#in his fancy winter coat

[petit-papillion]

Ferretti Group builds the Riva yacht, so makes sense for Charles to be invited.

This is the only picture I could find...

📸 My Fair Venice

[spacecolonie]

shadow in his fancy winter coat 🦔

[mr-cha-n]

Glass Towers

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genres: fluff, angst, smut, architect AU

Warnings: Profanities, drinking, angst, sexual content, penetration, mouth stuff (f. receiving), tension, yearning

Word Count: 18.2k

Summary: City lights are beautiful, but they're nothing compared to the spark between a hopelessly optimistic architect and his no-nonsense boss. He hopes.

Mingyu's always had a thing for the city skyline. He stands there, staring up like a tourist in his own city, while the lights blink back at him. He's convinced that the twinkling stars work overtime in the winter to brighten up the world for busy employees, wonderstruck sightseers, and homebound natives alike. 

And the people? Oh, don't get him started. City folk are like ants with a caffeine addiction, scurrying down streets wide enough to do doughnuts on (he's tempted), all on their own secret missions. Got places to be, people to bump into, lives to live. And every now and then, there's a stray tourist wandering around like they're decoding a map from a century-old pirate treasure hunt, or a food vendor desperately offering free samples and a good, if unique, conversation.

But, most of all, he's got a soft spot for buildings. Those skyscrapers that loom over everyone like friendly giants are his favourite. They're tall, dramatic, stoic - but also weirdly welcoming, like they're saying "Come on in, friend, there's an elevator with your name on it." Each one holds a mini-universe of people with no clue that they're all part of this giant city love affair. And honestly? That's what Mingyu loves most.

That is why he is practically vibrating with excitement as he makes his way to the towering glass-and-steel behemoth that houses his new firm. This building is the pinnacle of urban architecture. It has a shiny, almost reflective facade that makes every other building on the block look like they'd shown up to the party in sweatpants. Windows stretch floor to floor like a series of portals to success.

He's read about this building, of course. Brought it up in the interview for the position. Its architect was apparently a big deal who had once described it as "a dialogue between the earth and the sky." Which, as far as Mingyu is concerned, is just fancy architect-speak for, "Look at how absurdly tall I can make things."

Stepping inside, he is immediately hit with that professional smell - a mix of leather-bound sofas, artisanal coffee, and freshly printed documents. The lobby is decorated with minimalist sculptures that seem like they could either be priceless modern art or just very confusing coat ranks. Either way, Mingyu thinks they look amazing and decides that he'd probably best never trying to lean on one.

He stops at the reception desk, where a sharply dressed woman with an impressively unflappable expression sits.

"Good morning!" He says, a little too enthusiastically. "I'm Kim Mingyu. I'm starting as the new project architect, so you'll probably see a lot of confused-looking, lost-guy moments from me."

She raises an eyebrow, a faint smile quirking on the edge of her lips. "Good luck, Mr Kim. This building does tend to eat people up on their first day."

Mingyu lets out a small chuckle, unsure if she's joking or not, but he takes the smile on her face to signify that she is. After getting directions to his new office space, he makes a point of talking to every staff member he sees on the way, hoping to gain a little bit of familiarity with the new space. There's the security guard by the elevator, who gives him a quick nod of approval, the intern rushing by with a stack of blueprints precariously balanced like they are training for Cirque du Soleil, and the coffee cart guy, who looked positively thrilled to tell Mingyu that they're starting a 'Mocha Monday' deal, envisioning half-price mochas flying off the shelf to cure those start-of-week blues.

The elevator itself is sleek, fast, and almost comically over-engineered. Encased in glass and stainless steel, it features a control panel with buttons for every floor and amenities like a mini espresso machine, a retractable tablet and an adjustable lighting system for 'mood optimisation'. He barely has time to catch his breath before the elevator doors ding open, depositing him on the top floor. 

Waiting for him is Mr Choi, the firm's head partner, a man so put-together than even his cufflinks look like they could close a business deal. Mingyu recognises him instantly - the same piercing gaze from his interview, though today softened by the faintest hint of a smile. Or, well, something that might one day consider becoming a smile.

"Good to see you again, Mingyu," Mr Choi greets, his voice as smooth as marble. He gestures down the hallway, as if guiding him into an architectural wonderland (which, for all intents and purposes, he is). "Shall we?"

They pass through a maze of glass-walled offices and open spaces dotted with architects, designers, and enough blueprint paper to wrap the world's largest birthday present. As they reach Mr Choi's office, Mingyu makes sure to hold the door open for his new boss.

The space is less of an office and more of an architectural shrine, humming with the wisdom of ten thousand blueprints. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, as if the whole skyline had been personally curated just to keep Mr Choi inspired. His desk - a sleek slab of dark walnut with edges so sharp they could probably slice bread - sits precisely in the centre of the room. On the walls sit framed sketches of the firm's most iconic projects, each one hung and lit like a small art gallery. The coffee table at the centre piles high with glossy architecture magazines and books with titles like The Future of Concrete and The Language of Buildings. It is as if every element in the room had been strategically selected to convey that Mr Choi is not just any architect. 

And, most stunning of all, is you. Tall, poised, and commanding a presence that immediately silences whatever joke Mingyu has mentally queued up to break the ice. You're seated across from Mr Choi's desk, reading through a thick stack of documents with the intensity of someone evaluating world-changing data - or possibly planning the most efficient way to dismantle a skyscraper with your mind. You don't look up when he enters.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," Mr Choi says, a hint of amusement in his voice, "this is Kim Mingyu, our newest project architect. He'll be working under you, as we discussed."

Finally, you look up. There's a flash of something unreadable in your eyes as you meet his, and Mingyu's heart skips a beat. You're beautiful, of course, but not in the approachable way he'd normally charm his way though. There's a quiet sharpness to you, like the edge of a blade hidden under silk. You nod, polite but detached, and extend a hand across the desk. Mingyu's hand is halfway to yours before he realises he's probably grinning too wide.

"Mr Kim," You say, your tone flat and calm. "Welcome to the team."

"Thank you, Ms (Y/l/n)," he replies, fighting the urge to launch into an unnecessarily enthusiastic monologue about how honoured he is to work with someone as formidable as you. Instead, he forces himself to stick with, "It's a pleasure to be here."

Your handshake is brief, controlled, and you retract your hand almost before he's registered the contact. Then you sit back, folding your arms with a measured kind of grace that makes Mingyu feel like he's just been granted an audience with a queen.

"We'll be starting you off on the Langham project," you say, consulting your papers as if double-checking this fact - or maybe just avoiding his eyes. "I'll be overseeing your work and guiding you through our procedures here. We have high standards, and I'll expect you to meet them."

"Of course!" He nods vigorously, attempting his best I-won't-let-you-down smile. "I'm up for any challenge, Ms (Y/l/n). High standards are, uh, my middle name."

You raise an eyebrow, looking slightly perplexed, as though wondering if he might be serious. Mr Choi clears his throat, breaking the silence with a faint smirk that betrays a hint of secondhand amusement.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," he continues, "has been with us for nearly a decade. She's an invaluable asset to the firm. I trust you'll learn a great deal from her."

Mingyu nods earnestly, glancing at you, but you're already back to scanning the documents as if he's drifted into background noise. He's mildly disappointed, though he can't exactly blame you - after all, he is juts the latest recruit with probably a hundred questions, and you seem like the type who doesn't have time for aimless chatter.

"Any questions before we begin?" you ask, in a tone that suggests the answer you're really hoping for is 'no.'

But of course, Mingyu has questions. Too many, probably. He opens his mouth to ask one, but then catches the faintest glint of what he thinks might be impatience in your eyes and quickly changes gears.

"Actually, no," he says, flashing a thumbs-up. "Good to go!"

You don’t seem particularly impressed by this, but there’s a flicker of something — amusement, maybe? — before you turn back to Mr. Choi. "Shall I take him to the Langham briefing room, then?"

Mr Choi waves you off with a nod, and you rise with a brisk elegance that makes Mingyu almost trip over himself in an effort to follow. You walk him through the halls with a calm, businesslike air, giving succinct, precise explanations as you go. Every step you take feels purposeful, every word perfectly chosen. Mingyu feels like an eager puppy trotting beside you, but he's determined to keep up.

As you reach the briefing room, he can't resist trying to break the ice one more time. "You know," he starts, grinning. "I really love the city skyline. It's kind of why I got into architecture."

You pause, giving him a look that manages to be both blank and withering at once. "Is that so?"Yeah!" He barrels on, encouraged by the fact that you responded at all. "It's like ... it's all a big love letter to everyone living here, you know? Every building, every floor, every light in the window - it's all just there, lighting up people's lives."

There's a moment of silence. Mingyu wonders if maybe he overdid it.

Finally, you nod, albeit with an expression he can't quite place. "That's an ... optimistic way of looking at it, Mr Kim."

Optimistic? Not exactly the response he was hoping for, but he'll take it. He smiles, trying to hide his excitement at the fact that you actually acknowledged his point. "I guess that’s me — hopelessly optimistic."

You glance at him with what he might, just might, dare to interpret as the tiniest hint of a smirk. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by your usual professional demeanour.

"Well," you say crisply, gesturing to the plans spread out on the table. "Let’s see if that optimism translates to effective project execution."

By the time Mingyu finally steps out of the firm's towering glass sanctuary, the city has dipped into that golden hour where the skyline looks like it's been dipped in honey. The streets are packed with people still racing to meetings, or dinners, or late-night escapades, but Mingyu feels like he's in his own little bubble, still buzzing from the whirlwind of his first day.

He's not sure what's more overwhelming - the Langham project itself, which already feels like it's going to stretch every ounce of his architectural prowess and patience, or you. The way you carried yourself like you were born in this building, with all its sharp edges and polished surfaces. He isn't sure how to keep up with that level of composure.

But there was something there, wasn't there? A flicker of something. Maybe you were just humouring him, but there was that slight tilt of your lips when he said something slightly amusing. Or the way your eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary when he spoke. Of course, he could just be imagining it. But Mingyu isn't about to let go of that feeling just yet.

The subway ride home does little to calm his excitement. He thinks about the massive pile of documents he's expected to digest tonight for the briefing tomorrow. As the train rumbles beneath the city, Mingyu cracks open his bag and pulls out the folder that was handed to him this morning - a mess of blueprints, floor plans and complicated notes that look like they were designed to break a person's will to live. 

But he's not scared, not by this at least. The only thing that kind of scares him is the realisation that you are going to be watching him closely. Judging. Monitoring. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if he’s ready for that sort of proximity.

The train screeches to a halt, and Mingyu exits at his stop, shaking off those thoughts. Tonight, he’ll just have to forget about all that for now and focus on getting some food in his stomach. Besides, he’s almost home.

Mingyu’s apartment building isn’t anything to write home about. It’s not a shiny, glass-covered marvel like the office, but it’s cozy and warm, with enough character to make him feel like he has a place to call his own. His apartment is on the fourth floor, up a narrow staircase that creaks with every step. As he pulls his key from his pocket and unlocks the door, the familiar smell of instant ramen and coffee hits him. His flatmate, Wonwoo, is already home.

Wonwoo’s there in the living room, sprawled across the couch with his laptop on his lap and a half-empty mug of coffee next to him. He’s the polar opposite of Mingyu in almost every way: quiet, reserved, and extremely not into architecture, but somehow they’ve been rooming together for the past few years without any major conflicts. Mingyu’s loud, chaotic energy and tendency to overshare perfectly balances Wonwoo’s brooding, half-mysterious vibe. It’s a friendship forged in caffeine and mutual understanding that sometimes, you need someone who won’t judge when you blast pop music at 2 AM, or when you eat cereal for dinner because you forgot to go grocery shopping.

"How’s the first day?" Wonwoo doesn’t look up from his screen, his voice cool and unbothered. But Mingyu can tell he’s asking out of a form of polite curiosity, like a scientist observing a very energetic specimen.

Mingyu drops his bag on the counter and flops onto the couch next to him. "It was ... intense," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "The project I'm gonna be working on is a beast. There's this whole ocean of details to sift through. And then there's Ms (Y/l/n)."

Wonwoo looks up, his brow slightly raised. "Your boss?"

"Yeah," Mingyu says, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "She's something else. Like she doesn't seem interested in me at all, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. But she's got this, like, presence. Makes you want to impress her, y'know? Even when she's totally stone-faced - especially when, actually."

Wonwoo hums noncommittally and takes a sip of his coffee, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "So, you're in love with your boss already. Good to know."

Mingyu shoots him a mock glare, his cheeks ringing with a hint of pink. "I'm not in love with her, okay? It's more like ... fascination. She's just really intimidating."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, the picture of dry amusement. "Uh-huh. Sure. And what's her deal, anyway? Too professional for your flirty smile?"

"She doesn't seem flattered by it." Mingyu dramatically drops his head into his hands, mimicking a tragic melodrama. "I might have to rethink my whole life strategy if I can’t get her to crack a smile at my jokes."

"But hey," Wonwoo adds with a smirk, "if you want to survive your first week, I suggest you do not mention the city skyline and your theories about how it’s a love letter to people. That’s a hard pass."

Mingyu groans, covering his face in embarrassment. "I’m never telling you anything ever again."

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin. "You love me and you know it."

Mingyu snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ve got work to do." He picks up the pile of documents, pulling them closer with a resigned sigh. "Gotta impress Ms (Y/l/n) somehow."

Gulping down a quick 'dinner' of left-over stir fry and a couple of eggs for good measure, Mingyu picks back up the Langham project folder, its content still a chaotic swirl of technical specs and words he can't read, and flips open the first few pages. The project itself is a massive undertaking - a luxury hotel and mixed-use complex nestled in the heart of the city, right by the river. The building is going to stretch twenty stories high, with glass facades that'll reflect the river's light like a prism. The design includes state-of-the-art amenities, with the goal of being the ultimate urban getaway - a haven for tourists, business moguls, and the occasional local who just wants to treat themselves to a little luxury.

Mingyu's eyes light up as he scans the proposed design. There's a grand atrium in the centre, stretching all the way up to the top floor, with cascading gardens and open-air terraces. "So fancy," he mutters to himself. His team is clearly trying to push boundaries here, blending modern steel and glass with organic elements - like a giant metallic tree-house hybrid for the city's elite.

He flips to a page filled with notes about sustainability and energy efficiency. They’re aiming for a platinum LEED certification — top-tier green building status. It’s all about using smart, eco-friendly tech to make the building as self-sustaining as possible. Mingyu groans inwardly, wondering if he’s about to become an expert on solar panels and rainwater harvesting.

As he continues reading, one particular detail catches his eye. The signature design element for the building is a series of “floating” glass bridges between the upper floors — a bold architectural statement meant to make the building appear less like a typical office block and more like something out of a futuristic movie. It sounds incredible, but Mingyu can already picture himself pulling his hair out over the engineering calculations required to make sure the whole thing doesn’t come crashing down in a windstorm.

By the time he reaches the end of the folder, his mind is spinning, and a mild panic starts to creep in. Your expectations are clear, and the project’s scope is enormous. But Mingyu can’t help the tiny spark of excitement that flickers in his chest. This is what he’s been working toward — to be a part of something that will change the city’s landscape, something that will make people stop and look up.

He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock. It's late, but he knows he'll need all the preparation he can get for tomorrow.

With one last long look at the papers, Mingyu closes the folder, shoving it aside with a resigned sigh. "I’m going to need a lot more coffee," he mutters, flopping back on the couch beside Wonwoo, who’s already half asleep with his laptop still glowing faintly in his lap.

Wonwoo snorts without opening his eyes. "You’re going to need more than coffee for this, buddy."

"Tell me about it," Mingyu grins, grabbing his phone to order another coffee, just in case he didn’t have enough already. Tonight, it looks like he’s going to be living on caffeine and architectural dreams.

A few weeks into the job, Mingyu has already made a significant number of mistakes. Well, significant is probably an understatement. More like a collection of blunders so impressive that, if anyone were to catalogue them, they might think Mingyu was trying to break some sort of world record in architectural mishaps.

It starts innocently enough, with a small miscalculation on the elevator shaft dimensions that nearly caused a minor freakout in the engineering department. Then there was that time he mixed up the load-bearing capacity for the glass facades and accidentally sent an email to the whole team saying, "We could use stronger glass" when technically, the existing plans were fine. And, of course, who could forget that time he got overzealous and rearranged the project's timeline, shaving an entire month off the construction schedule, only to realise later that it was a little bit too ambitious for anyone's taste?

He still hasn't lived down the elevator incident, which, for the record, wasn't even entirely his fault. But it's hard to explain that when your eyes are drilling into him from across the room, a careful blend of disappointment and 'I'm trying not to send you into an existential crisis right now.'

Today, he's perched at his desk watching the clock tick down the minutes until the inevitable meeting with you. His fingers drum nervously on the edge of his notepad. There's a fresh stack of papers in front of him, each one brimming with red-inked corrections, and he knows what's coming. He's almost perfected the art of nodding in silent shame during your critiques, hoping the earth might swallow him whole.

When the meeting finally comes, you walk into the room, as poised and unbothered as ever. He tries to stand up to greet you, but he stumbles into his chair instead, catching himself just in time.

"You've been busy," you say dryly, as you flip through the stack of appears, your eyes scanning the marked-up blueprints. Your tone is sharp, like an exam proctor giving him one last chance to pass without the lecture.

Mingyu forces a grin, wiping his palms against his pants. "Yep, learning a lot on the fly, you know?"

You don't smile. "You've certainly given us a lot to work with."

Mingyu winces, cracking for the inevitable storm of corrections. He can already feel the weight of your disappointment pressing down on him. He's been trying so hard to make a good impression, but it seems every time he tries, he only ends up making things more complicated.

But then, as if you've suddenly decided that maybe he hasn’t completely bungled everything, you pause, tapping your pen against the papers in front of you. “But there’s one thing...”

His heart stutters. "What's that?"

You flip to the last page in the folder, revealing a neatly detailed diagram of the building's eco-friendly water filtration system, a proposal Mingyu put together at the last minute after a rather inspiring lunch break (where he might have gotten just a little carried away talking to the environmental consultant). You tap the diagram. "This," you say, your voice softer than he's ever heard it, "This is well done. You identified a potential issue with the system that we hadn't accounted for in the original design. We'll need to revise a few things to integrate it fully, but this is exactly the kind of thinking we need."

Mingyu stares at you, completely caught off guard. His brain is still half-parked in panic mode from the earlier mistakes. and he can't quite process your words. Did you just ... praise him?

"Really?" He blinks, his surprise making his voice higher than usual. "You mean the, uh, water thing? I just thought it might be better if we-"

"I know," you interrupt, your gaze steady on him. "You found a solution we missed. We'll be able to integrate it without a massive redesign. Good work."

Mingyu blinks again, this time in pure disbelief. It's like someone just handed him a bag of cash and told him to keep it. "I - uh, wow. Thanks." He tries to act cool, but he's pretty sure he looks like a kid who's just been handed an extra cookie.

You don't break your composed demeanour, but there's a subtle shift in your expression - a quiet respect that wasn't there before. "You're capable, Mr Kim," you say, your voice calm but with a hint of approval. "Despite your tendency to make things a little more complicated than necessary, you're on the right track."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Mingyu feels an odd rush of pride — a mix of relief and the kind of warmth you get when you find out you didn’t totally mess everything up. For once, he’s not the guy who ruins everything in your eyes.

And, maybe, just maybe, he can keep that “capable” label for a while.

“I’ll expect the revised plans on my desk by Friday,” you say, your voice steady. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t!” Mingyu promises, his voice more confident than it’s been in weeks. “I’m on it.”

Mingyu throws himself into revising the plans with a fervour that borders on obsession. He’s got spreadsheets, CAD files, hand-drawn sketches, and a brand new stack of sticky notes covering his desk like a rainbow-coloured fortress of architectural ambition. The water filtration system has turned into his personal magnum opus, and he’s determined to make sure it’s nothing short of revolutionary.

He's started to stay later than usual, his desk lamp becoming a beacon in the dimmed office. At first, he doesn't pay much attention to who else is around, his mind so wrapped up in calculations and potential pitfalls that he barely notices his own hunger or fatigue. But after a few nights, he realises he's not the only one burning the midnight oil.

Your office light is always on. Sometimes he'll glance up, bleary-eyed and half delirious from staring at documents, and he'll catch a glimpse of you through the glass walls - hair pulled back, eyes locked on your laptop screen, fingers tapping briskly on the keys as if your thoughts are sprinting ahead of your hands. You're a constant fixture, as much a part of the office's architecture as the polished marble floors and unbreakable glass doors. And, he realises, you're usually there even later than he is.

One evening, after finally signing off on what feels like the hundredth draft of the plans, Mingyu yawns and stretches, feeling every vertebra pop like bubble wrap. He glances at the clock. It's nearly midnight. As he stands to grab his coat, he sees your office light flick off, and you appear, looking just as composed as you did this morning, as if working fifteen hours straight is just part of your weekly routine.

You both walk to the elevator in silence, the quiet stretch of the office settling around you like an unspoken truce. When the elevator doors close, you glance at him, breaking the silence with a casual, "You're still here, Mr Kim."

He lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, still making sure I don't mess up the Langham project. You know how it is."

You don't smile, but your expression softens. "I do."

The elevator ride is quiet, filled with the low hum of machinery and the faintest scent of Mingyu's cologne - a last-ditch attempt this morning to feel professional. When you step out onto the ground floor, you hesitate by the door, glancing out at the street. The city is dark and quiet, the only lights the occasional passing car and the soft glow of streetlamps.

"Do you have a way home?" You ask, your voice so casual it takes him a second to realise you're actually offering him a ride.

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard. "Uh, well, I was going to take the subway. But if you're offering..." He trails off, grinning sheepishly.

You nod, motioning to the car parked just outside. It's as sleek and polished as you are - a dark sedan that looks like it would have absolutely no patience for speed bumps. He slides into the passenger seat, trying not to fumble with his seatbelt, and you start the engine, pulling into the quiet streets with a calm, practised ease.

For a while, you drive in silence. Mingyu glances out the window, his thoughts tangled between the day's work and the surreal feeling of sitting in the same car as you.

"You're ... very driven," you break the quiet, your tone almost contemplative. "I don't often see people put in that kind of effort, especially so early on."

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Guess I just don’t want to let you down. Or, you know, be known as the guy who destroyed the Langham project.”

You finally smile, a small, genuine expression that feels like a rare peek beyond the wall, and leaves Mingyu feeling a little breathless. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

Mingyu hesitates, taken aback by the question. He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “I mean, yeah. I’ve always loved buildings. Ever since I was a kid, I’d spend hours sketching skyscrapers in my notebooks. It’s kind of a dream come true, being here. Getting to work on something this big.”

