#and sm fumbles the ball on every pass

[yutaholic]

how are you feeling about the new 7 members they announced?

idk how to feel about it tbh :// imo there’s so much going on in ncity already, so this feels so weird and forced 😭 also i saw the youngest was born in 2007 🤨 like in my eyes nct are all grown men, like they make pussy music and sing about fucking bitches in porsches. chewing gum and mfal had its moment and i love those songs but it seems like such a weird move to inevitably regress to that kind of music when you debut minors…

and the whole survival show of it all, idk it just feels off and i’m annoyed at the direction sm is taking them

Well I just learned of this now thanks to your message lol I've been out of the loop

I think my first reaction is this makes no sense why they took Shotaro and Sungchan out EXCEPT to give RIIZE a boost of nctzen fans. Why would you add a whole 7 member group to an existing group after removing 2 other members who have been sitting around with no unit for 2+ years?

I'm more annoyed that NCT Tokyo, which was going to have Yuta and Shotaro according to earlier rumors, is now just going to be its own separate thing which makes no sense. They never stop fucking things up for my Yuta.

My friend said SM got so much shit from nctzens (Korean and intl) about NCT Hollywood that they pretty much scrapped all their future NCT plans. Nctzens may be so high maintenance (looking at the kfans that boycotted 127 for promoting in the US) that SM may be sick of them at this point.

They said the infinite expansion is officially over. I doubt this new crop of super young kids is to compensate for the older members starting to go to the military. Ffs look at Shinee and Super Junior. They did just fine with members in the military.

Idk in conclusion it just makes no sense to me but when has anything SM done ever made sense

[rvmmm21]

. you’re gonna spaghet it .

summary : a home-cooked meal and a baking show is too much to ask for. but only when the person asking is seungwan.

small note : i'm tentatively back. and here's the worse news. you get this pile of 'what-the-fic-is-this?!' before i start clonking you over the head with my leg of yandere ham.

think of it as your pre-christmas coal in your stocking.

(this sat in my drafts for so long its not even funny. if i had a cent for every second i spent thinking about whether i wanted this out here, i'd have accumulated enough for the plane ticket, the lawyers and the hospital fees to fly over to SM to clonk them myself.)

just for tumblr. if you want to read this but in pretty, it’s here.

tw : tickling, probably many grammar errors because i do not know how to write anymore, and my cretinous knowledge of how tv recordings work.

[irene x white-winged dove!wendy]

. . .

[6:15pm] A mischievous smile tugs at her lips when she sees how Seungwan struggles.

. . .

Bae Joohyun blithely watches her girlfriend titter around the kitchen preparing vegetables for the chopping board. When the sound of water beginning to boil reaches attentive ears, she secretly smiles at the melodious hum of a happy tune.

Everything is going as planned!

However.

Pangs of guilt are beginning to tweak at Joohyun’s conscience. Because what she really wants to do is not to be a good girlfriend and offer a hand at stirring the pot. She doesn’t even want to sit patiently and wait to hear Seungwan sing out for her when dinner’s ready.

No. Joohyun wants to play. And she knows who she wants to play with. Even though it’s going to be a complete setback to the lovely night she’s sure her Wannie has planned out for them.

It was Seungwan’s idea to cook tonight, then eat together while they watch their favourite TV program. Pfft, ‘their favourite’. What Joohyun really means is she’ll happily watch the season finale of the unorthodox cooking show her girlfriend is currently obsessed with.

. . .

“It gives me ideas, unnie,” Seungwan had explained when, about a week ago, Joohyun had walked in on a very experimental game of muffin-making.

The latest episode of “Baking for the Seoul” flashed through Joohyun’s memory.

“Don’t the ingredients have to be… in the bowl, though?” she asked incredulously, eyes searching for any part of their countertop that was actually visible.

“Hm?” Seungwan looked up, wiping the frosting off her nose… with the wrong hand.

Joohyun raised an eyebrow. “And which one are we putting in the oven, your sludge mix or you?” She inquired, now searching for any part of her girlfriend’s face – that was actually visible.

When the girl in question stayed concentrated, apprehension bubbled in her gut at the state of that exceptionally thick bowl of frosting. She surreptitiously strained to peer behind a thoroughly battered Seungwan, trying her hardest to not actually step foot into the kitchen.

Her girlfriend has this… ‘thing’ about work space. Especially the kitchen.

“Wan-ah,” Joohyun’s tone was equal parts warning and concern. “You didn’t get any on your wings, did you… that frosting looks too thick and last time you got yourself all mucky, remember we had to – ”

“It’s fine it’s fine, look! I’m being careful!” Seungwan quipped cheerfully, pirouetting round to give a worried Joohyun a glimpse of her wings which were nicely folded through each designated slit in the back of her sky-blue jumper.

The latter breathed a sigh of relief when she saw them; all white, fluffy and – most importantly – clean. She inwardly shuddered at how much of a nightmare that bath was. Thank god she’s behaving this time, she thought.

Although momentary relief didn’t stop her from contemplating an alternative method of keeping her mind at ease.

But the thought of having Seungwan wear her wing guards in their own home tugged at her unpleasantly. It was bad enough she had to have them on when they were out in potentially stressful situations. So she wouldn’t accidentally hurt herself or anyone around her… which had unfortunately happened once or twice before. It was clearly a burden to go about so obviously restricted, and despite Seungwan’s insistence on having grown used to them, Joohyun could always feel how upset she’d get whenever she was helping to do the clasps up behind her.

Definitely no wing guards then. And if that meant Joohyun would be bruising her knees for hours on end trying to keep dense baking mix and her messy baby bird two separate entities, then she’d happily do it.

Whatever kept Seungwan chirping.

Plus, her little chef looked damned determined, so she thought it appropriate to slip in one last passing remark before plucking a banana from the rack. “Yah, Wannie! Let me know if I’m gonna have to pick out birdie feathers from my cupcakes, okay?”

Seungwan grumbled something along the lines of a ‘hm, yeah whatever unnie’ in response.

Joohyun just laughed, heading back to their room and leaving the mastermind to her latest trial.

