#I was wondering why there weren’t any edits (or any I could find) and I learned why the hard way

[influx-of-brainrot]

I’M LAUGHING AT THE CLIPS I GOT THEYRE SO UNSERIOUS

[crystallinestars]

Just Confess Already! Part 2

Drabbles about Genshin men (or you) confessing with the help of a wingman. This is pure fluff.

Characters: Kazuha, Kinich, Ororon, Wanderer, and Cyno.

Part 1 here.

I apologize if the endings sound abrupt, I've edited and rewritten this many times, and at this point I just want to get this finally posted. I also apologize for the length, my writing style has changed since part 1.

🍁 Kazuha

Everyone and their mother at The Crux could tell you and Kazuha had a thing for each other. The way you guys spent most of your free time in each other’s company discussing poetry or music, the way Kazuha always volunteered to help you with your tasks, how you took care of Kazuha when he got drunk, and just the overall subtle romantic tension about your pair tipped off pretty much everyone.

Though Beidou didn’t want to pry into the love lives of her crew, she’d sometimes catch glimpses of you and Kazuha chatting up in the crow’s nest of the ship and noted that the way you smiled at each other was endearing. Otherwise, she paid little attention to it, thinking it was only a matter of time until one of you confessed and you guys became an official couple.

However, that time never came. The two of you pussyfooted around the topic of laying bare your feelings, and everyone at The Crux was getting a little annoyed that you were stuck in the pining phase. There was a limit to how long Beidou could tolerate watching you give each other pining glances without snapping and telling you two to get together already.

One time when you were out on an errand, Beidou and her crew invited Kazuha for a drink. The friendly and cheerful atmosphere prompted some members to share their life stories, and the topic breached romance. Someone asked Kazuha why he hadn’t confessed to you yet, and the drunken ronin answered that he treasured your friendship and didn’t want to jeopardize it in case you didn’t feel the same way.

Beidou could only scoff at his excuse. It was so obvious that you liked him back, and since when was Kazuha such a coward? He could go up against the Raiden Shogun’s deadly Musou no Hitotachi, but had his tail between his legs at the prospect of admitting he loved you to your face? Preposterous! Moreover, she had to tell her crew to settle down because they were creating a spectacle out of your crushes on each other and making bets on which one of you would confess first (she betted on you).

If Kazuha was too much of a coward, Beidou thought, then maybe you’d be braver.

That same evening, she happened to find you alone in your cabin and took the opportunity to bring up the issue of your longtime crush on Kazuha. Though she was no expert on romance, Beidou wanted to help you. She got you to open up and confide in her, patiently listening while you expressed your fears about confessing to Kazuha. You also didn’t want to ruin the friendship you had with him, so Beidou stated outright that he returned your feelings. If you didn’t believe her, then see for yourself.

With that, she pried open a window in the cabin. Over the gentle lapping of the waves, you heard the crew’s laughter up on the deck, and the faint sound of Kazuha’s familiar voice. It was a little difficult to hear what he was saying over the crew’s chatter, and his speech was slightly slurred, but you made out a few words. He frequently spoke your name while reciting a few clumsy haikus. But they weren’t just any random poems about the sea or sky—they were love haikus.

Beidou patted your shoulder and told you to have courage instead of wasting your life wondering about what-ifs and regretting not doing anything.

Over the following days, Beidou sent you and Kazuha out on joint errands in Liyue Harbour. The errands themselves weren’t all that important, but they served as good excuses to give you two some alone time. Kazuha was no fool and quickly deduced that Beidou was setting you two up on purpose, but he wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity to spend more time with you.

Beidou hoped something would finally change by the time you returned, and sure enough, when she spotted you and Kazuha walking back to the ship, she smiled. The two of you were holding hands and smiling warmly at each other, a good sign that your once-suppressed feelings were now in the open. Naturally, the rest of the crew noticed the change as well and grew excited when you confirmed that you and Kazuha were now in a romantic relationship.

That night, they brought out the good wine and food to congratulate you and Kazuha on finally getting together. Most of the Crux’s crew joined on the festivities, with some members being nosy and asking you for details on how it happened and who confessed first.

When you admitted to confessing first, Beidou smugly accepted her winnings and took a big swig of her drink before yelling out a cheer. Her crew followed suit in toasting and cheering much to your and Kazuha’s embarrassment, but it was all in good fun. Beidou made sure to make it up to you by distracting the crew with a drinking game and sending you a wink as she allowed you and Kazuha to make a quiet escape from the party. The Crux gang would have plenty of time to tease you in the future—for now, you and Kazuha deserved to enjoy this newfound relationship without others poking their noses where they don’t belong. Beidou would make sure of it.

🟩 Kinich

Kinich’s relationship with you perplexed K’uhul Ajaw. The Almighty Dragonlord couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, but something between you two changed. Recently, Kinich had been giving you discounts whenever you asked for his help, and sometimes even did things for you for free. Kinich the Malipo giving someone special treatment? Unheard of! And on top of all that, his servant had been visiting you more frequently during downtime, and there was also that strange glint in Kinich’s eyes whenever he looked at you, something akin to endearment—

Oh.

Kinich liked you.

Oh, this was going to be good!

Ajaw’s diabolical nature wouldn’t let him keep Kinich’s feelings for you a secret. The next time you came to hang out with their duo, the saurian waved his little stubby arms and ran his mouth as soon as you were within earshot. “Hey, human! Our lowly servant has developed romantic feelings for you like some sort of prepubescent schoolboy! Isn’t that a riot?” and cackled, thinking Kinich would be thoroughly humiliated and put in his place.

To Ajaw’s dismay, instead of looking disgusted by the news, you appeared… hopeful? A tad surprised by his outburst, but was that hope shining in your eyes? To Ajaw’s even greater dismay, Kinich lacked any sort of outward reaction to having his crush on you vocalized so brazenly. Instead, the saurian hunter told you to ignore Ajaw’s nonsensical words in his usual calm manner, before smacking the pixelated menace away for a timeout. Right before he got locked away, Ajaw managed to catch a glimpse of disappointment in your eyes when Kinich brushed the situation aside as if it were nothing.

That day, K’uhul Ajaw realized that Kinich’s feelings were not one-sided like he originally thought. You liked Kinich too. The mere thought of you two acting all lovey-dovey with each other was sickening, but the saurian figured poking fun at you and Kinich would be a good source of entertainment.

After that day, Ajaw became even more insufferable. Every chance he got, he’d swoop in with a taunting remark and make fun either you, Kinich, or both.

One time while accompanying Kinich through a dense forest, you slipped on a wet tree root and were sent falling towards the ground. However, Kinich swiftly caught you and pulled you to his chest to help stabilize you. Ajaw had a field day laughing and crowing about how scandalous you were for practically throwing yourself at Kinich like that. Were you that desperate to be in his arms? Disgusting!

The saurian also used every opportunity he could find to reveal all of Kinich’s secrets to you. Did you know Kinich gave you special treatment? No? Are you blind?! Can’t you tell he does stuff for you for free? Why do you think he brings you game and wild berries free of charge every once in a while--to show off how good he is at hunting?! Have you at least noticed Kinich smiled more and acted softer towards you, or are you really that blind? He doesn’t treat anyone else that way, you know! …And so on and so forth, though most of his attempts to out Kinich are interrupted by the man himself locking Ajaw away before the dragon reveals too much.

As fun as it was to watch your pair’s awkward attempts at showing signs of affection for each other, Ajaw eventually grew frustrated with standing witness to the mutual pining that never progressed anywhere. It made the little saurian’s blood boil with annoyance.

Whenever he and Kinich were alone, Ajaw would complain that the hunter should stop being a dimwit and a coward and just confess to you already! How could he not see that you obviously liked him back?! Seriously, how bad was his luck to end up with such an imbecile for a servant?!

Kinich coolly rejected Ajaw’s insistence for confessing his feelings. It was not in his nature to recklessly rush into the unknown—he needed to carefully analyze and weigh his options before coming to a sound decision. As such, his relationship with you was not to be rushed. This didn’t sit well with Ajaw, but no matter what he said, Kinich stubbornly refused to listen.

The Dragonlord’s patience reached a breaking point during one fateful day. It was getting dark, and Kinich had offered to escort you home. Once you were safely at your doorstep, you made the bold move of kissing Kinich’s cheek in thanks. For a split moment, Ajaw swore there was palpable romantic tension between you as your and Kinich’s eyes met (gross). Kinich glanced at your lips, looking as if he wanted to lean in and kiss you (doubly gross) and Ajaw prepared himself to make disgusted gagging noises, except… nothing happened. With a seldom seen blush on his cheeks, Kinich awkwardly cleared his throat and bid you goodnight, preparing to leave.

Ajaw exploded.

“This is painful to watch! You two were clearly made for each other—both equally cowardly and blind to each other’s feelings! Just admit you like each other already; you’re not fooling anyone! Kinich, you cowardly, brainless, insufferable insect—just lean in for that kiss, you obviously want to! And you! Stop waffling and just spit out that you like Kinich already! Agh, watching you two is torture! What did the great K’uhul Ajaw do to deserve this fate?!” he yelled, turning red in the face.

Kinich promptly locked Ajaw away, for which the saurian would later chew him out once he was free, but not before interrogating you and the hunter about whether you finally confessed. Once Kinich revealed that yes, you had talked it out and admitted your mutual feelings for each other and were now in a relationship, Ajaw could finally feel some sense of peace regarding the situation.

Feeling proud of his contributions, Ajaw puffed out his chest and told you and Kinich to pucker up and kiss his feet in worship, for only with the help of the Almighty Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw has your relationship progressed instead of stagnating like swamp water.

Though the saurian relic continued to be an annoyance, even Kinich had to admit that Ajaw played a part in getting you together. Though not in the form of worship or foot kissing, Kinich did repay the favor by procuring some quenepa berries and other fruits that Ajaw liked, hosting a small feast as a thank you. Though Ajaw complained about being scammed, the snacks did the trick of improving his mood and keeping him occupied while you and Kinich had some precious time to yourselves.

🦇 Ororon

Ever since you and Ororon were children, Citlali observed that the two of you got along well. So well, in fact, that Ororon had developed a little crush on you. He would pluck flowers from a nearby meadow to give you, follow you around like a loyal puppy, and one time, Ororon told Citlali that he hoped to marry you one day.

Citlali couldn’t help but find Ororon’s crush on you adorable, and a part of her anticipated the day when you both grew up and got married. She had no doubt you would make the sweetest couple among the Masters of the Night-Wind.

Ororon’s attraction to you persisted into adulthood. At that point, Citlali could no longer call it a cute little crush— “Love” was a more apt description for how Ororon felt towards you, even if he tried to hide the depth of his attachment to you. He was content to stay as just your friend and not risk ruining the close bond you had in case you didn’t return his feelings. Citlali was a little frustrated that Ororon continued to pine for you without doing anything about it, but she knew better than to force the stubborn boy to do something he didn’t want to. If you were both happy with the way things were, then why change them?

However, during one of her rare trips to the market for some divination supplies, Citlali overheard a conversation between two tribespeople. The topic of conversation was about love, and one of the men bashfully admitted that he thought you were pretty and that he hoped to ask you out on a date soon. This news washed over Citlali like a bucket of cold water as worry seized her heart.

This wasn’t the first time others had expressed romantic interest in you. After all, you’ve always had a bit of a reputation among the Masters of the Night-Wind for being attractive, so it wasn’t surprising others had an eye on you. However, now that you were an independent adult, it wouldn’t be strange for you to look for a partner to settle down with, right? Knowing Ororon, the dimwit wouldn’t ever think to confess, and what if someone else confessed before he did and stole your heart?

Citlali didn’t want to force you to choose Ororon, but she didn’t want things to end without her beloved grandson at least taking a shot at winning you over. The last thing she wanted was for Ororon to be left heartbroken and disappointed all because he let the chance to be with you slip from his fingers.

With these troubled thoughts, Citlali sought out Ororon and announced that he needed to stop dawdling and actively pursue you unless he wanted to watch your heart get stolen by somebody else. Citlali’s sudden proclamation confused Ororon, so she explained that he’s not the only one who is in love with you and that there’s a risk of you choosing someone else to spend your life with.

As she expected, Ororon stubbornly refused to go along with her urging, saying that who you wanted to end up with was your choice and he would respect it. Though he said that, Citlali could see it on Ororon’s face that the mere thought of you falling for someone else hurt him, and she couldn’t help but feel bad for her grandson.

After much convincing and reassurance, Citlali got Ororon to agree to court you and promised to come up with a plan to help him in this endeavour. There was, however, one major problem: how were two socially awkward outcasts supposed to win someone’s heart? Having never been courted herself, Citlali had no past experiences to draw from when designing her plan, but it shouldn’t be too hard, right? She’d read a lot of romance novels imported from Inazuma, so maybe if she got Ororon to do some of the same things the male leads did, then it would curry your favour? Regardless, it was worth a shot.

The plan was for Ororon to prove his worth as a suitable partner by giving you gifts, compliments, and always being there for you no matter what it was. In Ororon’s opinion, he was already doing all of these things for you as a friend, but Citlali insisted that his actions needed to be infused with romance to distinguish them from gestures of friendship. Her grandson was still reluctant to actively court you, but he had promised to try and try he did. Except, his approach subverted Citlali’s expectations.

When it came to giving gifts, instead of presenting jewellery, woven scrolls, or useful gadgets, the young man gifted you game he had caught in the wild and the best selection of produce from his garden. Citlali could only facepalm when Ororon told her which gifts he planned to give you, but she also knew he put genuine thought into them. Ororon handpicked the nicest veggies he could find in his garden and personally delivered them to your doorstep instead of sending Ifa like he normally would. Citlali told him that giving gifts in person held more meaning, and Ororon appeared to have taken her words to heart.

Ororon also gifted you flowers much like he did when you were little. However, this time he didn’t give you flowers plucked from the wild. Instead, he gifted you potted plants that he had also grown in his garden. “They will live and look pretty for longer,” he told you, then received a flick to the forehead once Citlali found out what he did.

His compliments were no better. Saying things like his vegetables grew better whenever you visited his home and spoke to his plants or your presence being calming for the aphids, was the best Ororon could do. Citlali admonished him for these strange compliments, but to Ororon, that was the highest praise anyone could receive. After all, you were an amazing person, and even his plants and aphids sensed it.

Ororon’s courtship was unconventional to say the least, and granny Itztli worried whether her grandson made a favorable impression on you. To help improve Ororon’s image in your eyes, Citlali sought you out more often to put in a good word for her grandson and get you to see him as a man. She highlighted Ororon’s good points to you, commenting how Ororon is a bit peculiar, but he’s also kind, resourceful, accepting, gentle, and so much more. A truly good kid. He would make an excellent romantic partner, wouldn’t you agree?

Her pushiness flustered you, but it also allowed Citlali to gauge how you felt about Ororon, and she had to contain her excitement when she pieced together that you loved him back. In her giddiness, she urged Ororon to confess.

When the day of the confession came, Citlali hid among some trees while keeping an eye on you and Ororon. She didn’t intent to spy, but the anxiety over how the confession would go made her antsy and she couldn’t sit still at home. She watched as Ororon offered you a basket of his finest produce and finally professed his love. The confession came out awkward because he tried to recite what he practiced with Citlali a few days prior, and he seemed to realize this because Ororon then took your hand and placed it against his chest. Using his own words this time, Ororon explained that he genuinely did love you, and the racing of his heart should be proof enough that you were more than just a friend in his eyes. However, it was alright if you didn’t feel the same way about him.

Citlali had to clamp her hands over her mouth to hold back from squealing in giddiness as she watched you reciprocate Ororon’s feelings. She would later apologize for spying since she knew it was wrong, but it filled her with joy to witness the blossoming of love between you. In some ways, this was better than any romance novel she had read in all her years of living, and it warmed her heart to see you both so happy.

Even if it was a childhood fantasy, perhaps Ororon’s wish of marrying you was not that far off now? Citlali certainly hoped so.

☂️ Wanderer

Nahida was no expert on romance, but she had observed enough couples during her 500-year-long imprisonment to know what romantic attraction looked like. The strange air surrounding you and Wanderer must have been that, she speculated, as she watched Wanderer hand you a box of your favorite foods with the flimsy excuse of having made too much. For your part, you seemed genuinely touched by the gesture despite Wanderer’s grumbling, much to Nahida’s delight. Wanderer’s prickly personality pushed some people away, but not you. You stayed by his side and gave him the companionship he needed, helping Wanderer open up and heal from his trauma.

It was clear you deeply cared for the young man, and a little peek into your mind confirmed to Nahida that yes, you did love him romantically. She couldn’t read Wanderer’s mind since he blocked all her attempts to do so, but she didn’t need mindreading to conclude that he loved you too.

When she next spoke with Wanderer, she carefully asked if he loved you. Wanderer’s response was a gruff “No” and “Stop asking”, however Nahida could tell he wasn’t being honest with his feelings. If he didn’t love you, then why did he treat you differently compared to everyone else? His manner of speech is gentler when with you, and despite all his grumbling he still complies with all your requests no matter how irritating he may find them. Not to mention, he spends most of his free time in your company, goes out of his way to make you little gifts and cook your favorite dishes. Surely all these behaviours were proof that you were someone special to him?

Being effectively cornered, the puppet had no choice except to come clean about his hidden feelings. With scowl and a blush on his cheeks, Wanderer reluctantly admitted that yes, he likes you, but it was none of Nahida’s business and she’d better stay out of it.

Despite Wanderer’s warning, the Dendro Archon wanted to help get you together. She felt confident that if both of you put in a little effort, a beautiful romance could blossom between you. Still, she didn’t want to outright reveal your feelings for each other. She believed that each of you should relay these intimate feelings yourselves. All Nahida would do is give you a gentle nudge in the right direction.

To help her with this task, Nahida sought help from a few Aranara and asked them to keep an eye on you and Wanderer and report any meaningful details that could help her bring you together. Through her little helpers, Nahida learned the full extent of Wanderer’s affections for you, and she couldn’t help but smile at how sweet he was, especially when it came to you.

Using this acquired knowledge, the Dendro Archon frequently brought up Wanderer in your conversations with her to explain the thoughtfulness behind some of his gifts and words. For as frank as he usually was with people, Wanderer was more close-lipped about the true extent of his feelings, so Nahida had some work cut out for her in making you realize how much he truly cared about you.

For example, the next time Wanderer gave you your favorite food with the excuse that he’d made too much, Nahida revealed to you that he actually spent several days perfecting the recipe before finally giving the dish to you.

That hand-made bracelet he gifted you, saying he got it for free during an arts and crafts event he visited? Wanderer actually made it himself during that event and used beads of your favorite colors. The Aranara watched him spend a lot of time crafting that bracelet with the greatest care, but Nahida left that part out.

In addition, she would subtly drop hints for you to invite Wanderer to hang out more often. For example, the Zubayr Theater was hosting a play and Nahida heard there was a discount if you bought two tickets. Why don’t you go and invite Wanderer to come with you?

As for Wanderer, she discreetly told him that you once mentioned wanting to try out a new drink at Puspa Cafe but had nobody to go with, so why not be a good friend and take you there himself? Wanderer initially objected, but ultimately caved in and invited you to the Café while commenting that a certain annoying sprout said you wanted to try a new drink there, though deep down he glad for the opportunity to spend more time with you. Nahida could tell by the way Wanderer went out of his way to spoil you that day, buying you anything you wanted and keeping you company until the sun set.

Little by little, Nahida softened Wanderer towards the possibility of being in a romantic relationship with you, and helped you gather the courage to confess. Wanderer was unlikely to ever confess first, so the responsibility rested on your shoulders. She could tell you were nervous about laying bare your feelings, but she reassured you that things would go well. You only needed to take that leap of faith.

When you finally confessed, Nahida and the Aranara secretly observed the scene from behind a nearby corner, curious to see how things would go while also quietly cheering you on (not that you knew). When a flustered Wanderer accepted your confession, Nahida was overjoyed. She had fun guiding both of you towards this moment, but the satisfaction of knowing you could finally be together the way you always wished was rewarding in its own way. Even when Wanderer later confronted her about spying on you during your confession and scolded her for it, the little Archon’s happiness didn’t wane. She looked forward to seeing what your newfound relationship would blossom into, and had no doubt it would be something beautiful and pure, just like your love for each other.

👁️‍🗨️ Cyno

It was no secret to Tighnari that you and Cyno liked each other. He had known about your mutual crushes as far back as your student days at the Akademiya where you first met. You became fast friends with him and Cyno, but Tighnari couldn’t help but think Cyno was a bit more special to you than you let on. After all, you were one of the few who wasn’t intimidated by Cyno’s perpetual stern facial expressions and actively sought him out, and who actually laughed at his lame jokes.

Tighnari also knew about Cyno’s crush on you since his friend confided about it to him. Not that Cyno needed to say anything because Tighnari could see his attraction to you clear as day. Cyno’s eyes lit up whenever he saw you in the distance, he tried to act “cooler” in your presence in an attempt to impress you, and Tighnari swore that if Cyno had a tail, it would have wagged like a dog’s every time you laughed at his jokes.

Though he knew about your mutual romantic attraction to each other, Tighnari didn’t want to stick his nose into your love lives. He figured you guys would resolve everything yourselves in due time.

However, nothing changed even after you guys graduated. Your group remained close friends and saw each other regularly, but Tighnari was starting to lose his patience with how you and Cyno hopelessly pined for each other. He had already lost count of the number of times each of you came to him for advice on how to win the other over.

Cyno asked Tighnari’s opinion on a lot of things: Would you like his newest joke? Would you be okay with Cyno volunteering to be your bodyguard for your upcoming desert excursion? Which of his limited edition TCG cards best represented you? Cyno wanted to express how much you meant to him by giving you a card that reminded him of you.

You were no better. Tighnari had lost count of the number of times you approached him with questions about Cyno’s work schedule. Your excuse was that you wanted to plan hangouts with him, Collei, and Cyno during their days off, but Tighnari knew there was another reason why you asked about Cyno’s schedule in particular. He had half a mind to tell you to ask Cyno yourself because it was obvious that you just wanted to spend more time with the General Mahamatra. You also pestered Tighnari with questions about Cyno’s TCG deck. Much like his friend, you wanted to express your appreciation for Cyno by giving him cards he didn’t have yet.

Seriously, you two were a match made in heaven…

Tighnari would have found your mutual crushes on each other endearing, if only he wasn’t stuck being the middleman. As it stood, Tighnari wanted nothing more than to throttle both of you for pussyfooting around your feelings and getting him caught up in being your messenger. He was on the brink of snapping and sitting you both down to explain that your feelings were mutual, so just hurry up and get together already.

That’s why the next time Cyno approached him with another question about you, Tighnari took the opportunity to convince his friend to confess. He and Collei assured Cyno that you liked him a lot, and urged him to tell you his feelings. Cyno was hesitant but did seem to want some closure about whether you liked him back or not, so Tighnari gave him an incentive. How about the next time he played TCG with you, you guys set some stakes? Why not have a rule that the loser must tell the winner a secret? If Cyno lost, he would have to confess.

Cyno wasn’t fond of the idea initially, but agreed after some contemplation, acknowledging that this method would be effective in giving him that necessary push. Still, Tighnari could tell Cyno was nervous about confessing, so he volunteered to come along as moral support, much to Cyno’s gratitude.

That was how Tighnari and Collei found themselves at Puspa Cafe, sitting a few tables away from you and Cyno, hidden from your line of sight. Tighnari tutored Collei while Cyno played that fateful round of TCG against you, but the Forest Ranger kept a close eye on his friend. Though he didn’t want to get too invested in Cyno’s love life, even he couldn’t help but grow anxious as he watched the TCG match end with Cyno’s loss.

Although Tighnari was too far away to hear what Cyno was saying, he could tell the moment of confession had come. Now, the ball was in your court.

You looked stunned by whatever Cyno said, but soon smiled and said something that made Cyno mirror the happy expression on your face and reach out to hold your hand. Though he couldn’t hear, Tighnari knew you had reciprocated his feelings. Even Collei quietly fawned over how cute you both looked. It had been a long journey, but he was truly happy for his friend. Out of everyone, Cyno was happiest with you, and Tighnari hoped you would continue to make him happy for many years to come.

With everything ending well, Tighnari beckoned Collei and discreetly left the cafe before you or Cyno noticed. As happy as he was for you guys, he dreaded the possibility of Cyno coercing them into a TCG match. With how elated his friend must be right now, it was only a matter of time until Cyno called him and Collei over for a new game to celebrate you accepting his feelings. In Tighnari’s opinion, you guys deserved to have some proper time to yourselves to explore your feelings and new relationship without him and Collei serving as thirdwheels. That, and he just really didn’t want to sit through another hour of watching Cyno show off for you.

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

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Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[hxney-lemcn]

When You Nerd Out (Biology Edition) — Overblots x gn! reader

summery: the overblots find out you're more of a nerd than they realized...

tw: mentions of bugs (not really but I digress), mentions of arachnids (literally just the name of one lol), mentions of reptiles (idk maybe people are scared of them), mentions of snakes.

a/n: a reptile show is happening soon and I've been looking into so many reptiles/invertebrates/amphibians I had to get this out of my system somehow. What better way then to ramble to fictional characters? (Help me)

wc: 1.2k (~180 per character)

Master List

❥ Riddle Roseheart

When Riddle first met you, you were downtrodden, having just been thrown into a new world filled with magic and flair that yours didn’t. Your grades weren’t the best (but far from the worst), and you always seemed tired no matter what. So when your eyes lit up when he showed you the flamingo and hedgehog cages/pens he was surprised at the amount of facts that spilled from your lips. From how flamingos get their color to how hedgehogs are carnivores. Or how you could even ramble on about flowers and plants, like how tea garden roses are the most short lived species. From then on, Riddle would come to you for even the smallest of things. Did you want to feed the animals with him? This rose bush is wilting, are there any tips to bring it back? Do you know the meaning behind the colors of roses? No particular reason for that last question…just don’t question the bouquet of white and red roses mixed with baby’s breath that show up on your doorstep the next day.

❥ Leona Kingscholar

It was hard not to notice when you seemed to be on the brink of exploding. How you’d stare at awe in Leona’s presence, as you should. But your eyes would always wander to his ears, teeth, tail, nails. It got to a point that he felt like you were mentally dissecting him. It was his downfall to growl out a short “what”, as you started to pile on questions to the beastman prince. “Are your nails sharper than a humans?”, “How much better can you hear?”, “Does your tail help you balance?” All Leona could do was stare at you with boredom. Who knew his herbivore was a nerd? He supposes he could humor you for a little bit. Press his sharp nails lightly into your skin, a teasing smile as he asks if you’d like a test. Perhaps a nibble to show you how well his canines work? It all goes awry when you start taking interest in other beastmen, who cares about the cheetah or leopard bestmen when you have a lion prince right here?

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

Azul never thought twice about where he’s come from. He’s seen many kinds of merpeople, many kinds of fish or crustaceans or sharks. But he knew land dwellers didn’t have that, which is why he has the giant aquarium in his lounge. He got used to the awed expressions as well, more focused on swindling the poor souls. So when your jaw dropped and how you clearly restrained yourself from running up to the giant aquarium, Azul felt giddy. He could offer you something most couldn’t. He’d watch as you’d point out a fish or ray that you saw and explain how much you loved the color or how magnificent it looked. When you brought up how smart you thought octopi are, it was over. His heart couldn’t take it. You know he was an octopus merperson right? You were basically complimenting him without realizing it. He couldn’t get over how you stared in wonder at the blue ringed octopus that was waving back at you. And oh sevens you were giggling at it? He wasn’t getting jealous over another octopus, no way…

❥ Jamil Viper

Jamil noticed the excited look in your eyes when you learned his last name was Viper, but nothing had happened at the time. It wasn’t until Kalim had you rambling about animals did Jamil realize just how much you seemed to love snakes. How you named your favorite in a heartbeat to how you scrutinized the ones you looked into as pets. It wasn’t until Kalim started to offer to buy you all those snakes and more did he have to step in. Yet Jamil felt flustered when your gaze landed on him, your eyes that had been filled with fondness while rambling about snakes had only seemed to get brighter when looking at him. Reluctantly, Jamil let you drag him to a reptile show, something Kalim had pushed him to do. For his own sanity, Jamil ignored the giant pouch of money Kalim tried to stealthily hand you, instead, focusing on your awed expression at the variety of animals. He couldn’t help but watch the snakes in awe with you, and when you asked him if he wanted to help you set up an enclosure for one…who was he to say no?

❥ Vil Schoenheit

Vil is a busy man. With photo and movie shoots to interviews to taking care of himself, there isn’t much time to stop and smell the roses. But with you, he tries to make time, and it's like a breath of fresh air every time. It was nice to sit outside and bask in the sun (with sunscreen of course) and talk with you. Something had clearly caught your eye when you dropped from the bench to scoop something off the ground. Vil thought he knew you well enough…apparently not. He hadn’t expected to see you shove a rolly polly, pill bug, potato bug, whatever you want to call them into his face…okay maybe he’s exaggerating. You held the little thing far enough away that it wasn’t all too startling. He swore he never saw you so excited about something, or how you rambled that they weren’t bugs, but crustaceans that live on land. The way you gently held the critter to how fondly you looked at the curled up thing made Vil’s heart flutter. You always seemed to find beauty in things most would shudder at. How odd.

❥ Idia Shroud

Idia had no idea how you managed, but you had convinced him to get a plant. You had called it a zz plant, and thought it would be perfect to liven his room up as it didn’t need direct sunlight. He watched the plant as it sat next to a grow light, it needed something since he didn’t have any windows. The dark purple leaves were pretty, you were right. As much as he tried to keep up with watering, he would forget, but Ortho seemed to have it covered. When little leaves started sprouting, Idia felt proud, a weird feeling he wasn’t used to. When you came over and saw how well it was doing you beamed. That stupid fluttery feeling filled him as you praised him, not to mention it mixing with feeling proud. Not a good combo, as now he was thinking of asking you if there’s any other plant you may recommend, just to get you rambling once more about different plants that could thrive in his little cave of a room.

❥ Malleus Draconia

Although Malleus loves to hear your voice, you always seem content to hear him ramble. The way your eyes watched intently, trying to find what he was pointing out on a gargoyle, or how you’d ask questions about the differences of a gargoyle and grotesque. At first, he was concerned when you gasped, had you gotten hurt somehow? Yet he found you excitedly pointing out a house gecko that stood near the gargoyle he was talking about. He watched you in awe as your eyes glittered, and how you were basically jumping up and down. Then you started going on about geckos, reptiles, and all sorts of odd things people keep as pets. The way you basically swooned at the thought of owning a crested gecko or a crocodile skink, Malleus was ready to hand you all the money you needed. He is the best and worst, as he’ll never tell you no and fund your hobby till your heart’s content. Just make sure to pay attention to him too, yeah? Unlike skinks or tarantula’s, he likes your affection. Plus, he’s the best reptile of them all, no? He’d gladly show you his dragon form.

[amourcheol]

agrodolce

❝Because you cannot create perfection without a little tension.❞

rivals to lovers! au | fluff | 27.5k words

s u m m a r y : one would expect being a dessert chef to be a life filled with sugary goodness, but nothing is sweet when working alongside boo seungkwan. when the two of you are forced to create a special dessert for the winter menu together, you think the restaurant will burn down. late night planning, shopping mall snooping, and a simple dessert might just save you from your expectations.

c o n t e n t : dessert chef! mc, dessert chef! seungkwan, rivals to lovers! au but i kept it tame so i didn't lose my mind, head chef! jeonghan who terrorises his employees, seungkwan is leading the sassy man apocolypse, flatmate! julie from kiss of life who wants to be santa, lots of mentions of italian desserts, lots of geographical London referencess, lots of bickering, little bits of tension, making out but no smut because im fearing god again, fluff obviously and overall just very winter-esque!!

p l a y l i s t : candy by seventeen || chocolate by seventeen || daawat-e-ishq by sajid-wajid || strawberry sunday by dojaejung

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @ourkivee @syluslittlecrows @ye0ppl @markhyuckbest @uhdrienne

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : this is not edited properly and for that i am sorry...so tired i fear but she is FINALLY done!! thank you @camandemstudios for inviting me to participate in this collab, i've enjoyed every moment of yapping and fighting over pixel cats <33 to alice and addy for listening to me complaing about this fic but seungkwan deserves sm love so i had to do my bit !! i hope you all enjoy and happy new year !! <3

back to masterlist

BEING BERATED BY A SUPERIOR WILL ALWAYS BE A HUMBLING EXPERIENCE.

Whether that be in school, when you are scolded for forgetting your homework, or gaining detention for arguing with your teacher. In the working world, it could be insufficient effort in a team project, perhaps your boss simply being a prick and wanting to make your life difficult. 

Never did you think you would be sitting in front of your Head Chef, remnants of food stuck in your hair and clothing, a sheepish look plastered upon your face as you faced his imminent wrath.

You knew it was over for you—the man at the head of the office sat, sleeveless arms crossed, eyebrows knitted in rage at your dishevelled appearance, his feet tapping viciously under the desk. You never really considered your superior to be a particularly scary figure of power, but, in this light, if he made any sudden moves, there was a slim possibility you would scream.

You wondered whether begging for forgiveness was still on the table.

“Remind me, _____,” he finally said, sighing the words out, “How old are you?” 

A part of you wished to remind him that he was not legally allowed to ask you that. You did not even know why he was asking such a question. Head Chef Yoon Jeonghan had known you for a long time now. He realised it too, but for another reason entirely. “No, scratch that. You’re an age where your brain has developed fully, right? I’m not wrong in assuming that you’re capable of knowing what’s right and what’s wrong?”

“Of course, Chef,” you answered, trying to find some self-assuredness in your voice. Difficult, in all honesty, when you were covered with salted butter and vanilla extract. 

That seemed to be the wrong answer. “Then tell me why, _____,” he asked, agitation rising, “I caught you with your hands full of whipped cream, throwing it at a fellow chef.”

You attempted an explanation. “In my defence, Chef, you weren’t meant to see that.”

Jeonghan was not amused. “I’m surprised the entire restaurant didn’t catch your antics. If this incident happened during open hours I shudder to think what our customers would think.”

Reining in a sigh, you did not respond this time, positive that another dry quip from you would have your unemployment confirmed. 

It was a little unfair, though. You were not the only one who was caught. 

A drawl resounded from beside you. “I won’t be surprised if half our customers don’t already know what _____’s like.”

This particular chirp had your self-wallowing bubbling to a rage. 

No, you were not the sole culprit, because as you whipped your head to the man who decided to voice his opinion at the wrong time, you caught the shit-eating glint in his eyes and nearly screamed the office down.

You could not stop yourself from crowing out, “Let’s not forget your 2018 meltdown over multiple tiramisu failures, Seungkwan.”

That had him scoffing harshly. “Always digging up incidents from years ago because you have nothing else to bring up.” His eyes hiked up and down your ruined uniform. “I can name your screw-ups starting today.”

“Oh, so I was just pissing about with all this food by myself then,” you snapped, gesturing towards his own mess. His hazel locks had the remnants of whipped cream too, matting his hair, whilst different coloured stains adorned his professional uniform, much similar to yours. However, you noticed he was much dirtier in appearance, which made your lips quirk upward in satisfaction.

He caught on instantly, to your distaste. “You were the one who couldn’t argue properly with me,” he accused. “No wonder you had to resort to childish gimmicks to get back at me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” A turn of your nose. “You look horrendous.” 

“You’re no sight for sore eyes either.” He reached for the thick strands of his hair, matted together with whipped cream. “Do you even know how hard it is to wash off mascarpone?”

“I wouldn’t, actually, because you missed, remember?”

“Oh, you—” 

“Enough!” Jeonghan declared, interrupting you two before any escalations occurred. “Not only were these gimmicks childish and immature, but also a huge waste on our ingredients. Mingyu’s estimated our stock for this week was cut down by 17%.” 

Your surprise was exposed through the twist of your mouth. “That’s right.” Jeonghan sighed once again, many in his arsenal. “Both of your temper tantrums have cost the restaurant financially. Aside from the fact that I will be talking to my therapist about this incident.” 

“Of course _____ wouldn’t care about the restaurant finances,” Seungkwan jeered, dusting off flakes of self-raising flour from his lap. “Nor your mental health.”

“I do care about your mental health, Chef,” you rebuked your colleague’s claim. “If I didn’t, then the stock would have plummeted another 25% at least. That’s why I didn’t touch the vintage dessert wines.” 

“You do seem to have some sense then,” Jeonghan griped, no humour in his smile, “Because if you ruined the wines on Seungkwan I would have fired you instantly.”

Not a warning—a promise. Another one of his infamous sighs exhaled from his coral lips, which he brushed with his wandering fingers in thought. “You both…you both need to stop this. I mean it.” 

“I will stop when she stops,” the man beside you asserted, glaring at you. 

You matched his venom. “I will stop when he stops.” 

“No, you both will stop, because I have had enough.” He locked his hands together, losing all amusement—as if there was any present in the first place. “Christmas period is approaching, and that means changing up the menu for the new quarter. These next couple of months will be incredibly busy, especially given the tourist season and school holidays in central.” 

Glancing at the stack of papers on his desk, he set aside a few files, sliding out a particular piece and studying the details. “As you know, the main menu has been under alteration, but the dessert menu is still the same as the summer. I have already selected the majority of the confectionery, but there is still one more dessert I wish to add to the seasonal collection.” 

He then set his sights on the two of you. “I need you to make this dessert. Hand me the plans for its creation, flavour variety, as well as its marketability in the restaurant.” 

That had you sitting up in your seat. A creation of a dessert—it was something you had concocted in larger groups, back when you were a mere apprentice under Jeonghan’s wing at Camden Market. You had done seasonal dessert preparations for the spring and summer menus, but the winter menu selection was the most prestigious amongst the luxury restaurants within your borough. With locals flocking to central London, tourists from all corners of the world flying across oceans to stay in this beloved city, they wanted nothing more than seasonal excellence. 

An exquisite dessert meant maintaining that expectation of perfection. A dessert was enjoyed at the end of the main meal, and—in your eyes—cemented the opinion of a customer on whether they would return to the establishment, or forget it ever existed. The treats you made left impressions on thousands, impressions you savoured everyday at work, and outside. 

This may just be all your hard work paying off. Finally.

Before Jeonghan could continue, you nodded, all confidence. “I will be happy to accept this task, Chef.”

A snort sounded next to you, and your smugness faltered, replaced with irritation. “You have something to say?” 

“Yeah, actually,” he said, folding his leg over the other, “I was wondering why you were piping up when Chef was asking me.” 

This time, you were the one that laughed. “Your arrogance makes you look like a dumbass many times, Seungkwan. This is one of those times.” 

He leaned in a little, nodding condescendingly along to your taunts. “Oh do I? I guess it’ll be your turn to look stupid today.” 

“Both of you are looking stupid in front of me,” the boss interjected once more. “Because I wasn’t asking a specific individual.” 

He raised his hands to the two of you. “I’m asking you both to work on this dessert inclusion. Together.” 

You halted. Stilled in the stark, yellow lights of the grand office, evidence of Jeonghan’s success. Success which you have yet to taste on your own.

Success which, unfortunately, might have died with the words that left your superior’s mouth.

For the first time in a while, there was complete silence in the office.

Even Jeonghan found the notion hard to believe. “My God,” he uttered, twisting the corners of his mouth downwards, stunned. “Maybe I should have dropped this news before the food fight.”

You could only stare at the man in pure horror. “I would rather snap raw spaghetti and serve it to you before doing such a thing!”

Seungkwan let out a groan. “Here come the dramatics,” he muttered, but you heard it clear enough. “Anything to make a fuss and delay the business.”

Jeonghan perked up. “Oh, so you wouldn’t be opposed to it?”

A smile. “I’d kill myself before working with _____.”

Your huff of laughter had the boy scowling. “And he called me dramatic.”

“Enough!” was the final outcry from your boss, who seemed ready to overthrow the desk in pure frustration. “You two…” he shook his head, raking his slender hands through his long, black hair. “I don’t care.”

The younger attempted to fight his case to the end. “But Chef, this will be a disaster—”

You chimed in for the sake of interrupting, “This will cause the downfall of your restaurant—”

“I don’t care how you two feel,” his interruption was final, his head shaking still. “I don’t give a fuck, to be honest.”

Seungkwan’s mouth parted, but then heard the fuck, and decided against saying a word. You should have followed suit, but it was against your very principle to follow his example. “Chef, please,” you tried, almost pleading to be heard out. “Seungkwan and I have completely different palettes too. It’s not even about personal differences.”