You listen, your eyes fixed on the road but your expression soft, focusing now somewhere beyond just his words.

"This job can consume you, if you let it," you say quietly, almost to yourself. "It's a rare thing to see someone bring genuine excitement to it. Most people, they burn out or let it harden them." You glance at him, and for a brief moment, he sees a flicker of something almost vulnerable in your gaze. "It's good that you still ... care."

Your words hang in the air, and Mingyu feels a strange ache in his chest - a sudden realisation that beneath the cool professionalism, you had been through this same path yourself, fighting to keep that spark alive in an industry that seems determined to grind it out of you.

"Thanks," he says softly, the playful tone absent for once. "I mean it. And ... I think I get what you mean." He hesitates, then adds, "But I don't think I'll stop caring anytime soon."

You nod, a faint smile ghosting your lips. You drive on through the city, the lights casting soft, shifting patterns on the glass.

When you finally reach his building, he unbuckles his seatbelt, giving you a small, grateful smile. “Thanks for the ride. And, you know… for everything else.”

You nod, your expression back to usual, but there's a warmth in your eyes now. "Goodnight, Mr Kim."

"Goodnight," he says, stepping out and closing the door gently. He watches as you drive away, the taillights disappearing down the street, and feels a strange mixture of inspiration and relief, and a hunger to get back in the car and learn anything else he can about you.

It's a week before his presentation, and Mingyu is thrilled about his latest proposal for the Lagham project - a sleek, eco-friendly rooftop space designed to collect rainwater, enhance natural cooling, and serve as a green oasis in the middle of the city for all visitors to access. It's his baby, his architectural pièce de résistance. He’s already named the design “Green Above” in his head, but, apparently, the client is less than convinced.

The hesitation comes during a routine check-in meeting, when Mr. Choi casually drops the news that the client has “concerns.” The term is as vague as it is ominous, and Mingyu’s heart sinks. Apparently, they’re worried it’s too “experimental,” too “risky” for the firm’s conservative image. Mingyu tries to hide his disappointment, nodding as Mr. Choi politely recommends that he “polish up his pitch” before the big day.

By “polish,” of course, he means pull a miracle out of thin air.

Enter: you.

Later that afternoon, you call him into your office, the door clicking shut behind him as you gesture for him to sit. He braces himself, ready for another dissection of his work, but instead, you surprise him by pulling out his sketches and nodding. "The client might be wary," you say, your tone clinical and level, "but there's a strong case for this. You just need to learn how to show them the vision." You pause, looking at him. "I'll help you with that."

Mingyu blinks. "You'll help me present?"

"Yes, Mr Kim," you say. "We'll work on this every evening until you're confident enough to convince a room full of sceptics. You'll have to be better than good. Exceptional."

And so, every evening for the next week, Mingyu stays late in the conference room, rehearsing his proposal with you. The first night, he stumbles through the trial run, mumbling about sustainable design, only to have you stop him after two minutes, unimpressed.

"Start over," you say, tapping your pen against the table. "And this time, stop burying the lead. Walk in there and make me believe it's the best thing I've ever heard."

You're relentless but patient, correcting him when he gets too caught up in technical jargon, showing him how to highlight the benefits rather than the process. "This is a story," you tell him one evening. "Show that what it feels like. Make them see the vision before you go into how it works."

Somewhere around the fourth late night, you sit back into your chair after another dry run, watching him with an intensity that makes him nearly forget his lines.

“Stop talking like you’re trying to convince them you’re good enough,” you say, "You are. You have to believe it, or no one else will."

Mingyu blinks, the words landing with unexpected weight. You say it like it's a fact - as if there's no question about his abilities, just his confidence. Something in your gaze is softer than he's ever seen, and for the first time, he wonders how many long nights like these you've spent not just perfecting your work, but holding yourself up to impossible standards too.

He nods, taking a breath. “Right. Believe it.”

By the night before the presentation, he’d rehearsed the pitch so many times he could recite it in his sleep. You give him one last nod, a subtle flicker of approval in your eyes. "You're ready."

The day of the meeting dawns, and Mingyu arrives early, the faint taste of nerves tingling in his throat. When he enters the boardroom, the client representatives are all seated, an assortment of tailored suits and sceptical expressions. Mr. Choi offers a nod of encouragement from his place at the head of the table, and you stand nearby, arms folded, watching him with that same quiet intensity.

As he begins his pitch, Mingyu can feel his initial nerves settle, his voice steady as he moves through each point. He doesn’t just talk about “Green Above” like an idea on paper; he paints it as a vision, something meant to make the city’s skyline greener, bolder, better. He gestures to the architectural mockups, describing the rooftop garden as not just a feature but a destination, an asset that would be both functional and iconic.

He can tell, halfway through, that the room has shifted. The clients sit forward, nodding, leaning into his words, their initial scepticism melting as he lays out the plan. The numbers, the materials, the maintenance — it’s all there, practical but wrapped in the bigger picture he’s been rehearsing for nights on end.

When he finishes, the room is silent for a beat before the client’s lead representative nods, visibly impressed. “It’s… ambitious,” he says, almost smiling. “But I see what you mean. Let’s move forward.”

Mingyu grins, fighting the urge to fist pump as the clients exchange approving glances. He looks over at you, who gives him the slightest nod of approval. He can almost see a glimmer of pride in your expression, faint but undeniable.

As the room empties and the clients file out, Mingyu's heart is still racing, his whole body humming with triumph. He turns to you, grinning wide. "We did it," he says, his voice barely containing his excitement. "I mean ... I did it. But only because you..."

He trails off, realising just how close you're standing, the quiet of the empty room settling around you. Your gaze meets his, and for a moment, you don't look away. It's a long, lingering look, like you're seeing him not just as an employee or an eager architect but as… him. Someone who cares, who tries, who’s just won his first major victory and feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “For all of it. I don’t think I could have pulled it off without you.”

You hesitate, your eyes flickering with something he can’t quite place. Your expression softens, your lips parting slightly as if your about to say something else. And in that moment, there’s a warmth between them, a shared understanding that words alone wouldn’t quite capture.

“Just… keep going,” you say finally, your voice so quiet it feels like a secret. “You’re more capable than you realize, Mingyu.”

The way you says his name — with that subtle, unfamiliar warmth — makes his heart skip. He nods, still holding your gaze, feeling the weight of everything you’ve shared in the past week in that single, electric second.

And then, as if the moment might disappear if you linger too long, you step back, your usual composure slipping back into place.

For the first time, Mingyu feels that maybe — just maybe — there’s more between them than late-night work sessions and professional boundaries. And as you walk side by side down the quiet hall, he can’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, you might be feeling it too.

Mingyu's gotten good at convincing himself he's not entirely losing it. So what if his boss, who barely blinks at a 15-hour day and thinks "weekends" are a suggestion, is suddenly occupying 90% of his mental bandwidth? That's just ... professional admiration. So when he finds himself thinking about you at odd times - like, mid-bite of his breakfast burrito, or what he's supposed to be learning zoning codes - he brushes it off. After all, it's normal to be totally absorbed by someone you admire.

One evening, after bringing home takeout and trying (again) to casually mention his most recent success, Wonwoo decides to drop a bomb. "I saw an article about your boss the other day, you know. Back when she first joined the firm. People in the comments kept talking about something called the Westbrook Project - ever heard of it?"

"Westbrook Project?" Mingyu repeats, a little too quickly, his brain scrambling. Nothing. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard the name before, but it’s his boss, so he’s probably supposed to know. After Wonwoo can't provide any more details, Mingyu does what any self-respecting architect does at 2 a.m. when faced with a mysterious professional tidbit: he Googles it. Expecting, like, a vague overview, maybe some old press releases. What he finds, though, are words like "abandoned," "budget issues," and, worst of all, "failure," with your name all over it. Ouch. Big, deep ouch.

The next day at work, Mingyu manages to strike up a casual conversation with the marketing guy who's practically the office encyclopedia. "Oh, the Westbrook Project?" he says with a knowing smirk. "I read the case files. It was supposed to be, like, revolutionary. Eco-forward, huge downtown build. A lot of drama when it got shut down. Man, Ms (Y/l/n) was obsessed with that thing. You've gotta respect someone who fights like that for their work." He laughs a little, but there's something almost pitying in his tone, like he doesn't quite know what to make of someone who has been through such a high-profile professional failure.

Mingyu's stomach drops as he realises that there's a whole side of you - this weight - he never saw before. He feels embarrassed for not knowing. But, maybe, it explains the way you hold yourself together, so careful with your words, so precise in every gesture. Because what happens when you give so much of yourself, and it still isn't enough?

Mingyu can't help but glance at you differently when you walk into the office. You're still the same, all business and poise, but there's a weight to you now that he hadn't noticed before. It's not his place to ask you about Westbrook, and he's not sure he could even bring it up without tripping over his own words.

So, Mingyu brings it up.

Not immediately, because he's not that much of a disaster. It's not the same day, or even the same week. It's one of those late nights when he's deep into pretending he's not panicking over math, and he's only going into your office to ask if you've seen the last-minute email from the client. 

Except. 

He sees the bottle of red on your desk.

It's sitting there, a little too casually, with half of it in a glass that's perched too close to your mouse. 

It's not that Mingyu thought you didn't drink. But seeing it there, on your desk, is like catching a glimpse of a teacher's pet outside of school. His brain starts spiralling. Are you getting drunk? Are you able to get drunk?

Still standing in the doorway like he's caught in some sort of personal disaster movie, Mingyu clears his throat. "Uh," he starts, because his brain is still stuck on you drinking alcohol in the office, "What's the deal with the wine?"

You glance up from your computer, completely unfazed. "Oh, this?" You wave a hand, almost like it’s nothing. “A gift from a client. They thought I needed something to ‘relax’ after all the late nights." You flash a teasing grin. "I didn’t think anyone else would be in the office this late, though."

Mingyu freezes again. Seeing a smile on your face is unnerving him. "Uh, well, yeah ... just ... I thought you were busy, y'know? I didn't want to disturb you," he stammers, as if that makes any sense. Of course you know he's here. He's always here. He's practically a fixture at this point.

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly not fooled. “Sure you didn’t. Anyway, now that you’re here," you say, looking at him with a glint of curiosity, "what’s been keeping you up lately? Besides zoning codes and whatever else you’ve been trying to memorise, that is."

Mingyu, caught completely off guard by the question, opens his mouth to respond, but his brain, still fighting the urge to melt into the floor, can't form a proper sentence. His gaze flicks back to the wine bottle like it holds all the answers to his life right now. Finally, he blurts out, "Uhh... I’ve been, uh, thinking about the Green Above project. You know, the one we’re working on?"

“Right,” you nod, leaning back in your chair. “Big, green rooftop. You’ve got your hands full with that one.” You take a sip from your glass, and Mingyu swears the way your lips wrap around the rim is completely unfair to his focus. “What else?”

Mingyu, not used to people asking him personal questions that aren’t about work or how he’s planning on saving the planet with his architectural genius, scratches the back of his neck. “Uh... I mean, well, I’ve been wondering about... you. I mean, your—" he pauses, shaking his head, "your work, of course. Like, how you got into all this. You’ve clearly been through a lot, right?”

You chuckle softly, eyes softening for a brief moment. "A lot? Yeah, I guess you could say that. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now, is it?" You lean forward. "What's really going on, Mingyu?"

Mingyu’s mind is officially in crisis mode. He could barely form a sentence when talking about wine, and now you’ve flipped the tables. What is he even supposed to say?

“I—uh, well, it’s just... I’m curious,” he mutters, struggling to sound casual. He bites his lip, then his curiosity gets the best of him. “Wait, can I ask about something?”

You lean back again, clearly amused. “Go ahead.”

He takes a breath and gestures to the cabinet rested against the back wall of your office. "That picture there .. of a building, I think? It kind of looks like the Westbrook Project. Was it yours?” He winces as soon as he asks, knowing full well how awkward this must sound. But now he really wants to know, and he’s not sure he can keep pretending he hasn’t been thinking about it.

You blink, clearly not expecting him to ask, but then you just sigh and open your desk drawer, revealing an old architectural sketch, detailed and bold, with a city skyline in the background. “Yeah,” you say, voice quieter now. “It was.”

Mingyu swallows hard, his voice dropping to a more respectful tone. “What happened to it? The project, I mean... why didn’t it go through?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you take another slow sip of your wine, letting the moment stretch out. When you finally speak, your voice is calm but laced with something unspoken. “It was a good idea, just... not the right time. But that’s how it goes sometimes in this field. Things get started, and then... they don’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, processing what you’ve shared. “I get that,” he says softly. “I think I’ve been there too. You know, not everything works out exactly the way you expect.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, there’s this quiet weight in your expression, something raw you don’t usually let slip. The smile fades, but it’s not replaced with sadness—more like... an understanding, an acceptance.

“The Westbrook Project was supposed to be everything I’ve worked for,” you begin, your voice softer now, like the walls are coming down just a little. “My goal has always been to help the community, to build things that people can actually enjoy, not just walk by and forget. I wanted something that would be a part of the city, something that people could use—a space that felt like it belonged to everyone.” You stop, looking at the picture in the drawer for a moment as if it’s not just a sketch, but a piece of your heart. "The Westbrook Project was supposed to be the culmination of all that. The perfect mix of green spaces, architecture, and public access. I wanted to create something people would look at and feel like they were part of it, you know? Not just bystanders."

You take another slow breath, running a hand through your hair, looking a bit less put-together than usual, but somehow even more... real. “I think that’s the hardest part. It wasn’t just a project to me—it was everything I believed in. And when it got shut down... it felt like a piece of that belief just... crumbled.” You shake your head, almost laughing at yourself. “I know it sounds dramatic, but when you spend so much of your time fighting for something, putting everything into it... and it still isn’t enough... it makes you wonder what the point is.”

Mingyu watches you closely with a strange mix of admiration and empathy. For a second, he’s struck with the urge to reach out and say something comforting, but all he can manage is a quiet, "That... sounds incredible. You must have been really proud of it."

You nod, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was. Still am, in a way. But life moves on, right?” You glance back at the bottle of wine, then take another sip, before setting it down and meeting Mingyu’s gaze again, this time with a lighter, almost teasing glint. "You want some?"

“Uh... yeah?” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement, as if he's still trying to make sure this is actually happening.

You pour him a glass, your movements slow and deliberate. Mingyu watches every little gesture, thinking that maybe if he looks at the wine long enough, it might just turn into something less dangerous. It doesn't.

He takes the glass from you, trying to act casual, but honestly? It's a miracle he doesn’t spill it everywhere. "Thanks," he mutters.

You smirk at him as if you know exactly what’s going on in his head, and for a moment, Mingyu wonders if you can hear it, too—the way his pulse skips whenever he looks at you. He takes a sip of the wine, hoping it will steady him. It doesn’t. It only makes him more aware of you, of the way your eyes glint in the dim light of the office, how close you’re sitting, how warm it feels in here all of a sudden.

“So,” you say, your voice dropping a little lower than before, “Now that we’ve gone through my failed projects, do you feel enlightened?”

Mingyu laughs, but it’s a little too breathless, a little too caught off guard. He leans back, trying to appear cool, but it’s hard to be anything but a mess when you’re so close and everything feels a little off in the best possible way. “Enlightened? I’m still figuring out if you’re real,” he admits, voice cracking just a bit.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze for a moment as his thoughts scatter in a dozen different directions. “It’s just ... you’re different than what I expected. I mean, you’re still, like, boss mode, but there’s this whole other side to you. Like, I don't know ... I think I’ve been seeing you as this untouchable, perfect person, and now I’m realising maybe I’m not the only one who’s human.”

You blink at him for a moment, and then—before he can get too embarrassed—something flickers across your face. Maybe it’s recognition. Maybe it’s something else. You lean in just slightly, the air between you thickening, but you don't break the distance just yet.

“I think,” you start slowly, “you might be onto something there, Mingyu.”

His breath hitches. He’s not sure if it’s the wine, the late hour, or the way your voice dropped that has him leaning forward a little. It’s all of it, really. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, lips curling into a knowing smile. “You might find I’m not so untouchable, after all. But—” You pause, the tension rising as your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his eyes. “We’ll see if you can handle the reality of that.”

Mingyu’s mind is going full tilt now, brain in overdrive, as his hand involuntarily moves closer to yours on the desk. He's this close to spilling all his thoughts and feelings—about work, about the project, about the way you make him feel—but instead, he blurts out, “I—uh, I’m pretty good with challenges.”

The words hang there, thick in the air between you. And then, before Mingyu can think any more about it, you break the tension—just slightly—by leaning even closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure you are.”

The space between you shrinks, just a little. And Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest, finds himself absolutely certain that if things don’t shift soon, this office might just catch fire from how hot it’s gotten in the last few minutes. The tension in the air is thick, like static before a storm. Mingyu’s hand hovers just a fraction too close to yours on the desk, his heart a jackhammer in his chest. He’s this close to losing all control, caught between wanting to say the right thing and just leaning in and kissing you. But what would that even mean? Would it be the worst decision of his life? Or the best?

His thoughts are a mess, but then—just like that—it’s like you’ve made up your mind for him. You close the space between you with a single, deliberate movement, your lips pressing softly against his.

Mingyu freezes for half a second, too stunned to process what’s happening. And then, without even thinking, he leans into the kiss, his hand moving to cup your jaw. It’s slow at first, soft, like neither of you can quite believe this is actually happening. Your lips are warm, and the taste of wine lingers on them—something sweet and intoxicating that has his head spinning.

You pull back just slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, and he feels his pulse race. You look at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You're not regretting this, are you?" you murmur, voice low.

“No,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “Definitely not regretting this.”

And then you’re kissing him again, deeper this time, your hands moving to his collar as if you’re suddenly both starved for this closeness. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and all he can think about is how right this feels, how every inch of him seems to have been made for this exact moment.

The kiss grows more urgent, more heated. His body presses into yours, the desk suddenly feeling too small, too far away. He wants you closer, needs you closer, and the way you move against him makes him ache with desire. He’s so lost in you, in this kiss, that everything else fades away—the Westbrook Project, work deadlines, the office. There’s only you, only this.

You're mumbling something and Mingyu's not sure he has the brain capacity to listen when he can feel your hands on his chest and your body pressed against his.

"... couldn't believe it when I saw you. I mean, who looks like this?"

His brain practically short-circuits at that. 

You’re grinning now, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. But before he can manage a reply, you reach up, your hand grazing the back of his neck as you lean in again. His breath catches in his throat, and suddenly his brain clears—just long enough for him to close the remaining distance between you two.

The kiss this time is less hesitant, filled with a kind of urgency that makes the room feel smaller, more intense. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you against him, and he feels your fingers twisting in his hair as if you can’t get enough either. Every brush of your lips sends another jolt through him, and he’s quickly losing any sense of professionalism or reason. He’s just Mingyu, in this moment, in this office, completely undone by you.

You’re mumbling again, half-laughing as he trails his lips down to the corner of your mouth and just slightly to your jawline. “I mean, really,” you manage between kisses, breathy but amused. “Did you even realise the effect you have?”

He lets out a breath of laughter against your skin, half a smirk forming. “I—I mean, maybe,” he says, but the words come out more as a gasp because you’ve got your hands back on him, your fingers trailing along his jaw in a way that has him melting. “I might have... kinda hoped, at least?”

“Oh?” Your voice is soft, teasing, and he catches a flash of that mischievous smile just before you lean in again, catching him in another kiss that’s more intense, more consuming than before.

Mingyu’s senses are a blur, but he manages to break away for just a second, eyes dark, a grin of his own tugging at his lips. “I think,” he says, his voice low, “I’d like to show you just how much I can handle.” His tone is playful but edged with a confidence he didn’t know he had until this very moment.

The moment is thick, like honey, everything moving slower and faster at once. Mingyu’s hands slip around your waist, and you’re tugging him closer, a little breathless, a little reckless. You’re both lost in the feeling of it, the thrill and warmth that seemed impossible just minutes ago.

But then—a sharp vibration echoes against the desk. The hum of your phone springs to life, startling you both. The screen lights up with an urgent notification, reminding you exactly where you are and what you’re doing.

You pull back, your lips just a whisper away from his, and a flicker of reality cuts through the haze of the moment. “Oh—” Your hands drop from his collar, fingertips brushing his chest as if the memory of the touch will fade otherwise. “Mingyu, I...”

His eyes meet yours, still dark and soft, a little dazed, a little too hopeful. But he pulls himself together, straightening and running a hand through his hair, somehow flustered and grinning at the same time. “Uh, right. Sorry,” he says, though it’s not clear who he’s apologising to.

You swallow, nodding as you try to steady yourself. “I—need to go,” you manage. “We both do, actually. It’s...late.”

Mingyu blinks, nodding, though he can't help the hint of disappointment beneath his expression. “Right. Of course. We probably... shouldn’t even be here right now.” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as if that could somehow erase the last few minutes. “Guess I should close up?”

You nod, and he watches your hand move to your chest, as if to catch your pulse before it runs off. “Yeah, let’s...do that.”

As you step out of the office, you glance back one last time, catching his eye in the dim light. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

His gaze is steady, his voice warm. “Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mingyu stands there, staring at it as if it might magically swing back open. For a moment, he doesn’t move, too stunned to process the fact that you were just here, inches away, closer than he ever thought possible, and then—gone. The warmth of you, the softness of your touch, is still buzzing on his skin, and it’s taking everything in him to not replay every single second in his mind.

He lets out a shaky breath and rubs his face, laughing softly to himself. “Wow,” he mutters, barely believing it. Did that really just happen? His boss—the woman he’s spent months trying not to have a full-on crisis over every time she looks at him—just kissed him. And it wasn’t just a peck; it was real, and his head is still spinning.

He paces the office, catching his reflection in the dark window. His hair’s a mess, his shirt collar a little crumpled, and the look on his face is somewhere between ecstatic and completely lost. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff—excited but terrified, staring down into something he can’t quite see.

“Okay, pull it together, man,” he whispers, clutching the edge of his desk like it might hold him steady. But he can’t shake the lingering feeling of your hands against him, the way your voice softened as you spoke to him about your dreams, how for a moment, he felt like he’d glimpsed something real and vulnerable and human in you. It’s like he’s been handed the answer to a riddle he didn’t even know he was solving.

He glances back at the empty doorway and smiles, a little helplessly. Because he knows—there’s no going back from this.

