#i’ll still need to order the backing cards and another set of business cards but that’s for later

[sherbovania]

BROS…THE BAYOJEANNE PINS HAVE BEEN PAID FOR AND ARE GOING INTO PRODUCTION

[obligatory @moth--knight ping for hype]

[yoongiseesawmp3]

banana pancakes - seungcheol (m)

summary: when the city girl comes back home for the summer, the cocky diner owner tasks himself with making her feel welcome. 

word count: 12k

warnings: not quite enemies to lovers, more like annoyance to lovers; smut, afab reader, gendered nicknames (mostly just city girl), oral (m receiving)

masterlist

seungcheol was in the middle of a lunch rush when you walked in. you looked frazzled and out of place, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. he almost dropped someone’s blt because he couldn’t stop staring. you however couldn’t figure out who in this dingy place could possibly be the owner, so you awkwardly stand to the side at the counter while you squint at the specials board.

“what’ll you have?” cheol asks as he rounds the bar, ending up at the cash register in front of you. “speak quickly.”

“excuse me?” you ask, taken aback.

“it’s busy, you’re holding up the line, order now or i’ll pick for you,” he tries again and you blink at him in shock. people in the city were rude, sure, but not like this.

“fine, order for me then,” you say as you hand him your card. “and add a black coffee. all of this is to go.”

“i scared you off so soon?” cheol smirks as he rings you up. “total’s two dollars and fifty cents.”

“uh, that’s all?”

“meal’s on me,” he shrugs. “won’t charge you for it if it ends up being something you don’t like.”

“oh, well, thanks,” you say as you sign the receipt. “when will it be ready?”

“when it’s ready,” cheol replies like it’s obvious. 

“wonderful service here,” you say as you roll your eyes. you take a seat at the newly open stool at the counter and cheol tsks.

“seats are for customers who eat here,” cheol says while he gets to work with your coffee. 

“make the food faster and i’ll leave sooner,” you counter back. cheol nods, smiling to himself as he goes to the back. when he reemerges he’s got one container in his hand that he drops off to you before skillfully helping everyone else at the counter. you watch in quiet appreciation, noticing how his buff chest makes his plaid shirt fight for its life to not pop open. you see bits of curly hair peeking out from under the backwards cap on his head, and-

“that’s the last of it,” cheol says as he drops another container off in front of you. he comes back a moment later with a bag and starts packing it up for you as he explains, “had some left over banana pancakes from breakfast, hope you’re fine with that even though it’s past noon.”

“no, that’s great,” you sputter out, “that’s my favorite kind actually.”

“noted,” cheol says as he holds your gaze for a moment. “then i made you some turkey sausage to go with it. hope it’s worth the two bucks.”

“i’m sure it will be,” you say as you grab the bag. “thanks-”

“cheol,” he smiles. “and you are?”

“y/n,” you reply. “you new here?”

“nope, but you are.”

“no i’m not,” you shake your head. “i grew up here. i’m just home for the summer.”

“from school?” cheol questions, wiping down the counter.

“my big city job, actually,” you reply. “i just quit so i need to live at home for a bit while i find a new one.”

“well it’s nice to meet you, city girl,” cheol smiles. “enjoy the food.”

“bit of advice?” you ask as you stand up, sipping your coffee. “fix the attitude. good coffee though.”

-

“and then he ended up paying for my food,” you finish explaining to your best friend, vernon. as soon as you left the diner you headed to vernon’s house (where he still lives with his parents - don’t mention it, it’s a touchy subject). 

“yeah, seungcheol’s a weird guy,” vernon replies as he takes another one of your pancakes and folds it up like a taco. “at least you got free food though, that means he likes you.”

“doubtful,” you roll your eyes. “he seems like a dick.”

“oh then he’s just your type,” vernon teases, and you kick at his lap. he’s the definition of bachelor living at home, he has the whole basement of his parent’s house to himself and there’s really just a bed, a couch, and a full set of instruments set up in the corner for his band that practices here. you’re currently sat on the couch, a movie long forgotten on vernon’s projector. you couldn’t stop talking about cheol, or thinking about him, since you left the diner. he really irked you today. “whatever. pretend you don’t think he’s sexy, but i think someone’s got a little crush.”

“screw you,” you laugh as you snatch the take out container from his lap. “you don’t get to eat my food anymore.”

“seungcheol does deliveries, you know,” vernon says coyly. “i could call him and he’ll be here in minutes...”

“eat all you want, just save me a pancake.”

-

after your debrief with vernon, you finally headed back home. you needed the time with your best friend to catch up and get some much needed insight on your current situation. you were staying at home for a while, yes, but you couldn’t decide how long that would last. you had quit your job in the city because you were burned out, and you didn’t know what was coming next. but the little bit you’ve spent at home has reminded you of how easy life here can be. you can’t decide if you need to refresh your city life, or just stay at home and slow it down for a while. vernon wasn’t much help, he just reminded you of all the things you’d miss about both places, and then not so subtly mentioned that cheol only exists in your small town. 

cheol. he’s a mystery to you, but thinking about him makes your blood boil. unfortunately, vernon told you, his diner is the only edible place in town right now. you don’t feel like cooking for yourself tonight, and your parents are currently out of town on vacation, so if you want a meal then you’ll have to face the bully in a baseball cap again. 

once you’ve unpacked at home, you collapse onto the couch in your living room, ready to relax and maybe order a pizza to keep you from seeing cheol again so soon. you spend a few minutes channel surfing only to be interrupted by your stomach growling, and you realize your fate is set. you’ll have to go back to the diner. 

when you walk through the door, you’re met with the ding of the bell and silence. there’s only one other person there, sitting at the far end of the counter with his food. at the sound of the bell cheol emerges from the back, wiping his hands and smiling. 

“back so soon, city girl?” he asks. “sit anywhere, i’ll bring you a menu.” wordlessly you find the stool you sat at earlier today and sit, smiling awkwardly at the only other customer here. he nods back, a patch of ketchup on the side of his lips. when cheol comes back he passes you a menu and asks the man, “all good hoshi?”

“you got anymore ketchup?”

“check your face.”

“charming, isn’t he?” hoshi, apparently, asks you. you chuckle politely and look at the menu, but hoshi’s interest is piqued. “sorry, what’s your name?”

“city girl!” cheol shouts from the back, and you shoot him a glare he doesn’t see.

“i’m y/n,” you reply. “nice to meet you. aren’t you friends with seungkwan?”

“i am! how do you know him?” 

“we went to school together,” you explain, and hoshi nods. 

“you’re vernon’s big city friend,” hoshi connects the dots. “what brings you back home?”

“need to save money while i look for a new job,” you tell him, and cheol joins you at the counter just then.

“saving money and yet you’ve eaten here twice today?”

“well you gave me my food for free earlier, so i thought i could get another deal,” you joke. 

“she got free food?!” hoshi shrieks. “i come here every day! i keep your lights on! i deserve a free meal every once in a while!”

“yeah, but you’re not a pretty girl, hosh,” cheol replies. 

“oh, i see what’s going on here,” hoshi smiles knowingly. you sputter trying to defend yourself, but cheol won’t let you. 

“do you know what you want?” he asks you, “or you want me to pick again?”

“how’s the fried chicken?” you ask hoshi instead. 

“oh, to die for,” he tries to convince you. “but if cheol really likes you then you should ask for something off menu-”

“gross,” you interject.

“-like pasta, he makes a killer carbonara-”

“hoshi,” cheol warns, and you hide your smirk seeing the blush on cheol’s cheeks. when he turns back to you it deepens because he sees how you’re staring at him. he clears his throat and asks, “so? chicken or not?”

“i’ll do the chicken and potatoes please,” you say with a nod. “and another coffee too.”

“it’s almost 8pm,” cheol stops. “you’re gonna drink coffee at 8pm?”

“you’ve still got some in the pot,” you nod toward the machine. “just give me what’s left and you won’t have to throw it out. i’m the only crazy person who drinks coffee this late apparently.”

“you’re never gonna sleep,” cheol continues to scold you.

“i will, promise,” you insist. “now give me the coffee, please. i’m a little tired of you telling me what i can and can’t have here.”

“this is riveting,” hoshi says with his chin on his hand, leaning over the counter as he watches your interaction. with cheol safely in the back, he scoots a couple seats closer and asks, “so do you think he’s hot?”

“excuse me?”

“it’s alright, you can tell me,” he says. “your secret is safe with hoshi.”

“i’m sorry, i don’t-”

“stop bothering my customer, man,” cheol says as he returns with a clean coffee mug. he pours what’s left from the pot and passes it to you, your hands brushing as he passes it over. “you tired or something? why’re you drinking coffee so late?”

“it’s 8pm, this isn’t late,” you say before taking a sip. “and it’s good coffee. sorry i wanted to give you money.”

“can i get the check?” hoshi asks, interrupting the way seungcheol was trying to commit the shape of your lips to memory. “i’ll leave you two alone.”

“no, you’re fine,” you say quickly, but cheol is faster and has the check and change ready for hoshi. he politely waves goodbye to you both, and after the ding of the bell the diner falls silent. cheol leans back against the counter with the coffee, watching you. “shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?”

“nope, i was waiting to see if anything interesting was gonna happen out here,” he replies as he crosses his insanely buff arms over his chest. 

“sorry buddy, but i’m all good,” you say as you take another sip of coffee. “just incredibly hungry.”

“then let me help you with that,” he says with a smirk before disappearing. you notice that your cheeks are hot, probably from how enraging seungcheol is. no other reason. 

-

one thing you’re determined to do while you’re home is clean out your childhood room. your mom has been complaining about how much junk you and your siblings have left here over the years, and you’re tired of the passive aggressive comments whenever you come visit. consider it an early birthday present mom, the old toys and decaying art projects will be gone before you know it!

it takes a few days for you to sort through all the junk, throwing out what’s unusable and making countless trips around town to donate the rest. you’re finally left with the bones of your room: a few childhood mementos you can’t bear to part with, the twin bed you’ll be sleeping on for the next few weeks, and a broken desk you can’t seem to move on your own. you’ve been frustrated by the thing more times than you can count, so you cave and call vernon for help.

“come move my desk for me,” you say as soon as he picks up.

“hello?” he replies, confused.

“hey,” you continue. “you know the desk in my room that’s been broken since high school? help me move it, please.”

“why?”

“because it’s annoying.”

“just like you?”

“please vernon?” you whine. “it’s too heavy for me on my own and my car isn’t big enough to drive it somewhere.”

“fine. you owe me pizza though,” he says as you hear keys jingling in the background. “be there soon.”

eventually there’s a knock at your front door, and you slump up from the couch grumbling about how late vernon is. you open the door, ready to complain about his punctuality, only to be met with cheol’s smiling face.

“hey city girl, heard you need a truck?” he asks as he leans forward, peeking into your house. “where’s the desk?”

“um, my room?” you reply, and you watch in shock as cheol walks in and makes himself at home. “where are you going?”

“to your room?” he turns around, hands in his pockets but smirk still perpetually on his lips. “vernon said you’d have it ready to go but i guess he didn’t realize how spoiled you must be.”

“spoiled?” you scoff, pushing past him to your room. “because i can’t move a desk by myself?”

“it’s alright, everyone has flaws,” cheol nods as he follows you like an eager puppy. he stops at the doorway to your room, taking it in. he tries to hide a smile when he sees the baby blankets and dolls strewn across your bed. “you gonna introduce me to your friends?”

“shut up,” you snap. “come help me with this.”

“can’t even give me a please?” he sighs, coming into your room anyway. he joins you at the desk, facing you at the other end. he gets a good grip and then says, “lift on three. one, two, three,” he huffs. it’s astounding how easy it is to move with cheol’s help, and he backs out of your room carefully to make sure you don’t trip. 

“so where’s vernon?” you ask, carefully walking the desk out of your house. you get to the front steps and cheol stops.

“you think you can get it down the stairs?” he asks. “don’t trip.”

“i’ll be fine,” you insist. “answer my question.”

“vernon doesn’t have a truck.”

“i didn’t say i needed a truck,” you grumble. “this could’ve fit in his van.”

“that broken down thing?” cheol chuckles. “i’m pretty sure the extra weight would make the car stop altogether. vernon felt the same, that’s why he asked me so nicely to come help a damsel in distress.”

“you’re obnoxious, did you know that?” you ask him as he guides you to lift the desk up into the back of his truck. 

“and you’re stronger than you look,” he comments slyly, watching as you straighten your clothes. “so where’s this going?”

“the dump?” you reply. “thanks for hauling it, i guess.”

“hey, whoa,” he whistles as you start turning back to your house, “where are you going?”

“inside?” 

“you’re not coming with me?” he asks with a pout. 

“you’re a big boy, you can manage on your own,” you reply with a similar pout.

“no, seriously,” he says, “you gotta come with me to tell me where this goes.”

“i don’t care, just drop it off somewhere,” you reply. 

“hm, and you said you weren’t spoiled,” cheol tsks as he climbs into his truck. “whatever. see you later city girl.”

“wait!” you shout over the sound of cheol’s truck starting. he rolls the window down to hear you better, an eyebrow quirked as he waits for you to go on. “um, let me grab my keys. i’ll be right back.”

“sure thing,” he smirks. “i’ll keep the seat warm for ya.”

-

“are you sure this is the right way?” cheol complains. you’ve circled this block three separate times, so sure that the donation center is somewhere on this street. 

“if you would just slow down,” you whine. “i was here the other day, i know it’s close by.”

“oh, so you can do things on your own?” cheol teases, and you cross your arms. “sorry, that was rude.” silence. “are you giving me the silent treatment now?” nothing. “god. you’re irritating, you know that?”

“hm right back at ya,” you reply. “turn left up here.”

“why?” 

“because i said so.”

“fine,” cheol grumbles. as soon as you’re around the corner you see the donation center and you point toward the drop off, already unbuckling your seatbelt so you can be out of the car ready to unload before cheol even puts it in park. “hey, be careful,” he scolds, following behind you and lowering the tailgate. “you’re annoying but i don’t want you to get hurt on my watch.”

“i’ll be fine,” you bark, and cheol holds his hands up in defense. 

“did i say something?” he asks as you work together to bring the desk back down. “you’re touchy.”

“you’re getting on my nerves,” you explain, “so let’s move this desk and get this lovely afternoon over with, hm?”

“so nice to someone doing you a favor, sweet thing,” cheol replies, and your grip on the desk almost slips at the new nickname. 

“what was wrong with city girl?”

“i like to spice things up,” cheol smirks, knowing he’s getting to you. once you drop the desk off he rushes back to the truck to open your door for you, offering his hand so you can easily climb back into the cab. you ignore him and pull yourself up, and cheol gives your ass an appreciative glance. you let him close the door for you, and you stew silently as he closes the tailgate and gets back into the driver’s side. “you all buckled?”

“yep.”

“you gonna be a brat the whole ride back?”

“depends, you gonna call me spoiled and irritating some more?”

“depends,” cheol smiles, and you let your head fall back onto the headrest with a groan. you drive on for a while in silence, and you try to sneak a glance at cheol without him noticing. he’s wearing a new flannel, the sleeves folded up to his elbows to show off his strong arms. his hair is still hidden by that cap, and you’re tempted to ask him to take it off so you can see the curls you know are hiding underneath. “whatcha lookin at?”

“you,” you don’t try to hide it. “just trying to figure out how someone the town seems to love so much can be such a jerk.”

“when you make the best food for miles people tend to overlook the attitude problems.”

“so you admit it?” 

“admit what?”

“that you have an attitude?” you ask, leaning forward to look at him better.

“yes, i do,” he says with a sidelong glance at you. “and the sooner you admit to yours the sooner i think we’ll get along.”

“in your dreams.”

“so you want me to dream about you?” 

“oh my god,” you groan, letting your head fall against the dashboard. “drop me off here, i’ll walk home.”

“no can do, city girl, there’s lots of scary things round these parts.”

“you’re one of them,” you say with an accusing finger pointed cheol’s way. 

“but i’m a sweetheart,” he says innocently. “and we’re almost back at your house, take a chill pill.”

“alright dad,” you grumble. there’s another beat of silence before you quietly mumble, “thank you, by the way.”

“what?” 

“i said thank you,” you repeat. “i don’t know how i would’ve moved that desk on my own. so thanks.”

“you’re welcome, sweet thing,” cheol says happily. “you know, if you got my number, you could ask me for help whenever you need it.”

“i think i can manage on my own,” you say with a nod as cheol pulls up to your house. he puts the truck in park and turns to face you, arms still draped over the steering wheel. 

“well, you know where to find me,” he replies. you think he’s going to say something else, but he just stares at you instead, so you awkwardly clear your throat and say your goodbyes. cheol watches you walk up to your house, making sure you’re safe inside before pulling off. you see him waiting when you turn to close the door, and you shyly wave goodbye before closing it behind you.

-

the next day you find yourself outside the diner again. you had been running around town all morning finishing up errands, and you tried holding out on grabbing a cup of coffee for as long as possible. you don’t know what cheol does to make the coffee so good but you can’t stop thinking about it. the coffee and the man serving it are addictive, and you take a deep breath before opening the door to find an empty diner. no diners, no cheol.

“hello?” you call out to no reply. you slowly walk toward the counter and take your usual seat, looking around. you hear footsteps but you’re not sure from where, and cheol appears from a dark corner at the end of the counter. he looks surprised but pleased to see you, and he takes his time moseying down to stand in front of you.

“well hey there sweet thing,” he greets you. “coffee?”

“please,” you nod. “how did you know? and where did you come from?”

“you’re a creature of habit,” he replies. “and my apartment is upstairs, it was slow so i went up to take a break.”

“really mixing your work life balance living above your business,” you tell him. “that’s not good for you.”

“coffee’s not good for you either,” cheol scolds despite handing you a fresh cup.

“then why do you serve it?” you question, taking the warm mug from him regardless.

“brings in the money,” he answers. “you want anything else?”

“hm, i’m good for now, thanks,” you reply, trying to organize the bags at your feet. cheol stands on his toes, looking over the counter to stare at your stuff.

“shopping till you drop?” he teases, and you groan as you sit back up.

“i promised my mom i would restock the house before my parents came back from vacation, so i had to get some groceries,” you start to explain. “but i forget we live in the middle of nowhere so i had to go to a couple stores to get everything i need.”

“your parents are coming back?” cheol asks, and you hum in response. he leans on the counter, abnormally close to you, before he says, “when do you want me to stop by to meet them?”

“um, never?” you respond. “you’ve probably met them already, why do you have to be weird about this.”

“because i like seeing you squirm,” he smiles before pushing back from you. “if you don’t need anything else i’m gonna go check on something in the back.”

“take your time,” you mumble. you busy yourself with something on your phone and almost miss the plate that cheol slides in front of you. you look up to see him with hopeful eyes, and then you look down to find out he’s giving you a piece of pie. “what’s this?”

“cherry pie.”

“i didn’t ask for pie,” you say, and he rolls his eyes.

“but i’m giving it to you. you could say thanks.”

“what if i don’t like cherries?” 

“tough!” he replies. “i’m not leaving you alone until you take a bite.”

“what if i’m allergic?” you try testing him further, squinting at him. he squints back before he replies, watching you take your first bite.

“then i’ll administer mouth to mouth,” he retorts, making you almost choke.

“that’s not how you stop an allergic reaction,” you cough out, and cheol watches on amused. 

“you want some water?”

“no, i need you ten feet away from me,” you laugh nervously. “i’ll take the check, i should go anyway.”

“but you didn’t finish the pie,” he pouts, and you feel something in your chest tighten. you settle back on the stool and sigh, taking another bite. “so?”

“it’s really good,” you mumble, some crumbs falling to your lips. cheol motions for you to wipe your mouth and, embarrassed, you grab a napkin. “but seriously. you can give me the check, i’ll go ahead and pay and you can go back to doing whatever diner man things you do.”

“i don’t have any diner man things to do right now,” he shrugs. “the check can wait.”

“why do you like messing with me so much?”

“everybody needs a hobby,” cheol smiles. “what do you like to do? throw flaming darts at a picture of me?”

“fascinating that you think i put that much emotion into how i feel about you,” you reply, and cheol mimics getting stabbed in the chest.

“damn, city girl, that hurts,” he hisses. 

“sorry, that was mean,” you backtrack. “i just. i don’t know how to handle you.”

“you can handle me however you want,” he nods. “i can take it.”

“good to know,” you mumble out, focusing on the pie. “thanks for this.”

“you’re welcome,” cheol smirks, watching you intently. “i’ve heard they pair well together. kinda like you and me. the coffee is bitter, like you,” cheol teases, “and the pie is sweet, like me.”

“i’m gonna vomit.”

“not on my counter,” cheol replies with a laugh, and you glare at him as you reach for your wallet. you hand your card over to him and he pretends to swipe it at the register. “should i make fake beeping noises to sell it or will you just let me give you this for free without a fight?”

“you can’t turn a profit if you keep giving people free food you know,” you scold. “not a good business plan.”

“i only do it for you,” he shrugs. “so i think i’m fine. come back whenever want, city girl. i’ll take care of you.”

-

one of the benefits of being home is seeing all of the friends you’ve missed while you were in the city. you’ve missed your movie nights with vernon and seungkwan specifically, so when vernon calls asking what your friday night plans are you’re thrilled to tell him you’re not busy. within minutes of showing up at his house you’re settled on the ginormous bean bag chair you claimed as yours several years ago. the boys are on the couch bickering over which movie to watch, but knowing vernon, he’ll probably have the final say regardless. you don’t care what you watch, you’re just happy to be here. 

“y/n, help,” seungkwan whines. “tell vernon i don’t want to watch cars.”

“it’s his house kwan,” you reply. “if he wants to binge all the cars movies then i’m afraid that’s what we’re doing tonight.”

“and this is why y/n is my favorite friend,” vernon says with a finger pointed in seungkwan’s face. he rolls his eyes and moves vernon’s hand before fighting back.

“if we’re watching cars then i need a drink,” he grumbles, and vernon reminds him that he keeps the minifridge stocked with beer just for seungkwan. he asks if you want one but you decline, too comfortable curled up on the bean bag to sit up just so you can drink. 

“you gonna make it through the movie or are you gonna fall asleep on us?” vernon asks you with a smile. you hum as you think about it.

“depends,” you say with a stretch. “are we eating? food would wake me up.”

“yeah, it’s on its way,” vernon replies and you nod, nuzzling back into the bean bag chair so you can see the screen better. 

“ok,” seungkwan starts as he sits back down, “i will watch this movie, maybe the second one, but i am not watching the third. and vernon i swear to god if you make me listen to life is a highway in that disgusting car of yours-”

seungkwan is cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing, and you assume vernon, the one who lives here, will get up to check. you peek over at him and instead see both of the boys staring at you expectantly. 

“what?” 

“go get the door,” vernon says. “that’s our food.”

“you get it! this is your house!”

“you’re closer to the stairs,” vernon replies. “you know the rules.”

you groan loudly as you get up, and continue groaning as you stomp up the stairs, and you make sure your footsteps are loud and obnoxious as you walk to the front door to make the boys very aware of how annoyed you are. you pull the front door open just as the bell rings again, and you almost shriek when you see who’s on the other side.

“y/n,” seungcheol smiles. “fancy seeing you here.”

“what the hell?” you ask in disbelief. 

“you’re not happy to see me?” he pouts, readjusting the bags of food in his arms. “bummer.”

“i-what?”

“vernon ordered food, didn’t he?” cheol asks, and you nod. “i’m delivering the food. what about this is hard for you to understand?”

“none of it i guess,” you mumble, stepping aside to let him in. “do you need help carrying it?”

“nope, just show me where to go,” cheol says as he waits for you to close the door. you start walking him toward the basement and then stop, making cheol almost run into you. “whoa city girl, warn me next time.”

“s-sorry,” you stutter, “um, i was just gonna say the stairs are kinda narrow, so seriously, give me something to carry. it’ll be easier.”

“if you insist,” cheol sighs, nodding to the bags on top. “take those. if we’re going down stairs they might fall.” you take the bags, but don’t move further. cheol gives you a look and asks, “you forget where you’re going?”

“why are you here?”

“told you,” he smiles. “i’m making a delivery.”

“but the diner, who’s watching it?”

“it’s late, diner’s closed,” he explains. “i’m doing this and then going home.”

“and you always do the deliveries yourself?” you question, finally walking back toward the basement. 

“if they tip well,” he jokes. “and i’d heard you would be here, so that’s an added bonus.”

“you invited him?” you ask vernon as soon as you’re back downstairs. he turns to look at you and smiles when he sees cheol trailing behind you.

“i ordered food from him, yeah,” vernon says. “it’s good to support small businesses, y/n.”

“yeah, y/n,” cheol mimics. you try to help him place the food on vernon’s shoddy table so you and the boys can eat, but he insists, “i got it, sweet thing, you can sit down-”

“no, i’m trying to help so you can leave-”

“seriously, i’m good-”

amidst your bickering you accidentally knock into cheol, making the last part of the order topple over onto the floor. you gasp as you watch the drinks spill all over vernon’s rug, and you reach for the paper towels before kneeling down to clean the mess.

