#i really do wonder what was said when this happened

[livefromtheelephantsfoot]

I've had this sitting in my drafts for over a week bc I AGREE and I have SO many thoughts abt this.

I think one of the underlying reasons is a failure to engage with the fact that, to a lot of people at least, eugenics makes intuitive sense. I remember as a kid when I first had natural selection explained to me, and it didn't take much for me to wonder "huh, what does that mean for humans? does that mean it's a bad thing that we've insulated ourselves from stuff like disease?" (Obviously 8yo me wouldn't have said it like that, but I did wonder.) I'm almost afraid to point it out, but I really don't think it's just a me thing.

Later I learned abt Eugenics, that it was this bad evil thing that lead to genocide, and I was horrified. If I could empathize with the proponents of it, at least early on, what did that say about me? But it didn't actually answer my question. So now I had this first idea, evolution, that was obviously true and explained so much about the natural world, and this second idea that still seemed to naturally follow from it but was Bad. And I didn't know what to do with that.

And I started to notice how common the second idea was, too. The most pervasive thing I noticed was how common "Darwin Award" jokes are-- the joke, of course, being that people who die doing something stupid are making a positive contribution to the human gene pool. I don't really like those jokes. I ended up with the impression that eugenicists were right abt the human gene pool being a thing that we ought to be concerned about damaging, but they just went Too Far. You'll notice people who think this way disagree on where Too Far was. It made me uncomfortable that there could be an idea that was right, and if ignored would cause problems down the line, and at the same time acting on it was morally wrong, and everyone agreed it was a bad idea but only when called by a particular name--otherwise it's just common sense.

I don't think it was until high school that I started to understand that eugenics was, in fact, bad science. It makes sense with a surface level understanding of evolution, but the more in-depth you go, the more it falls apart. Artificial selection in dogs is such a great way to point this out. "It worked so well in dogs, why not try it in humans? Oh, wait..."

Eugenics requires the assumption that natural selection is at once a great and powerful force worthy of abandoning all morals in order to worship, while being so fragile that human civilization is at risk of overthrowing it within a couple hundred years.

Of course, the truth is that eugenicists weren't and aren't abandoning their real values in favor of what their understanding of natural selection would suggest. Eugenics was built on racism and ableism, and there is no escaping that. People latch on to ideas that validate their preexisting beliefs. You know what we can say, pretty confidently, about what's "healthy" genetically, for dog breeds and for humans? Variation. You'll notice that you don't see a lot of eugenicists advocating for interracial marriage. Even setting aside the (very important) ethical considerations for their methods, if eugenicists had their way, humanity would be barreling toward an artificial bottleneck that would REALLY fuck us over genetically.

Even that is missing nuance, though-- we're still in the realm of stick figure drawings. Genetics are really complicated. All this requires you to pretend that we fully understand what all of our genes even do, and we just don't. And that's ok! We do not, in fact, have to base public policy on whether G exists!

Natural selection is still happening to us, and if its slown down lately then I'd chalk that up to a global civilization mixing up our gene pool (which, again, is unambiguously a good thing from a genetic perspective) more than modern medicine helping disabled people have kids (which is not a new thing! we have been helping each other for millions of years). The human genome is not at risk of collapse.

We haven't even touched on poverty being a structural issue that requires people to exploit (ie, if all the poor people disappeared poverty wouldn't end, the next group up would be moved into their place) or the question of what mental health issues even ARE (I'm a proponent of the idea that, of the disorders/cases that are primarily caused by genetics, most are just the extreme ends of traits that are necessary to the general population and can't actually be removed-- extremely simplified example: everyone needs a sprinkle of neuroticism to function, sometimes someone gets a heavier dose and winds up with clinical anxiety, and every once and a while someone gets way too much and had OCD. even if environment weren't a factor at all, and even if anxiety were such a simplistic trait that we could track it with a very high degree of confidence, keeping the person with OCD from having kids wouldn't stop OCD from existing. they might be more likely to have kids with OCD, but them not having kids does nothing to the fact that OCD is a product of inherent variation that it would be a VERY bad idea to try to eliminate), or delving into IQ [even longer rant redacted].

I think sometimes people think eugenics is bad but its still true, like thinking that if people with certain traits have children it will change society for better or worse based upon what traits are promoted. I think its important to emphasize that eugenics is not only wrong morally it's also fake and stupid bullshit

Like eugenics was supposed to be based on the idea that "If it works with animals to select only the best ones to breed, why wouldn't it work with humans?"

well it doesn't work with animals, that's the thing. applying the eugenics ideas to domestic breeds of animals hasn't made better animals it's just made animals with more extreme expression of certain traits. turns out that when you decide which traits are the "best" and become obsessed with the genetic purity of the animals that have the "best" traits, you might well end up with some sad suffering creature like a Pug, or the Persian cats with the smashed faces that are in constant pain because their teeth and airways and brains are getting crushed by their skulls, or those meat chickens that grow so fast they can hardly even stand up after a few weeks old, or inbred race horses with tiny feet and fragile toothpick legs

like almost all traits are neither "good" or "bad" they're way more complex than that. a long tail or a long snout or a stubborn, independent personality can be good or bad depending on the situation. Who gets to decide what is a "good" trait or a "bad" trait? It's arbitrary and selecting for traits that are "good" in your opinion will often have both "good" and "bad" outcomes because the "good" and "bad" are part of each other and not separate its just part of being alive

Obviously oversimplifying everything but you get it. we did eugenics with dogs and how did that go? not very well

[nerdygirlramblings]

continued adventures of omegaverse!141

previous

an: the idea of separate task force and pack comes directly from @dragonnarrative-writes and their amazing 'Autumn Embers' series

You leave breakfast feeling both lighter and heavier. An invitation to join the 141 is a dream come true, and the idea that someone other than Captain Price was speaking favorably about your skills is intoxicating. You only know the members of the 141 by reputation, so you don't know who'd seen you on the shooting range. You wish you knew so you could properly thank them.

When he'd made the offer, Price said he'd like to speak to you more formally at 1600. You've never been anything but basic infantry, so you wonder what needs to happen to ensure your transfer into the 141. To keep yourself circling around things you can't control, you focus on leading your squad through basic land nav maneuvers.

After land nav and lunch, it's sparring and workouts in the gym. The room is busier than you like, especially as you aren't here for yourself. The constant eyes on you and your squad throw them off, but you use it to remind them all how important it is to focus despite the pressure. It certainly isn't an active battlefield, but the fight - flight - freeze reaction can help train them out of that headspace.

When it's finally time to meet Price, you dismiss your squad for the day and head to the base office complex. He told you where to find him, and you're knocking at the door a few minutes early.

"Punctual," he rumbles when he opens the door. "'s a good sign." He gestures you into his office and you notice it's spartan nature. There are only a few items in the wall: mostly awards and commendations. There's a single photo frame on the desk but positioned so only Price, or someone on his side of the desk, can see it. You wonder what it is. It must be special to be one of the few personal items in the room.

The space is dominated by a large walnut desk meant to intimidate. As if his leading 141 isn't enough. As though being an alpha, and a large one at that, wasn't already nerve-wracking for anyone sitting across from him.

He must know how the optics of the space works because he comes and sits in the chair left open next to you. He has a thin folder in his hand as he sits.

"I wanna clear the air 'bout something first. I'm sure ya know the 141's an elite task force. But we're also a pack. I know lots 'a military packs form 'cause 'a proximity: always stationed tahgether or 'round one another all the time without really bein' compatible. But that ain't us. We're compatible as a task force an' a pack. But, and I wanna stress this, being pack ain't necessary to be on the task force. Task force wan's yer skill. 'owever, if ya do join the task force, we've already decided we're open at courtin' ya, if yer open ta bein' courted."

You reel, feeling like the ground has opened underneath you. Price must notice the panic in your eyes because he forges on.

"What I got 'ere," he lifts the slim folder, " is transfer orders. Effective immediately, or as immediately as I submit 'em. They've already got my signature. Once ya sign, if yer interested in bein' on the 141, ya'd train wi' us, run drills an' simulations wi' us. Like squads, we eat tahgether an' have the same R&R. Only thing ya wouldn' do is move inta the barracks wi' us. Not unless ya decided ya wanted to be part 'a the pack. Ya'd still work wi' recruits, but ya wouldn' 'ave a specific squad."

"Wait," you interrupt, "what happens to my soldiers then, if I don't have a squad?"

Price smiles wide at that. "Lookin' out fer 'em's good. Important to the unity of the task force ta look out fer one another. But no task force sergeant has their own squad 'cause we could be sent out at any time. Tha' lack 'a consistency would be worse fer 'em. So, yeah, someone'd take yer squad."

He watches you contemplate all it would mean to become part of his task force. It's a lot, and he hopes you're still up for the challenge, because the more time he spends with you, the more he wants you on the task force and in his pack.

You finally shake off the fog in your head and ask Price for some time to think about it before fully committing. "An' I'm sorry, sir. Because I know I said yes just this morning, but I never thought I'd lose my squad." You pause for a moment before quietly adding, "An' I never imagined the offer included being part of a pack."

He catches your eye and reminds you, "Ya'd only be pack if ya wanted to be. And we'd court ya the right way. If ya wanted."

In the end he gives you the folder and says there's no official deadline for the offer, but he would appreciate a firm answer - either with signed or voided papers - within two days.

You nod, already thinking through who you wanted to consult about this when Price pulls you from your thoughts again.

"Can I make one small request?" he asks politely.

You nod, adding, "If it's reasonable, sir, absolutely."

He gifts you another smile as he leans forward and says, "Join us in the mess tonight? I'd like to officially introduce you to the lads before you make your decision."

next

[calicocita]

KAMO CHOSO: ❝ MORAL SUPPORT. ❞

choso would never openly admit that his biggest fantasy was having you as his under the desk support while he's gaming.

what your boyfriend didn't know is that you had to control yourself from begging him to let you give him head every time you saw him playing his stupid little video games.

at least not until you reached your fucking limit.

if you didn't know your boyfriend well, you would think he was teasing you. by the way he spread his legs across the chair, or the way he groaned at the monitor, throwing his arms around the headrest.

and it really didn't help that he the only thing he was wearing was his matching pair of hello kitty sweatpants he'd gotten for you two.

"sorry, baby, just finishing up this round," choso said as he you got crawled out of his bed and walked towards him. he didn't look at you, maybe if he did he would've known what was coming.

"don't worry, cho, i just wanted to show you my support," you purred into your boyfriend's ear, dragging your nails (that he paid for) down his neck, making his whole body shiver.

you continued to drag your nails down his arms, his naked torso, as you placed yourself between his legs, under the tight space under his desk. choso's eyes followed your every movement like he could not believe what was happening. the clicking sound coming from his keyboard grew more and more sporadic.

"what are you—argh," choso quickly covered the microphone on his headset, just in time to muffle his whimpering voice as you brought your tongue to his abdomen, making your way down his happy trail. "baby, i-i'm on a call with the—ngh—the boys."

"then we better be quiet, huh?" you replied, before placing your parted lips on top of his bulge. choso bucked his hips at the slight touch, making you giggle. even through his sweatpants, you could feel how hard and ready he was for you, even though you had barely touched him. so cute. "can you be good for me, hm?"

he couldn't take his eyes off of you, completely mesmerized. his mic was still covered but you could hear his friends' voice coming from his headset.

"bro, you still there?"

"are we still playing?"

"the fuck, choso?!"

"y-yeah, 'm here," choso finally replied, doing his best to ignore the fact that the hottest woman alive was making his biggest fantasy come true at that very moment.

you stared at him through your lashes. he looked so damned adorable when he was concentrated like that. the sound of clicking coming from his keyboard and mouse was relentless—it made you wonder if that had anything to do with how dexterous he was at making you feel good with his hands.

you pulled the band of his sweatpants down, releasing his cock, which spun freely to your face. you felt choso choke as you grabbed him, slowly starting to pump his cock, eyeing it like it was a piece of candy. you looked up at your boyfriend, hungry eyes meeting his half lidded gaze and flushed cheeks. you could see how hard he was trying not to moan for you, sucking his breath through gritted teeth, trembling under your touch.

you made sure to not break eye contact as you took him in your mouth, letting out a moan from deep in your throat. choso could swear that his heart stopped for a second.

"you good, choso?" you recognized yuji's voice.

"y-yeah, all good." choso managed to reply before muting.

he looked down at you, his beautiful girlfriend, loudly slurping on his cock, barely containing your moans. he watched you as you popped his cock out of your mouth like a lollipop, just to suck on his balls, pumping his cock with your hand, while you layed your face on his thigh, staring up at him.

"so good f-for me, cho," you hiccuped mid sentence, you sounded so cock drunk and looked so fucked out that choso almost came right there.

he couldn't take it anymore.

choso could barely hear his friends yelling at him for leaving the round, he couldn't care less. he lowered his headset before grabbing you by your hair, desperately fucking your mouth. the perfect gagging noises you made blurred his mind, till all he could think about was how fucking perfect you looked with your pretty face stuffed with his cock.

he held your head in place as he came undone and watched you swallow every drop of his cum before collapsing on his chair, audibly whimpering. choso ran his fingers languidly through your hair as you licked him clean.

"thank you, baby. i love you so much," he mumbled before pulling you in for a kiss.

[cherrygirlfriend]

pairing: frat!rafe x tutor!reader synopsis: reader attends a frat party where the theme is to dress up as your type warnings: fluff! wc: 1.3k i got this idea from the wonderful @rafeyscurtainbangs and it had me dead because it's so funny and i can picture him wearing that… i also tried out a new kinda formatting for funsies ^_^ also i'm surprised i’ve never posted for frat!rafe? anyway first fic for 2025!

you'd never really been much into parties, your best friend constantly trying to get you to go to some of the various parties the social butterfly had gotten invited to, but you simply held up the book you were in the middle of and let out a soft hum as a way to say that you had your own plans. after some more pleading, lexi always gave up trying to convince you to come and left you in your own devices, returning in the early hours of the morning, trying to be as quiet as possible yet waking you up every time.

but this time, all the girl had to do was mention the frat party she was going to that night when you let out a sigh and told her you'd come with her. maybe there was a second reason you wanted to go, other than to just please your friend.

"we're having a party this friday."

you chuckled, turning your gaze from the book in front of you to the boy next to you, "you're in a fraternity, rafe. i'm pretty sure that happens every friday without exception."

your words caused the boy to roll his eyes, yet the small grin you'd grown to like still remained on his lips as he repositioned his backwards cap, "yeah, but it's a themed party. you should come."

"why?" you furrowed your brows in suspicion and confusion as to why he'd want you to attend, "what's the theme?"

"you're supposed to dress up as your type."

"and what are you going as? some kind of variation of jennifer from jennifer's body? or regina from mean girls?" you let out a small snort.

"guess you'll have to come if you wanna find out." the boy poked your forearm with the rubber end of his pencil, licking his lips, "i wanna see what kind of guys you are into. i bet it's some thrifty hipster dudes or some broody bad boys that secretly get hard for poetry and emily dickinson and shit."

you felt your cheeks warm from the memory as you placed the backwards cap on your head. you looked in the mirror, clad in loose jeans that hung low on your hips so it'd show off the calvin klein logo on your underwear, and a sweatshirt adorning the logo of your university. the outfit you wore looked just like something rafe would wear during one of your tutoring sessions. hell, he probably had.

lexi looked at you with raised brows, the muscular girl who usually wore dark, baggy clothes looked strange in the blue sundress she'd borrowed from you, her biceps basically protruding from the short sleeves, the girl's short black hair pulled up into a tiny attempt at a ponytail, wearing some simple makeup that you'd helped her apply.

"you're going as a frat guy? to a frat party?" she snorted, taking in your ensemble, "damn, you date so little that i had no idea that's the type of guy you were into."

you rolled your eyes, throwing her the handbag that she'd asked you if she could borrow, "and you're going as...?"

"a straight girl." lexi said, her usual shit-eating grin taking over her lips.

"in that case, you could've just worn like, a grey hoodie, those flared leggings, and a pair of white nike air force ones. most straight girls here do. i think you've failed at your assignment."

"shut up."

you were surprised by how many people actually dressed up according to the theme, especially over the number of frat boys wearing different types of skirts and dresses, some of them even sporting poorly done makeup looks on their faces.

having gotten separated from lexi almost the moment you arrived to the party, you were now leaning against the living room wall, hiding a part of your face behind a red solo cup half-full of some sort of concoction you'd found as you looked around. you'd always been better at standing aside, observing what everyone else was doing, rather than trying to join in.

you lifted the cup to your mouth and drank some of the nasty liquid, nearly spitting it out when you spot rafe chatting to his friends, just about managing to swallow it before you keel in laughter.

he stood confidently in a grey cardigan strewn over a white button-up that was so small on him it actually turned into a crop top, showing off the lower part of his abs, a faint happy trail as well as a defined v-line leading to a short black pleated skirt, his calves covered by black socks that ended just below his knees.

it seemed that your amusement had caught rafe's attention, as the moment you'd finally managed to straighten yourself up, the boy was strutting over to you, his hands on his hips in a way that almost caused you to go into another laughing fit.

"what's so funny?" rafe asked with lifted brows as he reached you, looking over your outfit with a pleased look on his face before gesturing to his own, "you don't think i look hot?"

"oh, definitely. the hottest." you snorted, bringing the drink to your lips and taking a small sip before pursing your lips in thought, "so, what's your type? britney spears?"

the boy's brows furrowed at that, "huh?"

"you look just like her in one of her music videos." you explained, your lips falling open in shock as his eyebrows continued to remain furrowed, "you don't know 'baby one more time'?"

"i haven't seen it." rafe shrugged, "what, you can't recognize who i'm trying to dress as?"

"i can't say i do. who?"

"i'm dressed as you."

you knew that if you were able to see yourself, your eyes would comically widen the moment the words left rafe's lips; and as you looked at him up and down, you realized, that his outfit was something you'd usually wear; just more lewd. "you're... dressed as me?"

"yeah. and clearly you're dressed as me."

"based- based on what?" you laughed incredulously, feeling your cheeks light up, bringing the cup to your lips and drinking just so you'd be able to hide a part of your face from the boy.

"well," rafe snatched the cap on your head, placing it on his instead, making his entire ensemble look even goofier, as he took hold of the front of your sweatshirt. "i'm pretty sure i've worn this exact same outfit."

"that doesn't mean anything… plenty of guys wear this." you mumbled from behind your cup, only to have rafe grab it from your hands, your eyes widening as you watched him finish it in one swallow, scrunching up the cup and throwing it on the floor somewhere.

cupping your chin with his finger and lifting it up so you were looking up at him, rafe brought his face closer to yours, his ice-blue eyes looking into yours in a way that made you feel like you were naked as his lips twisted into a knowing grin, "it doesn't?"

"n-"

before you could finish denying it, rafe's lips were pressed against yours; your eyes still wide open when his free hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

slowly, you felt yourself melt into the kiss, your eyes automatically closing as your lips moved against his. your hands were pressed against his chest, slowly moving down to feel his defined abs over the sheer button-up.

you could feel rafe's grin against your lips before he even pulled away, looking down at you with a knowing look on his face, the boy licking his lips causing you to bite down on your lower lip, your head spinning from just kissing him.

"so, that didn't mean anything, huh?"

[thereallucifer666]

Lucifer smiled softly, amusement showing on his face. "Darling, you know exactly what I'm going to say." He pointed out gently. "It's the same thing I've always said, since the beginning of our partnership. You're working with the Devil, so you might need to get used to the strangeness."

But were they just working together now? Surely not. Linda had once asked him what he thought him and Chloe were and he couldn't answer at the time. Chloe, herself, was the one to clarify later after Father Frank's death that they were friends. But since then, things had clearly changed. Become more defined, and yet somehow more blurry and mysterious. Was it really okay to leave all this unspoken?

Lucifer felt himself growing nervous and agitated at these thoughts and so he took a leap and decided to do something he rarely did when confronted with a serious situation. He decided to talk about it, to let his feelings out.

Giving a small sigh, he moved to sit up, the movement prompting her to do the same so she could look at him. He hesitated for a few moments, trying to find the words, before he spoke, "You know, I don't know what to call us. What we've got going on between each other. And I find more and more I don't really care to define it. It's us, and that is enough for me. However, I...Well, I wonder what will happen between us when we return to L.A. I understand you have a career and a child and responsibilities that this between us could...complicate. So, if this is to end here and now, I regrettably understand but...," He paused, suddenly aware how hard and fast his own heart was pounding. "But...I don't want it to end."

"True!" Lucifer admitted blatantly. "However, I see the method to dragging me up here. No interruptions, no getting burst in by your spawn or your douche ex, very discrete. Oh, but I'm sure this was all just about the case." He was teasing, naturally. He wasn't exactly upset with how things had turned out. despite not having a name for exactly what they were to each other, he liked it all the same, whatever it was.

One of Lucifer's hands curled up and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. That hand then settled on her shoulder, holding her close as he closed his eyes and just allowed this quiet moment of peace between them. They'd earned this. With all that went wrong with Malcolm and Lucifer being accused of murder, they'd earned this moment of quiet.

"No complaints from me." He hummed.

[kiwriteswords]

Maybe some already together hotch and reader parenting Jack?

Heartstrings Attached [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: this was fun and really nothing like I have written before! I was re-watching The Nanny pilot where Maggie has her first kiss and Mr. Sheffield's reaction made me wonder how Hotch would react to Jack dating!

Tags/Warnings: established relationship, family vibes, mentions of Haley's death, Teenage Jack Hotchner, Jack's first kiss, Jack's first crush, Jack's first heartbreak, Sad Hotch Hours, Missing Haley Hotchner Hours, hurt/comfort, Jack preferring Reader over Hotch, angsty Jack, No mention of if Reader is BAU or not, future fic, fluffy fluff fluff

Summary: Navigating parenthood is hard enough, but add in teenage love and angst, and Hotch was in for it--grateful to have you at his side, he struggles when Jack prefers your comfort to his own.

In the Hotchner household, evenings typically unfolded with a quiet kind of routine, the kind that comes with the stability of an established relationship and shared space. But tonight, as Aaron Hotchner watched Jack, now a teenager taller than himself, pacing back and forth in your living room, he sensed a disruption to your usual peace.

Jack had always been an anxious kid--much of that hung on Aaron’s shoulders, from all that his job took from and brought into Jack’s life. 

"You seem... preoccupied," Aaron remarked, his voice calm as he set aside the case file he'd been reading. Jack stopped pacing and glanced at his father, then at you, who were curled up on the other end of the couch with a book in hand.

"It's nothing," Jack muttered, clearly wrestling with whether to share more. You looked over at Aaron, giving him a subtle nod, an unspoken signal between the two of you that said, 'Give him a minute.'

After a brief pause, Jack sighed and turned towards you, his expression torn between embarrassment and the trust he'd come to place in you over the years. "Actually, I... there's this girl at school."

You set your book down, your full attention on Jack. "Oh? What about her?" you asked gently.

Jack blushed, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he mumbled, "I kinda like her. A lot. And I think she might like me too, but I don’t know what to do about it."

Aaron observed the exchange, feeling a twinge of something unfamiliar. Jealousy? No, it was more akin to inadequacy. Here was his son, coming to you with matters he was too embarrassed to discuss with his own father. But watching the ease with which Jack confided in you softened any hard feelings; if anything, it filled him with gratitude.

"What do you like about her?" you inquired, your voice laced with interest and devoid of any judgment.

"She's funny, and she likes a lot of the stuff I do. And she’s really smart," Jack explained, his eyes lighting up as he spoke.

"That sounds wonderful, Jack," you responded, smiling encouragingly. "Have you guys talked much?"

"Yeah, at lunch and stuff. I just... don't know if I should tell her how I feel, or even how to do that," Jack confessed, looking towards his father now.

Aaron cleared his throat, feeling suddenly on the spot. "Well, Jack, the truth is, being honest about your feelings is usually the best approach. It’s not easy, but it’s straightforward. Just... be yourself," Aaron advised, trying to recall how he’d navigated his own youthful crushes, which felt like a lifetime ago.

"You think I should just tell her?" Jack asked, his tone a mix of hope and nerves.

"I do," Aaron said, nodding. "But maybe you could start by asking her to hang out, just the two of you. See how it goes from there."

Jack considered this for a moment, then turned to you. "What do you think?"

"I agree with your dad," you said, your gaze soft yet earnest. "And whatever happens, we're here for you. It's okay to be nervous, and it's okay if things don't go exactly how you plan. What's important is that you're honest and respectful."

Jack nodded, taking in the advice from both of you. "Thanks," he said, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier anxious demeanor. "I think I’ll ask her to the movies this weekend."

"That sounds like a great idea," you encouraged, and Aaron couldn’t help but smile at the warm, supportive dynamic that had blossomed between you and Jack. It wasn’t the traditional picture of a family, perhaps, but it was yours, and it was filled with love and understanding.

Later that evening, as Jack headed upstairs, Aaron lingered behind with you, his expression thoughtful. "Thank you," he murmured, reaching for your hand. "For being here, for being you. For making things like this easier for him... and for me."

You squeezed his hand, leaning into him slightly. "We’re a team, Aaron. And I love being a part of this family."

He nodded, the weight of his earlier feelings of inadequacy lifting in the comfort of your presence. In this household, amidst the quiet routines and the occasional teenage turmoil, Aaron found not just solace but a deep, enduring partnership. And as he looked at you, he knew with certainty that together, there was nothing you couldn't handle.

