#thank goodness I was already looking at getting another job

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

MOST WANTED II (Gangster!Sukuna x Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

READ PART I WITH MAFIA BOSS!TOJI HERE!

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“You’re mine tonight. And if you value your job and your life, you’d better do everything I say.”

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Self-Insert!Reader

Synopsis: After your failed mission with Toji that ended in humiliation—and unwanted hot dreams—, you beg her boss to put you on the next one to bag Sukuna Ryomen, a famous criminal boss and gangster who is wanted for many murders and trafficking jewels. After you’re refused, you go undercover as an escort at a masquerade party to get Sukuna alone and take him in…whether dead or alive. Agreeing to go back with him to his hotel after drinks, flirting and a game of pool, you attempt to complete the mission, but not before Sukuna uncovers your secret and punishes you for lying to him. He’ll show you that nobody fucks with him. And that maybe you’re not as strong or tough as you think you are. Maybe, just maybe…you enjoy being a gangster’s plaything.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Self-Insert!Reader; Reader is Black, Fem & Plus-Sized; Flirting; Sexual Tension; Eye-Fucking; Escort!Reader; Agent!Reader; Action/Fighting; Noncon/R*pe; Dubcon; Handcuffs; Knife Play; Dirty Talk; Mask Kink; Daddy Kink; Degradation; Oral (Giving & Receiving); Facefucking; Choking; Slutification; Objectication; Mean Dom!Sukuna + sub!Reader; Doggystyle; Condescending Sweet Talk; Reader Cums 2x; Facial/Cum on Tits; No Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Got another one for y’all & for my fave @curiouscutie143!! We plan on expanding my “Most Wanted” world, probably even to other characters in the future! I had so much fun writing this AND it’s my first ever Sukuna fic! I hope y’all enjoy reading about that mean ol’ nasty man lol. Kisses! 💋-Jazz

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You stand in your bathroom mirror, staring at the woman staring back at you who looks like she could use a drink, a good orgasm, and some sleep.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you ask the woman. She moves her mouth with yours as you speak in the empty bathroom with its tiled walls and hardwood floor. A folder holding your next target sits next to you, a label reading “CLASSIFIED” stamped across the front.

The sound of Friday night in the city—cars honking, someone blasting music from the apartment across from yours—fills the space of your studio apartment. Usually, you would use tonight to order a pizza, watch a movie, or go to the bar across the street to pick up a guy for the night. But tonight, you stand in the mirror in your night slip, hair and makeup already on, getting ready for a party. Not just any party. A masquerade ball. One that is crawling with all kinds of elite figures, celebrities, politicians, business owners…and gangsters.

One of which you have your eye on. You grab the file sitting next to your sink that is littered in traces of makeup, your curling iron sitting unplugged right next to it. You open it with trembling fingers, making it hard to turn the pages. Your anxiety is already taking over. “Stop it,” you mutter to yourself as you finally making it to your target’s photo. You snagged his file a week ago in n secrecy. You had flirted mad hard with one of the file clerks—geeky, unattractive, and painfully awkward—and gave him a hard-on in order to sneak by and get into the file room. It is imperative that your agency have such a room to keep track of your old and new targets.

Ryomen Sukuna is one of the new ones and at the top of your boss’ list in terms of most wanted people. Big in the crime world and well-known for being a “professional killer”, Sukuna is feared in his area of business….which is anything that has to do with crime. Most of his business is underground and unknown to the public, but your agency has been keeping tabs on him for months now ever since other high-demand crime bosses and crooked officials in the city started coming up dead.

According to your team’s findings, Sukuna’s operation stretches across Japan and overseas in New York and London. His men, who are just as devious and dangerous as him, usually do all of his dirty work, including smuggling items and taking out those who threaten Sukuna’s businesses.

But Sukuna isn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty either.

He delves into the areas of illegal drug-smuggling, gun trafficking, imported, exotic seafood, and, mostly recently, jewel smuggling. It seems that Sukuna is a man of history. When a recent thousand-year-old diamond went missing a month ago from a history museum in Tokyo, your boss already had a feeling that Sukuna was behind it. But when a crime boss known for his jewel smuggling wound up dead just a week ago, he knew that Sukuna was most definitely the culprit. The man is like a piranha in the crime world, taking out every other being he deems as weak or a threat to his survival.

But you knew you could get him, especially when you found out that he would be in your city for a masquerade ball to celebrate the presentation of a new line of art worth millions. You knew he was planning something. Possibly even a massacre of potential buyers.

”Let me get him,” you begged your boss. You stood in his office a week ago once the news of Sukuna broke, your hands on your boss’ desk. “I can do this, sir, I promise. I can take care of this for you with my kind of skill.”

Your boss sat behind his desk, looking haggard and exhausted from running such a lucrative company. “V, I already have two agents working on this case.”

“Who?” You asked, but it must’ve came out harsher than you intended because your boss looked at you in alarm. “I won’t disclose that information only because I don’t want you to have any negative feelings towards them as your partners.” You didn’t know what to say. All you could do was stare down at your hands that laid flat on the wooden surface of the desk. “Boss, I can do it,” you said, your voice soft and shaky. You hated sounding so weak.

“It’s not that I don’t think you can do it, V,” he said, his voice gentle but affirmative like a father. “I’m only looking out for your safety and best interest.”

“My best interest,” you scoffed, unable to swallow back your pride or bitterness. “You and I both know that this is about what happened with Toji. You think I can’t handle this just like I couldn’t handle him.”

Your boss looks away from you, staring at his much-needed cup of coffee instead. You feel all of the air rush out of your lungs as he confirms it without confirming it.

It has been five months since your ordeal with Toji Fushigiro. You haven’t caught wind of him since he left you in that strip club, covered in his cum and completely humiliated. The walk of shame back to your apartment after receiving medical attention and a week of paid absence was even worse. You did nothing but stew in your apartment, filled with bitterness, humiliation, and revenge. You often had dreams of the crime boss, your plump body squeezed between his big arms and his muscular body on top of yours as he drove his cock into you. You would awaken in the night, sweating and your panties soaked in arousal from the flashes of that night.

Toji had ruined you, but he didn’t break you entirely. You knew that you could put the pieces back together and redeem yourself if you got on another mission, which is where Sukuna came in. If you could just convince your boss to put you on this case, you could show him, yourself, and everyone that you were stronger than the likes of Toji.

“Please, sir,” you begged. “What happened with Fushiguro will never happen again. I know what I’m doing. Have I ever failed you before?”

Your boss turned back to face you, his expression apologetic but firm. “V, it’s not that I don’t trust you,” he explains. “You’re the most overqualified agent and hit woman we have here…but what happened with Fushiguro was serious. Your health and safety was seriously threatened.” He pauses, biting his tongue. “What is it?” you pushed, your heart hammering in your chest.

He ran a hand through his graying hair, sighing to himself. “We also found out that Ryomen is a close contact to Fushiguro,” he added. “They had been in business with each other before and worked with the same clients.” He took a sip of his coffee as if to calm himself. “You’re too close to the case, V. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay out of this one and wait until we get another case to put you on.”

That was the end of it. There was no convincing him. You walked out of there with tears in your eyes and feeling exposed to the whole department as the hit woman who became a slut for a crime boss. When you got home that night, you downed a bottle of wine and told yourself that you wouldn’t let this happen. No more self-deprecating or feeling sorry for yourself. No more thinking of Toji, his dirty words, and his big, beautiful cock.

You wouldn’t allow this type of disrespect for ANYONE. So if you were going to redeem yourself, you would do it without your boss’ approval. This is for you now and you alone.

So here you are now, about to go against your boss’ wishes and the rules of your profession by inserting yourself in a case that has nothing to do with you. But you were prepared. You would find Sukuna, seduce him, and turn him into the authorities at means necessary…even if that means making him bleed.

You turn away from the mirror and look down at your vanity stool where your outfit for tonight’s event is laid out nicely for you—a strapless red dress with a slit in the thigh, a diamond set, and red bottom heels. Most importantly, a mask encrusted in diamonds sits waiting for you to put it on.

You pick up the mask and hold it in your hands, feeling the ridges of the diamonds against your fingertip. “Okay,” you say to yourself, feeling adrenaline fill your veins. “Let’s do this.”

**********

When you arrive at the ball, it is in full swing and brimming with luxury, excitement and the energy of the nightlife crowd.

The party is located downtown in a high-end, five star hotel ballroom. It is shockingly easy for you to get in, but then again, as a renowned hit woman, you know exactly how to blend in. All you had to do was slink by while the security guard posted in front of the hotel was busy with another masquerading couple.

As soon as you walk in, you are bombarded by the sound of a live band playing classical music and the aura of luxury. It is all around you—on the snack table where a crystal bowl of punch and champagne flutes sit; in the tasteful decorations of feathers, streamers, and entertainment blowing fire, making the crowd gasp; in the conversations and laughs of the guests decked out in their best designer and masks.

There are so many masks of all colors and kinds, making you blend in perfectly with the crowd. You keep your silver clutch close to your side, your little Glock hidden beneath your lipstick tube switchblade…and your lipstick. You can’t ever leave the house without your MAC.

You begin to look around the room, Sukuna’s face in your mind’s eye. You studied his appearance for days before coming here. Though you have no idea what he’ll be wearing tonight, you know that once you see him, you’ll know that it’s him.

“Drink, ma’am?” a voice suddenly asks. You jump slightly and turn around, finding a smiling waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. “Oh, yes,” you reply. “Thank you.” You give him a red-lipped smile and take one before he walks away to serve someone else. You might as well drink and try not to act so tense. Any kind of slip and your act will be exposed. You already know Sukuna’s men are slinking around here too.

You decide to walk over to one of the snack tables where a couple stands with their own snack tables, both matching in their rich, violet clothes. You give them a nod as you take a plate, lower your glass on the table, and randomly gather some cheese cubes onto your plate.

Beside you, the male in his gold mask and long, wavy hair, leans in towards his partner. “He’s in here somewhere,” he murmurs. “Keep your eyes peeled.” Immediately, you know exactly who he is. A C.O.D.E. agent. You sneakily eye him and his partner who glares at him behind her leopard-printed mask that somehow meshes with her violet gown. “And keep your mouth shut,” she hisses. “This place is crawlin’ with his men.”

You plop some veggies onto your plate and dribble on some ranch dressing, still listening. “Sorry,” the male mutters. “It’s my first mission, okay? I only got transferred to Japan just a month ago!”

The woman rolls her eyes and drops his arm from hers. “Stay here,” she sighs before she struts off in her heels. Her partner watches her go and you can feel his irritation radiating off of her. “Bitch,” he mutters before he presses down onto his left ear, obviously calling someone. Probably your boss to tell him that he hates his partner and wants to abort the mission. You nearly laugh and have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

These are the agents your boss sent out tonight to get Sukuna? Them?! This guy was just transferred a month ago from wherever-the-fuck and he’s already messing up! Even on your first mission, you knew to always keep your guard up and act the part, wherever, however.

The male walks away to a nearby table, talking as he does to your boss or someone else at headquarters. You scoff to yourself, actually offended. How could your boss send someone like this ameture on a mission? But you’d show him. You nibble on a broccoli stalk and some cheese as you begin to scan the room, nodding at anyone who passes. Your eyes pass the stage to the far left where the exit into the hotel lobby is.

There, you see him. He is chatting with two men in suits and their own masks, a glass of champagne in his big hand. Each thick finger is inked and adorned in silver rings that wink at you under the bright lights. He is big and tall—about 6’6 at least. His big frame fills out his black suit and tie outfit which is rather plain for such a gaudy party.

But the blackness of his suit makes the pink of his hair, fluffy-looking yet spiked, and his red mask pop. At first glance, his mask reminds you almost of the Devil. It’s a fitting look for him, you suppose. He isn’t flashy, but he still looks rich. Like he has no problem making such a statement with his outfit and red-bottom shoes.

But you doubt that anyone would have anything to say to Sukuna Ryomen about anything he wears.

He tugs on his right ear where several small hoops, including a cartilage piercing, hang. From where you stand, you can see that his neck is roped in tattoos as well. He says something to the men and gives them a smirk before turning and walking through the exit.

You wait until the men depart and drain your champagne before tossing your snacks away. The hunt is on now. Keeping an eye on your fellow agents, you strut across the room to the exit, paying no attention to the gents who have their eyes on your bouncing chest, thighs, and ass. You finally make it to the hotel lobby and quickly scan the area, looking for Sukuna’s broad shoulders and long legs. You immediately find him at the entrance of a bar on the right hand side chatting with a doe-eyed waitress who immediately giggles and guides him into the bar.

You follow, the click of your heels against the marbled floor egging you on. The swanky, dimly-lit bar is damn near packed when you walk in. Most of its patrons are from the ball with the exception of businessmen at happy hour and women in their finest looking to score a rich man for the night. You spot Sukuna sitting at the end of the bar and passing the bartender a twenty-dollar bill for his shot (and bottle) of whiskey. About three stools down is a plump, balding man in a wolf mask and an Armani suit, his face flushed from too much to drink.

Immediately, you get an idea. Smirking to yourself, you strut over to the bar, brazenly staring at both the wolf and Sukuna who both have their eyes on you. You sit down beside the balding wolf, giving him a small smile in greeting. You place your clutch on the bar where you wave your manicured nails at the bartender. “One martini with five olives, please,” you order. The bartender nods and begins to ready your drink.

The wolf, on his fourth or fifth Bourbon, sloppily smirks beside you. Perhaps he thinks it makes him look sexy. “Five olives?” He chuckles. “You storin’ for the winter, Ms. Red?” His eyes graze down your body from behind the eye holes in his mask.

“Just for this party,” you joke. “Why? Do you suggest somethin’ more delicious than olives, Mr. Wolf?” You put a sultry, seductive lilt into your voice, leaning your chin into your hand. You hope Mr. Wolf catches on…which of course, he does.

“If you’re interested in what’s at the snake table, sure,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. He suddenly digs into his pocket, fishing out a twenty. “Here. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t buy her own drink.”

“I appreciate that,” you giggle, taking the money from him just as the bartender returns with your drink. “How can I repay you for such a kind act?” You lean forward and press your tits enticingly against the bar to which Mr. Wolf shamelessly stares at. You think you hear Sukuna scoff behind you, making your neck feel hot. But you don’t dare turn around. Not yet.

Mr. Wolf opens his mouth to say something either dumb or lecherous, but a slender blonde in a cat mask and a skin-tight dress struts up to him. “There you are!” she scoffs, rather loud. “I’ve been calling you nonstop! You dragged me to this damn party and then you just left me alone to come drink some more?”

She is so loud that it drowns out the jazz music playing overhead, catching the eye of the others in the bar. Mr. Wolf lowers his Bourbon, sighing to himself. “Karen, please don’t start,” he mutters, seething with rage. “You begged me to take you here.”

The woman—Karen—ignores him and turns to you. “And who is this?” She demands, scowling at Mr. Wolf. “Another one of your ‘business partners’?” The sound of shocked laughs and whispers drift in the tense, musky air. Mr. Wolf looks at you apologetically as he slides off of his stool, nearly falling. “Sorry,” he whispers. You give him a smile as he walks off with his nagging…girlfriend? Wife? Sugar baby? As if hearing your thoughts, Sukuna answers them for you. “I could’ve told ya he was married,” he chuckles. His laugh is smooth and rich yet deep and lethal, like a shot of whiskey.

You turn to him, raising a brow at him as you sip your martini. “How do you know?” you question. “He didn’t have a ring on his finger.”

Sukuna chortles again as if you’re some dumb little girl he needs to school. “Don’t have to. Rings can come off, ‘specially at events like these.” He takes a sip from his shot glass, eyeing you across the rim. “There’s plenty of pretty women like yourself swimmin’ around here for the pickin’.”

His gaze is hot like fire licking across your exposed skin. The air that Mr. Wolf and his wife left tense becomes even more so. But you straighten your neck and regard him with a smirk. “Like me?” you scoff. “I doubt he could’ve even been able to afford me.”

You take another sip of your martini, leaving a red stain on the rim, before fishing out the toothpick rowed with olives. You pluck one off with your teeth, knowing that Sukuna is watching. ‘Just keep up the act. Hook, line, and sinker.’

“Sooo you’re one of those city girls, huh?” You turn to him, silently asking him to elaborate. “The kind who chase the bag and never look back at the broken hearts they leave behind?” His smirk is playful. Almost sneaky.

“Close,” you reply. You place your toothpick back in the glass and lean in to give him a shot of your cleavage. “Merchandise,” you vaguely explain, accentuating each syllable with your plump, red lips.

Sukuna carefully watches as if attempting to pick your features apart behind your mask. He leans back on his stool, smirking. “So I was right: this is a ‘pay for the night’ situation. I had a hunch.”

“Oh, you did?” you scoff. “You a cop?” He nearly snorts into his glass. “Not even close, mama,” he chuckles. You cock your head to the side, acting curious. “Then what do you do? You already have my occupation, so what kinda work got you here?”

“I thought we were talkin’ ‘bout you,” he smoothly remarks, eyeing you down. “That’s some dress you got on.” You give him a look, standing your ground. Finally, he gives in defeatedly. I’m a…man of all types of businesses. I’m kind of an arts conasor, I guess you could say. I’m big in tradin’, auctions, collectin’…” Trafficking. Criminal activity. Killing. “Cool,” you reply, nodding. “Oh, I’m V, by the way. Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

Sukuna chuckles, his crimson red alight with mischief. “Well, I know you’re fine,” he jokes. “Little spitfire, ain’t ya?” You can tell he likes your wittiness. Most men like him do. “Apologies, V. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He puts his big, ringed hand out for a shake. You take it, ignoring the zing of electricity that shoots up your arm as his fingers clasp yours. “Sukuna,” he says, his voice suddenly deeper than before. Quickly, you take your hand away and place it in your lap. If he notices, he doesn’t act like it, instead lighting himself a cigar. “Mind if I smoke?” he asks, regarding you with those blood-red eyes. You shake your head. “Not at all. So what brings you to this riveous party, Sukuna?”

Your target wraps his lip, pierced lips around the cigar, inhaling before exhaling the smoke. “Business. Money. Potential clients and partnerships. I ain’t much of a party person as I’m sure you can tell.” He gives you a smirk. “I’m guessin’ you’re here for business too?” You chuckle, liking his blunt humor. “I got a call from a regular client of mine to come here. He’s a big-time CEO—the owner of a chain of gas companies. He asked me to come here, but I haven’t seen him yet.”

You come up with the lie on the spot and make a show of looking around for your imaginary client. “Hope he’s not playin’ me out,” you huff. “He’s been generous before, but he’s also generous with other women much younger than me.”

“Well, I’d be glad to give ya some company,” Sukuna says. “Between you and me, that guy sounds like a dickhead for even invitin’ you here.” You tilt your head at him, curiously and flirtatiously. “Why is that?” you ask.

Sukuna takes another drag of his cigar, and as the smoke escapes his nostrils, he looks so much like the Devil appearing in a gray cloud to you. ‘Cause this place is crawlin’ with guys like me. And I always get what I want.” He gives you a white-toothed smile that sends shivers down your spine and suddenly, your facade slips a bit.

But not until you’re fortunately distracted. “Sukunaaaa!” someone suddenly shouts from the other side of the bar. He is in a fox mask and black suit with a red tie, standing among other powerful and rich-looking men. “Come! Play a game with us!” The other men agree, shouting him over.

You and Sukuna share a look, him looking like he wants to be anywhere but over there. “Come on,” you chuckle. “I don’t know how to play, but I’ll watch you. I can be your good luck charm.” You sip on your martini as you rise to your feet, waiting for him to follow. After some thought, Sukuna gets up, standing a whole head taller than you. “If ya say so, but be prepared for looks.”

Together, you walk side by side over to the pool table. Just as he said, you gain the curious eye of every man surrounding the pool table, cigars and drinks in hand. The entire area smells of cigar smoke and expensive cologne. Wealth. Sukuna introduces you to the men and you pretend to act flattered as the men kiss your hand and compliment you on your dress.

You stand among them and drink your martini, sizing up Sukuna and his gang. You don’t know if any of them are “his people”, but you stay on guard anyway, sipping as little alcohol as you can. You watch them play pool together, laughing when you’re supposed to and answering questions when asked but not giving too much about yourself away.

Sukuna is pretty quiet most of the time, primarily focused on the game. He is very meticulous; a strategist at pool. His long fingers twirl around his pool stick, his eyes sizing up each player and the eight balls that roll this way and that along the green table. He is good, you admit. He knows just where to shoot and how to do it, betting on each ball with the probability of an expert.

But Mr. Crane—a banker in a crane mask and dark blue suit—is on his ass having gotten close in points. He stands there laughing and joking about while Sukuna sizes him up. “Oooh, I think you’ve got some competition, Mr. Sukuna,” you whisper. “He’s winning.”

Your target grunts in disagreement. “Not for long,” he growls. “I don’t ever lose.” You hum to yourself, staring up at him through your lashes. “You sure about that?”

Now Sukuna turns to you fully and you realize just how tall he is. You have to stand back a bit to even look at him. “Do me a favor,” he purrs, his eyes hooded from the smoke. “Wager somethin’ with me.”

Your heart thunders in anticipation for his next words..but you don’t expect them even when they come out. “If I win this game, you ditch that client who stood ya up and spend the night with me.”

Sukuna’s tatted hand goes for his pocket, patting it. “And trust me, mama: I’ve got the money for it.” A shit-eating grin crosses his lips, showing you the two gold canines embedded in his lower row of teeth.

”And if you lose?” you ask, alarmed by how breathless you sound. Sukuna passively shrugs. “Then I’ll buy you a drink and slip ya the money anyway.” You take a moment to think on this. He could be lying. He could be testing you. But figuring you’ve got a weapon, you agree by clinking your glass with his. “Deal.”

Sukuna’s smile grows, almost looking joyous at your agreement. The game continues and you watch with bated breath as he and Mr. Crane go head to head. You sip your martini, not even noticing how less tense you seem from the alcohol or how bright the lights have become or how hot you seem or how Sukuna shoots the last two balls into a pocket because Mr. Crane missed. Oh, shit. You gape at the astonished player and then at Sukuna. He turns to you, prideful and giddy. “Oh, would you look at that,” he whispers. “I win.” You get a bad, bad feeling in your gut, but you ignore it. Big mistake on your part.

You swallow hard, fixing your mouth into a flirty smile. “So how would you like to spend the night with me, Mr. Sukuna?”you ask. The gangster shrugs, acting clueless. “I dunno…dancing, drinking, or your legs wrapped around my head. It’s your choice.” Suddenly, the obvious sexual tension that has been in the air erupts as soon as the vulgar words are out in the open. You feel your tongue become heavy and your nipples harden beneath your dress. You ignore it all. You can’t be hot over this criminal. Not again!