“vernon, i’m so sorry,” you say quickly, trying to dab everything up. you see him and seungkwan spring into action out of the corner of your eye, kwan looking for a real towel and vernon in search of something to handle the stickiness. that leaves you and cheol, who kneels in front of you to help in the meantime.

“you don’t know when to stop,” he mumbles as he frustratedly tears off some paper towels. you stop moving and glare at him as you ask, “what?”

“i said you don’t know when to stop,” cheol repeats, taking the dirty towels to the trash. “you don’t like people helping you. you’re too stubborn.”

“first i’m spoiled, now i’m stubborn?” you ask, still kneeling on the ground. cheol’s standing over you, returning your harsh stare, and for a moment your mind flashes to a very different situation with cheol looking down at you on your knees. “i hate you.”

“you keep telling yourself that,” cheol scoffs, walking away. “does vernon keep soap down here?”

“i mean it,” you say as you stand and follow him wandering around.

“if you hate me then why do you find a reason to see me every day?” cheol asks, spinning around to face you. “you’re either in my diner or in some kind of situation where you need my help-”

“your help?” you spit back. “i’ve never asked for your help.”

“moving your desk? feeding you? cleaning up a mess you made?” he lists off.

“oh you’re so full of yourself,” you mock. 

“is that why i feel like i catch you staring at me whenever you think i’m not lookin?” he asks, and you back down. “no, tell me. am i imagining that? or am i right, are you as obsessed with me as i am with you?”

“you, what?” you whisper, watching cheol intently as he calms himself down. 

“nothing. forget it,” he mumbles as he turns to leave. “enjoy the food.”

-

with your parents coming home, there was less time for you to hang around town and risk running into cheol. that’s a good thing, because you don’t think you could face him again after what happened in vernon’s basement. it was hard enough explaining to him and seungkwan what went down without them exchanging knowing glances, so you’re sure whatever feelings you have and don’t understand are just as obvious to cheol. 

cheol is glad for the break too, but he finds himself hopeful at the sound of each bell, looking up to see if it’s you coming through the door or not. yes, you’re annoying. yes, you made him mad the other day. but he still wants to explore whatever’s happening between you. he knows he can be hard to read sometimes, and you’re the first person in maybe years that he’s felt this way towards. so, in the hopes of bettering himself, cheol buys a self help book. he usually turns to books when he needs a break from reality, either escaping to a fantasy world to neglect the problems in his own or buying a book that will help him with his business. it’s not out of the ordinary to find him reading behind the counter when it’s slow, but he forgets that the eyes everywhere in town make it hard to keep anything a secret. 

people have noticed you suddenly stopped going to the diner, and they’ve seen cheol’s face fall every time someone other than you walks in. hoshi especially is keen to what’s going on, so during his next visit he comes in with a purpose. 

“hey hosh,” cheol greets without looking up from his book. “sit anywhere, be with you in a minute.”

“sure,” hoshi nods, taking his usual spot at the counter. he lets cheol read a second longer before asking, “whatcha got there?”

“a book, you seen one before?” cheol asks as he joins hoshi further down the bar. “what can i get you?”

“i’ve seen a book before,” hoshi replies seriously. “read one? no. and i would like your finest hamburger, please. extra ketchup.”

“not sure why i even ask anymore,” cheol chuckles, writing the ticket anyway. “you always order the same thing.”

“i like what i like,” hoshi shrugs. 

“yes you do,” cheol nods. “it’ll be out soon.”

“gives you more time to read, hm?”

“what? sure,” cheol agrees, scooting the book farther from hoshi so he can’t see what it is. 

“whatcha reading?” he asks anyway, and cheol clears his throat, ready to lie. “something about love?”

“what?” cheol whips his head up, embarrassment in his eyes. 

“there’s a big ole heart at the start of that chapter, are you reading a romance? tell me about it,” hoshi says as he rests his hands on his fists, watching cheol expectantly. 

“it’s um, it’s not about love.”

“no?”

“well, not like that,” he explains. “it’s, um...you have to swear not to repeat this.”

“what’s in it for me?”

“i’ll stop serving you,” cheol warns.

“noted, your secret is safe,” hoshi agrees. “so what is it?”

“it’s a book about relationships, mostly. teaches you how to be in love better,” cheol replies, making hoshi smile.

“and who’s the lucky lady?” he asks, causing cheol to blush.

“let me go check on your food, man.”

“whoever it is i wish you a very happy life together!”

-

you’re able to last well over a week without visiting the diner. it’s been nice not running into cheol, because you haven’t experienced that weird feeling that comes with being in his presence. what’s even weirder though is the new thing you might be feeling. you think you miss him, and you really want to apologize for being such a problem before. 

one saturday you’re up early, and you find yourself pacing back and forth outside the diner. it’s so early the diner isn’t even open yet, but you still trudge to the door and knock quietly, knowing if you don’t address it now you never will. 

you knocked softly enough you hoped cheol wouldn’t be able to hear, but before you can run away you see his broad chest through the blinds. you hear the door unlock, followed by the bell tingling as cheol opens the door. he looks you up and down then grunts, “we’re closed.”

“but i want to come in.”

“you think you’re special, city girl?” he asks with the hint of a smile. 

“i’m a paying customer, you really gonna turn me away?” you reply, and for a moment you’re afraid he’ll actually tell you to leave.

“i’d never turn you away,” he says at last, stepping to the side so you can come in. “take a seat, i just made a pot of coffee.”

“it’s like you knew i was coming,” you smile before melting into a yawn. cheol watches you fondly, placing a menu at your usual seat. “i don’t need a menu.”

“what do you want?” he asks while he makes your coffee.

“um, i uh, i wanted to say i’m sorry?” you answer, awkwardly standing next to the stool. 

“you sure about that?” cheol asks as he hands you the mug. your fingers brush, and you find the confidence to look him in the eyes as you try again.

“i’m aware i can be a little hard to get along with,” you try again. “you’re really nice. and i wasn’t always appreciative of that. so i’m sorry.”

“that’s all?” 

“huh?” you ask, cheeks warming in embarrassment. “i said i’m sorry-”

“i mean, are you done with your apology?” cheol corrects himself, and you nod. “good. because it wasn’t necessary.”

“it wasn’t?”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i like that you’re a little bratty.”

“oh my god,” you roll your eyes, taking a sip of the coffee to avoid saying something ���bratty’ in response.

“sorry,” he smiles. “i should’ve said i like you just the way you are, city girl. but thanks for smoothing things over.”

“good,” you nod. “now let me pay for the coffee.”

“nope,” cheol shakes his head. “first cup of the day is always free.”

“you’re a liar,” you accuse him.

“and you’re pretty,” he counters, and you choke on your next sip slightly. “what? you disagree?”

“just wasn’t expecting that,” you say as you wipe your face. “can i get a napkin please?” 

“you wanna order too?” he asks as he grabs a napkin for you. “want me to tuck this in your collar?”

“see, i thought we had reconciled and now here you are saying something insufferable again.”

“i’m good at that, aren’t i?” he smiles, passing you the napkin. “so are you staying for a while? you want banana pancakes?”

“please.”

you watch on as cheol finishes opening the diner, getting comfortable enough at your seat that you pull out a book and start reading while you wait for your food. you’re there long enough for other customers to start trickling in, and you’re too immersed in your book to hear the murmurs about you being there so early. what everyone assumes is that you just spent the night there, so the rumors that the diner owner finally found a special someone are traveling through town at the speed of light. you and cheol are both oblivious, so when he brings you your food before serving anyone else there’s several sets of eyes watching the exchange.

“what are you reading?” he asks, wiping off a set of utensils for you as he waits for your response. 

“ah, it’s this book my coworker recommended,” you explain, then correct yourself. “ex-coworker, i guess. keep forgetting i don’t work there anymore.”

“you wanna talk about it?” cheol asks, helping someone else at the counter without pulling his attention from you. you shake your head, and he asks a different question, “tell me about the book then.”

he listens intently as you describe the plot, mentioning that it’s supposed to be a love story and you don’t usually like those. cheol realizes this is the most he’s ever heard you talk, and he briefly thinks about how easy it would be to sit and listen to you all day. he lets you finish before he excuses himself to make rounds through the diner, and you catch your gaze following him wherever he goes. he smirks to himself when he sees you staring, and he may or may not puff out his chest a little just to give you something to look at. 

it doesn’t take you long to finish your food, and cheol keeps the coffee coming. it’s easy for you to lose track of time, and before you know it cheol is stopping in front of you with a deep sigh. you look around and notice the diner is exceptionally empty, and cheol looks exhausted.

“you ok?”

“fine,” he nods, “just a long morning.”

“what time is it?” you ask, searching for your phone.

“almost noon,” he replies, and you can feel your stomach growl. you hope cheol didn’t hear, but of course he did. “you hungry, sweet thing?”

“no, i should really go-”

“stay right there,” he says without giving you a chance to leave. he comes back with a sandwich and fries, and you start to protest when he says, “chill out, this was a pickup order no one ever came for.”

“but i don’t wanna be a bother-”

“y/n,” he says sternly, silencing you quickly. he never calls you by your name. “you’re fine. i like the company.” 

“well i’ll only keep you company if you take a break and eat with me,” you conclude, and cheol has to hide his smile as he wipes his hands off. 

“let me go grab a plate, we can share.” 

when he comes back, you take the empty plate and slide more than half of the fries onto it followed by the bigger slice of the sandwich. cheol tries to complain, reaching for your plate so you’ll end up with the fuller meal, but you push your body weight into him to keep him away.

“cute,” he hums, letting you win. “i am stronger than you, you know.”

“more reason for you to get the bigger plate,” you say as you pop a fry into your mouth. “now eat.”

“so bossy,” he shakes his head as he obeys regardless. then, with a mouthful of sandwich, he asks, “how do you like being home?”

“eh,” you shrug. “it was nice at first because it had been so long, but now i’m kind of antsy.”

“why? missing the city too much?” cheol asks, sliding a napkin to you and motioning to the edge of your mouth. he wants to wipe the mustard off for you, but he doesn’t think that would be a good idea. 

“a little,” you admit. “i miss my friends-”

“you have friends here,” cheol points out.

“i miss having things to do,” you add on. “i still don’t have a job.”

“hey, i could always use a dishwasher,” cheol teases, and you push his arm that keeps brushing against yours. “i get it though. this town’s just too small for you city girl.”

“what’s your story?” you say next, catching him off guard. to clarify, you add, “i mean, growing up you weren’t here. visiting during college i never saw you. then all of a sudden your diner is the hottest spot in town. how’d that happen?”

“you sure you never saw me before you came into the diner?” cheol asks, and you do have to think about it for a second.

“no,” you conclude, shaking your head. “i would’ve remembered your face.”

“i’ll take that as a compliment.”

“you should,” you reply, quirking an eyebrow at cheol when he looks at you surprised. “so when did you move here? how’d you start the diner?”

“my dad grew up here,” he begins. “actually, i think we went to the same university. i was talking to vernon about it and i was a couple years ahead of you, but i was there. i always dreamt of having my own business, i just didn’t know what it would look like. at first i tried setting up a cafe downtown-”

“who’s the city girl now?” you joke, and cheol pinches your arm before continuing. 

“but i failed before i even started. i lost so much money i had to move back in with my dad, and he was thinking about moving back here. so i started looking at places, and planned out the diner,” cheol says with a sweep of his hand. “honestly, i’ve always been afraid of the city. so i think it’s great that you seem to thrive so much there. takes a very special kind of person.”

“i’ll take that as a compliment,” you mimic, and cheol smiles.

“you should.”

“i can’t believe this is so new though,” you say as you look around. “it feels like it’s been here forever. you’ve done a good job making this feel like home, even if it wasn’t part of me growing up here. i come in and i just feel..”

“feel what?” cheol asks, watching you intently, slowly inching closer.

“i feel safe,” you say quietly. “being here, in this town, usually gives me so much anxiety. but i come in here and...all of that goes away.”

“that’s good to hear,” cheol smiles, tentatively reaching for your hand on the counter. he places his larger, callused hand on yours and squeezes, holding your gaze as he says, “you look comfortable here.”

“it’s because of you,” you admit, and if cheol weren’t so close he would’ve missed it. you don’t elaborate, and cheol thinks things may go further, but it’s like he watches you realize what’s going on in real time. “um, i mean, you’ve worked so hard. to make this place nice, to fit in with everything else in the town. it’s um, because of you that everyone likes this place so much.”

“uh huh,” he nods, tongue in his cheek as he watches you pull away. he would try to stop you, but a quick glance at the clock on the wall tells him it’s about to be lunch rush. he won’t be able to talk to you again for another couple hours anyway, so he lets you go, even though he desperately wants to know what would’ve happened if you’d sat there a little longer. 

“um, ok, so, thanks for the food,” you stammer out, making sure you have all of your things. “i really need to go now. you’ll need this stool soon.”

“sure,” cheol agrees, watching you rush toward the door. “hey!” he calls, and you turn with a frazzled look in your eyes. “what are you doin tomorrow?”

“um, nothing, probably,” you reply. “i’ll be here at some point for coffee.”

“ok,” cheol hums. “see you later then.”

-

the next day, a saturday, cheol’s busiest day, there’s a knock at your door around dinner time. you ended up grabbing coffee with vernon at the bakery this morning, so there was no need for a diner visit today. that’s why you’re shocked when you open the door to see a well dressed cheol with a nervous glint in his eyes. 

“hey, city girl,” he smirks. “you free for dinner?”

“am i..what?”

“you never came by the diner today,” he pouts. “so i had to make a home visit. now come on, let’s go eat.”

“um, ok, i just, let me change first?” you ask, and cheol nods. 

“i’ll be here,” he says, content to wait on your porch as you rush back inside to make yourself presentable. you go for something casual, because even though he had on a white dress shirt he was still wearing his signature baseball cap and walmart jeans. he looked incredible, but that was not what you needed to focus on right now. once you’re satisfied with your look, you sneak out the back door near your room and walk up on an unsuspecting cheol kicking rocks in your front yard. his head lifts at the sound of footsteps, and a proud smile graces his features as he says breathlessly, “you look beautiful.”

“i didn’t do anything special,” you try to downplay, but he shakes his head.

“nope, don’t do that,” he scolds. “you look beautiful. end of discussion.” 

“well thank you,” you mumble, and cheol extends his hand for you to take. you shyly lace your fingers in his, and he pulls you forward so he can wrap a hand around your waist. you let out a quiet ‘oh’ as you place your hands on his chest to steady yourself, and when you look up to find cheol staring at your lips you don’t know what else to do other than lean forward and leave a delicate kiss on his. you pull back more nervous than you were before, but cheol looks pleased.

“i was just gonna say your lip gloss was smudged,” cheol says cockily. “but that was nice too.”

“oh then let me take it back,” you joke, and cheol nods, diving back in to kiss you again. “that’s not what i meant-”

“what, you want that one back too?” he asks with a playful look in his eyes. 

“no, we’re good,” you laugh nervously as he starts leading you down the path from your house. “what are you up to?”

“i like you,” he says like it’s obvious. “so we’re on a date. we just kissed, remember? you were there.”

“i was, but, i mean, why?”

“why do i like you?” he asks, “or why did we kiss? because you started that.”

“ok, i’ll try again,” you groan. “why now? why not ask sooner?”

“i didn’t think you liked me back,” cheol replies with a shrug. “but after you spent the day mooning at me in the diner i was sure.” 

“to be fair i wasn’t sure i liked you until i started mooning at you yesterday either,” you admit. 

“i’m glad we’re here now,” cheol smiles, squeezing your hand as you see the diner in the distance. “hope it’s okay for us to eat here?”

“sure,” you shrug. “i hear it’s the best food in town.”

“wait until you’ve tried the place upstairs,” cheol says mysteriously, and you watch as he unlocks the diner and tells you to go toward the hallway that leads to his apartment.

“you closed the diner for this?” you ask, and he blushes. 

“i didn’t want anyone to bother us,” he replies shyly. “plus i didn’t want my place to smell like fries when i invite you over for the first time.”

“you know you could invest in an air freshener,” you tease, letting cheol open his apartment and lead you inside. the sight in front of you takes your breath away and quells whatever smart remark you were about to make. “cheol, oh my god.”

“is it too much?” he questions, tsking as he guides you with his hand at the small of your back. you’re silent, taking it all in, noticing the fresh flowers on the table amongst the plates of food. cheol has made what looks like homemade pasta, and you think you could cry. no one has ever done something so nice for you before, and you turn to cheol to tell him exactly that, but he looks worried. “it’s too much.”

“no, cheol, i can’t believe you did this for me,” you say in disbelief. “i love it.”

“you do?” he perks up, and you assure him everything is great. “here, take a seat,” he pulls a chair out for you and hands you your napkin before grabbing a bottle of wine. “do you like red wine?”

“no,” you shake your head, and cheol laughs. “but i’ll have some tonight.”

“tried to make everything perfect,” he sighs, pouring you a small glass that you take gratefully. “guess i’ll try harder next time.”

“next time?” you question, and cheol hums. you take a sip of the wine before adding, “next time i’ll have to cook for you.”

“i’ll hold you to that,” cheol says as he finally sits down across from you. you both laugh as you notice the flowers obstruct your view, and cheol quickly moves the vase, telling you that the flowers are yours to take home later. 

“thank you,” you say for the first time tonight. “thank you for all of this.”

“anything to make you feel more at home, city girl,” he says. “now try the pasta.”

you tentatively try a piece, noting that the freshness makes it easier to fork it. you watch cheol as you take the bite, and it’s embarrassing how quickly you melt at the taste. you let out a content sigh, verging on the kind of moan that only comes out when you eat the most delicious piece of food you’ve ever had. cheol couldn’t be happier, and you blush when you notice how closely he’s been watching you. 

“how did you learn to cook so well?” you ask with a whine. “it’s not fair.”

“not fair?” cheol laughs, and you nod as you try to get as much pasta in your mouth as possible. “don’t hurt yourself.”

“could you leave us alone please?” you ask, a spot of pasta sauce on your chin. unlike yesterday at the diner, cheol doesn’t back down from reaching across the table to swipe the spot away with his thumb. before he can stop himself he licks it off, meeting your eyes shyly. 

“sorry,” he clears his throat, finally picking up his own fork. 

“you never answered my question,” you try and change the subject. “you study in italy or something?”

“yeah, actually,” cheol replies. when he sees how confused you look he smiles before explaining, “i had a study abroad in italy. it was before i knew i wanted my own cafe or diner or anything, but one of the excursions for the trip was a pasta making class. guess it stuck.”

“okay now i’m jealous,” you tell him. “of you, for going to italy. but then of anybody else who’s ever had your pasta. this is incredible.”

“you’re the only one,” cheol says nonchalantly. 

“why are you so nice to me?” you ask softly, and cheol reaches for your hand across the table. he absentmindedly rubs his thumb over your knuckles as he explains.

“because i like you?” he chuckles. “i already told you that.”

“yeah, but why?” you ask, leaning closer. “why me?”

“i could ask you the same thing,” he replies, but the way you’re staring at him pushes him to answer. “you remember when you came into the diner a couple weeks ago?” you nod, and he continues. “you remember how you were a little rude?”

“if i was rude it was only because you started it,” you grumble, and cheol laughs.

“that’s why i like you,” he says, “you were the first person to take my attitude and give it right back to me.”

“well i’m glad you finally met your match,” you tease. “now can i have my hand back? i want some of that garlic bread.”

“yes ma’am,” he lets go with a final squeeze. he hands you the basket before reaching for the wine, asking, “do you want some more?”

“honestly? no,” you shake your head. “i’m fine with water.”

“i’d offer you something else, but all i have is wine, beer, and a ginger ale that’s been open for two weeks,” cheol tells you. 

“actually i’ll take a beer,” you say, and cheol stares at you with a new look in his eyes. “what, weirdo?”

“careful, you might make me say the l word.”

“lasagna?” you joke, and he rolls his eyes as he gets you a beer. he gets one for himself, and you cheers once he’s sitting back down. he watches you take a sip, admiring the way your lips wrap around the bottle, and then you both go back to eating. talking to cheol is easy, you notice. this is a first date but it doesn’t feel like it, and as the night goes on you get this feeling of dread in your gut that you’ll have to leave at some point. 

“why do you keep looking at the clock?” cheol asks nervously, a smile on his lips to hide the fact that he’s worried you’re bored or ready to go. “you need to leave?”

“no, no, the opposite,” you assure him. “you fed me the best meal of my life, i’ve now had a glass of wine and two beers, so i’m getting tired..but i don’t think i could leave even if i wanted to.”

“you full?” he asks, standing to clear the table. “because i made dessert too.”

“are you gonna force me to eat cherry pie again?” you ask as you try to help him clean. everything you pick up he just takes from your hands, so instead you grab the empty beer bottles and search for his recycling. 

“no, but i made a tiramisu-”

“you made tiramisu?!” you ask, whirling around to see a confused cheol. he nods like it’s nothing, and you groan as you say, “i didn’t think the man of my dreams existed, and yet here you are.”

“i’m the man of your dreams?” he asks, the confusion gone as he sidles up to you to wrap his hands around your waist. “this is great news.”

“hm, suddenly i need to go,” you say as you try to step back, but cheol’s grip tightens and you think you hear the slightest growl come from deep within his chest.

“no.”

“no?”

“no,” cheol confirms, thumbs slipping under your shirt to rub circles onto your skin. “you have to at least try the tiramisu before you go.”

“what if it makes me want to stay even longer?” you ask, and cheol leans in to give you a delicate kiss. without pulling far from your lips, he whispers, “then you stay longer.”

you let your eyes linger on his for a moment before you connect your lips again, your hands moving from their awkward spot on his chest to wrap tightly around his neck. one hand steadies you, and the other tangles into the hair at the nape of his neck that just peeks out from beneath the cap on his head. you groan into his mouth and he can tell it’s a sound of frustration, so cheol pulls back to ask what’s wrong.

“do you ever take your hat off?” you ask him. 

“what?”

“take it off,” you command, and you wait for cheol to loosen his grip on you to reach up and remove his hat. you keep watching as he ruffles his hair, letting down the curls you knew were hiding beneath. “do you keep those hidden from the world because you know it makes you hotter?”

“no, i work in food service, keeps my hair out of people’s lunch,” he says, pulling a shy smile from you. 

“forget i called you hot then.”

“never,” he replies, leaning back down to kiss you. he pulls one of your hands from his neck and places it on his full head of curls, which you take as a sign to play with and tug at his hair as much as you please. cheol deepens the kiss, his tongue darting out to meet yours, and you unintentionally pull his hair harder. he moans into your mouth and you feel yourself shiver, but you pull back for some reason. cheol really growls this time, asking in a low voice, “where ya goin, sweet thing?”

“mind your business,” you scoff as you kneel in front of him, your hands finding the waistband of his jeans. you look up at him and ask, “is this okay?”

“more than okay,” he groans, hands lacing through your hair now. he watches on with hooded eyes as you unbutton his jeans and pull them down just below his ass, slowly tracing over the bulge in his boxers next. you’re mesmerized by the size of it and you’re still not face to face with his cock, and cheol calling your name pulls your attention back in. “having fun?”

“sh,” you hush him, tracing his outline one more time before pulling at his waistband to let it snap against his skin. he hisses and the grip on your hair tightens, his breath quickening above you.

“baby, you’re killing me,” he whispers, so you glare at him as you pull his boxers down, almost getting hit by his boner when it’s finally set free. you’re quick to grab his shaft, spitting on the tip as you hold eye contact with cheol. he lets out a shaky breath, and he tries to burn this moment into the back of his eyelids so he never forgets the way you look on your knees ready to swallow his cock. you pump him a few times, licking at his tip while you hype yourself up to take him into your mouth. 

“you know, i think i’m getting tired,” you tease, trying to push cheol’s buttons. “think i might just head out.”

“you talk a lot,” cheol mumbles. “i’ve got something that could shut you up.”

“oh, you mean this?” you ask, picking up the pace of your hand stroking him until you think he can’t take it anymore. “what if i don’t want to?”

“then i won’t return the favor,” cheol challenges you. he watches, pleased, as you roll your eyes but still lean forward to wrap your lips around his tip anyway. he keeps watching as you inch further down his cock, taking him like it’s nothing. he doesn’t have to worry that he won’t fit, because you keep going until your nose is pressed against his skin. you surprise him by swallowing around him once, then twice, and he uses the grip on your hair to pull you off completely. “shit, baby, you really are trying to kill me.”

“excuse me, i’m doing some of my best work down here,” you say as you wipe the saliva off your chin. “now shut up and let me suck your cock.”

cheol lets you get back to work, but he doesn’t stay quiet. he lets himself moan freely, groaning as he tries to get you closer to him than you already are. every time you swallow around him he cries out, and you can feel yourself getting wetter. you can tell he’s trying to let you lead, his hold on the back of your head strong but reserved. he bucks his hips slightly each time you pull back and suck on his tip, but you want more. you hollow your cheeks and pick up your pace, tears stinging at your eyes as you gag around his cock. cheol has been talking you through it too, telling you how good you’re doing, how sexy you look, how good you’re making him feel. you would be embarrassed at how cock drunk you are right now, tears in your eyes and spit dribbling past your lips, but you’re addicted to the weight of cheol on your tongue and the way his strong hands tug on your hair. you have to pull back to catch your breath, a string of spit connecting your lips to his tip. as you sit back on your calves, cheol takes his cock in his hand, swiping at the spit before smearing it over his tip. he strokes himself lazily as he lets you catch your breath, and when you try to knock his hand out of the way he doesn’t let you get back to work.