Aaron Hotchner watched his son, Jack, meticulously adjust his collar for the third time in the mirror. The teenager's movements were stiff, each motion betraying a level of tension that Aaron knew all too well—it was a mirror to his own.

"You look great, Jack. She's going to think so, too," Aaron commented, attempting a reassuring tone as he leaned against the doorway of Jack’s room.

Jack met his father's gaze in the mirror, his eyes flashing briefly with a familiar intensity. "What if I don’t even know what to say? What if—"

"Jack," Aaron interjected, a bit more sharply than intended, "you've prepared enough. Overthinking it won't help."

The words were meant to steady, but they landed like a challenge. Jack turned abruptly, his expression hardening. "You don’t understand. It’s easy for you to say—"

Aaron felt a prickle of irritation. "Jack, I’m trying to help you. There’s no reason to—"

"Yeah, by telling me I’m overthinking? Thanks a lot," Jack snapped, his tone biting, and stormed past Aaron towards the stairs.

You appeared at the bottom of the staircase, having caught the tail end of the exchange. Your expression was one of concern mixed with calm. "Everything okay?" you asked, looking from Jack’s retreating back to Aaron’s tight expression.

Aaron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He’s just nervous," he muttered, following you and Jack to the car.

The ride to the movie theater was tense, the air thick with unspoken apologies and frustrations. Aaron drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, while you sat beside him, offering a gentle presence. In the backseat, Jack was silent, lost in his own whirlwind of teenage angst.

When you arrived at the theater, Jack unbuckled his seatbelt and paused, his hand on the door. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before turning slightly. "Sorry for snapping, Dad. I’m just... really nervous."

Aaron nodded, a mixture of relief and concern in his eyes. "It’s okay, Jack. Just be yourself, she’ll see how great you are."

Jack managed a small, grateful smile before stepping out of the car and into the evening crowd. As he walked away, Aaron watched him go, a pang of helplessness touching his heart. It wasn’t just about tonight; it was the creeping realization of how much he would have to learn to navigate as Jack grew up.

You reached over, touching Aaron’s arm. "He’s going to be fine," you murmured. "And so are you."

Aaron let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "It never gets easier, does it? Letting them face things on their own."

You shook your head, your smile gentle. "No, but we do get better at trusting them to handle it. And Jack knows he has us to come back to, no matter how it goes."

Aaron glanced at you, the steady assurance in your voice grounding him. "I don’t know what I’d do without you," he admitted, the weight of his role as a single parent momentarily overwhelming.

"You’d do just fine," you assured him, squeezing his arm. "But you don’t have to. We’re in this together, remember?"

He smiled then, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Together," he echoed, feeling the truth of that word deep in his bones.

As you and Aaron drove back home, the earlier tension melted away, replaced by a comfortable silence that spoke of shared burdens and joint victories. In that moment, Aaron knew that whatever challenges lay ahead with Jack, or with anything else, they were surmountable—as long as you were there beside him.

When Aaron and you arrived at the theater to pick up Jack, the sight of him waiting by the curb instantly signaled a change. There was a lightness in his step, a barely contained energy that was unusual for the typically composed teenager.

Jack slid into the backseat, a faint, almost secretive smile playing at the corners of his lips. He said nothing as Aaron pulled away from the curb, glancing occasionally in the rearview mirror at his son. Jack’s eyes were bright, his usual tension nowhere to be seen, replaced by an excited glimmer that Aaron had rarely witnessed.

The car was quiet, the silence stretching as Aaron and you exchanged knowing looks. Both of you could sense the bubbling enthusiasm Jack was struggling to contain, yet neither of you wanted to press him, giving him the space to share in his own time.

Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer and always more attuned to breaking the ice, you turned slightly in your seat to face Jack. “So? How was the movie?” you asked, your voice casual but tinged with an undercurrent of excitement for him.

Jack’s response was immediate, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It was awesome! We...” He paused, a flush spreading across his cheeks, and then he burst out with it. “We kissed! It was my first kiss.”

Aaron’s eyes met Jack’s in the rearview mirror, a smile breaking across his face at his son's joyous exclamation. The car filled with a warm, buoyant energy, the kind that comes from witnessing a milestone in someone you love dearly.

“That’s great, Jack!” you exclaimed, your delight evident. “How do you feel?”

Jack laughed, a sound of pure happiness. “I like her so much. She’s amazing. And the kiss was... it was perfect, I think. I mean, I don’t really have anything to compare it to, but...” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged, almost sheepishly.

Aaron listened, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and a poignant touch of sadness at the reminders of his own first experiences with love. “It sounds like you had a really good time,” he said, his tone supportive. “I’m happy for you, Jack.”

“Thanks, Dad. And thank you,” Jack added, looking at you. “For the advice and... just for being there.”

You nodded, your expression soft. “Anytime, Jack. We’re both so happy it went well.”

The rest of the drive home was filled with Jack sharing more details about the evening—the movie they’d barely watched, the nervous moments leading up to the kiss, and his plans to see her again. Aaron drove, listening and occasionally glancing back at Jack, who seemed to grow with each word he spoke.

When you all arrived home, Jack bounded out of the car with a quick, “Thanks for the ride!” before heading inside, no doubt eager to relive the evening in his mind.

Aaron turned to you, his eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions. “He’s growing up fast,” he murmured, the reality hitting him anew.

You reached over, taking his hand. “He is. But he’s growing up well, Aaron. That’s all we can ask for.”

Aaron squeezed your hand in response, the solidity of your presence grounding him. “Yes, that’s all we can ask for,” he agreed, the pride evident in his voice. As you headed into the house together, Aaron felt a profound gratitude for the family you had become, imperfections and all, bound together by moments of simple, shared joy like tonight.

Over dinner, Jack's enthusiasm was infectious. As he detailed his plans to woo his new crush with flowers and romantic gestures straight out of the movies, Aaron couldn't help but share amused, knowing glances with you across the table. Every so often, Jack would catch them mid-glance and roll his eyes, a grin unable to hide his embarrassment.

"You think I'm being too cheesy, don't you?" Jack asked a playful accusation in his tone.

"Not at all," you replied, smiling warmly at him. "It's sweet. It's nice to see someone still believes in doing romantic things. Flowers are always a good idea."

Aaron nodded in agreement, watching as Jack considered your advice. "Just make sure you pick ones she likes," he added. "It shows you pay attention."

Jack nodded enthusiastically, absorbing every piece of advice like a sponge. "I’ll find out what her favorites are," he resolved.

The conversation lingered on lighter topics as you finished eating, but the warmth of family and shared understanding lingered in the air.

Later that night, as Aaron and you were getting ready for bed, the atmosphere shifted to a quieter, more reflective mood. You turned to Aaron as he was folding his clothes, a soft smile playing on your lips. "You know, Jack is a lot like you," you mused. "Even as a teenager, he’s got your sweetness. And he gets this giddy excitement about someone he cares about—just like you."

Aaron met your gaze in the mirror, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Was I that obvious?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Completely," you teased gently, stepping closer. "I still remember our early days. Despite your stoic exterior, you had this way of showing your excitement that was... really endearing."

He turned to face you fully, his expression softening. "I guess some things don’t change," he admitted, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I still feel that way, you know. Every day with you."

Your eyes lit up at his words, and you leaned into his touch. "And I love that about you, Aaron. It’s the little things you do, the way you show you care. It’s never lost on me."

The conversation lingered in the air, settling warmly around them like a blanket. It reminded Aaron of how much he still wanted to make you feel special, how even the simplest gestures could speak volumes.

"Jack gave me a good reminder; I think I’ll buy you flowers tomorrow," Aaron declared softly, more to himself than to you.

You chuckled softly, your eyes twinkling with affection. "I’d like that," you said. 

As you finished getting ready for bed, the connection between them felt as fresh and exciting as it did in the early days of your relationship, a testament to the enduring nature of deep, genuine love.

It wasn’t long until the atmosphere of the Hotchner household shifted dramatically one afternoon when Jack burst through the front door, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a storm of teenage angst. He rushed past Aaron and you, not stopping to greet or even acknowledge either of you, his footsteps thundering up the stairs. Moments later, his bedroom door slammed shut with a force that echoed down the hallway.

You and Aaron exchanged a look of concern, both sensing the gravity of whatever had upset Jack so deeply. Aaron's jaw set in a familiar, determined line as he made his way to Jack's room, knocking softly despite the previous display of anger.

"Jack, can we talk?" Aaron called through the door, his voice calm but firm.

There was a tense pause, then a muffled, "Go away," from inside.

Aaron opened the door anyway, stepping into Jack’s room to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. "Jack, whatever it is, I’m here to help," Aaron offered, trying to bridge the gap with understanding.

Jack looked up, his eyes red and his expression one of raw, unguarded pain. "You wouldn’t understand," he snapped, his words laced with frustration. "You met Mom in school and then found Y/N so easily after Mom passed. You’ve never had your heart broken like this."

The comment stung, bringing with it a flood of memories—of Haley, of loss, of the deepest kind of heartbreak Aaron had ever known. But he had to laugh internally at the irony; Jack had no idea what real heartbreak was, yet his feelings were valid in their own teenage context.

"Jack, I may not understand exactly what you're feeling right now, but I’ve experienced loss, more than just once. I can try to help," Aaron said, his voice even despite the emotional undercurrent.

Aaron looked around his son’s room--oh, how it had changed so much over the last few years. The legos and drawings now replaced with soccer trophies and posters.

"It’s not the same!" Jack retorted, his anger flaring again. "You don’t get it. She said she just wants to be friends, after everything... after the kiss. I thought... I don’t know what I thought."

Aaron sat down beside him, trying to close the distance. "It’s tough, feeling like you’ve been pushed aside," he offered. "But it doesn’t diminish what you felt, or what you meant to each other."

Jack shook his head, the rejection too fresh, too raw. "Just leave, Dad. Please," he murmured, not meeting Aaron's eyes.

Respecting his son’s request, Aaron stood and left the room, the door closing softly behind him this time. He returned downstairs, where you were waiting, having sensed that the conversation might not have gone smoothly.

Aaron relayed the interaction to you, his features tight with concern and helplessness. "He’s really hurting," Aaron confessed, the weight of his role as a father feeling particularly heavy.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him. "You did what you could. He just needs some time," you reassured him, your voice soothing. "Heartbreak is a part of growing up, as hard as it is to watch. He'll learn from this, with us to support him."

Aaron nodded, leaning into your embrace, grateful for your presence and perspective. "It’s just hard, seeing him go through it," he admitted. "Makes me wish I could shield him from all the pain."

"But then he wouldn’t really grow, would he?" you pointed out gently. "All we can do is be here when he’s ready to talk, ready to heal."

"Right," Aaron agreed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Thank you," he added, the gratitude in his voice reflecting more than just thanks for this moment—it was for every moment you stood by him, helping him navigate the complexities of fatherhood and life itself. Together, you would be ready for when Jack decided to open up, ready to guide him through the pain toward healing.

Later that evening, as Aaron sat in the living room thumbing through an old case file, he couldn't shake the image of Jack’s hurt expression. He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Looking up, he saw Jack hesitating at the foot of the staircase, his eyes darting between Aaron and the hallway where you were.

"Dad, can I talk to Y/N?" Jack asked quietly, his voice revealing his vulnerability.

Aaron felt a pang in his chest, torn between relief that Jack was seeking comfort and a sting of jealousy that it wasn’t from him. He thought of Haley, of how things might have been different if she were here, but then he looked at you, emerging from the hallway behind Jack, and his heart filled with gratitude. You had become an integral part of their lives, filling spaces he hadn't known were empty.

"Of course, Jack," Aaron replied, managing a supportive smile as he watched you approach, your presence reassuring and steady.

You gave Aaron a gentle look that seemed to understand his mixed emotions before turning your attention to Jack. "Let’s talk, okay?" you said softly, guiding Jack back to his room for privacy.

Left alone with his thoughts, Aaron reflected on his journey—the loss of Haley, the challenges of single parenthood, and the unexpected blessing of finding love again with you. It was a complex tapestry of grief and new beginnings.

When you and Jack reappeared a while later, there was a noticeable shift in Jack’s demeanor. He seemed calmer, more composed, and he walked straight up to Aaron.

"I’m sorry for pushing you away earlier, Dad. I didn’t mean to," Jack apologized, his eyes earnest.

Aaron stood, setting aside the file, and pulled Jack into a hug. "It’s okay, Jack. I understand. It’s not easy, and I’m here whenever you need to talk, okay?"

Jack nodded, returning the embrace. "Thanks, Dad."

As they settled onto the couch, Aaron next to you and Jack opposite, the atmosphere was lighter. Aaron felt the need to address the earlier tension and offer some fatherly advice.

"Jack, life... it throws a lot at us. Heartbreak, loss—it’s all part of it. But so is happiness and love," Aaron began, his eyes flicking to you, then back to Jack. "You have plenty of time to find your happy ending. And sometimes, it happens when you least expect it."

He reached over, taking your hand in his, a silent testament to his words.

Jack smiled, a touch of red coloring his cheeks as he understood the implication. "I guess you’re right. I’ve got time."

"And remember, no matter what, you’re never alone," you added, squeezing Aaron’s hand. "We’re both here for you, always."

The rest of the evening passed with a new sense of understanding and closeness among you all. Aaron felt a deep sense of peace as he looked at you and Jack--his family. At this moment, he knew that despite the trials and the losses, you had found a way to build something enduring and real. And for Aaron, you were indeed his happy ending, the unexpected joy that had come from a time of great loss.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[reidology13]

imgonnagetyouback

Spencer Reid x fem!reader - Undercover with your ex boyfriend

cw: suggestive, age gap, a gun is shot, a lil angst?

wc: 2.9k

a/n: this took sooo long and idk what to think of it, but it's something!!

As you stood outside the club, arms linked with Spencer Reid – your coworker and ex boyfriend – you wondered how exactly you ended up here. None of this would have happened if Prentiss knew about your history. Keeping your relationship, and the end of it, a secret had seemed like a good idea at the time, and had been going well until earlier that day. Prentiss calling you and Spencer into her office had already been unexpected, but being assigned with an undercover mission, as a couple, was enough to shock you into silence for a moment. Still, no amount of shock could have kept you from fighting Spencer when he argued against you being undercover with him. You were perfectly capable of doing your job, Prentiss knew that, Spencer knew that, and he would pay.

“We watch him from the bar, put on a show until he notices us, then we walk out and hope he takes the bait. Okay?” You were so caught up in your thoughts that it took a second for the sound of his voice register. What didn’t need time to sink in was the feeling of his breath, hot on your skin.

“I know the plan.” You rolled your eyes, tensing as he slipped his arm out of yours, wrapping it around your waist, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, “Dick.”

“Time to head inside. Remember, this unsub needs more from a couple than just a younger woman, he needs you to be physically affectionate.” The disembodied voice of your Unit Chief filled your ears, and Spencer gave you a look that had to be designed entirely to piss you off. It was working.

“We can do that, Prentiss.” Spencer said, the smile barely hidden in his voice, his thumb rubbing over one of your ribs.

“Let’s go.” You stepped out of his reach, grabbing his hand and dragging him with you into the club. The moment you were inside he pulled you closer to him, keeping you glued to his side as he steered you towards the bar. The way he took charge of the situation shouldn’t have been nearly as attractive as it was, a cruel reminder of what you had been. The awkward, nerdy Spencer Reid was gone, replaced by a version that even you had only seen a few times. It was a side of him that only came out on days – well, nights – when he needed to take control after a bad day.

Or, apparently, whenever he wanted it to.

As you sat at the bar, he seemed to decide the small gap the stools put between you was too much, shuffling to the edge of his and leaning in as far as he could. It was a precarious position, and if you hadn’t been undercover, you would have given him a shove and watched him scramble for the seat. That was what you would have done a few months ago, and he would have scowled, and you would have laughed until his pride gave up and he joined in. Instead, you mirrored him, leaning in until you could hear his hushed words in your ear.

“Can you see him?” You pulled back a bit, giving yourself a wider view of the crowded room as you searched for the suspect. Not that he was really a ‘suspect’ anymore, the profile and every single piece of evidence pointed to him. All that was left for you to do was get him out of the club and into a location where he would be of no danger to the public when your team apprehended him.

And you would, because there he was, near the wall at the back of the room, concealed in the crowd. Your eyes flashed back to Spencer’s immediately, you couldn’t risk blowing your cover because the unsub caught you staring.

“In the corner of the room, to your left.”

“Well then,” The momentary professionalism was gone from his voice, replaced by that infuriating, seductive, punchable smugness, “I guess all we have left to do is wait.”

Waiting was the last thing either of you would be doing. An unsub like this needed to be constantly entertained, like a cat distracted by the nearest movement. The job was to draw and keep his attention, and to be honest, that was the last thing you wanted to do with Spencer. It was also the only thing you had ever wanted in your entire life, which was why you were not giving your hormones an ounce of attention.

“Okay, but right now he hasn’t looked our way once, so either we get moving, or we might as well pack up and leave.” You hissed under your breath, the tone of your voice harsher than you had intended.

“He's not going to take the bait if you keep glaring at me like that, we're supposed to be a couple, remember?” He might have been the most infuriating person whose presence you had ever been subjected to, but he was right. You contorted your face into a smile, waving the bartender over and ordering the first non alcoholic drink that came to mind. 

“I really don't like you, you know that right?” You ran your hand over his chest, fingers toying with the collar of his shirt. 

“I know.”

You didn’t respond, opting instead to take a small sip from your glass, carefully ignoring the man beside you. Everything these days had to be careful. Answering the team's questions as to why you two had gone from best friends to barely talking, avoiding all of your old haunts, prying the remnants of him out of your life. You were tired of it.

“So, how are we supposed to draw his attention?” You sighed, placing your drink down as you glanced at the unsub, not at all surprised to see him looking in the opposite direction to the two of you.

“Come here.” He wasn’t even looking at you as he tapped his thigh, barely sparing you an ounce of his attention as he looked around the room.

“Fuck you.” 

“That was my plan B.” If you weren’t already rolling your eyes, you would have then. Still, there was something about hearing the immature, juvenile jabs from Spencer Reid, the man who was known for his grasp of language that was almost – almost – endearing.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re still sitting on your stool.”

“I’m not going to sit anywhere else.” You flinched when you felt his hands make contact with your waist.

“And how do you expect the unsub to target us when you won’t let me touch you?”

“Fine.” You slid off the seat, allowing his hands on your waist to help pull you up the extra distance, bringing you to perch on his lap. It made it worse that you had to face him to keep eyes on the unsub, meaning that your lips were only a few inches apart.

“How easy was that?”

“I don’t care about this,” you gestured to the space—or lack thereof—between you, “I care about how smug you’re being.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn't want me here in the first place, and now you're trying to punish me in some weird, sick game of yours.”

“I'm not trying to punish you, and the only reason I didn’t want you here was how dangerous this is.” You tried to focus on the anger you felt at him thinking you couldn’t handle yourself, rather than the part of you that revelled in how protective he could be.

“Then why have you been like this all night? All annoying and flirty?”

“I'm not sure about the annoying part, but do you expect me not to flirt with the beautiful woman on my arm?” He took a glance at where you were perched on his knee before correcting himself, “In my lap?”

You weren't sure how you were planning on responding to him, but luckily you didn't have to, catching the unsub’s gaze on the two of you out of the corner of your eye. He seemed mildly interested, not overly intrigued by the display, but enough to have marked you down as a possibility. 

“He's looking at us.” You murmured to Spencer, resting your head on his shoulder, the position designed to force you to keep your eyes off the unsub, no matter how tempting it was to steal a glance.

“When you’re sure you have his attention, walk out and go to the alley behind the building.” Emily’s voice in your ear felt like a slap to the face, a nice reminder that you and Spencer were under constant surveillance, and that you were at risk of a stern conversation after this was over. Inappropriate workplace conduct, probably. You mentally thanked Garcia and Morgan for greasing the wheels.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

A jolt ran through you when Spencer’s fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh, the sensation so deeply entwined with good memories that it was almost nostalgic. You ran a hand down his arm slowly, almost sensually, a romantic gesture to anyone that saw, unaware of the subtle pinch you gave his wrist. You held back a snicker when he hissed under his breath and loosened his harsh grip, but refused to move his hand from its new resting place.

“What was that for?” His voice went all high pitched and whiny, the cute annoying way that it always did when he complained.

“Don’t act dumb, Spence, it doesn’t suit you.” The nickname slipped out absentmindedly, it didn’t cross your mind that you hadn’t even called him by anything but his last name in months. His breath hitched, and you lifted your head from his shoulder to see what was going on, to make sure that he was okay. 

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him, slack jawed and gazing at you like you were the only being in the universe. It was the way he used to look at you when you were curled up on his couch, when you were writhing underneath him, when he whispered ‘good morning’ with a soft kiss to your shoulder. When you were his. It might as well have been another one of his miraculous magic tricks, the way it made every sane thought in your head disappear.

Which was probably why you made no move to stop him when his lips crashed into yours, hands cupping your cheeks with a familiar intensity. You melted into his touch, almost forgetting why you were there in the first place. Your hands roamed all over him, frustrated at the inability to be everywhere at once, eventually settling for tangling in his hair. A small cough from the bartender separated you, Spencer holding your bottom lip for a moment too long as he pulled back. It was hard to tell how long the kiss lasted, only that you were so oxygen deprived by the end of it that your head spun. Or that was just a side effect of him. Probably. 

Reality sunk in, and you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Spencer’s eyes again, keeping your focus on his messier-than-usual hair. That you had caused. 

Fuck.

“That was…” His breathless voice was almost too much, like he had just come up for air after being underwater. 

“Nothing, Reid.” If he had been holding his breath, you had been drowning.

“Say it again,” He tilted your head with the hands that were still holding your face like it was made of porcelain, forcing you to meet his gaze. Dark eyes bore into your own as you let go of his hair, hands falling numbly to your sides, “my name.”

“We’re at work.” 

Although the reminder had been intended for him, saying the words prompted you to direct your focus back to the case. You glanced subtly in the direction of the unsub, hoping to find him fixated on your display, only to discover that he wasn’t there. Panic rose in your chest at the thought your momentary distraction had allowed him to get away, follow some other couple out. If new victims popped up the next day it would be your fault.

And then you saw him, significantly closer with his eyes locked on you both, and you were sure that you had never been so relieved to be the target of a serial killer. Unfortunately, he wasn’t caught yet, and it was still up to you and Spencer to lure him out of there. Which meant more touching, more talking, more him. 

“Baby, let’s get out of here.” You made sure to speak loud enough for the unsub to hear, and gave the bartender a look of annoyance, as if he was being an imposition by asking you to not rip the clothes off of each other in public. You might have felt a bit guilty if lives weren’t at stake.

Spencer nodded, keeping his hands firmly on your waist even after he had helped you get down from his lap. He leant down to press another kiss to your lips, and you forced yourself to keep your head on straight, giggling as he pulled back, chasing his lips playfully. Up on your tiptoes, you kissed his jaw lightly. The whole walk out of the club was spent all over each other, like you couldn’t get enough, one of you was always touching the other.

As you meandered onto the street, you spotted a statue of a little cherub angel, saying something cheesy and romantic. Spencer leaned down, breath hot on your ear as he whispered in an exaggerated sensual tone, “Don’t even blink. Blink and you’re dead. They’re fast, faster than you could believe.”

That time, you couldn’t tell yourself the laugh that fell from your lips wasn’t real, it was so Spencer to make a joke about Doctor Who while you were actively being stalked by a serial killer. You took advantage of his proximity to pull him into another kiss, stumbling into the alley where the ambush was to take place. He pushed you against the wall, peppering your face and neck with kisses, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. You heard a shuffle in the alley, the cock of a gun, and the rest was a blur as the two of you were knocked to the ground, just as a gunshot rang out.

.*☆¸•

When everything was over, when the unsub had been apprehended and the team was back at the local police station, you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. Not that the unsub had been caught, of course, but at the fact that was most definitely the last time you would get to touch Spencer like that.

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the door of your hotel room at two in the morning, about an hour after you had made it back from the police station.

“What are you doing here.” It wasn’t a question, it was a polite way of telling him to go away before you did something stupid, like slap him. Or kiss him. Or both.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair as he stepped forwards, the fire with which he looked at you bordering on a glare. Every second he spent in the room with you was clouding your thoughts, at least the sensible ones that were reminding you of every reason why you shouldn’t just drag him over to the ran through hotel bed.

“Get out.”

“Tell me that it wasn’t real.” In a few short steps he was standing right before you—fuck, his legs were long, which shouldn’t have been as hot as it was—with those brown eyes staring into your soul.

“You know I can’t.” You wished you had more control over what you said, and you wished that he had more self restraint when it came to his actions.

Neither of you did, however, and you had always been weak when it came to him, too weak to care when he leant down and pressed his lips to yours. It wasn’t soft, it was restrained, as if it was taking everything in him to hold back. You didn’t want him to hold back, even if it was out of respect for you, impatience was your vice. Grabbing the collar of his stupidly sexy sleep shirt, you pulled him in deeper, hoping the sensation of his tongue could lick away the bitter taste in your mouth. 

This time, when you separated, he was the one to pull back, his breathing heavy and a feral glint in his eyes that were otherwise filled with sorrow.