“You stayin’ here?” you ask though you already know the answer. He nods, his expression lustful. “Let’s get out of here then. I’d like to come back and get some cake from the party though.”

He nods again and lays a hand on your lower back, leading you out of the bar and into the lobby where you walk to the elevators. When you’re finally alone with him behind the elevator doors, you momentarily think about sliding your gun out of your clutch and shooting him, ending this now.

But when his hand slowly slides down your backside to grip your ass, you bite your lip and hold firm. ‘Not yet. In time.’ Finally, the elevators open up onto a hotel suite that looks more like a penthouse. There is a foyer in the middle of the room with glass tables, a private bathroom near the exiting door, plush furniture overlooking a flat-screen, and a small kitchenette with an attached island and mini-bar.

Your heels click as you walk into the suite, admiring the luxurious room. “Nice setup,” you comment. You twirl around to face Sukuna as the elevator doors shut. You’re glad you remembered to wear gloves. You don’t need to leave any fingerprints here. “It’s a little small for my tastes.” Sukuna strides toward you, reaching you in about three steps on his long legs. “But then again, I don’t use this room to sleep.”

Silently, he takes you by the hand and leads you into the large bedroom suite on the right hand side. The walls are painted an indigo blue, giving the room a calm sensation that the king-sized bed in the middle doesn’t. Two plush armchairs sit across from it near a balcony overlooking the city beyond, the moonlight shining onto the bed’s crossed ceiling and bedposts guarding each side of the headboard and the bottom of the bed.

You turn to Sukuna to say something, anything to take the edge off of you, but you’re silenced when he takes a seat at the end of the bed. He sits with his legs spread and his hands in his lap. Even from here, you can tell that he is hard—his dick print is pulsing beneath his slacks. “Take that off,” he demands. “Let me see you.”

Showtime. You lay your clutch down near your feet within arm’s reach before you reach back to slooooowly unzip your dress. The beautiful, red garment slips off of you, leaving you in your strapless corset, panties, and nylon stockings. All trimmed with lace. All sexy. You purposely chose this outfit because the corset lifts your breasts in a way that is enticing and your panties hug your ass, making it plumper and much fatter.

Sukuna gives a sharp intake of breath before he takes off his jacket and starts reaching for his tie. You chuckle though your blood runs hot. “Oh, startin’ already? I didn’t take you as the eager type.” The gangster smirks, yanking his tie off of his throat. “And I didn’t take you as a liar,” he replies.

You blink at him, startled by his words. “W-What?” you stammer. Sukuna continues to strip, unbuttoning each button on his top. “You agreed to let me do whatever I want if I win. I’m askin’ you to take off everything. Includin’ the mask.” He still gives you that humored smirk as his top comes off, revealing a tattooed chest and big, muscular arms to you roped in ink.

You can feel your anxiety peaking. Your stomach is roiling and you feel sick. “I’m not taking off the mask,” you firmly say. Now Sukuna’s smile fades. He looks confused as if he can’t figure you out. “You disobey me?” he asks.

You swallow, not liking how that sounds. “I’m just not comfortable with that. I don’t want you seeing me. It’s something I do with every client.” You keep up with your role, hoping that he’ll take that as an answer…but you’re wrong. He fixes you with a laser-hot look that you don’t like. “You sure?” he asks. “Or are you just tryna save yourself from your sinkin’ ship?”

“What are you talking about?” you snap, glaring at him. You stagger back as he suddenly gets up and walks over to the nightstand. As he does, you quickly unzip your gun and place it behind you in the waistband of your panties. Better to be ready than not at all.

Sukuna turns to you then, holding a glittering diamond wrapped in cloth in his palm. Your eyes widen at the sight of the stolen jewel from the museum. “This is what you want, right?” he asks. “This is what you’re lookin’ for?” His smirk grows into something menacing and almost mocking. “Or is it me you’re lookin’ for, V? It is V, right?”

‘Oh, my God. Not again.’

Sukuna knows he’s got you judging by the deer-in-headlights look you’re sporting on your face despite the mask. “Can I ask you what your plan was tonight?” he asks. Not waiting for an answer, he continues: “What, you thought you’d seduce me, get me up here, suck my dick a bit, and then slap some cuffs on me so you can save the day?”

He snorts at the mere thought of it, the diamond still in his palm. “Stupid girl. I know all about you. Toji and I are close in this business.” He begins to walk toward you, slowly and teasingly like a serial killer who takes joy in scaring his victims before the final kill. He told me aaall about how he used that pussy till it was sore and got away in the end.”

You grow hot at the vulgarity of his taunting words, even more so at the fact that your cover has been blown again. “So what now?” you ask, dropping the act entirely. “You gonna kill me?”

Sukuna places the diamond on a nearby dresser right where a few bottles of wine sit. “I should…but I won’t. After all, we’re up here now.” His eyes grow dark and lustful, frightening you. “So I’m gonna do just what I planned to do: I’m gonna fuck you like I paid for you.” And he definitely is a man who will act on what he says.

Quickly, you take the gun out of your panties and aim it at him. Sukuna stops moving, standing as still as a statue. “Stand back,” you growl. “You come any closer and I’ll put a bullet in you.” One finger sits on the trigger, ready to press down at any given moment.

Anyone else would cry, flinch, beg for their lives…but not Sukuna. He is as stone cold as the look in his eyes. He takes another step toward you, then another, until his chest is pressed against the barrel of your gun. “Do it,” he growls. “I fuckin’ dare you, bitch. Shoot me.”

And so you do. Despite your hammering heart and shaky hand, you pull the trigger….only to hear a click. You pull again, hearing a click. Nothing. “What?” you whisper to yourself, staring at your gun. It’s the perfect advantage for Sukuna to take, which he does by slapping you dead in your face.

With a shout, you fall to the ground, your gun clattering to the floor. You check your lip for blood, finding only smudged lipstick. This motherfucker ruined your makeup! “Slipped into your clutch while you were chattin’ with that wolffish slob,” he explains, grinning evilly at you. “You’d think a hitwoman would be a little more savvy.”

Now you’re angry. He’s insulting your intelligence. Embarrassing you. Humiliating you. “Oh, I am,” you snarl. “I was gonna go easy on you, but now…I’m just gonna make you bleed. Do not ever underestimate me, dickhead.”

You lunge at him and grab onto his belt, using all your might to yank him down onto the floor. As soon as he’s down, you place your arm over his stomach and leap onto him, straddling him. Ignoring his smile and handsome features, you raise a hand to punch him, but his hand shoots out to grab your neck.

You grunt, trying to break his hold which he uses as a distraction to pull you off of him. Back onto the floor you go with the gangster on top of you. He forces your wrists at the top of your head, his big hands gripping and pinning them down to the floor.

“Nice try,” he chuckles, his big body pressing into yours. “I’ve seen better though.”

You try to buck him off, but he wedges one knee between your plump, soft inner thighs, his belt buckle pressing into your pelvis bone. You gasp, feeling suffocated. “St-Stop!” you stammer. “Don’t—“ You’re rudely cut off as his knee glides against your crotch, giving you a spark of pleasure. A soft moan leaves your lips followed by a rush of hot embarrassment.

Sukuna notices, his crimson eyes glinting like a cat’s in the night. “Oh,” he coos. “Was that a moan, babygirl? You like this?” He rolls his hips down into yours, unfortunately causing that same spark of pleasure to explode in your core. He cackles, overjoyed by this. “Maybe this is what you came here for: to get fucked by a gangster. I’m better than Toji though. I promise you that.”

He sits fully on top of you, straddling your waist, and reaches for your clutch. “Let’s see what ya got in here, shall we?” He turns your clutch over, causing each content of it to fall out onto the floor. Your lipstick and switchblade. Your phone. Your powder compact. And a pair of silver handcuffs.

Sukuna’s brow raises in interest and he gives you a smile that makes you damn near sick. He snatches the cuffs before you can reach them and suddenly gets off of you. Before you can wonder what’s happening, he flips you over onto your stomach and begins yanking you across the floor by your ankles. An animalistic grunt leaves your lips as you try to grab onto something to slow your trip, but it’s to no avail.

So you begin trying to kick him, hitting his arm and his leg. You try to get his balls, but you end up getting his knee. “Oooh, bratty!” he cackles. “I’m gonna have some fun with you, whore. You’re dressed for the part already.”

He is rough with you now, taking great pleasure in your shouts of pain and desperation. Finally, he forces you over to the nearest bedpost and yanks on your wrists. You wriggle and squirm, trying to escape him, but you can’t do much when the cuffs are clicking around your wrists.

Clank, clank.

You panic, trying to shake your wrists out, but the chain linking the cuffs together are looped around the bedpost. You are trapped. Sukuna stands back with his hands up his hips, admiring his handiwork. “There we go,” he chuckles. “Nice and tight. You look so good for me right now.”

You turn to stare at him, on your knees and cuffed to the post. “Fuck you,” you growl. His smirk grows along with his cock in his pants. “Oh, not yet, mama, but I’m glad you’re so eager.”

You begin to scream and clatter the cuffs around, making as much noise as you can to alert someone. Anyone. But when the familiar barrel of a gun presses into your backside, you pipe down. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls. “You’re mine tonight. And if you value your job and your life, you’d better do everything I say.”

He uses the gun to press it underneath your chin and turn you to face him. “Understand?” he growls, his red eyes glaring. You know better than to argue or scream or curse. So you swallow your pride and everything you learned from C.O.D.E. training. “Y-Yes,” you whimper.

Sukuna’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree at your obedience. “‘Yes, sir’ is the correct response, but I’ll let you off this one time.” He keeps his gun in his hand, but doesn’t aim it at you anymore. “Now if you wanna do somethin’ else with that mouth besides complain and talk shit, I’ve got an idea.”

His smile fades as he watches you watch him, his gaze molten hot and lustful. You have no choice but to watch him unbuckle his pants with one hand and pull his cock out. Your eyes widen at inch at his long, thick, pulsing shaft protruding from a nest of pink curls.

“Suck my cock,” he demands, his tone firm and serious. “Apologize to me for all of the lies and deceit. Oh, and look up here while you do it.”

You feel your eyes watering and your lips quivering. Everything in you is screaming at you not to comply…but there is one part nesting in the deepest, darkest depths of your being that is interested and curious. The same part of you that emerged in that VIP room with Toji five months ago.

Swallowing your pride, you start by kissing and licking along Sukuna’s shaft, introducing yourself to his cock. He softly groans and hums in enjoyment at your ministrations, pushing his hips forward.

He does so in a way that makes his cock slip between your lips and in your mouth without your permission. You gasp as his thick cock passes the threshold of your mouth, the taste of him all over your tongue. “That’s a good girl,” he moans, using one hand to grab the back of your head.

He pushes you forward onto his dick, taking him deeper into your mouth. You force yourself to open your throat and to breathe through your nostrils in an effort not to choke. He’s about as big as Toji with a thick, bulbous head, heavy balls, and—

Click.

Your eyes tick up to see Sukuna with your phone in his face, the gun now in his pocket. How did he break your code? Did he use Face ID? His cock slips out of your mouth and you take a moment to gasp in some air. “What are you—?”

“Just givin’ you some encouragement and persuasion,” he cuts in, smirking. “After all, you need to do a good job, don’t you? And I would just hate for your boss to somehow see this if you—“

“Don’t!” you cry, tears springing into our eyes. “Fine, I’ll do it! Just don’t send anything!” You want to shield yourself from the camera eye of your phone, but you can’t. You can’t do anything.

Sukuna keeps the camera on you, the threat of pictures or videos looming over you. “Open up then,” he growls. “And don’t even think about usin’ teeth…but you’re a good, smart girl, so I doubt you’ll try it with me.”

His cock pulses in front of you and you shiver. You don’t know if it’s out of repulsion or excitement. Either way, you suck on his cock like you mean it, hollowing your cheeks to take him easier. Sukuna lets out a loud, throaty groan, one hand tangled in your hair.

“That’s it, mama,” he groans. “Take that fuckin’ cock. Y’know, you’re better at this than ya are fightin’.” He pushes in deeper, making you gag and nearly triggering that button in the back of your throat to vomit. “You should think about changin’ occupations…bein’ a little cocksucker is way more fittin’ for ya.”

He begins to fuck your face now, slowly at first, but he is still brutal and rough. You have to force yourself to keep breathing to avoid throwing up all over his dick. “You could be my little cocksucker,” he growls. “My cock slut. My whore. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

You gurgle and gag in response, your throat forced to flex around his cock interrupting its natural state. You feel as if your throat and mouth are being molded into his personal fleshlight with the way he fucks your face, grunting and groaning like a desperate man. His balls slap against your chin, filling your nose with the scent of his cologne and his cock.

You’ve never been used in such a way. You are being resorted to nothing but a toy. A hole for his own use. Saliva drips from your chin and down onto your tits, making you slick and messy…just like another part of you between your thighs. The more he fucks, the more your cunt throbs and pulses in anticipation for it to be fucked the same way.

What is wrong with you?

You can only ask yourself this question more as Sukuna’s thrusts grow rougher and stronger, his fingers digging into your scalp. “Fuck, baby,” he grunts. “You’re about to make me cum. You’d better fuckin’ take it…take it, bitch!”

Finally, with a few more brutal thrusts that steal your air away, Sukuna lets out a loud moan and cums deep down your throat. Your moans of protest and shock are muffled as his cock pushes deep, ropes of warm cum shooting down your throat.

“Take it,” he pants. “Take my fuckin’ cum. I know you want all of it.” He begins to rock his hips slowly, riding out his orgasm as he gives you more and more of his spunk. You take all of it because what other choice do you have?

When he finally pulls away, a string of cum-mixed saliva attaches itself to your bottom lip. He grips your chin, forcing you at look at him. “Show me your mouth,” he demands. “I wanna see it. Stick out your tongue and don’t let a single ounce drop.”

You do as he says, carefully sticking out your tongue so he can see the pool of cum on it. He smiles, patting your cheek. “That’s a good girl. Now swallow.” And like an obedient puppet, you close your mouth and swallow his cum before he gives you a long, wet, open-mouthed kiss that steals your breath away.

When he pulls away, he honestly looks…softer. Like he’s in love with what he sees. “Now,” he coos, wiping a drop of spit off of your lips with his thumb, “let me give you a reward for such a job well done.”

You let him grab your arm and force you onto your feet. Your body feels unbalanced and your legs are wobbly. To some degree, you’re thankful for the support of the post to hold you up as Sukuna’s big hands glide down your ass and thighs. Then, suddenly, you feel his breath caressing your asscheeks and something cool on your skin.

You realize what it is when you feel your panties slice off of your body. A knife. “Please,” you whimper. Sukuna chuckles, humored by your humiliation and fear. “Don’t fret, mama. This is just to get these panties off…if you’re good, that is.” He presses the cool metal of the knife into your thigh, making you feel the jagged edges.

“You can be a good girl for me, can’t you?” he whispers, a wicked smile in his voice. He doesn’t give you the chance to answer before lightly licking you against your slit. You gasp, your wrists straining against the cuffs. His big hands glide up to force your hips back, causing your ass to jut into his face.

Sukuna hums in enjoyment, licking and sucking away at your pussy that seems to grow wetter with every ministration of his tongue. How is he so good at this? You try to hold back your moans, but you can’t. Plus, the knife against your thigh doesn’t allow you. One wrong move or something that he doesn’t like and that knife could be cutting your skin.

So let him do as he pleases. But you don’t really have a choice either. All you can do is grip the pole you’re shackled to as Sukuna sucks on your pussy lips and swirls his tongue around your clit before he dips the muscle inside of you. Your mouth falls open on a loud moan, his soft lips cushioning your clit. Your thighs begin to quiver and you feel your body shake in pleasure.

You hate how good this feels. And you especially hate that the man you hate is making you feel this good.

Sukuna lightly pulls on your pussy lips, earning a whimper from you. “Isn’t this so much better than fightin’ me, baby?” he asks before French kissing your cunt once again. He kisses you sloppily and messily, his tongue licking and sliding this way and that. “Fuckin’ slut,” he growls, gripping your asscheek and giving it a smack. “You’re so desperate for me. It’s what you should be.”

He moves the knife to your lower stomach, pressing the tip into your lace bra. Your pulse jumps as you feel it puncture a hole in it, ruining the bra and grazing against one of your breasts. “Please,” you whine. “Please!”

Sukuna smiles, still licking and sucking your pussy with all of the vigor of a hungered man. “I like you beggin’,” he replies. “Do it again for me. Beg real pretty for me, slut.” You have no choice when he continues on slurping on your cunt and fucking your hole, his nose swiping against your clit.

“Please, please, please!” you sob. “Please let me cum!” Your begging must satisfy Sukuna because his tongue moves a little faster, his pace causing your body to quake against the restrictions of the cuffs. His hot, wet mouth causes your orgasm to wash over you quickly yet powerfully, controlling every part of your body. You let out a whine of pleasure as your cum explodes in Sukuna’s mouth, drenching his lips and chin in your juices.

The aftershocks come and your body starts writhing, causing you to grip the pole for dear life. Sukuna hums in satisfaction, cleaning you up as you writhe for him. Finally, when the aftershocks subside, you slump against the pole, your knees nearly giving out. Sukuna pulls away from you finally and lovingly strokes your ass. “Good little slut,” he coos in his deep voice. “But we ain’t done yet so you’d better get it together.”

Instantly, your stomach grows fluttery with butterflies and your core grows warm. You know exactly what is coming next. You can’t stop. You can’t avoid it. And more frighteningly, you’re not even sure if you don’t want it.

Sukuna stands behind you and places one foot between yours to widen your legs out. His knife glides up your side to your neck to come across your throat. You freeze as soon as you feel the cold metal touch your tender, warm skin. Sukuna chuckles into your ear as his other hand plays with your wet pussy. “What a thrill, huh?” he hisses. “You ain’t been thrilled yet till you’ve gotten me.”

You concur. You can’t help but to do so when he finally slides that big, thick, long cock inside of you. Slick and open from your orgasm, he slides right in and makes his home between your velvety walls. He groans into your ear while your mouth falls agape on a silent moan.

You feel stretched. You feel full. You feel used. And you feel absolutely, positively amazing. Sukuna digs his nails into the fleshy part where your ass meets your hip, his fingers fondling your tummy. “Fuck!” he grunts into your ear, panting hotly. Even he can’t get a grip on himself. Your pussy feels too good wrapped around him, stroking him of all he’s worth.

He drops the knife, no longer needing it, and your body relaxes…until the blade is replaced with his hand. “Take it,” he demands. “Take that fuckin’ cock. You know you need it.” His other hand grips your stomach, kneading the plushy, soft flesh as he fucks into your wet heat. “So let me give it to you,” he huffs. “Lemme give you everything that slutty pussy needs.”

His hips hammer harder and faster into your ass, making it quiver and recoil. Your moans are loud and high-pitched, unable to be silenced due to Sukuna’s pistoning thrusts. He fucks you like a machine, pumping in and out, out and in, his cock pulsing inside of you. “F-Fuck!” you stammer. “Wait, Sukuna! You’re going t-too fast!”

Your pussy feels like it’s going into overload, being stuffed too much and too quickly. Tears spring into your eyes as Sukuna grips your throat tighter, cutting off your air for just a moment. “Quiet!” he snaps. “Sluts don’t talk. They only take dick. They take all that’s given to them and they’re thankful for it.”

Short moans and gasps leave your lips as he continues to squeeze, still fucking you dumb. Your knees buckle and your head feels fuzzy from the overstimulation and his hand gripping your throat. The pleasure somehow mounts to astronomical heights because of this, leaving you a dumb, mindless mess.

Sukuna presses his lips to your ear, his lip ring cool against the shell of your ear. “So tell me thank you. Say “thank you, Daddy, for givin’ me that dick. Thank you for fuckin’ me so good. Thank you for makin’ me your little cock whore”.” He loosens his hold on your neck, allowing you time to breathe. But you can’t breathe. You can’t even speak. Your mind is full of cock, unable to focus on anything but Sukuna’s big thighs against yours and his dick pummeling into you.

His hand grips your neck again, tighter this time, and you gag. “Say it!” he demands, roaring into your ear. “Say the fuckin’ words!” This time, he doesn’t release your neck, so you’re forced to get the words out with his fingers pressing into your throat. Fat, wet tears drip from your lashes, wetting your cheeks behind your mask.

“Thank you!” you sob out, finally broken. “Thank you, Daddy! Thank you for giving me your dick! T-Thank you for…for…!” You trail off, your words turning into a desperate moan as you feel the knot in your core tighten.

You’re about to cum. Your target, this gangster, a lowdown, dirty criminal, is going to make you burst all over his big, fat cock as if you’re his lover and he’s deserving of all of it. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” you warn. “Please, please let me cum, Daddy! I can’t take it!”

You grip the cuffs for dear life as he fucks and fucks and fucks you. Your knuckles turn white, an indication of the pleasure you’re experiencing. Sukuna chuckles, enjoying your torture. “Aww, but the fun just started, baby,” he condescendingly coos. “You gonna cum already? Is this gangster cock just too good?” You whimper in response, your eyes fluttering closed.

Smack!

Sukuna slaps your ass hard, making it sting. “I don’t hear an answer,” he growls. His thrusts grow quick and brutal, turning your pussy into mush and making your clit sing. “Yes! Yes, it feels so fucking good!” you babble.

“Cum on it then,” he orders. “Give Daddy what he wants. Fucking cum for me now, V.” He continues this brutal, controlling pace with one hand gripping your throat and the other on your ass, drilling into your pussy and against your G-spot with all of the mercy of a sinner.

It doesn’t take long for that knot in your core to snap. “Oh, fuck!” you whine, damn near screaming for all to hear as you cum hard around Sukuna’s cock. Your orgasm hits you hard and intensely, sending you on a trip as you thrash in Sukuna’s hands and against the post.

Your pussy grips him tighter than a vice as you cream him, coating him from his cockhead to his balls in your juices. He grunts in pleasure by how tight you’ve grown, gripping and stroking him until he has no choice but to cum. Before he can, he pulls out of you and forces you down onto your knees. You’re so weak that you go tumbling down like a baby deer still weak on its hind legs.

“Look at me.” You stare up into Sukuna’s eyes, now facing the man behind the red mask. He has taken it off, revealing his handsome face and strange, tatted stripes on his cheeks. He furiously pumps his slick cock with one hand while he uses the other to rip off your mask. You’re too weak and spent to protest or fight him off.

