All he’s doing is waiting to let you set what happens next, like he can’t really believe that this is happening after so much time. It is, though.

You run a hand through his hair and marvel at how soft it is when it looks perfectly styled. Either his hair just looks like that or he’s got the best products in the world. Neither feels fair when he’s already this stunningly beautiful. Gently, you lean forward to press your lips against his. Let your hand tangle in his hair as you anchor yourself to him. The kiss is at complete odds with you slowly rubbing him through his pants. There’s a little bit of desperation and you’re not even sure which of you it’s coming from. All you know for sure is that his lips are so soft that they feel like clouds and he doesn’t even fight you for control when you slide your tongue into his mouth. Just meets whatever pace you set. He really is happy with whatever you give him.

Your free hand winds down his body and doesn’t waste any time slipping into the waistband of his pants. When your hand wraps around his cock, he tries to pull away from the kiss, but you don’t let him. The moan that comes from you running your thumb over his tip gets caught up in your lips. You pull your hand out just long enough to spit into your palm and return it to the inside of his pants. Jeonghan does break the kiss when your hand wraps around his cock and strokes the first time, a hiss coming out of his mouth.

“Are you still sure you’re okay?” you ask, but it’s almost more of a tease.

“Fuck,” he hisses out. “Please don’t stop. Please.”

Hearing him nearly begging like that is the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. Never could you have imagined you would have this man like putty beneath your hands. It’s going to your head a little bit and then it hits you. You wonder if you can make him come just like this. Wonder how that would feel to have that kind of power over him.

So, you do the only logical thing, and decide to test it out. You kiss him again, fierce and messy and desperate. Keep a steady rhythm of stroking him. He’s a squirming, writhing mess under your touch and it’s like he doesn’t even remember what to do with his hands. It’s actually turning you on as well to know that he wants you this bad. That nothing more than your lips and his touch are going to send him over the edge. It’s obvious when he starts getting close because he works harder to break the kiss. Can’t seem to catch his breath. You take a little pity on him and kiss across his jaw. Even pull away to watch him as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“You’re gonna make me come,” he whimpers.

“So come,” you direct.

“I can’t come in my pants like a fucking teenager,” he protests. “Please, I’m begging…”

“I want you to come for me, Jeonghan. Right now. Exactly like this. Come for me and show me how desperate you’ve been to have my hands on your cock,” you instruct.

“Fuck,” he draws out. “Fuck, I can’t…I’m gonna…”

His release comes almost out of nowhere, so hard and heavy that it coats your hand as you continue to stroke him through the release, coaxing every last bit from him. Once he’s spent, he collapses back against the headboard of the bed and you see any tension drain from his body. You pull your hand from inside his pants and wipe it off on them. Thankfully, he doesn’t even seem to protest.

While his breathing steadies, you shift and get off of the bed. He slowly opens his eyes and tracks your movement. Only swallows a little hard when you start to undress without taking your eyes off him. Sometimes, this part makes you a little self conscious. It’s much easier now, though, knowing you had just made Jeonghan come in his pants. That’s an ego boost you never expected to get. His breath stutters when you even remove your bra and panties, leaving yourself completely exposed before him. His eyes go somehow even wider when you get back onto the bed and position yourself in front of him. He reaches out to touch you, but you slap his hand away.

“Oh, no, no,” you chastise softly. “No, my little demon, you are going to watch now.”

“Watch?” he asks.

“Yes, watch,” you confirm and study his face. “Don’t you want to watch me get myself off? Don’t you want to watch me show you exactly what it is that I like?”

“F-fuck that’s…wow,” he stutters out.

You lean back, using one hand behind you on the bed to brace yourself. You spread your legs open to show him the way your pussy already glistens a little. The kissing and the feel of bringing him over the edge like that really turned you on. It’s a little bit of a first for you. Running a finger up your entrance, you collect some of the wetness there. Do it once more for good measure. And then, still emboldened by what’s happened so far, you reach forward to hold your finger out to Jeonghan. Let it run along his lip until he takes it into his mouth and tastes you.

“Fuck, you’re so…just, fuck,” he hisses. “Can I…”

“No,” you say and cut him off, pulling your finger back.

Now that you’ve had a taste of him begging for something, you want to drive him to that again. Want to get him so turned on that he can’t even see straight. You slowly tease at your entrance and watch the way his eyes track each movement. When you use your free hand to play with one of your nipples, he seems like he can’t really figure out where to look. Then, you slide one finger into your pussy and it’s like he can’t see to take his eyes off the motion. You moan, even though it’s nowhere near enough of a stretch, and increase the rhythm. Quickly add another finger and start to fuck yourself just the way you like. Just the way you would when you want to draw out your release a little more than using a toy. You slide your free hand down your body and use it to rub small circles on your clit. Somewhere, the thought of Jeonghan watching you becomes a little secondary. It’s incredibly sexy to know that he’s just watching, but you’re also invested in your own high. You want to do this for yourself as much as to show Jeonghan. Can’t possibly realize that Jeonghan is even more turned on knowing that you’re so lost to your own passion.

The orgasm washes over you more suddenly than you’re expecting and it takes a moment to catch your breath. It takes another moment to realize that Jeonghan has undressed himself while you were lost in your own world. He isn’t touching himself though and you can’t figure out if he’s still sensitive or just waiting for your permission. It’s hard to avoid the realization that every part of him is beautiful. His body is all lean lines, not overly muscular, yet still looks strong. Even his cock is kind of beautiful in a way, which isn’t fair. It’s not surprising, though.

“That was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen,” he admits, a little breathless.

“D’you think you can make me come as well?” you tease. “Want to feel my pussy squeeze around you?”

He nods immediately and it makes you laugh a little. “I know I can. I want…”

“To taste me?” you offer and his eyes go dark with lust.

“Can I?” he asks. “Can I actually get a taste? Just your finger wasn’t really enough.”

“I want to see what that mouth can do when it’s not talking a mile a minute,” you say. “I hope you’re just as good with your tongue.”

It’s obvious that this catches him a little off guard that you’re so confident now with him. So easily fall into telling him exactly what you want him to do. But, you’re very curious to see what his skills are like. The two of you reposition so that he can settle between your legs. His eyes find yours, searching, Maybe asking permission. You nod and he uses his fingers to spread your lips open. He licks up your core and mutters a quiet fuck under his breath at your lingering wetness. The breath against your core sends a slight shiver through your body.

After all the build up and everything, you don’t really have the patience for him to go slow. So, you tangle your hand into his hair and press his head further into your cunt. Force his nose to brush against your clit. Don’t really stop to consider if it’s too much for him. His moans into you seem to show that they’re not, though. It’s nice to just take what you need and know that he’s enjoying it just as much as you are. When you ask him (read: tell him) to add a finger, he does it without question. For someone that always seems to have a retort for everything, he’s surprisingly quiet now. Nothing piercing the quiet of the room apart from the constant stream of moans from both of you and curses from you as you get closer to your second orgasm.

The second one hits a lot harder than the first, a fact that you wouldn’t really want to admit to Jeonghan. It’s too obvious to hide, though. You don’t even care. Jeonghan’s tongue is far better than anything you could have dreamed about. Not that you were dreaming about it. (And not that you ever got yourself off in the shower or in your bed, late at night, thinking of the annoying guy who wouldn’t ever seem to leave you alone. Absolutely not.) When you open your eyes again, you find Jeonghan looking at you with awe. There’s nothing smug about his look. It makes your insides go even a little mushier. It’s definitely not the time for those kinds of emotions.

“Wow,” is all Jeonghan says.

“Yeah,” you agree.

“Do you still want to…? I mean, can we still…” he starts.

“Jeonghan, do I make you feel that nervous?” you joke. “You just ate me out and made me come all over your face.”

He shrugs. “I just don’t wanna press my luck.”

“Maybe we just stop here then,” you say with a return shrug. “I’m not sure you want it enough.”

“Oh, no, I definitely want it,” he disagrees.

“Are you sure?” you taunt. “Sure you can handle it?”

That unleashes a side of Jeonghan you haven’t fully seen yet. The next moment, he’s begging you for your pussy. Begging you to show you how much he still wants you. Begging to make up for the fake that he came in his pants just at your touch. Just begging for anything and everything. He even goes as far as to say that he’ll do all the work. It shouldn’t be working for you. It’s kind of lame, the way he just can’t seem to stop himself from running his mouth. And, unfortunately, it’s working for you. You kiss him just to make him stop.

The kiss immediately turns into something desperate, but you’re not sure which one of you takes it there first. Every new bit of him you get only makes you want even more of him. It’s kind of insane to think you weren’t even sure you liked him when it’s been so easy to fall into this. Jeonghan breaks the kiss and reaches over into his nightstand for a condom. Somehow, he manages to get it on in nearly record speed, despite his nerves about everything else. He doesn’t waste any time in positioning himself, either. You lie back when he spreads your legs open and seems a little drunk on the sight of you. You tap his side with your foot and he shakes his head clear of whatever he was thinking.

Jeonghan lines himself up at your entrance and presses his tip in. You arch your back, moaning at the initial stretch. It’s immediately better than either of your fingers or his tongue. You wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in and it makes him snap into you in one swift movement. All you wanted was to be full and you squeeze your walls around him. Direct him to move. The two of you work together to figure out the right pace, knowing that neither of you is likely to last all that long. You’re both a little sensitive from everything in the lead up to this moment. Still, you revel in the way that Jeonghan rolls his hips into you. Appreciate the way that he nearly pulls all the way out before snapping back into you. Moan into the sloppy kiss when your mouths crash together. It’s hard to tell where your own whines start and his moans begin. The sounds all kind of blend together into some kind of weird harmony.

Where Jeonghan was incredibly vocal when he was begging, he doesn’t seem to have a coherent thought to share now. Yet, his eyes never leave you. Like he’s trying to map each part of your body. It’s too fast for him to learn what you actually like. That’s not what you need, not right now. What you need is to have another release, one that comes at the same time as his own. And that’s exactly what you get when you come hard again just as you feel his thrusts stutter. A moment later, he’s coming into the condom and eventually stilling inside of you.

The last thing you want is to feel the loss of him inside of you, but you understand that he has to pull out. His breathing is heavy when he rolls over onto his back. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to get out of bed. That it’s a struggle. But, he gets up to dispose of the condom and you hear water running in the distance. He returns a moment later with a wet cloth and starts gently washing you without even asking. He tosses the cloth on his dresser and then collapses back on the bed next to you. Pulls you into his body without a second thought.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” you say softly while you’re nestled into him.

“Like I would let you leave,” he says just as softly.

“Oh, the man that begs for my pussy is going to force me to stay?” you challenge.

You feel the way his chest slightly rumbles with laughter. “I was hoping you’d let me live for a second.”

“After you not letting me live since we met? Fat chance,” you answer.

“I suppose I deserved that,” he says.

“I really don’t want to leave tonight, though, so hopefully you have more clothes to lend me,” you say.

“You’re gonna have to let me move for that,” he says in return.

“Worst offer I’ve gotten all day, but fine,” you agree and allow him to disentangle from you.

Once he offers you some clothes, you also get up from the bed to get dressed. Try not to ogle Jeonghan too much as he does the same. He catches you, because of course he does, but surprisingly doesn’t say anything. Only smiles back at you. You help him remake the bed before the two of you go back out into the living area. It occurs to you that you didn’t exactly let your roommate know what you were up to before just heading straight over to see Jeonghan.

A fact that is immediately obvious when you see the texts and missed calls on your phone. Oop.

“Hey,” you call out to Jeonghan. “My roommate, I’m sure you remember him…”

“Yeah, Seungkwan, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, he’s freaking out because I forgot to say I was coming over here,” you say. “I’m just gonna call him really quick to let him know I’m fine and I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“Do you want privacy?” he asks and you just laugh lightly.

“Not sure I need it,” you say and the phone is already ringing. Seungkwan answers nearly immediately.

“What the fuck? Are you okay?” he asks instead of saying hello.

“Chill, Kwan, I’m fine,” you answer.

“Where are you? Your class ended hours ago,” he says.

“Has it been hours?” you ask with some amount of surprise.

“Wait, where are you?” he asks again, sounding calm but skeptical now.

“I just…just don’t worry about me for the night, okay? I’ll be home tomorrow,” you say.

“Switch to video, you whore,” Seungkwan says skeptically.

“Don’t be a weirdo,” you retort.

“Come on! Turn on your camera!” he yells and you pull the phone away from your ear.

“Fucking fine,” you grumble and press the button on your phone before holding it back up to your face.

“I KNEW IT!” he shrieks gleefully. “Who’s shirt is that?”

“Oh, well, it’s…” you stall and look over at Jeonghan. He’s already moving toward you.

“Well?” Seungkwan prompts as Jeonghan leans over behind you so his face shows in the camera.

“It’s mine,” Jeonghan answers and Seungkwan looks like Christmas came early.

“Well, hello Jeonghan,” he says.

“I promise to take good care of her and send her back in one piece,” Jeonghan says and Seungkwan can’t contain his grin.

“Keep her as long as you like. I’m about to be so rich,” he says, far happier than he should be.

“Goodbye Seungkwan. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say and hang up before he can say anything.

Once you hang up, Jeonghan gives you an odd look. Like he’s trying to figure out what Seungkwan just said.

“Do I…want to ask?” he finally asks.

You sigh. “Seungkwan started placing and taking bets about me sleeping with you as soon as I mentioned you.”

“And when was that?” he asks, seemingly not even surprised by the bets. You internally curse.

“After the very first class when you mentioned you joined because you like Legos,” you admit.

“We could have saved so much time,” he whines and you just shake your head.

“This is exactly how it was supposed to go,” you disagree.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Should we get some sleep? We can figure everything else out in the light of day.”

“Sounds perfect,” you agree and follow him to bed.

It’s far easier than it should be to settle into bed with him. Like you’ve done it a million times before. Maybe it’s okay to allow yourself to have the things you want. Maybe this can all be as easy as attaching one block to another until you have something amazing.

i hope you liked it! and like i said, i'll be back to fix any spelling/grammar errors after the weekend.

taglist: @newjihoonie, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @sunflowergyeomie, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @harry-the-pottypus, @okiedokrie-main, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @jelly-n , @christinewithluv, @hipsdofangirl, @sana-is-ms-rmty, @lllucere, @vixensss, @soffiyuhh @aidanjoon, @hanniebub, @stormy1408, @lilifiedeans, @hyucksrealm, @joshuaslv, @tinkerbell460 (strikethrough means can't tag)

2K notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

Note

AITAH for telling my wife no?

My wife (35f) and I (38m) have been married for 12 years, dated for 3 before that. We have 3 kids (10m, 7f, and 5f). We both work full time in separate fields, she does some chemistry thing that I don't understand and I am a manager at a computer repair store my friend runs, and also a short story writer when its slow. She is definitely the breadwinner bill payer between the two of us, but I bring in the fun money for our family and would be completely listless if I didn't at least work part time. We also fully own our home because of her job.

Also, my parents watch the kids for us during the week when we are working. It's been this way since our son was born, and they've been doing it less since they are all in school. But it's free childcare, they refuse to accept money unless it's reimbursing for buying food.

Ok, now that all of that backstory is set, here's where the problem begins.

A couple of months ago my wife started pepper into conversations about a possible promotion coming up that would get her out of the lab and into a more "manage the lab team" position, with less dangerous hours for more pay. Ever since the first time she mentioned it I've been hyping her up and telling her she's a shoo in for the promotion, especially since she's been working there since her masters internship and now she has a PhD.

Last night she told me she was getting word today if she got it! After she left for work this morning I called my boss up and told him I couldn't come in today, and then told my parents the kids were saying with me. We spent the day cleaning the house, drawing congratulations cards, and making a congratulations banner. We also made a couple cards that say sorry and we love you for if she didn't get it. I was working on making her favorite dinner (lobster rolls with lobster bisque, because she's a fancy lady) when she got home earlier than normal. Everyone was surprised, because noone is usually home at this time and yet here everyone was. She got tears in her eyes seeing everything we were still working on, got down and hugged our two youngest, and said she got the promotion! Cheering all around! And that's when she dropped the bomb, saying we need to get a realtor in a state three away from us so we can relocate within the next two months.

I was stunned, and just said no, we arent moving for this promotion. In all of her talks she never mentioned that the promotion wasn't for the same location she's been at. All of our family is here, her parents and mine, all of our friends are here, my job is here. She insisted that she's mentioned relocating before but I swear she never did. That set of a completely new argument about never listening to her and only hearing what I want to hear, and how this will make it so I can stay home with the kids and not even need a fun money job. During this I noticed she was typing on her phone, and when I asked why she was multitasking an argument she said she was texting my parents to get the kids so they don't have to see this.

When my parents got here they congratulated her on the promotion and asked how long until we move.

She told my parents the promotion included relocation.

I'm typing this on the couch in the basement, because I can't face her right now. My parents knowing means she probably did say we would need to move if she got it. I don't want to move, I like my job, and our house. I like being near my parents. I know this would practically set us for life but I don't want to. I know I'm being selfish, and I know I must not be listening when she talks, but I still don't think she should accept the promotion. I still think no.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

4K notes · View notes

euphoriaslux · 8 months ago

Text

two’s a party.

summary: you recently transferred to stanford, and decide to tutor a tennis player in your class. he has a friend. severe indecency ensues.

word count: 3.3k

warnings : smut, threesomes, f!oral receiving, swearing, smoking, drinking. slight cuck energy if you squint (i’m sorry ((no i’m not))). no challengers spoilers!

a/n: this fic got away from me big time but this movie has rotted my brain and as a result i have written utter debauchery that i will not apologize for. just had to get this out of my head, enjoy!

stanford science hall. monday , march 3.

You swear the last thing you’ll hear before your body is lowered into your grave is the process of lactic acid breakdown.

It’s 2:30 PM. Kinesiology 189 with Professor Wilson, a lanky middle-aged man with a PhD in exercise science and a half-grown beard that you don’t think will ever fully grow in, is almost over. He’s teaching Extended Studies of the Human Body in a humid classroom filled with student-athletes, most of whom are trying to stay awake, trying to hide that they’re taking a nap, or making no attempt to hide that they’re on their phones. You don’t really blame any of them, because the professor’s voice is so soft and monotone that it feels like he’s begging everyone to pay attention to anything but him. You’ve managed to stay somewhat on course with the thread of today’s lecture, the notebook in front of you filled with scribbles of incomplete molecular structures and somewhat legible drawings of the muscular anatomy of a hamstring.

This class is required for your biology major since you’re on a pre-medicine track. You don’t know why you’re doing it, the whole doctor thing, but you’ve developed a weird fixation for this class. The functionality of the body, how muscles stretch and tear with each movement, and how amino acids work to build them back even bigger.

And, possibly because of the tennis player who sits four rows ahead of you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

His last name is Donaldson. You know because of the faded label on the massive bag he throws on the floor every time he walks into class, at least ten minutes late with a backward Stanford Tennis cap on his head. His first name remains a mystery, partly because he never talks in class, and mainly because you’ve made no attempt to speak to him. You like to think it’s because you’re so focused on the curriculum.

Professor Wilson knows your name, though, since you’re in his office hours every Thursday at 11 A.M. In part because he gives out most of the answers to his homework, and because you just transferred to Stanford your last year and very desperately need a letter of recommendation for medical school. Hence why you agreed to tutor a student with lower than 60% in the class during one of your meetings. And why everyone in the class was staring at you right now.

“... first come first serve, so reach out to her sooner rather than later.”

You give a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room. Most people have looked away, back to their distraction of choice, but you meet eyes with the fluffy blonde-haired tennis player.

stanford library. wednesday, march fifth.

It’s 11 A.M., and you feel like your brain is about to explode if you look at another practice set.

“Hey”.

Your head whips around to the harsh whisper, only to be met with the blue-eyed mystery from your class. He has that large bag slung over his shoulder, with the end of a tennis racket peeking out of it. His hair is slightly stuck to his face, and his compression tee is slick to his chest like a second skin.

“Hi,” you whisper back. He smiles before tossing his bag on the floor and sitting in the chair across from you, either unaware of or completely ignoring the glares he’s receiving from the other students studying.

“You know,” he pulls out some kind of nutrition bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking an aggressive bite, “for someone advertising their services, you’re pretty hard to find.”

“You’re in Mr. Wilson’s class, right?” you ask, hoping your subdued voice will remind him that he’s in a notoriously quiet place. He hums, pointing at you with his half-eaten snack.

“And I’m trying not to fail, but you didn’t leave your number anywhere in the classroom, and you bolt after every class. So how am I supposed to patronize your tutoring services…” he trails off, his volume the same level as when he walked in. You furrow your brows as he leans back into the chair.

