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stillmonsterz · 8 months ago

Text

be with her tonight

pairing: heeseung x reader

genre: smut

summary: every week, you go to the same coffee shop for their great service and wonderful drinks. but for some reason, the barista has always rubbed you the wrong way. he seems harmless, though.

contains: unprotected sex, rape, noncon, somnophilia, drug mentions, lying, swearing, johnny is there, mark is there, twitch mention

word count: 5.0k (unproofread)

---

Heeseung’s eyes were shifty, his hands trembling over the paper cups. He plucked one off, a grande, and started to prepare the same familiar order. Despite his quivering hands, Heeseung went through the motions of making the drink with the utmost of effort. A small splash of hot coffee dribbled from the spout onto his hand; he scarcely noticed the pain.

He set the cup down on the counter and surveyed the small cafe where he worked. Patrons were settled into small wooden tables, the windows were bright, and succulents lined the windowsills. Heeseung tugged at the collar of his black button-up and adjusted his apron. His coworker, Sunghoon, noticed him and smirked.

“Is she coming again today?” Sunghoon asked while he restocked the croissants in the pastry display.

It took a few seconds for Heeseung to process that Sunghoon was talking to him. “Huh?”

“That girl, what’s-her-name…” Sunghoon conspicuously slipped a small brownie bar into the pocket of his apron.

“Oh,” Heeseung said softly. “I dunno…” Of course you were coming today. You came here every Wednesday and Friday at 2:00 pm, during your lunch break. Your favorite coworker was off those two days, so you ate alone and got yourself a coffee and a pastry. You were coming today. Heeseung had to see you again.

When 2:00 arrived and you hadn’t walked through the doors with your usual vivacity, Heeseung got nervous. He begrudgingly served some other people whose faces he couldn’t have recalled if he had been paid to do so.

2:15 and Heeseung’s hands shook even more. Sunghoon was already glancing at him strangely, so Heeseung busied himself by wiping down the counter. Why weren’t you here? He only got to see you twice a week, so he savored the time where he got to drink in your face, to inhale your scent that percolated so harmoniously with the ubiquitous scent of coffee.

As the second hand slipped to 4, a cold chill spread all over his body and he felt as though someone had forced him to swallow a handful of nails. They sat in his stomach, tearing apart the delicate lining, puncturing holes in his organs, ripping him apart from the inside. It was Wednesday. You were normally here by now. What had happened?

The drink he had made you in advance was getting cold.

Had you switched coffeeshops? Had you forgotten about him? What if you hated him? What if you had caught onto him?

Heeseung swallowed hard; he dug his jagged nails into the palms of his hand. “Sunghoon…” he began quietly, “I think I’m going to step outs-,”

The door opened and you stepped inside, waving at Heeseung. The nails melted away and were replaced by spoonfuls of honey, soothing his throat, filling him with golden light.

“Hi,” you said, pulling your purse out of your wallet. You glanced over at the forgotten drink resting on the counter. “Oh, was that mine?”

“I’ll make you another one,” Heeseung said, far too quickly. He unceremoniously dumped the drink into the sink and started bustling about in the kitchen. Once he was facing away from you, a grin split across his face, and he had to restrain himself from giggling. You hadn’t forgotten him! You had come back. While he pulled himself together, Sunghoon input the order into the machine before wandering away, presumably to take care of more customers. Whatever.

Heeseung lifted his head up to face you again.”The same as usual?”

You nodded and grinned. “Same as usual. You know me so well.”

If only you knew, Heeseung thought. “You were late today- I mean, you came in later than you, uh, normally, arrive, at the uh, here. Why?” Heeseung wasn’t known for his eloquence on a normal day, but you rendered his vocal cords obsolete, his frontal cortex inoperable.

“Oh, well, had a long day at the office,” you said, tapping your card on the reader. “Another useless meeting from HR.”

Heeseung wished he had something clever to say, something that could win your heart, make you love him. Instead, all he could offer was, “That sucks.” He bit his lip and got another grande cup so he could remake your drink.

“It does suck,” you said with a wry smile. “How’s your day been?”

You were asking him how his day was, too? Heeseung nearly dropped the cup as he pumped syrup inside of it, and he couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face. “It’s been…good. Good. A little busy.”

“Well, busy is good,” you said. Then you cleared your throat. “Hey, I was going to come over on Saturday with a…friend of mine. What time do you think would be the best? You know, so it’s quiet?”

Heeseung carefully pressed the lid onto the cup, scrunching his nose as he thought. “Probably…I’d say 5 pm-ish? Most people don’t really want a coffee around that time.”

“Good to know,” you said, placing your wallet back into your purse. Heeseung admired how confident your motions were, and his eyes lingered on your hands. When his eyes flickered up to your face, he realized that you were looking at him.

Desperate to seem like he wasn’t ogling you, he stammered out, “Y-your friend…does she work at the same, uh, place as you?”

“He actually works down at the insurance company, the one on Smithson?” you kept talking, but Heeseung couldn’t hear a word. His blood ran cold, and his vision went blurry. Him. He. You were going to have your date here? You must despise him.

Heeseung thrust the cup in your direction. “Uh, enjoy,” he murmured, looking away from you.

“Thanks, Heeseung! You have yourself a good day,” you said brightly before leaving.

Heeseung felt Sunghoon put a hand on his shoulder, heard him ask if Heeseung were okay. “I feel sick,” Heeseung whispered. “Could I step out for a bit?” Heeseung didn’t actually hear Sunghoon’s answer, but Heeseung was already leaving, stripping his apron and casting it aside someplace in the little break room. He tugged his worn leather jacket on and went outside. The sun stung his eyes so he lowered his gaze to the ground. Heeseung sat down on the concrete step leading into the back room and fished his lighter and cigarettes from his jacket pockets.

He took a long drag as he tried to calm down, but it was difficult. Every time he thought about your date with some other guy, he started to feel strange. Beyond his initial panic and feelings of abandonment, there was something else nipping at him. A feeling he couldn’t quite place, but it was harsh and red and ragged.

Heeseung wasn’t an idiot. He knew he wasn’t normal. He knew that his fascination with his pretty customer was irrational, and deep within his heart, he knew that you didn’t belong to him. Yet at the same time, Heeseung knew that you should belong to him. Already, he could read your emotions so well, and that was just after quick interactions twice a week for 3 and a half months. Heeseung would do anything for you, just so he could bask in your sweet glow.

Normally, the world was cold and boring. Everything was predictable and trite. Heeseung couldn’t remember a time in his life where there had been any novelty. Talking to people wasn’t fun to him at all; navigating the labyrinthine social rules that others seemed to understand effortlessly just made him feel confused and worn. All throughout elementary school and middle school, even into high school, Heeseung had been ignored and ridiculed. He couldn’t decide which was worse. Even at his menial barista job, people purposefully averted his gaze.

Not you, though. You had given him a bright smile and had even dropped money into the little tip jar. Most importantly, you had awarded him his first compliment. Despite his current misery, Heeseung smiled at the memory. You had sipped the coffee he had made you, your eyes had lit up like a little kid’s, and you had said, “You make great coffee, Heeseung.” When Heeseung had protested shyly, you had continued. “No, no, this is really good. You have a knack for this, you know.”

Heeseung took a long drag off of his cigarette as he sulked. Tears pinpricked his eyes at the thought of you disappearing from his life. Of course, he figured he could always spy on you at work (he had spent hours trying to find your LinkedIn based off of your first name), or maybe break into your house and hide under your bed (he had followed you home from work a few times.) but it just wouldn’t be the same. What made him happy was that you chose to come see him. There were a lot of cafes near your workplace, some even closer than Heeseung’s, but you came to his. Even if it wasn’t for his personality, you liked the coffee that he made. You chose him, but now you were choosing some other guy. And if this date went well, then you might disappear from his life.

Salty tears streamed down his sallow cheeks, and Heeseung swiped them away with his free hand. That feeling simmered within him, festering within him like rot. Angry. That’s what he was. Angry, upset, mad.

Heeseung couldn’t let you disappear. He couldn’t let you go.

He stubbed the cigarette out on the step and started coming up with ideas.

Then Heeseung smiled.

–

You pursed your lips in the mirror as you applied your red-tinted lip gloss. You had your coffee shop date at 5, and you wanted to look nice. The way you saw it, it was a win-win: you got to get a free coffee and pastry out of a guy, and you could finally subtly let Heeseung down without having to acknowledge his feelings for you at all.

It wasn’t hard to tell that Heeseung felt something for you. Ever since you had complimented his coffee, his dull eyes had developed a shine whenever he saw you. He always made your coffees with the utmost of care, which was one of the reasons why you kept coming back instead of going to another place. And, of course, you’d be lying if you said that his attention didn’t flatter you in some small way. Heeseung wasn’t necessarily unattractive. If he did something about his lank hair, stopped fidgeting so much, and could string together a sentence without stammering, he’d be passable. Even cute. That wasn’t the problem.

It was the same thing you had told your friend and workmate just before she had proposed the date idea. “He’s just…creepy,” you had told her over a shared Cobb salad. “Something about his eyes.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” she had said, snapping her fingers. “Like they’re empty, right?”

“Exactly,” you had said, relieved that she understood. “Empty. It freaks me out.”

Your friend took a bite of salad and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “So stop getting coffee from there.”

“No can do,” you had replied. “Gotta take you there sometime. The coffee is amazing.”

“Okay, well, just tell him to back off.”

You frowned. “Technically, he’s never actually said he liked me or done anything or anything, so…”

“Subtly hint that you have a boyfriend?”

“I’m a bad hinter.”

Your friend groaned. “You suck, you know that?”

The two of you had hemmed and hawed over the dilemma before she had offered up a solution: Find a guy from the office, ask him out on a coffee date at that exact place, and make it seem like you were enjoying the date.

So now you were in your bathroom, tucking the front of your sweater into your skirt. As you were posing one last time, you got a text from your date, Mark. He had texted you a succinct “yooooo i’m pulling up 😬”, so you locked up your apartment and walked out.

When you got to the coffee shop, you were initially worried about Heeseung’s reaction. He looked like a sad little deer when he got upset. You shook your head slightly to get those aberrant thoughts out. You were here to get him off your back, anyways. So that the creepy barista wouldn’t get any ideas and you could keep enjoying some of the best coffee in this part of downtown.

You needn’t have worried, though. Heeseung was kindly towards you and your date. He had even taken your coats at the door and hung them up on the coat rack at the front. He had plied you with pastries, and even stuttered out a, “T-take care of her, she’s a good one” to Mark. When you glanced at the counter, you could see Sunghoon smiling at Heeseung as he brought out refills of coffee and dusted extra powdered sugar onto delicate little desserts.

Mark looked at you with glee as he dug into his second croiffle. “Nah, this place is dope,” he said, crumbs surrounding his lips. “I see why you come here every week.” You hadn’t bothered telling Mark about Heeseung. It seemed a bit cruel to use a guy to get rid of another unsavory guy.

You reached out and rubbed some of the crumbs from his mouth, hoping that Heeseung would see you. “Yeah, it’s great. Maybe…” you lowered your voice and leaned in, “this could be our spot, you know?”

Mark gently reached out and took your hand. “Why were you wiping my nose, weirdo? Did I get crumbs up there?”

“Huh? I was wiping your mouth…” you reached out with your other hand to touch his mouth, but your arm started to feel a bit heavy.

“You okay?” Mark frowned as his eyes scanned your face.

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“Drink a little more coffee,” he suggested. “It’ll make you alert and shit.”

As you sipped your drink again, you realized that the drowsiness wasn’t going away. Even though you had downed a whole grande latte, you felt like you were about to

–

You slumped over the table and Heeseung had to suppress his smile. This part had to be perfect. He called your name and strode over to the table. Mark was just sitting in his chair, frozen. “What happened?” Heeseung asked, trying to make himself sound worried. His naturally anxious tone actually helped him.

“N-nothing, she just…fell over,” Mark said, staring at you. “I dunno, she must have had a long work week. Or she’s anemic, women are always anemic.”

Heeseung made a show of checking your pulse on your wrist and on your neck. Getting to touch your velvety skin, and not just a quick brush of hands when he handed you a coffee cup, was exquisite. He could already feel himself getting hard, so he had to move fast.

“I’ll take her to my place,” Heeseung said, already lifting you out of the chair. Mark quickly stood up, blocking Heeseung’s path. Heeseung bit back a groan.

“Nah, shouldn’t I, you know, take her home? I know her from work,” Mark said, crossing his arms. He looked from Heeseung to you to Heeseung to you as though he were following a ping-pong match.

Heeseung sighed and attempted to try using that wheedling, condescending tone some male customers had used on him sometimes. “No offense, but when normally, a pretty girl like this passes out on a date, it’s not because of a-anemia.”

Mark stepped back, holding his hand to his heart. “Ay man, are you tryna say that I roofied her? I’m not like that!”

“Yeah, well…” Heeseung pushed past Mark, carrying you in his arms. “I don’t know you, do I?” Then he paused and turned around. “Tell you what. You give me your number, and after she gets a little more rest, I’ll call you so you can pick her up, okay?”

Mark nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, sounds good, thanks.” He told Heeseung his number, and Heeseung carefully repeated the numbers in his head. “I think I’mma head home, thanks for the…hospitality.” Without his jacket, Mark stepped into the cold and ran to his car.

As Heeseung was leaving, he called out to Sunghoon: “Cover me until I get her some medical help, okay?” Sunghoon gave him a curt nod, and Heeseung left the coffee shop.

With some difficulty, he managed to get you buckled up in the front seat of his old clunker. Now that he was alone and no one could see him, Heeseung could finally smile. The way you were sitting here, all dolled up, it almost seemed like you and him were on a date. You were going on a drive together after a date at the coffee shop, and you would be going home with him. Heeseung carefully adjusted the car seat so that you were reclining, so it would look like you were just napping.

“Carbs will do that,” Heeseung said sympathetically, rubbing your hand. “Make you tired. You should know better, baby. You come here all the time.” He stroked your warm, soft hand, and he ran his fingers along your sweet little cheeks. The hand that caressed your face slowly fell to your chin, then your neck. “You look so pretty. You always look pretty, of course, but you looked really pretty today. All for me.”

His hand slid all the way to your chest. Heeseung hesitated; he was risking everything, and he didn’t have much time to execute the rest of his plan. Just one kiss, he told himself, just one. Heeseung leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, ever so gently. It made him shudder, the sweet taste of chocolate lingering on your lips. He wanted to keep going, but he would have to wait.

As Heeseung drove to his apartment, one hand rubbing your thigh, he congratulated himself on his ingenuity. It hadn’t been easy to coordinate this plan.

–

First, he had had to figure out who you were cheating on him with. That wasn’t hard; you had foolishly Tweeted: “sooo excited for Saturday!” and “onyour_mark” had replied with a devil emoji. A cursory flick through his Twitter account offered Heeseung an informative, if not somewhat nauseating, look into Mark’s life. Heeseung found out that he worked the same hours as you, but he was on a separate floor. He lived with a Twitch streamer, Johnny “suhcondem” Suh, who streamed on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. As he scrolled through Johnny’s Twitter account, Heeeung found that Johnny had once complained about his fans sending them dildos, pizzas, and other “weird ass shit.” Perfect.

After that, Heeseung had searched for Mark’s Instagram. Thankfully, Mark had posted a picture of his outfits in front of an open window. Utilizing a combination of Mark’s own descriptions of his neighborhood and Google Earth, Heeseung had found Mark and Johnny’s apartment complex within three hours of tireless searching. He could extrapolate the floor from the basic positioning of the tree, and after scouring Mark and Johnny’s social media accounts for more descriptions of their living space, he had narrowed their apartment to a potential unit.

Now came the more difficult part. Using Tor browser, Heeseung was able to access a site where he could purchase some Rohypnol. It cost a pretty penny, but Heeseung wasn’t about to experiment with other roofies and potentially ruin his chances of having you. He ordered it on Wednesday, and on Friday he had two packages sitting in front of his door, one small and unmarked, the other a lettermail package. Heeseung used gloves to pick up the white package and take out the white box. He couldn’t have his fingerprints on it, after all. The other package held precious cargo: a used Papa John’s uniform with a pizza carrier.

Next, he had to plant evidence in Mark’s room. On Friday, he begged Sunghoon to cover his shift, citing violent diarrhea. Heeseung knew that Mark would be working, but Johnny would be streaming all day. Heeseung changed into the Papa John’s uniform, threw his jacket over it, ordered a meat lover’s pizza from Papa John’s, and drove a few blocks away from Mark’s apartment complex. No way was he going to risk people seeing his car.

Heeseung placed the pizza inside of the carrier and headed to the apartment. He was nervous about getting inside, but thankfully an older couple let him inside. With a tremulous hand, Heeseung pressed the button for Mark’s floor. If he screwed this up, then Mark would get to have you. The thought alone spurred Heeseung on to keep going.

He walked to Mark’s door and rang the doorbell. After a full, heart-wrenching minute, Johnny opened up and gave Heeseung a slow once-over. Johnny was wearing a baggy hoodie that said “I ATTENDED SUH CON AND I GOT THE LONG JOHN” with sweatpants.

“Uh… meat lover’s pizza for Johnny?” Heeseung said tentatively.

Johnny groaned. “Dumb ass chat gotta stop buying me pizzas,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Heeseung asked, shifting his weight between his feet.

Johnny shook his head and waved dismissively. “Sorry man. I uh, I stream on Twitch, so a lot of my fans like to send me shit. I didn’t order this.”

“Oh,” Heeseung said contritely. “Well, I can’t exactly keep it…”

“Why don’t you eat it?” Johnny asked, leaning his arm on the doorframe.

“I’m vegan,” Heeseung lied.

Johnny chuckled. “I can tell. You skinny skinny.”

Heeseung laughed awkwardly. “Right, yeah.” He shifted again, and he could feel sweat pooling under his armpits.

“What, you gotta piss?” Johnny gestured at Heeseung. “You’re dancing like you gotta go.”

“Oh, yeah,” Heeseung said, trying not to appear too eager .”I drank too much, uh, soylent.”

Johnny stared at Heeseung like he was an idiot. “Whatever. You can use the bathroom. Use the one in my buddy’s room, actually. Don’t need chat to hear someone piss.”

As Johnny stepped aside to allow Heeseung to enter, Heeseung fought to keep himself in check. The apartment was as sparsely decorated as a Twitch streamer and male office worker’s living space could be. Which is to say that the only notable decorations were Johnny’s streaming awards that were strewn on the walls and Mark’s bible on the living room table.

“You can just put the pizza down there,” Johnny said, pointing at the kitchen counter which was already littered with a variety of take-out boxes and greasy bags. “Down the hall and to the right for Mark’s room. Make it quick. Mark gets weird when people go in there.” Johnny retired into his own room, and from the clattering noises he made, Heeseung figured that he was going back to streaming. As Heeseung hurried into Mark’s room he heard Johnny say, “Chat, you’ve been very, very bad…”

The first thing Heeseung did was take some rubber gloves from his pocket and tug them on. Then he scoured Mark’s room to try and find condoms. They weren’t in the bathroom, they weren’t in his nightstand, and they weren’t under his bed. Heeseung searched desperately for them, before he found them behind his pillow, along with some lube. Just how much fucking does this guy do?

Heeseung inspected the box and was pleased to find that him and Mark were actually the same size: Mark used Trojan larges. Then Heeseung frowned: him and Mark were the same size. Heeseung had always been proud of his size, but now it didn’t feel so special. No matter, Heeseung thought as he removed a condom from the pack, I’m the one who’ll fuck her. He slipped the condom into his pocket and made a note to purchase the same brand of lube. Heeseung went into the bathroom and pulled out the flattened Rohypnol box from a Ziploc bag he had kept in his pocket. He placed it inside of Mark’s trash can and covered it up with some tissues he found in there. As Heeseung searched, he found a tissue coated in Mark’s dried semen. Couldn’t hurt to have it. Heeseung put it in a spare Ziploc and kept it for later. It was nasty, disgusting work, but it would pay off.

Finally, Heeseung did actually use the bathroom. All this stress made him piss a river.

When he left the apartment, Johnny didn’t even notice. Heeseung had actually done it.

–

Now Heeseung gently carried you into his apartment. It was still early, so thankful there weren’t a lot of people milling around.

He laid you onto his bed, and your head hit the headboard as he lowered you. “Sorry,” Heeseung said apologetically. “I’m sorry, baby.” Heeseung kissed your forehead. He could wash your forehead, but for the next part, he figured he should put on some gloves. Rummaging around in his nightstand, he found more latex gloves and tugged them on.

Now that he finally had you, he didn’t actually know what to do. Should he take off your clothes first, or his? He decides to disrobe first, so he could take his time with you. Quickly, Heeseung tossed off his work clothes, throwing them into his dirty laundry pile. His room was about as bare as Mark and Johnny’s living room had been, but once you were his, he would decorate it however you wanted.

Heeseung forced himself to take his time as he popped your skirt buttons, one after the other. It was the kind of skirt that opened from the front, so when he was done, he could part the skirt off of you, admiring your panties.

“You wore this just for me?” Heeseung asked softly. God, he wished he could touch you, skin on skin, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He ran his finger along your clothed pussy, and he trembled from the white-hot flames he felt licking at his cock. Patience, he told himself. Patience. Your sweater came off next, and Heeseung folded it up into a neat square and set it to the side.

Heeseung pulled the condom he had filched from Mark’s room onto his cock,wishing he could just go in raw. At least Mark used ribbed. Then, he got the lube from his nightstand and slicked his cock with it,making sure it wouldn’t be too hard to slide in.

He couldn’t believe it. There you were, so pliant, so vulnerable, so his. Of course, now that he was hovering over you, he couldn’t deny the twinge of guilt he felt. As he tugged your panties down, he kept whispering apologies. “Sorry,” he said as his cockhead tapped your entrance. “I’m so sorry,” he said while marveling at the way his thick cock bulged your stomach.

Heeseung moaned so loudly he thought for sure the neighbors would hear. But he didn’t care, even though he should. How could he care? He had never experienced anything like this. Your pussy was gripping him so tightly, its walls enveloping his cock so warmly, he couldn’t care about anything else. With some effort, he pulled out of you and drenched his cock with even more lube.

He plunged back inside of you and gripped your hips, admiring the way your tits jiggled as he fucked into you. As he took your pussy, it dawned on Heeseung that he wasn’t being very romantic about this. “Sorry,” he said, feeling like an idiot. Heeseung pulled out of you and used his gloved hands to put you in a more sensual position. He would just have to wash the places where your bodies touched. He put you on your side and crawled behind you, so that he was spooning you.

He groped at your tits as he slid inside of you again. This much was much better. Ever since you had told him that you were going on a date, Heeseung had been edging himself for hours so he could last longer, just for you. He did it all for you.

Heeseung started going faster, pounding your cunt harshly. A part of him was sad that you wouldn’t remember this. No, you would wake up scared, wondering why Mark had done this to you. You wouldn’t even know that Heeseung had given you the most passionate fucking of your life. His headboard smacked against the wall as he pushed himself into you from behind. Using his gloved hand, he turned his face towards his. Your face looked so peaceful, and seeing it only made him go faster. The bed creaked as Heeseung relentlessly thrusted in you. He could feel you getting looser and wetter, accommodating his dick.

Heeseung felt himself bottom out, hitting the firm muscle of your cervix. He couldn’t stop now. Heeseung gripped your tits, loosening his grip when he remembered that he could leave handprints, and thrust up and down. He could have spent all day in your pussy, but he didn’t have much time left.

His balls smacked into your thighs as he felt his orgasm approaching. It was unlike any other orgasm he had had; he had never felt so in-tune with his body, and the sensation burned. Heeseung grunted and pulled out of you before he came inside the condom. Heeseung rolled off of the bed and laid on his carpet, panting.

Soon, he would get up, wash himself off, then wash you off. Then, he would call Mark and say that you weren’t waking up. While Mark drove to his place to get you, he would use the cum he had extracted from Mark’s tissue, wet it with water, and smear it in your pussy. As soon as Mark had gotten you, Heeseung would dispose of the used condom and wash his sheets. After half an hour, he would call Sunghoon and say that you and Mark had forgotten your coats.

Undoubtedly, Sunghoon would find the bottle of roofies that Heeseung had planted in Mark’s jacket.

Heeseung sighed, completely content. After this, you wouldn’t trust men again, let alone Mark. Except, of course, for the man who had taken you home, tried to take care of you, and had called the police on Mark, the man who had assaulted you.

Heeseung couldn’t wait for you to wake up.

#enha smut #enhypen smut #kpop smut #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader

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razrbladekiss · 1 month ago

Text

MAPLE HAZEL | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: he’s grumpy, and you’ve got enough happiness for the pair of you. you visit joel’s little coffee shop every morning, and he can’t deny that he enjoys the monotony of life with you the other side of his counter.

PAIRING: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

WARNINGS: inspired by lorelai gilmore and luke danes, so with that info do what you will. this is full on golden retriever x black cat realness. fluffy. banter-y. dialogue-y. joel is grumpy but he’s sexy so we don’t mind. enjoy, my besties. not sure if i’ll do a part two, but i’ll let you know in due time, of course.🍁🫶🏻

SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s like he’s moving from muscle memory. Putting down a cinnamon roll and maple hazel latte—with two extra shots of espresso—in front of the third purple stool at his counter, is almost ingrained into his brain. He wonders if one day you’ll ever take him by surprise and order pancakes, or a chai tea.

And you will. Just not today.

“Cinnamon roll, please!” You call from the door as you bumble over the threshold, fighting with the belt loop on your coat that’s gotten stuck on a brassy handle for the third time this morning.

“Already one step ahead of ‘ya.” Joel gestures to the breakfast spread at the wooden bar, and you smile.

Despite being a closed-off, stupid-person-hating, placid-at-times, grumpy old man, you can’t help admitting that you enjoy Joel’s company and general presence in your life.

His shop appeared on Birch Grove one sunny Saturday morning about three years ago, and you haven’t skipped a day since. Aside from Christmas Day, you have religiously sat at Joel’s counter and shared the trials and tribulations of life in Dallas as an overzealous twenty-something every single day.

He’s a great listener. Or, at least, you think that he is. He never interrupts you, or speaks over you. Joel always lends an ear to listen, even if he doesn’t always say all that much in response to whatever it is that you’re elucidating or complaining about.

“Thank you.” Breathlessly, you say. You take a seat and dump your purse onto the counter. “Got a busy day today. I’ve got a meeting, and I’m meeting Maria for lunch, and I’ve got a date—“

Joel’s face heats up. He turns to face you, striving to stay indifferent.

“A date?” Nonchalant, he asks. He slings a dish-cloth over his shoulder, and lifts a brow. “Does this man know that he’s going on a date with you?”

You make a face while stuffing a fork-full of pastry into your mouth. He’s so smug. With his stupid flannel and stupid little hat, you just want to rip the complacency from his lips. But he’s a good man. Just likes to try and take you down a few pegs.

But he can’t. Because you’re stubborn. And a little annoying.

“No, I just thought that I’d show up at his house in the middle of the night—because I’ve followed him home from work a few times and know where he lives—and rip him right out of his bed just like the troll that Danny Devito plays in Its Always Sunny.”

