#mmm I haven’t drawn this AU in a hot minute

[lilbitofmac]

The sorcerer feels a cold chill run down his spine…

[westallenfun]

Diamonds at Jitters - 1/1

WestAllen secret santa gift 

From: @backtothestart02

For: @lyta2323

Note: I hope you enjoy! I hinted at it in parts, but this is a sequel to my fic, Love at Jitters, if you haven’t read it.

Synopsis: College!AU - It’s Christmas Eve. Barry has a special surprise for Iris.

.

The snow fell light and fluffy outside Iris’ window, signifying winter had finally come to Central City. And on Christmas Eve no less.

She had a date with Barry later – they’d managed to squeeze an hour into their calendars for just the two of them amidst family gatherings where they showed up part of the time for both their families and extended families. Iris couldn’t explain why, but she was unspeakably nervous. Not that there was anything to be nervous about, but still. It had been 10 and a half months since their first impromptu date. They’d been through a lot – Iris’ birthday, meeting the parents, Iris’ brother, Barry’s idol, their best friends/roommates, a handful of not-very-serious arguments, and probably the most passionate sex Iris had ever been party to.

But Christmas. Christmas felt big.

Iris’ phone buzzed on her vanity where she stood applying her make-up and making sure this pair of earrings was truly the one for this particular short-sleeved, black velvet dress with matching heels.

Seeing the name, she smiled, and hit the answer button and then the speaker.

“Hey, Lin. What’s up?”

“You sound happy,” Linda Park said, cheeky as ever.

“It’s Christmas Eve. What would I have to be unhappy about? It’s my favorite holiday. And-”

“You’re hoping Barry goes down on bended knee.”

Iris nearly choked on her own breath.

“W-What?” she wheezed.

“Aha! I knew it!” Linda cheered.

“You don’t know anything,” Iris said, trying to get herself focused again now that her lipstick had been drawn in a crooked line across the bottom of her cheek. “Barry is not proposing tonight.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. We’re having a romantic dinner just the two of us, and then we’re going to his side of the family and then mine tomorrow.”

“So. Just the two of you, huh?”

Iris sighed and rolled her eyes. There was no stopping her best friend when she got ahead of herself.

“What are you doing tonight? Are you getting together with Peter again?”

She gagged through the phone.

“I guess that’s a no.”

“That’s an ‘oh, God, no’.”

“Did something happen? I thought you really liked him.”

“Uh-uh. My body liked his body.”

“Ah.”

“Once he started talking about his life and his job and his passions…oh, my god, I couldn’t stand it.”

Iris chuckled to herself.

“So, what are you doing then?” There was a moment of silence. “Lin?”

“Hmm? Oh, um… you know…”

“Don’t tell me you’re spending Christmas Eve alone.”

“What?” she squeaked. “No way. I’m a party animal, you know that.”

“Oh, yeah? So whose party are you going to?”

“Well, now nobody’s, since the biggest party of the year Peter will be at.” She frowned, disappointed in the predicament she’d created for herself.

“I can cancel,” Iris started to say, but even as she did, she was glad Linda cut her off with a negative. Despite the weird nerves she had, she was really looking forward to seeing Barry tonight and exchanging gifts. She didn’t want to cancel.

“No. You are not canceling. No way in hell am I gonna let you miss your own proposal.”

Iris rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Okay, so what are you going to do then? I can’t have my best friend all alone on Christmas Eve. Single shouldn’t mean solitary confinement.”

Linda blew locks out of her face.

“Don’t you have a brother?”

Iris brows narrowed. “Linda, no.”

“I’m not gonna sleep with him,” she said, appalled.

“Good,” Iris said. “He’s practically a baby. And he just got out of a serious relationship.”

“How serious could it be if they’re still teenagers?”

The silent tension could be cut with a knife.

“Okay, okay…just thought he could use some company. Like, the platonic kind. Maybe ice skating? I used to do that with my brother back home.”

Iris was skeptical but finally reluctantly agreed.

“I’ll give him a call.”

“Great! Maybe I can get him to drink the spicy hot cocoa they have at the rink this year. I bet it’ll blow his mind.”

“He doesn’t like spicy food.”

“Even better.”

Iris’ wariness increased tenfold.

“Relax,” Linda said. “I’ll bring him back in one piece and untouched. You have my word.”

With everything inside her, Iris really wanted to believe her best friend.

“I’ll talk to you later, Lin.”

“Later, Babe.”

Click.

Trying to put the image of her player of a best friend and her sweetheart of an 18-year-old baby brother aside, Iris nearly jumped when the phone buzzed again. But this time she was ready – her make-up fixed and earrings chosen – even as her cheeks burned with anticipation.

“Hey, Barry,” she said, almost a purr.

“Hey.” His lovestruck tone melted her always. “You ready?”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip as she started to fantasize about undressing him – until she realized he couldn’t see her.

“Iris?”

“Ah, yes, I’m ready. I’ll be down in a sec.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“’Kay.”

Five minutes later Iris was downstairs looking at the nervous wreck that was her boyfriend pacing back and forth in the lobby.

“Babe,” she called out, more than once because he was so absorbed in his own thoughts to register her voice. Finally though, he stopped pacing and looked at her and his jaw dropped.

Iris slid her warm wrap down her arms so he could get a full look at her dress.

“Not too shabby, huh?” She grinned, her eyes twinkling.

He closed the space between them and took her in his arms.

“I’d ravish you right here if we didn’t have plans for the night,” he said against her lips.

“And if there weren’t cameras,” she said, pointing them out to him.

His shoulders slumped, and she laughed, adoring every second of the expressions that crossed his face.

“We can do this though,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his face down to hers for a quick greeting kiss.

“Mmm, that’s pretty good,” he murmured against her lips. “How about another one?”

She granted his request but then made a point to pull away just as he started to take charge with the clear intention of a passionate make-out right there in her apartment lobby.

“We have a date,” she whispered, and he sighed.

“Yes…yes, we do.” Then he jumped back, eyes wide. “We do!”

Iris laughed and looked at him strangely.

“So…should we go then?” she asked.

“Yes!” He grinned. “Let’s go.”

He took her hand in his, pulled her out of the building, and revealed to her their mode of transportation for the night.

A long stretch limo with their own personal driver.

“Ms.?” The driver opened the back door for her to step in.

“I…thank you.” She slipped into the vehicle and Barry rounded the other side. “Barry,” she half-scolded. “This had to have cost you a fortune. I know it’s Christmas Eve, but-”

He silenced her with a drugging kiss.

“Mmm, okay, talk later.”

He grinned against her lips and gave the driver the signal to drive to their destination.

…

A cold wind whipped against her face as Barry led her up a long, winding staircase with his hands over her eyes.

“Barry, are you sure this is the most practical thiii-” She gasped, tripping over a step.

Wrapped around her back, Barry made sure she wouldn’t fall.

“Probably not,” he said. “But we’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

Barry peeled his hands away as soon as he guided her through the final door.

At first glance, the table set before them looked like a beautifully romantic setting on the top of an otherwise bare rooftop. But for Iris, she knew exactly where they were.

“Jitters?” she blanched, turning to face him – which was difficult when she was facing the candlelit table for two with roses and lights and two men, one playing violin and the other a cello, whisking her away into a romantic fairytale.

But she managed, because damn it, she was in love with the man who had prepared it all.

Barry chuckled.

“There’s no surprising you, is there?”

She shook her head, a million questions buzzing in her mind.

“It feels special to us – or to me at least. I mean, it’s where we-”

“First met,” she finished, smiling.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

When she said nothing more, he guided her to the table and pulled her chair back for her to sit on. Then he rounded the small table and nodded to the musicians to begin.

“This is so romantic, Barry,” she marveled sometime later when he was pouring champagne.

“Is that your way of saying you like it?”

“I love it, and you know it.”

Barry’s eyes twinkled when their eyes met.

“I was hoping you would.”

“I should’ve expected something like this, but I just…didn’t, I guess. But wow, Barry, I’m…” She licked her lips. “I’m in love.”

She’d said the words before, and to him too, but it never ceased having an effect on him, one that was drugging for her to witness.

“I’ll never get tired of you saying that,” he said, then reached across the table to take her hand in his own and kiss the back. “I’m in love too.”

“With me,” she said, her eyelashes fluttering of their own accord.

“With you,” he confirmed, and pressed his forehead into her palm.

Iris didn’t know how much more of this she could stand. She’d gotten nervous over the prospect of him proposing tonight when Linda had teased her about it, but now she couldn’t imagine him not doing it. Not on such a perfect night as this. She imagined telling all her friends and family – Barry better have asked her dad for his permission to marry her or he’d have a fit. Tradition was tradition, and Joe West took it very seriously.

But she wasn’t worried. Barry Allen was the only boyfriend her dad had actually taken to, even if it took some family game nights to get him to that place.

God, could he just ask her already? He didn’t even need a ring right now. If he would just ask, she would say yes. She wanted to so badly it almost hurt.

“Dance with me,” she said, the soft music and gentle wind blowing around them. The December chill was nothing. The heat rising off their skin kept them warm.

Barry lifted his head and smiled. Then the two of them walked a little ways from the table and began slow-dancing.

“I love you, Iris,” he whispered, his face against the top of her head as she rested hers against his chest.

“I love you, Barry,” she said, voice muffled against his jacket but clear as day to his ears.

“I hope it’s not too much to say I think we’re destined to be together…”

She shook her head against him. It used to bother her when his certainty regarding fate and destiny and them was used so early in their relationship. But now she believed it almost as fervently as he did.

“Not too much, Bear.”

He licked his lips. “You sure?”

Iris smiled and looked up at him.

“Our second date was you taking me to meet your parents. If I didn’t run away then, I’m never going to.”

He sucked in a breath. “Good to know.”

She pulled his head down and gave him a sweet kiss as the music carried on the wind.

“Oh, Iris,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

“What?” she teased, loving when she made him weak in the knees.

“I really wanted to wait until after we’d eaten.”

Her eyes flashed open.

“Wait for what?”

He pulled back and dug around in his pocket for what felt like an eternity.

“Oh, my God…” fell past her lips when she saw the size and shape of the velvet box in his hands.

His gentle smile turned into a smirk.

“What… What is that?” She couldn’t look him in the eye. She was almost shaking.

“Your Christmas present.”

“Huh?”

Her brows furrowed as disappointment engulfed her. Maybe it wasn’t an engagement ring after all. It could be earrings for all she knew. And here she’d let Linda’s claims get to her, convincing her she’d be engaged by the end of the night.

But then he got down on one knee, and he opened the little velvet box, and the most dazzling engagement ring shone up at her, sparkling in the moonlight, candlelight, and Christmas lights strung around the rooftop.

“Iris West…”

She swallowed hard.

“A lot of people would say you and me meeting at Jitters 10 months ago was just a coincidence, but I don’t believe that. You know I don’t. I’m not a ‘It’s just pure luck’ guy. I’m a ‘there’s no coincidences’ guy. You walked into my life right when I needed it, and now, Iris…I can’t imagine my life without you. I love you with my whole heart, and I always will.”

He pulled the ring from its case and stuffed the box back in his pocket. He took her hand in his and let the ring hover over the tip of her ring finger.

“Will you marry me?”

Tears filled her eyes and she nodded for several seconds before she could speak.

“Yes! Yes! Of course I’ll marry you, YES!!!”

Barry slid the ring onto her finger, then jumped to his feet and kissed her. The musicians clapped wildly before starting a peppy tune as Barry picked Iris up and spun her around, inhaling her light giggles like oxygen before setting her down again.

Smiling so much her cheeks hurt, Iris finally lifted the diamond to eye-level.

“Wow, it’s beautiful, Barry. Really.”

He smiled, proud of his selection.

“I’m never taking it off.”

“Well, maybe in the shower…or for dishes…”

“Nope. Never. It’s mine now. It’s never coming off.”

He swooned, staring at her, never looking away.

“Besides,” she said innocently before looking up at him. “Who says I’m going to do the dishes?”

