#like coffee shop stories are all well and good and warm and cozy

[frogfishwastaken]

Weirdly specific science-y settings for romance stories i wish people would use more often

1. Old timey research boat

Reasoning: The ANGST POTENTIAL JUST THINK ABOUT IT LIKE THE OCEAN??? Very dangerous, cramped cabins, emotional/actual storm potential, PLUS YOU GET TO USE SEA CREATURES AS METAPHORS?? HELLO?? BONDING OVER NEW SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERIES?

2. Abandoned research outpost with only the necessary personnel left to shut it down

Reasoning: could be AMAZING for enemies to lovers, abandoned by institutions that they sold their lives to and finding solace and empathy in each other, also good potential for a tragic kind of story, like trying to force something because you love it, you love them, but it will never really work, and again the METAPHORS

3. Caribou trapper and ecologist cross paths in the Arctic tundra

Reasoning: similar vein as the abandoned research outpost, understanding each others worlds etc etc. SO much angst potential like just imagine the kind of shenanigans they could get up to with almost-frozen ponds and dark middays and deep snow banks. (Also I want to write a book and name it “where the ice sings and the sky dances” because of reasons)

4. Stuck in the middle generation of a generation ship

Reasoning: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHUUGHUGHHUH

6. Paleontology dig on another planet

Reasoning: VENUS/PLANET OF LOVE/WAS DESTROYED BY GLOBAL WARMING/DID ITS PEOPLE WANT TOO MUCH TOO/DID ITS PEOPLE WANT TOO MUCH

7. Rural cyberpunk

Reasoning: gonna be honest I don’t know what rural cyberpunk would look like but it would be really interesting I think. You get the rural kind of loneliness and tractors and cold winters and strange animals in the night but you also get the cyberpunk aspect and how it pushes the boundaries of death, life, and humanity, the weird lights and cybernetics, and you can see the ways in which these two worlds could collide AND ONE PERSON COUKD BE LIKE A RUNAWAY FROM A CYBERPUNK CITY HIDING OUT IN THE COUNTRY AAAA

[kingofbodyrolls]

Perfect Strangers (m) | jhs

When a man as warm as a crackling hearth steps into your cozy bookstore seeking the perfect gift for his friend’s Christmas party, you can’t help but offer him your brightest smile. But when he returns days later, with a spark in his eye and a bold request—to be his pretend girlfriend for this very party—you think, Why not? After all, Christmas is a time for a little magic, a little whimsy. Yet as you step deeper into his world, you discover a heart weighed down by scars from the past, a man more complex than the merry mask he wears. Still, what’s Christmas without a little hope, a touch of wonder, and a heart ready to spread the joy it knows so well?

→ Pairing: hoseok x reader (female) → AUs: bookstore!au, coffee shop!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / fake dating → Genres: fluff / angst / smut / romance → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 19.7k → Warnings + triggers: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral (both), fingering, breast play, cum eating, hair pulling, dirty talk, praise kink, Hobi was a huge cock, creampie, aftercare, marking.  → Author’s note: guess who’s back with another Christmas gift? Me! 🎁 And this time, we’re unwrapping a Hoseok story! 🥳 Brace yourselves, because this one’s got ALL. THE. FEELS. Seriously, it’s like a snowstorm of emotions—pretty sad at times, but also as warm and sweet as your favorite cup of cocoa on a chilly night ☕🫂 Because let’s be real, who doesn’t need a good hug this season? I actually wrote this in November, and it gave me all the feels while writing it. I hope you’ll love it just as much as I do—and please, pretty please, shower our sunshine Hobi with all the love and virtual hugs he deserves ☀️💛 → Read the spoiler? [text messages]  → Read on AO3? [link] 

The air bites, sharp and unforgiving, and snow tumbles in silent waves. Hoseok pulls his green parka tighter, hands buried deep in his pockets, bracing against the chill that feels as much within him as without. He hates this season—Christmas and all its garish lights, the forced smiles and saccharine cheer that feel like hollow echoes in his ears. Every year, it pulls him back to a time when something precious slipped away, leaving only empty echoes and a bitter frost in its place.

He trudges through the drifts, his boots crunching with each step as he scuffs at the snow like it’s a living thing to be kicked away. Snow. He despises it—the memories it brings, the losses buried in its whiteness. Sighing, he drags his mind away, trying to escape from the grip of the past as he remembers his unfortunate task: a gift for Namjoon, drawn by fate and the iron-clad rules of Secret Santa. Namjoon, who seems like he’d raise an eyebrow at any attempt to impress him. What do you buy for a man whose tastes are as precise as clockwork? Hoseok’s mind wanders, a book, maybe—a neutral, safe bet. Or a plant? Or some gym gear, though he winces, thinking that might feel too impersonal. The book is safer, he decides, less likely to disappoint.

His friends won’t let him slip out of their gathering this year; the annual Christmas dinner. They’ve grown wise to his excuses, having humored them too many times before. This time, they said, he simply has to come, or they’d drag his sorry ass out of his apartment themselves. So he’d agreed, and before he could stop himself, he’d added a lie—a plus one. A date. Why he’d said it, he didn’t know. A flare of bravado, maybe, or a strange wish that he could bring someone to light the way through the season he loathes. But he hasn’t had anyone in years, and now the promise lingers uncomfortably, as cold as the snow itself.

Just as his thoughts are tangling around the dreaded dinner and the impossible gift, something catches his eye. Through the haze of snow, a flickering glow lights up the street. LEDs twinkle on a small shop sign, casting warm light onto the swirling cold. The words, “Books & Coffee,” curl across the sign in whimsical letters. Through the frosted windows, he catches a glimpse of cozy warmth inside—painted winter scenes, shelves filled with books, and the faint haze of steam rising from mugs. A chance, he thinks. A book for Namjoon, maybe, and a cup of coffee to thaw his mood.

With a shake of his head, he steps toward the shop, hoping the warmth within might push back, if only for a moment, the frost of memory that clings to him so stubbornly.

He pushes the door open, expecting the cramped and dim interior of a hole-in-the-wall shop. But as he steps inside, he pauses, surprised. The space stretches wide and tall, a quiet maze of towering bookshelves reaching toward the ceiling like trees in a literary forest. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and fresh coffee, as warm and comforting as a blanket against the cold. Each shelf brims with books of every size, color, and genre, neat little labels dividing worlds of romance, mystery, fantasy, and more. And there, at the back of the store, his eyes catch on something unexpected—a grand coffee station, part of the cashier’s desk, decked out with bottles of liquor that glint invitingly beneath the dim lights. He frowns, amused, wondering just what sort of bookstore he’s stumbled into. 

Around him, people sink into overstuffed couches and mismatched armchairs, nestled beside little tables piled high with books and steaming mugs. Some read in hushed solitude, while others murmur in low voices, their laughter rippling like warmth in the cozy air. He laughs to himself, an ironic chuckle at the scene—it’s like he’s wandered into a romantic comedy set. Christmas decorations hang from every possible ledge, string lights wound like ivy around the shelves, falling snow draping down from the ceiling, like something straight out of The Great Hall in Hogwarts. It’s kitschy, as if the store itself is leaning into the absurdity of holiday cheer, its charm so overdone it loops back into endearing. He can’t help but picture it: a flower stand in one corner, and his “perfectly quirky holiday shop” bingo card would be complete.

Not knowing where to start, he begins wandering among the shelves, eyes skimming over the labeled sections—romance (divided by spice levels, he notes with a faint smile), “how-to” books, self-help guides, fantasy, young adult, crime thrillers. He feels lost, in more ways than one, unsure what might interest Namjoon. A philosophy book, maybe? Or poetry—something brooding and introspective, since Namjoon’s always been the type to lean into “the deep stuff.”

Just as he’s contemplating how ridiculous it is that he, of all people, has to pick out a “meaningful” gift, he glances up and spots you at the counter, your lips curved into a soft smile. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, he feels something unexpected—a flicker, like warmth pressing through the cold. You’re watching him with a light in your eyes, a warmth that, to his surprise, disarms him, even makes him feel almost…seen. Before he can look away, you’re already walking toward him, smile unwavering, and a strange, unfamiliar shiver runs down his spine.

“Do you need any help?” you ask, your voice soft and welcoming, your gaze roaming over him in casual appraisal.

If he had a flirting bone left in his body, he might have found a response, something charming to match the spark in your eyes. He thinks you’re cute, sure, and there’s no mistaking the interest in the way you’re looking at him. But he doesn’t have it in him, not anymore. It’s been too long since he’s let himself flirt, or even felt the desire to.

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “I’m…looking for a book. For a friend. Got stuck with him in Secret Santa this year,” he shrugs, hoping that explains enough. 

You nod, listening with a gentle attentiveness that surprises him, as if every word he says matters. 

“Alright,” you reply, a bright smile lighting up your face as you clap your hands together in delight. “What kind of books does he like?” you ask, leading him further into the store with a spring in your step, your energy contagious, warming the air around you.

For a moment, he finds himself smiling back, the heaviness he carries lifting ever so slightly. Following you, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, this little shop—with all its quirks and kitschy charm—has a kind of magic after all.

A faint, almost reluctant smile tugs at his lips as he watches you move, graceful and light, as if the weight of life has never touched your shoulders. You float through the shop like someone untouched by scars, unshadowed by loss. He envies that ease, that freedom—it stirs something in him he thought he’d locked away. For a moment, he wishes he could go back to that version of himself, the one who moved through life without feeling every step like a burden. He sighs, catching himself and remembering you’d asked him a question.

“Ah—Namjoon’s into poetry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Existential stuff. The deeper, the better.”

Your smile grows, wider and brighter, and he catches sight of your slightly crooked front tooth—a small imperfection that only makes you look cuter as you bounce across the store. “I know just the thing! Follow me,” you sing, your voice lilting with a joy that contrasts starkly with his own. 

As he trails after you, he finds himself standing a little taller, rolling his shoulders back, almost as if he could let the weariness fall away. You lead him to a tall bookcase near the back of the shop, beneath a quaint little sign that reads, “Poems; a penny for your thoughts?” He raises an eyebrow at the cheesiness, but something about it is endearing, and he feels a hint of warmth sneaking in, thawing the corners of his frozen heart.

“So, this whole section is poetry. Anything specific you think he’d like, or should I recommend you something?” you ask, turning to him with eyes that feel soft and inviting, like an open door.

He hesitates. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He’s…well, his taste is kind of serious, and sometimes it’s just boring to me,” he admits, shrugging. A hint of worry lingers, hoping he hasn’t come off as rude—especially if poetry is something dear to you. But your smile doesn’t falter; if anything, it seems to soften, unfazed, still welcoming him in.

“Perfect! Then I know exactly what to recommend to you.” Your eyes light up with a spark of joy that catches him off guard, making his heart stir with an unfamiliar flutter. Reaching for a thick book, you cradle it like something cherished, a small treasure passed down. Your fingers trace the cover, vibrant and abstract, alive with colors that swirl and dance. He peers at the title, upside down but legible: Seasons Change, People Change: Thoughts on Personal Growth Inspired by Mother Nature.

You hold it out to him, gently, and begin with a quiet, thoughtful enthusiasm. “This collection is one of my favorites. Each page is filled with illustrations—paintings and sketches that bring the words to life. It’s divided into four sections, one for each season. It’s beautiful, but it’s also challenging, introspective. I keep it close for those days when I need something grounding, something to remind me to keep growing, even when it’s hard.” Your voice is soft, reverent, and the passion in your words flows freely, making his heart stumble a little, a pulse he thought had quieted.

Without a second thought, he feels himself drawn in, already captivated by your summary and the way you cradle the book like it holds some kind of quiet magic. He feels it—the warmth and lightness in your presence thawing the edges of something inside him. He thought he’d long forgotten this feeling, but as you stand there, glowing, he realizes maybe it isn’t gone after all.

“Do you want to get him this one, or should I find something else?” you ask, your eyes gleaming with a playful spark, the kind of light that could brighten even the dimmest of days.

He lets out a chuckle, low and gravelly, surprising himself. The sound feels foreign, rusty, like laughter hasn’t escaped his throat in a long time. “No,” he starts, and then realizes you’d offered him two options, so he clears his throat and clarifies, “I want this one. Thank you.”

Your smile widens, and there’s that same warmth in your eyes, shimmering with a joy he hasn’t felt in years. “Awesome,” you murmur, a quiet delight in your voice as you turn to lead him back to the counter. He follows, watching the way you move, the easy grace of your steps, the little bounce that seems so at odds with his own heavy tread. He can’t help but notice the care you put into even the smallest details—how your fingers skim over the cover as you scan the book, your voice soft as you tell him the price. He nods absently, hardly hearing you; he’s already decided this book, chosen with such thought, is worth every penny.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” you ask suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He chuckles again, awkward this time, and you respond with a light laugh of your own, a sound that melts the air between you. “I’ll wrap it up real quick,” you say, reaching for a roll of delicate paper. “Just a sec.”

He watches, captivated by the way you work. Your hands move smoothly, almost lovingly, as you fold the paper with practiced ease. You add a final touch—a bit of decorative tape, a couple of small stickers, a tiny pocket for a note. There’s a grace in your movements, a tenderness he hadn’t expected to find in something so ordinary. It strikes him that you must do this every day, that you’ve wrapped countless books just like this one, yet you treat each with the same reverence. For a moment, he’s transfixed, caught up in a little world where every gesture, every detail matters.

“Here you go,” you say, handing him the book, now carefully wrapped and nestled in a paper bag.

“Will that be everything for you today?” you ask, smiling softly as if you can sense he’s still lingering, still caught in his own thoughts.

“Oh—actually, no!” he exclaims, a laugh slipping out, and it’s genuine, unexpected. “I’d like a coffee to go, please.”

“Of course,” you reply with a little nod, and he watches as you glide over to the coffee station, your hands moving gracefully as you work the machine, pouring a steady stream of coffee into a simple paper cup. You bring it to him with a quiet smile. “Here you go,” you say, handing him the cup, its warmth seeping through the paper and into his fingers, spreading heat into his bones.

“Thank you,” he says, reminding himself to return your smile. There’s a warmth there, an ease he hasn’t felt in a long time, and he finds himself thinking, just for a second, how pretty you look with that gentle expression, with the easy way you move through the world. If only he weren’t so closed off, so weighed down by his own wounds. You’d be the kind of person he’d love to ask out, if his heart hadn’t already been numbed by the cold.

But no—he’s too far gone for that. So he simply raises a hand in farewell, turns his back, and steps out into the biting wind. Snowflakes swirl around him, cold against his cheeks, but his coffee is warm in his hands, sending up gentle tendrils of steam that vanish into the icy air. He trudges through the snow, his footsteps muffled, his mind unexpectedly lingering on you—your warm laugh, the way your eyes glinted with life, as if joy itself lived inside you. 

Maybe he should let himself try again. Maybe he should take a chance and see what could happen, let someone in, just once more. His friends have told him enough times how much he needs that, how he should stop closing himself off. But then he remembers how content you seemed, untouched by the darkness he carries, and he can’t bear the thought of bringing his storm into your sunlight, of tainting that brightness with his own shadows. It’s better this way, he tells himself, better not to risk another heart—especially not one that shines like yours.

The sun spills across the snow outside, making it glisten like a field of tiny pearls scattered over the earth. Inside your bookstore, the warmth of Christmas lingers in every corner, filling the air with the quiet glow of string lights, the soft hum of holiday music, and the scent of coffee mingling with cinnamon. It’s just the way you love it—cozy and inviting, a small world apart. The fragrance stirs memories of Christmases past, when warmth and wonder felt boundless. It’s nostalgic, yes, and you find yourself wanting to pass that feeling on, to wrap it up like a gift and place it into the hands of every person who steps through the door.

This is why you opened this bookstore with its coffee corner, a place where stories and comfort blend as naturally as words on a page. You’ve always been captivated by the written word, knowing full well how a single story can slip beneath your skin, change your world, and leave you breathless with a sense of wonder. A story can make you pause, whispering, wow, this was amazing, or surprise you with glimpses of yourself in its characters. Some books show you new paths; others mirror the parts of yourself you hadn’t quite understood.

This is the magic you’ve always chased—a quiet enchantment found only in books—and why you can’t help but adore recommending them. You believe in the power of words, that the right book at the right time can light up a reader’s world. And here, among the shelves you’ve lovingly arranged, you get to share that magic every day, welcoming others into a world that feels like home.

Every person who steps into your little winter wonderland is met with a genuine smile, and if they’re looking for a recommendation, you’re ready to sprinkle a bit of joy their way. Life hasn’t been simple for you, and you’ve had to fight for much of what you have now, but it’s made every small thing feel that much more precious. Every creak of the floorboards, every cover softened by countless hands, every whispered exchange about a new favorite book feels like a gift.

It’s midday on a bustling Saturday—one of the busiest days of the week—and today’s book club meets in half an hour. You glance at the clock and start setting everything up, filling the air with extra anticipation. You prepare an assortment of drinks: coffee, of course, but also tea for those who prefer it, poured into festive mugs that add a little extra cheer. You drape fluffy blankets over the cozy couches and scatter them with soft pillows, transforming your reading nook into a haven from the cold outside. Freshly baked muffins and cookies wait on the table, adding a hint of sweetness to the air.

In your hands, you hold today’s book—a thrilling, spicy fantasy where a young woman uncovers a hidden truth about herself, discovering magic and mystery with the help of a tall, dark, brooding stranger. It’s the perfect pick for this crowd, an escape into a world filled with intrigue and impossible love. Your bookstore hosts a range of book clubs, something for every taste, from cozy mysteries to heartfelt memoirs, so everyone who wanders in finds a place to belong.

As you check the time again, the chime of the door opens, and members trickle in, mostly women but with a few men scattered among them. They settle into the chairs, cradling their warm drinks and pulling out their books, eyes bright with anticipation. You begin, reading snippets aloud, leading discussions that bounce from laughter to quiet reflection as everyone shares their favorite lines, passages that moved them, questions that linger. Hours slip by in an instant, and even after the meeting ends, people linger, reluctant to let go of this cozy, book-filled oasis. Some stay to read, sipping slowly at their cups, while you return to the counter, greeting the steady stream of customers that fill your little shop. 

As you move between the bookshelves and help others find their next escape, you feel a quiet pride. This place is yours, filled with stories, laughter, and a touch of magic in every corner—a small universe where people come to feel less alone, warmed by the same words that have guided you all your life.

As you wait, relaxed, watching for anyone who might need help, your mind drifts back to a few days ago, to that stranger who walked in with the quietest of presences, searching for a gift—a book for his friend. Namjoon, that was the friend’s name. You realize now you never caught the stranger’s name. He was handsome in an understated way, but there was a heaviness about him, like a cloud clinging to his shoulders. That sadness had tugged at something inside you, urging you to offer him a touch of the holiday warmth filling your little shop. Despite his guarded nature, you saw those small cracks, those fleeting moments when he softened, letting in a glimmer of the joy you tried to share.

Now, with closing time just around the corner, your thoughts drift back to him and that lingering, frowning gaze. Just then, the bell chimes, pulling you from your thoughts, and to your surprise, in he walks, the same stranger, stepping through the door with a hint of apprehension. For a split second, he looks vulnerable, almost unsure—but as his eyes meet yours, his expression shifts, confidence replacing hesitation. His small smile is radiant, a rare glow that catches you off guard, like a sliver of sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to leave you wondering what storms he’s weathered to dim his light this way.

You greet him with a soft smile of your own as he steps up to the counter, stopping just before you. 

“Hi,” he says with a steady voice. You return the greeting, about to ask if he needs help with anything, but he speaks first, voice a touch uncertain but warm.

“Remember that friend you helped me find a gift for?” he asks, scratching his head, as though he’s slightly unsure of himself. You nod, intrigued, and he clears his throat, glancing away for just a moment.

“Well,” he continues, his voice steadying, “we’re having a Christmas dinner tomorrow, and I thought... Maybe you’d like to come with me?”

You blink, taken by surprise, and a laugh escapes as you say, “I don’t even know your name,” your tone light, not saying no, but letting him know you’re curious, open to this unexpected invitation.

“Ah, right—my bad,” he says, stretching his hand toward you with a shy smile. “I’m Hoseok. And you?”

You take his hand, his warmth surprising you, and you giggle, “It’s Y/N,” you reply, your voice soft, the sound of your name feeling different in the warmth of his gaze.

“Y/N,” he repeats, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “Pretty name,” he murmurs, and you can’t help but feel the faintest hint of flirtation woven in his words, though there’s still a nervousness in his eyes.

Then he takes a small breath and adds, “Just to clarify,” he hesitates, his voice wavering with a hint of uncertainty, “you’d be going as my girlfriend. Well, my fake girlfriend.” He chuckles nervously, almost wincing at his own words. “I mean—if you’re good with that?”

The words hang in the air between you, unexpected and just a bit surreal. Fake girlfriend? You blink, caught off guard, studying his face as he scratches the back of his neck, stammering slightly, realizing, perhaps, the absurdity of it all. “I told my friends I’d be bringing my girlfriend,” he explains, his cheeks coloring, “but, well… I don’t actually have one.”

There’s something so earnest, so endearingly awkward about him that you can’t help but smile. And before you know it, you hear yourself saying, “Yeah, sure. I’d love to be your fake girlfriend.” The words come easily, and even though you’ve only seen him once in your bookstore, something in his gaze feels steady, genuine. Maybe it’s a leap, but you’ve always trusted your instincts, and right now they’re telling you he’s worth it. If this brings him a little joy in the midst of whatever shadows he’s facing, you’re happy to oblige.

Hoseok looks stunned, his mouth opening slightly in disbelief, and then a broad smile lights up his face. “Thank you,” he breathes, his voice filled with relief and a soft gratitude. He tells you he’ll pick you up tomorrow, and you exchange numbers and addresses, the simple gestures somehow feeling significant.

As he heads out into the frosty night, his figure disappearing into the snow-dusted street, you’re left smiling to yourself, the weight of the unexpected encounter settling over you. You lock up the bookstore, half-wondering at the mystery of it all, but feeling strangely certain this is exactly the kind of magic the season brings—unexpected, a little reckless, and wrapped in the glow of winter lights.

You clasp your hands together, fingers intertwining tightly, nerves fluttering in your chest as you wait for Hoseok to pick you up. You agreed to join him at his friends’ Christmas dinner as his pretend girlfriend, but now, in the quiet of your apartment, doubt creeps in. You’ve only met him twice in your bookstore, barely know him beyond fleeting glances and brief exchanges. The thought of walking into a room full of strangers prickles at your confidence. But you remind yourself that it’s just like meeting new faces at the shop. Slowly, your shoulders loosen, and your breathing steadies.

Glancing at your wristwatch, you see it’s nearly time. You grab your keys, lock the door, and head down the stairs, feeling the soft knit of the Christmas sweater dress Hoseok insisted you wear, an odd sense of comfort in its silly design. Apparently, you’re “matching his ugly sweater,” as he’d said with a laugh. Wrapped in your winter coat and boots, you step into the night, the cold air crisp and bracing as delicate snowflakes drift through the air, illuminated by the warm amber glow of the streetlamps.

Headlights sweep up the road, and Hoseok’s car slows to a stop in front of you. He’s waiting, the dim light from the dashboard casting a soft glow across his face. You open the door, sliding into the passenger seat, where warmth radiates from the heater and a familiar cinnamon scent lingers in the air. Hoseok greets you with a quiet smile, though his eyes hold a hint of his own nerves.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says softly, watching you as you fasten your seatbelt. He shifts into gear, guiding the car down the snowy road. His fingers clench the steering wheel, and after a moment, he glances your way. “So…you remember our backstory from last night?”

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I remember the texts,” you say, warmth lacing your voice. “We’re childhood friends from kindergarten who recently reconnected when you moved back into town.” 