His face grows red and glistens in sweat from the fury of his pumping, his arm tense as he jerks himself off in front of you. “Take me,” he demands. “Take my cum, my good little whore.” With a few more pumps, he finally bursts with a roar of pleasure, his head flying back as he shoots his spunk all over your face and tits.

You gasp as the warm liquid hits your face, dripping down your cheeks, lips, neck, and juicy tits, making your skin sobbing wet and sticky with him. Your breath comes out in short puffs of air as you recover from the vigorous fucking, completely spent. And ruined.

Sukuna deeply exhales, relaxed and satisfied. “Not bad, little girl,” he chuckles. “I haven’t cum that hard in a minute.” You watch as he picks up his knife and begins to redress himself like nothing happened, fastening his buttons and his belt. Like this was just a quickie and nothing more.

When he finishes, he smirks down at you as he fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket. “Look at you, all messy,” he tuts. “Didn’t your boss teach ya to clean up after yourself?”

He kneels down and begins dabbing his cum off of your face, but not your tits. You already know you look crazy—mascara dripping, lipstick smudged, foundation fucked up. You eyeball Sukuna as he finishes cleaning you up. Even when he takes the key to the cuffs out of your clutch and releases you, you still glare at him like you’re trying to kill him with your eyes.

He tuts, cocking his head to the side. “Oh, now don’t look so glum. Here, I’ve got a present for you for your hard work.” He gives you a wink before walking over to the nightstand, leaving you to recover on the floor.

Slowly, you put your dress back on, hissing at the burn of your hands and wrists from the cuffs. You do your best to keep the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks at bay. You’re almost dressed when Sukuna comes back to you and presents you with the diamond, covering it with the cloth.

You’re stunned into silence for a while, even as he places the rock in front of you and then backs away. He watches you as you watch the diamond, half expecting it to blow up or something…but it doesn’t. Immediately, you feel enraged. “So you’re gonna give me that and what? Let me go?” You laugh, dry and loud. “Was the pussy that good that now you feel bad?”

Immediately, Sukuna’s hand is wrapped tight in your hair. He grips it and yanks you up, making you shout in pain. He brings you up an inch away from his irritated, crimson eyes. “Don’t get too cocky, bitch,” he hisses. “This ain’t about how hard you made me bust or how good you looked takin’ my cock. This is about teachin’ you a lesson.”

Your body tenses and grows cold. As if sensing this, Sukuna soothes your fears. “I’m not gonna kill you,” he explains. “Instead, I’m gonna give you that stupid rock you wanted and you can explain all to your boss about how you saved the day to get it…but only you’ll know what it took. Only you’ll know how you failed again.”

He leans in, smirking. “And that cuts deeper than any knife.” And it does. Already, you feel gutted than Toji made you feel. You’re bleeding out all over the floor, humiliated. Broken. Destroyed. You have failed again.

Sukuna’s smirk grows wider and he loosens his grip on your hair. “But I like you,” he chuckles. “And I don’t like a lot of people, so I’ll throw ya a sweetener: if we ever cross paths again and you get tired of bein’ a hero, you can come kick it with me. Be my little slut and my partner.”

He leans in, giving your neck a long lick, making you whine. “How’s that sound, doll?” he whispers, stroking your cheek. You don’t answer. If anything, you feel like spitting in his face. “I’ll let you sit on it, but my offer stands. Till we meet again, V.”

He gives you a wink and releases you before fastening his mask onto his face. You watch as he turns to leave, unable to take him from behind. You’re too weak and too defeated to do so. “Feel free to use the shower!” he calls, and then you hear the elevator ding.

So you do. Once he is gone and the hotel suite is now yours, you drag yourself to the luxurious bathroom, undress, and take a scalding shower to wash Sukuna’s cum, your ruined makeup, and tonight’s mistakes off of you. You use as much of the floral-scented body wash as you can, washing, scrubbing, and rinsing until your fingers and toes are pruned.

But even that isn’t enough. When you end your long, hot shower, you feel just as dirty as when you walked into it. You then steal one of the plush hotel robes left by the shower and drag yourself back into the hotel room, leaving the floor a mess with your discarded items. The only thing you pick up is your phone.

There, several calls from your boss wait for you. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself. Is it possible Sukuna sent him something anyway? Only one way to find out.

With your mind made up and your heart pounding, you press on your boss’ contact and wait for him to answer, each dial tone making your anxiety peak. Finally, he answers. “V, Thank God!” he exclaims. “I’ve been calling you for hours! Where the hell have you been?! The agents that I put on the Sukuna case told me you’re at the party and Sukuna’s file is gone. V, are you there right now?”

You don't answer for a moment, too busy staring at the diamond sitting next to your discarded mask. Both signs of your failure. Tears begin to rise to the surface again, but this time, only one falls. You can’t fool yourself anymore.

“V!” your boss shouts. “V, answer me! Where are you right now?”

“I’m sorry, boss,” you choke out, wiping your cheek. “I’m going to have to resign.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

[hyperdramas]

1-800-got-stress | jeon wonwoo

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

warnings: non-idol au, college/professor au, slight romance (?), english professor wonwoo x teacher's assistant reader, tiny sprinkles of humor, one-sided crush (?), wonwoo is very dense when it comes to reader's romantic feelings (not really though), reader still loves him anyways, cute ending??

now playing: return of the mack, mack morrison

dedicated to: @k1eev (<3)

"After the lecture, I want you all to come see my assistant before you leave. She has the next module printed out and organized for you all." Wonwoo's deep voice is the next thing you hear once you snap back into reality, and many of the college student's eyes dart away from you as you look around, more than likely aware of how long you've been gaping at the English professor.

Jeon Wonwoo was the person always on your mind now—ever since you started as his teacher's assistant earlier this month, you've always been thinking about him.

He was everything you weren't—calm, professional, disciplined and put-together. He knew what to say and how to say it, and what to do and how to do it—you were ninety-nine percent convinced that there was nothing Wonwoo couldn't do.

Not only was he annoyingly perfect at his job, but he was annoyingly handsome too—he was handsome to a massive amount of people, students and other professors included. He had sharp eyes that seemed to grow even sharper with the perfect amount of tiredness, and hard-edged features that you had memorized now with how much you had stared at him when he worked.

Time went slow as Wonwoo talked, deep voice echoing through the lecture hall as he gave his presentation on the deeper story of Romeo and Juliet, asking his class questions as he gaged their attention span.

You thought about how nervous you would feel under Wonwoo's gaze. Your face just heated up at it, imagining how you wouldn't be able to look him in the face without feeling completely inadequate.

It was already hard for you to look him in the face, and you were his personal assistant.

"Please finish the last essay I assigned at the beginning of the month. Since we're starting a new module this Friday, I want everyone to be on the same page." Wonwoo's voice was monotonous as students started to pack their things, and you placed the stack of module papers on the desk, letting the students grab and go.

The class filtered out slowly, some staying behind to ask Wonwoo questions and garner advice from him. You watched them quietly, straightening the closet as you dipped in and out of their conversations.

You had just heard another professor enter the room, asking Wonwoo to go out with her tonight for a drink, (to which he politely refused), when Wonwoo had addressed you.

"Are you doing alright? You've looked really tired today." Wonwoo's thick, stern eyebrows are flat as he stares at you blankly, and you try to read his sharp eyes for any flicker of emotion for a quick second, giving up as you give him an awkward smile.

"Oh, I'm fine, Mr. Jeon. I'm not even tired—just a bit distracted, that's all." You reassure him, and Wonwoo nods, looking down at his watch as you finish straightening up your desk.

"You should get some rest. It's not good for you to be tired and trying to assist me, is it?" Wonwoo has a faint smile on his lips when he says this, and you try not to blush or melt under his hot gaze against your skin, fiddling with your collar awkwardly as you nod.

"Here, let me help you with those." Wonwoo's voice is directed to the stack of heavy books teetering on the end of your desk. You nod to him gratefully, allowing him to pick them up as you walk to the other side of the room, unlocking the storage closet door.

He held the books without strain, face still as he waited for you to finish putting your share of books down. Wonwoo followed you, cologne wafting in the air and drifting under your nose as he turned off the lights.

"Thank you for today. You did very well." Wonwoo's voice was sweet as he smiled at you, and you returned the gesture stiffly, making your way back to the desk as you grabbed your things.

"Of course, Mr. Jeon. You did well too, I mean—you did well with the lectures and everything. You teach everything in such a fresh way, it's tough for anyone to not be compelled or interested in what you're teaching." You were a sucker for Jeon Wonwoo, and it was starting to show more and more now—how were you supposed to be normal about him?

"It takes a lot to make the lecture engaging and informative, so I'm glad you think that of me. Many students call me the boring teacher." Wonwoo's voice is lighthearted as he finishes straightening up his desk, and you chuckle, mostly at the absurdity of his words.

"You're quite the opposite of a boring teacher, in my opinion. Your stories and explanations are way more animated than the textbooks could be." Were you showering your superior-turned-crush with embellished compliments? Yes. Did you want him to notice?

...Not really.

"You sure do have a lot to think about me, don't you?" Wonwoo's voice is still playful, even if it has a neutralness to it. You blush slightly at his words, earning a smile from Wonwoo as he smiles. "I'm just teasing you. I appreciate everything you say to me."

A slight pink tint to Wonwoo's cheeks brings an even brighter one to yours, and the two of you fall silent, obviously sensing something between you. Wonwoo's eyes rake over your form, and you shyly look up at him, dark brown eyes behind his frame still making you warm inside as you sigh (dreamily and deliriously, as you might add).

You had made Wonwoo—Professor Jeon Wonwoo, the boring, scarily neutral English professor—blush from your compliments. You would be wallowing in your achievement if you weren't also blushing at the moment.

"Well, I, uh—" You stumble over your words, also stumbling over your book as you pick it up from the floor. Wonwoo watches you quietly, glasses sliding down his strong nose bridge slightly as he watches you head towards the door. "I should get going. It's getting late, and I have to be back here early tomorrow."

"I'll walk you to your car." Wonwoo nods, following suit as he slips his jacket over his broad shoulders and picks up his briefcase. His dress shoes hit the wooden floor as he follows after you, and he turns out the light, leaving you two engulfed in darkness for a few seconds as you stumble back, stepping on Wonwoo's foot.

He grunts harshly under you, and you scramble back, lights in the hallway illuminating your embarrassed blush. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

Wonwoo just smiles again, smile lines sending butterflies that go straight to your stomach. "No worries. You couldn't see because of me, and I'm sorry." His cologne is so strong and so him you can't think straight, but you do your best to string your words together.

"Well, Mr. Jeon, I'll see you tomorrow," The two of you had just left the building, now by your car as you unlock the door. Wonwoo watches you with sharp eyes, clearing his throat as you turn to him.

"If—If you'd like, we should converse over dinner sometime. Not as coworkers, but as good friends." Wonwoo's sentence brought a rude awakening to your world, and you stood in shocked silence for a second, processing what he said to you as you blinked blankly.

Wonwoo considered you to be a good friend—you would have never told by how unfazed he was by most things, but he considered you to be more than a coworker or partner. He saw you as a friend. A good friend who was asking you to dinner.

"Yeah, we—we should, Mr. Jeon." You agree, and Wonwoo clears his throat, sharp eyes daring away as he adds, "Oh, and you can call me Wonwoo. We're comfortable with each other now, so we can drop the formalities."

Not only were you Wonwoo's good friend, but you were such a good friend you could now call Mr. Jeon by his real name, Wonwoo. Too many green flags were going off in your head, but could Wonwoo sense he was giving you all these green flags? It only made your crush on him worse.

"Well, I'll get going, Wonwoo." Even his name on your lips felt sweet, and Wonwoo nodded, giving you a small wave as he closed your car door.

"Until tomorrow." He smiles softly again, and you melt into your seat, smiling as you nod back. "Until tomorrow."

feedback & reblogs are appreciated! love u lyrnation <3

[babybratzmaraj]

You Don’t Know My Name

Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond

You as Yourself

Summary: Today was the start of your day which already wasnt worth a lick of shit, but what if someone changes that?

A/N i gave the nigga a full name, yall gone see, but SURPISEEE! @megamindsecretlair you clocked me and it is Mr Terry that was in the coming soon, hope you enjoyed yet another cameo in this series and i hope you like it!♥️ also @violetmuses ik i gave you this idea, but i stole it back and i hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: Nothing, just pure cuteness and family time.

For Boosted Experience, Heres the Official Soundtrack. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2K7IeGXgQq7K16YP1Jb7yN?si=UCA3v7yZQieKWNRrBg0wdA&pi=u-4AXbUCgzR42u

Your eyes fluttered open at the annoyance of your alarm clock blaring in your ear, you looked over to see it was 7:45, 45 minutes past your time to get ready for work.

Over today already, you slammed your hand onto the clock, not giving a damn if the thing broke or not. You looked outside to see the sun’s beautiful attempt to wake the people of Earth, the vibrancy of the colors making you jealous that you have to work at 9:30 but choose to get up to prep for it.

You glanced in the mirror and almost gave yourself seven years of bad luck, The one time you take your braids out is the day you decide to get five more minutes of sleep, Luckily, you washed and blow-dried it the night before, so it shouldn’t give you a hassle, but your hair never agrees.

You turned off the alarm clock before the snooze timer exploded your eardrums, grabbing your phone to put on your get-ready-for-work playlist.

Summer by Kenya Vaun blasted through your pink headphones, enjoying the outside before heading to work which would take the whole song, but it was just a nice way to start today.

The vibrant colors scrambled away as the blues paraded throughout the sky, the clouds playing tag and creating little symbols and animals, you could stand still and watch the sky all day and not get bored, even the heart-shaped cloud winking down at you.

You approached your job with a fake smile, Westside Diner! Home of one of the best coney dogs in your opinion, the 1950’s 1950-inspired diner was filled with memorabilia from the past and fifties like decor, you admired how much time and effort was put into making the wonderful restaurant if only there was one for us black people.

You scurried across the street, smelling the breakfast scents that lingered out into the air and slapping you dead in your negro nostrils, envy filled your body towards the people who were enjoying themselves at this establishment.

Pushing open the door, the door suddenly became lighter, shooting your hands forward as you braced your fall, an arm flung around to catch you, a small ‘oof!’ flew from your mouth.

‘Please get off me, I’m finna clock out’ You said calmly in your head, closing your eyes to not see if there were any witnesses.

Your despair was vocal enough that a deep chuckle shook you straight, “No one saw it,” he said, low enough to be quiet as a church mouse. You turned around to see if the voice matched the face and whew!

This fine… Heaven sent of a man completely towering over you, he sported a brown sweater with khakis with black dress shoes with a gold buckle on the side, gold gracefully complementing his skin tone, and not too much gold to wear it drowns the color from his eyes, good lord his eyes! as ethereal as the sky.

“Alrighty buttercup,” you snapped your head around to see Ms. Olaynika, the manager and your third mother you have collected like a Pokemon. She snapped her fingers and hurried you, “It’s 8:54, Times’a ticking and food is ready to go in stomachs!” she finished before going back to her table like she didn’t just rush you, the professionality, you loved it.

“Thank you, hope you enjoy your day.” You thanked the man before scraming away from him.

“So you mean to tell me,” Your best friend Nicole stood there with a face with her arms crossed with her eyebrows scrunched up and away like her braids, “You had this fine ass man who saved you from embarrassment, held you for a long time, and had nice eyes?”

You smiled while rolling your eyes, “I just know that isn't what all you got from that.”

“No!” She tilted her head to the side as her voice went up an octave higher than normal, “I’m just saying I don't know how you standing right here talking to me instead of going downtown.”

“I wish, but I need a ‘you deserve it’ weekend, I’m tired of being cooped in the house.” you sighed walking up to the counter with Nicole trailing you. “I can’t have Mr. Bigshot to distract me.”

“You know that’s a damn lie,” she told you in a sing-songy voice, “You gone think about him all day and that's ok! You deserve that along with your ‘you deserve it weekend’.”

She was right, but you couldn’t let her know that she wouldn’t let you hear the end of it even after your shift. You checked the notebook to see whose section was where and when the time switch was. “And how do you know he finna be on my mind?” You asked without looking up from the notebook.

“Because he is currently, at your section, Have fun!”

You finally looked up from the scribbled on paper to see that he really was in your section, his glasses placed on the tip of his nose, his gaze fixated on the book, and he had a good pick! White Smoke by Tiffany D. Jackson, Your smile flipped inwards as you admired his taste in books.

You straighten your posture, checking if your shirt was ok and decent for the eyes to absorb. You pranced towards his booth with a smile on your face, clicking your pen to hide the fact that you were absolutely scared to talk to this man without your stuttering sneaking through the flaps of your mouth.

You stated your name with a smile and snuck glances at his book. He was at the part where Marigold was sneaking around her mom and her stepdad to make her very own weed farm, but it was destroyed by something or someone? Who the fuck knows, you never got to finish, maybe you can go to the library soon to catch up on it.

“Passionate reader huh?” He asked, noticing your desperate attempts to read along with him. You hid your smile behind your notepad, “You caught me, That is my favorite author, even though I only finished one book.”

“Really?” His eyebrows were hunched, sticking a napkin in place of a bookmark. “Yes! The book was called ‘Grown’. It was such a lovely book and-” You started to ramble about the book but you’ve realized, you don’t get paid for sharing interests, you get paid for working.

“What would you like?”

“Oh, you can’t do that to me.” he covered his heart as if he was just insulted, “You can’t leave me like that, I wanted to hear about this book.”

“Maybe if we meet again, I do look better outside my work clothes,” you joked and he laughed, your toes spazzing out inside your black Nike huaraches, He laughed! And he had a nice one, a very cute one along with his ear-to-ear smile.

“Coffee, Please, and whatever food you think I would enjoy.”

“Ooooook.” You jotted down his order, “And how would you like your coffee?”

“Sweet, Like you.” he winked.

“Give me 5 minutes and I’ll be back with your coffee.”

It’s been 20 minutes since you last gave Mystery Man his meal. Since he let you be the judge of what he ate, you gave him one of your favorites at this diner! The Western Omelette with crispy hash browns on the side with a smiley face in ketchup. While waiting at other tables, you observed him nervously, scared that he might not like your selection of breakfast foods, that you put too much sugar and whipped cream in his coffee, which you also made a smiley face on as well, he had you anxious and you didn’t like it, he was a cute stranger after all.

After a while you sucked it up, shaking your jitters away as you walked up to his booth. “Everything alright with your order?”

“Mm!” He signaled you to wait for a little minute as he took a sip of his coffee, licking his lips as he gently set the mug down, “I loved it, the hash browns may be my new favorite here.”

You felt relieved, your muscles that you didn’t even know were tensed eased, “I’m glad I can make your morning better! Would you like anything else?”

“Uh, A To-Go Box and a Fruit Punch To-Go please.” He smiled, grabbing a napkin to dab the sides of his mouth.

“I can start on the fruit punch and if you want, you can follow me to ring out your order.”

“No need,” he said, digging into his pocket and handing you his black card. This nigga is fancy.

You looked at the card almost dumbfounded. You never really saw a black card, only heard about it from Fabolous and movies and shit, but never seen it in person.

You carefully grabbed his card from his hands, “I’ll be back.”

You walked away and checked on your other table that wanted your attention before him. Making sure everyone was ok with their needs met, you walked to the cash register, punching in his food and coffee, sneaking a peek at the name on the card, Terrance Richmond. A sophisticated name for a sophisticated man, a wonderful sight to see.

You slid the card with the receipt into your waist apron as you asked one of your co-workers to ring in a new customer while you started on his fruit punch with light ice. The fruit punch here was delicious and it didn’t need to be watered down with hella ice.

Swiftly grabbing a To-Go box on your way out, you happily waddled towards Terry’s table. “Your Box, Punch and,” You dragged your last word as you pulled out his card and receipt out the apron, “Card, Mr. Richmond.”

“Oh! I see you snuck a peek for my name, it's only right I know your full one.” he teased you as he examined the paper.

“I don’t get paid for that, I get paid to service you.” you teased back as you can only hope you get to do that for free.

You gave him your pen and pointed to the line below the total, “Since you did pay with card, You need to sign here, for fraud protection purposes. While you do that, I shall be back with your copy.”

He silently thanked you, his smile growing wider and more innocent. You looked around and made eye contact with Nicole, making matching faces as you two met at the counter.

“Sooooo,” she started, “How’s Tall, Black, and Lightskin?” she asked as you covered your mouth, silently howling in the semi-busy environment around you two. “He has a name, it’s Terrance.”

“I’m not calling him that long ass name!” she huffed as she rang in her customer's order, “That nigga name will be Mr. Pretty Eyes.”

“Terrance too long of a name but Mr. Pretty Eyes is just right? Kinda backwards shit is that Yoda?”

“Care about that shit, I do not!” she perfectly said in Yoda, causing you both to snicker, tapping each other on the shoulder. “Plus must I remind you of that alien ass nigga you had a crush on in 6th-”

“Eugh!” You verbally voiced your displeasure with yourself, his face just flashing into your head. “We don’t speak about that vermin.”

Nicole threw her hands up, taking a pen from the clean cup to scratch her head full of braids. “Aw, Shit. I gave him my pen.” you reminded yourself scooting past her to go to his booth but he was long gone, all that was left was his fruit punch, your pen, and a 50 dollar bill. The writing on the cup said ‘Enjoy Yourself:)’. You looked around for his silhouette, but he was long gone, you smiled at his nice gesture of leaving you a fruit punch.

What a way to start off your morning.

Home, 8 pm,

You closed your eyes as your bed welcomed you back into its arms, the savory smell of chili floating around in your room.

You finished your shift with ease after your little encounter with that man. That’s rude, his name is Terry, Terrance, but permanently Terry. You have got to stop beating yourself up over something small.

But it wasn’t small, everything that flowed off that man was so intoxicating, a mystery in a good book or show that you just want to solve, but not so quickly, you needed some fun in your life.

After your shift, You and Nicole walked to your house to talk for a few and according to her, you were a daydreamer. Every few minutes or so, you would zone out, even her calling you Buttercup didn’t snap you out, and that’s close to an army vet being awoken by ‘At Ease’.

You denied it but you definitely were. You just couldn’t stop thinking about how his reading voice is, Was he gentle? Was he passionate? Would he carefully rub the pages before turning? Does he lick his index to turn it? Many outcomes, Many Possibilities.

A tickling sensation jolted you out of your trance, your eyes zapping to the culprit, which was your grandmother, “I’ve been yelling your name Cupcake!” she sarcastically smiled, waving the clean black spoon around like a mad woman.

“Sorry Mama Moonie,” You bounced to your feet, grabbing your phone off the bed before extending your arms towards her.