On Monday, Mingyu is ready. He's had days to replay every single second of that kiss, dissecting the tiniest details: the way you'd smiled before leaning in, the way you'd pulled back just a bit only to close the gap even tighter the next time. He’s convinced there’s no way you could look at him the same after that. He’s barely looked at himself the same.

So when he walks into the office Monday morning, there's this nervous excitement buzzing in his chest. He expects maybe a shared look or even a subtle nod, something that says 'yeah, we're definitely not forgetting that happened'. But he doesn't get that. In fact, he doesn't get much of anything.

“Uh, good morning,” he finally says, attempting a smile, hoping to break whatever tension he’s imagining.

“Morning,” you say briskly, barely looking up. “Did you get the updated renderings for the Green Above project?”

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard by how quickly you’ve brushed him off. “Yeah, I—um, they should be in your inbox. I, uh, made some adjustments you might want to look at.”

“Great. I’ll check later,” you say, curtly, already turning back to your computer. It’s not even like you’re being rude, exactly; just… distant. Professional. Totally not how you’d looked at him last week when he’d practically melted into you against this very desk.

The day drags on with more of the same. Every time he tries to catch your eye, you’re looking somewhere else. Every attempt at a lighthearted comment, something to bridge the gap, lands with a dull thud. By mid-afternoon, Mingyu’s just staring at his computer screen, feeling completely lost. Did he imagine everything? Because suddenly, it feels like he’s reading way too much into every little thing, wondering if the smile you’d given him that night was all in his head.

By the end of the day, he can’t take it anymore. He decides to be subtle—or something like that—and casually leans into your office as you’re gathering your things.

“Hey, um… are we good?” He tries to keep his voice light, but there’s an edge of worry there that he can’t quite hide. “It feels like—well, last week was—”

You glance up sharply, your expression guarded. “We’re fine, Mingyu,” you say, with a tone that’s just a little too even. “You’re doing great on the project. Keep up the good work.”

There’s that polished professional mask again, and this time it feels like a wall. Mingyu’s stomach twists, and he can’t help but feel a sting in his chest. He nods, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in. "Right. Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that up.”

And just like that, you walk past him, your footsteps echoing down the hallway as you head out for the night, leaving him standing there, staring after you, wondering what just went wrong.

It’s Thursday, and Mingyu’s still thinking about every clipped interaction you’ve had all week. He’s convinced he’s somehow messed everything up, but he’s not sure how. By lunchtime, he’s already halfway through a takeout sandwich in the break room when some of the other junior architects drift in, plates and coffees in hand. He’s only half-listening to their conversation, until, like a magnet, he hears your name.

“Did you see how she restructured the timeline?” One of them—Hyun, a friend from Mingyu’s first week—says, rolling his eyes. “Feels like she’s trying to prove something to everyone.”

Another snorts. “Yeah, she’s always like that. Like she has to make everything harder just to remind us she’s the boss.”

Mingyu freezes mid-bite, a flicker of irritation flaring in his chest. He’d learned more from working with you in the past few months than he could’ve in years of grad school. You didn’t ask anyone to work harder than you did yourself, and Mingyu’s certain no one stays later or puts in more effort than you do.

“Maybe she just actually cares about the projects,” Mingyu snaps, dropping his sandwich. The room goes a bit quiet, a few heads turning his way in surprise. “I mean, do you guys know how much time she’s spent on this? She’s doing half of our jobs for us so we don’t mess it up.”

Hyun raises an eyebrow. "Calm down, Mingyu. Everyone knows she's intense."

“‘Intense’ doesn’t mean you have to talk about her like that,” Mingyu says, his voice a bit sharper than he means it to be. “Maybe if people here actually appreciated all the work she does, she wouldn’t have to be so ‘intense’ to get things done.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence, everyone looking at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Hyun mutters, "That's easy to say when you're the one getting special favours from her."

Mingyu's jaw clenches, the insinuation making his blood boil.  Special favours? He opens his mouth to snap back, but then catches himself. Getting defensive will only make things worse, and he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for the late nights or the extra hours you’ve spent on his work. The truth is, he’s learned more from those “extra” moments than he could ever explain to Hyun and the others.

“Look,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “If you guys actually put in half the effort she does, you’d see it’s not about favourites. It’s about getting things right. Maybe if you tried it sometime, you’d get the same attention.”

Hyun snorts, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Must be nice, though, always getting her undivided attention. Pretty convenient, huh?”

The others chuckle, and Mingyu feels his face flush. He glances down, jaw set tight as he clenches his fists under the table. He can feel the weight of their stares and half-smirks, their words pressing in on him like a slow burn he can’t shake off.

The door swings open just then, and he catches sight of you standing there, eyes narrowed, a faint frown on your face. His heart drops, and suddenly he realizes you must have heard—possibly all of it.

“Can I talk to you for a second, Mingyu?” Your tone is measured, calm, but he can tell there’s something icy underneath. The others exchange looks, clearly ready to gossip the second you both leave.

Mingyu follows you out of the room, feeling a sense of dread settle in his stomach. As soon as you’re out of earshot, you turn to him, arms crossed.

“So is that how you’re spending your lunch breaks now?” you ask, a cool edge to your voice. “Defending me in the office cafeteria?”

Mingyu swallows, unsure how to respond. “I just… didn’t think they should be talking about you like that,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, even though he can feel the intensity of your gaze. “It wasn’t right.”

You sigh, pressing your lips together, something almost unreadable flickering across your face. “I don’t need you to defend me, Mingyu,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to handle what people say behind my back. You’re here to do your job, not to play protector.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenches. He wants to argue, to tell you that maybe you don’t need anyone’s help, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be dragged through the mud behind your back. But something in your expression stops him. He nods, swallowing back whatever words were fighting their way to the surface. “Got it,” he says, keeping his voice as even as possible. “It won’t happen again.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to say more, but then you just shake your head, walking away with a tense set to your shoulders. He watches you go, the frustration and confusion still churning inside him, wondering just how much further away you both seem to get with every step.

Later that evening, Mingyu slumps into the apartment, looking so defeated that Wonwoo’s expression goes from mildly bored to instantly entertained. “Let me guess. It’s about your boss?” Wonwoo doesn’t even wait for confirmation before tossing him a soda. “You’re like a walking rom-com.”

Mingyu sighs, collapsing on the couch. “Wonwoo, I think she hates me. I mean, really hates me.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you two were practically having candlelit takeout dinners in her office.”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, deflating. “Yeah, well, that was before I kissed her.”

Wonwoo’s phone slides out of his hand, falling onto the couch like a lead balloon. “You what?”

Mingyu nods slowly, a rueful look on his face. “We were working late. It just—happened, okay? And now she’s all distant. Like, avoid me at all costs distant.”

“You kissed your boss?” Wonwoo repeats, still processing. He’s looking at Mingyu like he’s a particularly unsolvable math problem. “As in, the one you worship and whose entire life story you’ve googled?”

“Yes, that one,” Mingyu mutters, covering his face with his hands. “And it was incredible. Like, the kind of kiss that makes you think about life and all your choices and, you know… stuff.” He trails off, his voice a bit dreamy despite himself. “But then, after that, she started acting all cold, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Wonwoo stares at him, baffled. “Did you, uh, talk to her about it? You know, use words and stuff?”

Mingyu gives him a look. “Of course I tried talking to her. But she’s been all serious and professional and—ugh.” He sinks deeper into the couch. “And today, I may or may not have defended her in front of everyone. Like, really aggressively.”

Wonwoo groans. “You really know how to complicate things, don’t you?”

“Look, it just came out! They were acting like she’s some kind of boss robot or something. I just couldn’t listen to it.” Mingyu shakes his head. “And of course, she overheard it and was not happy. Told me she doesn’t need someone to protect her.”

Wonwoo considers this, eyebrows furrowed. “So basically, you kissed her, defended her honour, and now you think you ruined everything because she’s distant?”

“Exactly,” Mingyu sighs. “I feel like I messed it all up, and now she thinks I’m just some junior architect with a crush or something.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I mean, to be fair, you kind of are a junior architect with a crush.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo. Really needed that.” Mingyu glares at him, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Wonwoo nudges him, his tone a little lighter now. “Look, man, maybe she just needs to know it was more than a one-time, late-night thing for you. Like, a serious talk. But not at the office, where everything’s so formal. Just the two of you.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up. “A serious talk… outside of work. Like, maybe over coffee?”

“Or dinner. Or anything where you can show her that you’re interested in more than work. Just, you know, don’t do that thing where you panic and say something weird.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically. “So, no pressure.”

Wonwoo grins, giving him a slap on the back. “You’ve got this, Romeo. Go win her over.”

Mingyu stands in front of your office door, hands nervously tugging at his sleeves like he's preparing for a public execution. He’s been rehearsing this moment for the last twenty minutes—while staring at his desk like it could offer him some sort of guidance—and he still has no idea what he’s doing. He only knows that if he doesn't get his foot in the door right now, he's going to spend the rest of the day overthinking this until his brain short circuits.

So, he knocks.

And of course, you don’t answer immediately. He stands there like a complete idiot, holding his breath for about five seconds before taking the most awkward step inside. Your eyes flick up to him, and for a second, he’s sure his heart is going to stop.

“Oh. Mingyu.” You sound surprised. Great. That’s just what he needed. "What do you need?"

He smiles, too big, too eager. This is fine. “Hey! So, um, I was thinking—”

“Uh oh,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes as if you already know where this is going.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says quickly, forcing himself to sound more convincing than he feels. “I just, you know… you’ve been working super hard, and I was thinking, you deserve a break. So, what do you say? Dinner? You and me, tonight.”

You blink at him like he just asked if you wanted to run through the streets naked.

“Dinner? With you?” You tilt your head, looking him up and down, clearly trying to figure out if he’s joking or if his brain’s just melted from exhaustion.

"Yup!" Mingyu says, definitely a little too loud and way too enthusiastic. “Yeah, just dinner. No work talk, no presentations, just a chance to unwind, you know?” He grins like he's already won, but there’s something in your gaze that makes him freeze up.

You raise an eyebrow, studying him carefully. The air between you two is thick with that awkward tension, like you’re both trying to figure out if this is a professional gesture or something else entirely. Mingyu can feel the temperature in the room rise, and his stomach does a somersault as he waits for you to respond.

“Are you… serious right now?” You finally ask, your tone a mix of confusion and cautious curiosity.

Mingyu’s heart stutters in his chest. “Of course, I’m serious,” he says quickly, voice cracking slightly as his nerves get the best of him. “I mean, it’s not like—uh, it’s not like I want anything weird to happen. It’s just dinner. With two people who both happen to work in the same office. Completely normal, right?” He laughs a little too loudly, and it sounds forced, like someone desperately trying to convince themselves of something they don’t believe.

You’re silent for a moment, and Mingyu’s brain spins with overthinking. Should he apologise? Should he leave before this gets even more awkward? Why did he even think this was a good idea? His palms are sweating, his throat dry, and he feels like he might pass out from sheer mortification.

You lean back in your chair, still watching him, and for a second, Mingyu is sure you’re about to shut him down completely. But then, something shifts in your expression—just the faintest flicker of amusement, like you’re trying not to let it show.

“Dinner,” you repeat, almost like you’re testing the word, as though it’s foreign or absurd coming from him. “No work talk?”

“No work talk,” Mingyu confirms, nodding so hard he might give himself whiplash. “I promise. Just good food and maybe a chance to, you know, talk about literally anything else.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smirks, and Mingyu swears the room feels a little less tense. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

He grins, a spark of hope lighting up his chest. “I like to think of it as... enthusiastic.”

You shake your head, clearly amused now, though you’re doing your best to hide it. “Fine,” you say, leaning forward to jot something on a sticky note. “Dinner."

Mingyu’s heart leaps, and he barely resists the urge to fist pump right there in your office. “Deal!” he says, grinning so wide it’s a wonder his face doesn’t hurt. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven,” you agree, handing him the sticky note with an address scribbled on it. “Don’t be late, Mingyu.”

He takes the note like it’s a golden ticket, clutching it in his hand as if it might disappear. “I won’t. I’ll see you there.”

As he walks out of your office, he can’t help the goofy smile plastered across his face.

By the time the evening rolls around, Mingyu is pacing outside the restaurant like a man on the edge. He’s checked his watch twice, his phone four times, and stared at the sidewalk so long he’s convinced it’s going to start judging him soon. Late. You're late. Or maybe he’s just early. Impossible to say when your nerves feel like they’re hosting a small rave in your chest.

After all, there’s something about you that makes him want to try harder. Maybe too hard, but he’s finally learned that no one gets anywhere by waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. So, here he is, standing outside the restaurant, pacing like a nervous wreck while waiting for you to arrive.

He’s tried to stay calm, really. Spent the entire afternoon mentally drafting this… whatever this dinner is supposed to be. Not a date (probably). Not a work meeting (definitely). Just dinner. Dinner with the one person who’s managed to turn him into a bundle of energy and chaos masquerading as a fully functional adult.

And then, right as he’s about to dial his mom and ask for advice (because that’s clearly what any reasonable person would do), he sees you.

You walk up with that confident stride, the one that always makes his heart skip a beat, and Mingyu feels himself freeze for a moment, completely forgetting everything he’s planned to say. You've changed and you look good. Too good for a casual dinner, but that’s a problem for another time.

“Hey,” you greet him with a smile, your eyes soft, but not quite soft enough for him to completely relax. “I didn’t expect you to actually show up on time.”

Mingyu laughs, awkwardly tugging at his shirt. “I like to be punctual. It’s kind of a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment on the obvious lie, allowing the small banter to settle between you like a cushion. Instead, you let him open the restaurant door for you, falling into that casual rhythm that somehow feels more natural than the air he’s been breathing all day.

The dinner itself is nice. Too nice. No weird silences, no work talk, just good food and easy conversation. And yet, there’s a weight in the room that Mingyu can’t shake. It’s been lingering ever since the kiss—the kiss—and he knows he can’t keep tiptoeing around it forever. So as the plates are cleared and the server drops off the check, he reaches into his bag, pulling out the rolled-up plans he’s been carrying like a talisman.

He sets them on the table, his hands a little too careful, his heart racing like it’s bracing for impact.

“Okay, now you’re being mysterious,” you say, the smallest hint of amusement curling your lips.

Mingyu’s throat goes dry, but he pushes forward, unrolling the designs and smoothing them out between the two of you. “I know I said no work talk,” he starts, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, “but… I’ve been working on this. And I thought you should see it.”

Your eyes drop to the papers, and he watches as your expression shifts. At first, there’s curiosity, then recognition, and finally… something deeper. Something he can’t quite name but feels in the way your fingers tremble slightly as they trace the edges of the designs with a reverence he didn’t know he could envy. Your fingers are delicate but deliberate, the way you touch the plans like they might vanish under too much pressure. Mingyu’s heart is pounding so loudly he's surprised you can’t hear it across the table.

“Where did you get these?” Your voice comes out hoarse, more vulnerable than you mean it to be.

“I’ve been working on them for a while,” Mingyu admits, leaning forward, his hands clasped on the table. “After you talked about the Westbrook Project that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how much it mattered to you. I wanted to do something with it. Something for you.”

You blink, unsure how to process this. “But how did you know?”

“I just—” Mingyu hesitates, then shrugs. “I listened. I saw it. The way you talked about it that night, the passion you put into your projects. I wanted to give it the respect it deserves. I couldn’t let it just end with a ‘no’.”

You stare at the designs again, looking like you've been hit by a wave of nostalgia and shock. "You really... did this for me?”

“I did,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “And I think it could be something we could do together. If you’re interested.”

You pause, the space between you thick with emotion, something unspoken hanging in the air. Finally, you swallow and look at him, searching his face as if trying to make sure this is real.

“I... I don’t know what to say, Mingyu.” Your voice cracks, and you can’t quite hide the emotion that’s flooding through you. “You’ve—this is everything I’ve been trying to do. But I didn’t think anyone else could see it.”

He sits up straighter, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he tries to keep his voice steady. "I just didn't want you to let go of something so important," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "It deserves another chance. You deserve another chance."

He doesn't know where he finds the courage to say those words. They sound so earnest. Almost embarrassingly so. But, it's the truth, and if there's one thing he's learned from you, it's that honesty - no matter how uncomfortable - is the foundation of anything worth building.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the restaurant fades away—the low hum of conversation, the soft clink of silverware, all of it. It's just you and Mingyu, sitting across from each other, separated by a stack of papers and an ocean of unspoken feelings.

"Mingyu..." You start, but the words get caught in your throat.

You look down, the faintest hint of a tremble in your hands. And Mingyu, who had been prepared for you to shut him down, to dismiss this moment as anything but professional, has to fight the urge to reach across the table and take your hand. He doesn't, of course. He can't. Not yet.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. He's not used to this - seeing you so vulnerable - and he just wants to take some of that pressure off your back. "Look, I know I’m not perfect. I mess up, I talk too much, and I probably drive you crazy most of the time. But I see you, (Y/n). I see how much you care, how much you put into everything you do. And I don’t just admire that—I... I want to be part of it. To be there for you."

Your lips part in surprise. "I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice trembling slightly. "I’ve spent so long trying to keep everything together. To keep people at a distance. And now—"

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," Mingyu says softly, sensing the spiral of doubt you appear to be descending into.  "We can take it slow. One step at a time. I just... I needed you to know how I feel."

For a long moment, you don’t move. But then, slowly, you let your hand inch toward his, your fingertips brushing against his palm.

It’s small. Tentative. But it’s enough.

Mingyu barely breathes as your fingers brush his. It’s such a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt straight through him, grounding him in this moment that feels impossibly fragile. He wraps his hand gently around yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. It’s all he can do to keep himself steady when every nerve in his body is screaming at him to close the distance completely.

You don’t pull away, and that feels like a victory in itself. But when you look up at him again, your eyes are brimming with something he can’t quite name—fear, maybe, or hesitation—but also something softer, warmer, that gives him just enough hope to hold on.

“Mingyu,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance down at your joined hands, your brows furrowing slightly as though you’re gathering the courage to say something that’s been weighing on you. “After the kiss... I didn't know what to do.”

His heart skips a beat at the mention of it, the memory still fresh in his mind—the way your lips had felt against his, the way the world had seemed to tilt on its axis for just a moment. He doesn’t say anything, though, afraid that if he interrupts, you’ll stop.

“I started acting cold because...” You take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “Because I didn’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Mingyu blinks, his chest tightening at your words. “Me?” His voice is soft, cautious. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he needs to understand.

You nod, your gaze flickering back to his, vulnerable but resolute. “You scare me, Mingyu. Not in a bad way, but... in a way I’ve never felt before. You’re so open, so sincere. You make everything seem so easy, like it’s natural to just—feel. And for me, that’s... terrifying.”

He watches you, his heart breaking a little with every word. He wants to say something, to tell you that you don’t have to be scared, but he knows this isn’t the time. He needs to let you finish.

“I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It’s just easier that way. I don’t get hurt, and I don’t hurt anyone else. But then you came along, with your ridiculous optimism and your... your kindness, and suddenly I didn’t know how to keep you out. And that kiss—it made me realise I can’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say to match the weight of what you’re giving him. So he squeezes your hand, letting his touch say what his words can’t.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you continue, your voice soft but unsteady. “But I thought if I could convince myself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if it all fell apart.”

Mingyu shakes his head slowly, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’m not going anywhere."

You look at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, maybe, or proof that he’s not just saying what he thinks you want to hear. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, because your shoulders relax just a fraction, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you repeat, your voice barely audible. “But I think... I think I want to try.”

And that’s it. That’s all Mingyu needs. His chest swells with something that feels suspiciously like hope, and he leans in just enough. "I don't need perfect. I just need you, the way you are, right here, right now."

For a moment, there’s silence. Not the awkward kind—the kind where the world feels like it’s holding its breath just for you. Mingyu’s words hang in the air, his thumb still brushing over your knuckles, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he stops. His heart is doing that thing again, where it feels way too big for his chest, and honestly, he’s not sure if that’s romantic or just a pending medical emergency.

You glance down, exhaling softly, and then look back up at him with that small, tentative smile that could single-handedly knock him off his chair. “Do you...” You pause, biting your lip like you’re still deciding if this is a terrible idea or just a regular bad one. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?”

Mingyu’s brain short-circuits.

Like, fully shuts down. There’s no reboot happening here. Just static, a faint buzzing sound, and a very unfortunate replay of every romantic comedy scene he’s ever watched where the male lead trips over his own words and ruins everything.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Great. Perfect. Ideal response.

“Mingyu?” you ask, your tone softer now, like you’re worried you might’ve just set his brain on fire.

“I—uh—yes? I mean, yes!” He blurts it out, too loud, and the couple at the next table glance over like they’re wondering if he’s okay. He’s not, but that’s beside the point.

You laugh, and the sound feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “You’re sure?” you ask, your tone teasing but warm.

“Absolutely,” he says, sitting up straighter, like he’s about to sign an unbreakable contract. “I am very sure. Extremely sure. Couldn’t be more sure.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his spiral. “Okay, then.”

You stand, and Mingyu scrambles to follow, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. Smooth. So smooth. He rushes to grab his coat, fumbling with the sleeve as he tries to put it on without dislocating a shoulder. When he finally gets it together and turns back to you, you’re just standing there, watching him with an amused smile.

“You good?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Good?” Mingyu repeats, laughing nervously. “Yeah, I’m great. Amazing. Let’s, uh, go.”

He follows you out of the restaurant, trying to act like a normal, functional human being. Except his palms are sweating, his heart is racing, and he’s pretty sure he almost tripped on absolutely nothing as you walked to the curb. When you glance back at him, your expression softens, and suddenly, it feels like the world’s gone quiet again.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cutting through the chaos in his head. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous,” Mingyu lies, his grin wide and unconvincing. “This is just how I always look when I’m—uh—happy.”

You laugh again, shaking your head, and link your arm with his, pulling him gently along. “Come on, let’s go before you combust.”

The walk to your apartment is a blur for Mingyu. His brain is bouncing between, Wow, I can't believe this is happening and What am I supposed to do when we get there? Sit? Stand? Compliment her interior design choices? He's overthinking so hard he barely notices when you nudge him gently and gesture toward the building in front of you.

“This is me,” you say, your voice calm, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips like you know exactly how fried his brain is right now.

“Cool,” Mingyu replies, because apparently that’s the only word left in his vocabulary. Cool. Not “nice place” or “wow, it suits you,” just cool. He could punch himself, but then you’re already unlocking the door, and the reality of the moment hits him like a freight train.