He hums approvingly, tapping his fingers lightly on the wheel as he stops at a red light. “Perfect. My friends are probably going to ask a million questions—I hope you’re ready for that.”

You shrug with a playful confidence, grinning as you glance over at him. “I think I can handle it.”

The two of you share a small, knowing smile, though the absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on you. Here you are, headed toward a stranger’s holiday dinner, to pretend to be his girlfriend. You don’t gain anything from this beyond the joy of helping someone out, but still…there’s a little thrill in the adventure.

The city lights gradually fade as he drives out toward the quieter suburbs, snow dusting the dark roads until he finally turns into the driveway of a quaint little house, string lights twinkling around the doorframe like stars. Hoseok cuts the engine, the two of you sitting in the hushed stillness for a moment, watching as the snowflakes swirl gently outside the windshield.

“We’re here,” Hoseok murmurs, and you catch his smile, warm as the headlights reflecting off the falling snow. “This is actually my friend Namjoon’s place,” he says, reaching for a carefully wrapped gift on the seat. Watching him, you suddenly wonder aloud, “Should I have brought something, too?”

He waves his hands between you, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t worry—you didn’t draw a name for Secret Santa, so you’re all set.”

Relieved, you step out into the brisk night, following him along the snow-dusted path. As you approach the door, he reaches for your hand, his grip both grounding and electrifying as he gives a gentle pull, guiding you to the doorstep. You bite your lip nervously, a bundle of nerves and excitement building, when the door swings open. Standing there, smiling with dimples that carve deep into his cheeks, is a man who strikes an oddly familiar chord.

“Hi, Hobi,” he greets, his voice rich and welcoming, before glancing at you with a knowing twinkle. “And this must be your girlfriend?”

Hoseok’s hand presses lightly against the small of your back. “Yes, this is Y/N,” he introduces you with a soft squeeze that sends a rush of warmth through you.

You follow them inside, feeling the sudden coziness of the house—a subtle warmth, holiday lights casting a glow over walls adorned with paintings and art pieces. When you step into the dining room, you stop, eyes widening at the grand bookcase stretching along the wall. It reminds you of your own bookstore, and you can’t help the delighted laugh that escapes you.

You’re greeted by Hoseok’s friends, easy smiles and lighthearted jokes melting away your nerves. There’s a surprising ease to slipping into this role, to letting Hoseok’s arm find its way around your shoulder, his touch landing at the small of your back, drawing you in for a gentle hug every so often. His casual touches feel natural, and you find yourself leaning into him as if you’ve known each other for far longer than two brief meetings.

As the evening unfolds, though, you notice something. While you’re chatting and laughing with his friends, Hoseok seems quieter, reserved, watching more than talking, an unexpected contrast to the warm person who’s held you close all evening.

Soon, everyone settles at the table, and you find yourself between Hoseok and Namjoon, whose familiarity still niggles at your mind. Drinks are poured, laughter fills the air, and a delicious meal is shared. The room falls into a comfortable quiet as everyone eats, voices softened as plates empty and contentment settles in.

“So, how did you meet our Hobi?” a tattooed guy—Jungkook, you think—asks with a curious smile.

You recount the story Hoseok gave you, weaving it with a smile. Jungkook nods, seemingly convinced, and around the table, friends accept your tale with knowing grins—except for Namjoon. You catch the soft scoff he tries to hide, though the others brush it off. When you finally turn fully to face him, catching his eyes, recognition strikes.

Of course—he’s a regular at your bookstore. You’ve seen him countless times, tucked into a corner with a book in hand, quietly immersed, though he’s never spoken to you and always leaves without buying anything. You wonder if he remembers you too, if he feels the same familiar spark, or if it’s just you, standing in the company of strangers who somehow feel just a bit like home.

A pang of doubt twists in your chest. If Namjoon has indeed pieced together that you’re not Hoseok’s real girlfriend, then the secret you’re helping carry feels a little heavier. You remember Hoseok mentioning their long history, and you wonder how well Namjoon can see through this little charade. But as dinner goes on, he stays silent, leaving you in an unsettling limbo of half-glances and unsaid words.

The night drifts on, and laughter fills the room as everyone exchanges Secret Santa gifts. You can’t help but smile as each friend unwraps their present, the spark of surprise and joy lighting up each face. When it’s Namjoon’s turn, he opens Hoseok’s gift—a book—and he pauses, his gaze slipping to you in a flash of recognition. You avert your eyes, warmth creeping into your cheeks, uncertain of what he sees or thinks.

When the last of the presents has been exchanged, Hoseok turns to you, a small, wrapped package in his hands. “For you,” he murmurs, his smile soft, almost bashful. Surprised, you unwrap it, revealing a tiny sun plushie with a wide, beaming grin. Its warmth brings an involuntary smile to your lips, and you clutch it close. “Thank you, dear,” you say, leaning in to plant a light kiss on his cheek. Hoseok’s friends exchange giggles and knowing looks, and Hoseok whispers softly to you, “It’s for being my partner in crime tonight.”

As the evening winds down, you join in clearing the table. Hoseok has drifted to the couch, his figure outlined by the window, eyes distant and fixed on the winter night. A weight lingers in his expression, a deep-seated sadness that seems miles away from the warmth of the room. You’re about to go to him, to ask if he’s alright, when you feel a strong hand at your wrist, guiding you into the hallway.

It’s Namjoon. His presence is grounded and steady, like an oak tree catching you in the autumn wind. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see both questions and answers swirling there, like he’s holding onto a truth he’s not sure he’s ready to speak.

“So, should I be thanking you for the book?” Namjoon chuckles, his smile gentle yet curious, as though he’s only half-convinced of your innocence in the matter.

“Not really,” you reply, grinning as you deflect his gaze with a little shrug. “I just helped him choose because he’s hopeless with books—unless they’re comics.” You laugh, hoping your nonchalance hides the truth beneath the surface.

He laughs, nodding. “Yeah, sounds like him. Comics are about as close as he gets to literature.” His eyes flicker with warmth as he continues, “So, what’s your kind of book? What authors and genres do you get lost in?”

Before you know it, the two of you are deep in conversation, voices lowered in the hallway like you’re sharing secrets. Time becomes a vague notion, and the room around you seems to fade, leaving only the vibrant world of books—their characters, settings, and journeys—alive between you. Talking about stories, you feel a rare lightness, as if Namjoon is the first person in ages who shares the same deep love for them.

“You should drop by the bookstore sometime,” you say with a smile that feels wider, warmer. “We have a book club, too. It’s not as fancy as this,” you laugh, glancing toward the festive room, “but it’s a cozy crowd.”

Namjoon hesitates, then rubs the back of his neck, a flicker of shyness breaking through his cool exterior. “I might just take you up on that.” He pauses, as if summoning courage. “Actually… could I get your number? There’s that book you mentioned earlier—I’d love to hear more about it sometime, but…” He glances at the room filling with laughter and goodbyes. “Looks like this night’s wrapping up.”

For a brief second, you wonder at the request, but something in his gaze, earnest and unguarded, assures you. With a soft smile, you hand him your phone, and as you exchange numbers, a quiet sense of possibility lingers in the space between you.

He must know, right? That you’re only pretending to be Hoseok’s girlfriend? 

And yet, Namjoon has said nothing, given no sign that he’s in on the secret. With a fleeting glance over your shoulder, you find Hoseok across the room, engaged in conversation with Seokjin. You drift over and settle next to him, and he instinctively wraps an arm around you, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that feels almost natural, if not a bit intoxicating. It’s easy to lean into his warmth, to fall into step with this rhythm of borrowed closeness, though your heart betrays you with a quiet flutter. Hoseok is both charming and soft-spoken—the kind of person you might fall for. But as he laughs and smiles, you sense a faint veil behind his joy, as if he’s holding something back, a quiet sadness simmering beneath his surface.

Your curiosity pulls you closer, like you’re skimming a page of a novel you’re not yet allowed to read, catching only glimpses of the sorrow he hides. You wonder what story lies beneath his charming front but stop yourself; after all, tonight you’re nothing more than strangers playing at love.

Later, as he drives you home through streets blanketed in snow, a mellow Christmas tune hums softly from the radio. He’s quieter now, eyes focused on the road, his features thoughtful, even solemn under the glow of passing streetlights. You wonder what’s shifted within him, what’s brought on this sudden retreat. You want to reach out, to ask if something’s wrong, but the words linger on your tongue, uncertain. Instead, you fall silent as the car slows, then stops outside your building. A strange reluctance holds you there, as if the air itself has thickened, laced with words neither of you are quite willing to say.

After a pause, Hoseok turns to you, clearing his throat, his hand resting on your thigh—a gesture that’s both tender and strangely formal. His voice is low, soft as he murmurs, “Thank you for being my fake girlfriend tonight. You… really made it feel real.”

He says it softly, his voice carrying a hint of sadness that catches you off guard, a weight that settles around your heart like mist on a winter night. His words linger, unspoken emotions woven into the silence that stretches between you, and you find yourself wondering—what happens now, with this fragile connection suspended in the cold, quiet air?

“It was nothing. Really—you’re welcome,” you say, a gentle reply you hope sounds reassuring, though it feels distant, safer. Perhaps the middle of the night isn’t the time to unearth things better left unsaid. Yet the thought crosses your mind: will you see him after this? Wasn’t this just a single act, a temporary arrangement?

“Will I… see you again?” you hear yourself ask, your voice soft, almost hesitant, as if it too fears rejection.

Hoseok’s hand retreats, and he glances down, a subtle sadness clouding his eyes. “I… I don’t think so.” His words feel heavier than they should, an unexpected blow that leaves you feeling emptier than you thought possible. You hardly know him, yet there’s something unspoken etched across his face—something hurt, guarded, and you ache to reach out, to tell him that whatever he’s holding back, he doesn’t have to carry alone. But he’s closed himself off, walls too high for a stranger’s comfort to reach.

You sigh, swallowing the pang of regret, clenching your hands to steady yourself. “Oh… okay,” you say, masking the ache with a soft, hollow smile. Your fingers twitch, wanting to bridge the gap between you, to offer some small comfort—but his posture tells you he isn’t ready to accept it. He looks away, his expression distant, already far ahead on a road you’re not part of, his face cast in shadow.

With a deep breath, you open the car door and step out, lingering just a moment longer before whispering a soft “Goodbye.” He barely meets your gaze as you close the door, and before you know it, his car is fading into the darkness, leaving you alone on the sidewalk, wrapped in silence and the unsettling ache of missed chances.

You stare after him, shivering under the streetlights, wondering if you should’ve pressed, if you should’ve dared to ask what weighed him down. But the night stretches on, and you’re left there with only your thoughts and the haunting feeling that you missed something rare and beautiful that might never return.

Hoseok feels hollow, a sinking weight that hasn’t lifted since he saw that crestfallen look on your face when he left you at your door. He’s not blind; he knows he messed up. But there’s something about this season, the way it reaches into his chest and pulls him under, leaving him fighting against a tide that he’s been trying to ignore for years. And now Christmas Eve is almost here—an anniversary of grief he hates most of all—and the closer it gets, the more his mood tangles, turning dark and unmanageable.

Why does he always ruin things? You were so sweet, so bright, your hand fitting perfectly into his like it was meant to be there. It’s been so long since he’s felt even a spark of warmth like that. Having you beside him at the dinner helped, too, lifted the weight for just a moment. But now, he’s gone and left you with nothing but silence. He knows he’s worried you, knows he’s made you question yourself. And yet, his heart twists at the thought of texting back, at unearthing the reason for his darkness.

The worst part is he’s seen every message you’ve sent, each one left unanswered, and with every passing day, they’ve dwindled until now… there’s nothing. He can’t blame you for giving up—he’d have done the same. And still, something in him aches at the absence, at knowing he’s pushed you away when he’s wanted to tell you the truth. Wanted to let you in. But the truth feels as vast and heavy as the winter sky, and he doesn’t know how to share it. He doesn’t know if he ever could.

His friends have noticed, too, hounding him with questions that scrape against his guilt, asking him how he kept you hidden for so long. Namjoon even laughed and asked how he’d managed to keep such a “childhood friend” so secret all these years. Hoseok’s stomach tightens with the weight of his lie, the flimsy story unraveling before him like a thin thread he can’t control.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, frustration thick in his throat. How could he possibly tell you what’s really going on when he knows it would change how you see him? How could he bare himself to you, darkness and all, without fearing he’d lose the brief light you’ve brought into his life? The thought circles in his mind, relentless, as he wonders if he’s ever been brave enough for the truth—or if, this time, he’s finally lost the chance.

The doorbell cuts through the heavy silence of Hoseok’s apartment, and when he swings open the door, there stands Namjoon—tall and composed, bundled in a long coat, a beanie tugged low, thick glasses catching the faint winter light. He’s holding a houseplant, its green vibrant against the muted backdrop of the street.

“Mind if I come in?” Namjoon asks, but before Hoseok can even respond, his friend steps over the threshold like he’s been here a hundred times. Hoseok stands, caught off guard, words barely forming in his throat.

“Uh, sure,” he finally stammers, wondering what could have brought Namjoon here at this hour, unannounced and unreadable.

Namjoon places the plant—small, resilient-looking—onto the dining table, then slips off his coat and drapes it over the chair, pulling it out with a quiet determination. Hoseok follows and sits across from him, still dazed, feeling like he’s been summoned to some private tribunal.

Namjoon clears his throat, fixing Hoseok with a steady, discerning gaze. “You and Y/N,” he begins, words deliberate, “have you told her why you can’t stand Christmas?”

Hoseok’s breath catches; his throat tightens. He forces himself to shake his head. “No, I haven’t,” he manages, the words heavy.

Namjoon leans forward, his posture stern yet somehow protective. “So you’re not serious about her?” he presses, voice low but insistent, as though each syllable is meant to peel back the layers of Hoseok’s tangled emotions.

“No...I mean—” Hoseok hesitates, feeling the urge to confess he’s cut things off, ended this entire charade before it grew more complicated. But Namjoon speaks again, his voice shifting, a rare gentleness threading through.

“I stopped by her bookstore,” he says, and Hoseok holds his breath, tension prickling beneath his skin as he waits, unsure of where this is heading.

Namjoon’s eyes soften, and a small, genuine smile flickers across his face. “She’s really sweet, you know. Bright. Kind. I think she’s exactly what you need—if only it were real.”

The words pierce through Hoseok, his heart stumbling. He feels his pulse race, the subtle grip of panic and dread mixing with something that feels painfully like hope. He knew this moment would come, knew someone would finally see past the lie, and yet there’s relief in the admission. He can’t hide, doesn’t want to.

“So...you figured out it’s fake,” he mutters, defeated, bracing himself for whatever comes next.

Namjoon nods, arms crossed, his expression shifting to something sterner, more disappointed than Hoseok could have anticipated. “What I don’t understand,” he says, voice firm but low, “is why you’d hurt her feelings like this.”

Hoseok flinches, each word like a heavy stone sinking into his chest. Hurt you? The idea stings, unearthing a guilt he hadn’t let himself feel fully until now. He’d thought this arrangement would protect him, keep everyone at a safe distance. But hearing it said aloud—that he’s hurt you—tightens the knot in his chest, makes him realize just how much he’s let his own grief pull him down, dragging someone else along with him.

He searches Namjoon’s face, but his friend’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding him accountable with a simple, unrelenting question. And for the first time in a long time, Hoseok wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s been too afraid to let himself feel something real again.

Hoseok’s gaze meets his friend’s, a trace of confusion flickering there, but then, with a pang, he remembers the look on your face when you’d asked if you’d see each other again. He can still see it—how your expression fell at his answer, the sadness that slipped across your features.

Namjoon leans forward, his tone gentler but resolute. “You know... I think she actually cares about you,” he says, stretching his arms out and shaking his head in amused disbelief. “I don’t know how you manage to pull that off while acting like the Grinch himself,” he scoffs, “but somehow, this girl’s worried about you. You really should go talk to her, at least apologize for being a complete ass.”

Hoseok feels his chest tighten, leaving him mute, almost stunned. He knows Namjoon is right; he knows it all too well. But saying what he feels, peeling back that scarred armor—especially around Christmas��is something he’s almost incapable of doing.

“I don’t know if I can, Joon…,” he murmurs, the words coming out more fragile than he intended. “I just think telling her everything will only make her sad,” he says, his gaze dropping to the table, his hands clasped tight as though they could somehow keep his emotions contained.

Namjoon doesn’t let him off that easily. “And what do you think she is now?” he retorts softly, but with enough weight that the words feel like they land with an impact. Hoseok’s eyes widen, struck by the truth that he’d been dodging all along.

He’d thought, maybe, you’d be angry at him—mad, frustrated, but surely you’d move on quickly, brushing him off as just another mistake. After all, you were nothing more than strangers bound by a silly pretense. But hearing Namjoon say it so plainly, he realizes just how deeply he’s been fooling himself. And underneath the weight of his resentment for this season and the pain tied to that distant, bitter December night, he can’t deny the truth—he finds you kind, thoughtful, even hopeful in ways that he barely remembers feeling himself. 

If things were different—if his grief hadn’t swallowed him whole, if he could loosen the grasp of the past—he could almost imagine himself with someone like you. But here he is, still tethered to that haunting memory, letting Christmas slip by year after year in the shadow of that loss. 

Namjoon watches him in silence for a moment, then speaks, his voice quieter but unyielding. “Hoseok, we’ve all tried to tell you. The past can’t be a place to live, no matter how much it calls you back.” 

And Hoseok feels the truth of it—a weight and a choice lingering like the chill of winter air, urging him, perhaps for the first time, to break free.

It’s nearly Christmas Eve, and you’re setting up for the last book club gathering before the holidays—a special, spicy session in the fading afternoon light, centered around a tale of witches, dragons, and the tangle of morals. While you lay out the books, aligning them carefully on the tables, your mind drifts to Hoseok, stirring with thoughts you can’t quite suppress. Namjoon’s words echo in your memory, nudging you to give his friend a chance. But the emptiness of your unanswered texts lingers; despite the messages you’d sent with tentative care, Hoseok has remained silent. A part of you aches to reach out just once more, yet the other half insists on self-respect—if he doesn’t want the comfort you offered, the space to unburden himself, you tell yourself that’s fine. Still, beneath that quiet resolve, a sliver of frustration seethes, and it slips into your work, reflected in the books you place down a bit too roughly, each one landing with a defiant thud.

Tonight’s book club promises to be a lively one, with more attendees than ever before. You’ve even roped in a few friends to help rearrange the store, setting up extra couches and stools to welcome the crowd, and handling the front counter while you join the readers. Despite everything, the prospect of the gathering fills you with a kind of joy that’s untouched by disappointment. Here, surrounded by stories and souls eager to explore them, you feel anchored, reminded of the warmth and kinship that words can forge even on the coldest nights.

Everything is ready, and as people start trickling in, the space soon brims with warmth and laughter. Every seat is filled, and latecomers, wrapped in thick blankets, settle on the floor, adding to the cozy, intimate atmosphere. Soft candlelight dances across the room, casting a gentle glow over festive mugs brimming with coffee and tea, and you smile, savoring the joy that settles over your little bookstore. You begin speaking about the new indie author whose book you’re exploring tonight, diving into themes of morality, which quickly spark a spirited debate among the readers. 

But then your phone vibrates, faintly insistent in your pocket. At first, you ignore it, but when it continues, you excuse yourself with a sheepish smile and slip away to the counter. A string of messages from Namjoon lights up your screen.

[19:23] Namjoon: Hi 😀   [19:23] Namjoon: Sorry to bother you again, but   [19:24] Namjoon: TY for letting me visit your bookstore 📚   [19:24] You: You’re welcome anytime! 😊   [19:24] Namjoon: and finding that book for me   [19:24] You: np at all 😀   [19:25] Namjoon: I know that your relationship with Hobi is fake, but I really wanted to say that I think you’ll be good for him ☀️   [19:25] You: Really? 🥹   [19:25] Namjoon: I hope you’ll want to get to know him. He’s a really great guy 👍   [19:25] You: I do! Yeah. I had a feeling there’s a nice guy under all that sadness 🥹   [19:26] Namjoon: Ahh, yeah. He actually used to be the happiest and brightest person, but…   [19:26] Namjoon: Ahh, sorry 🙇   [19:26] Namjoon: It’s not my place to tell you.   [19:26] Namjoon: You should talk to him 🙂   [19:26] You: DW! I didn’t want to pry. I’ll ask him himself 🥰   [19:27] You: TY for looking out for him. You’re a good friend 🫂   [19:27] Namjoon: Always. He’s one of my oldest friends and I just want to see him happy again 🥹   [19:27] You: I’ll try talking to him. I hope he finally responds 🙏   [19:29] Namjoon: Please do, otherwise I’ll kick his ass!

You smile at Namjoon’s last message, the warmth of his words lingering as you slip your phone back into your pocket. But a tangle of thoughts and emotions stirs within you. Namjoon seems genuinely hopeful for you and Hoseok, nudging you toward him with a gentle insistence that Hoseok might just need someone to reach out. You’d promised to try, but doubt lingers at the edges—what if it’s all in your head, an illusion woven by the quiet moments you shared and the loneliness he wore like a mask?  

Yet, the image of Hoseok as the “brightest person,” as Namjoon described, sits heavy in your mind. What could have dimmed that light? And as you glance out at the book club gathering, a part of you wonders if, somehow, there’s still a chance to bring a bit of that warmth back to him.

Hoseok finds himself aching for your smile, the warmth you seemed to pour out effortlessly, and the sharp, clever humor that softened his edges in ways he didn’t expect. Namjoon’s words echo in his mind, words that have been unraveling him slowly, urging him toward the chance to make things right. With his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his feet carry him almost unconsciously toward your bookstore. He knows you’re working tonight, but he doesn’t care about timing or convenience; he only knows he needs to see you, to finally apologize and hope you’ll give him even a moment of your time. He’s prepared to accept whatever you’re willing to offer—even if it’s a closed door.

As he steps inside, the familiar warmth and scent of cinnamon and worn paper embrace him, comforting and bittersweet. You glance up from the counter, and the softness of your smile catches him off guard; relief flickers in his chest—you haven’t yet written him off. He makes his way over to you, offering a tentative, apologetic smile.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says, noticing the subtle spark in your eyes, something between surprise and hope. “I came to order a coffee…and give you a proper apology,” he adds, his voice warm, almost pleading.

You let out a small chuckle, the sound light but genuine, and turn to make his coffee. “Is this one to go?” you ask, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

“No,” he replies, a hint of a grin breaking through his seriousness. “Actually, I was hoping for one of those festive mugs, and maybe to borrow a book and stay for a while—if that’s okay.”

A warmth lights up your eyes, and he feels his heart lift, his nerves unraveling just a little. “I think that’s a great idea,” you say, and reach for a whimsical reindeer mug, the kind with a scarf winding into the handle, speckled with snowflakes. You fill it with steaming coffee, setting it before him with a soft, inviting smile.

Hoseok’s gaze drops to the mug as he gathers his thoughts, then he looks up, meeting your eyes as he speaks. “I owe you an apology,” he begins, his voice low and earnest. “For everything. I know there’s no excuse, but Christmas has always been…well, it’s not exactly my season,” he trails off, catching himself rambling, and gives a nervous chuckle. “But I didn’t mean to take that out on you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, truly, and I’ll try to be better.”

The smile you give him is small but warm, like a flicker of forgiveness, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can start letting go of his past.

You hand him the reindeer mug, warm and brimming with rich coffee, smiling as you pass it to him. “I’m glad to hear it, Hoseok. You were acting like an ass there for a bit,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes, “but that’s in the past now—you’ve apologized.” Gently, you slide the mug across the counter toward him. “Here’s your coffee. Pick out whatever book catches your eye,” you add softly, your voice warm.