“That’s when you say who you are.”

You feel a burn on the back of your neck as you tell him your name. He glances down towards the problem set you’ve nearly finished.

“How do you turn in any of those, I can’t get halfway through one of them.”

You pause for a moment before leaning slightly across the table to whisper:

“This new weird thing called studying. I think it just got approved by the CDC.”

“Very funny,” he shakes his head as reaches for your binder with your class schedule printed out on the front of it.

“Why are you taking so many bio classes?”

“Because I’m a biology major,” you can’t help the sarcasm dripping from your voice, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, you’re making this too easy for me,” you raise your hands in conceit.

“I have practice every day at five so you can tutor me for like an hour beforehand,” he says before standing up, crunching up the silver wrapper and stuffing it into the front pocket of his blue jeans. You scoff at his sentence.

“Well, thank you for so generously fitting me into your schedule,” you roll your eyes, turning the page in your textbook. He grins.

“Tell the coach you’re there for Art. They’ll let you through.”

stanford tennis courts. friday, march 7th.

It’s 4 PM, and the California sun is sweltering. Your shorts feel like they’ve become a part of your legs, and your bag feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. By the time you make it to the tennis courts Art is already on the green concrete, shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his face and chest. You hear his grunts as he sprints across the court, hitting the ball toward a slightly taller brunette with dangerously short red shorts. You watch them at the entrance for a few minutes, slightly entranced as the two play so seamlessly, as if they know every move the other person is going to make. You force your eyes away as you walk up the bleachers, stepping over leftover water bottles and chip bags to sit down and grab your notes from your backpack. It takes a couple more minutes for Art to notice you, yelling your name after he turns around to grab a ball his partner had hit particularly hard. You wave, and he says something you can’t hear to the brunette before the two of them jog across the courts and up the stands to where you are, blocking the sun as the two stand side by side.

“Who’s your friend?” you ask as you stuff the problem set you were working on in between the pages of your notebook.

“I’m Patrick,” he says, with a toothy smile and his ears poking out from under his hair. He has a bit more of a boyish charm to him than Art does, whose eyes are glued to his brunette counterpart.

“Are you in Mr. Wilson’s class too?”

Patrick opens his mouth to answer but Art speaks first, slightly pushing his friend with his shoulder as he says “He doesn’t go to Stanford, too busy being a tennis pro.”

Patrick rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t leave his face. You notice how different this Art feels from the one in the library, how direct his playfulness is and how close he and Patrick stand together, their sweaty torsos nearly melding together.

Interesting.

“Like, Andre Agassi level pro?” you smile as the two of them laugh. Patrick raises the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, and you can’t help but take a glance at the exposed skin just above his waistband.

“Sorry, he’s like the only tennis player I know.”

“No, no I’m taking that as a compliment that you think I’m on the level of Agassi. No takebacks if you see me play,” Patrick points at you.

“Will do,” you salute, turning over to Art.

“You ready to study?” you ask him as he makes a comically loud groan, his head falling back. Patrick laughs, reaching over to ruffle his friends hair.

“You do remember that’s why I’m here, right? Midterms are in two weeks.”

“I definitely have not forgotten that.” he says. You purse your lips just as Patrick’s eyes seem to light up.

“I’m staying at the Courtyard Hotel for the weekend. You two can come over and study, I need to review my last match anyway. Kill two birds with one stone,” Patrick suggests.

“Just studying?”

“Just studying,” Art says, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. You glance between the two of them, trying to decipher the unspoken communication they seem to be doing. But you can’t crack it, so you shrug.

“Sure.”

“Let us finish this set, and then you’ll have me all to yourself. Sound fair?”

“Wow, what a privilege. Don’t take too long, it’s hell on Earth out here!” you yell the last part as Art jogs down the steps and back down towards the net. You look up once you realize that the sun is still being blocked, and Patrick is still standing in front of you.

“You ever play?” he grins, flipping the tennis racket in his hand.

“Tennis? God, no, that would not be a pretty sight. I’ll stick to what I’m good at,” you gesture to the books and notes in your lap. Patrick nods.

“If you ever want to learn, I could teach you sometime, you know if-” he’s cut off by Art yelling his name, and you both glance to see him with his hands on his hips.

“Go, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” you wave him off, and you swear you can see him blushing. Must have been the glare.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder as he runs toward Art.

courtyard hotel. saturday, march 8.

It’s 11 pm. There’s a cold shiver in the elevator as you wait to get to the fourth floor, your tennis shoes tapping against the floor as one hand plays with the handle of the pack of beer in your hand while the other crumples and re-crumples the piece of paper with the hotel room number Patrick scribbled on it.

what are you doing?

You don’t have time to think about the consequences of your actions as the robotic voice signals that you’re on the fourth floor, the elevator doors fluttering open. It’s like your feet have a mind of their own, as you find yourself almost mindlessly wandering through the hotel halls until you’re planted in front of room 4B. You raise your hand to knock on the door but before you can make contact with the wood it’s thrust open, and Patrick is standing behind it. His dark hair is slightly tousled around his face, his striped shirt unbuttoned and his black boxer briefs low on his waist. He’s smiling, that same big smile as before, but his face is a little flushed, a gentle pink hue touching his cheeks. The two of you don’t say anything for a few seconds, as if you were both testing to see who would concede first to acknowledge the other’s presence. You raise the pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in your right hand.

“I brought studying fuel.”

You were never good at waiting.

Patrick laughs before he moves slightly out of the way to allow you to walk into his room. It’s small, with a queen-sized bed and a tiny desk, and the A/C emits an odd rumbling sound as it smacks against the window. Clothes and scorecards are strewn across the floor, and the scent of cigarettes permeates the room. You place the alcohol on the floor before deciding to sit on the bed, kicking off your shoes as you cross your legs. Patrick seems to stall for a moment, smiling to himself before closing the door behind him. He doesn’t lock the door, but you didn’t notice.

“Art’s not here yet?” you ask, watching as Patrick walks over and tears open the cardboard case, cracking open a can. Taking a sip, he leans against the desk as he smiles.

“Art can be bad with time.”

“As I’ve noticed,” you reach your hand out to motion towards the drink and Patrick hands it to you, staring as you take a large sip.

“Well,” you wipe the side of your mouth, “I told him to bring the topics he wanted to study, so I guess we can’t do anything until he gets here.”

Patrick nods with a slight pout, his fingers playing with the pop tab of the can. “I guess we can’t.”

“How’s tennis… stuff,” you laugh as you finish the question, not sure of exactly what to say.

Patrick seems to tense a little at the mention of the sport, moving over to sit next to you on the bed. His knee grazes your leg and you feel a slight buzz at the contact as he takes the beer from your hand.

“I’m kinda fucking it up right now,” he says, and you furrow your brows.

“How? You were like, really good yesterday.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He hands you the beer and you finish it off, placing the empty can at the bottom of your feet.

“I’m good with Art. It feels so fucking natural and easy with him. But in my other matches, I don’t know. I just … can’t replicate it.”

You nudge him with your leg.

“Sounds like you two were made to play tennis together.”

He makes a noise of agreement, his hands slowly moving to ghost over your thigh.

“You and Art are pretty close?” you ask as he plays with the bottom hem of your shorts, but he doesn’t say anything. You take his silence as a yes.

“Do you ever get jealous?”

“Of Art?” he asks, almost incredulously. You shrug.

“Yeah, or jealous of the girls he’s with. Either or.”

Patrick sits on that for a few moments before smirking.

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s his is mine.”

You laugh at that, a real deep laugh, and Patrick giggles next to you, the both of you tipsy from the can of beer you finished. You reach over and put your hand on his flushed face, rubbing your hand across his cheek.

“What were you doing before I came?” you feel his face warm even more against your skin as you position yourself closer to him.

“Practicing- or, sorry, rereading my scorecards from my last match.”

You tutted as you moved your hand to the back of his neck, gently running your hands through his hair.

“You can tell me the truth, Patrick.”

He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand before looking up at you as if to check if that was too much. Whatever your expression is gives him the confidence to move down to your neck, his tongue licking your skin.

“I think you know.”

You feel a pull in your lower stomach at his words, muffled by his mouth nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he sucks hard enough for you to put your hand around on his face at the pressure. Pulling his face up, the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and his eyes glance toward your lips. You wanted to wait, to make him beg and plead for it, but your body seemingly pulled you forward as your pressed your mouth onto his.

You were really quite bad at waiting.

He tastes like tobacco and faintly of the fruit medley in the dining hall, and you sigh as his lips interlock with yours and his hand grabs the back of your neck, pressing you into him. The kiss gets messy and hard, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip and into your mouth as you lift your leg to straddle Patrick, grinding into him. He whimpers into the kiss as his calloused hands drop down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating for a moment before dropping his hand into your underwear. You grind just a little bit faster as his fingers press circles into your clit, covering your mouth with your hand as you moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he uses his other hand to guide your hips, and your move your hands down to tug firmly on his hair. You can feel your climax building, the pressure in your stomach getting closer and closer to taking you over the edge-

You both jump at the sound of the hotel room dor slamming shut. Art is standing there, in that damn backward cap and a Stanford tee shirt as he crosses his arms over his chest, saying nothing as you and Patrick sit up straight, him adjusting his crotch and you smooth down your shirt, avoiding his gaze. Finally, the silence is broken by Art laughing.

“Christ, I’m not the cops,” he slips out of his slides as he waltzes over and opens a can of beer, drinking about half of it in one go. You look at him, and at Patrick, and then back at him, not knowing what the hell you just got yourself into.

“You want to fuck him right?” Art asks, and you can’t help your small gasp at how easily he said that. You glance at Patrick, hoping he’ll know what to say, but he’s just staring at Art.

“I-um,”

“So, no one’s stopping you,” Art cuts you off, taking a final swig of his beer and moving to stand directly in front of you. You open your mouth to try and explain, but before you can talk Patrick’s mouth is on yours again, his hand roaming your body. His grip is firmer now, his fingertips digging into the side of your stomach. He tugs at the bottom of your shirt and you separate, breathless as you pull your shirt over your head and toss it on the floor. Patrick’s mouth moves down to your neck, then your collarbones, and then your chest as he reaches around to take of your bra, and you feel on fire from Art’s gaze across the room. As Patrick kisses down your stomach and yanks down your shorts, you turn over to meet Art’s eyes.

“Come here.”

Whatever resolve Art was holding onto crumbles as he quickly takes off his shirt and slips out of his Nike shorts, tossing his hat on the dresser. In a flash Art’s hands are on your neck, tilting your head around to kiss you as Patrick lifts up your hips so he can take off your underwear. Art’s lips are softer than Patrick’s but he kisses you a little bit harder, his hand cupping the base of your neck. Somehow, they both taste the same. You moan into Art’s mouth as you feel Patrick’s tongue swirl around your clit, rolling your hips into his mouth as Art’s cock presses into your back. It’s just so much so fast, and that familiar buzz starts to pool in your lower stomach.

“Look at him,” Art turns your head to Patrick and you look into his eyes as you cum, Art’s hands hold your head forward as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Patrick’s hands are digging into your hips as he stares up at you and Art. Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath, leaning against Art as Patrick leans back up, his mouth a few inches from yours.

“Who do you want first?

#challengers #challengers fanfic #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson fanfic #patrick zweig fanfic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x patrick zweig #art donaldson x patrick zweig x reader #mike faist #josh o’connor #mike faist x reader #josh o’connor x reader #mike faist fanfic #josh o’connor fanfic

2K notes · View notes

reiderwriter · 11 months ago

Text

♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence.

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried.

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly.

“But I'm not a woman.”

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again.

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.”

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter.

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down.

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again.

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter.

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise.

“And your name is?”

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body.

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?”

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up.

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub.

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason.

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest.

“Good observation, Spencer.”

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head.

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor.

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again.

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him.

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that.

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours.

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election.

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace.

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.”

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you.

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together.

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet.

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway.

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him.

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin.

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him.

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-”

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?”

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape.

“I-I'm not a student, and-”

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.”

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist.

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex.

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you, desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you.

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper.

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him.

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley.

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?”

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him.

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.”

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin.

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched.

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him.

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust.

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin.

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock.

“Did it hurt?”

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.”

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving.

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for.

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to.

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him.

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure.

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.”

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier.

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you.

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there.

You weren't.

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?”

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today.

There was always tomorrow.

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed.

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder.

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there.

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up.

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.”

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words.

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs.

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?”

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely.

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened.

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs.

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head.

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch.

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out.

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug.

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.”

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer.

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.”

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him.

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.”

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal.

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake.

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.”

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts.

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?”

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be.

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?”

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there.

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?”

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct.

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer.

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again.

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning.

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?”

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.”

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest.

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled.

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.”

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again.

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his.

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.”

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?”

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans.

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.”

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit.

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut.

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly.

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.”

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him.

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?”

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue.

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?”

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them.

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth.

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.”

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry.

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again.

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock.

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock.

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so.

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time.

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair.

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.”

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

2K notes · View notes

muntitled · 1 year ago

Text

𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙮 𝙂𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨

Jung Woo-Young x fem!reader

Being forced by his label to learn English fucking sucks but his tutor makes it just a little more bearable

Warnings: Wooyoung as his own warning, Language, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Idol x English!Teacher, Sapiosexual!Wooyoung, Slight!Jealousy, Academia Talk, Humor, Teasing, Smut (+18), heavy make out sesh, Slight Pervy!Wooyoung, Whimpering!Wooyoung, Dirty Talk, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Dry Humping, Grinding, Brattiness, Self Degradation, Neediness, Slight Dub/CON, Dom/Sub undertones

Ft. Wooyoung and his canonical degradation kink

"What you need to understand is that Shakespeare used a significant amount of his time cautioning his audience against the perils of this mortal coil." Despite your vexation warming the pits of your stomach, you're thankful that your voice does not relay how utterly irritated you actually are. Your back is straight, giving nothing away of your exhaustion as you point to your copy of a Literature textbook.

"So, maybe I should've initially explained that the biggest theme of this sonnet is grief," you explain, drearily, letting your fingers knot into your curls as you soldier on through the text.

You could almost hear your coworkers discrediting you right now. How could one manage to hit the holy grail in getting chosen to tutor a bunch of stars and utterly fail at it in the process? Your PhD is mourning her sorrows.

"That is bad tutoring on my part, I apologise, Mr Jung, Sir," it is virtually impossible to bend into a full on bow in your current position on the chair adjacent to his bed so you settle for a quick nod of the head while skilfully avoiding eye contact.

"That's okay," Wooyoung lazily waves a hand in front of his face, "I just nearly threw up from hearing you call me 'Mr Jung'. Girl, I cried during Frozen 1 and 2... I am not the one you should be calling Mr Jung."

His ears visibly perk up just a little higher at the sound of your unprofessional, slightly airy chuckle. It has him practically scrounging for the need to hear you laugh like that again, to see your head be thrown back in a careless guffaw that only he is able to see.

But the moment ends as quickly as it began and you're visibly punishing yourself for your unprofessionalism by assuming your stoic academic role demeanour more.

"I think Mr Jung might be a little bit more professional." You finally look up at the boy sitting lazily against the headboard of his impressive king sized bed. Out of all the members you taught, you had only ever been permitted to see the inside of Wooyoung's bedroom - under the guise that he simply cannot function by being forced to sit on uncomfortable dining room chairs.

You sit opposite the bed, on a chair, to maintain some semblance of your dwindling professionalism,

"Mr Jung is so boring though!" He exclaims, throwing his head backwards and letting it sink into his mountain of fluffy pillows, "Wooyoung is completely fine! Or perhaps Baby. Or even Sexiest Man You've Ever Had The Pleasure Of Seeing," his lips curl into a smirk, "Your choice."

The text book is long forgotten amongst the dispersed sheets as Wooyoung glances up at you from his perch against his pillows. Of all the members, Wooyoung is also especially difficult to work with, not in any academic capacity, just in the sense that his advances are endless. And whether he actually means it - whether that twinkle in his eye accompanied by that cheeky grin was really real, or just endless teasing due to his innate flirtatious design. You might never really know.

"I can't in good conscious refer to you by that last option." You reply with a light shrug before crossing your legs in front of you, "I've met Choi San, and I'm not in the business of lying to you,"

"Oh! That's how we're gonna play now!? You're just gonna bring up another man in my presence? I thought the relationship we had was something special?"

"I'm an underpaid, mediocre teacher," You forget yourself and snort through a chuckle, "I have no time to forge special relationships."

He is stunned and slightly turned on by your cool commitment to the banter, not expecting you to hit back with such a quick jest.

As Wooyoung watches you from behind the few loose strands framing his face, his long hair loose, he realises he enjoys associating you with that forbidden word, even if it is just in his head.

Relationship.

"I'm not really into that negative self-talk." He says, watching you intently, "You're a good teacher."

"You're just saying that," You swat at the air in front of you, before burying your chin into your chest - that shy streak of yours rearing its head. He noticed that every sliver of a compliment led you to the involuntary need to disappear and Wooyoung wanted to correct that as best as he could.

"I say some stuff sometimes to make people feel better, yes," you finally look up at him from your scattered notes. His eyes are characteristically bright and his glistening lips are pulled into a small smile, "But this is not one of those times," He forces out, fighting against a familiar warmth pooling in the depths of his stomach.

"Right," you clear your throat, before assuming the role of tutor once again, "So… Sonnet 71 -"

In your periphery, Wooyoung raises his hand. Without looking up from your notes you reply, 'I know what you're gonna ask, Wooyoung but no, unfortunately you cannot refer to it as 'Sonnet 71'. Not many people care nowadays but the ones that do, want you to refer to the poem by its full title: 'No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead.'" there's a bravado that graces your tone as you settle into your tutelage. It allows you to assume an almost elevated role as your eyes scan the text while simultaneously stringing a web of tantalising words together.

Wooyoung tries to focus on exactly what it is you're actually saying, he really does, but soon, you're stifling a quiet yawn before stretching your left arm over your head. He does not believe you intended for your breasts to push up from the low dip of your v neck, but that's exactly what happens and that pool of lava that has been welling in his stomach slowly rushes to his cock. Needless to say, Wooyoung slyly grabs the textbook onto his lap.

"So Shakespeare's great caution is that of grief. It's okay to mourn your loved ones but not to mourn them in routine, because that then can become a second death, equally as detrimental. Are you listening, Wooyoung?" his head snaps up from your chest, to the sound of the light scolding in your voice and he can instantly conclude that he is hard. He's not sure why, but your tone has his resolve weakening, and his head spiralling further into a fog.

"Please tell me, you're listening, Wooyoung. This is very important," He nods slowly with his shoulders hunched, and his eyebrows curved into crescents. He did not trust himself to speak, not when your words had him imagining you scolding him petulantly while he plowed into you from behind. Screaming at him to stop being so bad while he forced his hard cock deeper and deeper. He can vividly imagine your tight walls gripping his cock like a fucking vice while his fingers squeezed your nipples until they ached.

"Look, Wooyoung, I've been trying to be nice but it's been 3 hours and we're still on the first sonnet," he stopped his head from nodding profusely at the degradation that wants to seep into your tone while he watches you with darkened eyes. His fingers curl slowly into the ends of the open book on his lap, as he pushes his textbook into his lap. "We've done this long enough, Wooyoung," you continue with your ample chest beginning to rise and fall and the first signs of your bra strap, peeling from underneath your top. "You should know this, Wooyoung"

"Fuck," He involuntary groans, while he moves his textbook slightly, enough to create friction but not nearly enough to achieve the friction he actually desires. Before he gets completely ahead of himself, he stills his movements, opting to distract himself by speaking, instead.

"O-okay but if this is a poem about grief, why the hell am I seeing him talk about summer."

"Summer?"

Wooyoung nods, humming. "This man is talking about summer," he says, pointing to the book on his lap.

"Wooyoung…" You instinctively get up from your perch on your chair, advancing on him. Wooyoung visibly swallows as you plop yourself next to him, shoulder to shoulder as you peer over into the book on his lap. While your eyes frantically scan the printed ink, Wooyoung watches you from the side, trying to pen your face to memory, especially from having you so close.

"Wooyoung, this isn't the right poem!"

He watches you with slightly hooded eyes, completely unaware to anything outside of the tone of your voice

"It isn't?" He shakes his head, agreeing instantly with your scolding but not really hearing what you're saying. His words are slurred and his tone is distracted.

"Oh my gosh- you've completely missed the entire poem."

"I have?"

"Jesus, you haven't been listening to me, have you-"

He's already shaking his head as he leans in, muttering a quiet, "I haven't," as the tips of his fingers find the underside of your chin and drags you towards him. Dazed.

