#the only warm thing I work with is melted chocolate but that machine only gets a bit warmer than body temp

[egg-but-with-style]

Butcher ghost 3

1 2 3

You and Simon had been going on a date every week for the past month, and things couldn't be going better. The first date was a little awkward, he seemed a bit flustered, and you were too. After that though, you too hit it off.

He'd talk about butchering sometimes. How to get the best cut from any butcher store you go to, even though with him around you'd never need to go anywhere else.

You'd talk about your work and he'd listen intently. Looking at you with those big brown doe eyes. He was kind of like a dog in that respect. When you two were together he was right at your heel and never wanted to leave.

He made you feel special, like you were the only person on the planet he'd ever want to be with. He'd trace his finger on your stretch marks around your upper arms and shoulders whenever you two would wait in line somewhere.

It was maybe going just a little bit fast, and he was really observant, like he knew exactly what you wanted, but you were just happy to find someone who fit you so well.

Tonight would mark your 5th date with Simon. Of course you guys talked outside dates, but it always felt better when you could spend the day together.

You were standing outside his flat, the one above his butcher shop. Holding chocolate in cheese in a little grocery bag, he had said he had a little fondue machine he got from a very thankful customer he always wanted to try out. Plus who didn't love chocolate and cheese?

You knocked gently on his door, noting the absence of a doorbell. You heard him walking to the door, a man that big always made noise. Then you assumed he stubbed his toe based off the muffled "fuck" he just uttered, then he opened the door and smiled at you.

"You look good luv, I mean you always do, but especially now." He looked at you like you hung the stars above his head. You didn't know how he could get this deep this fast, but you were happy, and he was happy. "Oh stop it, I knew what you meant. You're looking very handsome too." He blushed just a little, or atleast you think he just did, he had rosacea so sometimes it was hard to tell. He then motioned for you to come in. "C'mon, it's getting cold out there."

You did as he said, stepping into his flat. It was decently big, you assumed being a butcher and having your own shop would probably pay enough to cover rent.

You went over to the kitchen counter and set down the cheese and chocolate near, what you assumed to be the fondue machine. He came over and plugged the machine in, confirming your assumption, he then picked up the chocolate that your brought. "I hate to admit it, but I got a real bad sweet tooth. Almost as bad as my taste for meat." He refrained from saying you satiated both his cravings. You giggled. Everything about Simon seemed to contradict his size sometimes.

"I do too, I also like cheese, like the little baby bells? I love those. Man, I should've got those for the fondue."

"There's always next time."

You smiled. Feeling that warm feeling spread in your chest. He wanted to invite you over again. He was just too good to be true. You realized you had kinda zoned out and stared at him for a minute, so you spoke up, trying to break the awkward silence.

"Yeah, next time." You looked away for just a second, his gaze could be a tiny bit overwhelming sometimes. He let out a sigh of content, then put the stuff in the fondue machine. Watching it melt in the pot. It was actually a pretty sight, colors swirling around.

He then went to his fridge and pulled out strawberries. Placing them down on the counter, along with some skewers. "Dig in." He hated to admit it but some part of him did like watching you eat, like right now as you skewered one of the strawberries, placed it in the molten pot of fondue. Watching you blow on it to cool down and harden, and once it did, you took a bite. Then you looked back at him, a bit confused. "Aren't you gonna eat some too?" He kept looking at you until he noticed some chocolate on the side of your lips. Which he wiped off with his finger, then licked it.

That was way hotter then you were expecting. "Yeah..yeah I will." You just giggled.

After you two were done with the fondue, with slightly burnt tongues because neither of you were patient enough to wait for it to cool. He suggested a movie, to which you agreed to, and the implications.

Now you to were sitting on the couch, watching some movie you put on without looking. He was so warm, his arm pressing you into his side, your shoulder laying in the crook of his neck.

It felt so peaceful, so right. Like the rest of the world could fuck off. As long as you too got to stay right here in this moment. Eventually he got distracted from the movie, instead looking at you.

His fingers moved on their own, cupping your cheek. He seemed so enthralled as he stroked his thumb up and down. Eventually putting his lips to yours.

His lips were a little chapped, so were yours honestly, but whatever bad texture there was, was made up for by action. His tongue slipping into your mouth, the lingering taste of fondue. It was slow, careful, like a pair of virgins exploring eachother, trying to make sense of what it meant to be intimate.

Then your bladder protested and ruined the moment, you sighed and Simon got off you, worried. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" He was so sure he didn't do anything wrong. You just shook your head, alleviating his fears. "No it's not your fault, I just...I gotta pee." He looked instantly relieved, was he always this wound tight? "Oh, okay just making. The um..the bathroom is down the hall to the left"

With a small noise of disapproval, he let go of you, but he knew you'd come back. "Be quick, or else" he said in that tone that made you know he was joking, which took a while to get for the record. You just scoffed and rolled your eyes "I will, don't worry."

You headed down the hallway where he pointed, you reached the end and saw two doors. He said the bathroom was on the left but..you were kinda curious. Simon was so kind, loving, you felt his phantom touch on your skin, the lingering taste of his tongue in your mouth, and as much as you wanted to get back as soon as possible, you couldn't help yourself.

You took a quick glance back down the hallway, he seemed really into the movie you put on so you figured a quick snoop wouldn't hurt.

You slowly, quietly opened the door and looked inside. Seemed normal, then you tip toed in, taking a quick glance around, it seemed pretty normal. A bed, a night stand, a lamp, and a couple book shelves. Though he had a knife collection, made sense for a butcher. You turned to leave the room, feeling a little bit bad you invaded his privacy, but as you went to the door you saw something on the wall.

Photos. So many fucking photos. They weren't of your dates, oh no. They were taken of you while you were going about your day, usually around early morning or dusk. You eating breakfast, or going to work. You leaving work and walking home, you going out with your friends. Most of them focusing on you face, or your stomach, some were even dedicated just to your stretch marks, rolls and curves, All of the pictures having been taken from atleast a hundred feet away.

You should've been terrified. You should've been feeling your heartbeat out of your chest, you should've been running out of the house. Escaping and reporting it to the police.

But you weren't. You were just in awe. It felt.. romantic in a way. The photos, the angles, like he saw you as something above the normal person. It felt like worship.

He was calling you now, but you stayed put. What was wrong with you? Why were your cheeks flushed instead of pale and drained of blood from fear? Why did your heart soar instead of drop to your stomach?

Why did you smile when he came in and saw you looking at them? "It's..it's beautiful, Simon." He looked stunned, you were stunned too. You didn't think you were sick like this.

You should've seen a stalker when you looked at him, but all you saw was your loving boyfriend. "You..you like them? You aren't..scared?" You just shook your head. Taking his hand and giggling. You felt some shame, but all of it floated away as you felt his warm hand against yours.

You were so happy he liked you this much. To the point where he'd clearly spent hours following you. It made you feel more loved then you ever had, and you'd tell him as much. "You really like me, huh? Like really, really like me." He just nodded. He really wasn't sure what to say.

He was trying to see if you were lying, but you were so genuine. He thought he was gonna have to kidnap you if you saw the photos but instead you were hugging him and putting your mouth to his ear "I love you, Simon." He hands found a place on your lower back. He let out a deep breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Pressing his forehead onto yours. "I love you too, my girl." You're his. His girl. It made your heart jump up and down in excitement.

"You don't hate me, right? You aren't gonna run away if I don't tie you down?" He had pulled back just enough to see your face, and your elated expression. Watching you shake your head

"I literally just said I love you. You don't have to tie me down to get me to stay, but..I'd like it." You giggled, being a slight tease. He groaned in response. Relaxing at last. You were just as crazy as him. "Maybe another day, tonight I just wanna..go slow." And for the first time in his life, he did.

After that day, you and Simon were even closer then ever. About a year later, he got down on one knee and asked you to marry him. To which you said yes. Now the butcher shop was run by two big freaks. You both couldn't be happier.

Authors note: AHHHH okay, first series done!!! In just this week I've learned a lot about writing and I think I'm feeling some type of improvement?? I know this series kinda sucked sometimes, and I might come back one day to redo, better then ever, but I think it was decent for a first time. Also, yeah, readers a freak. (Like everyone here) I have another WIP I should probably get through, but then I might start another series, who knows. Anyway, thank you for reading, and bye bye!!!!!!

[spicycreativity]

moceit 1, 222, 300

1: "I know we hate each other but it's Christmas Eve and your flight was canceled please come inside"

The weather channels had been calling for a white Christmas for weeks now, but Janus had been stupid enough to hope anyway. Hope was for naïve suckers. Idiots. Gooey, nostalgic little puffballs who decorated their lawns with tacky inflatable snowmen and lined their eaves with gaudy multicolored lights.

He picked his way through the freezing, fluffy mounds covering his driveway, brow pulled down in a vicious scowl, to assess the damage.

The wind cut right through his black pea coat, melted snow dampening the toes of his socks. He paused where he thought the road was supposed to be, hands on his hips. It was impossible to tell. The snow covered everything, rendering it all uniform white. His flight was definitely canceled. So much for Puerto Vallarta.

Still… He scuffed the ground with the toe of his shoe, shivering. Maybe it wasn't that bad. A few more scrapes and he would see the asphalt, right? And someone with all-wheel drive and snow tires could drive him to the airport so he could get the hell out of dodge and not have to spend another Christmas cold and alone, with Patton's pity cookies growing stale on the kitchen counter.

There were few things Janus loathed more than his simpering do-gooder of a next door neighbor. Raking Janus' leaves in the fall with his muscular arms on display, mowing the lawn shirtless in the summer so Janus had no choice but to admire the pudge on his belly… Patton with his warm sweaters and puppy eyes, his constant attempts at manipulating Janus into friendship…

"Hey, Janus?" Oh, and speak of the angel.

"Not now." Janus tried to spin on his heel and only succeeded in carving a gash in the snow before his momentum halted and he stumbled. He cursed under his breath and drew his arms in, every breathless exhale exploding in a puff of white. Jesus, it was cold out here.

"Oh, sorry, are you on the phone?"

Janus rolled his eyes and sighed, turning around so he could face Patton. He wore a green bathrobe tied loosely around his waist, revealing rumpled sleep pants and a T-shirt stretched taut over his chest. "No."

"Did your flight get canceled?"

"No, I'm waiting for a taxi as we speak. I think a horse-drawn sleigh will do nicely."

For a moment, Patton's face lit up. Probably in anticipation of seeing horses. "Why don't you come inside? We can make hot chocolate and I can give you your present."

"It's Christmas Eve," Janus snapped to avoid having to answer. "You don't open presents until Christmas Day."

"Not in my house," Patton said. "You get your presents on Christmas Eve so you can play with them on Christmas Day."

"Well, I didn't get you anything." A gust of wind had them both shuddering, Janus pulling his elbows in toward his chest and ducking his head like making himself smaller would somehow help.

"That's okay! The invitation is still open."

Janus paused. He considered his cold, dark house. The espresso machine he didn't really know how to work. The philosophy and debate books he'd already read. The crime novels he'd sworn to Remus he was going to read and never had. "I— Fine, if you're going to nag."

Patton had the nerve to smile at this, his boyish face lighting up like the Christmas tree pressed up against his front window. "Oh, yay! Come on in." He shuffled aside to let Janus through the door, though Janus had a ways to go, marching awkwardly through snowdrifts in his impractical boots. "Merry Christmas, Janus."

"Merry Christmas Eve," Janus answered, just to be pedantic. But maybe this year, it would be.

[icarus-suraki]

Ask game 9 and 41. For completely innocuous reasons that are 100% definitely not related to my job at all whatsoever.

9 which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee? Hot, actually. Cold/iced coffee is super good and I do really like the Japanese pour-over cold coffee method, but I think I really prefer hot coffee in general. Like if I were going to order coffee at a cafe? Hot.

You know I wasn't that much of a coffee-drinker before I started this new job. But the building is so cold that I started drinking coffee because it was something hot that I could get ahold of easily and it's also kind of entertaining to have something to drink like that in the mornings. (That said, I got a tiny electric kettle recently and I have it stashed in the break room so I can make tea now too.)

41 how do you take your coffee? Sometimes like the Beastie Boys: "I like my sugar with coffee and cream!"

Okay okay okay, so the coffee machine we have in the building where I work is this big automated contraption that usually works (usually). They have these coffee-dispensing machines in Europe and the UK called "Nescafe" and the coffee is not high-quality but it has its own charm. So the automated contraption we have downstairs is kind of like a US equivalent and, likewise, has its own charm. One of its options is "mocha latte" which is almost completely unlike a real mocha latte but it's hot and it has some bitterness to it and it has some sweetness to it and it's good. It's like some coffee in the bottom of the cup, then hot chocolate on top of it. I'll throw a packet of sugar in it (though I've found stevia dissolves better) usually and trot back upstairs with it in the hopes that it'll keep me warm and entertained. And that is not a very elegant way to take coffee, let's be real. But it's good in its own way.

I've had some of the fancy concoctions with cream and foam and caramel and chocolate syrup and flavorings and everything else but I've found that I like somewhat simpler types. Like the pour-over method I mentioned above: it's just making really strong coffee and pouring it over ice while it's hot, which melts the ice and both coold and dilutes the coffee a bit. Pour it over ice again to keep it cold. Add sugar, maybe cream. Done.

I did drink coffee sometimes when I was in college and it was either black with one sugar or it was poured over ice cream from the cafeteria. DIY affogato, y'all. It kind of depended on how much I was feeling like a Beatnik poet that day as to which I'd get. Beatniks apparently only drink dark, bitter coffee--like their feelings on the modern situation, man.

Weird asks! Ask me things!

[goodmorningglory]

right so ! i have never measured the ingredients it's entirely based on eyeballing it and what i want out of the drink that night

decadent hot chocolate

makes about 1 and ½ish servings depending on how big your mugs are, and if you decide to use the measurements or not akna

For the record if you just wye ball the ingredients every time that 100% works and is almsot always good!

1 cup milk (any % should work ? ive used 2% and whole and they both were fine)

¼ cup chocolate (any % i use chocolate chips that are like 60% cacao?? don't use white chocolate or do tho no idea how it'll turn out aksn)

½ cup water

¼ or ⅓ cup heavy whipping cream

¾ (or more) teaspoon salt

cinnamon

¾ Table spoon espresso powder

½ - ⅓ cup cocoa powder

1 Tablespoon (or more) granulated sugar

for the whip cream

heavy whipping cream

powdered sugar

vanilla

start warming water in a kettle (optional really it just speads things up)

in a pot, over like medium high heat pour in milk *

add in chocolate *

let heat, stirring occasionally

you're just trying to melt the chocolate, and get it mixed *

if you dont melt it all the way, or don't mix it in all the way, all that happens is in the last sip you just get a bunch of chocolate so like don't worry if you don't mix it in

add heavy whipping cream

add espresso powder!

add salt, cinnamon, and vanilla, like less then a teaspoon of vanilla *

***(i don't really add vanilla but it does taste good so you can of you want??)

add cocoa powder and mix

continue to let sit on the stone for a little mixing occasionally

*(i usually do more milk then water but up to you!)

*(i use chocolate chips for convenience but go wild)

*(im inpatient so i don't usually wait the full amount of time, you could probably fix this by waiting long ler or partially melting the chocolate before you mix it)

eat while hot and enjoy! this recipe just makes the like. 'Tried and True: if it ain't broke don't fix it' type of hot chocolate. it's good but not decadent

so i added homemade whip cream, and homemade carmel, and marshmallows (not yet homemade want to try so bad tho??), mini chocolate chips, and cinnamon

ive added maraschino cherries before and they're good but sink andksk

so to make the whip cream i have this little like. whipcream single sevre portion machine that u handpump. i love it but most people don't have it

so you can use a bowl and hand whisk, or electric hand mixer (which i recommend using), a stand mixer (its alot to clean for just whip cream but does work, use whisk attachment)

high walled bowl btw

(if im doing that hand mixer i use a smaller sized bowl with high walls. adam ragusa said it best, high walls probably get more heavy whip in contact with your beaters!)

like pour in half the amount of heavy whipping cream that you'll think you want

ao if you want alot of whip cream you don't need that much heavy whipping cream it like triples its size

so in your bowl like even prior to mixing you add your vanilla, and probably only some of the powderd sugar you will end up using

like a less then a teaspoon of vanilla for like >cup of whip cream

too much vanilla makes it bitter so i err on the side kf caution

like 3ish heapedish spoons of powdered sugar

it depends on how sweet you want it, and for this i like it semi sweet so -

whisk and check how sweet it is at intervals. if its not sweet, add another teaspoon or two, whisk in and check again untill desired sweetness

then just whisk . you can go for stiff or soft peaks but don't whisk to long, stop at stiff

(i go for soft but whatever you likw!)

i wouldn't recommend making the whip cream and hot chocolate simultaneously. make the whip cream first and set it in thw fridge, especially if you don't have the little hand crank whip cream maker, bevause whip cream does take a chunk of time to make

so in your mug you poured in you hot chocolate, add your whip cream ! its v good but you can do better

add cinnamon. add alittle extra salt on top. add chocolate. (grated or cut small) add marshmallows. add caramel

its so so good, its homemade, but i didnt make it but i can share the recipe for it !

[angiestown]

Have you ever burned yourself with something at work ex a hot tray, hot food, ice ect...?

I pretty much only work with frozen and refrigerated food so I’ve never burnt myself. sometimes I hurt my hands on metal stuff in the freezer, especially if I just washed them, but never anything that lasts more than a few seconds. 

the real danger is all the plastic packaging containers with sharp edges. I slice a finger on those things at least twice a month

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[sammygvfslut]

i like you a latte | s. kiszka

Summary: Words cannot espresso how much you mean to Sammy Kiszka.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Hey besties!!! this is my first ever sam fic, and i really hope you guys enjoy it! it’s super cheesy so beware of some tooth-rotting fluff ahead. any and all feedback is appreciated <3

Loud chattering and the sounds of espresso machines hissing and whistling filled the cafe. Every few seconds or so when a new customer walked in, a soft ringing above the door rang. Glancing at the clock, you sighed as it read 7am. Way too early for your liking. You wished to be back in bed under the covers with your cat Joey snuggling. Plus, the cold weather made it even harder for you to get out of bed every morning. Damn you, winter.

“Good morning.” A voice said suddenly, startling you as you slightly jumped. “Whoops, didn’t mean to scare you there for a sec.”

Turning around at the voice, your heart fluttered and a smile pulled at the corners of your lips. “G-Good morning, Sam! Nope, didn’t scare me at all. I was just uh...focusing very hard and you caught me off guard.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, his own lips curving and flashing that beautiful grin. God, he made you melt. You took a quick chance to admire his appearance for the day, luscious brown locks pulled back into a low bun with a few stray pieces framing his face, and he wore a slightly oversized brown grandpa looking sweater. He exuded true fall energy today and all you wanted to do was snuggle with him watching a movie while sipping on hot chocolate. “Right. Focusing on what exactly? Staring at the register?”  

“S-Sure. Yes, the register.” Totally not him instead. “Um, I realized it turned off right now and my mind blanked to turn it back on.”

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder as he laughed, his touch leaving a wave of goosebumps to rise out of your skin. “You’re so cute. I’ll leave you to that then, but if you need help trying to get the register to turn back on again, let me know.” And with that, he sent you a wink and turned on his heel away to start on the customers orders.

Alright, alright. So maybe early shifts weren’t as bad as you thought thanks to your insanely charming co-worker. Sam and you had been working together for the past year, and almost instantly you started falling for him. He welcomed you with open arms and he was a great help when it came to your training. Your co-workers were nice too, but Sam took that extra step in making sure you were comfortable with what you were doing. If you made a mistake and were freaking out about it, he somehow knew the way to calm you down. He was too precious and good for this cruel world. And most of all, out of your league too.

With his dashing looks and amazing personality, you just knew there was no way he’d ever feel the same about you. Except, any time you’d voice that thought to any of your friends at work, they’d tell you you’re crazy and that he likes you too. Apparently they caught on to the signs more than you did, which wasn’t a shocker considering that you’d have no clue if a guy was interested in you unless he blatantly confessed. So, trying to figure out hints was completely pointless for you.

“Uh oh, she’s deep in thought,” one of your friends/co-workers, Danny, teased. He also happened to be Sam’s best friend, and current band mate since the pair are in a band with Sam’s older twin brothers. “I bet I can guess what, or who you were thinking about.”

“Don’t even say it,” you warned with a finger, “He’s literally four feet away from us—”

“So?” Danny rolled her eyes with his arms folded. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel? Come on, it’s been almost a year now. What’s the worst that can happen if you confess?”

“He can hear me.” You stared blankly at him, shaking your head. “Absolutely not though, Danny. I will not embarrass myself from the humiliation I’d have to face from his rejection.”

Danny groaned frustratedly, placing his hands on both your shoulders and shaking them. “You’re so hopeless! Y/N, how many times do the guys and I have to tell you he likes you too!” He raised his voice a little louder than necessary which accidentally caught the attention of almost everyone in the cafe. Sam included unfortunately. Danny’s eyes widened, silently cursing under his breath. “Carry on, everyone.”

As much as you hated to admit it, Danny wasn’t lying when he mentioned about the guys agreeing that Sam likes you too. Every time you came over Josh’s apartment and Sam was there he’d find any little excuse to have his arm around you or teasing you constantly. You’d shake it off that he was just treating you like a friend would, but of course the guys would disagree with you.

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” Danny told you sternly, “But for now, and don’t make it obvious, but Sam’s looking at you.” A mischievous grin spread across his face as he winked and stepped to the next register before greeting a new customer and taking their order.

Heart pounding out of your chest, you slowly looked over your shoulder in Sam’s direction. You saw his head quickly turn and finish off the drink in front of him. Your cheeks burned at this and tried taking deep, slow breaths to calm yourself down. Didn’t work much, but as a new customer waved and told you their order, your breathing turned back to normal.

On the other end of the counter, Sam was currently freaking the hell out from what he heard a few minutes ago between you and Danny. He didn’t mean to, but he also wasn’t that far from either of you. Plus, Danny wasn’t the best at keeping his voice low. He had a strong feeling he knew you were talking about him, and for that reason alone he overflowed the cup he was pouring into and made a mess. He cursed under his breath and wiped his hands on his apron, shaking his head.

You caught sight of this and rushed to his side, grabbing a cloth from under the sink and started wiping the sticky counter. Sam was certain his cheeks were tomato red from his embarrassment, making a complete fool of himself for not paying attention to what he was doing. More so focusing on your conversation and your damn smile from earlier. You weren’t the only one here with a crush.

“T-Thanks, Y/N.” Sam chuckled nervously, throwing the cup in the trash and tossing the drink pitcher he held in the sink. “I’m normally not this much of a dumbass.”

“I’m not too sure about that one, Kiszka.” You teased lightly with a grin. “It happens, don’t worry,” you assured. “I’m just glad it was cold tea you spilled and not steaming coffee. I’d hate for you to get a third degree burn. That happened to me once, don’t recommend it.”

“Didn’t I drive you to the hospital for that?” he asked. “I think that might’ve happened a few months ago.”

Your eyes widened at the memory. “Oh shit, you’re right. God, I’m still so sorry I had to drag you into that.”

Sam shook his head, lips curving and cheeks no longer flushed. “For the hundredth time, stop apologizing about that, Y/N. You know you can count on me for anything, so of course I didn’t mind driving you to the hospital. I remember even blasting some ABBA on the way over there so you’d have something else to focus on instead of the pain you endured.”

You smiled at the memory. “Didn’t we also go out for ice cream afterwards?”

He nodded, lightly rubbing his arm. “Yeah, it was a lot of fun. I mean, I always have fun when I’m with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his last few words, blinking slowly. “O-Oh.”

Oh? That’s all you have to say? Nice one, Y/N.

Sam’s heart dropped. Fuck. Maybe you weren’t talking about him after all. Maybe it was Danny or one of his brothers that you had a crush on and he was mistaken about it. He wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole right about now. Being anywhere but here sounded splendid to him.

“Y-Y/N, I—“

“Ihavefunwhenimwithyoutoo,” you muttered all too quickly, and poor Sam barely even understood what you said. He didn’t have the chance to ask you to repeat yourself because you quickly walked away to the back and he was left with a tug at his chest, frowning.

Within the next few days after Sam’s tea spill, literally, things between you and him became...awkward. Something went off in him to become even more clumsy than normal and forget everything he’s ever known when you’re near him. He’d get flustered, stuttering a lot, messing up orders, dropping dishes, and nearly tripping all the time. He hated it so much and wished he could just muster up the courage and apologize for being such an idiot and confess his feelings to you. Even during your hangouts with the guys, Sam and you wouldn’t interact as much and honestly you were well aware you were being super childish and immature about the situation. Sam did too, and he needed to snap the fuck out of it.

The next few days at work Sam would ignore Danny’s little side comments about his immaturity and continued working in silence. For the rest of his shift he didn’t talk much to anyone other than the customers. He wanted to talk to you when he had the chance, but then he’d quickly back out and walk the opposite direction.

He couldn’t figure out why it was so futile for him to just grow a sack and tell you he likes you. He’d never gone through this struggle before. Then again, as cheesy as it sounded, the other girls he’d asked out in the past couldn’t compare to you. Never in a million years, and maybe he was too afraid that he didn’t deserve someone as amazing as you.

Nearing closing that same day, it was only you, Sam, and Danny. The flow of customers died down and not many people came in towards the end of the night which you were grateful for. It finally gave you the chance to relax a bit and start cleaning things up ahead of time so you wouldn’t have to stay after. Joey and a nice warm bath were waiting for you at home.

While Sam decided on working the register and you and Danny would clean, he grabbed your arm and led you into the back.

“What are you two still doing not dating each other or talking?! It’s been way too long now, Y/N. And since it’s only us three tonight, you have no other choice. Come on, I know you can’t take this any longer, and he can’t either. I can take over the register for a bit while you and him talk.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating his offering. As incredibly thankful as you were for his help, you were also scared shitless of the possible outcome. Perhaps it was finally time though that you say fuck it and say what you needed to. You couldn’t go on for any longer to keep your feelings bottled up inside. Maybe, just maybe he might feel the same way, and by God you hoped that would be the case.

Inhaling, you nodded slowly and made your way back to where you were. Your eyes searched for Sam and saw he was busy making a drink, except there was no one else here besides you, him and Danny. It could’ve been a drink for him, so you shrugged this off and went towards the sink to start washing the dishes.

A few moments later, Sam cleared his throat from behind you. “H-Hey Y/N, so um, I know the créme brûlée latte is your favorite, and I thought I’d make you one. You seemed really stressed and busy today and I wanted to try to cheer you up. I hope that’s okay.”

Your heart swelled at his generosity and your cheeks burned as you felt his gaze burning into you, his palms soaking from nervousness. “Sam, you didn’t have to do that for me.”

He shrugged casually, a small smile on his lips and his cheeks tinted a light pink. “It’s okay, I wanted to. And I uh, tried my best on the art. Hope you like it.”

Raising a brow, your gaze dropped on your cup and your eyes widened as you saw what he was referring to. A small coffee cup with the words I like you a latte around it.

“It’s true,” Sam chewed on his bottom lip while running his fingers through his hair. “I really like you Y/N, and I’m so sorry for acting like such an idiot these last few days around you. I don’t know what came over me, and I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you much either.”

Setting your cup on the counter, you took a step closer to him and cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb softly against his soft skin. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, Sam. I’m sorry for not talking to you too, as well as for making a fool of myself. I tend to do that around someone I like.”

Finally, the realization dawned on Sam as a wide grin pulled at his lips. “Glad we’re on the same boat.”

“I-Is it alright if I kiss you?” he asked shyly, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you.

You giggled. “You don’t even have to ask, loverboy.” You playfully rolled your eyes and cupped his other cheek before connecting his lips with yours.

A smirk pulled at Danny’s lips as he glanced at the two of you, shaking his head. Josh and Jake owed him $20 now. 

It was about damn time that Sam and you finally espresso’d your love for each other. 

tagging these lovely folks bc they helped inspired me and their work is amazing <3 @godlygreta​ / @flowervanfleet​ / @dharma-divine​

[baekhyuq]

"Industry Baby." Baekhyun (m) 4

Chapter 4

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, domestic violence, prostitution

Playlist:

Washing Machine Heart -Mitski

fue mejor - Kali Uchis

Northern Lights - Kennie

Lottery - Kali Uchis

Word count: 5.5k

Summary: “She looked like a million bucks but felt like nothing.”

<< Prev Next >>

“Here you go, be careful though.” Baekhyun sat down a mug of hot chocolate in front of you. The mug was steaming and the beverage in the cup was a dark chocolate brown. Your mouth watered at the sight. It looked delicious.

“Be patient.” Baekhyun said sternly as he saw you eyeing the cup impatiently. You pouted slightly. “It’s better not piping hot and burning your tongue I promise.” He laughed as your hands wrapped around the mug.

“It’s warm though.” You smiled down at the cup. This was a small slice of happiness you were grateful to have. And to be sharing with Baekhyun. The winter days starting to roll in, and the perfect thing to have on those cold days is something warm.

“How about we make this our thing?” Baekhyuns looks at you with soft eyes, his arms crossed casually.

“I would like that.” You agreed, you would just have to learn to accept his offers. Denying him every time felt like kicking a puppy.

Baekhyun smiled, his eyes wandering over your face as you looked out the window. Your eyes focused on one thing, he didn’t know what it may be. Not interested in what it was, his eyes solely studying your little expressions. The furrowing of your brows when studying something, or when your eyes darting from many things.

Your head turned to look at Baekhyun so suddenly he gasped softly, clearing his throat. “What were you looking at?” He asks.

“There was a lady wearing this beautiful dress. But it’s so cold outside I was wondering how she wasn’t shivering.” Your explanation only made Baekhyun’s heart ache.

Please give me the strength to make it through this without babying at her. His prayers were sent to nobody in particular.

“Are you cold?” He asked, gesturing to your exposed legs.

You nod slowly, “I had to leave so suddenly I couldn’t change.” You said without anymore context. You felt bad for dodging the topic but you didn’t feel like getting into that. Not when you were having a moment of happiness.

“What’s your family like?” You asked suddenly.

Baekhyun raised an eyebrow at your question, “Oh, well— I’m the youngest son. My mom and dad live together, they take care of my dog. I’m too busy to keep him myself, sadly.” He pouted, “I love visiting though, it’s always nice to see them.”

“Do you miss them?” You asked, watching as his eyes drop to his mug.

“I do. I don’t get to see them often…maybe a few times a year?”

“Baekhyun…” You softly gasped, “You’re too busy.”

He nodded in agreement, he couldn’t deny his busy schedule when he was demanded for so many projects. “I’ve decided to take a break for a while, but even during my break I’m working.” He laughed.