Joel let’s out a little laugh, not bothering to argue that what you had just told him didn’t actually happen in that episode, but finding it funny nonetheless.

He nods his head to you. “What’s his name?”

“Marcus.” Exaggerating your heart-eyed gaze, you tell him. “I met him at Costco—“

“Ah, Costco. Where every great love story starts. First you’re bulk-buying toilet paper, the next you’re sharing a dollar fifty hot dog—“

“Ha ha, Joel, you’re soooo funny.”

“I try.” He says, flippant, pouring coffee into another customer’s cup when they appear at the counter for a refill. He lifts the carafe and gestures to your almost-empty mug. “Want another?”

Your gaze is set on your wristwatch. It’s seven twenty-nine, and you need to be at work for nine thirty. Mentally you strive to figure out how much more time you can spend at the cafe, before you’re having to leave to get there on time.

“Is it maple hazel flavored?”

Joel tilts his head, glaring at you.

You swig the dregs of latte in your mug, and then push the polka-dot ceramic across to him. “Please.” You say, shyly.

Joel busies himself with customers, and general business-owner things for a few minutes while you finish your cinnamon roll and coffee. You can’t help watching him.

Because he’s great. He’s very caring—though extremely stern at times—and you know that if you’re having a bad day, Joel is only a two minute and thirteen second walk away.

He feels the same, too. Kind of. He knows that you’ll be sauntering into his shop at some point every day, and finds himself looking forward to seeing your wide-eyed gaze and larger-than-life smile.

And though he won’t admit it in so many words, Joel has a soft spot for you. It hasn’t always been apparent—he thought that you were utterly insufferable and obsessive when he first met you—but he can’t deny the fact that his life would be very dull without you.

Even if you do have a tendency to try to get underneath his skin.

“Are you dating, Joel?”

He rolls his eyes.

“What? It’s a very normal question to ask somebody that hasn’t been in a serious relationship for an entire twelve months.”

He pulls the cloth from his shoulder and wipes at his hands. “You and I both know that I ain’t got no interest in settlin’ down with anyone. Not yet, anyway.”

“You were willing to with Tess.” Pushing things a little, you say. You lift the coffee mug to your lips when Joel opens his mouth to chastise you, but he can’t.

He can’t because you’re right. He can’t because he wanted to, once upon a time. Before Tess walked out of his life—not long after you started frequenting his shop—he wanted it all. A wife, kids, the white picket fence that his parents had back in Austin when he was a kid.

But it doesn’t always work out that way, and Joel has learned to live with the idea that if it’s too good to be true, then it most likely is.

“I can set you up with someone—“

“Not happening.” He says. “Last time you sent me on a blind date, the girl asked me if I was into pegging.”

You giggle. “Well? Are you—“

Joel says your name, glaring pointedly.

“Sorry.” Instinctively, your lips are set into a straight line. “But I can totally do better, this time. I know this girl—she works at this law firm—and—“

“Not interested.”

“Okay.” You smile, tight-lipped. You lift your mug, striving for your third cup of coffee this morning.

Joel pours the liquid gold into the cup, before he’s telling you that he’s not going to be giving you another for fear of you ricocheting off of each wall in his place.

“You’ll turn into a cup ‘a coffee one day.”

Nodding—with a completely content smile—you say; “least I’ll be happy.”

“You’re always happy.” Joel mithers to himself, turning away. It’s one thing that he admires about you, though loathes at the same time.

Endless optimism and positivity is only something that he can long for, because he’s simply not capable of it. It baffles him how you are, especially when he’s—on occasion—so rude to you. So miserable, and cold, and completely undeserving of your friendship.

He likes that you’re so forgiving. That—even after he accidentally offended you last summer when making a comment about your then boyfriend—you can never hold a grudge, especially when it comes to him.

Because you both hold one another on a pedestal so high, neither can seem to do anything to tear themselves down. And Joel really enjoys your daily routine. That’s why he’s never not in the shop.

“You got any weekend plans?”

“Never do.”

You stretch out your arms—intertwining your fingers as you do to make them click—and offer a small smile when he cringes.

“You wanna catch a movie?” Shirking the idea that you have a date tonight—with a man who you really aren’t all that interested in, you’re just being nice—you propose.

Joel’s heart starts to beat at a tempo that’s noticeably quicker than usual. Not a lot, but it’s certainly faster.

“I think that the theatre downtown is showing the original Beetlejuice, on Saturday.”

He nods, approving. “I—uh—I’ll have to get someone to cover—“

“I’m sure you can ask your brother. Or maybe Maria?”

“I ‘spose.” Reluctant, he says. “But what about Michael? What if he wants a second date?”

“Well, his name is Marcus. And if he wants a second date—which I doubt he will—then he’ll just have to live with the fact that I have plans with a friend on Saturday night.”

He hopes that you can’t see him blush.

“Won’t it be weird?”

“Why?”

“We hardly speak outside of the shop.”

“God, Joel.” You throw your head back, laughing. “We’re the same people wherever we are. And we’re going to the movies—not a lot of talking takes place there, hon.”

His nostrils flare at your sarcasm, but mainly at the little pet name. Joel knows that you’re sweet—that you often use those terms of endearment when speaking with those that you care about—but it does something to him.

Something that he does not like.

“You can either come, or stay here and be miserable because you have no social life, or no girlfriend, or no other friends aside from me, your brother, and your brother’s wife—“

“Alright, fine.” Joel stops your miniature hate-train, and puts his hands against the counter. Your eyes zone in on the veins embellished within tan skin—how prominent they are when he’s fronting irritation—and let out a small sigh.

He’d be a lot more handsome if he smiled more, you think.

“So.” You paw at your purse, pulling it off the wood. “I’ll let you know what time the showing is, and we can make plans around that.”

Joel rounds the island and follows you as you pad toward the door, veritably sweating. “Plans?” He asks. “You never said nothin’ ‘bout plans. I thought we were just gonna catch a movie?”

“We are.” You tell him. “But we need to buy snacks, and grab dinner before we go—“

“Now you’re just describing a date.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m describing hanging out with a friend, Joel.”

“A friend?”

“An acquaintance…?” Testing the waters, you ask. Your eyes squint a bit, awaiting his retort.

But he just smiles.

“A friend.”

You smile back. Bigger.

“Perfect.” Your purse is slinging over your shoulder, and you pull your jacket to close so that the darned loops don’t get stuck on the door handle. Again. “I can’t wait.”

“It’ll be…nice.”

“Jeez, Joel. At least try to sound enthused.”

His hands shoot up in defense. “I am. Just have a hard time showin’ it.”

Your head nods. “I know. I’m only kidding. It’s nobody’s fault that you’re the human equivalent of Oscar The Grouch—“

“Alright, get out.” He holds open the door for you, smiling tight-lipped as he watches you leave. “Enjoy your meeting. And your lunch. And your date.”

You chuckle, thanking him with another bright smile.

“See you in the morning, Joel.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You step onto the sidewalk—that’s festooned with red and orange leaves as the tree above starts to shed its skin—turning to wave at him. “See ‘ya, kiddo.”

#maple hazel 🍁#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader fic #joel miller x reader fluff #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou x f!reader #tlou x female reader

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pasteidolons · 3 months ago

Text

pincushion - jww

pairing: tailor!jeon wonwoo x bookbinder!reader genre: 1960's, romance, angst, fluff, smut (MDNI 18+) warnings: swearing, alcohol, smut (p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex), no use of y/n, afab reader, an overabundance of 60's references oops word count: 19.9k summary: when a newly appointed tailor stops into your shop one autumn morning, you're unaware the impact he would have on your life for better or for worse.

1963, Autumn. The small knife in hand cuts through the thin leather with relative ease, stopping at the point you’d marked with a small piece of chalk, you switch to cut the other end of the material. You eye the coffee sitting on the opposite end of your work bench, watching the steam rise from the cup that you’d barely taken a drink from. It’s only nine in the morning and you hadn’t slept well the night before, had there not been any orders to fill you would have slept in a while longer.

With the leather finally cut into its allotted pieces you go to move to the bound paper you were trying to cover before you hear someone walk in. The chimes above the door at the front of your shop sound off with a soft resonance, the same sound that had echoed the room for years. Footsteps tread carefully into the center of your shop, you can’t eye the stranger from your closed off workshop unless you open the heavy wooden door.

A quiet “Hello?” rings out, they sound apprehensive and unfamiliar to you. There’s a tinged worry that treads on the lone word, leaving you all the more perplexed as you set down the leather and the semicircular knife onto your workshop table and head out into the main gallery of your shop.

“Can I help you?” Question falling from your lips as soon as you begin to push open the oak door, finding a taller man looking down at one of the fabric laden books on one of the display tables.

“Oh,” his attention turns to you from the book, to the doorway you’d entered from and then back to you. The horn-rimmed glasses adorning his face slipping down the bridge of his nose. “I’m here to pick up an order for Seungcheol Choi.” His slender hand moves from its once stagnant position to push the glasses back up before moving to his right-side front pocket, “I can show you the receipt if you need it—”

“There’s no need,” you shake your head and raise your hand. Seungcheol had been a longtime customer of your family’s shop, you assume it’s mostly because of a mutual acquaintance with the Hong clan, but you would never be the one to edge into that conversation unprovoked. “I’ll go and grab your order,” a short smile and you’re turning on your heels and striding into your storeroom/workshop once more.

When you walk back out a few moments later, the books wrapped in brown paper to protect their covers, the stranger is once again looking down at the assortment of books atop your display tables.

“So,” you begin as you hold out the bound books to him, “are you new? I don’t think Seungcheol has sent you before.”

He takes the books gingerly, his gaze returning to the soft leather-bound journal after he gives you a short nod in thanks. As if it took him a moment to process the question he blinks and turns back to you, “Sorry— My name’s Wonwoo Jeon. I started working for Seungcheol last week.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you nod, trying to register the face with the name as comprehensively as you could. “Tell him to give me a ring when he needs his next order, I know he goes through those fairly quickly.”

“I will,” Wonwoo smiles, “Before I go do you think I could buy this?” His head nods down to the maroon colored leather-bound journal he’d been eyeing earlier, “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

A small smile gracing your lips, “Of course, it’s unlined though. Is that alright?”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he says as you pick up the book as his hands were already burdened with his boss’ order. “How much do I owe you?”

“No charge,” you shake your head, fingers tightening along the spine. It’s smooth but the ridges of the leather run coarse under your touch, “Think of it as a congratulatory gift for getting a job under Choi. I know he has a reputation for being a bit of a—”

“Hard-ass?” Wonwoo muses, eyes widening as he realizes how he’s just insulted his boss. “And really, I can pay for that, I’m sure it must’ve taken you a while to make it.”

“I’m not sure if that’s the exact term I was looking for, but it does fit,” you laugh, raising the book up. “Don’t worry about it, do you want me to wrap it?”

“If you could,” he offers a smile as you move to the roll of brown paper atop the register table.

It only takes a minute for you to cover it, you’d done hundreds, if not thousands, of wrappings for novels and books. Once you finish tying the twine bow atop the journal, you gently stack it on the books Wonwoo holds.

“I hope to see you here again, Mr. Jeon. That is, if Seungcheol doesn’t scare you off.”

“He’s like a weird mix of my dad and what I’d expect Hardy Amies to be,” you weren’t sure exactly who Amies is or what Wonwoo’s father was like, but you did know Seungcheol. Oddities and all. “And don’t worry, I have a stronger resolve than most,” he shoots you a wink before spinning on his heels and heading towards the door. He calls out, “Thanks again for the book!” before shoving the door open with his hip and losing himself in the crowd of the street outside.

1963, Winter There was nothing quite like the holiday season in New York. Shops elevated the grandeur of their storefronts to catch the eye of window shoppers. Your own shop had seen an influx of patrons, as was typically the case around this time of year. But the demands were great, your hands had the slew of papercuts and hastily put on bandages to show it. Not that you minded it all too much, it was great revenue and it had paid for the camel hair coat you donned this evening.

The city was abuzz with life and festivities along almost every street, and while the excitement from Hanukkah and Christmas had died down over the last few weeks, most now looked towards the reining in of a New Year as December thirty first arrived.

“We’re going to be late,” Vernon’s arm slides under yours, the crux of his arm locking into yours as his pace quickens along the dimly lit street. The sound of his derbies clicking against the pavement reverberating around the nearly empty row of houses.

“It’s ten and we’re going to a New Year’s Eve party, I doubt we’ll be late, Vernon.” You let out a scoff, fumbling with your bag for a moment, not sure what you were searching for in the first place. The streetlamp’s orange glow does not aid you in deciphering the numbers etched into the doorways of the homes.

“Says the person who took five years to pick out a jacket, I’m surprised we got out of your apartment before my hair turned gray— Wait a minute,” his fingers of his free hand trailing up to the dyed platinum locks on his head as he turns back to shoot you a glare, “It did.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” eyes rolling, you nudge him with your shoulder “It’s not my fault your stylist bleached you instead of dyeing you.”

“I feel like an idiot, they can’t even see me to fix it for another week.” He groans as the pair of you make your way to a brownstone tucked away neatly into one of the city’s streets. It would be innocuous from the others aligning the strip had you not been able to hear the gentle buzz of chatter and the occasional laugh drift out from the screened door.

“Did Hong invite the whole block?” Vernon murmurs as he lets go of your arm so that he can jump up the short handful of stairs to the front door two by two.

“It would explain how dead the rest of the street seems,” Musing, you follow him, more carefully as you’d always seemed prone to falling up stairs. The voices grow in volume and now you can even hear the scratchy sound of some music floating from the door. There’s no one at the door to greet you when you walk in, just an array of faces that you seem to recognize while others are brand new acquaintances, Vernon and you drop off your coats in a nearby closet and shuffle your way inside in search for the nearest drink station.

“I’d say his house is beautiful, but I can barely see anything. How does he know this many people?” Vernon questions as he slides out of the way of someone’s elbow almost hitting him in the stomach. “All I want is to get slightly drunk tonight but I bet the alcohol’s already gone.”

“It’s the Hong household you know that’s not going to happen,” a snicker leaves you before you feel a gentle tapping on your shoulder. Stopping in your tracks you’re fully ready to meet Joshua Hong’s smirk and subsequent banter, but it takes you a minute to realize that it wasn’t your childhood friend that had garnered your attention at all; instead, it’s a somewhat less familiar face.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Wonwoo’s cheeks are slightly flushed with a smile, the contents of his champagne glass half-empty as he poses the question, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, sure.” You return his smile, nodding your head as he begins to walk off, only stopped by someone calling out to him.

“I didn’t know Pincushion would be here,” Vernon’s voice draws nearer behind you, it seems like he realized you weren’t trailing after him anymore. You feel his hand land on your shoulder as he continues to talk to Wonwoo, “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He taps his shoe on the floor, only stepping forward a little bit to let someone pass by behind him.

“Pincushion?” You question, looking from Vernon to Wonwoo with a quizzical look on your brow.

“That thing he wears around his wrist every time he comes in?” Vernon shrugs, “I couldn’t remember his name the first time I saw him, but I could remember that. Hence: Pincushion.”

“Is that what it’s called?” You recall the ball of velvety looking green fabric you’d seen on Wonwoo’s wrist the last handful of times he’d come to pick up the tailor shop’s orders.

“Yeah my grandma used to have one and I stole the needles from it to use as swords for my toys when I was a kid,” his shoulders shrug as he looks past Wonwoo and spots something beyond him. “I see one of those guys with a tray of drinks, I’ll get back to you in a bit.” And with that he’s off, sliding around you and Wonwoo to brush his way through the crowd in a frantic sprint to grab himself a glass.

“Does he know that there’s an open bar in the other room?” Wonwoo asks aloud as he watches your friend disappear into the crowd.

“Not yet but give him twenty minutes and I’m sure he’ll be all over it.” Vernon wasn’t one to drink heavily often, it was more of a holiday thing where he only did it if he knew he wasn’t going into work for the next few days. Needless to say, Christmas and New Years are binge drinking galore for him.

“So, book binding? How’d you get into that line of work?” You’d been so concentrated on looking for your friend’s brightly colored hair that you almost didn’t hear Wonwoo when he asked.

“Family business, dad’s too sick to come in.” Your eyes flickering over to him, a small shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his brow contorts into worry for a moment, as if he’d offended you somehow.

“Don’t be, if anything I think he’s playing it up a bit just so mom has to be around more often,” You smile, it was really only minor back issues but the doctor had prescribed bed rest and your father had been milking it for months now.

“Smart man,” a short laugh into his drink before he takes a sip from his glass. “So, how do you know Joshua?”

“Old family friend, plus he’s as rich as all get out so it’s nice to see what it’s like.” You note, looking up to the chandelier overhead. If it were anything but Tiffany you’d be surprised. “What about you?”

“You didn’t hear this from me but Seungcheol might be secretly dating one of his sisters and she invited the whole shop just as an excuse to see him.” The two of you lock eyes, a playful smirk on his lips dancing in the warm glow of the room. “I’m not complaining.”

“I don’t doubt it,” chuckling for a moment, you then look up as if you’ve realized something. “I should probably go and greet the host; can you imagine how rude of a guest I’d be if I didn’t?”

A ceding nod as he steps away from you, gesturing with his glass towards a side room off the main hall, “I think I saw him in there a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo,” you move to pass him, heading towards the doorway before you stop for a moment, your head tilting in question, “Want to meet back up later?”

“I’d love that,” a gentle thud in your chest as you nod at him, beginning to move again and question the feeling that had plagued you enough to ask him that.

You don’t find Joshua in that room, or the next, or even upstairs in his own bedroom. You do, however, find him on the second-floor fire escape, the butts of several cigarettes at his feet and a glass of whiskey in his hand. It’s cold, had you known this would be where you’d speak you would’ve brought your coat with you.

“Joshua Hong,” You begin, crouching down to duck through the open window, catching him as he’s begun to lean against the brick exterior of his home, “Hiding away from your party again?”

“The guest of the hour,” A grin as you walk towards him, “How are you? I haven’t seen you at all in the past few months.”

“I’m good, good… It’s been so hectic with the seasonal shopping and all, who knew journals were a hot commodity for gift-giving?” You sigh, elbows resting against the cold fence of the escape. The time between now and the last you’d seen him had been great, but it had always been far and few in between when it came to his jet setting tendencies.

“Sounds hellish for sure,” Musing, he takes a sip from his glass, the scent of whisky hitting your nose as it nears. His other hand rests atop the rusted metal of the fire escape, impatiently tapping as he looks out into the backyard of his home.

“And what about you, Mr. Start-Up? Tear down any more conglomerates recently?” You query, noticing that he was on one of his inward treks again. Something must’ve come up with his family.

A snicker, as he offers out his glass to you, noticing that your hands were painfully empty, “No, but we’re working on a pretty big acquisition right now. It’s all mind games and if I didn’t make a shitload of money I’d be out of this business.”

“Lucky you though, you’re able to retire at thirty-five if you really wanted to,” musing as you swirl around the contents of the glass, the ice inside clinking around.

He laughs, the cold air mixing with his breath in plumes of white that spiral into the nighttime. You push yourself from the wall, bringing the glass to your lips and downing the rest of the contents as quickly as you can, “This isn’t the time to be hard on yourself, Joshua. I think the countdown’s about to start,” a look at the small wrist watch on your wrist, the time indicating that you had about five minutes until the new year began.

“Shit,” the word elongated exasperatedly as he leans over to catch a glance at the clock face, “Let’s get back out there.”

The two of you amble inside, your cheeks cold with the winter air and hands a little stiff from holding the glass for too long. You set it down on one of the various demilunes scattered around the hall as you make your way back into Joshua’s living room. He’s lost along the way, pulled into a group of businessmen to talk or fawning girls to cajole with, you’re not sure which at this point. All you’re trying to do is find someone you know.

You can try to push through the crowds to find Joshua, but at this point it’d be like trying to part the Red Sea with your own two hands and it was infeasible to say the least. Or you could head to one of the drink stations around the house in hopes to find Vernon, but he was as elusive as a snake and it’d be a miracle if you could find him before the clock struck midnight.

“Sixty!” A choir of voices ring out from a nearby room, you think you can hear Joshua’s voice rising above them all, but it might also be your ears playing tricks on you.

“Are they really counting down the entire minute?” The voice next to you startled you so much that you jumped, turned, and saw Jeon Wonwoo looking off in the direction of the countdown. His brow furrowing in confusion, “I at least thought it’d be the last ten seconds or something.”

“Jesus Wonwoo,” hand over your heart as you try and catch your breath, “You almost scared me to death.”

A laugh, “Sorry about that, I’m a little light on my feet.”

It also didn’t help that you could barely hear with the throng of people surrounding you. The gaiety electrifies the room, as it does the entire world when on the eve of a brand-new start.

“Did you want me to help you find one of your friends? I’m sure they couldn’t have gone too far,” his height somewhat advantageous to him as he scans the crowd, not seeing you shake your head as the countdown reaches thirty.

“I think I’m fine just staying with you,” you don’t notice the way he tenses ever so slightly at your words, a more rouge tint to his cheeks as he looks back to you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you sure?” Eyes widening as your gazes’ lock and you feel the familiar warmth creeping up the back of your neck.

“If that’s okay with you?” You question, the countdown hitting fifteen.

“That’s great— fine, it’s— yeah,” he trips and stumbles over his words, trying to find solid ground somewhere on the confab plain. It’s at that moment the countdown comes to ten, and the pair of you join in for the last seconds of 1963.

Five, four, three, two —

“Happy New Year!”

The clock had struck midnight and he was the closest one to you, you can’t remember if it was you or him that pulled the other closer to share a kiss. The kiss was chaste, but it resounded around your ribcage like the booming of the fireworks being shot off a distant skyscraper. A smile on your lips as you mouth back your own, “Happy New Year!” Despite it being innocent in nature, you know with the way the feeling buzzes on your lips you yearn for something more.

1964, Early Spring. The two of you’d spent time together since that evening, outside of that transactional relationship formed in the commerce of you selling your journals and him picking them up for Seungcheol whenever he could. It was outside of that realm, more personal as the days, weeks and months had transgressed.

By some miraculous circumstance, and no less of your incessant mentioning, you and Wonwoo had been seeing each other on a regular basis

“Seungcheol?” The door of the tailor shop opens with nothing short of a struggle. The heavy oak pressing back against your foot as you pry it open, your hands too full to push it.

“Need some help?” A voice behind you, startling you so much that you almost drop the large stack of books in your hand. You look over your shoulder to see Wonwoo standing behind you, his head tilted as if to question how you’d made it this far on your own.

“Thanks,” allowing him to brush past you, he steps into the shop and holds the door open wider as you enter. “Where is everyone?” Noticing that the usual handful of other tailors didn’t seem to be aimlessly roaming the store waiting for a customer to arrive.

“Busy,” He notes, motioning for you to hand him the plethora of journals. Obliging willingly, you hand them off and stretch your arms, surely the strain from the hardbacks would pull your finger muscles. “There’s been an emergency tailoring session, some big shot’s in town and needs alterations done for some party they’re throwing tomorrow night.”

“Explains why no one came to pick up the order today,” you muse, “Shouldn’t you be helping with that?”

“I will be in about an hour,” he sighs as if he’s already imagining the work that he’ll need to put in this evening. “But someone had to watch over the shop today.”

“Do you want company while you wait?”

You’re not sure how you’d gotten roped into staying with Wonwoo until well after the sun had set and the last customer had come in for the day. The lights of the shop are off, save for the small lamp that sits above Wonwoo’s workstation. He sits at his little desk in the back corner of the shop as he sews and hems away. His eyes scan the notes the patron had given when they’d dropped off the clothes, you had to squint to try and read the messy scrawl etched onto the parchment. You sit some desks away, flipping through some editorial detailing the up and coming designers of the fashion world but nothing was particularly catching your eye.

“Three alterations in one night, Seungcheol’s really trying to work us to the bone,” Wonwoo sighs exasperatedly, his hands falling atop his desk, a needle held between his right index and thumb while his other hand holds the garment he’d been attending to.

“Doesn’t it take a week to do something for just one piece?” You ask, not too versed on the schematics of it all, just acutely aware of when your father had needed suits adjusted as he aged.

“Normally,” he glances over to you, a hazy impatience settling behind his brow as he thinks to the two other pieces he was set to mend. “But it’s nine-thirty now and the guy wants them done by noon tomorrow,” Wonwoo almost barks out a laugh at the absurdity of it all, “I didn’t even get the roughest pieces, Mingyu’ll be up all night and finish five minutes beforehand if he’s lucky.”

“What are they making him do?” Magazine set aside as you stand to stretch, your legs numb with the fuzziness of pinched nerves.

“Some simple inseam stuff like I’m doing, but also taking in a few jacket sleeves and fixing shoulder divots,” He says as if you know what he’s talking about, upon seeing the puzzled expression that paints itself on your face he explains a little more, “It’s nearly impossible to do with the amount of time we’ve been given.”

“Why’d Seungcheol accept this job then?” Pins and needles poking through your skin as you walk over to him to take a look at what he was working on.

“Because the client’s paying us a fortune,” setting the needle down he pulls a pin from the cushion around his wrist to situate it into an odd angle in the fabric in front of him, “I might actually be able to take you on a real date if I finish this in time.”

“I’ve kind of liked the ice cream socials,” you shrug your shoulders, as he turns to look at you, “And all of the gritty little dives, it’s more memorable that way. Plus, it makes me a cheap date.”

A small ‘tch’ leaving him as he turns back to his work, “You deserve more than that.”

“As long as you’re there I’ll be fine,” you lean down to press a kiss on his cheek, “Now I’ll stop distracting you, I’ll make dinner or lunch or something because I know you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow.”

“Try and get to bed early,” he says as you go to grab your things from where you’d left them up front, “I know you like to overwork yourself too.”

1964, Summer When you’d been invited to Wonwoo’s small apartment, you’d expected a small dinner and then maybe you’d go and watch television or explore the city afterwards. What you hadn’t expected was to see dark plumes of smoke emitting from under the doorway. You don’t knock, instead you barge into the apartment to find Wonwoo unlatching his windows and opening them to let the smoke escape, the source of the plumes coming from his small kitchen.

“What happened?” You call out as he turns to you, your hand rising to your face as if it could vanquish the putrid smell.

“I cooked,” the last window opens with a struggle, Wonwoo’s arms ache with how much force he had to exert when opening it. He shuffles over to you, seeing that you’d walked into the kitchen to find the source of it all.

“You… cooked….” A charred, black entity sits in a pan that Wonwoo had presumably pulled from the oven minutes prior. “Wonwoo what is that?”

“A loaf!” An almost excited tone cutting through your confusion as you turn and tilt your head at him.

“A… loaf of?”

“Meat!” At least he’s trying to sound cheerful, but that was his disposition most of the time. His hand guides your gaze over to a handwritten recipe atop the counter, he must’ve gotten it from some program. “I followed Julia Child’s recipe.”

“I’m not trying to be mean but that looks like a brick.” Gaze flickering back to the meat-brick.

“Yeah,” a sigh as he picks up a nearby spatula, grazing it atop the burnt meat, it scrapes atop it rather than giving way at all, “It’s about as hard as one too.”

The utter exasperation breaking through in his voice cause enough for you to laugh, the absurdity of it all pricking tears into the corners of your eyes. “We can try and salvage it,” you offer once you calm yourself down enough, the occasional chuckle flitting like a bird around your ribcage.