He nods, pausing for a moment as he clears his throat. “Actually,” he begins, a bit hesitant, “that poetry book you recommended for Namjoon…do you have another copy?”

“I do,” you say with a quick smile, nodding toward the poetry section. “It’s right over there.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, wrapping his hands around the mug and savoring its warmth. “Figured I could use a little introspective magic.” With that, he takes a long sip, the comfort of the mug slowly thawing his cold fingers.

He makes his way to the poetry shelves, pulls down the book, and settles into one of the plush armchairs in the corner. For a long time, he reads quietly, the pages offering him solace in ways he hadn’t expected. While his usual reads lean more toward comics, he feels something settle inside him as he lets himself sink into the rhythmic flow of the verses. Every so often, he looks up to see you moving gracefully through the shop, helping customers, laughing softly with a warmth that feels magnetic. He realizes, almost with a pang, that this warmth is something he used to feel too, before the shadows crept in. Maybe that’s part of the draw he feels toward you—you radiate the kind of light he’s been missing.

From the corner of his eye, he notices you glancing over at him, and when he catches your gaze, a soft blush creeps up your cheeks. You offer a shy smile, and he returns it with a gentle wave, feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been there, nestled into that armchair, his coffee long finished and now sipping tea. Hours seem to slip by, but he doesn’t mind. As he flips through the poems, he’s surprised by how deeply they resonate with him. Some verses are quiet and sad, others comforting, and some seem to reach into the bruised places he’d long tried to ignore. He closes the book, his heart feeling just a little less heavy, and places it back on the shelf.

Finally, he walks to the counter, holding the empty mug in his hands. A grateful smile lingers on his lips as he approaches you, words forming in his mind like the first sparks of something new.

“It’s getting late, so I should head home,” he says softly, a smile spreading across his face. “Thank you for the coffee and…the poetry. Your store feels like a warm hug, honestly—cozy and comforting.”

You smile, touched by his words. “That’s exactly the atmosphere I was hoping for,” you reply, taking the mug from his hands and placing it on the tray to be cleaned later. 

He lingers, shifting slightly, his eyes dancing around the room as he gathers the courage for what he wants to say next. “I, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing up at you, “I’d like to come back sometime soon. Maybe we could actually hang out?” His voice wavers just a little, and you catch the flicker of nerves in his expression.

A playful grin tugs at your lips as you raise an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out on a date?” you tease, letting a hint of mischief dance in your gaze.

A blush creeps into his cheeks, but he nods, smiling shyly. “Yeah, actually… I’d like to take you out. Not here in your store. How about a movie or something?” he mumbles, trying to hide his hopefulness.

“A movie sounds nice,” you say softly, warmth blooming in your own chest.

“How about the day after tomorrow?” he asks, his eyes brightening with relief and anticipation.

You nod, giving him a gentle smile. “Sure.”

His blush deepens, and his grin widens as he waves goodbye, stepping out into the night air. As he heads home, he feels lighter, like a weight has lifted, the warmth of your smile lingering with him, warming him even as the winter wind swirls around.

Hoseok insisted on watching one of those cheerful Christmas movies, the kind that swells with improbable reunions and holiday cheer, even though you’d told him he didn’t have to—any genre would’ve been fine. But he’d insisted, almost stubbornly, saying that it’s what he wanted. Yet, even as the lights dim and you settle in, you can feel the irony of it: this bright, glittering warmth on screen, and something distant in his gaze that it doesn’t quite reach. 

You’ve got a tub of buttery popcorn between you and sodas on the floor by your feet, but your attention isn’t really on the movie. Something about a girl rediscovering her family…you’ve seen it before, enough times to know every twist and turn by heart. Instead, you focus on the space between you, the openness of your hand resting on the armrest, waiting for him to close the gap. When he does, intertwining his fingers with yours, a soft thrill of warmth lights up your chest. 

He hums contentedly, gently squeezing your fingers, and after a while, his head leans softly against your shoulder, his breathing falling into a slow, steady rhythm. When you glance down, you realize he’s drifted off, and a small smile tugs at your lips. He must be exhausted, though you don’t even know what he does for work, what fills his days with the kind of weight that would make him fall asleep so quickly.

You let him rest, his warmth comforting against your shoulder, and time slips away until the credits roll and the lights blink back on. As he stirs, blinking sleepily and straightening up, a hint of embarrassment flickers across his face, but you brush it off with a reassuring smile, finding that you liked the feeling of him resting against you.

“Want to come back to my bookstore?” you ask as you both step out into the cold night, snowflakes swirling gently around you. Your fingers find his again, as natural as breathing. “We could have a drink. It’s closed for the holidays, so it’d be just the two of us,” you add with a smile, looking up at him.

He yawns, nodding. “I’d really like that.”

You walk together through the snow-dusted streets, laughter mingling with your steps, until you reach the bookstore, keys jingling in your hands as you unlock the door. Inside, the quiet space welcomes you both, the ceiling lit with floating snowflakes casting a soft glow over the shelves and cozy reading nooks. You both shrug off your coats, and you lead him into the back of the store, where the barista machine hums quietly in the corner.

“How about hot cocoa?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder. “It’s a little late for coffee.”

He nods, a soft smile touching his lips as he settles into one of the armchairs. You start grinding cocoa beans, the rich aroma filling the air, and set two festive mugs beneath the machine, watching as it pours thick, velvety cocoa. The air is warm, and somehow you feel more at home in this quiet moment than you have all season, the world outside reduced to the gentle hush of falling snow.

With the cocoa steaming in your hands, you settle into one of the oversized, cloud-soft couches, and he sits across from you, mirroring your small, hesitant smile. The bookstore feels like a world away from the outside, a sanctuary where the soft hum of holiday lights flickers gently, and the scent of chocolate mingles with the faint, comforting smell of old books.

You take a slow sip, letting the warmth fill you. “So,” you ask, voice gentle but direct, “do you want to tell me why you hate Christmas so much?”

He pauses, caught off guard, nearly choking on his own cocoa, and you watch his face flush, caught somewhere between embarrassment and hesitation. Realizing you’ve gone right to the heart of it, you quickly add, “You don’t have to, of course. I’m just…curious. But it’s okay if you’re not ready.”

For a moment, he seems to shrink inward, his face turning soft with a sadness that feels ancient, like a weight he’s carried for too long. He takes a breath that’s almost a shudder, expanding his chest as if even breathing through it hurts.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he says finally, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper. “It’s that I’m scared you’ll look at me differently, that I’ll just…bring you down.” His words are vulnerable, stripped bare, trembling with the unspoken.

Reaching out a little, you reassure him, “I won’t. I promise. But really, there’s no pressure. You only have to share what feels right.”

He nods, but there’s something in his gaze that shifts—like he’s waging a silent battle, torn between hiding and the need to unburden himself. He fidgets with his fingers, then places his mug carefully on the table, as though any movement could shatter the quiet around you.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, casting his gaze downward, then continues, “I want to tell you, because…well, only my closest friends know. And I think you deserve to know too, since I’ve been such an ass to you…” he trails off with a nervous laugh, tinged with sadness.

Taking a deep breath, he begins. “It happened when I was seventeen,” he says, voice low and brittle. You set your own mug down, instinctively leaning forward, drawn to the rawness of his words.

“It was Christmas Eve,” he says softly, staring past you, somewhere into the painful fog of memory. “There was a storm—snow swirling thick, icy roads. And…” He pauses, his voice trembling, his words hitching, thick with emotion.

Instinctively, you move over to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he struggles for composure, his breath shaky. Leaning into your touch, he swallows hard, gathering the words from somewhere deep, each one a fragile release.

“My parents and my sister…” he chokes out, his voice shattering into tears, and you draw him closer, feeling him tremble against you. One of his hands finds yours, his grip tight, holding onto you as though he fears the memory might pull him under.

“They died,” he whispers, and the words break free like a dam bursting. His shoulders shake as the full force of his grief surfaces, raw and unrestrained. He buries his face in his hands, and you gently place a hand on his back, offering the quiet comfort of your presence as he unburdens himself.

He leans into you, surrendering to the weight of years of sorrow. “And it’s all my fault,” he sobs, the words barely discernible through his heaving breaths.

Softly, you murmur, “How do you figure that?” Your voice is low, gentle, as though you’re trying to hold him steady with your words.

“Because…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “I asked them to go out that day. The star on the tree was broken, and I’d wanted everything to be perfect, so they went out just to get a new one. And they never came back.”

His confession lingers in the air, heavy, each word carving deeper into the silence. You pull him close, holding him as he cries, his sobs echoing softly through the quiet bookstore. 

You pull him closer, letting your warmth envelop him like a soft blanket, as if you could shield him from the pain he’s held onto for so long. “But it wasn’t your fault,” you whisper, gently, your words like a balm, “How could it be? They were adults, Hoseok. If they hadn’t wanted to go, they wouldn’t have. You didn’t force them, didn’t ask for a storm. It’s horrible and tragic, yes, and I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry this, but…it’s not your fault.”

A sob breaks from him, raw and filled with years of bottled sorrow. “But it is,” he cries, his voice catching, “If I hadn’t been so insistent about that damn star, if I hadn’t wanted everything to be fucking perfect…”

Tenderly, you tighten your embrace, gently rubbing his back. “But you can’t know that, Hoseok. No one could know.” Your words are soft but sure, reassuring, each one carrying a warmth you hope he can feel. “Sometimes…things just happen, things we can’t control.”

“It’s been over a decade,” he says, his voice a fragile echo. “But every Christmas—every snowstorm, every time I see the lights, I’m right back there. All I see is them, and I hate it.” His voice trembles with anger, grief, and resentment. “I hate the snow, I hate the holidays. That storm, those roads…it’s all ruined for me.” He breaks again, the words torn from him, and you hold him through his tears, letting him release everything he’s held in, feeling each tremor as he cries.

For a while, you just stay there, giving him the space to let the sorrow pour out, letting him lean into you fully. You say nothing, just hold him, until the sobs subside to quiet sniffles. His voice barely a whisper, he murmurs, “I just want them to come back…” and the raw ache in his words tugs at your heart.

Your chest tightens with empathy, the pain he’s carried so vividly there before you. The weight of it all is almost unbearable, and now you see why he’s buried his light under layers of grief for so long. But there’s something else there, too—a longing to break free, if he only knew how.

Finally, you find the words, speaking softly. “Look, Hoseok…I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through. And it’s unfair, all of it. But you’ve carried this for so long, like a stone around your neck, dragging you down. It’s part of you, yes, but maybe…maybe it doesn’t have to define every part of you forever. What if you could let a little of it go?”

He’s quiet, thinking, eyes still glistening. “I don’t think I can,” he says softly, looking at you as though searching for permission to forgive himself. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy…”

You reach for his hand, guiding his gaze to meet yours. “Hoseok,” you say, voice steady but warm, “we all deserve to be happy. We’ve all faced loss and scars that linger, but we don’t have to carry them like this. I’m not saying you need to forget, but…maybe you can let the pain be something else now, something softer, something that blooms instead of weighs you down.”

He looks at you, brow furrowed, as though he’s trying to understand. “Like turning it into something beautiful?” he asks, his voice so low, so vulnerable.

“Yes,” you nod, a small smile breaking through. “Like tending to it, like planting seeds where the pain was, and seeing what beautiful things might grow. Hold onto that pain, but let it bloom into something beautiful rather than letting it scar. Nurture it like a garden, tend to it with care, so that the memories don’t define you, but become parts of you that you can cherish, like petals of a rose you keep alive. New memories, maybe. Or something to honor what you loved about them.”

He looks up, eyes glistening with tears, and yet you can’t help but think he looks so heartbreakingly beautiful like this—vulnerable, raw, his heart laid bare.

He stares into the distance, thinking, his fingers still laced with yours. For the first time, you catch a glimmer of hope in his eyes, fragile but alive. The weight is still there, but something else is there now, too—a softness, a beginning.

“Namjoon told me you used to be like the sun itself, and I think it’s time to let your light shine again. I can see glimpses of that warmth, those pieces of who you were. You deserve happiness, Hoseok. Don’t you think?” Your hand gently cradles his cheek, thumb brushing softly against his skin.

His breath shudders, voice rough and tremulous. “I… I’m not sure.”

You squeeze his hands, a comforting weight. “I’m not saying it will happen overnight. But you deserve the world, and maybe…maybe it’s time to let yourself imagine that.” You search his face, noticing the exhaustion in the redness of his eyes, the weariness clinging to him like a shadow. He’s been carrying his world alone, and it’s wearing him down, thread by thread.

“Listen,” you whisper, “we don’t have to talk about it anymore tonight. You look so tired. How about this—I’ll find some blankets, and we can sleep on the couch, together?” Your arms hold him close, an offer of sanctuary, one he so clearly needs.

He nods, and you rise to gather the blankets, arranging them softly around him before settling beside him. You help him lie down, his head resting on your lap as your fingers drift tenderly through his soft brown hair, tracing gentle circles. Your fingertips graze the shell of his ear, and you feel a delicate shiver ripple through him. Slowly, his breathing steadies, the tension in his face unwinding as you touch his cheek softly. His eyes flutter shut, though a few quiet tears slip free, trailing down the bridge of his nose to rest, shimmering, on your thigh.

“I’m so sorry you lost them,” you murmur, voice almost a breath against the quiet. “I’m so, so sorry. But I’m sure your parents and sister would want to see you smile again, to see you living freely.”

He hums faintly, a soft sound that melts into the stillness, leaning unconsciously into the warmth of your hand. With a tender impulse, you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, your lips meeting his skin like a promise. “You’re a beautiful sunflower, Hobi,” you whisper, the words a soft caress.

A small, fragile smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his breaths deepening as he drifts, his body finally surrendering to sleep. Your heart aches for this gentle soul, and yet you feel strength in the quiet resolve settling over you. Though you’ve barely begun to know him, you feel an undeniable pull—to protect, to nurture, to help him find his way back to the light. You want to see him reclaim the happiness he’s buried, for you feel, deep down, that he deserves it more than anyone.

As you press your hand softly against his shoulder, you settle beside him, closing your own eyes, and together, under the soft weight of blankets, you both drift into the quiet peace of sleep.

His chest feels strangely lighter, as if the weight he’s carried so long has finally loosened its hold. The scent of old paper mingles with a trace of last night’s cocoa, stirring softly around him, and he opens his eyes to find two forgotten mugs, their contents now cold, sitting on the table. Morning light streams through the bookstore’s large windows, casting delicate beams across the room, where tiny particles of dust dance and swirl like winter snowflakes caught in a golden glow.

And then it hits him—he’s in your bookstore. He fell asleep here, his heart laid bare, resting in your gentle embrace. Last night, he poured out his grief, his regrets, his guilt, and you’d held him in the quiet safety of your lap, soothing him with words that linger in the air, as soft as the dawn light now filtering in. He feels a warmth settle in his chest, something lighter and more hopeful taking root, gently nudging the darkness aside.

He turns, catching sight of you still asleep beside him, your lashes fluttering against your cheek in the gentlest rhythm, like the delicate wings of a butterfly resting between flights. You look so serene, so quietly beautiful, and in this moment, he feels his heart expand, filled with a quiet gratitude and a strange, new kind of peace. He isn’t fully healed—not yet—but he feels the faintest beginnings of something brighter, a light beginning to shift within him.

You were right, he realizes. He doesn’t have to carry his grief alone, doesn’t have to let it take root so deeply. His friends had tried to tell him before, but somehow, he’d resisted. With you, though, it felt different. Maybe it’s the way you looked past the jagged edges of his sorrow and saw the flicker of light he thought he’d lost. Maybe it’s the way you listened, without pity, without judgment, your compassion flowing freely, like a balm to his worn-out soul. He feels a rush of quiet reverence—for your kindness, for the safe harbor you offered, for the hope you unknowingly planted in him. And he knows, somehow, he’ll carry this moment with him forever.

You stir softly beneath him, your body stretching as you wake. Your eyes meet his, soft and warm, and in that gentle gaze he feels understood in a way he hadn’t thought possible. You smile, a tender smile that feels like the start of something new.

“I loved our talk yesterday,” you murmur, voice laced with warmth and care. “How are you feeling?”

He hums softly, the morning light catching the hint of a smile on his lips, “I feel… lighter, actually.”

“That’s good. I’m so glad,” you whisper, fingers tracing gently along his cheek, your touch soft and warm. A shiver rolls through him, and he feels goosebumps rise, like your kindness has left its own quiet mark on his skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice tender and full. “Thank you for listening, for everything… truly.”

You smile, brushing a strand of his hair back with a quiet laugh. “I didn’t do anything—you did that,” you say, your voice a soft tease. 

He chuckles, feeling his heart swell as he sinks a little deeper into your lap, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re good with words,” he replies, leaning into your touch, feeling a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long.

“I read a lot,” you chuckle, fingers weaving gently through his hair, each stroke grounding him more fully into this quiet moment.

He clears his throat, his eyes lifting to meet yours with an unexpected tenderness, “What are you doing tomorrow? On Christmas Eve.”

You pause, a flicker of surprise lighting your eyes before you break into a gentle smile. “Nothing, why?”

A smile spreads across his face, slow and earnest. “I’d really like it if you’d come to my place. I want to make dinner for you, to thank you. For all of this.”

Your eyes soften, glistening with a look he can’t quite decipher, something warm and unspoken that makes his heart beat a little faster. And then, leaning closer, you brush a kiss against his cheek, your lips feather-light and warm.

“I’d love to,” you whisper, and your words, simple as they are, feel like the beginning of something he hadn’t dared hope for.

It’s Christmas Eve, and the quiet streets are bathed in the soft, amber glow of street lamps, their light dancing on the fresh blanket of snow as you wait for the bus that will carry you to Hoseok’s place. A warmth bubbles up inside you as you think back to yesterday—when you finally glimpsed the beautiful light that has always flickered behind his eyes. That warmth wrapped around you, like a blanket on a cold winter night, and filled your heart with a joy you can’t quite put into words. 

Seated now in the gentle hum of the bus, you press your forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the world blur past in a whirl of twinkling lights and shadows. Your mind keeps drifting back to Hoseok, that ray of sunshine who’s somehow already become a quiet storm in your chest. You’ve never felt like this for anyone—never this quickly, never this intensely. You know you like him deeply, but there’s so much more to discover. This dinner, you think, could be the start of that journey. 

As the soft strains of Christmas music fill your ears, you imagine what his home might look like—wondering if it would feel as warm and comforting as his presence. The bus slows, and you press the stop button when you realize the next stop is just a heartbeat away from Hoseok’s apartment. The doors open, and you step out into the crisp, dark afternoon, your breath puffing out in delicate clouds as you trudge through the snow, boots crunching with each step toward his building. Finally, you find it. You shake the snow off your boots before making your way up the stairs, your heart fluttering as you ascend to the right floor. You reach his door and knock gently, anticipation coursing through your veins. It’s only moments before the door swings open, and you’re met with an embrace of warmth—both from the cozy glow spilling out from inside and from the inviting scent of something delicious drifting in the air.

Hoseok stands before you, wearing a red Christmas apron, with a pocket embroidered with Santa and snowflakes at the edges. The sight catches you off guard, and you can’t help but smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Wow,” you begin, taken by surprise, but he grins back, the same joyful light in his eyes. “—Handsome, right?” he finishes your thought with a laugh, and you join in, smiling even brighter. “Yeah,” you laugh, nodding, “That’s exactly what I was going to say.” You slip off your coat and shoes, feeling the warmth of his home wrap around you like a soft embrace.

You look down at your dress, a silky golden thing that rests just above your knees, with the barest hint of your collarbone exposed. Beneath the apron, you catch the outline of his dress shirt, festively adorned with Christmas prints, and the way his dress pants fit him perfectly. Without thinking, you reach out, gently grasping his bicep, surprised by how solid and strong it feels beneath your touch. You open your mouth to speak, to tell him something—anything—but for a moment, the words slip away, leaving you with only the quiet flutter of your heartbeat.

“I used to go all out at Christmas,” Hoseok says, his voice soft, catching your gaze as he notices you watching him. “When my family was still alice… it was kinda our tradition. And,” he pauses, the weight of the memories hanging between you both, “I thought maybe I should replace those dark memories with new ones. Water the flowers, like you suggested.” 

The sincerity in his voice pulls at your heart, and you feel a warmth spread inside you. He really took your rambling words to heart, didn’t he? It’s almost too much, the way he’s reaching for healing, for light. You blink quickly, trying to stop the tears from spilling over—because God, if he keeps this up, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold it together. 

He smiles softly at you, a smile that carries both gratitude and something more, before gently guiding you into his home with a hand resting at the small of your back. “Come in,” he murmurs, as if he’s sharing more than just his space, as if he’s offering you a piece of himself. 

You step inside, and the atmosphere is instantly warm, comforting—like stepping into a dream where all the colors and memories belong exactly where they are. His personal items are scattered thoughtfully around the room, each object, each piece of art, telling a story of the man himself. The walls are adorned with splashes of color, vibrant yet intimate, as if the house breathes with the same life that hums in his veins. It’s the kind of home that makes you smile involuntarily, grounded and cozy, much like him. 

You follow him into the kitchen, small but inviting, its walls holding the scent of simmering food and something more—something like hope. Your stomach rumbles with anticipation as you watch him finish off the last details of the meal, every movement graceful and purposeful. It’s like watching an artist at work, and your senses are overwhelmed by the delicious aroma that fills the air.

He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up with an easy, practiced motion, revealing arms veined and strong—muscles flexing as his hand moves to stir the pan. Your mind drifts for a moment, caught between admiration and the soft, flickering thoughts that begin to dance behind your eyes. His presence feels like the warmth of the sun—comforting, yet powerful.

“Do you want wine?” he asks, his gaze meeting yours as he reaches for a heat-resistant mat to place the pan on. 

“Yeah, but just one glass,” you answer, your voice steady. You don’t want to cloud the clarity you feel in this moment—not today. Not with this quiet intimacy swirling between you two, a pull that feels magnetic, like you’re drawn in by the gravity of his kindness and the warmth of the space he’s shared with you. 

When you step into the dining room, the sight before you takes your breath away. The table is set perfectly—candles flicker gently, casting a soft glow across the room, while a delicate Christmas playlist hums in the background. The ambiance feels like something pulled from a dream, and your heart flutters as you take it all in. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, your voice quiet with awe, still unable to fully comprehend the effort he’s put into making this evening so special.

Hoseok chuckles softly, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he drags a stool out for you to sit. “Actually,” he says, placing the food carefully on the table, his eyes warm and earnest, “I had to. It’s the least I can do.” He pours wine into your glass, his fingers brushing the stem gently, and as he looks up at you, something shifts between you both—something that feels like the beginning of a new story.

You blush and smile, warmth blooming inside you, feeling a kind of happiness that only his presence seems to create. It’s a glow that wraps around you like a soft, sunlit blanket, a feeling you know he brings to others when he’s not weighed down by his sorrow. But tonight, Hoseok is different—lighter, freer. He’s like a person emerging from the dark, letting the painful past be nothing more than distant echoes, fading into the background of his life. There’s a spark in his eyes, a lightness to his spirit that wasn’t there yesterday. You know the sadness still lingers in him, but damn, seeing him fight to reclaim joy is nothing short of beautiful.

His movements are more confident now, flowing with a grace that seems to echo his shifting mood. The pain didn’t vanish overnight, but he’s making a conscious choice to let go, to change, and that’s the most powerful thing. It feels like watching someone wake up, piece by piece, from a long and heavy slumber.

You take a sip of your wine, and the quiet hum of contentment fills the space between you. As you begin to eat, the flavors on your tongue are nothing short of heavenly, and you realize—he’s not just kind, not just tender, but he’s an incredible cook too. Your heart swells, and you glance at him, finding his smile—soft, genuine, a reflection of the warmth that’s spilling out from inside him. He’s smiling with his eyes, and it makes you feel elated, like everything in the world has aligned just perfectly. 