> > > > > 

[7:00 p.m] Seungwan doesn't know which she finds more horrifying: what Joohyun intends to do to her or the fact that they're going to have to have take-away two nights in a row.

. . .

It should’ve been a simple mission.

Retrieve a fresh packet of spaghetti from the topmost shelf.

Her attempts are… laughable. She’s clearly doing her best.

Though she doesn't realise it yet, she’s still being watched. From the living room, Joohyun is watching. And she isn’t laughing. Hands ball into unconscious fists as a tight wave of numbness washes over her at how adorable Seungwan looks.

Just… like that: both wings tucked against her back, beautiful and neat as their owner. Strained muscles from reaching for something Joohyun already knows she’s going to have to help out with. And the tiny grunts when fingertips barely graze the edges of the packet.

Seungwan looks so soft, so frustrated. So vulnerable.

A small spike of inexplicable adrenaline leads Joohyun to head over to the huffing, moon-hopping girl.

She really needs to teach her little dove that being this cute comes with a price.

. . . 

When a lithe body slides up behind her and presses against her back, Seungwan’s wings give a gentle flutter to mimic the stutter in her heart. She sighs affectionately at the pair of hands resting low on her hips.

The task is almost forgotten. Almost.

Unnie’s here to help, Seungwan thinks… ever so mistakenly.

“Hyun – ahh,” she’s interrupted by a slight shiver when the tip of her right wing is stroked between a finger and a thumb, delicately running across pure, downy feathers. A tried and tested (Bae Joohyun-certified) method of getting the girl absolutely weak.

Judging by the sound of strained breaths filling the space between them, it’s working.

Alas, dinner hasn’t been cooked, the sun’s setting and Seungwan’s time-management brain is screaming at her to get a move on. She points to the shelf, trying her hardest to block out the dangerously wonderful feeling. “Could you – could you please get that for me?”

Instead of complying, Joohyun chuckles, moving her hands from her back to glide them lightly up and down her sides. She isn’t surprised that Seungwan is already shivering, terribly overwhelmed from that alone.

Her smirk twitches when she feels the smaller girl squirm.

Seungwan has always been like this… so responsive, so susceptible to touch. Her touch. She’s jelly in her clutches, and even Joohyun has to admit that sometimes she really doesn’t deserve to be.

Sneaky hands grow bolder, finding their way under the hem of Seungwan’s fleecy jumper to continue tracing teasing lines against soft, sensitive skin.

“But it’s so cute to watch you struggle, baby,” Joohyun coos, beginning to rest more of her weight into Seungwan’s hips, keeping her trapped against the kitchen counter.

“U-unnie,” Seungwan tries, half-heartedly writhing against Joohyun’s hold, torn between wanting to cook dinner and wanting to be dinner. “Not – ah… not right now… it’s already late, we have to – ”

“And you smell so nice. Is this new shampoo?” Joohyun presses her nose into her nape, cutting her short, nuzzling into that pleasant fruity shampoo scent. She then pauses to nudge Seungwan’s legs suggestively ajar with her knee before leaning in to whisper into a ruby-tipped ear. “ Should I give you a reason to shower again later, hm?”

The younger’s eyes widen at the sinful implication.

Gosh, really? Right now? In the kitchen?

The kitchen. The place she cooks and handles food? (Sure, Joohyun will – once in a blue moon – dice the odd carrot or something, but that certainly does not give her the right to be making any unauthorised, hormonal messes for her to clean up). She must be off her rocker if she thinks Seungwan’s going to allow her precious workstation to be tainted by what she can already foresee to be copious amounts of bodily fluid just because someone can’t keep it in their pants.

It snaps something inside her. And – with all the strength neither of them knew she possessed – Seungwan wrenches out from under Joohyun’s weight with a firm “YAH! Stop fooling around!”, sending the older woman stumbling a few steps back.

For a second, they’re just as stunned and disbelieving as each other; Seungwan at her own apprently dormant Herculean strength –

– and Joohyun at the sheer audacity.

Then again, could this be any more timely?

God, Joohyun could kiss herself.

She straightens her blouse, putting on her best ‘I-can’t-believe-you’ve-done-this’ expression, and turning to lock the now slightly (and rightfully so) terrified-looking Seungwan with a stare. This is the best part. The part where she just glares, secretly gleeful as the other girl absolutely crumbles with apprehension.

The part where Seungwan thinks it’s her fault.

“Uh oh,” she tuts, sporting a grin to match that mischievous glint in her eyes, “someone’s in trouble, aren’t they?”

Seungwan is, of course, at a total loss for words, but she fumbles around anyway, desperate to justify whatever the hell she’s just done. It’s almost too much for Joohyun to handle, watching her dig her own grave like this.

Finally, Seungwan tries to back up, only to let out a sharp gasp when she trips over her own feet in her haste. She’s on the floor in seconds with Joohyun immediately following. There’s hardly a chance for her to get her bearings before she’s stuck on her back with a weight straddling her hips.

Seungwan goes wide-eyed. She might as well kiss the prospect of a candlelit dinner bye-bye… for tonight, at least.

“My clumsy, clumsy Wannie,” Joohyun mocks, holding herself above the smaller girl on her hands and purposely tangling their legs together. “Tonight was very thoughtful of you, baby, but I’m postponing our dinner plans to tomorrow night. I think we should order in, don’t you?”

“Ah unnie...” Seungwan groans, failing to ignore the way Joohyun’s predatory expression crayons her cheeks a soft pink, “we had take-away last night! I don’t wanna eat chicken aga – ”

“Then let’s get pizza,” Joohyun offers unhelpfully. She’s clearly got her own agenda that she’s determined to follow through with. “Okay? Hm, let’s see… you have to the count of five to agree with me or…”

She pauses to savour the panic in those deep brown eyes. “I’m going to have a very tired little birdie to take care of.”

That satisfied smirk leaves nothing to the imagination. Seungwan can practically read her fate on her girlfriend's rosy lips before they delve into hers, causing her eyes to roll back as they melt hotly into each other.