“Let’s just go to Le Pavilion or something, there’s also a new movie out too, we can try and catch it if we eat fast enough.”

And you do. For some reason Wonwoo orders the most expensive dish on the menu and doesn’t even like it, offering it to you instead with an abysmal pout that almost has you reeling in the small interior of the restaurant. The atmosphere is warm and jovial, met by the sinking sun as the two of you exit the venue, hands interlocked with a faint tightness as if you never wanted to be without him in your grasp again. Wonwoo and you then walk to a theater some blocks away, hands still held and a bubbling silence between you.

The film that Wonwoo had mentioned earlier had been Mary Poppins, some Disney film starring Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke; you’re sure you’d heard Andrews somewhere before, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“I didn’t realize they could combine live action and cartoons like that,” Wonwoo’s voice full of childlike wonder as the pair of you exit the cinema. The smell of popcorn wafts out of the theater’s doors and the bright bulbs of the marquee overhead creates a strange glow contrasted to the nighttime sky.

“I didn’t either,” you note as a few kids brush past you and begin to race down the street, their voices carrying off into the night. It brings a small smile to your lips as you watch them gallivant around, not a care in the world as they continue to chase one another.

“Do you want me to walk with you back to your place?” Wonwoo offers, extending his hand out to you. You don’t answer aloud, instead just take his hand into yours and begin to walk the steadily emptying streets.

“Have you always lived in the city, Wonwoo?” It takes a moment for you to speak again, instead of just admiring the way that the lights glint off of passing windows and the rumblings of the cars that pass to your left drown out in the other amblings of the city.

“No, my family actually lives up north a little way away.” He hums to himself as he thinks, “I thought I’d always be stuck up there too, but I got the offer from Seungcheol and moved here as fast as I could. Although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it at times.”

“I see,” you mutter, not knowing the feeling of leaving your home. It was a foreign concept to say the least, for almost the entirety of your life you’d known you were going to take over your father’s shop one day, and you’d been complacent in the matter. You’d had your hobbies that you dabbled in, but this was a nostalgic comfort that would and had transitioned into your livelihood that would take you nowhere other than the little shop you call your own. “Would you want to move back?”

“Maybe when I’m older, sure. But I want to see the world first,” he nods his head, a twitch in his hand as he holds yours, “there’s so much I haven’t done or seen.”

It was a reckless ambition, but Wonwoo lived in that fantasy of the unknown, he had for all of his life. That was what he knew and all he abided by. You’d be fooling yourself if you didn’t worry for him at times, but he’d made it so far and you were curious to see where he was going. There was a creative longing, a desire to make, within him that no one else you’d come across had.

“I love you.” The words aren’t romantic when they fall from your mouth, when they’re swept up in the humidity of the summer air and ring around both his and your ears. This was more of a reckoning, a realization of the culmination of your growing feelings towards him since you’d met him almost a year ago now. A weight you hadn’t realized was there lifting from your chest, a songbird free from a gilded cage.

Wonwoo pauses, his feet stopping on the concrete as you continue to walk, only pulled back when you meet resistance. So, you stop yourself, turning back to look at him, a little ‘o’ on his lips and a confused look gracing his features. Had you said it too early? Or did he not reciprocate your feelings?

“You beat me to it,” a small pout emerges onto his lower lip, “I love you too.”

1964, Autumn “I can’t imagine those are comfortable.” You’re sure the clacking of your shoes could be heard miles away, with the obnoxious way they hit the sidewalk. They were pinching your toes too, and you might as well have put a band-aid on the backs of your heels because they were definitely going to be blistered tomorrow morning.

“They most certainly aren’t, but they are cute.” You note, standing on your toes so you can click the red slippers together three times at the heel. “

Wonwoo stands at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to your apartment, offering out his hand for you to grasp when you carefully make your way down the steps. As opposed to the cool air that had begun to settle into the city, his hand offers warmth against your bare skin as his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Which way is Vernon's?” He questions, looking over your costume for the evening.

“He lives over in Flatiron, kind of near the shop so it won’t be too far of a walk.” You notice him looking at the checkered dress and bright shoes. “Was Dorthey not a good idea, Mr. Holmes?” Noting his outfit of choice, the pipe held in his free hand, the detective cap as well as the cape to match.

“I think you look cute,” Looking away from you and towards the street you’d begun to walk down.

Vernon’s apartment was small, it being so led to more intimate parties than one would find at Joshua Hong’s home, in a way you appreciated it a little more. Bigger parties with unfamiliar faces made you feel as if you had to act less like yourself and more robotic in your interactions.

“I’ll let you in if you promise not to chuck my house to Oz,” Vernon asks as he jokingly cracks open his front door as the two of you stand in front of it, “And Pincushion here doesn’t try and solve a murder or two.”

“Hmm I guess that’s doable, right?” You play along, turning to Wonwoo to confirm.

“It might take some restraint but I’m sure I can manage.” Hand under his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Vernon sighs and swings the door open, “Drinks in the kitchen, I think Chan’s trying to do a comedy-musical routine in the living room. I’d steer clear because he’s trying out ‘audience participation’ tonight.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” You laugh as you walk inside, the warmth of the room exacerbated by the sheer number of people crammed into the tiny space. “I actually kind of want to check out Chan’s thing,” You mention to Wonwoo after you find a space where the two of you can stand unimpeded.

“I don’t know if I can stomach that quite yet, want me to grab you a drink in the meantime?” Wonwoo asks, looking towards the kitchen and the few people filtering in and out of it.

“That’d be great,” a smile and then Wonwoo’s off to struggle his way through the packed room.

Lip bitten, you try to look through the crowd, but the drawls of laughter tell you almost exactly where Chan’s giving his tri-annual standup show. It’s shoulder to shoulder and you can barely hear him over the other going-ons of the party but from what you can ascertain it’s pretty funny.

“Happy Halloween!” A hand on your side as they call out, you turn, and it takes you a moment to recognize the face under the Gomez Addams’ mustache and wig.

“Joshua!” A smile as you move to hug him for a moment, pulling away with your hands resting on his forearms, “I thought you were overseas?”

“I was supposed to be, a nasty storm delayed us by a few days over in Spain so I’m not leaving until Wednesday.” He says, looking over your outfit. “Didn’t you wear this like two Halloweens ago?”

“What no one knows won’t hurt them,” a playful nudge on his shoulder, “And if I were to remember, this wig looks very Elvis of you.”

“You might be able to remember correctly,” The black strands of hair that were pulled back are still reminiscent of the shape they once held. “Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you alone?” Joshua smiles, a nervous tinge to his voice as he continues, “It’s a little loud in here and I can’t really hear.”

“Oh, yeah,” brow furrowing at the attitude shift, “But first I should tell— Wonwoo!” The confused expression on Joshua’s face is somewhat laughable as you wave your boyfriend over, spotting him exiting the kitchen with two drinks in hand.

“There you are,” Wonwoo says as he walks over, placing a kiss on your cheek as he hands you a glass. You’re not too sure what the contents are, but it’s warm and smells spiced and oddly autumnal. “Hey Joshua,” he greets with a small nod of his head as you take a small sip from your glass.

“Hey Wonwoo,” a return of the nod, “I should probably let the two of you go, I just remembered I have some calls I need to make.”

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask as Joshua begins to turn on his heels. It freezes him, he looks back to you before offering you a warm smile once again.

“It’s nothing important, I’ll catch up with you some other time, yeah?”

The party goes one without much note after, the most affable thing being that routine that Chan had been preparing. At one point you and Wonwoo had slipped out citing an acute tiredness as an excuse to just walk the city some more. By this time of night, the kids that had gone out in search of candy were slowly waning, now only the belligerently drunk wandered the streets in search of the home they probably lived in.

“You have to admit that the joke about Red Skelton was pretty funny though,” insisting that Chan wasn’t the worst comedian you had ever seen. Sure, his act could be cleaned up a little but there was definitely potential.

“What was it— I know a guy who bought a $99 color TV set. Now every Tuesday night he watches Green Skelton?” Chuckling as he recalls the joke, Wonwoo shakes his head “That was pretty good.”

“That’s the one, he’s no Jerry Lewis but he’s trying his best,” you laugh as you arrive at the entrance of your apartment, “Did you want to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says, and your heart skips several beats, “but I’ve got a client coming in early tomorrow.” And then your heart drops, “I’ll come by tomorrow after I’m done?”

“Alright,” you nod and you say your good nights, he places a kiss on your cheek before turning on his heels and walking into the darkness of night.

You fumble with your hands, trying to unlatch the small picnic basket that had acted as your purse for the evening, in search of your keys.

“Actually, do you have room for one more?” You’d been too distracted trying to get your keys that you hadn’t heard or seen Wonwoo come back to your stoop.

“I thought you said you had work tomorrow,” a wayward glance to him.

“I do, but it’s dark and I’m kind of afraid to walk home alone, I mean what if a ghost or vampire gets me? I’m too pretty to die right now,” he states, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to invite him in.

“A big baby, more like it,” you scoff, once again turning to look at your door and stating, “If you are coming inside, can you lend me my own spare? I think I dropped my keys at Vernon’s.”

“Yeah I think I’ve got it on my ring,” he rummages around his pockets for a moment until you hear the familiar jingle of his keys. There are only four that adorn the metal hoop; his apartment’s, his mailbox’s, Seungcheol’s shop, and the most recent addition: yours.

“Roommate not home?” He questions as the two of you make your way inside, kicking off your shoes as you beeline to your kitchen.

“At some B. Altman holiday extravaganza with her beau,” pulling two glasses from a cabinet and grabbing a nearby bottle from the small section of your kitchen dedicated to alcohol, “Nightcap?”

“A small one,” Wonwoo nods as you come into the room, he’s standing over your record player, turning it on and beginning to play whatever was on the platter. You set the glasses down onto the coffee table and pry the cork out of the bottle, pouring two small glasses as he falls into the sofa beside you.

“I hope Delamain’ll do?” You set down the bottle and pass a glass to Wonwoo, only settling down on the couch once your own glass is in hand.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he sips at his glass, setting it down on the settee as he muses some more, “What record is this?”

“Ella Fitzgerald, mom gave it to me for my birthday last year, it’s one of her favorites.” Sipping from your own glass steadily turns into you just downing the liquid in one go. The glass hits the end table with a clink when you set it down, Wonwoo’s free hand resting on your thigh as he listens to the music wafting through the air.

“It’s lovely,” he sighs out as you rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of his Pour Monsieur cologne invading your senses as you settle. The meticulous grazing of his fingers over your thigh causes you to sigh, wanting to sink further into him.

“Can you kiss me?” The words fall breathlessly from your lips, as his fingers trace the hem of your dress. And he does, turning his head to crash against you with such voraciousness that your teeth click against each other before he steadies and falls into motion with you. The pair of you stay like that for a moment, before you feel his hand slip under your leg, urging you to sit atop him.

You straddle his waist, feeling a hardness beginning to strain against his trousers as you grind down onto his lap. He lets out a moan, probably the sweetest thing you’d ever heard, his eyelids fluttering as you do it again. A smirk graces your lips, your hands trailing from his chest to the button on the front of his pants, the fabric coarse under your touch as you move to unfasten it. Before you could, you feel a pair of warm hands atop yours, you looked up to see a wide-eyed Wonwoo.

“I didn’t think I’d be doing this today, so my underwear isn’t exactly mood appropriate—” He says all too quickly for you to comprehend fully, “Just don’t judge me too hard.”

“They can’t be— Is that Mickey Mouse?” You catch the name on the waistband of his underwear, hesitating on releasing any more of the animated character for your eyes to see.

“And I think you’ve just killed the mood,” he groans, his head falling onto the back pillow as his hands fall atop the couch cushions.

“No, I didn’t,” you lean down for a kiss, rolling your hips over him, feeling that he was almost fully erect. His hands fly back to your sides, guiding you along as he lifts his pelvis to meet yours. “I think they’re cute but maybe leave them home next time.”

“Next time?” He mused, looking up at you through clouded eyes, a joking tinge added to his voice “What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”

“Call it foresight,” shoulders shrugging as you look down at him, your head tilted ever so slightly “and you don’t seem like the hit it and quit it type, baby.” He’d slept over at your apartment before, maybe you’d had a few drunken makeout sessions but nothing ever this sobering, this far. In hindsight maybe you should’ve been nervous, let the butterflies in your stomach take over and calm you down. You’re not sure why you’d taken such a confident route with him, it just seems like he needed it.

“Baby,” the word fell out as a whisper as you saw the faint pinkness of his cheeks in the glow that emanates from the lamp to his right, “Can you spare me any further embarrassment and just take them off already?”

“It doesn’t feel like you’ve got anything to be embarrassed about,” your hand brushing his away from the front of his pants, you sit up on your knees, “Mind kicking them off for me?”

He readily began to comply as you tried to maneuver without inhibiting him, you noticed him watching you, a hunger in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine. His hands still for a moment and his head twists to look towards the kitchen where the entryway is.

“Fuck— is someone else here?” He asks and you listen to the familiar sound of your front door unlocking; it doesn’t open but you can hear loud footfalls and an even louder voice talking outside of the door.

“Sooyoung?” You call out after you were sure the voices had stopped, walking to the kitchen when you hear your roommate's keys hitting the kitchen counter “I thought you were staying at your boyfriend’s?”

“The asshole broke up with me because he wanted to be Holly Golightly. Him! He might have astoundingly good looks for it but I think I’m a little prettier, don’t you think?” The door of the fridge slamming shut, a rustle around the utensil drawer as she looks for a spoon. She did look stunning as the Hepburn character; you have to admit. “They’re re-airing that episode of Perry Mason if you want to watch it.”

“Wonwoo’s actually over so I think I’m just going to call it a night,” You say, leaning against the doorframe, watching her begin to dig into a tub of ice cream. “I’ll be sure to rant about your ex with you tomorrow.”

“You’d really do that?” A sigh as she shoves the spook into her mouth, “I’ll try not to wake you guys up when I get up for work tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sooyoung,” a smile before you slip away and head back into the living room. “Alright Woo, it’s time for bed.”

“Alright,” Wonwoo pushes himself off of the couch, buttoning his pants and shouting out a ‘Goodnight Sooyoung!’ before ducking into your room. With his long strides he walks to your bed and subsequently falls into it as you turn to close the door behind the two of you.

“Don’t you want to change, Dr. Holmes?” You note his still costumed self as you look at his sprawling figure on the bed, “I think I’ve got your bed clothes from the last time you were here… Not sure if I cleaned them though.”

He huffs, “Forget it, I’m going to sleep.” He crawls to his side, blanketing himself with your duvet as you go into your bathroom to remove your makeup and change.

You can hear him softly snoring as you exit the restroom, your face still a little damp and the scent of your cleanser tingling your nose. Sooyoung’s turned off the music in the living room, the garbled sounds of the small black and white tv quietly floating in under your door. It takes a moment, but you climb into bed next to Wonwoo, pulling the duvet up to your chin before you shut your eyes and fall into a dreamless slumber.

It isn’t sunny out when you wake up, you don’t want to look at your clock for fear that your alarm was about to go off and you’d miss the opportunity to sleep in a few minutes more. An arm draped over you, even in sleep Wonwoo was a cuddler. Normally you weren’t opposed unless it was the summertime and it was unbearably hot outside.

“You know,” you hear him mumble tiredly, as if he senses that you’ve woken up too, “I always thought your apartment would be much more… bookier.” With the way his voice rasps with fatigue you’re not sure if he’s fully awake or half asleep.

“What were you expecting? Books wall to wall?” eyes still closed as you pull your duvet closer to you, feeling his arm tense around your waist.

“Kind of, something akin to a fairytale library,” his breath hot on your back, the hairs on the back of your neck raising at the sensation. “Like uhm— some Grimm story… Oh,” voice perking, “Can we go for that Halloween next year? You didn’t even tell me what you were going as until I saw you tonight.”

“You want to have a couple’s costume?”

“Yeah,” breathing slowly as if he’s falling back asleep again,”Maybe Lucy and Ricardo, that’d be fun.”

The next time you wake up, the sun’s blaring into your eyes with an intensity you had never asked for.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Wonwoo’s mumbling and shuffling around your room, sunlight was pouring in from your windows and he looked heavenly even in his manic state.

“What’s wrong?” Stifling a yawn behind your hand as you watch him frantically feel his pockets.

“It’s nine-thirty, We— I overslept,” another string of curses escaping him as he looks around your room, “Do you have a phone I can use?”

“It’s on the dresser.” You point lazily to the red rotary.

You hear the dial tone ring a few times before someone on the other end picks up, “Mingyu can you put my client on the line?” A pause, “Yes I know I’m late.” Another pause before Wonwoo speaks again, “Hello Mr. Smith? Yes, this is Wonwoo Jeon. I'm running a little late for our appointment, I had bit of an emergency and— Huh? Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Only minorly,” he frowns, “You wouldn’t happen to have a suit perfectly tailored for me to wear, would you?”

“Can’t say that I do, why don’t you just go in what you’re wearing?”

“I am not going dressed up as Sherlock Holmes for this client. I have some pride, you know.”

“You’re literally wearing Mickey Mouse underwear,” you snort, “it doesn’t look that bad anyway, just don’t wear the hat and lose the pipe. Maybe the cloak too but it’s kind of sexy.”

“Don’t try to tempt me,” he groans, buttoning and zipping his pants, “I’m late enough as is.”

“I’d offer you an iron if Sooyoung hadn’t broken mine, that shirt looks super wrinkly now that I see it in the sunlight,” you note, he still looked nice though. He would probably look nice in anything he wore.

“Ugh, really?” Hands running over the wrinkled fabric he sighs to himself, “I’d say I’ve looked worse, but I normally have myself together.”

“Good luck. I, for one, am going back to sleep.” You sigh and fall back into your blankets, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of warmth quite yet.

“Now who’s the baby?” He scoffs and you hear him tread to the side of the bed, a kiss planted on your forehead as you crinkle your nose up at him. “I’ll call you later today?”

“I’ll talk to you then.”

1964, Late Autumn. The rain began only a few minutes into your trek to the cafe, your umbrella weeping with the droplets as they roll off its surface as you trudge down the street. There’s a rumble in the distance but you’re not sure if it’s the local train station or thunder somewhere off beyond the city. Your other hand in your pocket, running your finger along the ridges of your shop’s key. While you know you’d locked it, you can’t help but have the underlying fear that you’d left the door wide open so that anyone could just walk in. Although you’re not quite sure what they’d take, a few blank notebooks don’t seem like it’d do too well in any sort of underground market.

By the time you pull yourself from your thoughts, you’re standing in front of a small cafe that feels more like a second home to you than your own apartment did at this point. The door swings open, you stand in the entranceway so that you can close your umbrella and leave it in the small stand upfront before you head fully inside. It smells like autumn, or at least the coffee’d variant of it. Pumpkin, nutmeg, and a few other scents you can’t quite pinpoint wafting through the air as you walk up to the counter to place your order. You pick out a few pastries as well and ask that they’re brought out when your coffee is ready. A hand to remove the paper-wrapped book under your arm so you can reach for your wallet, realizing then that the water had soaked into the leather. The wrapping paper now a little damp from where it’d brushed against your coat, you pick it back up as well as grab the receipt from the barista before scouring the cafe for what you’d come here to do in the first place.

Wonwoo’s dozing off when you find him in the back corner of the coffee shop. His jacket slung on the chair beside him, a scarf thrown haphazardly atop it as he leans with his head tilting backwards, pretty much dead to the world. Had the two of you not been frequent customers you’re sure that he would’ve been kicked out by now. But there he was, black turtleneck, tailored pants, and the cartoon bandages he loves so much wrapped tightly around his fingertips.

He doesn’t wake up when you accidentally scrape your chair on the ground when you pull it back to sit across from him nor does he wake when you drop the paper-bound book atop the table with a loud thud. Wonwoo does, however, wake when you brush your hand gently atop his, nearly falling out of his chair as his eyes open wider than you’d ever seen someone’s do.

“That wasn’t funny,” he frowns as you snicker, glancing over to the counter trying to act as if he’s regained his composure, “did you already order?”

“For me? Yes,” you place your bag in the chair adjacent to you, shrug off your raincoat and hang it on the back of your chair. “For you, what is it that you get? Flat white, two sugars, low fat milk?”

“That’s it,” he hums, leaning his head back once more. It must’ve been another sleepless night for him.

“You should be thankful I’ve got an exceptional memory,” you frown as he can’t see you, he overworks himself too much and if you ever try to bring it up he brushes it off with a wave and an excuse of ‘I’m just doing what I love’.

“You know,” he begins, leaning his head back up, opening his eyes to look at you. There was something shining behind them that you’d only seen on a handful of occasions; he has an idea and he’s not sure that you’ll like it, “I was wondering if you’d model a dress for me? Not for a fashion show or anything. I just think it’d look good on you.”

His gaze breaks from yours to look at the aisle behind you, you turn and see the barista coming with your drinks and assortment of baked goods. After a few repetitious ‘thank you’s she leaves and the pair of you are left alone once more.

“Are you flirting with me?” An eyebrow piqued as you looked at him. He’d asked you to do some of the strangest things before, going from the mundane ‘I think we need to get annual tickets to the opera just in case I forget your birthday and it’ll be a birthday present’ to ‘I swear to god if we don’t rescue this cat right now I’m never calling you again’. But it was two am and a sorely inebriated Wonwoo had thought that a raccoon was a cat as it rummaged through the garbage. That had also been the night where he’d serenaded you with his own rendition of Blossom Dearies ‘Dance Only With Me’ and Sinatra’s ‘I’m a Fool to Want You’; he’d broken down crying at the latter and you’d forced him to go to bed early. He only went on the condition that you’d hug him as he slept. It was certainly an interesting way to spend your first date together.

“Do you want me to be? I’d say it’s fairly doable,” He winks as he drinks from his mug, blowing on its contents beforehand to cool the brew.

A laugh, the brown paper under your fingertips wrinkling as you strain your fingers and push it towards him. It slides across the wood with relative ease, your finger partially tearing the paper where it had been dampened by the rain.

“I brought you your book.”

“Unlined and all?” He asks as he sets down his cup, shifting himself forward to get a better look.

“Unlined, flexible binding, the works.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” he sighs, taking the still wrapped book into his grasp.

“I know,” you smile, watching as his fingers toy with the twine that kept it together.

“Hello? Paging Ms. Bookbinder, you there?” Wonwoo’s hand waves in front of your face, suddenly you’re back in reality and trying to remember the conversation. You didn’t realize you’d zoned out that hard.

“Yes Mr. Reichelt?” You question, looking down as his finger’s unlace the twine you’d wrapped around the paper packaging.

“Don’t call me that I am much cooler than Franz Reichelt, and less dead, for that matter.”

“Can you say that after you drink your coffee?” You poke jokingly while he eyes his mug with a wary glance.

“Anyway, were you even listening to me?” He leans towards you, elbows resting on the tabletop and a slight curvature to his smile that looked far too playful for the current moment. It stilled your heart for a second before you shake your head at him.

“Not really, no.” You confess, sipping from your cup, “What is it?”

“I was asking if you would let me make a dress for you. I’ve had this idea in my mind for weeks and I finally got this mulberry silk imported from Lyon and it’s too good not to use immediately.”

“I don’t even need a dress like that, Wonwoo.” You frown, picking at one of the pastries in front of you, pinching off a piece before stuffing it into your mouth. “I’m not exactly the type that goes to parties where I’d need a silk dress.” You think that the last party you’d attended you’d worn a sweater and a dress from your roommate’s closet, nothing remotely close to what he was proposing.

“You don’t even know what it looks like,” he pouts, “All I need are your measurements, you won’t even have to see the thing if you don’t want to.”

A sigh, “Fine. When do you want me to drop by?”

“Does Tuesday around ten work for you?”

“I should be able to get Vernon to look over the shop while I’m gone.”

1964, Winter. The ringing of your shop’s bells draws you to the front room, your hands wrought with binding glue, you try to rub them on the apron you wear to rid yourself of the sensation. Before you can ask what the customer needs you stop in your tracks, head tilting to the side, “Isn’t it your day off?”

“It is,” Wonwoo’s voice is cheery as he walks in further, looking at the array of newly bound books sitting out on display.

“What are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to want to see you?” You fluster at the words, hard to hide the small smile that forms on your lips.

“I mean, you can, it’s just that I’m working.” You motion to the store, to the few customers browsing the items.

“You’ve spent however many nights watching me hem skirts and taper jackets; I think it’s time I return the favor.” A nod of his head as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “What can I do to help?”

“What the hell’s Pincushion doing here?” Before you’re able to open your mouth, Vernon comes out of the back room with a stack of books in his grasp, “I thought you’d be holed up in your shop by now.”

“It’s my day off.”

“And you’re spending it… here…” The thud of books landing on a nearby table as the skepticism in Vernon’s voice rises.

“Yep.”

“He must really like you,” Vernon scoffs, going to grab a different selection of books off of another shelf. He turns to you and asks, “Can you grab me the leather samples from the back? I think Maisel’s coming in today and you know how he gets.”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You shake your head and head to the back room to search for the swatches.

While he waits, Wonwoo notices a small web lingering in the intersection of two walls, the sunlight glinting off its strands having been what alerted him to his presence in the first place. At first, he thinks to sweep it away with a broom he knows is hidden somewhere in your storeroom. You weren’t the biggest fan of bugs or arachnids; he was surprised you hadn’t rid your shop of it by now. But he can’t find it within himself to brush the web asunder. It had worked hard to build and craft its home; he knew firsthand how difficult creating something from nothing was.

“Her name is Jorōgumo.” Vernon had walked up behind Wonwoo with little announcement. The younger jumps, turning his head to look at the other. “I offered to kill her… him…? For her but she said it was eating the bugs and to let it be.”

Wonwoo eyes the fat-bodied spider, “Why is it named that?”

“It’s a fairytale from Japan, there’s a spider that looks like a woman. It entices men to follow her and then eats them while they’re distracted,” Vernon explains, the sound of the storeroom opening behind him.

“Are you bullying Arachne again?” You frown, handing the swatches to Vernon and looking up to the small web in the corner.

“I am not bullying Jorōgumo.”

“If I’m keeping a spider in my shop, I am not naming it after a monster.”

“And a heretic is better?” Vernon scoffs, tapping Wonwoo on the shoulder, “What do you think, Pincushion?”

“I’m just wondering why both the myths have to be women,” he shrugs his shoulders and looks to you, “Do you think you’d be free this evening so I can take your measurements? I finally have some free time to start working on that dress.”

“I think so,” a nod as you look at Vernon, “Mind looking after the shop for a bit?”

1965, Early Spring “Didn’t you already measure me?” Wonwoo’s hands hold a rolling measuring tape as he holds it up to your forearm as you ask.

“Yeah, but I want to make sure this is perfect.” Tape lowered; he writes down the number into one of the journals he’d brought with him to your apartment. Trailing away from that your eyes look to the bouquet he brought when he’d come over.

“What’s the deal?” Brow furrowing at the pink, red and white blooms, “You never give me flowers.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Beaming, he’s as bright as the sun. A jilted visage against the cool tones of your apartment’s interior. He looks up to you with a vividness in his eyes, “Your boyfriend’s going to Paris.”

