#when i had more than an hour of daylight to work in after work

[squad-724]

Oof I’ve had a couple rough weeks at uni, have padmecker artwork I’ve been slowly working on. It’s an illustration for a short fic of the two of them, a twin piece to @electrikworm ’s fic

“There.” Padmé sighed as she put down the stylus, a moment ago used to correct the few words of her next speech on the Senatorial Ball she was organizing with Bail and Riyo to warm her colleagues up to the clones. A small tactic to make them look more sentient and humanoid than what they officially were written as in the law. One step closer to the bill that would recognise them as citizens of the Republic.

She straightened up in her seat, her back cracking in a few places, making her wince. No matter how much the chair cost, five hours of no movement will make her body ache. And because of the non-stop debates in the rotunda she had no time to prepare it earlier; the ball was the next day.

Padmé took her time, finishing sipping the cold caf she got delivered back when there was still sunlight, watching the lights of the Planet That Never Slept flicker in the distance. She knew how they looked up close, both on the triple zero and in lower levels she so rarely visited; only going there for her rare dates that she still had to hide from the public. If the media learned about her relationship with a clone, the whole rights bill could be compromised.

Sometimes she didn't care, wishing to be able to take Wrecker to one of the fancy restaurants, let him taste all the amazing foods she could get him, to walk around in broad daylight, visit museums and opera. She wished she could spoil him as much as he deserved.

But it would have to wait. Padmé knew she would make sure he and his brothers could soon walk around as fully free citizens.

“You done?” The senator almost jumped out of her seat as a male voice came from the doors to her office space.

“On the moons Anakin you scared me,” Padmé let out a sigh of relief, and the jedi laughed at her reaction. “What are you still doing here, you were supposed to leave hours ago.”

“Eeeh, I think I should give Rex a little room to breathe. He almost strangled me after I threw him down that hole two days ago.”

“And you don't want to spend the night on observation with Kix.”

“And I don't want to spend the night on observation with Kix, and Rex WILL rat me out in an act of revenge.” He walked over to her balcony doors, grabbing one of the donuts she kept on her desk, her favorite one she kept for last. “I'll sleep at Snip’s new apartment, apparently she got a great deal from the landlady that had a good family history with the Order, and didn't need a down payment. I'll see you at the ball.” He waved her goodbye and jumped down the balcony. Padmé knew he called R2 to come pick him up, just as all the times he decided to have that dramatic of an exit. One day he would fall and break his neck, and that would be karma for stealing the best donuts.

There was nothing more Padmé wanted than to sleep. But she desperately needed to shower, and knew Clone Force 99 was about to enter the Coruscanti atmosphere in a few moments.

She met the squad only a few months back, the four clones called as her escort during a mission. At first she was surprised at the differences from normal troopers, but soon learned about their mutations and special enhancements that were made to them.

Each one of them was unique and interesting, but it was Wrecker who caught her eye, his eyes that kept looking at her with awe when he thought she didn't notice, but also the difference between his pure show of power in opposition of how gentle he was with her.

He had that charm and authenticity that all her previous suitors lacked, speaking his mind and not carefully picking lines of dialogue they practiced before each meeting. He was himself at all times, and who he was was a man of big heart. And Padmé couldn't deny him the beautiful musculature and tanned skin.

And now, after three weeks of a comms-out mission, he and his brothers were coming for a personal debrief with commander Cody, and to crash at her flat for a few days.

She already stocked her fridge with food, readied her three guest rooms with a fresh set of beddings and towels. Yeah maybe she was playing favorites with that, but no one deserved being pampered like these four. Especially Wrecker.

As she waited for the clones to arrive she took a quick shower and brushed her teeth, finally getting rid of the acidic aftertaste of caf on an empty stomach. Once she put on her face mask, she got a ping on her datapad reading “Be there in 5 ;)”.

Padmé got her droid to brew some tea when the doorbell rang out. All of her sleepiness evaporates in an instance when she runs to the door.

She isn't done opening them properly before a massive set of hands hauls her off the floor and into a spinning hug that ends with a keldabe kiss.

“Hi sweetheart,” Padmé breathes out, looking into Wrecker's mismatched eyes. She locks her hands around his neck, pulling him close into a proper kiss. Oh how she missed it.

“Ekhm, we're still in the doorway love doves,” a snarky voice brings them back into reality, Wrecker laughing as he moves deeper into the apartment, letting his brothers in. “Great. I'm taking the bathtub first.” A few voices of protest ring out as Crosshair bolts to the refresher.

“Sorry for the wait, there were some issues with the docking system and they didn’ want to let us down to the planet.” Wrecker finally let Padmé down, putting his bag down soon after.

“Not your fault, I just barely finished my job anyways, didn't have to wait for long.” She stood on her tiptoes to land another kiss on her boyfriend’s scarred cheek, making him blush. No matter how many times she did it, the giant clone got red after signs of any affection.

“Thanks for letting us stay,” Hunter all but collapsed on the couch, cup of freshly brewed tea in hand. He looked a little roughed up, his cheek covered in a fresh dressing, left eye sporting a bruise. “I don't think I could survive another night bunking on the ship with those three idiots.”

Padmé laughed as a choir of three voices raised up with a complaint. She sipped her herbal tea. She had missed this.

Not just Wrecker, but his whole family. How much life they brought to this otherwise empty apartment. The sound of bickering during breakfast preparation, doors opening and closing when they left for the town, repetitive whirring coming from Tech's room, muted music from Crosshair's.

“I am completely exhausted, so I'll be waiting for you in bed. I don't want to smell ANY grease or pickled feet when you join, so take a bath beforehand.” Padmé smooched Wrecker one last time, putting down her cup next to the dishwasher, before she wished the clones goodnight and retreated into her own bedroom.

As much as she complained about the costs of her sheets to Sabé, in moments like these every single credit spent on them seemed worth it. She slipped under the covers, sighing softly as the pain in her back quieted down just a little bit. She had to wake up in the morning for the last dress try on, and then get her hair done before the ball. How lucky she was that a highly experienced squad of troopers was available as her security for the event.

Padmé felt herself fall asleep just as the mattress next to her dipped significantly. Wrecker put his calloused hand on her back, sneaking it under her shirt and drawing slow circles in between her shoulder blades.

“Mmm I really need to sleep my dear, we will have the whole night to ourselves tomorrow.” she murmured into her pillow, relaxing her back under the soft pressure of his palm.

“Then sleep cyar’ika.” The trooper whispered, drawing his thumb up and down her spine, kneading the locked up muscles into relaxation. Padmé knew how firm they must have felt, and let her boyfriend smooth them out as they slowly fell into a rhythm.

“Does anything else hurt?” Padmé could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She could deny it, let him lay down next to her. But, it felt so nice to be taken care of like that.

“Right arm, think I was holding my stylus too tightly.” She didn't even open her eyes as she turned on her side, reaching out the hurting limb.

With a gentleness a man of his frame seemed incapable of, Wrecker took it, moving it to face the palm up, and began massaging it too.

He started with her finger, so delicate and small in the embrace of his giant ones. Each one was delicately pinched in between his pointer finger and thumb, joints muscles and tendons kneaded into relaxation.

Then came the palm, painfully wiry, with the muscles tensed and coiled from the long hours of no rest. Wrecker's fingers carefully massaged them, and Padmé let out a few hisses of pain before these too relaxed into comfy hums as her boyfriend helped her with the pain.

She thought it would be it, but he continued the comforting movements on her forearm, now his actions bringing her more of a relaxing effect rather than purely pain relivement.

Wrecker arms continuously moved his hands up and down her forearm, drawing circles with his thumbs, making her back shiver with pleasure. She didn't even realize how wiry her muscles got until he made them relax, his fingers digging into knots deep into her limb.

“How did you learn to do this?” She murmured, her voice partially muted by the pillow she was laying on. Wrecker’s mismatched eyes didn't leave her arm, but she definitely saw the slight smirk under his nose.

“All of us got some pains a massage helps with. I was the first to need them, my growing pains making my whole body ache until I couldn't move. That's when Tech found some texts on holonet to teach me so I could do them before sleep. Then it turned out that Hunter's migraines can be lessened if you relieve the pressure on the neck,” Wrecker's pressure on Padmé's arm became weaker and weaker, his body slowly sumping to the side. “Tech tends to fall asleep on the pilot seat and next to his workbench, and I deal with his back afterwards.”

The senator gently pulled her boyfriend to lay down, his heavy body hitting the mattress. He didn't say anything, but let out a hum of comfort, wriggling closer to her, wrapping his arms around her much smaller waist. He was very warm, making Padmé shiver.

“Mmm, I'm glad you're here.” she settled her forehead just above his heart, taking comfort in the sound of the beat. Strong, just like him.

“Wish I could stay,” one of his arms moved to the base of her skull, gently scratching her hair bulbs, often sore from the extravagant hairstyles she wore on a daily basis. The hair and dresses, what she was most known for. A beauty of Naboo, queen and senator Amidala whose spirit never yielded. Just like her looks she never did anything halfway, giving her everything into how she presented herself as how she protected the innocents of the Republic.

But there she was, her hair in disarray, wearing an old t-shirt and underwear that has been for sweet release of the trash bin for months, and Wrecker was here, calling her beautiful in the pure darkness, his arms a comforting weight. Here, she was Padmé Naberrie, spending one of her rare moments with a man that found her beauty not in the make-up, dresses or jewelry, but her genuine laugh, lacking cooking skills, and the ability to stand her ground to help him and his brothers become people in the eyes of law.

He would protect her planet, while she secured his future.

Thank you Manhattan for edits and beta reading!

[ookaookaooka]

don’t let vehicle problems go unfixed for too long, folks (i rode on a leaky front fork which i fixed last night in an hour, but because i’d let it leak oil all over my front brake for months i had to clean it all and replace the brake pads, a process that took three additional hours, during which i discovered that my brake caliper pistons had seized because of all the oil and gunk in and around them from the leaky piston. so now i can’t ride till i’ve fixed it, and while i’m at it i might as well change the brake fluid and try and do the fork oil as well cause i have to top it off anyways and if i’m gonna crack it open i might as well just drain and replace it cause it’s overdue…)

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

cont.

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[twstowo]

Kissing Their Foreheads [Rollo, Che'nya and Neige]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: You kiss their foreheads.

♡︎Reader is from Noble Bell College in Rollo’s part and from Royal Sword Academy in Neige's part

♡︎I feel that I wrote so much more for these guys than the rest…my bad?

[First Years]☆[Second Years]☆[Third Years]☆[One final forehead kiss]☆[Here]

⋆⋅☆Rollo:

You have no idea how you ended up in this situation, but here you are, stuck in the same room with Rollo Flamme while he is giving you the chills. To be fair, he always had those dead eyes, but surely he isn’t mad at you, right? He doesn't want to burn you or anything... That’s just how his face looks all the time.

Well, you're not so sure about that anymore because now he is approaching you! And he is getting way too close for your comfort. You can hear yourself gulping from the nervousness.

You don’t even know why you’re reacting this way. You and Rollo were somewhat close; you’d dare to call him a friend by now, though you’re not sure he sees you that way. The two of you always ended up studying together after classes. Whenever you had trouble understanding a subject, Rollo would always help you out. He wasn’t that bad of a person once you got to know him.

However, he still had those questionable morals of his, and right now, he didn’t seem very happy. He kept ranting about the students from Night Raven College and by the Seven! He seemed particularly mad at this Malleus Draconia, and he had kept on rumbling about him for the past hours.

At this point, you had just shaken off your feeling of unease. You knew that Rollo was probably just stressed about wanting everything to be perfect for the new students. Yes, that had to be it! In fact, you were starting to pity his state.

So, without thinking about your own actions, as Rollo sat down next to you to continue your study session, you took hold of his face and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. As you leaned back in your seat, realizing what you had done, you noticed that Rollo was as embarrassed by your actions as you were. Both of your cheeks had a pink tint as you stared at each other, and now you had no idea of how to get out of this situation.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Che’nya:

There you were, invited to an unbirthday party by Riddle himself. You were having lots of fun eating and drinking while talking with your friends when, out of nowhere, Che’nya decided to show up and scared the living daylights out of you with his floating head.

And that wasn’t all. He seemed to have enjoyed your reaction so much that it turned into a contest to see how high you could jump when he scared you. Not fun. Not fun at all.

The second time his head popped up, you spilled your tea all over your clothes. You had to excuse yourself from the party to wash your shirt.

The third time, you almost stumbled against one of the pink flamingos. You swore that if Che’nya hadn't vanished right away, you would have hit him with one of those.

By the fourth time, you were ready to just run away from the party. But you were having such a fun time with the rest of your friends that you didn’t want Che’nya’s antics to get to you. You really needed to find a way to get payback—something that would surprise him so much that he would no longer pester you.

So, by the fifth time he showed up, you didn’t think twice. You grabbed hold of his floating head, not wanting him to escape. Che’nya had a huge grin plastered on his face, and you were so annoyed by his attitude. You did the most unthinkable thing you could think of: you kissed his forehead.

For the rest of the day, Che’nya didn’t annoy you anymore.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Neige:

By now, you and Neige had become pretty close friends. Not that it was very difficult—the guy was a ball of sunshine. He was also such a hard worker, helping out the dwarfs, studying for exams, training for his acting gigs; overall, he was always filled with work. Yet he always made time for the two of you to be together.

You always tried helping him out, whether by summarizing some of the content from your classes to help him study better or by making his lunch so that he could fully focus on his own stuff.

Neige always appreciated your help, even when he kept on saying how much he didn’t want you to overwork yourself because of him. You never listened to him.

One day, you found Neige, the ball of sunshine always full of energy, knocking at your dorm room. Normally, he would send you a message when he had free time; he never showed up without warning. And by the uncharacteristic dark circles under his eyes and that quivering smile of his, you knew he was tired. So you let him in, and you let him rest in your bed as you cuddled him, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead to help him relax.

[nnight-dances]

BEAUTIFUL MONSTER

PAIRING: yoon jeonghan x afab!reader

GENRE: angst, smut, fluff in that order of significance

TROPES: workplace romance, boss!jeonghan x associate!you, casual fwb situation but they're not friends they're coworkers, intense banter, nakamoto yuta makes a cameo, toxic relationship at some point but it gets better trust me.

"beautiful monster" because in private, jeonghan is nothing short of an angel to you – charming and devious, teasing but all in good faith, in faith that he was interested in you. but in public, he's monstrous with his cold shoulder, his indifference to you like you weren't in his bed every night, humming him to sleep.

PS: what are you doing with your life if you haven't listened to beautiful monster yet???? go listen to the gift from god called this man from jeonghan x wonwoo okay bye ily

"what makes you think you can prance into my office all prettied up and not even say a hi to me?" 

you look up from the stack of paper you're holding, and innocently tilt your head. "sorry, boss," you accentuate the last syllable with a smile, "just trying to be as resourceful as i can be." 

"oh, come on," jeonghan swivels dangerously in his hefty desk chair, all just to show you the little ridiculous hint of a smirk on his lips. "you're not really mad about that?"

"about what, sir? i'm just doing justice to my position in my short time here, after all."

"you know, quoting things i said back at me isn't as effective of an attack as you think it is, y/n," he tells you, but you can tell he's a little worked up because he shifts a little in his seat. "cut the fucking attitude, princess, what's wrong?" 

you narrow your eyes at him, more so at his audacity to pull out the private nickname in your shared place of work in broad daylight. and on a wednesday no less. "nothing's wrong, mr. yoon. i'm just reflecting on your incredibly insightful speech at the meeting earlier. seems like i don't know you all that well."

"well, you do know me all that well, which is why deep down, you know that whatever i said it wasn't addressed to you." jeonghan stands up and you have to swallow the smug look that threatens to spill out. 

yoon jeonghan, the star employee at his company, didn't get out of his chair, not even to greet the most valuable client. yet here he was, walking to you, hand on your elbow, dangerously unprofessional. 

"must be really deep down because i don't think the man i know would be that cruel to our newest hire," you bite back, shaking his hold over you, "and perhaps it would've helped me interpret you better if you didn't address your grand speech to every low-level associate in the room."

"low-level–? y/n, you know that–"

you don't let him finish, sure he'd find a way to spin his words and get out of being held accountable for the shit he spewed two hours ago. well, you weren't gonna let him get his way, not this time. you bow politely, "good day, mr. yoon. let me know if i can assist you with any work-related matters." 

god, you could be vexing when you wanted to, jeonghan thought to himself watching you stride off in your unbelievably well-fitting pants. he does wonder how you manage to never show up to work covered in creases, what with all the running around you do, from his place to yours every morning. okay maybe every other morning, but it was impressive, the way your white shirts were always crisper than the morning coffee you handed him on your way to your desk, and the way he'd never managed to see your lipstick a smudge out of place in all the time he'd worked with you.

"where'd jenna go again?" you question out loud when you return to find the new hire out of her desk yet again. she'd been the reason jeonghan had burst into his impormptu but condescending talk and though he had some fair reason to speak the way he did, you didn't appreciate the hierarchical intimidation it encouraged. 

"um, i think she just took her fifth bathroom break of the day," muttered seulgi with a grimace. "every time she does that the number of files on my desk goes up."

"send 'em over, seulgi."

"what? no, you have more than enough on your plate–"

"my research and writing skills are what got me hired, so i might as well revisit my roots once in a while. plus, it's gonna take a while to replace jenna, if we're trying to find someone this late."

"all right then, i guess i'll bring these over to you then," seulgi says in an apologegtic tone as she plops a fresh set of files on your desk, which has managed to stay clear of any such physical copies of documents since last year when you convinced joshua to make the firm go paper-free.

well, mostly. except for monkey jobs like this one which usually went to inexperienced hires. but given the unfortunate situation you find yourself in, you have no choice but to ignore your strcitly digital policy to pull out your wooden pencil for the first time in a while.

it takes you long enough to get through half of the stack that jeonghan's done for the day and you haven't moved an inch. he pauses in front of your desk, taken aback at the sight of you reading through a physical file. and then he notices the empty desk down the line, one that should've held the redhead called jenna. 

"and since when did you start doing unpaid labor?"

you look up with a start and sigh when it's jeonghan. "good night, mr. yoon." 

"wow, that's cold. can't a superior worry about his precious protege's wellbeing? y/n, you're overqualified for this work so why don't you put it down and go home?"

your mouth twitches with a bitter comment you barely hold in. "i'm the best person for this job till we find someone else to do it. i'm also the only one with the balls to sit down and finish it on top of my own workload. so i'm sorry but i won't be putting this down just yet. did you want me to call driver choi for you?"

jeonghan blinks silently at you, realizing you weren't gonna listen to a word he said, not even if he was the only voice of reason in your vicinity right now. he shrugs, "i can see myself out. just be here on time tomorrow, we have an important case to discuss."

"as you wish," you nod cordially and return to your work. 

– 

jeonghan's up till four that night, which is when he hears you shuffle into his condo. he silently thanks his past self who decided to drop a spare key to his place when your visits had become a regular thing. 

you're pulling your hair out of the tight ponytail you'd kept it in all day and throw the tie on the nightstand, almost screaming out of your skin when you see jeonghan looking at you, propped up on his shoulder. 

"what the fuck– why are you still awake?"

"why are you mad at me?"

you ignore his question and start untuck your shirt from your pants, unbuttoning them. 

"oh my god, is this the day you finally have mad sex with me–?"

you give jeonghan an unimpressed smile as you let the pants drop and throw yourself into the empty space beside him, closing your eyes with a weary sigh. "wake me up at 6."

jeonghan being the devious idiot he is, only worsens with every second you don't address his words directly. he rolls closer to you, hand finding his place under your shirt, on your hot stomach. "babydoll, i'm sorry you had to work so late," he whispers as he presses a kiss to your skin. "but if you don't talk to me, i can't make things right."

"you can't make things right, period, jeonghan," you tell him, eyes still closed. the man wouldn't get any more of your energy than you could help. "i'll be back to normal if you just let me sleep."

"you're being mean, baby, just let me make it up to you, okay?"

"jeonghan, unless you can change who you are as a very human being, i don't think there's anything you can do," you strain, shoving him away, "i'm not about to throw a tantrum so don't worry. let me sleep if you want to have your best associate working for you tomorrow."

that seems to get the message across because he doesn't say another word. or maybe he does but you're too busy slipping into the sleep you desperately need after a crazy work day. jeonghan wakes you up with a solemn look on his face and you sit up in a panic, thinking something's gone wrong at work.

but then he says, "sorry, i overslept. it's 7. you'll have to wear the spare pair of clothes you keep here to work."

"i hate you," you shriek as you jump out of bed, rushing to freshen up in his bathroom as he nods and starts getting ready himself. he does seem like he's keeping to himself because usually, jeonghan would've made a few too many comments about how cozy and domestic it is for the two of you to be using the same mirror to get ready as if his place didn't have any other mirrors to use. he even lets you fix his tie without a snarky comment, just a little kiss on your cheek that you barely tolerate without a shake of your head. 

he watches you put on the makeup you keep in your purse for emergencies like this, but can't help muse over how much he must hate to the idea of losing you at work to be acting this obedient. you smile a little to yourself, pleased at least at his respect for you, if not his love. 

truth be told, you often regretted being in this strange more than coworkers but less than lovers situation you had with yoon jeonghan, your direct superior at work. but you were too deep in it to back out, too down bad for the man's charms to turn your back to him. 

it had started almost as soon as jeonghan had laid eyes on you, his private conversations with you always consisted of one too many suggestive comments and he somehow always managed to flirt with you without you truly registering it. by the time you recognized the unprofessional nature of your relationship with him, you were five kisses too late. late nights at the office turned into late nights at his place, because it was conveniently much closer to the office than yours. 

somewhere along the way, though, you had to face the harsh reality that no matter how sweet jeonghan could be when he was flirting with you, he was always going to be something of a beautiful monster. because in private, jeonghan is nothing short of an angel to you – charming and devious, teasing but all in good faith, in faith that he was helplessly into you. but in public, he's monstrous with his cold shoulder, his indifference to you like you weren't in his bed every night, humming him to sleep.  

the harsh reality you face that very morning when he calls you into his office. 

"morning how can i–," you start and then make eye-contact with the man seated on the sofa across from jeonghan. "oh, morning, mr. nakamoto! i didn't realize you were in town!"

nakamoto yuta laughs loudly at your hurried greeting, crossing his legs as he shamelessly checks you out. "oh, come now, call me yuta like the good old days, y/n! and where were you this morning when i was all over the place trying to find the famous yoon jeonghan's office."

"ah, i'm sorry i was a little late this morning–" you spare a glance at jeonghan smiling in his chair, "my cheap excuse of an alarm didn't go off on time. i really should get a new one."