“Yeah, Yeah. When we get to this table you gone tell me what boy got my baby acting like she’s Tiana.” she pointed the spoon in your face, giving you an up-down before she walked away leaving you speechless. “Who said it was a boy!”

You trailed behind her as she grabbed two navy blue bowls out of the cabinet, peering at you like you must’ve forgotten who she was.

“Cupcake lemme tell ya,” she started, ready to tell you information you already knew by saying:

“I have been on this earth for 63 long ass years, that's 6 decades’ worth of knowledge compared to the few you have. You don’t think I have had those experiences where a man would have me ina spell! His aura haunts you in a way that makes you paralyzed, the masculinity he possesses within himself, and to not be an asshole in the same breath. I could go all day but you don’t wanna hear about my pussy being wet.”

“MOONIES!” you yelled as she started howling, your body shuddering at the thought of- That! But she is always so blunt in everything she does, you have no choice but to love it.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, swatting her laughter away, “But I’m saying, I’ve been there, so you might as well spill that tea before I clock that tea.” she finished, hitting the spoon on the pot before turning around with two full bowls of chili as she headed to the table.

“I have got to get you off of instagram reels,” you said aloud, popping the top on the pot and running water on the spoon before placing it over a towel to dry. turning around to see her shimmy into her way into the dark oak dining chair, her hands await yours.

“Let me grab crackers, I’ll join in a second.” you hurriedly opened the cabinet to grab the open box of ritz crackers, your feet shuffling to the left and the right before shimmying yourself into your seat, setting your crackers next to your bowl as you joined hands with Mama Moonies as you bowed for prayers.

“Lord I thank you for returning us to our safe and humble domain, may the food we are about to eat gives us the nutrients we need and the energy to finish our day strong, Lord I ask you for anything we don’t feel like talking about, to be in your hands, bless us with what we need, rid us of what we don’t. Lord, I also ask you to let our questions that need to be answered, be the answers that keep us sane. In Jesus name, Amen.”

The prayer ended and the tea quickly began to be spilled. You told Mama Moonies about everything, the one thing you loved about dinner time in this house, it was a time of love and happiness to be spilled around, with a lil bit of judgment here and there, but all harmless.

You told her about how the man basically saved you from embarrassment, wanted to know more about you, even made you get your own drink with a tip and a message, even telling her how you hoped he would become a regular. Her face stuck on a smirk as she downed her chilli. “Oh what Mama!” you exclaimed after having enough of her looks and giggles from time to time.

“Seems like you have a crush.”

“That I don’t!” Yes you did.

“You definitely do, and I don’t blame you, because you are either that or delusional, and my baby ain't that bullshit!” Welllllll.

“That man looks nice, is nice and the pockets right, of course I’m not saying you should go for his pockets, that would be wrong. But go for your heart child, open yourself, be free!” Moonies smiled as her arms expanded as big as the galaxy she was imagining, her wrinkled hand resting peacefully on yours, rubbing your knuckles with tender care. “I know you are shy, but it’s time to let it be known that you are here! be known that you deserve love and hey! God will bless you with a man, or that man. And hopefully, he packing.” Moonie's bluntness slipped out at the end, filling the room with belly laughter.

As the laughter died down, so did the food, bellies protruding out of their correct spots. “I’ll clean up, you go take a shower and enjoy your evening.” Moonies pat your hand, swiftly taking your bowl without your knowledge.

“You don’t have to!” You protest but she shot through your sign with a glare that will make a christian do Satan's stare. “Enjoy the rest of your night. I shall see you in da murrning!”

You blew a kiss towards her direction, pushing yourself up as itis started to race with your energy, and your energy was losing, but at least you can spend what you have left daydreaming about Mr. Richmond, something tells you that wasn’t your last time seeing him.

You Got Mail!: @megamindsecretlair @thecapodomme @harmshake @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @kimuzostar @yaachtynoboat711 @miyuhpapayuh @nayaxwrites @planetblaque @darqchilddaydreamz @henneseyhoe @slippinninque

[otomehoneyybearr]

Kagari Amagase

Things I can Only Do With You at Night: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Card

A few days later—I found myself running around town alongside Prince Kagari.

Emma: "Good work out there! I’ve placed the signs and flyers in the designated locations!"

Kagari: "I’ve picked up the supplies. I’ll leave them here."

The corner of an inn serving as the festival’s operations headquarters was overflowing with packages.

A staff member at the counter poked his head out, bowing repeatedly as he rushed over.

Man: "Thank you so much! You’ve been a great help."

Man: "I must admit, I was startled when Prince Kagari arrived, but having extra hands is always welcome."

Man: "Still, Miss Emma, you’re a visitor from another country. Are you sure you’re okay with this?"

Emma: "Yes! In fact, helping out is a great way to learn more about the town, so it’s a win-win for me."

Kagari: "You seem like the type who gets taken advantage of easily."

Emma: "…Are you really one to talk, Prince Kagari?"

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Kagari: "Among all the regions in Kogyoku, my territory is relatively the safest. It even attracts a fair number of tourists."

Kagari: "Even if this festival is small in scale, it has more liveliness and entertainment than festivals in other territories." Kagari: “Which is why—you’re going to help with the festival preparations, Princess."

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

Emma: "If you’re going to say that, then I’ll demand five dorayaki as payment instead of just one!"

Kagari: "...? Who said anything about one? I was planning to give you twenty."

Emma: "That’s way too many for me to eat!"

Kagari: "Then I’ll help you eat them. Problem solved, right? No leftovers to worry about."

Emma "But it’s supposed to be MY reward. Isn’t this just benefiting you, Prince Kagari?"

Man: "Haha, you two get along well. Still, I’m surprised Prince Kagari has a girlfriend!"

(Ah… there it is again…)

I’d already heard that comment dozens of times since arriving in town, but I still wasn’t used to it.

Emma: "Um, no, we’re not a couple."

Man: "Really? Then are you long-lost siblings? Or newlyweds, maybe…?"

Kagari: "None of the above."

Man: "I see… It’s just unusual to see Prince Kagari with a woman, so everyone was talking about it…"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Prince Kagari sigh quietly, looking slightly annoyed but still expressionless.

Kagari: "It’s always the same kind of talk wherever we go. It’s starting to feel tedious correcting them."

Kagari: "Maybe it’d be easier if I just made it true."

Emma: "Th-that’s obviously not an option!"

Kagari: "Relax, it’s a joke. Don’t take it so seriously. Your face is red."

(He’s teasing me!)

Kagari: "Still, even if I correct them, people might assume you’re my favorite which might actually be more convenient that way."

Emma: "Huh?"

Kagari: "Let’s go, Princess. We still have work to do."

Emma: "Oh, right."

(He brushed past that like it was nothing, but what does he mean by ‘favorite’…?)

(And why is he okay with the townspeople thinking I’m this…?)

Even if it didn’t matter to him, the thought left me feeling awkward and self-conscious. I’d need to steel myself every time I walked through the town from now on.

(Come to think of it, why did Prince Kagari ask me to help with the festival preparations?)

(From the conversation with the kids earlier, it didn’t seem like they were short on people…)

As I mulled it over, I walked toward a pile of wooden crates and checked a sheet of paper nearby.

(Next, we’re supposed to deliver these supplies to the sweets shop… Oh.)

As I reached for one of the crates, a hand appeared beside me and effortlessly lifted the crate away.

The crate should have been filled with heavy items like flour and fruit, yet Prince Kagari’s expression remained composed.

Kagari: "Your job is to guide me to the sweets shop, Princess."

Kagari: "You’ve been running around all morning, so you should know the way by now."

Emma: "Understood. Um, thank you."

The sudden subtle kindness made my heart skip a beat.

At the same time, I couldn’t ignore the stares from the people busy with the festival preparations.

(…It really feels like everyone’s convinced I’m Prince Kagari’s ‘favorite.’)

The destination for the delivery was the shop owned by the family of the boy I had met at the dojo.

Boy: "Miss, you were so excited about the festival, but you didn’t get invited by Teacher, huh?"

Emma: "I never wanted him to invite me, nor did I want to go with him, you know."

Boy: "…Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right."

While I waited outside for Prince Kagari and the shop owner to finish their conversation, the boy gave me a look of pity.

I swallowed the faint frustration I felt.

Boy: "Oh!"

As if suddenly remembering something, the boy dashed inside the shop and quickly returned.

He handed me a long, slender wooden box.

Boy: "Here, take this. These sakura sparklers are sold a lot during festivals here in Kogyoku."

Boy: "They might not seem like much to us, but they could be something unique for someone from another country."

Emma: "Wow, how pretty! Thank you!"

When I opened the lid of the box, I found several delicate, pink-colored sparklers inside.

(I’d heard about these from the owner, but this is my first time seeing them.)

The tips of the thinly twisted paper were filled with gunpowder, and each handle was adorned with a single sakura flower.

Boy: "Oh, by the way, did you know?"

Boy: "There’s a legend in Kogyoku that—"

.....

(A legend in Kogyoku.... I wonder what is was?)

Just as he was about to explain, Prince Kagari stepped out of the shop, and I didn’t get to hear the rest.

On the day of the festival, the town was bustling with excitement.

Lanterns adorned with sakura patterns and rows food stalls lined the streets, filling the town with vibrant colors and happy faces.

Carefully navigating through the crowd, I wandered from stall to stall, soaking in the atmosphere of the Kogyoku festival.

Stall Owner: "Here you go. One extra skewer of dango, on the house!"

Stall Owner: "Is Prince Kagari not with you?"

Emma: "No, I haven’t seen him today."

(I thought I might have the chance to bump into him, but finding him in this crowd seems impossible.)

(Actually, knowing how busy he is, he might not even be here.)

Suppressing the inexplicable sigh welling up inside me, I thanked the stall owner.

Stall Owner: "Miss Emma, here’s another skewer, on the house! Eat up and enjoy the festival to your heart’s content!"

Emma: "Thank you so much! I’ll enjoy it!"

(This feels more like a consolation gift.)

I accepted the dango, feeling both happy and slightly apologetic, and slipped away from the stall.

.....

Finding a quiet back alley to avoid the crowd, I began savoring the food I’d bought at the stalls when—

Kagari: "You’re eating that with real enthusiasm, Princess."

Emma: "gulp… Cough…! Pr-Prince Kagari!?"

I looked up in shock as Prince Kagari suddenly descended from the rooftop without a sound.

I should’ve been happy to see him, but his sudden, stealthy arrival startled me so much I nearly choked.

(He’s a prince, but he moves like a spy.)

Before I could recover, he casually grabbed my arm and took a bite of the skewer of colorful, sweet bean-paste-topped dango I was holding.

Emma: "Don’t steal bites of my food!"

Kagari: "You’re the one who made it look so delicious. You’d make an excellent food advertiser."

Kagari: "Here, finish the last bite before it gets cold."

Kagari: "Or would you prefer me to feed you?"

Emma: "I can manage, thank you."

(…From the way he’s acting, he probably doesn’t even think twice about this kind of thing.)

I glanced at the now slightly nibbled dango, steeling myself to eat the last bite.

The heat rising in my cheeks made it hard to focus on the flavor.

Kagari: "Are you enjoying the festival?"

Emma: "Yes! The sakura-themed food and decorations are adorable, and the unfamiliar music makes it more exciting!"

Emma: "Also, the shopkeepers were incredibly kind and gave me more than I could ever eat."

Kagari: "The people in this territory are naturally friendly and generous. They’re the type who thrive on camaraderie."

Kagari: "Looks like you’ve been well-received, Princess."

Emma: "That makes me happy to know that."

Prince Kagari’s eyes softened slightly with satisfaction as he reached into his pocket.

Kagari: "Here, take this."

Emma: "Huh?—Mmph!"

Without warning, Prince Kagari gently cupped my chin, prying my mouth open with his thumb before tossing something inside.

(Huh…? Candy? Wait, this flavor…)

Kagari: "It’s a dorayaki-flavored candy. I had it specially commissioned and supervised its production myself."

Emma: "Your passion for dorayaki is truly impressive."

Emma: "The flavor is spot-on. If it were a product, I’d definitely buy it."

Kagari: "It’ll be on sale at the confectionery shop starting tomorrow. Make sure to support it."

As the candy melted on my tongue, the taste of dorayaki spread in my mouth, creating a strange yet delightful sensation.

(I should stop by and buy some tomorrow.)

(I knew Prince Kagari loved dorayaki, but to go so far as to create a candy… I underestimated him.)

(He’s the type to pour himself entirely into the things he loves.)

Emma: "Wait… Prince Kagari?"

When I looked up, Kagari had vanished without a trace.

The lingering taste of the candy reassured me that the events just now were real, even though his sudden departure left a strange sense of emptiness.

(I guess he was on duty after all.)

(Maybe he called out to me because he happened to see me…)

(If so, I’d be happy...though that’s probably not it.)

Shaking off my hopeful thoughts, I felt a small pang of loneliness as the candy melted away.

(...It’s so quiet now.)

Prev | Next

▼・ᴥ・▼

[jhilsara]

Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights

Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader

Pairing: Fem!reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: A year after you meet Spencer and become friends, life continues to throw curve balls. A hot summer with a broken AC, another festive Halloween, and many of your southern quirks to keep Spencer's spirits high.

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: Canon typical BAU themes, sick family members, Mentions of Emily Prentiss funeral

Previous|Next

The one where Spencer cuts his hair   

Summer is so close and you’re already feeling the heat. To be fair, the giant windows don’t really help the temperature of the store when it’s been hours of the sun beating down. Or that the sun's staying up until your shift starts now. Unlike in the fall and winter when it’s dark by six in the evening. Your shift always starts so warm and humid, the electric bill is already skyrocketing and it’s not even July yet.  

Not to mention summer is the busy season outside of the holidays. So many students are free for the summer and pinning for activities. You sigh knowing you need to start planning for that.   

You're fanning yourself with a handheld fan when the doors chime open.   

“Welcome to the Midnight Owl, let me know if-” you cut yourself off with a loud gasp as you see who’s entered.   

“Spencer Reid, you cut your hair!” you hurry around the front desk counter to look him over.   

Spencer’s face lights up with an embarrassed flush. His hands wring the straps of his worn leather bag.    

“It was just getting too hot for the length...” He tries to justify.   

“No no no! It looks good! I’m just surprised is all.” you reply with a tease. your hand twitches and you stop yourself from ruffling his hair. His pout was enough to keep your teasing to a minimum.   

He scratches the back of his head nervously. Averting his gaze from your piercing eyes.   

You bite your lip holding back a snicker, you know he’s probably been teased all day, so you give him a break. You don’t know exactly what Spencer does for his job, but you do know he and his coworkers are close. So, you aren’t surprised that he already feels a little self-conscious. You're sure they teased him to death.   

“It looks great Spencer.” you say softer, “Very handsome.” you smiled in affirmation.   

If Spencer wasn’t red before he surely was now. His hands tighten on his satchel bag and his eyes quickly look down before shifting back up.  

“Thanks.” He murmured quietly.   

“You’re drinks on me today; you look like you’ve been teased enough.” you say making your way to the drink counter.   

“Thanks, you have no idea...” he replied with a roll of his eyes and a small smile turning his lips.  

Spencer looks around and notices the shop is pretty empty tonight, no regulars, just him. Not even a random patron perusing the isles. Even the music playing overhead seems quieter than normal. He’s a bit thankful for that.  

You're making his drink, which you are giving him your homemade sweet tea. It’s far too hot for his normal hot coffee, no matter what he protests. You’ve put enough sugar in the tea to satisfy Spencer’s sweet tooth. Plus, you’re not sure he’s ever had traditional sweet tea.   

You come around the corner and hand him a glass as well as one for yourself. You look over Spencer who’s standing in his work clothes, cardigan and all and you make a mild face of disgust.   

“It’s too warm in here for you to be wearing that. It’s gonna be hotter than hell this week and I need a better air conditioner unit.” Your accent seeps through every word and Spencer finds himself smiling into his drink before he can even bother to respond.   

“I see your face Spencer, I don’t wanna hear it about my southernisms.” you point an accusing finger at him. “I’m serious about how hot it’s gonna be. These windows make the whole store like a greenhouse!” you mumble in irritation.  

Spencer just finds himself laughing and shaking his head. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just a little ridiculous how the windows are the bane of your existence.”   

You roll your eyes and places your hands on your hips, “It’s not the windows, it’s summer.” you said the season like it’s personally offended her. Making a blegh noise along with it.   

Spencer raises a brow at that, “What did summer ever do to you?” he asked.   

You raise a brow, “Listen, you try growing up in the Georgia heat and humidity your whole life and you tell me how you feel about summer. Especially swamp ass, do you know what swamp ass even is Spencer?” you say in a huff.   

Spencer snorts and almost spits out his sweet tea. “Excuse me?” his voice pitches in disbelief.   

“It’s the foulest experience where you sweat so much it soaks down your back. So, imagine that every summer of your whole childhood.” you state with a face of disgust.  

Spencer can only find himself laughing at how intense you are.  

“I’m so serious, there’s a reason I moved away from the pit of Satan's armpit, okay?” you hiss out in mild annoyance.   

“I thought it was so you had better doctors for your dad?” he accuses with a raised brow.  

You shrug nonchalantly and drinks from your sweet tea again, “That too.”  

“Come on, it won’t be that bad. Besides you actively only get the sun in these windows for an hour, maybe two tops. You work the night shift.”   

You glare at him, it’s not serious, but Spencer is trying very hard not to laugh. “Go look at the thermostat then and tell me what is says versus what it’s on.” you demand gesturing to the wall behind you.   

He rolls his eyes at your dramatics but does as you’ve asked. Spencer walks behind to look over the temperature. “It’s on 78.”   

“Yeah? What is it set to Spencer?”   

“...68.” he murmurs.   

You slam your hands on the counter, “That’s a ten-degree difference! It’s too hot!”  

You slide dramatically to the ground and release a fake sob. “I’m gonna burn up in here, melt like the wicked witch of the west!”   

Spencer crosses his arms as he stands above you, “Maybe, have you thought of purchasing a box fan?” he questions.   

You look up at him, your eyes brimming with fake tears. He’s actually impressed by your commitment to this. You would have been a wonderful stage actress.  

“My last one didn’t survive the whole summer, and it only works if I stay behind the counter... Spencer you know I move around too much!” you whine.   

“Have you tried changing the unit filter?”  

You stop being dramatic and stand up quickly. “I just assumed Josie did... oh my god, I’ve never once looked at the filter.” you murmured.   

You excuse yourself to go into the back and check the closet. Spencer stays up at the front leaning against the desk, his arms crossed as he just shakes his head in disbelief.   

“Oh my good GOD! Eeeewww!!”  

You come bolting back around and grab your phone, quickly typing out a text message.   

“Spencer it’s pitch black I don’t think anyone’s ever changed it!” You look sick in the face; pale as can be.   

“Oh my god, I need to wash my hands, I didn’t even touch it, but Jesus Christ was that disgusting.” You quickly shuffle past him and go to the bathroom, scrubbing away at your hands.   

Spencer spends the next five minutes doubled over laughing at how dramatic you are. Until you makes him go look at the filter. Then he was the one scrubbing away at his own hands in disgust.   

He’s at least ninety percent sure he saw a moth staring back at him.  

-  

It’s July and you’re still suffering. While changing the filter of the bookstores AC unit helped, it still didn’t fix the greenhouse problem.   

You're at the front, box fan at your feet, fanning yourself with a hand fan, a giant cup of ice water from the cafe area, and you’re reasonably stripped into something comfortable, well, as much as you can be. Which is a sports tank and running shorts. It’s your store, you don’t care about an arbitrary dress code that you don’t enforce anyway. Besides, everything that needs to be covered is. You have a massive flannel shirt hanging off the back of your chair, just in case you think you need to be more modest.  

The store has been pretty hectic and busy since the summer season started, the events they’ve been hosting were popular. Not to mention the Pride event she threw in June, with a mini pop-up cocktail bar. That weekend it might as well have been almost a club. Not to mention the drag show you helped throw, or the drag performers reading for children in the day. Honestly June was festive as ever. Now though, halfway through July, it’s dead inside the store at night. July meant vacations, so all of your locals were at the beach or the mountains. Some even in Europe. So, your nights were uncommonly quiet, well, except for the occasional tourist and Spencer. Which he only visits when he’s free or can’t sleep. Which isn’t as much as you would like, but just because your sleep schedule sucks doesn’t mean you should wish it upon others.   

You don’t get too much free time to hang out with your friends anymore since co-owning the bookstore, but to be fair most of your friends were your coworkers. Besides that, all your other friends are still in Georgia. You could call them, and try to plan a time to visit, but life is hectic. With the constant doctor’s visits on top of your busy schedule with the shop, it’s rare you have time for yourself.  

In fact, the last thing you did was go out with your coworkers to go see Eclipse in theaters. Which while, fun, you haven’t been out for yourself in what feels like years. You try to brush off the too familiar feeling of dread creeping into your head. Your life really revolves around the bookstore and your dad.  

It just gets so lonely in the shop from time to time. You reach for your cell phone and open the notification from the family group chat. It’s a few photos of the beach from your sister and her boyfriend. You feel the wave of jealousy rising in your throat and pushing your phone away from you. It’s not Bridget’s fault you’re stuck working around the clock, but good lord, would you kill for a vacation. Just once, you would like to not spend your waking hours thinking about your dad’s health.   

You sigh and lean against the counter, arms dangling over dramatically.    

You take some solace in knowing your sister has at least been with this new guy for about a year now...which means that maybe you should remember his name. John? Jacob? Jackson? That sounded vaguely correct. To be fair your sister rarely kept a man around long enough to remember his name.   

Your phone dings again and you don't have it in yourself to even look. You want to be at a beach, or really anywhere else. You lift your head to check the clock and almost cry when you see it’s not even midnight.   

The shop's phone rings, and the noise is so loud it makes you practically jump out of your skin. You quickly pick up the phone, begging for something.   

“Hello, this is the Midnight Owl, how can I help you?” your voice chimes happily through the phone.   

“I hoped you were working; it’s Spencer.” His voice is soft, almost like he’s whispering.  

“Oh! Hey, I thought you were out on a job?” you asked.   

He hums in acknowledgement, “I am, I just,” he sighs, “I needed a break.”   

“Oh.” you lean casually against the counter. “Trouble in paradise?”   

He scoffs, “Something like that. It’s been a long day.” you hear how tired he sounds in his voice.   

“When do you come home?”  

“Hopefully tomorrow...” he whispers.   

“Have you gotten any sleep?” you ask softly. You shift and move to stand up a bit straighter, concern written all over your features.   

The silence from the other line tells you enough, he hasn’t slept much if at all. “Spencer...” you said his name in a slight disapproval, but your tone is soft at the edges.  