Seungwan hardly notices Joohyun lacing their fingers together until her eyes flutter open and she finds herself held down, arms stretched securely above her head. Joohyun adjusts her grip so she has both wrists pinned under one hand and the other free.

Ah, fuck, not again. Seungwan laughs emptily, fidgeting with high-strung premonition. When her one final struggle proves useless, she resorts to asserting herself with her voice. “Yah, unnie, I’m cooking tonight. Stop being annoying or you’re not getting fed.”

Ah, too easy.

Joohyun contemplates elaborating further. But she’s said enough. Besides, Seungwan doesn’t even deserve a response to that. That was a threat, wasn’t it? The prospect of starvation is a serious threat that should be promptly dealt with. And what do you do when you’re faced with a threat? Be that a burglar, a murderer or a very flustered Son Seungwan.

Tickle them. Obviously.

Joohyun leers over her, wiggling her fingers in anticipation. “Five…”

Seungwan’s eyes blow wide, and – with miserable luck – she renews her efforts at breaking free once again. “Hyun! Seriously?! You – I can’t believe you’re d – ”

“Four.”

“HYUN!”

“Three.”

“Okay! Okay! Let’s get pizza tonight! There, happy?! You can even choose the flav – ”

Seungwan hears a scoff above her. “Nope. Sorry Wannie. I made that decision. You’ve changed nothing.”

“YAH, YOU TRICKED ME YOU BIRDBRAIN! LET ME UP. YOU’RE SO DEAD!!”

One click of a tongue and Seungwan has never retracted any statement faster in her life.

“Okayokayokay! Sorry that was super mean! Please I – ”

“Two…”

Too late. She’s dead. She’s one hundred percent about to be on the list of the unfairly deceased.

Seungwan whines hopelessly. “Unnieeeee, you’re not being fair!”

It’s a ditch attempt, but one Seungwan doesn’t intend to miss. “OKAY SERIOUSLY I MEAN IT, GET OFF!”

Joohyun snickers. “One.”

With five fingers and wicked intent, she dives in.

. . .

A pair of pretty wings and an even prettier face make for an impossible choosing.

Even now, as she has Seungwan flat on her back with her eyes screwed shut and tears streaming down her face, she wants to flip her over so she can be blinded by white insulation. So those feathers can brush against her as she drives their owner to the brink of sanity.

She wants to feel her dove respond to what she does to her.

“Hyu – Hyun, p-please!”

Joohyun smirks down at her victim, who’s weakly pawing at the front of her blouse in what she can only assume is an attempt to get her to stop.

Pathetic.

Seungwan never fails to struggle. But then again, she never fails to forget that Joohyun, too, is much, much stronger than she looks.

All that tiresome squirming is easily dealt with. Only a fraction more pressure from Joohyun’s fingertips, and Seungwan’s arms fall to either side, limp and useless just like the rest of her. The only indication she’s even conscious is the violent trembling and – when she’s able to muster up the lung space – the occasional plea for mercy.

Even the laughter is silent.

Joohyun loves it this way. She loves having Seungwan all sweaty and flustered beyond belief; whenever and wherever she pleases, the younger girl is reduced to a quivering mess, trapped beneath her cruel dexterity.

So instead of getting the pasta boiling for a romantic dinner, Seungwan is graciously letting Joohyun have her one-sided fun while she’s forced to cough, splutter and laugh so hard her insides hurt. The reflex to try to buck Joohyun off or twist out of her clutches nips at her incessantly.

Although she really shouldn’t worm around like that, because it’s only making Joohyun’s job easier with how her jumper rides further and further up with every inch she wriggles away.

It almost makes Joohyun think her little songbird wants to be tickled.

“Aw,” she coos, playfully tweaking unintentionally exposed ribs. “So cute, Wannie. You want it here, too?”

Seungwan is breathless from the tickles before she’s even processed what Joohyun’s said. Those tantalising touches never linger on any part of her long enough for her to develop a resistance to them. Not that she could even if she tried. She’s as sensitive as Joohyun is skilled. And Joohyun strikes with dreadful precision, switching between light skittering and then deftly kneading her fingers into every spot that wrings Seungwan’s lungs for all they’re worth.

The smooth tile is cooling against her feathers, even if her wings are twitching beyond her control, trying their hardest to flip her over to give her some shot at escaping. She barely manages to crawl a few inches away before there’s a firm grip on her ankle, all but dragging her back because Joohyun sure as hell isn’t done with her that quickly.

Trying to get away? She cocks an eyebrow, scooting up to sit on Seungwan’s butt, pinning her hips to the floor.

“Oh no, my poor birdie’s flipped herself over,” she feigns concern, gently resting her palms on Seungwan’s wings, stilling their fluttering and holding them steady. The sight of them unfolded, outstretched from the struggle and completely exposed has Joohyun catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Did you hurt yourself here, Wannie? You need unnie to kiss it better?”

Seungwan shrieks at a pitch that’d have every dog in the neighbourhood cowering when she feels a pair of pillowy lips settle on that excruciating spot right where the arch of her wings meet her back, where she absolutely cannot stand to be touched.

Even under normal circumstances, Seungwan had made her swear to never spring upon her like that. And of course, by virtue of that alone, it quickly became one of Joohyun’s favourite places to touch her.

Luckily she’s too distracted now to protest.

The ‘kisses’ aren’t any less torturous than ten fingers going all at once.

Poor, tired Seungwan hardly has the energy to writhe as Joohyun continues to press her hellish butterfly kisses all along the length of those oversensitive appendages, nosing into her feathers and ruffling them gently with her breath. The younger’s expression contorts into silent agony when she feels the fingers return, this time digging into her armpits. 

Fresh tears well up in the corners of her eyes as she lays there, flailing like a fish out of water, face down with zero leverage to combat her girlfriend’s merciless onslaught.

She’s as defenceless as a turtle on its back (or rather, a dove on its tummy). Her squirms are getting weaker, the laughter more strained, but it’s all so rewarding to her loving tormentor.

Seungwan is kept laughing till the hollow ring of the doorbell sounds through their apartment.

. . .