“What do you mean Paris?” A hitch in your voice as you ask, a strange and warped confusion overcoming you.

“Seungcheol got me an apprenticeship with one of his friends, he’s going to be in town in a few weeks to talk about it with me and I want to show off the dress there.” He’s speaking at a mile a minute, a clear excitement as he beams.

“Don’t fall for some mysterious Parisian woman while you’re there,” You poke, still unsure about how you even feel about this.

“I doubt I’ll have time to even wander the city. With all of the workshops and sessions we’ll have. It’s going to be the opportunity of a life— ow—” he says as you gently hit his shoulder. “I won’t fall for some other girl, I promise,” He laughs and continues to take your measurements.

1965, Late Spring “Did you have a good time tonight?” The lock clicking into place as he asks, your footsteps falling on the floor as you make your way to his workbench in the center of what would’ve been his living room had he not made it into a makeshift workshop.

You note the tools, the fabrics and array of swatches that litter his home, the pincushion he wears on his wrist as he works settled onto the tabletop. It’s as if the apartment is a representation of him, messy in ambition but persevering through the struggles as he tries to find the limelight of his own. A smile forming as he walks over to you.

“I had a wonderful time, thank you for inviting me.”

It had been a small gathering at the tailor shop, a small dinner with Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Seungcheol’s friend and Wonwoo’s future mentor Jeonghan, and yourself. The entirety of the night you’d felt a knot forming in your stomach, the anxiety of Wonwoo’s future endeavors weighing heavily on your shoulders. You want to be happy for him but the closer it gets to Wonwoo’s departure for Paris leaves you feeling more and more despair at the event of it all.

“Thank you for coming,” Wonwoo’s hands find your sides as you lean your backside against the rough wooden edge of the table. “You made it all the more bearable,” smiling softly in the dim lighting of the apartment, he leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. The wine from earlier lingers on his breath, you’re sure it does the same to yours, the darkness of the red already making you warm and your body feeling weightless, almost as if you were floating in a pool of water.

You part, staring into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation before he’s leaning in again to find your lips. His kiss seems as if it seeks to steal the breath from your lungs. To devour you entirely until all you can think of is his closeness, the softness of his lips atop yours, of just him. The woolen fabric of his overcoat is rough under your fingertips as you move your hands from the workshop table to his shoulders, gently pulling at the cloth to urge him to discard the garment. His hands leave your sides momentarily as he shrugs the jacket off, the fabric falling and pooling on the floor at his feet. A metallic clang echoing around the space as he leans forward to lock his lips with yours.

“Wonwoo,” you breathe, soft pants escaping the both of you as you turn your head from him, your eyes trailing to the sewing scissors that had clattered onto the floor. Another rustling of fabric and you realize he’s discarded his suit jacket as well.

“Let it be,” a hand under your chin, guiding you back to the comfort of his lips. He presses himself into your touch, the way your fingers dance along the smooth cotton of his starched shirt, fiddle with the buttons and run your fingertips atop the small engravings adorning them.

“Are we really going to do this in your workspace?” You look up to his darkened gaze, your voice caught in your throat as his own fingers move to toy with the neckline of your dress. Gentle, electric touches that have you reeling.

“Does that bother you?” His lips leave yours once more as he places soft, yearning kisses to your cheek, trailing down your jaw and then to your neck. He raises a hand to pull away the neckline of the dress to allow him better access to the apogee of nerves nestled at the point where your shoulder and neck meet. Teeth biting ever so gently that you would have mistaken it as a light graze had you not felt the sharp pinch. It pulls an almost whining sound from your vocal cords, causing your head to tilt to allow him more space to roam.

Lips curling into a smile as he pulls away, his hand sliding from the table to your arm, then raising and gently pulling at your hair, “You didn’t answer me.”

“God, fuck, no it doesn’t bother me,” you trap his lips in yours, tilting your head up so the orange glow of the street lamps outside shine into your eyes before you shut them, finding yourself lost in the entity of your lover. The slowest ministrations of your hips trying to roll against his, to seek out friction and closeness and the yearning of him to once again be a part of you, “Wonwoo.” Your tone is darker, needier, wanting as he presses his clothed self flush against you.

A huff of air escaping you as he once again pulls his lips away from you, and then the gentle rolling of his hips against yours ceases as well. Eyes opening to find him looking over you, not scrutinizing, it seems as if he was rather admiring the picture that sat before him.

Head tilting, the presence of desire absent for a moment as he muses, “I think it looks amazing.” He hums as he lowers himself to his knees, somehow the softness of his voice makes you want to comply with every word uttered, “Can you sit on the table for me?”

Hands brushing against tulle and satin and a plethora of other fabrics you could care less about at this moment in time as you find your hold on the table as you move to sit atop its surface, your heeled shoes clattering to the floor as you do so. Wonwoo’s fingers caress your calves as he leans himself closer to your core, his warm breath making your mind conjure some of the most unspeakable thoughts.

“I’ll have to let the designer know he did an amazing job,” you smile, involuntarily shivering as he slides his hands upwards, the hem of your dress inching towards your stomach the further he ascends.

His face merely inches from your core now, your hips squirming at the proximity. “I think he’d be appreciative of the feedback,” Wonwoo smiles, his face now obscured from vision due to the collection of fabric, you have half a mind to tear it off of you, not that you ever realistically would. It’s far too precious.

The rip of fabric, the coolness of the air hitting your now exposed sex, you whine in protest as he begins to slide the now torn fabric of your underwear away from you.

“I’ll get you some more,” his right hand hovers over you, he uses his middle finger to swipe up the length of your slit, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.

“Are you a lingerie atelier now— Fuck,” you begin to joke before he begins to tease your clit with the tip of his finger. He moves his middle finger slowly, languidly as he draws deep breaths and stifled moans from your lips.

After a moment, your own hand moves to your breast, trying to fondle the flesh through several layers of fabric. He changes his approach, moving lover to tease your entrance before he slips his finger inside of you and with a moan you roll your hips to try and meet him halfway.

It’s not until he eases in another finger and begins to slowly draw them in and out of you as well as latch his lips to your clit that your vocalizations rise in volume. The digits curl inside of you, his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves and your head finds itself lost in the euphoria of the moment, your hand falling away from your breast to find itself running through Wonwoo’s locks. He hums against you as your fingers tighten their hold, nearly sending you over the edge.

“Are you close?” You look at him, lips coated with the sheen of you, a tinge to his voice that straddles between curiosity and a carnal question.

Hand moving from his hair to his cheek you can only nod, trying to roll your hips to the increasing speed of his fingers inside of you. His eyes watching you as you do finally reach your climax, chortled breaths escaping you as well as a slew of incoherent words and his name. Wonwoo can feel the way your walls spasm around his fingers and sighs to himself as he pulls them from you, wishing that it had been more than just his digits that had made you cum.

You sit up, a little dazed and a lot more aroused than you were when you’d first stepped into the apartment. Wonwoo rises to greet you, your lips clash together and you can taste yourself on his tongue as you vie for dominance.

“Switch with me?” You ask, parting for air, voice whispering as your hands move to once again toy with the hem of his collared shirt.

And he does, backing away from you enough so you can land your feet on the floor and trade places with him. Your turn to take control for a moment, you feel the hardness of his cock through his pants as you tentatively palm it, trying to elicit some sort of sound from him.

“Come on, Woo, I know you’ve got it in you,” you tease, running your hand up and down the etching of his member, slowly and meticulously trying to draw him out of his shell.

“Have what—” he cuts himself off as you run your fingers over his cockhead, a low groan as if he hadn’t wanted you to hear it.

“Have that,” you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The taste of salt greeting you, the sheen of sweat on his face glittering in the lights dimly illuminating his apartment. You fall to your knees, sending shivers down your spine as the cool air that balloons the skirt of your dress as your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Hands sliding up his thighs, you move to his belt to hastily unfasten it.

It falls away, as do his pants and underwear, you were going to mention the lack of cartoon characters adorning it, but you were too preoccupied taking him into your mouth to comment.

Tongue running over the slit on his head, it draws the sweetest sounds from him, saccharine-like honey that drips from his moans and rings around your ears. His hand running through his hair, his other gripping the table as he tries to stop himself from bucking into your mouth as you take him further.

Your knees ache from the rough floor, the pain not deterrent enough for you to forget about the wetness between your legs. Fidgeting as your head bobs up and down on his length, you don’t think he takes notice. Yet Wonwoo was more perceptive than he let on at times, considering his hand now rests upon your hollowing cheek.

“Get up,” Wonwoo urges, his voice hoarse as he tries to gently nudge you away from his cock. “I want to cum inside of you.” When you do let him leave your mouth, a thin line of spittle trailing from his head to your lips you hear him sigh out again. It was so easy to get a reaction out of him, he almost feels like putty in the palm of your hand.

The indents from the wood settle into the flesh of your thighs as he helps you stand and lightly pushes you back onto the table. His belt clattering onto the floor as he fully kicks off his pants, his shoes, and briefs.

You wonder at this point if you should take off the dress, but as your hand begins to reach for the zipper, he stops you, “No, keep it on.”

He kisses you again, taking his hands to gently pry your legs open so he can align himself with your core. Lips parting, you feel his cock brush up against your entrance before he pushes himself into you, his hands moving to trail up the sides of your legs. Slowly, feeling every inch enveloping him as his fingers tighten their hold on the skin of your hips.

“Fuck,” he moans, fully sheathing himself inside of you. His brown eyes meeting yours, tongue darting out to wetten his lips, “Do you need a minute?”

When you shake your head no you fully expect him to start rutting into you with reckless abandon as he did most nights you stayed together. But he doesn’t, instead he starts to roll his hips into you, not trying to fuck the life out of you, rather trying to gauge how and what made you feel good.

“Woo,” you mutter with half-lidded eyes, hands trailing up his arms and to his shoulders, your nails digging into the now exposed skin. It was sure to leave marks, but only small crescent moons that would fade away come morning.

It’s whispered ‘I love you’s’ that fall from his lips as your forearms wrap around his neck to pull you up and draw him in closer, a thrumming in your chest each time he says it. And you repeat it back to the best of your ability, to find a constancy in him that hadn’t ever made itself presentable to you in a lover or significant other before.

For a moment you’re able to lose yourself in him, to forget that he’d be leaving you soon and your heart along with it. You’re enveloped in the presence of him and you wouldn’t have it any other way, you wouldn’t let it be any other way.

Wonwoo’s thrusts become more sporadic as he reaches his end, one of his hands leaving your side and moving to your clit to try and bring you over with him one more time. You’re sensitive and strung out on him, legs tensing as they try to close, stopping around his waist as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

He cums with little warning, other than his hand moving from your clit and back to your side as he stills himself within you. The sweat collected on both of your bows intermingles when he presses his forehead against yours. His breathing slows as he regains his composer, kissing you as he slides himself out of you. When he pulls away to slide on his briefs you land your feet on the ground with shaky legs, holding the edge to balance yourself.

Wonwoo turns back to you and almost has to stifle a short laugh, your face contorting to the feel of his essence leaving you, it’s strange but not overtly bad. Just not something you’re fully accustomed to.

“Let’s wash up, hm?” Hand taking yours, he leads you to his small bedroom, only stopping midway so he can help you out of your clothes. He unzips the dress, the cool air of his apartment fully encasing you as he pulls the fabric off your shoulders. You feel his lips press a soft kiss onto the nape of your neck and he catches the scent of the perfume you’d applied earlier in the evening. The dress falls, pooling at your feet and you step from its depths and onto the hardwood floor. Before you’re able to reach for the dress, Wonwoo’s swept it up, already moving to hang it in his closet.

The two of you shower together, reminiscing on a handful of occasions with him that you’d fully devoted to memory but also of the future as well. Wonwoo was excited to leave, every mention of it fractalizing your heart just a little bit more, not that you’d let him know, you just put on a smile and tell him how happy you are for him.

You borrow a shirt from him to wear to bed, exiting the bathroom while he brushes his teeth and combs his hair. While he does, you wander his room, looking at the shelves that adorn the space. Most books atop them are about tailoring or sewing, things that wouldn’t typically draw your attention. You then spot a few that are familiar, the bindings nostalgic under your fingertips as you trace them, no names or words that address their titles.

“I never realized I made you so many,” You muse, looking at Wonwoo who’s just exited the bathroom.

“I have been your loyal customer for a while now, you know.” He notes, falling into his bed and collecting the blankets, he pats the mattress beside him to beckon you closer.

You fall back into the bed beside him after you saunter over, encased in the blankets for a moment by the duvet he tosses atop you before you look at him, “I don’t want you to go.” It’s a simple statement that carries all too much weight for those six words alone, they lie heavily in your chest, saying them aloud does nothing to stop that.

“I know, I know,” There’s a hurt in his voice as he knows just how difficult it’ll be to part from you. “We’ve still got almost two months left before I go though, let’s try to make the most of it, okay?”

1965, Summer It had only been a month since Wonwoo landed in Paris. His French is awful, and he only knows how to call things pretty, cute or something lewder thanks to the teachings of his fellow apprentices. There are bags under his eyes from another sleepless night, a cigarette hanging from his lips (a terrible habit he’s picked up as of late), and the mute sounds of some song playing out of the bar he’d just crawled out of. It’s probably Bridget Bardot but he can’t tell from his position, not that he can understand anyway, he’s barely been able to comprehend his own thoughts.

His fingers ache, only nude bandages that are a little too pink wrapped around them because he can’t find the cartoon ones that you’d given him tucked away in his things. His eyes feel strained, tired, and pulsing from overanalyzing stitching and searching cloth for tears, pulls or other impurities. Montmartre was beautiful, not that he was able to see it often as he was constantly working. And if he wasn’t working, he was probably trying to catch up on lost rest.

This was his dream, a part of it though, the other half had you somewhere tucked away in the echelons of his fantasy life. Although he was doing what he wanted, what he loved, there was something about you being in absentia that had him feeling empty. He’d written countless letters but only signed and sent a handful, worried of saying too much and worried of saying too little. To you and his father, his father that had sent him on this path at a young age. ‘Make something of yourself,’ he’d said when Wonwoo was seven, ‘you’re too ambitious not to.’

If he could laugh at him now, he would. But his father was an ocean away, retreated somewhere in the depths of Wonwoo’s childhood that he’d rather leave behind.

Yet on the other hand, he’d written you what felt like every day and struggled with each composition. Wonwoo had never missed someone’s voice as much as yours, the gentle feel of your hand intertwined with his or even the sounds of your footsteps trailing through your shop. He’s supposed to be happy, why isn’t he happy?

The cigarette burns, the acrid smoke filtering into his mouth as he inhales, a plume of what’s left leaving him when he huffs out, the cigarette dropped onto the ground, smoldering away. Hand flitting through his knotted locks, the dampness of sweat clinging to the pads of his fingertips as he brushes over his brow.

Most people had dropped everything to work under Jeonghan, a certified maestro of their craft. And Wonwoo had dropped everything, not begrudgingly at first, but as the dog days of the beginning of summer and the end of spring drew near there was a rising anxiety within his chest. If you had asked him not to leave as he was standing at the terminal’s gates, he probably wouldn’t have gone at all.

He’s been giving up more and more lately; sleep, adequate meals, a solitary living space. Wonwoo’s worried when this serpent of work will seek out to devour you away too. It’s not that he wants to let you go, but if he’s to make something of himself he might have to, as cruel and malicious it may seem. In that you waiting for him was burdensome, not to him but to yourself. While he’s off gallivanting in an ancient city you’re in your shop, was he just supposed to expect you to idly sit by and wait for him? He’s not sadistic enough to tether you down to the unknown.

1965, Late Autumn. You’d come home that morning with a new record tucked under your arm, the words ‘Rubber Soul’ peeking over the paper sheath that the store had given you as you set it down on your countertop after discarding your shoes and jacket by the door. You hum to yourself, shedding your bag, reaching for the new record, and bringing it over to your player, Sooyoung’s worn copy of one of Billie Holiday’s albums resting on the platter. With gentle hands you remove it from the spindle, tucking it away in its cover before releasing Rubber Soul from its own and setting it onto the player. System turned on, you place the needle on the record and adjust the volume so the first few riffs of ‘Drive My Car’ begin playing through the speakers.

Nodding your head to the rhythm, you set down the cover and make your way to the kitchen, noticing the small pile of postcards and letters you’d received from Wonwoo over the last few months. He’d been so busy he hadn’t really had the time to call or write a lot for that matter. But it wasn’t like calling was free, especially an international connection. With each new card that he sent to you, there seemed to be less that he wrote of and more empty space adorning it.

“Hey,” You hear Sooyoung say as she exits her room, her purse in hand as she heads to the hall tree to grab a coat, “I’ve gotta head in, someone completely ruined the display for the winter collection.”

“I thought you were in charge of that?” A tilt of your head as she passes by. Sooyoung’s one of the floor managers of the flagship B. Altman some blocks away, and that left her unnecessarily stressed by the minute details of the store.

“I am, but I let one of the new girls try and set it up,” a frown as she opens the door, “That’s what I get for trying to take on a protegee. I’ll be back around dinnertime, okay?”

“I’ll see you then,” waving her off with a hand as the door slams shut, the sound of your friend’s key locking the door before the apartment falls into silence once more, the only sound coming from the next song on the vinyl.

Stifling a yawn with your hand you head to the living room, plopping down onto the sofa as you reach for a magazine atop the table. It was one of your roommate’s detailing a plethora of fashion information, this seemed something like Wonwoo could take to more so than yourself. Before you’re able to get lost in the pit of missing him again the phone on the table next to the sofa begins to ring.

“Hello?” Magazine tossed aside, you reach for the phone, pulling it to your ear as you lay reclined on the couch. Fully expecting a family member or one of Sooyoung’s friends over the line you sound a little more crass than normal.

“Whoa,” a familiar, achingly distant voice calls out, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Wonwoo?” Eyes widening, your grip on the phone tightening before your brow furrows and you sit up, “Where are you?”

“I’m actually in a phone booth outside of Jeonghan’s shop right now,” A short laugh, there’s something quiet about it, “I feel like I’m in some sort of film.”

“It sure sounds like you are,” distancing yourself from the line for a moment as the connection pops and crackles. Ear returning to the phone you feel your heart swell as you lean against your wall, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” He sounds apprehensive, as if there’s something ruminating behind his lips, but he was too afraid to say it. “I’m sorry for not calling sooner, it’s just been extremely busy here.”

Twirling the phone cord absentmindedly with your finger you shake your head, not that he could see you, “It’s alright.” The disquiet in his voice puts you on edge, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking,” He’s holding his breath, and you don’t realize that you are too.

“Of?”

“Ending this. Us.” There’s a pause, a bated breath, and a clearing of his throat before he begins to speak again. It sounds robotic, rehearsed, even. “I don’t want to leave you waiting for me when I don’t even know when I’ll be back.”

“If you don’t think I’d wait for you you’re ridiculous,” A confused tone to your voice, you blink several times as if that were the cure-all to comprehend what he was suggesting. “Is there someone else?”

“God, no, of course not. It’s just—” A break in the facade for a moment before it turns static again, “You deserve constancy. I don’t want you waiting around for me when you could be happier somewhere else with someone else who’s actually there for you.”

“Are you serious?” With the thought of him being an ocean away you could barely go as kicking and screaming as you wanted to, but you can’t. It’s hard to collect your thoughts with so many jumbling around your head.

“I’ll get Seungcheol or someone to stop by and get my things,” voice muffled, there was a small banging coming from the other end, as if someone’s hitting the outside of the phone booth that Wonwoo is situated in.

“No,” you frown, a heavy feeling settling into your stomach. “I’ll drop the dress and your things off at the shop.”

“Keep the dress, it was a gift,” his voice insists, sounding defeated and tired.

“I don’t want it, I want you, Wonwoo.”

He would rather watch the stars flicker and die from their sepulchered facades in the expanse above, watch the oceans shrivel and continents shrink, than be the source of your privation. It’s as if he can hear your heart break over the line. It isn’t loud, it isn’t ear shattering— it’s a hairline fracture that webs out and settles into every fiber of your being. He knows it because it’s the same thing he’s afflicted upon himself.

“I’m sorry, I love you but there’s no feasible way that I can—” he pauses, and you hear a voice tinned by the crackling line. It’s French, sounds angry and causes Wonwoo to speak into the phone once more, “I— I have to go. I’ll call you back later so we can talk about this, okay?”

“Okay,” the word is lifeless as it leaves your mouth, you hang up and pull the phone away from your ear as if you could still hear his voice after you’d killed the call.

You are a bag of bones, skin, and whatever else deigned itself rotted enough to crawl its way inside of you and flourish. Amber leaves looking more titian as you leave your apartment, a muted tone as you walk the streets and to your shop. The lights inside aren’t as bright as they once were, sounds far too muffled by the blood rushing to your ears as Vernon asks you what’s wrong.

1966, Winter “Try this one,” The bartender standing in front of you sets down another glass. He’d been talking to you on and off the whole night trying to get your opinions on different drinks he’d been concocting to try and get put on the menu.

“What is it?” Amber liquid swirled around what looked like a dried slice of orange. The whiff of something floral and reminiscent of anise hits your nose, causing your face to scrunch. “That’s not straight absinthe and cognac, is it?”

“Cognac Tesseron, Peychaud’s Bitters, simple syrup, and just the smallest taste of absinthe,” Carefully crafted and delicately handled you pick up the glass and observe it some more. “I’m thinking about calling it the Forget Me Not, but we’ll see what management thinks of that name.” Voice tinged with that oddly specific Brooklyn accent he turns to his other clientele, leaving you with the newest cocktail. Lips carefully pressed to the glass you drink, mulling over the flavors as you do so. After thinking about it you set the glass down, lips pursed together, it wasn’t a bad taste you just wished there were more acidic notes to it.

Alone. You sit alone in the dimly lit bar that denoted itself as La Fête. Why, you aren’t sure, but the cacophony of spirits mixed into the glass between your fingers is the only thing that has made you feel well the entire evening. Some comedian stands on the stage a few meters away, giving off a routine that isn’t hitting as well as it should be. There’s muffled laughs and chortles from the audience in front of him, yet you’ve barely heard a word he’s said.

“Mind if I join you?” A voice rings out to your right; you’re unable to see who it is until they take a seat next to you.

“Mr. Hong,” Eyebrows raised as Joshua turns to face you, “What brings you here?” You hadn’t seen him in a month or so, not after that had happened.

“Vernon told me I could probably find you here, and Sooyoung also told me about trying to cheer you up since the gifts she got you weren’t working,” A smirk playfully bouncing on his lips. “You look awful.” Hands folding atop each other as he adjusts himself in the seat.

“What makes you say that?” Scoffing as you bring your glass to your lips, taking a sip of your drink before setting it back down.

“Vernon did say you were going through something heavy.” His tone lowers, becoming more sympathetic and less lighthearted than it’d been a moment before.

The gentle ambiance of the bar around you, as well as the slew of alcohol in your drink, mellows your inhibitions and voice. It was the calmest you’d felt the entire night. “I just needed a break from all of this,” hand motioning towards your head.

“I can understand that” Pausing for a moment he opens a nearby menu, perusing the selections. “I just came from a conference in D.C., aren’t you going to ask why?”

“Hmm, why?” You pose, head tilting as you turn to look at him.

“We’re acquiring some major stock in Marriott,” He says with a playful lilt, “Forcing a bunch of bigwigs to give up their assets is an adrenaline rush I won’t get anywhere else but there.”

“Sounds… fun?”

“In reality it’s just a bunch of stuffy old men with their own hands up their asses,” he hums, “Although I guess I have to get used to it; I’ll be one of those men someday.”

“Joshua Hong you will never be like any of those men,” sigh losing itself in your glass as you bring it back to your lips.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” as he closes his menu, he calls the bartender over, ordering some drink that sounds all too extravagant for your taste.

The pair of you sit in silence for a few moments, your glass now set atop the marble bar as your eyes wander around the warm, eclectic interior. “Are you merging them with that Canadian group? I can’t remember their name.” Snapping your fingers together as you try and recall. You look back to Joshua, who was beginning to take a drink of another one of the bartender’s creations.

The glass now moved away, and he frowns into the back of his hand; you wonder if it’s due to the alcohol. Head shaking in the negative he answers, “I actually left that partnership a year or so ago, decided I didn’t want any of ‘Daddy’s Help’ and tried my own hand at it.” Leaning back, he adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket, “And I’ve been doing a pretty good job if I do say so myself.” His confidence is a manic beast at times, but it never fails to make you roll your eyes. “What about you? Gonna commercialize your shop anytime soon?”

“As if,” You snort and look towards the darkened windows of the venue, “I’m perfectly fine in my shop,” Elbow resting on the counter, you lay your cheek atop your hand as your hair falls around your face, looking up at Joshua as your cheeks warm with embarrassment, “It’s all I can manage.”

Joshua laughs, it’s hearty and you feel your pulse rise along with the heat in your cheeks, “Don’t sell yourself short.” Shoulder shrugging, he returns to his drink while you sit up, rubbing your cheek.

“We’ll see when I get there,” smirk showing itself again as his fingers trace circles on the light marble of the bar. “Oh, weird, crazy question really,” His hand moves to his jacket, fumbling around one of the inside pockets for a moment as he searches for something.

“Want to go to a wedding with me?” A piece of elegantly cut cardstock tossed down onto the bar, you don’t recognize the names scrawled onto the front of it in some pretentious calligraphy.

“Aren’t you dating that girl?” Fingers pulling the card closer, trying to recall the name, “Yoona or something? Why don’t you take her?”

Joshua almost chokes on his water as you speak, hitting his hand against his chest to get some air. “God no,” He coughed, setting his water glass down. “Yoona’s just a family friend, more like my big sister than anything else. If anything, my sister will get married before me.”

You nod your head in understanding, “Ah, is she still dating Seungcheol?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust them to tell me if it was raining outside or not,” he muses. Suddenly his demeanor turns mischievous, you’re not sure how to properly describe it as he leans in towards you, the smirk back with a vengeance. “But why were you interested in who I’m dating? Are you curious?”

It takes most of your willpower to lean back away from him and roll your eyes as you scoff out, “As if.” He only increasingly gets closer before you put a hand on his shoulder and playfully push him back.

“And what about you?” Does he seem nervous? You hear a genuine interest in his voice, but you aren’t sure if you’re exaggerating it due to the miasma of spirits clouding your senses. “Has any prince charming come up and swept you off your feet yet?”

“Does it look like it?” Eyebrow raised, you motion to yourself, “Vernon told you why I’m here, didn’t he?” Frown settling onto your lips you finish your drink, setting it down back onto the bar with an audible clink.

“He may have mentioned it in passing,” Joshua mutters, finger rubbing along the rim of his glass.

“I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, months even and he has the audacity to send in an order?” You try your best to sound indignant, but the truth was that it’d felt like a stab to your heart to see the hastily signed ‘Wonwoo Jeon’ adorning the invoice. Your heart had almost stopped then, you’d thought that you and he were, at that point, separate entities once more. “He made it blatantly clear he wants nothing to do with me anymore, he can go woo as many Parisians as he’d like, I’m over it.” Not yet, you aren’t. But maybe repeating it enough will make it a reality.