“Then, you’re not on vacation. How can you work while the sole purpose of taking a break is not working.” You said sternly. Catching yourself scolding him, your cheeks turned pink. “Sorry.” “No—You’re right. I just can’t resist it. I really love what I do, Y/n.” He smiled up at you, “It should be cool enough now. Try some.” He wrapped his hand around his own mug, watching as you sip from yours first.

“Mmm!” You exclaim softly, the chocolate was creamy and slightly rich. It was warm when it settled in your stomach.

“This place is famous for their hot chocolate, that is why I brought you here specifically. They get super busy during December.” Baekhyun’s smile melted your heart, he laughed softly as his eyes scanned over your lips. You had a bit of chocolate on your lip. “Here.” He grabbed a napkin and wiped your mouth.

You felt your stomach erupt with butterflies, licking over your lips subconsciously after he wiped them.

“You had some chocolate.” He gestured to his lip.

“Thanks.”

Baekhyun sipped from his mug, purposely giving himself a milk mustache. “Look.” He caught your attention, earning a fit of laughter from you. Baekhyun was that kind of person to make someone feel less embarrassed by embarrassing himself.

“You’re really kind.”

“You’re really pretty.”

You paused, looking from your mug to his soft eyes and warm smile. He leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm.

“Watching you just be yourself is so addicting. Y/n you deserve so much.” Baekhyun said softly, “Please let me give you what you should already have.”

With his dreamy words filling your head you can’t help but fall in love a little. He was such a charming man, and with him speaking to you like this, you could hardly resist.

“I…” You felt at a loss of words, unable to think of something to say.

“You’re speechless?” He asked after your moment of silence. “Let me take you home, give you a nice warm shower and let you pick whatever show you want to binge, hmm?”

His offer sounded like heaven, better than any night you could imagine. Your nights were always tiresome, wanting to just sleep, never to have you time or just relax.

You nod as your answer, “I would love to, Baekhyun.”

His soft smile grew at your words, “Okay then, but first let’s get you some proper clothes. You can’t keep walking around cold.”

The next thing you knew, Baekhyun was dragging you into a clothing store. “B-baekhyun—“

“No, just pick what you want. I don’t care about your refusal. This is my treat.” His stubborn arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at you. “Y/n, it’s just so you’re comfortable, please.” He insisted.

You sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to change his mind any time soon. After shifting through some clothes you find a few and Baekhyun pays for them without a fuss. Unlike Chanyeol who would refuse to pay for anything.

Comparing them, Baekhyun was obviously the better person, the better man. You knew that, he liked you, you liked him. What was stopping you? Your ties with Chanyeol, you weren’t sure why you stayed with him. History was only a word but you stayed with him through it all. But you were aware he wasn’t good for you, what had he done for you?

Baekhyun was making efforts for an almost complete stranger.

Your heart swelled with adoration when you named all Baekhyun’s positive traits. You glanced at him quickly, his eyes on the road as he held the wheel loosely with one hand. His other was rested over the shift gear, he was handsome being so casual.

He felt your eyes on him briefly, he looked over to see you playing with your bandaids. “Hey, quit that before they fall off.” He sighed.

Your lips parted about to protest but decided against it, he was right anyway.

“I’ll have to reapply them after your shower anyway.” He commented. “How do they feel? Sore?” He pouted.

You nodded, “They sting but it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Baekhyun’s pout only continued as he drove.

“You look like a kid when you do that.” You laughed lightly at his expression, “I’m okay, I promise.”

He nodded, “If you say so.”

Baekhyun kindly opens your door for you, lifting your hand to guide you to his front door. For the second time, this time you weren’t drunk.

“Here,” Baekhyun took the coat from your shoulders laying it over a chair by the kitchen island. “I’ll get the place warmer, you can use those slippers by the door.”

Your eyes traveled down to the shoes by the doors, there was a new pair you hadn’t seen. A pair of cat slippers…Did he just buy these? You smiled to yourself, they weren’t his size. Did he buy these for you? Absolutely.

Baekhyun’s footsteps sounded closer, you turned toward the noise. He noticed the smile on your face, he looks down to your shoes.

“Yes, to your unasked question. I did buy them for you.” His smile was contagious, filling you with warmth. It was such a small thing, but buying slippers for your friend to wear while they’re over? Isn’t that cute?

“Thank you.” You walked closer shyly, “It’s nice to have them actually fit.”

“Ah, I noticed your feet drowning in the ones you wore last time.” Baekhyun chuckles, “It was funny but I thought you might be more comfortable in ones your own size.”

“How did you know my shoe size? Guess?”

“I looked at your shoes you wore that night.” He smiled down at you, your cheeks were tinged pink. He found it adorable how you were gushing over this simple act. “You’re so pretty.” He said without thinking, “Sorry, that actually just came out without meaning to.” Baekhyun laughed.

“Okay.” You giggled when Baekhyun’s canines shown through his bright smile. “You have a handsome smile.”

“That’s so sweet of you to say, thank you.” He cooed at your compliment. “Okay!” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s shower and I’ll order us food then we can watch whatever you want.” His hand found yours as it slid down your arm to interlock.

“You know, friends don’t shower with each other.” You cocked a brow up at him with a grin on your face. You weren’t stopping him because honestly, you enjoyed being around him. Being intimate with Baekhyun felt so romantic.

“Y/n.” He pulled you closer by your hand, you followed until you hit his chest. “I think we both know we don’t see each other as just friends. When I look at you I feel something tug at my heart. It’s yearning for me to touch you, in anyway possible.” His eyes looked into yours, he felt your hold on his hand tighten.

“I like being around you.” You confessed, “It helps me forget everything else. Knowing you for such a short time feels like it doesn’t matter. I enjoy your company.”

Your words gave Baekhyun a boost of energy, such a confession going straight to his heart. “Come.” He smiled down at you before tugging on your hand gently.

The smell of sugar cookies filled the house, you caught the scent many times as he guided you to his shower.

“Do you like to burn candles?” You asked, staring at his back as he bent to run test the water. “I do, I kinda…have an addiction.” He chuckled “Are you sensitive to scents? Did you smell one?”

“No! I’m fine, it just smells like cookies.” You giggled “It’s comforting, I really like it.”

Baekhyun noted your interest in nice scents, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned to smile at you. “I’ll let you get in first I need to grab us towels.” He nodded before leaving the bathroom.

You felt in a daze as you undressed yourself in front of the mirror, you saw the marks. The bruises, the hickeys, the scars. Was this what Baekhyun saw that night? Did he mind them? The insecure questions filled your head, a frown adorning your lips. You wrapped your arms around yourself, discovering more marks. You felt, pity. Pity for the girl in the mirror, the beautiful girl you never felt you were covered in hideous colors of abuse. The girl who covered her impurities so her beauty could shine, shine through dull eyes.

Her dull eyes that saw the sickening lies behind what she loved doing. She loved entertaining but at some point entertaining had become some sort of tie to her abusive lover. She wanted out of this cycle.

The woman in the mirror looked back at you with sad eyes, her shoulders shaking. She was crying.

Baekhyun stopped outside the door as he heard your quiet cries, he didn’t enter the bathroom. He could see through the crack of the door, your eyes wet and face red. His heart ached, were you overthinking when you were left alone? Was him leaving to get towels his mistake?

Should he comfort you?

He decided to wait, watching as you wiped your tears away. You stepped toward the shower until you were out of his view. Baekhyun’s chest felt heavy when he could no longer see your sad figure. The marks adorning your body like some sort of reminder to him that you weren’t his; but some monster’s woman.

Baekhyun’s hand pushed the door open gently, he placed down the towels on the counter, the mirror had begun to fog.

You looked down at your knees as the water ran over your sore body. The door to the shower opened and close. Soon you felt hands on your arms, a chin nestling itself between your neck and shoulder.

Baekhyun’s touch made you shut your eyes, sighing as if he brought you out of your dark thoughts.

“Thank you.” You whispered as his chest pressed against your back. You couldn’t ignore his heart pounding as he exhaled deeply.

“It’s alright.” Was all Baekhyun whispered back, his words being enough for you. His hand slide around your waist, holding you to him. “I won’t let anybody hurt you. As long as you’re with me.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, Baekhyun surprising you with such a monotonous voice. His words were sincere and earnest, you felt comfortable in his arms as he just held you.

“Yes.” You whispered, Baekhyun almost missed it.

“Yes?” He questioned.

“To your offer earlier, I’ll do it.”

“Y/n? A-are you sure?” He stuttered as joy filled his heart, “You can give it more thought it’s okay—“

“I want to.” You turned around in his arms, coming extremely close to his brown eyes. They looked into yours, yours filled with certainty.

His eyes searched yours, darting from one another. “If you’re certain then I’m happy.” He smiled, his hand coming up to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Baekhyun’s soft hands slid over your body in such a casual way as if he memorized your body already. His slender fingers hugging your hips when he held you still to scrub lightly. You were covered in suds from how playful Baekhyun was being. It brought a smile to your face, being brought out of your down mood and dark thoughts.

Baekhyun was your sunshine in this moment.

“Turn around.” He instructed as you faced him once more, he kneels down to carefully wash around your wounded knees. His hand wrapped around the back of your thigh to hold you in place. You watched the concentrated look on his face finding it adorable how attentive he was being while simply washing you. Your hand rested on his shoulder, your thumb brushing over his collarbone. You only did it to stable yourself. He looked up at you with those brown eyes, from this angle to Baekhyun you looked like the goddess he saw you as. Your hand moved from his shoulder to gingerly lifting his chin.

Your eyes were trained on his lips, they were parted as if he wanted to say something. He didn’t, not when you pulled him toward you. He stood up, his eyes darting down to your lips as well. He felt as if he couldn’t help himself when you pulled him even closer. His patience had its limits.

“Y/n.” He called quietly.

“Shh.” You quieted him by placing your lips over his. Your hand gently holding his chin kissing him gingerly. It was a soft kiss, your lips moving together slowly. Baekhyun’s lips were as soft as they looked, incredibly so. You felt bad for pulling away when he chased after your lips when you parted.

Your grin displayed on your lips made his desperate expression and pout deepen.

“Why tease me?” He quietly whined, his hand sliding over your hip to hold your waist.

You suddenly felt shy at his touch. Your hold on his chin dropped, and he noticed immediately.

“I felt the need to after seeing you be so caring..” You explained your reason for kissing him. His eyes softened at your words, a small smile taking over his lips.

“So you’re feeling sentimental now, I understand.” His hand rubbed your back. “Come on, let me take care of your boo boos.” He teased earning a slight pout from you.

Baekhyun dried you off carefully, allowing you to dress yourself.

“Sit here.” He pat the sink counter that was a bit too high to lift yourself on.

“Could you help me?” You asked quietly.

He looked from the first aid kit to you then the counter. “Oh—“ Without another word he lifted you onto the counter before digging through his med kit once more. “I’m not sure where my alcohol has gone—here it is.”

You swung your legs anxiously, you hated the sting of the scrapes on your knees.

“Okay, be still, this is going to sting a bit.” He warned as he dabbed a cotton ball soaked in alcohol over the cuts. It stung a lot actually, eliciting a short whine from you.

“Im sorry!” Baekhyun cooed, he hurriedly finished dressing your knee, instead of bandaids opting for a gauze to wrap around incase the bandaids fell off.

“Alright, are you feeling okay?” He asked, standing straight up. He stretched his back slightly, his shirt riding up to reveal his tummy.

“I’m okay, thank you again.” You looked down at the dressing over your knees. They felt better than bandaids sticking to your cuts. Your mind began to wonder back into dark thoughts until Baekhyun brought you out of them. His hands gripping your thighs as he stood between your legs.

“Hey.” He tilted his head at you. “Don’t go thinking too much. I’m right here.” He brought your eyes up to him and his bright smile that made you feel much better. You nodded, unable to find words in the moment. His warm hand over your thighs made you feel shy, you weren’t the girl he met at the bar. Not the confident sex idol you put on show that night. You were Y/n, the woman he came to be so intrigued by. The Y/n who refused his help and was independent, he admired your strong will.

It was his weakness, your gorgeous tone of voice and your heavenly eyes. The pudge of your thighs, the smoothness of your skin, the way your cheeks poked out when they were full. He admired you when you weren’t looking, shamelessly.

The proximity to your lips had Baekhyun second guessing your guy’s movie night. Many thoughts crossed his mind as his hands traveled higher. The tension he felt made him become needy. He looked into your heart melting eyes, and he saw his answer.

Shaking his head, he pat the side of your thigh before slowly backing away. “Let’s order some food.”

Baekhyun’s customer service voice was funnier when you saw his face along with it. He spoke so kindly to the other person on the phone, his eyes staring up at the ceiling as he thought of what he wanted.

“Okay, alright, yes, okay— yes. Thank you.” He sighed hanging up. “Oh my god I’ve never wanted a conversation to end sooner.”

You giggled, hugging a spare pillow in your lap. “What happened?”

“She kept going over the order, asking if I was one hundred and ten percent sure.” He explained. The look on his face made you laugh even harder. He turned to look at you making fun of him prepared to interject until he saw the smile on your face.

The smile you made when you laughed till your cheeks hurt. The smile you would have if you saw your friend for the first time in forever. The smile you wore when your heart felt so full and content you couldn’t possibly be any more happy.

Baekhyun found it unbelievable how gorgeous you wore it, how beautiful you looked with joy across your face.

“Is everything alright?” You asked when you noticed Baekhyun silently staring at you. Shaking his head a grin took over his lips as if he found something amusing.

“I was just admiring you.” He teased sticking his tongue out at you. “What do you like watching?” He asked.

“I usually watch stupid shows like reality tv, but I’ve started to hate them. All I do when I’m home is watch t.v.” You sighed, you felt indecisive unable to give Baekhyun an answer. “Why don’t you pick?”

“Alright then,” He clicked on the t.v and shuffled through some apps before landing on one. He scrolled through endless t.v shows and movies until settling on one. “Do you like romance?” Baekhyun turned to se your expression.

You gave it a thought, you didn’t really have a favorite genre. Romance had its times where there were enjoyable movies, but to you some of them were the same storyline. “I’m not apposed to it.” You smiled politely folding your hands in front of you.

“You can say no.”

“No! I’m fine watching it, It doesn’t matter what we watch.” Trying to reassure Baekhyun you offered him a wider smile.

Baekhyun noticed it. Your eagerness to not cause conflict, he didn’t like it. If you disagreed you should voice your feelings, don’t agree with something because you’re scared of the other person’s reaction.

“Y/n.” He called, you were sat on the corner, resting on the L shape of the couch. “Come over here.” Baekhyun patted the spot by him. “Why are you all the way over there?”

You blinked at his words, why were you sat so far away? You only subconsciously picked the spot wedged in a corner, it was comfortable. You crawled across the couch ending up closer to Baekhyun.

Baekhyun gulped as he watched your figure crawl over to him as if you were a cat coming to it’s owner. “O-Okay.” He stuttered out to clear his mind. “Here what about this one?” He randomly clicked a movie which so happened to be one he’d seen almost a thousand times.

“Alright!” You said in a playful voice raising your fist in the air.

Baekhyun flinched at your sudden burst of energy, blinking a few times. Was it just the hunger talking?

The movie caught your attention when it started with two people floating in the sea, holding hands.

“Will we ever see the land again?” The lady asked, staring at the sky.

“I don’t think so my love.” The man closed his eyes. “But at least we can be together.”

“For you, my darling I would never step foot back on the land. If it was the only reason I could close my eyes with yours, I would stay floating in this ocean for eternity.”

The woman’s words pulled at your heart strings, her voice as she confessed her undying love for her man caught your heart in your throat.

What a romantic thought. To be so in love you’d lay in a vast body of water to rot away with the person you adored. You turned to look at Baekhyun who’s eyes were focused on the screen. You looked down at your hands folded in your lap.

A hand slid over yours, the arm connected to him. Baekhyun’s eyes caught yours.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, such a simple question with so many answers. You felt too many emotions to name them.

“I..”

“It’s overwhelming isn’t it?” He asked, knowing exactly how you felt in this moment. “Her words for her lover, as they’re in the middle of this giant body of water.” Baekhyun’s thumb grazes over your hand. “The way she doesn’t mind dying with him, with a hopeless unsure answer to her question she feels secure with their hands intertwined.”

Baekhyun’s explanation told you how well he understood your feelings toward the film.

“It’s so…romantic.” Your quiet comment made Baekhyun’s heart skip a beat.

“Romantic?” He thought it was more than such a word, more like a melancholic fate destined to be between two connected souls. His heart strings were tugged each way when he saw the saddened expression on your face.

“We can watch something else, I know this may be a bit too emotional..” He asked softly, coming to comfort you immediately.

“P-please.” You felt your lip quiver, the thought of loving someone to not be afraid of death was something you knew all too well. But that love was toxic, and nothing you wanted to be apart of.

Baekhyun quickly exited from the movie, “Let’s just watch a holiday movie hm? That will cheer you up.” He offered clicking on the movie “Elf.”

Your heart skipped a beat at Baekhyun’s eagerness to please you, no matter what he’s been here for you like he promised. He’s helped you in anyway he could, and every time without fail he’s made you smile in the end.

You wiped your tears from your cheek before wrapping your arms around Baekhyun’s arm. Resting your cheek on his shoulder you watched the movie play.

“Do you enjoy the holidays?” He asked as he watched you snuggle into his side.

You hummed before answering, “I like decorating and baking, but as for the day of Christmas I haven’t had a good Christmas Day…” You explained. Your holidays were difficult, Chrismas day was cursed for you when something horrible always happened.

“This year will be different.” Baekhyun stated as a fact, “I wan’t you to help me decorate.” He smiled.

“R-really?” Your tummy filled with butterflies as you sat up in disbelief. “Don’t feel bad just because of what I said. You can enjoy your holidays I wouldn’t want to ruin—“

“Y/n.” Baekhyun cupped both of your cheeks in his palms. Bringing your eyes to his he tilted his head at you. “I want to spend the holidays with you, let’s make memories together. You’re amazing to be around and spend time with.”

Baekhyun’s kind words had you taken a back, your lips parted in awe. You found no words to say, no protest against him.

The door bell sounded, making you jump slightly earning a chuckle from Baekhyun. He sat up before walking over to answer the door.

“Hello.”

“Hey.”

“Here—Oh thank you sir.”

“Thank you too, have a good one.” Baekhyun shut the door with his foot as he sat the food on the island counter.

“Come child, food is here.” He said in a caveman voice taking the contents out. You giggled, pausing the movie before joining him.

“It smells so good.” You whined, your stomach growled in protest at the aroma.

“One cup for you. One cup for me.” Baekhyun gave you a cup of soup, bread and a sandwich.

“Oh this is a bit much.” You realized how much food you guys ordered— or Baekhyun ordered.

“I’m sure we can eat it all, right? I thought you were hungry?” He said patting your tummy playfully. You swatted his hands away. “Your tummy can take it.” He said in a playful manner. It sounded wrong in your mind, but you knew his intentions were good.

“Mmm.” You made a quiet noise of frustration, “I’ll try. I just don’t want to waste it.”

“Don’t worry, if we have left overs we can eat them tomorrow? You can stay as long as you want Y/n.”

His words comforted you, he sensed how anxious you seemed and wanted to remind you he was here to be your stable rock. To ground you and make you feel secure.

“Okay.” He heard you say.

“Help me carry this to the living room?” Baekhyun smiled. You nodded, carrying whatever he couldn’t.

The food was delicious, the soup was perfect for how cold it was. It warmed your tummy and you felt complete.

Baekhyun sighed, his hand over his stomach. “I’m getting full. I don’t know if I can eat anymore.”

You looked over at him, his eyes closed and he tilted back on the couch. His neck was exposed, revealing the pretty skin and his collarbones from his loose sweater.

“I told you this was a lot of food.” Only you would nag at him at a time like this. “Don’t stuff yourself though, I’m not cleaning up your vomit.”

“Ah, don’t say that I’m full!” He cringed at the thought of eating till he was sick. “I feel lazy now.”

You giggled as his head lolled to the side, his eyes opening to look up at you with a tired look.

“How dare you let me order this much food.”

“Hey! I didn’t even know you ordered so much.” You defended, smacking his leg with your hand. Baekhyun laughed, his eyes shutting once more.

“Hmm.” He hummed contently as he folded his arms over his chest. He took in the relaxing environment, you silently eating and making conversation while a show played in the background. The smell of sugar cookies and the sound of the fireplace crackling made it all warm and cozy, inviting.

But you, your thighs begged for Baekhyun to lay his head on them. To look up at you and beg for you to play with his hair. You were more inviting.

You finished dinner, packing away all of your guy’s leftovers back into their containers before putting them away.

“I’m getting sleepy.” You commented rubbing your eye as you plopped back down onto the couch.

“Aww, is the baby tired?” Baekhyun teased cooing at you like a child, he pinched your cheek playfully. “Should I go tuck her in to bed.”

You thought about his words, instead of tucking you in he should be fucking you to sleep. But that thought quickly left your mind before you could spit out such a thought. Of course you two had sex already but, that wasn’t with you. It was with the facade you played, it was to steal from him. Which in the end resulted in a relationship with Baekhyun, a very healthy relationship of giving.

“What’s on your mind?” Baekhyun asks, noticing how you’re staring into his eyes wordlessly. “I can see it on your face.”

“I-I was just thinking.” You answer, almost caught off guard by his voice. “I got lost in though. Haha, and yes I want to go to bed.”

“Yes darling. Let me clean up down here, you can go ahead.” He smiled at you before giving you a nudge toward the hallway.

Darling?

You shook your head at the nickname, closing the door behind you. Kicking off your slippers by the bed, you climbed in wrapping yourself with the blanket. Your eyes felt heavier with being so comfortable.

Maybe you would just rest them until Baekhyun came up.

Baekhyun put away the mess from dinner and wiped over the tables. He arranged everything back to how it was before walking toward his room.

He turned the doorknob entering quietly, he could see you were already knocked out. You weren’t joking when you said you were tired. But it was understandable, after the day you had you deserved sleep. Baekhyun smiled, walking to his side of the bed and sliding off his slippers before getting comfy. He clicked on the television in his room, dimming the brightness and turning down the volume. He always listened to something while he fell asleep. It was like a comfort mechanism.

You stirred as you heard the sound of rain, your eyes opened slowly. It was still dark, you turned to see Baekhyun was sound asleep facing you.

You turned over to grin at his delicate features. His adorable lashes laying on top of his cheeks and his cute pouty lips. Your hand moved to trace his features, you unknowingly wrapped your legs with his. You were comforting yourself, your anxiety felt like it was rising but with Baekhyun right here. You felt calm and at peace, your heart rate wasn’t rocketing and your breathing was even. You were surprised when Baekhyun’s eyes fluttered open.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks rubbing his leg against yours, his voice was heavy with sleep.

You shook your head. “I was just woken up by the sound, but I’m okay.” You didn’t retreat your hand, and Baekhyun was grateful. Your hand caressed his cheek, watching his eyes close at your touch.

“You have such soft hands.” He whispered, “I like this.” He said as he chuckled lightly.

Your grin widened, wiping your thumb over his cheek. “I like this too.” You confessed, Baekhyun’s brows furrowed.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm, that’s good to know.” He smiled, “I’m glad connecting like this is favorable.”

His words warmed your heart, earning a sigh from you. Not a sigh of annoyance but a sigh of contentment. Being in Baekhyun’s cozy bed with him quietly speaking to you in such a warm voice made you feel comfortable.

In this moment your heart was was beating against your chest at how happy you became. The realization of this man in front of you wanting the best for you. The only person wanting the best for you. That was Baekhyun, a complete stranger up until this point, has treat you better than anyone in your life.

“Baekhyun…” You whispered after a minute of his breathing going even once more.

He didn’t answer, he had fallen back asleep.

You smiled sadly at his closed eyes, placing a kiss on his nose. “Thank you, so much.” You said quietly. “For helping me, and not doubting me. For believing in me and for being so loving.”

[oreomonsterhunter]

Life Sucks

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Word Count: 10K (I know.....this was a surprise for me, too)

Genre: fluff, romantic comedy

Warnings: language (our characters have a tendency to curse, apparently)

Summary: Sunshine reader is in love with love, but hasn’t had much luck with it herself.  When she meets Minho, a self-proclaimed cynic and disbeliever of “true love”, she’s determined to change his life.  If she can’t find the love of her life, she’s going to try to find his.

This fic was inspired by a tag game once upon a time.  It was supposed to be a short drabble, but apparently I can’t hold back with Minho.  Tag game featured this specific Lee Know and just kinda spiraled from there lol

Nearing the end of January, winter sometimes seemed endless.  Yet when you stepped out into the morning chill, you were pleasantly surprised to find the snow banks melting a bit.  Your boots splashed through small puddles as you strode down the street, and you smiled softly at the lavender sky.  It was still early enough—for a Saturday—that the sidewalks weren’t too packed yet, so you indulged in a more leisurely walk than usual, dancing along to the music from your headphones.  You caught a few odd looks, but you simply smiled and waved at everyone you passed.  They could judge your happiness all they wanted, nothing could possibly spoil your day when it was off to such a good start—

“Shit,” you gasped, jumping back onto the curb as a car barrelled through a red light.  Had you been a second slower, you would’ve been a vehicular manslaughter case.  “Asshole,” you hollered after them, flipping two middle fingers in the air.

You exhaled a sharp breath through your nose, attempting to banish the exasperation and get back into your music again.  More careful this time, you double checked both ways down the street before entering the crosswalk.

Unfortunately, your streak of bad luck continued.  Just as you hopped off the street, a truck passed by behind you, tires bumping through a pothole.  And with the recent snowmelt, this resulted in a spray of cold water hitting the backs of your legs.

You froze, mind stuttering as you tried to comprehend how the morning had taken such a turn, all within your first five minutes outside.  Pursing your lips, you twisted around to inspect the damage.  The dirty water might stain your jeans, but the most pressing matter was the cold and wet denim now plastered to your legs from your calves to the backs of your knees.  You bit your lip, contemplating just turning back and spending the whole day in your apartment.  Pajamas, a blanket, hot coffee and tea readily available.  Maybe a movie, just because you could.

Then you shook your head, determined to make the best of the day.  You wanted a cappuccino, dammit.  And chocolate babka from the cafe.  No homicidal drivers or puddles could stop you.  It was a Saturday, just past sunrise, and you had a whole day ahead of you.  No need to wallow a few minutes in.  And besides, who knew what would happen.

You set off for the cafe, determination heavy in each step.  You forced a smile back onto your lips, though it was thinner than before.  You switched to a different playlist so that your boots could thump the concrete in time.  And you breathed, spooling calmness back into yourself.

It was a Saturday.  You might meet the love of your life today.  And nothing could stop you from finding out.

The bell over the front door jingled merrily, and you softened a little further, relaxing into the familiar surroundings.  You hardly even noticed the damp denim chafing your legs as you skipped up to the counter.

Ruth, currently manning the register, chuckled as she rang up another customer.  “Well would you look at that, the sun came shining right in our front door,” she said.

“Good morning,” you giggled.  You waved to Jonathan, Ruth’s husband, in the back.  The couple had been running the little cafe and bakery for years, and you were a faithful customer, coming by at least once a week since you first moved to the neighborhood.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he called, hands busy kneading dough for what would doubtless become something delicious.  You hummed thoughtfully, considering the baked goods in the glass case before you.

“Your usual?”

You tapped a finger on your chin, “You know, the poppy seed muffins look awfully tempting.  I might just have to switch it up today.”

Ruth nodded, tapping on the register.  You handed over the requisite bills and she shooed you off, sliding the muffin over the counter.  “Go on now, a table opened up by the window, perfect spot.  I’ll bring the coffee in a minute.”

“Thank you,” you said, but Ruth was already fussing over the espresso machine.  Shaking your head, you weave through the maze of tables and chairs, dodging patrons on your way to the window seat.

You had your eyes on the prize, and you were only a few feet from the chair when you pulled up short.  A stranger, their back to you, plopped down in your chair.  You blinked, suddenly and painfully aware of your wet pants, the muffin growing cool in your hand, the fact that you could give up now and walk home but perhaps you’d just get hit by a car and never get a chance to enjoy your breakfast.  You sighed deeply, breathing out through your nose as you closed your eyes, seeking inner peace or something.

“Can I help you?”

The voice knocked you out of your momentary meditation, and you looked at the table thief in surprise.  He loosened the fluffy scarf around his neck before sliding his arms out of his winter coat.  A beret, of all things, tilted dangerously to the side before he adjusted it on his head.  He looked like some kind of absent-minded professor, but for the youthful features that peered up at you.  A sharp nose, tinted red from the cold, and a soft mouth.  Dark and depthless eyes, paired with high cheekbones and a cutting jawline.

You realized you were staring when he waved at you, eyes widened.  “Hello?”

“Um, sorry, I just,” you stammered, lost for words.

“Do you want to sit or something?”

You stopped again, mouth dropping open.  You checked the time—you had fifteen minutes or so, enough time for another table to open up.  “Uh, sure, if that’s ok with you.  I was hoping for a table, I’m meeting someone,” you said, beginning to ramble.

“No problem, I don’t need all this space, and I’ll head out soon,” he cut you off, raising one brow at you when you continued to stand there, rooted to the spot.

Ruth’s arrival with your cappuccino was what ultimately forced your hand.  You sat down, gratefully accepting the drink, your smile less shaky with a taste of the familiar.

“I didn’t think they did table service,” the stranger mused.

“They don’t, I just know the owners,” you shook your head, cutting yourself off when you saw his disinterest.  “Sorry, I should introduce myself,” you switched tacks, giving your name with a bright grin.  So what if it was forced?

The stranger looked at you, and his lips twitched in a shadow of a smirk.  “Minho,” he responded.

Silence fell, heavy and awkward, and you found yourself leaning forward desperately.  “So how’s your day so far?”

Minho snorted, reaching for his own drink—an iced americano, you guessed, despite it being the middle of winter.  “Probably better than yours.”

“What?” your brows furrowed in confusion.

He gestured to your legs with one hand.  “Unfortunate accident this morning?”

Your lips tightened, holding back a frown, “Puddles, you know.”

Minho sighed, sounding sympathetic now, rather than snarky.  “Yeah, life sucks, doesn’t it?”  And there was the sarcasm again.

“One or two bad things doesn’t mean life sucks,” you countered, sipping your coffee.  “I’m excited about the rest of the day, it’s not even eight in the morning!  And it’s the weekend, and it’s sunny and warm, and I have hot coffee and a delicious muffin, and the world is out there and ready to be enjoyed,” you finished, lips curling up as you looked out the window at the sunrise, the horizon flaming golden.