Then, you feel something nudge against your foot, warm and gentle, and your gaze drops to see his foot brushing against yours. You can’t help but giggle, a little burst of joy that seems to bubble up from your chest. You drink a little more, letting the wine relax your senses as you continue eating, savoring every bite until you’re almost too full to move.

“This was so delicious, Hobi,” you say, your voice soft, full of admiration, as your hand stretches across the table, finding its way to gently caress his. 

He smiles, his lips curling into a playful smirk as he meets your eyes. “Mh. Thank you,” he murmurs, the words wrapped in warmth.

“But you’re the one who deserves all the thanks and praises,” he adds, his voice thick with sincerity, his gaze never leaving yours. You blink, surprised by the depth of his words, and feel your heart stir with a tenderness you can’t quite explain.

“Me?” you laugh, a little incredulous, the sound light and playful, like you’re both caught in this beautiful moment of connection.

“Yeah,” he nods, his voice low and filled with gratitude, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have had the strength to face my pain, to let the old me—the me I thought was lost—come back to life.” 

His words settle in your chest, heavy with truth, and it stirs something deep inside you. 

“Instead of sitting here with you today,” he continues, his voice raw and real, “I’d probably be lying in bed, bitter, angry at the world and everyone in it. But here I am, actually enjoying Christmas. Actually enjoying life again.” 

The rawness of his honesty catches you off guard, and your heart aches with the beauty of it. A few tears well in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming sweetness of his words. His gratitude, so pure and so deeply felt, moves you in ways you didn’t expect.

He caresses your hand back, the warmth of his touch sending a ripple of warmth through your chest. “Thank you for guiding me back towards the light,” he whispers, his voice soft yet resolute, the sincerity in it making your heart swell. 

Your eyes flutter, feeling a mixture of gratitude and happiness for him. This is the light you saw the moment you met him—the flicker of hope beneath the surface of his pain—and now, with gentle patience, he’s found his way back to it. To see him embrace it, to see him live in it again, is nothing short of breathtaking. And in that moment, you realize just how incredibly sexy that is—this strength, this vulnerability wrapped in his quiet confidence. 

Without thinking, driven by the pull of something deeper, you lean in across the table, closing the distance between you, and your lips meet his in a kiss so tender it almost feels like the world stops. 

For a fleeting second, there’s hesitation in him—surprise, perhaps—but then his hands cradle your cheeks, his fingers slipping into your hair, and he moans into the kiss, pulling you closer, deepening it. 

Your heart races, the connection between you sparking like wildfire. You think, with a flash of clarity, that it was only ever a matter of time before this moment arrived, before your lips touched in the way they were always meant to. 

When you pull apart, his brown eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, as are yours, and you feel the heat between you intensify, every nerve in your body alive with the electricity of the moment. 

He leans in again, lips brushing against yours as his breath quickens, and you feel something stir within you, something deep and primal, fluttering in your chest. 

He pulls back again, and his voice is laced with desire, hushed but intense. “Do you want to see my bed? It’s nice and soft,” he asks, his gaze still smoldering.

You blush, the heat rising to your cheeks, but you can’t help but laugh—a breathy sound, teasing and full of playful mischief. “Yes, but I’m more into the harder beds.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening into something more dangerous, more magnetic. “You are, are you? So you like it hard?” His voice is low, a dangerous edge to it now, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. 

“Maybe,” you tease, batting your lashes as your heart begins to race. You rise from the stool, the air between you thick with unspoken promises.

“Which way to your bedroom?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, the heat between you palpable, electric. You can already feel the pull of him, the temptation of what’s to come.

He stands up, his hand reaching out for yours, and you feel the warmth of his touch ignite something inside of you. “This way,” he murmurs, his fingers threading through yours as he leads you through the tiny hallway.

Every step feels heavier than the last, the anticipation building like a slow crescendo, your pulse quickening with every heartbeat. The air feels thick with tension, charged, like a storm ready to break. As you step into his bedroom, the world outside seems to disappear, and all that exists is him—his presence, his touch, the way he’s looking at you with that fire in his eyes.

Before you can take another breath, he pulls you into his arms, one hand sliding behind your neck, the other settling on the small of your back. His lips crash into yours, deep and smoldering, igniting the very air between you. You melt into him, your heart pounding in your chest, your body aching for the closeness, for everything that’s about to unfold.

His tongue dances with yours, a teasing, intoxicating rhythm that sends shivers through your bones, a soft, helpless moan slipping past your lips and into his. The air between you is electric, alive with a pulse that pulls you both closer until clothes become mere shadows cast aside, and your chests rise and fall in time, breaths mingling as one. He guides you down onto the bed, and you gasp, bouncing softly against the mattress, a laugh escaping you—only to dissolve as he hovers above, his gaze dark and consuming, savoring every curve, every inch as though you were his finest vintage.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent, as his hands trace along your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You shiver, the warmth of his touch awakening every inch, every nerve, until your skin hums under his fingertips. His lips descend, his breath warm against your skin as he moves lower, his gaze holding yours in a promise, a delicious anticipation that pools and aches within you.

“Can I touch you, make you come on my tongue?” he whispers, his voice low, pleased. You nod, breath hitching, and when you gasp a desperate ‘yes,’ he presses deeper, spreading you open, his lips finding your pussy, soft and warm, as a shudder rushes through you like a wave.

He doesn't hesitate, diving in, his tongue moving in slow, devastating circles that steal your breath, exploring you with the kind of hunger that unravels you. You gasp, hands tangling in his hair as he wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you steady, his own groans vibrating against your skin as his mouth moves against you, relentless, devoted. The wet sounds echo, shamelessly intimate, drawing you closer to that edge, your pulse quickening as his nose brushes your clit, a shockwave of pleasure sparking up your spine.

Your fingers knot into his hair, tugging, a fevered plea spilling from your lips as he drives you higher. A skilled flick, a press, and your hips roll forward, chasing the pleasure he's offering, breath coming fast and shallow. “Hobi,” you gasp, feeling the tidal pull of release, the wave cresting just at the brink. “I’m so close, I—”

He pulls back only briefly, his voice a husky command. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste it.”

The endearment sends a dizzying rush through you, a warmth that winds tight in your core, pushing you over the edge. With a final swirl of his tongue, you fall, your muscles clenching around him as his name shatters from your lips, your body arching, pulsing with every wave that rolls through you. He doesn't let up, holding you through every tremor, his mouth and fingers steady, pulling every last bit of pleasure from you.

When your breath finally slows, he trails kisses up your body, lingering over the swell of your hips, your stomach, each touch a worship. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, then your jaw, his face gleaming with your warmth as he murmurs, “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“That tickles,” you giggle as his lips trail across your cheek, finally capturing your mouth in a tender, lingering kiss. There’s a faint taste of yourself on him, but it’s lost in the intoxicating warmth of his presence; you’re drunk on him, submerged in the depth of his touch, his scent, the pull of his breath against yours. It’s astonishing how deeply you feel for him already—as if you've known the quiet rhythm of his soul and the dance of his heart for years, not days that turned to weeks.

“Was it good?” he murmurs, his eyes bright and searching, holding a playful tenderness that only he seems to bring out in you.

“It was incredible,” you pant, your body slowly easing down from the dizzying high, a blissful afterglow humming through every inch of you.

“Then let me give you another,” he says with a teasing glint, the promise glistening in his voice as he leans closer.

You blink, surprised, a trace of doubt slipping through your words. “Are you sure?” It’s not that you question his skill—he’s just shown you what he’s capable of—but you’ve never been able to reach that edge twice in such quick succession.

His expression softens, his eyes tracing over your face with quiet understanding. “You’ve never orgasmed twice in a row, have you?” He asks, his voice gentle, knowing. You bite your lip, nodding, your cheeks warm.

“Then lean back, relax,” he whispers, a warmth threading through his voice that feels like a promise waiting to unfold. “Let me do all the work.”

He guides you to sit up, leaning comfortably against the headboard, and settles in beside you, close enough that his heat seems to melt into your own. With a soft, lingering kiss, his lips capture yours again, while his fingers trail a path down your body, finding the sensitive peak of your breast and teasing your nipple with a gentle, rhythmic squeeze that draws a moan from deep within you. His hand moves skillfully, squeezing, massaging, until your skin tingles beneath his touch, each sensation like a spark flickering into life.

When his hand finally moves lower, tracing the curve of your thigh, you’re already quivering with anticipation. His fingers find that sensitive spot between your legs, his touch feather-light but insistent as he circles your clit, the glide slick and warm, a sensation that sends tremors through your body. A soft moan escapes your lips, melting into his as his finger slips inside you, a slow, steady rhythm building as he moves in and out, each motion drawing you closer to that simmering heat just waiting to burst.

His lips never leave yours, each kiss drawing you deeper into the haze of his touch, your body moving in sync with his, rolling against him as his hand works its magic. You’re already beginning to unravel, each touch, each whisper against your skin making you feel like you’re on the verge of combustion. Not quite over the edge yet, but right there, teetering, every nerve alive, every inch of you utterly and completely his.

“Mmmhh,” he breathes against your lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before pulling away to meet your gaze. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and inviting, filled with a warmth that makes your pulse quicken.

“Ah, Hobi,” you pant, your hips instinctively moving in sync with his hand, matching each subtle movement with a desperate rhythm.

“You like that, huh?” he teases, his voice soft but laced with a confidence that sends a shiver through you.

“I do,” you moan, breathy and unguarded. “You can… add another.”

He obliges, slipping a second finger beside the first, the added stretch sending a spark of pleasure rippling through you, and you can’t help the delighted mewl that escapes your lips. He moves with a steady, knowing rhythm, his fingers curling, finding just the right spots, each motion igniting something deeper, pulling you toward that familiar crest of pleasure. For the first time, you believe—maybe you could actually come again.

Your head falls back, resting against the headboard, and he seizes the moment, his mouth tracing along the exposed curve of your neck. His lips, warm and firm, press kisses to your skin, each one sending a wave of electricity through you, and as his teeth graze just beneath your ear, you giggle softly, your body instinctively clenching around his fingers.

“You’re so tight,” he whispers, his breath hot in your ear, each word brushing against your skin like velvet, sending delightful shivers coursing through you. “Think you can handle a third finger?”

Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping as you murmur, “Maybe… Are you getting me ready for that monster cock of yours?” you tease, voice wavering with laughter and heat.

He laughs, the sound low and deep, and slides a third finger inside, his mouth brushing your ear as he murmurs, “I’ve got to make sure your sweet, tiny pussy can take me.”

The words strike something in you, a spark that seems to light you from within. Your body welcomes the stretch, feeling fuller, each movement of his fingers heightening the tension building inside you, every push and curl driving you closer to the edge. You’re lost, breathless, a soundless cry caught in your throat as his thumb grazes your clit, sending you spiraling, stars dancing in your vision as pleasure wells up from within.

“Are you close again, sweetheart?” he whispers, voice thick with desire, his fingers moving faster, his thumb circling in a way that’s both messy and perfect, igniting every nerve.

“Yes,” you gasp, the word more a breath than a sound, your hips rolling in time with his hand as he dips his head to your neck, then your cheek, each touch gentle, yet searing. He catches a stray tear of ecstasy on his lips, and then he finds your mouth, kissing you deeply, his body pressing against yours, chest against your breasts, the closeness amplifying every sensation. The world fades around you, narrowing to just the two of you, to his fingers, his lips, his warmth, everything feeling achingly right.

Before you know it, you’re tumbling over the edge, your body pulsing around his fingers as he moves within you, steady, guiding you through every wave of your release. You’re left breathless, panting, as the pleasure washes over you, his fingers still moving, coaxing every last tremor from you, until you’re spent, lost in the warmth of his embrace.

“See?” he grins, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “I told you I could make you come again.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he slowly withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling empty, your body still pulsing in the delicious aftershocks of his touch. He holds his slick fingers in front of you, and for a moment, you think he’ll ask you to taste yourself. But instead, he surprises you, lifting his fingers to his own mouth, his lips parting as he sucks them clean, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight sends a rush of heat through you, and your body responds instinctively, clenching at the image of his self-indulgent pleasure.

“That was… incredibly hot,” you murmur, still breathless, your hand finding his chest as you push him gently back against the headboard. He gives a soft, surprised laugh but lets you take the lead, his body relaxed, trusting. His legs part under your touch, his cock heavy and hard between them, and you feel a rush of excitement knowing he’s been waiting, building up desire, just for you.

“Oh, okay,” he breathes, his voice breaking into a pant as you lean in. You spit into your hand, wrapping it firmly around his dick, feeling the warmth of him under your palm, the slight pulse of anticipation. His eyes close, his head tilting back, a moan slipping from his lips as you begin, your hand gliding over his length, making sure every inch is slick and ready for you.

Without hesitation, you bring your mouth down to him, taking him in fully, your lips stretching around him as you ease down. He gasps, his body jerking slightly, unprepared for the sudden depth, and you stay there, breathing steadily, relaxing as you let him fill you completely. Above you, he murmurs something unintelligible, a string of curses and soft sighs that only drive you further.

You pull back, letting him slip from your lips with a soft, wet sound, the cool air hitting his skin as he opens his mouth, stunned. “Damn, Y/N, I—”

But before he can finish, you take him in again, his words dissolving into a low groan as you move, finding a rhythm, hollowing your cheeks around him as you hum, feeling him pulse with each sound. The slight salt of his precum lingers on your tongue, a taste that feels both intimate and thrilling. His hands find your head, fingers threading into your hair, and you feel him tense above you, fighting for control. But then his grip tightens, and he pushes you down gently, deeper, a raw, breathless whisper escaping him.

“Fuck,” he pants, his voice breaking as you take him all the way in again, your eyes watering slightly, the warmth of him filling you completely. He presses his palms to your cheeks, drawing you up, meeting you with a hungry kiss, his mouth capturing yours in a fervor that leaves you both breathless, your bodies pressed close as if to savor every last taste, every last touch.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his eyes meeting yours, deep pools of desire and awe, the kind of look that sends warmth pooling low in your belly.

You giggle, shifting down the bed and tugging at his legs, playfully coaxing him to lie flat beneath you. As he settles back, you crawl over him, gazing down, feeling the heat between you like a magnetic pull. Slowly, you lean down, capturing his lips, letting the kiss deepen until it feels like you’re both tumbling into something endless.

When you pull back, your voice soft, you ask, “Are you okay with doing it raw?” His face flushes, his eyes darting to the side for a moment, vulnerable, unguarded. “If you have condoms, that’s fine too… I’m clean, and—”

He interrupts, his words stumbling. “It’s fine. I—It’s been a long time for me, but… it’s not like I haven’t… I mean, I’m not a virgin… it’s just been a while since—”

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him with a soft smile, your other hand resting on the warmth of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded with desire. “I just want you. Right here, right now.”

He inhales deeply, his chest expanding under your hand before he breathes out, a quiet “Mkay.”

That’s all you need. With a slow, deliberate motion, you swing your leg over his hips, settling yourself above him, your hand finding him, guiding his dick to you. Gently, you press yourself against him, letting the head of his cock tease you, a tantalizing friction that makes his face tighten with a mixture of pleasure and impatience.

“Don’t tease,” he pants, his voice a husky whisper.

“Says the master of teasing,” you quip back with a grin, and finally, you begin to lower yourself onto him, savoring each exquisite inch as he fills you, stretching you with an overwhelming, delicious pressure. Every nerve ignites as you sink down, hands splayed on his chest, his skin hot and firm beneath your palms. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and hungry, and as you begin to roll your hips, a soft moan escapes you—he feels so perfect.

“God, you’re so big,” you murmur, voice wavering as you ride him, your movements picking up a steady rhythm, each glide smooth and effortless, your body still sensitive and wet from the pleasure he’s already given you.

“You look so beautiful on top of me,” he breathes, his voice thick with awe as he watches you, his gaze tracing the way your body moves, the rise and fall of your breasts as you ride him. His words make your pulse race, and your body clenches around him in response, your hips picking up speed, moving faster, deeper, chasing that place inside you where everything blurs into pure sensation.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his neck, leaving a trail of kisses, your mouth finding a spot just below his jaw where you suck softly, marking him as yours. He groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough, his need written in every small movement.

When your lips return to his, he kisses you fiercely, and you slow your hips, grinding against him with deep, rolling movements that leave you both breathless, the friction between you a heady, delicious ache. His hands hold you with a greed that makes your skin tingle, his grip firm and possessive, as though he’s trying to savor every second, every feeling. 

He begins to thrust up into you, his movements sudden yet electrifying, each stroke catching you off guard in the most thrilling way. A gasp escapes your lips, raw and breathless.

“Ah, fuck,” you pant against his ear, your voice a broken whisper.

“Good?” he murmurs, his tone low, teasing.

“Mhm, yes,” you moan, your voice trembling as his hands pull you down, anchoring you to him, while his hips drive up to meet yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Each thrust sends a delicious shock through you, his cock filling you so deeply that you feel entirely claimed, entirely his.

“Let me flip you over,” he pants, and with a strength that feels effortless, he shifts you onto your back without ever leaving your body. Your legs wrap instinctively around him, locking him in place as he plunges deeper, each thrust building a rhythm that’s quick, relentless. Your hands fall back, palms open beside your head as he holds you there, his hips moving in an unyielding rhythm that sends you spiraling, your vision blurring with pleasure.

Above you, he’s sweating, his chest heaving as he breathes out, “Think you can come again?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, voice barely a breath, each word trembling with the anticipation building low in your belly.

“Let’s find out,” he replies, his voice thick with determination. He leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak as he sucks, sending a fresh wave of heat through you. His thrusts remain deep, unyielding, each movement pressing against your most sensitive spot, and you feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, as his scent surrounds you, grounding you in him.

He moves to the other nipple, and as his lips close around it, your hands find his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, pulling him closer, feeling the delicious pull of another climax gathering, stronger, more overwhelming.

“I think… I think I’m gonna come again,” you gasp, every nerve alive with the approaching edge, feeling yourself build higher and higher, almost unbearably.

He hums against your breast, the vibration rippling through you, and when his teeth graze your sensitive skin, your body seizes, your pussy clenching around him—hard, locking him deep as your vision whites out in a blinding rush of sensation. The world blurs to nothing, a soft ringing filling your ears as your chest heaves. You dimly register his eyes on you, his gaze intense, enthralled, as you let go completely, surrendering to the pleasure.

The orgasm rolls through you in waves, endless, consuming, as he continues to thrust, drawing every last bit of sensation from you. It feels like it will never stop, his body perfectly attuned to yours, his movements relentless, and you’re left breathless, utterly taken by him, lost in the exquisite pull of his touch.

“Oh my—fuck,” he rasps, his voice catching as he stills, releasing himself into you with a shuddering breath. His chest heaves, spent and utterly captivated, and as he catches his breath, he murmurs, “Shit, I didn’t ask if I could come inside you.”

You tilt your head, feeling a tired, blissful warmth spread through you. “It’s okay,” you reply, your voice soft and slurred, still drifting in the hazy warmth of pleasure. Despite your exhaustion, your body continues to pulse around him, a lingering hold, like it’s reluctant to let him go.

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through both of you. “You’re still squeezing me,” he says, giving a few gentle, lingering thrusts to help you both ride out the aftershocks, savoring every last sensation.

“This… has never happened before,” you murmur, a soft giggle escaping as the warmth fades and your body begins to relax. Finally, the last traces of tension melt away, leaving you both drowsy and satisfied.

“I hope it was good for you,” he says, letting his weight rest against you, his chest pressed to yours as his breathing steadies.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “It was incredible,” you whisper, a tenderness in your voice that makes him chuckle softly. He nestles his face against your collarbone, eyes closed, sinking fully into the afterglow.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, his voice a low, warm rumble against your skin. “It was incredible for me too.” For a moment, the two of you lie there, basking in the quiet peace between breaths, in the warmth of skin on skin. He shifts slightly, resting his head on your chest, and you feel his arms wrap tighter around you.

“I could lie here forever,” he breathes, his voice soft and content.

You giggle, brushing a thumb over his shoulder. “Sounds nice, but you’re just a little bit heavy,” you tease, your voice trailing off with a sleepy laugh. “But… Can I stay? I’m so tired, and I really don’t want to go outside in the cold snow.”

He draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips brushing over your skin. “I don’t want you to leave, either. Stay. Sleep. And in the morning… I’ll make sure to fuck you real good all over again.” He tilts your chin up, sealing his promise with a warm, lingering kiss that leaves you feeling lightheaded, even now.

“That,” you sigh, smiling as you close your eyes, “sounds perfect.”

Slowly, he slips out of you, and though you feel the absence, he’s back almost immediately with a warm cloth. His hands are gentle, his touch soft as he lifts your legs to clean you with careful attention, leaving a trail of warmth where he touches. You hum, your body responding to his tenderness, and he smiles, brushing a kiss to your knee as he finishes.

“Do you want to sleep in a shirt?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he watches you start to drift off.

You shake your head, smiling sleepily. “No, I’m too tired to move… just come and spoon me,” you murmur, your voice already fading as you feel yourself slipping into sleep.

“Naked?” he teases, eyebrows raised with a hint of mischief.

You smirk, stretching out your words, “Yeah… unless that makes you uncomfortable?”

“Not in the least,” he replies, flashing a cheeky grin before slipping into bed beside you. He slides in behind you, pulling the covers up over both of you as if sealing you in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. His body, warm and steady against yours, is like an anchor, and within moments, the world fades away, and you’re sound asleep, cradled in his embrace.

Morning comes gently, with the soft tickle of Hoseok’s breath grazing your neck, sending a delicious shiver down your spine as you begin to stir. You shift slightly, and he wakes, nuzzling close to you, his lips pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice rich and low.

You chuckle, turning your head slightly to face him. “Good morning… and Merry Christmas.”

He yawns, then his face lights up with a lazy, warm smile. “Merry Christmas,” he says, voice filled with a happiness that feels both new and deeply familiar, like something cherished but long forgotten. The two of you laugh softly, as if sharing a secret, wrapped in the fullness of each other.

You wonder if he’s ever spent Christmas with anyone since his family passed, but something tells you not to ask—not when everything feels so gentle and good. His hand drifts down your body, his fingers finding the curve of your hip, settling on you possessively, and giving you a playful squeeze.

“Can you turn around?” he whispers, a subtle seriousness beneath his tone. “I want to ask you something.”

You shift to face him, and it’s like the morning light itself is gazing back at you—he’s radiant, his smile warm and glowing, spilling over with something tender and unspoken. For a heartbeat, you’re breathless, marveling at how a man could look this luminous, this achingly beautiful, as though he’s sunlight made flesh.

“What do you want to ask me?” you murmur, your own voice soft, a smile tugging at your lips as you reach to gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

He takes a slow, deep breath, his gaze twinkling with a mix of happiness and something bolder. “Would you… be my not fake girlfriend?” he asks, eyes dancing with playful mischief, though you can tell he’s holding his breath.

You can’t help but laugh, fingers threading through his hair. “So… you mean, a regular girlfriend?” you tease, tapping your chin and pretending to ponder it, though your heart already knows the answer.

He nods, grinning but waiting, his eyes fixed on yours, full of hope.

Without another word, you lean in, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s both deep and tender, lingering as if to say all the things words can’t quite hold. When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, gaze soft as though he’s still catching his breath.

“Yes,” you whisper, a smile lighting up your face, “I want to be your not fake girlfriend.”