"if you'd come to work for me like i asked, you wouldn't have to work at the ass crack of dawn y'know?" yuta raises a brow at you with a small grin and you tuck some hair behind your ear bashfully, not forgetting to observe how jeonghan is stiff in his seat. as stiff as a slick bastard like him could get anyway because you could've missed the glare he shot you when he stands up and crosses the room to yuta. 

he pauses next to you, cold hand coming to rest on your arm, a possessive gesture explicit enough for yuta to muse over. "i didn't realize you came in here to declare war over my best associate, yuta, or i would've prepared harder."

the japanese businessman laughs wholeheartedly, "sorry, han, you know i can't help myself these days. it's getting harder to find familar faces in the industry these days, what with all the incompetence that's cropping up." he sighs then with a glance in your direction, "still mad you came to work for this asshole over me."

you chuckle, letting down your guard a little at the man's sincere comment. "what would've been the point of working at your company when you'd always be across the globe, vacationing in some fancy hotel every other week?" you question with a smile, "anyway, don't lose hope, maybe i'll change career paths mid-life, so don't delete my resume from your system just yet."

"all right, i'll take that as a promise," yuta winks at you as you take your leave from the office. 

an hour or so later, you're summoned to jeonghan's office again, with a brief, "y/n, please." you suppress the urge to roll your eyes, knowing there wasn't any real need for you to be in the room with them except for yoon jeonghan's egoistic need to fuck with your head. 

"how can i help you?" you ask with your sweetest business smile and jeonghan stands up from the sofa next to yuta. he gestures to the other man with a glint in his eye, "y/n, mr. nakamoto says he has the rest of the day to himself before he heads out. i thought it'd be a waste to just let him roam on his own, why don't you accompany him?"

you blink blankly at jeonghan, taken aback at his thoughtless request. treating you like just another associate who worked under him was one thing, but treating you like his personal assistant who'd entertain his friends' whims was entirely another. 

and you know he realizes this because of how closely he's watching you, lips set in a lilt because he loves seeing his stupid little scenarios play out. yuta stands up when he senses the tension, "ah, don't bother y/n, han. i'm sure she has a lot of work to do. i'll just–"

"no, no, i insist," jeonghan pushes, only glancing at the man he was so earnestly trying to please. "you don't mind, do you, y/n?"

you inhale, sensing the challenge behind his words. the way he said it, it was almost inappropriate for work, the smirk and the way his eyes were all over you. but honestly, you hated his guts for trying to get you down like this. so if a challenge was what he wanted, then that'd be exactly what he was going to get. 

"not at all!" you start, a cheerful beam on your face that catches both men off their guards and you continue, "please, i was hoping for some time to catch up with mr. nakamoto– sorry, with yuta, anyway, so honestly, thank you, mr. yoon. i'll just go grab my stuff and meet you in the lobby?"

"oh– okay, sure thing," yuta mutters, glancing between you and jeonghan uneasily. you don't spare your boss another look as you leave his office and furiously pack your things into your purse, slinging it over your arm. "i won't be back today, seulgi, so don't text me unless everyone starts dropping dead while i'm gone."

–

"so you don't show up at work all day and then you ignore all my calls? i am your boss, y/n, you can't just blow me off whenever you please," jeonghan's voice is muffled on the other side, and you're guessing he's in his car, on the way back to his place. 

you, on the other hand, had been home for nearly three hours now after your little date with yuta, the man who'd walked around the city with your for a few hours before taking you out to a late lunch slash early dinner at the nicest place you'd been to in a while. so yes, you were in a good mood and honestly, hearing how mad jeonghan is on the line only makes you smile more. 

"oh, sorry, i didn't realize you were bipolar like that," you say in a pleased voice, "because last i remember you basically begged me to babysit your client for you."

"client?" jeonghan scoffs,  "you make it sound like you weren't sleeping with that guy for almost five years before i came along."

"well, i'm sleeping with you now and you don't hear me calling you anything but my boss to anyone."

"you're a real piece of work sometimes, aren't you?" the man snaps and then after a solemn pause, "what did you do with him all day, anyway?"

you chuckle softly, "can't disclose private matters like that i'm afraid. besides, i'm having real trouble understanding why you sound pissed at me when all i was doing was following your instructions."

"huh, that's funny, you want to get rewarded for running around with another man while i was banging my head at the wall all day today? don't ever try to pull shit like this again or–"

"or what, jeonghan? you're gonna fire me?" you ask, "how about you stop treating me like i'm the dirt on your shoe as soon as you're done using me for sex? i'm not your personal assistant that you can just order around to wet your friends' cocks whenever you fucking want, okay? or i'll be the one considering yuta's offer seriously." 

before jeonghan can have a chance to respond, you hang up on him, breathing deeply to calm yourself down. you take in your apartment, somewhat of an abandoned mess with all the nights you'd spend at jeonghan's. you felt guilty for own behavior, ignoring your own needs for so long that you'd forgotten what being respected really felt like. maybe what you needed was a real relationship.

–

"that's always been your problem, y/n," rina groans, "you always forget that there's men other than the ones you work with."

"ouch! you make it sound like i've only ever fucked my coworkers–"

"worse, your bosses–"

"okay, so it happened like twice! you're forgetting all the wholesome moments i had in high school," you warn her across the table with a fork. 

"you mean how you rejected any decent guy with genuine feelings for you in favor of chasing older men who didn't know your name?"

"i'll have you know i chased those old men because they were the ones who could get me the job i have today, so i won't apologize for doing what i had to do to have the career i wanted."

rina sighs, "that's not the problem. you could've networked with the people working in the industry and had a healthy relationship with someone your age. but you always got so emotionally attached to anyone who offered you advice that you didn't have time for anything else."

you stare at your coffee dejectedly, swallowing the hard truths your oldest friend was hurling at you. cruel as she was, you knew she wasn't going to sugarcoat things for you, not when you dragged her all the way across town on a saturday to have lunch with you when she had a million other things lined up with her upcoming wedding.

"i don't know how you do it, rina," you mumble, "you've a stable job, a beautiful home, and a doting fiance. god, that's like three worlds apart from the dump of a reality i live in."

"okay, now that's just untrue, y/n," rina scolds you softly, shaking her head, "plus, you have the first two things on that list."

"i have a job, but my place is far from home. i don't even sleep in it most days, plus, i think the last factor on the list kinda trumps everything else by a lot."

"well, who is that on anyway? it's not like you're undesirable or fucked up, you know?"

you groan, "what should i do, rina?"

"find someone who doesn't work the same 100 hour work week as you might be a start? maybe then you can stop treating your boss like a god."

"rina, you don't understand," you complain, "i know i make it sound too good to believe, but he's the smoothest talker you'll ever see and god, don't even get me started on how good he is in bed–"

"y/n, it's not the man's dick that matters, it's his heart," rina interrupts and when she doesn't burst out laughing like you do, you stop with a questioning look. "i'm serious, dude, you're not gonna be in it for the sex like 10 years down the line when everything hurts, inside and out. trust me, the minute you meet even a remotely normal man with reasonable expectations from life, you'll know what i mean–"

"that's the problem–" you start to explain your own beliefs when a head in your periphery catches your eye. "fuck me," you groan immediately when you realize who's sitting about two tables away from you.

"come on, y/n, i just talked to you about this, you can't be thinking about–"

"no, no, listen, don't look right now, but…" you trail off in disbelief and then force yourself to finish, "but my fucking boss is sitting to our left."

"you mean the fucking boss… you're… fucking?"

"yeah, that one…"

a few beats pass as rina slowly takes a look at the man across from you, hair down from the low ponytail it usually found itself in. at the perfect timing, jeonghan laughs at something the lady across from him says, hair bouncing to reveal his flawless features. 

"wow, he looks like nothing like you've described him as–"

"what, i've been going on for hours about–"

"about his charm, not how drop-dead gorgeous he is! i've been imagining some greasy old douche, not this tall glass of water…"

"first of all, your lack of trust in my taste in men is truly offensive… and–"

rina interrupts you, for the nth time in every conversation that you've ever had with her. "–it's worth mentioning that your taste in men is walking toward us as we speak–" 

"what…" you look up all too suddenly to find the man a few steps away, sly smirk in place as he approached you. 

"hello there, ladies," he starts in a low amused smile and god, if you could strangle him or yourself into silence just there you would've but instead you match his smile. 

"oh– hi, mr. yoon, i didn't expect to run into you here," you laugh it off with a pointed look at him, hoping he'd have the common decency to fuck off when you were clearly with a friend on one of your only days off. 

but you should know better because jeonghan will never give up a chance to open his mouth, especially in front of a stranger he hasn't had the chance to charm yet. 

"and neither did i! but here i am, with my lovely coworker and her…" his eyes dance over to rina who flushes under his gaze by the slightest, "gorgeous friend?"

you roll your eyes at the question and don't think it worth mentioning, especially when you're too busy choking yourself over his description of you as a 'coworker'. yeah, right. 

"right, we were just–"

"talking about the guy who's interested in y/n!" rina chimes in, her grin saying she thinks she's helping you but you kick her under the table, warning her to cut it off. 

"what–"

"huh, what's that again?" jeonghan asks, smile momentarily faltering at rina's comment. 

"ah, you know, y/n's just been so popular with guys since i've known her but she's never had time to settle down. but this guy's just been dying to meet her and when she called me to lunch today, i thought she'd finally be ready to meet the man of her dreams."

"the man of my dreams?" you choke yet again over a strangled laugh, "rina, you're really funny. you know i have nothing of that sort–"

"oh, come on," rina brushes you off with a scrunch of her nose and turning to jeonghan who seemed immersed in the bullshit your best friend was spewing. "she's just too shy to talk about it but– she told me, too drunk off her ass to remember, she'd only want to marry a man who was desperately head over heels for her, gives up everything to be with her, just to see her smile–"

"rina, i think–"

"and oh, what was it that you said? he needs to be able to think what i think before i've thought it? i'm not even looking at him if he doesn't worship the ground i walk on?? wow, y/n, you were full of it back then, weren't you?"

you redden, out of words at this point, half-mad she was yapping and half-mad at yourself for actually having said all the shit she was yapping. yes, god knows you did say everything she was saying, and there was a blurry video on your phone proving it somewhere. rina'd known you wouldn't believe a word without proof, so she'd recorded it without you realizing.

jeonghan's looking at you when you look up from your lap and rina cuts in again, "but you can't be to blame, now, can you? your parents always treated you like a princess, and your brother basically acted like your bodyguard until you moved out… i'd be full of myself too if i grew up like that."

you inhale deeply as you glare at rina, slowly standing up, "um, i think we should go soon or we'll miss the movie. right, rina?" you force your words out so rina can recognize you're not kidding. 

"y/n, can i talk–"

"sorry," you cut jeonghan off, too, head reeling too hard to respond to anything that man's got to say to you, "i really have to rush but if it's something urgent, why don't you just leave a voicemail? i'll get to it on monday."

"ooooh, that was hot," rina whispers into your shoulder as the two of you pay the bill and head out. "god, did i love torturing the two of you in there. and honestly, serves him good–"

"what the fuck was that?"

"what the fuck was what? i was just showing that bastard what you actually deserve," rina snaps, eyes wide, "you might not remember what you're made of, y/n, but i do and i'm not gonna watch as you let that asshole use you. he can realize what your standards are or he can find someone else to fuck with. not my best friend."

"...rina," you stop in your tracks, rina's words finally starting to make sense in retrospect, "you're—"

"okay, please don't get emotional on me, i have a movie to catch and you know i can't focus if i'm tired."

– 

that very night, you come out of the shower to your phone blowing up, stifling a smile when you see jeonghan's name plastered over your notifications. after a thought to it, you pick up.

"what?" you take on your most indifferent tone.

"wow, that's cold," jeonghan's voice is clear this time. he's at home. "you can really be a stranger sometimes, baby."

"it's not hard, i just pretend i'm you at work," you tell him with a petty smile he can't see but most definitely hears because he immediately scoffs.

"listen, i didn't call to fight you, okay? i just want to talk. i–" he stops abruptly as if out of breath and then, softly, "i'm sorry."

that's a first. 

"i didn't quite catch that, mind repeating what exactly you're sorry for?"

you hear his sigh loud and clear, "y/n, let me make it up to you. i'm sorry i've been an asshole to you, especially at work. won't you come over?"

"no, i won't. i have some beauty sleep to catch up on."

"then, i'll come over. but please, let me in. and i don't mean into your place, i mean into your mind. i know you want a grandiose dream man but i can't read your mind just yet, so just let me… let me understand you better." after a beat of silence, he punctuates his words with a "please?"

"...you know where i live?"

"wasn't born yesterday, princess. give me 10 and i'll be there. make sure you're wearing clothes."

he hangs up on you and you barely have a moment to yourself to calm your intense hearbeat and equally chaotic thoughts after what jeonghan just said. i can't read your mind just yet. just yet? did he intend to??? intend to what, become to man of your dreams???? 

as much as you internally cringe at the thought, your cheeks are flushed when you let jeonghan that night, watching carefully as he took his shoes off, wearing a strangely casual grey hoodie and sweatpants. somehow you'd only ever seen him in his suit. or without it. 

he looks at you for a moment too long, and then his hand comes to carress your hair gently, "hmm, never seen you with your wet hair down."

"what do you want, jeonghan?" you cross your arms.

"you know sometimes i think i prefer you call me mr. yoon over jeonghan. you sound like you're going to kill me in my sleep when you say jeonghan."

"or i could just kick you out of my apartment. my landlord takes break-ins very seriously."

"alright, alright," jeonghan backs off, keeping his hands to himself, "can i at least have some water first? nervous to be all alone in your place with you."

you narrow your eyes at him and when he just shrugs, you gestures to the kitchen. "you can figure out how to pour yourself, can't you?"

"y/n, i–" he takes a gulp of the water, and then sighs, "i want to take you out. like a proper boyfriend."

"that's crazy because unfortunately, i don't have any time to be going out with anyone right now."

"if you're going to lie about your work committments, maybe don't do it to my face? our schedules are basically married so i know exactly when you're free."

"oh, i see what's happening," you throw yourself on your couch with a mirthless laugh, "you're blackmailing me into dating you, aren't you? don't worry i won't go around spilling the tea about your kinks in bed if you just leave me alone, mr. yoon."

"okay i lied, it's infinitely worse when you call me that. how about just calling your sweet angel, han, huh? no, okay? listen, y/n, i'm serious. i want to be more than your toxic boss who you have mindblowing sex with."

"you are–"

"i'm not saying this for any of the ulterior motives you're trying so hard to think of. believe it or not, i'm into you, y/n, and when you left me hanging for like three days straight, i couldn't stop thinking of you. and well, i did miss the sex, but what i missed more than anything was hanging out with you. spending time with you." 

"...what if i'm not into you like that?" you ask with a quirked brow, not quite satisfied with the case he was presenting. he stood still across from you at your kitchen counter, breathing shallow though you weren't certain why.

"that would be fair but i'm asking you to give us a chance because i know i've never had a connection with someone like i do with you. our stupid banter, your witty ways to save my life at work and outside before i can anticipate them, and of course, our amazing chemistry in bed– y/n, i never will find something like this again. and you can say i'm full of myself, but neither will you."

if you were slowly starting to doubt that it really was yoon jeonghan in front of you confessing his love to you, you don't anymore when he adds that last arrogant part in. "you're awfully confident for someone who was blowing my phone up an hour ago," you tell him, looking away, "but honestly, jeonghan, i'm getting old, okay? i don't think i have time to play your games anymore. i'm gonna find myself a decent man and settle—"

"you hearing yourself? you're gonna settle?" jeonghan's crosses over to you, sitting on your coffee table and before you can tell him off, he takes both of your hands in his with the tenderness of a man that you've never seen him capable of being. "i know i'm not the most promising prospect of a boyfriend, let alone a husband, but i'm willing to change. not even change, i'm just going to stop pretending to be a little bitch to you at work because honestly it was killing but i was doing it to protect myself from getting too attached to you. but it's too late. i'm down bad for you, y/n."

"and i may not be the decent man you're looking for, but i can assure i love you more than anyone on the market. because i know you like nobody else can, and i'm going to stick by you no matter what."

you take a breath and hold it just to test if you're dreaming but then jeonghan drops his head into your hand, letting your fingers into his soft hair. "just give me a chance, y/n. i'm… nothing without you." his voice is small now, his charming self who showed up to rooms full of busy people to give them a pitch of their life long gone. he was just a man right now, pleading you to let him in so you could both have a real shot at loving each other. 

you pull your hands out of jeonghan's clutch, watching his expression turn into one of panic but you silence him by bringing them to his face, gingerly guiding his eyes to yours. he blinks back, pure and solemn. "where was this guy when i was begging to be held for the past week?" you wonder, half to yourself, "and before you apologize, it's okay. i… haven't been a saint myself. it was unfair to not give you the short end of the stick when i'd given you the impression it was all good and fine until now."

"but you have to know how little i feel when you treat me without respect at work– not just because you're my boss, but because i care about what you think of me… as a person. i want to be with you, to love you. so if you can be real with me like this, i think we can make it work."

jeonghan kisses your hand softly, "i'm sorry. i– i will do better. and just to be sure, that was a yes?"

"yes."

"yes, you'll be my girlfriend, my one and only lover, the apple of my eye, the prettiest sight since the moon was revealed?"

"...yes. and flattery is not one the list of real qualties," you tell him despite the blush that colors you. 

"really? it's a good thing that i meant every single thing i just said then, isn't it?" he leans closer, breath hot against your already hot face. "can i kiss you then, love?"

the new nickname only makes you more dazed and you nod with a mewl, meeting jeonghan's lips halfway. he kisses you like he's never before — without a hint of urgency, like he could kiss you for the rest of his life and not regret a moment. he's slow and intentful, eyes fluttering and breath heavy, almost like his heart was wreaking as much of a havoc as yours was in your chest. 

you press a hand to his chest, reassured by the heat of beat that meets you, and he pulls away in surprise at your motion. jeonghan's flushed and speechless like he's never been, just watching you through his lashes, out of breath. 

you look down at his body, taking in his tall figure cramped in the little space between the two of you. his legs cage yours on either side, knees meeting your thighs, and his arms resting gently on your waist. it's like his body's swallowing you whole, and thought heats you up in a way that has you tearing up. 

when you hide your face in your hands out of the blue, jeonghan's large hands find yours, cooing them away. "what's wrong?"

"overwhelmed…" you tell him in a tiny voice, "i've– you never… you've never been so gentle with me. i feel like i'm going to break."

"that's ironic, isn't it," he asks softly but not mockingly. "you're so precious, i can't believe i haven't done this sooner. i guess i was always in such a hurry to feel your skin before time ran out… before it was too late… or something? either way, i'm here to stay now so let's take it slow."

"so you'll kiss me like that again?" you ask, looking at your intertwined hands. he squeezes back. 

"you liked that? let me see your lips again, i'm never not doing that again."

you giggle at his enthusiastic reaction, his lips already a breath away from yours, feeling your sounds in his whole being like he'd been starved. he kisses you again, not letting go till you pull away with a gasp. "god, i need air, han, you'll kill me at this rate."

jeonghan's too busy peppering your skin with more kisses, "good, you're back to calling me han. and as for needing air, we'll just have to do that a lot so you can build up a stamina."

—

"love it when you do that, god–" jeonghan's all over his own words, trying to get them out as soon fast as possible, "can you say it again? i'm gonna record it–" 

"han," you warn him in a stiff voice, "tell me you didn't just walk out of a meeting to come ask me to say– i'm not saying it, okay? so let go of my hand before seulgi comes back and you'll still have a reputation around here."

"no, you can't do this to me, babe," he's whining now and it'd be great for your ego if you couldn't see the room full of people waiting for him to get back so he could continue the meeting. "just tell me what you told rina about the dates i take you on and then i'll be out of your hair."

"first of all, you were never supposed to hear any of that," you push jeonghan away when he protests dangerously close to your face, "and second, if you want to have a girlfriend at the end of the day, you're gonna walk away from my desk and go back to your doing your job. okay, han? i can't do this now, let's talk at night."

"...fine. if you agree to sleep over at mine."

"done. now go."

"and you'll hold hands when we walk–"

"go."

he turns around obediently not before throwing a flying kiss in your direction and you truly have to wonder how he ever managed to act so uptight with you at work when he can be hopeless like this. 

"i'll have you know," he whines that night when you're coddling him in his bed, "that i'm that hopeless only because i'm head over heels for you. i love you, love, and i can't stop loving you, even if a bunch of suited assholes want to find ways to keep me apart from you."

"a bunch of suited assholes is your job description, angel," you laugh into his chest, "and god, you need to stop doing that at work. at least find a room if you want to be all up in my personal space, okay?"

"reserve a room just so we can make out? hmm, not a bad idea—"

"that is the exact opposite of what i was suggesting–"

"and yet here i am, with the great idea in my brain. noted, princess likes risky sex at work. thrill of getting caught? or is–"

"when did making out turn into risky sex?"

"you know i can never stop at just that once i've started," he says, kissing your forehead and you hit his face softly. "liar. big words from someone who refused to do anything but kiss me all night last night, and the night before that, and what about the time we went to dinner that time? oh, right, you didn't even kiss me."

"are you mad i'm being mindful of my pace?" jeonghan asks with a half smile, seriously concerned when you bring it up.

"no, i'm just shocked at the change up from when all you could think about was where and how we were gonna fuck."

"well, be assured that i still think about fucking you anywhere and everywhere at all times, but i'm more than that man now. i've got boyfriend worries now, 'kay? i want to savor every single thing we do, every date i take you on, and every small adorable thing you do. i'm not doing it the casual way. it's either all or nothing."

"you're scary when you're in love," you marvel with a sweet smile, "but full disclosure on my part, han, but i kind of need you to fuck my mind out because i'm literally dying here."

jeonghan goes still, pulling away to look at your face, amazed at the filth you could spawn with the purest smile on your lips. when he catches the glint of desperation in your eye though, he's switching control immediately, over to the jeonghan he'd managed to suppress so expertly to focus on treating you right. 

"damn it, you're gonna be the death of me, looking at me like that–" he's on top of you in a split second, his hair brushing the nape of your neck where he dives into your skin. "wasn't gonna ruin you again till i really had to, but fucking hell, woman, you know how to work a guy up."

"i can tell," you murmur, hands roaming all over his body, finding the hard bulge in his boxers all to familiar. "had to provoke you, y'know my fingers aren't enough."

jeonghan lets out an ungodly sound at your words, and you revel in the way he's coming undone, the way you've managed to push all the wrong buttons. to be fair, was it really wrong if it drove jeonghan to give you the best head he'd ever given you? 

when he rises from between your legs, you kiss him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue, and stealing his breath when you push him over so you could straddle him. "let me return the favor?" you lick your lips to really seal the deal.

"you–" he groans when you don't wait to pull his boner out of its restraints, smiling ever so demurely like he'd presented you with new clothes or a ticket to your favorite show. when you take a lick at his tip, he twitches, hands in your hair forcing you away from his dick. 

"--can't–" he's hardly comprehensible but he manages to get his request out, "can't take it for much longer. need to be inside you."