“Sounds like you’ve never had a job,” a harsh voice cut into your admiration.  Your smile faltered as you looked back at Minho.  You gaped at him, brain processing the way this soft-looking boy sounded like the king of cynics.  The last thing you expected from someone wearing a fuzzy beret and looking like a sly teddy bear was this blunt conversation.  “No one’s that excited when they have to work fifty plus hour weeks to pay the bills.  Trust fund baby?” he inquired, sipping calmly.

Yep, there was no fighting the frown now.  “No, and I don’t appreciate the judgement.  Why can’t I just be happy?”

Minho smirked, “Never said you can’t.  I just wanted to see if you had a personality beyond being Positive Polly.”

Your eyes flamed, but your phone buzzed, distracting you before you could smite the snarky boy.  You fumbled at your coat pocket, whipping out the device to check for a new message.  You slumped—just a spam email.

“Waiting for something important?” Minho asked, tilting his head.

You huffed, shoving the device back in your pocket.  “As a matter of fact, yes,” you sassed, tossing your hair over one shoulder.  “I’m waiting for a date.”

He hummed at you, expression unreadable.  “You’re too excited.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, eyeing the clock on the far wall of the cafe.

“You’re significantly early, watching the clock like a hawk, and they haven’t even texted you an update.”  He took a long sip.  “What time is your date anyway?  Eight in the morning?  They’re not coming.”

Your smile faltered again.  Damn him, why was a total stranger dimming your joy?  You shoved your chair back, even though no tables had opened up yet.  You’d wait by the counter and chat with Ruth.  Anything was better than this asshole.

Minho glanced over his shoulder, checking the clock himself.  “Five past, and still nothing,” he commented.

“Fuck you,” you spat.

A spark appeared in his eyes, and he grinned.  “Good to see you have some backbone,” he commented.

You could’ve sworn steam was coming out of your ears, but your phone vibrated again.  You checked the lock screen, seeing a new text pop up from Jay: hey I can’t make it.  You swiped on the message, but nothing followed it.  Seriously?  That was it?  No explanation, and not even a half-assed apology?

“Told you so.”

You spun to face Minho, glare renewed.  “And what makes you so sure of yourself and my date?” you demanded.

He snorted, “Life sucks; so does dating.  The only thing you’re guaranteed is disappointment.”

Your anger faded slightly as you watched the boy sip his iced coffee, his silhouette stark against the snow outside.  When you took a breath to get past your own mingled frustration—both at Jay and your new snarky companion—you saw the tense lines of his face.  You wondered what disappointment had left Minho so defensive.

“Alright, enlighten me,” you said, throwing yourself back in the chair.  This time, you settled in, sliding out of your coat and leaning forward with your coffee.  “Who broke your heart?”

A look of disgust slid over those pretty features.  “No one broke anything,” he scoffed, turning to the window and giving you another dose of his sharp profile.  You rested your chin on your hand thoughtfully, just watching him and waiting.  “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered.  “You’re not my therapist.”

“But I am a perfectly kind stranger.  And strangers are the easiest people to talk to,” you said sunnily.

“And don’t sound so happy.”

“No can do, people call me Sunshine for a reason.”

Minho gave a long-suffering sigh.  “I’m not calling you that.”

Now you were the one with a cocky smirk, “Why, does it hurt your delicate masculinity?”

A beat of silence, and then, “One of my best friends is called Sunshine.”  Minho looked at you sharply.  “I’m not calling you that,” he said again.

You waved him off, oddly touched in spite of his gruff tone.  This human version of grumpy cat had a best friend named Sunshine?  Incredible, and surprisingly soft of him.  “Ok fine, no arguments from me.  Tell me about her.  Or him, whoever it is,” you stumbled over your words.

Minho didn’t seem to notice your blundering.  He stared somewhere beyond your shoulder, “No one broke my heart.”  Then his eyes focused on you again as he asserted, “I’ve just experienced enough to know better than to hope blindly.  The world isn’t looking out for you.”

Humming, you folded your arms as you considered his statements.  “Well, I believe in true love,” you started.

“Why am I not surprised?”  Minho groaned, rolling his eyes.

“I also believe in the power of positive thinking,” you continued as if he hadn’t spoken.  Ignoring his dramatic moaning, you steamrolled ahead.  “Yeah, my morning turned out pretty shitty, but if I just go crawl back in bed, I’ll have wasted a whole day over something as silly as wet jeans.”

“Wet jeans and being stood up.”

“And being stood up,” you allowed, gritting your teeth to maintain a smile.  “But if I let that stop me from living my life, then I’ve let the negative win.  If I go check out a new dating app or two and keep trying, one day I’ll have something good.”

Minho put his coffee down, resting one hand on the table as he met your eyes, gaze hard.  “Listen, nothing good comes out of a dating app.  You’re wasting your time.  And didn’t you say you hate doing that?”

You wanted to argue, but your friends had told you much of the same.  Minho was just less polite in his delivery.  But you hadn’t had any luck with real life men, either.  Case in point: your irritating argument with the perfectly attractive guy in front of you.  So that left apps, even if the pickings were regrettably slim.  And only growing slimmer, if the ghost date was any indication.  You didn’t have the guts to tell Minho that this wasn’t the first time you’d been stood up.

Then you had an idea.  Your grin widened, and Minho’s irritated expression faded into apprehension.  “Well if I’m doomed to never find love,” you started, batting your eyelashes teasingly.  “Why don’t I look for the love of your life instead?”

Minho blanched, recoiling with enough force that his chair rocked back on two legs.  “Yeah, no.  I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“I think it’s a terrific idea,” you beamed at him.  “I’ve been a successful matchmaker for a bunch of my friends, too.  I’ve just had trouble finding my own love interest.”

“What is this, a rom com?” he hissed.

You clapped your hands, overcome with excitement for the first time since the puddle.  “Oh, a romance, I wish,” you nearly swooned at the thought.  “I promise I’ll do my best.  You’d get along great with one of my friends, they’re just as irritable as you.”

Minho exhaled sharply, massaging his forehead with one hand.  He closed his eyes, muttering, “What am I doing here?”

“Wait, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.  No matchmaking until I know you better,” you amended, whipping out a notebook and pen from your bag.  You had just about everything in there—you never knew what emergency might pop up, like brainstorming a match for a stranger.  “What are some of your hobbies?  Favorite color?  Ooh, what about first date activities you love?  Oh my goodness, wait, are you looking for men or women?”

Part of you expected Minho to shove his chair back and leave.  You wouldn’t be too upset, that just meant you’d have the table to yourself, even if you weren’t waiting on a date anymore.  But you didn’t totally hate this guy.  And another part of you kind of felt bad for him.  He’d never experienced love!  Not that you’d had a taste of true love, either, but you knew what was out there.  And it was a shame that he didn’t see that too.  It was like...someone hating your favorite holiday—unacceptable, if only because you wanted everyone to enjoy it as much as you did.

You begrudgingly admitted that another teeny tiny part of you thought he was too attractive to be so cynical of love.  Some lucky girl out there was waiting for Minho, and you were gonna help her out, even if it meant dragging the man kicking and screaming towards her.

But Minho didn’t do what you expected.  He didn’t storm off, coffee in hand, scarf flapping in the wind dramatically.  He sighed and stood up, but made no move for his coat.  “If we’re doing this, I need more coffee,” he said, then turned and made a beeline for the counter without any further explanation.

You blinked after him, more than a bit surprised.  He was...going along with this?  You tapped the pen against your chin thoughtfully, watching his shoulders flex beneath his turtleneck as he talked to Ruth.  His head turned slightly, and you caught a glimpse of his smile—a real one—taking your breath away.

Now, if only you could get him to smile like that for any potential dates.  You clicked your pen with renewed vigor, laughing when Minho approached with a new coffee, exasperation written into every line of his face.

* * * * *

It was a lovely Thursday night, and you were curled up on the couch in your comfiest pajamas.  Your only companions were a blanket, a mug of tea, and your phone, which you checked every fifteen seconds.  The first time all week that Minho hadn’t answered your messages, and it was the night of his first date.  You were buzzing with anticipation, practically vibrating as you waited for news, not caring who it came from first.

Finally, you gave up waiting, throwing the blanket as you went to reheat your tea, since you’d let it grow cold while refreshing your messages.  The second you reached the kitchen, however, you heard a buzz.  You dashed to the couch, scrambling for your phone to find a text from Mari:

He had to dip early, lame date

You nearly screeched.  He left?  Your fingers pounded the screen:

What!?!?!! Did he say whyyy?

Mari’s response was short and to the point:

An “emergency”

You could read between the lines.  Mari was irritated, to say the least, since the blind date had been your brilliant idea.  But what on earth had happened with Minho?  Your stomach dropped, considering that he might have an actual emergency.  You quickly tapped out a message to him to check in, gnawing your lip in worry.

Hey, Mari said you had an emergency, is everything ok?

You waited what felt like ten thousand years before finally seeing the little bubbles appear.  His message, however, was not worth the wait:

Didn’t get on with her

You fumed, pressing dial on his contact with enough force, you were amazed your screen didn’t crack.  “You left because you didn’t like her?” you screeched as soon as he picked up.

“Yes.”

Gaping like a fish, you fumbled for words to explain how bad that was.  “You can’t just—”

“But I did,” Minho cut you off.

“But you can’t,” you said, exasperated.  “Jeez, I thought you knew what you were doing.  Obviously not.  You need a practice date or something so my friends don’t murder you.”

Now it was Minho’s turn to squawk indignantly.  “I do not need practice,” he started.

“Yes, obviously you do.  You might look like a player but you’ve obviously never talked to a girl for more than ten minutes,” you scolded him.  “Who leaves in the middle of a date?  With that bad of an excuse?”

“I hate wasting my time.  Didn’t we discuss how we should avoid doing that with our love lives,” he snarked.

You groaned, “There’s a difference between not wasting your time and being rude as heck.”

“So what?  She was abrasive, rude, cynical, and had a terrible sense of humor,” Minho said, as casually as if he was discussing the weather.  “I can’t believe you’re friends.”

“That’s a pretty great description of you, too,” you sassed back, irritation taking over.  “We might not be that close, but you can’t just insult everyone I set you up with.”

“Who said I wanted you to set me up with anyone?”

“I assumed you did, otherwise why are you going along with this?” you tried your best to calm down, lower your voice.  But something about Minho just put your back up.

“Uh,” Minho actually seemed lost for words.  Your ears perked up, eager to catch his answer.  “My mom wants to set me up with her friends’ daughters,” he tossed out at last.

Seemed a bit too easy.  “Sure,” you drawled, leaning back on the couch.

“Yes, really,” he sneered, and you giggled, picturing the exact expression on his face.

“Ok, whatever you say,” you allowed, laughing slightly.  “But you’re still going on a practice date.  Tomorrow night, six o’clock.  Meet me at the cafe.  If you’re not there, I’m gonna find your mom and help her out.”

You hung up on him before he could argue with you, grinning madly as you concocted your plan.

* * * * *

You half expected to wait for Minho to show up, much like your friend did, but much to your surprise, he was waiting for you under the awning when you arrived.  “You’re late,” Minho accused, and you grinned sheepishly.  You may or may not have lied about the time.  Just in case.

“The queen is never late.  Everyone else is simply early,” you quipped.  Minho rolled his eyes—absolutely what you expected.  You giggled, linking your arm through his and tugging him down the sidewalk with you.

“Woah,” Minho yanked at his arm, trying to free himself.  “If you wanted to hold hands, you could have asked.”

“You’re too much of a grinch, you’d just say no.”

“Exactly.  It’s called consent, sweetheart.”

He nearly fell at the sudden freedom when you released him, shoving your hands deeper into your pockets to escape the chill.  “Alright, follow me then, you unromantic dork.”  He muttered under his breath as you skipped away, having fun despite his attitude.  Time to show him what a real date looked like.

Five seconds later, and not even two blocks from the cafe, Minho groaned, “Are we there yet?”

“No.”

A pause, then, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” you told him, not for the first time.  He’d texted you all night, demanding to know, but your lips were sealed.

Except a certain someone seemed determined to annoy the answers out of you.  “Are we there yet?”

You sighed, your skip feeling a little less peppy.  “No.”

“Are we—”

“Minho,” you ground out.  “If you ask me that one more time, I’m taking you to get your nails done.”

“Ok, sure.  I could use a bit of pampering,” he said, the epitome of casual.

You stared at him.  “This feels like a trick,” you said slowly.

A grin flashed, “That’s because it is.  It’s after six, they’re all closed by now.”  But then he frowned slightly.  “Now you have me wanting a manicure though, I’ve never gotten one.”

Your brows were practically in your hairline but you just nodded.  “Ok, another time, then,” you agreed.  You caught sight of a familiar street sign and quickened your steps.  “Almost there,” you were nearly vibrating in excitement.  You felt Minho’s eyes on you, your skin prickling with awareness, but you ignored him in favor of racing around the street corner.  And there it was—the zoo!  All lit up...all lit…...not lit up at all.  Your feet stumbled to a halt.

“So the zoo is open at night now?” Minho inquired at your shoulder.

You gaped at the dark expanse before you.  “But where are the lights?”  Because indeed, not a single light was on in the zoo.  You’d just visited, not too long ago, and they had been open for night visits, so guests could walk around and see the trees all lit up, and wave hello to a few animals in the enclosures.

“Lights?”

“The Christmas lights,” you cried out, frantic.  “They were up the last time I was here.”

“You mean a month ago?  For Christmas?  Back when it was still December?” Minho questioned you.  You nearly snapped back before you realized.  It was January.  February next week.  Of course the lights were down, what kind of idiot were you?

You groaned in defeat, slumping against the wall and sliding down to a crouch.  You threw your arms over your head.  “I don’t know what we’re going to do, then.  I’m sorry I made you walk all this way,” you mumbled into your knees, wishing you could disappear into the sidewalk.  Gosh, and you’d really dragged him along, hadn’t you?  He obviously hadn’t been that excited, and all of your mysterious “it’s a surprise” nonsense only made this a bigger disappointment.

“It’s a Friday night, things are still open, you know,” Minho pointed out.  “So what if you somehow forgot a whole month happened.  I forget the year sometimes.”

“What are you, an old man?” you tried to perk up, but the tease fell flat.

“I’m only twenty-two.  You must be ancient.”  You picked up your head to look at him.  A faint smile curled on his lips as he played along.

“Oh my gosh, I’m your noona.  If you’re a grandpa, then I’m practically in the grave,” you forced out a chuckle.

Minho’s smile grew, and he extended a hand.  “Come on, get up.  Night’s still young.”

For a moment, you simply stared at his hand.  Then you met his dark gaze, “You aren’t going to take advantage of this?  I thought you hated the whole practice date idea.”

He sighed, wiggling his fingers at you.  “I don’t hate spending time with you, alright?  Now get up or I’m leaving you here.”

Your mouth twitched, a true smile threatening to form, and not just a cover-up.  You slid your hand in his gratefully, and Minho pulled you to your feet with more strength than you thought he had.  You blinked at him, realizing he hadn’t let your hand go yet.  But the second his eyes followed your gaze, he dropped it, sliding his hands into his pants pockets instead.

“So where to?” Minho asked.

You opened your mouth to respond, remembering a pretty little outdoor skating rink, but the skies cracked open, interrupting you with a sudden deluge.  You gasped as the first fat raindrops splattered on your forehead, eyes widening before you made a mad dash for the nearest storefront, Minho already a few steps ahead of you.

You’d barely been in the rain for a minute, but the icy water had your teeth chattering already.  Had it been any colder, this would’ve been pretty snow.  Instead, you got an arctic firehose.

Arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you peered down the street.  Beside you, Minho checked a weather app, hissing through his teeth.  “Looks like rain all night,” he muttered.

You groaned again, wanting to cry.  You’d completely messed up the evening, first with the lights, and now by not checking the weather.  You’d planned an outdoor date, why hadn’t you checked?

A hand brushed your shoulder lightly, barely detectable through your coat.  “Um, this might not be what you had planned, but my apartment is actually on this street.  Wanna just order pizza?”

Your first instinct was a vehement “no”, but you stopped that answer on the tip of your tongue.  Minho wasn’t one of the sleazy guys you’d gone out with in the past, the ones who’d thought an apartment invite was more than that.  Plus, this wasn’t a real date or anything.  It was a practice date, just pals, nothing crazy about that.  So why couldn’t you grab pizza at his place?  Especially with the monsoon and a long walk back to your own place.  And no umbrella.

You found yourself nodding, shivers wracking your body.  Minho’s teeth flashed in another fierce grin, “Alright, sweetheart, let’s make a run for it.  In three, two, one—”

The two of you raced down the slick sidewalks, dodging lampposts and puddles alike.  You skidded to a stop at one of the apartment buildings, nearly slamming into Minho’s back as he yanked the door open, and the two of you tumbled into the warm lobby.  Once out of the wet, Minho shook his head like a dog, water droplets spraying everywhere, and you shrieked, hands coming up to protect yourself.

“Sorry,” Minho laughed, not sounding apologetic in the least.  “I’m on the sixth floor, so we can take the elevator,” he said, pointing you in the right direction.

The ride up was awkward; the only sound was your jacket zipper rattling from the force of your shivers.  Minho unlocked the door to his apartment, waving a hand dramatically.  You stepped inside tentatively, toeing off your boots by the door.  You watched Minho follow suit, then pad over to a closet along one wall.  Your confusion abated when he emerged with towels, passing one to you with raised brows.  The two of you were still soaking wet, and you didn’t want to track rainwater all over his apartment.

Minho was already drying his head off one-handed.  When he stopped, letting the towel slip down to rest on his shoulders, you giggled at the sight of his hair.  He made a face, only adding to the comic effect of his hair standing on end.

“I know you drink coffee, but what about hot tea?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen while you continued to dab at your clothes.

You nodded enthusiastically, eyeing the space from where you stood in the entryway.  It was pretty minimal, not a ton of color or anything, but cozy.  Black couch, gray curtains, some photos on the wall.  Fairly tidy, but definitely nothing out of a magazine.  A meow at your feet interrupted your train of thought, and you looked down to coo at the cats that were slowly approaching.  “Well aren’t you gorgeous,” you complimented the bravest of the three, who nosed at your hand gingerly.

“Soonie, Doongi, and Dori,” Minho said, pointing at each cat in turn.  He leaned on the counter while waiting for the water to boil.

“They’re adorable,” you beamed at him.  “And much more friendly.”

“Hey,” he narrowed his eyes.  “I’m friendly.”

“Yeah, right,” you laughed at him.  Your mirth was interrupted by a fierce shiver, reminding you that you might not be dripping wet, but your clothes were still icy cold.

Minho eyed you as you wrapped your arms around yourself.  “I have sweats you can borrow.”

You started to protest, but the next shudder of cold made you change your mind.  Besides, you didn’t want to get his furniture soaking wet.  So you nodded and waited while Minho disappeared into the bedroom.  You shuffled awkwardly to the kitchen, toes curling in your socks.

Minho reappeared.  “Here,” he said, voice gruff.  He pressed a pair of sweatpants into your hands, along with a fuzzy looking sweatshirt.  Your turtleneck wasn’t too wet, just a little damp along the neckline, but you slid the extra layer over your head gratefully.  Before you had to ask him, Minho pointed to a half-open door.  “The bathroom.  I’m going to get something dry on, too,” he added.

You smiled in relief, escaping to the small bathroom gratefully.  As soon as the door was shut, you were scrabbling at the soaking wet denim, peeling it down your legs.  You grimaced, not missing this experience at all after the last time.  Minho’s sweatpants were soft and oh so warm by comparison.  And fleece-lined, too.  You slung your jeans over the shower rod to dry, rolled the ankles of your borrowed pants—just enough so you wouldn’t be drowning in excess material—and went in search of that promised hot tea.

You found Minho on the phone in the kitchen.  When he noticed you, he waved you closer.  “Do you like anything on your pizza?” he asked.

“Um,” you scrambled to collect your thoughts.  “Cheese?”

Minho cracked a smile.  “Cheese it is then.  And peppers, onions, cherry tomatoes, garlic, basil,” he rattled off what sounded like an entire grocery list.  When he noticed you staring, Minho raised his brows in confusion.  You shook your head with a small laugh, leaving him to it.  On the counter behind him, you found two mugs, tea bags already steeping.  You wrapped your cold fingers around one, humming in contentment.  Finally, the shivers stopped.

“Wanna watch a movie while we wait for pizza?” Minho asked, but then he froze, grimacing.  “Oh shit, sorry.  I mean, you can go home if you want.  I don’t mean to keep you if you don’t want to stay.  I have an umbrella, and you can keep the sweats I guess—”

“Sure how about a romance?” you interrupted him, grabbing your tea and making your way to the couch.  You plopped down, eyeing Minho, who was still stiff as a board by the counter.  You giggled at him, “Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two from Mr. Darcy.”

That seemed to knock him out of his stupor.  An indignant expression wiped away any trace of sheepishness, and he stomped over to find the remote.  “Yeah right,” he scoffed.  “I’m not watching a romance.”

“A romantic comedy then,” you decided, snatching the remote out of his hands.

He grabbed it back, lightning quick.  “Action.”

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms defiantly.  “Drama.  Fight me and I’ll demand a Hallmark movie.”

Minho smirked, “Fight me and I’ll make it a horror movie.”

You groaned in disgust, glaring at him.  “Ok, fine, let’s fight over it.  Rock, paper, scissors?”

He rolled his eyes, but ended up on the couch beside you, holding one fist out to meet yours.  “Best out of three,” he smirked.  “Get ready for a zombie fest.”

After a crushing defeat, Minho slumped on the couch, moaning dramatically when you selected Pride and Prejudice.  You giggled at the grumpy man beside you, and his similarity to Mr. Darcy.  Most notably their matching pouts.

To your surprise, Minho didn’t interrupt the movie once.  Sure, he grumbled at first, but when you snuck a peek at him after about half an hour, you caught him watching intently.

You’d seen the movie at least a dozen times by now, but you still couldn’t resist the pull, and your heart fluttered at the brush of hands the way it did every time.  Your breath caught at every interaction, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away to save your life.  Until the pizza arrived, at least.  You were about to press play, two slices at the ready, when Minho looked over at you.  “Why are you so in love with the idea of love?” he asked.

You gaped at him for a moment, taken aback.  “What?”

“Not just the movie, but real life,” he said, twisting to face you fully.  “Why are you so determined to find Mr. Right?  Or to set me up on the perfect date?”

“Don’t you want to find someone?” you questioned him, backing away from the question.  “You can’t possibly be putting up with me just to avoid your mom playing matchmaker.  I’m literally no better than that.”

He scoffed, “You haven’t met my mother.”

“Maybe I should team up with her.”

“Oh please no.”

You grinned, grabbing a slice of pizza.  “Oh please yes,” you teased.  “Two matchmakers are better than one.”

Minho shot you an unimpressed look.  “I told her I already have a girlfriend, but I felt bad lying to her, so I’m hanging out with you instead.”

You nearly choked on your pizza.  So you were a pity friend, great.  Or worse, you weren’t even real friends, you were just a convenient excuse to alleviate Minho’s guilt complex.  You set the slice back down, no longer hungry.

“Hey, you know I’m joking, right?  That was a joke.  I’m sarcastic all the time, remember?” Minho nudged you.

“Yeah, sure.”

Minho sighed, leaning over to bump his shoulder into yours.  “I might not love the matchmaking, or this dumb movie, but I guess I’m glad we bumped into each other so I could tell you to dump ghost boy from Tinder.”  You snorted, biting back a small smile.  Noticing this, Minho forged ahead, “And this better not be part of the act to get me to forget my first question, because you still haven’t answered.”

“Minho,” you whined.  “Why does it matter?”

“Pretend it’s girls night.  We’re practically having a sleepover, minus the nail polish and braids.  This is the part where we talk about boys,” he smirked.

“I hate you.”

“Do we need to watch 10 Things I Hate About You next?”

Your brows rose.  “I thought you didn’t like romance, how do you even know that movie?”

“.....No reason.  Now answer the question already,” he huffed.

You sighed, curling up on your end of the couch.  “I guess it’s just something I’m not good at, so I can’t help wanting it to fall in my lap,” you said.  “I can’t pull all nighters to find love, that’s not how it works.”

“Well no, studying isn’t the answer,” Minho agreed.

“My parents have the kind of love I want.  I’m not rosy-eyed or anything, I know it’s hard work and commitment.  But the friendship—that’s what I love the most.”

The two of you sat in silence for a little while, Minho chewing on your words.  And you mused on your recent attempts to find a partner.  Perhaps dating apps weren’t the way to go, you admitted.  Not to Minho, though.  He’d never let you hear the end of it.

“Maybe,” Minho started.  “You should look for new friends instead of new boyfriends.”

“What do you think this is?” you laughed.  “I’ve been setting you up, not looking on Tinder or whatever for myself.”

“Good, you’ve wasted enough time on those trash apps already,” he groused.

You grinned at him, “So I guess you don’t want me to start looking for Bumble girls, huh?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

You giggled, but Minho pressed play on the movie before you could tease him any more.  To your surprise, he looked as interested in the ending as you were.  You doubted he was misty-eyed like you, though.

A yawn snuck up on you, and you glanced at the clock in surprise.  How had it gotten so late?  “I should probably be going,” you started.

“I’ll walk you home.  It’s late.”  Minho grabbed your dishes to bring to the sink, snatching them right out of your hands.  You blinked after him, then shrugged, making your way to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, your jeans were still damp, but they’d be fine for the walk home.  You squeezed yourself back into the denim, emerging with the borrowed sweatpants.  “Laundry?” you asked, since Minho was busy with the dishes.

“Just inside the bedroom, next to the door,” he gestured with his chin, hands still sudsy.

You slid the sweatshirt off as well, placing both in the hamper by the door.  Despite your curiosity, you didn’t linger, but you caught a glimpse of an equally tidy bedroom.  And a large bed with dark sheets.  Why was your heart pounding?  Mr. Darcy hadn’t been that distracting.  You shook your head, hurrying out of the room.  Only then you came face-to-face with Minho, and you had to fight a blush.  What on earth was wrong with you?

The awkwardness continued, and you felt strange and itchy the whole walk home with Minho.  You were hyper aware of how close you were under the umbrella, of the way your elbows brushed every few steps.  Minho was surprisingly quiet, as well.  Ordinarily, he’d be making fun of you by now.

As you walked the last block together, you tilted your head to look at him.  “So tonight was a fail,” you said.

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“The practice date?” you giggled at his expression.  “Total failure.”

Minho’s frown deepened, “I thought it was fun.  Even if you made me watch a period drama.”

“Oh no, it was wonderful, but the date part of it was a bust.  We need to do another, since tonight doesn’t count,” you told him, slowing to a stop in front of your building’s entrance.

“Well what does count?” Minho asked, exasperation dripping from his tone.

“Hmm, something in public.  No one ever does a private first date, and obviously that’s what you need the most help with,” you sassed.  “Maybe I’ll kick your ass in laser tag or something.”

“Maybe I should beat you in bowling,” Minho retorted.

You hummed, tapping a finger off your chin.  “You might be onto something, actually.  How about you come up with our next practice date.  That’s your homework.”

“Since when is this a class?  With homework assignments?” Minho demanded.

“Oh shut it, or I’m making profiles for you on every dating app I know.”

* * * * *

You looked over at Minho, suspicion tugging at you.  “So when you said you should beat me at bowling, did you mean it?”

“I’m going to try and win at whatever we do, I’m competitive like that,” Minho said, holding the door open for you.

“No, I mean, are you secretly a professional bowler or something?” you corrected, making your way towards the shoe rental.

Minho chuckled, “I doubt you’ll believe whatever I say.”

You opened your mouth to object, but decided he was right.  “You better not be hustling me,” you threatened, slapping cash down on the counter.

“Pay per game or pay per hour?” the attendant asked.

Minho cheekily slid a few bills beside yours.  “Best out of three?”

“Insufferable,” you muttered, watching as the attendant took his money instead of yours.

At least Minho looked just as goofy as you did.  The brightly colored bowling shoes looked very out of place against his “cool guy” outfit.  You’d already poked fun at him.  Who showed up to a date wearing sweats?  Not that he looked bad in them, but you had at least dressed up a bit.  Then again, you might not have worn a dress if you had known that bowling was on the agenda.  You tugged at the sleeves of your sweater dress, feeling a bit out of place as you looked at all of the other couples.  Jeans, slacks, more jeans...why had you decided to dress up?  You should’ve known Minho would pick something casual.

“Hey, you wanna go first, or should I?” Minho’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you shook the negativity away gratefully.

“You go ahead,” you called over to him, trying to find a smile.  What were you so worked up about?  It’s not like this was a real date.  You could have shown up in a potato sack if you wanted, you weren’t trying to impress anyone, least of all Minho.  On that thought, maybe he had the better idea after all.  You eyed his sweatpants enviously.  You knew how comfy they were, and they’d doubtless be better than the tights you were terrified of ripping.

“Ok sweetheart, prepare for a thrashing,” Minho joked, selecting a bowling ball from the rack.

“You prepare for a thrashing,” you countered, despite knowing it was an empty threat.  You probably needed the bumpers if you wanted anything but gutter balls.  Then you caught sight of the names on the board.  “Did you seriously make my nickname ‘Loser’?  What are we, five?”

Minho smirked as he passed you.  “We’ve been over this, I’m a grandpa, you’ve got one foot in the grave.  Childish antics are beneath us,” he said with a laugh.

“So you’re ‘Lee Know’?” you inquired, curious about his chosen nickname.

Minho turned to face you, tilting his head.  “Yeah, that’s what my friends call me.”

“...Am I supposed to call you that?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?  Call me whatever you want.  Just not ‘asshole’,” he joked.  Your heart warmed, and a true smile found its way to your lips.  You watched as Minho wiggled a little, eyeing the pins at the end of the lane.  Then, to your utmost surprise, he turned around and rolled the ball between his legs.

“What?” you choked on a laugh, nearly falling over at the sight.  Minho backed up, and you both watched as the ball rolled down the lane, painfully slow.  It ended up knocking down half of the pins, much to your surprise.  Minho just looked proud as he picked up another ball.  Miracle of miracles, he wound up with a spare.

You had no words, didn’t even bother trying to explain how his technique had any sort of success.  Your own attempt was...pitiful by comparison.  Your form looked good, but both balls wound up in the gutter in a matter of seconds.

Minho didn’t waste the opportunity to gloat.  “Told you I’d beat you at bowling,” he said with a wink.

You grumbled, flopping down onto the bench next to him.  “I didn’t expect you to be successful at the toddler technique.”

“Give it a go, maybe we’ll change your nickname if you win,” he laughed, getting up for his turn.

Halfway through the game, you even tried the ‘toddler technique’.  This was also a fail, made worse with the mortifying realization that your underwear would be visible if you bent over too far.  When your attempt ended up in the gutter, you resolved to get bumpers for the next game.