“I’m sorry.” Neither of you needed to clarify what he was referring to, and neither of you wanted to. The few months after he was released from prison were Hell for both of you, for entirely different reasons.

“I don’t care about that, we’re okay.” It was only half a lie, murmured against his neck as you pressed desperate, sloppy kisses to his skin. Of course you cared, but that care was being swiftly overridden by much more single-minded feelings. You weren’t okay, but maybe you could be.

He looked right through you in that way only Spencer Reid ever could, and he knew just as well as you did that you were lying. You both needed to talk, and you would, at least that’s what you told yourselves. 

Not that night, though.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast + a little dedicatory tag for @darkmatilda ty for being like the entire reason I finished this

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Hiii I think it would be soooo adorable if you could write a waitress reader x Logan where he's only soft with her and protective and the story is like tooth rotting fluff ❤️❤️❤️

I absolutely loved this request and it helped get me out of my writing block! I have been sick so it isn't proof read but I hope you still like it <3 request are open and so is my messages if anyone just needs to talk

He's your regular. Not the restaurants. Truth be told, he couldn't stand the food that was on the menu, but he bared it and ordered the same thing every time just so he could get a glimpse of you.

The two of you started to talk after the third or fourth time he came in, and he learned a lot about you. Usually, you wouldn't talk to regulars, especially about personal problems, but something about him made it easy to talk and not feel judged. With him coming in so often, it was easy for him to see if something was bothering you, and if something did, he made sure to take care of it.

As soon as you saw him walk in, you made sure to put in his order and grab his black coffee before going to sit him in your section. You were hoping he would come in today if you were being truthful. Earlier, there was a customer that was very flirty, and when he realized it wasn't going where he wanted, he left without paying. He did leave just a wonderful tip though...his number.

You sat Logan's coffee down in front of him and gave him a weak smile. "Your food will be up soon." You said as you started to turn to check on your other tables. His hand quickly grabbed your arm softly to stop you. "Can you add an order of fries to that?" He asked innocently. When you gave him a confused look, he just smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "They sound good...?" You giggled and wrote it on a ticket. "I'll go put that in right now for you."

Soon after, you returned with his order and sat everything down for him. "You need anything else?" You asked, not sounding as upset as you did when he first sat down. He nodded and pushed the plate of fries towards you, "sit down and eat, tell me what happened earlier, bub." You looked around before sighing and sitting down across from him once you noticed there was no one else in your section. "It's really nothing serious, just this customer..." You explained the whole situation, and Logan took note of how you described the man. Took note of his height, his hair color, his built, how he seemed like a cocky businessman. Logan made a promise to himself that he would handle anything that bothered his little waitress, and this was no exception.

Taglist:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0ni0n

@fries11

~~Note~~ happy new year!!! I hope 2025 is a great year for everyone! 2024 was tough for me but you guys really helped me in many ways and helped me find my love for writing again! Thank you to everyone who ever requested anything, I do still have some in my drafts that I'm working on but request are still open! I am starting student teaching soon so it might be slower uploads but I am determined to write as a form of self care this year 🩷

[amourcheol]

agrodolce

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

rivals to lovers! au | fluff | 27.5k words

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

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

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

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

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

back to masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

The two of you scowled at the exact same moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right on target.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what would that ‘different’ be?”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could say the same thing to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Already at each other’s throats?”

You and Seungkwan whirled your heads to the voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“HO HO HO!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, so step on it!”

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

“And what about the world?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. You did not waste any time.

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

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

A frown marred your lips. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly! So we’re following him.”

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

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

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

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

“I haven’t gotten any interview nerves.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have no idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She then parted her mouth, making your heart stop. 

“Seungkwan!” 

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

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

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

What you did next was completely out of your control. 

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

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

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

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

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

Seungkwan was going to eat you alive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.”

“Oh, was it? Go anywhere?”

Shit. “Shopping.”

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

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

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

I bet it was, prick. “Is that so?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” You shot him a look. “So?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you did, and that scared you. 

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

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

Your breath shuddered. “Seungkwan?”

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That had you shutting up immediately. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though you wish he had at least made one comment. 

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

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

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath.

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

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

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

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

Sometimes you forgot that Boo Seungkwan was a born chef. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You watched him raise the spoon, assuming he would take a bite. He then paused, flitting his gaze to you. 

He then changed direction, swinging the spoon ever so slightly—offering it to you. “Go on.”

You looked at it as if you had never seen a spoon before in your life. “You take a bite first,” he clarified. “I need to stamp out this anti-cinnamon agenda once and for all.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you challenged. Taking the spoon from him, avoiding his fingers, you observed the spongy portion before bringing the cutlery’s bowl to your mouth.

The moment the Bonet touched your tongue, it was chocolate heaven—chocolate bliss of the highest order, the cacao flavour merging along with the rum, sparking your senses to life. The most surprising factor was the dreaded cinnamon, spreading its infectious, sugary goodness along your taste buds. It was a small bite, but the chef had packed the sweet universe into a few millilitres, showing you a world where a life could be good and beautiful without any semblance of bitterness. 

Seungkwan watched your reaction, his smug smirk widening. Bringing the spoon out, you could not help the hum that escaped you, and it made him bite his lip, restraining his chuckles. “See?” 

Even still, you attempted to crush his spirits. “I hate it?” you offered, not even convincing yourself. 

The leash on him snapped, huffing out a round of laughter that had you setting the cutlery down. “I suppose you’ll not want another bite, then,” he said.

“Nope,” you lied. You found a clean spoon on the table, offering it to him. “You finish it off.”

The new offering was rejected. “Just give me yours.”

“But I used it.” A tilt of your head. “That doesn’t bother you?”

He jutted out his lip, shaking his head slightly. “Just more dishes to clean. A waste, no?” He gestured with his hand to beckon the old one back. “Pass the other one over.”

“Oh-kay,” you dragged out, handing over the original. With that, he scooped a bite from the Bonet, this time incorporating the little amaretti alongside. 

Your focus trained on him, you watched as he brought the bite to his mouth, his lips closing over the spoon. His reaction was more subdued—unsurprising since it was your first time trying his variation, but nonetheless satisfied as he hummed, closing his eyes. Your eyes took in the sight of him sliding out the spoon from his mouth, his tongue gliding over the silver to lap up the remnants of the chocolate, stubborn to remain. Your cheeks burned at the sight, almost as if you should not be watching. The moment he bit into the amaretti, the crunch against his teeth had you hitching in a breath, as if his mouth, his teeth, had grazed over your mouth, sunken into your skin. 

You blinked back. 

Seungkwan, who had finally opened his eyes, the sensations now subsided, caught your dazed out countenance. He knitted his brows. 

God, you were losing your mind. “Your slobbering was horrendous,” you mocked instead. 

He only shrugged, setting the spoon back on the table. “I don’t waste a thing,” he said, licking his lips—wiping any remnants of chocolate left.

You watched that too—his tongue, which now slid back into his mouth. Another rush of blinking, a sharp sigh, and you caught the ghost of a smile on him. “You should focus on the orders.”

Bastard. “Y-you focus on yours! Instead of wolfing them down!” you exclaimed pathetically. You shot up from where you leaned at the countertop, focusing on the three rounds of Tiramisus ordered. 

Hearing his chuckling behind you had you souring further, face akin to a bonfire, but your mood was soon distracted from the last-hour rush of orders. With Junhui helping the two of you, the round of desserts being created were more effortless, plates of every kind of pudding, gelatos and cakes and pastries leaving your kitchens. The final thirty minutes were more subdued, potential customers understanding that this was no longer the place to dine, and must find sustenance elsewhere. 

Once the time was out for the restaurant’s closure for the day, you thought to close up, already commencing to help the apprentice tidy away the remaining ingredients. Then Jeonghan entered the station, a new, clean apron wrapped around his out-of-work attire. He was set on Seungkwan, pointing towards him. “You,” he began, beckoning him over. “You got a special guest.” 

You narrowed your sight on the man, but his face instantly lit up. That only added to your confusion. Special guest? “Tell her to sit at the reserved table,” he only said, washing his hands off the flour and butter. “I’ll be right over.” 

Watching him rush his usual clean ups, even leaving out a few objects for dessert preparation, you walked up to him, hands on your hips. “Who’s this special guest?” you inquired, his back to you. 

Looking over his shoulder, he shook off the excess water from his hands. “You’ve seen her before.” 

“Huh?” you could only get out, but a moment of thinking had you sucking in a breath. “Wait, you brought your date here?!”

A scoff escaped him, shaking his head. “It’s about time you see the woman who’s bothering you so much.”

“What?!” You glanced at the long, open window of the restaurant layout, where you could spy the seating. “I can’t do that! You’re making this much weirder than it needs to be.” 

“Well, why not?” He stepped past you, grabbing hold of a tea towel. “And remind me, who stalked me for this very information?”

“That was—!” You attempted, but then quietened, realising you could not win that argument. “Piss off.” 

He huffed out a laugh at your response, jerking his head towards the entrance to the main hall. “Come on,” he merely said, walking towards the door. “You can weasel your way out of it to her.”

You wanted nothing more than to lock yourself away from this entire situation—Seungkwan was exploiting his position to use the restaurant as his date-place, and you had managed to trap yourself into this precarious position. 

Despite that, you let your curiosity get to you—yes, it killed the cat, but you were different. Better than that stupid creature. 

Hesitantly, you followed behind as he left the kitchens, weaving his way around the dozens of tables. You caught sight of the mysterious woman, her back to you, but it was not her voice that greeted you first.

Two voices yelped out instead at seeing Seungkwan—voices which were shrilled, higher-pitched, as if they belonged to children. 

You stopped walking as the surprises revealed themselves. 

“Uncle Seungkwan!” 

Two young children—a boy and girl, no more than 11 years old—came running towards your colleague at full speed, nearly bumping against the furniture without a care in the world. You did not see his face, but he must have been smiling, because a delighted oh! escaped him, and his arms were out. He barely had time to raise them before the two kids collided against him, making him stumble back, balance shaky, and you instinctively took a step back, in case he bumped into you. Everyone was laughing in that strong hold, the man’s arms wrapped tightly around them, and your eyes softened without realising.

This was a different Seungkwan. A Seungkwan you had not witnessed—perhaps not been allowed to witness, possibly by your own accord. 

So engrossed by the heartwarming sight, you did not realise the initial woman you planned to see had gotten up from her seat, walking over to the group. “All of you hugging as if you didn’t meet two days ago,” she remarked, a hand on a nearby chair. 

“Don’t get mad because they like me more,” he crowed, glancing at her before ruffling the children’s hair. “Isn’t that right, kids?” 

“Yes!” they both exclaimed in agreement, causing the woman to shake her head. 

She then noticed you behind him, perking her head up. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she stepped past the group, a glance at him. “I didn’t realise you were there.”

That had you scratching the back of your neck—perhaps curiosity made points killing the cat, cause you felt the great urge to die on the spot. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m—” you cleared your throat, a slight suspicion about this whole situation rising in the crevices of your mind. 

Seungkwan chipped in for you, realising your mouth was not working. “This is _____. The partner,” he clarified, and you paused at seeing a knowing look on the woman’s face. “And this….”

He then looked at you. “This is Jinsoul. My sister.” 

Oh. Good. God. 

His introductions extended to the two children. “My very real niece and nephew, Sohyun and Sojung.” 

Your mouth parted at the comment, completely abashed. You were not given more time to ponder on his audacity, because his sister—God, his fucking sister, all this time— held her hand out, immediately greeting you with a smile. “It’s so good to meet you!” A glance at him. “I feel like I know you already.”

“Is that so?” you chuckled out, nerves now rising. 

“Of course!” She let go of your hand after a hearty shake. “Seungkwan talks about you all the time.”

The said-man gaped at her, instantly souring at the reveal before chiding, “Your antics have reached my family’s ears, yes.”

You would have glared at him if you were not still humiliated. “Then I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you admitted.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” She leaned on the chair. “I just assumed it was Seungkwan’s fault.”

The apparent culprit huffed. “If you wanna side with her so badly, she can make your free dinner.”

But the woman only shrugged, leading her children over to you. “Alright then. Nobody wanted your ass cinnamon rolls anyway.” 

“Hey!” Seungkwan twisted his lips into a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

With their mother’s encouragement, the children waved their hands in introduction. “Nice to meet you!” the two chirped in almost-unison, the boy who said it a second too late looking away in embarrassment. You could not help waving back, smiling at them. 

Once done with that, she finally answered him. “I am, actually—” a glance down at her watch, inhaling through her teeth— “And am running late, shit.”

“And you said we couldn’t use that word,” the boy—Sojung—grumbled, fixing his beanie. 

“Well I’m a mother in a hurry, sweetie,” Jinsoul reasoned. She faced her brother. “We’ll try coming here, but if we run a little late, then you come ‘round, alright?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he only said, giving her a quick side-hug before waving her off with a flick of his hand. “Now go away.” 

“Alright, damn.” Pressing a kiss to her children’s cheeks, she offered you a beautiful smile—a striking similarity to her brother’s. “If these kids are being a bother, this big ass one included—” a shove towards him— “You let me know.”

You could not help it, returning her mirth. “I’ll steal his phone and call you.”

Her smile was positively mischievous. “I like you already.” 

With that, she bid her goodbyes one more time, you stunned from her little declaration—her words, and why that had your heart swelling. With Jinsoul leaving, you tried to focus back on the niece and nephew, who were not Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s running joke, but real and alive and in front of you. 

The former, who was watching your shock, snapped you out of it as he focused on the youngest. “Right, you two,” he began, pointing towards their seats, ”Tell me what you want.”

“What’re you making us this time?” Sojung asked, instantly settling himself down, already giddy at the prospect of food. 

“Don’t listen to Mum!” Sohyun chimed in, following after her brother, sitting on one knee as the other leg dangled over the seat. “We’ll have the cinnamon rolls.” 

“Seungkwan’s family and their cinnamon,” you murmured.

The family you mentioned, however, had razor-sharp hearing, and three heads turned to you. “What’s wrong with cinnamon?” the girl asked, 

“Don’t you worry about _____, here, sweetie,” the eldest mock-consoled, “She doesn’t like to have anything sweet.” 

“That’s not true,” you immediately said, but the kids caught onto their uncle’s words quicker than yours, and their shock had you almost embarrassed.

“No way!”

“How do you live your life?”

“Uncle Seungkwan, why didn’t you change her mind?” 

Their incessant questions only had you chuckling nervously—you were sure sweat was breaking out, and that only worsened when the man beside you thoroughly enjoyed you squirming. “Your uncle is exaggerating,” you could only offer them, but you could tell they were not satisfied with your answer.

“Leave it to me,” he only said, winking at the children, “I’ll sort her out soon enough.”

That had you looking at him unconvinced. “You’ve failed for the past year, so I don’t know what’s changing.”

The children began oooooh-ing at what they believed was an insanely sick burn towards their uncle, who scoffed in response. “You’ll find out,” he merely said, then turned his attention to those fanning the flames. “And what happened to backing me up unconditionally?” 

“We’ll support you when you give us some food,” Sojung reasoned, which had you chuckling. Negotiating for a luxury treat? You had to respect them. 

“Alright, alright,” Seungkwan conceded, about to turn on his heel. “You lot stay here, and I’ll whip something up.”

As you watched him begin to leave, you narrowed your eyes at the workspace, separated by the windowless-frame. You focused on the children, an idea hatching. “Hey, you guys wanna come inside?”

Perking up at you, their eyes danced at the prospect. “Could we actually?” Sohyun asked, darting her head between you and the man beside. “Wait, are we even allowed?”

Seungkwan pondered over it, as if genuinely thinking over the restrictions. “So what?” you said, smiling at them. “We’ll make it allowed.”

Your answer was all the children needed, excitement almost reverberating off them. You ushered them out of their seats, pointing them towards the kitchen entrance, and they dashed off before you could offer any general warnings, fighting to contain your smile. 

As Seungkwan watched, following after his niece and nephew, he took a cautionary glimpse at you. “If they break any health code violations, then you’re taking the sack.”

Walking right beside him, you opened the door to the station. “I’ll just say they’re your responsibility, and Jeonghan will finally have an excuse to fire you.”

But he was snickering softly at the claim, close at your heels as he stepped inside. It could have been the lowering of his voice, the slight octave down—perhaps the proximity again, which might have been purposeful on his part. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he muttered, and you had to blame the chill from the open windows for the shivers down your neck. 

By the time you both entered, Sojung and Sohyun were already exploring the premises, marvelling at the professional equipment, the grandeur of the stainless steel. It was as if the stations were a long, forgotten historical site, and the children were archaeologists, brushes at the ready to inspect, marvelling at anything they had not seen before. The half-eaten Bonet latched onto their fancies, and they would have eaten the dessert with their bare hands had Seungkwan not tutted, pointing at the clean spoons on the countertop.

“I was expecting the kitchen to be really messy,” Sohyun commented, eyes straying from the pudding to observe the surroundings once more. “Wouldn’t it get so busy in here?”

“Super busy,” you admitted, “Especially during this time. Mind you, sometimes there’s no room around here, there’s so much ingredients to take care of.”

As he tried to find said-plethora-of-ingredients, Sojung said, “I bet you could have such a good food fight in here.” He glanced at the Bonet, and then at his sister. 

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, raising her cutlery as a legendary weapon. 

But you did not fixate on their conversation to the end, because the mention of the food fight had you glancing at the man who you had actually thrown food at. It was not as if it was that long ago—hell, Seungkwan would have only just rid himself off the mascarpone from his hair. 

You even remembered how it all began—the fateful incident which brought down Jeonghan’s wrath, and ultimately this dreaded assignment. It was like any other prep day for the restaurant, Mingyu helping alongside you two as you prepared the ingredients on the countertops, finalising the desserts which were to be offered that night. It had to be stressed—it was a completely normal day. 

Except Seungkwan had already sparked your irritation alive from the initial disagreements on the flavour variations of the Cassata Siciliana—a layered cake of sheep ricotta cheese, chocolate, candied fruit, all topped with marzipan. The blends of the cheese usually worked wonders, but the idiot suggested substituting the traditional ricotta for mascarpone, apparently enriching the dessert to its fullest extent. You knew his scheming was simply to have a sweeter grand dessert on the menu, but you refused to fall for his antics. You instantly rejected his attempts, and that only fuelled his anger, insisting that the specialised cream be used for the Cassata or he would refuse to add your additions. 

You did not know whether it was that warning, or the notion that he had no power to even say such a warning. Whatever the motivation, it was enough for you to ask him a simple question, hands straying to the ingredients. 

“You wanna know where mascarpone cream would look best?” 

Forever the fool, he asked, hoping his condescending nature would rile you up. 

And because you were a greater fool than he was, you only scooped the cream and flung it on his face, he yelping as it stuck to the perfect curls of his brown hair. Reeling back from the mess, he touched the remnants on his cheeks, his locks, gaping at it until he set his stare on you. 

It was then the chaos began. The pandemonium that followed, food flying everywhere in places you never thought it would reach, a pitiful waste of ingredients and emotions as the rest of the crew scrambled to mediate between the two of you. Even Jeonghan had difficulty at first, but one guttural roar had everyone pausing. Everything afterwards was history. 

Looking at him now, though, imagining the chaos of it all…it brought a strange fluttering within your chest. You did not think there was anyone else you could have thrown food at. 

With the way he returned your gaze, his usual sharp glower softened as the memory flashed within his own eyes. He could not help himself, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards the more he delved into it, the verbal lashings the two of you received afterwards.

It was there, in the kitchens, with the children stealing glances at the stillness of their guardians, the faint scent of cinnamon still in the air, that you smiled at Seungkwan without an ounce of ridicule laced in it.

His eyes widened. His slight surprise had you smiling a little wider, but before he could say anything, he was duly interrupted. “Uncle Seungkwan, when are we getting any food?” 

Sojung joined in. “Stop staring at Miss _____ here!” 

The accused immediately composed himself. “Jinsoul really needs to discipline you both…”

Fidgeting with your rolled-up sleeves, you resorted to helping your partner. “Right, you two,” you asserted, clapping your hands together, “What do you want?” 

Sohyun dug the toe of her boot further into the floor, all sheepish. “We were hoping Uncle Seungkwan would make us the usual.”

“The usual?” A side-glance at him. “Anything special?”

“I didn’t think so,” he admitted, a finger at his chin as he thought about his ingredients’ whereabouts. “They can’t have enough of it, though.” After another moment, he turned to the direction of the pantry. “Hey, there’s still vanilla gelato leftover right?”

Once you nodded, he was off, heading towards the other entrance, promising to back within minutes. With the common man gone, you looked at the two children, whose curiosities still seemed unsatiated. 

You decided to question them first. “What’s your uncle making you?”

The boy answered before his sister even opened her mouth. “It’s so good! It’s what Uncle Seungkwan makes us every time we come here.” 

“All I know is that Sojung always makes Uncle Seungkwan add more ice cream than mine.”

“Now you’re just lying!” he rebuked, aching to push her off the countertop. “She always gets more biscuits in hers, so she can’t complain!”

You chuckled at their antics, speaking over them to settle their bickering. “Biscuits and ice cream is it?” 

“No, no, it’s like…” the girl imitated with her hands, describing the shape of an odd-looking mug. “You put ice cream first, then hot chocolate, and then Uncle Seungkwan adds more stuff I can’t remember.”

“It’s amazing,” Sojung promised, his face serious and persuasive, as if he was a politician promising a controversial policy. 

Impressed by his words, you, the hesitant voter, decided to believe him. “You’ve convinced me, little man.” You glanced over your shoulder—at the other entrance—before focusing on the boy, whispering, “Your Uncle Seungkwan does make a killer dessert.”

“Why’re you saying it like that?” Sohyun asked, matching your hushed tone. “Do you not like him?”

You contemplated the question. It was simple enough—they were not expecting a Tolstoy-saga timeline of your unstable partnership with their uncle. A couple of weeks ago, the answer would have been easier.

Situations, however, had changed—shifted indefinitely, throwing your viewpoint off its axis. You both were rivalling teams, always rooting for each other’s downfall, and now you both played for the same side, and it was…you did not know. Well, you did know, were very aware of how it felt, but it was something you could not voice out loud—not even to yourself.

So you merely said, “He’s alright…your Uncle Seungkwan,” and hoped to anything that resided above that it was enough.

It seemed so—then, Sojung, forever curious, thought to be more personal than his sister. “If you don’t like him, then who do you like?”

You were astounded by how nosy children were, but realised they were related to Seungkwan. Checks out. “I’m afraid I’m too busy working to have workplace crushes.”

As you made your declaration, you heard the man on a mission return, door swinging open with his foot as he held the ingredients. Walking over to the counter, he dumped the contents, you observing what he brought: a box of fresh vanilla gelato, 4-pint carton of semi-skimmed milk, and a few small pots, labelled as almonds, hazelnuts, amarettis. 

“Is she telling the truth?” Sojung asked his uncle, you gasping at the notion. Since when did children require witness confirmation for your half-lies?

Seungkwan snorted as he brought out a pot from the side of the hob, setting the base upon the bottom right stove, sparking the flames to life. Without even looking back, he grabbed the milk carton, unscrewing the cap. “She’s lying to you guys,” he confirmed, pouring the contents inside. He set the half-empty container beside him, sparing you a mischievous glance. “She’s too busy arguing with me.”

“Hey!” The children began to laugh. “I only argue with him when he’s provoking me.”

Snickering knowingly, he walked to the metal cupboards settled in the corner, opening them up to procure three elongated glasses, small, circular handles on their sides, narrowing at the bottom. Setting them before his esteemed customers, he replied, “I’ll have you know, _____, you’re the one who starts most of our arguments.”

“Since when?” 

Usually, his stare would have been incredulous, unamused. This time, though, his eyes were dancing. “Did you know, kids,” he began, voice deepening as if regaling a fantasy tale, grabbing the tub of luxury hot chocolate powder, “That _____ and I had a real food fight here?”

“No way!” Sohyun gasped. “Did you guys get in trouble?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, sighing through his teeth as he poured two heaped teaspoons within each glass. “Our punishment was to work on a dessert together.”

“Uncle Jeonghan has a weird way of punishing someone,” the girl commented. 

“You’re telling me,” you muttered, Seungkwan also murmuring in agreement as he started the kettle, the water heating at lightning-speed and ready before you realised. Picking up the kettle from its base, he poured a little into each cup, mixing the powder within the water to rid himself of the textured cocoa forming. “Hot chocolate?” you inquired, watching his every movement—his setting the kettle back, all the while grabbing the milk off the stove, pouring three-quarters full of every glass, stirring simultaneously whilst he drained the pot off its boiling contents. 

This was second nature to him—he did not answer, engrossed in his work, because this was him in his element. He was a born creator, thriving in the atmosphere of nourishment. The scent of hot cocoa and vanilla, amplified when his nephew cracked open the container, delighted your senses, mouth watering at the notion of trying this beverage. 

The girl beside you responded for him as he set the empty pot to the side. “It’s more than hot chocolate,” she said, as she grabbed hold of a spoon, hoping to take a bite but stopped when her uncle shot her a disapproving look. “Please, just one bite!” 

“You and your brother won’t leave us with any when you’re done,” he scolded, holding out his hand. Caught red-handed, she begrudgingly gave him the spoon, which he put away, instead bringing out an ice cream scoop. Checking the open container, he brought the scoop down, the soft gelato curling luxuriously within the curve of the metal. He was generous with his serving, the gelato fighting to stay on the scoop as he dropped the first into the hot chocolate closest to him, quite low to avoid any chocolate spillage. He added another to the glass before repeating it several times for the other two cups, giving in to the children’s request for more in their serving. 