"thought you'd never ask, hannie," you gasp innocently and jeonghan swears he's already seeing stars from the nickname you only pull out on the verge of your orgasms. he's spewing all sorts of obscenities when you sheath him in your warm pussy, and you make sure you take in the sight before you. 

jeonghan's glittering with sweat, lips wonderfully swollen and eyes rolled back in his head with the height of pleasure he was feeling. he looked like an angel, even when he was so fucked out, chest deliciously hard against your touch and his voice contrastingly in its sweet chorus of your name. he was doing much of the work even though you were riding him, long fingers trailing from your boobs to clasp your waist so he could have perfect control of your body.

when he's close, he swallows a whine and you clench around him just to rip the sound out of his throat, the moan halfway between a scream and a song to your ears. that alone brings you close with jeonghan's thumb at your clit really bringing you to the edge. 

"come for me, hannie," you elicit another heavenly sound from him, "please, let me feel you inside me." 

"i'm coming, y/n, fuck!" he bites his own tongue and then gives up when you keep going, "fuck, fuck, fuck, i'm going to– fuckk–"

you both fall over with the wave of pleasure that hits your bodies, elevated ever more when each of you feels the others heat. it takes a minute of panting for you to feel your heartbeat in your chest and see jeonghan's limp body under yours. you roll over so your back can hit the cold sheets. 

you genuinely black out a little from the exhaustion because when you come to, jeonghan's between your legs with a warm towel cleaning you up. he looks up when you sit up with an unspeakable look in his eyes. he crawls over, voice hoarse as his lips meets yours. "i think you just changed my life, y/n, that was amazing."

"it was, i think i was on another planet for a hot minute there…" you say, oddly nervous with jeonghan's body touching yours as if you hadn't been all over each other a second ago. 

"you were… unbelievable. i've never been that gone before, y'know? you might've broken me… all that after i promised to be nothing but a gentleman to you." jeonghan sighs a little with a shake of his head.

"sorry, angel," you run a hand through his hair, feeling him relax under your touch, "i was pent up, what from fighting with you and then suddenly becoming all lovey dovey. for what it's worth, i think we just upped fucking game. and it's probably because we aren't lying to each other anymore."

"probably because you're all mine now," he says victoriosly, kissing your hand like he did the night he'd come to your place to beg you to take a shot at a life with him. you're so glad you did because you couldn't imagine another place where you'd feel this way, completely like yourself and nothing like yourself. 

"always have been," you assure him as you press a kiss to the back of his neck, throwing your hands around his shoulders. you liked to hug him to sleep, like you'd always yearned to every time you unwittingly fell asleep next to him. he shifts closer so your legs touch and you feel his lips graze your wrist lovingly, pressing kisses to the warm skin till you'd drifted into a deep sleep.

NOTE:

still not sane about that instagram update from jeonghan because those images of him have me feeling like this: 🤭🧍‍♀️😧🌀🥵😇🖐️🫦🙁 if you know what i mean. i will be crying about it for the next few days till i can think straight so that's that!

honest to god, somebody restrain me from writing and thinking about this man because i’m genuinely unwell about him. genuinely this is a cry for help. i told myself i wasn't going to write another jeonghan fic (see: the 50 wips i have waiting that involve not jeonghan) but here i am. speedwrote this in less than 2 days and took 2 hours to select the header icons and they still suck. self-indulgent content as always but anyway, i think i will die thinking about yoon jeonghan so here's my small contribution to anyone else who feels anything similar to me. i hope you enjoy and please i love hearing your thoughts so any reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

hi hi ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ☀︎︎

Can I request a lil ficlet please 🥹

I would like the following prompt: Cuddling before falling asleep in your arms with their lips parted so you give them a peck

But but can I add secret relationship trope and they’re in the BAU jet?

PS: your fics are just amazing and I love them.

Cuddles and Cameras - Spencer Reid x GN Reader (Fluff w Fade to Black)

Spencer practically dragged me across the threshold to the hotel room. His hand, ready to hold me, reached out into the dark hotel room. I flipped up the light and was pushed up against the wall before I could even kick off my shoes.

"Ooof! Spence!" I shouted, my voice soon muffled by Spencer's lips.

"Sorry, baby..." Kiss on the lips Kiss on bottom lip. Kiss on the top. Kiss on the lips. "I couldn't help myself. It's hard for me to have to stay on good behavior."

I chuckled, my hands reaching up to tug Spencer's hair. He smiled, letting me kiss his neck and down to his collarbone. I grinned as I kissed Spencer. His skin was practically shivering from holding himself back.

"Yeah? I didn't think that I was tempting."

Spencer rolled his eyes, his mouth hovering above my in an upturn smirk. His eyes danced with playfulness as he watched me.

"You have no idea how hard it's to keep us a secret." He whispers. I licked my lips and felt the ghost of Spencer's lips against mine. I was tired of clinging to this small, secret, hidden touches. I wanted him in daylight, not under the covers.

Spencer tugged down my windbreaker, leaving me in the stiff work clothes. "I am putting on PJs right away." I announced.

"It's fine, sweetheart. I wasn't planning on letting you be dressed for much longer."

"Sex then room service?"

Spencer knelt on the bad, grabbing me by the waist. He took my cheeks into his palms and brought me so close. His skin was fire against my cheeks. And then he kissed me.

Kissing Spencer was like breathing. I needed it like I needed water. I drank him in, reeling in the way his mouth molded to mine. Against me, Spencer was liquid heat, quick and malleable.

We stopped, Spencer catching his breath and me slowing the pounding of my heart.

"Perfect." I whispered, kissing Spencer again and pushing him down onto the bed. I wasn't sure if I took off his shirt first or if he took my off my pants. It didn't matter who peel away the first item of clothing, I had never bared my soul more than to anyone besides him. Never stood more naked than I did with my clothes on than I did with Spencer Reid.

After that night in the hotel it seemed like something between us shifted. For a while now, we danced in that limbo. I knew that I loved Spencer. And Spencer knew that he loved me. And we both knew what the other knew.

Yet, I had to contain myself as we sat next to each other on the jet. Spencer had already started and finished two books. I, on the other hand, did not finish anyway near two books. I couldn't even read a single sentence without my mind wondering.

And I knew Spencer well enough to understand that he probably felt similar. Two books in about 4 hours is akin to my measly half a paragraph in Spencer's eyes.

"They're sleeping." Spencer said. He didn't look up from his book. "Hotch is facing the same way as us. He can't see us. And even if he did....I don't care."

I don't care.

God. How I wished to have heard that for the last couple of months? Instantly, I folded myself into Spencer. He sat with his legs out stretched straight on the jet seats. I laid between his legs with my side cushioned against his front. Spencer laid the blanket on top of us and when his arms wrapped around my torso, I melted.

As good as he was a sex, Spencer was between during the moments after. He was incredibly sweet. We both hated the mess that came with it so nearly nine months into our relationship we had our after routine completely memorized.

"This is nice." Spencer whispered. He breathed my scent; between staying at each other's places a couple days a week each we started just use each other's products.

"It is."

He kissed the top of my head. "Go to sleep."

"You, too." I countered. "Don't let me make your leg numb." I requested, shifting so I wouldn't hurt him.

"It's fine, babe. Just move up, I want to be able to see your face anyway."

I scooted up, shifting so Spencer and I were face to face. We were so close that I could feel the shadow of his smile. I eclipsed it with my own. He kissed my forehead and I, in moment of sleepless delusion leaned further and kissed him. It wasn't a polite kiss. It was the sort of kiss that is hidden in hotel rooms, shelved away from nosy coworkers and professional regulations. It was the kind of kiss that made me see the world in full color.

How would I go back to black and white. If I had to choose, then I would choose Spencer, hidden, but in Technicolor.

We must've fallen asleep soon after because the next thing I remember was blinding white flash. My eyes were shut, but the flash of white was enough to pull me from a sleep. Spencer's arms didn't release me so he was still sleeping.

"Morgan...?" I croaked. The image before me cleared up. Derek Morgan's white smile beamed. He practically was flashing me and Spencer's cuddled forms his dazzling pearly whites.

"Penny G!" His voiced sounded positively delighted. I sat up and realized that the flash of white was an old crime scene camera. Why that was still included in our packs when the Bureau went digital two years go, was beyond my job role.

"Did you take a picture of us!?" I shrieked, breaking free of Spencer's grip and leaping from the seats. "Derek! Is that the picture! Derek!" Spencer must've woken up somewhere in between me screaming and shouting.

The rest of the team, notably our boss, Hotch's head snapped up.

"Morgan! Y/L/N!"

"It's okay." Spencer's hand rested on my shoulder.

We backed down, hearing the stunning level of "dad" in Hotch's voice. Morgan dropped the picture against my lap. It was one of the photographs that you could see the image almost right away. Slowly, an image of Spencer and I appeared, sleeping and intertwined. Our faces were so close that our lips nearly touched.

Emily and JJ exchanged glances that said more than words could ever. Morgan's eyes shifted from mine to Spencer's as he figured that this wasn't the first time we had feel asleep like this.

"You two. My office, but Monday. I'm too tired to deal with this, even though we all knew." Hotch explained. He shut his computer, decidedly finished with work for the day. His eyes closed as he got as comfortable as one could still wearing a suit and tie.

"Penelope is going to be heartbroken." JJ said, loud enough for the entire jet to hear. I felt my heart drop into the pit of my stomach. Spencer and I didn't similar like a weird notation. There wasn't a time in my life that felt more right and I felt more like myself than the time I've been with Spencer.

"JJ-" Spencer started. Derek's eyebrows narrowed and even Hotch opened a single eye. Emily practically backed away. Clearly the entire team was Team Us. Spencer's thumb brushed against my lower back.

"She's not gonna know whose side of the weeding ceremony to sit on."

[physalian]

On Writing Characters with Hyper-Specific Triggers (and a PSA)

*Trigger warning for this whole post

Once upon a time, I had a roommate. Nothing looked wrong from the outside and this narcissist probably thought nothing was wrong on the inside, but there was. I knew moving in with them was a mistake, but financial circumstances demanded I shut up and try to make the most of it. Enter the longest thirteen months of aPTSD-inducing psychological stalemate I hope to never repeat again. Seven of which were on overdrive.

The why doesn’t matter. The how doesn’t matter. What matters is that this roommate was so toxic, there was no point in attempting to talk things out because any little thing could be a land mine for starting an argument and it didn’t matter what casualties got caught in the crossfire, so long as this person “won”. Casualties including our friendship. So if any little thing, anything at all, could be a land mind, what do you do if not try to completely avoid them? For seven months.

This person’s work schedule was incredibly erratic, but they were gone more hours than not, and when they were home, they were usually asleep. In those few overlapping hours where we were both awake, I could not leave my room for fear of said verbal land mines. If I wanted to cook, leave the apartment, get anything from the living room or my desk that I had to abandon, get more water from the fridge, I had to do it before they got home, or after they went to bed, and I could never predict when they’d be home.

Luckily (or unluckily), my room faced the parking lot, and this roommate drove a car that made a very specific sound. From the moment I heard that car from my room, I had about 20 seconds to shut down whatever I was doing in the apartment, retreat to my room, and lock the door. Overreacting? Potentially, I wasn’t in any physical danger, but this was seven months of near complete isolation from any other friends, and the fear of making it worse kept me silent.

So, 20 seconds from the moment I hear the telltale whine of that engine. If I couldn’t hear the car, our front door had a lock that chimes and I had about 7 seconds from the first chime to the door opening to get the fuck out of the way. I lost weight that I couldn’t afford to lose from being unable to cook past a certain time in the evening and staying locked in my room on their days off.

Seven months of only having a door chime and an engine to tell me when it was safe and when I had to run.

—

These chime locks are the new normal and one year removed from that apartment, every time I hear it and I’m already stressed, it’s a trigger.

Every time I’m on the highway and I see a dark grey sedan of that make, that is the most important car on the road until I make sure it’s not their car.

Every time I see a dark grey sedan parked in reverse, as they habitually did, that is the most important car in the parking lot until I make sure it’s not theirs.

Every time I have to drive near a certain location where they work, I am watching for that car.

I could pick it out from 200 others. I know the license plate, I know the license plate frame, I know what sticks to the windshield, I know what hangs from the rearview mirror. I would know that car rusted and crushed in an impound lot.

So. Today I drive home and I pass a rear-parked car one turn before my unit, and I think to myself, “that’s not X’s car, but I noticed it, I’m never not going to notice it.” It wasn’t the same make, model, or color, it was just a sedan with its nose sticking out and that was enough.

Then I turn the corner. And there it is. My ex-roommate’s car.

I shit you not it was like I had a warning from the Universe before it hit.

I don’t need to check the windshield, I know it’s theirs. I’ve seen it in my complex once before. The last time I did, I’d parked my own car and waited, got out, and hid between two others in the dark, waiting for this person to leave.

Today, in broad daylight, that car is empty. They happened to arrive while I was gone for 30 minutes. So I park, and I wait. I watch that car from my side mirror. I scan the sidewalk for them and I don’t see anything. I have frozens that can’t wait.

I’m thinking to myself, of all the parking spots in all the parking lots, of all the apartments in this godforsaken town, you parked right behind my spot.

Nothing happened, and even if we crossed paths, nothing probably would have happened (that’s how they worked, pretending nothing was ever wrong and that I was the crazy one). But I still waited, and when I decided to leave, I moved as fast as possible without drawing attention. One whole year removed from that person.

—

It doesn’t take physical abuse, or yelling and screaming and death threats. It doesn’t need to be a parent or a sibling, a relative, or a romantic partner. This person never touched me, never screamed (though they did yell on occasion), never actually threatened anything. They never called me names, were never direct with any of their insults, were never explicitly petty. I had no proof. Ever.

I just had example after example of every time they cut me down to feel smart, picked on me to feel better about themselves and project their own insecurities and jealousy, or used me as their emotional punching bag because of choices they made.

So a year after completely cutting them out, there’s that fucking car parked outside my apartment.

Media portrays “triggers” usually only in characters who are veterans. Noises that sound like gunshots, or thunder, fireworks, because that’s what we think of when we see PTSD—people who fought in wars.

It’s not like I sit around fixating on that car or that door chime (and actually with exposure to that chime every day with no consequences it’s gotten better), but that’s the point. They come out of nowhere when you least expect it. They don’t prepare you for their arrival, they just happen.

I didn’t have anything close to a panic attack, but nothing in the universe was more important in that moment than making sure I didn’t run into this person, until I calmed down.

Trigger attacks don’t have to be this big flashy thing, born of big flashy movements. It can be something as subdued as going quiet, staring at the thing, and your brain dumping everything else except all the potential outcomes of not escaping this situation immediately. It’s just a car. It’s not like an evil Big Dick truck with smokestacks and truck nuts and a MAGA flag on the back. It’s just a nerdy sedan that could belong to anyone.

—

So. PSA.

What you think might be an overreaction by someone you care about, they probably think is an overreaction, too. Did I want to have fate shit on my day and spend extra minutes under the hot sun when I have chores to do? No. But it happened.

What you think a trigger is supposed to look like or what the symptoms are supposed to be are not just what’s dramatic and flashy for the TV. Here I am writing a whole blog post about it instead of just moving on and I can't go back and check for typos because I don't want to have to reread it.

Do you want to die on a hill of “get over it” when someone you care about would love nothing more? Just. Be there for them.

And to writers, artists, anyone—it doesn’t have to be dramatic to be the most upsetting part of someone’s day. Including such simple things as a door chime, or the sound of an engine, really helps with visibility so people like me don’t think “I’m not allowed to feel this way, I didn’t actually suffer like a shell-shocked veteran”.

Most of us never will. That doesn’t make any of our hardships any less valid. Please be kind.

[thinkinonsense]

Touchཐིཋྀ

origins!logan howlett x fem!reader x black widow!natasha romanoff

cw: mdni!! oral (f+f), strap-on sex, fingering, squirting, doggy style, p in v, angst, some fluff, angsttt, dom!nat & dom!logan x sub!reader

masterlist

after a life of running and living in fear of an impending doom, you and logan had finally managed to build a peaceful life together. deep in the woods sat a wooden cabin where the two of you spent most of your days.

during the week, logan worked down at the lumberyard while you taught ballet to a group of young girls downtown. your boyfriend didn't know much of your past, just that you were tested on and abused back in russia. he never pressured you to talk about the past, his wasn't any better either.

buried in the back of your closet hid a box of belongings from russia. there weren't many things you valued from that time there but you did manage to take some photos of the girls you were friends with, a few journal, and an old pager given to you by someone you no longer knew. her face was everywhere but she never bothered to reach out again after escaping the red room.

"i'll see you later, honey." logan whispered as he kissed your cheek then left the bedroom.

half asleep still, you mumble a goodbye before your head hit the pillow again for the next couple of hours. you didn't have a class today but instead planned on going to town and getting groceries for the week.

it's a little after one when you finally jump in the shower, listing all the things you needed to buy and what you wanted to make for dinner. while picking out an outfit, you hear a faint vibration. logan kept your toys under the bed so, you knew that wasn't where the noise was coming from.

it could be?

inside the box, you can see the familiar number flash. hesitantly, you walk over to the phone and dial. pacing back and forth on the wooden floor, waiting for an answer.

"эй, принцесса."

hey, princess

you knew that voice like the back of your hand but you still couldn't believe it.

"natalia." your accent came out thick and heavy. she should've expected you to be upset still.

it's been everywhere. the news of the sokovia accords and the freeing of the winter soldier. you were keeping up with the news but not too closely. it was irritating watching natasha get to play super hero with the likes of iron man and captain america when you knew the truth.

"can we talk? i need a favor." she sounded desperate.

"i don't think that's a good idea." you sigh, unable to come up with a good excuse.

"c'mon, for old times sake?"

you hesitate. of course you missed her, how could you not? despite the red room being the worst time of your life, natalia was the daylight that kept you going.

"you don't even know where i am."

"look out your kitchen window."

pulling back the curtain, there she stood on your porch. long red hair just like you remembered, a small suite case next to her and a pair of black sunglasses covering her eyes. you hang up the phone and grab a kitchen knife from the counter; moving closer to the door.

"how did you find me?" you squint, feeling somewhere between anger and impressed.

"an old friend owed me a favor." she shrugs. "i didn't picture you as a living among the trees type of girl. you know, it quite dangerous to live alone in the woods."

"i can take care of myself" you remind her before adding, "and i don't live alone."

natasha's face falls a little. if you didn't know her as well as you did, you never would've been able to tell. she had a million questions but wasn't sure if she wanted the answers.

"what was the favor you needed?" you ask, trying to change the subject.

"i need a place to lay low for a bit."

was it horrible that you had to remind yourself that you are with logan now? now you love logan more than anything but you would be lying if you said natasha didn't hold a special place in your heart still.

"no games, nat." you put on your best poker face, knowing she could see right through you.

"even though i do miss playing with you," her lips linger closely to yours. sharing the same air. "i promise, no games."

"good. there's a guest room inside."

the two of you enter the house again and you show her the extra room. it's not very decorated, simply and neat. natasha didn't mind, she was just thankful you hadn't tried to fight her once you saw her again.

"so, who's the lucky lady that managed to tie you down?" nat chuckles to herself as she unpacks her things.

"his name is logan." you answer nervously.

why were you nervous? you didn't owe her anything, especially after the way she left you.

natasha felt the knife in her chest twist at the news. not only had you moved on but you were sickly in love. maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

a car door slams shut, snapping both of you back into reality.

"i'll be back. there's towels under the sink if you want to take a shower." you linger in the door way, waiting for her to turn and catch a glimpse of you before you leave.

"thanks, принцесса."

she doesn't even look up at you.

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

logan could smell trouble miles away. the blood soaked in her jacket. the faint smell of her sweat and your cherry perfume. he assumed you were in trouble, maybe someone broke in or lured you out of the house to attack you. within seconds, he was back in his truck to check up on you.

"hey, honey." you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

"hey... are you... are you alright?" he struggled to get out in between kisses.

"mhm, i was thinking we could go for a drive." you were talking too fast, trying to distract him from whatever was inside.

"what's going on, sweetheart?" one of his brows arched, waiting for the truth.

both of you climb into the truck but logan never starts the car. instead he listens to the rapid beating of your heart.

"there's something—someone, from my past that's inside. she needed a place to lay low for a little bit."

logan could tell by your lack of eye contact that there was something you were still hiding something about this friend of yours.

"I won't be upset." he saying lovingly, reaching for your hand.

"when i was in the red room, i worked closely with a woman that i also was in a relationship with at the time."

logan wasn't sure why you were nervous to tell him this? he knew you liked women as well and he wasn't threatened by it. sure, is it a bit odd that your ex was coming here to hide out? defintely but logan of all people should know what it's like to be in need of somewhere to hide out.

"it was more than just physical. she meant a lot to me until..." you debated on telling him more but still on the fence.

"until?" he tests the waters.

"dreykov sent me to budapest. she never looked for me." on the verge of tears, you bite down on your tongue. "it killed me because not only did she leave me but she abandoned all the other girls that were stuck in the red room."

logan pulls you into his chest, stroking your hair gently, letting you know that it's okay to cry. your brain didn't get the memo because nothing came out.

"you don't have to let her stay here if it's too much for you." he reminds you.

"i know. i'm just not sure if i can handle her leaving again."

"must've really loved her, huh, princess?"

you nod softly into his chest.

"i don't mind if she stays but if you don't want her too, that's fine too." he says. "just want you to be happy."

in times like these, it hits you just how lucky you are to be with someone like logan. someone so understanding and loving. he knew the pain you went through all those years ago and how deep the connection with the woman inside must be. you can't survive that level of abuse without something keeping you going. for you, that something was natasha.

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

inside the house, natasha watched you and logan out in the car. slightly intimidated by your boyfriends stature and entirely jealous of his arms wrapped around you. she had to remind herself that you were practically a stranger to her now. so much has changed over the years and neither of you were the same girls from the red room anymore.

when she saw the two of you exiting the car, she rushed back into the guest room. in the tiny hallway, she noticed the picture frames on the wall. there's a photo of a group of young ballerinas and yourself. natasha wonders if that's how you keep yourself connected to your past life.

next to your picture is your boyfriend -whatever his name was- and some of his friends outside of a fancy looking school. natasha tried to pay little attention to it on her way back to the room.

ten minutes pass before there's a soft knock on the door.

"come in." natasha calls out, turning off the television.

from behind the door, you appear with a plate and a glass in your hands. the smile on her lips, drops the moment she sees him at your tail.

"thought you might be hungry." you explain, handing her the sandwich you made for her

"isn't that sweet of you to think of me," she teases, watching the way your cheeks flush with color at her words.

logan leans against the door frame while you sit on the bed with natasha. he watched as you completely bewitched the red headed woman in front of you. she was practically hanging onto every word you said. he couldn't blame her though, you have the same effect on him.

"you must be 'lucky logan' ?"natasha cocks her head at the man behind you.

"guess so." he smirks, admiring the doe eyes you give him.

"hm, and you're okay with me staying here?" she asks.