“Again, that is a setback I don’t care about.” He stood up from his seat, and almost on instinct the two of you shot up from your chairs, remnants of cooked fettuccine falling from your dampened uniform pockets. The Head Chef took note of this detail. “This…this petty rivalry between the two of you is affecting the people around you now. Both of you are so talented, yet I have seen caffeine-crazed kids behave better than you during rush hours.” 

He rested his hands on the table, his hard gaze razor-sharp. “You both have about eight weeks to hand me the final dessert plan on my table. If I receive two individual plans, or no plan at all, then I will fire you both.”

That was enough for balls to drop. You were fortunate to have none, so only assumed Seungkwan was the victim in this situation.

“Y-you can’t do that!” he exclaimed, and for the first time, you had to agree with him. A horrifying prospect. “We’re halfway through September now!”

“So?”

“You need me on desserts, Chef!” you declared, taking a more outraged stance on his statement. “What the hell will you do when there’s no one to make your amarettis?”

The man was still, face impassive. “I don’t care if you both are my best chefs. There are many big-eyed, desperate Masterchef rejects who will cut off their legs to be trained within this position.”

Whatever snide remark that almost escaped your mouth lodged itself in your throat. You wanted to feel special—like there was a place reserved only for you at the restaurant. 

Now, because of one person, that position is threatened.

“This isn’t fair, Jeonghan,” you mumbled. 

There was a pause. Then, “Don’t make me agree with _____.”

“Shut up.”

The boss took a turn from his desk, walking towards the door. “As I said,” he began, holding onto the handle, “You have eight weeks.” 

He took one last glance at the two of you, a judgement akin to the one the scriptures warned about. “Don’t fuck this up.” 

With that, he left his office with a final thud! of the door. 

And as the weight of the decision finally settled on your shoulders, its pressure making them sag, you looked to the man whose employment rested in your hands—whose hands your employment rested on too. 

The two of you scowled at the exact same moment.

If anyone was going to get fired, it would not be you.

THE RUSH HOUR OF THE UNDERGROUND TUBE SOURED YOUR ALREADY UNPLEASANT CONDITION.

The Northern line from Camden experienced a few closures, so that resulted in delays, consequently filling the already dingy underground area into a complete sardine-like squeeze. It was horrendous enough the place was like a cesspit of heat and sweat amongst all these commuters, but knowing you were going to be late was enough to worsen your mood. 

You would have complained to your flatmate, but there was no service underneath—the entire commute resulted in staring down the people who held a seat in the jam-packed tube, when you were slotted against the sliding doors of the train. Holding onto the railings for dear life, you could only hope that your colleague had experienced an inconvenience as severe as you had (perhaps tripping over his dirty laundry—maybe even a car crash on the ring road? He could take his pick). 

Once the tube finally reached Leicester Square, you could not struggle out of the train fast enough, tapping out your card and flying up the stairs in two-three steps. The Piazza of Covent Garden was not far away, but London was a city that never rested, and so the people were everywhere. Thankfully, you had mastered the art of moving out of the crowds with precision, so you arrived at your destination, only about five minutes late. 

The columns of Covent Garden’s grand building welcomed your vision. There, nestled to the side with luxury outdoor seating splayed onto the cobblestone, was the Vita di Diamante—Jeonghan’s product of blood, sweat and tears for the world to admire. The Georgian-style front was painted an emerald green, white borders of the doors and windows making the restaurant glow in the soft winter sun. Customers were already queuing, even though doors were not to open for the next two hours. You could not help a small smile forming, chest swelling with pride. 

Avoiding the front entrance, you hurried around to the side doors, this particular entrance already open thanks to Prep Cook Kim Mingyu, who offered a sheepish smile at your appearance. 

“Oh no,” you said in greeting, quickly stepping past him as he closed the door. “What’s that look for?” 

He chuckled, tightening his apron’s bow at the back. “Seungkwan’s been waiting at your station for thirty minutes.”

A curse escaped you, furthering his amusement. “How mad is he?”

“He shouted at me for the lack of ricotta in the pantry.” 

You scrunched your brows in shame, widening your lips in a line. “That’s on me. I threw it at him the other day.”

Although he shook his head, he said, “Tell me it hit his face, at least.”

“Right on target.”

Hearing his laughter behind you, you dashed to the cloakroom, quickly changing into your uniform. Tossing your bag in the small lockers, you exited, finding yourself in the familiar surroundings of the dessert station. 

From the last time you had been in this side of the kitchens, the place had been the victim of your vicious food fight with Seungkwan—stained with sauces, powdered with flour, and littered with different nuts and sprinkles from the pantry. Now, the floors and tables were spotless, all evidence of your petty rage disappeared into your memories. 

Unfortunately, the cleaners could not make the sole reason for your anger disappear. He stood, back hunched to you, like a nasty stain upon your domain, refusing to be wiped away. You could not help your glower towards his figure, a small hope that you would develop lasers for eyes and smite him off the station.

“What’re you glaring at me for? You’re the one who’s late.” 

Jerking your head back at his voice, you twisted your lips downwards, walking towards him. “You don’t know that,” you challenged, sneaking a look at what he focused on—a notebook, with scribbles written in black ink. 

“I do, because you’re glaring at me as we speak.” He glanced up at you. “See?” 

It was a little pitiful now, trying to school your face into neutrality. “Whatever,” you muttered, taking out your own notepad, setting it on the steel tops. “And for the late thing, rush hour spares no one.”

“Yet the entire staff managed to come early,” he said, a certain, condescending ease in his tone which made your glower darken. “We’re lucky that Jeonghan’s helping us with desserts in the next coming weeks, or we would have been screwed.” 

“Jeonghan’s coming?” you asked, genuinely surprised. You were aware that he was trialling a few dessert apprentices to deal with the restaurant’s rush period, butyou did not expect the big boss to turn up at the stations.

“He wants us to focus on ‘team collaboration’,” he iterated, exaggerating the latter words in air quotes, “As well as ‘building our professional relationship’.” 

“Jesus,” you could only say, dreading the near future for what it held for the two of you. Jeonghan was either the dumbest person to grace this restaurant, or enjoyed messing with his employees for work-place entertainment. 

A glimpse of the clock. “We’re due for starting up in a couple of hours, so we better start thinking up ideas now.” You looked down at the pages of your notebook, a few ideas already jotted down that needed further exploration. “Since we’re only doing one dessert, this shouldn’t take us more than a week to decide.”

Seungkwan’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “Yeah, if you’re just handing a scoop of gelato to them.”

That particular comment had you craning your head back. “You have to be braindead to take two months to come up with one item.”

“You must be putting anything in your customer’s plates then,” was his sour response, “To need only a week to create a luxury food.”

A sharp sigh escaped you. “What grand plans do you have for the public then?”

Picking up his notebook, he brushed a finger past the page. “Right…so we already have the standard tiramisu and gelato variations. We should definitely incorporate a sugary pastry since we’ve been lacking in the previous quarter.” 

“Pastry,” you mumbled. He was talking pure, unadulterated shit. Chocolate bignè was the permanent item on the summer menu—little, indulgent profiteroles that melt into the taster’s mouth. Apart from that, the generic selection of cannolis and bomobolini doughnuts were already sold at the till within the cafe section outside, so another addition of the pastry was not needed.

Perhaps your thoughts projected upon your face, because the boy was incredulous. “And what’s so wrong about pastries?”

“It’s been done too many times.” You showed him the previous menu, which he had before him. “We should do something different.” 

“And what would that ‘different’ be?”

You scoured your page, latching onto the words of strong flavours. “Stray from the sweets this time. I’ve been wanting to experiment with a few flavours, and I think that bitter amarettis will be big this winter.”

Mentioning the Italian macarons did not bode well. “Bitter amarettis? Are you insane?”

Instantly you crowed, “The Sarano branch is actually very popular ‘cause they’re smaller and easier to eat after a meal. We can flavour them with coffee or almonds.”

“No.”

The sudden dismissal was enough for you to argue your case. “It’s better than a goddamn doughnut!”

“Fine.” He clutched his notebook tighter. “Let’s drop the pastry. How about a pannacotta?”

Pannacotta—sweet cream dessert thickened and moulded with gelatin. Not your first choice, but its greatest advantage was its range of flavours that it accommodated.

You decided to try your luck once more. “We can do something with that.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, thinking of any flavours that were not simply sugar sprinkled on cream. “I’ve experimented with bay leaves before. We can add one or two to add a lime-like essence.”

The man scrunched his nose at the notion. “My God. Were you thrown against the wall as a child?”

That morbid image had you scoffing. “I had an amazing childhood, thank you. Why are you so against it already?”

“Pannacotta is a sweet dessert, _____. I’m not adding fucking leaves on a delicacy.”

“Adding herbs on certain confectionery is actually a luxury trait. You learn this in culinary school.”

Once again, the idea was immediately cut for another. “We should add cinnamon to it.” He pointed towards his notebook. “A nod towards the coming Christmas.” 

“Cinnamon?” you parrotted. “A sweet flavouring on an already sweetened cream? Do you want to rot our customers’ teeth?

“Oh, what do you suggest then?” He let out a harsh scoff. “Coffee for the millionth time?”

“Well, actually—” you were about to make an incredible point, but your partner began to groan, cutting you off. “Hey, coffee is versatile, and you know it!”

Seungkwan looked to the side, as if there was an invisible camera he could make a face to. “Here comes the anti-sweet agenda.”

Your sharp exhale was loud enough to gain his unpleasant attention. “If you had your way, all our customers would have type 2 diabetes!”

“Well sorry that I don’t want my customers as bitter as you are!” he exclaimed. “It’s beyond me how you became a dessert chef!” 

“It’s called having range, dumbass!” you shouted right back, unwilling to relent. “My skills go beyond just dumping a load of sugar and calling it a dessert!”

He slapped his notebook on the desk, leaning in. “I said to have cinnamon because it’s bloody Christmas. My bad if you like to Grinch it up every year.”

“You want to show Christmas through cinnamon, huh?” You huffed a laugh in his face. “Wow, Seungkwan, how original! I might as well put a fucking christmas hat on top of our tiramisu. Fuck it, let’s start singing a Christmas carol while we serve it since you want to be on theme so much!”

Seungkwan’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want fucking leaves in a dessert.”

You matched his anger. “Well, I don’t want you in this process, but we can’t always have what we want.” 

A tilt of his head, the locks framing his forehead sliding along. “I'm not dying to work with you either, dearest.”

Dearest. That pissed you off even further. “Then find a way to deal with it,” you seethed. 

“I could say the same thing to you.”

You pursed your lips, at a loss for words. The man stared into the rising rage of your gaze, his own agitation reflected clearly. He was watching you intently, words dying on his lips, only inhaling and exhaling sharply. Had he been a few inches closer, his huffed anger would have fanned your face, truly taste how he felt about this entire situation.

But that was the last thing you wanted, and so you could only match his displeasure. 

“I’m not losing my job because of you,” you warned.

His eyes darted all over your face before he deigned to reply to you. “And you think I want to be fired?”

The quirk of your mouth upwards had his nostrils flaring. “If you act like an asshole, Seungkwan, that’s exactly what you deserve.”

“Why do you get to be the judge of that?” he scoffed out.

“I won’t. Jeonghan will see through you soon enough.”

Oh, he was seething underneath that mask of irritation. If you had been any weaker, you would have crumbled under such a withering look. He did not have much to say anymore, thinking that knifing you with his glare would be enough to win this argument. Because he had you as an opponent, it was no easy feat—the two of you said nothing again, staring and staring with mouths parted, almost waiting for an insult to rise from their throats and strike any second. 

Something might have struck—would have occurred under the flickering lights of the dessert station. Perhaps Seungkwan would have said something to make you succumb to your aggravation. Maybe you would have finally killed him. 

“Already at each other’s throats?”

You and Seungkwan whirled your heads to the voice.

There stood Jeonghan, tapping his foot against the floor, arms crossed as he observed you two. “Standing this close, well…either you’re about to claw each other’s faces off or make out.”

The latter option had you and Seungkwan breaking out of your rageful bubble, repelling from each other like magnets of the same sides. The boy exhaled sharply through his nose, while you swiped up your notes, not even sparing your Head Chef with a glare. “You’re horrid.”

Seungkwan snorted. “I think I’d rather get punched.”

You directed that sour look back at the man who deserved it more. “You’ll have it coming if you keep at it.”

“If you both have wasted enough time fighting,” Jeonghan interjected, always the mediator, “Then let’s get on with it. I wanna hear your initial plans.”

“_____ will summarise,” The younger replied, before you could even begin. “I have to go in a minute.”

You made a face. “Where’re you running off to?”

He returned it. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have to pick up my niece and nephew from school. They have a half-day today.”

You could have rolled your eyes at him. “Is this allowed, Chef?” you demanded. “Something as important as the Christmas menu is being discussed, and he’s doing school duty.”

But Jeonghan overlooked your valid concerns, countering, “It’s all good, _____. Seungkwan asked for the half-day a week earlier.”

The said-man handed his notes to the superior. He could not help remarking, “Perhaps if you had bothered to be on time, then we could have fought out another dessert.”

As he exited, bidding his adieus to him, you reined in the temptation to stick his middle finger out. After all, it would have only landed behind his back—the bastard deserved to see it. 

Your boss clicked his tongue at you as he walked over to where you stood. “Good to see you didn’t flip him off in front of me. At least you’re thirty percent professional.”

“Why did you give him the half-day?” This time, you could not restrain the eye-roll. “Sometimes I think he’s making those kids up.”

“_____!” He scolded, bringing Seungkwan’s notepad back on the surface. “I’ve met his niece and nephew, they’re very much real.”

“Or you could be in on the bit,” you jeered, leaning against the countertop. “Trying to piss me off on purpose.”

“Your self-importance astounds me. Not everyone is thinking about you.” A knowing look. “Even the man you happen to hate so much.”

“Well I hope he keeps my name out of his mouth. And his mind, for that matter,” you added for good measure, observing the very door the man departed from. 

Jeonghan followed your line of sight. “You seem to have a hard time keeping his name out of your mouth though.”

Your accused mouth tightened at its allegations. “Are you on my side or his?”

He raised his hands in surrender, a grin breaking free from his lips. “Don’t drag me into your petty rivalry.” Pointing towards your notes, he then changed the subject. “Now, tell me about your rough plans.”

You obliged your boss, running down your initial prospects. He seemed satisfied enough, informing you that he will ask Seungkwan as well, and reminded you to prepare for the early customers.

As you prepared yourself for the open doors, prepping your ingredients alongside the Prep Cook, your thoughts wandered to the man who escaped this menial work, and then the eventual rush.

You and Seungkwan would not be able to create this dessert. Meeting in the middle would be impossible with someone as stubborn as him. Of course you wished to be successful, because that meant Jeonghan would not throw you out into the cobblestones of Covent Garden. You wanted this to go well. 

A sharp breath exhaled from you. You could only hope that Seungkwan hoped the same, or else you would both are completely, utterly, inescapably fucked. 

“HO HO HO!” 

A sigh involuntarily escaped you. “One more ‘ho ho ho’ and I’m shooting myself in the head.”

“Hey!” The slender girl exclaimed, fixing her Santa hat upon her straight hair. “You know I need to perfect it for today.”

You looked beyond her figure to the shop, lit up with seasonal outfits on display. “You’re gonna get the role anyway, Julie, because no one else will be auditioning.”

The girl tried to push you in punishment, you narrowly dodging her dainty hand. “Go back to slaving away at Jeonghan’s restaurant.”

A mocked gasp left you. “Are you telling me to get back in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, so step on it!”

“I’m supporting you, though!” You reasoned. “There is no one in London who can pull off Santa Claus better than you.”

“And what about the world?”

You mocked a shrug. “There’s too many old white men to compete for that title, I fear.”

“See?” She clicked her tongue. “A real friend would lie to me and say I’m the best.”

Shaking your head at her antics, you could not help smiling at her. Julie Han was a fiery girl you had befriended in school, bonding over your terrible teachers in one after-school detention. Your paths had never strayed, establishing each other as flatmates when the two of you decided to pursue careers in the big city. Where you pursued luxury food, she sought after theatre and cameras, deciding to be an actress when she landed herself the role of ‘Juliet’ in Romeo and Juliet in primary school, and considered it destiny (she, however, did not have chemistry with her Romeo, because he kissed her like a ‘fish’. In her words, men who cannot kiss should not be romancing other actresses).

“I don’t get the Santa Claus obsession, though,” you wondered out loud. “There are other ways to help kids out.”

“I know, but it’s Christmas!” She waved her arms to the air, gesturing at the winter-themed fairy lights on the mall ceilings, twinkling with every ray of light that caught them. “It’s also adorable when the kids ask you for presents.”

“I think it’ll be cuter with a female Claus, too,” you pointed out. “I wouldn’t put my kid on any old man’s lap.”

“Exactly!” There was a moment of brief pause before Julie relented. “Also, the mall employees get a 50 percent discount on retail.”

“I knew your ass wasn’t feeling the Christmas charity spirit.”

The girl chuckled, looping her arm around yours. “Thank you for coming with me. It means a lot.”

“Of course!” You returned her grin with a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t gonna miss you screaming ‘Ho Ho Ho’ at every kid in M&S.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but could not contain her laughter. “Hey, weren’t you supposed to work today?”

That made your cheerful expression falter a little. “I was, but Seungkwan took the full day off today, so Jeonghan used it as an excuse to trial out the apprentices.” 

“You know, I still need to meet this guy,” she said, glancing at the street food booths in the middle of the halls. “He’s the only man I know who genuinely makes you go batshit.”

“Don’t get me started again.” You rolled your eyes. “You know, he took his day off for his niece and nephew again. I’m telling you, he’s making these fucking kids up.”

Julie’s face twisted into concern. “Making up fake kids for a holiday is a little far-fetched, _____.”

“Keep giving people the benefit of the doubt, then,” you crowed at her, “I'm just gonna pretend you're method acting for Santa."

But she was persistent, asking, “When will you let me spread the Christmas charity to your nemesis?” 

“Never, if I can help it.” You twisted your mouth. “I’m saving you the headache.”

“Why the headache?” Julie then gasped. “Is he ugly?”

You scoffed, looking ahead to respond when you stopped dead in your tracks.

Your friend, arm locked with yours, lurched backwards, whirling her head to you. Catching your expression had her demanding, “What the hell?”

But you were not listening to her, because your eyes landed on the very man you were bad-mouthing mere seconds ago. It was insanity how you recognised him, when his face was half-hidden from his signature oversized scarf—the three-metres of red fabric which always irritated you for some irrational reason (possibly because you were always cold, and the stupid, awful scarf always seemed so warm). His black trench-coat covered his slender figure, his hair ruffled, the after-effects of a beanie situated upon them.

Those details were still not important—completely useless when the most prominent addition was a woman beside him, laughing at his quip.

Shit. You did not waste any time.

“_____?” your friend called out, only to be met with your sudden turn on your heel, as, with her ungracious yelp, you hauled her inside the nearest shop, nearly crashing into the mannequins. “Jeez, if you wanted to go inside Zara so badly, then you should have just said!” 

As you hid behind the retail giant’s new winter collection, you observed, a little further away, the two people strolling without a care in the world. You noticed how the man was carrying all the shopping—stores from high-street to designer, which had your eyebrow raising—whilst the woman was pointing towards different stores, perhaps scour all of Westfield if she could help it. 

A frown marred your lips. 

Seungkwan said he was assisting his child-aged niece and nephew—you did not remember said-niece and nephew being one adult woman. 

“He’s on a fucking date,” you seethed.

Julie, now hiding beside you, tried to find whoever it was that you were glaring at. “Who’s on a date?”

“Seungkwan!” you exclaimed, pointing at him through the mannequin’s arm. “The prick with the red scarf.” But he and his company had walked past Zara, nearly leaving your field of vision. “Wait, we gotta move.” 

The poor girl, who was once again hauled up, and now being led out of the store, tugged at your arm. “What are we doing?” she asked. “Why are you still talking about him?”

“Because he’s there!” You jerked your head towards him and his lady-friend. “Look!”

A sharp breath drew from your friend. “Oh my God! Speak of the dessert devil, huh?”

“Exactly! So we’re following him.”

That had Julie stopping the chase, thus stopping you. “Why the hell are we doing that?”

“To catch him out on his terrible excuse!” you explained, tutting at your friend’s inability to understand the drastic nature of this situation. “I need to see the look on his face when I catch him making the rounds on H&M’s winter collection.”

For some unimaginable reason, the girl did not seem so enthusiastic. “My interview’s in thirty minutes, _____.”

You scrambled for any lame excuse. “This will distract you from your interview nerves!” 

“I haven’t gotten any interview nerves.”

“Well, you should because your voice cannot go ‘Santa Claus’ deep.”

Julie nudged you with her interlocked arm, shaking her head. “Now I’m scared, so fuck you.”

“You're very welcome.” You ticked your head towards your target. “Let’s go.”

As you two began your possibly illegal, certainly socially unacceptable activity, a certain rush thrummed within your veins, as if you had taken something for the exhilaration. Seeing your colleague declare one thing to you, yet do something entirely different—and then to witness it with your own eyes—felt like a scene out of a ridiculous rom-com. He was taking this girl everywhere, offering his opinions on certain collections on display in whatever shop they passed, loud enough for you to hear. Of course, it was expected from someone as opinionated as him—you were not surprised in the slightest. 

“All the time in the world for his kids, huh?” you muttered, sporting a grin which would have had criminals running for the hills.

Even Julie was spooked. “You really are rooting for his downfall, huh?” 

“You have no idea.”

The two people you tailed went inside the White Tiger, and it was at this point as, when you made to enter the strange shop, you were stopped by your friend. “I’m gonna leave you here.” 

“What?” You tugged on her arm. “You still have fifteen minutes.”

She sighed. “If I tank in my audition, just know I’m going to your restaurant and telling this Seungkwan that you had a wet dream about him.”

Your mouth dropped open. “That’s diabolical.” 

Her growing smirk had you widening your eyes. “I’ll do you an even better one. If you don’t let me leave I’m calling Seungkwan here and telling him we were stalking him.”

That had your blood running cold. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“You don’t think so?” She turned her face forwards, shit-eating expression furthering. 

She then parted her mouth, making your heart stop. 

“Seungkwan!” 

“What the—” You instantly grabbed her arm, aiming to cover her mouth when she waved off your hands, her grin chilling you to your bones. “Oh my fucking God—!”

“Hey, Seungkwan!” Julie shouted once more, louder this time. You knifed her with a vicious glare, but then she waved her hand, and you whirled your head to where she greeted.

Your face contorted in pure horror as you watched Seungkwan look over his shoulder, slowly turning himself. 

What you did next was completely out of your control. 

It was your legs that suddenly held the reins, dashing into the shop beside your friend, hiding behind the racks of clothing. Your heart beat as if you had run an Olympic sprint, pounding in your ears, and your mouth repeatedly cursed the girl who had instigated all this, praying she embarrassed herself in her audition—perhaps screaming Whore, whore, whore! instead of the classic jingle. You did not think of the logistics, too enraged and embarrassed to think up a solution.

Despite the chaos of customers shopping, the swishing of clothing amongst the racks, and the robotic beeping of cash registers, you peeked through the burgundy cardigans you hid behind, catching the very man you wished to avoid walking up to your friend. 

His voice could be heard from your makeshift sanctuary, clearly confused. “I’m sorry, did you call for me?”

Julie kept glancing at the shop you hid in. She tried her hardest to restrain her smile as she said, “I did, actually! This is so weird, but my name’s Julie. _____’s friend.”

You could not mistake it—the realisation striking in his eyes, as they widened, ever so slightly. His mouth parted, then the corners of his lips curled upwards, and suddenly you could have been made of dread and anguish and every fearful emotion a person was capable of feeling. 

Seungkwan was going to eat you alive. 

“_____?” He repeated, and the amusement that dripped off your name had you wishing all men perished. “Oh, it’s always a pleasure to see a friend of _____’s.”

He raised his hand out, and Julie reciprocated, shaking it thoroughly. “I wouldn’t have expected an answer like that from you, actually.”

“Is that so?” the man quirked his mouth in a side-smile, all mischief and whimsical. “Maybe I’m fixing my manners for a pretty girl, then.”

“Oh!” she brought a hand to her chest, her smiling losing all mischief, turning more genuine. “She didn’t tell me you were such a charmer.”

You had to bring a hand to your mouth, aghast. The bitch is being fooled! “I’m not surprised by that in the slightest.” He let out an uneasy chuckle. “I hope you don’t believe the impression she’s made of me.”

“I’ll try not to be swayed,” she promised, sneaking another glance at your hiding place. Although she had not caught your eye, you glared at her for being so obvious. “Though I will admit, I haven’t heard great things.” 

“I’d be shocked if I heard anything positive,” he remarked. “_____, she…” He tugged his lip between his teeth. “I won’t say it cause she’s your friend but…”

“Yeah, nothing too crazy, please,” she warned, “Because then I’d have to tell her, she’d go all ballistic on you, and then she’d complain to me. I can’t deal with this soap opera.” 

“Soap opera?” he said, scoffing. “God, I can’t even complain, it’s EastEnders everyday in that damned kitchen.”

Julie laughed. “Now I know my friend loves a bit of drama, but surely she’s not the one in the wrong every time?” 

But Seungkwan tilted his head, squinting his eyes as if considering a completely different opinion. “And yet she’s the one throwing food in my face.” 

That had your friend glancing at you through the shop window, a second-long judgement. You glared at her to turn away, she obliging with a shake of her head. “Well…I suppose I can’t defend her against that.” 

His winning smile irked you to the bone. “Exactly.” 

You knew from Julie’s sheepish scratch of her neck that there was no convincing him, and had unintentionally proved his point. A soft groan escaped you, about to hold your head in your hands. Must bully her about this later.

The need to torture her for the rest of her miserable, Santa-adoring life worsened when he looked beyond her frame, a questioning twist of his mouth forming. “Am I crazy, or was _____ here with you?”

The girl’s helpless, a million-emotions-a-second expression once again exposed the guilt Seungkwan waited patiently for, and latched onto. “Huh. So I’m not crazy.” 

“She just left,” Julie explained, looking down at her boots. “She had the whole dessert thing to think up, prepare for…you know, the reason you guys are yelling at each other.”  

“Such dedication to her work!” he praised, but even she could recognise the patronising tone, directed at you from afar. If he had caught onto the fact that you were hiding from him, you might as well throw yourself off the highest floor in this mall. 

The condescension had the girl ticking her head. “She is, though. Why else would she be fighting for her preferences?” 

Seungkwan stared at your friend, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I guess you’re right,” he relented, which had you frowning behind the clothing. Given up so easily? 

You could not ponder over it further, because the man looked over his shoulder, no doubt realising he had left his mysterious companion behind. “You must excuse me, Julie,” he said, “But it was really good to meet you, truly.” 

He held his hand out, which, surprised, your friend shook, lightening up. “You too, Seungkwan.”

As he let go, turning on his heel, you just managed to catch the smirk on his face, hidden from Julie. “You tell your friend I said I missed her here.”

And off he went, catching her off-guard, and kickstarting your irritation as he strolled back to his date. 

Once you were sure he was out of your distance, you stood, avoiding the flurry of winter clothing, keeping your head down in slight shame at knowing quite a few shoppers had seen you hiding out behind the railings. Another unprecedented consequence of knowing Seungkwan.

Quickly you hurried to your friend, who turned to you, pointing her thumb in his direction. “Oh my God.” 

“‘She had this whole dessert thing to prepare for’?” you greeted, hands on your hips. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d realise you were here!” She kept a finger to her chin, thinking over possible escapes. “I mean, I don’t think he saw you in Zara? You hid better than I thought, honestly.” 

“Shit.” You brought your fingers to your temple, scraping against your skin. “And why did he agree with you on me being dedicated?! Fake-ass.” 

Julie then raised a brow. “You’re overthinking it. I am right. Him being passionate about his work doesn’t change the fact that you’re dedicated to it too.” 

You could only grunt in agreement, glancing back to see him a mere speck amongst the sea of Christmas shoppers. 

Although it was a fool’s hope, you wished that he would not bring up this incident tomorrow. 

THE MOMENT YOU STEPPED INTO THE KITCHENS, HE WAS WAITING FOR YOU. 

Not that you were afraid of him—at the end of the day, he was just a man with a small apron and a bad attitude, and you were not letting him get the better of you. 

Except your heart was pounding like an echoing gong, hair standing on the back of your neck. Even your palms were sweating, you flexing and unflexing your hands in distraction. Seungkwan was behind the large commercial hob, cooking something in a pot when he looked over his shoulder, beholding your unnerved presence. 

For the first time since he started working alongside you, he offered you a smile. 

You could have taken the pot and flung the contents on his head. 

“Good morning, _____!” he chirped, the smile widening when you instantly gritted your teeth. “Well rested?”

“Morning,” you replied curtly, tying your apron behind your back. “And yes.”

“Very good,” he asserted, mixing the contents of the pot. He wasted no time in the next question. “How was your weekend?” 

“Alright.”

“Oh, was it? Go anywhere?”

Shit. “Shopping.”

“What a coincidence!” he exclaimed, as if you had revealed the secrets of the universe to him.”I went shopping too.”

“So does everyone and their mothers on the weekend, Seungkwan,” you monotoned, hoping he would take the hint.

He took the hint, of course, but chose to disregard it completely. “My weekend was excellent,” he insisted, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot’s rim, draining out the residue. Making caramel, then. “I went to Westfield yesterday. Very fun, I’ll say.”

I bet it was, prick. “Is that so?” 

“It was so,” he parroted, like the bastard he was. “I actually happened to meet your friend there!” 

Your sigh could have had a laugh rasping out of him. “Which one?” you merely asked, feigning innocence still. 

A snort. “Don’t pretend you have more than one friend, _____.” 

Ouch. “Don’t pretend to know everything about me,” you huffed. 

“Fair enough. I happened to meet Julie.” Satisfied with the slow melting of the sugar and butter, he finally focused on you, leaning against the hob. “Lovely girl, by the way.”

“I know.” You shot him a look. “So?”

“She told me that you were with her this entire time!” 

It took every atom of your strength to not react to that statement. “I was.” 

“Then tell me…” He made to walk towards you, the only boundary between you two being the huge island tabletops. “How come I was so unlucky to miss you yesterday?”

You clenched your jaw. “I left before she saw you.” 

“Left?” he inquired, hand resting on the countertop. “You see, I remember it more as running away the moment she called after me.”

A Jesus Christ slipped out of you before you could help yourself. Instantly you repelled from his walking figure, hurrying to check the sizzling which had increased. The sauce was forming. “What’d you need this for?”

“Caramel Budino. Don’t dodge the question.” You could feel his gaze on you. “Why did you run away from me?”

You took the spoon set on the side, stirring. “I didn’t run away.”

“Yes you did,” he countered immediately. “I saw you bolt into Zara as if they had a closing down sale.”

“Maybe I was excited about their Black Friday deals,” you asserted, sparing him an irritated glance.

His accusatory stare had you looking back at the pot. “Don’t bullshit with me, _____,” He finally stepped past the countertop. “My God. You were stalking me, weren’t you? You and your friend?”

“What—no!” you denounced. “How can you think that?”

He was not four feet from you now. You tried not to look at him; somehow, in the most bothersome of ways, his eyes were unnerving you—as if you had committed some crime, and were now caught red-handed fleeing the scene. Well, you were caught fleeing the scene, but you thought you had escaped the consequences. 

But you had not escaped shit, and now you had to shrink under this bastard’s malicious, victorious scrutiny. 

“Then why did you run away?” he asked you, all quiet. 

The strange hush of his voice had you blurting out an unexpected response. “Because I think you’re a bloody liar.” 

Finally, you mustered the strength to face him—his confusion had you continuing. “You took the day off yesterday, right? For your niece and nephew? Well I didn’t see these so-called nieces and nephews, but a woman I had never met, or seen, even!” You then scoffed. “I was lucky to catch you red-handed, actually, because I was going to work the closing shift!” 

As Seungkwan took in your sudden accusation, craning his head back the further your words attempted to strike true to his pride, he found himself trying to contain a smile. His self-respect was completely intact from your attacks—the more you spoke, the more he was abashed, not quite believing what he heard from your mouth.

He caught onto what you considered the most irrelevant detail from your outburst. “You…you thought I was on a date?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “And you lied about it!”

But he began to chuckle, and you swore you could have seen red. “Why would I be lying?” he merely asked, hand on his white-cottoned chest. 

“To—” but then you stopped yourself. Not everyone is thinking about you. Even the man you happen to hate so much. You pursed your lips, Jeonghan’s words striking your mouth shut. 

Seungkwan, of course, would not let you keep him in such suspense. “To what?” he demanded, lips parted. “The one time I don’t want you to shut up, and you go mute on me!”

That was enough for you to explode. “To get out of working with me!” 

That had him jerking his head back. He squinted his eyes slightly, genuinely stunned, and you knew then and there that you had assumed completely wrong. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Jesus Christ, _____,” he began, and the beginnings of his god-awful, self-pleasing laugh was back, aching your ears and flustering your attitude. “You thought…you thought I was avoiding you? Like, some kind of bullied victim?”

You instantly rebuked him, stammering, “W-well, that’s not what I meant—”

“You really are self-centred, aren’t you?” he mocked. “You believe that all you want, sweetheart, but you don’t scare me like that.” 

“I didn’t mean scared, asshole,” you sneered. “I meant hate.”

He put a hand to his hip, leaning against the hob. “Hate?”

“Yes, hate!” you clarified sarcastically, but you did not know why you began to sound absurd. Suddenly, you were the child, and he was the adult playing along to your antics. “Isn’t that what this all is?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, he dared another step towards you. The shuffling of his clothes against the countertop were the only sounds in the room—that, and the sizzling of the caramel. “Do you…do you really hate me?”

Your brain screamed at you to step away from him. Who was he to come this close to you? Who was he to ask you questions that were meant to stay unanswered?

He seemed hell-bent, however, to break unspoken rules. “I asked you a question, _____. Do you truly hate me?”

Although his mouth twisted in a hard smile, almost condescending, his eyes revealed a completely different sentiment. It was strange, so incredibly unsettling, that you knew the difference between what his words spoke, and what his face exposed. You were not meant to understand him like that.

But you did, and that scared you. 

“Do you?” you muttered, barely audible. If he was not so close, he would not have heard you. 

His gaze flickered all over your face. Your inquisitive eyes, your flared nostrils, your mouth, now parted, inhaling, exhaling. His own lips broke, you catching the grit in his teeth, as if mulling over the options—as if there were options to consider. 

Your breath shuddered. “Seungkwan?”

He was not answering you, still staring. What was on your face that fascinated him to this extent? You were not so sure, but still, he did not say a word, merely choosing to relish in your agitated features. Your skin thrummed at his stare, the close proximity of his body. Why was it so hot? 

The air around you, that is—not his body. Not that you were thinking of it—the forearms that were exposed from rolling his sleeves, the sliver of his collarbone from two buttons undone at the top of his shirt. 

“Yes?”

Back on his face—his mouth. "I, uh…" you got out, trying to remember how to speak. "I asked you something.” What was the blasted question again?

A slight, minute dip of his head. “I know.” 

He had to stop. What you should have done was leave the room—cease this madness. 

You only prolonged it. “Do you hate me?”

Another silence, and you were going to die. Collapse in this goddamn kitchen, and this creature of a man would be your only witness. 

He then ghosted the slightest smile on his lips, and you hung onto its movement. “I would have loved to…” 

He dared a little closer—any more and he would brush your mouth. “But then I realised you don’t.” Your change in expression had his ghost-like smile sparking to life. “So I can’t either.”

You did not know why the answer pissed you off. “How can you be sure of that?” you seethed. “I can hate you as much as I want.”

“Hmm, no, you can’t.” His eyes were not boring into yours—only at your mouth, too damn close. “Because you don’t know me well enough to hate me.”

You tilted your head back, enough to gauge—or at least attempt to figure out the undecipherable expression on his face. This close, you understood why the customers stared at him, even double-taken at every peek they could manage through the kitchen windows.  

The man was a little beautiful this close, and this realisation haunted you. 

Your mouth tried to release something, a refusal to his claim, but any counter died on your tongue. How well did you really know him? Sure, you were certain that he was a pain in your arse, but what of the man behind the sordid comments, the constant judgement? How much did you know of the man outside of the boundaries of Vita di Diamante? Hell, your lack of information had you second-guessing whether he even was lying about the kids.

(Though you refused, even now, to give him the benefit of the doubt. For all we know, the kids are either a long-running joke, or Seungkwan’s demons).

Despite all that, his truth was inescapable—solid and present and impossible to deny. You despised him for the entirety of your acquaintance, but did not even bother to know your supposed nemesis. 

Somehow, even after yesterday’s shitshow, this realisation was far more embarrassing than anything you had ever experienced. 

The supposed nemesis watched you discover these revelations, the corners of his lips curling upwards. It was so awful how he understood perfectly, and was now basking in this victory. 

The realisation stunned you so intently you did not grasp the screech-like crackling right next to you. Once the smell of the burnt caramel engulfed your nose, you blinked back, turning to the pot which now looked like brown, volcanic magma after it loses its colour. Instantly you turned the switch off, turning on the exhaust, the smell of the burnt sugar, after realising its presence, now making you ill. Seungkwan only watched you fumble at the stove, finally taking a step back. With that, you were able to breathe. 

Your ammunition was ready. “Look at the mess you’ve made.” 

He took it surprisingly well. “I’ll clean it,” he said, taking the pot and setting it to the side. “It is my fault, after all.”

You raised your eyebrow at him. “You’re taking responsibility for your actions?”

A glimpse towards you. “I told you, didn’t I? You don’t know me.”

That had you shutting up immediately. 

Seungkwan looked at the clock, realising that the restaurant was about to open. Then his eyes settled on you. “I still can’t believe you stalked me.”

You made a face. “That was not stalking. Well, not the scary kind,” you clarified, which did not make your case any stronger. “And anyway, you still haven’t denied the whole date thing, which means you were lying.” 

Dusting away at his apron, he made to walk to the backdoor, about to call for Mingyu to help with ingredient preparation. You thought he was going to outright ignore you, but then he faced you, a certain smile on his face that you could not unravel.

“I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

And he was off, leaving you even more baffled than you were the first time you accused him. 

ANOTHER WEEK PASSED AT THE RESTAURANT, AND YOU WERE GOBSMACKED TO SEE A SEMBLANCE OF PROGRESS.

One would think that the strange incident in the kitchens would have been talked about further, but Seungkwan made no mention of it—and him making no mentions meant you would cut off your tongue and turn it into a French delicacy before talking about it either. 

Though you wish he had at least made one comment. 

Never before had you felt so…you did not know how to interpret it, but it was clearly something awful. The man had been an entity you had hated, but you wondered whether the emotion was rendered useless after such a heated conversation. It was so stupid, absolute insanity how you could not stop thinking about the proximity of his frame, his breaths fanning your lips, his questions that turned your entire opinion of him on its axis. 

You don’t know me well enough to hate me.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath.

Though you were cursing yourself, Seungkwan—who was beside you, experimenting on a particular chocolate pudding—took some offence. “What’re you mad about this time?”

Whirling your head to him, you were ready to give him a piece of your delirious mind when you caught the scene before you.

You were already aware he was creating a variation of the Bonet—chocolate, coffee, and rum, mixed and whipped to perfection alongside the core ingredients. He opted to swap the coffee for cinnamon, much to your exasperation. He had already heated his mixture in a not-burnt-to-a-crisp caramel sauce, cooked in a bain-marie—a process of melting chocolate-like mixtures under another pot of boiling water. 

His almost-dessert done, he only had the sprinkle of cacao powder to add to the final product, standing in perfect confidence in front of him. You admired the chocolate excellence, mouth already watering at seeing the soft, textured edges of the pudding. The amaretti macarons at the top contrasted the glaze of the darker chocolate, reflected the lights of the kitchen, and you had to stop your work for the customers, simply admiring the dessert your partner had created. 

Sometimes you forgot that Boo Seungkwan was a born chef. 

He was also a born pain in the ass. “If you can eye-fuck my Bonet, _____, then you can compliment it, too.”

Snapping out of the awe-filled haze, you twisted your mouth. “I suppose it’s not the worst thing you’ve made in this kitchen.”