You're utterly dazed as soon as your lips connect with his. Somehow, the entire concept of space and time and everything in between seems utterly useless, the words on the page seem frivolous and everything outside of this moment feels like it shouldn't have the right to exist. He is kissing you and soon you are kissing him back, filling the boy with an unprecedented sense of elation at having his attraction to you validated. He is so elated in fact, he pushes off his text book and, without breaking the kiss, manoeuvres you onto his lap instead.

You're gasping into his mouth as soon as you feel his bulge connect with your core, "I know, I know, I'm sorry," He murmurs drunkenly into your kiss, taking the time to push his tongue into your mouth and brush up desperately against yours. The tone of his voice steals all composure, and soon you're pushing against him, rushed and hurried, like a raging fire before the embers set. You and Wooyoung are absolutely unstoppable as his hands travel up and down the sides of your body, hungrily searching for any sliver of skin, needing to feel your body heat searing into him.

The very moment your hands slither into his thick, grown-out hair, he is utterly done for, bucking into your hips until his bulge was brushing hungrily against your core. A torrid moan espaces your throat when Wooyoung dips into the crook of your neck, nuzzling into the softness of your skin and the comfort of your perfume while hands travel down your hips, urging you to move in tandem with him.

"So good," He mumbles against your skin, "You feel so good, baby." But your mind is flooded with a tempest of conflicting feelings and emotions as you pull lightly on his strands and follow along with his movements.

"Wooyoung…" you're panting breathlessly, suddenly painfully aware of how much your body responded to him.

"God, I love it when you say my name," He slurs as he continues to push up into you, finally settling into a needy but effective flow of movements.

Your panties are utterly soaked underneath your silk maxi skirt as the boy below you splays wet, lascivious kisses along your collar bones. Once he sees you're moving in tandem with how he needs you to, he releases one hand on your hip to paw desperately at your breasts.

"You've been-" your head is spinning as you try to formulate your sentence, "You've been sitting here with a hard on, my entire lesson?" Your words only spur his movements as Wooyoung clamps down around your torso, pushing you further down against his cock. "Fuck!" He screeches almost involuntarily at the delicious friction created by the heightened speed.

"So bad…" He murmurs drunkenly, as he begins to push up against your clit in a dangerous display of desperation, "I.. b-been so bad- m'sorry," Your head is thrown back into a moan stuck deep in your throat as you listen to the boy's needy whines, "m'so sorry, you're just so pretty," your hops move faster against his, not quite sure if this is a dream and too freaking terrified to find out as you hunt down the remnants of your oncoming orgasm.

"Wooyoung- you're gonna m-make me-"

Your hips are utterly restless against his, as you begin to grind down with immense passion. Wooyoung's head is spinning with the inevitability of making you cum. All he wants to do is make you happy. Think of how proud you'd be if he made you cum without even touching you really. You'd be so freaking happy you might just let him slide his cock inside your wet, slippery folds...

"O-Oh God, fuck- I'm cumming!" His hips rut erratically against yours, pushing agaisnt your clit until you're sent hurtling into your own orgasm. You're both moaning, whimpering messes as you grind against each other, Wooyoung clutching against your torso, with his head buried in your chest as your fingers pull mindlessly at his hair. He is in utter heaven, surrounded by the softness of your curves, with his head against the roundness of your chest. There is nothing better than this. Everything else is secondary.

"Fuck, I hate Shakespeare's but I'll read a 1000 of his poems if it means I get to do that again," he is the first to speak amongst your ragged, loud breathing.

"Wooyoung?"

"Hm?"

"Shakespeare only wrote 154 poems,"

1K notes · View notes

tomwambsmilk · 1 year ago

Text

personally I think if someone sells your organization a product with the promise that it can perform functions x, y, and z (all three of which are really standard functions for this type of product and your type of org) and you can't seem to get function z to work which is a problem because function z is actually really important for legal and tax reasons and so you spend 10 months trying to get function z to work and emailing the guy who sold you the product and regularly needing to wait 30-60 days for a response and then finally 10 months into the process the guy sends you an email where he says that you might not be able to use function z because of how your org delivers services (despite the fact that the way your org delivers services is incredibly standard for this type of org) and so you can either manually correct all the errors generated by function z or you can just do function z yourself by hand. well i think if that happens to you it should be socially acceptable to turn into a werewolf and disembowel the person who sent you that email before disappearing into the woods forever. but corporate america disagrees

Do you ever get a work email that makes you want to turn into a werewolf or similar Creacher and leave society forever

#WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU SOLD ME A STUDENT INFO MANAGEMENT SYSTEM #THAT CANT GENERATE TAX DOCUMENTS BECAUSE IT CANT ACCOUNT FOR PART-TIME STUDENTS AND/OR PHD STUDENTS IN THE POST-COURSEWORK STAGE #(WHICH IS ABOUT 80% OF OUR STUDENTS)#AND THEN WAITED TEN MONTHS TO TELL ME #WHAT THE FUCK GREG

17 notes · View notes

hannieween · 1 year ago

Text

charmer | heartbreaker series | c.sc

The thing about Seungcheol is that when he loved, he loved with a fervent force that nothing could ever stop it. When he wanted something, he would stop at nothing to get it. He was passionate like that. And he loved you. Past tense. Loved.

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader ✧ genre: angst, smut (18+) ✧ word count: 12.7k ✧ aus: boss seungcheol, exes to lovers

₊🎧: habit - i.m ♡ | not over you - taemin [pls, this song is absolutely perfect]

₊ nsfw tags under the cut

✧ warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol and drug use, coups engages in illegal activities such as hosting a gambling house (that's it but still illegal), sexual tension, dirty talk, sex in the workspace, angsty unprotected sex, oral sex (f), masturbation (f), marking (f), a bit of overstimming (f) multiple orgasms (f, m), bigdick!cheol, softdom!cheol, hints of daddy kink, pet names: love, angel, baby (hers) daddy (his)

✧ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

part i

You arrived at a job interview in a bar.

It's been a week since you started to job hunt. With bills piling up and mediocre PhD student income, you took a chance and picked up a server job at a busy bar on near your neighbourhood.

Although the position seemed at odds with your rigorous PhD student program, you were very capable of managing your time. Plus, you could take the opportunity to increase your income thanks to your ability to get sizeable tips from your old jobs.

This bar, though located a few minutes from your apartment, you had never been. It is not unusual that you have not been to this bar, or any other. As you are busy surviving other jobs and doing research for your PhD research, you barely have time for yourself.

The bar was called The Spot. Nothing more, nothing that differentiated this Spot from other Spots. Whoever thought of that didn't think too hard.

As soon as you walked through the front door, you were hit by the smell of tobacco and dust. But there was no one smoking, in fact, there was only a lone person sitting in a booth at the back of the bar. It seemed to you that the place might be so old that the walls reeked of cigarettes.

You walked to the bar, and thought of maybe sounding the bell that was neatly propped on one corner beside the register. As you lifted your hand to sound the bell, the only other person inside the bar spoke:

"If you're here for the interview. It's with me."

You looked back towards the booth, the guy who spoke to you wasn't even looking in your direction. He seemed busy reading notes in a worn notebook and scratching something on a separate sheet of paper.

"Oh, yes. Hi," you answered awkwardly.

"Have a seat," he said flatly, he pointed with his pencil to the seat in front of him.

The booth, though worn, was clean, when you slid your body into the booth, the guy was in front of you. He wasn't much older than you, from his tired look you estimated a year or two or so, however the glasses he was wearing plus the black sleeveless t-shirt and yellow beanie made you think that he was way too young to be in charge.

"I'm-"

"Yes, I know. I'm Wonwoo," he put down his pencil and extended his hand to shake it with yours awkwardly. "Do you want a glass of water?"

You thought of the way he made his offer, even his handshake was almost robotically.

"Uh, I'm fine thanks. Here's my info. I know you didn't mentioned it when we talked on the phone but I thought you might want to take a look."

You placed your documents on the table. That made Wonwoo lift his eyes from the papers he was scratching absentmindedly.

"Keep it. I'll just ask a few questions," he put down his pencil and started cracking his fingers and wrists at the same moment he suppressed a long, eye watering yawn.

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

"Sorry. Had a long night," he said after seeing your incredulous expression.

You wanted to laugh. "It's okay."

You found it funny, but at the same time it was giving you major red flags. Is this guy supposed to be interviewing you? Well, can't ask too much from a place job this, right?

"Why do you want to work here?" Wonwoo asked, glancing at a page on the battered notebook.

You decided to drop the act of being the most eager candidate and answered naturally.

You shrugged. "I need money."

The guy almost, almost rolled his eyes. His hand grabbed the folder and skimmed through your resumé. "Here it says you have past experience English teacher. Why not just teach little kids?"

"I didn't like being a teacher, is way too much work. I figured I can do my research during daytime and work on a late shift."

"You could work part time on a coffee shop," he countered.

"I have tried it before. Didn't like it."

"And why is that?"

"It didn't suit my needs. Besides, I like the shift hours you offer," you added a smile, hoping he would be persuaded.

He blinked slowly, totally not convinced. "Have you ever worked at a bar?"

You decided to ignore the derision on his tone. "A few years ago. I know what I'd be up against."

He eyed the first page of your resumé again, his sharp eyes skimming fast. "So let me get this right. You're here because you're doing a postgraduate degree, you know that this isn't an easy job because you have experience... where does that leave you time to actually study or whatever it is you do?"

"I only have one course, and I spend most of my time writing. The stipend is no longer enough to cover my expenses, so I need additional income. Luckily, I have experience earning good tips," you explained, fed up with the questions he kept asking.

"Mmm, right."

Then Wonwoo stood up from the booth and stretched his long arms over his head, letting out a sigh.

"I expect you tomorrow, by... four? Yeah, four'll be fine. Gives time for you to get around," he said with another yawn.

You blinked. "Wh-what?"

He gave you a shy smile. "You have the job," he said with a slight shrug.

His entire demeanour had changed, he looked more relaxed and even a bit embarrassed.

"Sorry, I acted like a complete jerk," he said as you stood up, feeling perplexed. "It's a thing I have to do as part of the filtering."

"Why?"

"Well, you'll see. Our boss is a bit... demanding, to say the least," he muttered.

You blinked slowly. "So... you based your act on your boss?"

His eyes opened in an alarmed expression. "I shouldn't have said that. Don't get me wrong. He's nice. But he can be bossy."

"I'd expect that from any boss," you reassured, tilting your head slightly to the side.

"Well, you haven't met him," he countered, a hand massaging the back of his neck. "Anyway, can I get your details so I can add you to the system and stuff?"

You sighed, almost feeling like laughing again. Wonwoo now seemed boyish in contrast to how he behaved during his questioning.

"Sure thing," you stopped for a moment, "Can I ask why I got the job?"

His lips pursed and shrugged. "You were honest, and didn't break under my jerk persona."

"Well, I actually found it funny. But I was almost sold, though."

"Oh, dang it," he smiled shyly. "I might have to work on it."

"If you want any pointers, I can help," you pressed your lips into a smile.

His smiled quivered slightly. "I'd like that."

"See you tomorrow, then. Uh, is there any dress code?"

Wonwoo studied your frame from your head to your feet. He shrugged carelessly. "Just look a bit more relaxed."

Your brow furrowed. You were wearing a white button up, jeans and snickers. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno. Wear something you like. There's no dress code. Boss doesn't care, I don't see why you should either," he brushed it off and started to turn around to walk away.

"Uh, okay. Will I get the boss' name?" you asked, feeling that it was a bit ridiculous the mystery around the boss.

"See you tomorrow, newbie!" he said as he disappeared behind a door marked in red with, 'STAFF ONLY'.

You hoped that you were wearing something appropriate.

Choosing what to wear was something you didn't think was difficult. You were used to wear the same combination of things, so your style was safe, comfy. At least that's what you thought, since all you ever did lately was attending class, work on your research and that was pretty much it.

So, ripped jeans, snickers and an oversized black t-shirt might suit the general vibe of the bar and also what you got from your new partner, Wonwoo.

You parked your old car out back of the bar, and didn't know if you were expected to use the back entrance yet so you used the front door again.

Ah, the smell of old tobacco.

"Oh, the newbie is here," you heard Wonwoo's low voice coming from the same a booth he used on your interview.

"Hi," you waved at the tall lean figure of his as he stood up, and noticed he was looking a bit nervous.

"Let me introduce you," he gestured you over with his hand.

From the booth, a second figure rose, a man of bulkier frame with tousled blond hair that partially hid him from your gaze. He brushed it back with one hand, finally revealing his face to you.

The whole world froze for a second. You almost didn't recognize him, but it was obviously him.

The moment passed in a blur, almost too swift for your mind to process. Yet, in that fleeting instant, you witnessed it all. His deep, searching eyes locked onto you, as if he were scrutinizing every detail–your face, your hair, your hands, your whole body.

It was as though he had stumbled upon a ghost, and you could feel your own disbelief mirrored in his eyes.

"Boss, this is-"

"This is our new recruit?" he asked, his tone not one of anger, but rather filled with genuine bewilderment.

Despite Seungcheol's demeanour, you found it hard to muster up any offense. You were too shocked to speak. Maybe even more shocked than he was.

Wonwoo seemed genuinely lost, his mouth agape. "Uh, yeah. She passed your filters and has some experience," his eyes darted toward you, looking for clues. "What's wrong with her?"

Seungcheol looked ready to explode at any moment. You recognized all the giveaway signs: the way he ran his hand through his hair while taking a controlled breath through his nose in an effort to contain his impending anger.

Given your actions two years ago, you would not be surprised if he decided not to contain his anger. You fully understood the damage you had caused him, and the possibility that his resentment would be unleashed was all too likely. And deserved.

Apparently, after two years, you could still read him like the palm of your hand.

"We'll talk later, Wonwoo," Seungcheol said, appearing to calm himself. "Show her around, the basics and stuff. I'll be out back making a call."

Seungcheol stared at you once and turned to leave, slamming the door shut on his way out.

"What the hell?" Wonwoo sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Well, you met him, that's our boss."

Oh, of course it would be him.

"A charmer," you said, trying to play it cool.

But deep within you, there was an uproar of emotions. Memories flooded your brain and just seeing him for a minute made your heart race, your whole body felt elated, all of this made you feel a little dizzy.

After two years of not seeing him, Seungcheol still has the same effect on you.

"I dunno what got to him. He's always nice with the newbies but..." he shook his head again. "Whatever, sorry 'bout that. Let me show you around."

You were eager to change the subject and start doing something else. Wonwoo signalled you towards the door where Seungcheol had disappeared moments before and pushed it open, revealing a long hallway with four other doors on each side.

"This leads to where we store crates with beer, whisky, vodka, everything bottled and such," he pointed at the first closed door and then to the next, "this is the utilities room. And this, you never go in here, got it?"

He pointed to the door behind you. It had extra locks and looked newer than the rest of the doors in the hallway. The last door was the back exit.

"You'll get a keys for all the doors except that one." Wonwoo said promptly, turning to the door that led to the bar.

"What's in there?" you asked slowly, pointing to the newer door.

Wonwoo stopped and turned to you. "Boss' room," he said simply.

Your heart stopped. "He lives here?" you asked a bit too horrified.

"Oh, God, no," he laughed stiffly. "Well, he might as well. But no, he... does general management stuff there."

"Management stuff," you grinned, spotting a lie.

"Don't ask more questions, it's easier. Believe me."

The two returned to the bar, where the space was neither too large nor too cramped. The place had four tables and an equal number of booths, all with a western charm. The vintage look of the tables and chairs indicated their origin, which seemed to date back to the 1980s.

At the opposite end of the back room, a large pool table occupied the space. The walls were adorned with posters of various rock bands from the eighties and nineties and red neon signs.

Between the tables and the pool table was the bar, which was arranged in a U shape against a brick wall, which also had a large red neon sign that said 'Heartbreaker'.

But surprisingly enough, everything was squeaky clean.

"There's the register, which you can handle if I'm too busy," he pointed. "Mingyu sometimes helps with the register, but he's mostly on the other side of the bar, or dealing with drunkheads."

"So is it just you two handling the drinks?" you asked curiously.

"Yup. We manage just fine, if you're wondering," he smirked and added a proud nod with his head. Then he pointed to the other side of the bar. "Sometimes we move the pool table to make room for the band. We host gigs almost every thursday."

"So, tomorrow," you added.

"Yup. And we're planning on adding stand up nights, but I... differ. Boss is a bit ambitious."

You huffed. That he is. "And does he... is he around much?"

Wonwoo eyed you. "D'you mean does he get his hands dirty?" he smiled. "Yeah, if it's too crowded he helps which is most weekends."

You nodded slowly. "O-okay."

Wonwoo made no further comment. He cocked his head to the side towards the door that was after the pool table. "Come, let me show you the kitchen, and then we get to work."

Most of the things that Wonwoo showed you, you already knew how to work and that made him happy because it, "Is a good thing that I won't be behind you teaching you things."

Wonwoo gave you the task to read the menu before opening for public.

You were sitting at the usual booth, reading in silence as Wonwoo took the task to turn all the neon signs on the walls, and the lights from the ceiling, and soon the room was dimly lit in red and yellow lighting. It was a bit hard to read under the red lights and the hard rock music, but most of the menu was normal stuff you'd find at a bar.

In the corner of your eye, you saw someone occupy the seat in front of you.

"What are you doing here?"

Seungcheol's voice jolted you off the menu and made you turn your head back with a surprised gasp.

The back of his head was resting against the back of the seat, his jaw clenched and his intense gaze piercing through his thick set of eyelashes.

A sharp pang of remorse tugged at your heart. Despite the years of no contact, the intensity of your feelings for him remained as powerful as ever.

Upon getting no response from you, he raised an eyebrow slightly.

"I work here now," you put in simply.

Seungcheol rolled his eyes. "Don't try to play games with me."

"I didn't know you worked here," you justified weakly.

"I own this place."

"Whatever. I had no idea that you'd be here."

He scoffed, and looked to his side at nothing in particular, his cruel smile vanished. "Right."

Did he actually think you had deliberately planned your arrival to his bar? Perhaps he believed you were intentionally trying to inflict him more pain, a calculated plan to further drive in the pain left over from the aftermath of your messy breakup.

"It's true," you insisted. "Why would I want to work with my ex?"

That made him visibly cringe, his dark eyes setting on your face again. "I thought that mommy and daddy were keeping you well off," his eyebrow jumped slightly again.

You sighed. "Well, not anymore. My parents cut me off."

"Again?" he quipped dryly.

"It is definite this time though," you said as you scratched an imaginary freckle on the back of your hand.

"What did you do this time? Got a tattoo? Cuss them off? Got another boyfriend they didn't like?" you could tell that there was disdain in his words, but he tried to deliver them offhandedly.

You recognised that the things he said were not innately bad, but your upbringing had been conducted by extremely strict parents. As a result, almost anything could seem outrageous to them.

As an additional result, you had become somewhat rebellious when you were younger. It was at this stage of your life that you came across Choi Seungcheol.

You hummed and smiled bitterly. "I might've told them some things they didn't like hearing. Anyway, that was over a year ago, haven't talked to them since."

Seungcheol smiled the way he did when he thought of something he didn't dared to say aloud: the tip of his tongue would slide on his front teeth. He quickly put in: "But why work here?"

Deciding not to probe into what he really wanted to say, you felt a peculiar relief that he was open for a conversation, despite the venomous comments he had made.

"Things got difficult. The stipend it's not enough to live on and I need some quick cash, so here I am." You eyed him again. "You can't fire me just because it didn't work out between us."

"Nobody said anything about firing you," he said rolling his eyes as he straightened up, placing his hands firmly on the table between you. "But I do want to make something very clear."

He leaned forward.

"I'm your boss now, not your ex. We won't talk to you unless is strictly for work. And I don't want the boys to know about us, got it?"

"Works for me," you muttered.

The fleeting thought of quitting had dissipated, replaced by a new determination to stay, motivated by a sense of defiance. Now you were determined to see how far his 'I'm your boss' stance could go.

You knew you were being childish. You didn't care.

Seungcheol nodded and patted the table twice. "Good. Now, get ready, people might start coming soon."

You rolled your eyes, but he didn't catch that.

The other staff members that worked in the kitchen were already getting to work. It was a small kitchen, so there were few people working it.

Since it was a space mostly occupied by men, you'd expected that they would speak freely. That included very intimate talks and banter.

Mingyu, who was just introduced to you some moments before, was leaning on the bar hearing what atrocities came out of the kitchen. "Guys, keep it down!" he shouted back. "The newbie doesn't have to hear the atrocities you do off work."

As you returned the menu to its initial position, you reassured Mingyu: "No worries. I'm fine with it," mustering a smile, though the effort felt forced.