You realised the product was finished when, before Seungkwan could declare it himself, the kids yanked their cups further away from him, excitement radiating off their features. “Thank you, thank you!” they both chirped in harmony, instantly sipping on the hot chocolate and groaning in approval. 

The esteemed chef took hold of your glass by the handle, walking over to where you leaned forward at the counter. Straightening yourself, you judged the final product, him leaning back before it. “Voila,” he said, “Or whatever you call it in Italian.”

“It’s the same, actually.” You pulled the cup closer, admiring the chocolate-to-milk gradient, the vanilla ice cream slowly melting within the glass. “Not bad.”

He ticked his head to the side, furrowing his brows. “Um, I think you meant to say it looks exquisite.”

“What even is it?” You turned the glass around. 

Seungkwan watched you inspect the contents. “It’s, uh…it’s a drink I’ve always made for them, back in my apprentice days.” He brought a hand to his torso, smoothing down his apron. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it, but I changed it a little…made it more kid-friendly.”

“Kid-friendly?” A glance at him. “What the hell was the original drink?” 

He scoffed out a chuckle. “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. The original beverage had liquid espresso, and I thought it’d be too bitter for them.”

“That’s fair.” Taking a spoon from the pile of cutlery, you began stirring the ice cream, melting it within the milky hot chocolate. Taking a sip, you slipped the spoon in your mouth and hummed. “Oh…woah.”

“Use your words, _____,” he merely said, earning a second-glare from you. You could not retain it though, instantly digging in.

“This is nice, actually,” you had to admit. Seeing the man try to bask in your half-assed compliment had you adding on, “But I will say, I would have liked the espresso. I know what you mean about the kid-friendliness of it all.”

“I can make it if you want.” He glanced at the equipment—the barista-standard machines, more portable coffee-machines, the like. “There’s a french press thrown in the cupboard somewhere.”

You looked at him, slightly disbelieving. “You just made me this.”

“So?” He shrugged, twisting his lips to the side. “It won’t be hard.” He took a step back, watching over the children. “You two want a snack or something?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Sohyun demanded, sipping the last of the drink. 

“I wonder where they got their attitude from,” he grumbled, grabbing their empty glasses and bringing them to the sink. 

You could not help your snort, scooping out half-melted ice cream. “I’m looking right at him.”

“I hope the hell you’re not looking at me right now,” was his warning, turning on the faucet and letting the hot water fill the dirtied glasses. 

He made sure you were not, but you were never one to follow orders. You watched him as he brought out a french press from the cupboards beside the machines. “This won’t make the best espresso, but I can’t be arsed to fire up the machines right now.”

“Wow, such high-class customer service!” you shrilled, slowly walking over to the fridges on the opposite side and opening the door, finding the airtight Bombe Calde doughnuts sitting daintily inside. Deciding to take all eight displayed, you closed the fridge, setting them before the table. 

The children jumped on the treats at once, Seungkwan tutting at their sheer gluttony. “You’re gonna get sick, and then your mum is gonna beat me up.”

“Noshewomt,” was the boy’s coherent answer, mouth too occupied with the chocolate doughnut to bother clarifying.  

Turning the kettle on once more, the man obtained the finely-ground coffee beans, adding a couple teaspoons within the french press and waiting for the water to boil. “Pass me one, will you?” he asked, and you decided to comply, taking one from the plate—noticing half of them have been wiped out—and holding it out to him. 

He held out his hand, fingers brushing against yours as he accepted the treat, your own hand still in the air between as he brought it to his mouth, taking a bite. You did not realise your fingers were still holding out the outline of the dessert until the switch on the kettle ticked off, snapping you out of your daze. Curling them into your palm, you set your hand to the side, sighing sharply. “You don’t have to make this.”

Luring the jug to the open press, he poured the water, the fine coffee instantly darkening the liquid. “You don’t want it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, watching him as he took the plunger, pressing the lid shut upon its glass and began pumping the water and coffee together. He was quick, up and down and repeating the gesture, creating a more bitter colour. “It’s not that…”

Finishing, he chose to not to respond then, only taking a new glass from the cupboard in front of him. “Sohyun, the gelato.”

His niece obliging, he deposited two scoops of the ice cream, one after the other. Then, assuming this was the final touch, he poured the espresso inside, assuring that the ice cream was drenched in the bitter flavour, until the french press was drained. 

Perhaps your partner was correct—the bitterness of the drink, even the mere scent of coffee in your nostrils had you exhaling in satisfaction. Seungkwan caught it, smiling a little in reaction. 

It was then he chose to respond. “I wanted to make it for you.”

“Oh.” You chose to admire the dessert-beverage he made—for you only, you thought. “Does it have a name?”

A nod. “It does.” You could feel his eyes on you. His fingers grazed the glass’ base, curling—close to where your own fingers wandered, nail scratching against the curves of the cup. “It’s called an affogato.”

You looked at him. “An affogato? I’ve had a few of these before.” Taking your spoon, you cut through the gelato, making sure you scooped enough of the espresso. Once you dared a taste, you instantly hummed, the bittersweet mixture of the ice cream and the coffee enlivening your taste buds. “Oh, Christ, this is the one.”

“I knew you would enjoy the original recipe,” Seungkwan remarked, watching you lap away at the dessert. “I will say, though, the french press doesn’t do the espresso justice.” 

“Yeah, you use the proper machines for it, right?” Another bite taken. “This is insane, though.” 

“You think so?” When you nodded, he dipped his head, acknowledging your approval. He blew air from his mouth, a deep sigh which had you tilting your head. “I used to make it a lot, back in the day.” 

“Your apprentice days?” you parrotted, just as he did earlier. 

He only squinted his eyes, an effort to keep your teasing in check, but found himself chuckling. “Yeah, back in Jeju. My dad loved to make them…he, like, would always add different flavoured ice creams in the espresso, maybe add hot chocolate if I wasn’t feeling too good with coffee…”

“Your dad made you these?” You sipped on the drink, careful of the ice cream. “That’s really sweet.”

“I know.” Taking a bite out of the bambe calde, he continued, “Yeah, he’s really supportive. My mum, too, but it took some time for her to accept that I wasn’t gonna be a doctor.”

“You’re better off for sure,” you remarked, stirring the contents. “Imagine your ass trying to do surgery on someone…you’d get the hospital sued.”

“First of all, fuck you,” he started, but quickly stopped when his niece and nephew gasped at the curse. “Sorry, sorry! I promise she doesn’t mind.”

“Don’t say sorry to us, too, say it to _____!” Sojung ordered.

“You’re being mean, Uncle Seungkwan,” Sohyun huffed next.

“Yeah, Uncle Seungkwan,” you chimed in, earning a berating glower from him. “You’re being rude.” 

“Well I’m so sorry, _____,” the man chirped, and you had to keep drinking to stop yourself from laughing. “Now, you two, get back to stuffing your faces.” 

As the kids happily obliged, you released a satisfied exhale as you finished off the espresso, half-melted ice cream left in the glass. “I still mean it. You would have been worse off as a doctor.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. I’ll kill off my patients because I wouldn’t know the difference between a scalpel and a butter knife.” 

“No, not like that.” You turned to him. “Seungkwan, you were meant to create desserts.”

He looked at you then, not quite believing his ears. “Do you really believe that?” 

“Of course.” Your eyes flickered to the remnants of the affogato. “There’s a reason Jeonghan kept you…hell, there’s a reason I still haven’t managed to get rid of you.”

There was a pause, felt enough that you snuck a quick glance as you watched over the conversing children. 

“Do you want to?” he asked. Your gaze stuck, and he furrowed his brows, clarifying, “Get rid of me, still?”

He looked at you, and you found yourself a little lost in his eyes. There was one certainty you could rely on, and that was his gaze—whatever he felt, he always exposed it, whether he wanted to or not.

Tonight was different. Tonight, with the children nearby, you still stirring the melted gelato, you could not comprehend them. What his eyes offered this time was tenderness—a certain warmth you had never been offered by him since…since ever. Since as long as you had known him. 

So you held up the cup, finishing the rest of the dessert—the dessert he had made with his own hands.

You decided to say something else instead of answering his question—something better. “I think we’ve found our dessert, Seungkwan.”

The man’s warmth morphed with confusion. “The affogato,” you said, holding out the glass. “We should make it for our Christmas menu.” His stance had you carrying on, setting the cup to the side as you focused on him. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. You said it yourself, you can make this with various flavours right?” His nod had you continuing, “And obviously, we’ve seen that you can change around the drink bit, too.”

“Hmm…” That had him thinking, and you could see it, the cogs within his head turning at rapid speed. “Wait, you know what…my dad also added liqueurs in the drink, which gave a little fire to the dessert. I liked it a lot, but obviously you can’t give hard alcohol to kids, so…”

“Very responsible,” you deemed it. “And it’s so easy to make! I mean, you whipped it up within minutes for me.” 

He was straightened up now, watching you intently as you thought about it further, the entire prospect of it. “It could be quicker, too, you know. The french press takes more time, but if we made it on the machine, then—” He cut himself off, thinking and thinking, walking towards the countertop. “Wait, this could actually work.” 

“What can work, Uncle Seungkwan?” his nephew asked, curiosity prompting his question. 

“Something really special, Sojung,” he replied, scouring the table for his notes, but realising he left them at the changing lockers. “Shit. Shit.”

“Language!” Sohyun chided, but her dear uncle wasn’t really listening, whipping out his phone and typing ferociously.

You did not realise what he was doing until he pressed the phone to his ear, pointing at the kids to wash their hands. “Hello? Yeah, Jinsoul, hi, you guys back from the date?” A pause, as he started a pace, back and forth in the kitchen. “Hmm, yeah, don’t care about all those details, listen—” He turned a sharp corner, finding the words, “Is it alright if I could drop the kids back right now? Something urgent came up.”

As he listened to his sister, his eyes flickered to you. “Yeah…it is. We thought of something perfect.” 

You avoided his gaze then—a cowardly choice, you knew—but, perhaps for the first time, his stare was a little too intense. “Yeah, don’t worry about that, I’ll do it,” he said, “I owe you. For real this time.”

As the man ended the call, the nephew pulled a face. “Do we have to go back already?” he whined, licking the sugar from his fingers. 

“Afraid so, buddy,” was his response, pocketing his phone. “Come on, you two, I gotta take you back to your parents.”

“But what about _____?” Sohyun asked, watching you intently as you began to clear away the dishes. 

“I’ll get going, too,” you replied, cleaning the rest of the dishes, setting them on the side. “Or else my friend will think I’m overworking myself.” 

“Julie?” Seungkwan asked, and you nodded. “How is she doing, by the way?”

Dusting away at your hands, you gave him a look, untying your apron. “How do you know her name?”

“I talked to her when you ran away from me, remember?”

“I didn’t run away,” you muttered, but that did not stop the pompous twist of his mouth, threatening to sour your mood. 

Another ten minutes, and the rest of you were sorted, clothing and other personal items extracted from your locker and donning your coat. You let Seungkwan and the children exit first, making sure all the entrances were locked save for the one you were leaving from.

The chill of the London winter nipped at your face as you left from the backdoor, a slight shiver cluttering your teeth as you locked the premises. You witnessed the man firmly wrapping his huge red scarf around the girl, whispering to the boy at the same time to don his gloves—yes, even if they don’t let him use his phone.

As you walked over to the group, you were about to start when he beat you to it. “I'll drop Sohyun and Sojung off, and then I’ll get to the planning. My dad will be up around this time, so I’ll ask about his preferences.”

“I’ll do some research back home,” you offered. “Jinsoul wasn’t mad, right? I think you disturbed her date.”

“She’ll live,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve got more important things to do, anyway.”

Nodding, you then leaned forward, smiling at the children. “You two should come again.” 

“Oh, we will!” Sojung promised, smirking. “I don’t know why Uncle Seungkwan was hiding you from us.”

The accused ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re running your mouth too much today.”

“He always runs his mouth too much,” Sohyun muttered, causing her brother to stick his tongue out at her. 

Giggling at their antics, you looked to Seungkwan, who sighed slightly as you released another shiver. “You know I need you alive for this dessert report.”

Hugging yourself tightly, you remarked, “Who would have thought Boo Seungkwan wanted me happy and healthy by his side?”

A snort, misting in the cold air. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I said alive. Barely is fine by me, too.”

You shook your head at him, restraining the urge to let your lips quirk upward. “Goodnight, Seungkwan.”

As you swivelled with a last goodbye to his niece and nephew, you left for the underground, not two minutes away. 

Sohyun was the first to break the night silence as you finally turned the corner, away from their sight. “I like her, Uncle Seungkwan,” she declared, walking ahead of the group. 

“Me too,” Sojung agreed, following after his sister in hopes to tread on her boots. “I hope we see her again.”

The man did not listen to their petty arguments which soon replaced their praises of you, holding onto their first confessions. And although he did not voice them out loud, his thoughts were an answer, left unsaid.

You will see her again—whether I want to or not.

THE NEXT WEEK BROUGHT ANOTHER CHANGE WITHIN YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH SEUNGKWAN. 

Mostly because what you and your partner had actually was a relationship now. The intense months, before the Christmas menu was even established, where you and him had argued and screamed the kitchen down had soothed into a kurt understanding of the dessert you were about to create. At last, after months of your victories, your losses to him, the disgruntled progression into stalemates, you two had achieved the unachievable.

You both had decided on a dessert.

Jeonghan could not believe his ears when you first informed him, and immediately booked himself a special Specsaver’s hearing test—you forgot how far he would go for a bit, but at least it was not your time he was wasting. He asked Seungkwan for confirmation, and, sure enough, when the latter agreed, your boss may have experienced shell-shock akin to war veterans. Of course, you wanted to be offended, but you had no right—at the end of the day, Jeonghan had only ever seen violence brewing between you and the dessert chef. Any semblance of toleration was considered a breaking-news event.

The two of you tried not to let Jeonghan’s shock distract you from your planning—Seungkwan received a wealth of information from his father, and learned that the most classic form of the affogato is the one he created for you—the vanilla gelato, and hot espresso poured on top. Although it was delicious, it was deemed too plain for Christmas menu, and opted for more flavours. 

Seungkwan first offered the idea for whipped cream, but you rejected it. “Whipped cream and gelato seems excessive,” you explained, looking over your research notes. “The cream might offset the gelato’s flavour.”

“How do you feel about chocolate shavings? It could work well with smoothing out the bitterness of the espresso.” 

“But the gelato’s doing that,” you countered. “I don’t mind it, but I’d want something stronger for the first choice.” 

“Hmm…” He skimmed his father’s ramblings for a moment, then handed it to you. “This is what Dad used. He’d swap certain things around.”

Reading through, the first thing you noticed was the neat writing—Seungkwan’s, undoubtedly. He had categorised different gelato flavours in one column, espresso or other coffee variations in the second, liqueur choices for the third, and the last, larger column was reserved for toppings. “He certainly has range,” you commented, looking up. “How come you missed learning it?”

“You’re the only one blind to it,” he disputed, crossing his arms. “It’s a wonder you’re not turning down the affogato as we speak.” 

“You never know!” you chirped sarcastically, in hope to keep him on his toes. “Did you try out all these variations?”

“Yep. I was a picky eater.” He exhaled through his nose at your incredulous look, reminiscing. “Shocking, I know. Aside from the alcohol, he tried every single one of those flavours. All of them are approved by child-me, teenage-me, and today-me.” 

“I see,” you said, reverting back to the notes. You had to admit, his father did take liberties with what he deemed Italian for an Italian drink. As you kept reading it over, glancing at the man’s peaceful recollection, you did not think that mattered. 

This was someone’s efforts to keep their child full. This was a father’s testimony of ensuring his son’s happiness. 

You smiled at the notion, offering the pages back to him. “I personally like the biscotti the most out of all these options. If we chop the biscuit finely enough, it’ll have a nice crunch in the dessert. It’ll keep the espresso’s essence as well, while also maintaining the sweetness of the ice cream.”

His slight surprise had you pulling back. “What? Oh, is this your turn to reject me now?”

But then he smiled a little, catching you off guard. “No, the opposite actually. I’m just surprised you chose that one.”

“Why?” You groaned, getting up from your seat. “It’s the worst one, right? Baby-you threw up after having it, I’m sure.”

“No, actually.” He paused. “The biscotti was my favourite topping.”

Oh. “So…you’re good for its almond flavouring?”

He nodded, taking the papers from you. “Yeah, I am…why are you asking?”

“It’s just…I don’t think we’ve ever agreed to a decision so…cordially.” 

Seungkwan scoffed. “Well, obviously we weren’t gonna argue when you agreed with me.”

You instantly checked him on this. “I was the one who suggested it.”

His counter was immediate. “You picked it from my notes.”

A click of your tongue. “Your dad’s, actually.” 

He opened his mouth, eyes narrowing, but then realised you were right, and clamped his lips together. The action within those sudden sequences had you offering him a smirk. “And I thought we were past all this,” he whinged, exasperation clear. 

“Don’t think I’ll let you win so easily,” you warned, widening your shit-eating smile as you walked over to the espresso machines, regarding the fine steel in its all shining glory. 

“I never win easily with you,” he grumbled, stepping beside you. 

“It should be kept that way,” you only said. “Now, how do we work this shit?” 

Seungkwan turned away from you, hiding his bemused smile before clearing his throat and explaining the rules. This was the way you two worked now—a smidge of back and forth bickering, but never truly rising to the surface where you threatened ultimate violence. 

It was strange, you had to admit; never before had you felt a tolerance, even an acceptance of his presence beside you. He would offer assistance of some kind, bring forth new suggestions, and your first instinct was not to cuss out his ancestors for suggesting such gullible ideas. Even the man who worked alongside you would not provoke your rash temper, and day by day you found yourself wondering why, after the entirety of his acquaintance, you had never simply got on with him. 

You did not care to investigate the origins of who was at fault. All that was left, in a sense, was to salvage whatever strange alliance you both had created, and hope that was enough to finish the final dessert. 

The preparations, the testing of the machines continued into the restaurant’s opening, and Jeonghan assisted, as promised during the beginning of the process, in helping with orders, teaching Junhui of the more luxurious, complex desserts during that time. Thankfully, the restaurant was quieter that day, so the Head Chef was relaxed, carefree enough to try provoking you and Seungkwan into a disagreement, but to no avail. 

The trialling carried on well into the night, the only people left in the restaurant being you two and Jeonghan, who was arguing with his accountant loud enough to hear it through the dessert stations. You ignored him, tasting the newly created vanilla gelato, liquid espresso and biscotti pieces sprinkled. Seungkwan brought out the last touch, pouring a half-shot of amaretto liqueur into the long, slender glass. 

And as the two of you tasted the dessert, your spoon first, and then passing it onto him, you realised you may have made something great—perfection can take a while, you both understood it, but what you two created was something bigger than yourselves. Realistically, it was just a beverage, but it was not just a beverage—this was peace, scooped up within the containers of the gelato, an acceptance peeking out within the chopped biscottis. This was—could you say it—respect, poured from his very hands, staining the glass of your relationship with him. 

Even as the two of you shared a look of understanding, finishing the singular affogatto together, you knew circumstances had shifted—something was different. 

Seeing as the boss was stuck with working out his finances, you decided to head out, letting Seungkwan finish with the cleaning up, lest you make a sound and he made you carry out your dishwashing. You made a head start towards your belongings in the other room, taking out your bag and jacket as the man walked to his lockers. Donning your layers, he slid out his satchel, coat and that long-ass scarf, snapping the square door shut. 

“I think we can send the report to Jeonghan any day now,” he said, sliding his arms through the coat holes. 

You began to walk to the back door, watching him follow slowly. “You think so?” 

He caught up, wrapping his scarf around himself—three loops round his neck, almost hiding half his face. Pulling down the fabric with a finger, he settled his chin over the scarf, nodding. “We’ve done almost everything…I mean, there’s a bit of paperwork left, but I’ll write that tonight when I’m at Jinsoul’s.”

“You’re going to your sister’s?” you asked as you grabbed onto the door. “Don’t tell me you’re interrupting the poor couple again.”

“So what if I am?” he demanded. “That’s on them for establishing a relationship between me and their kids.”

“Fair enough.” Opening the door to the outside world, you instantly shivered at the sheer temperature drop from the past few days. London’s winters were unpredictable, but you forgot its cruelty too. The chill of the midnight winter seeped through your too-thin jacket, and you had to stop yourself from shivering out of your bones.

Your teeth would have chattered more had Seungkwan not spoken again. “She was asking about you, by the way.”

“Oh,” you could only say—courtesy of the cold, and the teeth. “She was?” 

“Why’re you so shocked by that?”

A lazy shrug. “I don’t know…I thought you would have talked shit about me.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Now why would you think that?” You returned the gaze, and then he let out an understanding noise. “Oh, yeah…yeah, I did that the other day actually.”

“Hey, now!” You would have nudged his elbow, but were too cold to do so. “I haven’t pissed you off this past fortnight.”

“I know, I know, I just…” he sighed a little, which frosted into the air. “I mean…I’ve mentioned you. In passing.”

“In passing?” You parroted, hugging yourself. A frosted scoff escaped you. “You can’t help being obsessed with me, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, which had you chuckling—the soft laughter was cut off by your teeth once more, chattering to the point of catching his notice. “You knew it was gonna get cold, you idiot.” 

You returned his observations with a glare. “I didn’t actually know that, which is why I’m cold right now…you idiot.”

The condensation from your mouth was enough evidence of the chill—that, and of course, your bated breaths. “Yes, I’m the idiot that’s so nice and warm,” Seungkwan sang, irritating you further. 

When you did not deign to respond to him, the cold weather conquering your meagre layers, nipping at your skin, he stopped the next dig, at the tip of his tongue. He then observed your countenance—the rubbing of the arms, the groans you tried to contain at the discomfort taking over. The man veiled his mouth with the bunched-up scarf, narrowing his eyes. Sighing a little, the heat of his breath curled against the fabric, kissing his face, and the slight warmth that welcomed him did not bring him the comfort he relished mere minutes prior. 

He looked at you, hugging yourself tightly. The moment your eyes flickered to his, remnants of displeasure in your eyes, his own widened slightly.

Shit. His hands grabbed onto the scarf before he realised what he was doing. Shit, shit, shit, was all he could think, as, with hands unwrapping the long piece of clothing from his neck, he seethed a little at the chill that welcomed his exposed skin.

Before you could realise what he was doing, he brought the length of the scarf around you, both his hands holding each of the ends at your sides. “Wh-what are you doing?” you got out, your hands instantly stopping his. “Wait, Seungkwan—”

“Save your bickering,” he cut you off, merely waving your hands away as he wrapped the first loop around you, the scarf still too long on one side. “Talking will only make you colder.”

But you were already opening your mouth, ready to counter him when another loop of the scarf masked half of your face. Your surprise was shown only through your eyes, but he ignored it completely, wrapping the length around one last time. The scarf had almost shrunk you, your head buried in the layers, and Seungkwan had to pause for a second, unable to contain his smile. 

What are you smiling at? you asked, except the scarf had mumbled your speech, and he could not hear a thing. He could understand very clearly the irritation, though, rising in your gaze, and that only broke the seam of his lips, grinning at you. 

“Wait, hold still,” he said, reaching to the top of the neckwear. He leaned in, fingers folding down the fabric, slowly and gently, and you blinked back at the proximity. You had a feeling he had not noticed at first, but then your eyes bore into him, and his fingers slowed. His knuckle brushed against your jaw, and a soft shiver escaped you, finally catching his attention. Only then he stole a glance, realising just how close he was to you. 

His pupils were darting all over your face, as much as he could take in from the closeness. You could not help it either, mouth parting, watching his bated breaths condense upon your face. God, he was close to you, and it was out of the ordinary, unfamiliar territory. If he leaned in any further, his lips would caress yours, solving the problem of this chill. You were not cold though—not anymore, with your cheeks burning every second spent under his scrutiny. 

You should be pulling away—should be taking a step back. He felt the same. Once again, the two of you were in sync; always denying how similar you both thought, but confronted with that fated truth. 

Seungkwan could see it—the truth, reflecting in your gaze. “There,” he whispered, fingers brushing against the scarf. 

The scarf. His scarf. “I can’t have this,” you said, but your voice was barely there. “It’s yours.” 

“I know.” A ghost of his raised brow. “It’s not like I’m giving it to you forever. I will take it back.”

You twisted your mouth. “Way to ruin a moment.” 

He parted his mouth, both brows raising. “Was there a moment to ruin?” 

“No!” you gasped out, craning your head back. You saw his smirk rise, and it was agonising, how your speech stuttered. “No, no, no. No moment here! You’re thinking it all up.” 

“Hmm,” was all he got out, gaze skimming over your face—pausing at your mouth. “If you say so.” 

With one last moment (because yes, there was something, and there was no denying it anymore), he stepped away, admiring the scarf wrapped around you. “Maybe I should let you keep it.”

This time, you had to look away. “You can have it back tomorrow.” Glancing over the time on your phone, you cleared your throat, fidgeting with the fabric. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

He nodded, hands sliding in his pockets. “We’re so close, _____.” 