But Minho had other plans.  You had just approached the lane when you felt a hand on your shoulder.  “Keep your wrist straight, you keep twisting it at the last second,” he said.

You turned to face him, finding him close behind you.  “Anything else, wise one?”

“Don’t overthink it,” he smiled at you.  This close, you could swear his eyes were twinkling.  “We can both go get bumpers next round, I need them almost as much as you.  I’m amazed at my own streak of luck tonight.”

“I’m terrible at bowling,” you whined, looking away from him.  Your cheeks felt warm.  Gosh, it was embarrassing to be this bad.

“We can go do something else, we don’t even need to finish this game, let alone all three.  As long as you’re having fun, I’m happy.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, but looked away quickly.  He was watching you so intently, the flush burned hotter, threatening to run down your neck.  “I’m sorry you paid for so many games.  We can definitely finish them, it’s fine—”

“I’ll never make you do something you don’t want to do,” Minho murmured.  You looked at him in surprise, surprised to hear him sounding sincere rather than snarky.  “Otherwise, I’d be a shitty friend, wouldn’t I?”

“Right, yeah.  An asshole friend,” you agreed, nearly stumbling over the words.

“Ok, I’ll let you focus on your first strike of the night.  Don’t overthink it,” he reminded you, walking back to the bench.

You nodded, ignoring the tight feeling in your stomach that reminded you of disappointment.  And you sank another one right into the gutter.

Minho’s solution to the bowling fiasco was consolation ice cream.  Somewhat surprising, since a part of you had expected him to gloat.  Instead, he talked about anything and everything but bowling, entertaining you while you both sat at the window of the local shop.  You simply watched him, enraptured.  He had hardly opened up at all to you at first.  Visiting his apartment felt like the first peek into the real Minho.  The happy memories captured in picture frames, the handmade mementos here and there on shelves, all hints as to the soft interior of your once-prickly friend.  Now he was regaling you with stories of his best friends—brothers, by the sound of it.  Loving rivalry, playful banter, sibling torment.  And the look on his face...pride.  He was proud of them, his family.

Then you paused, tilted your head to look at him anew.  When had Minho stopped being prickly?  Where was the cynical, negative, angsty boy you’d befriended, partly out of spite?  When had he stopped trying to hold you back with barbed wire edges?

When Minho caught your gaze, he lifted one brow, mouth twitching into a crooked smile.  “See something you like?” he sassed you.  But his remark was devoid of bitterness.  It wasn’t mocking, it was warm, inviting.  It was asking you to join in on the joke.

“Yeah,” you said softly.  Then you turned up the wattage on your smile, grinning widely at him.  “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

Minho rolled his eyes at your antics, spinning his ice cream cone between his fingers.  But hidden behind your grin was more than a little truth.

* * * * *

You knocked on the door, stepping back tentatively.  You could hear raucous laughter on the other side, which would ordinarily have you curious, maybe a little excited to join in.  Not tonight.  Right now, standing in the hallway outside Minho’s apartment, you were nervous as hell.  And on top of it all, you were nearly an hour late, having dragged your feet the whole way there.

“Stop it, this is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, shifting from foot to foot.  It felt like meeting the parents, which was dumb.  Firstly, you and Minho were not dating.  Secondly, these were his best friends, not his parents.  And thirdly, you and Minho were good friends.  You had nothing to worry about.  Absolutely nothing.

Which was why you were currently worrying all over the place about meeting Minho’s best friends.  What if they hated you?  Or worse, what if they pitied you?  You thought you’d disappear into a crack in the earth if that happened.

Before you could spend too long contemplating your inevitable end, the door swung open, and a boy came rushing out at you.  You gasped, jumping back before he could run into you.

“Sorry, sorry, excuse me!” he blurted, skidding to a stop, then immediately taking off running down the hallway.

You blinked in confusion, but your eyes only widened when a second boy came barrelling out of the apartment after the first.  “Minho?”

Minho paused briefly, eyes alighting on your stiff figure.  “Hi!  Um, I need to take care of something, but I’ll be right back.  Go on in,” he waved at you, breaking into a jog, and then a sprint.

Immensely confused, you peered into the apartment, now that the door was wide open.  Now or never, you told yourself firmly.  Easing through the doorway, you caught sight of six more boys in various states of chaos.  Upon noticing your entrance, they all froze.  “Uh, hello there,” came a voice on your right.  You looked over to see two boys in the kitchen, appearing to be mid-struggle with a bag of popcorn.  “You must be Minho’s friend, he said you’d be coming.”

You gave a tiny wave, pasting on a sunshine smile.  “Hi guys, it’s nice to meet you, I think?  Should I be concerned about the escapee?”

Popcorn boy number two laughed, arms bulging as he ripped open the bag.  “Oh no, Hyunjin will be fine.  Minho hasn’t made him eat toilet paper in years, he’s above that now.”  You must have looked concerned, because the boy chuckled again, waving you off.  “It’s all empty threats with that one.  Mostly.  I’m Changbin, by the way.”

Popcorn boy number one stepped forward, extending a hand to shake.  “I’m Chan, and this is our menagerie of chaos.  Let me introduce you to everyone,” he offered.  You grinned at him, relieved.

By the time Minho returned, practically dragging Hyunjin with him, you were giggling on the couch with the rest of the boys, embroiled in a fierce MarioKart race.  With Hyunjin still trapped in a headlock, Minho paused to watch.  You just barely caught a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye, too focused on staying on the track.  Jeongin had chosen Rainbow Road for your first match, and you were determined to crush them in the dust.  Even if it had been several years since you last played.

You watched as your character was knocked off the edge, a cry of dismay falling from your lips.  “Dang it, I wasn’t even in first place, what gives?”

Han grinned victoriously, only to cry out when he accidentally drove over the edge as well.  “Friends fall together?” he joked.

“You made me go ziplining.  Alone,” Minho said, announcing his presence at last.

“Uhhhh,” Han fumbled for an excuse.  “You love me anyway, though, right?”

Before Minho could retort, Seungmin stood up.  “You can play next, if you want,” he offered.

The rest of you blinked at him in surprise, before looking at his screen and realizing he’d already won the race.  Jeongin groaned dramatically, flailing on the couch as he came in second.  You and Han just gave up entirely, letting your characters fall off the track once more.  Meanwhile, Minho finally decided to release Hyunjin, and the blonde escaped to the other end of the couch, diving into a bowl of chips like nothing had happened.

Felix looked excited, so you tossed him your remote for the next round.  “I believe I was promised food,” you said, arching an eyebrow in Minho’s direction.

“I believe I told you to arrive at six,” he fired back, stalking towards you.  He finally stopped a foot away, looming over you.

You smirked at him, “What did I tell you on our first date?”

The room went silent, and you froze, realizing your mistake.  “You guys are dating and you didn’t tell us?” Han exclaimed, eyes wide.

Your mouth opened and closed, but you couldn’t seem to find any words.

“Oh yeah, real fancy dates, too.  We had dinner at the Eiffel tower last week,” Minho drawled.  “Isn’t that right, sugar plum?”  The cherry on top was when he reached out, lightly pinching your cheek.

A stranger might have mistaken his dry tone for sincerity, but everyone in the room knew Minho’s humor well.  Half of the group dissolved into giggles.  Changbin rolled his eyes and threw a pillow, but Minho caught it before it could smack into you.  “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend,” Changbin joked.

“All those promises and no follow through,” Han clucked his tongue in mock-disapproval, then ducked when Minho tossed the pillow at him next.

Your cheeks threatened to catch on fire again.  The situation only worsened when you met Minho’s dark gaze, his eyes ensnaring you.  “So,” you threw out desperately, clapping your hands together.  “The food?  Or am I going to starve?  Not very boyfriend-like,” you tried to laugh.  The joke must have been convincing, because the boys merely chuckled, going back to their game.

Minho still hadn’t moved from where he stood over you.  Instead of moving back so you could get up, he extended a hand.  You bit your lip, teeth digging in, but you placed your hand in his rather than make a scene.  The last thing you wanted was more attention, especially with your cheeks warming up past their usual temperature.

Fortunately, he released you as soon as you regained your footing.  Your fingers flexed lightly, hand falling back to your side.  You kept your chin high as you followed Minho to the kitchen, ignoring the prickling feeling that the boys were still watching you.

“Pizza?” you blurted out, incredulous.  “Don’t you eat anything else?”

Minho snorted, leaning against the counter.  “For the record, I do know how to cook.”

You snooped in the fridge, disbelieving.  “Of course, all evidence points to you being a five star chef,” you said, casting a pointed look at the empty shelves within.

He chuckled, folding his arms while he watched you investigate.  “Sweetheart, if you wanted me to cook for you, all you had to do was ask.”

You hummed, closing the refrigerator once more.  “I’m kinda afraid you’ll burn something, to be honest,” you teased, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and selecting a slice of now-cold pizza.  You popped the pizza in the microwave, then relaxed against the counter opposite Minho.  He was still watching you intently, and you frowned.  “What?  Do I have something on my face?” you asked him.

Minho shook his head wordlessly.  Self-consciousness took hold, and you looked down awkwardly, brushing your hair behind one ear.  “Hey, I’m sorry about what I said.  I totally didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

“I know,” he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a half smile.

You tipped your chin again, unable to look at him for long.  Even if Minho seemed to forgive your blunder, you still couldn’t believe you’d blurted that out.  Your hair fell in front of your face again, and you let it, happy to hide behind the locks.

Then another pair of feet appeared a few inches from yours.  Plain black socks next to your patterned ones, covered in cartoon rainbows.  Then a butterfly touch along the side of your face, soft enough that you almost doubted the sensation.  You lifted your gaze, but this time, Minho’s eyes weren’t on yours.  Instead, his laser focus was directed on the hair he was gently situating behind your ear again.

You realized you had forgotten to breathe when he finally took a step back, and your lungs remembered to inflate.

“For the record, you’re right,” Minho said softly.  “The queen is never late.”

* * * * *

It was nearing midnight by the time Minho’s friends started leaving.  You eyed the clock, then went to grab your shoes as well.  “I better get going, I want to get home sometime before dawn,” you joked.

“How close do you live?  Are you taking the bus?” Chan asked, worry evident in his tone.

You waved him off, “I’m just a few blocks away, not too long of a walk.  Bus doesn’t run after ten or so, anyway.”

Chan frowned, but Minho cut him off before he could say anything.  “I was going to walk her home, it’s pretty late.”

That was a surprise to you, but seemed to alleviate Chan’s concern.  The others waved goodbye on their way out, Chan following them.  “Nice to meet you,” he said, shooting you a quick grin before closing the door behind him.

“You really don’t have to,” you started.

“I want to.  It’s late,” Minho reminded you.

“I didn’t argue last time, but I didn’t want to steal your umbrella.”  You narrowed your eyes at him.  “I’m not some little girl in need of protection.  It’s a perfectly safe neighborhood.”

Minho didn’t look up, busy tying his shoes.  “I like walking.”

“At midnight?”

“Any time of day, really.”

You rolled your eyes.  “Do you walk Jeongin home, too?”

“Sure did.  He moved in with Han, though, so I don’t anymore,” he said simply.  “You don’t have a roommate.  If no one’s there to make sure you get home safe, I want to walk with you.”

You gaped at him, unable to fault his logic.  And not really wanting to.  “Thanks,” you murmured, scuffing one shoe into the floor.

Minho stood up again, a crooked smile on his lips.  “Don’t mention it,” he said, snagging his keys.  “After you.”

Walking home with Minho, you were reminded of the first time.  Then, you’d been so awkward, quiet.  Unsure of yourself.  You’d been worried that you were some kind of pity friend at first, but after getting to know Minho, you knew that wasn’t the case.  And now that you’d grown comfortable around each other, you could hardly get him to shut up.  Even now, he was talking about his dance team’s newest choreo, his words running together from excitement.

You smiled, just listening.  This was all you really wanted, if you let yourself admit it.  The Tinder dates were just a shit attempt at finding someone to sit and listen to for hours.  You wanted movie nights and quiet mornings with someone who cared about you.  You wanted a cute little house and kids and a dog.  Maybe a cat.  Maybe three.

Shit.

You were so wrapped up in your realization that you didn’t realize you’d reached your apartment building until Minho snagged your elbow to pull you to a stop.  “This isn’t a midnight hike, where do you think you’re going?” he asked incredulously.

You laughed nervously, “Oh, sorry, I was pretty lost in thought.”

“Apparently.  Were you listening to a word I said?  Some friend you are,” he snorted.

Friend.  Right.  Your realization didn’t mean much.  Why were you surprised?  You hadn’t had luck in the romantic department in years, why would that change now?  Minho was your friend, and it was obvious that his opinion of you wasn’t going to change.  Why would it?  He was way out of your league.

Gosh, now you felt like a fool.  You’d really just daydreamed about a happily ever after with him.  Why did you ever bother getting your hopes up?  You were always bound for disappointment.  Hadn’t your crappy dates taught you anything?

Minho called your name, bringing you back down to reality.  “Sorry,” you muttered, fumbling in your bag to find your keys.

“Are you alright?” he asked.  Shoot, now he sounded concerned.

You pasted a sunny smile on your face, “Totally fine.  Thank you for walking me back.  I won’t keep you any longer.”

You turned away to walk up the steps, but the smile fell as soon as he was out of sight.  How were you only just coming to the realization that you were halfway—or perhaps all the way—in love with him?  His face was burned into your mind’s eye.  Brows furrowed in confusion, slight pout, and those damned eyes.  You’d probably been in love with his eyes from the beginning.

“I only agreed to let you play matchmaker so I could see you again.”

You stopped at the top of the steps, not quite believing your ears.  Turning slightly, you looked at Minho over your shoulder.

Once he had your attention, he continued, “I bailed on the date with your friend because I knew you’d yell at me.”

Lips parting in surprise, you turned to face him fully.  Minho put a foot on the first step, gaze locked on yours.  You weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you, but his mouth softened into a slight smile.

“I was going to do the classic move of teaching you to bowl, but I chickened out,” he said.  “I wish I hadn’t.”

“What are you...why are you telling me this?” you asked, fingers curling nervously.

He ascended another step, “You only smile like that when you’re sad.  When you start getting in your own head about what you deserve.”  Another step, “And I’m tired of hiding.”

Now he was only two steps away.  Close enough to touch, if you dared to reach out.  You didn’t.  “We’re friends,” you said, voice small.

“Yeah, we are,” he agreed.  Then he bit his lip, drawing your attention like bees to honey.  You sucked in a breath, closing your eyes firmly.  When you opened them, Minho was on the step just below you.  “Tell me to stop,” he said, voice low.  You didn’t.

Your breath stuttered to a stop, your whole body stilling at the electric shock of his lips on yours.  For a moment, you were frozen, utterly focused on the whisper of a touch.  Then Minho pulled away, and you could breathe again, gasping for air.  But you didn’t want it to be over.  Your eyes fluttered open, finding his dark gaze melting into you.

This time, you let yourself fall into him, ignoring the voice in the back of your head that said this was a fantasy.  He caught you, one arm wrapping around your waist, his other hand coming to your jawline.  He ascended that final step, pulling your body into his.  His lips were plush, a little dry.  Real.  Minho was here, warm under your fingertips.

His hand slid up into your hair, slowly enough to make you shiver.  You sighed into the kiss, goosebumps appearing on your arms as his fingers gently tugged the strands.  And then his mouth opened beneath you, and you let yourself tumble into sensation, drowning in him.

You don’t know how long you kissed, but your heart was racing when you finally came up for air.  Minho panted, little breaths puffing against your lips.  He rested his forehead against yours, the weight somehow grounding you.

“Do you understand now?”  Minho’s voice was hoarse, deeper than before.  You shivered, just a bit, and the corner of his lips twitched up.

You couldn’t find words, unable to string any coherent thoughts together.  And you didn’t really want to, happy to have your mind all to yourself, no doubts in sight.  You leaned forward, placing a small kiss on the tip of Minho’s nose.  He scrunched his face up, making you giggle.  But you needed to know one thing.  “Are we—are things different now?”

“We’re dating.  Unless you don’t want that,” he backtracked, eyes wide.

You grinned at him.  “I do.”

He heaved out a sigh of relief.  “Thank goodness.  I thought I really fucked up there.”

Now you really laughed, head falling forward to rest on his chest.  Minho’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer than you thought was possible.  You could hear his heartbeat, thudding just as fast as yours.

“You said the friendship was your favorite part of love,” Minho mused.  You hummed in agreement, nodding against him.  “Well I hope you don’t get sick of me.  I hear I’m pretty annoying.”

“Minho,” you rolled your eyes.

“I know you just rolled your eyes at me,” he teased.

“Well, you are annoying.  But I suppose it’s a part of your charm.”

He chuckled, “So that means you like my jokes?”

You smiled fondly, “Don’t push it.”

* * * * *

Masterlist

[tellmenauineo]

colored by you

pairing: mingyu x reader, vernon x reader

genre: soulmate!au, angst, fluff, smut, comedy (at some points)

warnings: mentions of alcholol and weed, language, unprotected sex   

summary: eventually, we fall in love with people who the universe destined us to. but there are complications sometimes. 

word count: 11k (i refuse to comment) 

a/n: tell me what you think even if you found it bad 🤧🤧 i’m in NEED of feedback,, stay safe during the pandemic and feel free to talk to me!! i’m sorta back 🤠🤠

“I'd prefer if you showed more enthusiasm about it. Success is never an accident,” your mother reads you a lesson, a reproach can be heard in her voice. Your sigh, wishing this conversation to be over so you’ll finally be able to hang up your phone. 

“Some people aren't built happy, or cheerful, or forever excited, you know,” you mumble. “I'm satisfied with my academical success – but maybe it isn't a thing I want to achieve now. I don't know.”

“Of course, people aren't built happy – that’s why the Universe made a soulmate for each of us. To make us happy. That's how it works.”

“Uh-huh.”

“One day you’ll understand,” your mother continues. “And you will be happier, happier than ever. Your time will come.”

You won't understand.

The Universe made a soulmate for each of us. The Universe made sure we’ll be aware who is the one, the one, as your mother says, who’ll make you happier and complete, too. It's pretty simple. First words addressing you that you would hear from your soulmate get imprinted on the skin of your ribcage. Close to your heart.

The mechanism of The Universe is perfect. But, sometimes, even perfect-made things get broken.

You won't understand because you already have words tattooed on your skin.

“I guess, we can say love is an accident, isn't it?” you say. “Anyway, I gotta go, mom. I'll call you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Take care of yourself. And don't stay up late.”

“We both know I'm gonna stay up late,” you smile. “Bye!”

It happened in cold January, four months ago.

“Shrimp Pad Thai?” Chan asks you.

“Mm, yes,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes innocently. Chan gasps and raises his eyebrows in a fake disbelief, but you don't let him open his mouth to say something very sarcastic about you and your habits in eating. “I'm your customer, where are your manners? What if I leave?”

“Then you'll leave and won't have our Shrimp Pad Thai which you order five days a week,” he shrugs.

“I'm older than you – pay me respect!”

“I do? Always? Our very important customer who always eats the same,” he playfully sing-songs and you roll your eyes, trying your best not to give him a smile.

“Go and get us food already,” Momo says. “Both of you better not play on my nerves when I'm hungry.”

When the orders are made and Chan leaves to the kitchen, you get up from your seat.

“I'm going to wash my hands,” you announce, and your friend nods at it.

On your way to the restrooms you recognize a bunch of boys sitting at the window booth. Kim Mingyu, Wen Junhui and Jeon Wonwoo – all of them are in Soonyoung’s group of friends. Wonwoo smiles and waves his hand and you return the gesture. You nod at Junhui and Mingyu – who looks incredibly soft and cute in his light-gray hoodie with his rose cheeks – seems that the ramen he is eating is too spicy for him. He gives you a little “hey”, smiling at you, and you immediately feel how your own cheeks turn blushy. To prevent your embarrassment in front of them, you try to speed up, but, suddenly, collide with someone.

“Uh, I can feel my chilli sauce dripping.”

You look up at the source of the voice, Chwe Hansol, the new Soonyoung’s roommate you heard a lot about (and you’re aware that Soonyoung not just can’t stop telling embarrassing stories about you to his roommate, but also shows him your pictures, because yes, in Soonyoung’s words, it’s a crime if you don’t put on display your best friend and your wonderful, a movie-worthy, friendship) and, apparently, there is no bottle of chilli sauce in his hands. A smug smile is playing on his lips and his chocolate eyes are glistening with a mischief.

“Nice try,” you don't hide a hint of a wipe in your voice as you start moving towards the restrooms – you swear a trip to them never took that long.

You catch Hansol's gaze on you on the way back to your and Momo’s booth and you have nothing to do but narrow your eyes at him, making him smile even wider.

“He's cute, though. The Hansol guy I mean,” Momo concludes after you finished your dinner. “But no shit they're loud.”

You cast an eye at their boost. Mingyu is the loudest and the most talkative among them – but, somehow, looking at him telling something, wildly gesticulating, makes your heart melt a little.

Stupid, you think, it's almost close to feeling happy. 

You spot the tattoo when you go to take a shower that night.

Your heart sinks at the sight of the words.

“Uh, I can feel my chilli sauce dripping.”

You don't tell anyone.

“I can take it as an offend, you know,” Soonyoung whines. “You've been turning down my home party offers for more than a month!”

“Um, you haven’t had any,” you say.

It’s true – you try your best to avoid Hansol, and it works even despite the fact he lives with your best friend (sometimes you’re wondering how Soonyoung and Hansol, the pair of complete opposites, rub along okay together, but maybe opposites indeed attract?). You’re not fond of the idea you reduced all your social interactions, but at least you do your huge amount of homework in time – that’s why Soonyoung once called you a homework-doing machine.

Yes, that’s lame.

“It’s because you didn’t come!”

You’re clearly under pressure. You can crack under it a little bit.

Just a little bit.

“Because I-” you forget what you want to say to explain yourself. Or, rather, to fudge up an excuse to trick Soonyoung and keep staying from Hansol as long as possible. “It’s complicated. Besides, your roommate sticks at home for days on end, and if I want to spend time with you I want us to be alone,” you point at him with your pen.

His eyes are getting wider and wider with each millisecond and finally he gasps,

“Are you in love with me?!”

Well.

“What if I am?” you challenge. At the end of the day, that’s the words of the woman who has nothing to lose.

“I-” it’s Soonyoung, who is under pressure right now. “I love you, you know it-”

“But, there’s always a but,” you sigh in a fake manner. “I understand. Maybe I haven’t yearned it yet,” you place your hand over his, and his eyes are glued to your hands. “But, Soonyoung, I want to hear ‘horanghae’ from you someday. Will my dream come true?”

He lifts up his eyes to you. Soonyoung’s known you for over a decade and he clearly can say you’re on the verge of bursting into a hearty laugh despite your dying attempts to keep your face straight. He snaps his hand away and stands up.

“Yah! You betrayed me!” he points a finger at you. “Yah!” he continues in a voice that is a few octaves higher than his usual. “You are gonna pay for your betrayal!”

“Sure thing,” you manage to say through your laugh. You’re well aware that almost all eyes in the campus cafeteria are on you, but it was quite common when the two of you were together. “I’ll see you in court, horangi.” 

You wish you were in court.

Instead, you’re in Soonyoung and Hansol’s kitchen, mixing the sickest possible cocktail ever – and you’re not proud of yourself.

“Why it looks like wiper fluid but tastes like lab alcohol?” Seungkwan asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Your mirror his expression.

“Um, the creator would like to take to his own grave the secret receipt of this… shit,” you say.

By the creator you mean Soonyoung. You’re on duty tonight – it’s Hansol and Seokmin’s double birthday party and you’re in charge of everything – your best friend had no mercy for the cafeteria joke.

“Don’t tell me the upcoming birthday cakes have the same creator,” the boy says, patting his blond locks back into place. You assume he was dancing, or, more likely, slamming in the living room, while you hide in the kitchen, still avoiding Seokmin co-star of this night, Hansol.

“Nah, I ordered them in the bakery. Customized ones!”

“You should’ve asked me to bake the cakes,” the third person enters the room, and your heart skips a bit. Mingyu walks towards you and Seungkwan and leans on the counter, still having his eyes on you. “I need to improve my baking skills.”

You feel how your cheeks flushing up. Shit, you curse in your head, he just made an appearance and you’re already turning into mush.

“Next time maybe?” you ask, your voice is much more gentle than usual. “Whose birthday is next?”

“Mine,” smiles Mingyu. “But I don’t want to hold a party this year – wanna share a dinner tete-a-tete with someone.”

“Such a great plan! Except for one thing – you don’t have ‘someone’,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“I’ll find one,” Mingyu’s words are steady but his movements are not. His right elbow slips off the counter, and the boy hisses. “I’m already working on this.”

“Sure thing, tiger,” you smile despite feeling that something is scratching your guts in your belly – disappointment? jealousy? sadness? Maybe all of them and maybe none.

You have a soulmate for fuck’s sake and it’s not Mingyu.

“Whatever,” Seungkwan mutters. “I’m going back to the party and I strongly recommend you to stop hiding here,” he says, looking you right in the eyes. “He won’t bite you, you know?”

“What are you talking about?!” you exclaim, but Seungkwan only shrugs.

“Have no idea.”

You want to follow him, take him by the shoulders and ask about everything he knows about – did Hansol tell him about you? Seems so. Has he, Seungkwan, launched the making of the two of you a couple campaign? If yes, you’re doomed.

Mingyu stops you from storming out of the kitchen – you’re back to the reality with his warm hand wrapped around your wrist and you turn to him in surprise, your cheeks already flushed.

“Yes?” you manage to mumble.

“Who are you hiding from?” he asks, and you almost hear concern in his voice. Or maybe you imagine it all.

“Um- no one? He’s being delusional like always, you know?”

“You sure?’ his hand is getting lower, and unexpectedly you find your fingers intertwining with his. Mingyu’s hand is much larger and warmer than yours, his hold isn’t tight, but it magically makes you forget about the whole the soulmate and his wingman thing.

It makes you forget about everything except for this particular moment – Mingyu’s dark eyes on you, your hand in his and the echo of the music playing in the living room. His bronze skin’s glowing in the dim kitchen light (one of the bulbs is dead and neither Soonyoung or Hansol wants to do something about it), his face is innocent and the only thing you can think about – your uncontrollable desire to kiss off two worry lines between his perfect eyebrows.

You don’t even notice that you’re holding your breath, too afraid to interrupt the moment.

“I’m sure,” you whisper and he nods. Mingyu probably can hear the beating of your racing heart, and you don’t mind at all – you would eagerly tell him how he makes you feel if he wants to know.

He leans closer to you, his breath is tickling the soft skin of your cheek and you hear him ask,

“May I?”

But before you can nod, Seokmin’s piercing voice, like a bolt out of the blue, is calling your name,

“Soonyoung’s trying to kiss me!”

He is louder than any bomb, you think, and that’s enough to take you out of the trance. You slowly turn to him, letting go of Mingyu’s hold on your wrist.

“It’s his way to wish you a happy birthday,” you negotiate, but Seokmin’s gaze is wandering between your and Mingyu’s bodies. His hand follows his eyes, gesturing at the two of you.

“Are you-”

“No, no, no,” you cut him off.

“Man, you need me to get the thing squared away?” Mingyu sounds irritated. You turn your head to steal a look of him. You never saw him like that – at least, not with his friends. Even when his team was defeated at the bowling a month or so ago he seemed worn out, but no hint of irritation on his face – just an exhausted smile combined with a self-mockery behavior. That night you almost regretted saying your wrist was injured so you spent the whole game sipping bubble teas instead of helping your team from sinking to the bottom.

(Jeonghan didn’t buy that spectacular performance, by the way)

“I came to complain?” he looks at you, the eyes so innocent, calling for help, so you smile in response – it’s always like this with Seokmin – the boy can melt even stone hearts.

“Let me check on him,” you say to Seokmin, and he eagerly nods. You pat on Mingyu’s right forearm, your fingers stay on his hard bicep for a little too long, and it makes you lick your lips. “And if he needs to get into bed, I expect some help from you, Mingyu.”

His face softens, and he chuckles, closing his eyes for a second.

“Let’s get it then.”

“I ain’t leaving till I help you with this,” Mingyu says, referring to the apartment that looks like a battlefield (of beer pong). “You already look tired.”

“I’m tired,” you admit. “But you have classes like in…” you check your watch. “…four hours.”

“I’ll sit in the back of the classroom,” seeing the question in your eyes, he adds. “I’ll catch some sleep, don’t worry.”

“Sounds stupid, but I guess nothing would change your mind,” you give up, and a proud smile appears on his face. “The living room is yours then,” you give him an evil smile, your hand lands on his firm chest, patting it twice. “Have fun!”

When you step into the kitchen, a sigh of disappointment leaves your lips, despite your vain attempt to suppress it.

Hansol sits in the white plastic chair, mindlessly scrolling through whichever app is it’s feed. He looks up at you, but he next second his eyes are back on the screen.

Your body feels stiff, like you’re made of wood, but you force yourself to approach the counter. The desire to disappear is so strong that you find yourself not breathing at all – like if you make less noises, the more Hansol is unaware you’re in the same room with him.

You grab a handful of orange peels to throw in the trash can under the sink when you hear Hansol voice, “Why didn’t you throw out all of them?” You turn to the boy, cheeks already red, and anger is bubbling in your stomach. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he lets a hoarse laugh.

“I’m joking, jeez. No need to sulk.”

You don’t return his smile, instead turning away from him to take the leftovers, and say,

“It couldn’t fit in my hand.”

He coos at your words, and you feel stupid.

“Soonyoung was right. You’re an absolute doll.”

“Not impressed,” you roll your eyes, but you feel no confidence in your voice. You face Hansol again, a mischievous glint in his big eyes can be spotted even from across the kitchen. “Your eyes are red,” you notice. “Are you stoned?”

“Maybe so,” he yawns, stretching out in the chair that is about to crack under his weight at any minute. “I don’t mind you tucking me in, though. You seem to be a pro.”

“Well, don’t overdo it,” you say. “The scientists say weed makes people stupid.”

“And affects their memory,” he adds. “But it makes me copy.”

“With what?”

Hansol shrugs and his gaze falls to his knees. He radiates hesitation, and you gulp the pulse in your throat, afraid to hear the truth.

“With me being avoided by my own soulmate like I’m sorta of a plague? Sorta.”

A wave of pure heat that feels like a fever, a bad fever, runs through your body. The whole soulmate thing was supposed to be a blessing, but it feels like a curse. Without thinking, you pathetically mumble,

“I thought you don’t care.”

You really did. For the last few weeks you’ve been living in the bubble made of your own sorrows, disappointments, and self-pity, and the thought of what Hansol feels and thinks about it never crossed your mind.

“Whatever,” he says. “I got your point.”

