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sundaysundaes · 3 years

Text

Love Bites

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader, ft. Mark Lee | Vampire AU, Roommates AU | Smut, Fluff, Humor, Romance

Summary: Supernatural creatures don’t scare you, so when the cute neighbor who lives just across the hallway offers you a chance to move in for cheaper rent, you agree in a heartbeat--even when he consumes human blood on a daily basis.

Warnings: Smut, vampire sex, sex in front of a mirror, blood sucking, unprotected sex, slight choking. For the sake of the plot, Y/N is slightly intoxicated in this fic (drunk sex). Please don’t read this fic if this makes you feel uncomfortable. I also don’t approve nor allow taking advantage of your romantic partner while they are under the influence of alcohol.

Supernatural things don’t really scare you. Growing up in a family that tells urban legends and mystical myths as bedtime stories makes you feel somewhat reserved toward spooky stuff, to the point that you won’t even bat an eyelash during a jump scare at literally any scary movie out there. It’s not like you’ve seen any supernatural creatures with your own eyes but you believe in their existence, especially when you live in a town where freaky things happen on daily basis.

You’re not sure about werewolves and zombies, but vampires do roam the earth the second the moon replaces the sun. It’s not merely a rumor anymore, it’s a fact. But they keep their presence in secret, trying to act as humanly as possible so they won’t gather unnecessary attention. And since no one has found any dead bodies with bite marks or severe blood loss, people don’t really identify them as a threat. You perceive things in a similar way. As long as they don’t bother you, then you can co-exist in peace. That’s what you believe.

So when you visit your neighbor in the middle of the night, the cute guy—probably still in his early twenties—who lives just across the hallway, you figure you’ll see him smiling back, maybe even offer you a cup of coffee out of courtesy. Now, you don’t usually barge into someone else’s apartment even when the front door is unlocked, but seeing how the two of you are already on a first-name basis, always greet each other with a nod whenever your eyes make eye contact, you think to yourself, “Yeah, he wouldn’t mind if I come in, would he? What’s the worst thing that could happen? He’s too cute to be a serial killer anyway.” Which, you realize soon enough, was a poor, terrible logic on your part.

But you turn over his doorknob with a click and invite yourself in.

So clearly, you do not expect to see him sitting bare-chested on the couch with his girlfriend’s legs hooked around his waist. Clearly, you do not expect to see his hand yanking at the roots of her hair, forcing her to expose the column of her neck and making her call his name in the most wanton moan you’ve ever heard in your life—even if you’ve had a fair share of watching porn movies (for research purposes). And you most clearly do not expect to see him sinking his canines deep into her skin, not caring when trails of blood start to taint her bare shoulder and groaning in bliss as he relishes the taste of her blood.

So naturally, the only thing you can think of is:

Oh shit.

“Wait!” A hand finds its way to tangle around your wrist when you slip behind his front door to run back to your own. His icy cold skin makes you flinch in surprise but you keep your face still. As you turn around to see the owner, you’re greeted by the sight of him with his eyes turning as dark as the night. His brunette hair is made of curls and waves, seems unbelievably soft and silky with bangs almost covering his eyes. His lips and cheeks are smeared with fresh blood, possibly from trying to wipe his mouth in hurry with the back of his hand. His fangs are no longer shown and although he seems breathless, you can tell he’s not breathing from how still his chest is moving (but you’re too distracted with the sight of how toned it is). His black jeans are hanging dangerously low on his hips, unbuttoned but not yet unzipped, and it’s harder for you to not stare at his v-lines compared to the amount of blood that painted his lips.

Trying to act nonchalant, you simply ask, “Yes?”

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh, so you’re not a vampire drinking blood from your girlfriend’s neck?”

He gapes, eyes growing wide, before, “Okay, then it is what it looks like.”

You retract your hand, giving him a formal nod. “Cool.”

“Cool?”

“Yeah, as in, no problem. You have a kink. I understand.”

“No, I mean—” He pinches the bridge of his nose, somewhat dizzy from your reaction. “Why are you so calm about this?”

You frown. “I’m confused. Would you rather have me freak-out and tell our landlord that you’ve been spilling maiden’s blood on his carpet?”

“Well, no, but—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Also, I’m a professional. I don’t leave stains.”

“Congratulations, I’m impressed.” You clap your hands twice, face blank. “Well anyway, I guess I owe you an apology. I didn’t mean to sneak into your apartment without permission and disturb your…” You scratch your cheek, attempting to find the right word. “Late night snacking time—”

“Oh, God.” He rubs his palm over his face but before he can protest any further, his lover is calling him from the inside of his room.

“Lee Donghyuck, come back to me. I haven’t come yet.”

You stare flatly at him, trying not to look as judgmental as possible but most likely failing terribly at it. “She sounds nice.”

He mirrors the look on your face. “Yeah well, she tastes nice.”

“Ugh, too much info there, buddy.”

“No, I mean, her blood, not—” You’re not sure whether vampires can blush but this one surely seems like one. “Why did you even come here again?”

“Oh, that’s right.” You remember. “This is totally cliche and I wish I could say a better excuse but I was making coffee and ran out of sugar. Do you have some I can borrow? And maybe some cream?”

“Seriously?” It’s supposed to be a sarcastic response, but when he sees you nodding your head, he adds, “Do I look like I drink coffee in my spare time?”

“You spend eternity without drinking coffee?” You gasp, laying a hand on your heart. “I feel sorry for you.”

“Leave. Please.”

***

On the next evening, you find yourself crossing the hallway and knocking on his apartment’s door again. Knowing how patience has never been one of your virtues, you try to turn his doorknob after your third knock. Like last night, it’s unlocked with a click so you invite yourself in, calling his name.

“Lee Donghyuck, are you here—”

“I really need to fix that stupid lock.”

The sound of his voice startles you when he suddenly walks into view, but not as much as the sight of him with a white towel hanging around his neck, his wet hair dripping water to his bare chest, and another towel wrapped around his waist.

He notices you’re staring so with a small smirk, he comments, “So you’re fine seeing me with human’s blood on my face but completely left in shocked when I’m half-naked?”

You put your best effort to act unfazed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do know us vampires can tell when you’re lying, right? We can hear your heartbeat.”

“And yet, you didn’t hear me coming into your apartment last night.”

“I was…” He narrows his eyes. “Distracted.”

“You mean you were too horny to notice.”

“You—” He exhaled loudly, perhaps a habit he invented to make him seem more human. “Why are you here again today?”

“Can’t I greet my neighbor?”

He snorts loudly but walks away, throwing himself on the couch. “Seriously, why aren’t you surprised about this?”

“About you being a vampire? Or about your God awful taste in women?”

“Yeah?” He mocks back, making a face. “As if your boyfriend Mark Lee is any better.” When he sees a blush blooming on your face, he snickers. “Enlighten me, Sweetheart. How does it feel to have a lover that only last for one minute during—”

“Okay, I’ll take my words back. Everything. Can we move on, please?” You try to yank yourself back to your normal state, even when you feel downright ashamed. “So, this vampire thing. How long have you been a vampire?”

“Long enough.”

“How old were you when you first turned?”

“Young enough.”

“How often do you drink human blood?“

“Often enough.”

You glare at him, earning a sly grin in return. “You’re not taking me seriously, are you?”

He sends you the best serious expression he can manage. “Serious enough.”

“Right, okay, I’m leaving. Have fun being an asshole for eternity.”

But the second you turn around in your heels, Donghyuck is already on the other side of the room, closing his front door and leaning his back against it. “Now, now, you come in as you please, uninvited. You don’t think I’ll let you go just like that, right?”

You raise an eyebrow in question. “What do you want?”

“I think it’s something that we both want.” He steps closer, voice sounding smooth and alluring. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”

You gulp, suddenly becoming nervous. He’s an arms reach away, and then closer, and closer until you can feel his cold fingers tracing against your cheekbone, lifting your face so his eyes are locked with yours.

“I’m—” You can feel your breathing starts to stutter. “I’m not giving you my blood.”

“But it’s not blood that I want from you.” His eyes are half-lidded, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “I’ve been thinking about this so much lately.”

Your heart feels like a ticking bomb inside your chest. “A-about what?”

“About our rent. Do you want to move in together so we can split the rental fee?”

***

It’s both ridiculous and dumb, his offer to move in together for cheaper rent, so it’s even more ridiculous and dumb when you agree to it. There are several reasons that make sense, actually—at least, to you anyway: 1) your neighbor may be a vampire but he’s super hot and although that doesn’t make everything okay, it does make his offer sound incredibly tempting, 2) your landlord is going to raise the rent in the following two months, 3) your part-time job’s salary can only cover so much of your living cost and you have no savings whatsoever, 4) if you can ignore the fact that he brings random girls at night for midnight snacks, he becomes much, much hotter.

Of course, there are risks to think about as well. Sharing a place with another person can bring trouble, so you can only imagine how troublesome would it be to share your home with a vampire. What if he gets too thirsty and starts drinking from you instead?

You gulp. The thought of it is actually kind of… sexy.

Mark. You mentally slap yourself in the head. You have a boyfriend. Stop crushing on your damn neighbor.

Well, there is nothing serious going on with Mark actually. You guys were just lab partners in high school, went on a couple of dates, had a terribly awkward first kiss, had a heavy make-out session with him ejaculating under one minute when you dry-humped him on the couch of your living room.

So yeah, nothing serious.

“My apartment or yours?” You ask after a week has passed by, the second he opens his door for you. “Your apartment is bigger, but mine is cleaner.”

“Whatever you want, Sweetheart,” he smirks, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t mind as long we can split the fee.”

“Yeah, why is that? You’re running out of money?”

His smirk instantly falters. “Well, it’s not exactly easy for vampires to get a job these days.”

“You literally have superhuman skills.”

“Well, you guys have the technology!” He throws his hands in the air, absolutely disgusted with the word by the sight of it. “And the Internet! Sure, I can run pretty fast, I have super hearing, I can see in the dark but these fucking technologies can do literally everything I’m capable of—and everything I’m not capable of—with only a few clicks!”

“Do you need a hug?”

He’s still pouting but shrugs. “Can’t hurt.”

“There, there.” You give him a pat on his back as he leans down so you can reach his height. “I’ll teach you some basic stuff to get you updated.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ll get through this.” You pull away, squeezing his shoulders. “So, about moving in together. Shall we talk about house rules and stuff?”

“Sure, but before that,” he smiles, opening his door wider for you. “Come in. I don’t bite.”

It’s something about him using that poor choice of words with that teasing smirk on his face that makes your stomach feel uneasy but you nod and let yourself in. As he closes the door, he adds, “Unless it’s what you’re into.”

“Getting my blood drunk by a vampire?” You scoff, trying to steady your racing heart though he can probably tell already. “Why would it be something I’m into?”

“Well, my ladies surely enjoyed it,” he chuckles and you secretly think to yourself, yeah because you’re fucking hot, that’s why, but you keep yourself ignorant on the outside. “But if you’re ever curious,” he coos, eyes nearly glowing as he pushes his bangs back with one hand, “I’m down anytime you want.”

You shudder, but from disgust or excitement, you’re not sure. “Thanks, but no thanks. So, house rules?”

***

It turns out to be shockingly easy to share an apartment with an undead creature of the night. Your source of information regarding vampires are from the collection of your young adult supernatural novels, ranging from something serious like Interview with The Vampire, to something mediocre like The Vampire Diaries, and something absolutely ridiculous and downright outrageous like Twilight. So it’s not really surprising when your first assumption of vampires are dead people who look unusually pale but strikingly attractive, have constant frowns on their faces as they brood over literally everything that’s happening as if they’re constipated all the time (they’re not, since vampires don’t have that bodily function anymore) and kill people in their spare time by sucking their blood dry.

But Donghyuck isn’t like that at all, to the point you have to convince yourself that he’s a century-old vampire and not a brat going through puberty.

Because Donghyuck isn’t pale, his skin is tan as if he was kissed by the sun when he has been hiding from it his whole life. It’s smooth, unscarred, and almost golden under the fluorescent light of your apartment.

He’s not heartless either. He cried during watching Hachiko even when the dog owner was still alive and well, shouting, “Bad shit is going to happen. Bad shit is going to happen to the dog—look how cute that dog is—look just how fucking cute he is—he doesn’t deserve any pain—if this dog dies by the end of the movie, I will combust,” to the screen. So the thought of him killing someone by sucking their blood dry? Seems very unlikely.

And he’s not broody or angry all the time. He’s extremely playful and annoyingly mischievous. He keeps his stock of blood in empty bottles of red wine and places them inside the fridge with a handwritten note that says: “It’s really just wine, Sweetheart. I bought some as a housewarming gift. Come take a sip.” You did, once, out of curiosity, and from that day on you promised yourself that you’d never ever trust his words for as long as you live.

Being a monster, he should’ve been the cause of fear, but in reality, he gets scared from a lot of things—even the things that shouldn’t scare a baby. You will never forget the day when a loud crash came thundering from his room, two seconds before he came barging into yours, screaming with wide eyes, “THERE’S A COCKROACH FLYING IN MY ROOM!”

“And what did you do?”

“I THREW THE TV AT IT BUT THAT FUCKING THING STILL LIVES!”

“WHAT?! But that’s our TV!”

“IT WAS FLYING TO MY FACE AND I PANICKED—WHAT THE FUCK WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!”

Even a butterfly that sneaks in from the window makes him jump on his feet. It was cute the first two times it happened, but seeing how he keeps on throwing random things—your phone, included—to keep the bugs away, you probably should start adding another house rule.

Speaking about rules, they’re pretty basic. It’s settled that you’ll both do your cleaning separately. No borrowing things without permission, no spending too much time in the bathroom because although he doesn’t need to go to the toilet, Donghyuck enjoys drawing himself a warm bubble bath for hours, as he takes a sip of his ‘red wine’. And you’re fine with him bringing girls over to your place as long as he does his midnight snacking in his own room. You were against it before but then you figure that you’re going to have Mark in your room from time-to-time (your date night is cheaper this way) so you really don’t have the right to forbid him.

But man, if only you could take back your words.

Because when Donghyuck said his ladies surely enjoyed it when he drank from them, you didn’t think that they would enjoy it this much. And you didn’t think that drinking blood from a human equals having sex with them all night long.

The sound of “Aah, yes fuck me just like that,” and “Bite me again, Lee Donghyuck, I want you to bite me as hard as you fuck me,” can be heard coming endlessly from his bedroom whenever he brings a girl—sometimes even two, for God’s sake—over. You have to plug your AirPods into your ears, blast the volume to the maximum until you can literally feel your ears going deaf while pulling a pillow over your head. And even then you still can hear them. Your apartment has excellent sound-proofed walls so your neighbors don’t really hear the loud screeches they’re making, but for you who sleeps in the room just across the living room? A living hell.

Fortunately, it doesn’t happen every day. It doesn’t happen every week, even, since he always keeps some stocks of blood in the fridge.

“Did you take this blood from those girls?” You grimaced one night, as you opened your refrigerator to slide in your pudding leftover and noticed three huge bottles of red wine completely filled up to the brim.

He laughed, waving a hand. “Of course not, stupid. How could I even do that in the first place? I bought some blood bags from the hospital, obviously.” He was sitting on the couch before but when he delivered his next line, he suddenly stood behind you, lips hovering dangerously close to your ear. “And just in case you’re wondering,” you could feel his smirk grazing your earlobe. “I only drink directly when I want to have sex.”

The heat was spreading almost immediately to your cheeks so you hid it by throwing a punch to his stomach, which he easily dodged. “Still,” you complained, “There’s blood in my fridge.”

“Hey, I never complain when you keep your celery juice in there.” He scrunched his nose in disgust. “I don’t eat or drink human foods, but who the fuck drinks celery juice?”

***

Donghyuck is also exceptionally talkative, you’ve learned along the way. It’s nice to have someone to fill the silence, moving from one random topic to another, never letting an awkward pause hang for too long. But he can also be exceptionally annoying when you have some papers to do and he’s bothering you because he’s bored out of his mind. He’ll start pestering you with questions—unimportant questions—like, “If you only have one eye, are you blinking or winking?” Or “Why is it that when you are sleeping it's called drool but when you are awake it's called spit?” And the stupidest of them all, “Why did Superman wear his briefs on the outside of his tights? This question intrigues me.”

And you’ll eventually start to lose it, throw a pillow to his face and yell, “GET OUT OF MY ROOM!”

But by the end of the day, it’s really fun to have him around. Not just because you can secretly enjoy the sight of him coming out of your shared bathroom with only a towel hanging low around his hips, but also because he’s a vampire and you can spend your time doing actual research about it.

“So,” you began one day after the sun has set and he crawled out of his room with the biggest bird's nest on his head. You had a romance novel on your lap, your fingers running through the pages. “Are you like an actual vampire or are you the romanticized, somewhat gay vampire they usually depict in books?”

“Well, I’ve never been with a man but I don’t really oppose the idea.” He took a seat beside you on the couch, laying his feet on the coffee table. You kind of just stare at him, not exactly judging his words, just… bewildered.

He noticed the look on your face. “When you’ve lived for a century, you gotta learn how to keep things interesting, even if that means having a dick in my mouth.”

“That’s…” You swallowed. “Not exactly something I want to imagine.”

“You should, though. Try picturing me with your boyfriend Mark for a sec. Don’t we look hot together?” You had to look away when he wiggled his eyebrows at you. You just had to.

“So, these vampire books you said you read,” he went back to the previous topic after cackling for a whole ten seconds at the flustered look on your face. “How do they depict us exactly?”

“You’ve never read one?”

“Have you ever read any books about humans written by vampires?”

“Fair point. Well, it said that vampires couldn’t see themselves in the mirror.”

“Myth,” he replied, leaning his head against the couch. “I can see myself in the mirror and I like seeing myself just as much as you do whenever I come out of the bathroom.”

You almost blurt out the cinnamon cookie you just ate. “Excuse me?!” You cough, eyes starting to get a little teary. “Who said I like looking at you?”

“You don’t?” The way his eyes twinkled made you a little bit weak. A smirk grew apparent on his face. “You sure about that?”

You cleared your throat, flipping another page of your book. “Next question,” you continued, ignoring the soft laugh he emitted. “Do garlic, holy water, and silver scare you?”

“They don’t scare me,” he clicked his tongue, vexed by the way you composed your words. “I just don’t like them.”

“Right, so that’s a yes. Do you have to be invited in to be able to enter someone’s home?”

He tightened his jaw, quietly murmured, “Yes.”

“Can you read someone’s thoughts?”

“No, but I can tell how they’re feeling through their heartbeat.” His eyes were boring into yours, lips curving upward. “Like you, for example. I can tell that whenever I’m around you, your heartbeat runs just a little bit faster.”

You glanced away, rubbing your nose. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Ah,” he showcased his perfect marbled teeth as he grinned knowingly. “Just like that. Your heartbeat is increasing again. Are you lying to me, milady?”

“You’re freaking annoying, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

“Speaking of that,” you immediately said, knowing it was the perfect chance to avert his attention to another topic. “Can you charm someone?”

“With these looks?” He gestured to his entire body. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” But when you started scowling at him, he added, “But if you’re talking about mind compulsion, yes, I am able to do that. I can erase and alter people’s memories, even controlling them only by making eye contact.”

“That sounds pretty convenient.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like doing it.” He shrugged, staring at the ceiling with droopy eyes. “Hypnotizing them to get what I want just doesn’t sit right with me. I want to feel a connection, you know?”

“So doing one night stands with vampire groupies is the perfect way to earn that connection, I suppose?”

He tilted his head, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “You really know how to attack someone’s pride, huh?”

“Part of my charm,” you mimic him with a nod. “Okay, next question. Can you die with a wooden stake piercing your heart?”

He rolled his eyes. “Everybody dies with a stake in—what is this, an interrogation?”

“Do churches—”

“Okay, Sweetheart.” He closed your book, smiling at you though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think that’s enough. My turn.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, not really pleased with the way he just suddenly changed the direction of your conversation. “What do you want to know?” You indulged him anyway.

He tilted his head, propping his elbow on his thigh, fingers tapping against his cheek as he rested his chin on his palm. Gazing at you intensely, he asked, “Are you a virgin?”

It didn’t take even a split second for you to blush. “T-that’s—What kind of question is that—”

“Ah, so you are.” His smile grew a bit larger, but you weren’t sure whether he was amused, aroused, or just excited to mock you about it. “Is that why you’ve been staring at me a lot lately? Because you’re curious?”

“For the last time,” you emphasized, though your heart was hammering against your ribcages. “I wasn’t looking at you. I never—”

“You’re adorable when you lie,” he snickered, a lopsided smile painting his face. “Your heartbeat sounds like you just did a marathon. Are you okay?”

You threw your book at him, successfully wiping the smirk on his goddamn perfect face, and raced back to your own room.

“Ah, she’s really cute.” Was the last thing you heard him say before you slammed your bedroom door behind you.

***

For a vampire, Donghyuck’s presence is as bright as the sun, always managing to lift your mood whenever you’re too stressed about your college assignments or too exhausted from your part-time job. Of course, he’s also the cause of your stress more often than not, but whenever you get into a fight with him—usually because he’s so disorganized and you’re too obsessive to keep everything in order—it doesn’t last long and ends up with him making you the best dinner you’ve ever had to compensate, even when he’s not the one at fault.

Donghyuck doesn’t consume human food but he makes the best cuisine you’ve ever tasted in your life. And also the sight of him wearing your pink apron while humming to a Michael Jackson’s song with his bangs tied to the side using your hairclip is really, really something to behold—which is weird because that obviously doesn’t scream sexy in any way, or masculine even, but it makes your stomach do somersaults most delightfully.

“Dinner is served, Milady,” he says, laying down a plate of Spaghetti Aglio e Olio in front of you, making you gawk at the sight. “And it’s special because it contains a lot of garlic—seriously, like a lot. I had to put some gloves on and everything.”

“You’re an angel.” You nearly cry and it’s not an exaggeration. “I can’t believe you did this all for me.”

“Well, I haven’t really thanked you for covering my rent last month so…”

“It’s fine, you can pay me back later.” You take a hold of your fork, already wetting your lips in anticipation, and waste not a second longer before you dig in. When the cheese melts inside your mouth, you almost moan in joy. “Oh my God, this is so good. I love you.”

He chuckles, suddenly standing behind you, leaning forward so he’s next to your ear. “Yeah? How much?”

You raise your silver spoon in the air and he immediately leaps to the other side of the kitchen, startled and scared out of his mind. “Hey, that’s not nice! I thought we’ve talked about this!”

Rolling your eyes at him, you take another spoonful of it. “Man, you should really make a job out of this,” you comment. He only cooks whenever he feels sorry for you for going through a hard day—whether it was because of him or something else—but if that’s what it takes to have this magnificent dish entering your mouth, you don’t mind suffering more often.

“I really should, huh?” He takes a seat on the kitchen counter, his legs dangling a few inches in the air. “I’m really running low on money.”

“I thought vampires were supposed to be rich and like, noble.”

“You’re confusing us with Aristocrats.” He grieves. “Do you think I can get a night shift at a restaurant downtown?”

“Oh, I actually know a place. I’ll take you there tomorrow.”

“Like on a date?”

You almost drop your fork. “Why do you have to make everything weird?”

His cheeky grin is contagious but you’ve become a master of handling your expression. “I just like seeing you blush,” he confesses. “Have I told you how cute you are?”

“Today? Not yet,” you mutter as you munch on your food. “Yesterday? Approximately two hundred and thirty-five times.”

“Then I’ll try to break another record today.” He throws you a wink.

“Shut up and let me eat in peace, please.”

***

“Donghyuck-ah.”

“Yes, baby?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop posting a goddamn selfie every ten minutes!” You almost throw your phone to his face but since it’ll be a waste, you decide to throw your shoe instead. “I didn’t teach you how to use Instagram for this!”

Donghyuck easily dodges every single thing you’re throwing at him. “Didn’t you tell me to promote my cooking skill? That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“How does this—” You show your phone’s screen to him, almost smacking him on the face with how fast and hard you’re doing it. You slide your thumb over his Instagram feeds, showing more than fifty different pictures of his close-up face and he just made that account two days ago. “—promote your cooking skill?!”

“But, look,” he guides you, clasping his hand to yours so you’re both holding your phone. He taps from one picture to another. “This is me holding a spatula. This is me boiling water and this is me pouring barbecue sauce—”

“Oh my God.” You almost yank every hair out of your head—or out of his head. “I follow more than four hundred people and all I can see is your damn selfies!”

“Correction, my damn cute selfies.” He pecks your cheek. “You’re welcome, babe.”

But all jokes aside, it actually works. His adorable selfies—no matter how bad you hate to admit it—are attracting more followers each day that by the time a week has passed by, he has gained more followers than you (and you’ve had your account for three years, shame on you).

And on the following two months, he gets his first endorsement deal.

“I can’t believe this,” you say, gaping as you stare over his shoulder to look at his phone’s screen, shamelessly reading his direct messages. He’s getting an offer to become a brand ambassador for this little bakery with a cover photo of a lady with chubby cheeks baking cupcakes. “I can’t believe there are people crazy enough to hire you.”

“Hey, privacy!” He immediately stands up from the couch, covering his screen with his palm. “I could’ve been sending nudes!”

“You’re sending nudes?”

“Well, not my nudes.” He rolls his eyes.

“How is that any better?!”

“Look, I’m busy. I got a gig.” He grins proudly. “I’m on my way to becoming a celebrity, babe. Do you want my autograph now before it’s too late? I could sign your bra if you want. I mean, I’m totally down if you want me to sign your tits, but if you ever think that could be awkward—”

You smack his head with a spatula.

***

It’s your first date night after nearly half a year of not contacting Mark due to him going overseas for student exchange, and you’re nervous for various reasons.

First, you haven’t told Mark you’ve been sharing a place with a guy.

Second, you certainly haven’t told him that this guy is a vampire.

Third, you absolutely in any way cannot tell him that you’ve been secretly crushing on this guy while your boyfriend was away studying.

And last but not least, you know that if anything happens tonight, whether it ends up with you fighting with Mark or finally losing your virginity to him, Donghyuck can hear every single thing.

So you barge into his room, hand laying on the front of his bedroom door as you push it open. “Donghyuck-ah.”

Like always, he’s laying idly on his bed, head almost dangling on the edge of it with his phone in his hands. “Yes, baby?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “How many times should I tell you? Don’t call me that.”

“You’re not my baby anymore?” He fakes a loud gasp. “I am shocked.”

“Mark is coming over tonight.”

His movements stop abruptly. “I didn’t realize you were still with him.”

“Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be? He’s been nothing but sweet to me.”

His eyes lose the mischievous spark he usually displays in them. “And yet, you keep drooling over my body. Can’t say I’m not hurt.”

“I never—” You exhale loudly, throwing your head back. “I’m not going to have this argument again. He’s coming over tonight to have dinner—”

“But you’re a shitty cook.”

“By dinner, I mean take-outs,” you admit your defeat. “Anyway, I came here to ask you a favor.”

“Sweetheart,” he calls, turning over to his stomach so he can face you without having to see you upside down. “I know I said I wanted to make things interesting, but having a threesome with you and Mark? So suddenly like this? Don’t you think it’s gonna be a little awkward between us? I barely know the dude. You should at least tell me what kind of person he is, whether he likes action movies or romantic ones, whether he blames someone else when he farts—I need to know him before I have his dick in my mouth.”

Talking to him gives you headaches, you should’ve really come prepared. “Are you done?”

“Do you still want me to continue? Okay, well—”

“Shut up, please for the love of God, shut up.” You should take your leave before he starts yapping again. “Look, that super hearing thing you do? Can you turn it off just for one night?”

“Sure thing, click,” he says, snapping his fingers near his ear. “Done. Now I’m deaf.”

You flatly stare at him. “I’m serious.”

“Whaaaaat? I can’t heaaaaar youuuu.”

“Hyuck!”

He groans loudly, rolling his eyes. “Well, it’s not like my ears have on-and-off buttons I can just switch, okay? What do you want from me?”

He’s right, there’s nothing you can do. “Then, can you leave the apartment for the night?”

He opens his mouth wide, hand going to his chest. “You’re kicking me out from my own apartment? This is heresy!”

“Donghyuck-ah, please!” Great, now you’re stomping your feet like a child. “I just really need some privacy for tonight.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get laid, aren’t you?” He raves mockingly, but his eyes are somewhat bitter. “Seriously? With that guy? I think you could do so much better, Sweetheart.”

Vexed, you jeer back, “Yeah? And who do you have in mind? You?”

You’re not sure whether it’s your words or the way you say them because his eyes suddenly turn darker, almost glowering at you but it only happens for a second or two so you’re not sure if you even see that clearly.

“Well, it’s not my business, is it?” He casually chirps, smiling at you again though something still feels off. “Don’t worry, I won’t eavesdrop on you two. I have a lot of kinks but voyeurism isn’t one of those. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

“You…” Something feels really off with the way he’s acting. It’s like he’s visibly upset but trying to act nonchalant about it. “You’re sure?”

“You have my words.”

“Okay then.” Whatever it is, you figure you can deal with that later. “Well, I’m gonna take a shower.”

As you shut the door behind you, uneasiness starts to fill your chest.

***

Your date with Mark is going well. It’s going so well, even, that you end up lying on your bed, perfectly naked, lips swollen from his kisses, with him hovering on top of you, both breathless and speechless.

And unfortunately for you, also clueless.

He has a packet of condoms in his hand, and no matter how embarrassing it is for you, you already have your legs spread on the bed, waiting for him to… well, do whatever it is he’s supposed to do. Perhaps it’s okay for you to be clueless about sex because guys usually take the lead, right?

Wrong.

“Okay, wait, let me just—” Mark’s fingers are shaking due to anxiety. His poor, innocent mind cannot handle being so painfully turned-on and awkwardly embarrassed at the same time. Your boyfriend has always been awkward with literally everything, which kind of makes him adorable but it does not come as cute—not in the slightest—when he’s doing the exact opposite of what’s he’s supposed to do. Somewhere deep in his mind, he probably knows that he’s supposed to tear apart the packet sexily with his teeth, put the condom on within seconds, and thrust into you as painlessly as possible. But in reality, what’s currently happening is he tries to catch the condom that flew out in the air after he managed to tear the packet apart with his shaky fingers. He then progresses to try putting on the condom for approximately fifteen minutes while flinching several times when he accidentally slaps the elastic band against his cock.

The whole thing is a fucking disaster (no pun intended) and all the passion, desire, and arousal that you once felt swirling in your stomach vanish in an instant. And when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, it does, because being a virgin himself, Mark doesn’t really know where to, for the lack of better words, put it in.

“Mark?”

“Y-yeah?”

“That’s my asshole.”

So with a reassuring (fake) smile, you lay a hand on his chest and gently push him backward, trying not to wince in chagrin when you suggest, “Maybe we should stop and try again some other time?”

You two dress back into your clothes in silence and after you escort him to your front door, Mark tries to kiss you at the same time you’re leaning in for a friendly hug so it ends up with him knocking his teeth against your forehead.

When he’s gone, you close the front door with a sigh, pressing your spine against the wooden surface as you soothe the pain on your temple away with your fingertips. It doesn’t take long before Donghyuck peeks his head from behind his door. Noticing you’re alone, he steps into the living room, leaning against the wall just a couple of meters away from where you’re standing.

“So,” he begins, acting casual, “How was the date with—” He suddenly bursts out laughing, one hand holding his stomach as he nearly tumbles down to the floor, cackling like a mad man. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped but man, did he really put it in the wrong hole? Oh God, this shit is just beyond me, man.”