"that's not up to me." logan shrugs.

natasha's green eyes shift over to your face, waiting for you to say something.

"i want you here, nat." you admit.

her heart flutters in her chest. she knew she didn't deserve a second chance and would leave if you asked her too but god, was she grateful that you still wanted her to be here.

"i don't deserve you, принцесса." she says softly, finding it hard to mask her feelings anymore.

"shhh..." you tell her. "just get some rest."

natasha actually listens to you, finishing her sandwich and crawling under the soft comforter. you reach for the empty plate and she stops you before you could walk away; placing a soft kiss on the inside of your palm. the tiny gasp that left your mouth didn't sneak past either of them in the room. once she let you go, you and logan exit the room and go into your own shared bedroom.

logan watched you pace back and forth, wiping her kiss mark off on your blue jeans. it pulled at his heart strings to see you so torn by natasha's presence. tears fall down your face like rain.

"don't cry, sweetheart." logan says, wrapping his arms around you.

"i'm s-sorry, lo..." you apologize, upset at yourself for still harvesting these feelings towards natasha.

"for what?" he asks, lifting up your chin to look at him.

"i love you so much." you blurt out, too afraid to say what you really wanted to.

"i know. i love you too." he smiles, bending down to give you a quick kiss then adding, "and i know you love her too."

"it's not–"

"it's okay." he assures you. "i'm not upset."

"you aren't?" you question, prepared for him to storm out and want nothing to do with you ever again.

"no."

without thinking, you completely collapse into his arms, so thankful for the man in front of you.

"i don't deserve you, logan." you whisper, kissing him gently.

"don't say that." he says sternly. "i'm just trying to give you everything you want in life."

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

hours later, natasha woke up. she could smell faint tobacco from somewhere in the house. it was enough to get her out of bed to see where it was coming from. in the living room, she found logan on the couch watching a western and smoking a cigar with his boots up on the coffee table. he didn't have to turn around to know that nat was there.

"she went to the grocery store to get something for dinner." he says nonchalantly answering the question in your head.

natasha hummed in response, keeping a distance from logan in case he decides to do something rash like fight her.

"you can sit down, you know?" he chuckles, blowing the smoke from his mouth. "i'm not gonna attack you or anything."

"i wouldn't blame you if you did." she remarks, picking the single chair in the living room to sit down at.

"the only way i would do that is if you decide to hurt her again." he states frankly, eyes glued to the television screen.

"i suppose that's fair; but i don't plan on it."

"good. she's practically a damn saint."

natasha smiles a little at his words.

"yeah, she is." she says. “i wish i hadn’t left her the way that i did but there wasn’t much choice in the matter.”

“why did you leave her there?”

“dreykov found out about us. he threatened to have her sold off somewhere to someone who would probably kill her or worse.” natasha’s voice was tiny for once. painfully reminding her of the past she tried to burry. “thought i made it easier by leaving. she doesn’t know it but i did try to go back for her. twice actually. once by myself and another time with my friend, clint. the first time, she didn’t recognize me. the second time, he ordered her to kill me. barely made it out alive."

logan remembered how after a couple of months dating, you opened up about your memory issues. constantly feeling like you were missing a piece of the puzzle that was your life from all the experiments. it’s one of the things that helped you two connect with each other.

“i’ve seen her kill with her bare hands. seen her tied to tables with needles injected into her until she was blue in the face and spitting up blood. she was one of his favorite’s. used to wake up to her screaming from the nightmares.”

“she still gets them sometimes.” logan mutters.

nastasha nods, wiping a tear away quickly.

“do you think she will ever forgive me?”

“i think so.”

“do you think i deserve it?”

“probably not,” he said honestly with a shrug. “but that’s not up to me.”

natasha appreciated his candor at least.

“she’s back.” logan said before she could even hear the car approaching.

logan got up to help you bring in the bags. once both of you are inside, you spot nat sitting in the living room awake.

"hey, whatcha doin’ awake already?” you ask.

"i haven’t been awake long.” she answers, getting up and joining you in the kitchen.

“i’m making pasta, hope that’s alright with you?”

“of course. want some help?”

you instruct her to boil the noodles while you prepare the sauce. the two of you stand close next to each other as nat watches over your shoulder.

"have you heard from yelena lately?" you ask, making small talk.

"no." nat's voice came out a whisper. "have you?"

"mhm." you hum, stirring the sauce. "she called a month ago, asked what i knew about these red vitals she was given."

"vitals?"

"yeah, i told her my memory isn't as good as it used to be."

natasha reaches over and lightly touches your ponytail, twirling the ends around her fingers to help ease you. that’s how she used to calm you down as teenagers, by playing with your hair. deep down you knew you shouldn’t look at her, not this close anyways. nat could smell your cherry perfume, over powering her senses. her plump lips tempted you, sending an ache down to your lower region. she watches you intensely, waiting for you to make a move and wanting you more than ever.

unbeknownst to either of you, logan knew what was going on. he could smell the need forming in your underwear, could practically hear natasha’s dirty thoughts about you. most boyfriends would feel threatened by this but logan was different. he worshipped the ground you walked on and he always valued your happiness. why would he deny you of the love you deserved?

"i-i'm gonna go grab some wine from the cellar." you stutter, leaving her there alone.

nat nods, walking back into the living room to breathe.

"you can kiss her, if she wants you too." logan says aloud, tapping off the end of his cigar on the ashtray next to him.

"you aren't just saying that so then you would have an excuse to try and kill me, are you?" she squints.

"she won't make the first move. too afraid that she'll hurt me." he replied, ignoring natasha's comment.

"you wouldn't care?" she questions.

"no."

"what if i wanted to do more than kiss her?"

"its up to her."

logan watches natasha's eyes cloud with lust at the thought. how could he fault her? you were the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen in all 200+ years of his life. plus he would be lying in he said that he wouldn't find it hot to see you and natasha going at it.

"hey, is red okay?" you ask, holding a bottle up as you rounded the corner.

both logan and nat looked at you with these hungry looking eyes like you were their prey. logan's nostrils flare a little at the sweet scent.

"r-reds fine." nat stutters, her throat was dry at the thought of being back in between your thighs.

"cool, i'll get the glasses."

as you turn to leave, logan calls after you, "can you bring me a beer, sweetheart?"

"of course" you nod, obediently.

when you return, the three of you sit and watch the western playing for a few minutes until logan huffs loudly, sick of this tension and neither of you two doing anything about it.

"are you two gonna kiss 'n make up already, or what?" logan teases.

natasha and you find each others blown out gaze. both of you needed this. needing closure.

"fuck it." natasha mumbles to herself, getting up and coming over to you.

the redhead straddles you on the couch, caressing your jaw in her delicate palm. you nod your head, letting her know that you wanted this as much as she did. from her first taste of you, she knew it would be impossible to pull away.

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

nat chases your plump kiss bitten red lips, backing you up until your legs hit the edge of the bed. your hands are up her shirt and under her bra, squeezing the soft flesh of her tits. rubbing your thumb over the blooming bud and listening to her pretty moans against your lips. she lays you down and strips herself of her clothes. you rush to do the same, wiggling out of your jeans.

behind nat, you see logan walk in with his beer in his hand and take a seat across from you in the corner. knowing that he's watching sent shivers down your spine. it wasn't until natasha grabbed your chin and squished your cheeks together that you realized you had been staring at logan.

"it's not his turn, it's mine." she taunts.

you nod your head and babble out an apology. she removes her grip on you only to lay down in between your thighs. a sight that you missed dearly.

"natty, please don't tease." you whine, arching at the soft kisses she trails inside of your thighs and hip bones, avoiding where you needed her most.

she smiles at the fact that your already shaking with anticipation. surprisingly, she looks over at logan.

"keep her legs spread for me, would ya'?" she asks.

he nods, already hard in his blue jeans. logan joins you two on the bed, sitting behind you and letting you rest comfortable against his chest. he places your legs over his to keep you open for natasha. she groans, sucking a dark plum bruise on your hipbone. meanwhile, logan's leaving similar marks on your neck and along your shoulder.

"please." you whine, wiggling your hips in her face. both natasha and logan can smell your arousal in the air. it's intoxicating.

"patients, baby." she scolds before licking a fat stripe over your clothed cunt.

"w-wanna feel you nat."

without hesitation, natasha tears the lacy material from your body and spreads you open. it's been years since she had last seen you in this position. she needs a moment to capture your angelic imagine.

"there's my girl." nat says, talking to your cunt. completely ignoring you and logan like you two aren't even in the room.

"isn't she a fuckin sight?" logan finally speaks up.

right as you open your mouth to beg her to do something, anything, she leaning in again to lick from your entrance up to your button.

"missed this pussy, принцесса..." nat says sloppily into your folds. "so wet for me."

"uh-uh." you moan, throwing your head back.

logan turns your chin to capture your lips, letting you moan freely into his mouth while his hands come up to massage your tits. fingers pinching and rolling the stiff buds in his palms.

natasha spends a while making out with your cunt; taking her time to savor the honey that pours from inside of you. she pulls back for a second to spit on your mound, letting it drip down before inserting her middle and ring finger. hers weren't nearly as thick as logan's but they are longer and still feel perfect in their own way. she watches how you and logan move together while she pumps in and out of you. for once, she didn't feel jealous of logan for having you. instead it made her heart swell to know that someone else loves you just as much as she does.

despite all the pleasure you felt, selfishly you wanted more. your right hand moves to intertwine itself into nat's red locks, pulling her head back to where you needed her most. her tongue swirled circles over your swollen bud, teasing it playfully. her fingers move faster inside of you as she grinds her clothed cunt against the mattress, moaning against your folds.

"ya' feel good, sweetheart?" logan asks, placing a soft kiss on your hairline.

"sooo good, lo." you purr, gazing up at him with doe eyes.

his low chuckle makes you clench down had on natasha's fingers. all that can be heard in the room are low moans and wet squelching noises. nat kitten licks your button until you reach your first high of the night.

too caught in euphoria to control your legs wrapping around her neck, squeezing her head with your thighs. your loud moans were barely audible to her at this moment. the red head could die happily right here, right now.

carefully, she pulls off of you.

"you did so good for me, принцесса." she praises, stroking your thighs.

as soon as natasha sits up, you reach out and kiss her, tasting yourself on her plump maroon lips. she melts into the kiss making it easy for you to flip her over on her back. logan gets up again, unbuckling his belt as he watches the two of you grind on each other in messy, uncoordinated movements.

"wish you could fuck me like old times, nat." you mumble, kissing her chest and leaving little love bites behind.

"i-i could..." she hesitates.

already ahead of her, logan's rummaging through her backpack and hold up a familiar contraption.

"lookin' for this, red?" he smirks, tossing the strap-on onto the bed next to her.

the last time nat wanted either of you two think is that she just dropped by to fuck you and leave but what can she say? she's prepared for anything.

"is this alright with you, pretty girl?" she asks you in between lightly nibbling on your pulse point while you grind your cunt against the soft skin of her abs.

natasha pulls back to look at you. her hand cradles your jaw, waiting for your answer.

"i need it natty." you nod. "need you inside of me."

those words make her blue eyes turn a stormy dark grey. in a rush, she puts it on and lets you line yourself up to the silicone. despite all the time apart, the two of you fell back into a seamless rhythm together. one of her hands rests on your hip, helping you move up and down while the other paws at your chest, rolling the stiff bud.

"uh-fuck." you whine, throwing your head back when she angles her hips up with a sharp snap.

"that's the spot, huh?" she smirks, watching your pretty face scrunch up as you try and focus.

weakly, you nod your head and babble something incoherent to both hers and logan's ears. it's not the same feeling that logan gives you obviously but the way natasha's fucking up into you makes you feel just as good.

logan makes his way over to you, palming his boxer covered cock as he leans down to make out with you. willingly, giving in as his tongue explores your mouth messily with a hand in your hair. natasha uses this to her advantage, bringing her thumb up to your clit and circle it slowly in contrast to the jolts of her hips hitting yours. logan swallows every little moan that spills from your plump lips.

" 'm so close, natty." you whimper, tears in your waterline as logan's sucks on your pulse point.

"is that so, baby?" she mocks with a light roll of her hips.

"d-don't stop, please." you beg, bouncing faster to chase your high.

natasha and logan were both wishing that they could feel you clenching around them instead of the silicone.

logan's big rough hands help you bounce in rhythm as soon as he sees your movements slow down.

"c'mon, princess." logan groans in your ear. "we wanna see you fall apart for us."

"cum for us, sweet girl." natasha purrs, sitting up to suck on your tit and picking up speed with her thumb.

that's all it takes for you to release on top of nat, hips shaking violently while you leaked all over her lap. eyes screwed shut, stars coming into vision as you try to calm yourself down again. it just felt so good to feel the contrasts between her and logan when they fuck you.

carefully, logan picks you up off of natasha's strap. she takes it off and throws it aside, watching logan help you recover.

"don't ya' think natasha deserves something too for how good she's made you feel, princess?" logan asks you.

"mhm." you nod, crawling in between her legs. "wanna thank you properly, natty."

natasha thinks she might cum just from looking at your big doe eyes in between her thighs. you play flat on your stomach, kissing the plush soft skin. her hips wiggle impatiently in your face. the sweet smell of her arousal reminded you of all the other intimate moments the two of you have shared. within seconds, you're ripping off her lacy black panties and tossing them somewhere to the side of the bed.

"so fuckin' pretty 'n so wet." you mumble to yourself as you pull her fold apart, watching her slick drip from her entrance. "is this all for me?"

"o-only for you, baby." she says with a shaky breath.

you lean forward licking a strip from her entrance to her button. your hands wrap under her thighs and pull her tight against your face, letting her use you however she wanted. natasha grinds down on your tongue, moaning when your nose occasionally bumping her clit. she taste sweeter than any other times you've buried your tongue inside of her.

"love how good your tongue feels, baby." she moans, brushing your hair out of your face.

mind fully focused on nat that you don't even register logan shifting around behind you, running his tip up and down your pussy. lightly slapping your clit before thrusting inside of you. his cock stretches you deliciously, making you moan against natasha's cunt. her fingers pulls a bit at your hair from the vibrations. it's always a struggle to get him to fit inside of you.

"tightest pussy in the fuckin' world, i swear." he mumbles to himself, watching you swallow him whole.

logan's thrusts start to increase as he paws at the flesh of your ass. his tip kisses your cervix repeatedly, making it hard for you to keep your mouth around nat. your forehead pressed against her thigh while you try to concentrate, licking your fingers and inserting them into natasha's tight warm cunt.

"fuck!" nat moans, clenching around your two fingers as they reach that spongey spot deep inside of her. "faster, принцесса. wanna cum for you."

her dirty words sent you into a frenzy. using all of your strength left to make her gush. the noises were so lewd it made your head spin. her back arches and soft moans fall from her lips as she tugs on your hair. like a faucet, she's leaking all over your hand, your face, and down on yours and logan's shared sheets.

behind you, logan is too busy trying not to cum inside of you too soon. he's gripping your hips so hard you know that there will be bruising left behind. every now and then you can hear him grunting and smack the fat of your ass, watching as it bounces back at him. the pleasure builds in your tummy. logan's hand snakes under you to rub at your clit.

"f-faster, lo." you whimper, lifting your mouth off of natasha for a second.

"i gotcha, princess." he groans, doing so.

within seconds, you release all over him. the string of moans vibrate against nat's core, overstimulating her until she cums again, soaking your face entirely. logan doesn't last much longer either. he paints your walls white and keeps you stuffed with his cum, only pulling out when it starts to sting a little.

the three of you are quiet for a moment, needing time to recover. who would've thought that two russia assassins and a mutant would need time to recover from anything, let alone sex.

logan's the first to move, going to bring towels and some water. you rest your head on natasha's stomach, she runs her nails against your scalp the same way she would when you woke up from nightmares. a tear rolls down your cheek, thinking about her running away again.

"what's wrong, принцесса?" she whispers, hearing you soft cry.

"just dreading you leaving again." you mutter, afraid to look up at her.

"hey, i'll be here as long as you want me here." she says, lifting your chin up.

"tasha, someone needs to save those girls. dreykov won't stop until someone comes after him."

there's a long pause of silence before she says anything again. her eyes glued to the ceiling, trying not to cry.

"you know, i used to picture a simple life for the two of us. something similar to this actually, minus the grumpy looking man in the kitchen. i wanted to give you a piece of normalcy but i kept running away, afraid i was the one putting you in harms way." she sighs shakily. "i shouldn't have ran. i should've come back. there's so much i couldn't give you but i see that logan can do that for you."

"look, i love logan more than anything but why can't we make it work too?" your question makes both natasha and logan pause, as he returns into the bedroom.

natasha looks up at logan, ready for him to finally yell and kick her out. especially now that she's coming between the two of you. instead he's looking over at you with a spark of love in his gaze.

"i don't think logan would appreciate sharing you full time." she says, avoiding your wide eyed stare.

"i just want my girl to be happy." he responds, lighting another cigar. "think she would be happier with both of us, red."

the time has never been right for you and natasha but who says it needs to be? she's finally back in your life again and you can't risk letting her go again.

"we will help you track down yelena and fight with you to free those girls from the redroom but i want you here with us, natty. please don't go again."

she finally looks down at you and her heart melts. how would she be able to leave you again? not after today. this is where her heart lied, here with you.

"of course, i'll stay принцесса."

[wip]

A very very minor thing I have been curious about for a while, and I'm finally asking: why do you calculate queue posting times the way you do? For example, if I set my queue to post 3x a day, naively I would expect it to post every 8 hours. But in reality it posts every 6 hours with a 12 hour gap between days. Why complicate the math like that?

Answer: Hello @circumference-pie!

Buckle up y’all, it’s story time again!

First: nobody who works at Tumblr right now was a part of the work of planning the default queue implementation, which was more than ten years ago. So the full story behind “Why does it work that way?” has unfortunately been lost to the sands of time. All we can do is tell you how it works today and surmise some reasons why. The queue is actually a very clever system and part of how it works explains some of why it works the way it does. Also, there have been attempts to do what you ask—we still have “Queue 2.0” available in your Tumblr Labs settings, which tries to get closer to how you expect things to work.

Anyway! How the queue works today is not actually a queue in the traditional sense. There is no single list of posts that are in “your queue”. Instead, when you “Add to queue” after creating a post, we’re actually scheduling it to post at a future time, as if you had used the “Schedule post” option instead. We’re just calculating that time on your behalf when you use “Add to queue”, based on your settings, and how many other scheduled posts you have already. We use a secondary “index” model, called “ScheduledPost”, to keep track of posts you have scheduled on your blog. We do mark the ones that are a part of “your queue”, but the data model doesn’t keep one list of your “queue” per se.

You can see this in action on your blog, hiding in plain sight. If you add a bunch of posts to your queue, and then schedule a post for a specific future date, you’ll see both in your blog’s “queue” list, side by side. Because technically to us, they’re the same thing: queued posts are really just another kind of scheduled post, relying on the same always-running service to publish scheduled posts across all of Tumblr. Here’s a fun fact: we typically have about ~14.5 million future posts to publish from this list at any given time and are publishing hundreds of these scheduled posts every second.

So when you’re adding a new post to your queue, what we’re doing behind the scenes is starting at the beginning of your “day”, and creating time slots based on your queue settings. If a time slot is already filled, we move on to the next one. That’s why the default queue scheduler works how you describe—we’re trying to fill those “slots” based on the start of the day, rather than trying to divide the calendar day evenly. This just makes it much simpler for us to understand, scale, and predict when our “peaks” will be. At peak times, the publish-scheduled-posts service is publishing tens of thousands of posts in a manner of seconds. We did rewrite that post-publishing part of this architecture a few years ago to improve its efficiency and solve a lot of “lost post” bugs, but we didn’t change how “Add to queue” works.

However, the Queue 2.0 project available in Labs was an attempt to change the queue system to work as you expect—instead of starting at [beginning of day] and creating enough slots to fit [number of slots] every [number of hours], it tries to divide the calendar day into [number of slots] and fit the result back to the original algorithm’s mapping of the day. We never productionized this alternative approach, because it has a few bugs that some blogs hit in extreme cases, and we’ve never had time to fully fix them. It also can cause a bit of weirdness when time zones diverge, like with daylight savings time. Also, a lot of people prefer the default algorithm, and we haven’t thought of a nice way to transition everyone from one to the other. So for now, both options exist, and you can choose which algorithm for queue-slot-generating you want to use. We hope that makes sense! 

While complicated, it is a great example of a system built by engineers to make sense and be scalable and predictable. But sometimes these kinds of systems, while clever, aren’t very intuitive to understand without digging into how they work.

Thanks for your question, and keep ’em coming. 

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

AN: heads up, next post is NSFW so it will be broken up into "two parts" (even though it's one post). First part is the SFW part which will post on tumblr as normal, and the rest will be on Pillowfort which will be linked to the post. I'll drop a formal TW/CW before the post drops tomorrow he he

Transcript under the cut

Transcript:

Nancy Narrates: [There was a certain feeling that arose within me when I saw her name on properties around the city; it stirred a mix of both anger and desire]

Nancy Narrates: [If I was going to revel in the satisfaction of her loss to me, I knew I would have to put in twice the work, even if it came at a price]

-

Geoffrey: Go, Johnny! Go! Keep pushing!

Bob: You got it, kid! Bring it home!

Geoffrey: YEEEAAH! That’s my boy! That’s my son!

Bob: Whoa! Kid’s a natural athlete!

Jonathan: I-I made it? I made it! I did it!

Jonathan: Mom! Mom, I made my first goal! Mom!

Nancy: I guaranteed to Mayor Dreamer that I could cut cost 20%. We have 15 days left before the bid is awarded. We need to make this happen!

-

Malcolm: Mommy, come look at my sketches! I made a big house, just like you-

Nancy: I can’t keep burning daylight waiting for answers- one second. Malcolm, not now. Mommy is busy.

Malcolm: [whines] But you’re always busy! I want you to look at it right now!

Nancy: [groans] Please, no whining. Spare Mommy for a moment, please? Give me an hour.

Malcolm: [huffs] One hour!

Nancy: One hour.

Malcolm: It’s been exactly one hour, lady! Mommy? Heeyy...are you sleeping?

-

Nancy: She thinks she can best me at my own game? I’ve prepared my whole life for this, I refuse to let some second rate nothing firm challenge me.

Nancy: And I’ve research her work, her designs are horrid. She’s a brutalist. Of course she is. Anyone can put no effort into a tacky, soulless desolate building and slap a sale price on it. It requires no talent which she clearly lacks.

Geoffrey: Nance. [huffs] Listen, I love hearing about your day, but when I asked how you would like to celebrate our 10 year anniversary, you said you'd be busy with the Dreamer Project, which I understand, but when I asked could we make arrangements after, you went on a tangent about Lily Feng for 45 minutes.

Nancy: D-did I? ...I’m sorry.

Geoffrey: I know I married a passionate woman. It’s just, you have to find a balance with these things. You have to make room for the boys and for me.