Hansol doesn’t wait for the unspoken words that are stuck in the back of your throat, ringing in your ears over and over as you watch him leaving the kitchen. He stops at the doorframe with his hand in his dark locks – it’s so odd to see him not wearing a beanie – and slowly turns to you.

“Leave this shit to Soonyoung,” he says.

“Okay,” you mutter.

He calls your name, shooting the arrow of guilt right into your heart.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

When Mingyu returns to ask where he can find another bag for trash, you cling to the boy’s chest, and skipping all the questions on the tip of his tongue, Mingyu clasps his arms around you. His chin is snuggling upon your head and you feel pressure inside of the bubble reducing a little.

But a tremendous guilt envelops you with each minute.

Momo stares at your figure as you sit across her – your hair cascading down onto your hunched shoulders, your face is covered with your hands, and the girl only huffs.

“Should I expect some fake sobs?”

You spare a fiery glance at her, but she just waves you off in dismisal. Momo doesn’t even trying to hide her irritation with you – the first thing she asked you after you finally had decided to spill the whole situation to her was ‘Could you have taken any longer to tell me?” and you can’t blame her.

“Yah, leave these tricks for your future sweetheart Sollie. I’m not buying it.”

“He is not my future sweetheart,” you argue. “It doesn’t work!”

“Because you never gave it a chance,” she isn’t convinced, and her stern tone makes you consider the words more carefully.

“He hates me now!”

“First, you deserved it. No offense. Second, he seems like a crackhead, such people don’t hate other people, they just don’t care about them.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” you exclaim, and her face breaks into a triumphant smile. “What?”

“Look at you, already defending your soulmate,” she says in a saccharine voice. “Ask him out and fall in love. Choose life. Choose a loveseat coach.”

“Isn’t it from Trainspotting movie?” you question, narrowing your eyes.

“And what about it?” she huffs once again. “It doesn’t make me wrong. It always starts with a crush. Just let it happen.”

A crush, huh? A crush that makes your heart beats harder; that sends you floating in your daydreams; that makes you the happiest person in the whole universe, but at the same time has the power to make you sadder than the most distant and loneliest star from the Sun?

Just like the one you have on Mingyu?

Momo still doesn’t know how you feel about the tall, black-haired boy, and you aren’t ready to tell her the truth. Partly because you want to protect this thing from the outer world, make it special, make it a secret that can be kept by the two only, and, partly because you’ll face the wall of misunderstanding. You could fool around with the boys before, but now you’re certain with the one who is destined for you. And you can’t – you shouldn’t – seek for another lover. It’s wrong.

The ability to make all your problems yourself will never fail to amaze you.

“Fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “If you’re so smart.”

“I could’ve been your mother, though. You should follow my every word.”

“Momo, we literally were born in the same decade,” you sigh, but the girl has no intention to follow any of your words.

[mingyyuu 17:13] it’s so cold today!! stay inside  🖤

[you 17:14] too late :// plans!!

[mingyyuu 17:16] any plans for tomorrow?

[you 17:16] not yet

[mingyyuu 17:17] now you have some!

 The boy continues to type, but you have to put the phone in the back pocket of your jeans – you’re awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to the other at the doorstep, not able to say anything – even a small ‘hello’.

“Soonyoung’s at the dance practice,” Hansol breaks the silence.

“I know his schedule better than he does,” you can’t help but roll your eyes. “I came for your soul.”

Hansol raises his brows, his eyes never leave yours as he steps aside to let you in. The boy helps you with your jacket, and you mutter a small ‘thank you’, hoping he’ll take the initiative, even despite the fact it’s you who came to talk.

“How are you doin’?” maybe it’s a soulmate thing to read each other’s mind? You look at Hansol and you have a feeling that you’ll never be able to go through the guard around him and straight to his head. His expression is neutral, and you admit that he doesn’t even need to try look beautiful.

“Nothing much,” you response. “What ‘bout you?”

“Okay. Wanna drink something?”

“A pepsi please?”

“We only have a few cans of coke, do you wanna?”

You already feel strange of that crazy amount of questions for the beginning – the situation becomes more and more awkward that you’re able to feel the pressure of the air in the room. Your temples pulse a little, threating a headache.

“Nah, I’m fine then,” you say, taking a deep breath. “I came here to say I’m sorry and-”

“And?”

“Do you think we should be together?”

“It how it works,” he lets out a dry laugh. Hansol looks down to your face, his hand reaches out to stroke your shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

The grip on your temples is too tight to bear, and you let out a heavy pant.

“My head hurts,” you explain, squeezing your eyes shut – the light is too bright.

“You need to lie down,” Hansol says. “It’s probably because the temperature difference between inside and outside. I’ll bring painkillers to Soonyoung’s bedroom.”

You nod, heading off to the bedroom. What a great wat to talk - show up at someone’s doorstep just to say you have a headache. Great. Not bothering yourself with discarding your clothes, you collapse stomach-down onto the bed without removing the cover, your face is buried in the soft material.

“Shit, you’ll suffocate if you stay like this,” Hansol’s deep voice wafts on your ears. You slowly lean on your elbows to steal a glance at him. After placing the glass of water and the blister of painkillers at the night stand, he gets down on his haunches, his eyes at the same level as yours. You stay like this for some time, not saying a word, mesmerized by his face.

“What did you do before I came?” you ask out of sudden. Hansol seems to be taken aback with your question.

“Tried to make some music,” he gawks, blinking at you.

“Really?” you ask in a low voice.

“Mostly checked the mic with some ‘yeah’s’ and ‘yo’s’”, he admits, an amusing laugh escapes his mouth. “I’ll try to do something while you’re resting, good?”

You nod you head and smile at him. He gently squeezes your shoulder and stands up. Before he disappears out of the bedroom, you say,

“Do you have any siblings?”

He turns to you, leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah. I have a little sister. You?”

You shake your head no and he nods.

“But it was easy to guess you’re not the only child, though,” it’s difficult to see his face in the darkness, but your eyes never leave him.

“How so?”

“You offer a compromise when it's unnecessarily,” you sniggle. “A man of settled habits.”

You see his wide smile in the dark.

 You force your eyes open and sit up in the bed, your hair disheveled and slightly damp at the back of your neck. Headache has gone, at least for now, but your throat feels dry. When you come to the kitchen, you see the note in Hansol’s infamous unsteady handwriting left on the counter:

you can find pepsi in the fridge!

You smile at the gesture and inside you sense warmth.

 You knock at Hansol’s bedroom door twice and after the boy calls out for your entry, you slip through the door.

Hansol sits at the table, bobbing his head in time with the song that hums from the speakers. His eyes are glued to his laptop, the headphones rest above his ears.

“Does the work go smoothly?” you ask, sitting at the corner of his bed. He turns to face you; a soft smile is playing on his lips.

“Yeah, it’s okay. There are many things that I think I’m lacking in, but I work on them,” he says in a serious tone. “But I’ve finally finished the song that had been haunting me for weeks.”

“Oh, that’s great!” you beam at him.

“Your snoring from the next room inspired me,” he places his hand over his heart. “I’ll be forever grateful for that.”

You lightly kick his calf, and the boy laughs. Rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes, he draws his attention back to you.

“Feel better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer. Nodding, Hansol notices your gaze focusing on the screen of his laptop. There’re the unknown for you tools placed on his table, except for the microphone, of course, and you’re wondering what kind of music he’s into.

“Wanna hear it?” he asks, once again showing his amazing ability to read your mind.

“Yes!” you hearty nod. “Want my headache to be back.”

Hansol rolls his eyes, muttering a small ‘sure’ under his breath, and places the mouse cursor over the play button. The speakers are small, but even despite it you sense the music vibrate through your body. The beat is harsh, his voice is piercing, and it feels like the most Hansol’s thing he could’ve ever done, but at the same time you’ve got an inkling that the tune and the lyrics were created by his mysterious twin.

“You really made this?” your eyes are wide and your hand clutches hold of his wrist.

“Yeah,” he hums nervously, bringing his free hand to rub at the back of his head.

“It’s good! I can’t believe you haven’t signed a ten-million dollars contract yet!”

“You heard just one song,” he smiles in a protest. “Thanks anyway.”

“I’m right, though,” you say, your hand leaving his as you smile at him. “You should be a star! I can’t say what I liked about it ‘cause I don’t know anything about music, but the whole thing is perfect!”

He looks up to you, your cheeks flushed with passion and your eyes glisten as candles burn bright, and it brings a proud smile on his lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurts.

“You’re beautiful too,” your words are sincere, filled with pure appreciation you have for this melted chocolate eyed boy. The idea of you frightened of meeting him a few hours ago seems like a pure absurd right now – when the two of you sit that close to each other, you having a string of questions to ask him about his life, interests, hopes and dreams, and on your tongue the whole story of your life is tingling to be uttered at the same time.

“It was unexpected,” he chuckles. “Thanks again.”

“Thanks for the pepsi,” you return. “I thought you had only coke?”

“Um, I went to the convenience store across the street while you were asleep,” he says, his eyes are wandering on the wall. You can hardly take a breath.

“You shouldn’t have,” you say.

“It’s not a big deal,” he shrugs. Nodding, you slip off his bed and go toward the window. Leaning your forehead against the cool glass, you take a deep breath.

“Is Soonyoung still at the practice?” you ask, your voice is low.

“I guess,” Hansol perches at the windowsill. “I kinda lost track of time.”

You feel the heat his body radiates. Theoretically, you think, you find him somewhat sexy, really manly. His long scraggy neck, broad shoulders, a spectacular torso you can notice even under his oversized t-shirts, and athletic thighs. A month ago, your informant told you that Hansol barely shows up in the gym, and you wonder if the boy was gifted with capability of being perfect without even trying.

And still, he isn’t Mingyu, who makes you feel being in love.

You want to tell Mingyu the truth about your wrong destiny, your aching heart that can be healed with his smile only, and the feeling of your stomach filled with butterflies. You want him to hold your hand, pushing all the doubts and fears away, and make you his. His, despite the cruel joke The Universe played on you.

You think, you have a feeling, he would understand it, because he believes in strength of choice. Mingyu is in a constant state of moving forward, overcoming all obstacles he might face.

Would it be the first time when he stops?

 You and Hansol both stay silent till the whole apartment echoes with Soonyoung’s ringing voice.

“Woah, I like the pictures!” Mingyu approves with a hum, adjusting something on his camera. “They’re perfect.”

“Because they’re pictures of me or because it’s you who took them?” you smile, a playful glint in your eyes as you nudge him.

“Let me think,” the boy stops in his tracks, his brows furrow in a fake manner, indicating he is absorbed in his thoughts. “Both.”

“Wow,” you play along, shaking your head and pressing your lips together. “Groundbreaking.”

He giggles and slides his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Wish I could tickle you right now, bit your jacket doesn’t give a chance.”

You shove off his hand and see a small pout forming on his plush lips.

“It’s my protection from pervs like you, Mingyu,” you smile innocently, casting sheeps eyes on him.

“Pervs don’t ask for a permission,” he opposes matter-of-factly. You raise your brows at him in question, and it doesn’t take long for him to explain. “Let me kiss you.”

You raise your head at Mingyu to see him smiling down at you with shining eyes, his cheeks are glowing from the frosty air.

“Go ahead,” you smile, and he leans down and kiss you. His lips are warm and sweet, and you never expect to feel care through a kiss as his mouth is covering yours. His hand cups your cheek while the other is placed tightly at the base of your neck. You trace your tongue against his lower lip, his tongue is eager to meet yours. You tease the inside of his mouth, and Mingyu lets out a small groan, which is enough to bring you to senses, and you break the kiss.

“We’re outside, Guy,” you softly remind him, your grip at his forearms is loosen.

“And so?” he whines, tugging at your sleeves to keep you body close to him.

“And we’re late,” you try to reason, but frankly speaking, you better would have stayed in the previous position you shared with Mingyu than going anywhere. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner we leave.”

The idea of karaoke night seemed promising, to say at least, but with Seungkwan occupying the microphone and Seokmin taking the guise of being his bodyguard, preventing any attempt of borrowing the tool out of his hands, ebullience faded into despair.

Jun is scrolling through his phone, and you find it okay; Soonyoung is busying himself with fourth bowl of ramen in a row, and it begins to worry you; Jihoon is yawning in thirsty eight second intervals, and the fact of you really counting begins to worry you; Mingyu’s playing with your hands, his head rests against your shoulder, you find it normal too.

You toy with his dark hair and lower yourself to whisper in his ear.

“Take me out.”

“Your wish is my command,” Mingyu smiles with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He straightens up off the sofa and extends his hand to you. You stretch out your own hand and place it in Mingyu’s warm palm.  

After wrapping everyone, except for Seungkwan who is too absorbed in the singing and waves the two of you off in dismissal, for a goodbye hug, you go downstairs to put the clothes on.

“Stop staring,” you say to Mingyu, catching his gaze in the mirror, a smile parts your lips. You pull up the hood of your jacket and turn to the boy.

“Can’t help it,” he admits, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb is stroking your cheek gently, and he leans to steal a kiss from your lips.

“Oh, shit,” Seungkwan says, puckering his face into a frown. “Came to say my goodbye, but this,” he gestures at the two of you.

“Grow up,” Mingyu shrugs his shoulders. Seungkwan’s glare bores a hole right through your head, and you can only silently pray for him to not allow his anger  upstage his reason.

“Seungkwan, please,” you say. “Let’s talk about it later.”

“Sure,” the younger boy rolls his eyes. “It’s not me who you should talk to, though.”

“What’s the problem?” Mingyu groans in frustration.

“I don’t know. What’s your problem?” Seungkwan scoffs, shifting his gaze from Mingyu to you and back to Mingyu again.

“It’s none of your business,” you snap. “I’m not in the mood for one of your soap operas.”

You storm out of the building, your blood is boiling with the mixture of anger, fear, and realization of all things you used to have fell to pieces in a matter of seconds.

“Hey, wait,” Mingyu grabs your hand, and you stop, too afraid to look at him. “What’s the matter?”

You’re struck by an incredible sense of fear, of confusion, of vulnerability, but you finally have to face the reality.

“The problem is,” you sigh. “Hansol is my soulmate.”

“Don’t cry,” Soonyoung tries to conciliate you, his hand is rubbing against your back, and he tightens the embrace. “I’m here for you.”

At this point, you even hate yourself for the damp spot on his sweatshirt made with your tears. You want to concentrate on Soonyoung’s words uttered in a small voice, almost whispering, but as you think about Mingyu, about how on his face thoughts and feelings seemed connate – his pained stare said everything, – standing in front of you, you feel a sharp pain in your heart.  

“Do you despise me?” your voice sounds desperate.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t ask such a shitty question to my best friend,” he says. “You’re the best.”

You laugh bitterly. Soonyoung treats you too nicely – without asking why you’d been keeping so many secrets from him till this night, rebuking Seungkwan for standing guard over Hansol’s feelings, promising Mingyu will pay dearly in the nearest future for his superior sense of morality or whatever.

“What about Hansol?” you ask him, your eyes still are full of tears and pain, but you force a small smile.

“Will kick him out,” his voice is firm, and you sink your face into the soft material of his cloth, suppressing a bigger smile that threats to appear on your lips.

“Soonyoung, I’ve made four enemies this year, and it’s only the end of February,” your voice is muffled as you keep pressing your face onto the boy’s chest. “Momo, Mingyu, Hansol, Seungkwan – all of them hate me for being stupid, for not telling the truth, for being a bitch, for-”

“Shh. It’s their problem, not yours. It’s them who won’t survive ‘cause they made enemies of us. Listen to me,” he calls your name, making a passionate appeal. “We’re undefeatable, you and me.”

You lift your head at him, finding him keeping his eyes on the ceiling in a dramatic way, and you snicker. His lips twist into a broad smile, and he looks at you.

“They don’t hate you,” he says. “Life is complicating, so are we. They know about it.”

You meet Mingyu at the library. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and he’s surprisingly quiet.

“Seungkwan said Hansol fell for you only after Soonyoung’s countless ramblings about you. He indeed stared at your pics, I suppose.”

He’s in pain.

You feel empty inside; a terrible anguish seizes your heart.

“Do you feel the same about him?” an involuntary question slips off his tongue.

You want to say it’s him, it’s only him who made you fall, who made you feel at ease, who made you want to give and not just to take, but you can’t.

He waits for a response you’ll never be able to come up with.

This night you cry yourself to sleep.

Weeks go by.

The three of you – you, Hansol, and Soonyoung – glue your eyes to the television set placed at the wall of the boys’ living-room. Watching different tv series with them somehow has turned into therapy sessions – despite experiencing triggers at almost everything that is shown, you feel you’re not alone. The two of them act like nothing happened, and all of you are ready to meet your soulmates someday.

But, if nothing happened, why Mingyu’s name is forbidden from saying out loud because it would fill you with pain?

“You have popcorn crumbs on your shirt,” you notice, pointing at Soonyoung with the remote in your hand.

“I preferred watching tv to reading books when i was younger,” the boy says, dusting the crumbs off his torso and lap.

“And it shows,” you tease. Soonyoung gives you a light pinch on the side and straightens up with a huff.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces. “The bathroom is occupied for the next thirty minutes.”

Hansol nods and bids Soonyoung goodnight as you blow him a kiss – his laughter never fails to boost your mood.

“Resuming?” you ask Hansol. “I’m not sleepy.”

“Neither am I.”

It’s completely dark apart from the television’s dim yellow glow. Somehow, you find yourself being distracted by almost everything – the pattern of the wooden floor, the material of the couch, the streetlamp right outside the window, the plant that is going to die soon due to Soonyoung and Hansol’s lack of care.

Hansol.

His eyes flicker in your direction, catching you staring at him. You don’t look away.

“Am I more interesting than the show?” he asks, not expecting you reply with a quiet ‘yes’. A blush coloring his cheeks can be spotted even in the poorly illuminated room.

“You’re so shy sometimes,” you remark in a low voice. “You didn’t seem so when I first met you.”

“I felt some courage out of nothing,” he shakes his head, his long and slender fingers tapping his knees. “When I saw you.”

You sigh. How the Universe can be broken? Maybe you’re broken?

“I read that if you’re dealing with schizophrenia your emotions are mixed up – you feel something you shouldn’t have felt and express something you don’t feel.”

“Scientific facts again, huh? You’re referring to me?” he grins.

“To myself, I guess,” there is no smile at your features as you sigh. “Or maybe it’s – I don’t know, to be honest.”

“Hey, I know its not gonna work but I’ll say it anyway,” he reaches out his hand to yours and gently squeezes it. “Don’t think shit about yourself. Don’t say shit,” he pauses. “When the words appeared I was surprised, no shit. But as I find out more and more things about you, all of it start to make sense. I don’t want anyone’s words but yours on me. That’s it. That’s the thing I feel.”

He’s beautiful, you think, very beautiful.

Your eyes wander over his face and finally stop at his lips. The contour of his mouth is perfect – Hansol’s lips aren’t plump, but neither are thin – just perfect – and the little bruise on his lower lip makes you unable to brush your overwhelming desire to have a lick over this exact spot. You hesitate – and even now the image of Mingyu settles on you.

But when you feel Hansol’s lips on yours, you let him in. He claims your mouth passionately, and you slide your hands into his hair, pulling on his locks, and he groans in your mouth. When you pull back for a moment, your eyes flooded with haze, Hansol traces his thumb over your slick with his spit lips, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans onto you again, his lips ghosting over yours, the redolent scent of his musky cologne makes your head even more dizzy.

“I want you,” he whispers into your lips, his voice is cracking.

“You can have me,” you breathe out, closing your eyes as his lips decorate your neck in sloppy kisses.

You can have me, but can you have my heart?

The question finds lodgment in your mind.

You might lose the thing you love the most, but life goes on… and here we stand.

You’ve discovered you’re an excellent pretender.

Pretend you think nothing of going without sleep for several nights and then attend your classes. Pretend you’re not tired. Pretend you like the tasteless dish in the restaurant Momo brought you to. Pretend it’s not painful to be in the same room with Mingyu. Pretend you love Hansol back.

“My legs are killing me,” Seungkwan whines. “I just don’t know how much more of it I can take.”

Same, you think, fucking same.

“Wait a little more and I’ll buy you a hotdog,” Mingyu promises, looking over his shoulder to see you wearily stagger behind them. The combination of the three of you is weird, you find, but life goes on, isn’t it?

It’s May, and the three is you are stuck in Ikea’s mazes – Mingyu needs to buy some new furniture – this is what brings him to the mall, but also Mingyu needs someone to keep him company – and this is what brings you and Seungkwan to the same place. Mingyu calls your name, and you lift your head, furrowing your eyebrows in a question.

“You good? How ‘bout a few hotdogs after?”

“And milkshakes,” Seungkwan adds.

“Just an ice cream please,” you mumble, and he nods. Sometimes it’s so awkward – to be around him. Sometimes it’s natural. But mostly it’s painful.

 Standing in the parking lot, waiting for Mingyu and Seungkwan while they’re stuffing the things Mingyu bought into the trunk of his car, you dumbly watch the ice cream steadily dripping down your hand.

Damn.

No ice cream can help you feel good even a bit. 

You enter Hansol’s bedroom and find him at the wooden floor, lying on his back, eyes closed. With his arms and legs splayed out, he reminds you a giant starfish.

“Are you even breathing?” you chuckle, bending over him.

“I am,” Hansol smiles, his eyes stay closed, and he taps slightly on his chest. “C’mere.”

You oblige, your head nestle against his chest, and you hear his steady heartbeat. He wraps his left arm around you and inhales deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes out of sudden, and you turn your head to look at him. “The first words were stupid, and you’ll have them for forever.”

“Suit us very well,” you poke, and he sniffs, reaching out to slightly pinch your cheek. “Hey! Stop!”

Hansol laughs, squeezing you tighter, and the sound of his slow and steady breathing lulls you to sleep. Your gaze is directed at the ceiling as you try to fight against sleep. “You’re so composed, but also so goofy, but also so delicate,” you sigh, thinking out loud as your fingertips trace up and down the soft skin of his wrist. Hansol’s warm. “But the first words were wacky,” you chuckle. “What’ve done to deserve them?”

“It was Russian roulette, baby,” he hums, and you can hear him smiling.

You fall asleep like that. You dream about buying the beige sofa you saw in Ikea and Mingyu’s endless attempts to change your mind – the green one is a way better, he insists. The green one would suit the interior perfectly, you agree with him, but the beige one is so classy, and maybe even a little obligatory? Every apartment should have one, but Mingyu only shakes his head in frustration.

“I'm not sure you’re one hundred percent positive about what you’re convincing me of,” he purses his lips.

Dreams that are hardly can be distinguish from reality are exhausting. You wish there was a way to put this worry to bed once and for all.

“Okay, so the concept of your birthday party is dubstep,” you verify. “And the main dish excepted for a barbeque duck is an ice cream cake?”

“I scream, you scream, gimme that ice cream,” Soonyoung’s enjoyment is evidenced by his wide smile. You playfully roll your eyes, not really hiding the excitement you share with him.

“Why do I feel that we’re constantly hanging out at birthday parties?” Hansol asks, peering at his phone screen, not bothering to straighten his head from its bending position.

“Because our friend group is too huge for people our age,” you make a point.

“It’s so expensive to have a lot of friends,” Soonyoung complains, but when he meets your questionable gaze, he adds. “But for you, my bestie, money’s no object.”

“Good to know,” you laugh, your fingers leisurely run above the rim of the empty cup of matcha latte. “I’m more upset about my dear boyfriend didn’t show any interest in volunteering at preps for the party.”

Hansol smiles, tapping on his phone, his eyes are anchored on the screen, and you narrow your expression at him, shaking your head in a scolding manner.

“And now he pretends he doesn’t hear me,” you say. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

Hansol’s face brightens and broadens out into a beaming smile, and the sound of Soonyoung’s giggles fills the air.

“I’ll ask Seokmin to help you,” the older boy suggests, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

“I know you’re saying it for the best of reasons, but Seokmin rather is a distraction than a help,” you debate, and Soonyoung raises his small hands in surrender, his eyes becoming crescent-shaped due to his laugh.

“Okay, I’ll send backup,” he promises. “At the end of the day, Mingyu’s good at cooking and cleaning.”

It would’ve been hard for him not to realize he put his foot in his mouth mentioning Mingyu as the mood tensely shifts. You freeze, alike Hansol, his thumb is hovering over the phone screen for seconds. Soonyoung offers you an apologetic smile, and you smile at the boy back, reassuring him it’s okay – he really did nothing wrong. Hansol’s avoiding your questioning gaze, hiding his eyes behind his curly bangs, and you gently brush a section of his hair from his face, wanting to see him clearly.

“Are you jealous, Sollie?” you try to joke, a soft smile playing on your lips, your hand placed on his cheek. As he raises his eyes at you, nerves are evident in them, your heart sinks, and you feel breathless. He won’t ask you if he should be, he won’t make any scenes – but he may shut himself off, locking his feelings deep inside, and you fear it the most. You don’t mean to hurt him, but you’re still providing him a good amount of pain – he isn’t an idiot who can’t figure out that Mingyu’s never really left your heart.

“No,” he simply says. “I’ll help you with everything.”

“You’re a bigger distraction than Seokmin for me, but how can I say no to my sweet boyfriend?” you take his offer, your thumb is stroking his cheek, and the action soothes away the tension he has. Hansol smiles gently at you, and for a second, you’re wondering if he is as good at pretending as you are.

“How did you manage to rent this beach house?” Soonyoung asks in a pure awe. “Such places are always booked!”

“Nothing’s impossible when you love your friend,” you muse. “Besides, thank Hansol – he used his “music industry contacts” to make you happy.”

“Hey, you insult me using air quotes around ‘music industry contacts’,” Hansol slides his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him, and places a quick peck on the tip of your nose. You stab him in the chest with your index finger, and he fakes a gasp.

“Eavesdropping?” you ask.

“Learning a lot about me,” he grins and draws his attention to the birthday boy. “Like the party?”

“No shit,” Soonyoung laughs. “I’ll like it better if you dance with me,” he says your name, his eyes sparkle brighter than colorful lights blasting through the house.

“Anything for a five stars rate.”

You’re out of breath, the clothes stick to your covered in sweat body, and you wince.

“I’m done,” you announce to Soonyoung, his batteries fully charged as he continues his active dance.

“Get some fresh air and come back!” he yells over the music, and you nod. Crossing the room to the back porch, you spot Hansol in the corner, talking to Joshua and showing the older boy something on his phone screen. Unnoticed, you go directly to the shore until the music of the party drowns in the sound waves, and inhale warm salty air. The water seems so tempting, calling you to step into the waves, their rhythm is hypnotizing you, and you kick your shoes off, perfectly understand the night water is too cold for swimming.

A familiar voice stops you, calling your name. You turn around, greeted with Mingyu’s tall figure, shining like a bronze statue, his tanned skin sheens magical when graced by the evening sun.

“Why do you always tend to sneak out?” he asks, once he made it up to you, a warm smile already crept onto his mouth as he saw you.

“I don’t know, maybe I just like being in crowds,” you shrug your shoulders – it’s true. You really don’t know the answer. He moves closer to you, and you finally spot a small bouquet in his hand. His eyes follow yours, and he chuckles.

“It’s for you,” he shyly passes you the flowers, his teeth press into his bottom lips. “I passed by those wildflowers on my way here and picked them for you.”

“It’s not my birthday,” you laugh. “But thank you, I love it,” you say, nuzzling your nose against the tender petals. You look up at the boy and lock your eyes with his, a tickling feeling spreading in your chest. The waves are lapping on the peaceful and quiet shore, but you feel electricity surging through your body. You stand on your tiptoes and place a delicate kiss on his soft cheek, the action is innocent, but for Mingyu it’s like hearing a starting whistle.

“You’re still in my thoughts,” he breathes. “Still here,” he reaches over to grab your hand and place it over his chest, and through your fingertips you’re able to feel his rapid heart. Tears are starting to form at the rim of your eyes, and your vision becomes blurred. Your fingers crawl into the flowers he gave you, pressing against the vulnerable stems. “It’s egoistic, I know, you’re dating my friend, your soulmate, but why does it feel like you’re mine?”

“I don’t know,” you sob. The next second you find yourself against his firm chest and you inhale his scent that feels like home. Not a place where you live, but home. He plants a kiss to the crown of your head and puts his hands on your shoulders.

“Look at me,” the golden boy suddenly says. “Please.”

You look up at him and see his eyes briefly dropping to your lips, and despite yourself you feel that familiar tingling in your gut, wanting him to kiss you. He reads you like an open book and he is kissing you, his lips softly press against yours, a tender flavor on your tongue.

“Mingyu,” you whisper in a small voice, pulling out from him. “I can’t. I can’t do this to Hansol.”

The boy looks at you with a pained expression, and in his eyes you can see that he wishes he didn’t have a heart at all.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he mutters, and you nod your head, your heart is swelling at the nickname.

“I know. I’m sorry too.”

You lock yourself up in the bathroom, hoping no one saw your state while you were hurrying upstairs. Suddenly, someone tries the handle, but it jingles with no success.

“It’s occupied!” you try your best to sound calm, but your voice is trembling.

“It’s me,” Hansol’s muffled voice leaks through the door. “Let me in.”

You turn the lock and face Hansol, your eyes are all red and watery from crying. The boy locks the door behind him and turns to face you, his piercing eyes burn right into your soul.

“You love him,” he says, too delicate to torture you with questions, and you feel even worse – if it’s possible – paralyzed with fear and regrets, guilt eating you inside out, and you swallow the lump in your throat. You let out a wet sob, not being able to look into his sad eyes.

You broke his heart.  

“I’m sorry, Sol,” you say, feeling powerless, loss for words to say to him, to explain yourself, to apologize. “I don’t know what should I do. I don’t know what should we do.”

“If he makes you happier than I could,” he looks above your head. “I’ll accept it someday.”

“You don’t deserve this,” you say, feeling so stupid, only wishing that the floor would open up and swallow you.

“Maybe soulmates aren’t bond only by romantic shit,” his deep voice comes to you through the mist. You don’t ask him to give you a chance, don’t change his mind – maybe this painful reveal of the truth will make your heart feel a little bit lighter one day, even if right now you’re sure this is never going to happen.

You don’t complain and do not want pity from anyone – you’re sick and tired of Soonyoung tiptoeing around you, trying to keep you from collapsing; of the silent treatment Seungkwan gives you, scornful looks he spares you every single time you see him get you to another level of anger; of a constant scratching sense of guilt you’ve been racked with since your break-up with Hansol, but somehow he never blames you even if he should; of Momo dragging you to the shop malls and making you keep shopping until you cheer up.

Of you can’t getting up the nerve to answer any of Mingyu’s calls, too afraid of something you can’t even describe.

Momo’s straight face catches you off guard, and you only gasp,

“He what?! No, no, no,” you shake your head in disbelief. “You’re making this up.”