His jaw dropped, and she laughed. He got up and leaned across the table and kissed her to silence them.

Then his suit caught on fire from the candlelight, and Iris threw her glasses of champagne and water on him to stop the flames.

“Well, at least it happened after the proposal,” he said, and Iris stood up again, pulling him away.

“Dance with me again,” she said, and he wrapped his arms around her, guiding her into a slow spin. She kicked off her heels and drew herself closer to him.

“I’ll never stop,” he said, and she knew this time he wasn’t talking about dancing.

She felt the shivers trickle down her spine as she repeated the sentiment.

“Don’t ever.”

[alloveroliver]

Ray ✶ MC |Emilia| "In The Morning."

Smut: Ray Blackwell

★ Vampire AU | Ko-Fi Event ★

Prompt: "Let me show you why you should stay in bed."

WC: 1,080

Ikemen Revolution Fanfic

◢▆▆▅▅▄▄▄▃▃-▃▃▄▄▄▅▅▇▇◣

Emilia rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand as her other arm reached out. She yawned near the end of the stretch and let her body fall like a ragdoll back to the bed. Her face landed on a plush pillow, and the scent of Ray's cologne permeated her nose.

With a broad smile she hugged the pillow tightly, feeling a slight nudge reminding her of the man sleeping next to her. Ray snoozed softly, breathing deeply despite the numerous streams of sun that lit up his face.

Emilia ran her hands in his soft hair, trying to gently rouse him from sleep. "Good morning," She rasped, waiting for his eyes to peel open finally. They didn't, and Emilia huffed teasingly.

She pushed on his shoulder and turned to face him. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she nuzzled his hair. "I said good morning, sleepy head."

Nothing. No indication that he heard her or was awoken by her. Emilia let out an exasperated sigh and released him from her hug. "Alright, fine then," Emilia spoke begrudgingly.

She pulled the covers off her body and began to slither out of the warm spot she awoke in. However, a set of powerful hands snaked around her waist and pulled her back abruptly.

Ray's arms constricted around her while her back pressed into his firm chest. "Where do you think you're going?" His first words whispered in her ear were deeper than usual, sending a slight shiver down her spine.

"I was going to start getting ready for the day." She stated matter-of-factly. "There are a lot of things on my to-do list and-"

Ray pulling her closer, wrapping his legs around hers, halting her speech entirely. "That can wait."

His heavy body kept her immobile, relinquishing any hopes of her getting an early start for the day.

"Shouldn't you be encouraging me to get to work? You are the King, after all."

"My duty is to stay in bed like this for just a little bit longer." His nose snuggled the back of her hair as he held her impossibly close.

Emilia waited a few moments while he snuggled her from behind before she cut him off. "Anddd that's enough." She giggled, trying to escape his grasp. "Ray, Ray move." Her giggled bubbled out into a laugh.

"Nope." He stated flatly, as a huge smile spread on his face.

Emilia feigned a pout, huffing as she buried the side of her face in the pillow.

"Oh, come on, I haven't even gotten a good morning kiss," Ray spoke as he moved his body minutely to have her fit against him like a puzzle piece.

"I kissed you earlier while you were asleep." She struggled to unstick his strong arms to no avail.

"Prove it."

"I can't simply 'prove it'." Emilia dropped her voice trying to imitate him.

"Just kiss me again," He rubbed his face on the side of hers until it tickled.

"Why do I need to sit here longer and take this abuse." She joked, trying to kick her feet away from his grip.

"Let me show you why you should stay in bed." Ray purred in her ear, kissing the part of her jaw he could reach.

Emilia froze and looked down to where he held her. Timidly, Ray's arms began to uncoil around her. He smoothed his hands along her torso and cupped the roundness of her chest.

"It's just that-"

"Shh," He cooed. "Just a little bit longer like this." His raspy voice seemed breathless now that his hands fully cupped both of her breasts. The thin nightgown she wore did nothing to shield her skin from the warmth of his strong hands.

Her next exhale was long drawn out while his fingers tantalized her sensitive peaks. Ray's lips found the crease of her neck, pushing past the curtain of her hair to do so. She knew better than to allow him to get worked up in this way. Soon a reasonable breakfast time would pass by them, and then brunch would turn into lunch before either of them wanted to come up for air.

Emilia thought of other excuses to make sure they were both productive today, but the sensation of his touch moving down her belly distracted her entirely. His fingers gently curled to bring the end of her nightgown up to reveal her thighs.

Soon her core was just as hot as his touch was, and her legs parted invitingly for him. Her mind and body battled it out for what was best for her. Of course, she wanted his sensual touch, but his hand slipped inside of her thin panties and,- oh to hell with it.

Emilia let the moan she held back finally pass her lips. With a groan, Ray dipped his finger down the slit of her sex feeling the beginnings of her arousal coat his digit. She spread her legs more, and he was able to push past the threshold of her body and slip into her eager entrance.

"Oh… Mmm." She inhaled sharply when he buried himself knuckle deep. Absently she began clenching around the single digit, eliciting pleasure that made her thighs quake.

"I want to tease your clit until you beg me to stop," Ray's unabashed words dripped sensually in her ear.

Emilia arched her chest forward, pressing her breast into his palm firmly. Ray began rolling the pert nipple through the fabric, making her gasp in absolute pleasure.

"More," Emilia pleaded. "More, please.

Ray relinquished his finger from her wet pussy and slipped his coated digit to her already aching clit.

"You can have more, always. I want you to be greedy with me." He languidly nibbled on her ear. "Always demand more from me, always wish to have me for yourself. I want to give you everything that I possibly can.”

Her moans turned lewd while she reached behind her to rub his growing erection in his boxers. Soon they were teasing each other in kind, both whimpering and moaning for each other.

Emilia took pride in knowing he was falling apart just behind her, and Ray's confidence was through the roof when she began to cum only from his hand alone. Their positions may have changed, but the lust for one another never budged. Breakfast past, like she predicted but there was still hope, even as the sun climbed higher in the sky, that she could get something done today.

.

.

.

Thank you, @obsessedotomeplayer for the Kofi commission!

Status of Ko-fi event is closed! Thank you ♡

[baepsaetan]

Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Smut, swearing, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, main character death.

Length: 8.5k

A/N: “Eventual smut” warning has changed to smut in this chapter, as a heads up to readers. Thanks for keeping with me, everyone, and I hope you enjoy! (Honestly, I did writing it.) Oh! And just a reminder that this is fiction and as such should not be used as a reference for safe sex.

Cold water splashes over his hands, and Hoseok sings to himself as he washes the dishes from their dinner. Yoongi told him to leave them while he took a phone call from someone wanting to set up an appointment, but Hoseok likes keeping busy and he likes cleaning up. He hasn’t showered since they got home from the camping trip, only an hour or so ago, too busy with making something to eat, but washing the dishes is a pleasant relief from the dirt and smoke that feels embedded in every fiber of his being.

Besides, he’s in a good mood. Their conversation is nestled at the back of his mind, cautiously optimistic, cautiously enthused, and he can’t help but ransack Yoongi’s words into a scattered mess in his brain. It makes him stir in places he shouldn’t be stirring – another benefit to the cold water – but jumping the gun aside, Yoongi’s seemed so tired recently, Hoseok can’t help but be simply relieved that the artist can even joke about it. Not for himself, but he’s glad for any indication that his boyfriend is feeling good. Sometimes… sometimes he’s not so sure.

Hoseok is worried about that, very much so, and he’s caught in a frustrating tug-of-war match with himself about it. On the one hand, Yoongi’s dropping weight and there’s something… something wrong about him, sometimes, something that Hoseok can’t quite put a finger on. It’s like a shadow crosses his being, tired, dark lines swathing his normal intensity, but it doesn’t stay for very long. Hoseok would worry more, but Yoongi just seems so… content.

Well – not seems. He is happy, Hoseok feels that with a deep certainty that rings true with every laugh, with every goofy, wild joke that the other man makes. The camping trip had been one of the happiest times he can ever remember having, and he’s pretty sure Yoongi feels the same. He doesn’t know how to reconcile the shadow with the light, or which one to believe in more, and he’s not sure if it’s weakness or his nature that makes him want to believe Yoongi will be fine. For now, Hoseok contents himself with nagging and either bringing around Seokjin’s cooking or making something himself whenever possible. And doing whatever chores he can get away with, to help Yoongi out with his schedule. And thinking about the bed upstairs, which is not exactly productive or helpful.

His singing is a little off–key, though that hardly deters Hoseok; it’s a nice distraction from his conflicted thoughts. He’s just missing a high note by a particularly admirable amount when hands tuck around his middle, neatly tugging the last bowl from his grasp and setting it in the sink. Yoongi’s chest is warm against his back when he says, “I told you to leave them.”

Turning within the cage of those arms, Hoseok grins at his companion. “Yeah, but I never agreed.”

“My house, my rules,” Yoongi drawls, his nose scrunching, the lazy syllables dropping without anger from his lips as he pulls Hoseok closer. “Besides, you’re my boyfriend. I don’t remember hiring you as my maid, too.”

“I hired myself. You’re paying me by the dish.” He loves the way Yoongi’s smile overwhelms the little frown lines embedded around his mouth, loves the way Yoongi’s low chuckle comes without any hesitation. Months aren’t enough to scour away scars – if they can ever be gotten rid of entirely – but the artist’s have certainly softened.

Like the quirk of his lips, no longer as ironic or mocking. “By the dish? Shit, how much do I owe you?”

“At least a million dollars,” Hoseok says firmly. “That, or a kiss. I’m sure I’m worth at least one of those.” His heart leaps at the stupid audacity of those words, no doubt brought from the gutter his mind can’t seem to hop out of.

And immediately Yoongi is stretching up, their lips meeting in an easy, luxurious press that still makes his breath catch. A moment later the tattooist draws away, gaunt cheeks faintly flushed. “You’re selling yourself short, Hobi,” he murmurs. “You’re worth thousands more of those.” His arms rise, rest on Hoseok’s shoulders, and he pushes him back a short step until Hoseok’s pressed into the kitchen counter. Yoongi had a shower before they ate, and the fresh tang of citrus envelops them. The next time Yoongi kisses him, it’s not on the mouth but on the neck, hard and dragging, the hot pressure eventually drawing a shaky exhale from Hoseok. That does nothing to deter the other man; he sucks hard enough that it’s going to leave a mark, pleasant pain dwelling in the shape of his lips and the scrape of his teeth.

They haven’t had much alone time in the last few weeks, and Hoseok is happy to take advantage of Yoongi’s touchy mood. The conversation from the tent lingers in the back of his mind, itchy and breathless and apprehensive in the best way possible, but he doesn’t think much about the looming hours ahead. His boyfriend was probably joking. He didn’t mean it was going to happen tonight. Yoongi’s body demands to be touched, though, and Hoseok skims his fingers along his spine, frustrated by the flimsy fabric between them. For his part, the artist presses against him, making the edge of the counter dig into his back, and strikes a match with his lips alone.

When Yoongi breaks off, it’s only to press light kisses into a path up his throat, making his way to Hoseok’s jaw, the fluttering contact leaving dissatisfaction writhing in Hoseok’s stomach after the harsh pleasure of before. The film major wants to hurry it along, even if it is just a make out session, but Yoongi senses his intentions and traps his head in gentle hands, keeping him from moving. He kisses the side of Hoseok’s mouth repeatedly, teasing, a slip of tongue and teeth, and Hoseok makes a sound equal parts pleasure and complaint.

Yoongi pulls back, cocking an eyebrow. “What?” he asks. “You didn’t say I had to pay you back quickly, Hobi-yah.”

“It’s never quick,” Hoseok retorts, though that’s not entirely true. Their make out stints are as varied as the tattoos in Yoongi’s portfolio, and he distinctly recalls a particularly hot one taking place for the span of three minutes behind one of the bookshelves in Namjoon’s store before the owner had come looking for them. Sill, there’s almost always something playful about Yoongi, something drawn out and just a little bit provoking, like he’s decided to teach Hoseok the painfully sharp meaning of patience before getting down to business.