The inside of your apartment is warm. Not literally warm—though the temperature is pleasant—but warm in the way it feels lived-in and completely, unmistakably you. It’s smaller than he imagined, but cozy, like every piece of furniture and every object has been chosen for a reason. There’s a soft throw blanket draped over the arm of your couch, a mug on the coffee table with a faint ring from earlier that day, and a half-finished book on the shelf that he knows he’s seen you reading during breaks.

Mingyu steps inside, toeing off his shoes at the door because it feels like the kind of place where shoes on indoors would be a crime. “Your apartment is really nice,” he says, his voice a little too high-pitched because he’s still desperately trying not to think about why he’s here.

“It suits you,” Mingyu says before he can stop himself, the words slipping out too soft, too sincere. When you glance at him, your cheeks warm, he knows he’s said the right thing.

“Thanks,” you murmur, ducking your head slightly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

You disappear into the kitchen, and Mingyu is left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to spiral. This is fine. Totally normal. Just two people hanging out in a perfectly platonic and definitely not emotionally loaded way. Except it’s not fine, and his brain is racing faster than he can catch up.

He sits down on the couch, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he looks around again. It’s impossible not to take everything in, to let the space tell him little things about you he didn’t know before. Like how there’s a stack of notebooks on the side table, their covers worn like they’ve been flipped through a thousand times. Or how there’s a candle sitting on the shelf labelled something ridiculous like “Cinnamon Forest Dreams,” and now all he can think about is you lighting it during one of your late-night brainstorming sessions.

When you come back, two glasses of water in hand (because you’re practical like that, of course), Mingyu straightens up, his heart pounding in his chest. You sit down beside him, closer than he expected but not close enough to touch, and he’s suddenly very aware of how small the couch feels.

“So,” you say, handing him a glass, your voice light but your eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness. “What do you think?”

“Of the apartment?” Mingyu asks, taking a sip of water because it’s something to do with his hands. “I think it’s great. Like... really great. It’s very... you.”

You raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s the compliment,” he replies, his grin a little sheepish. “It’s perfect. Just like—” He cuts himself off, his cheeks flushing as he looks down at his glass. Don’t say it. Don’t overdo it.

But you’re looking at him now, your expression softening. “Just like what?”

Mingyu swallows hard, his brain screaming at him to play it cool. “Just like I imagined,” he finally says, his voice quiet but steady. “Like... a space that feels like you.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s completely ruined everything. But then you smile—really smile—and his chest feels like it might explode.

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you say, your voice soft, almost shy. “That means a lot.”

He smiles back, trying to ignore the way his heart is doing somersaults. This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing to freak out about. But then your knee bumps against his, and suddenly, he’s not so sure.

Mingyu swallows. A cough almost escapes his throat, but he manages to catch it, instead clearing his throat like he's trying to shake off the sudden, very real butterflies in his stomach.

You, on the other hand, seem perfectly at ease, sipping your water, your eyes not quite meeting his, but still playful, still warm. Your knee stays lightly resting against his.

He looks at you, his mind racing, and wonders if maybe this is one of those moments where he should just say it. Say what’s been sitting heavy on his mind, almost screaming to come out ever since that night—the kiss, the awkwardness, the moments of quiet when he almost wished he could reach out and grab the truth like it was some kind of lifeline.

“Y'know," he begins, his voice coming out a little more nervously than he meant, "I’ve spent most of my life messing up in the most spectacular ways possible. I don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to making things right."

You tilt your head at him, a playful smile on your lips, but your gaze is intense in a way that makes his breath catch. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Mingyu,” you say, your tone teasing, but there’s something beneath it—a quiet, steady assurance that has him clinging to every word.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, his hand tightening slightly around his glass. “Like, when it comes to this—" He gestures vaguely between the two of you, "I’m completely out of my depth. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He bites his lip, willing himself not to spill everything at once. “But, I think… I think I really want to try. With you.”

The silence that follows is thick. Mingyu mentally runs through every scenario, and none of them seem to be as perfectly awkward and fragile as this one. He starts to second-guess himself, but before he can say something stupid to cover it all up, you do something that catches him completely off-guard.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his again, but this time, there’s no hesitation in the way you move. Your hand reaches out, fingers gently resting on his forearm, warm and soft. He can feel your pulse, steady and strong, as if somehow in this small gesture, you’re grounding him.

“Mingyu,” you say quietly, and he’s not sure if it’s his name or the way you say it that knocks all the air out of him. “I’m not asking for perfection. I don’t even know what that looks like.”

Mingyu’s breath hitches as he watches you, his heart skipping a beat at the honesty in your eyes. It feels like you're both on the edge of something, teetering between what is and what could be, and yet all Mingyu can think about in this moment is how simple it is to be here with you—how uncomplicated it feels to just let go.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” you continue, your voice soft but clear. “But I want to find out. With you."

It’s then that Mingyu realizes how quiet it’s gotten, how still the air is around the two of you. The world outside your apartment could be spinning at a hundred miles per hour, and in this small space, with your hand on his arm, time feels like it’s standing still.

You’re sitting so close now. The space between you is smaller than the gap in his thoughts. His hand, which had been fidgeting with the glass of water, starts to move on its own. He places it gently on the cushion beside you, just a few inches from your own. His palm is open, but he waits.

And then—he takes a breath.

"Can I?" he asks, voice low, almost a whisper, as though he's afraid you'll pull away, as though he's asking permission for something he should have done a hundred times before.

Your eyes lock with his. They're soft, vulnerable, like you're weighing his words against everything that's happened before. For a moment, the world feels like it’s paused, like there’s no room for doubts or what-ifs. There’s just you and him, and something that’s undeniable between you.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you let your gaze drift to his lips, and then, almost imperceptibly, you lean in.

Mingyu doesn’t wait for a second invitation. His hand slides from the couch to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your cheek as he moves closer. He feels the heat radiating off you, and his breath catches when your lips are just a breath away.

And then, before he can even think, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It’s nothing like the first kiss. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the sensation of everything falling into place. The kiss is slow, tender, almost like he’s savouring it, wanting to memorise the moment because, for once, it feels like everything is exactly how it should be.

Your lips move against his in a quiet, unspoken rhythm, and he feels the tension that had been building between the two of you melt away. He’s no longer nervous, no longer afraid of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. He just wants to be here with you—now, in this perfect moment.

When you pull away, it’s not with distance, but with the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips, your eyes full of something that makes Mingyu's chest tighten. Your breath is still coming fast, like you’re just as shaken as he is.

He doesn’t say anything at first. There’s no need. His heart is still racing, but now, he’s not afraid of what comes next. He feels like he’s finally stepped into something real, something that might not be easy but is worth every bit of effort.

"I think..." he starts, his voice a little hushed, "I really wanted to do that again."

You laugh softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you tilt your head just enough for your forehead to rest against his. "Yeah?" you murmur, your fingers gently tracing the outline of his jaw. "Well, I'm glad you did."

Mingyu can't help but smile, his hand, still resting gently on your waist, pulls you just a little closer, as if to remind himself that this is real. That you're really here, and this is really happening. You don’t pull away. Instead, your hand moves from his jaw to his collar, gently tugging at the fabric like it’s an invitation he can’t refuse.

And Mingyu? He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He leans in again, his lips finding yours with more urgency this time. His free hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you deeper into the kiss. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, all his self-control falling away the moment you’re close enough to feel.

You gasp softly against his lips as his hand slides down to your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip, and he feels you shiver. His pulse is racing in his ears, but it's the warmth of your body against his that completely consumes him. He can't stop. Can't pull away. You taste like the promise of something more, and the way your fingers grip his collar tightens the knot in his stomach until it’s a full-on spiral of heat.

Your mouth moves with his now, more desperate, more demanding, and Mingyu’s heart does that weird, annoying thing again—where it leaps in his chest, and all his thoughts vanish like mist under the sun. He kisses you harder, taking a moment to pull away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting as if you’ve run miles, even though you’ve hardly moved.

“Mingyu...” you whisper, voice breathless, a little unsteady. He feels the sound vibrating through him as much as he hears it.

"Yeah?" he responds, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth despite how utterly wrecked he feels in the best possible way. "You’re not gonna suddenly tell me this is all a huge mistake, right?"

You laugh—a low, playful sound that makes his chest tighten, and then you kiss him again. This time, it's slow, deliberate, like you’re savouring each second, each touch. And Mingyu’s mind short-circuits all over again, as if he's trying to figure out how it's possible for something so simple to make him feel so—so—alive.

Your hands are everywhere now—on his chest, around his neck, tugging him closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. And that’s when he feels it, that surge of want, a physical ache deep in his chest that spreads out to his limbs, making him burn.

He presses you back gently against the armrest of the couch, his lips trailing down to your neck, his breath hitching when you arch into him. The way you melt under his touch is everything he’s ever wanted—more than he even realised he craved. The warmth of your skin, the way your fingers dig into his back, all of it pulls him in, deeper, until he’s lost in the sensation of just being with you.

“Mingyu, we—” you start, but the words cut off when his lips meet the curve of your neck, and the way you shudder against him makes his pulse stutter in his veins. You can’t even finish the sentence, and he’s so close to being past the point of caring.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “We what?” he asks, his voice rough. "I won't let you talk if you're going to tell me you changed your mind."

Your gaze flickers between his lips and his eyes, a playful challenge in your expression. "I’m just saying," you murmur, your hands shifting down to his shirt as you slowly begin to unbutton it. "You're going to have to transfer to a different team after Langham is done."

Mingyu grins, a breathless huff of laughter leaving his lips. "As long as I still get to see you every day."

"I'd say you're probably going to get to see a lot more of me." Your words are said innocently enough, but the implication mixed with the feeling of your heaving chest against his is making his head spin again.

And just like that, you have him, every inch of him. Mingyu can’t keep his hands from wandering, can’t keep his lips from pressing harder against yours, can’t keep from falling deeper into this beautiful mess of passion and want. The last shred of his self-control slips away, leaving only you—right here, right now.

Your clothes go quickly, his quicker, until you're both laid bare before the other, entirely vulnerable and at peace at the same time. He's drowning in you, his head nested between your legs, feeling as eager to please as he did the first day he met you. You're gasping his name, hands curling into his hair, head falling back onto your couch in utter bliss. 

And then your fingers are wrapping around his shoulders, digging into the muscles and pulling him back up towards you. He almost falls off the couch he moves so fast, but you don't seem to notice. You're too busy looking positively angelic in front of him, with those large, sparkling eyes staring at him and dirty words pouring out of your mouth.

Mingyu has to hold himself together as you tell him, point blank, to "hurry up, and make love to me."

This isn't Mingyu's first rollercoaster. He's a good-looking guy, and he knows it. He's been with others before, but when you speak to him like that, he feels like he's eighteen again and a girl's just sat on his lap for the first time. 

And it feels so good, you feel so good around him. You might not have to worry about transferring teams, because he's not sure he's going to make it. The noises you're making, the warmth of your body, the scraping of your nails against his chest - it's enough to finish him off (or at least allow him to ignore the ungodly sounds pouring out of his own mouth).

He makes sure you've finished as well before pulling out (because he wants to, not because he feels embarrassed that he came first). A blissful look falls over your face and Mingyu has to mentally take a photo of the image to make sure he never forgets it. He's staring at you; he knows it and you know it, and you're giggling a little and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

"Wait here," he whispers, not wanting to break the moment by speaking too loudly. He leans down to peck your lips, before running into your bathroom to dispose of the condom and get some towels and blankets. 

The night fades softly into a comfortable quiet as you and Mingyu lay there, nestled on your couch, your bodies half-melted into the cushions, the air between you warm and thick with the lingering feeling of everything now spoken. 

Mingyu is still processing it all. This. This feeling of being here, with you. He’s supposed to be good at this—the whole dating thing, at least. But everything about tonight has been different. And, if he’s being honest with himself, much better than he expected. He expected the awkwardness, the second-guessing, the inevitable when do I leave? moment, but none of that happened. Instead, all that’s left is you. And him. And the soft rhythm of your breathing in the stillness of your apartment.

He stares at the ceiling, trying to act casual, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. This is fine, he thinks, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming that nothing this nice is ever fine. But the voice is quieter now. A lot quieter.

“You’re thinking too loud,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt, your head resting on his chest. Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt absently, as though you’re trying to figure out the material, the way it fits him, the way it feels beneath your touch.

Mingyu chuckles softly, a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his chest vibrating with the sound. “I guess I’m just... trying to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“Well,” you reply, shifting just enough to lift your head, your eyes soft but amused, “if this is a dream, I’m okay with it. I think I’ll stick around.”

Mingyu's heart skips a beat at the words, but he keeps his voice steady, even if the teasing smile he wears is bordering on ridiculous. “Good, because if this is a dream, I’m not waking up."

As the night deepens and the city lights paint soft patterns on the walls of your apartment, Mingyu finds himself drawn to your window. The skyline stretches before him, a tapestry of glowing spires and shimmering reflections, alive with the energy of the place he loves most. He smiles, realising for the first time how much this view has changed for him. It isn't just buildings and lights anymore - it's connection, collaboration, and the quiet promise of something new. A reminder of what you are going to build together, layer by layer, one light at a time.

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It���s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it. 

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

At the start of your friendship, Logan noticed how you prefer bigger, bagger clothes. It started with you wearing oversized shirts, and then the fall came, and you'd be in way too big sweatshirts. When the winter came and you only ever wore oversized sweaters and your winter coat was 4 sizes too big he took note that if he ever had to buy you clothes to just buy the biggest he could find so he started doing that and every time he did you were over the moon. "This is so comfortable!!!" You'd squeal and give him a hug after trying it on.

When the two of you get together, Logan is quick to realize two things. You love his leather jacket, and he loves you in it. It's not uncommon for you to "steal" it from him, and each time he catches you in it, a small smile graces his face.

As your relationship continued, it strengthened as well. Anyone who knew Logan knew he wasn't the marriage type, but that changed with you. Your 3rd anniversary was coming up, and after a drunken conversation with Wade, Logan finally came to the realization that he wanted you forever. It was hard to hide what he was doing from you, but he managed to sneak away to a jewelry store. As he left the house, he threw on his jacket and checked to make sure he had his wallet and keys, then he was out the door.

It took 2 weeks of sneaking out and going to different jewelers but he finally found the ring, he found your ring. He will never admit it but tears did form when he found it sitting in the glass case, he knew he found the one, once again.

He quickly checked out and put the box in his pocket. He didn't want a fancy little bag or a receipt. He knew you'd find those too quickly, and then that would make you start questioning things. Feeling the weight of the box in his pocket, it felt like a fire was burning against his skin. He wanted the proposal to be perfect, but he also wanted you to have the ring already dammit.

He sneaked back into the house and hung his jacket up. You weren't home yet so he just went to start dinner, completely forgetting about the ring after a while.

The next day, you had errands to run, and Logan had to go help Wade. You got up with Logan, and the two of you got ready together. You got dressed, grabbed your keys and your purse, and put on his leather jacket before leaving the house. When you threw the jacket on, it was noticeable that he had something in his pocket, but you didn't think anything of it, so you just went to the coffee table to put whatever it was on there. You stuck your hand in the pocket and grasped the small velvet box. When you pulled the box out, you gasped before you could stop yourself.

Logan was in the bathroom doing his hair when he heard you gasp. It was soft enough that he knew you weren't in danger, but it was clear you were shocked by something. Curiosity got the best of him, and he ended up wandering into the living room. "Baby? Are you okay in here?" He asked teasingly, but the color left his face when he saw what you had in your hands. "Oh shit."

"Lo?" You asked meekly as you turn to look at him better. Tears were already forming in your eyes, and you hadn't even opened the box yet. He was afraid to see your reaction when he did open the box if this is how you are right now. He took your hands into his and held them gently, "Baby..." He took the box from you and opened it in front of you, "whatya say? Will you marry me?"

It took you five seconds to respond but those were the longest five seconds of his life, it felt like his heart was about to be ripped from him and he couldn't breath as he waited to hear your response. You never did verbally say yes. You squealed and kissed him passionately before thrusting your hand close to his face "gimme" you said excitedly. You were practically bouncing as you watched him put the ring on your hand, and with tears finally falling freely, you looked at it closely before kissing him more softly. "I love it, it fits perfectly." This was the first purchase he ever made you that fit you just the way it was supposed to.

Request are open!!!!

Taglist: @mahi-tamashi @100percentlazybonez @lanassmarty

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |7: In Denial|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 5.2k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

a/n: I think this installment should prove to be very interesting... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza @cloudroomblog @babygirlmurdock @writtenbyred @idontevenknow1359 @scriptedmoon @sarraa-26 @barnes21cz @loves0phelia @3sriracha

You stood in front of the small mirror above your dresser in the bedroom, awkwardly angling your body to get a better view of the shirt you’d just thrown on. It was the second one you’d tried to pair with these jeans, but this was the fourth outfit you’d thrown on for tonight because you'd already over-thought the first three. And staring at your reflection now, you were starting to question this one, too.

After telling your co-worker, Stephanie, to give Dylan your number the other day, he'd called you almost immediately and asked you out on a date far more promptly than you had anticipated. His enthusiasm had taken you by surprise, though nevertheless you had agreed. But even as you’d accepted the invitation, you found yourself having to actively ignore the sinking feeling in your gut when the Devil’s masked face inevitably flashed through your mind. But it didn’t seem likely that he was ever going to ask you on a date–whoever the hell he was. 

Granted, you didn’t exactly expect him to, either. After all, he was a masked vigilante who made it a priority to keep himself anonymous while he went out and dealt with criminals in the city. It wasn’t like he spent his evenings out looking for romantic prospects in the process, too. 

So now tonight, just days after making the decision to finally give Dylan a chance and to stop waiting around for the masked man, you had your date. You were nervous despite both of you deciding to keep the evening very casual. Instead of heading out somewhere for a fancy meal at a restaurant or sitting through a movie where neither of you could hold a conversation, the pair of you had decided to go out for a few drinks. Something light and informal. Admittedly you were also hoping that being able to have a couple of drinks would help to ease your nerves, especially because it had been awhile since you'd last even gone on a date. 

But even though the date was meant to be something relaxed, you'd still spent every minute after you'd arrived home from work trying to get ready for it. You'd brushed your teeth at least three times in the hopes to avoid repelling him with bad breath, and then you’d even anxiously reapplied your deodorant just as many times. You had gone so far as to shave ahead of time, too–just in case. Afterwards, you'd spent far too long contemplating which perfume you'd wear for the evening before landing in your current predicament of trying to find something to wear.

Tearing your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, you grabbed your phone from off the end of your bed to check the time. You groaned in defeat when you saw how late it had already become. With one final look back at yourself in your mirror, you decided to just settle on what you already were wearing. You didn't have time to change again if you were going to meet Dylan at the bar on time.

Leaving your bedroom in a rush, you made your way down the short hallway and through your living room towards your kitchen. Slipping your phone into the purse you had sitting on the kitchen counter, you picked it up and were about to head straight towards your front door, but before you could make your way there to put on your winter coat and boots, the sight of the lilies the Devil had gifted you stopped you in your tracks.

Pausing to observe them, you noticed that they looked more wilted than they even had this morning, drooping over the side of the glass they sat inside. Most of them had also lost a few petals, though some of the remaining ones still held a few dried drops of the Devil’s blood from the other night. Despite their obvious withered state, you’d still kept them on display on your counter ever since.

As you stared at the flowers, you noticed that the glass the bouquet was sitting in was almost out of water. With a frown you slipped the strap of your purse over your shoulder before reaching out and picking it up. You brought the glass over to your sink and pulled the flowers out before dumping the remnants of the makeshift vase's water down the drain. Setting the glass down on the counter, you turned around with every intention of tossing out the old flowers, but after taking a single step towards your garbage can, you hesitated. Glancing down at the lilies in your hand, you noticed that they had certainly lost most of their beauty, but somehow throwing them in the garbage just didn’t feel quite right. 

For a moment you stood there, eyeing the specks of red on a few white and pink petals. Gnawing on your bottom lip, you decided that you still weren't quite ready to part with them. Turning back towards your sink, you set the flowers back in the large glass before holding it under your faucet and filling it with fresh water. As you set the makeshift vase back onto your counter, you mentally promised yourself that you’d finally toss them tomorrow. You couldn’t exactly keep them forever.

Without a backwards glance, you left your kitchen and headed towards your apartment door. Beginning to slip on your boots, your mind quickly shifted to your growing first date nerves, and your thoughts about the Devil soon faded to the back of your mind.

Matt’s elbows rested along the bar counter he was sitting at, one finger tapping against the side of his beer bottle. One of his dress shoes was also fidgeting along the floor, his mind currently elsewhere tonight. He was focused on issues in the city that had absolutely nothing to do with Nelson and Murdock, yet here he was accompanying Foggy to Josie’s tonight, pretending like he was here to commiserate over their lack of paying customers and to figure out how they were going to cover the firm’s growing expenses. But really he was counting down the minutes before he could reasonably leave and deal with what Matt deemed to be more pressing problems.

“Maybe we could sell the baked goods for extra cash,” Foggy joked from his place on the barstool beside Matt’s. “I bet Mrs. Gonzalez’s pies alone would make us a fortune.”

“We’d need a permit for that,” Matt said off-handedly. “Can’t just open a shop and sell food on a whim, Fog.”

Matt registered the movement beside him, hearing the way Foggy readjusted his position on the barstool. Focusing closer on his friend, Matt noticed the pull of muscles along his face as Foggy frowned. Matt’s finger tapped a little faster against his beer bottle in agitation; he really wished he was doing more important things right now. Like finding the owner of that seemingly abandoned warehouse he’d stumbled on last night. He’d been itching to throw on the mask all day, but he had promised Fog they’d have this conversation tonight.

“I know, Matt,” Foggy told him. “I wasn’t being serious. But we do need to start figuring out how we’re going to pay all the bills that are piling up. And I think Karen had some good ideas on ways to save on some of our costs. That’s one of the things I was hoping to run by you tonight.”

Matt sighed, his hand wrapping around the neck of his beer bottle. “Alright,” he said, not really interested in the conversation at all. “Hit me with them.”

“Okay, so,” Foggy began enthusiastically, swiveling further towards Matt in his stool, “I think the first idea she had was completely genius.”

Matt drew his beer bottle up to his lips, taking a long pull from it as he only half-listened to Foggy tell him about one of Karen’s ideas. With how uninterested in the subject matter he currently was this evening, Matt’s attention soon began to wander around the bar, picking up on the sound of other patrons playing pool or catching snippets of various conversations. But as Matt had gone to swallow a drink of his beer, one voice in particular captured his full attention in the bar. Pausing with the alcohol still sitting in his mouth, Matt tilted his head slightly over his right shoulder, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he focused on it more closely. 