“You know what I think?” Joshua asks, finishing the rest of his drink as you look at your empty glass.

“I’m not drunk enough?”

“I think you’re plenty gone. But I don’t think you’ve ever let anything destroy you this much, or if you have, I’m a terrible friend for not realizing it. And with that being said, I will personally take up the reins to try and get you out of this slump,”

“Any other thoughts, O wise and wonderful mood maker?”

“Yeah, this comedian’s garbage. I’ll take you to a Lenny Bruce set one day and you’ll laugh your ass off.”

“I appreciate it,” a snicker leaves you. “Anyway,” your eyes move to your watch, checking the time, “I should probably head back to my place, it’s getting late and I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” You rummage around your bag for a crumpled mess of bills that you toss onto the counter in front of you.

You stand and begin moving towards the exit when Joshua speaks up, “Want me to walk with you?”

“If you want to,” pausing, you turn back to him and offer a smirk of your own, “it’s not too far away.” The two of you walk in silence through the winding interior of the bar as you make your way to the front entrance, you see through the large wooden doors that it is pitch black outside, thankfully the streetlights adorning the sidewalks keep things fairly visible. When the doors open and the two of you step outside you can’t help but let out a “Shit, it got cold.”

“Here,” Joshua shrugs off his already unbuttoned suit jacket and hands it to you, you can see the thin dress shirt he’s wearing, and you wonder how he’s not shivering himself. “Did you leave your jacket inside?” He asks as you drape the soft fabric over your shoulders.

“At the shop,” Standing outside, your toes on the edge of the sidewalk, your head cranes, trying to remember which way you’d walked here. “It’s…” you look at the signs at the end of the street, “that way,” hand motioning towards your abode once you recognize the names. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk, I can always call a cab or something, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“It’s alright,” His shoulders shrug as the two of you begin walking, “It’ll help the alcohol get out of your system.” Had he seen you stumbling on your feet on your way out? If he did, he doesn’t say as the two of you walk the uneven streets, pushing through masses of tourists and civilians parading around the city. It’s not long until the crowds wear thin, leaving you, Joshua, and the occasional pedestrian roaming the streets. “I’ve always loved this city,” Joshua muses as the two of you stroll through one of the many parks dotting the town.

Nodding, “It’s lively for sure.” Your hands move to close his jacket tighter around your bare shoulders, “I don’t think I could imagine leaving it.”

“Maybe for a summer home though?” Joshua laughs, moving his hands to his pockets. “I remember how you’d stay inside whenever it snowed or went below thirty when we were kids.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, “I wouldn’t say it’s that much of a problem anymore, I’m just a big fan of the sun in all its glory, not when it’s obscured behind a wall of cl—” Perhaps you would’ve finished that sentence had the heel of your, admittedly too high-heeled shoe not gotten caught between one of the junctures of the sidewalk, causing you to fall forward. You feel a pair of hands on you, one wrapped around your waist and one on your shoulder, as the ground rapidly rises to meet you.

Eyes closed you hear, “Are you alright?” as you’re hoisted back up onto your feet, never feeling the impact of the ground.

“I’m fine.” Once his hands had left you, you raise your hands to your cheeks, feeling the rushing blood warm your palms, “I guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought.”

Joshua looks at you for a moment, and then down to your feet, “I think you broke a heel.” Finger raised; you follow it downwards to look at the heel almost completely detached from the sole. “Here,” voice quickening as if to distract you from it, he takes your arm and puts it over his shoulder so you can lean some of your weight onto him, “wouldn’t want you to fall over again.” After offering him a quick smile and a small ‘thanks’ of gratitude you begin to walk again.

After a minute or so of walking, the pair of you take a turn onto one of the main drags of the city, the cool air soaking into you. “Do you mind if we stop for a second?” You ask, thinking you may have twisted your ankle when you tripped.

“Of course,” the two of you make your way to a bench along the sidewalk, you sit while Joshua stands next to you. It’s a moment of quiet before he speaks up again, “Are you feeling alright?”

You can only shake your head in the negative, for fear that you may explode should you open your mouth.

“What’s wrong?” He questions, sitting down next to you, his hand falling atop yours in an act of subtle comfort.

Everything. Your throat becomes dry as you lean forward and embrace him, unable to vocalize the horrid deluge of hopelessness and heartbreak washing over you.

You had seen the shop where Wonwoo was apprenticing when you’d gone into Seungcheol’s one morning, it had been featured in some editorial that he subscribed to. Seeing that it was a beautiful boutique and was quite revered among local and international audiences hadn’t dampened the blow at all. Wonwoo hadn’t been lying when he said it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

It still hurts. You’d been selfish in trying to make things work, too absorbed in it you hadn’t felt him slipping away until it was too late. Vernon had sat you down one day and told you to shape up. Wonwoo wasn’t coming back and the sooner you realized it the sooner you’d get over him. You don’t remember how long you cried into his shoulder for. For the eidolon of him was beginning to fade now, the lingering remnants of it still striking you to the core whenever you catch a glimpse of it.

“I just want to go home,” you try your best to sound strong, hating that the veneer you usually kept was able to slip so easily. Pulling away from the other you move to stand, kicking off your shoes and moving to hold them before you begin to walk.

“Aren’t your feet going to get cold? It’s nearly the middle of winter,” Joshua calls out after you as he catches up, unsure of how to go about comforting you.

“I’ll be fine,” your toes cold on the concrete, “It’s only a few blocks away.”

It’s silence once more as the pair of you two amble to your apartment, the windows dark when you approach, Sooyoung must be out again. A sigh leaving you, alone again.

“Thanks for walking with me, Shua.” You stop, turning to your accompaniment and smiling softly at him.

“Shua?” His brow raises at that, “Are you sure you’re not still drunk? I don’t think you’ve called me that since we were twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. But I mean it, thank you.” Your other friends had tried to console you but Joshua’s attempt had been the most successful so far that had gotten you to even budge ever so slightly from the slump you’d found yourself in.

1967, Summer. The sparkler hisses as Joshua hands it to you, the bright end flickering with every centimeter the flame engulfs. A smile on your lips as you look at him, an equally bemused smile gracing his face as he steps away and begins handing out sparklers to a few other guests. After the host finishes handing out the sticks a large chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ begins to ring out, directed at Jihoon Lee.

You didn’t really know the guy, but Joshua said he was hosting a birthday bash at a lake house up in the Catskills this weekend and it was a good excuse to get away from the city for a bit. It was a work friend of his, not sure from which endeavor but you aren’t complaining. Work at the shop had been far too busy to manage with just Vernon and you, you’d been looking at several applicants, but you had a difficult time sifting through the resumes. This was a much needed, and much deserved, break away from it all.

Before the sparkler has a chance to burn down to your fingertips you blow it out and set it onto one of the porcelain plates atop the table in front of you. A small crowd had gathered to sing and with the rapidly setting sun it was difficult to see familiar faces among the crowd.

“Looking for someone?” A pair of hands placed on your hips as the question sounds out, the familiarity of it making you smile a little brighter.

“Just you,” You turn, looking at Joshua.

“Oh?” He questions, leaning in for a brief kiss before pulling away, “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that means you’re thinking of something,” A sparkle in his eye, the light from the nearby dock casting a green glow onto the lawn.

“Just work things,” you admit, “Even if I’m miles away from the shop it’s still on my mind.”

“Work’s a sickness, isn’t it?” He mutters, “Well, they’ve already started to cut the cake, want to head in and grab a slice?”

“Sure,” you say as his hands leave your sides, taking one of your hands in his and heading through the lawn and into the brightly lit interior of the home.

“Seungcheol said he’d be arriving a little later, my sister’s ready to blow a gasket but, when isn’t she?” Joshua laughs as you make your way to a nearby table, grabbing a plate with a precut slice of cake on it before turning back to him.

“Is this from the same bakery who made my cake last year?” You ask with nearly a mouthful of cake.

“I told you I made that cake,” he says jokingly, grabbing his own slice, “And if it were, would you say yea or nay for them making the wedding cake?”

“Yea. Definitely, this is by far the best buttercream I’ve ever had,” you nod, “Although I do need a drink.”

“Amaretto sour?” Questioning as he sets down his plate, ready to go off and mix your drink himself.

“You know I can’t,” a frown settling on your lips as you take another bite, “Just water.”

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Joshua says and heads to the bar in the next room over.

You move out of the way of the other partygoers looking for food and make your way to a window that looks out at the road in front of the house. As you watch, you see the bright headlights of a car pulling into the drive, trying to careen past the other vehicles lined up there. It must be Seungcheol.

It’d been a while since you’d last seen him, having to mail his orders to him now that you’d moved shop locations. So, you head to the front door, anxious to see an old friend. The door opens with a swing of grandeur, Seungcheol Choi stepping inside with a clear look of panic on his face.

Seungcheol spots you as he enters, rushing over to you, “She’s not angry, is she?”

“Your wife?” You question, putting a finger under your chin in thought, “She’s only told half of the people here how upset she is, so I think you still have time to save yourself.”

“I’d better get in there then,” he sighs, almost brushing past you before he stops, “I should also tell you that—”

You don’t hear what he says, though. Because you hadn’t realized that there was someone standing behind him until they step through the dark entranceway and into the bright lights of the foyer. For a moment it feels like time has stopped, the plate in your hand straining from the pressure your fingers now exert on it as you lock eyes with someone you hadn’t ever expected to see again.

It’s you who breaks away first, mumbling about needing to find Joshua while it feels as if your heart seizes upon itself in your chest. Before you’re able to rejoin the party, you feel a hand gently grasp your arm, “Can we talk?” The question is quiet, almost lost in the atmosphere of the celebration as Wonwoo asks.

A strangled gulp as you nod, setting the plate down on a small mail-table before you brush past him exit out of the front door. He follows you wordlessly, from the gravel path that wraps around the house and to the backyard that overlooks the lake. You keep walking, wading through grass that comes up to your knees until you’re standing on the wooden dock, the gentle sloshing of water hitting the posts giving you something else to focus on.

Face green in the glow of the dock light overhead, it beams around the soft fog rising from the water as you hope it would swallow you up instead of you having this conversation with Wonwoo.

“You never returned my calls,” he says, standing several feet away. His tone isn’t accusatory, it sounds hurt.

“I kept forgetting.” Liar. Nails digging into your palms as your hands clench with an anxiety that hadn’t riddled you for two years. “And you only called four times.”

“Five.”

“Four.” Resolution in your voice as you try and stand as firmly as you can. The shoes you’re wearing are pinching your heels and you want nothing more than to kick them off into the water. You turn to look at him, trying to stay calm. “Would you have picked up even if I did call back?” A tangle in your stomach as you recall having Sooyoung answer the phone for the next handful of weeks after the two of you had parted, each time he’d called Sooyoung would say you weren’t home.

He hesitates, at least his body does, the words, “Of course I would have,” escaping him before he could prepare himself with a more eloquent response.

“You seem to be doing well,” It’s silent until you break it, noting the suit he was wearing was from a higher end retailer.

“So, do you,” a break in his voice as he notices the crack in your demeanor, “I didn’t see you at Seungcheol’s wedding, I thought he would have invited you.”

“My mother got sick, so I missed it,” you recall having to forgo the event last year. Did that mean Wonwoo had been back that soon?

“You still have the dress.” There had been a melancholy deep set into your bones that had lasted for what seemed like lifetimes, now resurfacing more and more the longer you look at him. You’d forgotten about what you were wearing, the same dress that the tailor had labored unknown hours over and that had been the figurative wedge between you and him. Maybe this was some deity’s cruel sense of irony. “I still think it’s one of the best I’ve ever made,”

“It’s a little tighter now but it’s still one of my favorites,” you can’t lie. Be it from the laborious love that was sewn into every stitch or the bygone memories associated with it, it was and still is one of the best pieces you own.

“I really was an idiot for letting you go, wasn’t I?” Hands shoved into pockets, he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“You did what you had to.” Brow hardening, a remembrance of the last time you’d spoken.

“Don’t say it like that,” a soft plea, he’d never meant to hurt you.

“Then how should I say it?” Bitterness you thought forgotten riddles every word you pose.

“You know I tried to visit your shop when I first came back,” Deterrent of the conversation, he looks across the water to the distant shore. “But it was empty, some guy passing by had said you packed up months earlier and just left.”

“There was a water main break, ruined most of our inventory and we had to rebuild from scratch in a new place.” You still remember the dread you’d felt that morning, walking in to find everything in shambles.

“With Joshua’s help?”

“Joshua helped.”

“Congratulations on your engagement, by the way,” eyes flickering to the ring on your finger, the light of the dock glinting off the main stone. “He’s a lucky man.”

Wonwoo sounds bitter, you can understand why but you can’t understand one thing. “Why did you come? I’m sure that Seungcheol said that I was going to be here.”

“I don’t know.” The answer is simple, but there’s a heaviness to it that you can feel. “I’m supposed to be flying out to Milan tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to see you again.”

“Did you expect me to fall into your arms, Wonwoo? To take you back?” Lip bitten, you’re sure you were going to draw blood if you kept at it any longer.

“Maybe I did when I came back last year, when I’d tried to see you.” He frowns, “I think now I want to make sure you’re happy.”

Happy. It feels as if that word dances off of the water behind you, across the sound and into the forest. Were you? The encroaching despair that had taken aim and marked you when Wonwoo had left was gone, a memory overwritten by the years that had followed, by the people who had followed. The shedding of yourself that came when he left took a while but without a doubt you can truly say this is the most complacent you’ve ever been.

The door to the lake house opens some ways behind Wonwoo, the lights from inside spreading across the lawn in an obscene spotlight on the two of you. A silhouette stands in the doorway, it’s easy to tell who the figure is as he leans against the door frame. You smile as you look at the outline of Joshua, heart swelling as it once had for the other man in front of you.

“Yeah, Wonwoo, I’m happy.”

enjoy what you read? leave a comment! it helps with motivating us writers to keep producing content for our lovely readers ❤

#seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagines #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo x you #svt smut #svt fluff #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt x you

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doitforbangchan · 2 months ago

Text

Playing Favorites - L.F

Pairing: Bakery owner!Felix x Shy!Reader

Requested: by @heeseungspookie literally forever ago thanks for waiting <3

Warnings: Fem/afab reader, very light smut, touching over the clothes, kissing, cursing, and fluff. so much fluff. Set in Felix POV

WC: 4.4k

Thank you to the requester for your patience on this, i really hope you enjoy it! not proofread :)

Masterlist

The bakery was slow this morning- more so than it had been all week- but it wasn’t a problem for Felix. One of his cashiers had called out this morning and as owner of the shop he had to take over front duties as well as baking in the back, and the slow day helped him keep up. ‘S.K.Z Bake-er-y’ was his pride and joy so he needed to work to keep it running smoothly.

Even though it was more work for him Felix really didn’t mind having to man the front. It meant being able to see his favorite customer. As his watch showed it was 9:30am on the dot he heard the little bell above the door make a little jingle as it opened.

‘Right on time.’ He thought to himself, not bothering to conceal his smile. Felix looked up from the coffee machine to see you coming through the entrance.

Felix had met you about two years ago right after opening this bakery. He could remember the day you came in.

It was winter and the snow was coming down heavily, covering everything in sight in a blanket of white. The bakery had only been open for about a week and was still unknown so there weren't any customers (nevermind the fact it was storming) and he was beginning to give up hope of having any customers that day- then the door jingled. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen entered his bakery.

You were wrapped in a thick pink scarf that almost engulfed your whole upper body and there were small snowflakes stuck in your hair. He watched as you dusted yourself off and wiped your feet on the mat, then you looked up and made eye contact with him. Felix felt his face blush a deep red at having been caught staring and he quickly looked away and grabbed a coffee cup, then pretending to wipe it down as if it were dirty. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the little bell on the counter was rung.

“Umm, hello.” You called out softly. He spun back around to face you, still too stunned by your beauty to say anything. You nervously looked in the cases at all the goods then back at him. “Do you, uh, have any croissants?”

Felix shook out of his stupor, blinking rapidly for a second then giving you a shy grin. “Uh yeah. I’ve got plain butter, chocolate, vanilla creme and raspberry jam.”

“Can I please get a raspberry one? And a hot chocolate please?” You took out your wallet and handed him a $10 bill. He tried to give you back your change but you shook your head. “No, you keep it.”

“Thank you. That is very kind of you.” He hid his blush by turning around again and quickly assembling your drink and pastry, adding a brownie to the tray as well. “Here you go, I hope you like it.” He smiled and set the goods down in front of you.

“Oh I didn’t order the brownie..” You went to give it back to him but he put his hands up, not accepting it back.

“It’s on the house.” He gave you a wink, internally cringing until he saw how your eyes lit up.

There you were, wrapped up in that same oversized pink scarf and shaking the leaves off your clothes.Your eyes met his as you walked closer to the counter and you offered him a shy smile that made his heart flutter.

“Good morning, Felix. How are you today?” You asked in a chipper voice.

“Morning, sunshine. I’m doing pretty good, running the shop alone today. How about you? Want your usual?” and by ‘usual’ he meant a brownie and a hot chocolate.

You nodded, “Yes please! And can you throw a maple donut please?”

“Ooooo feeling adventurous today, huh?” He teased, placing both treats in a little paper bag and sticking a lid on your cocoa.

You playful flipped your hair over your shoulder with a giggle, “You know it.” You handed him cash and he once again only charged you for the drink and donut. “Felix, you can’t keep giving me freebies! You’re running a business!”

“Sorry, it’s actually company policy that my favorite customer gets free brownies.” He shrugged, “If you have a complaint you’ll have to take it up with our corporate office.”

“Felix.. Am I really your favorite customer?”

‘Shit.’ He thought. He didn’t mean to slip up like that.

“Uhh, I- I mean..” The boy stuttered, unsure of how to save himself. But luckily he didn’t need to.

“Because you’re my favorite baker.”

Felix looked at you and saw how timid you now appeared, hiding your face in your scarf after your revelation.

“Your favorite baker.. I like how that sounds.” He grinned, his nose wrinkling as he began to giggle. He just thought you looked so adorable at the way you hid your face even further, his words clearly having an effect on you. “Please don’t hide from me! I didn’t mean to embarrass you, sunshine.”

You slowly lifted your head out of your knitted garment, “M’ not embarrassed.” He gave you a look that said he didn’t believe you. “Ok fine I am a little bit, but I can’t help it. I don’t know how to flirt.”

Now that had him taken aback. You were flirting with him? Since when did you do that? Usually he was the one who’s been flirting with you for two years. He realized he must have been standing there with his mouth gaping for too long because he saw the crestfallen look on your face.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to make things weird. I’ll just go now.” You grabbed your goods and went to turn and leave but suddenly his hand shot out before he could even think about it.

“Wait, Y/n don’t go!” He had leaped halfway across the counter to grab your forearm gently before you could walk away. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, you just took me off guard. I didn’t expect you to be.. Flirty with me.”

“Really? I’ve been doing it with you for two whole years, Felix.” You shuffled on your feet, still letting him hold onto your arm.

Felix felt speechless again, but at least this time he could feel the massive smile overtake his mouth instead of leaving it open like an idiot. The cognitive part of his brain told him that he had to say something.“That’s insane..” He began, “Because I’ve been flirting with you for just as long.”

He watched as you turned your head away so he couldn’t see the way your face heated up and the way you bit your lip. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Felix.”

“No really!” The blonde protested loudly, then realized his shouting might freak you out more so he cleared his throat and lowered his tone, unintentionally using his deep voice, “ I mean, I would never lie to you. I’ve been into you since the second you walked into this place.”

Felix unfortunately missed how his deep timber affected you, how your eyes widened and your fingers twitched, due to the door opening and the signature jingling of the bell signaling another customer.

“Hi, welcome in! I will be right with you!” He called out to the new group that had entered, then quickly looked back to you, “If you don’t believe me then let me prove it to you. Here,” He grabbed a piece of receipt paper and scribbled down his number messily. “Is my number. I would love to take you on a date… I mean only if you want to.”

You nodded your head and tentatively grabbed the slip of paper from his outstretched hand, “I do want too. I’ll uh, text you.”

Felix could tell you were feeling nervous, especially now that there was a line of people behind you watching your interaction, “I look forward to it.” He smiled at you again, waving as you scooped up your items and exited the store. The man was feeling slightly dejected by the interaction until he saw you stop at the door and turn around to look at him again with a delicate grin on your face.

----------------------------------

Honestly, Felix did not think there was a possibility in hell that you would actually text him- let alone that very evening. He thought he had blown his chance with you after practically throwing himself at you this morning (at least, that’s what his anxiety told him had happened) so when he was alerted that he had a message from an unknown number he couldn’t suppress the flutter of hope that swelled in his chest.

Hi Felix its Y/n. I was wondering if you were free tonight?

He immediately wrote you back, too excited to care about seeming desperate.

hey! yes i am totally free! What did you have in mind? :)

He waited for a second then the three little dots that you were typing appeared.

Well I was thinking maybe you would want to come over and watch a movie with me? Plus i have a bottle of pink moscato thats been begging to be opened.

If you're up for it :)

His cheeks were inflamed as he read your message. This time he could tell there was some flirtation in your words and it made his brain fuzzy. You wanted him to come over to your home and spend time with you.. There was no way he would ever pass up on that opportunity.

Oh i’m up for it. I’m about to close up shop so I could be at yours in about half an hour?

Works for me

Heres my address. I’ll see you soon :)

Felix hugged his phone to his chest dreamily then remembered he needed to finish cleaning up if he was going to make it to yours on time. He pocketed his phone and resumed the closing duties, now with a little more pep in his step.

Knock

The back of his hand wrapped on your door, the other was holding a large pink to-go box full of the unsold pasties of the day. He fidgeted with the hem of his jacket as he heard a soft ‘coming’ from further into your home.

After a minute or so the door slowly opened to reveal you with a big grin on your face. His eyes swept over you momentarily, taking in your bare face and wet hair. He noted you must have just taken a shower. You were also dressed in an oversized light blue sweater and a pair of gray leggings. He had never seen you look so beautiful before.

“Hi.” You said softly then moved to the side to allow him entry. “Come on in.”

“Hello sunshine, I brought some donuts. There's a few maple ones in here too.” He entered your apartment and you took the box from him excitedly.

“Thank you! Those are some of my favorites!” You closed the door and led him inside.

Felix let his gaze wander around your home, taking in all the pictures on the walls of you and friends, and the many fluffy blankets that littered your couch. If your living room was this cozy he could only imagine what your bedroom looked like.

“Sorry,” Your voice took him out of his thoughts, “I know it’s not much.”

He shook his head, “No your place is great! Very cozy feeling.”

You hummed, motioning for him to follow you. “You can set your coat down wherever.” You placed the box of goodies on your coffee table and plopped down on the couch, patting the spot next to you. The blonde boy shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair then softly took a seat down next to you. You grabbed the remote and turned on the tv. “What kind of movie do you want to watch?”

“Hmmm, maybe a romcom?” He suggested. You nodded and scrolled through the romcom section on netflix. Eventually you guys decided on ‘She’s the Man’.

Felix opened the box he brought and pulled out a chocolate donut, taking a small bite. You had already set out the bottle of wine and two glasses. You grabbed the bottle and motioned for him in question, to which he nodded in response. You poured two glasses then handed one to him.

“I hope you like moscato. It’s kinda all I had.” You said sheepishly, sipping on your drink.

Felix sipped the drink as well, his palette being flooded with fruity notes. “Mm, it’s sweet.”

The both of you sat next to each other while the movie played on your screen, every so often making commentary about the characters and sharing a laugh. It was a film you had both already seen a million times so neither of you minded talking through it.

About halfway through he noticed you had moved ever so slightly closer to him and now your shoulders were touching. You were so close he could smell the scent of your shampoo, the rich honey flooding his senses and making his head spin. He didn’t know if he should get closer to you or move away so he ended up just sinking further into the cushions instead, but you seemed to take that as an invitation to curl up even closer to him.

Now being able to feel the heat radiating off of your body it made him flush even deeper, both his body and something else beginning to stiffen.

‘Oh no, please not now!’ He mentally begged, clenching his fists and attempting to control his breathing, willing the growing hard on to go down.

“and when I close my eyes, I see you for who you truly are, which is UUUG-LAY.” You quoted along with the tv, laughing loudly. Felix let out a strained chuckle, trying to appear calm, cool and collected. Personally, he thought he was doing a great job at remaining inconspicuous, but evidently by the way you leaned off of him and turned around to look at him with a crestfallen look on your face said otherwise. “Felix..is something the matter?”

“W-what?” He stuttered then cleared his throat, “Uh, nope, nothing’s the matter.”

‘Play it cool. Play it cool. Play it COOL’

“It’s just that,” You twiddled with your hair and looked away from him, “ You’re so stiff and you really don’t seem too interested. I’m worried that.. You’re starting to regret asking me out.”

“No!” He burst out loudly, then slapped a quick hand over his mouth. He blinked quickly then dropped his hand, “I mean, of course I don’t regret asking you out! I’ve been dreaming of being like this with you since I met you!”

“Then what is wrong? Is it the movie? Do you not like the wine?” You hesitated for a moment, “Am I.. Not attractive to you?”

Now it was him who looked at you wounded, as if your words had physically marred him. “You can’t be serious.” but the disheartened downcast of your eyes told him you were. Felix reached out and cupped your cheeks with both hands, tilting your head up to look at him. “Y/n, Sunshine, please look at me.” You slowly did as he asked and he could see the wetness that was welling up on your lash line. “You have absolutely no idea how attracted to you I am.”

“Felix..” You whispered. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I know that I’m not entirely the picture of sexiness right now in my pjs.”

Felix knew now was the time to be completely honest with you- to lay it all on the line to make you believe him.

“Sunshine, I would never lie to you. I think you are the most gorgeous, attractive and sensual woman I have ever seen; pjs and all.” He gulped before he continued. “I’m sorry I seemed so disinterested and stuffy, I was just so nervous to have the girl of my dreams cuddled up so close to me I didn’t know how else to react- my body didn’t know how to react.”

The man bit on his lip as he watched the understanding begin to settle on your features, a small ‘o’ shape taking place on your mouth. Your eyes flickered from his down to the visible tent in his pants that you somehow missed before, then back up to his. “You, you mean your..”

“Hard as a rock because you were laying on me, yep.” He just knew his face was a deep shade of pink by now. Felix thought for sure you would call him a creep and kick him out so he went to take his hands off your face but your own quickly grabbed his and brought them back to your face.

“Don’t.. Please keep them touching me.” You whispered, locking eyes with him intensely. “I like it when you touch me.”

“You do?”

You nodded slowly, “Yes. I think about it all the time.” Felix felt his breath hitch ever so slightly when one of your hands made contact with his chest. “I think about your hands on me, about the warmth of them on my skin.”

The blonde baker could not believe the words that were coming out of your mouth. Where had the mousey shy girl gone and who was this bold woman? He didn’t know but he wanted more. More of your touch and of your confessions.

“Where do you think about them touching you?” His voice had subconsciously gone huskier and he luckily did not miss the shiver that went through you. Your reaction made him grow more brave and he trailed one hand slowly down to rest on your shoulder. “Here?”

You shook your head, “Lower.”

“Here?” His fingers lowered again until the backs of his fingers gently ran over the curve of your clothed breast.