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ requested taglist: @nora12379 @back2bluesidex @joonsmagicshop @hobi-love @bangtan-tee-86 @itsmina29 @vintageroses10 @hoseoksluna @knjjjk @ktownshizzle @angellekookie @miksancheese

→ Author’s endnote: so… how are we feeling after riding this emotional rollercoaster of all the feels™? Are we okay? Did it wreck you just a little? Or were you like, “meh, this sucks”? Be honest—I can take it (I think) 😅 I may or may not have poured way too much of myself into Hobi, and then used OC as a therapy session to bandage my own emotional wounds 😂 Why do I do this? Every. Single. Time. But hey, at least we’re all healing together, right? 💜 Anyway, I really, really hope you enjoyed this one. Tell me all your thoughts, feelings, and maybe even your favorite moment—it means the world to me! 🫂

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[koiiiji]

lookism x reader. between takes

summary ; lookism actually is a series, and all guys are just actors, same as you, so you happen to meet with them backstage.

starring ; seongji, jungoo, jongun, gimyong

SEONGJI x demon!reader

the bustling film set was alive with energy. you were taking a break from your role, when you spotted Seongji Yook across the lot. his team was filming scenes for “lookism,” in the mountains of cheongliang too. you couldn't help but smile at the sight of your friend. Seongji noticed you and waved, making his way over with a grin. “nice horns. going for a new look?”

you laughed, adjusting your tail. “just trying something different. how’s the day going on your end?” he shrugged, glancing at his hands and feet. “i feel kinda weird with this,” he said, gesturing to the fake extra finger on each hand and foot.

“really?” you asked ironically, pointing at your demoniacal makeup, horns on your forehead and the tail behind you. “i think we’re both quite the spectacle here”

as you both found a quiet spot to sit, the conversation flowed easily. you talked about your roles, shared behind-the-scenes stories, and teased each other about your costumes.

“you make a pretty convincing demon,” Seongji said, his tone teasing yet sincere. “i’d say you’re stealing the show.”

“thanks, but i think you’re the real star,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “i saw you on set, your scenes have been incredible, your appearance in “lookism” will blow the whole show.”

there was a comfortable silence, the kind only shared between good friends. yet beneath it, there was an unspoken tension, that nobody dared to speak about. Seongji leaned back, watching the crew set up for the next scene. “you know, i’ve always admired how dedicated you are to your roles.”

your heart skipped a beat, his words feeling more personal than casual. “thank you, Seongji, i really appreciate it!”

and before you knew it, the break was over, and you both had to return to your sets. as you stood, Seongji hesitated for a moment. “hey, maybe we could grab dinner after filming wraps up?”

the invitation hung in the air, filled with possibilities. “i’d like that,” you replied, trying to contain your excitement.

with a shared smile, you parted ways, the encounter leaving you with a sense of anticipation.

JUNGOO x pirate!reader

cozy coffee shop was bustling with the morning crowd. you felt a bit out of place in your full pirate costume — with oversized shirt, high knee boots and tight corset, complete with a big hat adorned with feathers and all small accessories everywhere. your team took a break from filming, you all needed a caffeine boost. as you waited for your order, the door chimed, and in walked Jungoo Kim. you heard that his team filming “lookism” somewhere near your location. his costume torn in some spots and covered in fake blood, his skin in bruises from a fight scene and hair is messy. despite his rough appearance, he carried himself with his usual charismatic confidence.

your eyes met briefly, and you both did a double take. you recognized him instantly — you kinda were his fan, he is an actor you secretly admired and respected.

he recognized you as well, approaching with a playful grin, trying to play it cool. “ahoy there, captain,” he called out with a playful grin as he sauntered over. “looking for treasure, or have you already stolen it with that outfit?”

you laughed, tipping your hat. “just trying to keep myself and the crew in line.” you smiled, waving your head to the side where your set colleagues were sitting, feeling your cheeks warm. “and what about you, mister criminal? fighting off enemies before breakfast?”

Jungoo smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. “thought i’d see if the rumors were true about a captivating pirate queen causing a stir. seems they were right.”

you leaned back on the counter, smiling conspiratorially at him, playing along with his little performance, “ah, so you're not here by chance, and it's you the one who are looking for treasure here” you smiled teasingly, lifting your chin, the feathers on your hat trembled slightly.

“well, you caught me,” he chuckled, eyes twinkling. “i do have a knack for looking for treasures. maybe i should join your crew — think you could handle the competition?”

“only if you promise not to steal my spotlight,” you bantered back, imagining him in a tricorn hat and boots.

Jungoo leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “i promise to keep the spotlight firmly on you. though, i might steal a dance from the captain.”

the playful exchange left you smiling, and you found yourself enjoying his company more than expected.

“i have to admit, i’ve been a fan of your work for a while,” he confessed, suddenly trying to sound nonchalant. “your performances are always captivating.”

surprised and flattered, you replied, “really? i’ve been following your career too. your fight scenes with sword are legendary.”

but as the director burst into the cafe and barked at everyone, urging them to return to set to start filming, Jungoo offered you a wink. “break a leg, captain. i’ll be here to catch you if you fall.”

with a wave, you returned to your role, feeling a bit more buoyant from the encounter.

JONGUN x black swan!reader

film studio was a maze of sets and props, buzzing with activity. you were navigating the corridors, adjusting to the thick black eye lenses you wore for your role as the black swan in upcoming film. they made everything difficult to see, but the effect was stunning on camera.

as you carefully made your way to the break room, you suddenly collided with someone. the impact, unexpected and strong, caused you to lose your balance and fall.

“whoa!” a deep voice exclaimed. you found yourself looking up at Park Jongun, who was also wearing the same intense black lenses for his role on the neighbor set.

“i’m so sorry!” you said, embarrassed as you tried to regain your footing. Jongun quickly helped you up, grabbing your wrist, pulling. you to his broad chesr, a little harder then he should have. his grip steady. “no, it’s my fault. these lenses make it hard to see anything.”

“tell me about it. i’ve been bumping into everything.” you laughed softly, brushing yourself off. he glanced at your costume, noticing the contrast between your delicate ballerina attire and his all bruised and blooded body makeup. “looks like we’re playing quite opposite roles.” he said, finally losing his grip and letting you go.

“yeah,” you admitted, feeling a bit self-conscious. “i had to lose a lot of weight for this role, so i’m not exactly steady on my feet.”

Jongun offered you a charm smile. “you look incredible, though. very convincing as a ballerina.”

“thanks,” you replied, appreciating his kindness. “i’m guessing you’re the tough guy in your film?”

he nodded, a hint of pride and amusement in his voice. “yeah, shiro oni, always ready for few crazy fights. but i promise i’m not as scary in real life.”

as you continued talking, you found Jongun to be easygoing and surprisingly funny. you shared stories about your roles and the challenges of filming with these horrible jet black lenses.

“next time, we should get a guide dog,” he joked, making you laugh.

“or maybe just a cane,” you suggested, enjoying the lighthearted banter.

eventually, it was time to return to your respective sets. “it was nice bumping into you — literally. let’s try to meet again when we can actually see each other.” Jongun smiled dazzlingly again, gently clasping your wrist, and leaving a light, soft kiss your knuckles.

“deal?” he asked with a charm grin, while you stand there smiling shyly, feeling a newfound connection.

“i’d like that,” you replied, feeling grateful for the unexpected encounter. with a wave, you both headed back to work, the meeting leaving you with a smile and the possibility of a new connection.

GIMYONG x targaryen princess!reader

sun was beginning to set over the bustling film set near the sea, casting a warm glow on the neighboring sets of two popular series. one set belonged to the fantasy series where you played a targaryen princess, and the other to the hit show "lookism," where Gimyong had one of the main roles.

he had often glanced toward your set during breaks, intrigued by the regal world of dragons and thrones. he'd heard about y&u from mutual crew members and quietly admired you from afar.

but today, fate seemed to favor him. a scheduling overlap meant both productions were on a break simultaneously. seizing the opportunity, Gimyong wandered over, pretending to be curious about the elaborate set design.

as you stepped outside, still in your flowing, black gown embroidered with red and gold threads, depicting scales, tails and heads of dragons on the sleeves and collar. you saw Gimyong standing nearby, looking somewhat out of place in his black coat. classic black trousers, white shirt and loafers amidst the medieval backdrop.

“hey, aren't you from "lookism?"” you asked, recognizing him from the posters plastered around the studio. he abruptly pulled his hand away from the blue weird machine that soon will be turned into your dragon with computers cgi effects help. he beamed at you, intensively nodding. he was a bit surprised but pleased you knew of him. “yeah, i'm Gimyong. i've been curious about your set for a while. it's got quite the atmosphere.”

you smiled, appreciating his interest. “it's definitely a different world over here. i'm [y/n], by the way.”

“it's nice to finally meet you,”he said, but paused himself for a moment, glancing back at weird blue platform. he noticed once, that your team usually shoot scenes of flying on dragon's back on this thing. brilliant pick up line immediately was born in his head.

“sooo that’s supposed to be your dragon on screen, right?” he grinned, swinging onto the platform from behind, trying to play it cool, but it came out a little awkward, as you can see he is clearly nervous. you giggled softly, but decided to play along, already understanding what he was leading to.

“yes, his name is Vermithor, really huge dragon.” you elegantly covered your mouth with your hand, trying to hide a shameless smile, at Gimyong’s attempt to flirt.

“you know, im kinda dragon myself, being the son of a golden dragon… so how about safe the dragon and ride-” you couldn't let him finish the sentence, bursting into laughter from his pickup line and such a self-confident face. Gimyong was truly humongous man.

in fact, he was not confused or upset by your laughter, because in the end he amused you. his light laugh joined yours and he was happy that he made you laugh.

“no, but seriously, i’ve heard great things about your performance.”

“thank you! it’s been a dream role for me,” you replied warmly, your genuine smile still playing on your lips. “i’ve seen a few episodes of lookism — i absolutely in love with it! your character is such a gentleman.” you exclaimed admiringly, remembering all the scenes where Gimyong was filming with his 'mother', and how cheerful his character was, representing a wonderful leader.

as you talked, the conversation flowed naturally, and Gimyong felt his initial nervousness fading away. he found himself captivated not just by your talent, but by your genuine enthusiasm and kindness.

“maybe you could give me a tour of your set sometime?” Gimyong suggested, hoping to extend the conversation — and his time with you.

“i’d love that,” you replied, intrigued by the idea. “and maybe i could visit yours. i’ve always been curious about how you bring such a cool fightings to life.”

with a shared promise to explore each other’s worlds, Gimyong returned to his set with a newfound excitement. meeting you had been even better than he imagined, and he couldn't wait when you will visit his set, to show off in front of you with his skills and muscles.

[the-offside-rule]

Lando Norris (McLaren) - All Over Again

Requested: yes

Prompts: 5) "If I could, I'd like to fall in love with you all over again."

48) "I love our cuddles."

49) "Stay here tonight."

Warnings: none tbh

Lando couldn't believe he was back in England, the familiar sights and sounds bringing a rush of nostalgia. He had done what he always did; gone for his morning run, ordered a hot chocolate to take away, and head on home to have his pre-made breakfast. As he strolled through the town, he couldn't help but wonder what had changed since he left for his racing career. Little did he know, he was about to encounter a significant blast from the past. He figured he may as well have a proper look around this time and so, he made his way up a side street, looking around and even spotting a few new shops.

Walking up a small street, off from his usual route, Lando's eyes widened as he spotted Y/n, the girl he had once been deeply in love with and even dated whilst he was in Formula 2. They broke up in 2020 since they both just didn't have the time and promised that if the opportunity every rose again, they would revisit it. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, and then, recognizing him, Y/n's eyes lit up with surprise and joy. "Lando? Is that really you?" She exclaimed, a mix of disbelief and excitement in her voice. He grinned. "Yeah, it's me! How have you been?" Lando asked as the pair embraced one another. "I'm good. Still on the hot chocolate or have you made the move to coffee?" She asked, pointing at the cup in Lando's hand. "I've never liked coffee and I never will. How's uni going?"

"I just finished up last year. I'm kinda just working for now until I have enough to move away." She replied. "Move away? What would make you want to do that?" Lando asked. "Well you tell me. Last I heard of you was you moved to Monaco. Very fancy." She joked. They exchanged stories, catching up on the years that had passed since they last saw each other. Laughter echoed through the air as they reminisced about old memories and shared new experiences. It was as if time hadn't dimmed the connection they once had.

Lando, felt some serious nostalgia. "I'm going to have to head now. I have some things to do. But good luck and it was lovely seeing you again." Y/n smiled. "Yeah, we should get coffee or something sometime." He replied and watched as Y/n walked past him. As she walked away, he couldn't help but think that maybe this was the time to revisit their relationship, and so, he turned and jogged back towards her to give a suggestion. "Hey, why don't you come over to my place? We can continue our conversation there." Y/n shook her head. "I have a few things to drop of to my mum's. I really can't."

"I'll come with you. I haven't seen her jn ages anyway." Y/n thought for a moment. Her mum would make such a fuss over Lando being back. She always brought Lando up, even to Y/n's last boyfriend. That conversation about Lando led to their break-up and since then she's always shrugged off any Lando conversations. "Okay fine." She said as Lando began to walk with her. "Do you want me to take something? Your hands seem full." Y/n nodded. "Please take the shopping bag. Its killing me here." Labdo laughed as he effortlessly lifted the back and hoisted it up over his shoulder. "Alright. Don't be such a show off."

Their break-up hadn't left a bitter taste, and they remained friends. The sun was shining, adding a warm glow to their amiable conversation. As they approached Y/n's mum's house, memories flooded back. Lando couldn't help but notice the nostalgia in Y/n's eyes. The door swung open before they even had a chance to knock, revealing Y/n's mum, who beamed at the sight of them. "Lando! Oh, it's been too long!" She exclaimed, enveloping Lando both in a tight hug. "Nice to see you too, Mum." Y/n mumbled as Lando grinned. "Come inside, I've just brewed some tea."

Once inside, the cozy aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the air. Y/n's mum ushered them to the living room, where memories of shared laughter echoed. They settled in, sipping tea and catching up on life. Y/n's mum couldn't help but glance between them, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "And that crash in Germany last year. Dreadful." Her mum said. "It was Belgium, Mum." Y/n corrected. Labdo turned and smirked at her. "Thought you didn't keep up with F1." The last time he saw her, she didn't really. She only really watched it when she was with Lando. "I can watch it if I want." She replied, sipping her tea. "Oh, you two always made such a lovely couple. Any chance you're getting back together?" She inquired with a mischievous grin.

Y/n spat her tea into the cup, as Lando gave an amused glance towards Y/n. "No, we're just good friends now." Y/n explained with a smile. "Well, that's good to hear. I always hoped maybe one day you'll find your way back to each other." Her mum said. Lando's lips twitched into a playful grin. "You never know. We could probably..." Y/n interrupted, taking it as a cue to change the subject. "Well, Mum, we've got a few more errands to run. Thanks for the tea!" They bid Y/n's mum farewell, stepping back into the sunlight. "Smooth, Lando." Y/n couldn't help but roll her eyes at Lando's comment. "What?" Lando asked as if he didn't know what he had just done. "You always know how to keep things interesting," Y/n teased. Lando chuckled. "Hey, just keeping the possibilities open, you know?" Y/n shook her head, laughter bubbling up from deep within. "You haven't changed a bit."

Lando led the way to his new home. It was huge. Bigger than the one he grew up in and Y/n found that mental. "This is yours? Are you sure?" She asked. "Trust me, it's mine." He replied, opening the door. "There's a few boxes around the place. This is all just moving stuff. Don't mind them."

The aroma of spices and sizzling ingredients filled Lando Norris' kitchen as he worked diligently to prepare dinner for his good friend, Y/n. He hummed along to a tune playing softly in the background, feeling a sense of accomplishment in trying his hand at a new recipe.

Y/n walked around, a glass of wine in hand, looking at the photos that hung on the walls. From family photos to podium photos, she enjoyed looking at them. One in particular caught her eye. It was her at Lando's final Formula 2 race. They were all smiles and she couldn't help but feel the memories washing over her.

Just as Lando reached for a pot handle, a sudden hiss of pain escaped him. Lando winced, realizing he had touched the hot surface without protection. He quickly pulled back, shaking his hand in an attempt to soothe the sting. "Fuck." Lando muttered to himself, glancing around for a nearby kitchen towel. Y/n entered the room, drawn by the sound of his exclamation. "What happened, Lando?" she asked, concern evident in her voice. Lando winced, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, just a little mishap. I guess cooking isn't exactly my forte."

Y/n chuckled softly, gently taking his arm to examine the burn. "Let me take care of that for you." As Y/n tended to his burn, Lando couldn't help but admire her delicate touch and caring nature. His gaze lingered on her, filled with a warmth he couldn't contain. "Don't look at me like that." Y/n said softly, catching Lando's gaze. Lando smirked teasingly. "Like what?" Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. "You know exactly what I mean." He shrugged. "Have no idea what you mean." Rolling her eyes again, Y/n suggested, "How about I do the cooking, and you just help grab things when I need them?" Lando nodded.

As Y/n stired some pasta around in the pot, she jumped upon hearing music. "Oh, sorry. Too loud." Labdo mumbled as he turned the volume down on a speaker nearby. "Why are you playing Put Your Records On?" She asked. "I like it. You like it too last time I checked." Lando said, beginning to dance a bit. "Last time you checked was four years ago." Y/n replied. "Oh come on, you haven't changed that much." Lando chuckled. "You wanna bet?" She challenged.

Lando nodded, moving her hair across her shoulder and placing a gentle kiss onto her neck. "You like neck kisses, don't you?" Y/n found herself blushing and biting her lip to hide her smile. Lando's arms made their way around Y/n's torso, his chin resting on her shoulder. "You're playing a dangerous game, Lando." She said. "I know." Y/n set the cooking spoon to the side and gave in, turning and lifting her arms up around Lando's neck, swaying along with him. Soon enough, they were dancing, spinning and jumping around, carefree and happy. "Oh shit! The pasta!"

As they settled on the couch to watch a movie, Lando wrapped an arm around Y/n, feeling the warmth of their shared history. The prompts echoed in his mind, and he couldn't resist expressing his emotions. "I love our cuddles." He admitted, a genuine smile on his face. Y/n snuggled closer. "Me too. It feels like we never missed a beat." Lando looked up to her, the look of a lovestruck puppy in his eyes. "Stay here tonight." He asked. "Lando, I have work tomorrow." She replied. "You're acting like something is going to happen." Lando said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Oh shut up." The pair began laughing. As the laughing quietened down, they found themselves leaning in, centimetres away from eachother.

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat as Lando looked between her eyes and then down to her lip. "Alright, but only if you promise to make breakfast tomorrow, and I get to teach you how to cook properly." Lando grinned. "Deal." And with that, he leaned in and closed the gap between them, Y/n kissing back into his lips.

The movie faded into the background as they continued their kiss, both missing the feeling of the others lips on theirs. "If I could, I'd like to fall in love with you all over again." Lando whispered between kisses. He could feel Y/n smile against him. "Maybe we can take it one step at a time, starting with breakfast tomorrow morning." Lando shook his head, lifting her up off the couch and walking towards the door. "Or we could start now and just start where we left off."

[lives-in-midgard]

🎄Beautiful Miracle🎄

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary: When your car breaks down in a small village you luckily find a bakery to stay in.

Word Count: 1095

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first fic for my Christmas special hosted by the lovely @buckys-wintersoldier. I hope you like it! 💗

Dividers made by @saradika 💗

Prompt 1: Bakery AU

Masterlist | Fluffcember Masterlist

It’s the first day of December and it has just started snowing. You were driving through a small village you had never been to before when suddenly your car broke down in the middle of the road. You were just able to pull over to park your car in an empty parking lot. You tried to start the car again, but it didn’t work.

“Noo, that can’t happen now. Not now when it’s so cold outside.” You said to yourself. After another try, you decided to call a car service station. They told you that it would take an hour or more for them to get here. So, you decided to take your bag, get out of your car, and look for somewhere to stay. You took a few steps and then saw that there was a small bakery.

Maximoff’s Sweets

You smiled and opened the door to the bakery. The air was filled with the smell of cinnamon and vanilla. Everything was decorated with Christmas decoration and a Christmas carol was playing. You walked around and noticed that this place looks really cozy and beautiful. You couldn’t see the owner of this shop, but you could hear someone singing.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly.” You heard the soft voice more clearly now and had to smile. Then a door opened and a beautiful young woman with red hair walked out of a room from the back. She had a plate with cookies in her hand and immediately smiled when she saw you.

“Hello and welcome to my bakery.” The owner smiled at you and placed the cookies in an empty spot.

“Hi, this is a really wonderful place here.” You confessed and looked around and then back at her.

“Thank you. This really means a lot to me. Especially because it’s my first Christmas here.”

“Oh, congrats on that.” You said and the woman had to chuckle. She looked so beautiful and lovely.

“What can I offer you?” She asked and you looked at it all deliciously.

“Umm, I’m not sure. This looks all so delicious, what would you recommend?” You asked her nervously.

“How about these cinnamon rolls? They are really good and a new recipe I tried.” She pointed to the cinnamon rolls, and you nodded.

“Sounds good. I’ll take this and a coffee please.” You answered and Ms. Maximoff turned around to make you a coffee. She put the dessert and coffee on a plate and then walked with you to a table. You sat down and she placed everything in front of you.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asked shyly.

“Of course not.”

“Okay, great, because my new cookies just came out of the oven and need time to cool. I’ll be with you in a moment.” She went back, made herself a cup of coffee and then came back to you. She sat down across from you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I‘m Wanda Maximoff.”

“Hi Wanda, I‘m Y/N.“

“So, what brought you to my bakery?” Wanda asked and you told her the story of your car and how you luckily found her warm and cozy bakery. Wanda listened intently as the two of you drank your coffee and ate your dessert.

“Wow, that tasted so good.” You complimented her after eating the cinnamon roll.

“Thank you, love.” You blushed and looked out the window for a second and saw that it started to snow more.

“What do you like to do when you’re not at this wonderful bakery?” You asked Wanda as you looked back at her.

“Well, I love spending time with my brother and some friends, I love finding new recipes for all kind of stuff, and oh I really enjoy watching sitcoms.”

“Sounds really cool. What’s your favorite sitcom?”

“The Dick Van Dyke Show. I loved it when I was a kid and I still do.” Wanda told you.

“And what do you like to do when your car doesn’t break down in front of a bakery?” Wanda asked and you had to chuckle at her question. You told her about your hobbies and talked for a while until you got a message on your phone.

“Sorry.” You apologized and looked at your phone.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled when you saw the message from the car service station.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda asked.

“It’s the car service station. It will take them a few hours to get here because of the snow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but hey, you’re lucky you ended up here.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You smiled at her. A few minutes passed before Wanda said something again.

“Hey, I have an idea.”

“I’m all ears.”

“If you're interested, maybe you could help me with some cookies.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” You said and Wanda smiled happily. She showed you the kitchen where she makes all her desserts. Wanda then gave you an apron and you tied your hair into a ponytail. Then she showed you the recipe and started to put everything you needed on the table. You had fun helping Wanda bake the cookies and when you were done you put them in the oven and Wanda gave you a cup of hot chocolate. You stood next to her and talked for a few minutes until Wanda got the idea to decorate the cookies she had baked before you arrived. When you were almost finished, you received a message that the car service station will be here soon.

Wanda decided to give you some cookies and when you wanted to pay, she said that wasn’t necessary. You insisted that you wanted to pay, but Wanda was a little more stubborn than you, so she won. You put your jacket on and were a little sad to leave now, but you know where this bakery is so you could come back anytime.

“Goodbye, Wanda.” You said before opening the door.

“Wait.” Wanda shouted and ran towards you. You turned around and looked at her confused.

“I really enjoyed this afternoon with you and thought you might like to meet me again.” Wanda asked.

“I also really enjoyed it. I can give you my phone number, so you can text me.” Wanda nodded with a smile, and you gave her your phone number.

“See you soon, Wanda.” You said before walking out.