“You’re right, actually, because the worst thing in this kitchen was made by your hands.”

Boo Seungkwan—the man who, despite your conflicting thoughts over last week, still managed to rile you into a frenzy. You could have cursed him outright, but this week’s apprentice, Wen Junhui, rushed into the room, bearing the role of Kitchen Porter. “There’s more orders for tiramisu!” He informed hurriedly, bringing a further three-dozen eggs upon the busied countertops. 

You looked up to the poor, clueless man. “You do realise you don’t have to take orders, right? That’s the waiter’s job.”

“Jun, here.” Seungkwan patted to the space next to him. “Help me whip some eggs.”

The apprentice obliging instantly, he began cracking eggs on the side of the bowl, setting himself to work. The man in charge with you focused once more on his creation, adorning a proud smirk as he brought out a long spoon next to him. “We should do a Bonet for the final dessert,” he suggested, cutting a small corner. 

“Of course you’ll say that now,” you said. “Oh, and just so you know, I’m never accepting it with cinnamon.”

You watched him raise the spoon, assuming he would take a bite. He then paused, flitting his gaze to you. 

He then changed direction, swinging the spoon ever so slightly—offering it to you. “Go on.”

You looked at it as if you had never seen a spoon before in your life. “You take a bite first,” he clarified. “I need to stamp out this anti-cinnamon agenda once and for all.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you challenged. Taking the spoon from him, avoiding his fingers, you observed the spongy portion before bringing the cutlery’s bowl to your mouth.

The moment the Bonet touched your tongue, it was chocolate heaven—chocolate bliss of the highest order, the cacao flavour merging along with the rum, sparking your senses to life. The most surprising factor was the dreaded cinnamon, spreading its infectious, sugary goodness along your taste buds. It was a small bite, but the chef had packed the sweet universe into a few millilitres, showing you a world where a life could be good and beautiful without any semblance of bitterness. 

Seungkwan watched your reaction, his smug smirk widening. Bringing the spoon out, you could not help the hum that escaped you, and it made him bite his lip, restraining his chuckles. “See?” 

Even still, you attempted to crush his spirits. “I hate it?” you offered, not even convincing yourself. 

The leash on him snapped, huffing out a round of laughter that had you setting the cutlery down. “I suppose you’ll not want another bite, then,” he said.

“Nope,” you lied. You found a clean spoon on the table, offering it to him. “You finish it off.”

The new offering was rejected. “Just give me yours.”

“But I used it.” A tilt of your head. “That doesn’t bother you?”

He jutted out his lip, shaking his head slightly. “Just more dishes to clean. A waste, no?” He gestured with his hand to beckon the old one back. “Pass the other one over.”

“Oh-kay,” you dragged out, handing over the original. With that, he scooped a bite from the Bonet, this time incorporating the little amaretti alongside. 

Your focus trained on him, you watched as he brought the bite to his mouth, his lips closing over the spoon. His reaction was more subdued—unsurprising since it was your first time trying his variation, but nonetheless satisfied as he hummed, closing his eyes. Your eyes took in the sight of him sliding out the spoon from his mouth, his tongue gliding over the silver to lap up the remnants of the chocolate, stubborn to remain. Your cheeks burned at the sight, almost as if you should not be watching. The moment he bit into the amaretti, the crunch against his teeth had you hitching in a breath, as if his mouth, his teeth, had grazed over your mouth, sunken into your skin. 

You blinked back. 

Seungkwan, who had finally opened his eyes, the sensations now subsided, caught your dazed out countenance. He knitted his brows. 

God, you were losing your mind. “Your slobbering was horrendous,” you mocked instead. 

He only shrugged, setting the spoon back on the table. “I don’t waste a thing,” he said, licking his lips—wiping any remnants of chocolate left.

You watched that too—his tongue, which now slid back into his mouth. Another rush of blinking, a sharp sigh, and you caught the ghost of a smile on him. “You should focus on the orders.”

Bastard. “Y-you focus on yours! Instead of wolfing them down!” you exclaimed pathetically. You shot up from where you leaned at the countertop, focusing on the three rounds of Tiramisus ordered. 

Hearing his chuckling behind you had you souring further, face akin to a bonfire, but your mood was soon distracted from the last-hour rush of orders. With Junhui helping the two of you, the round of desserts being created were more effortless, plates of every kind of pudding, gelatos and cakes and pastries leaving your kitchens. The final thirty minutes were more subdued, potential customers understanding that this was no longer the place to dine, and must find sustenance elsewhere. 

Once the time was out for the restaurant’s closure for the day, you thought to close up, already commencing to help the apprentice tidy away the remaining ingredients. Then Jeonghan entered the station, a new, clean apron wrapped around his out-of-work attire. He was set on Seungkwan, pointing towards him. “You,” he began, beckoning him over. “You got a special guest.” 

You narrowed your sight on the man, but his face instantly lit up. That only added to your confusion. Special guest? “Tell her to sit at the reserved table,” he only said, washing his hands off the flour and butter. “I’ll be right over.” 

Watching him rush his usual clean ups, even leaving out a few objects for dessert preparation, you walked up to him, hands on your hips. “Who’s this special guest?” you inquired, his back to you. 

Looking over his shoulder, he shook off the excess water from his hands. “You’ve seen her before.” 

“Huh?” you could only get out, but a moment of thinking had you sucking in a breath. “Wait, you brought your date here?!”

A scoff escaped him, shaking his head. “It’s about time you see the woman who’s bothering you so much.”

“What?!” You glanced at the long, open window of the restaurant layout, where you could spy the seating. “I can’t do that! You’re making this much weirder than it needs to be.” 

“Well, why not?” He stepped past you, grabbing hold of a tea towel. “And remind me, who stalked me for this very information?”

“That was—!” You attempted, but then quietened, realising you could not win that argument. “Piss off.” 

He huffed out a laugh at your response, jerking his head towards the entrance to the main hall. “Come on,” he merely said, walking towards the door. “You can weasel your way out of it to her.”

You wanted nothing more than to lock yourself away from this entire situation—Seungkwan was exploiting his position to use the restaurant as his date-place, and you had managed to trap yourself into this precarious position. 

Despite that, you let your curiosity get to you—yes, it killed the cat, but you were different. Better than that stupid creature. 

Hesitantly, you followed behind as he left the kitchens, weaving his way around the dozens of tables. You caught sight of the mysterious woman, her back to you, but it was not her voice that greeted you first.

Two voices yelped out instead at seeing Seungkwan—voices which were shrilled, higher-pitched, as if they belonged to children. 

You stopped walking as the surprises revealed themselves. 

“Uncle Seungkwan!” 

Two young children—a boy and girl, no more than 11 years old—came running towards your colleague at full speed, nearly bumping against the furniture without a care in the world. You did not see his face, but he must have been smiling, because a delighted oh! escaped him, and his arms were out. He barely had time to raise them before the two kids collided against him, making him stumble back, balance shaky, and you instinctively took a step back, in case he bumped into you. Everyone was laughing in that strong hold, the man’s arms wrapped tightly around them, and your eyes softened without realising.

This was a different Seungkwan. A Seungkwan you had not witnessed—perhaps not been allowed to witness, possibly by your own accord. 

So engrossed by the heartwarming sight, you did not realise the initial woman you planned to see had gotten up from her seat, walking over to the group. “All of you hugging as if you didn’t meet two days ago,” she remarked, a hand on a nearby chair. 

“Don’t get mad because they like me more,” he crowed, glancing at her before ruffling the children’s hair. “Isn’t that right, kids?” 

“Yes!” they both exclaimed in agreement, causing the woman to shake her head. 

She then noticed you behind him, perking her head up. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she stepped past the group, a glance at him. “I didn’t realise you were there.”

That had you scratching the back of your neck—perhaps curiosity made points killing the cat, cause you felt the great urge to die on the spot. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m—” you cleared your throat, a slight suspicion about this whole situation rising in the crevices of your mind. 

Seungkwan chipped in for you, realising your mouth was not working. “This is _____. The partner,” he clarified, and you paused at seeing a knowing look on the woman’s face. “And this….”

He then looked at you. “This is Jinsoul. My sister.” 

Oh. Good. God. 

His introductions extended to the two children. “My very real niece and nephew, Sohyun and Sojung.” 

Your mouth parted at the comment, completely abashed. You were not given more time to ponder on his audacity, because his sister—God, his fucking sister, all this time— held her hand out, immediately greeting you with a smile. “It’s so good to meet you!” A glance at him. “I feel like I know you already.”

“Is that so?” you chuckled out, nerves now rising. 

“Of course!” She let go of your hand after a hearty shake. “Seungkwan talks about you all the time.”

The said-man gaped at her, instantly souring at the reveal before chiding, “Your antics have reached my family’s ears, yes.”

You would have glared at him if you were not still humiliated. “Then I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you admitted.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” She leaned on the chair. “I just assumed it was Seungkwan’s fault.”

The apparent culprit huffed. “If you wanna side with her so badly, she can make your free dinner.”

But the woman only shrugged, leading her children over to you. “Alright then. Nobody wanted your ass cinnamon rolls anyway.” 

“Hey!” Seungkwan twisted his lips into a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

With their mother’s encouragement, the children waved their hands in introduction. “Nice to meet you!” the two chirped in almost-unison, the boy who said it a second too late looking away in embarrassment. You could not help waving back, smiling at them. 

Once done with that, she finally answered him. “I am, actually—” a glance down at her watch, inhaling through her teeth— “And am running late, shit.”

“And you said we couldn’t use that word,” the boy—Sojung—grumbled, fixing his beanie. 

“Well I’m a mother in a hurry, sweetie,” Jinsoul reasoned. She faced her brother. “We’ll try coming here, but if we run a little late, then you come ‘round, alright?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he only said, giving her a quick side-hug before waving her off with a flick of his hand. “Now go away.” 

“Alright, damn.” Pressing a kiss to her children’s cheeks, she offered you a beautiful smile—a striking similarity to her brother’s. “If these kids are being a bother, this big ass one included—” a shove towards him— “You let me know.”

You could not help it, returning her mirth. “I’ll steal his phone and call you.”

Her smile was positively mischievous. “I like you already.” 

With that, she bid her goodbyes one more time, you stunned from her little declaration—her words, and why that had your heart swelling. With Jinsoul leaving, you tried to focus back on the niece and nephew, who were not Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s running joke, but real and alive and in front of you. 

The former, who was watching your shock, snapped you out of it as he focused on the youngest. “Right, you two,” he began, pointing towards their seats, ”Tell me what you want.”

“What’re you making us this time?” Sojung asked, instantly settling himself down, already giddy at the prospect of food. 

“Don’t listen to Mum!” Sohyun chimed in, following after her brother, sitting on one knee as the other leg dangled over the seat. “We’ll have the cinnamon rolls.” 

“Seungkwan’s family and their cinnamon,” you murmured.

The family you mentioned, however, had razor-sharp hearing, and three heads turned to you. “What’s wrong with cinnamon?” the girl asked, 

“Don’t you worry about _____, here, sweetie,” the eldest mock-consoled, “She doesn’t like to have anything sweet.” 

“That’s not true,” you immediately said, but the kids caught onto their uncle’s words quicker than yours, and their shock had you almost embarrassed.

“No way!”

“How do you live your life?”

“Uncle Seungkwan, why didn’t you change her mind?” 

Their incessant questions only had you chuckling nervously—you were sure sweat was breaking out, and that only worsened when the man beside you thoroughly enjoyed you squirming. “Your uncle is exaggerating,” you could only offer them, but you could tell they were not satisfied with your answer.

“Leave it to me,” he only said, winking at the children, “I’ll sort her out soon enough.”

That had you looking at him unconvinced. “You’ve failed for the past year, so I don’t know what’s changing.”

The children began oooooh-ing at what they believed was an insanely sick burn towards their uncle, who scoffed in response. “You’ll find out,” he merely said, then turned his attention to those fanning the flames. “And what happened to backing me up unconditionally?” 

“We’ll support you when you give us some food,” Sojung reasoned, which had you chuckling. Negotiating for a luxury treat? You had to respect them. 

“Alright, alright,” Seungkwan conceded, about to turn on his heel. “You lot stay here, and I’ll whip something up.”

As you watched him begin to leave, you narrowed your eyes at the workspace, separated by the windowless-frame. You focused on the children, an idea hatching. “Hey, you guys wanna come inside?”

Perking up at you, their eyes danced at the prospect. “Could we actually?” Sohyun asked, darting her head between you and the man beside. “Wait, are we even allowed?”

Seungkwan pondered over it, as if genuinely thinking over the restrictions. “So what?” you said, smiling at them. “We’ll make it allowed.”

Your answer was all the children needed, excitement almost reverberating off them. You ushered them out of their seats, pointing them towards the kitchen entrance, and they dashed off before you could offer any general warnings, fighting to contain your smile. 

As Seungkwan watched, following after his niece and nephew, he took a cautionary glimpse at you. “If they break any health code violations, then you’re taking the sack.”

Walking right beside him, you opened the door to the station. “I’ll just say they’re your responsibility, and Jeonghan will finally have an excuse to fire you.”

But he was snickering softly at the claim, close at your heels as he stepped inside. It could have been the lowering of his voice, the slight octave down—perhaps the proximity again, which might have been purposeful on his part. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he muttered, and you had to blame the chill from the open windows for the shivers down your neck. 

By the time you both entered, Sojung and Sohyun were already exploring the premises, marvelling at the professional equipment, the grandeur of the stainless steel. It was as if the stations were a long, forgotten historical site, and the children were archaeologists, brushes at the ready to inspect, marvelling at anything they had not seen before. The half-eaten Bonet latched onto their fancies, and they would have eaten the dessert with their bare hands had Seungkwan not tutted, pointing at the clean spoons on the countertop.

“I was expecting the kitchen to be really messy,” Sohyun commented, eyes straying from the pudding to observe the surroundings once more. “Wouldn’t it get so busy in here?”

“Super busy,” you admitted, “Especially during this time. Mind you, sometimes there’s no room around here, there’s so much ingredients to take care of.”

As he tried to find said-plethora-of-ingredients, Sojung said, “I bet you could have such a good food fight in here.” He glanced at the Bonet, and then at his sister. 

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, raising her cutlery as a legendary weapon. 

But you did not fixate on their conversation to the end, because the mention of the food fight had you glancing at the man who you had actually thrown food at. It was not as if it was that long ago—hell, Seungkwan would have only just rid himself off the mascarpone from his hair. 

You even remembered how it all began—the fateful incident which brought down Jeonghan’s wrath, and ultimately this dreaded assignment. It was like any other prep day for the restaurant, Mingyu helping alongside you two as you prepared the ingredients on the countertops, finalising the desserts which were to be offered that night. It had to be stressed—it was a completely normal day. 

Except Seungkwan had already sparked your irritation alive from the initial disagreements on the flavour variations of the Cassata Siciliana—a layered cake of sheep ricotta cheese, chocolate, candied fruit, all topped with marzipan. The blends of the cheese usually worked wonders, but the idiot suggested substituting the traditional ricotta for mascarpone, apparently enriching the dessert to its fullest extent. You knew his scheming was simply to have a sweeter grand dessert on the menu, but you refused to fall for his antics. You instantly rejected his attempts, and that only fuelled his anger, insisting that the specialised cream be used for the Cassata or he would refuse to add your additions. 

You did not know whether it was that warning, or the notion that he had no power to even say such a warning. Whatever the motivation, it was enough for you to ask him a simple question, hands straying to the ingredients. 

“You wanna know where mascarpone cream would look best?” 

Forever the fool, he asked, hoping his condescending nature would rile you up. 

And because you were a greater fool than he was, you only scooped the cream and flung it on his face, he yelping as it stuck to the perfect curls of his brown hair. Reeling back from the mess, he touched the remnants on his cheeks, his locks, gaping at it until he set his stare on you. 

It was then the chaos began. The pandemonium that followed, food flying everywhere in places you never thought it would reach, a pitiful waste of ingredients and emotions as the rest of the crew scrambled to mediate between the two of you. Even Jeonghan had difficulty at first, but one guttural roar had everyone pausing. Everything afterwards was history. 

Looking at him now, though, imagining the chaos of it all…it brought a strange fluttering within your chest. You did not think there was anyone else you could have thrown food at. 

With the way he returned your gaze, his usual sharp glower softened as the memory flashed within his own eyes. He could not help himself, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards the more he delved into it, the verbal lashings the two of you received afterwards.

It was there, in the kitchens, with the children stealing glances at the stillness of their guardians, the faint scent of cinnamon still in the air, that you smiled at Seungkwan without an ounce of ridicule laced in it.

His eyes widened. His slight surprise had you smiling a little wider, but before he could say anything, he was duly interrupted. “Uncle Seungkwan, when are we getting any food?” 

Sojung joined in. “Stop staring at Miss _____ here!” 

The accused immediately composed himself. “Jinsoul really needs to discipline you both…”

Fidgeting with your rolled-up sleeves, you resorted to helping your partner. “Right, you two,” you asserted, clapping your hands together, “What do you want?” 

Sohyun dug the toe of her boot further into the floor, all sheepish. “We were hoping Uncle Seungkwan would make us the usual.”

“The usual?” A side-glance at him. “Anything special?”

“I didn’t think so,” he admitted, a finger at his chin as he thought about his ingredients’ whereabouts. “They can’t have enough of it, though.” After another moment, he turned to the direction of the pantry. “Hey, there’s still vanilla gelato leftover right?”

Once you nodded, he was off, heading towards the other entrance, promising to come back within minutes. With the common man gone, you looked at the two children, whose curiosities still seemed unsatiated. 

You decided to question them first. “What’s your uncle making you?”

The boy answered before his sister even opened her mouth. “It’s so good! It’s what Uncle Seungkwan makes us every time we come here.” 

“All I know is that Sojung always makes Uncle Seungkwan add more ice cream than mine.”

“Now you’re just lying!” he rebuked, aching to push her off the countertop. “She always gets more biscuits in hers, so she can’t complain!”

You chuckled at their antics, speaking over them to settle their bickering. “Biscuits and ice cream is it?” 

“No, no, it’s like…” the girl imitated with her hands, describing the shape of an odd-looking mug. “You put ice cream first, then hot chocolate, and then Uncle Seungkwan adds more stuff I can’t remember.”

“It’s amazing,” Sojung promised, his face serious and persuasive, as if he was a politician promising a controversial policy. 

Impressed by his words, you, the hesitant voter, decided to believe him. “You’ve convinced me, little man.” You glanced over your shoulder—at the other entrance—before focusing on the boy, whispering, “Your Uncle Seungkwan does make a killer dessert.”

“Why’re you saying it like that?” Sohyun asked, matching your hushed tone. “Do you not like him?”

You contemplated the question. It was simple enough—they were not expecting a Tolstoy-saga timeline of your unstable partnership with their uncle. A couple of weeks ago, the answer would have been easier.

Situations, however, had changed—shifted indefinitely, throwing your viewpoint off its axis. You both were rivalling teams, always rooting for each other’s downfall, and now you both played for the same side, and it was…you did not know. Well, you did know, were very aware of how it felt, but it was something you could not voice out loud—not even to yourself.

So you merely said, “He’s alright…your Uncle Seungkwan,” and hoped to anything that resided above that it was enough.

It seemed so—then, Sojung, forever curious, thought to be more personal than his sister. “If you don’t like him, then who do you like?”

You were astounded by how nosy children were, but realised they were related to Seungkwan. Checks out. “I’m afraid I’m too busy working to have workplace crushes.”

As you made your declaration, you heard the man on a mission return, door swinging open with his foot as he held the ingredients. Walking over to the counter, he dumped the contents, you observing what he brought: a box of fresh vanilla gelato, a 4-pint carton of semi-skimmed milk, and a few small pots, labelled as almonds, hazelnuts, amarettis. 

“Is she telling the truth?” Sojung asked his uncle, you gasping at the notion. Since when did children require witness confirmation for your half-lies?

Seungkwan snorted as he brought out a pot from the side of the hob, setting the base upon the bottom right stove, sparking the flames to life. Without even looking back, he grabbed the milk carton, unscrewing the cap. “She’s lying to you guys,” he confirmed, pouring the contents inside. He set the half-empty container beside him, sparing you a mischievous glance. “She’s too busy arguing with me.”

“Hey!” The children began to laugh. “I only argue with him when he’s provoking me.”

Snickering knowingly, he walked to the metal cupboards settled in the corner, opening them up to procure three elongated glasses, small, circular handles on their sides, narrowing at the bottom. Setting them before his esteemed customers, he replied, “I’ll have you know, _____, you’re the one who starts most of our arguments.”

“Since when?” 

Usually, his stare would have been incredulous, unamused. This time, though, his eyes were dancing. “Did you know, kids,” he began, voice deepening as if regaling a fantasy tale, grabbing the tub of luxury hot chocolate powder, “That _____ and I had a real food fight here?”

“No way!” Sohyun gasped. “Did you guys get in trouble?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, sighing through his teeth as he poured two heaped teaspoons within each glass. “Our punishment was to work on a dessert together.”

“Uncle Jeonghan has a weird way of punishing someone,” the girl commented. 

“You’re telling me,” you muttered, Seungkwan also murmuring in agreement as he started the kettle, the water heating at lightning-speed and ready before you realised. Picking up the kettle from its base, he poured a little into each cup, mixing the powder within the water to rid himself of the textured cocoa forming. “Hot chocolate?” you inquired, watching his every movement—his setting the kettle back, all the while grabbing the milk off the stove, pouring three-quarters full of every glass, stirring simultaneously whilst he drained the pot off its boiling contents. 

This was second nature to him—he did not answer, engrossed in his work, because this was him in his element. He was a born creator, thriving in the atmosphere of nourishment. The scent of hot cocoa and vanilla, amplified when his nephew cracked open the container, delighted your senses, mouth watering at the notion of trying this beverage. 

The girl beside you responded for him as he set the empty pot to the side. “It’s more than hot chocolate,” she said, as she grabbed hold of a spoon, hoping to take a bite but stopped when her uncle shot her a disapproving look. “Please, just one bite!” 

“You and your brother won’t leave us with any when you’re done,” he scolded, holding out his hand. Caught red-handed, she begrudgingly gave him the spoon, which he put away, instead bringing out an ice cream scoop. Checking the open container, he brought the scoop down, the soft gelato curling luxuriously within the curve of the metal. He was generous with his serving, the gelato fighting to stay on the scoop as he dropped the first into the hot chocolate closest to him, quite low to avoid any chocolate spillage. He added another to the glass before repeating it several times for the other two cups, giving in to the children’s request for more in their serving. 

You realised the product was finished when, before Seungkwan could declare it himself, the kids yanked their cups further away from him, excitement radiating off their features. “Thank you, thank you!” they both chirped in harmony, instantly sipping on the hot chocolate and groaning in approval. 

The esteemed chef took hold of your glass by the handle, walking over to where you leaned forward at the counter. Straightening yourself, you judged the final product, him leaning back before it. “Voila,” he said, “Or whatever you call it in Italian.”

“It’s the same, actually.” You pulled the cup closer, admiring the chocolate-to-milk gradient, the vanilla ice cream slowly melting within the glass. “Not bad.”

He ticked his head to the side, furrowing his brows. “Um, I think you meant to say it looks exquisite.”

“What even is it?” You turned the glass around. 

Seungkwan watched you inspect the contents. “It’s, uh…it’s a drink I’ve always made for them, back in my apprentice days.” He brought a hand to his torso, smoothing down his apron. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it, but I changed it a little…made it more kid-friendly.”

“Kid-friendly?” A glance at him. “What the hell was the original drink?” 

He scoffed out a chuckle. “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. The original beverage had liquid espresso, and I thought it’d be too bitter for them.”

“That’s fair.” Taking a spoon from the pile of cutlery, you began stirring the ice cream, melting it within the milky hot chocolate. Taking a sip, you slipped the spoon in your mouth and hummed. “Oh…woah.”

“Use your words, _____,” he merely said, earning a second-glare from you. You could not retain it though, instantly digging in.

“This is nice, actually,” you had to admit. Seeing the man try to bask in your half-assed compliment had you adding on, “But I will say, I would have liked the espresso. I know what you mean about the kid-friendliness of it all.”

“I can make it if you want.” He glanced at the equipment—the barista-standard machines, more portable coffee-machines, the like. “There’s a french press thrown in the cupboard somewhere.”

You looked at him, slightly disbelieving. “You just made me this.”

“So?” He shrugged, twisting his lips to the side. “It won’t be hard.” He took a step back, watching over the children. “You two want a snack or something?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Sohyun demanded, sipping the last of the drink. 

“I wonder where they got their attitude from,” he grumbled, grabbing their empty glasses and bringing them to the sink. 

You could not help your snort, scooping out half-melted ice cream. “I’m looking right at him.”

“I hope the hell you’re not looking at me right now,” was his warning, turning on the faucet and letting the hot water fill the dirtied glasses. 

He made sure you were not, but you were never one to follow orders. You watched him as he brought out a french press from the cupboards beside the machines. “This won’t make the best espresso, but I can’t be arsed to fire up the machines right now.”

“Wow, such high-class customer service!” you shrilled, slowly walking over to the fridges on the opposite side and opening the door, finding the airtight Bombe Calde doughnuts sitting daintily inside. Deciding to take all eight displayed, you closed the fridge, setting them before the table. 

The children jumped on the treats at once, Seungkwan tutting at their sheer gluttony. “You’re gonna get sick, and then your mum is gonna beat me up.”

“Noshewomt,” was the boy’s coherent answer, mouth too occupied with the chocolate doughnut to bother clarifying.  

Turning the kettle on once more, the man obtained the finely-ground coffee beans, adding a couple teaspoons within the french press and waiting for the water to boil. “Pass me one, will you?” he asked, and you decided to comply, taking one from the plate—noticing half of them have been wiped out—and holding it out to him. 

He held out his hand, fingers brushing against yours as he accepted the treat, your own hand still in the air between as he brought it to his mouth, taking a bite. You did not realise your fingers were still holding out the outline of the dessert until the switch on the kettle ticked off, snapping you out of your daze. Curling them into your palm, you set your hand to the side, sighing sharply. “You don’t have to make this.”

Luring the jug to the open press, he poured the water, the fine coffee instantly darkening the liquid. “You don’t want it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, watching him as he took the plunger, pressing the lid shut upon its glass and began pumping the water and coffee together. He was quick, up and down and repeating the gesture, creating a more bitter colour. “It’s not that…”

Finishing, he chose to not to respond then, only taking a new glass from the cupboard in front of him. “Sohyun, the gelato.”

His niece obliging, he deposited two scoops of the ice cream, one after the other. Then, assuming this was the final touch, he poured the espresso inside, assuring that the ice cream was drenched in the bitter flavour, until the french press was drained. 

Perhaps your partner was correct—the bitterness of the drink, even the mere scent of coffee in your nostrils had you exhaling in satisfaction. Seungkwan caught it, smiling a little in reaction. 

It was then he chose to respond. “I wanted to make it for you.”

“Oh.” You chose to admire the dessert-beverage he made—for you only, you thought. “Does it have a name?”

A nod. “It does.” You could feel his eyes on you. His fingers grazed the glass’ base, curling—close to where your own fingers wandered, nail scratching against the curves of the cup. “It’s called an affogato.”

You looked at him. “An affogato? I’ve had a few of these before.” Taking your spoon, you cut through the gelato, making sure you scooped enough of the espresso. Once you dared a taste, you instantly hummed, the bittersweet mixture of the ice cream and the coffee enlivening your taste buds. “Oh, Christ, this is the one.”

“I knew you would enjoy the original recipe,” Seungkwan remarked, watching you lap away at the dessert. “I will say, though, the french press doesn’t do the espresso justice.” 

“Yeah, you use the proper machines for it, right?” Another bite taken. “This is insane, though.” 

“You think so?” When you nodded, he dipped his head, acknowledging your approval. He blew air from his mouth, a deep sigh which had you tilting your head. “I used to make it a lot, back in the day.” 

“Your apprentice days?” you parrotted, just as he did earlier. 

He only squinted his eyes, an effort to keep your teasing in check, but found himself chuckling. “Yeah, back in Jeju. My dad loved to make them…he, like, would always add different flavoured ice creams in the espresso, maybe add hot chocolate if I wasn’t feeling too good with coffee…”

“Your dad made you these?” You sipped on the drink, careful of the ice cream. “That’s really sweet.”

“I know.” Taking a bite out of the bambe calde, he continued, “Yeah, he’s really supportive. My mum, too, but it took some time for her to accept that I wasn’t gonna be a doctor.”

“You’re better off for sure,” you remarked, stirring the contents. “Imagine your ass trying to do surgery on someone…you’d get the hospital sued.”

“First of all, fuck you,” he started, but quickly stopped when his niece and nephew gasped at the curse. “Sorry, sorry! I promise she doesn’t mind.”

“Don’t say sorry to us, too, say it to _____!” Sojung ordered.

“You’re being mean, Uncle Seungkwan,” Sohyun huffed next.

“Yeah, Uncle Seungkwan,” you chimed in, earning a berating glower from him. “You’re being rude.” 

“Well I’m so sorry, _____,” the man chirped, and you had to keep drinking to stop yourself from laughing. “Now, you two, get back to stuffing your faces.” 

As the kids happily obliged, you released a satisfied exhale as you finished off the espresso, half-melted ice cream left in the glass. “I still mean it. You would have been worse off as a doctor.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. I’ll kill off my patients because I wouldn’t know the difference between a scalpel and a butter knife.” 

“No, not like that.” You turned to him. “Seungkwan, you were meant to create desserts.”

He looked at you then, not quite believing his ears. “Do you really believe that?” 

“Of course.” Your eyes flickered to the remnants of the affogato. “There’s a reason Jeonghan kept you…hell, there’s a reason I still haven’t managed to get rid of you.”

There was a pause, felt enough that you snuck a quick glance as you watched over the conversing children. 

“Do you want to?” he asked. Your gaze stuck, and he furrowed his brows, clarifying, “Get rid of me, still?”

He looked at you, and you found yourself a little lost in his eyes. There was one certainty you could rely on, and that was his gaze—whatever he felt, he always exposed it, whether he wanted to or not.

Tonight was different. Tonight, with the children nearby, you still stirring the melted gelato, you could not comprehend them. What his eyes offered this time was tenderness—a certain warmth you had never been offered by him since…since ever. Since as long as you had known him. 

So you held up the cup, finishing the rest of the dessert—the dessert he had made with his own hands.

You decided to say something else instead of answering his question—something better. “I think we’ve found our dessert, Seungkwan.”

The man’s warmth morphed with confusion. “The affogato,” you said, holding out the glass. “We should make it for our Christmas menu.” His stance had you carrying on, setting the cup to the side as you focused on him. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. You said it yourself, you can make this with various flavours right?” His nod had you continuing, “And obviously, we’ve seen that you can change around the drink bit, too.”

“Hmm…” That had him thinking, and you could see it, the cogs within his head turning at rapid speed. “Wait, you know what…my dad also added liqueurs in the drink, which gave a little fire to the dessert. I liked it a lot, but obviously you can’t give hard alcohol to kids, so…”

“Very responsible,” you deemed it. “And it’s so easy to make! I mean, you whipped it up within minutes for me.” 

He was straightened up now, watching you intently as you thought about it further, the entire prospect of it. “It could be quicker, too, you know. The french press takes more time, but if we made it on the machine, then—” He cut himself off, thinking and thinking, walking towards the countertop. “Wait, this could actually work.” 

“What can work, Uncle Seungkwan?” his nephew asked, curiosity prompting his question. 

“Something really special, Sojung,” he replied, scouring the table for his notes, but realising he left them at the changing lockers. “Shit. Shit.”

“Language!” Sohyun chided, but her dear uncle wasn’t really listening, whipping out his phone and typing ferociously.

You did not realise what he was doing until he pressed the phone to his ear, pointing at the kids to wash their hands. “Hello? Yeah, Jinsoul, hi, you guys back from the date?” A pause, as he started a pace, back and forth in the kitchen. “Hmm, yeah, don’t care about all those details, listen—” He turned a sharp corner, finding the words, “Is it alright if I could drop the kids back right now? Something urgent came up.”

As he listened to his sister, his eyes flickered to you. “Yeah…it is. We thought of something perfect.” 

You avoided his gaze then—a cowardly choice, you knew—but, perhaps for the first time, his stare was a little too intense. “Yeah, don’t worry about that, I’ll do it,” he said, “I owe you. For real this time.”

As the man ended the call, the nephew pulled a face. “Do we have to go back already?” he whined, licking the sugar from his fingers. 

“Afraid so, buddy,” was his response, pocketing his phone. “Come on, you two, I gotta take you back to your parents.”

“But what about _____?” Sohyun asked, watching you intently as you began to clear away the dishes. 

“I’ll get going, too,” you replied, cleaning the rest of the dishes, setting them on the side. “Or else my friend will think I’m overworking myself.” 

“Julie?” Seungkwan asked, and you nodded. “How is she doing, by the way?”

Dusting away at your hands, you gave him a look, untying your apron. “How do you know her name?”

“I talked to her when you ran away from me, remember?”

“I didn’t run away,” you muttered, but that did not stop the pompous twist of his mouth, threatening to sour your mood. 

Another ten minutes, and the rest of you were sorted, clothing and other personal items extracted from your locker and donning your coat. You let Seungkwan and the children exit first, making sure all the entrances were locked save for the one you were leaving from.

The chill of the London winter nipped at your face as you left from the backdoor, a slight shiver cluttering your teeth as you locked the premises. You witnessed the man firmly wrapping his huge red scarf around the girl, whispering to the boy at the same time to don his gloves—yes, even if they don’t let him use his phone.

As you walked over to the group, you were about to start when he beat you to it. “I'll drop Sohyun and Sojung off, and then I’ll get to the planning. My dad will be up around this time, so I’ll ask about his preferences.”

“I’ll do some research back home,” you offered. “Jinsoul wasn’t mad, right? I think you disturbed her date.”

“She’ll live,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve got more important things to do, anyway.”

Nodding, you then leaned forward, smiling at the children. “You two should come again.” 

“Oh, we will!” Sojung promised, smirking. “I don’t know why Uncle Seungkwan was hiding you from us.”

The accused ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re running your mouth too much today.”

“He always runs his mouth too much,” Sohyun muttered, causing her brother to stick his tongue out at her. 

Giggling at their antics, you looked to Seungkwan, who sighed slightly as you released another shiver. “You know I need you alive for this dessert report.”

Hugging yourself tightly, you remarked, “Who would have thought Boo Seungkwan wanted me happy and healthy by his side?”

A snort, misting in the cold air. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I said alive. Barely is fine by me, too.”

You shook your head at him, restraining the urge to let your lips quirk upward. “Goodnight, Seungkwan.”

As you swivelled with a last goodbye to his niece and nephew, you left for the underground, not two minutes away. 

Sohyun was the first to break the night silence as you finally turned the corner, away from their sight. “I like her, Uncle Seungkwan,” she declared, walking ahead of the group. 

“Me too,” Sojung agreed, following after his sister in hopes to tread on her boots. “I hope we see her again.”

The man did not listen to their petty arguments which soon replaced their praises of you, holding onto their first confessions. And although he did not voice them out loud, his thoughts were an answer, left unsaid.

You will see her again—whether I want to or not.

THE NEXT WEEK BROUGHT ANOTHER CHANGE WITHIN YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH SEUNGKWAN. 

Mostly because what you and your partner had actually was a relationship now. The intense months, before the Christmas menu was even established, where you and him had argued and screamed the kitchen down had soothed into a kurt understanding of the dessert you were about to create. At last, after months of your victories, your losses to him, the disgruntled progression into stalemates, you two had achieved the unachievable.

You both had decided on a dessert.

Jeonghan could not believe his ears when you first informed him, and immediately booked himself a special Specsaver’s hearing test—you forgot how far he would go for a bit, but at least it was not your time he was wasting. He asked Seungkwan for confirmation, and, sure enough, when the latter agreed, your boss may have experienced shell-shock akin to war veterans. Of course, you wanted to be offended, but you had no right—at the end of the day, Jeonghan had only ever seen violence brewing between you and the dessert chef. Any semblance of toleration was considered a breaking-news event.

The two of you tried not to let Jeonghan’s shock distract you from your planning—Seungkwan received a wealth of information from his father, and learned that the most classic form of the affogato is the one he created for you—the vanilla gelato, and hot espresso poured on top. Although it was delicious, it was deemed too plain for Christmas menu, and opted for more flavours. 

Seungkwan first offered the idea for whipped cream, but you rejected it. “Whipped cream and gelato seems excessive,” you explained, looking over your research notes. “The cream might offset the gelato’s flavour.”

“How do you feel about chocolate shavings? It could work well with smoothing out the bitterness of the espresso.” 

“But the gelato’s doing that,” you countered. “I don’t mind it, but I’d want something stronger for the first choice.” 

“Hmm…” He skimmed his father’s ramblings for a moment, then handed it to you. “This is what Dad used. He’d swap certain things around.”

Reading through, the first thing you noticed was the neat writing—Seungkwan’s, undoubtedly. He had categorised different gelato flavours in one column, espresso or other coffee variations in the second, liqueur choices for the third, and the last, larger column was reserved for toppings. “He certainly has range,” you commented, looking up. “How come you missed learning it?”

“You’re the only one blind to it,” he disputed, crossing his arms. “It’s a wonder you’re not turning down the affogato as we speak.” 

“You never know!” you chirped sarcastically, in hope to keep him on his toes. “Did you try out all these variations?”

“Yep. I was a picky eater.” He exhaled through his nose at your incredulous look, reminiscing. “Shocking, I know. Aside from the alcohol, he tried every single one of those flavours. All of them are approved by child-me, teenage-me, and today-me.” 

“I see,” you said, reverting back to the notes. You had to admit, his father did take liberties with what he deemed Italian for an Italian drink. As you kept reading it over, glancing at the man’s peaceful recollection, you did not think that mattered. 

This was someone’s efforts to keep their child full. This was a father’s testimony of ensuring his son’s happiness. 

You smiled at the notion, offering the pages back to him. “I personally like the biscotti the most out of all these options. If we chop the biscuit finely enough, it’ll have a nice crunch in the dessert. It’ll keep the espresso’s essence as well, while also maintaining the sweetness of the ice cream.”

His slight surprise had you pulling back. “What? Oh, is this your turn to reject me now?”

But then he smiled a little, catching you off guard. “No, the opposite actually. I’m just surprised you chose that one.”

“Why?” You groaned, getting up from your seat. “It’s the worst one, right? Baby-you threw up after having it, I’m sure.”

“No, actually.” He paused. “The biscotti was my favourite topping.”

Oh. “So…you’re good for its almond flavouring?”

He nodded, taking the papers from you. “Yeah, I am…why are you asking?”

“It’s just…I don’t think we’ve ever agreed to a decision so…cordially.” 

Seungkwan scoffed. “Well, obviously we weren’t gonna argue when you agreed with me.”

You instantly checked him on this. “I was the one who suggested it.”

His counter was immediate. “You picked it from my notes.”

A click of your tongue. “Your dad’s, actually.” 

He opened his mouth, eyes narrowing, but then realised you were right, and clamped his lips together. The action within those sudden sequences had you offering him a smirk. “And I thought we were past all this,” he whinged, exasperation clear. 

“Don’t think I’ll let you win so easily,” you warned, widening your shit-eating smile as you walked over to the espresso machines, regarding the fine steel in its all shining glory. 

“I never win easily with you,” he grumbled, stepping beside you. 

“It should be kept that way,” you only said. “Now, how do we work this shit?” 

Seungkwan turned away from you, hiding his bemused smile before clearing his throat and explaining the rules. This was the way you two worked now—a smidge of back and forth bickering, but never truly rising to the surface where you threatened ultimate violence. 

It was strange, you had to admit; never before had you felt a tolerance, even an acceptance of his presence beside you. He would offer assistance of some kind, bring forth new suggestions, and your first instinct was not to cuss out his ancestors for suggesting such gullible ideas. Even the man who worked alongside you would not provoke your rash temper, and day by day you found yourself wondering why, after the entirety of his acquaintance, you had never simply got on with him. 

You did not care to investigate the origins of who was at fault. All that was left, in a sense, was to salvage whatever strange alliance you both had created, and hope that was enough to finish the final dessert. 

The preparations, the testing of the machines continued into the restaurant’s opening, and Jeonghan assisted, as promised during the beginning of the process, in helping with orders, teaching Junhui of the more luxurious, complex desserts during that time. Thankfully, the restaurant was quieter that day, so the Head Chef was relaxed, carefree enough to try provoking you and Seungkwan into a disagreement, but to no avail. 