Choosing to avoid his eyes, you instead focused on the locks of his hair, the lapels of his jacket. It was unavoidable—he was beautiful, and he was smiling. A celebration of the coming victory, so near that you could taste Jeonghan’s approval. 

So you smiled back. “We are, Seungkwan.” 

JEONGHAN TURNED ANOTHER PAGE OF THE FINAL DESSERT REPORT. 

You waited anxiously, one leg folded over the other as your eyes focused intently at the head chef, reading over the analysis. He was silent for the first time in a while, no sarcastic quip over the explanations. No questions were thrown at you, catching you off—all you were tested with was complete quiet, which, in a weirder sense, unnerved you more. 

Your partner was there, too—in the same seat he always claimed on your right, bouncing his leg in anticipation, eyes trained at the same target as yours. He, on the other hand, could not deal with the silence which permeated the office. “I think you’ve read this section for the third time, Chef.” 

But Chef ignored him, choosing to spend another ten minutes staring at the same pages, an effective enough punishment for being bothered. You would have thrown him an irritated glare had you not been so exhausted from the final trials.

The affogato dessert report was finished after another week of testing. 

You and Seungkwan had spent half of the nights within that week at the restaurant, bouncing ideas off each other, finalising the rest of the toppings, the beverage variations. The two of you must have had fifty hours of sleep combined for the past six days, but it was worth the wait. It was worth the restlessness, the countless drafts of writing and rewriting…it reached a full completion at two in the morning, when you and your partner took one look at each other and knew you had done it.

Bothering Jeonghan at that time would have gotten you both fired, so you resorted to running back home for six-odd hours before trudging back to the restaurant. You saw Seungkwan at the entrance, identical eye-bags to yours, his frown a default feature on his sleep-stricken face. Still, the clear fatigue seemed to clear when he caught sight of you, leaving the door open to let you in. 

It was here now, with you two anxiously waiting, that Jeonghan snapped the file shut, the slap of paper against paper jolting you both alert. “I hope that’s woken you up.” 

The man beside you groaned, his leg ceasing the bouncing. “Jesus,” he could only say, because cursing his boss only fast-tracked him to unemployment (not that Jeonghan would have sacked him—in honesty, he was hoping one of them would call him a dickhead and storm out).

“It did,” you answered, trying your hardest to not knife him with your gaze. “Now are you approving the dessert?” 

He observed the front of the report, jutting out his lower lip. “Well, I am impressed with the details…I don’t think any of you have put this much effort into a dessert report in your entire career.” 

“Don’t say that!” You immediately exclaimed. “My granita dessert report last year was top-notch and you agreed with me!” 

“Yeah, but that was last year, so it doesn't exist anymore.” He waved off your counters, continuing, “Anyway, this report is brilliant. I can see how much effort the two of you have put into this process.”

You nodded along to his comments, locking your hands together. There was no denying it, of course—you and Seungkwan had carved out your hearts and mixed the remnants within the affogato. What was appreciated was Jeonghan witnessing it with his own eyes. 

“Before I officially start advertising the final selection, I do need to ask you one thing.” He set the report to the side, setting his chin upon interlocked fingers. “Now I know how you both felt about working together for this project…obviously I didn’t care about your opinions because of the disruptions, but recently, there’s been a peaceful environment at the station.” 

His eyes darted between his dessert chefs. “Should the opportunity arise…would you work together on specific projects again?”

The dreaded silence was back, but it was not the head chef which instigated it this time. 

It took almost every nerve in your system to restrain the muscles in your body, which would instinctively turn your head towards the man beside you. Biting your lip, glancing down at your hands once more, you thought the question over, echoing slowly in your mind.

If you were asked this question a couple of weeks ago, you would have laughed in Jeonghan’s face. You still remembered the evening in this office, when your boss doomed the two of you with the dessert project. You had not forgotten the snide comments, the back-and-forth bickering, even the fated confrontations—the night with the burnt caramel which had your entire viewpoint spinning on its surface.

What you did not comprehend was the change; the slow shift in every interaction, the anticipation of his family’s interactions, wondering whether his sister had asked for you again. That was the jackpot moment, you thought. At the end of the day, Seungkwan had not changed—you simply bothered to know him.  

And whatever you had learned, you did not despise. 

You chose not to admit any of this to the group. Instead, you remained in your silence, waiting for any of the men to shatter it.

Seungkwan stepped up to the quiet and broke it. “I dreaded doing the project.” You looked at him. He continued, staring at Jeonghan. “It was hard, I’ll be honest…what with our constant fighting and that.” 

It was after a while he spoke again. “However, if you force us together in the next quarter, then…” He turned to you, and you swore there was a glow radiating from his face. “I wouldn’t mind it...being forced together with her again.”

You parted your mouth. You could barely hear Jeonghan’s scoff, humming at the implications. No, you only stared at him, your partner-in-crime, your—your friend? Something different, another term entirely. 

Your mouth ran on its own, disregarding your sense of thought. “I wouldn’t mind it either.” 

This time, you heard the boss’ huff of laughter enough to snap out of your stunned daze, watching him rise from his chair. “Does this mean my customers won’t hear you both arguing over their moonlit dinners?” 

Truly, you wanted to frown at him. “As long as Seungkwan keeps quiet,” you said, glancing at the said-man.

His smile was mischievous when you caught it—you had to look away. “I’m not promising a damn thing.”

You only heard Jeonghan’s laughter then, vanishing only by the closing of his door as he left, approved report in hand. 

Perhaps Seungkwan wanted to say more, but you hurried out of the office under the pretense of opening the restaurant. He chose to play along to your excuses, helping you alongside Mingyu and Junhui for the ingredient prepping, and soon business took over priority, the rush of the customers even in the late morning. 

The bustling environment of the restaurant did not calm until its closing, you cursing the customers for not offering a single break during your long shift. The entire time consisted of egg and sugar whipping, the sounds of caramel cooking, espresso steaming and curt orders thrown around by you and your partner in the station. Because the stress of the dessert menu had faded, though, a great level of pressure had subsided, as if the summer sun had cleared through London’s winter storms. 

Nighttime cloaked Covent Garden, stars scattered across the black sky, twinkling at the thousands upon thousands, in and out of the entrance columns. After seeing the last family off on their merry way, you turned the banner to Closed, sighing after a long day’s work. 

Mingyu and Junhui were already packing, informing you of their plans together, so you let them leave earlier than anticipated. Seungkwan was the sole chef left, save for Jeonghan—though he could have fucked off without anyone’s knowing, for all you knew.

You thought he would have ran straight for his sister’s down south; it was a Friday night, which meant that Sohyun and Sojung were anticipating movie night with their favourite (and only, so you doubted how prized this title really was) uncle. Despite being aware of this, you caught sight of him whipping up the all-too familiar dessert, this time in accordance to the restaurant’s official recipe.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you asked him, walking over to where he stood next to the counter. “The kids’ll be waiting.” 

“You remembered,” he pointed out, surprised. Pouring the espresso on top, he looked over to you, closing in. “Well, today I get a pass to celebrate our victory.” 

“Victory?” You observed the finished affogato, scrunching your nose. “Not to be that person, but I’ve had enough of these to last me the year.” 

“I know you were gonna say that,” he countered, holding up a finger as he stepped to the side. Lo and behold, there was a large bottle of champagne, a crisp burgundy bow wrapped around the neck. “Which is why I brought a little extra for the occasion.” 

Lighting up at the sight of the alcohol, you grabbed onto the top, studying the label. “Franciacorta. Very tasteful.” 

You set it back, searching for a corkscrew. “You sound shocked by my tastefulness,” you heard him remark, you opening the drawers and finding it amongst the disarray of cutlery. 

“Well, of course,” you said, bringing the utensil to Seungkwan’s side of the counter, waiting for him to add in the cut-up biscotti. “Let’s not forget who the classier one out of us is.” 

He clicked his tongue. “I am not getting into that can of worms.”

“All the better for your rep,” you added, earning a snort from him. 

“Right,” he began, pushing the drink in your direction as he grabbed the bottle. “How about a drink first?”

“That I can agree with,” you said, handing him the corkscrew. 

Seungkwan struck the cork with it, twisting it till he was satisfied. Then, with a little force, he popped open the champagne, fizzing from the bottle’s mouth. “There we go,” he sighed out, grabbing a couple of spare glasses, identical to the dessert’s shape, and filling them to the very tip. “I couldn’t find the proper glasses.”

“And you said you were the classier one,” you quipped, sipping the drink. 

Shaking his head, he drank up, seething as he brought the glass down. “I can’t believe we’re finished, you know.” 

“I don’t think it’s settled yet for me,” you admitted. “It was only a few weeks, but it felt like months.”

“God, I know.” Finishing off the first glass, he poured himself another. “Remember when you wanted to add leaves in the dessert? We’ve come so far.” 

“Now you know I had a whole plan for that,” you defended, shaking a finger at him as you kept drinking. “And you can’t say anything, with your diabetes-inducing sweets.”

“You’re the one who agreed to the affogato.” He twisted his mouth into a smirk. “And that was my idea.” 

You wanted to snarl at him—it had been too long since a bickering broke any semblance of peace, and although you enjoyed the lack of shouting, you swore it was enhancing his overconfidence. 

But you decided to indulge him. You did not know why. “Your idea was so personal to your roots, Seungkwan. I don’t think I could have said no.” 

Even he was stunned. “You couldn’t have said no?” he repeated in question, brows raising.

You only downed the rest of your champagne. “Nope.” 

“Huh.” That was all he could give, swirling his drink. Your insides sung at his reaction, biting the corner of your lip to stop yourself from smiling. Seungkwan’s smirks, you thought, truly had no substance the way his surprised, one-word responses did.

Another glass down, and you felt the buzz of the alcohol, bubbling through your veins, settling a little too pleasantly in your mind. The lights of the dessert station had been dimmed, too, only the lights of the hob turned on, your surroundings atmospheric. The silences may have been prevalent, but there was no discomfort. The tranquility was…in a way, it was beautiful.

There was more beauty, it seemed, in Seungkwan’s next words. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if it was anyone else, you know.” 

You straightened in your seat. “Oh?”

He nodded, you thinking that was the rest of it. But then he opened his mouth again, spilling out the confession which rested in his heart. “If it was anyone else working with me, they wouldn’t have seen the dessert, why I made it…my sister, her kids, anything like that.” He took a deep breath, about to continue, but then made sure to drink up. “And you suggested it first, which…I really appreciated.”

“Is that why I had never seen your family before?” another sip of the champagne. “Because you hated me that much?”

“I never hated you, _____,” he said, which only had you scoffing. “No, really! Sure, you pissed me off. Did Jinsoul first hear of you cause I bitched about you? Unfortunately, yeah. But!” he countered, raising a finger, “It was never hatred.”

“Well, I can’t say the same,” you mumbled, staring into the end of your glass. He grabbed your attention, filling it to the rim once more. 

His stare did not leave you. “It’s not like that anymore, right?”

You matched his gaze—a smile threatened to take over. “No…not anymore. I got to know you, didn’t I?” 

He could have gasped. 

Boo Seungkwan, for the first time in his life, was speechless. It usually took devastating news to rattle him to his core—a notion so shocking his world slips from underneath him. His pupils almost dilated, gaping at you as if you told him he had won Jeonghan’s restaurant.

And although it was endearing, truly a sight to behold, you had the nerve to raise a brow at him. “Weren’t you the one who said I didn’t?”

He blinked back at the question, realising that he was not in a trance. “That I did.” He cleared his throat, downing another glass. The alcohol was getting to him, he could feel it.  

You decided to leave the champagne for now, the bubbles successful in enhancing your giddiness. Turning to the affogato, you finally gave it some attention, digging in with a spoon. “It’s melted now,” you commented, taking another bite. 

“That’s what happens when you ignore a dessert,” Seungkwan remarked, tutting as he drank.

“Don’t give a girl such good champagne then.” 

“Hmm, or maybe you’re distracted by my company,” he appealed, watching you roll your eyes and chuckling. “Come on. We’re not throwing food at each other anymore, so you can be honest.” 

“Okay,” you said, savouring the espresso and vanilla, in perfect harmony in your mouth. “I guess you’re not the worst person to have a conversation with.” He made to celebrate, face lightening up, but you interjected, “When you’re around your family.”

“Yeah, now you’re just saying shit,” he rebuked, setting the glass down. “I’m a bloody joy to be around!” 

“And which one out of Jinsoul’s kids said that to get a doughnut out of you?”

“None of them!” he first exclaimed, but after two seconds of staring him down, he sighed out, “Sojung got four doughnuts that day.” 

“Exactly.” Another bite, a little messy—you were sure the vanilla cream left remnants on your lips. “I told you, right? I know you now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he only said, tilting his head on his shoulder. He had drunk enough tonight. He was not usually careless—not that he was, but he did not take his glasses into account. He did, but he was with you tonight, and you were so happy. 

He then noticed the slight gelato lining your lips, and he perked up slightly. “Affogato that good? You left behind a trail.”

“Unfortunately. Where is it?” you asked, trying to wipe it off, but to no avail. “I’m looking stupid, right?”

“The dumbest.” He pointed to his own mouth, but you would not follow. “Wait, one second.” 

He stepped closer, rubbing his hands on his trousers. With a harsh intake of breath, he reached his hand out, and you froze at his touch, brushing against the corner of his lip. His focus did not distract him from your expression, thumb rubbing off the vanilla, cream fading from his every gentle swipe. His finger was soft—softer than you expected, velvety like the ice cream he made for you. 

It was only when he finished, craning his head back just an inch, that he noticed your tensed-up expression—the breath that was caught in your throat. He had parted his mouth, the realisation striking him cold, and all he could do was watch—eyes flickering to your own, darting between one and the other, as if unable to take the full intensity of your stare. 

You caught him peeking shamelessly at your lips, where his thumb remained, a ghost of a touch. Seconds passed, none of you daring to move, and you suddenly had an inkling that he was about to do something. 

Oh God. Was he? You could not tell—he was looking at you in a strange manner, eyes heavy lidded. It must have been the alcohol. You were sure that was the reason for his daze, why his breaths were uneven.

You could not help the whisper escaping, as soft and delicate as a winter snowflake, twirling in a cold breeze. “Seungkwan?” 

The said-man blinked back at your voice—his name on your tongue. 

What you were going to do was close your eyes, brace yourself for the final distance—and then you realised you were bracing yourself for Boo Seungkwan, and the slight panic set in, striking you like a lightning bolt. 

He must have caught it in your eyes, because then his reaction reflected your own, and maybe he made the most idiotic decision in his entire life. Although every muscle in his body demanded he do the opposite, he began to pull away and then you grasped onto your mistake, realising what he was doing, and you cursed yourself for letting him slip away in front of you this very second—this devastating, crucial moment. 

And even though you did not comprehend what in hell you were doing at that moment, you caught his arm, holding onto the white cotton of his work shirt. He gaped at the gesture before setting the shock on you. “What’re you doing?” he rasped out.

“What’re you doing?” was your answer.

It was there, in the dimmed, flickering lights of the hob, that he stared at you, trying the hardest he ever had in the entirety of his life to catch your meaning. Damn him for drinking, damn his lack of restraint, because maybe if he had one less glass of champagne—

The darkening of your irises clocked any confusion in his tipsied judgement. His mouth parted, and you could have sighed with an intoxicated relief.

He knew you after all. 

“Bastard,” you could only say, catching the beginnings of an appeased grin before he leaned in, any semblance of doubt erased as he pressed his lips to yours. 

The first touch of his mouth was indescribable. 

Never did you think you would find yourself in this situation, closing your eyes, a soft hum as he moved against you, finding the rhythm upon your lips. His own were so soft, a shocking twist in the tale—all those hard, condescending quips, but you supposed it should have made perfect sense. Your arguments were bitter, your collaborations tensioned, but there were no remnants of the past in his movements. He was as soft as the gelato you had indulged in, as velvety as the espresso coating his affogato gift. 

Your breaths were caught in your throat, caged by his mouth, which delved deeper as the man’s hands cupped your face. His fingers were warm, shaking as they tilted your head to enhance the kiss. Your senses were alive before, but they were bouncing off the kitchen walls now, darting from the stove to the countertop, out of the doors and into the city as the sheer pleasure took over. 

It was in that moment you realised that Boo Seungkwan was not only a great dessert chef, but an excellent kisser. The way he moved his lips with yours, syncing you along with him, was unfathomable in any other situation. You, following along, even bothering to hear him out, here now, trailing after his movements? You could not help yourself, though, when he was good, he knew this like he knew the affogato—familiar with its recipe, its methods, how to create it, nourishing it to perfection. 

And because every dessert creation needed patience, Seungkwan was slow, careful as his tongue slid against the seam of your lips, trialling, testing. He succeeded in the first attempt, you opening up to him, and the feeling of his tongue slithering along yours had your stomach somersaulting within, unable to contain yourself. You could not contain the soft groans, lodged deep within your throat, and you could have sworn the bastard smiled against you, closing his mouth as he sucked on your tongue. 

This was it. In the Vita di Diamante, under the lights of a luxury restaurant’s dessert-kitchen, your hands crept up his arms, locking behind his neck, and you snuffed out any distance, the countertop edges digging slowly into your side, dutifully ignored. Any sense of discomfort was replaced by the mountain of pleasure, boosted by Seungkwan’s fingers on your face, then your neck, his lips taking yours prisoner, threatening to roam, and his body, pressing against your own, his weight like a welcome cage, engulfing your entire presence. 

This was nothing short of intoxication, a spark of a drug which would spiral into an addiction. You had kissed many others before your supposed rival, this uncertain friend, but you were sure of the ecstasy he offered, given to you in abundance. You had thought him selfish, narcissistic. But was this not compassion, each heated bursts of generosity he planted on the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, slowly trailing downward till he found refuge on the patch of skin, just above your collarbone? Were these not acts of selflessness, the manner in which he teethed his kisses, inciting a moan loud enough to have your entire face alight?

It was that particular noise that made him realise his place, a burst of pride igniting inside him before he noticed the hob lights glistening your face. “We shouldn’t—fuck—” Seungkwan cursed out, breathless, and your stomach fluttered at the mere curse, spewed out countless times before. When did you become so affected—no, rattled by whatever this man did? “W-we shouldn’t do this here.” 

Yet he was peppering you with open-mouthed kisses, and you could have screamed at him for making it so hard to answer him. “Then maybe…” you were rasping out your breaths, mind a complete daze. “Maybe you should stop.” 

Pausing, he dragged his mouth, skimming along to your neck, only pulling away to lock your heavy-lidded eyes with his own. The lust swirling within them was the final, perfect garnish to the dessert of his desire—the same desire which worsened your hunger. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Instinctively, you licked your lips, swiping up the remnants of Seungkwan’s efforts, relishing the residue of the champagne. When he caught the mere action, he hoped with the very marrow of his bones that you did not refuse him. 

When you narrowed his eyes, lips twisting in a sneer, his fervour paused. “Are you fucking stupid?” you spat out, and he gawked at you—only for a second.

But a second was still too long, because you grabbed onto the collars of his shirt, colliding your mouth against his, and he could have sighed with relief. He furrowed his brow as matched your hunger, sliding his tongue back into your mouth, and this time you let the moans free, a symphony to his ears. He was all over you, moreso when his hands now tugged at your sides, pushing you further into the counter. You did not catch onto his intentions until, with one swift swipe of his hands, he lifted you upon the countertop, chasing your lips still, refusing to break away. He pushed between your thighs, caging himself in your presence, and it was embarrassing how quick your body responded, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Seungkwan was delirious, you were frenzied—Seungkwan was out of his mind, and you were out of your soul, the sounds of your mouths and tongues colliding in a destructive understanding, a heated combination that would have been impossible mere weeks ago. What had happened, how did it all equate to this very situation? Fate always worked in strange ways, but you had to work out how you ended up in this passionate scene—shameless as your whimpers grew louder, his arrogance growing with them, swallowing them with his mouth. 

Maybe you both would have created something grander than any dessert in this station, sweeter than the damned cinnamon Seungkwan campaigned for at every given chance. With the soft moans darkening, breaths rasping out in slight desperation, you would have shown this restaurant a harmony never witnessed in your work. 

But at this precise moment, Yoon fucking Jeonghan sauntered into the kitchens, ready to share some good news to you both when he took one look at your colliding figures.

The sharp, shocked scoff that escaped his coral lips had you and Seungkwan stopping dead in your heated tracks. 

“How many more health and safety regulations are you two gonna violate?”

It was comical, how you both whipped your heads at the slender figure, smirk so conceited and pompous you wondered whether you were bickering at the wrong chef this entire time. “I knew one day you were gonna eat each other’s faces off,” he continued, catching onto every sudden movement of Seungkwan’s fingers tightening at your waist, your arms loosening around his neck. “But did it have to be in my goddamn kitchen?”

“Shut the fuck up,” was the younger’s reasonable response, earning him a huff of laughter from his boss. You could only stare and do nothing, so ashamed of being caught you restrained the urge to hide within the crook of his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, don’t be angry at me!” Jeonghan waved his hand over to the door beyond the further walls. “Personally, I think the pantry’s a better shout…more privacy, you know?” Close enough in front of you, his grin lop-sided. “Unless, of course, you wanted to give me a show—”

“Please, Jeonghan!” you cried out finally, as, with an aching decision, you pulled away from the man’s arms, the absence duly noted. “God, don’t you have a life outside of this place?”

“Well, if I did, then I wouldn’t have a restaurant,” he countered, smug as his eyes darted between his employees. “And my dear dessert chefs wouldn’t have a love shack to fuck in.”

That horrendous statement had you jumping down from the counter, dusting yourself off as you glowered at your boss, risking termination. “You need to talk to someone other than your accountant.” 

A melodramatic sigh left his lips. “You’re right, which is why I was taking a few other calls. That’s why I came down here, to let you both know that there will be some very important people coming in for the new menu’s christening.” He then raised his hands in surrender. “But then I see you guys have much more important shit to cover!” 

Perhaps telling your boss to get floored under a Northern line tube was cruel, but the thread stayed rooted on your tongue. He could sense it for sure, because he looked at his watch. “Now I have to go soon, which means I want you going home.” He glanced up at the post-makeoutage scene, another chuckle rising. “So who’s place are you continuing this shit in?” 

“Go away, man!” Seungkwan demanded as you groaned, only left with Jeonghan’s laughter ringing in your ears as he left the scene, bidding an adieu with wiggling brows. 

With the silence falling on you both, the tension, so rampant beforehand, had all but crashed disastrously after the interruption. The complete absurdity of it all brought a sigh out of you, Seungkwan humming in agreement.

“How do we get Jeonghan fired?” was the first question asked in the kitchen—courtesy of your venom.

“You think a bullying allegation would cut it?” the man suggested, but you clicked your tongue. “Nah, you’re right, it’s child’s play in this business. We’d be deemed cowards.” 

“Couldn’t he have come later?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. God, you were tired. The tipsy stupor had morphed into fatigue. 

And although Seungkwan felt the lethargy too, he chose to latch onto your words. “Later, huh? Didn’t want to be disturbed, then?”

You almost rolled your eyes. “You know exactly what I mean.”

But he was back to being a grade-A asshole, so he crowed, “No, please, indulge me…what did you mean?” 

You meant to glare at him, but his eyes were dancing, and you remembered his lips on you all over again. You resorted to silence, clamping your lips together, finding a little comfort in the smile he curled at your quiet response. 

The two of you found yourselves collecting your things, Jeonghan the final man left in the restaurant so there was no concern for locking up. Your paths were shared up until Leicester Square's Station, ten minutes away from the restaurant, where your destination was. 

“You didn’t have to walk me here, you know,” you said, turning to him as you fished for your travel card.

Seungkwan nodded lightly, “I know…I wanted to ask you something, actually.” 

You looked at him, anticipating. There were still crowds, even at this time of night, rushing in and out of the popular station, but you did not notice them, not now. Not when he was gazing at you, an indecipherable emotion flickering in his features. 

He licked his lips, intaking a sharp breath before asking you. “You didn’t…regret it, right?” 

You knew what he meant, of course. Because you were a piece of shit too—only a little—you took a step closer, tilting your head at him. “What do you think?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make me answer that,” he said, “Whatever I’ll say you’ll just say the opposite.” 

A chuckle. “Smart man.” 

Which is why you refrained from speaking the opposite—did not say anything at all as you leaned in, holding his face in your hand as you kissed him.

It was an unexpected phenomenon for him—exactly what you hoped to achieve. Still, it was welcomed, as Seungkwan moved his lips against yours, opening his mouth upon you to let a soft moan escape. The rush of London was no more—no tourists with their loud cameras, no locals with their grumblings of said-tourists. It was you and him, and this moment, captured in your lips in harmony with his.

Which is why it was difficult to break away, breathing heavily at the sensation as you watched his eyes flutter open, completely breathless. The sight had your heart constricting. 

“Is that enough of an answer?” you asked him.

The smile he offered you was enough. 

“WHEN ARE WE GONNA MEET SANTA CLAUS?” 

The age-old question. You scanned the constant wave of local and international shoppers, twice the size of the groups you and Julie dealt with weeks ago. “It won’t be too far now, dear,” you reassured the boy, who was frowning the further along you walked. 

“We just have to find the big Christmas tree,” Sohyun explained, looking back as she led the pack. “And we would if we actually hurried up.” 