With your shoulders slumped forward, you walk back into your room, trying to gather back the pieces of dignity you have left.

***

“You know what I should do?” Donghyuck asks with a game controller in his hand. To stop him from making fun of you and your terrible incident with your boyfriend, you’ve borrowed a PlayStation from your cousin. Even though he claimed that he despised technology, Donghyuck is actually brilliant when he puts his mind to it. It doesn’t take more than two hours for him to master the game, already adapting to every button of the controller, even manages to land a few high scores in the last ten minutes. He used to prefer to live in the old school way, but that soon changed after your influence.

“Pray to God for forgiveness so He won’t send you to hell?” You offer, as you take a seat next to him on the carpeted floor, crossing your legs, eyes staring idly at the screen.

“Cute, but no.” He clicks some buttons aggressively, trying to reach yet another high score. “I should become a historian. I mean, I’ve seen things happened with my own eyes—the first world war, the second world war, the birth of Jesus.” He sneaks a glance, but seeing no reaction coming from you, he juts out his lower lip in disappointment. “It’s cruel that you don’t indulge me with my jokes these days.”

“Oh, so you want me to respond? I thought you just liked hearing yourself talk.”

“Heeeeeey,” he hisses, leering at you. “I know you’re hurt that your boyfriend tried to butt-fuck you but don’t throw this all on me.”

Oh my God. “Right, then let’s try this.” You have no choice but to please him this way before he destroys whatever is left of your pride. You do a quick search on your phone, throwing a random question from what you found in the article. “Who led our country in 1950?”

“Easy. The guy with the bald head. No, wait, is it the skinny one with the huge mole on his neck?”

“Name, Hyuck. I need a name.” You exhale in exasperation.

“Oh, I got it! The one with the annoying high-pitched voice!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Well, how the hell am I supposed to remember shits that happened seventy years ago?”

You give him a look, eyes staring at him lifelessly. “You’re right, you should totally apply for the job. You’ll nail it.”

***

“I can’t believe this.”

“Saying that multiple times won’t really change anything, Sweetheart.”

“I can’t believe this,” you repeat, this time while standing up from the couch, slamming your fashion magazine down to the table. “I can’t believe our air conditioner broke when it’s nearly thirty degrees outside! Aren’t you hot?!”

“Am I hot—” He snorts, flipping a page of his novel. Yes, it is actually quite bizarre that he spends his spare time reading. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I’m hot. Haven’t you seen the number of girls I brought into this place?”

“Ugh, God!” You plop back into your seat, throwing your head back in vexation. “What are you even reading?”

“That vampire book you talked about yesterday.”

“Which one?”

“The one that’s interesting.”

“Oh, Interview with The Vampire?”

“No.” The way he rolls his eyes as if he’s disgusted with your guess is beyond you. “Twilight.”

“Oh my God, stay away from me.”

“What—this is actually good!”

“These vampires sparkle under the sun—aren’t you, at the very least, offended? Because I’m livid and I’m human.”

“That’s what makes it interesting, actually,” he retorts, eyes moving back-and-forth as he reads through a passage. “They’re so different than us in real life, so it’s like seeing through a new perspective. I’m Team Jacob, by the way.”

“Good Lord.” You palm the side of your face. “You’re more than a hundred years-old but you have the taste of a teenage girl going through puberty. I’m ashamed of knowing you.”

“You’re just cranky because of the weather.”

“I’m literally dying.” You can feel sweat drenching your back, all the way to your shirt and you just took a shower twenty minutes ago. “You’re lucky you’re immune to temperature changes.”

“Then wanna sit on my lap?”

Your ears must be playing tricks on you. “Excuse me?”

Donghyuck sighs, closing his book and throws it away to the side. Turning to you, he repeats slowly, dragging out every syllable. “Do. you. want. to. sit. on. my. lap?”

You send him a blank stare, annoyed. “I heard you, asshole. I’m not an idiot. I’m just shocked at your offer. You’re really going all out in harassing me these days, aren’t you?”

“What—” He throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “I’m a vampire, remember? I have cold skin. Here,” he takes one of your hands, sliding it down his shirt as if it’s nothing, and presses it against his stomach. “Can you feel it?”

All the blood rushes to your face, making you feel lightheaded but also conscious of how his skin feels under your palm. It is cold, though not as cold as he’d made a big deal out of it. It’s like the room temperature during the spring season, at most. But compared to how sizzling it is right now, his skin is nice to the touch, relaxing even.

But all that thought just goes straight out of the window when he shifts on his seat and you can feel his abs muscles contracting.

“Whoa,” he stops, looking at you. “Are you okay? Your heartbeat is insane.”

You smack him on the head and try to suffocate him with your cushion. It doesn’t work since he doesn’t breathe, but at least it can stop him from seeing how red your face is turning.

But when another day passes by and your landlord is still taking his sweet time trying to find a cheap handyman to repair your AC, you decide to take on his offer. You know it’s weird for roommates to cuddle but, as you try to reason within yourself, you will be sitting on the-sexiest-man-you’ve-ever-witnessed-with-your-eyes’ lap, your back pressing against his (hopefully) bare chest, and snuggle close until your body heat is no longer screaming at you in agony. You don’t really see any problem with this. After all, you have been imagining how it would feel to sit on his lap every time he does that manspreading thing on your couch.

So really, what’s there to lose?

“Okay,” you begin, standing in front of him in an already awkward position. “So, how can we do this without being weird about it?”

Donghyuck tilts his face up, leaning his back against the couch, phone in his hand. “Do what?”

“Do…” You fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “You know, what you offered yesterday.”

“Hmm?” He raises his eyebrow in question, but the way one side of his lips is curving upward betrays his act. “I forgot. What exactly did I offer to do?”

“You’re seriously going to make me say this out loud?”

“Baby, I’m clueless.” His smirk grows wider, his voice filled with allure. “Please. Enlighten me.”

He’s toying with you, that’s for sure. And no matter how much you want to feel those arms around you, there’s no way you’re gonna let him degrade you like this. “Fine, then forget it,” you sulk, turning around on your heels with your scarlet cheeks puffed out but Donghyuck laughs in the most innocent way when he’s clearly nothing like that in reality. Calling your name in a sing-song voice, he circles his fingers around your wrist and tugs you back until you tumble down to his lap.

“You’re never honest,” he says, his velvety voice suddenly only a whisper away. His arms are tied securely around your waist, pulling you close until you can do nothing but lay your back against his chest. “But you’re cute so I forgive you.”

You can’t form a word, too busy trying to compose yourself. You can’t hear his heartbeat—since he’s the creature of the undead, obviously—but you assume with the proximity you’re being, you would’ve definitely heard it if he had one.

You didn’t notice it before but now that you’re sitting on his lap, your palm pressed against his thigh for stability you realize that he’s wearing black ripped jeans with holes that are oh so terribly distracting. If you dare to move your finger, you’ll be able to trace the smooth skin at the inner part of his thigh.

You gulp hard.

You can hear him snickering behind you. “Thinking about something dirty?”

You almost swallowed your own tongue. “What—no!” Flapping your hands in panic, you almost fall from his lap but his fast reflex won’t let you, as he embraces you tighter, making you fall back to his chest with a small oof.

“Relax, I’m just messing with you,” he chuckles lowly, his lips grazing against your earlobe. “This is nice. We should do this more often. You fit perfectly in my arms.” He says his line with sincerity with no trace of humor or teasing in it, which effectively make you curl your toes in bashfulness.

“You’re gonna have a heart attack if you keep your heart rate going like that, Sweetheart,” he titters.

“Yeah, well,” you try to push him away by pushing your palm against his cheek. “Unlike you, I don’t really spend my time snuggling with the opposite sex, so of course I’m nervous.”

“You’re sure it’s not because of me?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I’d most likely have a bigger reaction if Mark was the one holding me instead.”

The way he suddenly goes stiff intrigues you, but you don’t dwell on it. “Is that so?” He simply retorts back, tone suddenly becoming cold and it makes you feel uneasy.

“So, uhh…” Your breathing tatters when he becomes mute, only the sound of the ticking clock on the wall can be heard. “Wanna watch a movie?”

He only hums, placing his chin on top of your head. Since he’s always so talkative, it gets really tense when he’s quiet. “Did I offend you or something?” You question.

“I don’t know, did you?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew.”

“Then let’s just leave it at that.” Seeing how you keep fumbling with the remote in your hand, he snatches it away and proceeds to switch the channels. “We’re watching Twilight.”

“Nooooooo, not again!”

But his arm, as he raises it high in the air, is longer than yours so you can’t steal back the remote no matter how hard you try. And as you jump up and down, shifting back and forth on his lap, Donghyuck warns, “I don’t know if you’re doing this on purpose, but if you keep doing that, I’m gonna get a hard-on.”

You immediately stay still, hands tucked neatly on your lap, chest thundering. “You—Why—” You shake your head, flushed. “How can you say things like that?”

“Things like what?”

“Sexual things like that.” The more you reveal your thoughts, the harder you blush. “Don’t you have any shame?”

“What, I can’t be honest?” He snorts. “I didn’t mean to harass you or anything. Just letting you know in advance. It’s completely a guy thing.”

“No, it’s not just that. You always flirt with me—calling me baby, telling me how I look cute all the time when you don’t even mean it—“

You’re interrupted with a loud sigh accompanied by an impatient groan. “Turn around, look at me,” he orders and his tone is irrefutable. When you turn slightly, making eye contact, Donghyuck has his eyebrows furrowed, almost glaring at you. “I know you’re gullible, and I know you’re dense when it comes to things like this but I swear to God, if you don’t start taking a hint, I’m going to have to push you against the wall and kiss you to prove my point.”

You’re dizzy and nauseous, and your stomach is flipping like crazy and you’re conflicted between believing him or laughing at him because although he looks dead serious right now, you can’t help but wonder what if, after you give in to your feelings, he sends you that signature cheeky grin of his to reveal he’s just joking all along? You’re not even brave enough to imagine, even when the vivid image of him pushing you against the wall, his knee slipping between your legs while he brings your wrists over your head, holding them still with one hand is enough to keep you awake for hours.

So you decide to take the easy path. “Okay.”

He blinks. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You shrug, acting casual. It’s really a miracle that you don’t stutter when you deliver the next line. “You told me to take a hint, that’s what I’m doing.”

He raises one of his eyebrows, confused. “Just like that? You’re not gonna say anything more? Or do anything about it?”

“Nope.”

Slowly, there’s a shift in his expression. He shakes his head, tongue protruding against the inside of his cheek both irked and amused. “You’re really something.”

Surprisingly enough, he leaves it at that. Though it’s somehow uncomfortable, you follow his lead and just lock your eyes to your tv screen as he chooses his movie.

You have no interest in watching Twilight—absolutely nothing, zilch, zip, nada!—so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your eyelids start to become heavy in the first thirteen minutes of the show. You would’ve fallen asleep way sooner though, if you weren’t too distracted with the way he laid his hand on your thigh, sometimes unconsciously rubbing or squeezing it with his palm when he got a little bit bored with the scene, making your breath hitched in your throat.

The room’s temperature is still hot even when it’s in the middle of the night, successfully making your bangs stick to your temple but Donghyuck is quietly humming something to himself. Soft, melodious sound is resonating from his chest directly to your ear and you begin to drift away, floating into your dreamland.

***

“Hey, wake up. It’s almost morning.”

Your bleary eyes are greeted with the dim light of the room. The TV in front of you has already been switched off so the only thing that can be heard in your apartment is the buzzing sound coming from your fridge and the faint ticking clock.

“What time is it?” You rub your eyes, not aware that you’re still sitting on his lap, with your spine leaning against his chest. It’s until you feel his arms loosening around your waist that you begin to think, oh fuck, what have I done?

You immediately jump off his lap, tripping over your feet but manage to hold your balance by placing a hand on the coffee table. “Why didn’t you wake me?” You screech, face aflame. “You kept holding me in that position all night?”

“Yeah.” He stretches his arms above his head, cracking his neck. “I wanted to wait until you wake up by yourself, but you know, the sun is about to rise.”

You’re still pretty much flabbergasted by the whole thing. “You really should’ve woken me up.”

“Well, you seemed like you were having the best sleep you’ve ever had.” He stares at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “Was it that good being in my arms?”

You’re about to explode. “Okay, wow, look what time it is.” You try to look at your wrist and mentally slap yourself harder when you realize you’re not wearing a goddamn watch. “A-anyway, you really should go back to your room before it’s too late.”

He shakes his head, chuckling at your stupid antics as he stands up from the couch. He ruffles your hair once, making a mess out of your strands before he heads back to his room. As he slides open his door, he spares you a glance over his shoulder. “Hey.”

“What?”

“You kept calling my name in your sleep. What were you dreaming about?”

Whether it’s true or he’s just flirting with you to get your reaction, you don’t want to know. “Just go to your room!”

***

A few moments after the sun sinks below the horizon, Donghyuck comes out from his room with bleary eyes and his shoulders slumped forward.

“Good morning, Princess,” you joke, your hands busy mixing coffee powder, sugar, and milk to make your own version of Dalgona coffee. Donghyuck scratches the back of his head, his eyes are barely open as he heads to the kitchen, not even sparing you a glance. When he opens the fridge, he groans loudly, noticing that he forgot to restock his red wine. He slams the door with a loud huff, drags his body to the dining table, and sits down with his cheek pressed against the table. Seeing how you’re not paying him any attention, he groans again, louder and whinier this time.

“Okay, what?” You ask, leaning your back against the counter, a cup of coffee in your hand.

“I’m thirsty,” he grumbles, jutting out his lower lip.

“Then drink.”

“I don’t have any money to buy even a bag of blood. Why do they have to make it so fucking expensive?” He pouts. “I mean, I can always steal one but I’m scared of being caught.”

“Scared of being caught? You, with your superhuman speed and strength?”

“Well, they have those security cameras installed all over the place! I don’t want to get arrested or worse, go viral!” You resist the temptation to roll your eyes at his nonsense. “These fucking technologies, man, I swear to God, they’ll be the death of me someday.”

“Then just go outside. Our town is filled with walking blood bags.”

He groans again, now pressing his forehead against the table. “Man, the effort I have to make just to survive. I’m so done with drinking blood from slutty girls. They’re bitter.” He sticks out his tongue at the memory.

“Yeah, why is that? Why do you only drink from them?”

“Because they’re the only ones who’ll agree in a heartbeat.” His voice is muffled as his lips are brushing against the surface. “Also the sex isn’t too bad if you can ignore how annoyingly loud they are.”

“Trust me, I’ve tried.” You grimace at the flashback. It really has been a while since he brought one of them back to his room and you were ecstatic about it, knowing you were the only girl he had been giving his attention to. “Why don’t you just compel someone to give their blood? You can erase their memories too after you’re done.”

“I’ve told you, I don’t like doing that. It makes me feel like a monster.”

It’s cute, you suppose, the way he tries his best to defy his nature. “Then…” You tap your fingers against the mug, somehow feeling uneasy. “Why don’t you try being in a relationship with someone? I’m sure they’ll be willing to give you their blood if they like you that way.”

“Yeah? With who?”

“I don’t know, like…” Your cheeks grow hot, bringing your face down to hide your eyes behind your bangs. “Maybe just someone you like.”

“Are you volunteering?”

The way he suddenly has you backed against the counter, trapping you inside his arms, and whispers seductively with his lips almost grazing your own make you jump on your feet, your cup slipping off your fingers, crashing to pieces when it hits the marbled floor.

“Careful!” Donghyuck holds you by the waist, stopping you just a split second away from stepping on the broken glasses. You realize your hands are fisting against the back of his shirt, embracing him for support without knowing. You pull away immediately, clearing your throat.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he says, letting you go. “I mean I did, but not like this.”

You sigh. “It’s okay, just step away. I need to clean this up.” He tries to help but you won’t let him, because having him in such proximity is going to blind your senses, unable to function properly. Even just thinking about the way his strong arm fits the curve of your waist already makes you lose focus that you end up cutting your finger with a shard of glass.

He catches the little surprised yelp that escapes your lips and immediately bends down to check on you. “See, this is why I told you to let me clean up instead,” he complains, carrying you to the sink and drenches your finger with running water. “Let me see.” With a hold around your wrist, you can barely do anything but to let him examine your cut thoroughly. “Well, it’s not deep but it’s… still…”

Noticing how he trails off, you look up to check on his face seeing how his eyes are now glowing a bit brighter, his lips parted as if in awe from the way droplets of blood seep from your fingertip, trickling all the way down to your palm.

“Hyuck…?”

His eyes are drifting back and forth from your face to your cut and you know where this is going but when he brings your palm closer to his lips, his tongue darting out to lick the blood off your skin, you nearly collapse to the floor.

“Hyuck—” You hiss, cheeks reddening as you try to retract your hand but his hold is firm on your wrist. He licks his way up before he brings your fingertip inside his mouth. Donghyuck has his eyes closed, a moan almost falls from his lip when the coppery taste taints his tongue. He sucks on the wound, wanting to taste more, to rip your skin apart with his teeth and—

“Hyuck!”

He blinks awake, shocked when he sees your face painted with fear. His fangs are drawn out but he immediately retracts them back before you get a detailed look, his face flushed as he takes a step back.

“S-sorry—” He looks away, rubbing his nape with shaky fingers. “I didn’t mean—shit I really have to go—I have to drink—” and when you blink your eyes, he’s vanished from your sight.

With your heart thundering inside your ribcages, you lean back against the kitchen counter again, your legs trembling under you.

That was close. So fucking close.

There’s a fear growing inside you but it’s not from the memory of him with his fangs extended like the true monster that he was. You’re not scared of him, you’re scared of yourself because you know you want him, you want him in any way possible. You want him to belong to you, to be with you, to be desperate for your touch, your blood, your presence, your everything, just as much as you are about him.

You bury your face in your palms. I am so fucked.

***

Hours turn into days and days turn into months, and before you know it, it has been a year since he moved into your apartment. The friendship that blooms between you feels nice and you want to keep it that way but it’s getting hard when he keeps on bringing random girls in skimpy dresses back to his room. You used to be furious by how loud they were being, but now you’re pretty much angry just simply by imagining him being with someone else. And it doesn’t even have to be sexual—just picturing him bonding with another person, even when it’s not as strong as what you two have, manages to irk you so much.

The thoughts of him keep revolving in your head no matter how hard you try to push them away. It even puts your relationship with Mark in jeopardy, as you can barely pay him any attention. It doesn’t surprise you at all when he decides to break things off, saying something cliche like, “I think we’re better off as friends,” and “It’s not you, it’s me,” which in normal circumstances will piss the hell out of you but when that happens, you simply just reply, “You’re right. Let’s be friends.” And there are no hard feelings—no feelings at all, even, which is weird considering you were only a month away from having your first anniversary with him.

Now that Mark is out of the picture, you can finally bring all of your attention back to Donghyuck. But the more you think about it, the more you’re not sure about the whole thing. He’s a vampire, isn’t he? What future do you expect to have with him? Let’s say you date him and things go well with your relationship, and then what? He’s going to stay young with that cute, boyish look on his face and you’re gonna be all wrinkled and gross, how are you ever going to be able to stand that? What if he wants someone prettier than you? What if he gets bored?

Or maybe it’s just lust you’re feeling. You don’t love him, you’re just physically attracted to him. That’s right. Strictly physical.

And yet, as you see him dressed up in a white buttoned-up shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, running a hand through his hair and pushing back his bangs to showcase his temple, you thought: fuck.

And when he smiles at you, as he places a plate filled with the exact dish he knows you love down to the dining table, saying, “I went ahead and did some research about you. I was about to buy you some presents but I thought it would feel more personal if I cooked something for you so,” and stopping to gaze at you with tender eyes before he adds, “Happy birthday, Sweetheart.” You thought: Jesus fucking Christ, just marry me already.

Donghyuck goes all the way with everything, from placing scented candles on the table, playing soft music in the background, even escorting you to your seat, pulling your chair back for you, and placing down a napkin on your lap. It’s too much for your poor brain to comprehend, and your chest is suffocating from all the feelings swirling behind it and Donghyuck looks so beautiful—almost goddamn ethereal even—in that shirt, in that hairstyle, in the dim light of the room.

“You’re not hungry?” He asks when a few seconds have passed by and you haven’t munched at your food like a caveman—because that’s what you usually do.

“I’m—you—” You splutter, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves before you try again. “You look nice.”

You can already tell that he’s about to say something along the line of “But baby, I always look nice.” So when he just softly smiles back and thanks you about it, telling how you look just as nice when you know you look like a storm just hit you, you’re pretty much lost for words.

“You seem exhausted,” he comments, frowning in concern. “Hard day at work?”

You can’t trust yourself that you won’t start rambling nonsense again while answering his question so you decide to just reply to him with a timid nod.

“Why are you so nervous?” He laughs, eyes turning crescents. “Your heartbeat is going through the roof again.”

You loathe yourself for being so transparent. “I’m nervous because you’re suddenly being so nice. I can’t help but think you have a hidden agenda or something.” That’s a lie. A complete lie.

And you’re sure he knows it. “And what if I do?” He asks, raising an eyebrow seductively. “What kind of a hidden agenda do you think I have for you?”

Why is it so fucking hot in here?! “I don’t know…” You start fiddling with the fingers you have on your lap. “Drinking my blood, maybe?”

His expression is a mystery to you, even when his smirk seems familiar. “And would you be okay if that’s true?”

You can’t answer but fortunately for you, Donghyuck lets out a chuckle, telling you he was making a lame joke. You force yourself to laugh but it sounds like a wheeze so you stop before it gets even more humiliating.

Donghyuck walks to your side with a bottle of wine in his hands, sliding glass to your side as he says, “Wine, milady? It’s not blood, I swear.” And you believe him because this time, the liquid seems more ruby than crimson.

“You really need to relax,” he comments as he leans his back against the edge of the table, raising the glass of his usual red wine in the air before he clanks it gently against yours. “To the cutest, sweetest roommate in the world.”

You immediately take a sip to hide the blush that creeps up your face, flinching when the burning, mildly bitter flavor hits your tongue. You’ve never drunk any alcohol in your life and although this first experience feels rather unpleasant, you keep chugging more of it down your system.

“Does it taste good?” He asks, secretly smiling to himself as he witnesses how fast you’re drinking the whole glass down. You shake your head in response, which earns another laugh from him.

You’re not sure whether it’s because it’s your first time drinking alcohol or you just have a low tolerance when it comes to it, but you can feel yourself getting both lightheaded and drowsy. Donghyuck who takes notice of that, move you to the couch so you can rest more comfortably. “I better take this away,” he says, circling his lean fingers around your wine glass but you push him away.

“No,” you say, eyes a little bit unfocused. “I’m fine. Pour me some more.”

“Don’t you think it’s enough?”

“Just another glass, Hyuck, don’t be a bitch about it.”

He’s taken aback but collects his composure within seconds. “All right, just don’t blame me for it,” he states as he pours you another one.

“I have a question for you, Lee Donghyuck,” you coo as he takes a seat on the coffee table, facing you. “Does everyone’s blood taste the same to you?”

“It differs, actually,” he answers, taking a sip of his own drink. “But only faintly. I’m not that picky about it.”

“And how does it feel having your blood sucked by a vampire?”

“You’re asking the wrong guy.” He sways his head from side-to-side in amusement. “I mean, of course, I can have my blood drunk by another vampire but I’m not that kinky. I know some vampires who are into that kind of shit though.”

“Well, by the sound of your girls screaming like they were giving birth, it’s either very painful or very…” The sight of him staring at you intently, taking in your features, nearly throws you off tracks. “Pleasurable.”

There’s an awkward pause and silence hangs around to fill the space before Donghyuck speaks again. “How come you’re asking me these questions?”

“Because that’s all I’ve been thinking about,” you confess, not sure why, but you’re feeling very brave at the moment. “And it’s not just about you drinking my blood, but more about you entirely. You know what I mean?”

Donghyuck places his glass down on the table, leaning towards you. “Not sure, but I’m all ears.”

“I… just…” It’s getting harder to speak when he’s so close, you can start locating every tiny mole he has on his face and his neck. The small one near his Adam’s apple is the one that distracts you the most. “I just think we’re compatible with each other, you know? And I’ve never enjoyed someone’s company this much before. You’re funny, you’re smart, and you’re both endearing and freaking annoying at the same time—how is that possible?”

But Donghyuck isn’t laughing. His eyes are deep and dark, raking over your profiles with so much intensity but when he swats the bangs out of your eyes, his touch is tender. “What else? Tell me more.”

You lean closer to his touch like how a kitten would, making him gulp slightly at the sight. “I get so vexed whenever you spend your time with anyone else. I know I have no right to be jealous since we’re just friends but I can’t help it.” You sigh, rubbing the side of your face with your palm. “It’s so fucking tiring to think about you this much when I can’t have you.”

You’re too lost in your own thoughts that when Donghyuck reaches out a hand to touch your face, you jump in surprise, spilling wine all over your blouse. “Shit, this is my favorite shirt,” you whine, sliding your glass down to the table. “Can you get me some tissues?”

But what he does is lifting your body with both of his arms and carry you to the bathroom. You cling onto him with a yelp, trying to keep yourself away from falling even though you’re sure he’s perfectly able to hold your weight.

Donghyuck places you down on the bathroom counter, your fingers dangling at the edge of your sink. Sitting up straight, you begin to feel conscious of your surroundings. “What are you doing?”

“It’s your favorite shirt, right? We need to wash the stain before it sticks,” He explains, his fingers going to your collar. You nearly stop breathing when he asks for permission to undress you, “May I?”

You swallow hard before you weakly nod.

He takes time unbuttoning your shirt one by one when you know he can rip it apart easily with one finger. He’s so gentle, his touches are paper-thin but whenever his icy fingertips make slight contact with your skin, it sends electricity to every inch of your body.

When he manages to untangle the clothing from your body, you’re only left in your bra and your black satin lace cami top. You can tell he tries to be polite by not staring at what you’re wearing, and instead immediately drags your blouse to the sink, drenching it with water.

“Where did you place the detergent again?” He asks, reaching up over your head to check on the top cabinet and he’s so fucking close that you can see the movement of his Adam’s apple as he speaks. And it’s really, really tempting to just lean over and—

Donghyuck flinches when he feels you sinking your face in the crook of his neck, mapping your lips on his skin, breathing in his scent. You don’t know how vampires usually smell like but Donghyuck reminds you of summer even when you’re not sure how summer smells like. It’s funny how you’re not making sense, even in your own thoughts.

Pushing you away by the shoulders, Donghyuck’s eyes gleam in the way you’ve never seen before. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I…” You can’t form a word—you can’t even form a thought as you’re too busy staring at his lips, how smooth they look, how thrilling they must feel against your own. And maybe he’s thinking the same thing about yours because when you lean in for a taste, he meets you halfway.

It’s warm and it doesn’t make any sense, because the rest of his body is icy cold but as you press your mouth against his, all you can think about is how his lips are warm and soft, so fucking soft and delightful and maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks on you but you don’t care.

You breathe heavily through your nose, yanking at the collar of his shirt so he’s closer to you than he’s ever been, and you tilt your head slightly, angling your face so you can meld your lips deeper against his. He instinctively reacts by holding the side of your face, fingers slipping between your strands, tips curling around your nape.

He kisses better than any man you’ve ever been with and you’re sure he’s better than any man you’ll ever date in the future because Donghyuck knows what he’s doing, even when he’s caught by surprise.

Sliding your hand up to his chest, you can tell how his skin stands in contrast to the warmth of his mouth and it makes you shiver, your breathing rags, and you moan into his mouth, tracing your tongue along the puncture of his fang that’s still retracted, almost as normal as a human’s but something inside you tells you it’s not going to stay that long if you continue doing this.

So anticipation builds inside you because there’s absolutely no way you’re going to stop what you’re doing.

But Donghyuck is surprisingly more chivalrous than he looks. He pulls away, giving you a few inches of space to break the attraction. It’s not enough, your mind is still heavily clouded by the thoughts of him, so you reach up to kiss him again, catching his lower lip between yours.

“No, wait,” he says, voice sounding breathy though he doesn’t breathe. He circles his fingers around your wrists, holding them down against the counter so you won’t be able to move.

“Let me just kiss you,” you plead, eyes dazed and desperate. “Please.”

His chuckles are soft, almost inaudible. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not, I swear.” It’s horribly embarrassing how you’re itching for his touch as if losing physical contact with him causes you madness. “Hold up your fingers and ask me to count them. I’ll guess it right, trust me, so can you just—” You try to move your hand to pull him close but his grip around your wrist is stronger than your strength. “Hyuck—”

“Look, I want this just as much as you do—” He hisses when you’re using your knee this time, sliding it between his legs, giving him the friction that he needs. “Fuck. I probably want this more than you do, but—” He loses control for a split second, re-attaching his mouth to yours with so much fervor, tongues desperate to taste one another. The way you whimper against him makes him groan, his hand sliding down your thigh and spreading your legs apart so he can fit himself between them.

It’s when his fangs suddenly puncture your lips, drawing a hint of blood and making you cry out in surprise that he wakes up from his reverie, pushing himself away immediately to the other side of the room. You almost topple forward from suddenly losing him to lean on but manage to keep your balance by gripping at the edge of the counter.

Donghyuck turns around, facing the bathroom tiles as he leans one hand against the wall while his other one covers his mouth.

“Hyuck—”

“Sorry, let me just—“ His shoulders are shaking, trying his best to calm himself and the thirst that overwhelmed him earlier. “They’ll go back in a minute.”

“No.” You jump down from the counter, moving to his spot with careful steps. “Let me see them.”

He shakes his head, still not turning around to face you.

“I want to see them, Hyuck.” You place your hand on his shoulder, caressing him gently until he finally submits to your touch.

You only ever saw him with his fangs retracted twice in your life but even then, it was always too dark and too fast for you to see him properly. Now, you can take your time.

He’s so fascinating.

His eyes, as they peer into you in concern and uncertainty that he might hurt you, are glowing brightly in the color of topaz and they’re strikingly beautiful that you can barely look at anywhere else. His fangs are larger but he can still hide them behind his lips if needed. It’s the way they become frighteningly sharp that sends a shiver down your spine but you brave yourself enough to reach out to him.

“C-can I touch…?” You hesitantly ask, and he looks conflicted by the question but soon gives you a timid nod. He parts his mouth slightly so you can trace your fingertip along his cuspid, and you flinch as it feels like a knife splitting your skin.

He hastily pulls back, terrified at the thought of hurting you. “You’re okay?”

“Do it with me.”

“What?”

You take a deep breath, your heartbeat going crazy. “I want you to drink from me.”

“You’re crazy—”

“Please.” You lay a hand on his chest, tilting your head to the side, exposing your neck to his eyes. “Just try, Hyuck…”

The glimmer in his eyes shows that he’s yearning to fulfill your wish but he cups your cheek again, telling you, “You’re gonna regret this in the morning.”

“I won’t.” Your fingers find a home in his waves. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time so—”

A high-pitched yelp escapes your lips and you have to muffle the rest of your scream by mouthing against the fabric that covers his shoulder because Donghyuck doesn’t waste any second after he heard your confession. His canines are prickling against the skin under your jaw, just between the earlobe and the collarbone. And it hurts when he sinks them—so, so badly—that tears begin to form almost instantly behind your closed lids. Donghyuck suddenly lets you go, his eyes widening as he gazes at the way blood is gushing through his bite mark. “Fuck,” he says, “How can you taste so—” and he dives in again, moaning rather loudly when the warmth of your blood fills his mouth, swallowing a big gulp each time. “So fucking good,” he murmurs in pleasure, tightening his hold desperately around your waist as if you’re the thread that keeps him alive.