The trialling carried on well into the night, the only people left in the restaurant being you two and Jeonghan, who was arguing with his accountant loud enough to hear it through the dessert stations. You ignored him, tasting the newly created vanilla gelato, liquid espresso and biscotti pieces sprinkled. Seungkwan brought out the last touch, pouring a half-shot of amaretto liqueur into the long, slender glass. 

And as the two of you tasted the dessert, your spoon first, and then passing it onto him, you realised you may have made something great—perfection can take a while, you both understood it, but what you two created was something bigger than yourselves. Realistically, it was just a beverage, but it was not just a beverage—this was peace, scooped up within the containers of the gelato, an acceptance peeking out within the chopped biscottis. This was—could you say it—respect, poured from his very hands, staining the glass of your relationship with him. 

Even as the two of you shared a look of understanding, finishing the singular affogatto together, you knew circumstances had shifted—something was different. 

Seeing as the boss was stuck with working out his finances, you decided to head out, letting Seungkwan finish with the cleaning up, lest you make a sound and he made you carry out your dishwashing. You made a head start towards your belongings in the other room, taking out your bag and jacket as the man walked to his lockers. Donning your layers, he slid out his satchel, coat and that long-ass scarf, snapping the square door shut. 

“I think we can send the report to Jeonghan any day now,” he said, sliding his arms through the coat holes. 

You began to walk to the back door, watching him follow slowly. “You think so?” 

He caught up, wrapping his scarf around himself—three loops round his neck, almost hiding half his face. Pulling down the fabric with a finger, he settled his chin over the scarf, nodding. “We’ve done almost everything…I mean, there’s a bit of paperwork left, but I’ll write that tonight when I’m at Jinsoul’s.”

“You’re going to your sister’s?” you asked as you grabbed onto the door. “Don’t tell me you’re interrupting the poor couple again.”

“So what if I am?” he demanded. “That’s on them for establishing a relationship between me and their kids.”

“Fair enough.” Opening the door to the outside world, you instantly shivered at the sheer temperature drop from the past few days. London’s winters were unpredictable, but you forgot its cruelty too. The chill of the midnight winter seeped through your too-thin jacket, and you had to stop yourself from shivering out of your bones.

Your teeth would have chattered more had Seungkwan not spoken again. “She was asking about you, by the way.”

“Oh,” you could only say—courtesy of the cold, and the teeth. “She was?” 

“Why’re you so shocked by that?”

A lazy shrug. “I don’t know…I thought you would have talked shit about me.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Now why would you think that?” You returned the gaze, and then he let out an understanding noise. “Oh, yeah…yeah, I did that the other day actually.”

“Hey, now!” You would have nudged his elbow, but were too cold to do so. “I haven’t pissed you off this past fortnight.”

“I know, I know, I just…” he sighed a little, which frosted into the air. “I mean…I’ve mentioned you. In passing.”

“In passing?” You parroted, hugging yourself. A frosted scoff escaped you. “You can’t help being obsessed with me, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, which had you chuckling—the soft laughter was cut off by your teeth once more, chattering to the point of catching his notice. “You knew it was gonna get cold, you idiot.” 

You returned his observations with a glare. “I didn’t actually know that, which is why I’m cold right now…you idiot.”

The condensation from your mouth was enough evidence of the chill—that, and of course, your bated breaths. “Yes, I’m the idiot that’s so nice and warm,” Seungkwan sang, irritating you further. 

When you did not deign to respond to him, the cold weather conquering your meagre layers, nipping at your skin, he stopped the next dig, at the tip of his tongue. He then observed your countenance—the rubbing of the arms, the groans you tried to contain at the discomfort taking over. The man veiled his mouth with the bunched-up scarf, narrowing his eyes. Sighing a little, the heat of his breath curled against the fabric, kissing his face, and the slight warmth that welcomed him did not bring him the comfort he relished mere minutes prior. 

He looked at you, hugging yourself tightly. The moment your eyes flickered to his, remnants of displeasure in your eyes, his own widened slightly.

Shit. His hands grabbed onto the scarf before he realised what he was doing. Shit, shit, shit, was all he could think, as, with hands unwrapping the long piece of clothing from his neck, he seethed a little at the chill that welcomed his exposed skin.

Before you could realise what he was doing, he brought the length of the scarf around you, both his hands holding each of the ends at your sides. “Wh-what are you doing?” you got out, your hands instantly stopping his. “Wait, Seungkwan—”

“Save your bickering,” he cut you off, merely waving your hands away as he wrapped the first loop around you, the scarf still too long on one side. “Talking will only make you colder.”

But you were already opening your mouth, ready to counter him when another loop of the scarf masked half of your face. Your surprise was shown only through your eyes, but he ignored it completely, wrapping the length around one last time. The scarf had almost shrunk you, your head buried in the layers, and Seungkwan had to pause for a second, unable to contain his smile. 

What are you smiling at? you asked, except the scarf had mumbled your speech, and he could not hear a thing. He could understand very clearly the irritation, though, rising in your gaze, and that only broke the seam of his lips, grinning at you. 

“Wait, hold still,” he said, reaching to the top of the neckwear. He leaned in, fingers folding down the fabric, slowly and gently, and you blinked back at the proximity. You had a feeling he had not noticed at first, but then your eyes bore into him, and his fingers slowed. His knuckle brushed against your jaw, and a soft shiver escaped you, finally catching his attention. Only then he stole a glance, realising just how close he was to you. 

His pupils were darting all over your face, as much as he could take in from the closeness. You could not help it either, mouth parting, watching his bated breaths condense upon your face. God, he was close to you, and it was out of the ordinary, unfamiliar territory. If he leaned in any further, his lips would caress yours, solving the problem of this chill. You were not cold though—not anymore, with your cheeks burning every second spent under his scrutiny. 

You should be pulling away—should be taking a step back. He felt the same. Once again, the two of you were in sync; always denying how similar you both thought, but confronted with that fated truth. 

Seungkwan could see it—the truth, reflecting in your gaze. “There,” he whispered, fingers brushing against the scarf. 

The scarf. His scarf. “I can’t have this,” you said, but your voice was barely there. “It’s yours.” 

“I know.” A ghost of his raised brow. “It’s not like I’m giving it to you forever. I will take it back.”

You twisted your mouth. “Way to ruin a moment.” 

He parted his mouth, both brows raising. “Was there a moment to ruin?” 

“No!” you gasped out, craning your head back. You saw his smirk rise, and it was agonising, how your speech stuttered. “No, no, no. No moment here! You’re thinking it all up.” 

“Hmm,” was all he got out, gaze skimming over your face—pausing at your mouth. “If you say so.” 

With one last moment (because yes, there was something, and there was no denying it anymore), he stepped away, admiring the scarf wrapped around you. “Maybe I should let you keep it.”

This time, you had to look away. “You can have it back tomorrow.” Glancing over the time on your phone, you cleared your throat, fidgeting with the fabric. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

He nodded, hands sliding in his pockets. “We’re so close, _____.” 

Choosing to avoid his eyes, you instead focused on the locks of his hair, the lapels of his jacket. It was unavoidable—he was beautiful, and he was smiling. A celebration of the coming victory, so near that you could taste Jeonghan’s approval. 

So you smiled back. “We are, Seungkwan.” 

JEONGHAN TURNED ANOTHER PAGE OF THE FINAL DESSERT REPORT. 

You waited anxiously, one leg folded over the other as your eyes focused intently at the head chef, reading over the analysis. He was silent for the first time in a while, no sarcastic quip over the explanations. No questions were thrown at you, catching you off—all you were tested with was complete quiet, which, in a weirder sense, unnerved you more. 

Your partner was there, too—in the same seat he always claimed on your right, bouncing his leg in anticipation, eyes trained at the same target as yours. He, on the other hand, could not deal with the silence which permeated the office. “I think you’ve read this section for the third time, Chef.” 

But Chef ignored him, choosing to spend another ten minutes staring at the same pages, an effective enough punishment for being bothered. You would have thrown him an irritated glare had you not been so exhausted from the final trials.

The affogato dessert report was finished after another week of testing. 

You and Seungkwan had spent half of the nights within that week at the restaurant, bouncing ideas off each other, finalising the rest of the toppings, the beverage variations. The two of you must have had fifty hours of sleep combined for the past six days, but it was worth the wait. It was worth the restlessness, the countless drafts of writing and rewriting…it reached a full completion at two in the morning, when you and your partner took one look at each other and knew you had done it.

Bothering Jeonghan at that time would have gotten you both fired, so you resorted to running back home for six-odd hours before trudging back to the restaurant. You saw Seungkwan at the entrance, identical eye-bags to yours, his frown a default feature on his sleep-stricken face. Still, the clear fatigue seemed to clear when he caught sight of you, leaving the door open to let you in. 

It was here now, with you two anxiously waiting, that Jeonghan snapped the file shut, the slap of paper against paper jolting you both alert. “I hope that’s woken you up.” 

The man beside you groaned, his leg ceasing the bouncing. “Jesus,” he could only say, because cursing his boss only fast-tracked him to unemployment (not that Jeonghan would have sacked him—in honesty, he was hoping one of them would call him a dickhead and storm out).

“It did,” you answered, trying your hardest to not knife him with your gaze. “Now are you approving the dessert?” 

He observed the front of the report, jutting out his lower lip. “Well, I am impressed with the details…I don’t think any of you have put this much effort into a dessert report in your entire career.” 

“Don’t say that!” You immediately exclaimed. “My granita dessert report last year was top-notch and you agreed with me!” 

“Yeah, but that was last year, so it doesn't exist anymore.” He waved off your counters, continuing, “Anyway, this report is brilliant. I can see how much effort the two of you have put into this process.”

You nodded along to his comments, locking your hands together. There was no denying it, of course—you and Seungkwan had carved out your hearts and mixed the remnants within the affogato. What was appreciated was Jeonghan witnessing it with his own eyes. 

“Before I officially start advertising the final selection, I do need to ask you one thing.” He set the report to the side, setting his chin upon interlocked fingers. “Now I know how you both felt about working together for this project…obviously I didn’t care about your opinions because of the disruptions, but recently, there’s been a peaceful environment at the station.” 

His eyes darted between his dessert chefs. “Should the opportunity arise…would you work together on specific projects again?”

The dreaded silence was back, but it was not the head chef which instigated it this time. 

It took almost every nerve in your system to restrain the muscles in your body, which would instinctively turn your head towards the man beside you. Biting your lip, glancing down at your hands once more, you thought the question over, echoing slowly in your mind.

If you were asked this question a couple of weeks ago, you would have laughed in Jeonghan’s face. You still remembered the evening in this office, when your boss doomed the two of you with the dessert project. You had not forgotten the snide comments, the back-and-forth bickering, even the fated confrontations—the night with the burnt caramel which had your entire viewpoint spinning on its surface.

What you did not comprehend was the change; the slow shift in every interaction, the anticipation of his family’s interactions, wondering whether his sister had asked for you again. That was the jackpot moment, you thought. At the end of the day, Seungkwan had not changed—you simply bothered to know him.  

And whatever you had learned, you did not despise. 

You chose not to admit any of this to the group. Instead, you remained in your silence, waiting for any of the men to shatter it.

Seungkwan stepped up to the quiet and broke it. “I dreaded doing the project.” You looked at him. He continued, staring at Jeonghan. “It was hard, I’ll be honest…what with our constant fighting and that.” 

It was after a while he spoke again. “However, if you force us together in the next quarter, then…” He turned to you, and you swore there was a glow radiating from his face. “I wouldn’t mind it...being forced together with her again.”

You parted your mouth. You could barely hear Jeonghan’s scoff, humming at the implications. No, you only stared at him, your partner-in-crime, your—your friend? Something different, another term entirely. 

Your mouth ran on its own, disregarding your sense of thought. “I wouldn’t mind it either.” 

This time, you heard the boss’ huff of laughter enough to snap out of your stunned daze, watching him rise from his chair. “Does this mean my customers won’t hear you both arguing over their moonlit dinners?” 

Truly, you wanted to frown at him. “As long as Seungkwan keeps quiet,” you said, glancing at the said-man.

His smile was mischievous when you caught it—you had to look away. “I’m not promising a damn thing.”

You only heard Jeonghan’s laughter then, vanishing only by the closing of his door as he left, approved report in hand. 

Perhaps Seungkwan wanted to say more, but you hurried out of the office under the pretense of opening the restaurant. He chose to play along to your excuses, helping you alongside Mingyu and Junhui for the ingredient prepping, and soon business took over priority, the rush of the customers even in the late morning. 

The bustling environment of the restaurant did not calm until its closing, you cursing the customers for not offering a single break during your long shift. The entire time consisted of egg and sugar whipping, the sounds of caramel cooking, espresso steaming and curt orders thrown around by you and your partner in the station. Because the stress of the dessert menu had faded, though, a great level of pressure had subsided, as if the summer sun had cleared through London’s winter storms. 

Nighttime cloaked Covent Garden, stars scattered across the black sky, twinkling at the thousands upon thousands, in and out of the entrance columns. After seeing the last family off on their merry way, you turned the banner to Closed, sighing after a long day’s work. 

Mingyu and Junhui were already packing, informing you of their plans together, so you let them leave earlier than anticipated. Seungkwan was the sole chef left, save for Jeonghan—though he could have fucked off without anyone’s knowing, for all you knew.

You thought he would have ran straight for his sister’s down south; it was a Friday night, which meant that Sohyun and Sojung were anticipating movie night with their favourite (and only, so you doubted how prized this title really was) uncle. Despite being aware of this, you caught sight of him whipping up the all-too familiar dessert, this time in accordance to the restaurant’s official recipe.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you asked him, walking over to where he stood next to the counter. “The kids’ll be waiting.” 

“You remembered,” he pointed out, surprised. Pouring the espresso on top, he looked over to you, closing in. “Well, today I get a pass to celebrate our victory.” 

“Victory?” You observed the finished affogato, scrunching your nose. “Not to be that person, but I’ve had enough of these to last me the year.” 

“I know you were gonna say that,” he countered, holding up a finger as he stepped to the side. Lo and behold, there was a large bottle of champagne, a crisp burgundy bow wrapped around the neck. “Which is why I brought a little extra for the occasion.” 

Lighting up at the sight of the alcohol, you grabbed onto the top, studying the label. “Franciacorta. Very tasteful.” 

You set it back, searching for a corkscrew. “You sound shocked by my tastefulness,” you heard him remark, you opening the drawers and finding it amongst the disarray of cutlery. 

“Well, of course,” you said, bringing the utensil to Seungkwan’s side of the counter, waiting for him to add in the cut-up biscotti. “Let’s not forget who the classier one out of us is.” 

He clicked his tongue. “I am not getting into that can of worms.”

“All the better for your rep,” you added, earning a snort from him. 

“Right,” he began, pushing the drink in your direction as he grabbed the bottle. “How about a drink first?”

“That I can agree with,” you said, handing him the corkscrew. 

Seungkwan struck the cork with it, twisting it till he was satisfied. Then, with a little force, he popped open the champagne, fizzing from the bottle’s mouth. “There we go,” he sighed out, grabbing a couple of spare glasses, identical to the dessert’s shape, and filling them to the very tip. “I couldn’t find the proper glasses.”

“And you said you were the classier one,” you quipped, sipping the drink. 

Shaking his head, he drank up, seething as he brought the glass down. “I can’t believe we’re finished, you know.” 

“I don’t think it’s settled yet for me,” you admitted. “It was only a few weeks, but it felt like months.”

“God, I know.” Finishing off the first glass, he poured himself another. “Remember when you wanted to add leaves in the dessert? We’ve come so far.” 

“Now you know I had a whole plan for that,” you defended, shaking a finger at him as you kept drinking. “And you can’t say anything, with your diabetes-inducing sweets.”

“You’re the one who agreed to the affogato.” He twisted his mouth into a smirk. “And that was my idea.” 

You wanted to snarl at him—it had been too long since a bickering broke any semblance of peace, and although you enjoyed the lack of shouting, you swore it was enhancing his overconfidence. 

But you decided to indulge him. You did not know why. “Your idea was so personal to your roots, Seungkwan. I don’t think I could have said no.” 

Even he was stunned. “You couldn’t have said no?” he repeated in question, brows raising.

You only downed the rest of your champagne. “Nope.” 

“Huh.” That was all he could give, swirling his drink. Your insides sung at his reaction, biting the corner of your lip to stop yourself from smiling. Seungkwan’s smirks, you thought, truly had no substance the way his surprised, one-word responses did.

Another glass down, and you felt the buzz of the alcohol, bubbling through your veins, settling a little too pleasantly in your mind. The lights of the dessert station had been dimmed, too, only the lights of the hob turned on, your surroundings atmospheric. The silences may have been prevalent, but there was no discomfort. The tranquility was…in a way, it was beautiful.

There was more beauty, it seemed, in Seungkwan’s next words. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if it was anyone else, you know.” 

You straightened in your seat. “Oh?”

He nodded, you thinking that was the rest of it. But then he opened his mouth again, spilling out the confession which rested in his heart. “If it was anyone else working with me, they wouldn’t have seen the dessert, why I made it…my sister, her kids, anything like that.” He took a deep breath, about to continue, but then made sure to drink up. “And you suggested it first, which…I really appreciated.”

“Is that why I had never seen your family before?” another sip of the champagne. “Because you hated me that much?”

“I never hated you, _____,” he said, which only had you scoffing. “No, really! Sure, you pissed me off. Did Jinsoul first hear of you cause I bitched about you? Unfortunately, yeah. But!” he countered, raising a finger, “It was never hatred.”

“Well, I can’t say the same,” you mumbled, staring into the end of your glass. He grabbed your attention, filling it to the rim once more. 

His stare did not leave you. “It’s not like that anymore, right?”

You matched his gaze—a smile threatened to take over. “No…not anymore. I got to know you, didn’t I?” 

He could have gasped. 

Boo Seungkwan, for the first time in his life, was speechless. It usually took devastating news to rattle him to his core—a notion so shocking his world slips from underneath him. His pupils almost dilated, gaping at you as if you told him he had won Jeonghan’s restaurant.

And although it was endearing, truly a sight to behold, you had the nerve to raise a brow at him. “Weren’t you the one who said I didn’t?”

He blinked back at the question, realising that he was not in a trance. “That I did.” He cleared his throat, downing another glass. The alcohol was getting to him, he could feel it.  

You decided to leave the champagne for now, the bubbles successful in enhancing your giddiness. Turning to the affogato, you finally gave it some attention, digging in with a spoon. “It’s melted now,” you commented, taking another bite. 

“That’s what happens when you ignore a dessert,” Seungkwan remarked, tutting as he drank.

“Don’t give a girl such good champagne then.” 

“Hmm, or maybe you’re distracted by my company,” he appealed, watching you roll your eyes and chuckling. “Come on. We’re not throwing food at each other anymore, so you can be honest.” 

“Okay,” you said, savouring the espresso and vanilla, in perfect harmony in your mouth. “I guess you’re not the worst person to have a conversation with.” He made to celebrate, face lightening up, but you interjected, “When you’re around your family.”

“Yeah, now you’re just saying shit,” he rebuked, setting the glass down. “I’m a bloody joy to be around!” 

“And which one out of Jinsoul’s kids said that to get a doughnut out of you?”

“None of them!” he first exclaimed, but after two seconds of staring him down, he sighed out, “Sojung got four doughnuts that day.” 

“Exactly.” Another bite, a little messy—you were sure the vanilla cream left remnants on your lips. “I told you, right? I know you now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he only said, tilting his head on his shoulder. He had drunk enough tonight. He was not usually careless—not that he was, but he did not take his glasses into account. He did, but he was with you tonight, and you were so happy. 

He then noticed the slight gelato lining your lips, and he perked up slightly. “Affogato that good? You left behind a trail.”

“Unfortunately. Where is it?” you asked, trying to wipe it off, but to no avail. “I’m looking stupid, right?”

“The dumbest.” He pointed to his own mouth, but you would not follow. “Wait, one second.” 

He stepped closer, rubbing his hands on his trousers. With a harsh intake of breath, he reached his hand out, and you froze at his touch, brushing against the corner of his lip. His focus did not distract him from your expression, thumb rubbing off the vanilla, cream fading from his every gentle swipe. His finger was soft—softer than you expected, velvety like the ice cream he made for you. 

It was only when he finished, craning his head back just an inch, that he noticed your tensed-up expression—the breath that was caught in your throat. He had parted his mouth, the realisation striking him cold, and all he could do was watch—eyes flickering to your own, darting between one and the other, as if unable to take the full intensity of your stare. 

You caught him peeking shamelessly at your lips, where his thumb remained, a ghost of a touch. Seconds passed, none of you daring to move, and you suddenly had an inkling that he was about to do something. 

Oh God. Was he? You could not tell—he was looking at you in a strange manner, eyes heavy lidded. It must have been the alcohol. You were sure that was the reason for his daze, why his breaths were uneven.

You could not help the whisper escaping, as soft and delicate as a winter snowflake, twirling in a cold breeze. “Seungkwan?” 

The said-man blinked back at your voice—his name on your tongue. 

What you were going to do was close your eyes, brace yourself for the final distance—and then you realised you were bracing yourself for Boo Seungkwan, and the slight panic set in, striking you like a lightning bolt. 

He must have caught it in your eyes, because then his reaction reflected your own, and maybe he made the most idiotic decision in his entire life. Although every muscle in his body demanded he do the opposite, he began to pull away and then you grasped onto your mistake, realising what he was doing, and you cursed yourself for letting him slip away in front of you this very second—this devastating, crucial moment. 

And even though you did not comprehend what in hell you were doing at that moment, you caught his arm, holding onto the white cotton of his work shirt. He gaped at the gesture before setting the shock on you. “What’re you doing?” he rasped out.

“What’re you doing?” was your answer.

It was there, in the dimmed, flickering lights of the hob, that he stared at you, trying the hardest he ever had in the entirety of his life to catch your meaning. Damn him for drinking, damn his lack of restraint, because maybe if he had one less glass of champagne—

The darkening of your irises clocked any confusion in his tipsied judgement. His mouth parted, and you could have sighed with an intoxicated relief.

He knew you after all. 

“Bastard,” you could only say, catching the beginnings of an appeased grin before he leaned in, any semblance of doubt erased as he pressed his lips to yours. 

The first touch of his mouth was indescribable. 

Never did you think you would find yourself in this situation, closing your eyes, a soft hum as he moved against you, finding the rhythm upon your lips. His own were so soft, a shocking twist in the tale—all those hard, condescending quips, but you supposed it should have made perfect sense. Your arguments were bitter, your collaborations tensioned, but there were no remnants of the past in his movements. He was as soft as the gelato you had indulged in, as velvety as the espresso coating his affogato gift. 

Your breaths were caught in your throat, caged by his mouth, which delved deeper as the man’s hands cupped your face. His fingers were warm, shaking as they tilted your head to enhance the kiss. Your senses were alive before, but they were bouncing off the kitchen walls now, darting from the stove to the countertop, out of the doors and into the city as the sheer pleasure took over. 

It was in that moment you realised that Boo Seungkwan was not only a great dessert chef, but an excellent kisser. The way he moved his lips with yours, syncing you along with him, was unfathomable in any other situation. You, following along, even bothering to hear him out, here now, trailing after his movements? You could not help yourself, though, when he was good, he knew this like he knew the affogato—familiar with its recipe, its methods, how to create it, nourishing it to perfection. 

And because every dessert creation needed patience, Seungkwan was slow, careful as his tongue slid against the seam of your lips, trialling, testing. He succeeded in the first attempt, you opening up to him, and the feeling of his tongue slithering along yours had your stomach somersaulting within, unable to contain yourself. You could not contain the soft groans, lodged deep within your throat, and you could have sworn the bastard smiled against you, closing his mouth as he sucked on your tongue. 

This was it. In the Vita di Diamante, under the lights of a luxury restaurant’s dessert-kitchen, your hands crept up his arms, locking behind his neck, and you snuffed out any distance, the countertop edges digging slowly into your side, dutifully ignored. Any sense of discomfort was replaced by the mountain of pleasure, boosted by Seungkwan’s fingers on your face, then your neck, his lips taking yours prisoner, threatening to roam, and his body, pressing against your own, his weight like a welcome cage, engulfing your entire presence. 

This was nothing short of intoxication, a spark of a drug which would spiral into an addiction. You had kissed many others before your supposed rival, this uncertain friend, but you were sure of the ecstasy he offered, given to you in abundance. You had thought him selfish, narcissistic. But was this not compassion, each heated bursts of generosity he planted on the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, slowly trailing downward till he found refuge on the patch of skin, just above your collarbone? Were these not acts of selflessness, the manner in which he teethed his kisses, inciting a moan loud enough to have your entire face alight?

It was that particular noise that made him realise his place, a burst of pride igniting inside him before he noticed the hob lights glistening your face. “We shouldn’t—fuck—” Seungkwan cursed out, breathless, and your stomach fluttered at the mere curse, spewed out countless times before. When did you become so affected—no, rattled by whatever this man did? “W-we shouldn’t do this here.” 

Yet he was peppering you with open-mouthed kisses, and you could have screamed at him for making it so hard to answer him. “Then maybe…” you were rasping out your breaths, mind a complete daze. “Maybe you should stop.” 

Pausing, he dragged his mouth, skimming along to your neck, only pulling away to lock your heavy-lidded eyes with his own. The lust swirling within them was the final, perfect garnish to the dessert of his desire—the same desire which worsened your hunger. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Instinctively, you licked your lips, swiping up the remnants of Seungkwan’s efforts, relishing the residue of the champagne. When he caught the mere action, he hoped with the very marrow of his bones that you did not refuse him. 

When you narrowed his eyes, lips twisting in a sneer, his fervour paused. “Are you fucking stupid?” you spat out, and he gawked at you—only for a second.

But a second was still too long, because you grabbed onto the collars of his shirt, colliding your mouth against his, and he could have sighed with relief. He furrowed his brow as matched your hunger, sliding his tongue back into your mouth, and this time you let the moans free, a symphony to his ears. He was all over you, moreso when his hands now tugged at your sides, pushing you further into the counter. You did not catch onto his intentions until, with one swift swipe of his hands, he lifted you upon the countertop, chasing your lips still, refusing to break away. He pushed between your thighs, caging himself in your presence, and it was embarrassing how quick your body responded, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Seungkwan was delirious, you were frenzied—Seungkwan was out of his mind, and you were out of your soul, the sounds of your mouths and tongues colliding in a destructive understanding, a heated combination that would have been impossible mere weeks ago. What had happened, how did it all equate to this very situation? Fate always worked in strange ways, but you had to work out how you ended up in this passionate scene—shameless as your whimpers grew louder, his arrogance growing with them, swallowing them with his mouth. 

Maybe you both would have created something grander than any dessert in this station, sweeter than the damned cinnamon Seungkwan campaigned for at every given chance. With the soft moans darkening, breaths rasping out in slight desperation, you would have shown this restaurant a harmony never witnessed in your work. 

But at this precise moment, Yoon fucking Jeonghan sauntered into the kitchens, ready to share some good news to you both when he took one look at your colliding figures.

The sharp, shocked scoff that escaped his coral lips had you and Seungkwan stopping dead in your heated tracks. 

“How many more health and safety regulations are you two gonna violate?”

It was comical, how you both whipped your heads at the slender figure, smirk so conceited and pompous you wondered whether you were bickering at the wrong chef this entire time. “I knew one day you were gonna eat each other’s faces off,” he continued, catching onto every sudden movement of Seungkwan’s fingers tightening at your waist, your arms loosening around his neck. “But did it have to be in my goddamn kitchen?”

“Shut the fuck up,” was the younger’s reasonable response, earning him a huff of laughter from his boss. You could only stare and do nothing, so ashamed of being caught you restrained the urge to hide within the crook of his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, don’t be angry at me!” Jeonghan waved his hand over to the door beyond the further walls. “Personally, I think the pantry’s a better shout…more privacy, you know?” Close enough in front of you, his grin lop-sided. “Unless, of course, you wanted to give me a show—”

“Please, Jeonghan!” you cried out finally, as, with an aching decision, you pulled away from the man’s arms, the absence duly noted. “God, don’t you have a life outside of this place?”

“Well, if I did, then I wouldn’t have a restaurant,” he countered, smug as his eyes darted between his employees. “And my dear dessert chefs wouldn’t have a love shack to fuck in.”

That horrendous statement had you jumping down from the counter, dusting yourself off as you glowered at your boss, risking termination. “You need to talk to someone other than your accountant.” 

A melodramatic sigh left his lips. “You’re right, which is why I was taking a few other calls. That’s why I came down here, to let you both know that there will be some very important people coming in for the new menu’s christening.” He then raised his hands in surrender. “But then I see you guys have much more important shit to cover!” 

Perhaps telling your boss to get floored under a Northern line tube was cruel, but the threat stayed rooted on your tongue. He could sense it for sure, because he looked at his watch. “Now I have to go soon, which means I want you going home.” He glanced up at the post-makeout scene, another chuckle rising. “So who’s place are you continuing this shit in?” 

“Go away, man!” Seungkwan demanded as you groaned, only left with Jeonghan’s laughter ringing in your ears as he left the scene, bidding an adieu with wiggling brows. 

With the silence falling on you both, the tension, so rampant beforehand, had all but crashed disastrously after the interruption. The complete absurdity of it all brought a sigh out of you, Seungkwan humming in agreement.

“How do we get Jeonghan fired?” was the first question asked in the kitchen—courtesy of your venom.

“You think a bullying allegation would cut it?” the man suggested, but you clicked your tongue. “Nah, you’re right, it’s child’s play in this business. We’d be deemed cowards.” 

“Couldn’t he have come later?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. God, you were tired. The tipsy stupor had morphed into fatigue. 

And although Seungkwan felt the lethargy too, he chose to latch onto your words. “Later, huh? Didn’t want to be disturbed, then?”

You almost rolled your eyes. “You know exactly what I mean.”

But he was back to being a grade-A asshole, so he crowed, “No, please, indulge me…what did you mean?” 

You meant to glare at him, but his eyes were dancing, and you remembered his lips on you all over again. You resorted to silence, clamping your lips together, finding a little comfort in the smile he curled at your quiet response. 

The two of you found yourselves collecting your things, Jeonghan the final man left in the restaurant so there was no concern for locking up. Your paths were shared up until Leicester Square's Station, ten minutes away from the restaurant, where your destination was. 

“You didn’t have to walk me here, you know,” you said, turning to him as you fished for your travel card.

Seungkwan nodded lightly, “I know…I wanted to ask you something, actually.” 

You looked at him, anticipating. There were still crowds, even at this time of night, rushing in and out of the popular station, but you did not notice them, not now. Not when he was gazing at you, an indecipherable emotion flickering in his features. 

He licked his lips, intaking a sharp breath before asking you. “You didn’t…regret it, right?” 

You knew what he meant, of course. Because you were a piece of shit too—only a little—you took a step closer, tilting your head at him. “What do you think?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make me answer that,” he said, “Whatever I’ll say you’ll just say the opposite.” 

A chuckle. “Smart man.” 

Which is why you refrained from speaking the opposite—did not say anything at all as you leaned in, holding his face in your hand as you kissed him.

It was an unexpected phenomenon for him—exactly what you hoped to achieve. Still, it was welcomed, as Seungkwan moved his lips against yours, opening his mouth upon you to let a soft moan escape. The rush of London was no more—no tourists with their loud cameras, no locals with their grumblings of said-tourists. It was you and him, and this moment, captured in your lips in harmony with his.

Which is why it was difficult to break away, breathing heavily at the sensation as you watched his eyes flutter open, completely breathless. The sight had your heart constricting. 

“Is that enough of an answer?” you asked him.

The smile he offered you was enough. 

“WHEN ARE WE GONNA MEET SANTA CLAUS?” 

The age-old question. You scanned the constant wave of local and international shoppers, twice the size of the groups you and Julie dealt with weeks ago. “It won’t be too far now, dear,” you reassured the boy, who was frowning the further along you walked. 

“We just have to find the big Christmas tree,” Sohyun explained, looking back as she led the pack. “And we would if we actually hurried up.” 

The eldest within the group let out an overly dramatic sigh, raking his hands through his hair. “The Christmas tree is not going anywhere,” he commented, “I don’t know what this rush is for.” 

“Just because you don’t care about Santa,” Sojung huffed, crossing his arms. “Maybe you’ve become old, Uncle Seungkwan.”

Your laughter could not drown out the scoff that escaped the accused-hag’s lips. “I’m gonna tell on you to Jinsoul.”

But the way the boy only chuckled, blowing mischievous raspberries at his dear uncle, cemented how seriously he took that threat. You watched him catch up to his sister, smiling the entire time. 

Seungkwan caught onto that. “Don’t encourage him.” 

“What?” your smile turned playful. “Scared he’s getting your attitude?”

“Uh, excuse me!” he started, “Firstly, I’d be the happiest man alive if he became like me. This sass is more from his mother.” 

You scoffed. “That was textbook Seungkwan behaviour. You’re just too conceited to realise.” 

“Conceited? Big words today, _____.”

You, however, were terribly unimpressed. “That is a normal, everyday word, Seungkwan. You should probably read a book.” 

“Enough now,” he said, raising a hand, “I’m goofy, not stupid.” Your hesitance in instantly agreeing with him had him gasping. “Oh my God, you think I’m an idiot!” 

“The fact you just clocked this proves my opinion even more,” you restated, shrugging to dig the blow deeper. “Sorry, buddy.” 

“Don’t ‘buddy’ me,” he immediately refuted, and you glanced at him, a slight irritation in his features. “I’ve made out with you enough times to deserve a better term.” 

The too-casual mention of it had you quickly scanning over the children, then glaring at him once you were satisfied by their ignorance. “Why did you say it like that?”

“What?” His earlier complaint had softened, slowly morphing into a smugness which made your lips twist, and—unfortunately—made your heartbeat quicken. “Did we not?”

You thought of the week when you first kissed him at the restaurant—the gentle touch of your lips against his, the remnants of vanilla gelato and victory prevalent on your tongues. Then, your mind caught onto the different webs of your memory, flashes of heated moments after that fateful night, mouths colliding and hands wandering in more appropriate times, in more private places. No nosy flatmate caught you two in your house, and no nosier boss disturbed you in the pantry room (thank you, said-nosier boss). Yes, you would have died if your past self learned of this newfound situation, but the bastard was good, and he knew how to make you breathless—through heated arguments and frenzied kisses. 

So yes, you did make out with him more times than you would like to admit in front of him. But amongst those nights, you found yourself enjoying his company outside of your workplace, and the two people who capitalised the most out of it were his niece and nephew. When they heard that you knew of a Santa who can hand free Cadbury bars out to them in Westfield shopping centre, they jumped at the idea—as if Christmas had arrived much early. 

The Santa they sought was finally seen, when, walking past another wave of shoppers, there she was, in all her stuffed-suited, fake-bearded glory, asking questions you could not hear as she shook their hand, or gently let them sit atop her padded lap. Santa caught sight of you and your group, and she smiled, quickly slipping the child she tended to a chocolate bar and waving them off. 

“Ho, ho, ho, motherfuckers!” was the beautiful greeting Santa offered in her unusually low, forced baritone, and you could not contain the slight crease of your shoulders as the parents nearby whirled their heads at the words. “Oh, damn, forgot other kids were waiting too.”

“I wonder how you got the job,” you mock wondered, which had the girl underneath the costume almost whacking you on the shoulder. Not very Santa-like, thus proving your point. 

Your bickering was cut short when Sohyun and Sojung appeared from behind you, looking at Julie with a growing anticipation. “You’re the Santa giving out free chocolate, right?” the former asked. 

“Ho, ho, ho! Yes, I am, kids!” your friend dug into her brown sack slugged beside her, fishing out the larger, classic flavour of the Cadbury bar, holding it out for the children. “Merry Christmas!” 

As Sohyun thanked her, taking the chocolate, Sojung only glanced at her, confusion staining his little face. “Hey, I thought Santa was a man.”

Julie, taken aback by the statement, fixed her beard, which began to slouch. “Anyone can be Santa!” 

“Yeah, but Santa’s an old man,” Sojung reasoned, crossing his arms. “You sound like you’re in your thirties.” 

“Thirties—” the girl’s usual chirp cut through, but then she coughed, realising she was about to argue with a child. Lowering her voice, she merely held out the Cadbury. “Just take the chocolate, little man.”

Seeing the treat was enough to quench his burning questions on Santa’s gender identity, quickly digging into the sweetness of the chocolate bricks. Julie threw you a look, which had you snickering, sneaking closer to her. 

“That was it?” Seungkwan asked, glancing at the line your friend had evoked. “People’ll do anything for free food—” 

He stopped, realising that Julie was trying to sneak you three Cadbury bars in your bag, and the sight of you feigning any sense of stealth had him clamping his lips together, trying to contain his laughter. 

“Have fun on your babysitting date,” she whispered to you, and you stuck your tongue out at her before turning to the said-date—because yes, this was supposed to be a date, but the children caught wind of their uncle meeting you, and begged him to talk to you. 

“Three?” he inquired, animating the number with his fingers. 

“Inflation’s hit us hard,” was your only excuse, but it was a measly one. Being a dessert chef meant possessing an infinite amount of chocolates in the pantry, ranging from every flavour created in the Italian peninsula. 

He said so himself. “You create desserts for a living. You see chocolate puddings more than your own parents.” 

“You can never have too much,” you sang out, and the children beside you hummed in agreement. “See? The council has spoken.” 

“I can’t disagree then.” Seungkwan turned to the council. “Now, Sohyun, Sojung…where do you guys want to go?” 

“Can we go to the toilet first?” Sojung clutched his stomach. “I think I ate the chocolate too quickly.” 

“I told you to eat it slowly!” Sohyun scolded, clicking her tongue. 

“You think you know the way?” his uncle asked, to which he nodded. “Sohyun, you walk with him. I don’t want you two running off alone, okay?” 

“We’ll be fine,” the girl said, waving off the concern. She clutched her brother’s arm, whose face twisted in pain the more time passed. “Come on, you idiot.” 

“Keep your phones on!” The man called after them as they walked to their destination, which, as the digital maps exposed, was not too far. 

As the children disappeared, you watched, concern rising. “I hope Sojung’s okay.” 

“He’ll be alright.” A roll of his eyes. “Unfortunately, the pigging out on things which’ll make him sick later is a trait he got from me.”

“So all the bad habits he has are from you then?” 

“Only some of them,” he admitted, which had you shaking your head. “Spend enough time with them, and they’ll learn your terrible ways, too.”

“Speak for yourself,” you snarked, “I am a perfect role model.”

“Role model, huh?” He took a step closer—as if he was not close already—and roamed his eyes over you, over a particular item of clothing. “Perfect role models don’t steal from their dates.” 

Your hands instinctively clutched the scarf—the red scarf which you had not returned since he engulfed you with its warmth weeks back. “It’s not stealing,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. “You’re the one who pretended to be a gentleman and gave it to me.”

“Okay then, I’ll give up the pretence.” Another step closer—a foot’s distance from you. “I’d like my scarf back.”

Realistically, you would have handed his precious scarf back without a fight. After all, it was his possession.

But today was cold, and the scarf was snug—warm. As welcoming as it had been when your head was wrapped around it. “It suits me more, though, don’t you think?” you taunted, fingers holding both ends of the fabric, the long, fringes dangling. “I rock it better, you have to admit.”

The man stared at you, taking in the words, washing over him. His hands reached out, snaking around your waist, and you had to calm your heart from beating out of your chest as he pulled you closer. 

If this was the beginning of the winter, he would have chosen cruel words, shatter the fantasy he thought was forming in front of his eyes. This was not a fantasy, though, far from it—you, who had been a thorn at his side since the moment he stepped into the restaurant, had blossomed into a flower, flourishing before him in a newfound light. 

He played along—not because it was not true, but because he believed the words that left his lips. “You do everything better than me.”

A sharp breath escaped you.

Never did you think a confession like that would ever come from Seungkwan. 

His pride was his great strength, but also a formidable weakness. It was his self-confidence, his arrogance, even, that contributed to his successes, and—most importantly—his long-lasting rivalry with you. His belief in his perfection, his being the best out of all, was what made him who he was. 

You guessed that he did not believe in it. Not anymore. 

Still, you did not accept it. “A very touching statement,” you began, sliding your arms around him, “But I’ll do you one better.” 