It’s not that Hoseok doesn’t enjoy it, but there’s something torturous about always being left wanting more.

“Mmm, poor baby.” Grinning crookedly at Hoseok’s offended huff, Yoongi suddenly drops his arms. Before Hoseok can be caught by disappointment, the other man is taking his hand and pulling him out of the kitchen and into the living room. The film student goes willingly, his mouth tender with the memory of rough pressure, expecting to be towed to the couch, but Yoongi pulls him to the black stairs leading to the loft bedroom. When he hesitates, his boyfriend looks back. “Come on,” Yoongi says. “You think I already forgot what you said last night? About physical stuff?” He tugs on Hoseok more firmly and then they’re climbing up and entering Yoongi’s private space.

For all the changes they’ve made together, this is not, typically speaking, a place Hoseok feels comfortable in, and the few times he’s been up, Yoongi has been equally uneasy. He can’t honestly say it’s not a little hurtful, having an area Yoongi finds so difficult to share with him, but he’s resigned himself to it; some people just need their sanctuary, even if he can’t relate. This unprecedented invitation catches him off guard, makes him antsy as the blonde man pulls him to the bed. Hoseok doesn’t sit down, shifting on his feet as he looks around.

The dark blue and black loft bedroom is small and personal, a stark contrast to the wide-open living room down below. It too has a window, albeit smaller, set high on the far wall, and the light it lets in is the languid orange of a sun that’s getting ready to give way to night. There’s a small desk that Hoseok suspects Yoongi doesn’t use; there’re a lot of photos and little knickknacks scattered on the surface, too much so for it to be anything more than a display stand. Only one plant has been placed up here, on the desk, a sharp-leafed green succulent that’s growing slanted towards the window.

Off to the side, a laundry basket is settled next to a dresser, and Yoongi throws his shirt into it before turning to Hoseok, seemingly unembarrassed by his bared skin. “Well?” he asks, his hands encompassing the space like he’s introducing it, but Hoseok knows he’s not really asking about that.

He’s seen the artist without his shirt on before, but it’s always a hasty flash of canvas and colour, designs half-glimpsed before he’s pulling on a clean sweater or top. The times when he’s shoved Yoongi’s shirt up while they’re making out don’t count (he’d been distracted with other things). His first feeling is a blush of heat – embarrassment, desire – blooming out from his core and scalding across his skin. For all that Yoongi is slender – too slender, probably – the tattoos across his body give him a solidity, a strength that overwhelms his slight frame. Outlined in the soft light from outside, he doesn’t look frail; he looks like a golden promise that can’t be broken.

His eyes wander across the jagged lines of ink on Yoongi’s arms – easily recognizable – to more unfamiliar territory. At the edge of his ragged, lowriding jeans, a hint of red peeks up at his hip, the shape indistinguishable, but it makes heavy anticipation dance in Hoseok’s fingers, imagining running over the jut of smooth skin. Yoongi’s chest is partially covered by shaded storm clouds with pale lightning bolts licking at their edges. The art takes up the left side of his body, spilling onto the front of his shoulder, and Hoseok is initially enthralled by the thunderous grey and black, the colours summoning electricity in his own chest. When he looks closer, though, three letters – DNR – are shrouded in the clouds, which makes Hoseok’s mouth thin, and the static warmth dissipates like sunlight through gentle rain. Yoongi sees where his eyes are and smiles.

“Don’t sweat it, Hobi. Even tattoo meanings can change. Now it could stand for…” A pause as he gropes for an alternate meaning, but not a long one; Yoongi’s good at making stuff up on the spot. “Now it could mean Damn Near Respectable. That’s legit, right?”

“Only if it’s for real.” The sight of the letters pulls back on the heat shading his vision, making it harder to concentrate on his tight appreciation of Yoongi’s body. Even if it’s just a ghost of Yoongi’s mindset, it still hurts to consider the tattooist deciding to put that on his body, especially with how much weight he gives to tattoos. Hoseok swallows. “You don’t mean it anymore?”

Coming nearer, his boyfriend’s smile has faded into something more serious. “I don’t. If you see me taking a kick at the bucket, resuscitate my sorry ass, okay?”

“Nothing could stop me,” Hoseok mutters, his heart steely with that conviction, and when Yoongi laughs, he sounds surprised.

“You know what? I could almost believe that.” Before Hoseok can reply, the small man’s hands slip under his shirt, his palms leaving tingling impressions as they skim upwards, shoving up the shirt as they go. Without complaint, Hoseok helps Yoongi take off the stifling fabric, though the taut strain the tattoo summoned is still trembling through his nerves. God, he just hates the thought of his life being empty of this man who’s started taking up so much space.

Yoongi must know he’s upset; he tosses Hoseok’s top to the side with rough carelessness, but when he kisses him, it’s soft. An apology. “Relax,” the artist murmurs. “I still need to pay you back, remember?” Unconsciously the words begin to work on his tension, heating it up, and Yoongi’s lips, pressing against his mouth, his throat, his collarbone (though meticulously avoiding the tattoo, like always), speed up the melting process. Under his boyfriend’s maddeningly deliberate mouth, he has to let go of his anxiety; he’s trying too hard to hold on to his sanity to clutch at anything else. The warm pressure, sometimes gentle – sometimes not so much – dots his body in tingling pleasure, and when Yoongi dips lowers still, tongue hot and wet against his chest, Hoseok’s hands curl in his hair, stopping his progress.

His heart is thundering like a furnace, and the sight of Yoongi’s swollen lips and dark eyes does nothing to soothe the sweltering heat passing through his body. He wets his mouth against the cotton-dryness of his throat. “Are we – are you really sure you want to…” He’d hoped this was going to happen – had, in point of fact, longed for it with a violence that was just short of sinful – but it’s happening so suddenly, so out of the blue, that he can’t help but feel like he must be doing something wrong. There must be something he should do more of, or less of, or –

“Relax.” The husky demand crackles like lightning against his muscles, doing absolutely nothing to soothe them, but the resulting tautness is a different kind of strain. In the low light, he can see that Yoongi’s mouth is creased into a private smirk. “I’m sure, Hobi. I’m sure I want to be with you, and I’m sure I want to kiss you, and –” His hands drop, snuggly fitting around Hoseok’s waist, and with a dextrous movement that belies his small size, Yoongi shoves Hoseok backwards onto the bed.

The smirk becomes provokingly wicked, and the artist moves between Hoseok’s legs, hanging over the side of the mattress. “And I’m sure I want to fuck you, too.”

He can’t reply over the maelstrom of desire that rips up like it’s attached to Yoongi’s rough voice, like the words are a guillotine cutting straight through his doubt, and Yoongi chuckles, low and velvety. He rests his hands on Hoseok’s thighs, and his light fingers are all at once too much and too little and somehow just right. “Mmm, Hobi,” the artist says, leaning over him, his touch gliding upwards to tease Hoseok’s throbbing groin. “I think you want me to fuck you, too.”

“Yoongi…” He’s not sure if it’s a curse or a plea dwelling in his dry throat, but when the other abruptly straightens, removing his hands, the impulse veers towards swearing. It’s unbearable to be separate, to release the friction without any sparks, and he has to strangle the impulse to call the smaller man back.

Smiling like he knows exactly what he’s doing, Yoongi wordlessly heads over to his desk, rummages around in one of the drawers. A few seconds later he returns, throwing the lube and condoms in his hand onto the pillow. Hoseok is too far gone to be embarrassed, and he shifts restlessly, drawing himself up more fully onto the bed, propped on his elbows. The aching hollowness in his chest demands to be filled, and his boyfriend is obliging, if far, far too slowly. Stradling his hips, Yoongi’s deft fingers find his stiffening nipples, playfully pulling at the sensitive skin even as his lips return to Hoseok’s mouth. When he moves, he grinds against Hoseok’s groin, and the pressure makes Hoseok groan and buck upwards, straining for more contact.

Yoongi breaks away, hands hot imprints against Hoseok’s chest. “So impatient,” he observes, still slowly shifting, and Hoseok grunts and pulls him down to crush their lips together.

“Feels like I’ve been waiting forever,” he pants against Yoongi’s mouth, only the truth, and the responding laugh is uneven enough to make him groan again.

“I’m gonna make it worth the wait,” the artist promises hoarsely, and then he’s dipping down, his wet lips marking up Hoseok’s chest, one hand holding himself up while the other trails to fit under the band of Hoseok’s jeans. His tongue swirls around Hoseok’s nipple, his hand dipping lower, and the resulting throb makes the film major’s back arch violently, his fingers curling into the other man’s hair.

“Let me –” he huffs, but Yoongi cuts him off.

“No,” his boyfriend rasps, lifting his eyes for a brief moment. “I told you to relax. You can get me off later, if you’re that desperate.” There’s something ruthless in Yoongi’s smile, a challenge and a vow all at once, and he corrects himself in a voice that’s a knife wrapped in velvet. “I mean, if you’re still up for it when I’m done.”

He moves to kiss Hoseok’s ear, bites at it playfully, his breath hot against Hoseok’s skin. “I’m guessing you won’t be,” Yoongi whispers, and shifts against Hoseok’s crotch, harder than before.

Gasping as pleasure wracks his burning nerves, the student can’t find any words, and there’s so much certainty in the other man that he’s not entirely sure if Yoongi is boasting or not. Anticipation pools like hot lead in his stomach, and it feels so right to have the other man on top of him that he’s swept up in a heady, sweltering relief. His heart is beating hard enough to break the cage of his ribs, but his boyfriend’s presence keeps everything contained, controlled, and there’s something deliriously gratifying about giving that control to Yoongi. Hoseok’s leagues beyond ready, and already hard enough that tremors slide over his limbs every time his boyfriend touches him.

And Yoongi touches him again and again and again.

Under the artist’s graceful hands, Hoseok feels like a piano being played, each muffled moan eased from his lips with seamless perfection. His pleasure hums in his bones until Hoseok is struggling to breathe through the vibrations, and every time the rolling waves makes his eyes flutter, he forces them back open, grudging every second he misses his boyfriend’s expression. He’s unwilling to miss the way sweat glistens across Yoongi's forehead, to miss the tight anticipation gracing every hard line of his face. It occurs to Hoseok – a distant camera flash and nothing more – that the artist looks like this when he’s working on a tattoo, too, all intense focus and unfailing certainty. It makes it harder to look away, though the throbbing ache in his core sets his whole body to tensing in an infinity of want, and his eyes are heavy with the need to close.

After awhile Yoongi unbuckles Hoseok’s pants, and as the student writhes out of them, he helps, yanking them off and throwing them to the side. His warm fingers run against Hoseok’s thighs – a breath of touch – before they find Hoseok’s cock, his smile fading at the groan that Hoseok makes.

“Fuck,” Hoseok spits, and then again when Yoongi’s hand wraps around. “Fuck!” His lover strokes him, again too lightly, again too slowly, stretching him out until he wants to scream, fingers clawing into the sheets and sweat dampening the mess of hair in his face. His lungs scrabble at his ribs, too shallow, too pitifully incompetent to draw in the air he needs, and it doesn’t end; Yoongi is utterly merciless to the breathy pleas escaping his mouth in whining bursts. The artist’s face is a study in concentration, his mouth slightly open, lips shining with spit as his tongue constantly slides over them.

When Yoongi removes his hand, it’s like he’s carved out a bit of Hoseok himself, and if anything, the pressure builds, the need to have Yoongi closer to him rising on a wave of agonizing want. “Yoongi,” Hoseok pants, “Yoongi, come on. Come on, I need you –”

His head tilts, considering, and then the artist smiles, lazy with satisfaction. “I know,” he says. “But I owe you a fucking lot more than that.” Before Hoseok can question what he means, the man ducks his head, shimmies down the bed until he’s kneeling at Hoseok’s feet, and his hands are soft against the jut of Hoseok’s hips. He pauses, lingers in that position until Hoseok is squirming with desperate impatience, and it’s only when he whines that Yoongi relents from his teasing.