“Oh, I’ve really never been a fan of the winter here. It’s too cold and there’s far too much snow for my liking.”

Why had that woman’s voice sounded so familiar? 

Matt sat there for a moment, listening to the woman continue to explain how she preferred the summer months as he tried to place where he'd heard that voice before. And then it hit him.

You. It was you . 

Matt’s hand slowly lowered the bottle back to the bar counter as he swallowed his beer, surprise washing over him. He certainly hadn’t expected to hear you here tonight, and now he found himself wondering how long you'd been sitting over there without him noticing. Out of all the times he’d come here with Fog, he’d never once recognized your voice among the crowd at Josie’s, so hearing it now had completely thrown him. Though he knew it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that you might ever come here. Since Matt lived near Josie’s, and you lived practically just across the street from Matt, that also meant you lived near this bar, too. 

But still. Here you were sitting at a table in the far corner of Josie’s bar. His bar.

But you weren’t alone. You were sitting at a table with someone else. Curious as to who you were here with and why, Matt shifted in his barstool a little more towards your table, angling himself better as he focused in on who you were talking to. It was only a matter of seconds before Matt heard your companion speak and he realized you were here with a man. His head canting a bit to the side as Foggy still continued on about ways to save money to his left, Matt began to focus on your body. 

It didn’t sound like it should have and that had caught his attention immediately. Your heart was beating faster than what constituted a normal rhythm–currently it was beating similarly to how it often did whenever the Devil appeared at your window. Matt could also smell the adrenaline mixed with cortisol wafting off of you, but those hormones were paired with another scent of yours he’d long grown familiar with on his nightly visits to your apartment.

Pheromones.

Realization dawned on Matt as he pieced it all together. You were here on a date. Possibly a first or second one judging by your stress levels and the nervous fidgeting your hands were doing under the table. But you were certainly here on a date. And you were quite obviously attracted to whoever your date was, that much was obvious to him as he observed your body.

Matt’s hand gripped his beer bottle almost to the point of shattering the glass. His jaw tightened as he sat there smelling your attraction to someone that wasn’t the Devil. For some reason sitting here and experiencing your body reacting the way it currently was to someone else bothered him.

He didn’t like it at all.

A hand on Matt’s shoulder abruptly drew him from his thoughts and he startled in his stool at Foggy’s touch. Matt's head darted back in the direction of his friend beside him, feeling a little disoriented as he tried to properly focus his senses. 

“You okay, buddy?” Foggy asked in concern. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I’ll be right back,” Matt heard you say. “I’m just going to use the restroom.”

“Yeah,” Matt answered distractedly. “I'm fine.”

Half of Matt's attention was still on you, listening as you'd gotten out of your chair and began to make your way across the bar and towards the bathrooms. When you passed behind the barstools where he and Foggy sat, the familiar scent of you instantly engulfed him. Matt's eyes closed, his body relaxing as the memory of your own warm body wrapped around his almost naked one beneath that blanket surfaced in his mind. Lips parting of their own accord, the taste of your pheromones landed sweetly on his tongue. 

An idea struck Matt once he'd heard the women's restroom door open and close. Sitting straighter in his chair, his attention returned to Foggy who'd already resumed discussing his original topic. Matt knew what he was about to do was ridiculous–and honestly incredibly dangerous considering how observant you'd proven to be–but he found himself speaking without first taking a moment to process what had come over him. Because truthfully he wasn't quite sure why he felt compelled to do what he was about to do. 

“Actually, you know what?” Matt said, cutting Foggy off as he swiveled in the bar stool. “I don’t think I’m feeling that great after all. Maybe it was that casserole Mrs. Canneli dropped off for lunch,” Matt lied. “I’m just going to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“You going to be alright, buddy?” Foggy asked. “Do you need me to help get you home instead?”

“Let me just see how I feel in a few minutes,” he said in a rush. 

Matt slid off of his stool, grabbing his folded cane from off the top of the bar counter as he caught the sound of the faucet running in the women’s restroom. Opening his cane in a rush with one hand, he lightly clapped Foggy on the back with his other. Without wasting another moment, he navigated his own way through the crowd at Josie’s and over towards the bathrooms, his cane running back and forth along the floor as he walked.

When he reached the short hallway where the bathrooms were located, Matt already heard your unmistakeable footsteps making their way towards the bathroom door. Timing things precisely, he stepped directly in front of it just as you stepped out of it. You solidly bumped straight into his chest before stumbling backwards a step. Unable to help himself, Matt’s left hand darted out and lightly grasped your bicep, attempting to keep you from entirely falling over.

“Oh, shit!” you exclaimed, rubbing a hand across your forehead. “I'm so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt said, turning up the charm and fighting down his growing grin. “It was my fault.”

“No, no,” you said, shaking your head as your hand lowered back to your side, “I should have been–”

Matt caught the moment you’d really noticed him as he released your arm. Your breath had briefly hitched, the sound only loud enough for him to catch it. Your heart had begun to beat a little quicker–slightly faster than it had been when you’d been sitting with your date, he noted with pride. A light bit of sweat had begun on your palms which you were now wiping along your jeans.

You thought he was attractive even out of the black suit, even if you didn’t realize you were standing in front of the very same Devil who often so easily got your pulse racing. 

“I should have been watching where I was going,” you finished lamely. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to walk right into you.”

“It’s alright, really,” Matt replied, struggling to resist calling you ‘angel’ as he spoke. That would’ve certainly given him away. “I can’t exactly see where I’m going, so you’re not entirely to blame.”

He flashed another smile at you, enjoying the way your heart hammered a little harder in your chest. Even when he wasn’t the Devil he realized he still liked the sound of that.

But then something strange happened.

He felt your body’s reaction to him suddenly shift, something so incredibly immediate that it had taken him off guard. Your eyes had widened, your brows arching up a bit as your head tilted just the tiniest fraction to the side. Your breathing briefly paused as the scent of your cortisol and adrenaline grew heavy in Matt’s nose for a moment. But then your body just as swiftly switched back to frazzled and attracted to him. You lightly shook your head, as if whatever that feeling was had been fleeting, before Matt could even try to make sense of it. 

Matt’s smile faltered as he tried to place what had just happened. Was that panic that he’d just picked up from you? Or was it…recognition? Had you somehow figured everything out so easily? Were you really that observant?

Strange.

“I should uh, let you get to the bathrooms then,” you said awkwardly. 

“I was just going to make a phone call, actually,” Matt lied quickly, speaking before he could think. “But what if I bought you an apology drink instead? For the headache I’m sure I just gave you.”

You laughed lightly, your hand running across your forehead again. “Thank you but I’m actually here on a date right now. And I should probably get back to them,” you told him. “But again, I’m really sorry for running into you like that. I hope the rest of your night continues with far less injury.”

Matt's smile became tight, his mind reaching for something to say to keep you longer, but then you were maneuvering around him before he could say another word. He listened as you made your way back to your date in the bar while internally kicking himself for having lost the opportunity to try and ask for your name. He’d hoped at the very least he might've gotten it out of you as Matt Murdock tonight once he’d realized you were here.

Standing in the short hallway a minute longer, Matt heard your cheerful voice greet the man you were here with once you returned to your table. His hand gripped around the handle of his cane, squeezing it tight in his fist. 

Humming softly to yourself, you placed the clean stack of bowls up into your cabinet. Too preoccupied with getting ready for your date earlier this evening, you’d left your dishwasher full of clean dishes instead of taking a few minutes to put them away. But now that you’d returned home from meeting Dylan at Josie’s, you found yourself full of far too much energy to brush your teeth and crawl into bed and go to sleep despite the late hour.

Turning back towards your dishwasher, you bent down and pulled two glasses out of the bottom rack. As you made your way towards the cabinet where they belonged, you couldn’t fight the smile from growing on your face.

You’d had a shockingly good time with Dylan tonight. He’d been funny and sweet and the conversation between you both had never really dulled for the duration of the night. He was attractive, too. Maybe not as attractive as the Devil in his black suit with his chiseled six pack, but still a handsome man–and one whose face you’d actually been able to see.

All in all, tonight had been a success instead of a failure. You’d even set up a second date for later this week and you found yourself looking forward to it. Stephanie had been more than right thinking the pair of you would get along well because you certainly had.

Reaching up into your cabinet, you set both of the glass cups on the shelf. But before you could even turn around, you heard a deep voice unexpectedly come from behind you.

“You should really lock that window.”

Spinning around on the spot in surprise, you stumbled back into the countertop behind you when you saw you weren't alone. The Devil was standing near your living room window and dressed in his usual tight-fitting black. There was no smile on his face to greet you tonight, but rather a tension you could see in his shoulders and a stern set to his lips. He looked agitated and you found yourself wondering if he’d had a bad night.

“Considering you’re the only one who uses it,” you teasingly began, hoping to lighten his mood as your startled heart gradually calmed, “I figured it only made sense that I leave it unlocked. I mean at this point it’s basically a pet door for a particular favorite stray of mine.”

The Devil’s reaction had been almost instantaneous at your jest. A tentative smile spread its way across his mouth, all traces of the tension in his jaw and shoulders beginning to melt away. He took a few steps towards you, coming to rest both of his gloved hands flat across your countertop. You noticed his masked face briefly fix on the vase of now dying flowers that he’d brought you for just a second before it focused back on you.

“You seem in a particularly good mood this evening, angel,” the Devil commented. “Are you just that excited to see me?”

A flush steadily began to creep up your neck at the fact that he’d noticed your mood. Truthfully, his unexpected appearance in your apartment tonight had increased your happiness this evening, but there was no way you were going to admit that to him. More than likely it would send him right back to jumping straight off your fire escape. So instead you decided on telling him only part of the truth.

“Actually,” you replied, “I had a date tonight.”

His lips twitched at the corners briefly, a gesture so small you’d probably never have noticed if his mouth wasn’t the only thing you could ever completely see on his face. What had that been about?

“A date?” the Devil asked, sounding surprised. 

Your eyes flickered over to the side of him, your gaze landing on the vase of wilted lilies. You probably should have tossed those earlier tonight considering how awful they really looked now. Knowing he’d noticed them, you wondered if he might’ve read more into the reason why you still had them on display.

“Yeah,” you answered, your attention returning to him. “A date.”

The Devil’s hands curled into fists along your countertop, that agitated demeanor rapidly returning to him. A tenseness had settled in his smile as he gazed back at you beneath his mask.

“That’s nice,” he replied. “I imagine your date behaved themselves tonight then. Or am I mistaken?” he asked. There was something almost predatory in the way his smile suddenly curved a little more as he continued. “Does the Devil need to pay someone a visit this evening?”

Your brows jumped up onto your forehead in shock. Had he just offered to assault your date? But as he continued to stand there on the other side of your kitchen counter with that menacing smile on his beautiful mouth, you realized he’d been joking. 

With a laugh, you shook your head as you made your way back over towards your dishwasher. Bending down, you retrieved a few clean plates that still needed to be put away. 

“No, he was a complete gentleman,” you informed him, carrying the stacked plates back to the cabinet you’d put the cups in moments ago. “We just had a few drinks at some bar nearby. I think it was called Josie’s. Have you heard of it?”

Closing the cabinet door, you turned back around to face the masked man. The predatory smile had vanished and was currently replaced with a faint frown. As you eyed him curiously, you wondered where his usual joking demeanor had disappeared to tonight.

“Yeah, I know of it,” his deep voice responded. “Not the most romantic choice for a date if you ask me. Sure you don’t want me to hit him for you?”

Laughing again, you bent over and grabbed a couple of coffee mugs from your dishwasher next. “It was just a first date,” you explained, “and we both agreed on doing something really informal to take the pressure off.” You shrugged, carrying the mugs over to the cabinet above your coffee maker. “And I don’t know, I kind of liked the place, personally.”

Setting the mugs on the shelf, you heard the Devil release a noise behind you that you could only classify as an irritated grunt. The sound caused you to curiously pause, attempting to make sense of it.

“So you never said how the date went,” he pointed out. “Did it go well?”

A flutter of something flickered in your stomach at the question as you slowly turned back around towards him. It didn't help that it felt like his eyes were boring a hole into you beneath that black mask. Why was he so curious about your date this evening? He seemed to be asking quite a few questions about it.

You shrugged a shoulder. “It went well,” you replied. “He seemed nice.”

The Devil’s lips curved up into a sarcastic smirk beneath his mask, his head nodding lightly. “Nice, huh? Good for him.”

Your eyes tightened further at him, studying the way his muscles seemed to tense once more beneath his black clothes. Your gaze lowered, catching the way his left hand continued to open and close into a fist repeatedly along your countertop like a nervous fidget.

Or an angry one.

Wait, you thought, your eyes still glued to the fist he continued to clench and unclench. Is the Devil…jealous? 

But no, that couldn’t have been. He’d already come here in an off mood, that was probably all it was. Why would he care that you'd gone on a date? He'd have to have feelings for you for that to have bothered him. And you didn't want to hope too hard for something so unlikely.

“So did anything else interesting happen?” the Devil pried. “While you were on your date?”

Your attention returned to his masked face at the odd question. One of your brows arched back at him, your eyes narrowing even further. You definitely weren’t imagining it, though, he was unusually curious this evening.

“Interesting like what?” you asked.

“Well,” he began, turning around towards your kitchen table and lightly rapping his knuckles along the surface of it. “Did you witness any bar fights maybe? I mean the guy took you to a dive bar as a first date after all. I’m sure you must've at least met some curious people there, angel. At least one.”

Opening your mouth, you tried to ignore his uncharacteristic bitter tone as you were about to remind him that you'd been there on a date and that you hadn’t been trying to meet anyone else. But then you remembered the handsome blind man in the suit that you'd quite literally run into by the bathrooms and you immediately stopped short. With his back towards you, you noticed the way the Devil’s spine had straightened, his fist momentarily pausing its repeated movement against your table before it continued a second later.

The guy at Josie’s had been intriguing to say the least. And it almost seemed like he'd been flirting with you. Had you not been there with Dylan you might have accepted his offer to have a drink with him, especially considering that weird feeling you'd strangely gotten hit by when you’d been talking to him. Almost like you knew him somehow, like you could trust him. And you had really wanted to make more sense of that feeling.

But logically you knew you'd most likely never see that guy again. 

“No,” you lied. “I only met my date. Because I was, you know, there on a date , Devil.”

The Devil’s gloved hand uncurled from its tight fist, his head tilting marginally over his shoulder back towards you. For a moment he stayed like that in complete silence as you curiously watched him in return. Then very slowly, he turned around towards you, his hidden gaze seemingly on you beneath the mask. A very faint, almost satisfied smile crossed his lips as he stared at you–and then it disappeared just as fast as you'd seen it.

How strange , you thought. He's acting more unusual than normal.

“So I’m your favorite stray then, am I?” he teased, changing the subject.

You watched as his usual easy smile slipped onto his mouth beneath the mask as if it had been there this entire time. His sudden mood changes tonight were beginning to give you emotional whiplash at this point. Because now he was standing there by your table, all traces of his agitation having seemingly disappeared.

“Yes,” you answered, choosing to let his weird behavior go this evening. Heading back over to your dishwasher, you bent down to grab another coffee mug out of it. “Granted, you're also the only one using my window like a pet door,” you pointed out. “So that sort of makes you–”

Your sentence died in your throat. When you'd stood up and turned around to go and put the coffee mug away, you'd noticed the Devil had quietly closed the distance between you both. Now he was standing so close to you that when you'd gasped in surprise at his proximity, his hips had brushed against your body. 

You couldn't breathe, not with his masked face hovering so close in front of your own. A surge of desire hit you strong and hard, everything about your date this evening fading from your mind as your eyes remained fixed on his parted lips. There was absolutely something undeniable happening right now; the tension between you both hung too heavy in the air to believe otherwise.

Breath coming in shallow, you'd forgotten that you were even holding something in your hand. Without warning you lost your grip, the coffee mug slipping from your loose fingers. But instead of it tumbling towards the ground, the Devil’s hand snapped forward and caught it half an inch from your hand. Wordlessly he reached around you, simultaneously trapping you further between himself and the kitchen counter as he set the mug down.

And then he stayed there, with the front of himself pushing you back into your counter so hard that you felt it biting into your lower back. His hand rose up in the minimal space between you both before lightly landing along your cheek. His gloved thumb brushed back and forth over your cheekbone so tenderly that your eyes fluttered shut beneath it. 

Exhaling a shuddering breath, you willed him to just put you out of your misery and kiss you already. The suspense and the back and forth were killing you. He had to be feeling something for you. His attitude tonight could only be attributed to jealousy, nothing else made sense. So this had to be the moment he just finally kissed you. It had to be.

An agonizing minute passed and all he'd done was remove his hand from your cheek. Your own hands still had a death grip on the counter behind you, keeping you steady as you desperately waited for something more to finally happen. But when nothing did, you released a defeated sigh and opened your eyes, wondering what was going through his mind right now.

But he was gone. 

[kyettax]

"Always my muse." 1.6 patch Elliott winter coat.

1.6 patch Stardew Valley!! Elliot looked so nice in his new outfit and since everybody was drawing (and overall making their own depictions of Elliott), here's mine!!! In all honestly, I can NOT imagine Elliott not having those really fancy-tied scarves. Seems like the man who would make that!

[revasserium]

waiting for winter (我期待的不是雪)

zayne; 1,616 words; fluff, pining, gn!reader, no "y/n", spoilers for lads ch.4, whipped!zayne

summary: he has never loved the winter

a/n: yes, this was inspired by that one chinese tiktok song. no, i will not elaborate.

He has never loved the winter.

But he remembers the first time he watched the snow fall reflected in your eyes — your cheeks kissed pink by the unforgiving wind, the sky a smear of white as the cold sunk into his bones. He remembers the silver bell ring of your laughter as you’d dragged him by the hand out to build a snowman, the look on your face when he’d remarked that your snowman’s nose was crooked because there were no carrots at the corner store so you’d had to make do with a potato instead.

“Look! It’s snowing!”

Zayne shakes himself into the present, glancing out of his office window at the cotton-soft flurries spinning by his windows. Across from him, you’re sitting with a muffler thrown haphazardly around your shoulders, watching the snow with an open, child-like wonder that makes his entire chest twist tight with —

He clears his throat.

“All the more reason for you to be careful — make sure to bundle up when you go outside,” he says, dropping his eyes back to your most recent health report.

You’re not sleeping enough, and your vitamin D levels are lower than he’d like. He’d hoped that becoming a Hunter would at least expose you to a decent amount of sun but then again, you had told him that Jenna’s been keeping tight reigns on you since the explosion.

“Yeah, yeah — I’ll be careful.”

He looks up, his eyes dark as he looks over the shape of you, fingers curled in your lap as you look up at him from beneath your lashes. He holds your gaze and fights to keep his expression neutral as you blush and look away, somehow reverting back to a much younger version of you — the memory of it superimposed upon the look of you now.

“You’re just as bossy as you were back then,” you say, sighing as you shrug up your shoulders like a scolded child.

Zayne scoffs, affording himself a small laugh, “Except I have a doctorate to back it up now, don’t I?”

You pout, pursing your lips. Zayne wonders, for the millionth time that day, how soft they might be beneath his own.

“I liked you better before you got your fancy creds,” you say, still pouting.

Zayne sighs, flicking off his tablet and putting it down on the table.

“Alright, what do you want?”

You blink up at him, eyes wide enough to convince anyone else of your innocence. But he knows better. He’s always known better.

“What do you mean?”

He ticks his tongue against his teeth and leans back in his chair, checking his watch.

“It’s almost lunchtime — c’mon.”

He pushes up from his desk and tugs his doctor’s coat from his shoulders, rolling them loose of the tightness that had gathered there all morning.

“Huh?”

He rounds his desk and tugs his winter coat from the back of the door, turning to fix you with a look.

“The noodle shop around the corner has your favorite as a lunch special.”

He counts down from five in his head — four, three, two —

“Really?” your face breaks into a grin wide enough to split your face. He chuckles.

“Yes, really. Are you coming?”

You stare for a second longer before leaping to your feet and bounding to his side. He reaches out to adjust your muffler, tying it tighter over the front of your chest, swatting your hand away when you try to loosen it.

“I’m going to choke!”

“Better that than for you to get sick again.”

He tugs open the door and watches you walk into the hallway, a bounce to your step that he hasn’t seen since you were both kids and he’d promised you he’d buy you sweets on the way home from school.

“How’re you so sure that the lunch specials gonna be my favorite?” you ask, pivoting on your heels and fixing him with a look, halfway down the white-washed hospital halls. Zayne takes his time buttoning up his own coat and locking his office door behind him.

“Because,” he says, voice steady as he strolls by you, glancing down with the shadow of a smile crimping his lips —

“I know you.”

* * *

He has never loved the winter.

But, he thinks as he watches you slurp down a bowl of wide-cut noodles, your cheeks flushed red with joy, he might just learn to love a winter like this.

You don’t question it when he reaches out to swipe at the corner of your mouth with this thumb, licking off the excess with a contemplative hm. But he revels in the way you swallow and blush and look away.

He wonders if you know.

He wonders if you know that you haunt him like the cold haunts him on the nights when he’s alone. He wonders if you see him the way he sees you, cast behind his eyelids like the frames of an old film whenever he closes his eyes, your smile more familiar to him than his own.

“Full?” he asks, watching as you wipe your mouth on a bit of napkin, lips stained red by the chili sauce.

“Mhm!” you nod, smiling up at him.

The noodle shop smells of chicken stock and green onions and the sharp dampness of snow on winter coats. You push the noodle bowl away and stare down at your hands.

“Are you — I mean… you have to go back to work, right?”

He can’t help but notice the note of reluctance in your voice, the way you look up at him as if hoping he’ll say no. He nods, folding his napkin into halves, and then forths. Outside, the sun is already falling toward the far horizon, casting everything in a goldenrod glow. Shadows fall long and sure along the pavement and Zayne doesn’t want to think about the endless hours of darkness ahead.

“Are you going home after this?” he asks, nodding stiffly to the waiter as he hands over his card, wordlessly pushing your hand away as you make a feeble attempt to try and snatch the receipt.

“I… was thinking about going to see a movie,” you say, thumbing at a stray thread along the edge of your coat. He watches you tug at it for a while before reaching out to take your hand in his.

“Go home,” he says, his voice level.

Your brow creases in a slight frown as you look up.

“But… I wanted to see —”

“We’ll see it this weekend,” he says, giving your hand a quick squeeze before letting go, thanking the waiter as he takes back his card and scribbles his signature on the receipt.