Geoffrey: Johnny is feeling sore about you missing his big shot at his game.

Nancy: But I didn’t miss it. I was there!

Geoffrey: There’s being there, and then there’s being there, you know?

Nancy: God, I’m making such a mess of this. I’ll make it up to him. Perhaps... we can make a thing of it, our anniversary. We can take a trip with the boys.

Geoffrey: I’d love that. Baby, I don’t mean to make you feel bad-

Nancy: No, you were right to. I’m getting too carried away.

Geoffrey: [chuckles] I don’t know why you’re so worried, we all know you’ll win.

From: Nancy Landgraab (Nancy@LCorp.net) 3 more days until I’m awarded the bid. I may have a janitorial position open for you if you ask me nicely for it.

From: Lily Feng (l.feng@LE.com) Up so late thinking about me, are you? I guess we’ll see who ends up begging on their knees for work, Landgraab.

-

Assistant: Mrs. Landgraab, the site manager from Tomarang returned your call. He’s on line one. He also has his translator on the line as well.

Nancy Narrates: [I was going to win. Fortunately for me, money was a language spoken everywhere and I had plenty of it]

Lily: [speaking in Tomarangi]

Victor: I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.

Lily: [scoffs, laughs] More important than the needs of our clients here?

Victor: It’s about the Dreamer Project and the Landgraabs.

Victor: The contractors pulled out. They were paid off.

Lily: Fuck! This cannot happen, Victor! The fucking proposal is due in 24 hours! Where the hell are we going to get the cheap labor and materials?!

Victor: We can’t! We’re screwed!

Lily: So... so she won? Is that it?

Victor: Won? Are you serious? Damn it, Lily! You and this- this game of yours will ruin us! We needed this!

Lily: [murmurs] She- actually beat me?

[redcherrykook]

──── ⊱ ☆ ⊰ Evidence of a criminal bond- prologue

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

enemies to lovers at the detectives office

Jeon Jungkook has been your annoying coworker at the detective´s office for what feels like ages. What happens when he gets assigned as your partner against crime for seouls´s ongoing case of the masked serial killer? Will a vulcano and a tornado manage to find peace in each others chaos, while trying to catch the person responsible for the horror unleashed upon the nation?

content warning: please keep in mind this au revolves around the job as a criminal detective, therefore dealing with darker topics, including sensitive topics such as SA, m^rder, assault, robbery, blackmail, sex work, trauma, therapy.

A large portion of this work is fiction, while some aspects also have valid foundations in actual crime cases as well as psychologically related crime studies and research

further content: slow burn, angst, misunderstandings, comfort, eventual smut, trying to work it out for each other, a lot of plot/work focus, side characters such as officer Kim Namjoon and criminal psychologist Park Jimin, good ending

no taglist!

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

23:32, south korea national news channel

"Reporting live in seoul from the highway next to han river, another trash bag sized sack has been pulled out, containing several human remains, the third one these past two months. All of which are linked back to the now dubbed the “river´s ghost” serial killer. In this case, they suspect the remains consisting of three severed limbs and an ear, to be connected to the recent missing person´s case of 23 year old Jang Suyeon. Further updates regarding the autopsy report scheduled to arrive within the next 48 hours."

The city of seoul feels like a dystopian world in this very moment, even the time seems to have stopped. Apart from the ticking of the incredibly loud wall clock hung on your living room wall, only the penetrating sound of deafening silence can be heard. Far along the distance, faint whistles of sirens linger, although you are most likely imagining them, since the han river is 25 minutes away by car.

Peeping outside the window, the streets are entirely empty, unsurprisingly so. After the recent discoverings of a serial killer on the loose, the usually buzzing nightlife of south korea´s capital city has died down to a state of non existence. Once prior it had been filled with party goers and reckless teenagers who should be fast asleep, now leaving no trace of any living being to follow behind. Strange, considering that most abductions occur in daylight rather than during the late hours of the night.

The blinds fall shut when your attention turns back to the flashing television that serves as the sole bearer of light inside your apartment, the volume that you had set to mute after hearing the news now turning back up with a click to the remote control.

“.. the case is reportedly being handled by seoul´s department of nation wide crime” faintly the reported speaks into her microphone and just as expected, you weren´t the only one listening in,

your phone´s buzzing comes in quickly, cutting through your trance like state

“Hello? mister Jeon?” you ask, flashed by the bright screen of your phone starkly contrasting the barely illuminated room, the deep, masculine voice on the other end speaks seriously,

“I´m sure you´ve seen the news. This is my case, miss Hwang. I called to remove your chance for disappointment, but i will secure my place for this with the superior offi-”

“Asshole” you mutter after cutting the call short, he did not deserve any more of your time, especially not at this hour.

It´s only now that you notice the noises of trees bustling next to your second floor window, seemingly shaken by the wind that disturbs the awfully suspenseful atmosphere.

Enough speculating in front of the television, every relevant piece of information would greet you first thing in the office tomorrow, now that you´re department is responsible for handling the case of the river´s ghost.

[takumiraine]

Once upon a time chapter 3

3 chapters in as many days? Nobody tell my Ao3 readers. I don’t have siblings, but I hope I captured banter well.

<first> <prev> <next>

Once upon a time two men stopped believing in fairy tales.

Jason walked into the admissions office with Dan’s schedule memorized as well as Bab’s working schedule in the library to debrief both before and after and make sure their own girl genius ate. She was the only one in the family that didn’t treat him differently since the whole dead until he wasn’t thing after all.

“Hi there,” Jason said to the woman working the desk, turning on every ounce of charm, bringing out the smile that historically got him into as many troublesome spots as it got him out of. “I’m Jason Todd-Wayne and I think I’m ready to put down roots and get my degree in Literature. Russian or English, doesn’t matter.”

“Oh!” The woman looked suitably flustered, and he felt suitably stupid as he stood there with that thousand sun smile and his stupid shock of white hair and completely unprotected t shirt and jeans. Yeah he had a couple of knives in his boots but… he felt entirely too exposed. “Let me… make a call and see who can get you settled in.”

An hour and one incredibly flimsy “yeah well I’ve been doing absolutely no learning the last five years just give me the remedials first” lie later, and Jason had a schedule that matched up in a couple places with this Dan person.

He went to go see Babs at her job in the library, stopping at the campus coffee shop to bring her her favorite drink. May as well add some extra bribery to keep her from spilling if Bruce asked.

Jason doubted he would but weirder things have happened.

He walked up to where she was tapping away on one of the computers at the reference desk. He reached over and set the coffee near enough so she could grab it and far enough away that she wouldn’t throw a fit about the possibility of spills.

Jason looked around idly, waiting for her to be done with whatever task she was set to. Once she was done she grabbed the cup. “He’s here.” She said, taking a drink from her coffee.

Jason blinked. “What?”

“Yeah. Once I saw him this morning, without static, I realized why he was familiar.” There was the steady beep-beep-beep as she checked in books. “He practically lives here. Northwestern corner on the desktop.” More beeping and Jason turned his head under the guise of scanning the space as he sipped from his own drink. “Wouldn’t be suspicious except for last night, and knowing his class schedule.”

Jason nods, pushes off the desk and makes a slow circuit under the guise of looking for a book. The kid, under bright daylight, looks like hell. Pale with dark circles under his eyes. Thin. A quick glance at the screen shows him working on math way more complex than the remedial class he - they were taking. He selected a book from the shelf and returned to Babs.

“Kid looks more dead than I am,” Jason muttered, setting his cup down and paging through the book. Not only did the kid not notice when Jason got close but didn’t look over. No sense of danger that one.

He stood, making bland conversation with Babs and skimming through the book. At least until the kid got up. A quick check of the clock showed it was almost time for their first shared class. He walked out first, and pulled out the sheet of paper with his schedule. When the kid passed by Jason stopped him.

“Hey, sorry to bug you,” he wasn’t, “I started a bit late. Any idea where DL 115 is?” Danny startled a bit as he realized he was being spoken to, before nodding.

“Yeah. Headed there now. C’mon. I’m Danny.” The kid gave a smile and Jason was hit with the thought that with some sleep he was probably handsome.

As they walked Danny rambled a mile a minute, giving directions and a mini tour. Everything surface level, but kind nonetheless. He stifled a yawn as they passed the cafe where Jason had gotten the two coffees earlier that morning “and I’ve heard this place has the best coffee anywhere near campus. Haven’t tried it myself so your mileage may vary, but the smells are right.”

Jason normally found this sort of prattle irritating, but he found himself more amazed at the fact that a kid who had a knife in his stomach no more than 12 hours before was moving like nothing happened.

When they got to class Jason took the spot next to Danny. “Thanks for the tour man,” he said, wishing he could drop the Jason Todd-Wayne persona and go back to being just Jason.

“Yeah. Of course. Gotta help where you can.” Point one against being a rogue in the making. “Whats your major?”

“Literature. You?”

“Mechanical Engineering. I’m shit at lit, my high school teacher once accused me of being that dense on purpose.” Jason couldn’t help the snort, and he caught Danny’s lips quirk in a smile.

“Whats an engineer doing in a remedial math class?”

“High school was murder. Spent most of the time ghosting my classes.” He shrugged a bit, arranging the books he brought on the table. “Chronic underachiever.” The last two words were said with the same tone of someone who had heard them more often than anyone bothered to ask the reason behind it. Jason wasn’t quite sure where that point fell.

“Well, we need more engineers here. You grow up in one of the districts?” Small talk was a Wayne staple and even though Jason could appreciate the way they were helping him get information from the kid, it made him want to claw his face off.

“Nah.” A pause and the pit in Jason burned suddenly. “Small town in the Midwest. They need good ones there too. But Gotham was willing to pay me to be here.” He shrugs. “It’s a living I guess.” Jason had to resist the urge to grit his teeth. “You grow up here?”

A breath in. Out. Control. “Yeah. Crime alley until I was adopted by Bruce Wayne.”

Something in Danny’s look changes subtly, and the pit shrieks. Jason clenches a fist under the table, nails biting into his palm. “Doesn’t he fund the Justice League?” Knowledge outside his scope. Either the kid researched or had inside info. One point for rogue. Jason shrugged one shoulder and did his best ‘I just work here’ voice.

“I think so. Managing the money is more my brother’s thing though.” Keeping his voice even is a struggle with the way the pit lashes inside of him. Sweat beads at his hairline even though he’s certain the air conditioning just clicked on from the way the air is suddenly cooler around him.

“I hate those assholes…” he heard Danny mutter as the teacher entered and began the class. Another point towards rogue. So far it was pretty even, but there could still be an explanation.

The teacher began droning on and slowly the pit calmed in him as more math was put in front of them. Jason wished it would act up. Trying to manage it would keep him occupied from the numbers. They always only meant one thing. There was no subtext. No beauty. No romance to it.

God. If anyone knew that the vicious Red Hood was secretly a romantic? Kill him again now. He glanced over at Danny’s notebook when he realized he missed some instructions. The guy’s handwriting was a mess, little notes jotted this way and that with arrows connecting it to something else that Jason recognized from the more complex math that Babs and Tim sometimes got on about.

Danny caught him looking and trying to copy, and rolled his eyes but put dots next to the things he was missing once he looked over at Jason’s mess of notes.

After class, Jason couldn’t help but ask “why are you in this math class? I’m the wrong guy to ask but that sh…stuff,” he corrected, reminding himself who he was supposed to be. Danny raised an eyebrow but let him continue, “seems way more complicated than what we’re learning.”

“I’m a bad tester.” He shrugs. “I’ve had worse lecture experiences.”

Jason had an opening to get to know this guy better. “Any chance you’d be willing to tutor me?”

Danny’s eyes furrowed at him, “I’m sure your dad could hire someone with a math degree, not just some….” He waved his hand “nothing nobody from nowhere.” He finished. Jason considered, or at least pretended to.

“He could, probably a whole fleet of them. But I hate asking him for things. Rich people are just….”

“Pompous assholes?” Danny supplied when Jason seemed to struggle for a nice way to put it. Even Sam had been at first, her parents’ attitudes surrounding money rubbing off on her.

“Yeah. We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. But I will pay.”

Danny seemed to consider that for a while, watching him more closely than the exhausted appearance would make anyone expect, something sharp and calculating in his gaze. Finally he seemed to decide and nodded, opening to a page where he had his schedule scribbled out. “I guess. When?”

“As soon as possible, I’ve already missed a couple weeks and I’m totally lost.” Not a complete lie. He could get himself caught up but making the bridge with Danny was more important. “Dinner at the cafe? I’ll buy for the inconvenience and then we can head to the library and get started?” Jason remembered Danny showing the mugger the empty wallet the night before. Either the kid kept his money elsewhere or he was broke.

Those sharp blue eyes landed on him again and narrowed slightly, and Jason got the distinct impression he was trying to weigh Jason’s soul against a feather. Then, again, Danny looks away and shrugs. “I guess. My next class is out at five.” Jason made a point of checking his watch. It was three. He nodded. “Meet you there at quarter after.” Jason nodded his agreement and stood. As Danny started to walk off Jason heard “And don’t think I’ll take it easy on you just because you’re a pretty rich boy.”

Fuck. What had he just gotten himself into?

The class Danny was headed to wasn’t one they shared, so Jason returned to the library. “Any idea what the kid does on the computer while he’s here?” Jason asked quietly, standing next to where Babs was shelving books. She handed him one and he put it back where it belonged, over her head.

“Excuse you, libraries are havens for those who want to be away from the panopticon of spying that is the powers that be.” Babs shot back, handing him another book. She could have reached that one but they both knew the understanding was clear, ‘you stand here to bother me during my normal girl hours, you work.’

‘And I know you’ his look countered. She sighed, wheeled herself and the cart to a different shelf.

“Nothing suspicious. Some conspiracy forums. Spends a lot of time sharing conspiracies with accounts named Technus and Ember, occasionally gets told to ‘go outside and eat something’ by an account called Desiree. Everything seems normal, or as normal as can be from conspiracy nuts.”

“What’s their favorite conspiracy?”

“Ghosts mostly. Though Pariah, Dan, also talks about how the JL is either in the pocket of the government or vice versa. He can’t seem to decide.”

“Any idea why he hates them?”

She hums, finishes with that shelf and moves along, waving cheerfully at some students that come out of a study room and keeps on her way. Jason is amazed that she manages the heavy book cart with her wheelchair. It’s just proof that there’s nothing that Babs can’t do. Jason doesn’t offer to push it. If she wanted his help she’d tell him. Or hand him something.

“Something about only helping when it suits them. Sending the government to put down anyone who needs help that they don’t want to give.”

“Threat assessment?” Jason was willing to bet that there was a reason. Maybe not a good reason, but a reason.

“Minimal so far. If they are working together, this forum seems to be their only point of contact. Ember is in Bludhaven, and although I haven’t been able to get any real id on her, Dick says there hasn’t really been anything abnormal out there. She uses a different computer almost every time and pays in cash. Technus is in Metropolis. Has some pretty nasty firewalls. I could get past them but then he’d probably know. Desiree is in Yale, studying psychology. She’s probably the one I have the most information on. Real name Jasmine McLain. Eldest daughter of two middle class parents, younger sibling died in a hit and run in high school, left town first chance she got and never looked back. Overachiever in high school and got an associates in Psychology while working full time. Doesn’t know much about net security but nothing stands out beyond that.”

Jason shelved a few more books. Wished he still smoked. “Something doesn’t feel right.” He couldn’t put his finger on what.

“Sure it’s not that jacket?” Jason looked down at himself, frowning. He looked pretentious. He looked like an asshole. He looked like Tim or Bruce.

“Now that’s just mean and uncalled for Barbie.” He said her name just loud enough for some stupid barely 18 year old somewhere in the stacks to chirp back ‘Hi Barbie’ almost automatically.

Babs pulled a face, elbowed him in the ribs. “Laugh it up J.J. the Jet Plane.”

In spite of the carefully honed bat instinct that said he was missing something important, Jason smiled.

[saturnsorbits]

Benefits Denied

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Smut, Audio Voyeurism, Sero is a Whore with a jacob's ladder. Word Count: 1.8k.

Summary: Sero has fucked everyone, everyone except you.

A/N: Another thing I started, but I'll never finish...

You’re not curious.

You’re not.

Not even a little bit.

‘I’ll call you.’

Hanta's voice drifts into the living room from the hallway. It's low, gravelling in the back of his throat in the way it does when he hasn't had enough sleep. He's barely had a handful of hours, from what you can guess – the soft mewls and harsh grunts that seeped in through your wall only dying down around three in the morning. Humming low, you hear the tell-tale wetness of a kiss; the squeakiness of a parting giggle and then, the door closes.

When Hanta reappears, he's shirtless and sleepy. He scratches at his stomach, flaking black nails itching at the thick trail of black hair that slinks teasingly below the waistband of his loose sweatpants. He cocks an eyebrow while stifling a yawn with the back of his hand as he notices your staring.

No. You're definitely not curious.

Not at all...

You chew your lip, eyes dropping into your lap as you squirm under his gaze. After almost a year living together, you'd have thought you'd be used to it now: Used to him. And, yet, with every passing day there's less hope denying the way your stomach begins to burn when you catch him fresh out of the shower, or straight from his work outs. How something nestled deep inside of you seems to flutter whenever you lie awake listening to him rail the living daylights out of his chosen fancy for the night. ‘Hanta…’

‘Hmm.’ He hums, twisting at the waist to look at you.

'I...' You thought you'd be used to it, be over the butterflies by now; but you know what they say about curiosity.

His eyebrows scrunch as he crosses to the sofa, perching on its edge beside your feet. ‘What’s up…’

'Are you… Are you going to see her again?’ The words feel odd as they fall off your tongue, a thinly vailed question that disguises what you really want to ask.

Sero's eyebrows scrunch on his forehead as he processes your words. ‘Who? Mina?'

You widen your eyes and you shrug, pretending not to have learned her name from Hanta's own curled tongue. He's loud, something you've learned over the past year as his list of conquests has grown, unafraid of his own pleasure as it rolls from his mouth in a series of groans and graveled, whispered commands.

'Nah - she just needed to scratch an itch, y’know.’

Your stomach clenches. An itch. You could laugh. Living with Hanta has you feeling like you've got hives. ‘Oh.’

‘Why?' Flicking up his eyebrows, he twists more fully, laying his back against the arm of the sofa. Kicking one leg up, he wriggles it down between you and the back of the sofa and sinks deeper into the cushion.

‘Just asking…’ You swallow, trying not to focus on the way his hips jut out just enough for you to catch sight of a soft bulge below the grey of his sweatpants – or the way that, should you want to, you'd be able to crawl between those legs and nestle into his lap. 'Jirou hasn’t been around in a while either.’

Sero shrugs. ‘Started seeing some girl.’

‘And Kaminari?’

‘Going steady with Shinso.’

Your eyebrows furrow. Kaminari had been one of your favourites to listen to. His voice was low and sweet, a beautiful contrast to the ragged sounds he managed to pull from Hanta. You've never cum harder than when you've listened to Kaminari make Hanta beg for his cock. ‘Shinso?’

‘Yeah' He laughs, reaching up behind his head to grip the back of his own neck. The gesture makes the muscle of his bicep stretch, highlighting the purpling veins that pulse along its underside. 'That’s the face I pulled, but - they’re happy, y’know.' He pauses, debating. 'It's nice.’

Sinking deeper into the couch, you tilt your head and bite the inside of your cheek. ‘Yeah. Bet Monoma’s thrown a fit -.’

‘Nah. He’s doing alright.’ His tongue flicks out over his lips, doing a poor job of disguising the smirk that follows after.

‘You’re fucking Monoma?’

The muscle in his jaw ticks.

Something flares in your stomach, your mouth dropping open as you huff. This is the ugly bit. The rise of jealousy and insecurity that burns like a match in your chest, stealing your oxygen to fuel itself. ‘Is there anyone you aren’t fucking?’

Sero smirks, his eyebrows arching up on his forehead. ‘You?’

'Fuck off.’ Your glad your mouth manages to summon the insult instead of the filth playing out in your head. It's hard not to, imagine it, you mean. Sometimes you indulge, allow yourself to think of what it would be like...

How would his hands feel? His fingers, long and lithe – would he press gently inside you, or curl his fingers against the sponginess inside of you until you clenched around him and cried? Would he get lost between your thighs? His nose bumping against your clit as he licked inside of you, tongue twisting and flicking until you shook. You wonder if his cock is as big as you've heard. If the stretch would steal your breath, or have you feeling him for days afterwards.

You shift, trying to quell the heat burning between your thighs.

'Oh?' There's smoke in Sero's voice. It curls in the air and lingers, growing thicker by the second as he hitches himself a little more upright on the sofa.

'What?'

He licks his lips, wriggles until he's almost tipped over, his knees pulling up towards his chest. 'Oh...' Tilting his head, he smiles. It's large, still too large for his face despite that growth spurt back in his late teens. He wears it well now, uses it, much like he's doing now.

You try and push yourself further back into the arm of the sofa, arms crossing your chest even though you know it'll do nothing to disguise the beating of your hummingbird heart.

‘Are you -.'

'Fuck off, Hanta.' You stand, almost knocking yourself over in the process. You can't take his teasing, not now, not about this. There's only one person Sero Hanta hasn't fucked, and that speaks more volumes than you care to think about.

Storming into the kitchenette, you tip-toe to reach the tallest cupboard and pull down a cup. Your hands are shaking, a bubble swelling in your chest as you bite back the emotion threatening to swallow you whole.

'Hey...' Padding on bare feet, Hanta gives you until the kettle boils to approach. He's stooping, head tilted as he digs his hands into his pockets, pushing down until he can ball his fists against his thighs. He swallows. 'I didn't mean -.'

'It's alright.'

'It's not, I've upset you.'

You snort. 'No you haven't.'

Stepping closer, he leans against the counter besides you. 'I have...' He smiles, soft and real, the light glistening in his eyes. 'C'mon, I've known you long enough to know when I've fucked up. I didn't mean to tease, it was just banter - y'know.'

You clench your jaw. 'I know.'

Sero chews at his lip. 'Why do I feel like I'm not quite getting something?'

You shrug, but the string of your patience is already pulled taut and fraying, liable to snap at a moments notice.

'Hey...' Reaching out, he lets the pads of his fingers brush against the bone of your wrist. 'Talk to me.'

His softness hurts, causing you to flinch away. You huff, turning to face him as you let the question you've kept locked in your chest surface. 'Why haven't you fucked me?'

'What?'

'You've fucked all of our friends, you bring a new person home every week, but -.'

Sero steps back. 'Hold on, hold on... You want to -'

'Is there something wrong with me? Is it because we live together, or am I just not your type?' Now that you're talking you won't stop, it spills out of you, pooling in the air between you. 'What is it, because you haven't even made a pass at me Hanta and I'm starting to take it personally.'

Biting his tongue, he rolls his lip until he can catch hold of the black ring wrapping the plush bump. There's a spark in his eyes, one that vanquishes the slither of deep chocolate brown that is often dismissed by those less observant.