“See you soon. “You walked out with a smile, happy that your car broke down here and not somewhere else. Otherwise, you probably would never have met Wanda.

Taglist:

@marvelogic | @eviebuggg | @yelenasdiary | @youralphawolf72 | @severelyuniquereview | @mrs-bucky-barnes-73

[kenzirr]

The BAU team sat in their usual spot at the local coffee shop, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of soft chatter filled the air. Spencer Reid sipped his coffee, his mind briefly at ease from the complexities of their latest case.

"Man, it's good to have a break," Morgan said, leaning back in his chair. "These last few weeks have been non-stop."

"Tell me about it," JJ replied, stirring her latte. "I can't remember the last time I slept for more than four hours."

"Well, at least we caught the guy," Rossi added, taking a sip of his espresso. "Sometimes it's nice to just enjoy the little things."

Spencer nodded, glancing at his friends. "You know, there's a study that shows taking short breaks can actually improve productivity. It helps to reset the brain and reduce stress."

Garcia chuckled. "Leave it to Reid to turn our coffee break into a lecture."

Spencer smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I just find it interesting."

"Don't apologize, genius," Morgan said, patting Spencer on the back. "We love your brainy insights."

Hotch, who had been quietly sipping his coffee, joined in. "It's true, though. These moments are important. They keep us grounded."

Spencer nodded. "It's fascinating how social interactions can affect mental health. Even brief conversations can boost mood and improve cognitive function."

JJ laughed. "Always the scientist, Spencer."

Just then, the door to the coffee shop opened, and in walked Y/N. She scanned the room, her eyes quickly landing on the BAU team. She had heard about the legendary team and their brilliant, yet socially awkward genius, Dr. Spencer Reid. With a confident smile, she approached their table.

"Hey there," she said, her eyes locking onto Spencer's. "Mind if I join you?"

Morgan raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not at all. I'm Morgan, and you are?"

"YN," she replied, taking a seat right next to Spencer. "And you must be Dr. Reid."

Spencer looked up, startled. "Uh, yes. Yes, I am. Nice to meet you, Y/N."

Y/N leaned in a bit closer, her smile dazzling. "I've heard a lot about you, Dr. Reid. Your work is really impressive."

Spencer blushed, glancing nervously at his teammates. "Thank you. It's... it's just part of the job, really."

Morgan chuckled. "Don't let him fool you, Y/N. Spencer here is a genius. He can read 20,000 words per minute and has an IQ of 187."

"Really?" Y/N's eyes widened in genuine admiration. "That's incredible. You must be a walking encyclopedia."

Spencer chuckled nervously. "I guess you could say that."

Y/N's smile widened. "Well, I'm impressed. So, Spencer, how about you and I grab a coffee sometime? I'd love to get to know you better."

Spencer's face turned a deeper shade of red. "Um, sure. That sounds nice."

The team exchanged amused glances, clearly enjoying Spencer's flustered state.

"Great," Y/N said, jotting down her number on a napkin and handing it to Spencer. "Call me."

Spencer nodded, taking the napkin. "I will."

As Y/N walked away, the team burst into laughter.

"Looks like Reid's got a date," Morgan teased.

Spencer smiled, his heart racing. For once, he didn't mind being the center of attention.

---

A few days later, Spencer nervously adjusted his tie in the mirror. He had agreed to meet Y/N at a local bar for their date, and his stomach was doing flips. Arriving at the bar, he spotted Y/N immediately. She looked stunning, her smile lighting up the room.

"Hi, Spencer," she greeted, giving him a warm hug.

"Hi, Y/N. You look amazing."

"Thank you. Shall we get a drink?"

They found a cozy corner and ordered their drinks, settling into a comfortable conversation. They talked about everything from Spencer's work with the BAU to Y/N's interests and hobbies. Spencer found himself relaxing as Y/N shared funny anecdotes and stories about her life.

"So, what made you decide to join the BAU?" Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

Spencer thought for a moment. "I've always been interested in understanding human behavior. Profiling criminals allows me to use that knowledge to help people and solve cases. Plus, the team is like a second family to me."

Y/N smiled. "That's really inspiring. It must be challenging."

"It is," Spencer agreed. "But moments like this, getting to know someone new, make it all worthwhile."

As the evening progressed, their initial nerves melted away, replaced by laughter and shared stories. By the time they left the bar, they were holding hands, their connection undeniable.

At Spencer's apartment, things quickly escalated. They couldn't keep their hands off each other, the chemistry between them sparking a passionate encounter.

[highabovethecloudssomewhere]

Bi-Yearly Book Catalogue (2024)

Every book I’ve read the past six months and what I thought, told as briefly as I can manage.

One Star Books:

Loveless by Alice Oseman

I understand that this book was helpful for a lot of people. It was the opposite of helpful for me.

The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

My gripes with this can be whittled down into: this writer does not understand depression but really, really wants to cure it. Also, if you do decide to give this book a try, please mind the subject material. It really, really isn’t for everyone.

Two Star Books:

N/A

Three Star Books:

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman

A simple book about an old man learning to want to live again. Where ‘The Midnight Library’ failed for me, this one succeeded. If you plan to read this one, be mindful of the content warnings. It also isn’t for everyone.

Lily and the Octopus by Steven Rowely

It’s about a dog who has cancer. I think that says it all. There were parts of this book I really liked and parts I really didn’t like. It lost me halfway through and I stopped caring about the stakes, which is really upsetting when the stakes are a dog. But the good parts are really, really good. Just be mindful of the premise going into it.

In the Lives of Puppets by TJ Klune

I liked the character work, loved the world building and on a technical level the writing was well-done. My gripes have to do with the story’s internal contradictions and how the only character traits I can think of for the main character are “asexual” and “inventor,” neither of which are explored properly (emphasis on asexual here). I didn’t like that despite being 21, the main character was narratively treated like a child, often involving his sexuality. I had to google how old he was multiple times because I couldn’t believe he wasn’t in his mid-teens given how he reacted to the story and how the story treated him. Loved the writing on a technical level, though, and I do plan to read more from this author.

Four Star Books:

Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree

A COFFEE shop AU? In MY high fantasy? If you like DnD, low-stakes high-fantasy and fun character work, give this one a read. It’s very cozy.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers

It’s a book about a nonbinary tea monk and a robot who lives in the mountains. Slow-paced with good vibes and great world building. I read it in an evening and came away from it feeling warm.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Achilles and Patroclus’ relationship breaks my heart again. This was incredibly well-written and appropriately devastating. I just wanted them to be happy.

Countdown to Countdown by Kong Xiao Tong (graphic novel)

I bought a physical copy of this because I’ve always loved the artist’s work and wanted to support, and I enjoyed it a LOT. Beautiful art, fantastic characters. I know not everyone can avoid a physical copy, but the webcomic is available to read for free online and I highly recommend giving it a try.

Our Dining Table by Ori Mita (manga)

Learning to enjoy mealtime with loved ones again after childhood trauma? Y’all. It’s a single-volume manga and it’s well worth your time.

Five Star Books:

Beartown by Fredrik Backman

This was the most devastating book I’ve ever read. If you are interested in reading it: find a list of content warnings first. I went in blind. It is hauntingly real and the author handled the material so, so well. I can’t recommend this book without that caveat. But it’s one of the best-written books I’ve read.

The Saturday Night Ghost Club by Craig Davidson

This book is about a man looking back on his life as a boy - the friends he made and the misadventurous ghost-hunts his uncle dragged them into. It’s just the right amount of campy with fun characters and a brilliant use of prose. If you’re a less experienced reader and want a book that is easily digestible while also being extraordinarily well-written, I’d recommend this book in a heartbeat, and it’s every bit as entertaining for more advanced readers.

What you are looking for is in the library by Aoyama Michiko

Five stories about five people, all in different stages of life, and their unique experiences with the same librarian and the same library. Individually, each character in each story has their unsatisfying lives changed in an unexpectedly simple way, thanks to the library. There’s nothing wild about this book, but it is wildly impactful. The library is for everyone!

Tress of the Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson

Heroine travels the treacherous seas to save the man she loves. It’s a book about perspectives and joy and making unlikely friends, breaking curses through clever means and never, ever giving up. It has all the whimsy of a classic fairytale, yet not once could I predict how it was going to end. It’s fast-paced and hard to put down. The world is intriguing and the characters are wonderful.

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

This book is utterly mind-bending and I loved it. Two time-travelers chase each other through reality on opposing sides of the Time War and gradually fall in love. It’s great. The biggest complaint I see leveled at this book comes from less experienced readers who struggle to follow the narrative - and I do agree, if you’re just getting into reading for fun this might be a book to save for later. But don’t let me stop you. I loved this book.

Conclusion:

Reading is great. Libraries are your friend. I always love book recommendations and I’m on GoodReads as BeyondTheClouds777, predictably. If any of y’all take a stab at these books (or have taken stabs in the past), I’d love to hear your thoughts! I’m back in my bookworm era and thriving.

[kteezy997]

A Love Story for Christmas-Part Two(the end)// t.c.

This is not edited, I just wanted to get this out before the end of the year lol enjoy!

“So, you mean the bookstore is going to be closing for good?!”

Timmy shrugged, “Yeah, I mean people have been coming in for years saying that they can get books for cheaper online. And then there’s all the people that don’t care about physical books, so they just read off of their kindles or apps on their phones. Makes it hard to pay bills when people won’t buy our books.”

“Yeah, technology really has ruined the book-reading experience. It’s a shame, really. This place is so charming and sweet, it’s been a reading nook for generations in this town. I would hate to see it close down.”

“Yeah, I actually had an idea to go into business with the local coffee shop, like have the bookstore co-op with the coffee place to be one shop.”

“Oh, that’s an awesome idea!”

“Well, thanks.” he blushed, “but the city didn’t like the idea and the owner of the coffee shop said said no, so…”

An idea popped into your head, you opened your mouth to speak, “Timmy, my-"

“So, um-" he began, both of you spoke at the same time and you laughed in unison.

Wanting to know what he was going to say, you insisted, “You go first.”

“Okay.” he chuckled, “I was just wondering if you were going to the Festival of Christmas Lights on the Square tonight?”

“The Festival of Christmas Lights on the Square? I didn’t know anything about it. What is that?”

“Oh, I’m surprised you haven’t seen the flyers around town; it’s just a little event on the square, there’s displays of Christmas lights and all the local shops and cafes are open. You can walk around, eat, drink, shop and look at all the lights. It’s actually really neat, every year we spend two weeks putting up lights.”

“That’s awesome! Maybe I’ll check it out.” you smiled.

“Well, would you like to go with me?”

“Yes.” you answered, blushing.

“Cool, um, let me get your number and I’ll pick you up around five.”

……….

You were on cloud nine. Not only did you meet a cute new guy, but you got his phone and a first date. Well, you hoped it qualified as a date. And to see Christmas lights and sip hot cocoa, so perfect and cozy.

You had to dress warm, but still wanted to look cute for the date. So, you put on some thermal black leggings and a red sweater dress with your long wool coat over it.

You felt like you were back in high school, waiting for your crush to pick you up for a date.

Timmy pulled up at 5 o’clock sharp.

“Wow, you look pretty.” he announced as you approached him, he had opened the passenger side door for you.

“Aw, thank you. You look nice too.” you replied with a smile. “Thank you for opening the door for me.” you said as you got into his car. He looked very dapper in his black coat with a touch of whimsy from his cozy orange scarf.

“You’re very welcome.” he chirped, shutting the car door after you.

After he got into the driver’s seat and took off, you said, “Thank you for taking me to the light festival.”

“Oh, no, thank you for coming with me. I’m glad to not have to go alone.”

“Can I ask you something without being too invasive?”

“Sure, ask me anything.”

“How is a guy like you single? I mean, I am assuming you’re single?”

“Yeah, no, I am. I just got out of a relationship a few months ago. I just haven’t really gotten back out there, and just been busy trying to save the bookstore.”

“Oh? What have you been doing that’s kept you away from the dating scene?”

“Trying out fundraisers, talking with other businesses to try and collaborate, spending my own money on advertising, shopping around to find cheaper books for wholesale, but nothing is really working. It’s really hard to see my family’s business failing, especially since it’s been a staple in the community for so long.”

“I know, it makes me so sad. Maybe-"

“Hey, we’re here!” he chimed, pulling into a little parking lot.

You looked ahead, seeing the square all lit up and a decent amount of people making their way up there.

“Were you saying something?” Timmy asked, finding a spot and parking the car, turning the engine off.

“No, no. Let’s go!” you exclaimed.

…….

The atmosphere of the busy square was magical. No surface was left undecorated for the holiday season. Multicolored lights were strung, Christmas characters stood on every corner, greenery, holly, snow, everything was a winter wonderland come to life.

Every store and restaurant was open and alive with guests flooding in and out. The smell of coffee and gingerbread covered the exhaust fumes of the cars that would drive by along the square.

The street was packed with smiling faces and rosy cheeks. Timmy held your hand so you wouldn’t be separated. You were bundled up enough so you weren't cold, but tiny little snow flurries started coming down.

After browsing a couple of stores, Timmy took you to the coffee shop for a hot drink. "Hot chocolate?" he asked when it was your turn at the register.

"Sounds perfect." you answered. He ordered two cups.

The hot chocolate was the perfect temperature for drinking. It warmed your whole body even more.

You exited the coffee shop hand in hand, Timmy took a sip from his cup, then said, "So, y/n, I feel like you already know a lot about me, but I've neglected to ask about you."

"Well, what would you like to know?" you giggled as the two of you continued your stroll along the street.

"What do you do for work up in the big city?"

"It's funny you should ask, because I've tried to tell you a couple of different times today, it just didn't come out."

Timmy stopped walking, looking at you, "Oh no, it's my fault isn't it? Did I interrupt you? I talk too much, I know I do, especially if I like someone." He looked down at his feet, shamefully. He looked so cute and pitiful, holding your hand in one of his while the other held his cup of hot chocolate while holding his head down.

"No, no! It's not your fault. I don't think you talk too much. I think you're great, Timothee."

He looked back up at you, smiling softly, "Thank you. I think you're great too, now tell me about your work." he chuckled.

"I actually work in the marketing department for my father's coffee company." you said.

"Really? So, you're in the coffee business?"

"Yes, it's actually one of the biggest coffee chains in the world, I don't know if you've heard of it, Smith's Brew Company?"

"Wait," you could practically see the wheels turning in his head, "so you're y/n Smith, your dad is Ronald Smith of Smith's Brew?"

You nodded, giggling, "Yep that's us."

"Wow, that's incredible. He's like one of my business idols. I can't believe I met you, and that you're from the same place as me." he strengthened his grip softly on your hand.

"I'm glad I met you." you agreed, "And Timmy, I think we could help your bookstore. Remember the bookstore coffee shop combo idea you had? We could talk to my father about starting it. He is a sucker for helping small businesses, there's no way he would say no to helping his hometown save one of its longest running stores!"

"Oh, y/n," he shook his head, "that's a wonderful idea, but I couldn't ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask, I'm offering. You just say the word, and I'll set up a meeting with my dad in the city. He will be happy to meet you and hear your story."

He sighed, then looked at you with a grin, "That would be great, thank you so much." He leaned in and you nearly fell over as his warm lips met your cold cheek.

You weren't expecting the kiss, but you gladly welcomed it. You smiled at him. His sweet eyes made you melt in the snowy air. You stepped closer, your bodies touched, and you rested your head on his chest, never wanting this night to end.

Timmy placed his chin on your head, "So, how long are you in town for? I want to take you on a date before you have to leave."

You moved your head to look up at him, "Is this not a date?"

"Well, I'd like to take you on a second date." he smirked.

"Mom, look they're under the mistletoe!" you heard a child shout from a few feet away.

You and Timmy both looked up, seeing the small greenery with small white flowers and red holly, tied up in a tree with a festive bow.

Smiling at each other, you both knew what had to be done. You closed your eyes, letting him give you the most romantic, body tingling kiss of your life.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive

[roxxie-wolf]

𝒩𝑒𝓌 𝒪𝓇𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓈 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒

Pairing: Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your parents want you to marry someone of their choice, but you already have eyes on someone else. Will you follow what your parents think is best for you or will you go with what your heart desires.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: human!alastor x fem!reader, slow burn, this story may contain mature sexual content. Your in your late 20's, Alastor is in his early 30's, you still live with your parents idk. If I forgot anything else please let me know.

Note: Idk what to say, but if I miss anything please let me know ^^

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟧

Early morning painted the town in hues of orange and pink as you walked through the quiet streets. You had ventured out to gather some necessities your mother needed for the day. The butcher shop, a familiar stop on your errand route, welcomed you. The scent of fresh meat mingled with the earthiness of sawdust, a combination that was strangely comforting. The man at the register had hands like hams and a smile that was surprisingly gentle for such a rugged exterior.

"Hello, what can I do for you, young lady?" his voice deep and resonant, like the low rumble of distant thunder.

You approached the counter, the list of items your mother needed clear in your mind. "Yes, I was wondering if you have some chops," you looked at him, trying not to seem intimidated by the butcher's imposing presence.

"Of course," turning to the display behind him. "We have a fine selection this morning. Chops, ribs, tenderloin—whatever you need."

You watched as he laid out the cuts of meat, each piece neatly trimmed and wrapped in paper. "I'll take some chops and a tenderloin, please," you decided, thinking of the meals you could prepare.

The butcher nodded, his skilled hands moving deftly to prepare your order. "Coming right up, Anything else I can get for you?"

“No, that would be all, thank you”

As he worked, you couldn't help but notice the care he took with each cut, the respect he showed for his craft. It was a reminder that every person you meet has a story, a life as rich and complex as your own.

With your purchase in hand, you left the butcher shop, the morning sun warming your back as you continued your errands, the town slowly coming to life around you.

After getting everything your mother needed you decided to stop at a cafe, your personal favorite. The cafe, a cozy haven of warmth and the scent of freshly brewed coffee, was a welcome respite from your errands. As you settled into a chair, the weight of the bags reminding you of the morning's hustle, you allowed yourself a moment of rest.

Your gaze wandered, taking in the familiar comfort of the cafe, when suddenly, it landed on a sight that sent a jolt of surprise through you. There, entering the cafe, was Alastor—the very man who had been occupying your thoughts more often than you cared to admit.

He moved with an effortless grace, his attention momentarily caught by the barista's greeting. You watched, almost without thinking, your hand coming to rest beneath your chin as you admired him from afar. He was the picture of charm, his eyes holding a depth that seemed to pull you in.

And then, as if drawn by some unspoken connection, Alastor turned and his eyes found yours. His smile, wide and genuine, was like a beacon cutting through the ambient noise of the cafe. He didn't hesitate, making his way over to you.

"Well hello, we meet again darling," his tone gentle yet filled with the joy of the unexpected meeting.

You looked up at him, your heart fluttering despite your best efforts to appear composed. "Hello, it's good to see you again," your voice a whisper of softness to match his gentle tone.

“May I sit with you” you nodded. Alastor took the seat opposite you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I must say, I didn't expect to find you here," he admitted, his grin widening. "But I'm certainly not complaining, ma cherie.”

Alastor's new word, a soft murmur that you couldn't quite grasp, lingered in the air, adding to the tapestry of the moment. You caught his eyes, those deep pools of mystery, and for a heartbeat, you considered the thought of leaning in closer, of bridging the gap between thought and action.

But the world has a way of pulling us back, and so you turned away, a flush creeping up your cheeks as you wrestled with the sudden rush of emotions.

"May I know what are you thinking?," Alastor's voice broke through your reverie, as gentle as the touch you imagined.

You laughed, a nervous sound that did little to hide the turmoil beneath. "I’m sorry, it’s nothing, just random thoughts," the smile on your face belying the intensity of your previous thoughts.

Alastor's gaze softened, a hint of understanding—or was it curiosity?—flickering within. "Random thoughts are often the most interesting dear," his tone inviting, encouraging you to share more if you wished.

But some thoughts are meant to be kept close, treasured in the silence of one's heart, and so you simply smiled, the color in your cheeks a silent testament to the words left unspoken.

“I see you didn’t order anything” you said, a casual observation to mask the whirlwind of thoughts. The shift in conversation was a welcome reprieve, a chance to steer away from the edge of confessions not yet ready to be shared.

Alastor's response was immediate, his attention shifting from the missed order to your presence. "Ah yes, well I saw you and I decided to make my way to you. I forgot all about ordering. Do you want something, my dear?" His question was simple, but the way he said "my dear" made it feel like an endearment meant only for you.

The hesitation was brief, a moment's pause before you voiced your request. “Yes, coffee please." It was a simple order, one that might bring a smile to some, but Alastor took it in stride.

"Of course, darling" he stand with a fluid grace. He moved towards the barista, and you couldn't help but watch him, each step a silent note in the melody of your admiration.

As he spoke to the barista, you found yourself studying him anew, noticing the subtle gestures, the confident stance, the easy smile. It was as if seeing him in this mundane act peeled back another layer, revealing more of the man who had become a constant in your thoughts.

————————————

Alastor returned, the coffees cradled in his hands as if they were precious cargo. He handed you your cup, and as you whispered your thanks, there was a softness in the air, a gentle exchange of more than just pleasantries.

"I see you have groceries, my dear. Would you like me to help you with those when you leave?" His offer was casual, yet it carried the weight of a gesture that bridged the gap between acquaintance and something more.

You considered for a moment, the practicality of accepting his help mingling with the desire for his company. "Yes, of course, if you don’t mind," the decision made easier knowing your parents wouldn't be home to question his presence.

As you sipped your coffee, the world outside the cafe's window seemed to slow down, the hustle of the town taking on the quality of a distant backdrop. "So Alastor, what do you do for a living?" you asked, curiosity coloring your tone.

He smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Well, I’m a radio host, of course."

The revelation struck a chord, and your eyes widened in recognition. Memories of an evening spent in the company of your mother and the radio came flooding back. She had spoken of the host's voice, rich and captivating. And now, with the pieces falling into place, you realized that the voice that had filled your home with stories, and music belonged to Alastor.

“That sounds like an interesting job," you remarked, the steam from your coffee curling up into the air

Alastor's eyes met yours over the rim of his cup, a spark of passion in his gaze. "It is, trust me, dear" taking a sip of his drink, the words punctuated by the clink of the cup returning to the table.

—————————————

The hours had flown by, each moment spent with Alastor was a moment where the rest of the world seemed to fade away. As the afternoon waned, and the cafe began to empty, the barista starting to clean up for the day. Alastor glanced at the bags beside your chair. "Shall we, darling ?" gesturing towards the exit.

You nodded, and together, you stepped out into the golden hue of the setting sun. The town was quieter now, the bustle of the day settling into the calm of the evening. As you walked, Alastor carried your bags, his presence a comforting constant by your side.

The walk home was leisurely, filled with light banter and laughter. When you reached your doorstep, the sky was painted with streaks of pink and orange, a beautiful end to an unexpected day.

"Would you like me to put these on the table for you?" He nods towards the bags heavy with the day's purchases.

You shook your head, stepping forward to relieve him of the burden. "Oh no, it's ok. I got it. You have done a lot for me today," you insisted, your hands reaching out to take the bags from him.

"Alright, as you wish, darling," Alastor acquiesced, placing the bags into your outstretched hands with a care that spoke of his respect for your independence.

"Thank you, Alastor, for everything," your voice sincere. The smile on your face a mirror of the warmth that his kindness had kindled in your heart.

"It was my pleasure, ma cherie," his smile genuine. The word of endearment slipping into the conversation as naturally as a leaf falls to the ground in autumn.

Alastor’s hand was gentle as it brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

His eyes, deep and searching, met yours, and for a second, the world seemed to stand still. The space between you was electric, his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your skin. His hand, warm against your cheek, tilted your chin up, an invitation to a moment of vulnerability. Your heart pounded a frantic rhythm in your chest.