“We will?” you ask, blinking up at him as he stands up.

“Yes. It’s showing Saturday at 2:30 — we can get lunch before, or dinner after.”

He’s tugging on his coat when you reach up to loop his scarf around his neck, standing too close, so close he can smell the caramel milk and whipped cream of your skin. He fights down the shivers that threaten to shake down his spine as he goes still, waiting as you tuck his scarf securely around his neck.

“You never tie your scarf right,” you say, dropping back down onto your heels even as you shoulder on your own coat, cheeks dusted the most darling shade of pink Zayne has ever seen. As he watches you, he thinks it might just put the winter sun to shame.

He thinks he might thank you, or he might just bend down and kiss you — he’s uncertain all the way till you make it outside and you turn to smile up at him. And like this, with the dying sun caressing the edge of your cheek, the line of your jaw, you are nothing short of ethereal.

Zayne reaches forward, his thumb and forefinger catching your chin as he leans down.

Your gasp is little more than a hiccup of breath —

“Don’t be late,” he says, stopping mere inches from your lips, whispering the words against where your lips might be if he were a little more daring.

You hold perfectly still, your eyes round as you stare up at him, searching his face for… something — anything.

When he pulls back, he thinks you almost make to chase him. But you let his fingers drop from your skin and you tug at your muffler, toeing at the slushed-up snow on the sidewalk.

“Winter’s my favorite season, y’know,” you say. And Zayne doesn’t dare to hope. But he does — he watches you out of the corner of his eyes. Above you, all around you, the afternoon sun flickers and fades, a daytime aurora, like tendrils of some long-gone magic, coaxing willing believers toward their untimely doom.

“Hn,” he says, not trusting himself with more. He waits; you take a long breath before turning to look at him.

“You wanna know why?” you ask. And finally, finally he turns to you, his eyes catching your eyes — and in them, he sees the twisting colors of the sky reflected there, serpentine and sinuous. Ancient and inexorable. Reds and yellows, pinks and purples, bleeding into an endless, endless winter blue.

He wets his lips and swallows hard, “Why?”

You smile, and it is like the first glimmer of sun after an arctic winter’s night, and he can’t breathe for the sight of it.

“Because… it reminds me of you.”

lads requests r.... open lol

[makeyoumine69]

My Dear Little Girl

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: The Christmas gift you never imagined.

CONTAINS: Smut, fluff, unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, oral sex (f), tongue fucking, nipple play/sucking, body worship, praise kink, manhandling, dirty talk, pet names, marking, biting, established relationships, Service!Dom!Patrick Bateman himself.

WORDS: 3.3k

SONG REC: The Neighbourhood - Softcore

A/N: Merry Christmas guys, I'm so happy to have you all! 💞

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]

There has always been something magical about Christmas, the holiday atmosphere, the sweet smell of tangerines and the clinking of champagne glasses. Yes, all of this became a standard set of things that people thought of when it came to Christmas. And you were probably one of those who believed in miracles that could happen during this magical time. At least you tried to believe it, but when Bateman told you that he had to go to his company Christmas party tonight, that actually brought you back down to Earth, because sometimes our expectations simply didn't match up with reality. And that was absolutely fine — those were the exact words you told Patrick when he called you a few hours ago, before he actually went to that party. 

Everything was fine.

You repeated this over and over again as you walked around your apartment in Manhattan, which was not as spacious as Bateman's, but you really loved it, especially now, with the beautiful Christmas tree that shone brightly with different illuminations when you turned off the lights. Since you knew Patrick wasn't coming, there was no point in waiting to open the bottle of the finest red wine he'd given you especially for this Christmas Eve. Sighing, you poured yourself a big glass of the red liquid, took some sweets and went back to your living room, where you stood at the wide window and looked at the breathtaking scenery of New York City in winter — this year it was quite snowy, which could not make you happy, even though you were going to spend this evening alone.

As the fireworks began to paint the midnight sky in ornaments of different shapes and colors, you couldn't take your eyes off this sight, as you were absolutely mesmerized. At first, you didn't even hear the doorbell ring, and only when it rang for the tenth time in a row did you realize that someone was at your front door, which actually scared you a bit because it was already quite late.

Your steady footsteps echoed off the walls of your hallway as you finally reached the door and looked through the peephole - the person you saw almost made you drop your glass to the floor. Damn, you should have left it in the living room.

Before you slowly opened the door, you coughed several times to clear your throat, and you also quickly fixed your hair — although your whole appearance could hardly be called fancy or party-like, as you wore your casual top and shorts set — the moment you and Bateman saw each other, you both remained silent, as if you were seeing each other for the first time.

"Well, hello (y/n)," he was the first to speak, with his absolutely haughty smile that always left you no choice but to be embarrassed. "I thought you were out walking somewhere."

"At this time?"

Patrick grinned even wider before glancing to the right, where a small commotion could be heard. "Some people here are already celebrating, you know."

Rolling your eyes, you stepped aside to let him enter. "What happened to the Christmas party?"

Your question made the man chuckle as he brushed some snow from his shoulders before taking off his beautiful dark blue coat. "Actually — nothing."

"Nothing?"

"That's exactly what I said." Patrick crooned and came closer to you, pressing his cold palm against your cheek, making you squirm and almost spilling wine on your shirt. "Uhh, you have such warm cheeks, honey."

"Okay, I'll ask it another way," you managed to regain your composure, even though Bateman seemed to be doing his best to make you lose your cool. "Why are you here?"

Pulling his hand away from your face, Bateman narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms after checking the time on his Rolex. "Were you expecting someone else?" 

And now his voice sounded as grumpy as if he was seriously asking that question, but instead of defending yourself, you just chuckled and took a sip of your drink.

"Oh yes, I was expecting a handsome man so we could drink this wonderful wine and... talk about music, the meaning of life and whether or not true love exists." You chirped quickly before taking his hand and dragging him into your living room before this conversation could lose its jokey undertone.

"That was," Bateman stammered when he finally realized what drink you were holding. "That was very smart. Have you ever thought of applying to a Broadway theater? I think they would love to offer you a job." His statement made you stop and turn to give him a deadly stare. "What? If you don't like theater, you can always try your luck in the circus."

"Patrick!" You scolded, fighting the urge to throw your drink right in his cheeky face. "You were the one who told me I would be alone today! And you didn't even suggest that I go with you!"

Having said that, you continued on your way to the living room, but without holding Patrick's hand as you left the man behind, though his expression was still as bright as the New York sky inscribed with fireworks. "Wait a minute, honey," Bateman muttered, following you. "You made it pretty clear that you don't want to go to parties like that, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't," you lied, bursting into a soft laugh, swirling the glass in your hand. "Oh, this wine tastes amazing, by the way. Would you like to try some?"

The sudden change of subject just made him smile cheekily, and before he could answer, Bateman tucked his hands into the pockets of his Amrani pants and leaned against the door to your living room. "I know this wine is good, that's why I gave it to you, sweetheart," his brilliant, full-toothed smile made your heartbeat faster and for a moment you even forgot what you were doing. "But yes, I would definitely have a drink."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Grinch." You mumbled playfully and went to the kitchen.

Fireworks began to explode just as you opened the shelf to grab a glass for him, thanking God you managed to hold it in your hand. The loud sound coming from the outside drowned out the approaching footsteps behind you, so when a pair of strong, big arms wrapped around your waist, you didn't even have time to get scared, you just gasped and fell right into Patrick's tight embrace.

"I got you," he whispered in your ear, sucking on your lobe tenderly, but with an undisguised desire for something more intimate. "You little liar." Bateman pulled you closer with a possessive grip as his hand carefully found its way to yours to take the glass and place it on the smooth surface of the kitchen counter. "We don't want any trouble, do we?"

Panting, you turned halfway to look up into his brown, mesmerizing eyes. "Patrick," you let him nuzzle your cheek, his perfect nose brushing against yours, and then Bateman kissed you softly on your plump lips. "Mmhm, I'm so glad you came, I've missed you and —"

"Shhh," he silenced you with his thumb, his glowing gaze never leaving your beautiful face. "I know, darling," another sensual kiss was planted on your neck this time, eliciting a muffled moan from your half-open mouth. "You don't have to say anything else, just relax..." Patrick nipped at your throat more eagerly, leaving marks here and there, while his hands drew invisible ornaments all along your inviting little form. "...and let me take care of you."

Dear Lord, it was impossible to think clearly, not when he was talking to you like that and his hot lips were caressing that exact spot behind your ear, driving you absolutely crazy and you didn't even notice the way your hips were grinding against his hard groin, spurring him on to go even further. Groaning softly into your ear, Bateman couldn't wait any longer, his pants getting too tight with every brush of your ass against his throbbing length. 

"Fuck, babe, you're so gorgeous," he purred in a low voice, leaving a trail of wet kisses along your shoulder, then moving lower to your shoulder blade, pulling up your top to taste your skin. "Do you know what I was thinking about during the party?" Bateman asked suddenly, tugging at the lace of your shorts, tantalizing you with his intentions. 

"N-no, tell me," you closed your eyes from the intoxicating pleasure of his thin fingers darting across your belly, but when they finally reached your heated core, you couldn't keep a loud whimper from breaking out of your dry lips. "Please, a-ahhh, tell me everything."

"Uh, look at you," he quickly licked the back of your neck before grabbing a handful of your soaked pussy. "Such a curious little kitty," Patrick huffed, suddenly pulling down your shorts with your wet panties, leaving you no chance to even react, not to mention struggling. "I was thinking about you," Bateman carefully lifted one of your legs to rest it on the kitchen counter, then crouched down behind you, leaving a sloppy kiss on your lower back. "About fucking you senseless, to be exact."

"Oh my God," you mewled, clinging to the surface of the counter as you felt his hot breath between your legs. "I was... I was thinking about that too."

Smirking to himself, Bateman gave your ass a few firm squeezes before finally touching you where you wanted him most, his warm tongue feeling so fucking amazing on your swollen clit. "Oh, that's interesting," he cooed to you, enjoying the way your body reacted to his every move, it was always amusing and turned him on, the knowledge of having such power over you was enough to make him rock hard. "Looks like you're just pretending to be shy. Now spread these beautiful legs wider for me," as you did so he used both hands to massage your buttocks before sliding his digits along your tight lower lips to get better access to your wet entrance. "Good girl, so fucking good for me."

With that, he plunged his tongue into your tight hole, trapping you in place as you jerked in his grasp from the intense sensation in your lower abdomen, but that was only the beginning as the next moment, Bateman returned his assault on your little bud, rubbing it in intense circular motions.

"A-awwww, Patrick," your sweet voice was music to his ears, especially when he made you do those high-pitched wails, each time his tongue sank deeper into your soft, inner channel. "Please...that feels so..."

"Good?" he chuckled before peppering your dripping slit with little kisses. "Jesus, you're so yummy, mmmh," Patrick lapped at your pussy like a starved man, gripping your ass tightly to remind you who was in charge here. "I'd like to stay between these legs forever if I could." 

By the time he was done eating you out, you could barely breathe as you balanced on the edge of falling into the oblivion of pure ecstasy, his chiseled face covered in your sweet flavor, which he immediately cleaned up with his tongue.

"Patrick, it felt so damn amazing..." you whimpered and turned around to see him undoing his expensive suit, his red tie already loosened, making him look even sexier, if it was possible to be hotter than he was. "Please."

With a sassy grin, Bateman unbuttoned his blue shirt, revealing an absolutely mouth-watering view of his sculpted chest and perfect abs. "Please what, honey?" He cupped your face before pulling you into a ravenous kiss, his tongue swirling shamelessly around yours, making you moan at how heavenly he kissed you. "Use your words, make me proud of how bold you are."

A brisk unzipping sound hit you like a whip, giving you a strange feeling of liberation and excitement. "I want you, all of you. Whatever you will give me, I'll take gladly."

You could see his nostrils flaring with each word, as if you were a moth to a flame. Biting his lower lip, the man came closer just to pick you up as if you weighed nothing, and he walked into your bedroom, where the beautiful garlands on the window shone with all the colors of the rainbow, making the whole atmosphere truly magical, especially with the lights off.

Bateman didn't like it at first, but when he saw your childishly happy face, he gently placed you on the bed, towering over you like a mountain. "Lovely here."

"You like it?" Your question forced him to frown in irritation, but he just pecked your temple and shamelessly removed your top, leaving you completely bare before his hungry eyes. "I spent a lot of time decorating it."

Smiling ironically, Patrick placed a reassuring kiss on your temple before he removed the last of his clothes and you finally felt his soft skin against yours, you couldn't help but hook your hands and legs around him like a vine. "I like it." Of course, he didn't, you knew that, but it didn't matter because now you two belonged to each other, both physically and mentally. "C'mere, babygirl," Bateman suddenly sat down on the bed and invited you to get on top of him. "Today we're going to try something new. Do you trust me?"

Breathing heavily, you nodded, and the next thing you knew his thick cock was sliding along your wet folds as he held you tightly by your waist, manhandling you with such ease as if you were a feather. With a longing growl, the man pressed you closer to his strong body so he could graze your collarbone and play with your engorged nipples as he literally buried his face between your breasts, squeezing them with both hands.

"Mhhm, Patty!" You moaned as he sucked on two of your little peaks at once, his leaky tip already prodding at your dripping opening as Patrick decided to test the patience of both of you. "Please, oh-please, fuck me, please, fuck...fuck me!" 

Bateman snickered against your neck, sending little tickles that made you smile, and he couldn't stop himself from squeezing your cheeks as you looked so fucking cute and sinful right now. "Uh, I'll give you more than that."

After that, he carefully grabbed you by the back of your neck and slowly lowered you down onto his beefy dick, the second your bodies finally connected, you both let out loud moans and held each other tighter as if your lives depended on it.

"Mmhm-fuck," the man had to close his eyes from the way your pussy was clinging to his huge cock, encompassing it so tightly that you both saw stars as Patrick supported your bobbing movements, holding your hips in his big palms and rocking his own towards yours. "You feel...f-fucking amazing!"

"I love you, I love you, Patty!" you cried out desperately, looping your hands around his neck to pull him closer as your bodies intertwined like snakes, each move bringing so much pleasure as he could fuck you so deeply and lustfully in this position. "Please, c-cum inside me!"

Your words made his eyes open wide and then you heard a low, guttural growl as Bateman suddenly pushed you down, forcing you to lie on your back and lift your legs to press them against his broad chest as he began to pound harder, rolling his hips to stimulate your G-spot.

"Is that what my dear girl wants, huh?" The man asked, mesmerized by the sight of your bouncing breasts, the lewd sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling your bedroom, making you scream shamelessly in pure bliss as his swollen tip brushed relentlessly against your cervix, stimulating you in a way that could bring you to climax without even touching your clit. "'C'mon honey, milk my dick and I'll give you my cum." In addition to his dirty talk, Patrick pecked your ankle as gently as he could — on the verge of a frenzy, he could just ravish you until you couldn't move, but right now he was trying his best to focus on your release. "Do it for me, sweetheart, cum around my dick like a good girl!"

Creasing the sheets, you threw your head back onto the pillows from the pulsating sensation in your lower body. "Pat-Patty! A-aaahhh—" You choked on your own moan, writhing erratically around the bed, and only his strong arms managed to hold you in place as Bateman was aware that you were about to fall off the fucking bed.

"That's it, mhm," Patrick watched you attentively, relishing the way your eyebrows knit together from how hard you cum on his fat dick, your eyes closed and your lips frozen in a silent moan. "So fucking gorgeous, so fucking...mm-so fucking tight, fuck!"

Bateman shifted his position again, covering you from above, transferring his weight to his sturdy arms as he rammed into you like a jackhammer, you could feel his heavy balls slapping against your cunt in the obscenest way possible. And then the man finally collapsed inside you, painting your velvety walls white, pinning you down with his huge frame and biting your shoulder like an animal claiming its prey. You couldn't move and you were barely breathing, but you took him completely, until his hot liquid began to flow from your ruined pussy, flooding the sheets beneath you. Spent and exhausted, Patrick kissed and licked the mark he had just left before pressing his forehead against yours, holding you tightly in his arms and you knew he would never let you go as you were born to be his.

Moments later, you were standing next to the Christmas tree in your living room, Bateman sitting on the small couch, finally having his drink, but not wine as he managed to find some whiskey in your minibar. 

"Next time, let's put a Christmas tree in your apartment!" You suddenly blurted out, clapping your hands.

"No, don't even think about it, kitten," Patrick almost choked on his drink and coughed several times. "Oh, honey, don't make that face."

Damn, although you knew that Bateman didn't like all that stuff, it made you sad anyway, so the man had no choice but to comfort you here and now, before the situation got worse.

After putting the glass on the nearby coffee table, he stood up and approached you from behind, hugging you, but you were still pouting. "Listen," he whispered into your ear. "I have something for you, something special that will make you forget everything."

"What is it?" 

Thrilled, Patrick slipped into the pocket of his robe, which he had brought especially to your place because he couldn't stand any other robes but his own, and took out a small, velvety box. "And what do you think it is?"

As soon as you turned around and saw this little box, something in your mind flashed like fireworks. "Oh my God, Patrick..." you covered your face in your hands from shock. "Is that..."

Bateman opened the box in one swift motion, revealing a magnificent ring that shone brightly, reflecting the illumination of the Christmas tree. "I want us to meet next Christmas in a different status," he murmured, taking the ring in his hand. "You know what I mean?" Tears welled in your eyes as you couldn't believe this was happening. "Will you be my wife, (y/n)?"

At first, you couldn't say anything because you were shocked, but then you managed to whisper. "Yes, yes, of course I will," and then you snuggled into his warm embrace, allowing him to put the ring on your finger and kiss your forehead, and this kiss was different because now you were his fiancée. "I love you, I love you so much!"

With a bright grin on his flawless face, Patrick rested his chin on the top of your head and stroked your hair. "Merry Christmas, my dear little girl. I love you too."

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[zevrra]

—business casual

boss!nanami who’s had way too much to drink at the company work party. the pretty flush on his cheeks is damn near the same color of the wine he drinks. it’s his fifth or sixth glass and by the look on his face he’s surely gone overboard. he’s a little sluggish, glasses drooping to the edge of his nose, but still looking elegant as ever in the beige turtleneck he wears. he catches your gaze across the room and with a simple glance at his watch, you knew it was time to leave.

you stumble into the usual hotel room with nanami at your heels. you help him out of his long black coat, fingers pushing into his blonde hair as his lips find your neck. he groans at the taste of your skin on his tongue as he helps you out of your own winter clothes. leaves you in nothing but the fancy lingerie he had purchased for you in secret. his cold hands roam your warm body as your own fingers help with the belt at his pants. slipping it away just as he pushes you back onto the bed.

he settles between your thighs, hands moving along the length of your leg as he slowly takes off your heels. his drunk gaze barely leaving your own when he begins to place kisses against your skin. starts at your ankle, moving along your calf as his hands slide against your inner thighs, causing you to mimic his soft groan. when his lips press into your knee, inching closer to the one thing his drunk mind desires, you stop him for a moment.

you take his red flushed face into your hands with a cunning smile. “oh hun. what is it? tell me what you want.” you whisper, biting your bottom lip as his drunken hazel eyes look up at you before looking away in slight embarrassment. you bite back a chuckle at the man before you. always so in control and proud yet now with you, he’s a pathetic mess between your thighs. your foot presses into the thick of his own thigh, moving across the hem of his slacks where you know his hard cock waits to be pleased.

he stifles his own drunken moan against your thigh at the press of your foot against his groin. forces him to look at you once again as deep seated, passionate need rages through his body. the blush darkens on his face, reaches the tips of his ears, probably trails down his chest as he stares up at you from his seated position.

“i wanna…eat your pussy. i know you’re aching and dripping for me already. i’ll do anything you ask just please…let me taste you.”

you smile at his honesty, knowing most of it was just the alcohol talking since normally nanami wasn’t so…open. you loved this side of him just as much as you loved sober nanami who would order you to spread open wide for him instead. and the lust in his eyes alone sent shivers up your spine. knowing no matter what, he would end the night pounding into your womb with his leaking cock.

your own need is burning you from the inside out at the simple thought of him later fucking you senseless so you nod in agreement. running your thumb across his bottom lip as you lick your own lips. “be a good boy and please me.”

[sigmasemen]

WHEN YOU GO ON A DATE WITH THEM. (1/2)

multiple blue lock characters x reader

tags: romance, cute relationships, established relationships, fluff.

taglist: n/a currently

characters: alexis ness, akira endoji, ryusei shidou, nijiro nanase, ranze kurona, michael kaiser, bachira meguru, rin itoshi, chigiri hyoma.

word count: 2668

extra notes: i originally had sae in this but he didn’t make it into the 9 character count i usually do.

ALEXIS NESS:

- Ness is very strategic about dates and things of the sort. He always thinks about the best ways to make you feel special, how to plan things out for you to enjoy yourself, he's particular.

- Though he tends to stick to romantic dinners in a nice restaurant, private to just you and him, sometimes you suggest something a bit more daring. Like, "Let's go to a yoga class!" or "Let's head over to the local water park!"

- But, arguably, his favorite non-romantic-dinner-date is definitely when you two went out shopping. Not to a mall or anything, just a town square, traditionally built with intricate patterns in the rocks.

- Ness, at first, was just window shopping and letting you pick everything. Whenever you looked at something for a prolonged second, he grabs it, buys it, and gives it to you. Especially if it's matching.

- He's a bit touchy on dates. Mostly wrapping his hands around your waist, occasionally glaring at people who stare at you for too long then pressing a firm kiss onto your lips, face, wherever he can reach.

- Ness enjoys taking you to fancy wine and dine restaurants, though gets confused if you order something more normal. He always gets you extra food just in case. (On most dates though, he's cooking for you.)

- At the end of the date, he walks you home and has his usual V-shaped smile plastered on his face while he waits for you to tell him bye. He then leans down, presses a kiss on your hand, then trails kisses up to your cheek and smiles.

- "I will see you soon, my love." He then walks off, leaving you dazed (with, of course, a soft smile on your face.)

AKIRA ENDOJI:

- Akira blushes bright red whenever you do literally anything slightly cute on the date. If you give a small giggle, he'll grip the table with a huge grin and bright blush on his face.

- He holds open every door for you, pulls out your chair, adjusts your outfit when people are looking. He'll do anything for you and your praise.

- He loves his first date with you. He remembers you went to a garden, and as he was chasing you around in there, he somehow stumbled into the fountain. He looked sad that he had ruined his appearance, so you jumped in right with him.