“I’ll sleep when I get home.” he said firmly.   

“Spencer, I’d feel better if you slept now .” you tell him, chastising him like a child.   

“Kind of hard with my job.” He jokes.   

“You never told me what you do? You see me at my job all the time. Kind of unfair if you ask me.” you tease him.   

“You don’t need to worry about it, it’s just stressful and involves a lot of traveling last minute.”  

“So vague, but I’ll accept it for now.”   

Spencer changes the subject quickly. “Are you reading the book I gave you?”   

“Changing the subject I see... but yes, I am. It’s getting me through the very lonely hours. It’s a ghost town in here...”you said.   

“Is it still hot?”   

“ Yes . If my hair wasn’t already pulled back, I’d think about cutting it off. It’s honestly miserable if I leave the safety of the fan. I’ve called someone to come look, it can’t be normal that it’s 80 degrees in here.”   

“How soon can someone come out?”   

“Not until next week.” you whine. “I’m tempted to just shove myself in the small walk-in freezer we have in the very back...I’m afraid it’ll lock me in though.” you joke.   

Spencer chuckles, “Maybe don’t do that. I’d hate to come back and you’re a popsicle.”  

He heard you gasp, “That’s it! We should sell popsicles next week. Spencer, you are a genius!” you exclaim.   

“Technically, yes I am.” he teases.   

“Shut up, just get home soon. I’m bored outta my mind here. I’m almost done with the massive book you gave me. That’s how bored I am.”   

You can almost see him rolling his eyes at you.   

“Noted, next time I’ll make sure to send someone to check on you.”   

“...Not funny.” You pout. You check the time; you’ve only been talking to Spencer for a little over an hour.   

“Where are you this time?” you asked.  

“Georgia...ironically enough.”   

“Ohhhhhh, south or north? Actually, it doesn’t matter. How is the humidity?" You sound all too enthusiastic to ask him.   

“...Wet.”  

You hum, “So I guess you’ve experienced the sweat pouring down your back into your ass crack?”   

“...I wouldn’t have phrased it like that, but yes. It’s been a sweaty week.”   

“Sweatin’ like a sinner in church as my daddy would say.” you add in a light playful tone.  

“Anyway, besides coffee the only thing I’ve had to drink is sweet tea. Which, while it is good, yours is better.” he admits.   

“You’re just trying to butter me up, and it’s working. What do you want?” you asked.   

He sighs, “Can’t get anything past you.”   

“Think of it as my own older sibling senses, it’s like a mom but better.”  you said casually.   

“Could you please pick up my mail? I haven’t been in my apartment for a few weeks. I’ve had back-to-back work trips.” he asks tentatively.  

You snort, “Of course I will, your apartments just down the street! What are friends for?”   

“I owe you.”  

“No, you don’t. You’d do the same for me. I’ll let you know if anything is a pressing matter.”   

“You know opening my mail is a federal crime, right?” He jokes.   

“Mmmm if you find out I went through it.” you tease.   

“Y/N-”   

“Relax! I’m just joking. Your mail will be waiting, unopened, when you come back tomorrow.”  

“Thanks, I have to go but, goodnight.”  

“Night Spencer.”  

As you hang up, you’re left with the overly warm bookstore and the quiet emptiness of it. You still have hours to go and can only hope someone comes to ease the boredom. You look down at the book Spencer lent and see the roughly two hundred pages left to read. You pick up your sticky notes and a pen and decide to finish it before seeing him again. It’s not like you have anything else to do besides sweat.  

You really hate summer.  

The one about Halloween (part 2 electric boogaloo)  

October is by far, one of, if not, your favorite months of the year. There’s something about the confirmation of the crisp air letting you know it’s finally that time of year. The leaves changing, the smell of apples, caramel, and pumpkin filling the bakery, it all makes you nostalgic for your childhood.  

You have so many memories of running through the backyard leaves with Birdie, carving pumpkins with your daddy and sewing makeshift costumes with your momma. You remember the year you hand sewed a cat tail onto a ballet leotard and how proud you were that you had done it all by yourself. You loved trick-or-treating with your baby sister and dragging her up to houses with scary themes. Bridget always cried but you knew how to make her see the silliness of it all.   

The wind reminds you of how you’d parade around the neighborhood with your friends and bike around the cul-de-sac. Your heavy flannel flapping behind you as you could smell the leaves and rain. You truly missed the biting cold chill air that came with the turn of the season and stores filling up with decorations. How you would wait all day long for your favorite movie to play on cable during sleepovers.   

You give a wistful sigh, maybe you just miss the last moments of when your family was still close, before it fell apart before your eyes. That last Halloween when you were thirteen was so fun, but it just leaves a weird sour taste in your mouth now, like a granny smith apple.   

The bitter feeling that creeps up your throat makes you nauseous. You need coffee... or a sedative.  

You’re just far too busy trying to keep the festive activities alive, to think about childhood right now. There is a trunk or treat to plan for the neighborhood block. All the small businesses were going to barricade off the road for trick or treaters the night of Halloween. You really needed to think of a theme to decorate the back of the shop's minivan. It offered so much potential; you wanted the theme to be fun but still bookish. Maybe it could be Harry Potter? It was festive enough and based on a children's book series.   

The costume wouldn’t be that hard either, you could easily dress as Hermione or any student really. All you needed was robes and a wand. Plus, you’re pretty crafty, you could easily make props for the car and get some tea lights.   

You shoot a text to the group chat of coworkers who want to participate and let them know the car theme will be Harry Potter.   

It’s a quick choice, but it’s fitting enough. One that’s easy to dress for too. You definitely have house robes from when your friends from home went to Universal Studios during opening weekend. It was a wonderful souvenir gift and belated birthday present that they had chipped in to give. A wonderful Hufflepuff robe and matching scarf. You wished you could have gone with them, but knowing they were thinking about you was enough.  

You try to come up with something else that needs to be done, any other activity to focus on for the store. You’d rather keep your mind busy than look at the sterile walls of the hospital you were in.  

Maybe that’s why you were being so nostalgic right now, it was easier to think of a happier time than where you are now.  

You look at the time and groan to yourself, you’ve been in the waiting room of the doctor’s office for the past hour, and you had no idea how long you were going to be there.  

Your nerves are shot, and your leg is still bouncing nervously. Your dad had finally agreed with his doctors that he needed to be in physical therapy twice a week. This is the first week he’s doing two sessions, and you wanted to stay this time. You're just worried, but you’ve always worried.   

The sad look the check-in nurse, Susan, gives you every time you come in fills you with such rage that you had to bite the inside of your cheek not to yell at the woman. You and your daddy didn’t need pity. He was sick, and it was your job to take care of him. You didn’t need pitiful looks. Pity didn’t pay the medical bills and they sure as hell weren’t going to cure your dad.   

You plug your ears with headphones and open your iTunes to listen to music. You just need a distraction. You dig around in your purse and pull out the new book you’re reading, Warm Bodies. Maybe getting lost in this weird retelling of Romeo and Juliet with zombies will help you pass the time. From the parts you’ve read you've found it pretty humorous. A fun little Shakespearean retelling. It was perfect for the spooky season anyway.   

You try to settle into the most uncomfortable chair and begin reading.   

You pass another gruelingly long hour that way, reading about R and Julie. Reading about this zombie man slowly regaining his humanity, his sense of self... it’s almost jokingly painful that you wish love could easily cure your dad as it does R.   

You suddenly remembered how much you hated Shakespeare.  

-  

It’s finally Halloween and you’re manning the van with candy and handing it out to tiny children all dressed in fun colorful costumes. You're standing there with three of your coworkers, who have decided to be Professor Dumbledor, Professor McGonigal, and the Dark Lord respectively.   

The lights on the street are glowing green, orange, and purple. There’s a small fog machine hooked up next to the store’s van, and the speaker from the music store’s booth is blaring the best ambient music. It’s quite a festivity.  

As much as you want to be, you’re not in the best mood. You’re absolutely beaming at the kids and laughing with your coworkers, but you’ve been in a bit of a mood. Spencer said he was going to help you, but he had a last-minute work call. You're trying to not let it be a mood killer, and on the surface it’s believable. You're a little sad though you aren’t getting to spend it with him. They’ve been talking about spooky and fall themed activities for the past month. Spencer had agreed to spend Halloween with you, since no one he knew seemed to share his enthusiasm for the holiday.   

You've seen hordes of kids come and go all night. Ghosts, cats, vampires, sparkling vampires, and lots of fashionable monsters in bright neon colors. Monster High? you think it is what the kids said they were.   

You look down and see the bottom of the candy bucket and the last few kids going from car to car.   

“I got this if you guys want to go home tonight.” you tell your employees.   

"You sure? We don’t mind.” the cashier Keri, Professor McGonigal, states.   

“I’m positive, I’m just gonna close these doors and lock up for the night. It’s a tomorrow problem to clean up along with the rest of store decorations.” you just shrug and wave them off.   

“Happy Halloween!”  

“This was fun, have a good night!”   

“Night!”  

You wave off your three employees and give the last little trick or treater the rest of the candy in the bowl. The rest of the block is packing up as well.  

You shove the tables and chairs unceremoniously into the back of the van and easily park it behind the store.   

That’s a problem for Josie in the morning or you tomorrow night.   

You walk in through the back entrance and turn on a few of the front lights. You turn the sign to closed and lock the front door. Your only goal right now is to take down the Halloween decorations so it’s a clean slate in the morning.   

You were on a ladder pulling ghosts from the ceiling when you heard a knock on the glass of the store.   

“We are CLOSED !” you shout, your accent seeping through. You could not bother to be polite for the rest of the night. You just wanted to shower, put on your favorite Halloween movie, Casper, and go to sleep.   

There’s another tap at the window, more persistent.   

“I said we are closed!” you yank the ghost hanging from the ceiling and turn to glare at the person through the glass, but all the anger leaves your body.   

Spencer stands there, waving with a timid smile and pointing at his watch.   

You scramble down from the ladder and throw open the door, “What are you doing here? I thought you had a work call?” you asked in confusion.   

“We have tickets for a phantasmagoria show, I wasn’t going to miss that!” He said excitedly, “Are you ready? It starts at ten.”   

You just blink for a moment before your face splits into a grin and nod, “Yeah, yeah, just let me change out of this real quick and we can go.” you said looking down at your Hogwarts robes.   

Spencer finally looks at what you’re wearing and gives a small grin, lightly touching your scarf and humming.   

“Hufflepuff makes sense.” He murmurs softly.   

Your face bursts into a flush before you swat Spencer away and turn to scurry off to change.   

Halloween was always your favorite holiday.   

The one with migraines    

Spencer can’t keep fighting through these migraines. He’s lying on the couch of his apartment in the middle of the day, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes to add pressure. He finds no relief.  

The doctor was useless, and he genuinely feels irritated and at a loss.   

Then he remembers your hands softly stroking through his hair. His eyes flew open, and he pressed the heels of his palm to his eyes, rubbing them raw. He can feel the heat of embarrassment on his neck as he thought about your soft hands running through his scalp. He presses his palms harder and still finds no relief.  

He sits up quickly and calls you.   

“Spencer?” Your voice is soft and groggy; you sounded like you just woke up.   

“Sorry, were you asleep?” he asked sheepishly.   

“It’s okay, I was napping. What’s wrong?” He can hear you shift around, moving blankets probably.   

“I, uh,” he suddenly feels embarrassed. Spencer sighs, “I keep having awful migraines. I’m at a loss and I’ve just been irritated because my head won’t stop pounding.”  

“Ohhhhhh. Been there before.” you said quietly. “Do you want me to come over? I can do all my tricks. I have like, a ritual if my meds don’t work.” you offered.  

“Please.” He finds himself asking you in a small voice.  

“Don’t have to ask twice, I’ll be over. Go ahead and boil a tea kettle though- you'll want a warm drink.” you’re more awake now, your voice sounding concerned, “I’ll be there soon.”   

You don’t live that far away, but it’s still at least a fifteen-minute drive, with no traffic. You make it over in roughly twenty, and you give a small tentative knock on his door. When Spencer lets you in, he sees that you’re in your lounge clothes with a hoodie and baggy sweatpants. You're holding a Walgreens bag that is packed to the brim. Your appearance is a little disheveled, almost as if you were rushing, as your hair is pulled back, your glasses are almost falling off your face.   

“Go change into something comfortable, you don’t want to be in work clothes with a migraine.” you chastise him and shoo him off to his bedroom.   

Spencer holds his hands up in defeat and does as he’s told. Immediately scurrying into his room to change into something more comfortable.   

You get to work while you’re in his apartment. You close all of his curtains, blocking out the bright sunlight. You make your way over to the air conditioning unit and turn it down to a crisp 66 degrees and turn the ceiling fan on. You go into the kitchen and start to unpack the Walgreens bag of goodies. You’ve brought a few freezable ice packs, an eye mask, and some over the counter pain killers. You brought them just in case, you weren’t sure if Spencer was someone who preferred medicine or not. You had no problem taking four ibuprofen pills but that was you.   

Spencer opens the door and he's in sweats and a T-shirt. He sees you moving around his kitchen with ease, grabbing two mugs and making tea. You have some honey out and pour a healthy amount into each mug. Your brow is furrowed in concentration as you work.   

“Go sit on the couch, I’m coming with a mug.” you direct him softly holding two mugs in your hands.   

Spencer shuffles his feet over to the couch and plops down shutting his eyes tightly. You press the warm mug in his hand, setting yours on the coffee table. You move back to the kitchen to turn off the light and grab a sleep mask and the medicine.   

“Drink this, it’ll make you feel better. I turned down your air conditioning and I brought a sleep mask for you, to help block out the light.” you tell him.   

He nods and moves to drink the tea, it’s sweet from the honey but it does immediately relieve some pressure, at least mentally.   

“I brought some ibuprofen; I take 800 milligrams or take my migraine medication to stop mine. But sometimes you just need really good cold sleep. Mine just make me nauseous, so I need the meds.”   

Spencer shakes his head no, “I don’t want to take any pain killers, not right now anyway.” he whispers.   

You nod, “That’s okay. Just finish your tea and then lay down. I’m gonna help you get some sleep okay?”   

Spencer nods his head and takes a deep breath drinking from his mug. He feels awful, the pounding in his skull won’t stop.  

“Is it always this awful?” he asked, looking at you with his wide eyes, brows turned down in a sad expression.   

You rub his arm in affection, “Sometimes? Mine are triggered a lot by the weather or sometimes I don’t even know. I do know I’ve gotten optical migraines too, and those suck even more.”  

He’s listening to you, but he’s not enjoying the facts. He can read about migraines all day long, but hearing from someone else the same experiences he has sucks.   

“When did you start getting them?”   

You hum in thought, “When I was thirteen... right before my momma left.”  

“Did she get them a lot? You’re mom?” Spencer finishes his cup and sets it down.  

You put a pillow on your lap and push Spencer down. You hand him the eye mask to put on. Spencer complies easily and his long legs dangle a little over the edge of the couch, but he’s comfortable. You run your hands lightly through Spencer’s short hair, like you’ve done before in the bookstore. Spencer hums contently.   

“She did... Her’s were worse. Always in the bathroom puking from them. She’d have to be in bed all day until it ended.” you whisper.   

“Are yours that bad?” Spencer’s voice is just as quiet to match yours. He’s relaxing into your touch, feeling the pressure lighten from his head.   

“No, but I get worried sometimes when I get nauseous, ya know? I’m always worried they’re gonna get as bad as mommas did. And I can’t imagine being stuck in bed all day.” you said sadly.   

Spencer’s quiet as you mention your mother. It reminds him of his own fear he’s been trying to avoid thinking about. He’s reminded of his doctor's visit, and it irritates him. He knows there is something happening with him, the way he feels his skull pulsating like his brain is trying to jump out of his body is reason enough.   

It’s not psychosomatic. He knows it's not.  

“You okay? I just felt you tense up.” you ask him softly.   

“Fine, just...thinking.” he mumbles.   

You give a soft chuckle, your soft hands still massaging his scalp gently. “I know it must be hard for you, being a genius and all, but I really need you to shut your brain off. Go to sleep alright?” you demanded gently.   

He gives a scoff but tries to settle down. He focuses heavily on your hands and how soft it is. The couch starts to melt under him and your quiet hums, that he isn’t even sure that you know you’re doing, finally sending him off to sleep.   

When Spencer finally wakes up, his headache is gone. He finally feels back to normal. He moves to remove his eye mask, but he finds the room is almost just as dark. His eyes adjust and he realizes he’s alone on the couch. Where you were is just a pillow and there’s a soft blanket laid over him and he smells something being cooked.   

Spencer stretches his body and moves to sit up, looking into the kitchen. You’re quietly shuffling around. The only light being from the microwave above the stovetop. He can hear the sizzling of whatever you're cooking, it smells great.   

You hear him moving around and turns to send him a smile, “How you feelin’?” you asked, tilting your head trying to assess him.   

Spencer stands and makes his way into the kitchen, trying to find out what smells so good. “A lot better. I’ve had that headache for two days.”   

Your brows shot up in surprise, “You should have told me sooner Spencer. I woulda helped.” you chastise him.   

“Was away for work, couldn’t.” he informs making his way behind you to peer over your shoulder at the stove top.   

“What are you making? It smells great.”  

You straighten up a bit with a wide grin. “That would be my favorite comfort food, especially after feelin’ like shit. My very fatty, very southern, biscuits and gravy.” your accent seeps through, as you exaggerate it, trying to prove a point.   

Spencer just snorts a laugh and moves back, “Is it almost done?”   

You roll your eyes, “You’ve been awake for less than five minutes and you’re already starving.”   

Spencer just ignores her comment looking at the stove top to check the time, it’s later than he imagined. “Is it really nine o clock? Shouldn’t you be at the bookstore?” he presses in concern.   

You shake your head, “I called out; besides, I always work the night shift. Someone else can or we can handle being closed for one night.” you tell him casually.   

“You could have left, really, I would have been fine.” He tries to tell you.   

You shake your head and move to get the biscuits out of the oven. “Spencer really, it’s not a big deal. You called for help and I’m staying until you shoo me out, I wasn’t just gonna leave without saying anything.”   

You shook your head in mild disbelief and went to make plates for both of them. Spencer just finds himself standing there gawking. You wanted to stay until you knew he was okay. He feels his heart clench at that, and he brushes it away. He doesn’t think he can handle whatever emotion is creeping in at the edges, cracking his carefully crafted foundation.  

You gently smack his hand and nod to the counter. “Go sit down, it’s almost done.”  

Spencer does as he’s told and moves to the other side of the counter and takes a seat on one of the stools. It doesn’t take much longer for you to plate the food and slide it across to him. You place one for yourself next to him and grab two glasses of water.   

Spencer and you eat in amicable silence enjoying their meal. Then you break the silence.   

“Have you seen anyone about your recent migraines?” you asked him.   

Spencer’s silent as he paused eating. His body tenses up and you wonder if you have hit a sore spot.   

“I saw a doctor and got an MRI done.” he said, voice tense.   

“I’m guessing you didn’t like the results?” you prod treading cautiously.  

“The results were nothing. There was nothing showing up in my brain... the doctor said it was psychosomatic.” he whispered, a bitter tone in his voice.   

“Then it probably isn’t anything to worry so much about Spencer.” you said, moving to rub his back gently.   

“It can’t be psychosomatic, I’m not- I'm not crazy.” he said firmly.   

The tone was the most aggressive you’ve ever heard from Spencer and your eyebrows raised.   

“Spencer, I’m not calling you crazy sweetheart.” you tell him calmly. “Are you, are you worried that you are?”   

Spencer’s body is tense, and he covers his face with his hands. “Did you know schizophrenia is hereditary? That it shows up around your late twenties?”   

“Oh, oh. ” you realized what his actual problem was now.  

“Spencer, the odds of you having it are low. It can run in families but it’s more complicated than that.” you told him in a reassuring voice.   

“I know that, but-” he stops himself, not looking at you.   

“Spencer,” you said his voice soft and calm. “It’s okay. You’re okay . I promise.” you continue to rub his back reassuringly. “If you feel this intense about it, then get a second opinion.”   

He nods, finally looking up at you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”   

You shake your head, “It’s something you’re worried about and it’s okay to voice that.”   

Spencer moves and pulls you into a tight hug.  

“Thanks for listening.” he murmured into your hair.   

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Anytime.” you whisper.  

The one after Emily’s funeral   

You are outside Spencer’s door shuffling on your feet. You’ve been debating for the past fifteen minutes on whether you should even knock on his door.   

You haven’t seen him in a month... you’re a little more than worried. If it wasn’t for the single word response texts you were getting from him, you’d think he was dead.   

The rain pattering on the window of his apartment's hallway is the only background noise you have besides the buzzing of the fluorescents above you. You’re pacing back and forth debating on if this is a good idea or not. He would ask if he needed help, right? They were friends... He’s kind of the only real friend you've made since you came to Virginia. Well, besides Josie.   

You take a deep centering breath and find your resolve. you knock on his door.   

When Spencer emerges from his apartment, you’re taken aback. He only opens the door a crack, but it’s enough for you to see the state he’s in. His eyes are dark and rimmed red. He’s in rumpled up sweater and sweatpants. His hair is up in different directions, he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Not to mention the faint beard that’s growing in. His eyes find yours slowly, and he looks a bit taken aback and opens the door more.  

“Oh Spencer, honey,” you step forward and pull him into a warm hug. You feel him melt into your touch.   

“You look awful, what happened?” You’re blunt but Spencer doesn’t seem to mind it, he hasn’t let go to tell you otherwise.   

Spencer’s been holed up in his apartment. When he’s not working, he just burrows away. Penelope and JJ have called a few times. Checking in on him. He’s kept those conversations short. He can’t find it in him to talk about Emily with his friends yet. Not when he can still feel the weight of Emily’s casket; it almost bears down on his back in a way that feels crippling.   

Spencer’s so tired of losing people.  

Elle  

Gideon  

Emily  

How long until he loses the next person?  

Your warm body settles his nerves, and he can feel the irritation that buzzed at the harsh edges of his own soul ease. Spencer knows he looks like a wreck; he feels like one. He’s been in pajamas all weekend and barely has left his couch. When he does find himself getting any sleep, the only image he sees is Emily. Which, if he thinks about it for too long, he’s going to start sobbing again.   

“It’s a long story,” He finds himself barely able to say. His voice warbled and tiny.   

You somehow always know when something's wrong, like there is a homing device in your brain that rings letting you know he needs a reprieve.   

“Is there anything I can do for you?” you whisper as you rub soothing circles into his back, “I was coming to check on you, I just hadn’t seen you around in a while.”   

“Could you stay here,” he asked you timidly. “Just, just for a little while.”  