He shook his head. “God forbid you agree with me.”

You tilted your head back, gazing at him fully. “We’re equals, Seungkwan.”

He stared at you, widening his eyes as you continued. “Equal partners in our work, equal chefs in our creations…what I do, you do the same. It’s why we argued, and never won. One could not defeat the other…no matter how much we tried. Maybe we were meant to stay in this stalemate, you know?” 

You smiled at him—your partner in the kitchen, your partner-in-crime. “It’s our losses in the restaurant, I believe, that brought us together in the end…and that, for me at least, is a win.” 

Seungkwan felt his very nerves spark to life. 

Come alive with a veracity akin to a rocket ship blasting fire from its ends, firing off to the universe beyond. He had experienced appreciation, passion, perhaps even tenderness—what you said to him in a shopping mall in a corner of London was extraordinary.

He tightened his grip at your sides, his expression starry-eyed. “You really think that?” 

You melted into his hold, sneaking closer. “If I didn’t think it, Seungkwan, I wouldn’t say it.” 

His heart ballooned in his chest, threatening to burst at the seams of his skin. He could not help himself, leaning in to press his lips against yours, and you welcomed him with open arms, closing in around him. You were unable to stop, curling your lips upwards at the sensation because happiness swirled in your stomach, fluttering uncontrollably, moreso because it was Boo Seungkwan who caused it—Boo Seungkwan, who was the catalyst to your butterflies. 

Before he could go further, you remembered where you were, breaking away from his lips. His sudden murmur from the pull-away had you giggling, cheeks tinged rosy from the confession. 

Your laughter, like little wind chimes singing in a spring breeze, had him speaking from the heart. “I couldn’t do this job with anyone else, you know…working together, what’s come out of it…” His stare had your heartbeat uneasy. “You’re the only one I trust.” 

Although your face warmed at the words, you grinned cheekily at him. “Of course you would. Who else would you rely on? Jeonghan?” 

“...a very fair point.” 

Chucking, his hold on you strayed, one hand remaining. “Now, ______,” he began, sliding his hand over to your own, interlocking his fingers. “After the kids come back, where do you wanna eat? I’m starving.”

“I’m down for anything,” you said, tapping your fingers against the back of his hand. “But if I have to eat another Italian dessert for the next week I’m causing a massacre in the restaurant.”

“So the usual tiramisu with whipped cream on the side, then?” he offered, which had you squeezing his hand. “What? I’m not ungrateful like you. I like to eat anything.” 

“Says the one who said he’d shrivel and die if he had to eat almond amarettis for the second time.” 

“That’s different!” he tried to explain, “I nearly choked on one doing the trialling.” 

You swung your intertwined hands. “All I hear is weak-ass excuses, Seungkwan!” 

“At least I’m not advocating on adding grass to my pannacottas,” he muttered, starting to walk forwards.

You halted him, furrowing your eyebrows. “For the last time, they’re bay leaves!” 

“Yeah, which shouldn’t be on my desserts!” 

“Okay, don’t add them to your shitty sweets, then,” you crowed, “Cause I’m suffocating my pannacottas in them.”

His eyes began to glimmer, and you realised that he successfully baited you into irritation. “Maybe I spoke too soon on trusting you with my life in the kitchen,” he teased, but you groaned, prying your hand from his. “Hey, hey, okay, maybe bay leaves aren’t the worst garnish known to man!” 

“And maybe I’m going back to counting and laughing at your losses,” you snapped, but Seungkwan was laughing, and your cheeks were burning. “One more laugh out of that big mouth of yours, and I’m throwing mascarpone cream at you. Maybe this time we’ll finally be fired.” 

He stopped in your tracks, making you pause your stomping away. “I’d like to see you try,” he dared, and when you looked back at him, the challenge rising in your gaze, he felt his soul come alive. 

You knew it too. “Don’t tempt me, Seungkwan. I’ll win this time.”

And as he leaned in, crossing his arms and staring you down, you held your ground, providing no room to give in. His proud smirk had you remembering the old days—and not grimacing. “Famous last words.”

A scoff was the rest of the conversation, but the showdown of your eyes, locked with his, was not over.

Yes, you both may have grown a mutual respect, even developed a fondness—but you were you and Seungkwan was Seungkwan. Perhaps battling it out with a man you rather liked would consequently make shouting at him a little easier.

As you mirrored his arrogant expression, the two of you knew that the kitchen had yet to see more battles. 

Well—there was always the spring menu. Let the petty rivalry (laced with just a slight touch of affection) begin once more. 

[slimyalienfreak]

Hiya, i saw ur requests are open and that you write for sonic series, so i was wondering if you could write sonic boom!shadow x fem!hedgehog reader? You can make up the story, and what happens! But i have to ask if it can be fluff. I read a little to much angst today cant handle more😭

I looove shadow sm, all and any shadow😆

Thanks! Drink,eat , sleep, shower

-Monty 🦔

Boom!Shadow Fluff HC’s With Fem!Hedgehog Reader

Hey there! Thanks for the ask!

I don’t know why but as soon as I saw this request was to have Shadow be in a hugging session with reader. Don’t know why but that was the first thought I had when I saw that you wanted fluff (by the way I kind of wrote this to at least be platonic but some views can be considered romantic in a way. You can view it as whatever). Plus that boy does deserve a hug, regardless of which Shadow it is. Also sorry if this is a bit shorter than my regular ones. Anyways, hope you like this. ~Blaze/Dawn

Pronouns: She/Her (Or At Least Fem Intended Since I Only Used She/Her Once)

Warning: ❌

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Shadow + Mentions Of The Other Sonic Crew

Proofread: ❌

Credits: Icon by punkmp4 on Pinterest + Banner by emiljjj (Edited By Me) on Pinterest

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- ‘God today has been overwhelming’ Shadow thought to himself, his face clearly showing annoyance. Honestly he wasn't sure how long he could deal with another presence. The only thing that was currently on his mind and the only reason he even bothered to put up with the others was seeing you. A while ago he found himself becoming fond of you in his own brooding way. Normally he wouldn’t consider himself getting close with anyone especially since he’s known for being a loner but as he manages to spot you more often due to you often hanging out with that stupid hedgehog sonic and his friends he couldn’t help but get drawn towards you. It’s like you had some sort of aura about you that made him drawn to you. So he decided to hang out with you much to your surprise at him wanting to be around you but you weren’t going to complain.

- You’re the only person he actually tolerates out of everyone he knows. To him Sonic is too annoying, Tails is alright in a way but still isn’t too fond of him, Knuckles isn’t that smart, Amy is also alright he just doesn’t hang out with her too much so he doesn’t have that much of a bond with her and he just finds Sticks batshit crazy. So with you it’s like he’s getting some fresh air after being stuck in a room for hours. He actually enjoys being around you, you won’t get him to outright admit it but in a way you can tell he does because he treats you way differently compared to the others which doesn’t go unnoticed by them.

- Some of them actually find it cute (Mostly Amy) and some of them like to tease Shadow about (Most probably either Sonic or Knuckles) but you don’t mind it. You actually find it cute in a way as well. Managing to break his standoffish persona. Undeniably he kind of has a soft spot for. Often he finds himself getting defensive when someone like Sonic teases him for his said soft spot. Like Sonic could be saying stuff like “You really like her don’t you Shadow” which causes Shadow to tell him to shut up.

- Everytime he has a shit day or just wants to decompress he finds himself thinking of you. He could just be in a grumpy mood then he just sighs to himself and thinks to himself ‘I’m going to see [Name]’. It’s like his brain just automatically thinks of going to you as soon as he experiences a single bad emotion. He knows that you won’t judge which admittedly makes him happy inside. Honestly after having others getting on his nerves he rather have someone who knows how to calm him down. Honestly, this dude has so much built in anger it’s unbelievable.

- Eventually, after enough walking he managed to arrive at your place and immediately felt some sort of weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He knocked on the door crossing his arms waiting for you to open the door. He then saw the door crack open and saw the familiar hedgehog he actually likes. “Oh hey Shadow!” You said, happy to see your buddy again “what are you doing here?” You asked before he answered “apologies for interrupting you but is it alright if I stay here for a bit?” He asked to which you happily let him in.

- As soon as you sat down you found him following you before plopping himself head down into your lap “had another one of those days huh?” You asked slightly chuckling before placing a hand on his head “you have no idea. I swear that damn hedgehog is out to purposely ruin my day.” He grumbled as he felt himself softening while having your hands running through his quills “oh come on he’s not that bad you know?” You could hear Shadow slightly snorting to himself before replying “you hang out with him, your used to his idiocy” you chuckled at his answer before continuing to play with his quills, occasionally seeing him nuzzle his head in your lap even letting out some noises indicating that he was enjoying the attention he was getting from you “your weird you know that Shadow?” You joked with him “no I’m not” he retorted back even starting to hug you loosely around your waist “yeah whatever you say” you smiled to yourself hearing Shadow scoffing to himself as the two of you enjoy each other's company. “thanks for being there for me [Name]” he quietly said but you could hear him very well “no problem Shadow”.

———————————

[odoraful]

𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑲 𝑻𝑶𝑶 𝑴𝑼𝑪𝑯

wanderer finds a way to ease your insecurities after you overhear some rumors

⟡ content: wanderer x gn!reader ; established relationship ; reader is a student at the akademiya ; reader feeling a bit insecure about their relationship with wanderer ; but he knows a good counter :) ; the vibe i was going for was silly and sweet hehe ; 2k w/c

⟡ a/n: i did proofread and edit this, but i was a little sleepy in the process, so apologies for any glaring errors! i hope you enjoy, mwah !

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Just because the Akademiya was one of the leading institution for academics in Teyvat doesn’t mean that its students are all about studies. Gossip and rumors were some of the biggest sources of entertainment to come out of its lecture halls and labs.

Though many of these tales were unfalsifiable, students did not need to adhere to rigorous experimental principles when it came to coming up with stories. It all started with the story that the building Vahumana scholars studied in were haunted. Apparently, a Vahumana researcher had brought home an ancient relic they weren't supposed to from the ruins of one of their expeditions. This relic held a spirit who had been a revered warrior in ages long past. Angered at being removed from their station, the spirit now stalked the halls, trying to enact revenge on the person that committed this heinous act. If objects were knocked over by an unseen force, and the air grew chilly, it was said to be a sign that the spirit was near. From then on, many other stories began to rise, each to varying degrees of popularity.

Wanderer thought all of this to be absolute rubbish.

But, he did find the deliberate arousal of widespread fear to be quite amusing. Spread by the students themselves, no less. Mortals were certainly interesting creatures. He also loathed these rumors and tales popping up because he found himself to be wrapped up in one himself:

Hat guy is dating someone famous!

Someone had seen Wanderer on a date and, to everyone’s complete shock, being intimate. But, it was only from a distance, so they couldn’t figure out their identity. Thus, the speculations began. Wanderer wished everyone would just mind their own business.

As an Akademiya student yourself, you have also heard many of these stories during your time here. And as Wanderer’s partner, the ones about his romantic relationship was something you’d wish you heard less of. Unfortunately, you were now within hearing distance of an excited group of students talking about exactly that. They were seated at one of the public tables used for studying, though they were doing very little of it.

“Guess what?!” one of them exclaimed. “I saw Hat Guy the other day with his mystery partner.”

The rest of the group erupted into gasps. Is this some kind of Hat Guy fan club? you couldn’t help but wonder.

You stood innocently by the message board a ways from them, pretending to check and read if any new information had been added whilst your ears remained perked.

“No way! Did you find out who they were?”

“I had to rush of to class before I could sneak by them!” the witness of your date huffed. “I wouldn't have to do all this if he wasn't so secretive about this.”

Two days ago, you had indeed met up with Wanderer between classes, sitting by one of the more secluded gazebos in Razan Garden. You both weren’t actively trying to keep your relationship a secret, rather, you just enjoyed your privacy more.

One of them folded their arms rather decisively. “It has to be a celebrity. With how haughty he is, there’s no way that Hat Guy would settle for anyone who wasn’t some renowned star.”

Hey, that’s a bit rude! you protested internally. They don’t have to be a renowned star…

“That’s why he’s being so hush-hush about it, so it doesn’t become a huge scandal.”

“They must be jaw-droppingly gorgeous then. Only the best for the leading scholar of Vahumana,” agreed another, with loving sigh that made your eye twitch.

You pouted to yourself. Sure, you thought you were somewhat pretty, but not anything jaw-dropping… Hang on, why were you giving into these strangers’ silly speculations?

“Could they be a performer from Fontaine? I heard they have a grand Opera there.”

“They’re probably a vision wielder as well!”

“Yeah, definitely not some ordinary student like us.”

“Or maybe they’re a famous bard from Mondstadt—”

The group turned into a flurry of chatter as they continued with their guesswork. Your time here was up. You didn’t feel like listening any longer.

Some ordinary student… you repeated in your head. It wasn’t untrue, but the way it was said by them made it seem completely absurd for Wanderer to even consider dating someone like you.

Just as you turned to walk away, you jumped at a sudden noise.

An open door to an empty classroom had slammed shut. The sharp thud echoed throughout the space.

The chatter from the students immediately ceased.

They began to laugh uneasily. Surely that was just caused by a simple strong draft. The laughing faded when the books and loose parchment on their table were suddenly pushed to the side, the lighter of these items tumbling to the floor. They all stood up, horror frozen on their faces. The air grew noticeably cooler. Wind swept in, causing the papers pinned to the message board in front of you to flutter.

“I-it’s the ghost!” one of the students shrieked, pointing to one of the doorways that led into this central space. “The ghost of the Vahumana building!”

A figure loomed at the threshold, a sinister air surrounding them.

The group of students snatched their bags and rushed as fast as they could away, scrambling for the exit in the opposite direction. Their urgency greatly juxtaposed against your nonreaction.

There was just something about the figure that was all too familiar.

Stepping into the lit space, the figure ruffled a hand in his violet hair. Annoyance was twisted on his face.

“Using your anemo on Akademiya grounds?” you asked with a quirk in your brow.

Wanderer let out a huff, walking towards you. “For good reason. Not only were those students talking nonsense, they had the audacity to be loud about it too.”

Since there was no one around at the moment, you felt comfortable enough to bring up a hand to tidy his hair up. Though he gave a begrudged sigh, Wanderer leaned into your touch as you combed your fingers through it.

“I didn’t know you were the ghost of the Vahumana building,” you teased, moving an index finger down to poke at his cheek. “You seem pretty corporeal to me.”

“That ridiculous story again?” Wanderer responded, swatting at you to stop. “Humans seek out information that already confirms their previous beliefs. They saw whatever they wanted to see.”

Even though he shrugged as he spoke, Wanderer was unmistakably satisfied with the result of his doings. As he was heading to meet up with you to head home together, he heard that group of students yapping away about his relationship and saw your discomfort at their rudeness. He needed them gone and gone fast. So, he conjured up his most basic form of anemo. Even that was enough to send them scurrying away like mice.

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You both were bathed in the warm sun as you walked through the streets of Sumeru City. It was a lively afternoon, with people bustling about to run errands or savor the perfect weather. Usually, you’d also relish in a day like this, but your attention was elsewhere. The conversation those students had repeated frustratingly in your mind, as much as you didn’t want it to affect you. Your focus returned just in time for you to move away as a woman carrying several boxes of Harra fruit almost sent you toppling over.

“Be careful there!” she called before moving on her way.

You shouted an apology, shaking your head in an attempt to return to your senses. Wanderer frowned, tugging at your arm to pull you closer to him.

"Are you going to spit it out?”

Though you hadn’t done anything wrong, you still felt like you’d been caught.

”Spit what out?” you answered.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he said, glowering at you. “You’ve been acting strange since we left the Akademiya.”

Turning the corner into the more residential area of the city, the streets grew less busy, save for the occasional resident tending to their garden outside or taking a walk with their family.

There was no keeping anything from Wanderer with his senses and hard-headedness. You probably had a better chance with hiding a Sumpter Beast under a blanket.

“I was just thinking about what those students were talking about back at the Akademiya. You know, about who you were dating.”

“They were saying: Oh, they must be some kind of celebrity, or famous adventurer with a really cool vision who’s super incredibly gorgeous and isn’t just some nothing student,” you mimicked with disdain.

Wanderer cocked his head to the side. “And that was verbatim?”

“Yes, yes it was!” you nodded emphatically, ignoring his pointed sarcasm. “It just had me feeling I don’t know…”

Wanderer didn’t say anything more as your sentence trailed off. He simply looked at you, expectantly. The sound of your feet hitting the paved road rung clear in the air, every step pushing you to admit what you were truly feeling.

“I just felt a bit insecure!” you blurted out.

Sighing, the words began to tumble from you.

“Like if this is the kind of image people have about who’s dating you, once they see me they’ll start to think: Why on Teyvat is he dating that person? Which will make me think: Why on Teyvat are you dating me?”

“And I know, it’s horrible to think like this, and I don’t want doubt your reasons for liking me, but I just can't help it. So, now I’m starting to worry whether you'd prefer someone else—”

Your rambling stopped short.

Not because you had lost your train of thought, but because there was something physically preventing you from continuing.

Your lips was being covered by Wanderer’s own.

Your mind finally registered that he was kissing you in the middle of the street, only a few blocks away from your home.

Protests of stopping him fizzled away as you relaxed in his hold. His hand moved up to rest at the base of your neck and you gave in to the soft coolness of his lips. Wanderer’s kisses always had a hunger behind them, but there was something else now too.

Frustration.

Like he was trying to send you some kind of message each heated movement. When he finally pulled away, your body was left with tingles and you were still enveloped in his gentle scent of linen and parchment.

Wanderer silently admired the flush he left on your lips—the colour of ripened Zaytun peaches. He lightly tapped the side of your forehead with a finger, almost in scolding.

“You’re really that affected by the stupid things other people say?” he chided.

You blinked at him, still slightly dazed by his previous stunt.

He continued, with a sincerity to his voice that gave you pause, “Isn’t the proof you need right here? I chose you. So no, I wouldn’t want some famous superstar, or whatever, because they wouldn’t be you.”

Your mouth parted at such an open confession. Wanderer couldn’t handle the joy swimming in your eyes and turned away, hiding his own buzzing feeling that rose within him with a long sigh.

“I can’t believe you’re feeling like this when we’re walking to our shared home together,” he muttered, starting to walk again.

You kept up by his side, hands behind your back. You almost felt like skipping now down this street.

“Do you think you could say all that one more time?” you asked, the question filled with mirth.

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Nope,” Wanderer, again, immediately replied.

“But what if I need more reassurance?”

You angled yourself to try and meet his gaze, hoping that the pleading in your expression would better convince him. However, he seemed to be notably avoiding your eyes. Unconsciously, Wanderer’s eyes flicked over to you. In that millisecond, his own resolve crumbled. He groaned aloud.

“Later… then…” he conceded with a mutter.

For all of Wanderer's supposed unwillingness, he would always give you the reassurance you needed in his own mischievous way. Still, he didn’t like how those rumors had so quickly burrowed into you. Perhaps it was time to stamp them all out by showcasing to everyone who he was dating.

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[auroreliis]

OMGGG!! Imagine platonic yandere batfam and reader on a vacation at the beach on a privat Island. Would you like to do headcanons/or a scenario (you can decide) of it. Hope you have a good day/night!!

Aaaaa anon <333 We had the same idea <3333 Thank you so much!!!

Perhaps a little late for summer, but inspiration only struck me now!!! <33

Also, I wrote this on like 4 energy drinks so forgive any spelling errors

Also it's not edited or anything...

If reception is positive on this one, I might make a part 2 with the other characters, so let me know if you'd be interested in that :)

Platonic Yandere!Batfamily

Summary: The Batfamily takes you to their private island for summer vacation.

It was just you. Just you and the gently lapping of the waves against the shore. Finally, some alone time. You had to make the most of it, since you were convinced that it wouldn’t last long.

It was about 8 o’clock in the morning. Bruce, Damian and Stephanie had left the island for whatever reason. Dick was either at home or at main beach, looking for you. You had come here about half an hour ago, surely they would’ve noticed your absence and the fact that you had left your phone at home. They were going to chip you eventually, you had come to accept that. However, you certainly enjoyed the time you had away from them whenever they couldn’t find you.

Jason was probably inside the villa. He wasn’t particularly fond of the heat outside. Either that or he’d gone swimming to cool off. Cassandra could’ve been looking for you. Maybe she had already found you.

Instinctively, you looked around. No one was in sight. Then again, she probably wouldn’t let herself be seen anyway.

The shore surrounding the island was wider at the main beach. Here, it was only a few feet wide. Behind you laid a sparse palm forest. Cassandra could certainly hide there. Whatever. You wouldn’t find her anyway. Besides, she would have probably come to talk to you. Probably.

Where would Duke and Tim be? At the villa, right? Where else would they be? Hopefully not looking for you.

Now that you had considered it, you were probably being observed by someone. And if you weren’t, then soon, you would be.

Whatever, just take your mind off it. Think of something else, like…the beautiful beach you’re at. Yes, it is much nicer to think about the gentle breeze. How wonderful. Just you, the beach and the ocean.

You hadn’t ever been at a private beach, so this was a unique experience. All of this belonged to you. Well it actually belonged to your new family, but still, it almost belonged to you.

Your soul nearly left your body at the sound of rustling coming from behind you.

“Hi”, Tim waved nervously after you had spotted him sneaking up on you.

You didn’t feel like answering, so you just turned back to the ocean. Wanting to engage with you somehow, Tim sat down on the sand next to you.

“So…what are you doing here?”, he kept looking at you, but you tried very hard to ignore his gaze.

“Just sitting.”

“Well, I can tell that, but why here? Why not on the main beach? Dick and Jason are scrambling to find you there.”

You had thought that was the case.

“I wanted to be alone.”, you emphasized every word.

He chuckles nervously. That was it. He didn’t say anything. That told you everything you needed to know: He was only here to annoy you.

“How did you even find me?”, you turned to him, your voice tinged with frustration.

“Find you? Oh, I wasn’t looking for you, I just wanted to go somewhere alone. You know, somewhere peaceful”, he turned to the ocean, as though in deep thought,”I get it, you know. You also want to be alone sometimes.”

If he “gets it”, then why is he always right behind you?

“I think you and I have a lot more in common than you think”, he said, crossing his arms on his propped up knees and turning to you.

The audacity to say something like that made you shudder.

“I think you’re full of shit”, you wouldn’t let him think that he’s getting closer to you. You could never like someone like him.

He tried to hide his frown, but you saw right through him,”That’s pretty mean, you know. I’m just trying to connect with you.”

He didn’t say it directly, but you knew his words were a warning. Bruce had talked to you about this. You were allowed to have your opinions about them, but being overly rude was a violation of the rules—rules, which he made up. In other words, if Tim thought you were being mean, then you were being mean. Against this, there would be no arguing.

Well, you know what they say: If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

“Ahem, I’m trying to connect with you…”, Tim persisted. You merely pursed your lips and nodded.

Noticing the awkward silence, he spoke again, ”So, will you go swimming?”

You shook your head.

He nodded, “Yes, it isn’t that hot yet, so there’s no need to cool off, I suppose.”

“Well”, he turned to you with a smile, his determination unwavering, “What would you like for breakfast? Alfred already started preparing something. Let’s head back and let him know what you want before he finishes.” But wouldn’t Alfred already know your preference? Perhaps this was Tim’s idea of “bonding”…

Still, his offer seemed tempting, since you hadn’t eaten yet. However, you weren’t jumping at the idea of going back only to place your order with Alfred and then get dragged off to go swimming by either Jason or Dick. Or worse, Tim.

Only now that you felt the hopelessness more intensely, did you begin to question things. Why did Tim always find you first. And how? They didn’t secretly chip you, did they?

…Did they?

Asking them wouldn’t result in an honest answer, so you didn’t really see a point in it. But how else would you figure it out?

You supposed the best person to ask was Bruce—AKA. Dad. He was likely the only person who would answer truthfully…as long as you behaved properly, that is.

“Is dad home yet?”, you turned to Tim, ignoring his previous rambling.

“Oh uh, I’m not sure. Shall we go check together?”, Tim scrambled to use every opportunity he was given, despite being caught off guard.

Perhaps it won’t get any better than this: Mediocre at best.

“Fine, let’s go.”

From the corner of your eye, after Tim grabbed your hand, you saw his smile widen remarkably.

The walk was long and awkward. Your older brother was desperately trying to talk about something, anything, that would catch your interest. Meanwhile, you were silent for the most part.

You had to admit, the villa was quite nice (if only it came without the addition of desperate, touch starved reprobates). Despite having your own room, you were forced to share a room—and often even a bed—with someone, unless you gained Bruce’s special favour for the day.

Luckily, Damian, the person you had to share the room with last night, had left very early in the morning. You weren’t sure how long ago, though, since the letter he’d written to inform you of his absence was…detailed, to say the least. Surely it would’ve taken him more than an hour to even come up with it, let alone write it. What a waster of paper. He didn’t have to say anything at all…

Entering the cool living room made you relax enough to finally engage with Tim, “Um…are Jay and Dick home, or…?”

In respone, he laughed, “Oh, no. I didn’t tell them that you’re with me. They’re probably still looking for you at the main beach. Dick went on about how we shouldn’t let you go anywhere alone in case you drowned or something like that.”

“Wait, what? But I know how to swim! Please tell Bruce that Dick’s rule is unnecessary…I already have enough restrictions, don’t I?” You panicked.

“Well…” He grinned, “That depends on what you’ll do for me in exchange.”

Even sighing was tiring for you at this point, “Fine, I’ll sleep in your room tonight.”

“Until the end of the week, or no deal.”

Holding back a groan, you responded, “Fine, whatever, just…work your magic, okay?” He nodded eagerly.

“Greeting, Masters. Breakfast is almost prepared”, Alfred appeared from the kitchen.

“Hi. Alfred, did you make-”

“Your favourite? Of course I did”, Alfred interrupted.

“…Right.” You should’ve known, to be fair, “Well, when will it be done?”

“When Master Bruce and Master Damian return”

“What about Steph? Isn’t she returning?” If she didn’t return at all, your life would improve considerably.

“Oh, Steph? She wanted to stay in the city for a bit, probably to buy you gifts or something”, Tim responds in Alfred’s stead.

“Gifts…? You don’t think she’ll, you know, make me play dress-up again, right?”, the thought sent a shiver down your spine. In this heat? There was no way you’d wear layers upon layers of clothes just because she was bored. You immediately left the living room, leaving Tim and Alfred behind.

While waiting for everyone to return to eat breakfast, you went and hid somewhere in the villa to avoid social interractions. And hopefully the heat. It was very hot.

[euphoricfilter]

standing next to you:

pairing: dancer! jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff || smut || non-idol au || strangers to somewhat lovers

summary: with all those eyes on him, he only had eyes for you

word count: 4k

tags/ warnings: infidelity (womp womp), m/c has a crusty rich old bitch of a husband, smut in the forms of: dom! jungkook, who is a little condescending (because we all know i like that), subby! reader, semi-public sex?, oral (fem. receiving), unprotected sex, the pull out method (womp womp), multiple orgasms, cum marking? jungkook has a dick piercing!!!! lets goooo!!!!

notes: yippee jungkook gave me another smut idea. kinda half edited so if there’s mistakes then no there isn’t <\3

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

It couldn’t have been more than half a second, Jungkook’s eyes catching yours for the briefest moment as the spotlights dance over the crowd, what could have been mistaken for the galaxy reflected in your irises as you look at him.

The eyes that told a story of worship, how his mere existence was a crazed phenomenon your brain was barely able to process as you follow his body across the stage.

For months now, he would catch glimpses of you, always sat at the same table with the same people. Never once talking to them as your focus lays solely on him as he dances on stage.

Your face is soon veiled by one of his back-up dancers, flicker of a moment gone. Whatever was there, a short spark of interest simmering out as your face is no longer in his line of sight. Buzz of something a little more snapped, dissolving into fine dust under the orange hue of the light.

There was such innocent wonder in your eyes as your gaze flickers across the stage, entirely enamoured by what lay before you. The theatre nothing like you had ever seen before, ever so extravagant, and elegant. Male dancers dominating the stage, flowing as if they were dancing on ice, so free-spirited in the ways their bodies move.

Constant stimuli of such an event scratching the back of your mind—the way Jungkook moves enough for you to drown out the rest of the chatter behind you, your existence nothing to any of these people.

Your heart hammers in time with the base that tickles the bottom of your feet, broaches on the dancers’ jackets star-like as the spotlight finds its place back on stage, Jungkook’s face soon illuminated again. Face sculpted, a gift from the high heavens, a man that captures the hearts of many, man and woman alike.

He wonders if your eyes remain on him, bright with wonder as he glides across the stage, trying his hardest to find your eyes behind the harsh glare of the lights, sat ever so pretty, the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen.

It’s only when the lights dim does he see the hand on your thigh, silver band of a wedding ring sat one of the fingers.

Though you don’t seem to notice, entirely focused on the stage you don’t seem to realise when your husband squeezes your thigh, entirely unaware when he pushes his chair back to stand up. Ignorant to the fact that he saunters over to another woman a couple of tables behind where you’re sat.

Left alone in the company of your husband’s friends, who have no means to talk to you, nor acknowledge your existence. Because who would talk to the wife of the man who clearly has no care for what should be his lover? And as much as you pretend to not notice, never once asking why he gets home so late, or the messages that flash across the screen of his phone, never once have you brought it up.

Because that wasn’t your job. You weren’t there to care, to worry about who got your husband��s dick wet or who was stuffed full of his cum, who had it dripping down their legs when he re-emerges after you hadn’t seen him for what felt like hours. You were there to look pretty, and to smile at any man that gives you attention, nothing more and nothing less.

Jungkook thinks you must be the first to stand on your feet once the performance is over, eager in your applause. Too shy to meet his eyes from where he looks down at you from the stage, but not enough to not show your appreciation for his art. Glittery shimmer of the dim light illuminating you, stood centre of the room, awe reflected from your face as you quickly glance up to look at him before the curtain lowers.

So many minutes of your life stolen by him, perfect in the way his body moved, moments you never wish you get back because you wished to watch him dance forever.

Your eyes flit down to the sliver of stomach that peeks from beneath his blazer when he raises his arms at the applause.

You swallow at the deep rumble of his voice as he thanks the crowd, turning to thank the back-up dancers too before he’s facing you again, hint of a smile on his face as he takes one final bow. The curtains falling from the ceiling, your hair tickling your neck at the short gust of wind it produces.

It takes a moment for you to gather yourself, mind reeling as you glance around the room. Entirely isolated, even with hundreds of people surrounding you.

You can’t see where your husband had wandered off to, swallowing down any apprehension you have as you sit back down, fingers gentle as they pick up the flute of champagne—too expensive for your tastes, and you hate to think just how much it costs. Much rather having the host spend that sort of money on the reason for this evening than wowing guests with expensive alcohol and high-end food. Because surely the fund raiser would fare better with all that money than the pompous assholes that laughed in the face of the less fortunate.

You almost jump out of your seat when a heavy hand lands on your shoulder, eyes wide as your tilt your head upwards to see who it could be. Heart hammering when your eyes meet Jungkook’s, flickering across his face.

You swallow, “Hi” you breathe, turning your body to face him a little better.

The corners of Jungkook’s lips curl up into a smile, piercings catching the light, “What’s a pretty girl doing sitting alone?”

He pulls out an empty chair beside you, your head flickering across all the empty chairs around the table, wondering where all your husband’s friends had gone.

“Oh just…” you start, turning back to look at him, words dissolving on your tongue when your eyes meet his.

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back in the chair a little, legs spread wide. His eyes flicker down to the ring on your finger.

“I thought your performance earlier was amazing” you rush, hands running over your silk dress. Perfect change of conversation.

Jungkook leans a little closer to you, reaching across the table a little to grab your glass of champagne. Your eyes stay trained on his lips as they wrap around the rim of the glass, breath catching in the back of your throat as he downs the rest of your drink.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name?” he urges, eyes sharp as they flicker across your face.

“Y/n” you breathe, “and you are…”

“Jungkook” he holds out his hand for you to shake. You take it, toes curling, imaginary electric current slipping down your body at his gentle touch.

“I could show you backstage if you like?” he offers, hands smothering down the imaginary creases in his suit, nodding towards the stage, “It’s pretty nice back there”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes scanning the room for a moment before you’re looking back at Jungkook nodding, “I would like that” you murmur, taking his hand when he offers it to you. He tugs you a little closer to his side once you’ve stood up, linking your arm with his as he walks the both of you around the maze of tables.

Not once does it cross your mind that all the people in the room can see you clinging onto another man, eyes glued to the side of his face as you paint a picture of him in your mind. After so many months of watching him perform on stage, a perfect entity so far out of reach, he was not stood beside you. Warm flesh radiating underneath his suit jacket, scar on his cheek deepened from the overhead lights, calloused hand holding yours.

Someone that had felt entirely unhuman, so long of yearning, but there he was, touching you like it were nothing and he weren’t one of your dreams. Silly little fantasies of a man that should never be yours, dreams of what days would be like with someone like Jungkook. Dreams that should have never been yours to begin with, not while the slippery claws of the law tie you to another man.

Jungkook, ever the gentleman, helps you up the stairs backstage. Narrow hallway entirely empty as he flicks the light on, “It’s truly wonderful back here” he tells you, not letting go of your hand once.

You look around in awe, head turning to look over the outfits hung on clothes racks as you walk by.

“We can order food in my dressing room? I assume you haven’t eaten yet and I don’t think they plan to bring dinner out for a while longer” he tells you, pulling a set of keys out the front pocket of his jacket, opening the door with ease.

“I am a little hungry” you hum, stepping into the dressing room, sitting on one of the couches when he motions for you to make yourself comfortable.

Your eyes flicker towards the door when he locks it, apprehension clawing its way up your body.

“Jungkook…?” you ask, gaze never leaving the lock, even as he slinks towards you, long steps across the room having him in front of you in no time.

“You’re tense” he sits beside you, hand running down the length of your arm, “Let me fix that”

You don’t miss the dark haze in his eyes, cunt clenching at the mere thought of a man of his calibre wanting you in any sort of way.

You swallow, eyes glancing down at his lips then back up to his eyes, “We can’t” you whisper.

“Why’s that?” he murmurs, fingers training over your thighs, silk dress soft under his fingertips.

“Because…” you start, swallowing down a whimper when his fingers graze your warm skin.

“Because” he urges, teasing as he inches his fingers that little big higher.

“Because my—” you swallow, Jungkook’s scoff cutting you off.

“Because of your incompetent husband?”

You tongue wets your bottom lip, fingers clenching by your side, “Yes” your voice breathless.

“Leave him” Jungkook groans, hand tugging yours closer to him, slipping the wedding ring off your finger.

You watch as he holds it, prickle of guilt building within your chest at the fact you don’t feel bad in the slightest for what you want from Jungkook, nor the fact he holds a symbol of love and you can only wish for him to take it forever, no longer yours. No longer a burden you wish to carry.

He slips it into the pocket of his jacket, leaning forward enough for the tip of his nose to kiss yours, short huff of a breath slipping past his lips. He tilts his head a little, gentle hesitation tugging at his body; leeway for you to pull away and stop this whenever you want.

You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket, tugging him towards you. A groan catches in the back of his throat when your lips collide with his, desperate need radiating from every pore of your electrified body—tongue prodding at his bottom lip.

“My darling” he breathes in the brief moment you part, though he wastes no time tilting your head backwards that little bit as he kisses you again.

You hum against his lips, eyes slipping shut as his hands wander the length of your body, thumbs digging into your hips, down the length of your thighs until he’s tugging at the hem of your dress.

Your pussy clenches as his fingers inch that little bit higher, moan caught by Jungkook as he ghosts over tender skin, pulling the fabric higher and higher until he’s brushing his knuckles over your panties. Damp beneath his fingers as he presses through your covered folds, your hips bucking upwards when he nudges your clit.

A breathy laugh is pulled from him as you rock forward a little, chasing the pleasure as he presses his thumb a little harder against your clit.

“Pretty girl” he murmurs, hand slipping from between your legs to tug at your dress, pulling it up and over your head.

Your arms fold over your bare chest, Jungkook’s tongue wetting his bottom lip as his eyes rake down the length of your body, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs.

“How beautiful” he says, bending down a little to press a gentle kiss over your collar bone. His hands leaving your thighs to tug your arms away from your chest, guttural groan vibrating from his chest.

You let out something similar to a squeak when he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, goosebumps prickling up the skin of your arms at the flash of pleasure that shoots down your spine as his teeth graze over the sensitive skin.

Slick leaks into your panties as your hand grazes over the evident erection that strains behind the expensive fabric of his pant, cock twitching beneath the tips of your fingers as you squeeze his length.

“Want you” he ruts his hip upwards into your hand, tongue flat over your tits before he sucks at your warm skin, red blossoming with every mean little nip of his teeth. Claim of your body as his, evidence of his lust and your leaking pleasure that pools between your legs.

“You have me” you breathe, fiddling with the button of his dress pants, stumbling over yourself a little as he helps you lay back on the couch. He tugs your panties down your thighs, bottom lip tucking between his teeth as he watches the string of arousal that connects the cotton to your sodden pussy, all puffy and pretty. Clit erect and desperate, moan slipping off your lips when he leans down to press a kiss to the swollen little nub, pocketing your panties in his jacket.

“Jungkook” you moan, fingers digging into his hair, pulling him further into your pussy, hips rolling up into his face as he lays his tongue flat for you to ride.

He tugs down his pants and underwear just under his straining cock as you use him to get yourself off, shameless in your own pleasure as he moans into your pussy—incoherent whisper of how good you taste drowned out by the slick sound of your folds parting, fingers prodding at your entrance before sinking between your walls.

You clench around the intrusion, fingers tightening their hold on Jungkook’s hair as you moan out his name, mind nothing but lust filled mush, pleasure coursing through every inch of your body as he sucks on your clit.

“Gonna cum” you moan, fingers tugging at your nipples. Hiccup of his name catching in your throat at a particularly hard suck, thick fingers curling right over your sweet spot.

He presses a second finger into your, incessant nudge against your insides sending you reeling over the edge. A cry falling from your lips as you reach your peak, hips still rutting up into Jungkook’s mouth as you ride your high.

“Good girl” he murmurs against your pussy, fingers slipping out of you so he can drink down your release. Tip of his tongue pressing past your entrance to take whatever your body has to give him, cum coated fingers pressing slightly over your still buzzing clit, fiery pleasure thrumming beneath your skin.

“S’ too much” you whine, pushing his head from between your legs, sheen of your arousal coating his mouth and chin shiny.

Your eyes flicker down when something shiny catches the light, and they widen slightly when you see his hand wrapped around his thick cock, thumb running over the king’s crown piercing.

“Oh” you murmur, pussy clenching at the prospect of him being inside of you.

Jungkook hums, fingers squeezing tighter around his length, “You like it, baby?”

You swallow, tongue running over your bottom lip.

You nod, legs falling open a little wider for him, “Want it” you mumble, fingers parting your folds, silent invitation for him to split you open, fuck and fill you until you’re nothing than a pile of pleasure.

“Yeah?” his lips curl at the corners, hint of a smile showing.

“Mhmm” you nod, and his eyes catch sight of your cunt clenching.

“What do we say when we want something, baby?” he urges, scooting between your legs, pressing his cockhead through your folds, watching your hips jolt at the gentle stimulation to your clit.

You arch your back, dribble of slick caught by the tip of his cock as he slicks his length up with your arousal.

“Please, Jungkook” you breathe, “Please I need you”

“So good for me” he groans, thumb pressing just under his piercing, pressing his cock into you.

Your mouth falls open into a silent moan, ache throbbing down your length as his cock splits you open.

“Good girl” he murmurs, stomach tensing when you clench around his cock, piercing dragging deliciously against your walls.

“So good” you moan, hands finding his hips to pull him further inside of you, desperate for every agonising inch he had.

He holds himself inside of you, pelvis flushed with the backs of your thighs as he helps you rest your legs around his waist.

“Yeah, you feel good, baby?” he leans down, lips pressing against your jaw, fingers sinking into the flesh of your hips, gently rutting his cock into you, “Better than your husband could ever make you feel, yeah?”

He lets out a breathy laugh when he feels you clench around his girth, thighs twitching at his words.

“Come on baby, tell me how much better I make you feel” he taunts, dragging an inch of his cock out of you, distressed whine tumbling past your lips as your pussy clenches, trying to pull his cock back into you.