[An hour post stuffed crust pepperoni pizza with extra cheese]

 Joohyun enters their room just as her girlfriend is getting dressed for bed, freshly showered… again. She lets out a low chuckle when Seungwan catches sight of her in her peripheral vision and hastily pulls the loose necked pajama t-shirt over her head.

“How was dinner?” she asks, arms folded and leaning against the door.

Seungwan rolls her eyes and releases her hair from its bun. “Too much cheese. We need to drink lots of water tonight or we’ll be pufferfish in the morning.”

“Aw, is someone grumpy?” Joohyun gives an uncharacteristically exaggerated pout and the latter hides a shiver.

Good god, please someone save her.

“Unnie, of course I am. We’re going to eat reheated carbonara sauce tomorrow no thanks to you,” Seungwan bluntly retaliates. “You’ve had your fun, now can you stop talking to me like I’m five, please?”

Naturally, her request falls on selectively deafened ears.

“Yah, seriously,” she punctuates the severity by manually unfolding her trembling left wing and pointing at it. “Look. I’m still shaking because of you. Now you're done, I really – ”

That’s all the grumpy talk she’s allowed before Joohyun jump-tackles her onto their bed, pinning her to it and watching sheer panic etch into deep cinnamon irises.

“When did I say I was done?” she asks, suggestiveness tracing the edges of her tone. She hovers above her, bringing a hand up to cup her face.

Seungwan hisses a laugh. “Unnie, I have a limit too, you know. You can’t just keep finding excuses to tickle the crap out of – ”

She chokes on a gasp when she feels a hand – the one she’d been as good as tortured under not two hours ago – trailing down her stomach… slipping past the elastic of her panties and –

– it just reminds her why she’ll always let Joohyun have her fun.

Because no matter how much she laughs, screams, cries or begs, there’s always a reward. Much sweeter than anything Seungwan thinks she could ever bake. Their sex life is anything but stagnant, however this is, more often than not, Joohyun’s way of making it up to her afterwards (much to her approval).

Or maybe she just wants to drive Seungwan to the brink of losing her voice so she won't have to hear the nagging about the next episode of Baking For the Seoul.

Which, by the way, came out tonight. And Joohyun made them miss it. She had better be praying they’d be able to find a copy online somewhere.

Either way, it’s so much more gratifying after an eternity spent howling your lungs out on the floor. Seungwan’s full attention is lasered down to where Joohyun is now softly caressing her under the thin cotton barrier. The warm ache beginning to settle in between her thighs prompts her to try to squeeze them together, but Joohyun catches on and wedges her knees in between them, spreading her even further.

“Ah,” she raises a smug brow as she leans in to press her lips to the base of her ear. Her own eyes darken with lust in response to her little dove writhing helplessly below her. “Be a good girl for me, okay, baby?”

It’s late. Seungwan can barely keep her eyes open. Oh, but she aches so badly.

“Still grumpy, hm?” Joohyun murmurs questioningly, hot breath fanning over Seungwan’s neck and echoing goosebumps over her skin. She glances down at the bulge of her hand stretching the fabric, fingers already coated in slick. Her index finger rubs against Seungwan’s clit. “Feel good, Wannie?”

Hopelessly turned on, it’s all the other girl can do to whimper in agreement.

The pleasing sound of those soft whines escaping right into her ear turns Joohyun’s grin into something downright wolfish. She gives the swollen bud a few more leisurely strokes before retracting her hand completely, leaving Seungwan squirming in anticipation with whatever energy she has left.

Joohyun tastes the arousal on her fingertips. “Mm, I love how small you look right now, in my hands. So small and needy.”

Seungwan pants out a quiet “please, unnie”, clasping a shuddering hand over Joohyun’s and guiding it back down to the heat in her panties. She rolls her hips up into her palm, silently begging for her reward for being such a ‘willing’ participant in the one-sided games they played today.

After letting her gaze linger for a second, Joohyun shifts so she’s lying next to Seungwan. She slips her hand back in and squeezes firmly, revelling in the hoarseness of the girl’s voice. Velvety lips delicately map out her shoulder, and Seungwan has to fight to keep her eyes open to drink in the image of Joohyun pressed up against her, right hand cradled under her neck, propping her head up so they can both see the other one teasing her down her underwear.

It’s when Seungwan turns away to frustratedly pout at the suspense that Joohyun smiles and gives her a quick peck on the nose.

“I’ll continue if you promise not to pass out this time, okay baby bird?”

She bites back a snort watching Seungwan nod like she’s ever been able to stay awake after.

Then she has to bite back another because since when has she ever not continued even after being fed these empty promises, time and time again.

Anything to keep her precious Seungwan happy.

[kaveija]

if you don’t mind me asking here too 🤣 but could you possibly write about wayv’s reaction to y/n burning their tongue (not like severely) while cooking for them i feel so selfish for asking sm heH you have complete creator freedom thank u 💕

Omg no problem ❤️❤️❤️ I rarely get asks so I’m incredibly honored 🥴 also I changed it a little because my cooking knowledge is slim to none but I hope that you still like this 🥺🥺

WayV Reacting to You Burning Your Tongue

Kun

“Ah!” Your fingers quickly touched the tip of your tongue. This was the fourth time this week that you’ve burned your tongue with hot tea, and it’s almost like you’ll never learn.

Kun, your boyfriend of six months, was sitting on the couch when your sudden outburst caught his attention.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” He stood up and was by your side in an instant.

“Im oathay.” You slurred, your tongue hanging half way out of your mouth.

Kun’s worried expression turned into relief. “You’re such a dork, my angel.”

He placed a kiss on your forehead before reaching in the freezer and dropping two ice cubes in your cup.

“Be careful from now on, okay?”

Sicheng

You tried to contain the tears that gathered in your eyes as you faced away from your lover. Time and time again he would remind you when something was hot, yet his amazing cooking skills and mouth watering display caused you to ignore it every time.

This time it was home made tomato soup, sided with a four cheese grilled sandwich.

The soup it’s self was a beautiful blood orange color, swirls of cream and seasonings coated the top. You wasted no time in shoving a spoonful in your mouth, regretting it immediately. You swallowed and held a poker face to Sichengs knowing eyes. He already had a cup of ice at hand, knowing darn well you put food before your own safety.