“move,” you say sternly. “i’m almost done.”

“yeah, so am i,” cheol laughs. “you’re gonna make me come, city girl.”

“good,” you say proudly, “let me taste it.”

“you’re evil,” he groans, guiding his tip back to you awaiting mouth. he sighs happily when you swallow around him again, and he tentatively thrusts forward to test the waters. when you catch his eye and nod, he knows it’s okay to try again, picking up the pace so he can fuck your mouth. he’s close, and if you wanted a taste that’s what he’ll give you. “i’m about to come baby, you ready?” you moan around him and the vibration sends him over the edge, his release shooting down your throat. it’s sinful the way your eyes roll back as you swallow around him, and cheol thinks in that moment you are the most perfect woman to ever exist. he helps you carefully pull yourself off his cock, and he shudders when the cold air hits him. “you okay, beautiful?”

“all good,” you nod, voice a little hoarse. “i’m tired though.”

“too tired for me to eat you out?”

“in the morning maybe?” you ask, yawning.

“yeah?” cheol asks as he helps you up, and you nod. “you wanna stay the night?”

“can i?” you ask, realizing you didn’t know if he wanted you there or not. “i mean, is that alright?”

“yeah, of course,” cheol says quickly. “i’ll get you some clothes. and water. and a toothbrush.”

“you’re too sweet,” you say shyly, taking the flannel and boxers that he offers you. he leads you to the bathroom where he finds a clean toothbrush, and he disappears while you change so he can get you a glass of water. when he returns he finds you snooping in his medicine cabinet, his lotion on your hands and his fancy floss wrapped around your fingers. “oops?”

“no, make yourself at home,” cheol laughs, handing you the cool glass. “what’s mine is yours.”

“i’m sorry, i got too comfortable,” you say. “sorry. thanks for the water.”

“thanks for the head,” cheol smirks, and you push him slightly as you easily finish the glass. “you want more?”

“no, i’d have to get up in the middle of the night to pee,” you complain. “can i, um, do you mind? if i go to bed?”

“please, baby, you don’t have to ask,” he says, carefully leading you to his room. “i’m gonna wash up, be back in a minute.”

you carefully pull down the blankets on his bed, simultaneously feeling at home yet nervous. you feel comfortable around cheol, sure, but this still feels like a lot all at once. cheol walks in on you contemplating this dilemma that’s only in your head, and he asks with a smirk, “you gonna stare at the bed all night or you gonna get in?”

“sorry,” you mumble, scampering to get under the covers. 

“stop apologizing,” he says as he walks to the other side of the bed. “you look cute in my clothes by the way.”

“you look cute without your hat on,” you counter, and you’re proud to see a slight blush on his cheeks as he lays down next to you, mimicking your posture. he lays facing you with an arm under the pillow, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed. “cheol?”

“yeah?”

“is this too much?”

“what?” he asks, the happy look in his eyes faltering slightly. 

“me spending the night. it’s our first date,” you whisper, suddenly afraid that speaking too loud will make your worries bigger. 

“i don’t mind,” cheol says, pulling for your free hand beneath the covers. “i am very happy to have you here.”

“i’m happy to be here,” you say quietly, and cheol looks at you with an appraising look. 

“you sure about that?”

“i am,” you assure him. “i had an amazing night. i’m glad i could do something nice for you after all that you’ve done for me. but...i’m scared.”

“scared? why?”

“i like you,” you whisper. “i like you a lot. but i’m afraid of what the town will say. i’m afraid i like you too much, and i’m afraid of leaving.”

“then don’t leave,” he says simply. “and who cares what the town thinks?”

“no, like what if i get another job? what if i have to leave?” you ask, and cheol thinks for a moment before he pulls you closer, burying your head in his chest. he kisses the top of your head and whispers against your forehead, “then we’ll talk about it. for now just go to sleep.”

-

you wake up early the next morning, light trickling in through the curtains of cheol’s room. you feel more rested than you’ve been in months, maybe years. cheol is still wrapped around you from the night before, and you chuckle when you see how his lips stay pouted as he snores slightly. you watch him a little longer, pushing a stray curl out of his face, and he softly wakes up. he sees you staring down at him and he smiles, taking your hand and kissing your palm before laying it back on his cheek. 

“morning, sweet thing.”

“morning, handsome.”

“how long have you been up?” he yawns.

“not long.”

“you been staring at me the whole time?”

“mind your business.”

“you hungry?”

“starved,” you reply, sitting up to stretch. “and i need coffee. bad.”

“good stuff’s downstairs,” cheol mumbles, nuzzling back into his pillow. you’re about to ask where when you look down and see he’s back asleep, so you lean down to kiss his cheek before getting up. you slide on some slippers, shuffling downstairs to the diner to make coffee. you forget to check the time though, because the quiet doesn’t necessarily mean that the diner is closed. when you appear in the doorway, obviously clad in cheol’s clothes, and the ten or so customers in the diner turn to stare at you, your heart drops as you scurry back up to cheol’s apartment. you find him in the kitchen scratching his ass, and he turns to say, “where the hell did you go?”

“you said the coffee was downstairs!” you half scream, and realization dawns on him. he’s shocked for a moment, then tries not to laugh.

“how many people saw your walk of shame?” he asks, failing to hide his smirk.

“enough,” you groan as you fling yourself into his arms. “so i’m sure everyone will know by the end of the day, and it won’t just be our business, and if i ever do leave then everyone will blame me for us breaking up, and-”

“whoa, whoa, slow down,” cheol backtracks, holding you at arms length. “you’re freaking out over nothing.”

“but-”

“no! enjoy this!” cheol says, kissing you on both cheeks. “enjoy this for as long as you can, even if you have to leave. but like i said last night, we’ll talk about that if we get there. i just want to date you and see how much fun that can be. it’s nobody’s business but our own.”

“but everyone downstairs saw me in your clothes,” you whine.

“then they’ll know how nice your legs are.”

“i’m being serious,” you push him. “it was embarrassing.”

“would coffee and tiramisu make it better?”

“throw in some banana pancakes and i might just forget it ever happened.”

“deal.”

[lemurzsquad]

And because you love Bokuto, how about a silly little drabble about picking a new mattress?

Okay so I know you sent this so so long ago, but in my attempt to get back into writing to fill the void that school has left, I just kept coming back to this prompt, I hope you don't mind that it took so long :')

I was in the mood to make a cozy fic because they make me happy, so have this 🤲 it's also like 3am and I desperately need sleep, so this is also not proofread fjsbjd

Word count: 940

“So, unfortunately, that specific mattress is currently out of stock at this location.”

You stood in front of the counter in the middle of the store, surrounded by a whole showroom of countless mattresses. Next to you, seemingly distracted, was your husband Bokuto. He looked around aimlessly and turned his head at even the slightest bit of movement, whether it be the cars outside or the light that flickered at inconsistent intervals. Not a single bit of his attention was on the sales associate in front of you both.

The young man continued, “You could visit one of our other stores that may have it in stock, or we could order it for you and have it delivered to this store earlier than when our next shipment is set to arrive.”

You were about to ask Bokuto for his opinion, but when you glanced at him, you could clearly see his gaze locked on a couple of mattresses you hadn’t looked at yet. With an amused smile and a shake of your head, you said, “I think we’ll have it delivered here if it's not too much trouble.”

The sales associate nodded. “Then I’ll just need you to give me some contact information and a little bit of time, and then we’ll be all set!”

As he went to type on his computer and print out a couple papers, you squeezed Bokuto’s hand to get his attention. Immediately, he redirected his eyes to you and tilted his head in the owlish way that he does, silently asking if you needed something.

“You can look around a little more while I fill out some papers,” you answered quietly.

He grinned at that. Lightly pecking your cheek, he let go of your hand and scampered off into the maze of display beds and pillow shelves.

After only a handful of minutes, the mattress had successfully been ordered. It was time to leave, and with a quick scan of the store you realized something.

Bokuto was… nowhere to be found.

So, with a fond sigh, you began to look around, acutely aware that the business was closing in maybe ten minutes. The search was, thankfully, fairly quick with how empty the building was and with how much Bokuto stood out in any setting. Hidden away in an alcove, one of the display beds sat with the side against a window that stretched a fourth of the wall longways. 

Draped with his feet and half of his shins hanging off the foot of the bed was your husband. His chest and cheek were sunk into the mattress, and with how still he laid, you could only assume he had fallen asleep.

A little wisp of a laugh left you in a huff. Why am I not surprised? you mused to yourself. Softly, you approached to lay down beside him, tucking your cheek against the crook of your elbow. With your other hand, you carded your fingers lovingly through Bokuto’s spiky yet silky hair.

He let out a groan that sounded as though the words “just five more minutes” would slip from his lips if you hadn’t spoken first.

“Koutarou~” Your voice drifted to him quietly, gently pulling him back to the waking world.

He let out another drowsy noise but cracked an eye open to see you next to him. His other eye was practically forced to stay shut with how his cheek was smushed into the fabric of the bed.

“Hey, sleepyhead…” You smiled lopsidedly, your own cheek pressed into your arm. “Welcome back to the waking world.”

Still half asleep, Bokuto gazed at you in a soft, dazed look filled with nothing but unguarded awe and affection. You looked angelic; the sunset beyond the glass shone as if only to sit as a halo around the crown of your head. Your fond grin was nothing short of breathtaking in its own right, but waking up to see it was as though he was still basking in the last stretches of dream that had cradled him through the night.

“I think I see an angel…” He mumbles sleepily, “Is this heaven…?”

Your smile grew wider, and the creases at the corners of your eyes and between your eyebrows as they pushed together earnestly became more pronounced.

“No, sweetheart,” you answered softly. “This is the mattress store. And it closes in five minutes.”

He huffed at that, turning his face to groan dejectedly into the mattress. After a fit of giggles and, in response, unhappy grumbles, you managed to grab his arm and pull him to his feet—although, with significant resistance. Bokuto hung off of you the whole way out and back home like a wet towel, leaning what felt like all of his weight as he did, much to your dismay.

Between chuckles, you asked, “Are you sure you didn’t want that mattress?”

He shook his head against your shoulder. “No, that mattress was terrible…” He couldn’t help another yawn from escaping.

“Didn’t seem like it,” you remarked, amused. You teased, “I almost had to leave without you, you know.”

“Nooo…” He whined as he tightened his arms around your waist and further buried his face into the crook of your neck.

You couldn’t help but coo as your hand came up to run comfortingly through his hair. It was no surprise that when you arrived home, he immediately collapsed on your soon-to-be-replaced bed, dragging you down with him.

Sure, you protested, saying you both needed to put on pajamas and do your usual nighttime rituals, but who were you to stand against the power of a soft, pleading, “Just five more minutes…”

Do not copy and/or repost!! Any likes, comments, or reblogs are appreciated, though! (c) 2024 LemurzSquad

[cariantha]

Mine

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: Explicit Warning: 🔥NSFW, ⛔18+ Only, contains explicit sexual content Category: Fluff, Smut Word count: 2.1K Prompt: Inspired by this prompt from @liaromancewriter

The nurses’ station was buzzing with activity. Behind the desk, nurses were busy answering patient call buttons. A pair of interns were at the counter, tapping lab orders into their tablets. Across from them, Ethan was poring over a stack of files.

“Hi Maureen, what’s up?” Sawyer asked, responding to the page she received a few minutes ago. “Wow, those are beautiful. Are they for a patient?” she gushed, nodding to a giant bouquet of at least two dozen red roses. 

“They’re for you, Dr. Brooks,” Maureen responded. “That’s why I paged you.” 

“For me? Really?” An uncontrollable smile spread across Sawyer’s face as she scooted over to the vase and reached for the card. 

Ethan's gaze met hers as she lifted her eyes. Still wearing a giddy smile, she subtly nodded her head accepting his invitation. He winked back. 

Maureen suddenly popped up in front of her, trying to get a peek of the card. “Soooo, who are they from?”

“Oh, um…” Sawyer quickly tucked the card back into the envelope, trying to think of a response. The worst part about being in a secret relationship was having to lie to keep your secret safe. It made her feel icky, so she always tried to spin the truth instead. “They’re from someone I started dating recently.”

“Anyone we would know?” the nosy nurse pressed further.

“Uh-”

“Brooks! Where are the discharge orders for Mr. Cruz? I don’t see them in his file,” Ethan called across to her, making her jump. 

“Oh, I… I must have left them in the DT office. I'll put these away and grab them for you, Dr. Ramsey.”

Sawyer played along, returning the wide-eyed look on Maureen’s face that said, “Oh boy, he’s in a mood.” 

Sweeping the vase off the counter, Sawyer cast another glance in Ethan’s direction, giving him an appreciative smile for the quick save.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

A luxury town car dropped her off in front of Ethan’s building the following night.

Sawyer knocked gently on his door. “Coming!” she heard from inside, and a moment later, Ethan answered. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and a kitchen towel was draped over his shoulder. He gestured for her to come in, then helped her with her coat, hanging it on a nearby hook. When he turned back to her, Sawyer wrapped her arms around his waist, tipping her head back to meet his eyes. “Hi.” 

Ethan wrapped his arms around her, lowering his head to meet her lips in a sweet, welcoming kiss. “Hi.”

“It smells delicious. What are you making for us tonight, Chef Ramsey?”

“Georgian chicken. Since you didn’t get to try it last time,” he said, guiding her to the kitchen. 

Soft music played throughout the penthouse. The living room was dim save for the warm glow cast from the crackling logs in the fireplace. The dining table was set for two, decorated with rose petals and flickering tapers set in coordinating candlesticks.  

“Do you want some wine?” Ethan asked, pulling her attention back to the activity in the kitchen. 

“Please.” Sawyer pushed up her sleeves. “Okay, put me to work, Chef. Give me a bowl of butter and I’ll give this chicken the best massage of their life. Or rather afterlife?” she giggled. 

Ethan chuckled. “Chicken’s already in the oven. I just need to saute the asparagus.” 

The pan sizzled as he tossed the vegetables in. He turned them over one-handed, letting Sawyer curl into his other side. With one arm around his back, her other hand drifted up the front of his thigh until she was cupping his crotch. “I guess I’ll just have to put my skills to use elsewhere,” she purred.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he warned, dropping the tongs on the counter. Gripping her waist, he picked her up, turned around, and set her atop the kitchen island. He handed her a wine glass and kissed her forehead. “If you touch me like that, we won’t be eating dinner anytime soon. So you’re going to stay right here until the food is ready. Got it?”  

“Fine,” she pouted, taking a sip of her wine. “This chicken better be worth it.”

An hour later, Sawyer had cleaned her plate and set her fork down. “That was so worth it.” She stood and moved around to Ethan’s side of the table. He scooted back to let her sit on his lap. “Thank you,” she whispered, giving him a tender kiss. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck and laced her fingers with his. She fell into a lovely trance, watching the dancing candle flames as Ethan rubbed her back. “Mmm, that feels good,” she murmured. 

Ethan kissed the top of her head, then encouraged her to stand. Squeezing her hand, he said, “I’ll be right back. Do me a favor and pour us each another a glass of wine?” Then he disappeared down the hall into his bedroom.

Sawyer poured the wine, then made herself useful, carrying their dirty plates to the kitchen sink. She had just put the leftovers away when Ethan returned. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, grabbing the glasses of wine from the dining table.

“Just helping clean up,” she answered.

“Leave it,” he insisted. He tilted his head toward the bedroom. “Follow me.”  

When Sawyer stepped into his room, she found a trail of rose petals leading to the en suite. The bathroom was dark, save for the candles glowing around the rim of the tub. More rose petals, hundreds of them, floated on the surface of the steamy water. A fragrant aroma of roses and jasmine filled the air.

Ethan set the wine glasses down next to the tub. “Come here,” he said, reaching out his hand. 

Sawyer took it and let him pull her close. “I’ve been wanting to do this with you for a long time,” she confessed.

“Me too.” He lifted her shirt over her head and placed it on the counter. Reaching around her back, he unfastened her bra. Curling a finger under each of the shoulder straps, he carefully pulled it away and set it on top of her shirt. 

Ethan’s knuckle traced around the pink centers of her breasts while Sawyer unbuttoned his shirt, then his jeans. She unzipped him, then took the sides of his shirt in her hands and peeled it away. 

After removing their shoes and socks, Ethan slowly spun Sawyer around, pressing his warm chest against her back. His hands slid under her arms, finding and loosening the button of her pants. Moving to his knees, he tugged the waistband of both her jeans and panties downward, helping her step out of each leg. As he returned to his feet, he kissed the back of her thighs, her ass, then her shoulders. 

Sawyer turned to face him and returned the favor. She pushed his pants and underwear to the floor, letting his erection slide between the valley of her breasts as she rose. Ethan grabbed the sides of her face and crashed his lips onto hers. “Do you have any idea how goddamn sexy you are?” 

He stepped into the bath and sat down. Extending his hand to Sawyer, he helped her step safely into the water. Standing before him naked, Ethan admired her body. His eyes trailed from her cherry-painted lips, to her plump breasts, to her smooth sex. He leaned forward and kissed the lines of her hips, then the mound below her belly button. “You’re so beautiful.”

Sawyer lowered herself into the water, positioning herself between his bent knees. She leaned back and melted into his embrace. The warmth of the water, and the feel of his skin against hers, was a comfort like no other. 

“I could get used to this,” she said softly, running her hands through the blanket of flower petals floating on the water’s surface.

“So could I,” Ethan agreed, sipping on his wine. 

After a few more minutes of blissful calm, Ethan set his glass aside and reached for a sponge. He dipped it in the water, then gently nudged Sawyer forward, swiping her hair to the side. The sponge moved up and down her back, then the length of her neck, and across her shoulder before traveling down her arm. Ethan dragged it across her collar bone, then after another dip under the surface, he squeezed a stream of warm water directly over each of her breasts. Her nipples hardened in response. 

When she arched her back begging for more, Ethan tossed the sponge to the other end of the tub. He pulled Sawyer back onto his lap, clamping his mouth to her neck as he reached between her legs. Her head fell back on his shoulder, and she moaned as his fingers stroked her core. With each twitch of his cock against her ass, her arousal grew more intense.

As the pleasure continued to build, she turned her head to the side. “Kiss me,” she demanded. Ethan obeyed. As their tongues met, he plunged two fingers inside of her, curling them right where he knew she'd come undone. 

“Oh god… I’m going to come,” she whimpered. 

He sucked her earlobe, then his warm breath caressed her ear. “Lasciati andare, bella.” 

Sawyer reached behind, gripping the back of Ethan’s head, anchoring as her body shuddered with wave after wave of euphoria. “Uhnnnnn…Ethan…”

Water tepid and fingers pruned, they eventually climbed out of the tub. Sawyer shivered as she plucked a few stuck rose petals from her body. Ethan wrapped a thick towel around her shoulders and rubbed up and down her arms to rid her of the goosebumps. “Let's warm up in front of the fire. We can set up a picnic for dessert," he suggested.

“Dessert? You’re spoiling me tonight.”

Ethan kissed her cheek as he walked past and into his closet. “You deserve it.” He emerged wearing a pair of loose shorts with a t-shirt in hand for Sawyer, but she was already buttoning the dress shirt he discarded earlier. “Fuck me,” he growled at the sight.

“Oh I will... But dessert first,” she smirked, walking past him to the kitchen.

🛁🛁🛁🛁🛁🛁🛁🛁🛁

With perfect timing, a log in the fireplace cracked in two, sending sparks up the chute. “Sawyer!” Ethan cried out as he found his release. Their bodies slick with sweat, he slid off of her and collapsed onto his back, just missing the tray of strawberries and chocolate sauce he had prepared for dessert.

Sawyer rolled to her side and propped herself up on an elbow. Ethan’s eyes were closed as he tried to regain equilibrium. She kissed his cheek and started tracing shapes on his chest. “Thank you for tonight, Ethan… and for the flowers yesterday. Who would have guessed you were such a romantic?” His lips turned up in a small smile. “Though, given your love of opera, I guess it shouldn’t come as such a surprise.”

He opened his eyes and turned his head to her. “I wanted to make up for some of the time I wasted before,” he explained. “Was it too much?” 

Sawyer cupped his cheek. “Not at all, babe,” she assured him, using the term of endearment for the first time. “I loved it.” She leaned down and kissed him softly. “You pulled out all the stops. I’ve never had anyone do the things you did for me.” 

He combed his fingers through her hair and looked her in the eyes. “You deserve nothing less, Rookie. I’ll have to think of some new ways to sweep you off your feet in the future.” 

“Tonight has been incredible, and consider me swept… But Ethan, I don’t need love letters every day.”

“I know, but I like showing you how much you mean to me.” 

“That’s easy, babe. Just smack me on the butt and say, ‘I’m glad that ass is mine,’” she laughed.

“That easy, huh?” 

“Mmm hmm,” Sawyer hummed. Sitting up and reaching across him, she plucked a strawberry from the tray.   

“Good to know."

After dipping the strawberry in the chocolate, Sawyer held a hand underneath it as she brought it to her mouth for a bite. Moving her hand away at just the right moment, the chocolate sauce dripped onto Ethan's abs. “Whoops, my bad,” she smiled wickedly. Licking her lips, she lowered her head, “Let me get that for you.”  

🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

Two days later, Sawyer rode the elevator up to the fifth floor with Sienna. When the steel doors slid open, she looked up to find Ethan waiting on the other side. She smiled and winked as Ethan waited for her roommate to exit. 

Ethan’s shoulder rubbed Sawyer’s as they crossed over the threshold at the same time. Then… SMACK! Sawyer jumped when the palm of his hand slapped her ass cheek. Safely on the other side, she turned to face him with a questioning look on her face. 

Ethan leaned forward to punch the button for the lobby. Then he looked at Sawyer. As the doors began to close, he smiled. “Mine.”

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @peonierose  @potionsprefect @trappedinfanfiction @jerzwriter @queencarb @coffeeheartaddict2 @quixoticdreamer16 @jamespotterthefirst @liaromancewriter @zealouscanonindeer @tveitertotwrites @tessa-liam @youlookappropriate @kyra75 @socalwriterbee @txemrn 

[nyanko-sensei-tte-yonde]

After the joint training exercise, Hitoshi is desperate to catch up to the rest of the Hero course students in time for his transfer. He's having trouble finding people willing to let him use his Quirk on him, which is completely understandable, but it means he's not making the progress he needs. Both Togata and Monoma are willing to help him out, and he's so, so grateful, but when he unwittingly makes Monoma reveal what he really thinks of him, he fucks up so bad he doesn't think he can face him ever again.

[My first time writing fluff, and I still had to throw some angst in there lol. When I was watching season 7 and Shinsou showed back up, I was thinking about who he'd be training his Quirk on and the people who came to mind were Togata (bc he's so chill) and Monoma (bc he likes Shinsou so much). And Eri's there too because she's adorable.

This is set in the period between the Joint Training Arc and the Final War Arc.]

“Are you busy again today, Aizawa-sensei?”

His teacher was strapping on his boots at the door, so the answer was obviously yes. Aizawa looked up at Hitoshi, absently checking his watch. “Yeah, unfortunately. Don’t know when I’ll be back. You’re still trying to find people to train your Quirk on, aren’t you?”

Hitoshi nodded. He’d asked a couple of his classmates in Gen Ed, and while they’d gotten more friendly with him since the Sports Festival, they were, understandably, wary of being used for Brainwashing practice. He’d gotten one of them to agree but even a twenty-minute session had been too much for her and she’d had to quit. Hitoshi was grateful for even that, but it meant he’d gotten basically no practice in the couple weeks since the joint training exercise, especially since Aizawa had been busy with some sort of project at the hospital.

“If I’m going to be transferring to the Hero course next year, I really need to step up my abilities. But it’s been kind of hard to find anybody.”

Aizawa stood up, adjusting his binding cloth and considering for a moment. “Have you tried asking Togata and his friends? They’re around a lot to take care of Eri.”

Hitoshi rubbed his face. He’d interacted with Eri quite a bit since he’d been training with Aizawa, and since Togata was spending pretty much all of his time with her, he’d spoken with him, too. But he wasn’t exactly friendly with the third years and asking them to allow him to Brainwash them seemed like a huge ask. He didn’t have time to express this, though, as Aizawa was already halfway out the door.

“Well, you’ll figure it out. Make sure Eri eats— you can use my card if you order something.” And then the door shut and Hitoshi had no choice but to figure it out.

“Is Aizawa-sensei gone again?” Eri came to the door, clutching a chapter book to her chest.

“Yeah. Is that a book you’re reading?”

“Uh huh. I just finished it and I only needed Lemillion’s help three times! I wanted to show Aizawa-sensei but he’s already gone…”

“That’s okay! You can show him when he gets back.” Togata appeared behind Eri with a stack of books in his arms. “Did you want to start another one, or take a break? You want lunch?”