Spencer feels the fight leave his body; the argument built up that he was ready to unleash on anyone else. The prickles of irritation fog his head, almost turning into a migraine, seem to fade. The only thing left is exhaustion.   

You seem to always help him sleep, if he’s lucky, it won’t be another nightmare. He’s having more nightmares than ever. He'd love just a dreamless sleep, anything besides the nightmares, the territory that can with his job.   

He finally pulls back away from you and goes inside his apartment.   

You follow Spencer looking around his home. It’s dark and surprisingly messy. Not how you’re used to seeing Spencer’s apartment. His books are open and scattered along the floor near his large armchair. There’s empty, or rather half drank, coffee mugs scattered along his bookshelf or coffee table. There’s a large duvet half draped over the couch. You assume that’s probably where Spencer has spent most of his time, and the pile of laundry you see resting in the half open laundry room.   

It’s a depression cave.   

Spencer sluggishly goes into the kitchen and grabs a pot of coffee, before he can pour it you are gently prying it from his hands.   

“I think you’ve had plenty of caffeine.” you tell him softly.   

He makes a face but doesn’t fight you on it.   

“Go and take a hot shower, I’ll make you some tea alright? It’ll feel better than endless caffeine.” you tell him and gently push him out of the kitchen.   

You wait for Spencer to disappear into his bedroom before you let out a sigh and look around his apartment. You had her work cut out, that was for sure.   

You start by boiling a kettle of water and you start gathering the mugs from around the apartment. At least the ones in your immediate sight. You gather at least ten different mugs at various stages full of coffee. You put them in the sink first before moving on to looking for the chamomile that you know you’ve left here before for when he gets his migraines. You find it surprisingly quickly and grab it from the shelf where his coffee sits. You open it to find there’s only a few tea bags left. He must still be getting those migraines more than he lets on.   

You grab one, and a clean mug from his cabinet and set it aside. Still waiting for the water to heat up. You move onto the sink that’s overflowing and rolls up your sleeves to get started. You give a quick rinse and gently scrub the dishes before piling them into the dishwasher. By the time you're done the hot water is ready and the dishwasher is full.   

You wash your hands before making a cup of tea for him, making sure you add plenty of honey to accommodate his sweet tooth.   

You're in the middle of changing out his garbage when you hear Spencer reappear. He shuffles lazily out of his room in new clothes. He’s in a large Doctor Who tee with the Tardis on it, and flannel pajama pants that don’t fully reach his ankles. He’s also put on clean socks, two different ones with silly patterns.    

You give him a smile before handing him the mug of tea. “You look a lot better,” you said with a soft smile.   

Spencer just gives a shrug before sipping his tea. you follow him to the couch, and he wraps the duvet around his shoulders, making himself look so much smaller for a man that towered over you with his height.   

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked him.   

Spencer sighs and looks deep into his cup, like the tea would give him answers. Maybe if he believed in reading tea leaves and fortunes, but he wasn’t religious or superstitious by any means.  

“I lost a close friend, and it just...it’s been tough.” he said.   

“Oh Spencer,” you lean forward and hold one of his hands, “I’m so sorry. That- that can’t be easy.”   

He cried so much; he would think he didn’t have any more tears left. The blurry vision foggy up the edges of his sight tells otherwise.   

“I didn’t get to say goodbye...” he whispers out, trying to not sob again.   

You take a deep breath, you give Spencer a sad look before you whispered, “Sometimes we don’t get to say goodbye.” you replied quietly.   

“I’m so tired of people leaving with no warning-” he catches himself before he can finish, biting his tongue.   

You don’t pry, just let’s him go through the motions, trying to comfort him how you can.  

“I’m sorry Spencer.”  

Spencer leans against you and closes his eyes, “I hate change.” he murmured.   

You move your hand up to run through his hair gently, like you’ve done before.   

“I don’t either.” you whispered.   

Spencer grows quiet as you continue to stroke his hair. You hear his breathing finally settle and you know he’s asleep. You gently move to lay him down on the couch and go to work.   

Spencer’s home needed a deep clean, something to make it at least more bearable to come home to so he’s not so overwhelmed.   

You start with the laundry and work your way around the room as the washer and dryer run through load after load of clothes. The only spot you don’t feel comfortable touching is his books. That seemed like an organized chaos situation if you’ve ever seen one.   

Spencer sleeps for hours, so long that you find yourself dozing off after you're done cleaning. You slide yourself back onto the couch and curl up in the corner. You just go to close your eyes for a moment, you won’t spend the night.   

You dream of coffee, book pages, and a familiar purple scarf that makes its way in too.   

The morning sun comes in through a small opening of Spencer’s curtains and washes over the couch, bathing you and Spencer in its light. The two are curled into each other under the duvet on the couch and if either of them woke up at any point in the night and curled closer to the other, they would never know. 

[mals-writing-corner]

Cw: Roman Slavery, MCD

"Youth" did not mean a child in ancient Rome. It was a younger man who was very feminine. A femboy, if you will. It could be considered a third gender that only young men could have. But it did not mean underage.

This is inspired by the emperor Hadrian who made his dead lover into a god.

Special thank you to some amazing people who helped me out! Wolf and Ajax in the Ghoap Discord, and @paranoidpandora here on Tumblr! These three and I had a super fun brainstorming session, and after talking with my good good friend @irate-iguana , I came up with this idea. I may not make this into something bigger, but who knows 🤔

Roman emperor Soap who has been ruling for a long while. He's no longer in youth, his beard making sure of that. His skin is darker, more weathered. But, even as he's now left his youth, he doesn't have a youth yet. Even as his advisors try and push some onto him, he doesn't have one.

That is, until an outsider, the Ghost, is dragged into town. He was found on the outskirts, murdering traveling Romans. He was to be put to death. But he was the most beautiful youth Soap had ever seen. So he decides to take him as his slave. But his advisors will *not* let him anywhere near the emperor. So, Soap keeps him as his slave, owns him, but makes him fight in the collesseum. He watches, every fight. He's *terrified* that the Ghost is going to die, he's going to get killed by one of the beasts they throw in there, animal or human. But every time, he rises above. It seems, though, that the collesseum tempers his anger. He becomes more calculating as he continues to fight. So, Soap employs him to his praetorian guard, his personal bodyguard as it were. And, having fought in the arena, Ghost now knows Latin. He and Soap end up talking to each other, and eventually, Soap announces that Ghost, even with the scars of the arena, shall be his youth, because he's as beautiful as a youth. He doesn't know how old he is. Ghost won't say, maybe doesn't even know himself, but he's more beautiful than all the youths in Rome. They start a sexual relationship. In private, Soap is the bottom, the submissive, but in public, he carts Ghost around like his *lover* is the submissive one. Because youths could only be submissive. But Ghost is also good at his job. There have been several assassination attempts already, and Ghost has thwarted all of them. This only serves to make Ghost even *more* popular. But it also means his guard goes down more. And another assassination attempt goes through. And for his efforts, Ghost gets a dagger in the back. Soap uses that same dagger to slay his would be assassin, but it's too late for Ghost. He's dying. In his final moments, Soap frees him from his bonds of servitude, so that he may have a hero's death. Soap mourns his lover. He commissions statues in his honor, depicting him with the beauty of Venus, and the strength of Mars. He prays, every night, that his lover might return to him. One night, as he's laying across the marbled feet of his lover, he feels a cold hand touch his back. He looks up, and sees his lover, carved from marble, leaning down towards him. He explains that he was the child of Venus and Mars, and that Vulcan, his mother's husband, was jealous of him, of the attention he got from his mother, to a child who wasn't his. So he cast Ghost from Olympus, taking his memories, and his godly powers, but his youthful beauty could not be taken. Now, Venus and Mars see how loved their son is, and have brought him back as a statue, with Vulcan's blessing, but only for a moment, to give Soap the choice.

Continue living, or join him.

Soap doesn't even choose, he gets up into the pedestal and kisses his lover, holding him close as they turn to pure white marble. They would henceforth be known as the emperor, and his lover.||

[skzhocomments]

1437 - “I need your help; I have money to pay you.” - Lee Know (Stray Kids) - Hitman AU

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1437 - “I need your help; I have money to pay you.” - Lee Know (Stray Kids) - Hitman AU

Word count: 4k words

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~

Writing Prompt 1437: “I need your help; I have money to pay you.” - Lee Know

~

This sucks. Minho thinks, letting out a large sigh and picking up some painkillers.

He hasn’t eaten much today, or the past few days, really, so it probably isn’t a good idea to take another ibuprofen on an empty stomach. He’s surely going to regret it, already feeling an impending stomach ache, but his head just hurts so badly. It won’t stop pounding.

He’s already tried drinking water, but oh, God, the white light coming from the ceiling is making everything worse. He really needs to take this pill.

The one thing he hasn’t tried is sleeping, but how could he sleep when there’s so much work to do?

A new file came in just today.

~

Kim Soo-ah, 25 years old. Picture attached.

Waitress: Mon-Fri 8:00-14:00 Endstreet 34, Cornerstone Diner

Maid: Mon-Sat 16:00-12:00 Client’s residence

Requirements: Eliminate target during Diner shift. Target wears a silver ring, has a small brown mole underneath. Send finger and ring as proof once you finish the job.

~

What did this girl do? Minho wonders. It’s the second request to finish off a maid he’s received from this client, but he was too busy for the first one, so he passed it over to one of his associates.

Although he dislikes working for this particular client, he always pays generously, so this time, he decides to accept it.

He’s a bit curious to know why his client keeps wanting to get rid of his maids. In case they heard something they shouldn’t have, it’d be much easier to silence them through other ways rather than killing them. Less of a hassle for Minho, at least. However, he can’t ask. That’s not his job.

His job is to simply follow these instructions to the best of his abilities and get paid. Nothing more, nothing less. Curiosity has no place in his line of business, and he’s better off not knowing any other details.

Before having enough time to flip the page and look at her photo, though, his door opens, making him raise his eyes from the papers.

“Boss, someone’s here to see you.” His assistant enters the room with haste, making Minho raise an eyebrow.

No one should know of this location, so he is taken aback for a few short moments, before clearing his throat and deciding that he must know who found him, and why.

“Show them in.” Minho instructs, and his assistant rushes outside.

Damn, this fucking white light. He groans again and decides to end his suffering and simply turn on the lamp on his desk, even though he forgot his glasses God knows where and he can barely see the papers in front of him.

Moments later, his assistant comes back with a woman small in stature. She has blonde, wavy hair reaching her shoulders, and her eyes are a deep shade of emerald green.

She is intimidated, Minho observes, as he sees the way this woman is trembling in front of him, anxiously playing with her fingers and looking left and right just to not look him in the eyes.

“Take a seat.” He orders, and the girl is quick to sit down in the chair he offered on the other side of his desk.

“Thank you…” She says, her voice so small, it almost comes out in a whisper.

“Now, who might you be?” Minho asks confidently, his tone slightly bored, although he’s actually brimming with curiosity.

“Uhm… my name is Soo-ah. Kim Soo-ah.” She replies hesitantly, and Minho immediately looks at the papers on his desk and grabs her picture, and oh, what a pleasant surprise.

It’s not every day that the prey comes directly to your doorstep.

“Are you perhaps… Lee Know? And if not… could you please take me to him?” She asks, and Minho raises his eyebrow again.

He notices her clutching her bag tightly. She is quite literally trembling with fear, which makes him want to laugh. She is so painfully afraid of being in the same room as him, he can’t help but want to play with her.

“That would be me.” He replies with a cocky smirk. “Why did you want to see me, pretty?”

“I… uhm… if I understood your… profession… correctly, that must mean you are a… hitman of some sort?” She tries to thread carefully, and Minho can’t help himself anymore. He lets out a chuckle at this girl’s innocence.

“You are correct, doll. So, what brings you here?”

“I need your help. There’s someone I’d like you to… uhm… to k- to kill. I-I have money to pay you. Uhm…” She stutters and starts rummaging through her bag, pulling out a few stacks of rolled hundreds. “I’m not sure how much your services cost, but…”

“How much is in there?” He asks, his eyes sparkling with excitement. The rolls are far too small, and too few. It can’t be more than a couple thousands, if that.

“Around $3000. It’s not much, but… it’s all I’ve managed to save up so far. If it costs more, I could get a loan, or-”

“$3000?” Minho cuts her off with a laugh. “You can’t be serious!”

The woman’s expression falls, her eyebrows furrowing in a frown.

“Pretty, that much isn’t enough for me to even cut off someone’s finger, let alone kill a whole person.”

“Oh… how much would it be, then?”

“That depends. Who’s the target?”

“My boss…” She clutches the bag tighter, telling him his name and address. Of course, he expected it to be his client, so this doesn’t really surprise him.

“Oh, love.” Minho chuckles again. “That man is one of the most powerful in the country, you must know since you’re working for him. Taking him out would cost millions. You wouldn’t afford it in this lifetime.”

Soo-ah looks away.

“Why don’t you tell me why you want this man dead?”

“I think he’s planning to get rid of me… Actually, I’m sure of it.”

“Why?” Minho inquires further.

“I… I saw something I shouldn’t have.” She replies, clenching her fists.

“Be more explicit, doll.” He says, and Soo-ah shifts in her seat uncomfortably. By her mannerisms, Minho can tell she finds this hard to talk about, or she doesn’t know if she should tell him at all.

She hesitates for a few more moments until she eventually starts speaking again.

“I am a live-in maid… I woke up to go to the bathroom and his room is on the way… the door was opened, and there were some very influential people and a large stack of cash on top of his desk. They saw me, so I ran away and hid. There was this other maid that told me about something she’s seen, and one day, she simply disappeared, so I was scared… I think that's what's going to happen to me too.”

“I see.” Minho nods. “Wrong place wrong time, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“So, how did you find me?”

“Much like last night, I went to the bathroom a few months ago and overheard a conversation-

“Damn, you should really stop going to the bathroom at night.” Minho jokes, cutting her off. She doesn’t seem too amused and resumes immediately.

“I overheard a conversation about hitmen, and my boss told someone a couple of names and addresses.”

“My name? What exactly did he say?”

“Yes. Your name and many others. Lee Know, Hwang, Yongbok…”

“Alright. And this address?”

“Yes. This is the only one I could remember… Considering this… topic… I didn’t really want to hear much else or risk him catching me overhear anything I shouldn’t, so I ran back to my room.” Soo-ah nods, and Minho leans back in his chair.

They found out where he is, which is bad news. Of course, he has many other secret hideouts throughout the city in case something like this would happen, but still. The fact that he didn’t know about it is dangerous. And apparently, this man also has some sort of information about his associates.

This is bad news.

The most relevant thing in his profession is secrecy. If anyone would know where to find him, he would’ve been dead long ago.

“Thank you, Soo-ah. That’s great information you offered me right there. However, just for future reference, information is not free. You just missed out on your chance to negotiate with me.” He chuckles menacingly, and her expression only falls more.

She doesn’t know what to say, but noticing Minho’s piercing gaze on hers, she decides to look him right in the eyes and do something she never thought she would.

She stands up and walks slowly around the desk, his eyes fixed on her, and she kneels in front of him, beginning to tear up.

“Please. I’m begging you. Please help me. I’ll do anything. I… I don’t want to die… I’m so scared, Mister Lee Know. Please.”

Minho is taken aback, and something in his heart stirs at the sight.

Memories he’s long-ago repressed start surfacing back, and instead of seeing her kneeling in front of him, he sees a young boy with bruises all over his body begging for his life.

~

“Mister, please. I’ll do anything. Please help me! I’m begging you, please! I want to live!” Minho was barely able to get out between his tears, his forehead pressing against the cold, bloodied tiles.

“And why would I help you, kid?” The man in front of him laughed. “You’re young and stupid. You’re good for nothing. What can you give me?”

“Anything! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” The man laughed one more. “Will you kill someone for me, then?”

“K-kill? Mister…”

“If you’re not ready to lead such a life, you have no use to me, kid. You’re better off dead.”

“N-no! I will! I will kill! Please teach me what to do, Mister! I will do it!”

“What an obedient child.” The man cackled. “You know what, kiddo? I admire your fighting spirit. Even though life dealt you shitty hands, you still want to live?”

“I do! I want to live, so please…”

“Get up. From now on, your name will be Lee Know. And Lee Know, your first lesson is to never kneel in front of anyone, no matter the reason. That’s how we do things around here. Got it?”

~

“What can you give me, Soo-ah?” He asks, but this time, his voice doesn’t come off amused or menacing. It’s soft and filled with slight concern, and more than anything, with curiosity.

“Anything. I will do anything…” She cries.

“Anything?” Minho asks, and it’s such a contrast to how his former boss treated him. He is not being unnecessarily mean about it, and he is not forcing an answer out of her, although their circumstances are much the same.

He stands up and walks towards her, noticing how bad she’s still shaking.

He knows she’s desperate. However… how desperate is she, really? She’s been trembling ever since she came through the door. It’s clear to him that she doesn’t have it in her to ever be a killer. But still, would she give up her principles to stay alive, or will she stick to them?

He didn’t have the power to stick to his principles on that cursed day way too many years ago, and his whole life changed afterwards. He could never back down.

Would she do the same?

“Anything.” She replies determined, still looking at the floor.

“Will you kill someone for me, then?” Minho asks closing his eyes, his former boss’ words ringing in his head.

“K-kill?” Soo-ah shakes. It’s so difficult to see his past self in this trembling woman.

“If you’re not ready to lead such a life, you have no use to me, Soo-ah. You’re better off dead.”

The words are burning his tongue as he notices all the air disappear from the woman’s lungs.

She begins crying even louder, her hands moving on top of his shoes, holding tightly. Still, she is still not looking up at him.

“I… I can’t. I can’t… I can’t kill anyone. Please understand. I can’t…” She keeps repeating like a broken record, and Minho’s eyes widen.

She decided to stick to her principles, after all. She is better than him.

“Then-” He starts, but she immediately cuts him off.

“He will kill me. I’m so scared… I’m so scared of him, Mister. What can I do if you won’t help me? What if he’ll torture me to find out exactly how much I heard and if I told anyone else? Fuck, what do I do now? My life must be worth at least $3000. Please… please help me…” She speaks weakly, clutching his shoes tighter.

“Soo-ah, look at me.” He requests, but she just keeps shaking and crying.

Minho grabs her arms and helps her stand up, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

“Do you really want to live?” He asks, and she nods her head rapidly.

“I do. I want to live.” She cries.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully. I can’t let Kim Soo-ah live.”

“What?” She blinks, confused for a short moment, until it clicks. “Did… did my boss ask you to kill me?”

“He did. I received your file just this morning.” Minho smiles softly, his eyes filled with sadness.

“Then… I guess this is it for me. I was… I was a fool to come here. I thought… I thought I still had a chance…” She replies dejected. “Months ago, when I heard those names, I didn’t think much of it. However, today… I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I ended up coming here and hoped that maybe, just maybe… if I were to randomly pick one of those names...” She stops speaking, wiping away her tears from her cheeks.

“How did you remember my name and address, though? If it was months ago…”

“My memory is pretty good. Not that it matters anymore.” She smiles sadly and averts her gaze. “I came to the wrong person. It’s alright. It’s… If there’s no other way, will you at least make it quick, Mister? I don’t want it to hurt…”

“Soo-ah.” He places his hands on her shoulders, making her look at him again. “I said, I can’t let Kim Soo-ah live. We’re going to kill her tonight, do you understand?”

“I’m… not sure I do.” She tilts her head.

“From this moment forwards, Kim Soo-ah is dead. You will have to change your hair and your eye colour, and I will give you a new name… What about… Lee Saera?” He suggests after thinking for a few moments, his eyes rolling up.

“Lee… Saera?”

“Mhm. Isn’t it pretty?”

“I like it… but… why? Why are you helping me?” She asks, confusion lacing her tone. “Why are you helping me when you’ve been ordered to kill me?”

“Pretty, no one can order me to do anything.” He chuckles. “I was hired to kill you. But let’s just say… there’s something of me I found in you. Something long forgotten…” Minho replies, separating himself from her and putting his hands in his pockets. “I can’t kill your boss, but I can make sure he believes you’re dead, and in return… you will tell me everything you know about him, and everything he knows about us. You will stay here and help me.”

“Mister Lee Know, I can’t… I can’t kill people.” She whispers with a frown.

“And you won’t. You won’t walk down this path. I will do the killing, and you will do everything else I ask you to, in exchange for your life. How does that sound?”

He extends a hand towards her, and she doesn’t hesitate to grab it with both her hands and shake it.

“Thank you, Mister Lee Know. Thank you. Truly.” She looks him in the eyes, and Minho can tell she’s genuinely grateful. A small thought passed through his head that she could be a spy, but her feelings seem so genuine, he doesn’t doubt her one bit. She is just an unfortunate, young woman, who happened to work for the wrong people and heard and saw too much.

“Minho… Call me Minho, Soo-ah.”

“Minho?”

“Mhm. That’s my real name. Lee Minho. Use it only when we’re alone, and I will call you Kim Soo-ah. When anyone else is present, though, you are Saera and I am Lee Know, got it?”

“Yes, sir.” She nods.

“Good girl.” He smiles and pats her head two times. “Now, the first lesson you must learn if you are to join me, is… never kneel in front of anyone, no matter the reason. Not even me. Got it?”

“Okay... But Minho… how will you make my boss think I died?”

“Oh, right.” He sighs, grabbing her hand and dragging his fingers on top of her silver ring, taking it off and looking at the small mole underneath. “Soo-ah, your boss asked me to give him your finger as proof of killing you.”

“My… my finger?” She immediately snatches her hand back and looks at how closely Minho is examining her ring.

“Mhm. However…” Since she is now one of his people, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Not even a scratch. He doesn’t tell her that, though, because he doesn’t think he’ll have a choice.

How should he navigate this? Should he try and find a body with a matching mole? But what if they were to run any DNA tests?

“My ring… is a family heirloom. It’s extremely precious to me.” She speaks, interrupting his train of thoughts. “What if we would burn something and put the ring in the ashes as proof?”

“Oh?” Minho raises an eyebrow. “But what would we tell him to be convincing enough?”

“You found me hiding somewhere, and… I don’t know. You killed me, took my body to be incinerated to remove evidence, but almost got caught, so you burned it and brought back the ashes as proof?”

“I’m not sure that’ll fly with this guy, Soo-ah…”

“Then…” She raises her hand hesitantly in the air, and Minho sees how much she’s trembling. “Cut it… cut it off. It’s okay. It’ll hurt, but I’ll be alive, so…”

He shakes his head. He truly doesn’t want to hurt this woman for some reason. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt like this, not by him, not by anyone.