He bends over, barely taking Hoseok in his mouth, licking up the precum that’s already leaking out. The warm pressure is enough to force Hoseok’s eyes to close this time. He’s so hard Yoongi has no problem keeping up, and he seems to have no problem taking Hoseok’s length, either. There’s something obscene about the throaty sounds the man is making around his cock, the noise sliding slick and wet over his ears, as slick as Yoongi’s mouth. Hoseok finds his hands tangling in Yoongi’s hair, not quite hard enough to control his motions but needing to feel his hands on something before he loses it altogether. He’s almost afraid he’s going to come now, too soon, his hips jerking up against his control, and Yoongi takes every errant thrust with a hum and a tightening of his fingers against Hoseok’s flesh.

Breath hurtling from his lungs in ragged pants, instead of losing himself in the pleasure Hoseok loses himself in his boyfriend, in the slender hands digging into his hips, in the wet feel of his tongue and the unbearable press of his lips, instead of losing himself in the pleasure. Somehow Yoongi knows exactly what Hoseok wants, and his tongue and mouth become fervent disciples to those needs, to drawing out every last straining drop of pleasure. Each wracking wave sends simultaneous tension through the both of them, their muscles stiffening, and Hoseok knows he’s not imagining just how much his boyfriend is enjoying himself.

Even in this though, Yoongi takes his time. He draws up and down Hoseok’s length, right to the tip, his tongue lathing around Hoseok’s cock before he pushes himself deeper. It turns Hoseok’s nerves into electric currents and nothing else, constantly short-circuiting and making him twitch. It just feels so good, so much, like each indecent choking sound that Yoongi makes is putting more and more of something into Hoseok’s body. It’s not anything as liquid as water, but something heavier, hotter, weighing Hoseok down with shackles of desire his straining muscles can’t break. He keeps himself on those short chains, glad to stop himself from coming, reveling in the feel of Yoongi’s mouth.

He might even have managed to hold on for longer, too, if his boyfriend hadn’t moved his hand from Hoseok’s hip and started roughly running his fingers over Hoseok’s ass, over the curve of flesh and then lower. If Yoongi hadn’t added his touch on top of everything else, he might have ridden out the crippling heat soaking every single atom of his body. But Yoongi is an expert in saturation, and he douses Hoseok with so much pleasure that everything becomes a sharply jagged blur of colour.

“Yoongi,” Hoseok groans, his hands tightening, holding the smaller man in place. “Shit, I –” With a last pull of lips and swipe of tongue, Yoongi gets him off, and Hoseok comes in a burst of heat so intense it feels like its cracking all the bones in his body, right down to his curling toes. Yoongi takes it all, makes no attempt to get off of Hoseok’s cock, and with a wild, desperate abandon Hoseok fucks his face until the other man is choking, choking but still swallowing everything that Hoseok gives him, letting him ride off the high.

The pleasure fades like a starburst behind his closed lids, leaving a wrecked, weak sensitivity that howls with every little bit of pressure from Yoongi’s mouth, and eventually, his frantic movements slowing, he opens his eyes. When Yoongi pulls off of him with a wet pop, drool and cum stretching out in a long rope from his swollen lips, tears staining the corners of his eyes, Hoseok almost chokes on how sinful he looks, his throat suddenly sore. Sagging back, hands going limp as they fall from Yoongi’s hair, Hoseok can’t imagine being more complete than this. He thinks he’d die if there was something more added, his heart already sagging in his chest (but it might just be worth it to feel his boyfriend shift against him again).

There’s some part of him that wants to return the favour, but his boyfriend’s prediction is proving to be true; he’s so drained by the intensity of the last few minutes that he can barely lift his head, let alone start doing something productive with his hands. Hopefully the other man won’t mind too much, just this time.

Next he’s aware, after their ragged breathing has subsided, Yoongi’s straddling his hips, lightly this time, without the playful riding, though even that gentle weight sends near-painful skitters through his groin. Bending down, his boyfriend kisses him. The salty taste of his own cum has Hoseok stiffening instinctively, and Yoongi immediately pulls away, grinning. He’s never looked like the Cheshire Cat so much as he does now, his face flushed and splotchy, lips flecked with white until his tongue darts out to clear it away.

“Feel good?” the tattooist rasps, and this is the kind of sardonic that Hoseok can definitely get behind, sultry and dirty and so raw it’s almost red.

“Like I should be paying for it,” Hoseok replies, and that’s sharp enough to startle a laugh from Yoongi.

Wiping a hand across his mouth and chin, the slick motion making Hoseok swallow, the artist says, “I’m taking that as a compliment.” Which is exactly how it was meant to be taken, though to be fair, he’s pretty surprised at just how good Yoongi is at blowing. Maybe he shouldn’t be. Yoongi’s never been shy about his previous partners, and though extended relationships are few and far between in his history, the one-shot stories of bathroom stalls and strangers’ homes are a lot more prevalent. It’s never really bothered Hoseok before, but the thought makes him feel strange now.

Not angry, or insecure. He has no room for that in the tingling fullness that’s still contracting his lungs and shortening each breath. Angry at Yoongi for his past? Hoseok doesn’t have the heart for that. But the thought of Yoongi on his knees in front of someone else, erasing his life in the feel of someone else’s skin, it makes an uneasy, churning guilt fill his stomach, a strange conviction that he should have been there. He should have been the one to shelter this hard, broken man with his body, or been the one to make the storm so safe neither of them needed to hide from it. He should have...

Yoongi kisses him out of the memory of a mistake he never made. Hoseok is happy to leave, and kisses the other man right back, running his tongue over yielding lips that are perfect pictures of the present. “How many do you still owe me?” he asks suddenly, and the man settled against him tilts his head, clicking his tongue reprovingly.

“You’ve got a shitty business sense, you know that? Not keeping track? What if I told you that was the last kiss?”

Hoseok lets his expression slump into one of abject dejection. Softly, so softly that Yoongi has to lean closer to hear, he murmurs with extremely deliberate dramatics, “Then I wish you would have told me before. I would have treasured it more.”

He has the unusual pleasure of seeing his boyfriend go scarlet so fast it could almost have been a magic trick. His neck awash in red, cheeks stained but mouth stretched in a gummy, shy grin that refuses to morph into a scowl, Yoongi looks away, his hand trailing hesitantly over the flushed patch of skin just below his ear. Honestly, he looks so adorably uncertain that it hurts Hoseok’s chest, just a little, prickly shards of fondness burrowing under his ribs until they find his heart and stay there. It’d be a mood killer, except all it does is make him want to grab the other man and share all of his pleasure, just so that neither of them ever feels uncertain again.

Of course, Yoongi eventually manages to rein in his expression; he always does. But the sharp lines of his mouth have softened when he mumbles, head still turned away, “Shitty at business and dirty talk. Damn. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

It’d be easy to give the artist a hard time over it, except Yoongi’s shifting, restless with embarrassment, and it’s a somewhat pointed reminder that Hoseok is not currently wearing pants, that he has a very attractive man sitting in his lap,. and that he’s been – literally – down for the count for a good ten or so minutes now. Yoongi notices and latches on to that so quickly an ungenerous person might have said he was looking for an excuse to move on. He certainly does move on – Hoseok’s dick, specifically – with an abrupt, familiar smirk.

“Shit, you don’t take much time between shots, do you? Is that your experience, or have you got a special lens?”

Hoseok rises to the occasion – literally – with a careless smile, his hips beginning to roll against Yoongi’s ass. “Both. It helps when the person I’m shooting can keep up, though.”

Yoongi laughs roughly, making small, rocking motions that do nothing more than brush Hoseok’s thighs, the scrape of his jeans against Hoseok’s groin sending little jolts of lightning arching through him. “I can keep up,” the tattooist promises, and honestly Hoseok kind of wants to test that; it seems a little unfair his boyfriend hasn’t had a chance to take any shots, yet.

“How about you take off your pants, and we’ll see?”

“Mmm, you asking or telling?” There’s friction in those words, and the laughter dies in Hoseok’s throat when he meets Yoongi’s eyes.

He has to swallow against the suddenly renewed tension, but eventually he says, “Telling.” It even sounds convincing, his voice dropping an octave through the tautness in his chest.

Yoongi rolls his shoulders, inhaling deeply, insolence dripping from the motion… but a moment later he strips off his jeans and they join the growing graveyard of discarded clothes on the floor. The red at his hip turns out to be a blue moon with the crimson word “lunatic” slashing through it, and Hoseok’s fingers curl, again imagining tracing those lines. He’s more than happy to watch Yoongi take off his lowriding underwear, stepping out of them with thoughtless ease, and finally – finally – he gets to see the full picture of his boyfriend, stripped of everything else.

The sight swamps him with a sudden surge of déjà vu, hot and restless, like cinders under his skin. It’s like – it’s as if he’s seen Yoongi before, like this, a hundred times, a thousand times, a hundred thousand times. Like he’s been seeing him, stripped of everything, exactly as he is, for all his life. It’s not an overwhelming realization, not some awareness that drowns the fire radiating through every fiber of his being. If anything, it stokes the flames with relief, with desire, with certainty, stokes them until they roar across his skin in a searing rush that sets his blood boiling. If he was turned on before – and he was, God, he was – he’s amped to the breaking point now, the filaments of his body shuddering like they’re about to shatter. He just wants Yoongi’s breath, his heart, his – God, his touch. He leans closer to the other man.

And, just out of reach, seated near the edge of the bed – he suddenly realizes something else about Yoongi. There’s a swath of darkness just below his tattoos, a dimness barely seen, blending with the overwhelming fire.

Hoseok can feel it like an abrupt draft of cool air against his enflamed skin, can read the shadow like a neon sign set against the night. It’s not a sexual reluctance – he’s well aware of the state of Yoongi’s dick, as if he needed more encouragement – but something else, something deeper, something that lurks tantalizingly close to the surface of sight, of feeling. In the ever-growing sensation of connection, shot through with lust and heat, he can’t – quite – understand what it is, what the darkness he sees in his boyfriend means. It feels like a hallucination, or a delusion, or a – a lie, a lie set in the dilated pupils of Yoongi’s dark eyes, set so deep it almost disappears.

He falters. “Yoongi…” Hoseok whispers, and his boyfriend blinks, his expression abruptly rigid, and Hoseok wants to ask, the words are teetering on the tip of his tongue, ready to collapse, and –

Suddenly Yoongi wipes away the space between them, is clinging to him, frantic, desperate, like he’s trying to delete the question he’d glimpsed, and his scent overwhelms Hoseok in a heady wave of sweat and citrus. When Yoongi kisses him, his presence is like heated tar, suffocating the sudden misgivings in a layer of thick sensation, and the presence just gets heavier and heavier. Their skin brushes together, searing them both with a sharpness that’s panting breaths away from pain, but neither of them cares. Hoseok feels like he’s being consumed, but he doesn’t mind because he’s devouring Yoongi’s existence, too, and what they pull from each other might just be enough to make something whole.

He can’t hold on to his thoughts, let alone his questions. They melt away into a void, and all that’s left is Yoongi.

Yoongi, with his matches for fingers and kerosene lips and sparking eyes. Yoongi, with his catching fire that’s setting every single piece of Hoseok alight and only searing away what doesn’t matter. Yoongi, who touches Hoseok like he’s stroking a god, divine worship in his face and his touch and his every hitching breath. Their pleasure grows, mingling together until the one is the other, and it gets hotter still, sweat soaking their skin and doing nothing to quench the boiling temperatures.

They prepare themselves with feverish urgency, and Yoongi’s fingers, coated in lube, make a moan rip from Hoseok’s lips, even as he helps Yoongi with his condom. When they tumble together, a strain of strength and sinew, Hoseok finds himself on his back, his legs hitched over Yoongi’s hips, blotting out the moon, the other man leaning over him. There’s no placid teasing in his boyfriend now, no inclination to go slow; his fingers spread Hoseok open with rapid strokes, only easing when a strong flicker of pain crosses their connection. Both of them are shaking, wracked by the tension of keeping themselves together, and trembling anticipation curls ever more violently in the pit of Hoseok’s stomach.