The pain only stays for a few seconds before a rush of endorphin seeps into your skin, running through your veins and pumping euphoria to every inch of your body. You slowly relax against his chest, eyes becoming half-lidded as you go into a trance, heartbeat slowing. You’ve never done any methamphetamine in your life but you imagine that it must feel somewhat like this.

“Hyuck…” You breathe out, feeling a little bit lightheaded, the strap of your camisole falling off your shoulder. You can feel your knees slowly giving out under your weight. “I… I can’t stand…”

He yanks himself away for a second, only to lift you so you can wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck. He carries you back to the counter, placing you down in the same spot as before, your legs dangling in the air.

“Better?” He asks, rubbing comforting circles with his thumb along your cheekbone. You nod, eyes going down to focus on his fangs again. His lips are painted with your blood, with some of it trickling down his chin. He’s a monster and he definitely looks like one, but his eyes are tender and his hands are silky smooth on your skin.

He slides his hand down to the hem of your camisole, fingers rubbing against the fabric as he peppers soft kisses along your jawline. “Is this one your favorite too?”

“Huh?” You’re having the hardest time trying to focus. “Oh… No, not really.”

“Well, then,” his lips are still sucking bruises on your neck when he rips both of your camisole and your bra with one flick of his hand, exposing your bare chest to the air, making you jump in surprise.

“Hyuck—” You’re silenced with another kiss, and it’s so consuming, so deep, so wild that you nearly sob against his mouth. The taste of copper makes you frown in discomfort but the knot starts to loosen when his tongue darts out to meet you in a messy kiss.

His hand is going down to your breast, cupping the side while he runs his thumb along your sensitive bud, making you rake your nails against his back in response. His other hand is tracing the curve of your waist, going down to your hips before he tears your skirt away, tossing the clothing somewhere across the room, following your previous ones.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says, hooking his hands at the back of your knees before he pulls your legs forward, pressing his hardness against the wetness of your lingerie. You whine, circling your legs around his waist for stability, and murmurs, “No, don’t stop, please,” against his ear.

It’s not fair that he’s still fully clothed so you frantically toy with the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders with so much eagerness before you roam your lips to every inch of his exposed skin.

Donghyuck licks along the wound of his previous bite, emitting a sinful moan from the back of his throat when your blood sparks ecstasy in his mouth. His fingers are tentatively rubbing you over your lingerie and you beg with your lips muffled by the skin of his chest, “Take it off, just take it off, please—“

You can feel a tiny laugh reverberating from his chest over your desperation but you don’t care. You really are that desperate.

Donghyuck is more than willing to comply, sliding the lingerie down your thighs and you help him push it off your legs completely. You guide his palm to your heat, his fingers immediately sliding between your folds, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit. His mouth finds his way down the valley of your breasts and goes lower and lower until he has his head between your thighs.

You nibble at your lip in anticipation when he presses open-mouthed kisses on the inner part of your thigh. Donghyuck makes sure he has his eyes fixed on yours when he dips his fangs into your supple skin, making you quiver with the sensation.

“God, Hyuck.” You’re going insane, you can feel it. “I want you. I want you in me. I want you all over me.”

And he probably is too because he’s abandoning all of his self-control at once. The way he sucks bruises on your skin, lapping at the trail of blood that painted your body is almost animalistic, raw passion mixed with lust and uncontrollable desire. He unbuckles his belt in hurry, pushing his jeans and boxers down just low enough to release himself from its confines. You can feel his tip grazing against your clit before he glides his length down your folds, pulling you by the legs so you’re almost laying down on the counter, half of your back pressed against the mirror behind you.

His eyes are hooded but they speak reassurance when they bore into yours. “I’ll be gentle.”

Now that it finally sinks you’re going to do this for the first time, your lustful desire gradually changes into jitters. You nod, permitting him to proceed.

The feeling of him stretching you little by little is absolutely painful and he can tell that too, hissing, “Fuck, you’re so tight,” as his eyebrows adjoin in the middle. You can barely stand the pain and you’re about to stop him by reaching out a hand, but he grabs your wrist and sinks his teeth to your skin.

Another jolt of pain sends tremors all over your body but just like before, another rush of endorphin hits you like a wave, gradually reducing your pain until you’re in haze again, blissful even, but also even more aroused than before, hungry for his touch.

“You’re okay?” He asks, licking the blood that trails down your arm. “Are you still in pain?”

You’re breathing hard but you can feel your heartbeat slowing. “Stop talking and fuck me already.”

His glowing eyes are gazing down at you with desire, intense with lust. He runs his tongue along his lower lip once, smirking as he says, “Yes, Ma’am.”

Even when he said he was going to be gentle with you, he’s doing the exact opposite. Or maybe he is going gentle, which only makes you wonder how wild can he be when he’s not holding back. The thought of him losing control of his mind as he pounds into you senselessly makes you shudder, tightening yourself around his length unconciously.

“My God.” The feeling of your heat enveloping him—squeezing around him—makes him drop his temple on your shoulder, dissolving him into a groaning mess. “You are driving me insane, do you know that?”

“Don’t hold back,” you hold his face, caressing his sharp jawline with trembling fingers. “Just do what you want.”

“But I’ll break you.” Although his eyes seem like he’s about to grant your wish.

You let your tongue slide up from his chin to his lower lip, stopping just to whisper, “Then break me apart, I don’t care,” before you crush his mouth with yours again.

Donghyuck’s thrust is both deep and hard, knocking your breath with each pound as he holds you by your hips, nails clawing into the skin. Maybe it’s the trace of endorphin left in your body that heightened all your senses while at the same time washing all your pain away because everything feels so unbelievably good. His touches, his kisses, his thrusts, and the way he moves his hips faster and faster until you can’t properly breathe—everything feels amazing.

And his voice—God, his voice—the way he moans and grunts against your ear, or when he sprouts expletives while he buries his face deep in the crook of your neck, lips scorching against your skin, makes you think fuck why did I waste a fucking year doing nothing when I can have him like—

You’re interrupted from finishing your thought when Donghyuck suddenly pulls out of you, making you whimper from the loss, and turns you around, forcing you to land on your feet again, your stomach pressed against the edge of the counter. You place both hands on the marbled surface as he pulls your hips closer to him, pressing his hardness against your behind as he presses his chest to your spine.

“Come here, look,” he says, holding you by the chin and lifts your face so you can gaze directly into the mirror. He shifts his hand, now holding back your bangs so your eyes are reflected perfectly. “Look how beautiful you are,” he purrs near your ear, the tip of his nose brushing against your jawline.

It’s both embarrassing and arousing to see yourself being held domineeringly by him, the curves of your body fit his perfectly even from behind. Your lips are bruised and swollen, blood smears messily around your neck, your wrist, your thigh even on your hips from the way he trailed his coated fingers along the skin.

Donghyuck raises two of his blood-smeared fingers to your lips, mixing your lipstick with your own blood before he slowly drags his fingers away, painting blurred lines of crimson to your cheek. He sighs at the sight, eyes half-lidded as they glow brighter. “If I’m a monster,” he says, voice low and breathy, “Then you’re a fucking goddess.”

You shudder and avert your gaze, ashamed of how sultry you look in the mirror and how sinful his gaze is as they rake over your body. He presses close, completing the dip of your spine with his chest like a matching puzzle. His fingers curl around the front of your neck, forcing you to look at your reflection once more as he licks a stripe up your wound. “We look good together, don’t you think?”

You’re breathing hard, chest heaving up and down with each breath. “Hyuck…” You crave for him to fill you again like before. “Please, just—"

He glides his hand down between your legs, teasing you with small touches but strong and fast enough to make you quiver. “So sensitive too,” he chuckles, nipping slightly at your earlobe. “You’re so fucking cute.”

Before you can retort anything back, he pushes the head of his cock into your heat again, agonizingly slowly at first but slams the rest of it with one snap of his hips.

“I’ve thought about this—about us—I think about you a lot,” he confesses, with low groans interrupting his lines. “You’re really driving me insane with that face of yours, your lips, your voice—whenever you call my name, whenever you pout after losing an argument—the way you secretly stare at me wherever I go—”

“I don’t—” You gasp, thighs trembling under your weight and he wraps an arm along your stomach, holding you still while he pushes in deeper. “I never—”

“And the way you lie just like now, with that blush creeping on your face.” He chuckles, kissing the middle of your shoulder blades. “Fuck, you’re so cute—so fucking cute that it pisses me off whenever you talk about Mark when we both know he can’t satisfy you the way I do—he doesn’t understand you— doesn’t get your stupid jokes—” He begins to fall out of rhythm, hips moving faster with each thrust. “He doesn’t deserve you—I deserve you.”

You catch the sight of your reflection, noticing how he sometimes throws his head back in pleasure, his strong hands gripping on the sides of your waist as he rolls his hips again and again, thrusting into you until you can only cry out his name and nothing more. It’s too obscene, too erotic for your eyes to witness, and when he locks his gaze with yours in the mirror, you nearly faint.

“H-Hyuck—” You reach out a hand back, trying to find his for support but he holds your wrist against your spine, pumping into you with strong strokes, leaving you with no options other than pressing the side of your face against the marble countertop, mouth parting in a silent scream.

The sounds of his groans and your whimpers echo through the bathroom walls, along with the sound of your skin meeting his. His teeth prickling against your shoulder, his eyes going to see how you look underneath him in the mirror before he sinks his fangs deep into you, making various sounds of pleasure as he drinks your blood.

The sensation of his thrust, his fingers slightly choking you as he holds you by your neck, and the amount of endorphin that washes over you soon drives you to your release and he embraces you closer, feeling every shake that you emit directly with his body. And maybe it’s from the loss of blood or everything else combined, but your vision starts to blur and suddenly your world turns black.

***

When you wake up, you’re laying on your bed, staring at the ceiling you’ve seen a million times with your eyes barely open. You’re still pretty much in a haze, not sure if you’re still floating inside your dream or back in reality. It’s until your door opens with a click that you can start to differentiate.

“Ah, you’re awake.” He peeks inside through the door holding your favorite mug, already dressed back in his favorite black tee and matching jeans. “I was wondering when you’d wake up. Can I come in?”

He walks in without needing an answer and, weirdly, he doesn’t seem nervous or awkward when the sight of him already makes you blush fervently and your heart races fast. A flashback comes in like an unstoppable train and you almost reach out a hand to your neck, wanting to know if his bite mark is still there.

The way he acts is so natural that you begin to wonder whether all that happened was simply your imagination. But when you try to move your body, jolts of pain runs like electricity to your bones, making you freeze instantly. It feels like somebody is trying to crack your head open, tearing your body apart and you fall back to the bed, weak and exhausted.

“You all right?” He immediately rushes to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed, checking on your face. “You lost a lot of blood, so I wouldn’t move too much if I were you. I brought you some coconut water, here,” he places the mug down on your nightstand. “And some supplements too. They’ll help with your blood loss. I’ll cook some fish and eggs for dinner later.”

You can only nod, too tired to even speak. His eyes begin to soften, his fingers reaching out to caress the strands of your hair. “I guess I went a bit overboard, I’m sorry.”

“A bit…?” You croak out.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats but can’t help a smile forming on his face. “I tried so hard not to, but you were so cute.” He leans closer, his lips hovering above yours but he rethinks his decision before he closes the gap, and moves to press a gentle kiss on your forehead instead. “You should get more sleep,” he murmurs against your skin. “Call me when you need help. I’ll be right outside.”

And he doesn’t spare you a glance as he stands up from the bed, but the way he trips on his feet once makes you realize that oh, maybe he’s embarrassed about all this too.

“Hyuck.”

He stops in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder as he lays a hand against your doorframe. “Yeah?”

“Where does this leave us?”

His face slightly goes stern. Turning over to face you, he questions further. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you pause, wetting your lip in anxiety. “Do you want us to pretend it didn’t happen?”

His eyes darken, somehow seem a bit upset. “Do you?”

“I… Uhh…” The way your heart is beating so fast makes you feel nauseous. “I don’t, but—”

“Then don’t suggest something like that,” he sighs, walking back to your bed again. He kneels on the floor so you’re eye-to-eye, squeezing your hand with his larger one. “Don’t scare me, okay? I finally have you where I want you.”

You look away, attempting to hide your flustered face. “But then, what are we now?”

“I don’t care what we are. I just want us to keep doing this.”

“Doing what, sex? You drinking my blood?”

“No, idiot.” He rolls his eyes. “I mean, yes, of course, that too. Plenty of that. But what I meant was I want to continue to have this kind of relationship with you. Us living together, making fun of each other, having dinners together, even spend hours watching re-runs of your stupid tv shows—”

“They’re not stupid.”

“They’re stupid. I only watch them because of you. You are my favorite show.” He winks, breaking the tension and you blurt out laughing, shoving him playfully by the shoulder. But when your giggle starts to fade, Donghyuck leans in to cup your cheek, smiling softly. “I just want to spend more time with you, as long as you’d let me. So can we have that? Please?”

“I…” You’re so captivated by his features, especially the shape of his lips. “I guess…”

“You guess?” He scrunches up his nose. “You’re playing hard to get again? Seriously? After all the begging you did in the bathroom?” Seeing you blush only makes him want to tease you harder. “What was it that you said? God, Hyuck, I want you. I want you in me. I want you all over me—“

“Okay, shut up, geez!” You slap a hand against his mouth, steam practically coming out of your ears. “Yes, we can have that. I’d… love to have that actually.”

Kissing your inner palm, he lovingly smiles against your skin, appreciating your honesty. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, Sweetheart?”

***

Read the sequel here

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary:

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

3K notes · View notes

deiliamedlini · 3 years

Text

Slipping on Ice

Summary: Link is forced to take his little sister Aryll ice skating at 7am, and they suddenly have to share the rink.

~Modern Zelink AU ~

Word count: 4644

Or read on Ao3!

“Link, you missed the turn!”

Aryll sat forward from the backseat and tried to point frantically at the road, only for the seatbelt to lock and send her backwards. There were several loud clicks, and she closed her eyes in defeat before Link could say a single smart word, because now she was stuck with the seatbelt completely trapping her.

“Can I fix my seatbelt?”

“No. We’re almost there. Suck it up.”

“You’re mean!” she groaned, leaning her head on the window.

Link glanced at her in the rearview mirror before making a U turn into the near-empty parking lot.

He leaned his head back against the hard headrest and closed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t promised his mother that he’d do anything if she let him go to a party over the weekend. He was 18, he shouldn’t even need to ask permission anymore.

“Come on! Come on! Come on!!” Aryll chanted, shaking the driver’s seat with her little hands.

“One day, Aryll, you’ll actually want to sleep in, and then I’ll wake you up to drag you somewhere stupid.”

“Nowhere is stupid!” she countered, whipping her door open and leaning against the window to eerily peer at him.

Glancing at the clock, he rolled his eyes. It was 6:58am and here he was spending the first day of his week-long vacation taking Aryll ice-skating. He double checked his wallet to make sure the 30 rupees his mother had given him were still there and then reluctantly dragged himself from the car.

Aryll was bursting with excitement, bouncing up and down as her plush coat swished with every excited move she made. She pulled her gloves from her pocket—her favorites that had seagulls on them despite the cold—and fiddled to get her fingers in as she stared into the glass door, waiting for whoever to unlock the doors.

Link, on the other hand, was miserable. He was so tired. He wasn’t one of those people who could function with a coffee and just 4 hours of sleep, so he closed his eyes for the next two minutes while leaning against the metal handrail. It didn’t feel cold; everything was cold. Why Aryll wanted to go to an indoor ice rink was beyond him, but he didn’t really care whether it was indoor, outdoor, or on the moon: he didn’t want to go.

“Fix your hat, Link,” she said to him, tapping on her own. She made a twisting motion.

Feeling for the emblem of the Rito Fliers on his knit hat, he pulled it off and retied his sloppily thrown-in ponytail before returning the hat so that the emblem was back in the center.

Finally, the employee came up to the door and stared at Link with equally weary eyes. Link didn’t recognize him, but honestly, he could have been at the party too, given his age and his general disposition that seemed ready to just die a little bit.

He let out a heavy sigh and unlocked the door.

Aryll didn’t even give him enough time to get out of the way before she’d accosted him.

“Hi! One adult and one child please! And we’ll need to rent skates!”

“I’m not skating,” Link muttered, grabbing the rupees. If he could avoid the skate rental and the admission fee, he could pocket the rest of the rupees.

Aryll glared at him as though he’d just told her that he’d killed her best friend. “You’re skating with me, or I’ll tell mom and dad that you didn’t. I’ll call them right now!”

Grimacing, Link handed over the rest of the rupees and told the man their sizes before turning toward Aryll’s smug expression. “No one wants to be friends with a dirty rat, you know.”

“I’m not dirty. And I haven’t told anyone yet, so I’m not technically a rat either.”

“No one wants to be friends with a smart mouth.”

“At least I’m smart.”

He made a face and leaned heavily against the counter until the guy returned with their skates. Link took them while Aryll bolted through the doors and into the rink.

It was freezing.

The chill hadn’t been enough to wake him up, but it was enough to make him a bit more alert. He looked around the deserted room, his footsteps echoing in the silence and making him more self-conscious than he already was about being here. What if Mipha saw him here? Would she laugh at him for his inability to skate? Would she make fun of him for spending the first day of his vacation with his little sister? Would she even notice he was there?

Not that any of that mattered. Mipha was dating Revali.

It was just a crush. On the most popular girl in school. Who was also gorgeous. But he’d never even said three words to her, so why would she care if he was here anyway?

“Hey! Link! Come on! Give me my skates!”

Shaking his head to snap himself out of it, he descended the stairs and tossed Aryll’s skates in front of her.

“Rude.”

“That’s for making me actually skate and blackmailing me.”

“I’ve seen you skate, Link. If you can even call it skating. It’s more like shuffling.”

“Shut up.”

Aryll grinned while she slid into her skates, testing them out before heading to the door onto the ice.

“Hey, wait!” Link called, gesturing to the spot in front of him.

“What?”

Link set his shoes down and knelt on the ground. “Put your foot up. It’s like mom never taught you to tie shoes.”

Groaning, Aryll threw her head back and set her skate against Link’s leg so he could retie it. The force that he pulled at the strings had her jerking back in surprise, and nearly toppling over, but she kept her balance and watched Link as he knotted the laces a few times. Admittedly, it did feel like a better fit when he was done.

“Other one.”

He shook his head as he pulled the loose strings. “Honestly, I thought you knew what you were doing.” He pulled the laces and Aryll swayed again.

“I do! I’m just… not the best shoe-tier.”

Satisfied, he patted the side of her foot. “Okay; go ahead. I’ll be out in a minute. But you know you’re kind of on your own, right?”

“Oh, I know!” she laughed, finally gliding onto the ice with an ease that Link was reluctant to admit he envied.

He put his own skates on slowly, glancing up every now and then to make sure Aryll hadn’t cracked her head open or anything terrible like that. He’d have no idea how to get to her if something happened, but she had been adamant that her classes made her good enough to know how to fall and how to jump and how to glide.

No one else knew how to ice skate, so sending Link was as good as sending anyone else with her. Plus, despite their occasional snippiness, Link would protect Aryll with his life, and their parents knew that enough to trust him alone with her at an ice rink. He’d find a way onto that ice faster than someone could call an ambulance.

Link let out a deep breath again and set his phone inside his shoe before standing up. It wasn’t as bad as he remembered. He could do this, for sure.

That attitude went out the window the second his first skate hit the ice.

“Oh, shit,” he hissed, already unsteady with one foot still on land. Land? Is that what it was called now?

“Sound carries in here!” Aryll chided, swishing by him tauntingly.

He waited until she was on the opposite side of the rink before clutching the boards for dear life, throwing his other foot over and slipping like was… on ice, he supposed. His feet couldn’t stabilize, and it was all up to his arms to hold him up until he managed to regain his balance.

Sliding his hand along the boards, he pulled himself as far as he could until the plexiglass took over, and he was forced to slide his fingers into the narrow gap for any grip.

He hadn’t lifted his legs yet, but he was where the net would be in hockey, so he let go for a second and glanced back at Aryll. “Better than you thought I could do, huh?”

She skated up to him and then turned herself backwards, judging him with her arms across her chest as she disappeared.

“Critic,” he muttered, trying to lift his foot. He could only manage to get his right off the ground, and he kept trying to dig the front of his skate into the ice to push himself forward, because that’s what everyone in those videos Aryll made him watch with her last night did. He managed a shuffle, and every time he felt himself going, he grabbed for that little spot under the glass to steady himself, and then dragged himself along.

“You really suck,” Aryll said on her next pass.

“Hey! Language! You’re like, five!”

“I’m not five!” she called back. It was a running joke between them because Link needed to do math to figure out Aryll’s age. He always had to subtract six years from his own age to figure hers out, but she still seemed younger to him. Maybe she’d always be that way just because he was the oldest. Maybe, she’d be in her thirties one day and Link would still think she was a teenager.

It took a long time and several taunts from Aryll, but Link made it around the whole rink once, while Aryll had probably circled it nearly two hundred times. He’d gone around again, but he was stopped, watching Aryll practice her jumps when he heard the echo of footsteps entering the rink.

It was a public place, he knew, but they’d gone early to avoid people, not to share.

But wow, any semblance of annoyance he had disappeared when he saw the girl hurrying down the steps with a gym bag slung over her shoulder.

She had long blonde hair that fell over her shoulders, and really that was all Link could see from that distance, but he did have a thing for blondes, and that was all he needed to feel an instant infatuation. But of course, his nerves shot up tenfold because now there was a hot blonde who’d watch him not know how to skate and probably fall on his ass.

He dragged himself around a bit more, trying to just keep his eyes on his feet instead of on her, but he was a sucker and glanced up.

She was watching Aryll with a fond smile on her face before she stood up and moved onto the ice.

Link shivered while he looked her over. She had a loose short-sleeved shirt on, her sports bra straps showing on her shoulders, and she was in a pair of leggings that hugged her a little too perfectly. He groaned to himself. She had to be hot. Physically, not temperature wise because honestly, she looked like she might be pretty cold.

After pulling himself along a little more—and then trying to shuffle his feet rather than drag himself like he was trying to lead a stubborn horse—he needed to pause to rest. So, he watched Aryll and the girl skate around the rink.

The girl neared him as she was making a turn around the rink, like a warmup, and smiled shyly at him when she noticed his gaze on her.

Shit. She probably didn’t want to be watched just as much as he didn’t. And Goddess, her eyes had been so green they’d nearly made him do a double take. But no! No double takes! She didn’t want to be watched!

It wasn’t until he heard Aryll’s loud “Whoa!” that he looked back out, clutching the boards again as he whipped his head and lost his balance. He expected to see Aryll on the ground, but she was just watching the other girl in awe. And honestly, so was Link.

She was spinning, but not like a normal person. Her arms were tucked against her chest and she spun like those people on the television who competed for medals and awards.

Her arms went out gracefully as she ended it like it was no big deal. Like she didn’t look like someone had just perfectly spun a coin.

She smiled at Aryll, and Goddess above, her smile was gorgeous and inviting and why did she have to be here?

The girl then leaped, some sort of near perfect split in the air before landing and sending Aryll another grin.

“How do you do that?” Aryll asked.

“Aryll!” Link called, chastising her. “Let the lady practice in peace.”

“No, it’s okay with me if it’s okay with you,” she said, stopping just in front of him.

Oh, she was so much prettier up close: freckles that scattered along her face, her long hair tied back into a much better ponytail than his own, glowing skin, impressive muscles. And she wasn’t too bad in the… no, he had to keep his eyes up! Only to be captured in her green ones. Expectant.

“What?” he asked, realizing that she was waiting for an answer from him, but entirely forgetting the question.

“I don’t want to talk to her or help her out if you’re not okay with it. That’s all. You are with her, right?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, looking at Aryll’s clear eavesdropping expression as she pretended to be distracted, though her eager face gave her away. “Yeah, go ahead. She likes all that… spinning stuff.”

The girl bit her lip to stop herself from giggling at ‘spinning stuff.’ Goddess, he was stupid. What a stupid thing to say to someone who clearly knows what they’re doing.

He kept shuffling, trying in earnest now to block out their conversation so he could focus on the simple task of going forward.

His attention was torn between making sure Aryll wasn’t being kidnapped and wondering how he’d ever cross the rink to save her if she was. But all he saw was the girl demonstrating something before Aryll tried it, and the girl’s face lit up as she clapped in encouragement.

The entrance of the rink was back in his sight, so he was less concerned about watching Aryll and more focused on his feet.

Which is why he didn’t see the girl until she was right in front of him.

“You should move away from the boards and look up rather than at your feet. It’ll help.”

Even her voice was gorgeous. Goddess above…

“I’ll fall,” he said simply, his hand still on the board.

“Yeah. You have to fall.”

“You haven’t fallen and you’re doing all those… spins. So I don’t think that logic works.”

The girl skated backwards in front of him. “Do you really think I haven’t fallen?”

“No, of course not,” he muttered. Someone who was that good had to have learned through a few spills over the years.

“Then trust me. Look up and get away from the boards. Stop worrying about falling.”

She skated back over to Aryll, demonstrating something else for his sister to try.

With their attention diverted, he pushed away from the boards and kept his eyes on the wall straight ahead.

And promptly felt his skates slide away from him, wide and uneven, throwing him entirely off balance until he hit the ice with a hard thud.

Knowing that both their eyes were on him now, he tried to get to his feet quickly, but that only ended with him slipping and hitting his chin on the ground. So, face burning with utter embarrassment, he rested his forehead against his arm so he could scream internally for a hot second before trying again.

When he looked up, the girl was crouched down in front of him. “Do you need help?”

He could either: stay on the ice like a flattened pancake, or let the hot girl realize that he really is an embarrassment for being unable to get to his own feet.

Looking back at her, he was struck by how she didn’t smile. She wasn’t laughing at him, or enjoying his pain. She wasn’t pitying him either. She just looked… like this was normal.

“Y-yeah,” he found himself saying, taking her outstretched hand.

He shuddered at the contact of her skin on his. She helped him flip onto his stomach and then to his knees before she pulled him up. “Is this your first time skating?”

Lie, or tell the truth?

Something about her wide, earnest green eyes had him sucking up his pride. “No, I just suck.”

“Everyone sucks at the beginning. Once you get it, you’ll be flying like the Rito,” she laughed, tapping the emblem on his hat. Then she blushed furiously, her whole face turning a shade of pink as she let go of his hand and moved backwards. “Sorry. Personal space issues sometimes when I’m on the rink.”

“No, it’s okay,” he muttered, unable to get his voice any louder. His hands were out to steady himself, but he slipped again, landing on his knee.

This time, she did smile, but it was soft and she held her hand out again.

“Your sister could teach you. She said she’s been taking skating lessons for a while.”

Scoffing harshly, Link shook his head and glanced at Aryll, who was blissfully making loops around the rink, unconcerned with them. But he took her hand again.

This time, she didn’t let go. She shook it. “I’m Zelda.”

He glanced at their clasped hands and raised his eyebrows, shocked that she was even telling him her name. “Link.”

She gave him a tug before letting go of him, letting him coast in the momentum. “So, you… um… go to school around here?”

He looked back at his feet so they didn’t get away from him, but he heard Zelda tsk, so he looked back at her. “Yeah. I’m in my last year at Faron High.”

Her smile broadened. “I’m in my last year at Labrynna!”

Hot, kind, and his own age.

Link took her in, suddenly feeling guilty; as much as he wanted to fall again just so she’d offer her hand one more time, he didn’t know her. “I’m sorry for taking up your time. Thanks for helping.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, glancing at Aryll for a while. “I’m always here, so it’s nice to have a different morning. And I like meeting new people.”

And just like that, the guilt faded away from him. “Always here? You a professional skater?”

“Not professional,” she said, offering her hand again. “I’ve done competitions.”

This time, he didn’t know why she was offering, so he hesitated before getting sucked in by her genuine smile. She tugged him again and he started to glide with her again.

He chuckled and kept his eyes off his feet. “You good at it?” Zelda raised an eyebrow, so he quickly waved his hands. “I-I mean, you looked incredible, but anyone who can move forward deserves a medal in my eyes. So, my comparisons aren’t great.”

Zelda bit her lip and shrugged. “I’ve done well.”

That, Link knew, was code for ‘yes, I’m very good,’ but from someone far humbler than himself.

After checking on Aryll, Zelda nodded to herself as she looked over Link. “You’re doing better already.”

“I am?” he asked, glancing at his feet.

Which, of course, sent him lurching forward until he hit the ice.

Zelda giggled this time, covering her mouth to try to stifle it. “I’m sorry! I threw off your focus!”

Link groaned and made it halfway to his feet before taking her hand this time. Well, he was getting better at falling anyway.

She didn’t let go.

Instead, she held out her other hand. “I can help keep you balanced so you can try moving your feet.”

One more hit, and Link was sure he’d wake up from this dream. Because what was even happening right now?

Well, if this was a dream, might as well go for it. And if it wasn’t… what could he do that’s more embarrassing than he’d already done?

So, he took her hand.

She pulled him with her for a moment before gesturing to his feet. “You should try… you know… skating.”

“Right,” he said, admittedly holding her a little tighter as he tried to push off the ice but stumbled.

She steadied him, but before he knew it, she was clicking her tongue at him again. “Link, stop looking at your feet.”

The sound of his name on her lips had his head jerking up far faster than he meant to. He was like an eager puppy, and he knew it.

Once they’d gone around a little more, Zelda loosened her grip. “I’m going to let go. Keep going. You’re doing really good.”

He blew out some air as she released him, and his arms shot out to his sides to keep him steady. But he was doing it. He was going forward.

He couldn’t help the triumphant little laugh that escaped from his lips.

“So, you’re not hopeless after all!” Aryll said as she skated beside him. “It’s taken him forever to figure this out! I even tried to show him videos yesterday.”

Defensive, Link glared at Aryll. “I tried to do it their way. But I couldn’t figure out the toe thing.”

Zelda raised an eyebrow again. “Toe thing?”

“Yeah, they kept pushing off with their toe or something, but I can’t get it.”

Goddess, Zelda was perfect, because she lifted her foot up to show off her skate while still skimming backwards in front of him. “This thing?” she asked, pointing to a sharp barb looking thing in the front of the blade.

“Yeah, they pushed off with that, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it.”

Zelda laughed again as she set her foot down. “These are for figure skating. The ones you have on are for hockey. No toe pick. They’re different.”

“They are?” he asked, trying—and failing—to get a good look at his own skates. “I thought they were all the same.”

“They’re not,” she said, her cheeks pinching her eyes with her smile. “You know, you’ve been skating this whole time without falling.”

“It’s a miracle,” Aryll muttered.

Link turned to her with a glare. “You’d better watch it, because when I get really good, I’m going to pick you up and throw you across the ice, and you better know how to stick that landing or you’ll end up on your ass.”

“First off, language,” Aryll huffed. “Second off, that sounds fun, so go ahead.”

He scoffed and playfully pushed her, though it did little more than throw him off balance for a moment. And when he looked up, he could see that people were starting to come into the rink quickly.

Zelda sighed and watched them with a sad expression. “I know them. They always just completely take over the ice. It’s a pain.”

Link finally stopped moving when he saw who it was. Mipha, Revali, and their friends were laughing boisterously as they took their seats in the bleachers to get their skates on.

Zelda looked between them and Link. “Do you know them?”

“Kind of. They go to my school, but we don’t talk.”

Zelda stared at them, specifically at Mipha, before muttering to herself. “Wow. She’s really pretty. I’d kill to look like her.”