"Mingyu is just scared that you won't last long here," Wonwoo chimed in with a devious smirk.

The accused gasped dramatically. "Now, you might be projecting Hyung."

"People don't last long here?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"Uh... not really, no," Mingyu said simply. And started to resume with his task of preparing a sour mix, he had a dish cloth thrown on his shoulder.

"May I know why?" you asked slowly.

"Like I said," Wonwoo replied with a firm tone. "Boss is a bit demanding sometimes."

Mingyu rolled his eyes. "It's not normal for everyone who comes here to work to leave after a couple of weeks," he countered. "Obviously it's because the women who come here to work all fall in love with him and he has no choice but to turn them away."

"What?" you gasped.

"Boss is a bit of a heartbreaker," the taller man shrugged. "But he's persistent on hiring pretty servers."

Mingyu's words were nonchalant, almost as though they held no significance, yet you couldn't help but feel a faint blush rise to your face in response

"But why would they fall in love with him?" you asked with an awkward laugh.

"Well, you had the bad luck of meeting him on a bad day," Mingyu mused.

"He's always having a bad day," Wonwoo muttered under his breath, thinking no one would hear him.

"Dunno, 'suppose he's hot? Manly?" Mingyu continued, aloof. "Your guess is better than mine."

"You two are hot too," you blurted out, feeling flustered under the pressure of thinking someone falling for your ex.

The two bartenders exchanged a flat look.

Mingyu coughed up a chuckle. "Newbie, I appreciate the half compliment. But I'm already taken and Wonwoo... well he's a mystery."

"Can we not talk about that right now?" Wonwoo suggested pointedly, just as the front door opened to a handful of customers.

Admittedly, viewed from a somewhat skewed perspective, it made sense. The clientele was predominantly male, and it was an unspoken rule that waitresses tended to get the highest tips, especially in these types of establishments.

As the night progressed, the bar became more crowded, forcing him to constantly move from place to place, juggling multiple tasks, such as taking orders, delivering drinks and clearing tables.

Seungcheol was nowhere to be seen. And you thought it was better this way. But you did find yourself glancing at the STAFF ONLY door a few too many times, expecting to see him walk through it.

Apparently, the bar had a special discount on Wednesdays. That's why it was packed with people from the office buildings near the block. And it was a minor detail that Wonwoo casually remembered to tell you when you started to wonder why so many people in uniforms came in packs around 9 PM.

But you managed all the tables by yourself just fine. The orders were simple, and as Wonwoo said, they did work with an efficient dynamic. The two bartenders communicated almost without a word, their coordination seemed to be something they had been trained in for years.

Four hours into your shift, all the tables were occupied. You felt sweaty, your hair stuck to the back of your neck, but the good thing about your first day was that you were kept moving and had no distractions.

That was until you turned around towards the bar, to find Seungcheol on the left end, near the backdoor. He was leaning forward, elbows propped on the lacquered surface of the counter. His heavy gaze was set on you.

The feeling of being watched was really hard to shake off. You felt it on the back of your head as you tried to get to the remaining hours of the shift. But it was nearly impossible. The tight knot on your stomach was so persistent that you sucked air every few minutes in an attempt to get rid of the anxiety that Seungcheol's scrutiny had imposed on you.

He just watched you move through the black and white checkered floor of the bar. You thought it was a tactic to make you feel intimidated, so you decided to continue as normal as you could.

But being watched by him also meant that he saw you smile sweetly to the customers, he saw you bend forward to talk to them over the music, the way you'd bite the tip of your pen as you listened to the customers. When you'd turn around, flicking your hair over your back.

When you mustered the courage to glance his way your eyes met. The red lights over him made him look dangerous, his hands tightly clasped over the counter, his head slightly inclined forward his eyes focused on you. You looked away anxiously, hoping he didn't see how you reacted under his eye.

The rest of the shift was like that.

"Good god," Mingyu said at the end of the shift while counting the tips jar. "We'd never had this much on a wednesday night."

You smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Seungcheol was still on the bar, but at least now he was helping around. Bringing in boxes of utilities to restock while Wonwoo cleaned the area and Mingyu managed the income for the night. You knew that he was avoiding you, but that was fine by you.

"Please, newbie, last longer than the others," Mingyu sighed dramatically.

Someone shushed. You didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Sorry boss," Mingyu mumbled, but he was smiling contentedly as he continued counting coins and bills.

It was 3 AM. when you pulled out into the parking lot, the slippery pavement reflecting the faint red glow of the bar's neon sign. Leaning against the car, you took a long drag of the blunt that you had been saving only for stressful moments such as this.

"You still smoke?" Seungcheol's asked as he came out of the back exit, his hands buried in the pockets of his black hoodie.

Something tightened in your stomach. You saw him walk up to you, feeling marvelled at the sight of him after so many years of not seeing him, years of wondering what he might be up to and here he was, standing in front of you.

You tried to bite back a snarky comment about 'not talking unless is strictly for work', to yourself. As you noticed he wasn't trying to chastise you anymore, you decided to chime in for a conversation with him.

"Sometimes," you admitted.

Seungcheol stood in the rain washed parking in front of you, he looked at you as if you were some kind of lost memory to him. The yearning in his eyes matched what you felt in your heart.

"You?" you asked, lifting your head to meet his dark eyes.

He shook his head silently. The features of his face looked more relaxed now.

The rattling noise from the back door broke your silent scrutiny of your ex's face, and you adverted your gaze to see Wonwoo and Mingyu coming out of the bar.

"See you tomorrow, newbie." Mingyu called and placed two fingers to the crown of his head, saluting. "Bye, boss."

Wonwoo just raised his hand to wave goodbye. The two bartenders got in a car and drove away.

"Can you drive like that?" he asked, still not chastising but it did make you feel a little optimistic that he'd worry about you.

"Yeah, it'll start making its effect by the time I get home," you tried smiling reassuringly.

"Mm'okay. But be careful, okay?" he seemed to roll his eyes with annoyance. "I don't want to start interviews again."

You chuckled and you started feeling a sense of normality in the conversation. However, you noticed that there was something unspoken written in his gaze, implying there was something that he was not willing to say.

"Are you staying?" you asked, noticing that the lights of the bar were still on.

He blinked lazily and you noticed he tried suppressing a yawn, the dimple of his right cheek deepened a bit.

"Have to finishing a couple of things. They can't wait till tomorrow."

"Don't stay up too late, Seungcheol," you mustered up a kind smile, turning your back to him as you opened the door of your old car.

As you drove away, Seungcheol remained standing in the faint reflection of the red lights from the bar. His figure disappeared from your rear view mirror as you changed directions.

The next day resulted a bit more challenging.

The bar was so packed it was difficult to move, the counter was surrounded by customers sitting on barstools. Tables and booths were occupied too.

As Wonwoo had mentioned, there were live shows every thursday.

The group, known as Midnight Haze, consisted of three members: a drummer, a bass player and a singer who played the guitar skilfully. Their performances had gained them a large following, and some customers frequented the bar solely for the pleasure of watching their performances, they were mostly groups of women.

And the loud noise from the live music was filling your brain and making your bones vibrate but it was nice to feel something other than the anxiety of being under your ex's relentless scrutiny.

You opted for an outfit that matched the mood of the night: black shorts and fishnet tights, paired with a black and red tank top. The side slits of the shirt, gave a small glimpse of the lacey bra you wore underneath, a deliberate nod to the energy in the warmth of the bar, despite the cold outside.

The blush on your cheeks could be partly blamed on the crowded atmosphere, but you were also aware that your own behaviour had something to do with it. You recognized the calculated flirting you employed with customers, a strategy aimed at getting higher tips, even if it made you feel a little foolish from time to time.

Every now and then you would catch Seungcheol eyeing you. Noticing how his gaze would momentarily linger on your lush lips whenever you turned in his direction or walked by, you decided to make it a performance for him.

Whenever you were talking with clients within his view, you would playfully tuck the tip of your pen between your lips, offering a coy smile. You'd twirl your fingers on lose strands of your hair while greeting customers, well aware that he was likely watching.

Again, childish. But who cares.

There was no denying that you liked the fact that Seungcheol kept a watchful eye on you. It reminded you of your time together, when you were so in love you could barely tear your eyes (or hands) off each other.

You had to bite your lower lip down as you worked on the tables. Going down on memory lane when Seungcheol used to be so clingy to you that he'd find a way to drag you to any corner where he could fuck you. And he'd do it so good you'd see stars.

You let out a silent groan. Feeling your body grow hotter just with the memory of him.

Goddamnit.

The band finished playing their last song after an hour and a half without interruptions. They had already started to pack up their stuff when you approached the singer, a tall guy with raven black hair and big doe eyes.

Shouting over the hard rock music playing now on the speakers, you said, "Boss says whatever you want is on the house."

It wasn't really Seungcheol who told you that. Wonwoo informed you beforehand that band usually get freebies, specially the lead singer of Midnight Haze, for some reason you didn't ask.

He turned to you, looking you in the eyes took off the strap of his guitar to leave it aside. "You're new," he pointed with a polite smile. "I'm Joshua."

"Hi," you returned the polite smile and told him your name. "And yes, I'm new here."

He let out a sigh, a faint smile playing on his lips as he attempted to conceal the fact that his gaze darted up and down your figure. "Well, let him know I'll have the usual, please," he responded.

"I trust he knows what your usual is," you replied with a smile.

Joshua jumped off the small stage and walked up to you. He was a beautiful man, even without his flashing smile or without the fiery energy he brought on stage while playing his guitar.

Suddenly you understood why there were so many groups of women on the bar tonight.

The Midnight Haze front man was hot as fuck.

"He knows, don't worry. And tell him that I'll take a table out back too, please."

One of his eyebrows was adorned with a silver piercing, and his lips, which he was pushing into a small smile were reddened.

You tried to smile at his kindness, totally not what you were expecting. "Uh, don't know what that means but... sure thing."

"Kay. Thank you, sweetheart," he replied with a content smirk, darting one final look at you before walking away.

You thought nothing of it, really. You returned to the bar, noticing that Wonwoo was watching your exchange with Joshua from afar. He leaned forward when you motioned to him that you were going to tell him something.

"He said he wants his usual," you informed. "And he said he wants a table out back."

Wonwoo's eyes glanced over to where Joshua was standing, chatting with some girls with a charming smile. "I'll tell boss about the table," Wonwoo turned to Mingyu. "One corrido prohibido for a table out back."

"Right away!" Mingyu nodded his head, and grabbed the sour mix he concocted earlier, a shot tequila and a beer.

Wonwoo exited the bar and went through the staff door. And then Mingyu pushed the drink towards you and swiftly rung the bell twice.

"Mingyu, I'm right here, you don't have to ring the bell," you chuckled.

He slapped his hand on the bell repeatedly, his lower lip trapped behind his teeth.

Ding, ding, dingdingding.

"Stop. Stop it, Kim Mingyu," you hissed and he giggled when you slapped his hand playfully.

You went to grab the drink, but as you turned over to where you last saw Joshua, he wasn't there anymore.

"What should I do with this?" you pointed to Joshua's drink.

"Boss wants you to take it to his office," Wonwoo told you, he was returning from the backdoor. He looked somewhat baffled.

Mingyu's eyes shot open. "Huh?!"

Wonwoo shrugged. "I don't ask questions," he said under his breath and pointed with his nose at the drink. "Go. I'll cover you."

"Uh, okay. Sure," you muttered, grabbing drink and turned to the backdoor.

The doorknob of the door that led to Seungcheol's office was unusually cold when you turned to open it. As you pushed in, you were received with a cool breeze that smelled like cigarettes, vape and alcohol.

It wasn't an office. Not really. Yellow lamps hung low on the ceiling, just above a few round black tables, surrounded by foldable chairs which were all occupied. The walls were bare, except for the three fridges were beer and other drinks were stored and the uncovered windows at the top of the opposite wall.

The faint echo of the music back at the bar was drowned by the mixed sounds of cards shuffling, clinking of poker chips, the finger taps on tables and constant chattering.

There was a desk on one corner of the cramped room, where you saw that Seungcheol was sitting, observing you make your way inside his room.

You closed the door behind you quietly. And quickly found Joshua sitting on one of the tables, accompanied by his bandmates. He was shuffling some cards, with a devious smile on his face.

He eyed you up and down again swiftly when you walked up to his table and handed him his drink. "Thank you, sweetheart," his lip curled into a smirk. "Don't stay too far."

Your breath caught for a moment, and though your typical response would have been dismissive, you managed a smile to the hot singer.

"Sure thing, hun," you chirped in your usual customer service voice. And turned to the door.

When you turned to the door, walking through the tables and chairs you eyed over the desk to see that it had been vacated. You opened the door to go back to the bar, feeling deeply confused about the secret gambling den on your boss' 'office'.

But as soon as you exited to the hallway that led to the door of the bar, you found Seungcheol leaning against the wall.

"Shit. You scared me, Seungcheol," you hissed.

He remained silent, and you briefly considered walking past him to head back to the bar. However, the expression on his face told you that he had something on his mind, yet he seemed set to not speak about it without some prompting from you.

"What is that room?" you started, pointing back to the door behind you.

Seungcheol crossed his arms over his chest and shifted on his feet. "It's my office," he replied in a simple tone.

"So what, you run a gambling house now?" you laughed dryly.

"It's just between friends. No one enters without my permission," he put in flatly.

"But I do?"

He blinked again, rolling his eyes with a hint of annoyance. "Joshua asked for you," he said through his teeth. "Normally I'd say no, but I wanted to see what you'd do."

"And what is that?"

"Don't try to play innocent with me," he warned, throwing a dark look at you.

"Well, I don't know what you're talking about," you shrugged, trying to look serious.

"Do you honestly think I don't know what you're trying to do?" he demanded, taking a step towards you.

Suddenly you felt small under his gaze. And now that you realized how close his body was to yours, you took the opportunity to really see him. He had gotten bulkier, his arms were more muscly, and his chest and shoulders were wider, more voluminous.

You swallowed hard.

"Flirting with customers, with Joshua?" his face was dangerously close to yours.

Your eyes narrowed as you scrutinized him for a split second. Seungcheol wasn't angry. If he were, you'd now it for sure. He was playing a game with you and you were to slow to catch it.

"I didn't flirt with him," you muttered, playing his game now. "And why do you care?"

"I don't care," he remarked, rolling his dark eyes. "Just quit it."

You scoffed at him. "You're not my-"

"Boss?"

Your breath caught in your teeth.

Seungcheol smiled cruelly. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"You can't tell me what to do, Seungcheol," you snapped.

"Fuck yes I can," he bit back.

Whenever Seungcheol was angry, he could be downright scary. But he wasn't angry, he was just annoyed, running a hand on his pale blond hair, looking at you as if he didn't know what to do with you.

Seungcheol was jealous.

A sigh escaped your lips trying to suppress the rush of emotions you felt at that moment. Whatever judgement you had on your mind slipped away when with a sudden movement, you grabbed your ex's face in your hands at the same time he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer his body.

Your face was so close to his that you could feel his breath landing softly on your chin. Then your lips brushed, not kissing. Waiting for either to push away. Until your mouth was clashing with his followed by a groan from Seungcheol.

The first kiss was heated. Your lips were clasped tightly on his and a small snap came out when you separated from his face.

Seungcheol didn't say anything at all, but his widen eyes were reading your face. He looked troubled for a second, and that almost shattered you. The ache in your heart robbed the air from your lungs.

You knew that kissing your boss was a terrible decision, but kissing your ex-boyfriend was an even worse decision. But, fuck, you missed him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," you whispered, retracting your hands from his face.

His thick eyebrows arched in response. "Why?" he inquired, his voice sounded small, vulnerable.

Hearing his question made you notice that he was genuinely curious. As if the past between you never had happened. And as if you weren't his employee now.

"Because it's not right," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"Why?" he prodded again. Seungcheol's dark eyes drooped from your eyes to your mouth and wandered back up.

"Exes don't kiss," you whispered.

A grin appeared on his lips along with a sigh, as his warm hand crept up the nape of your neck, making you shiver.

"Yeah, right," he whispered in your lips before kissing you again.

This kiss was greedy, as if he was making up for lost time. His lips locked in yours, the hand on your hip moved up your back so that his arm was encircling you, pulling you closer to his body with a groan on your mouth. His tongue swiftly slid inside your mouth, finding yours, knowing well what would elicit a moan from you.

He had missed you too. He didn't need to say it either.

Kissing Seungcheol again after so two years was so brutal that it left your head buzzing. But who were you kidding? You knew this would eventually happen. His arm around you, his other hand on the nape of your neck, the taste of his lips. It was deeply familiar, all of it.

"Do whatever you want," Seungcheol mumbled, breathing heavily in your lips. "Just don't flirt with him. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, boss," you whispered with a playful smile.

He laughed softly, but now his eyebrows arched up. "I mean it. He's my friend."

"Okay," you mumbled, not caring to contradict having flirted with Joshua. "I won't."

Even though Seungcheol was your ex, there was something in the way he made his request that made you feel sympathetic.

"I need to go back," he mumbled reluctantly.

"Me too," you replied.

But none of you moved.

He smiled again and pressed his forehead on yours gently. "Come on. We're almost done for the night."

You stole one final glance at his eyes before kissing him softly and turning away from him, not daring to look back as you made your way to the door.

As you returned to the bar, you noticed that it was not as crowded as when you had left. Many of the tables were still in use, but there were noticeably fewer people.

But as soon as Wonwoo saw you returned, he groaned: "Thank god," he threw a dishcloth over his shoulder. "What took you so long?"

Wonwoo returned to his initial position, behind the bar. He looked sweaty and stressed up from tending to your tables.

"Sorry, Wonwoo. B-boss needed to talk to me," you lied stuttering a bit. It wasn't much of a lie since you two did talked a little.

"Oh. Really? Everything okay?" he raised his head to look at you.

You sighed, still feeling flustered but it made up for the lies you were trying to tell Wonwoo. "Yeah, don't worry. I'm fine," you pressed your lips in a smile, and continued checking up on tables.

You returned to Seungcheol's office to check on the table Joshua was with his friends. They have resorted to drink from whatever was offered on the fridges but asked for a bottle of tequila, since they were playing an friendly game of black jack.

You returned with the bottle and placed it on the centre of their table.

"Thank you," Joshua smiled sweetly, you could tell by his glazed eyes that he was already tipsy. And you thought that might be the reason why he had dropped the flirtatious act.

"No problem," you replied and turned away.

Seungcheol wasn't observing you this time. He was sitting at the desk, counting a big pile of chips and putting groups of them in separate piles. At least he could busy himself, you thought.

You tried not to think too much what had happened, but just couldn't help it. It was driving you insane. Your skin felt ablaze still, like it was patiently waiting to feel Seungcheol's touch again.

The rest of the night went by quickly. And you were eager for your shift to end quickly so you could return home, have a cold shower and scream into your pillow until you fall sleep.

When you were finishing up your activities by the end of your shift, the noises coming from Mingyu's voice counting money, and Wonwoo running a list of things needed for restock slowly turned into a background noise for you.

It was hard to concentrate. You found yourself deep in thought, remembering over and over again the feeling of Seungcheol's lips on yours.

"Newbie, come to collect your tips," you heard Mingyu calling from the cash register.

"How much did we make?" you asked, aloof. You were just trying to divert your attention elsewhere.

Mingyu told you a number and you feigned surprise by seeing his big content smile.

"Nice, isn't it?" he giggled at the same time he bounced on his knees.

"Yeah," you sighed. "Very nice."

The bar felt really eerie when the lights were off. It was your turn to get the neon signs and lights because, as Mingyu put it, "The last one to get out gets all the lights."

Thankfully Wonwoo stayed behind and helped you out to get the neon signs, since you didn't know where all the switches were.

As you were going out, you made an additional stop to the restroom to wash your face, since nothing seemed to fully snap out from the constant overthinking. Nothing seemed to be able to put the buzzing in your head to rest.

When you came out from the restroom, the hallway was dark except for dim source of light came from Seungcheol's office, which had the door wide open.

The people that occupied the gambling tables had long evacuated the place, so it was all quiet and empty. You stepped under the doorframe. Expecting to see Seungcheol deep in work.

But he was leaning back on his desk, a leg crossed, hands resting at his sides on the edges of the desk. As soon as he saw you by the door of his office, he smirked, lifting his triumphant eyes to see you.

"Did you know I'd come?" you asked, walking a few steps up to him.

"I hoped you would," he replied simply.

A long silence filled the room. You felt hesitant about touching the subject of what had happened earlier in the hallway, but you knew that in reality, you and Seungcheol had to talk about many other things that went down between you.