“Tell me” one of his hands takes hold of your jaw, tugging your face so your eyes meet his, “Tell me”

“You make me feel better than he does” you mumble.

“Louder” he shakes your head a little.

“You make me feel better” you say a little louder, chest tightening.

“Than who?” he urges, thumb running over your bottom lip, pressing into your mouth and over your tongue.

“My husband” you slur, mouth tugged open by his thumb.

“And who do you belong to?”

You blink up at Jungkook, drool gathering in the corners of your lips, such a pretty little thing. Ever so messy and desperate, awfully cute if you asked Jungkook.

“Who?”

You swallow, pussy clenching, “You”

“Mmhmm” he hums, “that’s right, all mine”

You rut your hips upwards, clit dragging against his stomach, thrum of pleasure making your toes curl, eyes still trained on Jungkook as you try and get yourself off.

He tugs at the corner of your mouth, thumb pressing into your cheek, watching as the skin bulges. And he wonders briefly what you’d look like with his cock stuffed in your mouth, pretty eyes blinking up at him like they did when he performed on stage; like he held all the secrets to the world in the palms of his hands. Those same hands that would smother your body with his love, dimpling pretty skin and pulling you back onto his cock.

“Jungkook” you whine, hips rutting a little more desperately, so needy for a second orgasm.

“A needy little thing, that’s what you are” his lips curl into a smile, thumb falling from your mouth as his hips pull backwards, your thighs quivering at the drag of his piercing inside of you.

He pulls out until the tip, hands tugging your thighs open a little wider before he’s snapping back into you, relentless as he picks up his pace. He holds you by the backs of your knees, angling your body that little bit off the couch, cockhead pressing against your sweet spot with every rough jab back into you.

“Shit, that’s good” he groans, wet smack back into you echoing off the walls of the dressing room.

You moan a staccato of his name, nothing but how good his cock fills you up in your mind, so entirely full of Jungkook in every respect of the word.

He doesn’t slow down, rhythmic with every thrust back into you, pussy clenching as your fingers slide down the length of your body, pressing over your sensitive clit.

“I’m close” you moan, free hand dragging down the length of his arm, grabbing at the fabric of his suit as your back arches.

“Come for me, baby” he groans, “Make a mess of my cock”

Your hand slips from his arm, grabbing hold of your chest as you continue to flick your clit, moan catching in the back of your throat as you slip head first into your orgasm.

Jungkook watches your face contour in pleasure, snapping his cock into you sloppy. He twitches between your walls, fingers digging into you a little harder, staving off his orgasm for as long as he can while you ride out your high, mind so far gone, eyes glazed over as you look up at him.

“That’s it, baby” his voice is gruff, pressing his cock against your sweet spot, your hips jolting, pleasure slipping into odd tingly overstimulation as he ruts into you, your fingers still pressing over your clit.

Jungkook moans, cock slipping out of you, his hand quick to wrap around his length. Slick noise reverberating in your ears as he brings himself over the edge, angling his cock so his cum paints your stomach. Thick string of white coating your skin, spurts of it shooting out of his cock. His stomach tenses, eyes slipping shut as he squeezes his cockhead, final spurt of his seed slipping just over your clit, joining the wet mess of your cunt as it slips down your folds.

“That’s a good girl” he groans, letting go of his softening cock.

He looks at you down the length of his nose, watching as you smear his cum over your skin, absolutely fascinated as it clings to your fingers.

His cock stirs in interest when you dip your fingers into your mouth, tongue licking up his release.

“You little minx” he laughs, bringing your legs back down, bending to press a kiss to your cum stained lips.

Your eyes slip shut as he kisses you, any tension left in your body dissolving as his tongue licks up his own release from your lips.

“Leave him” Jungkook murmurs, mouth hovering over yours, eyes still closed as the both of you bask in your afterglow. Skin sweat tacky, cooling slowly as his fingers dance over your skin, final humming of pleasure beneath your skin fizzling away.

“I can’t” you breathe.

“Run away then” he says, “with me”

Your eyes slip open, hand holding Jungkook’s jaw.

“Jungkook” you warn.

“What?” he mumbles, eyes slipping open to meet your own, “We can go somewhere far, he won’t find you… he won’t find us”

You wet your bottom lip, mind reeling as you weigh out your options.

“He doesn’t love you” his thumb runs over your cheek.

“I know” you whisper, eyes flickering between his, “But do you?”

Jungkook swallows, “Not as much as I want to, but that doesn’t mean what I’m feeling isn’t love”

You glance over at the clock on the wall, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as silence stretches out between the both of you.

You let out a long sigh, “We have an hour at most… before he’ll come looking”

Jungkook can’t help the smile that tugs onto his lips, “Then we should get going?”

The corners of your own lips tug upwards, “Yes… I suppose we should” you say, taking the hand he offers to help you sit up.

“Don’t make me regret this” you warn him as you slip your dress over your head, cringing at the drying cum that clings to your skin.

“I won’t” he promises.

[afriendlyblackhottie]

In Between

Description: of course you’d come to them if your boyfriend wasn’t treating you right. They were your best friends after all. You weren’t expecting them to take advantage of the situation though.

Tags: minors dni, smut, oral (female receiving), edging, dubcon (better safe than sorry), if I missed any please let me know 😭

(A/N: Omg I’m finally just gonna put it out I’ve been writing this on and off for so long lmao still not edited though cuz fuck the grammar police hahaha I hope you all like it. Please like, follow, and reblog with a comment 💜✌🏾)

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“He wouldn’t what?” Bucky asked with a look of bewilderment on his face about what you had just told him.

Maybe you were doing the most by spilling things, but what can you say, you were upset. Had just walked in on your boyfriend with someone else after he’d told you over and over again that nothing had been going on. To say you were in your feelings was an understatement.

It wasn’t like things hadn’t been on and off for a long time anyway but this was the final straw. You were so sick of him doing this to you. Of him lying to your face.

Telling you that you’re the only one and that he was serious about you. Honestly you really should have known be would have turned out to be a player. The worst part was that it seemed like you were never the one to get off. Felt like you’d wasted your time. Probably why you were spilling everything to The Winter Solider.

It was almost like things were coming out as word vomit. Secrets spilling from your mouth that you hadn’t even told Natasha as they were too embarrassing.

Except he was sitting there acting like he really cared and clearly you needed that. Even more so when you started to say way too much.

“I know, right!” You scoffed. Thinking about the way he’d treated getting you off like some kind of chore.

Honestly you should have dumped him after the first time he said to you, ‘I don’t eat pussy.’

“So he never?” Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow.

You shook your head, sniffling. He looked so taken aback.

“That’s bullshit,” Bucky said once again with a scoff. Eyes trailing all over your body. Thinking to himself what an idiot your ex was for not appreciating what he had. “Aw, Honey,” he cooed, grabbing your hand when he noticed you tearing up.

As if you should be wasting tears on that asshole.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled some more. “I don’t even know why I’m upset right now. He’s not even worth it.”

Well, he was happy that you knew that.

“It’s okay,” he replied. “You know I’m right here.”

You nodded as he leaned forward to pull you into a hug. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Needing to melt into him as the vulnerability hit you like a freight train.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you managed to say, pulling away so you could look at him. “Steve’s so lucky to have someone like you.”

Bucky glanced down at your lips. Wondering what Steve would say if he even saw the two of you in this position. You needing a shoulder to cry on as he wished he could comfort you in the way he wanted to.

Not like Steve wouldn’t understand. He saw the way his boyfriend looked at you.

“Yeah well, Steve’s stuck with me so…”

You chuckled stopping to wipe your eyes. Bucky gently placed a hand on your cheek so he could do the same. Thumbing away the droplets.

“Wish I could find a great guy like you. Hell like either of you. Seems like I’m only ever getting into relationships with assholes.”

That kind of sparked something in his chest. Hearing you say that. Sitting here spilling his heart out to him.

“Oh yeah?” He asked. “Well you know I think you deserve better.”

You smiled and wiped your eye. “Thanks, James.”

“It’s okay,” he said, finally reaching out to give you a hug. Seeing that you clearly needed it. “You know I’m always here for you.”

“I know,” you whimpered. Honestly you didn’t even know who else to come to besides him and Steve. They’d really done so much for you after they’d moved in. Sure you kind of had to get used to living next door to the superhero couple, but so far they’d kept you pretty safe.

It was super convent. Hadn’t had to walk any groceries up to your place in months either. Seemed like the two of them were always there to take care of whatever you needed. Took such good care of you. Always.

So how did you think Bucky was going to feel when he heard that your ex hadn’t been. As if any man wouldn’t be happy to have a face full of pussy. Especially yours. Honestly what a fucking idiot. Even the idea of getting a taste was making him feel things he normally didn’t.

“I can’t believe he wouldn’t eat you out, though,” he laughed. “What a- why didn’t you say anything.”

“I don’t know!” You laughed too, pulling away. “I just… I don’t know…”

“It’s okay. We’ll just find you someone that’s going to take care of you right.”

Once again you laughed and honestly he was just happy to see it. Hated having to see you cry. Especially over some bullshit like a man that couldn’t even pleasure you properly. Why cry over him when Bucky could be making you smile.

“You’ve got such a cute little laugh,” he complimented. Not like it wasn’t something he did a lot.

Him and Steve both did. Always wanting to let you know how beautiful they thought you were. Thought they’d just been doing it as your friends, but Bucky just couldn’t deny his attraction forever. Look at you.

Even crying you were one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. Had gotten all dolled up for an asshole that didn’t deserve it. Makeup creeping down your face. Fuck. You shouldn’t have to waste such a look.

You let another one of those giggles, looking down and using your shoulder to rub away a tear. Bucky leaned forward so he could place his hand underneath your chin. Lifting your head up. “Honestly, Doll,” he started, “you might be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“You’re just saying that,” you sniffled.

“No, I mean it. You know I do.“

“Bullshit,” you replied.

“I really do,” he said. “Why do you think Steve and I have to take care of you so much. Pretty thing like you shouldn’t have shit to worry about.”

Inside your heart felt like it could stop. He just looked so handsome as he spoke. Had recently gotten a haircut so he looked even better. Fresh faced. Even in a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt he looked hot.

Not like you hadn’t thought about him or Steve before. Knew they were both bisexual so it wasn’t like they wouldn’t ever be interested in you but still it always felt like such a long shot. They were your best friends. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about them at night when you touched yourself. Especially when you had a boyfriend.

And they were from a different time. Actual gentleman back in the day from what you gathered. Wanted their women in the home and spoiled.

Sometimes the idea of it sounded kind of nice. Having a man dote on you. Then you had two of them really, really interested in your well being. Of course you were going to crush a little but you didn’t want to cross any lines.

“I don’t even know what I’d do without you both,” you said.

“Hey, that’s how we feel about you. Who else is going to cook for us and make sure our place is tidy when we’re gone.”

You chuckled. “You make me sound like a housewife.”

Bucky shrugged. “I mean… it’s a good look on you. Could see that.”

“Well, I mean, I’d have to find a guy first.”

“I mean… maybe you already have,” he said.

“What?” You asked with a chuckle. “Bucky, I-,”

“I know,” he cut you off. “But, can I be honest?”

“Okay…”

“You know how much I love having you around and I-,”

“What about Steve?” You asked him. “I can’t just… I can’t just do that to him.”

“We’ll worry about him later,” he replied, stroking your cheek, making you look at him. Finally placing a kiss on your lips.

You quickly pulled away with a gasp. “Bucky, we can’t… he’s my…”

“Shhh, don’t worry about, Steve, Baby,” he tried to assure you, your eyes hitting his. Something about his gaze making you feel warm on the inside.

“I- no we can’t just…”

“Yes we can,” Bucky said. “It’s okay.”

And as bad as you wanted to keep fighting him. For some reason you just couldn’t. As Bucky pulled you close so that he could go back to kissing you.

Fuck his lips did feel good. And everything with your now ex. You were vulnerable. You wanted to feel wanted.

But, Steve…

“Don’t worry about Steve, Baby,” Bucky whispered in your ear again. “Focus on me.”

Bucky’s fingers went under your dress. Gripping your thighs. A curl in his lip. Fuck he was so pretty.

He slowly pushed you down. Climbing on top of you so he could really take control. Pushing your legs up so that he could get in between them. Kissing you more before you could protest.

Bucky was getting his fucking taste. Just because your stupid little boyfriend didn’t want to taste it, didn’t mean he didn’t want to. He was getting it.

“Fuck!” You gasped as he started kissing your collarbone. No longer thinking about your ex or his boyfriend.

Felt good to have you right where he wanted you. Finally. It had taken him this goddamn long.

You laid back as Bucky got on his knees. Placing a kiss on one of your knees first before going up towards your thigh. A breath hitched in your throat. If you were feeling hesitant, he could change your mind.

“Bucky,” you whimpered as he spread your legs, to get a good look at your panty covered pussy.

“So fucking pretty,” he groaned as he looked up at you. His poor girl still obviously shy. That’s okay he’d take care of you. Just needed to-

“Fuck!” You cried as he kissed you through your panties. “We shouldn’t-,” you tried to keep it going.

Not like he cared as he pushed your underwear to the side so he could lick a strip from the bottom up to your clit. Making your words get caught in your throat as you laid back with a moan. Yeah that’s what he fucking thought. He knew you wanted this shit.

You trembled as he feasted on your clitoris. Sinking into the cushions as your hips stuttered. See he knew you liked it. It was so much better when you didn’t fight him. Now he could really give it to you.

He didn’t waste anymore time as he pulled the fabric from your body. Not giving a single fuck as to where it could have possibly been discarded before diving back in. It had been a long time since he’d done this, but it’s not like Steve wasn’t aware that he’d missed a woman’s touch. Maybe more than he realized.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you sobbed as he got you closer. It had been so long since sex had just been about you that maybe you should take advantage of being a pillow princess. What girl wouldn’t want her hot metal armed best friend to eat her pussy. Can’t believe you tried to turn this down. “Don’t stop!”

Not like he planned too. Especially as he dipped his fingers into your cunt. Twisting them around so he could find your spot.

“Ah!” You cried, as soon as he hit it. That’s his fucking girl. He watched as your face twisted up in pleasure. Could taste how close you were. How yummy you were.

“Buck!” Steve’s voice could be heard from the hallway as the door slammed closed.

You sat up, quickly. Pushing his head away and scooting away from him to smooth out your dress. Shit. Fuck. “Babe, it’s okay,” Bucky whispered.

What the hell does he mean it’s okay. His boyfriend was about to walk in on-

“Oh, Y/N, I didn’t know you were here,” Steve said as he came into the room. Placing a quick peck on Bucky’s lips making your mouth drop. He had to have tasted you on his lips. You found yourself feeling stuck as you sat up, making sure you were covered. “Is everything okay?” Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.

Except it was like you couldn’t speak. What the hell were you supposed to even say as if his boyfriends face hadn’t just been close to making you squirt all over it.

“She caught Bryce cheating,” Bucky explained. Funny how that literally had not been on your mind this entire time.

Steve looked taken aback and scoffed. “What? No? Seriously?”

“Y-yeah… with… some girl,” you replied, not wanting to meet his eyes.

The super solider frowned as he grabbed your hand to pull you into a hug. Wrapping his arms around you. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. He’s a fucking idiot,” he said, much like his boyfriend when you’d first told him.

Only making you feel more horrible inside. How the hell could you do this to him. Especially after what Bryce had just done to you.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Maybe I should go.”

“And go where?” Bucky asked. “Not back to that apartment I can tell you that. Just stay here.”

The pair of panties Bucky had taken off of you were practically staring at you from the other side of the room. Steve’s back turned to it. “At least stay for dinner,” he said. “We can get whatever you want.”

Except even the suggestion made you feel more awful. Steve did not deserve this. If anything you should just say it. Not that the words would actually leave your lips. Tongue tied and all you could do was nod.

It was insane how quickly Bucky was able to act totally normal. Or that you were more frustrated that you never actually got the chance to finish. They were right though, you really didn’t have anywhere else to go, but here.

So there you sat right next to Bucky as the three of you ate the dinner Steve had ordered you. Trying to keep your cool as you didn’t want to bring too much attention to yourself. Even as you squirmed in your seat, trying to relieve some of the pressure. Bucky had really done a number on you. Could still feel his mouth on your lapping at your clit.

“So what happened?” Steve had finally asked from his spot across from the two of you. Obviously wanting to know everything. Not like you two weren’t normally close.

Your jaw dropped as you immediately tried to think of a lie. “Um, nothing,” you blurted out.

Bucky put his hand on your thigh, attempting to relax you except you were way too on edge. How could he just be touching you like this.

His boyfriend on the other hand raised an eyebrow at your outburst. “I thought you caught Bryce cheating?” He asked.

You closed your eyes. Duh he was talking about that. “I mean, I did,” you replied with a nervous laugh. “Yeah, he was with some girl.” You sighed.

“Well, what are you going to do now? You know we’re not going to let you go back. We have a perfectly fine guest room,” he said a smile on his face. Looking every bit of nice and sweet as he always did. The guilt already feeling like it was going to eat you up.

Didn’t even pay attention as you felt Bucky’s metal hands going up your thigh more. Getting dangerously close to the intimate place his face had just been buried inside of. You put your hand over it to move him, but he didn’t budge. Not giving a single shit.

You gulped at his fingers found their way up your dress again. Biting your lip as he chuckled. Not taking his eyes off of you as you struggled to answer. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Bullshit.” Bucky laughed. “You’re staying with us, Doll.”

You crinkled your nose which turned into biting the inside of your cheek, trying to hold in a moan. “We won’t take no for an answer.”

Well, that much was obvious.

——————————————————

The two of them helped you get settled in. You wore one of Bucky’s t-shirts since you literally didn’t have anything else. Had finally managed to grab your panties before you hoped Steve had seen them.

Your body still screaming out for release. Before giving you his shirt he’d whispered in your ear. “And you better not make yourself cum when you’re in the shower. Only I’m allowed to do that.” Wanting to prolong your torture.

What kind of shit was that. How did he get you so worked up like this. So easily. Hell that whole time you were with Bryce you can’t remember that happening. Not like you wanted to think about him.

The distraction was pretty nice, you had to admit. Who had time to think about being cheated on when your hot best friend was trying to eat your pussy.

As you opened the door you poked your head out, hesitating to call out to them. Hey, guys?” You called. Poking your head out from the restroom.

“Yeah?” Both of them were quick to chime in.

“Can you bring me some shirts!?” You asked. “I’m a little… exposed.”

You couldn’t see him, but Bucky snickered as Steve tilted his head at him. Both of them standing on either side of their king sized bed. “What?” Bucky said. “Oh come on I’m sure it’s fine,” Bucky tried to say with a straight face, but as soon as he was done he chuckled.

Steve shook his head, but couldn’t help the smirk that came on his face. “It’s really short,” you complained. “And I don’t have clean underwear.”

With that Bucky winked in his boyfriend’s direction. “Be right back.”

The smirk didn’t drop from the super soliders face as his boyfriend left the room. Only to go back to making up the third spot on the bed between them.

“What’s up, Doll?” Bucky asked seeing your head still sticking out.

“It’s too short,” you said, biting your lip.

He raised an eyebrow. Going to push the door open, not caring that you’d been blocking it. “Lemme see.”

“No!” You protested.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Oh come. You’re acting like I didn’t just eat you out,” he said.

“Steve is right outside,” you whispered harshly.

He rolled his eyes. “Steve’s in the room.”

“Yeah and he has super soldier hearing,” you pressed.

“It’s not all he has,” Bucky said under his breath. “Doll, you’re fine. I can’t even see anything.”

“My ass is out!” You gasped.

The man smirked at that, getting behind you to press your ass into his crotch. “And what a nice ass it is,” he whispered in your ear. Flesh hand landing on your breast to squeeze it and not giving a shit as you tried to swat him away. Going down your body until he was pushing up the shirt.

“We can’t!” You protested as his hand slipped down to your pussy. As bad as you wanted him to touch you, it didn’t seem wise. Fuck your body was practically crying for the release he couldn’t give you earlier.

“Everything okay?” Came the other man’s voice from outside the door.

Bucky scrunched his nose. “Yeah,” he called. Going to open up the door. “Tell her it’s not that bad,” he pressed.

You tried to tug it down so it was a little bit more past your thighs. Face heating up as Steve scanned up and down your body. “You look fine, Doll.”

Ugh. There the both of them go. The two of them were way too handsome to be having you stand here exposed with a dripping wet pussy. You bit your lip. Not like anyone else would see you. Just them. “Well… ok…” you sighed.

“Wanna watch a movie before bed?” Steve asked.

You nodded. Bucky put his hand on your lower back. Going down dangerously close to your ass. Only to finally come down to squeeze it tightly. Making you yelp. “Ah!”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows but laughed. “You ok?”

“I’m fine,” you squeaked, putting your hand over your mouth. Before making a pointed look at his boyfriend.

“Anyway, I was thinking we could watch a movie before bed,” Steve suggested.

“Actually, I’m kinda tired,” you immediately replied. Going to stretch your arms up and yawn until you remember how exposed you were.

“Oh come on, it’ll be fine,” Bucky said, nudging you.

“No. I have to be at work so early,” you replied. “It’s already way too late.”

“Hell no. You’re taking a sick day.” He looked appalled at the notion.

“I can’t.” You sniffled. “Besides, I’m off the next day. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky huffed. “Alright, fine, but what are you going to wear to work then?”

“I’ll just wash my clothes before we go to sleep,” you replied with a sigh. Haven’t exactly thought all of that through.

“So, movie it is?” Steve said.

Of course they’d get their way. Trying to keep your shirt from riding up too much as you went on your tippy toes to put your stuff in the wash. Closing your eyes when you realized your panties were still missing.

You peeked over to where they would have been. Except Steve would have definitely noticed them by now. “Looking for these?” Bucky asked. Holding up the pair. You immediately glanced over at where Steve was in the kitchen before reaching out to snatch them. “Ah, ah, ah,” he held them above his head. “Finders keepers, Doll,” he teased.

You let out a huff, crossing your arms. “Why are you being like this?” You asked. Honestly it was all so shocking. Normally he was such a sweetheart. He eats you out once and this is what he turns into?

Bucky shrugged. “Because I can,” he replied with a wink before leaning into kiss your cheek. “Now wipe that look off your face before I do it for you. You hear me?”

You nodded and sniffled. Wishing you’d gone anywhere else. Natasha’s maybe. Or hell even Sam’s place would have been fine. Not like you didn’t like how Bucky’s mouth had felt on you. It’s just now you were feeling terrible for doing all of this under Steve’s nose.

“Good girl,” he said, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

You sighed as he went back to the bedroom. Making you raise an eyebrow. Weren’t the three of you supposed to be watching a movie?

“Hey, Doll,” Steve said from his spot on the bed. Going through Netflix. “What movie did you wanna watch?”

“Oh? We’re watching in here?”

“Yeah?” He replied. “That a problem?”

You looked over at Bucky who despite not responding, had a smirk on his face that you wish you could wipe off of him. Sitting there smug with his hand in his pocket. No doubt toying with the pair of panties he’d stolen.

“Actually I think I’m just gonna go to bed after all,” you said. “I’m really tired.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Well, I forgot to set up the guest room.”

You crinkled your nose. Of course he did. “That’s ok. I can just sleep on the couch.”

“What?” Steve chimed in. “We have more than enough room for you, Doll. Come on.”

They had to be fucking with you. No way was Bucky getting what he wanted just like that. “No it’s fine. I’ll just get blankets from the linen closet.”

“Doll,” Bucky’s voice was stern. Commanding even. “Come. Here.”

You hated it when your feet started moving. Whether you wanted them to or not. “What?” You asked, not meeting his eyes as you stood in front of him.

“First of all, drop the attitude. Second, we told you, you’re sleeping in here so get over it.”

Steve watched the two of you, not saying a word. Didn’t he care that his boyfriend was trying to manipulate you? Right in front of him. Your bottom lip quivered, tears prickling at your eyes.

“I just wanna go to bed,” you whispered.

“Fine. There’s a perfectly good spot right between us. Is there a problem with that?” You shook your head. Not wanting to even argue anymore. Didn’t even feel worth it.

It was just too much for one night. All of it was. Can’t believe you hadn’t just started bursting out crying right between them.

Instead you tried to get some sleep. As restless as you were. Trying to keep yourself from tossing and turning since you didn’t want to bother them. Not like you had much room considering you were squeezed between two giant super soliders. “You ok?” Steve asked in a tired voice.

“Hm?” You hummed, not taking your eyes off the ceiling. “Can’t sleep.”

He yawned. “Hey, I know your ex was an ass, but you know Buck and I are going to be with you through this whole thing, right?”

You nodded, not saying out loud what was really on your mind. Fuck this was so wrong. Screwed up on so many levels. Too bad you didn’t kick Bryce out instead of coming over here, but at the time it was the natural thing to do.

Hell there was barely even any room between their giant bodies. Even in this large bed. Felt like if Bucky rolled over he’d end up squishing you. He’d gotten so damn close. Bad enough that the t-shirt they’d given you was sitting above your ass now.

“It’s ok I’ll be out before you guys even know it,” you said.

Steve scoffed. “Don’t be silly. You know you can stay here as long as you want. A city like this is no place for a little girl like you all alone.”

You scrunched up your nose at that. “I’m not a kid, Steve. I can take care of myself,” you assured.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to. Not as long as Bucky and I are around to do it.”

Speak of the devil, that was when he wrapped his arms around your waist. Pulling you against him. Ass going to his crotch. You let out a gasp and tried to wiggle away, but with Steve so close you were stuck. Not like you could get away from him anyway with the hold he had on you.

Not like you didn’t know that he was a cuddler. Not the first time the two of you had fallen asleep together. Never with your naked ass out though.

“It’s ok, Steve. Really,” you tried to assure him. As you were doing that, Bucky decided it would be a good time to sneak his hand between your legs. Taking advantage of you being bare. You let out a gasp, jumping as soon as his hand made contact.

“You ok?” Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh huh,” you squeaked out, trying to grab at his hands, but all he did was use one of his to hold yours down as he continued touching you.

“Hold still, little girl,” Bucky whispered in your ear, saying the last words in a mocking tone.

Your face felt hot as you looked forward at the blond. He had to know right. There was no way Bucky was just doing this right in front of him and he had no idea.

He pawed your thighs. Making sure they were nice and spread as his hand hands continued their torture. One going underneath the shirt to cup your breasts. Tweaking your nipples. He was groping you like he didn’t give a fuck about getting caught. Only made worse when his fingers finally touched your clit.

You bit your lip to keep yourself from crying out. Especially as he pushed you back so you were really pressed against him. Hard dick to your ass.

“I’m ok,” you tried to assure Steve. The words on the tip of your tongue. Pressure building in your stomach already as you’d never had the chance to finish earlier.

“When are you going to get your stuff?” Steve asked. “You know we’re going to come with you, right.”

Instead of fighting him you just replied, “T-thanks, Steve.”

“Always,” he said. “You know Bucky and I are always here for you.”

Well, obviously.

“I know we don’t say it a lot, but you mean a lot to us,” he said and all you could do was swallow as you felt his boyfriend’s fingers bringing you closer and closer to what you never got to have earlier. “And Bryce was such an asshole. He never deserved you.”

You swallowed down the moan that was threatening to bubble out of your mouth. Only made worse as you looked into Steve’s bright blue eyes as he sleepily looked over at you. Not like you hadn’t heard that a million times from both of them, but right now he just looked so freaky and-

“Ugh,” came out of your mouth which you quickly covered up with a cough.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Steve asked once again.

“Never better,” you lied through your teeth.

Steve yawned. “We should get some sleep. Goodnight, Doll.”With that he leaned forward pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. Catching you all the way off guard.

“Steve-,” you gasped, putting your hand up to your lips.

“What?” He asked with a chuckle.

“You can’t just-,”

“It’s not big deal,” he assured. “Bucky won’t care. It was just a little goodnight kiss.”

“Yeah, but-,”

He cut you off once more. “Unless you want it be to more,” he said with a wink.

What. The. Fuck.

“Goodnight, Doll,” he said not giving you a chance to say more as he closed his eyes. Smile on his face.

Bucky stopped what he was doing to put his face into your shoulder. Light snores coming from him. Hell his hand was still in your panties. Almost like he was making sure you couldn’t get away from him. The worst part about it was that not once did he let you fall off the edge.

You’d definitely need to start looking for places tomorrow.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Hiii, Nini! Can I please request a Sigma x male reader fic with impact play? We've seen Sigma in fics getting absolutely decimated by the reader LMAO- I almost feel bad, so here's a twist, this is light impact play. Instead of spanks/floggers he can brace for, nope, feathers that make him jump out of his skin every time, giggling despite himself because wtf he's taken so much worse-. I think he'd absolutely lose it with the lighter/gentler stuff more so than the harder stuff purely because of how flustered he'd get XD. Ps I'm making it canon, you cannot look at him and tell me that stressed-as-hell man ain't ticklish.

Ahhhh so true!!! I imagine him as very sensitive and ticklish as well, like 🤤🤤 also since the gender wasn’t mentioned anywhere, you can interpret it however you want :]

Dom!reader x sub!sigma - reader is gn neutral

Warning: tickling/soft impact play, teasing, humiliation, slight dacryphilia (can’t write a fic without good’ol dacryphilia), using his hair as a brush???

Edit: started & finished this in the middle of the night, I’m so tired and I didn’t proof read it, also my brain is cooked idk what I did here

It’s been too quiet these days. Too boring, too mundane, too relaxing. There were many adjectives that would fit this little dilemma you were facing, called ‘dying of boredom’. You’ve been waiting around for your sweetheart to make a mistake, just so you’d have a reason to punish him. Yet how could it be that he’s so perfect in every way possible? You weren’t even exaggerating or meaning to sing his praises, heck you wanted him to be a little more human!

Otherwise you couldn’t think of a good reason to pull him out of his busy schedule, just to have him all to yourself, in such a selfish way. He wouldn’t agree, everyone knows how he puts his work above everything else. Such a horrible work ethic he has. Whatever, no one is perfect, even the manager of the sky casino will have to slip up somewhere, and you were way too eager to find it.

Sigma was just signing some documents as you watched him over his shoulder, taking sneaky peeks as if he hasn’t noticed you already. At this point he was probably wondering what you were doing. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, in fact, you knew due to you being so close, he’d get nervous and overthinking again. Something along the lines of: Did you want something from him? Why were you watching him all silently, so creepily?

And there it was— what you’ve been waiting for! “Sigma~ gosh, you clumsy thing! You wrote down the wrong date there, look.” You pointed it out a little too enthusiastically, eyes sparkling like morning sunlight, reflecting how excited you were. He glanced at you funnily, probably baffled why you were so happy about it. “Ah- yes, I see, uhh.. thanks, y/n.” Sigma furrowed his brows for a split second, then turned his attentions back to the papers. Though before he could continue writing, you snatched the pen out of his hand.

“Nope, you made a mistake sigma, and such a simple one as well. Tsk tsk tsk.” You faked a disappointment sigh, and facepalmed, putting your acting skills to use, “I’ll need to punish you, don’t you think?” So that’s what you’ve been waiting for, and probably the reason why you were so full of glee earlier. “A-are you serious..? For such a small thing?” Sigma looked taken aback, leaning his head back until he met your eyes. A slight blush was already convering his pale cheeks, such a naughty boy, he was excited as well.

“Why of course, it was a grave mistake after all. Stand up.” He was more ready to comply than you thought, not making any fuss as he stood up. “Good boy, now sit on the table.” You moved the chair away, pinning his body between your arms and gripping the edge of the furniture. Sigma glanced at you a few times, seemingly surprised with your demand. To be honest he expected you to bend him over your lap. This was fine as well, in fact, this position would prove itself to be more comfortable than what he initially predicted.

You were close, all up in his intimate space. He swore he could feel the heat radiating off your body. A slight blush covered his cheeks as he waited for your orders, already feeling the effects you had on him. It was almost terrifying how much control you had with just a few words. “Come on, you know how it goes. Strip.” After waiting for what felt like forever, you smirked as you whispered to him. “Ah- right. Sorry.” The boy replied half-minded, hands moving up to unbutton his vest.

This wouldn’t have been all that humiliating if it wasn’t for the fact that you were staring him up and down like some prey, watching his every move as he peeled off one layer after another. “Can’t you.. look in the other way?” He muttered in a meek voice, currently taking his pants off. “I’ve seen you nude plenty times darling,” you reached for his hands and helped him undress, “why are you still embarrassed?”

“You- stop teasing me..” The way his face flushed even more while he desperately tried to shake your hands off was so precious, you couldn’t stop grinning. “Ever thought it’s part of the punishment?” You asked, grabbing his thighs and spreading them apart. They were soft to the touch, and so squishy, his skin was flawless. “Ah-ahh… I’m- I’m really getting punished… over that little mistake?” He bawled his hands into fists, biting his lips to stop the trembling.

“I mean what I said.” He inhaled shakily, and breathed an equally unsure exhale. Eyes glossed over and half-lidded, body burning under your every touch. Poor boy was just preparing for the worst. You gave him a reassuring smile, then raised your hand right over his thighs. So it was going to be spanking, he thought and squeezed his eyes together. To his surprise, instead of the painful slap he expected, he was met with a teasing one. In response his body twitched involuntarily, and his eyes ripped open.

He didn’t flinch because of the pain, no there was no pain to speak of. There were only a soft, faintly red mark that gradually appeared on his inner thigh. Pretty much nothing worth mentioning, you left more marks when you grabbed his skin to spread his legs. “Erm… Y/n?” He couldn’t help but question your actions. That was a slip up, right? He’s taken so much worse, compared to all that you were basically caressing him.

Suddenly, another slap, though just as soft and gentle as the first one, making him jump out of his seat. “Wait- y/n, what are you doing?” It was such a light slap, can you even call it one? Wouldn’t tap be a more fitting description? “Punishing you. Why, do you want to be bullied instead?” You teased, followed by another slap, this time on the other thigh, and his toes curled. Why did this feel even more embarrassing than anything else? The sound was way louder and more dramatic than the actual impact.

“Ah- no but, seriously, what are you doing?” Out of nowhere you slapped his chest, once again it wasn’t painful in the slightest. He tensed together, still able to feel your touch in the places you’ve touched. “Shhh, be good and endure it for me, alright?” Instead of answering him, you stroked his fluffy hair, and smiled all self confident. The look on his face screamed confusion, but he trusted you, and so he simply swallowed the lump in his throat.

You grabbed a strain of his hair, one of the longer locks, sliding your hand through them, a little amazed at how untangled his hair was. As soon as you reached the ends, you held it fairly firm in your hand, and used it like a brush to graze over his skin. First over his cheeks just to annoy him, earning yourself a glare from him, then a feather-light brush over his nipples. He really didn’t know where you were going with this, but god did it rile him up.

It tickled, and it was so foreign, he couldn’t help but subconsciously clench his thighs together. Hands trembling from clenching his fists too hard, the pounding of his own heart echoing in his ears. You made sure to not touch him anywhere except with your hands, which made him all the more sensitive. Those touches were driving him mad, and that fact itself made him all the more flustered. You were barely doing anything, how could it be that he wanted to cry amidst all these sensations?

Soft, muffled whimpers slipped from his swollen lips, he arched his back forward whenever everything became too much. “Hnng- please, ah.. stop the t-teasing…! Hmm..!!” You carefully traced a line down his belly, resting your makeshift brush around his pelvis and moving it in a circling motion. As if all this wasn’t humiliating enough, he now knew why you had him sit on the table. All so you could observe his every move, every shameful expression and listen to every shaky breath he exhaled.

“Look at you getting all excited just from a few touches, you are way more needy than you’d like to admit, aren’t you?” “HnnGh..~ p-please.. ah-!!”He whined again, feeling you finally, finally giving his neglected dick some attention. Only using one finger to lazily rub his tip a few times, before using his hair to brush over the already sticky gland. His precum slowly dribbled from his slit, down his shaft before getting smeared around by you. “So messy.” Was all you had to say.

“Y/n, y-you’re so Mnn.. mean,” he squirmed around, shaking his head as tears rolled down his crimson cheeks, “I-i wanna cum…” you tilted your head to the side, sliding the bush of hair over his inner thighs, “that’s not how you ask for things, baby.” Then you used your other hand to rub his tears away, it ended up with him crying even more. “Such a crybaby, why don’t you try asking nicely?”

He gulped, trying to cease the sobbing for a moment, bending forwards as he let his head drop. The shame was eating at him, but he really couldn’t do this anymore~ which is why he looked up at you like a lost puppy, with glistening eyes and rosy lips, shaking ever so slightly as he begged, “please.. ha-Ahhh…I-i wanna cum♥︎ please m-make me c-cum..!!♡♡♥︎”

You smiled, staying quiet for a moment to raise the intensity and anticipation, then wrapped your arms around his shivering body. “You’ve been so good for me, and good boys deserve to be rewarded.”

[fic-dumpster]

How would bonten be like meeting your family? Would they get along or not or even expose some stuff by accident?

Tbh, I think something could happen and it doesn’t go as planned. Let’s pretend for this scenario that Doe has a family… 😂 . Anyway, Anonie… sorry it’s years late but here we are trying. I just rewrote this so I’ll edit it later!

Bonten x reader

WC: 1320

TW: Fluff, revers harem, sad attempt at comedy, crackfic, fb!Mochi, gun, sappy/cliche ending, kinda uh… weird. It’s a mess.

You’ve been preparing this week’s dinner for almost two months. Arranging everyone’s schedules and thinking of ways to explain to your family how you have… more than one partner.

It’s not that you didn’t want to tell your family about them. It’s just that the subject was never brought up before and your parents weren’t so concerned about prior relationships, but what you had right now was beginning to turn into something more serious.

So, yeah. Here you are waiting for your parents and the guys to arrive. Which turned into you having to distract your parents because nobody was home besides you and they were not picking up their phones.

You left messages to each one of them with phrases like…

“Sanzu Haruchiyo! I swear to whatever is holy to you that I will have you maimed and hanged when you get home!”

or

“Mikey!!! I will put all the sweets on the highest shelves and throw all the stools away! See how you’ll manage! And no boobs!”

or

“Kakucho? Baby? Please pick up… I’m worried.”

Well, you were fuming and trying your best to pretend everything was in order. Until you heard the door open and steps closing in. Finally someone!

But all your relief flew out of the window when you saw none other than Mochizuki Kanji walking towards you with a big smile on his face.

Oh, hell no… they were so dead. Each and every one of them was so dead.

“Honey!” You visibly tensed as you heard Mochi’s boisterous voice greet you like that.

“Mo-Mochi! Ho-honey!” And so playing along it was.

You were actually grateful at the end of the night. Mochi was such a great guy. You would have cried if you didn’t have to act too. He treated your family so nicely and your parents loved him.

Mochi had your dad enchanted with his baseball and stock market talk. Then your mom was so in love with him too. No complaints at the end. On the contrary, they were so proud of you for finally finding such a wonderful person.

As happy as you were for a successful dinner. You were internationally seething.

Once your parents left and the house was cleaned. You arched your eyebrow and directed an inquisitive look at Mochi.

“So?” You asked after a while.

“Something happened… I know, I know.” Mochi dragged his hands over his face and sighed. “You have every right to be mad, but let me ex—“

Just then, the sound of the door unlocking alerted you of their arrival, and multiple footsteps followed to confirm the quantity.

In a flash you had Mochi’s gun in hand, the poor man panicking after you and not even the devil himself could stop you now.

“Are any of you injured to the point of being at death’s door? Are you all alive and kicking?” You asked in a solemn voice. “Well?”

“We–we’re good…” said Kokonoi who was the closest to you watched a very worried Mochi stand behind you and shake his head in silence. Was he warning them not to do what?

“Good,” and with that, you pulled the gun that was too big for your hand.

A bunch of screams and alarmed voices came in from the seven men standing at your entrance.

“Baby— wait! Baby!”

“We– it’s not– Y/N!”

“Woah! Woah! Woah!”

“Y/N, put that down before you hurt yourself.”

So you took the safety off which earned you more screams and Sanzu hid behind Kokonoi, Rindou took cover in Ran’s back and Mikey was lost in the tumult of panicking men.

“Mochi why did you give her your gun!?!” Takeomi asked as he harshly pushed against the door by Sanzu trying to get as far away as possible from the barrel of your gun.

“I didn’t! She took it!”

“This is your fault!” Ran blamed it all on Sanzu. “You taught her how to use one! We were against it!”