“I swear you’re gonna do this till your tongue falls off.” He smiled, holding the frosted glass out to you.

You grabbed it and placed the cold surface against your tongue, sighing as the fresh feeling wiped out the stinging you felt moments earlier.

“You know me too well.” You spoke softly, now able to form coherent words.

“Well of course, if I’m gonna be taking care of you the rest of your life, I better prepare myself now, hm?”

Ten

“Just one sip”

“In a minute babe, it’s still hot.”

“But that’s when it tastes the best...”

“No, be patient.”

Patience? We don’t know her. You waited till his eyes were off you when your mitten covered hands reached for the mug of hot chocolate. Your boyfriend makes it special with a shot of butterscotch vodka, soothing it’s way down your throat. Except it didn’t this time. It burned going down. The high temperature of the liquid stuck with your tongue, all your taste buds disappearing.

“Y/N!” Ten groaned when you let out a soft whine, tongue grasped in between your thumb and forefinger. “I told you to be patient...”

He picked up a small ball of snow from the ground, gently pressing it to your tongue until the pain washed away.

“Better?” He asked.

“Better.” You pouted.

He chucked before swooping in for a quick kiss, casually returning to the camp fire after making sure you were okay.

Lucas

“Uh oh.” You groaned, pressing your tongue against the cool glass of your bedroom window. Why you felt the need to take that dumb dare, you have no idea. Who the hell puts their tongue over a lighter to ‘see if it would catch flame?’. You. You are that idiot that fell for your little bothers stupid pestering.

“Babe.” Lucas called out to you, engrossed in your window licking. “Babe.” He called out again after you ignored his first chime. You weren’t ready to face his teasing. You already felt pretty dumb, but you’d never admit it.

“Do you want some ice?” You could here the smile in his voice.

“Eh.” You groaned out.

“Are you sure?” He was grinning widely now.

“Em..” You turned around, tongue still throbbing. “I’m a big girl, I got thith.”

You fumbled with your words and plopped yourself in his lap, still wanting his comfort. He chuckled and ran his fingers through your hair.

“My little weirdo.”

Hendery

Hendery held your gaze as you lifted the coffee mug to your lips. Under the table, his hands played with the ice pack he’d already prepared. That coffee was just removed from the pot, and it was enough to burn your skin, let alone you’re tongue.

The twitch of your eye was a signal that you’d just burnt yourself. You quickly set the cup down and began fanning your tongue. He reached across the table, handing you an ice pack. You placed the cold item against your tongue and hummed in pleasure. Seconds passed before offense crossed your features.

Your boyfriends black face slowly turned into a smirk.

“How long have you been holding that ice pack.” You pegged it at him after fully recovering.

Hendery laughed and tossed the pack into the sink, making a mental not to wash it before placing it back in the freezer.

“We’ve been together how long?” He shook his head. “Almost every morning you burn your tongue.”

You blinked, ignoring the honesty he threw at you.

“You’re so mean.” You whined.

Hendery only smiled and reached to lace his fingers with yours.

“You still love me though.”

You sighed. “That, I do.”

YangYang

You were curled up on the couch, face buried in some math book your professor assigned to you. You’d been studying for the past two hours, yet your focus never faltered.

“I made tea, fresh off the stove!” Your boyfriend came in, two small mugs in his hand. You only half paid attention, reaching for the mug and pulling it to your lips.

“Oh!” You gasped, tongue throbbing to the pace of your heartbeat. Tears threatened to fall at the shocking feeling, and YangYang quickly came to your aid.

“I told you it was fresh..” he sighed and pulled you to the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, he reached for the nozzel and gently sprayed ice water on your tongue. Nothing was ever simple for him. When he panicked, he did dumb shit. This was one of them. You flailed you’re arms and reached for the handle, turning the water off.

The room was coated in blanket of silence before YangYang bursted into laughter. Your entire front side was soaked, but hey, your tongue didn’t hurt anymore.

XiaoJun

“BooBoo.” His voice was soft, yet enough to wake you from your slumber. You groaned, wiping away at your eyes. He chuckled, seeing your disheveled state.

“I made you some hot lemon water.” He sat next to you, stroking your cheek till you woke. You hummed and opened your eyes, adjusting to the brightness of your room.

“With a drop of sugar?” Your voice grumbled.

His face blanked for a second before he stood. “I’m sorry, I forgot that. Give me a second.” He spec out of your room.

You stared at the steaming glass, perfectly sliced lemons floating at the top. You’ve never tried hot lemon water without sugar before, only cold, and you hated it.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you reached for the cup. The moment the hot liquid met your tongue, you squealed and quickly placed it back on your nightstand. You began licking your hand, trying to remove the stinging from your mouth.

Xiaojun walked in to see you in such a weird action, before seeing your lip print in the fog of the glass. He covered his mouth, quiet chuckles leaving him.

“It’s not funny!” You whined. Well, it was a little funny. You joined in with his laughter, voices calming down before he helped you with your now burnt tongue.

“You gotta be more careful baby.” He smiled and kissed both of your cheeks before pressing a gentle kiss in your lips.

******************

• NOT PROOFREAD •

I hope you enjoyed this, baby ❤️

[winterblues]

hey i rlly love your writing sm!! could you maybe do an andreil one for this prompt: imagine person A knowing person B hasn't been eating properly for the last few days so person A makes them a proper meal from scratch that they can both eat together to make person B feel better? thank you!!!

[Thank you for the lovely prompt & I apologize in advance for the Angst™.]

Neil wipes a bead of sweat from his temple with the back of his wrist and bares his teeth. He’s got that acute glimmer of feral aggression behind his eyes again, Andrew observes, dully.  

The sort of expression often native to a prowling jungle cat attempting to intimidate a potential threat into premature submission. Andrew can’t help but see it as a phenomenal waste of energy, getting worked up over a stupid practice scrimmage, at Kevin Day of all short-fused idiots. 

No matter how close Andrew allows Neil to get, he will never be used to his exhaustive thirst for victory.