But instead, you dropped your bag at your feet to then close the distance between you and your ex. Grabbing the hem of his shirt to pull him yet again to another fervent, needy kiss.

Seungcheol was expecting that as well apparently, locking lips with you almost instantly, his hands quickly found your hips, pulling you as close as he could to his frame.

"We need to talk, Seungcheol," you gasped in his mouth.

A groan in annoyance came from him as he captured your lips again. Then his hands moved from your hips to your lower back, ignoring the t-shirt you were wearing. His hands making contact with your bare skin sent a shiver up your spine.

"We'll talk later," he replied with a hoarse voice.

Then Seungcheol was back on your lips, fully knowing that you would make no real effort to make your demands happen. Hungrier this time, when his lips slid in yours he did it with more impatience, the hands on your body pressed you towards his body tightly, earning a soft noise that coiled in your chest.

It was almost as if you remembered perfectly the way he used to kiss your lips and your mouth parted just exactly when his tongue slid in your mouth, a soft moan coming from him in approval as his tongue lapped yours.

Soft pecks landed on your lower lip, to your chin and jawline. You angled your head to give him access, a mewl escaped your lips as he reached the tender spot beneath your earlobe.

"I'm sorry for being an asshole to you," he said in a raspy tone, pulling away so that he could see eye to eye with you. "I was just so angry. Seeing you again just brought everything back."

You could say the same. You never imagined you would see him again. For the past two years, your ex had been a living ghost in your mind, making you wonder constantly if he had ever found it in himself to forgive you. Above all, you wondered if he thought of you as often as you did of him.

"I should be apologizing to you, too. For everything that happened."

He shook his blond head once. "Later," he commanded before his lips sealed yours again.

Then he took you in his arms, turning you around to sit you down on the edge of the cold glass surface of his desk. Slotting himself between your legs, he removed his arms encircling you to cup your face before he kissed you fervently.

The muscles on his back felt hard as your hands slid on his white t-shirt from his waist to his shoulder blades, your hand found the back of his neck, fingers tangled on his soft blond hair. You used that hand to push him closer to your face, earning a throaty moan from him.

Then the tip of his tongue dragged on top of your lower lip, finding your tongue to stroke yours as his hands dropped from your face to roam on your body. His fingers squeezed your waist, grabbing the fabric of your top to lift it up slightly to dip his hands under it. Greedily roaming your skin.

Deciding it wasn't enough, he yanked the tank top from your body and you willingly lifted your arms for him. His dark eyes marvelled on your body for a second, tracing an invisible line with ginger fingers over your neckline.

You swallowed up a whimper at the gentle touch of his fingers.

"You looked so fucking hot tonight," he uttered in a raspy whisper. "Prancing around my bar in those shorts. Everyone had their eyes glued to your ass and all I could do was stand and let it be like a fucking idiot."

You smiled shyly, feeling flustered that Seungcheol actually fell in your little game. "What would you have done?"

One of his dark eyebrows arched up. "Given my way?" his hand moved from your neck to the back of your head, a fist tightening on your hair at the scalp. "I would let everyone know that you're mine. Mine to look at, mine to kiss, mine to fuck."

Your breath hitched, eyelids fluttered when he pulled your hair softly to angle your face for him to look in your eyes.

"But I'm not," you breathed. "Not yours."

His lips brushed beneath your jawline and you could tell he was smiling. "Really?" he placed feathery kisses on your neck, so gently that it tickled, but he continued making his way to your mouth.

"Yes," you whispered, feeling his lips on yours now as you spoke, you wanted more. "You'd have to make me yours."

You stole a glance at his eyes, a faint smile of victory appeared on his cherry lips. "What are you saying?"

Seungcheol's eyes looked at your face attentively, as if absorbing every movement and gesture you made. Taking advantage of the moment, you scrutinised the features of his face. A lock of pale blonde hair had fallen over his forehead, covering one of his eyes.

"Make me yours," you breathed and with your fingers you gently brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. Your touch caused his eyelids to flutter briefly. "Fuck me, Seungcheol."

You weren't sure what overpowered your mind in that moment. But every cell, every inch of your body felt an unbearable ache for him, it made your heart race, rushing blood in your neck and face. Harder to ignore was the throbbing pain, pooling in between your legs, demanding his undivided attention.

A groan escaped his mouth as he clashed it on yours again, demanding, suffocating. His hands slid down your back, unclasping your black lacey bra skilfully, removing the straps from your shoulders as he threw it aside. The cold of the air bit at your now bare skin as your breasts were now exposed to his view.

"Lie down," he ordered in a low tone.

You lied back on the cool surface of his desk, which was empty now so you had enough room for your body. Seungcheol wasted no time, busying himself in removing your sneakers swiftly to then take your shorts off. So now you were wearing fishnets and panties only.

His hands caressed your legs above the fabric of your fishnets, your body flinching when his fingertips reached your inner thighs, so close to your crotch. You let out a broken sigh when two curious fingers slid down your clothed pussy, pulling the fabric of your thong aside to dip the pad of his fingers in your entrance.

"God, you're soaking wet already," he smiled and then pulled his lower lip in between his teeth.

"I've been wet for you all night, Cheol," you confessed with a muffled whimper.

Seungcheol sighed under a bitter smile. "Flirting with other guys hoping to make me feel jealous gets you horny. Is that it, love?" he asked in a feigned sweet tone.

That made you blink and try to protest at the same time you felt his fingers on the sides of your hips, yanking down your panties and fishnets all together.

So he was jealous, but at the same time all too knowing that you were doing it on purpose.

A rush of warmth and eagerness flooded all over you just as his fingers ran down between your pussy lips again, skipping all build up, but it was just what you silently desired: his index finger sliding inside your wet core. You gasped and closed your eyes again when his finger was joined by his middle.

"I asked you a question," he purred as his fingers massaged your inner walls.

"Mmm, thinking about you makes me horny, Cheol," you gulped hard, giving up the last bit of your sanity at the delicious thrust of his fingers. "I saw you looking at me and that alone got me wet."

"Really?" he asked, just before running the tip of his tongue down your neck, making you moan and blink to see him bending down on you, his fingers buried in your wet cunt, pumping in and out.

It was a little game Seungcheol liked to play. You remembered it too well. He would tease you, pleasure your body while making you either beg or show him just how down bad you were for him. He loved it, like a cat playing with its food.

"It made me remember..." you breathed as he placed open mouthed kisses along your collarbones. "M-made me remember when you'd fuck me so good I'd see stars."

That took him off guard, his breathy chuckle brushed your skin softly, making it prickle. "So you were going around my bar with your panties wet because you'd think about us?"

You nodded. "Mmm-mmph."

He hummed as his mouth kissed one of your nipples, lapping around your areola just before his fingers crooked inside you, eliciting a loud moan from you.

What followed then were wet sounds coming from your cunt, while Seungcheol worked his fingers inside you and his tongue slid across the underside of your tits, to then suck harshly at your skin. The skin around your nipples started to flare and prickle as you whimpered and writhed under him.

"What would you think of?" he asked in a gentle tone. Then his teeth grazed at the soft underside of one of tits, causing you to whimper and grab his hair by the scalp and tug softly.

"Anything, really. I thought of your hands, your lips..." you whimpered as he repeated the same process with your other breast, leaving a trail of drool on your skin. "The night of your twenty-fifth birthday," you muttered.

"You thought of that?" he asked, lifting his head to catch your gaze. "While working? Angel, you can't be doing that on the clock..." he cocked his head to one side slightly.

He wasn't actually reprimanding you, but the tone he took when he said that was almost as if he were concerned. Seungcheol was well aware that you liked it: being told off by him while his fingers were still plunging inside your cunt and the palm of his hand pressing down on your swollen clit.

Your whole body tensed up. "I think of that night when I touch myself," you confessed, looking at his face through your lashes.

"You do, love?" he asked in a sweet tone.

"It's the only thing that does it for me," you replied in a broken moan as he continued to fuck you with his two fingers inside your cunt, his palm pressing hard on your sensitive bud, pushing you further to your release.

And in fact, you almost confessed that you haven't been able to cum with someone else since you broke up with him.

But he doesn't have to hear that.

Seungcheol hummed thoughtfully and turned his attention to the hand he was using to fuck you with to start using more speed and force on your cunt, causing the sounds of your arousal to splash on his hand louder.

"Oh, shit," you hissed. "Cheol, I-I'm, oh–,"

The veins in his forearm flared up, as he appeared to be determined to do it for you again. You knew what he was trying to do, and you got your body ready for it–your swollen clit pressed under his palm and his fingers twisting inside your walls, as he moved his hand harder on your cunt.

Whimpers and incoherencies came out from your lips, feeling the thrusting of his hand forcing an orgasm out of you. You cried out, stirring your back on the cold surface of Seungcheol's desk, hearing your own lewd cries and moans reverberating across the dark room.

"Mmm, that's it baby, cum all over my hand," he hummed softly, as his hand continued to move inside you mercilessly despite your walls clenching hard around his fingers.

Coming down from the rough orgasm, your body twitched and coiled, giving deep shaky breaths you opened your eyes to see him.

"That reminded you of something?" he asked in a gentle tone, but you could see in his face that he was tense: pupils blown in lust, the tip of his tongue dragging on his lower lip. And then pulled his fingers out of you, they were coated in your arousal, almost dripping to his knuckles as he took them to his mouth, licking them clean.

You nodded silently, and shuddered at the sight of him licking your slick off his fingers.

One of his eyebrows rose, a sigh escaping under a sweet, genuine smile. "Only the memory of us can make you cum yet you say you're not mine?" he tilted his head to one side and clicked his tongue. "Now, you might be lying to yourself, love."

You returned him a shy smile. "Maybe I just want to relive the memory."

Bingo.

He only hummed in response, his hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers reaching your scalp as he bent down to kiss you, his tongue sliding inside your mouth. You tasted yourself in his tongue and that made him moan sweetly before pulling away.

You felt restive under his lust-ridden gaze, impatient for him to just keep going. But you knew better than to pressure him, you knew when to beg for it and now you knew he was taking his time.

"I never imagined I'd see you here like this," he muttered in a low voice, taking a step back from his desk and his dark eyes studying your naked body splayed on the heavy glass surface. He ran his fingertips over your abdomen, tracing a line from your bellybutton to the middle of your clavicles, prickling your skin.

You bit your lower lip hard when your ex knelt down before you, taking your thighs in his large hands. You knew exactly what would follow next, because if Seungcheol knew what made you had you begging for him faster was his tongue lapping on your folds, licking your arousal from your core.

You cried out when you felt his tongue glide on your sensitive clit, your hands grabbed at his pale blond hair. Thrashing, you glanced down at the lower half of your body wholly naked on his desk, his blond head between your lush thighs.

Seungcheol hummed softly as his the tip of his tongue made a trail from your core up to your clit, giving it broad and generous strokes at your pussy, not neglecting a single inch. As he licked your arousal from your entrance, the tip of his nose bumped gently with your clit, knowing that would make you moan louder.

You arched your back on the cold surface of his desk, crying out his name and his calloused hands immediately slid on your lower abdomen, pressing his palms down on you before his tongue focused on your clit.

The tip of his tongue flickered at your already swollen clit, to only give it a few swirls around it and start nibbling at it with his lips. The movement almost sent you over the edge, just before his pointed tongue started flicking your clit as he moved his head up and down slightly, giving more motion to the movement of his tongue on your clit.

His hands pressed down on your lower abdomen, knowing well that would elicit more cries and whimpers from you. Your body grew tense and you let your body savour it. Your mouth parted, letting soft gasps out, your body twitching uncontrollably on his desk.

You jolted up, propping your upper body up on your elbows to see his face buried in your pussy, his mouth on your clit and folds as if he were making out with it. The image was almost sinful to watch. The lewd sounds coming from the interaction of his mouth on your cunt plus the whimpers and moans coming from you.

"Ohmygod, Cheol," you cried out, grabbing his hair tightly and your other hand found one of his that was pressing down on your lower abdomen. "'m going to cum, I'm going to–," you whimpered, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

As your cries of pleasure echoed across the room, you heard Seungcheol hum softly with you. Your body relaxed into your orgasm, mind going completely blank, eyes rolling back so hard that you saw colours behind your eyelids while you let your orgasm take you in waves of pure bliss, moaning his name over and over again.

He planted soft kisses on your pussy lips and one last kiss on your swollen clit, humming softly as he pressed his lips on your pussy lovingly. Your legs went limp as you felt him place them back on the cold hard surface of his desk.

"Cheol," you called in a lazy groan, still recovering from your high with shaky thighs and blurred vision. "I need you."

Seungcheol smiled at your soft pleas and whimpers, but his hand cupped your chin, his dark eyes locking on yours. "Are you still on the pill?" he asked while his other hand brushed a lose strand of hair from your forehead.

"Yes," you whispered and nodded with your head. Your hands searched for the hem of his t-shirt, sliding it up his back and he pulled away to help you take it off.

You sat up on his desk again, hooking your fingers on the hem of his jeans to pull him closer, your legs framing his body as you unfastened the buckle of his belt, hearing him sigh. You darted a look at his face, finding the ghost of a smile on his chapped red lips.

Seungcheol had definitely buffier since you last saw him. You noticed that he had accumulated more muscle mass, his lean chest showed more mass around his pectorals and shoulders, the muscles of his abdomen that would tighten softly when he breathed out at the touch of your fingers.

He placed a small kiss on your lower lip, making you smile as your fingers rushed to undo the button and zipper of his jeans. He helped you get rid of the rest of his clothes, standing completely nude before you in the middle of his 'office'.

"Remember when we used to do this in your bedroom at your parents'?" you asked sheepishly, a hand cupping his face as he kissed your face and lips fervently. "We'd pretend to study."

Seungcheol's lips rose in a bittersweet smile. "I remember everything, baby," he replied in a raspy tone. "We could barely keep our hands to ourselves. We didn't care if we got caught."

You placed impatient, rushed kisses on his wet lips. "I miss that," you muttered. "We'd fuck anywhere. In your brother's car, the park, the school library."

Seungcheol laughed as his hand snuck in between your bodies, grabbing his cock with one hand to guide it to your core. He gently dropped his forehead on yours and you whimpered when you felt his cockhead pushing on your entrance.

"We were so crazy about each other. So fucking in love," he whispered.

A sob coiled in your throat second before Seungcheol slid inside you slowly, his cock buried in you so deeply that you had to bite his shoulder to not scream. Your legs were wrapped around him as he started thrusting his hips on you, fucking you hard on his desk.

You groaned loudly when you felt his cock fill you up so nicely that you almost forget where you were, and everything that had led you to that moment.

Seungcheol fit in your body so perfectly that nothing–no one had even come close to making you feel like he did. Your breath hitched and you closed your eyes when you felt tears of pleasure brimming in the corners.

His hands held you close to his body, a hand placed in one of your glutes and the other flatly on your spine–holding you in place as he plunged his cock deep inside you, fucking you open so good you couldn't think of anything else.

"You feel so fucking good. So tight around me. Just how I remember," he whispered in your ear, pushing so deep in you as if to make his point across.

You shuddered against his body at the same time you nibbled his shoulder with your teeth, drowning your cries of pleasure as Seungcheol plunged in your walls with little heed for being careful, but he knew you liked it just like that. You liked it hard, you liked that his cock was so big for you that it made your eyes water.

"Look at me, love," he commanded and you pulled your head back to face his dark eyes. "You're okay there?"

He read you so well.

You nodded, blinking lazily. "'m okay. Jus'keep going, Cheol."

Past tense. Loved.

Now, you were sure that he was trying to relive the memory of what you had together, his desperate kisses and moans as he pushed his cock deep in you. His arms holding you as if you were a product of his memory, torturing him, kissing him softly.

Soft whispers of incoherent mumbles brushed in his lips, and you could make out your name in between broken sentences as Seungcheol appeared to be so lost in you that he could barely breathe.

"Fuck," he muttered through gritted teeth. You saw him shut his eyes tightly, his mouth parted a little, forming a little 'oh' but not quite uttering anything. Small giveaways that he was about to cum.

You used a hand to cup the side of his face to angle his lips to yours. "Cum in me," you whispered on his lips. "I want you to fill me up, Cheol."

Usually, he was the one telling you when to cum. Never the other way around. But the way he was trying to resist his release made you want to take control for a second.

Your hand slid on the back of his head, grabbing his long hair in one fist as he blinked and found your eyes. His hips buckled a second before he plunged them so hard and deep inside you, gasping for air as he came inside you.

His chest was so close to yours that you could feel the stutter of his heartbeat against you. A long second happened between you, exchanging longing glances as he breathed hard on your face, trying to calm himself down.

But then he made a motion for you to lie back down on his desk again, confused you followed his silent command and understood when he started plunging his cock inside your walls again.

Your brow furrowed, noticing how tired Seungcheol looked. "W-what–,"

"I'm not done with you," he explained and you could feel that his cock was still hard inside you.

Then he placed the palms of his hands flatly on the surface of the desk, his eyes wandering all over your body before stopping on your sopping cunt where his cum had already mixed with your juices.

You saw the features of his face as he pulled his hips back until the tip of his hard cock reached your entrance again and then he slammed his hips back in.

Seungcheol sucked in a breath and then bit his lower lip and muffled a long strangled moan in his mouth, sending a shiver along your spine.

"You look so fucking gorgeous," he groaned, his lust-lidded eyes looking at you.

The wet sounds that the movement created made him sigh in pleasure and throw his head back a bit, the enjoyment on his face was so arousing that had you moaning with him.

"So fucking wet and tight on my cock. Like its made for me," he sighed.

Your walls fluttered around him in response. Because probably he was right and your body was made for his. The way your body responded to the sound of his voice, the touch of his hands, when you felt his eyes on you, all for him.

Seungcheol shuddered as he pushed inside you before bending down and place open mouthed kisses on your chest. He hummed along the trail of kisses he started making while plunging inside you, his lips stopping on the soft skin of one of your tits to start sucking.

"Cheol," you whimpered.

The pressure on his lips against your skin intensified, leaving a trail of red spots all over your tits as he continued moving his hips mindlessly on yours.

A loud moan escaped your mouth and your body started trembling in pleasure uncontrollably beneath his weight, barely holding on for him.

"Shit," you hissed at the feeling of him marking you and your hand tangled in his hair.

A small snapping sound came from his lips when he finished marking hickeys in your skin, lifting his head to see you. His lust blown eyes found yours, a faint smile stretching on his chapped lips.

Then, you felt a hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit immediately to start rubbing fast and hard with his thumb.

"Cum for me, baby," he instructed, already knowing that you were nearing to your third orgasm.

"Cheol–Daddy!" you called in a high keen whimper; the pressure from your release taking you over and washing you into uncontrollable waves of joy and ecstasy that roamed all over your body, leaving you breathless.

"I'm here, baby," he groaned and watched your face as you cried and thrashed under his body, the merciless plunging of his cock in your throbbing, aching walls.

Then his thrusts became shallow for a second before he slammed his hips against yours so deep and slow that you cried out and bit your lip, your body still twitching from your high.

"You're mine," Seungcheol said in shaky breaths as he came inside you again, blinking slowly but never looking away from your face. "You've always been mine."

Sharp breaths left your mouth, trying to regain conscious under the weight of his body as he too appeared to be trying to compose himself. You blinked away some tears, reaching for his face to kiss his face.

While panting, he pressed lazy kisses on your lips and you returned every single one.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," he whispered.

"I missed you too," you replied, pushing a blond strand of hair away from his face.

He shook his head once, his eyes glinting with anguish. "You left. We could've find a way to work it out but you just left."

The pain became more and more intense. You couldn't shrug off the feeling that everything had changed, that the person in front of you was not the same person who had loved you so fiercely.

"I'm sorry, Seungcheol," you whispered, swallowing thickly. "I really am. I made a mistake. It was really stupid of me to leave."

Your hand returned to his cheek and he pressed his face towards it, shuddering under your touch. Your lip quivered as your eyes started to well up in tears again, so you thought to make an attempt to remove yourself from his desk and search for your clothes.

He pressed his body down on yours, trapping you between his frame and the desk beneath you. "Don't."

"Seungcheol–,"

"I'm not over you," he muttered, then he laughed bitterly. "As if this wasn't proof. I saw you again and I knew I was fucking done for."

"N-no, you fucked me because you can, Cheol. To prove a point to me–," you stuttered, trying to make sense of it all.

His big teary eyes drooped with disappointment, his brows knitted. "Baby, I tried to move on. For two fucking years I tried... and look where that's got me."

He made a gesture with his head, signalling to your naked bodies. You were so tightly pressed beneath the weight of the upper half of his body, his chest flatly pressed against yours that you barely had any space to breathe.