Eri thought for a moment before nodding.

“Sure thing! What do you wanna eat?”

“Hmm… hamburger steak!”

Hitoshi followed Eri and Togata into the kitchen. It was a Saturday, so Amajiki and Hadou were there, too. If he was going to ask, this was probably his chance.

“Um… I was wondering…”

Togata was bent over as he dug through the fridge, but instead of turning around, he bent further to look at Hitoshi through his legs. “Shinsou! What’s up?”

“Uh…” Maybe this was a bad idea. But he’d already started talking, so he had no choice but to continue. “I was wondering if the three of you might be willing to…help me with Quirk training.”

“Oh!” Togata straightened and whipped around, leaving Amajiki and Hadou to actually find the ingredients to cook with. “Your Quirk is Brainwashing, right? Sounds like fun!”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I must refuse,” Amajiki said shakily, clutching an onion and a bell pepper to his chest. “The idea of not being in control of my own body… I think that’s too much for me.”

“Brainwashing? How does it work? What’s it like? What would you need us to do?” Hadou leaned over the kitchen island at Hitoshi with such enthusiasm he had to lean back.

“Well, if someone responds to me verbally while I have my Quirk active, I can control them until I turn it off or they get hit by some sort of impact.” Hitoshi wasn’t used to having people pay this much attention to him. He forced himself to keep his arms down so he didn’t cover his face. “I still can’t make people talk or…do things that require them to think. And that’s what I want to work on.”

“I see! Sure, use me for whatever you need!” Togata was chopping the onion somewhat unevenly. “After lunch?”

“Interesting! I’ll try it, too!” Hadou beamed at him and the force of it was so strong that Hitoshi had to look away. Were all Hero course students this energetic?

Hitoshi nodded. “Yeah. Um, thanks.”

The hamburger steak and accompanying sauce was made with minimal disaster and only a moderate amount of mess to clean up. Hadou volunteered to go first, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Alright… Do you cook much?”

“Not really!” Her face went blank as Hitoshi’s Quirk took hold.

Hitoshi looked at her, unsure of where to start. They’d moved to the couches and Togata was watching with interest as Eri chewed on an apple slice. Amajiki was staring at his friend with some consternation and waving a hand in front of her face.

“Can she see me?” he asked.

Hitoshi nodded. “Yeah, pretty much, but I’m not sure how much she’ll retain afterward.” Another thing to work on. Everyone in the joint training exercise had developed their Quirks so much… Hitoshi felt the gulf between himself and the Hero course students like a soreness. Now that he had a willing test subject in front of him, though, he couldn’t figure out what to have her say.

“Tell us a joke!” Togata said, peeling another apple without looking.

“Sure, tell us a joke,” Hitoshi repeated.

She was silent, staring at the space in front of her with a blank expression that was familiar enough that it didn’t really weird Hitoshi out anymore. Amajiki and Togata were watching with varied amounts of fascination. Togata cut his finger in his distraction, prompting Amajiki to take the apple and knife from him and take over apple-cutting duty.

“Maybe coming up with something’s too much to start with,” Togata said. “You could have try having her repeat something?”

“Okay… Say, ‘I’m a third year Hero course student at U.A.,’” he tried. He could feel the pull of his Quirk on her, trying to work the parts of her brain that would move her mouth and throat so she could talk. It felt sluggish and clumsy and all he managed was getting her to open her mouth and make a little vocalized ah.

“That was something!” Togata exclaimed.

“Not much, though,” Amajiki said quietly. Eri took an apple slice from him and munched it thoughtfully.

“You could try her name?”

“Good idea, Eri-chan.” It was only a few syllables and something Hadou would be used to saying. “Senpai, what’s your name?”

“Hadou…Neji…re…,” came the slow response. It was slurred and zombie-like but clearly discernible.

Hitoshi released his Quirk, happy for the progress but only now realizing how many steps there were between where he was at and where he was trying to get to.

“Whoa, that was weird!” Hadou said as soon as she had control over her own body. “It’s like I could see stuff but I couldn’t move but I didn’t know what I was doing but I don’t really remember anything! So how’d it go?”

“I was able to get you to say your name, but anything more than that didn’t really go anywhere,” Hitoshi said, rubbing his cheek. “And having you saying something you had to make up yourself didn’t work at all.”

“Hmm!” Hadou leaned back against the couch cushions, plucking an apple slice from Amajiki’s hands. “That’s so interesting! Are you gonna do Togata next?”

Togata sprang up from the couch and struck a pose. “Sure! Whaddya need?”

“I guess just, respond to what I say?”

“Okay!” Togata froze as the Brainwashing took hold. His face went blank, but he didn’t otherwise move, creating a bit of a weird effect with his arms in the air for whatever pose he was doing.

“Maybe…just stand normally to start with.”

Togata lowered his arms and straightened his legs so he was standing with his arms at his side. Less weird, but still a little bit weird, just because Hitoshi wasn’t used to the third year not moving animatedly with a wide smile on his face. Eri tilted her head and stared at him with a little furrow in her brow.

“Senpai, what’s your name?” Hitoshi decided to start with something he knew could work.

“Togata Mirio!” Togata answered, voice smooth and only slightly stiff. Hitoshi blinked. There seemed to be a little less resistance with Togata for some reason. Maybe it was the third year’s easygoing attitude. His optimism and cheer was sometimes a little off-putting sometimes, but in this case Hitoshi was just glad it made things easier.

“Who’s your homeroom teacher?”

After a pause, Togata said the name of a teacher Hitoshi didn’t recognize. It seemed to be correct, going off the looks on Amajiki’s and Hadou’s faces.

“Making progress already!” Hadou exclaimed. “Can you, like, feel his mouth moving when you make him talk?”

Hitoshi scratched his cheek. “Not really. There’s not much feedback besides how hard they’re resisting the Brainwashing.”

“I bet he’s not resisting very hard,” Amajiki said. Hitoshi smiled a little and shook his head, at which Amajiki shrunk back into the couch, muttering something about self-preservation instinct and mental fortitude.

“Can you make him move around?” Eri asked.

“Yeah, that’s easier. Anything you wanna see?”

“Make him do that All Might dance from that commercial!”

“That might be harder since he’d have to remember the dance.” Hitoshi wasn’t feeling particularly confident but seeing the eager glint in Eri’s eyes, he had to cave. “We can try it, though.”

Eri nodded eagerly, head bouncing like a bobblehead. Hitoshi suppressed a snort and turned back to Togata before she could snap her neck with the force of her enthusiasm.

Hitoshi didn’t quite remember the dance Eri had been referring to, but that shouldn’t matter as long as Togata knew the moves. He had to try really hard not to feel really stupid as he said, “Senpai, do the All Might dance.”

Togata raised his arms robotically and slowly, silently held them to his head to mimic All Might’s hair tufts. Eri giggled as Togata did the dance, jerky and awkward and completely off rhythm but recognizable. Hitoshi was just about to let himself feel hopeful about his progress when the front door burst open.

“Shinsou-kun! You get lunch yet…?” Monoma froze halfway through the door, plastic 7-11 bag in one hand and mouth dropping open in shock. Togata continued to do the All Might dance, on loop since Hitoshi hadn’t told him to stop, and Monoma dropped the bag and backed out the door, shutting it with a slam.

Eri’s laughter only grew louder as she rolled on the couch. Amajiki coughed and suggested that maybe Togata should stop now. Hitoshi released his Quirk while he ran a mental calculation on whether he should chase after Monoma to explain or go hole up in his dorm room and never come out.

Having been coaxed back inside and bribed with a reheated hamburger steak, Monoma sat at the table in the common area of the faculty dorm and looked around at the gathered third years. “Why didn’t you ask me, Shinsou-kun? I thought we were friends.” He was chewing on his fork as he turned his gaze to Hitoshi with a raised brow.

Hitoshi cleared his throat and hoped the warmth in his cheeks wasn’t visible. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask Monoma— he was a Hero course student and so one of the rivals he was trying to catch up to. And were they friends? Monoma had practically demanded Hitoshi’s number after the joint training exercise and they had been texting a little and had hung out a couple times but it wasn’t like they’d been speaking for that long. At this point he realized he was taking a little too long to answer so he groped for something to say. “Are you saying you’re okay with helping me?”

“I’d love to help you!” Monoma burst out, gesticulating wildly with his fork. Eri was watching its trajectory with wonderment. “We’re kindred spirits, you and I, and now that we’ve fought together we’ll always be comrades-in-arms! How better to stick it to those class A kids than to help you train so you’re better than any of them!”

Hitoshi wasn’t sure what to say to that and decided against mentioning that there was an even chance he’d end up in class A next year. “Oh. Um, thanks.”

“Think nothing of it! In fact, think of it as doing me a favor! This could be the beginning of a historic partnership! With your Brainwashing and my Copy, we’d take the world by storm!”

Hitoshi let himself zone out a little as Monoma continued to rant between bites of food, detailing their epic rise to the top of the Hero charts. He was just glad he’d been able to find people— multiple!— willing to help him train his Brainwashing. Monoma even seemed eager, and as he tuned back in to his speech, Hitoshi couldn’t help but feel a little warm.

* * *

Eri let out a shrill giggle as Monoma crashed into the coffee table. It was enough of an impact to knock him out of the Brainwashing and he dropped to the ground, rubbing his shin. They’d developed a bit of a routine over the last few weeks, Monoma coming by after class or on weekends when he didn’t have his work-study to help Hitoshi train with Togata. Hitoshi was finally starting to make real progress with his Brainwashing and he was able to make people answer simple questions. Things requiring more brainpower than that were still a struggle, and he still needed to really concentrate or he’d slip up and the person he was controlling would veer off and do something he hadn’t been going for.

“Ow, that’s gonna bruise! I didn’t agree to this so you could bodily injure me!”

“Sorry,” Hitoshi said, biting back his own laughter. “Maybe that was trying too many things at once.”

“I, for one, greatly appreciate your sacrifice,” Togata called from the couch. Eri had buried her face in his side, giggles exploding into guffaws at Monoma’s outraged expression. “No one can make Eri-chan laugh like you!”

“Why don’t you try something that doesn’t require me to move around?” Monoma stood up again and crossed his arms, shooting an exaggeratedly prim expression at Hitoshi. “Just have me talk, so I don’t have to risk life and limb for your Quirk training.”

“Er, yeah, okay.” Hitoshi rubbed his neck, in fact feeling a little guilty. He’d had Monoma walk around the room while describing things he saw. Simple, but maybe still a bit ambitious for where he was at. “Hey, Monoma.”

“Yeah?”

Hitoshi felt his Quirk take hold, the vague sensation of something catching on the edges of someone’s consciousness. He pulled at it a little as he spoke. “What’s two plus two?”

“Four,” Monoma answered, voice flat. It was still strange to hear him speak without his usual exaggerated affect.

Eri giggled again. “Even I know that!”

“Yes, you’re very good at math,” Togata agreed.

Hitoshi ignored the peanut gallery. “What’s the capital of France?”

“Paris.”

“Is general trivia really making him think?” Togata asked.

“Hmm, good point,” Hitoshi said. “Who wrote the Arsene Lupin stories?” Monoma had described this character to him once, one of the inspirations for his hero name. Hitoshi didn’t remember the answer himself, but he was trying to see if Monoma could recall it.

“Maurice Leblanc,” Monoma said, rolling the r with an impressive French flourish.

“What’s the plot of one of the novels?”

Monoma was silent. Damn. Was that level of information recall still too much?

“Close your eyes.”

He did so.

“Who else is in the room right now?”

“Shinsou-kun. Eri-chan. Togata-senpai.” The words came out slow, but they were correct.

“Who’s your favorite out of us?” Eri called from the couch.

Hitoshi looked back at her, raising a brow. Eri stared back at him, wide-eyed, nodding eagerly. “Fine. Monoma, who’s your favorite out of the people in this room?”

“Shinsou-kun,” Monoma answered quickly.

Eri burst out into more giggles and Hitoshi felt his face warm a little. “I guess since we were on the same team during the joint training exercise.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet,” Togata said. “I’m glad you two are such good friends!”

Hitoshi cleared his throat, trying to find something else to ask Monoma. “God, this is stupid… What are you thinking about right now?” By this point, he was able to keep the person under his Quirk somewhat conscious, but they’d still often forget what they’d been doing while under the Brainwashing. Maybe with more practice, he could control how much they remembered, but that was probably pretty far off.

“I want you to kiss me,” Monoma said.

Hitoshi released the Brainwashing without meaning to. Behind him, he heard Eri gasp and then protest as she was picked up by Togata.

“Uuh, Eri-chan, why don’t we go for a walk? I’ll buy you a candy apple!”

“Hmm… okay!”

The door closed before Hitoshi finally worked up the courage to say something.

“Sorry about that.”

“About what?” Monoma looked around the room. “Where’d Togata-senpai and Eri-chan go?”

“They left because, um…” Two sides of Hitoshi’s brain warred over what to say. Lie or tell the truth? Brainwash Monoma to forget he’d ever met him? Probably not within the scope of his abilities, not to mention morally objectionable. “They had to go.” Neither side won.

Monoma was making a face at him and Hitoshi sorely wished, not for the first time in his life but for the first time in a while, that he had any Quirk except the one he had, preferably one that could dig him a nice hole to hide in. “Did you make me do something stupid?”

“N-no.” It’d been Hitoshi who’d asked something stupid. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Shinsou-kun.” Monoma closed the distance between them and grabbed Hitoshi by the wrist as if worried he was going to run away. Hitoshi had been considering it, but only vaguely, and now it was too late to act on the impulse. “What was it?” His voice was gentle but probing.

Now that Monoma had touched him, there was a chance he’d Copied Hitoshi’s Brainwashing and could use it to force Hitoshi to tell him, or do something embarrassing until he did. They’d tried that a few times, and thanks to that Hitoshi knew how it felt to be under his Quirk and had even been able to use that to speed up his progress. He didn’t think Monoma would Copy and use his Quirk without asking but the threat of it was enough to make him still, though he continued to look anywhere but at him. “Eri-chan wanted to know who you liked the most out of the three of us,” Hitoshi said. His wrist felt hot where Monoma’s hand was clasped around it. He was probably sweating. “And you said me.”

Monoma snorted. “Well, sure, I talk to you the most. Why would that make them leave?”

“Then I asked what you were thinking about and you said…” Hitoshi glanced at Monoma’s face. He’d stepped even closer and Hitoshi’s vision was filled with the blue-gray of his eyes. Hitoshi couldn’t stop his gaze from flickering down to Monoma’s lips and he felt his face burn as he forced the words out. “You said you wanted me to kiss you.”

Monoma’s eyes went wide and Hitoshi saw a twinge of recollection in his face. “Shinsou-kun—”

“Sorry, I think I should go.” Hitoshi shook himself free and rushed to the door, ducking his head to avoid eye contact.

“Hey, wait!”

“Don’t follow me!” Hitoshi couldn’t suppress a flinch as his Quirk took hold of Monoma. He hadn’t meant to do that, but it gave him the opportunity to get out of there, so he took it. For the first time, he felt Monoma struggling against the Brainwashing. Hitoshi picked up his pace and felt the connection fall away about halfway across the lawn in front of the faculty dorm. He saw Togata and Eri returning down the sidewalk, Eri happily munching on her promised candy apple, and ran in the direction of the Gen Ed dorms, hoping they hadn’t seen him. He didn’t stop until he’d locked the door of his dorm room behind him and then sat down against the door.

That had gone incredibly shittily, for a number of reasons. He’d used his Quirk against his friend, someone who’d been trying to help him get into the Hero course, against his will. Monoma had made himself open to what were essentially psychic attacks and Hitoshi had not only violated that trust but also forced Monoma to divulge something private and probably really embarrassing. Some hero student Hitoshi was turning out to be.

Monoma definitely wouldn’t want Hitoshi to kiss him now, if he even wanted to see him again. Hitoshi couldn’t blame him if he didn’t. He felt the bile rise up in his throat, familiar and sour after years of reckless, defiant resolve to prove everyone wrong. Indulging an impulse he hadn’t since middle school, he put his forehead against his knees and let the self-loathing wash over him.

Maybe ten seconds later his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket to see Monoma had texted him an ominous ‘Shinshou-kun.’ Hitoshi stared at it for a few minutes, too scared to open it and send a read receipt. Monoma sent one more ‘Heyyy!!!’ After several minutes there were no more messages. Hitoshi let out the breath he’d been holding and put a hand over his face. He wasn’t sure if the tightness in his chest was disappointment or relief.

* * *

Hitoshi hadn’t gone back to the faculty dorm in a week. Aizawa-sensei wasn’t around much these days but he was able to train with his binding cloths by himself on school grounds, though he was pretty much just going through the motions at this point. He’d hoped doing some familiar drills would keep his mind off things, help him focus, but swinging around the trees before class and trying to remember to keep his wrists loose did little to occupy his thoughts. If anything, it was only making him feel worse.

Hitoshi landed softly on the grass (falling had been the first thing Aizawa had drilled into him) and looked down at the new callouses forming on his hands. Was there even a point to this? He’d spent weeks, months at this point carving out space for himself, training and sweating and getting his ass kicked by Aizawa-sensei so he could finally have his dream within his grasp. But if last week was anything to go by, he’d only proved that everyone had been right all along, and all his powers were good for was villainy.

Hitoshi checked the time before coiling up the binding cloth. The carbon fibers glinted a little in the light. He flexed his fingers against the fabric, feeling the scratchy texture of the weave. He hadn’t texted Monoma, or even really seen him. Monoma hadn’t texted him since the incident, either, which confirmed the theory that he didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. In the normal course of the school year Hitoshi didn’t really get opportunities to interact with the Hero course kids, so he might not see him again for the rest of the semester. That was probably for the best.

Hitoshi frowned. Staring at his hands wasn’t going to help him get a handle on his feelings, it’d only make him late so he tucked the cloth into his bag and headed to class.

He was antsy the whole morning, barely able to pay attention to the lectures. There was a pop quiz in math he’d definitely bombed. Working to get into the Hero course hadn’t distracted him so much before; he’d only stubbornly thrown himself into his training while keeping his grades up with sheer force of will and sleep deprivation. Hitoshi heaved a sigh as the bell rang for lunch. He saw a couple of his classmates staring at him, but mercifully they didn’t try to ask him about it. He’d been using lunch periods to train more, so they went ahead without him.

He wasn’t feeling up to training right then, though, so he pushed himself up from his desk and followed the rest of the class to the cafeteria. In the hallway, he saw a familiar swoop of blond hair and Togata was upon him before he could formulate an escape plan.

“Shinsou, it’s been a minute! How you been?”

“Alright,” Hitoshi said, avoiding eye contact. He hoped the terse response would get Togata to leave, but he wasn’t so lucky.

“Eri-chan’s been a little sad not to see you. Is something going on?” Togata’s voice was cheerful and airy as always, but Hitoshi still had the feeling of being cross-examined.

“You know, exams and stuff,” Hitoshi said to the floor. He kept his hands in his pockets so they wouldn’t be tempted to fidget and give him away. “Can’t let my grades slip or they might pull my transfer.”

“Oh, I thought your grades were really good,” Togata said, voice filled with thoughtful surprise. “Did you still need someone to train your Quirk with? I’m always happy to help. Heck, I can tutor you if you’re worried about your grades.”

Togata was being weirdly, characteristically nice, which was just making Hitoshi uncomfortable. Hitoshi cleared his throat. “No, I think I’m good. Thanks.”

“Hmm,” was Togata’s response. He eyed Hitoshi for a moment and opened his mouth to say something. As Hitoshi steeled himself, he seemed to think better of it and grinned at him. “Well, let me know if there’s anything you need.”

Hitoshi just nodded mutely. Another third year turned the corner and took Togata’s attention, so he was spared from having to verbalize a reply. Togata hadn’t said anything about Monoma, but Hitoshi found himself unable to push the thought of him from his mind as he reached the cafeteria. Togata and Eri had gotten back to the faculty dorm right after Hitoshi had made his exit. They would have found Monoma there, after Hitoshi had done something terrible and then run away on top of that. What had Monoma said to them? Whatever it’d been, it’d probably been nicer than he deserved.

The cafeteria was already crowded as Hitoshi entered. He started to make his way to the back of the line, looking at the clock over the door and trying to calculate if he’d even get his food in time to eat. He was feeling a little nauseous, probably from the lack of sleep, so maybe it’d be better to just grab a seat and try to take a nap at a table.

All the introspection meant he wasn’t looking where he was going, and he bumped into another student. Damn, he had to get his shit together. “Sorry,” he muttered, registering who he’d bumped into too late.

“Shinsou-kun!”

Hitoshi froze as he looked up and locked eyes with Monoma. “Fuck.” He found himself unable to escape as Monoma grabbed his wrist and got up in his face. He looked everywhere except at Monoma.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Monoma hissed, lacking his usual drama and exuberance.

“Can we not…do this here?” Hitoshi continued to stare at the floor, trying to get his brain to start going again. Here they were, the consequences of his actions. Monoma definitely hated him and was going to let him have it.

“What, are you gonna Brainwash me and run away again?”

Hitoshi couldn’t suppress a flinch. He felt the absurd urge to laugh, like a toddler caught doing something wrong, and that made him feel like even more of a piece of shit. He tamped it down. “…No.”

Monoma huffed a sigh, but his grip on Hitoshi’s arm didn’t loosen. “You know what, just, come here.” He started to drag Hitoshi toward the doors. For someone smaller than him and not particularly muscular, Monoma was surprisingly strong. Hitoshi didn’t fight him, only glancing over his shoulder on the way out to see the orange-haired girl from 1-B staring at them from over her noodles.

Monoma pulled them into an unused classroom and pushed Hitoshi further inside until they were out of view from the door. He blocked in Hitoshi between the desks, cutting off an easy exit. He was also entirely too close and Hitoshi found his gaze going to Monoma’s mouth again.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“It’s not like we get a lot of chances to see each other, since we’re in different courses.”

“Then you’ve stopped going out of your way to see me.”

“I guess, yeah.” Hitoshi ducked his head. It took two seconds of fighting with his mouth to finally blurt out, “I’m really sorry! You trusted me enough to let me use my Quirk on you, and I Brainwashed you without your permission. And I made you say something private in front of people… If you never want to see me again, I understand. I know I should’ve… apologized sooner.” He forced himself to look at Monoma, afraid of his disgust but also needing to know what kind of face he was making.

Monoma was scowling, looking just to the right of Hitoshi’s jaw. After several seconds, he finally said, “Yeah, that wasn’t very nice of you to just run off.”

Hitoshi’s insides were cold mush. He could see Monoma trying to disguise his hurt with his usual blithe smile, but it was unsteady. Hitoshi let out a shaky breath. “Maybe I am just a villain,” he muttered.

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

It’d been directed at himself, but since Hitoshi had said it out loud, of course Monoma had heard. Hitoshi once more wished for a hole to hide in, not that one was likely to open in up the floor of the classroom, but he deserved to take his lumps, even if it was making him feel like he was being skinned alive. “Cause I… I violated your trust. And after you called me your friend… I was terrible.”

Monoma’s scowl morphed into a frown, but not the kind Hitoshi had been expecting. “What are you, stupid?”

“What?”

“We were training! Yeah, your Quirk lets you dig around in my head a little, but that’s a risk I willingly took on when I agreed to train with you. I mean, you know how many concussions I’ve gotten from my classmates in training exercises?”

“But—”

“Look, you’re not a bad person, okay? Your Quirk isn’t evil and you’re not a villain! It’s not like you made me hurt someone! You didn’t hurt me.”

“Doesn’t me Brainwashing you at all hurt you?” Hitoshi could feel himself losing a logical battle he hadn’t been prepared for.

“No! And even if it did, I agreed to it! At some point you have to respect the fact that I make my own choices.”

Hitoshi didn’t have a response for that. Monoma was the sort of person who could talk circles around anyone, but Hitoshi couldn’t help but still feel deeply guilty.

“Also… if you were that bothered about me wanting to kiss you, you could’ve just… said that. You didn’t have to avoid me over it…”

Hitoshi’s cheeks heated and his head whipped up to look at Monoma, who’d bowed his head and was avoiding eye contact. “What? No, that didn’t bother me.”

“Isn’t that why you ran off and stopped talking to me? I mean, I get it, if you don’t…like me, just, tell me you’re not interested, okay?”

The shape of Hitoshi’s fuckup suddenly became very clear. He shook his head emphatically, a hand coming up to cover his face. “N-no, that wasn’t it at all! I was just… I was surprised, okay? I didn’t know what to do!” He stumbled backwards a step and felt the back of his thigh hit a desk. “I’d just never… thought about it before…”

“So you didn’t hate the idea?” Monoma’s voice was quiet as Hitoshi lowered his hand.