Looking Zelda over, Link was glad that Aryll had taken a turn around the rink without them. Because he didn’t think he’d have the courage to say anything if she’d been around as his audience.

“I know a stranger’s opinion isn’t worth anything but… personally, I prefer blondes.”

Whipping around, an incredulous look on her face, Zelda lost her balance and fell back onto the ice. She barely seemed like she noticed, pulling her legs up to her so she could stare open mouthed at Link until she regained her composure.

Her face was bright red, and she couldn’t quite meet Link’s eyes as she laughed to herself. But finally, she worked up to it and her gaze had him pinned.

“Yeah, I do too.”

Link nodded nervously before he started to chuckle and held his hand out to help her up.

She took it as a courtesy, but got up on her own so she didn’t pull him down when he’d spent so long getting his balance.

This time, when their hands lingered too long, the energy between them was palpable, and both of them were blushing.

Aryll skated up to them. “I’m hungry. Can we go to Windy’s?”

Link glanced apologetically at Zelda, and she followed them back to the gate, watching as they both pulled at the laces in much the same aggressively impatient manner. It had her grinning.

“You know,” she said when Link stood up. “I’m here at 7:30 whenever there isn’t school. I’ll be here tomorrow, if Aryll would like some more help.”

Her eyes were distinctively flirty, and Link was beyond glad that Aryll was still too young to recognize it, because she gasped in excitement. “Can we, Link?”

He didn’t look at Aryll, too entranced by Zelda’s blatant invitation. “We’ll ask mom, but if she says you can, I’ll bring you. If not… I might just come here alone.” His lips tipped up, and he prayed that the red in his cheeks and down his neck just looked like it was from the cold.

“No fair! But mom will say yes if you’re bringing me so she can go back to sleep!”

Link didn’t even realize how awake he’d become since Zelda came into the rink.

Zelda pushed a loose piece of hair behind her ears that had come free in her fall. “Okay then. I’ll see you both tomorrow. For lessons.”

Aryll beamed. “Maybe you can come for lunch with us tomorrow?”

Zelda bit her lip and looked over at Link, who was now staring at the floor so she couldn’t see his expression. But she thought he was cute when he was nervous. “Link? What do you think?”

Forced to look up at her, he knew she could see how eager he was to just straight out say yes. It was all over his face, and burning in his eyes. “If you’d like to,” he said carefully. “I have no objections.” He finished sliding his normal shoes back on before standing up.

“Okay. I look forward to it. I’ll see you tomorrow Aryll. Link.”

He stepped forward, a little too close to where she leaned on the board. “Zelda.”

Her mouth dropped into a smile as he used her name for the first time.

Link patted Aryll’s shoulder to lead her up the stairs before taking one more look behind him at Zelda.

They were halfway up the steps when Link pointed to Aryll. “Do not tell mom that there is a pretty girl involved.”

But Aryll smiled. “Your voice carries, Link.”

Spinning around on the stairs, he saw Zelda beaming as she giggled. But she—thankfully—pushed off the board and twirled once before skating away, her eyes on them until she no longer could see where they stood.

And when Link glanced at Mipha as they passed, and he felt that his infatuation with her had faded to near nothing from the time he’d gotten out of the car to the time he got into it once again. He knew he was doomed. because the only one on his mind now was Zelda.

He’d never been more excited to set an early alarm.

#legend of zelda #LoZ AU #modern au #ice skating #link #zelda #aryll #zelink #happy fic #for once!#was this inspire by my inability to ice skate? yes.#I'm sorry the title sucks but I could think of NOTHING #This is another 6am oneshot that I forgot to post the day I wrote it #oneshot #writing

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klaineownsmysoul · 3 years

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I just can't believe that there are people who still believe every single word a public figure/celebrity says, most of the time they LIE. Did C lie about some fans harassing his bf? I have no clue, but if someone was indeed harassing him, that is just not correct. There are crazy fans in every fandom. If people still believe every post or tweet is posted personally by the celebrity, they are just naive and gullible. I don't believe in CC, but that's just my opinion. I do believe D is closeted and just because he posts something or says something nice about someone doesn't mean he actually thinks that, it is most likely PR, just like the unnecessary refurbishment of RR's house. People should wake up and not believe everything they see on the internet. Side note: I couldn't even get mad at yesterday's show because everything is just so ridiculous and bad-acted that it's funny.

At this point, if you aren't side-eyeing basically everything that comes out of Hollywood, you are just willfully ignorant. Its all calculated to a specific end and they don't think twice about contradicting their past selves if it serves a current narrative. Case in point: C saying towards the end of glee that he had no idea who D was when he joined the show when there's a whole interview of him talking about seeing D in AVPM way back when. Like season 2 back when. That's just a blatantly obvious, easily disproved and stupid lie. With regards to this podcast mess - I haven't listened to it and I wasn't on tumblr for most of glee's run so I wasn't really privy to a lot of the goings on that happened bts. Can I believe that there were people who crossed the line of fandom and behaved like assholes? Yes, definitely because it still happens. That kind of behavior is not exclusive to the glee fandom. You will find people like that everywhere. Whether or not they did exactly what he said they did - only he knows that for sure. Its a weird thing to bring up now 6 years after the show has ended as it effectively (and unfairly) paints a bullseye on a specific group. I'm not sure what he was hoping to achieve with this. The CC people that I've interacted with here are lovely and would never in a million years even think of things that horrible. Keep your thoughts and opinions to your own little blog and you don't tag the person in your post - its as simple as that. Who are these nobodies who have that much power that they think they can get a complete stranger fired? If they did indeed behave this way, then that is appalling, completely batshit crazy, and unacceptable - they need professional help. Its not funny, its scary. There's no need for that ever. At the end of the day, its his life and what he does with it and who he spends it with is his business. There's a pretty simple solution if you don't like the person anymore or don't like what they are doing: you can simply stop following them. You don't need to engage in some sort of bizarre smear campaign that has real world implications. Remember all those toxic twitter teens who were ready to draw and quarter D a few months back over that nearly 10 year old pic of him or a comment just as old? The awful things they said about him, the nonstop tagging of him and the flooding of every one of his SM posts with their bullshit? The "you're dead to me if you choose to remain a fan of his" ultimatums? I do! That's the kind of stuff that drives celebs away from SM and ruins it for the rest of us that know how to behave. You're creating an issue where there wasn't one and that's sort of what C did here with his comments.

From my point of view, the issue with C and D's SOs isn't so much that they are with other people, but more to the kind of people they seem to be. I don't know much frankly about W. He's not shoved in my face 24 hours a day and a hovering annoying presence at everything C does. You'll find more pics of C solo or with AF than you will with W. That's why he bothers me less and why D takes more criticism on this. But from what I've heard about him, he's said and posted some pretty awful things in the past and if people choose to not like him because of that, that seems valid to me. As fans, we can only judge celebs by what they say and do and our perception of them - its all we have. My dislike of M is not because she's with D and I'm a super jealous old spinster. And its not because I'm a self hating misogynist. Its because of the way she clings to D and his career while doing nothing on her own, the way she uses him for her own selfish purposes, and the hypocritical way she claimed to not to want to be in the public eye but yet shadows D at every event he goes to because it means cameras and photos and recognition as his wife. That tacky awful commercialized wedding was the last straw for me because I haven't been able to hold my tongue since. And if you follow someone long enough, you can get a pretty good idea of when they're being genuine and when they're bullshitting you or in D's case, when its him posting something and when its a member of his team. For example: where he supposedly proposed. By lying about it - either then or now - you've created a mess that didn't previously exist. Its a fairly simple straightforward statement that most people get right the first time: where they asked their SO to marry them. D says Japan, RR says D called him saying he wanted to do it when he was outside a bathroom in Miami. So the answer is either a) D b) RR c) none of the above. I'm going to go with c, thanks. Unless RR is going to come back and say that D decided to ask her in Miami but then waited until they were physically in Japan to do the asking, I'm going to go with neither of you are right and the reason D blew off the question every time he was asked about it by saying he didn't want to bore us is that you hadn't come up with a good enough and believable story yet. Much like the engagement ring that hadn't been locked down until RR could find a designer willing to make a ring with a diamond big enough to soothe her ego and give off the pretense of being legit. He probably put more effort into that than anything in D's career in the last 5 years. Do I think that RR did help D at one point when he was starting out with gigs, jobs, things like that? Sure. No problem. And maybe they were friends and liked to hang out and jam together. But do I also think that D has outgrown him personally and professionally at this point? Hell fucking yes. He needs a grown up to take his career to the next level and RR is not that person. He completely failed to capitalize on all the awards and well deserved hype D got from ACS and for that alone, he should have been fired. He needs someone who wants to do the work because they understand the rare find they have in D and that their job is to promote him, not themselves. The IOU ep was nothing but a self serving hour of D trying to make RR look and sound like he's not a complete waste of space on top of getting a cut of his fee as his manager. If you look at D's page on the very sad H/yphenate website, you will see the 3 biggest roles D's had are not listed. No Blaine. No Hedwig. No ACS. But oddly enough, a mention of his record deal with Columbia, which I thought went kaput ages ago and his hosting of the Teen Choice Awards in 2013. You know - the big times. Why? I'm going to assume its because he got those roles without RR's help so he doesn't want them there and what does that tell you? It should tell you everything. This is why your manager should be your manager and your friends should be your friends. Its like a parent who wants to be their

child's friend instead of the authority figure they need.

Too much of D's SM has the look and feel of pr and useless ads and just flat out nonsense and that falls squarely under RR's domain. He's a 34 year old man with an established career, not a 21 year old newbie just starting out but his SM doesn't reflect that in any way, shape, or form. The sooner D can cut his losses and break free, the better off his career will be, the more adult he will sound, and the happier I will be.

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coffeecakefanfics · 3 years

Text

Blow off some steam Bucky Barns x Fem!Reader

CWQWarnings: language (always), adult themes, gym talk

Requests are open!

My dm’s are also open bc I need FRIENDS BITCH

Trying to reintegrate into modern society was and is rough. Therapy was rougher. The new tactic? working out to blow off steam. Bucky was skeptical that it would work, in fact he turned the proposition over in his for two weeks before dragging himself to the local gym. There luckily weren’t many people in the building when he stepped foot inside.

“Hi, welcome how can we help you,” the woman at the front desk smiled at him. He pursed his lips and stepped up to the desk.

“Um, How much is a membership?” he let his eyes drift around at the people and equipment.

“23.06 a month with a $10 star up fee,” she opened the computer.

“Have you been in before?”

“No”

“Would you like a tour?” Bucky let it set for a few seconds.

“ That’d be nice actually” he followed the woman around as she pointed out all the equipment and the locker rooms and ended with a tour of the spa. He mulled it over and decided to go ahead and sign up, maybe it’d work, maybe not. That was yesterday and today he stepped foot in the gym at a bright and early 5 am. There were maybe 10 other people in the gym. He headed to the locker rooms, chewing on the inside of his lip, still skeptical that this would lead anywhere besides his strength being shown off. A woman ran into his backside, he quickly flipped around.

“Oh shit, I am so so so so sorry, I was on my phone and paying attention,” she stuttered and held her hands up a bit, “Are you okay? I didn’t knock you too hard did I?” panic filled her eyes. Bucky let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“No, you’re okay just kinda spooked me, ’s all”

“Oh thank god,” she shook her head and laughed. “I haven’t seen you in are you a new member?”

“oh, yeah I uh, I signed up yesterday,” he tried to relax, he did, but he felt on edge in her presence.

“Oh nice, good job for actually coming, some people don’t. it’s a big step,” she seemed to beam,” oh shit, sorry, my name is Y/n,” she held her hand out. He slowly took it in his own.

“James, but my friends all call me bucky,” he shook her hand.

“okay James, well I’ll let you get to it, um if you ever need a spotter while here I don’t mind,” she smiled before ducking around him to the women's locker room. Bucky let out another breath and let his eyes wander to where she disappeared.

He got back to his apartment and flung his bag across the room. A ding on his phone got his attention.

“It’s a Match”

It was the girl from the gym, a bright smile in her picture. How did he not recognize one of the girls he’d swiped on, he sat for a minute, still not sure how to talk to a woman yet and make it sound nice.

Y/n: Hey, don’t mean to be weird but i’m still on if you want a spotter ;)

His breath hitched. He didn’t know her, the whole dating thing felt like a mistake to him. His head swam a bit as he tried to think of a response. It’s not like he needed a spotter, or even to work out, his therapist just made the suggestion. He can’t be rude about it, he doesn’t want to push all these women away. He’d like to make a place in today’s society.

Y/n: I’ll buy you breakfast tomorrow after, if you’d like

He held the phone tightly. He swallowed the lump in his throat and let his leg bounce.

B: Sure, sounds good

He sent the message. He read it over, over, ‘It sounds stupid’ he let his head swim again.

Y/n: Great, see you at 5?

B: of course

This was a mistake, he felt his stomach churn.

There she stood, in the offshoot room stretching. He took in how her legs looked in her leggings, the way her hips looked and how it hugged her ass and thighs,how her white tanktop was slightly see through ‘ Don’t be gross buck He took a deep breath and walked over to her.

“James, you made it,” she smiled and leaned up from her stretch.

“uh, yeah I couldn’t pass it up,” he smiled awkwardly. She took note of it.

“So I don’t want to do anything crazy if you don’t want to, we can take it easy today, you just tell me what you’re comfortable with,” her smile never faded.

“Can I be honest,” he looked her over again. She nodded. “My therapist told me this might help me blow off some steam, I don’t really know how it’s supposed to, I also don’t really need a spotter or to even be here I just- “ she held her hand up to stop him.

“James, I know that, I mean not the therapy part but that you don’t need a spotter. I just needed an excuse to talk to you if i’m honest too. I know who you are,” she bit her lip.

“Y-you do?” he gulped.

“Yeah, You were with the avengers right? I’ve spotted you with them a couple times. I just didn’t want to be weird about it,” she shrugged. Bucky took another big breath and relaxed his shoulders.

“Where do we start?” she lit up at that.

The two sat next to each other stretching out, covered in sweat. She was telling him about how she got into the gym life. He sat and listened, actually happy that she saw his arm and didn’t think twice, happy that she let him talk when comfortable and filled the silence when she realized he just wanted to listen most of the time.

“So James, where would you like to go for breakfast?” she let her left leg stretch out in front of her and leaned back on her hands.

“Earnie’s diner still open?” he looked back to her. She nodded and stood up,

“Sounds like a plan,” she smiled as they walked out.

The two sat across from each other tucked into a table in the back of the restaurant, she had given bucky the back seat so he could look into the restaurant on purpose.

“So if you don’t mind me asking, how exactly did a guy like you end up on tinder?” she looked up from her plate at his blue eyes.

“My therapist thought it’d help me reintegrate into society. Honestly i’m out of touch with dating, I haven’t really done so since. . .” he trailed off for a second. “But what about you? I mean you’re gorgeous”

She blushed a bit at his words, “Well aren’t you sweet. Honestly I got out of a bad relationship, a coworker suggested I try it but it mostly led to guys who just want to hookup. Which is fine but I want more than that now,” she shrugged and took a bite of her food. He studied her every move.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” He took a sip of coffee.

“It’s okay, I mean it let me get with such a hot date,” she winked at him. Bucky felt his face go red.

“I- thank you,” he smirked. They continued to talk and eat. He insisted on walking her home.

“I had fun today,” she turned to him after unlocking the door.

“I did too,” he smiled, a real smile. She felt her heart flutter. “Can I take you out to dinner?”

She blushed bright red. “I can’t tonight, but i’m free thursday,” she looked up at him.

“It’s a date,” he nodded.

“It’s a date” she smiled and opened her door, “I’ll see you James,”

“Hey Y/n?”

“Yes?” she turned back to him.

“Call me Bucky”

“okay, I’ll see you later, Bucky,” she smiled at him and closed her door, leaning against it.

Maybe the gym wasn’t such a bad idea after all

A/N: I’m rust on writing as in like I haven’t done it for months. I think I might do a part 2 if people want it, I know it’s not great in sorry.

#bucky x reader #bucky barns smut #bucky barns fluff #bucky barns x y/n

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn.

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision.

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better.

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting.

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time.

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze.

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would.

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer.

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp.

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before.

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth.

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away.

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic.

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say.

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later.

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast.

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you.

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting.

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter.

“That’s for certain,” she says.

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty.

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again.

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too.

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps.

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob.

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

#yoonji x reader #min yoonji #yoonji smut #cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts oneshot #one day I'll learn how to efficiently use tags... one day #joy.masterlist

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thefallennightmare · 3 years

Text

Vows [2/2]

Pairings: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: Angst, mention of death/suicide, alcoholism, and some swearing.

Summary: Could a weekend away be just what Sebastian and Y/N need or could it finally push them away for good?

A/N: Here’s the long awaited second part! I’m not too sure how to feel about it but here it is!

My heels clicked against the tiled floor of the hotel as I approached the check in desk, giving the lady behind it a small smile.

“Hi. Reservation under Mr. Stan?”

Nails typed away on the computer and my heart dropped when I saw a look of slight fear appear on her face. “I’m sorry. Do you have a relation to Mr. Stan?”

“Yes, he’s my husband.”

The word felt so foreign on my lips, not uttering it for months.

“Can I see some ID please?” The lady hesitated.

I cursed under my breath while reaching for my ID but groaned when I noticed it was missing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I-uh-seemed to have forgotten it.”

Running a hand through my hair, I tried to think of ways to prove who I was but suddenly, felt a presence behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I tried to stop the increase in heart beat as a small smile peaked through his beard.

“She’s with me.”

“Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Stan. How many key cards would you two like?” The lady questioned, her attitude changing once she realized that I was in fact with Seb.

“Um, there should be two rooms under that reservation?” Sebastian informed her.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. I see a reservation for our honeymoon suite.”

I scoffed while looking towards Sebastian. “Honeymoon?!”

“Yes, ma’am. It comes with a king bed, Jacuzzi tub, and fireplace.”

“You planned this, didn’t you? A way to torture me?” I seethed.

Sebastian raised his hands up, saying that his assistant made the reservation for him.

“Can we book another room?” We both asked at the same time.

She shook her head once more. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stan. We’re all booked up. But if you don’t mind me asking, why do you two need separate rooms? You’re married.”

I wasn't too comfortable with the flirtatious eyes she was sending Seb’s way. I snatched up the key card before pulling him along, muttering a quick thank you to the lady.

“I cannot believe you booked the honeymoon suite,” I exasperated while we waited for the elevator.

“I cannot believe you were jealous of Susan,” Seb chuckled.

My eyes squinted in confusion and he nodded towards the front desk.

“Oh.”

We fell in silence as we rode the elevator up to the 6th floor where our honeymoon suite awaited us. I felt my anxiety start to take over when the thought of Sebastian and I sharing a bed clouded my mind.

We haven’t shared a bed in so long that I forgot how he was a human heater in the way his arms would wrap around me, engulfing me. Or the way sometimes in the night, his lips would brush against my forehead in a soft kiss.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” I snapped from my thoughts and looked at Seb.

He was standing outside our room with the door open. “You coming?”

I nodded and followed him inside. If the situation was under different circumstances, I would have been floored with the room that he booked.

The king bed was in the middle of the room covered with those pillows that you just knew felt like sleeping on a cloud. The balcony doors were opened, a soft California breeze flowing throughout the room. The smell of the ocean filled my senses and I made a mental note to take a walk on the beach later tonight.

I took a quick peak in the bathroom and nearly gasped at the sight. The shower was double the size of the one in our brownstone, the tub could fit three people and was in front of a window that faced the ocean.

“Okay, this room is amazing!” I gawked back to Seb. “Are you sure your assistant didn’t do this on purpose?”

“I promise,” Seb smiled while crossing his heart. “She made this reservation so long ago she probably thought that we would appreciate this.”

I mirrored my own smile and started going through my suitcases. “So the rehearsal dinner is at six right?”

Sebastian nodded. “Yeah. Tim said we don’t have to go but we’re invited. Free food and booze.”

My nose scrunched up. “I think I’ll pass on the booze.”

For the next little while, we both unpacked our stuff deciding not to say a word. Things were still awkward between us and honestly, I wasn’t sure what to say. I could ask him how he’s been but was afraid of finding out the answer.

“No fucking way.”

Seb cursed while coming out of the bathroom, phone in hand. “Guess what?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “What?”

“Tim called off the wedding.”

My mouth fell agape, surprised that our best friends had called off the wedding. We were friends with them for years, both traveling and spending time together when Seb and I were first married. Tim and Brianna would always say that they hoped they would be half as happy as Seb and I were.

“What happened?” I sat on the edge of the bed.

Seb ran a hand over his face and hesitated for a moment before answering. “He caught her in bed with someone else.”

“Oh Tim,” I muttered, knowing the pain he was going through. “What do we do now?”

Seb’s mouth opened to speak but a soft knock on the door interrupted his thought. I marveled in the way his back muscles tensed as he opened the door. Susan stood on the other side of the door and I couldn’t help the jealousy that ran through me when her eyes lit up when she noticed Sebastian opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Stan, but I wanted to let you know that your and Mrs. Stan’s dinner reservations for 7 pm are all set.” Her voice was professional but I could tell it was bitter to come off her lips.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted while standing next to Sebastian. “Dinner reservations?”

Susan nodded. “Yes ma’am. These reservations were made when the hotel reservation was booked. It’s a private table right on the beach.”

Bless Seb’s assistant's heart. She probably thought that she was doing this romantic thing for us at the time.

“Can we cancel?” Sebastian asked. “Our friends called off their wedding so we’re probably going to head back home.”

Susan shook her head. “I’m sorry Mr. Stan. Since it’s within two hours of your reservation you will have to pay a fee for canceling.”

Seb ran a hand through his hair before nodding a thanks to Susan and shut the door.

“What do you say? Dinner before we head home?” Seb suggested.

“I don’t know, Sebastian. Isn’t this whole thing awkward and weird for you?” I played with my fingers while sitting on the edge of the bed again.

He leaned against the dresser in the room that was directly in front of me and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s only weird if we make it.”

“We’re getting divorced and you want us to have dinner like we’re still a couple?” I tried to make sense of this whole situation.

“As friends,” he stated. “We used to be best friends before we got married, why can’t we go back to that?”

“What would Alessandra think?” I wondered.

“I’ll give you sometime to get ready and I’ll meet you on the beach at seven, okay?” Seb said, completely ignoring my question.

Before I could protest even more, he left the room leaving me alone to my thoughts.

How could we go to this romantic dinner and pretend that everything is normal when it wasn't? Sebastian made it clear months ago that he didn’t love me anymore and it took all this time to get used to it and understand that he and I would never be where we used to be.

I fought with my inner self wondering if I had enough time to find a plane ride back home before Seb even noticed I was late to this dinner.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and the text message on the screen made the decision final.

Please do this with me. It will be our final dinner together before we say goodbye-Seb

My toes brushed through the sand as I made my way down towards the ocean side where I could see a table with candles surrounding it. My skirt blew in the wind and the sun setting warmed my bare arms as I opted in wearing my gold silk halter top that I knew Sebastian liked at one point.

I halted when I noticed that even though I was a few moments later, Seb wasn’t here yet. Doubt clouded my mind, wondering if he decided against this whole thing and he had gone home.

“Y/N.”

Turning at the soft voice, I could help the small smile that played at my lips.

Sebastian stood in front of me, dressed in a blue suit, and my heart soared at that vision. He knew how much I loved the way he looked in this baby blue suit.

He pulled out my chair for me and after giving him a small smile of thanks, we were sitting across from one another.

“I hope you don't mind but I already told the chef what we wanted,” Seb said sheepishly.

I shook my head. “No, not at all. You were always good at knowing what I liked.”

Someone had come up to the table, ready to pour some wine into my glass and before I could speak up, Seb was already pulling away the glass. “Could we actually get some water?”

The young man nodded before placing two cups of water in front of us and quietly walked away.

“You can have a glass of wine, Seb. It’s fine,” I informed him.

“I’m perfectly fine with the water. How is sobriety going?”

“Really good,” I admitted with a small smile. “I haven't had a drink since the night of my brother's funeral. It’s been hard sometimes but I found a way to deal with the urge.”

“How?” Seb questioned.

“I actually started keeping a journal. It has some poems and my thoughts of how I’m feeling. It’s kind of stupid,” I muttered.

Sebastian immediately shook his head. “No it’s not, Y/N. Whatever helps you with the urge to drink is not stupid.”

We fell into silence after that, our food being placed in front of us, and we ate quietly. The sound of the waves meshing together with the sound of our forks scraping along the plates.

“You know,” Seb spoke softly, “I never asked how your family is doing. After everything.”

I could tell he didn’t want to utter the words ‘brothers death’ so I nodded. “They’re doing okay. My dad took it really hard. You should have seen him at the funeral, Seb. I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there,” Sebastian apologized.

A shaky breath fell from my lips. “I’ve tried too hard not to blame myself for not being there for him. Maybe if I tried to talk to him more, to figure out what was wrong with him. All he needed was someone to talk to, to listen to him, but we weren’t there; I wasn’t there.”

Seb’s hand reached across the table and gently grabbed mine. “None of this is your fault, Y/N. Your brother was dealing with so many demons.”

I shook my head. “But I could have been there for him more. I was so wrapped up in our divorce and dealing with being alone that I didn’t even think of reaching out to my family because I was afraid of what they would say.”

Hastily wiping a tear away with my free hand, my sad eyes looked at our tangled fingers and Sebastian hesitated before pulling away.

Just the small touch of our hands together brought so much warmth. I had no idea how much I missed his touch until I felt it again.

The sun was setting even lower and the golden rays brushed softly across his features, showering him in such a glow that made me want to climb into him, crashing our lips together.

“I promised your mom I wouldn’t tell you this but she called me a few weeks ago,” Seb admitted.

“She did?” My eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

He nodded. “She was wondering how you were doing and made me promise to look after you.”

“Sorry, I haven’t told her about us. She still thinks we’re married.”

“I promised her that I would make sure you were safe and happy. I wouldn’t let those same demons that your brother dealt with bring you down.”

I let out a soft sob and averted my gaze from Sebastian, not wanting him to see how broken I actually was.

It had been months since my brother's death and getting the divorce papers. No matter how hard I tried to bury away those memories and feelings of heartbreak, it still chipped away at my heart. I wasn’t happy anymore, the bright light behind my eyes was long gone.

Sebastian was off with his girlfriend, happier than he ever was with me. He was living in the home we had built together, metaphorically, and I was the last thing on his mind.

I refused to show him that every night I cry myself to sleep, longing for the feeling of his arms around me, helping me deal with everything. I needed him so much but I couldn’t have him. He wasn’t mine anymore and it was so hard to accept.

I wasn’t the same person I was when we met. Back then I was confident in myself and knew that I was enough for him. I trusted him when he would be gone for months at a time and knew that he would always come back to me. A few years into our marriage, however, everything changed.

My self esteem dropped every time I saw Sebastian with his female co-stars. The thoughts of if I was pretty enough or if I was pleasing him enough flooded my thoughts constantly. Our shared moments of bliss started to disappear and after that one night, it had dissipated to nothing.

‘Please Seb, don’t go.” I cried while reaching for his hand.

He yanked his arm away from me before the look of hate pierced my soul. “Why should I stay, Y/N?! You clearly don’t need me third wheeling.”

His stare landed on the man that stood frozen on our steps of the brownstone.

“It’s not what you think,” I pleaded with a slight slur. “Please listen.”

“Isn’t it?!” Sebastian's anger vibrated off the walls. “I thought I would surprise you by coming home early but end up finding you with some other guy in our home!”

“If you would just listen to me,” I begged. “We weren’t doing anything. He was only making sure I made it home from the bar okay.”

Seb scoffed. “Really? Then why were you half naked in front of him when I found you?”

“Just let me explain, please.”

I stumbled over my feet as I tried to follow him outside of our home. The alcohol was incredibly strong, making it difficult to see straight.

“I’m done, Y/N. We’re through.”

“Y/N?”

Snapping back from my thoughts, I noticed that Seb was looking at me with a concerned face.

“Are you alright?”

The words stumbled from my lips before I could stop myself. “I never cheated, Seb. That night was a huge misunderstanding.”

His body immediately tensed, being caught off guard by my words.

“I’m not talking about this, Y/N. It’s done. It happened and that's it.”

“Nothing happened!” I suddenly snapped. “I swear to God, you think you know what happened but you don’t!”

“What is there to explain, Y/N?! I find you in your underwear with another guy!” Seb’s voice was now raised to match my own.

“I thought he was you!” I admitted. “I got so drunk that I thought this nice guy that offered to walk me home was you! I know getting drunk was no excuse but I was so lonely that I drank that night away in a bar. You told me you weren’t coming back for another two weeks and I thought that guy was you. Turns out he was gay and was actually trying to get me into bed to sleep.”

“Oh.”

I scoffed. “Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“What else do you want me to say, Y/N?” Seb retorted back.

“How about I’m sorry for assuming that you had an affair?”

When he stayed silent, I shook my head with a look of disbelief. “This is why I didn’t want to have this stupid dinner. We can’t be together for more than an hour before screaming at each other!”

I stood from the table but froze when Seb did the same. “Then why haven’t you signed the damn divorce papers?! You keep trying to keep me around and it’s selfish, Y/N. How can I move on if you won’t sign those papers?!”

“Because I still love you! I’m not ready to let you go. It’s not fair that Alessandra gets to spend time with you on those vacations and gets to see you so happy. It’s not fair that she gets to share the same bed with you, our bed. It’s not fucking fair that she gets your love when I don’t! So call me selfish, I don’t care. But if you want those papers signed so damn bad then I will sign them when I get back home.”

I went to storm away, back to the hotel room, however the great feeling of finally being able to tell Sebastian my true feelings kept surging through me.

“I’m not done yet,” I spoke while facing him again.

He was standing a few feet away from me with his hands deep into his pockets. His eyes held confusion, trying to let the words ‘i still love you’ process in his mind.

“In our wedding vows, you promised me that we would work through whatever issues we had. You would listen before assuming the worst. What changed?”

Sebastian let out a deep breath. “Honestly, I knew we were growing apart and I was looking for an easy out.”

Those words stung but I nodded, accepting it. “I know that I haven't signed the papers but you haven't either. Why?”

“I’m afraid,” Seb admitted.

“Of what?”

“Starting over, I guess. What we had was all I had ever known. A part of me knows that we were so in love and we had some amazing times together. We were passionate about everything together, our dreams were in sync and hell, even in the bedroom we were in sync.”

My cheeks flushed at the thoughts of us in bed together but let Sebastian continue.

“I think the reason why we grew apart was that we never had time to grow on our own. Y/N, I was the only guy you had ever been with and it put a lot of pressure on me to make sure you weren’t missing anything.”

“You’re the only one I ever wanted, Seb.” I let the tears fall this time. “I had so much pressure on myself to keep you interested and happy. You knew all these beautiful girls and were around them all the time. Drinking was the only way I could deal with the jealousy. In the end, it only pushed you away.”

“You were the only one I was thinking about when I was gone.” Sebastian coughed, trying to cover a sob. “I loved you so much, Y/N. I never wanted to be with anyone else.”

“What about now?,” I wondered. “How do you feel about me now? Do I still make your heart skip a beat when I walk into the room or does your stomach do those flips whenever I laugh?”

I could tell that he was in deep thought, truly wondering what he felt for me.

“Please be honest. I need to know the truth to move on.” I sobbed. “If you tell me that you never want to see me again and want me out of your life, then I will walk away from you right now. I’ll go back home tomorrow and deliver the divorce papers to your lawyer, signed. But if there is even a slight chance you want me, then please let me know.”