He's about to laugh, you can see it.

His eyes crinkle, mouth twisting, tongue darts out from behind his lips. He cocks his head.

You think you might slap him.

When his voice finally slips from his mouth, it's like liquid sin. 'I fucking knew it..'

Narrowing your eyes, you cross your arms across your chest; hackles risen. 'I already feel stupid there's no need to...'

Sero stalks closer. His shoulders roll, the muscles there tensing as a flash of vein glows from beneath his tanned skin. He doesn't stop until he has you boxed in against the kitchen counter, his arms bracketing you at either side even as the edge begins to dig into the middle of your back.

'Han -.'

'I knew I could hear you last night...' He smiles wicked and wide. 'How many times, huh? How many times have you fucked yourself listening to me? That is what you're doing, right?'

A shiver races up your spine forcing your straighter. There's a flood of embarrassment in your stomach, one that burns hot like bile forcing your to swallow to keep it down.

'Dirty bitch...'

You choke...

'Oh, c'mon. No point in being so shy now...' He chuckles. Lifting one hand, he strokes his knuckles down your arm and across your hip, until he can rest his hand just above your pubic bone. 'Not when I can see how wet you are for it.'

You want to deny it, but you can't. Your arousal drips from you, soaking into the old cotton underwear you wish you'd exchanged for something sexier this morning. You inhale, swallowing the shaky breath. Yeah, you'd spent the last three months listening to him rail everyone in the city, but seeing him like this first hand is enough to make your head spin.

'You know the only reason I've not had you tucked up under me is because I didn't think you wanted it, right?'

'What?'

He nods, some of his softness returning to him.

It makes your nerves settle, seeing the fracture in his persona as he returns, slowly, back to the goofy, laid back man you share an apartment with.

'Everyone I've ever slept with has chased me...' There's a blush colouring his cheeks. 'Never really done the asking out before.'

Summoning what little nerve you have left in your body, you straighten your spine and raise your eyes to meet his. You stretch, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him close until you can feel the thrum of his heartbreak through your chest. 'Hanta...'

'Mmm.' He hums, canting his hips back a touch to prevent the hardness of his cock from pressing into your stomach.

'... I'm asking.'

-> Masterlist

[sunboki]

— KEEP IT BUSINESS. a Lee Minho fiction

Lee Minho x f. reader

TROPE. best friends to lovers, coworkers! au, first kiss? au (hehe), domestic/soft minho, fluff

WARNINGS. cursing, making-out, inexperienced kissing, annoying coworkers

WORD COUNT. 6.9k words

AUG'S NOTES. so glad to have finally completed this!! it’s been rotting in my drafts for weeks and i just had to write a happy ending for these two grandparents 🫶🏼

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Life can be a mess, and with you and Minho as the only two singles in your office building, an impertinent Valentine’s day leaves no choice but to make a pact.

or alternatively :

If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.

Four years.

It’s been four years since you first met Lee Minho, working with him at the same company, becoming the best of friends. And yet, the same dread lay specially reserved for the same season.

The season of love, or, to most people, Valentine’s day.

.

.

.

Alarm set for 6:30AM. Work from 8:30AM to 4PM. Every day of the week, every year.

Initially, the experience was relatively enjoyable. It paid well, wasn’t too harsh on hours, and other coworkers minded their own business (at least in your case) without being a pain.

Then the loneliness set in.

It was subtle at first, a tiny pang in your heart when you returned home to a dark, cold apartment while others would be greeted by a pet, a loved one.

So when Lee Minho, a new member of the company assigned as your apprentice came along, you tend to think meeting him was, in a weird, spontaneous manner, meant to be.

And four years later, when he had grown from that apprentice-ship and became established as an employee, you still hold onto that “meant to be” philosophy.

Busied chatter fills the downstairs cafe, familiar faces alike brimming with conversation, breath coffee-stained.

Peering across the various assortment of tables, you spot him, two identical cups in each hand, wearing that bemused expression as usual.

At this point, Minho has memorized your order by heart, arriving early after his daily stop by the nearby animal shelter (whose manager knew by heart). Most morning’s you’d await a picture of the newest addition to the feline section, a photo he proudly shows off like his own trophy.

You’re genuinely surprised his residence isn’t a constantly growing cat-kingdom.

“Looking forward to it?”

Brows furrowing, you sidle to his right and dish the warm beverage into your grasp.

“Looking forward to wha— wait wait don’t say it. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.” Hurriedly waving your hands, Minho cracks a grin.

The cursed word in question being: Valentine’s day.

You can’t say you hate it. It never did anything to you, nor did it leave you heartbroken. To put it simply, the office over the first few weeks of February was a close-resembling spinoff to Singles Inferno except, much spicier and way too inappropriate in broad daylight.

Meaning, for the past five years (four joined by Minho), merely mentioning said season of love urges impending dread and deep frowns.

“All I’m gonna say is I would not want to be a doctor over Valentines,” You wince, sipping the warm drink with a squeamish face.

Minho sighs vehemently, propping an elbow against the computer cart behind him.

“I bet you could witness more vibrators in that hospital than in an Adam and Eve,” He grumbles, watchful eyes surveying the daily crowd occupying tables and chairs in the building’s downstairs café.

Slamming a fist to your chest to correct your breathing, your eyes practically bulge from your skull, evidently caught of guard.

Leave it to Minho to make you suffocate before your shift even begins.

8am is prime time for socialization—otherwise before Mrs. Song decides to unleash her wrath on newbies. She has good intentions, sure, but let’s just say most anyone was petrified upon first meeting her.

Luckily, your department with Hyeongmi, Minho, and Felix was secluded on the far side of the building, leaving you out of the woman’s hair, free to work as you please.

Yet, Mrs. Song wasn’t the problem, not when it came down to the month of February.

Your phone’s alarm signaling to start moving momentarily wards off the thought, and either of you begin toward the elevator, flat expressions describing the sinking feeling better than words.

Back at it, again.

Because by your lunch break, you can’t fathom entering the cafeteria, not if it costs you your life.

Everywhere you look someone is making out, confessing their love, or, worst you’ve seen it all day, genuinely fucking in the bathrooms.

Perhaps you’d send Minho a text you’re making an escape by eating in the office, invite him up for some solace.

Except, it seems he had the same idea.

Scrambling through the door, you enter at the same time, heaving sighs of exasperation upon securing much needed privacy.

Making prolonged eye contact, your thoughts come spilling out.

“If I witness another make-out in the stairwell I’m ending it all.”

“Boxes of chocolates are officially ruined for me now.”

Four years and it never gets old. Same old painful memories, same old excitement for the day to come and go. And it’s not like you hate the holiday itself, you two just.. heavily dislike the immense bucketloads of PDA and office hookups that come along with it.

Not-so-gracefully flopping down onto your chairs, you practically shovel food down, gladly accepting the few rolls of gimbap Minho places onto your plate.

Customary sharing. You give him some of your food, he gives you some of his.

In those brief minutes of silence do you get the opportunity to fully comprehend your own thoughts, prior to Minho clearing his throat.

“Drinks at my place?”

Your grown loudly in agreement.

Minho : Okay, I’m leaving, follow me in thirty minutes

Glancing up, you watch your counterpart lift his brows your way and call out his departure, sifting through the doorway, cross body bag thumping against jeans.

Hyeongmi was downstairs, which, as awful as it sounded, was great not having to endure her nosiness.

This was how you stayed unbothered. He’d leave, and thirty minutes later you would too in order to (for now) avoid Mrs. Song (and Hyeongmi’s) pestering.

It couldn’t have taken the clock longer to reach 4:30PM. So by the time the beloved minute hand struck 4:29 you practically lurched from your seat, almost tasting sweet freedom before a face showed up right before you slipped through the exit.

Hyeongmi’s face.

What she’s talking about you can’t seem to understand, mind trained on escaping and escaping alone.

“C’mon now, you two are the only two in this building without a date. It’s been four years, Y/n! You need to let loose!” Hyeongmi emphasizes, dizzying your head the longer she shakes your shoulders.

“You do realize everyone has the hots for him but that he only hangs out with you, right? I’m telling you, it’s a sign—“

“Sorry Hyeongmi, I really have to go-“

Fastening your bag tigher across your body, you make a mad-dash as far away as possible, pretending to ignore the “use protection!” she shouted before the crisp evening breeze nipped your nose.

Use protection my butt, you grovel, ushering the scarf further above your chin as if to secure as much warmth possible.

She doesn’t know anything, not about how you took him under your wing as your apprentice the first year he joined, not about how much Minho loves cats, or how the keychain on that crossbody bag of his is a keychain you bought for him.

Simply placing it, she’s a person lead by the assumptions of others and adopting them as her own.

It irritates you.

Veering to your right, you thank his decision to house nearby, arriving at the foot of his porch after a mere ten-minute walk.

Delivering a few knocks on the townhome’s doorway, you note the paint chipping, colorful exterior worn from the sun’s rays.

Everything from the few cracks in the sidewalk to the relatively invisible stain of coffee on his doorknob lay memorized by frequency—his property second nature to you.

“Never have I hated being single this much,” You whine, slumping onto his couch after hurling your bag atop a hook in the foyer.

And despite the lack of response, you can tell Minho heard you. The faint, breathy chuckle enough evidence of his presence.

Perched on a chair he’d likely dragged from the kitchen, a feline companion occupies his lap, both comfortably relaxing on the patio, wine glass in hand.

Accordingly arranged on the countertop is another glass (you presume as yours), that you pour the vinegar-tinged substance into.

“I mean.” Slightly struggling to haul a neighboring chair to his side and simultaneously avoid splashing wine everywhere, you eventually find an equilibrium.

“It’s not like I asked to be single, I’m just too busy to consider a relationship, y’know?”

Minho absentmindedly hums, urging you to take a much-needed sip of the orchid-colored liquid.

Finally, you sigh out the last of your evening’s thoughts.

“..Hyeongmi caught me on the way out.”

Nor does this occasion need a reply either, the man’s suppressed giggle suitable enough.

“Mm.. I’ve got an idea.”

Carefully allowing the elongated glass to clink atop a translucent table, you cross and uncross your legs, welcoming the rustle of life around you into your eardrums, easing the cluttered space of your brain.

“Shoot.”

He clicks his tongue, gaze flitting to the emerging moon overhead.

“If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.“

Making a surprised sound to yourself, you break into unadulterated laughter, about to call him hilarious before taking into account this is Minho you’re referring to, and the likelihood he’s joking on any matter is unlikely.

Sure it sounds cliché, but it’s Minho, why not?

…And perhaps that decision was made with a few glasses of wine in play.

“I’m in.” You grin, returning his outstretched hand by bumping your glasses before downing the remaining gulp, cheeks aglow, alcohol ridding your breath a distasteful stench.

Tipsy. Minho is charming normally, but especially when he’s tipsy.

He’s got this way of speaking that could get any unsuspecting girl reaching to unzip his pants in a second, sultry, half-lidded eyes drinking the person in front of him, talking like he has sugar lining his lips.

When Minho is tipsy, he’s tempting. You didn’t need four years to teach you that.

That, and the spare pajama set folded in his top drawer reserved solely for you on nights like this—too gone to go home.

Although, as you rise to your feet and head to the bathroom, pulling said silk pajama shirt over your head, Hyeongmi’s words reverberate again.

You do realize everyone has the hots for him but that he only hangs out with you, right?

Hm. Minho was always a recluse though. And with your history, obviously he’d have some liking for you.

It’s been four years, Y/n! You need to let loose!

Turning to stare at yourself in the mirror, you sulk, head hanging low.

What if you did something tonight? Something risky, something testing the limits this friendship borderlines. You’re both drunk, likely willing.

Then again, does Minho want this too? Did he ever intend to “let loose”?

Anxiety plagues you, hurriedly scurrying your pants over your legs and exiting to find Minho still seated in the same spot, appearing all the more tempting without having to do a thing.

You blame the alcohol.

Stamping forward as if you prepared a speech, you stop just behind his chair, mustering any ounce of liquid courage manageable.

“Minho.”

He grunts.

“You’re really pretty.”

Let loose. This is letting loose when it comes to Minho.

What, you thought you were gonna fuck? Yeah, that’s a funny one.

Winding himself around to see you, his lips wind into a sweet smile, urging you closer with a mere look before he reaches forward and taps your nose, dark eyes roaming your face.

“I’ve always thought you were pretty too.”

And perhaps, caught in a trance from his glittering stare, something did happen those four years you’ve been together after all.

You blame the alcohol.

The impulsive part about this “date at twenty-five” pact you had forgotten to consider was the fact both of you were twenty-four, meaning in less than a year whatever plan Lee Minho had stirred up after plenty glasses of wine would oil it’s gears into motion.

Thankfully Valentines comes and goes, and Summer creeps dangerously close, the longer hours of daylight and lingering sunshine enough to make every work-day feel extra laborious.

First day of summer, Minho texts you, asking if you want to join him on a walk.

Mind you, it’s 10AM in the morning, an hour you couldn’t fathom waking up at on the first day of summer.

You groan and flop back down, shutting off your phone and slamming the pillow over your head in a pitiful attempt at falling back asleep.

Only for your doorbell to ring twenty minutes later.

Over.

And over.

And over.

The urge to screech compels your barely-awake form, legs wobbling out of bed to feebly reach the doorway in a sleep-ridden haze.

Of course, lo and behold, Minho lies responsible, clad in running shoes, a pair of shorts, and a black nike zip-up.

He’s evidently pleased—whether from how disheveled you appear—or that he actually got you out of bed in the first place by the lingering smile tugging at his lips.

You hate to say it, but he’s annoyingly attractive, there’s no denying.

“Caught you at a bad time, hm?” He tips his head down to make eye-contact, peering through wild hair and lidded eyes at your half-alive self.

All you can manage out is a minuscule grunt, about to close the door before Minho jars his hand in, inviting himself inside much to your dismay.

Like instinct, he heads straight to your closet, surveying the chaos his insistent door-bell ringing caused before fetching a sweatshirt to pull over your head and a pair of socks from your drawer.

Though, as you wake up a tad bit more, you hurriedly keep him from putting your socks on for you as he bends down, shying away with an irritated whine.

“If this is what dating you is like I’m calling off the pact,” You mumble, stomping toward the door with Minho pushing you forwards without chance of escape.

He giggles, seeming to contain utmost glee witnessing your temper tantrum.

“Oh trust me sweetheart, the fun never ends.”

He’s hopeless too, apparently.

Lucky for you, your friend’s visits occurred sporadically, meaning the 10AM wake up calls weren’t a daily routine of headaches.

In contrast, summer passed by in a flash, and you were shoved head-first into a packed schedule for a second time as the autumn leaves shriveled into crisp browns and oranges.

Autumn was always welcomed. It meant the chilling cold was approaching, yes, but it also signified apple cider being added to the downstairs café menu and—on those especially chilly mornings—bundling your neck in the scarf Minho bought you last christmas.

As for him, he frequents pointed shoes and straight-legged pants, his fudge-colored hair perfectly complimented by pumpkin scented fragrances and dusky red backdrops.

Brisk mornings call for thinking. And as you walk, you come to the indefinite conclusion apple cider fits Minho. Sweet, but not saccharine. Warm to the touch, reminiscent with a charming aftertaste. A silhouette that comes and goes as it pleases, leaving soon enough for you to crave it back again.

Regarding summer, he was sort of like a beach day. A vacation in the midst of roaring deadlines, the comfortable lull of waves buzzing your mind into a hazy, salty escapade.

Although as December plucks each oak of its splendor, a call on Sunday morning truly marks the season of winter.

“..Y/n?” Minho murmurs, his voice groggy, hoarse. You make a sound of acknowledgment in response.

“I think I’m sick, can you drop off some meds at the door?”

Pressing your phone close to your ear, you debate on your desire to scold him, remind him each time he gets a winter cold he should dress warmer.

Of course, your lips stay shut (just like they always have for the past few years), and you reply with a “Be there soon, hang tight” before ending the call and gathering your belongings.

At the supermarket you check out seaweed soup, multivitamins, and allergy relief—things of which you hope will alleviate some of his symptoms.

Eternally grateful for the spare key you’d been given a while back, you enter the home, calling his name until an exasperated sign of life was heard (more like coughed) from the bedroom.

Inside lay Minho, a distressing array of tissues scattered in all directions, clustered beyond belief. His nose is soured pink from incessant stuffiness, lips cracked and dry. Dark circles sag beneath tired eyes, worn disposition evidence of his condition.

Quick on your feet, you scour the bathroom for a thermometer, the device’s loud beep signifying a blaring fever as you hover by his bedside.

Watching the bowl of instant soup spin aimless circles in the microwave, Minho’s call knocks you out of your daydream, worriedly padding to where he lays.

“Come here.”

You oblige, arriving to his right, about to ask the matter until his fingers link with your own, bringing the back of your hand to his jaw, resting there.

If you had been warm before, an entirely new definition to sweating has been reached at this point.

“You’re warm,” He whispers, rubbing his face against your hand like a needy cat wanting attention.

How unfair a human can be this round.

Practically bounding from the inside, you use the excuse of the microwave beeping to race off, hurriedly disappearing into the kitchen while remaining ignorant to the way Minho’s gaze follows you.

Returning with a soup platter meticulously carried between your tight grip, you sigh with relief upon sitting the steaming concoction down. Oh so slowly, a frown grows at your face upon noticing the expectant stare boring into your head.

“Yes?”

He juts out his bottom lip like a kicked puppy from your nonplussed tone, nudging the covers over himself till only those calculating eyes peek out.

“I’m not feeding you.”

Minho all but whimpers, and you suppress the urge to smother him with a pillow right then and there, hating how easily he sends goosebumps prickling the back of your neck, heat scalding your ears.

“No.”

“Y/n.”

You quite literally feel like the cruelest person in existence because why is he looking at you with that face, saying your name like that.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you begrudgingly collect a spoonful, bringing the utensil to his already pursed lips.

Spoonful by spoonful do you feed him as if he’s a dependent toddler, his satisfied hums earning a stern glare in return.

Only when he finishes eating do you get up, reprimanding him on taking his meds without much bite to your words.

“And don’t take too many of these, alright? If it gets really bad, call me again. Otherwise, try getting sleep.”

“Yes ma’am.”

And of course he has to be endearing.

Such a pain.

You’ll stop by tomorrow.

If Minho was the apple cider in autumn and beach days in the summer, he’s the prettiest of snowflakes in the midst of winter.

Memorable, fleeting. Melting in your touch.

The annual Christmas party the company hosts steadily approaches, your coworkers ringing your phone insistently with noticeable anticipation.

Though just like autumns chill, December soars past idly, reigning in a new year and a new digit added to twenty when asked your age.

Your winter premise only heightened the anxiety compiling in your gut, a feeling you hadn’t recognized until the following day—the first day back to work in January—dawned.

January 1st’s introduction means you’re both officially twenty-five, and you’re not sure if it’s the fact Minho hasn’t texted you yet or the valentines pact in itself setting you on edge.

What would it be like to date Minho? Would he kiss you, the same way male leads in K-dramas did? Hold you as you sleep, wish you goodbye with a kiss to your cheek?

The mere thought sends rivets of electricity blazing your fingertips, feeling like an utter fool for imagining such scenarios.

Now you’ve haunted yourself for worse, leaving only dread in tow.

Arriving at the office the first day back, you attempt at making yourself look as collected as possible, definitely not bothered.

Worse, the root of your troubles walks in unbothered as you’ve been trying to do for the past few hours, the room working in deplorable silence before a note wedges itself behind your keyboard, Minho slipping past in its wake.

It takes all your will-power to ignore the crumpled piece of paper as best as possible, your index itching to unravel whatever lay inside.

Noon is when you finally give in, lungs failing to produce air upon reading the contents, practically choking on nothing.

Come over to my place after work.

What is this, his way of declaring your pact officially in action? What if he calls it off, saying it was only a joke glasses of wine granted?

As Hyeongmi said before, everyone has the hots for him, so why don’t you? Why does the thought of him calling it off put you on edge?

Or maybe you do. Maybe you do have feelings for—

Woah. Stop there.

Luckily, your internal chess match went unnoticed, leaving only the buzzing of your ears and the ticking of the clock loud.

A certain fondness sat between either of you from the start, since becoming acquainted you’ve instantly clicked—sly remarks and playful teasing merely one more thing keeping you alive (minus coffee).

So when something crossing the border between friends and lovers arose, a sort of nervousness bubbled in your gut.

Minho was a shoulder to cry on for you, but was it like that?

You could rely and depend on each other whenever, but could those feelings ever turn into love?

Of course they could, and they likely would’ve if it weren’t for either of you being so work-oriented—making you even more worried.

Although, you can’t simply flee. You’re an adult.

..And Minho will find you in a heartbeat if you decide to run.

Never had you been hesitant to leave office until now, and trodding one foot in front of the other causes your legs to turn into jelly.

Minho probably isn’t this nervous. He’s probably in a great mood, treating the occasion like it’s just another casual day.

Never before was it difficult, whether difficult is referred to as placing a key in a doorway or walking inside, everything seems so.. eminent.

Like when you walk through this door, an entirely new side of Minho will show face. A romantic side of Minho.

Yet, there’s no rose petals lining the hallway, nor scented candles scattered here and there.

What is there to expect with dating in your twenties anyway?

Plus, Minho’s well, Minho. If he wanted to, he likely would’ve flat-out asked already.

Something you’re surprised about, however, is the triangular string decor swooping from the ceiling, the party hats by the sink, a single birthday candle placed in the center of a cupcake. Simple, perfect.

Although, the perfect factor came with the man responsible, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, bracing himself on the countertop with a particular glow in his irises—whether it be from the lit candle you aren’t sure—that sets your stomach into a garden of butterflies.

A surprise party. He threw you a surprise birthday party.

And it’s then as enter the kitchen, brain barely recognizing each advance forward, you realize it.

You really, really want to date him.

And you really, really don’t want to screw this up.

Staring at each other, you rise up on your toes to place a careful, feather-light peck on the smooth, flushed skin of his cheek.

Slowly, he turns his head, a conniving smirk revealing the outline of his teeth whilst investigating your breathlessness.

“Someone’s daring,” He mumured, cocking a brow amusedly.

You poke his side, groaning that he shouldn’t look too far into it before he nudges you, your frown returned with a subtle nod—directed at the forgotten cupcake.

“Well you already gave me a kiss, so wish for something else.”

“Choke,” You respond, but there’s still no bite to it. Some things never change.

Minho gently holds your hair back for you, allowing you to lean over and blow out the candle. No bite.

Your wish?

Let Minho and I go well. I like us.

Every bit of it was the truth.

Hopefully this wish of yours can come true.

Maybe.

Seated on the living room floor do you finally relax, your shoulders slumping down after hours of monstrous tension. Seems you’d forgotten he was your best friend before anything else.

“So.. how does this work?”

‘Work’ as in, the dating deadline’s here, what’s next?

He purses his lips—a habit of his—blinking rapidly.