“What for?” the girl rolls her eyes back deep into their sockets. “Mingyu invited you to his picnic party or whatever through me cause you’re too deaf to pick up your phone, nothing special.”

“Will you come with me?” your eyes meet hers in the bathroom mirror, your expression makes Momo give you her infamous crinkly-eyed smile.

“He didn’t ask me to come – only you,” she purrs, taking her lip gloss out of the small bag. “He’s so fucking in love with you, you little witch.”

“I-” you stutter, the crimson red blush spreads across your cheeks, and Momo laughs and gives you a playful shove.

“Don’t you dare to say no,” she warns. “You’ll deal with me.”

“What would I do without you, Momo?” you smile at her. Even if you asked playfully, you really mean it – and the warmth in your chest proves it.

Mingyu seems nervous as he clumsy steps into your apartment, his chest is tensed with the breath he holds. The boy is dressed in a loose white t-shirt and high-wasted velvety pants, and you sigh in relief – the picnic party - as Momo called it - obviously wasn’t planned as something fancy.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you smile.

“Thanks for coming. Means a world,” he says, poking his cheek with his tongue, a shy smile follows his words. You missed him. Missed everything about him – the small giggles he lets while talking with that slight lisp to you, the shake of his head when he can’t understand something, the pout appearing on his plump lips when he realizes the item he wanted to buy is out of stock, the bright smile beaming on his face while he spills out his ideas for photography, the warmth of his palm holding yours in the pocket of his woolen coat.

“Who else is gonna be there?” you ask during your drive to the beach – Mingyu found the place perfect for a picnic, especially in the hot summer.

“Um,” he hesitates for a moment, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look at you. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Oh,” you breath. “I see. Momo didn’t tell me.”

“Blame yourself for leaving me on read,” he grins obnoxiously and you roll your eyes defensively. “Now you’re stuck with me. I forgot to mention one thing, though.”

“Which one?” you rake your eyes over him, admiring how the sun’s rays paint his skin in a golden glitter. “It’s a date.”

You dig your toes into the cool sand, glancing into the evening sky. Mingyu follows your eyeline.

“You can’t see the stars for reflected light from the city,” you notice. “But here we have a chance.”

“No way,” Mingyu protests. “And you know why?”

“Why so?” you turn your face to him, a big smile spread on his lips.

“All Seoul’s stars are in your eyes,” he is smiling so wide that his cheeks must have hurt and he pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around you, tugging you into his lap.

“Shut up,” you laugh, smacking him on the chest, your fingers touching the soft fabric of his shirt. Mingyu’s lips are ghosting over your cheek for a moment before he speaks again,

“But I have lots of things to say,” Mingyu murmurs, biting softly at your earlobe, and a very familiar feeling creeps up into the pit of your stomach.

“Like what?”

“Like, let’s swim,” he takes you aback with the suggestion and you blink at him dumbly. “I didn’t bring my swimsuit with me,” you say.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “We’re alone here. No one’ll see.”

You push up from his body and meet his eyes glossy with playfulness and challenge, and you nod at his words. Mingyu grinning at you mischievously, while he removes his clothes – his shirt and pants find their place at the sand – as you see each piece of his skin revealing itself. You inhale deeply, and he leans his head closer to yours, the warm palms rubbing up and down your arms.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers, and you’re surprised he can tell this just from your body language, and it makes your heart flutter, pounding even faster against your ribcage. His words encourage you, and he silently watches you removing your dress, the only pieces of clothing on your skin are your bra and panties. Mingyu gently squeezes your hand, his thumb softly strokes back and forth over your knuckles. “Catch me.”  

And within a couple of seconds, he is already pushing into the water, everything below his waist out of sight.  You slowly step onto the sparkling waves, a lazy smile playing on your lips, as you see Mingyu splashing over to you with a childish pout on his face.

“You’re supposed to catch me, but you don’t even try,” he whines and steps closer to you, pressing his hands to either sides of your neck, his thumb rubbing the hollow of your throat. He looks dreamlike with his skin stick from the water, making him glisten in the soft evening light.

“It’s not the only thing I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. I was born to live without you, remember?” you whisper against his wet lips as he leans over you.

“It doesn’t matter,” he hums, letting his fingers brush against the words inked on your side. “I don’t need to be told who I love.”

You’d been feeling like you were drowning for too long, drowning in the cool water of sorrows, doubts, and self-destruction for too long, but only now you can breathe -

“You love me?” you say in a quiet voice, almost as if it was a secret, and the soft look on his face makes your heart skip a beat, overflowing with love and affection.

“I do. So I ask you to stay with me,” he pleads. Not just for tonight, not for tomorrow morning, but-

“Take me home.”

Rattling keys, the sound of giggles stopped with the kisses, Mingyu’s hot mouth on your pulse point, your hands tugging at his black silk locks, and the heavy weight of the wall meets your back.

“Right in the corridor?” you hum, panting into his ear. “Where is your decency, Kim Mingyu? Not bringing your lady to the bedroom is-” Mingyu doesn’t let you finish, forcing his leg between yours. He is grinning at you with his bottom lip between his teeth as he guides your hips into motion against his thigh, satisfied with the garbled moan ripped from your throat. Bringing his lips to the side of your neck again, Mingyu plants wet kisses on the soft skin. He licks your ear, gently tugging the lobe between his teeth. When the boy releases the tender flesh, he hisses,

“This… you made me forget about my good manners,” Mingyu drawls and attaches his lips to your throat. His voice is sweet, but the material of his pants is rough and the combination drives you crazy, whimpering into the air between you, your clit aching.

“Please,” you whine, grinding yourself harder against him.

Suddenly, Mingyu smiles, brightly and happy, before his lips press into yours, his tongue mapping your mouth. The boy lifts you up and it gives you an opportunity to kiss his neck in return, biting red marks into his tanned skin. Then, ever so carefully, Mingyu places you on the soft surface of the bed, kissing you passionately, but slower, trying to find out what you like the most.

“Can I take your clothes off, please?” he whispers in your mouth and you moan, your hands gripping into his biceps.

“Good manners are back,” you coo. “Go ahead.”

Mingyu helps you to sit up, undoing the upper buttons of your summer dress, kissing the skin it exposes, and finally pulling it over your head.

“Don’t forget to take the rest off too,” you breathe, and his lips stretch into a smile. His arms twist behind your back and then he is sliding the fabric down your arms and tossing it away.  

“Do you want me to touch you, princess?” Mingyu murmurs, the tip of his nose traces the side of your neck as his fingers are ghosting over the wetness of your panties.

“Like you don’t know the answer already,” you hiss and he chuckles, his hands move to palm your breasts. You bite your lower lip when he rolls your nipple between his fingers before slowly circling it, a blush slowly creeps down your neck. His mouth finally covers your nipple as his warm palms are parting your thighs, his fingers firmly pressed against the skin. Without being told, you rise your hips to help him remove your soaked panties.

Mingyu sits back on his haunches and marvel at your spread thighs and the pretty wet curves, and your legs separate to make room for him beyond your control.

“You’re so pretty,” he admires, his eyes – glassy with desire and adoration – don’t leave your face. His palm slides up from your hip over your stomach and further still, gently cupping your breast.

“Gyu,” you plea, but before you can even think about the words, Mingyu tosses his shirt somewhere behind his back, already yanked his slightly ruined with your wetness pants and the underwear to the floor.

Then, he is putting his fore and middle fingers into his mouth, coating them in saliva before slowly bringing them to your pussy, the pads of his fingers ghosting over your slit. You moan and he takes it as an invitation, drawing a circle around the hood of your clit. Craving for more, you shamelessly grind your hips into his palm, your fingers grasping at the sheets.

“Baby, I want to taste you so bad,” Mingyu purrs, thrusting his fingers into your pussy down to the knuckles. You moan at the sensation of his fingertips dragging against your pulsing walls, and he increases the pace of his digits inside of you. “You smell so good.”

His words only sending you near delirious. But his tongue feels even better.

Mingyu runs the flat of his tongue up to your clit, humming happily at the moan escaped through your red and swollen lips, your fingers tangled in his hair. His grip on your thighs is firm, screaming lust in big neon letters. He sucks on your clit, focusing his hot mouth on the swollen bundle of nerves, as he is pulling and pushing his fingers through your entrance. 

The boy groans deeply, nuzzling his pretty face deeper into your core. The delightful pleasure clings to your stomach, swells at you abdomen. Your eyes screw shut and your chest heaves, the back arching off the bed with a high-pitched cry. Mingyu is leaning over your, adjusting his body on his elbows supporting him either side of your body. His breath is tickling the skin of your neck and you giggle, your hand lazily draws some patterns onto his back. The boy silently observes your features while you reach down to his cock, lubricating it with his pre-cum. Mingyu groans, but you swallow the sound with your mouth, your tongue catching on flesh of his mouth that tastes like you. He is desperately grinding against your stomach, the tip of his dick leaving a wet trail over your skin.

“I love you,” he says against your lips and, slowly and carefully, positions the reddened head to your entrance. You wrap your legs around him, heels pressing into the ample swells of his ass as Mingyu buries himself deep inside you. He presses his teeth on your collarbone as he hitting your sweet spot with every single one of his delicious thrusts.

Mingyu is here – his arms caging your face, his mouth never leaves yours, and his chest is pressed tight against yours – Mingyu is here and you love each other.

He rolls his hips against you, sinking his cock into your heat, his fingers toying with your sensitive clit. Suddenly, he speeds up, pulling an extremely loud moan from you. Feeling you clench around him, Mingyu groans and lowers himself to suck on your nipple, muffling the sounds he makes against your skin.

“Let it go,” he pants out and you oblige, a gasp tumbles from your lips as your fingers curling in his hair. Your walls spasm around his cock, enveloping it with your release. He thrusts in you, his cock twitching inside of you before he lets out a drawn moan. He stills in you as his cock milking your pussy, panting loudly. He opens his dark eyes and his face softens for you as he places a gentle kiss on the side of your jaw.

“We weren’t meant for each other,” you whisper, your hand playing with his damp locks. “But I love you more than anything.”

“We are meant for each other,” Mingyu is persistent. “Since our first meeting.”

“Okay,” you give in.

“I win,” his smile is radiant in the night, and his eyes hold the whole universe in them.

You never thought of you as a rule breaker. No one did.

With each day Mingyu helps you realize you shape the universe you live in.

And you ask him to make your nose look smaller at the portrait of you he have been painting for two weeks already. 

[pascalpanic]

‘Nilla Bean (Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x gn!Reader)

Summary: A cowboy in your coffee shop is not the way you’d expected your morning to go, but you’re not complaining; especially not when he’s as attractive as he is.

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: talk of food/eating, brief allusions to alcohol, lots of flirting, sexual innuendos, I think there’s like a single use of fuck

A/N: okay I’ve been thinking about this FOREVER but I finally went ahead and wrote it!!! hope u guys like it, I’m a sucker for a coffee shop AU as a barista myself :) thx @theteddylupinexperience for helping me name it and motivating me to write it lol

When you started your shift this morning, you’d groaned as you tied the apron around your waist, expecting an uneventful day. Most were. If you were lucky enough to see someone you knew or to have an especially nice customer, you’d consider it a good day. You didn’t know when you walked in that it would be the good day to end all good days: nothing could top this one.

Weekday mornings in the fall aren’t particularly busy. The majority of your customers come around the morning rush, and the remaining ones are usually retirees or house-spouses and their young children. It’s enjoyable, days like these, that don’t require you to dash about the shop.

The only problem, really, is having nothing to do. You clean the coffee grinder, wipe down tables, wipe down everything else, then do it all again. Restocking, usually an endless chore, isn’t even an option; no one’s using anything in the first place. You and your coworkers chat, deep-cleaning the coolers, washing the blender stations, and doing the dirty work. When a customer comes, you’re the lucky one who gets to go take their order and put your task on hold first.

It seems like you’ve done every task twice, even when your manager introduces yet another idea for you to deal with. To bide your time, you prep coffee for later, rearrange the case of pretty little pastries that sits next to your register, and doodle on your station with a paint pen, humming to the soft music playing in the shop.

People come and go, some picking up mobile orders and some ordering from you, some choosing to eat inside and some taking their food to go. You sip your drink happily between customers- a white mocha with caramel.

At one point, you’re in the back and washing dishes when a coworker peeks his head into the back. “Hey, you got someone up front!” He informs you, and you nod and wander out through the swinging doors.

Well. That’s certainly a sight for a Tuesday morning.

The man standing at the register is wearing a painfully well-tailored suit jacket, with gray tweed and patches on the elbows. Beneath it is a white top and a black tie, and the man wears jeans on the bottom half. Interesting.

Perhaps more interesting is the large cowboy hat perched atop his head. The man’s face, below the brim of his Stetson, is incredibly handsome. He has an aquiline nose, a neatly trimmed mustache that wouldn’t work on anyone else, and warm brown eyes that make you smile softly.

“Hi,” you comment as you log into the register. “Are you a part of our rewards program?” You ask as part of your regular spiel.

The man furrows his brow then shakes his head. “Uh, no. No I’m not. Can you sign me up now?” He asks, and his voice makes your chest flutter with the tone. It’s rich and smooth, with a beautiful southern twang.

Looking at your register and back at him, you shake your head. “It’s just an app on your smartphone, really easy,” you tell him.

“Ah, damn,” he groans and pulls it from his pocket. “I’m shit with technology. Why don’t you just… type it in here?” He says, handing you his phone with a notes page open. His thick fingers accidentally lock the phone as he hands it to you.

You tap the screen to wake it and find the background to be a picture of a cute little pig all covered in mud. “Uh, you locked it,” you chuckle. “What’s the password?”

The man looks down shyly. “1-2-3-4. Don’t make fun’a me, I’m like a grandpa with these newfangled phones.”

It’s endearing, you have to admit, and it makes you giggle. “Not a problem. I’m not here to chide you on your security choices,” you shrug. You type in the code and find the app, starting the download for him before handing back his phone. “Can I get a name to start your order?” You ask as you look up at him.

His eyes hold a warmth there, radiating off of his smile. “Whiskey.”

“Your mother named you Whiskey?” You tease as you type in the name, returning back to the main page of beverages. “Some kind of legal name.”

The man shakes his head. “Nah, that’s just what I go by at work.”

Whiskey likes conversation, you notice, and it makes you chuckle a little. “You got a real name then?” You ask him, raising an eyebrow beneath your visor.

The man tips his hat. “Jack Daniels, at your service.” He says and offers you a hand, which you take and shake.

“That’s a lie. You’re telling me your nickname is Whiskey and your real name is a type of whiskey?”

The man shrugs. “My momma had a real funny sense of humor, I guess. My daddy loved the booze so they went with it. I work for Statesman, so I suppose it’s fitting.”

“Ah, the distillery,” you nod with a smile, not grasping the depth of what Statesman actually does. How could you? “Well then, Jack,” you say with an honest grin on your face. “What can I get you to drink?”

Whiskey, Jack, whatever his name is, looks up at the menu, scanning the different beverages. “Well. That sure is a lot of choices. I’m new to the area, so I don’t know the menu yet, and I don’t know the first thing about coffee other than how to make it in a machine,” he admits to you. “What would you recommend, sugar?”

Sugar. Your heart beats a million times faster at the man’s words. You’ve had lots of weird and creepy men call you different things, but you’ve never been flustered and enjoyed it. This man is getting to you, quickly. “Well, how strong do you take your coffee?”

He thinks about that for a second, fiddling with the button on his suit jacket. “Pretty strong. A little sweet, with cream. I usually take it Irish style,” he admits with a chuckle, tapping a belt buckle that you realize is a tiny flask. Jesus. That’s not cheesy.

“Well, we don’t serve alcohol,” you laugh and look down at your screen. “We have all kinds of flavors.” You list them all off, off the top of your head, now staring at the ceiling to recite them all. “And our seasonal drink is pumpkin spice.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Wonderful and all, but what do you like? You seem like you’ve got a good taste, darlin’, tell me what you’d recommend.”

God, these names are going right to where they shouldn’t, especially not when this handsome man is leaning on your counter and flirting with you as he orders his coffee. “I like vanilla.” You shrug.

The man laughs and stands. “I hate to say it, sugar, but I’m not a very vanilla man,” he says, his head tilting down and his dark, sultry eyes peeking out at you from just below the brim. His voice is seductive, implying something else other than the flavor.

Oh fuck. “Oh, not like that,” you laugh as your face floods with warm blood, anxiety coursing through your veins. “Not vanilla in that way.” Fuck, that’s even worse, you think and grip the counter so as to not physically cringe at your words.

“Not like that, huh?” His words are still so seductive and flirtatious it makes you want to combust. Maybe you will, if he keeps this going.

“N-no,” you stammer, looking down at the menu screen again. “I mean, I just think it’s underrated. People dismiss it as boring, but it’s really just as interesting of a flavor as anything else. It tastes really good with our espresso.”

Jack tilts his head to the side, a smirk on his face. His lip pokes out just slightly to wet his lips and you shiver involuntarily, your skin pricking up all across your body. God, you hope he can’t see it. “I’ll trust you on it, ‘nilla bean,” the man drawls and stands up straight again. “Triple espresso with vanilla and cream.”

You nod and ring that in. God, if he keeps going with the nicknames, you’re going to melt into a puddle here and now.

“What are these?” He asks as his fingers trace over the drawings on the counter, lifting them and finding the pink and green powder of the dried paint has transferred to his fingertips.

God, he makes you nervous, but in a good way. In the best way possible, a way that makes you want to knock that cowboy hat off his head and find out if his lips are as soft as they look. “I draw when I’m bored. It’s been a slow day,” you chuckle as your own fingers trace the crawling vines and flowers you’d painted there. “Sorry about the transfer,” you chuckle and your fingertips brush his, making you involuntarily shudder again at the contact. His fingertips are calloused and radiate warmth.  “Uh, can I get you anything to eat?” You ask and gesture at the bakery case.

The man inspects it for a moment, looking at the various foods lined up under the soft white light. “I’ll take one’a these,” he says and pokes a finger towards the chocolate chip cookies through the glass. You nod and take one out for him, putting it in a little paper sleeve and handing it over. “How much is this gonna hurt my wallet?” He asks, pulling it out from the back pocket of his jeans.

“Give me one second.” You type in your code for your employee discount, which takes a moment.

“What’re you typin’ there, ‘nilla bean?” He asks, brow furrowing.

Looking up at him, you push your visor up your face and smile a little. “Oh, I’m giving you my employee discount. It’s ridiculously priced here.”

Jack frowns. “You don’t have to do that for me, sugar. I’m just a regular ol’ customer.”

It’s your chance, you realize, to say something or stay silent forever. “Well, I like you,” you admit and take the credit card he hands you, swiping it through the machine. “And I’m hoping you’ll at least become a regular. I’d like to see you more,” you tell him with a grin.

The man’s face lights up, even beneath the shadow of his brim. “I’d like that too,” he nods and pockets his card when you hand it back.

A beat of silence passes as the two of you smile at each other, both of you lovestruck immediately. “Uh, your drink will be right up over there,” you say and nod to the other end of the café. “Are you going to drink that here or take it to go?” You ask.

“Oh, here,” he nods.

“Perfect,” you say with a small smile. “Then I’ll just bring it to you when it’s ready. Nothing better to do today,” you shrug and wander down to the other end before Jack, Whiskey, whatever can refute you.

You take the cup from your coworker, humming to yourself as you put some vanilla and cream in the cup, pulling the espresso shots. When it’s ready, it barely reaches the halfway mark of the small cup, so you top it with a little whipped cream. You suspect the man has more of a sweet tooth than he lets on.

Pocketing a pink paint marker, you put a lid on the drink and walk out to the dining room, setting the coffee down across from him. He’s munching on the cookie he’d ordered, looking up at you with unintentional puppy dog eyes. “Hey there.”

“Hi,” you smile and pull out the chair across from him, sitting down and pulling out the paint pen. “I put a little extra whipped cream on top. I thought it would go well with the espresso, make it a little creamier or something.”

As you uncap the paint pen, Jack’s brow furrows as he watches you. “Whatcha doing there?” He asks as you bring his cup closer to yourself and write something on the top.

“Being brave,” you chuckle and cap the pen, sliding it back. “I gotta head back. Enjoy it,” you say as you stand and pat him on the shoulder.

Only as you walk back to the register does Whiskey comprehend exactly what you put on the top of his cup. It’s your phone number, in that chalky pink paint, and a smiley face beneath it.

Jack may not be great with technology, like he told you, but he immediately pulls out his phone and takes a photo. Then he enters the number into a contact, filling out the name: ‘Nilla Bean.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain

[lmaoeraserhead]

pairing : stripper!Ushijima x reader

wc: 2.5k

a/n : this is based off of a random thought i had a couple of days ago. It’s so past my bed time right now, this is completely unedited and its most likely awful, but please please please enjoy!

warnings: SMUT 18+, pet names, one (1) pussy slap, mean Ushi, sex work??? idk lemme know if i missed anything please

You hear the opening of Old Town Road from the booth you and some of your closest friends rented for the night. Never in a million years had you imagined you’d be spending your night in a sketchy ass club, and you definitely hadn’t expected the country (if you could even call it that) song from the booming speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome our star performer, Ace, to the stage.” The clear voice rings loud enough to push through your hazy thoughts. Despite having tons of fun with your friends (and one too many drinks), you were tired and just about ready to call it a night. 

The lights suddenly took a dive, and you were left in the dark with your vodka cranberry. Excited squeals can be heard from other people around you. The song started slowly, definitely edited, the bass making the ice cubes in your drink dance with the beat. You could feel the vibration deep in your bones, and it sent a pleasant shiver up your spine. 

As slowly as the lights had plunged dark, they sure took their damn time brightening back up. Squinting from your seat, you could hardly see anything on stage through the red haze of the lights and fog machine. You didn’t know why, but the anticipation had your toes curling in your platforms. The achingly slow buildup pushed you forward in your seat and sent your legs moving to get closer to the main stage. You weaved your way through the packed crowd alone, ducking under and around stray limbs that got in your way. 

The guitar of Old Town Road picks up, and it strikes you odd how sensual the usually goofy song sounds. Of course, you’re in a strip club and you should have at least expected some unconventional set lists. Your friends call out your name from the dark corner they’re sitting in, but you’re mesmerized by someone you can’t even see yet, so you don’t even turn to acknowledge their calls. 

Taking a big gulp from your drink and stealing one of the few empty chairs left lining the stage, the hair on the back of your neck raises when the spotlight finally focuses on the figure that is in the center of your vision. His routine hasn’t even started, and he already has the whole club enthralled. Ace was his stage name, but you wonder what his real name could be. Although, Ace seemed to fit him well enough. He’s built like an executioner, ready to deliver the last blow. 

He’s huge, well over 6 feet tall. His rippling muscle that’s somehow already sweaty and glistening, bulges with every one of his subtle movements. You can’t see his face, which is tilted down underneath a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, but you can only imagine how attractive he is from his build alone. He’s shirtless, wearing jeans, a huge rodeo buckle, and boots with spurs. 

His left hand comes up to lift the brim of his white wicker hat, slowly revealing his smoldering hooded eyes. He is the center of attention, and he’s enjoying it. The hundreds of chattering mouths fall quiet as the beat picks up, along with his very anticipated dancing. His hips move with practiced ease, back and forth, stretching the taut muscles of his stomach. Your eyes find the thatch of hair below his bellybutton, and follow it’s trail, huffing under your breath with dissapointment when you end up at the heavy-looking belt buckle he’s wearing. 

Your mouth suddenly feels dry, you lick your lips and take a sip of your slightly watered-down drink. Your teeth catch your bottom lip when you look back up from your lukewarm vodka to find warm chocolate eyes level with yours, among other things. Sucking in a deep breath, you watch as his body, now perpendicular to the worn wooden stage, as it grinds to the beat. 

His eyes never leave yours as he dances to what is now becoming one of your favorite songs. His fist meets the ground, simultaneously paired with a thrust of his hips. He turns his head to the side, giving you a glimpse of the strong column of his neck. One particularly smooth move of his has your thighs clenching together. 

Not once in your whole life had you ever thought you’d be jealous of a floor, but the way Ace was practically fucking himself against it had you squirming in your seat. The clank of his belt buckle against the hardwood had you imagining his sweaty body above yours, you could practically feel the strong build of his shoulders underneath your fingernails. You could feel the way he’d thrust into you, leaving you a whimpering mess. 

Ace makes his way uprights again, slowly, teasingly. He smirks at you, and only you. His gaze is heavy and his expression sends a swooping feeling through your stomach. The song finally comes to an end, with Ace kneeling down in front of you. His thick index finger is under your jaw, closing your mouth and tilting your head up. You’re both breathless, for two completely different reasons. He places his hat on your head, bends down, and whispers in your ear, “Find me backstage.”

Before he backs away, he pulls your earlobe in between his teeth and growls lowly. Your wide eyes and stunned expression make a chuckle rumble from his bare chest. You nod slowly, because what else were you supposed to do?

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

“You liked the show, huh?” Before you could respond, you were pulled against Ace’s sweaty chest. Backstage was a mess of show runners, other performers, and wires. But somehow Ace had managed to get his own private dressing room, fully equipped with a couch, closet, and functioning shower. And you had managed to find him with the help of his hat on top of your frizzy hair. 

The alcohol you had consumed earlier helped you melt into his sturdy lap, and lean into him, “I enjoyed it very much, Ace.” You contemplated for a bit, tilting your head, “Interesting song choice, though.” You couldn’t help but squirm on his jean-clad thighs as his hands trailed up and down your sides, catching on the hem of your dress. 

“My name isn’t Ace, little one,” he smiled and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, “It’s Ushijima.” He took his hat off of your head with little ceremony and pushed one of his thumbs past your lips. “And from the state of your sloppy pussy you’re trying so hard to grind on me, I’d say you didn’t mind the song too much,” 

You suck on his thumb like a good little girl and nod frantically. Now that you think about it, you had been subconciously rubbing yourself against the hardening bulge in his pants. “M’can’t help it, i-it hurts so bad.” You slur around his thick digit, and drool drops onto your chin. His performance had turned your silk panties see-through, and you were staring to leave a dark spot on the crotch of Ushijima’s jeans. 

“You’re such a messy little thing, aren’t you.” He pulls his thumb away and smears your spit into your cheek, “I bet you’d do anything to ride my cock, hmmm?” He presses your body even closer to him, his body heat deliciously warm. Being this close to him makes you realize just how enormous he actually is, another thought that leaves your thighs clenching. 

Ushijima’s harsh breaths are mingling with yours, you don’t have space to think, but your body is answering every question he shoots your way, tenfold. He kisses you with the ferocity of a starved man. It’s messy, and when he pulls back, a string of saliva connects you both. His pupils are blown so wide that the hazel of his eyes can hardly be seen. 

You nod your head, “Please.” Looking up through your lashes you see him hesitate for just a moment. “Please! Please Ushijima, fuck me.” You’re whining at this point, you know, but you’re so desperate. 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath and swipes his sweaty hair from his forehead, “get up, little one. I want you to take off this fucking dress.” He lifts you from his lap with ease and turns you around in front of him. “You’ve been teasing me with this outfit all night. Squeezing those soft thighs together in front of everyone, like a whore.” You whimper, suddenly feeling very exposed, “What? You think I didn’t notice?” He taunts you mercilessly. You’re so wet at this point, you can feel it dripping down the inside of your thighs. 

You lift the hem of your dress over your head and drop it next to you on the floor. You’ve never been extremely shy but the man in front of you makes it nearly impossible not to want to run away from his sharp gaze. The black underwear you had decided to wear for the night were nothing special, and your reluctance to wear a bra had come back to bite you in the ass. You were practically naked in front of Ushijima. 

“Your panties too, little one. I can’t fuck you with those in the way, can I?” A small moan gets caught in the back of your throat as he slips his hands underneath the soft silk covering you. “And here I thought you were gonna be my good little slut.” He tsks and shakes his head disapprovingly. The muscles in his jaw work as he slips a finger through your slippery folds. “You’re… so wet.” He admonishes, still circling your cunt but never where you need him the most. 

“No shit.” You roll your eyes and grip his forearm, trying and failing to get his fingers on your clit. He pulls his hand away and before you realize what’s happening, he slaps you through your underwear. The shock is enough to send you back into his lap, mewling. “F-fuck! What was that for?” You thread your fingers together behind his neck and press your bare chest against his, feeling very impatient. 

Ushijima is finally at his limit, apparently, because he reaches in between your sweat-covered bodies and takes off his belt. You gulp and fumble to help him, but again, you’re stopped by his strong grasp on your wrists. “No,” he’s practically growling, “bad little sluts don’t get to touch as they please. Put your hands back where they were and don’t move.” You do as he says immediately, feeling like you’ve already tested your limits for the night. The button and zipper of his pants come undone with a quiet ‘pop’, and he licks his slightly chapped lips fighting the urge to teach you a lesson right then and there. “You better hold on, little one. I’m gonna have to fuck some manners into you.”

His cock slaps his stomach when he finally gets his pants down and Ushijima breathes a sigh of relief. You choke on the thick air of his dressing room when your eyes finally catch a glimpse of what you had been grinding on earlier. His dick is enormous, very befitting of its owner, but you were regretting your loud-ass mouth right about now. The tip is red and angry, leaking precum against his impressive abs. Ushijima’s hand can barely wrap itself around his impressive member when he strokes himself a few times before hissing out another sigh through his teeth. 

“Don’t worry, baby it’ll fit.” His words did little to reassure you as he lined himself up with your slick entrance. Your position gave you some small amount of control, although you knew Ushijima had his large hands on your waist for a reason. “Take what you can, for now.” His soft eyes met yours for a moment as he rubbed circles into your back, his harsh words gone for a moment. 

You lowered yourself onto his length slowly, using his shoulders as leverage. Ushijima filled you like no one had ever managed before, and when you thought you had seated yourself completely, there always seemed to be another inch. Mouth open and eyes wide, you were babbling incoherently, the delicious stretch of his cock left you drooling and dumb. 

To help you, Ushijima finally gave your neglected bud the attention you had been seeking all night. The small amount of friction he allows sends you spasming around his length. Between moans and whines, Ushijima could hear curses and little cries of ‘thank you, Ushi’, he smiles, thinking it’s completely precious how quickly you managed to fuck yourself stupid. 

“That’s it little one, just like that. That’s a good fucking girl. Take what you need from my cock,” He smirks and brings your face close to his own, gripping your cheeks tight, “Before I ruin every other man for you.” He kisses you on the forehead, almost condescendingly, before grappling your hips again and thrusting up into your messy cunt. 

His thrusts are brutal, his sweet demeanor gone now that he’s chasing his own release, using you as nothing but his own personal fucktoy. His grunts get louder and the muscles in his defined stomach grow taught the closer he gets to his orgasm. Ushijima’s strength is impressive, it has to be with the way you’ve gone limp in his lap, shaking from the over stimulation. 