Still, there’s nothing he can do. Her former boss is a ruthless man, and he won’t believe him one bit if he were to just bring him her ring. He needs more proof than that.

“Soo-ah, will you forgive me if I hurt you deliberately?” He asks after a little while.

“Yes.” She answers without missing a beat. “You spared my life. You can cut it off, Minho. I will survive this.”

Despite her determined words, Minho knows she is just putting on a façade. She is scared, she is shaking, and he feels so bad. He’s never felt like this before, no matter who he had to kill. However, the prospect of causing this woman any sort of physical pain makes him feel terrible. He doesn’t want to do it, but if he is to prove he’s killed her, he must hurt her.

Minho grabs his phone from the desk and calls his assistant to bring in the doctor, and after ending the call, he grabs her hand and holds onto it tightly for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” He speaks softly as he pulls out a knife from his pocket.

Her whole body is shaking, and she shuts her eyes tight.

“I won’t cut off your whole finger. I’ll only cut off enough skin to use as proof, and I’ll take your ring. Alright?”

“... Yes.” She whispers, anticipating the impending pain.

Minho takes in a deep breath as he presses the blade into her skin, listening closely to Soo-ah’s sounds. She places her other hand on top of her mouth and tries to be as quiet as possible as the blade rips through her skin.

She fights the urge to jerk her hand back, not that it would be possible with Minho’s strong hold of her wrist and finger.

“There. We’re done.” He speaks hurriedly as he grabs a clean cloth and covers her hand, pressing tightly on the wound. “The doctor will be here soon. Are you alright?”

“It hurts so bad.” She cries out in pain and Minho pulls her closer, hugging her tightly.

“It hurts, I know. But you are alive, and that’s all that matters. You are alive.”

“I am alive.” She repeats and hugs him back, and she can’t believe that so much could happen to her in a span of a day.

She wishes she would’ve never applied to that job. She wishes she would’ve never worked for that terrible man, but she got blinded by the large sum of money he offered, and she took the offer without any further thoughts on the matter, and she truly regrets it now. She always seems to only make bad choices.

The doctor comes in and cleans the wound, informing both of them that thankfully, it’s not large enough to require a skin graft. He is able to stitch it shut, although he informs Soo-ah that it will inevitably scar.

A scar is a small price to pay for her life, she thinks.

Left alone once more with Minho, she doesn’t know what to do. She stays silent and tries her hardest to stop crying and observes as he begins clearing off his desk.

“Soo-ah, you can sit down until I’m done.” He informs her, so she nods and heads back to the chair she sat in previously.

“What are you doing?” She asks after a little while.

“We need to go. This place is no longer safe, since your boss knows about it. I will also need to call my associates and let them know they should relocate.”

“And then… what?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“What will happen to me?”

“I told you, haven’t I? We’ll get you a fake ID, change your appearance completely, and then… we’ll see. I still need to think about which tasks to give you, since you’re so…” Minho looks at her and stops, making her raise her eyebrows in surprise.

“I’m so… what?” She tilts her head to the side.

“So… righteous and innocent. I don’t even know what to do with you. You seem like you’d tremble and cry at the slightest mention of a murder.” He replies, and as if on cue, a shiver runs down her spine at the thought of potentially seeing a dead body, and she shakes.

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t apologise for being this way, Soo-ah. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He sighs. There really isn’t. Not everyone is made for this life, and he knows it. But unfortunately, some good people are forced into living like this, and she is one of them.

“I’ll do my best to not inconvenience you…”

“You can do some housework or… I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“Or… as I told you, my memory is pretty good. If you’re stumped with work and have too many documents to check, or information about anyone… I can read all of them for you and just summarize. I will certainly remember everything.” She suggests, and Minho smiles softly.

“That's good to know. But for now, let’s just get out of here, hm? We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

“Alright.” She nods and smiles back. "Once we go to the new hideout... you should get some rest, Minho."

"Hm?"

"You seem tired... like you haven't slept in a while." She says, and Minho can't help but smile. She is observant.

"Alright. I'll make sure to sleep once we leave this place." He replies, and she smiles satisfied.

Soo-ah is glad that coming to him ended up being the good choice – the only good choice she’s ever made, she believes. She wonders how she could trust him so much in such a short amount of time.

Still, she trusts him, and he seems to trust her too, and she is alive. That’s all that matters.

~The End~

[eucidianlyendless]

It appears my workplace is playing me for a fool

[savage-rhi]

🌚

[hauntingblue]

Fuck you koby actually I hope luffy turns you to dust

[falesten-iw]

To Those Who Still Hold Onto a Shred of Morality and Humanity - Stand with Us and Don’t Forget Us.

Over 40,000 lives have been lost, with 70% of them being children and women. Among these numbers are my own family members—many of whom I’ve already lost.

My family, my cousin, aunt, their children, and grandchildren were all directly targeted by Israeli airstrikes. I’m sharing a video of my aunt and cousin to reveal the harsh reality we are facing in Gaza. In this video, my aunt bravely shares her story about how the Israeli army airstruck them along with their children and grandchildren. Even if you don’t understand Arabic, just watching her speak will help you grasp the immense suffering we are enduring in Gaza. You can see the vedeo in this post.

The few family members who remain are in grave danger, and I’m terrified of losing them too. We have a chance to make a real difference and give my 24 surviving family members a chance to live.

In Gaza, jobs are non-existent, and nonprofit organizations like the UN have drastically reduced their work on the ground. Basic necessities such as milk, food, and medicine are almost as expensive as gold. My family is struggling to afford even the essentials, and my mother urgently needs medication that we simply cannot afford.

I’m also sharing another video that shows the daily struggle people face just to get clean water. The suffering here extends far beyond my family; it’s a genocide affecting every aspect of life in Gaza.

Thanks to the generosity of those who have already donated, we’ve raised $535 toward our goal of $190,363- august 17th. I’m deeply grateful to each of you, but we still have a long way to go, and I need your help more than ever. Imagine if it were your family—how would you feel if they were in this situation?

For those who have created special posts or reblogged to amplify my voice, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your support means everything to me and to my family. If you haven’t yet shared our story, please take just one minute to do so. Your voice could be the lifeline my family desperately needs.

You cannot continue to treat human lives as mere numbers. This is a genocide that demands immediate action. How many more should be killed before you all wake up? Will 40,000 lives be enough to stir us to action? 50,000? 100,000? 150,000?

Asking for donations and charity is something we never imagined having to do in Gaza before the war, and it’s heartbreaking that it has come to this. But if everyone who saw my last post donated just $10 or $20, we could reach our goal in no time. If you’re looking for a way to contribute, consider giving up your coffee, tea, or other “cup” for one day, one week, one month, or anything in between. Then, donate what you would have spent to help me. Please help us and donate now!

This is about more than just donations—it’s about preserving human lives and upholding our shared moral values. Your contribution can make a world of difference in our survival and ensure I don’t lose more of the people I love.

Demanding an end to this suffering is a matter of basic humanity. You cannot remain neutral in the face of such genocide. Please, let’s stand together. Enough is enough.

Every donation, no matter how small, brings us closer to hope and healing. Thank you again for your kindness and support. I will never forget it.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed even as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

Important note: ** 105 Swedish kr is just 10$ ** 1050 Swedish kr is just 100$ ** 10500 Swedish kr is just 1000$

Please share !

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[hanasnx]

x gon' give it to ya.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: @fuckmyskywalker introduced me to the concept of talking to a pussy i think via an anakin smut post and it changed my life so i'd like to dedicate credit to the idea. WARNINGS: fem reader | sex in the suit | deadpool calls himself daddy ironically and talks to your pussy.

A deep groan reverberates from low in DEADPOOL's throat. "Baby, I can't believe how good you look right now, seriously never looked better." he praises, commending the space between your legs as she's stuffed full of every inch of his dick. Another inexplicable thing about his mutation—he grew.

"'Talking to my pussy again, Wade?" you scoff, amused and breathless as you rock back on him, tossing a glance at him over your shoulder. Your spine is in a deep arch over the bed, and the nine inch heels you're wearing are the only reason you're able to compete with his height bent over like this.

"She needs to know what a good job she's doing otherwise she'll get discouraged. Poor thing needs a lot of love." he refutes your judgement, however playful, lovingly stroking the flesh of your ass with his glove. "Give us some privacy, please. Jesus." he tsks, shaking his head at you while you bury your face in the mattress. If his dick wasn't yanking your brains out along with it, you might have more to say. He turns his attention back where your bodies conjoin. "Thank God I put zipper on this thing. Who knew a onesie would be such a hassle to take a piss in?" The sounds of the room are filled with him running his mouth and your cunt's wet responses when he pulls out and shoves back in. "Now look at us." A particularly moistured sound squirts out, and he laughs knowingly, like your hole's said something entertaining at a tea party. "Zipper makes it too easy, you know? We've gotta stop meeting like this, maybe next time we can just sit and talk—"

"Wade!" you giggle, banging your fist onto the mattress. "Just fuck me, already!"

"Don't worry about her, she's just jealous." he tells your cunt, "You and I have something special, don't we? 'Specially when Daddypool says to christen the suit." A wave of wetness wells up from his comment, and he gasps in pleasant surprise. "Oh, you like that, you dirty thing. Next time I crotch-shot a bad guy he'll smell you all over, is that what you want, you freak? C'mere, I'll give you something real to leak about." Big rough hands grip on your hips, slamming into you so hard your ass ripples from the effect, and your happy pussy gargles around the dick it chokes on.

[sugume]

COMING DOWN w/Jujutsu Kaisen

( TW ) BDSM (Sukuna's only), master!Sukuna, punishment, spanking, pussy job, cream pie, praise, fingering, explicit content  

FEATURING: Ryomen Sukuna, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, and Nanami Kento 

Author’s note: I fear I can only write stern Sukuna, also the way word deleted this and I had the spend my morning rewriting it…

☾ GOJO SATORU 

“Mm–fuck, oh fuck angel, I’m cumming!” Gojo whines, shooting his load into your abused cunt. You arch your back deeper, shoving your face into the pillow. “Fuck, princess—fuck—feel s’good,” He collapses onto you, heaving. 

You whine at his weight unable to stay up. Satoru falls with you. 

“S’ so good princess, you’re always s’good to me.” Satoru spills, drunk on you. You whimper, tilting your head to kiss his cheek. He nuzzles into you, murmuring out incoherent praise.  

“Toru, you’re too heavy, get off.” You try and fail to shrug him off.  

“Mm—don’t wanna, so comfy.” He slurs, and you know if he doesn’t get up within the next five minutes you both are going to fall asleep covered in sweat, tears, and cum. 

“We gotta wash up ‘Ro. C’mon the quicker we clean up the quicker we can cuddle and watch the next episode of our show.” Satoru protest for a several minutes before kissing the side of your face a few times and lifting himself, his cock slipping out. You gasp, suddenly feeling empty. Your pussy clenched in attempt to keep him cum in. You turn to watch a naked Satoru walk over to grab the baby wipes on the dresser. 

“C’mere baby, lemme clean you up.” 

☾ RYOMEN SUKUNA 

“One more, little girl.” Sukuna grunts, his heavy hand on your back rubbing soothing circles. He brings the belt down again. You gasp, voice hoarse for all the screaming and crying you’ve already done. 

“All done, now c’mere.” Sukuna orders you up from your position across his lap, manhandling you until you wrap around him. 

“M’sorry, m’sorry, won’t do it again I promise, I'll be good now.” You cry into the crock of his neck, overwhelmed with emotions. You feel embarrassed, guilty, and cared for all at once. Only Sukuna can make you feel such contradictory emotions. 

“Shush, it’s okay little girl, I know, you took your punishment like a good girl you know that?” He gently grabs the side of your head, forcing you to look up at him. You have to blink a few times before you can see his face. “Proud of you.” He smiles, leaning down to kiss your lips—swollen from biting down so hard. 

Your heart flutters at the praise, you may not like getting punished but the soft moments after when Sukuna whispers sweet nothings to you will always make it better.  

“I love–” You hiccup. “L-love you Ryo.”  You rub your cheek on his warm palm, ready to fall asleep and start the new day on a clean slate. 

“I love you too little one, you know what to say.” He shakes your head with his hand, the other starting to rub soothing circles on your thighs. “Thank you for my punishment master, I understand why you did it and I appreciate you for correcting me.” 

“Good girl, now lay down on your stomach while I rub this cream on your ass alright?” 

☾ NANAMI KENTO  

“K-Kento—” You moan, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders. 

“Shush, it’s okay love, let it happen, you’re alright.” He whispers into your ear, jackhammering his fingers into your wet cunt. You cry into his now-drenched shoulder, as Nanami finger fucks you to another orgasm. He whispers sweet nothing as you come down from another high, and collapse on his chest.  

“That’s right Love–jus’ relax for me.” he says, as he pulls his fingers out of your pussy and wraps his strong arms around your waist.  

“You relaxed now sweetheart?” 

“Mhm, thank you, Ken.” 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” He rubs your back, patiently waiting for you to tell him what caused you to come home on the verge of a breakdown. 

“I-I don’t wanna. It’s embarrassing.” You mumble ashamed that you let your co-workers get to you. 

“Nothin’ you say will ever make me judge you sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.” He reassures. 

“I know Kento, thank you for always bein’ there for me.” 

“I love you, sweetheart. That means I'll always will there whenever you need me to be—in any way you need me to.” 

“I love you too Kento. Do you think we can go get some ice-cream then I can tell you what happened?” 

“Of course we can Love.” 

☾ GETO SUGURU 

“That’s it sweet girl–mm fuck–that’s it.” Geto grunts, sliding your pussy over his cock before lifting you and releasing his load on your thighs. You gasp at the sight of your boyfriend cumming on your naked thighs. Suguru sighs, the grip on your hips softening after several seconds. 

“Suguru—” 

“I know baby, I know.”  He reassures, bringing his hands underneath the hoodie you’re wearing. He caresses his hands up and down your sides. You blink sleepily about to fall into Suguru’s big chest before you remember the sticky mess between your tights. 

“Sugu, ‘m dirty.” You pout. He grins up at you. 

“The prettiest dirty girl I’ve ever seen.” 

“Suguru!” You slap his chest. He laughs ever harder, grabbing your hand to sprinkle kisses on your knuckles.  You smile down at him. He looks like the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. Long black hair sprawled against the white pillow. Intense brown eyes that look up at you like you’re the only girl in the world worth his time.  

“Let’s get clean up dirty girl–C’mon, up we go.” Suguru picks you up by the waist and carries you to the bathroom. He sets you down on the counter before he grabs a clean rag.  

“Thank you, baby.” You whisper as you wash him clean your thighs. 

“No, thank you for bein’ so good to me sweet girl.” He stands up to kiss you sweetly. “Never thought I’d get so lucky—you’re the best girl, my best girl. Love you s’much.” 

[pathologicalreid]

central nervous system | s.r.

in which you are drugged on what should've been a routine case

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: being drugged, threatened sexual assault, season 10, blood, broken glass, in a bar but reader doesn't drink, jareau!reader. word count: 1.7k a/n: oh dear. this week was so eternally long. work was crazy busy i worked overtime and almost ended up in the hospital which all led up to me taking the lsat today. crazy shit, but margovember will prevail. also! i'm hoping to get masterlists updated tomorrow if that's something you've been waiting on.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” an unfamiliar voice intrudes on your private thoughts, looking around the bar that you had been planted in to see if you could catch your UnSub before he had the chance to attack someone else.

He sets a glass in front of you, and you drop some cash on the wooden surface, you shrug, “I’m in town on business.”

The bartender laughs heartily at your response before shaking his head, “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just—that’s a line I hear a lot.”

Your face warms at the recognition that the bartender was flirting with you, but this is a man who gets paid to be nice. You take his words at face value and sip at your drink, “Well, I have no reason to lie to you,” you squint at his name tag, “Jackson.”

He wipes down a spill, hooking the rag over the sink, and smiling at you, “Well, it’s nice to meet an honest woman.”

Following him with your eyes as he walks away, that last comment rubs you the wrong way, but Jackson Gleason was the bar manager, and Garcia had already cleared him from the suspect list.

You find yourself wishing Hotch had sent you into the bar with an earbud to communicate with the team, but instead, you were handed a phone, preprogrammed to alert the team if you hit the power button. There was a plainclothes officer somewhere in a corner to keep an eye on you, and the rest of the team was at the precinct or in an unmarked van outside.

Kate had coached you to the best of her abilities, but this wasn’t your first time going undercover. Catching serial rapists was more her speed, but she was pregnant, which immediately took her out of the running. Sipping from the thin straw in your glass, you let your eyes wander around the bar, antique posters and advertisements are littered across the walls, and someone just started playing Radiohead on the jukebox.

Eyeing the phone in your purse, you sigh, stirring the ice in your cup listlessly.

“Can I get you another? Maybe something stronger?” The manager offers, returning from the employees-only door with a new package of straws to restock the bar.

You shake your head, holding your empty glass out of him to take, “The same thing is fine.” Ignoring the fact that you don’t drink—you couldn’t drink on the job; all you’d been given was a coke.

He raises his eyebrows at that, “Suit yourself,” he says, ignoring the fact that you were trying to hand off your already dirtied glass to him and filling a clean cup with ice and coke.

Brushing it off as company policy, you thank him for the drink, placing another few dollars on the bar and smiling at him. Over your shoulder, you glance at the plainclothes officer, engaging in an animated conversation with another patron over whatever sports game is playing on the TV. You suspect he’s a little too good at pretending to be off the clock.

You make a face at the straw in your glass, and the bartender notices, “Sorry, just ran out of plastic.”

Taken aback, you use the paper straw anyway, sipping at your drink while you still can—knowing the straw will inevitably disintegrate.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice something wrong, a dull ache in your chest exacerbated by a slight rise in your body temperature. Your fingertips feel hot like they would after coming inside from the cold. You look down to find the emergency phone in your purse, but your head droops with your eyes, every controlled movement before a struggle.

“Hey,” Gleason says, jutting his chin in your direction, “You don’t look so great.”

A different version of yourself would’ve given him snark in return, but that different version of yourself would’ve been able to feel her extremities. “Woah,” You breathe, trying to swing your legs off of the stool only to find that you’re much higher from the ground than you initially thought.

When you lift your head again, whipping it back so hard you’re afraid it might fly off, he’s standing directly in front of you, “Why don’t I take you out back? You can get some fresh air,” the offer is innocent enough, but it rubs you the wrong way. His hand is on your waist, at the very least you know that’s wrong—you have a boyfriend, and it’s not this guy.

No, your boyfriend is outside of the bar in a van, waiting for your signal because you’re… oh. “No,” you whisper, trying to get your breathing under control. “I’m— Where’s my phone?” You’re digging through your purse as he stands you up and guides you to the back of the bar, closer to a large exit sign.

Sirens are going off in your head, but even they sound separated from your situation. “I can call a cab for you,” he assures you, leading you by your arm and closer to the back door.

“No,” you say again, “I really need my phone…” his grip tightens on your wrist, practically dragging you out of the bar while you use your free hand to find your phone, pushing the power button before it slips out of your hand, clattering to the ground. “That really hurts,” you tell him, now able to give more of your focus to evading the man who was most decidedly not Jackson Gleason.

Pulling your arm back, you manage to break free from him, the momentum from your struggle sends your hand flying into a picture frame, shattering the glass and causing the UnSub to spin on his heel. “Look at what you did,” he seethes, gripping your hair at the back of your head and forcing you to look at the shattered glass.

Your mouth gapes at the sensation of your hair being pulled until there’s a rush of cold air and he pushes you forward, into the waiting arms of someone else, “Woah, hey, I’ve got you,” Spencer says, keeping you off of the floor and, with the help of someone else, carrying your dead weight over to one of the booths.

Spencer clambers into the booth seat first, seating you in front of him so that your back is pressing against his chest. You let out a low groan when he wraps an arm around your waist, keeping your body from flopping onto the sticky hardwood.

“Do you know what you took?” He asks, pressing his face into your hair so that the two of you can keep your voices down.

Vaguely aware of the way his fingers are pressing into the pulse point on your wrist, you shake your head, “I didn’t take anything.”

He hums in response, “You were drugged. I— I’m so sorry we didn’t realize who it was sooner. By the time we realized there was a discrepancy in Jackson Gleason’s file, you had already pushed the alert button,” he tells you, being careful not to move around too much. “Can you lift your head for me? It’ll help your breathing.”

With tremendous effort—and some help from Spencer—you lift your head, letting it rest on him. Now, you can see that the majority of the bar has cleared out, Rossi watches you nervously from the bar, telling Spencer something about paramedics. You huff, “Where’s JJ?”

“She’ll meet us at the hospital, love,” he answers you, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

Trying to adjust yourself, you shake your head indeterminably, “No, it’s… I need my sister. I need my sister.” Somewhere—a past version of yourself, perhaps—you knew that JJ was at the hospital, speaking with one of the survivors.

Spencer speaks with someone that you can’t see, they’re standing in your periphery, a mangled blur of a person. Moments later, something cold is pressed to your face, and the sensation makes you jump, “Ow,” you whine, though it doesn’t hurt.

“Ducky?” Your sister’s voice rings through the phone, and you’re surprised to hear her using your nickname. Although, your status as JJ’s little sister tends to come through when you’re hurt.

You hum into the receiver, “Hi, J,” you greet wearily.

A sigh of relief is her next response, “Hey, Derek said you’re waiting for the paramedics to take you to the hospital, and I’ll be here to greet you when you arrive. Does that sound alright?”

“It’s cold in here,” you mumble, wondering if Derek is the blurry shape remaining in your periphery.

There’s a pause on her end before she speaks up again, “I’m sorry, Ducky.” There it was again. “You’ll be okay though; you just have to wait it out.”

You nod as a jacket is laid out on your lap; Spencer must’ve heard you mention being cold to your sister. Your boyfriend whispers something to you, “Spencer says the paramedics are here and I can’t talk to you anymore.”

JJ laughs slightly on the phone, “I’ll see you when you get here, okay?”

“Yeah, J,” you whisper, letting someone take the phone from you. You frown at Spencer, “I don’t feel quite right.”

Helping you get on the gurney, Spencer holds your hand while an EMT wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, “He likely gave you a central nervous system inhibitor.”

You nod slowly, wrinkling your nose when the other paramedic shines a light in your eyes, “I am nervous,” you answer. Trying to listen to the medical personnel as they explain what’s going on, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. One of them crudely wraps a cut on your hand to staunch the bleeding, but you couldn’t even remember when it started to bleed.

Anxiously, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t bite down on your lip,” Spencer instructs, “You could bite right through it and not even realize.”

Releasing your lip, your eyes widen at him while he pulls a blanket over your shoulders. “That’s scary,” you whisper.