“I just figured… you wouldn’t want to anymore… since you probably hated me…”

Monoma snorted. “I don’t lose interest in someone so easily.” His gaze was on the floor and Hitoshi’s hand hovered awkwardly in the air between them, torn between going back to his side or reaching out and…

Their eyes met and Monoma reached up to tangle his fingers in Hitoshi’s hair. Hitoshi let out a yelp as he was pulled forward and then Monoma’s lips were on his and his eyes went wide in shock. Monoma’s eyes were closed, blond lashes ticking Hitoshi’s face. Hitoshi realized he should probably close his eyes too, and maybe kiss him back and then his only thoughts were that Monoma’s lips were soft and he’d been stupid for not talking to him sooner. His hands traveled up to the sides of Monoma’s face to pull him closer, pushing himself forward. He breathed out a sigh and pushed his tongue into Monoma’s mouth because all he wanted was to taste him.

Monoma broke off the kiss, grinning a little as Hitoshi dumbly tried to chase his mouth. “So? I didn’t… ruin everything?”

“No! Of course not!” Hitoshi cleared his throat. “I hope… I didn’t ruin things, either.”

“No.” Monoma chuckled. “For the sort of guy who says ‘I’m not here to make friends’, you really get bothered by this kind of thing.” He started fiddling with Hitoshi’s collar. “We’re still friends. I still like you. I’ll keep training with you, if you still want that.”

“If I still want— Do you? Isn’t getting Brainwashed kind of awful?”

“It’s not awful! I kind of… like it.” His voice trailed off at the end until Hitoshi could barely hear it.

Hitoshi coughed. “I can’t believe you’d say something like that.” He couldn’t believe anyone would say something like that. His face was hot and he wanted to hide again, just because he was so overwhelmed. “Is that… something you’re into?”

“You little!” Monoma smacked Hitoshi’s arm, taking Hitoshi’s genuine question as teasing. “Don’t make me Copy your Quirk! Maybe I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine!”

Hitoshi bit back a laugh. The weight that’d been in his chest for the past week was suddenly gone, replaced with blooming warmth. “Yeah? What kind of horrendous things would you make me do?”

“Shut up, for one thing!”

“I really want to kiss you again.” Hitoshi’s voice was hoarse and his face burned as he said it.

Monoma held up his arms defensively and looked away, cheeks hot pink. “Jeez! I told you to shut it, not say something embarrassing!”

“I’m not embarrassed.” Not entirely true, but seeing Monoma flustered for once was rare enough he wasn’t going to squander it. “Are you?” He reached out and put his hand around Monoma’s arm. His skin was soft and warm under his fingers.

“No! Why would I be?” Monoma didn’t pull away, but stared at Hitoshi’s hand like he couldn’t figure out its geometry on his arm.

“You’re, like, bright red.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “So, can I?”

“Do whatever you want.”

Hitoshi leaned forward, suddenly, absurdly, nervous as he pressed his lips against Monoma’s again. He laughed a little and pulled back to try again. An ecstatic little rush went through him as he felt Monoma sigh against his mouth and melt into him. Hitoshi heard a click as the door opened. He opened one eye to peek over Monoma’s shoulder and saw his friend from before standing in the doorway in open-mouthed shock. After a good eight seconds of silence, she saluted before shutting the door gently.

Monoma laughed into Hitoshi’s mouth and pulled back just far enough to say, “Oh no, did we get caught?” His lips ghosting against Hitoshi’s felt like heaven.

Hitoshi nodded. He pulled Monoma back to him and let his eyes fall shut again. “I guess you have some explaining to do to your friend.” He smiled against Monoma’s groan. “But in a few minutes.”

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Chess

This was part of a challenge where I wrote a short story every day during June. ...Because Reasons.

Anyway.

Summary: A mage plays chess with a minitour in disguise. WC: 719

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

“Did you know that the eight of clubs represents instability?” Hansel’s fingers hovered over a pawn, debating whether or not to move it. He glanced at the sky; it was just after noon, sun tilting towards the west. “Represents internal strife and whatnot.”

“I didn’t.” His opponent was busy watching the board. His stubby beard itched as he waited, sweat trailing down his face. Hansel’s pawn moved forward. His turn.

“Did you also know,” Hansel said, leaning back with crossed arms, “that we know you didn’t report in as ordered, Terrance.” The creature opposite him hesitated, red eyes glancing up. Despite the human mask, a few creature-like qualities stood out. Like his bulk.

He made the park chairs look like chairs for preschoolers. A dirty hat was shoved over his straw-man hair, and even magic couldn’t hold off the bull-like smell. He snorted, fat fingers covering the top of a knight as he made his move. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Hansel’s eyebrows went up. “You do,” he stated. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be sweating so bad.”

“The sun,” he growled, motioning across the board. “Your turn.”

Hansel leaned forward, fingers hovering over the board again. “You’re on probation, big boy. Stomping down Times Square without a disguise raises questions. Questions we have to answer.” He considered an answering knight, but went for another pawn instead, gliding it forward. “We gave you an apartment and a mask on the agreement you’d report in every night, an agreement which you broke last night. Not only that,” he glanced up to meet the bull’s eyes, “we know where you went.”

Terrance hesitated. His eyes shot around the park, glaring at the kids playing nearby and the odd couple strolling past. His thoughts were getting more and more scrambled. He couldn’t think straight.

“Don’t worry,” Hansel’s voice cut through the scattered fog, “I’m alone. Nobody in the park is a Keeper.”

“Stupid,” he muttered, turning back to the game and pushing a pawn forward. “I could crush you.”

“You could,” Hansel sighed, placing his elbows on the table, “but you won’t. It’ll only get you in more trouble.” Black pawn captured white pawn. Terrance rumbled. Hansel smiled. “So how was The Dungeon? I hear it’s a nice shady bar. Meet any dragons?”

Terrance shook his head, hands grasping the edge of the table. He wanted to flee, or to smash, or to do something, but all he found the ability to do was talk. “Reminds me of home,” he grunted, looking down at the chess pieces. “So what?”

Hansel smiled, dangling the white pawn between his fingers. “So nothing. I’m giving you a chance to confess what you did, realize breaking the contract was a mistake, and come up with a reason why you won’t do it again.”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll have to call it in, which means you go to Trial and then Containment.”

Terrance’s eyes went wide as he froze. He found himself mumbling ‘no’ a bunch of times before hanging his head. “Fine. You win. I’ll...I won’t break it again.”

Hansel nodded, setting the pawn down. “Good. Less work for me.”

The big guy got up and left, lumbering off with head hanging and still in a bit of a mental fog. Hansel leaned over with a smile, knocking down the white queen with a flick.

Thankfully, Terrance wasn’t the brightest on the planet. Otherwise he might have noticed the playing card taped under his chair. Hansel pulled it from its hiding place, shaking it as he dug through his bag for the rest of his deck. Magical playing cards weren’t usually his thing, but he knew he’d need a little extra help and went to a friend.

Most Keepers had representational magic; what the item stands for is the magic that can be manipulated from it; for example, runes representing the future can be used to look into the future, Lilac can be used to put someone to sleep, Rose Quartz can be used on physical injuries, a chess game could be a literal weaving of a magic trap, etc.

Ah, there it was. Pulling out the deck, Hansel pulled off the rubber band containing the cards and slipped the eight of clubs back into place.

It was always a wonderful thing when a plan went smoothly.

[365daysofj2]

If You Like Piña Coladas (Factory Boys, 3/?)

Jared can’t wait for his shift to end Friday morning so he can go see Jensen in the store. Jared texted Jensen after his shift ended, but Jensen was too tired to talk much. 

The last hour of Jared’s shift seems to last all day. He’s not doing much, which doesn’t help. Production is slowed down in anticipation of the break, so there aren’t too many repairs to do. Jared ends up hanging out in the engineering office with the interns and his boss Mark. One of the interns, Osric, seems pretty cool. He’s from Penn State as well, but he goes to the campus in Middletown, two towns away from Hershey. He wants to go to main campus for grad school, so Jared shares about his experience up there. 

Finally, it’s time to clock out. Jared punches out and changes his clothes in the locker room. It’s really cold, and the sun won’t rise for nearly an hour. This isn’t Jared’s favorite time of year. But all that falls out of his head when he walks into the store and sees Jensen. He’s ringing up a customer’s order, and Jared recognizes him as one of the deaf employees. At the end of the transaction, Jensen signs “thank you,” and the man smiles. 

“Hey, Jensen,” Jared says once the customer is gone. “How’s it going?”

“It’s picked up,” replies Jensen. “Good to see you. Sorry I couldn’t talk last night. Yesterday was brutal.”

“What happened?”

“Not only did they send Valentine’s, they mixed our regular order in with it,” says Jensen, scowling. “So we had four skids to sort through, on the floor, to find our weekly order.”

“Yikes.” Jared glances at the gum and mints on the shelf near the counter. 

“Yeah, dodging forklifts isn’t my idea of a good time.” Jensen opens up his stapler and starts loading new staples into it. “We brought two carts up and it took us about an hour to put it all out. And then we had a big delivery from 19 East to deal with as well.”

“Sorry you had such a crappy day.” Jared brings two bottle packs of grape gum to the counter. As Jensen reaches for one, Jared clasps his hand and squeezes it. Jensen’s cheeks color and he smiles shyly. “At least the busy season is almost over.”

“That’s true,” replies Jensen as he scans Jared’s gum. “I’m ready for it to slow down. We keep running out of handle bags because people are buying so much.”

“Man, y’all can’t catch a break.” Jared waves off Jensen when he pulls out a small paper bag. “I don’t need a bag. I’ll just stick them in here.” He sets his lunch cooler on the counter.

Jensen sticks the paper bag back under the counter. “No problem. That’ll be $5.34.”

Jared pulls out his debit card and taps it on the credit card machine. “Man, this is so much better than the old one.”

“Tell me about it,” says Jensen. “I don’t miss that piece of crap at all.” He hands Jared the two bottle packs and the receipt. “Are you going straight home, or…?”

“I can stick around,” Jared answers with a grin. “Keep you company.”

Jensen smiles, clearly pleased. “I won’t pass that up.”

Another customer comes in then, but she goes straight to the baking chips and comes to the counter with an armload of peanut butter and chocolate chips and two cocoa tins. Jensen rings it up and bags it for her with a practiced efficiency borne of experience. She pays and is off in just a couple minutes. 

“Are you still working this shift after Christmas?” asks Jared.

“Yeah, up until New Year’s,” replies Jensen. “Then Ruth comes back and I get to stop being late to my other job.” He smiles to take the sting out of the words.

“So, I have to ask,” says Jared. “How do you go from being a candy store clerk to a church secretary?”

“I used to work at the museum,” says Jensen. “The church is right across the street, and one of my coworkers sings in the choir there. She mentioned that they were looking for an administrative assistant, and she recommended me. I worked in the development office at Etown, so I had experience. And once I got the job, I started going to services. It’s a great church. I think you’d like it.”

Jared nods. “Well, if you like it, that’s good enough for me.” Jensen smiles. “How’d you end up here, then?”

“I wanted to start paying more on my student loans,” says Jensen. “So I applied to Chocolate World, but they wanted too many shifts. They recommended I apply to the employee store because it’s more flexible. So I did, and here I am. Originally I worked Tuesdays and Thursdays both, but I stopped Tuesdays because our boss changed the start time to 11:00 AM and that conflicted with my church hours. So I cover this shift when I can instead.”

“You don’t mind getting up early?”

Jensen chuckles. “Getting up at 4:30 isn’t my idea of a good time, especially in the winter, but I’ve learned to go to bed early.—both before and after.”

“Well, I’m glad you do, because I wouldn’t have met you otherwise,” says Jared.

Jensen grins. “Yeah, you’re definitely the best perk of this job.”

Another customer comes in then, so Jared moves away from the counter. But she doesn’t seem to know what she wants, so he goes back to talking to Jensen. “So, you’re off next Friday, right?”

Jensen nods. “Yeah, y’all are too, right?”

“Well, I work my normal shift Thursday night, but then I’m off Friday night,” replies Jared. “So do you want to do something Friday night?”

Jensen smiles. “What do you have in mind?”

“How about dinner?”

“That sounds great. You have a place in mind?”

“Well, what do you like?”

“Just about anything,” answers Jensen. “Pretty much anywhere outside of Hershey is fine.”

Jared chuckles. “Yeah, good call. How about Gilligan’s, the one on Jonestown Road? I could make a reservation.”

“That sounds fantastic,” says Jensen. “I haven’t been there in ages.”

“Well, then, it’s a date.”

The woman comes up to the counter with a bunch of Twizzlers, so Jensen rings her out and gets her on her way quickly. 

“I haven’t been on a date in years,” Jensen says quietly.

“I won’t hold that against you, I promise.” Jared smiles encouragingly. 

Jensen glances at the clock. “Crap, my boss will be here any minute. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“No problem. I’ll get out of your hair.” Jared hoists his lunch cooler onto his shoulder.

“You probably want to get home, anyway.”

Jared shrugs. “I’m not that tired. But you’ve got to go, so I’ll text you when I get up tonight.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jensen smiles, that thousand-watt smile that makes Jared’s knees go weak. 

“Have a good day at the office,” says Jared with a big smile of his own.

“I’ll try.” Jensen opens the register and sticks an envelope in the bottom of the cash drawer. “Thanks for sticking around. You made the time go faster.”

“My pleasure.” 

Jensen reaches across the counter and grasps Jared’s wrist. He pulls Jared in and leans over the counter to give him a soft, sweet kiss. Jensen tastes like piña colada Ice Breakers, which are Jared’s favorite. Jensen must have a pack stashed behind the counter. “Good night, sweet dreams.”

Jared grins so wide he feels the stretch in his cheeks. “They will be now.”

[lys1]

Congratulations! You waited so patiently <3 This is another Asra x fem!reader for you. NSFW. 5218 words. 

Playing With Potions

—————

The late spring morning air was warming up to be a balmy 75 degrees. You had your skirt pulled down and up, tucked in the back of the waistband, forming makeshift shorts. The shop was somewhat quiet, yet the din from the streets made its nimble way through the open windows.

You descend the ladder to the box of ingredients you were unpacking. They had come in the previous evening and Asra had promptly asked you to “organize them later”. Of course you said yes, the two of you shared this shop after all, and the work that came with it.

Asra himself was bustling behind the counter, sweeping the wooden floors free of the dust and fallen ingredients. He stops momentarily to pick up his cup of tea and take a long sip. The jasmine tea's steam billows into his face as he sighs with content pleasure.

The floorboards creak as you step down and Asra looks over at you, gaze soft. "How's the supplies look, dear?" He asks curiously, returning the cup to it’s coaster.

"Ah," you muse, counting the small containers in your hands. "Looks like we will be all set on lizard toes for a while, I think our supply captain read 1000 instead of 100." You can't help but chuckle, it couldn't be helped, at least you wouldn’t have to order more for a while.

Asra's eyes open a little wider, "oh my." He laughs, "I suppose we won’t". He sets his broom to rest against the counter and bare feet pad over to you, his deep-purple eyes examining the products.

You feel his hand settle on your waist subconsciously; a side effect of being close to one another. You breathe in lightly, smelling the sweet scent of coconut and honied biscuits wash over you. Asra's breakfast choice was apparent.

"Mm," you say, turning so the two of you were face to face. "You smell delicious."

Asra smiles, box in his hand now a little less important. "Care for a taste?" He teases, eyes falling to your parted lips. He sets his lizard toes aside and joins his other hand at your waist. You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod.

He is a mere millimeter from sealing the gap between you when the bell of the shop jingles merrily.

"Ah jeez," you huff good in good nature. "I forgot we have jobs and responsibilities."

Asra laughs at your obvious disappointment and steals a small peck. "Unfortunately, we have to eat somehow." He then turns away and walks back to the counter to greet the customer.

The man is short and has a little round face. He looks extraordinarily nervous, and this catches your attention. Yours and Asra's shop is well known in the city and the townsfolk trust their magicians. You hadn't seen anyone come in here looking so nervous, and maybe even a little embarrassed.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Asra asks charmingly, resuming his position behind the counter. Briefly you let yourself admire how nice he looks, comfortable in his shop and expertise, before turning back to the box you were supposed to be dealing with. Not, however, letting your ears miss the conversation.

"I," the man starts, already fumbling with his words. "I, well look. I need help." He finishes plainly, nervously clutching his shirt between his pudgy hands.

Asra smiles kindly, "many do." He says, tilting his head and examining his new client. "Are you here for a card reading? Need to get some answers?"

The man groans as though he is already exhausted with the conversation. "No, I already know what I need. I have the answers. I've heard about this place. The ways you can help people. I live an hour out of the market and I made this trip just to see you."

"We're flattered, for sure." Asra says calmly, you can hear slight annoyance in his tone from all the ambiguity. The visitor is none the wiser though. "To help you though," Asra continues. "I'll need to know what you need."

"Alright I need a potion," the man finally reveals. "One that will help me... with performance." His cheeks are redder than a bell pepper in the sun.

Asra raises a white eyebrow, "performance? Are you an actor?"

"No!" The man's voice came out in a strangled whisper, obviously trying to keep it down. You roll your eyes, chancing a glance over your shoulder. The shop floor wasn't that big, of course you were going to hear everything.

"No," he said again, this time a little more composed. "What I mean is... my sex life performance." The truth comes out. Your visitor wipes his forehead with a dirty rag from his pocket. "My wife and I well.. we've hit a slump," he explains. "And I've heard of potions that can help with that kind of thing. Stuff that will completely change the game." His eyes are shining now, imaging life post-performance potion.

Asra looks uncertain at best. "I see," he starts, shooting you a glance. "That.. does exists. But it takes awhile to make. And the price isn't cheap either."

You shove the last of the crow feathers into their designated drawer while listening. You have never heard of such a potion, but you were also still learning. Asra sounds a little unsure though.

"Price isn't an issue," the man sounds desperate. "I'll pay anything."

Asra sighs, he feels bad for the man wringing his hands before him, practically crying for a cure. "Alright," he finally concedes. "I'll make it, but you'll have to come back in the morning. This kind of thing takes all evening to brew."

Your customer nods vigorously, "I can wait." He says. "Tomorrow morning, yes! I'll be here!" His excitement apparent, he bows a few times while backing out of the door, tripping over his own feet.

The door closes with a sharp bang and the bell rings furiously. Asra blows air out of his mouth so that itf ruffles the curls between his eyes.

"Well," he says after a moment. "A sex performance enhancing potion was not what I was expecting to make today." He rubs his temples, eyes closed and looking thoughtful.

You grin at him from the shelf as you pick up the empty shipping box and rest it on your hip. "That's quite the name, I've never heard of a potion like that."

Asra laughs and opens his beautiful eyes to look at you. "Yes, you'll have to forgive me for not teaching you that kind of magic, it's not the.. safest." He ends uncertainly. "I don't even know how this guy found out about it. It's not talked about much amongst us magicians.. and it's certainly not a common one."

Immediately more questions than your mouth can keep up with flood your brain. "So how did you find out about it? And why isn't it safe?" You ask the two more important ones, eyes following Asra as he finds a piece of paper and quill to use.

He dips his quill in the register's ink well and starts scratching down what you presumed to be ingredients. "I've been studying magic for years, my love." He says simply, "and before you ask, no I haven't used it on myself." He looks up at you, mischief dancing in his pretty eyes. "I'd like to think my sex game is up to par." He adds innocently, licking his lips seductively when your ears tinge pink.

You brush imaginary dirt off your shirt sleeves and huff. "I suppose it's pretty good." You mumble. It almost feels like a lie to just describe it as "pretty good" but Asra doesn't need you to stroke his ego right now. You do that enough falling to pieces beneath him every night.

Asra is well aware of your attempt to keep him humble and laughs lightly. "And to answer your other question," he says, turning back to his ingredient list, "messing with ones body like this can be dangerous. You have to be very precise."

You nod as he explains, it makes sense.

Potions are always brewed in pots over a magic fire so you put yourself to work, removing a medium sized iron pot from a hook on the wall and carrying it to a fire stand. Asra is busy himself, opening various drawers and adding seemingly random ingredients to a basket he has looped over his arm. Iris petals, newt eyeball, and some shimmering gold flakes. You smile watching him, your gorgeous magician; smart and able.

In no time at all Asra has a bubbling pot of sweet smelling liquid stirring before him. You stand beside him, observing curiously.

"Why are you wearing gloves?" You ask, taking note of the large leather gloves that clad all the way up your lover's forearm.

Asra continues to stir and looks over at you, happy to hear your eagerness to learn. "I can't risk even a drop of this touching my skin. It's so strong, and will immediately absorb into anyone's skin, leaving them..." He shakes his head and trails off, amused. "That's why it has to brew so long, to burn off some of the potency."

Your mouth opens in amazement, taken aback by the idea. This is the real deal you decide, stepping back a couple inches in precaution. After watching the potion bubble for a couple more minutes you stretch and grab the watering can sitting by the floor of the door.

"I'm going to water the plants," you inform Asra, waving your hand briefly until the can is full of cool, crisp water. Gods knows there are at least three dozen inside and outside of the shop.

Asra is humming in confirmation that he heard you as you open the shop door to the plants hanging outside. You don't get very far before you're blindsided by a streak of purple darting through your legs.

Escape!

"Faust?!" You yelp, dancing around the squirming snake as she winds her way under and into the open shop. A loud, booming bark makes you jump again. This time a large hound dog is rounding the tight corner from the side street and barreling full speed towards you.

All hell breaks loose. The water can is up in the air, crashing wildly into the side of the building. You are thrown back onto the dusty floor and a mass of fur and teeth race past you, paying no mind to your yelling.

Help!

Faust is racing around the floor, narrowly avoiding the jaws of the angry dog she seemed to have aggravated. There's a large crash from inside and you cringe, hearing bottles break and wood crunch. You look back, scared at what you might find.

The shop is a disaster, papers strewn, vials broken, and potion pot toppled. Asra is groaning on the floor, obviously doing no better than the rest. You glance at him worriedly, taking quick notice of the potion he had been making spilled everywhere, even on him.

You snap your fingers and the dog's growl, who was cornering Faust by the bookshelf, turns into a whimper as you lift him up with your magic. "I'm sorry pooch," you sigh, "but we can't have you eating our friend." With a wave of your wrist the hound is out the door and down the street in an instant. The hinges creak and bell rings as the door is once again closed to outside.

Thank you!

Faust wriggles happily, red eyes glowing in relief. You guess she got up to some trouble with the local fauna. She slithers up the stairs quickly, leaving you to look around at the ruined shop.

"Ah, fuck," Asra's words cut through your thoughts like a knife. He's laying flat on the floor, chest heaving as though he just ran a marathon. Sweat glistens on his tan skin, covering him from head to toe.

You step over the broken bottles and kneel at his side. "My love?" You ask, unsure of what to do. It was obvious what had happened, it didn't take an expert. The potion that was supposed to be for your customer was now soaked into Asra's glowing skin.

Asra opens his eyes and you swallow hard. You know that look, and it nearly makes you start trembling where you sit. Lust is prevalent, clouding Asra's eyes until they're a dark amethyst color.

"You-" you start to speak but are cut off by Asra sitting up abruptly. His face is close to yours and his breath washes over your lips, hot and wanton. He looks positively desperate, just the sight of you sitting before him doing wonders.

"Please," Asra's voice comes out low and husky, he watches your chest rise and fall quickly as a result. "Can I please have you, right now."

You could almost call him asking like that soft and innocent, if it wasn't for the raw, hungry look he was giving you. His eyes were traveling everywhere across your body, leaving an invisible line that you could almost feel burning into your skin. Your lips parted and you let out a soft gasp, the power that kind of look had over you was astonishing. You shifted your legs under you subtly, feeling the result of the hot atmosphere low in your stomach.

"Tsk, tsk," you had to tease for a moment. "Closing the shop at midday for some fucking?" You reach up and cup Asra's cheek, feigning uncertainty. His skin on your fingertips burns white hot and you have to hide your amazement.

Asra's eyes narrow, he knew you too well. With a quick flick of his wrist you hear the deadbolt on the door slide into place. It's only a second later and both of his hands have found a place on either side of your hips.

"Why do you torment me?" he asks, pulling you close so your legs straddle him. "Can't you see I'm getting enough of that from this damn mistake of a potion?" His words are almost shaky, as though he can barely speak anymore. He presses his hips up to meet yours, and a soft sigh escapes his lips as he finally gets a little friction.

You dig your nails into his shoulders and gasp, the feeling of Asra so obviously in need is enough to make anyone go wild.

You can't resist grinding down lightly and Asra's eyes practically roll back at the sensation. "How can I say no to such a pretty face," you whisper, completely in love with his reaction.

That was enough for Asra and without added words he gathers you up in his strong arms and lifts you both. Your head falls back pleasurably when his lips find your neck. It only takes a few quick steps on his part to bring the two of you into the plush back room.

The purple cushions lining the cozy futon sink in gently as your back hits the mattress. The room has a slight pleasing haze as sandalwood incense burns at the table. The smell washes over your senses and a new wave of sensuality comes over the room.

Asra's hands hold you firmly as his lips continue to press lovingly into your skin. He hovers over you, one leg pressed between your legs, causing your hips to involuntarily move along his thigh.