You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the conflict of emotions that played across his features. It was as if he was wrestling with a decision, one that could change the very nature of your relationship.

Then, as quickly as the moment came, it passed. Alastor looked away, releasing you from his gentle hold. The air felt cooler without his touch, and you were left with the echo of what might have been.

He stepped back, a polite smile replacing the intensity of before. "I should go darling," his voice steady but softer than usual.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of feelings inside you. "Yes, of course.” The words managed to leave your lips, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't want him to go; you yearned for him to stay, if only for a moment longer.

With a final nod, Alastor turned and left, leaving you with the memory of a moment that was both too much and not enough.

The bags now in your possession, you stood at the threshold of your home, the door closing behind you. The silence of the space around you was a stark contrast to the lively banter that had filled the air just moments before. Yet, in that silence, there was a sense of contentment, a feeling of gratitude for the unexpected joys that life sometimes brings.

As you placed the bags on the table you replayed the scene in your mind, his hand reaching out, the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze. Probably you had something on your face and he didn’t dare to tell you. You ran to the bathroom to get a closer look.

The reflection in the mirror showed nothing amiss, confirming that Alastor's gesture had been prompted by something other than a blemish on your face. With a sigh of relief, you turned away from your reflection and made your way to the kitchen, the sanctuary where you could immerse yourself in the familiar rhythm of cooking.

As you unpacked the groceries and began to prepare the evening meal, the actions were automatic, allowing your mind to drift back to Alastor's touch.

The kitchen was filled with the comforting sounds of sizzling and the aromatic promise of a delicious dinner. You moved with purpose, chopping, stirring, tasting, all the while pondering the complexity of feelings that Alastor had stirred in you.

With each stir of the pot, you found your thoughts simmering along with the ingredients. *What did that moment mean? Was it a sign of deepening affection, or simply a fleeting impulse?* The questions mingled with the steam rising from the dishes you were preparing.

As the aroma filled the kitchen, you set the table, each plate placed with care, a reflection of the care you wished to convey to your parents. Dinner would be ready for them, a warm welcome after a long day. As you awaited their return, the memory of Alastor's near-kiss was tucked away, a secret smile playing on your lips.

🌸𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈🌸 🌸𝒩𝑒𝓍𝓉🌸

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so you be updated every time.^^ I do try to proofread but if I missed something please let me know.

Also I sometimes tend to make minor changes to the chapters.

Thank you! For reading I hope you enjoyed it.💖

TAGLIST: @magictoebean @little-slyvixen @bitchywitchygardener @diffidentphantom

[cowboybrunch]

writerly questionnaire tag!!!

finally getting around to this, thanks a million @the-golden-comet (here) @harmonic-melodii (here) and @fortunatetragedy (here) <3

About You

When did you start writing?

as soon as i could hold a pen. i have notebooks FULL of little me's stories (i keep everything ive ever written. for nostalgia.) it was mostly silly escapism for a lonely child but now it's sweet to look at and giggle. from when i was maybe eight? nine?: "Pain and fear, like a perfect recipe. Pain and fear, milk and eggs"

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

mmm probably. when i say ill read anything, i mean ill read ANYTHING. i dont think ill ever write a hockey romance but im down to clown

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

poetry-wise Bhanu Kapil has been a massive inspiration for me. also Kaveh Akbar and Ariana Reines (Mercury sits in a place of honor on my bookshelf). for novels? i feel like i emulate whatever i last read. Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver did horrible (affectionate) things to the way i write

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

my office! my favorite place in the world!! cozy lights (that double as gamer lights), diet coke can graveyard, comfy office chair big enough for me to sit in a way that absolutely destroys my posture. sticky notes everywhere (a fun challenge! can i read my own handwriting?) AND!! i have an audience

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

reading something else, talking to someone about whatever im stuck on, setting a timer and just dumping everything in my brain (something in there HAS to be worth pursuing)

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

HA!

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

overbearing parental figures that believe they're acting in the best interest of their kid... surprising when i realized that it's in almost everything i write characters that are good at heart but commit atrocities due to their circumstances... less surprising oh! and death. i write a lot about death (someone pointed this out recently and i was like huh. you right)

Your Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Missy and Theodore staring at each other like

sorry! Theodore is my favorite!! he got here first!!!! he's my precious loser baby boy who HAPPENS to be the heir of death but he's trying his best! he's pathetic!! he's doomed!! but he means well! he doesn't want anyone to die alone! he wants to be good! he wants to be good soooo bad!! he hates rivers but loves the ocean!! he lies to everyone, including himself! he's simultaneously full of self-loathing and self-righteousness!! AND... he's bisexual!!

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

i would kick it with Robbie for SURE. snarky little smarty pants that can't sit still for more than five minutes, we'd be peas

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

*looks around nervously* ... Marcella (BOO!! TOMATO!!) im sensitive and she would be mean to me!! i feel like we'd warm up to each other eventually but not before she made me cry

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

they just kinda... show up. and reveal more about themselves as i write them

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

ougffff. lots of anger in these parts. most of my characters are angry, esp the women. as they should be

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

depends on the character! for main guys, they get listed descriptions but i cant picture them in my head (thank you picrew). but others? they're like. blurry shadows moving through the story (do NOT ask me what Uriel looks like! i DONT KNOW!)

Your Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

words in brain make story in head. need story out of head so i can focus on literally anything else no but seriously. that quote that's like "the only thing worse than writing is not writing." it's like. a maintenance activity. if im feeling especially wound up it's probably because i havent written anything lately

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

if you leave me ANY comment i am kissy you on the forehead. just knowing that someone read it let alone enjoyed it... waoh

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

i am... trying very hard not to fall into self-deprecation here. i think there are things that i do well and things that i can improve on, but even if i write something and think it's "bad" i can still learn from it. all practice is good practice!!! (said through gritted teeth)

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

yea! i would find comfort in it i think, same way i do now. have my little characters for company

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

i am my own target audience. i am the conductor of the self-indulgence train but there's room aplenty if you wanna hop on

tag! @illarian-rambling @writingrosesonneptune @sarandipitywrites @mrbexwrites @mysticstarlightduck and a wide open tag if you havent done this yet. gimme a peek into your brain!!!

[harrystylesslutt]

A serene escape

Part 1 of seaside serendipity

warnings: just fluff for now

The quaint coastal town of Seaside Haven was your personal paradise. Its narrow cobbled streets, lined with charming cottages and the alluring scent of the ocean breeze, made it the perfect summer escape. The café by the beach, "Seashells & Coffee," was your haven of tranquility. It was here that you had spent several summers working, basking in the warmth of the locals and the cool embrace of the sea.

The sun rose lazily over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold as you stepped into the café. The day held the promise of new adventures, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. The morning rush hadn't begun yet, giving you a moment to prepare the cafe for the day ahead.

As you arranged freshly baked pastries in the display case, you couldn't help but glance out the window, captivated by the waves crashing against the shore. Lost in thought, you nearly jumped when a soft voice interrupted your reverie.

"Excuse me, is this place open?"

You turned to find a tall, curly-haired stranger standing at the entrance. His emerald eyes sparkled with curiosity, and the smile on his lips was enough to make your heart skip a beat. He had an aura of mystery and charm that immediately intrigued you.

"Yes, we're open!" you replied with your normal cheerful tone, despite the unexpected flutters in your stomach. "Welcome to Seashells & Coffee."

He stepped inside, and you noticed a hint of sea salt in his dark, tousled hair. "Thank you," he said, a faint British accent adding to his allure. "This place has such a lovely vibe."

"Thank you," you repeated, your cheeks turning a light shade of pink under his warm gaze. "Would you like a seat by the window? It offers the best view."

"That sounds perfect," he said, a playful yet reserved glint in his eyes.

You led him to a cozy corner by the window, where he took a seat with a small smile. As you handed him a menu, your fingers brushed against his, causing an electrifying sensation to run through your veins. You quickly withdrew your hand, trying to hide your embarrassment.

"I'm Harry, by the way," he introduced himself, his smile never fading.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm YN," you replied, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn't like you never got any good looking customers, you did, but you've always managed to keep your cool since most of them had a cold vibe surrounding them. There was just something about this stranger that made you intrigued to know more, was it his manners? the way he held eye contact? or the way his eyes kept subtly glancing down at your lips?

Over the next few hours, few customers went in and out, all of them seeming to be in too much of a hurry to sit down on one of the pink leather couches. You could feel the eyes of the stranger on you every now and then, there was some kind of tension knowing you and him were the only two people in the shop. However he did not miss trying to make his presence noticeable, since he was making his way back and forth from where you were working, getting new pastries to try while leaving little appreciation comments every now and then.

As the afternoon sun bathed the café in golden light, Harry was on one of his missions to get a new pastry, you somehow managed to end up engrossed in a conversation with him. He was well-traveled and had an air of wisdom beyond his years. He shared stories of his adventures, and you told him about the town's history and hidden gems, since he showed you a strong interest towards the hidden tales of the town. The more you talked, the more you felt an unspoken connection between you two, as if you had known each other for much longer than just a few hours.

After paying his bill, Harry leaned closer, his eyes locked with yours. "Thank you YN, I couldn't think of a better way to start my vacation; you really do know the art of pastries well” He chuckled.

You blushed at his compliment, feeling the undeniable chemistry between you. "Thank you Harry, although I am a bit thrown off by your hatred for strawberries, I don't think it's acceptable really.”

“Ah there it is, you let me off too easily earlier, I knew you were secretly judging my impeccable taste” He replied. You found yourself cheekily laughing at his teasing words “If anything it is anything but impeccable. The fact that you won't try any strawberry pastries is cruel! You know that you’d find a newly found love for them but you’re in denial so it’s fine it'll take you a while to cave in” Your playful banter goes on for a while until Harry really has to go but not before suggesting subtly his next visit, and that alone leaves u with flutters in your stomach.

------

The next day, as the sun painted the sky in a soft pastel palette, you found yourself eagerly anticipating Harry's return to Seashells & Coffee. The memory of your long conversation from the previous day had lingered in your mind, leaving you with a sense of excitement and nervousness about seeing him again.

Just as the clock struck ten, the familiar chime of the doorbell signaled his arrival. Harry stepped in with that same charming smile that made your heart skip a beat. It was as if he brought the sunshine with him, brightening the entire café with his presence.

"Good morning, YN," he greeted, his eyes locking onto yours as if you were the only one in the room.

"Morning, Harry," you replied with a warm smile, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks.

He took a seat by the window once more, and you couldn't help but notice the small details that made him uniquely Harry—the way his curls fell just right, the subtle crinkles near his eyes when he smiled, and the way he fidgeted with the menu, pretending to be undecided.

"You're back for another adventure at Seashells & Coffee?" you asked playfully, remembering his words from yesterday.

Harry chuckled. "Absolutely. It's the best place to be."

As the day went on, your playful banter continued. You brought back your criticism towards his peculiar dislike for strawberries, which amused you to no end. "You're missing out on the best summer treat, Harry," you teased, holding up a plump, ripe strawberry between your fingers.

"I know, I know," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I told you,It's just one of those things I can't seem to enjoy."

Determined to change his mind, you decided to take matters into your own hands. During a short break, you disappeared into the kitchen, whipping up a special strawberry dessert just for him. You carefully crafted a delicious strawberry shortcake with layers of sponge, fresh strawberries, and a dollop of whipped cream on top.

Returning to his table, you placed the dessert before him with a flourish. "Now, this is the ultimate test. Give it a try."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming on his lips. "You're on."

He took a hesitant bite, and you watched nervously, hoping that your creation would win him over. His eyes widened in surprise, and a smile broke out on his face.

"Wow, this is amazing," he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine delight. "You might have just done the impossible and changed my opinion on strawberries."

You couldn't help but beam with pride at his reaction. "I told you they're delicious! It's like a burst of summer in every bite."

As the day continued, you and Harry spent more time together, talking, laughing, and enjoying each other's company. The bond between you grew stronger with every shared moment. You felt a sense of comfort and ease around him, as if you had found someone who truly understood you.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the coastal town, Harry hesitated before speaking. "Would you like to take a walk on the beach with me?"

Your heart skipped a beat at his invitation, and you nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'd love to."

Closing the shop, you strolled along the shoreline, the waves gently caressing the sand beneath your feet. The sound of the ocean served as a soothing backdrop to your conversation. As you and Harry walked along the beach, the cool ocean breeze caressed your skin, creating a sense of serenity around you. The waves lapped gently against the shore, and the distant cries of seagulls added to the tranquil atmosphere.

Harry's curiosity got the best of him, and he couldn't help but ask about the peculiar events that had occurred in the town. "You mentioned yesterday that this place has a magical charm and stories waiting to be written. Are there any particular stories or events that stand out?"

You smiled, appreciating his interest in the town's history. "Oh, definitely! Seaside Haven has a rich history filled with mysteries and legends. One of the most famous stories is about an old lighthouse that sits atop the cliffs."

Intrigued, Harry leaned in, eager to hear more. "Tell me about it."

"Legend has it that the lighthouse was built centuries ago by a lonesome sailor," you began, the tales of old coming to life in your words. "He fell deeply in love with a local woman, but their love was forbidden by her overprotective family. Heartbroken and desperate, he built the lighthouse as a beacon of hope, hoping it would guide him back to her."

Harry's eyes sparkled with fascination. "Did it work?"

"Well," you continued with a playful grin, "that's the mystery. Some say that on clear, moonlit nights, you can see a ghostly figure of a man gazing out to sea from the top of the lighthouse. Locals call him the 'Lover's Light.'"

"That's both beautiful and haunting," Harry mused, captivated by the romantic lore.

As you walked further, you shared more stories—the shipwrecks that dotted the coastline, the hidden caves said to be treasure troves, and the annual beach bonfire festival that brought the entire town together. Harry listened with genuine interest, asking questions and adding his own insights.

He paused for a moment, gazing out at the vast ocean before turning back to you. "It's incredible how stories and history shape a place. It's like every corner of this town has a tale to tell."

"It truly does," you agreed, feeling a deep connection forming between you two as you shared these tales. "And it's those stories that make this town so special, giving it a sense of magic and wonder."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow across the sky, you both continued your leisurely stroll along the beach. The stories of the town, the sound of the waves, and the connection between you and Harry created an enchanting moment—one that would forever be etched in the sands of your summer paradise.

-------

Harry walked back to his rented cottage, his mind swirling with thoughts of YN. The way she spoke about the town's history with such passion, the playful glint in her eyes when she teased him about strawberries, and the warmth of her smile—it all left an indelible impression on him. He couldn't deny how drawn he felt to her, but he also knew that he was just passing through this picturesque town for a different reason. .

"Keep it together, Harry," he mumbled to himself as he entered the cozy living room. He settled down on the worn-out couch, trying to focus on the laptop in front of him. But every time he tried to concentrate on his work, thoughts of YN crept back into his mind.

He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts. "You can't get distracted now," he reminded himself sternly, his fingers tapping on the keyboard. He had come to Seaside Haven for a specific goal, he reminded himself.

As he typed, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of suspicion lingering in the back of his mind. It was as if fate had led him to YN, and he couldn't understand why he was so taken by her. He had met plenty of people during his travels, but there was something about her that felt different—like she held a key to a world of wonder he had yet to discover.

Pushing the thoughts away, Harry focused on his work once more. He typed away, the soft tapping of the keys echoing in the quiet room. But try as he might, his mind kept wandering back to YN the enchanting girl he had met at the café.

"Get a grip, Harry," he scolded himself, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get the best of him. After all, he was just a visitor with a mission in Seaside Haven, and he didn't know how long he would stay.

With a determined sigh, he finally managed to immerse himself in his writing. But even as the words flowed from his fingers, he couldn't shake off the image of YN's smile and the feeling of her hand in his. It was as if the town itself conspired to keep him captivated, weaving its magic around him and YN.

Harry found it useless to try to keep himself concentrated while she clouded his mind, so he gives up, saving the document on his laptop and closing all the tabs for his research . He closed the lid, feeling a mix of confusion and fascination. "You're being silly," he whispered to himself, trying to dispel the enchantment that surrounded him.

But as he lay in bed that night, the image of YN stayed with him, her presence lingering like a sweet summer breeze. And in that moment, he knew that Seaside Haven had more in store for him than he had ever anticipated. Perhaps it wasn't just a town for a summer escape, with a good story—it could be the place where he found something he never knew he was looking for.

To be continued...

[narcissadeville]

Dream Date | a butch x femme story

It’s almost noon when I leave the house. I almost never go anywhere these days, save to get coffee or food or ever so rarely to browse a store that isn’t online. So I consider this a rare treat. First coffee then, a trip to the bookstore. I’m in search of a specific tome. A book on lesbian nuns of all things, and I suspect the local bookstore might have such a thing. It’s a small enough town, and I happen to live close enough to the town square that I can walk without much trouble so I do. There’s a coffee shop I’ve never been to before on the way according to my phone. Under normal circumstances, I would go to Starbucks as it’s usually the easiest but I figure if it’s on the way I might as well try something new. 

The walk was blessedly short and more importantly, it was a beautiful spring day which meant it was just warm enough to be comfortable but not so much as to be sweltering and therefore unbearable to walk in.

The coffee shop is exactly as I would have imagined upon entering, warm, cozy, inviting, and full of life, mostly plant life.

There are a few people ahead of me, so I have some time to study the menu and get a feel for the sorts of drinks they serve. I tend towards tea on account of the fact that coffee makes me jittery, and I see a tea choice that looks appetizing enough and decide to order that. It’s a spicy chai tea with oat milk that looks absolutely divine. 

I order my drink and make my way over to the other side of the cafe to wait for my drink. There’s light jazz playing over the radio, mixed with the sounds of quiet conversation. There’s a certain ambiance in this place that feels almost dreamy. I’m not sure if it’s the fairy lights, the music, the plants, or just the fact that exists at all but I can’t help but fall just a little bit in love with the place. Someone calls my name and I take my drink gratefully, and make my way toward the door. There’s a part of me that’s tempted to stay longer. It’s comfortable and the atmosphere draws me in like a siren song and I’m tempted. But there’s a book calling my name so I press on instead. I make my way to the door, lost in thought and tea, and I don’t notice that someone else is coming to the door at the same time, and we run smack into each other, our arms colliding. My tea jostles but thankfully only sloshes a little over the lid. 

“Sorry,” I hear a voice say from beside me. I turn towards the sound and almost feel as though my legs might buckle. Easily the most handsome butch I have ever seen in person stands beside me. Looking rather sheepish. They’re wearing a black leather jacket, white t-shirt and black jeans and it’s all I can do not to swoon. Their dark curly hair frames their face perfectly. I’m certain I’m blushing as I stare into the warm pools of their brown eyes. My mouth opens and I attempt to formulate words but all I can manage is the letter I.

After a moment, I regain my composure and say. “Okay,” I feel stupid the moment the words leave my lips, but they don’t seem the least bit bothered by it. They smile and oh I can feel myself blushing again. Their smile is wondrous, and I lose all sense of where I am then and there. Before I know what’s happening, they move and open the door, holding it for me in a sweeping magnanimous gesture that makes me want to blush and giggle and swoon.

“After you,” they say. I blush again and make my way out and back into the street. 

“Thank you,” I reply. They smile again, and we turn in opposite directions. 

I’m still riding the high of our interaction as I walk down the street toward the bookstore sipping my drink. Trees line the sidewalk to my right and shade the sun's rays from me, a fact for which I am most grateful. 

It’s a good drink, but I can’t help but wonder if they’re a regular there. 

Should I start coming back? Maybe I might see them there again? I’m half way down the street from the coffee shop when I remember I was going somewhere, and pull out my phone for the instructions. Thankfully I’m not too far off course. I manage to continue the rest of the walk from the coffee shop to the bookstore. This portion of the trek is longer than I expected and most of it is spent reminiscing over the handsome butch I just met. 

In my own imagination, I am not shy exactly, it’s just that whenever I see someone I consider attractive, I lose all ability to speak in any sort of coherent way. I tell myself that if they are regular and I have more opportunities to see them in the future it might make it easier to work up a rapport. Oh, who am I kidding? Even if they are a regular, I very much doubt they would talk to me. 

After a half an hour of internal monologuing, I reach the bookstore. It’s not a gay bookstore but something about it just feels like it could be. Perhaps it’s just the vibe that all bookstores feel somehow inherently safe to me. 

I’ve always loved books, ever since I was a kid. In those days reading felt like a beautiful escape from a humdrum life, now I was lucky if I could work up the energy to read a few pages at a time. I was hoping a story more suited to me would help. 

The bookshop was a welcome respite from the outside air which was starting to get considerably more sticky as the afternoon wore on. Or perhaps that had simply been from walking there. Either way I was thrilled to be inside an air-conditioned building and a bookstore no less. The smell of ink and paper immediately filled my nostrils and I felt like I was home. 

I had come with a purpose true, but the moment I had arrived I found myself wandering down various isles with no particular purpose in mind. I let my feet carry me in any direction they wanted to, and my eyes sought out any cover or title that looked like it could be interesting. I was so engrossed in my wandering I once more found myself running into a person, this time right into their back. I groaned to myself, embarrassed that I had run into another person twice in the same day. 

“Sorry,” I said. They turned around and I would have gasped; once more the same handsome butch from the coffee shop. What were the odds, I wondered? Surely astronomical. It was a smaller town sure but not so small that it was likely that I’d run into them in this exact same store at this particular time and this isle. 

They smiled, “Well hello again,” they said. There was a casual demeanor to their tone that made me almost feel at ease. Were I not so damn nervous. I smiled, sure I was blushing again. 

“Sorry,” I repeated. 

“Don’t be, I’m glad you bumped into me again.” 

My mouth hung open at that, and I blinked in search of anything intelligent to say, but came up empty. It is worth noting that I am rarely at a loss for words. I would consider myself rather good with words generally, yet here I was, fumbling for anything resembling a sentence. 

“We might want to sit down somewhere, I’d hate for you to run into me and get seriously hurt,” they said. 

At this I simply blushed. Say something, my brain hissed at me. “I might enjoy it if you did,” I said. I cringed at myself, had I really just said that? 

To my surprise however, they laughed. A deep, mirthful laugh that instantly put me at ease. “How about I take you out to lunch first, and see where the afternoon takes us?” 

I blinked, there went my words again. I could hardly believe it, I was actually being asked out, on a date, in person. Was this really how it happened? I had only seen such a thing in films before, I knew I had to respond before they thought I wasn’t interested. 

“I’d love to,” I said. Or at least, I thought that’s what I said. I’m pretty sure what I actually said might have been more of a garbled mess of such a phrase. Fortunately for me, they didn’t seem to care. Instead they smiled and said, “Great. What are you in the mood for?” 

“I’m pretty new to the area I admitted, but I’m down for whatever.”

“Adventurous, I like that in a girl,” they said as we made our way out of the bookshop, all thoughts of the book I had been planning to purchase completely erased from my head. Adventurous, I thought with a laugh. Nothing could be further from me, but I wasn’t about to tell them that. Outside the bookstore, they turned right toward the parking lot with me trailing behind them like a lost kitten. When they finally stopped it was in front of a motorcycle, it was black and if I was honest the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. They grinned mounting the bike with ease. “You ever ridden on the back of a motorcycle before?” They asked.

I had two choices. I could lie and potentially risk life and limb for a total stranger, or I could tell them I was scared shitless and admit I'd never even seen a motorcycle up close let alone ridden one.

Naturally, I did the only sensible thing I could do. 

“Sure,” I lied trying to mount the bike like they had. The dress I was wearing didn’t exactly lend itself to it, but I didn’t care. As soon as I got on I stared awkwardly at their back. 