“Shut up! All of you!” They all went quite deadly fast. “I had dinner with my boyfriend!” As you spoke, you moved the gun at each one of them and they all jumped back scared it would go off. Even Mikey was eyeing your shaking hand like a hawk. “So I don’t know who you all are! Go away!”

Again, you pointed the gun, they jumped and they also crushed Takeomi against the door for the tenth time. While the other screamed, Takeomi was grunting in pain at this point.

“Can we explain?” Kakucho asked with his hands up to show he surrendered.

“And you are?” You saw hurt flash in Kakucho’s eyes once your words were out, but you needed to stand your ground. They had done it this time. “Sure, explain unknown man.”

“But please can you put the gun down?” Kokonoi was sweating buckets from the way you waved the gun everywhere.

“I’m not gonna—“ and just like that it went off against the wall where the Haitani brothers stood. You heard Rindou screaming and Ran cursing every color of the rainbow.

You crossed eyes with each one of them and threw them a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, maybe I should put it down…” putting the safety back on, you handed it back to Mochi with a second apology in tow.

With your attention back to the group in your entrance you saw Rindou having a… moment…

“Oh my God! I almost died! Raaan! I saw my life flash through my eyes!” Rindou was crouched down hugging his brother’s leg. Said brother had a tired face on… like this was a common occurrence.

“Sanzu, this is your fault too,” Kokonoi added to the

“How is it my fault?!” Sanzu exclaimed with indignation and fury.

This calmed down after a bit. Reluctantly, you let them in and sat down to explain. You heard their excuses, the emergency at work and called bullshit until Mikey spoke last.

“We were scared.” He began with his signature seriousness and almost sad eyes. “Look at us. We aren’t the guys you take home to meet your mother.” As he kept talking, you saw how one by one they all turned their eyes away, sour looks and empty faces. One after another. “Mochi at least has the looks to pass as a normal civilian.”

You nodded, understanding where they were coming from. Pink, purple and white hair… tattoos all over their bodies… and scars… your heart broke for them. But your fury wasn’t gone just yet.

“And you think I care? You think I care what they think?” You stood up and walked over to Mikey, holding his shoulders tightly as you spoke. “If anyone, even my own family, speaks ill of any of you, I would have thrown them out. And never looked back. Understood? I… I have my own life here… a family… that we built together.”

Even if you wanted to add more to your speech, you weren’t able to. An avalanche of bodies suddenly rained down on you and the next thing Mikey saw was a cluster of bodies on his feet.

You could barely breathe under Rindou’s arm and probably Sanzu’s leg. Kakucho and Kokonoi tried to wrench them away but it was fruitless. Both were moaning and crying about the family they built with you. Ran facepalmed at his younger brother’s behavior but smiled nonetheless.

“Wait, where’s Takeomi?” You asked having not heard the man in a while.

“Here!” Everyone saw the eldest Bonten member at the kitchen counter with a first aid kit. “I’m just patching myself up.”

“But you said you weren’t injured?” You said from the floor and in between two sobbing men.

“I wasn’t…” Takeomi winced as he applied a bit more ointment. “yeah, having six people push you against a door was awful. 0/10 would not recommend.”

Meanwhile, Mochi cried in a corner as he saw his family happy together.

[mingi-s-dimples]

Shy, until tonight - Woogi

KINKOTBER DAY 23 , REQ BY anon 🤧

~"Here is my request heheh (YES ME AGAIN with like the forth request or third) so reader has 2 bsfs both being also friends with benefits aka fucking from time to time☺️ (woo and mingi are the bsfs) tonight we all were at a party reader is always the shy type while mingi and woo dragged her ass here so reader wanting revenge she teased them all night" -> I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH VISUAL SPACE TO ADD EVERYTHING but she essentially wanted me to add breast fondling, double penetration, teasing, opening her legs to them, bathroom sex.

pairing: woogi x fem!reader

genre: 18+, fwb, filth

summary: wooyoung insists that you go to a party with him.. mingi agrees with him and you're left with the only option ti tag along. but you have your fun until they turn tables and have their way with you, for teasing them all night.

wc: 3.5k

warnings: fwb, woogi love teasing, marking, lots of cum, fucking in a bathroom (dw it's not a club bathroom it's a normal one.. the party takes place @ someone's home) , reader is cocky/bratty at first but later gets fucking destroyed, double penetration, breast fondling, pussy eating, completely consensual, unprotected, for sure forgot something, will edit later.

Author's Note: I personally would love to be sandwiched between woo and mingi in this situation... might be just me tho. Love I hope you like itttt 😁🥰 I sure did love writing it!!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the members in any way.

The music thrummed through the walls, a pulsating rhythm that seeped into your chest, heavy and unrelenting. You hated parties like this. Sweaty bodies crammed into a dimly lit house, voices rising above the pounding bass in an attempt to be heard. The air smelled of alcohol, perfume, and faintly of something herbal that made your head spin. Yet, here you were, sitting on a worn couch in a stranger’s living room, a cup of some questionable drink in your hand, all because Wooyoung had dragged you here.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” he had chirped hours earlier, his mischievous grin practically daring you to refuse.

“Fun for who?” you’d muttered, eyeing him skeptically.

“For all of us,” he had replied, tossing an arm around your shoulders. His dark eyes sparkled with something unspoken, a promise maybe, one you weren’t sure you wanted to unwrap.

You’d looked to Mingi for help, hoping he’d side with you, but he had only shrugged. “You know how he gets,” Mingi had said, his deep voice calm and nonchalant. “It’s easier to just go along with it.”

So here you were.

The couch sagged beneath you as you shifted, trying to find a comfortable position in your tight dress. Wooyoung had insisted you dress up, claiming it was “part of the vibe.” He hadn’t left your side since you arrived, dragging you into conversations with people you didn’t know and laughing at inside jokes you weren’t part of. Mingi, ever the quiet observer, had trailed behind, offering you small smiles that made your stomach flip but didn’t ease your annoyance.

Now, the three of you occupied the couch, Wooyoung and Mingi seated directly across from you, legs spread in that casually confident way that somehow made them both look infuriatingly attractive. You sipped your drink, trying not to let your irritation show as they chatted about something you weren’t listening to.

“You’re too quiet,” Wooyoung said suddenly, his voice cutting through the noise around you. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he fixed you with a knowing look. “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

You gave him a sweet smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering why I let you drag me here.”

Wooyoung laughed, loud and carefree, as if your irritation amused him. “You love it. Admit it.”

Your smile tightened. Two could play in this game.

“Well,” you said, crossing your legs slowly, deliberately, letting the hem of your dress ride up just enough to be noticeable. You caught the way Wooyoung’s eyes flicked downward, just for a split second, before he met your gaze again. “I suppose I might as well make the most of it.”

Mingi, who had been silent up until now, raised an eyebrow. His lips quirked into a small smile, but his gaze was sharp, assessing.

“Is that so?” he asked, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You leaned back against the couch, letting your body relax in a way that felt foreign but powerful. Your knees fell apart just slightly, enough that the motion could be considered accidental—if you wanted it to be.

Wooyoung’s gaze flicked downward again, and this time, he didn’t bother hiding it.

“You’re being awfully bold tonight,” he remarked, his tone teasing but laced with something heavier.

“Am I?” you asked innocently. You shifted your position again, your foot brushing against Mingi’s leg. His eyes darkened, but he didn’t move, didn’t pull away.

Wooyoung laughed, a short, breathy sound that held none of his usual bravado. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Mingi leaned back, draping an arm over the back of the couch as he watched you. His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in his jaw, a tightness in his grip that betrayed him.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice low enough that it was almost drowned out by the music. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Oh, I think I’m doing just fine,” you replied, letting your fingers trail along the edge of your cup before they "accidentally" brushed against Wooyoung’s knee. He tensed beneath your touch, his sharp inhale barely audible.

You smirked, feeling a surge of satisfaction. But then your gaze drifted downward, catching the unmistakable bulge straining against the fabric of Wooyoung’s pants. You didn’t need to look at Mingi to know he was in a similar state.

You couldn’t help it. A low chuckle escaped your lips, soft but taunting. “Oh,” you murmured, raising your eyes to meet theirs. “Is something wrong?”

Wooyoung’s eyes darkened, and his usual cocky grin returned, though there was a new edge to it now. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“And you’re not?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Mingi leaned forward then, his large hand resting on your knee. The weight of it sent a shiver up your spine, though you tried not to show it.

“You think you’ve won,” he said, his deep voice steady and calm, like he was explaining something obvious. “But you don’t know what we have planned.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his words. “What are you talking about?”

Wooyoung stood suddenly, holding out a hand to you. His grin was sharper now, almost predatory. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s talk about it somewhere... quieter.”

When you didn’t move, Mingi gave your knee a gentle squeeze. “Bathroom,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your heart raced as you looked between the two of them, their gazes heavy with intent. You realized too late that whatever game you thought you were playing, they’d just turned the tables.

—

“The fuck y’all want!? You dragged me here!” you protested, back slightly arched against the cold tile of the bathroom that was remotely far from all the action, but still close enough to be heard slightly.

“What do you mean? Did you think we'd let you off the hook? What were you trying to do? you're not like this usually..” Wooyoung said and one of his hands rode up your waist to your lower back, pulling you close to him. Mingi was watching contently, catching a glimpse of his eyes shooting to the huge tent that formed in his pants. You were friends with benefits after all… but here!?

“I just wanted to get my revenge! You know I hate parties hosted by stran-.. M-mingi..?” your words faded as you saw Mingi, who was standing behind Wooyoung, was now unbuckling his pants and let them fall to his ankles.

“You know for sure what happens when you're a fucking brat, sweetie… teasing us like that will only get you in more trouble.” Wooyoung kept eye contact with you while Mingi talked, taking his pants off.

“You should've known better…darling.”

You were done for.. you thought.

Mingi got on one knee in front of you and Wooyoung got behind you, holding one of your legs with his right hand, raising your already short dress above your waist. His left hand went to your waist, holding you tight and fondling your breasts from time to time from under the dress.

“Let’s see if it was worth the teasing, our love” Mingi whispered and he took your soaked panties off, giggling. He then leaned in, soft kisses trailing from your knee to your thigh, then from your inner thigh to your cunt. You whined out when he started to eat you out, his tongue reaching every sweet spot of yours.

Wooyoung chuckled darkly from behind, his warm breath tickling your neck as he whispered into your ear, "Such pretty sounds. Don't hold back, sweetheart." His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand on your waist tightened slightly, grounding you as Mingi worked his magic below.

Mingi, ever the perfectionist, took his time. His lips and tongue moved with calculated precision, teasing you with alternating strokes of his tongue—soft and slow, then firm and demanding. He hummed low against you, the vibration a sweet torment. Every now and then, he'd pause to place open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of your thighs, his gaze flickering up to meet yours, filled with mischief and adoration.

Behind you, Wooyoung trailed his fingers lightly along your sides. "Look at you," he murmured, voice dripping with admiration. "You're trembling, love." His hands skimmed up, fingers brushing your shoulders before sliding down your arms. He leaned in, kissing the curve of your neck with lingering softness, his teeth lightly grazing your skin in playful nips.

Mingi pulled back slightly, lips glistening, his grin wicked. "She tastes better than I imagined," he said, his voice husky. His hands stroked the outsides of your thighs, grounding you, while he waited for your breath to even out.

Wooyoung smirked, tilting your head slightly to the side with a gentle hand on your jaw. "Isn't it fun being at the center of our attention?" His lips brushed against your temple as he spoke, his tone low and intimate. He shifted slightly, pulling you closer into his chest, letting you feel his warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Mingi’s lips returned to your inner thighs, brushing featherlight kisses against your skin as he edged closer to your clit. His teasing was unbearable in the best way—soft flicks of his tongue followed by gentle bites to your thighs, leaving you whimpering and squirming in Wooyoung’s arms.

“Oh, you’re so sensitive, aren’t you?” Wooyoung teased, his voice a mix of amusement and adoration. His fingers trailed up your sides, sending shivers through your body, before settling on your shoulders. He massaged them gently, grounding you as you tilted your head back against him with a high-pitched whine. “Mingi’s barely started, and you’re already losing it.”

Mingi hummed in agreement, his hands pressing firmly into your thighs to keep you steady. “She’s always like this when she’s been teasing,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. His tongue darted out again, gliding in slow, deliberate strokes, the sensation enough to pull a loud, unrestrained moan from your lips.

Your fingers clawed at Wooyoung’s arms, desperate for something to hold onto as Mingi’s pace quickened. “M-Mingi,” you cried out, your voice trembling. He chuckled, the sound low and rich, the vibrations making you arch your back.

“Right there, huh?” Mingi teased, his lips curling into a smirk as his tongue circled a particularly sensitive spot. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he focused his attention on driving you over the edge.

Wooyoung tilted your chin, bringing your face closer to his as he whispered into your ear, “So loud and beautiful for us, love. Don’t hold back. Let us hear everything.” His lips found your neck, planting soft kisses along your pulse as he watched your every reaction with pride.

The overwhelming combination of Mingi’s skillful tongue and Wooyoung’s grounding presence made it impossible to contain your sounds. Each whimper and moan spilled freely from your lips, growing louder as the pressure in your core built higher and higher.

Mingi’s voice was steady but commanding as he said, “That’s it, just let go for me.” He gave one last, perfectly calculated flick of his tongue, and the tension within you snapped. You cried out, your hands clutching Wooyoung tighter as waves of pleasure washed over you, your entire body trembling, cumming all over Mingi's beautiful face.

Mingi didn’t pull away immediately; he placed gentle, soothing kisses along your thighs, helping you come down from your high. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his tone soft and full of admiration.

Behind you, Wooyoung wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close and steadying your shaky legs. “Such a good girl,” he praised, his voice warm.

Wooyoung chuckled softly as he held you steady, his fingers brushing against your skin with infuriating gentleness. "Still shaking, huh?" he teased, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. His voice was playful yet low, sending a wave of heat through you. "Are you always this sensitive, or is it just because it's us, right here, in this moment?"

His hand slid down to your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before raising your other leg effortlessly. “Let’s see how much more you can handle, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone dripping with mischief. With both legs now secured in his strong hold, your body was completely enveloped in Wooyoung’s embrace, his warmth grounding and overwhelming all at once.

“Easy now,” Mingi said, his deep voice filled with affection as he stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He reached out, his hands brushing over your sides and thighs in a soothing gesture before gripping your hips firmly. “You’re in good hands, love. Just trust us.”

Wooyoung adjusted his hold, his hands gripping your waist to keep you steady as Mingi moved in front of you. Slowly, with practiced ease, Mingi guided you down onto his dripping cock. Your hands flew to his back, clutching at his broad shoulders for support as a loud, trembling whine escaped your lips.

Mingi groaned softly, his hands tightening on your hips as he helped guide your movements. "That's it," he murmured, his voice husky and full of praise. “So perfect, just like this.” His forehead rested against yours briefly, his warm breath mingling with yours as he steadied you.

From behind, Wooyoung pressed his chest against your back, his lips brushing over your neck and shoulder. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his tone laced with pride and teasing. His grip on your thighs remained firm as he adjusted his hold, moving in perfect synchrony with Mingi.

The sensations were overwhelming—Mingi’s strength beneath you, Wooyoung’s embrace around you, and their combined warmth and presence surrounding you completely. Your head tilted back against Wooyoung’s shoulder as another whine left your lips, your nails digging into Mingi’s back as you sought some semblance of control. Their thrusts sent you over the edge all over again, the feeling of being filled up by them making you go insane.

“Louder, love,” Wooyoung coaxed, his voice a seductive murmur in your ear. “Let it all out. We want to hear everything.” His arms tightened around you, holding you securely as Mingi’s thrusts grew more deliberate, his hands never leaving your waist.

Mingi's grin was nothing short of devilish as he steadied you against him, his hands firm on your waist. His eyes glinted with a mixture of affection and mischief, his tone laced with amusement as he whispered, “You thought you could tease us and get away with it, huh? Look at you now.”

Wooyoung chuckled from behind, his lips brushing against your temple as his arms tightened around you. “Our bold little love thought she could handle the game,” he murmured, his tone dripping with playful mockery. “But now you’re here, trembling and whining. Isn’t that right?”

Your breath hitched, and your cheeks flushed even deeper as Mingi leaned closer, his lips ghosting over yours but not quite meeting them. “You look so pretty like this,” he teased, his voice a soft rumble. His fingers dug slightly into your hips, his touch grounding, his thrusts powerful. “Was this the revenge you had planned? Because it doesn’t look like it’s going so well for you.”

A frustrated whine left your lips, and your hands gripped tighter onto Mingi’s back, desperate for some control. But Mingi only smirked, his thumb brushing over your heated skin as he continued to hold you in place, unbothered by your attempts to regain power.

“Aw, don’t pout,” Wooyoung cooed behind you, his teasing relentless. “You look adorable when you’re losing.” He leaned closer, his lips grazing the curve of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there. “And right now, you’re losing so beautifully.”

Mingi chuckled low, his hands slowly trailing up your sides in a way that made you shiver. “Admit it,” he murmured, his voice velvet-soft yet commanding. “You wanted to get under our skin, but now you’re the one falling apart.” His lips brushed over your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. “It’s okay to admit defeat, love. We don’t mind watching you like this.”

Your legs shook as you tried to keep up with their teasing, your mind swimming from the overwhelming attention. “I just…” you started to protest, but the words dissolved into a whimper when Mingi tilted his head, his lips grazing over your ear.

“Just what?” he asked, his tone daring you to finish your sentence. “Come on, love. Say it.”

Wooyoung’s laughter was soft and melodic, his hands sliding to grip your thighs with firm, reassuring pressure. “She can’t even form a full sentence,” he teased. “Mingi, I think we’ve broken her.” Wooyoung's thrusts were smoother, while Mingi's were more powerful and harsh. But either way, their cocks were always filling you up good.

Mingi tilted his head back slightly, his grin wide and wicked as he looked at you. “Good,” he said simply, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “That’s what she gets for teasing all night.”

You couldn’t help but let out another whine, caught between wanting to respond and being utterly overwhelmed by their relentless thrusts. Mingi’s smirk softened slightly as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, a silent reminder that even in their teasing, their care for you never wavered.

“You’re ours,” he murmured, his voice firm but filled with warmth. “And we’ll remind you of that as many times as it takes.”

Wooyoung chuckled, his lips brushing your ear. “Every single time, love.”

Mingi’s grin widened when he felt you tighten your grip on his shoulders, a spark of defiance flaring in your eyes despite the moans spilling from your lips. “Still trying to act tough?” he teased, his tone playful yet taunting. “Even now, when you’re melting in our hands?”

You bit your lip, trying to stifle another whimper, but the heat pooling in your core betrayed you. “I’m not... giving in that easily,” you managed to gasp out, though the breathless quality of your voice made your words less convincing.

Wooyoung laughed softly from behind you, his voice rich with amusement. “Oh, love, you’re adorable when you’re feisty,” he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs to steady you. “But you’re not fooling anyone. We know exactly how much you’re loving this.” His lips pressed to the curve of your shoulder, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin.

Mingi chuckled, his hands sliding up to your waist as he leaned in closer. “We’ll see how long that fire lasts,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your collarbone before biting down gently, leaving a mark. You gasped, your head tilting back as your nails dug into his back, leaving faint crescents in his skin.

Wooyoung took that as his cue, his lips and teeth mapping a path along your back and shoulders. “Look at her, Mingi,” he said, his tone low and teasing. “She’s trembling again. I don’t think she can handle much more.”

You moaned in response, the sound breaking into a sharp gasp when Mingi’s lips trailed lower, his teeth and tongue working against the sensitive skin of your chest. “M-Mingi, Wooyoung,” you whined, your voice catching as your legs instinctively tightened around Mingi’s waist, pulling him closer, locking him in.

“Just like that,” Mingi murmured, his breath hot against your skin as his pace began to quicken. “Hold onto me, love. I’ve got you.” His hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements with precision, each thrust sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.

Behind you, Wooyoung’s lips never stopped moving, his teeth grazing your shoulder before soothing the marks with his tongue. “So beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rough with praise. “Every single part of you.”

As their movements synced, the intensity between the three of you reached a fever pitch. Mingi’s rhythm became more demanding, his hands never leaving your waist as he anchored you to him. Wooyoung’s hold on your thighs tightened, his lips pressing firmly against your skin as he continued marking you, each kiss and bite a silent claim.

You cried out, your moans growing louder as the overwhelming sensations pushed you closer to the edge. Mingi’s voice was steady and commanding as he urged, “Cum, sweetheart.. I know that's what you want to do right now.”

The heat between you all built to a crescendo, your cries mixing with their groans as the tension finally snapped. Mingi and Wooyoung came in perfect synchrony, their breaths ragged and heavy as they held you tightly between them. As you felt their huge loads filling you all up, the force of your own orgasm left you trembling in their arms, your nails digging into Mingi’s back as you whined out one last time.

For a moment, the three of you stayed entwined, your breaths mingling as you came down from the high together. Wooyoung’s arms wrapped around you securely, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of warmth.

Mingi tilted your chin up, his eyes filled with affection as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “And you’re ours,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Always.”

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1

[velvrei]

hihiii it’s the anon that asked if you had any hansumfella requests yet !! i just had to feel out the scenery …

this is like a very loose requests so you can like fill in the gaps, but i was wondering if you could write something where reader is someone who’s lowk kind of famous and fella mentions on stream that she’s his celebrity crush and the clip get’s really popular and she ends up seeing it and wowow turns out she thought he was cute too and they end up texing and blah blah blah!

it’s not very detailed but it’s just something that’s been on my mind lately hehehe thank uuu

omg this is so cute yes ofc i can do this

not so nonchalant (part 1)

pairing: hansumfella x famous!reader

warnings: fluff!

summary: fella reveals on stream that you are his celebrity crush, and the clip gets popular enough for you to see it

tyler was sat at his desk, streaming and answering questions from the fans. he chuckled as he read the chat.

“favorite twin tower? okay guys, let’s ask, i don’t know, normal questions?” he says, adding a laugh as the chat blows up with laughs and he starts to read the real ones.

“do you have a girlfriend?” he reads another question, wanting to face palm, “guys, i don’t have a girlfriend we’ve been over this.” he says with a laugh. “‘and i’m sure you stalkers will find out when i get one anyway, cause you guys have already found my address, so.” he says, calling out the chat as many people comment stuff like:

user27: oh that’s not..

kittyluvr: we love u!

fellasbff: HELP

he continued answering questions, most of them unserious, until he saw one in the chat that caught his eye.

“who’s your celebrity crush, and don’t say ice spice.” he read from the screen, laughing at the end comment. “damn, i was gonna say ice spice too,” he joked, his tone obviously sarcastic.

he began to think, even though he knew he didn’t have to, and you were immediately on his mind. he wasn’t sure if he should outright say it, but he was a few drinks in from recording beeriokart not too long before so he thought, why not.

“i’ll give you guys an actual answer, you guys have probably had enough bullshit from em when it comes to these questions.”

the chat angrily agrees, “okay, okay!” he laughs, holding his stomach. “she’s a pretty famous tiktoker. she’s known for her humor and positivity, and she has a huge following on both youtube and instagram is well.”

the chat blows up with guesses and he can’t help but smile when he sees someone guess your name.

“it’s y/n, yeah,” he said into the mic, as the chat begins to go crazy. “she’s like super beautiful, but has a huge following so there’s no way she’d even know i exist. okay, anyways. next question.”

the chat all begins to fangirl, they’ve never heard tyler seriously talk about someone like that in a nice manner, so they knew he was down bad and wasn’t afraid to point it out.

a few days later, you were sitting on your bed scrolling through your phone, it was around 10pm. you scrolled from a random edit to see a clip of this funny guy you’d been seeing on your for you page recently. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have some of the edits of him saved to your phone.

you continued to watch the clip, it starting with him talking about the twin towers, which made you laugh, and then continues as he’s asked about his celebrity crush.

he joked before saying your name, making your mouth fall open. you weren’t expecting it, and given he was someone you had been watching recently, you were even more taken back.

you immediately went to his social media, slightly stalking as if you weren’t before, going to his instagram and following it.

on fella’s side, he practically jumped for joy when he saw the notification of your following him, however, once the realization sunk in of why you probably followed him, his heart dropped.

you decided to message him, kicking your feet as you sent the first message.

you: fella. i know what you did.

you said, laughing as you decided to scare him a bit.

him: i am quacking in my boots right now.

him: QUAKING. not quacking. god.

you: LMFAOO. i saw the clip, that’s all. just wanted to make your heart drop to your ass

him: you definitely succeeded! 😁😁😁😁😁

you: LOL i think it’s cute though like before i saw that i won’t even lie to you like im not gonna gas up your ego or anything 🙄

you: but i you were on my fyp a couple days ago and i may or may not have giggled at your videos…

him: WHAT.

him: is this a prank

him: am i being pranked right now.

you: NOO THIS IS NOT A PRANK FELLA I PROMISE.

you: but i saw the clips and may or may not have stalked your tiktok, instagram and twitter…

him: oh

him: OH.

you: LMFAO. anyways, staring over!

you: hi! you’re really funny

him: this is not happening rn

you: we should meet up

you: only for the fans ofc yk they would go crazy

him: wait no redo bc i’m supposed to ask you on the date

him: yk yk we should nonchalantly go on a date yk casually casual date where we get food and post pictures nonchalantly

you: HELP?

him: help is on the way🚨🚔

you: what if i say no now just bc you said that.

you: jk, yes i’ll go on the nonchalant date with you nonchalantly but you have to look nice

him: omg when okay

you: tomorrow?

him: OHBMY GOD

him: yes. that’s fine. i’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. i. am. being. nonchalant. i. promise. totally not freaking out rn

you: that’s cute awww

you: ILL SEE YOU TOMORROW!

him: SEE YOU TOMORROW 😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁 (i’m dying)

…

part two here hehehe

[amourdivine]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 🤍 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒.𝐏. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 & 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔?

Hello, lovelies! This was a suggested reading from a dear anonymous.  It had a more romantic subtext, but I hope you take out what resonates & leave what doesn’t! If you have any more suggestions, so let me know! Feedback is always welcome. If you liked this reading, please consider booking a paid reading or tipping me at @ amourdivinetarot@gmail.com! xo. ♡

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how to choose your pile.  take deep breaths for a few minutes & look at each and every one of the piles separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later.

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disclaimer. this is a general reading for entertainment purposes. tarot is a divination tool & is not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i do not take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2023 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

PILE ONE 💜

what do they think about you? ten of swords • eight of pentacles • six of cups.

I just heard Coldplay’s “The Scientist”, specifically the bit in which he sings “take me back to the start”. I wonder if you two had a fight, some sort of falling out or heavy disagreement. They think they’ve lost you - this is weighing heavy on their mind. They wish they could go back to when things were simpler, when things weren’t so difficult and anxiety-inducing. I think they feel a lot of shame and blame as well (I heard “blame game”) and I’m not going to lie, pile one, this person may be overthinking this connection, especially the way they see it. It feels heavy, like my chest and my throat are holding so much energy but nothing comes out. They’re not thinking clearly, despite thinking so much, it’s really difficult for them to “think” a way out of this situation you’re in. However, they do wish to work towards a peaceful resolution with you. They want to find a way to make things feel lighthearted and happy for the two of you again. This person could also be listening to a lot of heavy/sad songs, because so many of them are coming through to me. They’re experiencing a lot of self-hatred and very difficult emotions are going through them. They’re mourning some kind of happy ending, but they’re still willing to salvage the relationship if that's something you also desire.

how do they feel towards you? the empress • ace of swords • page of pentacles.

Gosh, there’s so much love here. They not only miss you, but they want to talk to you… to ask you how to work this out. They just want it to work it out between you two, pile one. Even if it’s difficult, like I mentioned in the previous section, they only want you. They don’t see anyone else for them. They don’t want to let you go, to lose you. It’s why their mind is so foggy and so clouded with poor judgment, they feel a lot of despair over the thought of losing the love you two have and shared. If your connection ended, they’re still not over it - they’re refusing to move on, simply because in their heart, they’ve decided it’s you. And I don’t think they’ve fully voiced it out just how much they want you, but they intend to do so. No matter how painful this situation has become, they hold some sort of hope that you’ll want to work things out with them too. They love you in a pure, devoted way and know how unique, how beautiful this connection is.

channeled messages: “i hate myself for what i did to you”, “i can’t forget you”, “you’re beautiful”, runaway, empty roads, highways, road trips, memories, polaroid pictures, “i wish things were easier”, “you betrayed me”, burning bridges, “do you still love me?”, deja vu.

channeled song: ghostin’ by Ariana Grande.

PILE TWO 🩷

what do they think about you? the magician • the lovers • the world

I couldn’t name a more beautiful spread. They put you on a pedestal, sort of - this person sees all that you are and they’re amazed. They admire you, they love you and they can’t see anyone else but you. This person’s got heart eyes when they look at you, maybe their eyes sparkle - pay attention next time you speak to them in person. Although they may wonder if they’re good enough for you, this person truly, deeply is inspired by you. It’s possible this is a friend of yours who’s crushing on you and vice-versa, but neither one of you is willing to admit it yet. This is a dreamy vibe, even, I feel like I’m immersed in Piscean energy. Maybe one of you is Neptune dominant or has Pisces in 1st. It’s the feeling of a high school crush, the intense, beautiful and almost soul-crushing one, but the kind of connection that has a lasting impact. Even if you haven’t known this person for a long time, they are eager to know more about you, all the little things that you do and say are stuck in the back of their mind. They don’t take it for granted. You’re extremely important to them, regardless of the nature of this relationship, you’re someone they want around.

how do they feel towards you? three of cups • five of wands • nine of swords.

They’re anxious, because they’ve got some heavy competition. Even if they see all these positive qualities in you, this person is afraid they’ll ruin the friendship by risking it. So many people are interested in you, that they’re afraid of rejection, afraid of all the people vying for your attention and sometimes, they just wish they could get rid of these feelings already. It’s possible there’s a 3rd party situation going on - either you or them could be in a committed relationship and there’s a lot of guilt and anxiety involved. You’re this person’s wish come true, but they don’t know what to do. They’re stuck in their head about it, fantasizing about coming towards you, talking to you and not feeling so insecure or jealous when they see you with someone else. I got the vivid imagery of someone seeing their crush talking to someone else at a party and being almost soul crushed by the fact that they’re so afraid of approaching the other. It’s giving me fanfiction vibes (in the best way possible, I promise). I’m almost sorry for this person because they’re so blindsided by their pessimism that they can’t fully see a way into being with you, no matter how much they want to. They know they need to make a move before they lose you for good, though.

channeled messages: “i’m so sick of love songs”, “i just want to talk to you”, instagram, DM’s, subtle flirting, “are you alone tonight?”, crush, “i feel invisible”, insecurity, jealousy, bonfire party, college life, “give me back my jacket”, inside jokes.

channeled song: Are You Bored Yet? by Wallows ft. Clairo.

PILE THREE 💖

what do they think about you? eight of cups • six of cups • the devil.

“Gone for good”, I just heard that. My playlist started playing sad breakup songs too, it’s honestly a little heartbreaking and quite bittersweet. This person thinks, well, they know you’ve left them behind and you seem done with them. You left them and they’re triggered. They’ve got so much going on in their head, always filled with “what ifs”. Your connection has turned sour and they think you wanted to pursue something better for yourself, something that didn’t trigger the both of you so much. I feel like this connection may have turned toxic, so they know you needed to leave, but nonetheless, they’re grieving, they’re sour and bitter. I don’t know if this person was heavily immature towards you or even disrespectful, but you left them on a chokehold because they didn’t expect you to simply walk away so easily. I don’t think it’s been easy for either one of you. I’m more so feeling a situationship or a friendship kind of vibe here, not a full, official commitment. Everything they see in you is almost a projection of their worst fears. All your worst traits mirror back to them, calling them to do some soul deep healing. I saw the Death card in the back of my mind, so I think this person knows it’s time to move on, to let you go, but they’re still obsessing over this ending you’ve had and it’s possible they lurk on your social media. It’s not an evil or malicious energy, but they’re not in a good headspace to talk or see you right now.

how do they feel towards you? two of swords • knight of cups • ten of wands.

Sometimes they love you, they miss you. Sometimes they just hate everything that came to be about the two of you. They’re tired, overburdened by their feelings, so sick of feeling so much and nothing at the same time. This person can’t really pinpoint exactly what they feel for you, but I got nauseous and almost sick to my stomach? I think they just wish they could erase this pain forever, but sometimes, they wish they could get some closure from you as well. It’s possible they wish they could give you some closure as well. All these messy feelings are taking their time in this person’s heart and body, but I think this connection, as triggering as it may have been, has brought up a lot of things back into the surface. Regardless of how they feel about you, it all ties back to their wounds, their feelings and themselves. I got some heavy Scorpio feelings in the last section and now I’m getting some Libra - I feel like those were significant energies and placements for your pile. This person’s not only heartbroken but almost… burnt out by everything that went down. They’re slowly trying to heal, to let go and forgive, but they’re not having the easiest time. I don’t think they’re “evil eyeing” you in any way, but I also think some distance will do the both of you some good. I feel like Spirit wants to emphasize how good this ending will be for you.

channeled messages: “you deserve better”, “i want to go back to who i was, mental health, physical health, “get over it”, 777, friends with benefits, messing around, fuck around and find out, taylor swift, moved on, finally, second chances, “i was a second option”, simply unrequited.

channeled song: Berenstein by The Band CAMINO | extra: Favourite Song by Tim Chadwick.

PILE FOUR 🩵

what do they think about you? the magician • ace of cups • six of swords.

You’re so nurturing, healing and magical. This person sees you as some sort of fairy, a beautiful, wholesome person who’s got so much love to give and to receive. Even the song that started playing is one of my favorites, a very healing and soft one. They see you as a safe person, an Earth angel, someone who’s almost like their lucky charm. The vibes here aren’t only romantic - they fit for friendships and familial relationships too. They’ve got a lot of fond memories and stories of you. I see someone going through a photo album and laughing to themselves in joy. This person sees a lot of good things in you and you’ve given them some sort of renewed faith in connections and humanity. They know you’ve been through a lot - they see you’re still healing. Every now and then, they catch glimpses of moments when you’re not feeling so good, but they still see your potential and growth nonetheless. I think your words and presence calm this person down. They value your advice immensely, all your words of wisdom and encouragement. I feel like Gemini and Leo are significant placements for this pile - I got the Strength card in the back of my mind, with the woman caressing the lion in the card. You bring calm and softness to this person’s life.

how do they feel towards you? queen of pentacles • ace of pentacles • two of wands.

I heard “wife you up”, lol. If this is a romantic connection, this person wants to offer you a deeper form of commitment - in whatever way that means for your connection. I feel like this person is smitten by you, even if you’re friends, you’re their closest, most prized friend. They’re making plans for something bigger, something greater between the two of you. This person views you as someone they could have ultimate success in every way, someone trustworthy and someone they intend on making accommodations for to fit in their life. It’s so soft and sweet, I see a woman arranging and rearranging pillows in a soft-looking bedroom to make sure her guests will be comfortable during their stay. I think they’re making room for you in their heart and mind, even their home as well. Maybe they haven’t told you, but they’re giddy to have met you and to spend more time with you. If this person proposes to you soon, please don’t tell them I told you! I’m not trying to ruin their plans, but let me say your connection has some really sweet, lovely surprises along the way. If you get engaged though, let me know, pile four. I’m really happy for you!

channeled messages: “fight for you”, “let me love you”, acts of service, bouquets, rainy days, “put your head on my shoulder”, “it’s okay to cry”, “i want to be there for you”, “you don’t have to pretend with me”, cupping someone’s face in your hands, comfort food, hugs, ice cream, care bears, pisces, cancer, healing, therapy, inner child. 

channeled song: Room Service by Holly Humberstone | extra: Break For You by Valley.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2023 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Take Care of You [9]

Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Overall Warnings: slow burn, angst/comfort, power imbalance, age gap, possessive tendencies, eventual smut, #daddyissues, independent reader learns to let go and relax, emotionally constipated Joel Miller learns to be vulnerable; (more specific warnings to be added to individual chapters if necessary)

Chapter Word Count: 9,950

Mood board and borders by @saradika

Summary: You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It’s why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn’t look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?

[a/n: we back, baby. and we also barely edited so if you catch a typo don't hate me. also this was supposed to end in a different spot but then i got carried away in the middle so i had to split it 🥴]

Chapter Specific Warnings: angst, heartbreak, binge drinking to ease emotional turmoil, mild violence, mentions of blood and injury

09: LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU

"i still haven't figured out how to sit across from you, and not be madly in love with everything you do." ⏤ william c. hannon

Three years ago, Nima tried to convince you to go skydiving with her. She begged and she pleaded, but you told her ‘no’ on account of thinking she was a crazy person for wanting to jump out of a perfectly good plane. Which was hilarious now considering you were sitting beside Joel wanting to pull open the door and dive out. The irony was not lost on you.

The only reason you hadn’t gone scrambling for the door was because Joel was forced to take a work call a few minutes into the flight. He hadn’t moved away. Joel stayed right next to you with his arm behind you as he spoke, and every few moments he’d glance at you with a silent apology and shake his head. You’d reply with a tight lipped smile and go back to mindlessly scrolling through instagram. 

Unfortunately the mindlessly scrolling was not so mindless. Since leaving Vegas, you had a high pitch ringing in the back of your mind like an endless, echoing siren. Married. A married man. Joel was⏤ Your teeth were clenched together so hard you wondered if Joel could hear them grinding against one another. Yesterday had been filled with so much anxiety, and you had managed to work through it by the end of the night. Mostly. But this was worse. This was so much worse. 

Married?

Your throat suddenly felt tight, eyes stinging with unshed tears, and you hastily undid your seatbelt and stood. Joel glanced your way and you pointed to the back of the plane and mouthed the word ‘bathroom’ to him. He nodded with a soft smile, and you spun on your heel and practically sprinted to the tiny plane bathroom. You struggled to get the folding door shut and the stewardess who sat not far away stared at you in confusion. You gave her an awkward wave and finally got it latched. 

“Fuck.” You shoved your face in your hands, leaning against the wall, and held back your tears. You were confused and frustrated, and you couldn’t even find relief in a good cry because Joel would spot it in a heartbeat no matter how much you tried to put yourself back together. The thought of confronting him about this right now was your worst nightmare. You hadn’t had the time to process any of the wild thoughts pinging around your head yet.

Your mind was at war with itself. On one hand, maybe you were being stupid and naive. For the last month and a half you’ve spent nearly every day with Joel and on the days you weren’t actively seeing him the two of you would talk either over a call or through text. You knew Yo-yo for 24 hours. Sure, she seemed nice and sincere, but what if Rosalind sent her to screw with you? For all you knew, Yo-yo had cruel intentions and was trying to drive a wedge between you and Joel. By taking her word you’d be playing right into that trap. What she said about the other sugar baby and about Joel being married? Maybe it was all fake and you’ve been stressing for no reason.

On the other hand, Joel didn’t kiss you. He didn’t kiss you because he wanted to ‘do right by you’. Joel asked for time. Was it because he needed to get a divorce? Worse. Was he married with absolutely no plans to get divorced and just buying time for something else? 

God, if you kept up this line of thought you were gonna vomit. Quickly, you turned to the sink to splash a little cold water on your face in hopes it would help you get your shit together for the next thirty minutes. Half an hour and you’d be on the ground. But then what? It would be a miracle if you kept it together for thirty minutes let alone any longer. 

You took in a long, slow breath and tried to clear your mind. When you felt steady enough, you stepped out of the bathroom. As tempting as it was to hide in there for the rest of the flight, it would probably be a red flag for Joel that something was wrong. You wandered back over to Joel and at your approach, and at the sight of you, he covered the bottom of his phone and whispered, “You alright?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded quickly and sat back down.

“I’m sorry. Jus’ another minute.” 

You waved your hands at him as nonchalantly as you could and he went back to his call. You leaned back in the seat, phone in hand, and Joel readjusted his arm on the back of the seat so he could settle his hand on your shoulder. As he always did, his thumb was tracing circles on your shoulder. An action you always loved, but now an intrusive thought slammed into you⏤ does he do this with his wife? The question was so startling, so sickening, that you couldn’t bite back the nausea that rolled through your body. You jumped up so fast you nearly stumbled over your feet, and you scrambled for the bathroom. 

Vaguely, you heard your name behind you, but you didn’t stop until you reached the toilet. You fell to your knees and threw up. The taste of acid in your mouth made you wince, but getting it all up did bring some relief. That relief was short lived though as you felt a large, warm hand settle on your back.