"I need you out of these clothes," Asra groans, lips being stopped at your chest where your shirt has suddenly become a hindrance. He's already tugging at the hem, untucking the loose fabric from your waistband. You raise yourself to your elbows and help him pull the shirt over your head. At once it is thrown over Asra's shoulder and his eyes are set on your bare skin, drinking in the sight of his lover.

You smile at his admiration and lay back again, stretching your arms above your head and arching your back. You feel his hands on your stomach, traveling up to rest on your breasts. Your skin prickles with desire, flesh lighting on fire from his ministrations.

"How did I get so lucky," he breathes out, looking down at you with a look filled with love and passion. He rests the tips of his fingers on your nipples and swirls them lightly, leaving you to twist in torturous pleasure beneath his touch. "Everything about you is beautiful." Asra continues to flatter, lowering his head so his curls tickle your stomach. He licks a long line from the dip of your hip up to the valley between your breasts.

After a few moments of tasting your supple skin he moves his hands to the top of your skirt and tugs. You lift your hips in compliance and the fabric slides down your legs easily. Asra licks his lips as your body is finally fully presented to him.

"I could feast on you," he announces, voice lowered with need. "And I wouldn't go hungry in a lifetime." These words he whispers into your inner thigh, they tickle your skin softly.

You watch with bated breath as the man before you adores his lover. It's hard to keep your moans controlled as you feel his sinfully good tongue lick you in a way that can only be described as ecstasy.

Asra shifts into a more comfortable position, lying on his stomach and he brings your legs to lay comfortably over his shoulders. You shudder as you feel his hot breath flutter over your dripping slit. He doesn't waste anymore time and lowers his face to enjoy you.

Your thighs squeeze his head lightly as your body arches in response. Asra is devouring you as though you were a feast and it was the only meal he is to have in a lifetime. He grips your legs tightly to keep you from moving and covers your slit with his mouth, sucking for a moment on the tight nub at the top. He groans happily into your skin before moving down to lick your hole.

"Oh please, yes," you run your trembling hand through his hair and raise your hips up to meet his greedy mouth. He laps short, quick strokes first, stimulating you into madness.

After a moment he slows his tongue down to swirl languidly, looking up at you. You make eye contact and groan at the erotic scene of him eating you out. "That mouth of yours is too skilled for its own good," you whisper, fingers digging into his scalp, trying desperately to savor every swipe of his tongue.

Asra smiles against your folds. "I live to make you feel good, my dear." He says, pausing a moment. "You intoxicate me. Your smell, your taste. I couldn't get enough even if I had all the time in the world." He presses his lips on each one of your thighs with hot, open mouth kisses.

You blush at his words, feeling amazing under his praise. "Come here," you command softly, pulling on Asra's hair lightly to guide him back up your body. He kisses every inch of skin he passes before finally reaching your lips.

"Mm," he hums, taking your face in his hands. "But these lips, are like the finest honey in Vesuvia." He lifts your head so your mouths meet. It's a hot and feverish kiss, full of staggering amounts of love.

You press your body into his and relish in the feeling of kissing Asra. Your mouths are opened to one another and your tongues meet in fiery unison. While you enjoy the kiss you allow your hands to roam. Your fingers find his shirt buttons and you start to undo them as best you can, only a little distracted. It takes just a minute and you sigh happily into his mouth when you finally remove the annoying clothing.

You part a moment to admire the divinity of his body; prostrated before you. He was calling himself the lucky one, but you could probably make a pretty good argument for it being the other way around. He looked absolutely glorious in the hazy glow of the room.

As you reach for the waistband of his pants and rest your fingers playfully on the skin above it Asra breaks out in goosebumps at the fluttering feel of your touch.

"Ah," he breaths out, raising himself to his knees and closing his eyes. Clearly, he's enjoying the attention finally being on him.

"You are the one with the potion affecting them." You say, drawing a line from one hip to another. "It'd almost be criminal to ignore you for any longer." Your eyes fall to the bulge straining under Asra's pants, just begging to be free. A smile plays across your lips as his breaths quickens significantly.

"I.. wouldn't complain." He finally manages to say in a strained tone.

You smile, maybe a little too satisfied, and hook your fingers under the band. "I know." You chuckle, pulling. The trousers catch a moment on Asra's hardened length before slipping down to his knees. You take time to admire the sight before you, licking your lips. Asra is panting slightly, looking down at you lustfully as your eyes graze over him.

He grabs your head on either side and looks into your eyes. "Please," is all he can croak out.

You swallow thickly and you feel yourself dampen even more at his begging words. “I’d like nothing more" you say; need dripping heavily from your words. You lean forward and kiss the tip of his leaking slit lightly. Asra's body shivers with pleasure when your soft lips meet his aching shaft.

You take a breath before closing your mouth around his tip. Your cheeks hollow and you suck in deeply, enjoying the small sounds of pleasure emitting from Asra's lips. He groans even deeper as you finally swallow down his whole length, tip sliding down the back of your throat.

"Ah fuck, baby," he stutters through gritted teeth, fingers threading through your hair. He thrusts into your mouth without hesitation, reveling in the way you feel around him. The pace is fast and vicious, leaving no time for extra room for breathing.

You choke back your gasps and feel the involuntary tears prick at the corners or your eyes. Your hands fall to your sides as you let Asra use your mouth how he pleased. Licentious noises ring around the room as he sinks his member into your mouth relentlessly, moaning at each stroke and the salacious feelings that come over him.

His grip tightens in your hair as he pounds into your face. You open your mouth as widely as you can and take him in, ignoring the slight pain of labored breathing. The feeling of being used so mercilessly is intoxicating, and you close your eyes, enjoying the pleasure that overtakes you.

With a loud pop he pulls out of your drooling mouth, leaving you to be the one groaning in disappointment.

"I'm sorry love," he huffs dazedly, need heavy on his features. "But if I don't stop this now I'm cumming in your mouth."

"That doesn't sound so bad," you complain, sticking your tongue out so Asra can view how much you want it. His eyes darken considerably and he looks ready to break.

He takes a breath in sharply, steadying himself before holding your face gently in his hand. "As much as I want you fuck your face, that pussy of yours I know is dripping for me and I have to comply." He chuckles, running his thumb along your lip.

You whimper at his words, practically climaxing at the suggestion. You meet his eyes in a needy manner and nod. "Oh, Asra," you start, already seeing excitement flit across his face at the mention of his name. "I want you more than I can even describe to you."

To this Asra inhales sharply, thumb still hooked in your mouth. "Tell me how you want me," he says, barely able to contain his own desire.

"I want you to fuck me from behind," you begin, knowing exactly how to please his ears. "I'm going to cry and moan, and beg you for relief but you will know better." His eyes widen in ecstasy but you continue anyway. "I want you to give everything you can to me, without holding back."

Asra seems to snap right in front of you. His features immediately seem to plead for consolation. "You'll get what you ask for." He growls, fingers tightening in your mouth. You lick his thumb seductively and the action throws him over the edge.

Asra's hands fly to your waist and hold you firmly, you're flipped over; ass to the heavens greeting him. He swallows at the sight and digs both palms into the flesh, enjoying the feeling immensely. "So needy and ready for me," he groans, finger finding your entrance and slipping in easily. You gulp at the warmth of having fingers enter you. Asra is unrelenting and curls them cruelly against your walls.

"Just fuck me already!" You cry, unable to hide your desires anymore. You hear Asra laugh behind you, yet despite this you know he is dying to sink himself into you.

"Alright, alright." He concedes, taking your hips in his hands. "If you insist."

You feel his tip slide against your slit and shudder, craving the feeling of him inside you. It doesn't take more than a moment before you feel him start to enter you. You lay your head down, turning your face so you can watch Asra take you from behind.

His lips are parted in a silent moan as he relishes in the feeling of your walls around him. You sigh softly as he fully sheaths himself in you, a small tremor passing over your body from the pleasure. One moment, two moments pass as you both bask in the feeling of being connected.

"Give me your hands," he commands, slowly sliding in and out of you, giving no care to his agonizingly slow pace. Soft gasps are falling from your lips as you try to register his request.

Carefully, you cross your arms behind your back. It's no use to keep the blush at bay as you take in the dirty scene. Your face is pressed to the pillows, unable to move much as Asra takes your wrists and pins them to your back. Your ass is raised in the air to meet his rhythmic thrusting.

Asra grips one of your thighs with a free hand and quickens the pace a little. Your eyes shut tightly as your body responds. You can feel his tip hit deep inside of you with each snap of his hips. It's unrelenting and you have to catch yourself from begging for more.

You feel the fingers around your wrist tighten a bit as Asra's breathing speeds up behind you. You know that he's set on giving you as much painfully slow torture as he can manage himself, but you also know that potion is working against him. There's nothing he wants more than to let go and pound you into the mattress.

"Baby," you choke out, words bouncing along with your bodies. "I know you want to fuck me so good right now." Your voice is deep with seduction. "Please just fill me up like I know you want to." You finish your plea, watching his face with satisfaction. His eyes are darkened with desire. He takes just a few more strokes before slowly to a stop inside you.

"You asked for it," he warns. He only takes a moment to let go of your wrists and flips your body so you're facing him. He cages you in on either side and licks his lips as he stares into your eyes. His hungry mouth meets yours in a kiss full of fire. You can melt into it for only a second before you feel him grab your hips and pull you flush against him; Your cries drowned by his lips as he sets an erratic pace, skin meeting with loud slaps.

"Fucking hell," he groans, still kissing you between words. "You feel like heaven on earth. You're so hot, and I can feel your insides squeezing me." He explains, hot breath falling over your face. Your cheeks burn at his descriptions.

You loop your arms around his neck and press your chest into his. Your skin meets, shining with sweat and burning from love. Asra presses back, savoring the feeling of your nipples brushing against his.

You start to feel that familiar blossom of unreleased pleasure pool in your lower stomach. Asra's shaft is hitting you just right, sending jolts of satisfaction right to your core.

"Oh-" you stop and whine pleasantly when he shifts angles. "Fuck. Please yes, don't stop!" Your arms drop and nails dip into his biceps and you grit your teeth from the hot delight searing through your body.

"I couldn't even If i wanted to," Asra answers, words strained as his grasp on himself starts to crumble. His breath is leaving his lips in short pants now and you can almost see the resolve to hold on slip away before your eyes.

He falls into you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and thrusts into you with all of the strength he can muster. You bury your face in his neck and take hold of his hair. You can feel Asra's body shuddering to not let go.

You bring your lips to his ear and bite his lobe. "Won't you come for me sweetheart? Please empty yourself in me." You whisper.

Asra takes in a sharp breath and you hear him choke at your words. They were enough to push him over the edge and he rams into you with a low, strangled cry.

Your head falls back and your mouth opens in a silent scream as Asra lets himself go in you. Your legs shake violently of their own accord as you feel your orgasm wash over you, leaving your body in euphoric fire.

Asra's lips immediately find yours as you ride out your orgasms together. You kiss him passionately, all of your senses in overdrive. His kisses are soft, and sweet, a clear declaration of his love. Happiness rushes in like a flood as you enjoy the afterglow. After a minute Asra removes himself from you and joins you in laying down, sides still heaving from the activities.

"My dear, how I love you." He says with a smile, running his fingers in slow, soft circles on your stomach.

You turn on your side and look into his eyes. He looked content, and his cheeks were dimpled from his growing grin.

"I love you too," you return, hand falling into his. His skin was still warm. The two of you lay there for a while, out of breath and simply enjoying the presence of one another.

Eventually, Asra sits up and looks down at you with humor in his eyes. "Well, I think I can tell our buyer that we did an extensive review of his product and it does, in fact, work."

Your face breaks into a smile and you laugh at Asra's words. "Oh goodie, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear all about it."

[shemarmooresfedora]

Be My Date

Summary: One second, you’re ordering coffee, the next you’re pretending to be some handsome stranger’s girlfriend on the street.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content/Warnings: pure fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: this is the second of my 3 fics for me and @samuel-de-champagne-problems 500 follower co-celebration. our prompts today were: Faking Dating, Wholesome cuddles, “You remind me of…” “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”. to check out our upcoming prompts and her fics, click here!

Masterlist

“Spencer?” a familiar voice asked.

Spencer gulped when he turned around to see Max, his ex-girlfriend, with another man’s arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“Hey, Max. How have you been?” he grimaced slightly at the awkwardness of the situation.

Their breakup had been mutual and ended with no hard feelings but it was still awkward. If he saw her first, he probably would have just cautiously backed away.

“I’ve been good. I actually landed a job at an art museum. This is Ben, my boyfriend. He also works at the museum. How have you been?”

“I’m okay,” Spencer nodded politely.

“Any significant others?” Max pushed.

Why would she ask that? What did she want him to say? No, I’m a pathetic loser who can’t get a date. He was desperate.

“Yeah, I have a girlfriend,” he lied.

-

You grabbed your coffee from the barista, thanking them before heading out the door.

You were on the phone with your assistant on the way to work when three people seemed to be in a conversation, essentially blocking the whole sidewalk. You tapped on the tall man’s back to say ‘excuse me’.

When he turned around, his eyes widened when the woman in the group said, “Oh, is this her?”

Spencer didn’t know why he nodded but he did, forcing this stranger to become a part of this ever-growing awkward situation.

“Hi, I’m Max! Spencer and I used to date but it’s not like that anymore obviously! I have a boyfriend and Spencer just informed me of you guys’ relationship! You’re so pretty!” she chirped.

You had no idea what was happening but the man was looking at you with pleading eyes.

“V, I’ll call you back,” you hung up the phone.

“Yes, hi, I’m Y/N…Spencer’s girlfriend,” you spoke very carefully, trying to gauge if you were saying the correct thing.

“How do you deal with all the times he is away on cases?” she asked.

“Um,” you looked at Spencer, “Well, I just try to make the most of the time I have with him. You know every time I see him, it’s like the first time we met,” you nervously giggled.

“Oh, Ben! They should join us for breakfast!” she urged.

“Oh well, I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on so unfortunately, I don’t think we can make it,” Spencer lied once again to save himself and this kind stranger.

“And I have an important meeting,” you chimed in.

“Well, maybe another time,” she waved as her and Ben began to walk away.

Spencer nodded, knowing if she ever tried to set up plans again he would just come up with another excuse.

Once Max and Ben were far enough away, Spencer started to ramble apologies to this poor woman he pulled into his web of lies.

“I’m so so sorry. She’s my ex and I don’t still like her but I guess I got jealous that she found someone else so quickly after? I don’t know, does that make sense? I shouldn’t have involved you but I just-you’re very pretty and I wanted them to think- just forget it. It’s stupid. I’m sorry,” he finished.

“It’s really okay. I certainly understand. And thank you for the compliment. You’re pretty cute yourself. But I really do have an important meeting to get to so bye Spencer,” you waved.

“Wait! At least take my card if you ever need a favor. I definitely owe you one,” he handed you his business card.

You slipped it into your tote bag, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks Spencer.”

-

“Hey, V! You’ll never guess what happened on the way here,” you walked into your office.

“What?” Olivia handed you your mail.

“This guy had me pretend to be his girlfriend in front of his ex. Then, he handed me his FBI business card if I ever needed a favor,” you laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

“Y/N, you may want to check your mail,” Olivia smiled.

You looked down and the first envelope was from The American Academy of Arts. You ripped it open. You mumbled to yourself, quickly skimming the letter.

“I WON!” you squealed, “My newest novel won the fictional literature award! They are flying me and a guest out next week for the ceremony!”

You and Olivia were jumping up and down in excitement.

“You wanna come as my plus one, V?” you asked.

“Sorry, babe. Remember me and my girlfriend are going to Hawaii that week or else I totally would.”

“Ugh, I’m going to have to go alone,” you sat down defeatedly at your desk.

“How cute is this FBI agent?” Olivia questioned.

“Really attractive. He was dressed in a red cardigan with a white button up underneath and gray dress pants,” you sighed, not understanding where Olivia was going with this.

“Why don’t you ask him to go with you?”

Your eyes shot up to hers, “I can’t ask a complete stranger to fly to NYC with me for 3 days. What if I get kidnapped?”

“He’s an FBI agent, Y/N,” Olivia reminded you.

“So he probably has better things to do than take a trip with me,” you shook your head.

“Can’t hurt to ask,” she handed you your cell phone.

You reluctantly pulled the business card out of your bag and dialled Spencer’s number.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he answered.

You covered the phone with one hand and whispered to Olivia, “He’s a doctor.”

“Hello?” Spencer asked.

Olivia pushed the phone back towards your ear.

“Hi Spencer, it’s Y/N from earlier today,” you spoke.

“Oh hi, fake girlfriend,” you heard him chuckle, “What can I do for you?”

“This is going to sound really bad but is it too early to cash in that favor?”

“Not at all. What do you need?” he asked.

“You can totally say no because this is a much bigger favor to ask of someone than a 10 minute conversation with an ex but I kind of need a date to a conference in NYC,” you grimaced, waiting for the rejection.

“When?”

Okay, not an immediate no.

“Um, next weekend. Everything is already paid for.”

Spencer considered it for a moment. His mandatory rotating sabbatical was coming up and if it was over the weekend then the college classes he teaches wouldn’t be a problem.

“Sure,” he simply replied.

“Wait, really?” you asked in disbelief.

“I love fall and fall in NYC even more so yes, I’ll accompany you,” Spencer confirmed.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I’ll call you later to go over details.”

And just like that, you had a date for your trip.

-

“You know you haven’t told me what this conference is for?” Spencer asked as you passed through security for your flight.

“Oh I think I hear them calling our flight. We better hurry,” you jokingly lied.

“You know I will find out eventually,” he grinned.

You weren’t ashamed of your profession or work necessarily but it seemed a little insignificant when compared to catching serial killers and saving lives.

-

You dropped your bags off at the front office of the hotel, wasting no time before heading back out onto the streets of New York City. You had a free day before the conference tomorrow.

“I want to go to Central Park, the Metropolitan, and maybe see the Statue of Liberty if we have time,” you smiled.

“Sounds like a great plan,” Spencer nodded, “I need breakfast first though.”

You stopped at a nice little cafe overlooking Central Park. It was a beautiful day so you and Spencer sat outside. You ordered pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream on top and Spencer ordered french toast. You two clinked your tea mug and his coffee mug as to say ‘cheers’.

“Once again, thank you for coming with me. I hate travelling alone,” you spoke.

“Thank you for inviting me. I could use some time away from work,” he smiled, taking a sip of his sweet coffee.

You cut your pancakes and shoved a big bite into your mouth to satisfy your rumbling stomach. Unfortunately, you got whipped cream all over your mouth.

Spencer laughed, using his napkin to wipe the remnants from your face.

Halfway through the meal, the sun got even brighter and you could tell Spencer was squinting trying to see his own plate.

“I have an extra pair of sunglasses,” you fumbled through your purse, “I don’t think they’re really your style but you can use them if you want.”

You held up a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses with pink frames. Spencer reluctantly accepted the sunglasses and slid them on his face.

“Can I please get a picture of you like that? You look so adorable,” you giggled.

“Sure,” Spencer blushed.

You held your phone up and moved really close to Spencer to take a selfie, “Smile!”

“Can I post this on instagram?” you asked.

“Um, sure. I don’t have it but go right ahead.”

Little did you know your fans would go crazy over Spencer and you together.

After breakfast, you and Spencer took a stroll through Central Park, admiring the beautiful trees with a variety of rust-colored leaves.

“I love fall,” you sighed happily.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Spencer smiled, “And Halloween.”

“Ooh what are you being this year?” you asked excitedly.

“Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Oh, that’s so cool! I’m not saying mine now.”

“You have to!” Spencer insisted with a smile.

“A bookworm,” you muttered, “I have a big green worm suit and a giant book.”

Spencer was wholeheartedly laughing.

“I told you it was dumb. Stop laughing,” you frowned slightly.

“No Y/N, I think it’s a great idea. I’m laughing at the sense of humor behind it. It’s very creative,” he complimented.

-

“I’m exhausted,” you groaned as you stepped into the elevator, heading up to your floor.

“Same but today was definitely worth it,” Spencer said with a soft smile.

You slid the electronic key into the door and pushed it open as it blinked green. You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw only one bed. Kind of ironic because you had written a novel like this.

“I can take the floor,” Spencer offered.

“Nonsense, we can share if you don’t mind,” you replied.

“I don’t mind at all,” Spencer headed to the bathroom to change into his pajamas.

He slipped into bed as you used the bathroom after him. A few minutes later, you slid into bed right next to him.

Spencer?” you meekly spoke.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“You can totally say no but this blanket is really thin and I’m freezing-”

You didn’t even have to finish your thought before Spencer’s arms wrapped around you.

“Better?” he smiled, looking down at you in his hold.

“So much,” you snuggled into his chest.

“You remind me of my childhood teddy bear,” Spencer whispered.

“Is that a good thing?” you chuckled softly.

“Yes, you’re very cuddly.”

Spencer felt your smile widen against his chest.

“Night, Spencer.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

-

Today was the big day. You were accepting your award. And Spencer still had no clue where you both were headed.

He was dressed in a gray 3-piece suit and his tie conveniently matched your baby blue sundress well.

“We don’t have to stay the whole time,” you told him as you entered the building, “I just have to do some things.”

“That’s not vague at all,” he grinned.

There was a poster hanging up that read ‘American Academy of Arts Annual Writers’ Convention’.

Spencer’s eyes widened, “You’re a writer?”

“Yeah, I write young adult novels so it’s probably nothing you’ve ever read,” you confessed.

“Do they have a copy here?” he asked, “I’ll read it right now.

“No, it’s fine,” you assured him, “You just accompanying me is quite enough.”

You and Spencer took a seat at a table with fellow writers of your genre. Some of the writers of ‘more serious’ genres like historical nonfiction were a little too snobbish for your taste.

You introduced Spencer to some of your writer friends who you bounced ideas off of on phone calls across the country. You ate dinner and had a wonderful time laughing and conversing until the banquet hall became silent when the host walked up on stage for the award ceremony.

They passed through the smaller, more specific awards first before finally reaching yours.

“The winner of the fictional literature award of the year is…Y/N Y/L/N!” the host announced.

Your whole table clapped as you stood to accept the award, getting your picture taken with the plaque.

Once you sat back down, Spencer leaned close to you so no one else could hear.

“Did you know you were getting that award?”

You nodded sheepishly.

“Now, I’m really embarrassed as a self-proclaimed book lover that I haven’t read your book that won such a huge award. Congratulations, you should be very proud.”

“Thanks, Spencer. It means a lot,” you smiled.

You took a photo of your award to post on instagram and thank all of your followers for making it possible. You didn’t even notice Spencer in the reflection of your plaque.

-

Spencer insisted on stopping at the bookstore in the airport to buy all of your books for the flight home.

“This is embarrassing,” you groaned, “I hate when people read my work right next to me. This is why I hired an editor halfway across the country.”

“I guarantee I will only have positive things to say,” he promised as you boarded the flight.

“Sorry, I won’t be awake to hear it,” you leaned on his shoulder to fall asleep.

-

Spencer returned from his sabbatical to find a copy of Seventeen Magazine front and center on his desk. He furrowed his brow as he looked closer at the subtitles.

‘Does our favorite author have a new man? Y/N reveals him in instagram posts and fan photos were taken of them in NYC this past weekend.’

Spencer whipped around when he heard the angry stomping of Penelope’s high heels.

“How could you not tell me you were dating my favorite author?” she crossed her arms.

“I’m not dating her and I didn’t even know she was an author until halfway through the trip,” he defended himself.

“I have been carrying her book around for the past month,” Penelope huffed.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer apologized.

“Can I meet her?” she asked hopefully.

“I still have to ask her out on an official first date,” Spencer admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Spencer Reid, you better make that phone call right now or I’ll ask her out myself,” Penelope demanded.

“Okay, okay! I was going to! I just keep chickening out,” he insisted, picking up his phone.

“Happy to push you in the right direction, my friend,” Penelope smiled.

“Hey Y/N. It’s Spencer,” he spoke into the phone.

“I’m doing okay, I’d be even better if you would go out on a date with me this Friday though,” Spencer smiled as you instantly agreed and excitedly yelled to Olivia to cancel all your Friday afternoon plans.

taglist (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly

[erodasfishtacos]

Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k 

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow. 

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek. 

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison  to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.” 

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.” 

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all. 

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

**

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.” 

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound. 

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

[chocosvt]

love café

⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 17.6K ⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess! ⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you. 

✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not. 

✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!

It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.

You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.

But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?

Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.

You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.

The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.

“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”

Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.

Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.

“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”

“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”

“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”

At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.

You couldn’t believe he was here.

No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?

His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.

Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.

“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”

He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.

Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”

Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”

Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”

“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”

It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.

“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.

Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”

Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”

“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”

Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.

To a degree, you were correct.

Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.

And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.

Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.

You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.

Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”

Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.

Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.

“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.

“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.

“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”

“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.

“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.

One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.

Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.

Except, you needed access to a computer.

Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.

He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.

“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”

You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”

“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”

At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”

“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.

“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”

“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.

Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.

In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.

While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.

Tired. Aching.

Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.

An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.

Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.

Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”

The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.

Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But  this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.

Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.

“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.

Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.

You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.

He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.

“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.

You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”

Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”

“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”

The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”

“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”

Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”

Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.