“P-please cum Ushijima.” You hiccup around the syllables of his name and scratch at his upper-back. You’re jostled with every powerful thrust he gives you, too tired to meet them. All you can do is take the pleasure he gives you. 

Moaning a long string of curses, Ushijima’s movements become more erratic and his cock swells impossibly further, “Where do you want my cum little one?” His teeth catch his bottom lip and he continues to hump into you frantically.

You whimper as you feel the heat in your belly starting to spread, “I-inside! Want you t-to fill me up Ushi.” The pleasure building up inside you finally snaps when you feel Ushijima’s warm cum coat your insides. He keeps thrusting into you shallowly, almost unconsciously, as you both ride out your orgasms. 

After a few beats of heavy breathing and muffled club music, Ushijima clears his throat, “Hey, uh, are you alright?” His hands are rubbing soothing circles into your thighs, which are shaking horribly. 

You lift your head up from his neck and blink dazedly a few times before smiling, “Never been better, big guy.” You truly are dick drunk, “But I could use some help getting to the bathroom.” You brush a few stray hairs from Ushijima’s forehead and laugh when he picks you up bridal style, carrying you like you asked. 

“I can do that, little one.” He smiles back at you, “If you don’t mind can I, uh. Fuck this sounds awful.” He laughs awkwardly, “Can I get your name, maybe?”

You blink back at the man holding you naked against his chest. “It’s Y/n.” You tell him with a small smile.

[cosmiclatte28]

Coffee (Jaemin x you)

warning : fluff! flirty Jaemin! 

okay sorry for once again reusing a fic, this was from my Sehun collection which I actually find cute, but I guess Jaemin can fit in here nicely too! 

enjoy! 

“One ice Americano,” the angelic guy with ominous aura places his order, for a second the café suddenly feels frozen. He looks and sounds cold, but once he steps into the counter in front of you, you feel the blazing sun of summer, the cute shy smile, and a gentle stare.

“One Americano, no water? 6 shots of additional espresso” you question him even when you remember his order nicely in the back of your mind.

The man across you smiles, “You remember?”

You smirk, deep inside your heart you wonder how one could forget if that’s the only thing he orders in every single visit and no one else drink a coffee like him.

You take his card, swipe the bill, and rush to brew his cold coffee.

Ever since the cold and hot man enters that door last week, you quickly fell for his demeanour aura. You learn his name when he ordered his first cup of coffee in a bubble tea shop. Though you find it weird why he bought coffee when you guys are known for bubble teas, you did not reject his orders; you even wished with all your heart he will be a regular here.

“One ice Americano coffee to go, for Jaemin oppa,” you scream out his name, and when he walks to take the bag, your hand swiftly drops in a piece of cookie inside the paper bag. He saw you and almost say you misplaced an order, but your whisper silence him.

“It’s a complementary,” You panicked, “Special for the customer who has the queuing number 100.”

You see him smile and you hear your co-worker stifling a laugh.

“Thank you,” Jaemin smiles and nods his head as he takes his order, “Thank you, see you!”

He leaves the counter with his expressionless face and your shift continues. You take more orders from other customers.

One of your co-workers nudges you when the rush hour is over, and the café is a bit empty. “What was that, did you put in your number on the cookie earlier?” the man with a beautiful eye smile teases you.

You blush when your mind teases you back with the phrase Jaemin said before he left.

“Stop it Jeno, I did not drop my number in it. Seriously, I just wanted to treat him a cookie, what’s wrong with it?” You shrug your shoulder and choose to leave to take a short break. Well, secretly you scream out of joy when you reach the storage room. Jaemin, the man who creates butterflies in your stomach is slowly recognizing you.

The next day, your shift starts and as time ticks by, your heart beats faster as you expect the presence of Jaemin. He shows up in his regular time, with his regular expressionless handsome face just that today he looks a bit tired and annoyed. You pull up your textbook-smile and try your best to control your heating face.

“Welcome, is it another usual menu, or are you interested in trying todays special menu?” You flash a concern look to him. He catches your attention and runs his eyes through the menu. He sighs and inserts his hands into his pockets.

“Do you have any recommendation for a bad day?”

You nod in a second, “Are you okay with Chocolates?” he nods, you type in a menu and he seems to agree with what you call ‘House favorite chocolate bomb bubble tea’

Jaemin hands you his card and surprises you when he asks for a table number. He brings his number and sits on the corner, the secluded chair near the windows.

You are quite surprise; he never dines inside. With a question mark in your mind, you prepare his drink and once again sneak in another slice of red velvet cake. Jeno catches you again and smiles widely while wriggling his brow, “Go, and take that order to his table. Let me take over the cashier and orders.”

You thank him and after tidying your appearance, you deliver the drink and cake to the man sitting alone and lost in his thoughts.

“Here’s your drink, and I bring you a cake to cheer you up.” You move the drink and cake from your tray to his table.

Jaemin’s cold façade melts away when he sees the red cake and your sweet attention, “Wow! Am I the 100th customer again today?” He laughs at his own words. You feel like melting into a puddle right then and there.

He takes his time enjoying the cake and reviving his mood with your special brew, you are once again busy behind the counter and running over making different orders of drinks. You can still see Jaemin from several quick glances, and that is enough to make you energized until your shift end.

After 10 minutes, the tall man in suit fleets from his chair and queue into the line in front of me. You are perplexed when he shows up again with his shy smile, “I’m here to pay the red velvet and I want the cookies you gave me yesterday. I want two of them, all packed to go.” You swipe his payment only for the cookies, the red velvet is from you.

“For someone?” You ask when you take out two fresh baked cookies and wrap them nicely inside a bag.

Jaemin shakes his head, “It’s for me, and I’m working overnight today. The cookies will be my acquaintance tonight.”

“Have strength! Good luck,” you send him off with a wave of hand.

That’s the last time you ever see him. For a good one week, you never see his nose. Jeno teases you repeatedly for waiting and hoping like a fool, but you shush him off. One week feels like a month and the nosey customers really drain your energy.

One night when Renjun is already mopping the floor and you’re already turning over the chairs, the door opens and a young man in a tidy suit surprise both of you. Jeno glances at the door sign; it clearly is turned over already, why is he here.

“Sorry, are you closed already?” the man you missed for one week questions the two of you.

You quickly leave your current work and take over the counter, “No, we can make it work for you. We still have 5 minutes to the closing hour, but feel free to take your time.”

“Usual order?” You ask while turning on the brewer and cashier, Jaemin nods then take a seat at one of the tables you haven’t turn over.

Jeno bids you goodbye after his mopping is done, and you’re left alone with Jaemin.

“Please make yourself a drink, can you sit with me for a while tonight? Drinks are on me.” he sounds hopeful.

You take his invitation, making yourself a cup of warm coffee. You carry the dark liquids and a plate of cake from the storage.

You take your seat across him; he has his coat off already and he looks breath-taking in his white shirt and loosen tie. He is busy with his cold drink, and you preoccupied your nerves with the warm caffeine. Your heart is almost bursting out of joy, here in front of you the man you crushed, you finally get the chance to sit alone with him only. You don’t care what your boss will do to you if he ever finds out about this.

Jaemin picks the fork and pokes the cake, “What is this?”

You snap from your daydream, “Oh, that’s a new menu. A rainbow cake, were going to release them tomorrow.” He raises his brow in curiosity,

“Each colour has different flavour. Please try them.” You look at him expectantly when he takes the red part into his mouth. He savours the taste, munches, pokes into the next colour, tastes them and when he reaches the 7th colour, he finally makes his comment.

“Hmm it’s cool, a nice idea! It also tastes good. I am sure buying this again.” Jaemin’s eyes brighten and he gulps down his coffee to clean his palettes.

“(y/n),” Jaemin surprises you by calling your name. You almost ask where he learned your name, but you realize you wear name tags every day. “Thank you for opening the café for me and thank you for sitting here with me tonight.”

You shake your head and hands, “No, it’s not a problem Jaemin. Besides, I can probably help you if you need someone to talk and share stories too. Only if you’re willing too,” You panicked.

Jaemin thinks for a quick second and smirk, “You’re probably right. I need to share what’s bothering my mind. Great idea!”

It sure is a great idea for Jaemin, but not for you. Jaemin has just finished his story about his breakup with his so-called girlfriend he loved dearly. You are surprised to find out he has been dating for one year and got dumped last week, because poor Jaemin caught her kissing another man in the park. She chose the other guy over him. Jaemin concludes that he’s now traumatized, and he will be staying away from falling in love for a moment. He is hurt, and he doesn’t want to fall in love now.

You made a mental note about this and continue to talk about more things. As the night deepens, the cake vanished, and the coffees finished, you learn each other’s hobbies and favourite singers.

Jaemin helps you clean up the table and turning over the chair. He drops in extra tips into the jar, then he waits for you outside as you turn off all the machines, lights, and lock the door.

“Thank you for listening to me tonight,” Jaemin bashfully looks into his shoes.

“It’s nothing big, I’m happy if you’re feeling better now. So, good night Jaemin,” you wave your hand to him when your bus arrives. He waves his hand back at you and descends into his car.

After that night, you remember his words where he did not want to fall in love yet. That morning, you ensure your heart that the feeling must stop. You ask Jeno to switch with you and take over the cashier. You choose to work in the kitchen with your other co-worker, Renjun. You’re not going to fall more into Jaemin, no you need to stop before you hurt yourself.

You tell Renjun why you’re here now and the cheerful man just pats your back, “Aw, you’re burying a feeling. It’s okay you still have me and Renjun. We’re both still free and available for blind dates.” He winks and succeeds in cheering you up.

Weeks passed by, you work in nice union with Renjun baking cakes, and preparing bobas. Your life is bright again even without seeing Jaemin, until one day Jeno barges into the kitchen and smirks, “(y/n), he’s here and he wants to see you. I can’t hold it anymore; I’ve been telling him lies that you’re not here anymore but turns out he saw you and he wants to see you!” today.

“Who?” Renjun asks

You freeze in your place, is it really the same man you’re thinking of?

Jeno sees your reaction, “You want me to shoo him off?”

You shake your head, Jeno suddenly remembers something, “Ah yeah, he told me to tell you this. He’s ready to try it again. I don’t know what he means but he told me to deliver that message to you.” Your eyes widen and you turn your body to exit the kitchen door, leaving the two men puzzled.

You quickly run your eyes through the customers inside the small café, but he’s not there. Your eyes catch him leaving the door with a glass of Americano in his right hand and a small pack of cookies on his left.

You did not meet him yet, but you know when you will see him again.

That’s right, tomorrow.

The last rays of sun lights are slowly fading off, the sky is beautifully painted orange and purple. You tighten the apron over your waist and with the textbook smile you’re taking in orders and payments once again.

“Good afternoon, what can I help you with? Maybe a special menu today? Rainbow bubble tea made especially for you.” You wink at the man in front of your cashier counter.

He chuckles, “I’d take that as a yes, if you’re going to sit with me in that table at the corner.”

You blush and punch in his order, “That means you’re having Americano today, because I am not free until my shift ends at 9.”

He glances at his watch, “Three hours is nothing compared to a week. Please add a slice of rainbow cake too! I am waiting for my date until 9 tonight.” He offers you his deadly smile, and you cannot feel your legs.

Jeno and Renjun heard everything, when Jaemin goes away to his chair; the two men take their cue to mess with you.

“What do you want for a drink? Let me prepare it for you.” Jeno takes over the cup in my hand and makes the order.

“Of course, strawberry boba, right?” Renjun winks and walks to take a slice of rainbow cake and cheesecake.

“You love my cheesecakes, right? Now, go sit with him and we will take over your part.” Renjun unties your apron and pushes you to Jaemin’s table direction.

What? you’re surprised with the sudden situation.

“Go get your love, good luck!” the two men unite and push you into his direction. Jaemin turns his head and sees you walking to him. He smiles and gets up to pull out your chair.

“Guess this is it, I don’t have to wait for three hours by myself, and my date is here already.”

fin.

[goldafterglow]

dissolve me (repost)

(deleted this post on accident, reblog of original here)

Summary: We find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Except the Tootsie Pop is Horacio Carrillo.

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 5k+ (look away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, gory metaphors (I use figurative language to mask the scent of flaming trash)

A/N: This is literally the first thing I’ve written in like 3 years so you have to be nice to me. Please give me feedback!! But it has to be exclusively positive or I will spontaneously combust!!!

Horacio is cold.

It’s a little past midnight and the Sun has been asleep for hours by now, but not Bogota. Instead, the city moves in slow motion, the weight of slumber heavy on its creatures as the few visible stars shush the agitated crickets. Somehow, even despite the Sun’s absence, it’s influence still blankets the trees. It accumulates, even. The hot radiation permeates the lungs of taxis and buildings, but the cool darkness brings life into the air as water begins to materialize on the sides of newspaper stands and underneath Horacio’s shirt. His clothes stick to him so tight (more than usual) that he thinks he may be drowning under the moon. He can taste the ocean on his tongue and the sensation is only relieved as he steps off the pavement and onto the tile of the rundown convenience store. The building, heavily air conditioned, makes each drop of sweat feel like icicles pricking into his fried red skin, but his body still burns from the residual heat.

Somehow, Horacio still maintains that icey core in his chest. So even as he makes a beeline for the refrigerated-goods, yes. Horacio is cold.

He exists as a green-sheet ghost walking through the aisles of the grocery store, barely conscious at 2 am as he searches for some goddamn milk. He knows he works too hard, knows his life is concrete and bricks screeching against his steel heart. Every morning he walks on glass to enter his office, and every morning he forces his feet to bleed. What else is there for him? His body has been adorned with splinters and cuts for so long now, so what’s a few more? Each night, he drags his body flat across the floor, just trying to make it out the door. Trying to escape an office that chews him up and spits him out, saliva covered and filthy.

But fuck if he just wants some milk.

So he makes this small trip before he heads home. Once he finds the dairy, his heavy eyes hoist themselves upwards, to the second-to-topmost shelf in the refrigerator. The last carton of fat free milk -  dairy-flavored water - that he’ll chug the next morning. But just as his hardened fingertips reach for it, they meet something else; a third wheel to this toxic milk-Horacio romance that is ruining his plans for what might as well be the best morning he’s had in the past three milk-free days. His mind, once fuzzy from the sleepy grey clouds filling his lenses like cataracts, now feels a sharp jolt of electricity soar through it as his machine body is activated and his surroundings suddenly become clearer, laser vision kicking in. His senses are now sharper and his guard is completely up. His nerves begin racing as the data from his hands shoots straight to his brain to get integrated and that thing he’s feeling is...warm? Shit, no it’s hot. It fucking burns his skin and immediately he pulls back because his motherboard is screaming at him that he’s in danger.

His head shoots up and his eyes dart to the side as he turns to look, expecting a raging bonfire or boiling cast iron, but instead he sees a human. A sweet, candy person that looks almost surprised as he does, but with softer features and kinder eyes. He smells the caramel seeping out of your pores and it stings his olfactory nerves but perhaps he wants to smell it again so it can fill his lungs and then let it harden inside of his cold body. So that it can stay within him forever.

“Disculpame,” you say, remorse dripping out of your golden mouth and if his ears were in control, he’d beg you to say it again. Say anything. He recognizes your accent. Not a Columbian, but a gringo. His brain reminds his heart that hey, we don’t like selfish, egotistical gringos. His heart doesn’t listen.

“Go ahead,” he says, and shit he sounds horrible. He sounds fucked up, and it’s probably because he is fucked up. He talks like toothpicks and needles, but it’s okay because he got to speak to you and he’s never spoken to an angel before.

He notices how you relax a little at the sound of his English, and he feels that heat spread at the beautiful notion that he did that all by himself.

“No really, I don’t need it,” you insist, a small smile gracing your lips. “You’re very sweet for offering, though.” Huh?

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. He doesn’t taste like sugar or chocolate or berries. Horacio is bitter gourd, burnt toast and that shitty part at the end of the banana that no one wants. Copper and hot tar oozing down taste buds and burning the frail pink dots along the way. Straight black coffee that’s tear-inducingly retched. Pepto Bismol and whatever the fuck is inside of those plastic pill capsules. Raw beef festering with E. coli and flies, a rotting corpse under a wake of vultures, the creepy old man that sits next to you on the train, mace burning your shivering eyes while you collapse to your shredded knees onto a floor of thumbtacks.

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. But you said he was, and you are oh so persuasive. That’s when he felt the first one. Crack.

His mind goes into overdrive as panic sets in - what was that sound? What just broke? What crevice of his mind just ripped a little and how can he staple it back shut? He feels the slimey pus of his emotions begin to seep out of the opening a little, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to put his guard back up and regain control of this situation the way he’s been trained to do by offering you the carton and then leaving; defying your orders and following his own.

But who is he to refuse you?

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s just noticed that your hand is back at your side and your eyes shine a little brighter as your smile widens at his defeat. That was me, too. But then you’re turning around and leaving, messy bun flopping up and down as you walk towards the cash register and his heart is furious. It’s pounding in his ribcage like a ravenous shark caged in glass, telling him to not let you get away because it wants to burn in your soft flames and turn to ash in your fingers, but he stays planted. Watches you walk away and take that gentle radiating heat with you, leaving him just as hard and frozen as he was before he’d ever let you poke around into his soul. Suddenly he understands why you’d burned him so bad; doesn’t even the lightest match make that violent sizzling sound when it touches ice? But he can’t deny that you had melted him, just a little bit, and he can’t deny that he likes being a little watery.

He sees you again just a few days later. It’s a Sunday morning and Bogota is now wide awake. Pastel streaks fly down the streets as manifestations of yellow taxis, dusty red cars, and pale blue cyclers bring the canvas of the city to life. Horacio decides to be adventurous, introduce true exploration and child-like color into his monochrome world, and walk to the cafe near his street. A truly exhilarating touch, if he did say so himself.

Except he hadn’t prepared himself for the anarchy that would occur within him when he saw you again. The girl that was awake at 2 am and offered him white calcium water in a carton and called him sweet. You’re wearing one of those pink dresses that you just know is sleeveless, but a light denim jacket guards your shoulders and he can’t help but wonder what would happen if he just tugged on your collar a little bit, exposed some of your delicate skin and traced his fingers over it. Just closed his eyes and leaned down to brush his lips over - shit, fuck. What is he thinking? His eyes don’t know where to look, his heart doesn’t know how to beat, his lungs don’t know how to take in air. What do you do when you see a pretty thing in a pretty sundress? Certainly not function. Horacio wasn’t doing that at all. So he did the next best thing: sit at a table and watch you. That’s the next best thing, right?

He watches as you smile at the young man taking your order, talking to him like you know him, care about him. All you were doing was listing the ingredients you wanted in your drink, but your bright eyes twinkle with a sort of endearment that he isn’t used to. Like you were happy.

He is in awe of you. Horacio has worked so hard to stay numb, to feel nothing but that rusty scrape of motivation that made him do his job. But you made it look so easy to gush, to overflow and spill your delight with life onto everyone around you until that tired, overworked teenager behind the register was smiling too as he said “next!”

You turn your head to find a table once you pick up your order and panic settles into Horacio’s bones again as he reflexively turns his head away from you, but your keen eyes spot him. Oh, how you must pity him. The poor, miserable apparition from the grocery store. He feels that radiating heat begin to grow as you approach him at his table, so he pretends to not notice you. Pretends he’s numb as you thaw him into a dripping mess of thin ice and water.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask him, nodding to the other chair in front of him with a cup of coffee in your supple hands. Horacio’s tactful eyes scan the cafe once more; there’s other seats in the building, other men and women for you to pity. He’s been chosen. And he just can’t resist you, is too weak to deny himself that addicting sugary sweetness that you’re coated in because he’s not sure he’ll ever feel so soft again and he wants to savor it.

Horacio looks up at you, clearing his throat as he takes the kind of breath that you can feel as the air fills his lungs. He’s priming his voice to talk to you because this time, he wants to make it count.

“No,” he says. Fuck. In that moment, he couldn't remember having talked before. Has he ever spoken? Certainly not, or he’d know how to do it. But you don’t seem to mind his cold tone as you take the seat in front of you, and those damned eyes of yours are blinding to look at but god, who needs pupils anyway?

He can tell you’re curious about him. You want to pick him apart scab by scab and take him apart into individual fibers until you get to that soft mushy center that is Horacio Carrillo. You want to see him naked and open, but that’s not something Horacio can give you. How could he? He’s taken that weak, inferior soul within him and crushed it under concrete and plaster of paris, secured it with walls and steel and barbed wire until the protective layers become so extensive that even if someone could get through them all, why the fuck would they want to? It wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“You know, I’ve never been here before,” you say, taking a sip of your drink, and he hums, knowing that’s how people interact but not quite knowing what is going on with him. You’re just saying things, just want him to talk back. You’re trying to have a real conversation with him, and he doesn’t understand why, but maybe for just once in his life he doesn’t need to fucking understand everything.

“Then what brings you here?” he asks, and slowly he begins to regain a little feeling inside him. Not enough that it unleashes his pain, but enough that he can feel that ice water slosh around inside him easily. A gentle flow of slush that mixes with your amber and makes him feel like a person.

“A student of mine recommended it to me,” you explain, and he’s starting to put together a little picture of who you are in his mind. 

“You teach?” he asks, probing you for your life. He wants to study your mind, hear the music that leaves your mouth when you speak. You nod thoughtfully, and he can tell he’s mentioned something you enjoy. He learns that you teach at a local university and hears about just how passionate you are about what you teach. His dark eyes begin to fill with that precious light you possess as you tell him about your students and how though you’re new to Bogotá, you already love it. But that doesn’t surprise him so much; somehow he just knows that you’ve got plenty of love to go around.

“Well now you know what business I have in a grocery store at 2 am,” you conclude after you tell him about your late nights grading subpar papers, curiosity twinkling in your eyes like fairy lights in the dark. “What about you?” It isn’t until the focus is back on himself that he notes the smile that graces his features. A real smile. He smiles not out of diplomacy but because right now, he’s happy. He’s high on you and serotonin and he’d let you ruin him if you wanted to. But your question troubles him. He can’t really tell you why; he can’t bear to take his ugly, black, acrylic life and stain your lavender and daffodil backdrop. So he tells you the bare minimum: that he’s a colonel and leads a special ops unit called the Search Bloc. He leaves out the blood that paints his eyes everyday, forgets to mention the agony he’s felt and inflicted on others.

“Your drink isn’t ready yet?” you question, like a sudden realization has just hit you. Your kind features are furrowed into slight confusion, and Horacio wants to let a black sky swallow him into his own misery because he forgot to order something.

“I didn’t get anything,” he admits, face starting to glow light pink as his foolishness begins to manifest on his hardened features. You don’t look confused anymore; you’re curious again. Forever wondering about the enigma in front of you, except he’s no mystery; he’s a labyrinth. Full of questions and doubt without one single answer, and once you enter you can’t ever escape.

“Then what does a colonel do at a humble cafe?” you ask. And all of the sudden, for a man that makes a living out of repeatedly evading death, he wants to evaporate into the beige, worn tile beneath the teal cushion of his seat because the answer to that question will surely ruin the delicate, blushed bubble around the two of you. But you’ve incapacitated him with your stupid fucking pretty eyes so much so that you must be the enemy in this story. He can escape gunpoint, rouse himself from a concussion, but he hasn’t got a single clue how to regain his quick wit and pistol mind in the face of something much more sinister: a pretty girl.

“I-” he starts, but all of the sudden his throat won’t cooperate because his mind is helpless to lie to you but his body is resisting. His body rejects that frozen, dreadful state of nothing that it’s normally kept in. You’ve spread the warmth of fuzzy blankets and blissful vertigo throughout his stomach and his body wants to stay warm. “I was just…” he coughs, hard, willing his esophagus to heed his commands, “...I was watching you.” Horacio is flustered now, completely out of his element as he feels his blood seep to the topmost layers of his skin, exposing his embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he adds almost immediately, his eyes wide as he tries to avert his flushed features from your careful gaze. “I know that’s weird. I didn’t mean to-”

“Horacio,” you interrupt. Say it again. Say my name again. “It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” Crack. That steel fortress that he thought was so impenetrable was beginning to soften into something moldable, pliable only to your hands so you could transform him from a wall to a rose.

Horacio lets out a soft chuckle, biting his lip so hard he almost can’t feel his teeth digging into his own chapped flesh. His pink cheeks are full and for the first time in so long his eyes glimmer with life and adoration.

“I don’t want to be too forward and scare you away,” he says, a little nervous but so much more giddy, “but could I see you again?” You giggle, a beautiful melody that floods his ears and softens his brow.

“Yes, Horacio, I’d really like that,” you agree, and he can’t help but feel like he’s not in a cafe but somewhere in the cosmos as a compliant planet orbiting a bright, burning star. Somewhere far more heavenly and celestial than this godforsaken planet. He watches you glance up at the grandfather clock situated against the wall behind him and then back at him. “I need to get going, but take this.” You pull a pen out of your small bag and scribble a string of digits onto your coffee cup, holding the marked cardboard out to him. He’s slow to take it from your hands; he doesn’t want to keep you here, but at the same time he very much does. He allows himself to brush his fingers against yours again, like they had the night before, so that your potent you-flavored syrup can inject into his bloodstream and fill his capillaries. 

As you stand to leave, he can tell you have one last lingering thought itching at your brow. “For the record, you couldn’t scare me away,” you assure with a smile that borders on teasing. “You’re just not scary.” And he watches you walk away, leaving him completely and utterly dumbfounded as to who you had just spoken to because it certainly wasn’t Horacio Carrillo, world class murderer and notoriously inhuman interrogator. Crack.

That next Friday, Horacio sees you again. He shakes as he knocks on your door, roses trembling in his fingers as you swing the door open. He knows the bouquet resting under his chin is pathetic, an overused display of affection, but it makes you gush as you take them from hands and bring them to your own wondrous features and let that stupid cheesy token fill your lungs with its scent. 

He takes you to a restaurant like a proper gentleman, not that he gave a single shit where he was as long as it was with you. You put him far too out of his element for him to get creative with his date idea, so instead he pulls every last cliche out of the book and piles it on you. He holds the door open for you and pulls your chair out and orders wine for you because he doesn’t have a clue how to tell you that you turn him into sugar bubbles floating on warm cocoa but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to show you.

So evening after evening he finds himself leaving work just a little earlier each day. He spends less time in poorly lit grocery stores and more time loitering at the open farmer’s market under the real sun, perusing lazily amongst the various produce and trinkets because why not? He starts wearing pink and stripes and maybe a polka-dot shirt because he starts to realize that the world has so much beauty in it and all things beautiful remind him of you. He waits a little longer to shave his face so he can hear that ethereal symphony of giggles play from your throat when he uses his scruff to scratch against your soft shoulder. You start showing up in his life in places that you don’t even exist and filling his odd corners with a pretty white glow.

He lets little things bring him joy; your tongue wetting your lips when you’re deciding where to eat for the night, your neck craning to look up at him from the couch when he walks through your door, the way the stacks of student papers that rest on your kitchen island are always different sizes.  Your tongue tapping his skin when you lay a lingering kiss to his face. Your lipgloss sticking to his tricep when you don’t feel like getting up to kiss his lips, leaving a shimmer on his skin that he never wipes away. Your feather fingers sweeping his torso and turning his skin to cotton candy. The fumes of pencil lead and your perfume choking his lungs when he buries his face into your neck and breathes you in. And every fucking time you call him cute, adorable, pretty, beautiful, baby. All of those forbidden words that you dare to use in vain, courageously sacrilegious considering how he worships you, create more little cracks inside of him.

Horacio may not know how to communicate, but he knows you. He knows which compliments make you turn the reddest. He gets you your favorite artists’ CDs imported from America. He shows up at your door with your favorite pastry from your new favorite cafe. He hugs you from behind and peppers kisses down the column of your throat because it makes you giggle. He flutters his fingers where you’re ticklish until you’re so overstimulated that tears form. He cooks meals for you, insisting that all you can do to help is sit on the counter and look pretty for him. He kisses you deeply, so hard and intimate that the two of you are breathing the same air and taste the same. He does everything he can to make you smile for him because in return he gets called a “beautiful boy” and “my sweet soldier” and an “angel,” all words that send him beyond the stars and spin his head like a top until all he can think to do is giggle.

Passed weeks turn into a month, a month becomes two, and before he knows it he’s twice the man he used to be with you filling in half of him. Horacio is still, however, a man adorned with flaws. And with each moment that you occupy, he starts to really collect cracks. The powerful resolve that keeps him from ever admitting that he’s absolutely gone for you becomes compromised because you are powerful. Without even trying, your soft voice is like a wrecking ball to his defenses, breaking him down as you probe into what you call the “pretty parts” of him that he hides. But you don’t have the first clue what he’s hiding.

Horacio is not a man without emotions. He gets angry and frustrated, but those kinds of emotions sit at his surface, above his armed fortress. He can let them all out in his work through stony grimaces and raised voices and guns and fists. But he also feels sorrow, regret, shame. So much shame. These emotions are unsightly black and blue dents in the soft, fragile mush that sits at the very core of him. Under his walls are wounds still wide open and full of splinters, gushing blood and pus, septic and untreated. And they fucking hurt. So he gathers them all together along with his love, his adoration and sweetness, and ices them over, freezes them away and covers them in layer after layer of concrete until he can barely even remember that they’re there.

But he’s starting to feel again.

His fondness for you is explosive and wild, greedy for your affection. But he’s afraid. He knows you adore him, because you are brave. You can speak your feelings into existence and not feel like something inside you has fractured. But Horacio is a coward. He can’t say he loves you, he can’t love you. He knows that if he did, his filthy rotting core would be unleashed and he’d feel an agony worse than anything he’s ever subjected anyone to. But you’re leaving him full of cracks, making him weak and vulnerable in the security of your arms, and he doesn’t think you could hold all of him together if he was truly unleashed. He thinks you might realize how much of a lost cause he is and leave him on the side of the road to bleed out.

The last crack you leave in him is so small, you don’t even notice.

He sits next to you on your couch, your head tucked into his neck as a shitty telenovela radiates through the thick glass of your TV set. Neither of you say anything because you don’t need to be talking to feel comfortable with each other, so you don’t notice how he hasn’t glanced at the TV in 15 minutes. He can’t take his eyes off of you, hermosa, the puny glow of Rodrigo telling Lucia that “it’s not what it looks like” barely doing your face justice. He notices each pore on your face, the curve of your jaw and the bridge of your nose forming sweeping lines that sculpt your face, and he knows he is so utterly fucked. He knows he’s so dangerously in love with you.