How many more goddamn exy-obsessed morons do I have to babysit in this lifetime?
Across the court, Kevin’s got a firm grip on his racquet as he glowers behind the netting at Neil as if through the barrel of a gun. It’s a late fall evening and the sky is a patchwork of pink-gold clouds, the moon sits a shrivel of a crescent in the rapidly darkening distance. 

Andrew watches his teammates with his characteristic lack-of-character, expression neutral as he remains stationed in position, racquet balanced on his shoulders like an afterthought.

He can hear Nicky whinging to Matt about something inconsequential Andrew doesn’t care enough to inquire about, Renee and Allison have been exchanging subtle glances across the court for two-and-a-half hours now. 

During their last sparring session, Renee mentioned in passing that she’d found another sparring partner in Allison. “She wants me to teach her how to fight. Says she wants to be prepared for anything. It’s like she doesn’t trust the world as much after everything that happened with Seth and Neil’s consequent revelation. It’s sad but I think it’s awfully brave of her, don’t you?” Andrew had merely blinked at her, unamused, before grappling her into a headlock she hadn’t seen coming and raising a knife to her throat. “Oops,” he said. “You’re dead.”

It isn’t until Andrew hears Kevin strike that he notices the hesitation in Neil’s jaw just as he slams the ball with lethal force and his knees buckle. He stumbles not even half a second after and Dan grabs ahold of him before he can crumple to the ground. Andrew feels his heart skip a couple of paces just as Wymack blows his warning whistle, calling a timeout. Kevin gawks in mystification for a moment before breaking into a disapproving scowl.

“The hell was that, Josten?” Wymack snaps, striding over to Neil and crossing his arms over his big chest. “I’m fine,” Neil grunts. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right,” Wymack replies, with a smile that’s at least two-fifths deliberate condescension. “It won’t, because right now you’re about as useful to me as a vegetable. I’m benching you for the rest of today.”

“Come on, Coach!” Nicky shouts, jogging up to where everyone is now crowding around Neil like he’s some kind of a helpless dog they all accidentally ran over with their cars. “Let’s just call an early mark. Please? We could all use a break!”

“I don’t,” Neil spits, balling his fists to his sides; eyes rapt on Wymack’s. Idiot. Wymack shoots a steely glare right back at him. “You play in peak condition or you don’t play at all. I won’t tolerate this half-assed bullshit. You hear me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do. Now go pick a cozy corner to sulk in and don’t return to my court until you’re bleeding stamina or I will knock you flat on your ass myself. Do I make myself clear?”

“But—“

“I said,” Wymack’s tone becomes dangerously taut. “Do I make myself clear?”

At this point, even Nicky shuts his trap and takes an obedient step back, his expression pleading at Neil to do everything within his power to not trip on the Coach’s last nerve.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Neil growls, lowly. Nicky shakes his head in exasperation, just as Dan smoothly interjects, “I think what Coach is trying to say, Neil, as that you seem a little under the weather today. Maybe rest up a little and take it easy for the evening so that you’re better equipped for practice tomorrow?”

“Yeah, man,” Matt chimes in. “We’re just worried about your health.”

Andrew brings his racquet down and leans his body weight against it, still watching quietly from the sidelines. Renee shoots him a concerned glance and Andrew pretends not to notice.

“It’s insulting,” Kevin cuts in, with eyes only for Neil as he crosses the distance between them and parks himself merely inches from where Neil is standing. Andrew can’t say he envies Neil. He knows firsthand Kevin’s tendency to invite himself into one’s personal space whenever he gets cranky. “You’re insulting us all. I don’t know what the fuck’s been going on with you, but you better get your shit together because your breakdowns have no place on the court. Now do as Coach says before you waste any more of everyone’s time.”

Kevin and Neil spend a solid minute exchanging mind-imploding death glares at one another before Neil caves. He doesn’t look happy about it, but he flips Kevin off, turns on his heel and trudges off the court. Andrew watches Neil carefully. The fight is slowly pilfered from his shoulders and he lets his chin droop against his neck. There is something volatile about his defeated posture as he ambles right past the stands and towards the showers. Wymack turns to Andrew, expression irked but knowing.

“Goodbye.” Andrew says, before casually trailing after Neil.

“There isn’t enough whiskey in the goddamn world to put up with you ungrateful asshats on a daily basis,” Wymack mutters, under his breath before blowing his whistle again. “That’s enough dilly-dallying, maggots! We can practice without Tom and Jerry for now. Drop the long faces and give me forty-five laps. We’ll reassemble then. Go, go. Fucking go.”

“Crowdpleaser,” Andrew mumbles, coming up behind Neil.

Neil looks up at him without meeting his eyes. “Agree to disagree.”

Andrew joins Neil in the shower and they kiss until their mouths are numb and then Andrew drives them back home. They’re barely halfway through the door when King Fluffkins trots up to them and curls himself, not unlike a clingy toddler, around Andrew’s boot. “Get your cat off my foot,” Andrew mutters, at once. Neil shrugs off his coat, shuts the door behind them and smiles faintly. “And deprive him of cuddles? That’s abuse. Plus, he likes you.” Andrew groans and has to peel the feline off himself as he cradles King Fluffkins in his arms and deposits him on the couch next to a lazing Sir Fat Cat McCatterson. “Do that again and I won’t hesitate to turn your furry ass into a winter coat.”

King Fluffkins looks unfazed at this remark, but a short laugh escapes Neil. 

Andrew will never admit it, but Neil’s laugh sends a jolt of spring warmth up his spine. The kind that wedges itself in between shoulder blades and seeps into his ribcage. It is so full of raw, fleeting feeling that it fills every gap inside Andrew to a brimming point. 

Andrew sourly notes Neil hasn’t laughed like that in a week.

“What did we discuss about threatening our cats at every given moment?”

“Your cats.”

“Right. Whenever they piss you off they’re my cats.”

Neil follows the cats’ bad example, dropping dead on his back on the lounge room sofa and allowing the pests to crawl up onto his chest. Andrew empties the litter, brings them fresh water and fills their bowls to the top with food before wandering into the kitchen.