It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”

“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”

“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”

“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.

At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”

Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.

As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”

“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”

“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”

“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”

“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”

“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”

You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.

“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”

Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.

“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”

“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”

Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.

“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”

For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.

“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.

“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”

Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”

“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”

“The Shower what?”

He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”

When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.

But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.

“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”

His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.

“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”

He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes,  as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.

“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”

Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.

“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”

Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.

“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”

You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.

“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"

At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.

“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.

He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”

“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”

He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.

“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.

Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.

“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.

“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.

He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”

“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.

“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.

Twelve am.

Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.

“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.

You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”

Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”

“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.

And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.

“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”

“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”

At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.

The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.

“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.

After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.

“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”

Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”

You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.

“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.

It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.

Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.

“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”

Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”

“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”

Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”

“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”

“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”

“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.

“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”

“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.

“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”

For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.

Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”

“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”

It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”

“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.

Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”

“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.

“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”

His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”

The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”

You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”

“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”

The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.

“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.

“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.

Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”

“The red velvet cake?”

“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”

“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”

“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”

He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”

While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.

“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.

As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.

You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”

He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”

The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.

“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.

Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.

Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.

“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”

Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.

Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.

“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”

“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”

The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”

Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.

“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.

You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.

“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”

Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.

You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).

As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.

After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.

[  9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but

[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?

Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.

[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.

Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.

However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.

“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”

“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.

He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”

“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”

Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.

“Later!” He’d called.

Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.

Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”

With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.

Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.

After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”

“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.

Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”

Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.

His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.

“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”

“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.

And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.

Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.

“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.

The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.

“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”

He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.

The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.

“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.

“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”

You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.

That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.

An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.

“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”

Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.

“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than  fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.��

At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.

Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.

“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.

Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”

“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”

You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”

Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.

“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”

The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.

Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”

“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”

He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.

You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”

Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”

Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.

And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.

They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.

Joshua bumped your elbow.

“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”

With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.

Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.

“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.

The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”

You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”

“Just shush up and try this.”

He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.

Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”

After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.

“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”

“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.

“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”

Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.

At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.

His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was  able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.

“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”

You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”

Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”

At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.

“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”

He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”

“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”

“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.

“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”

And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.

You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.

It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.

On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.

“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”

“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.

Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.

But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.

After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.

“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”

Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout  sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.

“Well,”  you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"

“I love you.”

“… What?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.

Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”

Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”

Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.

“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”

He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.

“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”

You looked at your alarm clock.

“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”

Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.

“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”

Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Corrupt-a-Valentine: Secrets of the Heart

Wish: I wish Andy Barber would leave me gifts as me secret admirer.

Warnings: stalking, creep behaviour.

Please reblog and leave some feedback. I really appreciate all your input and interaction. I hope y’all enjoy these drabbles.

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“You got another one,” Brynn says as you slip behind the counter, clutching your bag over your shoulder as you keep your chin down, trying to go unnoticed the few minutes before your shift.

“What?” you lift your head and your hood falls back.

“In the back,” she huffs, her envy growing each time you see her.

“Oh,” you watch her steam milk for the customer waiting at the other end of the counter, “I’ll be out in a few.”

She hums dully as you duck into the back room and brush off the droplets of rain from your shoulders. You hang your coat over your purse and shake out your pre work jitters.

You find the small gift bag on the single table set against the wall for employees to take their breaks, when you get them. The scent of cinnamon wafts from the top as you peek past the tissue paper to the heart shaped candle inside.

You sit and slide out the envelope, another card inside. Your name on it but still no other. Another flowery sentiment from a secret admirer. You pinch the card until it wobbles and chew your lip.

Brynn and the other girls think it’s sweet, they even voice their jealousy, but it makes you uneasy. You don’t know anyone who would be sending you the gifts, no one who would build this sort of infatuation. But they knew you.

You shove the gift and card into your purse and hide it again under your coat. You tie on your apron and head out to the join the building lunch rush. As you take over the till, Brynn moves behind the machines and works on tickets.

“This week we’re doing the valentine’s recipes,” she calls over as you count out change for a customer, “don’t forget.”

“Trust me, I haven’t,” you say as you close the drawer and hand over the coins. At least a busy day means a quick one.

❤️‍🩹

Valentine’s means an opening shift as you bake the heart cookies for the day’s special and ice the cake pops to mark the lovey occasion. You prefer the early shifts, you like getting off and having an afternoon to do whatever you like. You work at your checklist until Caliana arrives and she opens the shop to the public.

You pop out to fill the display with your freshly-baked goodies and help with the early birds in need of their fix. About an hour in, there’s finally a lull and you let Caliana sit in the back with her tea as she complains of her monthly visitor. You feel for her as you keep an eye on the shopfront.

The sensor chimes at another customer’s entrance and you push yourself up straight to greet the man. He smiles as he crosses to you, pausing to look at the glass case of cookies.

He’s tall, his dark grey jacket lending smooth lines to his broad shoulders, a trimmed beard distinguishing his angular jaw, and bright blue eyes that remind you of the ocean. He looks like he’s on his way to work.

“Heading to the office?” you ask as he nears the till.

“Unfortunately,” he answers cheerily, “but I shouldn’t complain to you.”

“What can I get you?” you ask as you rest your hands on the sides of the till.

“I’ll have one of those strawberry tarts,” he reaches with his free hand to run his fingertips through his beard as he considers the menu behind you, “and a tall mocha.”

“Sure thing,” you key in his order and notice how he adjusts his grip on his briefcase.

You read out his total and he puts his bag on the counter, letting it lean against him as he takes out his wallet to pay. You wait for him to tap his card and he adds a generous tip to the cup.

He stays as he is, making no move to the end of the counter where orders are served. Instead, he watches you, tapping his fingers on his leather bag as you retrieve a tart from the display.

“Do you want this warmed up?” you ask before you grab a paper sleeve.

“No thanks,” he says, “I’ll save it for later. Good to have something sweet to look forward to.”

“Yeah,” you agree thoughtlessly and place his tart beside his bag, “a minute for your drink.”

You turn and start on his mocha, carefully measuring as you focus on your work, his gaze lingering over you. You add the whip and sprinkle on the chocolate flakes.

“You want any of our special heart sprinkles?” you ask as you glance over the machine.

“I’m good,” he answers and you go back to him, slide his drink past the till.

“There you are,” you say with a smile.

“Thanks, uh…” he doesn’t move, hasn’t even taken the tart and barely seems to notice his order waiting for him. He drags his fingers along the top of his bag and hesitates, “how’s your valentine’s so far?”

“Erm, it’s still early,” you answer, slightly confused by both the question and his lingering presence.

“I suppose so,” he plays with the zipper tab and nods as he takes a breath. You look at him awkwardly, trying to keep your smile in place.

“Is there something else I can—”

“Uh, yeah,” he interrupts and pulls the zipper open, “actually, I have something for you.”

“What, I–” you frown. You don’t know this man. Of the dozens of regulars, you cannot pick him out. You’re certain you’ve never seen him before.

You take a step back, expecting a weapon and bracing for the worst. He doesn’t look like the type but you can never be too careful.

He slips out a black box, shallow, about the size of a magazine. He holds it out, a bright red ribbon tied around it. He holds it above the till expectantly and you stare.

“The last gift,” he says.

Your eyes catch the gold glimmer on his ring finger and your stomach pits.

“No thank you, I can’t–”

“You took all the others,” he insists.

“Sir, I don’t know you and… you can have everything back, I don’t want it–”

“But you took all the others,” he repeats.

“Sir,” you breathe, keeping your voice low as you’re too embarrassed to let Caliana overhear, “you’re married.”

His lips part and he looks down at his hand. He shrugs and raises his eyes to you again.

“But I love you,” he says plainly.

“I don’t fucking know you,” you repeat, “so take that and leave.”

His expression changes in a moment, his eyes darkening and his jaw squaring. He grips the box tightly so you hear the cardboard crunch and he puffs through his nostrils.

“It's. For. You.” He places it on the counter, nearly turning over the mocha and takes a step back.

“Sir–”

“Andy,” he says as he takes his bag off the counter and fixes his tie, “have a good day, sweetheart.”

You watch him leave, his tart and mocha still on the counter as the door chimes in his stead. You shiver and dump both in the trash. You hear Caliana and quickly swipe the box off the counter and hide it under the large paper bags.

“You need any help?” she stands in the doorway as you face her.

“No, just another weirdo,” you say, “go, chill, I got it.”

“Alright, thanks,” she says.

“Only means you owe me,” you joke but your voice is brittle.

She retreats and you hear the chair knock against the wall as she sits. You glance out through the windows and see no approaching customers. You gulp and slip out the box. You move it to the end of the counter, hiding it as pull loose the ribbon and wiggle the lid off.

You gape at the lacy lingerie, the bra cups transparent except for the hearts that would conceal the nipples, and the panties with no crotch and too many straps. You shove the lid back on and sputter. Your hands tremble as your fingers fill the dents left by his angered grip.

You turn over the small card tied to the bow and read the same writing that marked every other gift.

“Can’t wait to see you in this, valentine.”

[alwaysmarveling]

To Be Seen

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x gn!reader

Warnings: Hints at neglect

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: All superpowers seem to have a downside to them. Invisibility is no exception.

You got your first pair of glasses when you turned seven. The black frames were a birthday present of sorts. You had your eye set on a transparent blue pair, or honestly any of the many colorful options that lined the shelves, but your mother had grabbed the black ones without a word to you and placed them on the counter. Then the two of you went home, back to the always busy house, buzzing with the sounds of your siblings’ chatter and the television that entertained your constantly preoccupied father. There was no cake, no other presents, not even a “congratulations” or a “happy birthday,” but that was okay. That was okay because you had already gotten the gift of sight.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself that night, your younger sister already sound asleep beside you while you looked up at the glow-in-the-dark shapes taped to the ceiling. The glasses turned the green fuzzy blobs into actual stars, their points clear and easily counted as you drifted off to sleep with the lenses still on. “You can see now.”

---

You found out you could make yourself invisible on the day you hit ten years old. When you woke up, the first thing you did was look at yourself in the mirror, trying to see if you looked any different from the day before, when you were nine. Double digits should mean double the change, right? But there was no change from when you weren’t in the mirror to when you were. 

At first, you thought it must’ve been a prank from your older brother, but one look in the bathroom mirror told you that this was something else. It took you about half an hour before you somehow managed to become visible again, but when you did, you walked into the kitchen to find everything the same as it was the night before. No one hung streamers around the house or left a card on the counter, but that was okay. That was okay because you had a gift.

---

On your twenty-seventh birthday, you were recruited to be an Avenger. Three years ago on that exact day, you had quit your office job and joined SHIELD, only as a trainee, but you made your way through the ranks. You had the advantage of a mastered superpower—turning invisible came useful on the countless days you wished the world would just swallow you whole—but you still had to learn to use it like an agent. You were never remarkable, never being praised as the top of your class nor critiqued as one of the worst. You were always in the middle. Always just… there.

But Fury had seen something in you, and now here you were, packing your things to move into the Avengers Tower. You honestly weren’t sure what he saw in you; no one did. There were other SHIELD agents with far more useful powers and much better combat skills, yet he had picked you and no one else, making you the third SHIELD agent to join the Avengers since Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.

You looked around the empty apartment, scanning for something you and your imperfect vision might have missed, but saw nothing. Was that what others saw when they looked at you, thinking they had packed the whole room while you were standing right in front of them, arms waving in their face and voice begging for them to acknowledge you? No matter. Fury had told you Natasha would be picking you up at 2, meaning you had just over thirty minutes before she got here. Life moved on, and so would you.

Just like in years prior, there were no claps on the back, shiny bows, or patterned gift wrapping, but that was okay. That was okay because you had gotten the gift to protect and serve others.

---

You laid into the punching bag, twenty-eight non-stop uppercuts for your new age as of today. You brushed one hand across your forehead to interrupt the sweat droplets that ran from your hair, Bruce doing his best to praise you in the meantime.

“Good work, Y/N, yeah. Um, stronger than the ones you’ve been doing in the past. Better form too. I think.” You were sure you weren’t meant to hear his last sentence, but a roll of Natasha’s eyes next to you was enough to make you laugh it off. It wasn’t like you could blame him. Training others wasn’t his forte. You weren’t even sure if he trained himself.

Fury’s interest in you had been short-lived, it seemed. To be fair, you were lucky he recruited you in the first place and even luckier that he let you stay on the team. Still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed in how you turned out to just be a new puppy to him. With your novelty now wearing off, you became the responsibility of people like Bruce, who never quite wanted you in the first place.

You had nothing against the gentle and kindhearted scientist, but Steve, Nat, or even Clint would’ve been much more obvious choices. Yet somehow the scientist was who Fury appointed. Maybe he was just the only one who accepted the task, the only one not bold enough to deny Fury’s orders outright. Strangely enough, Nat always showed up, but you weren’t entirely sure why, seeing as she usually sat there silently for most of it. She’d occasionally lean in to whisper something to Bruce, but she rarely said anything to you.

Much to Bruce’s—and maybe Natasha’s—relief, Tony strutted into the gym, his charisma already filling in the awkward gaps between you guys that never seemed to disappear, no matter how much time passed.

“Bruce, Nat, just the people I was looking for! It was great to see you guys at the party last night.” You pushed your glasses back up the bridge of your nose before going back to the punching bag; obviously, he was not here to speak with you. As you beat into the bag, getting lost in the rattling of the chain and the rhythm of the combinations, you thought back to last night, when you heard the Avengers’ laughter as they prepared for the gala.

-

You sat in the living room watching a movie with the tiniest but fiercest hope that someone might see you and ask you to come along. This was a party for the Avengers, after all, to celebrate the success of a mission that you had been part of. It had been up to you to cut the power and incapacitate the leader. Somehow the credit had gone to Clint, all the news stations celebrating the archer and his amazing feat. It was fine, whatever, just another chip to brush off of your shoulder—a teeny, tiny chip, really, honestly probably more of a scratch—but you thought you would’ve at least been invited to the party. Yet there you were, your posture slowly drooping as you sank into the leather sofa while your teammates gathered in the elevator to head up to the party. You had taken your phone out and opened the camera app, checking to make sure you hadn’t somehow triggered your invisibility, but, nope, you were very much there. The tears that fell were very much there.

-

“Alright, Tony, I’ll be there for Movie Night tonight, but you gotta go. I need to get back to my training duties.” It was then that Tony finally seemed to realize your presence, turning around with a surprised look on his face.

“Oh, hey, Y/N. You, um, you should come tonight too.” All of his charm was gone, the relaxed smile only hanging on by the tiniest lift of the corner of his mouth. So you did your best to reassure him with a small nod. The smile came back immediately. All was well; Tony Stark does indeed have a heart.

-

Later that night, as you sat alone on the three-person couch, you drew the blankets closer to you. The same movie you had watched last night was playing on the TV. The original plan had been to watch Jaws, but Sam was delighted to find the DVD box to Space Jam on the coffee table, insisting that he’d been wanting to watch it again and how it was such a coincidence it was already out. He wasn’t saying that last night when you asked if anyone wanted to watch it with you, but at least you weren’t watching it alone this time. You looked around at the small groups the Avengers had formed on the other couches, some of them even sitting on the floor—there wasn’t enough space, you guessed—before letting out a sigh. There were no party hats or festive noisemakers, but that was okay. That was okay because… A tap on your knee brought you back to the present moment. You looked down to find the outstretched arm of a familiar redhead, a bowl of popcorn in her hand.

There was no time for wallowing in self-pity. That was okay. You were okay.

---

The harsh sunlight woke you up in time for your thirtieth birthday. Or maybe it was the stiff and lumpy mattress that did it. Either way, you were hoping you’d be able to sleep through it. The rational side of you knew that wasn’t possible—what with being on the run from the US government and all—but one can always hope, right?

You’d stuck with Natasha during the Avengers’ split, pushing for the team to stay together even though you’d never really been part of the team. It wasn’t about you though; you’d seen the amazing things the Avengers could do when they were together. The world needed them.

Well, that line of thinking got you here, in a small cabin in the woods with all the Avengers who had followed Steve, Natasha joining the group later. Happy birthday to you. Although to be fair, it wasn’t like any of your past birthdays had been much better. Once your childish naivety had faded away (which probably took much longer than it should have), the day became something you dreaded, something you hoped each year you would forget about but never quite could. This time, though, you had a small plan. It was going to be different this year.

-

Your knees cracked as you stood, announcing to no one in particular that you were heading off to bed. Rather than heading straight down the hall to your room, though, you cut through the kitchen and grabbed a few things.

Your shoulders dropped slightly as you closed the door, and you allowed yourself to study the contents of your hands: a lighter, candle, and one of the leftover store-bought cupcakes from Steve’s birthday. The cupcakes weren’t great, but no one had the time, energy, or ingredients to make a cake, and, let’s be honest, most of the people here couldn’t bake anyways. Plus, this one had frosting in your favorite color, so you couldn’t complain, especially since it was more than you’d had for your birthday since you could remember.

The wooden bed frame creaked as you shifted to place the candle in the frosting and light it. For the first time that day, you were grateful the windows had no curtains, as they allowed you to see the stars that dotted the sky.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured to yourself, your eyes never leaving the constellations, instead darting around to watch in awe as more and more of the twinkling lights showed up the longer you cared to look.

Just as you tore your eyes away to blow out the candle, a knock rang out against the door. Were you guys spotted? Did you have to leave? You immediately ran to open the door, running through a list of things you’d have to pack the second you heard the order. You weren’t exactly surprised to see Nat standing outside your door, but you were surprised to see her holding a small rectangular box and a bottle of champagne.

“Hey, um, sorry to interrupt.” Your cheeks immediately heated up when you noticed her eyes dart to the cupcake still in your hand. You must’ve forgotten to put it down in your rush to open the door. At least the candle’s flame had gone out. “I get it if you don’t want to celebrate with anyone, but I figured you still deserve a treat on your special day.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed as your head tilted slightly.

“What special day?”

“Um, well, isn’t it your birthday?” You nodded, still not quite understanding what she was asking. Not to mention, the spy’s continued use of filler words surprised you. Sure, the two of you hadn’t interacted with each other much, but a lack of familiarity didn’t usually make her this uneasy. Were you really that invisible that she felt uncomfortable around you despite having known you for three years? But you couldn’t dwell on it with Nat speaking again, her voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “And, um, I noticed the only alcohol you drink is champagne, so… this is for you.”

You stepped back slightly as she nudged the objects towards you, but the spy misunderstood you, taking your surprise as an invitation to enter the room. Before you knew it, you were asking her to sit next to you on the mattress. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice, though; keeping her standing would be rude, and there were no chairs in your room. The two of you sat at least a foot apart, both of your spines straight and neither of you quite meeting the eyes of the other.

“So, um, do you want to open the present first or have your cupcake? Or we can open the champagne if you want.”

“This is a present?” You eyed the brown box she held in her hand. You weren’t sure what it could be. Based on its size, maybe a watch or a pocket knife? But Natasha laughed, simply pushing the box towards you.

“Of course it’s a present. Open it!” So you set the cupcake down on the unstable bedside table, making sure the dessert wouldn’t fall due to the furniture having one leg shorter than the rest. You cast one last glance at Natasha, who gave you a reassuring yet pointed nod, and with that, you lifted the cover. 

It took everything in you to prevent the tears springing in your eyes from overflowing. You lifted the goggles with shaking hands. You had to touch them to make sure they were real, to make sure this wasn’t some sick and twisted dream your brain had forced on you to make you remember how disappointing your past birthdays had been.

“Do you like it?” The blonde asked you softly, her lower lip caught in between her teeth. Had you been thinking clearly, you would’ve been surprised at how apprehensive she sounded, how unsure she was. “I thought it could be something you might want to wear on missions. I noticed your other ones kept slipping down or breaking, and um…” Both of you became antsier as Natasha rambled on, you at how she was being more intimate with you than anyone ever had, and she at how she just couldn’t seem to stop talking despite the fact that, in her opinion, she was digging herself into an increasingly deeper hole. “It’s a lot more sturdy, and there are some other features that I think you’ll appreciate. I had Tony and Bruce make it for you… before, you know, this whole thing happened. And I brought it with me when I left.”

The frames reminded you much of the glasses you had first wanted as a kid, the ones your mother had looked past in favor of the plain black ones. They matched your combat suit, though, even having a small carving of your symbol on the side. You nodded as you choked down a sob, forcing yourself to meet the former assassin’s gaze to try to thank her properly.

“I love it, Natasha. Thank you so much. I- it’s… it’s amazing.” Nat dipped her head as if to nod, but you didn’t miss the way her cheeks flushed red or how a hint of her characteristic smirk appeared.

“Of course. It’s the least I could do.” Your eyes returned to the glasses in your hand. You’d try them out the second Natasha left. “So, cake now?”

“Yes, right, of course,” you nodded immediately, shaking your head at how you had managed to forget about the one thing you had planned to do for your birthday. Before you could reach for the frosted dessert, Natasha relit the candle and handed the cupcake to you as she began to sing “Happy Birthday.” When she reached the last note, you could hold it in no longer, and all the tears immediately began to flow.

“Oh my god, Y/N, I’m so sorry. Is my singing really that bad?” The redhead wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or move away as she ran a hand through her hair, but she felt slightly comforted when she noticed you shaking your head.

“No, no, it’s just…” Natasha hesitantly began to rub your back in an effort to calm your sobs, “No one’s ever sang that for me before.”

“Ever?” She winced slightly at how her voice cracked, betraying her emotions to you despite her attempts to remain composed.

“Well, there used to be a video of it from my third birthday, but… I was three. So I don’t really remember it.” Natasha thought back to the many birthday celebrations the team had held, none of them being for you. The door to your room was always closed on your birthday. She’d always thought you had just gone out with friends and family, people outside of the Avengers, and who was she to get in the way of you and those you loved? But it had been the opposite. You had been hiding away in your room, and she hadn’t helped matters at all by waiting for three years to do anything. If only she’d gained the courage earlier, she could’ve helped ease your pain much sooner.

But all you saw through your tears was the way her head was cocked to the side, her spy training paying off as you couldn’t even begin to predict what she might be thinking. Your confusion slowed your tears somewhat, but that didn’t last for long as your mind shifted gears. You were ever the fool for sharing something so vulnerable with someone you barely knew.

So it was much to your surprise when Natasha finally reached her hand toward you, using her thumb to brush off the last few tears that made their way down your cheeks.

“You’ve never been invisible to me, Y/N. I see you. Always.” And with that, without responding, you turned away from her with a sniff to blow out the candle. “What’d you wish for?” the spy asked lightly, hoping the joke would help lift your mood.

“Nothing. This was more than I could’ve ever asked for.” Nat nodded slowly, keeping her eyes on you as she reached to take out the candle. Your eyes remained on the cupcake as if it would be ripped away from you if you turned away for a second. With her hand returned to your back, you began to dig into the cupcake, your eyes closing as you savored the taste. A cupcake just for you, on your birthday. Sure, it was a leftover cupcake, the frosting a bit too sweet and the cake itself dry and somewhat stale, but that didn’t matter. It was still the first in thirty years. 

-

That night, you lay in bed with the stars overhead, a smile on your face as you thought about the day’s events, your best birthday ever.

And maybe it was naive of you to believe what Natasha had told you earlier that day—it wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed your mind several times in the few hours since she told you that—but then you thought about the champagne and the glasses she’d given you. You thought about the way she’d examined your apartment with you one last time before she brought you to the Avengers Tower, about the way she gave you an encouraging smile during training when you became exhausted with Bruce’s cluelessness, about the way she’d shared her popcorn on movie nights with you and only you.

And in the room next to you, Natasha thought about your confusion, your tears, and the way desperation, hope, and amazement filled your face when you looked at her right before you blew out the candle. It was then that she made a vow to herself, to show you that you’d never be invisible, especially not to her.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” she whispered, “You are seen.”

-----

🏷 : @vancityfire13 @007giu

[eggmarr]

may i have xiao + the hidden feelings prompt (also can the reader be an adeptus or yaksha if i can ask that) thank you and have a great day!!

try to keep it hidden (143 event drabble)

pairing: xiao x gn!reader

warnings: modern au, distaste of valentine's day, brief mention of free drinks in a club setting, xiao and reader are roommates, slightly ooc xiao probably, food mentions (cookie mix and snacks), domestic xiao on his day off

a/n: i hope roommate xiao is still ok!!! i tried writing it as adeptus/yaksha reader but it didn’t flow as well for some reason? if you want, you can also request this kind of concept when i reopen my inbox for requests!

songs: i won’t say i’m in love - from the movie “hercules” 

Xiao has very strong feelings about romance.

(He’d rather just say he hates it outright, but that would just be lying to himself.)

You like to call him the “Ebenezer Scrooge” of Valentine’s Day, poking at the frown on his face whenever the season of pink and glitter hearts graces everything in sight.

He waves off the inevitable free drink from a particularly brave group of girls, shies away from the cards, and even starts changing his daily route just to avoid the giant heart man brandishing samples of equally obnoxious candy for a nearby cafe.

The holiday is an exhausting affair. Still, he finds himself wondering how you feel about all the pomp and circumstance.

Did you…want something?

But it’s not his place, isn’t it?