He only blinks when you yawn softly, those lines contorting as you scrunch your face. He relaxes a little as you move to sit up, leaning forward to grab the remote from the coffee table and blindly turning the TV off as the preview for the next episode plays. He fills to the brim with amazement as you stretch your back, letting out a gentle squeal. Now it’s just that antique lamp on the edge of your couch illuminating the room, and it’s still not enough light. Nothing is ever bright enough when you’re there to rival it.

“It’s late, baby,” you whisper, a sleepy rasp scraping your voice a little as you look up at him with a rosy smile. You reach up to run a hand through his dark hair, taking care to let your fingers caress his scalp. “You can stay if you want,” you offer, as he’s stayed the night before. “I sleep better with you anyway.” Crack.

“Cariño,” he breathes, his features turning pained as his lip begins to quiver like never before. “Cariño I love you.”

Horacio crumbles in your hands.

Like a mound of brown sugar after it’s poured, the dome losing its form as it slowly collapses, grains dragging over each other as they sink to the bottom of the bowl and the dome is destroyed. No longer held together by tight, sticky molasses and instead a helpless, feeble puddle too broken down to be considered a shape anymore. Just a pathetic sea of lost particles, helpless in putting itself back together. He falls apart right in front of you.

He feels tears that are years old begin to flow down his cheeks, falling off his chin and onto the baby blue cloth of his too-tight shirt. He is completely unprotected, every last defense around that shapeless, dark flesh inside him falling to dust as you hold it in your kind hands. Your arms are quick to wrap around his head, bringing his face to your chest where he is safe. He’s never been more raw and vulnerable in his life, and yet he’s never felt more secure.

He bares his soul to you. He chokes on his words as he gushes his dried, brown blood onto your cotton skin and you soak up every ounce of him. He tells you he is ashamed, that he is remorseful, that he is afraid. And you listen, skin absorbing him in until you’ve got him enveloped in your big, beautiful heart. And whereas every touch used to break him down, your fingertips are now healing him, building him back up and reshaping him into something better than what he was. He can feel his scars begin to heal and the pain begin to dull as an intense awe for you overcomes him.

He knows you can’t just fix him with your fairy dust overnight. He knows he will need time to restore himself from beast to man. But fuck if he doesn’t want to do it with you, can’t do it without you.

You’ve led him towards your bed, undressing him slowly because you know that he just needs to breathe and feel the air cool his irritated skin. Once you’re both down to your underclothes, you’re careful in letting him onto the mattress. You sit down first, leaning back against the pillow, and then you sweetly tug on his arm to join you. He dives into your body head first, face nosing into your neck as his big arms wrap around your midsection. You reach for your softest blanket, enveloping the two of you in the added warm as his breaths begin to even out against your chest. He feels you wrap your arms around his head again, for the second time reminding him that he is safe.

He can feel his emotions getting the best of himself again as you whisper sweet nothings into his hair, telling him how strong and brave he is, how beautiful his soul is now that he’s really showing it to you. His muscles melt into you as you take those fragments of him and begin to piece them back together, filling the cracks you’d made with your marshmallow fluff and liquid gold.

He feels warm again as you call him your “baby,” and this time he doesn’t try to run away from it. He embraces it, leans into it. He was being protected by bones and bricks, but now it’s by honeycomb and delicate flesh. Horacio finally starts to feel like he’s beautiful because you’re letting him borrow yours. And as long as you’ll have him, he’s willing to share.

[kakashiswilloffire]

Cold Brew

ao3

word count: 1.9k

kakashi x gn!reader, fluff, coffee shop au

warnings: none!

***

It had been a terrible day. Things had been going well when it began, but it took a turn for the worse, and now, it had been a fucking terrible day. You kept your head down as you walked along the busy sidewalk, careful to avoid other passersby. If nothing else, you deserved to something to look forward to after everything you’d been through, and hell if you weren’t going to get it yourself.

And maybe this time, you’d get the barista’s number with it.

There was a light chime as you pushed open the door to the Starbucks nearest your apartment. Logically, you understood that every Starbucks made their drinks the same way, with the same formula and ingredients, but there was something about this location that made your drink seem a little bit sweeter and richer in flavor. You didn’t come here every day by any means, but if you had the time and a little extra cash, it was a good way to relax and reward yourself for working as hard as you did.

One of the staff members behind the counter, the one who always somehow had a white towel stained with red syrup hanging from his front pocket, called out a rushed greeting upon your entrance. When he finished wiping his hands and returned the rag to its home, he looked at you properly.

“Ah! What can I get started for you today?” he grinned. “It was the red velvet last time, right?”

You returned the grin, allowing tension to start melting off your body. “That was the time before last. Last time, it was—”

“The lemon loaf, Asuma,” scoffed the employee who had just finished blending a drive through customer’s drink and came around the corner to see who had walked in. Teasing, he added, “I can’t believe you can’t keep it straight.”

“Fuck off, Kakashi,” he mumbled, making sure to swear at a volume no one else could hear. The silver-haired twenty-something laughed, and you felt yourself become lighter and had to stop yourself from letting your head tip to the side.

These two worked frequently when you came in, and had been actively following your journey in trying all the bakery items they served to determine what paired best with your coffee order. It had started accidentally, with you getting three different bagels on different days in the same week, and Kakashi had made a comment about it, and now it was your mission. Together, you had gone through the bagels, the cake pops, and were currently testing out the cakes. The lemon loaf had been an excellent contender, and you weren’t sure what would be able to top it.

Except, of course, Kakashi getting the hint.

He was normally making drinks when you came in, and you had watched him occasionally in awe while waiting for your order. He seemed to know each recipe innately, and he created lattes, frappuccinos and everything else almost as quickly as they were ordered. His hands moved with surprising speed, accommodating any modifications as he expertly and gracefully crafted drinks. That had been what first drew you to him, and then you became aware how elegantly he did everything. He even made the green apron look great—pairing it with a long sleeve deep blue, nearly grey shirt and keeping an assortment of pens and sharpies in the chest pocket.

He was charming, and beautiful, and graceful, and damn if Asuma didn’t know exactly how you felt about him. Asuma normally took orders, having a great rapport with customers and a talent for figuring out what they meant when they ordered lattes with no espresso or milk. It had taken about a month before he had put two and two together about your feelings for his coworker. Kakashi had interrupted him taking your order to ask a question about the previous customer’s drink, and when he walked away, it took Asuma waving a hand in front of your eyes to bring you back to the present. He had nearly giggled, encouraging you to ask him out on the spot and reassuring you that he was single. You were mortified and flatly refused. Since then, Asuma had made a point of being unavailable to hand you your drink or baked good, and had even tried a couple of times to get Kakashi to take your order himself.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Kakashi asked, leaning across the counter and gesturing for you to lean toward him. You complied, fighting a blush when Asuma looked back and forth between you and tried to make eye contact. He pointed at the display case and dropped his voice to a loud whisper.

“I know you like to stick to one category at a time, but the banana nut’s no good today. It thawed out and then got re-frozen because the new guy, Iruka, left a whole case out for a couple hours yesterday. The texture is garbage.” He nodded at a nervous trainee in the corner, looking a little panicked by a hissing espresso machine. “Go with a blueberry muffin. Classic, and good with everything. Also, it’s my favorite.” He stood back up and winked, turning to go help his coworker who yelped as the milk he was steaming splashed onto the back of his hand.

Your head spun for a moment, then you turned back to Asuma. His grin had now become so wide it looked painful.

“So, one blueberry muffin,” he said as he rapidly tapped the screen. “And then what size today?”

“Venti, for sure.”

“That kind of day, huh?” When you firmly nodded, Asuma furiously tapped again. “I’ll ring you up for a tall and have your boy just make it a venti. How’s that?”

You felt a blush creep across your face by the favor and the description of Kakashi. “No, don’t worry about it, I can pay—”

“Already done. I’d have to void the order to change the size now.” His eyes glinted with a little mischief. It was not the first time he had under-charged you, and it would likely not be the last. You always looked much happier as you left the store than you did when you entered it, and on days like this, you glowed just a bit more.

You relented, reaching for your wallet. “Fine. And while we’re at it, he’s not my boy,” you chided as you handed over your card.

Asuma waved the plastic rectangle back at you as he warned, “I can call him back over here and we can change that.”

“Don’t you dare!” you whispered aggressively, snatching your card when it was handed back. Asuma chuckled, sticking the printout on a large cup.

“One of these days, I swear…” he teased, walking away to pass the cup to Kakashi.

You shook your head, crossing to the other side of the counter to wait for your order.

It only took a few moments for your order to be completed. You watched Kakashi, as you normally did in the open concept kitchen, talk Iruka through the single latte he was making while he blazed through six other drinks in the same time. He reassured him that with practice, he’d become just as fast. You had your doubts.

Asuma placed the thin bag holding what, presumably, was your muffin on the counter, winking at you, before heading directly into some back room a beat before Kakashi finished your drink. Adding the lid, he pushed his silver locks out of his face as he scanned for the missing coworker. He shrugged it off and brought it to the counter himself, calling your name.

“I went ahead and added a little extra sweet cream. I know you think the cold brew is the star, but you looked like you could use a little indulgence, you know?” As he passed you the cup, his fingers brushed yourself and you felt sparks ignite, swallowing hard and focusing on your grip to avoid spilling it.

He checked the wax paper bag next to him, frowning. “You got the blueberry, right?” You nodded, and he grabbed the bag. “Asuma gave you a chocolate chip muffin. Idiot. Give me a sec.”

He took the bag into the back room and returned a moment later, a luxurious smile painted across his face as he handed off the muffin. “Enjoy.”

You thanked him, nodding lightly as you held both items close to your chest.

“I’ll see you soon. Banana nut next time?”

Again, you nodded, feeling yourself flush. “Sounds like a date,” you agreed, a little surprised by your boldness. You caught sight of Asuma, returning to his position behind the register, give you a proud thumbs up. It was progress, at least.

Kakashi carded his fingers through his hair and lingered a beat longer at the counter before one of the metal cups used for steaming milk crashed to the tile ground and he sighed, giving you a small smile and heading back to Iruka. You didn’t envy him, though you were impressed with his patience as a trainer.

Reality seemed to set in a little duller as you left the shop, purchases in hand. Before you let it sink in too far, you admired how the vanilla cream cascaded through the viscous cold brew, tumbling off each block of ice and forming tendrils as it made its way toward the bottom of the cup. You took one drink now, relishing the hit of sugar and vanilla, then twirled the plastic cup in your hand, blending it into a light beige. Now, when you took a sip, it still gave the same satisfying sweetness, but you also got the rich coffee.

The cold brew was great, but it was the extra hit of sweet cream that really did make the drink sing.

You smiled into your cup before remembering the muffin, unfolding the top of the bag. The smell was intoxicating, and you were pleased to find it warm. You pulled it partially out of the bag and took a large bite out of the top. It was excellent, and combined well with the cold brew. It was a solid suggestion from Kakashi, though you felt a pang of emptiness to know that you’d gone another encounter without finding the courage to ask him what he was doing off the clock. Though, you had made decent progress and maybe next time would be what cinched it.

As you made your way back to the safety of your apartment, you tuned the rest of the world out and focused solely on your two treats. You finished the muffin right before arriving, freeing up a hand to unlock your door. Inside, you set down the two-thirds of coffee you had remaining and crumpled the paper bag to throw it in the trash.

However, the bag was weirdly heavy.

Frowning, you smoothed out the wax paper, feeling the square lump in the bottom. You checked inside, sure you had thrown the wrapper away already. Instead, you found what appeared to be an index card, roughly folded twice with delicate, though rushed, writing. The outside had your name spelled out. When you unfolded it, you froze.

It was seven digits, with a hyphen in the middle.

And beneath that:

Be the sweet cream to my cold brew?

-K

[marvelfansince08love]

A Christmas Gift

Word Count: 4K

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Ally Mayfair-Richards x Reader 

Warning: Smut 18+ (a little filthy, you’ve been warned) 

Enjoy my loves! Merry Christmas to you all, Mwah x

This is how I picture Cordelia’s dress later in the fic (may have gotten carried away so I’ll just go hide in a corner lmao)

Tagging a few of my loves💛 : @waitingfortheendtocome @natasha-danvers @mssallymckenna @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @pearplate @r0an0ke @coconutlipss @minavenable @venablemayfairgoode @versonstar @veteranwerewolf95 @fandom-nsfw-things @saucy-sapphic @creepingwolfberry @nyx-aira @witchxaf @duchessfics @billiedeansbottom

A Christmas Gift 

The smell of freshly baked cookies and coffee travels from the kitchen as you take in the Christmas morning. Smiling softly as you pass the living room, presents stacked high around the tree that stands tall in the corner of the room ready for a certain well behaved boy; who continues to sleep peacefully unaware that the big guy in red has been and gone. Wrapping your arms around yourself, your smile turns into a huge grin when you take in the scene before you. Ally stands by the coffee machine as she pours coffee into her mug humming quietly to the well known Christmas song that plays from the speaker, Cordelia sways softly to the beat of the joyous tune placing the cookies onto the plate at the kitchen table. Leaning against the doorframe you bask in the image before you, grinning ridiculously when you take in their red and white pyjamas that match your own. Oz had insisted that this year you all wore matching pyjamas on Christmas day and you were not to change out of them all day, Ally had put her foot down about that last part. 

Cordelia notices your presence first, gazing over at you with her chocolate brown eyes so full of love as her lip twitches into a soft grin. You move away from the doorframe, tiptoeing quietly over to your blonde wife, pressing a kiss to her hair as you whisper into her ear, eyeing Ally who continues to tidy around the counter area still unaware of your presence with her back turned as the music blares from the speaker next to her. 

“Merry Christmas, my love.” Cordelia leans into you, a soft smile appearing on her lips. Her gaze meets yours as you nod over to your brunette wife, winking playful at the blonde as her eyes sparkle with mischief. Moving away from the witch, you move quietly over to Ally wrapping your arms around her waist holding her flushed against you, feeling her tense for a brief moment before relaxing into your familiar embrace. Propping your chin onto her shoulder, you turn slightly to press a delicate kiss to her exposed neck. 

“Merry Christmas, beautiful.” You whisper close to her ear. She turns in your arms holding onto your shoulders as she pecks your lips, smiling widely against your mouth. 

“Merry Christmas, sleepyhead.” She teases, before turning back around and grabbing the freshly brewed coffee and the herbal tea, brushing past you playfully she places the tea in front of the blonde who sits at the kitchen table. She kisses the brunette in thanks, brown eyes locked onto brown for a moment a feeling of warm contentedness flows through the room as you watch the pair, your heart full at the sight. You are interrupted by the sound of loud thudding as smaller feet sprint down the stairs, making you share a knowing look with the two matching their grins. Oz sprints straight into the kitchen, his eyes bursting with excitement as his thick blonde hair sticks out in all directions, glasses slightly crooked perched on his nose. 

“He’s been, he’s been!!” He exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. Ally moves forward first wrapping her arms around his shoulders, kissing the top of his blonde curls. 

“Wanna see what he’s left you?” She mutters into his hair making the boy nod excitedly before sprinting off in the direction that matters most. You smile into your mug basking in the smell of coffee early in the morning, as Ally races after the boy. Cordelia glances over to you a mischievous glint within her brown eyes as she saunters over towards you, eyeing her form you watch on in apprehension. The blonde witch flushes herself up against your side as she takes your mug grimacing slightly at the strong coffee smell, placing it onto the counter next to her. Her lips brush along your cheek before resting close to your ear. 

“I hope you enjoy your present, my love. I have to say it fits perfectly.” She purrs, before leaving a wet trail of kisses along your neck. Within a blink of an eye the blonde saunters off following the departed footsteps of your other wife and son. You gape for a moment, your brain trying to process her words as if you imagined them before shaking yourself out of your dirty thoughts and sprinting after your family. 

‘God I love Christmas,’ You thought wistfully, coffee long forgotten. 

***

You were never one for Christmas holidays, the idea of a big jolly fella in a red Santa suit delivering presents always seemed so ridiculous to you but as you sit curled up into the corner of the sofa with the comfortable weight of your excited son snuggled close to your side, you are thankful to have a new, more positive perspective on the day. With the wrapping paper now removed from the living room; per Ally’s request and presents neatly piled in the corner of the room, you all sit cozied up around the big TV, watching as the tall giant dressed in an elf’s costume runs around New York looking for his dad. Cordelia glances over to you from above Oz’s mob of blonde curls and winks smiling softly as she pulls Ally closer to her on her other side. The peaceful atmosphere is quickly ruined by the horrible sound of your cell phone, groaning as you gently remove the tired boy that is slumped against you, who automatically curls into Cordelia making your heart ache at the disruption. Grabbing the irritable phone from the table, you quickly answer the person who is intruding on your family time. Ready to give them a piece of your mind, you pause after hearing the sound of sobbing coming through the other end. 

“Katie?” You ask, frowning at her heart wrenching sobs. You feel Ally and Cordelia’s gaze on you as you remove yourself from the living room, confusion evident within their matching brown eyes. 

“Y/N, I- I’m so sorry f- for calling you. Oh my god why did I-i call you, it’s fine I can sort it,” Katie stutters between her sobs, scolding herself. Quickly moving into the hallway and away from tiny prying ears, you try to calm her. 

“Katie, dear. I need you to breathe for me so you can tell me what’s wrong, okay?” You instruct softly, you jump slightly at the light touch on your shoulder. Turning to see a frowning Ally who eyes up the phone in your hand, she mouths ‘is she okay?’. You nod reassuring her, squeezing her hand before turning my attention back to my business partner.  You hear her take a deep breath in before rushing out a very in depth story about how the business deal with Harrison and Co has fallen through and how she’s tried her best to regain their attention, even amending certain demands  on the contract but with no such luck. 

“Y/N, I am so sorry. I really tried to get them back on our side but..” 

“They want to talk to me.” You state, knowing exactly where she was going with this phone call the moment you picked up the phone. Your eyes lock with Ally’s as you watch her bite her lip, her eyes full of understanding but you know by the slight dip of her brows that she’s disappointed. Sighing tiredly you continue your conversation with Katie. 

“Are they there now?”

“Yes, they would like to discuss with you new terms. Again I’m really sorry Y/N.” She apologises, sounding like she is on the verge of tears again. You reassure her and tell her that you will be there within the hour. Ending the phone call makes you huff in frustration, the only thing helping you relax is the soft touch of your wife’s hands that cradle your face, her thumb stroking calming strokes against your cheekbones. 

“Baby I’m really sorry-” Ally shushes you softly, pecking your lips in reassurance understanding the importance of this deal. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do, baby. We’ll be here with some hot cocoa when you get back annnd my parents are excited to have Oz tonight,” She trails off suggestively, biting down on her lower lip with a quirked dark eyebrow. You match her grin, kissing her hard, appreciating her understanding nature. Wrapping your arm around her waist you pull her close and slowly make your way back into the living room, feeling your shoulders tense slightly when you see your two favourite blondes singing softly along with Jovie and Buddy. Cordelia glances over to you both noticing your tense posture and sadden eyes, due to her distraction from her duet with Oz the boy turns around curiously looking at you and Ally with his big brown eyes. 

“You okay, Mama?” He asks, his innocent voice making you melt at his concern. Moving away from Ally you round the sofa and crotch in front of the boy. 

“You remember that big business deal Mama and Aunt Katie were working on?” He nods along, remembering the many nights you and Katie would work rather late into the night, stacks of paper scattered around the kitchen table. “Well it seems the boys we were working with no longer want to and they are being a little greedy and wanting more… candy from us,” 

“That’s very greedy Mama,” He adds, agreeing with your analogy. You grin softly and you see the soft glint in Cordelia and Ally’s eyes as they sit either side of him. Brushing his messy mop of hair from his eyes you continue. 

“Yes, very greedy Ozzy. So, because the boys are being greedy, Mama needs to go and ask if the boys would like to play nice since it’s Christmas and all... I’m sorry Oz but I promise tomorrow I’ll pick you up from Grandma and Grandpa’s house and we can go down to Milton Hill and go sledging!” You promise watching as his eyes light with glee at the prospect. He sticks out his pinkie finger to you making you smile softly before proceeding to lock your larger pinkie with his sealing the deal. 

“Deal Mama! Can we ask if Jackson can come?!” He asks, his voice becoming louder with the excitement. You nod vigorously basking in his excitement and slightly relieved that you have such an understanding family. Luckily this is the first and will definitely be the last time you miss out on Christmas for work - deal or not. Reaching up to place a kiss on the crown of his head, you move over to your blonde lover, conflict still evident in your eyes, she gently grips your clothing and pulls you closer, your nose brushing softly against hers as she presses a delicate kiss to your lips. 

“Hurry up home, my love.” She whispers gently against your lips as you pull away, flustered by the intensity of her brown eyes as she eyes you lovingly. Clearing your throat you nod stumbling to your feet, as Oz giggles into Ally’s side at his blonde mothers mischief, you quickly press a gentle kiss to Ally’s temple on your way past, heading for your shared room to change. 

Once changed and with more kisses given you head out into the cold quiet afternoon ready to get your deal finalised and sealed, determined to get back to your wives before nightfall. Stepping into the car you glance briefly through the gap of the living room curtain taking in your family who are still in their matching pyjamas, wanting nothing more than to be snuggled amongst them. 

***

Stepping back through into your warm toasty home you sigh, finally relaxing. Placing the cold bottle of champagne onto the side table, you remove your coat and gloves shaking the small remanence of snow. Frowning at the quietness, you remove your boots and head for the living room taking the cold champagne bottle with you. You stop abruptly by the open door frame staring openly at your senator wife, who is currently lounged lazily over the single armchair, her legs hanging over the arm of the chair, her skin glowing a light orange from the burning fireplace beside her. A lovely shade of Christmas green lingerie on display for your eyes only, with a book in her hand she peeks over her page to take you in through hooded eyes before her eyes land on the loosely gripped bottle. 

“They accepted?!” She asks, her voice laced with excitement placing her book onto the small table stand next to her. She slowly gets up from her position and saunters over to you agonizingly slow as you both drink each other in. Your eyes darken the closer she gets, seeing how well the bra fits her breasts making them look exceptional against her chest. The contrast between the green material and her skin are undeniably pleasing, her dark brown hair that frames perfectly around her face tying up the view in front of you perfectly. Licking your lips hungrily you finally find your voice and reply. 

“They did, I thought we could celebrate.” You inform, tightening your hold around the neck of the bottle. She nods only half listening to you as she skims her fingers up your arm and towards your neck where she laces her fingers around your neck  keeping a tight hold of you actively pulling you closer to her. Brushing her lips across yours, she allows her tongue to leave a wet trail against your dry lips warming them from the bitter cold outside, you gasp at the warm touch. 

“Let me go and grab the champagne glasses, I’ll be right back. Don’t move,” She husks against your lips before sauntering away from you giving you a great view of her ass as she sways purposely. Fighting back a groan, you scan the room for any traces of your other wife knowing that the crafty witch wouldn’t be too far away from all the fun. 

“Delia is sorting out your Christmas gift, Oz left with my parents about half an hour ago,” Ally answers my non-vocal question, watching as a knowing glint shines bright in her dark eyes. You squint at the innocent expression that she gives you, knowing there’s more to her words. She chuckles lowly while taking a hold of your hand, transferring the bottle into her other arm, holding the three glasses in her hand. Your eyes darken further as you watch the curve of her ass with every step she takes leading you up the stairs. Ally stops by your shared bedroom door turning to wink at you before letting go of your hand.  

“Wait right here.” She demands, before sneaking into the bedroom shutting the door closed, leaving you no time to peek into the room that holds your Christmas gift. Not a moment later Ally comes back out, slightly breathless as you take in her blown dark pupils with a dirty grin she asks you the most important question. 

“Are you ready for your Christmas present?” She entices, coming to stand behind you placing her one hand over your eyes as the other pushes open the door, guiding you into the room you bite your lip in anticipation as you await for the darkness to unfold from your eyes so you can take in your surprise. Soft hands disappear from your eyes allowing you to open them at Ally’s soft instruction. 

Your eyes widen with lust as you take in the sight before you. Lying lazily on the bed with her back against the headboard, long blonde locks trail down over her covered breasts, is Cordelia. A short red bow tied teddy lingerie dress fits snugly around her body, the end brushing barely over the tops of her thighs as she grins straight at the pair of you, slowly bending both her knees spreading them apart given you a glimpse of her matching panties she beckons you forward with the crook of her finger. 

“Merry Christmas, Baby. Why don’t you go and unwrap your present?” Ally drawls into your ear, tracing the shell of your ear with her tongue making you shiver on the spot. You answer by removing your work clothes as quick as possible watching as Cordelia bites her lip in amusement at your enthusiasm. 

Now dressed down to only your underwear, you feel Cordelia’s heavy gaze drop to your breasts licking her lips hungrily. Before you advance forward you quickly turn and pull Ally flush against your body hearing her gasp at the sudden new position enjoying the feeling of your skin against hers, pressing a hard kiss to her lips you quickly pull back, eyeing her appreciatively. 

“As long as I get to ravish both my presents tonight,” You comment, a roguish grin appearing on your face. 

Ally giggles at your teasing demeanour before nodding biting her lip. Pressing a kiss to her neck, you turn back around and focus on your blonde wife. Keeping your eyes locked with hers you move forward slowly, taking her in from head to toe. Crawling onto your Queen sized bed you settle yourself in between her legs, placing your hands above either side of her head holding tight to the headboard. Bending down slightly you take her lips with your own in a delicate, slow kiss. Hearing her hum in satisfaction you deepened the kiss, bringing one hand down to grab hold of her breast, squeezing gently making her gasp. Her sudden gasp allows you to brush your tongue gently over hers, tangling them together as you continue to kiss sloppily. Pulling away slightly you look over your shoulder to see your brunette wife stalking around the bed, her eyes never leaving your entangled forms, you remove the hand that has found its place on Cordelia’s breast to entice her to join you. Her eyes brighten at the invitation, joining you both on the bed she lies on her side flushed against Cordelia as the blonde reaches over to capture the senators lips, the feeling of arousal settles low in your stomach at the sight beneath you. 

You move away briefly while they continue to make out, straddling Cordelia’s hip you finger the loose bowtie that keeps her breast hidden. Gently pulling at the material you watch satisfied as the bow becomes undone in front of you, revealing the swell of her breasts and perky nipples. Cordelia gasps as the cold hits her exposed chest, pulling away from Ally in the process who eyes her wife's’ breasts. With a similar thought process, you and Ally dive straight for the blondes chest taking a nipple into your mouth each and sucking delicately at the sensitive nub. Cordelia moans loudly into the lightly dimmed room, her hands instantly finding their place on top of your heads, keeping you both close as you lick and suck at the aroused nub. 

“Mmm, yes just like that.” She breathed, allowing her head to lean back against the headboard as she fidgets under you. 

You both continue to tease at the blondes chest watching as her breathing becomes more erratic, your hand skims down the side of her toned body feeling the material against your fingertips before reaching soft skin under the teddy dress. Removing yourself from her waist you settle in between her legs, your stomach pressed against her core making her rock against you harshly needing some friction as her arousal builds. You latch back onto her nipple as Ally moves to suck gently on Cordelia’s neck, her thumb brushing over the sensitive nub. Removing your mouth from her breast, you slither south pushing the material up towards her breast exposing her stomach. Placing wet kisses along her stomach you move closer to her wet spot, already smelling her arousal. Hovering close against her most needed spot you brush your nose gently against the offensive material before moving to focus on her inner thigh, nibbling softly at the skin before reaching for the panties sliding them along her toned legs wanting rid of the pair. You groan at the sight before you as you take in her already glistening pussy as she whimpers. 

“Baby, please. I need you.” She whines, before latching her lips onto Ally's, taking the brunette's bottom lip in between her teeth pulling a groan out of Ally. Satisfied with her pleads, you brush lightly over her slit with your tongue feeling her hips thrust upwards seeking firmer pressure. 

Pressing your tongue harder against her wet pussy, you continue to pleasure her with firm strokes of your tongue, collecting her arousal before latching onto her clit. You feel a second pair of legs next to you begin to fidget as Ally waits patiently for your attention. Moving your mouth away briefly, you grasp at Ally’s ankle gaining the brunettes’ attention from Cordelia’s lips. She eyes you, her gaze slightly hazy from her pleasure. 

“Lie next to Delia, baby. I told you I want to ravish both my presents tonight.” You husk, your words breathless as you eye her hungrily. Obediently, she lies comfortably next to Cordelia opening her legs slightly to allow you access. You moan at the dark wet patch against her green panties, tapping at her ankle she lifts her hips allowing you to remove her panties. Now settled, you reattach your mouth around Cordelia’s clit, as your thumb rubs firm circles over Ally’s clit watching as she withers above you. You continue to tease them with your mouth and fingers feeling them both thrust against you as they seek for more friction. Moving your thumb from Ally’s sensitive clit and your mouth from Delia’s you sit back leaning on your heels as you look down at the pair, bringing your fingers that are covered with Ally’s arousal to your lips making a show of wrapping your tongue that’s covered in Cordelia’s wet mess around your fingers watching as the pair follow your movements with their dark eyes. Placing your hands on top of Ally’s knees you gently pull her legs further apart before diving for her wet pussy, watching through hooded eyes as she throws her head back and arches her back at the touch. Cordelia whimpers at the site of her two loves, she goes to place her finger against her throbbing clit but you gently slap the hand away and take over her needs sliding your finger in between her lips, collecting her juices teasing her entrance before entering her  as your tongue continues to twirl around Ally’s throbbing clit. 

You feel your own pussy throb at the sight of your wives both coming undone by you, withering and pleading for release as you continue to pleasure them until they tighten around you feeling them clench and pulse around your tongue and fingers. Moans and groans grow louder the closer they reach their orgasm, glistening bodies coming undone before you. They both relax almost simultaneously as they allow their orgasm to wash over them. Your eyes sparkle with lust and love as you watch them catch their breaths, Cordelia’s lovely new red teddy dress crumbled and flimsy against her form. Placing one leg in between their open ones, you lean forward hovering over the pair as they look at you with hooded dark eyes. 

“Champagne?” You ask, licking at your lips hunger still evident in your eyes. They match your gaze and grin. Before they answer you squeal loudly as you feel yourself be removed from above them, Ally wraps her arm around your waist swapping your position from above them to lying against the soft mattress, your wives faces above you as they remove the remaining pieces of their clothing. 

“Drink can wait, we want to celebrate Christmas properly,” Ally's sultry voice sends shivers down your spine as you wiggle in anticipation. 

“Well then, Merry Christmas to me,” You mutter to yourself, grinning from ear to ear feeling grateful for these two goddesses that brighten your life. Christmas may have been a ridiculous holiday in the past for you but it’s true meaning has since changed since meeting these two wonderful women and your sweet blonde boy who is the beautiful mix of them both. With no more words spoken you allow the pair to worship you into the early hour, enjoying their soft touches.