“I agree,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “It is scary.”

[hausofwoo]

handy | choi san

pairing: choi san x afab reader

word count: 5K

summary: you move into a shitty apartment with a long list of maintenance issues. your landlord puts off sending someone to fix them, only making your frustrations grow. that is, until the maintenance man finally arrives and you discover that he's hot... and you find yourself making excuses for him to keep coming back.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, maintenance man!san, tenant!reader, reader is kind of a perv lol, unprotected piv (wrap it up!), oral (f receiving), san is a tease, fingering, hair pulling (m receiving), cumplay, kitchen counter sex!!!, he kinda throws u around hehehe, choking, dacryphilia, use of a petname (baby), lmk if i forgot anything!

author's note: umm.... hahaha um...... so this is lowkey based on a recent experience i had of my maintenance man coming to fix some shit in my apt and he strangely had SO much rizz and i was like wait a minute.... this could be a great fic idea LMAO thank u to @hausofmingi for being my beta-reader ily always ♡

when you signed your lease at your new apartment, you didn’t expect to sign up for a list of problems.

you desperately needed a new place to live, and with the measly budget you had for rent, all that was left available were slim pickings. so when you finally found a small 1 bedroom apartment that wasn’t double your desired price, you jumped at the opportunity. you applied for the place on the spot and were approved the same day. you didn’t really think anything of it, but when you finally got settled in and actually gave a good look at your newfound home… you were in for a fucking nightmare.

for starters, the window unit in the bedroom wouldn’t blow cool air. it’s right in the heat of the summer, so coming home after a long day only to sweat all night long was not cutting it for you. you put in a maintenance request through your tenant portal app the first day when you realized this.

another annoyance was the dishwasher. one of your biggest must-haves was to have an actual working one. maybe you were asking a bit much with your budget, but with the amount that you work, it was imperative. you were thrilled to see the dishwasher during the viewing, only to find a few days worth of dirty dishes later, that said dishwasher was rusty and moldy. literally unusable. so you put in another maintenance request.

last one, and maybe now you’re just getting picky because you’re pissed, but your shower water pressure sucked, and by the time you would finish a shower, the water would take forever to drain. another request sent.

all these maintenance requests and not a single one fixed. you started to wonder if the tenant portal app even worked, so you called your landlord, only to grapple with them on finding a time for them to fix it while you’re still home. you might want these things fixed asap, but you’re not willing to let a stranger in your space when you’re not there.

you started to fucking lose it. a few weeks with no cold air, shitty water pressure, and dishes piling up your sink, and not one thing being done about it. you call your landlord one more time, urging them to finally fix these issues, arguing that they should’ve been fixed before you even moved in. and with that last push, they finally caved and did their fucking job. they said they’re sending someone there first thing tomorrow.

so when you finally wake up and go about your day-off routine, you’re constantly watching the clock. when they said “first thing tomorrow,” did they mean “first thing tomorrow once the maintenance man feels like it”? because it’s already pushing noon and you’re getting impatient. it’s obnoxious; you’re not able to run any errands (let alone actually go out and enjoy your day off) and you’re just waiting around for some dude to actually do the job you’ve been asking for for weeks.

just as you find yourself dialing the landlord’s number, you hear a knock at your door. fucking FINALLY. you jump off your couch, mind spewing profanities out of frustration. you walk towards the door, ready to give this stupid maintenance man a piece of your mind. you swing open the door, and your heart drops.

the maintenance man stands before you, with a tight black tank that hugged his muscular build and dirty worn jeans. he has a tool belt strapped to his (surprisingly small?) waist and a heavy tool box gripped in his hand. he’s a little dirty, and his chest is shiny with sweat due to the humid outside air. his rugged exterior is a huge juxtaposition to his face, however, with sharp yet kind eyes and a sweet smile.

“you need some maintenance done?” he asks.

“oh, uh, yes,” you stumble, suddenly at a loss for words. “come on in.” you hold the door open, allowing him to walk through to your living room.

“so you’re having issues with your water pressure?” he says, looking around the apartment.

“yeah, that and a few other things,” you reply. “but the biggest thing is the window unit in my room. it doesn’t blow any cold air.”

“i can fix that,” he looks at you with a grin. “which one’s the bedroom?”

you walk him to your room, thanking god he can’t see the blush forming on your face. he walks in and places his tool box down, promptly inspecting the window unit.

“i’ll just let you do your thing,” you say, twiddling your thumbs. “i’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

he nods, and you go back to sit on your couch. you mindlessly scroll through your phone, all while spiraling in your head. did your landlord hire this guy from a fucking modeling agency? he has the build for handyman work, that is certain. however, his face is what’s really getting to you. he could be on the cover of vogue and you wouldn’t bat an eye. but there he is, working on a shitty a/c window unit in your room.

you suddenly become hyper aware of the appearance of your bedroom. what does he think about your decor? is he cringing at the plushies sat on your bed? what if you left a pair of underwear out? oh my god, did you leave your nightstand drawer open, with your vibrator out for the whole world to see?

“it looks like you’ll need a whole new window unit,” he says from your room, interrupting your swarming thoughts. “this one doesn’t even have heat, and you’ll need that for winter.”

“oh, yeah,” you say, getting up and standing in your bedroom doorway. “how long will it take to get a new one? this heat has been brutal.”

“i should be able to bring one tomorrow, if you’re available,” he says, turning back to look at you as he closes up the tool box.

“i’m available,” you say all too quick. dude. be cool. “i mean, yeah, i can try to get off work a little earlier, maybe at like 3?”

“works for me,” he smiles, standing up. “can i get your number?”

you can’t hide your blush this time, nodding at the insinuation, but knowing it was just to iron out arrangements. “here,” you say, opening your phone messages so he can send himself a text.

he types away and hands your phone back. “you need a new dishwasher too, right?”

“i do,” you confirm.

“i can try and get you one by tomorrow too,” he says. “i’m off duty by like 5, so hopefully i’ll have enough time. now the shower?”

you nod and lead him to your bathroom. he examines the shower head, and you watch your cat approach him from behind.

“oh my god,” he says, startled at your cat rubbing against his leg. “this little dude came out of nowhere!” he reaches down to pet him, all while he’s purring up a storm.

“wow, he really likes you,” you stand shocked. your cat is always so standoffish to strangers, usually hiding under your bed or couch. but he’s rubbing against your maintenance man’s legs like he’s best friends with him.

“cats tend to really like me, i don’t know why,” he chuckles, scratching at your cat’s head. “what’s his name?”

“leo,” you say.

“like the zodiac sign?” he looks up at you while still petting him.

“yeah, i wanted to name him after his own sign but he’s a cancer, soooo…” you trail off, awkwardly fiddling with your hands.

“i’m a cancer!” he lights up, looking back down at leo. “no wonder we get along.”

you smile, and then realize you’re staring again. “i’ll go back in here so you can work.”

after distracting yourself with your phone again for a bit, you look up and see the man starting to walk out the bathroom doorway, already with his things together.

“okay, it should be good now, but let me know tomorrow if there’s any issues,” he says. you nod to him and lead him to the front door. you open the door and he walks out, but turns to you before he leaves. “so, i’ll see you tomorrow?” he has a smile on his face, with a hint of something behind it that you can’t quite read.

“yeah, tomorrow,” you say.

after locking the door behind him, you slump onto the couch with a big sigh. that was somehow the most nerve-wracking thing you’ve ever experienced. you remember he texted himself on your phone, so you open your messages and see the unsaved number.

sent 12:28 pm this is san :)

you can feel heat rising to your cheeks. even a stupid smiley face in a text has got you kicking your feet. you text him back, telling him your name and a quick thank you.

dear lord. this man didn’t even do anything, but he will be the death of you.

you come home early the next day, even earlier than you mentioned. partly because you wanted to clean up your place a bit, but the other part to mentally prepare yourself for a hot man in your apartment again. you clean up your room, tidying up so it looks a tad better than it did the day prior. once you’re done, you find yourself fixing up your makeup, realizing you’re putting way too much effort into seeing a fucking handyman fix your a/c.

are you really doing this? intentionally getting dolled up for this?? haha never! right….?

you hear a knock at your door and jump up. you check yourself in the mirror one last time, fixing the gloss on your lips. you go to open the door to reveal san, standing in front of you again with a familiar sweet smile on his face. you smile back too eagerly.

“i got your window unit!” he says, nodding down to the large box in his hands.

“oh, come in, that must be heavy!” you say, ushering him into your living room.

“mind if i go in your room?” he asks.

“of course, please,” you say, opening your bedroom door and letting him set the box down. you attempt to subtly watch his arms flex as he drops it. oh my god he is so hot.

you retreat to the living room as usual, allowing him to work in peace. you work on some things on your laptop to pass the time, but the thought of this man working on your a/c, muscles protruding, sweat glistening… it’s all too much of a distraction. you decide to put your ear buds in, trying to drown out your own perverse thoughts. you finally are able to hone in on your work, catching up on the things you couldn’t finish during your shift today since you left early.

you don’t realize that san finished installing the window unit until you feel a hand on your shoulder, making you jump.

“oh!” you stammer, pulling an ear bud out. “sorry, what’s up?”

san has a smile creeping on his face. “my bad, i didn’t mean to scare you. i just wanted to let you know i finished putting in the unit.”

“that’s great, thank you so much,” you say, standing up. “did you get the dishwasher today too?”

“yeah i did,” he says, but then he checks his phone for the time. you realize it’s about to hit 5 pm, and he said he’s off by that time.

“you’re almost off, i forgot,” you say apologetically. “you can just come back another day?”

he checks his phone again, contemplating. “well… i mean i already have it in my truck, so i don’t mind working a little bit over my time.”

“you really don’t have to, san,” you plead.

“it’s okay,” he says. “i’ll be right back with it!”

he exits your apartment, giving you a moment to kick yourself. having a dishwasher that works would be so great right now, but you feel guilty for having him work past his time. another part of you wants him to go anyway, if it meant he would come back again.

you hear a loud noise outside your front door, so you open it to see san with the new dishwasher on a dolly. you hold the door open for him, allowing him to enter your apartment and bee-line to the kitchen. he props the dolly down to drop the box.

“i should be able to finish this in about an hour, is that okay?” he asks, already unboxing it.

“as long as you’re okay with working this late,” you shrug.

“i don’t mind at all,” he smiles, looking up at you.

“okay, i’ll just be in here,” you point behind you, gesturing to the living room.

“alright, dishwasher is done,” san says, walking into the living room with a broken down empty box in one hand and dolly in the other.

“thank you so much,” you smile.

“is there anything else you need then?” he inquires, quirking up an eyebrow.

a moment of silence washes over the room momentarily, with you wracking your brain trying to find a reason for him to stay longer. but you push that away, knowing he’s been working way too long past his scheduled time.

“no, i think that will do it,” you sigh, unintentionally sounding disappointed.

“well,” he mumbles, toying with the box in his hand. “well you have my number, so if you need anything, feel free to shoot me a text.”

you walk him to the door, thanking him. he stands out in the hallway, you looking at him out your front door.

“really though,” he insists. “if you need anything.” with one last sweet smile, he leaves.

so what does he mean by that? “anything.” maybe you’re delusional for thinking there’s a hidden meaning behind that statement. as in, you can text him if you want him to fuck your brains out, “anything?” definitely not, but your mind wanders at the thought of it; that he’d drop everything and book it back to your apartment, heaving and sweaty, ready to take what’s his. you’re actually fucking crazy.

and to make yourself even crazier, the next few days you find yourself itching to get another reason to have him come back. you check your kitchen sink’s water pressure, it’s fine. you test out the stove for the first time and it cooked your food perfectly, no gas smell. then you find something. one of your kitchen drawers won’t close completely. it’s something small, but enough to put in a maintenance request. for the first time since you moved in, you feel grateful you live in a shitty apartment.

you swing the door open, happy to see the cute grin san always gives you the moment he sees you.

“sooo… a drawer, huh?” he quips with a hint of a teasing tone.

“y-yeah, i tried to fix it but i don’t know what i’m doing wrong,” you defend, rubbing the back of your neck.

“i can fix that,” he says, passing into the kitchen, tool box in hand. you’re ready to retreat to your living room as usual, but san stops you. “you know, you don’t have to wait around in your living room for me to finish. i like having company.”

“oh,” you mumble, turning around. “i thought you might want privacy while you work.”

“no, it’s okay,” he says, opening his tool box to grab a few items. “if you wanted, you can hang around. i like learning about the tenants i’m working for.”

“okay,” you murmur. you open a kitchen cabinet to grab two mugs. “do you want some tea?”

“i would love some tea,” he says.

you put the kettle on the stove, heating up some water. you chat with san about work, how many units he has to visit in a day, about the interesting tenants he meets, how long he’s been doing this. once the kettle starts whistling, san is already finished fixing the drawer, placing it back into it’s assigned slot. you can’t help but feel disappointed that your time with him is almost up. you put the tea bags in the mugs of hot water, offering one to san.

“i know you’re done, but if you still want it,” you say, and he accepts the drink with a grin. you both sit at your kitchen table, continuing to chat. your cat leo enters the kitchen, going to straight to san’s legs to rub against him.

“there’s my boy,” san coos, scratching leo’s head.

“i still can’t get over how much he likes you,” you laugh. “he’s never this friendly, he’s only like this with me.”

“he seems friendly to me,” san says. “maybe he just has good taste in people.”

you chuckle, wondering in the back of your mind if he meant that about you too.

san checks his phone, realizing the time. he sets down his tea and stands. “i should probably get out of here, there’s another tenant waiting for me.”

“i didn’t mean to keep you—”

“no no,” san interrupts. “it’s okay. i really liked this. not a lot of people are this welcoming.”

“of course,” you reply, standing up with him. “i—i really liked this too.”

san smiles, biting a bit at his lip. you look at each other for a moment, feeling an intriguing tension in the air. he finally shakes head, going to grab his things to go. you walk him to your front door. you say another thank you, about to close the door.

“like i said,” he repeats, leaning against the door frame. “anything.”

you hadn’t seen san in over a week. it was driving you mad. you became addicted to his energy, to his warm greeting at your front door, to the lingering gazes you shared. you didn’t have any reason to see him again, and you needed to find another. so you did something you’re not entirely proud of… something that an actual crazy person would do. you loosened a bolt on a pipe under your kitchen sink, allowing water to trickle the smallest amount in the lower cabinet.

listen. you know it’s bizarre at this point, but you had to see him again. it’s not like anything would happen; he’d probably just fix it up, have another nice chat with you, and be on his way. is it so bad that you meddled with your sink just to see him?

when san arrives, he has that all-knowing grin on his face the moment you open the door.

“the sink now, hm?” he asks.

“yeah,” you chuckle anxiously. “the sink.”

he goes to the kitchen and inspects the pipes under the sink. you lean against the counter, hoping to god he doesn’t notice that the pipe didn’t magically get loose.

“ah i see,” he laughs to himself. “it’s just a loose bolt. easy fix.” he tightens it with his tools, quickly finishing.

“oh, haha,” you say, nerves bubbling in your stomach. “i guess i could’ve done that.”

“you know, it’s so interesting…” he trails off, standing up to face you, running a hand through his hair.

“what?” you ask.

“i’ve never had to do so much maintenance work for one tenant before,” he says, sly grin across his face. fuck. do you think he knows?

“and i swear, that bolt kinda looked like it was loosened by a wrench…” he trails off again, stepping closer to you. HE KNOWS.

“n-no, i would never,” you defend, feeling backed against the counter.

your eyes are locked on san, wandering over his built frame, over his sharp features. he’s inching closer and closer, and you feel your breath hitch. he catches your trailing eyes as if to ask for permission, and leans in to kiss you.

finally, the thing you’ve been wanting so bad from him, to feel his lips against yours. he cups your cheek with one hand, letting you melt into his touch. your lips part to allow his tongue to slide in, deepening the kiss with fervor. his form pushes against yours, pressing you against the kitchen counter. his hands begin to wander, grazing from the side of your face down to your waist. he holds you in a tight grip, pulling your hips forward to meet his. you can feel him harden in his jeans as he lets out a groan against your lips.

“you did this on purpose, hm?” san says, separating from your lips. he lifts you up and places you to sit on the kitchen counter in one swift motion. he kneels to the floor, grabbing at the waist of your pants. “just to see me?”

you nod emphatically, watching as he pulls down your pants and underwear. the cold air hits your core and you try to close your legs, but san pushes them back open to admire you. putting your legs over his shoulders, he runs his fingers against your folds, eyes drinking in the sight of you. you shudder at the feeling, knowing all too well that he’s already got you soaked.

“you like seeing me like this?” he whispers, looking up at you. “i bet you imagined me like this, between your legs.” when his fingertips graze over your clit, your body lets out a shake, and he knows he found what he wanted.

he attaches his mouth to your core and places a firm hold on your outer thighs. licking stripes up to your clit, each stroke of his tongue feels like heaven. he dips down to your hole, dragging your slick upwards. he moans at the taste of you, devouring at you with more passion. your hands grasp at his hair, relishing the stimulation.

he tugs his head back, looking as pussy-drunk as ever. “i imagined you like this too,” he moans, lips still hovering over you. you unintentionally tug at his hair, yearning for his mouth back on you. “i wanted you so bad the moment i saw you.”

he releases a hand off your thigh and snakes it back between your legs, teasing at your hole as he goes back to circle his tongue around your clit. he looks up at you as he slides his middle finger in, watching you crumble at the feeling. once he can tell you’re comfortable, he slides in another, slowly starting to pump them into you. you whimper at the feeling, walls contracting around his fingers.

your moans are uncontrollable, and he matches them, letting the vibrations enhance the stimulation. he curls his fingers into you, hitting that perfect spot. he can feel your core clenching more erratically, causing him to pick up the pace, but maintaining a steady rhythm. his tongue flicks at your clit just right, making you squeeze your eyes shut and tighten the grip on his hair.

“s-san,” you let out. “i’m gonna cum.”

he detaches from you briefly, still finger fucking you. “cum for me, baby, i want to taste you.” he immediately latches back onto you, eating you like his life depends on it.

you feel a wave of pleasure wash over your body, feeling like chills. you’re shaking now, unable to control the sheer amount of bliss your body is experiencing. you moan out to san, coming undone on his tongue. he continues to work at you, allowing you to ride out the entirety of your orgasm.

he finally disconnects from you, pulling out his fingers coated in your essence. he licks them clean, looking up at you with the same look of desire. he stands up, promptly placing his lips on yours in a passionate kiss. you can taste yourself on his fucked-out lips, and it makes it that much hotter. you can hear him fumbling with his belt, and your hands reach down to help. you place your palm over his bulge, it twitching at the contact.

san separates from you, letting out a heavy sigh. he pulls himself out from his underwear, rubbing the tip at your spent pussy. he looks down and lets a string of his spit hit his throbbing cock, spreading it around the expanse of it with his hand. he angles himself into you, and slowly starts pushing in. you gasp at the size, him stretching you out much more than his fingers initially did. he takes it slow, acknowledging the whimpers leaving your lips.

once he’s fully inside, he groans. “god, you’re so fucking tight.”

he watches himself enter you as he starts rolling his hips into you. he places a hand on the back of your neck, pushing you towards him for a messy kiss. he starts to pick up his pace, earning a sharp hiss on his lips in between kisses.

“you feel so good,” he murmurs to you. “i knew you would feel good.”

you moan in response, completely unable to form any words. all you know is that the stretch of his cock is deliciously painful, and the sweet kisses he’s peppering over your neck gives you goosebumps all over. you can’t even believe this is happening right now, that your fantasy of fucking your maintenance man is coming true, and it feels even better than you imagined.

“you wanted this so bad,” san teases, continuing to piston into you. “for me to fuck you like this. you probably imagined it, touching yourself the moment i left.”

and he’s right, you found yourself needy and horny after every visit he made. you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing your vibrator and pretending he was the one fucking you, not yourself. but the feeling of the real thing was much different, much more euphoric. to have his chest heaving in front of you, sweat beading on his temple, desperate energy emanating from his body, saying i want to have all of you.

suddenly, he lifts you from the kitchen counter, holding your thighs firmly with his cock still in you. something about the fact that he can completely hold you up, still bouncing you on him even… you feel like his little play toy that he’s throwing around. he takes you to the bedroom, dropping you down on your bed and landing on top of you.

he wastes no time in sliding back into you, desperate to continue feeling your tight walls around him. his body is hovering over yours, your legs tangled as he thrusts into you. he pecks around your neck, hand ghosting over your throat as if seeking permission. you place your hand over his, allowing him to choke you until you’re lost in a euphoric haze.

his thrusts become more intense and forceful, each stroke sending chills down your spine as his length reaches deeper inside you. you swear you’re shaking the whole bed, the headboard repeatedly slamming against the wall. you’re so clouded by pleasure that you barely even notice he’s fucking you so hard that he’s pushing a dent into the wall from your bed frame.

“i can fix that,” san whispers with a smile, not even bothering to stop.

you let out a chuckle, then press a soft kiss to his lips. his hips begin to slow, as though he’s really taking his time to melt into you, to feel every part of you. he then lifts up to hit a new angle inside you, gripping your waist and slamming your hips into his with powerful, deliberate motions. you move your hand to your clit, feeling your walls tighten around his throbbing cock. your vision blurs, tears starting to well up in your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.

“you gonna cum for me?” san asks, sensing the irregular pulsing of your core. you nod up at him, eyebrows furrowed and lip caught between your teeth. “cum on my cock, baby, let me feel you.”

your orgasm builds to a peak and then cascades over you, sending you into a state of pure bliss. san is still fucking into you, extending your orgasm while still chasing his own. it’s not until his hips begin to falter that you feel him shoot ropes of his cum into you, filling you completely. his moans echo yours, his hips gradually slowing until he finally comes to a stop.

he pulls out of you, falling next to you on the bed. the room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing as it gradually returns to a normal pace. you look at each other, smiling with a shared understanding of the unexpected moment you just experienced. he wraps his arm around you, drawing your head to his chest to where you can hear his heartbeat.

“sooo…” you chuckle softly, pointing at the dent in your wall. “you’re gonna fix that, right?”

san grins, pulling you closer. “i mean, i can, but then i’d have no reason to come back tomorrow.”

“now that i think of it,” you say, chuckling. “i think there’s probably a few more things that could be fixed…”

“anything you need,” he says. “anything.”

a/n: guys this was so fun to write, i hope u enjoyed it too!! something about san lately oml... plz leave feeback as i'm new to writing, and reblog to support me! it motivates me to write more!

✰taglist✰ @skz1-4-3 @oddracha @luvbit3z @tunafishyfishylike @seomisaho

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[the-boy-meets-evil]

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.

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