“Like friends? Except we get the kissing and sex pass in between, right?”

You smack his shoulder. He smiles, childishly extending his pinky out to you.

Linking yours, you press the pad of your thumb against his. An unspoken gesture.

“Together?”

Through thick and thin. Your way, as it always was, always had been.

He has stars in his tawny-globes for eyes.

“Together.”

Minho’s hands are warm in the midst of frigid temperatures.

Spring isn’t too far off, but the bitter winds remain ceaseless and unrelenting, whipping your hair every which way, scattering a plethora of goosebumps along your skin.

Never had you held hands like this with someone before, nonetheless Minho, and yet, a connection lies inside the initial awkwardness. The silent assurance, whether it’s his thumb smoothing your palm or occasional squeezes, telling you he understands, that you’re not alone, or how he patiently waited by the door the entire time you were getting ready, claiming he didn’t want to dirty your place with his shoes.

It’s sort of revitalizing. Curious and inquisitive in his lingering touches, additional notes—reminders on your coffee cup, questions asking whether you want to stay over afterward, if he can give you a kiss on the cheek.

One in particular you recall:

I miss you. Scribbled in bleeding ink.

Your introduction as lovers had been a field day of trials and questions for the two of you, though when it came down to the public’s knowledge, you began debating on the “curiosity killed the cat” theory.

This morning, catching a glimpse of the company’s logo in the distance, you assign yourself as the cat. Too interested, now suffering the consequences.

Granted, you wouldn’t take back moving to relationship status, but it was a lot easier to brush off comments if you were Minho.

Hyeongmi being the main one responsible for said comments.

Morning passed by seamlessly, prioritizing work above all else, too busy typing away to for any interruptions.

..Until a midday conference.

Seated right next to each other, his fingers slowly thread with yours beneath the table, sending the man a perplexed (and slightly nervous) expression in response.

More so, the comforting casualness caused you to barely recognize Mrs. Song reaching below to fetch her fallen pen, a gasp of surprise stilling the conversation at her realization.

“Are you- Are you two holding—?”

Panicked, you smack his hand away, stomach plummeting.

Not expecting him to stubbornly grab your hand again, a miniature frown draws across his perfectly rose lips.

Pouting.

Lee Minho is pouting because you’re not letting him hold your hand.

Unbelievable.

If the situation could escalate further, the she-devil herself (Hyeongmi) throws her head down to spare a glimpse, allowing you to fully accept your demise. A demise that, one way or another, needed to happen.

This was simply an early death.

“You’re kidding! No way you guys are a thing?” The eccentric girl mouths the last words, eyebrows drawn to her hairline.

And just like that, your relationship with Minho ventured out of your pocket and into a brand new wilderness.

“So…what’s it like living everybody’s dream?”

Headed to the bathroom, Hyeongmi stops you, leaned over the mirror, carefully inspecting her plum-colored lipstick.

“What?” You pique, confusedly glancing between her and the empty stall you’re trying to nonchalantly slip into.

“I mean, the entire company’s talking about it. Tell me, are you guys actually official? Or is this all just for the attention? No offense, but-“

“I...”

Want to punch you in the face.

You keep it to yourself.

“I’m gonna go.”

Synonymously, both your bladder and your appetite completely disappeared.

Although, she doesn’t leave you alone.

You’re frantically searching for excuse after excuse, speed-walking and taking the stairs any chance available.

Unfortunately for you, she’s everywhere. At some point you’re certain a tracking device is hidden somewhere on your clothes.

Almost there. From silently pleading help with your eyes to legitimately hiding in your workplace, today couldn’t have been more of a joke.

Or so you thought.

“Y/n?”

“Yes, Hyeongmi?”

“With Minho,” She nervously fiddles with her earrings. “You don’t have to tell me but.. how’s the bedroom?”

Apparently, it can go lower.

Before you can respond to her shamelessness, a grip fastens on your shoulders, cologne distinct enough you can tell exactly who it is.

Your beach day.

“Hyeongmi, you do realize that’s rude, yeah? Let’s not cross boundaries we shouldn’t cross, got it?”

All the while Minho smiles, this cloying, “I dare you” sort of attitude no one can argue with.

Averting her attention, she speedily raises up, humorlessly laughing off the tension while excusing herself from the room.

“You okay?” He whispers, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, pressing a chaste kiss there.

Yeah, there’s no getting used to this.

“Yep,” You say, though there isn’t much sincerity it.

He knows.

“Wait for me here, let’s walk home together.”

Ah. You want to kiss him.

“Minho.”

He turns on his heel.

Kiss me.

You’re holding his collar now, the option on the tip of your tongue, his lips a hairbreadth from yours.

Close, closer.

No. Not yet.

Either way, what do you know about kissing? What if you screw up?

Not yet.

“..Okay.”

Your gaze flits down to his lips if only for a second. A small, cheeky grin adorning his face as he follows your movements.

It’s hard to focus when he leaves, because all you can think about is the possibilities. What if you had kissed him? Would he have kissed you back?

By the way looked at you, the logical response would be: yes. Most people don’t stare at someone like that without the intent to kiss them, right?

Though somehow, you can’t help but feel unprepared, a complete novice in this battlefield of love.

Where Minho took you afterward was a mystery, merely happy to be away from the confines of your desk—letting his eager hand guide you wherever he pleased.

Shielded beneath the shade of two trees, your destination, Yeouido Park, is a spectacle during the transition period of winter to spring. You’d oftentimes spend hours here, basking in the relief a break grants. A spectacle where you two first truly met.

“Alright, be honest with me.”

He spins you around till you’re face to face, carefully analyzing your facial expression.

“Are you really okay? After Hyeongmi said that, I couldn’t stop thinking..”

Oh. That careful crease in his eyebrows, sympathetic.

He’s breaking your heart.

You realize now why everyone falls in love with him.

“Of me?”

The words come out involuntarily, a step forward in the newness, paving light through the darkened abyss.

“Yeah..” He says, a little winded while doing so.

Minho cares, he always had, yet, it’s your first time hearing it aloud.

“Y/n.”

Blinking yourself back into reality, your face grows warm, not intending to deliberately space out right in front of him.

He leans forward, causing you to shrink back into your skin as a kiss is planted right atop your nose, the man wearing a satisfied grin.

“Hey- You can’t- It’s not Valentines yet—“

“And why would I wait until Valentine’s day?”

Another deeper red burns your cheeks, and you scorn the way he gets under your skin—a way that makes every insult dissolve like powder on your tongue.

He notices, but decides not to prod further, lightly bumping your hip with his own as a signal to follow.

“Tomorrow is the day, y’know,” You mumble, kicking rocks with the tip of your shoe.

“Are we gonna turn into those couples?” He asks, pretentiously puckering his lips, eyes squinted shut.

You burst out laughing.

“I would break up with you first, sorry Minho.” Said puckered lips transform into a playful scowl.

“What? No treat for valentines?”

Blinking babydoll eyes up at you, you wrinkle your nose, coming to recognize what “treat” he was implying.

Earlier you would’ve kissed instantly, but an inkling of stubbornness kept you from giving into him this time.

Sneaking behind you, he ducks down, voice low enough for only your ears to hear.

“Didn’t seem you were too against it earlier.”

And with that, he races off, entirely too happy with himself and not likely to live down your reaction. Because you can’t disagree.

Since when were Lee Minho’s lips so kissable?

Knock.

Knock.

Your attention strays from the mirror at the sound, wondering if it was simply a figment of your imagination only for the sound to ensue.

Knock. Knock.

Who would be at your door at this hour in the middle of the week?

There’s a name on your tongue, but you don’t contemplate any longer, tiptoeing to the doorway to peer through the peephole.

And the sight before you makes every ounce of suspicion worthwhile.

Minho, holding a bouquet of roses and things unknown behind his back, is reciting.

He’s staring at his shoes, bouncing back and forth on his heels nervously.

Lee Minho is nervous.

Wanting just to stand there and watch him rehearse, you finally give in after a third knock scares you out of your wits—hesitantly opening the door and trying to placate the most surprised expression possible.

His eyes round as saucers, you literally watch the gears in his head turn in real time, extending the flowers out to you.

“Happy valentines. These are uh, for you.”

And his ears are red.

You’re going to implode from how cute this is.

Attempting to stave down the alarming amount of happiness you’re experiencing, you hold the flowers in one hand, awaiting whatever lie behind his back.

Although, as the outline of a box of chocolates appears, so does… a shampoo bottle.

What.

Bathing in a long silence, you can’t help but wonder you’re genuinely hallucinating. Glancing from his face to the literal shampoo in hand, he mirrors you, confused for a reason you’re trying to figure out as well.

“Is that… a shampoo bottle?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you were running low the last time I came here.”

…

You’ve never received a valentine before, but this automatically took the cake.

Is it possible to fall in love after you’re given a shampoo bottle as a gift on valentines? Apparently so.

Nonetheless, work flashed past, barely able to register a thing between the many congratulations you received and the absence of Hyeongmi (assumed to be due to the brown-haired charmer beside you).

For now, you savor the freedom of the day, finally able to escape the pains of before and wallow in a new kind of excitement. Love.

Love delivered by Minho himself in the form of mini scraps he’s folded into hearts, slipping heart after heart onto your desk at any opportunity to the point you bump his leg beneath the table in warning.

He cheekily smirks in return, stupidly innocent face scheming with malice.

He’s getting an absolute kick out of this, and you hate to admit you enjoy it just as much.

As usual, you wait behind for him to catch up on your daily commute home—an activity you did long before any romantic feelings became involved.

That’s it. Minho’s pinpoint of romance.

Shampoo bottle, walks home, extra coffee, notes.

Minho doesn’t openly express his love, not unless he feels either adventurous or obligated. Instead, he studies. Your habits, the things you enjoy, your actions, preferences. That particular coffee order you liked, how you had ran out of shampoo.

Oh how you love him.

Though, rounding the sidewalk to your place, Minho grabs ahold of your wrist. In response, as soon as you turn your head, you’re mere centimeters from his face, simply standing there, proximity willing either of you not to move.

Initial words dying out, he slightly edges to the side, cocked in a way that has your mind racing.

Nose, cheek, but never lips.

No.

Your hands act before any other part of you, blocking his lips from yours.

“We-“

The look he’s giving you, shock.

You feel a hundred degrees hotter.

“We need to go inside,” You excuse yourself fast, the man tailing behind, grip still loosely attached to your wrist.

Quickly shutting the door behind you, it’s an immediate embarrassment flooding your frame that allows you to speak, words bursting outward in an uncontrollable cacophony.

“Minho I’m so sorry I have no idea what I was doing, I shouldn’t have done that, it was a stupid idea. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything-“

“Hey, slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”

His tone serves as the much needed breeze fanning your face, cooling you down enough to articulate sentences properly.

“I’m sorry, we’ve just never kissed on the lips and I feel like I’m gonna be horrible and kill the mood. This is stupid, I know, just.. bear with me please?”

His eyebrows furrow, forming together the equation piece by piece.

“You’ve.. You’ve never had your first kis—?”

You hush him furiously, slumping onto the couch dejectedly.

Yet, Minho doesn’t laugh nor pick fun regardless of how hilariously idiotic the occasion is. He’s quiet, concerned almost.

You add that to your long list of things you love about him.

Inhaling gradually, your focus flits to the window, collecting yourself, easing the frantic rush-hour traffic rampaging in your skull.

If you were one of those paper hearts he made, he’s pulling apart each careful fold in this very moment. Unraveling the layers till your bare self is exposed in all its anxiousness.

“I hate it. It feels like a part of that teenage youth everyone talks about is something I’ll never get to experience. I was too busy caring about school, and now I feel like I’ve missed out.”

Soaking in a quietness, you jump when he places a hand over yours, softly tracing the skin of your knuckles, glossy as he watches, carving each perfect aspect of you into memory.

“Well you may not be seventeen, but you’re never too old to learn to kiss.”

One hand cupping your jaw to garner your attention, you’re met with a glass-like visage.

Gentle.

“And I can teach you how.”

It’s always been business, you’ve always been business. Which is why, now confronting what feels to be the highest peak in your love life, you’re left a completely blank canvas. No rules, no instructions.

It’s terrifying.

“Min- Minho, I really haven’t done this before.”

You hastily pique, scooting backward in the cushions.

Curse the shakiness of your voice.

“If you don’t want to do this, tell me. We won’t.”

You quickly shake your head.

No, you want this, you’ve wanted this too badly to back out now.

“Then let’s take it slow, okay?”

It’s horrifically awkward at first, a tiny peck, then a bit longer till your arms creep over his shoulders, his fingers once holding your jaw steady now resting on your neck.

Best word to describe it? Messy.

“Breathe through your nose.”

“Minho— I’m suffocating here—“

You sputter back, quite literally heaving for breath.

Yes, it was otherworldly kissing him, and he was an insanely good kisser, but did this really require your lungs to practically burst?

“Are you teaching me how to give a blowjob or kiss?”

His smile transforms mischievously, a sneering laugh slipping past. You already know he’ll make a sly comment.

Minho winks. “We’ll get to that later.”

“I lost my urge to date you. Bye.”

“Noooo Y/n~” He whines profusely, warm hold on your waist beckoning another kiss filled with hushed giggles and incessant jeers from either party—ensuing a halfway unbuttoned shirt and quite possibly the most greedy ten minutes known to man.

Out of breath, he pulls back from your stomach, the ticklish feather-light kisses planted there earning a stifled giggle from you while he blinks upward, seeming to be focused on something.

“Minho?” You question, ignorant to how unbelievably obsessed with you he is, more than ever in this moment.

From your damp, sweaty skin to the few hairs stuck to your forehead. Your swollen lips, the way you laugh, your stomach dipping with the action. He doubts he’ll ever get tired of this.

Reaching forward as if caught in a trance, he tenderly tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, voice barely audible upon pressing his forehead against yours.

And in the seclusion of your living room, tangled up together on the sofa, it’s just the two of you existing in this world.

“I hope you know I really meant it when I said I thought you were pretty too.”

Ah. He remembers. All that time ago.

Of course he does.

Kissing you for a time you can’t remember, you begin to wonder if that birthday wish of yours had came true after all.

Your feelings for Minho had always existed somewhere inside of you. Your head, your heart. A tiny inkling into something more, a could be. Two individuals wishing, waiting to make a move.

It seems the Valentines Pact sealed the deal.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @gimmeurtmi @jisuperboard @porang-poranglinos @palindrome969 @stayceebs97 @inniescandy-01 @idklin0

[corollaservant]

Silver // Geto x f!reader (18+)

Synopsis: You grew up together, small village and a need to get out. He was always selfish. (5.1k)

Warnings: child abuse, childhood friends, noncon/dubcon, yandere, loosely follows Geto's downfall/canonical setting, derogatory use of ''monkeys'' (it's Geto c'mon), violence, drowning, they get their ears pierced so idk if that grosses you out.

A/N: angst n smut for Suguru, that's all. i really said here have a fic with the basic sugu trope for the nth time.

You always wanted a doll. The dolls weren’t like the ones you saw on the black and white advertisements in your mom’s weekly newspapers. They were pretty—had doe eyes and a cute hat, a white jacket over a pink knitted dress, their hair was almost always in pigtails with wrapped-around ribbons. You always wanted this one doll. 

‘’Sweetie, we can’t afford a doll, you know your father’s hardly making ends meet.’’ Your mom told you over dinner, while your father remained silent. You never knew whether he had nothing to say because he didn’t care or he felt sad. You weren’t close, maybe you weren’t sure because you were afraid of him.

Father used to yell, he wasn’t a patient man. Mom was late to make food? Yell. Clean his clothes? Yell. When you came late from school, he’d yell. Your mom justified it, he was exhausted, working all day in the field. But you really wanted that doll. 

‘’Mom, please! I will pay you back.’’ You desperately begged, you were only ten, of course you couldn't pay back. Your mom sighed and let you down after that. You didn't cry, only crawled to your bed as you silently begged for the doll to magically appear when you’d wake up. 

The old lady noticed you frequently. You’d walk for half an hour after school (the shop was the only addition the village had ever gotten and while diametrically opposite from your house, you were more than willing to take the extra mile) — only to stand outside. You hesitated to touch the window, remembering this one time your dad pushed you and you fell down the stairs because you’d made mom upset. You had touched the kitchen window. Your mom cried, your dad had eaten his soup in silence and gone to bed. You wanted to ask the lady the price, you wanted to know if there was another way but while just ten, you were smart for your age. You knew that regardless of the answer, the doll would never be yours. 

It was hide and seek day with your friends. The village’s stadium-like field offered a variety of hidden spots (behind a bleacher, the toilets, the church across or the trees around). The bleachers screeched but you all were pros at disguise so it worked most of the time. Upon getting there, you saw the usual faces, some kids you knew, one of them lived close to you. Across the field sat a boy you didn’t know. Funny, you thought. You knew almost everyone in the village and he seemed of school age, how come you didn't recognize him? Daylight fell behind the roofed bleachers, signaling your time to go. You wouldn’t want to make father upset.

‘’This is the last time you talk about the doll.’’ He told you that night as he brought a hand to your face, his tone was stern but he seemed calm. Your right cheek burned but you couldn't cry. You had realized that the more he rejected you, the more immune you became—pain stopped having emotional ties. You still wanted that goddamn doll.

You were sent to your room but even then tears wouldn’t spill. Your window allowed you to jump from a reasonable height and it was past your parents bedtime so you found yourself in the cold night within minutes. You had no watch, not that it mattered anyway as your feet dragged you towards the woods. You knew your way in, you had mastered it back when dad used to drag you to the fields— people really were afraid of forests, as if they would suck them in, leave them confined but the trees never harmed, they just listened. How many times had they heard you cry? A lighter stolen from your father’s nightstand (the one in his drawers, you did not want another altercation) led you down a slope. You weren’t afraid, you knew it led to a creek, an ardent stream flowing day and night. People from the village used to come often (if they had the strength, they now visited wells closer to the center) — the water was cold and clear, maybe too cold for a swim, you’d realized once you experimentally submerged your feet in it and they froze. 

‘’Why can’t I have that doll, dad?’’ You cried, the water drowning your muffled sounds, it soothed you and allowed you to be yourself. ‘’Why, why why!’’ You screamed, tears fell down your cheeks, as you frantically wiped them with your hand, wincing at the feeling to your right, father really made a point with that one. ‘’Why can’t you tell him I want that doll, mom?’’ And you cried and cried until a sound — a rustle of leaves startled you. 

‘’You shouldn’t be here.’’ A voice rang behind you as you quickly turned around. The boy with the dark hair and oddly colored eyes, you thought they looked purple but that wouldn't make sense and he was too far away this morning.

‘’W-who are you?’’ You retreated, you were too close to the stream. 

‘’Just go home, it’s dangerous to be out there.’’ He said as you furrowed your brows.

With childish stubbornness you told him that it was none of his business but the more you talked the more he approached you and you suddenly lost your balance, your back dragging you towards the water as a hand grabbed you and pulled you back up. 

‘’Please leave now.’’ The boy said firmly and let his hand go. You lowered your head ashamed and lit your father’s cheap Zippo to guide yourself back home. Who was this guy?

-

His name was Geto, you found out because you asked your fourth grade teacher, who told you she couldn’t ever reach his parents to ask why they never sent their son to school. Legislation was non-existent, the village had no childcare protection otherwise you would have been sent away years ago. No one cared after all; children born there were raised to become farmers or whatever they were forced into. 

Geto never showed up to school, he would however show up after, while all of you played in the field, silently observing and reading from a book. You didn’t think he could read. 

You had once invited him to come play but he had declined the offer, ‘’No, thank you.’’ He had said as you asked for his name. ‘’Suguru.’’ Pretty name. 

-

The pain was enough to make you cry this time. 

‘’Want to tell me who the hell this Suguru is and why he left a stupid doll for you?’’ He shouted— his hands had already left a mark on your arms from pushing you, his nails had dug inside. The slap after was violent and strong and it made you dizzy while you coughed, there was no blood but your jaw hurt. 

‘’I- he’s from my school I— d-don’t know anything... about a doll..’’ You choked while his eyes burned. It wasn’t often he was that lively, you guessed anger really was a strong motivator.

‘’Well, you finally got your stupid doll. What is it, did he fuck you?’’ He spat as your mother interrupted.

‘’Honey! She’s only ten!’’ And she cried, and you cried and he threw the beautiful, pink dressed, hand sewn doll to your face, it hit your forehead and you stumbled and fell to the floor. 

‘’Stupid, all of you are stupid.’’ He growled and went upstairs. Your mother gave you a pitiful look and silently left for the kitchen. Your weakened arm reached out to the doll beside you.

She’s pretty, thank you, Suguru.

You shakily grabbed it, a teardrop stained the beige thread and brought it to your chest.

But Suguru. The damage you’d done.

-

You had never seen him with his eyes wide open before. It was kind of funny, you had to admit, he looked at you—his expression a mixture of shock and pain, what had he done? The kids (your friends) hadn’t really said anything, they were all familiar with your family’s background, experiencing more or less the same themselves. But Suguru... he was different. 

‘’Thank you for the doll.’’ You smiled, he hadn't.

His eyes had darkened back then, his mouth formed a tight line as he apologized. 

‘’I.. didn’t know.’’ He said, ‘’I’m sorry, I– I just heard you talking about it, you know.. that night and thought it might have cheered you up. I’m sorry.’’ He spoke and you reassured him that you appreciated it. You did. It was like he knew which doll you liked, the one he chose was the one you desperately wanted. You played with her every night, talking to her in silence and telling her that Suguru was a nice kid. Yeah, you liked Suguru and felt sorry internally for thinking of him as responsible for your fathers actions at first.

But Suguru didn’t understand—a need suddenly appeared that day. When he had first seen you, he knew you were careless. Knew you were angry and hurt. The words that came out of your mouth concealed emotions he wasn’t all too familiar with. On the contrary, he found the passion and pain intriguing. He didn’t think he’d ever expressed the two. When he saw you on the field, weak, trembling, the doll held firmly in your arms as you thanked him with your bruised eyes, that was when the feeling awakened in him.

Suguru always had a strong sense of justice. He hated whomever stole from the shops (he knew the suspects and would throw gravels at them), he helped injured animals by bringing them to a tree house he’d built on his own, he stopped fights and hated exploitation towards the defenseless. Your sight alone hadn’t awakened his sense of justice, no, that was almost as innate as his sense of hunger—you made him want to protect. You made him feel a need as basic as hunger to protect you. You didn’t deserve it and he was not one to forget.

In an ironic way, the incident brought you both closer. You would hang out daily after school (your efforts to convince him to come were fruitless), you’d take a walk towards the woods, the stream under the steep slope had been your secret hideout. You didn’t need to lie to your parents, they still thought you played in the field while you were with Suguru. As for Suguru’s parents, that you didn’t know about. He didn’t speak much and when he did, he told you about his plans to save the world. From what exactly, he didn’t even know himself. Days turned to months and months into years as you and Suguru grew older, still teenagers but doing other things now, such as buying alcohol with Suguru’s money (you never asked and he always wore his father’s clothes; somehow he convinced clerks he was of age), drove around in his dad’s car and got both your ears pierced. Well... he had them stretched and you helped with that.