“You may want to hold on. She’s got a little kick,” they said. I blinked, not seeing anything to hold onto. I had seen in movies girls holding onto their riding partner, but surely she didn’t mean… the engine roared to life and my heart leaped up to my throat. Without thinking I wrapped my arms around her waist for dear life, burying my face in her leather-clad back. She smelled amazing. A mix of leather, and just a touch of musk and cologne. She revved the engine and we took off together out of the parking lot. 

It wasn’t so bad, I thought to myself. I had calmed down almost immediately, at least that was until we exited the parking lot and the motorcycle shot down the street at what felt like an unreasonably high speed that caused me to wrap my arms around their waist once more, desperately clinging to the only lifeline I had. They didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. In fact, as they took off down the road, making a bit of a sharper-than-necessary turn, I almost got the impression they were trying to show off for me. This thought was short-lived however when the motorcycle’s engine popped suddenly and bucked me. I clenched my thighs to the metal and gripped them so tight I was sure I would have cracked one of their ribs. When we finally reached our destination, a restaurant I had never seen before it was all I could do not to kiss the ground. I felt as though I had been just taken on a wild ride on a stallion. I carefully extricated myself from the bike and they followed suit, smiling at me. Distinctly I got the impression that they knew I had been lying. No one who had ridden on a motorcycle before would have been that terrified. Thankfully they didn’t call me out a fact for which I will be eternally grateful for forever. The two of us made our way towards the restaurant, their hand at the small of my back. It was all I could do not to blush again. When we reached the door, they moved swiftly to open it for me and not a second later their hand was at the small of my back once more. 

It was almost unbelievable how fast they seemed to move. 

They had chosen, a quiet diner where we could chose our own seats, we did, the back of the diner, away from other guests. Ours was a half moon booth, they slid into the middle and I slid in the other side, next to them. Without a second thought they wrapped their arm around me and pulled me close. Were it not for the distinct smell of cooking eggs wafting from the kitchen I would have been certain this was a dream. 

“I hope you don’t mind being so close,” they said. 

“I don’t mind at all,” I replied. How could I possibly? What femme in her right mind would mind? 

“I admit I’m not usually this forward,” they said. “But after I ran into you for the second time in the bookstore I thought you can’t let her get away again.” 

It took everything in me in that moment not to make a self deprecating comment. Not to say something along the lines of, ‘are you sure you’re talking about me?’ I had promised myself I wouldn’t do that anymore. Still I couldn’t quite stop myself from asking. “Oh, why is that?” 

“Well for starters you’re easily the most beautiful femme I’ve ever seen. But besides that… I can’t really explain it.” For a long moment, I had no idea what to say. It’s not that I lack self-confidence per se, but I’m by no means self-absorbed enough or perhaps quite confident enough to call myself the most beautiful femme. Surely this handsome butch has seen many a beautiful femme, I think.

Several years ago, when I was still attempting to date men, I would have assumed this was merely a line to get into bed with me. But this felt incredibly genuine like they really meant it. Unlike with any man, if this was a line, it was going to work. They could have asked me to follow her into a life of crime Bonnie and Clyde style and I would have. Easily. 

“Thank you,” I said thought it felt foolish. They smiled. 

“I’m just being honest,” they said. 

When the server arrived, they ordered for me, another thing I had only ever dreamed of, and they held tight to me for the remainder of our lunch, we talked about everything and nothing, and I still couldn’t get over it. A real date, a date that had come from me doing something different and leaving the house. It felt like a dream, like a fairytale. I was terrified that at any moment I’d wake up back in my bed. 

Only I didn’t. 

Lunch ended, and we went to see a movie, then strolled the park, then went for a late dinner. The day flew by and the next thing I knew it was nearing midnight. Had we really been out all day? I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so comfortable and joyous and just myself, and I was reticent to let the date end. As they dropped me off back at my house and gave me their number, I knew I couldn’t let them go. 

Wrapping my arms around them, I smiled, “You’re welcome to come in,” I said. 

They grinned, giving me a look filled with a multitude of promise. 

“Much as I would love that and I…” they looked me up and down and let out something between a grunt and a moan that sent shivers down my spine, “I would love to. I have a rule about not sleeping with a girl on the first date.” 

It was all I could do not to pout. They must have noticed it too because they smiled and wrapped their arms around my waist. “Can I kiss you?” They asked. 

“You can do a lot more than that if you like,” I replied. 

They laughed and pressed their lips slowly to mine. I gasped, lips parting to give them entrance. I felt their fingers dig into my hips then as they deepened the kiss. Their tongue exploring my mouth. It was all I could do not to moan into the embrace. It was hands down the best kiss of my life. Their lips trailed down from mine, down my chin, towards my neck. I gasped, letting out a moan as they sucked hard onto my throat. My fingers dug into their back. “Please,” I begged. 

“Please what?” They whispered against the flesh of my neck like a prayer. I shivered. 

“Please I need more,” I whined. 

They smiled, pressed their lips to mine once more, and pulled away. “Just needed to mark my spot,” they said. I whined. “Promise we’ll do this again and I’ll make it very worth your while.” 

I shivered at the promise of their words. “I’m holding you to that,” I said. They got onto their motorcycle with a grin, and the last thing I saw was their tail light as they sped off into the night. 

Walking back to my room I wondered briefly if I would ever see them again. Or if this had been just a passing-by-night thing. A once in a lifetime fairytale of an event that had happened miraculously not to be repeated. 

To my great surprise, my phone vibrated and I pulled it out to find a text from them: 

I had a great time today, shall we plan another date for tomorrow? Or later in the week?

I stared at my phone grinning from ear to ear. I could hardly deny to myself it was real now. Shocking though it was. We planned our second date, and as I crawled into bed, exhausted from the long day, I felt all at once as though I was floating on air. 

The date of my dreams with the butch of my dreams, I thought to myself. Holy shit I did it. 

[goodwithwood]

Hello again! Hope you are doing okay :D

I have a question: While I was reading again Wicked Grace, I was wondering How does Hawkes's house and carpentry shop look like? :O I'm very curious to see how the rooms are disposed and place? :3

Thank you and welcome back again

Full of love and encouragements for the next part <3

OHH THIS IS A GOOD QUESTION!!!!! admittedly i don’t have any detailed floor plans designed so much as just Settings In My Mind Which I Try My Utmost To Convey but i’ll try to explain them in broad terms here! :D

generally speaking, the vibe of all hawke-associated zones (namely, his house, the carpentry and leandra-and-the-twins’ house) is very much that of the hawke estate from the actual game. it’s all very comfortable and warm. i always hear the hawke family theme in the bg whenever i’m writing scenes set in them lol. the hawkes all subconsciously gravitate towards dark brown and red furniture and they tend to be a bit on the cluttered side (though leandra is by far the most organized of the lot. conversely, malcolm was the most cluttered HAHA – carver has since taken the title over), so everything always feels really... lived-in! in a nice way! (as a lil aside, fenris’ place is the same way; i think garrett literally thinks ‘this place feels cozy and lived-in’ when he first sees fen’s place haha.)  

but anyway!!! garrett’s house is a two-story house which he rents from meredith (who is also his neighbor) (yes that goes as well as you’d think). the ground floor has a spacious living room which is VERY cozy because garrett doesn’t joke around when it comes to coziness. it has red carpeting, an extremely plushy old sofa, a couple of armchairs and a tv set. there’s a low table in front of the tv (basically just a coffee table) and another table next to the couch with some family pictures on display. the domain of the 500 straws aka the kitchen is attached to the living room - you get into it by going under a pretty wide arch (it isn’t sectioned off from the living room by a door or anything; you can see into the kitchen from the living room and vice-versa, hence why characters sometimes have conversations across the two of them). the kitchen is your standard kitchen with its counters and normal implements and stuff, but it’s also really cluttered. not in the unhygenic way but... you know. cluttered. there’s a cupboard in there that’s solely dedicated to chip storage. maybe even two cupboards. maybe even… a pantry. anyway. a part of it is put aside for dining upon the famed table which fenris drunkenly called shitty, but garrett usually takes his food elsewhere. like he probably eats on the couch in the living room more often. there is also a downstairs bathroom that you can get to from the living room… which i don’t think has ever been mentioned in wg…? but there it is. HOT LORE OFF THE PRESS!!!! dgdflhk but jokes aside that bathroom also combos as a laundry room.

the staircase leads up from the living room! it has another arch entrance which matches that of the kitchen, but it’s smaller because obviously the staircase is a lot narrower haha. the top floor has garrett’s bedroom (with an attached bathroom), a guest room, and another bathroom (‘the guest bathroom’ aka the domain of merrill’s gift-soaps). that bathroom isn’t attached to the guest room, but it *is* right across the hall from it. the hall is pretty tiny but it has some cabinets set up along it for extra storage. garrett actually keeps a lot of his extra stuff at the main family house since it’s way bigger and has a really spacious attic/basement situation.

the hawke family’s carpentry is definitely a lot vaguer since i’m not a carpenter so i am 100% giving the au’s characters who are trained in such things their own free rein of the place LOL but it essentially has a reception area and an area that’s totally off-limits to (most) clients. that off-limits area has a bunch of rooms – the workshop being the biggest one, with its heavy-duty tools and machinery (saws, workbenches, dust collectors, etc. SHARP THINGS!!!! be careful in there). there’s also a large room designated for storage, a breakroom with an attached bathroom, and leandra’s office for more administrative stuff. everyone drifts about but you can typically find leandra in her office, morrigan in the reception area, and the hawke siblings and zevran scattered around the workshop if they’re not doing a house call. leandra is a HUGE stickler for safety so everything is really up-to-par in that department. obviously, the hawke family’s tendency to be a bit cluttered is suppressed a whole lot in the workshop. if anything is out of place for too long the wrath of Mother Hawke WILL be incurred and no one wants that. seriously.

in terms of notable décor, the reception area of hawke’s carpentry has few of malcolm hawke’s (rest in peace, king) woodworking projects on display. he did a lot of big wooden sculptures and the like so, you know… obviously… There’s Birds. A Certain Bird In Particular. I Wonder What That Would Be. (hawks haha – two big ones on either side of the entrance to the workshop, almost like pillars.) there’s also a huge plaque of the family crest which him and leandra made together back when the carpentry was brand new. it’s on display right behind the reception desk so it’s pretty much the first thing you see when you walk in. it was garrett’s inspiration when he made the shield that fenris would later claim as his own.

so there you have it – a little run-down of these lil garrett zones! apologies if this wasn’t as detailed as you were looking for, i tried to keep it on the more general side. :D ty for the question and the warm welcome back!!!

[quokka143]

cities in the us I think skz would be from

♡ chan - seattle, washington

I will die on the hill that chan is seattle coded. he just fits the grunge aesthetic so well, and after he performed smells like teen spirit in seattle it just solidified it for me. skz music definitely has some grunge influences so I think he would have gotten his start in the underground seattle music scene.

♡ lee know - new orleans, lousiana

where the weird and the mysterious thrive, so too would lee know. his entire vibe is dark and alluring on the outside but once you look past the exterior you see someone full of resilience, strength, and endless things to discover and to me that's very new orleans. since he makes such a charismatic host I feel like he'd be hosting walking tours through the fernch quarter where he can tell some ghost stories here and there and maybe give the tourists a little scare for his own entertainment.

♡ changbin - jersey city, new jersey

if you say changbin isn't jersey coded you're lying to yourself. our loud, muscular king would fit in perfectly with the jersey gym and beach culture. I could see him going to the gym during the day and out to the clubs at night to shake his ass to his favorite songs with his friends.

♡ hyunjin - newport, rhode island

okay follow me on this one, I know this sounds a little obscure but for some reason when I think of hyunjin as someone from the usa all I can think about is him living in some new england town painting the fall colors or sitting on his porch in a seaside home painting the ocean. it seems so peaceful and I feel like that suits him.

♡ han - new york city, new york

hanji is so nyc coded to me and since the maxident trailer lives rent free in my head, here we are. like imagine him living in a little new york apartment while he chases his music producer dreams. every night on his way home he pops into the bodega down the street to grab something to eat and gives their resident cat a few pets before heading home to work on more tracks in his home studio.

♡ felix - miami, florida

I feel like our aussie beach boy just needs to be somewhere warm and sunny with a good nightlife and let's be honest, miami is the place for that. he'd probably spend his days at the local dance studio before heading down the beach for a swim to relax after.

♡ seungmin - portland, oregon

seungmin's entire vibe just screams cozy coffee shop on a rainy day. I could see him sat by a window reading a book and sipping his americano just spending the afternoon soaking up the warmth and delicious smells inside the cafe. he would probably have a favorite spot he always sits where he can gaze out the window and people watch.

♡ jeongin - los angeles, california

we already know jeongin is from busan, he's accustomed to beautiful beaches, colorful places to explore, and great food, so to me it makes sense he'd be from los angeles. I feel like he'd be working his way towards being a singer and maybe giving some vocal lessons on the side to help himself along. on the weekends he's probably exploring some new place to eat with his friends.

[interiorswork-blog]

Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi 

Crafting the top cafe interior designs in Delhi goes beyond just looks—it’s about creating a place that makes people want to come back.

A great design blends style with function, making sure every part of the cafe works well and looks good at the same time.

In Delhi’s growing cafe scene, smart interior choices can make all the difference. From cozy seating that invites guests to relax, to lighting that creates the right mood, a well-designed cafe turns casual visitors into regulars. The design you choose sets the tone for the entire experience.

the top cafe interior designs in Delhi are those that blend style with comfort. Whether you’re looking for a luxurious atmosphere or a budget-friendly layout, finding the right balance is key to standing out in a competitive market.

In-short great cafe interiors create inviting spaces that resonate with your main customers, making every visit memorable.

Table of Contents

Importance of Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

Customize Design Solution for Best Cafe Interior Designing

Main Entry – First Impressions Matter

Display Counter by Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

Bar Counter Designing in Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

Wall Design Elements-  Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

Turnkey Interior Designs- Top Interior Designs in Delhi

Flooring Patterns- Top Cafe Interior Designs In Delhi

Custom Cafe Interior Designs

Importance of Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

In a city like Delhi, where cafe culture is booming, a well-designed interior can be the difference between a thriving business and one that struggles to attract customers. More than just aesthetics, a thoughtful cafe interior creates an atmosphere that resonates with your target audience. Imagine your cafe as a silent storyteller. What story do your design choices tell? Does it whisper tales of cozy comfort, artistic flair, or modern sophistication? By carefully considering each design element, you can create a space that not only entices customers but keeps them coming back for more.

Create an Unforgettable Ambiance.

The right cafe interior designs can turn first-time visitors into loyal customers. Many cafes in Delhi have experienced significant success by enhancing their interiors to meet customer needs

Comfort is Key–

Well-designed furniture, proper lighting, and comfortable seating all play a major role in making customers feel at ease. For top cafe interior designs in Delhi and these elements are crucial for creating a memorable experience that encourages patrons to stay longer at Delhi.

Customize Design Solution for Best Cafe Interior Designing

Every cafe has a unique soul and your top cafe interior designs in Delhi should reflect that. In Delhi’s diverse neighborhoods, from cozy corners to sprawling spaces, customization is key. Think of your cafe as a canvas – what story do you want it to tell through its top cafe interior designs in Delhi?

Maybe you’re dreaming of a luxurious oasis in the heart of the city, or perhaps a quirky, artistic haven that sparks creativity. Whatever your vision, tailored cafe interior designs ensure your cafe stands out in the Delhi city’s sea of coffee shops.

Main Entry – First Impressions Matter

First impressions- matter, especially in Delhi’s busy cafe scene. The entrance is the first thing customers see. A brightly painted door with cool details can attract people walking by. Or, a modern look with big windows can give a look into your cozy space.

Adding things like unique door designs, clear signage, and warm lighting. These things help possible customers choose your cafe over others nearby. In Delhi’s cafes, a standout entrance can really boost your appeal and bring in more people.

Innovative Door Designs by Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

The entrance of your cafe creates a strong first impression. A well-designed door can make a small space inviting and grand. Unique materials, creative lighting, or bold colors enhance the atmosphere, setting customer expectations for top cafe interior designs.

Effective & direct connecting from Cafe Interior Designs

Effective signage boosts brand recognition. A clear sign with your cafe’s name and logo stands out in Delhi, communicating the unique experience awaiting customers. Memorable branding draws people in, making your cafe unforgettable in Delhi’s bustling cafe culture.

Display Counter by Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

In cafe interior designs in Delhi, your counter is more than just a place to serve food—it’s the heart of your café. A smartly designed counter makes everything look irresistible and pulls in customers to try more.

A great counter isn’t just functional; it grabs attention. With smooth finishes, attractive materials, and the right lighting, it becomes a key feature that draws people in. It’s both stylish and practical, making the counter a must-have for any café looking to create a memorable experience. This is the essence of cafe interior designers in Delhi.

Bar Counter Designing in Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

In Delhi’s cafe interior designs, the bar counter is key. It’s the place that pulls customers in. A well-designed bar counter boosts both staff efficiency and customer satisfaction.

With an ergonomic design, baristas can work smoothly, ensuring quick service. Using quality materials and simple, stylish designs, the bar counter becomes a standout feature. It blends perfectly with the rest of the cafe while enhancing the overall look. This spot should be both practical and visually attractive, truly reflecting the best of cafe interior designs in Delhi.

Wall Design Elements-  Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

Don’t forget the power of a well-designed wall. In your cafe interior designs in Delhi, walls are more than just structural elements – they’re blank canvases ripe with storytelling potential.

Think Beyond Plain Paint for Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

Here is Paint work best interior design company

Instead of plain paint, consider incorporating elements that reflect your cafe’s personality and connect with Delhi’s vibrant culture in cafe interior. A mural depicting local landmarks, exposed brick walls that exude a rustic charm, or a gallery wall showcasing the work of local artists – these design choices can transform your cafe from ordinary to extraordinary.

Murals and Art in Cafe Interior Designs If you want to attract a boutique-style audience, murals or local artwork are a great way to add a personal touch to your space. These pieces can make your cafe more relatable and appealing to niche customers.

Texture and Colors for Cafe Interior Designs Bold colors or textured walls can make a smaller space feel larger, adding depth and character. This is a smart way to create a vibrant atmosphere in your cafe without taking up extra space.

Turnkey Interior Designs- Top Interior Designs in Delhi

For cafe owners who want to focus on brewing great coffee rather than managing renovations, turnkey solutions are a godsend in the world of Turnkey cafe designs in Delhi. It’s like having a team of interior design fairies who transform your space while you focus on perfecting your latte art.

Turnkey designs in top cafe interior designers in Delhi lies in their seamless execution. Every element, floor tiles to the light fixtures, works in harmony to create a space beautiful but functional and uniquely yours.

Effortless Management: With turnkey cafe interior designs, cafe owners can focus on running their business while professionals handle the design and execution.

This smooth process helps you observe on customer service and day-to-day operations without worrying about the renovation. With this approach, you save time and energy, making it easier to create a welcoming space that enhances customer experience.

Cohesive Aesthetic: A turnkey solution ensures every aspect of your cafe interior designs, from furniture and fixtures to wall decor, blends perfectly together. This creates a easier look that improves the overall feel of your cafe.

A well-designed, cohesive space not only draws in more customers but also makes them want to stay longer, with top cafe interior designs in Delhi.

Flooring Patterns- Top Cafe Interior Designs In Delhi

In Floor your feet might seem like a small detail, but in the world of cafe interior designs in Delhi, it’s the foundation of your entire look. Durable yet stylish flooring options can set the tone for your entire space.

Effortless Management:

Let walking into a cafe where the flooring itself feels like a masterpiece—perhaps with tile patterns that immediately catch the eye or warm wooden floors, homelike feel. These small but important details play a significant role in cafe interior designs in Delhi & enhancing the overall mood and experience.

High-Traffic Areas:

For cafes in busy areas like Delhi with the flooring needs to be strong enough to handle heavy foot traffic while still looking stylish and inviting.

Custom Cafe Interior Designs

Opting for unique flooring patterns like checkerboard tiles or herringbone wood can make a bold style statement. These designs stay in customers’ minds for adding a special touch to your cafe’s ambiance.

Furniture Styling- Top Cafe Interior Designs In Delhi

In Delhi’s cafe culture, where comfort meets style, your choice of furniture can make or break the experience in cafe interior designs. It’s not just about having a place to sit – it’s about creating an environment where customers want to linger.

Picture plush seating

that draws customers in, offering comfort and elegance. Whether it’s modern, sleek pieces that align with your cafe’s aesthetic or cozy, inviting furniture. It goes beyond just filling space—it creates an atmosphere, a core element in cafe interior designs, that keeps customers returning in Delhi.

Affordable Luxury

Cafes all over Delhi are opting for furniture that combines affordability with luxury. These designs provide an inviting ambiance without overspending, ensuring customers feel pampered while enjoying their coffee or meal.

Modular Seating Solutions

For smaller cafes, modular seating offers a easy for making the most of the space. These flexible attract to different customer needs, whether it’s for small gatherings or larger groups. This not only improves the overall experience but also enhances the functionality, especially in Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi.

Lighting-  Top Cafe Interior Designs in Delhi

Lighting plays a key role in cafe interior designs, shaping the overall mood and feel of your cafe. It boosts the look, sets the right atmosphere, and can even influence how customers enjoy their time in your space.

Natural vs. Artificial Lighting–

Using large windows to let in natural light can make even small spaces feel open and inviting. This lighting not only brightens up your cafe but also connects the inside with the outside with a creating a warm & welcoming vibe.

Ambiance Creation– Soft, relaxed lighting is ideal for turning your cafe into a relaxing spot, especially in the evening. Whether it’s for friends catching up or freelancers working, this kind of atmosphere is perfect for top cafe interior designs in Delhi service.

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i made chat gpt write a conversation between buffy summers and daisy jones

Daisy Jones and Buffy Summers found themselves in a cozy coffee shop, drawn together by the magnetic pull of destiny, or perhaps just a shared love for strong coffee and good conversation. They sat across from each other, two women with an air of quiet strength about them, each carrying a story written in their eyes.

Daisy, her wild hair falling effortlessly around her shoulders, leaned forward with a warm smile. "So, Buffy, I've heard some pretty amazing things about you. Slayer, right? That's pretty badass."

Buffy chuckled, her eyes twinkling with a mix of humility and confidence. "Yeah, that's me. Vampire slayer, demon hunter, and occasional world saver. But enough about me. Your reputation precedes you too, Daisy. Rockstar extraordinaire. I've listened to your music, and it's amazing."

Daisy's eyes lit up with genuine appreciation. "Thanks, Buffy. You know, I've always thought there's a certain kind of magic in music and fighting against evil. It's all about finding your strength and using it to make a difference."

Buffy nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I get that. There's a rhythm to the fight, a flow to the battle. It's like a dance, but with stakes. Literally."

They both laughed, recognizing the truth in Buffy's words. Daisy took a sip of her coffee and leaned back, her eyes searching Buffy's. "So, what's the story with you? How did you become the Slayer?"

Buffy's gaze turned introspective. "It's a long story, but the short version is, I was chosen. Chosen to fight against the forces of darkness. It's a tough gig, but somebody's gotta do it."

Daisy nodded in understanding, a glint of admiration in her eyes. "It sounds like a heavy burden, but you handle it with such grace. I guess we all have our own battles to fight, don't we?"

Buffy smiled, a mixture of gratitude and camaraderie. "That's for sure. And we all find our own ways to cope. Music, for you, and... well, staking vampires, for me."

They shared a moment of quiet reflection, appreciating the unique paths they had walked. As they finished their coffee, Daisy couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with Buffy. Two women, worlds apart in many ways, yet connected by a shared sense of purpose and the strength to face whatever challenges came their way.

As they said their goodbyes, Daisy couldn't help but feel inspired. Meeting Buffy had reminded her that strength came in many forms, and that there was a community of warriors out there, each fighting their own battles. And whether it was through music or staking vampires, they were all doing their part to make the world a better place.