A quiet whimper escaped your throat. “Lower.”

“Hmm,” He hummed deeply, “I think I have an idea of where you want me, sunshine.” He teased, “But I think there’s somewhere else I need to touch you first.” The freckled boy slowly leaned in towards you, giving you time to move if this wasn’t what you wanted. You surprised him again when you closed the distance hastily and crashed your mouth onto his.

Your hands fisted his shirt, pulling him ever so closer to you and deepening the kiss. He whined into your mouth then he ran the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip, teasingly asking for entrance, which you granted immediately.

This was easily becoming the best day of his life, especially with the way the hand that you had previously placed on his chest was slowly sliding its way down his stomach until your fingers brushed over the bulge in his pants. His instincts told him to buck up into your touch but the more civil part of his brain wanted you to explore at your own pace, giving you total control of him.

Felix groaned loudly when your hand cupped his hard on, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Fuck, sunshine, you’re gonna be the death of me if you keep that up.” He panted against your lips.

“Need you to touch me too, Lix.” He almost bust in his pants at the needy way you said his nickname.

The man finally let his hand wander to the place you needed him, slowly rubbing over the fabric and feeling the wetness begin to seep through. “Oh my god you’re so wet, I can feel you through your leggings.”

You buried your face into the crook of his neck and Felix let out a little giggle at how adorable you were when you were embarrassed. “Don’t point it out.” He felt you pout against his skin and squeeze him again.

He used his pointer finger and middle finger to rub delicate circles over your core, being able to find your clit with ease even through the fabric. Felix felt your hips instinctually buck up into his, seeking more friction that he granted you by pressing harder. Your fingers were stroking over his length at a hurried speed now as he began to leave open mouthed kisses on your own neck, sucking on your collar bone that was exposed by your neckline sliding down.

As ashamed as he was to admit it Felix felt like he could burst in his pants at any moment. The harsh friction of his pants on his cock shouldn’t feel so good but it does. He thought maybe because it was you who was doing it to him that he felt so fucking good.

Felix wanted to make you feel as good as he felt- better even- so he rubbed a little faster over your bundle,then dipping his finger in between your nether lips quickly then bringing it back up to your clit. It seemed his efforts proved fruitful because your body started to tremble and he could feel your breathing pick up significantly.

“L-Lix, I think m’ gonna..”

“Go ahead, Sunshine. Let go fo’ me.” He purred in your ear (or that's what he intended to do but it came out more like a desperate whine).

At his command he felt your body shake and you crashed your lips back against yours, his mouth swallowing your moans. Even through your leggings Felix could feel the way your core spasmed as you came.

Felix greedily drank all of your sweet sounds, loving how noisy you got for him despite being muffled. In fact he loved it a little too much, because before he knew it he was rocking his crotch into you as you stroked him, falling apart under your skilled hand. His voice got high pitched and his whole body was alight with trembles.

“Nnnngghhh, holy shiiiit” He cried against your lips, the warmth of his cum coating the inside of his pants and sticking to his skin.

Felix pulled away from you after you had both stopped shaking from your respective orgasms. Your eyes were wild and teary with lust and he was sure he looked exactly the same way. Felix barely got even a second to catch his breath before you were on him, locking your arms around his shoulders and giving him another kiss. Though he was pleasantly surprised at the gentleness of your lips this time- he didn’t know if he would be able to take another round so soon and needed a reprieve.

After a few seconds you pulled away from him slowly, your eyes closed and the most content look on your face. “That.. was really nice.”

“Mhmm.” Felix lightly nuzzled his nose into your cheek, leaving a small kiss there in his wake. “It was perfect.”

“Yeah?” You asked, seemingly getting shy again.

“Yeah,” another kiss before he leaned back, looking into your eyes now. “My favorite, actually.”

The sound of your giggle was the cutest sound in the world to him, there was no sweeter sound than when you laughed and he really wanted to hear it again. With quick fingers he dug them gently into your sides which prompted an immediate response; you squealed with laughter and let go of his neck, trying to pry his fingers off. “Felix! Don’t- no tickling!” But even as you protested you had that dazzling smile on your face. The one that made him fall for you in the first place.

“I love you.”

He didn't mean to say it- to spill the beans so suddenly on you- especially not on your first date, but his lips just let it slip. He was extremely anxious as he saw the shock on your face and you stopped laughing.

Felix started to backtrack, “I mean, your laugh. I love your laugh, it’s so contagious.” He nervously chuckled looking away from you.

‘Fuck, I can’t believe I screwed it all up in a second.’

“No, that’s not what you meant.” You quietly protested, then you surprised him again by cupping his cheek and leaning your forehead on his. “I.. Felix I love you too.”

Even through his shock a wide smile began to overtake his mouth and suddenly he was flooded with excitement and new found vigor. Felix was inclined to believe you, as he never knew you as someone to tell a lie.

You continued before he could, “I know it’s sudden and we haven’t spent a lot of real time together, but you have always been the sweetest man I had ever met. And you're so passionate. You care. And I think that seeing you chase your dreams and be so determined to make it work.. I couldn’t help but fall for you.”

“Oh Sunshine. I’ve been in love with you since I laid eyes on you, since the first moment you walked into my bakery two years ago.”

You both still had your foreheads together and with slow movements he leaned ever so slightly and laid a tentative kiss to your lips. You reciprocated instantly and went to climb further into his lap.

As much as he loved kissing you and feeling you on him, the second that you rested your weight over his crotch he was reminded of the sticky mess he had made in his underwear only minutes prior, the cum cooling and making it extremely uncomfortable as it stuck to his skin in the worst way.

“Sunshine,” He mumbled against your lips, “I uh, got a little problem.”

“Hmm?” You hummed, trying to kiss him again. You pouted at him when his hands gently pried you off of him, but then you saw the cringe left on his brow. “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” ‘Fuck this was embarresing.’ “I kinda blew my load into my pants.. And it’s starting to stick to my skin.”

Your mouth made a small ‘o’ shape as you registered his words, then you burst into a fit of giggles that made Felix both want to swoon and also bury himself into a hole forever.

“Lixie m’ sorry, I didn’t even think about how uncomfortable you must be.” You climbed off of him and stood up. “The bathroom is this way, I’ll grab you some sweats to wear if you want?”

He nodded, “Yes please Sunshine.”

“You can even shower if you want.. And if you do want I may even join you.” You offered him a wink.

His brows raised at how bold you were becoming, pleasantly surprised once again. Before he went into the bathroom he pulled you back into him from behind, leaving a wet smooch directly on your cheek. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Lix.” You swatted him with a laugh, “Now go clean up. We have a movie to finish.”

©doitforbangchan 2024

likes, comments and reblogs are encouraged! I love to hear feedback, it keeps me going :)

Permanent tags: @athforskz and @jehhskz

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #felix lee #felix stray kids #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #felix smut

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muzacopack · 3 months ago

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Exploring the Leading Products Packaging Company in Dubai

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mapis-putellas · 2 months ago

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[ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴇᴀᴛꜱ ]

Summary: You never intended to meet the love of your life on a random Friday at work, and you definitely never thought she’d be world famous footballer Alexia Putellas.

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝟏

It was on a regular Friday morning when you see her for the first time, and she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman you'd ever laid eyes on. She was dressed in what you could only guess was a football training kit, sat confidently at one of the tables in the far corner with her toned, tanned legs you couldn't take your eyes off on full display.

Her hair was blonde; like sunlight spun into silk, pulled back into a high ponytail with a headband to keep the flyaways out of her face. You couldn't see her face fully from your place behind the counter, but her side profile was perfectly symmetrical, jawline sharp and seemingly chiselled from the gods above themselves.

Her hands were playing with an empty sugar packet as she nods along to whatever her friend was saying, and you can't help but watch the way her long, slender fingers move alongside the thin paper, folding it as small as she could before undoing it and starting again.

It was an action so hypnotic you can't help but stare. What else could she do with those fingers?

You don't expect her head to suddenly turn and stare directly at you, catching you right in the act. You stand there like a deer caught in headlights, your hands frozen, clutching an empty plastic cup so tightly it splits down the front.

The first thing you notice were her eyes. They were brown, like the colour of mahogany wood, both comforting and steady. Then her lips. Soft. Both inviting and tempting, though pressed into a thin clearly giving away her dislike towards the situation.

She doesn't do anything; like get up and scold you for staring and her general facial expression gives absolutely nothing away. The longer she stares, however, the more her features soften, and you're unsure on whether that's because she feels sorry for you, or she finds you endearing.

You decide it would be best not to ask to save your already fragile ego.

Suddenly, another pair of eyes meet your own, her friends, and her face gives everything away. She looks between the both of you before her eyebrows raise, and her lips quirk up into a knowing smile as she slaps the beautiful girls arm effectively ripping her attention away from you.

They start talking between themselves in a language you didn't quite understand, the friend looking smug whilst the beautiful girl looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, and you force yourself to look away from them and busy yourself with starting to clean up.

The last thing you want was to get caught staring again. You were already humiliated enough and adding to that honestly brings you one step closer to throwing yourself out of the nearest window.

Loosening the death grip you had on the cloth still in to hands, you continue with the task of wiping down the counters. There were granules of sugar, dried brown marks from spilled coffee, fingerprints from the day's customers. All of it was gone in one wipe over. The coffee machine was cleaned a little while ago, sparkling slightly as the sun shining in through the windows opposite hits it in the perfect way. All that was left to do now was close up, and you couldn't do that with people still in the building.

Not knowing what else to do, you once again start wiping counters despite the fact they were already very much clean in a futile effort at killing a little time.

Someone clearing their throat abruptly startles you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see the friend of the woman you were horrendously crushing on. She was leaning against the counter, tanned tattooed arms crossed over one another as she stares at you with a small smirk on her face.

You swallow heavily as you tuck a loose strand of hair that had fallen from your braid behind your ear.

"Hola." She greets, and though you're terrible at Spanish, you do understand what she had said and return the greeting, your voice just as reluctant as it was cautious.

"Uhh...can I help...you?" You risk a glance behind her, stomach sinking when the beautiful girl was no where to be seen.

"I am Mapi." She starts, straightening up and linking her hands together.

Now deeply confused on why she feels the need to tell you her name, you nod your head and make the polite decision to tell her your name too . "Y/n."

"Y/n," she hums. "Sí, vale. I am sorry, my English is not..." she trials off with a guilty smile, and you shake your head.

"It's okay." You assure, lips momentarily quirking up into a shy smile.

"Anyway, my amiga, the uhhh...chica you were looking at," you immediately flush. "She say you are...how you say... hermosa?" She trails off unsurely, and you stare at her like she has three heads.

She sighs like she knew that was the response she was going to get. "Vale, you do not understand," she mumbles to herself. "Ehh, you are...bonita?" She tries again.

Bonita? You swear you've heard that somewhere before. On a tv show maybe? Didn't it mean...

"Pretty?" You try.

She snaps her fingers with an elated grin, one so genuine you can't help but mimic it. "Sí, yes. She say...said you are pretty. I try to...convince?" She looks up at you unsurely, and you nod your head in confirmation. "Gracias. I try to convince her to talk to you but she is very stubborn."

"That's okay," you laugh awkwardly. "I'm way out of her league anyway. But thanks for coming over."

"Qué?" Mapi tilts her head to the side. "Out of her league? Qué significa eso?"

More or less understanding the question, you flush as you fumble anxiously with the cloth still in your hands. "Uhhh, like she's too good for me."

"Huh? No. No no. I do not think so, chica. Alexia is right. Eres bonita"

Your stomach twists at finally learning her name, your lips quirking up into a soft smile. "Alexia?"

Mapi's eyes light up. "Sí. Alexia."

Speaking of the devil, at the mention of her name, Alexia walks out of the bathroom with her head buried in her phone. She doesn't look your way at all as she sits back down, and you can't help but feel a little disappointed as you look back down at your hands. How could she think you're pretty if she can't even look at you?

Mapi watches her friend sit with an eye roll before turning back round to face you. To get your attention, she reaches over to lightly tap your hand, waiting for you to look at her before speaking.

"I see your phone, por favor?"

"Um, why?"

"You will see." Is all she says, and figuring you have nothing else to lose, you pull your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans before unlocking it and handing it over. Mapi hums her thanks as she taps on the screen for a few moments before looking over at Alexia.

Frowning in confusion, you follow her gaze, only to regret doing so when you make direct eye contact with Alexia. You blink stupidly, not sure what to say or do as she stares directly into your soul.

Fortunately, Mapi makes a decision for you. She gestures Alexia over, the blonde hesitating for only a split second before rising to her feet and making her way towards you. The expression on her face was undesirable as she stops the other side of the counter next to Mapi, her hands tucked into the pockets of her red jacket.

With one last glance between the two of you, Mapi makes her way back to her table with a satisfied smile on her face. You watch her go with a slight bit of regret, knowing for a fact whatever conversation you were about to have work Alexia was going to be awkward.

Deciding to bite the bullet and get it over with, you raise your hand to give her a small wave. "Hey." You say with a small smile.

You can't tell if the butterflies in your stomach are nervousness because you're talking to a beautiful woman, or panic because 'oh my god, please let her think I'm normal.'

"Hola." The sound of her voice was nothing like you expected, and your forced to swallow back the word vomit lingering on the tip of your tongue. Do not freak her out with unnecessary compliments.

"So, uh, what did Mapi text you?" You wonder, hoping this would be a good step forward in making conversation.

Alexia hums softly as she pulls her phone out of her pocket, unlocking it before setting it down on the counter and turning it to face you. On the screen was the text Mapi had sent her, and you lean forward to get a closer look at what it says.

I'm y/n. I think you are pretty too.

Though you flush red a little in embarrassment, you don't deny it.

"I mean...she wasn't wrong," you shrug somewhat bashfully as you fumble with the cloth. "I do think you're pretty. Beautiful even."

Alexia raises an eyebrow, though it didn't take an genius to see the way her cheeks flush a light shade of red. Her lips part, and you feel your breath hitch as you watch the wet her tongue wets her lips before her eyes finally make contact with your own.

You blink stupidly, and Alexia smirks as she leans her arms against the counter much like Mapi had done moments prior but with way different intentions. Her eyes flicker over your face, head tilting to the side as she takes in every little detail. You try to remember wether or not you'd put on makeup this morning, but she was looking at you so intently you could barely even remember your own name.

There was so much being said without any words at all, and it was starting to become a little overwhelming. Why wasn't she speaking? Did she not like what she was seeing now she was close enough to actually see it?'

"I am not..." your eyes whip up to her own at a speed that shocks you both. You thank god she chooses to say nothing about it. "I am not good at this...in English."

"This?" You question a little unsurely, not quite understanding what she was referring to. Alexia nods, hesitating only briefly before gesturing to you and then herself. You take a wild guess at what she was trying to communicate.

"Umm, flirting?"

Alexia smiles as she nods her head. "Sí. Yes. Flirting. I am much more good at it in Spanish."

"Then it looks like I'll definitely have to start learning some Spanish." Was out of your mouth before you could stop it, and Alexia blinks before her cheeks once again flush.

God. She looked so good.

"It is...a difficult language to learn." Her voice breaks you away from your thoughts. You look up to see her staring at you with a somewhat hesitant smile on her face, almost questioning whether or not you were being serious. You're quick to assure her you were.

"It'll be worth it." For you. You want to add, but you refrain from saying so in order to avoid coming off too clingy.

"Then I will learn English too." She says with a firm nod as she straightens up, and you shake your head playfully with a gentle smile on your lips.

"Qué?" Knowing that means 'what' due to how Mapi had used it in a sentence earlier, you're quick to respond to her.

"Your English is perfect already." You admit truthfully, and you preen internally when Alexia flushes yet again.

Man. Who knew you were so good at this?

Alexia smiles as she fumbles with her phone, spinning it round on the counter to try and keep her hands busy. "Gracias," she murmurs bashfully. "I would like to...to take you out, if that is okay?"

Your eyes widen a little in surprise at the fact she'd been the one to ask you out when you'd fully intended for it to be the other way around. Taking your silence as a bad thing, Alexia opens her mouth to take it all back, but you're quick to reach out and give the back of her hand a small touch.

"I'd love to, Alexia." You assure, and the blonde smiles in relief as she glances back at Mapi. Her friend gives her two thumbs up and a wide grin, and you can't help but laugh softly when Alexia sends her a playful glare before once again turning to face you.

"Bueno. I will....text you?"

You nod. "I'll be looking forward to it." You smile, and Alexia returns it, lingering for a moment longer in front of you before reluctantly turning and making her way back over to Mapi. She ignores the tattooed girls soft nudges and not so subtle pestering as she packs up her things, sending you another smile as she passes and makes her way to the door. She pulls it open, patiently waiting for Mapi who was still grabbing her things.

Eventually, it's all in her arms, and you smile as she makes her way over to you. "Nos vemos, chica." She winks, and you can't help but smile as you watch her exit the shop with Alexia following shortly after. The bell dings as the door closes, and you smile softly as you make your way over to lock up and flip the sign to closed.

Yes, you'd kept the shop open an extra half an hour to shamelessly flirt with Alexia. Don't judge. Anyone in your position would have done it do.

As you head out back to grab your things, you make a silent note to once again download duolingo when you got home. How hard could leading Spanish really be?

Tags:

@simp4panos @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @liloandstitchstan

#soft alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas x you #alexia putellas #woso appreciation #woso community #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso soccer

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yuvany · 3 months ago

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#ENHYPEN TROPES⋆

❝Enhypen, and tropes I can imagine them in❞ ot7 . . . fmr . . head cannon + imagines . w.c : ~150/character ꩜ ...not proofread!!...

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 – brother's bestfriend

You never tried to associate yourself with your brother's friends because they seemed like people you wouldn't like to associate yourself with. One day though when you were home alone, the door burst open and the laughter of multiple people disturbed the calmness prior. You groaned to yourself, identifying the voices to be them. You saw them very rarely since they were in a different class, and slightly older than you. With a groan, you zoned out their loud voices. While reading your book, the door to your room opened softly, and you snapped your head in that direction. In your sight stood a tall man with bambi looking eyes scanning you as well. "What are you doing here?" You questioned with an arched eyebrow. "Sorry, was trying to find the bathroom." He replied, and stood there awkwardly. "Just go down two door to the right." You returned to your reading. "You're Y/n, right?" He asked. "I thought you were searching for the bathroom?" You said, not sparing him another glance. "Right." He then shut the door, but you felt slightly content with his presence in some way. Lucky to say that he visited his friend more often, and you got to see him more often too.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 – strangers to lovers

Jay would walk into the café down the street every morning to get his usual order; a cup of coffee and a bagel. Every staff knew him, and he knew them. So when he sees a new employee by the cash register, he tries to get to know you too. You greeted him like you did with every other customer, and he ordered like he always did. Jay walked over to a corner and observed the pretty scenery outside. He looked back up when you arrived. "Thanks ... ?" and that's when you realised he wanted to know your name, and that's when you noticed you lacked a name tag. In later weeks, the tense dome around you broke down, and you guys chatted while you made his usual order, realising he was a regular. "Any plans for after your shift?" He asked. "I'm just gonna lay on the sofa and watch a movie honestly." you chuckled. When you went to collect his plate and cup after he waved farewell, you saw a small slip of paper hidden under the plate. "Call me, please. xxxx - Jay"

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍 – golden retriever x black cat

He saw you sitting alone during lunch time, and he invited himself to take a seat in the empty spot next to you. You sneered at him, examining him up and down with an icy glare. In contrast, he had a soft smile. "What are you doing here?" You asked with a cold tone. "You looked lonely." Jake replied, wearing a confused look. "Well, I'm not, so you can go." You dismissed him and returned to the lunch in front of you. "What class are you in?" He asked, not giving up so easily. You replied simply, and bit into your home made lunch while he looked at you from the side, and ultimately returning to his own lunch. You thought he would stop bothering you after, but you were wrong. Jake would follow you around the corridors, and later find out that the two of you had a couple of lessons together. As time went on, you seemed to not mind his company, finding it more pleasant than being alone, realising that you maybe needed someone to fill that lonely side you always showed.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 – friends to lovers

You guys would be in the same friend group, but not the closest, you had your friends, and he had his. When he fist realised he had romantic feelings towards you, he started getting distant, even though something inside fo him yearned to be close to you. That, of course was noticed by both you and the other people around you. The friendgroup had decided to go to the arcade, and while they were there he did his best to not look your way as much as possible, but that was easier said than done. He saw how much you eyed that single teddy bear in a claw machine, and he made it his mission to get it for you. You decided to approach him to ask why he was becoming so distant, but started it off with a normal conversation, "Are you really going to use this machine?" You asked him, your eyes scanning the moles on his face. "Yeah." He scoffed playfully, and you stood beside him, watching him play multiple rounds until he finally caught the teddy. "Take it." He shoved the plush into your arms before walking away with a flushed face as you stood there dumbfoudned, totally forgetting the reason you walked over to him to begin with.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 – admirer from afar

Sunoo is shy, and he only ever watched and admired you from afar. The only times he ever saw you up close was when the two of you walked by each other in the hallways or when going to your assigned seats in the classroom. Even then, you'd smile at him, and he'd smile back, just that he would be a mess on the inside. He never ever spoke to you since he thought of you as someone too unapproachable. One day, when he was talking about you to his friends during break time, "She's just so pretty, and smart, and perfect!" His friends had gotten tired of his hopelessness and suggested that he should send you a love letter on valentine's day. "What, why?" He panicked, the embarrassment showing on his rosy cheeks. In the end, they convinced him to do it. February neared closer, and Sunoo arrived extra early just to slip his note into your locker. He looked at both sides, and then behind him and behind the lockers just to make sure he was alone. When the coast was clear, he carefully pushed the paper under the metal, but heard footsteps around the corner. "What are you doing?" It was you.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 – class president x new student

"hello everyone! I'm y/n, and I'm new. I hope we all ca get along well!" You greeted, standing in front of the class, anxiously playing with the hem of your skirt. "Alright, since she's new, Jungwon, you will show her around the school." The teacher said, and sat down in her chair, nodding towards a boy with big clear eyes who nodded his head back in confirmation. After class, it was a free period, and you quickly walked out of the classroom to explore on your own, since you guessed Jungwon wouldn't show you around at all. "Hey, wait up!" You heard a male voice calling for you, causing you to pause in your tracks and turn around. To your surprise it was that boy from earlier. You waited for him to catch up to you, and when he did, he asked, "Ready for a tour, y/n?" "Sure, why not.", you shrugged, and the two of you walked from one hallway to another. After what seemed to be the end, you decided to ask the question you were wondering about the whole time. "Why did you show me around?" It sounded stupid, that's what you realised right after uttering it. "I'm the class president, so it's kind of my job." He explained, and you sighed, now wondering if he was kind because he had to. "Don't worry though, you seem nice, and I'd like to get to know you more."

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 – enemies to lovers

At first, Riki thought it was all a joke when he saw you sneer at him, and so he returned the gesture, but to you, you just never liked him without knowing why. It continued on like that for most of the year. You two would always bicker and compete during most classes, and he would throw paper planes at the back of your head just because he found your reaction funny, so he continued. You would complain about him to your friends daily, while he would tell his friend how funny you were. "Ugh, I hate him! Why is he so stupid?!" You groaned. "Y/n is so funny! Did you guys see how angry she got during English?" Riki laughed, clearly enjoying the memory. The first half of the year passed, and you were finally on break. The idea was to rest, but an obstacle was made. You and your family had gotten in a pretty rough fight, and you decided to leave the house to get fresh air, but on your walk, Riki spotted you. He immediately saw your tears and held back the rude comments he was about to say. "Hey, are you crying? What happened?" His voice was sincere, and you broke down crying again, telling him everything. "Hmm. Let's go to that café to cheer you up." Riki comforted, rubbing your back. At school, he was kinder as well, as well as hanging out with you more.

Reblogs are much appreciated!!

Layout credits to @flwrstqr

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honeekyuu · 4 months ago

Text

mine. [suna rintarou x f!reader]

>>You catch Miya Atsumu's attention, and Suna struggles to deal with that.

Everyone always makes assumptions about your relationship with Suna Rintarou, and he has no problem proving them right.<<

______________________________

tags: chubby!reader, smut, fluff, angst, childhood best friends to lovers, penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, tattoo shop owner suna rintarou, miya atsumu is a bit of a menace, jealousy, unprotected sex, creampie, hand job

a/n: suna rintarou x chubby!reader is my favorite flavor of cake

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

------------------

“What are you doing here?” Suna stands over the wheely chair at the receptionist’s desk, glaring down at the top of Miya Atsumu’s head. The twin only turns to look up at him, smiling brightly.

“I got bored.”

“Go be bored somewhere else.”

“Aw, come on, Suna-” Suna grabs the back of chair and drags it to the side, effectively shoving Atsumu out of his way so he can look through his appointments on the computer. He’s got a regular coming in at 3, so – he glances at the clock hanging over the window in the waiting area – he’s free for the next couple hours.

“-out here today. Just today?”

“You’re still talking?” Suna pokes around in the calendar, seeing that he’s fully booked for the weekend. Thank God his secretary had asked for today off and not tomorrow.

“Your secretary’s not even here today! I can play the part!” “If I needed someone to play the part, I wouldn’t have given her the day off.” He mumbles it under his breath, feeling Atsumu’s gaze burning into the side of his head. He knows the man won’t leave. Never once in the time they’ve known each other has he listened to anyone but himself.

He turns and leans against the desk, sighing as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“In case you hadn’t noticed-“ He waves a hand out toward the empty shop. “-there’s no one here. My entire staff is at the beach, which means that if I didn’t need them -“ He tries to reach for Atsumu so he can push the man out of that stupid chair he’s currently spinning circles in. The blond just wheels out of reach. “-then I don’t need you-Can you just go ?!”

The bell above the door jingles, interrupting Rintarou’s temptation to swing a fist into his friend’s face. He turns to find a young man nervously perusing the art on the walls. He stands to full height and combs a hand through his hair, remembering that he’s still a business owner.

“Hey, how’s it-”

“Welcome in, welcome in!” Suna’s shoved out of the way by a pair of excited hands, Atsumu decidedly his obnoxious secretary for the day. “This your first time?”

The man jumps, turning and offering an anxious smile. “Y-Yeah. I was wondering if you take walk-ins…?”

Suna nods, reaching into the desk for an intake packet. “For sure. I’m free until 3, if you don’t mind just filling out this-” He sighs in annoyance, because Atsumu’s ripping the papers from his hand and presenting them to the man with a flourish.

“If you could just fill out this quick form, kind sir-”

The man takes the packet, a bit startled, and moves toward the waiting area for a seat. He pauses briefly, peering at Atsumu’s face.

“Hey, aren’t you that famous volleyball player…?”

Atsumu beams at the man, but Suna’s pressing an irritated hand to his shoulder and gripping tight. The twin barely winces.

“Yes, he is . Which is why he’s leaving . Because he already has a job .” Every emphasis comes with a harsh squeeze of Suna’s fingers into Atsumu’s shoulder bones.

“How could I leave you without a receptionist, Suna? In your time of need? Never!” Atsumu brushes him off and takes a seat, plopping down into the chair with a satisfied smile. Suna just stares at him, wondering if it’s too much to just call the cops and pretend they don’t know each other.