The eldest within the group let out an overly dramatic sigh, raking his hands through his hair. “The Christmas tree is not going anywhere,” he commented, “I don’t know what this rush is for.” 

“Just because you don’t care about Santa,” Sojung huffed, crossing his arms. “Maybe you’ve become old, Uncle Seungkwan.”

Your laughter could not drown out the scoff that escaped the accused-hag’s lips. “I’m gonna tell on you to Jinsoul.”

But the way the boy only chuckled, blowing mischievous raspberries at his dear uncle, cemented how seriously he took that threat. You watched him catch up to his sister, smiling the entire time. 

Seungkwan caught onto that. “Don’t encourage him.” 

“What?” your smile turned playful. “Scared he’s getting your attitude?”

“Uh, excuse me!” he started, “Firstly, I’d be the happiest man alive if he became like me. This sass is more from his mother.” 

You scoffed. “That was textbook Seungkwan behaviour. You’re just too conceited to realise.” 

“Conceited? Big words today, _____.”

You, however, were terribly unimpressed. “That is a normal, everyday word, Seungkwan. You should probably read a book.” 

“Enough now,” he said, raising a hand, “I’m goofy, not stupid.” Your hesitance in instantly agreeing with him had him gasping. “Oh my God, you think I’m an idiot!” 

“The fact you just clocked this proves my opinion even more,” you restated, shrugging to dig the blow deeper. “Sorry, buddy.” 

“Don’t ‘buddy’ me,” he immediately refuted, and you glanced at him, a slight irritation in his features. “I’ve made out with you enough times to deserve a better term.” 

The too-casual mention of it had you quickly scanning over the children, then glaring at him once you were satisfied by their ignorance. “Why did you say it like that?”

“What?” His earlier complaint had softened, slowly morphing into a smugness which made your lips twist, and—unfortunately—made your heartbeat quicken. “Did we not?”

You thought of the week when you first kissed him at the restaurant—the gentle touch of your lips against his, the remnants of vanilla gelato and victory prevalent on your tongues. Then, your mind caught onto the different webs of your memory, flashes of heated moments after that fateful night, mouths colliding and hands wandering in more appropriate times, in more private places. No nosy flatmate caught you two in your house, and no nosier boss disturbed you in the pantry room (thank you, said-nosier boss). Yes, you would have died if your past self learned of this newfound situation, but the bastard was good, and he knew how to make you breathless—through heated arguments and frenzied kisses. 

So yes, you did make out with him more times than you would like to admit in front of him. But amongst those nights, you found yourself enjoying his company outside of your workplace, and the two people who capitalised the most out of it were his niece and nephew. When they heard that you knew of a Santa who can hand free Cadbury bars out to them in Westfield shopping centre, they jumped at the idea—as if Christmas had arrived much early. 

The Santa they sought was finally seen, when, walking past another wave of shoppers, there she was, in all her stuffed-suited, fake-bearded glory, asking questions you could not hear as she shook their hand, or gently let them sit atop her padded lap. Santa caught sight of you and your group, and she smiled, quickly slipping the child she tended to a chocolate bar and waving them off. 

“Ho, ho, ho, motherfuckers!” was the beautiful greeting Santa offered in her unusually low, forced baritone, and you could not contain the slight crease of your shoulders as the parents nearby whirled their heads at the words. “Oh, damn, forgot other kids were waiting too.”

“I wonder how you got the job,” you mock wondered, which had the girl underneath the costume almost whacking you on the shoulder. Not very Santa-like, thus proving your point. 

Your bickering was cut short when Sohyun and Sojung appeared from behind you, looking at Julie with a growing anticipation. “You’re the Santa giving out free chocolate, right?” the former asked. 

“Ho, ho, ho! Yes, I am, kids!” your friend dug into her brown sack slugged beside her, fishing out the larger, classic flavour of the Cadbury bar, holding it out for the children. “Merry Christmas!” 

As Sohyun thanked her, taking the chocolate, Sojung only glanced at her, confusion staining his little face. “Hey, I thought Santa was a man.”

Julie, taken aback by the statement, fixed her beard, which began to slouch. “Anyone can be Santa!” 

“Yeah, but Santa’s an old man,” Sojung reasoned, crossing his arms. “You sound like you’re in your thirties.” 

“Thirties—” the girl’s usual chirp cut through, but then she coughed, realising she was about to argue with a child. Lowering her voice, she merely held out the Cadbury. “Just take the chocolate, little man.”

Seeing the treat was enough to quench his burning questions on Santa’s gender identity, quickly digging into the sweetness of the chocolate bricks. Julie threw you a look, which had you snickering, sneaking closer to her. 

“That was it?” Seungkwan asked, glancing at the line your friend had evoked. “People’ll do anything for free food—” 

He stopped, realising that Julie was trying to sneak you three Cadbury bars in your bag, and the sight of you feigning any sense of stealth had him clamping his lips together, trying to contain his laughter. 

“Have fun on your babysitting date,” she whispered to you, and you stuck your tongue out at her before turning to the said-date—because yes, this was supposed to be a date, but the children caught wind of their uncle meeting you, and begged him to talk to you. 

“Three?” he inquired, animating the number with his fingers. 

“Inflation’s hit us hard,” was your only excuse, but it was a measly one. Being a dessert chef meant possessing an infinite amount of chocolates in the pantry, ranging from every flavour created in the Italian peninsula. 

He said so himself. “You create desserts for a living. You see chocolate puddings more than your own parents.” 

“You can never have too much,” you sang out, and the children beside you hummed in agreement. “See? The council has spoken.” 

“I can’t disagree then.” Seungkwan turned to the council. “Now, Sohyun, Sojung…where do you guys want to go?” 

“Can we go to the toilet first?” Sojung clutched his stomach. “I think I ate the chocolate too quickly.” 

“I told you to eat it slowly!” Sohyun scolded, clicking her tongue. 

“You think you know the way?” his uncle asked, to which he nodded. “Sohyun, you walk with him. I don’t want you two running off alone, okay?” 

“We’ll be fine,” the girl said, waving off the concern. She clutched her brother’s arm, whose face twisted in pain the more time passed. “Come on, you idiot.” 

“Keep your phones on!” The man called after them as they walked to their destination, which, as the digital maps exposed, was not too far. 

As the children disappeared, you watched, concern rising. “I hope Sojung’s okay.” 

“He’ll be alright.” A roll of his eyes. “Unfortunately, the pigging out on things which’ll make him sick later is a trait he got from me.”

“So all the bad habits he has are from you then?” 

“Only some of them,” he admitted, which had you shaking your head. “Spend enough time with them, and they’ll learn your terrible ways, too.”

“Speak for yourself,” you snarked, “I am a perfect role model.”

“Role model, huh?” He took a step closer—as if he was not close already—and roamed his eyes over you, over a particular item of clothing. “Perfect role models don’t steal from their dates.” 

Your hands instinctively clutched the scarf—the red scarf which you had not returned since he engulfed you with its warmth weeks back. “It’s not stealing,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. “You’re the one who pretended to be a gentleman and gave it to me.”

“Okay then, I’ll give up the pretence.” Another step closer—a foot’s distance from you. “I’d like my scarf back.”

Realistically, you would have handed his precious scarf back without a fight. After all, it was his possession.

But today was cold, and the scarf was snug—warm. As welcoming as it had been when your head was wrapped around it. “It suits me more, though, don’t you think?” you taunted, fingers holding both ends of the fabric, the long, fringes dangling. “I rock it better, you have to admit.”

The man stared at you, taking in the words, washing over him. His hands reached out, snaking around your waist, and you had to calm your heart from beating out of your chest as he pulled you closer. 

If this was the beginning of the winter, he would have chosen cruel words, shatter the fantasy he thought was forming in front of his eyes. This was not a fantasy, though, far from it—you, who had been a thorn at his side since the moment he stepped into the restaurant, had blossomed into a flower, flourishing before him in a newfound light. 

He played along—not because it was not true, but because he believed the words that left his lips. “You do everything better than me.”

A sharp breath escaped you.

Never did you think a confession like that would ever come from Seungkwan. 

His pride was his great strength, but also a formidable weakness. It was his self-confidence, his arrogance, even, that contributed to his successes, and—most importantly—his long-lasting rivalry with you. His belief in his perfection, his being the best out of all, was what made him who he was. 

You guessed that he did not believe in it. Not anymore. 

Still, you did not accept it. “A very touching statement,” you began, sliding your arms around him, “But I’ll do you one better.” 

He shook his head. “God forbid you agree with me.”

You tilted your head back, gazing at him fully. “We’re equals, Seungkwan.”

He stared at you, widening his eyes as you continued. “Equal partners in our work, equal chefs in our creations…what I do, you do the same. It’s why we argued, and never won. One could not defeat the other…no matter how much we tried. Maybe we were meant to stay in this stalemate, you know?” 

You smiled at him—your partner in the kitchen, your partner-in-crime. “It’s our losses in the restaurant, I believe, that brought us together in the end…and that, for me at least, is a win.” 

Seungkwan felt his very nerves spark to life. 

Come alive with a veracity akin to a rocket ship blasting fire from its ends, firing off to the universe beyond. He had experienced appreciation, passion, perhaps even tenderness—what you said to him in a shopping mall in a corner of London was extraordinary.

He tightened his grip at your sides, his expression starry-eyed. “You really think that?” 

You melted into his hold, sneaking closer. “If I didn’t think it, Seungkwan, I wouldn’t say it.” 

His heart ballooned in his chest, threatening to burst at the seams of his skin. He could not help himself, leaning in to press his lips against yours, and you welcomed him with open arms, closing in around him. You were unable to stop, curling your lips upwards at the sensation because happiness swirled in your stomach, fluttering uncontrollably, moreso because it was Boo Seungkwan who caused it—Boo Seungkwan, who was the catalyst to your butterflies. 

Before he could go further, you remembered where you were, breaking away from his lips. His sudden murmur from the pull-away had you giggling, cheeks tinged rosy from the confession. 

Your laughter, like little wind chimes singing in a spring breeze, had him speaking from the heart. “I couldn’t do this job with anyone else, you know…working together, what’s come out of it…” His stare had your heartbeat uneasy. “You’re the only one I trust.” 

Although your face warmed at the words, you grinned cheekily at him. “Of course you would. Who else would you rely on? Jeonghan?” 

“...a very fair point.” 

Chucking, his hold on you strayed, one hand remaining. “Now, ______,” he began, sliding his hand over to your own, interlocking his fingers. “After the kids come back, where do you wanna eat? I’m starving.”

“I’m down for anything,” you said, tapping your fingers against the back of his hand. “But if I have to eat another Italian dessert for the next week I’m causing a massacre in the restaurant.”

“So the usual tiramisu with whipped cream on the side, then?” he offered, which had you squeezing his hand. “What? I’m not ungrateful like you. I like to eat anything.” 

“Says the one who said he’d shrivel and die if he had to eat almond amarettis for the second time.” 

“That’s different!” he tried to explain, “I nearly choked on one doing the trialling.” 

You swung your intertwined hands. “All I hear is weak-ass excuses, Seungkwan!” 

“At least I’m not advocating on adding grass to my pannacottas,” he muttered, starting to walk forwards.

You halted him, furrowing your eyebrows. “For the last time, they’re bay leaves!” 

“Yeah, which shouldn’t be on my desserts!” 

“Okay, don’t add them to your shitty sweets, then,” you crowed, “Cause I’m suffocating my pannacottas in them.”

His eyes began to glimmer, and you realised that he successfully baited you into irritation. “Maybe I spoke too soon on trusting you with my life in the kitchen,” he teased, but you groaned, prying your hand from his. “Hey, hey, okay, maybe bay leaves aren’t the worst garnish known to man!” 

“And maybe I’m going back to counting and laughing at your losses,” you snapped, but Seungkwan was laughing, and your cheeks were burning. “One more laugh out of that big mouth of yours, and I’m throwing mascarpone cream at you. Maybe this time we’ll finally be fired.” 

He stopped in your tracks, making you pause your stomping away. “I’d like to see you try,” he dared, and when you looked back at him, the challenge rising in your gaze, he felt his soul come alive. 

You knew it too. “Don’t tempt me, Seungkwan. I’ll win this time.”

And as he leaned in, crossing his arms and staring you down, you held your ground, providing no room to give in. His proud smirk had you remembering the old days—and not grimacing. “Famous last words.”

A scoff was the rest of the conversation, but the showdown of your eyes, locked with his, was not over.

Yes, you both may have grown a mutual respect, even developed a fondness—but you were you and Seungkwan was Seungkwan. Perhaps battling it out with a man you rather liked would consequently make shouting at him a little easier.

As you mirrored his arrogant expression, the two of you knew that the kitchen had yet to see more battles. 

Well—there was always the spring menu. Let the petty rivalry (laced with just a slight touch of affection) begin once more. 

[mochie85]

When The Ball Drops

Summary: A continuation of "Have Mercy." Loki tries so hard to get you to kiss him again but you resist him. Until he comes up with a plan on New Year's Eve. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: Over 3.5k Warnings: Fluff, kissing, cameos from multiple Avengers, the use of Y/N

It had been weeks since you saved Loki’s life and brought him back from his near-death experience. Or as Loki fondly likes to call it, “the time you asked him out on a date.” He was relentless with his flirtations towards you. He would seek you out at all hours, multiple times a day, just to wear you down.

One time he caught you by the kitchen pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “There you are, my angel.” He slid on the side of the counter, pulling up right next to you. “I have a headache. Do you think you could kiss it and make it all better?” he crooned so sweetly.

“No,” you answered him flatly and walked away, sipping your coffee.

Or, that time you were kickboxing with Sam. While Loki and Thor just happened to be training on the mat across from you. Thor had knocked him down with a single blow. Loki immediately cried to you from the floor. “Darling! My brother doesn’t seem to know the difference between practice and actual combat. Could you spare me a kiss so that I can continue and teach him a lesson?” He lay on the floor with his hair falling from the loose bun he kept it in. His arms spread apart, looking up at you through thick, long lashes.

“No, Loki!” You were so irritated that you took your fighting gloves off and threw them on the floor. Missing his head by an inch. Loki didn’t even flinch as he watched you storm off in anger. “Go to med-bay if you’re injured!”

“My angel,” Loki purred this morning after a team meeting. “I seem to have a paper cut on my finger. Can you-”

“No! Loki I will not kiss you!” you asserted, gathering your materials to get out of there quickly.

“I was going to suggest you lick it. But if that’s what you prefer, I’ll take it as a consolation prize,” he smiled and puckered his lips towards you. Your palms had never itched more, wanting to slap the kiss right off his mouth. You growled in frustration as you turned on your heel and walked out.

Loki heard light chuckles coming from the end of the large meeting table. Wilson and Barnes were shaking their heads, having watched the whole scene play out. “Is there something that you two find amusing?”

“Ya, man. You!” Wilson answered.

“I’m glad my shortcomings amuse you,” Loki answered with a slight upturn of his lip.

“Let me give you some advice,” Sam said walking over to him.

“Not warranted. Nor requested.”

“I’ma give it to you anyway.” Sam clapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “You need to chill.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki said astounded.

“The more you push, the harder she resists,” Barnes interjected.

“Stop harassing her,” Sam continued.

“You, constantly being around her, reminding her of that kiss, is not gonna go well for you,” Barnes added.

“Are you saying that she regretted healing me?” Loki questioned.

“No,” they both answer in unison.

“Anyone can see that she was smitten with you from day one!” Sam declared.

“And she wouldn’t just kiss anybody. She offered to heal my arm once, though,” Barnes said to Wilson. “I wonder if she would’ve kissed me then?” He said introspectively, biting his lip in thought. Loki sneered at the notion.

“But she thinks that you’re just teasing her. That you’re not sincere with your feelings and you’re just looking for a way to provoke or annoy her.”

“I honestly don’t know how I can make it any clearer for her that I’m interested other than to ask her flat-out naked!”

“NO!” they both screamed again.

“Well, it would've worked on Asgard.” Loki pouted, crossing his arms as he sat on the ledge of the conference table.

“I’m sure it would’ve,” Sam nodded sarcastically. “Look, do you really like her?” Loki gave him a sardonic look, appalled that Wilson would even ask such a question.

“Then prove to her that you’re worthy of her affections. Wait for her to ask you. That way you’ll know she wants you too and not just because she’s trying to save your life.” At this last drop of wisdom, Barnes and Wilson left Loki in the conference room, pondering ways to prove his sincerity towards you.

You hurried towards your room, scenes from the last moments with Loki replaying in your mind. How could everything have gone tits up in just a couple of weeks?! You left the meeting today exhausted more than ever. You weren’t sure if it was misplaced gratitude for saving his life or if he genuinely is attracted to you but you didn’t think you could resist Loki anymore.

You know he’s just mocking you about what happened. He doesn’t have any real feelings towards you. It’s in his nature to be playful. But every time he comes anywhere near you and he puckers those lips of his, your knees buckle and you almost give in.

Screw it! If he wants to tease you so badly, maybe you could call his bluff and kiss him back. Perhaps then he’ll realize that his joke had gone way too far and he’d stop. Yes! The next time he teases you, you’ll kiss him right back.

But he never did. After weeks of trying to get under your skin, he finally relented. Morning coffee breaks were innocuous and pleasant. Sometimes, he would have a cup waiting for you, just the way you like it. No quips. No lewd gestures about kissing. Just a handsome smile and a friendly, helping hand.

There were times you would see him walk out of the training rooms with Thor, holding on to his side in pain. You were ready for him to make a quick jab about needing your kiss to heal the ache. But none ever came. Only a quick, “Hello, darling,” in passing as he limped off in the direction of med-bay. You’ve missed your chance.

Days later, holiday lights still glittered around the buildings of New York. Remnants of Christmas still decorated Fifth Avenue. The frigid air nipped at your cheeks making you hold on to your faux mink tighter.

Tony’s New Year’s Eve party was different this year. No celebrities. No politicians. Just the Avengers, along with the friends and family that loved them. He had rented the whole rooftop of the Marriott Marquis, overlooking Times Square. Soft velvet settees were strewn across the space under a luxurious pergola and a fantastic view of the ball waiting to be dropped.  

Lounging next to one of the many heat lamps, you wrapped your coat tighter around your shoulders. “So, who are you kissing when the clock strikes midnight?” Nat asked you, pouring you a glass of Bollinger. Her red lipstick was as bright as her hair. With one side of her fur falling down her shoulder, she looked like the classic Hollywood vixen, ready for her next close-up. Fitting for tonight’s Vintage Hollywood theme.

“I don’t know,” you lied, taking the stem from her hand. You knew exactly who you wanted to kiss tonight. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Liar.” She said so cooly. You smirked, chastising yourself for trying to lie to one of the world’s best interrogators. “I bet I could guess who!” She sang as you rolled your eyes.

“Even if I did want one of them to kiss me, that doesn’t mean that they will.”

“Come on. I’m sure one of them would love to snog you at midnight,” she chuckled. “An extra blessing of good health and fortune for the coming year…” She wagged her eyebrows and elbowed you.

“Oh, please.”

“Ok, there’s Steve.”

“Your ex?!”

“Ya!”

“No!” you exclaimed.

“He’s a great kisser.”

“Then why don’t you kiss him at midnight”

“We’re trying to get YOU kissed. Not me, remember? OK, what about Thing 1 and Thing 2?” She said pointing to Sam and Bucky.

“No,” you said laughing.

“Why not?”

“No. I just don’t see them that way. It’ll make for an awkward kiss.”

“How ‘bout Bruce?”

“Bruce isn’t even here.” You said looking around the party.

“Ok then, what about Thor?”

“He’s with Jane.”

“Why not try your luck with tall, dark, and stabby then?” she said pointing to Loki with her champagne flute. You snorted at her nickname for Loki nearly spilling champagne as you took a calculated sip. “Oh my god!”

“Nat! Please. Keep your voice down!”

“No one can hear me! It’s a loud party.”

“Yes, a party with superhuman beings who have superhuman hearing!”

“Good! Maybe he’ll make a move!” She said slightly louder, hoping to grab his attention.

“Shh! Shh! Keep it down!” you laughed as you tried to calm her. “He’s been making moves. But I think…I dropped the ball on this one.” You looked over to where Loki was standing, trying to see if he had caught anything that Nat was saying. He was standing proud, having a conversation with Steve. His long black coat fit him snugly while the fur lining of his collar accented his sharp jaw. His gloved hand squeezed tightly around the cane he was holding, making you wonder if he did hear Nat. God, to have that gloved hand wrapped around my neck.

“He’s staring at you.” You heard Nat whisper to your ear.

“What?!” you turned to Nat and then back to Loki quickly, meeting his stare. You were so caught up in imagining his hands that you missed his eyes on you.

You see Loki and Steve staring at both of you, saying things under hushed tones. “They’re probably looking at you,” you explained. “What’s the deal between you and Steve, anyway?” You changed the subject.  “How long has it been since you guys talked?”

“A while.”

“How long is a whi-”

“Listen, since I don’t have anyone to kiss either, why don’t we just kiss each other at midnight? Deal?”

You paused at her ability to change the subject. You gave her a knowing look but allowed her to escape your scrutiny. “Deal!” you sighed, giggling as you clinked your glasses again and took sips readying for round two.

Loki smirked as he listened to your entire conversation. Up until now, he’s been patiently waiting for you to come to him. Giving you compliments. Finding small but lingering ways to touch you. He didn’t know if his tactics were working until he overheard your conversation with Agent Romanoff. He was confident you returned his affections.

Nerves shot through his entire body. Excitement and anxiety all rolled into one giant emotion he could not define. Who knew that Barnes and Wilson’s advice would work? “Tell me, Rogers, what is this tradition you guys have about kissing each other at midnight?” Loki asked as he watched you and Romanoff.

Steve followed Loki’s stare and saw you and Natasha lounging and laughing over a bottle of champagne. He remembered how he and Nat kissed at midnight last year, promising each other to try. But ultimately failing after six months.

“It’s a stupid superstition that doesn’t mean anything,” Steve said bitterly. Loki gave him a look to continue. “It’s said that whoever you kiss at midnight, will be your sweetheart for the rest of the year. Or if you’re already in a relationship, make it stronger.”

“I see,” Loki said contemplatively.

“It’s just superstition, Loki, don’t buy into it.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to find my brother.” Loki excused himself, already putting together details of a plan in his head.

“Thor! Thor…” he said pulling him aside. “Did you know about this Midgardian tradition of kissing at midnight?”

“Yes! Jane and I planned on it when the hour strikes. Who will be your intended, dear brother?” Thor asked happily. Loki looked at him pointedly. “Oh! You got the priestess to agree to kiss you?! That’s wonderful news!”

“Not quite. I need your help.”

“Get Help?”

“NO! For Father’s sake, if you throw me across the room, I will END YOU!”

 “Alright, alright. I jest Loki. What can I do to help?”

“I’d like to kiss her at midnight, but too many people are vying for her attention. Too many variables. Too many options.”

“Don’t worry little brother, I’ve got this!”

Ten minutes before midnight, you can feel the buzz in the air as everyone scrambles to ring in the new year. You and Nat had graduated to the bar. Both of you nursing new flutes of prosecco.

Behind you, Thor rushes through the crowd looking for Steve. “Rogers, who are you kissing at midnight? Nat or Wanda?”

“Nat or Wanda? What do you mean?”

“Well, you have to kiss someone. Isn’t that your Midgardian tradition? And I figured you wouldn’t want to kiss Nat, I mean with your history and all…”

“Well, ya…” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, thinking about Thor’s proposition. “But what about Y/N?”

“Oh, Lady Y/N is kissing my brother.”

“Loki?! But, I…”

“Oh, I apologize. Did you want to kiss my brother instead?” Thor asked quickly. “I can look for him and change his mind. I didn’t know you had…”

“NO! No, I don’t. But, um…”

“Wonderful! So, Nat or Wanda?”

“I guess Wanda,” Steve shrugged. “Nat and I do have a history.”

“Perfect! I’ll let Wanda know.”

“Now hold on just a second…” Steve’s voice trailed away as Thor sprinted into the crowd. His eyes searched for the Scarlet Witch among the revelers and found her amidst a harem of men all rivaling for her attention.

“Wanda!” Thor shouted, frightening some of the men in the group. “Come. Steve says he wanted to kiss you at midnight!”

“I knew it! He couldn’t hide behind that shy act for long!” she said standing up and smoothing out her dress.

“Perfect! You should go to him right now, and make sure no one else claims him before you do.” Thor said. Wanda nodded with determination and marched her way over to Steve.

“Oh, come on Thor!” Wilson said behind him. “I was just about to ask her!” Thor turned to see Sam and Bucky amongst Wanda’s many admirers.

“Uh…you’re in luck, my dear friends. I know someone anxious to kiss you both.” Thor gleamed.

“Us both?” Bucky questioned. Thor pointed to where you and Natasha sat.

“Ooh, nice choice. But I doubt that Steve would actually like that.” Sam said.

“And I believe Y/N is already spoken for,” Bucky added, pointing to Loki walking in your direction.

“It is for Steve we do this!” Thor wrapped his bulging arms around each of their necks. “We all know how miserable both he and Natasha are right now. Make him a little jealous. Perhaps he’ll rise to the occasion and get back his true love.”

“His true love?” Sam questioned.

“For true love!” Thor repeated, squeezing their necks tighter.

“The things we do for our friends,” Bucky grumbled under his breath.