- He adores going on as many dates as he possibly can with you. You're practically going on one every other day.

- Akira, whenever you're going up an elevator or doing something before a ride, will bounce on his heels and smile as he's excited.

- Each date is extremely eventful though. You cannot say you've ever had a bland one. Whether the idea is skydiving or Akira just accidentally does something dumb, it's a 50/50 chance.

- One time, you went to a zoo and stepped on a bug. You didn't really care, however your (lovely) boyfriend's arms and legs were wrapped tightly around you as he stared at the guts of it. Then proceeded to act cool until he saw another one.

- He enjoys when you touch the tuff of orange hair in front of others because he practically chirps like a bird.

- Always buys souvenirs after every. Single. Date.

- He also loves going on coffee or hot chocolate dates in the winter because you always shiver and he gets to give you his coat. He's very proud of himself after that.

- At the end of each eventful date, you lean on his shoulder while listening to music with him. He fools with your hand until you both fall asleep.

RYUSEI SHIDOU:

- Oh expect the most eventful dates to the point your legs are trembling after from running around with him.

- He adores to pamper you and give you all his attention on dates. And grab your ass. Also a very important part.

- Most dates include going to parks and beating kids on the jungle gym, going to a carnival and competing to see who's better (if he wins, he gives you the stuffed animal regardless), going to rave concerts, or staying home and fucking. Whatever he wants that day.

- He actually took you to see A Clockwork Orange. You didn't understand what he saw in it, especially considering the foulness of it... However, he explained how he fucking loved the gore. Weird, but you had learned to accept it after seeing that kick to the face Rin got...

- Shidou adores randomly slapping your ass on dates and making you yell. He finds it hilarious and will press kisses all over your face as a thank you for letting him.

- He sometimes invites you on sudden notice to feed strays with him, which then spirals into a long and loving date.

- You teach him how to slow dance. He does it to impress you, but beyond that he'd suck.

- Always asking you to wear revealing outfits but accepts it when you don't. He enjoys how you gawk at his muscles when he flexes though.

- He also finds it fun to take you to cat cafes and to place all the cats on you, then take a picture and run.

- He buys you a lot of small trinkets, especially clips and plushies. He even gets a custom plush of him to put on your phone. (He has one of you on his too.)

- All dates end back at his place after a few rounds, having you curled up against his chest. For once, even though he feels empty as usual, he enjoys the sight of you on his chest. His breath and your face made you both drift to sleep.

NANASE NIJIRO:

- Nanase is over the moon when you ask him out on a date. He's a bit scared to ask you out on dates but he appreciates when you ask him. The only time he ever asked you to take him out on a date was when he asked you to prom. (His mother was dolling him all up while he looked a bit embarrassed.)

- Most dates have you two holding hands or interlocked arms.

- Also getting dirty.

- Nanase sometimes takes you on remote dates to picnics so you can remain distant from everyone as it's nice to have just your company around.

- He loves dates where you two get to go on adventures together to try new things. Like rock climbing! (You found out he had a fear of heights with that.)

- A few times on your dates, he'd say a metaphor wrong to a snow cone vendor and you'd just giggle and kiss his cheek.

- He's very much a gentleman and will hold open doors for you constantly.

- Tried to slow dance with you when it was getting dark and it was raining, except he slipped and you both fell. It took a while for you to stop laughing.

- Usually you buy large drinks early on in the date to quench your thirst for the entire date.

- Whenever the date ends, you walk him home and shake hands with whatever parent is there at the time. You then wave and walk home. (He's texting you the entire way home to make sure you get home safely.)

RANZE KURONA:

- He practically rushes to ask you out as he doesn't want any other guy to come sweep you up and take you away. 

- Dates usually are random, he'll go anywhere you want to go. The aquarium is the main spot. Not because he picked it, but because you did. You'll stare at the sharks for a few prolonged moments, then look at you and trail your fingers along his teeth.

- You always wear lipstick to your dates so you can press a kiss onto his cheek.

- He usually dresses pretty casual for dates. Shorts and a tank top. You always go all out and it's cute to see your contrasting styles.

- Sometimes you'll bring a Nintendo switch and show games to him that he enjoys.

- Most dates are actually at either of your houses as you two like having alone time together. Sitting in bed together, sharing his jacket as you lean against his shoulder and keenly watch the movie you had put on.

- He enjoys playing music in the background when you two do work out dates. By the end, Kurona is still going while you're face first on the ground.

- Kurona hates going to restaurants and instead picks up fast food for you two. He's always trying new things at places. Though he especially likes snowcones from a certain corner store.

- Dates ends with silent walks late at night, content with each other's company and nothing more. Though, not much more is needed for you to be satisfied.

MICHAEL KAISER:

- Oh how he loves to spoil you rotten and pamper you. He sometimes runs his hands down your back and tells you how good you look. Asks you to wear outfits he specifically buys for you.

- He constantly takes you slow dancing and tells you that he has to show you off to the town. You're used to a lot of attention but it's even worse when Kaiser is flaunting you. Kisses you for the paparazzi.

- He pampers you a lot. Mostly dates on the town where he can show you off. Or he takes you in a helicopter and flies you around, taking you across buildings sight seeing.

- He loves how the cities reflect in your eyes and will randomly kiss you because of it.

- Always takes you to big, nice musicals and plays after renting out the entire theatre. He enjoys comparing you and his relationship to one of the relationships in the show.

- He adores feeding you German cuisine, says he made it but he most definitely did not.

- Most dates are very formal, however he doesn't mind any sort of date with you. He adores the look you get in your face after you've been pampered silly. 

- You have at least 50 different pieces of jewelry encrusted with a blue diamond or sapphire that he bought for you.

- Kaiser sometimes randomly reaches around your waist and presses firm kisses onto your neck, mumbling how beautiful your body looks in the outfit you have on. He just chuckles when you get embarrassed.

- All dates end with him dropping you off at home in some extra way, then telling your parents how great you were. He always has to make a grand gesture towards them as well.

[persephonesdreams21]

Sweet Tooth

A/N: Well let me say first and foremost. My bad guys. Lol I didn't mean to keep this rotting in my drafts for almost a year, but life got crazy. I hope you guys enjoy this

Warnings: Explicit. Oral(fem receiving) Body worship. Finger sucking. Squirting. Multiple orgasms. Willy being down bad.

Summary: You’re sweeter than any chocolate he could cook up, and Willy is all too eager to show you just how much he craves you. Your smiles, your attention…your taste.

The last few weeks of your life have been vibrant.

Filled with technicolor so unlike the dreary years you’ve spent in this town. Between the weather and the chipped cobblestone, England was so gray this time of year. Frigid and frozen over with winter winds and a constant flurry of snow.

It was on a particularly cold night that you’d found him.

Saved him, he’d argue whenever he told the story. Saved him from Bleacher and his mangy mutt.

“Don't you ever get tired of harassing people?” you'd sighed as you'd stumbled upon the scene. A familiar one- another poor soul about to get roped into Bleacher and Scrubbit’s barely concealed hoodwink. Everyone who’d grown up in this city knew better.

“Why don't you mind your business, Y/N. And leave us be. Both me and mister-” Bleacher looks to the man. The one with the sharp cheekbones and the ostentatious velvet trench coat.

“Wonka. Willy Wonka” And he’d said it with such innocence gleaming in those bright eyes that in that moment, you knew you couldn't let him fall victim to the cruel scam.

That’s how you’d ended up with an unexpected housemate.

The home you’d grown up in is nothing special and far from fancy, but you do happen to have a spare room. One with an old fold-out bed that’s more comfortable than it looks. It may have been stupid, but you couldn't help but trust him. Want to help him, feel this pull to him…

That was weeks ago. Almost a month now.

Willy living with you, under your roof, feels oddly natural. Like it had been years that the two of you had been co-existing, he fits into your space like he was destined to come to you. Like he belongs there; the two of you working together like a well oiled machine.

You cook dinner, he washes the dishes and wipes down the counters. The house has never been neater. Even though you try to deny them, every day when he returns from the Gallery Gourmet, he leaves silver shillings in the key bowl on the kitchen table.

“It’s not much…but I want to make sure I’m paying my way. I’m real appreciative of all you’ve done for me” he tells you so earnestly it makes you blush. You sneakily slip his sovereigns in the pockets of his trousers when you do his laundry.

He doesn't know it but he’s helped you too. And not just by scrubbing dishes.

You truly hadnt realized how lonely you were until he came along, and you were terrified of losing your found companion. You’d hold on to him for as long as he’d allow.

Your new favorite time of the day is the evenings; quiet ones. With a fire burning in the hearth and the radio playing softly. You and Willy curl up on the couch, warm in your respective quilts. And read. Well, you read to him. At his persistent insistence.

“Aren't you tired of me blabbing yet?” you tease as you pick up the dog eared copy of The Hobbit that the two of you had been working your way through.

Willy gives you a grin, all boyish and crooked “Never that. I adore the way you tell stories”

That makes your stomach swoop dangerously and you shake your head “You’re a flatter, Mr. Wonka”

“No, no. Your voice is more melodic than the bells of Notre Dame” and when he says things like that to you, how are you not supposed to swoon? From any other man it would make you scoff, but from Willy his compliments always feel different.

Like maybe he’s telling the truth…

You ignore it and change the subject to something that feels safer “One day i'm gonna put you in front of a map and make you show me all the places you’ve been”

“Honestly, It would probably be easier to mark off the few places I haven't been-”

“Oh ho ho ho. How modest of you, great explorer” You tease around a laugh and his ears redden a bit at your ribbing.

“It's not like that and you know it” Willy defends “It was a lot less glamorous than it sounds. I spent seven years under the deck scrubbing pots and then collecting ingredients for my chocolate whenever we made port”

“And wooing girls on every continent?” I ask and that blush on his ears spreads to the high apples of his cheeks.

He’s a pretty one and you know even though he pretends to be demure, might come off as innocent, he’s anything but.

You’d gotten a small taste of it, and hadn't thought of anything else since. But neither of you had quite mustered the bravery to talk about that yet.

The two of you settle in on the old worn couch with mugs of steaming hot chocolate, courtesy of Willy. He’d spoiled you rotten, made you develop a terrible sweet tooth. Any cavities you develop, you’re completely blaming on him.

“Willy” you whine.

“Just try it, please. I made this recipe especially for you”

You take a sip.

The first rush of flavor over your taste buds has your eyes fluttering.

“Mmm, oh my god” you can't help but moan. It’s the most complex thing you’ve ever tasted. Truly. He’s outdone himself- cinnamon and warmth.The kind that feels like a a lovers embrace. Sweet milk chocolate. Is that a hit of rose? “This is insane, what’s in this?”

At your praise Willy smiles like the cat that caught the canary “Cinnamon bark from Sri Lanka, Wild roses from China. Coconut milk”

You look over at him, appraising. Trying to figure out why his voice has taken on that husk. Why his eyes are boring into so intensely.

“What a peculiar combination of flavors” you whisper and Willy bites his lip.

“Its become my favorite combination lately” he admits “but I can't seem to get it quite right. You see, I was allowed to taste it only once, and its tormented me since”

Your breath hitches. Flashes of tangling tongues tongues and his lips pressed against yours. It had only been one kiss but it had wreaked havoc on you since.

You eyeball the mug in your hands. Maybe you weren't the only one suffering with the after effects after all.

“Is this chocolate supposed to taste like?...”

“You. Yes. Your kiss. Your tongue and your lips” Willy nods. “I don't know if anything can come close to the real thing, but I tried”

Your heart thunders behind your ribcage. The longing in his voice matches the one within your gut, the need that had been brewing.

“I’ve spent hours. Thinking of you, trying to imitate your taste so that I could have it one more time. Spicy, but not quite. More warm. Sweet…the floral note from your lipstick. I’ve been nearly everywhere and i’ve never sampled anything quite like it”

With his confession, the thin thread of control snaps.

You’d been trying, so hard. Trying not to scare him away. Trying to keep the intensity of your feelings at bay so that he’d stay, even after he secured his shop. That he wouldnt leave you when he found success-

You place the mug down on the old wood of the side table-

“Please” Willy’s pathetic as he grabs at your arm “Don't go, I understand if this was too much but I- I didn't know how else to show you”

You lean into his touch, not away and that seems to calm him if only just.

Of course this sweet silly man couldn't just tell you that he cared for you. That was not his style. He was bad with words, so much better with his hands. To him, he’d shown you the most sincere form of devotion, crafted your portrait with his most loved medium.

“I feel the same” you say, voice quivering just the tiniest bit. His eyes melt and he comes in close, forehead knocking against yours.

When you kiss him its hot from the start. It’s wet and electric, charged with emotion. With desperation. Willy’s sinewy hands are all over you, cupping your chin, squeezing your waist, so much more bold this time. The waiting had lowered any inhibitions he might have had.

It’s frantic, him unbuttoning your blouse and you tugging at his trousers.

You need more. Need to feel his dark silky hair between your fingers, his pale skin under your palms.

Nothing feels like enough. Not when he mouths at your garment covered breasts or when you wiggle out of your skirt.

You reach into his boxers, wanting to palm at the blood hot hardness you’ll find there-

He groans and pulls his mouth away from your neck, where he’d been suckling marks into the delicate skin. “Wait, don’t”

“Why?” you’re confused, you can feel him. Firm and needy under the cloth.

“Because I want to take care of you first. With my mouth. If you’ll let me”

And oh. Oh.

All you can do is nod. Lay back and let him take what he needs, you feel more vulnerable than ever before. When he blankets you with his body, you realize that you also feel safer. Adored by this man, by this odd beautiful man.

Willy is a tactile person. He wants to touch and taste. And so that is what he does.

There’s so much to feel. Your heavy breasts, peaked with hard little nipples that he swirls his tongue round. Your belly and wide hips, so soft, so much give, he watches his fingers dig in and indent. Your thighs, so plush.

He buries his head between them. And inhales, deeply.

“Willy!” you exclaim, scandalized, trying to close your legs, but he shoulders his way deeper.

“You smell so good” Willy reassures you, his nose pressed against the wet patch on your knickers. Groaning like it’s the best scent in the world.

He takes his time, savors the moment as he peels the damp fabric away. His eyes locked on how the strings of slick stretch and shine in the low fire light. You’re so wet, the puffy lips of your cunt sopping already. And when he takes his first tentative lap, he knows that he could do this for hours and there's no way he’d ever be able to replicate it.

Nectar from the gods. Earthy and sour sweet.

You whimper as he feasts, as he gorges greedily. The sight of his dark head bobbing between your thighs makes you shudder. It’s almost unreal. That he’s doing this, that he wants you. His arms are wrapped around the back of your thighs, holding them up, holding you open.

You come for the first time with your fingers buried in his hair, pressing his face deep into you. Riding his nose and tongue.

For the second time you’re arching away from the sharp pleasure.

“Willy” you choke on your whines as his fingers reach deep into you, hitting that sensitive place inside over and over. You’re shaking with overstimulation, but hes groaning like he’s the one being brought to orgasm over and over.

He pulls his wet mouth away every so often. To tell you how beautiful you are. How good you taste.

“I can’t” you whisper, warningly.

“Please” Willy insists, his breath against your clit “One more, one more for me”

You can't deny him anything, can you?

You arch right up from the couch cushions, squealing as you hit that peak again. But this time is different, this time something inside you bursts, pushing wetness out in a flood.

Willy lets out a gutted sound from where he’s smothered by your thighs, that have tightened vice like around his head during your orgasm.

Coming down from it is almost painful and you’ve never sobbed from pleasure but well. There’s a first time for everything. While you shake and shiver Willy’s gentle, petting your thighs and tummy in soothing circles. Pulling away from your over sensitive flesh.

He stares up at you, his gaze heavy and his tongue poking out every few seconds. Swiping at his wet lips. Like he can't stop tasting you. It’s debauched. Beautiful.

“You are the best thing i’ve ever tasted” Willy pants out the vow, raw with honesty. Drunk on the flavor of you.

Wryly, you wonder if he’ll try to manufacture it into a truffle. A fancy bon bon.

You smile as he climbs back fully on top of you, your arms wrapping around him and holding him close. You kiss the shell of his ear before whispering-

“My turn to taste you”

🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬

I never thought I’d be writing Willy Wonka smut but well. Here I am lol

[ln4bub]

and i conclude with 36 + lando

(ofc no pressure on any of the asks, feel free to ignore any/all of them if they don’t tickle ur fancy hehe)

It’s winter break and you’ve never been more grateful to have Lando home, except for the fact that all he's done is game with Max.

Every. Single. Night.

First it was Rocket League, and then Counter Strike, and then Tarkov, and now you were sat in the background watching him yell at Fall Guys. Part of you had to admit that it was comical watching him try and fail so many times, but you wanted attention. There was only so much watching you could do, you're just a girl after all. You silently make your way over to Lando's gaming chair, draping yourself over the side to rest your chin on his shoulder. "How much longer will you be baby?" You whisper, lifting his headset slightly so he hears you.

"Like an hour maybe, I'm not sure. Why? Are you hungry? I can order food?" He suggests, eyes flicking briefly from the screen to look at you. "Don't need food." You whine, pouting lightly before placing a gentle kiss to Lando's neck. He swallows thickly, "Babe my friends can all hear, what do you want me to do?" He murmurs, muting himself whilst he waits for the next round. "Want you Lando." You tell him, continuing to press kisses across his neck, travelling along his jaw, feeling it clench with each soft touch of your lips.

"Just let me finish this level and I swear I'll go down on you until you cum at least three times." He tells you, pleading eyes under his glasses. You sigh, "Fine. But I'm holding you to that." He winks up at you before unmuting himself and picking up his controller to play the next round. You lay yourself on the centre of the bed, zoning out on your phone as Lando continues playing. You hear the occasional yell or slam of the controller, nothing unusual when he's gaming. You get lost in the world of Instagram, swiping through Daniel's end of season .jpg post.

You forget about Lando's promise, that is until you feel his warm hands on your thighs. You jump with the touch and he chuckles at you, "Gonna let me fulfil my promise baby?" He whispers, his warm breath tickling the apex of your thighs. Lando smirks when you raise your hips to allow him to remove your pyjama shorts. "Thank you princess." He smiles, kissing your lips before returning to his position between your legs. His lips explore your inner thighs, hands gently prying your legs apart. Soft whimpers escape your lips at the light scratch of his new facial hair.

His lips cover practically every inch of your thighs before his tongue darts out to flick at your entrance, collecting the arousal that's collected there. He starts slow, snaking his tongue through your folds, groaning at the taste of you on his tongue. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking gently as his hand rests on your pubic bone, keeping your hips still. His lips encase your clit, causing you to moan out as he sucks lightly, his tongue swirling and flicking. He eats you out like a man starved, uncaring about the way your arousal coats his mouth or the way his spit begins to soak you further.

He brings his finger to your entrance, circling it around the pulsing hole before pushing in. Your hips buck as your back arches away from the mattress, Lando moaning against your pussy at the way you clench around his finger. He curls his finger, his tongue working overtime on your clit as he slips a second finger in to join the first.

"Fuck Lando, oh my god." You moan, hand gripping the back of his head, tangling in his curls. He continues his ruthless pace drawing your first orgasm from you unbelievably quickly, but he doesn't stop. He slows his pace, lightly guiding you through your orgasm. Once he feels the pulsing of your walls slow he curls his fingers once more, attacking your g-spot as he sucks your clit back into his mouth. You scream out in overstimulation, your legs shaking as his hand becomes sticky with arousal. His hips begin to rut into the mattress, desperate for an ounce of friction. Your first orgasm hardly fades as the second one barrels into you, your walls clenching Lando's fingers so tight he could swear they would break.

This time he does pull away, encouraged by the way you frantically push at his head. You use your grip on his head to pull his lips to yours, he groans in your mouth at the feeling of your tongue. His groan turns into a whimper as you cup his bulge, massaging gently. He wraps his hand around your wrist, pulling your hand away, causing you to look at him in confusion.

"I said at least three didn't I?" He smirks, kissing his way back down your stomach to finish his meal.

[aperrywilliams]

Under the Rain (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Reader is waiting for Spencer in a restaurant to celebrate their 2nd anniversary. What happens when Spencer doesn't show up?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. Spencer fucked up but Reader loves him.

A/N: It's winter on this side of the world, and the rain makes me kind of sad.

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Is there anything worse than your boyfriend standing you up in a fancy restaurant on your 2nd anniversary? Yes, being stood up by your boyfriend in a fancy restaurant on your 2nd anniversary day while outside it’s raining cats and dogs.

That's worse. And pathetic.

You feel pathetic, sitting in that chair, all dolled up and waiting. You arrived at 19:30, and now your watch reads 20:45. No sight of Spencer.

What the fuck?

He was the one who suggested a romantic dinner in this very restaurant. He was the one who told you to make reservations. How could he forget it? You knew there wasn’t an active case. The very Penelope told you it was paperwork day when you texted her in the afternoon.

In the past hour, you dialed his number several times. You were worried at some point: what if something terrible happened to him? But you know bad news travels fast, so you assumed he didn’t show up just because he forgot. Deep down, you wanted there to be another explanation because if he only forgot, that would strengthen the idea of how little you mean to him.

Sensing the pitiful looks the hostess and the waitress sent you occasionally, you only wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

When the clock marked 21:00, you gave up. You asked the hostess for your coat and left the place completely silent.

The rain pouring outside was the perfect scenario for your current mood. You thought about calling a cab in front of the restaurant, but you only wanted to be far from that place as soon as possible, so you started to walk in the rain.

Goodbye to the stylish hairstyle that took you hours to achieve. Goodbye to the makeup you put so much effort into doing.

Striding along the sidewalk, you made sure to step on each water puddle you found along the way as you recalled every moment in the past months you felt Spencer away from you. And not only physically as when he was in a case. It was more than that. It was each morning he didn’t say I love you before leaving your shared apartment. It was each text he didn’t send telling you he was coming home or leaving for a case. It was each coffee you didn't share in the morning. It was each animated chat in the middle of the night you didn't have.

Were you being dramatic? You knew Spencer’s tendency to distract and engage in whatever his job could present him. In any other circumstances, you could have understood. Not tonight, though. Not when it was supposed to be your night together celebrating this milestone. The two years of love you thought were strengthening your relationship. How blind you have been. How naive.

You kept wandering on the streets with no destination. You didn’t want to come back to the apartment. You didn’t know where else to go either. So you kept walking.

-

Spencer Reid is a man with an eidetic memory. Everybody knows that. He can remember every piece of information people usually wouldn’t recall. He knows almost everything about anything. But even with his big brain, he sometimes has trouble keeping track of his own life. Like today.