Instead, he just sighs, meeting the customer’s eyes and gesturing back to one of the many curtained-off sections of the shop.

“I’m gonna go set up - you can just come find me when you’re ready.”

The man nods meekly as Suna moves to set up at his station. He’s joined a few minutes later, and within the hour, this shy man officially has his first tattoo. It’s some simple line art on his wrist, but he’s staring at it in wonder as if it were Suna’s life work.

“Dude… Thank you so much.”

Suna just chuckles.

“You’re good, man. Come back when you’re ready for a sleeve, yeah?” He flexes his own decorated arm at the man to emphasize the quip, and the guy just laughs, still peering down at his tiny tattoo.

The bell above the door jingles again, and he checks his watch with a subdued sigh. He’d been looking forward to a quiet afternoon.

“ Well, hello, Miss! Welcome in! Is this your first time? ”

Suna rolls his eyes as he starts wrapping up his customer’s wrist, because he can recognize that sleazy tone in Atsumu’s voice from a mile away. He’d had it since high school.

The last thing he needs is that idiot driving away potential customers with his gross attitude.

“ O-Oh, no, it’s not- ” Suna freezes, tape clinging to his thumb instead of to the wrapping. “ -I just came to see Rin-er-Suna. Suna. ”

God, this cannot be happening.

The silence that follows is full of curiosity on Atsumu’s end. Suna rushes to finish up, desperate to cut their interaction short.

“ Oh, you know Suna personally? Where from?”

“We grew up together!”

“What?! Since when? ”

Why is it so god-damn hard to wrap a tattoo today? He’s been doing this shit for years.

The quiet laughter that rings out in his shop is enough to make him flinch. Oh, he bets Atsumu loves that laugh.

“We were neighbors until high school! Roommates now, actually-” “Roommates?!”

“Alright, you’re good. You can see my secretary up front for the bill.” Suna stands with unnecessary force, his head poking up from behind the curtain.

When he turns to the front, he has to force himself not to sigh.

You’re standing in the waiting area, dangling a lunch box from one hand as you laugh brightly at Atsumu’s reaction.

The summer dress you’re wearing is one of his favorites – the way it hugs your curves has made his mind wander more often than he’d care to admit. And when you spot him looking at you, the twinkle that fills your eye is one he doesn’t want to share with anyone.

Especially not Miya Atsumu .

“Rin!” You thrust the lunch box out in his direction, shaking it playfully at him.

He leads his client up to the front, not bothering to respond aside from a nod of acknowledgement.

“Atsumu-” He claps him hard on the shoulder, but the blond is just staring up at him, scandalized. “-will ring you up.” He smiles down menacingly. “Won’t you?”

Atsumu just nods dumbly and meets the customer’s eyes, still processing the information he’s just received.

“Yeah, sure.”

Suna uses the break in his attention to glance at you, catching your interested gaze. He nods over his shoulder, leading you to the back room. You skip to catch up with him, your dress swaying around your hips. Suna pretends not to see it, choosing instead to shoulder the door open with a sigh.

“Don’t you work today?”

“Yeah, I’m on my break!” You smile up at him, dangling the lunch box in his face again. He takes it without a word, flopping down onto the leather couch and setting it on the coffee table. You sit beside him, kicking your sandals off and curling your knees into your chest as you lean against him. “You said you had a light day today, though.”

“I do. That was a walk-in.” He gestures out to the front in explanation, leaning forward to set his elbows on his knees as he unpacks the lunch. A trio of onigiri in one container and some cutely decorated hot dog bites in the other.

He bites into an onigiri and hums.

“Spicy crab.”

You lean forward, eyes sparkly. “Does it taste okay? I tried something new today! Can you guess what it is?”

Suna just hums and takes another bite, knowing you’ll tell him anyway. You’d always had that hyperactive personality, that sweet girl persona. Growing up, he’d only ever needed to sit quietly in your presence. His friends had always been your friends, because he could never be bothered enough to make his own and you always had so many. He’d liked it better that way – he’d never needed anyone but you.

“Why didn’t you tell Miya that you work at his brother’s shop?”

“It’s spicy flakes! Can you taste them?” Only when he hums again, noncommittal to a fault, do you answer him. “Well, why haven’t you or Osamu told him yet?”

Because we know how he is.

Suna just shrugs, reaching for the second one. It’s filled with tuna.

You watch his reaction to the taste closely – the flavor isn’t anything abnormal, but you watch him as if tuna were suddenly a bold choice. You’d always liked watching him eat your cooking. It warms you to see him eat well.

Finally, you answer his question like an afterthought.

“I figured that if he didn’t already know from you two, then there was no reason to know. And he comes into the shop all the time, anyway, but he’s always ranting about volleyball so he never notices me in the kitchen.”

Suna snorts. Of course Atsumu hadn’t noticed you until it was convenient for him.

He reaches for a hot dog – it’s cut to resemble an octopus. He feels like he’s in high school, eating a bento made by a girlfriend.

He shoves that thought to the back of his head, popping the thing in his mouth and chewing with interest. It’s good, just like everything you make.

“Why didn’t you tell him you knew who he was?” He takes another. Did you cook them in something sweet? This is new. “He is famous.”

“You always complained in high school that he had a big head.” You smile when he smirks at your simple reasoning. “You like the honey soy glaze?”

So that’s what it is.

“‘s good.”

You beam at him, always excited for literally any response other than his grunt of general acknowledgement. Taking him in, you have to hide your grin behind a hand, because this 6’2”, heavily pierced and tattooed gloom of a man is eating a bento that looks like it was decorated by a teenage girl.

The moment is thoroughly interrupted when the door to the room is thrown open.

“So this is where you two wandered off to!”

Suna only realizes he’s sighed in irritation when you nudge him, a gentle reprimand. He glances back at you, finding that sweet expression you always put on around people you don’t know well.

Part of him hates that you’d bless Miya Atsumu with even your fakest smile.

Atsumu barges in, taking a seat on the stool by the counter. He smiles smoothly at you, his eyes lingering on where your exposed thighs press into Suna’s side. He can think of at least a dozen girls from high school who would have killed for that kind of proximity to Suna Rintarou.

And looking at you? He has no clue how a girl like you – so innocent-looking and cute, just his type – could end up this close with such a dry, deadpan man.

“So, Rin-” Atsumu’s eyes linger shamelessly on any amount of plush skin he can manage a glimpse of. You pretend not to notice, if only for Rintarou’s sake. He’s got his eyes locked on the bento, determined to ignore his friend, and you don’t want him to get any more upset than he already is.

“Why have you never mentioned this lovely lady to me? I’ve only known you - what, ten years ?” The blond counts the years on his fingers just to be sure, meeting your eyes flirtily when you laugh generously at his obvious attempt to be funny.

Suna’s not sure why he’s suddenly wondering how good it would feel to kick Atsumu’s fat head right off his shoulders.

“Because she’s none of your business.”

He takes another bite of hot dog, as if he hadn’t just set up an implied boundary about whose business you really are. He’s staring down at the lunch, practically stabbing it with his chopsticks, so he doesn’t see the way Atsumu’s eyebrows lift surprise, the way you just smile knowingly like this moment is familiar.

The blond glances at your face, but you’re just smiling at the back of Suna’s head fondly.

Interesting.

He asks for your name, and when you give it, Atsumu’s repeating it back slowly, appreciatively.

Suna’s self-aware enough to stifle the sigh this time. This guy’s so full of shit sometimes.

“Well, Suna and I met in high school.” He tilts his head in your direction, waiting for you to meet his eyes. It comes far later than he’d have liked, your gaze lingering on the food that Suna’s eating. You watch for the man’s reaction to the onigiri he’s biting into, and when Suna nods with a hum, you’re beaming.

And then you’re turning your attention to Atsumu’s comment.

“Oh, I know.” You settle back into the couch, throwing an arm onto the back of the cushion and leaning your head on your hand. “I’ve heard all about you , Mister Miya.”

Suna knows he’d only ever complained about Atsumu in high school, but the way you say it to the blond makes it feel like you’re flirting.

Was that an accident of your tone? Or did you do that on purpose?

He glances up through his lashes, finding that interested gleam in Atsumu’s eye as he lifts his eyebrows.

“Oh? Only good things, I hope.”

“I bet you do.”

Okay, that one was definitely on purpose. Suna has to restrain himself from glancing back at the look on your face - he’s a little afraid of what he’ll find.

“We were on the same volleyball team, you know.”

“I know that, too. I caught a couple of your games, when I could make the trip.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows lift impossibly higher, and he’s leaning forward to set his elbows on his knees.

You note that he doesn’t look as good as Rintarou when he does it.

“Oh, really? Then maybe - if you’re interested in volleyball - you might know that I went pro?”

Suna spears right through the last hot dog with one of his chopsticks. He’d heard Atsumu use that line on so many girls before you. Fuck the fact that it never fails – he’s irritated that Atsumu would even dare to use it on you in the first place.

A recycled pickup line. What does he take you for?

He waits for you to humor him, at the very least. Of course you know he went pro. You work in his brother’s onigiri shop. Osamu had gotten a TV installed for the sole purpose of airing Atsumu’s games live.

“Oh, did you? Sorry, I don’t really follow it anymore. Not since Rin stopped playing in college.”

It takes every single ounce of Suna’s strength to keep his smile down. He’s never seen such a clean shutdown in his life.

Apparently, neither has Atsumu. The man looks stunned, like he doesn’t know how to respond. Suna takes the opportunity to pack up his empty bento, laying the chopsticks flat on the lid. He falls back into the couch with a satisfied sigh, unknowingly nestling his head into the space where you’re leaning.

You drop your arm around his shoulders with a smile. He turns to look at you, not realizing how close he is until it’s too late. His eyes widen just a fraction, and he’s turning away quickly to stare down at his lap, but you can see the color filling his cheeks.

“Was lunch good?”

Suna just hums, adding a shallow nod after the fact. He clenches his jaw when he hears Atsumu scoff across the room.

“Dude, she made you a whole feast and all you do is nod ?” The blond puffs his chest out, meeting your eyes again. You smile sweetly, excited to see what he’ll try next. “You should make me lunch next time, Y/n. I’ll treasure it, I promise.”

Your grin grows, and Atsumu looks proud of himself, but you’re only laughing because he’s had your cooking. More than once, in fact. But he’d always been too caught up in himself to notice.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Do you always bring Suna his lunch?”

You shake your head, leaning away from Rintarou briefly to reach for something in your bag. “No, it was just a quiet day at work. I guess everyone is enjoying the weather.”

You pull out a container full of cut watermelon and a fork, passing it to Rin as Atsumu’s asking a follow-up question.

“Where do you work?”

You smile to yourself, taking the lid from Rin. “I’m in the restaurant business.”

Suna stares down into the container. You’d cut the watermelon into star shapes.

“What, did you get fucking trigger happy with a new fruit cutter or something?”

You just shake your head curiously.

“No, I did it by hand. Why?”

Suna rolls his eyes with a smile as he takes a bite. Of course you did.

Atsumu clears his throat for your attention.

“Which restaurant? Maybe I’ll stop by during your next shift to say hi.”

Suna narrows his gaze at the man.

“What exactly do you think she does?”

Atsumu meets his glare, eyes wide.

“She said she was a waitress.”

You smile brightly at his response. Suna only scowls.

“Did she?”

In the blond’s defense, he does look to you right away, realizing he’s misunderstood.

“Oh, sorry - Did I…” He trails off when you laugh and shake your head.

“It’s fine. I spend most of my time in the kitchen, though, so I probably wouldn’t have time to say hi if you stopped by.”

Atsumu lifts his brows, clearly impressed. “Oh, shit, you cook? That’s pretty cool - my brother owns an onigiri shop, actually. You guys might get along!”

Suna purses his lips to hide his grin, shaking his head and stabbing at another piece of watermelon when you giggle and mumble ‘ Oh, really? ’ in response.

And then the door jingles out front, and Suna’s glancing at Atsumu. The blond makes no move to get up.

“You know, usually my secretary is the one to greet the clients.”

Atsumu barely spares him a glance, too focused on smiling at you.

“Yeah, well, your secretary also gets paid, so…”

Suna glares – he would rather choke than leave you alone in here with him.

You recognize the look in his eye, your smile full of affection.

“I should probably get back to work, anyway. My break ends in…” You check your watch. “Oh. Ten minutes ago.” You laugh loudly, rushing to pack up and slip your sandals on. Rintarou stands, propping the door open and poking his head out to wave at his 3 o’clock.

“Hey, sorry – I was just eating lunch.” You slip past him, all but jogging to the front. Atsumu’s not far behind, offering to walk you back to work. You brush him off quickly, glancing back at Suna as you hoist your bag over your shoulder.

“Pick me up after work, Rin? I want to go grocery shopping.”

Suna just nods, leading his client back to his station and waving at you. He catches Atsumu following you out briefly, and he hears something about asking for your number, but he just sits at his stool and shakes his head with a heated sigh. His client settles into the chair and slips off his shirt, revealing their current work in progress.

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

Atsumu barges back into the shop a moment later, and Suna hears the blond flop down into the chair at the front desk and call back to him excitedly.

“ Dude, where have you been keeping a girl like that all these years?!”

Suna shakes his head again, trying to clear his mind so he can work. The response he mumbles to the client is bitter, even to his own ears.

“I don’t.”

–

“You’re quieter than usual.” You pick up another onion, examining it before setting it in the basket Rintarou’s holding.

“Funny.” He says nothing else, watching you glance down at the list in your hand before following you across the produce section to an area full of herbs like a dedicated boyfriend. There are two women not too far away, and when they spot the two of you – you in your pretty sundress with your bright smile, and him in all black with ink covering every inch of his arms and hands – they immediately start to whisper to each other, not even bothering to hide their glances.

You just pick up a bundle of cilantro, sniffing at it and humming in disapproval. You replace it and reach for another, the voices of the two women drifting through the otherwise empty area.

“ -had a man like that, I’d never let him out of the house-”

“Oh, my God, stop it! That’s so awful-”

“I can’t help it! Look at him, he’s perfect!”

You snort into the new bundle, barely hiding your smile as you reach for a bag to wrap it in. When you place it in the basket, you find Rintarou glaring at a display of parsley like he’s trying very hard not to listen, the tips of his ears red. You grin widely, shaking your head as you move down just a bit to reach the basil.

A bunch near the back of the display catches your eye, and you’re leaning forward to grab it. It’s just a bit too far out of reach, the tips of your fingers barely brushing on it. You’re about to ask for Rin’s help when the voices reach your ears again.

“- not sure what he’s doing with a girl like that, though…”

“Yeah… I mean, she’s pretty-”

“I don’t know, I just feel like I would take care of myself a little bit more if I wanted to keep a guy that hot.”

You blink, the heat of humiliation familiar in your cheeks. You’re used to moments like these – you and Rin had always looked out of place together, always at odds with people’s expectations. And you’re no fool – you know what Rintarou looks like. How attractive he is.

If you’d been any younger – any less secure in yourself – you might have felt like crying when you heard that. Luckily, you’re not, but… it’s still not a fun experience.

“ -do we even know if they’re together? She’s probably not even his type. ”

“ Do you think they’re not? Maybe I should go over there and try talking to him.”

Their giggles feel a lot like the ones from high school, from elementary school. Girls who’ve decided you aren’t a threat to them because you look like this .

That’s fine. It’s not like they’re wrong. You and Rintarou aren’t together, so that woman can do whatever she wants-

There’s a clatter as a basket hits the floor, and a tattooed arm is reaching past your face before you can process that it was your basket. The cold metal of Rin’s lip ring against your ear contrasts with the heated sigh he breathes into your skin, and you feel the front of his jeans pressing into the curve of your ass.

Oh.

His other hand finds your waist, the heat of his palm searing through the thin fabric of your dress. Your skin starts to burn where his fingertips dig into your hip.

Oh.

Were his hands always that big?

You watch with unseeing eyes as he wraps his hand with ease around the bunch of basil you’d been struggling to reach, the difference in your height suddenly painfully clear.

“ They couldn’t have me even if they begged for it .” His voice presses into the shell of your ear, the sound ricocheting around your head. You can hear the irritation in his voice, but you can’t focus on anything except the fact that he’s never been this close before.

It’s devastatingly intoxicating.

He leans away after a breath, fingers dragging on your waist as he drops his hand, and you have to force yourself to remember that you need to stand up straight. Only when you spin around, watching Rintarou reach for the discarded basket as you press cold fingers to your flushed face, do you realize that the women are gone.

You crack a weak joke when he stands to full height, desperate for anything to break the sudden silence around you. Just so Rin doesn’t end up hearing how hard your heart is beating.

“Not even if they begged for it, huh?” You laugh, looking away from that piercing stare. “Can’t imagine what a girl like me would have to do, then.”

Well, that certainly hadn’t helped anything.

He just stares, eyes wide. You panic, meeting his gaze briefly before looking away again when you find nothing but his shock. When you look down at your list, trying to remember what you’d come here for, you see that the paper is crumpled in your fist – evidence of your nerves.

“Breadcrumbs. N-Need breadcrumbs.” You mumble to yourself and turn away, heading to another aisle. The brand you like is on the top shelf, so you just point to it, because you really don’t need a repeat of the Basil Situation in the middle of your recovery.

“Well-” Rintarou breaks the silence this time, letting you take the basket while he reaches up. “-you did have a professional volleyball player thirsting after you just this afternoon, so you could probably have whatever you wanted without begging for it.” He examines the label as if he cares at all what it says. “That is, of course-” He meets your eyes, setting the can of breadcrumbs in your hand.

“-unless that’s your thing.”

Your lips part in surprise as Rin stares down at you like he hadn’t just insinuated that you might be one to beg him for something.

“Uhm-” You don’t know why you started talking. You have nothing to say. There is nothing that could be said right now, when all you can do is look at him.

He’s kind enough not to revel in your stunned silence, a grin peeking out as he reaches out and plucks the list from your hand. He says nothing about the fact that it’s violently crumpled and a little warm from how hard you’d squeezed it.

“What’s next-” He breathes it out, as if he can’t feel the weight of your stare on his face. He hums when he finds it. “Chicken.” He meets your eyes again, gaze searching yours. You blink rapidly and look away, mumbling the word ‘ chicken ’ under your breath as you lead the way down the aisle.

You’d always known Suna Rintarou was different. You’d known from the moment you’d met, those eyes uncaring even as a child. You’d known when he’d decided silently that you were his new friend, that no one else could be your friend the way that he was.

You’d known whenever the rare boy in junior high would try to flirt with you, because Suna Rintarou was the name they would whisper furiously to their friends after their failed attempts. Suna Rintarou was the boy in school they had to look out for, because he was always right beside you. He would never say anything, watching you politely interact while they’d flirt, but his empty stare was always enough.

It was enough that, even though he’d moved two hours away to an entirely different prefecture, his name had followed you to high school. Boys in high school were meaner – more judgmental of your appearance – so it never really mattered. But the girls would whisper about you, until your whole class knew the name of a student who didn’t even go there.

‘Claimed’. ‘Taken’. ‘His’.

Suna Rintarou’s girl.

You’d never minded. In fact, you’d secretly enjoyed it – being part of those rumors that blew up and spread until some boys wouldn’t even approach you for homework help. You’d thought it was funny. They were so scared of a person who was nowhere near them, of a relationship that didn’t exist.

It was only when you moved to Tokyo with him for college that you’d realized that maybe your classmates had been right.

Living together for the first time, you’d realized just how much of your life was taken up by him. Every morning, every break, every meal. Even if you weren’t physically together – the Nutritional Sciences Department was irritatingly far from the Art Department – those moments always involved him. A text during your quick lunch break with a friend. A call while he was heading to his next class. A walk home, because he’d waited outside your department until you were done with meetings for the day, sketching art into his skin with a ballpoint pen to keep from getting bored.

And even though the new friends you’d made knew he was nothing to be afraid of, there was nothing that could stop them from saying those words again.

That you were Suna Rintarou’s girl.

And why wouldn’t they? The evidence against it wasn’t convincing in the slightest. Not when Suna was a wall to any girl who was interested in him, his attention wholly yours. Not when he hadn’t even bothered to look up from his YouTube video when you’d asked one night if he wouldn’t be interested in spending time with any of those girls. Not when his response was immediate and clear, like he’d never consider it.

‘ Why would I? I have you.’

That had been almost 5 years ago, and you hadn’t asked him something like that since. You’d just let yourself get used to the fact that it was obvious now–

The way his eyes search for you immediately in a crowded room.

The way he lets you fall asleep in his bed while he sketches out ideas for his clients on his iPad.

The way he’d stabbed the octopus-shaped hot dog bites in his bento like they’d personally offended him while Miya Atsumu was flirting with you.

You know now, probably more than even he does, that you’re his. You’ve accepted that fact with whatever it means, platonic or otherwise, because it had always been that way.

20 years, it had been that way.

So why – why the fuck – did he have to go and do something about it now , in the middle of a grocery store on a random Friday evening?

–

Suna hates that his heart skips whenever the bell above the shop door jingles. He hates that, for the last two days, he’s glanced over at the door every single time, hoping it was you.

He’d known you wouldn’t show. You usually don’t. But… something had changed between you two. Ever since the he’d handed you a can of fucking breadcrumbs and not-so-subtly hinted that you might be a girl who’s into begging.

He wants to hit himself over the head with the nearest blunt object.

He sighs, shaking his head, and pulls open the cabinets in the back room. The weekend had been hectic with appointments – it was enough to keep his thoughts occupied – but Mondays are notoriously slow, and now he’s stuck back here doing inventory and thinking about you.

The bell jingles outside again, but he’s got two artists and a piercer on shift today, so he can’t possibly be needed for anything outside of his appointments.

But then the door to the back room is slamming open, and the person he wants to see least in the world right now is barging through.

“ Why didn’t you tell me that Y/n works at Onigiri Miya?!”

Suna stares, unblinking.

“Who let you back here? They need to be fired.”

“Suna-” Atsumu tries to grab for him, but the man is quick to smack his hands away with the clipboard he’s holding. “-I need you to be honest with me.”

“What?” It comes out in a sigh, Suna counting stock on the first shelf of the cabinet he’s staring into.

“Are you hitting that?”

He loses count.

One breath, just enough to steady his growing agitation.

He starts counting again.

“Am I hitting what ?”

“ That .” Suna makes the mistake of glancing back at Atsumu – the man is gesturing in the space between them, making the shape of your ass and the curve of your breasts right in front of him. “I mean… Jesus, dude.”

Suna wonders if there are any more clipboards in the shop, because he’s thinking of smashing this one into Atsumu’s face.

“Care to be a little more respectful?”

Atsumu waves him off. Suna’s grip tightens on his clipboard. One little swing wouldn’t kill him.

“Are you fucking her or not?” When Suna’s lips part with surprise, his gaze finally showing a glimpse of emotion as he turns to tear into Atsumu, the twin cuts him short, oblivious. “Because if you’re not, can I have her?”

Suna’s free hand shoots out, fisting Atsumu’s shirt tightly and dragging the shorter man toward him.

“Miya, I swear to God- ”

“ Ah .” Atsumu smirks up at him. “You do like her. No wonder she didn’t give me her number that day.”

“What?” Suna furrows a brow. You hadn’t given him your number? “Where the hell did that come from?”

Atsumu just points down at the fist Suna has curled into his shirt, as if it were obvious.

“You like her.”

Suna shoves him away, watching with satisfaction when Atsumu’s back slams against the cabinets over on the opposite counter, the blond wincing slightly. Still, he finds himself being examined with knowing eyes.

He turns away, because he’s not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed by Miya Atsumu on a Monday afternoon.

“How do you do it, man?”

Suna just grunts in response and starts taking inventory again, waiting for Atsumu to elaborate.

“How do you wake up every day in the same house as that and not lose your fucking mind-”

“Well, I start by having a shred of human fucking decency.” Suna almost tears the paper with how hard he’s writing. “Her body’s not the only thing worth looking at.”

There’s silence, and Suna glances over his shoulder again to find Atsumu just staring at him with deadpan eyes.

“No, really. How do you do it?”

Suna rolls his eyes and turns back to the cabinet, not wanting to admit that he has no fucking clue how he does it. But he has, on more than one occasion, had to rely on the self-control and discipline of a former athlete to keep him from snapping when you leave your room in the tight tank top and baby shorts you dare to call pajamas .

You’d been too self-conscious to wear revealing clothing in college – he’d had no idea how good he’d had it back then. Four years living with the girl who’d grown into a woman in the years of high school that you’d been apart. He’d managed to survive it, only to watch your self-esteem grow after graduation, and now he lives every day in his own personal hell.

He’s happy to see that the shy elementary schooler that used to cling to him had grown into this confident, successful woman – but fuck him, you really like to knock him on his ass when he’s least expecting it.

And when you’d laughed and asked him what a girl like you would have to do to get his attention, in the middle of a grocery store on a Friday evening?

He’d almost dropped everything and dragged you home just to show you.

But he hadn’t, and you two had acted like nothing had happened when you’d gotten home. You’d put the groceries away, and he’d ordered takeout for your movie marathon, and then later – when he was sure you were asleep – he’d taken a shower, praying to whatever higher power that might exist that the running water would mask the way he’d choked out your name when he had come all over his hand to the thought of fucking you in that dress.

“You know, Suna-” Suna shakes his head to clear it, moving on to the second shelf. He organizes as he starts counting. “-you might want to actually make a move instead of just hovering over her.”

“Oh, yeah? What would you know?” He mumbles it, his jaw clenched in annoyance as he makes a few more notes on the inventory sheet. Atsumu’s response is smug.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know anything. But I would think that you’d want to do something about the fact that she technically isn’t yours at all.”

Suna stills, his gaze blank as he stares down at the clipboard. What is that supposed to mean?

“She’s still single, you know. But-” He hears Atsumu lift away from the counter and move toward the door. The blond opens it, sighing back at him. “-I don’t know. Maybe she won’t be for long.”

And then he’s gone, the door slamming behind him.

Suna considers banning Atsumu from his shop entirely.

–

By the time Suna’s stepping through the door of Onigiri Miya, his mood has tanked significantly. He’d spent the rest of the work day in his office, ordering supplies and fighting off a headache with a third – and then a fourth – cup of coffee. And then he’d stared out the window, watching the sky darken and open up right in front of his eyes, the downpour sudden and entirely unmentioned by the weather app on his phone.

Still, he’d walked in the direction of the restaurant after closing up shop, his clothes soaked by the time he’s ducking into the air-conditioned restaurant.

“Oh-” He looks up through his dripping bangs at the sound, finding Osamu at the swinging door to the kitchen. The twin disappears without another word, returning a moment later with a towel. He throws it carelessly over Suna’s head. “You’ll get sick.”

Suna hadn’t even realized he was shivering.

“Thanks.” He pats at his clothes and skin and then leaves the towel on his head, following Osamu over to a table. The restaurant’s basically empty, but he spots several takeout orders at the counter. At least they still have good business on a day like this.

“Want me to get Y/n to make you something?” Osamu pulls out his order notepad, clicking his pen with an obnoxious grin. Suna just breathes out a laugh, shaking his head and scrubbing the towel through his hair.

“It’s fine. I don’t want to distract her.”