For the first time in a very long time, I saw Seb break down and cry. His soft sobs broke me and I fought the urge to run into his arms.

“I don’t know. I should have stayed away from you the moment I sent you the divorce papers but I couldn’t. I found myself making excuses to come see you, to be with you. I tried to move on, hoping being with someone else would make it easier to forget about you but it only made it worse.”

“Then why didn’t you stay with me?” I choked.

“I was afraid,” Sebastian admitted.

“Afraid of what?” I pressed on with the questions.

However I noticed that Seb’s body tensed up, the topic suddenly coming to an immediate halt.

“We should head back, it's getting dark.” He motioned towards our hotel room behind me.

“Not until you answer the question. What were you afraid of?” I stood tall, arms crossed.

Sebastian shook his head, the same sour scowl appeared on his face that I had become all too familiar with.

“I need some space,” was all he said before leaving me alone.

Yet again.

My body thrashed against the bed sheets, tossing and turning, trying to let sleep take me. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore did nothing to calm my tired brain. Darkness engulfed the room, the only light casting on the wall opposite of my back from the moon outside.

The throbbing knocking of a headache kept pressing against my skull and now matter what I could do, I couldn’t stop the tears from staining the pillow case.

I had returned to the hotel room, alone, and after crying in the shower for over an hour, I mustered all of my strength to throw a tshirt and a pair of underwear on before crawling into bed. Seb hadn’t returned yet and the only thing that let me know he was still in town was that his bags were still neatly placed on the other side of the room, next to the mini bar.

The mini bar that had called to me so many times since returning. I fought the urge, ignoring the temptation and only thinking of one thing that mattered to me anymore.

My sobriety.

Letting out a deep sigh, I clutched the pillow closer to me and as I heard the door click open behind me, my body tensed.

Thinking I was asleep, Sebastian quietly undressed himself before softly climbing into bed not wanting to wake me. Our backs were to one another and the space between us was cold and alone.

The space between us was a representation of how far away we had felt from one another, emotionally.

It was made clear by me that I still selfishly loved him and refused to sign the papers because I had hope that we would work through this like we worked through all of our other problems.

Sebastian made it clear that he was afraid of letting me go, he was comfortable with me and he wasn’t sure if love was the right word to express his feelings for me. He was afraid of telling me why.

As the tears returned, I buried my face into my pillow to silence my cries, not wanting to let Sebastian know I was awake.

There was a sudden shift in the bed, the mattress dipping low as Seb’s body rolled over towards me. Suddenly, I felt all the bad melt away as his arm wrapped around my stomach, pulling me into his bare chest.

“Please stop crying. I can’t take it anymore knowing I’m the reason why,” he breathed into my hair.

The familiar feeling of his chest against my back seemed to calm my sobs for a moment.

“I know I need to move on and let you go but I can’t. I love you, Seb.” I cried.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” Seb hushed my cries by pulling me closer to him.

Turning to my side, I buried my face into him. The small hairs of his chest tickling my cheeks. My hands clutched his hips, afraid this was all a dream and that he would vanish at any second. His soft lips brushed against my forehead before I felt him take a deep breath.

“I was afraid of not living up to the husband I vowed to be. I loved you so much, Y/N and I wanted to give you everything you deserved. That’s why I took as many jobs as I could, so I could provide for you and our future.”

“I was afraid that you’d wake up one day and realize that I wasn’t worth fighting for. I thought that being away from you and causing you all this pain would make it easier for you to leave me but in the end it only brought us closer I think.”

Pulling away from him, I looked into his eyes. “How so?”

His soft fingers gently brush a stand of hair from my eyes. “We both needed time to grow and realize what we truly wanted.”

Licking my lips, my gaze bounced from his plump lips towards the soft glow of love oozing from his eyes.

“And what is it that you want?” I gulped.

Our eyes locked and no words were spoken as Seb leaned down, his lips meeting mine for the first time in over a year. All the time apart meant nothing, both remembering the way our lips would move together in sync. His hand cupped my cheek, afraid that I would pull away, while my arms snaked around his neck, deepening the kiss.

Unfortunately, we both needed to come up for air and reluctantly pulled away. Seb’s thumb brushed my cheek bone and I closed my eyes at the familiar touch.

“What about-?”

Sebastian hushed the name from my lips with a soft kiss. “It’s been over for months. I tried to move on but nobody is you.”

“I vow to remain sober and whenever I have issues with myself or I’m feeling myself pulling away from you, that I will talk to you about it. I vow that I will be the woman you fell in love with all those years ago. Just please don’t leave me. I need you so much more than you know.” I pressed my lips to his again, loving the way they tasted.

Sebastian brushed his lips against my hairline, breathing in my scent. “I want you, all of you, now and for the rest of my life. This I vow to you.”

“I love you, Sebastian Stan.” I breathed.

“I love you too, Y/N Stan. More than you will ever know,” Sebastian mused.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan and reader #bucky barns fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction #reader insert #james buchanan barnes

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jincherie · 4 years

Text

fox rain | five

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 9.9k+ • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: stop two on the angst train express!!! not as blatant, more reading between the lines here...... have fun! • ☽ — notes: bros... it’s only downhill from here. cowa-fucking-BUNGA amirite cowboys???????!?!?

— posted; 18.09.2020

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterpost | prev. | five | next • —

You lay in a sort of placid, bewildered shock, the kind that is sourced from confusion as opposed to an unpleasant surprise. After waking to blearily turn off your alarm before it blasted through the entirety of Dancing Lasha Tumbai, you’d unlocked your phone to find this curious set of messages from a number you haven’t saved. You’ve been lying in place for several minutes as your tired, wired brain slowly kicks into gear and attempts to debunk the mystery. After another unsuccessful few minutes of staring blankly at the screen, you’re saved from impending cranial combustion when your phone lets out a delightful little tinkle and another message hastily joins the others.

Ah, that makes so much sense now! Except it doesn’t. Actually, it kind of adds to your bewilderment. Taehyung… is texting you? You don’t think you’ve ever in your life had any correspondence with him that didn’t either take place in the presence of Jimin or under the influence of alcohol… also in the presence of Jimin, now that you think of it. You haven’t really interacted with Taehyung outside of Jimin. So it is particularly odd to wake up to a series of messages that are from him, and pertaining to such an odd topic. You’re still so tired you can’t even fathom what would warrant a text from him. Maybe you dropped something at one of your tutoring sessions and Jimin asked him to give it back to you? It would make sense, since after the rollercoaster of a ride the last week has been for him (in particular, the questionable events that took place at the hands of one Kim Seokjin but somehow ended up with Jimin and Hoseok making up? You don’t really understand it but you’re not even going to bother to try to at this point) he has ended up a little preoccupied.

Tapping the screen when your inactivity leads it to go dark, you take a moment to scrounge a response from the empty barrel bottom that is your brain. Once satisfied, you drop your phone onto your bed and flop yourself back to the position you’d been in before your own alarm woke you so rudely. Technically, you don’t have to be up and about for another hour…

With faith that your additional hour of sleep will revive your ability to think, you allow yourself to slip somewhat self-indulgently back into sleep and pass the fuck out like a woman who has spent the night trying to forget.

(Which you are, and did do, except with maybe a little less alcohol than what that sentence implied.)

X X X X

It has been almost a week since the unfortunate end to that tutoring session on Monday, and while you’ve managed to stay off social media enough that you haven’t triggered yourself by accident in the entirety of that duration, every time you come on campus it’s like for however many steps forward you took, you take double the amount backwards. University students are such gossips! Well, the jobless ones are, anyway. The students that work and study are too busy dragging themselves around campus in a stunning rendition of the undead from various media to be bothered with the latest plot twist in the resident school drama. Which is to say, there has been no twist. The population is still shamelessly up Sera’s ass in the belief that she is the author of the poem, and as has become the norm you find yourself resisting the urge to hunt the bitch down and go in for round two on her face. Surely, your self-control has earnt you the title of a saint by now.

You’re blasting some angsty shit on the way to your music history class and pretending you’re in a music video for some indie band (it’s cathartic, and you will argue that fact to your grave), when you make it a few steps past the entrance to the food court and have the absolute living daylights scared out of you. Thudding footsteps reach you through your earphones and two hands clamp on your shoulders to halt you in place and spin you around like Barbie Ballerina.

“You’re a disgrace!” It’s Seokjin who has halted you in the middle of the hallway, every bit as dramatic as you’d come to expect. “You skipped drama class? And you call yourself an acting major, PSH!”

Yanking your earphones out, you nail the tall, pink-haired idiot with a glare. Very bold of him to be approaching you after you nearly chopped off Lil’ Jinnie barely a few days ago for his bastardous antics. Perhaps he’s getting a bit big for his glittery pink rainboots.

“First of all, will you please listen to me when I tell you I’m not an acting major?” Unfortunately, when you speak your voice comes out more exasperated and less threatening than you intended. “Second of all—very bold of you to be approaching me right now. You’re lucky you escaped with your life, you meddling bastard. You want me to bite the rest of your dick off?”

“You should know by now that I take that as a compliment,” Seokjin sniffs, haughtily, ignoring the latter part of your threat. “And do you know how boring it is for me to crash your class when you’re not even there? No one threatens me like you! It’s getting harder and harder to get it up these days, you know. I need a hit of the good stuff.”

For a moment you’re simply stunned into silence, staring at him and wondering just how and why he seems to have been sent here with the sole mission of making you want to kill him and then yourself. Nothing you could think to say really is enough, so you settle on simply turning and walking away.

Of course, you forgot that no one turns their back on Kim Seokjin and gets away with it.

“YAH!”

You wince—you think he actually just broke a sound barrier, or maybe your eardrums— or both. Seokjin quickly scrambles to place himself in front of you, arms out. His eyes are wide in something you suspect he thinks is a puppy-eyed look, but actually comes across more like he’s trying not to shit himself.

“Promise me you won’t skip drama again!” Seokjin says, pointing a finger at you in borderline accusation. When he doesn’t see your expression budge, he quickly changes tactics. “If not for me, the most charming prince in the story of your life, then at least for Jungkook, that poor virgin—”

You blink, distracted for a moment by what he said. “Wait, Jungkook is in my drama class?”

“’Wait, Jungkook is in my drama class?’” Seokjin repeats in a voice a few octaves higher than your own. “Listen to you, not even knowing who is in your own class. For shame! But have no fear, since you clearly skip so much I will happily extend my generosity and take you under my wing. Tutelage fee starts at $55 with an extra $5 for every question you ask that I don’t know—”

“Do you ever actually hear yourself talk?” you ask, feeling your will to live draining out your ears. “Like, the shit that comes out of your mouth? Do you hear it? Because—wait, are you saying you would charge me for questions that you don’t know the answer to?!”

Seokjin shrugs, “It’s a little unorthodox, I know. But—”

“I would literally be bankrupt! Thousands—no, millions of dollars in debt!” You exclaim, grabbing him by his stupid big shoulders and shaking him about. “Do I look crazy to you?!”

“Oh, what, you think you can do better?!” Seokjin demands, voice wobbling from your shaking. “What’s 2x2?”

“Fucking four!” you wail, releasing him in your despair. You can’t do this, your day only just started and you are not exhausted enough to micronap while he talks like usual. “I’m leaving, don’t follow me. DELETE MY NUMBER.”

“Haha jokes on you!” you hear Seokjin holler from behind you, voice rapidly growing quieter from the speed that you’re powerwalking away. “You never gave me your number!”

You make it to class barely on time due to Seokjin acting as one of the biggest inconveniences in your life, and while you manage to push him from your brain for the duration of it, you wish you could say that is the last time you see him,

It’s probably the fact that you busted his ass being a weirdo with Jimin and Hoseok last week that has him so…. attached this week, you suspect. You’re at your third Seokjin encounter for the day and you’re honestly considering whether you should trip to the campus pharmacy and look for some pepper spray, or maybe an umbrella. Pepper spray would be more effective, but the umbrella…. You can’t argue against the satisfaction it would provide.

You’re trying to sneak your way into a library on the Arts side of campus, one you don’t usually go to, so you can study without worrying about going absolutely batshit insane in the presence of Seokjin. It was hard, but you think that you’ve finally managed to shake him. What on earth had him so determined to tail you today? Was it seriously because you skipped your own class? Nutcase.

You peek your head around the corner looking not only for Seokjin, but for another thing you had happened to notice every time you were ambushed. You have yet to determine whether the glimpse of phenomenally bright floral print right before Seokjin pounces you is causation or correlation, and it makes you a bit nervous. Cautiously, like timid forest animal, you creep around the corner and begin to make your way into the building, eyes flicking from the library door right at the end to the rest of your surroundings. The café coming up on your right tempts you greatly, but you know it is too great of a risk. Out in the open, you’d definitely be seen.

This area is almost like a courtyard, an undercover area between three separate buildings. With a looming cement and glass ceiling, though, it feels like a building of its own. The library sits nestled in the corner of the largest building, and although it isn’t very wide, it spans several floors. You plan on going to the highest one and hiding in a corner near a window.

You’re close, so close to reaching the library in fact that you’ve fallen into a false sense of security. By the time you register the sound of pounding footsteps approaching behind you, for the second time today, it’s too late.

“Ah, y/n! Wait!”

Instinctively you prepare to burst into a sprint to get away, but at the last second stop yourself. That doesn’t sound like Seokjin… that sounds like—

“Taehyung?” you ask, turning in surprise as the boy comes to a screeching halt in front of you, bending with his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath.

“I’ve… been trying….” he huffs, “To talk to you…. all day….. hah…Why are you so….. good at running away?”

He looks absolutely wiped out, cheeks red and sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. You’re just beginning to feel guilty when you notice his shirt, the bright floral print that you literally don’t know anyone else bold enough to wear, and you realise he’s really not lying. Poor Taehyung, just like you he has fallen victim to—

“That Seokjin bastard,” you say, completing a quick scan of the area to make sure the mention of his name didn’t somehow summon him. “He’s been harassing me all day. I’ve had to really up my game. By the way… are you okay? Please breathe… also what did you want to talk to me about?”

Taehyung straightens, eyes closed as he attempts to control his breathing. One of his hands comes to sweep the ashy hair from his face, the ends slightly damp with sweat.

“I’m fine,” he says, sounding slightly like he’s about to pass out. You prepare to take a step forward and catch him if he does, but he opens his eyes in the next second and shoots you a dopey smile. “I’m fine! Apparently just… whoo… really out of shape.”

“Your sacrifice is not in vain,” you say, smiling when he lets out a sudden laugh. Another shaky breath rakes past his lips before he straightens, eyes blinking a little wider. “Ah, right. I was looking for you because, um… you didn’t respond to my text… and I needed to ask you something that’s a little time-sensitive…”

“Your text…” you wrack your brain, sure that you remembered responding to it this morning in bed. Your mouth shifts into a wince, though, when you can recall writing a response, but not actually sending it. “Oh. I am so sorry, I’m an idiot. I was kind of half asleep when you texted, and I swear to god I typed a response but I think I fell asleep again before sending it…”

There is not a shred of accusation on Taehyung’s pleasant features, lips instead slightly curled in a smile. “That’s fine,” he chirps, rocking on the balls of his feet for a moment. “I do it all the time too. I’m just glad I caught you.”

You return his smile, before a thought that had been nagging you earlier returned and you acted on the urge to voice it. “By the way…. How did you get my number?”

Your question seems to be unexpected and, for some reason, flusters him slightly. He reaches to scratch the back of his neck, averting his gaze for a moment. “Uh, Jimin gave it to me. It was for something stupid a while ago but I never needed to use it.”

You raise your brows at what he said, but get the feeling he’s not going to elaborate. Instead, you remain quiet and wait for him to continue his thought from earlier. He shuffles on his feet, returning his gaze to your own. “Anyway, the reason I was trying to catch you all day was because I wanted to ask you something…”

“I know it’s not really any of my business, but I kind of noticed, and Jimin mentioned lightly that things haven’t been, uh…. great for you lately.” He doesn’t even give you time for that statement to sink in amongst your shock, continuing without pause despite the way his cheeks begin to flush, “And, uh, my exhibition is this Friday, and I was gonna go with Jimin but he double-booked himself with Hobi, so now I have no plus-one and I was wondering… if you wanted to go?”

When you simply stand there, dumbfounded, he clears his throat awkwardly, fiddling with the cuffs of his button-down. “To um, you know, take your mind off things… maybe… you don’t have to, of course, but I just thought I would—”

Snapping out of your stupor before he can take back the invitation, you hastily step forward and outstretch your hands. “Oh, no I would love to go! This is really—” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the light sting of your eyes “—sweet of you. I’d like to go, if it’s ok. You’re sure Jimin doesn’t mind…?”

Taehyung seems shocked, and you suspect he might have thought you would turn down the invitation from the way his eyes seem to light up. Have you really been walking around campus looking like that much of a gloomy bitch? You need to check your facial expressions when you get home this afternoon.

“He won’t mind,” he says, waving his hand excitedly. “Great, perfect—um, here is the little info sheet. I’d stay to tell you more but my class actually started a few minutes ago, so…”

“Oh!” you exclaim, taking the sheet from his hand before waving him away. “Go! Go to class! I’m sorry I made you late! Thank you for this, by the way!”

He seems slightly dazed at your enthusiastic thanks and farewell, but he shakes himself out of it and before he goes he sends you a smile that you can’t think of any other way to describe except dazzling. “It’s no problem, y/n. See you then.”

And then he’s off and you’re left standing alone in the pseudo-courtyard, clutching the exhibition pamphlet in your grip. Your eyes sting ever so slightly, and you can’t help but think how kind of sad it is that one person goes out of their way to think of you in the midst of everything you’re dealing with and you’re so touched you’re nearly driven to tears.

Hormones suck and you want a refund.

X X X X

Taehyung was right when he said that what he had to ask you was time-sensitive.

You hadn’t realised it at the time, but Friday was only a few days away— and in the midst of classes, schoolwork, and everything else, those days went fast. Before you know it, it’s Friday morning and a panicked glance at the pamphlet Taehyung had given you reveals that the exhibition opens officially around 4:30PM. That works out surprisingly well for you, considering your last class ends at three o’clock and you can easily reschedule your session with Hoseok and Jimin.

There’s a lot about the invitation you haven’t gotten to really dwell on, and that continues to be the case as the day flies before your very eyes. By the time your music theory class comes to an end and you finish scribbling down the last few lines of note from your teacher, the event is even closer than you anticipated. From your recent examination of the pamphlet, you’d found earlier that Taehyung’s exhibition is being held at a small university-sponsored gallery downtown. It shouldn’t take you too long to get there from your house, and on the way home after packing your things, you plot out the route you’re going to take. It’s about a twenty minute trip, as you discover, since there is by some stroke of luck a bus that goes straight there from a street just around the corner from your own. Taking that into account, you should have around forty minutes or so to get ready.

Considering you’re one of many poor university students populating the area, it’s not often you actually put the effort in to get dressed up. Around these parts, there is a distinct culture of sweat pants and comfortable tops and more often than not a socks-and-slides combo, something you take part in more often than you’d like to admit. Still, you feel that considering the nature of the event you’ve been invited to and what you know of Taehyung’s works, you should probably be putting in much more effort than usual.

While you might act like a slob sometimes, this isn’t actually a problem— even goblins like you can have a stash of decent clothes somewhere in their cave. Yours happen to be pushed to the back of your closet on hangers that haven’t seen the light of day in months. What can you say? University takes its toll in mysterious ways.

Standing before your closet, eyes boring into the portion that’s been held in its depths for longer than you can remember, you wonder which way you should go with your outfit. Exhibitions are fancy right? Should you dress it up? Logic says you should, but on the other hand what if you are the only one dressed up? That would be humiliating. You pause for a moment to think about the type of garb you usually see Taehyung in— you have a feeling that he will probably dress the same way tonight. Recalling his bold, avante-garde taste in fashion is about as helpful as one might imagine, but it does comfort you to know that no matter what you choose, most eyes will likely be on him anyway.

Comforted by that fact, you make up your mind and pull out a set that isn’t too over the top, and won’t make you look like a rat. Once you’ve slipped into those, you freshen up and wash your face, trying to make yourself seem a little bit more alive afterwards and not like you had an 8AM class today. You’re successful, to a degree, but you’re a little tight on time so you can’t really dwell on it. Feeling your stomach rumble as you grab your bag and key, you can only hope that this exhibition has free food.

x �� x — x

“Ah, y/n! You’re here! You… you look nice.”

You were so busy staring at the large, shiny building before you that when Taehyung’s voice rings out in greeting, it startles the hell out of you. You don’t even register what he says before you’re pointing with eyes and mouth wide open, “Your exhibition is in there?!”

His expression of surprise melts into one of amusement, a laugh tumbling from deep in his throat. You don’t even notice the way his cheeks are flushed ever so slightly as he meets your gaze.

“Fancy, right?” he says, wagging his brows. “Some loaded alumnus who actually enjoyed his university experience practically donated it to them. So now they use it for, uh… for most exhibitions.”

“For the best ones, you mean,” you say, your grin widening when he scratches the back of his neck, bashful and blushing. “But yeah, damn. I was expecting it to be nice but I wasn’t expecting it to be this nice.”

Taehyung laughed again, clearing his throat. As he takes a moment to collect himself, you let your eyes scan over his form. The second you do so, you feel a foreign flutter in your stomach, heat flushing to your face. There is truly no other way to describe his choice of outfit for today except for painfully boyfriend. Perhaps on anyone else it would look a little less than presentable, but on Taehyung’s model-esque form the loose chestnut pants and an oversized leather jacket over a boldly patterned shirt work wonders. How does he look so effortless yet so…?

If you’d attempted to wear something like that you’d end up looking like the local court jester. Perhaps you should just make peace with the fact that God has favourites and Kim Taehyung is clearly one of them.

“It, um. It started a few minutes ago, shall we head in?”

Taehyung offers you his arm, a gentlemanly move that completely contrasts the boyish grin on his face. Ignoring the sudden sensations in your abdomen, you make a show of curtsey-ing before you take it, eliciting a laugh from your company as the two of you head to the entrance and the full exhibition experience begins.

As soon as you enter there is someone by the door, who seems to be at the very least taking note of how many people enter, a table with flyers and booklets beside him. Taehyung parts from you only to move over and grab a few, brandishing them as he returns with a bright grin.

“Here is all the information about the event, madame,” he says, with an extremely exaggerated air of grandeur, presenting one of the flyers with a flourish. You take it, unable to help your soft snort.

“I would have thought I had something better, what with the very artist behind the event accompanying me,” you say, grinning when you see his cheeks turn an endearing pink as he flashes a bright, boxy smile.

“True,” he returns, folding the other flyer and slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. “You can’t ask a flyer questions in real time. Anything that crosses your mind, you can ask straight to the source.”

“Oh? Then, may I enquire as to what the theme of this exhibition is?” You’re enjoying the playful air that drifts between you now, unable to rid your face of the smile currently displayed on it even if you wanted to.

Taehyung’s eyes flick to you, a lopsided smile tugging his lips to accompany the sly accent to his gaze. “Ah, a tough one right off the bat. I think telling you straight-up would be too easy. Let’s see if you can try to guess it as we walk through.”

You turn to him with an affronted look, having expected him to easily supply you with the answer. Taehyung is a little cheekier than you remember. You snap your mouth shut, cheeks heating when you notice he has offered his arm to you once more. Taking note of the other people in the room walking around in a similar manner, you slip your arm through his and try to ignore the way you feel your ears light on fire.

“Okay, you’re on,” you respond, if a few moments too late. He doesn’t comment on the delay, simply sending you a smile that you can’t quite decipher the emotion behind. You don’t get to dwell before the two of you are off, beginning on your journey through the building and starting on your tour of the exhibition.

You’d kind of always known that Taehyung was talented, considering he managed to make such a name for himself on campus in such little time with such ease. Hell, he’s well-known enough to have made it onto the list of suspects for the muse of your poem. Still, this knowledge is only compounded the further into the building you go and the more of the exhibition you see. Taehyung is truly talented, the images blown up and displayed on the wall each capturing a certain emotion that you don’t have a name for, yet is so familiar that each time you see a new one it gives you pause. Viewing his works, seeing into this part of him and witnessing this bit of his soul he has bared, you can’t help but feel a slight sense of kinship.

It’s something that rests in the space between your lungs and diaphragm, something that tickles but also something that aches. You do know this feeling, so familiar yet so out of touch and far from the tip of your mind’s tongue. You do try to guess the theme of the exhibition as you go, throwing out the occasional dumb guess to elicit a laugh— he always laughs, and it always makes you smile— but you don’t quite manage to pin it.

“The five senses,” you shoot into the dark, standing before an image that has made you stop and stare for a good five minutes now. It’s not quite black and white, and it’s not a particularly unique image— but something about the composition, something about the movement in the two hands that are so close yet so far from actually touching, speaks to that hidden part of you. The way one of the hands simply hangs, unbothered and neutral, but the other, the one slightly closer to the foreground, has fingers ever so slightly outstretched, reaching but never quite committing to the movement and the unspoken consequence of the hinted action.

Of course, you know the answer even before Taehyung says it. He laughs, hands in his pockets, “Nope, ddaeng.”

“This is hard,” you whine, without much heart behind it. The smile stays on Taehyung’s face.

“Whatever. You’re smart, I know you can guess it. It should be easy, for you.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and you have to turn away so that he doesn’t see your cheeks warm. The two of you had parted when you caught sight of the snacks table; you’d been prepared to abandon him and make a beeline over, but Taehyung had surprised you by marching over himself and coming back with a loaded plate. He’d confessed with a sheepish smile that he hadn’t had lunch, and really you were in no place to judge since you hadn’t either. By this point in your journey, though, the plate is almost empty. There’s only two tiny cupcakes left and you’re letting the rest of the things you scarfed down settle before you go in for more.

Perhaps it was a little dangerous, coming here with Taehyung. He looks so fine, even while shoving sweets in his mouth, that you spend about the same amount of time looking at him as you do at his artworks. It takes all of your willpower to tear your eyes away every time you catch yourself looking at him and admiring the truly boyfriend fit he has donned for this occasion. Every so often he will simply stand before one of his works, scrutinising it with a fresh perspective and ever-criticising eyes, and the sight of it will make something nameless and foreign well within you. You don’t quite know what to do with it, so you ignore it. Or at least, you try to.

It feels a little too similar to what you know of yearning. It leaves you confused.

You stop not long after in front of another piece, this time a combination of three images that act as separate snapshots of smaller parts of a larger image. You admire the way he has set it out, revealing not too much but just enough that the viewer gets a sense, a feeling, but isn’t confronted with the message. It allows everyone to take their own sensation from it. You like that a lot about his works— he doesn’t tell people what to feel as they view his images, but merely hints, prompts and nudges. He sets the stage and allows people to take what they need, see whichever bits draw their eye most and spell meaning from elements of their choosing. He’s talented, you find yourself marveling again, so incredibly talented.

But still, you can’t put a finger on what the theme is.

By the time you make your way completely though the exhibition, having doubled back at a few points to look again at a select few of the pictures, you’re still no closer to guessing. It has you deep in your thoughts as you stand outside, waiting for Taehyung to return from thanking one of the guests who had recognised him for coming.

“Guessed it, yet?”

You turn, pinning him with a look that you hoped didn’t look as dumb as it felt. “Leave it with me,” you say. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

At your words, Taehyung laughs— it’s one of the full-bodied ones you’ve come to enjoy, where he throws his head back a little and shakes his hair back into place after. You have to snap yourself out of it before he catches you staring.

“I’m sure,” he says, unable to keep the cheeky grin off his face. It does slip ever so slightly though, just for a moment, as you watch a thought cross his features. “By the way…”

You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue. You feel an odd combination of at-peace, and unsettled. Holistically, this is the most at-peace and relaxed you’ve been in weeks. However, when you take a moment to tune into the inner machinations that make up your being… something in this exhibition has reached into your insides and fiddled around, moving things where they shouldn’t be and touching things that aren’t meant to be touched. It’s odd, and you acknowledge that it gives you quite a bit of cognitive dissonance. Even so, you’re calm enough that you have no trouble being patient while you wait for Taehyung to continue and say what he seems so nervous to say.

“Um, I know I initially only asked you about coming here, to the exhibition…” he begins, reaching to rub the back of his neck in what you recognise to be one of his nervous ticks. “But, I actually have these vouchers I won in a competition a while ago for a paint-and-sip session that are about to expire, and I was wondering… would you like to go? Now, I mean. Since they actually kind of expire tomorrow. Unless you’re busy, because if you are that’s—”

You decide to put him out of his flustered misery, reaching to nudge his arm. “Of course, that sounds fun! Plus, you were right the other day; I could really do with the chance to relax. Thank you, for all this. I really appreciate it.”

It takes a second for your words to register, but when they do the most blindingly bright smile spreads across his face; he’s practically beaming at you.

“Of course,” he says, with barely a moment’s hesitation. “I’m really happy you agreed to come— I’m glad you said yes to the paint-and-sip, too, because it’s one of my favourite places. Come on, let’s get going. If we get there at just the right time, we can get a really good seat, hopefully by the window.”

The journey continues, Taehyung leading you through the city while chatting easily all the while, a stunning twilight cityscape backdrop and the gentle glimmering surface of the river meandering through buildings providing the perfect scenery. If you had a little more faith in your artistic ability, you might try and paint the image you see now; Taehyung in the colours of dusk, soft and natural against the bright lights and harsh lines of the metropolitan landscape. But alas, you aren’t as talented as the man besides you, and you don’t even want to think of how it would turn out if you attempted to paint such a thing. You quickly throw the thought from your mind before it can linger and get up to more trouble than it’s worth.

“Here we are!” Taehyung’s cheer breaks you out of your stupor, bright smile directed your way once more as he stops in front of a large establishment with long strips of window and a colourfully sewn awning.

‘Brush & Bar’, the cursive, neon sign reads above the door, flickering between soft pink and peach orange. It’s an interesting aesthetic the place has going on, but when you look over and catch sight of Taehyung once more it suddenly makes sense why he likes it so much. The style of this place is very similar to some of the more outlandish things he tends to model around campus. Before your reverie lets you remain abandoned outside, you hurry to follow after the ashy-haired boy, grabbing the back of his jacket when you almost trip over the door frame. He spares a look over his shoulder to make sure you’re okay before he continues, moving towards the counter and smiling with more charm than you can personally handle at the staff member there.

It’s a woman, who you suspect is in her mid-thirties, and she is pretty enough that it takes you by surprise when she rolls her eyes heavily at Taehyung’s approach.

“You again, boy?” she asks, though it sounds more rhetorical than anything and you catch the slightest tinge of humour accenting her words and it soothes your hackles. “Don’t you ever get sick of hanging around here?”

“Nope!”

She cracks a smile, lines appearing at the edges of her eyes. “Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. We’d miss you an awful lot if you ever stopped showing up here.” Her eyes flick ever so slyly to you, and then back. “Say, is today the day you’re finally gonna make good on those vouchers you won? I know you said you were waiting for the right chance to ask that g—”

“Yes!” Taehyung cuts in loudly, eyes wide and cheeks flushing darkly. “Yes, yep! I brought the vouchers! They do expire tomorrow after all!”

The woman, Bora as you now see from her nametag, simply smiles, something sly about the action intriguing you. Taehyung clears his throat, reaching to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly. “So, um… I will use them now. Is the window seat free…?”