You’d never forget that day—you were equipped with needles and xylocaine, it was apparently a numbing anesthetic. Both of you knew nothing about proper sterilization, you hadn’t even heated or marked the spot you wanted, all you had was a needle and dreams. Your piercings were easier, it was after all a small hole and it burned like hell but that was nothing. Suguru’s on the other hand had been a torture. It was understandable that for someone without an already pierced earlobe, stretches as a first was masochism itself. But Suguru didn’t utter a word. Not when the needle (cold and dirty) pierced the lobe. Not when the silver stretch couldn’t squeeze through the bloody ear. Not even when you felt the excess skin on your hands and you winced, kind of disgusted. You often wondered how Suguru always maintained composure and secretly admired him. If only you weren’t that weak. The stretch operation was deemed successful and celebrated accordingly: with cheap liquor and cigarettes (for the occasion). It wasn’t even two days later, when you noticed Suguru’s earlobes. Black gauges decorated them instead of the initial silver stretches, which you’d told him to let heal at least for a week, his lobes were in bad condition.

He was always selfish. 

-

The last time you talked was a year ago. One year and fifty-three days. He hadn’t come back, he didn’t have anyone he cared to visit. He had been acting strangely this one time he came to pick up clothes, looking above people’s shoulders, scratching his neck and forehead, contemplating. He looked malnourished and joyless.

When you found a handwritten note (how you missed his handwriting) with a simple “come to spot” a year later, you felt your heart race. It had a time and an S. at the bottom. You were hardly surviving at the time, school almost came to an end, an adult already and you hadn’t even graduated and your dad was becoming harder on you. There wasn’t much thought on your after school plans, all you wanted was to get away. To escape. The rest would come later.

The sun was done shining when you stepped down the known slope, the volume of the stream, as if nothing had changed, threatening to drown life on its way. You’d sat on your back, looking at the sky above as day and night merged in the interim.

A flame nearby caused you to stand up. What had happened? Where was he? Faint animal noises and movement could be heard but the slope was deep and you’d have to climb up, which would take you some time and then... what about him? Should you run, go look for him? You were about to climb back up when a shadow casted above you. There he stood, in what you presumed a school uniform and a bloodied face, dark hair swept back and falling down his shoulders while his eyes landed on you. You took a step back. 

‘’W-what happened? Is everyone alright? Are you alright!’’ You shouted, why did you shout? The words mixed up. He could only smile as he kneeled, jumped and landed in front of you. You examined the blood up close—it had started to dry, leaving crusts under his eyes, which he scratched before he spoke. 

‘’It’s alright, I’m here.’’ He spoke softly, almost whispering and apologetically smiled. Something seemed off. What wasn’t he telling you? What were those voices and why was it quiet all of a sudden? Your nostrils flared, a strong smell of smoke made you dizzy. 

‘’S-suguru.. what's—what’s going on? We have to go look, maybe someone’s hurt, maybe they need—’’

‘’I said, I’m here.’’ He raised his voice an octave, same smile on his face, making his eyes crinkle, but it felt odd. It felt forced.

‘’I know what happened to them.’’ The fake smile fell about as quickly as it’d appeared, each word equalled a step toward you. You were moving closer to the angry stream behind, you had to cough from the smoke entering your lungs.

‘’W-what do you mean you know? What happened!’’ You thought you yelled, maybe you hadn't, your voice cracked, cutting the question in half.

‘’I killed them.’’ He said with the same ease he’d propose a ride in his dad’s car. He noticed your eyes widen, your hands covering your mouth from the smoke that would soon engulf you both fully, flames he had set on a village that didn’t matter at the end.

You blinked; he presumed this was the part you’d start crying and lashing out so he inhaled.

‘’Aren’t you happy? Your parents are gone.’’ He heard you yelp. He was really doing you a favor, all these incompetent people you surrounded yourself with had to be gone. Sure, your parents weren’t your choice but you’d be better off without them anyway.

‘’W-why...’’ You couldn't breathe properly, your lungs were filled with smoke as your heart palpitated abnormally, you tried—tried like hell—to scream but syllables came out broken, constricted and incoherent and the more you tried to make your chords work, the more you lost your voice. Your eyes shed tears in silence, they spilled on your clothes as if on cue—you couldn’t approach him, you were terrified as you looked around. For help? You didn't know.

‘’What are you looking for? I’m right here.’’ He said as he took a step closer. 

‘’Don’t touch me!’’ You choked—it was barely audible.

‘’What did you say?’’ His brows furrowed. 

‘’I-I said– don’t touch me!’’ You managed and he sighed.

‘’After everything I’ve done for you...You know, I really could’ve just killed you before. You are after all useless to society. You can’t even see them.’’

Killed you? Useless? The eyes you used to know didn't belong to him anymore, someone else's blood distorted them. You found yourself thinking about his face more than what you just heard. Had he killed them all? Your parents? His parents? Your old classmates? You sobbed but he continued to look down on you and talk.

‘’Everyone’s gone, for you. And that’s my thank you? Your parents, the stupid kids from school, the doll lady…’’ 

‘’Why! What have they ever done to you?’’ Your knees betrayed you, you felt the ground beneath you.

‘’They never cared about you. The old lady would never give you that doll for free. She hated you being outside her window everyday, what a nasty child she called you, did you know that? Your dad? Fuck,now if that wasn’t a blessing! This cunt abused you and your mother for years... well, your mom had to go too, there’s no way a conspirator gets off the hook that easily. As for everyone else... they were just useless, you know? Thinking, feeling, cursing, swearing. Disgusting beings create us all more problems. You know, you ought to be an exception to this.’’

‘’I- I want to go. L—Let me go..’’ You stood up, he wasn’t holding you; you felt like a hostage. Why?

‘’You're sick...’’ You continued, a disgust behind your swollen eyes as he squinted his. 

‘’I'm sick?’’ His eyes, though you couldn’t see much, lit up under a moon trying to glow behind smoke clouds. 

‘’That’s funny for you to say because last I remember you were weak and a victim, not me. Seriously, I thought you’d be happier about it. I granted you temporary freedom, shouldn’t you be a bit more grateful? I always wanted to protect you...’’ His steps brought him millimeters apart, one more step and you'd be gone with the stream. 

‘’I always wanted to be there for you.. I thought I felt something every time I looked at you. You were so... vulnerable and exposed, I’d be there for you. But you know what?’’ He took a step forward as you fell — he was quick to catch your waist this time. 

‘’I realized, I just fucking hate you.’’ He spits as his breath hits your face, you shut your eyes and turn your head away. 

His arm pushes your shoulder down, forcing you to kneel on the ground, your knees sting as he continues. 

‘’I asked myself, why should I protect the weak? There must be some flaw within them that makes them stupid, don’t you agree? Why should you have to endure your father’s abuse instead of doing something about it? Why’d you have to cry on my shoulder because you were too weak to act on it? You had to come here to cry about it, remember? Pathetic.’’ He says, face filled with revulsion.

The pain in your knees is nothing compared to that in your chest, you break with each word that comes out of his mouth, he seems passionate—a true hatred reflecting on his eyes and you wish to be dead in that moment. 

‘’W-why..why–’’ You try to fill your lungs with air as you suddenly feel a leg on your ribs, a kick that sends you almost in the water—he’s kicked you and you’re lying on hard ground while he’s still standing.

‘’Why,why,why. Shut up already. I told you why. I do not like the weak and you aren’t an exception. See, I could have you killed so easily.’’

He smiles as his palm grips your scalp and you’re being dragged all the way to where soil meets the stream, pain hits different spots on your spine along the way. You don’t have time to understand what’s happening until your head is immersed in the water.

Cold. Dark. No air. You can’t think, it feels like an eternity before your head’s out and you gasp—lungs filled more with water than smoke and you wish to die. 

‘’S..st–’’ You can’t continue, his palm brings your numbed limbs and spinning wet head close to his, the dried blood touches your cheek. 

‘’There’s one thing I’d like, before we say goodbye.’’ He breathes on your face, his eyes linger on your drained lips. 

‘’I’d like to see the weak in you one last time.’’ His lips are on yours, they feel so warm and you’re shivering, trembling under his touch as his tongue slides without a second in your dried mouth. His saliva soaks the perimeter of your palate and your mouth doesn’t move—water washes off some blood on him. 

‘’Will you kiss me or have a swim again?’’ He asks ever so politely and you sob.

‘’P-please...’’ But this mustn’t have been the right answer because you find yourself underwater, this time it lasts longer (or so you think) before you resurface and gasp. You wish for an end.

‘’Let’s try again, hm?’’ He says, as he brings his lips back on yours, a warm tongue pushes past them, salivating in your dry throat.

You kiss him back, softly and slowly, following his rhythm as his hands already search for your wet chest, slender fingers trail down your neck and poke at the crevices. They stop at your sternum, groping the skin and he growls in your mouth, you move mechanically as your heart shatters.

You used to love him. You never told him of course, that would be stupid, you didn’t think he’d ever love you back—well, in your defense you didn't think he could love anyone back but you did. The first time he gifted you the doll, when you cried on his shoulders, when you pierced his ears. Looking back, he wasn’t always selfish. 

He continues the journey of his hands, his mouth is still attached to yours, it shouldn’t feel good, but it feels warm, and you need more heat, you’re freezing and can’t breathe. He hums as he finds your skirt, perfect and accessible, he thinks. You’re shuddering under his touch. He can't tell whether it's from the cold water or not but he doesn't mind. 

A finger finds your slit over your panties, as he vertically traces your skin along the way. He starts from your belly button, passes over your clit and teases in between folds, a light touch that upsets you. 

‘’Stop.’’ You whisper, weakened and confused. Wet and cold. But he doesn't.

He is rubbing your cunt slowly, he has removed his mouth and only plants soft kisses sporadically; a kiss each time he rubs up and down, tender and laced with care as the first moan escapes your lips and he catches it with his mouth. He takes it, you’d be embarrassed to let him know you enjoy this, it’s okay. He doesn't want to ridicule you, just to show you world order, that's all. 

Your underwear gets pushed aside as warm fingers now touch your bare entrance, he had gathered heat from your cunt and his spit—he had to spit, you weren’t that wet. But that would change, he was confident in it. 

His slender fingers part your lower lips slowly as he thrusts one in your cunt. It’s not violent but it’s enough to push your body upward as you sigh, a mixture of unwarranted pleasure and disgust by the predicament. He likes your soft sigh, he wants more.

‘’It’ll feel better, I promise.’’ He smiles gently and you fight the urge to gag, your cunt suddenly makes disturbing noises, as he now works two fingers deep within you, steady pace, straight in the middle. A thumb brushes past your clit, as he removes both fingers and circles it slowly... so slowly you melt, you feel like you ache but.. what is it? It's an ache you like, it's an ache you can't fight and don't want—but you can't do anything about it and—

‘’I think this should work.’’ His hand is removed and brought to his mouth to taste you. 

“Sweet.” He smiles. 

His pants are quickly removed, the need with which he hurries is comical—under other circumstances you’d laugh, you had never seen him so impatient and unreserved but it’s different now, now that he almost drowned you and is about to kill you. Why couldn’t this just end? 

You don’t look at him, you don’t want to, but you make out an arm that brushes against his groin as he slowly moves it up and down his cock. He likes the sight, it’s almost like straight out of a painting: you sprawled out, wet in every sense, a smoke filled scenery behind you and your precious, weak cunt for him to savour. Yeah, that was this day’s highlight, he thinks and grins. 

His thoughts excite him, precum exits his slit with each stroke as he kneels down and plants a delicate kiss on your knees. 

‘’I’d always protect you.’’ He murmurs, as a hard cock slides in between your legs and you draw a sharp breath. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts like crazy, he is hurting you with his size, he fills out your whole cunt, you feel like you can’t take anymore and then— then he pushes more, slowly, bit by bit until you shriek, begging for him to stop. 

‘’I--is too much! S-suguru–” You wince, as he carelessly continues.

‘’Who’s Suguru?’’ He frowns, a hand coming to clasp around your neck and he stays still. Your cunt can’t adjust but he’s not doing it to help you, he wants an answer.

‘’It’s Geto now.’’ He grumbles as he starts moving in your walls while you squeeze instinctively.

You are too tight, he takes it you’ve never been fucked before, makes sense and yet he likes it better this way. Your face distorts in pain but you’ll soon feel better, he knows because he was a virgin last year too. How he wished for this moment to come. Everything was perfect, you were perfect, your cunt was perfect, your eyes... perfect. Maybe the weak had something to offer after all. A blind faith and a good heart.

‘’S-Suguru–’’ You wrongly moan and a palm slaps across your hurt cheek, a flashback of your dad’s hand making your skin crawl, it was the same spot. Your walls are too tight to take him and he fights the urge to groan.

‘’Last time.. unless you want a bath, pretty.’’ He says as he thrusts his cock repeatedly toward the same direction, your cervix—hitting a bunch of soft, vulnerable spots along the way, fuck, you were so perfect and untainted, he wishes you were different, maybe like him.

He’d take you with him on his journey to cleanse the world from filthy creatures that polluted it, that had his friends dead, that cost the Jujutsu High lives daily, that had his friend constantly on stupid missions and for whom? Ungrateful filthy pigs—no, they weren’t pigs, at least pigs knew their place, they were monkeys, always eager for more, for power that didn’t belong to them, monkeys ready to snatch and never give; disregarding consequences for all others. If only you weren’t one of them. 

He watches your pretty mouth contract, your head arched back and eyes closed in shame as he brings you closer, he can tell by the way you squeeze his length inside, shit, you’re making his cock too wet, your slick smudges your thighs and squelching sounds almost cover your tormented sighs each time he sinks into you. 

‘’D–Does that feel good?’’ He asks while you pant, tears fall down the sides of your face, a red mark of his fingers on your left cheek but you don't answer.

‘’Answer–agh..answer me.’’ He orders, picking up his pace until you can’t anymore.

‘’Y-yes!’’ You cry out, stinging nettles dig in your back contrasting the pleasure in your core that grows—such a lewd thing, you’d come to hate yourself for it. If you were to live, of course.

He’s close too, thrusts becoming uncalculated and erratic yet never really seeming to stop being pleasurable, a rough thumb now circles around your swollen nub, making your legs jerk.

‘’Fuck–Sugu—fuck!’’ You clench around him, the heat coiling low ready to betray you and you see him part his mouth. He doesn't correct you.

‘’Let go baby, I love you.’’ He whispers as you shut your eyes and it's these words that have you ride out an orgasm so intense, you choke on moans and wrap your wounded legs around him. Arms circle his back as his mouth finds yours.

He kisses you as he slides his cock as deep as he can, pads of his fingers removing wet strands from your forehead; he cusses out.

‘’Fuck, mine—forever.” He grunts and finishes inside, nibbling on your neck, as your tangled legs bring him even closer, breaths synchronizing where your chests meet.

He stays within your silky walls, relishing any moment he can before he removes himself, leaving you split, stained and quivering. He lifts up the elastic of his pants. 

His time is running out, the spectacle in front of him clouds his reason—you look so pretty, with his cum oozing from your hole, your ashamed hands covering your chest and your eyes waiting for his next move. If only you weren’t flawed. If only you weren’t weak.

To kill you would be easy, he only stalls in case you want to add any last words. And you do. 

You look at the man who used to be a boy, the one who gifted you the thing you wished for most in the world; not the doll, but love and you smile. Your left eye is bruised and can hardly open, one of his blows must’ve accidentally landed on the wrong side of your face or maybe it’s the water pressure, you can’t think, as you open your mouth to speak. 

‘’Behind you.’’ You whisper, as your right eye catches a small, bug-like shadow buzzing around his hair, ready to attack his neck. 

You only notice his eyes widen before darkness envelops your peripherals. 

[pedropascallme]

☆Kinktober 2024☆

Day 1: Somnophilia

Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) somnophilia, oral (f receiving), some dirty talk, if I missed anything please let me know!

Usually, after days like this, when his call time was early and the end of the day came late; when he’d spent the daylight hours fucking around with his friends and coworkers; when he was put in front of camera after camera, Damien would be completely happy to crawl into bed and turn his brain off for as long as he possibly could.  

Tonight, though, more than anything, he just felt need. For affection and for attention, he wanted to give you anything you would let him give you.

You’d been wearing nothing when he left, snoring softly on your side so that he could see your silhouette outlined perfectly by the blankets draped over your body, lips still puffy from the way you’d kissed him so desperately the night before.

You were naked when he got home, too; already fast asleep and turned to his side of the bed as if you were waiting for him, inviting him in to complete the picture.

He couldn’t be mad—you were perfect, even asleep, even when he was aching to come home to you and bury himself inside of you.

Damien turned onto his side, trying his best not to wake you, as he fumbled for his phone on the bedside table. The screen lit up much brighter than he’d anticipated, and he squinted at the time.

Only 2:00AM. There was still time to sleep before he was due on set in the morning.

He could always take care of himself in the shower, or, god willing, you’d wake up early with him and do the work for him in the shower.

He settled onto his back again, letting the mattress sag underneath him. You stirred, arm shooting out to capture him beneath you with a heavy smack against his chest.

You snored, and he laughed silently, his hand coming up to smother your own.

God you were pretty like this; hair messy and falling over your face, lips parted for your silent breaths, brow twitching as you dreamed a dream he hoped he was part of. He tried to force his mind to quiet itself, which only worked momentarily before the blood rushed elsewhere as your hand leisurely caressed his chest, down to his stomach, stopping just above the waistband of his boxers.

How was it that you managed to captivate and taunt him so completely even when you weren’t aware of it?

“You’re a tease,” he whispered into the dark of the room, shaking his head softly and letting his fingers brush over your forearm. He leaned over to kiss you on the head, nosing at your hair and letting his lips brush your forehead as he spoke. “If you were awake, I’d do something about it.” He smiled to himself, and the way that your breath caught momentarily as if you’d heard him.

“Who says…have t’be ‘wake for you…do something ‘bout it?” Damien leaned back in surprise when you slurred a response to what he’d thought was a one-sided conversation. Your eyes were still closed, body still heavy against the bed as you remained a little more than half asleep, but the willingness in your voice only served to spur him on.

“You really so needy that you’d let me fuck you while you sleep?” He wrapped his arms around you, tugging you against his chest and sighing happily when the naked skin of your thigh brushed the tent that had grown in his boxers.

“You—needy…” You were still too asleep to form complete thoughts, grinding yourself against him gently as you tried to communicate what you wanted. “Talk t’me while…sleep.” You yawned, burying your face against his chest and letting out a happy sound.

“You’re making a pretty good case for yourself,” he smiled, hands traveling down the sides of your body, “You want me to flip you over so I can give you what you want?” He moved to press a kiss to your collar bone, gentle and easy, just to appreciate the heat of your skin against his face.

“Damien,” you whined, bucking your hips against him subconsciously. “Mouth.”

“That’s the plan, baby.” He smiled, easing you onto your back and moving down the bed to let his face hover above you.

He licked a stripe over your thigh, and you twitched, letting out a quiet moan for only him to hear.

“Go back to sleep, princess,” Damien’s breath fanned your cunt, and you mumbled something incoherent, spreading your legs further apart for him. He took the opportunity to hook one of your knees over his shoulder.

He went slow, letting his tongue trace your folds until you were coated with his spit. You let out small, breathy whimpers, and the sound went straight to his cock. He ground his hips against the mattress to find some relief.

When he buried his face against you, tongue dipping into your hole and nose nudging at your clit, he couldn’t help the groan that pushed from his chest, sending vibrations through you that made you gasp in tranquil pleasure.

He was starving for you; his tongue darted in circles over your clit before he took it between his lips, sucking hard as he flicked his tongue. You were moaning, malleable, indescribably perfect, and he couldn’t get enough.

You babbled something at him, and he paused to bite at your inner thigh, placing open mouthed kisses on top of the marks he left.

“What’d you say, baby?” He cooed, “Trying to tell me something?”

“Damien…” You managed to get out just above a whisper, “Love you.”

He hummed against your skin, spreading a hand over your stomach and letting his fingers press gently against your flesh. “I love you, too, sleepy.”

Your quiet declaration only made him more desperate for you, and his tongue moved with a sense of urgency. He paused to spit, fingers coming up to spread your folds. He watched, transfixed, at the image of his spit dripping down the curve of your ass as your cunt begged for more.

“Think you can handle being full right now?” Damien dragged two fingers through your folds, letting the mixture of your slick and his saliva coat them before bringing them to his mouth.

You moaned an affirmative, bucking your hips against nothing.

“Had a feeling that would be your answer,” he smiled, pushing his fingers into you and watching your face contort into an expression of bliss. Hungry eyes darted from your face to your cunt and then back to your face. He was thrilled by how easy it was for him to make you squirm, even with you barely able to open your eyes.

You let out a string of gasps; low, breathy sounds that made Damien’s heart flutter while he stroked your walls, still frantically trying to find friction against the bed to quell the ache in his own core.

He didn’t care if he came like this, face against your cunt, lapping at what dripped from you. His cock throbbed in response to every one of the noises you made, and he was right where he wanted to be.

He knew you were close, walls squeezing his fingers as he pressed firm against your most delicate spot. He closed his lips around your clit again, occasionally letting his teeth brush the sensitive bud as he sucked hard around it.

“Oh, f—Damien, fuck!” It was the first time you’d opened your eyes, overwhelmed by the way he worked your body over the edge. Your legs trembled around him, clenching down on his fingers while he moaned praises into the skin of your thighs.

“There you go, princess,” he nipped at your leg, still curling his fingers into you just enough to make you twitch your hips up into him. “You look as pretty cumming for me when you’re asleep as you do when you’re awake.”

His words elicited a tired moan from you, something that almost verged a yawn as you settled yourself. His hand swept patterns over you, covering every inch of your body while he watched your breathing settle along with other telltale signs of sleep taking over again.

Damien moved back up the bed, securing the spot next to you that he loved so dearly and letting himself turn on his side to continue his admiration of you.

“Mmh—want…” You mumbled in your sleep, and even though he knew you couldn’t see him, he offered you a quizzical expression.

“What’s that?” He was whispering, pushing stray strands of hair behind your ear and letting his fingers stay perched on your neck.

“Want…make you cum…” You were so close to complete unconsciousness, he could tell by the way your breath came out a near snore that you were almost entirely asleep. Your words sounded like the confused musings of a sleep talker.

“How about,” Damien again wrapped his arms around you, content upon hearing the blissful, tired sigh you breathed against him, “You do that tomorrow. Don’t want you falling asleep on top of me.”

“Who said—not on top…” You mumbled your argument into his neck.

“Ok, then—however you want me. In the morning. Yeah?” He smiled, “I want to see your pretty face wide awake when I fuck you.”

You didn’t respond, finally fast asleep, and Damien wasn’t far behind.