One hand scrabbles across Yoongi’s back, desperately searching for an anchor in the midst of the flaring drive, and Hoseok’s other hand wraps around the artist’s dick, inspiring a hymn of curses and grunts. It’s the least Hoseok can do – and the most, actually, given his muscles are melted, every movement clumsy with heat – but it barely repays the way Yoongi is working him over. Every few seconds new waves of pleasure ripple through his body, growing higher and higher, pressed into being by the other man’s slick, relentless fingers. Both men gasp and moan around each other, fragmented words dropping onto their skin like incomplete tattoos, and the words go deeper, too, wrapping bones and veins in burning, dirty sentiments that can only bind them closer together.

Eventually Yoongi’s fingers aren’t enough, leaving a yawning ache that the stretch can’t fill, but Hoseok isn’t left writhing for long; almost as soon as the ghost of dissatisfaction begins, his boyfriend changes tack. The fervent touch withdraws, making him whimper, but the tattooist isn’t gone, isn’t a hairsbreadth away, and his hands palm Hoseok’s ass, spreading him wider. The lube is more than enough to smooth the way. His boyfriend pushes into him with a guttural grunt that sweeps ash and embers across Hoseok’s vision, and he cries out, almost crashing over the edge with that one motion. Yoongi stills, letting the black and charcoal-red recede from Hoseok’s eyes, and then he begins to move again, rocking into Hoseok with strong, deep certainty.

The slap of their skin, Hoseok’s breathy gasps, Yoongi’s hoarse groans, they blend together and blanket the sound of his heartbeat, pounding against his eardrums, his blood thrumming like it’s alive. It’s too dark in the room to see much of anything at all by now, but somehow his boyfriend doesn’t really leave his sight, like he’s been burned into Hoseok’s mind and no darkness can possibly erase him. He takes up so much space, and Hoseok revels in that fact, in the air that Yoongi’s weight is pushing from his lungs, in the hand stroking his cock and splintering his bones with too-sharp pleasure.

Yoongi somehow manages to control himself, not throwing on the breaks but making every move so deliberate that he strings Hoseok out into a mess of motion and near-madness. Everything outside of the two of them doesn’t just fade; it stops existing altogether. Each thrust fills him to the brim, and it’s only a matter of time until Hoseok overflows, a matter of time and heat and pressure that builds and builds until his fingers are digging into Yoongi’s back, nails biting into his skin, anything, anything to release the steam roiling under his flesh.

It takes longer to get there than before, but when he comes for a second time, the ecstasy tears through Hoseok like a hurricane, ripping up his remaining coherency and leaving it in shreds. He comes in Yoongi’s hand, and the feeling tips beyond delirium, beyond anything he’s ever experienced before – and it doesn’t stop. Yoongi’s steady momentum arches his back, rocks his body with every jerk of his hips, sending tingling drops cascading down to the tips of his fingers. His pleasure strains, wild, a peak of heightened everything and nothing all at once – and it doesn’t stop.

Hoseok is in no condition to question it; he’s barely conscious, his orgasm stretching out in a cloud of combustion through his nerves. Yoongi’s thrusts get faster, harder, until Hoseok’s whimpering and twisting through the buzz of over-stimulation. Somehow, faintly, he’s aware of – two colours, two temperatures, two drives that are separate but still together. One is – a little outside of himself, still burning, still building in a crescendo of ever-tightening tension, and the other is – himself, his orgasm, fading but not really because arousal still dances through his groin as if he hasn’t just come as hard as he ever has in his entire life.

Yoongi’s close; his hand falls away from Hoseok’s raw cock, fisting tight around the sheets, and through his delirious haze Hoseok rolls his hips, doing his best to keep up with the other man’s jarring pace. A gut-wrenching thrill surges through his stomach, a thrill that’s bewilderingly present and removed, all at once, like he’s sharing it with someone else, and Yoongi makes a choked noise that sends a completely familiar skitter across his skin. His body seizes in a paroxysm of pleasure, just as Yoongi’s does, and for one long, breathless moment they’re frozen in a picture-frame of incandescent, overwhelming indulgence, hitting each other note for blinding note.

As he stares up at Yoongi’s face, barely discernable in the dim light, caught in the fervent web of scorching sensation, a dizzying vertigo strikes Hoseok so hard that his eyes flutter, muscles once again seizing, almost to the point of pain. His bewilderment goes hand in hand with his release, and he has a momentary, sickening impression of looming over himself – of sweat trickling down his face, dripping onto the person under him – of red, thoughtless pleasure pulsing through his dick, still buried in Hoseok’s ass – of the sound Hoseok is making, strangled gasps every time Yoongi trembles inside of him – of – of –

Of Yoongi collapsing on top of him, energy abruptly spent, a sudden warm, lethargic surge loosening the visceral claws buried in their quivering bodies. The heat slumps across them like a tattered blanket, and for a long moment, Yoongi lies on him, struggling to catch his breath – and Hoseok is struggling, too, sinking back into himself amidst churning confusion and stinging satisfaction. Each time either of them moves, it provokes a groan, rising from their jumbled lungs, and the smaller man is very slow to pull out. He hefts himself up, and a soft, drawn-out fuck falls from his lips, no edges in any of the syllables. His movements languid, Yoongi pulls off his condom, disappears for a few seconds to throw it away.

They’re both soaked in sweat, sticky with it and Hoseok’s cum, but neither of them can summon up the energy to get up and do anything particularly productive about it. They use a sheet, pulled from the bed, to wipe themselves off, and then banish it to the floor. Yoongi subsides against Hoseok, partially resting on him, and they don’t say anything to each other. What could they say? He can’t get a grip on his emotions, can’t understand what happened, restive uncertainty fighting with a powerful, relaxed haze that he doesn’t want to battle his way through.        

He leans back against the headboard, each movement sending strains of delayed gratification singing through his body, a balm to his suddenly disturbed calm. Hoseok impulsively reaches out to trace his fingers across Yoongi’s collarbone, like he needs to prove the other man’s still there. He’s gratified to find that Yoongi isn’t impervious to his touch; he can feel the other man’s heart beating hard under his hands, and the artist leans into the contact. Contentment stretches between them, sluggish with sexual satisfaction, and on a sudden whim, Hoseok pulls his boyfriend down to cradle against his chest. The weight is too much against his strung-out nerves, making them whisper in protest, but he embraces the feeling even as he embraces Yoongi.

Their breathing is in-sync, he notices after awhile. It’s actually harder to draw in a breath offbeat to Yoongi’s inhalations than it is to breathe at the same time. The smaller man seems content to nuzzle into his neck, only occasionally brushing his lips against Hoseok’s tingling skin, and Hoseok finds his arms tightening around the warm body settled against him. Protective fondness laps like waves at the edges of his mind, a gentle murmur, and he slowly draws his fingers over the little stories embedded in Yoongi’s flesh, some of which he knows by memory and others lost to the shadowed room.

Eventually his searching fingers find themselves resting in the crook of Yoongi’s arm, just above the circle of intensely brilliant colour that he can’t see in the dark. That’s not unusual. He often finds himself drawn to the sun, more so than the other tattoos, and his boyfriend is affectionately tolerant of his tendency to stroke it whenever they’re settled together.

“Yoongi…” His whisper settles into the silence more than brushes it aside, and the tattooist’s response is a worn, inquiring murmur. “Why’d you get this?” He’s never asked before, shying from the subject, but it leaps from his mouth now. It feels like an important question, somehow, connected with the connection that’s fading just as sluggishly from his memory as the pleasure is draining from his limbs.  

He thinks the man won’t reply; for a long time, there’s nothing but empty quiet in the full space taken up beside him. He’s just beginning to wonder if Yoongi fell asleep – the atmosphere is thick and drowsy enough for it – but no, once again the silence is joined by a hesitant voice. “You remember when you first saw it?” Hoseok hums his assent. “I… it was after our fight. It’s something that can – fuck, I don’t know. Make me remember, or…” He pauses, fights with the stillness pressing on them. “You’re – you know how much you mean, right? How much you’re… what you are, to people?” Yoongi’s voice drops, losing ground to the quiet. “What you are… to me?”

The tightness in his chest is a strange hybrid of trepidation and warmth. All the words bunched on his tongue are inadequate, and he doesn’t really know what to say. There’s a suggestion there, a hint that he doesn’t know how to embrace. He’d known Yoongi had gotten the tattoo during that dead-grey week of separation, but he’d just assumed that was a coincidence; he hadn’t thought it had anything to do with him. How could it? Why would it? Why would anyone spend money on anything even remotely related to him?

He ends up laughing lightly, because it seems like it’d be a good thing to do, for Yoongi and for him, too. His shoulders lift, a brisk shrug, but the other man refuses to be put on a different track. “I’m serious, Hobi,” Yoongi says flatly. “It’s… look, this is some stupid shit but if you laugh, I’ll kill you. We stopped talking and I realized that – that I had lost something. I’ve lost a lot of shit in my life, but…” Another pause, deeper and longer than the last, before Yoongi finishes, so rushed it’s hard to catch everything he’s saying. “I dunno. I’d never had a sun to lose before, but I didn’t want to start, y’know? That’s why the tattoo’s there.”

There’s utter, dumbfounded silence, at least on Hoseok’s part, and he’s faintly certain that Yoongi’s stopped breathing. Then, so fast he can’t keep it contained, a rusty sort of screech hurtles from his chest, from his heart, his limbs abruptly flailing in a wild release of the jaw-aching tension. If he’d been on his feet he would have started jumping up and down; as it is, he wriggles in one spot, immersed in a totally different kind of heat so painful his cheeks might as well be on fire. Yoongi’s fist clouts his shoulder reproachfully, but that does nothing to dim the urge to dance in place. He doesn’t know what to do with the teeth-rotting glee, excitement and embarrassment.

It overflows until he abruptly can’t keep it to himself anymore. Disregarding Yoongi’s extremely half-hearted protest, Hoseok wraps his arms around the other man, little shrieks still escaping him, shakes both of them around until Yoongi’s objections dissolve into helpless laughter.

“You’ve lost it,” Yoongi manages to choke out somewhere in between, and he has, he definitely has, but Hoseok’s pretty sure whatever it is, it isn’t worth keeping.

They laugh until they’re on the verge of tears and Hoseok’s stomach hurts and his body just wants to flop over and turn off. Their mirth subsides in fragments, excited giggles continuously climbing from one or the other and pulling them both back down into hilarity. The explosion of amusement eventually simmers down, not gone but contained, and, his laughter still thrumming in his voice, Yoongi says, “You’re too fucking cute, you know that, right?”

Hoseok snorts, trying to dampen the leaping of his heart. “Seriously? I don’t think you get to be the one to say that.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s like – what is it? The pot calling the kettle black. Except cute instead.” He laughs and tacks on teasingly, “So cute!”

Yoongi groans, buries his face in the crook of Hoseok’s neck. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbles, and Hoseok’s got to disagree with that.

“I’m glad you did,” he says, and strives to get it out seriously, without giggling, because he means it. He’s only partially successful, but the student figures Yoongi appreciates the effort; the other man snuggles closer, and if he’s embarrassed, Hoseok can still feel the way his lips are quirked into a smile, branding it on Hoseok’s skin. “It was... nice. To hear,” he continues, softer now. Did that completely capture the extent of his uncertain delight in hearing Yoongi compare him to the sun? No. Not at all. But it’s all he’s got.

“I meant it, too,” Yoongi says, almost belligerently. “Even if it sounded stupid.”

“It didn’t,” the film major assures. “And – that week seriously sucked, for me, too. I didn’t – I can’t say it like you did, but I’m glad we figured it out.” And they did, mostly, although there’s still a bit of a learning curve. Clearly, they’re on the same page when it comes to sex – and most other things, too – but there’s still that feeling that hasn’t quite escaped his chest, that he can’t quite put to rest as it paces the misty confines of the back of his mind.