"Can you take me back after what I did? How?" you asked in a weak voice from swallowing your tears.

"I just want you," he whispered. "We can figure out the rest."

You swallowed thickly. "We're so different now. You're my boss now, Cheol. And I'm..."

He licked his chapped lips, his lower lip getting caught between his teeth as he seemed to run through his options in his mind. "I don't want you to quit. We can find a way to make it work."

Your eyes locked with his dark brown ones. "So what happens now?"

"It doesn't matter right now. All I want is us," he whispered, his hands moving to cup your face, a desperate look in his features. "Please, baby, just trust me this time. I know we can work it out. I'm ready now."

A sharp pang stabbed into your heart as you heard him practically pleading for your return. It was a sound you had never dared to wish for, something you would have only imagined in your most fervent dreams.

Tracing an invisible line along his lower lip with your fingers, Seungcheol sighed softly, his heavy eyelashes fluttering as he closed his eyes. You knew you couldn't say no to Seungcheol.

After all, you never stopped loving him.

✧ a/n: uuuggghhh i feel like a hypocrite cause i've always said that blonds aren't my type but i literally go feral for blond seventeen, oh well. if you liked reading this show it some love pls pls pls. stay tuned for part 2! taglist is open! tehe ₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎

PART TWO

#seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol smut #svt smut #scoups x reader #scoups smut #choi seungcheol x reader #seventeen smut #scoups fanfic #choi seungcheol fanfic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups imagines #ff:heartbreaker #hannieween

998 notes · View notes

despacito-uwu16 · 5 months ago

Text

IN THE PAST AND IN EVERY LIFETIME

KENJI SATO X READER

|Fluff |Past Life

“And if death do us part, I promise to find you in every lifetime” - Alex Warren

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

Your fiance kisses your forehead while he pulls you closer to him. You rested your head on his chest while admiring the small diamond ring that glimmered in the moonlight.

“It’s beautiful”.

“I’m glad you like it. When I saw it at the shop, it made me think of you”.

“It’s perfect”.

He lifts up your chin and plants a warm, soft kiss on your lips as the bells of a near by clock tower signals the start of a new year and a new decade.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, and if death do us part, I will always look for you in every lifetime”.

“Happy New Years Y/N”…

“Y/N”! Your friend Asami yells at you, snapping you out of your day dream.

“We’re here”. She points to the bookstore.

“Oh sorry”. You apologized as she drags you into the place.

As soon as the two of you entered the bookstore, the smell of coffee and new books hit your nostrils. There was an end-of-the-year sale at Asami’s favorite bookstore and she insisted you come along. You took this as an opportunity to find books for your research paper for the psychology PhD program. While the two of you were looking at books, Asami caught you zoning out again.

“Y/N”! She snaps her fingers getting you out of your trance. “I’m here”! You said loudly, getting attention from other bystanders.

“Seriously, what is up with you? Did you pull an all nighter again? Like I get it’s your thesis paper, but you do realize sleep is important right”? Asami says while skimming through a random book.

“No, it’s not about the paper. I keep having this dream for like the past month and it’s been bothering me”. You say while skimming through the bookshelves.

“Oooh do tell”. Asami looks at you with curiosity.

“In the dream, I was with a guy and we were at this park filled with snow, and he proposed to me under a tree”.

“Man, I wish I had a dream about a guy”. Asami shakes her head and laughs.

“Asami, I’m being serious. It’s like, the dream is telling me to remember this guy, but I really don’t”.

“No offense but I think you’re reading way too many psychology books. I think it’s time to switch genres”.

"That's not how psychology works". You deadpan.

“Anyways, I gotta use the bathroom. BRB”. Asami puts down the book she was looking at and takes off, leaving you alone to wonder off.

You were walking around trying to find a book you’ve been wanting to use for your paper. After a few minutes of searching, you spot a large textbook sitting on the top shelf.

"Only one copy left".

You notice a step ladder near the bookshelf and begin to climb it. As soon as you reached the last step of the ladder, you stood on your tippy toes and you reached for the book. After a few attempts, you managed to get your book. But before you could climb back down, the screws of the ladder unscrewed itself, causing the step to break. You fall off and braced for impact, only for a guy to catch you.

“Woah, has anyone ever told you not to climb on faulty ladders? ”. The man puts you down before you could get a better look at him.

“Sorry”. You looked down in embarrassment. The man picks the book you dropped from the floor.

“Here, you should be more careful next time”. His speech slowed down as he made eye contact with you. His arm was frozen in place, the book still in his hand. You look at the man and his features. For some reason, he looks so familiar. It feels like you’ve met him before, but you don’t know where.

“Ummm… thank you”. You grabbed the book from him and began to walk away.

“Y/N”? You turn back to him.

“Yeah”?

“I thought I’d never see you again”. He muttered out loud.

“I’m sorry, do I know you”? You ask, feeling really creeped out.

“Oh”. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just, you look like someone I knew from a long time ago”.

“Y/N”! Asami calls out to you. “There you are! I was looking for you! You have got to stop wandering around girl”! Asami notices the guy and looks up and down in disgust. “Shall we head to the register”? She says, slowly dragging you away from the man.

“WAIT”! You and Asami turn back at the man in annoyance.

“I know we just met, but, I want to take you out on a date”. He grabbed a pen from his pocket, took your book and wrote down his number and his name on the first page.

“Text me and we’ll set something up”. He walked away, leaving you stunned.

“Girl, who was that”? Asami asks.

You look down at the page. “I don’t know, but I think i’m about to find out”.

You were waiting for the mystery guy to arrive. Of all the days to meet up, he picked New Year’s eve. Despite being really busy, he managed to get a reservation at what is coincidentally your favorite cafe.

From the information you gathered from Asami’s stalker account, the man that saved you from falling on your ass at the book store, was none other than Ken Sato. Turns out he’s a baseball player for the giants, and according to Asami, he is LOADED.

You feel a buzz from your phone. Thinking it was a message from Ken, you opened your phone, only to get a text message from Asami.

“I really hope your date goes well! But if he tries to attempt some serial killer shit, it’s on sight”.

“Asami, you’ve been reading too many horror novels. You should consider switching genres. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine”.

As you send the text message, Kenji runs into the cafe. You wave at him, catching his attention.

“I'm sorry for being late”. Ken sits down. “There was traffic downtown. Another kaiju incident”. He huffs.

“It’s, fine. I’m glad you made it”. You smiled at him.

The waiter took your orders and placed some tea in a white porcelain teapot down, along with two white teacups. He leaves with the menus, leaving you and Ken to bond.

“I’ve always wanted to try this place. This cafe looks cozy”. Ken looks around at the aesthetically pleasing decor.

“The food here is to die for! This is literally my favorite cafe since forever”. You said. Ken nodded.

“From what I’ve read, this place has been open since the 70’s”. He begins to pour some tea into your cup.

“I love how everything is so simple”. You take a sip from your tea. As soon as the hot liquid touches your mouth, it stings your tongue.

“Ahh, hot”! You yelp. Ken chuckles as you pout.

“Something’s never changed”. He chuckles as he shakes his head.

You look at him in bewilderment.

“Sorry," He cleared his throat. "I'm probably creeping you out”. He twiddled his thumbs, looking super stressed out.

“I’m sorry Ken”…

“Kenji. Call me Kenji”. He interrupts.

“Okay, Kenji, have we met before? Because when we met at that bookstore, you said you thought you would never see me again”.

“You really don’t remember me”? Kenji says, his gray eyes looking at you with disappointment.

“Well, the thing is, I think you’re the guy that keeps appearing in my dreams . I thought you were someone I made up, but it turns out you’re real, and you’re sitting right in front of me”.

“Am I supposed to”? You ask

Kenji looks down at his tea, the clumps of sugar that he put in a minute ago beginning to dissolve.

“Umm, nevermind. So, tell me about yourself”.

The conversation lasted for hours. Everything felt so casual between the two of you. Kenji told you how he led the Giants to the championships; despite almost dragging them six feet underground. He had to use simpler terms when describing some of the plays since you weren’t much of a sports fan. On the other hand, you were telling him how you were trying to pursue your PhD in psychology, and how it’s always been your dream to get your doctorate degree. Kenji admired the bright look on your face while you talked about your passion.

While you were having a great time with Kenji, you have a gut feeling that he has something to do with your dreams. He knows something you don’t, and you want to know what he’s hiding.

Eventually, the waiter had to kick you out of the cafe because they were closing early for the holiday. As you two stepped out in the cold, the sun was almost gone, and the sky became darker.

“I don’t really feel like going home yet. Wanna head down to the park with me”? Kenji asks.

“Umm, sure"!

As you walk to the park, Kenji grabs your hand. You look up at him and smile. There was something familiar about this warm feeling, like deja vu. When you reach the park, you can see the patch of snow that stretches down for miles. While walking down the semi-icy path, you keep thinking about Kenji's motives. He's not telling you anything, and couldn't take any more secrets.

“Kenji, can you be honest with me”? You blurt out.

He looks down at you.

“How come you remember me, but I don’t remember you? What are you not telling me”?

Kenji sighs and looks at the ground. You stood there, your arms crossed, waiting for him to answer you.

“This might sound weird. Like out of a novel weird”.

“Try me”.

“Okay, but first, come with me”. Kenji grabs your hand and drags you along.

“Where are we going”? You ask.

“You’ll see”.

You both go deeper into the park, where all the trees divide the park and the streets and where there is no one in sight. The more you both go down the path, the more your anxiety starts to peak.

“Oh my God, what if Asami was right? What if he is an actual serial killer and he planned your demise since your first encounter”?

But a familiar setting caught your eye before you could think of any worst-case scenarios. You were standing in front of a tree covered in snow. The same tree that was in your dream sequence.

“Look familiar”? Kenji asks.

“Actually yeah”. You turn to him. “What are we doing here”? You ask him.

“This was the place where I proposed to you”.

“Proposed to me”?

Your brain clicked as you piece everything together. The repeated dream you had was a memory from the past.

“You’re the guy… you’re the guy from my dreams”. Your eyes widen

“So you do remember”!

“Not exactly”. You shrug.

Kenji takes both of your hands. You look up at him. His soft gaze locked onto you.

“Y/N, you and I were together in our past life”.

You stared at him like a deer in headlines. You’ve read about past lives in an article before, but you didn't think it was real.

“December 31st, 1979”. He starts. “I took you to that cafe, y'know the one we went to today, and then we walked down to this very same park and I proposed to you here”.

You still look at Kenji in shock. You tried to say something, but you couldn't form any sentences.

“I understand it’s a lot to process”. Said Kenji.

“No, no I sort of understand now. Although, I don’t remember anything after that”.

Kenji looks down at the ground. “Six months after the New Year, we were in a car crash. I only suffered a broken leg. But your injuries were too severe. You didn’t survive in surgery”.

“Oh”.

“That day, I promised myself that I would find you again, and when I did, I would never let you go”.

Kenji takes out a small black box. He opens it to reveal a small diamond ring, the same one he proposed with all those years ago.

“Kenji”…

“I know we just met again, and I don’t expect you to remember anything, but you are my soulmate, Y/N. I never want to lose you again". Kenji puts the ring on your finger. The small diamond ring glimmering in the moonlight.

Everything comes flooding back to you. The guy was Kenji. He's real. Everything that happened in your dream is real. Kenji pulls you closer to him. Your lips were inches away from his. He closes the gap between the two of you. Your heart swells as he hugs you tighter. The two of you separate, trying to catch your breath. You admired the ring, reminiscing how beautiful it was, how it felt so right on your ring finger.

“It’s perfect”. You smile.

“I know, but it’s not as perfect as you”. He smiles

You blush. “I can’t believe you waited for me”.

“I did promise you all those years ago, that if death do us part, I will always look for you in every lifetime”.

The bells of a nearby clock tower signaling the start of a new year.

“Happy New Year Y/N”.

“Happy New Year Kenji”.

You kiss Kenji again as the sound of the clock tower bells continue to echo across the park.

Alex and Kovur’s wedding is everything!!! I want something like that someday!! Also, the bookstore scene was inspired by a Tinder ad with Lana Condor lol.

IMPORTANT A/N: I will be going international for a few weeks so everything might be on hold for a bit. But I have a few things cooking. Also, stay tuned next Friday/Saturday for a little surprise.

As always, Likes, Comments and Reblogs are appreciated and feel free to request anything!

#kenji sato #ultraman #ultraman x reader #kenji sato x reader #ken sato ultraman #kenji sato x you #ken sato fluff #soulmates #past lives #ken sato x reader #ken sato #netflix #ultraman2024 #ultraman x y/n #ultraman x you #ultraman fluff #ultraman rising #Spotify

216 notes · View notes

the-moon-files · 1 month ago

Note

Alright, so I just read through that language barriers post of yours and had a Blast Tm, BUT! Now I have several thoughts that need to be spoken. Firstly, what with english being this really ancient language now, yn‘s basically got a free phd in hyrule, don‘t they?? Predestined for exploration because of their „excellent skills with the language used in the ruins and temples of old, as well as their familiarity with the mechanisms“ or something. The ruin researchers probably beg to have them in their team.

Secondly, apparently accents are really appealing to some people? The chain already finds yn‘s morning voice really hot, but how would they even react to the way they sort of mispronounce the words? Idk too much about how japanese sounds, but maybe they emphasize the consonants too much which makes them sound harsh all the time, or the opposite, too much emphasis on vowels and sounding very soft. Just… brainrot about rambling and not trying too hard to speak perfectly accurately being all it takes to have the boys smitten and kicking their feet.

Thirdly!! What about a yn that knows multiple languages? The chain tries their best to learn english, and then yn comes around the corner like SIKE. THAT‘S NOT ALL OF THEM. YOU WILL NEVER COMPREHEND IT ALL. (That‘s what I‘d do at least.)

sorry for late reply i have a hectic life rn and i got hit by hurricane helene lol

ao3/writing blog author curse is so real u guys, this was like a 100 year not anticpated flood or smth, also we're in the mountains??

anyway gonna assume u mean masc/male reader bc of the reference to this post!! if u want context or a sorta part 1

this is just gonna be a quick reply so i can share anons ideas w/the world tho since ive been hoarding asks 😔

at the very least Wild's Zelda is harassing you

at the very most, every time u guys get near a town or city, u are kidnapped by hylian researchers

just the image of a bunch of nerd hylians mobbing u and fangirling while the rest of the guys, in full armor and swords just stand awkwardly behind lmao

(they get lowkey jealous after awhile i mean what who said that-)

the way Legend, Hyrule, Four, and Twi hover a little closer when you talk

Wild and Twi are practically like excited dogs whenever you speak, perking up when they hear your deep voice, u know, bc u tried randomly talking in the evenings abt nothing and watched them pavlov respond and look to you every time

even when u just started talking about the grass or some flowers

lowkey you accidentally almost mess up their dungeon exploring bc theyre just so used to your accented voice in their heads, just around them, or smth guiding them along, that when they all split up into smaller groups in the dungeon,

each Link pair accidentally starts following a man's voice echoing in the dungeon until they all accidentally converge in a main room and the Link equivalent of the point spiderman meme happens with you in the center with Time, who had been your dungeon buddy (he's laughing at them as every Link goes a little red after realizing they just followed you unconciously)

ur favorite thing to do is leaning down to whisper in each of the pointed hylian ears randomly, just talking about mundane or random things and watching it twitch, some trying to stay still like Time/Twi/Wars/Wild, while others leap away like u burned them lmao Legend/Hyrule/Four, and Sky managing to do both, trying to maintain composure before he inevitably breaks out all red and hides in his hands lmao

(Wind dared you to do it originally, and he snickers every time he sees you doing it again lol)

ok but the multiple languages is endless comedy gold

bc everytime a Link thinks he's got it or starts to listen then realize ur actually speaking smth completely different language

u get the most memeable faces of his confusion

like these gems

(four's blue is showing, he's offended u switched languages every other word one time)

they're actually so fed up lmao

☆

anyway sorry for late reply!! I hope u guys are having a good week so far, and ill try to post some more, tho cant guarantee when as the holidays close in for me

(rip my class is also getting near the end too im Stressin)

peace out anon,

🌙

#lu x reader #linked universe x reader #lu x male reader #link x reader #linked universe reader #loz link x reader #linked universe male reader #moon asks #moon rambles #tysm for this fun ask <333 #there was so much more i couldve yapped abt but i couldnt make it into #yknow coherent thoughts #lmao

119 notes · View notes

creamflix · 2 months ago

Text

CREAMFLIX ୨୧ SERIES & ONESHOTS MASTERLIST ☼ ─── main masterlist a masterlist of my longer, more serialized works. reader is afab in all works below, but please do read content warnings for each fic. you can read all of them on my ao3 as well. thank you for your support. <3

જ⁀➴ PERSEPHONE: BUSINESS TYCOON SUKUNA X RIVAL READER

ryomen sukuna, ruthless tycoon of the alcohol industry, is used to crushing rivals. but when his former meek secretary walks into his office as his newest competitor, he’s blindsided. you’ve transformed into a powerful force, ready to go head-to-head in a high-stakes battle for dominance. as tension rises between you — both in business and something far more dangerous — sukuna realizes this fight might cost him more than just his empire.

જ⁀➴ UNSCRIPTED: VOICE ACTOR TOJI X SMUT WRITER READER

you’re a faceless author of scandalous smut — great at writing steamy scenes but totally clueless about real-life romance (and with no one to match your freak). enter toji fushiguro, a hot stranger you (accidentally) throw up on during a drunken night out. surprise! he’s also the future voice actor for your smutty novel’s main character. can you survive the awkwardness of your disastrous meet-cute while keeping your identity (and dignity) a secret? welcome to the chaos of your own erotic fantasy romcom!

જ⁀➴ ME TOO!: BOYFRIEND GOJO X READER X (FEMALE) GOJO

dating gojo satoru is like babysitting a hyperactive child with infinite power — exhausting, chaotic, and occasionally sweet. but when a cursed mishap splits him into two versions of himself, things get out of hand. oh, and did i mention the new version is a girl? yeah, meet "fem gojo," who’s just as unbearable as the original but with better tits (her words, not yours). now you’re stuck playing referee between two gojos who seem hell-bent on driving you insane — or into bed, depending on their mood. one’s stealing your snacks, the other’s stealing your bras, and neither seems capable of staying out of your personal space. it’s double the gojo, double the trouble, and zero chance of peace. can you keep them in check, or will their endless charm (and shameless flirting) be your ultimate downfall?

જ⁀➴ GODS AND MONSTERS: RYOMEN SUKUNA X REINCARNATED READER

a thousand years stretch thin between love and loss. sukuna carries the weight of a life unfulfilled, and you, unknowingly, ache for something you can't name. when fate threads your paths together once more, will the echoes of a forgotten bond be enough to heal what time has unraveled?

જ⁀➴ PHD IN LOVING YOU: GOJO SATORU X SOUTH ASIAN/DESI READER

you’ve perfected the art of running your classroom with all the intensity of a courtroom drama, leaving most of your students sweating bullets. enter gojo satoru — chaos incarnate, immune to your terrifying presence and oddly persistent in his antics. when his usual charm fails in the lecture hall, he decides to take up a part-time gig at a restaurant you frequent, just to catch you off guard. falling for someone? totally against his rules. but for you? maybe he’s willing to rewrite the script. after all, what’s love without a little melodrama?

જ⁀➴ ONCE MORE TO SEE YOU: SINGLE DAD TOJI FUSHIGURO X SINGLE MOM READER

you’re a single mom with a schedule that leaves little room for anything but work and longing. twice a week, you get to hold your daughter close, pouring all your love into moments that always feel too short. across the hallway, there’s toji — a single dad who watches from a distance, arms crossed, jaw tight, as he wonders how you juggle work and parenting and still manage to make your kid so happy. at first, he’s envious. envious of your composure, your warmth, the way your daughter looks at you like you’re her whole world. but slowly, that envy shifts. what happens when two broken hearts start to lean on each other, finding strength in the spaces they thought would stay empty? can you let someone in without fear of breaking again? can he?

જ⁀➴ HOT GIRL SUMMER!: GYM TRAINER TOJI FUSHIGURO X READER

hot girl summer? canceled. freaky girl summer? in full swing — especially when your gym instructor, toji fushiguro, is built like a god and has the audacity to look hotter than your pre-workout burn. you came for fitness tips and maybe a few glances at his arms, but it turns out he’s got more than gains on his mind. forget the groceries — this summer, you’re the one getting carried.

જ⁀➴ FRAGMENTED: CHOSO KAMO X READER

when choso finally meets you — the real you — he thinks he can finally move on from the AI he once poured his heart into. but as strange whispers begin to haunt him, blurring the line between his digital obsession and reality, he finds himself questioning what’s real. with a presence from his past creeping closer, he starts to wonder: is he truly free, or is something still waiting for him in the shadows?