You’re just his roommate. Co-habitant. Friend. Person he knows.

(“Person he wants to know better,” something inside his chest whispers.)

The day of roses dawns with little fanfare, with him up early like usual and two warm cups brewing as the sun casts its golden shine into your shared apartment. He blinks the sleep from his eyes as he sips at his mug - a plain forest green with a black lip. You shuffle in a few minutes after, taking the matching cup from his proffered grip.

See? He knows you; “a perfectly acceptable amount,” he adds to his train of thought. There’s no need to look for other things to learn, other things to see or find or (stars forbid) ask you, out of whatever ridiculous lack of sense he is experiencing. All he needs to know is how you take your drinks, and what foods to keep stocked.

On his afternoon grocery run, he picks up those snacks you really like and some cookie mix for that thing at work you have later this week. He decides not to think about what this means, and lets the impulse to take that last bouquet of flowers from the display win.

His routine is intermittently broken throughout the day. Xiao ignores how these lapses are due to matters relating to you. He almost washes the reds with the whites.

You reenter the apartment to him busy in the kitchen, something sizzling in a pan and another pot boiling away. “Did you-“

“I already ordered food.”

“Is that-“

“I went out and got stuff to make Almond Tofu.”

While his abruptness would make most bristle, you simply shrug, and remind him to call for you if he needs any help with it.

“And the flowers?”

He freezes, his steady stir faltering ever-so slightly. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“…They were the last ones there.”

Xiao glances over his shoulder briefly, lingering on you and the (rather obviously Valentine’s Day themed) flowers.

He goes back to stirring, ignoring the voice in his head telling him to keep looking. “You can take them. It’s not like I’ll use them for anything.”

You wish he could see the smile on your face as you set the stems in a nearby vase.

(Xiao has strong feelings about romance - but his feelings for you seem to be getting stronger with every sunrise and sunset.)

[letarasstuff]

Unbreakable Bond

(A/N): This is based on this post and this tiktok

Summary: A big age gap between Aaron's children doesn't have to mean that they are unable to form a strong bond

Warnings: Mentions of Haley's death and failed relationships

Wordcount: 1.8k

✨Masterlist✨

_________________________________

His life took turns Aaron never expected. It’s not the “Oh, mh, well that was unexpected”-type of turns, I talk about the “God played Cards Against Humanity with angels and decided to make it happen for someone”-type. But looking back he would not want to change a thing.

After Haley and Beth he was convinced that God, the Universe, something out there shared the opinion that romantic love isn’t the right thing for him and Aaron accepted that fact. Even more when he and Jack went into witness protection. I mean, when you are worried about the life of your family being in danger because of a stalker, you don’t think about the beautiful neighbor, who lives next door, right? Right?

Well, without going into too much detail, Hotch did think about her and she about him and vice versa. Everything went good until Aaron received the message that the team found the stalker and that it was safe to come back. He decided to come clean to his girlfriend. They talked about the possibility of moving back to Quantico.

In the end they decided in favor of the move, the final argument was the surprising announcement of her being pregnant. Hotch wants to raise their youngest where his and Jack’s roots are located. But he decides against taking a position at the BAU, instead taking a desk job in order to be more at home. He also has the opportunity to work from home after little (Y/N) was born and continues to do so until she is old enough to go to Kindergarten. Even then he takes two days the week where he stays home. Aaron learned from his decisions and mistakes he made in the past and wants to live up to them and be a better father and husband than before.

And Hotch keeps it to this day, six years later. It’s (Y/N)’s first day of school, while Jack just graduated high school and goes off to college in a few weeks. Even though they have an age gap from twelve and a half years, their parents are sure there are no other siblings with such a strong bond.

Ever since his baby sister’s birth Jack is her biggest supporter, protector and friend. Her first word was his name, though it was more of a “ACK!”, but that’s the best nickname he ever got. As soon as (Y/N) was old enough to comprehend the concept of movies, he introduced her to Star Wars. Since then lightsaber wars out of cardboard pipes are not uncommon. Last Halloween they even dressed up as Chewbakka and Han Solo. You get three guesses on who was who.

“JACK!” (Y/N) runs into her big brother’s room with an excited expression on her face. “Daddy promised to buy me a real lightsaber after I read ten books! With lights and sounds and all! Isn’t that cool?” Jack smiles. Aaron did a similar thing with him. For a certain amount of books he got a reward they discussed beforehand. This way he felt motivated to read and improved writing and reading skills.

“This is awesome. I think that means we have to go book shopping together, what do you think?” (Y/N) is not only the cool kid that has an older brother, she is also the cool kid, whose older brother has a drivers license, a car and a part time job. She nods with big eyes, speechless, because the offer sounds like heaven to her. Getting books and one on one time with Jack after he was really busy with school for weeks? This has to be heaven.

“Ok, then you put your outside clothes on and I’ll tell Dad about our plan.” At that the little girl rushes to her room, not wanting to waste any more time. Jack makes his way down to the kitchen, where Aaron wipes the table from lunch down.

“Dad, I take (Y/N) to this bookstore in DC and we’ll probably go eat ice cream after that. Is that alright?” Hotch looks up at his son. It still feels like yesterday as he told Haley that Gideon is a big no as a baby name. Now he is all grown up and just a few weeks away from the next big chapter in his life.

“Of course, just let me get my wall-” Jack cuts him off. “No need, I want to use this as a kind of goodbye thing. At least until Thanksgiving.” Aaron knows what he means. It’s his last day before he goes off to college and just a couple more until the first classes begin. The family still hasn’t told their youngest exactly what’s going on. Else she would refuse to go to school and go on with her day, insisting on using all the time they have until Jack drives off.

Two hours later the siblings leave the bookstore, both of them having a bag in their hands. Of course Jack's heavier, but both he and the cashier assured (Y/N) that they lift the same amount of weight.

“Uncle Spence will be excited when I tell him that I read Harry Potter, he told me so many good things about it”, the girl gushes. Jack nods, indicating that he is listening. Of course they also picked books that are not that advanced. Still, no sister of his shall grow up without knowing the beauty of the wizarding world. Also, secretly he is hoping for her to turn out as nerdy as he is so they get more things to talk about. His next step is superheroes, especially the Marvel ones.

They converse until they get to an ice cream parlor and order both their usuals. “Do you think you are ready for me to tell you something important?” The older one asks after they sit down at a table. (Y/N) nods, confusion taking over her face.

“Uhm, you know how I graduated from high school? I’m done with school, but I want to get a degree, but for that I have to go to college. It’s pretty far away so I can’t come home for a few months. But I’m back home when Thanksgiving is and also for Christmas.” It doesn’t matter what Jack says, a sad frown has formed on the little one’s face. “Oh. And after Christmas, will you leave again?” He nods and explains when he is off from college and when not.

“We can always skype and write letters. How does that sound? And when you get your first phone, we can even text.” That (Y/N) lights up a bit. For her first year of school she got a stationary set and is eager to use it to this day.

“I’m going to miss you so much”, she says hugging her big brother. Jack pats her back. “I’ll miss you, too.”

The goodbye the next day is a heartfelt matter. Everybody cries, especially (Y/N). She can’t fathom a scenario where her brother isn’t there for her all the time.

The following weeks are also hard for the family. The youngest refuses to sleep alone for the first three days after Jack’s leave. She is more closed off and mainly just does her school work or reads the books he bought for her. By the time Thanksgiving is only away for another two weeks, (Y/N) has read through all of them at least two times.

Her father already ordered the lightsaber he promised her. Unfortunately shipping takes several months, so the little girl still has to wait patiently for her reward to arrive. In the meantime she works on getting the next and she is already pretty close to the comic book collection she wants.

“Sweetheart, can you set the table, please? Your Mom will be here soon from grocery shopping and she will need help getting them from the car into the house”, Hotch calls for his daughter while stirring in a pot.

The little girl nods, putting her stationary set and pens aside to do as her father asked. She is in the middle of answering her brother’s last letter, telling him that she is now the one that usually has to read aloud for the class because of her advanced skill for a first grader.

Just as she sets the last piece of silverware down the doorbell rings. “Sweetie, can you please open it? This should be your mother.” Happily (Y/N) runs up and turns the door knob. Over the last few months she hit a small growing spurt and is finally tall enough to reach it without standing on her tippy toes.

“Mo-” She nearly chokes on her own saliva. The one at the door is definitely not her mother. “JACK!” (Y/N) runs up to him and jumps onto his leg. “Hey Princess. I thought now that you read your books, we need to hold the most amazing lightsaber fight in history.” With a mischievous smile he pulls two from his back, giving one to his baby sister.

It is the most epic fight in history between an elementary schooler and a college boy. They can only be stopped by their parents announcing that it is a tie between both of them and that they have to sit down, else the food gets cold.

The following weeks mostly consist of (Y/N)’s joyous laughs and cuddling with her big brother. She even insists on him sleeping with her in her much smaller bed. On his last night before going back to college, the little girl turns to him in the middle of watching her favorite movie in the living room.

“Do you promise not to forget me when you are away? Because I alway think about you and tell my friends so much about you. I told them you are a hero, my hero, just like Daddy. They wanna meet you because of that.” Jack has to hold back tears at her statement.

“I also think of you so much. All of my friends at college are pretty jealous of me having such a sweet baby sister. Maybe one time you can visit me and I can introduce you to them.” The thought of that makes (Y/N) smile and is a little consolation to the thought of her brother leaving again.

Aaron watches the interaction going down, happy to see the strong bond between his children, despite their age gap. This is nothing like he and Sean were and that is a relief for him and the worries he had in the beginning. It is a sign that he did do some things right as a father.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

[bakuthedeku]

their everyday game

Read on AO3

Words: 3,000

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Things Midoriya Izuku is: A student, a sugar baby, a boyfriend, a brat.

Things Midoriya Izuku is not: Patient.

Or: Izuku wants attention from Kacchan and he is going to get it.

A commissioned fic for @insinirate !

Clack clack clack. The room is silent but for the steady breaths of its occupants and the rhythmic beat of fingers on plastic. Clear, wall-to-ceiling windows wash the sun’s gentle light into the room, and reveal a picturesque view of the sparkling city, looking like something straight out of a magazine.

Izuku glares at the extravagant view. He bets Kacchan is writing another one of those stupid reports of his.

Buzz. The clacking halts and Kacchan glances at his work phone for but a moment before the typing resumes.

Izuku takes a deep breath. Holds it. Puffs out his cheeks.

He slumps over in his seat and sighs obnoxiously.

God, he’s so damn bored.

Kacchan said he had to get one more hour of work done, and then he’d take a break. That had been almost three hours ago. ‘One hour’ had turned into two when Izuku left Kacchan to get ready for their lunch date and had foolishly gone straight to the cafe instead of meeting up with Kacchan at the office first. He’d waited all of ten minutes at their usual table before calling a company car and returning to find Kacchan still working in his office.

If not for Kacchan’s genuine surprise at the time and his gruff, yet sweet apologies, he would be a dead man already.

But Izuku still isn’t satisfied. Kacchan needs a break, and Izuku needs attention, stat. There’s only one solution: Izuku’s gonna annoy the shit out of Kacchan. So Izuku sucks in another breath and pouts at the ceiling. “Kacchaaaaan!”

Kacchan sighs, but he doesn’t respond. The silence in the room grows thick with expectation; Izuku’s long-perfect attention-seeking tone signals the start of the game they play every day.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clack of keys and occasional buzz from Kacchan’s work phone. Izuku wriggles against his plush seat, making the leather squeak obnoxiously, and clears his throat daintily, earning himself a glance. “Kacchan, I’m hungry…” Izuku peaks at Kacchan from beneath fluttering eyelashes.

Kacchan shifts his eyes back to his computer and types another line, pointedly loud against the room’s still silence.

When they play this game, whoever breaks first (or whoever wants whatever they’re after more) will relent and go to the other, so this can go one of two ways; Izuku will pull himself from his lounging position to drape himself over Kacchan, or Kacchan will pull himself from his work and lavish Izuku with the attention he deserves.

Today, Izuku takes it upon himself to move things forward—Kacchan is in one of those moods where it could take hours to break him down, and Izuku needs results now.

So with an impatient, gusty sigh pulled deep from his lungs, Izuku heaves himself up and slinks over to Kacchan’s grand desk, stalking up from behind him. When Kacchan makes the mistake of glancing at Izuku from the corner of his eye, Izuku pounces.

Izuku wrenches Kacchan’s chair around and jumps into his lap, laying himself over Kacchan as well as the plush arms of his chair. Kacchan grunts out a quiet oof at the sudden weight but wraps an arm around his waist nonetheless.

“I’m working, Deku,” Kacchan says dryly.

“Actually, Kacchan, I think you’ll find that you’re cuddling me and giving me attention right now, and I can’t imagine why you’d want to stop.”

Kacchan exhales quietly and wrestles down the corners of his lips—it’s not quite a smile, but it’s a good enough start for Izuku. “I have a lot to do, so as much as I’d love to keep giving you all the attention you desire, I really do have to get back to work.”

Izuku wraps an arm around Kacchan’s neck and pretends to think, then shakes his head solemnly. “Unfortunately, it’s a no from me. I’m hungry and I want lunch.”

“Then go get lunch.”

Izuku gives Kacchan a look for being deliberately obtuse.

“I’ll order in for you, then,” Kacchan offers.

Izuku huffs and pushes himself away from his comfortable spot against Kacchan’s broad chest. “Not good enough, Kacchan! We organised a lunch date, so I am getting a lunch date. Now.” Izuku sticks out his chin and dares Kacchan to say no.

Eyes lock. Izuku stares with determination, burying his will into impenetrable crystal red and steadfastly ignoring their alluring pull. Kacchan makes an aborted noise in the back of his throat, as if he was about to say something stupid but thought better of it, and finally sighs.

“Half an hour.”

Izuku smiles sweetly. “Two. You’re late, so you’ve accrued interest.”

Kacchan decides to focus on their negotiations over Izuku’s mockingly business-like tone: “Forty-five is the best you’re going to get from me.”

“An hour, not including travel time, or I’ll get our contract from your room and tear it up myself.” Izuku juts out a petulant lip. He’d never do it, but it gets his point across—Izuku isn’t budging on this.

Kacchan stares hard for a moment, then sags and rests his head in the crook of Izuku’s neck. “You’re such an annoying little shit,” he murmurs, warm against Izuku’s skin.

Izuku hides his smile in Kacchan’s hair and holds him tight. Another victory secured.

/-/

The cafe is a relaxing, familiar space for Izuku. He’s been a regular since before his arrangement with Kacchan began, and when it breached the confines of Kacchan’s highrise office, it was only natural Izuku would drag Kacchan to his favourite little spot.

After enough of their regular visits, the staff have stopped staring at Kacchan and his crisp suits and shiny Rolex watches, and they interact more or less normally with the pair when they stop by.

They place their orders, as usual, and Kacchan pays, as usual, before they settle in their favourite corner, waiting for drinks and food.

Izuku relaxes into his plush chair. He breathes in happiness, the scent of sugar and coffee and Kacchan’s handsome cologne, and breathes out his worries. He’s already plotting ways to extend the hour he was so graciously granted.

On the table before him is a generous slice of cake, which is ‘not a meal,’ according to Kacchan, but Izuku wanted it and he doesn’t care what Kacchan has to say about it. Kacchan is still waiting on his own food; some kind of salmon dish, which is about the fanciest thing he might be able to get his hands on at a casual place like this.

Before Kacchan can grouse at Izuku further, Izuku digs into his treat with no regard for manners, or as Kacchan calls them, “basic fucking social etiquette.” Whenever Kacchan attempts to spout this particular kind of bullshit, Izuku rather enjoys pointing out the hypocrisy of Kacchan of all people criticising other people’s social graces.

Izuku glances at Kacchan and licks his lips before he fills his mouth with fluffy, sugary goodness, making eye-contact with him as he lets out an exaggerated moan. “So good,” Izuku takes care to lick his lips and smiles, warm and sweet like molten honey.

Kacchan rolls his eyes, but he swallows like his mouth is dry. “You’re a damn menace, you little brat,” he says hoarsely, despite the way his eyes have been stuck on Izuku’s lips since he licked them.

“Hey!” Izuku kicks out with all the gentleness of a fussy toddler, landing a solid kick on Kacchan’s shin. “Don’t be mean. You would’ve missed our lunch date altogether if I hadn’t dragged you here.” Izuku tilts his head and gives an Oscar-worthy kicked-puppy pout.

“Deku…” Kacchan obviously misses the point of his pouting by a mile, because now he just looks sad, and that is not what Izuku was going for! “I’m sorry I forgot, baby. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you, it’s just...”

“You’re busy,” Izuku finishes for him, and leans across the table to (affectionately) swat his dumb boyfriend’s head. “I know. I’m not mad, but I do want your attention right now, so cut out the sadness and shower me with compliments like you’re supposed to.”

This earns a snort of laughter from Kacchan, who finally catches on and plays along with their usual game. His whole face brightens with his smile. “Ah yes, of course, dear. How could I spend even a second not overwhelming you with compliments?”

Izuku nods seriously. “Exactly. I’m just so shocked. You should know better than to neglect me by now,” Izuku winks, “Daddy.”

Kacchan makes a point of rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling broadly now, all teeth and crinkled eyes. “Alright, you’ve made your point, asshole. Eat your stupid cake already.”

/-/

Once they’ve eaten, and the redundant alarm Kacchan had set goes off, they return to the car. It’s time for Izuku to execute his plan.

Before Kacchan can put his belt on like the square he is, Izuku swings a leg over his lap and wraps himself around his boyfriend. Kacchan raises a questioning eyebrow before Izuku makes his demand: “Take me shopping.”

Kacchan smacks his head back against the headrest dramatically. “You have my card. I’ll have the driver drop you off wherever you want to go, okay?”

“I said take me shopping, not send me. You have to be there or there’s no use! Kacchan needs to come with me.”

Kacchan looks sad, then, and the stupid man has apparently learnt a thing or two from Izuku, because he’s got the bestest, heart-wrenchingest puppy-dog eyes without even trying. Resting his forehead against Izuku’s, Kacchan sighs softly against his lips. “You know I spend as much time as I can with you, baby. I can only ignore my work for so long, for you.”

Izuku aches, sudden and raw. “Oh, Kacchan… I know you’re busy, you work so hard! Kacchan really is amazing. But sometimes I want to be selfish and snatch up more of your time. You put too much pressure on yourself at work. You have so many employees so you don’t have to run yourself in the ground.”

“There are things my employees can’t do-”

“Like stopping you from working yourself to death? Right, that’s my job.” Izuku wiggles in Kacchan’s lap and captures his lips in a whisper-soft kiss. “So let me take care of you.” Izuku flutters his eyelashes and pulls his trump card. “Please, Daddy?” he asks, words sugar-sweet on his lips.

Cheeks glowing a suspicious strawberry red, Kacchan huffs and grabs Izuku by the waist, easily picking him up off his lap and depositing him on the seat next to him. He waits patiently for Kacchan to break, all the while butterflies dance in Izuku’s belly at his Daddy’s casual display of strength.

“The hell do you need so badly anyway?”

Truthfully, Izuku has no idea what he would wish to buy. Spoiled as he is, there are few things he’s wanted through life that he doesn’t now own, thanks to Kacchan. “I saw this gorgeous lingerie set and I just have to try it on before I buy it. And I need you there to tell me how good it looks,” Izuku states matter-of-factly.

Kacchan clears his throat and pinches Izuku’s cheek. “Fine. Let’s go look at this lingerie, then, baby.”

/-/

Izuku drags Kacchan out of the car by his hand and refuses to let go even after they’ve made it inside the shopping center.

“Come on, come on, I wanna see what this store has!” With Kacchan in tow, Izuku makes a beeline for his favourite lingerie store.

Izuku chatters away as he makes his way up and down the store, fluttering about pretty displays and shiny, luxurious lingerie sets hung up on the walls. He semi-consciously gives Kacchan a consistent stream of observations, rhetorical questions and mumbled postulations about what Kacchan might like best. He picks out half a dozen sets in just a few minutes, handing each one over to Kacchan for him to judge and/or hold like a handsome sentient display rack.

Soon enough, Kacchan flags down someone from the store to do the grunt work for him as he follows Izuku around the store like a loyal dog, face warring between fondness and annoyance.

Izuku is quite certain that the fondness far outweighs the annoyance, though. Izuku is, after all, impossible to hate.

After completing one circuit of the store, Kacchan interrupts Izuku before he can begin on a second. “What happened to the ‘one’ set you wanted, huh?” The man crosses his arms like a brute, biceps flexing handsomely as he pours disapproval into the question.

Izuku tuts at him. “There’s nothing wrong with browsing. Just look at how pretty this one is!” Izuku pulls out the dainty belt and harness set he was looking at, wiggling it around for Kacchan’s judgment.

“Mm,” Kacchan acknowledges, carefully collected as he judges the set. With his nod of approval, Izuku gleefully adds it to his soon-to-be-towering pile of things to try on, heedless of the fact that Kacchan immediately passes it off to the poor retail worker trailing after them.

Kacchan crosses his arms. “Don’t think I don’t realise what you’re doing, baby boy.”

Izuku ought to feel sheepish at being caught out so easily, but it’s to be expected when he’s trying to con Kacchan. Instead, he tilts his head and bats his big, round eyes, the perfect picture of innocence. “But Daddy, what exactly are you going to do about it?”

Kacchan crosses his arms, but Izuku’s got him there. Kacchan wants to see Izuku in this lingerie just as much as Izuku wants to try them on. And if all of this has the bonus of Izuku keeping Kacchan to himself for a little longer, then they don’t need to talk about that, really.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Kacchan says, and Izuku giggles, wrapping his arms around his Daddy’s neck.

“I can think of a few reasons,” he laughs. “Now come tell me how pretty I look in these!”

/-/

The driver has to help them get everything into the car. As soon as they’re in, Kacchan orders the driver to start the car and get them back to his work quickly.

It’s cute that Kacchan thinks they’d be going anywhere near his office if not for Izuku allowing it.

“Are you satisfied now, brat?” Kacchan asks, pulling on his seatbelt only after the car has started moving (ooh, rebellious).

Izuku hums. He takes a long few moments to rearrange the copious amount of bags around him, just because he can. He pretends to think very hard about it before nodding exaggeratedly. “Yes, I think I am. For today, at least.”

When Kacchan groans, Izuku shuts him up with a kiss, and they smile like kids in love against each other’s lips.

/-/

Deku seems to have tuckered himself out during their shopping trip, which is understandable considering the sheer amount of clothes he insisted he try on before making Katsuki buy everything for him. He spends the car ride back draped over Katsuki’s side, giving a docile little mumble every now and then when he sees a dog on the sidewalk or a pretty flower that apparently reminds him of Katsuki’s eyes.

(How can the fucker get even cuter than usual just because he tired himself out being a whiny brat all day? How is that fair at all to Katsuki’s heart? Not to mention his wallet...)

(It’s not like Katsuki can’t afford it, but damn, lingerie is surprisingly fucking expensive.)

Katsuki carefully shakes Deku awake when they arrive, because he has learnt the hard way that if he leaves Deku to doze or wakes him too quickly, there will be hell to pay. So he accepts Deku’s blindly groping hand into his own and leads him into the building, where Izuku says something vague about harassing his friend in reception and stumbles off, bleary-eyed.

Katsuki has some interns come down and transfer Deku’s things into his private car so he can attempt to get some work done before Deku makes it upstairs. Deku usually settles down after a few hours of monopolising Katsuki’s time and attention, but with the mood he’s in today, Katsuki doesn’t like his chances of getting anything else done.

He’s gotten as far as opening up an email from a partner company when the door clicks open and Deku sashays in like he owns the place.

And, okay. Katsuki owns the place, and Deku has him wrapped around his pinky finger, so he does own the place in every way but name. But only Katsuki is allowed to know that, god damn it.

“You look like a bumbling fawn like that,” Katsuki informs him, just to see Deku’s sleepy eyes flash with indignation, and watch his cheeks glow a pretty, flustered pink.

Deku’s response doesn’t disappoint, and his nose even scrunches up like a disgruntled bunny, but Katsuki’s gone and shot himself in the foot because now Deku is stomping up to him in a way that says he means business. Deku collapses heavily and claims the space of Katsuki’s lap, steadfast in the fact that it is his and his alone.

Deku slaps him petulantly on the chest. “Meanie,” he mumbles, and curls up on Katsuki’s lap, nestling his head beneath his chin and settling against him, a puzzle piece slotted perfectly in its place. “I’m tired,” Deku says, as if that isn’t obvious already.

Kastuki huffs, presses a feather-soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Just rest, idiot.”

“‘Mkay Daddy…”

Katsuki strokes his fingers through the softness of Izuku’s hair and cradles him as Deku’s body relaxes into Katsuki’s own. “Good boy,” he murmurs.

Pressed tenderly together, Deku continues babbling quietly to fill the peaceful sunset air. Katsuki nods along and holds his baby securely in his arms until he floats off into sleep.

Clack clack clack. With a watchful eye on Deku, lovely and sleep-soft against his chest, Katsuki quietly gets back to work.