Hoseok’s tired, though. He’s not in the mood for calculations today. Truth be told, he rarely is when it comes to Yoongi. They seem to fit together even when they shouldn’t, to equal something whole even when they’re both just broken fractions. That’s a truth he knows, and the other questions, the – the thing that feels like a lie, sometimes, when Yoongi speaks… They just don’t seem to be important enough to risk the sleepy, unabridged comfort that the man in his arms brings.

“I’m glad, too.” Yoongi’s voice is hoarse with fatigue, low and getting lower as it slips away. He shifts drowsily, until his head is resting on Hoseok’s chest, one arm laying across Hoseok’s stomach, the other tucked under his cheek as he curls up in that adorably compact way he always has.

They let their conversation die, breathing still in sync, and the night presses hard against their eyes but can’t expunge the comfortable warmth of their bodies pressed together. Yoongi is the first to go, his small frame slowly going limp as sleep climbs over him. For his part, Hoseok runs his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, an idle stroking that soothes away the raspy murmurs coming from the unconscious man, a gentle touch that stills a brief period of agitated shuddering. Before too long, he too feels the heavy weight draping over his limbs, and there’s no point in resisting. His eyes are already closed, so he just slides down the headboard, careful not to jostle the person on his chest, and pulls Yoongi closer to him.

He holds on to the other man, and with that solid, reassuring presence in his arms, his grip on his doubt collapses. When Hoseok finally nods off, he’s still holding on to Yoongi, but everything else has fallen away.

---

Yoongi rarely dreams, and tonight isn’t an exception. He doesn’t need to, though; wrapped around Hoseok, he sleeps for an unheard of eight hours. It’s a sleep that’s painless and quiet except for the soft, steady sound of Hoseok’s heartbeat, present even in Yoongi’s unconsciousness, and it’s all the dream he needs.

[kpopfanficsforthesoul]

Pictures and Words- Taeyeon (Girls Generation)

Author’s Note: Look at this cutie!!! ^^^ I was so excited to write this. I mean, Sooyoung is my bias, but we all have a soft spot for our creative kid leader :-)

Prompt: We’re roommates at a college dormitory. I’m a creative writing student and you’re an art student. One day I find illustrations all over my assignment. 

Genre: Fluff, College!Au, Art Student!Taeyeon

Pairing: Taeyeon x Reader

If a stranger had walked into your dorm, they’d think they walked into the shared room of J.K Rowling and Leonardo Davinci. While the two mentioned are from different time periods, you and your roommate were from different mindsets. It was as if the left side of the brain and the right side decided to split it right down the middle. 

Taeyeon and you had only been living together for a week or so, and things were pretty awkward. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along, Taeyeon was a sweetheart. It was just that Taeyeon was very reserved. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to talk, she just didn’t feel compelled to. 

You walked into the dorm and looked over at her. She sat against the wall on her bed, going to town on a blank sketchbook, pencils in a jumbled pile next to her. She looked up and gave you a small smile. 

It was at this moment that you realized just how different your two sides of the room were. Yours displayed neat bookshelves, an immaculate desk, and neatly stacked papers next to your laptop, while Taeyeon’s consisted of a huge pile of colorful art supplies on her desk, sketchbooks piled up in messy heaps, canvases of past paintings, and a wall covered in photographs. 

You took off your black coat and sat down to type on your laptop. After opening a new document, it was only a short amount of time before you’d be hunched over your laptop, face in palms, and scrunching up your hair in your fingers trying to figure out what to write next. 

“What are you working on?” she quietly asked, brushing her dark locks out of her eyes to look at you. 

“Just a new fantasy assignment for class.” you told her, looking up from your screen with a smile. “How about you? New art project?”

“Nah, I’m just free drawing.” she mumbled with her small and sweet voice, looking back down to her pad. She picked up a bright orange oil pastel and applied a few strokes to her work. 

“I wish I could be as inspired as you right now…” you sighed, turning your attention back to the keyboard, trying to figure out which sequence of letters to punch in. 

“You having a block?” she inquired with a caring tone, looking back up at you. 

You laughed. “I think I am…” You hit your keyboard in frustration as it spewed a squigly red line at you after your fourth spelling revision. “I knew I wasn’t good enough for this class…”

Taeyeon felt sorry for you. As a creative herself, she knew what it was to feel like you couldn’t come up with anything new. In a society that looks down upon those who devote their lives to hobbies like these if they aren’t at the top of their career, she knew how much it was needed to get encouragement. 

“You know Y/N…” she started, throwing off her purple comforter and revealing her ripped jeans and pastel pink sweater, “Creative blocks aren’t an actual thing. It’s simply a psychological restriction of creativity put down by the creator themselves.”

“Mmm…” you muttered, sinking your head deeper into your hands. 

She got up from her bed to sit next to you. You noticed the mint green and primrose pink paint smudges on her hands, and her scent which smelled of oil paints and fresh pine. “Some of your best work can come out of a block! What I want you to do is just type for ten minutes straight without stopping. Don’t worry about spelling, grammar, or sentence structure, you can tweek all that later. If you force yourself to write through a block, then you’ll be telling your mind that it can’t limit you.” 

“Alright…” you agreed, stretching your fingers out. Taeyeon went back to her bed to debate over whether her piece needed more shades of red or not. 

She was right. That paper turned out to be one of the best things you’ve ever written, at least it felt like that to you. You ended up stewing up a plot after writing every idea you had suppressed inside of you. That paired with the fueling music blaring through your headphones came strong characters, appropriate setting, and an engrossing conflict. However, it had left you exhausted by the time midnight came around.  You shockingly looked at the clock, then glanced over to Taeyeon. She was still awake with her sketchpad, sitting against the wall next to her bedside lamp. You decided to go straight to sleep. You were a deep sleeper, so it didn’t matter to you if she stayed up with the light on.

“Goodnight Taeng, thanks for the encouragement.” you told her with a small smile as you quickly slapped a makeup wipe over your face before passing out. 

“No problem!” she told you with a sincere smile. 

You awoke to an empty room, Taeyeon gone, along with her personally decorated bag and her sketchbook. Looking at her messy dresser drawers and bag of makeup spilled over her vanity, you realized she was most likely at her early morning watercolor painting class. 

You smiled, wiping your disheveled hair out of your face as your remembered the progress you made on your assignment last night. Never before had you been able to write that well at that speed. Thank God you had Taeyeon to get you out of that slump, or it would have never happened. 

You excitedly got up out of bed and went to your desk to flip through the printed out pages one last time. It was just a quick short story homework assignment, but that didn’t matter. This had to be perfect. You began to read over the words that used to be locked away in the depths of your brain. 

However, as you reached a certain part of the story, you looked down at the space at the bottom where no words were printed. There was a little illustration of a pink mermaid sitting gracefully on a rock, facing the ocean, with a setting sun against the horizon. Her vibrant hair flew back in the wind as she gazed at her home from a different perspective. Your eyes widened as you realized… that’s what your story was about. 

The only person who could have read your story while you were asleep was… Taeyeon.

You absolutely adored this illustration. It was the perfect depiction of the aesthetic you had been trying to convey with your words. It was the missing piece to your work! You flipped through the rest of the pages, finding more of her unique sketches. Some were just little doodles in the margin, and some were exquisite pieces drawn on her sketchpad and placed in between the pages of your document. 

Suddenly, you received an idea- maybe if you continued writing this plot, Taeyeon would keep drawing new things for it…I mean, she seemed to be inspired by the world you created, and you thought this plot was too good to just be left as an insignificant short story. 

You threw on a pair of two tone jeans and a leather jacket, slid your laptop into your bag, and headed out the door to the closest coffee shop. You had some work to do. 

It went on like this for a couple of weeks. While Taeyeon was at her morning classes, you would go type away at your developing novel over a hot americano and leave your papers purposely on your desk, and when you went to sleep, she would sneak over to your pages and start drawing to her hearts content. And when you were together in person, you both acted as if everything was normal, not even mentioning the ongoing partnership. 

However, one day, towards the end of the year, you had finished the book, and Taeyeon had drawn every important scene. You wanted to do something special with it- so, you put it in a binder, clipping in her drawings where they belonged in accordance with the plot. Tonight, you’d tell her your plan. 

“Hey, I’m back!” you heard her declare as she stepped through the door, white converse padding across the wooden floor. 

“Hey!” you greeted her. “Listen, I need to talk to you about something.” 

“Sure, what is it?” she asked, sitting down on her bed and taking off her patched jean jacket.

“You know how I’ve been writing that mermaid book?” You inquired, cocking your eyebrow. 

Her eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, if this is about my drawings, I’m so sorry, I just thought it would be okay since it wasn’t an official assignment, and I-”

“Taeyeon, it’s perfectly fine!” you reassured her, holding up your hand and smiling. “I actually really like it. Your drawing is amazing… which is why I want to publish it in my book.”

Her eyes widened even more. “Oh… I don’t know Y/N, I wasn’t really being serious with those, I don’t think they’re good enough to be published in a book…”

“No, I want you to look at this.” you motioned her over, and she came over to your desk where you were sitting. You flipped through the binder you prepared, showing her how well the words fit with the pictures. “Your style is just the thing that this story needs… it’s just what I’ve been trying to display in all my work, right there for the reader to see!”

“I’m still not very sure…” she said, leaning over your shoulder as you flipped through her laminated creations. 

You turned around in your chair. “Come on Taeyeon, stop limiting yourself! Perfect pairings between pictures and words like these don’t just happen every day! It goes against all my logic, but… I think it was somehow fate that we were put together as roommates."

Taeyon pursed her lips as she ran her finger over her drawing. 

“What do you say, Taeng?”

You looked over at her, the light shifting over her pale face as the elevator rose up. 

“Jaqiya, I don’t know if I can do this…” she quaked, rubbing her sweaty palms on her leather skirt. 

You sent a reassuring smile at her. “We’ve done book signings before, haven’t we?” 

She nervously fiddled with the frills on her white lace top. “Well, that was before our book series became interpreted in ten different languages, sold internationally, and a New York Times best seller.”

“Oh come on, that’s not such a big deal.” you said rolling your eyes. 

“We live in South Korea!” she exclaimed. 

You snickered at her anguish. “You look really pretty. Come here.”

You engulfed her into your arms. She buried her head in your neck, and you set your chin on top of her head, rubbing up and down her back in a soothing way. “Everything will be okay, my lovely girlfriend. I’m right here with you.”

The light for the top floor flashed, and you both let go of each other. 

“Got your lucky pen?” you asked her, smoothing the skirt of your black dress. 

“Yep. Get ready!” She squealed with newfound confidence.

You both flashed genuine smiles as the doors of your elevator opened up. You grabbed each others hands and proceeded up the stage as you saw a huge crowd of people waiting in line to receive your signatures. 

“And here they are, the author and illustrator of Stars and Sea, Y/N Y/L/N, and Kim Taeyeon!”

Author’s Note: GAH I’M IN LOVE WITH THIS CONCEPT!!! Aish, my Taeyeon feels are welling up. I’m about to burst. Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it! :-) Cheers to cute and adorkable artist Taengoo!!!

[Masterlist]

-Marie 💗

[wen-junehui]

sugar ‘n spice

part 1/? of Café Carat series

genre: fluff/romance, coffee shop!AU, barista!Jun[SVT]

word count: 5415

characters: Wen Junhui/Original Female Character, Joshua Hong, Kim Mingyu, Yoon Jeonghan

(a/n): i finally finished this after how many months??? ;w; school got in the way when i was halfway done but now we here y’all. in celebration of their comeback and rebirth, i hope you sweet nibs of chocolate enjoy! ♡

He carefully hovered the cayenne pepper shaker over a pool of chocolate. He only needed a small amount so that the flavors can harmonize with each other. Anything more than that would result in burning hot failure. The tip of his tongue poked out of the corner of his lips while his eyebrows scrunched together in complete concentration. He gently tapped the glass bottle and red specks of fire drifted into the mug like snow on a winter’s day.