“Jesus, sugar.” He said in a soothing voice as he rubbed your back. “What’s goin’ on? Have you felt sick all mornin’?”

You spat into the toilet bowl, trying to get the taste of bile out of your mouth, before reaching out and flushing the toilet. You tried to stand, and Joel hooked his arm around you to help you up. He called out of the bathroom and a second later the stewardess brought in a cup of water and a ginger ale. Joel handed you the water and kept his hand rubbing up and down on your back.

“I’m⏤ I’m fine.” You shook your head and took a sip of water to swish and spit into the sink. “Really.”

“Obviously not.” Joel replied. “C’mon, let’s sit you down.”

“Joel…” You tried to argue, but he wasn’t hearing it. He kept an arm around you as he carefully led you back to the seat. He brought the bottle of ginger ale with you and the moment you finished the water he took the cup out of your hand to replace it with the soda. “I feel better now. It’s fine.”

“You’ve been off this mornin'. I was worried.” Joel lifted a hand to feel your forehead. It made sense that Joel picked up on your distress. He had always been so good at reading you. “You seemed fine when we first woke up. When exactly did you start feelin' sick?”

You took a sip of the ginger ale, “I…I don’t know. After breakfast maybe.” You lied. The sincerity in his eyes, the concern in his voice, it was both bringing you comfort and making you sick again all at once. You felt so stupid. Either you were freaking out over a lie a woman you barely knew told you or you were being tricked into feelings by a married man. Either way, you felt pathetic. “Your, um, your work call, Joel.”

Joel shook his head in response and didn’t even bother addressing the work call he stopped. He set a hand on the back of your neck and his thumb was lightly ghosting over your skin. You closed your eyes and took a slow breath in and out through your nose. “Tell me what I can do, sugar.”

“I⏤” You swallowed the lump in your throat. You forced your eyes open, finding Joel’s furrowed brow and worried gaze already on you, and it made you want to cry. You shook your head, “I, um, I think I just wanna lay down for a while. If that’s okay.”

“Course it’s okay.” He replied. 

The seat the two of you were sharing wasn’t long enough for you to lay down without laying your head on Joel’s lap. You planned on moving to the other couch seats to lay down, but Joel’s hand was still on the back of your neck and he lightly began to guide you down. Too tired to even try and move, you settled your head on his thigh and curled your body up onto the rest of the seat. 

In any other situation, this would be one of the most comfortable spots on Earth. Your head rested on his thick, firm thigh, and Joel’s hand traced where he could reach. Up and down your jawline and neck⏤ his thumb and forefinger would occasionally massage your earlobe. You tried to calm your racing thoughts. The truth was, you didn’t know the truth yet. It was a fact you kept repeating in your head in hopes it would numb the sharp pain of your worst fears, but those intrusive thoughts continued to pummel you.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl.” Joel murmured while his fingers dragged across your skin. “What a shitty way to end this weekend.” You hummed in agreement. This really was a shitty way to close out what started as one of the best weekends of your life.

Avoiding Joel made you realize how involved in your life he was. After landing in LA, Joel tried to drag you to a doctor and only conceded when you told him it was probably a 24 hour bug and you just wanted to sleep. He called you later that night to check in on you, and you managed to talk to him for a few minutes before lying about wanting to go to bed early. Come Monday morning, you went to work despite Joel texting you that you should stay home. Trying to focus at work was physically painful. Enough so that after the nightmare Monday had been, you left midway through the day today claiming to Henry that you didn’t feel well. It wasn’t even a full blown lie. You felt like shit.

Nima threw the folder of papers onto her desk and set her hands on her hips, “I’m gonna hit him with my car.”

“Please don’t.” You mumbled with your chin resting in your palm as you leaned on the other side of her desk. After leaving work, you came directly to Nima’s office. Going home and sitting on your couch, alone with your thoughts, would only make you ten times more miserable.

“No, actually, my car isn’t big enough. I’m gonna commandeer a bus and hit him with that.”

“I haven’t confirmed anything yet. For all I know, I’m being this pathetic over nothing.”

Nima snapped her hand up and pointed at you with a glare, “No. I will not have you shit talking yourself when the only person we should be shit talking is Joel Miller and his wife.”

You groaned and let your head fall to the desk. The words ‘Joel Miller and his wife’ made you viscerally ill. The time you spent not talking to Joel Monday night you spent stalking people on social media. You reached dead ends very quickly though since Joel didn’t have any social media whatsoever. The easiest solution was to just look Joel in the eyes and ask him for the truth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You wanted to know the truth, but you were scared to actually seek it out. 

If you asked Joel for the truth, if you confronted him, then he’d give it to you.

What if the truth was something you didn’t want to hear?

“Alrighty, babe, real talk.” Nima said and you lifted your head, keeping your chin resting on the wood, and saw she had dropped down into her office chair. To meet your eye line, she held her chin on the desk across from you to mirror your position. “I can threaten and plot his demise all I want, but I know I’m not allowed to kill him until this is confirmed or denied.” She twisted her lips. “You deserve the truth.”

You pouted, “How am I supposed to ask him about this, Nima??”

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, “If you did ask… How sure are you that he’d answer truthfully?”

You pushed up and leaned back in the chair. That was a good question, and with anyone else it would probably be a real concern. However, you weren’t worried about that. You truly, deep down, believed that if you confronted Joel about this he would give you the truth. 

“I really think he would.” You answered. “Is that naive of me?”

“You know him better than I do.”

This entire situation made you question that. Did you know him? You knew he grew up in Austin. He had a younger brother, Tommy, and it was just them and his mom for most of his childhood. You knew he attended one year in college when his mom passed away⏤ cancer. Joel dropped out of college to take care of his brother and picked up a job in construction. That’s where he got his start. His first boss saw he had a knack for more than just the manual labor and trusted him with more and more until Joel was running sites for the man. At 27, Joel’s girlfriend of three months got pregnant. They planned to make it work, but she left when Sarah was two weeks old. You knew he adopted Ellie three years later. That he earned his bachelor’s degree in business at home through online classes while raising two young girls and working a full time job. That he started Miller Construction shortly after earning that degree, and it blew up from there.

You knew despite being a tough guy, he didn’t like horror movies.

You knew his favorite whiskey was Lagavulin⏤ neat.

The one thing you didn’t know was if he was married or not.

“I am going to suggest something,” Nima began, “And I want you to listen before you call me crazy.” You shot her confused look and she continued on. “I have this cousin.” You groaned and Nima chastised you to listen. It seemed like she had a cousin available for every situation that arose, and half the people she called cousin weren’t even technically related to her by blood. Anytime you asked her about it all she’d say was ‘Korean moms’ love to talk’, as if that clarified anything for you. “Seriously. He’s dating a private eye. With one text, we can get some answers.”

You shook your head, “Nima, that’s insane.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, hiring a private investigator is insane.” 

“Look, it’ll get us reliable answers.” Nima argued. “The truth.”

You rolled the idea around in your head. It was literally the epitome of paranoid absurdity, but you were wondering if that’s the point you were at. Would it be better to find out this way? That way when you finally did confront Joel you wouldn’t be blind sided by the answer. Hell, if the answer turned out to be ‘no, he isn’t married’ then you can chalk up the last few days as time wasted and move on with your life. That being said, it did seem like an invasion of Joel’s privacy. 

“That feels…” You paused, “Illegal?”

“It’s not illegal to hire a PI.” Nima countered then tilted her head. “I think. I’m not a lawyer, but people do it on TV all the time, right?”

“Well, that logic is foolproof.” 

“I’m not gonna do it if you tell me you don’t want to do it.” Nima said firmly. She crossed her arms and gave a small little shrug. “But you have to do something. Either this or just call him right now and tell him the two of you need to talk.” There was a protective sincerity in her eyes that felt like a security blanket being settled on your shoulders. “I don’t want to see you get more attached to this guy just to be hurt. I don’t want him to lie to you.”

You knew Nima only had your best interests in mind. Technically, Joel had given you no reason not to trust him. Half the time you thought on this topic you convinced yourself you were overreacting and being a pathetic, paranoid mess. Yo-yo, as nice and fun as she had been, was a virtual stranger to you. Her word shouldn’t trump Joel’s. You knew all of that, and you wanted to trust him. However, it felt like some broken part of you was looking for something to be wrong. Joel Miller was too good to be true. Why would someone like him be interested in someone like you? There had to be something else going on. According to your ex, you hadn’t even been worthy of him and Joel Miller was ten times the man he was. 

“Okay, do it.” You blurted and hated yourself for doing so.

Nima held your gaze for a second, but you pushed to stand and crossed her office to her private bathroom. You took one of the paper towels, dampening it, and set it on the back of your neck in a poor attempt to ground yourself. For a while longer, you just stood there in front of the sink. Not staring at yourself, but staring forward at a singular spot as your thoughts raced. You needed a positive thought. Just one would do, and you were prepared to drag it out of your thick skull kicking and screaming if necessary. 

“Everything is going to be okay.” You mumbled to yourself softly. 

The whispered words did nothing for your anxiety. However, the memory of him did. You found comfort looking back at the soft moments spent with Joel and let yourself fall down that rabbit hole. The temporary peace was nice, but it didn't last. Finding strength you didn’t know you had today, you splashed your face one more time and then left the bathroom.

Your eyes immediately landed on Nima who stared back with wide eyes. Nima spoke first, “What?”

“What?” You repeated. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, I thought you said something.” Nima flipped her phone over and settled her hand on top of it. You glanced from her face to her phone and back again. A look of misery flickered across her features. You tilted your head in question. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

“Nima.” You crossed the room quickly. “Did they already text back??”

“No. Yes. Maybe?” Nima shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“Nima.”

She twisted her lips and drummed her nails against the plastic case of her phone. You shot her another look and she blew out a sigh. “He sent me a response, but it’s like half an answer. Half a report. We should wait until he can⏤”

“What did he say?”

“Apparently, he’s working on a case for someone else right now and had a database right in front of him so all he had to do was type in⏤”

“Nima, please.” You blurted. It felt like your heart was caught in your throat. You couldn’t breathe and you didn't feel coherent enough to string together a thought. Her hesitance was an answer in and of itself. You rubbed your throat, your other arm wrapping around your torso in a poor attempt to hold yourself together, and gasped. “Just say it.”

“He’s married, babe.” Nima mumbled. You knew the words had been coming, but they still overwhelmed you. The air left your lungs as if someone had gut punched you and you fell back into the seat in front of her desk. “He said he’d send me the certificate when he could, but he has to finish this job first. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I⏤”

Nima stopped herself from speaking as she came around her desk and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. You sat in her embrace for as long as your shattering mind could endure and then shook your head, “I need a drink. Drinks. Plural.”

“It’s three in the afternoon, babe.” Nima mumbled in concern. You shot her a dry look and she offered you a tight lipped smile. “Drinks it is! Let’s go. We can go back to my place and⏤”

“No.” You pushed to stand. “I wanna go out.”

“Oh… kay. Where?”

“Anywhere.” You turned and began to leave.

Nima was scrambling to gather her belongings into her strawberry shaped purse before rushing out after you. “Just one drink though. I hate being the voice of reason, but we should limit ourselves to one drink.”

One drink turned into two which turned into three which turned into twelve.

By 6 PM, you were borderline wasted. It was by no means the best decision you’ve ever made, but you couldn’t classify it as your worst considering that, for the first time since leaving Vegas, you didn’t feel sad or defeated. No, those blue emotions had turned into a burning shade of red. You had finally found your anger and all it took was copious amounts of alcohol. 

“I mean, married?” You scoffed as you stood at the bar with Nima at your side. “That’s⏤ That’s illegal.” Nima nodded in agreement as she blindly tried to find the straw in her drink with her tongue. You reached out and pushed it toward her lips. “And worse than illegal! It’s fucking rude.”

“So rude.” Nima slurped at the last of her drink and all you could hear was the rattling of ice in her glass. She pulled away to slam the cup down and pointed at you⏤ her pink hair had been let down from the braid to messily rest around her shoulders. “You should get a new sugar daddy!” You stuck your tongue out in disgust and shook your head. “No! This is such a good idea.” Nima began to look around the bar. “Let’s find you a super hot, super not married sugar daddy.”

“I don’t want a new sugar daddy. I want another drink.” You leaned on the bar and waited for the bartender to look your way. Nima and you had bounced to a few bars. The two of you, back when you were sober, decided to start drinking in an area that had multiple bars all within walking distance. The one you were in now wasn’t familiar to you⏤ it wasn’t a place you and Nima had been to before. It was a bit too upscale for your liking. Sober you would not have been a fan. Drunk you? Loving it.

Nima was tapping on your shoulder rapidly and when you looked her way she was pointing across the bar to God knows who. “He looks like he wouldn’t marry someone without your permission.”

“That’s,” You shook your head, “not my situation.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head and looked back toward the bartender who was busy with a group of women further down the bar. The sound of vibrating vaguely filled the air and you leaned closer to Nima who immediately wrapped her arms around you in a hug. “You’re vibrating.”

“You’re vibrating.”

You found her purse and opened it so you could rifle through it. It dawned on you then that somewhere around bar two and drink five you had shoved your phone in her purse for safe keeping. When you finally managed to pull it out, Joel’s face was flashing on the screen and you yelped in surprise. You tossed the phone onto the bar and held your face between your hands.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no.” You shook your head and the vibration stopped. Joel’s picture disappeared and was replaced with a notification of a missed call that joined the notification telling you that you had unread messages. Your eyes snapped to Nima who was trying to drink out of her empty cup again. “Joel.”

“Bastard man.” Nima edited.

“Dinner.” You grimaced. “At 7. I’m supposed to get dinner with Joel at 7. It’s 6:35.”

Nima shook her head and crunched the ice she had shoveled into her mouth, “Bastard man can go to dinner with his wife tonight.”

 You grimaced, “I hate all the words you just used.”

The bartender began to wander over and Nima turned to order more drinks. You picked up your phone and leaned against the bartop with your elbow. With a frown and furrowed brow, you opened your text messages. Every unread text was from Joel unsurprisingly. The first came in at 4:29 and it was a simple, ‘Hey sugar, I’m excited to see you tonight’. The next was almost exactly an hour later and it said, ‘Hope your day’s been alright. We still on for tonight?’. Finally, the most recent at 6:15, was just your name with a question mark.

You set the phone back down before the temptation to reply could overcome you. It only sat on the bartop for a second before it began to vibrate violently as another call came in. Joel’s face filled the screen and you felt a wave of sadness drag you under. The fact that you were mourning the lack of his presence to this degree was probably a sign you were doing this ‘sugar baby’ thing very wrong.

“Maybe I should answer it.” You voiced the thought aloud.

Nima caught it and gasped before slapping her hand on top of the still buzzing phone, “No, ma’am! You will not be doing that.” The bartender set two new drinks between the two of you. Nima pushed one in front of you and moved the straw to point directly at you. “Drink.”

You took a sip then spoke, “I don’t even know the whole story⏤” Nima pushed your face back to the straw so you took another long sip. “Maybe it’s a misunderstanding…” This time your lips found their way to the straw on their own accord and you took a sip that could be argued as dangerously long. “I need to talk to him. Confront him. Demand answers.”

“Yes. To all of that. Eventually.” Nima replied with a nod. She reached forward and bopped you on the nose with her finger. “But not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know one thing in life,” Nima held up the one finger she used to bop your nose, “You do not have serious conversations while drunk.”

You shook your head with a pout, “I thought you said you don’t like being the voice of reason.”

“If it means helping you, I’ll always lean toward reason, babe.” 

The two of you went back to drinking. Your vibrating phone stopped and a few seconds passed before a notification for a voicemail popped up. You turned to Nima, “Can I listen to it? That’s not talking. That’s listening.”

Nima chewed on her straw slowly before bobbing her head in an affirmative nod, “I shall allow it.”

You picked up the phone to listen to the message he left you.

‘Hey, sugar.’ Joel’s voice rumbled over the line and you felt your chest physically ache at the sound. You closed your eyes in annoyance with yourself. If you hadn’t fallen so hard, so fast for this man you wouldn’t be in this scenario to begin with. ‘Gotta say I’m a little worried. Haven’t heard from ya all day. Gimme a call when ya get this.’

You groaned and set your head down on the bar. Guilt gnawed at you. It felt childish of you to be ghosting him like this, and that wasn’t your typical go to move. You had enough respect for the people in your life to address them when needed rather than hide behind voicemail. With the guilt was a swirling vortex of anger. You were angry at Joel for not being up front with you. You were angry at Yo-Yo for being the one to plant the initial doubt that started all this. You were angry at yourself most of all. Angry that you felt guilt at all, angry that you had foolishly placed so much trust in a man you barely knew, angry that despite everything there was still a part of you that craved his presence. You missed his touch and his voice. You missed those burning brown eyes and the way his very glance could melt you into a puddle.

“You okay, babe?” Nima’s voice asked softly. You shook your head without lifting it. “I’m sorry. I can break his knee caps if you want?”

“What?” You lifted your gaze.

“What?” She replied innocently. 

The phone began to vibrate again startling you. He had just called so you didn’t expect him to call again, but then again you were supposed to be in your apartment waiting for him to pick you up for dinner. You pictured him standing at your door dressed up and holding a bouquet of flowers. Nausea rolled over you in waves, and you grabbed your mixed drink thinking it could cure your troubles.

A few minutes passed before another voicemail was left. You snatched your phone up and shoved it back into Nima’s purse so it would be out of your line of sight⏤ not even bothering to listen to the second voicemail. Tomorrow, you decided. Tomorrow you would confront Joel and have this difficult conversation. You both finished the drinks in front of you as the lively bar continued to thrive around you.

“Why is he married?” You asked suddenly. Nima must have known it wasn’t a question you expected an actual answer to as she stayed silent. You rested your face in your hands and sighed. With your eyes closed against your hands like this you began to feel dizzy. A sure sign that you should stop drinking. Nima rubbed your back soothingly and you dropped your hands to shoot her an appreciative glance. “You’re the best best friend a girl could ask for.”

“I know, babe. And you know what else I know?” Nima squished your cheeks together with a wide grin, “You deserve the universe in a gold hand basket, and any man who can’t see that or who would play games with your big, loving heart doesn’t deserve you.”

You laughed and Nima chuckled herself before letting go of your face to pick up her empty glass. Her tongue struggled to find the straw but once it did she tried to take a big gulp only to get drops and air. Nima pulled away from her straw and furrowed her brow, “Who finished my drink?”

With another laugh, you raised your hand to order two more drinks. At this point you’ve already had so much to drink, what would one more hurt? You knew the hangover tomorrow was going to be a bad one, but a part of you was looking forward to it. There would be no mourning Joel tomorrow if your head hurt too much to even think his name. 

Nima successfully managed to distract you again as she drunkenly delved into a story you weren’t quite following, but you enjoyed the way she told it. A low whistle interrupted the moment of peace the two of you had found. You glanced past Nima to see two men in business suits wandering over. Nothing about them stood out to you. One was brunet and the other blond, but they both looked like they never grew out of the frat lifestyle on a college campus.

“We saw you two pretty ladies from over there and wanted to come and offer you our company.” The blond greeted smugly.

Nima turned in her seat to face him and waved her hand at him while taking a long sip of her drink until the ice rattled in the glass. Then she pulled the straw out of her mouth to finally speak with a shake of her head, “Sorry, we don’t speak english.”

“You just said that in English.” The blond chuckled.

“Sorry, sorry.” Nima waved her hand once more. “I don’t understand your accent.”

You snickered under your breath while chewing on your straw. The brunet stepped forward to stand side by side with the other and shook his head, “No need to be a bitch. We just wanted to talk.”

“Oh, you haven’t even begun to see bitchy yet.” Nima pointed her glass in their direction⏤ a bit of ice sloshing out with the exaggerated movement. “I can show you bitchy.” She reached back to swat at your arm. “Tell them, babe.”

“She can.” You nodded in agreement.

The blond set a hand on his friend’s shoulder and tugged him back, “Let’s just go, man.”

The brunet reluctantly let himself get dragged away, but he continued to stare at you and Nima the entire time. Nima spun in her seat and scoffed, “Where was I before I was interrupted by douchebag one and douchebag two?”

“I’m not gonna lie,” You shrugged, “I have no idea.”

“I’ll pick a place then.” Nima said and jumped into the middle of her story. “So, there I was covered head to toe in honey.”

Same as before, you really couldn’t keep track of her tale but it amused you all the same. The two of you chatted for another minute or two before a new face came across the two of you again. Nima had bounced in her seat, excited, and it knocked her strawberry shaped purse to the floor. Your phone clattered out. Before you could climb off the bar stool to grab it, a man passing knelt down and scooped it up. In one tanned hand he grabbed the purse and in the other your phone. The phone’s screen lit up and you swallowed at the sight of the multiple missed messages all from the same person. 

“Oh.” The man cleared his throat and straightened his stance. He was handsome with a kind face. Dark hair, a bit on the longer side, was messily pushed back and it matched the scruff on his upper lip and chin. The man wore a pink button up shirt, all the buttons undone, over a white t-shirt. “I suppose this is yours, miss?”

You begun to reach out, “Thanks⏤”

“Hold it!” Nima pointed at the man making his dark, brown eyes widen. “State your intentions, sir!”

“To…return your purse?” He lifted up the strawberry bag.

Nima narrowed her eyes at him and snatched it away, “Likely story.”

“Thank you.” You reached out and he handed the phone over to you. A glance down revealed four missed calls, two unheard voicemails, and five texts. You winced at the sight and set your phone face down on the bar. You were surprised to see the man still standing by your stools. “You…” You narrowed your eyes at him. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Afraid not, ma’am.”

It was sitting on the tip of your tongue, but your foggy brain just couldn’t quite grasp it. Nima snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “I got it. He’s that guy.” You lifted an eyebrow at her words and she nodded frantically. “Yeah, he’s that actor! You play in that one show with, like, the zombies or whatever, right?”

“Not at all.” He laughed with a shake of his head. “I ain’t no actor.”

“Well then, I’m out of guesses.” Nima grumbled. She tilted her head, looking him up and down once more, “You seem nice enough. Got a pretty face. You rich? You wanna be a sugar daddy? She’s in the market.”

You rolled your eyes, “Nima.”

“You’re in the market for a sugar daddy?” The man asked in shock. You could hardly blame the man for his confusion and disbelief. This was hardly a normal bar conversation. “Really?”

“No. She’s just drunk.”

“Irrelevant.” Nima argued.

You chuckled then introduced yourself and Nima. The man paused for a beat before nodding and offering you his hand. “Nice to meet you both. My name is Tommy.” It took a second to click, but once the name finally wormed its way through your mind your eyes widened. Tommy chuckled and answered your unspoken question, “Yeah. I am.”

Nima glanced between you two with a frown, “Hold on, I’m not following. You are what? You’ll be her new sugar daddy?”

“No way in hell.” Tommy grinned. “If I even thought 'bout it, my brother’d skin me alive.”

The look on Nima’s face stayed confused until you swallowed the lump in your throat and finally spoke, “It’s… Nima, this is Joel’s brother.”

Her face remained frozen before morphing into one of shock. She gasped, almost comically, and pointed at him. “Oh, fuck.” Her eyebrows furrowed into a glare. “You son of a bitch, your brother is a son of a bitch!”

Tommy didn’t pay her outburst any mind, but his eyes darted back to you. “I asked my brother to come out drinkin' with me tonight, but he said ‘no’ cause he had a date with you.” Tommy stuck his hands into his pockets. “Funny I’m findin' you here without him.”

“That’s because your brother is too busy with his wife to be with my girl!”

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise and he glanced back to you, “He already told you about her?”

It was quite possibly the worst string of words you could have heard all day. Only in competition with Nima’s ‘He’s married, babe’. You felt nauseous and dizzy⏤ the breath stolen from you again. Nima was arguing with Tommy, you could hear her voice, but you couldn’t concretely understand a single word that was said. When you finally managed to get a handle on reality, you looked back to see things had fallen apart and more time than you realized had passed in your mental breakdown. 

The blond and brunet from earlier, in the suits, had come back and were somehow arguing with Tommy and Nima now. You suddenly began to regret the last two drinks you had. Maybe if you had gone with a couple glasses of water instead you’d be able to puzzle out exactly what was going on right now.

“Get the hell outta here. They ain’t interested.” Tommy snapped.

“Just curious as to why we weren’t good enough for these bitches and you were.” The brunet slurred his words. Tommy stood a step in front of Nima who had slid off her bar stool to stand in front of you with her hands on her hips. “What’s so special about you, bub?”

“Ugh. How about the two of you run off to the bathroom and jack each other off, huh? Then leave us the fuck alone.” Nima sneered.

“Shut your damn mouth!” 

The blond tried to push past Tommy toward Nima, but Tommy shoved him back immediately. He grabbed the guy by the collar. “You gonna charge at a woman like that? Fuckin' coward.” Tommy’s voice came out in a gravelly growl that reminded you so much of Joel that it was staggering. “You got a problem, you take it up with me.”

The next moment happened fast. The blond tried to swing out at Tommy so Tommy blocked it with his elbow before tackling the man to the ground. The brunet grabbed Nima and wrapped his arms around her. She howled in anger and squirmed in his arms trying to find purchase to hit him. The brunet spun so his back was to you and you slid off the stool. Without pause, without thought, you picked up your empty glass and smashed it to the back of the man’s head. He released Nima, crumpling to the ground with a groan, and any shred of a fight stopped⏤as did the entire bar.

Tommy was kneeling on the ground pinning the blond while Nima stood off to the side.

“Oh my God.” Nima squealed, amused.

“Oh my God.” Tommy blurted, impressed.

“Oh my God.” You gasped, shocked at your own action.

You were panting, damn near hyperventilating, as the brunet began to rise on shaky limbs. Other patrons nearby converged on the scene to help out and before you knew it you were being ushered off to the side where a few couches and seats sat in a lounge area. 

“You’re such a badass.” Nima gushed from beside you. "How’s your hand??”

“Hurts.” You mumbled and stared down at the white cloth wrapped around your hand. Bright red was beginning to seep through. The consequences of smashing glass against the back of someone’s skull. Police had shown up and you knew Tommy was across the room talking to them. But still, your eyes stayed glued on your hand. The cuts weren’t terrible but they stung something awful.

“Babe?” You finally looked up and met Nima’s concerned eyes. She nodded, “You alright?”

You shot her a small smile, “Yeah. Are you okay? I can’t believe he grabbed you.”

“I’m fine.” Nima peeked at your hand then stood. “I’m gonna see if this bar has a real first aid kit we can use. Be right back.”

She jumped up and jogged over to the bar. You sunk in your seat with a sigh and leaned your head against the back of the couch. There had been something very sobering about smashing the glass against that guy’s head. The adrenaline and pain cleared any lingering fog from your previous drinks right out of your head. It left room for you to think about Joel. Meeting his brother certainly didn’t help. Tommy clapped one of the officer’s on the shoulder with a smile and they went separate ways. You lifted your head when you heard his footsteps draw near.

“Well, I spoke to the police.” Tommy stuck his hands into his pockets. “You’re not gonna get in trouble for the, you know, the glass. Won’t have to go downtown with ‘em.” You breathed a sigh of relief. Tommy held your gaze for a few more seconds before scrunching his nose and bobbing his head toward you. “And Joel is, uh, on his way.”

You covered your face with your good hand and groaned, “Can I please just be arrested instead?”

“Sorry, no can do.” Tommy sat down beside you. “You know, I didn’t say it earlier, but it’s nice to finally meet you. Joel never shuts up about you.”

“Please. Don’t.” You blurted. “I can’t… I can’t talk about him right now.”

Tommy nodded, “Right. I, uh, when I called him we didn’t talk much.” He laced his fingers together and rested his arms on his knees. “I mentioned you were hurt and things kind of spiraled from there. That’s probably for the best though. I don’t wanna get in between a lover’s quarrel⏤”

“I’m not his lover.” You snapped, and you hated the way your voice cracked. You shook your head, “Not if he’s married. Not…” The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and you were exhausted to your very bones. “This is so fucked up. I never should've agreed to…

Tommy didn’t immediately reply. He sighed, “I don’t know you, and I don’t got the exact details of what’s going on right now, but… I’m glad you agreed.” He turned and met your gaze with a tight smile. “Joel’s been… He’s been better. Joel was in a rut for a long time. So long that I kind of forgot he was in one. For a while, that was just Joel.” Tommy’s smile grew as he chuckled. “But ever since the two of you met, it’s like this weight has been lifted from his shoulders. We’ve all noticed it, and we’re all thankful.”

  “He’s married.” You whispered. “And he didn’t tell me.”

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, “I know, but it’s⏤ it’s not that simple.” He nervously chewed on his lower lip. “Can you just give him a chance to explain?” You flexed your hand and sucked in a sharp breath as pain lanced up your arm. “Consider it a favor for me.”

“A favor for you?” You snorted.

“Yeah. I kept you out of prison, remember?” Tommy joked.

You cracked a smile and Tommy’s smile widened in victory. Nima skipped back over and dropped into the seat on your other side. She pulled your hand into her lap and carefully unpeeled the cloth away. As Nima rewrapped your hand while Tommy criticized her technique and the two bickered over you. You couldn’t help but flex your hand when she finished.

“Come on, pinkie.” Tommy stood. “I’ll take you home.”

“Uh, I am not leaving my girl here alone.”

“Joel will be here soon.”

“Then I’m definitely not leaving her alone!”

You reached out to squeeze her wrist and gave her a reassuring nod, “I’ll be okay. Gotta talk to him eventually, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t have to be right now.” Nima argued. You pulled her into a hug to reassure her once again. Maybe this was a bad idea, but you had just smashed a glass against a guy’s head so the degree of your bad ideas couldn't possibly get worse. Nima sighed and stood up too. “Okay. You’re sure you’re fine?”

Tommy clapped his hands. “Joel’s a few minutes away. But we can stay until he gets here if you want.”

“No.” You shook your head. The thought of being alone for a minute was kind of nice. “You guys go.” Your eyes locked onto Nima. “If you’re okay with him driving you.” You glanced at Tommy. “No offense.”

He held his hands up in surrender and shrugged nonchalantly. Nima nodded, “We survived a bar brawl together. We’re bonded.” She grinned and pulled her strawberry purse around her shoulders. “Plus, worse comes to worse, I can stab him.”

“You can what now?” Tommy questioned.

“You’ve already offered me a ride. It’s too late to back out now.”

“Fine, pinkie.” Tommy waved her to follow. 

You watched them go and sunk in your seat. The sounds of the bar was decent background noise, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the noise in your head. You picked at the edges of the gauze wrapped around your hand. Your eyes felt heavy and if you weren’t careful you were going to pass out on this bar couch surrounded by strangers. It was the sound of a crash that startled you back into the moment, and when you looked up from your hand you realized the door had been thrown open hard enough to hit the wall. Joel stood in the doorway panicked and wild eyed. He wore a suit without the tie and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top.

You stayed silent, sinking further into your seat, and watched as Joel’s wide eyes scanned the room. His gaze finally landed on you, doing a double take, and when he realized where you were you saw his shoulders slump in relief. Joel jogged across the room until he was able to kneel down in front of you. Joel’s warm hands found your face, cupping it softly, as he sighed, “Sugar, what the hell is goin' on? Are you okay?” Joel’s eyes studied your face then glanced down at your hand. “Jesus, your hand. Tommy called me. Sugar, I⏤”

“I’m okay.” You whispered, throat growing tight, “I just wanna go home, Joel.”

Joel tensed and he nodded, “Yeah. Alright. Let’s get you home.”

The ride in the truck beside Joel may have been the most awkward and tense ride of your entire life. It was silent. The only sound coming from the road outside. Joel’s hands were white knuckled around the steering wheel. You assumed his tension had something to do with you ghosting him this evening. His truck pulled up outside your apartment complex and your alcohol soaked brain realized not only did you not have your keys but you also no longer had your phone. Both were sitting in Nima’s purse right now.

You opened the door fully prepared to sleep outside your apartment on the welcome mat like a lost dog, but Joel grasped you by the arm cautiously to hold you in place. “You got your key?” You twisted your lips knowing he wasn’t going to fall for a lie. “Where is your key?”

“With Nima.” You mumbled. “She has my phone too.”

Joel sighed and let go of you to instead grab the truck door and shut it. He buckled you back into the seat and began to drive once more. You wanted to ask where he was taking you, but none of the words would come out. You drowned in your indecision while picking at the bandage on your hand. Joel suddenly reached over and lightly pushed your hand away from the injury.

“Stop pickin' at it, sugar.”

“Where are we going?” You blurted.

Joel shifted in his seat, “My place.”

“I don’t wanna go to your place.” You mumbled.

“Don’t care.” Joel replied gruffly and you lifted your head to glare at his side profile. 

The tone of his voice stirred something inside you, and you felt the dormant anger start to reawaken. It had gotten buried under everything that happened, but now it was back full fledged. You sat up, “Take me back. I want to go home.”

“You don’t have your key.”

“I don’t care.” You snapped. “Take me home, Joel!”

“You’re comin' to my place where I know you can safely sleep it off, 'nd then tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get ya back into your apartment. Understood?”

You scoffed, “Don’t talk down to me. I’m not a child, Joel.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Joel scoffed. His tone was angry and frustrated. “Cause you’re sure as hell actin' like one.” He shot a glare in your direction before focusing back on the road. “Are you outta your goddamn mind?! Do you know how worried I was?” You crossed your arms and stared out the passenger window. “I don’ hear from you all day long. You disappear on me with no explanation 'nd then I get a call from my baby brother that you’ve been in a bar fight? And that you’re hurt?!” You stayed silent and Joel scoffed. “And now I get the silent treatment? Very mature.”

“You don’t want to argue with me on what’s mature, Joel.” You said, head whipping back to glare at him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean??”

“You’re a hypocrite!”

“Excuse me?”

You scoffed, “It’s not very mature for a married man to pay a sugar baby for attention.” Joel hit the brakes and the seat belt caught you as the truck screeched to a stop. You glanced out the window to see his truck had reached a neighborhood and the streets were mostly void of other vehicles. When you turned back to Joel, you found him staring at you in a mix of shock and horror. You shook your head, “What was I, Joel? Some kind of midlife crisis?”

Pain could be seen through the horror, and he reached out to grab your wrist again. “No. No, that’s not…” Joel’s voice was hoarse and broken. He whispered your name. “Please. That’s not what this is.”

You tugged your arm away from his grip. “I don’t wanna talk about this right now, Joel. Either start driving again or I’m gonna get out.”

Joel kept his hands to himself as he slowly went back to driving. As if the awkward silence hadn’t been painful before it was downright agonizing now. You were pressing your thumb into the wounds of your palm just to try and keep from crying. Joel pulled into the driveway a few minutes later, and you couldn’t even get your brain to collect a single feature of the house in front of you. Joel jumped out of the truck and you stayed frozen. The passenger door opened but Joel didn’t move to pull you out. He held the top of the door frame and a foot rested on the running board so he could lean in just marginally.

“Sugar…”

“Don’t, Joel.” You said firmly. “Don’t.”

“Please just let me⏤”

“Are you married?”

Joel’s face crumpled in agony and he hung his head, “It’s… It’s not that simple. Just let me⏤”

“It’s a yes or no question.” You shrugged and tried to ignore the tears welling up in your eyes.

Joel looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he still refused to answer. You whispered his name. Finally, he lifted his gaze back to you and opened his mouth. His jaw hung open silently for a second before he could speak. “...Yes.”

You felt the tears lingering at the waterline drip down your cheeks and hastily began to wipe them away with your hands. Joel gasped and began to reach out but when you flinched he held back. He shook his head, “You’re bleedin'.”

The bandage around your hand was soaked with blood, probably from digging your thumb into the wounds, and when you felt your cheek with your fingertips they came back tinted red. You must have smeared it across your face. 

“Sugar, let me… let me take you inside.” Joel murmured. “Please. I know you’re… upset, 'nd you have every reason to hate me right now, but… just let me get you inside.” His hand reached out for you once more, but he stopped himself. “You can leave in the mornin', but for tonight just⏤ just let me take care of you. Please.”

You gave a small nod. It felt weak of you, but you reassured yourself that you had little to no other option. Your hand hurt, your head ached, you were exhausted to your very being, and deep down you were torn between wanting to yell and scream or curl into a ball and cry. Joel took a few steps back to allow you to climb down yourself, but when you wavered his arms shot out to try and steady you. Joel herded you toward the front door without actually touching you. 

Your eyebrows furrowed when you studied his front porch. The entire front of his house didn’t look like the typical rich LA style you were accustomed to seeing. In fact, his porch and front door reminded you of a quaint farmhouse. Joel unlocked his front door and held it open for you to walk in. Right inside the house, the foyer had an open style with a set of stairs pressed against the wall just up ahead. It opened straight into a large living room that evolved into a dining room with a matching open kitchen to the side. The entire back wall by the kitchen and dining area was made of glass but the back porch lights were off so you couldn’t see the view. 

Joel tossed his keys into a bowl sitting on an accent table against the wall right by the door. You glanced over to a little bench built into the wall on the other side beneath a set of bay windows. The rest of his furniture from what you could see was modern and plain. You were drunk off alcohol and misery, but your brain was still able to take the time to note that Joel’s furniture didn’t match what you imagined him to have.

“C’mon.” Joel motioned you up the stairs. He followed after you and when you reached the top of the stairs he pointed to the left. You stepped into the master bedroom and Joel slid in past you moving straight toward the master bath. While he rooted around for something, you glanced around his room. There was a king sized bed sitting in the middle of the room covered in dark green sheets. A window sat on either side of the bed. The wall to the right was where the bathroom door and the closet door sat, but on the left was a single loveseat pushed against the wall. All the furniture was dark brown including the large dresser against the wall by the door and the smaller bedside drawers on either side of the bed under the windows. You drifted toward one of the bedside drawers where a photo was propped up. It was of Joel and two young girls. Joel had shown you enough pictures of Sarah and Ellie for you to recognize them, but in this photo all three of them were significantly younger. 

The sound of a throat clearing made you look up to see Joel standing there with a first aid kit in hand. “Sit down for me?” You sat on the side of the bed and Joel sat beside you. He opened the kit then carefully unwrapped your hand. When he saw the three lines haphazardly cut into your palm he let out a soft hiss. “You hurtin' much?”

“It stings some.” You mumbled. He hummed in response and used an alcohol swab to clean up the cuts. Joel did so with soft touches and his eyes flickered to your features every second or so to check in on your status. You locked your jaw to bite back any sounds of pain that tried to slip out. 

“They look bad, but I don’ think they’ll need stitches.” Joel thought out loud. 

“Good.” You said. Joel grabbed some fresh gauze and began to wrap it around your hand. You studied his features as he focused so intently on the task at hand. His warm gaze was burned into your skin as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You had the urge to trace your fingers through the scruff along his jawline. When he finished, he lifted his gaze and his eyes locked with yours. The two of you stared at one another in tense silence. Pain and longing filled his brown eyes, and you wondered if it could somehow just be a reflection of your own. It made no sense for you to both be so miserable right now. “Where is she?”

Joel tensed, “What?”

“Where is your wife?” You asked more firmly. 

“Are you sure you wanna get into this tonight?”

“I just want answers, Joel.” You sighed. “I need something. My mind has been a mess since we left Vegas.” Joel’s face crumpled as he closed his eyes with a sigh. “Yo-yo told me I wasn’t your first sugar baby and then she said you were married to your first sugar baby.” The words were falling out like pouring water now. “And then Nima has a cousin who has a cousin who has a friend or something that was able to find your marriage certificate⏤”

Joel murmured your name in reverence and opened his eyes. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you from the start. That way there’d be no miscommunication or confusion. I meant to. But… I kept puttin' it off 'nd it got to the point where too much time had passed…” Joel hesitantly reached out for you and when you didn’t shy away he settled his hand on your arm. “I did have a sugar baby before you. It’s a… long story, but I am not married to her.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, “You didn’t marry her?”

“No. Absolutely not. She was… Like I said, it’s a long story.” Joel squeezed your arm. “One that I promise to tell you. In the mornin', when you’re not half drunk 'nd half hungover all at once.”

“Then who the hell are you married to, Joel?”

“I… I am technically still married to Celina.” Joel finally spat the words out. You shook your head in confusion. The name was foreign to you, but Joel heaved another sigh and added, “Sarah’s mom.”

taglist (closed):

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