Bora nods, a fond curve to her lips now as she rummages around behind the counter and takes the offered vouchers from Taehyung to punch holes in them. “Your favourite spot? Of course. I had a feeling you were coming, too, so I’ve already gone and set it up with some canvases and acrylics.”

She hands the vouchers back, and Taehyung slips them into the pocket of his jacket. “Paintbrushes and jars are in their usual place, and I know you don’t normally drink while you’re here but if you’d like some tonight just take your order up to Kyungsoo. Oh! And tonight’s special for snacks is tea cakes, so definitely make the most of that. There are some good ones in the display.”

At the mention of food and alcohol, your gaze had already started to wander on its own— you catch sight of the display of cakes and other sweets and feel your mouth water. Ridiculous, since you were kind of full before, but what can you say, you’re a complicated woman. Lots of layers, not unlike an onion. The thought almost makes you snort.

With a gentle nudge to your arm, Taehyung is bringing you back to the present moment and leading you over to the window, where a medium-sized table has been set up with two square canvases and a basket of paint bottles, palettes leaning to the side. Taehyung instructs you to take a seat, informing you with a smile that he’ll grab some paintbrushes and water for the two of you to use. At his suggestion, while he is gone you open up your phone and search for something to paint. Something that’s not too hard and not too easy. Because your skills are… well, they’re not nonexistent but you’re not about to go around tooting your horn in front of someone with actual art skills and talent. Apparently there is usually an image supplied for each night, but Taehyung says it’s not strict and that tonight is one of the nights where all the patrons just have free reign.

You sort of get distracted part way through the activity, eyes subconsciously seeking Taehyung’s leather jacket amongst the decently filled establishment. It’s really quite nice inside, actually; the walls and general decor are soft and neutral, with pops of colour everywhere that bring each corner and table to life. A lot of the furniture is wooden, natural and polished underneath specks of paint that decorate in layers that tell of time spent well. The lighting is soft with the exception of the bulbs stationed above each table, which are brighter and angled towards where the canvas would be. On one of the walls, the one near the bar, it is completely covered by greenery— vines that, as far as you can tell, aren’t actually fake. A soft, almost jazzy tune filters lightly through the room, complemented by the low hum of chatter and paintbrushes hitting glass. You’re incredibly impressed and, admittedly, you like this place a lot. It has the kind of vibe that just… makes you content.

“Here we go!”

You startle at the sound of Taehyung’s low register, looking over to see him placing a bundle of paintbrushes in between the two of you and a jar beside each of your canvases. He takes his seat across from you, smiling brightly. “Did you decide what you want to paint?”

You hum, turning your gaze out the window for a moment to see if it grants you any inspiration— it’s a gorgeous sight, the twilight sky broken by the outline of buildings with glimmering insides, but it doesn’t help much. You don’t know what you want to paint. Of course, there is this big, expanding feeling inside you, the urge to express it somehow filling you to your fingertips, but what do you do with it? You don’t even know its name.

“No,” you answer, reaching for one of the palettes propped up to the side. “But I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll just see where the vibe takes me.”

The smile Taehyung gives you at that is softer than most, and he eagerly follows suit in grabbing a palette and beginning to set it up; he squirts a big dollop of white, blinking at it for a moment as though he hadn’t intended to put that much. “There are some pencils and erasers to the side there, too. I prefer the moldable one.”

You thank him for his advice, before realising as he puts his own pencil ever so lightly to canvas that he hadn’t told you the subject of his painting. “What are you going to paint?”

“A secret,” he says, leaning around the canvas to grin at you. “Since I don’t know what you’re painting. Let’s swap paintings after, though. I do want to see eventually.”

That makes you laugh, but you don’t bother pushing further. A surprise is nice every now and then, you know. So long as it’s not the kind that ruins your life as you know it indefinitely.

But you’re here to have fun and relax, so you’re not going to get into that. You’re not even going to think about it.

Taehyung clears his throat, catching your attention immediately. “Right, before we start we should probably order. Did you—”

“No need, my boy!”

Two new figures appear at the side of the table, one a youthful man on the shorter side, the other older and plumper with grey beginning to speckle through his hair. The shorter one places two drinks onto the table, colourful cocktails in a generous glass, and the older laughs before placing down two plates, each with a different kind of cake slice situated neatly in the middle.

“On the house,” the man continues, chuckling at the shocked and somewhat flustered look on Taehyung’s face. “You’ve given us a lot of business so don’t even worry about it. Plus, we heard you were finally making the most of those vouchers so… here’s a little something to start the night off well!”

“...Thanks, Mr Kang,” Taehyung finally manages, shooting them a smile that could honestly give Hoseok’s own a run for its money. “You too, Kyungsoo. Do…. do I wanna know what’s in this?”

He’s gesturing to the drinks, a somewhat fearful look on his face. The shorter man shakes his head, thick brows curved in mirth as his lips twitch into a lopsided smile. “Nope. Tastes good though, so you got nothing to worry about.”

You can’t tell whether Taehyung is relieved or concerned, and so step in to save him a moment of reprieve. “Thank you so much— this all looks amazing!”

Happily, the two men soak in your praise. “I assure you,” Mr Kang says, patting his chest proudly. “It tastes as good as it looks.”

Kyungsoo snorts, but doesn’t disagree. He gives the two of you a small smile. “Right, we should be on our way. You two enjoy yourselves, and if you want refills just come let me know.”

Taehyung nods, thanking them again, and then it’s just the two of you once more.

“Well,” he says, licking his lips and reminding you of a puppy as he stares intently at the slice of strawberry crepe cake, decorated with a generous drizzle of syrup and two fresh, sliced strawberries in a dollop of cream beside it. The other one, a coffee-caramel blend you presume from the heavenly aroma reaching your nose, looks just as good but is nowhere near as successful at capturing his attention. “I guess… let’s begin!”

Whether he meant painting or devouring the food, you end up doing a bit of both. Each mouthful of cake that enters your mouth is announced with an explosion of flavour so rich it lingers long after you’ve swallowed the mouthful down. The drinks, too, are delicious. Fruity but not too syrupy or sugary, you suspect Kyungsoo had used spirits and tempered the fruity flavour with a bit of lemon or lime.

You still aren’t really sold on what to paint, but in the meantime you end up sketching out the flowers that sit on the windowsill a little behind Taehyung. They don’t seem too complicated, and if they end up looking terrible you can just smear the canvas with paint and call it abstract. Of course, part of Taehyung’s shoulder cuts the vase off from view so he’s probably going to end up making an unwitting appearance in whatever mess turns up on your canvas.

Even though neither of you have any idea what Kyungsoo put into those drinks, you’re sure its something strong. Before long the two of you are already giggly, conversation flowing easily as you put paint to canvas and attempt to make something decent. It’s around the time the two of you are almost finishing your drinks that the conversation takes a delightful turn, which consists of Taehyung telling you about his little fluffball, Yeontan.

“Oh my god,” you say, fingers gripping the paintbrush tight as you try to pet the urge to pet a dog that isn’t even here. “He’s so cute! Look at his grumpy little eyebrows!”

Taehyung laughs, having taken a break from painting to show you his dog like a proud parent. He takes his phone back and slips it into his pocket, paint-flecked hand returning to the brush he’d abandoned. “He’s such a smart dog, but he’s also super dumb. Runs into shit all the time. And there was one time that a friend came over and brought a new camera that he hadn’t seen before—”

Taehyung has to pause recounting the story, he starts giggling so hard. It makes you erupt into laughter as well simply because of how contagious the sound is. “He got so mad, he ran in front of me with his little legs and started barking at it like he was trying to protect me. I love that little dog.”

“I love him too and I haven’t even met him,” you giggle, using your pinky (the only finger you’re sure you haven’t gotten paint on yet) to wipe under your eyes. You don’t think you let a tear slip but you’ve been laughing so much you can’t be sure.

Taehyung beams at you from around his canvas, brush held midair. “That’s exactly what Jiminie says.”

That gives you pause. “Wait— Jimin hasn’t seen your dog? But you’ve been friends for ages!”

You catch the photographer smiling as he delivers a few soft strokes to his painting, affection hidden in his tone as he responds, “Yeah, a few years. Since… the last? Second last year of high school? Maybe? It was a wild start to the friendship.”

“Wild?” you echo, intrigued.

“Yeah. What really kick-started our friendship was this one time I came over while Jimin was really upset about something. I can’t remember exactly how it happened but we ended up at some wack university event nearby. It was boring as hell, and somehow we figured the best way to be entertained would be to commit a mild crime and get away with it.”

Once more, the ashy-haired male has to pause his story to get the giggles out of his system, taking the opportunity to sip a little more of his cocktail. You do the same, not one to pass up much of any drink these days.

“Long story short, he ended up streaking across the field and earning himself a title at the university as ‘mooncheeks’ or something equally dumb and funny, earnt himself a bit of a nude legacy.”

You pause, the alcohol beginning to slow your mind just enough that it takes a little longer for you to connect the dot between his story and something you’d shoved so deep in the back of your mind years ago that you’d almost forgotten it.

“Wait—” you smack your paintbrush down, eyes wide as an accusing finger is thrown his way. “That was— he ran into me on the way back! Oh my god I almost forgot, that was you two?!”

Taehyung erupts into laughter that is an octave or two shy of being too loud, having to place a hand over his chest to brace himself. He’s nodding wordlessly, eyes pinched shut, and it’s probably the alcohol making your eyes blur but for a moment you could almost swear he’s glowing.

“Yeah,” he finally manages to articulate, wiping a stray tear or two from his eyes, sniffling. “It cheered him up, though, so I think it’s worth the potential trauma.”

That makes you laugh, another sip of your drink going down. A lot of the spirits must have settled at the bottom, because this one had a little warmth as it went down.

The night goes so easily it’s like a dream, the atmosphere and alcohol in combination with Taehyung’s company making you feel much like you did before this whole shitshow, back when it wasn’t so hard to release the tension in your shoulders or to muster a genuine smile. Taehyung happily gets you a few refills, refusing to let you pull out your card— which is probably for the best because you’re not sure where your wallet is and you’re not coordinated enough to look right now.

You’re on the further side of tipsy, teetering on the edge of pleasantly drunk where nothing makes sense but you’re still somewhat coherent, and everything is funny. Taehyung has almost dipped his paintbrushes in his drink instead of the jar a few times, resulting in a long round of laughter and sore stomachs each time. Eventually, you’d moved his drink to the other side of the canvas and he’d offered you a sheepish smile.

Surprisingly, your painting doesn’t look too bad, either. Currently it has a bit of a blurry, undefined quality to it, but in your current opinion it kind of works for it. Taehyung’s shoulder did end up making a feature and as the two of you talk you find yourself distractedly painting patterns in the ‘leather’, swirls and hearts and hell, even a few triangles. Eventually, you reach the point where you think that you really can’t do anything more to make the painting better in the time you have, so with a contented sigh you place your brush down and instead turn your attention to Taehyung.

Even as he talks to you and wobbles a little in place, he’s still so incredibly focused in his work, in every detail that meets canvas at the direction of his nimple finngertips, that you don’t think you even see his hand shaking while he paints. Which, your hand was— a lot. It’s the main factor responsible for this one squiggly flower stem in particular you can see in your painting.

As you sit there, happily listening and laughing at each anecdote Taehyung offers you about his life, you find your mind wandering a little bit. Back to the exhibition, and the works and even the way you caught him regarding them. You recognise the critical lens that he viewed them through, because it’s one you adopt yourself for your own creations. Something wells in you, an urge to reassure him in case he ever had any doubts about his own talent; you’re far too many drinks in to be in a place where you can stop yourself.

“Taehyung,” you begin softly but seriously, with minimal slur. He doesn’t stop his motions, but you see him pause for the briefest moment before humming in acknowledgement. “Taehyung, I have to tell you…”

You’re figuring out how to best word your impression of his works and his talent, but you must take longer than you thought because Taehyung lets out a soft huff, giving you a smile that you can’t quite decipher.

“Don’t worry,” he says, flicking the paintbrush back to rest the wooden stem on his knuckles. “I already know I’m not the muse. You don’t have to worry about convincing me.”

For a second, all you’re able to do is blink. Taehyung simply goes back to his painting, expression neutral and his soft hum brushing your ears beneath the soft melody floating from the speakers. You realise quickly that you don’t know what to say to that, and that the full implications of his words haven’t really sunk in yet. He must have noticed that you’d been trying to go around and convince all the suspected subjects that they aren’t the muse of the poem… you feel oddly ashamed, for some reason. Your cheeks feel hot, and not just from the alcohol flush.

“Done!”

Taehyung’s voice breaks you from your reverie, his cheery smile greeting you once more. “All finished?”

You nod, offering a smile of your own and taking the opportunity to say what you wanted to earlier. “Yep. I’m excited to see yours, you’re so incredibly talented, Tae.”

His smile turns shy at that, a bashful laugh tumbling from his lips as he does his best to clean up his area. You do the same, standing up for the first time in a while and having to reach out and stabilise yourself on the table so you don’t fall. The drinks hit you a little harder than you first thought!

“Thank you,” he finally mumbles a few moments later, collecting the brushes. “I’m excited to see yours, too.”

You let out a short laugh at that, knowing that whatever you threw onto that canvas isn’t going to be able to hold a candle to what he made.

Quicker than you can keep track of, the two of you finish tidying and then before you know it you’re saying your goodbyes to the staff and stepping outside. You shiver at the unexpected breeze that greets you, people along the other side of the street huddling together. It’s a windy night and the breeze carries a bit of a bite.

“Oh, right,” Taehyung starts in place, offering his canvas to you. “Careful, it might still be a bit wet…”

Somewhat mindlessly, you swap paintings with him, smiling brightly before your gaze is drawn to the side. By nothing but absolute chance, it passes over the line in front of a bar popular with students at your university, and you almost blink and move on before your eyes halt in familiarity. At the hands of nothing but stupid luck, there is someone you recognise over there. Yoongi stands, face indicating a loud complaint before it even leaves his mouth, and there are a few others around him that he seems to be with who are laughing as they wait in line.

Your head feels so messy, like the wind has managed to get inside your skull and fling everything about like leaves on the autumn breeze. You’re so distracted in the moment that you don’t see it as Taehyung follows the direction of your gaze, and his expression drops. When you jerk out of your reverie, it’s just in time to see his eyes flicking from your painting, to his, and then back to you.

You’re about to peek at his painting and fill the silence with a compliment, but he beats you to it. Something is different about his expression, and not just because he’s no longer under the warm light of the paint bar. The glow you’d noticed so easily earlier seems to have dimmed a bit.

“Did you figure out the theme of the exhibition?”

At his question you startle, gaze flicking to the side as you try and figure it out on instinct on the spot. You’d completely forgotten to think about it, and considering you spent about as much time looking at him as you did his works while at the exhibition, you can safely determine you’re still nowhere closer to the answer. “Ah… no.”

As though drawn like a magnet, your gaze ends up over in the direction of Yoongi for the briefest second. You struggle to tear it away.

“It’s anaxiphilia.”

Even through the inebriation slowing your thoughts, his words reach you immediately. It’s as though your heart has turned to stone and dropped straight through your chest. That unspeakable, unknown emotion wells and bubbles within you, swelling to twice, thrice its size and blocking words before they can even reach your throat. Your eyes are on Taehyung again, but his are still centred where yours had been— had he also noticed Yoongi? You didn’t know they knew each other...

“Oh,” you finally manage, swallowing down that nameless sensation. Taehyung’s gaze slowly slides back to you, dark eyes full of so much… something, you think it would take you years to unpack and familiarise yourself with it all.

For a second, the two of you stand with your gazes locked, both of you too deep in your own thoughts to do anything about it. Taehyung is the one that breaks the spell.

“Well, it’s getting late, I shouldn’t keep you out any longer… There is a bus stop here, and tons of ubers in the area…” His eyes flick away as he talks but return as he murmurs this last bit, “Thank you for coming today. I hope you had fun.”

“Of course I did,” you rush, finally finding your voice amongst the shambles in your head. “Thank you for inviting me, Tae. I really… I really needed this. Thank you.”

He nods, smiling at you, but you notice it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Please get home safe,” he says, and you nod immediately, making his gaze soften. “See you later.”

“Bye! Thank you again!” you wave, Taehyung turning quick and already a decent way down the street after his farewell. He offers a wave over his shoulder and you catch it just in time before you turn back, gaze unconsciously seeking out the familiar figure across the road. Distantly, you observe that Yoongi is no longer in line for the bar and has switched to the bubble tea place a few stores down.

Taehyung’s exhibition and it’s theme swim through your mind, a sudden impulse welling within you in response that spurs your legs into a motion. You’re about to go across the road in a sudden spurt of something like bravery, but for some indecipherable reason, you stop before you can get more than a few feet. You turn your head, gaze thrown over your shoulder, eyes seeking without an explicit goal in mind.

You catch sight of him just before he rounds the corner and disappears from view— even from the back Taehyung presents a handsome figure, but in the split-second you manage to view him, the most notable things about his retreating form is the slumped curve of his shoulders and the lowered angle of his head. He’s gone before you can blink leaving you for good this time with nothing but your messy head and the one thought that swims to the surface that says after seeing him glow in happiness for the better part of the evening, sadness doesn’t suit him much at all.

Clutching the painting, your turn back to the front and try and focus on the present for just a minute or two, like whether you’re going to catch a bus or uber it home, but each time you start a new thought it always brings you back to the odd mix of guilt swirling deep in your gut. There’s something else there, the familiar hollow pit of yearning, but for once… you can’t quite tell who it’s for.

a/n: thank u so much for reading! i really hope it was worth the wait and that you look forward the future parts as fox rain begins to slowly draw to a close!! pls let us know u liked it w a like and rb and screaming in our inboxes is always ALWAYS welcome!! thank u !! love u !! <3

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spookyceph · 3 years

Text

Pull Test

Summary: Shigaraki and Kurogiri meet with the League of Villain's newest candidate.

Rating: Gen Fic, SFW

Relationships: Shigaraki & Magne

Characters: Shigaraki Tomura, Magne, Kurogiri, Giran, mentioned Dabi, mentioned Toga Himiko

Words: 2,732

Warnings: Implied/Referenced transphobia and deadnaming when Magne's background is mentioned, swearing

The manila folder dropped from the air like a dead bird, hitting the bar top with a slap. Tomura jerked back, stool wobbling beneath him, and grit his teeth as he heard the staccato sounds of his fighter taking damage in his game. Recovering balance, he hit the pause button before glaring at the warp gate that swirled into being across the way.

“Another one already?” he snapped the moment the tall figure of his caretaker stepped out of the darkness.

Kurogiri straightened both his tie and metal gorget. “I was quite impressed myself. Giran is proving to be as professional and efficient as advertised.” He motioned to the folder he’d air dropped in. “Shall we consider this new candidate together, Shigaraki Tomura?”

Tomura wasn’t in the mood to consider shit. He hadn’t been hanging around the bar for going on two hours hoping for work to come along. One of his hands strayed to his pocket. He touched the lump that was the jar of salve he’d taken to carrying at all times. The serpentine ridge of a friendship bracelet (I used red, white, and black string so it would match you, Tomura-kun!) had joined it a week ago. Of course, he’d die before admitting to lurking just to catch a glimpse of Dabi. Or that he’d agreed to let Toga show him her favorite otome games as soon as she came back from her shopping trip. He definitelycouldn’t tell the smug old ink splatter to fuck off and let him get back to his goal of a high score—not without having how wrong he’d been about those same two people rubbed in his face.

That left being a responsible leader as the only option.

Tomura growled and set his game aside. He flicked the folder open. “Fine. What’s this new asshole’s name?” Giving in didn’t require him to be gracious about it.

“Ah. About that. I believe there’s a conflicting issue in her files about that point. Her family name is Hikiishi, however, her given one, or both, may require an update.”

A look at the top of the file filled in the blanks. The picture Giran had included showed the candidate flashing a bold smile at the camera. Shoulder-length auburn hair framed prominent cheekbones. Slightly darker fuzz lined her jaw and chin. Tomura couldn’t tell what color her eyes were behind her sunglasses, but they locked with his through lenses and stock paper alike. Hikiishi Kenji, read the first line of information on the page beneath the photo. A police report, by the looks of it.

“I see. Well, for now let’s just call Hikiishi by her alias until she confirms with us.” Tomura skimmed through the info again. “Magne, right? Related to her quirk, I assume.”

The currents of Kurogiri’s mist slowed and relaxed into looser coils. “Correct.”

Tomura frowned. “What? Did you think I’d have some sort of problem with the name thing?”

“After the misunderstanding with Dabi—”

“Dabi and I talked.”

The yellow eyes glowing within the darkness widened. “Did you now?”

Fuck, he wasn’t turning red, was he? Was he? “We’re adults. We worked shit out, okay? Not everybody has a stick up their ass about being polite all the time.” He scooped up his game, more than ready to retreat into something he could control. “When are we expecting Magne?”

“Giran can bring her by tomorrow evening.”

“Fine. Let’s get the stupid meet and greet crap over with.” When only silence followed, Tomura raised his gaze from the screen to glare at Kurogiri. “What?”

The wisps curling from the smoggy bastard’s head looked suspiciously like smiles. “Nothing, Shigaraki Tomura. Nothing at all.”

Taptaptap.

Tomura’s finger rose and fell on the bartop fast enough to give a sewing machine needle a run for its money. The ball of his right foot bounced on the stool’s crossbar in time with it.

Taptaptap.

Giran had promised he’d be there between 9:00 and 10:00. The clock by the door pointed to 9:51.

Taptaptap.

Lots of people would be riding the trains on a Friday night. Or roaming the streets, looking for food and alcohol, karaoke, strangers to stave off loneliness. Heroes would be out in force as a result, watching for any predators stalking the herds of humanity. Tomura didn’t know how to calculate exact probability rates for shit hitting the fan, but he got the sense they were on the higher end under such conditions.

Taptaptap.

Why couldn’t he just run into party members along the way as needed, like in games? Each one would specialize in a skill, forming a well-rounded team. Everyone would follow him to the bitter end because they believed in him and not some ass goblin named Stain. Why they believed in Tomura wouldn’t matter, though money would be a reasonable guess. Idealism didn’t pay much from what he could tell.

Taptap—

“Be calm, Shigaraki Tomura. This meeting will go well.”

He bared teeth at Kurogiri. “There has to be a meeting for it to go a certain way. And I am calm, damn it.”

“So I see.” He finished wiping down the glass he held before setting it on the bar and grabbing another. “My apologies.”

Tomura twisted on the stool to give the smart ass shadow a piece of his overthinking mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

Without missing a beat, Kurogiri stuck his free hand through a small warp gate and turned the handle of the door across the room. He went back to polishing as two figures entered the bar.

For someone who charged such high fees, Giran went out of his way to look cheap and kitschy. Little round tinted lenses pinched to the bridge of his nose. A scrunched scarf like someone’s guts slung around his neck. One front tooth missing in his low-key sleazy smile. The woman following right behind him and surveying her new surroundings made for a more welcome sight. Sunglasses (her and Giran both, for fucks’ sake) hid her eyes just like in her picture, but her lips held a hint of a smile.

The essence of good manners, Kurogiri bowed to their guests. “Good evening. Welcome to our humble home.”

Tomura, to balance the scales, snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Took you long enough.”

Giran shrugged and twirled his hand, leaving behind a smoke spiral from the tip of the cigarette between his fingers. “Our train was delayed by some prankster threatening to blow up the tracks.”

“Doesn’t sound like a prank.”

“It wouldn’t have been if the lazy bastard hadn’t been trying to pass off children’s clay as plastic explosive. One of the cops noticed the stuff was bright yellow and they rushed him. They didn’t even call in a hero.” The broker shook his head. “What’s this world coming to? People can’t be bothered to find and pay for real weapons anymore. It offends my pride as a businessman.”

Behind Father, Tomura grimaced. His short-lived venture with Stain had indeed moved people to lash out at society. The problem was most of them were fucking morons. He doubted any decent candidates the League managed to net would make up for all the secondhand embarrassment he’d suffered in the past couple of weeks from watching the news.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the woman said, tapping her chin. “I felt kinda bad for the poor guy. He looked like your average office wage-slave. I thought he was going to break down in tears when they hauled him off.”

“Serves him right for cutting corners. No conviction, no integrity these days I tell you.”

She hid a grin behind her hand. “You’re heartless, Giran.”

The broker snorted smoke from his nostrils like an exasperated dragon. “I’m practical.”

“And yet you still haven’t introduced me.”

Posture straightening, Giran tugged at his weirdly anatomical scarf. “Sorry, got sidetracked. Magne, Shigaraki Tomura and Kurogiri of the League of Villains.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Slipping off his stool, Tomura gave her a short bow. The way Kurogiri swayed slightly, as if he’d swoon from shock, made the display worth it.

“I take it I’ve earned my fee?” chimed in Giran.

Kurogiri’s misty form shuddered as he roused himself. “Of course. We’ll hear from you again soon?”

“I’ve got a few candidates lined up.” The broker sketched them a mock salute before turning and closing the door behind him.

“Please, have a seat.” Tomura motioned to the row of barstools beside him.

“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

While Magne approached, he studied her movements. She strode across the hardwood floor, work boots making minimal noise with each step. Grace as well as power. She knew how to use the muscle under her shirt’s rolled up sleeves rather than relying on pure size. Although, that didn’t hurt either—Tomura put her at over ten centimeters his own height at least, and she definitely outclassed him by weight. He wondered whether she had speed to go along with strength. She slid into the next seat over and rested her chin in her hands.

“Would you care for something to drink, Miss Magne?” Kurogiri asked, jumping at the chance to play host.

“Oh, my. So formal. Sure, I’ll have whatever you recommend.”

Tomura waited until a small glass of something amber-colored had been set in front of them both (ginger ale for him) and she’d taken an approving sip before getting things rolling.

“You have quite a record, Magne.” Though he’d already memorized the relevant bits, he flipped open the folder container her information.

She glanced over, shades slipping down her nose as she scanned the first page of the police report. “Twenty-nine attempted murders, huh? Is that what they’re calling those? I’m surprised you guys bothered having me come in after reading that garbage.”

“Why?”

Like a small bird, Tomura’s stomach dipped and fluttered when Magne looked at him over the edge of her glasses. Not quite in the same way it did when he caught Dabi watching him from across the room, but close enough to classify the sensation as pleasant. Her irises shone like polished agates, made up of rich layers of browns from a starburst of mahogany around her pupils to flecks of burnished copper. Tomura suddenly understood her hiding them behind lenses. Such a beautiful detail would stick in anyone’s memory.

“Somebody who tried and failed to kill that many people would look pretty incompetent, right?” she replied. “Or like they chickened out at the last second. I don’t enjoy killing. I’ll tell you that up front. But…I didn’t hesitate with the three I did put down, let’s just say that.”

Tomura, a multiple murderer himself, examined the square set of her shoulders, the twist of scorn to her mouth towards her accusers, and found no reason to doubt her. He nodded.

“The so-called attempts were from the robberies you pulled off then?”

“Mostly, though I’m sure a few of the bullies I smacked around exaggerated just to prove what big, strong men they are.” She harumphed and took another sip from her drink.

“And the actual murders?”

Her lips puckered, as if she tasted something more bitter than whatever alcohol Kurogiri had given her. “Personal matters.”

“I see.” Tomura turned the page and ran his finger further down the information. “Your quirk has some unique parameters.”

The lines of Magne’s face eased into a smile. “Oh, the gender thing? A theory really. I haven’t had much opportunity to test it seriously. It might be nothing but my own perception…but I guess that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?” She lifted a hand from her glass and reached halfway toward him. “Care for a demonstration?”

Tomura caught himself drawing away from her, his nails latching onto the sides of his neck. Cowering—great way to display his leadership skills. “What’re you going to do?”

“Oh, just tug on your arm a little. Go ahead and put it down by your side for me.”

Resisting the urge to look to Kurogiri for reassurance, he did as asked. For safety’s sake he curled his fingers into a fist.

Magne smiled. “Ready?”

According to the knot in his stomach, no, but he nodded anyway. His arm jerked and leapt up as if it were tied by a string. Tomura gasped, almost slipping off his seat. Magne caught and steadied him.

“Sorry, honey! Got so excited to show off I put a bit too much oomph into it.” She patted his shoulder as if there weren’t dead, gray hands clutching it.

“’S’alright,” he mumbled. And it was—his skin showed no marks, his muscles and joints registered no pain. He readjusted the delicate hand decorating his wrist. Cold, waxy, and pliant. Nothing like Magne.

“So, can you manipulate people’s movements? Turn them into your puppets?”

She hummed and pushed her sunglasses back into their proper place. “Not really. I can move someone with the proper amount of push versus pull, but it’s such delicate work that they could break free pretty easily. Hold out your arm and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Still making a fist, Tomura followed her suggestion. Magne positioned her hands on either side of his forearm, spread about half a meter apart. Concentration dug a V between her brows. A thrum jolted through Tomura’s bones. He startled at the rush of tingles in his elbow and shoulder but kept his balance. Something like a low electrical current pulsed along his arm, raising its pale little hairs. Eyes wide, he watched as the limb drifted from one side to the other, then up, down—anywhere the poles of Magne’s palms guided it. He could even see, feel his skin being tugged and pressed by her quirk. Taking a deep breath, Tomura drew his fist back. He met some resistance, but didn’t have to put up any real struggle.

“Weird.” He shook his buzzing fingers out. “But kinda nice. Tingly. Like an electrical field.”

Magne tilted her head and smirked. “Oh? That’s a new one. Then again, maybe I’d have heard it before if I used my quirk for something besides bashing jerks.”

What would he have done without Father hiding the fact he blushed at the slightest fucking thing? He’d never get used to talking to people at this rate.

“Your skills would be a great asset to the League, Miss Magne,” Kurogiri said, saving Tomura from having to pretend he could be witty. “I presume Giran discussed the expenses we cover? Upon joining, you would also be welcome to claim a room upstairs, should you wish.”

Magne went still. Even her breathing stopped for a moment. “You’d let me stay here?”

Tomura knew right then he’d never live down being wrong about not letting League members move into the hideout. Kurogiri would never be crass enough to say it out loud, of course. He didn’t have to. Tomura sighed, accepting his fate.

“Two members live here already, including another woman. We can introduce you to them both before you decide.”

Gaze aimed at the ceiling, Magne touched fingers to her pursed lips. “I’ve already made up my mind.” She met Tomura’s eyes, a smile lighting up her face. “Sign me up.”

Well. He had no clue whatso-fucking-ever how they’d convinced her, but results were results. Besides, she hadn’t mentioned Stain once. She deserved free room and board for that alone.

“Ah, wonderful. We’re so delighted to have you, Miss Magne.” Kurogiri steepled his fingers. “Please let me know if you require any assistance in moving your belongings. I can warp them to whichever room you choose.”

A soft laugh huffed out of her. “No need, honey. I travel light these days. Would tomorrow evening be too soon?”

Tomura shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll make sure Toga and Dabi are around so you can meet them.” Even if he had to staple the latter to a chair to make him comply.

“Sounds like a plan.” Magne raised her glass. “To new friends then?”

There was that word again. Offered with the same ease Toga had shown. And Dabi…he’d never said it maybe but his gift had implied…well, something. Tomura touched his pocket. The weight and shapes of the items inside it. With the same hand, he picked up his own glass and clinked it against Magne’s.

“Sure. I’ll drink to that.”