Meanwhile, Loki made his way to the bar where you and Nat were laughing. “Ladies,” he said in that low baritone of his. “I’m sorry to disrupt your merriment, but may I speak to you privately, Agent Romanoff?”

You and Nat exchanged glances as she raised her eyebrow. A smirk fell upon her red lips and that’s when you felt it. A sharp pang of jealousy that twisted a knife in your gut. You hoped that your smile was still plastered on your face. Lord knows Nat could spot a tell from a mile away and you weren’t as good at hiding it as she was.

Loki offered his hand and Nat took it, hopping off the barstool, hand in hand with the man you’ve been pining for. You waited till both their backs were to you when you turned back around to the bar and let your smile die.

“Can I get a shot of tequila!” you yelled to the bartender, holding up your hand. You watched as Loki led Nat to the middle of the room, his arm wrapped around her delicate waste. “Make it a double!” you said with a huff. The sight in front of you was too much to witness. You had accepted that you might not get to kiss Loki at all tonight, but to watch him kiss someone else would be devastating to you.

With nothing, and no one else, keeping you at the party you decided to leave. You ran from the party as quickly as possible with your head turned down, holding back tears and feelings of betrayal.

“Loki, I hope you’re not gonna ask me for a kiss at midnight. That’s a hard pass.” Nat started before he took her very far.

“No, my dear. I overheard your conversation earlier with our dear healer. I was hoping to alleviate your promise of kissing her at midnight by offering you an alternative.”

“What alternative?”

“Two, alternatives actually.” At this, Loki gently grabbed Natasha’s shoulder and spun her around to see Bucky and Sam by the DJ booth. Sam held his drink up to her in greeting, while Bucky just grinned.

“Two! Steve wouldn’t like this.”

“Roger’s is kissing the Witch tonight.” He pointed to where Steve and Wanda were talking. Jealousy burned inside Natasha. A quiet resolve cemented in her and she was set on making him pay for it. “But what about Y/N?”

“As I said, I plan to take charge of her kiss from midnight, and all her kisses thereafter,” Loki winked at her.

“Don’t play with her heart, Loki.”

“I should warn you of the same with your soldier, agent.” He bowed slightly as Nat sauntered her way over to the two soldiers waiting for her.

When Loki turned back towards the bar, his face had fallen realizing that you were no longer there. Panicked, he looked around and found a trail of your coat just as it disappeared inside the hotel. Loki looked at his watch- three minutes left. The crowd below started getting restless and the giant numbers on the large screen on top of the prismatic ball had started ticking down towards midnight.

“Darling, where are you going? The clock is about to strike.” Loki caught up to you at the elevators. You gulped at the sight of him coming towards you. Inside the lobby, the heat was almost suffocating, and Loki unbuttoned his coat to be less stifling. You watched as he removed his gloves, finger by finger, and stuffed them into his coat pocket. The action mesmerized you until you were face to face with him.

“Loki! Shouldn’t you be with Natasha right now?” You said as you looked up at the elevator numbers ticking by so slowly. You pushed the call button praying for the lift to come faster.

“She’s currently entertaining Thing 1 and Thing 2. If my memory of your conversation serves me correctly.” You stared at him in disbelief. You might have had too much to drink. But not enough to miss the implication of what that meant.

He knows. He overheard your conversation and he knows!

He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you towards him, leading you away from the elevators. Away from the notion of running.

His fingers were soft and warm as he cupped your cheek. “Since you’ve saved my life, I have plotted and asked several times for you to kiss me again, my angel. I will not ask again.” His lips were grazing your skin. The heat in his breath intoxicated you. You closed your eyes at the overwhelming sensation of being held by him.  “I told myself that the next time we kiss, it would be because you asked me to. Not out of any obligation. But because you want me. As much as I want you.”

Outside you could hear the deafening roar of people counting down from ten. It melded with the electric buzz going through your body being held so close by Loki. “But I truly can't resist you any longer. I have thought of nothing else since you kissed me that day on the field.”

“Loki…”

“Please ask me.” Three.

“What?” Two.

“Ask me to kiss you.” One.

“Kiss me Loki-” you barely said his name when his lips found yours and held on tight.  A slight whimper fell from your lips, and he reacted by holding you tighter against his body.

Your fingers were entwined in his hair, holding him close to you. You pulled away to catch your breath, and his lips followed yours—unsatisfied from the short amount of contact they had received.  

This kiss was different than the last. There wasn’t a threat of losing his life hanging over you. Instead, the urge was from longing and desire. There was fire and vigor in his lips. And you consumed him easily like a starved woman.

“Happy New Year, my dear,” Loki exhaled between kisses.

“Happy New Year,” you giggled holding him tight.

⬅️ Have Mercy (prequel)

🏷️ Tags in the comments

[cerisereids]

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮- 𝐒.𝐑.

pairing: s13!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: a lonely new years eve turns into much more when another lonely coworker shows up at your door.

warnings: just fluffy new years stuff with a sprinkle of angst! I wrote this off a whole bottle of wine and I didn’t proofread I was just rly determined to get this out, so sorry if it sucks

a/n: divider from @thecutestgrotto !! happy new years my lovely tumblr fam!! the water tank at my house burst so now i am with my parents for the new year so here is this, bon appetit

Your steaming container of kow pad warms your hand, contrasting with the bitter chill outside your window. You swaddle yourself in your favorite blanket, settling into your annual viewing of When Harry Met Sally. ‘The ultimate New Year’s movie’, you’ve claimed for years. Something about its gentle blend of heartache and hope, the reminder that everything happens when it’s supposed to, feels especially poignant on a night like tonight.

You take a sip of wine, settling into the film’s comforting rhythm, when a quiet knock on the door breaks you from your trance. Your brows furrow, not quite believing the faint tap coming from the hallway. You hear it again, and spring into action. You make your way to the door, the flare of your fuzzy pants brushing along the hardwood. You swing it open to reveal your coworker, Spencer Reid, holding a bottle of sparkling cider. A half smile paints his lips, a glint sparkling in his sad eyes.

You study the man in front of you. The hard faced, reserved coworker whom you’ve only just recently met since his release from prison. That familiar longing returns, the one that pangs deep in your chest whenever you see him. Those big brown eyes take your breath away, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if he feels the same pull. If that’s why he decided to come see you, of all people. He shifts his weight lightly in the silence, fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle.

“Can I…come in?” He asks sheepishly. Who are you to say no? Especially when he looks at you like that.

You step aside, and he silently enters, the light fuzz of his sweater brushing your bare forearm. The slight form of contact shoots electricity straight through your skin, deep into your veins. He sets the bottle lightly down on the counter, rubbing his palms against his pants. The glass clinking against the porcelain snaps you out of your daze, and you realize you haven’t even spoken to him yet.

“Hi, Spencer,” you start softly, easing him into the new environment.

“Hi,” he holds a palm up in a meek wave. He stands tall and still, like he’s not entirely sure of his surroundings.

“Are you hungry?” You offer a sweet smile, and the slightest uptick in his lips makes your heart flutter, “I got more Thai food than anybody should have in a year, so please, help yourself.” You grab a paper plate and fork for him, along with a glass of the fizzy drink he brought.

His lips form into a small smile now, and you realize you’d like to feel like this forever. Standing in the kitchen with Spencer, taking care of him. You’d really, really like that. You take the lead back to your couch, and his eyes light up when he sees what’s on the screen.

“Oh! I love this movie!” He gasps, bringing his food and drink over to the couch. “It’s the perfect New Year’s movie, you know?”

Your heart flutters at this, “I’ve always said that!” You respond, and you share matching smiles.

A silence falls over you two, and he shrinks back into himself. His back is hunched slightly, his eyes trained on the food in his lap.

“Spencer…” you start, hesitantly, “are you okay? What do you need?”

His eyes squeeze shut, and you see a furious rush of tears fall down his cheeks.

“Oh, Spencer! I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have pried,” you stutter, wiping his tears with your thumb. His cheeks heat up under your touch, his watery eyes fluttering open to drink you in.

“No, no, thank you, it’s okay,” he sputters back, just as flustered as you, “it’s just that-nobody’s asked me that in a long time. Thank you for letting me in.”

The double meaning of his words doesn’t miss you, shooting straight into your heart like an arrow. “Any time, I mean it.”

“I’m okay,” he mutters, looking down at his lap still. “I’m just lonely. I know that we haven’t spoken much at work, and that’s my fault, but for some reason, I just found myself wanting to be with you. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” you smile, validation pooling through your stomach at his words, “I’m glad you did, you’re welcome any time.”

Another silence falls upon you, until you’re struck with an idea. “Oh!” You pop up, “I have an idea!” You scurry into the kitchen, tearing apart your junk drawer until you retrieve two pens and a pad of paper.

“You, Dr. Reid, are going to partake in my favorite New Year’s tradition with me!”

“Just-just Spencer works,” he breathes, a pink tint flushing his cheeks. Doctor is a soft spot, got it, you think to yourself, smiling softly as you plop down next to him.

“Each year on New Year’s I like to make three goals for myself for the new year,” you explain, passing over a pen and sheet of paper.

“Why three? Seems like a random number,” he inquires, that 187 IQ never taking a break.

“I guess…” you tilt your head side to side, pondering, “I guess it’s enough to make me feel like I’ve accomplished something at the end of the year, but not too many to where it overwhelms me, you know?” You quirk your eyebrow at him as you begin scribbling.

“That makes sense,” his gaze lingers on you a moment before he follows in your footsteps.

The humorous bickering of Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan fill the silence, and you hadn’t realized you were already at the end. Your head snaps up to the TV once you’ve finished writing your goals down, a smile forming on your face as you watch the best scene.

If you hadn’t been so invested, you may have noticed Spencer’s gaze. He sits next to her, picking apart her face as if he’d forget, as if he’d ever forget her.

“This is my favorite part,” she whispers, her eyes aglow as she takes apart the scene before her.

“…I love that you get cold when it’s 71° out.

I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich

I love that you get that crinkle above your nose when you’re looking at me like I’m nuts…”

“I wonder what that’s like,” she mutters softly, “to love someone like that.”

The statement hangs heavy between them, and all Spencer can do is inch his hand closer to hers. They lace together when they touch, and they finish the movie like that. Clasping each other tightly, not letting go.

“Okay!” She claps, and he snaps his head towards her, “it’s time to share our goals!”

That, Spencer was not expecting. “Oh!” The sound is pushed out of him, anxiety rising in his throat at the idea of sharing the intimate details he’s scribbled out.

“I’ll go first!” She offers cheerily, and he wants to kiss her, so bad.

“Okay, my first goal is to read more! I only read like, 15 books this year? Not okay with me!” She chirps, and he feels his heart grow three times its size.

“That’s more than most people read ever,” he chuckles, the cider loosening him up over the course of the night.

“I suppose that is true, Dr. I-Read-15-Books-In-One-Sitting,” she teases, and the term ‘doctor’ hits him right in his heart, settling somewhere warm and deep in his belly.

“My second one is to tell people I love them more…” she trails, and a seriousness blankets over them, the unintended implication of her words resting over them heavily. “My third, to spread kindness.”

“Those are amazing goals, I fully believe you can complete all three of those. You’re amazing,” he utters the last part with the utmost sincerity, and her gaze snaps up to meet his. Their eyes lock, a bolt of lightning unzipping down his spine.

“What about you, Doctor?” She smiles sweetly at him, and it nearly folds him in two.

“That was on purpose,” he mutters, unable to stop the smirk forming on his lips. He sees her shrug out of the corner of his eye as he unfolds his paper, suppressing a playful eye roll.

“My first goal,” he breathes, “is to be more forgiving. With myself, with others…”

“That’s a great start. I’m so proud of you,” her words nearly kill him.

“My second,” he chokes, “is to spend more time with people who matter.” He regains his balance in preparation for his last one, he’s not used to being so vulnerable, and he’s trying so hard to run from the fear. She makes it easy. “My third is to find joy in small moments.”

“I believe in you, Spencer,” she takes hold of his knee, the same leg that he’d stabbed months earlier, sending him into solitary confinement. The contrast of her delicate hands now lying atop it nearly sends him into cardiac arrest.

“Thank you,” he whispers. The silence is broken by some cheesy cable channel’s New Year’s celebrations. Obnoxious counting from 10 grabs her attention.

“Oh!” She so cutely squeals, “it’s almost the new year!” She clasps her hands together and joins in with the TV. Her fingers snake from his thigh and work their way into his, encouraging him to join. He gently rolls his eyes and gives in. It’s so worth it to see the way her eyes light up, her excitement as she wishes him a happy new year.

“Happy new year,” he responds, breathless at her beauty.

“Can I kiss you?” She blurts, the cider clearly loosening her tongue.

“Oh!” He gasps, but he doesn’t get to continue before she looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“Oh Spencer! I’m so sorry! How inappropriate of me! I just thought that it’s a new year-oh!” She slaps her hands to her mouth, her eyes portraying a look of horror.

“No, no! I mean, yes- yes you can kiss me-I-I just wasn’t expecting that is all,” he splutters.

“Really?” She breathes, her hands leaving her mouth and falling into her lap.

It’s his turn to grab her hands now, taking the lead and leaning in closer. “Really,” he mutters, his lips ghosting over hers before he presses them together.

It’s life changing, the way her sweet, soft lips smack and suck against his. He places his palm delicately at her waist, his deft fingers splayed against her back. She scoots closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing their chests together. Feeling her, her body, this close is nearly sinful. He pulls her onto his lap and deepens the kiss.

“Happy New Year, beautiful,” he mutters once more, before kissing you again.

[niniwritesxo]

‘you thirsty?’

kang dae-ho x fem reader

summary:

daeho does something unintentionally attractive and the reader is trying their hardest to keep it together lol

——————————————————————————

You were sitting on your bunk, trying to pass the time by tying and untying knots in a scrap of rope you’d found. The waiting between games was unbearable, and the only thing worse than the boredom was the anxiety gnawing at your stomach.

Across the room, Dae-ho was leaning against the wall, talking to one of the other players. You tried not to watch him, but your eyes kept drifting his way. It wasn’t your fault he had this annoyingly magnetic presence, standing there with his broad shoulders and that infuriating smirk he always seemed to wear.

Then it happened.

The other player handed him something, a bottle of water with the cap screwed on too tight. Without a word, Dae-ho took it, wrapped his hand around the bottle, and twisted the cap off with a casual flick of his wrist.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was just a bottle of water. But the way his forearm flexed, the way his jaw tensed for half a second before relaxing, it was enough to make your brain short-circuit.

You immediately looked away, your cheeks burning. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Hey,” Dae-ho’s voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts.

You glanced up to find him standing in front of you, holding out the water bottle. “Thirsty?” he asked, his tone casual.

You stared at him, your mind still stuck on the moment from earlier. “What?”

“The water,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring at me for, like, five minutes. Thought maybe you wanted some.”

‘’I wasn’t staring!’’ you blurted, far too loudly.

His lips quirked into a half-smile, and he crouched down so he was eye-level with you. “You sure? Because it definitely felt like staring.”

Your face grew impossibly hotter, and you snatched the bottle from his hand just to give yourself something to do. “I was just… zoning out.”

“Zoning out, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Interesting coincidence that you happened to zone out right when I opened the bottle.”

You took a sip of water to avoid answering, but his knowing smirk made it clear he wasn’t going to let it go.

“Didn’t realize opening a bottle was so fascinating,” he teased, leaning his forearm on the edge of your bunk.

“It’s not,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing,” you lied, but the warmth on your face said otherwise.

His smirk widened, and he tilted his head, studying you like you were the most interesting puzzle he’d ever encountered. “Huh. You really are blushing. What’s got you so flustered?”

“Nothing!” you snapped, setting the bottle down with a little too much force.

Dae-ho leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You sure about that? Because I think I know.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, wondering if he’d figured it out. But instead of saying anything, he leaned back with a smug grin, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“Whatever it is,” he said, standing and stretching lazily, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way your face was still burning. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving you to stew in your embarrassment.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. You’d never live this down.

[simplyraeblue]

King and Captive

(Hunter and Hunted Spin-Off) read here

modern au a chance meeting with Sukuna quickly turns into a nightly routine you can't escape. as the lines between game and something more blur, you start to wonder—how long can you keep playing, or will Sukuna make you his next conquest? !Sukuna x !femreader

chapter warnings/tags: MDNI, NSFW, swearing, use of "princess", "she/her" pronouns used, mentions of OG story, appearance of other characters, SMUT SMUT SMUT, p in v, creampie, unprotected, Sukuna is a changed man afterwards (but really?) A/N: the time has COME my friends (heh, pun). so sorry it took me forever to post, the holidays have been insane with travel, and I was soaking up every second with my long-distance BF. someone in the OG storyline had commented that Sukuna needed someone to match his freak... well, they were right. (• ᴗ -)

index part four | part six

part five word count : 4,588

every day since your first kiss with him, without fail, Sukuna appeared parked out front of your work waiting for you. you weren’t sure if the satisfaction you felt was from seeing him leaned against his bike, or if it was the reactions of the dickwads you worked with.

“are you sure that’s safe?”

“does he have a motorcycle license?”

“what’s up with all that ink?”

you just brushed them off, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you practically skipped over to your mysterious tattooed man before receiving a warm welcome in the form of a deep kiss on the lips. to make it worse for your coworkers, they definitely saw Sukuna slip his tongue in your mouth as he side-eyed them.

bunch of heathens, he thought to himself. he knew the comments they made behind your back, the peaks they took at your ass, even could guess that they thought of you when they had nothing but their hand to give them comfort. pathetic.

and yet, he’d made no move to take things further than a few heavy make out sessions. maybe he was the pathetic one.

but all that would be put to the test tonight.

“a party?” you asked, twirling the straw in your glass around and around while Sukuna smirked at you. of course, had taken you to your usual bar to treat you after work - just like he did almost every day.

“my brother asked me to come, said I was required to bring a guest.” Sukuna was only partly lying – Yuji had asked him to come but never mentioned anything about bringing someone. but he knew you’d be just fine.

“I don’t know, aren’t we a little… old to be going?” you teased lightly but truthfully, you’d already accepted the invitation in your mind. “bunch of college kids, drinking and dicking around?”

Sukuna’s shoulder shook with a booming laugh. “if there’s no dicking around, then it’s not a party, princess.”

you couldn’t help but pout as the thought of who would be there crossed your mind. did you dare ask him? risk bringing up a sore subject?

he’d told you about what happened last summer, one night when you both had a few too many glasses of wine. Sukuna swore that wine was his truth serum. so now you knew that his former – lover, ex girlfriend, fling? – was dating his half brother Choso.

curiosity gnawed at your bones. was she pretty? hot? drop dead fucking gorgeous? how did you compare?

a light tap of Sukuna’s finger to your temple snapped your from your anxiety spiral. “what’s going through your mind?” he asked softer than usual, the change in his demeanor catching you off guard.

no, you couldn’t let yourself drown in what-ifs. “let’s do it. I owe you one.” you told him with finality, face set in determination as you downed the rest of your drink in one go before standing from your seat and pulling your jacket on.

Sukuna was curious why your attitude towards the idea suddenly changed; you were dead quiet for a minute, brows furrowed and already thinking of something he would have loved to correct you on. most certainly about how you’d fit in. and yet you stood with confidence now, lips in a tight line and eyes locking with his.

god, he wanted to kiss you until he couldn’t breathe.

“owe me for what, princess?” Sukuna smiled at you, sharp canines flashing in doing so.

“for putting on a damn good show in front of my ex. it’s time I return the favor.”

oh.

-

this was a mistake. a big fat fucking mistake and you didn’t realize it until you were walking up to the front door with Sukuna. you fidgeted with your skirt, smoothed your hair, tried to make yourself at least look like you hadn’t just let Sukuna tongue fuck your mouth in the car just moments ago.

would anyone be able to tell that you were sexually frustrated and as tense as a stretched rubber band? god you should have told him to knock it off but you just couldn’t help it.

Sukuna knocked three times, alerting Yuji to his presence before opening the door ahead of any answer. this used to be his home, after all. before everyone and their mother decided to come and dry hump on the couch every night.

he’d seen Choso’s lights on as you both walked up, and he was sure that she’d be here - and he silently hoped that wouldn’t scare you away.

“hey, Sukuna’s here everybody!” you heard someone shout, followed by a few grumbles of fake enthusiasm. did everyone really look down on him that much?

his brother Yuji, or you assumed by the matching head of pink fluffy hair, practically bounded over and wrapped his arms around Sukuna. “I’m so glad you made it!” Yuji exclaimed with a wide, toothy grin.

“yeah, yeah, like you would’ve noticed my absence.” Sukuna teased before turning the tables on Yuji and enclosing an arm around his brother’s throat to roughly rub his knuckles across Yuji’s scalp. “don’t make a big deal okay? I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

it was until then that Yuji noticed you, standing slightly behind Sukuna and smiling at the display - honestly surprised to see that side of Sukuna. “hi, I hope you don’t mind that I tagged along.” you bowed your head slightly, but a quick elbow from Sukuna had you straightening up.

“don’t do that, you don’t have to.” he corrected you with a smirk, and Yuji was having none of it.

your hands were quickly enclosed in his, and he bounced up and down with enthusiasm. “guys, Sukuna brought a girl with him!” Yuji yelled out behind him as he suddenly wrapped you in a hug too.

Sukuna rolled his eyes as he watched his little brother almost squeeze the life out of you. he half expected you to shrug it off, or push him away, but you were beaming. a grin stretched across your face and he felt his heart race wildly at the sight.

“woah, really? what, did you kidnap her or something?” a red-haired girl rushed around the corner, but when she saw you her jaw dropped. “holy fucking shit, she’s gorgeous!”

“that’s Nobara Kugisake, please ignore her for your own mental sanity.” Sukuna grumbled out an introduction, earning a sharp glare from Nobara before she also wrapped you up in a hug - joining Yuji seeing as he hadn’t even let go yet.

you were soon introduced to Megumi Fushiguro, Toge Inumaki, Yuta Okkotsu, and Maki Zenin. the only one out of four who showed an ounce of enthusiam was Inumaki, who extended his hand for you to shake.

you couldn’t help but wonder where -

“who’s your friend, Sukuna?” you turned at the voice, eyes catching on his other brother Choso standing at the bottom of the stairs, and then -

fucking hell. she was beautiful. like, “doesn’t have to try” beautiful.

and you were very, very aware of her eyes scanning over you, lips parted slightly in what looked to be surprise as she noted your presence. more specifically, Sukuna’s hand enclosed in yours.

Sukuna was quick to make introductions, not wanting to dwell on the fact that he had noticed how your demeanor shifted suddenly. he knew why, and he’d make sure to discuss it later, but for now he focused on wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping you at his side.

he didn’t want you to draw comparisons, but he could tell you were already doing so. your eyes followed her almost every where before you’d look down at your outfit, comb your fingers through your hair, or adjusted your posture.

to Sukuna, there was no fucking comparison. you were his and she was not.

but you couldn’t help it. you had wanted to know how - how had this one girl once had both Sukuna and Choso wrapped around her finger? and now after looking at her you knew. and you hated that she wasn’t hideous or bitchy. hated that you had yet to find anything negative about her.

the night dragged on, and so did your swirl of negative thoughts. Yuji was amazing, and Sukuna had been right that you two would get along. Choso was even very sweet, although still side eyeing Sukuna on occasion as if you couldn’t see.

once everyone was good and drunk, and things took a turn for the crazier side of a party, you were mentally checked out. Sukuna watched as you started to stare off into the distance, blinking a little too long and yawning into your elbow. you were getting sleepy, he knew it because you always looked the cutest when you were half awake.

“I think it’s time I get her back home. right, princess?” Sukuna pulled you closer to his side as everyone bid you goodnight, Yuji making sure to express repeatedly that you were always welcome. he didn’t miss the last long look you gave her from across the room.

you almost fell asleep on the ride back to your apartment, Sukuna’s warmth radiating off of him as your arms were wrapped around his torso. did you make a good first impression? did everyone like you, or hate you?

were you as pretty as her?

Sukuna had been fully intent on walking you to your door, and dropping you off like a gentleman. but manners be damned. as soon as you turned the key, and turned to look at him with big doe eyes, he was screwed.

“am I as pretty as her?” the question slipped from your lips before you could stop it, but you couldn’t help it. you had to know, otherwise you’d go crazy wondering about it.

but Sukuna didn’t respond, which made your stomach drop as he ushered you through your door before clicking it shut behind him. you almost took the silence as your answer, until suddenly your back was pressed up against the inside of your door and Sukuna had two hands firmly planted on either side of your head.

“don’t. don’t start making comparisons to her, because there is nothing to compare.” Sukuna growled lightly, chest heaving as he tried to keep a tight leash on his resolve to kiss you until you forgot all about it. “if you’re looking for something to set yourself apart - you’re mine. she’s not, and that’s that.”

“but-”

“no buts.” you were making it increasingly more difficult for him to control himself. what must he do to prove it to you? to chase away your negative thoughts and show you that you are the one he wants, exes and hookups be damned.

when you looked up at him again, he had one tiny, tiny shred left.