He pat the container a few more times, keenly watching the red dust-like particles until he was satisfied with the amount. His eyes focused on the cayenne as it slowly dissolved to become one with the chocolate. An air of relief washed over him like he just jumped through a ring of fire with his clothes still intact. The hardest part of making this drink was finally done. He grabbed a silver teaspoon and let the cayenne pepper mingle with the sweet, sugary flavors. Fluffy clouds of whipped cream spurted from a metal canister and rested peacefully atop the chocolate. To add to the aesthetic, he artfully drizzled chocolate syrup across the mountain of cream letting the streaks of fudge flow like waterfalls. Finally, he stepped back and admired his completed spicy hot chocolate.

“Hey Josh. Try out this new hot chocolate I just made.” he nudged his coworker, who was leaning forward near the register scrolling through pictures of cats on his phone.

Joshua averted his attention to the rusty brown ceramic mug trying to decipher any obvious differences with this so-called new drink. His stared at it for a good minute before looking at his friend with complete disapproval. “What’s so new about it? It looks like our normal hot chocolate that we’ve made a million times already.”

“That’s what you think, but I actually put a bit of cayenne pepper in it!” he grabbed the shaker from the counter and shoved it in Joshua’s face with pride.

As if Joshua didn’t already deal with his antics on the daily, he slowly pushed the shaker away and looked even less pleased. “Cayenne? In hot chocolate? Jun, I know you love spicy food but come on, man. That sounds ridiculous.”

Junhui grabbed his chest like all of Joshua’s words were arrows going straight into his heart, and not in the hey-Cupid-he-shot-my-heart type of way. “But this is the hottest thing in all the cafes nowadays.” he paused for a moment, waiting to see if his pun would give Joshua a second thought. But the only thing he received was a blank stare. Clearly it wasn’t working.

“Have you been on shift with Vernon or Wonwoo lately?” Joshua asked, knowing that they were the only two people that could come up with a pun that terrible.

Just as the taller one opened his mouth to respond, the bell above the entrance jingled cheerfully indicating someone was entering the cafe. The sound of car horns beeping outside and bicycles zooming past the shop momentarily disrupted the relaxing ambiance. Junhui turned his attention away from Joshua to see a girl descending down the small staircase like an angel coming down from heaven. She was wearing a black and white ombre tennis skirt with a navy high neck top and an oversized denim jacket. She hopped down the stairs with a spring in each of her steps. She approached the register and blankly stared at the menu above, not minding the two baristas who were blatantly staring at her.

“Hey.” Junhui whispered quietly. “Who’s that girl and why haven’t I ever seen her before?” he turned his head back to Joshua so he wouldn’t get caught staring at her from the top of her honey blonde hair to the bottom of her black and white striped sneakers.

“Ah, it’s her. She was in my creative writing class last semester. She doesn’t come here very often, only during exam season to study. She came here once during the summer with her friends to do a photoshoot. She only orders the same three things: matcha latte, ginger peach iced tea, or hot chocolate.” Joshua said matter-of-factly as if he knew all of their customers’ usual orders, which wouldn’t be surprising considering he’s one of the managers of this fine establishment.

Junhui’s ears perked up hearing the last drink option. “If she orders a hot chocolate, ask if she wants to try mine.” he said hopefully. Even though he saw her for the first time today, he wanted her to be the first one to try his drink. As crazy as it sounds he doesn’t want anyone else, not even the rest of his coworkers, to try it before her. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling like this. But the way he felt sparks gently sprouting within his chest told him that he had to get to know this girl and his hot chocolate was the key.

“What? Jun, no! We can’t give that to a customer. It’s not even an official menu item.” In order for a barista’s creation to pass as an official drink, it has to get each one of the manager's approval. Joshua already wasn’t too convinced and he was sure that the other two, Jeonghan and Wonwoo, were going to give the same opinion.

“Come on, please! Just this once. Just so … you can see if it has any appeal.” he suddenly grasped Joshua’s arms and gave them a gentle shake, gradually becoming desperate as the seconds passed by.

Joshua sighed and nodded, agreeing to his request. He broke away from Junhui’s grasp and walked over to the register with a strawberry sweet smile plastered onto his face, ready to put on his best customer service act. “Hi and welcome to Café Carat. What can I get for you today?” he was making a bet with himself to see which of her three usuals she would choose today.

She turned her attention from the large hand drawn menu to Joshua. Her chocolate pupils met his crescent-shaped eyes through her round silver glasses. “Mmm … I’ll just have a hot chocolate.” her sweet voice wafted through the air like a soft piano melody. Junhui heard her say the magical two words and restrained himself from making any obvious reaction, nonchalantly wiping a mug as if he wasn’t eavesdropping.

“We actually have a new type of hot chocolate that one of our baristas created. It has a hint of cayenne pepper in it to give it a little kick, helping to keep you awake as you study. Would you like to give it a try?” Even though Joshua thought it was the weirdest drink he’s ever heard of, he still had to advertise it in the best way possible. He wasn’t going to be the one drinking it, so what did he have to lose?

She tilted her head slightly and pursed her plump, pink lips as she considered his recommendation. “Uhh … no it’s fine. I’ll just have the regular.”

“No problem at all. That’ll be $4.50.” Joshua swiped her card through the register and handed her receipt with a smile that was a little too sweet for it to be genuine. She thanked him for his kind service and walked away to find a place to settle for the next few hours.

She claimed a spot at one of the long wooden tables facing the counter and draped her jacket over the black metal chair. She opened her laptop and started to type away while waiting for her drink. Her eyes were glued to her screen and didn’t bother to give any attention to the baristas in her line of vision, assuming they were the same people she sees every time she came there.

Junhui couldn’t hide the insulted look on his face as he made her basic, plain hot chocolate. Maybe she didn’t want a new flavor to distract her? The sweet and spicy notes in the drink could make her taste palette go haywire and therefore, she wouldn’t be able to focus? All of these thoughts were running through his mind as he swiveled the canister of whipped cream. He swirled an extra fluffy cloud and finished it off with an organized mess of chocolate syrup. He carefully carried the mug to the pick-up counter ready to meet its owner. “Hot chocolate!”

Her head popped up from her laptop like a rabbit coming up from the tall grasses. She got up from her seat and gracefully weaved her way through the tables and chairs. Once she reached the counter she and Junhui locked in eye contact, prompting her heart to stop beating for a split second. Was he new? Or maybe he’s worked here for a long time but she never caught him on his shift until today. This cafe was known for their insanely attractive baristas but none of them quite piqued her interests until now. She was so taken aback by his handsome good looks and tall stature that she forgot how to muster a simple greeting.

Junhui noticed her prolonged gaze and gave her a soft smile. “You ordered the plain hot chocolate?”

His voice sounded like molten honey, rich and smooth, which provoked butterflies to buzz frantically within her lower body. “Yeah, I did.” she gave a nervous giggle as she lowered her gaze to look at the drink. She noticed the monstrous amount of fluff and widened her eyes in surprise. “Wow. Being generous on the whipped cream today?”

“Only when I’m in the mood.” he gave her a smirk as he gently pushed the mug towards her. “I hope the whipped-cream-to-chocolate ratio doesn’t ruin the drink for you.”

She looked directly into his eyes. Changing her demeanor in the blink of an eye, she wasn’t going to let this guy in a burgundy apron win her over so easily. “I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it.” lowering her voice tone just a tad bit to match the sensuality his dark chocolate eyes seem to be emulating.

She reached for the mug and purposefully brushed her fingers against his. The slight physical contact was enough to make the butterflies go mad. “Thank you!” she swiftly lifted her drink off the counter and made her way back to her seat.

Junhui continued to stare from across the room, unable to break his gaze away from her. Majority of the customers that swooned over him either acted too flustered or made it obvious that they just wanted to rip the apron off of him. But he saw the quick change in her character as more of a challenge, that she didn’t want to let him win at his own game. That was enough to make him feel more attracted to this girl.

“Bruh, what was that all about?” Joshua’s amused voice broke him away from his gaze and he turned to face his boss, who was leaning against the register with a smirk glued onto his face.

“I honestly don’t know.” he was at a complete loss for words. A girl has never made him feel this way before and he genuinely didn’t know how to respond or react at all. All he knew was that he would do anything to get to know her. He was even contemplating working more hours during exam season just to catch her again.

Joshua chuckled at how love struck Junhui appeared to be and lazily walked over to nudge him on the shoulder. “Okay well, obviously she has a thing for you too. Why don’t you go over there and talk to her? You know, help her study?” he suggestively raised his eyebrows at him.

“What? No! I think I’ll just … be a distraction to her.” Junhui began to nervously fiddle with the buttons and knobs on the espresso machine.

Joshua slowly leaned closer and stared directly into Junhui’s eyes with a look of shock and confusion. They continued to stare at each other until the taller one blinked his eyes in innocence. Joshua suddenly burst out into laughter, probably a little too loud for the ambiance. “Wait, what did I just hear? Are you telling me that Wen Junhui, master of all things greasy, is afraid to talk to a girl? Bruh, what happened to you? Did you inhale too much cayenne?”

Junhui straightened his back and crossed his arms in defense, appalled that someone could mockingly laugh at him like this. “I’m not afraid! It’s just she … didn’t want to try my spicy hot chocolate so I’m a little insulted.”

“Oh come on. I really don’t think anyone, regardless of who it is, wants to try your drink. I’m pretty sure Jeonghan and Wonwoo won’t want to try it either.” Joshua breathed and placed his hand over his stomach as he recovered from his hysterical laughter.

Junhui’s attitude changed with the flick of a switch seeing one of his bosses discrediting something he made and was proud of. He wasn’t going to give up this fight. “Okay, how about this? If I get her to try my spicy hot chocolate and she likes it, it goes on the menu regardless of all of your approval. If she hates it, I’ll give up.”

Joshua pondered about this proposition. He gently gripped his chin and hummed as he carefully thought about all the ways Junhui could lose his own bet. First, she barely comes here so there’s a slim possibility they may never cross paths again. Second, she orders the same three things every single time, not giving a slight indication to deviate from her usuals. Finally, and the simplest way this could all fail, she could try it and she simply doesn’t like it. After analyzing all of the possible outcomes, Joshua turned to Junhui with the most confident smile on his face. “Deal.”

Junhui was surprised at how quickly he accepted the offer. “Wait, really? You’re agreeing this quickly?”

“Mhmm. It’s a bet. But you have to get her to try it the next time she comes during your shift. After that, it becomes invalid. Okay?” he extended his hand to seal the contract.

Junhui suddenly turned his attention back to her. She was taking a sip when she caught him staring. She smiled and set the mug down not knowing she had a white mustache on her upper lip. Licking her lips and feeling the layer of fluff, her eyes widened as she reached for a napkin and tried to hide her embarrassment.

His eyes curled into tiny crescents as he watched her cute gestures. In that moment, he sincerely hoped that the next time they cross paths she would try his drink. He wouldn’t force her into it just so he could finally have his own creation on the menu. He just wanted someone other than his friends to try something he made himself and he wanted her to be the lucky first.

He rotated his head back to Joshua and firmly grasped his hand, accepting the invitation and all of its terms. “It’s a deal.”

Customers trickled in and out of the coffee shop for the next few hours. Most of them ordered espresso drinks to help them get through the rest of their day. Others met up with friends and caught up while drinking matcha lattes and iced cappuccinos. Junhui made small talk with everyone as he usually did, making every person feel welcome regardless if it was their first or hundredth visit. As he worked, he couldn't help but wonder how many times he missed her when she stopped by and he wasn't on shift. He wondered when her next time would be. Tomorrow? Next week? Maybe months from now?

He glanced at her from time to time after handing drinks to customers. She would catch his stares whenever she took a quick break from studying, always smiling in reply. Neither of them spoke to one another ever since she picked up her drink. Even when she approached the counter to return the mug, she immediately went back to her seat to pack up her things.