#big sis magne #bnha magne #mha magne #magne #shigaraki fic #league of villains fanfiction #league of villains fanfic #lov fanfiction #lov #league of villains #fic series #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki #kurogiri #giran #bnha giran

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specificocean33 · 3 years

Text

ＴｈｅＳｐｏｒｅｓ

ＫｉｒｉｓｈｉｍａｘＲｅａｄｅｒ

2: ᴋɪᴅɴᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ; ʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ

A Zombie Apocalypse AU. Just a little idea I had. I’ll be writing a total of 3 parts (subject to change,) but anyways here’s the second :) I hope you enjoy it.

The next few hours over to the West District were certainly much livelier than before. Indeed, Kirishima was like the physical embodiment of a golden retriever. His optimism and charisma was contagious, but damn you if you weren’t looking for a cure.

At least Mateo seemed to have cheered up. You were trying your best to allow the anger and sadness eat you alive, but Kirishima was unknowingly beating away your negative emotions with his stupid jokes and his ability to get along with others.

Damn him.

When you finally arrived at the West District after 2 hours, you paid the entrance fee and made your way inside. You decided to trust Kirishima and have him take 25$ and look for a hotel for you all to stay at. You took Mateo to the nearby pawn shop to look for something interesting for him for his birthday.

The West District is a shopping district of sorts; weaponry, food, armor, car parts, gun parts, and other sorts of odds and ends can be found here. That’s why it was one of the most crowded and most populated Districts. That’s also what made it incredibly easy to be stolen. You had Mateo hold your hand the entire time, lest he or you be stolen.

Before you all separated, you swallowed your feelings and opened the car trunk. Your mother’s shotgun was entirely normal. As a matter of fact, the only identifying factor was a Sakura flower keychain hanging from it. You frowned before handing it over to Kirishima, along with some crumpled up currency.

“If you lose this, you’ll be getting the shit beat out of you twice today,” you growled before firmly placing the gun in Kirishima’s hands.

He gulped and nodded, “Of course. It wouldn’t be very manly of me to lose someone else’s property. I’ll be sure to return it to you, safe and sound.”

“Look…when you’re done, we’ll be at one of the pawn shops. I don’t have a phone, and I assume yours got stolen, if you had one at all-”

Strangely, Kirishima didn’t clarify if he had a phone at all to begin with.

“-So just look around. All the pawn shops are clumped together anyway.”

“Okay!” He said with a bright smile. “See you soon!”

You weren’t sure why you were trusting him so much. There was just something so….likable about him. You weren’t sure what though.

Keeping a firm grip on Mateo, you both managed to safely make your way to the pawn shop section of the District. You settled on the first one that you saw, a shabby little shop called Lucky’s Pawn Shop, and followed Mateo around as he looked for another sticker or color of spray paint. (Mateo loved to vandalize buildings, and seeing as how they were all one boring color, you allowed it. No one really cared anyway.)

The entire pawn shop was filled with odd things. All four walls had shelves full of gears, books, broken and whole toys, candle sticks, and other things. The floorspace was taken up by tables and desks of equally odd things. Mangas, comics, novels, old action figures and other such things filled the store.

After about 30 minutes of “I like this color, (Y/N)!” “No, that color’s ugly. Pick another one.” And “Check out this cool sticker, isn’t it from that show you used to watch?” “Yes, but today’s for you. Pick something you want,” Kirishima came bounding into the shop, and seemed genuinely insulted that you were surprised to see him again.

“What? Did you think I was gonna steal from the people who did me a favor? What kind of unmanly scum do you take me for?” He crossed his arms and was very huffy about the whole thing. You found it endearing.

You laughed, “Sorry, sorry. At least you’re back now. Why don’t you help Mateo pick out a color? He’s been struggling and frankly all the colors he picks are lowkey ugly,” you said, pointing at the shelf of half used and cap less spray paint cans.

There were quite a few shades at this shop, which was sort of uncommon.

“Hmm…how about this super cool red, little bro?” Kirishima grinned, pointing at a fiery shade of crimson.

You sighed. You should have known he’d go for some shade of red.

“Oh! I like it. I only have orange and yellow, so I needed a red anyway. Can I get it, (Y/N)?”

“Fine. At least it wasn’t that throw up shade of green,” you mumbled before taking the can in one hand and Mateo’s in the other.

“It’s called ARMY GREEN!” He exclaimed in and exasperated tone.

You winked at Kirishima, he smiled and his cheeks flushed slightly pink.

“Yeah yeah whatever. Army green, throw up green, same difference. It’s all green. Ugly colors regardless.”

Mateo shot you a look before you set the can on the front counter. An old woman was bent over so she didn’t see you right away. When you cleared your throat to get her attention, she bumped her head under the desk and let out a series of curses before lifting her head up, one robotic arm rubbing the spot where she had hurt herself, and the other gripping the counter for support.

This woman had the wildest white hair you had ever seen. She wore a pair of googles on her head, which had a wire coming out of it and trailing in the floor. She blinked a few times, before smiling kindly.

“Oh hello there. Is this all you wanted,” she asked examining the can before looking back at you.

“Yes, that’s all. How much were you wanting for it?”

“Hmm…this particular shade was actually made by me, so it’s a full unused can. 5$ and 3 pieces of copper wire.”

You almost choked. Currency AND wire? Was she insane?

Mateo looked slightly saddened, and Kirishima a little confused.

“Umm…copper wire?” Kirishima whispered into your ear;You jumped, startled. His voice caught you off guard, and you nodded, your cheeks flushed.

“Might I offer 6$ and 1 piece of copper wire?” You asked, turning away from Kirishima, trying not to look at Mateo.

“Hmm…” the old woman crossed her arms and pondered for a moment, “How about 3$ and 3 wires?”

You sighed. You really wanted to give the woman less copper wire, but it seemed there was no help for it.

“Alright. Deal,” you mumbled, reaching into your back pocket and extracting the payment she wanted.

15 minutes later, Mateo was grinning and staring at his new paint can on his bed. The hotel Kirishima managed to find was rather nice. You had half a mind to ask how he managed to get a room with a working bathroom, kitchen, and 3 twin beds to boot, all for 25$, but you decided to ask him a little later.

You shooed Mateo off to shower and promised to find something nice to eat for dinner, before sitting Kirishima down at the kitchen table.

He seemed nervous.

“Alright. So I need to know for how long we’re gonna be traveling together for.” You said bluntly.

“W-wow. Straight to the point, huh?” He laughed nervously.

“I have nothing to hide, and as you can see, we’re sort of broke. I can’t afford to have another person around, no offense. Mateo is my priority and I need to know how long we’re gonna have you around.”

“W-well…okay look,” he sighed rubbing his face with his hands, “I…I’m a runaway.”

You leaned forward on the table.

“A runaway? From who? Are you dangerous? Elaborate.”

“Umm…well…my parents are Buyers. I…I ran away 3 days ago.”

Buyers. The worst kinds of people on this godforsaken planet.

Buyers are the people who buy from Kidnappers. It would make sense why Kirishima would want to leave that life, but that would only mean one thing.

Kirishima was originally from a White Zone.

“You’re…from a White Zone?” You asked.

“Yes. My parents bought freshly Contaminated and…did terrible things to them. I don’t want to talk about what they did, it was just awful, but I think you can see why I wanted nothing to do with that life.”

You felt sort of bad for him, he looked distraught.

“Then…you have nowhere to go?” You asked.

“Well, not necessarily. Whenever things got sort of bad, I’d leave for a bit and I’ve found some friends. They live in the East District, but the thing is, I’d always come back. This time…I haven’t, obviously. They sent someone to come get me, but they robbed me instead, probably to extort more money from my parents.”

“How come you don’t have a bounty on you then?” You were beginning to get somewhat concerned. Harboring a White Zone resident could mean terrible trouble that you really couldn’t handle. Not to mention a lot of running away from bounty hunters and other scum.

“My parents didn’t like me all that much to begin with. They were mainly mad I didn’t agree with their actions, and they didn’t like that I spoke up about it. They want me back because they won’t have to put up a front, but at the same time, not having me home makes it easier on them. They want an obedient child, and that’s not me,” he said, not meeting your eyes.

“So…no one is looking for you, then?” You asked nervously.

“No, no I don’t think so. This is…super unmanly of me to ask, but…can I stay with you two? Just for a little bit? I’ve got some contacts around here who still think I’m living with my parents, and I can get some money for you guys, I’ll make sure to pay you back for helping me, I swear! Just…please, let me stay?” He was pleading with you, looking you deep in your eyes.

His crimson eyes bore into yours, and for the life of you, you couldn’t find it within your heart to deny him.

How entirely unfair. He was dangerous and you knew it. Mateo needed to be kept safe but….

He needed help. You enjoyed his company.

You decided to trust him.

“I-…o-okay. Just…please, don’t put Mateo in any danger. He’s the only family I have left, please,” you said quietly, clasping your hands together.

Kirishima smiled the brightest smile you’d ever seen him muster, before standing up. Before you knew what was happening, he had you crushed in a hug.

“I promise!”

ＥｎｄｏｆＰａｒｔ２

#mha x y/n #mha #mha kirishima #anime #slow burn #zombie au #zombie #apocalypse #mha x you #mha fluff #kirishima imagine #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader

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bechloeislegit · 3 years

Text

25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020

Day 21 - Santa's Workshop

Prompt from FanFiction User nweeks3: HS AU: Beca and Chloe get holiday temp jobs working as elves for a department store Santa. I kind of did my own thing with this one; I hope you like it.

"Come on, Beca," Chloe said. "I think you look adorable."

"Why did I agree to this?" Beca whined.

"Because you wanted to earn some extra money to buy your mom a nice Christmas gift."

"But an elf? Seriously?" Beca said. "Could my day get any worse?"

"Hey, Mitchell," Stacie said. "Looking hot."

"I just told her the same thing," Chloe said.

"I look stupid," Beca said. "At least Chloe is covered up as Mrs. Claus. These elf costumes make us look like we should be dancing on a pole out front."

"Oh, that sounds great," Stacie said. "I can use the practice for my job when I go to college."

"You're planning to be a pole dancer after graduation?" Beca asked.

"I have to make money some way," Stacie said. "Not all of us have rich parents or a daddy who works at a college and can get you free tuition, plus room and board."

"Sorry, Stacie," Beca said. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Meh, don't worry about it. It's forgotten," Stacie said. "We'd better hurry. Santa's Workshop opens in like twenty minutes."

"I know," Chloe said. "The kids are already lined up."

"Is Santa here yet?" Aubrey asked.

"I haven't seen him," Beca said.

"Neither have I," Chloe said. "I'll go find Mr. Comstock and see if he knows where Santa is."

"I'll go with you, Mrs. Claus," Aubrey said, as she followed Chloe.

"Dammit," Stacie as she dug through her bag.

"What's wrong?"

"I forgot my tights," Stacie said. "Do you have an extra pair?"

"No, sorry. Check Aubrey's bag," Beca said. "She might have an extra pair in there."

"I'm not just going to go through Brey's stuff," Stacie said. "You know how uptight she is about people messing with her stuff. I'm going to find her and ask her if she has an extra pair."

"Okay," Beca said.

Stacie left and Beca was adjusting her elf costume when the guy playing Santa came staggering in.

"Hey, cutie," Santa said. "Want to sit on Santa's lap."

"Gross," Beca mumbled. "Dude, you're drunk. And you need to sober up. The kids and their parents will know something's up if you stagger out there like that."

"Here, catch," Santa said and threw a candy cane at Beca.

Beca missed it and it fell behind her, breaking when it hit the floor. She turned and bent over to pick it up and, much to Beca's surprise, Santa grabbed her ass.

Beca didn't even think, she just came up swinging. Her fist landed on Santa's cheek, and he fell back, unconscious by the time he hit the floor. Beca ran over and knelt next to him.

That's where Beca was when Mr. Comstock, the store manager, came in.

"What the hell happened in here?" Mr. Comstock asked Beca.

"He came in drunk," Beca said. "And then he grabbed my ass so I punched him."

"Are you okay?" Mr. Comstock asked.

"Um, yeah," Beca said, surprised Mr. Comstock hadn't started yelling at her.

"I'm glad," Mr. Comstock said, bending down to look at Santa. "He's out cold, so I'm going to need you to be Santa."

Beca looked at him and shook her head. "No, uh-uh. No way!"

"You're the one who knocked out Santa," Mr. Comstock said.

"Because he grabbed my ass," Beca said. "You're lucky I don't sue the store for attempted sexual assault by one of your employees."

"If you play Santa, it pays an extra five bucks an hour," Mr. Comstock said. "And he won't be an employee here anymore. Once he wakes up, he's fired. And, until I can find a replacement, I'll need you to take over for today. We have an extra Santa costume that should fit you."

"Ask Stacie to do it," Beca said. "She can use the money."

"No offense," Mr. Comstock said. "But she's too sexy and I'll have bigger problems on my hands if she goes all Stacie on any of the dads or older guys who visit Santa. I really need your help on this, Beca. Please? I'm begging here."

"I'll do it," Beca said. "But you have to give Stacie the extra five bucks an hour and don't tell her why."

"It's done," Mr. Comstock said. "You need to get changed. Santa's Workshop opens in five minutes."

Beca took the Santa costume Mr. Comstock handed to her. She changed and was unrecognizable when Chloe, Aubrey, and Stacie came back in.

"There you are, Santa," Chloe said, looking around as she came in. "Where's Beca?"

Santa smile and shrugged; Chloe frowned. "She must be in the bathroom. We can't wait for her." Chloe grabbed Santa's sleeve. "Come on, it's time for Santa to start meeting all the boys and girls."

Beca didn't say anything. Aubrey and Stacie went out first to announce Santa and Mrs. Claus' arrival. As soon as the kids starting cheering, Beca and Chloe walked out. Chloe took her place next to Santa's chair and Beca sat down.

"Ho, Ho, Ho," Beca said, lowering her voice.

"Beca?" Chloe whispered, looking down at Santa.

Beca put a finger to her lips and smiled at Chloe. Chloe smiled back as Beca said, "Who wants to tell Santa what they want for Christmas?"

The kids started yelling, "Me! Me! Me!"

Chloe looked over at Stacie.

"Elf Stacie," Chloe said. "Could you bring Santa's first guest over to see him?"

Stacie led the first little girl over to Santa. Aubrey got behind the camera to take the photos.

There were so many kids in line to see Santa, that the girls worked continuously until almost one before they could take a short break.

Mrs. Claus announced that there would be a break while Santa fed the reindeer. The kids and adults groaned when Beca stood and said, "Stay where you are in line and I'll be back in no time. Okay?"

"Okay!" several kids called out.

Beca smiled and led Chloe, Stacie, and Aubrey behind Santa's Workshop.

"I'm starving," Beca said. "Do we have time to eat before we have to get back out there?"

"I got you covered, Santa," Chloe said, opening her locker. "Having done this last year, I came prepared."

Chloe pulled out a small cooler-type bag and pulled out some sandwiches and drinks. She handed one to each of the girls and kept one for herself.

"I have to say, Beca," Aubrey said. "I honestly didn't realize you were Santa until about an hour after we started. You're really convincing."

"She's right, Beca," Stacie said. "How did you become Santa in the short time we left you alone?'

Beca told them about Santa being drunk and handsy and her knocking him out.

"Are you okay?" Chloe asked, pulling Beca into a hug.

"I'm fine," Beca said. "I just have to be Santa until they find a decent replacement."

"You're doing great, Becs," Chloe said. "Plus, Santa gets paid more. You should ask if you can keep the job."

"I'll have to think about that," Beca said. "Thanks for the food. We should probably get back out there. We still have like two more hours before the next shift starts."

The next two hours flew by and the next group of Santa and his elves took over Santa's Workshop.

~~ Day 21 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

The following weekend, Beca was driving Chloe home from the mall after their shift as Santa and Mrs. Claus.

"I can't believe you told Mr. Comstock to give Stacie the extra five dollars an hour you get as Santa," Chloe said.

"I consider it an investment in her future," Beca said. "Plus, now that everyone knows, she owes me big. I just need to figure out what she owes me."

"I knew there was an ulterior motive," Chloe said with a laugh.

"Maybe I should ask her to help me find a date for the Winter Dance," Beca said. "She's a cheerleader and knows all the pretty girls."

Chloe stopped laughing and scoffed as she stared out the front window. She started fidgeting and became anxious, and kept stealing glances over at Beca.

"Are you okay, Chlo?" Beca finally asked.

"What?" Chloe asked, somewhat startled. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Beca asked, glancing over at Chloe.

"Yeah," Chloe said and sighed. "I want to ask you something, but I'm afraid of how you'll react."

"Chloe," Beca said, glancing over at her. "We've been friends forever. You know you can ask or tell me anything, right?"

"I know," Chloe said, quietly.

Beca continued to drive, waiting for Chloe to tell her what was on Chloe's mind. Beca pulled up to Chloe's house and turned off the car. She unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face Chloe.

"Come on, Chlo, talk to me," Beca said. "What's going on? You seem really anxious and that's so unlike you."

"I'm sorry," Chloe said, reaching for the door handle. "I should probably get inside. I'm already late and my mom probably has dinner ready."

Before Beca can figure out what's happening, Chloe was out of the car and hurrying up the steps to her front door. Beca sighed and started the car. As soon as Chloe disappeared inside, Beca drove off.

~~ Day 21 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

At school on Monday, Beca was talking to Stacie before Homeroom.

"And she just got out of the car and went inside?" Stacie asked.

"Yep," Beca responded.

"What were you talking about just before she got anxious?" Stacie asked, leaning her shoulder against her locker.

"You, actually," Beca said with a chuckle.

"Me?"

"Yes, you," Beca said. "She said something about me having Mr. Comstock give you the extra five dollars an hour that I would have gotten by playing Santa."

"Thank you again for that, by the way," Stacie said.

"You deserve it, Stace," Beca said. "If anyone should go to college, it's you. I consider it an investment. Although, it might only pay for one of your application fees."

"Yeah, maybe," Stacie said. "It's still a nice gesture."

"I would have done the same for Chloe or Aubrey," Beca said. "If they needed it."

"I really do appreciate it," Stacie said. "And I owe you for being so nice. Tell me how I can repay you?"

"Wellllll," Beca said, laughing. "I jokingly told Chloe I was going to ask you to help me get a date for the Winter Formal. Because you know all the pretty girls."

"Did you say that to Chloe before or after she started getting anxious?"

"Before, I think," Beca said, furrowing her brow. "Yeah, it was definitely before."

"It all makes sense now," Stacie said.

"It does?" Beca asked. "How?"

"Chloe wants to be your date to the Winter Formal," Stacie said.

"What?!" Beca practically yelled, causing several students to look at her.

"Everything okay, Beca?" Chloe asked, startling Beca, as she and Aubrey joined Beca and Stacie.

"What?" Beca asked. "Oh, yeah. Everything's fine. Are you okay? I mean you seemed a little off last night."

"Um, yeah, I'm okay," Chloe said. "Can I talk to-"

The first bell rang, cutting off what Chloe was saying.

"Sorry, Chlo," Beca said, slamming her locker. "Maybe we can finish this at lunch. Come on, Aubrey, we don't want to be late for Homeroom."

Beca and Aubrey rushed off, leaving Chloe and Stacie together.

"Sure, Becs," Chloe said, nodding her head just before she banged her forehead against Beca's locker.

"Come on, Chloe," Stacie said. "We're going to be late for Homeroom. And I can help you figure out how to ask Beca to the Winter Formal."

Chloe stared at Stacie. "How did you know I was going to ask her?"

"She told me about your conversation yesterday," Stacie said, grabbing Chloe's arm and leading her to their class. "I put two and two together and it's the only thing that made sense."

"I just hope she says yes," Chloe said, hurrying to Homeroom before the final bell.

Later that day at lunch, Beca went to the library to return a book. Chloe looked for her in the cafeteria but didn't see her.

"Beca did say we could talk at lunch, right?" Chloe asked Stacie and Aubrey.

"Yes," Aubrey said.

"Wait, there she is," Stacie said, pointing toward the cafeteria entrance.

Chloe looked where Stacie was pointing and her face fell. Beca was entering the cafeteria with Jesse Swanson and they looked cozy, too cozy for Chloe's liking. Chloe turned back around and stared down at the table.

"Hey, Beca," Stacie said. "Hey, Jesse."

"Hey," Jesse said as he sat across from Stacie.

"Hey," Beca said, sitting next to Chloe and looking at her. "Hey, Chloe. You said you wanted to talk to me. So, what's up?"

Chloe looked at Beca and saw Jesse looking at her over Beca's head.

"Never mind, it's really nothing," Chloe said.

Beca shrugged and began eating her lunch.

~~ Day 21 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

The rest of the week went the same way and Chloe could never get Beca alone long enough to ask her to the dance. Stacie tried to help but every plan she came up with for Chloe was thwarted. By Friday Chloe was really frustrated and ready to give up on asking Beca.

"Why don't you just call her?" Stacie asked.

"I want to ask her in person," Chloe said. "So I can keep her from running away before answering me. If I call her she'll freak out and go into hiding of something."

"Ask her when we're at work tomorrow," Aubrey suggested.

"Yeah, Chloe," Stacie said. "I know she doesn't have a date to the dance yet."

"I thought Jesse was going to ask her," Chloe said. "He's been hanging around with her a lot more."

"Well, if he did ask her, she turned him down," Stacie said. "I think she's waiting for a certain redhead to ask her. Or she's trying to get up the nerve to ask a certain redhead herself."

"You really think she wants to go with me?" Chloe asked hesitantly.

"Yes!" Aubrey and Stacie answered.

"Alright," Chloe said, smiling. "I'll ask her tomorrow at Santa's Workshop."

That night, Chloe slept better than she had all week. When she woke on Saturday morning, she was feeling confident and ready to ask Beca to be hers, um, her date.

At nine o'clock, Aubrey picked up Chloe and drove to the mall. They were changing into their costumes when Santa walked in.

"Hey, Becs," Chloe said as Beca entered the changing area.

"Hey, Chlo," Beca said. "Um, do you think I can drive you home after our shift? I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Sure, Beca," Chloe said, before turning to Aubrey. "Brey, I'm going to ride home with Beca tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Aubrey said.

"That will be a great opportunity to ask her," Stacie whispered to Chloe.

"That's the plan," Chloe said with a smile.

After their shift, the girls were changed and Beca grabbed her bag.

"You ready to go, Chlo?" Beca asked.

"Yep," Chloe said.

"Let us know how it goes," Aubrey said.

"I will," Chloe responded.

Beca and Choe had been riding in silence for about ten minutes when Chloe looked over at Beca.

"So," Chloe said, breaking the silence and startling Beca. "You wanted to talk to me about something."

"Yeah," Beca said. "Um, I was wondering if you, you know, had a date for the Winter Formal?"

"Nope," Chloe said. "Do you?"

"Well, Jesse asked me," Beca said.

"He did?" Chloe asked, her heart falling into her stomach.

"Yeah," Beca said with a shrug. "But, I told him no."

"You did?" Chloe asked surprised. "Why?"

"Because he's not the one I want to go with," Beca said, looking over at Chloe.

"Who, um," Chloe started and cleared her throat. "Who do you want to go with?"

Beca didn't immediately respond and kept driving. Chloe fidgeted in her seat, her knee bouncing up and down.

Beca pulled up in front of Chloe's house and turned off the car. She unhooked her seatbelt and turned her body toward Chloe.

"To answer your question," Beca said. "You're the one I want to go with. Would you want to go with me?"

Chloe smiled and nodded. "Yes, Beca. I would love to go to the dance with you."

"Really?" Beca asked, smiling at Chloe.

"Of course," Chloe said, unhooking her seatbelt so she could face Beca. "To be honest, I've been trying to ask you all week, but something always got in the way."

"To be honest with you," Beca said. "It took me all week to get up the nerve to ask you. I mean, I've had a crush on you for like forever."

"Me, too," Chloe said. "I mean, I've had a crush on you for forever, too."

Beca laughed. "Aren't we quite the pair?"

"I think we're made for each other," Chloe said, leaning toward Beca. She turned serious as she asked, "Can I kiss you?"

Beca didn't respond. Instead, she closed the distance between them and gently placed her lips on Chloe's, applying slight pressure.

Chloe hummed and brought her hand up to Beca's cheek, holding Beca's head in place.

The kiss broke naturally and Chloe put her forehead to Beca's.

"Best first kiss ever!" Chloe exclaimed with a smile.

"Christmas came early and I am not disappointed," Beca said, leaning in for another kiss.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #Christmas 2020

31 notes · View notes

cottoncandyjester · 3 years

Text

So to brighten up the mood let’s have

Poly hikaruzeke with male y/n taking their siblings out on a vacation!

This is just all fluff with a hint of something dark buried under it

When you all arrived at the hot springs Mateo went straight to causing havoc by messing with ushio “ so if we do unisex hot spring you should totally let me at least put my mouth on one of your ti- OW!”

He winced when Hikaru hit him on the head “callate la boca!” Hikaru snapped out while you and Zeke were trying to get checked in. Ushio nervously rushed over to you a Zeke gripping zeke’s shirt hiding behind him. You glared at Mateo who rubbed his head with a huff “Zeke your stupid boyfriend hit me!” He whined and Zeke looked around

“He did? I didn’t hear or see shit.” Zeke mumbled out now wrapping an arm around both you and Hikaru a sly grin on his face. You rolled your eyes before holding two keycards “alright me and ushio will share a room, teo you’re with those two” and of course the horny 18 year old had something to say about that.

“OI! Why does he get to be with her!? That’s like all the way unfair!” He snapped out with a huff stomping his foot and Zeke felt his eye twitch, if he doesn’t kill his brother before this trip is over it will be a miracle.

“Cause y/n doesn’t have a habit of groping people while they are trying to sleep you little man whore and ushio doesn’t like sleeping alone”

“Man whore? Wonder who I got it from”

You and Hikaru snorted with laughter avoiding zeke’s glare before you all gazed over at ushio who was quietly playing on her switch. “I don’t mind sharing a room with him, it’s okay” she said softly immediately feeing Mateo latch onto her “hell yeah! Now this is a vacation!” He chirped out loudly as ushio pushed him away..this was going to be interesting.

You all got settled in your rooms and Zeke laid back on the bed his head in your lap while Hikaru sat ontop of him “you know, one good thing about having the room to ourselves is that we can wreck it all we want” the male purred and Hikaru scoffs “doesn’t make me feel any less worried about your disgusting brother” he sneers out only for you to laugh “ushio can handle herself I once saw her scare off a guy just by awkward silence” you added before planting a kiss on both zeke’s and hikaru’s cheek. “Come on! Let’s eat! I promised teo some sushi!” You cheered out

“WOOOAHHHH! SUSHI BOAT! LOOK ITS A SUSHI BOAT!” Mateo was screaming at the top of his lungs at the restaurant eyes sparkling with joy. “Can you not be a gremlin for five minutes? Like you took your adhd medicine yeah? How are you so hyper?” Zeke hissed out.

“Oh no I forgot it at home, but I mean I don’t really need it” Mateo mumbled out using the chop sticks to stab the sushi plopping it in his mouth which made Hikaru look downright offended.

“Did he just-”

“Yup” ushio mumbled out knees pressed to her chest eyes glued to her phone as she watched anime but Zeke took her phone. “Eat mama, you haven’t eaten today you still have to take your medication after you eat” he said firmly and the girl gave a small pout looking over at you with puppy dog eyes

You started to sweat now shoving food in your mouth and glancing away. “Psst, Y/n...” she whispers out making with twitch. “ y/n don’t you do it” Hikaru warned out and you looked over at the girl. “Can I borrow your phone?” She said it in her best cute voice and before you knew it you were giving her your phone to watch anime on.

“Y/n!”

“She’s too cute! I can’t help it!” You huffed out and Zeke chuckled shaking his head. “Hey ushio! I can feed you if yo-”

“If you touch me I’m calling the police” ushio stated coldly making the male pause and he gulped “y-yeah okay good talk” he said softly now turning his head away nervously.

When you all went to the spring the next day you decided to just to a unisex one to keep an eye on ushio so she doesn’t faint or anything. “Tiddies tiddies tiddies!” Mateo cheered out like a child causing Hikaru to kick his back pushing him in the water “knock it off!” He snapped out.

“I don’t think he’s gonna survive this trip”

“Oh no he’s definitely gonna die the question is how?” Zeke teased out gazing at ushio who had a towel wrapped around her. “You can keep the towel on if it makes you comfortable” you said softly to the girl who gave a shy nod. When you all got in you let out a long sigh tilting your head back in relaxation

It was peaceful for about three minutes, yup three minutes Mateo started splashing around “I’m bored!” He huffs out and Hikaru cracked his knuckles “oh yeah? I’ll give ya something to fucking do” he hissed out harshly. As the two fought you couldn’t help but laugh but what made you happy was seeing ushio smile at the antics

“Having fun ushio?”

She looked down face flushed a smile on her face before giving a small nod fingers interlaced together “ I never had family time like this, can we do this more?” She asked out making everyone pause at just how sweet she was.

“Of course!”

“Where should we go next?”

“I’ll go wherever ushio is going!”

“Shut the fuck up about my sister you incel!”

You all were definitely rowdy! Once you all got done and showered you and Zeke ended up blow drying ushio’s and mateo’s hair. You couldn’t help but trail your fingers along the white patches on mateo’s back eyes moving to the small holes along the side of his arm that reminded you of needle injections. Mateo glanced back at you now gripping your wrist tightly nearly crushing it eyes darkening lightly “stop that, okay?” He said softly before grinning to hide that dark tone he just gave you “ushhhiiiooooo~” he purred out now reaching out to touch the girl only for her to kick him off the bed

“Stop it.”

“You’re so cold to me!”

You tried to laugh it off though it struck you as odd, whatever. You three got the two settled in before making your way back to the room. “Hey Zeke? Does mateo take injections?” You asked making him snort with laughter “no way! The kid cries and screeches off you even show him a needle” he said while laughing and Hikaru rolled his eyes.

“Enough about them, didn’t someone say you wanted to wreck the room?” Hikaru purred out and the three of you exchanged looks. That night got very loud, when it came to the morning when you all had to leave you all were beyond tired.

Hikaru sighs softly letting out a sleepy yawn as you all talked to the limo. “Have fun?” Ushio mumbled out making you twitch nervously before she tapped her neck and you slapped your hand on your neck.

“Pffffft hahaha! It’s okay I got laid too riiiight ushio?”

“No. I only gave you one kiss on the cheek and you started crying so I let you cry yourself to sleep” she mumbled out eyes on her phone as she climbed into the limo making Mateo huff “l-liar! I-I dunno what you mean!” He snapped out face red as he turned his head away.

The rest of the ride was far more relaxed, Mateo fell asleep his head rested on ushio’s shoulder as she watched anime ignoring him.

“She looks happier, thanks for this y/n” Hikaru mumbled to you and Zeke chuckled “I can tell mateo had fun too, he works hard for all the sports clubs he’s in for college he doesn’t really chill out yknow?” Zeke added and you grinned widely

“Next trip let’s go to the mountains or something!”

“Vacation number two!” Mateo sprung up and shouted with a bright smile on his face.

#yandere imagines #yandere ocs #yandere

23 notes · View notes

gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights · 4 years

Link

Rating: T

Summary: From cleaning up their city, to strengthening their partnership, to untangling their love lives—New York has taught Ladybug and Chat Noir that they can get through anything together. Well, everything except automatic doors. (New York special reveal fic)

Word Count: 6722

XXX

Marinette had gotten back from New York three days ago, but it wasn’t until she saw Chat Noir that she really came home.

He’d arrived early to the meeting spot—a rooftop where someone had planted a pot of blue forget-me-nots—and he hummed under his breath while perching at the roof’s edge.