Engrossed in a pile of manila folders from old cases, he lost time. A task meant to take just an hour or so kept him occupied and entertained for almost four hours. Emily’s voice was the only thing that brought him back from those files to reality.

“You still here?” Emily asked with a frown. Spencer looked at her oddly.

“Yeah. I was looking for patterns in our last cases in the northwest. What Tara said about the mixed murder weapons sounded familiar to me,” he explained before rubbing his eyes. He didn't notice how tired he felt until Emily interrupted him.

“Spencer, it’s almost 10 pm. And there is no active case. You can resume this tomorrow. I even thought you had plans today?”

‘10 pm’ and ‘plans today’ was enough to bring Spencer to realization.

“Fuck!” He yelped, jumping from his seat and freezing immediately, not knowing what to do.

“What?” Emily asked, seeing the panic in Spencer’s eyes.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” he repeated over and over as he reached for his phone in his satchel.

“What is it, Reid?”

“Emily. I was supposed to be in a restaurant with (Y/N) tonight! It’s - uh - it’s our second anniversary,” he, visibly embarrassed, finished the sentence.

Emily shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Reid? How on earth do you forget something like that?”

“I don’t know! I - I don’t really know. Fuck. I’m an asshole!” He checked the phone: twenty missing calls. Why he left it on mute?

“Stop complaining and do something! Come on! Move your ass out of here if you want a chance of not being precisely kicked in the ass by her,” Emily instructed. She knew Spencer needed directions when he was freaking out.

Spencer rechecked his watch. It read 10:05 pm.

Swearing under his breath, he dialed your number, which went straight to voicemail. Putting his coat on, he tried again while rushing to the elevator. Maybe you were still at the restaurant? Getting in the first cab he found, Spencer headed there.

Once he arrived, he asked the hostess about you. The girl told him you left after 9 pm.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He called you again with no success. This time you turned off your phone. Spencer’s stomach was a knot, and his heart hurt imagining you sitting alone, waiting for him.

Were you at home? Spencer guessed you wouldn't want to see him, so it was less probable. Should he go there anyway and wait for you? No. You deserved better than that. He would look for you even if it could take all night. Taking a cab, he decided to check the apartment - just in case - and grab his car keys.

As expected, you weren’t in the apartment. Spencer faced the darkness and coldness of the place, and a chill ran down his spine—the fear of losing you forever.

In the car, he thought, where you could be. It was still raining, and Spencer feared you were getting soaked and frozen, God knows where.

It was at this kind of moment Spencer wanted his eidetic memory, and all the knowledge in his brain could help to compensate for the dose of common sense he lacked.

‘Come on, Spencer. Think. For once in your life, do it for what is really important for you.’

-

Spencer parked and rushed out of the car, hoping his hunch was correct. He was in a park. Not any park, though. It was where he met you three years ago—where his life changed forever and for the better for once.

You were in a swing, moving softly back and forth, your feet touching the ground. Your eyes focused on the rain collecting in the nook you created with your feet in the mud.

“(Y/N)!” Spencer called once he spotted you. The rain muffled the sound of his voice.

Your eyes didn’t leave the ground. At first, you thought you were imagining things. It could have been wishful thinking that your boyfriend really cared about you. He called again, and now your brain obliged your eyes to look toward the voice’s source.

Spencer was in a corner where the park's playground began. He was looking at you and wanted to run to you, but the fear you could run away made him stay there, as the rain dampened him.

The sight of you broke him. You were utterly soaked. Your coat and lovely black dress were ruined, and your face with traces of smeared makeup. He could even spot your bloodshot eyes, swollen from crying.

He caused that. And Spencer hated himself for it.

Seeing you didn't say anything, barely acknowledging his presence, Spencer dared to take some steps forward. Your numb body didn't even flinch.

“(Y/N). I’m sorry,” were his first words. Expectable but useless for you. “I fucked it up. I’m sorry. I should have been there. I wanted to be there with you,” he apologized, giving a few steps closer to you. Not looking at him, you mumbled.

“But you weren’t. And if you really wanted to have been there, you would have.” Your voice was low and husky. You sounded tired and defeated. It was worse for Spencer. For him, you should be yelling. Telling him how hurting you were. How an asshole he was.

“Baby, there is no excuse for what I did. The last thing I want in my life is to hurt you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Spencer’s voice broke with each word.

What had he done? Why? How can he be so stupid? He loves you. You’re the most important person in his life, so why did he do that to you? How can he fix it?

Still not looking at him, you spoke again.

“I can’t understand, Spencer. It was our anniversary. You were the one who suggested doing it,” you remind him. He nodded, kneeling in front of you. It didn’t matter the mud, and it didn’t matter the rain still falling. Spencer needed to look at your eyes to explain himself.

“I’m an idiot. I lost track of time and forgot,” he mumbled. You held up your head and finally looked at him.

“You forgot? So it's true I’m not that important to you,” you concluded sadly. Spencer’s eyes widened.

“No! Don’t say that!” he pleaded.

“Am I wrong? I don’t think so.” Your chin wobbled, but you needed to say it. “I know your job is important, Spencer. I do. And I never wanted to compete with that because I thought I didn’t have to. But after these past months, I think I need to get used to the idea I lost you already,” you acknowledged with a pained sob betraying you. It was the pang of the meaning behind your own words.

The memories of the past months flashed before Spencer's eyes. And there he saw it. The kisses he didn't give you, the 'I love you' he didn't tell you. The nights he didn't sleep by your side—all the things he has been missing.

He realized that although he never doubted his love for you, he stopped nurturing it and took it for granted.

Crying, he took your hands, and by divine grace, you didn't push him away.

No words he could say would be enough to convey how sorry he was. But he needed to try because he didn’t want to lose you. You needed to know he loved you and that you owned his heart. You needed to know he just realized he made a mistake, and he wants to fix it.

“The first time I saw you in this very place, you were slowly swaying in this exact spot with your eyes focused on the book in your hands. I was so mesmerized that I never thought I would get the nerve to talk to you, you know? But I did. And when I saw the warm look you gave me when I asked you if you had read the author's biography, I felt my heart warming as never before. And when I heard your laugh after I clumsily tried to flirt with you? I swear it was the sound I wanted to hear for the rest of my life,” Spencer confessed, eyes sparkling at the memory. You fondly recalled it too. You never liked to talk with strangers all of a sudden, but with Spencer? It felt natural and right.

“You let me in in your life. You opened your heart to me and taught me how to do that too. You realized I’m not the best student in those matters, though,” he chuckled, seeing your nod.

“Despite that, you believed in me. You gave me a chance to love you, and I swear loving you has been the most natural thing that has ever happened to me. You have made me so happy (Y/N). You have no idea. And that is the problem. I have not known how to love you the way you deserve. I hadn't realized what I was doing. I'm sorry. I spent much of my life fending alone, not walking with anyone by my side. And I know that does not excuse my behavior. Even so, I dare to ask for an opportunity to prove you do not have to compete with my job. Give me a chance to prove to you I can be better. I can be the man who deserves your love. Please let me gain back your love and the privilege to hear you laugh again."

Spencer was almost out of breath when he was done speaking. You mulled in his words as his hands enveloped yours, patiently awaiting your response. Would you give him a chance?

As the rain continued pouring down, your eyes focused on him, still kneeling before you with hopeful eyes.

You know he loves you. Even if he needs to be better at proving it to you. And you love him even if you feel hurt for what he did. You both would have to work to make it work. You both deserved the chance, though.

The answer to his question was clear then.

You hopped off the swing and kneeled, not releasing his hands grasp and pulling him to catch his lips with yours. He kissed you back with everything he had. When both parted, you smiled at him, and Spencer was trying to figure out what that meant. You spoke to make it clear.

“Please, just don't make me regret being in this same place three years ago.”

Spencer earnestly shook his head.

“I won’t. I promise,” he told you before kissing you again under the rain.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine​ @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic​ @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

[surielstea]

Puppy Love

Eris week day two: Childhood

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x WinterCourt!Reader

Summary: Reader and Eris adventure beyond their courts borders to go hunting in the secluded, evergreen forest.

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff | adolescent Eris is a force to be reckoned with.

2.5k words.

The crisp, cold air fogged in front of my mouth as I let out a relishing breath. Officially winter, the season sacred to my Court. I nearly giggled with delight as my boots crunched in the snow, the sweet sound putting a beaming smile on my face.

I was on my trek towards the Autumn Court border, where I'd meet with Eris. Vanserra, a young lord and the sole heir of the Autumn Throne, though rumor has it that the Lady of Autumn was pregnant with another.

Eris and I met last year when he scared off my prey with his loud steps, I practically growled in his face but he only stared at me wide-eyed with flushed cheeks— and then I realized he had never met a girl who wasn't tripping over themselves in attempt to charm him, a young handsome lord would be any Court Lady's dream. That day he had claimed he didn't know what he was doing, that his father sent him out here with some fancy arrows and told him to bring back dinner. I gave him my harvest that day and he demanded I teach him how to hunt, and we've met every morning since.

"I hate the cold," The young lord grumbled, his reddened nose awfully adorable and destroying his facade of distaste.

"Of course you do, Lordling." I sigh. "Accustomed to a life of warm meals and crackling fireplaces," I drone on as I approach him, my white fur cloak blending in with the blinding snow.

His lip curled. "You're a princess, you're accustomed to that too."

I shrug. "Yes but I, unlike you, don't whine when the weather isn't to my liking," I hum with a snarky smile.

He deadpanned. "If I recall, five months ago you were moaning and groaning about the heat." He retorted and my smile fell.

"Well then," I click my tongue. He looks down at the basket in my hands, his brow raised.

"This is a gift for you, for our one-year friend anniversary." I hum and hold the wicker basket out to him, the blanket over it shifting with movement. He looked at it curiously, as if whatever was inside might bite his hand off.

"Friend zoned? After all my efforts of attempting to enchant you?" He says, taking the basket from me. I give him an incredulous look. He knew it'd never work, that the Prince with fire in his veins and Princess of ice and snow could never be together, forever opposing courts. No matter how badly I wished for that fact to change.

"Just, open it." I push the basket into his hand and he takes it, a sniffling snout peaking out from beneath the blanket. Eris looked at me slightly alarmed but I only gave him an encouraging smile. He sighs and flips back the rest of the blanket, revealing a pup with a gray coat, his tail wagging excitedly at the sight of his new owner.

"Where did you get this?" He looked at me with alarmed confusion and I rolled my eyes.

"My uncle gifted him to me on solstice, but we don't have the right environment to train and take care of him," I took the pup from his basket and cradled him in my arms, he chuffed and attempted to lick my cheek.

"He's a hunting dog, a smoke hound to be exact," I explain and hand him to Eris, who holds the dog like he was an alien.

"I know what he is. Do you understand what you're giving away?" He raises a brow. Smokehounds were the best breed in Prythian, not only that but this was a pure breed, so rare that even one was extremely difficult to come by. I knew the Autumn Court had prized them, and I could think of no one more deserving than the young lord who had snuck his way into my frozen heart this past year.

"Yes, very aware." I smile.

"I can't accept him, any of this," He shakes his head and puts the dog back into the basket, and attempts to hand it back to me.

"But look, he's already so attached to you,"  I argue with adoring eyes as the pup licks at Eris's ringed fingers.

"Let him hunt with us today, and then we'll decide who he goes home with." I place the basket down and watch as the hound spills out of it, trotting through the deep snow. His thick coat kept him warm, and his tongue lolling out was enough to say he was happy to be outside rather than trapped in my castle, to be doing what he was born to.

"Fine," Eris sighed, then grabbed his bow from his back. I did the same with mine. We followed the dog through the forest, allowing him to lead us as he tracked an invisible scent that even our fae senses couldn't pick up. His long ears nearly dragged through the snow as he trudged forward.

"What will you name him?" I ask softly, my voice quiet in fear of scaring off any prey.

"You can name him," Eris grumbled, showing only disinterest in the dog. I'd find it rude if I didn't know him better than that. He was trying to let it not get to him, he had never received such a meaningful gift for no real reason. He didn't like the warm feeling in his chest that he had never quite been able to control.

"Come on," I groan. "At least bounce ideas with me?" I suggest but he ignores me and I stop in my tracks, staring at him and sheathing my arrow back in its quiver.

He halted too after realizing I had stopped and turned to me with a raised brow.

"Why do you do this," I sigh.

"Do what?" He slings his bow over his shoulder.

"Deny any form of admiration I try to give you?" I stride closer, only a pace but enough to send him a message.

He stayed silent, only swallowing thickly as a reply. "It's a hound, Princess. I appreciate it but it's too grand of a gesture—" He begins to argue after a moment but I cut him off.

"This isn't about the dog." I shake my head. "Why do you refuse to let me you let me love you?" My brows crease and he bristles at my wording, but that is what it was, isn't it? That warm feeling he couldn't control that twisted him into knots, it was love, and he was terrified of it.

"Because I don't feel the same." He wills himself to say and a twinge of pain cracks through my heart but I remain strong.

"Liar," I snarl. "What are you so afraid of?" I take another step forward, so close that if I reached out, I could grab his hand in mine.

He shrugs and looks to the side, at the long line of evergreen trees that were more free than him, rooted into the frozen soil but still, alive and thriving. Far more than he'd ever be while chained to a throne. "Eris," I whisper and he shudders at the way I say his name. It was too intimate, it held none of the malice it often did when his father spat it, only heavy with adoration and guilt. "Eris look at me," I say and he steels his features, because my eyes were too much for him to bear, the eyes of the female he loves, and that horrifies him, because he cannot fool or trick me when I stare at him with those all-seeing eyes, cannot attempt to plot or ensnare when I look at him like that.

"I'm afraid of my father finding out," He confesses. "Terrified that if he discovers that something other than power makes me happy, he'd destroy it." His voice was as pure and raw as the fresh snow beneath our feet.

"We're seventeen, we shouldn't have to worry about that—" I begin but it was his turn to cut me off.

"But we're not normal kids, we will never be normal kids." He reached out and cupped my cheeks, and despite the negative temperatures, his palms were warm and soothing against my icy skin. "And I can't risk you."

"I'm a princess of my court, sole heir to the Winter Throne. To hurt me would be an act of war, he cannot touch me." I claim.

"No, but he will find a way. He will cleave us and tear us apart until you hate me." He claims and I frown.

"That will never happen." I shake my head, refusing the idea of ever hating the male that stood in front of me.

"Won't it?" His hands on my face press firmer, stressing his point. "We're heirs of opposing courts, inevitably we will become enemies." He explains.

"But we could be the ones to form an alliance," A fool's dream. The autumn court was too prideful to accept any other court, and the winter court would never ally with fire bringers. "Can't we just be stupid and reckless and young, for once?" I plead. "Even for only a few moments?" I say and reach forward, gripping his tunic in my fist.

"Is that too much to ask for?" I murmur and his eyes soften.

"Far too much," He replies, his warm breath mingling with mine. "But I'm willing to give it to you," He says, his voice steady and warm like crackling embers to a recently put-out fire.

"As a friend-anniversary present?" I taunt him with a teasing smirk and he shakes his head.

"You don't know how to shut up do you?" He drawls and I smile.

"I can think of one way," I suggest, stumbling forward and his breath hitched as I rose onto my toes and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. I pulled back with a soft smile and that was enough to send him reeling. He advanced forward, his fingers singing with heat against my cheeks as his lips, finally, met mine.

It was innocent and gentle, and a little awkward, but gods was it perfect. The kiss alone heated my entire body, all the way down to my fingertips which were still clutching his green tunic. Realizing I was still gripping him I relaxed my hands and allowed them to slip up his chest, around to the nape of his neck so I could pull him closer and encase myself in his warmth while he deepened our kiss.

My stomach clenched when he pulled away, it was quick, only a moment— exactly what I had asked for. I hadn't realized I was now going to crave those moments until the end of me.

He looked at me, his cheeks flushed and I knew it wasn't the cold that tinged them. "You ruined my makeup," I say, reaching up and wiping away the smear of cosmetics on his bottom lip.

"But you look beautiful," He mumbled, too caught up in the action of me so casually touching his lips. I lift my eyes up to his gold-flecked ones and smile wickedly.

"That kiss really did a number on you," I taunt because it was the only way to stop myself from being greedy and kissing him again, and again, and again until I could recall the exact feel of his lips from memory.

He looked to the side, attempting to get rid of his blush, forget about how perfectly he slotted against you.

Then his brows bunch in concern and my spine stiffens with alarm. "What is it?" I ask, looking out towards the empty forest.

"Your dog already got lost." He grumbled and I relaxed, my shoulders slumping.

"He's your dog," I stress. "And he's not lost. He's hunting." I say proudly and Eris casts me an unbelieving glance. I smile at him and press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Come on," I take his hand in mine and drag him through the frosted-over forest. "We have to catch at least a few squirrels before leaving," I say and he mumbles a string of curses but follows me anyway.

We had been crouched behind a bush for so long now that my legs began to ache from my position. Eris was fletching an arrow leaning back against a tree, his auburn hair blending in with the trunk of the redwood. I admire his pale features, his sharp nose, and high cheekbones. His amber eyes that were flecked with gold if you were close enough to notice. I was just about to blurt something foolish about how handsome he was, when the crunch of snow sent my ears peeking up.

Eris froze too, becoming alert and peering over the side of the tree as I drew my arrow from its quiver and nocked it against my bowstring. The sound of steps comes from behind, straight at us, growing faster.

I whirl around and aim at the grey creature bounding towards Eris.

The smokehound pup trotted towards him with a limp rabbit in his maw. The hound chuffs then drops it at Eris' feet as an offering. "Aw, he's brought you a gift," I beam wildly. "You should turn the rabbit into jerky and treat him with it. He'd love that," I say while patting the pup's dark coat.

His gaze lingers on you for a long moment, analyzing your gentle features when you look at the dog. "Maybe I will," He mutters and I look over to him with a soft smile. "I think we're done for the day," I say and stand upright, stretching my legs as I do so. He does the same, the pup looking up at him with his tail wagging excitedly. Eris bent down and patted the dog's head and the hound began running circles around the both of us.

Eris shakes his head with feigned annoyance. I grabbed him by his collar and pulled him forward, right into me. His arms wrapped around my waist on instinct, stabilizing himself with his hands planted on my torso— and even through all the layers of clothing, I could feel the warmth emanating from him. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, right?" I tilt my head up at him and he nods with a soft smile.

"Mhm, bring Flynt," I say and he raises his brows.

"Is that his name, now?" He asks, looking down at the dog weaving between us happily.

"You said I could pick," I shrug innocently and his smile grows.

"Flynt it is," He nods, then leans forward and places a soft, precious kiss on my forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, Princess." He whispers against my frosty skin and I nod, taking a wobbly step back and turning away towards my Court before I got the idea in my head that I could find us an empty cabin to live in until we were old and rotting.

I don't bother with goodbyes and continue my march towards the Mountain Home. But I did look back, just once, to see Eris and his new obedient pet walking alongside each other back towards the realm of crackling bonfires and falling leaves.

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[yesihaveaobsession]

Fallin' Inlove

Alastor x female reader

Summary: Alastor takes the reader (you) ice skating and well he's a lot better then you.

A/N- I can roller skate (quads) because I use to play Roller Derby but aged out, but I'm not that good at ice skating so hopefully some can relate. But I do like it just not as much as roller skating

As the two of you stepped into the old-fashioned ice rink, tucked away in the depths of Hell, a mix of thrill and fear filled you. Although the atmosphere was lovely, with beautiful, soft lights twinkling over the white sheet of clean ice and the cold air nipping at your cheeks, it reminded you that you typically didn’t partake in winter sports like this. Your legs started to feel wobbly, while Alastor, with a snap of his fingers, had his skates laced up instantly.

Seeing you struggle, he held back a laugh with his notorious grin and helped you before holding out his arm, allowing you to stand and take it as you made your way to the ice. As soon as you stepped onto the ice, your legs wobbled, but you looked over at Alastor, who was calm as ever, gliding effortlessly beside you. You silently cursed yourself—if he could do it, then you should be able to as well, right? Wrong.

You thought to yourself, What can’t this man do? You’d seen him play the piano, exhibit great offense, and now, he was ice skating without a problem? You were looking down at your feet, watching them move, when you heard his voice, causing you to look up.

“Come now, my dear, it’s just like dancing,” he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. You felt yourself sinking down and, without thinking, gripped onto his pinstriped coat for dear life, your skates barely cooperating as you attempted to move forward.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Fancy Feet,” you muttered, feeling his crimson eyes on you the entire time. It was obvious he was making sure you didn’t embarrass yourself, but it was also clear that he was holding back a laugh. You knew he loved watching people fail. His lips twitched every time you stumbled, and the occasional chuckle slipped through, though he tried his best to stay composed.

“You’re doing wonderfully, darling,” he praised but continued to skate towards you. “Might I suggest you bend your knees?”

You looked up at him, confused. “What?”

“Your knees—bend them,” he instructed, and you did as told. “I must say, I’ve never seen anyone quite so… determined.”

You rolled your eyes and shot him a glare. “I’m trying, okay?”

You managed well for a while, even stepping away from Alastor a little. He held his hand out just in case you needed it. But everything went south when you encountered a rough patch of ice. Your grip tightened on Alastor's coat, and although your hand wasn’t holding his, it was still gripping his coat, probably leaving wrinkles. But the grip was no use; your balance betrayed you, and you found yourself falling backward. Alastor’s hand slipped from yours as you plopped onto the ice with a thud, successfully landing on your behind. You let out a surprised gasp, followed closely by a groan as you sat there, feeling the cold seeping through your clothes.

Alastor skated back over to you, his grin now stretching past his eyes with amusement. “Are you alright, my dear?” he asked, laughter bubbling beneath the radio static. You looked up at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and coldness. If he had to admit, you looked adorable.

“Go ahead and laugh it up, demon,” you pointed, trying to sound annoyed, but that clearly failed as a giggle escaped your lips.

He finally let out a full laugh that echoed through the empty ice rink. “I must admit, you do have a rather… unique way of making skating memorable,” he teased, offering you his hand to help you up. “Alright, up you go.” Taking his offer, he pulled you back up with ease, but your feet remained unsteady.

“Maybe I should just stick to walking on solid ground,” you suggested with a sheepish grin.

“Perhaps,” Alastor agreed.

With that, you both decided that was enough for the day. Soon, you were back at the hotel in warm clothing, with a mug of hot cocoa, because you most certainly deserved it. You sat in Alastor’s radio tower with him—surprisingly, he allowed you—and sipped your mug while listening in.