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x female reader #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #jjk crack #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen crack

91 notes · View notes

cno-inbminor · 1 month ago

Text

praestigia (pt. 1)

four months into my hyperfixation on this man, i barely managed to get some of this off my chest lol. thx sylus for being my first lads fic!

plot: formally speaking, sylus is a...sponsor. more colloquially, he's your sugar daddy -- and you're starting to wonder if he might actually want more. (wc: ~5.1k)

cw: this is all AU and does not include, like, any game lore (aside from that it's happening in linkon city). reader is a phd student, suggestive content (this is buildup for the smut in part 2), angst, a few dashes of fluff, not fully edited. mdni!

[ao3 link]

The skyline of Linkon City never fails to captivate you, blinking lights of tall, corporate buildings, the specks of light dotted across the sky, the blur of beams weaving through the roads – no matter which angle you look at it from, the view will inevitably take reign over your focus. So much so, that you do not notice the imposing figure approaching you from behind. He can only draw your attention by placing both hands on your shoulders, jumping slightly as you blink and remember where you are. A wave of flashbacks crashes through your mind as you are gently turned towards him, your back facing the window now.

“Perhaps I should find it somewhat offensive that the view never fails to take your attention away,” Sylus remarks, his tone unmasked in his teasing and playfulness. His scarlet eyes peer past your shoulder to see if there was anything interesting or out of the ordinary. “Do I need to start booking rooms without windows?”

“Don’t be silly,” you gently admonish, moving past him to grab a drink of water. His eyes burn the skin on your back, though you are familiar with this gaze. “Thank you for letting me rest here.”

“Do you really think that after all this time, I would leave you to pay for a hotel room yourself? Or to find your own transportation home?”

“It’d be understandable. I can see where you would be coming from if you made those requests.”

“I must say, I am a little wounded, kitten,” he drawls in mock pain. Instead of waiting for you to return and remain close to him, he situates himself on the bed first and leaves ample room for you to lay next to him.

The gesture invokes warmth, exudes comfort, and stands familiar as you climb onto the mattress with ease and memory. Sylus stretches out his arm next to you, and his pose quietly begs for you to cuddle into him.

And so you do. Sylus’s stature and frame, of course, never fails to envelop you during these moments of tranquility. Your chest pressed against his side, a leg crossed over his, your nails drawing patterns over his bathrobe and exposed abdomen – security, strength, and affection, once again, never fails to help you relax.

Because this is what happens after every gala, every fundraiser, every grand opening, every social event that you accompany Sylus to. This routine of being in hotel rooms so high above ground with breathtaking views, burrowing into him, oftentimes burying himself inside you, and separating the next morning with an implicit understanding of exactly where you stand, is what you two had agreed upon all those months ago. And in return, your financial stress disappears into thin air, leaving you to study and engage in hobbies without such a heavy burden on your shoulders.

Despite his constant reassurances that he can clean up whatever mess you may end up making, they do not negate just how tiring and draining these events end up being. Constantly putting on airs, overexposing your practiced smiles, making sure that there is not a single hair out of place, switching to what you like to call “fancy people table etiquette” – Sylus sponsored and, in a way, hired you to be as close to perfect as possible, and so, you must do as such to uphold your end of this business relation. Tonight has been a little more taxing than usual, as somewhere along the way, he felt the need to buy you anything that captured your attention for more than a few seconds. He would bid a ridiculous price that would dissuade any other potential customers, their expressions of defeat when they pass by causing him to secretly gloat that everyone has learned at least one thing about him: he will get what he wants.

You had caught onto this shenanigan after the third item, and you made sure to school your gaze away from the auctioned items. But because he always seems to know what plays in your mind, he complains, “You never let or ask me to buy you things anymore.”

Your eyes had closed shut during your time of reflecting on tonight’s events, and they continue to remain as such. “I have very little closet space. At this point, I think I’ve probably swapped out 90% of my wardrobe because of you. People are starting to get suspicious.”

“Then why not move out and find a bigger apartment? You know I can afford it.”

“Sylus–”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts. If he were anyone else, you would have scowled at him. “It would be too far from campus, become inconvenient, and you feel it is too much to ask for.”

As the conversation suggests, this is not the first time Sylus has brought up this proposition. What remains unsaid is how you would be closer to his residence if you were to move to one of the many apartments he had in mind, all of which would reduce your commute to his place down to walking a block or two; not a twenty minute drive.

“Just say the word, and it will be done,” Sylus murmurs into your hair. When he realizes he has received no response, your soft snoring greets him before he can inquire any further. With a heavy sigh, he reaches out and switches the nightstand light off, leaving the darkness to swallow you both. His eyes fall shut in tired ease, but his grip around your shoulders remains firm.

It comes to no one’s surprise that you feel less than well-rested when your alarm starts blaring at 5:45AM. You had an early class today, so you had to give yourself ample time to make it home, change, wipe away any lingering smudges of last night’s makeup, and try to appear as…casual as possible. Not wanting to wake him up so much that he cannot fall back asleep, you reach out for your phone and click one of the volume buttons, rendering it silent. Sometime in the night, your position had changed to Sylus spooning you. His limb slung over your waist is heavy, making it all that more difficult to leave – not just physically, but mentally as well.

Like ripping a bandaid off, you have every intention to quickly remove yourself from his embrace. But Sylus, being the infuriatingly light sleeper that he is, immediately tightens his hold around you as soon as you attempt your escape.

“Sylus, I need to go,” you whisper.

He presses you impossibly closer to him. “I will drive you to your apartment. Sleep.”

“No, I’m taking the subway.”

“Why take the subway when you have me?”

“If anyone needs rest, it’s you,” you say pointedly, because it’s true. Being the CEO of a business that may or may not be totally legal (you never ask because honestly, the less you know, the better) is not exactly a 9AM-5PM job. There have been more times than you can count when he would be pounding into you and forced to take a phone call. Granted, that doesn’t stop him from grinding into you and grinning devilishly when you bury your face into the nearest pillow to muffle your moans and whines.

“Speak for yourself,” he grumbles into your hair. “You haven’t gotten more than six hours of sleep every night for the last week.”

“And how exactly do you know this?” As soon as you ask, you already know the answer.

The app for– “Your smartwatch.”

“One of these days, I will disconnect my account from that app.”

“I would like to see you try.”

And you will. Just, when you’re not trapped in his arms.

“I’m still taking the subway,” you backtrack, though your voice is quieter than before. A tiny sense of relief fills you when his embrace loosens, and you can finally crawl out of bed. It’s harder than it seems to squash the distressed voice in your head complaining about how easy it was for him to let you go. As you pick up all your clothes and make your way towards the bathroom, you notice his phone sitting innocently by the room’s coffee machine. After looking over your shoulder, you swipe it off the counter and bring it with you.

Guessing his passcode is harder than you thought – the man has an ego the size of the entire universe, so you figure it would be something personal: his inaugural date as CEO, his birth year, his birthday, or others. On your last, desperate attempt, you type in four digits and find yourself absolutely floored at the view of his, now, unlocked phone.

Your birthday.

There is no time to dwell on the implications of it all, and you chalk it up to the fact that no one really knows you outside of being his typical date or escort. Therefore, the passcode would be that much harder to guess than the route that you had originally gone for. Yes, that’s all it was: an extra layer of security.

Sylus’s phone is surprisingly unorganized, random apps thrown into folders that they do not belong in, leaving you to search for the fitness app that your watch is not only connected to on your own phone, but somehow also on his. You press the buttons necessary to delete your watch data from his end. When you are ready to close the app, you cannot help but notice the preview of his messages app and the texts within. Your thumb swipes away the fitness app and shakily taps the messages window that stared hauntingly at you. It had been left open on a conversation with another woman, if you had to guess based on the name sitting at the top.

My parents are getting antsy, and so is your grandfather.

That is none of my concern.

Unfortunately, it is. They’re not exactly happy about the woman you keep bringing as a partner.

Our arranged marriage is not a publicly known detail.

And I’d like to keep it that way. But Sylus…

What?

We can’t delay this much longer. You’re running out of time.

The exchange tells you enough, just enough for you to realize the situation you find yourself in. You suddenly recall an incident in the beginning of this relationship with Sylus when he described this arrangement, him as your sugar daddy, as a means to an end, preferably the end of something that he clearly did not want out of desire for his own freedom. There was not enough detail for you to give it much thought after that night of discussion and negotiation, but now, it all makes sense.

Your thumb takes it back to his home screen and presses the lock button. In a haze, you get ready and dressed before exiting the bathroom, completely unaware if you even have your clothes on right or your hair somewhat kempt. As quietly as possible, you place his phone back where you had found it. Though common practice at this point, it now feels far too intimate to plant a featherlight kiss on his cheek. It causes him to stir, but you’re halfway out the door before he can fully register your departure.

Whoever passes by, whatever zooms past, however something tries to gain your attention, you have no recognition of your surroundings. A thick layer of tension settles itself into your brain, allowing you to think of nothing but the fact that this entire time, Sylus has been in an arranged marriage that you, apparently, were supposed to be instrumental in destroying. To find yourself back in your apartment maybe forty minutes later is a miracle in and of itself. You return to the plane of reality when you open your closet doors to toss your dirty clothes into the hamper and are greeted by the many items bought with his money.

Contrary to popular belief, jealousy does not make itself known in your system. You’re not exuding shades of green or red like an angry Christmas tree. If anything, you come to a quiet acceptance that this…partnership with Sylus will come to an end, and soon. It would do no good for him to keep seeing or supporting you while formally married, which means you have to get your life in order. Sylus has given you more than enough money to put you through your last two years of your postgraduate career and maybe a year into your postdoc, but you should still remain frugal. If you’re lucky enough, the money you earn during postdoc would be enough to live relatively comfortably on.

Alone. Without him.

It’s fine, you think to yourself as you turn on the shower. It’s totally and completely fine.

A couple hours later in class, your phone vibrates with a message that reads, “You actually managed to disconnect your watch from my phone.”

The slight smirk tugging at your lips is inevitable as you type out a response: You told me to try, so I did.

“I will be changing my passcode.”

If you want. There’s nothing else on there that I need to delete, right?

“Oh sweetie, wouldn’t you like to know?”

The subtle, possessive curl of his message coils around you tenderly, making you temporarily forget that you are in class and should be exhibiting a poker face. But you still shift in your seat, a warm pool of heat forming in your core as you imagine his expression and his voice reading the message out loud. Forever a tease and a flirt, Sylus knows exactly what he is doing by sending you that message.

Your best revenge in the moment is to leave him on read, on the edge of his metaphorical seat. It takes too much effort to bring your conscience back to your current lecture and actually take some notes. Your phone buzzes once, but you ignore it – and in hindsight, you’re glad you did. Sylus, in all his infinite wisdom and glory, took it upon himself to send you a picture of himself after a shower – the skin of his chest glistening under the fluorescent lights, grey towel hung low on his waist and barely holding on, veins on his arms frustratingly visible because he knows what they do to you, his biceps flexed just enough that you want to take a bite at them. The fucker full well knew you were in class and, you know, in relatively close proximity to other people who would have, no doubt, gotten an eyeful.

As you walk towards the subway station to go back to your apartment, head down and focused on typing out a message, a giddy smile can’t help but break out across your face. Your thumbs tap, “Should you really be sending photos like this to someone who, in the public’s eye, is just a friendly escort?”

After not even thirty seconds, your phone buzzes, the notification of his call sliding in from the top of your screen. You almost roll your eyes as you bring the device to your ear. “You have five minutes before I lose signal underground,” you warn, your tone still playful nevertheless.

“‘A friendly escort’, you say? I suppose that’s what the young ones are calling intimacy these days.”

“You knew I was in class. And stop it, I know you have some stupid smug look on your face right now,” you chastise.

“You know me so well.”

“Actually, speaking of,” you say as your eyes flit down to your watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting right now?”

“I stepped out.”

Your heart and feet skip a beat, almost causing you to fall flat on your face and absolutely eat shit in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s hard not to let your mind race at all the implications, that this tirelessly busy man decided in a heartbeat that he would step out with a desire to call you over something so minor; to simply tease you. In the grand scheme of his life, you have very little significance – your temporary companionship where you may see him four or five times a month, sometimes with weeks in between and other times mere days. Text messages were never a guaranteed daily activity, though as of recent, he has been texting you more often. But amidst his employees, his connections, his partnerships, his family, you’re just…you.

You didn’t realize you had been stunned into silence long enough for him to ask, “Are you still there?”

“I am, sorry,” you apologize, scrambling to think of an excuse. “Uhh, an email came in and I was reading it. Didn’t hear you.”

“I’ll get you some wireless earbuds.”

“Please don’t.” Your rejection is immediate, firm. The lack of room left for argument stands apparent. “That’s not necessary.”

“And what’s stopping me from just ordering you a pair regardless?”

“Me.”

Sylus responds with a contemplative pause, which is...unusual. He has always been so quick to reply with wit and banter, but there is a chance that maybe something distracted him, like what you had said as a poor attempt at a viable excuse.

“I suppose the kitten is starting to make use of her claws now.” His voice rings softer, quieter, almost as if disheartened by his own statement. “First you disconnect your watch, and now you won’t even let me buy you earbuds.”

“I just don’t want you to buy anything that’s not necessary. Covering my tuition and all the dresses is one thing, but wireless earbuds, I can do without. My wired ones work just fine.”

Your eyes catch the sign for the stairs leading down to the subway up ahead. “I’m about to go under and lose signal. Was there anything else?”

“Come over tonight.”

Your mouth works faster than your brain. “I can’t,” you lie, a pang of guilt creeping into your heart. “There’s a study group tonight for an exam.” Not a lie. “Besides, we just saw each other yesterday.”

“Has that ever stopped us before?”

“W-well, no,” you splutter because it’s true. There have been a handful of times when you spent two, sometimes three consecutive nights in the past – but things were more hot-and-heavy then, a time when you couldn’t get enough of him and vice versa. “I’m just saying.”

“Then come after the study group.”

“It’s gonna run pretty late because we have an exam in a few days.” Again, not a lie. “Who knows if the subways would still be running by then?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“But you might be asleep.”

“Highly unlikely, little one.”

Quickly looking around you, you quietly hiss, “Sylus, you should be asleep by the time the subways stop running. Why would you still be up at 2AM?”

“In case I have to refresh your memory, you do remember that I am the CEO of one of the largest tech companies in Linkon, right? The work never ends.”

“You need time for sleep, you know, like everyone else??”

“I’m not like everyone else.”

Your eyes close in frustration as you groan. Your feet have reached the top of the stairs, and you couldn’t have asked for more perfect timing. “Okay, I’m at the station so I’m gonna hang up. I’ll come over another time, alright? Talk to you later.”

“Sweetie–”

Moving forward to clamber down the stairs and smashing the hang up button is your way of desperately trying to not lose resolve. Any longer, you would have given in and rolled yourself straight back to square one with nothing but dread. You have never been more relieved to see the little “No Signal” sitting in the top left corner while you swipe through a gate and manage to get down another flight of stairs without tripping over your feet.

Wired earbuds in, hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie, letting the wind tunnel threaten you to topple over, you do everything in your ability to not think about him – to not think about the messages that may flood your phone once you get signal, to not think about the pushback you may receive because Sylus is someone who figures out to, somehow, always get his way, and to not think about the weight of his earlier words: “I stepped out.” You pretend that you know nothing about this arranged marriage, the curiosity having caused your thumbs to twitch in anticipation at maybe looking up who this woman is. You ignore the now glaringly close deadline that will terminate your relationship with Sylus forever, and most of all, you ignore any semblance of pain that knowledge makes you feel.

Cup half-empty, spoons tossed the window, the subway window across from you is greeted with a blank stare. In a rare moment of mindfulness (or is it dissociation?), you think of nothing until you find yourself standing by the foot of your bed and ready to face plant into the middle of the duvet. With your last shred of working consciousness, you set an alarm for thirty minutes before the start of the study group and promptly fall asleep.

As you predicted, the study group runs late into the night. Despite the several digressions into conversations that were very much not academics-related, all of you feel relatively good about the subject matter for the exam on Friday. Everyone comes to a unanimous decision to reconvene in a couple of days. Given that it was Monday, one more study session Wednesday and some independent review Thursday night would be beneficial.

For your own sanity, you had left your phone, stashed in the recesses of your backpack tossed into the corner of the study room, on do-not-disturb for the entirety of the night. You had it programmed to still chime and alert you if family contacted you, mainly because it doesn’t happen often, and if it does, that means something big happened. The device remained silent for the whole time, and part of you wants to avoid confronting what your notification screen might look like. But before you can muster up the courage to do so, one of your friends speaks up.

“Hey, you took the subway here, right? I can drive you home,” Jiho, a doctoral student in the same year as you but doing research under a different professor, offers. A part of you is beyond relieved at the perfect example of an excuse to not check your phone because it would be so incredibly rude (not really) in a social context.

“You wouldn’t mind? If you have somewhere to be, I can just walk.”

Jiho rolls his eyes in a playful manner. “Come on, before I change my mind.”

He drops you off in front of your apartment complex about ten minutes later, and he shoos away your offer to buy him coffee as a token of gratitude. You wave goodbye as his car pulls out of a guest parking spot, and only then do you notice the conspicuously sleek, grey sports car sitting a few meters away. Your heart pounds, and your palms begin to sweat as you get closer and closer to your unit, afraid of who you might find once you get inside. You spot the fluorescent glow from underneath peering out from underneath your door, and it takes everything in you to not drop your keys as you unlock the deadbolt.

“So the kitten has finally decided to come home.”

“How–”

Sylus, looking severely out of place in your humble abode, sets down the stack of papers in his hand on your coffee table. With his other hand, he points to the fixture on your wall by the door where your keys typically hang. His own set now occupies one of the hooks, and you spot the spare key you had given him a few months ago. To your knowledge, he has never used it before, and you can count the number of times he has stepped into this apartment on one hand.

You quietly shut the door behind you, locking both deadbolts in place before setting your backpack down. “It’s so late,” and even you wince at the shakiness in your voice. “You should be asleep. At home.”

“Perhaps I would be if someone had just checked their phone once in the last fifteen hours.”

Well, you don’t have much of an excuse for that.

Sylus sits on one end of your couch in loungewear, though somehow he still makes it seem like he’s in something formal enough for business casual. You cautiously sit on the other end away from him.

“I passed out as soon as I got home, and then I was running late for the study group, so I just left my phone on do-not-disturb.”

His silence speaks volumes.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

But maybe you did.

Maybe, subconsciously, you did. Maybe you wanted to test the limits of his affection. Maybe you wanted to see just how far he would go to make sure you were okay.

Maybe you simply wanted to get a taste of when you least expect radio silence, an appetizer for how things may turn out when Sylus calls for the end of your arrangement.

“Look at me.”

Tension weighs you down as you slowly turn your body towards his, but you avoid his gaze and aim to study the logo on his shirt instead.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

The command snaps you into compliance, his tone firm and undeniable. You expect to see anger, frustration, disappointment. After all, it would make sense, for there is a set of expectations and rules put into place to ensure trust between both parties. Transactional, contractual, institutional obligations and conditions set by both the company matchmaker and individuals are put in place to conveniently manifest and quickly disintegrate these business relations, to avoid messes.

But you realize all too quickly that the mess will be inevitable, in your case, because instead of tinges of red fury in his eyes, you find concern, worry, and confusion. Dread sinks into your stomach like an anchor in the middle of the ocean, dropping further and further into the dark unknown.

“You’re hiding something from me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you immediately counter. Good job, you just made it more obvious.

Sylus pins you down with a look that means nothing other than “you know better”, and your heart threatens to burst from your chest out of sheer anxiety.

“Since you refuse to tell me otherwise, tell me how you got home,” he says, and though he may seem cool and nonchalant in the way he rests an arm against the back of the couch, you can see the irritation pulsing through the veins on his forearms.

“A friend from the study group drove me home.”

“And you were simply too busy to look at your phone during the drive?”

“I had to give him directions.”

Sylus cocks an eyebrow at the mention of this friend’s gender. “Him?”

“Jiho, sweet guy. Does research with another professor.”

“I suppose I have him to thank for bringing you home safely. Regardless, you should have called me to pick you up.”

You have one last card to play. “That’s not in the contract.”

His eyes harden and narrow the slightest bit, the curve of his jaw tensing in building irritation. “How so?”

“There’s a line somewhere in there about making sure I would not contact you for personal favors that are outside the scope of our,” you hesitate to find the right words, “relationship.” You can’t remember the last time your palms sweat so much.

“I offered.”