“Little kitty on a roof... all alone without his lady…”

She thought she’d overcome the stutter in her heart when she heard that tune. But that was before she’d almost lost her partner again.

“Not alone anymore,” she said, plopping down next to him and bumping his shoulder.

He didn’t bump back. That was weird.

“Kitty?” She leaned forward, trying to get a better look at his face. The mask made it difficult to tell, but she was pretty sure his green eyes were rimmed with red. “Are you alright?”

He shrugged too quickly. “It’s nothing. I’m really glad to see you again, LB.”

“Which is why you haven’t looked at me this whole time.”

Finally, he met her eyes, and she gasped. He’d definitely been crying. A lot. What had… what had happened? Was it just seeing the city for the first time since they’d been back? Mayor Bourgeois had done a surprisingly good job of organizing the cleanup, but there was still a long way to go. That was the reason they’d come out on patrol tonight, so surely he’d expected the damage.

Could he still be upset about everything that had happened between them? No. He knew she’d forgiven him.

Still, she squeezed his hand just in case.

“Chat. You know you can always tell me the truth.”

His eyes went wide, and then fresh tears welled in them.

“I—right. I promised I’d never hide the truth from you again.” He wiped his eyes with the heel of his free hand. “I’ve just been stupid. Even more stupid, if that’s possible.”

“You’re not stupid,” she said. Stupidly. She didn’t know what would help, but surely she could come up with something more comforting than that. “You’re the brave, amazing, irreplaceable Chat Noir.”

He snorted. “My girlfriend thinks I’m replaceable.”

The world screeched to a halt. The moon could’ve fallen from the sky, and she wouldn’t have noticed.

“You have a girlfriend?”

Chat Noir winced. Oops. She probably shouldn’t have shouted right by his ear.

“I had a girlfriend. For almost a month.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

His brow scrunched under his mask. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to make you jealous. And… I didn’t tell anyone, actually. It kind of had to be secret in case my father…” He shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t want to get too close to my identity. Which is another reason I didn’t tell you.”

Of course. There was no good reason for him to tell her.

She still felt like she should’ve known.

“I’m sorry. You had every right to keep your personal life private.” She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. “And I’m sorry about your girlfriend, too. She clearly doesn’t know who she’s missing out on.”

He looked up from where he’d been staring at their hands. “I—uh-um-hhhh-yeah.”

She made a noise somewhere between an eep and a cough, jerking her hand back so quickly she almost fell backwards.

“I—I mean, anyone would be lucky to date you—no! Um, you’re a catch?” Oh, that was even worse! What was wrong with her? “You—you know what I mean!”

His head tilted. “I, um. Do I?”

She dropped her head in her hands. She didn’t even know what she meant. She was still in love with Adrien. The last thing she wanted to do was give Chat false hope.

“Sorry,” she groaned. “Lately I can’t get two words out without making a mess of things.”

“Join the club.” He snorted.

“I might not be much help, but… do you want to talk about it?”

“You��you’d let me?”

“You did say you weren’t going to hide things from me anymore.” She smiled, bumping his shoulder.

This time, he bumped her back. “I guess I did.”

He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. The sounds of traffic drifted up from below to fill the gap. Funny how even the traffic felt more like home in Paris.

“It was my fault, as usual,” he murmured. “I didn’t tell her I was leaving Paris, either.”

“You didn’t?” It made sense that he wouldn’t want to hurt his partner, but why would he hide from someone in his civilian life?

“Like I said. Stupid.” He shook his head.

“Not stupid enough to break up with you over.” She frowned. “Not if she really loved you.”

That probably wasn’t the most tactful thing to say, either. She hoped Chat’s girlfriend loved him. He’d always been so full of love, it was difficult to imagine him with someone who wouldn’t return it.

“It… wasn’t just that.” He took a deep breath. “Promise you won’t hate me?”

That question didn’t reassure her, but she still knew her answer.

“You’re my best friend, kitty. I could never hate you.”

The tension drained from his shoulders.

“Right. I should know that by now. It’s just hard to remember, when I’m so scared and stupid and—I think I might have accidentally cheated on her.”

Marinette blinked. Chat? Cheating? The boy who would rather turn Marinette down in front of her Marichat-shipping papa than hide his feelings for Ladybug?

“What did you do?”

His ears drooped. He looked so limp without the over-the-top confidence that normally filled him.

“I danced with another girl. And hugged her a lot. I thought it was as friends but then my other friend posted some pictures of us to Instagram, because she didn’t know that I was dating K—my girlfriend, and it looked way worse than it was and my girlfriend thinks I’m in love with this other girl and I… the worst and best thing is she might be right.”

Wow. That was. There was a lot to unpack there.

“You’re… in love with… two people?” Neither of which are me?

No. Bad Marinette. This wasn’t about her; this was about Chat Noir. Besides, she wanted him to move on!

“I don’t know. All I know is that I never wanted to hurt either of them, and I feel awful.”

...Was this about her? The sentiment definitely hit too close to home.

“It stinks, doesn’t it.” She sighed.

“More than Plagg’s cheese.”

That got a smile out of her. “I wish I knew how to help, but the truth is, I’ve never had any luck with love either.”

Chat’s brow furrowed. “But what about the boy you…?”

Her throat clogged. Memories flashed through her mind—her and Adrien dancing in the sky, tumbling through doorways, accidental touches and soft smiles and words she’d said too late.

“This isn’t about me,” she said, banishing those thoughts.“We’re working on your love life tonight.”

Unraveling hers would probably require an intervention from Bunnyx. Or a Lucky Charm. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

Because Tikki would kill me, probably.

“I don’t think there’s much to work on,” he muttered. “I blew it with my girlfriend. And what if I do try to ask out the other girl, but I just make the same mistakes again?”

Marinette smiled and placed her hand over his arm. “You always learn from your mistakes, kitty. And you’re always thinking of other people first. If you just learn how to be honest with everyone—including yourself—I don’t think you’ll have a problem.”

Wow. Three whole coherent sentences. That was miraculous.

“Heh. And you said you didn’t have any love advice.”

“Well… I guess I can give it, but I can’t take it.” She grimaced. If only she’d been honest with Adrien…

But it wasn’t over. She knew how much he meant to her, and she knew what she stood to lose. Somehow, she’d find a way to tell him.

He bumped her shoulder. “Come on, bug. Spill the tea.”

She blinked before bursting out laughing. “Spill the tea?”

“What? That’s what you say when you want your friends to tell you some juicy secrets, right?”

“Ew. Please never call my secrets juicy. They’re more like… tangled up yarn, so knotted even I barely know what’s happening anymore.”

He winked. “I’m a cat. Playing with yarn is what I do best.”

She bit her lip. He’d opened up to her. By her own logic—that of no unnecessary secrets—she should return the favor. But could she really do that to him, knowing how long he’d pined after her?

It doesn’t matter. He’s in love with someone else now. Maybe even two someone elses.

The thought was still so bizarre, she could hardly comprehend it. Clearly he’d been serious about the yellow rose. He’d moved on, and she… well, she was still where she’d started. Chasing after Adrien, falling farther and farther behind.

“Maybe another night,” she said. A coward’s retreat.

He gave her a long look before nodding. “Alright.”

She let out a breath of relief. Another night. He was an outside perspective. She would tell him later, if only because he might give clearer advice.

She stood and dusted off her legs, even though there was no dirt there.

“Vacation’s over. We’ve got some cleaning up to do.”

XXX

“Hey. It’s okay.” She squeezed Chat’s hand when he paused in front of their statue. Or, well, what was left of it. Senti-Robostus had snapped the bronze Ladybug off, then tossed her into the front of a nearby convenience store. The statue of Chat Noir looked lonely without her perched on top.

“This isn’t one we can fix, is it.” His voice was sandpaper-rough.

“No. I don’t think so,” she admitted. “But it’s okay. I never really liked that statue anyway.”

It always reminded her of Copycat, who had turned out to be a total creep. The Ladyblog had had to ban Theo’s accounts from the discussion boards too many times for comfort.

“...We should get moving again, then,” Chat said, but neither of them did. They remained standing in place, still linked by their hands.

They’d been shifting rubble for hours, using their enhanced strength and even their powers. Each time Marinette fed Tikki and transformed, she felt more exhausted than the last. But Chat had to feel even worse. His Cataclysm was the most useful for clearing chunks of broken walls, while her Lucky Charm was less reliable when not facing a concrete enemy. The one score had been a bag of cement mix to fill in a busted sidewalk.

“We can’t fix everything in one night,” she said. “We can patrol again tomorrow. Or maybe the night after.” She had a feeling she’d be too sore to move in the morning, enhanced strength or not.

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “It’s not your fault that everything’s broken.”

She stared at him, stunned. “Chat. This is just as much my fault as it is yours.”

“But—”

“No buts.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Paris is our city. Not yours. Not mine. Ours.”

He didn’t argue, but his gaze still remained fixed on the ground.

“I could have stayed. I could have downloaded an akuma alert app. There are so many things I could’ve done differently, it could eat me alive,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“It’s so hard,” he whispered.

She dropped her hand from his lips. “I know. But we’ll get through it together.”

He was silent for a moment before nodding. “You’re right. You and me against the world… or in this case, you and me against a bunch of crushed buildings.”

She smiled. It might not be a glamorous part of the job, but they would do their part to make it up to their city.

She raised her fist, and he bumped her knuckles gently.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free for next patrol,” he said, a little more life returning to his voice. “Probably the day after tomorrow. My family’s been on edge lately, with… well, you know.”

He nodded towards the broken statue.

“Right. I’ll keep an eye on Plagg, then.”

Chat chuckled. “Plagg” was what she’d named the little cat toy that he had the remote for.

This time, she looked forward to hearing the toy’s tiny mew.

XXX

It turned out to be three days before they could meet for patrol again.

“Soooo.” Chat walked backwards in front of her, grinning in a way that was somehow both obnoxious and adorable. “It’s another night.”

Oh. She should’ve known he wouldn’t let that go so easily, especially now that he seemed to be in a better mood. Had he asked out the other girl he liked? Or did he patch things up with his girlfriend? Or maybe he did neither, and he just knew how to move on.

“Technically, it’s not night yet.” She pointed to the sun that sat low over the skyline. “Also, there’s a—”

He tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, then toppled backwards against a No Parking sign. The metal clanged like a gong where his head hit it.

“—pole behind you.” She giggled.

He pouted, rubbing the back of his head. “No Parking? Why would anyone even try to park here?”

They’d arrived at the worst scene of damage: in front of the Eiffel Tower. There wasn’t even a road left to park on. Most of the chasm had been filled in by now, but there were construction crews repairing the pipes and electrical wiring that had been uprooted.

Of course, the workers had gone home for the evening already. Marinette and Chat would have to be careful not to get in the way of their unfinished work. Luckily, there was still plenty of rubble to move, and they’d come prepared with their powerups tonight.

“I’ve got two sets of ears, my lady. That makes me twice as amazing of a listener.” He swiveled the leather ears on top of his hair. When had he learned how to control that?

“Why don’t you save the interrogation for after patrol?”

“It’s not an interrogation! You accepted my yellow rose, which means we are friends for time and all eternity. And friends can ask each other about important things in their lives. Like their crushes.”

“I regret ever bringing that up.” She pulled the purple macaron from her yo-yo and tossed it into her mouth. At least she couldn’t say anything incriminating while she was chewing.

The power shocked over her, leaving her magenta space suit in its wake. A grin tugged at her lips. She’d never get tired of that.

“It can’t be that bad.” Chat unzipped a pocket and dug out a purple slice of camembert. He made a face before chewing it. “Not as bad as this nasty cheese, anyway.”

He transformed too, plasma-like wings sprouting from his back.

“You know, I can make you the powerup macarons, too. That way you only have to use the cheese if you’re giving it to Plagg.”

“Wait, really?” His eyes widened. “Why didn’t you say that weeks ago?”

“Because it’s too fun to watch you make that face.” She smirked and flicked his glowing bell. “But I’m willing to pass up on that in exchange for you leaving my love life alone.”

He sighed. “If that’s really what you want.”

He looked surprisingly dejected. Was it just because she was keeping secrets?

“I’m surprised you want to know about… Him,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to make you feel worse.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, my lady. I haven’t figured out exactly what I feel for my friend yet, but your advice has helped me start. I just want to help you in return.”

He smiled behind his helmet. He meant it. Somehow, despite all the times she’d turned him down, he just wanted her to feel better.

“Alright,” she relented.

“I swear, I—wait, what?”

“I said alright.” She chuckled. “Though I’m a little curious how you planned to convince me.”

He blushed. “I was going to swear on my honor as your friend that I would take your not-juicy secrets to my grave.”

“Thanks for the thought. Now come help me with this chunk of cement, and I’ll ‘spill the tea.’”

XXX

It was surprisingly hard not to spill too much tea. As they flew pieces of rubble out to space, she told him everything she could without jeopardizing her identity. A few unspecific details, vague confession plans, even that there was another boy in love with her. Though that seemed less relevant now that she realized she couldn’t quench her feelings for Adrien.

“Wow. Can you imagine being dense enough not to realize Ladybug is in love with you?” He sighed wistfully. Maybe he hadn’t completely given up on her then.

“He’s not dense.” She grunted as she shoved the chunk of road with her shoulder, finally sending it floating off out of the atmosphere. “He’s sheltered. And I don’t always send the clearest signals.”

“I guess helping set him up with a different girl would be a mixed message.” He winced. Without giving names, she’d explained the whole double-date fiasco. He’d been polite enough to stifle his laughter.

“I told you my love life was tangled. I don’t know that there’s anything you can do to help, but thanks for listening anyway.”

She adjusted her wings, slowing the flare from her jet pack.

“Wait.” He grabbed her hand before she could begin her descent towards earth.

She stopped, barely daring to breathe. Had he changed his mind? Did he still want to be a thread in her knotted love life after all?

“You told me to be honest with myself,” he continued, his voice soft but sure. “It sounds like you’ve already done that—so be honest with him, too.”

Oh. She grimaced. Of course he’d use her own advice against her.

“It’s not that easy.”

“I know. But if you never tell him how you feel, you’re not giving him the chance to swoon at how amazing you are.”

He mimed falling backwards, literally head over heels. He turned a full 360 degrees in midair before grinning back at her.

“You’re such a dork.” She shook her head fondly. “You’re right, though. That’s what everyone else has told me too. I can’t keep backing down, not if I want anything to change between us.”

Despite imagining a thousand scenarios where they were married with three kids, Marinette found herself unable to picture herself actually asking Adrien out. It felt as far away as an alternate universe.

“I can help you out, if you want,” he said cheerily. “Just put your communicator in your ear, and I’ll feed you all the best pickup lines in real time.”

She laughed. “Thanks, but I think my awkward stuttering will still be better than that.”

“You’re right. You should give yourself some credit. You did call me a catch, after all.” He winked.

“Chat!” She punched his arm. “I was just trying to cheer you up!”

“Uh-huh. Suuure.”

He was just messing with her. He wouldn’t be trying to help her with Adrien if he still had a crush on her, would he? Even after all this time, it was still difficult to tell when he was actually flirting, and when he was just engaging in friendly banter.

...When she thought of it that way, it was less surprising that his ex-girlfriend had misjudged his actions too.

“What about you?” She asked as they floated back towards earth. “Do you have any updates on your love situation?”

“Sort of.” He sighed. “My girlfriend is clear about her feelings. She’s given me too many second chances already, and my uncertainty has hurt her. I can’t expect her to keep waiting while I try to figure out what I want.”

“That’s fair.” Marinette nodded. “I’m glad she can be so honest with you, even if it hurts. She must trust you a lot.”

If only she could have that kind of trust in Adrien. She… she could, couldn’t she? Their friendship wouldn’t be destroyed after one tiny declaration of love. Not after everything he’d said about her in New York.

Right?

“She’s never been afraid to speak her mind. It’s one thing I really admire about her.” Chat smiled wistfully. “I hope that she finds someone who’s better to her than I was.”

“Chat…”

“No, my lady. She deserves someone who’s as decisive as she is. Someone who can love her the way she loved me.”

That sounded almost familiar. Hadn’t Marinette had that same thought about Chat Noir?

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah, I guess she does.”

XXX

“What’s on the agenda today?” Chat asked brightly when he arrived at their rooftop. “Restoring the Arc de Triumph? Planting more grass in the park?”

“No.” Marinette fidgeted with her hands. She’d rehearsed how to ask this a thousand times in the past few days, but she still felt stupid. “I actually, er… I wanted to take you up on that offer.”

His ears perked up. “You’re going to let me cut your hair?”

“No, not that offer.” She smacked her forehead. She’d forgotten he’d mentioned that when she’d complained about how her pigtails stuck out of her space helmet. “The one you said? About the communicators, and helping me, with um, Him…?”

Chat’s jaw dropped. It would have made a great photo, if she’d gotten out her bugphone in time.

“You’re actually going to use my pickup lines?”

“No! Those are still awful.” Except the one about her being the lady of his dreams, but he didn’t need to know how soft that had made her. “In fact, I don’t actually want us to use our communicators at all.”

He blinked. “So, you want to take me up on my offer, but you don’t want me to do a single thing I offered. Makes perfect sense.”

“Ugh. Sorry, I’m so bad at this.” She should just pretend she was explaining a plan to Alya. Or maybe that she was coming up with a solution to her Lucky Charm. That was never so awkward, right?

“I want you to use this,” she clarified, pulling the toy cat out of her yo-yo. “I always chicken out before I tell him how I feel. I was thinking, if I felt like you were there… I might be a little braver.”

He still looked stunned, but a smile slowly crept across his face.

“So I can be your wingman?”

“...Sort of, I guess? All you need to do is push the button when I inevitably start to panic.”

His head tilted. “But how will I know when you’re trying to talk to him? You need a Plagg, too.”

“You’re one step ahead, kitty. I was thinking we could go pick one up before patrol. Since you’ll be keeping it, you should get to choose what kind of buzzer you want.”

He beamed at that. “Brilliant as usual, my lady.”

Whew. She’d worried he would think it was stupid.

“Come on.” She unhooked her yo-yo from her waist. “The store I bought Plagg at was set to reopen today. If we’re quick, we can get there before they close for the night.”

He kept pace with her as they swung and leapt towards the west side of the city. The novelty shop had been in the path of destruction, but by now most of the buildings were functional again.

The repairs had restored Chat Noir’s good humor, too. Either that or he’d sorted out his own romances. Curious as she was, she found herself too nervous to ask.

I’m asking out Adrien. It doesn’t matter if Chat Noir gets a girlfriend. Him having a girlfriend hadn’t changed things between them before, after all. He’d always be her partner. Always.

She dropped down in front of the store—

—and felt her soul leave her body.

“Nooooo,” she groaned, gaping at the brand new, shiny, automatic doors.

Chat Noir landed beside her and strapped his staff to his back.

“What’s wrong, my lady? Are they all out of—” He blinked at the doors, too. “Oh.”

Oh? Was her fear of automatic doors that obvious? Okay, fear was a strong word, but there was no way she could get into the store with her dignity intact. She’d embarrassed herself in front of Chat plenty of times, but it was still light out, and too many civilians were on the street.

“I, just, uh—feel a draft coming out of this store! Maybe another place sells the same kind of toys?” She grinned uncomfortably.

It wasn’t likely. They were marketed towards people in long-distance relationships. She’d been lucky to notice the beeper toys when she was looking for design inspirations in this out-of-the-way shop.

“Maybe. Do you know where? Most stores will be closing pretty soon.”

She sighed. That had been such a flimsy excuse, she was surprised he’d even bought it.

“No, it’s fine. You just—might want to go in without me.” She tapped her fingers together. “They, um, have some toy spiders in there that are reeeeeally scary.”

“Oh, no!” He replied too dramatically. “I’m, uh, afraid of spiders too!”

“...Are you making fun of me?”

He grinned nervously. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I know you’re not afraid of spiders. You picked one up and moved it the other day because you didn’t want to kill it.” It had been really cute, even if she’d originally screamed for him to squish it.

“Crud, I forgot about that,” he said under his breath.

They were drawing stares by now, standing in the glow of the shop’s windows without stepping inside. One little kid waved at them, and Chat waved back.

“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. “We’re going in this shop, and we’re getting you a beeper toy, and we’re not going to be stopped by some stupid automatic doors.”

“Automatic—wait, you can’t get through automatic doors either?”

She didn’t answer. She was busy slamming into the glass.

“Ow,” she muttered with her nose squished against the door. Which still. Didn’t. Open.

Behind her, Chat Noir started to laugh.

“Shut up,” she said, but it probably didn’t have much effect when muffled by the glass.

“Sorry, sorry!” He rushed to help her as she peeled herself off. “It’s just, this happens all the time to me and my good friend. I thought I was going to be the one smushed like a bug on a windshield.”

“There’s only one bug here,” she said, brushing off the front of her suit. “And she’s going to get through those stupid doors if it’s the last thing she does.”

“My lady—”

Frustrated, she banged her fists against the glass—

—and shattered it into a million pieces.

Sirens blared. She yelped, jumping back towards Chat.

This was it. Her life was over. She was going to go to jail and lose her miraculous all because she’d used super-strength on a stupid door!

“Uh-oh.” Chat gulped.

“M-miraculous ladybug!” She yelled on reflex, though she didn’t have a Lucky Charm. Could a Lucky Charm even fix this? A villain hadn’t done the damage at all, unless she counted as a villain, because she’d just committed vandalism, and oh no the owner was coming towards them and—

“Ladybug! Chat Noir!” The man with the white mustache looked more concerned than angry. That was… that was good, right? “Did an akuma come through here? Do I need to evacuate? There’s no one else in the store right now. I don’t think anyone realized I’ve reopened.”

She blinked. Would it be alright to lie, just this once? To avoid being arrested, losing her miraculous, and letting Paris fall to Hawkmoth?

“No, no, there’s nothing to worry about,” Chat answered for her, holding up his hands.

Meanwhile, the shopkeeper pressed a button on the wall, turning off the alarm. If only her pounding heart could be quieted so easily.

“It was an accident,” Chat continued. “It’s my fault.”

...Wait, what?

“I was trying to hold open the door for my lady, as all good gentlecats do. But my powers of destruction and automatic doors don’t get along.” He smiled ruefully, then produced a wad of euros from his pocket. The shopkeeper looked as shocked as Marinette was. “I hope this will be enough to cover the damage. And I’m very sorry. You have a lovely shop.”

The shopkeeper’s glasses slid down his nose. He pushed them back up, still not moving to accept the money. “Chat Noir... this is far too much.”

“Consider it a tip.” He winked.

A tip of… she couldn’t count every bill in his palm, but she swore that was at least three hundred euros. Where did he get that kind of money? Did he have some kind of superhero donation drive she didn’t know about?

“Please, at least buy something,” the owner insisted. “If there’s no akuma, then I assume you were coming to make a purchase? Or was it a return? Was the item you purchased not to your liking, Ladybug?”

“N-no, it was perfect!” She said quickly. Her heart still hadn’t stopped pounding. He remembered her. What was his name again? She should be better at remembering citizens’ names. “I—we—um, wanted another one, actually.”

“A matched set.” Chat grinned. “Would that be alright?”

“Of course.” He looked relieved. “Right this way.”

Chat stepped through the broken door frame—which opened just in time to trip him. Marinette tried to catch him by his tail, but his weight dragged her down too. They both ended up sprawled among the broken glass.

“Oww…” He groaned against the tile floor.

She picked a shard out of her cheek. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

The shopkeeper blinked down at them. “On second thought, I’ll bring my options out to you.”

That was probably for the best. While he left, she and Chat untangled their limbs and helped each other up.

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “I didn’t mean for my bad luck to rub off on you.”

“Bad luck?” She tried to brush some glass out of her suit, but it just ended up sticking in her hand. “If anyone’s unlucky, it’s me. This kind of thing happens to me all the time.”

“My lady, you haven’t been this clumsy since the day we met. And I know for a fact that automatic doors hate me.”

“They hate me more. I couldn’t get through them once in New York.”

“Me either.”

She blinked up at him. Glass shards were still scattered in his hair, reflecting the shop’s bright lights. Yes, she could picture him being this unlucky—but could they really both be unlucky in the same exact way?

“I fell in a tangled mess with my crush, and then the doors kept smacking into us. I’m pretty sure my ribs are still bruised from it.” There was no way his luck was worse than that.

Pink flushed across his cheeks. “Uh… me too?”

She snorted. “It’s not a competition, Chat. You don’t have to make up stuff to prove you have worse luck than me.”

“I’m not making anything up.” He took a step forward and brushed a piece of glass from her bangs. “Did you say that happened to you and… and your crush?”

His voice came out as a squeak. But—if he was being serious—

How many French kids had been in New York last week? And more importantly, how many had been repeatedly squished between automatic doors?

No. There’s no way. She was the girl who couldn’t even get through automatic doors—she was not this lucky.

“No, you couldn’t be her.” His face fell. “She wouldn’t even sit next to me on the plane. There’s no way she has a crush on me.”

Her mouth hung open.

“Adrien?” Her shout was tinged with panic. She was lucky that the street had cleared out, probably because the citizens thought their heroes were investigating an akuma.

His wide eyes snapped back to hers.

“M-Marinette?”

“Oh my gosh. You’re—you’re really Adrien. Adrien Agreste.” The love of her life. Who couldn’t even believe she liked him!

She wanted to shatter like the automatic door. Maybe then she could avoid the horrible, soul-crushing embarrassment of admitting her feelings after committing accidental vandalism.

“And that’s… okay?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Okay?” Her grin must have looked manic, which probably didn’t reassure him. She tried to force a normal expression.

...What was normal again?

He swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck—only to grimace and pull out another glass shard.

“Sorry. I—you didn’t want to know, and—” His expression turned to horror. “Do I have to give up my miraculous now?”

“What? No!” She clasped her hands over his before he could even think of removing his ring. “Adrien—you’re the only Chat Noir for me. I’m thrilled it’s you.”

“Really?” His ears perked up. “But I thought… I’m confused. You said you were stuck in the automatic doors with your crush… but that was…?”

She smiled as tears pricked her eyes.

“You.”

After all this time, it was him. Adrien was her partner.

And she could trust her partner.

She rested her hand on his cheek, careful not to press any pieces of glass deeper into his skin. “It’s always been you.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled, filling with water that spilled over onto his mask.

“Even when I thought I was moving on from you, I guess I was falling right back.” He chuckled and wiped his eyes. Then he rested his hand over hers. His ring was a spot of cold against her fingers.

“This would only happen to us.” She laughed too. “And here I wanted your help to confess to, well, you.”

“That would’ve been awkward.” He grinned. “If we didn’t realize each others’ identities now, we would’ve then.”

She snorted. “I wouldn’t give us that much credit. We’ve both been stupider than that before.”

“Fair enough. All this time, Ladybug was in love with me!”

“You do realize that means you called yourself dense, right?”

He smacked his forehead, then winced. “Ow. I’d like to contest that, but I think I just proved it.”

She held back a laugh. “As long as you don’t tease me for taking two years to confess to you, I’ll call it even.”

“Two years?” He blinked. “You’ve had a crush on me for that long?”

She shrugged sheepishly. “I did say it’s always been you.”

His expression melted into something so soft, she could hardly stand it. So it was a relief when he pulled her into an even softer—if glass-filled—hug.

“It was you, too. Marinette you,” he murmured by her ear. “It took me too long to realize it, but I always knew there was something special about you.”

Her heart soared at that, even higher than when they’d been dancing in the sky. It all made sense now. Alya had posted those photos on Instagram. Neither of them had known Adrien had a girlfriend—Kagami, probably. Hopefully she wouldn’t end her friendship with Marinette over this. They were supposed to have their weekly orange juice tomorrow; Marinette would make sure to be honest with her, too.

But right now, that could wait. All she wanted to do was feel the warmth of Adrien’s arms—Chat Noir’s arms.

“It was Chat Noir you, too,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to let you go. I think I took your love for granted, even when I was in love with ‘Adrien.’”

She felt his arms tighten when she said love.

“Considering you were torn between me and me, I think I can forgive that.” He chuckled. “Actually, I could do more than forgive you. I could kiss you right now.”

Tingles shot through her. Was she ready for that? She’d hardly been able to imagine this moment—and she’d definitely never imagined it like this. Covered in glass, Chat’s claws gently cupping her shoulderblade.

Somehow, it still blew all of her fantasies out of the water.

“I could let you,” she softly replied.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “Really? I mean… I can still hardly believe this is happening. I can still hardly believe you’re Marinette.”

She frowned. “Why? Because I’m so clumsy?”

“No, because you’re so—” he waved a hand, searching for the word. “Perfect isn’t the right word. You’re endearing, and smart, and brave enough to stand up to my father. You can crush me at video games, and you can forgive me even when I don’t deserve it.”

“Adrien—”

“I left you.”

In that moment, something shifted in her mind. She knew he was Adrien, but finally, she could hear it in his voice.

“I left you twice. As Adrien and as Chat Noir. How can you still want me?”

She took his face in both hands. Never again, not for one second, would she let this boy feel like he wasn’t wanted.

“How could I not want you, Adrien?”

He broke, the tears flowing freely. They glimmered off the bits of glass still stuck to his face. She wished she could clear both of those away, that she could stop him from hurting.

“See? This is why I can hardly believe it. I’m not supposed to be this lucky.”

“Me either. But I’m tired of worrying about what we’re supposed to be.” She smiled. “I love you, kitty. And if you plan on collecting that kiss—”

He did. Somehow he was both clumsy and careful, probably because he was dodging the bits of glass still stuck to her face. Not that she minded. It was him, and it was her—Adrien and Marinette, Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Though it should’ve been the last thing on her mind, she couldn't help thinking that both of Alya’s ships had sailed tonight.

She was just about to deepen this kiss when Adrien pulled back.

“What?” she asked. Had she been that bad of a kisser?

But no, he was looking at the shopkeeper. Who had his arms full of animal toys, and a face red enough to blend in with her suit.

“Oh—ah—sorry to interrupt.” He cleared his throat. “Did you still want…?”

Her face flushed too. She didn’t think it was possible to be any more embarrassed after breaking the man’s doors, but she hadn’t thought it was possible to kiss Adrien without spontaneously combusting, either.

“I don’t suppose we need one now, do we?” She glanced at Adrien sheepishly.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want one.” He inspected the boxes in the man’s arms.

“If afraid we’re out of Ladybug toys. They’re our hottest selling item right now. I even looked in the back to be sure none were hiding there.”

Adrien grinned, and she remembered why she never would’ve guessed his identity. That toothy smile was all Chat.

“That’s okay. I know the next best thing.”

XXX

“I hope you know that I’m never going to press the button,” Marinette said when they returned to their rooftop.

“What? And I thought you loved me.” Adrien put a hand over his chest in dramatic offense.

“You obviously don’t love me if you thought the best toy to represent me was a cow.”

“Cows are so cute though!” He held up the black-and-white cow beeper toy, which he’d already named Stompp. “And she has spots, just like you!”

Cows might not be cute, but Adrien certainly was. And he knew she couldn’t resist his pleading kitty eyes.

She sighed and pressed the button.

“Moo!” Chat mimicked the toy. “See? Moo and mew! They even sound alike. What noise would a ladybug have made, anyway?”

“It would probably just call you a dork.” She smirked.

“Or it might tell me it loves me.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Or,” she took his hand, “you could just be happy with your real girlfriend telling you she loves you.”

His smile was soft and warm, enfolding her like a blanket.

“I think I can live with that.”

#ml new york special #ml new york #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #ladybug #fic tag #tali writes #reveal #very happy with how this turned out #thanks to alyce and winter for all the help!!

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