He could only watch as she quietly pushed her chair under the table, carefully aligning it with the others to create a perfect row. Joshua, being the star manager that he is, greeted her his usual goodbye and waved. She politely waved back and just as she was about to exit, they locked eyes for the last time. She threw him a wink to indicate that this won’t be their last meeting, but he couldn’t help but wonder when she’ll be back.

“Hey. Did you hear about that barista at the Starbucks on the other side of campus? All the girls keep talking about how good looking he is.” a tall, tan boy with jet black hair asked Junhui. He lazily wiped down a mug and attempted to make conversation during a slow day at the cafe.

“If only they came here to see how much better we are.” Junhui sighed, thinking about all the poor customers missing out on his devilish good looks. “What do they say about him?”

“I heard he has really nice plush lips that have a way with words. This one girl said she fell for him after meeting his eyes for just one second. Ah, so ridiculous!”

An image of her popped up in Junhui’s mind as his coworker laughed at how people can fall for someone so quickly. It’s been two months since she last stepped foot into the cafe. It was now finals season, the time where students have to cram a semester’s worth of knowledge for a three-hour exam. He wondered whether they would cross paths again since Joshua said she only rolls around during this time of the year. Exhaling loudly to dismiss these thoughts, he tried to devote his full attention to the conversation. “Hmm. Wait Mingyu, do you think he’s the reason why business here has been slow lately?”

Mingyu placed the mug on the counter and raised his eyes towards the ceiling. He gripped his chin with his thumb and index finger as his lower lip jutted out like a cliff overlooking the ocean. “No, that's nonsense. Our coffee is much more delicious! What do you think, Jeonghan hyung?”

They shifted their attention to the manager on duty, who was lazily leaning against the sink. His blonde locks peeked out from the black baseball cap covering his eyes. He groggily raised his skull at the sound of his name. “Everything about us is so much better. People are just lazy to make the trek all the way over here to get the good quality stuff. But hey, their loss.” he shrugged off the imminent competition like it wasn’t worth wasting his energy on.

He slowly lifted his lean muscular body off the sink and drawled every word he uttered. “Call me when it starts to get busy. I'm going to take inventory in the back.” he yawned and trudged his feet on the floor making his way past the two baristas and through the earthy-toned tapestry into the back room.

Mingyu chuckled as he watched their boss essentially check out for the rest of the day. “He’s going to take another nap on the boxes of coffee beans. I wonder how he became a manager sometimes.” he leaned his elbows on the wooden counter and took out his phone to mindlessly scroll through pictures and status updates in an attempt to pass the time until closing.

Junhui sighed as he was left alone with his thoughts. He scanned his eyes around the cafe, only housing three people hunched over their laptops and piles of papers. He couldn’t help but let his mind drift to the barista at Starbucks and wondered if she met him.

Is she usually on that side of the campus? Does she go there often? Have they talked to each other and started dating? Is that why she never comes by anymore? All of these thoughts aimlessly wandered around his mind, his curiosity eating him away the longer he thinks about possible answers.

He started to take more shifts recently hoping that fate would smile favorably upon his efforts and allow them to meet once more. But with only a few days left in the semester, his hope was gradually fading. He ruffled his hair in an attempt to dispel these negative thoughts.

Junhui padded over to the counter and began making his infamous hot chocolate. The rest of the baristas in the cafe had mixed reactions about it. Some supported his unique twist on a classic drink while others thought the combination just wasn’t suitable for the cafe menu. He solemnly grabbed the cayenne shaker and sprinkled in a dash of fiery flakes. He finished off with a simple drizzle of chocolate, not even bothering to make a mess, and gave his creation a reserved smile.

He will just have to keep trying to reach his goal of getting one of originals on the menu. It was undeniable how all of the customers loved the way he prepared their drinks, adding his own flair into the way he handles the ingredients. But despite all the attention, Junhui wanted nothing more than to have a part of himself up on the menu with the rest of the members’ creations.

Junhui laced his finger through the handle, ready to drink his bittersweet concoction, when the bell rang welcoming a new customer. His eyes darted from the mug to the door and to his surprise, there she was walking down the stairs. His eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise at the sight of her, momentarily thinking she was just a mirage. She adorned a pink and white striped oversized button down tastefully tied in knot around her waist to highlight her figure. Her backpack lazily slung over her shoulder and bumped against her light wash denim shorts with every step she took. She didn’t wear her glasses this time around and Junhui could perfectly see her milk chocolate orbs that twinkled like stars in the night sky.

As she approached the counter, she noticed Junhui staring at her in disbelief and gave him a joyful smile giving off the impression that she came at just the right time. Mingyu broke away from his phone ready to take her order and immediately sensed the unspoken chemistry. He glanced at Junhui, known for flirting with every customer, and how seemed to be at a loss for words just seeing this girl.

Could this be the girl Joshua hyung was talking about? he thought. His eyes continued to dart back and forth between the two as if he was watching a tennis match wondering who would make the next move. He smirked quietly to himself and decided what fun would it be to waste an opportunity to mess with his visual rival. He stuffed his phone in the pocket of his ripped jeans as she walked up to the counter and met her candy like smile.

“Hi and welcome to Café Carat!” Mingyu didn’t even bother to stand up straight and continued to rest his elbows on the counter to meet her at eye level. His puppy dog eyes curled into crescents as the corners of his mouth formed into a soft smile. “What can I get you on this hot day? Someone as pretty as you only deserves the most refreshing drink in all of campus.”

Junhui immediately pinned his eyes on Mingyu and glared at him with a seething jealousy. Having the thought of the Starbucks barista stealing her away was enough. But having his own coworker trying to reel her in with sweet talk was nothing but unacceptable to Junhui. He was sure Mingyu felt his burning eyes trying to pierce through every layer of his body but the taller one didn’t turn away from her.

She became slightly flustered from his pick-up line, a soft blush forming on her cheeks. “Ah, thank you. I guess I came to the right place at the right time then.” she giggled. Junhui continued to watch their interaction and wished that he was the one on register duty that day.

“You surely did! Business has been slow all day and it’s also too hot outside for my liking. But seeing you made my day a whole lot brighter.” Mingyu gave her the brightest smile that he could muster, making the cafe live up to its name with his shining array of pearly white teeth. “But seriously what can I get for you, miss? I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

“Hmmm.” she tapped her finger on her cheek and looked up at the menu. After about five seconds, she returned her attention to Mingyu. “You might think I’m crazy considering the heat outside but I’d like a hot chocolate, please.”

Junhui escaped from his episode of plotting ways to get revenge on Mingyu to process what he had just heard. Did he hear the magical two words once again? What could’ve made her want it on such a hot day like this, especially when their summer menu has been so popular lately? He was already planning on how to convince her to order a hot chocolate the next time she swung by. Now that she’s here and he didn’t even have to try, a different feeling replaced the jealousy in his chest. A feeling full of warmth just like his drink.

“No judging at all! A bunch of our customers still get hot coffee and lattes during the summer. I guess nothing beats the original.” Mingyu smiled as he finished ringing her up. Despite purposefully trying to make the older one jealous at first, he was secretly happy to know that Junhui had a chance to get this girl and his drink on the menu. And if she and Junhui started dating, that means a greater chance for the customers to fall for him instead.

“You can take a seat anywhere you’d like and our barista will personally bring the drink to you!” Mingyu looked at Junhui and nodded, indicating that he was on his side and wanted to help him achieve his goal.

“Okay! Thank you so much!” she politely smiled before strolling away and settling at a table next to the window. Like last time, she sat down facing the counter and took out all her study materials to tackle her last final of the year. She locked eyes with Junhui and gave him a subtle grin, letting him know that she was waiting for him.

Junhui looked down at his already prepared hot chocolate from before and with his pride restored in full force, he was determined to make it happen. He quickly gathered all the ingredients and a freshly washed mug to make the best spicy hot chocolate like his life depended on it. He steamed the milk, scooped the chocolate powder, sprinkled the cayenne, swirled the cloud of cream, and drizzled the chocolate to perfection because she only deserved the best.

He wove his finger through the handle and carefully lifted up his precious concoction with utmost control, not wanting to disturb the chemistry of the drink. He took purposeful strides towards her table. His heartbeat quickened as the distance between them shortened with every step. She broke away from her laptop and followed his hand as he gracefully set the mug on the table.

Junhui pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “Hot chocolate?” he confirmed, his canines peeking through his velvety lips.

She couldn't help but look at his mouth when he talked, noticing the small beauty marks on his upper lip. She felt the familiar blooming feeling within the pit of her stomach already warming her up. “Yeah, thank you so much! It's pretty hot today but I'm really happy to have this again.”

Junhui tilted his head ever so slightly at her comment. “Hm? Why is that?” he hoped that he didn’t sound too eager to find out her answer.

“Because your hot chocolate was so delicious that I couldn't wait to have it again. Something about it was so much better than the other times I've had it here. I stopped by a couple times in the past few weeks but you weren't on shift. I'm really happy I caught you today.” her eyes curled like bright rainbows on a clear summer’s day as she mused about him and his drink.

Junhui’s heart swelled witnessing how ecstatic she was to see him and to try his hot chocolate. A wash of relief showered over him knowing that what felt that day when they met for the first time wasn’t one-sided. “Do you come here often? I can't believe it took months for us to meet again.”

“I don't have many opportunities to come to this part of campus that much. I'm mostly on the other side because majority of my classes are in the business building. It's a shame though because I love coming here. The atmosphere is so much more calming and welcoming compared to the Starbucks over there.”

Junhui suddenly remembered the hot barista at Starbucks. He licked his plump, cherry like lips. “Yeah I've heard that certain Starbucks is getting more popular lately. People always talk about this hot new barista all the girls are crushing on. It's like we have new competition, you know?”

She noticed the way he suddenly avoided eye contact as he stared at the mug between them. She sensed that he was getting jealous at the possibility of him losing to this guy and found it to be rather cute. “Oh yeah, you're not wrong! But … I don't know. I've had drinks from him a few times and although he is very charming, his drinks don't really give the warm, fuzzy feeling I get from here. Especially the hot chocolate.” All the laughter she was holding in suddenly burst out into the air between them.

Junhui’s shoulders relaxed and he gave the cheesiest smile his cheeks have ever had to endure. “I knew I had nothing to worry about.” he then noticed the whipped cream starting to deflate and the chocolate syrup looking sadder by the minute. “You should probably start working on the hot chocolate. After all, I don't go through the trouble of adding a special ingredient just for anyone.”

Her eyes widened at the unknown additive. “Special ingredient? Will I die? Are you secretly trying to kill me?”

“Mmm… no. But if the heat starts getting to you, I wouldn't mind if you fainted so I can catch you.” he winked and gave her a cheeky smile letting his canines greet her in all of their glory.

The butterflies now uncontrollably buzzed in full force and there was no denying that the heat already crept up to her cheeks. “Okay. But if I end up getting sick and fail my last exam as a result, I'm blaming you.” she sarcastically giggled before carefully bringing the drink close to her face, the mountain of whipped cream just missing the tip of her nose.

She tilted the mug to let the liquid goodness enter her mouth. The chocolate coated every inch of her tongue while the whipped cream added an extra layer of creaminess to the overall experience. She focused on her taste buds trying to discern something different. Suddenly, a hint of spice started to heat up her tongue. It wasn't the searing pain she got from eating fire noodle ramen, but more of a subtle kick that wakes up your senses. “Whoa, it's spicy! Is it cayenne powder?”

Junhui nodded in return. “Do you like it?” he listened intently wanting to hang onto her every word.

“Yeah, it's so good! I wish I ordered this last time you were here.” she licked the whipped cream off her lips and longingly stared at the mug already wanting to take another sip. “I usually don't handle spice well, but wow I never knew cayenne and chocolate would make a perfect match. It’s better than the original actually.”

“You don't do well with spicy food?” Junhui leaned forward so their faces were just inches apart. He got a better look at her milk chocolate eyes, resembling the drink that would now be on the menu. “Don't worry, I can help with you that. You just have to learn how to handle the heat.”