The weather grows worse within the span of the hour. The rain is loud as fuck outside. The wind droning on like the hum of a distraught choir. He chops a fresh batch of mushrooms, carrots and green bell peppers. He separates all the vegetables and leaves a stockpot of water to simmer. The oven is preheating. He cooks in mindless silence, all the while wondering why Neil isn’t venturing in to watch him like he usually does. There is something upsetting fizzling beneath his skin, like an itch he can’t scratch. He has this shitty gut feeling—hot and incendiary; an interloper awaiting recognition. He spends longer than intended in passive contemplation and his stockpot begins to overspill.

Andrew lowers the temperature of the gas and yanks the lid off the pot, swatting the steam away as if it were a school of flies.

He finds cooking less boring than he finds most activities in his daily life. Bee says it’s because cooking is an act of creation, which makes it a common stress reliever. People feel better about themselves when they’re creating. 

Andrew doesn’t know about that, but it’s a layman’s job to follow a recipe. 

There is something vaguely satisfying about it, he thinks. Cooking is meticulous and straight to the point. It doesn’t take thinking if your hands know what to do and your mind’s prone to estimate. If the recipe demands half a slab of melted butter he won’t add a pinch more or less. He’s fairly adept at following instructions and doesn’t feel the need to experiment. 

If nothing else, cooking is a way to pass the time and is vital to survival.

Eventually, Neil does float into the kitchen, looking jaded. Andrew keeps himself busy with seasoning and pays him no heat. “I’m going to bed,” he says quietly. Andrew halts, grabs a wooden spoon and dips it into the pot nearest to him, still hot off the stove. “Come here,” he replies. Neil joins his side as Andrew blows softly on the liquid before holding a spoonful up to Neil’s mouth.

“Taste.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Taste.”

Neil pouts a little, but obediently leans in and takes the smallest sip. “Mm,” he nods. “What is it?”

“Hot and sour soup.” Andrew says.

“Will it taste better off of your lips?” He leans in questioningly but Andrew neatly sidesteps, leaving Neil fumbling. “Sorry,” Neil remedies, quickly. 

“I didn’t mean to—“

“You’ll consume it directly first.” Andrew answers, in lieu of an explanation.

“It’s really good. I’ll uh… Have some tomorrow if there’s leftovers.”

Neil is about to turn when Andrew wraps cold, gentle fingers around his wrist. “Dinner will be served in ten minutes. Go outside and take a seat on the dining table.”

Something dire flashes in Neil’s heady blue eyes. “Andrew—“

“Don’t argue with me.”

It’s a full-fledged three-course assortment of homemade meals and Neil stares at it like it’s making him nauseous just to look at it. To Andrew, it smells heavenly: steaming hot-sour soup and chicken à la king with a side of sweet potato wedges. Andrew feels a pang of something irritable inside his chest. He doesn’t quite care whether Neil likes it or not. He isn’t allowed to be a baby about this. Not any fucking more.

“Eat,” he prompts. “Eat or I will force feed it down your gullet, yes?”

Neil sighs and begins to scoop an insufficient portion onto his plate, rather halfheartedly. Andrew snatches the spoon from him and begins to serve Neil himself, making sure to get an equally ample portion of each item available before helping himself.

“You will explain as we eat.”

“What?”

“Drop the clueless act and stop being this pathetic.”

When Neil merely blinks at him Andrew scoots closer to Neil in his chair, making it creak in protest against the wooden floor as he grabs Neil’s chin in his hand. He lowers Neil’s head and allows his eyes to bore into Neil’s. He’s lost every remaining morsel of his patience. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“No.”

“You’re treating me like one.”

“I’m not trying to. Fuck. Everyone’s just constantly on my ass about everything all the time and so what if I have a bad day or two. Am I not allowed the privilege—?”  

“Fuck everyone,” Andrew’s voice is dull and combustible. “Do I look like everyone?”

At this, Neil lowers his gaze to Andrew’s lips, back to his eyes and something within Neil’s own softens.

“Of course not,” he replies, voice more subdued now.

“I’ve had enough of your mopey bullshit,” Andrew says, letting go of Neil’s chin.

“Explain.” Andrew demands.

“It’s not a big deal.”

Everything inside Andrew knots up like curdled milk. There is a visible tension in Neil’s shoulders that is no doubt going to escape in a torrent; without a moment’s notice. Andrew doesn’t even have to prepare himself for it. He just wants to face it headfirst.

Andrew draws his mouth into a thin line. “If you lie to me again I won’t sit here and tolerate it.”

“It’s not something you’ll want to hear.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew snaps. “Tick tock.”

Neil takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose and the words tumble out of his mouth like bullet shells. “I know that it’s naive but I thought he wasn’t going to be a problem, at least not for the foreseeable future. I will keep playing Exy until there is none of me left. That’s the deal. That’s how it goes but there are things I can’t control—if something happens to me? Something that makes me incapable of playing and—and then, he’ll turn the Foxes into collateral damage in my war.” Neil glances up to meet Andrew’s unflinching gaze. “Ichirou,” he says, the name sounding like a strained chord on a busted up guitar. “He flew down for a meeting and paid me a visit on a whim. He said things. He fucking—“ now there’s a keen rage seizing him. “He fucking threatened your life!”

“He’s threatened my life before.”

“Exactly! He’s made his point. I get it. We get it. This time, he was doing it to taunt me, to remind me that we’re all ultimately just pawns on his sick little chessboard. He’s screwing with me.”

Andrew leans calmly back into his chair and says nothing, waiting for Neil to calm down. At this point, Neil is seething, his breath choked out in rattled gasps. He’s got a white-knuckled grip on either end of the table.

“That wasn’t something I could stand. Listening to that bastard pompously claim all the things he could do to you, count off the ways he could make you disappear without a trace. Why should I have to put up with this crap? Why do I have to keep living beneath the Moriyamas’ shadow? Sitting there, listening to him recite what he’s capable of—hurting you. It reminded me that I’m still the Butcher’s son, that I should be raining hell down on anyone who even thinks of touching us—Touching you.”

Neil is shivering now, his words coming out in escaped sobs. His entire body’s a wreck. He’s a wreck.