“then show me I’m yours.”

you were expecting him to laugh it off, to tell you that you were too tired or that he was going to be a gentleman. you were sick of that - fuck being a gentleman, you wanted him to fuck you.

but no, Sukuna took it as a challenge.

his lips crashed into yours, rough and unrestrained as his body pressed into you fervently. you tasted sweet, all he could think about as soon as he kissed you was how sweet you tasted and how he craved more. it made him wonder if you tasted just as sweet every where else.

the notion led him to start trailing rough kisses down your cheek, your jaw, onto your neck. peppered kisses mixed with nips of his teeth against your skin and you were already feeling hot. so fucking hot that it made you wonder what you’d set your thermostat to before you left.

you were so ablaze that you decided you needed your clothes off - now.

you started to lean into Sukuna, more and more until he started backing into your apartment with you in his arms, not allowing himself to breath and stuffing his face into your neck. he didn’t want to move or stop what he was doing, not until he was thoroughly drunk on your scent.

he backed up until he hit your bedroom door, reaching behind himself with one hand to open it and pull you inside with him. Sukuna’s lips returned to yours, nipping and tugging roughly at your bottom lip, causing you to moan out of your parted lips. he made note of how much he loved that sound, deciding to make sure he heard it throughout the night.

both of you tumbled back onto your bedspread, with Sukuna pinned under your body as you returned his needy kisses ten fold. he was warm and rough and sturdy and you ached for every bit of it. you went to bite his lip back, barely missing and catching his cheek again and his hips jolted in response.

Sukuna felt like a wild animal, and you seemingly matched his energy with your roaming hands and rough gentle teeth. if he knew how much you loved to bite he would have done this a hell of a lot sooner.

as your hands reached between your bodies and fumbled with his belt, Sukuna’s sank his canines into the exposed skin right between your neck and shoulder and hauled. hauled you to the side and rolled until you were firmly planted beneath him now, turning the tables.

he had to remind himself of where he was, who he was with, and what he intended to do with you. with permission.

“do you want to?” Sukuna’s voice came out broken and rough from lack of air due to your addictive kiss. his eyes scanned your face for any ounce of hesitation, but all he could find was your eyes half open as you smirked up at him.

“oh for fuck’s sake, I want you.” you murmured to answer him, reaching a hand up to rest on his cheek and smile at him.

and he melted on the spot. your warm touch, your smile, everything you were taking and giving right back to him made his heart thump wildly in his chest. if he didn’t know any better he thought you might be able to hear his pulse racing in the silence.

he didn’t let himself hesitate before his lips were on your skin again, now more gentle as he worked over your neck and jaw line. “tell me what you want. or don’t want.” Sukuna bit out that last part, trying desperately to remember how much progress he’d made in his journey to becoming a better man.

but dammit was it hard to be better right now when all he wanted to do was shove your face in the mattress and make you take his cock deep.

you hummed out soft praises as he worked his way down to your top, helping you rise and pull it over your shoulders, and soon after your pants followed to be discarded somewhere on the floor.

“how come I’m the first one that had to strip, and you’re still fully dressed?” you teased as you nipped at his exposed neck, pressing your tongue flat to lick a small stripe up the tattoo lining his shoulder.

Sukuna wanted to fire back, argue and tease until your cheeks were heated, but not right now. no, he made quick work of his own clothing, until the both of you were down to only your underwear.

and my oh my was Sukuna in nothing but boxers a sight to behold. you couldn’t help but ogle the growing mass straining in his underwear, twitching already as if it was begging to be freed.

“I knew it.” you gave him a smug grin as you stared right at his covered cock. “I knew you were big.”

Sukuna laughed, your blunt honesty taking him off guard but finding it hilarious nonetheless. “so, you’ve been thinking ‘bout my dick, have you?” he quipped before quickly smashing his lips to yours to halt any further remarks from your mouth. “how’d you like to see the real thing, princess?”

you nodded eagerly, hands already reaching for the waistband of his boxers and gulping as you felt him twitch at your touch. just by looking at it, even covered by fabric, you wondered if you’d be able to take it. would he even fucking fit?

your question was validated as soon as you slipped his boxers down past his knees and his cock was released.

the tip was already glistening with leaking pre-cum, his veins so prominent that your mouth went dry, and the thickness… god you really would be struggling to take him all in.

“your turn.” Sukuna grinned wickedly as he watched you stare at his cock. he could see the way you gulped at the sight, no doubt wracking your brain for an explanation of just how he could fit inside of you. “let me see you, pretty girl.”

his fingers danced along your panty line, feather-light touches sending chills up your spine as his knuckles brushed over your core.

“so wet already, hm?” he cooed as he let his middle knuckle press into your clit through the cloth. your back arched at the touch, and he sucked in a breath as he watched your mouth fall open from the littlest amount of pleasure.

without wasting any more time, he pulled your panties past you knees and off of your ankles - tossing them in his pile of clothes instead of yours. he’d be saving those for later, of course.

Sukuna had never felt himself go breathless at the sight of someone naked before. but now, every touch he gave and every noise from your lips had him shaking with anticipation.

you felt one of his fingers run through your wet folds, a groan escaping his lips at the feeling. “don’t be a tease.” you whined as you tried to scoot your hips into his touch. one of his hands firmly planted itself on your waist, pinning you in place to halt your desperate movements.

“just trying to get you ready, princess.” Sukuna explained before circling your clit, causing you to suck in a breath and grip the sheets a little tighter between your palms. “you said it yourself, it’s pretty big.

but you were impatient. you needed him right fucking now. “don’t care, I can take it.”

you can’t take it, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“don’t wanna hurt you.” Sukuna was trying so hard to be gentle, to fuck you the way you deserved but goddamn were you starting to make him crazy.

you looked him in the eye, pupils blown out with lust already, and smirked. “what are you, scared?” you teased, hoping that it would elicit the exact response you wanted.

and oh it did. he snapped, immediately pushing your legs up and back so that you knees met your chest to fold you up. Sukuna loved that you were smaller than him, pliable, easy to move around as he saw fit. if you were going to act like a brat then you could take it like a brat.

you moan at the first nudge of his tip in your entrance, his pre-cum mixing with your arousal as he teased so deliciously at your hole. he was baiting you to say something more. to talk back so that he could fuck the attitude out of you.

“you wanna rethink your cockiness now, sweet girl?” he bit out the words as he restrained himself from sheathing his cock to the hilt in one go. fuck he wanted to bury himself within you and watch as you fell apart. “I can feel your tight cunt already startin’ to stretch.”

it was a divine mixture of pain and pleasure to feel him slowly ease in, the tip of his dick now pushing past the first ring and sliding into your cunt. but it wasn’t enough for you.

“more, pl - please, give me more.” you groaned while reaching up to claw at his pecs. “just - ah - fuck me already dammit.”

“if you say so.” a grin spread across Sukuna’s face before he jolted his hips forward, bullying past your tight walls as fast as you could physically allow him until he was firmly planted deep inside of you.

you cried out, borderline screamed, at the stretch and burn of his huge dick molding you to his desire. oh it was so so good. you had never felt anything like it - you felt completely stuffed.

Sukuna but his lip so hard that he tasted copper as your walls clenched around him. “fuck you’re so - ngh - tight princess.” he pressed a hand across your abdomen, finding that sweet spot where he could feel his tip under your skin, almost buried within your cervix, or even past that. “takin’ me so well, feel s’ good.”

“holy shit, holy fucking shit.” a whine escaped you when you sucked in a breath. you dared to open your eyes from being clenched to see Sukuna hovering above you, completely still as if he couldn’t risk making another move.

and sure enough, his hand lifted to rest on your cheek, eyes boring into yours as he searched your expression. “you okay?” Sukuna bit out, resisting the urge to move his hips even the slightest.

“s’ good, Sukuna. ‘m okay.”

he watched as the tension left your body and your gaze softened as you looked at him. with your cheeks already flushed, Sukuna thought he was the luckiest guy in the world to see you like this. “Ryomen. if I’m inside you, start calling me Ryomen.” he blurted before he could stop himself. not that he regretted it.

the corners of your mouth turned up, and if your heart wasn’t already racing it sure was now. “now, can we continue, Ryo?”

he was so fucking screwed.

“anything for you, princess.”

and so were you.

literally.

one roll of Sukuna’s hips, even slight, had you clawing at his shoulders. you felt like you were floating and being suffocated all at once, and he fared no better. he didn’t know it could feel like this, like it was… well, he didn’t know what, but it was fucking better than anything else.

his head dipped into your shoulder, sinking his teeth into your skin and groaning into the bite. you swear you felt full body chills as his hands continued to roam your body as his cock destroyed your cunt.

with each gentle thrust, Sukuna became more and more confident with your responses, and started to pick up his pace with ferocity. honestly, if he didn’t, he was going cum sooner than you and he couldn’t have that. “god, you feel s’ fucking good. can’t believe we haven’t done this sooner.” he cursed under his breath at one particularly brutal thrust that had your walls clenching around him even more than they already were.

“well – shit – you had to earn it.” even in your messed up state you stilled toyed with him, watching as he smirked back at your attitude before reaching a hand down between the two of your bodies. his fingers brushed against your clit, feather light and teasing, but it still sent shockwaves through you. “ah don’t be a fucking tease, Ryo. I’m sure you know better – fuck!”

a harsh pinch to the clit had you shutting your mouth, or at least moaning so loud it interrupted your sarcasm, and Sukuna grinned devilishly. “what were y’ sayin’?” he chided as he pinched the sensitive nub again, delighted to watch as your body heaved in reaction.

“fuck, ‘m sorry, just don’t stop!” your nails dug into the muscle of his bicep, desperately trying to keep it pinned in place so that he would continue to work his magic with his hand. “please, please keep going!”

Sukuna obliged, now circling your clit as his cock shoved harder inside of you – in out in out – at an almost inhuman pace. his hand gripped your hip so tightly you were sure there would be bruises from where he tried to keep you still while he fucked you senseless. you were so beautiful to look at that Sukuna couldn’t look way, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open to release your honeyed moans, cunt sucking him in with each thrust.

when he felt your walls pulse and tighten, he knew you were close. and he prided himself in the knowledge that it was him getting you there. “you gonna cum, princess? all over my dick?” as you nodded fervently, he swept in and crashed his lips to yours, slipping his tongue inside your mouth and swallowing your moans as your release came crashing over you.

your cunt became like a vice, squeezing him to death as your body spasmed beneath him. the tightly wound band inside Sukuna’s abdomen was holding on by a single string, but he pulled away to watch you come undone.

“Ryo, please, want y’ to fill me up.” and fuck if he was going to argue with you. Sukuna slid both arms behind your back, wrapping around you to hold you still while his hips thrusted even harsher and faster than before, chasing his own high.

“say my name, princess. I’m gonna – ah shit – gonna cum. wanna cum inside this perfect pussy.” Sukuna was babbling at this point, and if he had any sense he’d hate himself for it but with a cunt this warm and good he couldn’t stop.

“fuck, Ryo!” you scratched your nails down his back harshly, pushing him off the edge. he let out a low, guttural groan as you felt him twitch inside of you, before you felt the warmth of his cum coating your walls and spilling out of you with the force of it.

once his balls started to ache, Sukuna pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to you. “holy shit.” he panted, wiping the sweat from his forehead and pushing his hair back. “that was –”

“– fucking phenomenal.” you finished for him, a cheesy grin spreading across your face as you started to chuckle. “hell, I think you enjoyed yourself more than me.”

“did not.” Sukuna growled lightly but you didn’t miss the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

“did too. gonna have you pussy whipped now, right?”

you were only teasing, but when he glanced your way, his pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked nearly black. he gave your shoulder a playful shove, a loud laugh spilling from his lips. “maybe,” he said with a grin, “just maybe.”

you’d count that as a win.

before you could fire back another quip, Sukuna slid an arm around your waist, tugging you closer in one smooth motion.

“c’mere,” he murmured, the warmth in his voice betraying how much he enjoyed seeing you flustered.

his free hand guided you until you were nestled comfortably against him, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a sense of calm. it felt surprisingly natural—his larger frame, the solid press of his body, and the low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through you when he realized you weren’t resisting.

“just maybe, huh?” you teased again, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

he let out a soft snort, tightening his hold as if you might slip away. “shut up,” he grumbled good-naturedly, but the way his hand splayed against your back was anything but irritated.

⊹. ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist : @mangiswig @sorahatake @osohchoso @clp-84 @sterzin @csolya @emochosoluvr @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

[luvmanifesting]

PURE CONSCIOUSNESS 101

what exactly IS pure consciousness? well its a state of consciousness where you’re detached from the 3D and mainly aware of the 4D. your 4D is anything that is within you. (imagination, inner conversations, playing a song in your head..etc etc) THAT is your 4D, you can induce pure consciousness at any time of the day and absolutely anywhere. most people prefer to induce pure consciousness at night because thats when the body becomes more relaxed in preparation for sleep. you can always set the intention to wake up in pure consciousness, fall asleep and then lucid dream and THEN induce pure consciousness or sleep paralysis (i don’t really recommend sleep paralysis) but hey, do what makes you comfortable. you may think that its too good to be true but its not, everyone has the ability to induce pure consciousness because its simply a meditative process. the traditional way people induce pure consciousness on TUMBLR is usually by closing your eyes and repeating the phrases “I AM” or “I am in the void state” or “i am pure consciousness” it doesn’t matter what affirmation you use just as long as its the intention of inducing it. you cannot fail this because it is impossible. news flash.. you induce pure consciousness as soon as you fall asleep every night.

you cannot force pure consciousness thats a thing most of you guys do, you wanna rush because you desperately wanna show your haters wrong. stop that, you don’t force yourself to sleep right? you don’t force yourself to breathe.. so stop trying to force pure consciousness. that will only keep you in the awake state. (awake state being you reading this right now and everything you see around you).

whats also common when people wanna induce pure consciousness is they wonder when they’ll start getting symptoms (floaty feeling, tingling, senses going out) etc, guys that’s simply just your brain checking to see if you’re awake, one of the reasons you “tap out” of pure consciousness was because you placed your awareness back on your body. as soon as your senses go out then you’re there. theres no “but i got floaty feelings and then i affirmed and i got nothing” well then you were not pure consciousness. and then theres your fear that comes into play whenever inducing pure consciousness.

you’re scared of failing, (you literally can’t fail a mediative state this isn’t rocket science) you’re panicking because you swore to yourself you would induce pure consciousness over the break and live your dream life and then you didn’t. *loud heavy sigh* you can’t fail this guys, its okay to be worried but this isn’t something that just can never not work for you.

now lets see pure consciousness from a law of an assumption pov, as we all know our best friend is law of assumption, works instantly and effectively. all you have to do is assume. “well ayami how do i assume?”. my response would be that the sky is glittery with magical rainbows. you would reply with “no its not” i would reply “yes it is” 1 second later the sky is glittery and has magical rainbows. why? because it was my assumption. i didn’t need any stupid proof, it was my assumption so it had no choice to happen. now if you told me “ugh im such a master at inducing pure consciousness” and i said “no you aren’t” you are NOT going to say “oh you’re right im not” YOU ARE GOING TO SAY “um what’re talking about yes i am? you’re just jealous i can induce it instantly and effortlessly”. okay now bam you can instantly and effortlessly induce pure consciousness whenever you want because thats your assumption and you stood firm to it no matter what was said or shown to you. starting NOW you will assume that you’re a master at inducing pure consciousness and you will stand firm in that state no matter what the hell is shown.

now go induce pure consciousness.

[scoupsakakitty]

hi!! I really liked the hoshi x 4th gen idol fic, do you think you could write it for my boyfie vernon please?? thank uuu <333

Eyes on You | idol!Vernon x idol!reader | fluff

The lights in the massive arena sparkled like stars, cameras flashing as idols filled the stage for the final group photo of the night. Cheers echoed through the venue, a mix of excitement and celebration as the award show came to an end.

Y/N stood with her group, smiling for the cameras and waving at the fans, but her attention kept drifting.

He was standing so close.

Vernon.

His group was positioned right next to hers, and by some twist of fate, they had ended up nearly side by side. She could feel his presence without even looking, but when she finally dared to glance his way, their eyes met.

Her breath caught, but she quickly smiled, pretending to stay calm.

To her surprise, Vernon smiled back—a small, subtle smile that made her heart race.

They held eye contact for just a second too long before Y/N looked away, trying to focus on the cameras. But the heat in her cheeks lingered.

And then it happened again.

When the music started and the idols began to exit the stage, Vernon glanced at her one more time. This time, she caught him and raised an eyebrow as if to say, Caught you.

He just smiled.

———————————————————————————-

By the time Y/N got back to her dorm that night, her phone was blowing up.

Videos of Vernon and Y/N’s lingering stares and subtle smiles had gone viral. Fans had zoomed in, slowed the footage, and added captions about “soulmates” and “love at first sight.”

Y/N buried her face in her hands as her groupmates crowded around her, laughing and showing her the edits.

“Oh my God, look at this one!” one of them said, shoving their phone toward her. It was a slowed-down video of Vernon smiling at her with dramatic music in the background.

“Stop,” Y/N groaned, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

Her heart skipped when she saw his name trending alongside hers. Was he seeing all of this too?

———————————————————————————-

The next day, Y/N’s phone buzzed with a notification.

Instagram DM: Chwe Hansol

Her heart dropped. No way.

She opened it quickly.

Vernon: Hey. I hope this isn’t weird, but I just wanted to say congrats on your performance last night. You guys were amazing.

Y/N stared at the message, reading it three times before typing back.

Y/N: Thank you so much! Congrats to you too. You guys were incredible.

His reply came almost instantly.

Vernon: Haha, thanks. I think I might have stared a little too much last night. Sorry about that.

She laughed out loud.

Y/N: You definitely did. But it’s okay—I was staring too.

There was a pause, and Y/N wondered if she’d said too much. But then another message popped up.

Vernon: Wanna make it less awkward and talk in person sometime?

———————————————————————————-

A few days later, they finally met up. It was late at night, and the streets were quiet as they walked side by side through the city.

Y/N had been nervous at first, but Vernon’s easygoing vibe put her at ease. They talked about everything—music, family, and how surreal their lives felt sometimes.

At one point, Y/N pulled out her phone. “I need to show you something.”

“What is it?” Vernon leaned closer, curious.

“My cat had kittens last week,” she said, grinning as she pulled up photos.

His eyes lit up as he looked at the pictures. “No way. They’re so tiny!”

“I was there when they were born,” Y/N said, her smile softening. “Two of them needed help, so I had to step in.”

Vernon looked at her, clearly impressed. “You helped deliver them?”

She nodded. “It was kind of scary, but also amazing.”

“That’s… really cool,” he said, swiping through the pictures. “They’re adorable.”

“You should meet them,” Y/N said without thinking. When she realized what she’d said, her eyes widened. “I mean—only if you want to.”

Vernon smiled. “I want to.”

As they kept walking, Vernon brushed his hand against hers—just lightly at first, almost as if by accident. But when Y/N didn’t pull away, he laced his fingers through hers.

Her heart skipped, but she didn’t let go.

———————————————————————————-

A few days later, rumors exploded online.

Photos had surfaced of two people walking hand-in-hand late at night. Their faces weren’t visible, but fans speculated immediately—was it Vernon and Y/N?

Y/N scrolled through the photos, her stomach twisting. The comments were endless, and even though some fans defended them, others weren’t as kind.

Her phone buzzed.

Vernon: Don’t worry about the photos. Are you okay?

Y/N: I’m fine. Just nervous.

Vernon: Me too. Can I see you later?

They met up again that night, but this time, Vernon looked more serious.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about this,” he said, his voice soft. “And about you.”

Y/N swallowed. “What about me?”

“I like you, Y/N. More than a friend.” He hesitated, his fingers brushing against hers again. “I know this isn’t easy, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

Y/N’s heart pounded.

“I like you too,” she admitted.

Vernon’s eyes softened, and he let out a quiet breath of relief. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, they just stood there, hands still linked.

“I don’t care what people say,” Vernon said finally. “As long as you’re okay with this, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.”

Y/N smiled softly, her fingers tightening around his. “I’m okay with this,” she said, her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart. “As long as we’re careful and honest with each other, I think we can handle it.”

Vernon’s lips curved into a relieved smile. “I’ll always be honest with you.”

They stood there for a moment longer, just taking it all in—the weight of what they had just admitted to each other, the excitement of something new, and the slight nervousness of what might come next.

Finally, Vernon gently pulled her closer, their joined hands resting between them. “I promise, I’ll protect this—protect us. No matter what.”

Y/N looked up at him, her chest warming at his words. “Me too.”

———————————————————————————-

The days that followed were a blur of rehearsals, schedules, and whispers about the mysterious couple in the viral photos. Fans had yet to confirm their identities, but speculation continued to spread.

Y/N tried to ignore the noise, focusing instead on the texts and late-night calls with Vernon that had quickly become the highlight of her days.

One night, Vernon called her after his schedule ended.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

Y/N sighed, flopping onto her bed. “Better than I expected. I think the rumors are starting to die down.”

“Good.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I miss you.”

Her heart fluttered. “I miss you too.”

“Can I see you this weekend?”

Y/N smiled. “You still want to meet my kittens?”

Vernon laughed. “You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to that.”

———————————————————————————-

When Vernon finally came over to see her kittens, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. She had never invited someone into this part of her life before—her home, her safe space—but Vernon fit in so naturally.

The moment he stepped inside, his eyes lit up at the sight of the kittens tumbling over each other in their tiny bed.

“No way,” he said, crouching down to get a closer look. “They’re even cuter in person.”

“I told you,” Y/N teased, sitting down beside him.

One of the kittens—a fluffy gray one—wandered over to Vernon and pawed at his shoe. He laughed and gently picked it up, cradling it in his hands like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

Y/N watched him, her heart swelling.

“You’re really good with them,” she said softly.

Vernon looked up and smiled. “I like them. And… I like being here.”

Her breath caught, but before she could say anything, Vernon leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“You make me feel at home,” he murmured, his voice so soft she almost didn’t catch it.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as the kitten purred in his lap.

———————————————————————————-

Despite the rumors, the world slowly moved on, and Vernon and Y/N fell into an easy rhythm.

They couldn’t be as public as other couples, but they found comfort in stolen moments—late-night walks, quiet dinners, and lazy afternoons playing with kittens.

Their relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. And as they held hands in the privacy of her apartment, surrounded by sleeping kittens, Y/N knew she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Vernon squeezed her hand gently, pulling her closer.

“We’ll figure this out,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead.

Y/N smiled. “I know we will.”

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

[tsukii0002]

Mc and Luke have gone to get some stuff to continue celebrating the new year in the House of the Lamentations.

Luke: Hey Mc, don't you think a new year is kind of scary?

Mc: What do you mean Luke?

Luke: I never thought about this before coming to Devildom…. but things can change a lot in a single year…

Mc: *sighing* Yes, things in a year can change a lot, we don't know where we're going to be next year.

Luke: *looking at the ground* To have things that make me feel secure end or think that something I love is never going to be the same again… makes me feel insecure.

Mc: …

Luke: In a way… a new year is scary, I'm scared that the world I'm so happy in will be totally different, *looking at Mc* that my relationships… my relationship with you won't be the same.

Silence fell between them

Mc: *smiling* The new year is like a symbolism really, everything can change any time Luke, just because we enter a new year doesn't mean everything hasn't changed before.

Luke: That's true.

Mc: And change isn't always bad… sometimes it's scary and can make us anxious, but things come to an end and there's nothing we can do about it.

Luke: I know…

Mc: But, they also start, great things can begin, or they don't end and simply transform *placing their hand on the angel's shoulders* changes are part of our life and we have to learn to live with them.

Luke: But what if we change? what if we are no longer the way we were and… and we can't be together anymore?

Mc: Then, I will make an effort to get to know you again and to be your friend again, change doesn't mean forgetting, and if it's so important we can try that, with us, our relationship can transform.

Luke: *with crystalline eyes, making a little pout* I will also try my best to make you always love me Mc, even if you become an angel or a demon.

Mc: *smiling* Thank you Luke *hugging him* sometimes we worry so much about what's to come or what we can't change, that we don't see what we can do now.

Luke: *hugging them back harder* You're right Mc… if we only worry about the future we can never be happy.

Mc: You're right Luke, that happens to us a lot *leaving him and holding out their hand* now, we should get back, they've all taken too much Demonus to leave them unsupervised.

Luke: That's right, *taking their hand* we'd better hurry.

The two walked back on their way to the House of the Lamentations.

Mc: By the way Luke… has anyone said anything to you about this New Year's thing?

Luke: Solomon started talking about how little a year has always meant to him and how much it means now… he was actually laughing a lot, but it got me thinking about a lot of things.

Mc: Got it, no more human drinks at parties, noted.

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Well, well, happy new year to all of you!!! 🎉🎉I hope you have started 2025 on the right foot and, as they say, I hope this year brings you only good things. Although we all know that almost never happens, in one year life can change a lot, to unsuspected points. When I started 2024 I never thought that Obey me! would end (I know it is only the official content of the game, not the franchise, but you know), although it is one of the things that has helped me to pass a not very good year for me, but life goes on, and just as things that we do not like can also come good things can come. Regarding a purpose for this new year in this blog well, keep creating content, create more complex stories about these characters that I love so much and focus more on world building and solve the mysteries that have been left open in the Devildom (now that everything is in our hands), work more on my Mc and draw a lot, a lot. Just as I hope to continue to see the Obey me! fandom alive and creating as many wonderful things as it has been so far, even more.

So, after this badge, it only remains for me to wish you a happy new year! And the wish that things will only get better for everyone.

Thanks for this year 🩷, a hug from this sheep in hell.

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