“Well…”

Suna meets his eyes. Osamu’s scratching at his neck awkwardly. “She’s already half-distracted, so…”

“What?” He stands, following Osamu to the swinging door. The twin pushes it open, revealing the kitchen on the other side.

You’re standing at one of the stainless steel counters with your back to the door, rolling rice balls as you laugh at something Atsumu’s just said.

“-don’t think that’s a good idea at all-”

“You aren’t even slightly curious about the idea of dessert onigiri?!”

“Not enough to waste ingredients on it!” You shake your head fervently, setting another rice ball down on the tray next to you. Atsumu smiles flirtily, leaning forward onto the counter across from you.

“What if I buy them? Free ingredients for you to experiment with, how’s that? You can come over to my place, and we can-” His gaze cuts over your shoulder, finding Suna’s cold glare. Osamu hums sympathetically, mumbling low so only Suna can hear.

“Sorry… I tried to keep him from noticing her.”

Atsumu grins as if he can hear perfectly well what his twin is saying. Suna swallows, the words ‘ maybe she won’t be for long ’ echoing in his head.

“It’s fine. It’s none of my business.” He doesn’t see the way Osamu blinks at him in surprise, too busy keeping his gaze trained on Atsumu’s.

You only now seem to notice the silence, your attention fully on the rice balls before. You hum in question and then turn over your shoulder when you see where Atsumu’s looking.

Atsumu doesn’t miss the fact that Suna only breaks eye contact for you.

“Rin!” Your eyes sparkle when you beam at him, and then you run to wash your hands. “Let’s go home! I thought up some new ideas for dinner – I want to try them out.”

Suna raises an eyebrow. Your shift doesn’t end for another half hour.

Atsumu’s grin grows on his face.

“Oh, sorry, man. ‘Samu let her off early because of the rain, but I guess we just got caught up chatting.”

You shake your head to yourself as you dry your hands and move to store the prepped rice balls for tomorrow’s batch. You can hear Atsumu trying to get under Rintarou’s skin.

He’d come in for lunch and only then realized that you actually work here, almost 3 years after you’d been hired. He’d disappeared after eating, and the smug look in his eye when he’d returned only 20 minutes later had told you that he’d certainly stopped by Suna’s shop to mess with him.

You’d already had a feeling, but that moment had solidified the fact that Miya Atsumu is not your type.

Still, you’d humored him all afternoon, dodging his obvious attempts to get a date out of you and paying more attention to Osamu when the owner would wander into the kitchen from the front, just so Atsumu doesn’t think he has a monopoly on your time.

And when you’d seen Rintarou at the door, wet hair falling into his eyes and cheeks flushed from the rain, you’d forgotten for just a moment that the twins were even in the room with you.

You rush to the back room after storing the rice balls, hurrying to put your apron away and grab your bag. The last few nights had been a bit strange, Suna’s walls coming up in the way they do only when he’s stressed. You hadn’t expected him to pick you up from work.

Maybe tonight would be different.

You hurry out to the kitchen, practically skipping up to him with a bright smile. He meets it with his usual deadpan.

“Stay here while I go down to the convenience store for an umbrella.”

You shake your head, latching onto his arm when he starts to turn away.

“Nope! We go together.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but you’re already bidding farewell to the twins.

“See you tomorrow, ‘Samu!” You offer Atsumu nothing more than a wave, keep the interaction minimal.

When you and Suna are gone, running past the window toward the convenience store, Osamu turns to his brother with arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you doing?”

Atsumu just smiles to himself knowingly. He really had been interested in you. But it’s obvious that it won’t go anywhere — you won’t even give him the time of day, but it seems like you’d give Suna Rintarou the world if he asked for it.

“Giving Suna the push he needs, apparently.”

–

“Do you like guys like that?”

You turn to look at Rintarou, but he’s not looking at you. You’re at the stove, mixing the last of the ingredients into the pasta dish you’d wanted to try, and he’s at the counter setting out some bowls and utensils.

Still, it doesn’t slip your notice that he’d kept his back to you when he had asked.

“Guys like what?” When he doesn’t respond, you realize what he’s referring to. You watch him with a growing smile, glancing back at the stove only to turn the burner off. “Guys like Miya Atsumu?”

His clenched jaw tells you everything. All you can do is snort, hiding your smile behind your hand. He turns to you now, incredulous that you would laugh at him.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing-” You keep laughing anyway. “I’m just wondering if you’re genuinely asking if I’m into another man.”

His eyelids flutter as he turns away, processing what you’ve just given him.

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

“Rin-” You sigh. “Why are you asking?”

He says nothing for a minute, just moving out of your way so you can scoop pasta into each of the bowls. “I’m just curious. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He’s always been so good at pretending he doesn’t care.

“Okay.” You smile innocently, setting the pot back on the stove and preparing to try your first bite. Waiting, because you’ve never been anything but entirely open with him, and you just know it’ll drive him crazy that you’re keeping him in the dark about-

“Why didn’t you give him your number?”

You laugh louder this time, blatantly in his face. He shoots you a glare.

“ What? ”

“Rin, are you trying to set me up with your best friend from high school?”

“I’m not-” He rolls his eyes. “That’s definitely not what I’m doing.”

“Then why are you asking?” You turn toward him, setting your fork back into the bowl. “What are you trying to figure out?”

“I just want to know if you like him. That’s it.”

“Would it matter if I did?”

He meets your eyes, confused.

“What? Obviously.”

“Why? It never mattered before.”

He blinks rapidly. “What…? When?”

You sigh, staring down at the counter.

Does he really not get it? Has he really been this blind all these years?

“Why did you do… what you did? On Friday.”

He flushes immediately. “Because they were being rude.”

“You could have just told them off. Or glared at them. Or done anything but that -”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t have done it?” He’s getting defensive, not used to having his actions questioned by you. Never by you.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just asking why you did it.”

“Because they were making assumptions about you, and they were definitely making assumptions about me.”

You search for his gaze, but he won’t give it to you. He just stares off to the side, down the hallway of your apartment.

“Right. Assumptions about my body, assumptions about your type.” He shakes his head, scoffing as if he’s filled with renewed irritation. “But we’ve been surrounded by assumptions our whole lives.”

Now he meets your eyes, a brow furrowed. You lean back against the corner of the counter, breathing out a laugh. “You really never noticed? Not once?”

You feel yourself grow frustrated when he just stares, eyes blank. Had it really just been you all this time? Experiencing the consequences of being claimed by a man who didn’t even realize he had done it. A man who, you now think, had lived a life without ever once feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on him.

A man who looks like that , who can have whoever he wants, and a girl who looks like you . A girl who might have had a chance to date or find love when everyone else was, if boys hadn’t gone out of their way to avoid you just so they wouldn’t upset him .

You know, even just thinking about it now, that you wouldn’t have been interested in anyone else anyway. It just hurts to know that you’d gone about your life under the impression that you were his, when you now have no idea if he was yours this whole time, too.

Rintarou breathes your name, cautious. An unspoken question – why are you upset with him?

“Did you ever date, Rin? When we were in high school?”

Suna furrows a brow.

“No…?”

“Why not?”

Because I was yours.

He blinks and looks away. He doesn’t know if he can say that to you.

“Because I had you.” He thinks that’s close enough.

But your frown is deepening, and he realizes that it’s not nearly close enough.

“Do you know why I never dated?”

He searches your gaze, hating that it’s cold.

“You never mentioned being interested in anyone…”

“Because I wasn’t.” Your jaw clenches and you cross your arms over your chest. “Because I already belonged to someone – someone who made that fact very clear to any guy that could have possibly been interested in me.”

His lips part in surprise, and he looks like he wants to say something when he realizes what you’re saying.

But you just look away and slide your bowl toward yourself, shaking your head as you twirl pasta around your fork.

“I didn’t realize that it might be one-sided — that maybe he didn’t belong to me . But I guess that’s just my fault for not asking. My bad.” It’s impossible not to see how bitter your smile is when you lift the fork to your lips and finally take your first bite.

Suna just stares when you hum and nod. There’s sauce on the corner of your mouth, a little more on your bottom lip. “‘s pretty good. I think you’ll like it.” A simple evaluation of your own cooking, as if you hadn’t just stopped time for him with the admission of your pain.

Pain that he’s realizing could have been prevented if he weren’t so fucking avoidant.

He steps toward you after a breath, reaching out and brushing his fingers across your knuckles just as you’re moving to grab another bite. Your fork clatters into the bowl when you pull away from the touch. You cross your arms and look away, avoiding his gaze.

But he steps too close, hovering over you in that corner of the counter. Only when his hand slips past the curtain of your hair and cups the back of your neck – the other presses into the countertop beside you, trapping you there – do you meet his eyes, your own wide with surprise.

“Wha-” The rest catches in your throat, because he’s dipping his head toward yours, hooded eyes examining something on your cheek. You stare past him, unable to find your breath, and feel the exact moment when your heart leaves your chest and makes its home in the base of your throat.

Rintarou presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, not enough to be a kiss but far too close to ever be able to take it back. But when you feel the pass of his tongue over your skin, burning into that spot and making it his, you realize that he’s not planning to draw that line with you again, the one that had always been there.

He’s going to erase it entirely, with the determination of a man who hates that it ever existed in the first place.

“You’re right. It is pretty good.” He breathes the words into that spot, and you realize that he’s talking about the food.

“Can I try more?”

He gives you no time to wonder what that means – no time to wonder ever again what he’s trying to say.

His lips push against yours, full and warm and everything you’d imagined they’d feel like. You gasp and pull away in surprise, but he’s there again, leaning forward to keep you right where he wants you.

You can feel heat radiating off of his face, cheeks flushed and warm on yours when you cling to the front of his shirt, unable to do much else. He smiles against your lips and breaks the kiss, still close enough that your shallow pants mix in the space with his as you catch your breath, both of your chests heaving.

“What was it that your friends from college used to call you? That name that would make you blush.” You’re unable to look away from his lips, unable to understand that you can still feel the memory of them on yours. He smiles and leans close, mouth hovering over yours when he whispers. “‘ Suna Rintarou’s girl ’? Was that it?”

You flush, your eyes drifting shut when you feel him closing in on you again.

“So you did notice…”

“I didn’t know about high school. You never told me.”

“I didn’t think I needed to-” You can’t look at him. It’s too much, too overwhelming. “I took it for granted. That I was yours-”

“ Good .” He’s all you can feel, all you can smell and hear and touch. He’s everywhere. “You were supposed to take it for granted, that was the point.”

His fingers close around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks and tilting your face up toward his. You know he can feel your racing pulse at the side of your throat. “Because you’re mine. You were always mine, and I made sure everyone knew.” His nose brushes against yours, breath warm on your lips. “But I guess I wasn’t clear enough… was I?”

You swallow hard, feeling the shallow laugh he breathes out when you don’t answer him.

“You’re my girl, aren’t you?” His bottom lip brushes against yours when he whispers to you. “And you were right to feel safe in that fact. Because I never looked at anyone else, not once.”

‘ Why would I? I have you.’

Those words from 5 years ago come back to you, along with memories of the way he’d ignored the existence of any girl that would approach him, for as long as you can remember.

“And those women in the grocery store? Talking about how you’re not my type?”

You’re distinctly aware of how the hand he has on your face is starting to pull you closer, his own mouth drifting away to keep the sliver of distance between you.

“They must not have properly looked at you, Y/n.” He smiles softly down at you when your eyelids flutter open briefly at his words. “How could you not be my type? My type is you.”

The push of his lips on yours comes this time with his hands on your waist, tugging you toward him. He wraps an arm around you and lifts you without warning, setting you on the counter just as you’re gasping into his mouth.

He fills the space between your thighs the moment you spread them, one hand on the small of your back and the other cupping your neck. You fist the front of his t-shirt, anchoring yourself to him and keeping him close.

You never want to let him go.

“ I’m yours, Y/n. ” He mumbles the admission against your lips, finally confirming what you’d been worried about. “I’m yours, you hear me?”

His mouth drops to a spot under your ear, his voice filling your senses as his fingers play with the top button of your shirt.

“Want me to tattoo it on my skin? Just tell me where – I’ll have it done by the end of the night.”

The button comes undone, and he’s quick to move to the next one, thumb and pointer finger working efficiently down the line as his other hand slips around your waist and pulls your hips to the edge of the counter, flush to his.

Your breath comes shallow when your shirt finally falls free, because he’s pressing his hand to the spot just under the curve of your breast and pushing his lips against yours possessively – claiming you. You can’t feel your fingers when you card them through his hair and pull him close, your skin filled with a tingle that spreads over your body like a sickness. Even your head is staticky, plagued by that tingle. Rendering you defenseless to him – Suna Rintarou.

“ I love you .”

You whisper it without thinking, Rin’s mouth stilling on yours. He pulls away, staring down at you with wide eyes. Your heart drops to your stomach when you realize what you’d said, and your face burns when he just stares, dumbfounded.

“I-”

“Again.” He looks entranced, gaze glued to your lips while he waits. Because he’d felt you say the words, but he wants to watch you say them – wants to witness it with his own eyes, because he’s terrified it hadn’t actually happened.

You wet your lips nervously and repeat yourself.

“I love you, Rintarou.”

The three syllables of his name fall past your lips, stacking on top of each other just like the words right before them and stealing the breath right out of his lungs.

When he kisses you, it’s with an urgency that hadn’t been there before. Your back slams against the cabinet when he presses into you, but you don’t notice anything except the slide of his palms on your thighs as his hands disappear under the hem of your skirt.

His pointer fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, tugging impatiently until you lift your hips. They’re gone and on the floor before you’ve fully processed that you’d just let him take your panties off. That this is going somewhere, fast .

“Sorry, that probably wasn’t very hot-” Rintarou’s mouth is in the crook of your neck, his teeth brushing against your skin in a way that makes you shiver and slide your fingers through his hair. “In my head, it was slow and sensual, but-” His hands slide over your thighs again, fingers digging into the plush skin as he pries them just a little further apart. His lips twitch against your throat, a smile sneaking through as he laughs breathily.

“-I’ve never felt this desperate before.”

You whimper when he pulls your hips to his, the front of his jeans pressing up against your bare core and sending a shock flying up your spine. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and he sucks harshly on your throat.

You feel it, too – that desperation to just make him yours. To make this the truth, after so many years of just saying it was.

“‘s okay,” You pant, feeling his fingers dancing along your inner thighs toward a spot that’s extremely warm right now. “You can just make it slow and sensual next time.”

He breathes a heated sigh against your skin, the words ‘ next time ’ mumbled back to you, like he can’t believe that next time even exists.

And then he lifts his head and plants his lips on yours, his thumb finally sliding along your folds and finding your clit with terrifying precision. You gasp, and he swallows the moan that falls past your lips when he circles that little bundle of nerves, the same way you would when you would think about him late at night.

He does everything the way you’d always wanted – slides his fingers through your folds, buries them inside of you, and curls them against your walls in a way that has you seeing stars. He does it perfectly, all while kissing you stupid and whispering your name like he’s trying to decide exactly where it would look best on his skin, permanent and for the world to see.

He touches you like he’s always known how, as if this isn’t the first time. As if his heart isn’t about to rip out of his chest from the way you’re gasping his name, those three syllables stacked on top of each other in your mouth.

And when you finally come undone, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you cry for him, he’s saying it back – the words that he needs you to hear.

“ I love you .” He feels your tears soak through his shirt as your walls tighten around his fingers, and your body starts to tremble in his arms as you gasp for breath. “I love you, Y/n- I’ve always loved you, from the day that we met-”

“ Rin-” Your arms curl around his shoulders, and you cling to him as you come down from your high. He holds you close and kisses you, letting you recover.

Eventually, you breath a harsh sigh and meet his eyes, your cheeks flushing when you see how he’s looking at you.

“Hi…” You mumble it in embarrassment, and then jolt in shock, because he’s wiggling his fingers playfully inside of you when he responds.

“Hi yourself.”

You smack his arm and look away, eyelids fluttering when he pulls out of you and sets his hand safely on your thigh. And then you let him kiss you, soft and slow like your eyes aren’t still blurry with tears from how hard he’d made you come.

Suna pulls away, eyes roaming your face. Your skin is flushed red, just like his own, and you’re wiping unshed tears from your eyes, your expression laced with embarrassment when you realize he’s just watching you.

You cross your arms over your chest, pulling your shirt closed self-consciously – you feel strange, letting him see all of your rolls and stretch marks. His eyes are lingering on those spots, and you feel like he’s seeing too much. Seeing the things you were worried about showing him, because you thought in the back of your mind that maybe he would decide then that he didn’t want you, after all.

Rintarou lets you cover yourself, lets you drape your shirt over your chest and hide your tummy with your arms. He watches with a blank expression, gaze flicking between your movements and your eyes like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. But when you try to cover your thighs – try to move his hands so you can pull your skirt down – he sighs softly, knowingly, and stops you.

His hands catch your wrists, and he presses them together in your lap, locking them tight with one hand while he uses the other to undo all your work, those uncaring eyes unbearable warm on your skin.

Tugs your shirt open with a pointer finger.

Pushes the hem of your skirt back up your thighs.

Leans down to press his lips to the tops of your breasts, an open-mouthed kiss over your racing heart.

He mumbles all the while, his mouth tracing a path up past your collarbones and toward your neck.

“There you go again-” A nip to the column of your throat, a pass of his tongue over the spot to soothe the pain. “-listening to the wrong people.”

He leans away, watching how his hands look on you, tattooed fingers kneading into unmarked skin – like he’s tainting you. Ruining you for anyone else.

The thought makes him grin, worsened when you look up at him with those wide, innocent eyes.

“My sweet girl.” He smiles grows at your blush, and he’s reaching to push your shirt off your shoulders. You let him, even though you look nervous at how much he’s going to see. He drags the fabric down your arms, but he stops when it pools around your elbows. A gasp falls past your lips when he yanks the material taut suddenly, your forearms pulled together and the swell of your breasts forced out toward him.

He eyes them hungrily, his smirk dark when you whisper his name nervously, your arms tangled up in your shirt.

“Why do you let other people get in your head?” He drags his gaze down your chest to your tummy and thighs, his tongue poking out briefly to wet his lips. “Have you seen yourself? You’re so soft – you know how many times I’ve thought about putting my hands on you?”

You breathe harshly, your chest heaving and snapping his attention back to it. Without taking his eyes off of your breasts, he reaches for you shoulders, sliding your bra straps off slowly, one at a time. And then he hooks a finger into one of the cups, meeting your eyes.

“Are you ready to start listening to me instead?”

You swallow, nodding shallowly. He keeps you entranced, keeps your gaze locked on his, even as he’s tugging both cups down past your chest, officially leaving you completely exposed to him.

And then he drops his gaze, and you watch his eyes widen slightly, his lips parting as he takes you in. He barely notices when you move, your tied hands inching forward in front of you until you’re close enough to touch the tips of your fingers to the front of his jeans.

He flinches immediately, his eyes flying down and then back to yours when he realizes what you’re doing. You watch his eyelashes flutter when you become bold enough to press the flat of your hand against him, and you finally feel just how hard he is.

The pit of your stomach twists with arousal as you palm him gently, and your heart is thumping harshly in your chest when his hips jut forward of their own accord, chasing the feeling of your hand on him.

You feel time slow to nothing when you reach to undo his jeans, because he’s dropping his gaze to watch what you do. The sound of the zipper makes him tense, and you watch him swallow harshly when you slip your hand down the front of his jeans, cupping him through his boxers.

Your own breath comes shallow, skin tingling where he digs his fingers into your thighs, anchoring himself to you. With a steadying breath, you reach into his boxers, wrapping your hand around him.

And then you get distracted, because Rintarou is breathing out a moan and dropping his head back, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting with pleasure as he goes. You watch him closely, heartbeat rushing in your ears, as you slide your palm against him slowly.

“ Fuck- ” He breathes it out, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows harshly. You keep your eyes on him, stroking him slowly and watching his every reaction.

Suna drops his gaze to your hand, and he moans again, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Because watching you do this to him just like he’d always imagined – your hand wrapped around him like that, so much smaller than his own, with your thighs spread for him and your breasts spilling out of your bra, your tongue poking out past your lips as you concentrate – it might just be a little too much for him after all.

You work him closer and closer to the edge, entranced by the way his chest heaves, the way he mouths your name silently as he unconsciously pushes his hips to meet the base of your fist every time you slide against him.

And then his hand is snapping down over your wrist, stilling your movements. You jump, staring up at him as he hovers over you, breathing harshly. He leans his forehead against yours, shaking his head.

“Too close…”

You pout, wanting to watch him come undone the way you had. Wanting to make him yours.

“But… I want you to…”

His response is a breathless laugh, eyes still shut tight.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

‘-you could probably have whatever you wanted without begging for it.’

Your heart pounds in your head when the memory comes to you, just a few days ago.

Oh, how you’d never imagined that you’d be here now.

You tilt your head up toward him, lips brushing against his. He leans into it, eyes fluttering open to stare down at your mouth.

‘-unless that’s your thing.’

“…Please?”

Suna’s breath catches in his throat, and his gaze is locking on yours, eyes wide. His grip on you loosens in surprise, and you’re guiding his cock toward you, past the hem of your skirt, never taking your eyes off of him. He swallows hard, eyes flitting between yours nervously.

He breathes out shakily when the head of his cock slides against your entrance, his eyelids fluttering as he dips his head down and swears against your mouth.

“ Shit… You’re killing me…”

You whine against him, feeling the tip bump gently against your clit when he shifts toward you. “ Please , Rin. Please. I need you-”

He snaps when you properly beg for him, a low growl trapped in his throat when he pushes his lips to yours roughly. Reaching up, he fists your hair in his hands and angles your head so he can mold himself to you. He surges forward, and your back slams into the cabinet again, his mouth firmly on yours.

And then he reaches down with his free hand, pushing your hands away so he can guide himself back to your entrance.

“ I want you to say it . That I’m yours .” He murmurs against your mouth, and you mewl in response, because he’s pushing into you slowly. He stops and pulls his lips away when you don’t seem to hear him, and you almost cry out in frustration. “Y/n.”

You glare up at him, your gaze cloudy, because he’s buried halfway inside of you and still has the audacity to think that you’re able to focus on anything else.

“ What ?”

He stares down at you, seemingly patient, but you can see the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw. He’s trying hard to focus, too.

“Say I’m yours. Tell me, so I know you understand.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at his words, and you clench unconsciously around him. His eyelids flutter, and then his grip in your hair tightens.

“ Tell me , or I won’t move.”

You can’t help but laugh, even though it’s laced with a moan when he twitches inside of you.

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

He just tilts his head and smiles gently at you, like he’s not struggling immensely right now.

“So that you know that this isn’t just me claiming you.”

You breathe heavily as you stare up at him, your chest soaring with affection. And then you reach out to cup his face, stacking the syllables of his name once more, filled with love and the silent promise that you’ll continue to say it like that, for the rest of your life.

“Rintarou-” He sighs when you pull his mouth to yours. “ You’re mine .” You push your lips against his, soft. “You belong to me now, okay? You’re not allowed to go anywhere. I won’t let you.”

He tilts his head, kissing you slowly, murmuring against you. “Promise?” When you breathe a confirmation, nodding, he takes a breath. Gives you just a breath.

And then he pushes forward in the next, until his hips are flush against yours.

You moan into each other’s mouths, your body tingling at the stretch. He draws his hips back, moaning your name breathlessly, and then snaps them forward, his patience gone.

You can only cling to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, as he thrusts into you relentlessly. Your back slams into the cabinet with every snap of his hips against yours, filling the room with the sounds of your cries and the rhythmic promise of several noise complaints.

Rintarou barely notices, too lost in the feeling of you wrapped around him, tighter and tighter with every thrust. He pants into your ear, your name the only thing he has left in his head.

“I think you were made for me- ” He pulls back, pressing his forehead against yours so he can look at you. Your eyes are filling with tears again, and your voice cracks when you stutter over his name on the next thrust. “You fit so perfectly around me. Look-” He tangles his hand into your hair again, gripping tight and forcing you to look down with him.

You choke on a sob when you watch how he slams into you, and he’s quick to lift your head so he push his mouth against yours, claiming each and every sound that falls past your lips. “You were made for me-” It’s barely audible over the noises you’re making, increasingly louder the closer he pushes you to the edge. Your foot swings and catches on something behind Rin, something that falls to the floor and shatters on the other side of the counter. He doesn’t even hear it. “ Just for me .”

The coil in the pit of your stomach twists angrily, but it stands no chance of surviving when he reaches down and presses his thumb to your clit, just like he had the first time. The coil snaps instantly and without warning, and you’re throwing your head back against the cabinet as your vision goes white.

“ Rintarou- ” You think you might have screamed it, but your ears are ringing, because he hasn’t slowed down in the slightest. He just fucks you through it, his hips only stuttering when you clench tight around him. Only then does he slam his hands down on the counter on either side of you, his head buried in your neck.

He chokes on your name, and then you’re warm. Warm with the breath he heaves onto your skin, warm with the feeling of owning and belonging to him all at once. Warm as he spills into you, filling you up and making you his as he moans into your ear.

Finally, he stills. Slumps against you, chest heaving against yours as you comb your fingers through his hair with a trembling hand. He whispers against your skin, the ‘ I love you ’ just as warm as everything else, while he curls his arms around your waist. Eventually he lifts his head, bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat and his skin as flushed and hot as yours.

You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of seeing this side of him.

He presses his lips against yours gently as he pulls out of you, and then he mumbles that he’s going to get a wet rag for you. You’re strangely proud to see that your 6’2”, heavily pierced and tattooed gloom of a man actually loses his balance and stumbles slightly as he’s turning toward the hallway.

He glances back at you, embarrassed, and then breathes out a laugh when he finds you smiling lovingly up at him. He shakes his head, disappearing down the hall with a mumbled ‘ shut up ’.

He reappears a moment later, cleaning both of you up gently and kissing you every few seconds, just because he can. You lean lazily against the cabinet, your mind hazy and full of Suna Rintarou.

But then you glance down at the counter, and you’re tilting your head in confusion.

“Where’d the other bowl go?”

He hums curiously, realizing that there’s only one bowl of pasta there. You lean forward and peer over the edge of the counter, realizing what had shattered earlier.

“Oh.” His dinner is splattered all over the floor, the bowl in a million pieces.

Rin stares down at it, too, and then he turns to your bowl, lifting it toward you with a shrug.

“We can split this one.” He twirls some pasta around your fork and takes a bite. You watch him wince as he chews. He scowls slightly, setting the bowl back down. “‘s cold.”

You let out a laugh, pulling him toward you and giggling when he swallows the food with a grimace.

“We can just order takeout.”

He looks down at you, taking you in. You’re still undressed, skin still flushed, eyes still hazy in your afterglow. And then he shakes his head.

“Yeah, I don’t think anything’s gonna be open.”

You frown, glancing at the clock on the stove. “It’s only 7.”

“Yeah. For now .” And then he lifts you, ignoring your protests as he walks the two of you down the hall to his bedroom. He throws you down on his bed carelessly and reaches to pull his shirt over his head.

You watch with wide eyes and a fresh sense of arousal when he drops to his knees in front of you and wraps his arms around your thighs, a smile tugging at his lips as he pulls you toward him impatiently.

“I’m not done yet."

#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #suna rintarou #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou smut

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