Andrew’s stomach twists as conviction stronger than anything Andrew’s ever felt burns in Neil’s voice.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Andrew asks, promptly. 

“I—“

“What did I tell you?”

He watches the muscles work under Neil’s clenched jaw.

“To bury Nathaniel in Baltimore with his father.”

“Neil is your only truth from now on, or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t.”

“You cannot object what is irrefutable.”

“I won’t let them, Andrew. I can’t… Because that would be pathetic.”

“If there is a single part of you that is still Nathaniel, I do not want anything to do with it. Are we clear?”

Neil is at an utter loss of words before he attempts to gather himself, something unsteady flashing in his eyes. Andrew does not care if his truth is a harsh pill to swallow. Neil will learn. This is the man he chose to protect, the man he sleeps with, the man who is his.

Another irrefutable truth—Neil Josten; not some phantom burnout son-of-a-killer.


“Are you digging him back up?”“No. What’s dead is dead.”

“Good,” Andrew won’t admit the relief his words warrant. “I want you to remember you said that.”

“It’s just—“ Neil sighed. “I haven’t been able to eat or sleep since talking to him. I keep seeing your dead body at my feet or— or worse and I feel like throwing up. It’s that same, ringing sense of dread all over again. The dread I felt when Riko threatened you, before I made my decision to go to Evermore. All I can think about is the need to eliminate the threat. I want to kill him.”

“Don’t be irrational.”

“I can’t just let him get away with this.”

“That is exactly what you’re going to do. Neil,” Andrew says. “Yes or—?”

Bright eyes sharp as stained glass. “Yes.”

Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his own and presses it to the side of his neck, just beneath his jugular vein so that Neil can feel Andrew’s pulse beating underneath the skin there. “Not to indulge your creepy neck fetish or anything but,” he cups his own hand over where he’s holding Neil’s. “I’m here.”

“Whenever—if anything happens, I’ll still be here.” Andrew says. “Nod if you understand.”

Neil lets out another shaky breath and nods slowly, eyes steady on Andrew’s. Watching him unravel on his bad days is always somewhat of a stale realization. There is a part of Andrew that thinks it isn’t fair. When did things become this critical? Before… He wasn’t feeling unless he was feeling empty, the only time the world felt real was when he was standing at the edge of it, staring down at what could quite possibly be a bottomless death. He never used to know what to do with his hands, not until Neil had reminded him, anyway. 

“They’re your hands,” cigarette lounging lazily at the corner of lips chapped stupid, eyes so wide they could be confused for open sores, hair ruffled in the wind.

He’d wanted nothing.

Now he is surviving on that very nothing, cultivating a life from every breath that leaves nothing’s lips.

Careful what you fucking wish for.

Neil’s fingers are warm as they curl up to grip the back of Andrew’s neck. He still looks shaken, furious; as if he wants to turn the world on its head and fight it. There’s still an unkempt tenseness to his posture. Andrew hates it. 

“I don’t care,” Neil announces. “I don’t care if they kill me. Ever since I was born I’ve been ready to die if it comes down to it. That’s the philosophy I was raised on.”

Andrew reads the implication on his face even before he has to make it clear.

“They can’t have you.”

You think it’s cute throwing my own words back in my face?

“Still playing at rabbit?” Andrew says, after a pause. “You know better than to waste energy fretting over shit that you can’t control, or have you not learned anything?”
“My learning curve’s a horizontal line, remember?” Neil replies, a suggestive hint in the twist of his lips.

“Coincidentally the position you’ll be lying in your coffin when I’m done with you.”

“Death kink or neck fetish. Which one’s weirder? We should ask Nicky.”

“I hate you.”

“Me too.”

“I mean it.”

Neil’s fingers against his skin. Alive, alive. 

“That’s what I love about you.”

Andrew scoffs and pushes Neil’s hand off before turning back around in his chair. “Your food will get cold,” he mutters, tone finite.

“Okay.”

“The next time you skip a meal you can sustain on whatever the cats are having.”

“Thank you.”

They eat in the sort of silence that swells over a small town after it’s been ransacked by a hurricane but still left standing. It’s a dizzying, electric sort of silence. The sort you can feel in your bones. When they’re done, Neil helps clear the plates away and they pad up to their bedroom.

King Fluffkins follows as Sir Fat Cat McCatterson continues to doze in his delegated spot.

“That was the best dinner I’ve ever had. I’ll starve myself all the time if that means you’ll cook for me more often.” That dark look in Neil’s eyes has dissolved into something clearer as he rolls over onto his side and begins to press kneading kisses down the side of Andrew’s jaw.

“Shut up.”

“It’s true,” Neil’s words are muffled against Andrew’s heated skin. “You know last week, Nicky was treating all of us to dinner and he asked me what my favorite dish was and I told him I didn’t actually know. Dan and Matt totally freaked out.” Neil’s hand stills over Andrew’s cheek for a brief moment. “My mother never used to cook. I know how to whip up your standard meals. Enough to keep me going. Omelettes, sandwiches, breakfast burritos. You name it. I’ve pretty much got microwaving down to an art form too, but I’ve never eaten anything like… This.”

Neil leans over and presses a soft kiss to Andrew’s lips, the kind that spreads out like the petals of a flower.

“It tastes like real home food,” he smiles against Andrew’s face before gently meeting Andrew’s unwavering gaze. 

“You can touch me if you want.” Andrew’s voice is hoarse.

Neil looks slightly hesitant as he lets one of his hands gently slip beneath the hem of Andrew’s shirt.

Andrew closes his eyes at the contact. Neil’s touch is respectful, delicate, debilitating. Andrew’s skin is fever-warm against Neil’s cool fingertips. Andrew doesn’t want Neil to be able to detect the shortness of his breaths but he can bet Neil feels them.

“I’d like to extend my compliments to the chef,” Neil says, fingers faltering along the waistband of Andrew’s sweatpants. “Properly.”

Andrew grunts a quiet affirmation and Neil slides down, pulling the covers over his head. 

He pushes the covers away in quick retaliation.

Eyes intent on Neil’s.

“I want to see you.”