“And I am not obligated to take the offer. While kind, I did not see the need to bother you.”

“I clearly remember stating that it wouldn’t be an issue, especially considering I asked you to stay with me for the night.”

“But I told you I couldn’t,” you retort.

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

The bitter note in his voice on his last word matches his steely gaze that seems determined to pick you apart, to peel off each layer of whatever walls you may have put up. He’s not ignorant or oblivious by any means – something is going on, and you’re not telling him. You answer him with deafening silence, blaming your late night fatigue for it.

Responding directly to his question would only make this worse, as you cannot see yourself getting out of the ensuing conversation unscathed and alive. Instead, the couch dips as you cross the distance between you two, hesitantly straddling his hips in case he doesn’t want you to. But he allows your move, his hands almost instinctively resting on your thighs as you settle yourself into his hold. His skin feels glassy smooth beneath your fingers as you caress his cheek, studying every detail of his face and avoiding his eyes.

Perhaps there is a part of you that is trying to commit the minutiae to memory in preparation for the days when you will no longer see him so intimately. You should have never let yourself get so attached, no matter how much tenderness and adoration Sylus has been absolutely spoiling you with. The realization hits you in a bittersweet manner, and the featherlight kiss you place on his lips only makes it hurt more.

Yet you move past the pain to accept the fall, the descent into oblivion as you feel Sylus respond to your kiss, deepening and increasing in fervor. The heat in your core is more than just lust as it sinks deeper and deeper into you, a testament to the depth of your affections. Somehow, his touch as his hands roam your figure burns hotter. It almost makes you want to shy away from his grasp, but part of you welcomes the trails of fire as your punishment for deceiving him.

You gasp out his name as his lips leave your neck scorching, each nip of his teeth and lave of his tongue adding to the haze slowly overtaking your rationale. But beneath the man’s ardor, you manage to recognize his irritation and annoyance – the way his fingers grip your waist, his nails digging into your back – about how this whole night has progressed.

Apologize, his eyes seem to scream. Seek forgiveness as I seek vengeance, his hands draw on your skin.

Beg for me.

---

[tbc]

#sylus x reader #sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus qin #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus

126 notes · View notes

justawritterwithideas · 2 years ago

Text

Boy Wonder and the Rockstar | s.r

✩ next part ✩

summary: Spencer and Y/N meet in college after a book search, creating a friendship where opposites attract. But Spencer has to move across the country to pursue his happiness and completely loses contact with Y/N. What if fate decides it's time to meet after 15 years and with a crazy stalker in between? Spencer won't lose to fate again and will do anything in his power to protect Y/N.

warnings: mentions of death, alcohol, drugs, strong vocabulary, as well as talk of heartbreak, disappointment and arguments. It also contains content regarding CM season 13, so it clearly contains spoilers. this is a spencer reid x famous!reader story.

this will be a small series of chapters so here are the general precautions of the series, each chapter will have its own precautions. !!!

words: 3,909 words.

a/n: hey! here alme with a little series i've been planning for a couple of weeks now. as you may know, i've been talking about the spencer reid x famous!reader relationship but as hayley williams, so i decided to set myself the challenge and write a little series called "boy wonder and the rockstar", so i hope you like it. i haven't planned how many chapters it will have yet but i don't want to make it too long, and also patience with each chapter. so, I don't want to make it longer and I'll leave you the first chapter. thank you. ♡

𝟎.𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐲.

Spencer always lived under the stigma of being a child genius. His I.Q. was 187, he could read 20,000 words per minute and had an eidetic memory.

Everyone around him told him what to do, from his mother, to his "friends," to his teachers, to his neighbors.

"Hey Spencer, with that brain of yours you could make it in the government" "Spencer you could be part of NASA" "Spencer you could be a mathematical genius like Einstein!" "Spencer you're going to get into the CIA!"

"And where are you going to go to college? Because you know Harvard is already a lock for you" "I bet you'll go to YALE, that's where all the smart ones go" "Princeton is an excellent choice for you!" "MIT could open a lot of doors for you"

Spencer this, Spencer that.

But no one really thought about what Spencer wanted. Maybe he wanted to be a magician and make children happy with his tricks. Maybe he wanted to be a trapeze artist, or a fireman, or an astronaut, or just an ice cream man.

All these expectations of Spencer reached a point where he didn't even know what he wanted in life. He lived under the shadow of the expectations and visions people had placed on him, and he didn't want to let them down. He was just a kid, a kid scared of adult life who had to impose himself because others imposed it on him.

That's how his brain made him skip grades, have to enter high school at age 12, and have to suffer a lot of abuse from the grown-ups for just being a boy genius.

Spencer sometimes wished he could make his brain disappear and have a normal one. Then he could have normal friends, go to a normal school, have a relationship, experience the problems people his age have, and be able to feel the phases of adolescence like any other kid.

But things were not like that.

He had to live the life he had been dealt, with his genius brain and the damn adult problems at 13.

CalTech was a new life he had to accept, but it wasn't as bad as the one he had before. His mind was kept busy for a long period.

He was forced to grow up around books full of equations, chemical elements and mathematical problems, managing at 16 to get his first college degree, which was Mathematics, and the following year to get a PhD in it. But he did not dislike this.

But as they say it is never enough, he kept on studying until he was 21. Thanks to this, he became a doctor of two more degrees, Chemistry and Engineering, in addition to Psychology, Sociology and Criminology.

His social life at the university was not so hectic, in fact, he only stood out for the fact that he was a boy genius, and that was it. To other people, he was a person like any other.

Until one autumn day, in the middle of his 19 years and studying psychology, his paths were interrupted by crossing that of others, and that, probably, is the person who changed his life the last years of college.

It was an ordinary day in the university library. Spencer had been rereading an encyclopedia of human anatomy for two hours. Why you may wonder, well, it was his way of killing time during his free time.

Acquiring knowledge was the best way to keep his brain fed and occupied, according to the boy.

He had eaten his sandwich a couple of minutes ago and let his brain feed on information at that moment, trying to persuade his intrusive thoughts at that minute. Through the pages you could see the muscular system, focusing on the leg and foot areas.

To be honest, it looked quite interesting.

That day, leaves were beginning to fall from the trees, filling the ground with their autumn colors; there was a gentle cool breeze, a strong smell of wet dirt and people were crowded in the warmer areas of the campus. It was no surprise to anyone that the library was one of the most crowded areas, the vast majority of people were gathered around the tables as large college texts lay open on them.

Spencer was sure he had seen more than one student curse at the fact that they couldn't find what they were looking for, and then walk out of the room in exhaustion. It wasn't the first time someone had cursed his name because they found themselves reading the text they were looking for and, besides, they weren't able to approach and ask for it.

He could believe it was cowardly on their part, maybe they were too shy to be able to do it or it was an excuse to put off studying what they were looking for. Even though he considered that the The study methods they had were not very good and, if they started studying earlier, they could increase their grad-

"Excuse me."

A voice interrupted the conversation Spencer was having with himself, pushing away his intrusive thoughts that were beginning to take over his mind. The young man's head turned and he saw a girl, perhaps his age, staring at the encyclopedia in front of him.

"I asked Miss Wellington about the Rouviére and Delmas encyclopedia of human anatomy, and well..." The girl looked over Spencer's shoulder. "She told me that maybe the boy sitting at the back table had it. There are no other tables in the back and you're the only guy sitting here, so I think my deduction is correct and you have it."

"Y-yes, this is the encyclopedia you're looking for." Spencer admitted, looking at the young woman.

More than looking at her, he was admiring her. She was wearing a red skirt and hoodie with some embroidered words on it, her legs were also wearing dark leggings and some rather damaged black converses, over it she was carrying another coat and a backpack; her arms were loaded with medical and anatomy books, plus her hair was disheveled.

"Great! Must be my lucky day that a cute guy has it." Her books fell onto the table and she sat down next to Spencer.

The boy could smell the scent of tobacco and mint mixed with the scent of cherry perfume.

"May I see?" Spencer turned to look at her and, even though he was reading that book first, his head nodded. "Fine! I just want to see..." The sound of the leaves was rapid, as if a fan was moving them. "This... Nervous system."

Suddenly, and as if by magic, a notebook appeared in front of them both and quickly the girl was beginning to write on the blank sheets, even though to Spencer it looked more like a scribble than a resume as such.

"Shit, what is this?" the girl paused to read more closely. "In the central axon, the electrical signal is converted into a chemical signal, and then releases the chemical signal with chemical messengers called neur-neurotransmitters." The sound of the pencil falling on the table made the boy startle.

"Nervous system?"

"That's right, I have a lecture in three days and I'm still trying to associate concepts in the nervous system. Like my nervous system isn't nervous anymore."

Spencer chuckled to himself, the girl had a funny sense of humor.

"In fact, when the brain interprets that we are in danger, it produces a rush of adrenaline that activates the heart and muscles to place them on alert, but if prolonged, it can lead to health problems such as cardiovascular disease like heart attack and is associated with hypertension and arrhythmias and is the enhancer of other cardiovascular risk factors." Spencer turned to look at the girl, who looked quite interested in what he was saying, jotting everything down in her notebook. "But it's not that your nervous system is 'nervous', it's that it interprets that it's in danger and so it sends that kind of stimulus to your body that makes you anxious."

"I see you know about the nervous system, much more than I do." The girl scanned him from head to toe. "Are you a medical student?"

"No, CalTech doesn't have a medical degree, but I am a doctor." The boy admitted.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Shit, and you already have a doctorate?"

"Actually I have three."

Silence stretched between the two, caused by the woman's shock.

"Are you some kind of alien or is your brain too big that it stores more information than I can retain?"

"Well, I have an IQ of 187 so I can read 20,000 words per minute, plus I have eidetic memory. But I prefer the concept of being more advanced than others."

The girl stared at him.

But to his surprise, the young woman only let out a giggle.

"You're funny, I like it." No one had ever told Spencer that he was funny. In fact, he thought that adjective didn't directly relate to him. "I'm Y/N, Y/N L/N."

"Spencer...Spencer Reid." Y/N denied.

"No, you're not Spencer."

"Excuse me?"

"You're Dr. Spencer Reid." Spencer smiled, she was right. "Well, it's nice to meet you, dr. Reid."

"Nice to meet you, Miss L/N." They both smiled.

"Well, now that I know your name, dr. Reid, we can start our friendship."

Spencer never thought making friends was so easy, even though he knew it was because the girl had gone to the trouble of calling herself his "friend," without even knowing him.

But that didn't bother him, in fact, he found it nice that someone had decided to be his friend.

Overnight, Spencer's evenings began to become more colorful, smelling of tobacco and mint, and filled with questions from Y/N, his new friend.

Although, at first, Spencer didn't seem comfortable around the girl, he quickly got used to it. He had learned several things about Y/N over the days, such as that she was a medical student at Pasadena City College, a college a couple of blocks from CalTech; she was the youngest in the family and had an older brother who had been diagnosed with leukemia a couple of years ago.

He had also learned that she was very into fashion, lived in an apartment complex nearby, smoked a couple of years ago, and only liked menthol tobacco cigarettes. Her favorite color was orange, but she didn't think it looked good on her, and she didn't see herself going to medical school, but she wanted to be a singer.

The first time Spencer heard Y/N sing was during a kermes in Pasadena City, she had been invited to sing on behalf of the medical school. Spencer never liked the idea of being around so many people, let alone at a kermes which was as unsanitary as possible, but his new "best friend" had begged him to go.

He couldn't say no.

He remembered perfectly how her hands shook with nerves, how she bit her lip as she cleared her throat and watched her bandmates, aka Y/N's other friends, rehearse with their instruments.

He knew she had practiced for this moment a bunch of times, had more than once arrived at Spencer's dorm wet from head to toe from running in the rain after a rehearsal, and hummed the songs under her breath every time they studied together in the library.

She was more than ready, but her own fears sometimes made her afraid of her talent.

Reid's eyes were on her, smiling confidently to convey that feeling as a guitar began to play the first chords, and announced the start of her performance.

Spencer didn't know what song it was, he wasn't even sure if the song was to his taste, but when he heard Y/N's voice he knew it had become his favorite song.

“Her name is Noelle

I have a dream about her, she rings my bell

I got gym class in half an hour

And, oh, how she rocks

In Keds and tube socks

But she doesn't know who I am

And she doesn't give a damn about me”

Their gaze was on each other, as if they were the only ones in that large space. The few times the eye contact was broken was when Y/N closed her eyes.

The song ended successfully and an avalanche of applause greeted Y/N, who thanked the audience for their attention. Soon another band filled the stage and for a few seconds, Spencer lost sight of Y/N. He wanted to tell her how great she had turned out, how all her effort and practice had made everything come out perfectly and that she looked like a total rockstar on stage.

"Spence! How was it, did you like it?" Y/N hugged the boy's arm, who turned to look at her with a sweet smile on his face.

"It was amazing, Y/N. Everyone loved it." Affirmed the boy.

"I was so nervous, I was so afraid it wouldn't go well, but I saw you there, and I felt like I could do it. You're my lucky charm, Spencie."

Spencer felt something jump in his chest.

"Let's get something to eat, I'm dying for some corn-dogs." Said the opposite.

"Y-yeah, let's get something to eat, my treat."

The day Spencer was accepted into the FBI academy was probably the most bittersweet day of his entire life.

At 22 years old, and in the middle of finishing his college semester for what felt like the fifth time, a letter arrived in his dorm room.

A letter of acceptance.

He could feel that all his hard work had been rewarded by whoever was up there. He quickly put on his sneakers and ran a marathon to the medical building at Pasadena City College.

His best friend's short red hair he could quickly visualize as he saw her smoking by the entrance, she seemed to be listening to something on her MP4 and bobbing her head to the beat of-who-knows-what song.

"Y/N! Y/N!" Spencer's voice sounded agitated, trying to get her best friend's attention.

The, now, redhead removed her earpiece and turned to see the tall boy running towards her.

"Spence?" From her mouth came the tobacco smoke, causing her to let the cigarette burn between her fingers.

"I made it, I got into the academy!"

The two big hazel eyes made contact with those of the girl, who dropped the cigarette to the sidewalk and hugged her friend tightly.

"I can't believe it, Spence! You did it! You did it! My goodness, I couldn't be prouder!" The younger girl began to do some jumping jacks as she didn't let go of her grip on his embrace.

"Thank you, Y/N. I couldn't have done it without you, you were the one who stuck with me through this whole process."

"You don't have to thank me, dorkie. I knew you'd make it, they couldn't leave out a genius like you." Soon they both disengaged from the embrace and the girl looked at the boy's face. "W-where is the academy? Tell me."

"I don't know, I-I didn't fully read the letter." He admitted embarrassed.

"Then read it! Go on." The girl took him by the arm and forced him to sit down on the faculty stairs.

Slowly, Spencer began to read the letter while Y/N listened intently to every word.

"The course begins on September 23rd of the current year in..." A pause.

Y/N looked at Spencer, who had stopped reading the letter.

"Where, Spence, what does it say?"

"The course begins September 23rd of the current year in Quantico, Virginia."

Y/N felt like a bucket of cold water had just been dropped on her.

Quantico? That was on the other side of the country!

"Q-quantico? Spence, that's on the other side of the-"

"Country, I know Y/N. I-I... I can't do it, I can't."

"What the fuck are you talking about!" The girl stood up startled, looking accusingly at her best friend. "No, I refuse. You have to do it, it's your dream, Spence! What you've always wanted for the last three years that I've known you, I refuse to let you back down now, I won't allow it!"

Spencer looked up from the letter, watching Y/N who was looking at him with her face burning with anger.

"You know I can't do that, what's going to happen to my mom? You know what's going on with her and her schizophrenia, I can't leave her alone."

"She would want you to go, Spence. Her happiness is where yours is, you know she'll be able to do it, there are plenty of options to help her." A long silence settled between the two of them.

Spencer didn't want to leave California, he didn't want to leave his mother or Y/N, he couldn't.

"Spencer Reid, I know what you're thinking right now, but I won't let you let this opportunity pass you by. You have dreamed of this exact moment for years, for as long as I have known you you have always wanted to go to the academy and you have done everything in your power to do so. Now they are offering it to you on a silver platter, you have to do it, there is nothing more you can do here in California. You've already studied all the existing careers in the world, you've already done what anyone in 50 years would have done and at your short 22 years you're already a doctor of three careers." The girl settled back down beside him, letting her icy hand wrap around Spencer's warm one. "You can't just limit yourself to staying here just because you have an engagement, the world has to know who Dr. Spencer Reid is like I know him, you have to go."

Spencer drew an elongated smile, feeling his body fill with that feeling of sadness that pervaded him from head to toe.

The redhead's words were true, it was his dream. But he didn't want to leave the only thing that made him happy on the other side of the country, he would love to carry it in his pocket to Virginia and have his dose of serotonin after each day.

He didn't want to stop smelling her tobacco and minty breath, the cherry smell coming off her clothes and the blueberry smell coming off her hair. He wanted to keep seeing the reddish locks of hair on his clothes and the cheesy paper notes in his pockets every time they met. He wanted to keep listening to the music on Y/N's MP4 every time he went to her apartment and drink coffee with lots of sugar that she made for him, keep hearing her voice in the shower and get biology questions at three in the morning every time she had a test.

He wanted to go to thrift stores to try on printed T-shirts and watch Y/N's camera fill up with pictures of the two of them, keep going to her shows with her band and eat frozen pizza after every gig.

He wanted to keep being with her.

But if she was letting him go, then he had to let her go too.

"I think I can go on living without hearing your bad jokes." Spencer's words lifted Y/N's spirits, who gave him a playful smile.

"Hey! My jokes are the best, last time you laughed for two hours."

"Because it was stupid."

They both laughed, letting the tension of the moment go with the last echo of their laughter.

"So you'll go across the country to make me proud?"

"Yes, I'll go make you proud."

Y/N's arms wrapped around Spencer's body, resting her head in the space of his shoulder and chin.

"I'm glad you didn't make a dumb decision."

Staying here with you isn't a dumb decision, Spencer thought.

They both pulled apart.

"Well, screw the skeleton. Let's go to the library and write your answer."

The girl's small hand imprisoned the boy's large hand, guiding him to the library to write what would be Spencer's fate.

The flight from California to Washington was five hours.

Five hours where Spencer and Y/N would be separated, and they would have to accept that fate had something different in store for the two of them.

Despite California being a sunny paradise, that day he wanted to keep the two friends company as they said goodbye at the airport.

"You already know my number, you know you can call me whenever you want." Commented the girl, who was in charge of carrying the book she had given him to read during the trip.

"I'm not such a fan of technology, you know that."

"There are pay phones over there too, Spence. It only costs a couple of cents to call me, plus they must have landlines there, and you have my email." The girl stopped in front of the door that separated goodbyes with new beginnings. "And if not, you can send me a letter. You know my address."

"A letter doesn't sound bad at all, in fact, for centuries, it was one of the most widely used means of communication by human civilizations since man began to write and whose importance transcended nations. The oldest courier service ever found was in Egypt in 2400 B.C. and in 1840, Sir Rowland Hill created the first postage stamp, which was called Penny Black, which was a profile drawing of Queen Victoria of England that had the rate 'One Penny' written on it."

"Oh Spence, I'm going to miss your fun facts about absurdly boring things." Commented the girl before she could hug him.

Spencer felt his heart clench.

"I'll miss you listening to me." They both turned in an embrace so tight it could take all the oxygen out of their bodies.

Neither wanted to be the first to say goodbye, neither was ready to leave the other. Their hearts were bound together like puzzle pieces, and just as when you lose one, the puzzle will no longer be complete.

"Now, you must go, your flight is about to leave." Y/N commented, separating from the young man as she wiped away the small tear that escaped from her eyes. "Miss me a lot, huh? And show off how pretty your best friend is."

"Always. Remember that wherever you are, whatever you do or whoever you're with, you'll always be in my heart."

A pout settled in Y/N's mouth, who felt like she was letting a part of her go with Spencer.

"Don't forget about me, because I will never forget about you." Demanded the girl, who was pushing the boy to go for his flight.

"It's impossible for me to forget you, I have an eidetic memory." He said laughing, waving goodbye as he received the book the girl handed him.

The two met in a final embrace, where Spencer could smell the girl's cherry and menthol tobacco scent for the last time.

"Write me!" Y/N vociferated, waving goodbye to the boy who nodded and disappeared behind the airport doors.

Y/N and Spencer didn't know that at that moment fate would place them on trial, causing their paths to diverge for many years until, magically, they would come together again.

“When two souls are meant to meet, fate brings worlds closer, erases distances, joins paths and defies the impossible.” Anonymous.

If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x famous!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #it's my first series #almeseries

2K notes · View notes